#and that loyalty has cost him everything

[lightwise]

THERE IS SOMETHING TO BE SAID FOR FREEDOM

AKA Analysis of Crosshair in The Tipping Point

This may sound like a strange claim to be making about Crosshair in S2 E14. (SPOILERS BELOW IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THIS EPISODE YET).

Crosshair is imprisoned this entire episode. Tied down. Tortured. Unable to move. And yet I was almost speechless at how he is rendered, in both his facial expressions and his choices. As strange as it sounds to say, I think Crosshair is at peace in this episode. This man is finally, fully HIMSELF. It’s HIM. This is the REAL Crosshair, like we’ve never seen him before.

His face (and his eyes) are so OPEN. I don’t know how else to describe it. Prior to this, Crosshair had a variety of colorful facial expressions that he usually kept on him, ranging from sarcastic sneers, brows pulling together in worry, feigned disinterest, and downright rage. (I will be making a separate post on the expansive range of Crosshair’s expressions and how I think they signify what his real emotions are). 

But here, we start with Crosshair in a prison cell, being roughly taken out of his confinement to another location. Normally I would expect Crosshair to have a very sour, disdainful look on his face as these TK troopers cuff him and haul him out. But he doesn’t. Yes there’s a bit of a raised eyebrow still, but his face is just calm. Open. Serious but not fraught with tension. (Also, shameless side note: this man looks so good in blue/gray/not black colors. They make him seem softer and more open, as well).

Not only that, but he gazes around him, eyes moving side to side, paying attention to the other prison cells (maybe even looking to see if there was someone he knew also being held there?), even getting himself in trouble for taking an interest in those around him. Crosshair, who has always held himself separate and apart, has always pretended to look away even when he was listening. He is present, even in the midst of a horrible situation. 

I was reminded of the end shot in The Solitary Clone, and the parallels of him walking freely down the hallway as an imperial there, and a prisoner here. But in the first one he’s actually a prisoner inside himself, while in the second, he might be held captive on the outside, but he’s free on the inside. 

Even to Emerie and Hemlock, Crosshair remains surprisingly mild and level in his responses. May I remind you what this man’s face has looked like earlier in his story when dealing with people in power over him - and when being tasked to give up his family.

But instead he simply gazes at them calmly–suspicious, but clear-headed. He is in possession of his self esteem and purpose once again, and he doesn’t need to put on a front of superiority or fury in order to face the gaze of others. 

And he knows immediately what the doctor wants. He obviously has no intention of giving up his brothers. His face and tone remain even, controlled. He still says “the kid” to Hemlock’s face, but there is no animosity in using those words. And we will see how that was no longer Crosshair’s real opinion of Omega.

On the flipside of this calmness, we have very rarely seen Crosshair fall apart from pain or fear in front of others. But this torture from Hemlock is excruciating, and as a result of Crosshair’s emotions being closer to the surface, his sensitivity to pain and fear and anguish are on full display as well. 

He manages to escape the current torture, but his goal isn’t to save himself. In maybe the most important scene of this episode, Crosshair risks his life to warn and try to save his family, his brothers, his sister, with no regard for the consequences to himself. And yes, we almost got to hear him say “Omega” for the first time. Do we need any more proof that he cares? Crosshair is finally, truly, making the right decisions for the right reasons and he knows it. And that loyalty is going to help him bear whatever he has to bear to keep his family safe. 

He is in so much pain and I hate it 😭

“Why suffer more?” Hemlock asks him. He is defiant, yes. But his “severe and unyielding nature,” his stubbornness and loyalty, his need to be accepted for who he is, are finally being put to the right purpose.

(Also, you cannot tell me this wasn't foreshadowing from The Solitary Clone.)

This is a man who loves and cares DEEPLY, who loves his family even after having had all trust severed on both sides, who would do anything to protect them, even if it means risking his own sanity and self. This man is at peace with his own actions - FINALLY. This is him. And that means so much to me.

I apologize now for the pain, but I am going to end by connecting this to a quote from Andor. Maarva’s last message to Cassian broke my heart and rebuilt it from the inside when I first heard it, and I realized that it could fully apply to Crosshair as well:

"Tell him, he knows everything he needs to know and feels everything he needs to feel. And when the day comes, and those two pull together, he will be an unstoppable force for good. Tell him... I love him more than anything he could ever do wrong." 

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - A Love Unraveled

Summary - A celebrated love story now shattered by betrayal, Daemon begs for forgiveness, but his beloved faces the crushing reality of his infidelity. As their once-great bond crumbles, they confront the devastating cost of love and loyalty.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2046

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Daemon Targaryen and I were renowned throughout the realm for our epic love story, a tale so grand it was sung by bards in every corner of Westeros. 

The Rogue Prince, the feared and untamable, had found his match, the one woman who could soften his ruthless edges and share his life. The realm believed in our love, seeing it as a rare and powerful bond.

Yet it was all a lie. Fate has a cruel way of weaving illusions, only to shatter them without mercy.

Now, Daemon knelt before me, his once proud and defiant form crumpled in humility. I couldn't help but recall the nights we spent beneath the stars, whispering promises that now seemed as distant as the constellations.

I stood there, heartbroken and shattered, unable to reconcile the man before me with the one I had loved so deeply.

"Please, it was a mistake," he repeated, his voice desperate, as if saying it enough times could undo the damage.

I sniffed, trying in vain to wipe away the relentless stream of tears. "No, it was not," I said, my voice breaking under the weight of my pain.

"It was," he insisted, his eyes wide with desperation. "I swear to you, it will never happen again."

"I do not trust you," I responded, my words cutting through the air like a knife. 

Daemon stood his hands reaching for mine, trembling, but I pulled them away as if his touch burned me. The pain in his eyes was unbearable.

"I warned you," I continued, my voice trembling with the weight of the broken promises that now lay between us. "I told you what would happen if you ever took another woman into your bed. I made it clear, Daemon. I made it so clear."

He stared at me, his expression one of shock and disbelief as if he couldn't comprehend the reality of the situation. The silence between us was suffocating, a heavy void that echoed with the truth of his betrayal.

Finally, he spoke, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. 

"She meant nothing," he pleaded, the words rushed and desperate. "It was a mistake—a foolish, meaningless mistake. She meant nothing to me, I swear it."

I laughed, but there was no humour in it, only a bitter edge that cut deeper than any sword. "She meant nothing?" I repeated, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. 

"Then why, Daemon? If she meant nothing, if it was so meaningless, why do it? What was the point? Why throw away everything we had for nothing?"

He flinched at my words as if they were physical blows, but I pressed on, my voice growing steadier as my anger took hold. 

"You shattered my trust, Daemon. You destroyed what we had, and for what? A moment of weakness? A fleeting pleasure that meant nothing to you? Do you even realize what you've done?"

"You have to let me go now," I murmured, my voice shaking as I took a step back, my heart breaking with every inch of distance I put between us.

"No," he cried, shaking his head violently as if denying the reality of the situation could somehow change it. 

 "You lost me the moment you decided that 'nothing' was worth more than everything we had,"  I whispered, the words carrying the finality of a death knell.

His hands grasped my arms with a desperation I had never seen in him before, his grip tight as though he could keep me from slipping away by sheer force of will. "Please, no. You cannot do this"

"Daemon, I have loved you endlessly," I said, my voice thick with emotion, the weight of all our years together pressing down on me. "But it wasn't enough, was it?" 

The question hung in the air, a cruel echo of all the doubts and fears I had buried deep inside.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His eyes, usually so full of fire and defiance, were now empty, filled with despair that mirrored my own.

"I could sacrifice my flesh for you but still be considered selfish for not offering my bones. " I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes, blurring the sight of his face. 

"What more can I give, Daemon? What more do you want from me?"

He fell to his knees before me once again, his head bowed, his hands clutching at the hem of my dress as though he could anchor himself to me, prevent the inevitable. 

"I was a fool," he choked out, his voice raw with anguish. 

"I didn't mean to hurt you. It was a moment of weakness, a mistake. Please, I beg you. Don't leave me. Don't take your love away from me."

His words broke something inside me, and the tears I had been holding back came rushing forth once more, a flood of sorrow and despair. 

"You've already taken everything from me," I sobbed, my voice cracking under the weight of my pain. "My trust, my love, my heart, what is left for me to give? What is left of me?"

He raised his head, his face streaked with tears, his eyes filled with a desperation that was almost unbearable to witness. 

"I will do anything," he vowed, his voice trembling. "I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. I will never stray again. Please, just give me one more chance. Let me prove to you that I can be the man you deserve."

His pleas fell on deaf ears. The trust that had been shattered between us could not be pieced back together, no matter how much he begged or how many promises he made.

"I can't," I whispered, shaking my head as I took another step back, pulling away from his grasp. 

"I can't do this anymore. I can't keep forgiving you, keep sacrificing pieces of myself for a love that only brings me pain."

"No," he moaned, his voice breaking as he clung to me, his tears mingling with mine. "Please, don't leave me. I need you. I love you."

"And I loved you," I replied, my voice barely a whisper as I looked down at him, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces. "But love isn't supposed to feel like this. Love isn't supposed to destroy you."

His grip on me loosened, his hands falling to his sides as he looked up at me, defeated, broken. 

"What can I do?" he whispered, his voice hollow, as though all the life had drained out of him. "Tell me what to do, and I will do it. I will do anything to keep you."

There was nothing he could do. The damage had been done, and no amount of pleading could change that.

"Let me go," I said, my voice trembling with the finality of my decision. "Please, Daemon. Let me go."

He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored my own and then, slowly, reluctantly, he released his hold on me, his hands falling to his lap as he knelt there, broken and defeated.

I turned away, the sight of him like this too much to bear. Each step I took felt like a knife twisting deeper into my chest, as though I was leaving behind a piece of myself with every inch that separated us. 

The weight of my sorrow threatened to crush me, but I kept moving, knowing that to stop would mean giving in to the agony that had consumed us both.

As I walked away, a voice rang out, sharp and commanding. 

"Ser Barristan!" Daemon's voice, once so full of love, now dripped with desperation. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Seize her," he ordered, and I whipped around, disbelief and heartbreak etched across my face. 

I saw Ser Barristan hesitate, the knight's eyes flickering with uncertainty before duty took over. He approached me, his strong arms reaching out to hold me back.

"No, Daemon, please!" I cried out, struggling against the iron grip of the knight. 

Panic surged through me as I fought against the restraint, my heart breaking anew with every passing second. "Don't do this! You can't keep me with you by force!"

My voice was a mix of rage and despair, but Daemon only looked at me, his eyes filled with a wild, desperate resolve. He finally stood, striding toward me with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat. 

In a single motion, he cupped my face in his hands, his grip firm yet trembling as I squirmed in Ser Barristan's hold.

"I am not going to," he said, his voice hoarse, as if the words were being torn from his very soul. "I just want you to see reason."

His words, so painfully desperate, almost made me laugh for the sheer absurdity of it. 

Reason? After everything that had happened, after all the trust that had been shattered and the love that had been betrayed, he still thought there was a way to salvage what was left.

"You think this is reason?" I spat out, my voice laced with both sorrow and fury. 

"You think holding me here, forcing me to stay, will change anything? This isn't love, Daemon! It's a twisted, broken thing that you're trying to save, and it's already gone. You have to let it go!"

He stared at me, his eyes filled with a torment that mirrored my own, but beneath that, I could see the flicker of a man grasping at the last threads of something he knew he had already lost. 

His hands, once so sure and commanding, trembled against my skin, and for a brief moment, I saw the shadow of the man I had once loved. But that man was gone, consumed by his own mistakes and the wounds he had inflicted on us both.

"I can't lose you," he whispered, his voice breaking, and in that moment, I knew he was beyond saving, beyond reason.

"You already have," I whispered, the truth slipping from my lips like a death sentence.

The fight drained out of me, leaving only a hollow emptiness. "You lost me the moment you betrayed me, and no amount of force or pleading can bring me back."

He shook his head violently, his eyes wide with denial, tears spilling over as if he could physically reject the truth of my words.

"No, no, no," he muttered, his voice a broken chant, as if repeating the word could somehow make it true. "You can't say that. You don't mean it. I'll change, I'll be better—I'll do anything! Please, just stay!"

His desperation had driven him to a place where logic and love could no longer reach him, where only his fear of losing me remained, twisting him into something unrecognizable.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he closed them as if trying to block out the reality of what was happening as if he could will away the truth of my words by sheer force of denial. 

Slowly, painfully, his hands fell away from my face, and for the first time, I saw the depth of his defeat, the utter brokenness of a man who had finally realized the full cost of his actions.

Ser Barristan, sensing the shift, released his hold on me, and I stepped back, my heart aching with every inch of distance that grew between us. Every part of me wanted to run back, to reach out and pull him from the brink, but I knew I couldn't. Not anymore. 

The man I had loved was lost to the chaos of his own making, and there was no saving him from it.

Without another word, I turned away, my steps heavy with the weight of what I was leaving behind. 

I could hear him call out my name one last time, his voice filled with raw, desperate agony, the sound of a man who had finally realized the true cost of his betrayal. It echoed through the hall, a haunting reminder of the love that had once been, and the pain that now lay in its place.

It was too late. 

The damage had been done, and all that was left was the cold, empty space where our love had once flourished, now reduced to ashes and memories, forever beyond repair.

A/n -  Sorry I was in a silly goofy mood, writing doomed love stories is cheaper than therapy!

[rosieofcorona]

Mythal, Solas, and Lavellan (An Analysis)

Please be aware that this post contains spoilers for Dragon Age: The Veilguard, so now is the time to click away until you have finished the game. All opinions shared here are just opinions, and are not intended to be presented as fact. 💕

So, this is sort of an abridged version of what could be (and may someday be) a more in-depth analysis, but I just want to offer a different perspective on the Mythal vs. Lavellan discourse when it comes to Solas’ love and loyalty. I've included a lot of supporting evidence from the game, and wanted to share some of it for your consideration: I want to start in the Lighthouse, for the folks who are upset that we didn't see Lavellan amongst Solas' memories. I think this is for the best, all things considered. The regrets we see in the Lighthouse are all of Mythal– taking a form for her, letting her mold him, doing things he thought were “monstrous” at her request, however well (or ill) intentioned. To me, Solas regrets Mythal nearly as a whole. He loved her, certainly, but I think it’s very apparent that he wants more than anything to close that chapter of his life and move on, which he cannot do without confronting the mistakes of his past. From my view, it’s an excellent sign, actually, that Lavellan is not among the great regrets of his life. He says to Rook that he regrets being selfish with her– but he “cherishes” his closeness with, and his love for Lavellan “more than [his] victories.” The same cannot be said of anything on those walls in the Lighthouse.

That same closeness with Mythal– regardless of whether it was romantic, platonic, familial– hurt him, over and over. Everything he did in service of that love, he regrets. He does not cherish it, at least not in the same way. I think I would’ve been offended, frankly, if Lavellan had been on those walls beside her.

Moreover, he acknowledges Lavellan’s goodness, and doesn’t really do that for Mythal, at least not here. Yes, in Trespasser, he said that Mythal was the best of the Evanuris, but we know it’s a low bar to clear. Does that mean she was evil? Not necessarily. But he also says to Rook that all the Evanuris “were monsters, in their own ways,” and moments later tells them, by contrast, that Lavellan “is a good woman.”

I don’t think it’s his love for Mythal (or even his loyalty to her) that keeps him away from Lavellan, either. He cannot in good conscience give himself what he wants most without first fixing what he broke. He doesn’t want to bring down the Veil anymore, not really. He even acknowledges the Dalish as "our people," to an elven Rook (Lavellan's influence?), and says it was a "privilege" to help them again. He says in the final confrontation that he is compelled to bring down the Veil at this point because otherwise, he has failed and wronged and harmed people for nothing– Lavellan among them. He says, more or less, that he has to see it through, has to bring back “the world [Mythal] wanted,” or else all the suffering he’s imposed has been in vain. That reads to me as a sunk cost fallacy more than an act of great loyalty. 

If we’re talking about what Solas wanted, by comparison, we see it in his codex letter to Lavellan– he says, outright, “I could have…even put my plans aside, and simply stayed with you as Solas…which is what I wanted.” His desires do not match Mythal’s, and in fact are the opposite. But again, how can he allow himself to have his own way when he does not yet feel he has righted his wrongs? 

Here we wade into murkier waters (as this could be a more personal interpretation than what was actually intended), but I think it’s fascinating that in Solas’ memory of manifestation, he tells Mythal, “I will always follow where you go.” I think this may be his original regret. I think he wishes he would’ve followed his heart (both in the moral sense, and later, the vhenan sense), rather than pledging himself to another being that “broke him,” as Mythal herself admits to doing.

And speaking of vhenan, my final note: Mythal is never anything but Mythal, to Solas. Even when she calls him “love" in his memories, he does not reciprocate. He refers to her as nothing besides her name. Lavellan is always given the title of Vhenan. He has not called her Inquisitor since before Trespasser, and even then it was because he was trying to create distance, to avoid hurting her further. But ultimately she is his heart, and he wants to follow her, and Mythal is the only thing stopping him– not because he is holding onto her, but because she is in his way.

[novaursa]

The Chains We Break

- Summary: Otto Hightower comes to negotiate the release of his son. Daemon does not humor him. But you and your sister are dragons as well, who answer to neither gods or men.

- Paring: Gwanye Hightower/trag!reader/one-sided Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after The Flames We Share. If you want to read all parts before this one in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+ (chapters that follow will be rated higher)

- Word count: 4 580

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

You sit beside your sister, your gaze cast toward the window where the distant waves of the sea crash against the shores of Dragonstone. The sunlight, filtered through heavy clouds, is gentle on your skin as the salt air brushes your face. The wounds you sustained at Rook’s Rest have begun to heal—your body mending faster than your spirit. Every breath still carries a phantom ache, reminding you of how you fell from Silverwing’s back, the cries of dragons echoing in your ears as death nearly claimed you.

Rhaenyra sits close, her face etched with remorse. She hasn’t been the same since Rook’s Rest, the burden of guilt gnawing at her. You see it in the way her fingers fidget, how she can’t meet your eyes for long before looking away. She’s your sister—your queen—and you know the weight she carries. But you do not hold her responsible for the choices that led to that fateful battle. It was war, and war spares no one, even the innocent.

“I should have never let you go,” Rhaenyra whispers, her voice thick with regret. “It should have been Rhaenys. Not you. It was my decision that put you in harm’s way.”

“Rhaenyra,” you reply, your tone soft but firm. “You did what you thought was right. We cannot turn back time, nor can we carry blame that doesn’t belong. It was my choice, too. And I would do it again, even knowing the cost.”

Your words hang in the air, but they do little to soothe her troubled heart. The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken thoughts, until you find the courage to speak what has truly been gnawing at you.

“Gwayne Hightower,” you begin, lifting your eyes to meet hers. “You must release him from the dungeons.”

Rhaenyra’s expression tightens at the name. The guilt in her eyes shifts to something more conflicted, more political. “It isn’t as simple as that, Y/N. He betrayed his own House, his blood, to bring you back here. Daemon—”

“Daemon,” you interrupt, bitterness lacing your tone despite your attempt to remain calm. “Daemon has imprisoned him, forbade me from even setting foot near the dungeons. He practically bought the loyalty of the guards to keep me away! But you are the Queen, Rhaenyra. Daemon may be my husband, but you hold the power.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrows, and for a moment, the sister you know peeks through the layers of the ruler she has become. “And if I were to free him, what then? Daemon will see it as defiance. You know how he is—he will not take kindly to having his authority challenged, even by me.”

Your heart aches at the thought of Gwayne, alone and confined, after all he sacrificed for you. A man who went against everything he was raised to believe to save you from certain death, only to be thrown into a cell by the very people he saved you for. “He did not deserve this. He did what he did for me, and now he is paying the price. Rhaenyra, please. He doesn’t deserve to rot in those dungeons. He saved my life.”

Before she can respond, Grand Maester Gerardys enters, his expression grim. “Your Grace,” he says with a deep bow. “A ship bearing the banners of Aegon II has docked in the harbor. Prince Daemon has gone to meet them, with his men.”

Rhaenyra stiffens, but your thoughts drift to Daemon, and what this meeting could mean. Your gaze darkens at the thought of your husband—how he holds Gwayne’s fate in his hands. He’s always been a tempestuous man, fierce and unyielding. The very traits that once drew you to him now feel like iron chains wrapped around your heart.

You watch as Gerardys takes his leave, the room falling silent once more. “Daemon may be the one to hold him prisoner, but I will not let this stand,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Rhaenyra. The decision settles like a stone in your chest. You have to do something. You owe Gwayne that much.

Daemon strides down the rocky path that leads toward the harbor, his cloak snapping in the breeze. The sea roars beneath, a fitting backdrop to the turmoil within his mind. His steps are sure, his presence commanding as always, but there is a tension between his shoulders—an unease that’s hard to shake. Vaeron, your son, walks beside him, mirroring his posture. Boy’s gaze is distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, but he keeps stride with Daemon, a silent observer to the storm brewing within.

“Remember what I’ve taught you,” Daemon says, his voice low but carrying authority. “In these dealings, never let them see weakness. We do not bend to those who would see us destroyed.”

Vaeron nods, but his thoughts are torn. He has spent his life idolizing Daemon, the man he believed to be his father. But now that illusion is shattered, replaced by the knowledge that his true father sits rotting in the dungeons beneath their feet. The revelation has left him conflicted, struggling to reconcile the man he loves with the man who has imprisoned his blood.

“What will you do with him?” Vaeron asks, his voice careful, testing the waters.

Daemon’s eyes flicker with a dangerous light. “With Otto Hightower? Or with the man who abandoned his oaths to save your mother?”

“The latter,” Vaeron clarifies, though he knows the question risks Daemon’s ire.

Daemon’s expression hardens. “Gwayne Hightower is a traitor, no matter his reasons. He made his choice when he turned his back on the Greens. Such a man is not to be trusted lightly.”

“And yet he saved her,” Vaeron says, his voice dropping. “Would you have let her die, had he not intervened?”

Daemon’s steps slow, and he turns to face Vaeron, his eyes narrowing. “Mind your tongue, boy. There are things you do not understand.”

“I understand enough,” Vaeron counters, his voice tinged with defiance. “You taught me that loyalty is everything. But Gwayne’s loyalty was to her, not to a cause, not to a side in this war. Can you not see the worth in that?”

Daemon’s jaw clenches, his patience fraying. “You forget yourself, Vaeron. This war is not a matter of sentiment. Your mother’s survival matters because of what she represents—our family, our claim. If you think Gwayne Hightower acted out of love, then you are as naive as you are young.”

Vaeron’s hands curl into fists at his sides, but he keeps his emotions in check. This is the man who raised him, who taught him strength, yet in this moment, all he feels is a cold distance between them. Daemon sees only the war, the struggle for power. But Vaeron sees something else—something more human in the man who risked everything for his mother.

As they near the harbor, the banners of Aegon II come into view, and with them, Otto Hightower’s grim countenance. Daemon’s focus sharpens, his thoughts already turning to the game of strategy ahead. Vaeron falls silent, but in his heart, the conflict festers. 

The wind whips through the banners of Aegon II as they flutter in the sharp sea breeze, the air thick with tension. Otto Hightower stands at the head of his retinue, his face carved from stone, the faintest flicker of unease buried deep within his shrewd eyes. He is older now, his hair nearly all grey, but the calculating sharpness in his gaze has not dulled. Daemon approaches with that characteristic swagger, a predator prowling toward prey, flanked by his guards and with Vaeron at his side. The contrast between them is stark—Daemon, vibrant in his ruthlessness, while Otto wears the weariness of his long-fought battles.

Otto speaks first, his voice carrying the authority of years spent in the small council chamber, dictating the fates of lesser men. "Prince Daemon, I come on behalf of my King to negotiate the release of my son, Ser Gwayne Hightower."

Daemon’s lips curl into a mocking smile. "Negotiate?" He laughs, the sound rough and laced with dark humor. "You truly believe you are in any position to negotiate, old man? What is it that you offer in exchange for a traitor? Perhaps another decrepit stronghold that falls to ruin as we speak?"

Otto's jaw tightens, but he remains composed, his voice cool. "You underestimate what Gwayne’s return means to the Greens. A gesture of goodwill in such tumultuous times could open pathways you might find advantageous."

Daemon’s amusement only grows, his eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "Goodwill? From you? That’s as valuable as a beggar’s coin. Come now, Otto, surely you didn’t travel all this way just to insult my intelligence. Speak plainly, before I grow bored and send you back to King’s Landing with nothing more than salt air in your lungs."

Vaeron stands to the side, his gaze flicking between the two men. Inside, a storm churns. He has known Daemon’s temper his whole life, the simmering cruelty always ready to break the surface. Yet today, that same temperament is turned toward negotiations that directly concern the man who is his true father. The words spoken twist in his mind—‘traitor,’ ‘exchange,’ as if Gwayne were nothing more than a pawn to be bartered, his life subject to whims and strategies. Vaeron keeps his expression neutral, as Daemon taught him, but beneath it all, the confusion gnaws at him.

Otto, sensing that he must tread carefully, adjusts his approach. "You dismiss too quickly what might be gained from a show of mercy, Prince Daemon. Your position, while strong, is not unassailable. A trade, even a gesture, could ease the tension between our forces. And you would gain much in return for sparing Gwayne’s life."

Daemon narrows his eyes, his amusement slipping away, replaced by cold calculation. "And what is it that you think I desire so much that I would let a Hightower return to his family? More land? An empty promise of peace? We both know that Gwayne’s life is worth more to you than any temporary truce you could offer."

Otto’s voice drops lower, becoming the tone of a man who has orchestrated more than one coup from the shadows. "There are things we could discuss—terms that could shift the tide of this war, perhaps even ending it in a way that leaves the realm less fractured. Aegon is willing to be reasonable if it means preserving our shared interests."

Daemon’s smile returns, this time sharper, more dangerous. "You think I care for shared interests? I care only for victory—unquestionable, complete. I care for the destruction of every man, woman, and child who stands between me and that victory. Gwayne’s life is a grain of sand on that battlefield. You know it, and so do I. The only reason he breathes is because my wife begged me not to have his head on a spike the moment he arrived on Dragonstone."

Vaeron stiffens, eyes fixed on Daemon’s profile, a silent witness to the deep ruthlessness within the man he once saw only as a hero. But now, he sees the cracks—how Daemon views everyone as a piece to be sacrificed for his goals, no matter the cost to their souls. He swallows hard, forcing his voice to remain steady. "And what of mercy, Father? Does it not hold any value in this war? Or is it all to be blood and fire until none are left standing?"

Daemon turns sharply to regard Vaeron, his expression unreadable, a flash of something indiscernible crossing his eyes. "Mercy is for the weak, boy. Those who offer it do so only when they have nothing left to give. Do you believe Gwayne deserves mercy for betraying his family, his House, for a fleeting moment of sentiment?"

Vaeron meets Daemon’s gaze, unflinching. "I believe that loyalty beyond reason deserves acknowledgment. Even in war, there are choices that define a man. He chose her—he chose my mother. If that is treason, then perhaps we are all traitors in our own ways."

Daemon studies his son with a shrewd gaze, weighing those words. The silence stretches until Otto steps forward, seizing the opening Vaeron has created.

“Let me look upon my son, Prince Daemon. Let me see the man who has caused this… conflict. If nothing else, I would know whether the man I seek to retrieve is worth the trouble. Bring him up from those dungeons, and if you wish, you can watch as I confront what my son has become.”

The corners of Daemon’s mouth twitch upward in a grin that holds no mirth, only cold amusement. “Very well, Otto. I’ll indulge this request. Let you see what has become of the son you so poorly raised. But do not mistake this for mercy, nor a sign of weakness.”

He turns to one of his men, gesturing with a flick of his hand. “Bring him up, but keep him chained. Let his father see what the consequences are for those who betray their kin for a moment’s folly.”

As the command is relayed, Otto’s mask of composure remains intact, but there is something strained in the tightness around his mouth. Vaeron watches, his heart pounding, knowing that soon he will come face-to-face once more with the man who has haunted his thoughts since learning the truth. The man who is more than just his mother’s savior but is also the father he never knew.

The minutes stretch painfully, each one heavy with anticipation. The creak of footsteps echoes through the stone as the guards finally return, dragging Gwayne Hightower from the depths. The man who emerges is a shadow of the knight he once was—his face gaunt, his clothes tattered, and his once-proud bearing diminished beneath the weight of his chains. But despite his disheveled state, there is a spark in Gwayne’s eyes, a defiance that has not been extinguished.

Otto’s gaze is icy, but there is a flicker of something—regret, perhaps, or shame—as he regards the man before him. “You’ve disgraced us all, Gwayne. For what? For a woman who was never yours to protect?”

Gwayne’s voice is hoarse from disuse, but it still carries strength. “For a woman worth more than all the crowns and thrones in the world. If that is a disgrace, then so be it.”

Daemon’s laughter rings out, cold and mocking. “Hear that, Otto? Even chained and broken, he clings to his foolish convictions. This is what you came for—this pathetic display of misguided loyalty.”

Vaeron watches the exchange, torn between anger and a deep, aching sadness. The man before him is no longer the fearsome knight from the stories but a father who sacrificed everything for a fleeting chance to save someone he loved. The realization sinks in like a stone—this war, this endless cycle of violence, leaves no room for anything as simple as honor or love. It’s all twisted, corrupted by the ambitions of those who claim to know best.

The tension in the air crackles like the distant storm clouds gathering over the horizon. Gwayne Hightower stands before his father, closer now than he has been in years, his once-strong frame worn by weeks of confinement. He walks with a limp, the weight of chains dragging at his wrists, but there is still a pride in his bearing, a defiant spark that refuses to die.

Daemon watches the exchange with a calculating smile, his eyes flicking between father and son, delighting in the bitter reunion. 

Otto closes the distance, gripping Gwayne by the arm with a roughness that belies the controlled facade he wears. The old man’s eyes burn with a fury tempered by long years of cold, strategic thinking. “Have you lost your mind, Gwayne?” he hisses, his voice low, sharp as a dagger’s edge. “All your life, you’ve chased after her like some lovesick fool. You could never accept that Viserys refused your suit, that she was never meant for you!”

Gwayne’s expression barely shifts, but the muscle in his jaw twitches, a hint of the rage he has long kept buried beneath duty and restraint. He leans closer, ignoring the sting of Otto’s grip, and murmurs, his voice so low only his father can hear, “The boy standing next to Daemon is my son, Father. And that is all that matters now. My fate is inconsequential.”

Otto’s eyes widen, his breath catching as though he has been struck. For a moment, his iron composure fractures, disbelief and horror warring on his face. He releases Gwayne, recoiling as if the revelation has physically burned him. His gaze snaps toward Vaeron, the truth now laid bare, searing into him like a brand. The boy—no, the young man—is not just the child of Daemon’s wife; he is a Hightower. His grandson.

Vaeron meets Otto’s gaze briefly, not fully understanding what has just transpired but sensing the seismic shift in the atmosphere. Daemon notices the exchange and narrows his eyes, his amusement giving way to suspicion. His grip tightens on the hilt of his sword, as if ready to end this farce with a single stroke.

Otto recovers quickly, his face once again a mask of practiced indifference, but there is a tremor in his voice when he speaks, barely contained. “You’ve doomed us all, Gwayne. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You threw away everything—your name, your family’s honor, for what? To save a woman who could never be yours? A child you will never truly claim?”

Gwayne’s gaze is steady, unflinching. “I would do it again, Father. A thousand times over if it meant protecting her and our son. You can call me mad, you can brand me a traitor, but I regret nothing.”

Otto’s eyes darken as he processes the full scope of what has been revealed. He turns slowly to Daemon, who watches him with the cold eyes of a dragon ready to pounce. Otto studies Vaeron with renewed interest, seeing him now not just as a pawn but as a potential key to unraveling this web. He tries to capitalize on this revelation, his voice taking on a more calculated tone. “It seems, Prince Daemon, that the boy you’ve raised as your own has more complicated parentage than we knew. Perhaps this presents an opportunity—one that—”

Daemon’s face hardens instantly, his lips curling into a snarl. “Do not presume to speak of him as a bargaining chip, Hightower. I care nothing for your intrigues, nor do I care for whatever misguided sentiment your son clings to.” He steps forward, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You came for your son, and I’ve given you this moment to see the disgrace he has become. But do not mistake this for weakness. Gwayne Hightower is nothing more than a broken tool, and I’ve no use for broken things.”

Otto opens his mouth to argue, but the steel in Daemon’s eyes leaves no room for discussion. He knows better than to push further when the dragon’s teeth are bared. Reluctantly, he pulls back, the wheels of strategy already turning in his mind, but knowing this is not the moment to press.

Daemon turns sharply to his guards. “Take him back to the dungeons. Let him rot where he belongs.”

The guards move swiftly, seizing Gwayne by the arms. Before they drag him away, Gwayne locks eyes with Vaeron one last time, a silent exchange passing between them. There is no plea for understanding, no attempt at explaining what words cannot convey. Just a look—a father recognizing his son, and a son realizing the depth of what was sacrificed for him.

The confrontation ends not in bloodshed, but with Daemon’s final, sardonic remark. “You’ve seen your son, Otto. Now crawl back to King’s Landing and tell your king that mercy is the last thing you’ll ever find on Dragonstone.”

Otto holds his gaze for a moment longer, then turns on his heel, a man who has measured his options and found them lacking. As he departs, Gwayne is dragged back toward the dungeons, his chains rattling with every step. 

In that instant, Vaeron knows that the next time they meet, it will not be as strangers, but as something far more complicated—something that even Daemon may not be able to control.

The clinking of chains and the rough shuffling of boots against stone echo through the courtyard as Gwayne is dragged back toward the dungeons. His face is set in grim determination, resigned to his fate, yet his eyes still hold that spark—the fire of a man who has found something more precious than victory in war. The guards are silent, their expressions hard and unreadable, loyal to their prince’s orders, despite whatever inner conflict they may harbor.

But as they round a corner, the way is blocked. Standing firm are Rhaenyra and you, their Queen and her sister. The two women’s presence immediately shifts the air, tension snapping taut like a drawn bowstring. The guards pause, uncertain, as their gazes flicker between Rhaenyra’s command and the one issued earlier by Daemon.

Rhaenyra’s voice rings out, clear and commanding. “Release him to Otto Hightower. He is to leave Dragonstone at once.”

The guards stiffen, the weight of conflicting orders hanging heavy on their shoulders. “Your Grace,” one of them ventures, his voice laced with hesitation, “Prince Daemon’s orders were clear. Ser Gwayne is not to be released.”

You step forward, eyes blazing with resolve. “And who is your Queen? Who commands this keep? You will do as she says or face the consequences. Daemon’s orders hold no weight when the Queen herself speaks.”

There’s a moment of palpable tension as the guards exchange uncertain glances. But the authority in Rhaenyra’s gaze, coupled with your fierce insistence, finally breaks their hesitation. They nod reluctantly and begin to unshackle Gwayne, their hands shaking slightly as they fumble with the locks.

Gwayne breathes out a quiet sigh, rubbing his wrists where the heavy manacles have left raw marks. He looks to you, a softness in his gaze that defies the bleakness of the situation. You step closer, the world around you narrowing to just the two of you in that instant. His eyes hold yours, and in them, you see the unspoken words, the regret, the love, and the inevitable farewell.

“This is not the end,” Gwayne murmurs, his voice rough but steady, his eyes gleaming with quiet intensity. “If my nephew has any mercy left in him, I will find a way to return. But if not… know that protecting you was worth everything. Every sacrifice.”

You reach out, your hand trembling slightly, resting it against his chest where you can feel the steady, yet faint, beat of his heart. “You’re the only reason I’m alive, Gwayne. You risked everything for me, and I won’t forget it. No matter what happens next.”

He leans in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and whispers, “Remember me, Y/N. And if this war ever ends, perhaps fate will be kinder to us in another life.”

Your eyes sting with unshed tears, but you manage a faint smile, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek in a rare display of affection. “I will. I promise.”

Before either of you can say more, the guards hastily usher him toward the docks, anxious to see him gone before Daemon can intervene. Gwayne casts one last lingering glance over his shoulder, a look full of unspoken promises and finality, before he is led away.

As they escort him down the winding paths toward the ship, the sails already being unfurled, Daemon and Vaeron catch sight of the commotion from a distance. Daemon’s eyes narrow dangerously as he realizes what is happening. His fury builds like a storm, the anger practically radiating off him as he strides toward the scene, Vaeron following, his own emotions churning in the wake of what has transpired.

As Gwayne passes by Daemon, their eyes lock for a brief moment. Gwayne’s lips twitch into a faint, knowing smirk—one that speaks volumes, a silent challenge, as if to say, You didn’t win this time. It’s a gesture that only fuels Daemon’s rage, the dragon within him rearing its head.

Daemon’s hand tightens on the hilt of Dark Sister, his knuckles white with fury, but before he can draw it, Gwayne is gone, escorted swiftly onto the ship where Otto waits with grim satisfaction. The gangplank is raised, and the ship begins to pull away from the harbor, sails billowing as it heads back toward the horizon.

With the Hightower entourage retreating, Daemon’s fury turns on Rhaenyra and you. He storms up to the two of you, his eyes blazing, voice like thunder. “What in the name of all the gods are you doing, woman? Do you realize what you’ve just done?”

Rhaenyra stands her ground, unyielding, her chin lifted defiantly. “I did what was right, Daemon. Ser Gwayne Hightower saved my sister’s life at Rook’s Rest, and I will not be the one to condemn him to rot in chains for it. Let the Greens decide his fate now. It’s no longer our concern.”

Daemon’s glare shifts from Rhaenyra to you, his gaze scorching with silent accusation. The promise of a reckoning lingers in his eyes, a vow that this conversation between you and him is far from over. But he turns back to Rhaenyra, the anger in his voice uncontainable. “You’ve weakened our position, Rhaenyra. Do you not see what this act of so-called mercy has cost us? We hold every advantage, and now you hand them back one of their own, giving them hope when we should be crushing it.”

Rhaenyra’s voice remains steady, firm in her conviction. “Hope may be our enemy, but I will not sacrifice decency for the sake of cruelty. This war has already claimed enough souls—if showing mercy weakens us in your eyes, then so be it. But I will not let this conflict strip us of our humanity.”

Daemon’s eyes flash dangerously, his rage palpable, but even in his fury, he knows better than to challenge her publicly. The exchange bristles with barely restrained venom, both of them locked in a clash of wills, neither willing to yield. But it’s clear that this is a rift that will not be easily mended.

Vaeron, who has watched it all unfold in silence, feels a small surge of triumph swell in his chest. For the first time, his mother acted on her own terms, free from Daemon’s influence. The knowledge that Gwayne is safe, at least for now, is a balm to his inner turmoil. Yet, even in his moment of quiet victory, he knows that the repercussions of this day will ripple far beyond the shores of Dragonstone.

Daemon finally steps back, his gaze returning to you, the promise of confrontation lingering like smoke in the air. “This is not over,” he hisses, his words directed more at you than at Rhaenyra. Then, without another word, he turns and stalks off, his rage still burning as he disappears from view.

The ship grows smaller on the horizon, taking with it the man who dared defy every loyalty, every oath, for the sake of love. And in that moment, you know that whatever happens next, the war has shifted—not because of power or strategy, but because of the choices made out of love and loyalty. Choices that may very well reshape the fate of everyone involved.

[aphroditelovesu]

hey its my first time requesting...

maybe can I request yandere Daemon Targaryen with velaryon or hightower reader

❝ 🐉 — lady l: this is actually quite cute lol. A soft yandere, but Daemon is only soft to the Reader, the rest be burned alive, in his view. Anyway, I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! 💚🖤

❝tw: mention of death, obsessive behavior, family conflicts, fluff and soft!yandere basically.

❝🐉pairing: yandere!daemon targaryen x hightower!female!reader.

Daemon doesn't like the people in your family, the damn Hightower's. He hates them all, especially Otto, your father. He has always made this very clear, never trying to hide the disdain he feels for your family. Daemon just didn't expect to fall in love with a Hightower.

Daemon paid you no attention at first. He thought you were like your father and siblings and he wanted distance from you all. He even tried to fight the feelings that came over him when he saw you, but it soon became useless.

Daemon's constant presence, initially cold and distant, changed around you. His furtive glances became more frequent, his words, once sharp, began to soften. He could no longer ignore the truth that was right in front of his eyes: you were different. Different from Otto, different from your sibilings. And despite all the hatred he felt for the Hightowers, he found himself wanting to be in their presence more and more.

Every time he met you, he felt a growing internal conflict: the deep-rooted hatred towards your family and the irresistible attraction he felt for you. Daemon found himself wanting you, wanting you and not just in a sexual way. He wanted to have you.

Finally, Daemon had to accept that, against all expectations and against his own will, he had fallen in love with you, had become obsessed with you and he was going to have you no matter what. Daemon knew that Otto would never consent to you and him being together but Daemon doesn't give a fuck about your father.

Daemon began to plan. He was not a man who let something so trivial decide what he could or couldn't have. If Otto Hightower was an obstacle, then he would be removed. It didn't matter the cost. Daemon used his cunning and influence to create opportunities for furtive encounters. Every touch, every word whispered in the silence of the night only strengthened his resolve. You also couldn't help but be drawn to his intensity, the danger he represented, and the promise of a passion that burned hotter than anything you had ever known.

You were conflicted as well. Daemon Targaryen was a man you were warned to stay away from, your father and your sister, now the Queen, had told you to stay away from the King's troublesome brother. But you couldn't. Daemon was kind to you, he liked you and you knew you liked him. Maybe you even loved him but you knew your father and sister would never allow it.

The nights became secret meetings, increasingly daring and passionate. Daemon was determined to make sure his love for you wasn't discovered until he wanted it to be revealed, for now, it was fun to be with you in secret. He knew that when the moment came, he would need to be prepared to protect you and the future he envisioned with you. And he would protect you with everything in him.

Every furtive encounter, every whispered conversation in the darkness, every touch that set your body on fire, only increased your dilemma. On the one hand, there was your loyalty to your family, your need to live up to their expectations, and your fear of repercussions. On the other, there was Daemon, with his magnetic presence, his bold words and his protective manner, which made your heart race in a way you had never experienced before.

You tried to keep your distance, and obey your family's warnings, but you always ended up returning to Daemon. He was irresistible, and the way he looked at you, with a mixture of desire and tenderness, made you feel special, seen, and loved. Daemon understood you in a way no one else could, and that was both a blessing and a curse.

Daemon wouldn't let you get away. He didn't care, he wanted you and that's why he went to his brother and asked him for you. Daemon knew that Viserys would agree to the request, after all, he owed him that. Viserys, although distressed at the thought of causing conflict with Alicent and Otto, gave in to his brother's wishes and you were formally granted to you as his wife (after the latter's mysterious death). And you finally officially became his in every way that mattered.

When you finally married him, Daemon became more protective than ever and he displayed you in front of his family like a trophy. He loved you but he loved teasing Otto and Alicent even more. When the conflict between the Greens and the Blacks began, Daemon would keep you tied to him tightly.

After all, you're just another reminder of why he should get rid of all the Greens. Especially because, when you became pregnant in the middle of the conflict, Daemon could not allow any threat to you or the baby in your womb.

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

Each Yellowjackets character’s greatest strength (and why it is also their greatest weakness)

Natalie: Empathy/Selflessness

Despite her abusive home life and edgy, intimidating exterior, Nat is one of the kindest and softest characters on the show. She has a deeper understanding of other’s trauma and pain than most due to her own experiences. Nat was the only one to show empathy towards Travis when his father died, even when he was an absolute asshole to her (and pointed a loaded gun at her!). She helped Travis cut the ring off of his dad’s finger because she knew Javi needed it. She faces her trauma and becomes a hunter to provide food for the group. When Jackie tells Travis about Bobby Farleigh and Travis breaks up with Nat as a result, Nat still helps Jackie on the night of Doomcoming. She also doesn’t hold a grudge against Travis for sleeping with Jackie and even wakes up at the crack of dawn everyday for months and trudges through snow for miles to help him look for Javi. She helps Lisa steal back her goldfish, defends her against her mother, and even dies for her (literally!).

This is also why her selflessness is her greatest weakness, she gives too much of herself and does not believe she herself is worth the care she gives to others, resulting in self-destructive tendencies. Her one act of selfishness (letting Javi die in her place) completely destroys her. Her empathy results in intense guilt and shame when she has to hurt others in the Wilderness, resulting in her spiraling into a life of drugs in order to cope and keeping people at arm’s length to avoid harming them.

Taissa: Ambition/Drive

Taissa is driven and successful in pretty much anything she sets her mind to. Before the crash, she’s a straight A student and an exceptional athlete. In the Wilderness, she takes the lead on leaving the plane wreck, finding the lake, and forges her own expedition to find civilization. Post-rescue, Taissa is arguably the most successful survivor. She’s a lawyer and burgeoning politician with a prestigious academic background and a picturesque family. Tai’s determination and drive for success ensures not only her survival after the plane crash but also the survival of her teammates.

However, Tai’s ambition is also one of her greatest faults. Her tunnel vision towards success can result in herself and those around her getting hurt. She accidentally breaks Allie’s leg trying to get her to improve her soccer abilities. She sets out on her expedition despite Lottie’s warnings, resulting in Van nearly getting killed. And, as an adult, she (literally) drives herself mad trying to win her political campaign, pushing her entire family away in the process. Tai is fierce and accomplished, but always at a cost.

Misty: Devotion/Loyalty

When Misty finds someone she views as her ‘person,’ she latches on and does not let go. We see this in the Wilderness with Coach Ben and Crystal; and in the adult timeline with Natalie. Misty desperately wants to be loved, and therefore she will do anything for the people she cares about, hoping that this will gain their affection. She nurses Coach Ben back to health, she shares all of her secrets with Crystal and does everything in her power to ensure that the others don’t eat her body when she dies. For Nat, she not only gets arrested trying to help her, but also snorts her cocaine to prevent her from relapsing (my favorite scene in the whole show ngl), sets up a whole interrogation with Randy, and travels to a compound in the middle of nowhere to find her after she was kidnapped.

This unconditional devotion, however, definitely comes with its flaws. Misty is obsessive about the people she loves, and this obsession often leads to people getting hurt and/or killed. She kills Jessica Roberts in order to save her fellow survivors from blackmail. She drugs Coach Ben with shrooms (and accidentally the whole team) in order to win his affection, which results in Travis nearly getting killed and Javi going missing. She intimidates Crystal off of a cliff to her death when she rejects Misty and kills Nat when she had been trying to protect her. Misty is loyal, but her loyalty results in sociopathic tendencies and the loss of the very same people she is devoting herself to.

Lottie: Spirituality/Open-Mindedness

Lottie’s spirituality and open-mindedness has been key to the group’s survival in the Wilderness. Her ability to see, hear, and sense what other’s cannot (whether you think it’s real or not) gives her teammates in the teen timeline and her cult (intentional community) members in the adult timeline hope and purpose. Without Lottie, the girls likely would have given up on survival long ago. She has an other-worldly, healing presence that those around her are naturally drawn to, and she helps a lot of people as a result.

Lottie’s spirituality can also be dangerous and even deadly, though. Her time as the Wilderness’s prophet causes the group to spiral into ritualistic sacrifices and cannibalism. In the adult timeline, her spirituality gets her locked up in a psych ward for years. Even after she has healed and moved on, Lottie’s belief in supernatural forces catches up with her again and results in her reinstating The Hunt, ultimately causing Nat’s death.

Van: Perseverance/Resilience

This poor butch goalie has almost died a ridiculous amount of times. She gets in a plane crash and is ditched by Jackie and Shauna in the wreckage, narrowly avoiding burning to death. Then, she’s nearly chopped into bits by a plane propeller. Then, she gets brutally and almost fatally mauled by a wolf. Then, she’s nearly burnt to death again on a funeral pyre (while still actively bleeding to death from the wolf attack). Then, her face is stitched up with a sewing needle by a 16 year-old (with no drugs to numb the pain). Then, her girlfriend starts losing control of herself and trying to run off of cliffs in the middle of the night so she has to regularly tie her down and keep watch of her all night. Then, she gets terminal cancer and only has a few months left to live. And that’s not even considering her life before the crash, living with an alcoholic mother that she has to take care of. Needless to say, Van has been through it. And through it all, she maintains her strength and witty sense of humor. She’s a light out in the Wilderness, keeping her team uplifted and laughing even in their worst moments (this girl is literally cracking jokes with her face torn to shreds). Her perseverance through hardship is next level.

However, this perseverance seems to have created a numbness in Van. Over time in the Wilderness, Van becomes more numb and reaction-less to the tragedy and trauma occurring around her. When the group eats Jackie, she bluntly tells Tai “we ate her” with little emotion. When they kill and eat Javi, Van tells Travis she has no regrets because she’s grateful to be alive. In the adult timeline, Van calls off the psych team for Lottie and goes through with the card ritual, knowing that this will likely result in the someone getting killed. Van is resilient and driven to survive through hardships, but her way of surviving means losing a little bit of her heart and humanity in the process.

Jackie: Influence

Before the crash, Jackie is undoubtedly a leader. She’s the Yellowjackets’ team captain and has an almost magnetic force around her that seems to captivate the whole school. She’s pretty, popular, and excels in everything she does. Shauna especially is completely caught in her orbit. When her teammates are fighting at the party, she single-handedly manages to calm them all down and help them mend their conflicts with each other.

The downside to this influence, however, is that it does not transfer to the Wilderness. High school rules don’t apply to trying to survive in the Canadian Rockies, and Jackie’s influence lies in civilization and traditional society. Jackie struggles to have the same power that she did before, and those who are more unconventional (such as Lottie and Nat) have more influence in their new living situation.

Shauna: Intensity/Passion

Shauna is completely driven by her emotions. She feels things strongly and loves people intensely. We see this first with Jackie, who Shauna has an all-consuming (pun-intended) love for. Her world revolves around Jackie, she doesn’t know where she ends and Jackie begins. In the Wilderness, this intensity of emotions translates to a ferocity that keeps her and her teammates alive. Shauna is unafraid to become the butcher of the group or to take the first bite. On the surface, Shauna appears timid, reserved, and gentle. As a teen, she’s invisible at school, hiding in Jackie’s shadow. As an adult, she’s an unassuming, soft-spoken housewife. But underneath is a darkness and fierceness that catches people by surprise and serves as her secret weapon.

The downside to Shauna’s intensity and passion, however, is that she does not have control over it. Her emotions spiral until she or someone close to her gets hurt. She loves Jackie and feels jealous of her, so she sleeps with her boyfriend, gets pregnant with his child, and implodes their friendship. She is deeply mourning Jackie’s death, so she eats a part of her to feel close to her again. She’s grieving the loss of her baby and doesn’t know what to do with that feeling so she nearly beats Lottie to death. She has a feeling Jeff might be cheating so she starts an affair with Adam. Someone stole her minivan? She’s gonna track them down, hold them at gunpoint, and nearly kill them. When she begins to feel unsafe and suspicious of Adam, this feeling, too, spirals out of control and she ends up murdering him. Shauna’s emotions are powerful, and while they do serve an important purpose of keeping her alive in the Wilderness, she doesn’t know how to express them in healthy ways and ends up lashing out as a result. I have a feeling they’re going to play an important role in Season 3, as well, as we can see that Shauna’s jealousy of Nat’s leadership is already beginning to make itself known.

[rottiens]

stay longer in me, | satoru gōjō

summary. desperation to be recognized by your brother may lead you to take decisions that you could regret.

tags. (18+), dark content. stepcest / incest, canon au, breeding kink, lactation kink, afab reader, pregnancy discussions, hints of gojo being attracted to his mother (yeah.. sorry). divider creds: cafekitsune.

wc. 2.4k

You know that Satoru has never looked at you as another member of the Gojo clan. He has never seen you as a sister, but as the mistake his mother made that they must pretend to be proud of while trying to hide the truth as if it were possible to cover the sun with a finger.

Since you became aware of the world around you, you realized how close Satoru and his father were. The fact that he did not tolerate you was for you a sign of loyalty. You took it on and accepted it, even if deep down it hurt, without questioning your mother's actions, even if it cost you.

Even though all this was going on in your mind and no one ever verbalized how wrong it was that a bastard daughter of the leader of one of the most important clans was living there with them under the same roof as their only legitimate son, their looks of contempt and pursed lips said it all. None of them needed to speak for you to know what they were saying behind your back: the murmurs, the gestures, and the obvious contrast of the color of your hair compared to your parents' spoke louder than words. You understood that you were not his father's daughter without needing to ask.

It's not like you really needed his validation, but Satoru, being your brother especially, you expected more from him. More understanding. You expected to feel exonerated of all blame for a mistake that wasn't even yours, but his look of indifference and superiority told you everything you needed to know: he didn't like you.

As time went on and he had more responsibilities, Satoru stopped visiting the clan frequently and spent more time at school. You heard about his missions and adventures, and despite everything, you were proud of him and what he was accomplishing. After all, you could always see him once a year at the clan's celebratory anniversary.

“Hey.” Your body bows in a curtsy at the sight of him, but he undoes the gesture with a wave of his hand before you can lower your back any further. “Stop that. Come here, let me look at you.”

The kind tone confuses you; you think Satoru can see it on your face by the way a lopsided smile quivers. This attitude is new and leaves you intrigued; he never addresses you or pays attention to you.

You take a step closer to the front, hands still hidden in the light blue kimono, much like his own, and Satoru glances at you.

“Look at you, you're taller.”

Satoru places a hand on your head and pats it in small strokes, flashing you a smile that intrigues you. Despite his technique, he decides to turn off his infinity to touch you directly.

“I think you look the same way.” Maybe a little bigger, you can notice it even under the fabric of the kimono, but you'd rather not make the comment to him.

Satoru keeps his hand to the side of his body and watches you a little longer before leaning towards you as if examining you.

“So you're in marriage season, hm?”

You can't deny the surprise that comes over you when he comments; you didn't know he was aware of it.

“Yes.” You nod.

“Have you met him yet?”

“He's a blond man, about your height.”

You make a gesture with your hand indicating the height of his shoulders.

Satoru shakes his head in approval, “Let's go to the tea room, you can tell me all about it there.” And then walks towards you, placing a hand on your lower back to guide you to walk with him down the hallway. You let him guide you with his invisible hand without touching your body, as if you don't know the places in your own home.

The room you arrive in is decorated in traditional Japanese style, with a low table on the floor. On the table, cups of tea and a teapot sit, emitting a comforting aroma that fills the room with a sense of warmth.

Satoru sits next to you cross-legged and pours tea into both cups without asking how much you want to drink. As you watch in silence, you can't help but feel incredulous.

“Why?” Satoru brings the cup to his lips and doesn't look at you as he swallows, giving you time to ponder the question you filled the room with. “It's strange that you're being so nice now.”

He holds back a smile and lowers the cup to the table before looking at you with a relaxed expression.

“You don't trust your older brother's actions?”

No, you want to answer, but your lips seal as you process the words you'll say next.

“You've never acted like this before with me and I want to know why, what changed now.”

Satoru averts his gaze to the window facing outside. Through it, a quiet garden can be seen, adorned with small lanterns softly illuminating the scenery. The afternoon sun filters through the leaves of the trees, creating a play of dancing shadows on the tatami floor of the room.

“It was for your own good, for mine even.” You haven't touched the cup, intrigued by every new word that comes from his tea-stained lips.

“You're just like her.”

“Her?”

“My mother.” My. Not ours. You don't recognize what's in his tone: contempt, possession, spite. Yet you keep probing.

“What's that got to do with anything.”

“When I saw you, I saw her, and it was hard not to think about what she did. I didn't mean for you to feel like I hated you, because I don't.”

Satoru stops looking out the window to turn his gaze to you. In the evening light, he is fully exposed to the orange rays that bathe the details of his face: scarred jaw and naked blue eyes glowing under the brightness.

Unable to maintain eye contact any longer, you pick up the cup and take a sip. The herbal tea burns your tongue a little, but you decide to take another sip anyway.

“So you're going to be a family woman soon… Do you want to have children?” you hear him ask and you don't look at him, you lose yourself in the wavy dance the infusion does as you set the cup down on the table.

“I'm not sure, though the clan is definitely going to want me to have them,” you laugh bitterly smoothing non-existent wrinkles in your kimono. Then you lift your head and see him look at you with concern, a slight frown that is barely noticeable before he reverts to his usual stoic state where you don't know what's going through his head.

“Of course,” he replies ever so plaintively.

“You?” the word comes out of your mouth out of politeness more than anything else, eager to share and further elongate an encounter with your brother that never happened when you were younger.

Satoru cooes, glancing you up and down to conclude with a grimace that mimics a smile.

“I think I'm more interested in the process.”

“The process?” your eyes widen. You internally debate in taking more of the little tea left in the cup or pretending you weren't taken by surprise by what he said.

“Sex.”

“I know exactly what you meant.”

“Is it a subject that makes you uncomfortable?” Satoru insists as you look hesitant to pick up the cup, it shakes a little in your fingers before you finish it all in one gulp and set it back down on the surface with a clink of the ceramic meeting the wood.

“No.”

“Then, what's the problem?” Satoru examines your reaction, his eyes narrowing briefly in your direction and the corners of his mouth crinkling slightly.

“None.”

“Then you're not a virgin?”

“Satoru.”

He smiles now, not with his teeth. The corners of his mouth blur from the straight line he keeps whenever you're together and for the first time you get a flash of the Satoru Gojo you hear rumors of. Relaxed, funny, annoying, flirty.

“So you are, I really had my doubts.” He shrugs softly. You notice his finger outlining the rim of the cup in lazy circles. “More tea?” The question is more of a polite one, as he doesn't wait for you to answer before filling it a second time.

“I don't think it's appropriate to discuss this with you.”

“Why? I'm your big brother.” You lick dry lips and notice the hot steam rising from the infusion and brushing against his skin protected by his Infinity. You notice his long fingers around the teapot and the few veins protruding from the back of his pale hand.

“That's exactly why.” You pick up the thread of conversion that bubbles to the rhythm in which the tea finds the cup.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

“I don't have to answer that.”

You're purposefully avoiding his gaze now. Too hot inside to maintain eye contact.

“Come on. Don't be a coward, I'll tell you if I have too.”

“I know you have.” You dare to look at him and you swear his eyes are looking past you, the deep sky blue in his eyes seems to consume you completely, it makes you feel smaller than him and you force your hands to stay still on your knees and not run to hug your own chest.

“How do you know?”

“I've heard the rumors.”

“So I'm popular then,” Satoru laughs sarcastically under his breath and picks up the cup.

“I did kiss someone,” you confess spontaneously, and Satoru starts to pay more attention.

“Our parents don't count.” Your mouth opens reproachfully. “I'm talking about a real kiss, on the lips.” You remain silent, your lower lip trembles a little, and you soothe it by chewing it with your teeth. “Oh I knew it. Come closer,” satoru gently pats his crossed legs. “Into my lap.”

“I don't think we…” maybe you weren't sure about a lot of things but, you know and you got the feeling that this wasn't right. The conversion to where it was directed, the knot in your stomach, your wet hands were witness to that.

“I just want to see something up close,” he whispers, but despite the shiver that runs down your back, there is something in his gaze that draws you in: the recognition and, to some extent, the attention you always craved from him.

You glide across the wooden floor like an obedient pet, approaching him with your cursed energy gushing out of you. With his help, you position yourself better on his lap.

At first, his hands are hidden, out of your sight. Gradually you feel them on your waist, then on your hips, stopping finally at your ribs, where your breath hitches. You try to ignore his stare, but it's unavoidable. His right hand slides up, between your ribs and your chest, stopping gently on your chin, forcing you to look at him.

With his thumb, he pulls your lower lip apart, revealing a fleeting flash of your teeth. You hesitate between looking into his eyes or staring at his mouth. The thought of kissing him crosses your mind briefly, but guilt hits you hard, making you dizzy for an instant.

Satoru strokes your lip gently, and before you can process it, he leans over you and kisses you. At first, he holds still, feeling you tremble beneath him, letting what just happened sink into your chest- you have the option to pull away and run but as you remain still he a few seconds later deepens the kiss, exploring every corner of your mouth curiously. His tongue ventures deeper, tasting the herbs still lingering on your tongue.

The hand on your chin prevents you from moving, keeping you trapped in his eyes as he pulls away. Though you wish to hide your face, he holds you there, under his dominance.

“You have such soft lips. And these beautiful tits…” he says, looking down between the slit he formed between the kimono's folds. Your chin is free again after he moves down your throat and stands still on your chest, carefully spreading more of the fabric on either side and your bare chest is at his disposal. “They are beautiful.”

You run from his eyes even though they are not looking at you. Your nipples react to his words and your skin bristles at the thought that he might touch them. Through the Infinity as a barrier Satoru cradles your breasts and something shimmers in his eyes as he lifts them to you.

“I want to suck them.” His eyelashes flutter. You nod, still hesitantly.

When his lips touch you he purrs with satisfaction, you seek to justify your guilt by thinking there is nothing wrong with this. Perhaps, even, the connection between you will grow even stronger after this moment. Satoru grabs your breast from underneath with a large, firm hand, pulling it into his mouth greedily, savoring every inch with his expert tongue and teeth. In the distance, you can hear the distant murmur of clan members, reminding you that they could approach the tea room at any moment.

Alarmed, you look over his head to the door and as you return you catch him looking up at you from below with his tongue flat on a sensitive, hardened nipple. “So so sweet,” he muses. “And they'll be full of milk one day, oh your husband is so lucky.”

You inhale deeply, feeling the air cool your brain. Your body tingles with shivers, and your thighs feel uncomfortably tight on his. Soon, your hips are desperately searching for something to roll over, releasing some of the pent-up heat.

With teary eyes, you plead to him, and he grants you one last suck before pulling away with a popping sound, only to turn his technique back on once more. Satoru wipes the corner of his lips with his thumb, a mischievous smile playing across his face.

“Really fucking sweet,” he repeats, with an even wider grin. “Will you let me do it any time I want?” The rush of adrenaline, coupled with your own thoughts, prevents you from hearing what he says next, but still, you nod. “Even when you're married? Will you let me suck them as much as I want?” he asks with a defiant tone.

Before you can answer, the sound of rapid footsteps on the wooden floor approaches from outside. You hurry to get up from his lap and arrange your attire as you make your way to the window, trying to buy time and improve the appearance of your kimono while looking out over the garden.

Satoru remains motionless on the floor, taking another sip of tea when your father enters the room. You bow in reverence, but are completely ignored as your father welcomes his son home.

[huiyi07]

hey so do you guys ever think about how often Diluc is referred to as the ‘uncrowned king of Mondstadt’ since he’s like the only male heir to the noble families and like it or not, where Jean is the authority of the nation, he’s pretty much the symbolic face of Mondstadt and the values the nation projects— and despite his temperament, Diluc has learned to embrace it wholeheartedly. He’s charismatic, extremely righteous, and he blazes bright and gives the people of Mondstadt a fire that guides them in the dark, quite literally. Like he’s literally Bruce Wayne lmao

But he doesn’t want this, no, and here’s the proof- maybe he did, once upon a time, before everything happened— but he doesn’t really care about wine, he only cares about the winery because of the people in it and his father. He’s righteous but doesn’t give a damn about the rules and the knights of favonius. After what happened to him, he’s clearly a rebel at heart now, not some charming superhero who does everything expected of him, unlike before. In summary, Diluc was someone who was quite literally ready to become an (uncrowned) prince, pretty much royalty in every way except title- and on surface level, he still is, but he throws that mantle away in secret whenever he can.

And then look at Kaeya, his brother who’s always lived in his shadow. It’s easy to see that now, people don’t really project Mondstadt’s values onto Kaeya the same way they do onto Diluc, since lots of people hardly even remember that they’re brothers. And yeah people still think kaeya is reliable and nice, but also because of how Kaeya built his image after Diluc left— an excessively over the top personality that pretends to be sadistic, mean, and at the same time dripping with false charm. So despite that people still find him approachable and nice as expected of a knight, hardly anyone would call him befitting of a prince.

But Kaeya is actually so painfully and authentically ‘princely’ and kind, deep down— the way he deals with children, his fierce loyalty and willingness to protect people at all costs, his self sacrificial tendencies that most often appear for Diluc’s sake. Even the tidbits of lore we get about him scream aristocracy- his ‘ceremonial’ bladework, Alberich family secrets that reveal just how central they are to the kingdom of khaenriah. This is kinda obvious to any player who’s bothered to learn anything about kaeya, but to the characters in game, there are very few that know that side of him.

And whereas Diluc is forcibly projected the title of royalty and secretly rejects it, Kaeya was actually born into it- his family is very important to Khaenriah, and much like how he does with anything related to his past and heritage, he loudly and outwardly rejects anything to do with ‘royalty’. Diluc outwardly rejects what Kaeya shows (a darker, more ‘means justify the end’ nature), and Kaeya tries to hide what Diluc projects (a sophisticated and aristocratic upbringing).

Honestly? It’s as if they were swapped at birth. Kaeya’s real hidden nature, even after everything that happened to him, remains to be so unwavering and people-oriented, while Diluc’s true personality changed drastically over time. Not that Diluc isn’t unwavering or whatever, but Diluc mostly actively rejects relationships and prefers to do everything alone, obsessed with the idea that he doesn’t want anyone to get hurt, whereas Kaeya always, always yearns for companionship and for people to be by his side- solidarity.

Diluc is the poster image of royalty, but his brother who hides in the shadows is a real king. They complete each other, balance each other out, represent the parts that the other hides. I don’t know if hoyoverse always meant them to be that way, but damn they basically represent each other’s parts of themselves that they lost. Yin and Yang, two halves of the same whole.

[lightlavenders]

also i think spop does a great job at showing how people struggle to think rationally in the face of their trauma. like, i couldnt understand why catra would activate the portal despite everyone telling her otherwise, but she'd been *badly* hurt prior to that scene and all she knew was that the rebellion, her enemies, would "lose" if she pulled the switch, so, regardless of the cost, she pulled it

similarly, hordak tries to send catra to beast island when she lies about losing shadow weaver. as far as things that have happened in the horde this isn't so catastrophic, but he insists on it, even arguing with entrapta when she defends catra's place in the horde. i think the only reason he changes his mind is partially because he decides the crimson waste would be an equally fitting punishment. but despite the fact that catra is the only one keeping the horde running, his trauma at being cast out by prime has led him to value absolute loyalty, and he won't keep her around

you can see it in adora too!! she struggles greatly to remember her own inherent value as a person like, all the time, *especially* when shadow weaver is around

and glimmer, after losing angella and having to be responsible for her kingdom and the rebellion, hurting and not used to taking personal responsibility, lashes out and blames adora when things get heated

entrapta too, on beast island, where she's fully aware that her life is in danger as long as she stays there, has to practically be dragged out, because she can't face integrating back into society, having friends again when she thinks she totally failed at being a friend

i just think the show does a great job of explaining why its characters do the things they do. like even if it doesn't make logical sense, there's emotional reasoning for everything, and i think that's neat.

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: Working Closely with Dottore and Pantalone

Working with both Dottore and Pantalone is a constant balancing act. Dottore thrives in the realm of chaos, with his twisted experiments and disregard for ethical boundaries, while Pantalone is the epitome of control and calculated precision. Your role often involves navigating between these two extremes, ensuring that Dottore’s reckless endeavors don’t entirely destroy Pantalone’s well-constructed plans—or his profits.

When working with Dottore, you can never fully predict what kind of experiment or scheme he’ll drag you into. His workspace is full of dangerous contraptions and ominous, mysterious equipment. He treats everything like a puzzle he’s determined to solve, even if it means crossing lines others wouldn’t dare. He might request your assistance in something seemingly innocent, only for it to evolve into a disturbing and twisted experiment.

On the other hand, Pantalone runs things with the precision of a businessman. Every decision is meticulously calculated, and he expects nothing less from those who work closely with him. He’s always thinking several steps ahead, and his projects often revolve around securing wealth and influence for the Fatui. When working with him, you are exposed to high-stakes negotiations, economic manipulation, and subtle power plays.

You often find yourself playing the mediator between Dottore and Pantalone. Dottore’s mad scientist antics sometimes clash with Pantalone’s structured business endeavors. It’s not uncommon for Pantalone to become exasperated by Dottore’s unpredictable actions, and you’re the one who has to smooth things over, explaining Dottore’s reasoning—or lack thereof—while ensuring Pantalone’s operations aren’t compromised.

Joint meetings between the three of you can be tense. Dottore often speaks in vague, almost mocking tones about his experiments, while Pantalone raises a brow, always concerned about how much these ventures will cost the Fatui. You’ll feel the palpable tension as Pantalone tries to rein in Dottore’s more outlandish ideas, but Dottore never gives in easily.

While Dottore can be incredibly intimidating, there’s a certain thrill in working alongside someone as brilliant—and dangerous—as him. He occasionally lets you in on his more technical ideas, expecting you to keep up with his genius. He enjoys showing off his creations and theories, and if you’re able to contribute meaningfully, he’ll regard you with a mix of interest and amusement.

Pantalone, on the other hand, values your ability to manage things with poise. He expects you to understand the broader picture, the economy, and how to influence people subtly. He enjoys teaching you about the intricacies of wealth management and expects you to adopt his same level of attention to detail. If you manage to impress him, he might even offer you a more strategic role in the Fatui’s financial dealings.

Dottore has a twisted sense of humor, and you’ll often find yourself on the receiving end of it. He’ll make cryptic or morbid jokes about his experiments or the people involved, and you’ll need to keep your composure to avoid becoming another one of his “test subjects.” There’s a fine line between working with him and becoming part of his next experiment.

Pantalone, being a man of wealth, spoils those who earn his favor. If you manage to keep things running smoothly between him and Dottore, he will reward you handsomely—whether that’s through financial compensation, gifts, or special privileges. He values competence and loyalty, and he’s more than willing to show his appreciation through luxurious means.

Both Dottore and Pantalone hold significant power within the Fatui, but their power manifests in different ways. Dottore’s influence comes from fear and intellect, while Pantalone’s stems from wealth and control. You’ll need to navigate their distinct power dynamics carefully, knowing that they both have the ability to make or break you in the organization.

Earning trust from either Dottore or Pantalone isn’t easy. Dottore respects intellect and curiosity, while Pantalone values loyalty and efficiency. Over time, you may find yourself in a unique position where you’ve gained the trust of both men, becoming someone they rely on—Dottore for assistance with his experiments and Pantalone for managing the financial and strategic aspects of the Fatui.

Working with them can feel like being part of a dangerously effective machine. Pantalone’s resources fund Dottore’s more elaborate projects, and in return, Dottore’s inventions or discoveries can increase the Fatui’s power.

Working closely with Dottore and Pantalone is a challenging yet intriguing experience, requiring adaptability, wit, and a keen understanding of both chaos and order. It’s a delicate dance between madness and strategy, and if you manage to thrive in such an environment, you’ll earn the respect—and maybe even the protection—of two of the most powerful Harbingers in Teyvat.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ 𝖘𝖓𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖞 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑 ♡

♡ Ahem, @deathbyyeekies requested "the works" from me with a needy Mingi fic and, ya know, the works shall be delivered unto you, darling ♡

♡ Pairing: song mingi x curvy!fem!reader

♡ Summary: After a passionate weekend together you start ignoring Mingi's texts and calls which only makes him crave you even more

♡ Genre: smut sprinkled w/ some plot

♡ Word Count: 1.9kish

♡ Warnings: strong fem dom vibes but Mingi & reader are sorta switch at certain points, mostly he's down bad for you though, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), possessiveness, unprotected sex, creampie

♡ A/N: This is a request so there are some mentions of the reader being smaller than Mingi height wise though she's still a curvy babe!

What had he done? What cardinal sin had he committed that made him worthy of damnation? You ignore him entirely while other women kneel before him, worshiping the very ground he walks on. There are women who’d do anything for him. Follow his commands without question but you, somehow, had deemed him unworthy of such blind loyalty.

No matter how hard he tried to bury his memories of that weekend you spent together, his mind always drifted back to images of you beneath him on your bed, your teeth biting down on smeared, puffy red lips as he collected drops of arousal from your sweet pussy with his curved tongue. He knew it was all in his head but he swore he could still taste you on the back of his tongue, feel you dripping down the back of his throat. His heart nearly beat out of his chest at the thought of it. You were an addiction and the withdrawals were a bitch.

But you, for reasons he laid awake at night trying to uncover, hadn’t called him after. Five days went by without as much as a text from you. The guys all told him to forget about you but he couldn’t. Whatever you had done to him, the all consuming thirst you’d given him for your plush body, couldn’t be undone. It could only be satisfied by you and you alone. So here he is, the man who towered above you when he picked you up at the club that night, on his knees in your living room, fingers stroking your plump hips through the silk of your robe.

None of this had been intentional on your part. At least not at first. You knew his reputation when you met him. It had never crossed your mind that you might become something special to him. No other girl had. You’d simply accepted that you were no different and gave in to him anyway. Anything to feel his body against yours, the bass of his deep voice whispering filthy professions into your ear that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It never occurred to you that he’d pursue you the way that he has and, once it started, you couldn’t bring yourself to put him out of his misery.

The longer you ignored him the more needy he became. You went from having only received flowers from a man once or twice in your life to coming home to dozens of roses every day. There were love notes ancient poets would envy and gifts that cost more than you made in a month. The man was groveling, doing everything he could, until you finally gave in and asked him to come to your place. “Missed me?” you ask, your voice much too sweet for a creature so cruel, as you run your fingers through his hair, nails soothing an itch on his scalp he hadn’t noticed needed scratching before now. 

“Mmhmm” he hums, his full rosy lips brushing along the tender meat of your inner thigh. Your body shivers at the contact. Beneath all of the games, you’d missed him as much as he had you. It’s why you’d spent every night running your fingers over your clit, coming with his name flowing from your lips in the form of hushed moans. It’s why you have nothing beneath this robe that reveals enough of your soft body to make him salivate. You knot your fingers at the base of his scalp, tilting his head back to lock his eyes onto yours.

He’s ridiculously handsome, the prettiest boy you’ve ever laid eyes on, and he’s at your mercy. “You want me, Mingi?” He can only laugh to himself, nibbling at your heated flesh, his tongue leaving strips of moisture along your thigh. “No. Not want” he pants, strong hands sinking into your hips to bring your core so close to him that you can feel his breath warm against your clit, “Need.” You drape your left leg over his shoulder, thigh rocking against his cheek, “Show me.” Mingi can’t tell if that’s a show of dominance or submission, it’s honestly a bit of both, but it’s all he needs to hear to place his tongue along your slit.

“Mingi…” you gasp as it swirls into you, teasing your walls. You tighten around him, coating his tongue like he knew you would. “Sweetest pussy…” he slurps, licking between your folds, his tongue circling your stiff clit, “I’ve ever tasted. Fuck, baby. Mmmm.” Mingi’s hands are locked onto your hips, his hold inescapable as he purses his lips around your clit, suckling at it so deliciously that your legs begin to shake. Each time he flicks his chin up pleasure pulses through your veins.

Freeing one of your hips from his death grip, he brings his middle and pointer fingers to your entrance, splashing in the wetness of your soaked pussy before burying them inside of you. Your eyes fall closed as he hypnotizes you with the rhythm of his wrist. “One more?” he asks, spreading you out enough for his ring finger to join the others. “Yes…please” you whine, basking in the pressure brought on by the introduction of his third finger. This is what you both dreamed of night after night.

You drenching his chin in your juices. Him claiming your pussy with his fingers. Beginning again to own each other. To consume each other. Mingi mercilessly knocks against your sweet spot, having committed to memory the precise angle it takes to make you unravel. With his knuckles grinding hard against your slit, you can feel yourself getting ready to come and he does too. 

“You’re so close aren’t you, beautiful? Ready to come all over my fingers?” 

“Yeah…” you whine, knees growing weaker by the second.

“Yeah?” he teases, fucking into you harder. 

Before Mingi you hadn’t known that fingers could be this magical but fuck if they aren’t casting all sorts of spells on your body. How were you ever really going to deny him when he made you feel like this? Who could make you come the way he does? No one and he knows it. There’s no hiding it when your pussy’s nearly swallowing his entire hand, desperate for release. “Oh my…shit!” you cry out, your body folding as you hit your high. Mingi catches you, carefully lying you back on to the floor, his fingers still pumping in and out of you.

It’s so cute seeing how helpless you are just from his fingers. Squirming on the floor, tits spilling out of your robe, with your mouth wide open saying his name over and over like a broken record. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?” he asks, taking full advantage of having you quite literally in the palm of his hand. “I don’t know…I…” you stutter, finding it impossible to string a sentence together. Mingi leans down, capturing one of your buds between his teeth, “Don’t lie to me.” He nips at your bud firmly enough to make you squeal, a gentle warning of what’s to come if you can’t get your answers straight. 

“I was scared!” you spit out, your hand resting on his as it slows inside of you, eventually coming to a stop. Mingi sits up, eyes narrowing, “Scared? Of what?” You bring your hands over your face to hide your embarrassment, “I was scared to end up like the other girls.” “Other girls?” he asks, sitting down beside you to process what you’re saying, “What 'other girls’?” You can’t bring yourself to answer but he won’t accept your silence. Mingi pulls your hands away from your face, hovering over you, “What ‘other girls’?” “Look, everyone knows that girls love you. You’re always flirting with them and…”

“Well, yeah, it’s my job but that doesn’t mean I sleep with them or send them flowers.” He leans in closer to you, his lips moistening yours with your own juices, “Or write them poems about how beautiful they are. Or beg for them. I begged for you.” All of the blood rushes to your cheeks and you’re…smiling? You roll your eyes at yourself. Ugh. “You did.” “And you know why?” “Why?” “Because,” he sighs, running his hand along the curves of your body, “I want you all to myself. I’ll beg again if I have to.”

His fingertips graze your twitching clit, reawakening your senses. Resting your hands on his cheek, you press your lips to his, your tongue sweeping into his mouth to taste whatever remains of yourself amongst the warmth of his cheeks. “No more begging.” You spread your legs for him to palm your exposed pussy, “I’m yours. Take me.” Take you? You can’t even begin to fathom the fire it ignites inside of him when you say that. “Take me,” you say it like you mean it because you do and Mingi doesn’t hesitate to do so, scooping you into his arms and carrying you to your bedroom, all while kissing you like his life depends on it.

When he finally puts you down you’re standing on your tippy toes, blindly undoing his pants to free the aching thickness stressing the fibers of his boxers. It slaps against your stomach, precum smearing on your lush belly. You stroke his length, tracing the veins that run from base to tip, “You gonna give it to me or what?” Mingi gently pinches your chin between his thumb and pointer fingers, “You’re really bossy for someone so short.”

“Shut up, you love it.”

“Fuck…you’re right” he smiles, wrapping his arms around your thighs to pick you up again.

This time your arms are around his neck, legs hooked around his waist, while he pushes into you. It’s gradual, the fullness that overtakes you inch by toe curling, back arching inch. Mingi spins around, laying back on the bed so that you’re on top of him. But he’s still in control, gripping your supple ass each time he disappears into you. You swallow his cock the same way you did his fingers. It’s almost as if you want him to lose his mind. You do. Burying your face in his neck, you inhale the intoxicating scent of his cologne, “Deeper. I…want all of you. Need.”

Mingi’s long arms close around you, making it impossible to move, and he grants your wish. There’s no “in and out” anymore. Only in. Mingi kisses your shoulder, rocking deep inside of you, fighting off the urge to come from how desperately you’re gripping him. But there's no use fighting it. The euphoria of having you again...it’s even more intense than last time.

“I’m…gonna cum. Where...want...me?”

You piece together his broken words, bringing your lips back to his. Giving him one final kiss, you stare into his eyes and whisper, “In me. Mark your territory.” You feel the air escape his lungs as his body convulses, the warm white liquid that painted your lips less than a week ago now adorning your walls. Mingi’s muscles loosen enough that you have the room to ride him through his high, triggering another of your own as your clit's pleasured by the friction between your bodies.

By the time you’re done with him, there’s nothing left. Every drop of anything he had to offer now belongs to your pussy and the grabbable, jiggly part of your inner thighs that it’s leaking down. You collapse onto his chest, hearing his heart race as you both struggle to catch the breath you lost. Mingi kisses you on the forehead, hugging you tightly again, “Mine.” You yawn, reaching a limp finger up to boop him on the nose, “Yours.”

[rafesapologist]

the set up — rafe cameron

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you've been one of the pogues since childhood, and your loyalty has always lied within your friend group, who is practically your family. when a threat by the name of rafe cameron begins to threaten the pogue's plans, they assign you to gain the trust of the dubious kook and keep an eye on what he's up to. however, now it's been six months since your friends set you up to spy on the kook prince himself, but what you didn't anticipate was to fall head over heels for the boy. your relationship had soon become inviolable shortly after your guys' first exchanges, much to your friends' dismay, and you two became practically inseperable. that was, until rafe discovers the truth.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴(𝘀): angst, cussing, mentions of alcohol use, some mentions of violence

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: she's a bit of a long one so bare with me. there will likely be a part two!

It was 9 o'clock at night and your phone was abnormally barren and noiseless. Nightfall was creeping up on you before you knew it, distracted by the long day of galavanting at the chateau with your best friends'. On a typical day, by the time the sun was setting your boyfriend, Rafe, was eager to call you and maunder about his day. It never mattered what his schedule consisted of, whether it was golfing with topper and kelce, or working with his dad, he made it a part of his routine just to call you and hear your voice before the day was over.

However, this night was different. It was unusual for Rafe to not at least shoot you a text letting you know he wouldn't be calling for a bit, something he usually did when he was busy. Perhaps he was caught up in family matters with his dad and couldn't get to the phone? You thought. But it was still out of character for him not to find a way to contact you, even if it costed him being scorned by his dad.

You sat cross-legged at the foot of your bed, pondering. You began to feel an itching urge to text him and ask if everything was okay, but you hated feeling pushy and your pride was always one to get the best of you in most situations. The idea of texting Sarah soon came to mind and seemed like the best route to take without disturbing your boyfriend in the chance that he genuinely was extremely busy and couldn't get to the phone. You unlocked your phone and went straight to the iMessage app, immediately finding Sarah's contact and beginning to type out a quick message. But, before you hit send, your body began to feel hot and your hands went clammy. Your mind was beginning to get the best of you as it started to race with unnerving thoughts that clouded over your prior hopefulness. Despite how close you were with Sarah, you feared that if you were to ask her what Rafe was up to, she'd become aggravated at your nosiness. But by the growing hour, the urge to find out became overwhelming.

Your fingers shakily typed out a short, to-the-point message followed by them instantly hitting send.

*Y/N: hey, i haven't heard from rafe all day and i'm getting a little worried tbh. is everything okay??*

Your eyes flickered over the delivered message for what felt like a million times as you found it harder to sit still with the nimiety of anxiety coursing through your veins. Your foot tapped vigorously while you bit at your brittle nails. You couldn't seemed to get past the thought of something bad happening to the boy you loved so deeply, and the mere cogitation of the scenario made you feel sick to your stomach.

*SARAH: hey! that's odd. i have no idea, i haven't heard from anyone. maybe stop by my house and see what he's doing? i know wheezie is there, she'll let you in :)*

You breathed out a sigh of relief at her response, thanking the girl mentally for providing you some sort of response, although clarity was not fully provided and the answer as to what was up with Rafe still remained undetermined. But Sarah's message was enough solace to muster up the strength to head over to the Cameron's household, hoping with everything inside of you that your boyfriend was in there. Enough time had passed to where you didn't even care if it was just him ignoring your texts, you just needed to know if he was alright.

After a brief interval of stalling out of pure apprehension, you finally coaxed yourself into driving over to the Cameron's estate. Your legs sped down the stairs hurriedly, making your way passed the coat rack as you snatched the car keys off of it before sprinting out the front door without acknowledging your parents who watched you exit the house with an alarming haste. Their attempts to call out to you and ask where you were going went ignored as you were too focused on one specific thing - Rafe. You wanted to get to him, you needed to get to him.

The fifteen minute drive felt like two hours as you sped to your boyfriend's house, so eager to locate him that you barely realized the speed that you were going down residential areas. But you couldn't care less about anything else than the boy that was prominent in your mind, the one that you spent nearly every single day and night with over the last six months; some of the best in your life so far. Tears begin to prick at your eyes as you gave attention to the thought of losing Rafe, hating how vulnerable and manic you felt in that moment during the drive. Memories of the boy flooded through your thoughts, ones of him holding you as close as he possibly could while you two fell asleep entangled in one another, peppering soft kisses on your face and neck during early mornings just to wake you up because he knew how much you despised getting up before noon, and all the times he would go out of way just to make you happy. Everything about your relationship with Rafe was perfect, regardless of how much your friends' hated the fact that you were together, considering he was at the top of their enemy list.

Once the visual of the enormous white mansion came into view, your heart began to feel as if it was going to pop right out of your chest. Your foot nearly slammed into the floorboard as you raced onto the property's driveway, wasting no time to put the car in park and scurry up the steps that led to the front porch. With three swifts knocks at the door, you were quickly met with the familiar face of the beloved youngest Cameron sibling, Wheezie.

"Y/n! What are you doing here?" Wheezie questioned, a vaunting smile present on her freckled face.

"Hey Wheeze, have you seen Rafe anywhere? I haven't heard from him all day." You confessed timidly while you attempted to keep a calm composure around the adolescent girl, fearing that you'd alarm her if you expressed your true state of distress.

A noticeable frown grew on Wheezie's face in response to your inquiry, which automatically planted a nauseous feeling at the pit of your stomach. Her eyes averted from your gaze and fell to the ground in avoidance to your burning gaze of worry, "Rafe is.. In the kitchen. He got home a few minutes ago, but I feel like I should warn you before you go see him." She admitted diffidently with her stare still pinned at the ground just before your feet.

"What is it, Wheezie?" You catechized due to her visible hesitancy, a state you had only seen the young girl in once when she witnessed Rafe in a yelling match with is dad, one that nearly resulted in him hitting Ward straight in the face.

"He doesn't look very good, Y/n. When he came home he.. He looked like he was on something and he had blood on him. His eyes were all bloodshot, too. I've never seen him this angry before, I think something happened. I don't know what's gotten into him." Wheezie admitted hastily, displaying a sense of urgency that sent goosebumps across your chilled body.

"Okay, okay, it's alright, Wheeze. Just listen to me," you crouched down to meet her height, gripping onto her shoulders with a light squeeze, "go upstairs and close your door. Turn a movie on or play some music, yeah? Just promise me you'll stay in there until I come get you, okay?" You asserted earnestly with your first priority to remove the innocent girl who had fear plastered all over her face. She simply nodded in reply to your request, wasting no time before turning around and heading up the stairs. You waited until you heard the sound of a door closing before stepping foot into the household, your feet feeling like a ton of bricks as you approached the kitchen with caution.

Upon entrance, you were met with the sight of an extremely disheveled Rafe, worse than you had ever seen him before. His eyes were glossy and accompanied with a bloody red appearance over his scleras. Your eyes trailed down to the noticeable blood splatters stained onto his grey polo, an observtion that took the air out of your lungs and your mouth go dry.

"Rafe?" You mousily called out to the fretful boy that was pacing the kitchen while he ran his fingers through his hair in distress. The sound of your soft voice cause his body to come to a halt, freezing in place with his back still turned to you. The sound of a dry, menacing laugh erupted from your boyfriend's throat that broke the defeaning silence in the air. Your eyebrows furrowed, sensing that his hostility may be aimed at you.

"What do you want?" Rafe subtly scoffed in response, still refusing to turn around and look at you.

"I came to make sure you were okay," you spoke up with a timorous voice, "I was worried cause I haven't heard from you." You folded your arms as you stood in place, displaying an evidence lack of confidence in your body language.

"As if you care." He spun around which took you by surprise, getting a better look at the state of disarray he was truly in. The bags under his eyes painted a deep shade of bluish-purple as though he hadn't slept in the last 24 hours. To make matters worse, dried blood was present on his mouth and chin, seemingly from the laceration of an open wound on his bottom lip. You shivered once you noticed how his normally soft features were replaced with a look of anger and resentment.

"What are you talking about? You know how much I care about you, Rafe." You stated, defending your point as he seemed to question your fidelity towards him.

"Cut the bullshit, Y/n! Haven't you lied to me enough? Aren't you tired of keeping up with all these lies?" Rafe squinted his eyes down at you, pointing at you in an accusatory manner that made you flinch. He had never been aggressive with you, far from it. Truth be told, it frightened you to see him like this, especially with the stench of alcohol exuding from him potently.

"Rafe.." you squeaked, feeling small and powerless under his tall stature, "You're scaring me. I don't know what you're talking about. You need to calm-"

"Our whole relationship has been a fucking lie, Y/n! Even down to the moment we met, you and your little piece of shit Pogue friends had this all planned out. I bet you've told them every single thing I've told you, I fucking trusted you! I should've known you Pogues were no good. All you guys do is stick your noses in places they don't belong." Rafe spat at you causing you to stumble back from him some, your back hitting the wall as he cornered you against the wall.

"You can thank your beloved 'friend' JJ for telling me. Boy's got a mouth on him," Rafe snickered as he shook his head in disbelief as he recounted his interaction with the blond Pogue, "ran into him at the golf course and he was running his mouth as usual. Guess I pissed him off so much that he blurted your guys' whole plan out, trying to get a reaction out of me or whatever. Got the shit beat out of him instead." He snarled.

Tears formed in your eyes at the revelation of Rafe finding out about the foolish plan you and your friends came up with months ago. They were always suspicious of the unpredictable Kook, rightfully so, but their mistake was setting you up to gain the rapport of the unknowing boy, who couldn't help but to melt at the sight of you. It was an easy operation, with Rafe falling under your spell within the first three weeks of meeting. But, what they didn't anticipate was you falling for him just as much.

He scoffed again, interrupting your fit of choking sobs, "No, don't cry. Do not stand here with that look on your face like you're the victim in this. You have no idea, y/n, no idea what it did to me when I heard that, and from all people, JJ fucking Maybank."

"Rafe, please-"

"Stop! Stop," Rafe's voice began to break as his words trembled in sorrow, tears escaping his azure eyes, "I loved you, y/n. So much. Never in my life have I opened up to someone, gave someone so much, as I have to you. Every damn day I woke up, only wanting to talk to you. You were always the first thing on my mind, first thing in the morning, last thing at night. You.. You were everything to me, and to think this whole time it's been some fucking sick game to you. Running back to your worthless Pogue friends that are nothing but trouble. How could I be so stupid? Trusting a fucking Pogue like you." His words put wounds in your chest and tore at your heart from the pure hatred for you that exuded from them. You never imagined you'd be at the other end of Rafe's spiteful outbursts at the end of it all, but there you were, looking up at him with a cold look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Rafe. I'm sorry, okay? I know that doesn't fix this but I didn't plan for this to happen. I told them it would only be a month and I would be done, but then I fell in love with you. I didn't spend all that time with you because of them. Our agreement was only-"

"Our agreement," he scoffed at your words, "do you hear yourself? You're unbelievable. You think that makes me feel better? Oh, you were only supposed to manipulate me for a month? How generous of you." Rafe mocked back at you, the high levels of alcohol in his system causing him to slur his words some.

"I-I know, I know that nothing I say will make this better. I know that you'll never trust me and you'll hate me forever after this, but I'm so sorry, Rafe. I didn't mean for this to happen." You looked up at him with sincerity, a pleading look in your eyes.

"I don't hate you. That's the fucking problem." He muttered.

"What?" You questioned, confused at his admission.

"I don't hate you, y/n. Believe me, I wish I could right now, but I don't. You think after everything we've been through that I could just hate you like that? That easy? Y/n, you're the love of my life. Don't you get that? I wouldn't be in the state I'm in right now if I didn't love you. I don't know what to do, and I'm at a war with myself because one part of me needs you, and the other can't even stand to look you in the eyes right now." Rafe sighed as he combed a hand through his dirty blond hair. His harsh demeanor was beginning to slip as his features softened and was replaced with an appearance of sadness and void. It was clear that the boy was completely shattered, and it broke your heart. Your mind began racing in that moment, unsure of really what to do in order to comfort the heartbroken boy. Do you leave him be and rip the bandaid off? Was that too cold of you to do? Or were you supposed to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be alright, despite the uncertainty that things would be.

"Rafe.." Your words trailed off as you watched Rafe's bloody lip begin to tremble. He closed his glossy eyes at the sweet sound of your voice, only hurting him more to realize that he'd miss that beautiful noise. He hated how much he craved you, how much he needed you, because he told himself a million times than he could never trust you again after JJ's confession. But he couldn't bring himself to push you away, although you put him in the position he was in. Hurting him worse than anyone has in his entire life.

"I don't wanna think about it right now, okay? I can't.. I can't stand the thought of waking up without you, y/n. I mean call me fucking crazy, but fucking hell, I still love you. I don't know what's wrong with me." Your boyfriend broke down in sobs, tears streaming down his bruised face.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Rafe. You didn't deserve this." You shook your head at his insecurity, assuring him that none of this was on him.

"Please stay with me tonight, we can talk about this in the morning or whatever, but please." Rafe pleaded, looking down at you with a pitiful look on his face that made your heart swell. His hand was placed at your waist, with a fistful of your shirt in his grip, pleading to your with full sincerity.

"Of course I will."

[giannaln4]

I just wanted to take a moment to say how proud I am of Lando.

People seem to forget that he got thrown in the fight for both championships the same year he got his maiden win and he’s done nothing but deliver, and this year, even if the WDC is not possible, I know it won’t be the last time he’ll have the opportunity to fight for one, and he’s already learned and grown so much from everything he’s been through, experiencing new things he has never had the chance to simply because he didn’t have a fighting car until this season.

Has he made mistakes? Yes, and I think today’s race was proof of that, but McLaren have also made a lot of mistakes that can cost them big points because apparently you can take the car out of the midfield but you can’t take the midfield out of the team.

Anyway, despite them not fully supporting his championship fight from the begging and making questionable decisions, I’m still rooting for the team because I KNOW how much it would mean to Lando. He’s been with that team for YEARS and he’s put his sweat, tears, and blood since the moment he became part of it. I truly admire him for the trust and loyalty he has shown to that team.

Like Lando said, they’ll keep fighting till the end and they are not giving up until it’s over. All the love to him and to all the Lando fans who have been THROUGH IT today. 🫶🏻🩷

Note: I’m not talking shit about any driver or any team. Please keep your negative comments to yourself as this is very obviously directed to the fans only.

[gay-jesus-probably]

Let me just preface this by saying everyone is allowed to have their own opinions, TOTK is a really fun game, and I'm glad that other people have been able to enjoy the story as well.

...But I'm being dead serious with my complaints about the narrative being 100% imperialist propaganda. And I'm getting really tired of people replying to those posts by saying it can't be imperialist propaganda, because imperialism is bad and the game says that Hyrule is the good guys.

Like, guys. That's not the argument you think it is. Yes, I am aware that the game tells us Ganondorf is a flat, one dimensional character with no ambitions, interests or motivations beyond destroying the entire world for the hell of it, and also it's totally not racist because he's green, not brown like literally every other member of his race. Unfortunately literally all of these things are kind of the entire goddamn problem.

See, the thing is, everyone trying to make these arguments is accepting the game at face value. Hyrule is the perfect and almighty nation chosen by the demigod Zonai, and whose royal family has the right to rule due to their divine heritage. The other races exist to serve the glory of Hyrule, and they're happy to do it. Ganondorf is pure evil and must be stopped at any costs.

But that's not how anything works. The story informing me that Hyrule is the ultimate good that has done nothing wrong is the whole goddamn reason why I don't trust Hyrule at all. There's always more of a reason than that. And the game fucking suggests there was more going on! Ganondorf mentions Rauru has repeatedly 'invited' the Gerudo to become Rauru's subjects, and let's be clear here, it doesn't matter how peaceful those 'invitations' were, when the guy who owns every single magical nuclear missile in the world repeatedly demands you surrender to him, there's always going to be an implied threat of 'do it or get magically nuked'. Just that power difference alone shows us exactly why Ganon would feel threatened enough to invade. It's because Rauru was holding a gun to his head, and Ganon was expected to just trust that he'd never pull the trigger.

And yes, even if it wasn't intentional Hyrule was always threatening to wipe out the other nations, considering the entire royal family walked around openly wearing their magical nukes as cute accessories. If they couldn't be safely hidden away, there wouldn't be four other secret stones sitting untouched in a vault until the last second.

But that's never acknowledged. Of course Hyrule is the only nation with the right to the secret stones; even if other races get to touch them, they can only have them if they swear eternal blind loyalty and servitude to the glory of King Rauru and Princess Zelda. Ganon wanting to have one magical nuclear bomb out of a stockpile of eight of them is proof that he's dangerous and evil. I mean my god, what if he just walked around all day wearing a magical nuke and using its power for his own benefit, that would be terrifying. It's only okay when Hylian royalty does it.

And you can't argue that Ganon betrayed his own people, considering we don't get to know fucking anything about his relationship with his people. He's shows as the leader of the Gerudo, we're told he's a hero to his people, he has soldiers that loyally follow him into battle... and then oh nevermind, they all hate him and will spend eternity trying to atone for sharing a race with him. How did the entire race do a complete 180 in the span of at most a few months? Who cares, what's important is that now they accept they exist to serve Hyrule so they get to be the good guys now and we don't need to know why they were following Ganondorf, or why they stopped following him.

Basically my point is that yeah, I fucking know how the game insists everything went down. That's the entire reason I think it's imperialist propaganda, because the entire story feels like Hylian propaganda to conceal and justify some horrific atrocities that caused all of this. I literally do not believe that I'm getting the story through reliable narrators, especially considering that the only people allowed to actually tell me the story are all the characters that have the most reasons to be heavily biased in favour of Hyrule.

When the game shows me protagonists that have a massive amount of power and control over the entire world, then says the bad guy doesn't like that system just because he's evil, and literally nothing and nobody in the game says anything to oppose that take, I have some questions about what the fuck the story isn't telling me. And I'd really appreciate it if people would stop trying to argue with me just by telling me to stop asking those questions.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

I don’t really pay much attention to the actors’ interviews but I would say I understand where Charlie Vickers is coming from when he says Sauron doesn’t love Galadriel, in the human meaning of the word (because he’s a God). I would also like to point out that, since the showrunners have established that Galadriel and Sauron’s connection will remain at the core of all 5 season of “Rings of Power”, Charlie probably doesn’t want to either spoil things or doesn’t know what the future holds for his character. Just leave him be, please. I know why journalists bombard him with “shipping” questions but it’s kind of tiring, I would be so done if I was him, too. Charlie is doing an amazing job bringing Sauron to life, he deserves all the awards.

With that being said, I don’t agree with the “Sauron isn’t capable of love” argument that gets thrown around a lot. I think this comes from a deep misunderstanding of his character; and Charlie understands Sauron very well, and that’s why I think he just doesn’t want to spoil things. Sauron/Mairon has the ability to love, like all other Maiar do. This is not lore-breaking at all.

Mairon was created by Eru as a Maia of Aulë, the Vala (God) of smithing and handiwork, yes. He was among the most powerful Maiar. Eru created him to be good and trustworthy, but also to love several things: crafting, creation, beauty, order and perfection, and to dislike wastefulness.

Melkor/Morgoth used Mairon’s love of order and perfection to corrupt him, and turned it into an obsession with domination, control and power. Morgoth corrupted his goodness and loyalty into evil and treachery (turning him into “the great deceiver”). His love of beauty corrupted into ugliness, by the breeding of the Orcs. Mairon’s greatest virtues became his downfall. Tolkien wrote about all of this.

And who better embodies the qualities of “beauty” and “perfection” than Galadriel herself? Her beauty is the stuff of legends, and everyone is at awe when they first meet her. Her very gold/silver hair inspired the most legendary jewels in existence: the Silmarils. The light of the Two Trees of Valinor shine on her hair and eyes. How could Sauron/Mairon not love her? That’s the question. She’s the materialization, the physical form, of everything he was designed to love.

Which explains this expression over here, when he first lays eyes on her:

Galadriel represents the redemption Mairon/Sauron seeks and wants (but cannot have), after Morgoth’s defeat. His desire to heal Middle-earth from Morgoth’s work and his love for Galadriel are intertwined, and one of the same. Whenever he gets compared to Morgoth, it triggers him; it’s a reminder that both redemption and Galadriel are out of his reach.

However, since Mairon was corrupted by Morgoth, his love is also corrupted. I’ve said this many times, already. This is the dark side of love. Obsession, possessiveness, jealousy, insatiable lust, suffering, heartbreak, and hatred blend in the midst. And this is why I think he fell in love with her when he was on his “repentant era”, because we saw the contrast between S1 and S2.

And we saw many of this play out in both S1 and S2, already. His reaction to her rejection of him (the need to punish her)? Him obsessing over her, stalking her from afar. Him being possessive to the point of actually forcing them to bind together because he wants her at any cost? And this will probably only get darker from here on, as Sauron goes deeper into evil.

There is no fluff here (that was S1). The doves are, truly, dead, moving forward.

[aphroditelovesu]

Can I request general headcanons for yandere Jacaerys Velaryon? ❤️

''You are my whole world.'' — Jacaerys Velaryon.

❝ 🐉 — lady l: I had this saved in my drafts for a while and only remembered after I got into it lol, it was practically finished. But anyway, I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! I'm not going to lie, Jace was my favorite character in this second season.🥺

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, overprotectiveness, mention of kidnapping and imprisonment, toxic relationships and perhaps a bit soft yandere.

❝🐉pairing: yandere!jacaerys velaryon x gender neutral!reader.

Jacaerys Velaryon is a born worshiper, deeply in love and devoted to his beloved. His feelings are pure and healthy at first; he desires only good, happiness and your security. However, the losses that occurred from the beginning of the Dance of Dragons affected him deeply. Over time, Jace becomes increasingly smothering and overprotective, reaching the point where your needs no longer matter, only your safety.

Jace just wants your good, your safety and your love. He's not sure when his feelings became so strong, he just knows he has to keep you protected at all costs. You have become the center of his world and he will be damned if he lets you be taken away from him. Not that he's going to let that happen.

He is so devoted and loyal, you will always be put first, your needs will be met beforehand and anything you want, he will do. He is yours to command, just as you are his to love and protect.

Jacaerys devotion transcends the limits of ordinary love. From the beginning, his affection is genuine and deep, a burning flame that illuminates every aspect of his life. He dedicates himself entirely to his darling, placing you at the center of his universe and shaping his actions and decisions around your well-being.

Jacaerys, if given the opportunity, will keep you trapped somewhere. He knows it's not ideal, but he's willing to do anything to not lose you, including locking you up somewhere safe that only he and people he trusts can access. He will deal with all your anger as long as you are unharmed.

Over time, Jace begins to show obsessive worry. He starts to watch your every step, always present and attentive as if any distraction could result in a tragedy. His intensity is palpable, and he becomes a constant presence, like a dragon that never rests and is always alert.

At first, it may seem like an expression of his deep love, but it quickly becomes apparent that his behavior is more than simple protection. He begins to isolate you from friends and family, believing that anyone could pose a threat. He argues that the world is too dangerous and that only he can guarantee your safety.

He will isolate you from everything and everyone so that you, in the end, trust and become completely dependent on him. Jace will feel guilty about this, especially when he looks into your eyes, but he can't help it. Just the thought of losing you is too much for him to handle.

Jace continues to treat you with extreme affection. He does everything to meet your needs, anticipating your desires and trying to compensate for your loss of freedom with displays of affection and dedication. He sincerely believes he is acting out of love, even though he realizes his behavior is suffocating you.

In addition to his overwhelming overprotectiveness, Jace is extremely possessive of you. Although he tries not to show off too much, he feels jealous very often and may become more harsh and controlling when this happens. He will never hurt you but he doesn't want to and won't accept being replaced or left in the background. You belong to him and only him.

Despite his growing possessiveness, Jace maintains an unwavering loyalty. He is willing to sacrifice anything, including his own happiness, to ensure the well-being of his beloved. His devotion manifests itself in an absolute commitment, where he puts your needs and desires in the background, always prioritizing your safety.

Jacaerys Velaryon has your desires in his heart and he wants your good and your happiness, but he is willing to sacrifice them for your safety. He knows it's not right, he's not that delusional, but the fear of losing you makes him make unconventional decisions. Jace will deal with whatever comes of these actions, as long as you are safe and alive. It will all be worth it as long as he sees you breathe.