#not only is he a manipulator who refuses to take responsibility for his own actions but he also finds a way to blame anyone but himself

[mxhirus]

oh my god nobody understands how terribly i loathe hazbin hotel im going to actually kill myself in front of someone GUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

no cause why is this the 7 deadly sins of writing. and dont get me started on vivenne fucking medrano rn

i need this show to get set on fire and then combust

can this even be called a show when its so piss poor written and executed

perchance

[wylanslcve]

The next time I see someone call Wylan "boring" because his trauma isn't "as bad" as the other Crows' (namely Kaz and Inej's) I'm going to throttle someone. Firstly, trauma isn't comparable: trauma is trauma, regardless of what traumatic experience a person goes through. The point of Six of Crows is that all the Crows are traumatised but find comfort and solace within one another and galvanise each other's healing process.

Secondly, Wylan is a victim of ableism and emotional, mental and physical abuse - which is traumatic - and his story makes me feel physically ill whenever I think about it. As a disabled child, Wylan needed accommodations that his father refused to give him: instead, J*n treated him as something that needed fixing, and treated his disability as pure stubbornness that could be forced out of him with punishment and abuse. He "tried specialists, tonics, beatings, hypnotism" - which are traumatic. J*n also manipulated Wylan into believing that it was his fault by constantly shifting the blame to him (a behaviour very typical amongst abusers). As a result, Wylan never acknowledged his father's behaviour as abusive, which is why he tells Jesper in Crooked Kingdom that "he isn't evil" despite J*n literally trying to kill him twice. In fact, Wylan tries to justify how his father treated him, claiming that he "had done his best to care for his son, and if he’d failed, then the defect lay with Wylan." He also takes it as a display of affection and the desire to protect him, claiming that "his father might sound cruel, but he wasn’t just protecting himself or the Van Eck empire, he was protecting Wylan as well."

Wylan blaming himself for his father's actions doesn't stop there: in the period after Inej is kidnapped by J*n, Wylan feels responsible for what happened despite knowing that "he couldn’t have prevented his father from double-crossing the crew and kidnapping her. He knew that, but he still felt responsible". The guilt is eating away at him because he's so accustomed to taking the blame for his father's wrongdoings. Even after finding out the truth about his mother, which was really the catalyst for him recognising that J*n is indeed evil, his initial response is him blaming himself for it: "it was me. I caused this. He wanted a new wife. He wanted an heir. A real heir, not a moron who can barely spell his own name." This is only made even more sickening when we learn that Wylan would hear how his parents "fought all the time, sometimes about me", which would only amplify his feelings of responsibility for his father sending Marya away, stripping her of her life, family and fortune.

This is all without him not being allowed to grieve his mother's "death". This is all without the imposter syndrome and self-loathing Wylan experiences as a result of all of this, the fear that the Crows would see him as worthless and defective the way his father did and abandon him.

tl;dr: stop overlooking Wylan's trauma because he too has deep mental and emotional scars.

[moeitsu]

Alright, we need to have a little chat about Dutch van der Linde and some of the truly bizarre discourse I’ve come across here recently. If you’re someone who ships Arthur and Dutch, that’s your business. Enjoy what you enjoy. But—and it’s a big but—if you’re going to ship them and simultaneously argue that Dutch isn’t narcissistic or manipulative, I’m going to need you to take several seats.

I just stumbled across a post where someone was upset about how the fandom "dogpiles" on Dutch because "he’s only human, and humans make mistakes." Fair enough, I thought—everyone is entitled to their perspective. But then I got curious and looked into their blog and realized this same person is reposting Arthur x Dutch dub-con content like it’s a casual Tuesday. Look, read whatever you want, it’s your life—but you can’t sit here and preach empathy for Dutch while simultaneously engaging with material that explicitly highlights his manipulative nature.

This kind of double standard? It's exhausting.

Dutch van der Linde is one of the most unique characters in Rdr2. He’s charismatic, intelligent, and passionate—qualities that draw people to him, including the members of his gang. But he’s also deeply narcissistic, manipulative, and utterly incapable of taking responsibility for his actions. These traits are the very foundation of his downfall, and they’re written so clearly into his character arc that it’s impossible to miss.

Dutch weaponizes loyalty. He preys on the vulnerabilities of people who trust him, especially Arthur and John. He creates an illusion of a "better world" to justify his increasingly erratic and self-serving decisions, all while framing himself as the misunderstood hero of his own story. This isn’t slander; it’s canon.

So when a big portion of the fandom calls Dutch out for being manipulative, it’s not because we’re "ignoring his humanity." It’s because we’re recognizing that his humanity is deeply flawed. That’s the point. You can empathize with his complexities without excusing his actions or demanding others do the same.

It’s wonderful that more people are discovering the game. Seriously, welcome aboard! The more people who experience this masterpiece, the better. But if you’re new here, take a moment to read the room. Dive into the rich narrative, explore the characters, and engage with the fandom thoughtfully. Don’t come in hot with takes like “disliking Dutch is ableist” or accusing people of lacking empathy for pointing out his glaring flaws. Not only does it derail meaningful conversations, but it also alienates people who are here to discuss the complexities of these characters in good faith.

Also, using heavy terms like "ableism" in a context that doesn’t apply? That’s not it. Critiquing a character’s actions isn’t an attack on their humanity—it’s an acknowledgment of it. Let’s save those terms for situations where they’re actually relevant, not for defending fictional characters.

Enjoy the content you like, ship the pairings that make you happy, but don’t expect people to turn a blind eye to Dutch’s faults just because you’ve decided to romanticize him. The beauty of Red Dead lies in its ability to spark debates about morality, loyalty, and the gray areas of human nature. Let’s not dilute that by refusing to acknowledge the darker sides of certain characters.

And for the love of all things, let’s stop accusing people of lacking empathy for engaging critically with the narrative. There’s a difference between analyzing a character and trashing them, and most of the fandom is doing the former.

If you’re out here dropping takes that don’t hold water, don’t be surprised when people disengage—or, in my case, hit that block button.

[spacelazarwolf]

I keep seeing posts claiming Israel’s UN representatives are wearing gold Star of David patches at meetings now? I’m inherently suspicious that it’s misinformation tho

this is actually true.

context: gilad erdan, a representative of israel to the united nations, pinned a yellow star of david on his jacket that reads "never again" in honor of the people killed in the october 7th massacre, saying he will wear the badge until the massacre is condemned by the un security council. erdan is opposed to a ceasefire.

response: erdan's actions and comments have been solidly condemned by many in israel, including government officials.

"Erdan thinks more about the Likud party primaries than about Israel's political and diplomatic efforts," one senior official told Haaretz. “We always attack other countries when they manipulate the memory of the Holocaust, and here comes the Israeli ambassador and does the same on the most central stage of world diplomacy.” He went on to say that Erdan had been acting independently of the rest of the governmental apparatus since the beginning of the war. "The feeling is that there is a person there who does what he wants and is not a partner in our overall effort." Another senior official in the ministry said that Erdan “acts on his own and we are very angry with him. These messages are completely contrary to our policy. He did not consult with anyone. He is deeply involved in a political campaign and is taking advantage of his position as Israel’s ambassador to the United Nations to advance his personal interests.”

Yad Vashem chairman Dani Dayan also slammed Erdan's act, saying it "disgraces both Holocaust victims and Israel." "The yellow star symbolizes the Jewish people's helplessness and the Jews being at the mercy of others. Today we have an independent state and a strong army. We are the masters of our fate. Today we shall wear a blue-white flag, not a yellow star."

In response to Erdan's move, Avi Dabush, a Sderot local who survived the October 7 slaughter, wrote: "What a disgrace. There is a cap. As a survivor who waited for the army for 8 hours in a failure that destroyed everything we knew and thought about the country, I refuse to participate in this discussion. We are not Holocaust survivors. We rose from this inferno and will rise again. The ability to see everything that occurs to us solely through the lens of the Holocaust is part of the issue, not the solution."

(source)

important things to keep in mind: - erdan is the grandson of holocaust survivors, so while many have condemned his statements as offensive, it is likely they are not entirely selfish or politically motivated. - erdan is a member of the likud party, which is quickly losing popularity in israel and has a history of fraud and corruption. it is not a 1:1 comparison, but the....vibes are similar to that of trump's presidency.

my takeaway: personally, i agree that his statements were offensive. i think they trivialize a catastrophic event in jewish history and twist jewish pain and trauma to justify horrific levels of violence. even taking him in the best faith possible, that he truly is worried for the safety of the jewish people, that he's worried hamas will succeed in their mission of driving all jews into the sea, the reality is that bombing innocent civilians in gaza is not only doing nothing to get hamas out of power but is actively destroying the safety of jews both in israel and in the diaspora.

i also worry that a lot of gentiles are going to use this as an invitation to engage in even more softcore holocaust denial and holocaust inversion, block any soft of conversation about how the holocaust shaped the modern state of israel and modern jewish identity, and just generally be really really horrible. my hope is that there are more people who will see this for what it is, which is an idiot politician representing a crumbling government grasping at straws.

[loki-us]

Welcome to my Mega Problematic Sylvie post

I wanted to make a list of everything problematic about Sylvie in s1 and s2 because she gets away with whatever she wants and it bugs me to no end that she never takes accountability for any of the pain she causes.

You have been warned. So let's get into it.

1. Sylvie’s way is the only way and she expects everyone else to just bend to her will without complaint

2. She is physically mentally and emotionally incapable of trusting anyone besides herself

3. She uses other people's emotions to manipulate them into getting what she wants

4. She refuses to even entertain the possibility that anything besides her own opinion is correct

5. She criticizes others' attempts to clean up the mess she caused while she herself does absolutely nothing about it

6. Always looking to ruin and run, taking the easy way out and avoiding any accountability

7. Puts her own need for revenge above the well-being of everyone else in the multiverse

8. Blames everyone else for the problems she herself caused

9. Insults everyone at the TVA for their lack of empathy despite it being the exact reason she didn't want to return in the first place. Every critique she delivers just illustrates how much of a hypocrite she is

10. Berates Mobius and all the people who are actually trying to fix her problem even though they never once blamed her for the mess they're in

11. Acts like she's doing everyone a favor just for being there and insulting everyone when in reality, Loki had to ask multiple times before finally getting her to return

12. Never willing to put in more effort than just destroying everything and walking away

13. Even when directly asked for her help, Sylvie straight up refuses. She couldn't care less about anything besides her McDonald's employee-of-the-month badge

14. Sylvie gaslights Loki into thinking they're the same, that she's not in the wrong because they're both only thinking of themselves. In reality, Sylvie is thinking only of going back to her own timeline, alone, while Loki is thinking only of making his friends happy, because that's what makes him happy too.

15. While being completely unsympathetic to Loki struggling with his greatest fear, Sylvie makes the decision that Loki's friend's are all better off where they are now. But is it really better for them, or just better for Sylvie?

16. And now, after 11 episodes and countless requests for Sylvie's help, she actually cares about the rest of the multiverse. And yet it's still solely because her own timeline is finally in danger

17. When Loki ends up sacrificing himself to solve the problem Sylvie created, her only response is a joyful shrug that she's now happy, alone, and responsibility-free.

Overall, I know Sylvie's only purpose as a character is to be a darker mirror of Loki and everything she does is understandably informed by her trauma. This is likely a result of having a limited-episode-series and having all male/not diverse writers creating female characters. Sylvie is used only as a comparison to Loki before he met Mobius, and unfortunately is never given any thoughtful character moments like Loki had showing how he was aware that his actions hurt others. In 1x1, Loki talks about how he doesn’t enjoy hurting people and only does it to maintain control. The only time we ever see Sylvie reconsider her actions is when she didn’t kill Timely, which I think is more because she saw herself in Timely as someone who didn’t want to be controlled by their ‘destiny,’ not because she developed any kindness or compassion toward him.

I understand the fact that Sylvie was never given someone like Mobius to allow her the opportunity to change like Loki did, but I don't think that should excuse her causing so much pain and being so self-centered. Sylvie never trusted or cared about anyone and that's also my biggest argument against Sylki; her loving or being driven by anyone besides herself is just so inconsistent with her entire character.

Anyway, my purpose here was not to be hateful or to search for any reason to criticize Sylvie, but instead to look critically at her character since I've seen a lot of people praise her as the strong, independent female Loki whose behavior can always be forgiven. Unfortunately, the way she was written is that Sylvie turned her own trauma into everybody else's problem and they all spent 2 seasons trying to clean up her mess. That's my take thank you and goodnight

[aro-geo-turtle]

Thinking about a potential angsty malevolent au that role swaps Arthur and Parker because I honestly don’t think Parker could have reformed John like Arthur did

Like, obviously this is super speculative cause we’ve never met Parker and only know a bit about him 2nd hand

But we know he looked at pathetic drunken mess Arthur Lester, decided that was the man he wanted to be detectives with, and then somehow actually managed to drag him back into being a quasi-functional human being.

We also know he and Arthur were a very effective investigative team, so he probably Arthur balanced out in a lot of ways. Arthur is very reckless and stubborn and throws himself at his problems, maybe Parker was more wary and cautious, more of a planner. Arthur has a remarkable talent for getting people to hate him in a weirdly obsessive way, perhaps Parker had the genuine kind-hearted charisma.

And we know from part 39 that Parker was the one who did most of the physical intimidation and brute strength parts of the job, so he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty when it came to it.

And I feel like this paints a picture of a man who could get along well enough with the John Doe we have today…but maybe not the Entity he started as.

A big part of the reason Arthur and John’s relationship works is because they have basically the same response to feeling threatened: yell, scream, blame the other person for everything wrong in the world, hit where it hurts, give as good as they take, refuse to give an inch. And when they push too hard, this leads to some really horrible fights. But eventually they wear themselves out, all the feelings are out in the open, they pick themselves up, apologize, and move forward.

This dynamic is established very early on. In the first episode, John/the entity has all the knowledge, he knows more about what happened, about the supernatural, about Arthur’s surroundings. And he immediately uses this power to lie to and manipulate Arthur. But Arthur doesn’t let him keep that power over him for long. He gets his wits about him, establishes his own power as the one with the physical body here, and starts shoving back against John. Every time he does what John says, he makes it clear it’s because he has agreed it’s the best course of action. They establish a balance quickly.

This early in his independent existence, basically all John has is the King’s instincts of “humans are weaklings to be manipulated” and Arthur immediately asserts that that attitude is not going to stand with him, forcing John to rethink his relationship with humanity

Parker…likely wouldn’t have Arthur’s stubborn reckless audacity. I think he’s be more likely to respond with caution, bide his time and try not to make this thing mad until he can figure out how powerful it really is. With the lie that he was the one to kill Arthur, Parker might even extend compassion and empathy towards the entity, thinking that this thing has no memory of who he once was and no bodily autonomy at all, he’s probably really scared and covering it up.

This caution and empathy would serve Parker well in a whole lot of situations and probably save him from a lot that Arthur blunders into, but if he does a lot of what the entity tells him to do with little complaint…he’s going to be accidentally reinforcing the kings instincts that humans are to be bossed around instead of challenging them

And if bides his time until he’s fairly sure the entity can’t really hurt him and then starts pushing back and challenging him, that might feel like a betrayal or deception to the entity

I’m not sure exactly how things would go down, but I just think that Arthur was really the only person who could have set John on the right path by reckless challenging him from the beginning

(Parker paired with Yellow on the other hand… now that’s perfect and everyone needs to go read Refrain from the Surrogate AU right now)

[scoobydoodean]

reading your metas and realizing that the reason i find sam so annoying is that hes both obsessed with being a grown up who can make his own choices and isnt a child, and absolutely committed to never taking responsibility for his choices when push comes to shove.

hes a grown up when it comes to making decisions but not when those decisions have consequences

And it's very much on purpose in the writing, is the thing. This exact dynamic is one of the only lines of dialogue between Michael and Lucifer in 5.22 that really reflects Sam and Dean's more current conflicts (Recall that the lore here is that Lucifer twisted the first human soul (Lilith) into demonhood to spite God):

MICHAEL/ADAM: Oh, you know why! I have no choice, after what you did. LUCIFER/SAM: What I did? What if it's not my fault? MICHAEL/ADAM: What is that supposed to mean? LUCIFER/SAM: Think about it. Dad made everything. Which means he made me who I am! God wanted the Devil.

"Because someone wanted me to be bad, I have no choice but to be bad." The things that happen to us give us context and create room for sympathy, but they don't make our choices everyone else's fault. (And yes—free will does exist to Chuck's great frustration, or he wouldn't have had a season long tantrum about Team Free Will not ever doing what he wanted).

What's more, in this same conversation where Lucifer excuses his own actions as outside of his control, he tells Michael to defy their father's desires—something he just finished saying wasn't possible. He just said that he had to be exactly who he was meant to be, but he doesn't apply this same logic to Michael's God-given role. He only twists the narrative of their lives when it's about him, to make himself sound uniquely powerless. He assigns Michael all the culpability and control over how this fight goes down when Lucifer actively worked to bring this moment where they battle to fruition as well (including by stocking a mass grave in 5.10). It's manipulative bullshit.

How does Michael respond to all of this a few moments later? Before anything, by expressing resetment for Lucifer's refusal to take responsibility for his own choices:

MICHAEL/ADAM: You know, you haven't changed a bit, little brother. Always blaming everybody but yourself.

We can also reflect on the last time Lucifer threw himself a pity party about how mean his family is—to justify digging a mass grave into which he had dumped hundreds of bodies for a ritual to raise Death. He said it wasn't his fault then either—that Michael made him do it by betraying him—by refusing to stand by his side supporting his every decision (which, while framed as somehow making him powerless, strongly suggest a desire to control others feelings and for everyone including his older brother to fall in line behind him and do his bidding without question). It's never his fault. It's always someone else's fault for being mean to him.

[saintblk]

*ೃ— spider’s web | NANAMI KENTO

warnings: foul language, smut, p in v, vaginal penetration, slight slut-shaming, sort of kinda sub!nanami, implied virgin!nanami, nerd!nanami, college au— gender neutral afab reader, considered to be black + thick

word count: 606 (so short i know>_<)

note: ngl idk if i like this but i been having nerd!nanami brainrot for a while i might write another part to this idk

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS INTERACT AT YOUR OWN RISK

NANAMI KENTO prided himself on his work ethic. he didn’t allow for anything, or anyone, to come between him and his perfect gpa. that included skipping out on gojo’s dumb parties, handing work in far earlier than he needed to, and spending all his free time in the library. it also included approaching professors and insisting he get to work on his own. one thing he despised most was depending on other people for a good grade.

so when you were assigned to be his partner for a research paper, he wasted no time in raising the concern with the prof before he left the lecture hall. unfortunately, he’d be quickly turned away after some speech about working with people in the real world.

as he suspected, meeting with you was as difficult as he expected it to be. as soon as you approached him for contact information, he couldn’t help but further curse your prof. you were followed by your equally loud friends, dressed in short revealing clothes. nanami, to his assumption, had you figured out in a minute.

he was not surprised by your lack of response to his texts, how little you showed up to class, and the new man he saw on your arm every week. to him, you were nothing but a manipulative little slut who had everyone wrapped around their finger, and he refused to be taken advantage of.

the position he found himself in just a few days later would say otherwise. you showed up at his dorm abruptly, informing him the library was closed for renovations neither of you knew about. he allowed you to come in and bit his tongue when you plopped down on his bed.

the last thing he expected was to have you climb atop him, tight walls enveloping his shaft as you sunk down onto his member. he couldn’t recall exactly what led to it; at least not with the way you clenched around him. while he failed to stifle his whimpers and groans, you ground your hips down against his in an attempt to force his noises out.

“lemme hear you,” you breath. “know you wanna let it out.”

as if he was waiting for those words, nanami let out a choked whine and clasped at your pudgy hips. he needily bucked his hips up into you, thrusting his aching member between your walls. a loud and sudden moan escaped your mouth, encouraging him to repeat his actions.

as he chased the unfamiliar feeling overcoming him, he mindlessly pistoned in and out of you. your nails dug into his chest and your mind went blank. every time he hit the spot inside you that made your toes curl, you felt yourself lose more and more of your sanity to him.

“f-feels so good-fuck…” he bites out.

nanami, who’d never been inside anything besides his own fists, fucked into you with reckless abandon. any concern he might’ve had about the assignment flitted from his brain as did his reservations about you. it was not long before you found sweet release and gushed onto his pelvis with nanami following close behind. despite trying to hold out the way you clenched around his manhood made it impossible. with a bruising grip on your waist, he thrust into you until he emptied his seed into your womb.

it didn’t take very long for him to knock out from exertion, only to come to with an email from you, the attached document containing a nearly complete assignment. though he might’ve thought being your partner would be absolutely pointless, it seemed you were useful for something after all.

2023 ©️ all rights reserved by saintblk (me) | do not copy, repost, promote, or translate any of my works without my permission

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 61

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 61: The Taste of Silence

AO3 - Masterlist

*smut*

The stern tone of his mother’s voice sliced through the quiet of Aemond’s chambers as she briskly entered, flinging open the door before shutting it with a loud bang behind her. 

Aemond looked up, his expression turning into a scowl, feeling annoyance flare up within him. He continued to pour himself a cup of bitter wine, taking a gulp of it, before setting it aside, as his mother stood before him, her face etched with disapproval, eyebrows knitted together in unmistakable anger. 

“What were you thinking?” She demanded, her voice laced with frustration. 

He wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Like a feral dog, he was poised to bite first. 

Aemond leaned casually against his desk and responded with a nonchalant drawl, “Forgive me, Mother, for merely speaking the truth. It’s not my fault they’re bastards–”

“You said it to their faces!” Alicent interjected sharply. “After the ordeal with Vaemond – what if they bring this to Viserys? What if they demand your tongue? I can’t shield you if you persist in provoking them openly!”

Her words were a mix of fear and exasperation, an attempt at conveying the precariousness of their situation and her concern for the consequences of his brash actions. Aemond, however, was less perturbed by the potential fallout, his stance and tone reflecting this. 

“I am not as defenseless as Vaemond; I’ll be ready if they dare to come for me,” Aemond retorted with confidence in his own prowess. He would not cower in fear of what the bastards would do to him for telling what was plain for all to see, and for what Vaemond had lost his head for. Gone was the child who had been ambushed and overpowered. In his place stood a man, fully prepared to dispense the same level of mercy that had once been dealt to him. 

“Why do you persist in provoking them?” Alicent demanded, her voice ringing in volume and sharpness, her eyes blazing with anger. 

“Because we are far from being a happy family!” Aemond shot back, his response laced with frustration, burning in his chest and spreading through his body. “The entire evening was nothing but a charade, a pathetic farce for Viserys’s sake. He may want us to bury our grievances, but he only deepens them with his unfair judgements! He expects me to sit amiably across from the one who took my eye, to offer forgiveness! I cannot and will not do that!”

Alicent’s frustration was palpable as she shook her head in disbelief, her fingers massaging one of her temples as if to alleviate a pounding headache. “And this is what you choose to do? To deepen the rift between us?”

Aemond responded with a tone of petulance in his voice, “There’s no necessity for me to exacerbate the divide, Mother. I merely shed light on its depth, proving that mere words and good intentions are insufficient to mend such chasm.”

“Aemond–” Alicent began, only to be cut off. 

“The thread binding this family will unravel with Viserys’ death, you know it,” Aemond pressed on. “Then, the pretense can finally end! I refuse to prostrate myself before my wretched half-sister or waste my breath on pretense, and why should I? They will never offer an apology, nor will they admit any fault for maiming me.”

“And yet, you’ve gone as far as to declare that you and Daenera are betrothed,” Alicent interjected sharply. 

Aemond clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together. His declaration had been instinctive almost, driven by a desire to irk her brother’s. He had wanted to see the facade crumble, to lay bare the deep fissures hidden beneath it. He wanted to expose the truth behind the illusion and watch the ensuing chaos unravel their pretense. 

Watching Daenera interact with her family had stirred a sense of disquiet in him. It was as if the months they had spent together, the intimacy they had shared, were nothing more than a fleeting dream from which she had abruptly awakened, leaving him stranded in a desolate nightmare. He felt a gnawing knot in his stomach as she offered him mere glances and polite smiles, treating him as a mere acquaintance rather than someone who knew her, someone who had killed for her, someone who had tasted her darkness and her blood, and had allowed her to infiltrate his being.

Her act of detachment had only intensified the bitterness festering within him, a poison that gnawed at his core. He yearned to shatter the veneer of civility, to reflect the decay and corruption inherent in their family. The barbed comments from her brothers, which echoed painfully in his head, combined with Daenera’s apparent indifference, only fueled his desire to reveal the true, rotting nature of their family ties. 

It had been almost an instinct. 

Alicent pressed on with her argument. “You must realize this wasn’t the bride you were meant to choose! You know this union with Daenera cannot happen, Aemond. Rhaenyra and Daemon will never consent to it, not after the scene you created, not after you called her and her brother’s bastards for all to hear!”

Aemond let out a derisive scoff, dismissing the gravity of the situation with a gesture of contempt. 

“This is unacceptable,” Alicent declared sternly, her tone laced with reproach. “I will not tolerate it.”

Aemond’s fingers pressed deeply into the wood of the desk, blunt nails scraping over the veins in the wood, as he braced himself against the heavy tide of his mother’s disapproval. 

“This dalliance with Daenera ends now,” Alicent asserted, her voice unwavering and resolute. Her hands were clasped firmly in front of her, her spine erect in a posture that exuded authority. “You are to marry a Baratheon girl – it matters not which one, but choose one of them, Aemond, and put an end to this matter.”

Her directive left no room for argument, underscoring the finality of her decision and the expectation of his compliance. 

Aemond clenched his teeth tighter, forcibly swallowing down the vehement refusal that scorched his chest. The Very thought of marrying a Baratheon, or anyone other than Daenera, was intolerable to him. His mind was set on her, and he was acutely aware that if they were to marry in the presence of the Seven, their union would become irrefutable, beyond the reach of opposition or dispute. This realization fueled his resolve, even as he grappled with the constraints imposed by his mother’s demands. 

With a swift turn, she exited the room, leaving Aemond to his thoughts. 

In response, Aemond roughly gulped down his wine, the bitterness of the drink mirroring his mood. He set the cup down on the table with a forceful clatter and rose to his feet. As the door to the secret passageway opened with a soft click, a cool breeze caressed his skin, welcoming him into the embrace of the shadows. 

The quill danced gracefully over the parchment, leaving behind a trail of ink that formed precise, deliberate strokes so meticulous and refined they would surely draw a nod of approval from Maester Geradys. The table was a mosaic of parchment scrapes, a disarray of paper balls and neatly rolled scrolls. Each fragment was an essential link in the chain of communication, carrying the weighty news of her impending departure–a decision that had not come lightly.

After leaving her parent’s chambers, a sense of unease and restlessness gnawed at her, banishing any thoughts of sleep. Instead, Daenera found solace in the meticulous planning of her departure. It was a retreat from everything she had so carefully constructed over months, a departure that didn’t align with what she had envisioned for herself. 

Yet, in the current turmoil, perhaps this was a necessary pause, a chance for her to catch her breath, just as her mother had wished. And how could she refuse her mother, especially with the impending arrival of a new sibling? She had been at the birth of all her other siblings save for Jace, she would see this one into the world as well. 

Her fingers traced the edge of the parchment, her mind adrift. 

“I am not in the mood for company,” Daenera stated icily, lifting her eyes from the parchment to look through her lashes as Aemond slipped into her chambers through the secret passageways. “I think it’s best you leave.”

Aemond merely hummed in response, dismissing her icy glare. He casually leaned against her table, watching as she furiously continued her writing, her previously elegant writing became hurried and crude with her rising irritation until it was almost ineligible. 

Daenera persisted with her writing, periodically dipping her quill into the inkwell. Each time she brought it back to the paper, a few stray drops of ink fell, splattering on the parchment and leaving unintended smudges. As her frustration mounted, she couldn't help but release a sharp exhale, breaking the silence. “What were you thinking?”

Aemond’s expression soured, the corners of his mouth turning downward slightly as he shrugged indifferently. “I was merely toasting my nephews. I didn’t know how insecure they were about their heritage.”

“You called us bastards!” Daenera retorted sharply, her patience worn thin. She discarded the quill in the inkwell, turning her whole attention towards him. 

“I was merely brave enough to state the obvious,” Aemond countered, his voice laced with the same sharpness he exhibited during supper. “They are bastards.”

Daenera rose to her feet, her cheeks flushed with mounting anger. “And what does that make me, then?”

Aemond met her gaze, his posture unyielding, arms folded across his chest. “A bastard.”

“My brothers considered having your tongue removed for your insults. And they’re well within their rights to have it,” Daenera snapped, starting to regret her decision in opposing her brother’s wishes. 

Aemond let out a derisive scoff. “You’d regret the loss of my tongue more than I.”

Daenera’s voice was a low growl of warning. “Be careful. The last man who dared call us bastards lost his head for it.”

Her words hung heavily in the air, a clear boundary of her tolerance for disrespect. Her fury simmered just beneath the surface, a fire raging within, clashing with the icy, mocking flame in Aemond’s sharp, blue gaze. His expression was a curated mix of scorn and amusement, clearly relishing in getting a rise out of her. 

“Years have done little to improve his skill. He still throws punches like a girl.” Aemond’s retort was laced with smugness, his lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk, only serving to further fan the flames of Daenera’s anger. 

Daenera’s response was laced with venom, her frustration palpable as she let out a huff, running her hand through her hair and shaking her head angrily. 

“It was a well deserved hit,” she retorted sharply, tempted to demonstrate firsthand the strength of a girl’s punch. “I only wish it had broken your jaw.”

“For someone of House Strong, his punch was disappointingly feeble,” Aemond taunted, the reply dripping with malice. It was clear that he was enjoying the effect his words had on her. 

“Did you intentionally seek to provoke conflict, or was it a spur-of-the-moment decision?” Daenera inquired. The answer came in the form of a smirk, its curve as menacing as a Dothraki arakh. “Well, you’ve certainly succeeded in stirring up trouble by calling us bastards–by referring to me as your wife!”

“You are my wife,” Aemond declared, his tone infused with a mix of indignation and assertion. 

Daenera released a weary sigh. “It wasn’t real, Aemond.”

Aemond appeared visibly taken aback, looking almost crestfallen, and he briefly averted his gaze to compose himself, something hardening within his expression. “We said the vows, we cut our palms–”

“But the Faith doesn’t recognize it. There were no priests, no witnesses,” Daenera answered, almost softly. Her heart twisted painfully, and she swallowed the pain as it seemed to wreck through her chest and climb up her throat. 

His voice dropped to a low, resonant tone, deep and dark, “You know it was real.”

In her heart, Daenera knew it was both real and unreal. A fleeting act of folly, born of desire and the thing neither of them acknowledged. It had been a dream–a fantasy. They bore the physical marks of this fantasy, and whispered the vows in the dark, with only the flames and the shadows as their witnesses. It had been a moment that belonged solely to them, detached from the rest of the world. 

And now, that world was crashing in around them. 

“I asked Viserys for permission for us to marry.”

Daenera’s reaction was immediate and visceral. Her head jerked up, her body momentarily frozen in disbelief. Her lips parted slightly as she absorbed his words, her eyes searching his face, delving into the depth of his gaze. Confusion and suspicion furrowed her brow, while her heart pounded so fiercely she feared its beat might echo through the room. 

The air in the room seemed to thicken with the gravity of Aemond’s declaration, each second stretching out, intensifying the tumult of emotions raging within Daenera. A storm of questions and doubts raged in her mind. Was this some elaborate ruse? A way to corner her, or was it a declaration? 

Her heart’s frenzied rhythm seemed to mirror the chaos of her thoughts and her throat went dry, her words hesitant as she finally spoke. “You didn’t.”

Aemond’s gaze turned steely. “I could.”

“It wouldn’t make any difference. We can’t marry, Aemond,” she answered, her voice trembling with a mixture of realism and disappointment. She could feel the prickling of tears, her heart aching. Such a union seemed impossible–was impossible. Daemon would never consent, and she suspected Alicent would oppose it vehemently as well.

In the back of her mind, the haunting prophecy whispered, a reminder of a fate seemingly preordained: Your first marriage will be loveless, and your second cloaked in betrayal. The words echoed in her thoughts, a grim harbinger overshadowing any fleeting hope kindled by Aemond’s bold assertion.

They had spoken the vows like children uttering promises whose depths they could not fathom. They had cut their palms and shared their blood with the naivete of children who could not see the storm on the horizon, but only the calm waters at their feet. They had been children playing pretend, lost in the moment of each other, neglecting the harsh reality around them and the consequences of such fantasies. 

His expression had become a mask of stone, impenetrable and unfathomable. Any insight Daenera had previously gleaned from his countenance was now obscured by the cold facade he presented. The subtleties and nuances she had once been able to detect were hidden, lost behind this unyielding mask that revealed nothing of his thoughts or feelings. 

The atmosphere was charged, thick with unspoken words and emotions. Daenera’s heartbeat resonated in her ears, a relentless drumming that mirrored the tension in the room. Her words, heavy with meaning, seemed to hang oppressively in the air, creating an almost tangible barrier between them. “This infatuation–”

Aemond interrupted her with a scoff, his upper lip curling into a snarl. He gazed past her, as though searching the air for the elusive words. 

“It is not infatuation, and you know it,” he retorted, his voice laced with something close to contempt. “I thought I had made my intentions clear. I want you.”

His admission was laced with venom, as if the very act of confessing this truth filled him with bitterness. His gaze returned to her, cold and incisive, his look piercing her as sharply as the dragonglass arrowhead had once punctured her skin. His next words were a mix of pain and cruelty, torn between wanting to wound her with his harsh truths or to handle her with the greatest of care. 

“You are insufferable,” Aemond declared, his voice dripping with venom. “Your presence is more toxic than nightshade. You’re cruel, malevolent. You’re in my veins, a poison I can’t rid myself of without being drained of life.”

He moved towards her, his steps predatory, his lone eye unyielding and ruthless. 

Daenera’s heart fluttered erratically, a disordered rhythm that mirrored the chaos swirling within her. Her palms, now damp with nervous perspiration, clenched tightly in the fabric of her dress. 

Aemond’s presence seemed to darken the room, the shadows coiling around him as if drawn to his mood. His hair of spun moonlight, and the soft complexity of his skin, were the only elements that stood out in the dark. 

“I killed for you,” he said, his voice a mix of accusation and fervor. “I ended the lives of those who harmed you, I killed your wretched husband…I’ve spilled blood for you, I recited the vows, performed the ceremony. I want you, Daenera. Isn’t that clear?”

Aemond’s hands reached for her, grasping her with a firmness that was both desperate and tender. His calloused thumbs gently brushed across her cheekbones, as if caressing away tears that had yet to fall. His voice carried an undercurrent of raw emotion, a mixture of desperation and reverence. “I need you to look at me – look at me and see what you’ve done to me.”

Daenera’s own hands instinctively moved to his wrists, her fingers pressing into his skin as she gazed up at the wild expression etched across his face, almost feral with its intensity. 

In a soft, almost vulnerable confession, he admitted, “With you, I feel more beast than man.”

Daenera’s eyes shut tightly, overwhelmed by his words. It felt as if Aemond’s fervent grip was wrenching her heart from her chest. She swallowed thickly, her voice strained as she spoke, “We cannot marry.” 

The impact of her declaration seemed to resonate within Aemond. His body, taut with tension, seemed to vibrate with the force of her refusal. Abruptly, he let go of her, his sudden release almost causing her to stumble. The lingering heat of his touch remained on her skin, a scorching reminder.

Forcing herself to regain her composure, her voice became firm despite the whirl of emotions that raged just beneath the surface of her skin. “Your desire for me is one thing, but I will not allow myself to be used as a tool against my own family. And don’t pretend it isn’t part of your plan.”

Her words were a clear indictment, acknowledging the complex web of both political and personal motivations that entangled them both.

“Don’t pretend that you haven’t been using my affections as a blade against my family as well,” Aemond sneered, his voice thick with accusation. 

“That isn’t what marriage is supposed to be like, Aemond!” Daenera exclaimed. Her words lingered in the space between them, heavy with meaning. She took a deep, steadying breath, gathering the fragments of her composure. 

With a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the charged atmosphere, she reached out to touch him. Her hand gently cupped his face, an intimate gesture that was meant to console. He shifted ever so slightly under her touch. It seemed as though part of him yearned to pull away, yet he remained anchored under her gentle caress. His eye watched her discernibly, with a cool expression.  

Her eyes softened. “That isn’t what marriage is, Aemond. If we marry, bitterness will fester between us. One of us will emerge victorious, but at the cost of destroying what lies between us”

“I would still want you, even amidst resentment…I–” Aemond’s voice trailed off. Whatever he might’ve said died on his tongue. 

“I’m leaving for Dragonstone,” she revealed softly, her words carrying the weight of finality. 

At her announcement, Aemond recoiled as though struck. Daenera’s hand remained suspended in the air, marking the space where his face had been just moments earlier. Her hand fell to her side. 

His expression was a blend of fury and agony, his jaw clenched tightly, lips no longer in a smirk but instead in a firm line of discontent. 

In the quiet that enveloped them, Daenera uttered his name, her voice soft yet laden with emotion. The simple utterance of it held a depth akin to a prayer, a silent appeal for his understanding. 

“You choose your family,” he concluded, his voice filled with the bitterness of resignation. 

Daenera nodded, her eyes meeting his with a sad certainty. “As I know you’ll choose yours.”

What was between them had always been destined to fall under the weight of their duty. The path had always led to ruin and destruction. Each step they had taken together, each jape and gentle touch, were always going to be bittersweet. They had danced along the edges of the destruction for a long time, and they had seen the ruins in the distance since the night they bound their souls together in a moment of hope, in the mist of dreams. 

It was never meant to thrive. 

But she wished that it could.

Daenera wanted to hold onto the dream a little longer. “Ask me again once my mother sit upon the Iron Throne.” 

Daenera observed the tumult of emotions playing across Aemond’s face, a complex tapestry of feelings that intertwined, scoffing disbelief, disdain, and a profound, almost unbearable agony. 

Within this emotional maelstrom, she saw the emergence of a cruel, venomous undercurrent, its fangs and claws ready to strike. Yet, he restrained this inner beast–this impulse to ruin, taming it with an evident effort before speaking. 

“When do you leave?”

“In four days time,” Daenera replied. “There are matters I must attend to before I go.”

Aemond closed the distance between them, his hand tenderly caressing her face, gently coaxing her head back to meet his gaze. His thumb delicately traced the contours of her mouth. 

“Then I have four days,” he said, his voice a resonant blend of darkness and raw emotion, “to etch myself indelibly into your soul.”

At his touch, a shiver cascaded down Daenera’s spine, the fine hairs of the back of her neck standing on end. Part of her wanted to confess that he was already an intrinsic part of her, his blood running in her veins, their hearts and souls beating and existing as one. But she held back, knowing that such admission would add more bitterness to the inevitable. 

His lips lingered tantalizingly close to hers, not quite touching, in a manner reminiscent of a predator toying with its prey. There was a challenge in his hesitation, a silent dare that hung in the air between them, inviting her to bridge the gap.

A familiar smirk curved his lips, slightly parted. Their breaths intertwined in the space that separated them, a shared whisper of anticipation. Then, Daenera closed the distance, pressing her lips firmly against his. The response was immediate as he seemed to devour her, his tongue brushing into her mouth to steal her breath away. 

As Daenera surrendered to the moment, the intensity of Aemond’s kiss enveloped her completely. His fiery touch seemed to scorch her lips, each kiss imbued with a desire so profound it felt as if he was trying to engrave his presence into her very soul. 

It was more than a mere kiss; it was a claim, a silent declaration that she belonged to him in a way no one else could match. 

His hands, both firm and gentle, found her hips, pulling her closer, molding her body against his with a natural, almost instinctive fit. He maneuvered her backwards until her spine pressed against the cold surface of the stone column. 

Daenera felt his hands weave into her hair, holding her in a tender yet commanding grasp. His thumb delicately traced along the curve of her jawline, coming to rest with a gentle pressure under her chin, tilting her face up to deepen their connection. His lips, ever demanding and insatiable, moved over hers, each kiss a wordless plea for more. 

Daenera’s fingers clutched the collar of Aemond’s doublet, a playful giggle bubbling from her throat as his lips began to trail down her neck. The sensation of his tongue gliding over her skin tickled and sent shivers through her. His hand, rough and calloused, gathered the fabric of her dress, gently grazing the skin of her thigh as he did so, the touch making her bite down on her bottom lip. 

Her heart pounded against her ribs, a rapid rhythm that matched the quickened pace of her breaths. She shivered as his teeth delicately traced the fragile skin of her neck, revisiting the bruise he had left earlier that day, a spiteful claim meant to cause trouble. The morning felt so long ago, lost in the chaos of the day. 

“Did you feel my touch linger on your skin?” Aemond’s voice was a low murmur against her, his words sending a thrill through her. His hand found the way to the apex of her thighs, his fingers weaving through the soft curls before tracing a path over her clit. 

At his touch, Daenera let out a deep moan, instinctively rolling her hips into his caress. She felt consumed by a fiery need, her body responding with an eager ache, already slick with anticipation. The blend of his gentle assertive touch with the raw sensuality of the moment left her breathless, intoxicated by his lips. 

Daenera’s response was a moan, deep and filled with wanton pleasure. 

“Your brother’s definitely noticed,” Aemond whispered, his voice a low murmur, as he gave her clit a sharp pinch, as if to emphasize his point. 

Daenera couldn’t help but moan louder, her hips instinctively rolling into the sensation, her fingers grasping at his doublet in a desperate need. “You shouldn’t have left your mark–”

“Why not?” he asked sharply. “You’re mine to claim, byka narys.”

Little poison.

Aemond, undeterred, continued his tantalizing assault, his mouth leaving her neck to trail kisses along the curve of her collarbone. His fingers, now coated in her arousal, returned to her, circling her clit with slow, deliberate movements that varied in pressure.

“I bet you could still feel me,” he teased, alluding to their earlier encounter, just before the succession of Driftmark was brought up in court. “I bet my seed was still within you–leaking out of you as your mother defended your bastard brother’s claim.”

Daenera reveled in the sensation as Aemond’s teeth gently sank into her shoulder, his smirk evident even through the touch. The resulting dull ache intensified her moan, a blend of pain and pleasure that seemed to echo their dynamic. 

“Mmm, you’d think so, but I hardly even noticed you, it was over so quick,” Daenera taunted back. 

Aemond’s glare was sharp, but Daenera found a certain satisfaction in eliciting such a reaction from him. 

However, the moment of triumph was fleeting. Aemond’s actions turned more assertive as he pinched her clit with a firm pressure, then plunged two fingers deep into her cunt, the sensation both sudden and intense. Her body responded instinctively, her inner muscles clenching tightly around his fingers. His palm pressed against her with a deliberate force, his words a mix of accusation and desire. “Liar, I felt you clinging to me, as if you never wanted to let go.”

A shaky breath escaped her in response, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She felt a rush of arousal, the tangible evidence of her desire trickling down her thighs. 

“I should have taken you on the table, right there in front of everyone,” Aemond sneered against her skin, his fingers finding the spot inside of her that made her hips buckle against him, her teeth releasing the flesh of her bottom lip to let out a moan. “Mmh–made it clear to everyone that you are mine…”

Daenera’s eyes fluttered open as he lifted his lips from her skin, her heartbeat echoing through her body. 

Aemond’s hand moved to her dress, attempting to pull at the bodice to release a breast. It resisted his tug, clinging tightly to her chest, her breasts heaving with each breath. He bared his teeth in annoyance and pulled harder, managing to free one tit. He immediately latched onto her nipple, sucking and biting at it with a fervor that made her gasp and moan. His fingers continued their relentless rhythm, plunging into her with force and precision, his thumb stroking her clit in tandem. 

As her hands found his hair, Daenera pulled him back to her lips, their mouth meeting in a heated exchange. She moaned into the kiss, her other hand exploring the growing bulge in his trousers, rubbing and squeezing until he hissed. 

His reaction was fierce, eye blazing as he grabbed her hand, pulling it away with a grip that spoke of his own desire and frustration.

Daenera was faintly aware of the taste of bitterness on his lips.

His fingers withdrew from her, allowing her dress to fall back into its proper place. He then firmly grasped her hips, guiding her away from the column. His lips were unyielding against hers, devouring her with a passion that propelled her backward until her spine met the canopy bed. 

Her hands found their way into his hair again, soft and silk-like under her touch. She gently raked her nails over his scalp, tugging at his hair. Effortlessly, she removed the leather strap of his eyepatch, casting it aside, as her body pressed against his, her hip aligning with the growing bulge in his trousers.

Aemond pulled back, his gaze shifting to the side as if to hide the scarred side of his face from view. 

Daenera felt her heart falter in her chest, a frown forming on her face as she studied his rigid posture. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen what lay beneath the eyepatch before, but the set of his jaw told her everything she needed to know. 

Daenera responded with a tender touch, her hand softly caressing his cheek, reassuring him in a silent gesture. She gently guided his face back towards her, meeting the intense gleam of his sapphire eye. His expression was measured and hard, a tapestry of emotion drawn taut over cool stone –anger, bitterness, and resentment all flickering across his features. His narrowed gaze seemed to hold a storm of thoughts, poised at the tip of his tongue. There was a temptation there, a temptation to lay ruin to everything. 

Yet, Daenera drew him back with a tender kiss, her lips meeting his in a soft, almost pleading manner. Each gentle press of her lips seemed to ground him, pulling him back from the edge of destruction. 

Gradually, Aemond’s lips began to move in sync with hers, his tongue seeking entry between her lips, slowly reigniting the passion they had momentarily lost. The kiss deepened, slowly rebuilding the fervor until it burned bright. 

Daenera couldn’t suppress the hiss when Aemond abruptly broke their kiss, her lips chasing his. He spun her around, his hands moving to the laces of her dress. His movements were impatient and eager, the strings giving way under his insistent tugs. His lips traced a path down the column of her neck, teeth grazing her shoulder, drawing out a moan. 

She gripped the wooden pillar of the bed for support as he continued to work on her dress, pulling it down to expose more of her skin. 

His hand then encircled her neck, gently pulling her back against him, compelling her to crane her neck to meet his lips again, all the while his other hand continued to pull at the ties of her dress. 

Daenera couldn’t help but feel a mix of amusement and anticipation as Aemond expressed his frustration with her dress. 

“Why must your dresses always prove to be such aggravating contraptions,” he grumbled, barely holding back a curse. 

Her response was light-hearted, tinged with a playful chuckle. “I suppose it’s to give us a chance to rethink our actions before it’s too late.”

Aemond’s lips grazed her ear, his voice a deep purr, stirring a shiver within her. “A mere dress will not stop me from claiming what is mine.”

Realizing the futility of his attempts to undo the laces, Aemond seemed to decide on a more direct approach. With a swift motion, he gripped the fabric on either side of the laces and ripped it apart. The sound of tearing fabric was accompanied by a moan, only seeming to fuel Aemond’s resolve. 

As the remnants of her favorite dress fell away, Daenera felt a sharp chill that sent a cascade of gooseflesh across her skin. Aemond’s hand slid down her spine, following the elegant curve of her body, eventually reaching the hem of her underdress. With a gentle tug, he lifted the soft fabric over her head, leaving fully exposed to his gaze. 

His lips found her shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses as his hand wrapped around her waist, sliding down the curve of her stomach to her inner thigh, smeared with arousal. She could feel the pronounced bulge of his trousers pressed against her backside, a tangible reminder of his desire, as his lips brushed teasingly against her ear.

Daenera leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as his hands explored her body with a familiarity that felt new each time. His grip on her breast was firm, his fingers pinching the tender flesh as the pad of his thumb circled her nipple, coaxing it into a taut peak.

His command was a low, resonant sound that bordered on a growl. “Get on the bed.”

Daenera gracefully ascended onto the bed, reclining with an air of expectancy as she observed Aemond remove his clothes. He shed his doublet and undershirt, revealing the wiry, well-defined muscles beneath his skin. 

Her eyes trailed his body, captivated by the fluid grace of his movements. She observed the subtle rippling of muscle beneath his skin, a mesmerizing display of controlled strength and agility, honed over years of training. Her eyes traced the path of his fingers as they skillfully worked at the laces of his trousers, noting the prominent veins that ran beneath the soft skin of his hands and up along his forearms.

As he pushed his trousers down, she was drawn to the definition of his hips, sharply contoured and unmistakably masculine. His arousal was unmistakable–erect, pulsating with an evident need, a bead of prelude glistening at its tip. Below, his testicles hung with a weighty presence, a visual testament to his pent-up desire. 

The sight was both provocative and intensely arousing. 

And he was beautiful, she thought. Beautiful like a well crafted blade. 

As Aemond lifted his gaze to meet hers, his pale hair cascaded over his shoulders, framing his face in a way that accentuated the intensity of his expression. 

The sapphire that served as his eye caught the light, mirroring the similar smugness to that of his natural eye. The gem’s deep blue gleam added an enigmatic depth to his look, a contrast that was both intriguing and imposing. This combined with the confident tilt of his head and the slight curve of his lips, created an image of him that was both striking and captivating, leaving Daenera enthralled by his presence. 

Aemond caught her angle, his thumb gently caressing the bone, his gaze intense as he looked up at her. After a moment, he released her ankle and prowed over her body, his nose trailing up her breastbone, replaced soon after by the tantalizing movement of his tongue along her neck.

Daenera tenderly cradled Aemond’s face in her hands, her gaze fixed intently into his eye. Her thumb gently stroked his skin, tracing the contours of his features with a delicate touch. She observed the subtle furrow of his brow, an expression that hinted at his confusion to the sudden tenderness.

Her thumb then followed the path of his scar down to its lowest point. She leaned in, planting a soft, reassuring kiss of the scarred skin, her lips lingering just a breath away from his.

Whispering softly, she said, “Syt bisa bantis kesan sagon aōha ābrazȳrys.”

For tonight I will be your wife.

In response, something flickered and curled in Aemond’s eye. A fleeting moment of softness, quickly replaced by a surge of bitter desire that darkened his gaze once more. His lips pressed against hers, desperate and demanding, branding her flesh as his. 

Before being swept away within the fire of his touch, she caught the gleam of the sapphire, a cruel and possessive glint, staring back at her with an almost tangible ferocity. It was as if it held within it the capacity to both tear her apart and consume her entirely. 

“Ñuha ābrazȳrys,” Aemond sneered against her lips, pinning her down with his body, the heat of it engulfing her. “Ñuha dōna byka narys.”

My wife. My sweet little poison.

She felt his hand venture up her thigh, moving between her legs to part her wet folds, slipping his fingers between them. A finger lightly brushed her clit before moving lower, teasing at her entrance. 

Daenera’s lips eagerly sought Aemond’s, yearning for more of his taste. Yet, he evaded her with a sly, calculated movement, that familiar smug smirk on his lips. His eye, sharp and focused, the pupil blown wide, never left her as he lowered his head, simultaneously capturing a nipple in his mouth and thrusting two fingers into her cunt. 

A moan spilled from her lips, her hips rolling into his touch. 

As Aemond lavished attention on her nipple, his teeth gently grazed it, sending waves of pleasure and pain through her. Each nibble was followed by a soothing stroke of his tongue, a tender contrast to the preceding bite. 

This rhythm was mirrored in his finger’s movements; each time he sucked, his fingers plunged into her, curling to press firmly against her inner walls, heightening her arousal with each deliberate stroke. 

“Mmm,” Daenera moaned, “Ñuha qēlossās.”

Daenera’s nails found their way to his back, raking across his skin with an intensity that left behind vivid trails, marks that would linger come morning–her own form of claim. 

“Please,” Daenera murmured, rolling her hips into his touch. It wasn’t enough, she wanted him, desperately. 

“Please what?” Aemond’s voice was a soft tease against her skin, drawing out her desire. 

“I want you,” Daenera responded, her voice raspy with desire. “Jaelan ñuha valzȳrys iemnȳ yno.”

I want my husband inside of me.

Aemond’s response was a deep, resonant growl, his lips finding hers once again in a passionate reunion. 

“With pleasure,” he murmured into the kiss and withdrew his fingers from her. 

Her cunt clenched around empty air, weeping to be filled with his cock. 

Aemond’s hand firmly grasped Daenera’s thigh, spreading her further open in a bold, possessive gesture. As he did so, her own arousal covering his hand, was spread across her skin. He hooked her leg around his hip, aligning their bodies to brush his cock over her folds. 

Daenera lifted her hips to drag her cunt over his cock, smearing her arousal up the length of him, feeling him hot and heavy against her. A hiss left his throat, the veins bulging slightly as a shutter went through him. 

She felt the head of his cock against her entrance, felt the slight stretch as aligned them perfectly, her cunt fluttering in anticipation. 

In one fluid, decisive movement, he thrust himself into her, sheathing himself completely within her cunt. The sudden intrusion stole her breath away as pleasure washed over her. Her hips rose to meet his, lifting off the bed and rolling into him. She could feel the pulse of his arousal, a tangible beat that seemed to merge seamlessly with her own. 

Aemond then slightly withdrew, only to surge back into her with a renewed intensity. Each thrust was punctuated by the twitching of his arousal, a sensation that was echoed by the responsive clenching of her own body around him.

Daenera felt his body pressed unyielding against hers. His heat seemed to radiate into her, his skin akin to a blazing inferno, as he established a relentless rhythm. His hips moved with a fierce urgency, each thrust into her core carrying an almost savage intensity. 

The sound of their bodies meeting resonated through the quiet of the night, punctuated only by her gasps and moans.  

Aemond’s fingers gripped her with a bruising force, his blunt nails digging into her skin, leaving behind red crescents. In response, Daenera’s own nails dug into the sinewy muscles of his back, clawing at his skin desperately as he fucked her. 

Leaning in, her lips found the pulse on his neck, feeling and tasting the rhythm of his heart. As her teeth gently scraped the skin, he responded with a guttural moan, his movements against her growing more fervent. 

His pace was unrelenting, each thrust a testament of passion–and a way to lay claim to her. 

Daenera was swept up in the tide of sensation, each stroke of his cock igniting a deeper fire within her, waves of pleasure crashing over her, threatening to carry her away to a place where nothing existed but the overwhelming sensation of him. 

In the midst of this tempest of passion, Aemond growled out the words, “Iksā ñuhon. Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys.”

You are mine. You are my wife.

His declaration was as much a claim as it was a growl of possession, his voice resonating with a primal intensity that echoed in the depth of her soul. 

In the fervor of pleasure, Daenera found herself barely able to articulate, her voice breaking as she called out his name, “Ae–ah, mph–Aemond.”

Her nails dug into his shoulder blades as she felt herself teeter close to the precipice. 

“Iksā iā narys sīr dōna, ñuha byka ābrazȳrys.” You are poison so sweet, my little wife.

Daenera could feel the desperation in his touch, a raw need to be an inextricable part of her very essence. It was as if he sought to imprint himself onto her very soul–as if he hadn’t already done so, to root himself so deeply within her being that he became unforgettable 

This need was palpable in every kiss, in the fervent grip of his fingers, ad the relentless rhythm with which he was fucking her. Each action was a testament to his intense longing to be permanently intertwined with her, not just in body, but in spirit and memory.

“Ah, fuck, I–” Daenera uttered, her voice breathy and wavering as she found herself on the brink of release. “–so close…”

She nuzzled her head against his shoulder, biting into the flesh as tension coiled within her, poised on the edge of eruption. He hissed at her as she left a fine imprint of her teeth on his skin.

 Aemond’s response was intimate, his lips finding her pulse on her neck, just below her jaw. He whispered into her, his words gentle yet laden with meaning, as if to leave the words imprinted on her skin. “Byka ābrazȳrys.”

My little wife.

Daenera echoed back softly, “Byka valzȳrys.”

My little husband.

A moan spilled from his lips, sweet, bordering close to a chuckle, as he turned his face towards hers. Their kiss was a tender caress, slow and sensual. Her fingers pressed into the nape of his neck, caressing the fine hairs there. 

“Mmm,” Daenera hummed as she felt the intense convulsions of her walls around him, waves of pleasure cascading over her, her body prickling and thrumming with it. Her cunt fluttered and clamped down around him, and she felt the shutter go through his body as she dragged him over the edge with her. 

Aemond groaned, the sound deep and resonant, his hips losing their rhythm in a final, desperate thrust as he buried himself as deep within her as he could, spilling his seed. His hips rolled against her, then stopped all together. 

In the quiet aftermath, Daenera felt the gentle press of Aemond’s nose tracing the curve of her neck, culminating in the shared touch of their foreheads. For a brief moment, they remained motionless, a mutual basking in the fading glow of their release, their breaths gradually steadying as they regained their composure. 

Upon Aemond’s withdrawal, Daenera was acutely aware of the poignant emptiness, a sensation that seemed to twist something deep within her. 

With a heavy heart, she rose from the bed and made her way to the basin. As she cleaned herself, her thoughts turned to the necessity of brewing moontea. It’s been long since she ran out, and while she’s had her moonblood, she couldn’t postpone restocking her supply much longer. 

The sound of water sloshing in the basin echoed in the silent room as she wrong the cloth once more, cleaning herself with a sense of detached efficiency. Glancing in the mirror, she saw Aemond’s reflection, his demeanor pensive, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, elbows propped on his knees. 

Turning away, Daenera poured a cup of wine, its aroma unsettling her stomach and making her mouth go dry. She walked back to Aemond, offering him the wine, her gesture a silent attempt at consolation. 

Instead of accepting the wine, Aemond let his head drop forward, resting it gently against her lower abdomen. This simple, vulnerable gesture tugged at Daenera’s heartstrings, and she closed her eyes against the welling of tears. Setting the wine aside, she wove her fingers tenderly through his hair, offering him a silent comfort. 

The fiery mix of anger and desire that had consumed them only moments earlier had burned out, leaving behind a quiet resignation, a veiled bitterness that cloaked the sadness neither was prepared to acknowledge. 

Daenera softly nudged him back, her hands cradling his face, compelling him to meet her gaze. In his remaining eye, there was a cold, resigned depth, but within the blue of the sapphire, a stormy darkness lurked. The darkness seemed to curl, and she thought perhaps, that it was like a cornered animal, baring its teeth and showing its claws out of fear. 

She knelt on the mattress, positioning herself astried his thighs. Her eyes met his at the same level, her hands gliding down his neck as she leaned in, her lips hovering just above his. 

In her heart, Daenera knew that some flames were destined to burn out, yet she chose to keep this one ablaze a little while longer, seeking its warmth against the impending chill of her departure. 

Aemond’s hands gently moved up her thighs, his brow furrowed in a silent question.

She had no answers to give, only the shared moment between them. 

Their lips met in the softest caresses, a fleeting touch reminiscent of silk. As his lips parted, their breath mingled. Daenera kissed him tenderly, a mere whisper of contact, a ghost meant to haunt. 

Yet within this touch, there was a mutual imprinting, an exchange of their very essence. She deepened the kiss, her tongue gently exploring the seam of his lips, her fingers caressing his shoulder, leaning into him, her body brushing against his. 

Aemond reciprocated, intensifying their embrace, his fingers gripping her hips to draw her nearer. 

Tears trembled on Daenera’s lashes as their lips met, her senses awash with the warmth of his heart pulsing through her, enveloped in an earthy blend of sandalwood and his innate scent. Her hand drifted to his chest, feeling the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat under her palm. 

His hands traveled to the soft curves of her, drawing her close until their bodies melded together, a seamless union of heartbeats and breaths. 

As Daenera’s lips brushed over his, she inhaled his breath, her tears mingling with their kiss, lending it a poignant saltiness. He pulled back slightly, his hand ascending to tenderly cup her face. His eye roamed her features, a calloused thumb softly erasing the trail of her tears. She leaned into his caress, pressing a kiss to the scar on his palm, her gaze locked with his in silent communication. 

It had been a dream, one that would haunt her for the rest of her life, she thought. Even as the scar would fade. 

Their lips reunited, igniting a familiar warmth against her skin. Daenera felt the gentle pressure of him against her, moving in harmony with his soft sigh. Guiding him with a gentle hand, she welcomed him back into her embrace, their bodies rejoining in a dance they had known before. 

Every motion was deliberate and sensuous–the rhythmic sway of her hips, the firm grasp of his fingers, their chests pressed together, hearts beating as one.

A moan echoed from his chest as she moved, her body responding with a shiver that ripped through them both. Maintaining a tender pace, her lips found their way to the pulse of his neck, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin. 

Daenera and Aemond once again found themselves teetering on the brink. It wasn’t long before they both succumbed, tumbling over the precipice into shared release.This time, the waves of pleasure that washed over them were softer, more tender, enveloping them in a gentle, soothing embrace. 

Exhausted and content, they lay down together, wrapped in each other’s arms. 

Daenera nestled into Aemond’s side, her actions gentle and affectionate. She planted a chaste kiss upon his shoulder, her fingers delicately tracing over his chest, drawing invisible patterns that spoke of tenderness and a quiet longing. Lifting her gaze to his, she found him already looking down at her, their eyes meeting in a moment of silent understanding. 

The air between them felt charged, heavy with unspoken words that teetered on the edge of expression, as if it was just waiting to be released. Yet, there was a hesitancy, a pause as if both were contemplating the weight and impact of giving voice to their thoughts. 

Doomed they were, should they say it. 

Ultimately, Daenera chose to break away from the intensity of his gaze, seeking solace in the comfort of his presence. She rested her head against him, choosing the warmth of their physical closeness over the vulnerability of spoken words. 

The unspoken enveloped them, a reality that was palpable yet remained unacknowledged. This truth lingered in every touch they shared, in every glance that passed between them, and in the intangible space that lay between their hearts. 

It was there, like a world full of colors invisible to the blind, or the melodies and laughter of life unheard by the deaf. Their connection, though voiceless, were tangible in every caress, every moment of closeness. It was undeniably present, a force both terrifying and real in its intensity. 

Yet, in their silence, in their refusal to give voice to this truth, they found a semblance of solace. Choosing to remain silent was like erecting a barrier, a protective measure designed to hold back the pain and chaos that giving voice to their feelings might unleash, preventing it from wrecking havoc on their lives. 

It was the only defense against its agony, and the only way to limit the destruction of its fire. 

And fire, it was. 

Doomed they were, even in keeping the silence.

[tokiro07]

Ichi the Witch ch.2 thoughts

[Woo-hoo! Witchy...Man...]

(Contents: character analysis - Ichi/Uroro/Desscaras, predictions - narrative progression)

Okay, chapter 2, and once again I feel compelled to talk about it! I'll take that as a good sign for my engagement with the series going forward

Not only is ch. 2 even prettier than ch. 1, but it expands on a few things that I felt were missing last week, helping to strengthen the story in my mind

Where last week felt like it was meant specifically to set up the high concept of the series (boy becomes first male witch) and the basic philosophy (killing with purpose is hunting, killing without is murder), this week gives us a bit more depth into the cast themselves and their greater purpose

Ichi the Healer

Naturally, the most noteworthy exploration of the chapter is certainly Ichi himself, at least to me. I said last week that his philosophy of "death for death" seemed like a thin veil separating him from his base desire to kill, and given the gleam in his eye when he heard the word "hunt" in this chapter I stand by that as a possibility, but his actions this week imply a much greater commitment to his claim of respecting life than I initially gave him credit for

He didn't seem too broken up about it when he was shown the damage he had inadvertently done to the land, but the moment he was told there was a way to fix it, he did so without hesitation. Ichi was likely capable of forgiving himself for something he did completely unintentionally because it was on such a grand scale that he didn't think there was any use dwelling on it, but with the capability of making reparations came the responsibility to do so. The cost of being unconscious for a few days is paltry in comparison to bringing back the lives he inadvertently took, and that speaks to his opinion on life far more than the circumstances that allow him to justify killing

I don't know how or if Nishi intends to develop the dichotomy of Ichi's desire to hunt and his desire not to do unnecessary harm specifically, but I'm glad we got to see both extremes so early

Likewise, I think that there's a bit of a dichotomy in Uroro's character as well, though a bit more subtly

Shoulder Devil

As I predicted, Uroro isn't dead, he's more sealed within Ichi, presumably a familiar pactbound to the one who passed his trial. I don't know if other Magiks behave the same way, but I could go either way on it. If they do, that would give us a Shaman+Guardian Ghost or Weapon+Meister style dynamic, but that could also carry the risk of overloading us with new characters when a Witch has acquired multiple Magiks. I imagine they tend not to since there's no indication that Desscaras has a bunch of familiars hanging out with her, but they might also just not be inclined to come out at the moment

In the meantime, Uroro immediately tries to use his familiar status to manipulate Ichi into putting himself in danger, which would theoretically get him killed and allow Uroro to be released. When he gets called out on it, he notes that he has more motivations beyond trying to regain freedom: he also doesn't want to be forced into serving the Witches

While Uroro looks down on humanity, he doesn't seem to be a heartless monster, as he refuses to turn on his own kind. We'll need to see him interact with other Magiks first to get a clear picture of his opinion on them as individuals, but considering that he cites the depth of their history, we can reasonably assume that he holds the species itself as a whole in high regard

This sets up a strong conflict of interest for Uroro going forward, as he will be forced to face off against other Magiks, and there will most likely come a time when he needs or wants to do so. Like how Ichi won't kill until he's given external justification, what will it take for Uroro to justify turning against one of his own? Will it be because a particular Magik angers him? Will one stand between him and his freedom? Will one have clearly sided with humanity or disrespected Magik culture?

Whatever happens, how will Uroro reconcile that? How will he forgive himself? Will he even need to, or is he a hypocrite who's perfectly willing to fight his kind so long as it's not on behalf of humans?

Of course, this projection is assuming that Uroro is meant to be Ichi's partner who will develop alongside him, rather than the series' main antagonistic force deliberately trying to thwart his development at all times. Obviously, he's going to think he's that for the foreseeable future, but the question is whether that will always be the case or if sooner or later he'll turn around. I always thought Sukuna would have that kind of development, but ultimately that wasn't the case, so I won't make that assumption at face value this time

Now, if Uroro is the Sukuna of this series, then Desscaras is likely the Gojo

The Strongest Teacher

Ichi's situation is a little different from Yuji's, in that if Ichi dies, Uroro goes free, while Yuji's death would weaken or ultimately erase Sukuna. However, to keep these ultimate monsters in check, the ultimate sorcerers of these respective worlds decide to take these vessels under their wings

Unlike Gojo, though, Desscaras immediately loses control of the situation, with Ichi doing his own thing and getting her into trouble with her superior and making her regret her decision to look after him. They're both goofy characters, but Desscaras' power doesn't protect her from getting comeuppance for her self-aggrandizing and transparently nasty personality, which to me makes her a more endearing iteration of the same basic trope

While we don't know what her teachings will look like at this exact moment, this chapter does give us at least a little glimpse into what to expect for the series going forward

On the Hunt

I probably should have seen this coming when the narrator called the Witches "hunters," but of course the Magiks need to be literally hunted. It's what Ichi is best at, so it would be odd to make him learn a new skillset to use in an unrelated context

With hunting solidified as the feedback loop, I think we can expect something akin to Toriko, an adventure where the cast needs to determine the locations, personalities, habits, weaknesses etc. of the various Magiks to facilitate passing their trials. However, since we learned of an academy in the first chapter, it's also possible that it'll be more of a mission-based structure like early Soul Eater, using the school as a hub until a Magik has been located

Personally, I would rather the locating be a big part of the hunt, but I can see how that would slow the pacing, so I won't be too broken up if it isn't part of it. Plus, having the rest of the core cast be students rather than professionals makes it a bit easier to incorporate them into the story, so there would certainly be benefits if it ends up happening. Whichever way the chips fall, I'll talk more in-depth about it when we get there

Whether it's a school or a business, though, I highly doubt that Ichi is just going to accept organizational regulations at face value and go along with "tradition." He's the first and only man ever to become a Witch, and he possesses the King of Magic; even before being introduced to the world proper, he's already a shakeup to the established order, so his methods must not only be outside of the norm, but a necessary addition to reform outdated ways

As Uroro says, Magiks are "an indigenous species" being preyed upon by the Witches, who certainly are trying to further their own power. It's all well and good for Desscaras to say it's for a noble goal like protecting people from rampaging monsters, but it's undeniable that Witches grow in strength after acquiring a Magik. There's simply no way that all of them are trying to make the world better, and based on her personality, I highly doubt that Desscaras is either (though she may surprise me). Even if they are, they definitely don't hold the life or well-being of the Magiks in any regard

This is where I think "death for death" comes in; Ichi will absolutely respect the Magiks. Whatever locations they hide in, however they interact with nature, Ichi will undoubtedly take the time to respect and understand them, even if that understanding leads to him deciding that there's no value in hunting them. The prejudices of the Witches likely equate to "Magik = target," but Uroro suggests that they have their own society and culture, so a fresh perspective like Ichi's will likely be necessary for finding mutual peace between the two races

Or at least, that's what I hope. It could easily turn out that the Magiks are wholly malefic and only introduced spells to the Witches to sew discord among humanity, and they're ultimately no different from the Curses of JJK or the majority of UMAs in Undead Unluck. I would much rather this series, with its themes already reminiscent of the circle of life ideology, find a way to work in an angle of coexistence, but I won't proclaim that the series is bad if it goes a more common direction

Conclusion

I...did not expect this post to go this long, honestly. I figured each segment would be one paragraph and I'd move on, but apparently I'm incapable of being concise. Oops!

But again, the fact that we're two-for-two on this series' chapters making me write reviews on par with those I write for Undead Unluck each week is a great sign for how much I currently like and can expect to like this series in the future. It could end up losing me sooner or later, especially if it gets overly complex in its power system and geopolitical worldbuilding, but for now looking forward to how both of those subjects develop

[theweeklydiscourse]

One thing that bothers me about Baghra, is that she’s characterized as this wise old crank who is lovingly harsh in spite of her curmudgeon attitude as well as a strong woman trying her best to thwart her “evil and corrupted” son. This bothers me because I absolutely HATE to see the narrative glorifying a character who embodies the worst aspects of Shadow and Bone’s message and is just…plain awful.To me, Baghra is a prime example of the way this story glorifies passivity and vilifies seeking power as a means of liberation.

Baghra is positioned in opposition to Aleksander as a kind of“good darkling” who doesn’t seek power by means of her Grisha identity. Rather, she chooses to abstain from using her powers and grows frail and old. Because the narrative views power as an inherently corrupting influence, Baghra is contrasted with the implied evil and corruption of Aleksander who chose to pursue power and became strong, youthful and beautiful as a result. This dichotomy informs the reader of which traits they should idealize and which traits are to be considered as evil. Thus, Aleksander is vain, power hungry and Machiavellian for seeking power while Baghra is humble, virtuous and wise for abstaining from it (at the cost of her health and strength).

Her frail appearance makes it seem as though she couldn’t possibly stand against the strength of Aleksander, but do not forget that the two of them are deceptively close in age. Baghra could have plausibly maintained her strength and stayed active in challenging Aleksander’s supposedly catastrophic aspirations. When she tells Alina the truth about Aleksander in S&B, the story she tells implies that she had known about his villainous tendencies for decades or even centuries and did little to take preemptive measures against him.

The choice to be passive in spite of her claims that Aleksander is a danger to Ravka is posited as the virtuous option even though it is grossly negligent of her to not stand against evil (or at least a perceived evil). She chooses the maintenance of her own “righteousness” over actually doing a single thing to improve things, endlessly complaining and chiding, but never taking action. This is why her most affecting attack on her son was her suicide/sacrifice in R&R, it is the ultimate example of her resistance to action and the culmination of her seemingly virtuous repression and passivity.

In Alina’s conversations with her, Baghra will allude to the idea that Aleksander charmed and manipulated other girls in the past. But what happened to these girls? Did Baghra tell them the truth about Aleksander before he could “sink his claws” into them? If this was a problem, why didn’t she take measures to prevent it? Furthermore, Baghra reveals to Alina that she has known about Aleksander’s “evil” plans the entire time, that she had known about it for years, even decades. So why then, if he was such a danger, why did Baghra do NOTHING to stop him? Or briefly thwart him at least? She claims that she attempted to reason with him, but at the same time, she remained passive for centuries and for some reason didn’t make any attempt to arm herself against a future threat.

Baghra spent centuries doing nothing to strengthen herself and did absolutely nothing to stop Aleks from his supposedly evil aspirations. I mean, she was the ONLY other darkling for centuries and stood the best chance of defeating him even before a sun summoner came into existence. The narrative frames this passivity and negligence as a virtue for Baghra. This is repeated in Alina’s character with her denial of her agency and power leads to the ultimate loss and allows her to run away from responsibility and avoid making hard decisions.

Alina mirrors Baghra’s last “sacrifice” by symbolically killing a part of herself to harm her opposite half by extension. It is the ultimate refusal to act and cements Alina’s passivity and irresponsibility as a “right” choice for her character. Alina refuses to take responsibility for her destiny and aid her community in its time of need in favour of her desire to remain in a state of perpetual childhood.

It’s so strange that the Grisha are a persecuted group (a fact that is reiterated multiple times) and yet, their inherent traits for which they are targeted are framed as being inherently corrupting. Apparently when you’re being oppressed by an unjust system you should just…not do anything and get all up in arms when someone actually tries to improve the situation.

[isabeauwolf]

Now, let's get down to the nitty gritty.

Knowing about Kai Chisaki/Overhaul being in Dr Garaki's/AFO's orphanage and that Shigaraki has a copy of his quirk. They parallel each other so much more after that reveal.

It explains so much about his character!

Kai Chisaki won't flat out say it or address it, neither has Horikoshi but its clear that he was heavily traumatized and abused as a kid before Pops found him.

Oh yes, the trauma bucket! Like our beloved characters in the series doesn't have enough trauma as it is. Let's see how far that habit hole goes for Kai? -_-

The lack of remorse for his victims, justifies his action, manipulative, lack of physical response to violence, deception, and hostel, his acts are usually well planned in advance, irritability and aggressive behavior when provoked, reckless disregard for safety of others - antisocial and sociopathic tendencies.

Lack of empathy, believes he's special and the only one who can cure the world, need for admiration from Pops, his abandonment and self-worth issues go hand-in-hand with his fear of his father figure throwing him out of the Shie Hassaikai with his final ultimatum of dropping his plan.

Out of everything, we only get sprinkles here and there that Kai had done before snapping.

You can see it, the way he tenses and his hands ball into a fists, no doubt, surprised, shocked, hurt even before redirected into anger and violence.

Putting his father figure into a coma, and taking matters into his own hands. Become the villain, we all know and love, adore, praise, however you see him as.

Before becoming "Overhaul," Kai used to get into brawls with anyone who dared disrespect the Shie Hassaikai, and wants to help the boss; protecting the honor of the yakuza and protecting them from being called, "Villains." (Classic delinquent behavior, I imagine he did it in high school since we've seen him do it as an adult.)

We see him wear normal clothes: black dress pants, blazer and purple dress shirt, no gloves and a black duster mask over his face. (I'd honestly, love to see Kai in more civilian, classy outfits! More unbuttoned shirts and all, please!)

Even if Pops scolding him and explaining that they must protect civilians instead of hurting them, the old man still affectionately pets the top of his head and praises him for protecting their honor. Which in itself is a kind gesture, but something I think he took a little too much into his heart.

The scolding for doing something dishonorable, but praised for his intentions has overtime been taken form into the most cold and logical extreme actions.

Overhaul's more professional outfits: the red and gold plague doctor's mask, and white gloves. Borrowing inspiration from All For One, he uses his quirks name as his alias, his Villain name and quirk ability, the idea for his quirk erasing and serum, as "Overhaul", he can kill and wants to change the world.

*My Hero Ultra Rumble cg by Horikoshi* I'm fangirling sooooo hard! *ahem*

To preserve the past, he must engage with the present and became a villain out of necessity.

What's the difference?

The differences between a young Kai standing up for his father's honor and the snarling demon he has become. All of it against a world that had clearly outgrown him and the old ways of the Yakuza, but he refused to accept it and to protect his only family and most precious person, Pops.

As we've been in the latest chapter of MHA, without his quirk, without his arms and plague mask, and the last time we saw him. Kai Chisaki, inside is still a boy who wants to make his father figure proud and wants attention and praise.

As Pop's said before he took things too far again, shoving the older man's wisdom and wishes aside, taking action into his own hands, not only crossing the line between the gray that Pop's held against the Villains' and Heroes, Black and White, Kai instead, erased the line and jumped over it, making his own line and walked into a dangerous and dishonorable path.

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

Show Criston thinking Rhaenyra would marry him after losing her virginity to him is stupid move, considering Kingsguard in the past having been killed and/or castrated for having sex like Lucamore Strong and Terrence Toyne for example. Also, feels manipulative on Criston's part, and sexist for also not considering that girls can get post-nut clarity too and won't magically bond with a guy just by sleeping with him. (Also, the fandom hate for Rhaenyra over refusing Criston's proposal reminds me of the hate Arya got for rejecting Gendry's proposal in Game of Thrones.)

Criston is infantilized just as much as the rest of TG by the fandom. He's not expected to take responsibility for his own actions and the fact that he chose to sleep with a teenager. Somehow, the fandom has decided that a teenage Rhaenyra seduced a man who is her father's age, even though only one source, who was discredited, told that story.

The show decided to go with Mushroom's telling for some reason, but even then, Criston is just as culpable. Rhaenyra was a drunk teenager who Criston had known since she was fourteen. How exactly is Rhaenyra the guilty or even morally questionable party in this scenario? He was more than capable of telling her no, he could have turned around and walked back out her door, but he didn't.

Criston wanted to be a member of the Kingsguard, he knew what the requirements and oaths entailed. He made a choice and it didn't end how he wanted. Boo fucking hoo.

People defending Criston's incel behavior is so ridiculous; reading those metas is like watching an alpha-bro podcast. He literally took Rhaenyra's rejection and used it to excuse killing an innocent man at her wedding, abuse her little children, and to try to get Aegon to assassinate her. Criston is a shitty guy in both the show and the book, end of story.

[yuukiyuunairumafan]

Stop trying to blame Mahiru.

"She's a monster." "She manipulate Guren." "She use Guren."

First thing first, ever since the beginning, it had been proved that, in chapter 97, both Mahiru and her sister Shinoa was born with demon implanted inside them. And yeah, she's also a freaking test subject. A guinea pigs. Seriously, it doesn't make sense if you guys try to blame her for everything she did. If you read Guren Ichinose Catastrophe at Sixteen, you'll understand what I mean by that. Mahiru, in order to protect and save Shinoa, she take the role as the guinea pigs. She's suffering in silence. It also had been claimed by Shinoa herself that the person who would go against her death is Mahiru. Shinoa is Mahiru source of happiness. She's the one in the Hiiragi family that she truly cared about. Okay, how could you expect someone who have went through hell since childhood to be sane? At that time where Mahiru make a deal with Tenri, he already have Shinoa as the hostage. And as you guys can see in some chapter, Mahiru appeared to be killing some soldier from the JIDA. And there's one person who clearly say "As expected of Mahiru-sama" It seem like all the followers whose been working with Tenri know pretty well and very aware of what they are doing. Back then, she was still a child. Mahiru also the victim of the Hiiragi Family. Not only Shinya, Shinoa and Guren.

It had been stated by Shinoa herself that being born into the Hiiragi family, familial love doesn't exist. Which make sense on why Mahiru beat Shinoa at chapter 97. Growing up without familial love might make Mahiru wonder "what is love?" "How does it feel?" And so, Mahiru, whose grow up with her live being controlled by the Hiiragi family, might as well doesn't really know and know very little of which is right and which is wrong. She think that beating Shinoa can save her from being possessed by Shikama Doji. She saw this as an act of love. She saw this abuse as an act of love. It's all because of her messed up life. Being experimented on since birth, she already think that this is normal. The "I love you" from Mahiru was truly genuine. If she didn't take this kind of action, Shinoa might as well unable to hold back Shikama. It's all thanks to Mahiru that Shikama never possessed Shinoa up until she started to developing feelings towards Yuichiro Hyakuya. Mahiru is also a human being. She have heart. She does. She too, have feelings and emotions like others. All Mahiru wish is to be a normal girl. She is someone who was desperate for other love. Being the only daughter in the Hiiragi family before Shinoa, she is responsible of heavy responsibility and duty. Just like Kureto. Even if it was clear that Mahiru can control her demon, we must not forget she has been experimenting on herself to make sure of it. However, due to her lingering love and affection towards Guren, it simply turn her love into an obsession. And at Guren Ichinose Catastrophe at Sixteen chapter 17, Mahiru had call Guren to hear his voice. She also had indeed, requesting him to kill her.

She know it's too late already. But still, she never stopped telling him and asking him to kill her. But Guren, being stubborn, refusing to kill her as he is still inlove with her. He wanted to save her. He does. But in the end, he can't. He had to watches the person he loved the most turn into a demon. And the worse part is that, he had cursed Mahiru for enternity to forever be his demon stuck inside his swords. Which is also his own cursed gear.

And just look at Guren expression. He was clearly hurt by this as his fist were clenches tightly. Mahiru cry. Tears falling down her amber eyes, following down to her cheeks. She smiles lovingly yet sadly as she tell Guren that she love him. She too, had asked for Guren to kill her before it's too late because she doesn't want her love, her feelings and emotions to be faded away by her own demon. She's scared. And truly care for Guren and Shinoa. She gripped her chest through the fabric of her uniform, signalling that she is hurt and having a hard time on controlling her demon to keep it under control. She doesn't want to turn into a selfish, manipulative demon who only care about is their master desire. She left the path. The right one. It's all because she wanted to seek out power to save them. Mahiru love Shinoa. She just can't show it. What did you expect if she didn't love Shinoa, she wouldn't make that kind of deal with Tenri. "Do not use Shinoa as a test subject." And with that, she struck off the wings of a genius. She too, willing to cut off Shikama from Shinoa body and put it inside her own body. It was clear on why Mahiru human self is starting to dissapear. When she already have a hard time controlling one demon. Not to mention now she doesn't have only one, but two. It only increasing the chances of having her humanity to be faded away faster. And so, her action is all was because of her demon. Not because of her. She already explain from the started that she wanted Guren and only Guren to kill her. And yet, he keep trying to save her. That's why. But don't blame Guren. He's inlove with Mahiru too much that he is unable to kill her and always been trying to find a way to save her and free her from the curse. He done this for Mahiru. For the person he loved. The girl he loved.

Stop trying to blame Mahiru. She doesn't deserve the hate. For those who agreed with me, please make a comment.

And yes, I know that Mahiru is a genius. She is. But still, she need someone to at least guide her.

[mdhwrites]

Andrias vs. Collector: Who Was Redeemed Better?

Andrias hands down. Not only is it helped IMMENSELY by character consistency with him but it actually functions with what we know of him. Despite literally only ever getting half an episode dedicated to him (he doesn't actually get a lot more screentime than The Collector, especially while as a villain) we understand his motivations, the reasons for his cruelty, why Marcy made him cold and annoyed every time she was even mentioned post True Colors (he did not enjoy torturing Marcy. The literal only claim there is one line from True Colors where he blames her but otherwise, Marcy is fridged SPECIFICALLY to give someone for Andrias to show regret about) and then when shown how far he had fallen from the good man he was, he goes ahead and tries to fix that. First a final act of heroism but then not asking for forgiveness or the like. He is too guilty to need, or perhaps even want, such things and he instead can try to put things right on his own. In the end, we are left with the impression that Andrias WILL continue to tend to Amphibia now until the day he finally dies. It's actually done pretty well for the fact that it's given such little direct attention, especially by the time he's supposed to start being redeemed.

Meanwhile, the Collector's arc only works if you ignore large swaths of the show. His redemption mostly comes down to the idea that he needs to learn morality and that other people can be hurt by his actions but... He already did. In Watching and Dreaming, he yells at Belos controlled Raine specifically about how King will hate him for the nightmares, showing that he understands that his actions can upset people. In S2B, he talked about wanting to play with bones and criticized Belos for potentially murdering the Grimmwalkers, kind of opening up a moral conversation about the nature of Belos' treatment of them while showing his knowledge of death.

Even if we believe he didn't know these things and try to say he was manipulated, we can't. Belos' goal was extremely explicit and back when he was Philip, he had no reason to lie to the Collector. A spell to kill all witches in return for your freedom was the deal. That's pretty damn evil and the Collector could have always said no but instead he's EXCITED for them to be dead in Hollow Mind. All that matters to him then is his freedom, screw anyone else. Then when he is freed, he has neither the archivists or Belos to push him around and tell him what to do. As such: Why the fuck did he make the hunting stars? You know, the roaming stars that turn people automatically into puppets, rendering them to a fate worse than death as they are conscious and aware of what's going on, even as they are entirely incapable of doing anything about it. They are still around MONTHS later. Hexside literally keeps watch for them. If he is just a little guy, why the fuck did he make those in the first place and why are they still around?

None of this is ever addressed though. Instead, the show spends a quarter of its finale, and a decent chunk of the special before it, focusing on trying to redeem him and show him off as a good guy while not having him actually acknowledge the awful, terrible things he did. There's no taking of responsibility like with Andrias. There is no proper refusal of his morality or change in his thinking. Even his attempt to make peace with Belos is flawed because it's still the same all or nothing thinking that we've seen up until now for the Collector. "I do X, I get friend." It's not actually an acknowledgement that other people are complex and have their own free will, it's just a new form of trying to easily get what he wants. Then after her turns people back, which is good, he just leaves. He doesn't do anything to actually make up for what he did or allow him to face a world that he has irrevocably damaged. Instead, he abandons it all. All that responsibility and guilt can just be left behind instead of actually worked on. How is that a show of what he learned? Of him rejecting how he was before? Of him being REDEEMED?

It makes it much less an arc and more something we're told. At least when Andrias powers down to make Anne's final punch on him more effective, we have seen his regret. We have seen his motivations. We have seen as one is pushed into his face and the other torn down. Then we get to see him act on it, allow his conquest to fail, as a willful decision to back down from that evil rather than double down. Then we see follow through with him in the timeskip where he is still simply trying to make up for his sins, even if no one will ever tell him his work is done.

We don't get anything like that with the Collector and that's why he will always be easily worse to me.

======+++++======

Someone shared a Reddit post on this topic in my Discord and I almost posted 95% of this as a comment there. I... I know better than to do that on Reddit though so I decided to just let it be a blog over here.

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[wolfertinger]

the fact that salem doesnt address the real complexities of having alters like memory loss, changes in behavior, and internal conflict, suggests that his understanding of the conditionis superficial. or at least not in alignment with how its typically experienced by those who truly live with it.

what stands out in the vent piece is the discrepancy between what he says and how it actually manifests in his behavior. if hes going to claim that there are alters, there needs to be more than just vague references to a normal one or a crazy one. alters are distinct parts of a persons psyche with their own identities, behaviors, and histories. when someone dismisses them as just the crazy one or the childish one, it doesnt show a genuine understanding of the condition. it feels like a convenient way to avoid dealing with the real, messy aspects of having DID.

remembering trauma but not actions and behaviors when its convenient is another glaring red flag. this selective memory feels manipulative when its used to avoid taking responsibility. the idea of remembering the trauma (and seeking sympathy for it) but distancing yourself from the hurtful actions that have contributed to that trauma feels very self-serving. this inconsistency in memory, where salem is able to remember things that benefit his narrative but forget others that would hold him accountable, feels very insidious. its almost as if the memory lapses are being used strategically to escape responsibility rather than being a true symptom of DID.

there are real psychological, emotional, and physical tolls associated with DID, including severe memory loss, dissociation, and fragmented experiences. for salem to present himselfas plural, without addressing these symptoms indicates that the diagnosis is being used as a convenient narrative device rather than being an authentic part of his experience. it could be an attempt to garner sympathy, avoid accountability, and justify certain actions without fully reckoning with their impact.

salem actively uses trauma to gain sympathy while refusing to take responsibility for his actions. it raises serious ethical questions about his motivations and the authenticity of his experiences. he is navigating some tricky waters here. the only parts of the experience that are being acknowledged are the ones that allow for personal gain and avoidance of responsibility. this doesnt reflect a genuine, healthy approach to dealing with trauma and mental health. it feels like its being weaponized in a way thats toxic to both others and salem himself.

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