улов

ʙᴇɴᴇ ɢᴇꜱꜱᴇʀɪᴛ

The Bene Gesserit Order. The sisterhood. I have created a playlist for the women who shroud themselves in mystery to achieve their own ends. Please check it out!

An ancient and adept organisation that used ritual mysticism and symbolism. Women spies, nuns, scientists, and theologians who used genetic experimentation, galactic political interference, and religious engineering.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

I am the servant of all my Sisters. They watch their servant with critical eyes. I cannot spend too much time on generalities nor on trivia.

Our household god is this thing we carry forward generation after generation: our message for humankind if it matures. The closest thing we have to a household goddess is a failed Reverend Mother

Training day at Summerhall. Dunk and Aerion have been going at it for a while, but Dunk's been holding back.

Lyonel Strong's son has been staring at you since the moment we arrived, Your Grace. Unabashedly.

You've heard the stories of Harrenhal, Your Grace. It was built in hubris by Harren the Black as a monument to his own greatness. Blood mixed into the mortar. It is said to be a cursed place. That it passes judgment on all who pass beneath its gates.

I desire violently, and I wait gif by @laryssstrong

I was rewatching this scene, and all I could think of was this Anaïs Nin quote because it feels as though it was written for Larys himself. The way he looks at Alicent, with that sharp, almost curious gaze, laced with an undercurrent of desire, is unsettling. Is he aroused by her pain? It feels like he feeds off it. The way he gazes at a vulnerable Alicent in pain is almost predatory: sharp, inquisitive, and threaded with a quiet, forbidden longing. There’s something obscene in it, as though her suffering stirs something in him he doesn’t care to hide.

And then there’s Alicent, deliberately avoiding his eyes for a second, breathing in deeply, because she knows exactly what that look means. He sees straight through her; no matter what mask she wears, she’s utterly transparent to him. She knows he reads her too easily, that in his presence she is stripped bare, every defense useless, so she doesn’t even bother hiding anything. His visits are rituals cloaked as courtesy, subtle performances of power, but she knows they are a means for Larys to exercise his control over her. The pause in their conversation as Larys takes all her form in, that almost feels like an eternity to Alicent, reminds her that beneath his stillness, there’s always that flicker of hunger, thinly veiled and impossible to ignore. And Larys, feeling so confident in his control, barely bothers to hide the hunger beneath his composure. Just, wow.

And the undercurrent of violence is always present: Larys didn't hesitate to inflict violence against his own family, and now he realizes that Alicent has done the same to herself. He discerns how much alike they’ve become, and that’s more than a win in his part. That’s filling him with even more desire for something he perceives as his creation.

I feel like every fleeting Larycent interaction is a study in itself, deserving hours of dissection and theorizing. Their relationship is so disturbingly intricate, toxic, and tangled; they’re so beautifully twisted together, and I’m savoring every second of it.

Nothing to see here.

Larys Strong and Alicent Hightower