#turning red: mother&daughter conflict

[unhonestlymirror]

Have watched Turning Red

It's hard for me not to cry at any mother&daughter conflict

[novaursa]

What about a Jace x sister

Where he fell in love with her and in the same time he is not ok with it. He might be the only Targaryen related who thinks that’s not okay to loved their related. But no matter how he can stopped loving her, she might have a look more “Targaryen” with white hair with some black in it (narcissia Malfoy style?)

He always do some weird shit to be closed to her without drow to much attention, And when they finally get really closed their mother call all the bastard to become dragon rider. And Ulf find them in the Pit and try to get something from them in exchange of his silence.

Jace wake up and choose violence 🫣 and just say no and fuxk her in front of him and say that if he say anything he make sure his dragon will eat him

Sins of the Blood

- Summary: Jacaerys always loved his sister, more than he should. It was wrong, he knew it, but the dragon in him claimed you as his long ago.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are closed!

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I've bonded the reader with Grey Ghost for the plot.

The sea breeze dances through the open halls of Dragonstone, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant roar of the waves. You stand with Baela and Rhaena on the sun-warmed terrace overlooking the cliffs, the three of you bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Your laughter rings out, clear and melodic, mingling with the cries of the gulls that circle above.

Jacaerys Velaryon watches from a distance, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. He knows he should not be here, should not be watching you so closely, but he cannot help himself. You, his sister, the only daughter of Rhaenyra, have been a constant presence in his life, a source of both comfort and confusion. His eyes trace the silver streaks in your hair, a reminder of your Targaryen blood, mingling with the deep brown inherited from your true father, though only you, he, and his mother know the truth.

He remembers when you were children, how you would chase each other through the halls of the Red Keep, your laughter infectious, your bond inseparable. He had always been protective of you, even when you didn’t need it. You were fierce, a dragon through and through, and yet, as you stand now with Baela and Rhaena, there is a softness to you, a grace that makes his breath catch in his throat.

"Do you remember the first time we flew together?" Baela’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. She grins at you, her violet eyes bright with the memory.

"Of course," you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. "I thought Jace would never let me ride my own dragon, he was so worried."

Jace feels a pang at your words, both pride and regret mingling in his chest. He had always been overly cautious with you, more so than with Luke or Joffrey. Perhaps he had always known, even then, that his feelings for you were not entirely brotherly.

Rhaena giggles, leaning in closer to you. "He’s always been that way, hasn’t he? Always the protector, always looking after you."

You shrug, though the warmth in your eyes betrays your affection. "He cares. That’s just how he is."

Jace clenches his fists at his sides, torn between the pride that swells in him at your words and the guilt that gnaws at him for the thoughts he cannot seem to banish. He knows it is wrong—this desire that burns in him like dragonfire—but it is also undeniably a part of him, a flame that refuses to be extinguished.

Take what is yours. The words echo in his mind, a voice that is both his own and something darker, something ancient. The blood of the dragon runs hot in his veins, urging him to act, to claim what he believes is his by right. You are his sister, yes, but you are also so much more. You are the embodiment of everything he has ever wanted, ever desired.

You turn then, as if sensing his gaze, and your eyes meet his. For a moment, the world seems to stop. The laughter of Baela and Rhaena fades into the background, the sound of the waves dulls, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart.

"Jace," you call out, your voice breaking the spell. "Come join us!"

There is no hesitation in your invitation, no hint that you are aware of the storm raging inside him. You are just his sister, inviting him to share in the simple joy of the evening, oblivious to the battle he fights within.

He forces a smile, masking the turmoil beneath, and steps forward. "I was just enjoying the view," he says, his voice betraying nothing.

Rhaena giggles again, nudging Baela. "See, I told you he’s always watching over her."

Baela laughs, a sound like the tinkling of bells. "It’s because he’s a good brother."

The words cut deeper than they should, a cruel reminder of the line he cannot cross. He wants to be a good brother, he truly does. But the blood of the dragon does not care for such boundaries. The blood of the dragon demands more.

As he approaches, you smile up at him, that same smile that has always had the power to calm him, to soothe the fire within. But today, it only stokes the flames higher.

"Are you alright?" you ask softly, your eyes searching his face for something he cannot give.

He nods, the lie slipping easily from his lips. "Of course. Just… thinking."

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing look passing over your face. "You think too much, Jace. You always have."

He laughs, though it is a strained sound. "Someone has to, with you lot always running headlong into trouble."

Baela snorts. "As if you don’t love it."

He shrugs, unable to deny it. "Perhaps."

You laugh then, a sound so pure and unburdened that it twists something deep in his chest. How can you be so carefree, so unaware of the darkness that haunts him?

The conversation drifts to other things—plans for the next dragonride, the latest antics of your younger brothers—but Jace finds it hard to focus. His eyes keep returning to you, to the way the setting sun catches in your hair, to the way your eyes sparkle when you laugh. Every moment is a battle, every word a reminder of what he can never have.

Take what is yours. The voice whispers again, insistent, relentless.

He pushes it down, burying it beneath layers of duty, of honor, of love for his family. But it is there, always there, a part of him that he can never truly silence.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting the world in shades of orange and gold, you turn to him once more, your expression soft, almost tender.

"Thank you, Jace," you say quietly.

He frowns, unsure of what you mean. "For what?"

You smile, and it is a smile that breaks him, because it is so full of warmth, of trust, of love. "For always being there. For always watching over me."

He swallows hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. "Always," he promises, and it is both a vow and a curse.

You reach out, your hand brushing against his arm, and the simple touch sends a shock through him, setting his nerves alight. For a moment, he forgets himself, forgets everything but you.

But then Baela speaks up, her voice pulling him back to reality. "We should head inside. It’s getting late."

You nod, but your eyes linger on his for a moment longer, as if searching for something, something you cannot name.

Jace watches as you turn away, following Baela and Rhaena back into the castle, your laughter fading into the evening air. He stays behind, his heart a tumult of emotion, his mind a battlefield.

He knows what he feels is wrong. He knows that he should push these thoughts away, should bury them deep where they can never see the light of day. But he also knows that the blood of the dragon is not so easily denied.

As the stars begin to twinkle in the darkening sky, Jace makes a silent vow to himself. He will protect you, he will care for you, as a brother should. But he will also fight this desire, this hunger that threatens to consume him. He will not let it destroy him, or you.

But deep down, he knows that it will be difficult.

And as he watches the last light of day fade into night, he wonders if it ever truly will be.

Months have passed since that evening on the terrace, and yet the fire within Jacaerys Velaryon has not dimmed. If anything, it has only grown stronger, a persistent heat that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to consume him at every turn. He has thrown himself into his duties, into training and studies, hoping that the rigor will burn away these unwanted desires. But nothing works. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot escape the pull you have on him.

Today, he finds himself wandering through the halls of Dragonstone, his mind restless, his heart unsettled. The castle is quiet, the stillness only amplifying his thoughts. His feet carry him to the library, a place he knows you often retreat to when you seek solace or simply a moment of peace. He tells himself it is a coincidence, that he has come here to study, to distract himself with books and knowledge. But deep down, he knows the truth.

As he enters the library, the scent of aged parchment and ink greets him, a familiar comfort. He pauses in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room until they find you, seated near the window, the light of the midday sun casting a soft glow around you. You are engrossed in a book, your silver-streaked hair falling over your face, your expression serene. The sight of you, so peaceful and unguarded, sends a wave of warmth through him, and before he can stop himself, he is walking towards you.

You look up as he approaches, a smile tugging at your lips. "Jace," you greet him, your voice soft and welcoming. "What brings you here?"

He hesitates, his mind racing for an excuse. "I thought I might find you here," he admits, the words tumbling out before he can catch them. "I wanted to see if you needed any help with your studies."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eyes. "Since when do you offer to help with my studies?"

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. "I just thought... we haven't spent much time together lately. I miss it."

Your expression softens at his words, and you close the book in your hands, setting it aside. "I’ve missed it too," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

He can feel the tension between you, a charged energy that crackles in the air. The pull is stronger now, a magnetic force that draws him closer, and before he knows it, he is sitting beside you, his body instinctively leaning towards yours.

"What are you reading?" he asks, his voice rougher than he intended.

You glance at the book, then back at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "A history of Old Valyria. I’ve always been fascinated by our ancestors, by the dragons and the blood magic they wielded."

"Of course," he murmurs, though he hardly registers the words. He is too focused on the way your hand rests so close to his, the way your eyes seem to shimmer in the light. "Our blood is strong, isn’t it? The blood of the dragon."

You nod, your gaze holding his. "It is. It’s what makes us who we are."

The words resonate deep within him, a reminder of the truth he has tried so hard to ignore. The blood of the dragon is what binds you together, but it is also what drives him to the brink of madness. The fire that burns in his veins is not just a curse, but a part of him, a part of you. And he is no longer sure if he can continue to fight it.

"I wanted to ask you something," you say suddenly, breaking the silence that has settled between you.

He blinks, trying to focus. "What is it?"

You hesitate for a moment, as if gathering your thoughts. "I was wondering if you could help me with my dragon training. Grey Ghost is so much more... spirited than he used to be, and I thought maybe you could help me understand him better."

Jace swallows hard, the thought of spending more time with you, alone and away from prying eyes, sending a thrill through him. But it is also dangerous, more dangerous than anything he has faced before. Still, he finds himself nodding. "Of course. I’d be glad to help."

You smile, a smile that warms him from the inside out, and he knows he is lost. He cannot deny you, cannot deny himself any longer. The pull is too strong, the fire too fierce. And as you rise to your feet, gesturing for him to follow, he feels that pull tighten, like a chain around his heart, binding him to you.

The two of you walk side by side through the corridors of Dragonstone, the silence between you comfortable, yet charged with an unspoken tension. Your presence is a balm to him, calming and yet igniting something deep within, something he can no longer ignore. Every brush of your arm against his, every glance in his direction, fans the flames higher, until he feels as though he might burst from the sheer force of it.

When you reach the courtyard where the dragons are kept, you turn to him, your eyes bright with excitement. "Let’s start with the basics," you say, your voice full of eagerness. "You’ve always been better at this than I am."

Jace shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. "It’s not about being better," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "It’s about understanding them, forming a bond with them."

You nod, your attention fully on him now, and he feels a surge of pride at the trust you place in him. "I know," you say softly. "And I trust you to help me."

The words strike him like a blow, the weight of your trust almost too much to bear. He wants to be worthy of it, to be the brother you believe him to be. But he also wants more, so much more, and it terrifies him.

As you step closer to him, your arm brushing against his, he feels that pull again, stronger than ever. He knows he should move away, put some distance between you, but he cannot bring himself to do it. Instead, he finds himself leaning in, his body drawn to yours like a moth to flame.

"You know," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, "I’ve always felt safest when I’m with you."

The confession catches him off guard, and he looks down at you, his heart pounding in his chest. "Why?"

You smile up at him, a gentle, almost shy smile. "Because you’ve always been there for me, Jace. No matter what."

His breath catches in his throat, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear. The pull between you is undeniable now, a force of nature that neither of you can resist. And as you stand there, so close that he can feel the warmth of your breath on his skin, he knows that he is about to cross a line that he can never return from.

But before he can act, before he can make the decision that will change everything, you reach out and take his hand in yours, your fingers curling around his. The simple touch sends a jolt of electricity through him, and he is lost, completely and utterly lost.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken.

He looks down at you, his heart in his throat, and he knows that this is it. This is the moment he has been dreading, the moment he has been craving. The pull between you is too strong, the fire too fierce, and he knows that there is no going back.

But then, as if sensing the turmoil within him, you give his hand a gentle squeeze, your eyes full of warmth and understanding. "Thank you," you say, your voice soft and sincere. "For always being there."

And just like that, the moment passes. The tension between you eases, and you step back, releasing his hand. The pull is still there, still strong, but it is no longer overwhelming. For now, it is enough to simply be with you, to feel your presence beside him, to know that you trust him.

As you turn your attention back to the dragons, Jace takes a deep breath, steadying himself. The battle within him is far from over, but for now, he has won a small victory. He has resisted the pull, resisted the fire. But he knows it is only a matter of time before the dragon within him demands more.

And when that time comes, he is not sure if he will be able to resist.

The winds howl around the jagged peaks of Dragonmont, the volcanic heart of Dragonstone. The sky above is dark, thick clouds swirling in ominous patterns, but here, beneath the shelter of the mountain, you and Jacaerys find solace in the company of your dragons. Vermax and Grey Ghost, their massive forms partially obscured by the mist that clings to the rocky terrain, rest quietly nearby, their watchful eyes ever alert.

The air between you and Jace is charged, as it has been for days now. Since the arrival of the Dragonseeds and the beginning of the Red Sowing, there has been an unspoken tension, a shared anxiety that neither of you has fully voiced. Today, it seems, that silence is about to be broken.

Jace paces before you, his brow furrowed, his steps uneven. "I can’t help but worry," he finally says, his voice low, almost a growl. "Mother’s decision to let these Dragonseeds try to claim the dragons… it could destroy everything. The only thing that sets us apart, that makes us legitimate in the eyes of the realm, is our bond with the dragons. What happens if anyone can do it? What happens if they succeed?"

You watch him, feeling the weight of his concern settle over you like a heavy cloak. You understand his fear; it echoes within you as well. "They are Targaryen bastards, Jace," you say softly, trying to find the right words. "The blood of the dragon runs in their veins, even if the world doesn’t see them as we are seen. But you are right to be cautious. We cannot control what might happen if they succeed. But we can control how we respond."

He stops pacing, turning to face you fully. His dark eyes are intense, filled with worry and something deeper, something you’ve seen growing there in recent days. "What if it shatters everything? What if the realm no longer sees us as the rightful heirs? If they can claim dragons, what does that mean for us?"

You rise from your seat on a smooth outcropping of rock, moving closer to him, your steps slow and deliberate. You can feel the warmth of the dragons nearby, the heat from the mountain beneath your feet, but most of all, you feel the heat radiating from Jace, a fire that matches your own.

"We are more than our dragons," you say, your voice steady. "We are the blood of the dragon, yes, but we are also our mother’s children, the heirs of House Targaryen. That will not change, no matter what happens with the Dragonseeds."

Jace’s gaze softens as he looks at you, the storm in his eyes momentarily easing. "You always know what to say," he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But I’m still afraid. Afraid of what this means for us, for our family."

You reach out, your hand finding his, and the contact sends a spark through you both. "Then we face it together," you say firmly, your fingers tightening around his. "Whatever comes, we face it together, as we always have."

For a moment, there is only silence between you, the kind of silence that speaks louder than words. The dragons are quiet too, their presence a comforting weight in the background. Jace’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, and the simple touch sends a shiver down your spine, the connection between you deepening with each passing second.

Without thinking, you step closer, and suddenly the space between you is gone. You can feel his breath on your skin, warm and unsteady, and the intensity in his eyes is almost too much to bear. The pull between you is stronger than ever, an undeniable force that you can no longer resist.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken, something that has been building for so long.

He doesn’t reply, at least not with words. Instead, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that is both hesitant and eager, as if he is afraid you might pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you kiss him back, your hands moving to cup his face, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, all the pent-up emotions of the past weeks, months, perhaps even years, pouring out in that single moment. It is as if the fire that has always burned between you has finally found release, and there is no stopping it now.Jace’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the desperation in his touch, the need that mirrors your own. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

"So have I," you admit, the words coming out in a breathless rush. "Jace, I—"

He silences you with another kiss, more urgent this time, and you can feel his hands moving to the fastenings of your attire. There is a moment of hesitation, a final chance to turn back, but neither of you takes it. Instead, you help him, your fingers trembling as they work to undo his clothing as well.

The air is cool against your skin as your garments fall away, but you hardly notice. All you can focus on is Jace, on the way his hands move over your body, on the way he looks at you as if you are the only thing that matters in the world. And perhaps, in this moment, you are.

He guides you down onto the warm rock, his movements careful, almost reverent. The heat from the mountain seeps into your skin, mixing with the heat of his touch, and you feel yourself trembling, not from fear, but from anticipation.When he finally joins with you, the pain is brief, a sharp sting that quickly fades, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of being completely and utterly connected to him. Jace pauses, his eyes searching yours, as if waiting for your permission to continue.

You nod, your voice caught in your throat, but the look in your eyes says everything. "Please," you whisper, and that is all it takes.

He begins to move, slow at first, almost tentative, but as the moments pass, the hesitation fades, replaced by a growing urgency, a passion that neither of you can control. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, urging him on, meeting his every movement with your own.

The world around you fades, the sounds of the dragons, the wind, the distant roar of the sea, all becoming nothing more than a distant echo. There is only Jace, only the fire that burns between you, the flames that consume you both, driving you higher and higher until you feel as though you might burst from the sheer intensity of it.

Just as you reach the peak of your union, lost in the sensation of him, you hear a sound, the soft crunch of footsteps on the volcanic rock. Your eyes snap open, and you see him—Ulf the White, one of the Dragonseeds, standing a short distance away, his expression one of surprise and amusement.

Jace’s movements slow as he becomes aware of the intruder, but he doesn’t stop, his body still pressed intimately against yours. His eyes narrow, and you can feel the tension in him, the protective instinct that flares up at the sight of another man watching you in such a vulnerable moment.

Ulf’s smirk widens as he recognizes both of you, his voice carrying an easy confidence as he speaks. "Well, well, what do we have here? Prince Jacaerys and his fair sister, indulging in some… private time, I see."

Jace doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze locked on Ulf, his body shielding yours from view. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, dangerous. "You will leave now, Ulf. And you will speak of this to no one."

Ulf’s amusement doesn’t fade. "And if I don’t? I imagine this little secret could be worth quite a bit."

Jace’s expression hardens, the dragon within him rising to the surface. "I have another proposition for you. Leave now and never speak of this, or tell someone… and Vermax will feast on your bones."

The threat hangs in the air, thick with the promise of violence. Ulf’s smile falters, the realization of Jace’s seriousness sinking in. He glances at the dragons, both Vermax and Grey Ghost now fully alert, their eyes locked on him, and he takes an involuntary step back.

"Fine," Ulf mutters, the bravado gone from his voice. "Your secret’s safe with me, Prince Jacaerys. I was never here." With that, he turns and hurries away, casting one last nervous glance at the dragons before disappearing into the mist.

Jace watches him go, his body still tense, but as the danger passes, his attention shifts back to you, his focus returning to the moment you had both been lost in. The fire that had momentarily cooled begins to burn again, his hands finding yours, his gaze intense.

"I will marry you," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "In the traditions of our ancestors, in the ways of Old Valyria. You are mine, and I am yours, for now and forever."

The words send a shiver through you, the weight of them, the promise in them, filling you with a sense of certainty, of belonging. You nod, your voice trembling as you respond. "Yes, Jace. Yes."

And as he moves within you once more, the world around you falls away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by the fire of your blood.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Your Throne

benji blackwood x strong!fem!reader 

Summary: You’ve been married to Benji for the past decade and have been residing in Raventree Hall awaiting your ascension. You and your mother tire of the constant conflict between the Brackens and Blackwoods. These tensions cause unrest between you and Benji and he’s willing to do what he must to make peace in the Riverlands.

Warnings: 18+ swearing, mentions of fighting, political messiness, marital problems - but gets resolved, oral(f), p in v

Authors Note: request from @chainsawsangel, i’m SO sorry i made this super angsty in the beginning also that i didn’t make him super amazing and dreamy at first buut this man on his knees? folded 

Word Count: 3.4k

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Daughter-

I have been sent ravens upon ravens of the ever rising tensions between the Blackwoods and the Brackens. I’m sure the Red Keep could rival Raventree Hall if this keeps up. If the crown must intervene, if I must come to the Riverlands, you will not find it to be a pleasant visit. If you require my help all you have to do is ask. 

I love you. It would make me happy if the five of you visited — after you’ve settled this feud.

-Rhaenyra

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I push the note away from me and lean back in my chair. I don’t know how she expects me to settle this hatred that’s spread over generations. I don’t want her to have to come out here and I don’t want to put so much pressure on Benji. He hasn’t necessarily told his men to stop the fighting but he doesn’t outright condone it. I know it’s going to have to start with me sitting down and having a serious discussion with him. We’ve both avoided the topic of the ongoing feud that seems to have no end in sight but we can’t do that anymore.

“What does it say?” Benji holds the note between his fingers. “I wish she wouldn’t always write to you in High Valyrian.” he pouts. 

“It’s a language you could learn. A trait that befits a King Consort.” I purse my lips at him. “If this fell into the wrong hands..” I shake my head flaring my nostrils. 

“The wrong hands?” he chuckles. “We’re no longer at war. The realm is in peace.” I push my hands to the table at his words and rise. 

“You could’ve fooled me with all of the fighting that goes on with the Brackens.” I throw my hands into the air. “If we can’t even keep this house in line how can we be seen to keep a realm in line? My mother has threatened to come out and deal with it herself if we can not.” my temper keeps rising and along with my voice as I pace across the empty council chambers. 

“It is not my fault those Bracken beasts act the way they do.” his voice low as he glares at me. 

“What of the Blackwoods? They’re your men, are they not?” I turn to him exasperated. “Do you wish for me to order them around? Order you around? Must I do everything for you Benjicot? I suppose that’s how it’s always been.” I scoff looking him over before walking to the doors to leave the conversation.

“You know I fucking hate-“ the doors slam open effectively cutting him off. 

“Princess,” my guard pants. “There’s been an incident involving Maelor.” my heart races. 

“Where is he? Is he okay?” I sprint down the hall with my guard and he leads me to the maesters. Benji is a step behind me as we enter shutting the door. Our eldest son is having his cheek stitched up and while another maester cleans up his scratched knuckles. “What happened?” I look around the room waiting for an answer. 

“From what I gathered a fight with a Bracken boy.” I fume, turning my head to Maelor who winces. 

“How does the other kid look?” Benji kneels down with a smirk. 

“Benji-“ I’m cut off by his guard bursting it. Gods, what could it possibly be now? 

“My Lord,” he looks around for Benji, who rises from Maelors side. “Lord Bracken is at the front gates. He doesn’t seem very happy.” the guard looks at me and cowers under my glare. 

“I’m going to lose my fucking mind.” I mutter. “Maelor, stay here. We will discuss this later.” I then turn to Benji and roll my eyes at him. “Let’s go.” I grab his arm and pull him out of the room. 

“What are you suggesting we do? Since you are so engaged in politics.” Benji drawls as we start towards the main doors of the Keep. 

“And you are?” I hiss. “You infuriate me.” I huff and push out the doors and make my way across the yard. 

“Likewise, wife.” he grabs my hand and pulls me back to match his relaxed pace as we approach. “I don’t care if you’re angry with me. Don’t show it in front of him.” he says through clenched teeth as we approach the gates. I glare at him and look forward and soften my face. The gates start to open and we’re greeted with a red faced Lord Bracken. 

“Princess,” he gruff’s out, nodding his head. “Our sons have gotten into a fight leaving them both injured. What is to be done about this? My son is being stitched up by our maesters as we speak.” his voice rises and I can feel Benji's temper explode next to me. 

“As is my son. I was hoping we would be able to sit down and discuss what can be done to-“ Lord Bracken cuts me off. 

“What can be done?” Benji steps forward and I raise my hand stopping him. “My son has been scarred. You think a discussion will fix that?” he laughs. 

“Were you there to witness this fight?” I tilt my head. 

“No, my boy-“ 

“You stand before me, heir to the throne,” I squint my eyes at him. “And accuse my son, my heir,” I scoff, shaking my head. “Accuse the heir of hurting your son. Yet you did not witness the act?” I turn to look at Benji in disbelief and he looks at me as if I’m mad. “Is this correct, Lord Bracken? Shall I see if the crown can intervene and help us settle this dispute or shall we try and find common ground alone?” I hum studying him. 

“Princess, I-“ Lord Bracken scrunches his brows and looks at Benji lost. “Do you have nothing to say for your beast of a son?” Benji steps forward again and I halt him once more. 

“I would choose the discussion with her over the crown. My wife is more willing to listen.” Benji looks blankly at his rival. 

“I will not enter your hall alone.” he raises his chin defiantly. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” I hum and call my guard over. “Fetch us three chairs please.” he hurries back and sets out the chairs for us and leaves. I take a seat and they follow. 

“What’s done is done. Blood has been spilled on both sides. For generations. For decades. When will enough be enough? I’ve lived here for years now. Raised my children here. I call the Riverlands my home. What can we do to end this feud once and for all? Name your price.” I search his face as he takes in my words. 

“I wish for my second son to be knighted and on the Queen's Guard.” he continues to think. 

“He’s but eight.” Benji raises an eyebrow. 

“When she rules.” he nods his head at me. 

“I want my daughter to be your daughter's Lady in Waiting when you move to Kings Landing. Let her marry a nice, rich Lord, be content.” his wants shock me. I never would’ve thought that we would want for his children.  

“Consider those things done. We can confirm and settle boundary lines. Set up monthly meetings. Allow communication to actually flow between our two houses. I wish to see these lands content and settled.” I nod at Lord Bracken who looks between the both of us. We continue the meeting and push ideas back and forth. A time is settled for us to have our first meeting and everything finally seems to be falling into place. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

I groan in relief as our chamber doors shut behind us. The moon has been high in the sky for some hours now but we’ve been too busy arguing in the council chambers with his men over the upcoming meetings with the Brackens. I tug at the strings on my dress and breathe out deeply as the fabric loosens. Benji grips my arm and spins me around. 

“What?” I glare up at him. 

“You just gave that Bracken pig whatever he asked for.” he looks down at me with dark eyes. 

“He didn’t ask for much. You’re acting as if I gave him my hand.” I roll my eyes at him and try to push him out of my way. 

“And if he asked for your hand?” I can’t help the half laugh that tumbles from my lips. 

“Gods, I might’ve said yes. At least he came over here to try and settle something. Actually being a man-“ 

“Choose your next words carefully.” his eyes darken as his grip tightens. 

“This feud needs to end or this marriage does. I am to rule Benjicot.” I rip my arm out of his grip. “For the past decade you’ve allowed this fight to wage and now it’s weighing me down.” I shake my head at a loss. 

“This marriage is weighing you down?” he looks at me wounded, nodding his head. 

“No, this continuous battle with the Brackens. I’m tired of it. I’m done raising my kids in this environment. Our son is permanently scarred. Our daughter is scared to go out past the gates to pick flowers.” my emotions rise and I feel tears of anger prick at my eyes. “Fucking flowers, Benji. My sweet girl can’t even pick flowers. If this feud doesn’t end by the end of the month I’m taking the kids and moving back to Kings Landing. Alone.” I feel the tears slip down my cheeks and I storm into the bathing chambers slamming the door. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

The meetings over the past fortnight have been long and exhausting. We’ve been meeting almost everyday to discuss potential ways to keep the peace between the two houses. Listening to this table of men bark at each other has been driving me fucking mad. Benji has been tense and when he’s not yelling in the council chambers he’s beating his sword into a straw dummy in the training yard. 

Lord Bracken has been bringing his children along to the meetings and they have been able to get to know our children. They get along so handsomely it makes me sad they weren’t able to interact before this. Our daughters even take their guards out past the gates to go flower picking and it makes my heart melt when they show me flowers pouring out of their dress pockets. 

I’ve sent ravens to my mother and we’ve been in contact as much as possible. She thanked me profusely for getting tensions under control and told me to take my time but to please visit when we can. She still offers me her support and to come and show her strength if needed. I assure her it’s under control and things are truly beginning to settle. I send off one last raven to her and tell her we’re hosting our last meeting before our peace officially begins on the morrow. I sigh with a smile and begin to make my way back to our chambers. I push open the doors and stop in my tracks. I shut the door and look at Benji once more. 

“I don’t want you to leave me.” Benji is on his knees in the center of our chambers. “I’ll do anything, my Queen.” he keeps his focus on the floor as I come to stand in front of him. 

“Look at me, Benji.” I hum and his head snaps up to me. I cup his cheek and he leans into me. 

“Please don’t leave me.” he looks up to me and I’ve never seen him act this way. “We have our last meeting tomorrow. Everything’s done. We’ve made peace. Please stay with me.” he grabs my hand and places quick kisses on it. 

“I’ll never leave you.” I brush his hair back with my other hand. He pulls me closer and hugs my legs as I continue to brush back his hair. 

“I need to have you. It’s been so long.” he mumbles into my skirts and my body warms at his words. “Please,” he whines, pushing up my skirt. I gasp as his head disappears beneath my dress and I feel his lips on my thighs. 

“Benji,” I pant, not having anything to steady myself on. He pulls my small clothes down and taps my ankles when he wants me to step out of them. I cry out when his tongue slides through my center. His hands grip my waist as he practically sits me on his mouth and I moan loudly as he starts to lap against me. “Yes, Benji,” I gasp, gripping my skirts. My legs tremble and his hands move down to them to help steady me. I rock against his face and he moans, moving his tongue faster. He swirls around my bud that leaves me gasping above him. I cry as my pleasure slams through me and I almost topple over. 

“Come, my Queen.” he comes out from beneath my skirts and takes me to the bed. He strips off both of our clothes before he pulls me up the bed and gets me to place my legs on either side of his face. “Let me be your throne.” he looks up at me desperately pulling me down onto his mouth. 

“Fuck yes, Benji,” I whine grinding against his mouth. His tongue pushes into my core and I whimper above him. He wraps his hands around my hips as he starts to slam his tongue into me. “I’m- Benji,” my stomach tightens as his nose rubs against my bud. I grind harshly against his face and he groans into me as I fall apart against him. I go to move and his fingers dig into me. 

“Not done.” his hair tickles my thighs as he shakes his head. His lips encase my bud and I shutter above him. My fingers dig into his hair and grind his face up into my wetness. He moans into me and I almost come undone at the vibrations. As his tongue moves quicker my pleasure washes through me and I go taught above him. His tongue lashes against me and I shake in his arms before he starts to help me settle onto the bed. 

“I’m sorry.” he hovers above me and I pull him down into a kiss. I cling against him as he slowly grinds into me. He slides into me and I wrap my arms and legs around him. 

“I’m sorry I was mean and threatened to leave.” I bury my fingers in his hair.  

“I should’ve been better. I will be better.” he murmurs. into my neck. “Please don’t leave me.” his voice cracks. 

“I can’t leave you Benji. I love you too much.” his hips snap into mine at my words. Our lips find each other again and we press closer together. All it takes is a couple hushed words of love and adoration and we’re both coming undone and holding each other. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Visiting Kings Landing 

As our carriage pulls in through the Keep gates I smile watching our kids press their faces against the windows. Benji smiles at me from across the small space and I look at him in relief as it finally comes to a stop. My mother and siblings are waiting for us as we start to make our way out. My children run up to my mother and she scoops the two youngest up while my eldest holds onto my brother. We start to shuffle into the Keep and my mother allows us to settle into our chambers before we have supper. 

Our children run off with their cousins while we start to unpack in my old chambers. I look around the freshly cleaned solar and it’s as if nothing has changed. Benji brings our bags to the couch and begins to help me hang up gowns and put the rest of the clothes away. I poke my head out and ask my guard to have some tea brought up for us. In moments a servant is walking through my doors and preparing us tea. She whisks another in to light the hearth and they turn to us and ask if we should need anything else. When they leave my mother enters and she ushers us over to the chairs. 

“I wanted to thank you both, profusely, for getting the feud under control. I know that it was generational but it has been time for it to end for some time now. When you rule I want for your son to inherit peace as well. You know as well as I what it’s like to take over and be at war.” she looks at both of us with a soft smile. 

“I know, mother. We’ve been meaning to deal with it. I’m sorry.” I fold my hands and look at her. 

“I know, I know. I just won’t live forever, sweet girl-“

“I hate when you speak like this. You’re still so young. You’ll rule for much longer.” I scrunch my brows and shake my head. 

“We never know what the Gods have planned for us.” she hums looking at us. “I will let you both relax.” she gets up and lets herself out of my chambers. I slump further back into the chair and let my eyes shut. Everything is finally settling down and falling into place. Not that it hasn’t throughout the years but ending this feud was the last thing I needed to do to really set us and our children up. I turn my head to the side and peek open an eye to look at Benji. 

“How are you, my beautiful wife?” he hums brushing my hair back. 

“Tired, happy, content, feelings along that line.” I offer him a smile and he leans over and places a soft kiss on my lips. 

“I love you so much. I’ll continue to do better for you. I’ll be the King Consort you need me to be.” he hums. 

“You’ve been amazing over the past moon. You’ve done so well in meetings. Your ideas and council are sound. You’ve really pulled yourself together.” I nod at him. 

“It was either that or you were leaving me.” he frowns. 

“I’m sorry for saying that.” my words hushed. 

“I’m not. You got me to finally pull my head out of my ass. To be the man you need me to be.” his words are laced with heavy promises and emotions. 

“I love you and I think-“ 

“Father, father,” our children burst into the chambers and I thank the Gods we were just talking. Benji stands up and kneels down to their level. 

“Yes, my little cherubs?” he coos scooping them all into a hug.

“We want you to take us to the gardens. Vaela wants to pick flowers,” Maelor pouts. “But I want to go to the training yard.” he whines. 

“And what of you?” I hum pulling my middle child, Aelon, into my arms and I kneel next to Benji. 

“I want to go to the library.” he mumbles and Maelor scoffs. 

“Of course you do.” he sticks his tongue out at him. 

“Hey hey, we will all get along.” I scrunch my brows. “We have more than enough to do everything and more.” I hum. 

“Your mother is right.” Benji hums looking over to me. “We can each have a turn doing what we would like.” We all rise from the floor and make our way through the Keep. We spend the next couple of hours in the gardens as Vaela picks flowers and hands them to me to make a small bouquet. Our boys run around picking flowers as well and I smile watching Maelor delicately pick flowers and offer them to Vaela before sprinting down the stone path to find more. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌 

i had zero intentions of making this messy and emo 😔

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @1-fuzzy-squirrels @arya-brooke @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @moonymoo1 @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra @hiimava11 @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @fiction-fanfic-reader @povofjustme @multilover19 @alexxavicry @cedstars @fuckalrighty @mrsmunson-harrington @misspendragonsworld @nz2004

[x-z-x]

SAND AND METAL

→ Seth x Goddess!OC [Habibah]

✦ Synopsis: Hathor gives birth to her first descendant, and Seth is the last to find out.

✦ Word Count: 5.3k

✦ Warnings: Incest / Smut + Erotic Asphyxiation.

✦ Spanish Version: Arena y Metal

“What’s happening with Hathor?”

The gods turned at the new voice, and some faces showed displeasure at seeing the latest addition to the room. Seth raised an eyebrow at their reactions, while Sekhmet smiled widely, ready to provide answers.

“Apparently, her daughter is causing trouble,” she said with malicious laughter.

“Since when does she have descendants? Who among you was it?” he asked, slightly aggressive due to the confusion.

“None,” Maat sighed, crossing her arms. “She had an affair some time ago and...”

Seth made a sound indicating his opinion on how foolish it was for her to end up pregnant, then watched them with suspicion, wondering if this had been a secret kept just from him.

“What did she do to make Hathor run through the halls in tears?”

“She was born with her mother’s beauty. She enjoys dancing and travels with a troupe to different cities for performances, but her appearance is drawing quite a lot of attention,” Bastet explained.

“Seriously, the problem is that she has too many suitors?” he scoffed.

“It’s more than that; some are deities who are starting to fight and cause chaos,” Maat said, emphasizing the gravity of the situation. “We asked Hathor to impose order and demand that her daughter act according to her divine title, but...”

“Divine? Did her daughter ascend?” he asked, less sympathetically.

“She is the Goddess of Precious Stones and Metals. Everything we use was crafted by her,” Thoth said, pointing to the impressive necklace he wore.

Isis smiled with mockery, but Seth dismissed the situation as a waste of time and left the place, heading to his temple. Upon arrival, contrary to what he had said, he ordered his most loyal servants to find the young woman who captivated everyone. However, the information didn’t arrive until several months later, and by then, any interest had faded.

Still, Hathor didn’t hesitate to confront him when she learned he knew her precious daughter was coming to the city. Nervous and agitated, it only encouraged the man to dismiss her concerns even more.

“Don’t mess with my baby! I’ll deal with the suitors, erase every trace of affection, and nothing will happen!” she growled, frowning.

“Now you choose to act? Battles and conflicts have arisen because of her, and that’s my territory.”

“She’s the victim, don’t blame her! If you do anything...”

“What?” Seth raised an eyebrow, a challenging smile on his face. “Do you think you can stand up to me?”

Hathor turned crimson, her violet eyes' pupils becoming vertical slits, her aura extremely threatening.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to destroy you if you interfere with her. I don’t care if I have to alter the feelings of every living being to have them protect her and turn against you,” she declared, sparks flying from the tips of her fingers. Then she turned and left the hall.

“Since when does she dare to speak to me like that?” he muttered angrily, tapping his nails against the throne he occupied.

Choosing to go regardless of the circumstances, he instructed them to prepare less conspicuous clothing and to cover his red hair well to remain unnoticed. Wrapped in linen, he set out at dusk for the designated area, frowning at the large number of people already occupying the front rows.

“Sir, please come this way,” a young woman with fine jewelry and a broad smile announced.

“Don’t touch me,” he growled as she grasped his arm.

“Please, I have instructions from the lead interpreter to take you to the front row,” she explained, maintaining her charm.

Seth squinted and moved forward, noticing that several mortals dressed like her were organizing the spectators. Both women and men watched him pass by, curious about who he was as they were led to more favorable spots. When he stopped, they led him to a cushioned area just a few meters from the makeshift stage.

As the sun set, torches were lit, and the musicians settled into their places, quietly chatting among themselves. It took some time before the performance began, and after a while, a man finally welcomed the audience and announced the start of the show. The first to perform were a mixed group dancing in pairs or small ensembles before breaking formation to interact with the audience. Seth admired the performance, wondering where they had found so many beautiful and talented people, while the crowd laughed and applauded at the artists’ infectious enthusiasm.

Minutes passed in a different activity for him, the final act arriving as a curtain was lifted to reveal several female silhouettes that captured everyone’s attention. A different rhythm began to play, and the fabric was released by the men holding it on ladders. Nine women showed their backs, with one standing out at the tip of the V formation. Gradually, they turned, and finally, the face of the girl Seth had come to see appeared, his mouth slightly open in awe.

With a confident and seductive smile, and lips as red as rubies, the goddess lifted her eyelids to reveal dark purple irises, with long lashes inherited from her mother. She walked slowly as the other women scattered across the stage. In perfect synchronization, they began their choreography with incredible flair. Crystals and golden beads intertwined and flew through the air as they twirled, the decorations sparkling as brightly as she did, leaving the audience breathless.

Seth’s red eyes followed every movement, admiring the curves that swayed with mischievous grace. Ignored until she decided to get closer to the prime spot, she crouched with a predatory air and crept to the edge of the platform, supporting herself on her hands and knees. The crowd cheered excitedly as she maintained eye contact, rising at one point and slowly swaying her hips. She traced her legs, thighs, waist, and neck in an extremely sensual display before turning and calling one of the men dancing nearby.

Euphoria erupted at the potential of what might happen, with Seth grinding his teeth and watching almost without blinking as she placed both hands on the man’s shoulders and began to caress him. He held her and spun her around, recognizing her intentions, and stroked her exposed abdomen while maintaining a challenging gaze toward the god. At this point, due to the heat from the large torches and the dance, she glistened with a light sheen of sweat and had cheeks flushed like beautiful garnets.

"I’ll wait for you," she said, her voice fading into the music and the noise.

Seth read her lips and watched as she threw a bracelet at his feet. Some people tried to reach for it, but he covered it with his hand, glaring at them so intensely that they backed off.

Once the event ended, he decided to wait for a signal. Suddenly, the bracelet began to heat up, pulling him with an unseen force in a specific direction. He let it guide him through a couple of crowded streets before turning into an alley, where the woman awaited, leaning against a wall and inspecting her nails.

"I learned of your existence only recently, unlike the rest," he remarked with a hint of reproach.

"It’s understandable. From what I’ve been told, your temper is rather volatile and aggressive," she said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter much. "What brings you here?" she asked, tilting her head and closing the distance between them, but soon found herself trapped as sand coiled around her legs.

"As the God of War and the Desert, I’ve come to deal with the trouble you’re causing with your suitors."

She averted her gaze and rolled her eyes silently, prompting Seth to issue a warning sound that forced her to speak.

"Do you have somewhere more private?"

Seth narrowed his eyes, considering the question before grabbing her by the arm and vanishing in a whirlwind.

"This is…" she hesitated, looking around.

"My temple," he finished, shedding the unnecessary linen, letting his red hair fall freely over his shoulders.

"Wow," she murmured, gently touching a strand. "I could make so many things to enhance this color. It’s so beautiful..."

Seth grabbed her wrist high in warning, allowing her to smile and lick his hand without breaking eye contact.

"Careful, or I’ll cut out your tongue."

She snorted, pulling free and turning her back to him, elegantly walking toward the massive stairs leading to the main building. The jewels and gemstone threads hanging from her chimed harmoniously with each step, glowing brighter as she neared the torches.

"It’s huge. I wouldn’t mind spending a few weeks here," she teased, brushing a wall with her fingers.

Seth followed at a measured distance, his eyes tracking her every move, taking in everything she was. Since he first saw her, an unfamiliar, overwhelming need had been growing inside him, frustratingly hard to ignore.

"Did I offer for you to stay?"

"Don’t you want me to? I’m good company," she turned, walking backward. "Why do you think those who know me fight over having me?" she winked.

"Sex."

"If that’s all, why don’t they forget me when I leave? What makes them cling so tightly?" she slowed her pace, drawing closer. "You saw it tonight—the crowd gets excited just watching me... Even you."

Seth clenched his teeth in frustration, and she stuck her tongue out teasingly.

“Do you have your mother’s permission to be mingling with gods?”

“I haven’t needed her approval in centuries,” she laughed. “I told her today I’d try to avoid causing chaos. Who knows, maybe getting close to the God of War is the solution.”

“You’ll be more trouble than pleasure.”

Her laugh rang out at that, before she pretended to ponder deeply.

“Do you have musicians? Maybe a private dance would change your mind.”

“We have matters to settle first,” he replied indifferently, though she knew a little push would make him fall. “What’s your name?”

"I'll tell you depending on what you decide after my dance."

He clenched his jaw, hating the carefree tone in her voice and the mischievous glint in her eyes. The constant smile was unnerving, making it seem like she was the one in control.

"Why do you live like a nomad, performing shows?"

"Mortal or immortal, every being is born with a family they can cherish—or not. My mother is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, and she'll always have a place in my heart. But the rest doesn’t really matter much. I met people who share my interests, people I enjoy spending my days with. They trust me, and I trust them, so I chose them," she explained, a new air surrounding her. "I won't leave that caravan, not when everyone I care about has an expiration date."

"You have feelings unbefitting of a deity."

"What is a god without humanity? If you don’t understand the people you’re meant to protect, represent, and serve, how can you be an empathetic and respectable ruler?" she asked, her eyes filled with pure seriousness. "I know I’ll never rule Egypt, but that doesn’t make me indifferent to those who pray to me."

"By the way you speak, I have no doubt you’re close to Osiris and Isis."

"Well thought out, both had a big hand in raising me," she responded, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one hip.

"Whatever," he mimicked her stance, looking her up and down. "Are you incapable of ordering your lovers to stop fighting over you?"

"Most haven’t even managed to lay a finger on me; they fight purely for the desire to do so. I’ve intervened, but the one who really should be stepping up here is Nephthys and encouraging peace."

"I don't question that. They should’ve turned to her from the start."

"She’s your sister. If she doesn’t act, you could ask her."

"Who do you think I am, a messenger?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Wow," she sighed, tilting her head. "So what now, we sleep together and let the rumor spread to scare the gods?"

"You’re really persistent. Do you want me that badly?" He clicked his tongue, grinning smugly.

The question drew a dry laugh from her as she stepped closer.

"I won’t deny you’re incredibly attractive, but even before you showed up at the performance, I knew I was in the mood for some fun tonight. If you don’t join me, I’ll find someone else to satisfy me."

Seth exhaled and held her gaze, his heart racing as he fought the urge to look away, feeling as if she were pulling him closer to the edge of a cliff.

"I believe you promised to dance and change my mind, didn’t you?"

"Finally, we’re getting to the important part," she said, pleased, taking a step back. "Lead me to your musicians."

Without delay, he took the lead and left her waiting outside as he entered a room. From the corridor, she could hear the hurried greetings of men and women as they scrambled to follow his commands, a few accidental notes sounding in the shuffle. A considerable line of people soon filed out, their eyes widening as they caught sight of her. She smiled, reveling in the way some let their jaws drop in astonishment.Seth exhaled and held her gaze, his heart racing as he fought the urge to look away, feeling as if she were pulling him closer to the edge of a cliff.

"I believe you promised to dance and change my mind, didn’t you?"

"Finally, we’re getting to the important part," she said, pleased, taking a step back. "Lead me to your musicians."

Without delay, he took the lead and left her waiting outside as he entered a room. From the corridor, she could hear the hurried greetings of men and women as they scrambled to follow his commands, a few accidental notes sounding in the shuffle. A considerable line of people soon filed out, their eyes widening as they caught sight of her. She smiled, reveling in the way some let their jaws drop in astonishment.

“What’s keeping you all busy?” Seth asked from the back, his voice causing everyone to snap out of their stupor and hasten their movements.

"If you decide not to have sex with me, I’m glad to know I won’t have to look far for another partner."

He shot her a sidelong glance, gritted his teeth, and then tossed his hair back.

"Let’s go."

They walked calmly, with Seth entering first into a vast room where a massive mattress lay nearly at floor level. Posts with large curtains were arranged to shield the bed from view, while four attendants lit incense and prepared alcohol.

"Release the side curtains."

Another small group hurried to comply, loosening the ties and leaving only one section uncovered.

"Interesting," the goddess remarked, taking a few steps around the room.

The musicians arranged their instruments and took positions concealed by heavy drapes, their role clearly to observe the guest.

"Prepare as you wish," Seth said with an indifferent gesture before heading to the bed and reclining against a large mound of pillows.

Two women approached with golden goblets filled with wine, which both accepted before the temple owner instructed them to leave.

As she drank calmly, she approached the musicians to discuss her preferences. They exchanged opinions and reached an agreement on how to proceed. Satisfied with the outcome, she moved several meters from the bed and took her place directly in front of the open section.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Are you?” he replied, raising an eyebrow as the incense began to fill the room.

Winking, she emptied his glass in one gulp and raised it in the air. At this signal, the musicians began to play as she turned her back to him, keeping her arm extended above her head.

As she swayed her hips slowly, the gold she wore started to melt and reshape. It dripped down her arm, first forming a small head and then an elongated body. The newly formed snake coiled and descended to rest around her neck. With both hands on the sensitive area, she turned slowly and smiled with her eyes closed, letting herself be carried away by the music. She caressed her collarbones and shoulders before extending her arms, while the serpentine creation moved across her chest and encircled her. Suddenly, a piece of fabric fell away, revealing a breast.

As if nothing had happened, she continued her dance, the metal caressing and embracing every part of her body as it descended. Her adorned wrists and fingers skimmed her skin and created perfect movements in the air, captivating the onlookers who held their breath as the serpent approached the garment covering her most intimate area.

Unperturbed, she turned and placed both hands on the back of her legs, carefully lifting a bit of the fabric. The serpent coiled one of its segments around her thigh to keep her hand in place, taking advantage of the opportunity to slither beneath her skirt.

A murmur rose from the left side, and the woman glanced over her shoulder to see Seth’s unblinking gaze, though one of his eyebrows twitched involuntarily at a comment she couldn't quite decipher. With a smile, she arched her back and bent her body backward, her free fingers caressing from her abdomen up to the exposed breast, squeezing it with delight.

The serpent gradually released her, and she turned to show how it emerged from the front, starting to rise and drag the fabric up to the edge of revealing her inner thigh. However, she made sure not to expose too much, guiding it to change direction slightly. She pivoted on one foot, preparing for the imminent drumbeat, and at that moment, she fell to her knees with her hands extended and her hair cascading forward.

She slowly straightened up, and the musicians adjusted their rhythm to match her movements. Seated in a W shape with her legs apart, she locked eyes with Seth and felt the intense heat from his red gaze, which made her smile. She then turned her attention to one of the women who had earlier caught her eye. Attractive and alluring, the woman was a tempting prospect if Seth chose to let her go. In an instant, the protagonist contemplated how to seduce her, but the god’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

Everyone snapped out of their trance and ceased their actions, the musicians hurriedly gathering their instruments and leaving the room. Within minutes, they were alone, and she approached the foot of the bed, tilting her head with curiosity.

“Didn’t you like the performance?”

Seth took a deep breath, finished his wine, and threw the glass off the bed with a loud clink. He adjusted himself and gestured with his index finger, signaling her to come closer. She smiled and took a few steps onto the bed, getting on all fours and crawling towards him until she was on top. The serpent, curious, slithered over the red-haired man’s body as they locked eyes.

“It was disrespectful of you to look at someone else when you should have been trying to convince me.”

“Is that why you cut off the dance? I was just assessing the best option in case you decided to pass on such an incredible opportunity,” she defended herself, moving closer until their faces were only a few centimeters apart. “So, what’s your answer?”

After a moment of silence, he placed his right hand on her head to close the distance. Their lips met and quickly intertwined, his feeling incredibly soft mixed with the aroma of the wine they had drunk.

"When you decided to meet me, had you planned this?" she asked as he pulled away, his hand caressing the small of her back.

"You’re the first descendant of Hathor, and she had hidden you from me jealously. It was just curiosity," she replied. "And you? Why did you give me the bracelet?"

"Isn’t it obvious? You captivated me the moment I saw you. I definitely wanted us to share a bed."

Seth flashed a small sidelong smile and brushed her hair back, the intertwined lines of gems shining in his hand as he gathered it.

“What’s your name?” he asked, even more dazzled by her incredible appearance up close.

She smiled and tilted her head towards one of the curtains, as if deciding whether to reveal the information. Finally, she turned back and kissed the palm resting on her cheek.

“Habibah, which means ‘the one who is loved,’” she confessed, with a look of complicity.

“Your mother really knew what she was doing, because that’s how everyone seems to feel when they meet you.”

“Even the God of War and the Desert?”

“I’m not like the others. Do you think you can make me feel the same way?” he said with a touch of challenge, but sounding more like an invitation to continue what they had started.

Accepting the challenge and everything it implied, she kissed him deeply, her tongue exploring his. Seth caressed her warm skin and then pressed down, aligning their bodies so that she could feel his erection. Without hesitation, she began to move her hips, and he let out a pleased sigh, his hands finding their way to her waist.

Habibah ran a hand through his red hair and descended slowly, tracing her way down his chest until she focused on one of his nipples. Seth gritted his teeth, undid the clasp of the upper fabric, and started to caress what was within reach, instructing her to lie down.

Without hesitation, she moved a few pillows and settled against the soft mattress, watching as the serpent coiled around the man’s arm like a perfect and beautiful accessory. He barely noticed the gold, focusing instead on returning her affections. Habibah closed her eyes and took a deep breath as his lips arrived at her breasts. She caressed his shoulders and back, lightly scratching as she felt him burning like the desert under the sun.

The incense began to take effect, lightening their minds and giving way to an intense desire that drove them to hold each other with urgency. Their hips searched for each other frantically, moaning against one another in broken kisses, their legs and arms entwined in a connection with no clear beginning or end.

Habibah slipped a hand between them, urgently seeking his erection, which she attended to with skillful movements until she lifted the fabric that covered his intimacy. Seth created some distance and propped himself on his knees, removing the minimal clothing and setting it aside before focusing on her. Completely naked and adorned only with jewelry, she settled herself as he took her legs and dragged her over his thighs. The movement elicited a small surprised sound from Habibah, and he watched her expectantly while caressing the outer side of her legs.

“Do it,” she encouraged, brushing his stomach with a hand.

Seth tightened his grip, leaving momentary marks before releasing her and taking his erection. With a single movement, he inserted the tip and then thrust in a steady rhythm until he reached the deepest point. Both moaned, and the woman arched her back with a wide smile while pulling the sheets.

“You’re incredibly wet,” he growled, his cheeks flushed with satisfaction.

“You say that as if it’s something strange. Don’t women get excited with you?”

She shivered with excitement and pleasure as a sharp, red gaze emerged among the fiery hair. The intense tickling sensation made her laugh with delight until she nearly screamed as he began to thrust forcefully. Breathless, she tried to steady herself amidst the sounds of raw impact, the heat and pleasure spreading like waves from the center of her body to every corner.

"You shouldn’t be competing with the God of War," he said with a proud expression.

"I don’t mind losing," she replied honestly, though she knew it would only fuel the fire further.

Seth narrowed his eyes but soon regained his composure, placing his hands on the mattress with a feigned calm as she wrapped her legs around his body. She swayed her hips, feeling his member pressing down, and he resumed the movement with great force after a hiss. Habibah pulled him towards her by the nape to kiss him, shivering as his tongue entered and took control. The thrusts were relentless, with a stamina reminiscent of someone who had fought countless battles to defend Egypt.

With tearful eyes, she admired the man moving above her, pushing aside her strands of hair to see him better, noticing the earrings that moved violently in sync with their owner.

"I’ll make you some prettier ones," she said, brushing against the fine, rectangular gold plate.

"How can you think of that in the middle of sex?"

"Maybe you should try harder," she pressed, noticing how the atmosphere shifted in the blink of an eye.

The room fell silent, and Habibah's skin tingled as she realized she had made a mistake.

"Turn around," he commanded as he withdrew from her, not waiting for her to move and grabbing her by the arm to start repositioning her.

Any doubt vanished when she lost her breath again, feeling Seth penetrate her abruptly and hold her by the neck with considerable force. She was left gasping for air and tried to grab his wrist, but the sand made her hands stick to the bed.

"Such behavior with someone who was born long before you is very inappropriate," he growled, his abs tensing as he gradually adjusted the angle to graze the spot that would drive her wild. "Talking less and learning would do you a lot of good."

Involuntarily, Habibah’s eyes rolled back as he found her most sensitive area, her legs wanting to give out but unable to do so due to the force with which he held her.

“Se… th…” she called, her muscles trembling in a way she had never experienced before.

“Hmm?” he asked, loosening his grip.

A bit of awareness returned to her as she tried to ask for a breath amidst the perfect administrations. However, Seth increased his effort, making it impossible for her to speak.

Cursing inwardly, she let her head drop as moisture dripped down her thighs, slightly staining the sheets. Seth held her by the hips for added stability and wrapped sand around her neck, the itching heightening the effects of pleasure and strangulation. Any cries and moans were muffled or cut off, with only a few gasps escaping as he breathed heavily and occasionally growled in deep satisfaction.

Struggling to swallow and relishing the challenge, Habibah briefly focused and set the serpent in motion. The god's hips lost their rhythm, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the golden creature firmly wrapped around the redhead's throat.

“T-Two…” she tried to say, and he deliberately loosened his grip. “Two can play… this game,” she smiled proudly, though she soon rolled her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows.

He breathed heavily, the metal not yielding in the slightest and intensifying his own sensations.

“I knew you’d be a pain if I brought you to the temple,” he growled, his brow furrowed.

Habibah tried to laugh, but a strange sound escaped as she felt the onset of her orgasm.

“But I… I also give you pleasure,” she defended, feeling her lungs burn and forcing the gold to make him suffer the same way she did.

A desperate, frustrated groan escaped from the man, who felt the constriction sending electric waves to his erection. He clenched his jaw and threw his head back, pushing into her with renewed urgency to provoke the impending climax.

Both seemed to have lost control of their consciousness and bodies as they moved, overwhelmed by the need to escape the pleasure consuming them. They were on the brink of fainting, allowing brief moments of calm before their necks were swiftly constricted again.

Habibah's spasms intensified, reaching a climax that opened a new world of pleasure. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, making lascivious sounds as the moisture increased significantly with the release. The pressure of her walls became too much for Seth to bear, and the stimulation pushed him to his limit, culminating inside her. He trembled and groaned loudly, delivering the final thrusts with some difficulty until the stimulation became overwhelming and he stopped.

Both the metal and the sand loosened, and they both breathed heavily, their eyelids drooping as they collapsed onto the mattress, savoring the comfort. Habibah, lying face down, slowly turned to look at the man, who had one arm draped over his forehead as he steadied himself. He looked just as beautiful, if not more so, with an enviable profile and eye and hair color that she would love to highlight with various creations.

“That was good,” the young woman sighed, stretching her arms.

Seth watched her, unknowingly mimicking her movements, silently admiring the beauty that had captivated him at a single glance. They chatted a bit and decided that this would be the only round, though their mouths didn't escape some additional entanglements until they surrendered to sleep.

When the sun was high, the god cracked open his eyes and, groggy, took a few minutes to become aware of his surroundings. Floral scents filled the air, none of which were familiar, so he looked around and noticed Habibah’s absence. Frowning, he sat up, ready to get up and find out if she had left, but then he heard a noise in the room and, cautiously, drew back the curtains.

Facing away from the window, the goddess examined herself in the mirror as she applied a type of oil to her face. Her hair was wet and slicked back, the sunlight streaming in and drying it quickly. She was visibly focused and didn't realize that Seth had awakened until his bare feet made a soft noise on the floor.

“Good morning,” Habibah smiled as she applied perfume.

“I see you found the bathrooms.”

“Yes, after the show and our entanglement, I needed to freshen up.”

“I still have the bracelet you threw at me.”

“It’s yours,” she said, looking at the object. “With it, if you ever get bored and miss me, you can find me wherever I am and relive last night,” she winked playfully.

Seth clicked his tongue and looked at the accessory, feeling his stomach churn. The stones sparkled as much as she did in the sun.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Still, you should be prepared for when my mother sees you wearing something of mine,” she warned, stretching her neck to examine the marks he had left.

“Not much she can do,” he brushed off, placing a hand on his hip. “Are you heading to the caravan?”

“Yes, I need to let them know I’m okay and ready for tonight’s performance.”

“How long will you stay in the city?”

“Until the next full moon.”

They fell silent for a moment, and Seth crossed his arms, looking out the window at the clear sky.

“Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Habibah raised both eyebrows, admiring his chiseled face.

“During the night, don’t sleep in the caravan. Come here.”

“Every night?” she asked, surprised.

Seth nodded, and she blinked, perplexed, but then gave a quick affirmative gesture.

“I would love to, thank you.”

“I’ll go take a bath. Do as you wish in the temple.”

“Are problems included?” she asked mischievously, and he tilted his head.

“No.”

“But…”

“If so, I’ll punish you.”

“Somehow, that sounds very promising. Maybe you should give me a lesson,” she laughed, playful and seductive.

“I’ve just gotten up,” he said with a yawn, still feeling the remnants of the previous night. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Of course, I’ll make sure to say goodbye before I leave.”

As she watched his back, Habibah dropped any pretense and smiled slyly, knowing that the man was falling for her. He wasn’t different from any other human or deity, but Seth was undoubtedly the one she truly desired, and she would give him everything if he surrendered at her feet.

[r0ugesun]

The Great War

Beta read by @moonstruksandco 👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏾

Chapter 1 (1/?)

Synopsis: On Dragonstone, tensions rise as war looms on the horizon and the Targaryen family braces for conflict. Jacaerys discovers y/n, his enigmatic stepsister, secretly training with their formidable father, Daemon Targaryen. Initially at odds and harboring deep seated resentment, Jacaerys and y/n’s relationship evolves from adversaries to reluctant allies. As they confront their shared secrets and familial expectations, they find themselves drawn to each other.

Warnings: slow burn infidelity(sorry baela)period accurate misogyny eventual smut

Jace Velaryon x Reader

Drāñe aōha nykeōragon! (Widen your stance!)

Adere! (Faster)

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting an amber glow across the gardens of the Red Keep. The air was rich with the fragrance of blooming roses, their petals kissed by the evening dew. Within the shadows of the castle walls, a solitary figure moved with grace and precision, the sound of clashing steel echoing through the corridors.

Y/n targaryen, the last daughter of Daemon and Laena, had grown accustomed to the isolation her father's overprotectiveness had imposed. As the youngest and final remnant of her mother's legacy, she bore the weight of her father's undying devotion and his refusal to let her be betrothed. Unlike her sisters, who had dragons and betrothals to occupy their thoughts, y/n had been denied these privileges no her rights, her father's fierce love turning to a cage of golden bars.

In the stillness of the training yard, she faced her father, their swords a blur of motion. Daemon, the Rogue Prince, had been her mentor for years, y/n held a sword in her hand before she even learned to walk, his rigorous training instilling in her a mastery of the blade that rivaled the finest knights of Westeros. Their practice sessions were a secret kept from prying eyes, a testament to Daemon's belief in her strength and his desire to keep her hidden from the suitors who sought her hand.

"You must be quicker, daughter" Daemon admonished, parrying her strike with ease. "Your opponent will not grant you the luxury of hesitation."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, her lips forming a determined line as she pressed her attack, their swords ringing out in the twilight. She was a vision of fierce beauty, her movements a dance of deadly elegance. It was in these moments, away from the court's scrutiny, that she felt truly alive.

She stepped back, adjusting her grip on the hilt, her muscles taut with effort and determination. Each clash of their blades sent vibrations through her arms, but she did not falter.

"Ao vāedis!" (You hesitate!) Daemon's voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding. His eyes, a mirror of her own, bore into her with intensity.

"Ao rūs!" (You retreat!)

Y/n growled, a sound of frustration and resolve mingled, as she advanced once more. This time, she let her instincts take over, her body moving with the fluid grace of a dragon in flight. Her sword sliced through the air, a deadly arc aimed at Daemon's side. He barely had time to deflect it, his lips twitching in approval.

"Better" he murmured, their swords locked together in a struggle of strength.

With a swift movement, he disarmed her, sending her blade skittering across the stone floor. Y/n stumbled back, her chest heaving with exertion.

"Again," he commanded, not giving her a moment's respite.

Y/n retrieved her sword, her mind racing. She needed to find a way to break through his defenses. The moon had risen high, casting a silvery light over the training yard, illuminating their fierce battle.

As they resumed their sparring, Y/n could feel the burn of fatigue creeping into her limbs, but she pushed it aside. This was her chance to prove herself, to show her father that she was not just a daughter to be protected, but a warrior to be reckoned with.

Their movements became a blur of speed and precision, the clang of steel filling the night air. With a final burst of energy, Y/n feinted to the left and then swung her blade in a wide arc, catching Daemon off guard. The tip of her sword rested against his chest, a triumphant smile curling her lips.

Daemon looked down at the blade, then up at his daughter, a rare smile breaking through his stern demeanor. "Well done." He said “but-”

and Daemon’s smile was fleeting, quickly replaced by a serious expression. voice carrying both pride and challenge, "-not quite enough."

Before Y/n could react, Daemon moved with a sudden burst of speed. He sidestepped her blade, bringing his own sword up in a sweeping arc that left her no room to maneuver. With a flick of his wrist, he disarmed her once more, sending her sword spinning away.

Y/n fell to her knees, panting heavily, her body drenched in sweat. She looked up at Daemon, her face a mix of frustration and respect. "You *pant* beat me… again" she said, her voice trembling with fatigue. No matter how skilled a warrior she thought she was, six men or sixty, he is still Daemon Targaryen. Or so the saying goes.

Daemon extended a hand to her, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "I know what you’re capable of. You have the blood of the dragon, but you need to hone it into something more than mere fire. Strength alone won’t win battles."

Y/n took his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. Despite her exhaustion, a flicker of determination sparked in her eyes. "I understand" she said, her voice firm. "And I will continue to fight, to become better, until I surpass even you."

Daemon’s gaze held hers, a mixture of challenge and pride evident. "Then keep fighting" he said.

—————————————

Jacaerys sat in the grand common room of Dragonstone, his attention flickering between Baela’s animated chatter and the expansive view of the island’s rugged landscape through the window. The day had turned gray, with clouds rolling in over the sea, casting a dim light over the stone walls. Baela’s voice, though pleasant, faded into a gentle murmur, its rhythm lost against the backdrop of his restless thoughts.

“...and then Ser Greyjoy said—” Baela’s words trailed off as she noticed Jacaerys’s distracted gaze. She studied him for a moment, a hint of concern in her eyes. “Jace, you seem miles away. Are you feeling unwell?”

Jacaerys shook himself from his reverie, offering a polite, if lackluster, smile. “Uh yes, Baela. Just….a bit weary. I think I’ll take a stroll before dinner.”

Baela’s brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you later.”

With a polite nod and a murmured farewell, Jacaerys rose from his seat and exited into the cool, dim-lit corridors of the castle. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of salt and stone as he meandered through the labyrinthine passages. His footsteps echoed softly against the ancient walls, a rhythmic counterpoint to his wandering thoughts.

Jacaerys continued his aimless wander through Dragonstone, seeking solace from his mounting boredom. His footsteps echoed softly against the ancient stone, the castle’s grandeur lost on him as he drifted through its labyrinthine corridors. The chill in the air hinted at the coming of a storm, and the gray light seeping through the narrow windows did little to lift his spirits.

As he rounded a particularly dim and winding corridor, he stumbled upon a concealed door, partially obscured by a heavy tapestry. Curiosity sparked, he pushed it open, revealing a hidden staircase descending into shadows. He stared at the weathered stone, its been abandoned for gods knows who how long, should he leave? Alert a guard maybe? Driven by a sudden intrigue, Jacaerys made his way down, his steps echoing softly underfoot.

At the bottom of the stairs, he found himself in a secluded training area, its walls lined with worn, wooden dummies and scattered practice weapons. The room was illuminated by a few flickering torches, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone floor. The sound of clashing swords filled the air, sharp and rhythmic, each strike echoing with the intensity of a serious duel.

Jacaerys edged closer, his heart quickening with anticipation. Through a narrow opening, he glimpsed the source of the commotion. Y/n and Daemon were engaged in a fierce training session, their swords moving with a fluidity and precision that left Jacaerys utterly breathless.

Y/n’s form was a revelation—her movements were both powerful and graceful, each strike and parry executed with a mastery that belied her royal status. Sweat glistened on her brow, and her violet eyes were alight with fierce determination. She wielded her sword with a natural ease, her skill evident in every fluid motion.

Daemon, for his part, matched her with his usual blend of skill and intensity, his focus unwavering as he guided her through the relentless practice. The dynamic between them was electric, a testament to both their expertise and the depth of their training.

Jacaerys watched from the shadows, utterly mesmerized. The sight of Y/n, a princess so adept in the art of combat, was both astonishing and captivating. She moved with a raw, unrestrained energy, each clash of swords sending a thrill through him. Her dedication and strength were palpable, breaking the mold of what he had expected from someone of her rank.

Unable to tear his eyes away, Jacaerys remained hidden, his fascination growing with every moment. The intensity of the training session unfolded before him, leaving him awestruck by Y/n’s sheer skill and determination.

the clashing of swords continued, Jacaerys remained concealed in the shadows, his eyes never leaving Y/n. The way she moved was almost hypnotic, she seemed to embody the very essence of a warrior of a dragon, each movement fluid and deliberate. The torchlight cast flickering patterns on her face, highlighting the fierce concentration in her eyes as she parried Daemon’s relentless attacks.

Daemon, despite his usual stoic demeanor, displayed a rare warmth in his gaze as he watched Y/n. It was clear that their training was more than just a lesson, it was a mutual respect, a shared passion for the art of combat. Jacaerys could see the bond between them, an unspoken understanding that transcended mere instruction.

Y/n’s breaths came in measured bursts, her face flushed with exertion but her spirit unbroken. Each time Daemon disarmed her, she would swiftly retrieve her sword, her resolve unshaken. It was as if she was fueled by an inner fire, a drive to prove herself beyond the constraints of her royal title.

Jacaerys could scarcely believe what he was witnessing. The sight of a princess so engaged in combat, with such raw and unfiltered skill, was both shocking and awe-inspiring. His admiration grew with each passing moment, the image of her unwavering focus and strength imprinted on his mind.

As the training session drew to a close, Y/n’s movements slowed, her fatigue evident. She took a moment to catch her breath, wiping the sweat from her brow. Daemon approached, his expression one of quiet pride, and extended a hand to her. Y/n grasped it, allowing him to help her to her feet with a tired but triumphant smile.

Jacaerys, still hidden, felt a pang of regret that he had not revealed himself. The moment was too intimate, too profound, to intrude upon. Yet he was overwhelmed by the urge to learn more about this remarkable new side to the princess who defied every expectation.

As Y/n and Daemon walked away, Jacaerys emerged from his hiding place, the hidden training ground now feeling like a precious secret he had stumbled upon. He retraced his steps, his mind racing with the revelation of Y/n’s skill and the realization that she was not just a mere princess but a formidable warrior.

________________________

As Jacaerys took his place beside Baela, the grand dining hall was alive with the clinking of silverware, the low murmur of conversation, and the rich aroma of the feast. Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table, her regal presence commanding respect, while Daemon loomed at the far end, his imposing figure a constant reminder of his authority.

But Jacaerys was anything but focused on the feast. His mind was a whirlwind, consumed by the revelation of Y/n’s true nature. Seated a few places away, she engaged animatedly with Daemon, her relaxed demeanor concealing a fierce intensity that left Jacaerys utterly stunned. He struggled to maintain his composure, his heart racing as he tried to anchor himself in the present, focusing on Baela beside him.

Baela, clearly noticing his distraction, leaned in with a hint of irritation. “You’re unusually distant today, Jace. What’s on your mind?”

Jacaerys forced a strained smile, his mind still reeling from the discovery. “Just a bit distracted, Baela. Nothing to worry about.”

Baela’s gaze followed his distracted line of sight to Y/n. “You seem particularly absorbed in Y/n. You’ve hardly interacted with her before.”

Jacaerys’s mind was in turmoil, grappling for a coherent explanation. “She… she seems different tonight. I’m not quite sure what to make of it.”

Baela’s expression grew sharper. “Y/n has always been somewhat aloof, and her attitude towards you has been especially cold. So what’s changed with her my prince?”

Jacaerys’s cheeks burned as he struggled to compose himself. “I didn’t realize… I suppose I’ve never had much reason to engage with her.”

As if on cue, Y/n glanced up from her conversation with Daemon and caught Jacaerys’s gaze. Her eyes narrowed, and a sneer formed on her lips. “If you’re going to stare, might I suggest you find a less conspicuous way of doing it?”

Jacaerys’s heart raced, and he quickly looked away, his face flushed crimson with embarrassment and panic. He cleared his throat, his voice shaky. “My apologies, Y/n. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Baela’s tone was clipped as she observed his reaction. “It’s clear she’s not fond of your attention. Maybe you should focus on our conversation.”

Jacaerys shifted in his seat, his mind still reeling. “Yes, of course.”

As the evening progressed, Jacaerys struggled to stay present. His thoughts kept spiraling back to the shocking realization, Y/n was not just the aloof youngest sister of his betrothed but a fierce warrior who could likely best the finest knights. The weight of this revelation was almost too much to bear. His heart pounded, his mind raced with questions, and he felt an overwhelming sense of urgency and confusion. Balancing his engagement to Baela with this newfound, intense fascination for Y/n was a struggle that left him grappling with a storm of emotions, trying desperately to appear calm while his internal world was anything but.

_______________

Jacaerys lay in his bed, the luxurious sheets offering little comfort as he stared up at the canopy, his mind a tumultuous storm. The room was dim, illuminated only by the flickering light of a solitary candle, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Despite the late hour, sleep eluded him. Every time he closed his eyes, visions of Y/n swam before him, a relentless tide of thoughts he couldn’t control.

He had seen Y/n countless times over the years, always regarding her as inconsequential, just another member of the extended family. But tonight had shattered that illusion. The memory of her fierce intensity, her casual yet commanding presence, played over and over in his mind. His heart still raced with the revelation that she was so much more than he had ever imagined.

“Seven hells,” Jacaerys muttered, turning over in bed for what felt like the hundredth time. The shock of seeing her sparring, her skill and strength evident, had turned his world upside down. How had he missed this? How had he been so blind?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the thoughts, but they only grew stronger. Her fierce eyes, the way she had sneered at him, the effortless grace in her movements—these images were seared into his mind. He realized that her aloofness, her distance, had all been an act. The real Y/n was formidable, a force to be reckoned with.

The realization was both exhilarating and terrifying. His mind raced with questions. Had anyone else known? Had baela and rhaena? How long had she been hiding this side of herself? And why?

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being an intruder, someone who had stumbled upon a closely guarded secret. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that his perception of her had been completely wrong. She wasn’t just the youngest sister of his betrothed, she was a warrior, and he had to know more.

He had an insatiable desire to understand her, to learn more about the real Y/n. The very thought made his heart pound even harder.

———————-

Rolling out of bed, jace knew he couldn’t wait until morning. He had to confront her, to get answers. Pulling on his clothes with a sense of urgency, he left his chambers, navigating the dimly lit corridors with purpose.

He made his way to the same tapestry from earlier and pulled it back to reveal the hidden stairwell. It was eerily quiet, the moon casting a silvery glow through the cracks of the ceiling illuminating over the grounds. His heart raced as he approached, hoping to find her there.

Sure enough, there she was. Y/n stood alone, her sword in hand, practicing her forms with a precision that took his breath away. She moved with the fluidity of a dancer and the deadly intent of a warrior.

Jace ventured forth, his footsteps hesitant yet purposeful. His heart pounded in his chest, driven by an insatiable curiosity that would not be quelled. He watched her, mesmerized, as she wielded her sword with a grace that belied its lethal intent.

He stepped forward, the gravel beneath his feet betraying his presence. Her head snapped up, eyes widening in shock before narrowing into a glare of cold fury. "Jacaerys!? What in the Seven Hells are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice a mix of surprise and irritation.

"I-I couldn't sleep" he stammered, advancing tentatively. "I saw you slip away and... I followed you."

She blinked, the incredulity plain on her face. "Why? What possesses you to intrude upon my solitude?"

"I just... I had to know," he mumbled, his gaze faltering under her scrutiny. "Why you're training like this. Why in secret."

"It is none of your concern" she retorted, lowering her sword yet maintaining a stance of wary readiness. "Leave, jacaerys."

But he remained steadfast, words tumbling from his lips in a desperate attempt to explain. "No, I mean... I want to understand. This side of you... it’s different."

Her eyes flashed with a tempest of anger. "You ought not to be here. How did you even find me?"

He shrugged, still fumbling for coherence. "I just... I was talking with baela and then took a walk and the tapestry was there and you-, and... I don't know, I followed it down. And, um... I saw you training with Daemon the other day, you were incredible really" he added, an awkward laugh escaping him. "I didn't mean to spy, but—"

She cut him off, her voice seething with fury. "You spied on me with father? You have no right—"

"I know, I know" Jace interjected, hands raised in a gesture of placation. "But I was curious, I had no idea I would find you here. You are….exceptionally skilled, and I wanted to comprehend why you kept this hidden."

Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, knuckles white with anger. "You had no right to follow me or to spy on me. This is my business, not yours. Leave at once."

"…No," Jace said, though his voice quivered with uncertainty. He reached for a sword from the rack, clutching it tightly. "I… I want you to train with me."

A flicker of surprise crossed her face, quickly replaced by a scowl. "You think you can match me? Very well. But if I win, you leave me alone. Forever."

Jace nodded, determination flickering in his eyes despite the apprehension. He took his stance, readying himself. As they squared off, he was acutely aware of the disparity in their skills. He had been trained by Ser Harwin and his father, Ser Laenor, both formidable fighters. Yet, the difference in their skill became glaringly apparent as soon as the duel commenced.

She moved with a fluidity and precision that seemed almost effortless. Jace, while not unskilled, found himself struggling to keep up. Her blade was a blur of motion, each strike landing with an ease that belied her skill. Jace’s attempts to block and parry were clumsy in comparison, his sword heavy in his hand, his movements less coordinated.

With a deft sidestep, she evaded his clumsy counterattack, her blade flicking out to land a sharp, stinging blow against his side. Jace grunted, stumbling back as he tried to regain his footing. He tried to press the attack, his strikes intended to be forceful and precise, but she anticipated and dodged each one with practiced grace.

Her training under Daemon was evident in every movement. Her speed and control were extraordinary, a product of years of rigorous instruction. Jace, despite his own solid training, was outmatched by the sheer finesse of her techniques. His blade wavered as he fought to keep pace, his breath coming in short, labored gasps.

She continued her relentless assault, her strikes not only precise but delivered with a speed that left him barely able to react. He attempted to anticipate her moves, but she was always a step ahead, her sword flashing through the air with a deadly grace that rendered his defenses ineffective.

Finally, with a decisive strike, she disarmed him, sending his sword clattering to the ground. He fell to one knee, panting heavily, his face flushed with exhaustion. Her blade hovered above him, a clear indication of her superior skill.

"Stay away from me" she commanded coldly, her voice laced with a fierce finality.

Jace, still on the ground, looked up at her with a mix of admiration and frustration. He nodded, breathless and defeated. "I’ll let you be…. For now."

With a final, disdainful glance, she turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the stillness. Jace remained where he was, his resolve both tested and strengthened by the encounter. The duel had not only shown him the breadth of her training but also deepened his determination to understand the enigmatic warrior.

[respectthepetty]

Spare Me Your Mercy Thoughts

I have waited almost four years for this show since MDL made a placeholder for Euthanasia in early-2021, and now that it is here, I'm going to gush about all the ways I love it!

Just like a few of Dr. Sammon's other shows airing around the holidays (Manner of Death, Dead Friend Forever, and Petrichor), I'm thankful I got the first episode of Spare Me Your Mercy on Thanksgiving and the last will come on Christmas because this is the exact show I need for the holiday season since it began the entire series with Tew, the cop, having to perform euthanasia on an animal.

I grew up and still live in a rural area where cattle far outnumber the actual folks, so I fully understand euthanasia is a good death as the word implies, so I will not be struggling through the premise of this show, and I have faith the show won't either because when Tew fired the gun, the scene was peaceful.

And the show is making some pointed remarks about how things operate outside of bigger cities since Kan specifically mentioned he has about 2,500 patients. When the other officer asked the nurses if Kan had a long queue, they didn't even respond. Kan also clarified that his specialty is palliative care, so he has to monitor a wide range of long-term illnesses, so even though Tew might actually be from this place, he is now the outsider and out of his depth before he even started.

Sidenote: I cannot be mad at a nurse, even if one of them turns out bad because the way they all protect Kan from the police is the teamwork I love to see.

The red light to notify the office the doctor is seeing a patient coming on right after Kan responded to the nurse that it wasn't a murder case yet was perfection.

I already knew Kan was going to be my favorite character, but Tor is doing amazing showing the layers Kan has, as expected. Kan tells Tor he can cry and shows him kindness, but when pushed, Kan makes small digs about how people should spend the last moments of someone's life cherishing them when rudely questioned by Tew regarding the unexpected deaths knowing Tew did not get to see his mother before she died. He also made a subtle display of knowing where things were located in the house because he is in control.

The way he slid his LINE information into the conversation AFTER indirectly telling Tew he was being emotional due to his grief is why I'm excited to see another version of Manner of Death's Tan. Kan probably does like Tew but he stays focused and calculated.

He is terrifying without there being any concrete detail to pinpoint on why he is scary. Som, while describing people being possessed by evil murderous spirits, was terrified of Kan, and the transition from Som telling his story to Kan appearing at the exact moment Som was going to state what human form the evil spirits take was brilliant.

But what's even more terrifying is the treatment of the terminally ill. They are viewed as a burden, locked away, and isolated.

And Tew witnessed it. He got a glimpse of what Kan sees daily, so the show is already building up a case in defense of Kan's actions. If he is performing euthanasia, Tew could understand. He heard the goat's bell. He knew it was still alive, but he decided to end its suffering, cleanly and swiftly, which is what euthanasia is. He saw that man left behind by his family and even moved to go get him. And he was bothered when the man's daughter stated her reasoning for leaving him out there alone.

He also stopped Kan from continuing to question Som. Therefore, the true conflict has been set. Tew, whose job is to discover the truth, doesn't need it if it causes pain, but Kan's entire job is making pain manageable.

And I always want to trust a woman, but as suspicious as the director is being about everything, babygirl would be the perfect person to attempt euthanasia since the dead would end up on her table where she could claim the death was the result of the illness.

Because euthanasia is a good death.

And this ain't it.

He understands that.

But someone doesn't.

[seventeenlovesthree]

Sora Takenouchi's clothing style - a meta analysis

Initially, it looked like Sora would come out as the clear winner of the fashion analysis poll - and for a good reason, as Sora's clothing style is quite a subject to discuss when it comes to her character, development and the role(s and maybe even identity) she takes on through the course of the series. She may only have finished second after Yamato, but now concludes the first quartet after him, Taichi and Koushirou. So let's dive into it:

Adventure (+ Our War Game), age 11/12:

Sora'a initial look in Adventure may best be described with the term "iconic" - because aside from Taichi and Mimi, she may actually have one of the most memorable "adventurous" pieces of clothing among the original eight. Functioning as a contrast to Mimi's feminine red dress and pink hat, Sora prefers practical blue jeans, a yellow top with short sleeves and her trademark blue hat. The colourful ensemble is completed by red gloves, dark sneakers - with the latter most likely influenced by her playing football alongside Taichi in their school's football club. The only "more typically feminine" element - which isn't fully portrayed here - is the little pink belt with a bag she wears on her waist. Last but not least there is, of course, the signature short red hair - which, at this point, is still mostly hidden under her hat. While there are debates to this day as to whether it's a beanie or a helmet (thanks to episode 11 of the anime), we can already detect a few elements that will turn out to be reoccurring themes for her, one way or another:

Sora is our resident tomboy with a caring attitude: she can be assumed to like being practical, she is "a pants kinda girl" who prefers football over flower arrangement, but never (!) looks down on her more feminine presenting companions - and may or may not hide a lot of trauma and insecurities behind a mask. And maybe even her clothes...?

Fasting forward to Our War Game, things may become a bit clearer; her main role in the movie is to provide background conflict with Taichi while staying away from the battles because of it. However, OWG already re-uses a few elements we have seen on her before, especially in terms of colours. With Taichi, Yamato and Koushirou, estimating their favourite worn colours is a little bit easier. However, I would argue that Sora has a very strong fondness for (light) blue and yellow. She's still sticking to her blue jeans, the blue hat has been replaced with a yellow beanie, the colour of her previous shirt.

But what was the conflict about? Taichi chose to gift her a sunflower hairclip for her birthday - just to get yelled at for that by her, asking him whether "her hat doest suit" her after all. Granted, we only know his side of the story, but we can clearly see her being bitter about the whole situation and waiting for him to apologize.

Why is a little piece of jewelry riling her up so much, you may ask?

Considering how Sora's mother used to want her to quit football and behave like the daughter of a flower arrangement school owner (= iemoto) should, one could assume that she's already going through some kind of identity crisis at the age of only 12. Being confronted just by the mere possibility that her best friend may want her to be/look more feminine (just like her mother), even though her gender representation had NEVER played a role between them... May have frightened her to the core. They had always been friends, football comrades and Digital World companions. Not only that, she had already been confused about whether or not her nurturing attitude had been real or just a facade, so this may have been the icing on top - as we can tell by the fact that she keeps fumbling with her hat (and the hairclip too) through the course of the movie, displaying a great sense of insecurity. On the other hand, we can also tell that she is willing to move towards others if she's met with kindness and understanding. So once Taichi's apology reaches through to her, she ends up putting on the hairclip instead of the hat and apologizes as well. A significant change for the rest of the series...?

Come to think of it, we know that she has already reconciled with her mother to at least some degree by the end of Adventure - so could that be the reason why she already dares to wear a pink sweater at this point...? We may have to wait and see...

02 (+ Diablomon Strikes Back), age 14/15:

02 is what I would like to call "Sora's experimental phase" - and I'm not just saying that because we never see her wear her previously beloved pants through the course of the entire series plus movies, not even once.

Upon her journey of reconciling with her mother step by step, she often stays away from fighting alongside the others; either because she's busy learning (and struggling with) flower arrangement or attending tennis camp. By the start of the series, we learn that she has actually switched from football to tennis to get closer to her mother, wearing a very short skirt - and she absolutely isn't afraid to run around with it comfortably in the deserts of the Digital World, so we can tell her adventurous spirit has not (completely) vanished. And despite everything, she still tries to jump into action when possible - which will also turn out to be a theme for her: Trying to find a balance between real life obligations and the fighting, making her own choices about it. But we'll get to that.

... At this point, it all appears to be quite a strong contrast to Adventure!Sora, as she fully commits to more feminine clothes and hobbies. However: Whether it's about choosing to wear the (more Mimi-centric) colours red and pink, to generally wear skirts or about whom she wants to date - she goes for it, seems confident about it (even if she may need a nudge here and there) and still makes way to put on a hat and the colours blue and yellow again occasionally. If you squint, you may even be able to tell that, by winter season, she not only has fully embraced the blues (coat) and yellows (sweater) back into her life, while mixing it with the adopted pink (scarf and skirt) - but that her hair seems to have grown a tiny bit longer as well. Long enough to keep the fringe out of her eyes and into a side fringe (with the perfect length to be held by a hairclip). She's a teenager, it's all very experimental (to the point of wearing silly matching shirts with Taichi that refer to circles and triangles for whatever meta reason).

Since it is never outright stated, the viewer can roll the dice on whether the pants and the hat (age 11) were an act of rebellion and the skirts (age 14/15) an act of hyper-adaptation (towards a heteronormative, more "typically feminine" gender representation). But in my opinion, both interpretations are somewhat valid considering her age. Growing up is a process - and we'll learn that her style isn't set in stone at all yet.

Tri, age 17:

17-year-old Sora, despite appearing to be more torn and insecure about her path and future than before, seems to at least have grown MUCH MORE confident in her clothing style. Yes, she seems rather distressed in front of her closet (!) when it comes to picking a suitable outfit for a concert AND a football match at the same time - but who WOULDN'T be confused when being "put on the spot" like that?!

Sora's entire arc is about (struggling to) making choices - and Tri!Sora still tries to avoid doing so for the most part, hiding behind her caring nature and big sister/mom persona for the sake of Meiko, Mimi and basically everyone else. It's a comfortable mask for as long as it works, giving her a sense of security and familiarity. It's her own sense of "conformity" (and less that of rebellion) so to speak. For example - just like in 02 - she wears her school uniform prim and proper without any individual cues (unlike Taichi and Yamato and more like Koushirou). And thus, you really have to squint this time to spot her own preferences, interests and likes, because they're usually not spelled out to the viewer.

It's about the fact that she may only rarely return to wearing hats, but that her closet also doesn't exclusively consist of skirts anymore. It's about her wearing different kinds of jeans and pants of various lengths, there are tops, shirts and sweaters with silly prints, lots of layers, even a jumpsuit, shorts, miniskirts, boots, sandals and sneakers... And thus, it really feels like she has found her own definition of femininity at this point. She leaves the frills and dresses to Mimi, Meiko and Hikari - and still seems to be confident in giving her own sense of femininity a try. It's cute and comfortable - not exactly sporty, but still practical, functional, and adds a variety of colours to her already present blues and yellows, as well as the reds and pinks.

Then of course, there is her hobby that hides in plain sight and that hasn't presented itself to us previously...

Your girl, previous tomboy skirt tester, resident mom friend who used to be all into sports - is actually also into sewing and, judging by how much variety her own wardrobe offers, possibly into fashion as well. (Which, in my opinion, should have made her bond with Koushirou over his own fashion-related problems, but I digress.)

Granted, we know she also knows how to make the perfect bento box and has been practicing more "feminine things" (like flower arrangement and tennis) before, but this one is still new... And it shows that, not only DOES she have various interests - even if they all lean more into the "feminine side of things" -, but that her "experimental phase" may have led her in a direction she could turn into a career one day. Her own career. Offering the balance she has always strived for - one which, despite the variation in her wardrobe, she still hasn't achieved yet. (Which is why clashing with the version of Piyomon that lost her memory almost lets her collapse emotionally, challenging the purpose of her entire identity.)

Last but not least, we need to talk about her hair - while it hasn't exactly gotten longer (except for the fringe that grew back), it definitely has become fuller and bushier... And even provides enough length for a braid. After the events of Tri, we see her actually cutting it much shorter - it's not exactly a pixie-cut yet, but according to very common anime tropes, we know that hair changes after crucial events stand for a change in path and attitude...

Kizuna, age 22:

... And for Sora, this may mean to finally make up her mind, "deciding on something and someone" like she always dreaded. Wanting to be seen as "Sora Takenouchi" - not as a Chosen Child or the daughter of an iemoto. In her early 20s, she is still (or once again) at a point of indecisiveness and despair - and thus, as beautiful as she is, there is a "plainness" in her style that cannot be overlooked:

"Hiding" behind the kimono while practicing flower arrangement - blue and yellow, familiar and warm, but also restraining her true self by doing something she isn't fully happy with. Just like the braid she uses to tie her hair back - it's still very short, yet the fringe has grown out once again, signifying her being torn about which direction she should take. Her casual outfit symbolizes this as well, as she wears a pure white shirt - and a pair of sky blue pants, wide enough to pass as a long skirt. But, who would have guessed it, you really need to squint to see it.

When she chooses to stay away from the fighting, she has already lost her way - and already has to witness her bond with Piyomon crumble. She had to make this choice for herself, just like she had to choose to not be the first to apologize when Taichi gifted her the hairclip back then. It may not be a comfortable choice, but at this point, it is her own. Her white shirt is an empty canvas and the flower arrangement she finishes, representing all of her friends, is the tint of colour she needs in her life. She is a genuinely caring person after all - which can’t be erased by the sheer idea of her believing to act out of obligation or because she was chosen. But she also needs to let them in at her own pace.

Epilogue, approximately age 39:

Epilogue!Sora has, for obvious reasons, adapted her style from late 02: The hair remains short but, in combination with the grown-out fringe, offers sophisticated styling opportunities - close to how her mother used to wear her own. The yellows (almost olive) and blues (almost grey) have returned - and, fittingly enough, resulted in a green kimono, one she wears while showing off her career: Being a designer of traditional Japanese fashion with a modern touch - with flowers at the forefront of it all, as she could never fully abandon them and instead integrated them into another part of her life.

Some final thoughts:

Just a little while ago, I had talked about how Sora's arc may or may not have been influenced by the concept of gender dysphoria, unable to distinguish herself from her mother and the expectations that are constantly being thrown at her - whether it's about being the daughter of an iemoto, a Chosen Child, a girl(friend) or a woman in general. One may argue that we don't actually hear or see these expectations being thrown at her post Adventure, since we could clearly see that her mother was willing to move towards her as well... And Yamato and Jyou even tell her that, while it's true that they were chosen, SHE still has the right to choose to do what she could by herself. So what exactly happened?

As previously and through the course of several meta posts explained, it is difficult to really pinpoint Sora's motivations, as she keeps them to herself most of the time. She doesn't have the best self-awareness and seems to put a lot of pressure on herself - even though nobody else seems to hold her up to these high standards. (Her mother may still do so due to family traditions, but as mentioned, we don't actively see it post Adventure and can only make assumptions.)

In Tri, Taichi tells her that she's always in other people's business and that nobody knows what's going on inside of her. In To Sora, Mimi - her contrast in design and attitude as well as one of the most supportive flowers in Sora's life - tells her that she should spread her wings freely... Indicating that she's still restraining herself, putting all these labels and characteristics onto herself, regardless of whether they (still) fit her or not (which can be indirectly applied to her gender representation and maybe even to her sexual orientation as well). And that is why we may have to wait until Adventure Beyond to see how things will resolve for her.

I for one cannot wait to see her new design. Because, unlike the three boys I had previously analyzed, her fashion (and hobby) themes may have repeating elements as well, but are pretty inconsistent and thus basically also stand for her inner turmoil. This is not just about whether she should wear pants or skirts, hats or hairclips, whether she should cut her hair super short or let it grow out into perfect braiding length... There appears to be a tendency to put her in a box, both in canon (mostly self-imposed) and fanon, where she has to pick one side and one side only, no matter what it's about: tomboy or feminine, football or tennis, flower arrangement or fashion design, pants or skirt, to fight or not to fight, Taichi or Yamato...

Personally, as much as I have my issues with Tri and To Sora and even though they haven't solved any of her problems for good - I believe they still gave us a hint of how Sora's trauma (her fallout with her mother up until her dark cave moment) may have manifested. That's why I call 02 the "experimental phase", because she may have adapted to her mother a little too much without giving her own preferences a voice. Pleasing her to get closer to her - just like "big sister/mom friend Sora" in Tri caters to everybody's needs but her own - and eventually snaps.

By the winter period of 02, she seemed a little more grounded (indicated by how well she mixed all her favourite colours) and Tri tried to imply how she got interested in designing in the first place (indicated by how much variation her wardrobe had). But we could also observe that she hadn't gotten better at communicating her own desires and needs, that the pent-up anger she had displayed since OWG was still present... Culminating in Kizuna, where her bond to Piyomon was on the verge of breaking, showing her being unsure of who she even was in the first place. So we're currently in the soul-searching phase, as she pulled herself back from everyone...

I long for the day she decides to let her friends back into her life. For the day she and Piyomon will reunite. And maybe, just maybe, we will see her in a style that shows: "Yes, this is my own choice. But I don't have to choose one thing only over all the others. No labeling, no externally assigned identities anymore. There is a flower on this kimono I made, I'm wearing blue football sneakers with a yellow sunflower on top - because I found my own balance between all the different things that make me me."

[storm-angel989]

Outside the Office Part Ten

Hi All! Trigger warning for Angel Dust. Enjoy!

We walked out of his office hand in hand, eliciting strange looks from the demons. Valentino snarled at one and he scampered away. 

“Hey, Val. Can you help with the lighting? I can’t get this quite right.” One of the demons across the stage called to us. 

“Then what the fuck do I pay you for?” Valentino growled. “Fucking amateurs!” 

I watched as he strode across the studio, pushing the demon aside as he fiddled with the light. 

“So, are you Val’s new conquest or what?” I heard a voice from behind me. 

I turned around and came face to face with the spider demon, the one on stage when I first stumbled into the studio. Tall and lanky, with two sets of arms and one black eye, one white, the demon flashed me a friendly grin. 

“The name is Angel Dust. And yours?”

I did my best to maintain composure. “Did you not hear Valentino? My name is Reader Morningstar. Princess of Hell.” 

His eyes went wide. “Definitely didn’t hear the last part. My apologies, your highness. I didn’t realize Lucifer had a daughter.”

I felt my face flush. I mean, he did have a point. If Lucifer was the king of hell, why was I considered a princess if my mother was only his sister? 

He didn’t seem to notice my conflict and instead reached out and gently ran a finger over a small spot on my face. “Ah. I see. Did he beat you too? Must be bad if you find Val to be a better choice. But I mean, we’ve all been there.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself. My dressing room is down the hall, second door on the left if you need a breather. This job is tough.” He paused. “Looks like Val is ready. Good luck, kid.” 

And with that he sashayed across the room, letting his pink, feather trimmed robe fall to the ground as he took his place on set. I made my way back to my chair, sitting down next to Valentino. Valentino glanced over to me and reached over, taking his hand in mine. 

I did as he asked, studying every aspect of the scene, searching for the pleasure he spoke so highly of. After a few moments of watching Angel Dust moan, I saw it. The glint in his eye wasn’t something that even the best actor could fake. Valentino was right- at least, in part. His actors did want to be here. I watched Valentino growl at his assistant and I wondered if it was possible, even a little, for him to be a bit nicer to his employees. The thought quickly left my mind. No, Valentino had made it clear about the terms of his contract. But what if, what if I treated them kindly? Would that have any effect on Valentino’s contract at all? I couldn’t imagine he would put in any sort of language on how others treated his employees and the bearing it would have on their agreement. Valentino was too smart to put in something that is so clearly outside of his control. 

On set, Angel screamed as his body released, spurting white hot liquid all over the face of his alleged captor. Next to me, Valentino’s grin shone across the studio. I could feel his power radiate as he stood up, making his way across the room. He inhaled his cigarette and leaned down, blowing hot red smoke into Angel’s face. 

Angel closed his eyes. “Thank you, Papi.” 

Valentino grinned and leaned forward, pressing his lips against Angels. I felt my stomach drop as anger and betrayal shot through me. I thought I was the only one he kissed? 

Around me, energy began to swirl. Blacks, reds, blues and purples radiated in a cloud as my emotions physically manifested. A burning desire, a rage I didn’t even know I had burned through me. It took every ounce of my self control to hold back from walking across the room and smacking Valentino across the face. How dare he? 

Valentino pulled away after a moment, leaving a bright red trail of saliva hanging from Angel’s mouth. He turned back to me and used his coat to wipe his mouth before returning to his seat. He reached for my hand and I jerked away. He turned to me and his expression changed to one of alarm.

“Clear the scene. I have something I need to handle in my office. I expect the next set to be up by the time I come back out,” he growled at his employees. 

The energy clouded around me, followed me as I followed him into the office, the door slamming behind me. 

“What was that? You just said you didn’t want anyone else in our private lives.” I snarled. Around me, the energy cracked like a lightening storm. 

I could see him trying to keep calm, to piece it together. “What are you talking about mi amor? Why are you so…angry?” 

I glared at him, keeping my distance. The part of me that wanted to hurt him, to make this feeling go away wasn’t nearly as strong as the need to make sure he wasn’t. “You kissed Angel. In front of me. In front of everyone here.” I spat. I could feel my body shaking, both from the emotional turmoil and the pain that was starting to creep back through my body. “I thought you loved me.” 

Valentino frowned and stepped forward as if to reach for me. I stepped back away from him, both out of fear of keeping control and my lack of desire to touch someone who would so blatantly behave so cruelly, and then have the nerve to act confused. Someone who told me he loved me and then threw it back in my face the next second. He stopped his advancement as he gave me my space. 

“Princessa. You misunderstand.” 

“Misunderstand what, Val? What don’t I understand? You. Kissed. Him.” The energy around me was black now, swirling and threatening to destroy everything around me. Inside I felt control start to slip, my desire to destroy everything around me growing with each passing second.

“Drugs, princessa. Drugs. I’m what Angel is addicted to. It’s part of his payment, his contract.” Valentino said shakily. “Please, let me explain.” 

The fear in his voice seemed to snap back my control. Valentino never showed fear.I felt the energy around me recede.  

“Explain, Val.” I demanded. 

“My saliva acts as a drug, and when I kiss someone and transfer it from my body to theirs, it produces a powerful high. I can control it, and Princessa I have never used it on you. I would never. Angel, one of the first souls I ever owned, is the only one who still has that payment requirement in his contract. A contract that, might I add, is one of the ones I tread most carefully around.” He exhaled. “Please. I love you. I’m sorry, I didn’t…I don’t think about it anymore. It’s been a routine, a given for so long.” 

He sounded sincere, the fear and concern flooded his features and his tone as he explained the situation. I felt the energy continue to recede alongside the feeling of anger. The more it vanished, the less foggy my brain became and I could focus on his words. 

“Does it have to be a kiss? Why not bottle it and give it to him? Or bottle it and sell it? That seems to align right with everything else you do.” I said, trying to ignore the pain that now tingled through my body. 

“I can’t, Princessa. I’ve tried. Once my salvia leaves my body for more than a few seconds, it changes from something that gives a high to a powerful aphrodisiac.” He took a step towards me. “Please, Princessa. I’m so sorry I made you feel this way.” 

At his words, the energy around me vanished completely. I fell into his arms and broke down in tears that I had struggled to keep inside for so long. The pain of my injuries, the anger, confusion and release of energy I didn’t know the origin of combined to create an internal storm. Valentino held me tightly as I bawled into his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt dampening. He didn’t offer soothing words, or soft assurances that it was okay. He simply held me, allowing me to cry in his hold. 

It wasn’t until I choked on my tears that he said something. 

“Let it out, babydoll. Don’t try to hold it in anymore. It’s okay. You’re safe.” He muttered gently, rubbing my back. “I’ve got you. Try to remember to breathe.”

“I’m sorry, I…”

“Shush. Cry. Let it out. I haven’t seen you break down once since this whole ordeal began. And you deserve that release, mi amor. There is no shame in tears.” His lips pressed to my cheek and he stroked my hair. 

When I had no more tears left, I lifted my head. He cupped my chin and looked into my eyes. “Do you feel better?”

I nodded. and he guided me back towards the desk, carefully lifting me up and setting me on top so my legs dangled over the side. He sat in the chair and opened the bottom drawer, pulling out a box of tissues and a package of baby wipes. 

“May I, Princessa? Your makeup is all smeared.” He said gently. “Will you let me take it off?”

I nodded and et out an anxious laugh that came out more like a cough. He raised an eyebrow. 

“Vel is going to be so pissed. She did such a nice job and I wrecked it. My father was right, tears are useless and destructive.”

The displeased expression on Valentino’s face told me exactly what he thought of my words. Without comment, he opened the package and gently ran it over my face. I closed my eyes and tried to exhale but it came out as a gurgle, and then a hiccup. And then another. And another. 

Valentino paused and tossed the wipe that held what was left of my makeup into the garbage. The rest of it, I realized, covered his shoulder, now stained with both tears and foundation. 

 I hiccuped again, holding my breath to try to make them stop. My father was right- crying was embarrassing, and the appearance of the hiccups only served to solidify his words so deeply ingrained in me. 

Wordlessly, Valentino again opened the drawer and came up with a black mug, standing up and going over to the fridge, taking out a bottle of water and pouring it into the mug, tossing the empty bottle. He put the mug into the microwave and fifteen seconds later, pulled it out and carried it over to me. He offered his hand and I slid down off the desk, standing next to him.

“It feels silly, but this cures hiccups every time. Bend at the waist, tilt your head up and drink this entire mug of warm water without stopping. When it’s completely empty you can straighten up, but not until then. It won’t work if you only drink half, or breathe between gulps. Got it?” 

I hiccuped in response. With his guidance, I followed his directions, bending over and swallowing down the water as quickly as I could without taking a breath. Once the mug was empty, I slowly stood back up straight and waited a few seconds. No hiccups. 

“Works every time.” Val said, kissing me on the head. “It’s a good trick to know when you spend your days dealing with emotions.” He guided my head to his chest and I laid against him, listening to his heart thunder under my ear. He stroked my hair. “Mi amor. You had every right to be angry, and I’m sorry I made you so upset. I should have warned you. It’s been so long that what I give Angel, I no longer think about. And I should have.” 

I felt his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. 

“Princessa, emotions are a normal part of life. Demons, by nature, are passionate. We feel things on a deeper level and it’s vital to express those feelings. Whatever your father taught you about holding your feelings inside needs to be tossed aside. You will break, mi amor, if you try to fight what is so natural to you. They will consume you.” 

He paused and allowed me to think. I focused on the pounding of his heart under me, the feeling of his hands against my back as I tried to make sense of his words. 

“I felt like I lost control. What happened to me, Val? Do you know?”

He kissed the top of my head. “Lucifer is the better one to ask, he knows far more than I do. But what I do know is that you are powerful by nature, Princessa. Your power will only grow as you acquire souls. But with that power, comes the necessary need for self control. That does not come from suppressing your emotions, not when you’re full or even half demon. That awareness, that ability to control yourself is born out of acknowledgment and honoring your emotions.” He paused. “Your explosion today took no one by surprise. Lucifer watched your reaction after you were so violently injured, he saw the sense of normalcy you felt towards it, how well you taught yourself to hide your true feelings, to hide the pain. He warned that that control you have spent so many years developing would eventually slip with just the right trigger.” He gave a small smile. “I suppose I should feel honored that your trigger was my lips against someone else.” He bent down and kissed me. 

I pressed into his kiss, the feeling of warmth spreading from my fingers to my toes. After a few moments, he pulled back and took a deep breath. 

“Princessa. I need you to know that until my contact with Angel is terminated, he will require that payment, among others. It’s a non- negotiable.” His expression turned unsure, fearful. “Unfortunately, his contract is different from all the others. It was my first, and the only way his contract ends is his ultimate destruction by means of an unrelated other.” 

“So, unless Angel dies in a way that is in no way shape or form related to you, you’re bound to him and he is bound to you?” I asked. 

He nodded. “Correct. There are other parts within his contract, parts I have stripped as I gained more power and experience.” He swallowed, a pained expression passing his features. “If you

want to walk away from this, from us, I understand. This job, this business, doesn’t collide well with the loving relationship you deserve.” 

I buried myself into him, taking a moment to collect my thoughts. “You said it’s just a job, your business, your requirement to survive and thrive down here. But what you do with Angel- is it more than that? Is there pleasure and love from you that I’d have share with him?” 

He sighed. “There is physical pleasure, derived solely from the releases that are required. But emotionally speaking? No. I don’t love Angel. That is reserved for you, and you alone.” 

“Then no. I’m not walking away. If I need to physically share you, fine.” I lowered my voice. “I just don’t want to share your love with anyone else.” 

I felt his grip tighten around me and he tilted my head up, pressing his lips to mine. “You will never. I promise. I love you, reader. My heart, my entire heart, belongs to you and you alone. ” 

“I love you too, Valentino.”

[oshinohoshi]

Oshi no Ko Chapter 162 thoughts

Putting aside my issues with the story and characterization, I like this chapter. It makes me feel things which is a strong suit of Oshi no Ko.

Sorrow, horror, and sweetness... it has a little of everything.

As an avid Ai stan, the parts with Ai hit me right where it hurts

Ai's smile below is everything. She loved those kids so much

I'm reminded of the bottom right art. Ai never did get to see their red backpacks but at least the little Hoshino family made happy memories together

Aqua looking after his sister is so sweet. It would hit harder if we had more of the twins interacting past vol 1 but it's still nice

I'm not sure how I feel about Aqua deciding he was reincarnated to protect Ruby. I can't quite put my finger on what's bothering me. Perhaps it's that he's once again making his life's worth revolve around someone else

Or that this disregards one of my favorite lines in the manga: "[God] brought two people who never had a mother in a real sense and a mother who gave birth to soulless children together"

There is a crucial element missing to Aqua's apparent life's purpose and her name is Ai

@aihoshiino's post explains this better than I ever could (thanks @insertusername99 for pointing this out to me)

LMAO I just read Claire's thoughts on the chapter after typing this and she brought this up too. Bc it's so true!

The art is so good. Mengo is amazing

HIKARU

He gets his own damn section because he's just so... AUGH

I'm baffled as to how killing Ruby would bring him closer to Ai

How does "the weight of his sin" help him manifest Ai's presence? Maybe his guilt over his involvement in Ai's death brings her into sharp relief through suffering and embracing his dark side amplifies that? I'm grasping at straws here

I still think his reaction to the DVD was genuine but if so, it feels like he should have had a change of heart

After learning Ai wanted to love him, why would he turn around and try to off their daughter?

Of course his logic is twisted, but it should work with what we know about him!

If you have thoughts, please share

Anyway, I want to compare Aqua's memory of Ai (left) to Hikaru's vision of her (right)

She looks ethereal in both. A fragile being. Ai looks over her shoulder smiling gently in Aqua's mind. She might turn away at any second but she's not gone yet. However, she has her back to Hikaru, beyond his grasp

In both panels Ai is not dressed as an idol. Those who love her remember her as she was when she wasn't on stage (or uhh that's what I want to say but I don't know what to make of Hikaru's view of her anymore)

Moving on...

Shadow Gorou. Until now he's been a manifestation of Aqua's guilt and self-hatred yet now he's dragging Hikaru to the bottom of the sea. Sure, I guess?

I'm probably wildly off the mark here, but it almost shows how harmful Aqua's attempt to kill Hikaru is. Shadow Gorou is scary

And despite Aqua's white stars, he looks horrified and in pain choking his dad. It doesn't look like a triumphant finishing blow

Given the giant moon behind Crow Girl, I guess we should stop calling her that as it seems that Tsukuyomi is not a stage name. But she'll always be Crow Girl to me

Next chapter (3 week break!!): Miyako is not having any of this dying to save Ruby bullshit. She will roll up on a motorcycle and pluck Aqua out of the sea using Ichigo's fishing pole. I have been predicting the fishing pole being a major player in the Hikaru/Aqua conflict for dozens of chapters and I know I cannot be wrong.

[always-andromeda]

get to know your moots

Thank you for the tag @guiltyasdave!! This turned out a little long but it was sort of introspective to fill out!!

what's the origin of your blog title?

During my Paul Dano days I started out as spicedchaiandromeda. I loved getting spiced chai lattes at every coffee shop I went to, what can I say lol. But about two years ago when I became a more multi fandom blog I changed to always-andromeda to kind of signify that no matter what stuff I’m into, I am always Andromeda!!

OTP(s) + shipname

I’ve enjoyed a few ships over the years but I think my absolute favorite will always be Anderperry from Dead Poets Society.

favorite color

Yellow!! 💛

favorite game

I love The Last of Us, truly. But rn, Red Dead Redemption 2 and Baldur’s Gate 3 are sliiiightly edging above it. They’re both just so good. 😭

song stuck in your head

Was It Something I Said by MyKey feat. Cavetown

weirdest habit/trait?

I have a few vocal stims, but those aside, I think it’s my occasional zoomies? Idk how else to explain it but sometimes I’ll get these little bursts of energy and I just have to take some laps around the house or make some strange sound.

hobbies

Reading, writing, drawing, painting, cross-stitching, embroidery, baking, cooking…a lot of old lady activities, lmao.

if you could have any job you wish what would it be?

I’m currently studying for my studio arts degree with the hope that I can take on some sort of a graphic design position. But in an ideal world, I’d love to teach. I’ve admired almost all of my art professors and have been told that I’d make a good teacher myself.

something you're good at

Off the top of my head, I’d say conflict management. I’ve hit a point in my journey with therapy and whatnot where I feel that I can handle disagreements and de-escalate situations if they ever arise.

something you're bad at

Time management, lol. But that’s just an extra ADHD perk.

something you love

Maaan, I just had some last night so...spicy tuna over fried rice. That shit is delicious.

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff

Things that I could and have include One Direction lore, The Last of Us, and Astarion and Wyll from Baldur’s Gate 3.

something you hate

On the serious side: transphobia. On the unserious side: ants.

something you collect

The only things I well and truly collect are Palm Pals. If I see them in a gift shop while traveling, I'll get one. The last time I spent a day with my best friend he got me Doodle (the crayon box)!!

something you forget

Lately it's been what I was really like as a teenager? As I've grown and gone to therapy and figured out better ways to cope with things, sometimes I really forget how codependent and people pleasing I could be back then. Your girl had zero consideration for her own wellbeing!!

what's your love language?

Jana cited a tiktok about how eldest daughters are taught to take care of everyone around them so they don't really know their love language. And ngl struck me hard!! Literally just like. Acknowledge I exist!! 🥲

favorite movie/show

It shifts a lot but rn it's Yellowjackets again.

favorite food

I think my all time favorites are almost any kind of sushi and quesabirria tacos.

favorite animal

Growing up by the coast, I'm developed a very palpable love for sea lions lol.

what were you like as a child?

My mother says I was extremely strong willed, lol. But I know at my core that I was a very anxious kid. I was fairly intelligent and was downright terrible at making good friends.

favorite subject at school

I've always been an English and art class girlie!!

least favorite subject

Probably economics? But that's mostly because my teacher was not my favorite.

what's your best character trait

My generosity; I've always been extremely giving to people regardless of how close I am to them.

what's your worst character trait

Probably my anger, funnily enough. I can get it under control way better now. But occasionally it can get the better of me and I hate it when it does.

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be

I kiiiind of wish I had gotten up earlier? I accidentally slept in for like an hour. I also wish I wasn't dealing with ants rn. The pest control guy came over today and the problem should be better within the week but still, it sucks so bad. 😭

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet

Maybe it's because I started rewatching Twin Peaks with my brother and the fact that I'm still sad about him passing, but my heart says David Lynch.

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!)

Honestly, anything Roman Roy from @strang3lov3. I cannot explain it but she made me feral for that man in a ways I didn't even know was possible. I also really want to start reading more of her writing for Joel because I love her style in general!!

no pressure tags (if you've already done it, feel free to ignore me lmaooo sorry!!): @saradika @sixhours @elflutter @inept-the-magnificent @noisynaia

[novaursa]

Hii can I request Aegon ii x Reader ( Rhaenyra daughter) in which they have a good relationship, even with all the family feud they find comfort in one another …. They had an agreement that every time one felt overwhelmed they would sneak into an old secluded library in the Red Keep (no one knew that place existed) and lay by the fireplace simply talking and comforting each others in a makeshift bed …. and on the night Aemond lost his eye they were together and shared their first kiss but in that very moment Ser Criston Cole walked in searching for them and dragged them to the driftwood throne room while Aegon begged Criston Cole not to tell his mother because he didn’t want to lose the only person who actually saw him for who he was (cuz he thought that was the reason for them being dragged so harshly) ….. but after that rumours spread that they where been intimate …. they tried to send letters to each other during those years apart after the incident but they were never answered …. and on the day of Luke’s petition they tried to talk to each other but every time they were near someone always interrupted but they eventually find each other in front of the fireplace in that old library reaching for each other letting only their bodies talk (Aegon is not married he refuses to marry and Alicent is going insane)

I’ve read all your stories they are just so good and so well written truly amazing they make my day ❤️❤️ and sorry for any mistakes english isn’t my first language 🫰

The Kiss

- Summary: After years of being forbidden to each other, you and Aegon finally find the moment to be together.  

- Pairing: niece!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: 💕

The air was heavy on Driftmark, the scent of salt and sea thick in your lungs. The somber weight of Laena’s funeral clung to the air, casting a long shadow over the island. The soft rush of the waves was the only sound, save for your own breathing and the gentle hum of Aegon’s presence beside you. You sat together on the rocky shore, far from the others. The dim moonlight bathed the coastline in a silver glow, turning the ocean into a shimmering, endless expanse.

Aegon’s hand rested lightly against yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckles with a gentleness that contradicted the image most had of him. Here, away from the politics and pressures of the court, you saw him for what he truly was—vulnerable, weighed down by the expectations of his mother and the crown he didn't want.

“I hate it here,” Aegon murmured, breaking the silence. His voice was soft, almost lost beneath the sound of the tide. “All the eyes… watching, judging. Waiting for me to fail.”

You turned to look at him, your heart aching at the sadness in his voice. “You’re not failing. You’re surviving.”

Aegon’s lips twisted into a bitter smile, his eyes still fixed on the dark horizon. “Surviving… barely. And what am I even surviving for? A crown I never asked for? A throne I don’t even want?” He sighed, his frustration palpable. “Mother says I should be married by now. To strengthen our claim, to make alliances, but—” His voice cracked slightly, and his gaze shifted to meet yours. “I can’t. I won’t.”

His confession hung in the air between you, laden with meaning. You both knew why. A silent understanding had always existed between the two of you—one that transcended the conflict tearing your families apart. Despite the bitterness between your mother and his, you had always found solace in each other. An unspoken agreement that this—whatever this was—would stay between you. No crowns, no alliances, no duty. Just the two of you.

“Why don’t you leave?” you asked quietly. It was a question you’d never dared to ask before, but here, with the moonlight and the solitude, it felt right. “Why stay and fight for something you don’t want?”

Aegon hesitated, his eyes flickering down to your hands intertwined in the sand. “Because of you,” he whispered. “If I left, I’d lose you too.” He finally met your gaze, and in the moonlight, you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the raw honesty that he rarely let anyone see. “You’re the only one who actually sees me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words pressed down on you, and before you could think, you leaned closer, your heart racing in your chest. Aegon’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head, his breath mingling with yours as the space between you shrank.

And then, just as the tips of your noses brushed together, you kissed. It was soft, tentative at first, as if both of you were testing the waters. But then, Aegon’s hand cupped the side of your face, and the kiss deepened, slow and warm, filled with the unspoken words you’d both been holding back for so long. The world around you seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of you, the waves crashing softly in the distance.

But the moment shattered abruptly.

“Prince Aegon!” A sharp voice cut through the quiet, and you both pulled apart, breathless, your hearts pounding in unison. Ser Criston Cole stood a few feet away, his expression stern, his eyes narrowing as they flicked between the two of you. “The Queen demands your presence.”

Aegon’s face drained of color, his hand still resting on your cheek, as if he could shield you from what was about to come. “Ser Criston,” he began, his voice tight with panic, “please, don’t tell her. Don’t tell my mother.”

Ser Criston didn’t reply, but his grip tightened on Aegon’s arm as he hauled him to his feet. He reached for you next, and though you tried to resist, his hold was firm as he dragged both of you toward the Driftwood Throne room. Aegon stumbled alongside you, his breath ragged. “She can’t know. Please—” His voice was nearly a plea now, desperate.

“You don’t understand, do you?” Ser Criston’s voice was low, harsh. “This isn’t about you two. This is about something far worse.”

Your mind spun with confusion, heart still racing from the kiss, and now from the fear of what awaited you inside the throne room. When Ser Criston shoved the doors open, the scene inside made your blood run cold.

Aemond stood at the center of the room, blood streaming from the place where his left eye had once been. He was trembling, furious, with his hand pressed to the wound. Your brothers, Jace and Luke, stood opposite him, bloodied and bruised, while Baela and Rhaena glared from the side, their faces streaked with tears. Queen Alicent was pacing, enraged, her eyes blazing with fury. Your mother stood beside her, her expression dark and thunderous.

“What in the name of the gods happened?” Aegon whispered, his earlier fear forgotten in the wake of the scene before him.

Alicent whirled around at the sound of his voice, her eyes narrowing at the sight of him—and you. “Where were you?” she demanded, her voice sharp as a blade. “While your brother was mutilated?”

You could see the hurt flash across Aegon’s face, but he said nothing, his gaze flicking to Aemond, who met his eyes with a steady, defiant stare despite the pain.

“Tell me,” Alicent growled, advancing on Jace and Luke, “who did this? Who is responsible?”

It was then that Aegon’s hand found yours again, a silent anchor in the storm that raged around you. Whatever had happened, whatever horror had transpired, you knew in that moment that you would face it together.

But you both also knew—this was just the beginning.

The air in the Red Keep had always felt oppressive to Aegon, but now it was stifling. Ever since that night on Driftmark—the night Aemond lost his eye—rumors had spread like wildfire. No matter how hard he tried to avoid them, the whispers were everywhere: Aegon and his niece had been seen together, alone by the shore, and far too close for mere comfort. The gossip only grew worse, fueled by the tension between their two families. It seemed like every shadowy corner of the Keep hummed with talk of betrayal, of impropriety, of scandal.

Now, standing in the dimly lit confines of his chambers, Aegon felt the weight of those rumors press down on him like a suffocating blanket. He stared out the window, the evening sky over King’s Landing streaked with deep purples and reds. His mind wandered to her—to the last glimpse he had of you on Driftmark, before the chaos had erupted, before everything fell apart. The memory of your kiss lingered on his lips, bittersweet and aching, a reminder of what he could never have.

The door behind him opened with a sharp click, and he knew, without turning around, who it was.

“Aegon.”

His mother’s voice, cold and edged with fury, echoed through the room. He didn’t respond immediately, his grip tightening on the windowsill. He had been waiting for this—this confrontation, this inevitable reckoning. He had avoided her for as long as he could, but it was only a matter of time before Alicent cornered him.

“Aegon, turn around and face me.”

With a resigned sigh, he did as she commanded, leaning back against the windowsill, his arms crossed. His mother stood in the center of the room, her posture rigid, her expression a storm of emotions—anger, disappointment, fear. Behind her, Ser Criston Cole hovered near the door, his eyes sharp, ready to intervene if necessary.

“I have heard the whispers,” Alicent said, her voice low and controlled, though her hands trembled slightly as they clasped in front of her. “The rumors. About you and…” Her voice faltered for a moment, as though saying your name aloud would give the scandal even more weight. “…her.”

Aegon’s chest tightened, but he said nothing. He knew his mother well enough to understand that she wasn’t looking for a confession—she was looking for a denial, for him to tell her that the rumors were nothing more than slanderous lies. But he couldn’t bring himself to give her that satisfaction.

“Aegon,” Alicent stepped closer, her voice taking on a pleading edge, “tell me the truth. Did anything happen between you and Rhaenyra’s daughter? Did you… were you intimate with her?”

Aegon’s jaw clenched. His mother’s eyes bore into him, searching for any sign of the answer she wanted, but he remained silent, his gaze flicking to the floor. He didn’t want to lie to her. But he couldn’t admit the truth, either—not when admitting it meant acknowledging feelings he didn’t fully understand himself.

“Answer me!” Alicent’s voice rose, frustration lacing her words. She reached for him, gripping his arm with surprising force. “Do you know what they’re saying about you? About our family? This could ruin everything. Your claim—our position at court—it all hangs by a thread, and you—” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “You cannot be reckless. Not now. Not when we are so close.”

Aegon’s gaze finally met hers, his eyes dark, stormy with emotion. “What difference does it make?” he said, his voice hollow. “Whether I deny it or admit it, they’ve already made up their minds. They’ll believe what they want to believe.”

Alicent’s grip on his arm tightened. “It makes all the difference in the world, Aegon. If you deny it, if you make them believe it’s all lies, we can salvage this. But if you—”

“I won’t deny it.” His words were quiet but firm, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Alicent recoiled as if struck, her eyes widening in shock. “What?”

“I won’t deny it,” Aegon repeated, his voice growing stronger. “And I won’t admit it, either. What happened—what didn’t happen—it doesn’t matter.” He pulled his arm free from her grasp, stepping away from her. “They can think what they want. They always do.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, and Aegon could see the war raging in his mother’s eyes—part of her wanted to scream, to lash out, but the other part, the part that had spent years playing the intricate game of court politics, knew that she couldn’t afford to lose control. She needed him to bend, to obey, but Aegon had long since grown tired of bending to the wills of others.

Alicent turned her back on him, her hands trembling as she composed herself. “You are playing a dangerous game, Aegon,” she said, her voice quieter now, but no less filled with warning. “You could lose everything.”

“I never wanted it to begin with,” he muttered under his breath, but he wasn’t sure if she heard him.

After a long pause, she spoke again. “Do you understand what this means? If the rumors continue, if people think—” She stopped herself, turning to face him once more, her expression hard. “We cannot afford a scandal like this. Rhaenyra will use it against us, against you. She already hates you—this will only give her more power.”

Aegon’s eyes darkened at the mention of his sister. “Rhaenyra doesn’t care about me,” he said bitterly. “None of them do. And if she knew—” His voice faltered, his heart aching at the thought of you. “If she knew how I feel, she would never let me see her again.”

Alicent’s expression softened for just a moment, but it was fleeting, replaced quickly by the mask of duty she had worn for so long. “You cannot let your feelings cloud your judgment, Aegon,” she said softly. “Not now. You have a duty to your family.”

He laughed, though there was no humor in it. “Duty. That’s all any of this is, isn’t it? Duty. And what about me, Mother? What about what I want? Or does that not matter?”

“Of course it matters,” Alicent said, but her voice lacked conviction. “But you are a prince. You cannot live like the rest of us. Your desires must come second to the needs of the realm.”

Aegon shook his head, turning away from her. “I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being the perfect son, the perfect prince, doing everything for everyone else while I get nothing in return.”

Alicent took a step toward him, her voice softening. “You are not alone in this, Aegon.”

But Aegon didn’t feel comforted by her words. He hadn’t felt anything close to comfort since the night on Driftmark—since he last saw you. He had tried to write, sending letter after letter to Dragonstone, each one filled with words he didn’t know how to say aloud. But you never wrote back. The silence was deafening, and he had no idea if you had ever even received them. If you still thought of him at all.

He was alone. Even in a castle filled with people, even with the weight of a crown hanging over him, he felt more alone than ever.

“Leave me,” he said quietly, turning back to the window.

“Aegon—” Alicent’s voice faltered, and she hesitated for a moment, before finally nodding. “As you wish.”

She turned and left the room without another word, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

And Aegon was alone once more. Alone with his thoughts, with the aching emptiness where your letters should have been, with the memory of your kiss still burning on his lips.

The sky over King's Landing was a muted gray as the sea breeze carried the scent of saltwater and the sharp tang of rain. You could see the Red Keep looming in the distance, its walls and towers rising like the teeth of a great beast, waiting to swallow you whole. As the ship glided into the harbor, you could feel the tension in the air, an invisible thread pulling tighter and tighter the closer you came to the capital.

It had been years since you had set foot in the Red Keep. Years since that night on Driftmark, when everything had changed, when the world had been thrown into chaos, and the distance between you and Aegon had grown wider and more unbearable with each passing day.

The letters he had sent had gone unanswered, not because you didn't want to respond, but because your mother had kept them from you. It wasn’t until much later that you’d discovered their existence—tucked away, unopened, hidden from you as a way to sever whatever connection remained between you and your uncle. Your heart ached with the weight of those lost words, of the time you could never reclaim.

Now, you were here again, standing in the belly of the very place that had always tried to pull you apart.

As your family made their way through the gates of the Red Keep, the familiar sight of the stone walls and winding halls brought a rush of memories. Every corner seemed to hold a fragment of the past, of whispered conversations, stolen glances, and unspoken promises. You wondered if Aegon had felt it too—the pull, the inevitability of what lay between you, even after all these years.

The formalities were stifling. As your family greeted the court and took their places, you could feel eyes on you—on all of you. Whispers buzzed through the crowd like flies, circling around the petition for Driftmark and the question of who would sit upon the Driftwood Throne. But your mind was elsewhere. It was on him.

You caught a glimpse of Aegon across the room, standing beside his mother and Aemond. His gaze found yours, and for a fleeting moment, the years between you seemed to vanish. His eyes softened, just as they had the night on the shore of Driftmark, filled with that same longing, that same vulnerability. He shifted as though to move toward you, but then the crowd surged, and Otto Hightower stepped between you, pulling him into conversation before you could even take a step.

It continued like this for hours—every time you tried to get closer to him, someone would intervene, pulling either of you away for some matter of court, some interruption that seemed designed by fate itself to keep you apart. You exchanged glances across the room, but nothing more.

By the time the evening feast began, the tension between you was unbearable. You could feel it, buzzing in the air like electricity, pulling you toward him even though the distance between you seemed insurmountable. The noise of the hall—the clatter of plates and the murmur of voices—faded into the background, and all you could think of was finding him.

And then, by some miracle, you slipped away unnoticed.

The old library had been your secret place, hidden deep within the Keep, forgotten by everyone else. The path to it was worn into your memory, and your feet carried you there almost of their own accord, guided by instinct and a desperate need to see him, to speak with him, to touch him.

When you reached the door, you hesitated for only a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. And then you pushed it open.

The room was just as you remembered it—dusty, forgotten, the fire already burning low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the shelves of ancient books. And there, standing in front of the fireplace, waiting for you, was Aegon.

The moment he saw you, his expression softened, and a wave of relief washed over his features. Without a word, you crossed the room to him, your body moving as though drawn by a force beyond your control. When you stopped in front of him, there were no formalities, no pleasantries, no words. There was only the silence of two souls who had been apart for too long.

Aegon reached out first, his fingers brushing against your cheek, and that was all it took. In the next heartbeat, your arms were around each other, your bodies pressed together as if trying to make up for all the time that had been lost. His lips found yours, urgent and desperate, and you kissed him back with equal fervor, pouring all the unspoken words, all the unanswered letters, all the longing into that one moment.

His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer, as if he were afraid you might slip away again. Your fingers tangled in his hair, the firelight casting an orange glow over the two of you, your breaths mingling in the heated air. There was no hesitation now, no awkwardness, only need—pure and raw.

Aegon’s lips left yours, trailing down your neck, soft and searing, and you let out a quiet gasp as your fingers fumbled with the clasps of his tunic, your body trembling under the weight of his touch. He made quick work of your own garments, his hands rough but gentle, his breath coming in shallow pants as he undressed you with the same urgency that burned in your veins.

Before you knew it, you were on the floor, the soft furs beneath you a makeshift bed, just as it had been all those years ago. The warmth of the fire was nothing compared to the heat between your bodies as Aegon hovered above you, his eyes searching yours, filled with a tenderness you hadn’t seen in anyone else.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Tell me you still want this.”

Your answer came not in words, but in the way you pulled him down to you, in the way your hands grasped his shoulders, the way your lips sought his with the same hunger that had lived inside you for so long.

And then, finally, there was no more distance between you. His body moved with yours, slow at first, testing, finding a rhythm that spoke of years of waiting, of needing. His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your shoulders, your chest—and each touch sent a shiver through you, a reminder that this was real, that after all this time, you were together.

It was a dance, your bodies entwined, moving as one, the rest of the world fading away until there was nothing left but the two of you, the crackling fire, and the sound of your breath mingling in the stillness of the old library. You clung to him, every kiss, every touch, a promise that neither of you would ever let go again.

And when the world finally stopped spinning, when the storm of passion subsided, you lay together by the fire, your bodies still pressed close, your hands still entwined. Aegon rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin, and in that quiet moment, you knew that whatever happened next, whatever chaos or politics awaited you in the daylight, you had this. You had him.

No one could take that away from you. Not anymore.

[ell-arts]

Here's a little something I've wanted to do for a while! This was made mostly out of curiosity, as a way to speculate on what colour genetics could've influenced the look of characters we've heard of but were never shown (Elli's dad, Bet and Stratos's sister, why Spheria is not yellow like Sunny, etc)

Some of these look pretty empty, so I will revisit this in the future to add more members to each family tree. These trees are also sprinkled with some oc's and my own headcanons.

Here are a few notes/reasonings/headcanons I have for each family:

Spheros:

My headcanon for the Spheros siblings' father is that his name is Exo Spheros, and his colours were quite dark. Both Exo and Rotunda came from families that were very mixed, and as a result, their children came in a variety of colours. Exo's side tends to have darker colours, while Rotunda's side has lighter colours.

Exo has bright red eyes, while Rotunda has green eyes. The clash of these colours caused a range of muted browns and reds in their children's eyes.

Rotunda's hair was white in the show, most likely from old age, therefore I made it so that her natural hair colour is the same as her daughter's hair colour, in order for it to make a bit more sense as to how her granddaughter (Elliptica) ended up with pink hair.

Partial Albinism is a dormant and recessive gene that runs in Rotunda's side of the family. It's a mutation where only the skin of the individual is affected: their skin lacks pigment and turns out white, while their hair and eye colour retain pigment and inherit a mix of their parents' colours. This mutation has been dormant throughout Rotunda's family line, until it showed its face in Betrayus' colours. Since Rotunda's side of the family has lighter colours, the overall lack of pigmentation has a link with this gene.

My headcanon name for Stratos and Betrayus' sister is Radia Spheros. Along with Betrayus, she has very little resemblance to either parent, precisely because of their mixed heritage. There is a little bit of dark red on Exo's side of the family, and this combined with Rotunda's lighter colours made Radia come out as a muted pink. Radia is the oldest, followed by Stratos and then Betrayus.

Unironically, all the Spheros' siblings have hair that is styled in a similar way to their father's.

Headcanon name for Elli's father is Ellipton (Ellip for short). Unlike Radia's side of the family, Ellip's family had a long line of consistent purples and blues, so these genes are stronger. Therefore, Elli looks a lot more like her father than her mother, and this is also why Elli was named after him.

Pac:

Headcanon that the reason why Spheria is not yellow like Sunny is because Spheria and Sunny are only half-sisters.

Sunny's father had an affair with a red woman before he married Sunny's mother, thus Spheria was born a little bit before Sunny. The affair was a point of conflict between Sunny's parents for a while, but eventually things settled down when Sunny was born.

Unfortunately, at some point Spheria's mother passed away and she was placed in her father's care, effectively making Spheria part of Sunny's side of the family. This is also why Spheria still has an accent; she grew up in a different state far away before she moved in with her father and his family.

Despite not having the same mother, Sunny and Spheria still grew up together and came to see each other as full sisters instead of half.

Zac's side of the family are pure yellows, while Sunny's side of the family have a tiny bit of mixing in their earlier ancestry, but the yellow genes are still strong enough for Sunny to have all of the powers and qualities that comes with being a Yellow One.

Cylindria:

The pink highlights in Cyli's hair are 100% natural and not dyed. This is thanks to a common gene that runs in her family, in which streaks of colours are present in their hair. It mostly comes from Starchild's side of the family, as seen in Granny's case. Elliptica has this gene too, inherited from her father's side of the family.

We never saw Moondog's real eye colours because he wears shades/custom glasses, so I gave him light purple eyes.

Moondog's side of the family is also a little bit more mixed, compared to Starchild's family who has been more consistently pink. Therefore Cyli inherited her black hair from her father and her pink skin, eyes, and hair streak gene from her mother.

Headcanon that Granny's real name is Windsong, and "Granny" is just a nickname that she's more fond of.

Additional headcanon that Granny became the first person in the family to think that their naming traditions have gotten a little silly, and so she strongly advocated for giving her granddaughter a "normal" name as opposed to a hippie name, which is how they ended up with Cylindria (her parents wanted to name her Moonchild instead. Cyli was eternally grateful that Granny stepped in to suggest a different name lol).

Spiral:

We literally know nothing about what Spiral's family looks like, other than a vague hint in one of the Chrsitmas episodes. So for now both his parents are red.

Though I am playing with the idea of giving Spiral a step-father, so that might be added in the future.

General Pacworlder colour genetics:

The more a certain colour is present in a family line, the stronger that colour gene is. For example, if the father's line is pure red, and he has offspring with a blue mother with a mixed lineage, then their children have a 75% higher chance of being red rather than blue or mixed.

Overall, mixed families usually produce offspring with stronger genes because of their diverse genetics. The only downside to this is that their mono-colour genes are weakened. The more a particular colour is present in a family-line, the more likely that offspring may get weaker genes in other areas outside of colour because of the lack of diverse breeding. This is seen in old medieval times when royal families married their cousins in order to keep the bloodline "pure" but it resulted in poor health among the descendants. Aside from this example, it is still entirely possible to have a healthy, pure colour bloodline without inbreeding, because Pacworlders with all kinds of colours are broadly populated across the planet.

More to be added in the future :)

[tiredtogepi]

A Lady & Her Hounds

Chapter 1

The Hound x Fem!Reader (Jon Arryn's daughter; Sabrina)

This chapter contains: Fluff | Brat

Word count: 1146

*this is my first GOT fan fiction. There are many chapters with mostly fluff, some angst, and mature content ;) I hope that someone will read it and enjoy it*

Dogs have always fascinated you. The way they create bonds, love their humans, their loyalty, and friendliness. Being Jon Arryns daughter was not bad but, you felt left out most of the time since he married Lysa and their son was born. That's when the dogs came into your life. Some Lord from the north had offered puppies from his newest litter as a gift for your name day. Your father wasn't so happy about it, but he let you keep it so you could finally have some company. Initially, you had 3 dogs, but a few years later after contacting more breeders, you found yourself with a pack of 15 dogs.

You took your time to train them for protection during the conflict between the Mad King and Robert Baratheon. They obeyed you well, they looked out for you, but most of all they loved you, their loyalty was not questionable and they would give their life to save you. When the war was over your father was named hand of the king and you all moved to the Red Keep. You had begged your father to take at least some of your dogs but he wouldn't allow it. Luckily you were close enough to the working staff in The Eyrie to make sure they were well taken care of.

When you arrived at King’s Landing, King Robert made sure to have a feast in honor of the new hand and his family. He was a big man that had fought many battles and almost kept his intimidating factor intact, if it weren’t for the extra pounds he gained. What surprised you is that there were still knights protecting him.

During the feast the conversation around you was like some faded-out noise, but someone caught your attention. A tall man with a half-burned face and intense brown eyes. It was interesting to look at him, especially because of some slight facial expressions he made out of distaste for the conversations around, just like you.

"Ha! Lady Sabrina, I know about your interests in dogs but I didn't realize this one would interest you too!" Robert pointed at the man he was able to catch you staring at.

You blushed as that man at glanced at you.

"Pardon, your grace, I was lost in my thoughts." You gave a quick answer trying to avoid more embarrassment.

"No need for apologies. Sandor Clegane is a tough-looking man, our Hound!" The drunk king was getting more excited by the second. "Tell me Lady Sabrina, if we put your hounds and my hound in the arena against each other, which one would take the win?" He laughed and started choking on his own wine.

"I don't think any hound deserves to be put in that situation. I find it very distasteful, your grace." You stood up and bowed to the king while he laughed at your audacity.

"Are you leaving us already?" Robert inquired

"Yes, your grace. I am unwell, maybe I had too much wine." You were already slowly stepping away.

"Would you like to see the master?" your father asked, he always worried about your health, since your mother passed away from a terrible and silent disease, so any little symptom you had he would take it very seriously.

"No, thank you father, I will go get some books at the maester's library. If I need assistance I will call for it." You bowed lightly and as you turned your back the king spoke

"Clegane, accompany the lady to her chambers. She had a little much to drink and might need some help"

You rolled your eyes as you walked out and heard footsteps coming towards you. This is what you hated about this place. Too many people telling you what to do, keeping an eye on you, and always so many rules on what you can and can't do.

As you went to turn into the next hallway to the library Clegane stepped in front of you. You tried to go around him but he kept blocking your way.

"The king said to take you to your chambers." His tone was serious.

"Maybe you misheard it, but I need to get some books first." You tried to move away from him. He ignored you and kept blocking your way.

You tried to keep yourself composed since you had much anger and frustration stored inside you since coming to the king's landing. You took a big breath trying for the last time to be polite.

"Ser.."

"I'm no Ser."

"Seven hells! Let me go get my fucking books!" Maybe it was the alcohol that gave you the courage to raise your voice and push him out of the way, even though he didn't move an inch.

Apparently, that was amusing enough for him to let you go while he subtly smirked. You finally reached the maesters' library. The Hound stood by the entrance. You took a book, then another, then as you went to get the third book you had an idea.

"Ahem!" You cleared your throat to get his attention. He looked at you as you repeatedly looked down at the heavy books on your arms and up at him.

He scoffed and took your books.

''Wait, there's more!" You said it innocently as he turned around and you decided to find 2 of the heaviest books on forestry and wildlife and put it on top of the pile he was already carrying. He grunted.

"We can go now!" You said innocently, knowing you were being a brat. Honestly alcohol didn’t give you the best ideas.

As you found yourself by your chamber door, Clegane leaned down to hand you the books. You stepped away, opening the door to your room.

"Could you place them inside on that little table?" This time you weren't trying to be inconvenient, but there was no way you could carry all that weight.

Clegane tried to hide his annoyance. He thought you were just another spoiled highborn like Joffrey or Cersei. He placed the books on the table aggressively. You tried to walk around the table to accompany him to the door, but you tripped on one of your book piles on the floor and fell with your face on the big man's chest. He didn't move, you put your hands on his chest to get back on your feet.

"Pardon me...I think I've had too much to drink." You mumbled. He looked down to stare at you making sure you didn't get hurt on his armor. You blushed and looked away as he started to leave.

"Why do they call you The Hound?" You asked as he was almost by the door. He stopped and didn't turn around.

"Why do you care?" He grunted.

"What should I call you then?"

"Don't call me." He replied as he walked away.

[hopestrope]

Poll of the Dragon #19

We see Alicent and Gwayne discussing her 3 sons on 2x6 of HotD. Alicent believes that the cruel and brutal characters of Aegon and Aemond are her fault, whereas Gwayne says that the "Red Keep", has had an effect on who they turned out to be. They talk about Daeron, who grew up away from the Red Keep and turned out to be a better person than his brother. I think both the environment of the Red Keep, full of schemes and lies, and the people there, divided into blacks and greens, and their mother Alicent have had an effect on who Aegon and Aemond turned out to be. The question is, who, in your opinion, was more effective in making them who they are?

'Even after Ser Otto had returned to Oldtown, a “queen’s party” still existed at court; a group of powerful lords friendly to Queen Alicent and supportive of the rights of her sons. Against them was pitted the “party of the princess.” King Viserys loved both his wife and daughter, and hated conflict and contention. He strove all his days to keep the peace between his women, and to please both with gifts and gold and honors. So long as he lived and ruled and kept the balance, the feasts and tourneys continued as before, and peace prevailed throughout the realm...though there were some, sharp-eyed, who observed the dragons of one party snapping and spitting flame at the dragons of the other party whenever they chanced to pass near each other.'

'The enmity between Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra was passed on to their sons, and the queen’s three boys, the Princes Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron, grew to be bitter rivals of their Velaryon nephews, resentful of them for having stolen what they regarded as their birthright: the Iron Throne itself.'

-Fire and Blood, George R.R. Martin

[paper-is-paper]

(Big Spoilers for DOTF)

Sooo I sat down and read the entirety of Daughter of a Thousand Faces over the course of a few days. Since the series is on indefinite hiatus, I wanted to note down some plot threads that have yet to be resolved or addressed in season 1.

This series has taken over my brain and I don't know what to do with all these thoughts swimming in my brain. (elaborated thoughts below the cut and are numbered)

What is Swallowtail? is he a demon? a cultivator? or maybe secret third option (butterfly maybe)?

Why is Swallowtail so protective of Yuhua to the point where he's been ensuring that any potential suitors have been having "accidents"?

Why did Chu Tian choose to save Yuhua? He could have let her die and then boom no more blood pact, he's free to do whatever he wants with no restrictions. (1)

What's the butterfly lady (Hong Yang) going to do with Yuhua's severed finger?

What happens to the Ox Lady (Qing Yu)? Will she join Chu Tian? or will this be a moment of growth for Chu Tian? (2)

What is up with Shen Yitian? (3) and what happened to the rest of the true cultivators?

What does Leng Feng being a dragon prince mean for the careful balance between our main cast? How will he react to the fact that Yuhua killed one of his older brothers and now wears his face upon impromptu fox demon?

What did Leng Feng want to asks Yuhua?

Will Yuhua and Chu Tian resolve their conflict after the death of the fox demon? (I feel like the answer to this is obvious)

What is the ichor that some of the demons have been drinking? Who is the "master" behind its distribution? Where are they getting it from? (4)

Who has been sending the creepy letters to the A-Qing, A-Ying, and Co.?

What will become of Kai's Grandma? and will she ever find out that the real Kai is dead?

What role does Shen Chun have in the future?

Have Yuling and Yuhua come to a mutual understanding or is their relationship still antagonistic?

What are the details of Yuhua's mother's crimes? How might they tie with other elements of the plot?

What does war with the Bull Clan mean for our motley crew?

How will everyone react to Chu Tian and Yuhua's relationship?

(1) In the behind the scenes in chapter 42, Velinxi mentions that whether Chu Tian cares about Yuhua is debatable. I personally lean heavily towards the explanation that he does care about Yuhua, but I also think it's not impossible that it's an act or that he keeps her alive and trains her for more long-term goals. Either way, I fully agree the guy is definitely a bad influence.

(2) Chu Tian is convinced that Qiao Yu will eventually call for him and maybe join him. My prediction is that something will happen to her village that will then make her turn to Chu Tian for help or out of desperation. The other (less likely) alternative is that Chu Tian is wrong and Qiao Yu's continued rejection of him till her death shakes him so much that it sparks a growth in character growth for him. I also think that it could be a mix of both.

(3) This guy is hella sus. As @canary0 points out:

"...[Yuhua's] dad has to know, right? He knew what the only thing down there was. He had to have known what the only thing down there was. He had to have known what the only way to get back up and out would be."

I think that Shen Yitian is embodying the phrase "keep your friends close but your enemies closer" by asking Yuhua to stay closer to the family when she emerges from the well at the beginning of the series.

(4) I have a few ideas about this ichor, and I think it's related to Chu Tian in one way or another. It's the wrong color to be just Chu Tian's blood because his is red, but the glowing yellow eyes with slit pupils is a little too much of a coincidence to not be a deliberate creative choice.

Okay I have a lot more to talk about, but I want to cut this one off here otherwise we will be here forever. Please add some more questions if I missed anything, I absolutely adore this series and I can't wait to see a continuation of this story. In the meantime, I can chew on the mysteries of season 1.

[randomfoggytiger]

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XIX): Eyes Averted, and Final Decisions

Thus far we've discussed the effect Scully's diagnosis has had on herself, her mother, and her brother. Yet, it's not until this scene in Redux II that we hear the Scully family bouncing off of each other in a crisis: what behavior they expect from one another, and what boundaries they do and don't push. It's an interesting portrait of resurfaced dynamics and shared familial traits.

More importantly, it sets up blink-and-you'll-miss-it explorations of their differing perspectives on Scully's odds of survival.

THE FIGHT

The scene opens on Bill’s building anger (“This is crazy, just crazy”) and Mulder’s somber, challenging response (“Well, crazy in what sense-- in that it might save your sister’s life?”) 

The camera quickly cuts to Scully’s expression during their exchange. She closes her eyes in a controlled shudder at Mulder’s blatant acknowledgement of her illness, opening them only when she has regained mastery over her rocked emotions. 

Bill is flabbergasted but contains his fury.

His control is very telling. In Gethsemane, he pushed and prodded his sister's motives-- why didn't you tell me? do you know what our mother's been through? "loyal to who, to this guy Mulder?"-- but never yelled. When he first met his sister's partner, he shook his hand and glowered but didn't tear him up (as he will later this episode.) And here, he's listened to Mulder's farfetched explanation of farfetched chips and cures but still refrains. Bill seems to have put himself under an injunction (be it his own resolve or Maggie's warning) not to provoke or punish; but that resolve requires restraint. As we see here, Mulder pushes his buttons and effortlessly dissolves that restraint in under two minutes.

“You’re not a doctor. You have no place even suggesting this… science fiction.” 

Maggie and Scully bend their heads, their body language stiff and conflict-avoidant but not shocked or surprised. To them, a Navy man laying down the law is not a new phenomenon. 

“It’s not science fiction,” Mulder insists, immovably calm. 

This interaction is solidifying what Bill perceives to be Mulder’s character: insistent, thoughtless action followed by blatant denial of reality. For the first time, we hear Bill Scully holler.

“He’s never heard of it!”

Scully writhes in discomfort-- not wanting to be caught in the middle of her brother’s anger and Mulder’s last, pleading attempt-- and her mother catches it. Shaking off her role of quiet military wife immediately, she softly latches onto her son's arm and orders, "Bill."

Her son immediately complies, respectfully sighing out the bite in his voice. Turning to the doctor, he questions, “Have you?” 

“No, I haven’t.”

Maggie takes the lead here, stepping in before Mulder or Bill can steer the conversation back to confrontation. “I think there’s an obvious… difference of opinion here,” she puts delicately, carefully laying down her unspoken expectations of both men. 

Mulder nods, easily acquiescing; then turns to Scully when she quickly speaks up.

SCULLY'S DECISION IS HER OWN

Even on her deathbed, Dana Scully commands the respect to speak and to be heard. “I think… that everybody here has their heart in the right place.” 

She spares a split-second smile towards her mother, affection and love pouring from her worn, red eyes. 

Maggie's expression is not soft or warm: it's one of steely distrust. She is letting Dana advocate for herself but knows, already knows, she will disagree with the final decision. 

It’s not a stretch to come to this conclusion, either: her daughter left medicine for the FBI, creating a rift in the family; her daughter signed a living will privately, leaving Maggie to grapple with the task of following it through without notice; her daughter was somewhere else in the wild when Melissa was shot and died in her place; and her daughter didn’t want to tell her about the cancer diagnosis at first, then swore her to secrecy after. She may respect that Dana has the right to make decisions for her own life, but she doesn’t trust her-- each choice Scully has made unintentionally wounded Maggie. 

And since her husband’s death, Maggie seems less and less willing to “shove off” without question.

Bill, meanwhile, waits patiently for his sister to continue. However, when Scully insists, with strength in her voice, “But I need it to be my decision”, he shakes his head, attempting to break in with a gentle, “Dana--”  

Here we see a Scully family tic. He looks down and away when something personally affects him. Here, when his sister considers putting "pseudoscience" in her neck; later, when he cracks himself open to weigh Mulder's motives in the hallway. 

“I know you’re only looking out for me, Bill,” Scully begins, watching her brother's face fall, "but I don’t think you have all the facts.”

Her unbeatable spirit shines through-- faith in her facts and a little pride in herself. Assured, and believing she will pull through. 

Mulder looks from her to Bill; and Bill, knowing he can’t budge his sister, looks down before laying the blame fully at Mulder’s feet. 

It’s an important moment for his character: Memento Mori Bill would have blamed Scully for their father’s dashed pride and Melissa’s death. Instead, this Bill blames only Mulder for his family’s destruction. And even then, as much as he despises her partner, this Bill will still give him a opportunity to explain himself. 

Seizing one last chance to countermand his sister's inclination, Bill looks to his mother, hoping she will talk her daughter out of it. Mulder catches this and swings his attention to Maggie's face, too. 

“Don’t you think you should listen to your doctor?” she asks, diplomatically; tense, strained, and hoping Dana won't pursue the wrong path at the last hour. 

“Yes,” Scully insists, taking a gulp of air for her weak voice, “I am.”

Mulder immediately reads between the lines, brokering her concerns to her doctor. “Will she have to stop her conventional treatment?”

An important incident occurs: Scully panics, terrified at the thought she will have to stop her treatment plan. Because, deep down, Scully doesn’t believe she will die: her treatment-- her science-- will save her; and if it fails, then Mulder’s magic tricks will cure her. 

We know this to be the case because of her reaction to Bill’s incredulous, “You think you can cure yourself” in Gethsemane (post here); we know this because of her fright now that she will, perhaps, be disconnected from the medical safety net; we know this because she hasn’t, yet, accepted that death is imminent (and won't until Mulder’s chip “fails” and she falls apart in front of her mother.) 

Scully desperately locks onto her doctor as he soberly explains, “To be honest, at this point, the only approach I have left with her particular cancer is… quite unconventional.” 

Scully’s science has failed her; and she is crestfallen. 

However-- as in everything that is too terrible to face immediately-- Scully brushes her desperation aside, shoring up courage by closing her eyes and clutching the chip tighter.  

“I’d like to try this,” she determines, resolved. 

The camera shoots back to Maggie, caught between shades of disappointment, frustration, and resignation; and she turns to the wall to hide her turbulent emotions from her daughter. 

Maggie, like Dana, does not believe her daughter is marked for death-- she still wants her to fight, to take treatment, to turn to God and pray with Father McCue and trust to miracles. It’s a faith not unlike Mulder’s: they both believe, though she prefers to pray down the miracles and he to catch them in his hands. 

Resigned, Bill resentfully snaps up his head to glare meaningfully at Mulder. Mulder, spotting the searing animosity from across the room, keeps his head turned, uncomfortably avoiding eye contact. 

Bill, unlike his sister and mother, does not believe Scully will be cured-- the cancer is in her bloodstream, and all the family can hope for is a peaceful death. Hence, he buries the hurt and frustration her reticence caused, tries to steer the work away from her room, and intends to lay off of Mulder for Dana's sake. He is showing his love by guarding her last days-- not unlike Melissa’s bedside manner (posts here and here): both prepared themselves for their sister's death by looking out for her best interest (and by confronting Mulder mercilessly.) The difference between he and his first sister is that Melissa believed in the impossible, and Bill only in the probable. 

And that's the reason he and Scully and Mulder butt heads: he's looking out for his little sister, but he doesn't have all the facts.

Scully, emotionally overwhelmed, takes a page from her mother and brother’s book by avoiding everyone’s eyes.

CONCLUSION

Maggie bears the scars of her daughter's decisions, calling in Bill to lean on his strength (while also keeping him wisely in-check.)

Bill has revealed that he prefers the status quo. Trusting that her doctor has done his best, he views Mulder's last-minute, untested, shaky-at-best cure to be a reprehensibly irresponsible suggestion. Without saying it out loud, he has resigned Scully to her fate-- and Mulder, brilliant man that he is, has noticed and resents it, picking at Bill's disbelief in small pokes or digs. 

Mulder has doubled down on the untested and (seemingly) unscientific chip he picked up from the DOD as the cure-all for brain cancer. He’s already argued-- and won-- for it to be tried, handing out hope to the sick and dying. Bill, stubborn and distrustful, sees this trial as a moral failure; and hates his guts for it. 

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!