#i don't think he comes up for the rest of the book?

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Harding gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Lucanis, Emmrich, Neve, Taash to be added tomorrow (or on Monday Jan 5th)

Family and past:

Harding's parents split up a few years ago. Her father lives in Amaranthine. She's okay with that and thinks her parents are happier apart

Harding’s mother never taught her how to cook, she's entirely self-taught

Harding carries around the first letter her Mother sent her after joining the Inquisition

Harding doesn't have siblings 

Harding had a mabari named Contessa who passed away from old age

(If in romance) Taash offers Harding to get a mabari together

Time with the Inquisition:

Back in Skyhold, Solas once told Harding he was sorry dwarves couldn’t dream

Harding thinks that if she had never joined the Inquisition, she probably would’ve got married and tended to goats

Harding volunteered for the Inquisition because their soldiers kept scaring the sheep because they all had super old maps. And because she didn't want to spend the rest of her life watching sheep

General: 

Harding likes sandwiches, they are one of her favourite foods 

Harding finds Treviso very beautiful (who doesn’t) 

Harding would bring a bow, clean socks and a spoon to a deserted island

Harding likes books about blood and gore

Harding doesn't like killing, but she doesn't feel bad about it. She compares it to farmers having to kill wild animals that get too close to their land, as sometimes a quick kill can prevent more suffering (i.e. if a wolf gets inside your sheepfold, your own animals will die in pain)

She says that this kind of mindset is the reason why a lot of Inquisition scouts came from farmers, as they need to kill people when necessary (even if those people aren’t their enemies personally), but don’t go out looking for it

Harding likes almonds. They are crunchy :) 

Harding is fascinated by Minrathous’s nightlife 

Harding doesn't drink alcohol 

Harding really likes puns

Harding has fought a Stormrider dragon before 

Harding has a detailed and decorated scrapbook with her kills (with doodles. Including a cute giant spider)

Harding never visited Nevarra before the Veilguard, though she had heard of Cumberland’s Summer Exhibition. Emmrich disregards it as just a market with a horse show 

Dwarves and magic:

Harding finds herself more hungry than usual since getting hew new powers

Neve and Emmrich hypothesise that Harding developing Titan powers may have increased her lifespan (or even granted her eternal life) 

Harding describes using her magic as “touching something vast and eternal, a well, deep inside”. Lucanis says that it sounds similar to him using his demon powers

Relationships with companions:

Bellara, Neve and Taash call her “Lace”. Davrin and Lucanis call her “Harding”

Emmrich calls her "Harding" most of the time, though he calls her "Lace" on two occasions (in a banter about Emmrook, and the one where he talks about seeing her aura differently after he becomes a Lich)

Harding grows special plants for Davrin to help him mask the griffon smell in his room

Harding grows truffles for Assan

Harding lets Assan sleep on her

To Lich!Emmrich, Harding appears different from other dwarves. She has a special aura (but it comes and goes)

Harding buys an enchanted barbed arrow to take out Lucanis/Spite if push comes to shove. She later tries to give it to Lucanis and apologises, but he insists she keeps it as a sign of his trust

Harding finds Teia intimidating because she is “polished” (Lucanis disagrees but notes she keeps good track of all utensils Viago poisoned at the table) 

Teia called Harding fearless in a conversation with Lucanis

Harding invites Neve to her house in Ferelden after Neve's apartment in Minrathous burns down, in case she wants to get away from the Lighthouse 

Harding is very excited about Neve taking over the Threads (“Do they have to kiss your hand?”) and wishes she were a crime boss

Harding once dreamt of Neve stealing her strawberry tarts

Harding starts humming Taash’s name to herself after they get together

About gifts from Taash: 

Harding doesn’t use the archery bracer because it feels so special she’s afraid it could get lost or get dirty

She also doesn’t wear the hairpin because she’s afraid to lose it

Taash got the cheese in Minrathous

Conclusion: get Harding cheese, it’s the only thing she isn’t afraid to actually use

Garden and plants: 

It's enough to mention a plant for it to start growing in Harding’s garden

The Fade plants normally don’t need tending. However, they may begin to wilt if that’s what you expect them to do 

Smuggler’s Rose clouds the person’s mind if you are wearing it like perfume, letting you pickpocket other people more easily

Sage bane mixed with troll moss can be used to treat toenail fungus

[luimnigh]

And finally, December:

22 Movies Watched, with 8 Partial Watches

1 TV Special

25 Comic Book Issues

And I started 1 Game.

Now, that 22 movies is clearly an outlier. And with 20/22 of those being watched over the Christmas holidays, it turns out I watch more movies when I feel the need to spend time with my family rather than go to my room. I watch more stuff when I'm not in charge of starting the watching. Go figure.

Details, as always, under the cut:

Movies:

A Christmas Carol (1984): The one with Patton as Scrooge, which notably has Scrooge as a commodities trader. Fairly good adaptation.

That Christmas: Netflix animated Christmas film, co-written by the creator of Love Actually. Pretty great movie, it's definitely stuck in my head since.

Sing: The Illumination franchise not featuring Minions. Fun, feelgood kid's movie. Solid stuff.

The Holiday: One of my Mom's favourite Christmas movies, she watches it every year. It's a fun little thing, mostly about romance than Christmas, but still.

Oppenheimer: I finally got around to this one by virtue of my Mom putting it on and then falling asleep watching it. It's a fascinating movie about the road to hell being paved with good intentions, how justification for immoral acts grow and spread, and how you cannot control what you put into the world once you've done it.

Batman Begins: Directly after Oppenheimer, seems they were doing a Nolan marathon. Gotta say, I feel like after this one Nolan leaned too far into realism and I feel it was detrimental to the rest of his trilogy. This one had a gothic Gotham and while the more fantastical elements were stripped, it still had a secret society of Ninjas who burned society down every so often. I feel like some more magical elements absolutely could have coexisted with this Batman over the latter two films.

Peter Rabbit 2: The Runaway: This did something The Fall Guy joked about, and tried to make up for a weaker Act Three by lampshading the weakness of it's Act Three.

The Muppets Christmas Carol: Because of course I did, it's mandatory.

Moana: Still a fantastic movie, one of my favourites of Disney's 2010s films.

Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl: It's Wallace & Gromit, it continues to be a series of hilarious films. I like how it touched on AI art and how the effort of creating something is part of the enjoyment of it, but in a subtle enough way that it doesn't come off as preachy.

San Andreas: You know, I think this is the only movie I've seen where falling glass from a breaking window is depicted as dangerous.

The Quiet Man: For those that don't know: It's a movie by John Ford, starring John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara, about an Irish-born American returning to his family home and trying to make a life. He falls in love, and falls afoul of local customs. It is absolutely heavy on the stereotypes, and the romance is questionably consensual the entire way through (not helped by the ending, in which our hero seems to treat our heroine terribly... until it turns out to have been an act they planned). If you can get past that, it is a fun movie.

We Own The Night: Cop drama. Not great.

And Now For Something Completely Different: Compilation of Monty Python sketches into a movie. Some of them are better in the TV versions, but it's Python, it's still mostly funny.

Romancing The Stone: Eh. It's a fair enough romantic comedy/jungle adventure.

Superman II: ...y'know, these Superman movies play a lot heavier into the Jesus angle than I remember.

Spider-Man: No Way Home: Y'know, I've seen people say this doesn't hold up now that the Marvel Multiverse stuff in full swing, but I gotta disagree, I still like this a bunch.

The Sound of Music: I gotta admit, the confrontation at the end between Captain Von Trapp and Rolfe is really well-done. You genuinely think he's gonna get through to this kid, and then the guy's true colours shine through.

The Railway Children: ...the pacing is weird on this, because what seems to be the natural climax is just the halfway point. In any other movie, preventing the train crash would happen just before the reuniting with their father.

The Second Best Exotic Marigold: I didn't really pay attention to this, to be quite honest, but I paid enough that I feel I can't call it a partial watch.

Black Panther: Technically, my last movie of 2024, as the next one I watched after midnight on New Year's Eve, but the rule is that it's not the next month until I go to bed. Anyway, still an all-time great superhero movie.

The Guard: An Irish comedy about a corrupt small-town cop who turns out to be less corrupt than the rest of the cops. Genuinely hilarious.

Herself (Partial): Irish drama about a mother escaping an abusive relationship and trying to build a home for her daughters. Harrowing, honestly.

Gosford Park (Partial): Proto-Downton Abbey. You can see the bones there, but also see where edges got sanded down from this.

Cheaper By The Dozen (Partial): Smallville Superman gets bullied by Sam Supernatural for being a farmboy. This is the only subplot I remember, it's mostly chaos.

Elf (Partial): Honestly I gotta get around to watching it in full, it seems fun enough.

Chicken Run (Partial): Animated classic.

Ghostbusters Afterlife (Partial): Technically I saw the whole thing, I just didn't hear any dialogue after the first thirty minutes thanks to everyone visiting on Christmas Eve.

The Italian Job (1969) (Partial): Quite possibly the first ever use of a hacker in a heist film. The prison scenes are very clearly filmed in Dublin if you've ever seen Killmainham Jail. I saw the car chase, that's the best part of the film except for the iconic line.

Forces of Nature (Partial): Ben Affleck, Sandra Bullock romantic comedy? Wasn't great, but it's the only romantic comedy I've ever seen where the engaged lead decides to get married to the person they're engaged to. That's the end. Our leads go off on seperate lives, happy for the time they spent together but knowing they made the right choice. Insane this happens in an otherwise forgotten romcom from the early 00s.

TV Series:

Doctor Who Christmas Special: Joy To The World: Fun little romp. Nice poignant moments. Unsubtle ending.

Comics:

Alpha Flight (2011): Issues 5-8. I was confirming some confusing wording on the Marvel Wiki regarding a kid someone protected that made it sound like it was there. Canada spent some time as a fascist state in Marvel.

Strange Tales (1998): Issue 2. The below comic continues the story, turns out Man-Thing might be a direct descendant of the Biblical Adam.

Man-Thing (1997): Issues 7 and 8. Man-Thing's son nearly gets corrupted by a demon(?). Psychadelic art style. Hard to read.

Howard The Duck (2002): Issue 6. And wow, this series was trying incredibly hard to be edgy. Quite unsure if the cosmology it lays out is canon.

Namor, The Submariner: Issue 4. Double-checking some characters who pretended to be Poseidon's kids.

Uncanny Avengers Vol 2: Annual. Checking out the full story of the Emerald Warlock.

Scarlet Witch (2016): Issues 1-4. Continuing machinations of the Emerald Warlock.

Fantastic Four (2013): Issue 5. In which Julius Caesar is replaced by a Caesar-fanboy alien.

Blade: Vampire Nation: Single Issue. Honestly, I was just checking out why Henry Kissinger was a Vampire.

Master Of Kung Fu (1976): Issues 36 & 37. Shang-Chi meets a dude who claims to be related to Pan. Incredibly confusing story.

Kidpool & Spider-Boy: Single Issue. Sometimes I get asks and have to look up comics to answer them.

Elektra & Wolverine: The Redeemer: Three Issue Series. More of a book than a comic. Interesting story, but added another kid to Wolverine's list.

Wolverine (2010): Issues 305-307. Wolverine fights a Redneck Stereotype Mad Scientist named Dr Rot, who stole pieces of Wolverine's brain and grew them into shapeshifting minions.

Videogames:

Ace Attorney Investigations: Miles Edgeworth (Partial): Fun detective game so far, but I kinda miss the courtroom stuff. The Testimony/Rebuttal just doesn't feel the same.

Looking back, I spent most of last year in a depressive funk. There were some high moments, but after about March I just stopped doing the stuff I enjoy. I didn't read books, I didn't watch movies, the last videogame I played to completion was in May, I only went to the Cinema twice...

I just took the quick dopamine hit from stuff like youtube videos and social media scrolling.

I gotta fix that. I gotta get back to the things I enjoy.

So my New Year's Resolution, probably the first time I've ever seriously done one, is to enjoy more art.

I'm gonna record every movie and series watched, every book read, every game played- and I'm gonna finish a bunch of those I started and never ended.

No goal, just more.

[slaymitchabernathy]

I Hate It Here

| "All you'll ever be is my eternal consolation prize. You see I was a debutant in another life but, now I seem to be scared to go outside. If comfort is a construct, I don't believe in good luck, now that I know what's what." |

Soarynn keeps her head lowered while the other girls whisper excitedly around her.

There is nothing to be excited about.

She doesn't see why this is such a big deal, debutant balls happen all the time, why does this one have to be any different?

But she knows why, and she knows that her father has high hopes of her meeting a suitable match tonight. "You're a beautiful girl, honey," he had said to her in the car, "and tonight you might meet a young man who can see that. A man who can take care of you when I no longer can."

Soarynn had just nodded and smiled, she wants to make her father happy, let him rest easy knowing that she won't forever be alone but she doesn't see why being alone is such a bad thing. She has her friends, her drawings, her cat, and her books.

She needs nothing more.

She smooths down her white dress with her gloved hands, making sure she looks presentable. The maids fussed over her appearance for a good hour, making sure that her long blonde hair was perfectly curled and styled, that her dress was without a wrinkle, her skin without a flaw.

They're anxious for her to meet someone as well. She's heard them whispering about her, how it's such a shame that a pretty thing like her spends most of her days in the library of her home, curled up with a book. Soarynn doesn't think it's sad at all, she loves her books, loves escaping to secret gardens in her mind where only she has the key to get to them.

No one else seems to share this sentiment.

The girls begin to move out of the room they've been standing in for the past half hour and Soarynn joins the shuffle, nervously reciting the words she's been trained to say by everyone who wants tonight to be successful.

"Hello, my name is Soarynn Nightingale, how do you do?"

It seems so stiff, so formal, and not at all personal. It's not her at all.

They step out onto the balcony overlooking the first floor where everyone is staring up at them from the ballroom. Soarynn scans the room for her father, the only man she truly cares about. She spots him over by the piano, a drink in his hand and a pleased smile on his face. She knows he means well but she hates this, hates all of it.

Girls begin to descend the grand staircase and Soarynn is one of the last in the group, taking her time, not in any rush to get married and have her life be over. Some girls are immediately greeted by the young men attending this ball, eager to meet a potential wife. Others like her, are not and she goes straight to the windows so she can look outside.

She sees a small garden with a courtyard, it reminds her of home, of their backyard. Will her future husband live in a townhouse like her? Or will he live in an apartment with no grass or trees?

She hopes for very few things when it comes to a potential husband. That he's kind to her, that he actually listens and pays attention to her. She also hopes that he likes cats since she has one, Petunia who she cannot live without.

Soarynn knows that she's not doing herself any favors by standing by the windows instead of mingling or dancing but she doesn't have the courage to go up to any of the men in this room. So she watches instead, watches girls dance with potential suitors, smiling and laughing.

Some could say that she was born for this life, to grow up in comfortable luxury and be married off to strengthen the family but she longs for something more, for freedom and no societal standards.

No big city hopes or small town fears.

She scans the room once again and her eyes land on the bar where lots of men are now standing including her father. She locks eyes with him for a moment but then they drift up to the man standing next to him. The very tall, very handsome young man with blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

Soarynn suddenly feels very nervous.

She was prepared to talk to people, but she wouldn't enjoy it or find them interesting. She planned on leaving with her father, empty-handed but content that she did her part tonight. Her father has other plans apparently.

The young man starts towards her but Soarynn remains planted by the windows, letting him cross the room to get to her. She's been given lots of advice over the past eighteen years on how to deal with men, how she should make her future husband work for it, work for her. Looks like she's finally heeding some of that advice.

The handsome stranger finally reaches her and he's much taller up close. He smells like roses out of all things and he really is handsome, with his prominent jaw and nose, his strong eyebrows, and his eyes, oh, his eyes are a piercing blue gaze that she feels frozen under.

"Hello," he says with a polite smile, holding out his hand, "my name is Coriolanus Snow, how do you do?"

Soarynn swallows, this is what she's been preparing for her entire life, to fall in love. Surely it won't happen with the first man she meets. But maybe it might, who knows what fate has intended for her.

Soarynn gently places her hand in his, noting how much larger his hand is, how long his fingers are, how big his palm is. Coriolanus Snow is a big man. "Pleased to meet you," she says softly, watching him bring his lips to her gloved hand. She blushes at the gesture, the only man who's ever shown her any physical affection has been her father, a kiss on the cheek, a hug, an encouraging pat on the arm.

Like any good Capitol girl, she's been saving herself for marriage.

His bright eyes scan her up and down in a matter of seconds and she begins to wonder what her father has promised Coriolanus, what he said about her. "And your name?"

Soarynn blinks twice before realizing that she has yet to introduce herself, "Soarynn, Soarynn Nightingale."

Coriolanus hums, releasing her hand, "Well Soarynn, I met your father moments ago and he told me that I'd be a fool if I didn't ask you to dance." Soarynn wants to glare over at her father for meddling in her business, he can't do everything for her if he wants this to be successful. She knows he means well but still, the line has to be drawn at some point.

"You might be," she agrees, "or you might not."

Coriolanus creases his brows, clearly not expecting her to act this way, act like she could care less but she isn't keen on impressing Coriolanus Snow who she's sure is a fine match for any girl in this room.

Just not her.

"Do you...do you not dance?" He asks nervously, shifting on his feet. Soarynn shakes her head, she shouldn't torture Coriolanus when he's done nothing wrong, "I do dance," she tells him, bracing herself for five minutes of awkward tension between them, "and I'd love to dance with you."

He seems relieved to hear that. No man wants to look like a fool at a debutant ball, so out of sheer politeness, she'll agree to dance with Coriolanus.

He offers up her arm which she gingerly takes, allowing him to lead them onto the ballroom floor where lots of people have been swept up in music and surface-level conversations. Coriolanus rests one hand on her waist and the other holds her right hand. Soarynn places her left hand on his shoulder and they begin to move with the music. Growing up, Soarynn was given dance lessons for this very reason, so she wouldn't look like a graceless fool in front of everyone else.

She catches another glimpse of her father, eagerly craning his neck to see if he's made a successful match. Soarynn sighs, she hates it here, hates this dress, hates these uncomfortable shoes, hates dancing with this stranger.

"How old are you?"

His question jars her from thinking of more things to hate, "Eighteen," she answers, "what about you?"

"Twenty-one."

Goodness, he's old. Older than her at least, she's surprised her father sent Coriolanus her way, he's always been protective of her. She nods, doing her best to look interested, "You attended University then?"

"I did, now I work at the largest firm in the Capitol."

Of course, he does, handsome, smart, and important. He's the perfect man in her father's eyes, in everyone's eyes but her own.

"How exciting," she murmurs, letting him spin her around. She catches a glimpse of the moon shining through the windows and wishes she could escape this dance to sneak outside to the courtyard. But she can't be rude, and she can't leave halfway through the dance.

"Is this your first ball?"

Soarynn does her best to look excited, "Yes it is."

"Ah, how exciting for you."

Yes, she wants to say, how exciting to be sold off to the highest bidder in the room. She just smiles and keeps dancing to the music, answering a few more surface-level questions before the music finally stops.

"Thank you for the dance," she says to him, "but I need to find the lady's room." Now he can't insist on accompanying her and Soarynn doesn't wait for a response, turning on her heel and pushing through the crowd. She sneaks past her father, still preoccupied at the bar, and only glances back at Coriolanus once, expecting to see him with another girl already but his eyes are on her, watching her leave.

Hopefully, he can find a girl who actually wants to be here.

꧁ ꧂

With nothing but the moonlight to keep her company, Soarynn finally finds herself enjoying this ball.

She sits on a stone bench, surrounded by shrubs and flowers, watching through the window as people dance and laugh. It's better this way, she decides, to stay out here and protect her heart.

She watches one girl in a pretty white dress laugh at something a man says, leaning into him as if they've known each other for years not hours. Perhaps there's something wrong with Soarynn, something wrong with her heart.

The scatter of gravel is what startles her and draws her attention to a tall figure emerging from the blooms and shrubs, Coriolanus Snow. He looks rather unsure of himself, out of place in the gardens.

"You're quite good at hiding," he tells her, hands in his pockets, "I had to search the whole building before I came out here to look for you."

Soarynn can't stop herself from looking surprised. He looked for her?

She thought he'd find some other girl to talk to, to swoon and charm and take for his bride.

"I escaped," she says plainly, turning back to look through the windows. The gravel crunches under his shoes and she can feel him stop behind her, "Are you not enjoying the ball?" Soarynn nearly rolls her eyes at the stupid question, maybe if she were shallow and self-serving she'd enjoy the ball. Maybe if she didn't dream of being more than just someone's wife then she'd enjoy the ball.

"Not really."

Coriolanus walks around the stone bench, quietly sitting down next to her. Soarynn doesn't look at him, doesn't trust herself to look into those blue eyes and not possibly fall for him. Falling in love is another one of her hopeless dreams.

They sit in a comfortable silence, watching others make the most of this night, she feels him staring at her every once in a while but Soarynn makes no effort to start up a conversation.

"You seem lonely," he finally says.

She lets out a breathy laugh, I'm lonely but I'm good, she thinks to herself. She's always kept to herself, always been kind and polite but it's cost her a lot, cost her some respect and others taking her seriously.

"I'm fine," she insists, pulling off her gloves, "I have everything I could ever need."

She looks at him and is met with a questioning look like he doesn't fully believe her. Sometimes she doesn't believe herself. "Having everything you need doesn't prevent you from growing bitter," he points out. She frowns, she's never thought of herself as bitter. Is that how others view her?

"I swear I'm fine."

She's fine, it's fine, everything's fine. Soarynn has already accepted her inevitable fate, getting married, having children, attending boring parties with boring people. She'll save all her romanticism for her inner life, reading books so she gets lost on purpose in another land far away from here.

His hand grabs hers, skin on skin this time, no gloves separating them, no crowd of people watching them.

They can say whatever they want out here, with the moon and stars as their witness.

"You can be honest with me," he tells her, so gently, so patiently as if she's the most precious thing in the world to her. Soarynn has always been cautious around men like Coriolanus Snow, who seem too good to be true. Men with money, power, influence, charming and deceptive. Good looking and rotten to the core.

Soarynn doesn't know why she feels compelled to be honest with him now, to tell him how this place truly makes her feel. She has nothing to lose.

"This place makes me feel worthless," she whispers, staring up at the sky, "the parties, the dull conversations, it's like no one really sees me for who I am, sees past my pretty face and prominent last name."

Soarynn knows he can relate to the family part, he's a Snow, that's as important as you can get in the Capitol. She's sure that he's had his fair share of people trying to shove their way into his life simply to say that they're friends with him.

He laces his fingers in between her own, "Where would you go other than the Capitol?"

Soarynn is well aware of how privileged she is to live in the Capitol, to live among the elite and go to balls like this. She has more clothes than she knows what to do with, more shoes, more bags, more food. There is no better place to be than the Capitol.

Except the secret gardens in her mind.

"I read about these gardens," she tells him, "when I was a precocious child, they live in your mind so you can escape and only I have the key. I'm there most of the year if I'm being honest."

She sees how surprised he is, how he never expected Glen Nightingale's daughter to be downright miserable with her life.

"You want gardens?"

Soarynn nods, to put it broadly yes, she wants gardens she can run through and escape in with no one to bother her unless she wants them to.

"I can give you that."

Her eyes grow wide, out of all the things a man could promise her, gardens were the last thing she expected. Capitol men like to promise pretty jewelry, fancy cars, and beautiful homes. Never has anyone promised her a garden, let alone listened to her greatest desires.

"You can?" She asks, shitfing on the bench. Coriolanus nods, looking quite confident in the promise he just made, "I can. I'm going to become President one day and when I do, I'll move into the President's Mansion. There'll be beautiful gardens to walk through, and a grand library, with servants who won't speak a word to you unless you tell them to do so."

He makes it sound so easy, like it's already happened, like he already did it.

It sounds like a dream come true.

"But...but what does that have to do with me?" She asks with hesitance laced in her voice. Soarynn isn't naive, she knows what men want and what's expected of her. She needs to marry someone, not just live in their gardens. Coriolanus chuckles, acting like she asked something so simple. "If we were to marry then everything of mine could become yours," he explains as if it's so simple.

Maybe it is.

Maybe she should trust him, let him spin her around in the ballroom, and get to know him.

"Give me a chance and I promise you won't be disappointed Soarynn."

You have nothing to lose, she tells herself, squeezing his hand, "Alright," she agrees, "we ought to go back inside."

Coriolanus looks at the large windows looking into the ballroom, they can hear the music and laughter from outside, he looks hesitant to return. "Let's just stay here," he says, giving her a smile, "get to know each other."

Soarynn smiles too.

Perhaps with Coriolanus by her side, she could actually love it here.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @strawberriicakes @wonderlandbound111 @kickmybark @villiansarehottest @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @melodyoflovee @erensrealgf |

[turnthepagevn]

LORD RENA GIVE US A DRABBLE OF SCARY ROBIN AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

Light.

That's what you needed; you needed light to banish the creeping, always watching shadows. So he couldn't see you; so you could have a moment away from his prying, adoring, suffocating gaze.

So you had bathed your room in light; no space where shadows could touch. Sure, it made your head ache, and you felt disoriented, but surely now he couldn't watch you, right? Surely now you were safe. He left his sister to her own devices, after all, and she was the embodiment of light, so clearly it must work. There have to be rules that they abide by.

Robin loves you, even if it is obsessive and possessive; he'll understand once you have some time and space to yourself to decompress and process everything that's been happening, right?

You make yourself content with this thought as you curl up on your bed. You know that if you're trying not to sleep that your bed is probably the last place you should be, but your body hurts, and you just want somewhere soft to sit for just a moment; surely it can't hurt.

You can feel your eyes closing. You don't want to sleep, too afraid that he'll invade your dreams as he's done before, but you haven't slept right in days.

It's hard to tell what's real and what isn't. You think you see the air shimmer for a brief moment, but that could also be the sleep deprivation talking.

Your eyes close.

Your breathing slows.

Sleep is taking hold, even as you try to fight it.

You feel warmth behind you. Something that smells like leather and old books embraces you and presses a soft kiss to your neck.

You thrash away, and back yourself against a corner as he sits placidly on your bed, as if he was always meant to be there. He smiles serenely, and you can see the way that it seems like reality is fraying at the edges, as though claws had torn through nothing so that he could reach you even without shadows to hide in.

It's hard to tell if he's mad; he seems mellow enough, so you let your shoulders drop a bit.

"How did you get in my house?" you ask exhaustedly.

"You gave me the key, my love. Remember?"

"I didn't." Didn't you?

"Then why do I have it?"

"I don't remember giving you that." You did.

"You haven't been sleeping well, it's no wonder your memory is all over the place. And no wonder, with all of these lights everywhere. Come stay with me tonight, you can get some actual rest, darling. You'll feel better once you sleep a bit."

He smiles more widely now and swings his long, elegant legs over the side of your bed to stand to his full height. It's clear that he's mad, and his invitation to sleep over at his place was not an optional thing now as he gazes down at you and finally speaks.

"Darling, are you afraid of the dark?"

[pain-is-too-tired]

Friendly reminder that before Mr.D cured him, Chris had gotten so bad after months of being in his state that he was actively refusing to eat or drink and had become unresponsive.

Chiron literally told Percy he had "lost the will to live"

And then he just became Clarisse's ex-Kronos Army Boyfriend for a book and was dropped.

My gods why is Rick so bad at exploring side characters with severe trauma outside of who they are with their partners (eyes will/Solangelo)

[hai7ani]

It fills his heart with rage the minute she comments it to his face.

A friend of his parents, she'd introduced herself. She wears a tacky Chanel bag on her arm and heels too high for a woman her age to walk around in the city. The poodle next to her leg is fidgety and constantly spinning around in circles.

His jaw tightens.

She has no right.

His father is a busy man who's never given his family the time of the day. He was busy and strict, even with his own wife. They say it was because she couldn't take it anymore that she ran away and left her kids when they were 9 and 10.

"Do you still play the violin? I have a gala coming up in two days and I'd love for you to perform." There's lipstick on her two front teeth as she speaks.

The said violin sits in a box beneath his bed. It's covered in dust and webs and the strings are all snapped. His bow is broken in half, the book of sheet music filled with highlighter marks and tear stains ripped into pieces.

But they are all still in the box.

"You were always so good with the strings."

Of course he was.

He still has the scars on his back from his father's thick belt. One slip up with a note, or moving his fingers too fast, and it'll have him wallowing in bed for days.

He still stops to watch street performances in Shibuya and he still flinches when their bow moves on the strings the wrong way during warmups. Or when he recognises a face of the performer from back then 一 a boy who's attended the same music academy as him, except he's performing with a smile, like he's so happy.

Rindou can't relate.

"Your mother's always told me about your talent with music. She had high hopes for you."

His poor mother. He still thinks she's fully lost her mind when she left all those years ago. He did find a gun in her bag the night before she left home. Not sure how she's doing today.

If she's still alive.

"So? What do you say? Are you able to perform?"

"Will my father be there?" He only asks. There's confusion on her face when he finishes and does not make any move to further explain his question.

"Yes, he will be... Are you not speaking to him一"

"I'll perform. But only on one condition. Don't tell him I'll be there."

And then he walks away一 skates away, sorry. He skates away on his skateboard that his father has always called a delinquent activity 一 it's an Olympic sport today, by the way.

He laughs to himself when picking up an electric shaver from the store. He laughs with the owner when dropping off his poor-condition violin at the music store and a huge deposit to get it done in two days time.

He laughs when his girlfriend cries at the new haircut because she's always liked his hair long and blonde 一 but he's lucky he has the face shape to pull a buzzcut off.

He laughs when he stands before the crowd at Miyazaki's gala, shiny violin and a brand new bow in hand as he stares into his father's eyes, seated at the VIP table.

The man is speechless. But he still stands to clap with the rest as the music stops and he still pretends as if nothing has ever happened when they're pushed together for a photo by Miyazaki herself.

"Oh, God. Father and son. Talent with money and talent with music. This is very good."

Rindou finds his brother all the way in the back of the crowd just before the flash goes off 一 a black hoodie covering his face, but the younger still recognises him nonetheless.

He keeps his copy of the photo and stares at it while he smokes at the rooftop of the hotel. He resists the urge to burn it away with the tip of his cigarette whenever he'd blur his eyes to disassociate and then suddenly they smile the same in the photo. Like they're the same person.

But I've shaved my hair. I have my mother's eyes. Yet I still smile like him.

So do I look like him?

Rindou's the kinda guy who shaves his head bald the minute someone goes "you look just like your father, with your hair and all"

[sskk-manifesto]

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[mostofthingsmostofthetime]

Sorry, still following the serise. Just can't post much right now coz of real life commitments. So have a tier list -

[fragmentedblade]

I've been reading about xiangqi a bit and now I'm even more obsessed with that one video of Jing Yuan

[eliashawthorne]

"you're not wrong. it is easier said than done," elias agreed, giving a little nod. he thinks he would use it for good, but who is to say really. “see, but that’s the thing, by improving that person's day you’re already altering the timeline. that one person's day being changed could have drastic measures for the rest humanity in the future. would we be sane for helping them or insane for doing so and possibly altering the future as we know it?” his mind buzzed with possibilities, all revolving around the stuff he has read and seen on tv in regard to time traveling. mostly doctor who kept coming to mind, and he tried to think if there was an episode in which it worked out for the doctor when he tried to alter the timeline a bit. “i wish it didn’t have to be that way, you know? i wish that if we could go back in time and help prevent wars from occurring that it would have a positive effect going forward. everything i have ever seen or read has always done the opposite to the future, even if the action was intended to bring a good change.” he knew there was some balance to it all but did not fully understand it.

his attention easily sways to the conversation about roadside attractions. he thinks for a second, ultimately shaking his head, "i don't know. most of them, i feel, would probably not need employees. maybe a security that roams around to keep an eye on things? even the biggest rubber band ball needs protection," eli jokes, chuckling a bit. he thought about how funny it would be to have 'rubber band security guard' on one's resume, though he highly doubted anyone was patrolling that attraction. museums or ghost town attractions he could get behind. "unfortunately, i was not blessed with the powers of mister fantastic or elastic girl so i will have to rely on a selfie stick. or mental photographs, those never fail me." he had learned a long time ago how to appreciate the moments life gives you while you were in them rather than worrying about capturing them with a piece of technology, but he did treasure the few in between he did have physical snapshots of. "a savings account is probably the way i will ultimately go about it too, but i think i'll buy the book as a little challenge. i wonder far i could get in filling it. my problem is that i never have cash on me these days, if i do it's at the most twenty bucks. so i feel like i'll forget to take the cash out to set aside for the book." he chuckled, shrugging, "only one way to find out, huh?"

he wasn't too worried about the cat sitting situation because he knew no matter where mochi end up going during the road trip the cat would be in good hands. if it really got down to it, he could see about taking mochi to the animal sanctuary for a couple of days. his thoughts drift over to how his cat could be doing tonight with the fireworks and honestly, he hopes he is okay. "i should have done the same with mochi. i hope he's okay. maybe they are both snuggled into a blanket fast asleep." he could only hope. "speaking of fireworks, do you have anyone you're watching the show with tonight?"

Doing the right thing was always harder than doing the easy thing. That was why so many people so many people struggled with it. It was a weakness that even Zarah didn’t know that she was immune from. At the end of end of the day, she was human and even she could have impulses that were less than generous from time to time. “It’s easy to say what you would do when you’re not in the situation to have that choice,” she could admit. “I like to think that I could resist the power and do the right thing. Intellectually, it’s what I’d want to do but then there is this other side of me – a darker side of me that would literally make the worst choices.” That was where she hoped that there would be people in her life who would bring her to her senses and encourage her better angels to win. “What is meant to happen is supposed to happen and maybe it still would but if you could do something to interrupt someone’s worst day, wouldn’t any sane person give it a go?” After all it was all theory based on fictional technology and so none of it really mattered at the end of the day.

Zarah was very much an action sort of person. She could plan when it was necessary, knew how to put things together in a cohesive way. In her day to day, she simply took action when an idea came to her. She didn’t allow herself to get too bogged down with worrying about the aftermath – especially when it came to things that there wasn’t any real chance of long term consequences. It probably helped that in general she wasn’t afraid to do thing on her own. It was great when she could pull someone else in but if they didn’t she wasn’t going to let that stop her if she felt strongly enough about it. That didn’t mean, she believed in inviting herself in on things, even with people she generally thought liked her. “Do random roadside attractions have employees?” she couldn’t help but ask. She assumed if there was a museum or a whole town built around the landmark it seemed likely but if it was more like a random art exhibit on the side of the road it was probably less likely. “It would be pretty disappointing if you ended up somewhere alone and no one to take the photos but exceptionally long arms work as good as a selfie stick.” Honestly, the trips without pictures could be just as much fun if it meant getting to fully immerse in the experience without technology getting in the way. “The savings book idea would fail me. I’d end up borrowing from it every time someone invites me out. I’m much better taking it to a saving account I have to pretty much leave alone.”

There were pros and cons of not immediately heading to college after high school. It had taken her some time to really make that decision to get back into it. She’d never really had that dorm experience and a lot of the people in her classes were younger, not that she was exactly old but she had a few more years of life experience in comparison to some of them. She felt like having her own place, having a full time job and trying to balance the classes at night as an adult was easier than it would have been if she’d pursued it when she was eighteen or nineteen in comparison now. That didn’t mean it didn’t have its complications. For now, she was content to have a bit of a break before the next semester really kicked in. “I’m sure one of them will step up,” she said with a nod. They seemed nice enough and if they didn’t step up, surely someone that he worked with would be willing to help for a good cause. There wasn’t any cause as good as a road trip. “If they don’t, we’ll figure it out. I’m pretty good at rolling with the punches.” She allowed herself another sup of her drink. “Hopefully, he’s not home freaking out about fireworks. Marmalade hates them. I had to dose him a bit before I left the apartment.”

[neverendingford]

.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[heartswithinreach]

Sitting on LaDS lap

Xavier

Physical contact is nothing new for you two. You trust Xavier with your life on the battlefield and when you're fighting the evening commute.

The train is packed on your way home after fighting Wanderers all day but Xavier doesn't notice until he sits down and realizes the person sitting next to him isn't his partner.

But before he can give up his seat for you, you're sitting across his lap and resting your head on his shoulder. He watches you settle, amused and flustered by your boldness to do something like this in public.

"I don't think this is allowed for safety." He says gently, not wanting to wake you. "But if you're that tired..."

Xavier holds you close, making sure you don't fall off his lap from the movement of the train, and peacefully dozes with you until you're home.

Rafayel

“You’re supposed to be my bodyguard — why aren’t I sitting on your lap?”

Rafayel pouts mostly for show and so he doesn’t come across as too eager. He’s barely holding back from squeezing you in a tight hug, he didn’t expect you to be so soft.

But he also didn’t expect what he said would make you self conscious. Rafayel quickly pulls you back down when you try to get off of him, wrapping his arms around your middle, making sure you stay put.

“Relax, cutie. I was just joking. You can stay for as long as you want.”

But he will expect you to return the favor whenever he wants in the future. Especially if it’s at an event and he wants to rub your relationship in other peoples’ faces.

Zayne

His reaction depends on where you are and what the situation is.

If you sit on his lap while waiting to be seated at a restaurant, he’ll be unimpressed by the PDA but allow it so you’re both not sore from standing.

In the privacy of his or your apartment, you’re welcome to do whatever you like.

Every time you come near him in the early evening while he’s reading a book, he secretly hopes you’ll curl up on his lap. Your warmth is just the balm he needs after his shift at the hospital.

Zayne always worries about his evol in the back of his mind. What if his body temperature is too low and being so close is unpleasant for you? The only thing that’ll stop him from fretting and relax is if you play with his hair.

Sylus

Your ass hasn’t touched an actual chair in this man’s presence since you made your relationship official.

The first time you tried, he stopped reading his intel to ask, “What are you doing all the way over there, sweetie?” and patted his thigh. It couldn’t have been more obvious what he wanted.

Won’t stand for any “I’m too heavy” nonsense. He’s genuinely offended when you say that. Have you seen his physique? He waits until you’ve decided to give it a shot and then he's manhandling you onto his lap.

Pavlov dogs you into this routine until one day you just sit on his lap, completely unprompted, and he gives you the most infuriating, self-satisfied grin when you realize what you’ve done.

He’s won this small victory and he won’t let you forget it.

[the-dirtiest-of-twenties]

Tbh, I kinda doubt we'll get a Senior Year.

It was great to see how the cast and their characters have grown but, for the most part, story arcs are pretty wrapped up.

Fabian is coming to terms with the idea of "Maybe I don't have to be super famous to have a life worth living", as well as succumbing to Lou Wilson's inherent need to create community spaces where all people are welcome. Incredible growth for Fabian!

Riz, I think, will always be solving mysteries. But he has realized that he doesn't have to WORK to be cherished by his friends. That love in any form can be an ambient thing that is still fulfilling even when it's not waving it's arms and screaming "I'm here! I'm here! Look at me!"

Kristen is well on her way to figuring shit out! She's realized that her actions, funny though they may be, have serious consequences. That she will have to address them eventually and give serious thought to the timing and the way in which she chooses to address things. This is something that very much diverts from her roots of steering away from structure and headfirst into chaos. She's actively seeking a happy medium!

Fig has finally realized that she needs to take care of herself too! We joke that she thinks she's so closed off when she's actually very open about her emotions. But, in reality, she is very closed off when it comes to the way she thinks about herself. Going to hell and learning her trade and how she wants to go about using their infernal power is so inherently personal! I'm so happy for her and proud of her for taking that step outside of her friend group/family to discover things about herself!

Adaine has confidence, a family, and a role in society that, while a bit intrusive, is on its way to understanding that the former two come first! She put the effort into helping her sister redeem herself. She killed her Dad to save herself, her sister, and her friends. (Not to mention the whole world because of Nightmare King stuff). She jokes and studies and gabs and works and laughs and rests. Rest is so important, especially after having been constantly on edge for so long while having to worry about her anxiety.

And Gorgug? One of the first scenes of the series was Gorgug getting mad after being punched while offering a tin flower. Now he can use his artificing skills WHILST raging, some that has literally never been done before! While he may not be very "book-smart", he has gone above and beyond in showing how hard he will work for something when he believes!!

Is there more story to tell? Sure. Fig is being hunted by somethings or other because she dropped out. Fabian has a new nemesis on the way. And who the FUCK knows what Kalina has up her sleeve.

But, as a wise man once said:

"I think... It's a trick of when you stop the story. Happily ever after is sometimes true, but it’s also something that you put at the end of the story to say 'this is where I’ve decided to stop remembering. I don’t want to go into the rest here.'"

~Brennan Lee Mulligan (Neverafter)

Thinking about the fact that for fantasy high senior year we’re probably not going to get fig Faeth anymore :(

[nezuscribe]

(slightly suggestive)

another little drabble for arranged marriage!gojo but imagine a moment before he confessed but something was looming over the two of you. it was crossing the line of friends, not necessarily husband and wife, but two people desperately in love and didn't know how to say it.

you were in one of your late-night frenzies, your brain so muddled with every thought that you decided to do what you knew best: bake.

you often find yourself in this situation as of late, but it truly seems to be the only thing that helps. you wanted to tell gojo how you were feeling, but it was too far in, so you decided something simple and sugary would help you in the moment.

at this point, the walk to the kitchens was something you could do blind, and considering how many times you did this, you already knew where all the ingredients were.

you set out your sugar and flower, and go rummaging in the cold cellar for some butter and eggs. you try not to think about how at dinner gojo slid closer to you, your arms touching as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear. or how a couple days ago he had found you in the library, reading next to a windowsill, cozying up next to you as he read the book over your shoulder.

you're so lost in your head with sifting the ingredients that you fail to realize that the very man himself had come up secretly behind you, curiously watching you in your element.

(he'd never admit that he'd first gone to your room, and only came down here after he realized you were gone).

but, unlike the last couple of times, you'd gotten used to his stealthy ways. he was quiet, sure, but you could recognize him by his slight breath alone, or the way he smelled faintly of cloves.

you try not to let your breathing hitch, or let a smile grow on your face as you decide to break the silence.

"if you try to scare me while i'm baking you better rethink your choices," you warn him and hear gojo snicker quietly behind you.

gojo moves from where he was standing, and he leans his back against the counter next to you, craning his neck to look over at your bowl.

your eyes dart to the side, to the way his arms are resting behind him as he balances himself back on them (or the way his arms bulge and veins pop).

"what's on your mind tonight?" gojo asks, knowing you only do this now whenever you're stressed out.

"not much," you mutter, despite wanting to say you, you're on my mind.

he tsks, not buying your lie as he leans in a little close, his head blocking your view of your mixing bowl as he tries to get a little taste with his fingers.

"hey!" you cry, smacking him lightly on the back of his neck, "your hands are all grimy!"

you watch as he peers at you from the corner of his eyes, glaring at your offensive remark as he retracts away, a small pout on his face as you grin in slight victory.

"my hands are clean," you hear him mumble petulantly and you chuckle, rolling your eyes at his antics. the closer the two of you got, the more you found out that his closed-off and aloof demeanor was just a facade for a dramatic, grouchy man-child.

there's a comfortable silence for a moment, one where you're mixing and one where he watches you mix. you don't really notice the quiet anymore, just another added sound when you and gojo grow more comfortable together.

"how was your day?" he finally asks, a simple question, but you know he's using it as a mask to find out what was wrong with you.

"good," you say with a shrug, starting to gently fold in your wet mixture with your dry one, "you weren't at dinner so i was actually able to eat in peace," you add, trying to sound indifferent when really it's what spurred this entire thing on. how, when you realized that you missed seeing him, talking to him, being near him, you were really, really, missing him. and that's not how friends are supposed to act. or, at least, from what you've heard.

gojo smiles, a soft look on his face. you're trying to be sarcastic, he knows that, but there's something...deeper behind your words, something that he too feels.

"the eastern tribe took up more time than i thought they would," he explains, his blue eyes glowing when he notices the way you slightly relax, "i tried telling them that my wife was waiting for me, but apparently peace negotiations can't be postponed."

you bite your lips, trying to hold back your giddy smile at his words. you know he's probably teasing you, using the phrase my wife as a way to get out of a boring meeting, but you love it nonetheless.

he knows you do.

"those bastards," you murmur teasingly, hearing his loud laugh as he lightly shoves you with the point of his boot.

"yeah, well, they don't have wives back home," he crosses his arms over his chest, pressing his lips into a thin line, "so they don't know the feeling."

you swallow thickly, not looking over at him when he says that.

there's another silence as you continue to fold the batter, sensing that same feeling wash over the two of you.

"let me grab a..." you turn around, head craning to look for a spoon to dip in the batter, needing to make sure the sweetness wasn't too overbearing (and because you liked tasting the batter before it was sent off to be baked thoroughly), but stop when gojo pulls the bowl in closer to him.

you watch as he glides his finger across the sides, not letting it touch the actual bulk of the mixture, and brings it forth towards your lips.

his brows cock upwards, as if he was waiting for you to try it.

you give him a look, nose slightly wrinkled.

"i swear my hands are clean," he promises, crossing one hand over his chest as a sort of pledge, but that's not what holding you back, shouldn't he know that?

your mind is working to beat the thrill of your heart, the one that's pulling you towards him like a magnet, the one that desperately wants to have his finger in your mouth.

you bite your cheek for a second, eyes flickering up from his to his finger, and some sort of heat in you takes control as one hand gently grabs his wrist, pulling his hand closer to your parted lips.

your tongue darts out, your mouth closing over the digit as you taste the sugary batter coating your tongue. you feel dizzy, your stomach twisting, a heat taking over your body as your tongue swipes over it, licking it clean.

it's nothing overexaggerated, nothing too crazy. you lick his finger the way you'd like your own, but fuck, this isn't your own finger and gojo's looking at you with his pupils blown wide, the blacks overtaking the blue in his eyes.

your hand is still holding his wrist, your lips gliding over it as you pull away, breathing slightly less when you glance up at him.

gojo swallows thickly, hoping you don't see the bulge that's growing in his pants.

"good?" he chokes out, his voice thick in his throat.

"yeah," you mutter, the batter still lingering on your tastebuds, "it's perfect."

fuck, you're both screwed.

[fioiswriting]

Muña | one shot

Summary : Marrying your bastard nephew to mend fences between your families wasn't exactly what you had planned. But when you realise that Jace has grown into a strong and handsome man, you might be ready to rethink your plans.

Rating : Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x Aunt!Reader (Reader is Alicent and Visery’s daughter. She’s one year younger than Aegon)

TW : p in v sex, mommy kink, sub!Jace (kinda), Dom!Reader (but they both switch tbh), inappropriate use of the word muña, oral (f receiving), afab reader, incest, unprotected sex, not proofread

Words count : 8064

AN : hi everyone!! I’ve been very busy lately so I haven't had time to update BUT I’ve been working a bit on various fics. Sorry to all my Aemond girlies but today it’s time for some Jace x reader. It’s a fic I’ve written for my gf who’s turning into a Jace girlie 🤭 It's full of indecency and inappropriate things.

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !! 

Enjoy 🖤

The gardens had become your refuge over the past few days. Under the shade of the trees, on the soft grass, you had found a peaceful haven away from the excitement caused by the arrival of your half-sister and her herd of bastards. The Red Keep made you feel suffocated. And seeing your mother pacing back and forth, running left and right, didn't help. You had to calm her down. You had to keep an eye on your older brother, making sure he didn't slip away into the maze of Flea Bottom for the umpteenth time. You had to hold your family together, and you were tired. 

You almost envied Daeron, in Old Town, away from the hustle and bustle of the court.

At least no one would think of looking for you where you were now. And you could enjoy a moment's respite, poring over the thick book you had borrowed from Aemond's library. Had he known that you had entered his room without warning, had he known that you had dared to disturb the perfect tidiness of his precious bookshelves, he would probably have threatened to feed you to Vhagar. But what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. Besides, you could perhaps find a way to pay him back later. 

For now, you just needed to be left alone.

You stretched out, arms reaching for the sky. The sun's rays crept through the leaves, their warmth leaving a pleasant sensation on your face. Summer was back and you were delighted. The gentle breeze that ruffled the corners of your book and occasionally lifted the silver curls around your face gave you a sense of freedom. You deftly kicked off your shoes and lay back for a moment, your eyes closed.

Footsteps echoed on the cobbled floor, and you sighed in annoyance. You didn't have to open your eyes to see who it was. You recognised his footsteps. So, you kept your eyes closed. With any luck, he would continue his way and leave you alone to find someone else to annoy.

"Hey, my favourite little sister," Aegon exclaimed as he landed heavily beside you, his body brushing against yours. You opened one eye to acknowledge him, then closed it again, your arms crossed behind your head. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on me?" he insisted when he saw you weren't answering him. "You know, make sure I don't run off or end up drunk somewhere…Stuff like that. Which our mother probably asked you to do."

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. It was true that Aegon was terribly annoying. But of all your siblings, Aegon was still your favourite.

You resigned yourself to rolling onto your stomach, your chin resting on your hands and your head tilted sideways to face him.  "My dear brother," you replied sarcastically. "Unable to occupy yourself, as usual."  He rolled his eyes before reaching out to remove a leaf that had gotten caught in your hair. He subtly ran his fingers through one of your curls, his touch as light as a feather. "And why have you decided to come and disturb my moment of peace, tell me?"

He blew the leaf away and you watched as it flew away on the breeze. Your big brother's eyes shone with mischief. "Why would I need a specific reason to spend time with my favourite sister?" he added, and it was your turn to roll your eyes. He moved to lie next to you, his body practically pressed against yours. 

If you moved a few centimetres, your elbows would touch his. 

You'd always been inseparable, and the habit had stuck over time, even when the teenage years had driven you apart. But in those moments, you were like two children again, ready to run away from Septa lessons to get into mischief in the castle.

“Because you always have a reason for everything,” you replied, and he looked at you with a fake hurt look that was greatly exaggerated. With Aegon it was easy. It had always been easy.  He wasn't as serious as Aemond, he wasn't as strange as Helena, and he wasn't as far away as Daeron.

"I just wanted to make sure my little sister was all ready to meet her betrothed tonight." He paused. "And also, that she hadn't suddenly decided to become a pious woman and follow the path of the Seven." His voice lowered. You poked him in the ribs. "See? I'm a caring big brother. I care about you."

"Shut up, Aegon," you replied. He laughed. Then he rolled onto his back, arms crossed behind his head, one leg bent, and he closed his eyes. The golden rays caught in his long lashes made him look like an angel. 

Everything he wasn't. 

'Well?' He added. “Excited to see Jacaerys Strong?”

You sat cross-legged. The bracelets on your wrists clinkled. Aegon knew how much the idea horrified you. You had no desire to marry Jace, to sacrifice your freedom for your half-sister's bastard eldest son. You had no desire to leave the Red Keep, to follow him to Dragonstone and spend your life bearing him children. It was your mother and Rhaenyra's idea, of course.

The union of the eldest daughter of one and the eldest son of the other, as a way of repairing the rift that has grown between your families over time. 

As if you were destined to mend fences, to undo the mistakes of your own parents.

It wasn't that you hated Jace. But he was your older sister's son, a bastard who had pretensions he shouldn't have precisely because he was a bastard. He was the model son, the perfect son, the prodigy son, the one who always did everything right. It irritated you. He irritated you with his brown curls and his awkward posture.

 It wasn't fair that your father showered him with praise when he could barely remember your own name.

You stood up, smoothing the folds of your red dress to make yourself more presentable, and you caught your brother's eyes on your body, his eyes riveted on the thin fabric that revealed your delicate shapes. God, you loved to play with that. You knew how to get men wrapped around your finger with your sweet, innocent air, and Aegon was the first victim. You approached him and held out your arm to help him up, which he accepted by pulling himself to his feet heavily. After putting your shoes back on, you bent down to pick up the thick book in your arms. If you lost it, you could be sure that Aemond would be angry with you. And that was a risk you didn't want to take.

 "Perhaps you're right, lēkia. I'd better go and make myself more presentable for my betrothed. I wouldn't wish to disgrace our family." And with that you turned back, your hair swirling in the air behind you as Aegon watched you go with a small smile on his face. 

You knew how much Aegon hated being ignored, and even more so when it came from his little sister. You knew that he would return with his tail between his legs and a pleading look on his face. Between his constant whining and his dirty jokes, he gave you little respite, but it was a game that had developed between you; a game that, deep down, you enjoyed.

He was so predictable. 

“If I had known you liked strong men, I would have dyed my hair,” you heard him shout from behind you. Aegon wasn't the least bit shy. You shook your head, your silver locks bouncing.

"Get lost, you moron," you replied without even turning around.

The meal in honour of your betrothal promised to be exciting.

*** 

As soon as he saw you, your nephew rose to pull the chair beside him in a gallant gesture, and you found yourself watching him. Really watching him. His long, broad fingers on the back of the chair. His dark locks falling around his face. His precise features; his straight nose and deep eyes and square jaw. You hadn't realised how much your nephew had changed. He'd grown up too, and he was now a good head taller than you. 

He had become a strong man, indeed.

But you refused to admit that Jacaerys Strong had become quite pleasant to look at.

"Princess," he said, pushing the chair back for you to sit down. Fingers brushed the skin of your partly bare shoulders. The touch had lasted a fraction of a second, enough to make you wonder if it had been a figment of your imagination. 

"Lord Strong," you replied in greeting. If the words hurt him, Jace didn't show it. Always the perfect son. What would it take to push him over the edge? To crack the shell he'd built around himself? To shatter the image of the gentleman?

To your right, Aegon was already seated. He was holding a glass of wine between his fingers while Aemond seemed to be lecturing him about something you couldn't understand. The exchange between you and Jace had obviously not escaped his notice, and the corner of his mouth had already curled into a smirk. You knew what it meant. 

His silence was full of implications, louder than any words. 

Your mother had lectured him before dinner, warned him to behave because that was what was expected of him, and she was counting on you to make him obey. 

But your older brother didn't say anything. He simply raised his glass in your direction, his lips forming a word that you couldn't read. You weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed.

You looked at your nephew. He had donned a gambison in the colours of the Velaryons, and you couldn't help but smile at the irony of the situation. 

After all, a bastard in blue was still a bastard.

"Enjoying King's Landing?" you asked your betrothed, in an attempt to start a conversation. His attention turned to you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. 

“It's quite different from what I remember,” he replied, his voice a little lower than usual, his warm eyes meeting yours. “But of course it all depends on the company you are with."

You hesitated, suddenly unsure.

You hated what the sound of his voice did to you. You hated the way his eyes suddenly made you feel vulnerable. 

Fuck.

“It all depends on the company, indeed. And do you find yourself in good company tonight, nephew?" You gave him a defiant look, as if to judge his reaction. 

As if to unveil what he held within himself. 

“I'm not quite sure. Should I?” He paused, one eyebrow raised. He had taken the bait. “What would yousay?”

His eyes sparkled with something you couldn't quite put your finger on. It wasn't the malice you usually found in Aegon's eyes when he wanted to tease you. It wasn't the gleam that animated his mind when he came up with a new plan for you to cover. 

"I would say I'm in pretty strong company," you replied as you took your cup, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of your lips that you hid behind the glass. 

You were cruel, giving him no respite, you knew. But you admired his composure. He hadn't cracked yet. 

You knew men who were less patient.

Jace leaned towards you. A slight tilt of the head, just to make sure you were the only one to hear him. As if he wanted to share a secret with you. “Careful, Aunt,” he began, his voice suddenly quieter than before. It was almost a whisper. “I might begin to think you enjoy my company.”

You know I don't, you wanted to reply, but Jace had already straightened up as if nothing had happened, his head turned away from you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Baela give him a questioning look, and an unfamiliar sensation stirred in the pit of your stomach. 

An unpleasant heat. 

A hint of irritation.

You were annoyed, and you didn't know why.

“Look how handsome your betrothed has made himself for you,” Aegon sneered as he reached for the decanter and leaned in close to your ear. “A true Velaryon, isn't he?” He huffed.

You wanted to slap him on the thigh, make him swallow his mockery. 

“If you think he's so handsome, I can happily leave him to you,” you replied, and Aegon's eyes widened. You saw him take a sip of wine, and something deep inside you told you he probably wasn't opposed to the idea. His usual mischievous smile was hidden behind the wine glass, but there was no mistaking his eyes.

Aegon had that tendency to give himself away, and you could read him like an open book.

The meal proved to be as boring as you had imagined. Small talk exchanged over fake smiles. An illusory moment in which everything seemed to be going well for one evening.

You weren't fooled, and you knew it was all a facade. You knew your family well enough to understand that the slightest spark could set things alight. You knew your brothers well enough to realise that all it would take was a simple glance between them to liven up an evening they found dull.

You just hoped they wouldn't cause too much trouble tonight.

To your left, Jace was still deep in conversation with Baela. They had that kind of complicity that made your blood boil inside; a shared laugh that sounded in your ear like the squeaky music you hated. You frowned. It was you, his betrothed. It was you, not Baela, and you didn't understand why that statement was suddenly so important. 

After all, you despised this union. You hated Jace. You had no desire to promise him the rest of your life.

Jace was a bastard, and you deserved better.

So why did the sight of him touching Baela's hand cause a twinge of jealousy in your body?

His fingers brushed over hers absently. A light touch on her knuckles. 

And all you felt was fire.

And then. Then, your fingers slipped under the wooden table. 

You knew you were playing with fire. And you knew that if anyone paid too much attention to what you were doing, they would see that you weren't exactly behaving like the perfect Princess Targaryen you were supposed to be.

But you didn't care.

You let your fingers wander, running along the outside of Jace's thigh before moving up to settle in the hollow that connected his thigh to his hip. With a faint touch, your fingertips brushed the inside of his thigh, and then lower, tracing small circles through the fabric that was already beginning to tighten. 

Jace almost choked. 

He spat out the contents of his glass, his dark gaze fixed on you. Everyone had fallen silent, their heads turned towards him. Rhaenyra's eyebrows were furrowed in concern.

And you hadn't removed your hand. 

An innocent smile lit up your face, your eyes sparkling with mischief. You wondered if Aegon could read you. If he could see that look on your face, so similar to his own. That distinctive feature you shared. 

Deciding to play with your prey a little longer, you put on your best fake concerned face, pretending to be worried about his health.

"Are you all right, Jacaerys?" you asked, your voice a little higher than usual as your nails dug into the fabric of his breeches. Not to hurt him, of course. Just enough to wake a certain part of him, just enough to remind him that you were his betrothed.

He cleared his throat and coughed again.

“I swallowed wrong,” he replied. 

Your fingers crept a little higher, trying to explore his upper thigh, where you knew your nephew would be sensitive. You didn't want to be rational tonight, you wanted to let the fire take over and consume you. 

You wanted to let the sleeping dragon within you awaken.

The taste of the forbidden was divine, and the heat spreading through your lower belly was too delicious to stop now.

"Be careful, mandianna. We're not married yet." you said.  We're not married yet and look where I've got my fingers. You kept your thoughts to yourself. "I wouldn't want to find myself a widow already," you replied in High Valyrian, amused, and Jace looked at you with his big brown eyes, somewhere between anger and excitement, embarrassment and curiosity. 

Under the table, out of sight, your hand brushed the stretched fabric where you could read the confirmation of what he was feeling, the manifestation of his desire.

He was hard.

Perfect.

It was you who provoked this. 

He responded to your touch.

You felt a familiar breath on the back of your neck and realised Aegon was leaning against you again. He was pretending to serve you some of the vegetables that had just been brought in for the starter, taking the opportunity to whisper in your ear as he did so well. "Try to be more discreet, little sister," he chuckled softly, his voice nothing more than a whisper to make sure no one heard you. Discreetly, he nodded to where your hand still rested on your nephew's thigh. He tilted his head. "Rhaenyra is right in front of us. Do you think she can see what you're doing to her son under the table?"

He put on his best disinterested face. As if the words exchanged between you were nothing more than banalities. 

As if he weren't commenting on the indecent deeds you were doing under the table, unworthy of a girl of your rank.

"Shut up, Aegon," you replied, trying to keep a straight face. You didn't want him drawing any more of your family's attention to you, especially when you hadn't finished playing.

Your big brother gave you a knowing wink, as if to promise you that your secret was safe with him.

And you decided to continue entertaining yourself with the new game you'd invented.

You were bold, and you decided that if Jace didn't already know it, he would find out soon enough.

*** 

It wasn't that Jace was disappointed with his betrothal. You were divine, and the dress you wore made you so regal that he couldn't keep his attention anywhere but on your body, on your cleavage so gracefully offered to his gaze.

It was precisely why he had turned to Baela, why he had tried to distract himself with their conversation, why he had desperately tried to find something else to hold on to.

Because you were making him lose his footing. And that was a feeling he hated.

No, Jace did not regret his betrothal. You were everything a man could want; you were beautiful, you were regal, you were clever, and above all, you were a Targaryen. A princess. The king's daughter.

The only problem was you were distant and elusive.

Jace remembered your pretensions and mockeries from his childhood. He remembered the little brat you were, following in your older brother's footsteps. He remembered a little girl with a strong temper, who knew what she wanted. He remembered the pranks, not just the ones he'd taken part in, like the Pink Dread, but the ones that had turned against him because of you and Aegon, too.

It was clear that the little girl you had once been, taller than him, with long silver curls and an air of self-assurance far too confident for her young age, had grown into a beautiful young woman. 

And that was something Jace hadn't considered.

He couldn't concentrate on his conversation with Baela, not when your fingers were digging through the linen of his breeches into the flesh of his thigh, as if to remind him to whom he had been promised.  

Your fingers, slender, light, burning against his inner thigh. 

He clenched his jaw.

All around him, the words and faces of the guests mingled in a swirl of sound and colour. Fuck.

Fuck.

His breeches were really becoming too tight.

You'd dared to do that. You'd dared to slip your fingers under the table, in front of everyone, and Jace didn't know whether to admire your audacity or wrap his fingers around your wrist and force you to take them off. 

Suddenly he felt hot, a familiar warmth spreading between his loins. 

He wasn't sure he could get up, not with his member pulsing between his thighs. 

Fuck. You weren't supposed to make him feel like this. He wasn't supposed to feel such a desire for you when you weren't officially married.

This dinner was about officially declaring your betrothal, not consummating a union not yet pronounced.

He was trying to calm down. He tried to ground himself back into reality. Perhaps by staring intently at the contents of his plate he could ignore the sensation of your fingers rising dangerously high; the desperate need to finally have your fingers wrapped around his manhood.

His knees slammed into the table in a sudden movement.

Your fingers had just brushed the bulge that had formed between his thighs. 

And he needed more, infinitely more.

You couldn't have the cruelty to arouse such lust in him and then leave him like that. He would never forgive you.

"Stop that," he growled in your direction, low enough for no one else to hear. 

But you still had that damn innocent smile, that damn audacity to act as if nothing had happened. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, mandianna." Nephew. The sound of the High Valyrian rolling off your tongue sent a wave of heat between his legs. Seven hells, you were going to be the death of him. 

He wanted more. 

He needed more. 

More of your fingers around him, more of your tongue against his length, more of that innocent look on your face as you knelt before him, more of your tight cunt.

Jace was on the verge of losing it. You'd made him a slave to his own desire. You had closed your claws around him and he knew there was no turning back now.

“If you play with fire too much, you might get burned, muña," Jace retorted, leaning towards you, and he felt the imperceptible movement of your hand twitching at the threat. Aunt.

Despite his dwindling strength, King Viserys tried to make a speech about family, betrothal, and a whole host of other undoubtedly honourable values, but neither you nor Jace paid any attention. You were caught up in your own game.

Then Jace stood up, forcing you to remove your hand. 

You could see he was uncomfortable, for you knew where to look, for you knew what you had done. 

You knew he had a painful erection between his thighs, and it was all because of you.

But you could only admire your nephew's composure. 

“To my uncles, Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. I have fond memories of our shared childhood.” His glass between his fingers, he raised it in the direction of his uncles, then turned to you. "And to my sweet and beautiful bride-to-be, who I'm sure will never cease to surprise me with her daring and surprising side. May our marriage be filled with joy and satisfaction".

The toasts continued, as did the meal. The servants had brought the rest of the dishes consisting of steaming meat and tasty garnishes. It was almost too joyous, almost too happy to be real. As if there was a threat lurking somewhere in the corner.

But Jace still had to teach you a lesson.

The music started, the sound of instruments filling the room. Jace apologised to Baela and walked over to his aunt. His other aunt. Your sister. 

And you felt the anger return; the same inner turmoil as before. 

Jace had held out his hand to Helaena and led her to dance a little further away. You immediately exchanged a questioning look with your brother, who had also stared at Jace in disbelief as he had walked away on your little sister's arm.

"So?" Aegon began. "It seems your betrothed didn't appreciate your little game?" You glared at him, but he just scoffed. "If he changes his mind... You know I like it." 

You wondered if you could do the same. You wondered if you could ask Aegon to dance and if Jace would feel the same bubbling inside him, the same jealousy coursing through his veins.

You hated that feeling. 

You shouldn't feel that kind of emotion, especially not for him.

You obviously didn't see it, too focused on your own annoyance, but Jace kept glancing in your direction, as if to make sure you saw him. 

He wanted to make you jealous. He wanted to fuel the feeling he'd identified in you. He wanted to catch you at your own game. And one thing was certain, Jace hadn't played all his cards yet.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

After a moment that seemed an eternity, your betrothed returned to sit beside you, Helena going back to her own seat. You were less and less able to hide your annoyance, and no doubt Jace noticed, for he leaned towards you, a satisfied look on his face. "Your sister is very sweet," he murmured. He knew very well that this simple phrase would be enough to send you over the edge. 

You liked attention. You liked compliments. You liked to be praised. 

You said nothing back. But Aegon had his trademark grin, the one that stretched his lips when he had a devious plan, and he was already getting up on the pretext of serving Baela some wine so he could whisper in his nephew's ear.  "I know my little sister can be particularly demanding.” He paused. “And difficult to tame. So if you ever need any advice... Or demonstrations…"

Jace was fuming, but he knew he had to keep his cool. It was Aegon, typical Aegon, to push his buttons, to succeed in making him suddenly unsure of himself, to make his mind confused. His fingers closed around his cup, his jaw clenched, and it took all his self-control not to throw the contents in his uncle's face. 

He didn't even look at Aegon, who had returned to his seat with a triumphant smile.

But you felt something under the table. Something slipped between the folds of your dress, along your skin, discreetly, lightly, a delicious touch against your skin that made you want more.

Your eyes widened.

Jace. 

Jace the perfect son. Jace the model son. 

Jace slipping his fingers under your dress, touching the skin of your thigh, rising dangerously high where you could already feel the wetness forming in the crease between your thighs. 

This was the moment he snapped, you knew it. You hadn't heard your brother's words, you had only seen him lean towards your betrothed, but you knew he must have struck a chord with Jacaerys Velaryon. That he had probably touched his weak spot. 

Or perhaps you were just getting your comeuppance. After teasing him, after making him hard and desperate.

Jace moved his hand, tracing the space where your skin was soft and tender, all the way up your thigh, with a slow, gentle touch. His hand moved further towards the centre of you, where you were sensitive, and he brushed against your crotch. He didn't even need to apply any pressure with his fingertips to tell that you were wet.

Your hips automatically moved towards his hand in search of more contact, causing you to wiggle in your chair. All you wanted to do was grab his wrist, force him to slide his fingers under the fabric separating you, force him to touch you right here. But you were still at dinner and the game was becoming far too dangerous. 

"I told you to be careful," Jace whispered as he withdrew his fingers and resumed his serious gaze, his fingers fidgeting on the wood of the table. “Two can play at this game.”

And then perhaps the Seven heard you. Perhaps they were offering you a way out. To be honest, you weren't sure if it was a miracle or a curse. For Aemond had risen, and he had done what he did best; he had made a mocking and provocative speech to his nephews. 

Everything happened quickly. Jace and Luke leapt to their feet to answer the provocation, Aemond and Aegon were ready to fight back, and even Baela and Rhaena were prepared to defend their family. You had no time to move, no time to react, for dinner was already over, and so was your little game of cat and mouse with Jace.

This was your way out, you knew it. You were tired of sitting around a table listening to boring speeches. And the entertainment that had consisted of sliding your fingers under the table to push Jacaerys Strong over the edge had now turned against you.

"I shall rest," you warned your mother, who was deep in conversation with Rhaenyra, her features wrinkled with worry. "Tonight's events have left me somewhat tired. And I think a night's rest would do me a world of good."  She nodded, stroking your hair, and you knew instinctively what she was thinking. Always the perfect daughter.

And as you passed through the heavy door of the dining room, you hurried off in a direction that was not that of your room.

Oh, but if she knew.

*** 

Thankfully, the corridor was deserted. You didn't have the slightest desire to run into a guard who would ask you where you were going or escort you to your room for security reasons. 

Your steps were as discreet as possible on the stone floor, like those of a small mouse. You moved quickly, stealthily, almost on tiptoe.

Only the crackle of the fire broke the heavy silence between the cold walls, where the dancing shadows of the flames distorted.

You slowed your pace. You had a doubt. You weren't sure which door was the one you were looking for. 

And then suddenly, as you reached the end of the corridor, you felt a hand grab your wrist and pull you against the wall, away from prying eyes. A strong grip, as if it didn't want to let you vanish again.

Jace was holding you between the wall and his own body. Despite the darkness, you could see his eyes shining in the candlelight, fueled by a devouring hunger you didn't know he possessed. He stared at you for a moment. His eyes in yours. A tension hung between you, burning, ready to consume you both, and you were completely willing.

Gently yet firmly he turned your body. Your chest against the cold wall, your back against his warm chest, and you pulled your hips back to provoke him. You wouldn't succumb so easily, not to Jacaerys.

He pressed himself against you, moving his pelvis forward so you could feel his hard member against the top of your buttocks.

"Do you feel what you're doing to me?" Another thrust of his hips. "Can you feel the effect you're having on me?" He pressed harder against you. Through the layers of fabric between you, you could almost feel him throb. Gods, he seemed big. "Teasing me all evening... Such a tease, aren't you?"

If it wasn't the consequence of your own actions.

You stifled a moan with your arm so as not to attract any patrolling guards. What you were doing was dangerous. At any moment you could be caught. At any moment you could be in big trouble.

But you couldn't stop now. Not when the best was yet to come.

You moved again, seeking more contact, seeking to make Jace harder and more painful than he already was, and you turned your head to challenge him. "What if it's you who's just too weak?"

You felt his hoarse breath against the back of your neck, at the base of your hair. He seemed to be hesitating, thinking. About what he was going to do to you, about what he was going to do to make sure you were responsible for your actions. Again he turned you so that you had your back to the wall, facing him, and you recognised the gleam of desire in his eyes.

Towering over you, he lowered his gaze to you, your faces inches apart. For a moment he let his eyes devour you, wandering from your eyes to your lips, from your lips to your breasts, visible through the fabric of your dress. He wanted to keep this image printed behind his eyelids; your half-open lips, your pleading gaze, like that of a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

You looked ravishing.

"Tell me to stop," Jace murmured. And you knew it was the sensible thing to do, you knew it was better to stop everything now, while it was still possible to turn back. For you weren't married yet. 

But you had no desire to be responsible.

His fingers curled around a lock of your hair and tucked it behind your ear, waiting for your answer before continuing.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" you replied, your eyes locked with his. He felt your hand against his cheek as you detailed his face, tracing his well-sculpted cheeks, and he longed for more contact, his face seeking the warmth of your palm. 

You put your arms around his neck to draw him closer, to close the distance between your lips, to feel his warmth against your body.

To quench this desire, this need that was becoming uncontrollable.

And your lips met in a feverish, urgent kiss. He pressed you further against the wall, his fingers running down your sides, brushing against the breasts he so craved.

He found your hips and his fingers worked frantically up the bottom of your dress in a crumpled ball of fabric to reach your core. "Look at how wet you are." His fingers brushed your folds through your undergarments. "All of this just for teasing me." He pressed one hand against the wall, still leaning against you, but not giving you what you wanted: his hand had stopped, and you tried to wiggle your hips to force him to continue, to force him to give you what you wanted.

Deep down, you loved the way he was losing control. 

You loved that side of Jace you didn't know. 

So you grabbed his wrist, guiding his fingers under the last barrier that separated his skin from yours. 

The sensation was delicious. 

The touch of his warm fingers against your folds sent a wave of heat from your lower belly through your entire body. You didn't want him to stop. "Here." You breathed against his lips. "This is where muña needs you." Aunt. He tensed beneath you, and you wondered if it was the ambiguity of the family tie, uttered in High Valyrian, that had such an effect on him. 

You let your lips brush against his.

He collected your wetness on his fingers, exploring the slit between your folds up to your little pearl. You were soaking wet. And you desperately needed him inside you. 

His fingers slid down to your opening where he applied a little pressure with the tip of his index finger without ever penetrating you.

"I know," he murmured, drawing small circles before abandoning your opening to return to your bud. "But I can't give you what you want now."

You whimpered under his cruelty, against his lips. 

You could see through his game. 

He wanted to make you beg, but you weren't the kind to beg. You were the one with the power and you were going to show him.

"We shouldn't stay here," you muttered, rubbing yourself against your nephew's hand. "If someone catches us..."

Jace nodded his head in agreement, withdrawing his fingers glistening with your juice, which you guided to his own lips, spreading the stickiness against his lips. 

"If you're a good boy, I'll let you taste me."

And with that, he pulled you into his room.

*** 

Lying on the bed where you'd pushed him, Jace watched as you removed your dress, his prominent erection stretching the fabric of his breeches. The dress fell to the floor, forming a red puddle that you stepped over, one foot after the other.

Your nephew couldn't look away from your hypnotic figure, but his eyes inevitably wandered back to your breasts. You'd seen him glancing at your cleavage all evening, you could tell he wanted to run his fingers over your soft flesh, his lips over your nipples, and now that you were completely naked in front of him, you could see the unmistakable desire in his eyes.

You walked up to him. He clenched his jaw when he saw you. You, and the perfection of your shape, your little pointed nipples, the tantalising path that led from your chest to the space between your thighs where he knew you were soaked for him. 

The flat of your hand pressed against his chest, forcing him to lie down between the pillows. He complied, never breaking the eye contact between the two of you, and you took your place on top of him, your legs on either side of his body. His husky breath escaped through his parted lips, lightly caressing your face.

You were naked, he was still dressed, and you had infinite power over him.

You lowered your hips against his covered crotch, the essence of your desire staining the linen of his breeches as your hips began to move slowly.

You leaned down and traced his jaw with the tip of your lips, planting kisses along his throat. Underneath you, his member twitched. Mimicking what he'd done earlier, you let your fingers rest on the painful bulge between his legs and whispered, "I know." You applied a little more pressure, drawing a moan from between his lips. "I know it's painful. But I can't give you what you want right now."

Jace growled. He wanted to turn you over, slam you against the mattress, pound into you and make you swallow your insolence. But he wanted to see how far you were willing to go. He wanted to see you keep control for a while longer.

You deftly undid his breeches to make it easier for your hand to slip through. You found his hard member, warm and heavy between your fingers.

It was a new sensation. As a model princess, you'd never ventured into this territory, saving your maidenhood for your future husband.

But Jace was your future husband.

You closed your fingers around him, your thumb collecting the sticky beads that had already formed at the tip of his cock and spreading it along his length. 

"First I want to come on your tongue," your lips articulated against the skin of his throat as the hand that was in his breeches moved up his torso to close around his jaw, your thumb caressing his lower lip to emphasise your words. "Will you let me?" you added. In response, he let the tip of his tongue slip between his lips, touching the pad of your finger. "Let me show you," he whispered.

And indeed, Jace worked devotedly between your thighs, his tongue tracing the length of your slit, drinking in your essence as it flowed from your entrance like a delicious nectar. His tongue tickled your little knob, his thumbs spreading your folds to gain access to the treasure he coveted.

One of his fingers found your hole clenching around nothing, tracing small circles against it to force you to voice what you wanted. "Do you need me here?" he whispered against your flesh, the vibration of his deep voice sending shivers through your core. Your hands buried themselves in the dark mass of his hair and you moved your hips against his face, urging him to maintain the contact of his mouth against you. "Use your words, muña," he added, despite his nose being buried between your folds.

When you gave him the answer he was waiting for, he let a finger enter you in a delicious stretch. You held back a moan, your fingers digging deeper into his hair, not caring if you were hurting him or not. He continued to explore your cunt with his tongue, like a thirsty man, like a devoted man.

You wouldn't last long, your release close.

Jace then added a second finger. The sensation of his fingers inside you, against that rough spot, combined with that of his tongue between your folds, against your pearl, was simply divine. 

"Go on," Jace started, but you immediately cut him off. "Shut up." You didn't want him to speak. You wanted him to continue with his damn tongue, with his broad fingers inside you. You didn't want him to stop. "I am... I am close."

And your climax washed over your entire body like a wave of warmth. Your legs closed around your nephew's face.

It was probably one of the best sensations you'd ever experienced.

Still between your legs, his fingers gripping your thighs, Jace collected your arousal on his tongue, sending shivers of overstimulation down your spine, and your whole body shuddering in a brutal spasm. You straightened up, knees still bent, your hand returning to your nephew's hair to guide him over you, his face close to yours. You stroked his cheek gently, as if to let him know he was a good boy, and your thumb picked up the sticky fluid that was smeared all over the bottom of his face.

You were both out of breath. You from the intense release you'd felt, he from the dedication he'd shown.

A smirk formed at the corner of your lips, and you pressed your thumb between his lips to ensure he didn't waste anything. Jace tilted his face close to yours. "You taste divine," he breathed, turning your cheeks red. "But now I need to be inside you."

His fingers slipped between your thighs, where your centre was pulsing, still far too sensitive from the ministrations he had given you. 

"You can give me another, can't you?" He asked, and you nodded, so sore.

After he undressed, Jace pushed on your shoulders to make you lie down, but you skilfully changed positions, taking him by surprise.

You were unwilling to give him the power he wanted, not yet.

Straddling him, you moved your hips to rub your crotch against his erect manhood, spreading your wetness along his length. Beneath you, his torso rose and fell rapidly, and the grunts he let out conveyed his need for more. So your hand sought his hard member, guiding it to your entrance without letting it penetrate you. "So?" you asked playfully. "Do you think you've been a good boy ? Do you think you deserve to be inside me?" You wanted to make him beg, and Jace could see right through you. "To be the first?" you added, lowering your voice slightly, as if you were telling him a secret.

But he wasn't sure he could hold out much longer.

So he capitulated, giving you the defeat you'd been waiting for.

"Yes." he breathed. "Please." Your victorious smile stretched your lips and you guided him further against you, pressing his erection against your opening. Fuck. He was massive.

He was about to breathe a sigh of relief, ready to feel your velvet walls tighten around him, but you blocked his hip movement. 

It wasn't enough.

"Please who?" you asked, your fingers moving back and forth around his manhood. He glared at you. You were gloating. "Please, muña," he finally begged, and you gave him what he wanted.

You lowered your hips to let him slide into you in a long thrust that stretched you around him. He was indeedmassive, and the new sensation of having him inside you was a delicious mix of dull pain and burning pleasure. You stood still for a moment to adjust to his presence inside you, your core throbbing around him. The initial pinch gradually dissipated, replaced by a pleasant sensation that sent a wave of warmth through your body. 

And then he began to thrust in and out, pushing up to sink into you. "Fuck...fuck, you're tight," Jace growled. Your loose hair cascaded down either side of your face, tickling his cheeks, and he caught it in a messy bun to hold it behind your head. 

You could feel the same pleasure as before building up in your lower abdomen. 

Gods, you could feel him so intensely. So deeply too. Bouncing rhythmically against that particular part of you. 

You buried your head in his neck, his woody scent filling your nostrils.

It was primal. Animal, between the two of you. All that mattered was the here and now. Your body against his, the sweat beading between you, the moans filling the room.

Jace tugged at your hair, causing you to throw your head back, freeing access to your chest, and he straightened up into a sitting position, his member still deep inside you, to find your breast. He buried his face in it and your hand instinctively found the back of his head to stroke his hair. Jace's lips traced a trail of kisses down the valley between your breasts, following the curve of your flesh before closing around your nipple, which he sucked gently. One of his arms wrapped around you to hold you tight against him, his other hand resting on the breast he wasn't devouring.

You stayed like that for a while, your legs on either side of him, his mouth seeking solace in your breasts, the divine sensation of being full, with him inside you, in the softness of the night, the flames rocking your lovemaking.

One of Jace's arms finally found your back and in one swift movement he reversed position. He desperately needed more, sensing that he wouldn't last long. 

He pinned you beneath him, against the mattress, your legs immediately closing around him and the pace quickened.  His thrusts became more messy, more sloppy because of your two combined essences.  "You're mine, now" he grunted, and you shivered. His index and middle fingers wandered between your folds, caressing the spot where you were joined before moving to the pearl hidden at the top of your slit. "Am I?" you replied teasingly. You could feel him throbbing inside you. "Then be a good boy now and give muña your seed."

That was the spark that ignited the fire. Jace quickened the rhythm of his hips, his fingers still buried between your folds, his movements erratic. With each of his thrusts, you felt his member hitting that sensitive spot against your spongy inner walls. You tensed and for the second time that evening, your release flooded your entire body.  You were followed by your nephew as Jace spilled into you, his seed painting white ropes against your womb.

He lay still inside you for a moment, his cock softening as you both caught your breath, your hands in his dark curls, his head at the nape of your neck. 

You winced as he withdrew from your still sensitive core, his now cold seed flowing between your thighs. Jace dropped down beside you, satisfied. Then you turned to him. You grabbed his wrist one last time and guided his fingers to your centre, where your folds were smeared with the remnants of your lovemaking.

"Look how much you've left inside me," you whispered into his ear, making Jace collect his own seed on his fingertips and push it back into you. "I'm going to keep it all inside me, would you like that, sweet boy?" you whispered again.

And Jace pulled you against him to kiss you, his member stirring between his thighs, against you. It was true that he'd given you the upper hand this time. But he was ready to show you what he could do. You snuggled up against his chest, tucking your head under his chin.

"Perhaps…We should bring the wedding date forward."

And he smiled.