#liquid gold ff

[0shewrites0]

liquid gold

Chapter 21: since forever

Don't ask him how, but he'd managed to get the producers to give them the Hideaway for the night. Honestly, all he could remember was that he'd rambled on about wanting to foster that connection between him and Rory, and considering she was still coupled up with Travis, he didn't want to be disrespectful and- ...

Well, you get the idea.

tag list | @libelle949 @henri-my-sexy-paramedic @eskiix @hi-im-karla @aldcados @andiatas 🤎

[0shewrites0]

AFAGSHDJDJZJXJSIFHFH THE WAY I HOWLED 😭🤣🤣🤣

I love this so much omgggg it makes all of it feel so much more real. Like it’s not just in my head yk 🥲

Thank you so much I’m so in love afagsh gosh I can’t stop looking at them and kicking my feet and giggling 🥹😍😍😍😍

Also, that reminds me I should start working on editing the next chapter 💅🏼

This is part 2 of Ask & You Shall Receive a.k.a. Saga is procrastinating by making quickly edited memes. Today, we're pretending that Liquid Gold by @0shewrites0 is a season of the show, and we're even featuring a Queen Ana reaction this time!

I'm actually up to date with this fic (everyone who knows me is very impressed by this statement because I tend to be at least a few weeks, if not months, behind on fic updates; just ask @silverhallow *hides behind shame pillow*), but since it kicks off in Casa Amor I made things easy for myself & made these either vague or referencing things that have so far happened in the fic

Part 1, with my unhealthy obsession with Unhealthy by @mrsbsmooth can be found here.

[novaursa]

Valyrian Bride (Continuation)

Requests are closed!

- Summary: When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to Cregan to be his bride, the Lord Stark did not expect what he got - a trueborn dragon. 

- Pairing: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

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

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: Final Chapter

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

Cregan Stark walked with the dragon princess by his side, feeling the eyes of his men and household upon them. There was a sense of pride that welled up inside him as they entered Winterfell’s stone halls. Not pride in himself, but in the fact that this fierce, regal woman—this vision of Old Valyria—was now his betrothed. It was no small thing to command the presence of such a creature, both her and the dragon she rode. The weight of that responsibility settled on his shoulders, but rather than burden him, it gave him a sense of purpose.

As they crossed the threshold into the Great Hall, the murmurs of those gathered inside came to a halt. Servants, bannermen, and even the most hardened of his household retainers stared openly. They weren’t accustomed to such grandeur, and even in a land where strength was admired, there was something otherworldly about the princess. Her silver-gold hair, the grace of her movements, and the quiet power that seemed to radiate from her drew their eyes like moths to flame.

The warmth of the hearthfire flickered against the cold stone walls, but in the presence of the dragon princess, it felt as though the heat came from her. She walked beside Cregan with an ease that belied her strength, her violet eyes scanning the hall as if she were already its lady, its queen.

Cregan couldn’t help but glance at her from the corner of his eye, watching as she moved like liquid fire, confident and unyielding. He could see the tension in the shoulders of his bannermen, the uncertainty in the eyes of the women who served the household. They were all taken aback, and Cregan couldn’t blame them. He had lived his whole life without seeing anyone like her, and he knew, without doubt, that no one here had ever stood before the true blood of Old Valyria until now.

She was a flame in the middle of a winter storm, a vivid contrast to the world of stone and snow that surrounded her.

“I trust the halls of Winterfell meet your expectations, my lady?” Cregan asked, his voice low but carrying in the stillness of the hall. He wanted to draw her into conversation, not only to ease his own nerves but to learn more of this woman who would soon be his wife.

She turned her gaze to him, a small smile curling on her lips, though it was hard to read the full depth of her thoughts. “It is as grand as the tales say, Lord Stark. A stronghold of honor and tradition.”

Her voice was steady, yet it held an edge to it, as if there was always something more behind her words. It was as though she was measuring everything, assessing him, the people around her, and the place she would soon call home.

“I trust it will serve as more than just a stronghold for you, my lady,” Cregan replied, his eyes meeting hers directly, a subtle challenge of his own. “Winterfell is now your home, and you are its future lady.”

The princess didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, Winterfell will be my home, but I have a home in the sky as well. I belong to both land and air, Lord Stark. Do not forget that.” There was a softness to her words, but it was clear. She may belong to the North by marriage, but her heart would always be tied to the skies, to her dragon.

Cregan inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I doubt anyone will forget, least of all after the sight of Vaetrix in our skies," he said, and then added, more softly, "She is a magnificent creature."

The princess's expression shifted slightly, pride mingled with affection as she spoke of her dragon. “Vaetrix is the daughter of Meleys, the Red Queen herself. Her lineage is one of fire and might. She carries the blood of dragons who have seen empires rise and fall, just as I do.”

Cregan’s brows raised slightly at the mention of Meleys. He had heard of the Red Queen, the swift and powerful dragon that had once belonged to Princess Rhaenys. Her reputation was legendary. To think that Vaetrix was her offspring made the connection between the princess and her dragon even more profound. "The Red Queen," Cregan murmured, nodding thoughtfully. "Your bond with her must be strong, then. I imagine not just any rider could command such a lineage."

Her eyes gleamed in response, as if the conversation about Vaetrix sparked something deeper within her. "A dragon and their rider are bound by more than blood, Lord Stark. We share a soul, a heart. Vaetrix and I have flown together since I was a girl. She is my closest companion, my fiercest ally."

There was a tenderness in her tone now, something almost protective. It made Cregan understand, even more clearly, the depth of the bond between her and the dragon. In a way, it reminded him of the wolves of his house—loyal, fierce, and bound by an unspoken connection. But this bond was greater, stronger, and far more dangerous. He respected it, even admired it.

“Then she will be an ally to the North as well,” Cregan said, his voice filled with conviction. "As you will be."

The princess turned her eyes back to him, her gaze sharp and knowing. "The North has been promised my fire, my lord. And I keep my promises."

Her words were more than just a vow—they were a reminder of the power she wielded, the power she had been born with. Cregan nodded in response, feeling a strange comfort in that certainty. He knew, without question, that she was someone who would fight with all her strength, for her family, her dragon, and soon, for the North.

They continued walking, Cregan leading her deeper into Winterfell’s great halls, where more of his household waited in silent anticipation. Every eye was upon them as they passed, but the princess seemed unbothered by the attention, as if she had long since grown used to the weight of expectation. Cregan noticed the way people parted in her presence, not out of fear, but out of reverence. She was the embodiment of fire, and all knew they were in the presence of something greater than themselves.

As they reached the heart of Winterfell, Cregan paused, turning to face her fully. “There will be a feast tonight in your honor. A celebration of our alliance.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “It will be modest compared to what you may be accustomed to, but we take pride in what the North can offer.”

The princess’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of warmth in her eyes. “The North has already offered me more than I expected. I look forward to seeing its hospitality, Lord Stark.”

There was no mockery in her voice, no hint of the condescension he might have expected from someone raised in the splendor of court life. Instead, there was a genuine respect, a willingness to embrace the new life she was entering. Cregan nodded, feeling that strange mix of pride and anticipation once more.

As the evening drew near, Cregan knew the feast would be only the beginning. He had secured an alliance, but in the dragon princess, he had gained something far more—a partner of equal strength, whose fire would one day burn alongside his own.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was alive with the low hum of voices as the feast unfolded, the hearths were burning high to accommodate a dragon princess in it. Platters of roasted meats and winter greens filled the long tables, while horns of ale and wine passed freely from hand to hand. The air was thick with the scent of food and the crackle of the great fires, but despite the bustle of the hall, all eyes kept drifting toward the high table, where Lord Cregan Stark and his betrothed sat in full view of his bannermen, retainers, and household.

Cregan himself sat straighter than usual, though his posture seemed almost relaxed, as if he were entirely at ease in this moment. His eyes often flicked to the princess seated beside him, watching her as she navigated the curious gazes of the Northmen with the same grace she had displayed all day. There was something undeniably striking about her here, amidst the rustic grandeur of Winterfell’s Great Hall—her silver-gold hair gleaming in the firelight, her violet eyes calm yet ever watchful.

When the time came for toasts, the hall fell into a deep silence as Cregan stood, his horn of ale in hand. The attention of every man, woman, and servant shifted to him, their lord. His voice, strong and sure, carried through the hall.

“Tonight,” he began, “we honor more than just a union between two houses. We honor the blood of dragons and the fire that has joined with the winter.” He paused, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on the princess beside him. “The daughter of Princess Rhaenyra, the only daughter of House Targaryen, has come to the North. She is now our guest, and soon, she will be my wife.”

A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd, but it was tempered by the awe that still hung in the air. Many had never seen a woman like her, let alone one of royal Valyrian descent. To them, she was more legend than flesh and blood.

Cregan raised his horn higher, his eyes never leaving hers. “To the Lady of Fire,” he said, his voice full of pride. “To the daughter of Rhaenyra!”

The hall erupted in cheers, the echo of voices bouncing off the ancient stone walls. Horns were raised, clashing together in raucous celebration as the Northmen embraced their lord’s words. And yet, even amidst the noise, Cregan saw the way his men stole glances at the princess, admiration clear in their eyes.

The princess raised her own horn in response, a subtle smile playing on her lips as she inclined her head toward Cregan. "To the North," she said, her voice soft but carrying through the hall with a clarity that commanded attention. "And to the strength of its people."

The words were simple, but they carried weight. The hall seemed to settle after that, the conversations resuming with renewed vigor as the feast carried on. Yet Cregan’s focus remained fixed on her.

As the noise of the hall filled the space around them, Cregan leaned slightly toward her, his voice low so that their conversation would remain private. “You’ve impressed them already,” he remarked, his eyes glinting with a rare hint of amusement. “It takes much to win the respect of Northmen, but I see it in their eyes.”

The princess turned to him, her violet gaze meeting his with a certain calm, but there was a flicker of curiosity there too. “I hadn’t expected to win their respect so soon,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “But I do not think it is me they respect so much as the idea of the alliance—of what we represent.”

Cregan considered her words, his brow furrowing slightly as he mulled them over. “Perhaps,” he allowed, “but it’s more than just an alliance. They see you, a dragon’s daughter, and they understand the power that you carry. You’re no simple marriage prize.”

Her lips curved upward, just a fraction. “Is that how you see me, Cregan Stark? A symbol of power?”

He chuckled softly, the sound low in his throat. “I see you as many things, princess. Power is just one of them.”

Her smile grew more visible now, and there was something lighter in her expression, as if she were pleased by his words, even if she did not show it openly. “And what else do you see, my lord?”

Cregan leaned in just a fraction more, his voice dropping. “I see a woman with a mind as sharp as the blade she wears. I see a rider whose bond with her dragon makes her stronger than any queen. And,” his eyes softened, the faintest glimmer of admiration in them, “I see someone who will stand beside me, not behind me.”

She studied him for a moment, as if weighing the truth of his words, and then nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Good,” she said, her tone firm but carrying an edge of warmth. “Because I have no intention of standing behind anyone.”

Cregan allowed himself a smile then, something rare and unguarded. It felt easy, natural in her presence, something he hadn’t anticipated. She wasn’t just a symbol of fire and dragons—she was alive, filled with strength and grace in equal measure, and with each passing moment, Cregan found himself looking forward to what the future might bring with her at his side.

For the rest of the evening, Cregan’s mood remained light, his smiles more frequent than anyone could remember seeing before. The hall, filled with food, laughter, and music, felt brighter somehow, as if the fire she had brought with her from the skies had seeped into Winterfell itself. There was a warmth there that was new, a change carried on dragon’s wings.

Years later, when scholars and storytellers recalled that night, they would write about how Lord Cregan Stark, known for his stoic nature, had smiled more during that feast than any had seen before, save for two other occasions—on his wedding day, and when the first child of the Dragon Princess was born in the cold halls of Winterfell. But for now, the legend was only beginning.

As the feast wore on, Cregan turned to her again, unable to resist asking, “Do you think Vaetrix feels at ease here in the cold North? It’s far from the warmth of Dragonstone.”

She tilted her head, her silver-gold hair catching the firelight once more. “Vaetrix is not concerned with warmth or cold,” she replied. “She is her mother’s daughter, bred for strength and flight, and the North’s cold will not trouble her. Besides,” her smile grew, more playful this time, “she knows I will not be far from her.”

Cregan nodded. “She is a creature of legend, like her rider,” he said softly.

The princess turned her eyes to him, the faintest flush of warmth in her cheeks. For a moment, the fire of her Valyrian blood met the unyielding strength of the North in Cregan’s gaze, and in that shared moment, both knew their bond would be one of legend.

The fire had come to Winterfell, and it would burn for generations to come.

[omniluci-estumbra]

Daemonium Ortus” 💀👿

Demon Hex Hermione - doing this was really just an excuse to create a cool Death Eater outfit for her…❇️🐍❇️

——

"What did you say her nickname was?" Voldemort asked, red eyes still locked onto Hermione.

"The Golden Girl, my Lord,” Malfoy answered.

….

One quick spell, and the mask began to deteriorate, melting quickly into liquid gold that gathered at the tip of his wand.

When he waved his wand again, the liquid began to float toward Hermione. She held her breath as it started to weave itself into her new clothes. It turned the silver gauntlets gold and danced along her sleeves and chest piece of her robes, embedding into every swirl and fleck and intricate pattern, and two pieces wove themselves into her hair and around either temple, softening into a headpiece to pin her hair back.

It made her unmissable, but also unmistakable.

ff: Secrets and Masks by Emerald_Slytherin

[asherthehimbo]

Mistakes in the moonlight

Skz Family au, from Mama Hyunjins perspective [fem pronouns used]

Note: Listen, it's like 12 pm here, I saw a sad edit and started crying about the skz family and had the urge to write a fully fleshed out ff. If u guys think I should, then vote here

She sits on the balcony bathed in moonlight. Her boys have been put to sleep. Chan went down silently. He had always slept better when he knew his father wasn't home. Changbin had tried fighting her, wanting to keep her company, but he gave in, fatigue of the previous school day overtaking his body.

She picked up the glass of wine from the table next to her, admiring the way the red liquid swished as the glass moved. She caught her wedding ring glimmering in the moonlight, the silver band burning her, like a reminder of a contract she's helplessly bound to. Soft silver in contrast to the dark red of the wine. (Silently, she remembers that this is the only silver item she has. All her other jewels are gold or black)

The wine had been a bottle Seungmin had gifted her for her birthday last week. It makes her think, the contast between the ring and the liquid, much like the contrast between the brothers.

She wonders sometimes if she had made a mistake back then, choosing Han, she wonders and wonders, until her sons come crying to her and her husband doesn't come home, then she knows she made a mistake.

She knows she should've chosen Seungmin back then. The man had shown her what it truly felt like to be in love, but she was young and ambitious, and Han had a free spirit, charming her with songs he had written himself.

She sits on the balcony, a single tear falling from her cheek, Seungmin is married now, not happily, but he's married none the less. She herself is married. She hates Han for what he does, how he doesn't look after their children, and how he doesn't even care about anything they do. Seungmin would be a better father. She knows he is.

Five year old Chan has slipped up calling him 'daddy' a few too many times. She wish she could take Seungmin up on his offer, have an affair with him just like his wife is doing with Han, but as much as she loves him she can't bring herself too stoop that low.

She will not do the very same thing her husband does. She will not give him amunition to turn her into the bad guy.

Taking the last swig of wine, she walks back inside to the empty house, not a home anymore, its to cold to be a home.

She sits on the couch, getting a book to keep herself busy while she waits for her husband. He'll stumble in eventually, drunk and flustered, and like the perfect wife she is, she'll help him to bed.

She'll be damned if that man sees her break, see's the pain she hides.

One day, she'll work up enough courage to hurt him in the same way he hurts her. One day, she'll give her boys the family they deserve. Unluckily, today isn't that day.

skz masterlist

[universalwhoreofthesouth]

Cave In - H.HJ

Pairing: non idol!Hyunjin X gn sorceress!reader

Genre: very light smut

Warning(s): potion/syrup drinking, consensual drugging (aphrodisiacs usage), mentions of magic, mentions of pet names (prince, baby, master, etc.), mentions the color system, sub! Hyunjin, dom! reader

A/N: this is my first ff I posted on here 🤡

You tapped the bottle against his plump lips, his mouth opened obediently. You lightly pour the syrup in his mouth, watching the rosy liquid fill his mouth deliciously.

You were in your private study, where you kept all your magical artifacts and potions stored safely. You were doing your monthly check up until you felt two familiar arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“Prince, what did I tell you about coming into my study without my permission?” you lightly scold, knowing that you can’t be mad at Hyunjin for long.

“I’m sorry y/n~. I wanted to see you and maybe try out the thing today?”your eyebrow quirked up, back still facing him.

“What thing? I may be a sorceress but I can’t read your mind baby”

“The box” he mumbles, burying his face into your neck out of shyness, you giggle.

“The what?” you tease, earning a whine out of the red head.

“The box with the heart lock” You knew exactly which one he was referring to.

It was the last time Hyunjin came into your study (you invited him that time). He began asking you questions about your “nick nacks” and “weird drinks” with curious eyes. He stopped talking, which surprised you a bit until you looked at him, seeing his eyes glow at the sight of a shiny silver box with a pink heart as the lock (that you forgot to store away). You quickly turned his attention away but of course Hyunjin being the curious man he is, started bombarding you with questions about the box. You kept your answer vague and simple, stating whenever he’s ready he can see what’s inside but just not today.

“Ah yes, that one. I didn’t expect you to come to me about it today. I am quite busy” you didn’t have to face him to know that he was pouting. He hated when you were busy and you hated that you spoiled him so much. Ever since Hyunjin met you, he felt as if he unlocked heaven’s gates himself. You always kept him afloat, giving him love that he has never seen and could possibly grant any wish he asked for without a second thought, that’s what he loved about you. That’s why he needed you.

“I know you’re busy but pleaseee. I’ll be good for you, master” as if the devil came down and wrapped his wing around you, tempting you to give into your lust, you caved in. You placed your clipboard down on the shelf in front of you.

“Grab it for me” like an obedient puppy, he springs into action. He walks over and easily grabs the box, handing it to you with a sickly sweet smile. You walk over to your coffee table, knowing that he was following you, and sit down on your Victorian styled dining chair that was a gift to you many moons ago before snapping the key into existence.

You placed the key into the lock, enjoying the sound of the gear twisting before the box lid pops open, showing the contents inside. It was a small heart shaped glass that held a glowing pink liquid, accompanied by flakes of gold glitter. You turn to Hyunjin and without saying a word, he kneels before you elegantly without fail.

“Are you sure you want to do this angel? We’re still going to use the color system so I know you’re ok, alright?” Hyunjin smiles, he knew he wanted this as soon as he walked into your study but he never got tired of how caring you were in and out of scene.

“Yes master, I want it please” Hyunjin squirms at how quickly your eyes darkened once he gave the okay.

“Come here” you order, popping the bottle cork, the scent of strawberry and roses fill the air. You snap out of your thoughts when you feel Hyunjin place his hands on your knees, a mentioned requirement in case he goes nonverbal (it happens).

“Open” You tapped the bottle against his plump lips, his mouth opened obediently. You lightly pour the syrup in his mouth, watching the rosy liquid fill his mouth deliciously. Your obsession with his mouth drove you crazy and he knew it too, always putting on a show for you. You place your other hand on his Adam's apple, feeling him swallow every drop as you keep pouring until the bottle is empty.

“Good boy” you praise, wiping the excess syrup that missed his lips, tracing the shape of them with your thumb.

“How do you feel baby?” you ask and Hyunjin giggles as a response. You immediately notice how large his pupils grew, meaning that it was working.

“I feel great” he sounded almost drunk (maybe you added too much alcohol in the recipe).

“What’s your color, prince?”

“Green” he giggles once more, putting his head in your lap. You were about to say something until you felt his hands slide up to your covered legs.

“You feel so warm y/n~” he purrs, hands traveling to your inner thighs but you didn’t budge, you both knowing that he can’t do anything without your permission. You sit back and watch his lust start to unfold as if he’s the test subject and you’re the scientist.

“My master is so gorgeous. All mine” he mumbles happily to himself while admiring you from head to toe, making you laugh in amusement. He must be out of it. That was until he blurted: “I want to taste you”.

If you were drinking, you would have choked but yet again he’s under the influence of the lustful drug.

“Is that so?” you rush your fingers through his long red hair, already thinking about how good it’ll be to pull on it.

“Yes please. I wan’ to make you feel good so fucking bad y/n please” He sounded as if he was going to cry if he didn’t pleasure you in the next three minutes so you decided to have pity on the horny boy.

“Ok then, be my guest”

[milkingmymilkman]

m-mhhh! *Your name would've been a prayer on his lips if he wasn't busy swallowing down your cum, his tongue lapping it up as if if were liquid gold. A few droplets drooled down to his chin, looking up at you with adoration.* s.. mmh.. good.. so good.. never tasted doppel cum before...

a-agh! *He squeaked and whined when he felt the tentacle tighten around him and your hand barely pulling at his hair, causing his back to arch slightly and for his sweet noises to louden.* mmh.. ff-feels so... ggood.. llove being a good boy.. *With the way he was trembling and the amount of pre-com his dick was producing, it was fairly certain that he'd cum rather soon*

-🚪Doorman B Anon

mn, good boy..

*He pants, trying to catch his breath*

please keep making those pretty noises..

*The doppel almost whispers the request, tugging on the doorman's hair a bit more*

so pretty.. Pretty boy.. doing so good..

*The tentacle moved faster, determined to have the smaller man cum*

[slugdragoon]

RPG Role Analysis Series #6 - Dragon Quest III vs. Final Fantasy I vol.II

Here are my thoughts on the remainder of the classes that I did not cover in my previous post:

Thief (FF) / Thief (DQIII) - Dragon Quest III only even has a Thief starting with the Super Famicom remake, which also adds new whips and boomerangs that allow them to be proficient at multi-target basic attacks, despite not having high strength for single-target damage. They do however have good defences, as it's affected by their Agility stat. Stealing for the DQIII Thief means a high chance of taking an item from the last enemy defeated in a fight, So instead of actively stealing they're really a lucky, somewhat tanky class that sweeps up or weakens groups of enemies while a Warrior knocks them out one-by one. Since multi-target attacks rarely knock out enemies on their own, the Thief actually sort of lets someone else choose who to knock out last and steal from. They also get some utility spells that exclusively have to deal with scouting dungeon floors and the treasure within (including one random encounter reducing spell, if you want to call that scouting). They feel more like a careful treasure hunter than a thief. The Final Fantasy I Thief was way different. Once they promote to Ninja, they have access to Haste and Temper, spells that boost the attack power and hit rate of any party member, and other lower level Black Magic, meaning stat debuff and status effects, and some (not their best option) elemental magic. They have the highest Agility, making them go earlier in battle, and more able to flee (in versions where the bugged stats are fixed). Interestingly, the FFI "Thief" has no ability to steal items at all, though the Ninja name fits better for a speedy warrior who strikes true, traps enemies with sleep, slowing, and confusion magic, makes a fast escape, and has maybe some elemental ninjutsu, if needed.

Red Mage (FF) /Sage (DQIII) - In DQIII, the Sage is considered an advanced class that has special prerequisites (either train as a jester first, or have a key item, but if you meet those requirements, the Sage has all the best features of both the Cleric and Mage, encouraging you to replace your magic-users with the Sage. Stat growth is affected by the character's path to Sage, but promoting is an easy choice. The only disadvantage it their low EXP growth, making them a good sort of "reward" to switch to last minute. Final Fantasy also has a hybrid healing/hurting magic class, the Red Mage, but in this it is more of a compromise. They just about reach the highest tiers of Black and White magic, though cant cast the top-tier spells like Holy, Flare, Full-life, Curaja, Diaja, Saber, etc. They do however get access to a good selection of armor, and can attack, if not as well as the Warrior, at least good enough, no matter what you have them doing. The Red Mage has a lot of flexibility, and is more of a true jack of all trades than DQIII's Sage, which is a prestige class for both kinds of casters.

There are also a few other classes in Dragon Quest III with no direct equivalent in Final Fantasy:

Jester (DQIII) - Strange class. They have very low stats other than luck, so might at best shrug off detrimental effects occasionally, but they mainly exist as a shortcut to Sage, being an alternate path that does not require a key item. Remakes give them one spell to instantly trigger an enemy battle, but they are a liability in combat. Thing of Jesters as a grinding tool, but actually more like taking a Magikarp to eventually get a Gyarados. Since the Sage usurps both the Cleric and Mage rather than occupying a niche alongside them, the Jester is a pain that you can be rewarded for.

Merchant (DQIII) - Merchants let you collect additional gold after battle, for those who want their bonus more liquid than the items a Thief aquires. They also level up quickly. The remakes allow them to excavate gold and items on the world map or summon Inns for resting, Churches to save and buy resurrections from a priest, and Item Shops at will. The role of the merchant is to keep your party polished with easy access to the best armor, make sure they can always afford it, and keep them rested and restored on the road.

Hero (DQIII) - The Hero is a special class which only Erdrick has access to. They have access to a variety of spells, and again are a type of magic knight like the DQ1 Hero and DQ2's Prince of Cannock, having lower MP than dedicated magic users like the Sage, but good access to a variety of spells, and good physical stats. In fact, their list of spells is so similar, I could just refer you to my read on Prince of Cannock, though most notably gets a stronger multi-target healing spell than even the Cleric and Sage. If anything, perhaps Hero is the true analogue to Final Fantasy's Red Mage, and not the Sage.

[youdontjustgiveup]

August: Chapter 9

( ao3 | ff )

Previous Chapters: [link]

Summary: During the party, Nate reveals the truth and the four friends find themselves embroiled in yet another one of Georgina's games.

Pairing: Chuck x Blair

Word Count: 5.1k

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None

----------------------------

Inside the dimly lit limousine, the indistinct glimmer of champagne immediately caught Serena’s attention as she sank into the cold leather seat. Chuck waited until she was settled before joining her, strategically blocking her exit. He couldn’t afford to let her slip away for a second time. They were going to that damn party, the four of them, and they would go together, no matter what. 

“Hand me the bottle,” Serena demanded.

“Setting the bar rather high today, aren’t we?” Chuck quipped. “The fun part hasn’t even started yet. Should I be worried or impressed by your enthusiasm?”

Her stepsister leaned over to reach for the bottle herself.

“If only someone hadn’t forced me into this vehicle like a damn prisoner,” Serena grumbled, her voice laced with bitterness.

Chuck raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Where are your manners?"

“Don’t you dare talk to me about manners, Chuck.”

Serena took a large and hasty gulp, nearly draining the entire bottle of champagne in one go.

“I don’t give a damn how you do it,” Chuck said. “Feel free to yell, fight, or scratch each other’s eyes out for all I care. But sort this mess out, because I’m not staying in a house where you three can’t be in the same room for more than a hot minute.” 

Chuck loved Nate, he really did, but he couldn’t bear another moment of that perpetual sorrowful look. It had become insufferable, teetering on the brink of being outright pathetic. He had tried to pull him out of the rut, to get him to talk about something other than the two girls in the back seat of his limousine, but Nate remained stubbornly fixated on his misery like a broken record. Chuck wasn’t exactly a relationship expert, and he couldn’t help but wonder when Nate thought it was a good idea to start treating him like one. After all, his own life was a complete train wreck, and the irony was impossible to ignore.

Not only that, but after Chuck confessed that he had chosen Blair over Nate, his best friend seemed increasingly annoyed whenever Chuck was around her, scrutinizing their every move as if panning for gold in a river.

It was time to stage an intervention. 

“Hey!” Blair snatched the bottle for Serena’s grasp. “Leave some for me.” 

Blair occupied the seat on Serena’s opposite side, and her stern, disapproving looks were as piercing as daggers. Originally, Chuck and Blair had planned to come together, leaving Nate and Serena to arrange their own transportation. However, he had changed his mind, and Blair was less than happy about it. 

Meanwhile, Nate gazed out the window, observing the passing streets and bystanders as if he were the protagonist in the opening scene of a movie. When was he going to grow the balls to talk to either one of them? Really talk to them, not just shadow them like a lost puppy, waiting for them to do all the work.

It promised to be one hell of a long night. 

“Don’t tell me I also forced you here like a damn prisoner.” Chuck turned his attention to Blair.

“That would have been better than being dragged here under false pretenses,” Blair retorted, her arms crossed in defiance.

“If you were that desperate to have me all to yourself in the back of a limo, all you had to do was say the words.”

“You wish,” Blair replied with a fiery stare.

A burning sensation coursed through his veins, the allure of the forbidden and the irresistible pull between them intensifying every time their eyes met. 

“You have no idea,” he muttered to himself, his words going unnoticed by his friends.

While Blair finished off what was left of the champagne bottle, Chuck traced the liquid’s graceful descent down her throat. Each sip of champagne brought him closer to a precipice, where the boundaries of their relationship blurred.

The limousine wound its way through the most expensive neighborhoods of the East End of Long Island en route to Nelly’s grandmother’s residence. Chuck had been there two or three times as a boy, following his father around begging for a moment of his time, and the house, though not perched on the beachfront, exuded opulence and luxury in every detail. The event and Nelly herself were completely indifferent to Chuck. These gatherings were little more than congregations of empty elites, their lives consumed by idle chatter and the misfortunes of others. It was not the soirée that held his interest but the promise of impending chaos that set his pulse racing. 

“I can’t wait to see how Penelope and Isabel are going to outdo themselves in their outfits today,” Blair mused, a hint of mockery in her tone.

“B, aren’t they your friends?” Serena questioned.

Blair smirked, replying, “As if. I don’t befriend people so easily, Serena. I’m not you.”

Abruptly, the limo came to a halt, and Blair would have been thrown from her seat had it not been for Serena’s steadying arm. A grateful smile passed between the two friends.

Chuck leaned forward and rapped his knuckles against the window separating them from their driver, demanding, “Arthur! What happened?”

“Nothing to fret about, sir. We had a close call with a motorcycle, but everything’s under control,” Arthur reassured Chuck. 

A motorcycle. How fitting. 

Nate thought it was probably a great time to remember they existed. “Are you alright?” he asked Blair, concern in his eyes. 

“Absolutely peachy.” 

To Chuck’s knowledge, that curt two-word response was the first thing Blair had said to Nate since the moment he had left them together in Blair’s room. 

Chuck had been honest with her; he didn’t want her and Nate to get back together. The thought of them rekindling their relationship and going back to Blair begging for his best friend’s affection made him nauseous. She deserved to flourish, not to be diminished. Nonetheless, they needed to have a real conversation, and Blair needed to unburden herself like a ship unmooring from a heavy anchor.

“Can we talk?” Nate continued. 

Blair scoffed, “Do you think this is the best time to talk?”

“It’s never the right moment with you.”

“And why is that?”

Nate’s apology came slowly as he searched for the right words. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened. I truly am. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.”

Blair laughed bitterly, “Sorry? Were you sorry when you were drooling all over Serena yesterday?”

“I didn’t do such a thing,” Nate protested, confused. 

“You may think you’re subtle, but you’re the most obvious person on the planet.”

He attempted to explain, “I—”

Blair cut him off, “I couldn’t care less. Stare all you want, have your way with her. I’m done with you, as I should have been a long time ago.”

“Hey, I’m right here,” Serena chimed in.

“I also don’t care.” Blair was in no mood to accommodate anyone. She stood up as best as she could and headed for the limo’s mini bar to grab another bottle.

Chuck tried to stop her, “I think that’s—”

But Blair was unstoppable in her current state, a force of nature unleashed. “You too, shut up, Chuck. This is all your fault.”

Uncorking the bottle and taking another substantial swig of champagne, Blair returned to her seat, putting a bit more distance between herself and Serena. She needed to slow down if she wanted to make it to the party in one piece. 

“Get it through that thick skull of yours. We’re not getting back together. Ever. No matter how much you plead, beg, or cry. We’re over.” Blair confronted Nate once more. 

The finality of her words almost made Chuck smile, but he resisted with a shake of his head. That, unequivocally, was his girl.

Nate struggled to respond, stammering, “But…”

“But nothing. Why do you want to keep being miserable, Nate?”

“I was not miserable with you. I love you.”

Blair’s indignation was palpable. She stumbled as the limousine took another turn, and Chuck almost reached out to steady her. But he remained seated, choosing to lie low as the storm raged on.

“Stop lying to me! To yourself. Be a man for once and accept that this is not what you want. This is what your mother wants. You never wanted this. And I’m done being the one who always has to try to salvage something that’s utterly hopeless. I don’t want to be second best. I’ve been in that place long enough,” she breathed heavily. “I deserve better than you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Nate offered. 

Blair shot him a withering look, retorting, “I’ve already heard that.”

Serena intervened, “Blair, can we calm down?”

But Blair refused to back down. “No! Didn’t you all want me to talk about it? To face it? Well, here we are, facing it.”

“Not like this.”

“It just hurts to hear the truth, doesn’t it, S?”

“You’re right.” Nate finally spoke.

“What?”

“Yes! You were right. You are right. I have not been honest with you, not now, not for the last couple of years in our relationship.”

Blair’s mouth opened in astonishment.

“I’ve been pushing for this relationship, not because I wanted it, but because my family needed you, your family, to fix a lot of the problems we are in,” Nate confessed. “And when I say I’m sorry, Blair, I really mean it. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry for making you feel insignificant, and even though I can’t give you what you truly deserve, I do appreciate you as a friend.” 

“Friend,” Blair muttered. 

“Mister Bass, we are already here.” Arthur’s voice resonated through the glass. 

The limousine pulled to a stop, and as the door swung open, the ambient sounds of the lively party enveloped them. Their view from the outside was limited, but the soft glow of lights spilled from the open doors and windows of the summer residence.

Chuck was the first to step out, adjusting his exquisitely tailored black suit. He had chosen to forego a tie for a more relaxed and casual look, leaving the first button of his shirt undone. Blair, albeit a bit unsteady on her feet due to the champagne, followed with a resolute air, determined to put their recent argument behind her. Nate and Serena emerged last, unable to meet each other’s gaze. It was but a matter of time before they surrendered to the inevitability of their feelings. Serena might think she was in love with Humphrey, but their façade of a relationship was on a path to nowhere.

Upon crossing the threshold into the grand house, Blair and Serena left the boys to their own luck, offering vague promises of reuniting later as they went arm in arm to make their presence known. Knowing Blair, her minions were in for a treat. 

With a casual pat on Nate’s back, Chuck pulled a bag of pot from his pocket and gestured toward the table stocked with potent alcohol. 

“Let’s seek the end of the bottle,” Chuck suggested. 

Nate offered no resistance. 

Approaching the table, Chuck poured a rich, amber whiskey into Nate’s glass, handing it to him without a word. Nate downed the glass in one swift gulp, a silent plea for Chuck to refill it. Chuck obliged, filling Nate’s glass up to two fingers once more, as well as his own.

It was definitely going to be one hell of a long night.

“Hey, Chuck!” a cute girl, whose name escaped him, greeted him with a warm smile as she passed by. “Will I see you later?”

Chuck couldn’t recall where they had met. Was she one of the Carrington girls? He wasn’t sure. Or the Beckman’s? From that party two months ago. There was no point in trying to remember, so he returned the smile and nodded. “Certainly.”

Perhaps he’d have some fun after all, he mused, though the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Nate’s somber demeanor persisted, his gaze fixed on Serena and Blair at the far end of the room. The two of them had already secured glasses and were effortlessly mingling with the other guests. Blair, as always, radiated confidence, her authoritative and regal posture outshining everyone in the room, including Serena. It might have been Nelly Yuki’s party, but the queen would forever be Blair. No matter how hard others tried, they could never quite match her.

“Care to share the thrilling details of yesterday’s game?” Chuck attempted to steer Nate away from his depressive path, a task that seemed increasingly impossible with each passing minute. He didn’t know what more he could do. He had tried drugs, alcohol, girls, and even joining Nate on his early morning jogs. Who woke up at five in the morning just to run?

Nate remained silent, downing his second glass.

“You need to shake it off, Archibald,” Chuck prodded further. “There are plenty of fish in the sea, and that lost puppy look isn’t doing you any favors.”

Nate’s reply came after a moment’s pause, his gaze shifting from the girls to Chuck, a heavy sigh accompanying his words. “You don’t understand. What I said in the limo…” 

Chuck meticulously crumbled a bit of pot onto a silver tray resting on the table, seamlessly blending it in a sleekly rolled cigarette. The pungent aroma of the illicit herb wafted through the air. With a flick of his expensive lighter, he ignited the cigarette and exhaled a plume of smoke. “Imagine I don’t and enlighten me.”

Taking a deep drag, he savored the distinct melding of tobacco and pot, allowing the harmonious blend to cocoon him in a cloud of soothing relaxation. Chuck extended the cigarette toward Nate, who declined with a subtle shake of his head. 

Whatever. You only lived once.

“The thing about your mother and your family. What’s going on there?” Chuck pressed for more information. 

“We’re in a lot of debt, man.”

“What are you talking about? You’re a Vanderbilt, for heaven’s sake.”

“My grandfather wants nothing to do with my dad. He has left my mother to fend for herself as long as she remains married to him, and we won’t see a penny.”

“So, you’re fucked.”

“Pretty much.”

“And your family is counting on Blair’s family to save your father’s sorry ass,” Chuck summarized bluntly.

Nate nodded in confirmation. “My father needs Eleanor to trust him with her company, and that will only happen if I stay with Blair. If her mother believes we’re still together, it’s our ticket to pay off the debt and everything would be back to normal.”

“Minus Blair.”

“My mother wants me to give her my grandmother’s ring to prove our loyalty.” 

“That’s low,” Chuck reflected, astonished. “Even for me.” 

“I know,” Nate replied, reaching for another glass of whiskey. 

“Take it easy.” 

“Look, I’m well aware of how it sounds, and there isn’t a day that goes by without me feeling guilty about this. It has been eating away at me. But I don’t know what else to do. If we break up, my family faces ruin. If I continue pretending, I hurt her. It’s a lose-lose situation.”

“If it’s money you need, you can have what’s in my trust fund. I don’t need it.”

“I don’t want to borrow your money, Chuck.”

“Why not? Is your grand scheme with Blair a noble way to get money?”

“No, but—”

“No ‘buts,’ Nathaniel. Stop hurting Blair. She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“You’ve had a peculiar way of showing it.”

Nate shot Chuck a piercing look. 

“Who do you think you are now? Her guardian?”

“Don’t take it out on me.” Chuck took another deep drag of the cigarette. “I’m the last person who would judge you here. You could murder someone, and I’d help you hide the body. Hell, I’ve played alongside you in your game with Serena long enough, longer than I should have. But you need to stop this. We don’t hurt each other. At least, we try not to.”

“The four of us. We’re family,” he continued, his words resonating with the weight of years filled with shared secrets and an unbreakable bond.

Yet another question gnawed at Chuck’s mind, one he suspected he knew the answer to but desperately needed his friend to voice. “Do you love her?” he finally ventured, his eyes locked onto Nate’s, searching for a glimpse of the truth within. His heart raced, awaiting the response.

“Who?”

“Need me to spell it out for you? Don’t be dense.”

“Yes, I do,” Nate paused. “I did. It was simpler when we were kids. No expectations, just us. Blair was the most beautiful girl in school, and I was the most popular. It made sense. We made sense. She was fun to be around, the girl with the headband, full of spirit and determination. She had us all wrapped around her little finger.” 

Nate’s eyes sparkled with nostalgia, and Chuck couldn’t help but share a smile. He’d been smitten from the moment he met her. But his best friend didn’t need to know that. 

“But as time passed, that feeling never really grew into something more. I care about her deeply, you know that, but I’m not sure if I’m in love with her.” Nate resumed. 

“If you’re unsure, it’s probably not love.”

“And what do you know about love, Chuck?”

“You’re right. I don’t know anything.”

As the party went on, a group of girls, including the one Chuck was supposed to remember, could not stop looking in their direction. There was a constant murmur circulating among them, and the girl in question playfully whispered to her closest friend before sending a suggestive wink his way. Yet, on this night, the innate seductive charm that usually accompanied Chuck along with the inclination to whisk her away to intimate quarters were conspicuously absent. He was such an idiot. 

Despite his effort to force another smile, his expression twisted into more of a grimace. Undeterred, the girl continued to beam at him. 

Resolute in not delving too deeply into the conflicting signals from his body and mind, Chuck finished his cigarette and tossed it out into the silver tray. Anxiously, he hoped that the potent combination of weed and alcohol would lull the remaining neurons of his mind into a merciful slumber, silencing them completely. 

However, such a respite would not be possible. The high-pitched, hysterical laughter of none other than Georgina fucking Sparks echoed like a symphony of madness too close to his liking, prompted by some remark from Nelly Yuki. Nothing the nerd could say could be that amusing. But that wasn’t the most surprising thing. Georgina hung provocatively from the arm of the boy who had crawled out of the sewers of Brooklyn, while Nelly looked at him with a loving gaze.

“Blair is going to annihilate them.”

“Who?”

Chuck motioned toward Georgina, who had now taken to whispering into Dan’s ear. It seemed she had found herself a new play date. Only time would tell how long this one would last. The real question lay on the nature of this connection—was it a mere parasitic arrangement, or could it evolve into something more symbiotic?

“I hate him,” Nate growled.

“That’s a strong sentiment coming from you, brother.”

“He is always parading around as if he’s better than us, and then he treats Serena like shit.”

“I’m not sure that stylish lumberjack shirt elevates him above us,” Chuck remarked. “He just reeks of desperation—a poor attempt to worm his way into our world.” 

“Really?”

“Obsessed even.”

“Do you think he’s using Serena?”

“Without a doubt.”

Serena and Blair were blissfully unaware of the ticking time bomb, engrossed in their own little world. However, it was only a matter of time before the news spread. Whether it was the spawn of Satan or Humphrey’s homeless appearance in a high-society party, the duo’s presence was definitely going to make the rounds. 

“Let’s go before this whole situation turns into a complete disaster. After what I pulled today and your little revelation in the limo, Waldorf is out for blood.” 

Nate nodded.

Chuck swiftly drained his glass, leaving it on the table as he approached his friends, Nate at his side.

“How are our favorite girls?” Chuck asked, smoothly inserting himself between them, his arms casually draping over their shoulders.

“What’s gotten into you?” Blair inquired, a single eyebrow arching in suspicion. 

“I was merely contemplating the sheer wonder of us being here together.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Not quite.”

“Then you’ve lost your mind. What are you scheming, Bass? I know you.”

Could Nate be of any help here? Unfortunately, his best friend turned out to be as useless as an appendix.

“I’ve said it before, parties are dreadfully dull without you.”

Blair, clearly unconvinced, scanned the surroundings. When she was about to discover what they were spectacularly failing to keep from her, Chuck let go of Serena and pivoted Blair, compelling her to meet his gaze. 

“Blair…”

“Bastard,” Serena interjected.

With a gesture of surrender, Chuck released Blair. They couldn’t say he hadn’t tried.  

“Oh, no, no.” Blair finally realized, and her gaze transformed into one of pure, unbridled hatred. “They are going to find out who the real bitch is here. For real this time.” 

With a determined stride and a deadly stare, she advanced toward the new couple. Serena, Nate and Chuck trailed behind, unwilling to leave her alone. Pieces of Georgina could end up scattered in every corner of the room, and Chuck wanted a front row seat to the impending show. 

“What did I tell you?” Blair seethed.

“Babe, do you hear something?” Georgina said to Dan with a devilish smirk, feigning innocence. 

Dan shrugged, a defiant glint in his eyes. “It must be the wind.”

Babe. Serena’s face flushed crimson at the implication.

Blair closed in on Georgina. “I’m going to rip you to shreds,” she hissed, her fingers clenching into tight fists, “and once I’m through, there won’t be a damn thing left for the vultures. Not that they’d fancy a bite of you anyway.”

“Blair, darling, you’re always so dramatic. What’s got your knickers in a twist this time, huh?”

“I wasn’t aware that today’s dress code leaned towards attention-seeking and poor taste. My mistake.” 

“I think it’s more about betraying best friends and making a fool of yourself,” Georgina replied with a mocking smile. 

“Georgie, sweetie,” Blair emphasized the nickname with a disdainful note in her voice. “At least I have friends, unlike you, desperately clinging to relevance like it’s last year’s fashion trend.”

“Embrace those brief moments of attention before the world shifts its focus to the next puppet.”

Blair laughed. 

“You actually thought you could come back here and act like nothing happened. I made it abundantly clear—I never want to see you again.”

“Since when do I care in the slightest about what you want?” Georgina dismissed with a wave.

“You should. I rule here, and there is no room for harpies nor for leeches.” Blair cast a quick glance at Dan. “Have you mistaken this place for your own personal circus?”

“Every circus needs a clown and you fit the bill perfectly.”

“And you’re just the wild animal trying to steal the spotlight, and we all know how those end up—tamed or caged.” 

In the midst of all the commotion, Serena didn’t take her eyes off Dan and Georgina. Dan squirmed a little but remained calm, trying to appear unaffected by Serena’s gaze or Blair’s words.

“Are you two together?” Serena interrupted, the question slipping out of her. 

Dan sought Georgina’s approval before he replied, “Actually, we are.” Georgina leaned into him, a sly grin playing on her lips, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding around her.

“Looks like the circus has brought you together after all,” Chuck commented dryly. 

Georgina brushed off his remark. He clearly wasn’t the target of her plan, nor did she want him anywhere near it. But she was dreaming if she thought he’d stand idly by. Chuck Bass was not Nate Archibald. 

“It seems like we should all be celebrating.” Georgina raised her glass to Serena. “You and Nate. Dan and me.” She winked. 

Blair’s jaw tensed, but she swiftly masked it with a cold smile. “The only thing worthy of celebration is your audacity, believing anyone cares about you and this pitiful excuse for a writer. Cheers to delusion.”

“Don’t be jealous, Blair; they say a powerful woman has to stand all by herself, right?”

“And you, of course, wouldn’t understand the concept, would you? Forever clinging to a man’s arm, unable to shine on your own. Bored of Chuck already, are we?”

“More like I’m bored of her,” Chuck added, his tone nonchalant. “There’s only so much begging a man can handle.” 

A fleeting, almost imperceptible frown marred Georgina’s bitchy posture, and her eyes, once sparkling with mischief, now betrayed a glint of pain. As she crossed her arms defensively over her chest, her finger tapped an impatient rhythm against her forearm. Georgina Sparks didn’t cope well with rejection. 

In that moment, clarity flashed in Serena’s eyes, and Chuck could see the gears turning in her mind. Without missing a beat, she shifted her focus to Chuck, a predatory glint in her gaze. No. 

No. No. No.

“It’s not me and Nate who we should be celebrating,” Serena declared, looking intensely at Dan and Georgina as she moved towards Chuck.

“He is your brother,” Georgina spat, almost at a loss for words.

“Stepbrother,” Serena corrected. “And since when did you become the poster girl for morality?” 

“I don’t believe you,” Dan interjected skeptically.

“Would you like us to put on a show for you, Humphrey?” Chuck pulled Serena closer, deciding to play along with the charade.

Blair’s eyes bore into him, the flames of anger and disappointment flickering just beneath the surface. To defy the rules Serena had laid down would be to concede victory to those two, an outcome Chuck couldn’t allow. The end undoubtedly justified the means, and Chuck was determined to play every card. Then, why did he feel a pang of guilt deep inside, as if he were betraying Blair? He forcefully redirected his focus, reminding himself that in any game, he was not just a player but the undisputed master.

Serena pressed herself harder against every inch of his body, but it failed to stir anything within him. It was like trying to light a match in the middle of a windstorm. Even for Chuck Bass, there were lines he neither dared nor wanted to cross.  

“You don’t do relationships,” Dan persisted, probably attempting to convince himself. 

“Who said anything about relationships? Don’t be old-fashioned. Living in Brooklyn, you’d think you’d be at the rise of progress.” 

Chuck looked Serena up and down, lasciviously. “Besides, we don’t need a label to enjoy each other fully. In myriad ways, in countless places.” 

Dan swallowed with difficulty. “That’s disgusting.”

“Says who? The one tangled up in the sheets with Georgina Sparks?”

“It’s completely different. She’s not my sister.” Dan’s retort fell flat. 

“Don’t get nervous. Serena’s not mine either.”

“You know Chuck really knows how to pleasure a woman. And there’s just something about the forbidden… it really gets my blood going.” Serena decided to participate, likely taking advantage of Dan’s evident discomfort.

“She was... tired of childish games, craving someone more seasoned. If you catch my drift.”

Dan’s mask slipped completely. They had struck a nerve. Or two. 

“Exactly,” she said, sliding a hand through the lapel of his suit jacket and getting it into his shirt. “I didn’t know how much I was missing.”

“Good luck collecting a bunch of venereal diseases,” Dan said in a last attempt to regain some dignity. 

“I could say the same to you,” Serena replied.

“You were so quick to jump first into my bed, then Nate’s, then Chuck’s. Is there anyone else missing from this party who might be next?”

“Don’t make me punch you in the face, Humphrey.” Chuck was dying to do so. 

Dan distanced himself from Georgina and withdrew. He really thought he could play the game, but, to no one’s surprise, Dan had no idea who he was dealing with. Games were Chuck’s second skin, and even if Serena was mostly an amateur, she held herself together almost gracefully.

Serena tried to follow him, but Chuck held her tightly against him. If she left now, all the effort put into this impromptu act would be in vain. Let Humphrey enjoy the consequences of trying to outwit them; it was a lesson he obviously needed to learn.

“I gotta go find my boyfriend,” Georgina said, still a bit shaken. 

Serena lunged forward as if to punch her, but Chuck intervened for the second time. Once Georgina was out of sight, Chuck and Serena let go of each other.

“Easy,” Chuck advised. “Humphrey will be begging on his knees in no time. Just give him some space. They’re not a thing.”

“I’m getting out of here. This party sucks,” Blair announced out of nowhere.

Her crossed arms and the tense lines on her face told him that something was definitely wrong. They needed to talk, even if he wasn’t quite sure about what. The only thing that was clear to Chuck was that he was not going to let her go alone right now. “I’ll come with you.”

“Don’t talk to me.” 

While not exactly promising, Blair hadn’t explicitly told him that he couldn’t join her. He could work with that.

“Nathaniel? Serena? Are you both coming?” Chuck asked his friends. 

“I’m going to stay here if you don’t mind,” Serena replied.

“I’ll stay with her,” Nate decided. 

Chuck had no objections whatsoever. 

“Don’t get mad, B. It was either him or Nate, and you know I couldn’t use Nate.” Serena seemed to sense her friend’s distress and attempted to smooth out the edges. 

“Why would I get mad? You can do whatever you want with him,” Blair almost spat the last word. 

With that, she marched toward the entrance of the house.

Chuck bid farewell to Nate and Serena, winking as he said, “Don’t do something I wouldn’t do.”

As they were exiting the house, the group of girls from before stopped him, causing Blair to pause when she realized he wasn’t following.

“Where are you going?” the girl said with a hand on his chest. Amanda? Juliet?

“I’m leaving.”

“But you promised me something.” 

“I didn’t do such a thing. Look, you’re cute and all. I’m sure you'll find someone else, but I have to go.” 

“With her.”

“I’m not just ‘her’. I’m Blair Waldorf. You better learn that name.” 

Blair wasn’t just mad; she was absolutely furious. Her face was an open book. 

[angelfairyqueenheart]

3:18am (BST) 14th december 2023

i met my ex for coffee today. the nice one, not the ones from school. it was good to see him. we were never really meant to be - but we work great as friends. he's kind. he sees with eyes and a mind that no one else i know does. he understands so deeply - and yearns to if he doesn't. he has piercing blue eyes and curly ginger hair that never really knows what it's doing. turns out we've been in the same city at uni for over a year now. his ears are pierced now. he has a cool green paisley sort of silk scarf. with that and his coat off he looks just the same as i knew him before though.

we broke up because my grandfather died. i didn't know how to deal with it. i already had bad mental health issues. it broke me a bit. a lot. once i went to this christian youth festival with my youth group and this kid a year younger than me said that i would undergo transformation, specifically like the art of kintsugi. you know, that japanese thing where they fix broken pots and stuff with liquid gold? my cracks and breaks would be sewn together with gold, they said. they didn't lie - i don't think.

i think the first evidence of that was when my grandad died. through my cracks and grief, a burning passion leaked through and made me stand up for myself for the first time. i realised the relationship wasn't right for me - it just immediately felt wrong, like a skin i had to shed or i'd have to live in it forever. mind you, i didn't deal with it right, i didn't have the wisdom or courage that i do now. not that i'm wise, or courageous. i changed my clothes too. my birthday rolled around and my now-partner gave me an amazon gift card so i bought the cheapest makeup i could find. i went thrifting and bought clothes that make me feel like a human being (and maybe a little bit cool).

that didn't help my mental health though - it didn't make it worse - but it didn't like, improve things. i was still a mess. i still drank at school for the next year and a half. i didn't trust anyone. i still don't trust anyone. i'd like to. my ex didn't see me much at all after we broke up. we met up for coffee after 5ish months... and then i ghosted him (again) (having just told him i'd be up for being friends). yeah not a great move morally. still keeps me up at night sometimes.

my partner didn't mind us meeting for coffee today (boyfriends sometimes do apparently). he didn't really show any opinion. he doesn't often, without me begging for it a bit. i ask the question 3 times for a response, you stare vacantly at me, fake an answer, i ask if you're sure. repeat. so yeah - i did miss my ex. i missed connection and a friend and things to talk about. he was always good to talk to. empathy levels off the charts. don't worry, i'm not gonna try and go back to him - i don't want to. i just need friends, and he's a good one. and my relationship isn't as bad as i make it sound lol but my boyfriend does know i'm not happy in it right now.

i did other things today too. i went pottery painting with the art society. one of the things i painted is for my sister. i hope she likes it. no idea if she will though. i got a sports bra from a charity shop (it's really comfy). i got a turtleneck from another charity shop (i've been really wanting one to wear under dresses [summer dresses can be for winter too]). and i got some uniqlo sports leggings from another reallllyyyy good charity shop. very good price (£6!!!!!! in 2023??? crazytown). i've been wanting to try and exercise a bit. for my brain more than for my body.

i should go to bed now. woke up at 10am this morning but now it's 3am. oh i did yoga too!! just felt like it. i have a creaky unused lil conker of a skeleton. she needed stretching wayyyy more than i realised. it was supposed to be relaxing meditation yoga but it make me a bit more stressed bc i couldn't stretch ffs. was fun anyway. it was for me. today was for me. it was taylor swifts birthday too today the swift society had a birthday party lol. it was fun. i made a terrible friendship bracelet with my own name on it. i won a prize. i was first on the kahoot for a bit. i'm not even that much of a swiftie. i think a girl flirted with me a tiny bit there? idk she probably didn't but i hope i'm right. i hope. i have hope right now. today was for me. night night.

[lucyfashion2]

1: Liquid gold

I really loved this trend as the garment appears silky and flowing when worn. It fits to the summer atmosphere so well as it has warm overall tones and would shine beautifully in the summer sun.

Below are some videos that showcase garments including the trend of liquid gold:

Ralph Lauren

FF Chanel. (2023). Ralph Lauren | Spring Summer 2024 | Full Show. [Online]. YouTube. Last Updated: Sep 9, 2023. Available at: https://youtu.be/33RlD_hVM4Y?si=3eHsMS8X98544Y-0 [Accessed 7 December 2023].

Blumarine

FF Chanel. (2023). Blumarine | Spring Summer 2024 | Full Show. [Online]. YouTube. Last Updated: Sep 21, 2023. Available at: https://youtu.be/P2KMZtGn1AM?si=6ZrZhb3tAomQifxs [Accessed 7 December 2023].

Tom Ford

TOM FORD. (2023). TOM FORD SUMMER 24. [Online]. YouTube. Last Updated: Sep 24, 2023. Available at: https://youtu.be/F5Wui2k45do?si=ZkIstgRZUGmzKIZc [Accessed 7 December 2023].

[0shewrites0]

liquid gold - epilogue

Epilogue - Three years later ❄️☃️🌨️

If you haven’t read Liquid Gold - tap here.

a/n | Happy Birthday to you @andiatas !! This is just a little something that I kind of promised you already lmao so it probably doesn’t come as a huge surprise. But I still hope you’ll like it 🫶🏼 Have fun reading and have the loveliest day today 🩷

tag list | @libelle949 @henri-my-sexy-paramedic @eskiix @hi-im-karla 🤍

[azureashes]

A Goddess for the King of Curses

ISTG MINORS DNI FFS PLS

TW: Noncon, double penetration, size kink, corruption kink, group noncon, gaslighting, mindbreaking, torture, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

And without further ado, enjoy... if you’re the same kind of crazy as me. 

Part two: here.

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There are syrupy rose petals spreading their sweetness on your tongue as your feet soak in wild honey. White silk is draped loosely over your frame. Baby’s breath is braided into your hair along with golden threads. Looking out from your raised velvet dais, you see rows and rows of villagers, paying obeisance to you.

One by one, the villagers step forward and dip small pieces of bread into the clay pot of honey at your feet. They believe the honey has gained healing properties and your mouth is too full of syrup and roses to tell them otherwise. And who knows, maybe it did have healing properties. Otherwise, what were they bowing and thanking you for? You watch them scoop up the amber liquid and listen to their supplications as they go.

“Please, my Lady,” a tearful old woman begged, her voice raspy with – what? Age, sickness, thirst? You had read of these terms in books but did not quite know what they meant, what they felt like. “My daughter, please let her be healthy again.”

You nod, because speech is reserved only for the most momentous occasions, and hope it’s enough for her. The monthly assembly was nearing its end and only a few stragglers remained. The day was nearly done with, and you were inclined to return to your chambers as soon as possible.

Your gaze had already slipped towards the next supplicant approaching when it happened. The woman reached out and touched the pale skin of your feet. An entreaty that transgressed sacred bounds. “Please, my lady!” the woman wept.

Before you could so much as respond, guards had already dragged the woman away from you. You didn’t know what she was thinking. She had to know that touching you was strictly forbidden, that it would mar your purity, ultimately affecting your ability to protect all of them with your sanctity as Priestess of the Goddess Terra.

The uniformed men showed no mercy, they raised their weapons and beat down on the old woman mercilessly. Your heart twinged with pain. You could understand their concern that the woman’s actions might have endangered the sacred temple and all who resided in its protection. But what was done was done and you abhorred violence.

“Enough!” the word was out of your mouth before you knew it and you were on your feet. Your fiery gaze narrowed at the men, and they hesitated nervously, realizing they had displeased you. Most of the residents of the temple had never even heard you speak and so, when your clear, commanding voice rang out throughout the temple hall everything ground to a halt. Time seemed to stand still.

“Tut, tut,” a sickly sweet voice rang out from behind you. The thick, velvet curtains parted, and the High Chamberlain stepped into view. He wore a tall, cylindrical hat that was inlaid with diamonds, and fashioned out of rich, mulberry velvet brocade. His spindly fingers were adorned with so many golden rings it was a wonder he could lift them at all. In fact, the platinum-haired man with the aquiline nose was so heavily weighed down by gold from head to toe it was a wonder he didn’t melt into a yellow puddle when passing by the kitchens. Only the ornate medallion on his chest, the mark of one anointed by the temple, was of burnished silver.

“You have displeased the Goddess.” His voice was deceptively soft, as was the usual manner for men who knew that they bore the kind of power that did not require them to raise their voices.

The men stood back at once, abashed. They brought their hands stiffly to their sides and bowed their heads in silent apology. The High Chamberlain stepped down the marble stairs with slow, measured steps. He approached them with disdain and gently helped the old woman to her feet.

“The goddess does not condone violence!” the chamberlain called out to the people at large, before turning to the two soldiers. “Do you intend to disgrace the temple by angering the goddess?” His voice was sharp and weighted with cold fury.

“Go. Take your families and leave this place. You are dismissed from your posts.” He turned away from them with a scowl, “Lest you bring damnation upon us all.”

He turned to the assembly with outstretched hands next. “Worshippers, please leave the temple now! The goddess must take her rest after the trying ordeal she has witnessed.” The men and women shouted praises to the goddess who had chosen to defend the common people over her own temple guards as four handsome young eunuchs approached with a palanquin. You were helped to your feet by your handmaidens, young girls who were sworn into your service from an early age and swore never to marry. As they carried you off, you could not help but glance at the two ashen-faced soldiers who looked like they had been sentenced to death. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. You weren’t sure whether justice had been served. But the High Chamberlain had spoken, and what did you know about the affairs of the people?

  “I’m not a goddess.”

The words were out almost as soon as you had reentered your chambers. You meant to sound indignant, but it came out petulant – childish, almost.

The High Chamberlain turned to you with a gentle smile. “I’m a priestess, Sig,” you insisted, “I worship the Goddess."

“Ah, and so you do.” He folded his hands over his staff, gold rings clinking as he did so. “I chose you myself so many years ago, because I saw the light of the goddess within you and knew you to be the next priestess.”

You frowned. You couldn’t help but feel that he was skirting the topic somehow, but you weren’t sure where he was leading. You settled deeper into your cushions and pulled the many silks around you closer. Your chambers were your favorite place in the temple, here you could be at ease, away from watchful eyes. Golden flowerpots littered the floors and tables, each with all sorts of fresh flowers picked from the gardens this morning. You liked to lie back on your silks, close your eyes, and pretend you were among them, on the grass, in the sunshine. Their bouquet’s sweet fragrance washed over you and you could almost believe it to be true.

“But through your worship, dear one, you have entered unto the goddess,” he smiled softly, and lowered his voice as if they were sharing a secret. “And the goddess has entered unto you.”

You pressed a palm to your chest where your heart thumped against your ribcage. Was it true?

“I strongly believe that you are the Chosen Priestess, who will save us all when the Great Evil arises.”

You frowned, unconvinced, “I’m sure you said that to my predecessor as well. And you’ll say it to my successor, too.”

Siegfried burst into amused laughter that ended in a cough. “You never cease to surprise me,” he shook his head. The two of you fell silent for a moment before he continued, “Do you know that your parents did not want to give you into the service of the temple?”

Wide-eyed, you turned to him now, perplexed, “why?”

The old priest shrugged, “Who knows? In their limited knowledge, they didn’t realize what a great honor the Calling that you had received was.”

He rose to his feet and made to leave, “Sometimes we cannot foresee the great glory that fate has yet to bestow upon us.” He winked at you, as if there was some riddle in his words for you to solve. You mulled over his meaning as he headed towards the door. You bit your lip when something puzzled you.

“Master Sig,” you called after him, causing him to stop in the doorway and turn towards you. “How did you change their minds? My parents, I mean?”

“Come now,” the High Chamberlain dismissed with a smile, “that is quite enough of the past.” He nodded at you and was gone.

  The Great Evil was coming.

You knew it. You could feel it in your bones.

You spent day and night at the sacred tree begging the goddess for protection. You supplicated unto the pearled staff that only the priestess of the age was ever allowed access to. You told the chamberlain about your worries whenever you had a chance, but he was far more concerned with running the temple than with taking your premonitions seriously. When nearby cities and kingdoms fell, when the sorcerers who were meant to stop the evil were crushed under its feet, when the monsters were only days away, all hell broke loose.

The temples treasures were packed up, the servants and monks rushed to and fro, the chamberlain himself was seen running from place to place, barking orders, his hat askew. Among all the chaos, you merely stood there, lost and confused.

It was as if they had forgotten all about you.

“Sig!” you called out to the chamberlain’s retreating back. He almost stumbled at the sound of your voice and whirled around with a glare in his eyes. It was almost as if he were angry with you, but that wasn’t possible… was it?

“Wh- what am I to do?” your voice came out smaller than intended. You had been preparing for this moment your whole life – you, and generations of priestesses before you. Now that it had come, were they all going to run away?

Siegfried sighed and the anger evaporated from his face, he cooed your name and walked towards you, righting his hat as he did so. “Listen to me carefully now,” he said sternly, and you could almost hear the old, collected Chamberlain in his voice. “You are the chosen priestess. You will face this evil, and you will defeat it by your virtue. The goddess is within you – no, you ARE the goddess. You must take the Sacred Staff and protect this country.” His gaze bore into you, compelling you to understand. He was the closest thing you had to a parent, he had raised you all your life. He was the only one you were given leave to speak to. And he was entrusting you with all of their fates.

You blinked, your eyes welling up with tears at the enormity of your task, but you nodded solemnly. This was your due. For all the years of worship that the countrymen had paid to you and your ancestors. It was time to fight the evil with the collected power of those prayers.

“I – “ he was already stumbling away again, now that he had placated you, “I will take the people away – somewhere safe!” He opened and closed his mouth a few times as sweat rolled down his temples. “I’d much rather be by your side to see your glorious victory, but - but the people need to be evacuated.” He nodded firmly to himself. “I will bring them back when you have vanquished the Great Evil.”

You watched his retreating back as he turned slowly away from you and then bolted for the temple’s exit. You took a soft, deep breath and looked around.

The temple was abandoned. It seemed all the others had fled while you were talking to Sig.

No matter, you shook your head. It was time.

You dressed in the white silks that had been prepared for the month’s assembly, they were of better use for the upcoming battle. Seven gold belts you clasped around your waist, each with a divine significance. Power, Wisdom, Eloquence, Generosity, Chastity, Divinity, and Judgment.

You knelt at the sacred tree a final time and bade the goddess Terra watch over you, before rising to your feet and turning to a side room. Here, was the Wreath of the Goddess and the Staff of Sanctity. The two tools you would use to vanquish the approaching evil. The Staff was a pearly white, and the Wreath was made of delicate golden flowers and leaves that were as soft to the touch as real flowers. You placed the wreath atop your head and lifted the staff gingerly in your hands.

The uppermost floor of the tower was your destination. Here, you would face the oncoming horde of evil. Here, you would take your stand and protect the people of this land who had worshipped you all your life.

You saw them approaching from afar. A mass of growling, burly demonic incarnations approaching like a thick plague. The very stench of their evil made your skin crawl, but you set your teeth and stood firm. The closer they drew, the weaker you felt, their demonic aura infringing upon your divine power. You closed your eyes and whispered a prayer for strength, replenishing the shield of divinity.

When the horde of demons drew within earshot, you breathed deep and called out, “Halt, accursed spirits! I am the Priestess of the Goddess Terra, and I forbid you entry within our borders! Heed my words, lest I sentence you to your deaths!”

The monsters turned towards one another, muttering to themselves before bursting into raucous laughter. Their jeers made your stomach turn. As if you had not spoken at all, they lurched back into action and continued approaching the temple walls. With a quiet incantation, you lifted the sacred staff and struck the ground with it. Immediately, a luminous, incandescent wall sprung to life between the temple and the evil beasts. They snarled at you and the first of them lifted a mace before bolting towards the barrier – only to disintegrate into nothingness as soon as he touched it.

You smirked to yourself, you were the chosen priestess, and you would protect your countrymen. A furious roar lifted from the monsters as they shuffled back and forth, wondering what to do. You watched them, hoping they would retreat peacefully, putting an end to the chaos when a pair of crimson eyes caught yours. Your breath caught in your throat, because there, among the disgruntled goblins was a man standing well over them, he had black markings on his face and four muscular arms, two of which were folded across his broad chest, but most shocking of all was the fact that he was looking straight at you with a wide, unhinged smirk, fangs gleaming in the sunlight.

Before you could blink, he had launched himself up through the air towards you, and as he approached the divine barrier, the last shield between you and the evil beyond - it shattered into a million pieces like the thinnest of glass. He squatted on the balcony’s railing, his nose millimeters from yours, his scarlet eyes flecked with gold and glowing with bloodlust.

“Boo,” he taunted, his smirk unfaltering. You could hear the cheers of victory behind and far below him as the demons breached the temple walls, but you could not tear your eyes from the murderous smile of the man before you. Instantly, you knew without a shadow of a doubt, that this man was the Great Evil you had been taught about all your life.

“I am the Priestess of Terra,” you murmured quietly, your breath ghosting over his lips. You furrowed your brows, trying your best to look imposing, trying your best to stand your ground, “and I will vanquish you.”

His nose twitched and his eyes gleamed, there was something of genuine delight in his response and you fought the shiver that went down your spine.

“Oh, yeah?” he sneered, stepping forward off the balcony railing. His sheer size forced you to take a step back. “Says who?”

“The goddess Terra has ordained me to –“ you begin, glancing backwards so you don’t fall to the floor.

“Goddess, shmoddess,” Sukuna dismissed with a cruel laugh. Like a strike of lightning his hand shot out, and closed around your face, his fingers reached to the tips of your ears and his palms smelled of blood and sweat.

He was touching you - touching you. And his touch was warm and foreign and – and bruising. Your head spun with fear. When the demon applied pressure, you could hear the bones of your jaw creaking in protest as he lifted you off of the ground. He swung you left and right like a ragdoll, “I’m asking you, who left you here to stand against me on your own?”

“Th- The people of Terrania, I –“ your voice was muffled against his palm and you could scarcely breathe. “I will protect them!” you choked out, before striking out with your staff, hoping the mere touch of such a divine instrument would be enough to take him down.

You held the point of the staff against his chest, and Sukuna glanced down at it, taken aback briefly. He blinked, then broke into a chuckle, as the pearly white spear took on a gray, and then an inky black hue spilling down from the point of contact with Sukuna’s chest towards the handle in your hand. You gasped in horror, watching the ominous display through the gaps in Sukuna’s fingers.

“That’s all well and good, brat…” he chuckled sinisterly, “but who is going to protect you?”

And in that moment, you lost all hope that anyone would.

“Sukuna-sama,” a voice called from beyond your vision. “The place is abandoned, there’s no one else here. The townspeople, too,” the gruff voice continued. “All gone.”

“Well, well, well…” Sukuna sneered. “Looks like it’s just you and me then, priestess.”

He released his hold on you and you crumpled to the ground like a used towel, coughing for breath. You glanced up at the mountain of a man and began to realize, for the very first time, that you were entirely out of your depth. You stumbled to your feet gingerly, unwilling to give up despite the overwhelming odds. “I am the incarnation of the Goddess Terra,” you rasped, “and I will bring you to your knees.”

“Ho?” Sukuna sneered, almost delighted by your stupidity. “My knees, huh?”

He stepped closer and grabbed you by your hair, sending the Wreath of the Goddess tumbling to the ground, you yelped in pain, but squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to let him see your fear.

“Oi,” Sukuna snapped gruffly, “eyes up here.”

You glared at him through the tears in your eyes. He tugged on your hair some more. “Does this hurt?” He grinned in mock-concern, “I’m only getting started. I thought you were gonna bring me down, you’ll have to do better than that.”

Your scalp burned with pain. You thought of roses in syrup, of clay pots of honey, of cool silks and soft velvets. Anything but the present moment.

“Don’t you hate them?” Sukuna jerked you closer towards himself, “The assholes who left a nobody like you alone with me?”

You bit back tears. “I will protect my worshippers,” you whispered thickly, muted by sobs stuck in your throat.

“You think they didn’t know what was going to happen to you?” Sukuna barked a laugh, “You really don’t see what’s happening here?”

With his free hand he grabbed your face again, squeezing your cheeks in until they hurt. “Don’t tell me you actually believe all that crap about being a goddess?!” A disbelieving laugh echoed against the abandoned temple walls.

“I was going to kill you,” Sukuna mused piercing your cheek with a sharp, black fingernail. You whimpered despite yourself as blood trickled towards your chin. “Impale you and use you as a flag, you know?” He snorted in amusement, as if the idea was a clever joke.

“But I think I have a better idea…”

You yelped in alarm as you felt yet another hand at your waist, you tried to jerk away from him, trembling at his touch – as foreign to you as the pain you were feeling for the first time in your life. You tried to swat his hands away, but he was quick to catch your hands in one of his own, and then twisting them until they hurt.

“Now don’t be such a prude,” Sukuna taunted as his other hands sliced through the seven golden belts one at a time. “Let’s see what’s under here, shall we?”

“Stop, please…” you whimpered, eyes brimming with tears.

“You’re not a goddess,” Sukuna tutted, throwing two belts to the ground.

Power. Wisdom.

“Not a priestess,”

Judgment. Eloquence. Generosity.

“Not the savior of these stinking humans,”

Divinity.

The last of the golden belts clattered to the floor and his hands reached between the folds of silk and cupped the mound between your legs. A shuddering sob escaped your throat.

“You’re just a woman.”

Chastity.

He rubbed at your clothed sex, observing the conflicting emotions of horror, pleasure and fear splayed openly across your face. “Looks like the goddess likes it,” Sukuna sneered.

The tears you held at bay came bubbling over. The sounds of the temple  - your childhood home, your only home - being ransacked by the many cursed spirits that had stormed in echoed through the halls and instead of protecting your shrine, here you were being touched,  touched, by the great evil himself in ways you didn’t understand.

“They steal little girls like you from their parents,” Sukuna continued gruffly, adjusting his grip so that two hands held you up by your thighs, pressing your legs apart and pinning you against a large, marble pillar, while the other two ventured up your abdomen and over your breasts each inch that his hands wandered over you caused cold dread to creep up your spine, when suddenly – without warning – his sharp nails came down, tearing your silk robes to shreds.

You gasped in horror and sheer humiliation. You had never been exposed to anyone, not even your handmaidens, and here you were spread open like a gutted pig. And beyond that, the eyes of the great evil were feasting on you as if you were no more than a morsel for him to devour.

You winced when he reached out towards you. You had spent your life untouched, and when Sukuna’s hands closed in on you, his touch was never less than punishing. He squeezed, he pinched, he scraped your flesh, as if he could only feel you when you were in pain. He grabbed your breasts and squeezed mercilessly, his sharp black nails digging into your skin. For reasons, you could not comprehend, you moaned through your hiccupping sobs.

This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t happening.

“They look for the most gullible ones, unsuspecting idiots like you,” he twisted your nipple cruelly as he went on. “And use you to fill their own koffers, to bring in the fools who are willing to part with their gold. And you know what the best part is?” He lowered his head towards your ear to reveal it, but broke off laughing. The idea was so ridiculous to him, it didn’t look like he could help but laugh. He leaned against you, crushing you into the pillar as he continued laughing hysterically. You watched him helplessly, suspended against the pillar spread-eagle with your most intimate area pressed up against him, your eyebrows knitted in confusion, your cheeks damp with tears.

When the roar of laughter abated, Sukuna wiped at his eyes and brought his lips to your ears, “When those bastards left you here, do you really think they thought you would fight me?” He waited a beat for you to think it over. You hesitated, hadn’t Sig expected her to fight? “They must have thought you’d have the good sense to run away.” Sukuna burst out laughing again and pressed one hand to his stomach as if it hurt from laughter.

“You see? You see what an absolute fool you are?”

You could not respond and simply stared at him blankly. “Th-that’s not true…”

But you weren’t sure. You thought about how Sig had fled without another glance backwards. How the monks and handmaidens had run from the temple without once asking after you. How they had left you behind as if you were no more human than the temple’s paintings or statues.

“Everyone knew it was a lie,” Sukuna hissed sadistically into your ear, as he tore the simple, remaining scrap of fabric from between your legs.

“Everyone but you.”

And then his fingers were inside of you.

You cried out in shock. “No, no, no…” You fought against him with what little strength you had. You didn’t know what this was, but it was wrong, it was so, so wrong. “Stop!” You pounded against his chest hoping to catch him off guard so he would release you, but those long, thick fingers only kept exploring the hole between your legs.

“Stop it! Please! I’ll do whatever you want!”

“Oh yes, you will,” Sukuna smirked. Catching both of your wrists in one of his hands he pinned them above your head, leaving you utterly defenseless. You looked on in horror as he reached for the sacred staff and held it in his bare hand. The Sacred Staff. The divine gift that no one but the priestesses had touched for over a hundred years. In the hands of the Great Evil. And whose fault was that? No one’s but yours. The onyx marble glistened in the sunlight and a salacious sneer spread across the monster’s lips.

“Be honest with yourself, goddess,” he teased, bringing the staff between your legs. He pressed the cold marble against your womanhood and slid it slowly up and down, enjoying your look of despair at his manhandling your divine weapon. The cool marble slipped between your folds and touched something between your legs that caused you to jerk in response.

“Stop it,” you whimpered, letting your head hang in shame, even as your legs trembled against his hold with the strange, unfamiliar sensation. You could feel something coiling within your stomach, something you had first attributed to fear, but now you weren’t so sure anymore.

“What? You don’t like it?” Sukuna hummed with sadistic pleasure, “Don’t lie, brat.”

“I don’t!” you denied vehemently, even as your cheeks burned. But what could you do? With your legs pressed open and your hands pinned over your head, struggle as you might, there was no overpowering the great demon before you. Your eyes burned with guilt at what you had allowed to become of the sacred staff. If only a more powerful priestess had been in your place.

The thought was cut short by another entirely. Sukuna had said the temple kidnapped young, naïve girls. And what was it that Siegfried had said? That your parents had been unwilling to give you up? Maybe there were no priestesses more powerful. Maybe there was only a string of ignorant young women preyed upon by powerful men who made their fortunes off of them.

No, the idea was blasphemous!

Your thoughts were cut short as something cool and round demanded entrance and you shivered despite yourself. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“Think it’ll fit?” Sukuna mused, pressing the bulbous head of the staff against your opening. He prodded the hole carelessly once, twice, and each time a jolt passed through your body. “Stop!” you demanded, anxious sweat beading on your forehead, you opened your mouth to say more but nothing came out as a searing pain tore through you like fire.

A scream erupted from your throat as your untouched inner walls were forced to give way to the cold stone. Distantly, as if a world away, you could hear Sukuna laughing, enjoying your pain. Before your scream had even abated, he began shoving the staff deeper. Your cries broke off into sobs of pain, but the more you suffered, the more he seemed to be enjoying himself.

He pulled the staff out, only to ram it back into you, and smirked each time you jolted at the intrusion. You sobbed messily, tears and snot streaming down your face. Sukuna showed no signs of stopping, or even slowing, his punishing pace continued mercilessly until blood streamed between your legs.

“Pl- please…” you sniffled.

“Please what?” Sukuna asked, but rammed the ancient relic back into you as you opened your mouth to reply. “Come now, goddess, full sentences, please.”

Something awful was building and you didn’t know what it was - you hoped it was a swift death - but your breath shortened, and your body felt wound like a spring, and just as a dozen cursed spirits streamed into the room to give their report to Sukuna, you cried out in confusion as your body spasmed, your nerve ends tingling like grains of sand.

Sukuna pulled your staff from between your legs, and it hurt as if your insides themselves were clenching onto the stone instrument. You fell forward like a dead weight, hanging limply from where Sukuna held your wrists.

“Step forward men,” Sukuna all but purred, gesturing towards you magnanimously, “meet your goddess.”

Your face burned with shame and tears dripped down from your lashes onto the temple floor where they mingled with your blood. You trembled still with the force of whatever it was that had happened to you and closed your eyes from the humiliating experience.

“Oi,” Sukuna gripped your chin and raised your face towards him. “Don’t be a bore, goddess. Look at them.” He turned your face towards the creatures that had entered. A few bore a resemblance to men, others were half-beast, and others still were what could only be described as monsters with tentacles, fangs, and all manner of bodily deformities.

“See that look in their eyes?” Sukuna murmured into your ear, his fangs brushing your earlobe. “They want a turn, too. What do you say, should I hand you over?”

You turned your head towards him in horror, your eyes imploring him not to, as a cheer broke out among the cursed spirits.

You shook your head desperately as Sukuna finally released you, giving you a shove towards the gathering. They caught hold of you before you had even caught your footing, dragging you into the center of their circle. Their eyes were almost worse than their hands, the hunger with which those fearsome eyes raked over you was nauseating. You cried and screamed and begged them to stop, but your voice was drowned out by theirs. Nothing could stop them fighting over every inch of your flesh. You were groped and prodded at, licked in more places than you could count at once. It was as if you were drowning in hands and tongues.

But as bad as it was when they fought over you, it was worse still when they cooperated with one another. Bruising hands pinned you down while the others explored your body freely, taking turns mouthing your breasts and fondling you. There were so many voices, so much warm breath on your skin, so many faces, you shut your eyes and sobbed miserably.

You prayed that Sig would pull you away. That your guards would beat them down. That the goddess Terra would come to save you, but you knew it was all in vain. Deep down, you were beginning to realize. You were nothing more than a girl who had been stolen from her parents. After all, a true goddess could never find herself in such a situation, could she? Being raped to death in her own temple?

It was when an overeager cursed spirit positioned his member between your legs that you realized with startling clarity, that there was one person who could save you.

“Sukuna-sama!” you screamed, pulling your face away from another spirit seeking entrance at your mouth. They hesitated, confirming your suspicions. There was one person who could call them off, who might call them off still. “Sukuna…” you called again, but your voice was weaker this time. You squeezed your eyes shut and gave yourself up to the only true power you had yet to witness.

“Please, I’ll do anything! Please!”

When you opened your eyes again, Sukuna was standing beside you staring down at where you were held spread-eagle on the floor.

The mirth was gone from his face. He was regarding you seriously. A cocked brow, a challenge. “Anything?”

You nodded, tears still flowing from your eyes. He jerked his chin at the spirits, signaling for them to leave off and they scrambled backwards, not daring to challenge him. You rose to sit before him, your legs tucked beneath you as you used to sit in the temple library. Your shoulders shook still, and you wiped your face with the back of your arm, trying to regain a sense of decorum even as you could not stop yourself from trembling. You glanced down at your blood-stained legs and your tear-streaked arms, waiting for Sukuna’s verdict.

“You could be my mascot, like I said. I could string you up nicely,” Sukuna mused, leaning back against a pillar as he rested one booted foot on your shoulder. “What else could you possibly be good for? Apart from your leather, maybe.”

What were you good for? Nothing, clearly. You didn’t even know a single thing about yourself. But… you knew everything about the goddess.

“Do you want me to die a martyr?” you asked, meeting his eyes clearly, the faintest spark of hope coming to life within you. “Or do you want them to see that I’ve recognized the power of a true god?” It might work, appeal to his ego, he was the type, wasn’t he?

Sukuna’s lips split into a broad smile. “Clever little thing, aren’t you?” He pushed at your shoulder with his booted foot, sending you sprawling onto your back on the tiled floor. He then took hold of your wrist and lifted you up from the floor until you were eye level. You swallowed thickly and did your best to meet his gaze, there was a dangerous spark in those glowing red irises. “But I don’t like the look in your eyes,” he decided. “Should I take them out?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Did he mean that?

“Break in the goddess, huh?” He smirked, “Well, let’s get started, then.” As he pulls you towards the balcony you begin to understand what he has in store for you.

“I’ll be obedient!” You cry, realizing you’re in for more pain as you struggle to keep up with his steps. “I’ll do everything you say! Please, no more!”

“And how on earth are you going to be obedient?” He sneered, “When you’re arguing with me already?”

He throws you towards a wooden table.

The monks used to eat dinner here, you remember. They would thank you for the meal and eat humbly with gentle smiles. Your back slams against the surface of the wooden table and the candlesticks clatter across the temple floor. You scamper backwards, as if seeking to escape over the table, but Sukuna takes hold of your shoulder and flips you onto your chest, the rough wood scraping at your skin. In one fluid movement, Sukuna catches your wrists in his hand and slams your staff against the nearest wall, sending the marble bulb sailing through the air for him to catch in a third hand. He stabs the jagged edge of your now-broken staff through the backs of your hands, held one over the other, and clear through the wooden table.

You don’t even realize you are screaming until the pain in your throat becomes unbearable. You sob against the unfinished wood and Sukuna shakes his head behind you. “Tsk, tsk, tsk… What was that about being obedient?”

“I’ll be good, I promise…” you mutter nonsensically, your words slurred with pain. “You can trust me.”

“I’ll trust you when I break you,” Sukuna answers automatically. His attention caught by the marble, stone ball in his hand, still covered with your blood and your juices.

“Say ahh~” he grins, holding the orb of your broken staff to your lips. You’re about to protest, when your gaze catches on the cursed spirits still watching, waiting only a few feet away for you to screw up and be thrown back into their midst.

If you were going to be violated, wouldn’t it be better for Sukuna to be the one? He was just one demon, he had to wear out eventually, right? You opened your mouth, and Sukuna shoved the ball inside, scraping past your teeth. It was too big. It hurt. You couldn’t swallow. You could already feel saliva pooling in your mouth.

“Good girl,” Sukuna purred, “how’s that?” You couldn’t answer but you tried anyway, hoping the garbled sound would somehow please him. It seemed to do the job, because he asked no further questions as he moved back behind you.

It was awful. Your hands were burning, you almost wished he would have just cut them off instead. Every ever so tiny movement only widened your wounds, worsening your pain. The discomfort of the rough, wooden table almost didn’t register in comparison, but the burning embarrassment of your exposed backside hurt almost more than your hands. You tried to blend it all out, to disappear into some safe space in your mind as Sukuna slowly marched towards the end of the table trailing a sharp, black fingernail along your spine as he did so.

Sukuna didn’t like to give you any sort of pleasure without also giving you pain, you were starting to realize, and you grit your teeth for what you knew would be a humiliating experience, even more so with the other spirits looking on.

What you didn’t expect was for the palm of his hand to strike your backside with such force that the table splintered beneath you. Your hoarse throat cried out in pain. You could feel the bits of wood digging into your thighs, but could do nothing at all as he repeated the motion, again, and again, and again. Each strike seemed to travel up through your whole body, each strike seemed like it would split your skin. It was an endless, raw pain. You had no idea how long it went on for, but it continued until you gave up screaming, and your face lay limp in a puddle of your own drool.

When your body went slack and you were teetering on the edge of consciousness, and he could no longer provoke a reaction out of you, he finally stilled his hand. He pulled your face up by your hair, and your eyes rolled weakly up towards him, a string of spittle stretching from your chin to the table.

“You’re not finished already, are you?” he taunted, bright-eyed and sadistic. He rubbed gently at your backside now, almost as if easing away the pain and you blinked in weak confusion. What… what was he doing?

“That’s just the thing, goddess,” he slipped his hand between your cheeks, sliding up and down, spreading a strange slick liquid between your legs. “Don’t pass out on me now, if I wanted to fuck a corpse, I would have just killed you in the first place.” You moaned weakly. You had no idea what was going on, but it felt good, and you were so desperate to feel good. When his fingers slipped inside of you this time, there was nothing awful about it, you sighed against the table and closed your eyes in relief. Sure, there were still chips of wood in your thighs and the blood on your hands had crusted around your staff, and your jaw ached so terribly you did not believe there was a way to remove the ball of marble from your mouth. You were starting to hate the staff, and the wreath, and the temple, and everything about this place.

You relaxed into his touch, hoping that the more pliant you were, the less inclined he would be to cause you more pain. You felt thick, hard flesh prodding at your entrance, sliding up and down, just as his hand had a minute ago, to part your folds and slip inside. But something was wrong, whatever it was he wanted to violate you with now, it was too big, it would never fit. You glanced over your shoulder, trying to make sense of what was happening to you and your eyes widened in alarm as you saw not one, but two, erect members protruding from between his legs, each of them bigger than a man’s fist. He was going to literally tear you apart. He had no intention of letting you live.

All lethargy forgotten, you whimpered in fear and struggled to pull away from him, but two firm hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you in place. “Now, now… don’t be that way,” he scolded with a cruel smirk. “Open wide.”

He forced himself inside of you with a thrust that should have split you clean in two. The sound that escaped from your mouth was something between a groan and a scream. You gasped, panting against the obstruction in your mouth as your inner walls burned with pain. You squeezed your eyes shut and whimpered against the table trying to spread your feet further apart, anything to ease the agonizing stretch.

But Sukuna cared little for your comfort. He continued ramming into you, aiming to push deeper and deeper inside of you, not having nearly had his fill. Each thrust makes you dizzy, each time he shoves further inside of you, you’re sure he’ll tear you apart.

It’s all together too much. Another orgasm crashes over you, despite the pain, causing your walls to squeeze down on him. You shiver uncontrollably against the table, wondering – hoping – if you could just black out until he’s done.

You feel the flat of his palm against your bare back and your eyes fall to half-mast as he shoves into you – again – again – again. You loll forward with each thrust, widening the wounds on your hands. When Sukuna finally gives pause with a groan, one hand on each side of you, leaning over you on the table, you turn your head weakly to look up at him.

It’s strange, to meet his eyes this way. It’s almost intimate. Being shadowed by him this way, covered by him. It’s strange how in the course of just a few hours, his touch had gone from horrid and strange to familiar. Strange. Perhaps it was simply her addled, exhausted mind.

You could not look away from him, and he did not seem to be inclined to do so either. He began rocking into you, eating up your expressions, each wince of pain, each moan of pleasure, each jolt of overstimulation. Did it make him feel powerful, you wondered, to be able to give you agony or ecstasy at his leisure, to switch them up at a whim, always leaving you guessing?

Just when you thought you had reached the point of no return, you felt him position his second member behind you. But what did he intend to do? You were stretched to your limit, there was no way he could fit another where he had forced the first – but the question answered itself almost as soon as it crossed your mind.

You turned wide eyes towards Sukuna, who smirked, feasting off your fear. You tried to say something, some protest about how wrong that was, but all that reached his ears around the ball in your mouth was helpless, desperate whines.

“Look at you,” Sukuna chided, lifting your chin from the table where you had made a mess, the wood softening from your pooled saliva. “Disgusting.” Your stomach did some odd flip at the word. It was an insult. So, why did it feel…

All thoughts were banished from your mind as his second member began squeezing into your narrow entrance. It hurt. It hurt so, so, so much. It hurt more than your jaw and more than your hands and more than losing your maidenhood to your own staff had. You sobbed against the table, your tears mixing with your saliva, and still Sukuna pushed on.

You didn’t know when the pain faded. Maybe it hadn’t faded at all, but it was now accompanied by another sensation. Something filthy, something animalistic, something intoxicating.

There was a type of urgency to his movements now, and you could hear the wooden table legs skidding over the stone floor with each thrust quickening in pace. Your breaths were starting to come fast and short again, and to your immense surprise, so did his. There was that coil tightening in your belly again, the tension throughout your body that you realized would be released shortly, and then it hit you – he was feeling the same thing.

The feeling of fullness drove you nearly out of your mind. Each thrust seemed to kill off a little of your sanity. Did it hurt? Was it torture? Or was it divine? Did you wish he would leave you alone or did you wish he would never stop? You didn’t rightly know.

Feeling both members slick in and out of you at the same time, perfectly in sync, filling you so perfectly you thought you could almost feel him in your throat. Your eyes crossed over as you gave yourself up to him. It was okay. It had to be. Everyone was gone. They had left you with him. It had to be okay to let him have you. To let him ravage you however he liked. It had to be okay if it felt this good.

He was also this close to reaching that strange, indescribable height that you knew you ought not to feel, being bared and violated in your own temple like this. But it was all a lie anyway, wasn’t it? And as opposed to always sitting still, and being silent, you felt more alive like this, on the precipice of agony and pleasure at the same time, waiting for someone as awful as Sukuna to push you over.

It tore out of you with a scream of pleasure, you all but convulsed against the table with the sheer impact of the climax that washed over you. Sukuna came shortly after, his pace stuttering, and then you could feel something warm and pleasant gushing into you. What could that be? Copious amounts of it, it felt like, pumping into you and flowing back out, dripping onto the floor between your legs. Sukuna lowered himself for a fraction of a moment, his chest almost grazing your back.

Panting, losing consciousness, your eyes met his. He made a sound that was something between a scoff and a chuckle, “That’s the thing sweetheart, you can’t pretend to be broken.”

“Mmm..” you answered, your eyes fluttering closed. Darkness was closing in. Were you dying? Or falling asleep? You had no idea. Sukuna had spoken so softly his minions couldn’t possibly have heard him. But as you drifted off, you held onto a single word… sweetheart.

  Days and nights passed. Some with torture, some with starvation, some with agonizing ecstasy to drive you out of your mind. Some days he left you alone in a dark room until there was no way to know whether or not he had left you to your death. Others he whispered sweet, meaningless nothings into your ear just to see how it made you shiver. Some days he called you disgusting trash not worth his time. Others he called you goddess.

Both were starting to feel the same.

It was exhilarating just to have his attention. Just to have him look at you. Just to not be alone. It felt good to be struck by him. Almost as good as it felt to have him jerk your head back by your hair so he could fuck you harder. And when all was said and done, you were broken in every sense of the word, but that was okay, because you had never felt so whole.

When he marched on your townspeople it was with you on his shoulder, draped in skimpy, barely-there red silks and gold chains. You wore the Wreath of the Goddess around your neck like a collar, and your arms were wrapped around Sukuna’s neck. He didn’t even need to put you down to kill the few rebels that took up arms. And when the rest of them surrendered to his might, you felt giddy watching Sig and the others kneel before Master Sukuna. The burning villages, the ruined fields, didn’t it serve them right?

And just to prove a point, he’d dragged you onto his lap and fucked his goddess in front of the entire assembly. Bouncing you up and down until your eyes crossed in delirious pleasure. With the townspeople looking on in equal measures of shock and concern, with Sukuna’s big, warm hands on your hips, guiding you -

You’d never felt so pure.

[novaursa]

Chasing the Inferno

- Summary:  It was during Rhaenyra’s and Laenor’s wedding feast, that the king noticed something he was blind to for far too long.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Harwin Strong

This whole work is inspired by this brilliant anonymous ask:

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, has striking resemblance to her late grandmother Alyssa and is younger sister of Rhaenyra. These events happen after The Flames We Hide. To read all the chapters in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 3 532

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The evening air carries the scents of roasted meats, spiced wine, and fresh flowers into the grand hall, mingling with the vibrant sounds of revelry. The hall is a living tapestry of silks, banners, and candlelight, casting everything in hues of crimson and gold. A sea of finely dressed lords and ladies flows beneath the arched ceiling, the thrumming heart of the grand wedding feast of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon.

You arrive with the grace and splendor expected of a Targaryen princess, a vision that commands the attention of every eye that lands on you. The dress you wear is a rich deep plum, the color of ripened plums at dusk, lined with golden thread that shimmers in the light. The sleeves are long and bell-shaped, flowing with each movement, while the bodice is tightly laced with intricate embroidery of dragons in flight. Around your neck, a delicate chain bears a pendant of a dragon curled around a glittering ruby—a gift from your father. Your silver hair is braided in intricate patterns, falling down your back with hints of shimmering ribbons intertwined through each strand. 

You sit beside Rhaenyra at the high table, your twin sister glowing with happiness under her finely woven veil. She leans toward you with a playful smirk. “I see you’ve decided to steal the attention for yourself tonight, Y/N. Not even the newlywed princess is safe from your charms.”

You laugh softly, returning her smirk. “It’s not stealing, dearest sister, merely borrowing for the evening.” Your eyes flick toward the bustling crowd, scanning the faces, seeking a particular one even as you engage in idle conversation.

You find him across the hall—Ser Harwin Strong, the Breakbones, the man who has captured your heart in ways you would never openly admit. His broad shoulders and easy smile cut a striking figure amidst the revelers. He leans against a pillar, eyes fixed on you with a heat that makes your pulse quicken. Even from here, you can feel the intensity of his gaze, the unspoken challenge in those dark eyes. A smirk pulls at your lips. Tonight is not just about celebrating your sister’s marriage—it is a dance, a game of fire and shadow that you and Harwin have played many times before.

As the feast progresses, the lords and ladies rise from their seats, drawn to the center of the hall where the dancing begins. You stand, gracefully gliding down the steps, the train of your gown trailing like liquid night behind you. Many lords vie for your attention, each more eager than the last to have the honor of a dance with the daughter of the King.

You indulge them—one by one, offering your hand with a practiced smile that promises nothing but amusement. Lord Beesbury twirls you first, his steps light but unremarkable. Lord Tyrell is next, his flattery sweet yet forgettable. Each time the music swells, you shift, gliding seamlessly into the arms of another suitor, all while casting sly glances over your shoulder to see if Harwin is watching.

And he is. His eyes never leave you, following every step, every spin, the set of his jaw tightening each time you turn away just as he moves closer. You can feel his impatience building like a storm, the tension of the game heightening with every dance.

Finally, after what feels like endless teasing, you find yourself caught in a whirl of movement, spinning until you are only steps away from him. Harwin’s expression is a mix of hunger and frustration as he makes his move to claim you at last.

But just as his hand reaches for yours, you slip away, turning instead into the arms of a young knight from the Westerlands, offering him a dazzling smile that is only for show. “My, Ser Harwin, are you growing weary of this dance already?” you tease, your voice lilting as you catch his gaze. You can see the fire in his eyes, a silent vow that he will not let you slip away so easily next time.

When the dance ends, the Westerlander knight bows low, eyes filled with admiration as he releases you. And as you turn, Harwin is there—closer than before, a step ahead of any other. This time, you do not pull away when his hand grasps yours, his grip firm and warm, sending a shiver down your spine. His voice is low, rough with suppressed desire, as he murmurs into your ear. “Do you truly believe you can keep running from me, Y/N?”

You tilt your head, lips curving into a smirk as you meet his gaze fully, violet and brown heat clashing. “Run, Ser Harwin? I am only leading the chase.”

Without giving him the satisfaction of a response, you spin away from him, the hem of your dress sweeping across the floor as you are swallowed back into the crowd. You glance back over your shoulder just long enough to catch the frustration in his expression before disappearing into the throng of lords and ladies once more. Harwin will catch you like he always does—of that you have no doubt. The thrill is in making him work for it.

But for now, the game continues, and you savor every moment of it.

The night is young, and so are you—dragon-blooded and bold, playing with fire and reveling in the heat that comes with it.

The music swells, a lively tune that fills the hall with mirth and energy, but it does little to settle the unease that creeps into King Viserys’ chest. Seated at the high table, he holds a goblet of wine, though he has barely touched it. His gaze drifts from one side of the room to the other, watching the mingling guests, the lords and ladies spinning in intricate dances. Yet his eyes keep returning to the center of the hall, where Rhaenyra and Daemon move together with a fluid grace that borders on impropriety.

His brow furrows as he watches them—his daughter and his brother. The distance between them is too narrow, the smiles exchanged too familiar. Even now, after all these years, Viserys cannot fully discern what lies behind those shared glances. His hand tightens on the armrest of his seat, his knuckles whitening with the effort to maintain composure. The court is watching; he cannot afford to let his concerns show. Not here. Not tonight.

But then, from the corner of his eye, something else catches his attention—a flash of deep plum silk, a braid of silver hair glinting in the candlelight. His eyes shift, narrowing as he tracks the movement, and there you are, his younger daughter, Y/N, weaving through the crowd with that same effortless grace, the very image of your late mother Alyssa in her youth.

Viserys watches as you glide from one partner to the next, a playful smile ever present on your lips. Each lord who steps forward is charmed, entranced even, but there is one figure whose presence never strays far from your orbit—Ser Harwin Strong. The son of his current Hand, a man known for his strength and loyalty, but also for the intensity of his gaze, a gaze that now rests solely on you. 

Viserys leans forward slightly, frowning as he observes the exchange unfolding before him. Harwin moves closer, clearly intent on catching you, and you—ever the playful one—tease him with fleeting glances, spinning just out of his reach each time he draws near. The way your eyes gleam with mischief, the way you turn your back only to glance over your shoulder at him, invites more than just a dance. It’s a game, and one that is all too familiar to Viserys, who remembers his own youth, and the thrill of such pursuits.

But then Harwin catches you. His large hand wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, closer than what is proper for a dance in front of the entire court. Your laughter rings out like silver bells, light and teasing as you push back against him, yet the way Harwin’s hand lingers—fingers splayed possessively against the silk of your gown—does not escape your father’s notice. The look on Harwin’s face is far too unguarded, a mixture of admiration and longing that sends a jolt of concern racing through Viserys.

Viserys’ chest tightens as he watches you lean in, saying something that makes Harwin’s smile sharpen, though the words are lost to the music and laughter that fills the hall. Then, just as quickly as he caught you, you slip away again, your skirts swirling as you twirl out of his grasp, leaving Harwin standing in the middle of the floor with a look of mingled frustration and desire. The scene plays out before Viserys like a vivid memory, like something he should have noticed sooner, something he should have acted upon long before tonight.

His eyes narrow as he follows the thread of events with growing unease. You laugh and dance your way out of the hall, light-footed and swift, and though Harwin remains behind for a few moments, his gaze tracks you with the keen eye of a falcon. Then, as discreetly as he can manage, Harwin moves toward the exit, following you.

Viserys’ grip on his goblet tightens until he fears it might shatter in his hand. He remains rooted to his seat, unwilling to cause a scene, yet the implications churn in his mind like a dark tide. The daughter who bears his blood, a Targaryen of pure lineage, slipping away with the son of his Hand? It is unthinkable—and yet, Viserys cannot ignore the undeniable connection between the two of you. The way you moved in tandem, how easily you played off one another as if you were two parts of a whole. It stirs something in Viserys, a deep-seated dread that this could lead to something more—something he has not prepared for.

His gaze shifts, and he meets the eyes of Lord Lyonel Strong. The Hand is seated farther down the table, looking distinctly uncomfortable, as though he too is aware of the precarious position his son is placing him in. When their eyes lock, Viserys does not miss the brief flash of unease in Lyonel’s expression, followed quickly by a nod of acknowledgment, as if to say he understands what Viserys is thinking. And, undoubtedly, he does.

The memory rushes back, clear as day—months ago, when Lyonel Strong came to him with a proposition a second time. “Your Grace,” Lyonel had said, his voice steady and filled with the gravity of a man who understood the weight of his words, “there are many fine matches to be made for your daughter, Y/N, from prominent houses across the realm. But I would humbly suggest that what my son Harwin offers may be worth more than mere lineage. His devotion to the princess is unwavering, and his love is without question. He would be a husband who honors her above all else, a union built on something deeper than mere alliances.”

At the time, Viserys had dismissed the notion—politely, but firmly. His daughter was a Targaryen, and surely she deserved a match that would strengthen their house politically, not merely satisfy matters of the heart. Yet now, watching the scene unfold before him, Viserys finds himself second-guessing his decision. Could there be merit in such a match after all? Could Lyonel’s words hold more truth than Viserys had been willing to see? But then again, to allow such a thing would be to acknowledge a love affair that has clearly grown far beyond simple courtly affection.

Viserys’ thoughts whirl, torn between the duty of a king and the love of a father. He knows that if he raises the matter now, it could cast a shadow over the entire evening, drawing unwelcome attention to something that should remain hidden, if only for the sake of peace. And yet, can he afford to remain silent, knowing the path that such unchecked desire could lead his daughter down? His gaze flicks back to the entrance where you vanished, and a part of him itches to rise from his seat, to go after you and demand answers.

But he stays rooted in place, forced into inaction by the eyes of the court and the weight of his crown. Instead, his gaze returns to Lyonel, and he sees the older man swallow nervously before looking away, clearly wishing to be anywhere else. The tension between them is palpable, unspoken yet undeniable.

Viserys takes a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. The decision he makes next could have lasting consequences, for both you and the realm. As the music swells and the laughter of the court continues around him, the king’s mind churns, trapped in a web of duty, love, and fear.

For now, he decides to wait—he will watch, and if Harwin oversteps again, then the matter will be brought to light. But the seed of doubt has already taken root in Viserys’ heart, and it will not be easily dismissed.

The night is long, but Viserys’ thoughts are longer still.

You slip through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, your heart thrumming in your chest as you make your way deeper into its shadowed recesses. The sound of music and laughter fades behind you as you reach a secluded passage, hidden away from the eyes of the court. This path is familiar, a secret shared only between the two of you. You’ve met here before, during stolen moments when the weight of duty and the eyes of others became too much to bear. The flickering torchlight casts long shadows along the stone walls, giving the space an almost dreamlike quality. Yet there is nothing dreamlike about the tension that crackles in the air as you wait, anticipation coiling like a serpent beneath your skin.

Footsteps echo faintly down the passage, the heavy tread unmistakable. A smirk tugs at your lips as you press your back against the cool stone, the thrill of the chase still buzzing in your veins. He always catches you in the end; it’s a part of the game, a part of the dance you both know so well. You hear him approach, his steps purposeful, a hunter closing in on his prey. You hold your breath, relishing the thrill of being caught, knowing what comes next.

And then he’s there—Ser Harwin Strong, towering and fierce, the firelight casting sharp angles across his rugged features. He looks at you with that smoldering gaze, dark and intense, his chest heaving as he closes the distance between you. “You run from me as if you ever wanted to get away,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

You don’t reply with words, only a wicked smile that dares him to come closer. And he does, with a predatory grace, until his body is pressed against yours, trapping you between the stone wall and his broad chest. “Caught you,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, one hand sliding up to cradle your jaw while the other grips your waist possessively.

Before you can retort, his lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s all fire and hunger, the pent-up tension of the night spilling over as he devours you with a need that’s impossible to hide. You kiss him back with equal fervor, fingers tangling in his dark curls as you pull him closer, desperate to close the distance that’s been kept between you all night. Every touch, every bite and nip, is laced with the emotions you can’t express openly—a love too dangerous to voice in the light of day, but undeniable in moments like this.

Harwin’s hands roam over your body with a familiarity that sends heat pooling in your core. He tugs at the laces of your gown, his fingers rough but practiced, until the fabric loosens and falls away, exposing the soft skin of your neck and shoulders. You gasp against his lips as he nips at your throat, the scrape of his teeth drawing a moan from your lips. His own garments follow suit—his tunic and belt discarded hastily, the sound of cloth hitting stone echoing faintly in the small space.

The air between you crackles with a desperate need, the kind that’s built up over countless stolen moments, secret touches, and longing glances. There’s no pretense here, no titles or duties—only the raw, unfiltered connection between you. Harwin’s hands slide down your waist, gripping your hips firmly as he lifts you, pressing you harder against the wall. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, gasping as you feel him against you, hard and ready. The anticipation coils tightly in your belly, every nerve alive with want.

His eyes meet yours for a fleeting moment, and in them, you see everything he can’t say aloud—devotion, desire, and the promise that he would burn the world for you if you asked. But words are unnecessary now. You reach down, guiding him until he’s pressed right where you need him most. There’s a brief, charged pause—a moment where everything hangs on the edge—and then he pushes into you in one smooth, powerful motion.

The world tilts, pleasure and need blurring everything else as he sets a rhythm, hard and fast, the way he knows you both like it. It’s familiar and yet never loses its edge—each thrust, each gasp, sending sparks of electricity through you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, biting down on the rough skin to muffle your cries, while his own growls of pleasure vibrate against your ear. His hands grip you tightly, fingers digging into your flesh as he moves, driving into you with a force that leaves you breathless.

But it’s not just the physical pleasure that binds you in this moment. It’s the intimacy, the shared understanding that this is where you both belong—together, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world. Here, you are not a princess, and he is not merely the son of the Hand. Here, you are simply two people who have found something rare and precious, something that defies the rules of the world you live in.

He kisses you again, slower this time, a searing heat beneath the tenderness as he deepens the connection between you. Your bodies move in sync, finding that perfect rhythm that drives you both higher, closer to the edge. You can feel it building, a tightening coil of pleasure that threatens to snap at any moment. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, a desperate plea, and he responds with your name in kind, low and reverent.

The world narrows to just the two of you—the heat of his body, the rough press of stone at your back, the intoxicating scent of sweat and desire. And then, with one final thrust, the tension breaks, pleasure crashing over you like a wave, drowning you in bliss. Harwin follows a heartbeat later, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he buries himself deep, his body trembling with the force of his release.

For a long moment, neither of you move, the air thick with the aftermath of your passion. You stay entwined, foreheads pressed together as you catch your breath, your heartbeats slowing in tandem. His hands are still on you, holding you as if he’s afraid you might slip away even now. And for a moment, the world is quiet, all worries and responsibilities forgotten in the haze of sated desire.

But reality is never far away. Slowly, you both come back to yourselves, and he reluctantly pulls back, letting you slide down until your feet touch the ground once more. There’s a flicker of regret in his eyes, a wish that this moment could last longer, but he says nothing as he helps you adjust your gown, his touch gentle now.

You smooth down your skirts, fixing your hair with a practiced ease, though the flush of your skin and the brightness in your eyes would give you away to anyone who looked closely enough. Harwin lingers, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a soft, almost reverent caress. “You always make me chase you,” he murmurs, his voice laced with fondness.“

And you always catch me,” you reply, the smile on your lips tinged with affection. “Perhaps I simply enjoy the chase.”

He chuckles, but there’s a seriousness in his gaze as he cups your face in his hands, holding you still for a moment longer. “One day, I won’t let you run again,” he says quietly, the promise heavy in the air.

You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you lean up to kiss him one last time, slow and lingering, tasting the bittersweet mix of what you have and what you cannot yet fully claim. When you pull away, you give him a final smile before slipping out of the shadows and back into the world where duty and decorum await.

Harwin remains behind, watching you go with a look that holds both longing and resolve. He knows this is far from over.

[kit-scrolls]

genshin brainrot/hcs bc i’ve been thinking about this wayyy too much

- i want to see keqing and zhongli interact so bad you don’t even understand i want to see keqing fangirl abt rex lapis while zhongli just stands there and goes “hmm... interesting... oh really? huh...”

- on the same vein, keqing and sara?? keqing sara and barbara?? power trio omg

- i feel like zhongli’s a bit more judgmental n aggressive than most people make him out to be. i mean looking back at the story quest, his lines abt ningguang n keqing... not zhongli slander btw i just have been thinking about him always

- more kaeya and venti content i’m literally begging you

- CAN WE PLEASE HAVE RAIDEN INTERACT WITH KOKOMI AND GOROU ACTUALLY CAN WE INCLUDE SARA AND MIKO IN THERE TOO I WANT THE PEACE TALKS I WANT THE NEGOTIATIONS I WANT THE PSEUDO-POLITICS I WANT THE AWKWARD REALIZATION THAT EI IS A LOT MORE SOFT SPOKEN THAN SHE APPEARS

- i want scaramouche to just bust into tenshukaku one day in the middle of one of those peace talks unannounced n just go about his business bc he and ei have already reconciled but no one else knows this

- @ ff authors consider present day kaeya n diluc time traveling back to before crepus died just to fuck with 1. their past versions 2. the rest of mond wondering wtf happened

- albedo’s skin is clearer than your mirror and reflects light like one too. he has white freckles and also his blood is liquid gold and his flesh is chalk thank you for your time

- the blood thing applies to raiden and scara as well i want raiden and albedo and/or albedo and scara to interact SO BAD

- can you tell i’ve been thinking about inazuma and archons a lot

- i want archons to have like. intermediary forms. i want raiden to have a puppet form with all the puppet joints and just like. kinda pop apart if you drop her from too high. she’s okay she just needs to lego her limbs back on

- i want venti to not have a face sometimes its just a straight up black void like in the manga. also, i want him to have a mask like the ones from sky cotl where its jsut all black w/ two little glowing yellow eye holes

- half dragon zhongli where he simply does not have legs. he is dragon. with horns. n teeth. also scars

- WE DON’T TALK ABOUT THE FACT THAT ZHONGLI IS NOT ONLY HALF DRAGON BUT HE’S HALF QILIN TOO. HE’S CANONICALLY HALF UNICORN AND Y’ALL ARE SLEEPING ON IT

- qilins fuck do we ever talk about that? why are there so many qilin hybrids otherwise huh? we got zhongli ganyu and yanfei the only explanation is that they fuck

- I WANT TO SEE RAIDEN N ZHONGLI SPAR

- i want raiden venti and zhongli to sit down and have a conversation n i want raiden and venti to argue and then i want zhongli to tell them to shut the fuck up bc celestia’s watching

- gonna be honest dunno how accurate this is to her character and also haven’t done the latest archon quest so this can be a psuedo-au, but consider: raiden initiated the sakoku decree to keep inazuma’s development stagnant so it doesn’t end up like khaenri’ah, where its extreme advancements lead to its extermination

- more childe & his family content i want to see childe awkwardly navigate family meet ups i want to see supportive family i want to see not so supportive family i want to see childe go to “parent”-teacher conferences i want to see teucer join the fatui (same song and dance on ao3 i recommend its unfinished i believe but) i want to see teucer i want to see teucer i want to see-

okay that’s it i’ll reblog if i collect more/anyone wants to send me more if anyone wants to make any of this into actual content literally please @ me i am starving and in need

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Void of Extinction by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 2/9

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche

Chapter 2: Mother

“Good morning James, it is time to get up.”

James woke to the sunlight beaming on his face, stretching his arms to the sky as he groaned. He sat up in bed, wiping his face with the palm of his hand to wake himself from sleep. He slid his legs to the side, feeling his toes touch the light carpet beneath the bed. Shaking his head, he stood from the bed. “Status report.”

“It is currently 9am, pollution level 68%, you have no appointments today.”

“Bloody hell.” He groaned. “What happened to my 7am alarm?”

“You cancelled that alarm, James. Your alarm was set for 9am to begin work at 10am.”

“I cancelled it…” He stood in the middle of his room. “When did I cancel the bloody alarm?”

“I show you cancelled the alarm at 1:30am and set a new alarm for 9am.”

“What the bloody…” He didn’t remember doing anything at 1:30 am. As far as he knew he had been sleeping. He sat down on the chair next to him, running a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes, trying to remember anything happening during the evening that would have caused him to reset his alarm. The longer he thought about it, the more his head hurt. He didn’t need a migraine this morning, he was already late for work now.

He dressed quickly, exiting his apartment to head to the diner.

He was certain that Granny was going to fire him for being this late. When he stepped into the diner she shook her head and pointed to the kitchen.

“You need to get that alarm of yours fixed.”

“Yes Ma’am. I’m going to call a repairman straight away.”

“Get to work.”

The rest of his shift went as usual, James stayed two hours after his shift to assist Granny with the late evening rush, feeling guilty about being late once again. Once the diner had died down, he gathered his coat and was headed to the door. A man sitting in a corner booth caught his attention. It wasn’t that he recognized the man, not entirely, but he seemed familiar.

Something about him gave him a sense of Déjà vu. The headache blinded him as he tried to access the information, the man took notice of him as he grabbed ahold of the nearest bench, trying to steady himself.

“Oi, you look like you could use some help.”

“I’m fine.” He tried to brush him off, pushing the door to the diner open and stepping into the busy street. The man followed him, which annoyed James. “I said I’m fine.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Mate.”

He glanced at the man, narrowing his eyes, there was something about him. “I’m…” The headache blinded him again and he staggered to the edge of the diner, walking back toward his car, and reaching in his pocket for his inhibitor.

“I wouldn’t take that.” The man warned behind him.

“Who are you?” He asked angrily, tripping backwards against his car.

“I’m Will, we spoke the other day. I just want to talk to you about Emma.”

James fell to his knees as it felt like pins and needles were attacking his body, he pulled the inhibitor toward his arm and the man reached down and grabbed at the injector. “Get away from me, what are you doing?”

“Killian, don’t inject that.”

The name shook him, pictures flashed in his brain, the blonde-haired woman from his dreams staring at him with emerald, green eyes, the name falling from her lips like it somehow belonged to him. Killian. He was losing his mind. He pressed the injector to his arm and pushed, a loud hiss emitting as the cool liquid entered his veins. He fell back against the car, exhaling with a groan.

“Dammit mate, I’m trying to help you.”

“You stay away from me before I call the cops.”

“Bloody hell…look, the more you inject that stuff, the more you forget. They messed with your brain, made you all foggy and shite.” James stared at the man as if he had just grown two heads. “You keep getting headaches right? Things don’t add up, and when you think about them, you get a headache.”

“You’re bloody crazy.” He stood up, grabbing the door to his car and yanking it open. “Stay the hell away from me.”

“Will Scarlet.” He shouted before James shut the door.

“Will what?”

“My name, Will Scarlet. Write it down or something.” He turned and left the alley, running in the opposite direction of the diner.

James shook his head, looking at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. Write it down.

He didn’t need to write it down, did he? The man was a lunatic. But…he knew about the headaches; how did he know about them? How did he know that things were out of place?

He looked around the floor of his vintage car, trying to find anything to write with. People thought he was crazy for hanging onto a relic from the 1900’s. It cost him a fortune to repair it. And somehow he knew how to fix everything on his Chevy Chevelle, but anytime he tried to remember how he knew, the headaches came.

He found a marker lying under the mat of the passenger side, grabbing it, he tried to find something to write on. With the absence of paper, he ripped the sleeve of his shirt up and scribbled against his flesh in black ink.

Will Scarlet

~*~

“It’s not like him to be gone for this long without contacting me. Even if he were working on something, he would have mentioned it.”

“Could the resistance have removed him from the playing field?” Mayor Mills asked from her place at her desk.

“Was he working on a case that had to do with the resistance?” David questioned.

David’s new partner, Killian Jones had been missing for weeks now, no message, no contact, just gone. Killian had been quiet about his most recent case; he knew it had something to do with a contact who had reached out to him, and Killian was following a lead, but he wasn’t ready to share information yet. He hadn’t known the man long, he was aware that he was mostly a private person, but he would never just take off without talking to the Captain first.

“Officer Jones case was confidential. We need to find him but keep it quiet. Killian could have found something that could destroy the Resistance, we have to get to him before they do.” She turned to the holo screen in front of her.

David glanced at the screen in front of the Mayor. “Resistance riders made it past the walls?” He inquired nervously.

“Yes, last night we had a breach on the west side. Officer Locksley apprehended two of them. But the rest got away.”

“What were they after?”

“Trying to take down the security net near the harbor. I suspect they have a group in the foglands.”

“What are the plans to take that out?”

“No plans. We’ll let Hive do that for us.”

David exhaled, a look of shock on his face. “You want to work with the Hive?”

“Of course not.” She snorted. “But, when you have an infestation, it’s easier to let the predators take each other out. It’s the natural order of things.”

“I don’t trust the Hive any more than I trust the Resistance.”

“Officer Nolan, The Hive operate outside the walls, they remove the danger before it breaches our city. And if something were to sneak its way inside, to infest our people with lies and misinformation, we have the Gold Collective to remove it, for the good of Storybrooke.”

“That’s another group I don’t trust, how is it for the good of Storybrooke to let them make pod people!” He exclaimed.

“The Void are able to become trustful members of our society again, the Gold Collective has done a great service to our community. And as far as the Hive are concerned, as long as they continue to operate outside our walls, I welcome their removal of our shared problem.”

“So how are either of them any different than the Resistance?”

The Mayor stood. “The idea of the Resistance threatens to destroy everything we hold dear. If even a single one of them is left standing, everyone we know and love, our values, our safety, are in danger. They will bring the plague to Storybrooke, they cannot be trusted, and they must be destroyed.”

David nodded, taking his leave as he returned to the lower levels of the station. He knew that Regina was right, the Resistance stood to destroy everything they had worked so hard to build after the plague hit. He knew that locking people out, building the walls, was not something that the town initially embraced. He too felt guilty when they seemed to doom so many on the other side of the wall. But they had to protect their town.

When the Gold Collective first appeared, run by a man with no past yet unlimited money, taking people off the streets and experimenting on them, the Mayor went after them with the full force of the Storybrooke PD. Then the Hive came. They had kept the Hive from breaching the station walls, drove them back behind the walls and ended their yearlong power grab.

But then a strange thing started happening, townsfolk who had disappeared, those who had been experimented on during the war, returned, with no memory of who they were. Loved ones who no longer recognized their family or friends.

The Mayor came out publicly, condemning the Collective for their interference with her citizens, and then six months later, quietly began accepting the practice. David didn’t know what had changed, only that Regina seemed to think that whatever Gold and his collective was doing, was protecting them. The people who had disappeared were a danger to society, conspirators who agreed with the Resistance, they needed to be stopped before their reckless behavior allowed the plague to spread inside the walls of Storybrooke.

And so, they stopped searching for the agents of the collective, when someone showed up without their memories, the town simply helped to get them acclimated to their work. People turned a blind eye to the reason they went missing, accepting them as new members of their society.

At the same time, the Hive stopped advancing on the town, disappearing into the shadows on the other side of the town’s walls.

Only the Resistance fought back, the war outside the walls between the two factions was escalating. At night they could see the fires burning beyond the mountains. The smoke had become so heavy that they could no longer see the horizon over the water. The area became known as the foglands. The heavily guarded wasteland that the Resistance currently controlled.

Many nights they would send raids to the walls, trying to take down the security net that connected the walls. The resistance would not stop until it fell. And if the walls fell, the plague would take them all.

He had not heard of a single soul surviving the plague. No cure had been found. Without the walls, they would all die. The Resistance had to be stopped.

His com unit beeped, alerting him that he had reached his destination. Stepping out of the electric vehicle he walked the stairs to his home. Opening the door, he smelled the fragrant aroma of chicken baking in the back of the house. He could hear his wife’s voice in the background, the alluring melody of the song she was humming making his heart smile with joy.

When he turned the corner, Mary Margaret had her back to him, swaying back and forth to the music she was singing softly to. He crept up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her neck. “Mmm it smells wonderful in here.”

She melted into him, humming lightly. “You’re late, darling.”

“I’m sorry, I had a meeting with Regina.”

“And what did the Mayor want with my husband.” She sang softly.

“The usual, how to destroy the Resistance.” He chuckled and then paused. “But she’s more concerned about Officer Killian at the moment.”

She turned in his arms, a grave look on her face. “Is he still missing? Hasn’t it been weeks, David.”

“I know. Regina thinks the Resistance might have gotten to him.” He sighed. “I hope she’s wrong. I’m worried about him, it’s not like him to just go silent.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ve been to his apartment, the diner on 5th, the Chinese place he goes to, no one has seen him in weeks.” He sat down at the table. “Regina told me to keep digging, she thinks he’s important, whatever he was working on before he disappeared might be what we need to take down the Resistance once and for all.”

She embraced him, pulling him against her chest. “I know if anyone can find him, you will.”

He looked up and smiled at her as she bent down to press her lips to his. “I love you.”

“I love you too, my Prince Charming.” She broke the contact, turning back to her dinner. “Oh, by the way, I have to go out tonight. I forgot to buy the ham for dinner tomorrow.”

“You should have told me; I could have picked it up for you. If you want, I can call the service, I know you don’t trust the LRU’s but they provide quick service.”

She snorted, “Never, why would anyone trust something called a Life Replacement Unit? Even the name blatantly calls out that they mean to replace us. It’s no bother for me to go to the store. It’s how they did it years ago, and besides I enjoy getting out of the house.”

“Well, I have some work to catch up on so I’ll try and get it done before you get back, maybe we can spend the evening watching the holo.”

She turned back toward him and smiled. “I would love that.”

~*~

James parked his Chevelle in the assigned spot at the back of the building, watching as the platform descended into the ground, sending the car to rest beneath the apartment.

He looked up at the building, noticing the way the fog had rolled in from the harbor and hugged the side of the building. He glanced ominously toward the horizon; the smoke looked darker than it had in days. No one was talking about what was happening outside the walls, in the depths of the waters that banked against the town.

“Hey.”

He jumped and turned toward a dark-haired woman. “It’s bad form to sneak up on a man, lass.”

“Sorry about that.” She giggled. “I was wondering if you could spare a lightstick?”

Killian shook his head. “I don’t use those. Bad for your health.” He shrugged and stepped away from the woman.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” She chased after him.

“Look, I already told you, I don’t do the stuff. Neither should you, lass.” Before he could enter the building the woman grabbed him by the arm. He turned toward her quickly as she glared at him. “Listen you siren, while I appreciate a beautiful woman such as yourself getting all handsy with me, I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“I just want to talk.”

“I’m not in the mood for that either.” He growled. “So, if you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving now.”

With a quick move, she tightened her grip on his arm, pushing his sleeve further up his forearm, staring at the black ink on his arm. “How do you know Will Scarlet?” Every sensor in his brain went off at once.

“Who the hell are you?” He demanded. “If you know that lunatic, I want nothing to do with you. He’s crazy as a loon and so are you.” He reached for the door to his building before he felt a pain in the back of his neck and the world around him faded to black.

He heard noises around him as the ache in his neck seemed to radiate through his body. He wasn’t sure how long he had been out, but he knew he wasn’t near his apartment anymore. He could hear the sound of seagulls off in the distance and the slosh of water all around him. He opened his eyes but could only see darkness and the fabric placed over his head clung to him. Whoever had taken him didn’t want him to see where he was going or how he got there.

He tried to sit up when his leg hit something hard next to him, sending a clatter of noise off to his right as something smashed to the ground.

“I think our guest has woken up.” Someone grumbled.

“We’re almost there.” He heard another voice.

“She wants to talk to him as soon as we arrive.” He heard the woman’s voice from the apartment.

“This is a stupid idea.” The first voice whispered. “Bringing him here is going to get us all killed.”

“We don’t even know if he’s on our side.”

“Stop talking.” The woman’s voice rang out again. “I’m going to go help dock the boat.”

James sat for what felt like a lifetime as he waited for the voices to come back, instead he listened to the strange sound of the engine, the whirl of a generator somewhere deep below him. He fell forward as the boat hit against something solid.

“Land ho.” A voice boomed to his left.

Arms suddenly were grabbing him, dragging him to his feet. “Who are you, just let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” He begged.

“You ain’t in no danger ‘ere.” The man squawked. “Just don’t be no trouble.”

James tripped over the stairs and the woman’s voice shrilled behind him. “Would you idiots be careful; mother will be really angry if you injure our prize.”

“Sorry Ma’am.” The voice to his right said apologetically with a loud sneeze.

“Maybe if he learned to walk, sister, we wouldn’t have no trouble.” The voice to his left grumbled angrily.

Once he stepped down again, he could tell he was standing on planks that were connected to a dock. The sway of the ground meant he was over water still. “I’ll take him from here.” He felt the woman slide up beside him, grabbing him by the arm. “She just wants to talk to you, that’s all. If you aren’t interested in what she has to say, you can go back to your miserable existence afterwards.”

“Who’s this she?” He asked nervously.

“The Mother of the Resistance, of course.” She said with a laugh and James felt his blood run cold. He was in the foglands; he had been taken by the Resistance.

He heard a metal door squeal open on rusty hinges and he stepped onto solid ground, as soon as it slammed shut, the itchy fabric was pulled from his head, and he tried to adjust his eyes to the dark glowing lights around him.

“Welcome to the foglands.” The woman announced.

“I’m positively glowing with anticipation.” He said smugly and the woman snorted beside him.

“Oh, they said you were a sarcastic one. I wasn’t sure if you retained that in your new existence.”

“Retained what? New existence?” he asked in confusion. “What are you on about?”

“I don’t think you’re ready for all of that yet.” She grinned as they stepped into a large metal room, water swirling around at their feet.

“Do you intend to drown me, leave me for dead?” He asked incredulously, staring around him at the boxed in room.

“No one is leaving anyone for dead.” A loud voice boomed and echoed through the room. At the other end of the box, a woman stepped out of the shadows, the moonlight illuminating her face through a grate in the ceiling.

“And just who the hell are you?”

“Me?” She laughed. “I’m the Mother of the Resistance.” She paused, stepping closer to him. “But you can call me Mary Margaret.”