#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. 

- Paring: 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.

[0shewrites0]

liquid gold (final chapter!)

Chapter 25: it will be all right in the end, and if it’s not all right, it can’t be the end

As Alex excitedly pulled her to the edge of the crowd, her heart pounded nervously in her chest. As much as she wanted to believe that Alex's family would love her, she couldn't wipe her mind of all the things she'd done to hurt him. How could they look at her and not see the pain she'd caused their son?

"Dad!" Alex shouted suddenly, waving his arm, and almost immediately a tall man turned around, a searching look on his face that-

Oh my God.

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

[liroyalty]

Aqua Reiga being a FF!16 song? More likely then you think!

Also fitting for her when you learn that Aqua Regia is also a fuming acid liquid that melts royal metals(gold, platinum, etc...).

[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.

- Paring: 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.

[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].

[safyresky]

Crystal Springs Chapter 20: Now on ao3!

Happy Thursday everyone! Apparently it's becoming my CS update day ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Anyway, catch Chapter 20 on ao3 RIGHT HECKIN HERE

Chapter 20: Breaking the Chains

Jacqueline opens up about the blackouts. Kasper gets to see Polly. The Man has a very good evening.

The Man has a very VERY good evening. He's very productive. Here's a fun lil excerpt for you all:

Inside the castle, The Man hummed to himself, walking towards his study with a steaming mug of something hot. There was no discernible smell; it was just hot. He sipped, humming happily, as he entered the commandeered parlour and poured the rest of the mug into a smaller cauldron sitting on top of his usual vat. It was filled with a shiny, gold, liquid that had the consistency of molasses. The liquid sparked as the hot stuff hit it; the glow turned purple. "Promising," he said to himself, throwing the mug against the wall behind him. It shattered, the porcelain nearly disintegrating on impact with the stone walls. Still humming, The Man walked around the cauldron, pulling one hand out from behind his back. He made a loose fist; in a swirl of fire, his staff appeared. Positioning himself on the scary side of the cauldron, very much on purpose, he spread his legs apart and gripped the golden staff tightly between both fists. He slammed it onto the floor. The red oval stone glowed, hovering between the crest it rested in. The Man's voice grew deep and echoey as he uttered the spell; the staff crackled and sparked, and on the other side of his vat of lava, a whirl of fire appeared. It whooshed downwards and dissipated, revealing a very startled elf, holding tight to a teddy bear and a small package. "What in the blazes is all of that?" "I was just. I...sorry, I wasn't ready to be. To be." He gestured to the ground below him. "Here." The Man blinked, unamused. "No matter. Did you get the item I requested?" The elf nodded. "I did! Here you go," he said, reaching into his vest pocket (teddy crammed under his arm) and passing The Man the vial. "There's a couple. Definitely hairs. For-for sure." "Let's test that, shall we?" Eagerly The Man grabbed the vial out of the elf's hand. He cracked it open; with a wiggle of his finger, one single hair flew out and hovered. He squinted at it. He mumbled under his breath, drawing a shape in the air. The hair glowed. The Man grinned. "Excellent." He moved his finger in an arc through the air; the hair followed, hovering above the vat and falling when he snapped his fingers.

Intrigued and disturbed and perhaps, oddly enjoying The Man's shenanigans? Give it a read to see where this takes him RIGHT HERE :)

Also, NEW CHAPTER TITLE. Bout to go update it's ff dot net counterpart in a mo.

Want to start reading Crystal Springs from the beginning? Tune in to Prologue: An Encounter HERE on ao3 and HERE on fanfic dot net :)

Story summary below the cut!

It’s been almost a year since Jack Frost thawed and things are looking…well, not so great. Jack’s powers are seemingly gone. Without them, the Dome that keeps the North Pole safe from the cold and its magic controlled is melting, putting everything and everyone magical at risk.

Unable to hide his power shortage any longer, Jack is forced to admit the truth. Thankfully, there is a solution: enacting the Legate Law, bringing Jack and the sister that he hurt so many centuries ago back together again. But when Jacqueline starts experiencing destructive blackouts, the pair are forced to head back home to Crystal Springs, bringing Jack face to face with the rest of the family.

Needless to say, between getting his powers back, helping his sister figure out what in the FROST those blackouts even were, reconciling with his parents, meeting the two even younger siblings he didn’t even KNOW he had, NOT TO MENTION the ancient threat that’s had it out for the ENTIRE Frost family finally making a move?

Saving Christmas (regrettably) is looking to be a little bit…complicated.

[frankensteinshimbo]

I guess I'll post my thoughts here because there are Factors not allowing me to sleep (left inhaler at work, yelling).

When I had a twitter, I would advertise my writing using screenshots that were stylized, like so:

I liked the look of a screenshot straight from the document for branding; it made the art seem shared as I was writing it, which adds some measure of Authenticity to the piece, but it's possible to accomplish this through a variety of styles.

These photos can be Nightshaded. Unless there's a LLM (Large Language Model) that can read words off images, it's not necessary unless you just want to help contribute damage to OpenAI/Midjourney.

If you want to go the grungy cyberpirate route, you can insert some sort of textual watermark between paragraphs that is visually differentiated from your text and can be tuned out by human eyes. The idea for this comes from illegally downloading .mp3 files and getting some harsh robotic voice saying the website's name over the song every 30 seconds. I'd argue this is less obtrusive here. Although unpleasant, human eyes can recognize intentional visual noise like that and adapt to it. Just look at the ways TikTok has evolved language. AI will not adapt around it.

[Example Nonsense Text of Your Flavor Every Line Break.]

Yet another way is something my friend came up with. Inserting a Read More with the full text of the Anarchist Cookbook (his recommendation), but that could be replaced with any media. This can be added - not just to writing - but any text post at all.

You could use any combination of these strategies and maybe put a dent in these datasets en masse with them.

Editing in afterwards: You can also make a website and link to your writing once it's posted. That's maybe the tamest and simplest solution. Tumblr essentially would just to be in community with other writers, a la Twitter.

Recipe for Shepherd's Pie Below (credit: Anarchist Cookbook)

113

Shepherd’s Pie

Mashed Potatoes

3 pounds Yukon Gold potatoes

1 onion, diced

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 tablespoon dill

1 tablespoon black pepper

Steam potatoes or bake for 20 to 30 minutes at

350 degrees. Saute diced onion in frying pan with 2

ounces of water. Mash potatoes and mix in spices.

Filling

2 cups frozen corn kernels

Place corn in small pot or saucepan. Add water

CPFUVGCOHQTſXGOKPWVGU5GVCUKFG

1 onion, diced

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 tablespoon dried thyme

1 tablespoon coriander

1 tablespoon black pepper

1/2 cup bell pepper

1/2 cup zucchini

1/2 cup diced carrots

Crust

4 cups rolled oats

4 cups nutritional yeast

2 tablespoons Bragg’s Liquid Amino or soy sauce

2 cloves garlic

1/2 cup cashews

Place cashews in food processor and blend

KPVQRQYFGT#FFTQNNGFQCVUCPFDNGPFKPVQCƀQWT

#FF PWVTKVKQPCN [GCUV CPF DNGPF VJCV KPVQ C ƀQWT

Add Bragg’s Liquid Amino and blend until smooth.

Spread QXGTVQRQHſNNKPI/CUJVJGRQVCVQGUCETQUU

the bottom of the casserole dish. Cover potato mix-

ture with a layer of cooked corn. Cover corn with

XGIGVCDNG ſNNKPI VJGP EQXGT VJG ſNNKPI YKVJ VJG QCV-

meal crust and place into oven for 20 to 30 minutes

at 350 degrees

I'm not solid on what data is being sold to Midjourney, but I presume all of our posts are being handed to them to store or use as they see fit.

Engadget interprets the guidance Tumblr has issued about their "opt-out" process as:

An alleged internal document from Automattic’s AI head, Andrew Spittle, replying to a staff question about data-removal assurances when using the tool, explains, “We will notify existing partners on a regular basis about anyone who’s opted out since the last time we provided a list. I want this to be an ongoing process where we regularly advocate for past content to be excluded based on current preferences. We will ask that content be deleted and removed from any future training runs. I believe partners will honor this based on our conversations with them to this point. I don’t think they gain much overall by retaining it.”

So, if a Tumblr or WordPress user requests to opt out of AI training, Automattic will allegedly “ask” and “advocate for” their removal. And the company’s AI boss “believes” the AI companies will find it in their best interest to comply “based on our conversations.”

I, personally, don't find that reassuring enough. A lot of my writing is personal, and the thought that my experiences could be used to help someone create a warped facsimile of them completely antithetical to what they're supposed to mean doesn't sit well with me.

I guess I'll have to figure something else out.