#capitalism makes fools of us all

[rileys-battlecats]

girl help I started writing down oc thoughts and have started contemplating the logistics of how a city carved into the walls of a ravine would have access to fresh water

[mostlysignssomeportents]

MLMs are the mirror-world version of community organizing

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/05/power-of-positive-thinking/#the-socialism-of-fools

In her unmissable 2023 book Doppelganger, Naomi Klein paints a picture of a "mirror world" of right wing and conspiratorial beliefs that are warped, false reflections of real crises:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

For example, Qanon's obsession with "child trafficking" is a mirror-world version of the real crises of child poverty, child labor, border family separations and kids in cages. Anti-vax is the mirror-world version of the true story of the Sacklers and their fellow opioid barons making billions on Oxy and fent, with the collusion of corrupt FDA officials and a pliant bankruptcy court system. Xenophobic panic about "immigrants stealing jobs" is the mirror world version of the well-documented fact that big business shipped jobs to low-waged territories abroad, weakening US labor and smashing US unions. Cryptocurrency talk about "decentralization" is the mirror-world version of the decay of every industry (including tech) into a monopoly or a cartel.

Klein is at pains to point out that other political thinkers have described this phenomenon. Back in the 19th century, leftists called antisemitism "the socialism of fools." Socialism – the idea that working people are preyed upon by capital – is reflected in the warped mirror as "working people are preyed upon by international Jewish bankers."

The mirror world is a critical concept, because it shows that far right and conspiratorial beliefs are often uneasy neighbors with real, serious political movements. The swivel-eyed loons have a point, in other words:

https://locusmag.com/2023/05/commentary-cory-doctorow-the-swivel-eyed-loons-have-a-point/

Once you understand the mirror world, you start to realize that many right wing conspiracists could have been directed into productive movements, if only they'd understood that their problems were with systems, not sinister individuals (this is why Trump has ordered a purge of any federally funded research that contains the word "systemic"):

https://mamot.fr/@Lazarou@mastodon.social/113943287435897828

This also explains why the "tropes" of right wing conspiratorialism sometimes echo left wing, radical thought. I once had a (genuinely unhinged) dialog with a self-described German "progressive" who told me that criticizing the finance industry as parasitic on the real economy was "structurally antisemitic." Nonsense like this is why Klein's "mirror world" is so important: unless you understand the mirror world, you can end up believing that "progressive" just means "defending anything the right hates."

Historian Erik Baker is the author of a new book, Make Your Own Job: How the Entrepreneurial Work Ethic Exhausted America, which has some very interesting things to say about the mirror world:

https://www.hup.harvard.edu/books/9780674293601

In a recent edition of the always-excellent Know Your Enemy podcast, the hosts interviewed Baker about the book, and the conversation turned to the subject of pyramid schemes, the "multilevel marketing systems" that are woven into so many religious, right-wing movements:

https://www.dissentmagazine.org/blog/know-your-enemy-the-entrepreneurial-ethic/

MLMs have it all: prosperity gospel ("God rewards virtue with wealth"), atomization ("you are an entrepreneur and everyone in your life is your potential customer"), and rabid anti-Communism ("solidarity is a trick to make you poorer").

The rise of the far right can't be separated from the history of MLMs. The modern MLM starts with Amway, a cultlike national scam that was founded by Jay Van Andel and Richard DeVos (father-in-law of Betsy DeVos).

Rank-and-file members of the Amway cult lived in dire poverty, convinced that their financial predicament was their own fault for not faithfully following the "sure-fire" Amway method for building a business. Andrea Pitzer's gripping memoir of growing up in an Amway household offers a glimpse of the human cost of the cult:

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2025/01/amway-america/681479/?gift=j9r7avb6p-KY8zdjhsiSZxYkntna5M_rYEv4707Zqqs

Amway – and MLMs like it – don't just bleed out their members by convincing them to buy mountains of useless crap they're supposed to sell to their families, while enriching the people at the top of the pyramid who sell it to them. The "toxic positivity" of multi-level marketing cults forces members deep into debt to pay for seminars and retreats where they are supposed to learn how to repair the personal defects that keep them from being "successful entrepreneurs." The topline of the cult isn't just getting rich selling stuff – they're making bank by selling false hope, literally, in Hilton ballrooms and convention centers across the country, where hearing an MLM scammer berate you for being a "bad entrepreneur" costs thousands of dollars.

Amway destroyed so many lives that Richard Nixon's FTC decided to investigate it. The investigation wasn't going well for Amway, which was facing an existential crisis that they were rescued from by Nixon's resignation. You see, Nixon's successor, Gerald Ford, was the former Congressman of Amway co-founder Jay Van Andel, who was also the head of the US Chamber of Commerce, the most powerful business lobbyist in America.

At Ford's direction, the FTC exonerated Amway of all wrongdoing. But it's even worse than that: Ford's FTC actually crafted a rule that differentiated legal pyramid schemes from illegal ones, based on Amway's destructive business practices. Under this new rule, any pyramid scheme that had the same structure as Amway was presumptively legal. Every MLM operating in America today is built on the Amway model, taking advantage of the FTC's Amway rule to operate in the open, without fear of legal repercussions.

MLMs prey on the poor and desperate: women, people of color, people in dying small towns and decaying rustbelt cities. It's not just that these people are desperate – it's that they only survive through networks of mutual aid. Poor women rely on other poor women to help with child care, marginalized people rely on one another for help with home maintenance, small loans, a place to crash after an eviction, or a place to park the RV you're living out of.

In other words, people who lack monetary capital must rely on social capital for survival. That's why MLMs target these people: an MLM is a system for destructively transforming social capital into monetary capital. MLMs exhort their members to mine their social relationships for "leads" and "customers" and to use the language of social solidarity ("women helping women") to wheedle, guilt, and arm-twist people from your mutual aid network into buying things they don't need and can't afford.

But it's worse, because what MLMs really sell is MLMs. The real purpose of an MLM sales call is to convince the "customer" to become an MLM salesperson, who owes you a share of every sale they make and is incentivized to buy stock they don't need (from you) in order to make quotas. And of course, their real job is to sign up other salespeople to work under them, and so on.

An MLM isn't just a pathogen, in other words – it's a contagion. When someone in your social support network gets the MLM disease, they don't just burn all their social ties with you and the people you rely on – they convince more people in your social group to do the same.

Which brings me back to the mirror world, and Erik Baker's conversation with the Know Your Enemy podcast. Baker starts to talk about who gets big into Amway: "people who already effectively lead by the force of their charisma and personality many other people in their lives. Right? Because you're able to sell to those people, and you're able to recruit those people. What are we talking about? Well, they're effectively recruiting organizers, people who have a natural capacity for organizing and then sending them out in the world to organize on behalf of Christian capitalism."

Listening to this, I was thunderstruck: MLM recruiters are the mirror world version of union organizers. In her memoir of growing up in Amway, Andrea Pitzer talks about how her mom would approach strangers and try to lead them through a kind of structured discussion:

Everywhere we went—the mall, state parks, grocery stores—she’d ask people whether they could use a little more money each month. “I’d love to set up a time to talk to you about an exciting business opportunity.” The words should have seemed suspect. Yet people almost always gave her their number. Her confidence and professionalism were reassuring, and her enthusiasm was electric, even, at first, to me. “What would you do with $1 million?” she’d ask, spinning me around the kitchen.

This kind of person, having this kind of dialog, is exactly how union organizers work. In A Collective Bargain, Jane McAlevey's classic book on labor organizing, she describes how she would seek out the charismatic, outgoing workers in a job-site, the natural leaders, and recruit them to help bring the other workers onboard:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/23/a-collective-bargain/

Organizer training focuses on how to have a "structured organizing conversation," which McAlevey described in a 2019 Jacobin article:

“If you had a magic wand and could change three things about life in America [or her town or city or school], what would you change?” The rest of your conversation needs to be anchored to her answers to that question.

https://jacobin.com/2019/11/thanksgiving-organizing-activism-friends-family-conversation-presidential-election

The MLM conversation and the union conversation have eerily similar structures, but the former is designed to commodify and destroy solidarity, and the latter is designed to reinforce and mobilize solidarity. Seen in this light, an MLM is a mirror world union, one that converts solidarity into misery and powerlessness instead of joy and strength.

The MLM movement doesn't just make men like Rich De Vos and Jay Van Andel into billionaires. MLM bosses are heavy funders of the right, a blank check for the Heritage Foundation. Trump is the MLM president, a grifter who grew up on the gospel of Norman Vincent Peale – a key figure in MLM cult dynamics – who tells his followers that wealth is a sign of virtue. Trump boasts about all the people he's ripped off, boasting about how getting away with cheating "makes me smart":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/04/its-not-a-lie/#its-a-premature-truth

The corollary is that being cheated means you're stupid. Caveat emptor, the motto of the cryptocurrency industry ("not your wallet, not your coins") that spent hundreds of millions to get Trump elected.

Tech has its own mirror world. The people who used tech to find fellow weirdos and make delightful and wonderful things are mirrored by the people who used tech to find fellow weirdos and call for fascism, ethnic cleansing, and concentration camps.

In Picks and Shovels, my next novel (Feb 17), I introduce readers to a fictitious 1980s religious computer sales cult called Fidelity Computing, run by an orthodox rabbi, a Catholic priest and a Mormon rabbi:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865908/picksandshovels

Fidelity is a faith scam, a pyramid scheme that is parasitic upon the bonds of faith and fellowship. Martin Hench, the hero of the story – a hard-fighting high tech forensic accountant – goes to work for a competing business, Computing Freedom, run by three Fidelity ex-employees who have left their faiths and their employers to pursue a vision of computers that is about liberation, rather than control.

The women of Computing Freedom – a queer orthodox woman who's been kicked out of her family, a Mormon woman who's renounced the LDS over its opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment, and a nun who's left her order to throw in with the Liberation Theology movement – are all charismatic, energetic, inspirational organizers.

Because of course they are – that's why they were so good at selling computers for the Reverend Sirs who sit at the top of Fidelity Computing's pyramid scheme.

Hearing Baker's interview and reading Pitzer's memoir last week made it all click together for me. Not just that MLMs destroy social bonds, but that within every person who gets sucked into an MLM, there's a community organizer who could be building the bonds that MLMs destroy.

[joycrispy]

I wanna talk about The Angel Who Would Be Crowley.

Because I had a certain set of expectations, which got thoroughly trashed in the first five minutes of S2, and my genuine response is, "Oh, fuck, yup. You're right. That's WAY better."

Looking around at GO fandom, I'm not alone in this. So let's talk about it.

Basically, a lot of people (myself included) believed that he was a high-ranking angel, and therefore as chilly and remote as every other powerful angel we'd seen at that point. We pictured Crowley-To-Be as long-haired, regal and imposing --and the fanart at the time reflected this. I'd link some if Tumblr didn't hate links.

Something like this:

We were collectively drawing on a few things --mostly, Crawly's appearance and general bearing in the Biblical scenes of S1--

--But also scattered hints of his importance, backed up by conspicuous absences in Heaven and a few profound displays of power. That's all better covered elsewhere, so I won't reiterate the arguments here. All I'm saying is: I think our headcanons were justified.

But it turns out he was this:

!!!

With his curly little--!!

And his neat white--!!

IT TURNS OUT, he was an angel who squeaked and squealed when he was happy; who flailed his arms around and made explosion noises with his mouth to explain nebulas; who preened when told his stars were pretty. Furfur, who knew him before the Fall, says:

"You used to jump on me back, little monkey in a waistcoat..."

(The use of a diminutive there, 'little'...oh, that fascinates me.)

In a pretty huge subversion of expectations, we're given these glimpses of an angel who was sweet, and joyful, and heart-meltingly silly.

In sum...an innocent.

(Perhaps innocent to a troubling degree.

We see how he troubles Aziraphale, during their first conversation. He starts looking around and behind them, checking to make sure that no one can HEAR the blithe and reckless things coming out of this angel's mouth. This angel who talks like he's never been reprimanded in his life; like it's never occurred to him that anyone would want to hurt him.

Before the Beginning, Aziraphale understood Heaven better than he did. The danger is plainly occurring to Aziraphale.)

So now, we the viewers are in on a cruel joke that Aziraphale has known all along, which is that this --THIS-- is the angel who--

*checks notes*

--did a million lightyear freestyle dive into a boiling pool of sulphur. For asking questions.

...Imagine you are Aziraphale, and everything inside you wants to believe Heaven are the Good Guys, and God is Good and Everything She does is capital-R Right...and now try to reconcile that. Keep trying. I don't think he ever totally managed it in 6000 years.

All this gets further complicated when we learn that, despite all of the above, we were still right. That sweet excitable babby up there?

He WAS a powerful and high-ranking angel.

That much is explicitly confirmed, with significant evidence that he could have been among the mightiest of archangels...

...Who apparently accosted his fellow angels for piggyback rides. And was remembered millennia later by those (now fallen) angels as something 'little.'

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

Hell, Aziraphale has known to be wary of the archangels (and the judgements of Heaven in general) since before the Fall even happened. He chooses to believe they are Good; he can't fool himself into thinking they are Safe.

Yet he's absolutely certain that Crowley won't hurt Job's children. Enough to stand in a burning building and say to them, "I can't save you, but don't be afraid. I won't need to."

And what reason does he give?

("I know you."

"You do not know me."

"I know the angel you were.")

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

("The angel you knew is not me."

But how is Aziraphale supposed to believe that, when he can see him all the time?)

tl;dr --yes, this is better. I love the tragedy of it.

'Innocence died screaming' and all that.

[menagerofmischief]

Heart song (OP81)

summary: in the middle of dating rumors, current music industry hit, y/n l/n releases a love song which leaves no space to deny her relationship. -> based on this request

fc: olivia rodrigo

cw: bad language,

a/n: the only bands I listen to are a bunch of old men or a bunch of dead man, safe to say I don't know much about bands so I made her a solo artist.

liked by: oscar piastri, sabrinacarpenter, and 1,556,895 more

yourusername: something coming soon, or whatever

comments:

ynsleftshoe: oscar in the likes before me again

hooklinesinker: girl same! and I got notifications on cococroissant: the struggle of making it here before pee ass tree vrom vrom is real

ynupdates: mother is cooking and eating for real

sabrinacarpenter: so excited for it!

justonechange: the bond between two girls scorned by a man is unbreakable breakmyback: sabrina is so me right now

likealovesong: my hears are about to be blessed again! thank you god for answering my prayers

liked by landonorris and 1,345 more

f1wagupdates: seems like a new wag may be entering the paddock, showcasing papaya!

mclaren driver, oscar piastri, has been spotted being touchy and affectionate with pop star, y/n l/n. this is not the first time the two have been spotted together.

comments:

vroomyroom: what the hell is lando doing in the likes of a wag updates page

norrizzz: he's so messy fr

user454: seriously what's wrong with you people, leave them alone!

justanichident: oscar's lucky he's good that polite cat smile because those hands do be wondering

breakmyback: I too am no better than a man (I'd be touching y/n's ass all the time if I could)

user334: ow! they're so cute together!

user331: power couple vibes

user564: ew, he can do so much better

user887: SHE can do much better

liked by hattiepiastri, nicolepiastri, yourusername and 1.345.221 more

oscarpiastri: great vacation, lots of sun

comments:

macmylarens: if bwoah was an instagram caption it would be tht

rockabye: who does bro think he's fooling with that soft launch

dropstoproll: like sir, we all know that's y/n l/n, now give us some good content

landonorris: you really poured your heart out with that caption mate

ynupdates: I spy with my little eye, y/n in the likes

justonechange: so ... he's not that bad

user423: I get y/n, he's hot

liked by sabrinacarpenter, oscarpiastri, landonorris and 1.978.645 more

yourusername: Summer When Everybody Ever Thought, Love In Knowledge Existed, Yellow Orchids Unidentified

see you on august 19th ;)

comments:

ynupdates: NEW ALBUM ALERT!!!

breakmyback: I don't care if a man driving in circles for living inspired it, new music is coming!

sabrinacarpenter: that caption triggered my dyslexia

justonechange: no because same user332: I thought I was the only one!

dotsaredotting: hear me out, the aesthethic of this album is orange (so far), and there's a car, mclaren F1 team is orange ("papaya" or wtv), oscar piastri drives for mclaren, oscar is soft launching, they wore spotted together = they're dating

crazyonce: this is so delulu it may be trululu

ynupdates: in case you thought you were crazy for not getting the caption, every words starts with a capital latters and all the letters together spell SWEET LIKE YOU which is either a song on the album or the name of the album

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, hattiepiastri, and 2.021.331 more

yourusername: the way sun shines over beaches, the first taste of summer peaches, yellowed pages of a favorite book it may all be sweet but not sweet like you.

my new album, sweet like you, is now available to stream. this is such a special album for me which is why it's dedicated to such a special person. I love you, Osc, keep on being sweet.

comments have been turned off for this post

liked by yourusername, sabrinacarpenter, landonorris and 1.987.554 more

oscarpiastri: every day I'm grateful I get to have you. you're the sun of my morning, the stars of my evening, the breath of my lungs and the song of my heart. I love you, y/n.

comments:

landonorris: wow, you actually poured your heart out with this one

sabrinacarpenter: she was mine first car boy, remember that

hattiepiastri: I hope you know how much cooler than you your girlfriend is

yourusername: love you too, my sweet boy <3

comments have been limited on this post

[so-i-did-this-thing]

I saw your post about bugout bags and like ... bracketing the Gestapo Doorknock thing, when did the "correct" response to a natural disaster become to immediately flee and go into refugee mode? The negative fantasy here is heroically saving yourself while your idiot neighbors die, instead of making the kinds of community connections that people actually use to survive and respond to disasters.

I get what you are saying about community connections being the best path to resiliency, but you should very much flee from floods and wildfires when at risk, to name a few. Ideally while making sure your neighbors are also getting out of Dodge, all assuming there has been ample warning for this particular disaster. But sometimes, there are scenarios where you just have to go that very moment.

For all their talk of bugouts bags, I don't think the capital-P Preppers actually want to leave their home bunkers.

The same American Exceptionalism that causes people here to have Lone Wolf apocalypse fantasies also makes them think they can survive a hurricane in a coastal flood zone.

There is an element of humility required to leave one's home possibly permanently. But that's the key difference, here -- the Preppers aren't as interested in survival as they are in ushering in some kind of new World Order.

You see this type pop up every now and then as a hurricane sets its sights on a town -- the people who make it a big point to talk about what they'd do to a looter, should the Big One hit. These are folks who are not interested in becoming a refugee amd are fine with the risk of staying home, if it means they can shoot people from their little castles.

I also saw more mundane selfishness when I did hurricane rideouts for emergency operations in my old Florida city job -- part of our comms was to remind people that we could *not* send anyone out to help them peak-storm. Sometimes, fleeing (aka, saving yourself) is what keeps other people alive -- they don't have to risk their lives saving you because of your stubbornness.

So, I'm a bit skeptical of fleeing being a power fantasy. What's more likely to happen in a lot of natural disasters (especially those with lead times) is you either get renegade fools in clear danger refusing to leave, or uninformed folks not at risk who panic and think they need to evacuate when they should just hunker down. (And then there are the unfortunates who should evacuate and want to, but cannot because the system has failed them in some way.)

That said, for a longterm crisis, community absolutely is key. And even in a short-term crisis that requires an evacuation, one is presumably fleeing *to* some place that will have other refugees, and it's in one's best interests to build community even in these temporary conditions.

[mit0bee]

i am a FIRM believer that malleus does not care about any unspoken rule on "only one or two messages at a time". he can, will and has sent you paragraphs spanning over six or seven messages. he IS the lorum ipsum dolor on every doc or presentation. he uses words you usually wouldn't find in a text like resplendent or magnanimous. ace on the other hand refuses to use big words when texting. does he adhere to the rule? no. its a stupid rule to him, and he would rather have a conversation with you than share a single word every two hours. his texts are usually in all caps, something like "LMFAOOOO" or the like. he also uses "u" "ur" and "urs". i dont make the rules :P

idia, in the first few months of knowing you, literally texts you like a teenage boy who wants to seem cool. that's his idea of what normies text like, and sevens be damned, he wants to get to know you so bad, but he doesn't wanna scare you away with his lingo. now, if you're also a gamer, or its been enough time into your relationship, he's SPAMMING YOU with all sorts of texts. he also uses "u" and the like. hes not scared to be himself anymore, so expect multiple texts a day about this, that, and the next. leona doesn't text you dry or rarely to seem cool, he literally just has nothing to say. ruggie once turned off auto-cap on his phone as a prank, and he doesn't really care about changing it back. if he wants to capitalize a word, he can use shift. just because he doesn't have much to say doesn't mean he's not engaged in the conversation. if you're telling him about your day or something you bought, he's asking genuine questions. he will NEVER EVER EVER admit that your little typing bubble gives him butterflies. he'd rather die. azul is probably one of the few people who actually uses proper, perfect grammar in his texts. he doesn't word them like letters like a certain horned-fae, but he does use similarly big words. he wants to make you think he's super smart and savvy. i mean you probably already do but he doesn't believe it. oh floyd. deciphering his texts is like deciphering egyptian hieroglyphs before the rosetta stone was discovered. he types so fast you can't tell which words mean which. it takes you literal YEARS to be able to consistently understand them. switches between "u" and "you" just to be a bug. pick one or the other, please floyd. jade is similar to azul, but with one minor (major) difference. he corrects your grammar. use the wrong your because you haven't slept in three days? "you're*". you've almost punched him out for it. he once threw out all of his beautifully structured grammar for an april fools joke (he was texting you like he's floyd. you had to ask if it was him), and it threw you off so bad. he tried to gaslight you into thinking he never did it the next day. vil is another grammar corrector. but while jade does it mostly to bug you and see you get angry, vil does it because he wants you to how yourself the so-called respect he thinks you get from writing a good text. he once gave you and epel an entire lecture on how to text others with grace and poise.

[antifainternational]

I have a group of acquaintances from my hometown who are mostly “moderate Republicans”, but only because they don’t really pay attention and are young straight white men from an affluent suburb. I don’t hang out with them, but we’re all in a group chat together (that they keep adding me to every time I try to leave). I figured since I was there, I might as well try to introduce them to some leftist, anti-authoritarian ideas. It’s been working—I’ve even seen a shift with the one proper alt-right guy from constantly posting evil shit unfettered to keeping his mouth shut except to occasionally completely make a fool of himself while trying to debate me—but it’s slow. With everything else that’s happening in the US, I’m wondering if this is a worthwhile use of time.

You've already shifted one of your acquaintances from the red pill/alt-right pipeline a bit, so you've answered your own question, Anon! We suggest you keep up the good work here. In fact, we've got some resources for you: If you dig through our Asks Archive, you'll find lots of examples where we responded to the most common bullshit peddled by the far-right. There might be good ammo in there for you to use to continue swaying these guys. The Western States Center has a number of guides offering solid advice on how to respond when people close to you are going down the wrong path. Generally, avoid name-calling and responding with facts is effective. A good way to frame what you say is to Affirm, Answer, & ReDirect: -Affirm that what the person is saying is real and comes from a place of real concern that you understand. This validates them and makes them more open to listening to you. -Answer (or respond) to what they're saying factually. You want to be clear, concise, and concrete when you answer. Make your answer as clear, direct, and succinct as possible and based it on real-world, concrete evidence. -Now you want to ReDirect the person's concern or anger away from the target they thought was appropriate to where they should be angry. To demonstrate: Person 1: I'm fed up with not being able to afford proper housing! There's just not enough homes in this country with all the immigrants coming here! We need to close our borders to makes sure we can house our own people! Person 2: (Affirming): I definitely hear you. It sickens me that so many people are living on the streets here. Rents are out of control. We shouldn't have to worry about whether or not we're going to have a roof over our heads from one month to the next. (Answering): But what is the real problem here? We're one of the richest countries in the world, yet for every one person living on the streets, there are 28 vacant homes available that the owners are just sitting on. The top 20 corporate landlords control over 1.4 million homes. Turning housing from a basic necessity into something to speculate on and try to get rich with means sky-high rents and homes sitting empty while people sleep in the streets. (Redirecting): Immigrants aren't the reason for the housing crisis - relying on capitalism to provide housing when it's only designed to provide profits is the reason! If you are genuinely upset about housing situation here, you need to focus on the people that created the problem and profit from it - wealthy landlords and landowners and the politicians that pass laws that only make them wealthier, at the expense of the rest of us!

[wannabeschyulersister]

lovelorn and nobody knows

Sometimes it felt like you had the words “I’m in love with my boss” written on your forehead in big capital letters.

As much as you tried to hide it, you couldn’t help but marvel at him. He was truly amazing at his craft and seeing him so passionate made you want to do it as well.

There were times that he acted a little like a jerk but he’d redeemed himself recently. Thanks to Sydney.

And to Claire.

You were surprised when you learned he was seeing someone. He brought Claire around when the restaurant was practically falling apart. It was such a weird moment. You physically could feel the awkwardness in the air.

She seemed really nice but part of you still disliked her just because she could call Carmy hers.

You avoided being around them as much as possible. It hurt just looking at the way he smiled at her.

Every part of your being wished that were you.

You wished you were the one he confided in after a long day at the Bear. You wished that you were the one he walked around the city with hand in hand. You wished you were the one that had his heart.

You felt like a lovesick fool.

Instead of subjecting yourself to seeing the happy couple, you started to back out of any group activities unless it was absolutely necessary.

The group would often go and get drinks at a nearby bar at least once a week. You stopped going as soon as you heard Claire was a regular now. People would ask if you were going and you always had a lie ready to go.

As much as you loved working at The Bear, you knew that it would probably be best if you removed yourself from the situation. It hurt every time you had to be around Carmen and Claire. You didn’t want to constantly put yourself in heartache.

There was a popular Italian restaurant across town that needed a sous. You had a friend of a friend that recommended you. It was the fresh start that you needed.

When you got the job, it was bittersweet. You should’ve been happier than you were.

So, you drafted up a letter of resignation, took a deep breath, and walked into Carmen’s office after closing. He was busy looking at an invoice when you knocked softly on the doorframe to make yourself known.

He looked at you and smiled a little, “Hey, stranger. We missed you last night.”

“Yeah, sorry I missed it. I uh- have something to give you.” You wanted to get this part over with.

“Yeah? What’s that?” He reached over and grabbed the letter that you handed him. You hoped he didn’t notice the slight shakiness of your hand.

You didn’t answer him because you didn’t trust your voice in that moment. Carmen quickly read through your letter and you watched the expression change on his face.

“What the hell is this? You’re leavin’?” Carmen stood up from his seat and placed your letter down.

“I got a job opportunity that I couldn’t say no too. I’m sorry that this puts you in a situation where you are short staffed but I’m giving you a two weeks notice.” You explained to him.

“I don’t understand. You’re happy here, aren’t you? D-did something happen’ that I’m not aware of?” Carmen questioned.

Yeah, you fell in love with someone else.

You shook your head, “No, nothing happened. I just think I’m ready for a new challenge.”

Carmen didn’t look like he bought your lie. “(Y/n), you don’t think that I’ve noticed that you’re distant and-and you haven’t been coming out with all of us?”

Shit.

You’d hoped that maybe he was so busy with Claire that he hadn’t noticed you slipping away from the group at all.

“I’ve just been busy with other things.” You lied again.

“What’s going on?” He questioned.

“Nothing is going on, Carmen.”

He crossed his arms against his chest and it took everything in you not to stare and drool. Even when you tried to be strong, his biceps made you feel weak.

“I don’t believe you.” He stated.

“That’s fine. I just wanted to do the respectable thing and give you an adequate notice.”

Carmen stared at you and it made you feel like he could read your mind. Like he knew the exact reason on why you were leaving.

“I don’t want you to leave, (Y/n). I think you’re amazing and- and you have a bright future in this industry. I think it’s a mistake.”

Your chest ached at his kind words. “I’m just ready for something new.”

He sighed and looked away from you as someone knocked on the door. You turned and saw Claire holding a takeout bag, “Thought I’d surprise you with dinner.”

“Now isn’t a good time, Claire.” Carmen told her.

She looked disappointed, “Am I interrupting something?”

You quickly shook your head, “No, the conversation is over. Have a good night.”

“(Y/n), wait!” Carmen called out to you but you left his office without another look back.

Even thought it killed you to walk away from him, you had to put yourself first.

[topgun-imagines]

Permanent State of Oblivion

Requested: yes

Summary: Despite all the times you have tried to make your feelings for the mustached pilot obvious, he still hasn't caught on. You make things clear one night at the Hard Deck.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: drinking, arguments, angsty feelings.

Pairings: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader

“I just- I don’t know what to do about him, Nat.” You were seated across from Natasha on her bed, hand in hers as she worked on your nails. One well-kept secret about Phoenix was that she was incredibly talented in nail art; a secret that you regularly capitalized on as her best friend. She often used you for practice, like she was doing right now. Silently, the pilot nodded, used to your ranting about Bradley by now. “He’s just so- so oblivious.”

Unbeknownst to Bradley, you’d had a massive crush on him for months. You had been friends with the mustached pilot for nearly three years. He was an amazing friend, and in that department, you couldn’t ask for more. The only issue that you had was that apparently, Bradley was blinder than a bat. No matter how hard you tried or how obvious you made it, Bradley never picked up on your crush on him.

Normally, you wouldn’t mind that your feelings remained a secret, however; your feelings had reached the point where you knew they weren’t going away anytime soon. The only option left was to try and tell Bradley how you felt.

Painting one of the roses on your nails, Nat weighed in on the situation. “He’s an idiot.” Her choice of words had you stifling a giggle, receiving a playful glare when your hand twitched. You murmured an apology as she continued. “The only way he’s gonna realize how you feel is if you’re straightforward about it.”

A groan bubbled out of your chest. You hated confrontation. Surely if Bradley was smart enough to be in the top one percent of all naval aviators, he was smart enough to realize your feelings for him. Right?

“I know, I know,” You started, “I just wish he could open his eyes for once.”

“Maybe if he shut his mouth for once his eyes would have some room to work,” Phoenix muttered, knowing exactly how stubborn the pilot was. The two of you descended into giggles as Natasha finished off your nails.

Before you knew it, the two of you were in your car, blasting music as you drove to the hard deck. Jake had organized a night out for the group, and the two of you certainly weren’t ones to pass on a fun night out with friends. As Natasha hadn’t hesitated to point out, maybe you would finally get the chance to tell Bradley how you felt.

You pulled into the parking lot and parked beside Jake’s truck. The two of you hopped out and headed into the bar, already plotting what interesting drink orders you could try and get Penny to make this time. The second you stepped into the bar, you were greeted loudly by the group of aviators. With large smiles, you and Phoenix joined the group and were quickly pulled into whatever idiotic story Jake was telling. Unsurprisingly, your eyes quickly found Bradley.

Phoenix pretended that she couldn’t see how your stare lingered on your coworker. While you knew that Phoenix knew, you were oblivious to the fact that Jake and Bob had also figured out your little secret. Natasha forbade them from saying anything or trying to persuade Bradley into doing anything stupid. God only knows that if they told that fool to make a move on you he’d find some way to mess it up.

As Jake rambled on about some hilarious incident from his recent vacation back in Texas, you couldn’t help but imagine what would happen if you told Bradley the truth. Honestly, you were tired of wasting time. You didn’t want to miss out on anything anymore. Even if Bradley didn’t feel the same, you needed to know. At least then you would be able to move on knowing that nothing could ever happen between the two of you.

Natasha’s elbow in your side pulled you out of your depressing thoughts. She fixed you with a knowing look, leaning over to whisper in your ear as the rest of the group dispersed at the end of Jake's story. “Tell him,” she urged you quietly. “We both know that he’ll never figure it out on his own.” And with that, you mustered up all the courage that you could before disappearing into the crowd to find Bradley.

Suddenly, Bob and Jake popped up over Natasha’s shoulder. “Twenty bucks says the dumbass still finds a way to screw it up.” Bob and Natasha hummed in agreement.

By the bar top, you were just about to call out to Penny to ask where Bradley was when you spotted it; a brightly coloured Hawaiian shirt and a pornstache that could put all the rest to shame. It took a couple of minutes of maneuvering through the intoxicated crowd, but eventually, you were standing right behind him. At the soft tap on his shoulder, Bradley spun quickly, surprised to find you standing there.

“Hey Bradshaw,” you started, “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” He nodded for you to continue. “I just wanted to tell you that-” Before you could finish your sentence, you were interrupted by some blonde winding her arms around his shoulders and peppering kisses up the side of his neck. Your words died in your throat as you started at the scene in front of you. Bradley didn’t even try to push her off. You felt sick to your stomach.

Noticing the tears welling in your eyes, the blonde smirked. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?” She sounded innocent, as if she didn’t know exactly what she was doing by trailing her finger across his chest and sucking a mark into the skin of his neck. You could only shake your head, feeling bile rise in your throat. The room suddenly seemed hot; you were desperate to find a way out of there. Before you knew it, you were shoving your way through the crowd and out the door of the bar.

With the blonde still clinging to his side, Bradley looked around the room in confusion. He met Natasha’s stern gaze and instantly knew that he had screwed it up somehow. Bradley huffed and pushed the blonde off of him, rolling his eyes at the scoff she let out. Then he was following after you, leaving the chaos of the bar behind him as he chased you into the parking lot. “Hey!” He called out, hand grasping your wrist. “What the hell is your problem?”

You jerked your wrist out of his hand and spun to face him angrily. Your face was hot with anger and Bradley could have sworn he saw steam coming from your ears. Despite all this, he could see tears welling in your eyes. “My problem?” You seethed, stepping dangerously close to him and jabbing a finger into his chest. “My problem, Bradshaw, is that you’re ignorant enough to let that- that slut hang off your arm without a care in the world!”

It killed you to see him standing there with her, but what was worse than all of that, was the fact that he didn’t care in the slightest. It’s not like she was someone he was seeing; she was just a random face in the bar. Somehow, that made things worse to bear.

Bradley scoffed and dismissively shoved your finger away from his chest. “Why the fuck do you care?” You could only stare at him, searching for the words he wanted to hear. “That chick had nothing to do with you, and you know that so what the fuck is your problem?” He paused, his words cutting deep as you searched for a response.

Behind him, the bar door opened revealing Jake, Bob, and Natasha. They watched silently as you continued to rip into each other.

“You know what, you fucking dick?” You were close to him once more; so close that you could smell the alcohol on his breath. “You are the most ignorant, self-absorbed person I have ever met.” With each accusation, you drove your finger into his chest harder, despite his attempts at brushing it off. “You are so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you don’t even notice who you’re hurting!”

You had never spoken to him like this before. Sure, there had been little arguments here and there, but the rage that he saw in your eyes now was something new entirely. A single, angry tear dripped down your face. “You don’t think about anyone besides yourself! You certainly don’t care about them. And believe me, Bradshaw, you have made that more than obvious.”

The pilot in front of you scoffed once more, having no retort for your deep jab at his character. Of course, he cared for the people around him, and for you to suggest otherwise was, in his mind, unfathomable.

However, you didn’t stop there. “You are absolutely unbelievable! You are so oblivious it’s painful, Bradshaw. You must have your head stuck up your ass to miss every single hint I’ve been giving you for months!” You paused for a moment, waiting for Bradley to interject.

He didn’t, refusing to believe anything you said to be true. There was no way that you could have feelings for him. Was there?

He shook his head in annoyance. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he pointed out, hating how easily you were able to sidestep it. “Why the fuck do you care who I flirt with?” His voice was loud, even scaring those watching from the front steps of the bar. Bradley figured that you were probably having a bad day and had taken your anger out on him. Even though he hoped that this wasn’t the case and that you actually did care about who was flirting with him. It was wishful thinking; to imagine that you would ever see him as anything more than an annoying friend. He was sure of it.

You could only groan angrily with tears still tracking down your skin. “Jesus, Bradshaw, because I love you, you fucking idiot!” It was as if time stood still. That was what it felt like as you watched Bradley process the reality of the words that you had just shouted at him. No movement came from the pilot in front of you; the only sign of life being the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. There was no way it could be true. There was no way that a kind-hearted, sweet girl like yourself could ever fall for anyone as messed up as him. To Bradley, the mere idea of you having feelings for him was unfathomable.

For months, he had watched you from afar, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. He slowly began to learn what you loved, from your favourite song to sing along to when you were drunk at 2 am to your favourite flavour of ice cream. Bradley learned what made you laugh until your stomach hurt and what made you cry until your cheeks were stained. He knew every little thing about you but he never acted on it, in fear that you would never feel the same. To know that all this time, you had feelings for him as well, was surreal.

The deafening silence grew between the two of you, moving until it encompassed the bystanders waiting in front of the bar with bated breath. Continuing to stare at the pilot, your mind was running a million miles a minute. What had you just done? Sure, the two of you were arguing, but that was no reason to bear your true feelings to the man. What if he didn’t feel the same? You were convinced that this had to be the case when he refused to move a muscle.

“Bradley,” you whispered, nerves showing through the shake in your voice. “Please, say something.” Your mind plagued you with thoughts of the worst-case scenario. You were fully expecting him to turn around and storm off, refusing to ever speak to you again. With tears filling your eyes once more, you pleaded one last time. “Bradl-”

Your eyes widened as Bradley cut you off in a way you would have never expected. In one fluid, sudden motion, Bradley had lunged toward you, his lips moulding softly with yours. His hands cradled your waist, holding you as if you were a delicate flower. You could have sworn you heard yourself squeak but honestly, you were too overwhelmed to tell.

As Bradley continued to kiss you gently, your eyes fluttered shut. You became lost in the feeling of his hand caressing your side. His pinky finger slipped under the hem of your top, drawing a light gasp from your lips. The kiss deepened as Bradley pulled you towards him by your waist and as your hand worked into his soft curls at the base of his neck.

A soft giggle slipped past your lips as that familiar pornstache that you were used to making fun of was now tickling your upper lip. The pilot smiled into the kiss at the feeling, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours lovingly mere seconds later. “Does that answer your question?” He whispered, causing more giggles to flow from your mouth. You could only nod, still starstruck by the actions of the man holding you.

For the second time this evening, you were close enough to the pilot that you were able to smell his breath. While the faint scent of alcohol was still present, you were now able to pick up the familiar scent of your strawberry lip gloss. One glance at his parted lips was enough for you to see the slight pink hue that your lip gloss caused him.

There was a lovestruck smile on his face; a stark contrast to the anger shining in his eyes merely twenty minutes ago. Admiration shone in his eyes as he looked down at you. While he knew that he never stated it clearly, he was in awe of the wonderful woman that you were. As he thought about how perfect you were, guilt for the way he spoke to you before began to eat at him.

He cleared his throat, needing to make amends for his actions. “Seriously, though,” He started, eyes softening as he recalled the events from earlier. “I’m so sorry for how I acted earlier. What I said was completely uncalled for and out of line.” The corners of your mouth twitched up in a forgiving smile as you reached up to stroke the corner of his mustache with your thumb. Bradley wrapped you up in his arms, rocking the two of you softly. “I love you so, so much, baby girl.”

Your hand trailed from his soft cheek to the back of his neck as he shifted the two of you, fingers once again threading through the short curls. Warm, ocean air breezed past the two of you as Bradley held you close. Behind you, the sun was setting beautifully over the ocean. It painted the parking lot with a soft, pink glow. No matter how many sunsets you had seen before, for some reason, this one was the most beautiful. It was almost as if the beauty of the sunset reflected your feelings for each other. Despite the rocky road that it took you to get here, no moment had ever seemed as perfect as this one.

Unsurprisingly, your moment of bliss was quickly interrupted by the other aviators waiting at the steps of the bar. Your friends gradually made their way closer, unable to contain their questions and comments any longer. You felt Bradley sigh into the skin of your neck before he kissed it softly, causing butterflies to swarm in your chest. With your head still tucked into his chest, you felt a blush begin to creep up your neck at the realization that your friends had likely watched the whole event unfold. Despite the flush in your cheeks, you still made eye contact with each of them, dreading the inevitable bombardment of questions that were bound to come.

Even as you stood in front of your friends, ready to explain the rollercoaster of a scene they just witnessed, Bradley’s arms remained wound around your waist. His thumb moved over the bare skin of your side softly, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “No need to explain.” Nat offered with a reassuring smile. She could sense that you were hesitant to have to explain it all so quickly. Plus, she knew that she would get the details soon enough.

Together, Bob, Jake, and Nat offered you their congratulations before turning to head back to the bar. With his arm still around your waist, you and Bradley follow your friends in sync with each other. Your still-rosy cheek rested against his broad shoulder.

Jake wasted no time in collecting his winnings from the previous bet, pumping his fist in the air as Bob and Nat each handed Jake a 20. In the back of your mind, you briefly wonder why they handed him the cash in the first place. Once the five of you re-entered the air-conditioned comfort of the bar, Jake turned to you and Bradley, announcing that drinks were on him with that familiar, shit-eating grin on his face. That alone should have been enough to tell you that there was more to the story than you suspected.

Despite the weariness in both yours and Bradley’s minds, if Jake was offering to buy your drinks, who were you to turn it down? Just as you were about to take a sip of your beer, Bob piped up. “He bet you’d screw it up,” He quipped, grinning at the mixture of betrayal and shock written on Jake’s face that instantly took over his previous cocky expression. Within seconds Bradley had smacked his arm. While he was slightly annoyed that Jake had bet against him, he was more upset about the fact that he allowed Jake to win.

Bob and Phoenix continued to laugh at Jake’s dejected expression as you and Bradley watched fondly. The aviator pulled you into his side with gentle movements and your head fell onto his shoulder the second you were snuggled up against him.

In a state of bliss, you allowed your eyes to slip shut. You could only savour the feeling of being held in the arms of the man you loved. Tucked into Bradley’s side, you couldn’t think of anywhere else you would rather be. Turning his head, Bradley pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, which caused a glowing smile to blossom on your face. A giggle escaped you at the feeling of his mustache tickling your skin, leading to a smile mirroring your own taking over his sculpted features.

Sure, it had been a rocky road to get here, but you would do it all over again if it meant feeling like this for a moment longer. You loved Bradley, and it brought you more relief than one could ever imagine to know that he felt the same for you.

Simply put, you were ecstatic. Ecstatic that you no longer had to keep your feelings a secret. Ecstatic that you could see a future blossoming between you and Bradley. Despite not knowing what that future held, you were positive that you and Bradley would be together for a long, long time to come.

However, one thing was for certain; Bradley Bradshaw was the most oblivious man you knew.

a/n: Thank you for reading! Requests are open. I’m excited to be back <3

[trulyumai]

Protector of his Woman

Pairing: Messmer the Impaler x Reader

Synopsis: Leaving the kingdom was a choice, but leaving his wife? Out of the question.

Warnings: Talk of violence/Death.

Enjoy!

“Does thou take me for a fool?” 

The pale flame stood tall, beside him his wife gripped onto the forearm placed in front of her frame. She stood just behind said man, looking away from the escalating scene. Too distracted by the swiveling trees and smell of pine wafting through the air. 

“Of course not, your grace! Its, well, your mother thought it best-”

“My mother disgraces me with such a request, yet is unfit to be present?” 

The golden soldier gulped, a bead of sweat dripped down the side of his brow, illuminating his face with a light sheen. 

“N-no, she traveled to the capital today, y-your grace.” 

The knight squinted. His posture was rigid and offended by the mere man's presence. 

He stood on their porch, by their house and demanded his attention to the capital? 

How offensive, how misinformed how- 

“Husband?” 

The burning flames hushed beneath his palms as the attention diverted from the man, to the small women beside him.

“Wife,”

With half lidded eyes, the man moved a hand towards her backside and rested it upon her lower spine. The aura shifted, the heat died down and the ambiance of nature could once more be heard. (Rather than the sizzling of a flame that grew onto the man's digits.)

“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad visit. It has been a while since our last outing.” He felt the strokes upon his arm, soothingly moving up and down, up and down. 

“Leave us,” Messmer didn’t need to look up once more, as the soldier fled down their stone walkway. 

“She insults us, thou knows of her intentions.” 

His gaze stuck to her lucky honeydew on bread, it stayed there globbing onto each detail. Her eyes were bright today, full of light and love. Yet there was also worry there, and Messmer bit his tongue for placing such a feeling onto her. Her form sagged beside his, most of his arm held her body up, halting it from falling upon the rocks.

“She does,” a pause

“But she’s your mother, to not make an appearance would surely soil your reputation, my love.” 

“Have I not done enough? The bodies that lay upon the mountains, are they not proof of my unwavering loyalty?” His voice raised, startling the shorter woman, moving forward he gestured his hands around their vicinity. 

“All of this, all of it! It's safe because I deemed it so. Not the lord Godwyn, Not the unbeatable Melania. Me. The beholder of flames! Yet thee can be ruined- butchered, for not returning to an unloving kingdom?”

Mouth dry, she tried to speak- to comfort the rising temper of the man but no words budged. His eyes burned bright, they looked right through her. 

“No. I will not be returning, dear wife. For my place is here, by your side, in this house that I built for us,” Cautiously the knight placed himself back in front of her, and to her surprise, bent down on his knees. 

“Messmer! Get up this instant, your knees-”

A big palm covered her lips, its texture rough and calloused. It was so warm compared to the nipping air around them. And although she tried to be mad- she really did, it was hard when such a warmth was comforting to the girl. 

“My wife, I will protect thy until the flames of this land die out, until there's no one left but us to occupy such a fool of a kingdom,” 

“However,” 

The bigger man's hand dropped from her lips, both of his limbs instead wrapped themselves around her being, until his elbows molded together. 

“Do not ask me to leave your side again. Promise me.” 

“Husband… I simply canno-

“Promise me!” The man shouted, his grip tightened fastly around her.

Her nails dug into the man's wrists, and although she wasn’t in pain, his fervent yet fierce attitude scattered her mind. She wasn’t used to such a ferocity of emotion emitting from the man, aimed at her no less.

“I- I promise, I promise my love!” 

As if those were the words he was waiting for all his life, the man crumpled beneath her frame, his head buried between the ripples of her dress, with his nose digging into her stomach. 

She didn't know just how far such a devotion could- would go for the maroon knight. 

For how could she see the future, wrapped in nothing but flame and immorality?

“I  adore you, little wife,” Yellowed iris’ glanced upon her delicate ones. 

A laugh broke out between her lips, enchanting the man entirely.

“And I you, Husband.”

As if starved the man leaned up quickly; hungrily, to lock his lips against hers. Broken skin connected with softened and smooth, Messmer moaned out in content. 

If his wife was to be the end of the world, he would be her weapon. His flames would bathe her with as much loyalty he could give. 

What would he need a broken kingdom for, when such a devoted wife lay in his arms?

[writing-reference-redux]

I felt like sharing my collection of Latin phrases that may make good fanfic or fanart titles or inspiration. Some of the translations may be off, so you might want to double-check them before use. Also, I used capitalization liberally so you might also want to check where capitalization is actually indicated.

Ab Intra (From Within)

Acta Est Fabula (The play has been performed)

Acta Sancti ___ (The Deeds of Saint ___)

Ad Undas (to the waves / to hell)

Advocatus Diaboli (Devil's advocate)

Aegri Somnia (a sick man's dreams / troubled dreams)

Alea Iacta Est (the die has been cast / point of no return)

Apologia Pro Vita Sua (defense of one's life)

Caetera Desunt (the rest is missing)

Cedere Nescio (I know not how to yield)

Damnatio Memoriae (damnation of memory / denying someone ever lived)

De Nobis Fabula Narratur (their story is our story)

Decessit Vita Patris (died before their father)

Diem Perdidi (I have lost the day)

Dies Tenebrosa Sicut Nox (a day as dark as night)

Dolor Hic Tibi Proderit Olim (some day this pain will be useful to you)

Dulce Est Desipere In Loco (It is sweet on occasion to play the fool)

Dum Vivimus, Vivamus (while we live, let us live)

Dux Bellorum (war leader)

Ex Umbra In Solem (from the shadow into the light)

Festina Lente (hurry slowly)

Fortis Cadere, Cedere Non Potest (the brave may fall, but can not yield)

Fui Quod Es, Eris Quod Sum (I once was what you are, you will be what I am)

Graviora Manent (heavier things remain / the worst is yet to come)

Haec Olim Meminisse Iuvabit (one day, this will be pleasing to remember)

Hic Mortui Vivunt (here the dead speak)

Hinc Illae Lacrimae (hence those tears)

Hodie Mihi, Cras Tibi (Today it's me, tomorrow it will be you - of death)

In Ictu Oculi (in the blink of an eye)

In Somnis Veritas (in dreams there is truth)

Inter Spem Et Metum (between hope and fear)

Lapsus Memoriae (slip of memory)

Luctor, Non Mergor (I struggle, but am not overwhelmed)

Lux Ex Tenebris (light from darkness)

Media Vita In Morte Sumus (In the midst of our lives we die)

Memento Mori (remember that you will die)

Memento Vivere (remember to live)

Morior Invictus (I die unvanquished / death before defeat)

Mundus Senescit (the world grows old)

Nemini Parco (I spare no one - death)

Nitimur In Vetitum (we strive for the forbidden)

Non Ducor, Duco (I am not led; I lead)

Non Omnis Moriar (I shall not all die / part of me will survive beyond death)

Nunc Scio Quid Sit Amor (now I know what love is)

Oderint Dum Metuant (let them hate, so long as they fear)

Omnia Mutantur (everything changes)

Onus Probandi (burden of proof)

Opera Posthuma (posthumous works)

Ophidia In Herba (a snake in the grass)

Pax Aeterna (eternal peace - a common epitaph)

Primum Non Nocere (first do no harm)

Pulvis Et Umbra Sumus (we are dust and shadow)

Quis Leget Haec? (who will read this?)

Quod Periit, Periit (what Is gone is gone)

Res, Non Verba (deeds, not words)

Respice Finem (consider the end)

Scientia Et Sapientia (knowledge and wisdom)

Seculo Seculorum (forever and ever)

Sed Terrae Graviora Manent (but on earth, worse things await)

Si Vis Pacem Para Bellum (if you want peace, prepare for war)

Sic Infit (so it begins)

Sic Vita Est (such is life)

Silentium Est Aureum (silence is golden)

Sine Nomine (without a name / author unknown)

Sola Dosis Facit Venemum (the dose makes the poison)

Solvitur Ambulando (it is solved by walking / simple tests find solutions)

Stamus Contra Malum (we stand against evil)

Succisa Virescit (cut down, we grow back stronger)

Sum Quod Eris (I am what you will be - of death)

Summum Bonum (the supreme good)

Summum Malum (the supreme evil)

Sunt Lacrimae Rerum (there are tears for things)

Sunt Omnes Unum (they are all one)

Tabula Rasa (blank slate)

Transire Benefaciendo (to travel along while doing good)

Tu Fui Ego Eris (I was you; you will be me - of death)

Ubi Amor, Ibi Dolor (where there is love, there is pain)

Ultima Forsan (perhaps the last / sundial quote "perhaps your last hour")

Usque Ad Finem (until the end / fight to the death)

Vacate Et Scire (Be still and know)

Vi Et Animo (with heart and soul)

Victoria Aut Mors (victory or death)

Vincit Qui Patitur (he conquers who endures)

Vita Ante Acta (a life done before - of reincarnation)

Vivere Militare Est (to live is to fight)

Vox Clamantis In Deserto (the voice of one crying in the wilderness)

There are also some longer ones that may not make good titles because of their length, but are still worth inclusion:

Aut Simul Stabunt Aut Simul Cadent (they will either stand together or fall together)

Flectere Si Nequeo Superos, Acheronta Movebo (if I can not reach Heaven I will raise Hell)

Forsan Et Haec Olim Meminisse Iuvabit (perhaps even these things will be good to remember one day)

Igitur Qui Desiderat Pacem, Praeparet Bellum (therefore whoever desires peace, let him prepare for war)

In Regione Caecorum Rex Est Luscus (in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king)

Minus Malum Toleratur Ut Maius Tollat (choose the lesser evil so a greater evil may be averted)

Quem Deus Vult Perdere, Dementat Prius (whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad)

Ubi Sunt, Qui Ante Nos Fuerunt? (Where are they, those who have gone before us?)

Virtus Junxit Mors Non Separabit (that which virtue unites, let not death separate)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Retiring the US debt would retire the US dollar

THIS WEDNESDAY (October 23) at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

One of the most consequential series of investigative journalism of this decade was the Propublica series that Jesse Eisinger helmed, in which Eisinger and colleagues analyzed a trove of leaked IRS tax returns for the richest people in America:

https://www.propublica.org/series/the-secret-irs-files

The Secret IRS Files revealed the fact that many of America's oligarchs pay no tax at all. Some of them even get subsidies intended for poor families, like Jeff Bezos, whose tax affairs are so scammy that he was able to claim to be among the working poor and receive a federal Child Tax Credit, a $4,000 gift from the American public to one of the richest men who ever lived:

https://www.propublica.org/article/the-secret-irs-files-trove-of-never-before-seen-records-reveal-how-the-wealthiest-avoid-income-tax

As important as the numbers revealed by the Secret IRS Files were, I found the explanations even more interesting. The 99.9999% of us who never make contact with the secretive elite wealth management and tax cheating industry know, in the abstract, that there's something scammy going on in those esoteric cults of wealth accumulation, but we're pretty vague on the details. When I pondered the "tax loopholes" that the rich were exploiting, I pictured, you know, long lists of equations salted with Greek symbols, completely beyond my ken.

But when Propublica's series laid these secret tactics out, I learned that they were incredibly stupid ruses, tricks so thin that the only way they could possibly fool the IRS is if the IRS just didn't give a shit (and they truly didn't – after decades of cuts and attacks, the IRS was far more likely to audit a family earning less than $30k/year than a billionaire).

This has become a somewhat familiar experience. If you read the Panama Papers, the Paradise Papers, Luxleaks, Swissleaks, or any of the other spectacular leaks from the oligarch-industrial complex, you'll have seen the same thing: the rich employ the most tissue-thin ruses, and the tax authorities gobble them up. It's like the tax collectors don't want to fight with these ultrawealthy monsters whose net worth is larger than most nations, and merely require some excuse to allow them to cheat, anything they can scribble in the box explaining why they are worth billions and paying little, or nothing, or even entitled to free public money from programs intended to lift hungry children out of poverty.

It was this experience that fueled my interest in forensic accounting, which led to my bestselling techno-crime-thriller series starring the two-fisted, scambusting forensic accountant Martin Hench, who made his debut in 2022's Red Team Blues:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

The double outrage of finding out how badly the powerful are ripping off the rest of us, and how stupid and transparent their accounting tricks are, is at the center of Chokepoint Capitalism, the book about how tech and entertainment companies steal from creative workers (and how to stop them) that Rebecca Giblin and I co-authored, which also came out in 2022:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

Now that I've written four novels and a nonfiction book about finance scams, I think I can safely call myself a oligarch ripoff hobbyist. I find this stuff endlessly fascinating, enraging, and, most importantly, energizing. So naturally, when PJ Vogt devoted two episodes of his excellent Search Engine podcast to the subject last week, I gobbled them up:

https://www.searchengine.show/listen/search-engine-1/why-is-it-so-hard-to-tax-billionaires-part-1

I love the way Vogt unpacks complex subjects. Maybe you've had the experience of following a commentator and admiring their knowledge of subjects you're unfamiliar with, only have them cover something you're an expert in and find them making a bunch of errors (this is basically the experience of using an LLM, which can give you authoritative seeming answers when the subject is one you're unfamiliar with, but which reveals itself to be a Bullshit Machine as soon as you ask it about something whose lore you know backwards and forwards).

Well, Vogt has covered many subjects that I am an expert in, and I had the opposite experience, finding that even when he covers my own specialist topics, I still learn something. I don't always agree with him, but always find those disagreements productive in that they make me clarify my own interests. (Full disclosure: I was one of Vogt's experts on his previous podcast, Reply All, talking about the inkjet printerization of everything:)

https://gimletmedia.com/shows/reply-all/brho54

Vogt's series on taxing billionaires was no exception. His interview subjects (including Eisinger) were very good, and he got into a lot of great detail on the leaker himself, Charles Littlejohn, who plead guilty and was sentenced to five years:

https://jacobin.com/2023/10/charles-littlejohn-irs-whistleblower-pro-publica-tax-evasion-prosecution

Vogt also delved into the history of the federal income tax, how it was sold to the American public, and a rather hilarious story of Republican Congressional gamesmanship that backfired spectacularly. I'd never encountered this stuff before and boy was it interesting.

But then Vogt got into the nature of taxation, and its relationship to the federal debt, another subject I've written about extensively, and that's where one of those productive disagreements emerged. Yesterday, I set out to write him a brief note unpacking this objection and ended up writing a giant essay (sorry, PJ!), and this morning I found myself still thinking about it. So I thought, why not clean up the email a little and publish it here?

As much as I enjoyed these episodes, I took serious exception to one – fairly important! – aspect of your analysis: the relationship of taxes to the national debt.

There's two ways of approaching this question, which I think of as akin to classical vs quantum physics. In the orthodox, classical telling, the government taxes us to pay for programs. This is crudely true at 10,000 feet and as a rule of thumb, it's fine in many cases. But on the ground – at the quantum level, in this analogy – the opposite is actually going on.

There is only one source of US dollars: the US Treasury (you can try and make your own dollars, but they'll put you in prison for a long-ass time if they catch you.).

If dollars can only originate with the US government, then it follows that:

a) The US government doesn't need our taxes to get US dollars (for the same reason Apple doesn't need us to redeem our iTunes cards to get more iTunes gift codes);

b) All the dollars in circulation start with spending by the US government (taxes can't be paid until dollars are first spent by their issuer, the US government); and

c) That spending must happen before anyone has been taxed, because the way dollars enter circulation is through spending.

You've probably heard people say, "Government spending isn't like household spending." That is obviously true: households are currency users while governments are currency issuers.

But the implications of this are very interesting.

First, the total dollars in circulation are:

a) All the dollars the government has ever spent into existence funding programs, transferring to the states, and paying its own employees, minus

b) All the dollars that the government has taxed away from us, and subsequently annihilated.

(Because governments spend money into existence and tax money out of existence.)

The net of dollars the government spends in a given year minus the dollars the government taxes out of existence that year is called "the national deficit." The total of all those national deficits is called "the national debt." All the dollars in circulation today are the result of this national debt. If the US government didn't have a debt, there would be no dollars in circulation.

The only way to eliminate the national debt is to tax every dollar in circulation out of existence. Because the national debt is "all the dollars the government has ever spent," minus "all the dollars the government has ever taxed." In accounting terms, "The US deficit is the public's credit."

When billionaires like Warren Buffet tell Jesse Eisinger that he doesn't pay tax because "he thinks his money is better spent on charitable works rather than contributing to an insignificant reduction of the deficit," he is, at best, technically wrong about why we tax, and at worst, he's telling a self-serving lie. The US government doesn't need to eliminate its debt. Doing so would be catastrophic. "Retiring the US debt" is the same thing as "retiring the US dollar."

So if the USG isn't taxing to retire its debts, why does it tax? Because when the USG – or any other currency issuer – creates a token, that token is, on its face, useless. If I offered to sell you some "Corycoins," you would quite rightly say that Corycoins have no value and thus you don't need any of them.

For a token to be liquid – for it to be redeemable for valuable things, like labor, goods and services – there needs to be something that someone desires that can be purchased with that token. Remember when Disney issued "Disney dollars" that you could only spend at Disney theme parks? They traded more or less at face value, even outside of Disney parks, because everyone knew someone who was planning a Disney vacation and could make use of those Disney tokens.

But if you go down to a local carny and play skeeball and win a fistful of tickets, you'll find it hard to trade those with anyone outside of the skeeball counter, especially once you leave the carny. There's two reasons for this:

1) The things you can get at the skeeball counter are pretty crappy so most people don't desire them; and ' 2) Most people aren't planning on visiting the carny, so there's no way for them to redeem the skeeball tickets even if they want the stuff behind the counter (this is also why it's hard to sell your Iranian rials if you bring them back to the US – there's not much you can buy in Iran, and even someone you wanted to buy something there, it's really hard for US citizens to get to Iran).

But when a sovereign currency issuer – one with the power of the law behind it – demands a tax denominated in its own currency, they create demand for that token. Everyone desires USD because almost everyone in the USA has to pay taxes in USD to the government every year, or they will go to prison. That fact is why there is such a liquid market for USD. Far more people want USD to pay their taxes than will ever want Disney dollars to spend on Dole Whips, and even if you are hoping to buy a Dole Whip in Fantasyland, that desire is far less important to you than your desire not to go to prison for dodging your taxes.

Even if you're not paying taxes, you know someone who is. The underlying liquidity of the USD is inextricably tied to taxation, and that's the first reason we tax. By issuing a token – the USD – and then laying on a tax that can only be paid in that token (you cannot pay federal income tax in anything except USD – not crypto, not euros, not rials – only USD), the US government creates demand for that token.

And because the US government is the only source of dollars, the US government can purchase anything that is within its sovereign territory. Anything denominated in US dollars is available to the US government: the labor of every US-residing person, the land and resources in US territory, and the goods produced within the US borders. The US doesn't need to tax us to buy these things (remember, it makes new money by typing numbers into a spreadsheet at the Federal Reserve). But it does tax us, and if the taxes it levies don't equal the spending it's making, it also sells us T-bills to make up the shortfall.

So the US government kinda acts like classical physics is true, that is, like it is a household and thus a currency user, and not a currency issuer. If it spends more than it taxes, it "borrows" (issues T-bills) to make up the difference. Why does it do this? To fight inflation.

The US government has no monetary constraints, it can make as many dollars as it cares to (by typing numbers into a spreadsheet). But the US government is fiscally constrained, because it can only buy things that are denominated in US dollars (this is why it's such a big deal that global oil is priced in USD – it means the US government can buy oil from anywhere, not only the USA, just by typing numbers into a spreadsheet).

The supply of dollars is infinite, but the supply of labor and goods denominated in US dollars is finite, and, what's more, the people inside the USA expect to use that labor and goods for their own needs. If the US government issues so many dollars that it can outbid every private construction company for the labor of electricians, bricklayers, crane drivers, etc, and puts them all to work building federal buildings, there will be no private construction.

Indeed, every time the US government bids against the private sector for anything – labor, resources, land, finished goods – the price of that thing goes up. That's one way to get inflation (and it's why inflation hawks are so horny for slashing government spending – to get government bidders out of the auction for goods, services and labor).

But while the supply of goods for sale in US dollars is finite, it's not fixed. If the US government takes away some of the private sector's productive capacity in order to build interstates, train skilled professionals, treat sick people so they can go to work (or at least not burden their working-age relations), etc, then the supply of goods and services denominated in USD goes up, and that makes more fiscal space, meaning the government and the private sector can both consume more of those goods and services and still not bid against one another, thus creating no inflationary pressure.

Thus, taxes create liquidity for US dollars, but they do something else that's really important: they reduce the spending power of the private sector. If the US only ever spent money into existence and never taxed it out of existence, that would create incredible inflation, because the supply of dollars would go up and up and up, while the supply of goods and services you could buy with dollars would grow much more slowly, because the US government wouldn't have the looming threat of taxes with which to coerce us into doing the work to build highways, care for the sick, or teach people how to be doctors, engineers, etc.

Taxes coercively reduce the purchasing power of the private sector (they're a stick). T-bills do the same thing, but voluntarily (they the carrot).

A T-bill is a bargain offered by the US government: "Voluntarily park your money instead of spending it. That will create fiscal space for us to buy things without bidding against you, because it removes your money from circulation temporarily. That means we, the US government, can buy more stuff and use it to increase the amount of goods and services you can buy with your money when the bond matures, while keeping the supply of dollars and the supply of dollar-denominated stuff in rough equilibrium."

So a bond isn't a debt – it's more like a savings account. When you move money from your checking to your savings, you reduce its liquidity, meaning the bank can treat it as a reserve without worrying quite so much about you spending it. In exchange, the bank gives you some interest, as a carrot.

I know, I know, this is a big-ass wall of text. Congrats if you made it this far! But here's the upshot. We should tax billionaires, because it will reduce their economic power and thus their political power.

But we absolutely don't need to tax billionaires to have nice things. For example: the US government could hire every single unemployed person without creating inflationary pressure on wages, because inflation only happens when the US government tries to buy something that the private sector is also trying to buy, bidding up the price. To be "unemployed" is to have labor that the private sector isn't trying to buy. They're synonyms. By definition, the feds could put every unemployed person to work (say, training one another to be teachers, construction workers, etc – and then going out and taking care of the sick, addressing the housing crisis, etc etc) without buying any labor that the private sector is also trying to buy.

What's even more true than this is that our taxes are not going to reduce the national debt. That guest you had who said, "Even if we tax billionaires, we will never pay off the national debt,"" was 100% right, because the national debt equals all the money in circulation.

Which is why that guest was also very, very wrong when she said, "We will have to tax normal people too in order to pay off the debt." We don't have to pay off the debt. We shouldn't pay off the debt. We can't pay off the debt. Paying off the debt is another way of saying "eliminating the dollar."

Taxation isn't a way for the government to pay for things. Taxation is a way to create demand for US dollars, to convince people to sell goods and services to the US government, and to constrain private sector spending, which creates fiscal space for the US government to buy goods and services without bidding up their prices.

And in a "classical physics" sense, all of the preceding is kinda a way of saying, "Taxes pay for government spending." As a rough approximation, you can think of taxes like this and generally not get into trouble.

But when you start to make policy – when you contemplate when, whether, and how much to tax billionaires – you leave behind the crude, high-level approximation and descend into the nitty-gritty world of things as they are, and you need to jettison the convenience of the easy-to-grasp approximation.

If you're interested in learning more about this, you can tune into this TED Talk by Stephanie Kelton, formerly formerly advisor to the Senate Budget Committee chair, now back teaching and researching econ at University of Missouri at Kansas City:

https://www.ted.com/talks/stephanie_kelton_the_big_myth_of_government_deficits?subtitle=en

Stephanie has written a great book about this, The Deficit Myth:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/14/everybody-poops/#deficit-myth

There's a really good feature length doc about it too, called "Finding the Money":

https://findingmoneyfilm.com/

If you'd like to read more of my own work on this, here's a column I wrote about the nature of currency in light of Web3, crypto, etc:

https://locusmag.com/2022/09/cory-doctorow-moneylike/

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/21/we-can-have-nice-things/#public-funds-not-taxpayer-dollars

[waitimcomingtoo]

One For Us

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Synopsis: Peeta gets upset when you suggest getting married to appease the Capitol

Masterlist

“We could get married.”

Everyone stopped debating strategies for getting President Snow to believe your love story and looked up at you upon your suggestion. You felt self conscious with all the eyes on you so you looked to Peeta for help. You thought he’d agree with you but he was just staring at you with an almost hurt expression.

“What?” He asked you in a quiet voice.

“You said we’re gonna be on this train forever anyway, right? We’d have to get married eventually. We might as well do it right now to convince Snow how in love we are. We could make a huge deal of the proposal and the dress and cake. Don’t Capital people love all that kind of stuff?” You asked Haymitch.

“She’s right.” Haymitch agreed. “A wedding between the star crossed winners might be the one thing in more demand than the games. If we spin a story about the wedding being canceled due to the games, maybe the outrage would be enough to get the Capitol to change their minds about sending you two back in there.”

“Yeah. And we could go on Cesar’s show and say that we were so in love that we couldn’t wait any longer and had to get engaged. We can make a whole big thing of it. That should be enough to convince Snow that we’re in love, right?” You asked. Peeta blinked a few times and let out a short dry laugh.

“Fine. I don’t care. Let’s just do it.” Peeta sighed as he got up to leave. You frowned and watched him walk about without giving you so much as a glance in your direction. You looked at Haymitch and Effie and held up your hands with confusion.

“What’s his problem?”

“He’s probably just sore that he wasn’t the one who came up with the brilliant idea.” Haymitch replied and gave you a proud pat on the back.

“Oh my goodness. You fools.” Effie huffed and shook her head. “That’s not why he’s upset.”

“Then why? I’m just trying to help. It’s not like he came up with anything.” You said and folded your arms like a child out of annoyance over Peeta’s disapproval of your idea.

“He’s upset because this is not how he wanted this to happen.” Effie said as she looked at only you.

“So the idea of marrying me is so awful to him that he had to storm out of the room?” You grumbled.

“No, child. He’s not upset that he has to marry you. He’s upset that it’s only counterfeit.” Effie explained with a tight smile. You stopped being angry with Peeta and took a moment to process what she was saying.

“I’m gonna go talk to him.” You decided and got up to follow him. You found Peeta in the back of the train, staring out the window with his chin in his hand.

“Hey.” You said quietly as you sat down near him.

“Hi.” Peeta replied without taking his eyes off the window.

“I’m sorry about that back there. I should’ve talked to you before telling Haymitch about getting married. I didn’t think it would upset you.”

“It’s okay.” He said quietly. “It’s a great idea.”

“You hate it.” You laughed nervously and wished he’d look at you. A smile tugged on Peeta’s lips and he nodded his head.

“Yeah.” He admitted. “I do.”

“But why? Why do you not want to get married?” You asked. Peeta stayed silent and turned his head so that you couldn’t see his face. You got up to sit beside him and put your hand in his leg to silently comfort him until he was able to speak. He looked down at your hand before looking up and wiping his face with his sleeve.

“I do want to get married. I always have.” He admitted. “I always wanted to find a girl that I love and could be genuine companions with. And to not just get married because it was convenient or beneficial to us both, but because we were best friends and wanted to be with each other forever. So we’d take vows to promise each other that. And then have a big family and live a quiet but happy life.”

“Oh. I see. Marrying me would prevent you from finding her.” You nodded in understanding. It stung you a little to hear him talk about the life he dreamed of with someone else but you couldn’t place why you felt that way. Peeta finally turned his head to look at you and had a sad smile on his face.

“What?” You wondered.

“You know, when I was little, I always saw myself marrying you.” He admitted.

“You…you did?” You asked with a surprised smile.

“I did.” He nodded. “I liked you from the very first time I saw you. So I went home and told my mom I was gonna marry you. I was only six.”

“What’d she say?”

“She asked if you were the coal miners girl and I said yes. Then she told me she almost married your dad.”

“What? My dad?” You were taken aback and pointed to yourself.

“Yeah. He gave her a ring and everything. But it didn’t work out. I don’t remember why. Then she told me she hopes I don’t have the same fate as she did.” He said with a dry laugh.

“That’s too bad for them. But I think it’s cute you had a schoolboy crush on me.” You told him, making his cheeks adorn with a rosy glow.

“Trust me. It was more than a schoolboy crush. You had a hold on me for years. I had this whole plan to ask you to marry me after high school. I was gonna propose that we start a business together. I could sell my bread and you could sell game. I was going to get us a cow and chickens so we could save money on supplies. And we could build a house near the forest so you don’t have to travel far when you went to hunt. We’d be poor but we’d be happy. I was gonna tell you all of that when I proposed, by the way.”

“That’s a really good plan, Peeta. I had no idea you thought that all through.” You smiled softly as a sadness weighed on your chest. He had all these plans that would never be realized because of the cards he had been dealt. His sweet fantasy of a wholesome future together was going to be replaced with fake weddings and bloodshed.

“Yeah, I did. I really though it would happen too. That’s why I stormed out earlier. You suggested we get married and just sounded so cavalier. Like, it was just one more thing we could do to please Snow. And I guess it made me think of my plans for the future and how I was never going to get any of them. So I got upset. It wasn’t anything against you.” He assured you with a sad smile.

“I understand. I just thought you didn’t want to marry me. I didn’t know you had all those plans. I’m sorry they won’t be happening.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry too. You and I got reaped just a few months before I was gonna ask you. And I haven’t recognized my life since then. But before all of this, I really thought it was gonna happen. Given that you said yes, of course. I even told my mother about my plan. She gave me this.” Peeta said and pulled necklace out from underneath his shirt. On a leather cord was a dainty silver diamond ring.

“Oh my gosh, Peeta. t’s beautiful.” You gasped and leaned forward to gently touch it with your fingertips. Peeta gulped at how close you were and felt his face heat up again.

“Your dad gave it to her.” He told you. “He found that diamond himself when he was working.”

“I can’t believe she kept it all these years. She could’ve made a fortune with this.”

“That’s what I said. But she said it was worth more than any amount they could offer her.”

“She sounds like a romantic. I see where you get it from.” You laughed softly and nudged him a little.

“Yeah. I’m a lot like her.”He said with a timid smile as he looked into your eyes. You stared at each other for a moment and you felt an ache in your bones for him. He was still so kind and gentle despite what you’d gone through together and the impending doom that loomed over your heads. He still wore the diamond ring his mom gave him and credited his kindness to her. Your mind began to picture the future Peeta had painted for you and you felt homesick for a place you’d never been to. You wished you could jump from the train and go live the life he described, but that could never happen.

“I wish we didn’t end up here.” You said in a quiet voice. You feared that if you spoke any louder, you’d burst into tears.

“I know. Me too. I wish things were different. I wish that I was asking you to marry me because I decided it was time. And I wish…” He trailed off as he started to get emotional at the thought of the life he would never have.

“You wish what?” You asked calmly and rubbed his arm to comfort him.

“I wish I knew you were saying yes because you meant it.” He admitted. “Not because you have to.”

You were both quiet for a while after that confession. A silence that wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, just very heavy, sat among you as you looked in opposite directions.

“I would’ve said yes.” You said after a beat.

“What?”

“If you had asked me. After high school. And told me about the cows and chickens and business. I would have told you yes.” You explained with a timid smile. Peeta stared at you for a minute to see if you were joking or not.

“No you wouldn’t have. You didn’t even know me back then.” He laughed dismissively.

“Yes I did. I knew you were kind and strong and hardworking. And now that I know you better, I know that you’re funny and resilient and thoughtful and kinda grumpy before you’ve had tea in the morning and not the worst to look at. What more could I ask for?”

“Not the worst to look at?” He cracked a smile.

“Come on. You know you’re handsome. Don’t make me say.” You rolled your eyes and he blushed once again.

“I would not use that word to describe myself. Especially not with Finnick running around.” He mumbled.

“Well I happen to think you’re very handsome. And the wife is always right. You need to know that if we’re going to get married. So shut up.” You said and playfully smacked his leg.

“Don’t tell me to shut up or else you’re not getting a ring.” Peeta played along.

“Oh, I’m getting that ring.” You insisted. “And I get to name all the cows. You can do what you want with the chicken but the cows are mine. And I’m giving them last names too. Fancy ones.”

You and Peeta both laughed at the dumb joke and you felt yourself relax. Even if your lives weren’t going to go the way you’d hoped, at least you could look forward to these moments of sweetness with him.

“Would you really have said yes?” Peeta asked in a small voice once your laughter died down.

“It depends. How would you have asked me?”

“I had a plan for that too, actually. I was going to pick you a bouquet of wild flowers. The ones that grow by the river bank. I know you like those.”

“I do like those. The orange and purple ones.”

“Yeah. Those.” He smiled. “I was gonna bring them to you and then get down on one knee. Like this.”

“That’s very old fashioned of you.” You couldn’t help but blush as Peeta got down on one knee in front of you.

“I know. But that’s all I know how to be. An old fashioned romantic. I even practiced how to get the ring out with one hand.” Peeta said as he struggled to get the ring from around his neck.

“You didn’t practice very hard.” You teased.

“Shh. Yes I did. I’m just nervous.” He laughed and finally got the ring free.

“Don’t be.” You told him. “It’s just you and me.”

“I was gonna explain how I got the ring. But I already told you that so pretend I was proposing then.” He said and waved his hand, making you laugh.

“Okay. I will. Oh, wow. My father’s ring? That he gave to your mother? Meaning we were almost siblings? How romantic.” You dramatically played along to humor him.

“Hush now. I’m trying to remember my plan. Then I was gonna tell you…” He trailed off again and a sheepish smile broke through on his face. You could see him losing his confidence but didn’t want him to stop.

“Tell me what?” You asked quietly and took his hand.

“I was going to say that you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And that I’ve seen a million sunsets since bakers have to get up before dawn but not one of them could compare to you. I would’ve said that you enchanted me from the first day I saw you and every day since. And that to know you is to be in awe of you. I would have told you that you were the strongest person I know and if you’d let me, I’d help you bear some of the weight you have on your shoulders.”

“Keep going.” You whispered and held his hand to your chest.

“Oh, okay, um. I was gonna tell you that I know you don’t love me yet but you could learn to. And that I would make it easy for you. I would promise to be the best partner you could ask for and to love you at every turn, no matter what gets thrown our way. I’d promise to wash your hair in the sink the way your mama does and build you a desk so that you can write letters to your family. And then I’d ask you to make me the happiest man alive and please-“

“Yes.” You cut him off as a single tear slipped down your face.

“Yes?”

“Yes.” You repeated. “I will marry you.”

“You will?” He smiled in disbelief as his eyes searched yours for signs of insincerity.

“I will. I want to. I’d love to. I love…” You trailed off and he sucked in a sharp breath in anticipation of what you were about to say.

“I love you.” You said finally. “And if I’m on this train forever, at least I have you with me. That means it’s going to be okay.”

“I love you too.” Peeta smiled at those long awaited words hitting his ears. You pulled him into a long kiss despite no cameras being around. But you both knew this moment wasn’t for the cameras. It was just for the two of you. When you pulled away, Peeta fumbled around with the ring.

“Sorry. My hands are shaking.” He was embarrassed to admit as he tried to steady them long enough to untie the chord around the ring.

“It’s okay. Take your time.” You assured him and he eventually slipped the leather chord off. He looked you in the eyes for one last confirmation and you nodded enthusiastically. With that, Peeta slid the song onto your finger and then leaned down to kiss your knuckles. You laughed at the gesture before cupping his face and bringing him into a kiss. Peeta got off his knee but never broke the kiss. A sudden knock at the door made you jump apart. Peeta sat on the opposite end of the couch while you smoothed your hair and wiped your face.

“Come in.” You called out and Haymitch walked in.

“Hey. I just wanted to check in on you guys after our conversation back there.” He said.

“We’re fine. We were just talking about the engagement. Peeta said we could go on Cesar’s show and he could propose then.” You lied to Haymitch with a smile.

“All right. Works for me. I’ll let Effie know.” Haymitch gave you a thumbs up and then left the room. When he was gone, Peeta looked at you curiously to see why you lied.

“We still have to fake one for the Capital, but this I’ll remember this as our real engagement.” You explained, making him smile fondly.

“One for us, one for them.” He replied and you nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. One for us, one for them.”

Tag list 🏷️

@ilovetoomanymen @kittimbo @sipsthecoffee @ohmyhuenings @ilykitwalker

@mayemperess @scenesofobx

@basicb1tchboy @planetevermore @bellasfavbisexual @kochothehoe

[novaursa]

Legacy (the silence)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Be awear of unspecified time jump.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (slight descritpion of blood and gore)

- Previous part: across the dream

- Next part: the great war

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

The wind howled through the towering cliffs of Casterly Rock, carrying with it the scent of salt and cold steel. Beneath the shadow of the great castle, the courtyard and the surrounding paths swarmed with men and banners, a sea of red and gold. The banners of the Westerlands stretched as far as the eye could see—familiar sigils of lesser houses loyal to the Lion of Lannister. The old roads, once worn by merchants and travelers, now thundered beneath the hooves of warhorses and the heavy tread of marching feet.

Tywin Lannister stood at the edge of the outer parapet, his gloved hands resting on the stone, his gaze sweeping over the columns of armed men pouring through the open gates. The force that had assembled was vast, perhaps the largest host the Westerlands had called upon in a generation, yet it was not as grand as it could have been in an age untouched by war and winter. Supplies were dwindling, and no matter how well-prepared he had been, no one had foreseen more then three years of endless night.

Kevan stood beside him, his face lined with quiet contemplation. “More arrive by the hour,” he said, his voice barely audible over the clamoring of men below. “Ser Myles Lefford rides at the head of the last host from the Golden Tooth, and the remaining forces from Deep Den and the Crag should be here soon.” He exhaled, his breath fogging in the cold air. “This is the last of them, Tywin. Every sword sworn to us has come.”

Tywin’s expression did not shift, but his grip on the stone tightened slightly.

“These are all who could make it,” he corrected.

Kevan nodded grimly. They both knew there were men still trapped in smaller holdfasts, cut off by the unnatural storms that had ravaged the roads. Others had never made it at all, swallowed by the darkness or the creatures that now roamed freely in the deep woods. The Westerlands had always been a strong, untamed land, but it had never known fear like this.

Below, the banners of House Brax, House Marbrand, House Kenning, and more fluttered in the frozen wind as their lords dismounted and gave orders to their men. A chorus of shouting, the clank of armor, and the snorting of warhorses filled the air, but there was no raucous celebration. No laughter. No boasting. Only the solemn grimness of men who had come to fight their last war.

Ser Addam Marbrand approached on foot, his orange cloak dusted with frost. He dipped his head in a respectful bow to Tywin. “My lord, my men have settled within the lower halls as ordered. The horses are being stabled, and we brought as many provisions as we could carry. We left none behind.” He hesitated for a moment, his dark eyes flickering with something unspoken. “Some of my men say they saw shapes in the woods as we rode. Pale figures in the trees, watching but not attacking. We rode hard to outpace them.”

Kevan shifted uncomfortably. “How many?”

Marbrand shook his head. “Too many to count.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady. “It was wise not to engage. Whatever numbers they bring, they will break against these walls.” His gaze remained fixed on the sea of arriving soldiers, his mind already turning over every possible strategy.

He had spent his life making war against men—rebels, usurpers, fools who thought they could defy the might of House Lannister. He had crushed them all. But this was no war of banners and crowns. This was something older, something no man had ever conquered.

And yet, he would not bow.

Kevan exhaled. “Winterfell sends no word back with messengers. Neither does the capital.”

“That is not an accident.” Tywin’s voice was cold. “Someone ensures the realm remains deaf to what is happening.”

Marbrand frowned. “Could it be Daenerys?”

Tywin shook his head. “No. She lacks the subtlety.” He turned, his cloak billowing behind him. “Whoever is doing this, it is not to her benefit either.”

Kevan hesitated. “Then who?”

Tywin did not answer. He had spent the last weeks pondering the same question, and yet no answer presented itself that did not lead to a darker conclusion.

Silence fell between them, broken only by the arrival of another rider. Ser Myles Lefford, his golden breastplate dulled with frost, dismounted stiffly and strode toward them.

“My lords,” he said, bowing, “we met no resistance on the road, but there are whispers among the men. They speak of villages where the fires still burned, but not a single soul remained. No bodies, no signs of struggle. Only silence.”

Tywin turned fully to face him. “How many villages?”

Lefford’s throat bobbed. “Too many.”

Kevan muttered a curse, running a hand through his beard. “This is beyond raiding. They are wiping the land clean.”

Marbrand nodded grimly. “If they mean to starve us, they have already begun.”

Tywin stared at the growing mass of soldiers in the courtyard below. This was the last host the West would ever raise, the final force that stood between annihilation and survival. If they failed here, there would be no retreat, no second war.

He turned back to his gathered men.

“We will not cower behind these walls like frightened children,” he said, his voice cutting through the cold. “We have prepared for this. The Rock has stood for thousands of years and will stand long after we are dust. These things may bring the cold, but I will see them burn.”

Marbrand and Lefford bowed. “As you command, my lord.”

Kevan looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.

Tywin cast one last glance at the forces still arriving.

Let them come.

He would make sure they paid in blood.

The war room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of wax and parchment, the heavy weight of impending doom pressing against the stone walls like an unseen specter. A great table stretched the length of the chamber, covered in a detailed map of Westeros, marked with carved sigils of their bannermen and the crude placements of their enemies. The Westerlands had gathered for their final stand, and all eyes now turned toward Tywin Lannister, the Lion of Casterly Rock, as he weighed their fates with the cold precision that had won him every war he had ever fought.

But this was no war of men.

The door creaked open, and the lords who sat around the table turned as you entered. You moved with the quiet grace that had been bred into you since birth, but there was something else in you now—something sharpened by years of survival, war, and the burden of knowledge you alone carried. As you stepped into the chamber, the gathered bannermen rose, offering you the respect due to both the Lady of Casterly Rock and a woman who rode a dragon.

Tywin looked up from the map, his expression unreadable as he gestured to the seat beside him. You took it without hesitation, feeling the weight of a dozen gazes settle on you. Kevan Lannister sat across from you, his brows furrowed, his hands folded over one another. Ser Addam Marbrand stood near the hearth, his face cast in flickering firelight, his fingers drumming idly against the pommel of his sword. Lord Lefford, Lord Brax, and the other lords of the West sat in quiet anticipation, waiting for the war council to begin.

It was Kevan who spoke first. “The last of our men have arrived. Every sword sworn to us is now within these walls. If we are to strike before the enemy reaches us, the time is now.”

Tywin gave a small, imperceptible nod. “And have they sent word from the capital? Anything or still nothing?”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

“No, my lord,” Lord Brax finally admitted, his voice grim. “No word from the Crownlands, nor from the North.”

You shifted, your fingers pressing against the edge of the table. “Then it is as we feared—someone ensures silence reigns across the realm. We are being cut off from the world.”

Ser Addam Marbrand exhaled through his nose. “We cannot afford to wait any longer, my lord. If the North is lost, the Others will march south unchallenged.”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, but he said nothing.

You leaned forward, your voice steady. “Then let me take Viserion and burn them before they reach us.”

The lords stirred at your words, some exchanging glances, others nodding in silent agreement.

Lord Lefford spoke up, his face lined with weariness. “She speaks sense, my lord. We do not know how many of them there are, nor how they fight, but if fire is truly their weakness, then we must use it before it is too late.”

Kevan hesitated. “We know fire can kill the wights. But we do not know if it can kill the Others. If they are truly creatures of ice, then perhaps dragonflame can undo them—but if not…” He trailed off, unwilling to speak the worst of it.

You turned to Tywin, watching as his jaw tightened, as the muscle in his cheek twitched ever so slightly. He was silent, thoughtful, but there was something else in his eyes. Hesitation.

It was rare to see Tywin Lannister unsure.

You softened your voice. “We cannot wait until they are at our gates, Tywin. The Rock may be impenetrable, but it is not invincible. If we allow them to gather, to grow stronger, then even these walls may not hold.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, but he still did not answer.

Kevan shifted in his seat. “She is right, brother. If we wait, we may find ourselves cornered, besieged by an enemy we do not fully understand.”

Ser Addam Marbrand, ever the strategist, leaned forward. “If we send her to test them now, we will know what we face before it is too late. We must learn if dragonfire can truly undo them. If it does not, then at least we will know the limits of our weapons before we make our stand.”

The lords murmured in agreement, their voices a mixture of conviction and unease.

But still, Tywin hesitated.

You reached for his hand beneath the table, pressing your fingers against his palm. It was a rare gesture, one done in the quiet privacy of your chambers, never in the presence of others. But now, with all of Westeros on the brink of destruction, you did not care for propriety.

He glanced at you then, his green eyes locking onto yours, searching.

You did not need to speak the words aloud. You must trust me.

For a long moment, the world around you ceased to exist. The lords, the war, the Rock—it all faded into silence.

Then, finally, Tywin spoke.

“You may go,” he said, his voice low, measured. “But you will not go alone.”

You arched a brow. “Who do you mean to send with me?”

Tywin turned to Kevan. “You will take a small force to accompany her. A dozen riders. No more.”

Kevan’s brows furrowed. “If she is flying, then there is no need for riders.”

Tywin’s gaze did not waver. “There is always a need for an escape plan.”

Your lips parted, but you did not argue. You could see it now—the barely concealed fear in his expression, the tightness in his shoulders. He was not a man who bent to fear. But this? This was different.

This was you.

And for the first time in all your years together, you realized what it meant for the lion to love a dragon.

Tywin turned to the room, his voice cold and commanding once more. “We move before the week is done. If this war is to be fought, we shall be the ones to strike first.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the lords.

You gave Tywin’s hand one last squeeze before releasing it, rising from your seat.

As you turned to leave, you felt his gaze linger on your back, a silent weight that followed you as you exited the war room.

And you knew, without a shadow of doubt, that if you did not return—there would be no force in this world that could stop Tywin Lannister from razing it to the ground.

The air smelled faintly of parchment and herbs, a mixture of the maester’s study and the lingering scent of medicinal balms. You sat on the cushioned bench beside the table, your hands resting on your lap, fingers idly tracing the embroidery on your sleeve. Across from you, Maester Aldren finished his examination, his expression grave yet unreadable as he straightened and exhaled softly.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, with a measured tone, he spoke.

“You are with child.”

The words settled heavily between you, like the final grains of sand slipping through an hourglass.

Your breath caught in your throat. It was not unexpected—not entirely. You had felt the changes within you in the past few weeks: the subtle exhaustion, the way your body had begun to shift in ways you recognized from before. But to hear it spoken aloud, to have it confirmed in this moment—now, on the eve of your departure—was something else entirely.

Maester Aldren continued, unaware of the tempest brewing in your mind. “You are early along. No more than a few moons, but there is no mistake. Your body has already begun adjusting.”

Your gaze flickered down to your hands, to the pale skin of your fingers, as thoughts warred within you. Another child. Tywin’s child.

The timing could not have been worse.

A deep inhale steadied you. When you spoke, your voice was firm. “You will not tell anyone.”

Aldren’s brows furrowed, his weathered face etched with confusion. “My lady, surely the Lord of the Rock should—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice unwavering. “Not yet.”

Aldren hesitated. He was a maester of the Citadel, sworn to duty and knowledge, but he was also a man who had served your household for years. He had tended to Damon and Maelor since their birth, and he had been at your side through battles and winters alike. But now, he looked at you with uncertainty, as if weighing whether to challenge you.

Carefully, he folded his hands before him. “May I ask why?”

You exhaled, standing slowly, smoothing the fabric of your cloak. “Because if I tell him, he will not let me leave.”

Aldren’s expression darkened. “And is that not a good thing?”

Your eyes snapped to him, a silent storm swirling in their depths. “No,” you said quietly. “Because if I do not leave, we may all perish.”

Silence stretched between you.

Aldren sighed, rubbing his temple. “You ride into battle, my lady. With a child inside you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I ride to ensure there is a future for my children—all of them.”

Aldren inhaled sharply, then released it in resignation. He knew you well enough to understand that your mind was made up, that no amount of reasoning or pleading would sway you.

“You must take care,” he murmured at last. “You must not overstrain yourself. And if you feel anything—anything—unusual, you will return at once.”

“I will,” you lied.

Aldren studied you, his gaze keen with scrutiny, but in the end, he nodded. He would not betray your trust, not now.

“I will do as you ask, my lady,” he said solemnly. “But this secret cannot be kept for long. You must tell Lord Tywin when you return.”

“When I return,” you echoed softly, as if speaking it into certainty.

But deep in your heart, you knew—if you did not return, it would not matter at all.

The cold air bit against your skin as you stepped into the courtyard of Casterly Rock, the darkened sky stretching endlessly above like an abyss without stars. The torches lining the perimeter of the fortress flickered wildly in the wind, their flames struggling against the unnatural night that had swallowed the world whole. The scent of damp stone, of leather and steel, mixed with the distinct sulfurous tang that always lingered when dragons were near.

Viserion emerged from the depths of the mines, her golden-hued scales gleaming even in the absence of true sunlight. Her wings stretched wide, sending gusts of wind through the courtyard as she let out a guttural rumble, sensing the purpose in the air. Her saddle, already secured, awaited you, the thick leather straps taut and ready for flight.

From the darkness of the mines, another presence loomed—Arraxes.

The young dragon lingered just beyond the threshold, his blood-red eyes cutting through the shadows like embers buried in ash. His serpentine form slithered closer, his nostrils flaring as he released a low, uneasy growl. It was not rebellion, nor was it defiance—it was hesitation. He felt the pull, the bond between himself and Viserion, his mother, his guiding flame. And yet, something deep within him warred against instinct.

Your heart clenched as you watched him, your gaze locking onto his unreadable, primal stare. You felt his longing, his indecision, the silent question lingering in his mind—why could he not follow? Why was he being left behind?

But after a long, agonizing moment, the young dragon released a huff and stepped back, retreating into the shadows of the mines. His glowing eyes were the last thing to vanish into the black.

The decision was made.

A gust of wind from Viserion’s wings snapped you from your thoughts, and you turned your attention back to the present. Your riders—loyal men who had trained tirelessly for this mission—stood at the ready, their steeds shifting restlessly beneath them. Their armor gleamed faintly under the torchlight, their eyes filled with a mix of apprehension and resolve.

And then, there was Tywin.

He stood apart from the others, his piercing green eyes fixed upon you with a gaze that burned deeper than any flame Viserion could conjure. He was clad in his riding leathers, his heavy fur-lined cloak draped over his shoulders, but there was no mistaking the tension in his stance. He had known this moment was coming, but that did not make it easier.

You approached him slowly, the sound of your boots against the stone drowned out by the howling wind. You could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides as if resisting the urge to reach for you and keep you here.

"You will return," he said, his voice low, edged with steel. It was not a question. It was a command.

You exhaled softly, allowing a small, knowing smile to grace your lips. "Of course."

Tywin narrowed his eyes, his gaze searching yours, as if trying to find any trace of deception. "You will return," he repeated, this time quieter. "Do not make a liar of yourself, wife."

A flicker of warmth spread through you at the possessiveness in his words, but it was overshadowed by the weight of what lay ahead. You wanted to promise him everything, but promises were fragile things in times like these.

Your hand reached for his, fingers curling around his wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath his skin. "I will be back before you know it," you murmured. "And when I return, you will scold me for being reckless, and I will laugh and say you worry too much."

Tywin exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression unreadable. "Yes," he muttered. "I expect I shall."

There was nothing more to say.

You turned, your fingers lingering against his for a moment longer before stepping away. The weight of his gaze followed you as you approached Viserion, each step measured, deliberate. The she-dragon lowered herself slightly, allowing you to climb into the saddle with practiced ease. The moment your hands grasped the reins, she shifted, restless, eager to take to the skies.

Your riders fell into position, their own mounts ready for the long flight ahead.

With one last glance at Tywin, you nodded once.

And then, with a powerful thrust of her wings, Viserion launched into the air, the ground falling away beneath you. The wind roared past your ears as the great she-dragon carried you higher and higher, her wings cutting through the endless night.

Below, the torches of Casterly Rock flickered like distant stars.

And Tywin watched, unmoving, until you were out of sight.

The deep black of the night pressed heavily against the walls of Casterly Rock, the vast stone fortress eerily silent save for the occasional crackling of the torches lining its halls. Outside, the wind howled against the cliffs, a distant, mournful sound that seemed to stretch endlessly into the void of the frozen world.

Maelor stirred in his bed, a small frown creasing his young face as a voice—her voice—whispered to him from the darkness.

"Maelor… Maelor, sweet boy, wake up."

His eyelids fluttered open, the voice wrapping around him like a gentle lullaby. It was familiar, impossibly so. His mother. But that was impossible. She had flown away with Viserion days ago, her absence leaving a hollowness in the castle that even the warmth of the dragonfires beneath the Rock could not chase away.

Yet, the voice persisted.

"Come to me, little lion. I'm waiting."

Compelled by something unseen, Maelor sat up, his small hands clutching at the heavy furs draped over him. The room was dimly lit by the embers still glowing in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. Damon slept soundly beside him, his breathing steady despite the scars that marred his once-unblemished skin.

Maelor hesitated for only a moment before slipping out of bed, his bare feet padding softly against the cold floor. He did not think to wake his brother, nor did he question why his mother was calling for him when he knew she was far away. Some part of him—the part that longed for her warmth, her presence, the safety of her embrace—urged him forward.

The door creaked as he pulled it open, and the dimly lit corridors of the Rock stretched before him like the gaping maw of a beast. The flickering torches barely pushed back the shadows, but the voice guided him, soft and insistent.

"This way, my love… just a little further…"

Maelor wandered deeper into the darkened halls, his small frame swallowed by the vastness of the corridors. The deeper he walked, the colder the air became. The warmth of the Rock, the heat of the dragons below, did not reach these parts. The torches burned lower, their flames barely more than dying embers.

And then, he saw it.

A figure stood at the end of the hall, its form barely visible through the gloom.

At first, Maelor thought it was his mother—but it wasn’t.

It was too tall. Too thin. Its body was an unnatural shade of pale, almost translucent in the dim light. And its eyes—icy blue, glowing like lanterns in the dark bored into him with unnatural hunger.

It smiled, revealing jagged, needle-sharp teeth that glistened as if coated in frost.

Maelor felt his body go stiff, his breath hitching in his throat. A scream clawed at his chest, but his lips would not part. He could not move.

The creature lifted a long, skeletal hand and beckoned him forward.

"Come, little one. Your mother is waiting."

Maelor's feet shuffled forward against his will. He did not want to move, but something was pulling him.

The closer he got, the colder the air became. Frost coated the walls, forming intricate spirals that pulsed as if alive. His vision blurred, the world narrowing to the wraith-like figure before him. The blue light in its eyes expanded, swallowing his thoughts whole.

"Maelor!"

The spell shattered as a roaring explosion of fire illuminated the corridor.

The creature shrieked as a blade, engulfed in white-hot flames, slashed through the darkness.

Beric Dondarrion and his men rushed into the corridor, their weapons drawn, their torches alight. The glow of Beric’s sword cast long shadows along the walls, the flames flickering with unnatural intensity.

"GET BACK!" Beric bellowed as he slashed at the creature again, his blade carving a molten arc through the air.

The wraith recoiled, its shriek sharp and piercing, like ice cracking beneath unbearable weight. The blue light in its eyes flickered violently, its form twisting and shifting as if struggling to maintain its presence.

Maelor collapsed to the ground, his body released from its invisible hold. He gasped, his breath forming white clouds in the freezing air.

Damon skidded into the corridor just as Thoros of Myr lifted his hands, his voice booming with a prayer to the Lord of Light.

"R'hllor, great god of flame, cast out this darkness!"

A pillar of fire erupted from the torches, roaring down the corridor and engulfing the creature in a cascade of golden flames.

The wraith let out a piercing scream, its body contorting in agony as the fire consumed it. The glow in its eyes flickered once—twice—and then was gone.

The creature collapsed into ash.

For a moment, the only sound was Maelor’s ragged breathing as he stared at the spot where the thing had stood. His tiny hands trembled, his eyes wide with lingering terror.

Beric rushed to the boy, kneeling before him. "Are you hurt?"

Maelor shook his head, his lips trembling. Damon, pale-faced and breathless, hurried to his brother’s side, grasping his arm. "What were you thinking?" he demanded. "You—You just left—"

Before Maelor could answer, alarm bells rang out through the Rock.

Beric shot to his feet, his eyes snapping toward the direction of the castle walls.

Thoros wiped sweat from his brow, his expression grim. "That was just one," he murmured. "And it got inside."

Beric turned to the nearest guard. "Ring the bells louder. Get Lord Tywin—now."

The guard did not hesitate. He turned and ran, his armor clanking against the stone as he rushed toward the war room.

Maelor turned, looking up at his older brother. Damon’s scarred face was unreadable, but his grip on Maelor’s arm was tight—almost too tight.

The young boy swallowed.

Outside, the winds howled as if something was coming.

The wind tore through the skies, sharp as Valyrian steel, slicing through the furs that lined your shoulders. Viserion’s wings thundered against the frozen air, her pale scales reflecting the faintest shimmer of what should have been moonlight—but the sky above was a void of black, no stars, no light, only the oppressive weight of endless darkness.

Below, your riders moved in a steady formation, their banners flapping violently as their horses trudged through the snow-covered terrain. You could barely make them out beneath the swirling mist of ice and frost, but they were there—loyal men, brave men, following you into the unknown. The silence of the night was unnatural, the only sound the distant howl of the wind, a mournful wail that curled around the mountains and valleys, whispering of something unseen.

Then, the world shifted.

A wall of ice and snow erupted from the earth without warning, spiraling upward like a specter clawing its way from the abyss. The storm came alive, swallowing the riders below in a matter of heartbeats. One moment, they were there—the next, gone.

Viserion reared back, her wings thrashing against the violent gusts, the force of the winds shoving her sideways. You gritted your teeth, tightening your grip on the saddle, your fingers numb from the freezing air.

"No—no, no, no."

The snow howled, a deafening roar that filled the sky. It wasn’t a natural storm—it couldn’t be. The way it moved, the way it devoured everything in its path—it was something else.

Something unnatural.

"Viserion! Fly higher!" you commanded, but the dragon twisted in the air, her balance faltering. She, too, had lost direction.

You pulled at the reins, attempting to steer her, but there was nothing. No point of reference, no horizon, only the suffocating black.

Then—the screams began.

Muffled, distant, but unmistakable. The wails of dying men and the frantic shrieks of horses as something found them in the dark. The sounds were swallowed almost immediately, as if the very air itself refused to carry the echoes of their deaths.

Viserion bucked wildly beneath you, her body writhing.

"Dracarys!" you roared.

She obeyed, her mighty throat igniting as a torrent of golden-white flame erupted into the void.

It did nothing.

The fire vanished the moment it left her maw, consumed by the very darkness itself. It was as if the night had a hunger of its own, devouring the heat, the light, leaving nothing but the frigid chill of the abyss.

The cold sank into your bones—something was watching.

Then, you saw it.

The darkness broke.

The storm lifted, just enough for you to see what lay ahead.

Your breath seized in your throat, your heart slamming against your ribs.

An army.

An endless army.

Miles upon miles of them, stretching to the very ends of the world. Their armor was frozen over with rime, their flesh long decayed, but their eyes—all of them—burned blue.

They were waiting.

A thousand—ten thousand—a hundred thousand. Their weapons, their rotted banners, their skeletal steeds.

And at their center, it stood.

A figure upon an undead beast, a skeletal dragon with tattered wings of ice. Its rider—tall, gaunt, clad in blackened, frozen armor, its face obscured save for those impossibly bright blue eyes.

The Night King.

His gaze lifted to the sky, and though his expression did not shift, you felt his attention settle on you.

Then—the voice.

A screeching, wretched sound, not spoken but forced into your very skull. It was neither words nor whispers, but pain.

Your vision blurred, agony lancing through your skull like a thousand shards of ice. Your hands trembled against the reins, your breath coming in short, painful gasps.

Viserion screamed.

She twisted midair, writhing in pain as the sound tore through her skull, her mighty wings faltering. You clung to her, barely holding on as she spiraled, her shrieks echoing across the wasteland.

You didn’t know if you were screaming too.

The world spun.

Then—Viserion surged forward.

Her instincts overrode the pain, her body moving. She veered northward, desperate to escape the unseen force trying to drag her from the sky.

The Night King watched.

The wights watched.

The thousands upon thousands of dead watched.

And as you vanished beyond the storm, the voice echoed one last time—a promise.

"Soon."

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

Chapter 1

(A Cersei Lannister x G!p Fem reader fanfiction story)

Summary: Just a short story of how dangerous it is to love a Lannister.

Do not get involved with the Lannisters, they said, especially the one and only Cersei Lannister.

Evil queen, as the commoners had called her behind her back. Willful. Ambitious. Cunning.

They had all warned you about it. Your cousin Oberyn had warned you about it. Your father had warned you about it growing up. You and your siblings knew what they did to your cousin Elia when she was still young. Though you were almost eighteen years younger than Oberyn, you knew every cruel thing the family Lannister had done to any house just to obtain power. The Lannisters were nothing short but greedy.

Even Cersei's own brother, Tyrion, whom you had the chance to know later on, had pointed out all the signs how loving her sister could lead to your untimely demise.

But of course, you didn't believe any of it. You couldn't just pass and blame unto the children the sins of their father. Even when Cersei's offspring, Joffrey, was the cruelest King you had ever known.

It was King Robert's name day when you first saw Cersei and her family. You were sent by your father as a representative from House Martell, just to keep appearances. There was a reason why your house motto was "Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken". House Martell was the last of the Seven Kingdoms to join Westeros after all.

Only the infamous imp, Lord Tyrion, greeted your arrival, what with the Capital not expecting some young woman from House Martell to arrive instead of Prince Doran himself. Lucky for you, you get to be invisible for the duration of the event. Tired from your long travel from Dorne, you immediately requested to be escorted into your chambers.

The first moment you had set your eyes on Cersei was the time when you accidentally bumped into her in the Red Keep as you turned around the corner outside the Library, with a slice of mince pie hanging from your mouth. It was very unladylike of you but books and scrolls filled your arms at the moment.

You were an avid reader. Having said this to Tyrion, he suggested you could use the Red Keep's Library to your full content. You checked out some writings and took them with you. It wasn't stealing when they were just gaining dust on the shelves remaining untouched probably for centuries.

Curly golden hair, emerald green eyes, fair skin, and a slender, graceful figure met your vision the moment you opened your eyes.

Of course, the pie fell unto the ground as you immediately kneeled and apologized profusely when you realized it was her. Queen Cersei.

Cersei only scoffed, irritated, as she hurriedly walked past you, her knights in armor following her.

Slowly standing up, you couldn't help but look back at Cersei as she walked away, how her golden hair sway perfectly from her back. Any one, man or woman, who would deny calling Cersei beautiful was a fool.

Cersei was strikingly beautiful, the kind that could whip the air out from your lungs and somehow you'd forget how to breathe. One look from her and your heart could stop from beating.

From that moment on, you couldn't seem to forget about her.

She was the only thing in your mind and heart even when you finally returned back home to Dorne. She was the first thing you shared to your friends when they asked you how the trip to the Capital went. And they were all wary. They all warned you about it.

But of course, you were in love.

~~~

When King Robert died, you must have insisted on your father to send you back to the Capital to give your condolences on behalf of House Martell. And how disappointed you were that your cousin Prince Doran had already went and there was no need for you to go. For all you knew, your father was just worried you'd make a stupid out of yourself in front of the Royal family, especially the Lannisters.

Joffrey succeeded him as expected. You hated the small guy. You hated the fact that he was Cersei's blood. You still could not believe his sister Myrcella, a sweet young girl, was related to him. You hated him more when news about the execution of the traitor Lord Ned Stark reached Dorne. You knew it had something to do with King Joffrey.

That was when the war began. The game of thrones.

You were forbidden to leave Dorne ever since. Your father remained adamant that you stayed within the castle but you only grew restless. You knew how to use any weapon provided to you, be it a sword, a bow and arrow, a spear or even just a table knife. Any children in Dorne were trained to combat growing up. You weren't an exception.

There was a strong urge inside of you to fight for the Capital but rumors about the incestuous affair between Cersei and her twin brother, Jaime, about Joffrey not being the true heir, only befuddled your judgment. If there was any truth to it, then the next in throne should be Robert's brother, Stannis Baratheon.

Myrcella arrived in Dorne some time later, and the color of her hair only reminded you of her. You doubted it was Cersei's decision to send her only daughter far away from the Capital but it was the wisest one since Dorne was the safest place in Westeros.

If you were born a woman, you better be a highborn or better if you lived in Dorne. Women in Dorne had equal rights the same as men. They could also inherit lordships and land from their parents, even they were included in the succession of titles.

"Do not get involved, my daughter," your father had said. "This is their fight."

"So the Martells would be called cowards by staying silent and closing its doors?"

Your cousin Oberyn only gave you a look of pity.

"We are not closing our doors. Myrcella is even well protected. We are just not participating when we are not called to participate. There's no raven yet from the Capital. There's no reason to act on something that's barely being lit."

"Barely being lit? There's a war going on in the North, the wildfire-"

"This discussion is over, Y/n. I think it wise to discuss about your marriage-"

You didn't give your father a chance to finish and left to head back to your chambers.

There was freedom in Dorne. Freedom to live. Freedom to love anyone regardless of gender. Freedom to marry who you truly desire. But being part of the royal family in Dorne and an only child, you were obliged to marry and continue your blood. And your father had insisted you for five years now since you turned twenty.

You never knew your mother. But you knew she wouldn't insist you to make an heir for someone you didn't love.

You had vast experiences when it came to fornication, what with being born with a certain appendage became known in Dorne. Your father scolded you for being too reckless and yet there you were complaining why your cousins could bed anyone, have a child with them, while watching your father's maester make a certain cup of tea for the whore you had spent the night with.

Both men and women, from sacred houses to brothels, you weren't picky.

But ever since knowing the existence of one certain blonde goddess, you knew you had chosen who you were going to marry. As you stopped and stared into the horizon from the balcony of the castle, all you could think about was the war going on in every direction thousands and thousands of miles away from Dorne, and Cersei defending her children as they fought against Stannis Baratheon. And there you were in Dorne, trapped.

"I know what you're thinking," Oberyn spoke as he stood beside you in the balcony. "Your father won't approve. Every Dornish won't approve."

You could only scoff. "I thought I was free to love and marry who I wish to love and marry-"

"But a Lannister, Y/n? And Cersei herself?" Oberyn chuckled, shaking his head. "You must have gone crazy."

You chuckled back as you went to ignore him.

"And she's probably what, almost eight or nine years older than you?"

"You know age won't stop me from admiring such beauty."

"Should I call the maesters and have you checked?"

You laughed. "Call it what you want. But I know I'll get her one day."

"Death would get you one day, Y/n, if you're not too careful."

[pickyourpoisonandevolve]

Boyfriends to Have Boyfriends Headcanons, pt 4

I cannot stress enough how these are FLYING from my brain into a post. A brief thanks to everyone who’s said something sweet about this so far, I deeply appreciate you and your interest in what has to be my mental illness at this point.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

—-

It’s maybe one of the few times in your life you wished you were deployed. Leave is a siren song for fools, you thought. No one was meant to have this much time sitting in their dumb flat thinking about how they were fucking their Captain AND fellow sergeant. You were going to get discharged for sure. Dishonorable with a capital D. They were going to be mad at you for fucking your way through the team. Johnny would literally explode. But Price said that he KNEW—

A buzz. A text. Thinking too loud yet again.

Gaz: You doing anything today? Running errands near your part of town. Wanna come with?

In for a penny, right?

—-

You let him talk you into a wash day. A small luxury you two were able to afford yourselves as the two BIPOC members of the team. He even managed to talk you into going back to his (stupid face he makes where he tilts his head and smiles at you, can barely look at it, the bastard) Now you were sitting at his beautiful kitchen table, watching awful tv on low, with him on the floor between your legs as you rubbed scalp oil into his. You’d buy a timeshare in the 8th circle of hell if he sold it to you at this point.

“Call it nostalgia, I guess. My sisters used to do this for me back in the day. I miss it.”

“Those helmets aren’t doing any favors for anyone. Have you seen John and Simon’s crown lately? And how they both insist—“

“It isn’t thinning?” You both say in unison, laughter tearing through you both. His hand sneaks around to caress your calf, while your nails lightly scratch his scalp as you catch your respective breath.

“Hey. I, uh, wanted to—“

“Up, it’s your turn.”

“Wait, I wan—

Gaz pops up and takes you gently in his hands, leading you to the ground as he sits in the chair, hands already oiled and ready. You sat in a huff. He couldn’t say he regretted seeing you pout. The unease and frustration already settled in your stomach now had a new player enter the fold: Gaz’s fingers gently massaging your scalp. A short but hard fought battle internally, he felt your pulse slow, your body relax between his legs. That makes one of us, he thought passively.

“I know we didn’t make this easy for you. And I’m sorry. I don’t want to speak on behalf of John too much, but we’re not the most. Subtle men. You could say.”

You let out a small sound of agreement. “How long, uh. I guess how long has this been happening?”

“Couple years after I joined the force. Around the same time Simon and Johnny started I reckon.”

“Man, I should have been drafted sooner, I’d have a boss all to myself to fuck too—“

You felt his fingers tighten gently, just enough to pull your head back and give you a stern look. You gave him a meek smile as an apology, before he returned to his ministrations.

“As I was saying. We’re a team. Always have been. We could have made it a big deal, or we could continue to be great at what we do, work together. Price was just… everything I needed. Made me who I am today. Let me become the man I needed to be. No judgement.”

You nodded in his hands. You let your eyes close as he talked, letting his fingers lull you into a state. Aware but relaxed. Malleable, he’d call it. Right where he wanted you.

“But then someone had to come along and ruin it all.” He said with a laugh. “John and I share a lot of traits, and being territorial is one of em. You were so fucking sweet, and talented. Talked about you when we were together. And I just wanted to sink my fucking teeth into you.” He said, an edge in his voice now, nails scraping across your scalp a touch.

A new warmth ran through you as you felt hands pick you up from your seated position. Kyle carried you bridal style to the couch, laying you down in front of his windows in his flat overlooking the city. Your hair, big and wild from his hands, fell around your head like a halo. Fucking so perfect for him all the time. “You almost have her, don’t fuck this up.” He said to himself.

“We want you to be ours. No rank, no file. Just us.” He said, leaning over you, thumb running across your cheek.

Keys in the door started to jingle. A swish of bags and boots hit the floor as they come across the entrance and footsteps approach. “Hey love.”

Your heart stopped. You’re sure of it. Your eyes peeked open as the power of the sun was 5 feet from your face. Two of the hottest guys you’ve ever met standing above you as they ask you to be… a part of them. A piece to complete the puzzle. To make them feel a little more complete.

Your eyes become a little less lovedrunk, a little more sober and panic shoots through both of them for a moment. Your eyebrows scrunched, a sign they’ve come to learn means that you were unsure of the outcome. The thunder before the storm of “what if’s” cloud your mind. John reached down to pull you in a seated position, pressing his forehead against yours. “You could put a bullet in my head and I’d thank you for it. You couldn’t fuck this up if you tried.” He pulled back a touch to let Kyle in.

“Let us love you, sweetheart. We’ll spend the rest of our lives making sure you feel like you’re enough, yeah?” Kyle asked.

A small smile graced your lips, as you brought a hand to both their faces. “Yeah. We’re a team.”