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novaursa · 5 months ago

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The Dragon's Right (10)

- Summary: - It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Pairing: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 9

- Next part: 11

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

The Crown’s forces gathered on the ridge overlooking the barren landscape of the Dornish border. Rows of soldiers stood at the ready, shields raised, spears glinting under the harsh sun, their faces set with grim resolve. The wind carried the distant sound of drums and war horns, a steady beat from the Dornish army assembling in the valley below. The smell of dust and sweat clung to the men, the anticipation of battle hanging heavy over the field.

Captain Mallor, the commander of your ground forces, surveyed the scene with narrowed eyes. “They’re massing for a charge,” he muttered to his lieutenant, his voice low but tense. “We’re outnumbered, but if we hold the ridge, we might stand a chance.”

The lieutenant nodded, though his face was pale with the realization of what lay ahead. “Where is the prince?” he asked quietly. “We’ll need him… and his dragon.”

The captain’s eyes flicked to the sky, scanning the clear horizon. “He’ll come,” he said, though even he couldn’t hide the uncertainty in his voice.

Below them, the Dornish army moved like a tide, their brightly colored banners snapping in the wind, the glint of their spears and swords creating a sea of metal and bloodlust. They were ready, and they were coming. Soon.

But then, just as the tension seemed about to break, there was a distant, thunderous roar that echoed across the valley, causing every head to snap upward.

From the clouds above, Silverwing appeared, her massive wings beating the air with a power that made the ground tremble. You sat atop her, your body braced against the saddle as she descended swiftly, the sun catching the glint of her silvery scales. Below, the soldiers on both sides stared in awe and fear as the great dragon loomed above them, casting a shadow over the battlefield.

“There he is!” someone shouted from the lines of your men, their spirits lifting at the sight of you and Silverwing.

“Ready the archers!” Captain Mallor barked, his voice carrying over the clamor as Silverwing swooped down, her powerful wings stirring up clouds of dust.

You could feel the tension of the moment in your bones, your heart pounding with both anticipation and dread. This was it. The Dornish army was larger than expected, and you knew they had prepared for you. Reports of scorpion ballistas had been filtering in for weeks, but now, as you flew over the mass of their forces, you could see the large siege weapons being wheeled into position.

Silverwing let out another deafening roar, one that shook the ground and sent a shudder through the enemy ranks. But the Dornish were not cowed so easily. They were battle-hardened and knew that dragons, while powerful, were not invincible.

You leaned forward, giving Silverwing the command to dive.

With a terrifying grace, Silverwing folded her wings and plunged downward, a stream of dragonfire spilling from her open jaws. The fire hit the front ranks of the Dornish army like a hammer, the flames scorching the earth, leaving nothing but charred bodies and burning wreckage in their wake. Screams filled the air as the heat of the flames spread, and men scrambled to avoid the dragon’s wrath.

But as you circled for another pass, you caught sight of the scorpions—massive ballistas mounted on wooden platforms, their operators frantically turning the cranks to aim the deadly harpoons at you.

“They’re aiming for us!” you shouted to yourself, tightening your grip on the reins as you urged Silverwing to veer left. Her wings flared, and you felt the rush of wind as she twisted away, avoiding the first volley of harpoons that whizzed through the air, missing by mere feet.

“Hold steady!” you commanded, but your heart raced as you saw more scorpions being loaded, their deadly spears now pointed directly at you.

Silverwing banked hard, her wings cutting through the air as she avoided another harpoon. But in the chaos of the battlefield, you didn’t see the third scorpion until it was too late.

A sharp whistle split the air, and you had only a second to react. You yanked on the reins, pulling Silverwing into a sudden roll, but the harpoon grazed your side, tearing through your armor and ripping a searing line of pain across your ribs. You gritted your teeth, gasping as the wound burned, blood soaking through your tunic.

Silverwing let out a shriek of alarm, her body jerking to the side as she felt your pain through your bond. “I’m fine!” you shouted, though the throbbing agony in your side made it difficult to speak. “Just keep flying!”

You gripped the reins tighter, ignoring the hot, sticky sensation of blood running down your skin. Another scorpion fired, and this time, Silverwing was ready. She spun in the air, dodging the harpoon with ease before unleashing another blast of fire, scorching the siege weapon and the men operating it. The ballista exploded into a burst of wood and flame, sending debris flying in all directions.

But the battle was far from over. The Dornish soldiers, seeing their weapons destroyed, began to surge forward, their commanders barking orders as they launched a full-scale charge toward your forces.

“Now!” Captain Mallor shouted from below, raising his sword. The archers let loose their arrows in a deadly volley, and the front lines of the Dornish army fell in droves. But still, they pressed on, determined to reach the ridge and break your lines.

You urged Silverwing lower, her great wings beating the air as she descended once more. The battle below was chaos—soldiers clashing, shields splintering, the sounds of swords clanging and men screaming filling the air. You could see your forces struggling to hold the line, the weight of the Dornish numbers pushing them back.

“We need to break their charge,” you muttered, scanning the battlefield for the best point of attack.

Silverwing growled in response, her body coiled with fury, ready to strike. You guided her toward the thickest part of the enemy lines, where the Dornish were pressing hardest. With a flick of the reins, you gave her the signal, and she opened her jaws wide, releasing another torrent of dragonfire.

The flames tore through the enemy ranks, leaving devastation in their wake. Men screamed as they were consumed by fire, their armor melting to their skin. Horses bucked and fled in terror, and the ground itself seemed to burn as Silverwing’s fire swept across the battlefield.

But even as you rained fire upon the enemy, you knew this would not be enough. The Dornish were relentless, their resolve unshaken by the dragon’s fury. They pushed forward, their commanders shouting for them to press the advantage.

Your side burned with pain, but you ignored it, focusing only on the battle, on the roar of Silverwing’s breath, and on the enemy that had to be stopped.

As the battle raged on, the Dornish forces began to falter, their morale breaking under the relentless assault of dragon and steel. But you knew there would be no easy victory here. The fight had only just begun, and the price of protecting the realm would be paid in blood.

But for now, the Crown’s forces held. And Silverwing, her scales glistening with blood and soot, let out one final, victorious roar that echoed across the battlefield, sending a shudder of fear through the remnants of the Dornish army.

The mood in the Tower of the Hand was suffocating, the air heavy with unspoken words as Otto Hightower sat in his study, his fingers drumming impatiently against the edge of his desk. His brow was deeply furrowed, his mind clearly preoccupied as he stared at the open window, his thoughts far beyond the confines of the Red Keep. The months had dragged on since you had flown off to the Dornish border, and with each passing day, Otto’s frustrations grew. Plans were stalling, opportunities slipping through their grasp, all while the realm waited for the prince’s return—if he ever returned.

A soft rustling of fabric caught his attention, and he turned to see Alicent standing quietly by the door, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. She had come at his summons, but the look on her face revealed she knew this conversation would not be a pleasant one. She could sense her father’s agitation in the set of his jaw, the tightness around his eyes.

“Alicent,” Otto said without preamble, gesturing for her to enter. “Come in. We need to speak.”

She stepped into the room, her movements graceful but hesitant. The weight of the past months had settled heavily on her shoulders, her inner turmoil visible in the slight slump of her posture. She stood before her father, her hands still clasped tightly, as if bracing herself for what was to come.

“Yes, Father?” Alicent asked softly, her voice betraying the nerves she felt. She had been waiting for this conversation, knowing it was only a matter of time before Otto’s frustrations turned toward her.

Otto’s frown deepened as he stood from his chair, pacing slowly around the room, his hands behind his back. He didn’t look at her directly as he spoke, his voice low but filled with irritation. “It’s been months, Alicent. Months since the prince left for the Dornish border, and in that time, we’ve made no progress. None.”

Alicent’s heart sank at his words. She had known this was coming, but hearing the disappointment in her father’s voice still stung deeply. She shifted uncomfortably, not quite meeting his gaze as he continued.

“We had a plan,” Otto went on, his tone growing sharper. “A plan that hinged on your ability to gain the prince’s favor. And yet, here we are. Months later, and you have nothing to show for it.”

Alicent flinched at the harshness of his words, but she forced herself to remain composed, though her voice wavered slightly as she responded. “I know, Father. But… the prince—he’s been away for so long. There was little I could do once he left.”

Otto stopped pacing, turning to face her with a sharp look in his eyes. “And whose fault is that? You had your chance, Alicent. You had the opportunity to win his trust, his affection, but you let it slip away. Now, we’re stuck waiting for him to return, if he even does.”

Alicent’s throat tightened, and she felt the sting of tears threatening to well in her eyes. She blinked them back, her fingers twisting nervously in front of her. She knew her father was right, at least in part. She had tried to win your favor, but her efforts had always felt hollow, overshadowed by your bond with Rhaenyra. And now, with you gone, she felt as though she had failed entirely.

“I’ll be better prepared when he returns,” she said quietly, her voice filled with quiet determination despite the sadness that weighed on her heart. “I’ll be patient, and I’ll make sure I’m ready.”

Otto raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a scornful smile. “Patient? Prepared?” He shook his head. “Alicent, by the time he returns, it may already be too late. The realm moves on, and so do alliances. If you don’t act now, we’ll lose everything we’ve worked for.”

Alicent’s chest tightened, her heart pounding in her ears as she struggled to find the right words. She had always been obedient to her father’s wishes, always tried to meet his expectations. But with you, it had been different. The feelings she harbored for you were not just strategy or duty—they were something deeper, something that made it difficult to see you as just another piece in the game her father played. She had grown fond of you, despite her attempts to push those feelings aside.

“But I can do this,” Alicent insisted, her voice firmer this time. “I won’t fail again.”

Otto sighed heavily, walking toward the window and looking out over the Red Keep. His shoulders were tense, his frustration evident in the way his hands gripped the windowsill. “You need to set aside your foolish feelings for the prince,” he said, his tone cold. “This isn’t about love, Alicent. It never was. It’s about securing our position, securing the future of our house.”

The words hit her like a physical blow, and she recoiled slightly, her eyes widening in shock. Her father’s bluntness wasn’t new, but hearing him dismiss her emotions so callously hurt more than she had expected. She had tried to hide her feelings, even from herself, but now they were laid bare, exposed and dismissed in the same breath.

“I…” Alicent started to speak, but her voice faltered, her hands trembling at her sides. She couldn’t deny that part of her had hoped for something more than mere duty in her interactions with you, and now, her father had torn that hope away.

Otto turned back to face her, his expression hard. “You had your chance, and you wasted it,” he said coldly. “Now we have to rethink our approach.”

Alicent lowered her head, trying to swallow the lump in her throat as she fought back the sting of tears. She didn’t want to appear weak in front of her father, not now. But the weight of his words crushed her, leaving her feeling as though she had failed not just him, but herself as well.

“What… what do you want me to do, Father?” she asked quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Otto’s eyes gleamed with a new idea, his lips curling into a calculating smile as he stepped closer to her. “The king,” he began slowly, his voice taking on a more measured tone. “Your efforts may not have worked with the prince, but King Viserys… he’s been suffering since he sent his son away. He’s lonely, grieving the absence of his heir.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed, her confusion evident as she looked at her father. “Father, what are you saying?”

Otto’s gaze sharpened, his tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. “You will go to him, Alicent. You will offer him comfort.”

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Father, I… I don’t understand. You want me to—”

“You’ll offer him comfort,” Otto repeated, his voice firm. “The king is vulnerable right now. He needs someone by his side, someone he can rely on. And that someone should be you.”

Alicent shook her head, stepping back from her father, her heart racing. “But I… Father, I can’t…”

Otto’s expression darkened, his patience wearing thin. “You will do what’s necessary, Alicent. This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for. If you can win the king’s trust, his affection, we can secure our position in the realm. You’ll ensure our future.”

Alicent’s chest tightened, her mind reeling from the implications of what her father was asking of her. “But… but I care for the prince,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I thought… I thought I could—”

Otto cut her off with a sharp look. “The prince is gone, Alicent. And when he returns, it may be too late to secure anything with him. You must focus on the here and now. The king is the key to our future.”

Alicent stared at her father, her heart breaking as the weight of his expectations crashed down on her. She had always done as he asked, always played the part he had molded her into. But this… this was different. This felt like a betrayal, not just to herself, but to you as well.

“I’ll do what you ask,” she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “But…” She hesitated, tears welling in her eyes. “I… I just wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

Otto’s expression softened for a moment, but only briefly. “We all must make sacrifices, Alicent,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Now go. The king needs comfort. Give it to him.”

Alicent nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat as she turned to leave the room, her heart heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead.

The air in King Viserys’s private chambers was charged with strife, the kind that clung to the walls and weighed down every breath. Rhaenyra stood, her fists clenched tightly at her sides, her chest rising and falling with the force of her anger. Across the room, Viserys sat in his high-backed chair, his face red from the shouting match that had already unfolded between them. His eyes were sharp with frustration, though beneath it all was the unmistakable sorrow of a father who felt cornered by his own decisions.

“I will not marry him!” Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, fierce and defiant, her usually calm demeanor shattered. She paced the floor, unable to stand still, her mind racing as the weight of her father’s words sank in. “Lord Jason Lannister? He is arrogant, conceited, and—"

“You will marry him,” Viserys interrupted sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are a princess, and this is your duty. Lord Jason is the perfect match to solidify the alliance between the Crown and House Lannister. This is not up for debate.”

Rhaenyra spun on her heel, her face a mixture of fury and disbelief. “I don’t care about alliances, Father!” she shouted, her voice trembling with emotion. “I will not be bargained off like a prize to someone like Jason Lannister. You know nothing of him—he’s vain, pompous, and entirely insufferable! I refuse to marry him, and I will not be forced into this.”

Viserys’s jaw tightened, and he slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair, the sound echoing through the chamber. “You will marry him, Rhaenyra!” he bellowed, rising from his seat, his face flushed with anger. “You think you can run from your duty forever? This is not a choice! You are the heir to the Iron Throne, and you will marry as I see fit. That is the end of it.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes burned with tears she refused to shed, her heart pounding with rage. She stared at her father, her lip trembling as the weight of his words pressed down on her. He had always been the one person she thought would understand her, the one person she could count on. But now, here he was, forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want with a man she despised.

“This is about more than just duty,” she said, her voice lower now, but no less intense. “It’s about control. You married Alicent, and now you think you can dictate the rest of my life. But I won’t let you. I won’t.”

Viserys’s face softened, if only for a moment, at the mention of his new wife. The two years since his marriage to Alicent had not been easy on his relationship with Rhaenyra, and he knew this decision would only drive a deeper wedge between them. But he couldn’t back down. Not now.

“This is the way things are done, Rhaenyra,” he said, his voice calmer but still resolute. “You must understand that everything I do is for the good of the realm. You will be queen one day, and this marriage is essential to securing the stability of your future rule.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, her jaw clenched in defiance. “I will never marry Jason Lannister,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the force of her determination. “Never.”

Before Viserys could respond, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the chamber, her footsteps heavy with anger. The guards at the door flinched as she passed, their eyes wide with alarm at the sight of the princess so visibly enraged.

“Princess!” Ser Criston Cole called out from down the corridor, his voice filled with concern as he hurried to catch up with her. He had been waiting just outside the king’s chambers, listening to the raised voices within. Now, seeing Rhaenyra’s furious expression, he knew something terrible had happened.

She didn’t stop, didn’t slow her pace as she marched toward her chambers, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to control the storm of emotions inside her. Ser Criston followed her closely, his armor clinking with every hurried step.

“Princess, please,” he said gently, though there was an edge of urgency in his voice. “What happened? What has the king said?”

Rhaenyra didn’t answer. She couldn’t. If she spoke, she feared the anger boiling inside her would explode in a way she couldn’t control. Instead, she pushed open the door to her chambers with more force than necessary, the wood creaking under her hands.

Once inside, she finally stopped, her back to Ser Criston as she stood in the middle of the room, her chest heaving. She was shaking, her body tense with the intensity of her emotions. Ser Criston, ever respectful, lingered just inside the door, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Leave me,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice thick with barely suppressed emotion. “I need to be alone.”

Ser Criston hesitated for a moment, his eyes scanning her form for any sign of what might have transpired. But he knew better than to press her. He bowed his head slightly. “As you wish, Princess,” he said softly, before stepping back into the hallway and closing the door behind him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Rhaenyra let out a shuddering breath, her entire body trembling with fury and despair. She paced the room for a moment, her mind racing with thoughts of rebellion, of defiance. How could her father do this to her? How could he expect her to marry a man like Jason Lannister, a man she had no love for, no respect for?

The thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage, bound to a man who cared only for power and prestige, made her stomach churn. She could feel the tears pricking at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Without another thought, she rushed to her writing desk, her fingers trembling as she grabbed a piece of parchment and quill. She had to reach out to you. You were the only one who would understand, the only one who might be able to help her.

Her quill scratched furiously across the parchment as she poured her heart into the letter. She told you everything—her father’s plan, the marriage she was being forced into, her anger, her fear. She wrote of how much she missed you, how much she needed you by her side now more than ever.

As she finished, she wiped away a stray tear that had fallen onto the parchment, smudging the ink slightly. She folded the letter carefully, sealing it with wax before hurrying to the window.

She could see the rookery from her chambers, the tower where the ravens were kept. She had used this method before, sending secret messages to you during your time away, but this one felt more urgent, more desperate. She knew that by the time the letter reached you, it might be too late. But she had to try. You were her only hope.

Rhaenyra called for her handmaiden, who arrived quickly at her command. “Take this to the rookery,” Rhaenyra said, her voice steady but filled with urgency. “It must go to my brother at once.”

The handmaiden nodded, taking the letter from her hands and hurrying out of the room. Rhaenyra watched her go, her heart racing with both fear and hope. She turned back to the window, staring out at the sky, her thoughts with you, wondering when you would return—if you would return before it was too late.

The gardens of the Red Keep were a tranquil oasis amidst the bustling halls and chambers, but today, there was no peace to be found in them for Rhaenyra. She sat on a stone bench, staring out at the delicate flowers and perfectly pruned hedges, her mind far from the beauty surrounding her. The announcement of her marriage to Jason Lannister had been like a thunderclap in her life, shaking her to the core, and her heart was still simmering with anger and frustration. She had promised herself she wouldn’t let this happen, yet here she was, being forced into a match she despised.

The sound of footsteps approaching stirred her from her thoughts, and she didn’t need to look to know who it was. Daemon. His presence was as unmistakable as the swagger in his step, the kind of casual arrogance that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He appeared beside her, leaning against a tree with a faint smirk on his lips.

“You look like you’ve been banished to the ends of the earth,” Daemon teased, his voice laced with amusement. “What’s wrong, niece? Did someone steal your favorite lemon cake?”

Rhaenyra shot him a glare, her temper flaring. “It must be so easy for you to jest,” she snapped, her voice biting, “when I’m the one being bargained off like some trinket to marry Jason Lannister and be whisked away to Casterly Rock.”

Daemon’s smirk only widened at her outburst, clearly enjoying her ire. “A Lannister, eh? I’ve heard worse fates,” he replied with a lazy shrug. “Though I can see why the idea of being stuffed away in a gilded cage at Casterly Rock might not sit well with you.”

Rhaenyra scoffed, her anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t understand. It’s not just the marriage—it’s everything. It’s—” She clenched her fists in her lap, her voice trembling with frustration. “He promised me.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his amusement fading slightly as he leaned in, curious. “Who promised you what?”

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, and she looked away, her voice low and filled with anger. “My brother. He promised me that he wouldn’t let this happen. He swore he would protect me from being forced into a marriage I didn’t want. And yet here I am, on the verge of being shipped off to marry a man I can’t stand.”

Daemon was silent for a moment, studying her carefully. His amusement returned, though it was tempered now with something more thoughtful. “Ah, so it’s not just the Lannister match that has you fuming,” he mused, his tone sly. “It’s that your dear brother isn’t here to sweep in and save you.”

Rhaenyra whipped her head toward him, eyes blazing. “He lied to me!” she nearly shouted, her voice filled with betrayal. “He promised. And now he’s been away for years, fighting at the borders while I’m left here, alone, to deal with this madness.”

Daemon didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes glinted with something akin to understanding. He knew what it felt like to be betrayed by family, to be pushed aside for the sake of duty. But he wasn’t about to offer her comfort—not in the way others might. Instead, he leaned back, his tone casual.

“Well, perhaps your brother had other matters on his mind. War does tend to make men forget promises,” he said, though the amusement had returned to his voice. “Or maybe… he didn’t forget at all, but simply couldn’t stop this from happening.”

Rhaenyra pressed her lips together, trying to compose herself, though her hands were still shaking with rage. The thought that you might have been powerless to stop this was one she hadn’t wanted to entertain. She had put her faith in you, had believed in your promises, and now it felt as though that trust had been shattered.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down, and after a moment of silence, she spoke again, her tone cooler, more controlled. “I heard about Lady Rhea,” she said, shifting the conversation. “A hunting accident, wasn’t it? Her horse fell, and… well, it seems you’re now free to marry again.”

Daemon’s smirk returned, though there was a darkness behind his eyes. “Yes, my dear wife,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It seems she brought her death upon herself. She always had an uncanny ability to make unfortunate decisions.”

Rhaenyra snorted, crossing her arms. “I’m sure her death has made your bride-to-be, Laena Velaryon, quite ecstatic.”

Daemon chuckled, the amusement dancing in his eyes once more. “Laena is a smart girl,” he replied, lifting his gaze toward the sky. “She knows what’s good for her. Besides, I doubt she’ll mourn Lady Rhea’s passing too much.”

Before Rhaenyra could respond, Daemon’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced toward the entrance to the gardens. “Speaking of wives, your new stepmother seems rather keen on finding you,” he said with a smirk, nodding in the direction of the approaching figure. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Rhaenyra turned to see Alicent Hightower making her way across the gardens, her steps tentative but determined. Rhaenyra’s frown deepened as she watched Daemon give her a mock salute before he walked off, leaving her to face Alicent alone.

Alicent approached slowly, her green gown trailing softly behind her, her hands clasped in front of her as if she were holding back from reaching out to Rhaenyra. “Rhaenyra,” she said gently, her voice soft but tinged with hesitation. “I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to… talk.”

Rhaenyra didn’t bother hiding the annoyance in her voice. “Have you now? Come to offer more congratulations on my impending marriage, or perhaps to check if I’m still in one piece?”

Alicent winced at the sharpness of her tone but pressed on, her gaze filled with an earnestness that Rhaenyra found both irritating and exhausting. “I wanted to know how you were feeling,” she said quietly, her words careful. “I know this marriage was unexpected, and I… I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Rhaenyra let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “How I’m feeling? You really want to know how I’m feeling, Alicent?” She turned to face her fully, her eyes narrowing. “I feel like I’ve been betrayed. Like everyone around me is conspiring to push me into a life I don’t want. And you? You stand there, pretending to care, when you’re part of the very system that’s caging me in.”

Alicent’s face flushed with hurt, but she stood her ground, her voice soft but steady. “Rhaenyra, I do care. I didn’t want this to happen either. I know you don’t want to marry Jason Lannister, and if I could—”

“If you could?” Rhaenyra interrupted, her voice rising with anger. “But you can’t, can you? You’re as much a pawn in this as I am. Except you’ve made peace with it. You’ve accepted your place, married my father, and now you think you can offer me comfort?”

Alicent’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she didn’t back down. “I just wanted to help,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

Rhaenyra shook her head, her heart hardening as she turned away from her former friend. “There’s nothing you can do to help me, Alicent,” she said coldly. “So don’t bother.”

With that, she left the gardens, leaving Alicent standing there, tears spilling silently down her cheeks.

The sun hung low on the horizon, lazy rays sprayed across the barren landscape of the Dornish border. The air was filled with dust and the stench of blood, remnants of the brutal fighting that had raged for many moons. Your men, tired but unbroken, stood along the ridgeline, watching as the enemy forces began to pull back. The Dornish army, once so bold and numerous, now appeared ragged, their numbers thinned by the relentless engagements, their morale shattered.

You stood at the crest of the hill, overlooking the retreating forces, Silverwing perched nearby, her gleaming silver scales catching the last light of day. Her low, rumbling breaths were the only sound breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the battlefield. Your hand rested on the hilt of Blackfyre, your eyes narrowed as you watched the disarray below, the remnants of the Dornish army attempting to regroup, though their retreat was obvious.

Ser Kevven Moriggen, a grizzled and experienced knight who had fought by your side throughout this campaign, rode up beside you. His armor was dented and smeared with dirt and blood, but his eyes still gleamed with the fierce determination of a man not yet willing to let the battle end.

“They’re pulling back, Your Grace,” Kevven said, his voice hoarse from days of shouting orders. He glanced at you, waiting for your command. “Should we press them? They’re vulnerable, and a final push might scatter them for good.”

You frowned, your gaze locked on the retreating enemy. The temptation to drive them back to their lands, to ensure they wouldn’t return for decades, was strong. But there was something hollow about the thought of chasing them now, after years of bloodshed. They were broken, their supplies exhausted, and to pursue them deeper into their own land would be a waste of men and resources.

“No,” you said firmly, turning to Kevven. “We don’t need to spill more blood on their land. If they cross back into ours, then we’ll engage. But for now, let them retreat. The battle is over.”

Kevven looked surprised, his hand tightening around the reins of his horse. “Your Grace, if we push now—”

“I said no, Ser Kevven,” you interrupted, your tone leaving no room for debate. “There’s no honor in cutting down a retreating army. We’ve held our ground, and they’re falling back. That’s victory enough.”

The knight hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded, though the disappointment was clear on his face. “As you command, Your Grace.”

You watched as he turned his horse around, riding down the line to relay the order to the other commanders. The soldiers, weary and worn, seemed relieved when the command to hold was given. They had fought long and hard, and the sight of the enemy retreating was a victory in itself.

The silence of the battlefield settled in once more, the distant figures of the retreating Dornish shrinking against the horizon. Your mind was heavy, not with the satisfaction of victory, but with the weight of the toll this war had taken—on your men, on the realm, and on yourself. You had been away from the capital for too long, and the thought of what awaited you back home stirred uneasily in your chest.

Just then, a soldier approached, his face dirtied with the grime of battle, his breath coming in short gasps as he saluted you. “Your Grace, a raven arrived. A message… from the Red Keep. It bears the Targaryen seal.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The Targaryen seal. That meant only one thing. Rhaenyra.

Without hesitation, you took the small scroll from the soldier, your fingers trembling slightly as you broke the seal. The wax crumbled beneath your touch, and you quickly unfurled the parchment, your eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. Rhaenyra’s handwriting, urgent and pleading.

Brother, the letter began. You promised me you would protect me. You promised me you wouldn’t let them force me into a marriage I did not want. But Father has broken that promise. He’s ordered me to marry Jason Lannister, and I cannot, I will not do it. They are trying to take away my freedom, trying to take away everything we spoke of. You told me you would stand by me, and now I need you more than ever. Come home. Please, I beg of you, come home and help me.

Your grip on the letter tightened as you read the words again, the desperation in her plea cutting through you like a blade. You could see her in your mind’s eye—Rhaenyra, fierce and determined, but also vulnerable, trapped by the weight of duty and expectation. She had always relied on you to protect her from the worst of court politics, and now, you were hundreds of miles away, unable to stop what was happening.

You folded the letter slowly, your chest tightening with frustration and anger. You had promised her that you wouldn’t let this happen. You had promised to protect her, to ensure she wasn’t forced into a marriage that she didn’t want. And yet, while you had been here, fighting a war at the edge of the realm, they had moved against her, using her as a tool in the political games of King’s Landing.

Silverwing shifted behind you, sensing the change in your emotions, her low rumble filling the air as if to offer comfort. You closed your eyes, your thoughts racing. You knew you couldn’t remain here. You had to return. Rhaenyra needed you, and you would not fail her again..

As the sun started to set, you made your decision.

It was time to go home.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x you #rhaenyra x male reader #silverwing #the dragon's right

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moody-alcoholic · 8 months ago

Text

The Missing Piece

Chapter 7 - Boundaries

Summary: Ghoap x Reader, throuple. 2.5k words. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe.

CW: Alcohol, mentions of sex, language.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

You sit at the table your leg nervously bouncing up and down. Simon comes to sit down pushing a cup of tea over to you.

“Thank you,” you say blowing on it, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about this since Johnny mentioned we all needed to have a chat then refused to talk about it until after food. What if they think things are moving too fast? They’re already married.

“Right!” Johnny says standing up his palms flat on the table.

“I call this first official family meeting to begin.” He says way to enthusiastically for your energy level.

“Christ.” You hear Simon sigh next to you, you look at him his fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose. You smile sipping on your tea.

“We’ve all had a nice time but I think we need a debrief.” You cant help chuckling.

“You want a post sex debrief every time?” Simon asks Johnny who taps his knuckles on the table.

“I don’t have a hammer thing.” He says.

“Is this a court room or a meeting?” Simon asks. They’re winding each other up it makes you smile.

“It’s a meeting, casual, a safe space to air out all your problems.” Johnny says.

“Now first order of business, boring stuff out the way first.” Johnny puts a key down on the table moving it towards you, you pick it up.

“You’re welcome over any time,” Johnny says smiling. That’s not boring that’s a massive thing.

“Do you guys want keys to my place?” You ask looking at them, it seems only right, you have access to their home they should have access to yours.

“Up to you.” Simon says. You make a mental note to look for a key-cutter tomorrow.

“PDA! Now I love a good smooch in public but Simon’s all about that stiff upper lip, sometimes he won’t even hold my hand.” Johnny says pouting.

“Nothing wrong with keeping your private life private.” Simon says defensively.

“What about you?” Johnny asks turning to you.

“I don’t mind I guess, I can get self conscious easy.” You admit, Johnny nods.

“Okay we’ll work on that.” Johnny says.

“Sex, do you have any limits? No-go’s other then the obvious ones.” Johnny says looking at you.

“Eh, I don’t know I’ve never really done much other then the normal stuff.” You feel heat rushing to your cheeks.

“That’s fine, we can work it out as we go along, don’t worry we’re not going to do anything crazy. Plain old vanilla sex is also fine, besides Simon’s the kinky one anyway.” Johnny says winking at you.

“Sure I’m the kinky one,” Simon chuckles. Johnny rolls his eyes sitting back down in the chair.

“Anything you want to add?” Johnny asks Simon who shakes his head, then his eyes fall on you. You don’t know what to say, maybe now would be a good time to ask them to stop being so…nice.

“You don’t need to be so accommodating, if you guys need some time alone, I can make myself scarce. And I don’t mind paying for things, food and what not, and I don’t mind treating you guys, it’s the least I can do.” Simon’s hand finds your thigh as Johnny smiles at you.

“Don’t worry about that, you just being here is enough.” Johnny smiles.

“I need to make the most of it, when I get posted I could be gone for up to 6 months.” You say, your last post was 5 months after a month of probation. You could be sent abroad, it had been a while but it could happen, then you would feel even further away from them. Your hand rests on top of Simon’s hand, he squeezes your thigh.

“S’okay, we’re all over the place too, could get a call right now and we would have to drop everything and leave.” Johnny says. The thought of them leaving makes you sad, you know Johnny is only trying to help but it just fills you with dread.

There’s a pit forming in your stomach, their job is harder then yours more dangerous, they could leave any second then you might never see them again. Johnny defuses bombs, you’re not sure what Simon does but it’s enough that it makes him hide his identity.

The most danger you have ever experienced was a field hospital in a run down building in the middle of a war-zone, even then you were surrounded by soldiers who’s sole job was to keep the medical staff safe. You Squeeze Simon's hand, now you can’t imagine being without them.

“It’s very rare we get called like that.” Simon says as he moves his hand to hold yours. You look up at him, he must be able to see something in your eyes, his face softens and he brings his hand up to stroke your cheek.

“I never know where you go, how long you’re going to be gone for. If you’ll ever come back.” You say looking in Simon’s eyes. He kisses your forehead pulling you into his chest.

“I know I’ll come back I have the worlds best marksman watching my back.” Simon says.

“Yeah and you should see the things Simon can do with a knife, or a sniper, or a pistol.” You hear Johnny say. It makes you feel a little better, that they’re being so blasé about it, that pit is still there though as you pull out of Simon’s arms.

“How about we go out, get some food just chill? We can try out that new place on the corner you’ve been wanting to go to Johnny.” Simon says, Johnny’s eyes light up and he’s out his chair before he can respond. It makes you smile, you’re not really in the mood to go out but you you could use the fresh air, maybe a nice meal out will be good.

“You okay?” Simon asks as you stare off towards the bedroom.

“Yeah, I need to start bringing a change of clothes.” You say, Simon smiles.

——————————

The place is nice, not fancy or anything and there’s a cosy looking beer garden in the back Johnny excitedly leads you to. You sit outside under the strung up lights and Johnny leaves to go order. Simon reaches into his jacket pulling out a cigarette and a lighter.

“Sorry,” he says lighting it. “I’m trying to quit.” He turns his head blowing the smoke away from you. You move to sit next to him on the bench.

“I could get you some nicotine patches.” You say. He shakes his head smiling. Johnny comes out with a try of beer placing them on the table. You reach out picking one up.

“It’s 2 in the afternoon.” Simon says chuckling.

“Stressed?” Johnny asks sipping his beer. Simon sighs, Johnny winks at you.

“Simon only smokes when he’s stressed.” Johnny says as you take a sip of your beer.

“Not true, I smoke when I want to.” Simon replies. Johnny laughs, it’s a proper laugh and it makes your heart flutter. You look up at Simon who looks less then impressed, they’ve been teasing each other all day.

They start bantering back and forth until Simon finishes his cigarette. Johnny opens a menu and starts reading the options out, well the options he likes the sound off. Simon just says he’ll have whatever Johnny’s having. Johnny seems to see that as a challenge his eyes going back to scan the menu as a cheeky grin appears on his face. Simon’s hand finds your thigh again, you didn’t think he would be up for touching with the conversation this morning but you don’t mind it’s nice feeling his hands on you.

Johnny orders food asking what you want, honestly you haven’t been paying attention but you’re not hungry so you just order a sandwich. Johnny sighs ordering you a side of chips. You sigh but don’t argue. When the food comes out you switch to sit next to Johnny, you’re not sure why, but this whole relationship seems to be about finding what works, at least for now.

Your leaning your head on Johnny's shoulder his arm wrapped round you picking at the last of you chips which you’re convinced at this point he bought just for himself.

“Another round?” He asks as Simon finishes his beer off. Simon nods and Johnny peels himself a way from you collecting the glasses and heading inside. You smile at Simon, today has been nice, the food was good the beer warming your belly as the evening breeze is rolling in. You could almost say it was perfect. Then the sound of glasses crashing forces your head to snap looking for the source of the noise.

“What the fuck man!” There’s a voice shouting now.

“Sorry but you came out of fecking nowhere mate.” You hear Johnny’s voice, Simon is already on his feet moving to the back door of the restaurant Johnny had disappeared into a few minutes earlier, you gingerly follow after him.

“I came out the bathroom mate.” The man replies his voice still loud. You can see people turning to look, it feels like there’s a million eyes on you.

“What’s going on? You alright Johnny?” Simon asks as he reaches them. You look past Simon to see Johnny and a man both covered beer broken glasses on the floor.

“Yeah, I’m fine ‘e just came outta nowhere slammed the door in my face.” Johnny says .

“It’s okay, we’ll get you new drinks.” You look over and see a waitress with a mop in her hands waiting for them to move.

“I came out the bloody bathroom!” The man says as he takes a step closer to Johnny who holds his ground meeting the mans eye line. “I’m supposed to be going on a date, now my suit is ruined.”

“Shame, you wouldn’t want her to think you’re incompetent.” Johnny says, that cheeky grin on his face.

“Johnny.” Simon’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, low and commanding. You feel hairs stand up on the back of your neck. Simon grabs Johnny's arm pulling him out the way as Johnny’s eyes follow the man until he walks past Simon turning to look at you.

“You okay?” You ask not really knowing what to say, his expression changes almost instantaneously when he sees you a smile appearing on his lips.

“‘Cause lass, no one’s fault!” Johnny says his arm wrapping round your shoulders leading you back to the table.

“Oi!” You hear the man call, Johnny doesn’t turn or stop walking.

“Alright, calm down,” is all you hear from Simon as you move out of earshot.

“Think Simon will be okay?” You ask as Johnny sits you down next to him, his arm never leaving your shoulder.

“Pff Simon, who spends his days ordering soldiers round, he’ll be fine.” Johnny laughs. “Between you and me he could use some practice in conflict de-escalation.” You relax into him not realising how tense your body has become, he kisses the top of your head.

“You stink.” You chuckle the smell of beer is almost overwhelming making your head spin. A few minutes later a waitress comes over with fresh drinks apologising for the situation, explaining that the builders installed the door wrong and it’s just been an accident waiting to happen ever since.

Johnny laughs it off telling her it’s no problem and he’ll pay for the replacement drinks. Simon comes back as she leaves sticking his hand in his jacket looking for another cigarette, he sighs muttering under his breath as he sits down.

“All good?” Johnny asks Simon who nods sipping his beer. I guess he’s out of cigarettes.

“Paid for his taxi home so he could change.” Simon says leaning back, his eyes landing on you, you smile at him. He seems tense.

“When I was a kid my dad dropped a pint on my head.” Johnny says trying to lighten the mood.

“That explains a lot.” Simon says seeming to relax after a few sips of beer. The sun is setting quickly now and wind chill is picking up.

Johnny promises you’ll go home after this drink.

——————————

As soon as you get in Johnny is rushing into the shower. You fall on the sofa with Simon as he flicks the TV on. You lay up against him stroking his chest.

“Is it true you get to boss people around all day?” You ask him.

“What did Johnny tell you that?” He chuckles. You nod.

“Price does all the shouting, I’m just there to make sure they listen.” He says.

“Is he nice Price, your boss?” You ask, you want to know something about their work maybe it will make you feel better when they inevitably go away.

“Yeah he’s nice, we go way back. He’s a good boss.” He says as he lands on the football satisfied he puts the remote down.

“I’ll go home tomorrow, I’ve got some errands to run, I could use a shower, and a change of clothes.” You say, but as you say it you realise how little you want to leave.

“I can come with you if you want, or Johnny can?” He says his arm stroking your shoulder.

“It’s fine you should really spend some time together.” You say not wanting to be a bother but at the same time that does sound nice having them just following you around. The more time you can spend with them the better.

“I doesn't work like that, if we want some time alone we’ll let you know, besides you were right this morning, at some point we’re both going to be back at work and then it could be months before we see each other.” You look up at him the pit reforming in your belly.

“I wish it wasn’t like this.” You let out a sigh. “I never used to care about deployments anymore. Now it’s different.”

“We’ll make it work,” he says, you turn your face up to look at him.

“Yeah. Besides, I’ll probably be stuck on some base again. You’ll be the ones on the front line.” You say.

“You’d be surprised how often we’re just sitting around waiting for the world to do something crazy.” You hum against him.

“Where’s the craziest place you’ve been?” You ask trying to move the conversation away from deployments.

“Urzikstan is pretty hectic. Nice place though.” He says.

“Oh hey who’s playing?” You hear Johnny ask as he comes down to the sofa. Simon plants a kiss on your lips as Johnny comes to sit next to you.

“Man city and Sheffield.” Simon says you put your head back on his chest.

“I forget do we like that one?” Johnny asks. Simon chuckles.

“Yeah we like that one.” He replies, going back to stroking your arm. Johnny scoots closer to you and you lay your legs on him, his arm reaching over to his fingers through Simon’s hair. Now you just hope and pray the world stays quiet for another few weeks.

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stillness-in-green · 2 months ago

Text

Finding Fascism in My Hero Academia (1/4)

Being a 4-part project to compare the Meta-Liberation Army, the Heroes, and the meta-narrative messaging of My Hero Academia to Umberto Eco's evergreen Ur-Fascism and its 14-point list of beliefs, ideologies, and cultural hang-ups that can serve as flashpoints for fascism.

This was inspired by ongoing aggravation with the crappy rhetoric used to talk about the MLA, especially in Twitter circles. I had already been thinking about writing this piece anyway, but some ragebait brought to my Tumblr inbox together with the massive letdown of the canon ending pushed me over the edge into what eventually ballooned into several months of work and thirty thousand words about how My Hero Academia makes some expressions of fascism really easy to spot while hiding others behind a double-thick wall of double-standards.

Read some excerpts below! Or read the first part on my Patreon, no membership required.

-------

Are the MLA fascist? How fascist exactly, and in what ways? More to the point, are they noticeably more fascist than the broader society in which they exist—the society Heroes fight to uphold!—with its indefinite torture prisons and its laws restricting bodily autonomy and its rampant discrimination against multiple different demographics of people?

To answer those questions, first we have to define our term: what is fascism, anyway?

The trick to that question is that “fascism” is infamously squirrely and difficult to pin down to a single, all-encompassing yet concise definition. Wikipedia has a dedicated page solely for definitions of fascism, entirely separate from the page for fascism itself. It contains a wide sampling of definitions offered by reference books, scholars, Marxists, Fascists themselves, and a number of others. At the bottom of the page is a subsection labeled “Fascism as an insult,” in which can be found the following quote from a writing by George Orwell in 1944:

“The word ‘Fascism’ is almost entirely meaningless. In conversation, of course, it is used even more wildly than in print. I have heard it applied to farmers, shopkeepers, Social Credit, corporal punishment, fox-hunting, bull-fighting, the 1922 Committee, the 1941 Committee, Kipling, Gandhi, Chaiang Kai-Shek, homosexuality, Priestly's broadcasts, Youth Hostels, astrology, women, dogs and I do not know what else... Except for the relatively small number of Fascist sympathizers, almost any English person would accept ‘bully’ as a synonym for ‘Fascist.’ That is about as near to a definition as this much-abused word has come.”

It would be entirely possible for me to find definitions of fascism that would let me say, “No, the MLA aren’t fascist at all.” For example, over half of the definitions on the Wikipedia page mention some variation of nationalism explicitly: ultranationalism, militaristic nationalism, revolutionary nationalism, hypernationalism, or a more expansively worded version of “subordinating the individual to the State.” If you exclude the definitions offered by Marxist sources, who have a pretty different paradigm around fascism, that count jumps up to three-quarters! So if we’re operating under definitions used by people who have actually put in some thought and research, the MLA can’t even pass one of the most common, basic criteria: they are in no sense of the word nationalist.

Case closed! People on the internet need to learn what words mean, The End.

…But let’s go back to Orwell for a second. He also said that, while the definitions can be fuzzy, people generally know what they mean when they throw the label around. So, what do people generally mean?

I think the definition that most gets at that is a 14-point list that I’ve seen circulating around Tumblr for years, and has recently started to come up more frequently on my radar given the state of politics in the U.S. The list is part of an essay called Ur-Fascism written by one Umberto Eco in 1995. Eco grew up in Fascist Italy and researched fascism as an ideology extensively as an adult; his tack was to approach the roots of the ideology, identifying a number of commonalities that one could view as symptoms of or warning signs for the rise of fascism in a group—hence the essay’s alternate title of Eternal Fascism. Not every state or government described as fascist would possess all of these traits, but even a single one being present in a group could potentially serve as a point that fascism could coalesce around.

I have seen Ur-Fascism described as uselessly vague or overly broad, but the point is that it isn’t a definition of fascism itself, but a description of the kinds of mentality or circumstances that can give rise to fascist ideology. Given that I know for a fact Eco’s checklist does the rounds on Tumblr and thus may inform the understanding of any number of fans who are using the fascist label more colloquially than with an eye to strict accuracy, and also given that the MLA succinctly fails to meet a primary criterion for fascism proper, I want to look at them instead through the Ur-Fascism lens.

…Not just them, though! My whole spite-fueled goal with this project is to compare the MLA to the protagonist Heroes and the status quo they defend. In the writing process, this has stabilized into three relatively distinct considerations: both the Meta Liberation Army and Team Hero as presented within the story and, further, the meta-narrative of My Hero Academia itself.

---(...)---

Point 1: The cult of tradition.

Looking to the thinkers of the ancient past for wisdom, believing that there can be no (worthwhile) new knowledge/advancement because the “ancients” already knew everything of worth. Look particularly for historically discrete belief systems being falsely syncretized, the internal contradictions of the resulting fusion being ignored or massaged away in service to the desired narrative.

MLA: No. Their whole thing is looking towards the future of quirks and people “becoming who they were meant to be.” The only thing they’ve got going on in terms of past-worship is their veneration of Destro and his bloodline, but that feels less like believing in the supremacy of the old than it does just the supremacy of one particular martyr. They don’t worship him out of a sense of “older = superior”; they worship him because he had a view of the future that he was prevented from carrying out, and they’ve been taught to share that view of the future. They aren’t trying to return to an idealized past, and certainly not a syncretistic one, though they do become a syncretized organization with the League merger. This, however, is a practical matter of current alliances, rather than the more characteristic Ur-Fascist attempt to flatten the beliefs of discrete groups in the past to better play up their supposed superior wisdom.

---(...)---

Point 2: Rejection of modernism.

Rejection of the modern way of life, particularly the shifts that came of the Enlightenment, the Age of Reason, modern history revolutions (as in France and the U.S.), frequently capitalism, etc. The modern age is viewed as one of moral collapse leading to depravity. In the modern U.S. for example, we see the alt-right trying to roll back the social upheavals of the civil rights era; my readers may also consider, if they’re familiar with the phenomenon, Rome Bros on Twitter. In Japan, this has tended to manifest as veneration of the Emperor as divine and a desire to purge Japan of Western influence.

Team Hero: Human advancement at large is explicitly described as grinding to a halt during the Advent of the Extraordinary. All technological development, all culture, now seems to rotate solely around Heroes and how best to support them. However dire that state of affairs is, however, it’s not a result of Heroes/the current regime specifically rejecting advancement or modern schools of thought. I will come back to this, however; it very much fits the bill for a later point.

---(...)---

Point 3: Action for action’s sake.

“Action being beautiful in itself, it must be taken before, or without, any previous reflection. Thinking is a form of emasculation.” Reflects in a disdain for intellectuals/academics. Like the following point, this ethic exists at least in part because the cultural syncretism of Point 1 can’t withstand critical analysis.

Meta-Narrative: See all of the Hero analysis and kick it up a notch. The “act without thinking” mentality as a marker for Heroism is never seriously critiqued, examined, or undermined. It’s a plague in the Shonen Jump brand, I think, that “intellectual” characters can be good guys, sure, even in the main character’s nakama, but the protagonists are classically shounen hot-heads, with that hot-headedness being portrayed over and over again as more genuine, and therefore more admirable, than cool-headed intellect, which tends to get portrayed as compensating (unsuccessfully) for a lack of strength or faith at best, and evil manipulative cunning at worst. While Heroes as a collective may not believe in action for action’s sake in-universe, the fact that the characters who do uphold it as a value are the main characters becomes much more reflective of the meta-narrative ethos.

Indeed, it’s quite glaring to me that, while the planning for the raids is a great counterexample to “action for action’s sake” within the story, none of the kids the audience views as the main characters and promised symbols of a better and brighter future are allowed to take part in those plans. Rather, the kids merely act as they’re directed, without reflecting on whether the orders they’re given are good orders, much less whether those orders will actually lead to the aforementioned brighter future. The kids who were once willing to directly disobey the orders of adults have long, long vanished from the story by its end.

Read the rest here!

#bnha #bnha critical #meta liberation army #this particular section is a bit mla apologetics but I promise it does not last #bnha analysis #bnha meta #finding fascism bnha

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youngsadlesbian · 1 month ago

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Ahhh, I need some more Taylor Swift x daughter reader! I've literally just finished reading all of yours, and I'm obsessed 😭

THE SECRET WRITER

pairing: taylor swift x daughter!reader

summary: you and your mother reveal to the world on national television your secret talent: writing songs.

a/n: thank you so much for your request. i had this written in my drafts a little while before i asked for requests for taylor stories. anyway, i hope you like it.

word count: 2,8k

warnings: fluff <3

The stage lights of The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon lit up as the audience erupted into cheers. Taylor Swift, dressed in an elegant black pantsuit that sparkled under the stage lights, walked out to thunderous applause. She waved to the crowd, her signature smile bright and warm as always. Jimmy Fallon, seated behind his desk, clapped along with the audience, grinning from ear to ear.

"Taylor Swift, everyone!" Jimmy announced, motioning for her to take a seat across from him. The applause lasted a moment longer before the crowd settled.

Taylor crossed her legs and leaned forward slightly, radiating warmth. "It’s so great to be here. Thanks for having me, Jimmy."

"Thanks for being here! You’re back with another album, The Tortured Poets Department, which, might I say, is already a massive success. Can you believe we’re still finding new ways to cry and dance simultaneously thanks to you?"

Taylor chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "That’s kind of the goal, isn’t it? To keep everyone in their feelings while also having fun."

Jimmy nodded fervently. "It’s what you do best. I mean, you’ve given us heartbreak, revenge, redemption, nostalgia—you’re like the storytelling Swiss Army knife of music."

The crowd laughed, and Taylor joined in. "I like that. I’m going to put that on my resume."

Jimmy leaned back in his chair, smirking. "So, let’s talk about The Tortured Poets Department. Critics are calling it some of your most vulnerable work yet, and the stories are as intricate as ever. But there’s something unique about this album that I think everyone’s curious about… the track ‘I Can Do It With a Broken Heart.’"

Taylor’s smile grew as the crowd cheered at the mention of the song. "Ah, yes. That one’s pretty special."

Jimmy leaned in conspiratorially. "Special because you didn’t write it."

Taylor laughed, holding up her hands. "I mean, technically, I didn’t entirely write it. I had some help."

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so we’re calling it ‘help’ now? Because I heard it was written by someone very close to you."

The crowd murmured with curiosity, and Taylor looked directly at the camera, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "It was written by my daughter."

The audience gasped, erupting into cheers and applause as Jimmy pretended to fall out of his chair. "Wait, hold on! Your daughter wrote this masterpiece? How did we not know this? You’ve been hiding a secret weapon this entire time?"

Taylor laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Well, she’s been writing for a while, actually. But she’s very private about it."

Jimmy clutched his chest dramatically. "Private? You mean to tell me your daughter’s been crafting these emotional daggers of songs, and we didn’t even know she existed as a writer? I need answers, Taylor."

Taylor smiled warmly, clearly proud. "She’s always loved storytelling, but she wanted to keep her identity separate from mine for a while. So, she’s been using a pseudonym."

Jimmy’s jaw dropped comically. "A pseudonym? Okay, now we’re getting into some spy-level intrigue. What’s the name?"

Taylor leaned into the microphone, savoring the moment. "Everly Davenport."

The room filled with gasps again, followed by murmurs and applause. Jimmy’s hands shot up to his face in mock horror. "Everly Davenport? That Everly Davenport? The one credited on Betty? On It’s Time to Go? Oh my God, I need a moment."

Taylor laughed at his antics. "Yes, that Everly Davenport. She’s been quietly contributing here and there, and now, for this album, she decided to come out of the shadows."

Jimmy shook his head in amazement. "Okay, okay. We need her here. Is she here? Can we get her out here?"

Taylor turned to the side of the stage, smiling. "I think she’s somewhere backstage."

The audience erupted into cheers as you, Taylor’s daughter, hesitantly stepped onto the stage. Dressed casually yet stylishly, you waved shyly at the crowd, who were now on their feet applauding. Jimmy stood up, clapping dramatically, before running over to give you an exaggerated bow.

"Everly Davenport, ladies and gentlemen! Or should I say the mastermind behind some of Taylor Swift’s most iconic songs? Welcome to the show!"

Jimmy gestured for you to sit in the armchair next to Taylor as the audience continued their enthusiastic applause. You offered a shy smile, your cheeks already pink from the attention. Taylor gave you an encouraging look, her pride unmistakable.

"Wow, okay," Jimmy began, sitting back down and pretending to fan himself with his cue cards. "I need a second to process this. First of all, welcome to The Tonight Show! How does it feel to be here?"

You laughed nervously, glancing at your mom before answering. "Thank you! It feels… overwhelming, but in a good way. This is definitely not something I ever imagined myself doing."

Jimmy grinned. "Oh, come on, don’t be modest. You’re already a superstar in the making, and we didn’t even know it until now. So, let’s dive right in. When did you start writing music?"

You shifted in your seat, thinking. "I’ve been writing since I was, like, ten. It started as poetry, and then I kind of moved into writing lyrics because, well…" You gestured toward Taylor. "It runs in the family."

The audience chuckled, and Jimmy nodded knowingly. "Of course, of course. So, you’re telling me that while your mom was out there winning Grammys, you were in your room quietly crafting future hits. Is that right?"

Taylor jumped in, laughing. "Oh, it’s true. I’d find these little notebooks in her room filled with lyrics and ideas. She didn’t even show them to me at first."

Jimmy’s eyes widened as he turned to you. "Wait, you were hiding your songs from Taylor Swift? How does that even work?"

You laughed, shrugging. "I just didn’t want her to feel obligated to like them, you know? She’s, like, the queen of songwriting, and I was this kid scribbling in notebooks. I didn’t think they were good enough."

Taylor reached over and placed a hand on your arm. "And I told you then, and I’ll say it now: they were more than good enough."

Jimmy clapped his hands together. "Okay, hold up. We need to talk about Betty. That song is a fan favorite, and you’re telling me it was written entirely by you? How did that happen?"

You smiled, looking a little sheepish. "Well, I wrote Betty when I was about thirteen. It was just a story I came up with one day. I didn’t think much of it, honestly. But then one day, Mom was cleaning my room—"

Taylor interrupted, laughing. "To be clear, I wasn’t snooping! I was just trying to find her headphones or something."

You nodded, smiling at the memory. "Right, so she finds this notebook with the lyrics to Betty, and she just goes, ‘What’s this?’ I tried to brush it off, but she wouldn’t let it go. And then she says, ‘This would fit perfectly on Folklore.’ I thought she was joking."

Jimmy leaned forward, eyes wide. "But she wasn’t."

Taylor shook her head, grinning. "Nope. I wasn’t joking. I immediately knew it belonged on the album. I tweaked the melody a bit, but the story and the lyrics? All her."

The audience erupted into applause, and Jimmy looked at you in amazement. "You’re blowing my mind right now. And then there’s It’s Time to Go from Evermore. You co-wrote that one?"

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease. "Yeah, that one was more collaborative. I wrote the first verse and sent it to Mom, and she worked her magic on the rest. I like to say she’s the one who adds all the fancy words."

Taylor laughed. "She sells herself short. She’s the storyteller. I just polished it up."

Jimmy turned to the audience, spreading his arms wide. "This is incredible. We’re witnessing the next generation of Swift-level songwriting brilliance. But I have to ask: why the pseudonym? Why Everly Davenport?"

You hesitated, glancing at Taylor before answering. "I just… didn’t want people to connect me to her right away. I wanted the songs to stand on their own, you know? I didn’t want them judged as ‘Taylor Swift’s daughter’s songs.’ I wanted them to be judged as stories."

The audience murmured in admiration, and Jimmy nodded thoughtfully. "That’s incredibly mature of you. But now, the cat’s out of the bag. How does it feel to have your identity revealed?"

You laughed. "It’s definitely weird. But I think it’s time. Especially with I Can Do It With a Broken Heart. That one felt too personal not to put my real name on."

Jimmy’s face lit up. "Oh, yes! Let’s talk about that one. You said it was inspired by your mom?"

You nodded, looking at Taylor with a warm smile. "Yeah. It’s about her resilience. I’ve seen her go through so much, and she always comes out stronger. She turns her pain into art, and I wanted to honor that."

The audience let out a collective "aww," and Jimmy pretended to wipe away a tear. "I’m not crying, you’re crying!"

Taylor reached over to squeeze your hand, her eyes glistening. "I’m so proud of her. She has this incredible gift for storytelling, and it’s been amazing to watch her grow into it."

Jimmy clapped his hands together. "Okay, one last thing before we wrap up. You said Snow on the Beach was written because you were in love. Care to elaborate?"

The audience erupted into laughter and cheers as your face turned bright red. "Uh, yeah… that’s a story for another time."

Taylor laughed, leaning into the microphone. "I’ll get the details later."

Jimmy leaned forward excitedly as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head. “Wait, wait, before we finish, there’s one more thing I need to address. I heard a little rumor that you’re not just dabbling in songwriting, but also… musicals and books? Is that true?”

The crowd’s murmurs grew louder as they leaned in, curious. You blinked, startled, before smiling sheepishly. “Uh, yeah. That’s true. I kind of have a lot of creative outlets.”

Jimmy’s jaw dropped dramatically, and Taylor laughed beside you. “Okay, spill. Let’s start with the musicals. What’s that about?”

“Well,” you began, relaxing into your seat, “I’ve always loved theater. At my school, I’ve written a couple of musicals for our drama department. One of them was this modern retelling of Pride and Prejudice—but with a twist. It was set in the music industry, so Darcy was this brooding producer, and Elizabeth was an up-and-coming singer-songwriter.”

The audience let out an impressed “ooh,” and Jimmy clutched his chest dramatically. “Are you kidding me? A Pride and Prejudice musical? How is this not already on Broadway?”

Taylor chimed in, grinning. “I went to see it, and I’m not just saying this because I’m her mom—it was amazing. The dialogue, the songs, the characters—she brought it all to life in such a unique way.”

Jimmy nodded, clearly impressed. “Okay, so we’ve got musicals covered. But I also heard something about a book? What’s the story there?”

You hesitated for a moment before explaining, “It was for a literature class. We had to write a short story, but I kind of got carried away and ended up writing a novella. It was about this forbidden romance between two women in a small, conservative town. One of them was a librarian, and the other was this free-spirited artist who had just moved into town.”

The audience let out a collective “aww,” and Jimmy raised his eyebrows. “That sounds beautiful. What happens in the story?”

You smiled, leaning forward as you recounted the plot. “So, the artist, her name’s Mia, she’s trying to create this massive mural for the town’s festival, but she keeps running into obstacles because the town doesn’t really accept her. Meanwhile, the librarian, Grace, is kind of stuck between her love for Mia and her fear of losing her place in the community. It’s about them navigating those challenges and finding the courage to be true to themselves.”

The crowd applauded softly, clearly moved by your description. Jimmy tilted his head, looking genuinely touched. “And you said this was for school? What grade did you get?”

Taylor laughed before you could answer. “Oh, she got an A-plus. And she also won a competition between schools for it.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened. “Of course, you did! That sounds like something I’d see in a bookstore. Are you planning on publishing it?”

You laughed nervously, shrugging. “Maybe one day. For now, I’m just happy it resonated with people. A lot of my classmates said it made them feel seen, and that meant everything to me.”

Jimmy clapped his hands together, looking at the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing the rise of a creative powerhouse. Songwriting, musicals, novels—is there anything you can’t do?”

You grinned, glancing at Taylor. “Cook. I can’t cook to save my life.”

The crowd erupted in laughter, and Jimmy pointed at Taylor. “Taylor, is that true?”

Taylor nodded emphatically, laughing. “It’s true. She once tried to make pasta and somehow burned the water.”

Jimmy fell back in his chair, laughing along with the audience. “Burned the water? Okay, I think we’ve found the one thing you’re not perfect at. But seriously, you’ve got an incredible future ahead of you, and I can’t wait to see what you do next. Well, this has been incredible. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Taylor Swift and her equally talented daughter, Y/N Swift!"

The crowd erupted into applause as the camera panned to you and Taylor, smiling and waving.

As the applause continued, Jimmy turned to address the audience. “Before we go, I just want to say how amazing this has been. Taylor, your daughter is a star in the making. How does it feel to know she’s not only following in your footsteps but carving her own path?”

Taylor looked at you with unrestrained pride, her eyes shimmering. “Honestly, it’s surreal. I’ve always known she was talented, but watching her grow and seeing the way she tells stories—it’s incredible. And to be able to collaborate with her? That’s the best gift. I mean, I Can Do It With a Broken Heart is one of my favorite songs I’ve ever recorded, and it’s because of her.”

You ducked your head, embarrassed but touched. “She’s just saying that because she’s my mom,” you joked, earning laughter from the crowd.

“No, I mean it!” Taylor insisted, playfully nudging you. “She has this way of putting emotions into words that I could only dream of at her age.”

Jimmy grinned. “Okay, we’re all tearing up over here. But before we let you go, what’s next for you? Are we going to see a debut album from Everly Davenport—I mean, from Y/N—in the near future?”

You hesitated, glancing at Taylor before answering. “I don’t know about an album just yet. Right now, I’m focusing on enjoying the process of songwriting and learning from the best,” you said, gesturing toward your mom. “But who knows? Maybe one day.”

The audience erupted into cheers, and Jimmy leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “You heard it here first, folks. Keep an eye on this one. Thank you both so much for being here. This has been such a treat.”

As the show wrapped up and the credits began to roll, you and Taylor stood, waving to the audience as Jimmy joined in. The energy in the room was electric, and you couldn’t stop smiling.

As soon as you and Taylor stepped off the stage, she pulled you into a hug. “You were amazing,” she said, her voice full of emotion. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” you replied, hugging her back tightly. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

The two of you were interrupted by the show’s producer, who handed you both a copy of the night’s script as a keepsake. Taylor glanced at it, then handed it to you with a grin. “This one’s going in the scrapbook.”

You laughed. “Of course it is.”

The next day, your phone was flooded with notifications—texts from friends, tags on social media, and a dozen headlines about your big reveal.

“Taylor Swift’s Daughter Revealed as Secret Songwriting Prodigy!” “Meet the Real Everly Davenport: Taylor Swift’s Talented Daughter Takes the Stage.” “Who Is the Genius Behind ‘Betty’? Taylor Swift’s Daughter Finally Speaks Out.”

You scrolled through the messages, overwhelmed but happy. Just as you were about to put your phone down, Taylor walked into the room with two mugs of tea. “How’s it feel to be the talk of the internet?”

You groaned playfully. “It’s a lot. But… it’s kind of exciting too.”

Taylor handed you a mug and sat down beside you. “Well, get used to it. You’ve officially stepped into the spotlight.”

You sipped your tea, smiling. “I guess I better start working on that debut album, huh?”

Taylor grinned. “If you do, I’ll be the first in line to buy it.”

The two of you laughed, the moment feeling both surreal and perfectly normal at the same time. For all the chaos and excitement, one thing was clear: you were exactly where you were meant to be.

#taylor swift x reader #taylor swift x you #taylor swift

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goldenherc9 · 8 days ago

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Superbowl Pre-Game Training (part 3)

The Golden Army locker room smelled like sweat, protein powder, and pure dominance. The golden tiles gleamed under the bright fluorescent lights, reflecting the sheer power that stood within them. And standing in the middle of it all, in front of the biggest mirror they could find, were the twin gods of the field—Ares and Hercules.

Clad only in their golden compression shorts, their massive, oiled muscles flexed as they admired their own reflections. Ares ran a hand over his rock-hard pecs, while Hercules grinned, bouncing his biceps just for the hell of it.

“Bro, we are unreal,” Ares said, his golden eyes locked on himself.

“Bro, we are, like, Greek mythology come to life,” Hercules responded, smirking. “They should build statues of us.”

Ares nodded sagely. “They’d probably have to make ‘em bigger than normal statues to fit all this alpha.”

As they chest-bumped hard enough to shake the lockers, the door creaked open. In walked Roman—newly returned to the Golden Army after spending a semester at some fancy university. He was athletic, lean, sharp-eyed. But there was something… off.

He wasn’t flexing. He wasn’t admiring himself.

Ares and Hercules both turned, massive arms crossed, golden eyes narrowing.

“Yo, Roman,” Ares called out, his deep voice dripping with cocky amusement. “Where’s the confidence, bro?”

Hercules smirked, stepping forward, his massive frame towering over Roman. “Yeah, bro, you look all… thinky.” He tapped his own temple with a thick finger. “That ain’t Golden Army, bro.”

Roman sighed, rolling his shoulders. “I’m just here to train, man. Gotta get back into the groove.”

“Wrong answer,” Ares growled, stepping behind him, hands clamping down on Roman’s shoulders like boulders. “You ain’t here to ‘train,�� bro. You’re here to dominate.”

Hercules nodded. “And step one? Mindset upgrade.”

Before Roman could protest, Ares spun him toward the mirror. Hercules stepped beside him, flexing his absurdly massive arms.

“Look,” Hercules demanded. “That’s what you need to be, bro. Alpha. Golden. Huge. Unstoppable.”

Ares grinned, gripping Roman’s wrist and forcing him to flex. “Nah, bro, you gotta see it first. You gotta believe it.”

Roman hesitated… but the pull of the golden mirror, the overwhelming presence of these two gods… it was intoxicating.

And the twins knew it.

Hercules leaned in, whispering, “We’re gonna fix you, bro. Gonna make you perfect.”

@roman-golden-68 is part of this story ;)

Come join us bruhs, get golden, ger brocessed. Message @brodygold @polo-drone-001 @goldenherc9 today dudes

#golden army #golden team #thegoldenteam #male transformation #male tf #jockification #join the golden team #golden opportunities #superbowl pre game training #hercules gold #Ares Gold #ai muscle #ai muscle vid #ai pictures #golden superbowl

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offtorivendell · 6 months ago

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Elain Archeron Week, Day 1: Visions

I've theorised before about how I think Elain's powers - specifically her Sight, but possibly other aspects of her magic, too - might work, with regards to her murky realm/the Void, the effects of light and even magical medicinals (could witchberries play a part instead of bloodbane?) so today I want to talk a little about why I think having such a useful power could be so meaningful for Elain.

ACOSF suggested that Elain was raised by Mama Archeron to have no independent thought; no dreams of her own, no goals bigger than her garden. She was to be the family's pawn on the marriage mart in their quest for power. Valued for her looks alone, not for what she could do.

Elain is pleasant to look at, her mother had once mused while Nesta sat beside her dressing table, a servant silently brushing her mother’s gold-brown hair, but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. She will be an asset on the marriage market for us one day, if that beauty holds, but it will be our own maneuverings, Nesta, not hers, that win us an advantageous match. Nesta had been twelve at the time. Elain barely eleven. She’d absorbed every word of her mother’s scheming, plans for futures that had never come to pass. - ACOSF, chapter 17

And then Azriel said this...

But Azriel asked softly, taking a single step over the threshold and into the sitting room, “What other?” Elain’s brows twitched toward each other. “The queen—with the feathers of flame.” The shadowsinger angled his head. Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?” “She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien. Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.” - ACOWAR, chapter 32

Besides the fact that Sight must be an incredibly difficult power to navigate at the best of times, I will always wonder how much it meant to Elain to hear she was needed for a skill. Something she could work at and contribute that went beyond the looks she was born with. Something that could - and did - allow her to prove her mother wrong when her own "maneuverings" saved lives at the end of ACOWAR.

Even before Elain understood what was happening, while she was still lost in her murky realm, she tried to use her visions to warn/help her family. One of her biggest contributions being her untrained doe eyes peering across the world, leading Feyre to the Suriel in ACOWAR, then of course everything that followed when she ignored orders to return to camp and ended up killing the King of Hybern and saving Nesta and Cassian, and massively weakening Hybern's army.

Our trembling fawn has a backbone of steel, I can't wait for her to shine and grow in her own book. 🌿

@elainarcheronweek

#elainarcheronweek2024 #visions #elain archeron #pro elain archeron #pro elain #seer elain #mystic elain #oracle elain #elain's powers #elainarcheronweek #elain archeron week #elain archeron week 2024 #acotar #sjm books #azriel shadowsinger #mama archeron #acotar theory #elain archeron theory #fanged beast and trembling fawn

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acetonelungz · 8 months ago

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Jaws

pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4

Simon Riley was a whisper in the wind.

Rumors and wise tells of the infamous “Ghost” haunted every soldier, even those not on the opposing team.

He was scary. And not the little kid monster type of scary, scary as in he stood in the corner and watched you like prey. Scary in the way that everyone thought of him as a ticking time bomb. Expect for John Price.

“So are you in, Simon?”

“Ghost is in, Simon is gone.”

“Ah, right. My bad mate.”

And now he was here, in enemy territory aiding in the rescue of some soldier.

Simon was the type to not question missions and just simply get the job done.

This one was different though.

Why make a big fuss over some low grade soldier? Quite a bit of trouble over a nobody. His questions remained mere thoughts, as he wouldn’t question out loud his authoritative figures. Ghost also quite literally couldn’t give two fucks.

Following Price, he scoured the hallways, making sure to take down everything threat and security camera. Soon enough, they arrived at a heavily locked door.

“This outta be it.” Price whispered back towards Ghost. “Plantin’ a lil package.” He placed an IUD on the door and quickly found cover before an explosion sounded off.

Deciding to do double kill, he threw a flash bomb to curb any possible threats.

Upon running into the space, he discovered exactly what they had been looking for.

A little feisty brunette who attempted to kick him in the balls.

“I’m Captain Price and we’re here to rescue you.”

“Took ya fucking long enough.” Ghost chuckled.

“Whats funny fuckface?” He did not chuckle this time.

Price huffed a half-assed laugh while lifting her up by the arms, “Easy there, we’re just here to help and we need to leave asap.” With that he turned and headed towards the now torn up door.

She followed wordlessly behind him, as well as Ghost.

As they walked towards around the base, the bodies of soldiers could be seen all along the corridors and hallways. One in particular, was the guard from earlier. It took everything within her not to spit on his dead body, but rather she lightly kicked it. In return Price gave her a unsatisfied look.

“I think after what I’ve been through I can at least do that.”

He nodded without saying a word.

Soon enough they reached the massive tan military trucks just outside the base, only two were present which sparked confusion within the woman.

“How many of there were you?”

“What’d you expect a bloody army private?” Ghost huffed from underneath his mask.

This royally pissed her off.

She quickly got into his face, sneering “Actually it’s lieutenant, and for how many bodies there were I assumed there were more of you. Not an unintelligent question but rather an unintelligent response.”

“You have five seconds to get the fuck out of my face-“

“Okay you two.” Price quickly separated the two, focused on the woman while saying, “We need to be cordial if we’re going to figure this entire thing out. Once we get back to base there are many questions we need to find the answer to. The sooner we get back the sooner you can be done with this all. So knock it off and get the in the bloody truck.”

“Yes Captain.” They said in unison, the woman glared at Ghost while he remained unbothered. Realizing it wasn’t worth it, she dropped it and got in the truck.

‘My first interaction with people in six months and this is what I’m dealing with. One dressed up asshole who is awkward as a prepubescent boy and an old man who thinks he’s my father.’ She thought while riding in the back while Ghost rode passenger with Price driving.

“I forgot to ask earlier,” Price started, breaking the girl out of her thoughts. “Can you confirm your name and status?”

“Lieutenant Collette Swanson also known as Jaws.”

#cod 141 #gaz cod #soap cod #ghost cod #captain john price #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price

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stoat-party · 10 months ago

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Evaluating Which Details Pose Continuity Issues (yeah, it’s long, sorry)

I’m being relentlessly annoyed by (some) people mad at the show and by (some) people mad at people mad at the show, so let’s clear up where the issues are and aren’t so we’re not just talking over each other here.

Destroying the Strip

Obviously not a retcon. Retcons refer to previously-established events. Some people might have their own problems with it (I definitely saw it cited as evidence of a coordinated attack on New Vegas), but it presents no continuity problems.

2. What exactly is a vial?

I don’t think this changed ghoul lore. They can still go 200+ years without turning, or they can start turning as soon as they get ghoulified. There’s just a new plot element where they can stave off the effects of going feral for awhile if they take this mysterious drug - without the drug, the rules are still the same. The story was NOT clear on this, and it confused me, but if ghouls need drugs to stay sane, Oswald, Dean, Billy, etc. could not exist even if there’s a massive industry in vials of goop that’s never been mentioned before.

3. It took Vault-Tec decades to build all the vaults.

This is something I worried about because there couldn’t have been much time between the boardroom scene and the bombs falling (Janey doesn't age). But I think it makes sense if you assume the vaults were already built and they filled them with experiments afterward. It does leave the problem that some vaults were unfinished but Vault-Tec also dropped the bombs - why would they do that before finishing their vaults? It’s possible that they planned to drop them but got beat to the punch, or any number of other explanations. Clear retcon but not a huge plot hole.

4. House is worse than Caesar all of a sudden?

This one’s a private gripe of mine because House and Sinclair were not originally written to be Actual Sadists Who Hate Humanity. There’s also House’s mastermind prepper attitude toward the apocalypse, which doesn’t indicate that he had a hand in orchestrating it. While the change doesn’t conflict with the text as far as I know, it really changes the flavor of the game, but not as much as:

5. The Fall of Shady Sands

Let’s say that this happened after the first battle of Hoover Dam, so no continuity issues with their ability to win that. (That’s probably why they set it in 2277, so the NCR would have almost four years to recover before NV. As if Caesar wouldn’t have taken half of their land by then, even with his armies crushed, but ok fine he’s going through a divorce, he’s busy right now.)

But are you telling me that a country can lose a massive city containing much of its infrastructure, most of its central government, and ~5% of its population and still be trying to manifest destiny four years later with no mention of it?

Losing the Divide as a travel route almost crippled the NCR in the Mojave for awhile. Now, not only have they lost the Divide and their capital city, but one of their other biggest cities, the Boneyard, is abandoned and inhabited by an apparently-unaffiliated town. (Yeah, Los Angeles is big, but we don’t see any NCR or Followers despite three main characters traveling through it.) Even if there were still people there during New Vegas, how is the NCR still conducting a campaign in the east?

Also, who is Muldover and what’s her position? Why does she have raiders at her disposal? Is that really supposed to be what remains of the government? I get that some of this will be resolved later, but short of complete societal collapse, there’s no explanation.

We don’t see any of this in New Vegas. The president (who was in office in 2277) is still alive. No one mentions losing family in the explosion. Caesar, Ulysses, and House, along with the many other characters who complain about the NCR’s weakness and instability, don’t bring it up. People even mention the politicians in Shady Sands specifically. PEOPLE ARE MAKING JOKES ABOUT WANTING A NUCLEAR WINTER-

Now there’s a saving interpretation going around that “the fall of Shady Sands - 2277” refers to a metaphorical fall, and the explosion was later. I’ll accept this if I have to, but don’t pretend it’s not a strained reading. Every entry on the board is dated. Why would you date an amorphous event and not date the city exploding?

The explosion was nineteen years ago, and it had to be that early because Lucy and Norm don’t remember living there. (Not clear how old they are but probably in their early-mid 20’s.) The earliest you could place the event without it making no sense is late 2282, because with the time skips in DLC, the events of New Vegas are about a year long. Maybe you could put a gap between Lucy returning to the vault and the actual destruction, but not a five-year one. And if it was in 2282, Max would still be a teenager.

There are legitimate concerns here. Between House and the NCR, the show changes a lot about the main conflict of New Vegas. It’s not just side details.

Not telling you how to feel! Just don’t pretend nothing poses any problems and people are crazy for being concerned. I think the vibe right now is to dismiss me as a hater, but I hope you can see I’ve tried to make it all work. Continuity is really important in a multi-decade story, especially to writers.

I will be appeased by a respectful and thought-out New Vegas remake that preserves as much of the original continuity as possible and is also really good and costs $4. Thanks in advance Bethesda.

Edit:

6. Tatoes in the vaults

TATOES IN THE VAULTSSSS? THIS IS MASSIVE DISRESPECT TO THE LORE. EVERYTHING WE KNOW IS DESTROYED. UNFORGIVABLE.

(but yeah there shouldn’t be tatoes in a vault that hasn’t opened)(maybe norm and lucy had seeds in their pockets when they came back, sure)

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laurentgold06 · 2 months ago

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Golden Army

In the cold light of the arena, everything gleamed like a promise. Bodies clothed in gold, every fiber of their skin-tight suits stretched over muscles worked to perfection, moved in a silent, disciplined choreography. Nothing here was left to chance. Every movement had a purpose. Every breath was a step toward a shared ideal: to improve oneself, to uplift others, to elevate the Golden Army as one.

They were brothers, all of them. No hierarchy, no judgmental glances. Every role, every position in this sacred order, had a place and an equal importance. Some were built to lift weights that defied logic, others to run faster than the wind. And I, Laurent, the waterboy, was there to support them. No more, no less. This was my place, and I embraced it with a devoted, almost religious humility.

My chastity cage, hidden but visible under the stretched fabric of my golden shorts, was both a symbol and a choice. It spoke of my renunciation, my discipline. It was my way of contributing to the Golden Army, of erasing myself while giving all of myself. What I withheld, what I contained, was not a weakness. It was a shared strength, a sacrifice that made me the equal of these brothers who ran, punched, and pushed their limits.

Marcus had explained this to me on my first night here, months ago. “No one is more or less in this place, Laurent. Whatever you do, as long as you give everything, you are a brother.” Those words had marked me. They echoed tonight, as I moved from one brother to another, offering water, wiping a forehead, or simply being there, a constant, reassuring presence.

Samuel, his breath ragged after a series of sprints, grabbed the golden water bottle without a word. His eyes met mine, and I saw that familiar glint I had come to recognize in all of them: a silent acknowledgment. Not condescending, but fraternal, pure. He drank slowly, his throat contracting with each swallow, before handing the bottle back to me with a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

“You’re one of us,” he murmured.

I nodded. Words weren’t needed.

When Marcus set down his weights, he turned toward me. His golden suit clung to his massive shoulders, his thick thighs, but it was his gaze that bore the most weight. He stepped closer, scrutinizing me as if searching for something in my eyes.

“You do more than carry water, Laurent,” he said, his voice low but gentle. “You remind us why we’re here. Why we push ourselves.”

He placed a hand on my bare shoulder. His warmth, his strength, were tangible. And yet, there was nothing domineering in the gesture. It was a silent embrace, a renewed pact.

In the Golden Army, everything was about balance. No brother was more important than another. The one who lifted the heaviest weights depended on the one who cleaned the arena at the end of the day. The one who ran the fastest relied on the one who carried the water. Brotherhood was everything. A chain in which each link strengthened the next.

When night fell and the training ended, I stood alone in the empty arena. My reflection in the mirrors showed a body tense, offered. My golden shorts, so tight they revealed everything I contained, were a silent declaration: my role was no less than theirs.

Here, in this golden fraternity, everyone gave their all. Not for themselves. Not to shine. But to make the circle stronger. United, invincible, brothers.

Ready to join the Team and be like Kit?All you need to do is contact our recruiters: @brodygold, @goldenherc9, or @polo-drone-001

#golden army #male transformation #golden team #the golden team #thegoldenteam #jockification #hypnotized #transformation #water boy

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bestworstcase · 1 year ago

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Plot convenience? Or did Raven really not think about the fact Salem would come after her, once she possessed a relic?

neither. you gotta remember that raven is lying when she presents herself as singularly focused on her own survival. cinder took a shot at her and raven dropped her defenses to lunge forward and shout a warning to vernal.

in V4, she tries to get qrow to tell her if salem has the crown because: “i just want to know what we’re up against.”

when vernal asks her if she believes they’ll be left alone if they hand over the lamp, raven says “of course not. they’ll never leave us alone. once our purpose has come and gone, we’ll be discarded; salem only uses people until they are no longer useful. if we want to have any chance of defending ourselves against her, then we need this relic.”

“the creatures of grimm have a master named salem. she can’t be stopped, she can’t be reasoned with, and she will not rest until humanity crumbles at her feet.”

“i’m not helping oz, and i’m not helping salem. i don’t want any part of this!” but “this path won’t be easy for us, either, but we must do what’s right for the tribe.”

the point of keeping the lamp is to keep it away from salem. raven doesn’t especially want ozpin to have it either, because she knows he’ll just put it right back in a vault, but yang convinces raven to hand it over by declaring her intention to draw salem out and then fight back, which is exactly what raven planned to do.

as far as raven is concerned, if salem gets the lamp it’s Game Over. stabbing cinder in the back and absconding with the relic will incur salem’s wrath and provoke retaliation—raven doesn’t just know that, she’s counting on it.

here’s the bet she’s making: she eliminates cinder, locking salem out of the beacon vault, then slips away with the lamp in the chaos. the tribe is all packed and ready to move; salem’s forces are entangled at haven and will likely suffer defeat at the hands of qrow and his allies. they’ll need to retreat and regroup, giving raven the advantage. she also knows where their ship is.

so she moves the tribe—destroying salem’s people’s airship on her way out to hobble them—and digs in somewhere else, knowing that salem will come after her as soon as she figures out where raven is. cinder backed her into a corner before, but this time raven gets to choose and prepare the ground—or grounds, because she can use her semblance to move people or the relic or herself back and forth between n locations, where n is however many bonds she has within the tribe.

salem’s forces are primarily grimm, which raven can handle easily (see also: winter annihilating the swarming grimm in vacuo). with cinder gone, none of salem’s remaining agents will pose a serious threat; raven is a formidable enough fighter to go toe to toe with any of them without magic, and having magic tips the fight to her. if salem herself shows up, raven can portal out with the relic. she has a massive advantage in maneuverability that effectively neutralizes salem’s most overwhelming advantage; salem can’t be stopped, but raven can’t be caught.

salem can’t outlast an enemy who slips through her fingers like smoke every time she gets close—if she wants the relic, she’ll need to catch raven completely off guard and take her down in the first blow, which is going to be difficult when raven knows she’s coming, gets to choose the terrain, has a whole tribe of loyal followers to spread out and keep watch, and can use her semblance and a single ally in a strategic location to evacuate a whole camp in a matter of minutes or, if it comes to that, disappear herself in seconds.

like… genuinely. raven could keep that relic away from salem for years while inflicting very lopsided casualties on salem’s side. in a protracted war between an immortal capable of spawning armies of monsters and a group of guerrilla fighters who can fast travel, the guerrillas win.

she was planning to fight.

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1253abdullah · 6 months ago

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Two Birds In A Nest ch-9

Robin Vs Beastboy on AO3

"Titans, regroup!" Nightwing’s voice crackled urgently over the comms. "The building’s about to collapse! Get to the extraction point now!"

But Damian and Beast Boy were too caught up in their fight to hear the order. They were deep within the factory, surrounded by the last remnants of the robot army. The floor beneath them trembled violently, but neither of them paid it any mind. They were too focused on each other, on proving who was the better fighter.

“Watch your back, Damian!” Beast Boy yelled, shifting into a tiger and pouncing on a robot that was about to ambush Damian from behind. He tore through the machine with a savage snarl, his eyes gleaming with a mix of triumph and defiance.

Damian didn’t miss a beat, driving his blade through the chest of another robot before spinning around to face Beast Boy. “I didn’t need your help,” he snapped, his voice edged with anger.

“Yeah, well, you got it anyway,” Beast Boy shot back, shifting back to his human form. He was breathing hard, his muscles straining, but the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy trying to show off, you’d have noticed it yourself.”

The ground beneath them gave another violent shudder, and this time, Damian couldn’t ignore it. He glanced up, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. The factory was seconds away from collapsing completely, and they were still deep inside. They needed to get out—now.

“We’re leaving,” Damian said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned towards the exit, but Beast Boy grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

“No way,” Beast Boy growled. “I’m not letting you get the last word. We finish this, here and now.”

“Are you insane?” Damian snapped, wrenching his arm free. “The building is about to come down on our heads! This isn’t the time to settle scores!”

But Beast Boy wasn’t listening. His competitive drive had taken over, blinding him to the danger they were in. He shifted into a gorilla, his massive fists pounding the ground as he charged at Damian. “Come on, faker! Show me what you’ve got!”

Damian’s eyes blazed with anger. This was madness—pure, reckless madness. But there was no backing down now. If Beast Boy wanted a fight, then a fight he would get.

“ I WILL, LOGAN” that wasn’t a human like voice, more like A roar, even Gar felt a shiver goes to his spine from hearing Damian’s voice..

#damirae #multiverse #rachel roth #robin #beast boy #damian wayne #raven #dick grayson #cyborg #koriand'r #teen titans #conflict #tension

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poledancingdinos · 1 year ago

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Hostile Territory - Chapter 22

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: Past Sexual Harassment, Past Physical Violence, Masturbation (M)

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @athenepromachos @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @happydistraction @hannah9921 @valacircareads @toooldforobsessions @kingliam2019

Masterlist

Day 204

Leah filled an entire shopping cart with vegetables, cheese, chips and all the fixings for a massive taco feast. That was, everything except the meat. For that, they stopped at a butcher shop on the way back. Sy hadn’t expected for things to still be so domestic after his conversation with Leah over breakfast but he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Sy was sure he’d misheard Leah when she told the man she needed six flank steaks but, as it turned out, it was no mistake. The small army Leah had referred to was not much of an exaggeration. Apparently, they were expecting up to thirty people which was about half the population of Warhorse.

It was a good thing they had taken Caleb’s car instead of his rental. They wouldn’t have been able to fit the multiple cases of beer, wine, juice and soda in addition to the groceries. It was also simpler to leave anything not perishable in the car rather than hull it in and out of the house.

By lunch time, they had finished their assigned task, the flank steaks had been put in the fridge to marinate and the two of them were back cuddling on the couch after eating a few sandwiches.

To Leah’s surprise, in addition to loving fantasy books, Sy was a bit of a history buff. He found a show about some famous British king and, though Leah had never heard of it, the leading men were pretty to look at so she was willing to give it a shot.

After the first episode, Leah began to feel restless. The show was interesting and, let’s be honest, the money shot twenty minutes in didn’t hurt at all, but she just felt like they should have been doing something… more.

“I guess this wasn’t exactly what you were expecting when you flew out here to see me.”

Sy looked down at Leah over her shoulder but with her back to his chest and her gaze stubbornly fixed forward, he couldn’t read her expression.

“What do you mean?” he asked, tightening the arm he had wrapped around her waist while sliding his other hand over her stomach.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, resting her head against his shoulder. “It feels like in the movies the people who get two weeks of romance before they have to go their separate ways spend them having all these big adventures or fucking like rabbits and we’re just sitting at home watching the X-rated version of British history.”

“To be fair, if we’d had X-rated history in school I might have actually learned something.”

Sy’s attempt to lighten the mood didn’t do much good. Leah still chewed the inside of her cheek like it was an olympic sport.

He pulled Leah up onto his lap, stroking his thumb over the outside of her abused cheek.

“Babygirl, when our two weeks are over, we don’t go our separate ways, we go back to Warhorse.” Sy pressed a kiss to her temple, threading his fingers through her hair. “We don’t need adventures while we’re home because we get enough life-threatening missions while we’re away.” The tip of his nose brushed the shell of her ear as he moved to kiss the side of her neck. “And you don’t need to compare us to a Nicholas Sparks movie as fitting as it might seem.”

Busted. She hadn’t expected for him to know what she was referring to but clearly he was well versed in cheesy military romances.

“It’s a book too,” she grumbled.

“Oh?” Sy smirked against her skin, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “Well if it’s a book then we should be following it step by step. Although that Dear John letter might not have the same effect if you hand it to me on base.”

Leah shook her head, slipping from his grasp and moving to stand away with her arms crossed over her chest. “We won’t physically be apart but we won’t be together either. We can’t be so what are we supposed to do then? Am I supposed to sneak into your room after lights out and sneak back before anybody wakes up? Do we go back to how things were before we left?”

Sy pulled her back to him, flipping Leah onto her back and slotting himself between her legs so she wouldn’t be tempted to run again. Okay, maybe she hadn’t run so much as pulled away but he wasn’t letting it happen again. “I wish I had an answer to that, darlin’.” He moved a stray piece of hair out of her face, gazing down at her in such a way that she already knew what he would say next. And for once, it didn’t scare her. “I just know that I love you and that I’m not ready to let ya go.”

“Yeah?” she asked, in barely a whisper.

“Yeah…” He’d never said those words to a woman before and he was suddenly worried he’d spoken too soon.

Thankfully, the cutest little shy smile pulled at Leah’s lips. “I love you too.”

“Yeah?” he repeated, leading Leah to playfully slap his shoulder.

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

Leah felt more than heard Sy’s appreciative rumble. “Yes ma’am,” he growled before sealing his lips over hers.

Her hands snuck up his shirt, exploring the vast expanse of his back. Pinned under his comforting weight, there was no space left between them but she still tried to pull him closer by wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Ignore that,” Sy mumbled when his erection pressed against her covered core.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m gonna anyway.”

By some twisted coincidence, breathless moans coming from the television pulled their attention away from each other and over to the screen where the King was being generously served by a woman on her knees.

Sy broke away from Leah’s hold, reaching for the remote and switching the show off. As he dropped back onto the couch, he took a deep breath, grateful for the moment of reprieve before he blew his load in his pants. Before they could get back to what they were doing, footsteps coming from the upper floor alerted them to the time.

“Shit, I need to get the car loaded. Caleb’s gonna be fussing with his hair until the last possible second so he won’t think to do it himself.”

“I should uh… I should go shower.”

Not wanting to draw attention to the little situation he would obviously be dealing with while he was in there, Leah simply nodded and moved towards the kitchen.

“Oh!” Sy looked up towards where Leah stood in the doorway of the kitchen. “Wear something warm and pull out some stuff for overnight. I’ll put it in a bag for later.”

Intrigued, the Captain made his way upstairs to get his clothes. As he walked by the half-open bathroom door, he saw Caleb bent over the counter as he styled his hair, wearing only a towel. With a smile on his face, Sy riffled through his duffle, tossing some clothes on the bed and taking his nicest jeans and henley to change into after his shower.

As he stepped under the spray in the small first floor shower, Sy was still at half-mast. As soon as he replayed the moment where Leah told him she loved him, he was back to granite. He put a hand on the wall and wrapped the other around the base of his cock, giving it a squeeze. There was no time to draw things out, he just needed a clear head for the rest of the night.

Leah might have thought he shut off the show to avoid making her uncomfortable but the truth was that he shut it off to stop picturing Leah on her knees for him. He would wrap that hair he loved so much around his fist and use it to move her head over his shaft.

The water rolled down his back as his muscle clenched with every stroke up and down his length. Sy released a shaky breath when his thumb slid over his tip just right. He slowly repeated the motion a few more times, causing his ass to clench as his hips bucked forward of their own accord.

“Shit,” he hissed, his head falling forward.

Closing his eyes, Sy envisioned Leah’s tongue darting out to taste the beads of precum dripping from his slit. Then her lips would wrap around the head and she would sink down the length of his dick, going further and further each time. Her small hand would work the bottom half of his shaft and when she would be done making him nice and wet, she would take her hand away and sink down until he hit the back of her throat.

Before he even realized he was close, Sy was shooting his load onto the shower wall. A shiver ran down his entire body as a choked moan escaped his lips.

“Holy shit.”

Though his chest was still heaving, Sy couldn’t afford to waste any more time. He quickly rinsed the shower wall and used the available bottle of body wash to clean himself and his beard.

Sy stepped out of the bathroom just as a voice sounded from the second floor.

“Leah, come on we gotta go!” Caleb ran down the stairs with his hair perfectly styled but his shirt not yet fully buttoned. “Where the hell did I put my wallet?”

“Your wallet is with your keys on the table. The car is loaded and the electric cooler is plugged in for the cold stuff. We’ll meet you there.”

That made Caleb freeze halfway through putting his shoes on. “The fuck you are.” He marched back towards the kitchen where Leah sat at the table. “Look, I know you weren’t legal yet but we made a deal when you got that death machine and we agreed you’d never drive it after drinking ever no matter how little and especially not at night.”

Sy didn’t appreciate the raised voice and was tempted to intervene but he knew better than to get in between fighting siblings or to fight Leah’s battle for her. Leah, however, didn’t at all seem phased by her brother’s outburst, crossing her arms and waiting for him to finish his rant.

“Do you have any idea how many motorcycle accidents we get in the ER and what kind of damage the riders get? Broken bones, concussions, road rash… that’s the injuries the lucky ones get. The unlucky ones go straight to the morgue.”

“Are you done?” she asked, standing and walking around the table.

Caleb looked taken aback by his sister’s calm tone.

“Sy has a rental car which he can use to drive us but I was thinking we could take the long way there with my bike and stay at the cabin tonight.”

“Oh.” Caleb let out a relieved sigh, wiping a hand down his face. He hadn’t automatically assumed she would be staying the night since the cabin only had one bedroom and they normally just made the half hour drive back so they could each sleep in their own beds. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell like that.” He pulled Leah into a hug, muttering an ‘I love you’ into her hair.

If Sy had to venture a guess, he would say that their open affection came from the unexpected loss of their dad. Caleb was obviously terrified something might happen to Leah as well. And who could blame him considering the things he witnessed every day working in a hospital emergency room?

“Do you ride?” Leah asked once she saw Caleb off.

Sy nodded. “I got my bike license before I got my car license.”

“So… What do you think about riding up together?”

With a sigh, he caught Leah by the hips, pulling her closer. She responded by clasping her hands around Sy’s neck.

“Darlin’, I’m willin’ to put my male pride aside for a lot of things ‘cause I know you’re tough as hell and independent to a fault but I draw the line at ridin’ bitch.”

He was expecting some kind of snappy retort at his choice of words but Leah just smirked.

“Who said you’d be the one ridin’ bitch?”

Now that sounded like an amazing idea. Leah’s bike didn’t have anything for a passenger to hold onto so she would be forced to wrap her arms around him if she wanted to stay in her seat.

“Well if you’re offerin’ so nicely.”

After Leah found her spare helmet and set up a GPS on the front of her bike, they packed their change of clothes in a backpack and set off for the evening. It didn’t take long to realize why Leah had suggested the ride. The fall colors were gorgeous along the open road. As a bonus, Leah’s body was pressed flush against his back, her legs framing his and her gloved hands fisted in his old leather jacket.

Sy was almost disappointed when Leah pointed out the dirt path that led off through the trees.

“Finally,” Caleb said as they walked in. He was halfway through the back door, holding a stack of what looked like four by fours in his arms. “L I need you to cut up the vegetables while me and Lachlan finish setting up the yard. Camden will be here soon with the stereo equipment.”

Out in the yard, Caleb’s friend was raking the leaves, while Caleb began attaching what Sy now knew to be legs to a table top.

“There isn’t much room in here so we take the legs off the tables when we store them. It also makes them easier to bring in and out of the cabin.”

Leah had obviously realized what he was looking at while she began pulling the vegetables out of the grocery bags.

“Why not just use folding tables?” he asked, taking everything over to the sink to be washed.

“Folding tables are expensive for what they are. Plus they’re often really narrow so my dad custom built three different tables that were the same size and could be attached together with brackets. With a power drill, it doesn’t take much longer to set up.”

Leah was almost done chopping the peppers and onions when the next person arrived, letting himself in.

The man gave a general greeting to the guys who’d come back inside to wash their hands before dropping his bags and moving to stand behind Leah. He put both hands over Leah’s ears and turned to Caleb.

“Why is Leah in the kitchen?” he stage whispered.

Caleb laughed, waving off the man’s concern. “Relax, she’s getting the vegetables ready. No cooking involved, only her scary knife skills.”

“Oh, well that’s fine.” He removed his hands and set them on her shoulders instead. “Hey Killer, welcome home.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek before unpacking his supplies.

“Fuck you, I’m not that bad a cook,” she said, shooting a glare at the older man.

“Says the girl who managed to make a salad inedible.”

“You mix up the sugar and the salt one time…” she grumbled under her breath, looking back towards the cutting board.

Sy couldn’t help but smile at the adorable way she was pouting.

“Why does everyone call you Killer?” he asked, both genuinely curious and wanting to draw the attention away from Leah’s apparently lacking culinary skills.

A blush crept up Leah’s cheeks as she expertly sliced onions into long, even strips.

“It’s not everyone, just the guys who were around while I was in my freshman year of high school.”

“That doesn’t answer his question though,” Lachlan pointed out.

When Leah remained silent, Camden took over.

“One day, while me and our friend Niki were studying at his house, he got a call from Leah’s school asking him to come in because they couldn’t reach Caleb. When we get there, the principal calls Niki in and starts telling him how Leah was getting suspended because she attacked another student. The guy starts going on about how they will have to involve social workers if we can’t keep Leah in line and says that she needs a strong hand to keep her emotional outbursts in check. So Niki pulls me and Leah in and asks what caused the altercation. Turns out, the principal’s son had been calling Leah ‘doll’ despite her telling him numerous times to stop.”

“That’s when Niki asked if I was the only one being punished for what happened which was a stupid question seeing as they knew exactly who his son was and they knew for a fact that he could get away with murder.”

Camden hummed in agreement. “I was pre-law at the time so I gave him some speech about sexual harassment being a gateway to rape and that by not addressing the harassment he was condoning it and fostering a hostile study environment. It spooked him enough that he agreed to drop her suspension. Anyway once we left the school Niki made a comment about how Leah had every right to go Chucky on his punk ass. Killer kind of stuck after that.”

Never in a million years would Sy have guessed that Leah’s nickname would come from ‘killer doll’. In a way, it was kind of brilliant that they would use it as a way to praise her for sticking up for herself.

He remembered how Leah had said she’d isolated herself after their dad had died and realized it was probably a result of that asshole principal threatening to involve social services instead of admitting his own son had done something wrong.

“I’d never seen Niki so angry before,” Caleb chimed in. “When I got home from my midterm he looked about ready to hunt the kid down himself.”

“Still would have been better than Gage being the one to do it.”

“Fuck,” Caleb shook his head, clearly in agreement with Lachlan’s comment, “dad would have brought him back just to kill him all over again.”

When the three men stepped out to unload the stereo equipment, Sy slipped in behind Leah, putting his hands on her hips. “Is it all pet names that make you go serial killer or just doll?”

Leah looked outside, making sure Caleb was still out of earshot before she set the knife down and turned to face Sy.

“I lost my shit that day because he told me that if I wanted guys to notice me I should be a good little doll and only open my mouth when I wanted someone to stick something in it. I didn’t want any of them to worry more than necessary so I never told them.”

“Jesus,” he pulled Leah closer as if wanting to shield her from the memory, “I think that just ruined the word doll for me.”

He rested his forehead against Leah’s, taking a deep breath.

“That’s okay, I like darling better anyway. Or baby girl, that was nice too.”

Chapter 23

#captain syverson #captain syverson fic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #henry cavill #cpt syverson fic #cpt syverson #cpt syverson fanfiction #captain syverson x ofc #cpt syverson x ofc #cpt syverson fanfic

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jkftkth · 26 days ago

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Too be honest I am actually so done with the disrespect towards Taekook. It's time we all start being honest with ourselves about the fact that they are and have always been the two standout members and the reason I could never identify with army is that I just don't get why we need to keep pretending like this is not the case. And this is not to shade BTS. BTS as group is amazing but Tae and Jungkook have got something special that sets them apart and everyone can see it but for some reason we can't talk about it or acknowledge it. For some reason the fandom and company constantly expects them dull their own shine for the sake of the group. And I know people think Jungkook was favoured during his solo debut but I don't care. What tools he got is irrelevant because fucking Bang pd literally used him at every turn and it was never for his benefit. Used him to promote Scooter and Bongo's massive egos. Used him in an unnecessary show when he was already overworked with his OWN crazy schedule. A show that then ended up being used to promote another members album. God let me not get into all shit with Tae because I am just going to get annoyed and frustrated and be writing long essays here. I'm being so serious when I say I love them, I respect their choices, but group comeback or not I hope when they come out they will be unapologetic and confident about the reputations they have built for themselves as solo artists. Because some people have grown way too comfortable acting like they don't know who these men are and what they are truly capable of.

they truly are the standout members (i would throw hobi in there too because i think he has that star quality as a performer taekoo also do) and that’s probably the reason a fandom so heavily biased to someone else has the confidence to be so disrespectful to the two. it’s anger and jealousy. i’ve never understood where this analysis of “arrogance” even came from (let alone echoed loud enough to reach jk) because if you can applaud another member for saying “yeah we paved the way” then why can’t you for jk who’s just giving himself a pat on the back?

the reason it cannot be acknowledged or talked about is like i said, someone else’s insecurity projected onto the fandom.

i don’t like the word favour because at the end of the day it’s a label doing what they should lol what’s to be grateful about so there’s no “wow” factor for me when they go ahead and do their job.

but i also can’t agree with the word irrelevant either because this is someone’s career we’re talking about and where he got to was a defining pivotal moment for him as a soloist and in his long term career and being supported (besides the need to take credit) still contributed to that.

that being said the disrespect is unforgivable, to insinuate without scooter there would be trouble, and then to go ahead and push him into a schedule that got him sick and forced him to prioritize elsewhere…it’s so bizarre i still can’t wrap my head around it. for how long were they even waiting to show their solo stuff? (it’s not as if you let them go through with their mixtapes.)

in my opinion, i think long term they both have a solid plan for themselves. we just need to be patient. i think they’re smart and they have a good external support system. short term - it’ll be all about bts though.

#asks #taekook #fandom discourse

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m4gp13 · 3 days ago

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This is my work for @titan-army-fan's exchange week for @everythingwasalreadypicked, hope you enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63034156 (tumblr's being weird about links for whatever reason so the full fic is below the cut as well)

Alabaster’s steps thudded through the echoey corridors of the Mt Othrys palace. The shiny black marble halls were devoid of life except for him and Ethan, whose tread was somehow so much lighter in the same standard-issue boots. The dim green braziers that blazed along the walls didn’t crackle or pop as any normal fire did, so the only sound was Alabaster’s heavy stomps and the whispered echo of Ethan’s.

“The lighting in here is terrible,” Alabaster said to distract himself from the awkward silence.

“I know,” Ethan answered. “You say that every time.”

“I just wanted something to talk about.”

“Is there anything in particular you’d like to discuss?” He asked the question pointedly, as if there was a correct answer Al was supposed to provide. After a second or so of thinking, he thought he landed on the right one.

“How about the meeting with Prometheus?”

“Out in the open like this?” Ethan asked. His eye narrowed. “That’s awfully bold.”

Alabaster fought the urge to roll his eyes. Ethan was way too suspicious of everyone, but Al humoured him and agreed to have this discussion in his office, where non-existent spies couldn’t hide in the shadows. As soon as the noise-cancelling door clicked shut behind them, Ethan went straight to business.

“Prometheus made a very good point about the scale of our operations,” he said. “A two-front war is difficult enough without the arguable third front of the Olympians.”

“We’ll be fine.” Al dropped himself down in the chair behind his desk. “If we’re successful in picking the camps off one at a time—”

“That’s a big if.”

Al huffed. “I’m sure we’ll manage it.”

“You were sure about the Battle of the Labyrinth.”

Ethan looked closely at him and Alabaster fought the urge to bristle under his gaze. His lieutenant had only joined the army recently, but he was already a thorn in his side. A cunning thorn, at that.

“You’re not seriously considering allying with the camps, are you?” Alabaster asked. Prometheus had broached the subject very briefly during the meeting. He said it like a half-baked idea he’d just tossed into the mix to fill space. But Hecate had warned him of what Prometheus was like, and Al caught the suggestion almost as soon as it passed the Titan’s lips. Unfortunately, Ethan seemed more receptive to it. He gazed intently when Prometheus mentioned it during the meeting and now paced the length of the rug in front of Alabaster’s desk.

“I’m not considering anything just yet,” he said. “Merely weighing up the options.”

“Hah!” Al barked. “The only option available is the one we’ve already picked. The camps are our enemies.”

“They’re also demigods. Our success benefits them. We just need to convince them of that.”

“We don’t need them. We have a substantial force of demigods, we have numerous monster species, we have the Titans, plenty of the non-Olympian gods and we’ve even got mortal mercenaries. The camps chose to remain loyal to the Olympians and we’re more than capable of wiping them out along with their precious gods.”

A muscle feathered in Ethan’s jaw. “You’re not listening to me,” he said, irritation writ on his face.

“Then please, enlighten me.” Al leaned back in his chair and motion vaguely towards the desk. He was sure he looked like a massive prick, but thankfully Ethan was professional enough not to punch him for it in the middle of an important discussion.

Ethan took a deep sigh before continuing. “Having more demigod allies would be valuable to us. They’re powerful and they have mostly the same goals as us. Their loyalty can be assured much more confidently than . . . other company we keep.” He leaned over the desk and said in a hushed tone, “We need to be more wary about the allies that we do have.”

Al gave him a sharp look. He knew where this was going. The meeting with Prometheus threatened to tread such ground.

“The Titans are the reason this army exists in the first place,” he said to Ethan in as firm a voice as he could muster. He was speaking as a general now. “And before you start taking Prometheus’ word over theirs, just remember that he’s a Titan too.”

Prometheus, with his age, power, and influence, posed a significant threat to the internal power structure of the army. He’d usurp it right from under Kronos’ nose if given half a chance, and Ethan was quickly becoming a disciple of his. Prometheus had hardly been here and he was already dripping poison into the ears of once-loyal followers.

Ethan remained firm. “We shouldn’t disregard his council.”

“Prometheus has been chained to a rock for about four thousand years. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about!”

“He knows more about the Titans than we do.” Ethan’s fists started to curl at his sides. “Don’t get cocky.”

“What are you going to do, turn me into a flower?”

Ethan turned from Al, shaking his head and tutting under his breath like a disappointed parent. The condescension was palpable. Maybe it was partly Al’s fault for rising to Ethan’s taunts with such a juvenile comment.

“I swore my loyalty to the Titans,” Al said, mostly to recover himself. “They’re in charge of this army, and it’s their orders I listen to.” He quite liked the sound of his voice at that moment: so commanding and authoritative, like a real general should be. “I don’t care whether or not we ally with the camps. As long as it’s them joining us and not the other way around.” He narrowed his eyes on Ethan. “Sometimes I’m not sure which one you’d prefer.”

“I wouldn’t be so careless with my words,” Ethan warned, seeing right through Alabaster’s innuendo. “Such baseless accusations could cause trouble, especially when spoken with such confidence.”

“Do I have any reason not to be confident?” He let a sharp grin break his professional demeanor. “In my words, in my loyalties, in my operations? It seems to me like the only reason for doubt is if you want more than you’re getting.”

Ethan frowned at him and said in a clipped tone, “You need to consider where you stand, General.” Something in his eye darkened.

Al leaned forward in his chair to meet the challenge.

“Is that a threat, Lieutenant?”

Ethan—cunning, thorny Ethan—didn’t bristle under the accusation. His war was as much against his allies as it was his enemies, Al knew. He was single-minded in his goal and likely wasn’t above ridding the army of anyone who threatened to get in his way.

Including Alabaster.

With so many vipers in the pit, he had to tread carefully.

Alabaster was the only demigod Ethan ranked below, and he was also the one he clashed with the most. He’d have plenty to gain from getting rid of him. As much as Alabaster would have liked to have a friend of similar rank to him in the army, this was a war on all fronts and Ethan was just another combatant.

Ethan tilted his head and assessed Alabaster like a cat who’d found a mouse under its paw.

“I wouldn’t dare threaten you, Sir,” he said, as measured as a politician. “Take it as a suggestion. You may be surprised, if you look, to see whose war you're really fighting.”

Alabaster forced himself to remain still.

“I know where my loyalties lie,” he said. It was something he had to remind himself of sometimes. He wasn’t a slippery politician like Ethan or Prometheus. He was here to make the world a better place. He was here to be a hero. “I fight for a cause, and I won’t be swayed from it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Ethan’s curt reply took all the wind out of his sails. “You fight for an army. This is a war, Alabaster, not a debate. As nice as it would be to choose a moral code or a set of ideals and stick to them, we must be practical. I know it, as do the Titans.” He approached the desk, bracing his hands on the wood as he leaned over Alabaster. “And the Titans, keeping practicality in mind, are not above ridding this army of dead weight.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Lieutenant.” Al’s hand twitched with the urge to dig his claws into the arm of his chair.

Ethan’s face softened into a look Al could have sworn he’d seen mirrored on Prometheus numerous times. For all his faults, Ethan was a very good student.

“Forgive me for being so cryptic,” he said. His voice was so light and melodic you could almost forget the little terrors he was using it for. “I was merely trying to remind you of something.”

“Of something?”

“Of your place.” He pushed off the desk and wandered to the back of the room, pausing to look over his shoulder before he reached the door. “Don’t get cocky,” he said again.

It was all Alabaster could do to give a casual salute-like gesture in acknowledgement. And in warning. Ethan nodded, clearly having read the ‘right back at you’ Alabaster implied. He left the room, closing the door gently behind him, and Alabaster went limp in his chair.

He put his hands over his face and rubbed his eyes. Being a general could be such a fucking headache sometimes. ‘Cryptic’ indeed. Ethan had been so straightforward when he first joined the army, and now you needed a degree in English Literature to parse out what he was trying to say.

But if one thing was obvious, it was this: there were snakes in the grass. Alabaster may not have been the best general in the world, but he was no fool. If Ethan and Prometheus and all the rest of them wanted to scheme against Alabaster, against the Titan leadership, against their very cause, they could be his guests. What he said to Ethan would still stand. He would not be swayed.

#titan army exchange #pjo #percy jackson #alabaster torrington #alabaster c torrington #ethan nakamura #the request said exploration of TA dynamics so I thought it would fun to look at the internal espionage going on #because 'we're all fighting on the same side' NEVER actually means 'we're all fighting on the same side'#also lmao not alabaster being a general who has never won a single battle 💀#(I'm doing this instead of my HisArt test noone tell my lecturers)

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