#clearly i would be top powerful and the universe said no

[orchideous-nox]

If I had a fc for all the characters I want to edit then it would be over for you bitches. You would have all the seabunny edits, all the rosekiller edits, all the xenodora edits, all the cosmicbunny edits. You would be fed.

[hoshifighting]

✨🎧 god of the music!woozi x fairy of the music!reader

— SYNOPSIS: after a moment of lost creativity, the god of music accidentally evokes a beautiful music fairy who is willing to help him.

— WC: 6.400

— WARNINGS: winx musa!reader, fantasy + smut, reader have a size of a polly pocket at first (she goes human-sized after), reference to when captain america picks up thor's hammer, shiny cum, he can stimulate reader with his voice + other powers, mind reading, penetrative sex, oral (f. receiving), reader is referred as: little fairy/pretty fairy/pixie, woozi referred as: woozi/god woozi/god boy, sub!reader x dom! woozi.

this god, sitting there with his head in his hand like the weight of the whole damn universe was gonna break his neck. the throne he sat on was ridiculous, all sharp edges and glowing veins of gold, like someone tried to make it scream power but forgot comfort was a thing. his other hand held this pen—this otherworldly thing, like it was plucked from the cosmos. the handle was black obsidian, smooth as sin, and at the top, a sparkly feather. shimmering, iridescent, like it could hum if you got close enough. it wasn’t just a tool; it was him. his power. and now it clattered against his marble table like it wasn’t worth shit.

he groaned, deep and low, running his fingers through his hair, messing it up like that would fix anything. “fuck’s sake,” he muttered, voice heavy like a bassline that shook your chest. “who the hell’s supposed to help me? i’m the god of this shit. who can i even turn to?”

you almost tripped over the sharp corner of an s etched onto his scroll. the lyrics sprawled out beneath your boots, some half-written, some already glowing like they’d been sung into existence. your little red boots—thank god for those, you weren’t about to ruin your feet for a god’s hissy fit—crunched against the shimmering ink, leaving tiny sparkles in your wake. your wings fluttered behind you, catching the light like shattered glass, but you kept your head down, pushing on. he didn’t need to know you were here.

but then you heard it: the hitch in his voice, that broken sigh that made you stop dead in your tracks. you glanced up, your aura glowing faint blue, like the soft hum of a melody in a quiet room. his eyes were still closed, lashes stupidly long for someone so divine. his face, though—sharp jaw, lips pressed into a thin line like he was biting back every curse he wanted to throw at the universe. your chest tightened.

“oi!” you shouted, your voice barely carrying over the expanse of the table. no response. figures. you huffed, stomping on the o of “hope” like it owed you rent. “oi! big guy! you gonna sit there and sulk, or are you gonna pick that fancy-ass pen up and get back to work?”

his eyes snapped open, golden irises swirling like they held every song ever written. for a second, he looked confused, head tilting like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. fair enough, you thought, wings giving a little buzz. it wasn’t every day a music fairy decided to trespass on godly property.

“what the…?” his voice rumbled, like thunder tuning itself into a melody. he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at you. “you’re... tiny.”

you crossed your arms, boots planted firmly on the glowing e under your feet. “and you’re a fucking drama queen. what’s your point?”

his lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but didn’t know how. “who the hell are you?”

“musa,” you said, wings fluttering behind you. “fairy of music. and you, mr. god-of-all-sounds, look like you’re about to throw a tantrum ‘cause your pen won’t do the work for you.”

he blinked, then sat back again, rubbing his temple. “i don’t need a fairy.”

“clearly, you do.” you pointed at the lyrics, your sparkles spreading like wildfire with every step you took. “this shit? half-assed. what’s got you so pressed you can’t even finish your own damn song?”

“and you think you can help me?” he scoffs, his golden eyebrows lifting under his perfect blonde hair. you gasp, loud and dramatic, arms stretching out like you’re about to deliver some life-changing monologue. instead, you just sulk, feet stomping on his paper with tiny smacks, your boots crunching the shimmering ink. “don’t be a dick!” you huff, fists clenched as you glare up at him, wings flickering behind you.

he leans back in his throne, clearly amused, that godly smirk pulling at his lips. “oh, i’m the dick? you’re the one stomping on my lyrics like they’re trash.”

“they are trash,” you snap, spinning on your heel to fly toward his pen. the damn thing is practically glowing with untapped power, bigger than your whole body. you hook your tiny arms around it, wings buzzing like crazy, trying to lift it. nothing. the pen doesn’t even budge. “ugh, come on,” you groan, digging your heels into the paper for leverage. still nothing.

his laugh fills the air, the vibration of his voice making your wings shake. “you’re gonna hurt yourself, pixie. maybe stick to critiquing from the sidelines.”

“shut up,” you snap, giving him the nastiest side-eye you can muster. he smirks down at you, all smug and insufferable, like he already knows he’s won.

but then you close your eyes. you pull every ounce of energy you’ve got, feeling your aura pulse, faint blue and purple light spilling over the pen. it moves. barely—like, not even a full inch—but it fucking moves.

his smirk drops instantly, replaced by a sharp inhale. his eyes narrow, gold swirling serious, or even worried. “wait. you—” he doesn’t finish, watching like a hawk as you strain, wings fluttering so fast they’re almost a blur. but the pen won’t go further. you let out a shaky breath, hands dropping from the cool obsidian.

he exhales too, shoulders slumping. “thank fuck,” he mutters under his breath, glancing at the pen like it betrayed him for even considering you.

you shoot him a glare, crossing your arms. “what’s the matter, god-boy? scared a little fairy might show you up?”

he snorts, leaning forward now, elbows on his knees. “hardly. but you still haven’t explained how you plan to help me, pixie.”

“for the last time, it’s fairy!” with a frustrated huff, you fly straight up until you’re level with his face. his nose twitches the second your sparkles hit him, and before you can even deliver some sharp retort, he sneezes.

“ACHOO!”

the force of it makes you tumble mid-air, wings flapping wildly to steady yourself. “seriously?!” you yell, zipping back to his eye level.

he blinks at you, nose crinkled. “what the—why are you so sparkly? it’s like breathing glitter.” he rubs his nose, voice muffled. “couldn’t you warn me or something?”

“maybe next time don’t breathe through your nose when a fairy is trying to help you, genius.” you roll your eyes, but before he can argue, you press a hand to his forehead. the touch makes your body vibrate until you fade, and suddenly, a beam of light shoots from your palm into his pineal gland.

“what the fuck—” he freezes as the light connects, his body rigid, eyes wide.

“relax,” you mutter, your voice now echoing inside his mind. “just making a little connection, no big deal.”

“no big—get out of my head,” he growls, the words coming out half-stuttered as he smacks his hand on his temple.

“can’t help you if I’m not in here, dumbass,” you snap, floating deeper into his consciousness. the light around you pulses, shifting into a kaleidoscope of melodies and half-formed ideas. it’s chaotic, but there’s brilliance buried in the mess. “wow,” you mutter. “your brain’s a disaster.”

“gee, thanks,” he grits out, rubbing his temples. “and why the hell are you shaking my head?”

“because this part sucks.” you jab at a sour note in the melody, the whole space vibrating as you try to shift it into something better. his head jerks like he’s been hit, hands gripping his throne as he steadies himself.

“stop doing that!” he barks, glaring at the empty space in front of him.

“then stop writing garbage,” you fire back. but as you dig deeper, tweaking and smoothing out the rough edges of his thoughts, something starts to click.

his fingers twitch, reaching for the pen again. this time, it flows. lyrics spill from the tip, glowing with every stroke. your light pulses in time with his writing, the melody building, making him close his eyes and even languidly let his head follow the melody with lessen shakes.

by the time you pull your hand away, the song is complete. he sits back, staring at the paper, chest rising and falling like he just ran a cross-kingdom race.

“holy shit,” he mutters, golden eyes flicking to you. “you actually… helped.”

you smirk, brushing imaginary dust off your boots. “told you so.”

you watch him from the edge of his ridiculous throne, eyes narrowing as you spot the heavy energy clinging to his shoulders. two globes of black aura hover there, fuzzing and sparking like they’re actively pissed off that you’re even in the room. “no wonder you’re all hunched over,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “music’s not supposed to make you look like you’re carrying the world’s worst hangover.”

he tilts his head at you, golden eyes narrowing, lips quirking into this half-smirk. “easy for you to say. you’re tiny. flying around like a bug with no problems.”

your wings snap open indignantly, your hands flying to your hips. “excuse me? are you mocking my size?”

“mocking?” he echoes. he crosses his arms dramatically, shoulders hunching as he shakes them to mimic your movements. “oh no, look at me, i’m a tiny little fairy, fluttering around, telling gods how to do their job!”

“ha! real original,” you scoff, stomping over to the middle of the papers and plopping yourself down. the glowing ink beneath you sparkles faintly as you lean back on your hands, wings flicking. “if I were you, i’d focus more on fixing those depressing-ass vibes on your shoulders than making fun of me.”

he leans forward now, his stupidly perfect face breaking into a smile. “you’re so small,” he muses, holding his hand out like he’s measuring you against his fingers. “look, you’re barely the size of my thumb.”

“don’t you dare,” you warn, already catching the glint in his eyes.

too late. his hand moves faster than your wings, scooping you up like you’re some kind of doll. “put me down!” you yell, thrashing against his fingers. his grip is annoyingly gentle, like he’s toying with you.

“what are you gonna do?” he teases, bringing you closer to his face, eyes gleaming. “punch me? you’d break your hand.”

you don’t think, you just bite. your teeth sink into the side of his palm, and he bursts into laughter, the sound shaking his chest. “that tickles!” he laughs, pulling his hand away and shaking it gently like you actually did any damage. “are you always this rude to gods?”

“maybe!” you say, wings buzzing angrily. “you deserved it.”

he quirks an eyebrow, still grinning. “you’re lucky I’m nice. I’ve got more powers than just writing lyrics, you know.”

“like what?” you challenge, arms crossed as you hover in the air.

his smirk deepens. he snaps his fingers, and in a blink, you’re no longer floating midair. you’re human-sized, sitting right on the edge of his desk, as you swing your legs. your wings twitch behind you, still shimmering under the golden light of his realm, but the sudden weight of your body makes you gasp.

“what the fuck?” you sputter, looking down at yourself. your tiny red boots now fit your feet perfectly, and your skirt—shit, it’s so short now that your pussy is almost on his face. you clamp your legs shut instinctively, cheeks burning as you notice his eyes briefly flicker there before darting away.

“see?” he leans back in his throne, folding his arms behind his head. “now I can actually see you properly without all the sparkles.”

“oh, how generous,” you deadpan, tugging at your skirt. your top doesn’t help much either; it’s cropped just high enough to show the underside of your boobs, and his gaze catches there for a second too long. “did you have to make my clothes stay this small? perv!”

his grin widens, unabashed. “not my fault you dressed like that, fairy. besides, you should be thanking me. now you can really help me without me worrying about sneezing you into oblivion.”

“oh, please.” you roll your eyes, crossing one leg over the other, the movement causing your skirt to ride up even higher. “this is just an excuse to stop me from calling you out for being a stressed-out mess.”

his eyes linger on your face now, taking in the pout that’s settled there. “still, I’ll admit you look… different like this.”

“different how?”

“you’re…” he hesitates, tapping his chin. “less annoying when I’m not worried about stepping on you.”

you flick one of your boots at him, the sole clacking against the throne. “and you’re just as annoying no matter the size difference.”

he laughs again, this time softer, his eyes trailing over you as you shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

you glance at him from the corner of your eye, trying to be sneaky about it. his golden hair moves faintly, like the gravity in this room doesn’t quite work the way it should. his clothes are black, gauzy enough to show the hints of muscle underneath, way buffer than any of the little elves from your village. his fingers tap a melody on the arm of his throne, a quiet rhythm that seems effortless.

do the big guys do it better?

the thought comes unbidden, making your head tilt slightly as you wonder.

like, are they… bigger everywhere?

his fingers stop mid-tap, and he raises an eyebrow. he straightens in his seat, narrowing his eyes. “you know I can hear you, right?”

your eyes widen, your wings stiffening.

“huh?! no, you can’t!”

he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the sound sharp and mocking. “oh, I definitely can. clear as day.”

you feel the color drain from your face. before you can even try to stop it, it’s like a floodgate bursts open, and every single intrusive thought you’ve been trying to suppress spills out.

his hands are so big… i bet they’d feel insane running down my tits.

oh my gods, imagine those fingers. fuck, they’d probably ruin me.

i wonder what his tongue tastes like. would it feel hot? does he even—

no, no, stop it, but like… what if he just pinned me down on that table and—

holy shit, i want him to eat me out.

like, bad.

you slap both hands over your mouth, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts. in fact, it’s like your brain takes the panic as a challenge and just doubles down.

that stupid smirk. i’d kill to bite that lip.

i bet he moans. like, right in your ear. shit, he’d—

“wow...” he interrupts, his voice dry. his head tilts slightly as his golden eyes bore into youe. “you’re… a lot. i don’t even know where to start unpacking all of that.”

you yank your hands away from your mouth, pointing at him accusingly. “you’re lying! there’s no way you can hear—”

“what were you expecting? i’m a god after all,” he says, his tone so smug it practically drips off his words. his golden eyes twinkle with fun, and he leans back in his throne, arms casually draped like he has all the time in the world to gloat.

you glare at him, wings twitching behind you as your indignation bubbles over. “oh, yeah, sure, big scary god who writes music and apparently spies on everyone’s thoughts and turns fairies into—”

his laughter cuts you off, rich enough to make you shiver. “if you keep talking, you’re going to spend your whole life here,” he says, grinning as your words falter.

your mouth opens and closes a few times, but nothing coherent comes out. instead, you huff and turn your head away, arms crossing as you sulk. “whatever. it’s not like i wanted to be here in the first place.”

he doesn’t miss the flush creeping up your neck, though. “do you know what else i can do?” he asks, his voice dropping just enough to make the air around you feel heavier.

you blink, still facing away, trying to ignore the way his tone slides over your skin like silk. “what…?” you mumble, sneaking a glance back at him.

he straightens in his seat, clearing his throat with a soft “ah-ah~.” the sound is nothing but a casual warm-up, but the second it leaves his lips, the vibrations seem to travel directly to your pussy, buzzing against your clit making you jump, gasping.

“h-haah…!” the sound escapes you involuntarily, and you slap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with shock. your thighs press together instinctively, one hand darting to your lap to cover yourself as your skirt shifts dangerously high, leaving you feeling far too exposed.

his eyes sharpen, a grin tugging at his lips as he watches you squirm. “something wrong, fairy?” he asks innocently, though his gaze is anything but.

you shake your head quickly, refusing to meet his eyes as your legs shift restlessly. the vibrations haven’t stopped; in fact, every hum he makes, everytime he talks, seems to resonate deeper, sending little shoves of pleasure that make it impossible to sit still.

“hmm~,” he hums again, dragging the sound out, and you feel the ripple of it like a physical touch.

“nghh—!” you bite your lip, a sharp gasp escaping before you can catch it. your hips twitch forward involuntarily, and you grip the edge of the desk with one hand, the other still futilely trying to shield yourself.

“oh?” he says, tilting his head as his smirk broadens. “is that all it takes to get you worked up?”

“s-shut up!” you snap, though your voice comes out breathy and weak. your thighs part just a fraction, almost without your permission, and the vibrations seem to grow stronger in response, buzzing relentlessly against your clit. “stop—ahh—stop doing that!”

“but why?” he leans forward. “you seem to be enjoying it.”

“i—mmh…!” your hips roll forward unconsciously, your wings tremble behind you, your grip on the desk tightening as your body betrays you further, your legs parting even more in front of him.

“tsk, tsk,” he murmurs mockery. “such a shameless little fairy. look at you, moaning like that. do you even realize what you’re doing right now?”

your cheeks burn, and you shake your head, trying to stifle the whimper that escapes as his voice seems to play with your clit with more strenght “ahh—s-stop…!”

but he doesn’t stop. instead, he leans back again, one hand lazily tracing patterns on the armrest of his throne as he hums another note, watching with fascination as your body reacts helplessly.

the vibrations feel relentless now, your clit throbbing with every sound he makes. your legs spread wider, your hand no longer able to fully cover yourself, and your hips rock forward in a rhythm you can’t control.

“nnngh-fuck!—a-ah…!” you moan, head tilting back as your grip on the desk tightens.

“tell me, fairy—how much more can you take?”

your arms tremble, not able to hold your weight. you gasp, your body betraying you, and before you realize it, you’re slowly sinking back onto his desk, the cool surface pressing against your wings. your back arches instinctively, hips canting forward as if begging for more, your legs spreading wider until you’re completely uncovered. the realization burns you with embarrassment, but your body refuses to obey your mind’s frantic protests.

you can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you feel his gaze, heavy, raking over every inch of you. “oh,” he hums, “even your cum sparkles. everything about you shines, doesn’t it?”

a pitiful whimper escapes your lips as you try to close your legs, mortified at how vulnerable you are. but his hands are quick and strong, smoothing over the delicate skin of your inner thighs with a touch that makes you shiver. he presses gently, coaxing your legs apart again as he clicks his tongue.

“don’t hide from me now~” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin of your thighs as if to emphasize his point. “not when you’re this pretty, dripping like that for me.”

“p-please…” your voice is a soft whine, but you don’t even know what you’re begging for. the words die in your throat as his gaze drops lower.

“ah... look at this..” he says, almost to himself, as his eyes trail over the mess between your thighs, glistening and utterly shameless. his fingers ghost along your cunt. “you’re already soaking through my papers, little fairy. how do you expect me to concentrate on anything else when you’re like this?”

your head tilts back, a soft moan escaping as you squirm beneath his touch. “i—I can’t…” you manage, though even you’re not sure what you’re trying to say.

“you can’t what?” he asks as his fingers press just a little firmer, enough to make you gasp. “speak up, sweetheart. i want to hear you.”

“i can’t… ahh—s-stop—!” the words spill out in a breathy rush, your hips roll toward his hand betrays your real feelings.

“stop?” he echoes, tilting his head as his smirk grows. “but you don’t really want me to stop, do you?”

you whimper again, heat flooding your cheeks as your body arches helplessly under his gaze. his hands shift, one sliding down to trace the edge of your slick folds, and the lightest touch has your legs twitching.

“you’re so soft, so wet. i bet you taste just as sweet as you look.”

“ah-ah!” your breath catches, and your hips jerk involuntarily as he leans down, his golden hair brushing your thighs.

he pauses, his lips ghosting over your skin as his breath fans against you. “tell me,” he says, “do you want me to taste you? or should i keep teasing until you can’t even think straight anymore?”

“p-please,” you manage to choke out, your voice trembling and high-pitched. your hands clutch at the edge of the table, knuckles white as you feel yourself twisting further. “please—don’t tease…”

he hums, his lips press against you, leaving a wet mouth-opened kiss, the first swipe of his tongue is slow, too slow, collecting all of your juices insidethe little bowl formed inside his tongue.

your head tilts back, a broken moan spilling from your lips as your thighs tremble. his hands keep you in place, thumbs pressing gently against your skin, holding you open for him.

“you taste even better than i imagined.” he murmurs against you, his tongue diving back in to lap up every bit of you.

your back arches again, your wings fluttering uselessly against the desk as the pleasure builds, white-hot and enormous. “ahh—p-please… i can’t—!”

“yes, you can,” he whispers, his voice sending another vibration under the little hood of your clitoris as his lips and tongue work tirelessly. “you’re doing so well, little fairy. let me have all of you.”

your body tightens, every nerve aflame, your legs shake, your hands scrambling for purchase as you feel the coil deep in your belly snap, the pleasure tearing over you, leaving you crying out his name, your body trembling in his hold.

his tongue and lips coaxing you through every aftershock, kissing your cunt messily, until you’re left out of breath and boneless on his desk, weary. his golden eyes meet yours as he finally pulls back, his lips glistening as he sneers.

when his lips part again, and the first syllable of his voice goes straight to your puffy clit. you cry out, the overstimulation dragging you further into desperation.

“ahh—please, stop!” you manage, your voice cracking.

“stop?” he drawls, his voice honey-smooth and deadly, the vibrations coursing straight to your clit again, making your body arch. “but you’re so sensitive, little fairy. wouldn’t it be cruel to stop now?”

your hands scramble to the hem of your skirt, twisting the fabric in your fists as your head tilts back, wings fluttering erratically. “nngh—s-so much—ahh…!” the sounds tumbling from you are broken, whiny, your chest heaving.

and then, as if sensing your limit, he stops. not just the words, but the power behind them—the vibrations cut off like a switch, leaving you gasping for air, your body twitching in the sudden silence.

“better?” he rises from his throne with an unhurried grace, and your breath catches as his presence looms over you.

he’s massive. not just his height, though he towers over you, but the sheer weight of his aura, his power pressing down on you like gravity itself. his hair gleams in the low light, his black, nearly sheer garments clinging to his broad shoulders and lean frame. his muscles shift, and your eyes flicker down to his hands, strong as they rest on either side of the desk, caging you in.

“what are you thinking about, hm?” he asks, almost coaxing, though his smirk tells you he already knows the answer.

your fingers fidget with the hem of your skirt, tugging at it as if it could somehow shield you from his gaze. but his eyes are relentless, sharp and knowing, and you feel the heat crawling up your neck as his question hangs in the air.

“n-nothing,” you stammer, though the word rings hollow even to your own ears.

his smile widens. “nothing, is it?” he murmurs. “then why do you look like you’re about to combust just from me standing here?”

your cheeks burn hotter, and you force yourself to look away, but it’s no use. his hand lifts, brushing your chin with the barest touch, guiding your gaze back to his.

“let me guess,” he says, leaning in close enough that his breath ghosts over your skin. “you’re curious, aren’t you?”

you blink up at him, heart pounding, unsure how to answer.

“curious about what’s been under your nose this whole time,” he continues, his voice dropping lower, richer. his hand trails downward, stopping at the waistband of his sheer pants. “you didn’t notice, did you? too distracted by everything else.”

your breath catches as he pulls the fabric down, just enough to free himself, and your eyes widen as the truth hits you. it had been there the whole time, half-hidden in his lap, slightly concealed by the translucent material. but now, with nothing obscuring it, you can’t look away.

he’s huge, his cock thick, long and flushed, curving upward with an intimidating weight that makes your thighs clench instinctively. veins trail along the length, pulsing faintly, and the sheer size of him makes your head spin.

“is this what you’ve been thinking about?”

you swallow hard, unable to speak, your hands clutching at the desk as your wings flutter weakly behind you.

“well?” he presses, leaning closer until his golden hair brushes your cheek. “go on, little fairy. say it.”

your voice trembles as you finally manage to whisper, “y-you’re… so big…”

he chuckles, the sound vibrating through your body in a way that makes your thighs squeeze together again. “and you’re so small,” he replies mockingly, though there’s an undeniable thirst in his eyes now.

he shifts closer, his hand reaching for you, his fingers brushing against your thigh. “are you afraid?”

you shake your head quickly, though your heart is racing, your body trembling as you lean back against the desk. “n-no…” you whisper.

“good.” he murmurs, his smile softening just slightly as his hand moves higher, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin just below your skirt.

woozi hears it—feels it—the relentless pulse of your arousal like a drumbeat in his head. It’s maddening.

his cock twitches, an almost painful throb that draws a frustrated sigh from his lips. he slides his thumb over his slit, smearing the beads of precum that gather there. It’s meant to offer some relief, but it only makes the ache sharper, the sight of you sprawled on his desk only fanning the flames.

and then he feels it—a gentle spark, tiny but potent, that dances across his wrist. his gaze snaps down, and there you are, your hand hardly covering a fraction of his skin, glowing faintly with your unique magic. the pulse of it travels through him like a ripple, and for a moment, he stills, captivated by the delicate power in your touch.

“god woozi,” you murmur, he tilts his head, watching you as your fingers curl slightly against his wrist.

“yes?”

you swallow, your cheeks flushing as you meet his gaze. “please, let me… help you.”

his brows lift, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as his hand shifts, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your fingers. “help me?” he repeats. “and what exactly do you think you can do for me?”

your eyes flicker down, catching the way his thumb strokes himself again, and you bite your lip. the sight makes your thighs clench, and you force yourself to look back up at him.

“you’re suffering too, aren’t you?” you say softly, your voice gaining a hint of confidence as you lean closer. “i can feel it.”

his smirk falters, but he doesn’t respond, his silence almost daring you to continue.

you take a shaky breath, your hand sliding up his wrist, leaving a faint trail of glowing sparks in its wake. “you’ve done so much for me already,” you say. “let me return the favor, god woozi.”

“you’re awfully bold for someone whos used to be so small,” he murmurs. “but boldness doesn’t always mean you’re ready for the consequences.”

“then show me,” you challenge softly, your fingers brushing against his palm, his skin impossibly warm under your touch.

a chuckle escapes him, and he shakes his head, his golden hair catching the light. “you really don’t know what you’re asking for, do you?” he says, though there’s no malice in his tone—just a quiet, almost entertained resignation.

before you can respond, his free hand moves, sliding beneath your chin to tilt your face up to his. “if you’re going to offer yourself to a god,” he says, “you’d better be ready to handle what comes with it.”

you nod, swallowing hard. “i am,” you whisper, the weight of your own voice surprising you.

his smirk returns, and he leans closer, his breath ghosting over your lips. “then let’s see how much you can take, little fairy.”

before you can process his words, he shifts, his cock pressing against your thigh, the heat of him searing even through the thin barrier of your skin. your breath hitches, your wings fluttering erratically as his hand slides down, guiding himself between your legs.

the first press is slow, and you gasp, your fingers clutching at his wrist as your body adjusts to the sheer size of him. “oh—god…!” the sound spills from your lips, high and breathless, and you feel him watching you.

“taking me so well.”

your cheeks burn, but the fire pooling in your belly only grows as he moves, his hips rolling, his tip kissing your cervix in insistent careful rubs. your hands grasp at his forearms, your shiny nails digging in as you whimper, your wings trembling against the desk.

“does it feel good, pretty fairy?” he asks. “tell me.”

“y-yes—ahh, yes god woozi!” you cry, your voice breaking as he thrusts deeper.

his smirk widens, and he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. “then take it,” he growls softly. “all of it. every inch.”

your wings flutter wildly, your cries filling the room as he takes you higher and higher, his name spilling from your lips, echoing like a beautiful song note.

his hands trace the curve of your waist, teasing the sensitive skin there before they slide upward, brushing just under the hem of your top. his fingers ghost over your underboobs, the touch featherlight, then, with a slow motion, he pushes your top higher, revealing more of your flushe body.

when your breasts spill free, he watches, entranced, as they bounce with each sharp thrust he delivers. his cock moves each slide drenched in the testimony of your past orgasm. the wet, slick sounds fill the air between your whimpering cries, blending with his low groans.

“you’re a mess,” he says, his thumbs come up to circle your nipples, brushing them with a maddeningly soft touch before pinching, tugging just enough to draw a strangled moan from your throat.

your back arches off the desk,your body trembling under his hands. “ahh—fuck, woozi—!” you cry, your voice breaking on the edges.

he smirks, his eyes half-lidded, drinking in the sight of you. every twitch of your body, every gasp and whine, seems to spur him on. his head tilts slightly, his blonde hair falling into his face as he leans closer, his lips parting just slightly. And then he blows.

a soft, glowing aura escapes his lips as he exhales, a warm, golden light that drifts down, guided by some unseen magic. it swirls in lazy circles, a hypnotic dance as it floats lower and lower, until it reaches the swollen, sensitive bud at the apex of your thighs.

the moment it touches you, you swear the world tilts. the aura massages your clit in circles, the warmth of it spreading through you like liquid fire. your breath hitches, your eyes rolling back as a fresh orgasm crashes over you, your thighs trembling.

“oh—oh my god—ahh!” you cry, your voice pitching higher, your hands clawing at the desk for some kind of anchor, but it’s no use. you’re lost, spiraling further into the haze as his magic works over you.

his thumbs continue their torment on your nipples, pinching and rolling the sensitive buds, your chest heaves as your head lolls back, your lips parted in a silent scream as the pleasure mounts, agonizing and perfect all at once.

“that’s it,” he growls softly, his eyes closing briefly as he listens to the melody of your cries, each note sinking into him like a drug. “sing for me, little fairy. let me hear everything.”

your voice breaks as you sob his name, your body convulsing under the force of your orgasm. the magic at your clit seems to pulse in time with your release, dragging the pleasure out, making it endless.

“fuck, you’re beautiful. beautiful my pretty fairy...”

his hips stutter as the tight heat of you squeezes around him, pulling him closer to his own edge. his hands never leave you, his touch grounding you as you fall apart.

his hands squeeze your breasts firmly, jolting you back from the fog of pleasure you’re lost in. your eyes flutter open weakly, your breath hitching as the sight of him comes into focus. his head is tipped back slightly, blonde hair sticking to his damp forehead, and the throaty sounds he makes vibrate through the room. it’s deeper than before, louder, and you can feel the his release as the pulse of it fills you.

the space around you seems to shift, the room vibrating with his climax as a warn, a golden glow radiates from his body. the black auras that clung to his shoulders earlier unravel in an explosion of furious, dissonant notes, fading into silence as woozi finally lets himself go. his hips press into you one last time, burying himself so deep you swear you feel every inch, and then you feel it—the hot, heavy rush of his cum spreading inside you.

his forehead drops forward to rest near yours. “you... you’ve ruined me, little fairy.”

you feel it too—the way his cum fills you, a glowing sensation blooming in your belly. you glance down weakly, and your eyes widen at the faint shimmer under your skin, like your body is glowing with the power of him.

“you’re... shining,” you whisper.

his chest rises and falls against yours, his hands still cradling your body like he’s afraid to let go. he lifts his head to meet your gaze. “so are you,” he says quietly, his voice tender. “you’re radiant.”

your lips part, but no words come out. he leans down, brushing his nose against yours before capturing your lips in a kiss. this kiss feels like gratitude, like reverence, like something divine, his tongue for sure tastes different by the way.

when he pulls back, his eyes scan your face, taking in every detail. “you’ve done more for me than you realize,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “i’ve carried that weight for so long... those damn shadows. but you—” he pauses, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “you’ve made them disappear.”

you blink up at him, your heart pounding as his words sink in. “i didn’t... i mean, i wasn’t trying to—”

he cuts you off with a small laugh, leaning back slightly as he runs a hand through his tousled hair. “you didn’t even know you could, did you?” he teases, his smirk returning. “typical. little fairy, barging in, turning my world upside down without a clue.”

you pout, your cheeks heating up as you cross your arms weakly over your chest. “you’re welcome, by the way,” you mumble.

his laughter deepens. “oh, i owe you more thanks than i can ever give,” he says, his tone softening as he looks at you again. “but i think we’re past formalities, don’t you?”

you shrug, trying to play it cool, but the heat in your cheeks gives you away. “yeah, well, i guess saving a god’s sanity makes us even or something.”

his smirk widens, and he leans down to press another kiss to your lips, softer this time. “even?” he murmurs against your mouth. “not even close, little fairy. you’ve given me clarity, peace... and, frankly, the best fucking inspiration i’ve had in centuries.”

you can’t help but giggle at that, the sound light and breathless. “glad i could help.”

he grins, his eyes glinting. “you’ve done more than help. you’ve changed everything.” he leans back, his hands brushing over your thighs as he straightens, his expression growing thoughtful. “now,” he says, his voice turning playful again, “how do you feel about sticking around? i think i could use a muse like you.”

you blink, taken aback by his words, but before you can respond, he adds, “oh, and i promise—no more turning you human-sized without warning. unless, of course,” his smirk returns, too devilish for a god, “you’re into that.”

you smack his chest weakly, your laugh echoing through the room in funny notes.

inspired by this request/drabble

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝(𝐬)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader (Pre-Established Relationship)

Summary: Every so often, Miguel would simply disappear without a trace, getting lost in his own head. This time around you were determined to not let him be alone. Not on a day like today. (Hurt/Comfort)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of loss. A lil angsty but soft (you know me :3)

“Hey, where’s Miguel?” you ask Jess as you walk into the dining hall. “I haven’t seen him all day, I need to go over mission reports with him but he wasn’t even in the monitoring room.”

Jess only shrugs, grabbing a bottle of water.

“Haven’t seen him either, he does that sometimes you know. Just disappears for a little while, he’s never told me why,” she replies. “It’d do you good to leave him alone, he’s been on edge all week.”

You cringe slightly as you think back to Monday when he hurled a mission folder at the wall after a new recruit had messed up, he refused to talk to anyone but Lyla that day.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say with a small smile, but Jess only looks at you knowingly.

“No you won’t,” she eyes you up and down.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” you reply, walking off. “See you later, Jess!”

~

As you walk through the halls, you begin to wonder what could be up with the leader of the Spider Society. While the two of you weren’t the closest, he trusted you more than he did most people here. Granted a lot of them were new, hell, the society itself had only been created a few months ago so it made sense.

But still.

Pulling out your phone, you glance at the date; ‘June 11th’. All of a sudden your face falls as you recognize the significance of today.

When Miguel had first talked to you about the Spiderverse, and his mission to protect each and every multiverse and its canon events he had shown you the consequences of not ensuring everything progressed as it needed.

He had gotten so mad at you that day because you refused to follow his cause simply because he had told you to. It just didn’t make sense to you how a single event, a single choice could cause the elimination of an entire universe.

That’s when he showed you himself the consequences of those minute choices. You watched in horror as Lyla projected the downfall of the universe he had travelled to. How all those people simply…disappeared without a trace.

At the corner of the screen, a single date; 06/11/2020.

You had to find him.

~

Finding him was much easier said than done. Clearly, he wasn’t anywhere at HQ so you start looking around his universe, places he mentioned in passing, places you thought he might like. For a few hours you search to no avail, and before long the sun was beginning to set.

The tiredness was starting to settle into your bones. Maybe this was the universe telling you to back off, for your own good.

That was until out of the corner of your eye you see a single blue speck on the edge of the tallest building in Nueva York. Call it intuition, or maybe your spidey sense but the moment you spot it you knew it was him.

Immediately you begin making your way over, slinging across the city, building to building. You never got sick of this feeling; you couldn’t place a finger on what it was. Freedom? Maybe. All you knew was that as the wind whipped by, cities and skylines in your view, that was when you were at your happiest.

But before long you begin to falter.

What would you even say to him? What could you say? ‘Oh hey, sorry about your old universe. Wanna talk about it?’ Miguel wasn’t one to just talk, especially about something as vulnerable as how he was feeling.

But…he also didn’t deserve to be alone either.

Reaching the top of the building, you huff slightly as you try to catch your breath (superhuman powers be damned, you try scaling a building).

There at the top, you see his broad shoulders hunched over, curled in on himself as his legs dangle off the side of the ledge. Then his back straightens as he senses you, whirling around with an irritated expression on his face.

“What are you doing here,” he says sharply, eyes narrowed in your direction. You have to fight the urge to shrink down in your spot under his gaze. “The whole point of someone disappearing without a word is usually because they want to be alone.”

“Or they just don’t know how to ask for help, so instead they wallow in their pain and force themselves to be alone because they think they can’t depend on anyone else but themselves,” you counter.

He only scoffs, turning away from you.

“I didn’t ask for a psychoanalysis, go be a therapist to someone who actually wants one,” he says, but you both knew the truth; he would rather die than depend on anyone but himself.

“I’m just saying,” you mutter, sitting down by his side much to his dismay. “I mean, I would know.” And it was true, you did. Always a listener to everyone else’s problems, the last thing you wanted to be was a burden. So before you could be, you slinked away to hide in the comfort of yourself.

He doesn’t say anything to that, opting to continue looking down at the city below. Softly, you sigh.

“I…I think I know why you’re here,” you say hesitantly, and immediately he visibly tenses before glaring at you.

“You don’t know anything,” he says lowly, daring you to say anything more, and despite everything in you screaming to turn away, to stop now, you continued.

“We’ve all gone through loss here, Miguel…” you whisper. “I understand.”

“You have no idea what loss is,” he says sharply, talons digging into the edge of the roof. “To watch as an entire world, an entire universe fall apart in the palm of your hand.” His voice cracks almost imperceptibly at that, but you notice. You always do.

“You have no idea what it’s like to see the ones you love most disintegrate because of your own actions, so you don’t get to say anything,” he seethes, his blood-red eyes darkened.

“You know damn fucking well we’ve all lost people Miguel, some more than others but the pain of loss accompanies all of us,” you say, feeling the anger rise in you as he blatantly brushes off everything you and the rest of the Spider Society of gone through. What everyone had to go to, to follow the canon he valued so greatly. But you don’t let it reach the edge, instead, you take a deep breath.

“Look, what I’ve been trying to say is that it's difficult to carry the weight of the world, let alone the weight of millions upon millions of multiverses. All I’m saying is that you don’t always have to do it alone,” you finish softly.

Hesitantly, you reach out for his hand with your own, but pull it back at the last second when he glances down at it.

Letting out a sigh, you continue.

“You don’t always have to keep it to yourself y’know,” you urge gently. “I may not have the power to bring them back, or the solutions to your problems, but I am always here to listen. As to whether you are willing to share, well, that’s up to you.”

For a moment he doesn’t say anything, instead only watching the sun as it sets on the horizon. Then, he seems to contemplate something for a split second before he leans his head on yours.

“I know,” he says quietly, and you feel your heart skip a beat, growing steadily in rhythm as something unfamiliar blooms in you.

“…thank you,” he says, pausing as though he was going to say something more but decides against it. Instead, he only looks into your eyes for a moment as you look into his.

What you find are the unsaid words that someday, he might be able to say.

“Let’s get back to base.”

~

A/N: Hi! Back again, sorry this is so different from my past two Miguel works, but I came up with this idea at work (oops) and had to get it down on paper. Hope you enjoyed~ (And don't worry, more fluff is coming soon :3)

[tobiasdrake]

Haven't had a chance to talk much about the Ginyus yet, so here we go. Talking about the Ginyu Tokusentai/Ginyu Force/Dairy Special Forces requires putting them into context with the greater Dragon Ball universe around them.

Something that has always been incredibly limiting for Dragon Ball's worldbuilding is that, despite much of the brand being about presenting Goku with new ladders to climb, Goku doesn't climb ladders. He leaps from ladder-top to ladder-top.

What this means is, Toriyama had a tendency to be hyperbolic with the challenges Goku was presented. Toriyama doesn't pit Goku against powerful foes. He pits Goku against the most powerful foe, then has to sit back and figure out another arena for Goku to go fight the champion of.

This creates issues of perspective. We don't get to see a lot of development of the worlds Toriyama creates because Goku only shows up to fight the Very Most Powerful Guy and then leaves. And this also means we don't get to see what being the Very Most Powerful Guy means relative to people who are not.

If you followed Dragon Ball Super, you might have noticed that issue with the Tournament of Power. The way the story leaps straight from "Multiple universes exist" to "Goku vs. The Strongest in Universe 6" and then to "Goku vs. The Strongest Guy in the MULTIVERSE!" without even stopping to breathe.

What is that universe even about? Who knows? But this guy sure is their STRONGEST GUY. And that's something that's been with Dragon Ball... honestly, since all the way back at the 21st Tenkaichi Budokai when his second arc adversary was the Earth's legendary ultimate martial arts master.

The whole concept of aliens enters the Dragon Ball universe by way of Raditz introducing the Strongest Alien Race in the Universe.

Shortly after that, Goku is fighting the Strongest Saiyan, who is technically referred to as Strongest in the Universe... right up until a retcon introduces the Planet Trade Organization and Goku fights Frieza, the Actual Strongest in the Universe For Realsies.

So. Yeah. It's hard to get a sense of perspective for how powerful our guys are when they leave Earth because they only ever brush elbows with outlier titans.

But to give some idea, we already know that Earthlings are considered to be a pretty weak species.

Raditz's arrival retroactively explains Goku's destructive Oozaru transformations. This thing?

This is the Doom of the Earth. The planet-killer meant to exterminate every last human being on this planet. Boy, sure would be fun to be in the ring with that, huh?

It's also clearly touching down outside of the ring so I don't know why this wasn't a ringout. Since when is the waiting room's rooftop considered part of the stage? But I digress.

When Goku was three years old, his Oozaru was measured to be sufficient to slaughter this world. That is how weak Earth is on the scale. By contrast, Namek is considered to be one of the more powerful worlds. Vegeta describes Namekian fighters as "extraordinary".

That's something we get to see for ourselves, when Extraordinary Namekian Fighters happen to Frieza Force soldiers like a typhoon.

This is what's considered extraordinary on a standard galactic scale. These are three warriors from one of the stronger races in the universe tearing apart soldiers whose job is to exterminate races. Once they start fighting, Dodoria reads their battle powers as 3,000.

For comparison, Raditz was said to be equivalent to a Saibaman at 1,200. We never got a read on Nappa but he found the idea of Kakarot being at 5,000 unbelievable enough to go into denial, and he shit himself over 8,000.

So, with that in mind, we can understand that these nameless Namekian nobodies are pretty fucking tough, well within the realm of Saiyan ability. They're also familiar with advanced martial arts concepts like ki suppression that the Planet Trade doesn't understand.

There's probably a reason why, despite Namek apparently being well known to the Planet Trade, nobody's seen fit to gentrify this one yet. This is a fight Frieza's more elite forces can win, to be sure. But also, there are easier pickings to be had.

And then we have the Saiyans, said to be the most powerful race in the universe. Raditz, a loser scrub who doesn't know a thing about martial arts, is able to thoroughly humiliate Goku and Piccolo in terms of sheer stats, even after Goku's been trained by Popo.

This guy is the Saiyan equivalent of Appule. Goku's been personally trained by God's right-hand attendant, and Piccolo is the reincarnation of God's evil counterpart; These are not humans of this planet, but two guys who demonstrated five years ago that they're in a realm beyond the humans.

And this loser is still doing this to them. This is what a low-rate Saiyan looks like.

And this is what a Saiyan elite looks like:

Like I said, we're never given an official reading on Nappa but he found 5,000 BP to be ridiculous for Goku to have and 8,000 to be unthinkably terrifying. The Daizenshuu pegs him at 4,000, but they also peg Piccolo at 3,500 which would mean Piccolo and Nappa are closely matched.

I don't know about you but I don't see it. But that may just be me.

In any case, this gives us a general understanding of how powerful the races of the universe are. Earthlings weak. Namekians strong. Saiyans strongest. And then there's outliers.

Throughout the universe, there are... mutants. On rare occasions, an individual is born to a race who have vastly, unbelievably, ridiculously, stupidly tremendous ki.

The Planet Trade employs these mutants for their upper staff. Zarbon and Dodoria are mutants, as are the Ginyus and even Frieza himself. Especially Frieza. The reason we've never gotten elaboration on Frieza's race is because Toriyama didn't want Frieza's traits to be taken as indicative of a whole people.

According to interview, Cold was born with abnormally high power and cruelty for his race, and these traits were passed down to his son Frieza. Whatever species they came from, it is nothing like them.

They're not the only ones. The Planet Trade collects and employs these uniquely ultra-powerful mutants for its elite forces. The Saiyans are the strongest race in the universe, but these mutants are the strongest individuals in the universe.

To grasp how powerful these guys are relative to the rest of the universe, we need to talk Saiyans again for a moment. Raditz? Raditz was the yardstick for what the bottom-tier of Saiyans was. He made Earthlings look like trash, but he would have been eaten alive by those unnamed Namekian warriors.

However, a Saiyan's true strength lies in the Oozaru. Goku as an Oozaru was meant to be able to reduce the standing population of the Earth to 0. Raditz, as an Oozaru? Would still have gotten his teeth kicked in by Vegeta, the Saiyan super-elite. He is so ridiculous, he could win a straight fight with the planet-killing Oozaru.

...I mean, not after being beaten within an inch of his life and taking a Genki-Dama to the face, he can't. But if Vegeta were still at the top of his game, this would be a very different fight.

Meanwhile, the Ginyu Force.

So. Yeah. By the time we get to them, we are far beyond the ordinary limits of the universe. Saiyans are the strongest race, and Vegeta's pressing up against the limit of Saiyan ability. He's one Zenkai away from breaking through the Saiyan ceiling. Goku already has.

And these mutants they're up against are the most powerful freak aberrations of unexplained super-ki ever to have occurred anywhere in space.

IIRC it's never directly stated but for reference, Broly would probably be considered a mutant. Whether he is or isn't, he makes as a pretty solid equivalence. These guys are to their respective races what Broly is to Saiyans. What Uub is to humans.

This is all vital context for understanding the way the Ginyu Force fights.

Because.

Like.

You need to understand.

These guys suck.

On purpose.

From a technical standpoint, they're not good fighters. They're sloppy. Poorly trained around big showy moves that are meant to look cool. Style over substance.

This is because they can get away with it. They are the most powerful beings in the universe; Powerful on a scale that is an order of magnitude beyond everybody else that exists. Even the Saiyans look like shit next to these mutants.

Saiyan super-elite hits Recoome with everything he's got right in the face at point-blank range.

And the mutant takes it like a fucking champ. Vegeta's about to be killed by a man who keeps pausing to do this.

The Ginyu Force is badly trained on purpose. Which isn't to say that they're trained to lose fights, but rather that they aren't trained to compete with an equivalent rival. They can afford a martial style focused entirely on showmanship because there is no competition for them. They're too powerful to ever lose fights. Nobody else in the known universe even compares to their mutant might.

Which, as previously noted, is something Frieza is also afflicted by, in different ways. There is no reason for the Ginyus to hone their skills the way the Earthlings do because. Like. Who's going to challenge them? They're naturally born into being top of the field by a wide margin. They're going to auto-win every fight they ever involve themselves in, so their idea of self-improvement is centered instead on looking as cool as possible while they do it.

This is precisely what the Muten-Roshi worked so hard to prevent Goku from becoming.

Something else I mentioned before is that Trunks demonstrates his serious goal-oriented nature by never naming any of his techniques. He has some distinct and identifiable moves, but none of them have a formal name that he shouts out when firing them. He's here to get the job done, not to show off.

The Ginyus are in the opposite boat. They know they can't lose fights, so they are absolutely, 100% here to show off. They name the shit out of their techniques.

Flying knee? Nah, bro. That is a Recoome Kick.

Running in and throwing a punch? Nuh-uh. Recoome Mach Attack.

Lobbing a ki blast at the opponent? Crusher Ball.

These basic attacks are given huge, flashy names. And, I need to specify, they're English names. Moves like the Kamehameha or Taiyoken or Sokidan or Makankosappo also have names but they tend to be Japanese names with descriptive meanings.

Turtle Destruction Wave, signature move of the Turtle School of martial arts.

Fist of the Sun, an intense blinding art.

Winding Ki Bullet, a remote-operated bullet of ki that Yamcha can manipulate how he likes.

Demon Piercing and Killing Light Gun, a Mazoku technique that pierces and kills.

This is not the same thing. These guys are screaming exotic English words to look cool while throwing hands. "RECOOME KICK!!!" Recoome screams in English as he throws a kick.

There is only one other character in Dragon Ball who fights like this.

That's right. Recoome Kick is the same kind of thing as Satan Miracle Special Ultra Super Megaton Punch. All shouted in English as well. The Ginyu Force is what Mr. Satan would be if he was as formidable as the world believes he is.

They're showmen, even moreso than the Earthling martial artists who were born for a tournament stage. Hell, some of Recoome's moves are inspired by pro wrestling.

They are the ultimate demonstration, both of the unquestionable might of the Planet Trade's human resources, and of the absolute waste that is the Planet Trade's capitalist philosophy towards martial arts. The PTO doesn't train warriors; They scout the strongest guys their money can buy and give them marching orders of "Get 'em." Their super-elites are no exception.

Except the Captain.

Much like Vegeta was with Nappa, Ginyu is the only one who gets it. He sees Goku's reading and immediately assesses that Goku's suppressing his ki. Ginyu knows his shit. He's just never drilled this kind of information into his soldiers, opting instead for cool-looking battle poses.

It makes sense that he understands ki suppression. He's Frieza's highest-ranking officer, and Frieza is the universe's unparalleled master at ki suppression. The lengths Frieza has gone to for the sake of suppressing ki....

But he hasn't taught it to his men. They're learning flashy modeling poses instead of martial arts.

I guess I can see the logic. Powerful as they are, why would it matter? Those three extraordinary warriors earlier were also suppressing their ki, but a range of 1k to haha actually 3k doesn't mean shit to the Ginyu Force. If nobody's true strength can match them then why waste time on tactical study?

But unlike his soldiers, Ginyu himself has the spirit of a martial artist. He doesn't waste time on battle poses or scream "GINYU FLYING PUNCH" in English when he throws a punch or do elaborate two-minute windups for his signature moves.

He's even pretty good at reading people. Ginyu lowballs Goku at 60k before the fight, but reassesses after he's traded blows with Goku a few times and estimates 85k instead.

Goku's official non-suppressed Battle Power at this point in time is 90k. So 85k is a pretty fucking good estimate for a guy who can't sense ki. Ginyu knows his shit. He's as reliant on tech as the rest of the PTO but he's experienced enough to have a strong understanding of what various levels fight like.

This is especially impressive when you remember that he's never fought someone at 90k before. Remember, further up, when he first judged Goku as 60k? He was getting excited about his lowball 60k estimate and saying he's never had a chance like this before.

If he's never fought 60k, he's certainly never fought 85k. He just. Knows enough about how lower levels fight that he can apply that knowledge and extrapolate to higher levels. It's an impressive estimation that demonstrates his experience. Ginyu isn't just the second-most powerful guy in the Planet Trade. He's the best martial artist in the Planet Trade, bar none.

He's also got a... theoretically cool ultimate technique that utterly sucks in practice: Body Change.

He may be the best martial artist in the Planet Trade but he's got nothing on martial arts master and analytical counter-fighter Son Goku. It takes Goku no time at all to realize that Ginyu's technique sucks. He doesn't know how to fight with Goku's ki.

Ginyu-Goku thinks this body will give him 180k BP because that's what he read on the Scouter when Goku used the Kaio-ken. But not only does Ginyu not know how to perform Kaio-ken, he doesn't even know how to use Goku's ki at all. It's not his. It doesn't work the same way. In Goku's body, Ginyu's reduced to a distressing 23k BP when Jeice reads him.

He's not just failing to put out Kaio-ken power. He's getting his teeth kicked in by Krillin. It's embarrassing.

I've heard the theory go around that Ginyu started out weak and worked his way up via Body Changing anyone that was ever stronger than him, but I'm not convinced that's the case. Because this right here? This seems like a critical flaw. It's hard to believe he'd be entirely ignorant of this drawback if he's ever seriously used this technique before.

Ginyu being incompatible with a Body Changed host's ki doesn't seem like something an experienced Body Changer would need Goku to explain to him. In practice, the hypothetically awesome technique is bad for reasons Ginyu wasn't able to foresee, not unlike when Tenshinhan brought Shishin no Ken/Multiform to the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai. Or Goku's first time attempting Super Saiyan 3 in a living body. Cool in theory but a massive fucking oversight costs him the entire fight.

This seems more likely to be something Ginyu, the only real martial artist in his crew, developed in his own time and showed off to his men. Something he's never actually stress tested, that he's been sitting on and waiting for an opportunity to use in the field.

Whatever the case, it pins an unexpected and interesting capstone on the Ginyu Force. They're a group of clowns who can get away with clownishness because they were born into unparalleled privilege. And they're led by a shockingly well-educated and capable martial artist who's never worked the kinks out of his ultimate technique for lack of adequate competition in a universe that could rarely hope to ever challenge even his weakest man.

[asumofwords]

The Sublet - Roommate!AU

Warnings: She/her pronouns, slow burn, angst. Tags will be added as the fic goes along. Drug use, drinking.

Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Reader

Summary: Living with Helaena Targaryen was one of the best decisions you had ever made. Meeting at university, the two of you became thick as thieves and quickly best friends, moving into a flat together. But what will happen when Helaena has to leave, and her quiet, brooding, brother moves in?

Notes: Jesus christ, this is a monster chapter, but I also don't want to cut it down and split it up. Hehe, thank you all for your love for the last chapter! Poor Aemond and poor reader! Anyway, Enjoy! <3

Chapter 13: Proposition

The evening came quickly, and Helaena had dressed you in a deep green, silk dress. It came to your mid thigh and had a swooping cow neck at the front. Thin straps went over your shoulders and crossed at the low back of the dress, the material light and flowing, soft against your skin.

Helaena told you that she would never wear it when you had argued with her about putting it on, and had even insisted upon you keeping it afterwards. You paired it with some black heels and gold jewellery, with your hair up and away from your face, keeping the nape of your neck cool in the warm air. 

Helaena wore a long lavender dress that almost matched her eyes, a sheer netting over the top of it with embroidered and beaded stars and constellations. She looked ethereal, and you felt over dressed for a dinner with her family. But she had told you to live a little, and that they would all be dressed to the nines, ensuring that you wouldn’t be joined by her sister and her husband.

When you made your way downstairs, heels clicking against the stone floors, Helaena had steered you away from a smaller, more intimate dining hall, and back outside to the long table you had passed that morning. 

The table was covered with glimmering candle light, smaller fairy lights nestled amongst the table whilst large candelabras stood tall in the middle and further to the edges, casting it aglow in a warm light. Fairy lights were strung in the trees in your periphery, and the whole scene reminded you of what an intimate wedding celebration would feel like.

However this was just a normal night for the Targaryen and Velaryon family. 

The latter, already sitting at the table. 

Lucerys’ head had lifted at your arrival, wide smile spreading across his cheeks as he looked up at you. Jacaerys following his line of sight mirrored his smile and stood, younger brother standing, before both came around the table to engulf you in a tight embrace. 

“I didn’t know you were coming.” Jace smiled, flicking his eyes to his aunt and then back to you again. 

“Last minute plans.” You chuckled, hoping they wouldn’t sense any tension from you, or the fact that your chest still felt sudden aches when the thought of a tall, silver haired man popped into your mind.

“Glad you came,” Luc added, “You’ll be able to meet mum.”

Mum.

Rhaenyra Targaryen, a woman of conviction and power. You would be lying if you said she wasn’t an inspiration to you. Defying all odds and sexism within the industry and profession of law, and surpassing her male counterparts with an ease that could only be graced upon someone from birth or with hard work.

“I would like that.” You smiled back. 

Helaena led you to sit with her in the middle of the table, opposite the two brothers, and the four of you dissolved into comfortable chatter as you waited for the others, the sound of cooking and smell of food wafting from the kitchen just inside. 

When Daeron had arrived, he had chosen to sit beside his sister, nodding at his nephews before asking Jacaerys, with a cheeky glint in his eye, how the Tully boys were. Jacaerys, clearly now aware of his friend and uncles little tryst, asked him back how Kermit was.

“Very good.” The youngest Targaryen sibling smirked.

Lucerys blushed. 

You were mid conversation with Jacaerys before his eyes lit up, looking behind you. You turned to see a vision of blue and silver. Your breath stilled in your chest. 

Baela and Rhaena stood behind you, the twins looking as though they had been plucked from the stars themselves. Rhaena wore a deep blue dress which glimmered as she moved, small flecks of sliver glinting like the night sky. Her locks were long down her back, held together by silver clasps that had small stars and jewels that dripped off of them.

Baela stood beside her twin sister, thigh length silver dress with a high neck and low back, covered in a mesh that dripped off of her like cobwebs. Her silver coils were half up, half down on the top of her head, held by a simple claw clip. 

You had to blink to get yourself to stop staring at them.

No wonder people thought these families were descended from Gods. 

You, in that moment, felt awfully plain. 

You stood and went to embrace the two girls, little squeals pealing from all of your mouths as you hugged each other with joy. It had been a while since you had seen the pair last, and now that they were here, you felt suddenly excited to be at the Keep.

Baela’s eyes roamed over your body, “Damn girl, look at you. If only Cregan could see you now.” 

You instantly blushed, slapping her shoulder lightly, “Flattery won’t get me into your bed, Bae.”

The twin smirked, “Worth a try.”

“You think I haven’t?” Helaena joked, mock rejection on her features. 

You all sat down, Baela beside Jacaerys, and Rhaena beside Luc, chatting excitedly with each other as Daeron popped the cork of some wine, and Helaena, a bottle of champagne, filling up the respecting glasses of everyone who sat at the table. Reaching forth, you took your champagne glass, bubbles fluttering up the glass flute as you clinked yours amongst everyone else’s and sipped. 

It was sweet, and smooth, almost creamy to the taste, and you realised that this was probably the best champagne you had ever had. You took another sip, much larger than the last, deciding to let loose for the evening with your friends, enjoying the warm burn of the alcohol as it passed down your throat. 

You were laughing with Jacaerys, reminiscing how he had gotten too drunk one night and passed out on Cregan’s couch, cuddling a pillow to his chest, when Baela’s perfectly manicured brow lifted, eyes looking behind you. 

Aegon appeared from within, two bottles of alcohol in either hand and a clear ziplock bag hanging from clenched teeth.

Inside, four meticulously rolled joints.

He sat down beside you with a huff, plopping the drinks onto the table noisily with a clunk, one tequila, the other, some sort of amber drink, whiskey or brandy perhaps.

He pulled the zip lock bag from his mouth and threw it unceremoniously into the middle of the table. Baela smirked, and Rhaena snatched the bag up to inspect its contents.

“Fuck yes.” The younger twin, Baela always made a point that she was born first of the two of them, exclaimed.

“The King shall always provide to his loyal subjects.” Aegon joked in mock regality as he looked down at everyone from his nose. 

“Come off it.” Daeron groused, “Is it the good stuff, or the shit stuff you give to people you hate?”

Hand on chest, Aegon gasped, “How dare you insinuate that I would give you bum blunts. An outrage, I say.”

“It’s the good shit.” Helaena confirmed, grimace on her lips, “Egg forgot to tell me that when he offered me one last week. I smoked the whole fucking thing in one hit thinking it was the shit stuff from last time. I had never been so close to greening in my life.”

Jacaerys' eyes widened, “You? Greening? Jesus, must be the good stuff then.”

“Only the best for Daddy.” Aegon smirked, eyes flicking to you. 

Heat rose in your cheeks.

Be a good girl for daddy.

You crossed your legs tightly at the memory of Aemond driving his length into your folds. 

Aegon noticed your reaction but said nothing, the faintest push of his tongue caught in his cheek.

“Right,” He clapped his hands, grabbing the bottle of tequila, cracking open its corked cap, “We are all going to get royally messy this evening because I am tired of seeing my nephews sappy, sullen faces.” 

Jacaerys and Lucerys frowned.

Aegon grabbed your champagne glass from your fingers, a small grunt of disapproval from your lips as you watched him throw the remaining drink down the back of his throat. He then tipped the tequila bottle against your champagne flute and began to pour. 

“Woah!” Your hand lifted the lip of the tequila away from your flute, a drip rolling down your finger.

He had almost filled it half way full. 

Aegon raised his brow at the others as the chefs began to bring out the food and place it on the table, the bag of joints not being moved from plain sight.

You supposed the chefs did not care, and were only paid to cook. 

The smell from the dinner made your mouth water, each dish perfectly made to different tastes and requirements. Baela and Rhaena had fish, Jace and Luc, lamb. Daeron had a vegetarian pasta of sorts, and Hel the same. Aegon was given a large steak with mashed potato and a red sauce that swirled delicately over the plate, baby carrots steamed atop.

And for you, your favourite dish. 

You eyed Helaena in shock and she had shrugged, essentially telling you that she had requested it for you. You smiled at her warmly in thanks, nudging her with your shoulder. 

All around the table, everyone began to drain their wines and champagnes, where Aegon then filled their flutes and glasses with either tequila or the amber alcohol, which you came to learn was a honey smoked whiskey. But in Aegon's case, he took two glasses for himself, and filled them both.

Laughter and smiles were plentiful around the table as you all ate and drank, the warmth from the tequila seeping into your pores. Each sip was smooth, though still hard to swallow. Your face would scrunch each time, and Aegon would almost always snicker at you. You had not been given a chaser nor a mixer.

When dinner had finished, and dessert had been served after, a soft meringue with strawberry puree and passionfruit pulp, Jacaerys had suggested that you all go for a midnight dip. 

You and the girls had raced to Helaena’s room to get changed into your swimmers, drunkenly stumbling and giggling through the Keep, careful to not make too much noise to disturb Rhaenyra and Daemon, and their three younger children, though it would be hard with the enormity of the estate. 

Criston Cole had met you on the stairs when he came to investigate a stream of squeals that Helaena had let loose as she had slipped on a bottom step and landed heavily onto her bum in laughter. 

His deep eyes had narrowed, and Helaena had given him a dismissive wave as she lifted herself, grabbing your arm and Baela’s, who in turn grabbed Rhaena’s, before you all made a mad dash out the kitchen, past the table, alcohol and joints missing from them.

The boys were already inside of the spa, large enough to hold at least twenty people, but intimate enough for you all to be spread apart and for it not to feel weird. Bubbles foamed at the surface as Jacaerys passed his joint to Aegon blowing the smoke from his lips, head tilted back to the sky.

“Took your time.” Aegon teased, joint at his mouth as he inhaled. 

The night sky was clear, bright stars twinkling above you as a quiet settled over the estate. The sound of crickets and cicadas were loud in your ears, and you could have sworn that once or twice, over the sounds of the others and the jets of the spa, that you had heard an owl. It was a warm night, but not too warm to make the steaming, bubbling water uncomfortable.

You climbed in beside Aegon, Helaena beside you, with the twins beside the two brown haired brothers. It was clear that they had a stronger bond to each other rather than their aunt and uncles, having grown up together after their mother had passed, and Daemon had married Rhaenyra. 

“Hel fell down the stairs.” You giggled, taking the champagne flute Daeron held out to you, actual champagne inside this time, not tequila. You thanked him silently and took a steady sip of the drink.

Luc snorted, making grabby hands at Aegon who still held the joint. The eldest uncle narrowed his eyes at the younger boy before reaching across the water to hand it to him, snatching it back teasingly just before the Velaryon's fingers could have grabbed it, before finally letting the youngest of the group have it. 

“Don’t you green out." Aegon teased, "Your mother will kill me.”

Your mother. 

Not sister.

Not Rhaenyra.

Your mother. 

The dynamics of this family was certainly strained, but amongst the sons and daughters, what little tension there had bled away with the steady hum of the bubbling spa, the flowing of drinks, and the high that all got from the joints Aegon had provided.

Jacaerys had offered it to you, and you had taken it with slightly pruny fingers, inhaling a small drag, as per Helaena’s warning, feeling the dry smoke, not at all like cigarettes, move into your lungs. You held in a small cough, and then breathed it out, tingles rippling up your skin. 

Oh shit.

It was the good stuff.

A small littering of giggles exploded from you as you handed it to Aegon, whose smirk only got wider. 

“You should have seen his face!” Jacaerys laughed, watching as Lucerys grumbled beside him, smile working its way on his lips as Jace retold the story of Cerwyn and Dalton Greyjoys propositions to both you and Cregan.

“Did baby Luc get scandalised?” Aegon teased, lips pouting at his nephew. 

Luc’s cheeks flushed as he grumbled, “I wasn’t scandalised. I just wasn’t expecting that.”

“How did you not expect it from Dalton? The man is a walking sex toy.” Baela teased, hand pushing back a stray curl from her face.

The water of the spa was warming you up. That and the alcohol, and maybe also the joint combined. And also maybe because the topic of discussion had suddenly come to your sex life. 

Uh oh.

“So,” Daeron turned to you, “Did you take them up on their offer?” 

All eyes were on you.

You blushed, bringing the champagne to your lips to sip, hoping the cold drink would cool you down.

“No. But I did consider it.” You smirked, feeling a little bolder, “Cerwyn I hadn’t expected, but Dalton had tried his luck before.”

A wet arm wrapped over your shoulders, Aegon pulling you towards him lazily, “And what did the ‘King of The North’ think about this all? Are you two still bumping uglies?”

You turned to look at Aegon, whose face was startlingly close to yours, his lids half shut with ease, violet eyes slightly glassy from the joint. It was clear he was high, and drunk, but there was something else about the way he looked at you. 

You scoffed a laugh, “It’s complicated.” You omitted the part where Aemond was the complicated part, “Cregan actually encouraged me to think about it. And to be honest, I did.”

“No way.” Rhaena smiled widely, “Dude, where do you find these men?”

You laughed, head thrown back, “Rhae, if I knew, I would tell you. They just find me somehow. Annoying sometimes, really.”

“Speaking of annoying,” Baela butted in, “Heard you’ve been sharing close quarters with Aemond.”

Your heart raced in your chest. 

You looked to Helaena as you swallowed thickly. 

Had she told Baela?

“Can't believe Aemond isn’t here. Mummy’s favourite.” Aegon grumped, “Twat.”

“Hey.” Helaena piped in, chastising her brother, “Don’t be a dick. You know he hates it here.”

Aegon clicked his tongue at his sister and lit another joint beside you, fingers lightly tracing over your shoulder, goosebumps erupting on your skin. You felt your nipples stiffen, pressing against the material of your bikini in response, and you sunk lower into the bubbles to hide it.

Everything was heightened, the alcohol, the high, the warmth of his body and the water around you, his touch. And it was hard to not feel some sort of involuntary reaction. 

Baela looked at you expectantly, as did all else. 

“It’s fine. He’s quiet. Keeps to himself mostly.” You explained, suddenly feeling like you were on the witness stand. 

No-one responded, all waiting for you to continue, as though you hadn’t given them the answer they wanted to hear, and so you did, “He can be a dick at times, and we have gone head to head on numerous occasions.”

Jacaerys laughed, and Luc smiled widely. Both knowingly enjoying your answer.

Daeron and Aegon looked at their nephews.

“What?” Aegon asked, curiosity laced in his voice.

“Y/n brought Cregan over after a fight with Aemond, and let’s just say, they weren’t quiet about it.”

Aegon’s laugh exploded across the pool area and everyone else followed, head thrown backwards against the damp tile of the spa as he laughed. His eyes were scrunched closed, and you noticed the faint blush that rose on his cheeks. 

Aegon was handsome, in a soft way. There was nothing sharp about his features, bar perhaps the top of his jaw, and his lips were far less severe than Aemond’s. It was no surprise to you that Aegon got around. A whore Helaena called him. He had this naturally flirty charm around him, and this cocksure personality, but you knew, beneath it all, that there was the same insecurities that Aemond had. Only Aegon was better at hiding it. Or, not really. He was just better at drowning it out between the legs of someone new, alcohol or drugs, or some blissful combination of the three. 

But there was no denying that he was just as beautiful as the others. 

Aegon stopped his laughter and looked at you, your head swimming in the clouds. A smirk pulled at his rosy lips, and his eyes lowered to your mouth momentarily. You snapped your head away, feeling guilty and all too exposed, heat rising within you again. 

The twins raised a brow at you in unison. 

Goddamn twin connection.

“I bet Aemy would have hated that. Or maybe even loved it.” Aegon teased, and Helaena scrunched her face in disgust.

“I’ve heard Y/n and Cregan before. They’re not quiet, let me tell you that much. My noise cancelling headphones are probably my best investment.” She teased, and you felt your face and chest bloom with heat. 

You stood suddenly, water sloughing off your body as everyone looked up at you.

“It’s hot. Is anyone else hot? I’m hot. I’m going to go in the pool. Okay. Yep.” You babbled, flustered.   

One leg after the other you walked speedily to the cool water of the pool, feeling everyones eyes on your back, but most of all, the heated gaze that lingered on the globes of your ass. 

Aegon was not at all being shy with the way he was checking you out. 

You jumped straight into the icy pool feeling the cold water shock you into a more sobered state. You rose to the surface with a squeak, and watched as Baela and Rhaena stood, running towards you directly as they cannon balled, in sync, in front of you. You laughed at the large splash, and soon, in no time at all, everyone joined you in the pool, giggling and joking and splashing around loudly.

The rest of the night was spent in good spirits, but Aegon’s gaze never seemed to leave you. And even in your drunken/high state, you knew that that was a line that you would not cross. 

Could not cross, even if you wanted to.

As the night grew long and you lay looking up at the stars beside Helaena, sharing the last joint, you all decided to pack it in for the night and head to bed, cheeks rosy and eyes glazed. You all but fell into bed with Helaena, not bothering to change into pyjamas, the both of you stripping nude in a tangle of giggles as you slid to each respected sides of the bed facing each other. 

You had the girlish giddiness sneak up on the both of you, and soon enough, your stomachs were cramping with how much you had laughed. Helaena was the first to fall asleep, and you shortly after, pulled down into the warmth of rest alongside her. 

-

When you rose the next morning, your head felt a thousand pounds heavier, and you struggled to sit up right. Helaena was no better, groaning as she rubbed her eyes, hangover sweeping the life out of the the both of you with no mercy.

Although you were both as dusty as dirt, you felt slightly better about the whole reasoning of you being here. You felt less guilty of being with your best friend and her family, and even felt good knowing that you had gotten some space from Aemond in the mean time. 

You didn’t even really mean to think of him, your chest aching at the thought, but you attempted to brush it aside anyway.

Needing a distraction, and possibly a good morning doom scroll, you pulled your phone from the nightstand which you had left and forgotten the whole day before. 

Clicking open the screen, you were met with a barrage of texts.

From Aemond.

You looked at the texts for a moment, heart immediately beginning to race in your chest, which caused the headache that had been steadily blooming to thump in the back of your head.

You gnawed at your lip roughly looking at the texts over and over.

What do you say?

Clearly he was feeling bad, and wanted to talk to you, but what if he wanted to tell you that he was moving back with Alys? What if he wanted to talk about her? You didn’t know if you could face that just yet. 

You both needed time. 

Space. 

And he needed to think about what he had said. 

About what he wanted. 

You fingers hovered over the keyboard. 

Do you text him to tell him you were okay? Even though you were not? 

If you opened up the conversation by responding, he would no doubt suck you back in, and you were not ready for that yet.

“I’m never drinking again.” Helaena groaned from beside you, turning over. Her eyes were red rimmed with shadows underneath, and her hair was an absolute mess of waves and tangles, the chlorine having made the silver strands wispy and dry. 

You locked your phone, not responding to Aemond as you placed it back on the bedside table. That was something you would face later, with a full stomach and a clear mind. Y

es, that’s what you would do, let yourself think of a way to respond. 

And so you left him on read.

You cracked a smile at Helaena and giggled, “You always say that.”

“I mean it this time.” She clutched her head and whined, rolling onto her back, “The day I got you in my bed naked, I never would have imagined it would be like this.”

“You’re such a perv, Hel.”

“You love it.” She snickered, and you laughed.

The next few days in the Keep were spent by the pool with Helaena and her family, your presence acting as some sort of buffer between the Velaryon's and Targaryen’s, who warmed up to each other considerably with each day past. You were thankful for Rhaena and Baela’s presence, who seemed to humble Aegon greatly in a way that Helaena couldn’t. 

Though you had still felt his eyes lingering on you here and there, but it all stopped one day, rather abruptly, no more flirty comments, no more flirty half lidded gazes, no eyes flickering to your lips and back. Not even a mention or liken to being a Gazelle, and instead, Aegon had become the perfect gentleman. You wondered if Helaena had said something, and actually suspected as such when the two would share glances at each other whenever Aemond was mentioned.

However, you didn’t ask because you didn’t want to flog a dead horse. There was no new development to that story. No new change. 

Nothing. 

Except the texts from him.

You had not checked your phone since you saw those messages, and in fact, were too scared to even look at it in case there were now more. You had left Aemond on read, and felt a great deal of guilt about it. But you were hurting too. And really, you didn’t want to burden Helaena with another stupid breakdown when her family was readying themselves for a death.

The death of the patriarch at that.

That morning, Baela and Rhaena had crawled into bed with you and Helaena in the early hours, telling you that Rhaenyra and Alicent had organised for the whole family to have dinner that evening, and that their step mother was looking forward to talking to you.

“They’ve heard great things about your work at the firm from Alicent.” Rhaena explained. 

Alicent had spoken about your work at the firm to them? 

That meant Larys had spoken to Alicent about you, or Helaena did. You wondered how often your name came up in conversation between the Hightower’s and Strong’s. You shivered at the image of the latter.

Disgusting little man.

Where the night of your dinner a few days before had made you a little nervous, the prospect of the dinner tonight set you on edge. You had sat in front of Helaena’s vanity and worried over your makeup, taking it off only to reapply it again almost three times, feeling that not once it had been right. Helaena had told you to take steady breaths, and you had, letting her fix your eye makeup before she gave you a deep, red dress to wear. 

You frowned. 

Helaena never wore red.

“Where did you get this?” You asked her, feeling the soft material glide through your fingers. 

“Saw it and thought of you. It would be perfect for tonight.”

Your mouth hung open, “Hel, no. Return this. I can’t wear this, it’s too much.” You held out the dress to her. 

The material alone would have cost a fortune, and you didn’t even want to think about how much it truly would have cost. 

“Oh, come off it. It was going to be your birthday present, but I hate waiting, and tonight seems a good night to wear it.” She insisted, bright eyes shining at you excitedly.

“Hel…” You said uncertain.

When would she stop with her generosity? It was spinning you in circles.

“At least put it on for me.” She sighed, “Please.”

You rubbed the soft material through your fingers, looking at the way it moved like water across your skin, thinking of other options that you had brought with you.

But what else would you wear?

You had some other dresses you could, but they were more going out for drinks kind of dresses, or day drinking ones in the sun. Not at all something you would wear to dine with Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. 

You swallowed dryly.

Why was this making you so nervous?

Looking back up at Helaena, you saw that she was watching you expectantly, with a hopeful eye that she barely contained. 

There was no saying no to her.

“Okay,” You acquiesed, and watched as a bright smile cracked across her lips, “But I’m only going to try it on, and then you need to take this back to the store. It's too much, Hel. I'm serious.”

The Targaryen shooed you with her hands to change, “Yeah, yeah. Scold me after you put it on.”

You stripped quickly as Helaena fixed her hair in the mirror, the material gliding over your skin, clinging to your curves in a way that made you feel like perhaps it had even been made for you. The material was soft and cool, but warmed quickly against your body, thin straps and a low back, the dress coming down to your ankles. 

It was unlike anything you had ever owned. 

You spun around, looking at yourself in the mirror, hearing Helaena gasp behind you, tucking a wavy curl behind her ear as her bright eyes roamed your body.

“You look so fucking beautiful.”

Your hands smoothed down your sides as you looked at yourself.

You felt beautiful. But it was still too much. 

You moved to the bed, looking at the other dresses that you had laid on the sheets.

“Okay, now that I’ve tried it on, you gotta take it back.”

“I can’t.” Helaena said, matter of fact.

Your head lifted, and you narrowed your eyes, "Sure you can. Take it back to the store.” You picked up a soft amber coloured dress. It had sweet ruffles to the skirt and lace trimming, but only came to mid thigh, “Do you think this would be okay?” You held up the dress to Helaena.

“You’re wearing that dress.”

You sighed annoyed, “No.”

“Yes. I didn’t get a receipt. So I can’t take it back.”

“Surely you can-“

“-Nooope.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love me.” She grinned, standing, “Anyway, time to go. Can’t change now.”

“Hel.”

The Targaryen woman just smirked at you cheekily, and you saw hints of Aegon’s mischief in her eyes.

“You’ve been plotting.” You narrowed your eyes at her.

“When am I not? Besides, like I said, it's a present.”

You grunted, annoyed that she was so stubborn, but also so grateful for something so beautiful. You really could not have asked for a more kind and caring best friend. 

“Fine, but it’s birthday and Christmas.”

Helaena shrugged, watching as you put on some simple black shoes. 

-

When you got downstairs, the table outside was made and ready, candles lining them again in a similar way that they had a few nights before, only this time, the table setting was more particular. There were three plates stacked atop each other for every person, a large one, medium, and then small, and beside the plates were three different sized forks, knives and spoons. 

Your breath nearly stilled in your chest as you saw her.

Rhaenyra Targaryen.

A living legend.

One of the best of the best in the realm, and beside her, her husband, known for his abrasive, but successful, skills in court. And they were just as beautiful as the rest. 

Rhaenyra had long flowing silver hair, pulled back by braids at the back of her skull. Her nose was sharp and aquiline, and as you looked at her, you saw more Aemond in her than any of the other children of Viserys. They both had plump, yet sharp lips, high cheekbones, and jaws to match. 

Perhaps Aemond wasn’t so much of an outlier as you thought, and perhaps, as Rhaenyra was the first and eldest child of Viserys, the other Hightower/Targaryen children were more Hightower than Targaryen, bar their Valyrian features. 

She was speaking politely to Alicent, and although you could see strain and tension between the two of them, it was clear that it was amicable, and perhaps there was now a standing of mutual respect between the two.

You remembered what Cregan had told you about Alicent trying to sue Rhaenyra for Lucerys’ and Aemond’s accident, but there was something more to the tension than just that. 

Alicent’s gaze lingered far too long at Rhaenyra for it to be a step-mother and daughter interaction. You suspected there was another added layer to the family dynamics that you weren’t aware of. 

Hearing your approach, Alicent broke her eye contact with the woman beside her and looked towards the two of you, a polite, loving smile thrown your way.

Daemon didn’t smile at you, but his gaze was more than polite. You suspected he didn’t do pleasantries as the two women did. 

“You look beautiful girls.” Alicent beamed, standing to welcome you to the table with a show of hands.

It felt more like a business meeting rather than a family dinner. 

Was this why Helaena shied away from these things?

You sat opposite Rhaenyra, and Helaena opposite her mum. Jacaerys and Lucerys were already at the table, as was Baela and Rhaena, Daeron and Aegon yet to arrive. 

You smiled at your friends before settling your gaze on Rhaenyra, who was watching you with kind eyes.

“You must be Y/n.” Her voice as smooth as honey, “The boys have told me much about you.”

Heat rose in your cheeks, shyly peaking a glance as Luc and Jace raised their brows at you.

“All good things I hope.” You smiled back.

It was hard to contain your excitement. Hard to act normal and not like you were freaking out about sitting, and eating, and talking with someone you looked up to in the world of law.

“The good, the bad, and the ugly I’m afraid.” Daemon purred, lip twitching into a teasing smirk.

Oh gods. 

You hoped you didn’t look as flustered as you felt.

Rhaenyra shook her head playfully, reaching to pick up her glass of red wine delicately with just two fingers at the bottom fo the stem.

How the hell did she do that?

Shuffling came from behind you and you turned to watch Daeron and Aegon arrive, Aegon fiddling with the buttons at his wrist.

“Sons.” Alicent greeted them.

“Mother.” Aegon responded, tone flat.

The tension was back.

Aegon sat beside you, giving you a small smile before he turned his line of sight to his half-sister who sat opposite him.

“Sister.”

“Aegon. It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

Aegon grabbed his wine glass and filled it almost to the brim, “Peachy with Viserys on the fritz.”

Your eyes bulged.

Oh shit.

“Aegon.” Alicent hissed, cheeks red with anger.

“What?” He replied back cooly, sipping the wine, “It’s why we are all together again. One big happy family.” 

Aegon, it was clear to you now, had been drinking before he arrived to the table.

Daemon let out an amused giggle, and you had to bite the insides of your cheeks to not laugh awkwardly as a reaction. 

“I suppose you’re right.” Rhaenrya spoke with resignation, her eyes flicking from Aegon, to Daeron, to Helaena, then back to Aegon, “You’ve grown.”

And as quick as a whip, Aegon replied back, “You haven’t.”

A smirk pulled at Rhaenyra’s lips, and you felt the tension begin to fizzle away, reaching for your own wine to sip at, because Gods know that you would need it. 

“I suppose not. Are you well?”

“Well as I can be, all things considered.” The eldest son of Viserys replied.

The eldest child of Viserys nodded solemnly, sipping daintily at her wine, eyes over the rim of the glass as the servers began to place your entree's on the table.

You all ate quietly, Alicent filling the void with mindless chatter and questions or topics that she used to attempt to ease some of whatever tension was lingering. She asked the twins about their travels, and Daeron about his time in Old Town, despite already knowing about it. And it was then that you realised, that despite her ‘chattiness’ to everyone else at the table, she almost refused to acknowledge the two brown haired men who sat with the twins. 

Alicent did not once, lay her eyes on Jacaerys and Lucerys, nor did she include them in conversation, and it was clear to all that she had done it, but what was clearer, was that everyone was aware and did nothing. 

As though it was a regular occurrence. 

The main course came, with salads and side dishes that filled the table, and new wines brought to match each dish, glasses being filled by the servers intermittently as they came in and out. 

“So, Y/n.” Rhaenyra addressed you, “I heard that you are studying and working full-time? Surely that must be a difficult thing to manage?” She cut at the meat on her plate, a small slice, before bringing it to her lips to chew thrice and then swallowing. 

You placed your cutlery down in a way you had watched Alicent do every time she spoke or was addressed.

“I am. I work at Alicent’s firm and go to KLU with Helaena.” You confirmed, feeling nervous to be speaking to her. You hoped you didn’t make a fool of yourself, “It can be a bit crazy when exams and due dates come around, but I like a challenge.” You let yourself huff a little laugh at the end, not wanting to admit that working and studying full-time was tearing at your sanity, and your wallet.

Daemon picked up a wine glass, leaning back comfortably in his chair as he watched you. 

You fought to not squirm in your seat, suddenly feeling like you were being cross examined. This must be what it was like when people took the stand and had Daemon Targaryen drill them with questions.

He took a sip, then gave you a sweet smile. Daemon was a handsome man, low brow bone, strong jaw, and piercing eyes that didn’t once leave your face. 

“What are you studying?” He asked, taking another sip. 

You saw Alicent in your periphery look at you in interest. 

Not once in all your years knowing her had she asked you that. 

Nor did you even know if she knew. 

“I’m a History Major,” You explained, shifting in your seat as you felt everyone looking at you, “But I chose Poetry as a minor for fun.”

“Poetry?” Rhaenyra’s brows lifted in intrigue, “My brother is a fan." How did she know that about Aemond? "And how did a History Major come to work in a law firm?”

“Oh, well.” You suddenly felt as though perhaps you shouldn’t have said anything, “I needed a job, bills to pay and all that, and I saw a secretary position at Red Keep Law. I applied, and to be honest, didn’t think I would get it. But, here I am.”

Alicent smiled at you before she turned to face Daemon and Rhaenyra, “She’s an excellent worker. Learns quickly, and from all accounts from Larys,” Daemon groaned, rolling his eyes at your boss’ name, “She makes a fine edition to the firm.”

Daemon sipped his wine once again, placing it on the table as he leant forward, hands resting atop the wooden surface, “And how is our dear Larys Strong? Following Alicent’s footsteps?”

Your lips pulled downwards as you tried to not laugh, feeling heat in your cheeks as you swiped up your wine to swallow, hoping it would sink the laugh along with it. 

So it was not a secret then. 

All knew about Larys’ foot inclinations, and his other inclination towards Alicent Hightower.

The auburn haired woman clearly didn’t like where this conversation was going, and jumped in, “Larys is a hardworking and loyal man. It hasn’t been easy since the death of Harwin and his father.” Her eyes narrowed cooly towards Rhaenyra, and you felt the whole table hold their breath, “Losing someone you love is never easy.”

Lucerys and Jacaerys exchanged glances, and you felt that there was more than one thing that was being left unsaid.

Rhaenyra however, did not show that she was affected by Alicent’s comment, and returned her attention back towards you with a warm and practised smile, “Do you have plans to study law after you finish your degree?”

You followed Rhaenyra’s lead to avoid the tension, “I definitely am thinking about it, but its a long degree, and it’s a little more time consuming than what I’m already doing. I worry it’ll affect my ability to work. But, perhaps in the future when I’m more settled.” You ended with a smile, and Daemon and Rhaenyra shared a look, both turning to grin at you.

The rest of the evening went quietly, conversation a little bit stunted after Daemon and Alicent’s silent war, their eyes constantly narrowing on each other. Clearly they did not get along, especially with the Hightower throwing some sort of shade towards Rhaenyra. 

Was it shade about Larys? Or his brother, Harwin? Or some other lover or connection between the two women?

It was clear that Jacaerys and Lucerys looked nothing like a ‘traditional' Targaryen, what with their brown hair and even browner eyes, but you knew that Rhaenyra’s grandmother had brown hair. Jace and Luc had told you this once when you asked, much to Cregan’s dismay, why they looked nothing like their aunt. But genetics were tricky like that, unpredictable. You could remember learning about it once, punnet squares you think you recall from your high school biology class, and you were certainly not a biologist to argue or question it. Nor would you, in case there was another reason for it.

Perhaps Rhaenyra’s previous husband had strong brunette genes somewhere along the line.

Regardless, Daemon clearly loved the boys as his own, and Rhaenyra beamed at Baela and Rhaena whenever she could. Their relationships to their partners children from previous marriages was healthy, sweet, and to you, something that you wished Alicent somehow had with her own children. 

Alicent loved her kids, there was no denying this, but her ability to show it to them was, at best, subpar. But everyone was different, and perhaps her father Otto, Helaena’s grandfather, was not the most warmest or affectionate of men.

Alicent and Rhaenyra were the same age, and the both were so very different. Alicent was stern and stiff, where Rhaenyra more warm and flexible. But both were staunchly protective of their own, and loved them in their own special way. 

You saw a lot of Aemond in both Rhaenyra and Alicent. Alicent’s cool disposition, and Rhaenyra’s fiery passion. Not to mention, Aemond and Rhaenyra looked more similar than any of her other siblings.

Towards the end of the evening, the warm buzz of alcohol spreading through all, most of the table quietly chatting amongst themselves, Criston Cole came out to the garden, walking directly to Alicent where he whispered into her ear.

Alicent stiffened, and Rhaenyra, seeing the woman beside hers reaction became concerned, brows cinching together. 

“Thank you, Cole.” Alicent spoke, voice even. She looked amongst the table, at her children, and then finally to Rhaenyra, “Viserys has asked for me.” She told his eldest child, and you watched as the silver haired woman visibly relaxed, nodding her head, though there was still a furrow in her brows. 

It must be hard, watching your father become sicker and sicker, anticipating that each day would be his last. You had been told that Viserys’ bond to Rhaenyra was strong, and he clearly loved her dearly, especially with what you had been told about him calling her his only child in a moment of drug addled confusion.

But what happened next was something that you could not have imagined nor foreseen. For The Hightower woman was scarce to show affection to her own children, and when she did, most, to what you had witnessed, would shy away from it.

Alicent, in a rare moment of comfort, reached out and held Rhaenyra’s hand atop the table. 

It seemed to shock almost everyone there, including Rhaenyra herself, who after a moment of confusion, grasped the woman’s hand back, placing another on top as she soothed the Hightower’s knuckles with a thumb.

“Thank you, Alicent.” Rhaenyra swallowed, her chest rose and fell, and then, “Shall I see to you after?”

Alicent’s large eyes blinked at the woman beside her as she searched Rhaenyra’s face for an answer, the whole table having stilled to watch the interaction, as though something unlikely was happening, like a miracle from the Gods was unfolding right before your very eyes. 

Daemon was the only one who didn’t look hopeful at the interaction, instead, he looked rather bored. 

All waited, and although it would have only been a few seconds of pause, it felt like an eternity.

Until finally, her response came. 

Alicent breathed, “I would like that. Very much.”

Rhaenyra’s smile would be contagious, if only you didn’t feel like you shouldn’t be witnessing something that felt far more intimate than what it was. 

There was history there, that much was sure to you now, between the two women, and something that you felt made more sense when Alicent’s eyes dropped, if only for half a second, to Rhaenyra’s lips. 

Clearing her throat she stood, excusing herself with polite and poised words before she left in a hurry, flanked by Criston Cole who put a gentle hand at the small of her back, something else you had blinked at, leading her through the kitchen. Alicent’s hand lifted to her mouth as she chewed at the skin of her fingers. 

Conversation took a while to come back amongst the table, all seeming to have sensed some sort of stale mate between the two women of the house. Some sort of unlikely treaty forming between them, and a breath, a long lasting one at that, sighed into the night air. 

Jacaerys and Lucerys excused themselves for the night, pressing a sweet kiss to their mothers cheek, and the twins did the same, but to Daemon’s, who smiled lovingly up at his daughters, watching them all disappear into the house together. 

Aegon leant towards you, wine on his tongue as he whispered, “You want to get blind?”

Helaena, hearing her brothers proposition, and certainly wanting a release after what had just happened, peeked around on the other side of your shoulder, “Please.”

You laughed, watching as Daemon lifted a gentle hand and placed it on the small bump of Rhaenyra’s pregnant stomach, something you hadn’t noticed until that moment as she had leant backwards, chair pushed away from the table. She smiled lovingly at him and put her hand over his. 

Daeron stood, excusing himself, having said not much at all that evening, and left for his room, Aegon following after before casting a look back at you and Helaena, who stood and smiled at her half-sister sweetly. 

Rhaenyra you noted, looked almost sad as she gazed at her younger and only sister, but bid her a goodnight, and asked if she would like to spend some time together, to catch up, or perhaps even join her and the boys back on Dragonstone; Rhaenyra and Daemon’s estate, older than the Red Keep.

Helaena had stood quietly for a moment, shifting on her feet, but then the signature warm smile spread on her rosy lips as she nodded, turning to you to flick her head back, indicating that you were leaving. 

As you moved to leave, the deep and smooth voice of Daemon turned you around.

“Are you happy at Red Keep Law?” 

“Happy?” You asked in confusion, furrowing your brows at the two silver haired people who watched you with curiosity.

Daemon’s brows lifted, waiting for you to answer. 

“I like my job at RKL, yes. The hours are good, and it pays the bills.”

“Pays the bills.” Daemon parroted, and you wished you could kick yourself at your choice of words.

“I only mean that-“

“-No need to worry.” Daemon interrupted you, “My brothers firm is not what it used to be now that it’s ran by the Hightower’s.” His lips curled at the mention of Alicent, into what could have been said was a restrained sneer.

And although you felt the need to defend them, you had to agree. It was not what it used to be, but it wasn’t a bad change either. Sure business was slower, and their clientele had certainly changed to people who were more modest, but it was still regarded as one of the best firms.

It was just… different. 

“Daemon.” Rhaenyra came to Alicent’s defence, low warning in her voice. 

And there it was, the strong, ‘Cruel Queen’ of Law. 

You had not once seen this side of Rhaenyra through the night, and had only ever heard of her ability to cut down others in court without even truly trying.

Rhaenyra Targaryen set defence teams on fire without even breaking a sweat, and had crumbled firms to ashes under her Louboutin heel.

The couple looked at each other, soft silver hair glimmering in the candle light, and you looked at Helaena, uncertain as to what was happening. 

But Helaena looked at you in the way that she usually did, as if she already knew what was coming. You had joked with her many times that she was a witch, and she had always just said she had a strong intuition and followed her gut.

And then, three pairs of violet eyes were suddenly on you.

Had Helaena told them about Aemond?

You suddenly felt very guilty and unsure.

“From what we have been told, you’re a hard worker.” Daemon began, “Something we value at ‘Perzys Ānogār Legal’.” 

You stood straighter, and watched as Rhaenyra smiled at you reassuringly, “Your talents are being wasted at RKL.” Her eyes flicked to her husbands, then back to yours, “We want to offer you a job at our firm.”

A job.

At their firm.

At Perzys Ānogār Legal. 

Blood and Fire. 

The best of the best firms in the realm.

Rival of Red Keep Law.

Your mouth opened and then shut, unsure of what to do. You looked at Helaena, who looked at you with excitement, smile growing wider and wider each second, her pearly white teeth shining at you. 

You swallowed dryly, “I- I’m honoured.” Rhaenyra beamed, “But I’m not a lawyer, I don’t even have a law degree. I’m not even studying law.”

Daemon nodded, “You work at RKL and there seems to be no issue. But you’re thinking about it. Are you not?”

You had, in fact, thought about it.

But your time at RKL and studying made it impossible to think of a future where you could juggle law, a far more intensive degree than history, as well as a 9-5.

“I don’t think I could. I have bills to pay, and the study load would be too much-“

“-Not if you work for us.” Daemon interrupted you again, “You would be in the same position, secretary work, keeping our staff organised and tidy. And in the mean time, we would teach you. You would of course, have to begin a law degree to eventually practice and all that,” His large hand waved around as if it wasn’t a big deal, “But as it turns out, we have a position open, and from what our boys have told us, you would be an incredible edition to our team.”

Your mouth gaped as you looked at them both. 

Holy shit. 

This was-

It was-

You couldn’t even think, and Rhaenyra noticed.

“You don’t have to give us an answer straight away, but I will have Jacaerys give you our number. When you accept,” It wasn’t if, it was when you chose them, “You can let us know and we can begin onboarding you.”

“I-“ You stumbled over your words, tongue feeling like led in your mouth, “I don’t know what to say. I- Thank you. Truly. I have a lot to think about.”

“Of course.” Rhaenyra gave you a motherly smile, and Daemon simply observed you with patient, kind eyes, “I’ll let you girls get back to the others. Think about our offer. We will pay you better, train you up, and if you want to study, we can even discuss potential payment for your learnings.”

Payment-

Your head began to spin. 

Daemon laughed, not meanly, but in amusement, “You’ve short circuited her brain, my love.”

Rhaenyra swatted her husband, “Sorry. You can see how competitive we are, I suppose. I shall leave that with you to deliberate. We look forward to hearing your answer soon.”

You felt Helaena’s arm wrap around yours as she pulled you back and away, “Night 'Nyra.” She called to her sister, who said goodnight back. 

Your mind raced a million miles an hour. 

“Holy fuck.” You whispered, Helaena steering you through the kitchen and up the stairs to her room, “Hel, what the fuck? What the fuck!”

Helaena simply giggled at you. 

“What do I do? I- Thats- Rhaenyra Targaryen just offered me a job. I- I couldn’t possibly-“

“-Why not?”

Helaena pushed open her door and watched you race inside, pacing in front of the bed, “I couldn’t do that to your mother. I mean- Hel- Clearly there’s something that they- I mean- Oh my gods, I’m not even making sense. I just- What the hell?”

The silver haired woman flopped backwards onto her bed, staring up at the curtained canopy, “It's a good offer. I would take it if I were you. People would kill for that position.”

You flopped down beside her, “But Hel, it would be like betraying your mum.”

She turned on her side to face you, “No it wouldn’t. Besides, you wouldn’t have to work under Larys anymore.”

Sighing, you closed your eyes, “You’re right. But Gods, Hel. Me? A lawyer? I never would have thought that I would even have that kind of opportunity.”

“See?” Helaena nudged your shoulder, “You have to take it. Better pay, more options, plus, though me and Rhaenyra aren’t close, she’s a good person. When she takes someone under her wing, you best believe she will have your back forever. Even when you don’t deserve it.”

You frowned at the last part, but tilted your head back to stare at the canopy.

Rhaenyra was right.

You had a lot to think about. 

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[wisteria-lodge]

Gender and Harry Potter is such a hydra that just keeps revealing more heads the more you try and chop through it. Case in point: Today I just realized Harry Potter might've been originally intended as a book for boys, which if it was *wow*, way to miss the mark Joanne. Do you think it was actually intended for a male audience? To me it kinda makes sense if it was because of the way most women and girls are portrayed in it.

Bloomsbury Publishing definitely requested that JK Rowling publish with her (gender neutral) initials instead of 'Joanne Rowling' because they were concerned boys would not buy a book with a woman's name on the cover.

My guess is that her British publishers slotted it more firmly under 'boy' than her American publishers did. Harry Potter is 100% a school story, a super established British children's book genre. Historically, there are boy school stories (set in all-male posh public schools) and girl school stories (set in all-female posh public schools.) Hogwarts is of course co-ed, but that fact that it comes out of a literary tradition in which all the characters are the same gender... might help explain why in-universe gender politics seem remarkably absent from the wizarding world.

It actually kind of bugs me, when a canon-compliant fic makes a big deal about male-only inheritance or something, because that's just not something we see. There's one line about "Black family tradition" saying that the house goes to the next oldest guy, but since Dumbledore is worried that *Bellatrix* is about to inherit, it clearly isn't that important.

JKR has made a fantasy society where gender doesn't really matter - Augusta Longbottom and Walburga Black are clearly the powerful matriarchs of their respective families, Maxime and McGonagall are headmistresses, no problem. There isn't the boys quidditch team vs girl's quidditch team, the locker rooms and the prefects bathroom seem to be co-ed, "robes" are gender neutral, there isn't a sense that a specific discipline or type of magic is gendered (we see both male and female Transfiguration, Care of Magical creatures, and Defense Against the Dark arts professors...) There is kind of a sense that the boys are supposed to ask the girls to the yule ball... but multiple girls still ask out Harry. Gender comes up a lot in these books yes, but not so much in the actual worldbuilding. We have gendered bathrooms and dorms, and the rule that the girls can go into the boy's dormitory, but not vice-versa. Ron considers lace a girly fabric. Of the top of my head, that's all of the "gendered" rules I can think of.

But, since the main character is a boy, it makes sense that her British publishers would slot it more into the category of "school story (boy)" and market accordingly. I think it's extremely likely that she was asked to lean more heavily into quidditch, an aspect of the world building that JKR is clearly not interested in. She's said multiple times that she dislikes writing quidditch games - which is why she throws in comedy with the commentary, or makes some magical thing go down, or finds ways to cancel quidditch entirely. The mechanics and tension of the game *itself* are not interesting to her. I think it's also possible this is a reason for Hermione's relatively late intro into the friend group during Book 1? Harry can be friends with a girl, but first we need to establish that Ron is his *best* friend.

But then the books hit America, and the whole "school story" thing didn't read as "boy" as much as it just read "British." There was a sense in American advertising, especially in the 90s, that girl's products were for girls, but boy's products were for everyone. Scholastic Publishing seemed less interested in gendering the book, and more interested in making sure it didn't come off as too high-brow to American children - so we get the name change from "Philosopher's Stone" to "Sorcerer's Stone," things like that.

But then right before the publication of Book 4 the series exploded, and JKR could have just self-published the thing if her publishers didn't behave. So I think that you can see the fingerprints of that marketing push on Book 1, which grandfathered in a number of worldbuilding choices that JKR maybe wouldn't have made later. But pretty quickly it just became JKR doing her thing.

[sulfurz]

ೃ༄ CONSCIENCES EDGE (randy orton x fem!reader, ft. edge)

ೃ༄ PAIRING: randy orton x fem! reader, brief edge x fem!reader (just flirting)

ೃ༄ REQUESTED BY: anon

hi! can i request randy orton x fem!reader when they are dating and in a tag team match but against each other. and randy’s opponent keeps flirting with (y/n) in front of him to gets him mad. please :)

ೃ༄ WARNINGS: possessive!randy, slightly suggestive, edge being a taunt

ೃ༄ WORD COUNT: 1.4k

ೃ༄ NOTE: anon i really hope this is at least somewhat what you wanted because i had SO much fun with this request eek (as you can tell by how fast i wrote it). pls excuse the self indulgence that is: me adding adam as y/n’s partner but truthfully i would love to be in a sandwich between randy and adam so it just felt right (title pun is 110% intended)

the wwe universe knew two things for certain about randy orton:

1. he was an absolute monster in the ring.

2. he adored you.

when the two of you first debuted your relationship, he made the latter very clear, never missing an opportunity to have his hands on you — whether this be on your waist, his fingers in yours, or the possessive hold when he stood with his fingers dancing over your ass. randy orton did not share his women, and you were no exception.

so when the storyline called for you to turn on him, the wwe universe went up in flames. whilst some were undoubtedly unsure on how said story would unfold, most were exhilarated by how you came out night after night to sabotage the man you once loved front stage and centre. you were one of the greatest heels most fans had seen, and despite your villainous position, they loved you all the more for it.

of course, they never knew what went on backstage. how after you taunted the man in the ring, you’d fall straight back into his arms in a hotel bed that you wouldn’t leave until the morning.

it was when the story called for teaming up that people really lost their minds. a series of backstage segments that followed randy as he sought out someone to finally take you down. he settled on none other than than trish stratus in all of her powerful glory — your current competitor for the title, and that was when all hell broke loose. in a title match against trish, just as you began readying up for your finisher, randy ran in to prevent trish from losing her title, and solidifying themselves as the team which you would go up against.

then it was your turn to shine, a setup for how you’d end up here. trish and randy had promised a battle, and you were going to give them one in what the crowd believed would be a handicap match. you, and the writers, had other plans.

all three of you had taken the stage, ready to fight it out for the greatest prize of all, bragging rights, when the lights went dark once more. a known, and feared you think you know me? echoing through the dark arena. the crowd could clearly see randy’s face, the expression of shock as his former tag team partner turned enemy entered the arena and came to stand by your side — then the stage was set.

unbeknownst to your competitors, you and edge had an agreement. you’d follow the choreography, stick to the plan, except it was always fun to rile your out of ring boyfriend up, and who better to take the lead than the rated r superstar himself?

as the match started, you and trish taking first turn, you wasted no time in flooring trish, watching as she sold it to the crowd whilst you waltzed back to where edge stood at ring side. he didn’t touch you to avoid tagging himself in, but his intent was evident as he leant over the top rope, swiping his tongue along his bottom lip.

“i’d let you do that to me any day, sweetheart.”

from the other side of the ring, over the roar of the crowd you could hear the faint growl of your boyfriend, followed by movement as he stalked closer to observe the interaction.

trish recovered quickly, and the two of you returned to going back and forth for several minutes until she unleashed her cat fight move on you, and it was your turn to sell. if you glanced behind you from where you lay on the floor, you could see the watchful eyes of randy darting between your pained position on the floor, and your tag partner who was positioned in a crouch, undoubtedly showing randy he was staring at your ass.

when you dragged yourself to the side, eye to eye with a curled over edge, you were hyper aware of how randy watched intensely.

edge grinned, a knowing look in his eye as he made sure randy heard every word. “you look good when you’re all worked up.”

you smirked, unable to hide your own amusement at the snarl you heard from your right, before outstretching your hand to allow edge to tag himself in.

carefully, you rolled under the bottom rope, trish doing the same. but before your feet had even landed on the floor, randy had dragged edge into the ring and delivered a harder than necessary back elbow to the man’s chest. you winced for the sake of the show, but couldn’t deny the way your heart swelled seeing your boyfriend so agitated over you.

once again; randy orton did not share his women, and this was no different.

the two men put on a good show, wrestling back and forth with a series of high rope moves from both that most wrestlers wouldn’t dare perform. as scripted, edge managed to get randy with a spear before the latter kicked out of an undeniably dirty pin, but it just gave the man the perfect opportunity.

he tagged you in slyly, reaching for your hand but instead making sure he bypassed at the last second and made the contact via running his hand down the side of your waist and to your ass. the crowd roared as you and trish took your places again, but the look on randy’s face as he was pushed out of the ring by his own partner was immortalised in your brain forever.

it was a look that said everything: you’re mine.

when the battle began again, you were hyper aware of the weakened shouts from an (acting) injured edge, showering you with compliments that had you pretending to preen until suddenly they all stopped. you glanced to your side to see the cause of the silence, being greeted by the unplanned side of randy having edge pressed against the ropes, hands on the man’s shoulders until edge was forced to flip back into the ring.

the commotion was enough to distract you so that trish could execute a clothes line, knocking you to the ground as she tagged randy back in to continue whatever shallow beat out he was doing on your partner.

edge was well and truly down by now, and you made your attempt to exit the ring and let him fend for himself when a firm hand wrapped around your wrist.

instead of being met by your partners tag, you were pulled into the strong chest of randy himself, the man wasting no time before crashing your lips together. unplanned, but welcomed, you couldn’t help but kiss back just as forcefully, not caring that the cameras were catching every moment of the heated make out session right in the middle of the ring.

one of randy’s hands slipped down to exactly where edge’s had been, giving your ass a firm squeeze to elicit a gasp that let him deepen the kiss. it was filthy, and borderline offensive to the tv rules, but when randy pulled back and you saw the fire in his eyes, you were about ready to jump him right there.

one last bite to your shoulder and randy was moving again, stalking towards where edge lay writhing near the corner of the ring. he moved him just enough to pin him without a rope break, and when edge was unable to kick out, randy and trish solidified their dinner status. but, instead of moving to celebrate with his partner, randy walked straight back to your side.

his lips were back on yours again, this time pulling your teeth between his bottom lip in a show that would surely have you pulled into the office post match. you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not as one of his hands gripped at your waist, the other holding your head by the back of the neck so you couldn’t escape the kiss even if you wanted to.

not that you wanted to.

when he finally broke away, eyes ablaze as the crowd lost their minds, you could see the redness in his face from the possessiveness.

he looked like he wanted to eat you alive, and you welcomed every thought of it.

“you’re mine.” he punctuated his words with a kiss to the side of your mouth, open mouthed and dirty as could be. “only mine.”

“i know.” you whispered, enjoying the sensation of randy’s lips travelling down your neck. he didn’t care for rules in that moment as he latched his lips to the crook of your neck, a gasp leaving your own mouth before you could stop it. you raised a weak hand to the back of his neck as your knees buckled under the very public attention “only yours.”

3. above every woman in the world, randy orton had never, and would never share you.

details on how to request on my page

[rwrbmovie]

BTS of #RWRBMovie: Alex's bisexuality

TZP via Glamour:

TZP: He's had sexual experiences with guys in the past, but he doesn't lead with it. I think it's not even top of mind. He's kissing girls at a New Year's party. And then Henry comes and kind of forces him to grow up and go, ‘Oh, I'm really into this.’ It turns into love, and his identity and family and relationships become even more important. I love that about Alex. Because who knows? If there's an alternative universe, who knows what would have happened if he didn't meet Henry? What if he didn't find a purpose or a higher path for himself other than just being a powerful politician?”

ML via Teen Vogue:

Alex's bisexuality is as important to who he is as Henry's homosexuality is. 

This is the story of a young bisexual man discovering that, in addition to being into women, he also — he kind of knows that he's into guys. He admits freely to Nora that he has messed around with guys before, but he's never really had the need to identify until he meets Henry. One of the things that was important to me is that line that he has in that scene with Nora, that “I can wrap my head around being low level into guys, what I'm really confused about is being into Henry.” That for me was key. I needed the audience to hear that, that we're not dealing with a person who's — Alex isn’t a closet case. Alex isn't confused. Actually, if there's anything Alex is confused about, it’s “why am I hot for my sworn enemy?” That's a more interesting story to me. Alex's bisexuality finally needs to be identified in order to articulate his feelings for Henry.

ML via Variety:

In both the novel and the film, Prince Henry first kisses Alex on New Year’s Eve, but Alex’s reaction changed significantly in López’s adaptation. In the book, the kiss sends Alex into a profound realization of his bisexuality, something he’d never given himself time to consider amid his feverish devotion to his mother’s presidential campaign and his undergraduate studies at Georgetown University.  In the film, however, Alex is older — he appears to be in law school — and takes Henry’s kiss in stride, in so far as his attraction to men is concerned.  “It was born of my decision to cast actors who are older than the characters were in the book,” says López. “I really wanted there to be some genuine stakes and gravity for these characters. If they were too young, you could just explain this away as puppy love. I wanted this movie to be about that first real romance of your life, the first real love affair, the first real love.” Rather than tell a story about a kid in his early 20s who is plunged into uncertainty about his sexuality, López says he wanted Alex to be someone who had messed around with guys but “has yet to have a reason to really understand himself as bisexual.” The director continues, “I wanted Alex’s angst to not be about his sexuality. I wanted it to be focused on Henry.”

ML via Metro Weekly:

One of the things that I think was so beautiful about the story that Casey wrote, is that Alexis such a refreshing character because Alex is so clearly, very definitively bisexual, and that he might even be, I think, maybe that sociologists would term him as bisexual preferring women. He just happens to find himself really preferring Henry, and it surprises him. There's a scene in the movie with Nora, in which he says, "I can wrap my head around being into guys, what I'm really confused about is being into Henry." And I love that there is such an easy acceptance to Alex and who he's attracted to. And that for me was something so unusual about the story and that was so refreshing, and I wanted to bring that to life.

ML via Pink News:

“One of the thing I thought was really refreshing about the book, is the idea that room can be held for people who desire men and women and the journey that Alex takes,” López said. “I really appreciate that in the novel and we’ve kept it in the movie. There is space made for Alex as a bisexual character.”

TZP via Newsweek:

TZP: And Nick and I were always in deep discussions with [Robbie Taylor Hunt] about this because the intimacy part is so important because Alex's arc as a character as somebody that has only dated women in the past—maybe a couple guy hookups—to not liking Henry to getting kissed by Henry and then having a relationship. It's just like, excuse me, the different degrees of comfort that Alex starts to have, this needs to be represented in in a proper way. And Robbie was with us the whole way. And Matthew was there. It was always a group effort, which I really respected. 

[ducktoo]

Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]

23. Who do you like?

Note: Here comes my favourite arc. Whose solo was everyone’s fav btw?

Masterlist here

The energy in the practice room was at an all-time high. Aespa had just received the official confirmation that their world tour was happening.

Yes. Synk Road: Parallel Line got the green light.

Even better, each member was preparing their own solo stages. The excitement was palpable as the girls bounced ideas off each other, rehearsed choreography, and fine-tuned their individual songs. The tour was going to be huge, and everyone knew it.

Y/n was doing his usual rounds, making sure everything was in order—managing schedules, checking on the set designs, and coordinating with the staff. But today, there was something different in the air. Something… was Up.

“…I feel uncomfortable.”

He should’ve sensed the impending doom earlier. Maybe it was the way the girls had been whispering amongst themselves, or the way Karina had been giving him sly looks all afternoon. But he was so busy with preparations that he didn’t see it coming—until it was too late.

It started innocently enough. Winter, with her mischievous smirk, sauntered over and leaned casually against the mirrored wall. “So, idiot, we’ve been talking…”

Y/n’s senses immediately went on high alert. “Stop. I don't trust whatever is coming out next.”

"Whyyyy!" Winter whined, having that signature pout on her face.

"Everytime you start with "we've been talking" or whatever, I have to choose stuff that's scarier than choosing my university."

Karina joined in, stepping closer with that unreadable expression she often wore when she was plotting something. “Well….We were just wondering something.”

Giselle and Ningning were already flanking him on either side, locking his arm like preparing for an execution. He could practically feel the walls closing in as all four of them surrounded him, cutting off any possible escape routes. Heck, he could feel a blade hanging on top of his neck.

Y/n put on his best poker face. “Okay… what is it?”

Ningning grinned wickedly. “You’ve heard all our solo songs by now, right?”

Oh no. The blade was loosening. He could see where this was going.

Y/n tried to play it cool, flashing a nervous smile. “Uhuh…I’ve heard them. All of them rocks.”

“That’s not what we’re asking,” Winter chimed in, leaning a little closer. “We want to know—whose solo song do you like the best?”

The blade was really loose now, hanging on a thread!

The question hit him like a truck. His eyes darted from one girl to the next, desperately searching for an escape route, but there was none. They had him trapped, and they knew it. “Uh… I mean, they’re all great! You’ve each got your own vibe, and honestly, you’ve all done an amazing job—”

“Nice try, idiot.” Karina cut him off, her arms crossed as she raised an eyebrow. “But we want specifics.”

“Yeah, we’re not letting you out of this one,” Giselle added, a sly smile on her face. “You have to pick.”

Ningning, ever the playful one, made a show of fake-loading finger guns and aiming them at Y/n’s chest. “Come on, Y/n-oppa. Tell us the truth. Whose song is your favorite?”

Y/n felt the sweat starting to form on his brow. This was a no-win situation. If he picked one, the others would never let him hear the end of it. But if he didn’t pick, they’d torment him until he did. “Guys, c’mon… I haven't even seen the choreo. You can’t seriously expect me to choose—”

“We seriously do,” Winter said with a teasing grin. “And you better pick wisely.”

Y/n groaned internally. “Alright, fine. But no one gets mad, okay?”

The girls exchanged knowing looks, each with their own smirk. “Sure, sure,” Karina said, clearly lying.

Y/n sighed, taking a deep breath. His mind raced as he tried to figure out how to get out of this unscathed. “Okay, let’s see… Rina-ya, your song is so powerful and swag, it’s like this anthem of boss girl. Giselle, you're popping off with your vocal and rap, and your song is just Gen-Z material. Ningning, your voice is stunning, and your song will flip everyone's expectation and certainly won't be like your song title. And Minjeong…”

Winter tilted her head, her eyes twinkling with anticipation. “Yes?”

“…Your song is really sparkling. Like, really sparkling.” He knew what he was saying.

The room went silent as all four girls stared him down, waiting for the real answer. He knew they weren’t going to let him off the hook with vague compliments.

Karina folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “That’s all nice and flattering, but we want a name, Y/n. Whose solo is your favorite?”

Y/n could feel the weight of their gazes pressing down on him. This was it. There was no backing out now. “Okay, okay… If I had to pick, and I mean really had to… then I’d say…”

He paused, looking around at their eager faces. “Spice it up. Up. Up. Roll Up”

There was a brief moment of stunned silence.

Then, all hell broke loose.

Winter’s jaw dropped in shock, her eyes wide with betrayal. “What?! Jimin-unnie?!”

Giselle burst out laughing, slapping Y/n on the shoulder. “Wow! Didn’t see that one coming.”

"…yea, it's on my head for like a while now."

Ningning shook her head, pretending to wipe away a tear. “I thought we were friends, Y/n… but apparently, Karina-unnie’s anthem of girl crush wins.”

Karina, meanwhile, was basking in her victory. She shot Y/n a smug grin, clearly pleased with his answer. “See? I knew you had good taste.”

Winter, still reeling, crossed her arms and gave Y/n a mock glare. “I can’t believe this. After all the friendship, after all the memories… you didn’t pick me?”

Y/n raised his hands defensively, trying to fend off the inevitable backlash. “Ya, you told me to be honest! Plus, I'm being held like I'm at an execution!”

“Oh, you’re panicking alright,” Ningning teased, joining Winter’s side. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Karina, still enjoying the chaos, playfully nudged Winter. “Don’t worry, Minjeong. I’m sure he likes your song. He just prefers mine, you know? Can’t blame him.”

Winter shot Karina a side-eye, half-annoyed and half-amused. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, I definitely am,” Karina said with a wink, flipping her hair dramatically. "It's a win, after all."

Y/n, meanwhile, was trying to defuse the situation. “Listen, I love all your songs! You’re all amazing! I was just put on the spot—”

“You were not just put on the spot,” Winter interjected, her teasing tone laced with mock hurt. “You chose Karina. That’s a choice.”

Giselle, ever the peacemaker, laughed and threw her arm around Y/n. “It’s alright, Jeong. He’s just one guy. We all know who the real favorite is.”

Ningning nodded vigorously. “Yeah, don’t worry, Minjeong-unnie. You still win in my book.”

Winter sighed dramatically, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “Fine, fine. I’ll let it slide this time.”

Y/n let out a relieved sigh, but it didn’t last long.

“Still,” Winter added, leaning in close to Y/n with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “I will annoy the sht out of you for not choosing my song. Big time.”

Y/n chuckled nervously. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Nope!” the girls chorused in unison.

As the playful bickering continued, Y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Sure, he had picked Karina’s song in a moment of panic, but the teasing and chaos that followed had a strange charm to it. It was these moments—when they could laugh and joke, even in the midst of preparing for something as big as a world tour—that made everything worthwhile.

As the girls finally let him off the hook and returned to practicing, Y/n muttered under his breath with a grin, “Next time, I’m rolling a dice.”

-

A few weeks had passed since the "solo song" incident, and the tour preparations were in full swing. The members were practicing day in and day out, perfecting their solo performances, refining their choreography, and tweaking every little detail to make sure everything would be flawless on stage. Y/n, ever the diligent manager, was always nearby, making sure things ran smoothly—though he couldn’t shake off the memory of being cornered by the girls about his favorite song.

Winter, especially, had been keeping an eye on him ever since that day. She hadn’t forgotten that Y/n had chosen Karina’s song.

Like, at all. She was salty. This girl kept hanging around Y/n like moth to a flame, trying her best to hypnotize her childhood friend to like her song more.

If this path doesn't work, then dig another, she thought. And Winter hit the jackpot.

Today, the energy in the studio was buzzing. They were getting close to wrapping up the final details of the choreography for each solo, and things were falling into place beautifully. Karina’s solo had become a powerhouse performance, Giselle’s Gen-Z stage oozed charisma, Ningning’s vocals were melting hearts, and Winter’s choreography had finally reached its peak.

Y/n stood at the back of the practice room, arms crossed, observing each member as they rehearsed. It was during Winter’s turn that he found himself paying a little more attention than usual. Her stage presence had always been undeniable, but there was something about her solo performance that had started to grow on him. Maybe it was the energy she put into it, or the way her movements were so effortlessly smooth, the outfit maybe?

But Y/n couldn’t help but be drawn to it.

Winter caught him watching. As she danced, she shot him a playful glance, her lips curving into a knowing smile. He looked away quickly, trying to play it cool, but the damage was done. She knew she had his attention now.

After her run-through, Winter grabbed a water bottle and casually sauntered over to where Y/n was standing. “So,” she said, her voice teasing, “still leaning towards Jimin-unnie's song? Or have you finally come to your senses?”

Y/n chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Jesus, You’re not gonna let that go, are you?”

“Hell no,” she replied with a grin, taking a long sip of her water. “I’ve got my pride, you know.”

Y/n laughed, his eyes meeting hers. “Well… if I’m being honest, your song’s been growing on me lately.”

Winter’s eyes lit up, her grin widening. “Seriously?”

He nodded, trying to suppress a smile. “Yeah, I mean, the choreography’s killer, and the vibe just… fits you, I guess. You’ve got this natural energy that really comes through. It’s hypnotizing to watch to be honest.”

Winter practically beamed at the compliment, her face lighting up like she’d just won a prize. “You finally admit it! Took you long enough.”

Y/n laughed, shaking his head. “Hey, I never said I didn’t like your song. You guys put me at gun point back then.”

“Mhm, sure,” she said, giving him a playful nudge. “But it’s good to know I’ve won you over. Your attention on me only, please”

Y/n smiled, genuinely happy to see her so excited. “Yeah, you’ve got me. It’s definitely my favourite now.”

Winter’s smile softened, and for a brief moment, the teasing atmosphere between them melted into something more sincere. “Thanks, Y/n. That means a lot.”

Before the moment could get too serious, Karina suddenly called out from across the room, her voice laced with amusement. “Hey, what’s going on over there? You confessing that Minjeong's your favorite now?”

"Song." Y/n glared. "Minjeong's song. You forgot that word, Yoo Jimin-ssi."

Giselle and Ningning immediately joined in, their teasing voices filling the room. “Oooh, are you switching teams?” Ningning grinned, clearly enjoying the drama. “I thought you were all about Jimin-unnie!”

Giselle smirked, crossing her arms. “Looks like someone’s changed his mind.”

Y/n threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Come on, guys, don’t start this again.”

Winter, however, was absolutely basking in the attention. “That’s right, he did change his mind,” she said with a triumphant smirk. “I win. Take that, Yoo Jimin.”

Karina shot Winter a playful glare. “Oh, so that’s how it is now? Just because your song has some cool choreography, you think you’ve got him?”

Winter shrugged innocently. “I don’t think, I KNOW.”

Ningning giggled, shaking her head. “Well, this just got interesting.”

Giselle chimed in with a grin. “You better watch out, Karina. Winter’s stealing your spotlight.”

Y/n groaned, running a hand through his hair as the teasing intensified. “Great, it's Rina vs Minjeong for the nth time.”

Karina, though, wasn’t about to let Winter have all the fun. “Alright, Y/n, you may have switched to Winter’s side, but just remember who’s got the anthem of boss girl,” she said, raising an eyebrow in mock challenge. "First impression is always good."

Winter rolled her eyes, still grinning. “Please, I’ve got him now. You’re old news.”

The girls continued their playful banter, each one tossing in their own jabs and teasing remarks as they circled.

Y/n. He stood in the middle of the room, caught in the middle of their playful chaos as they bickered over whose solo song was truly his favorite. Despite the teasing, he couldn't help but laugh. This was just how things were with Aespa—chaotic, fun, and full of energy.

As the laughter died down, Winter gave Y/n a soft nudge. “Don’t worry, you’re forgiven—for now.”

Y/n sighed in mock relief, wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead. “Phew. Thank goodness. I wasn’t sure I’d make it out alive this time.”

Karina smirked, shaking her head. “Just wait until the tour starts. We’ll see how loyal you are then. Full package will be the final factor.”

“Yeah,” Ningning added with a grin, “we’ll have a whole new batch of things to tease you about.”

Giselle nodded, her mischievous smile never leaving her face. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll even switch favorites again. Me, perhaps”

"Or me!" Ningning raised her hand.

Y/n chuckled, knowing full well that they’d never let him off the hook. “I guess I’ll just have to brace myself.”

But as they all returned to their practice routines, a small, genuine smile crept onto Y/n’s face. It wasn’t the teasing or the bickering that got to him—it was the fact that, through all the chaos, they were a team. They supported each other, challenged each other, and pushed each other to be better. And somehow, in the middle of it all, Y/n had found his place with them.

He watched as Winter took her spot in front of the mirror again, preparing for another run-through of her choreography, and his smile grew a little wider. It was moments like these that reminded him why he loved working with Aespa—stupid banters and stuff.

[quixtrix]

dolph was always meant to be doomed; something of an analysis

i'm on my third rewatch of captain laserhawk, and on this one i've been focusing more on the little details that you don't get on your first or even second time watching it. i've noticed little things, such as pey'j helping and then going on to shield a hybrid who's dressed similarly to jade in the third episode. but i've also noticed bigger things, such as alex and dolph.

keep in mind that this show is just filled to the brim with political messaging, it was purposefully designed that way. so when someone mentioned on here that alex was an accelerationist, it explained a lot. we don't know much about alex in terms of his backstory, we only know he helped dolph after dolph attempted to mug him and they ended up falling in love. it's also implied that alex and dolph have been repeatedly reported on the news as terrorists more than we've seen, with rayman referring to them as being the usual suspects when the kaiju attack happened, despite dolph literally not even being there when alex did that shit. they're known to do this shit, and we know alex is a charismatic guy. it's not too far fetched to say once or while dolph was falling in love with this gayass white saviour saint that alex talked him into this shit for alex's own purposes. because yes, he has a cause, but he's also a bit in over his head, maybe with power. he's aware of the power he has over dolph, how he actively uses the 'i love you' card multiple times when they're together and when they're not together. he just had a bit too much confidence in his hold over dolph, but to be fair, alex, you were topping some indulgent mob boss for your cause (because let's be honest of course your sources would be tight if they were being fucked for it) then continued fucking said mob boss and got caught with your dick out by your ex who you think you can get back with. alex uses people as tools, he just doesn't put his shit in the right places at the right times.

i'm getting off track, but the point i'm getting to is that alex most definitely saw dolph, a man who clearly has some jacked up eden tech smacked onto his twink ass, at his lowest, and picked him up like a shiny new toy. he was always going to use dolph. but how come dolph is so easy to use? he's starved for kindness. he's the stray dog that comes up to you at restaurants to act all nonchalant because 95% of the time he gets neglected, but the second he gets offered scraps, he shows how hungry he is. we don't know much about his childhood, and what we do know is under the lenses of literal eden propaganda. we do however know how people get like underneath the hand of eden.

everyone say thanks to rayman, who concidentally, is dolph's foil. both of them worked under eden as their lap dogs, one as a propagandist and the other as military, but dolph had gotten out of the hold the propaganda had on him while rayman's barely shaking it off. both of them are also portrayed as poor little tragic immigrants and the impoverished stand ins both in universe and story wise. they're the feel good picking yourself up american dream stories that people can feel inspired by or feel proud about the country with. dolph had a photo with a kid holding a doll of him. before he became ex military, he was definitely the guy they paraded around as a previous lost cause that eden helped. red, who's as political as his assigned colour, bitches about identity politics in that one off line for a reason. he also jus hates brown people fr he kicked me down a flight of stairs

now we can assume that dolph had picked himself up out of the propaganda machine somehow. he realised he was used and he didn't want that shit. he's attempting to get himself his own life, for fucks sake. he jus happened to get lead on by the wrong guy, which then lead him to get used by eden AGAIN. this time not only in a physical way via soldier work, but emotionally too, with sarah easily manipulating him with what? a sob story and helping him out, maybe being friendly with him along the way.

he wants a normal life. he wants a goddamn normal life. he jus continues to be selected as a tool.

you can see how fucking starved he is for kindness. you ever think about the fact that in his dream life, he sees jade and pey'j? he knew these people for less than a week, yet they get a place in his dream life. most notably, jade gets a speaking role in his dream life. the only other person who speaks, besides marcus, is alex, someone who had known him and shown kindness to him. jade has also shown kindness to dolph. she's the friendliest face there in the ghosts, being the first one to check on dolph when he wakes up, offers an explanation to him, and also makes an effort to include him in her little shenanigans with the video and all!! dolph was all emo alpha wolf and all, but despite his constant cold shoulder, she was kind!!

there was someone who was more than kind though; bullfrog. because bullfrog actively looked out for dolph, despite his constant pushback against bullfrogs advice whenever they weren't separated. and in the end, it's bullfrogs kindness and compassion that hits dolph the deepest. dolph gets out of his depressive state to go back for bullfrog. he cares about people, he goes out of his way to do shit for the people who show him the slightest bit of kindness. he backed up sarah after one good conversation with her to marcus for fucks sake. dolph is just a guy who keeps getting used though. he's so loyal to anyone who looks his way that it's a fatal flaw that ends up with his head blown up. he's a shakespearean tragedy at the moment. i hope in the potential season 2 that he gets to have more moments where he gets to be his own person. not defined by an organisation or a person or a cause, but what he chooses to define himself by. he's on his way there. he jus deserves to be allowed to live for himself. after all, he has already met his end of that story. he can make a new one.

anyways if u reached the end of this im down to discuss this :D i also did get a few points from other people on here, but let me know what u think nd all

[danikamariewrites]

Could I request part 2 for Inventor, where reader gets kidnapped by Baron so that they can make things exclusively for him. And the motiv behind this is that the reader refused to share one of there inventions with him because they knew he would use it for himself and not share it with his people 🙄

Hope this isn't too big of an ask, happy writing!!

Myth

Azriel x reader

A/n: you can read Inventor here! Also this is a long one lol

Warnings: kidnapping, mentions of torture, injuries, some violence, and some typos bc I don’t think I got them all sorry

A guard ripped off your blindfold violently, almost taking a fistful of your hair with it. You blinked rapidly adjusting to your surroundings.

You sat tied to an old wooden chair in an ornate office decorated in the colors of autumn.

Well shit. If you knew mouthing off in the last High Lords meeting would land you here you would’ve kept your mouth shut.

No you wouldn’t have.

Beron clearly wanted something from you. And you had a feeling you knew what it was. Azriel’s spies had gathered intel that Beron had been keeping what was found in the mines a secret. The guesses had been anything from rare metals to ancient fae weapons.

Footsteps from the hall grew closer until the door creaked open. You counted eight people, seven guards and Beron. Two guards approach you, lifting your chair to bring you face to face with Autumn’s High Lord.

He was casually leaning against his desk, flipping through a file on his desk you were sure had your name on it. “If it isn’t little miss know-it-all. I’m so glad you could join us.” His tone was sickly sweet and each word dripped with a sick sarcasm. It made your stomach do flips before tying your intestines in a knot.

You didn’t know how long you’d be able to hold out. You’re not trained like Azriel. You can’t fight and you definitely won’t do well under torture. But you’d do your best for him, for your court.

“Let’s see here,” he drawls, flipping open the file. “Multiple awards since the start of your university days, graduated the top of your class, and come highly suggested from three out of seven High Lords. You’ve been around the world and co-discovered countless new technologies.” You knew where this was going.

You had been backed into this corner before by powerful men. They were less powerful than Beron and you had never been tired up before, but that’s beside the point. You wanted to snip back at him but now seemed like a good time to hold your tongue.

When Beron looked at you he had a raised brow and a confused scowl on his lips. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath, pulled your lips super tight, and were holding your eyes open really wide. You’re not the greatest in social situations. Letting out a huff you try to relax into the rickety wood chair. “What do you want from me?”

An evil smirk slowly pulled at his lips. “I need you to…reinvent an old weapon for me.” His spies were right in their guesses. Cauldron, you didn’t even want to think about what this weapon could do. “And if I refuse?” You couldn’t help the tremble in your voice or the slight wobble of your lip. “You have two hours to decide. If you don’t we’ll make sure the shadowsinger gets your body back.” His tone told you it would be in pieces.

Beron adjusted his jacket rousing his desk to sit. Two more guards appeared in front of you as they untied you, switching out the ropes for metal shackles. As the ushered you out into the hall you saw Eris waiting for you. The tall male looked calm and composed. You knew on the inside he was panicking due to the rash decision his father made. Eris roughly grabbed your upper arm dragging you to his side. “I will escort her.”

“We were commanded by the High Lord to take her.” The guard that shackled you said. Eris raised a brow, wearing a similar expression to his father’s. “Then you can accompany us.” You began the long trek down to the dungeons of the Forest House. You kept your head down the whole way knowing that if you looked up at Eris you’d give everything away. All the secrets you’ve kept all the meticulous planning your mate and brother-in-laws have accomplished would be for nothing with a single pleading look.

A guard opened the bared cell door as Eris kept your arm in his firm grip. Shoving you onto the cold stone to keep up the facade Eris slammed the door shut behind you.

You held your hands out to break your fall. As your knees hit the floor your hands skid across the stone floor. You suck in a breath, pushing yourself to sit against a wall to inspect your hands. Your palms are red and fresh cuts litter your skin. You press them against your pants to stop the stinging pain.

Eris scoffs at you. “Pathetic. I’ll be back in an hour to see if you’ve made your decision. Think fast little tinkerer.” He teases, turning away on his heel without giving you a second look he and the guards leave you.

You are not going to cry, you say to yourself. I am going to be smarter than Beron. I’m going to get out of this and Az and the rest of the group will come for me.

——

Rhys, Azriel, Cassian land on the balcony of the House of Wind entry way, returning home from Illyria. All three were hoping to find their mates waiting to embrace them. Instead they were greeted with silence. The brothers look to each other in confusion as Azriel sends out his shadows to search the house.

Taking a few more steps into the house they tensed at the sound of little footsteps rushing toward them. Nyx appeared, launching himself at his father, a little frown on his face. “Daddy!” Rhys scoops the little boy to his chest kissing the top of his head. Rhys could sense his little boy’s distress. “What’s wrong buddy?”

“They’ve been looking all day, but no one can find Auntie y/n.” Azriel’s eyes went wide. His heart stopped for a moment as he pulled on the bond, but nothing. Your side was dark. How could he not have felt that you were gone.

Gwyn and Elain came rushing in next followed by Lucien and two of Azriel’s shadows. “I found something!” The priestess exclaimed, waving a piece of paper in the air. Lucien immediately recognized it as stationary from Eris’s desk. He snatched it from Gwyn’s hand, his eyes moving quickly over the note as he took in each word. His face grew grim.

Finishing the note he looked to Azriel. A frown pulling at the males lips. “What!” The word came out loud and agitated. Lucien hesitantly handed the note to Azriel as he began to explain. “It’s from Eris. Y/n has been taken to Autumn. He’s not sure what Beron wants with her.”

Azriel’s hands were shaking with rage. Gwyn noticed, quickly taking Nyx from his father’s arms and rushing out before something drastic happened. With a look from Lucien Elain nodded her head, turning to follow Gwyn.

Azriel’s shadows began to swarm in a violent pattern. In and out, whispering in his ears as they pass by, threatening to plunge the foyer into darkness. Cassian gripped his shoulders tight. Forcing his brother to look at him. “We will get her Az. But you need a level head.” Azriel’s face was stuck in an angry scowl. His brows pinched and his hazel eyes darkened with rage. Azriel turned his head to look at Rhys. Giving the High Lord a look that said he would go to Autumn without permission if he had to.

Rhys pushed the males apart. “We can’t go in alone. We need more than us.” He looked to Lucien who shook his head. “I’m sorry. But I can’t go back there, not until he’s gone.” Rhys nodded in understanding. “We need the Valkyries with us then.”

“I won’t be subtle.” Azriel gritted out through clenched teeth. “I don’t expect you to be brother. Beron will answer for his crime of taking your mate, I swear it.” Some of the tension let up in Azriel’s body at the promise of Beron suffering. “Let’s get everyone together and head out.”

——

You had been staring at the wall willing yourself to feel nothing for the Mother knows how long. The stinging in your hands had subsided but your knees ached. They were definitely bruised but you couldn’t bring yourself to check. A door at the end of the hall opened, footsteps echoed down the narrow hall as they got closer to your cell. You prayed it was Eris returning alone.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw the lordling staring at you. Eris leaned casually against the bars, like this was a casual meeting between friends. “So, what is it? He won’t tell anyone but the guards.” You blink rapidly to keep your tears away as you spoke. “It’s a weapon. I don’t what kind. He just wants me to rebuild it or fix it or whatever.” Your voice came out monotone. Truthfully you couldn’t be bothered with this conversation. You just want to be out of your cell. Eris let out a huff leaning back from the bars. He paced in a small circle before facing you again.

“I sent word to Lucien who has no doubt told your mate and the other two.” Your heart rate picked up at the mention of Azriel. You had tried to pull on the bond but no luck. When you were taken you were hit with a heavy dose of fae bane. It must still be in your system. Azriel and the others would be on their way soon.

“Tell him yes.” Eris froze, staring at you with wide eyes. “What?” He whisper yelled. You stood, slowly making your way to the cell door. “I’ll work on it. Take me to Beron.” Eris looked like he was torn. If he took you to Beron Azriel would make sure his death was slow and painful. “If you don’t take me I’ll just start yelling for the guards.” An uncomfortable pause fell between the two of you.

Opening your mouth as if to yell for a guard Eris shushed you. “Fine, fine I’ll take you.” The punishment his father would bestow upon him would be worse than Azriel if Beron found out Eris was with you when you made up your mind. Snapping on his mask of cruel heir Eris called for a guard. You were surrounded by the same group of guards as Eris brought you back up to the main house.

Beron met you at the entrance to the house looking smug. Like he’d already won this little game. “I’m glad you’ve made the right decision.” He leads you past his office to a room with two more guards posted at the door. They stand aside to let you, Beron, and the others through but not Eris. You don’t look at him in case your emotions betray you.

Beron gestured for you to sit at the work bench. He left the cuffs on you as a reminder that you are still a prisoner. Beron carefully removes the cloth hiding the weapon from you. You sucked in a harsh breath at the broken sword in front of you. This thing was supposed to be a myth. But here was the sword of the first High Lord of the Day court sitting in front of you. “The last known name for it was Claíomh Solais.”

You nodded along at Beron’s words. “The myth is that the first High Lord of Day received it as a gift from the Mother herself. He had kept the sun rising and as a thank you the Mother gave him Claíomh Solais so he could protect the day from his enemies who wanted eternal darkness.”

“Correct. My miners found it like this. Cut clean in two. Fix it, but add something more.” What else could Beron possibly want this thing to do? Even if you could fix it, the sword was powerful enough. You nod in agreement and he leaves without a word, keeping two guards inside and the two outside.

——

Azriel was vibrating with anticipation. They were right outside the house. You were in there and Beron was doing Cauldron knows what to you. Rhys laid a reassuring hand on Azriel’s shoulder. He felt Rhys tapping on his mental shields and opened them enough for Rhys to say, “Soon, we are just waiting on Eris.”

The doors to the Forest House swung open and Eris stepped out onto the landing. He strode back and forth until his eyes landed on where Azriel was keeping the six of them hidden with his shadows. Eris whistled as if he were calling his hounds telling Rhys to make his move. He reached out to the minds of the guards at the front of the house. Making sure none of them would be bothered by the presence of the Night Court.

Clearing the front garden and massive stone steps Eris lead them into the house. Azriel let his shadows loose to look for you. They had been restless since Azriel found out you were missing and they were eager to bring you back to their master.

Rhys kept his hold on the guards they passed while making sure the ones ahead stayed where they were as well. “This is over kill you know. I got him go back out to the mines for another look.” Nesta scoffed at him. “You think we’d risk y/n’s life on your word?” Eris rolled his eyes and kept walking fast. Coming up on the room where you were being kept Azriel threw out his arm, hitting Eris square in the chest and bringing the group to a halt. Shadows come flying back down the hall whispering their findings to Azriel about the guards and your wellbeing.

“Two in, two out. I’ll go, the rest of you guard Rhys.” Eris tried to get him to wait but Azriel stared running down the hall, a dagger in each hand. Azriel threw the daggers. Each finding their mark flawlessly in the throat a of the guards. Shadows caught the bodies from thudding to the floor, keeping them pressed against the wall as they continued to struggle for air. Azriel quickly rapped his knuckles on the door and stood to the side.

The door opened a crack for the guard to see. He squinted, cautiously opening the door he looked to one side. Before he was able to find Azriel he grabbed the guard by the back of his neck and twisted until he was lifeless in his arms. Azriel threw the male down on the floor entering the room. When his eyes landed on you the bond hummed to life in his chest. His protective instincts to get you to safety practically blinding him with rage. The last guard would be the one to unfortunately take the brunt of that anger.

Azriel punched, and punched, and punched until the sound of you crying out his name brought him back to his conscious self. Unable to hold your tears back you broke down. Azriel made his way over to you, picking you up bridal style. “It’s ok. It’s ok baby, I got you. We’re gunna get these off you when we get home, ok.” You nod vigorously against his chest as you were unable to get a word out thanks to your hysterical tears.

Before he could leave you pulled on his leathers for him to wait. With renewed adrenaline rushing through your body you fumbled your way around the work table. Your hands messily picking up a leather strap, the cloth, and stacked the two pieces of the sword on the cloth. You wrapped them up tight and clutched it to your chest. You turn to Azriel waiting for him to pick you up again.

Grabbing you he hurries back down the hall. You toss the wrapped up sword to Cassian for safe keeping as you all fled from the Forest House. Eris was no where in sight. You assumed he went to stall his father before he noticed you were missing.

Sunlight blinded you. Before your eyes could adjust darkness surrounded you and the world fell away. The salty air blowing off the Sidra pierced your nostrils, the sound of wings flapping calmed you as they slowly brought you to the house of wind.

Azriel fell to his knees on the marble floor. His warm scarred hands cradling your face as he rested his forehead against yours. He apologized over and over for not knowing you were gone. For leaving you as Beron’s prisoner for so long.

Rhys gently removed the cuffs from your wrist. You flung your arms around Azriel, telling him it was ok. That you’re safe with him now. Pulling away from him slightly you looked into his tear filled eyes. “I’m ok Az. You got me.” Your mate gives you a tight lipped smile, closing his eyes to force the last of his tears out. “I got you.” He whispered back.

[lu-is-not-ok]

This is just a dumb theory, but given what Xichun has said about the elders of their family seeking immortality of the mind and the ruthless competition they've got going between their grandkids, this might be the simplest and easiest explanation we have, so I'm probably wrong, but it's still a thought:

What if the elders are attempting some sort of Get Out style body hijacking scheme? Whoever the strongest, fittest, most ruthless of the kids is deemed worthy to have an elder live inside of them?

I've been mulling over how to respond to this because there's both a lot to say and not that much at the same time.

Because, on the one hand, yeah you are absolutely correct. The search for the Immortality of the mind is absolutely very likely going to lead to the exposure of new and inventive ways for the elders to exploit the younger members of the Jia Family.

This would be further corroberated by my Two in One/Daiyu-Baoyu theory, as it implies that the reason why Baoyu was so valuable to the Family and why the elders are now invested in getting him back is because the fact he was able to keep on living via a version of body hijacking could be exactly what they were looking for. And, well, if they can't achieve Immortality themselves, they still want to have their One Immortal back to force him into doing what they want.

However, I do feel like this isn't all there is to it.

My main point of contention is that I don't believe that the seeking of Immortality and the competition between siblings are inherently this closely connected. I think that, at the very least, they weren't at first.

The competition for the spot as the head of the Family feels like a kind of tradition that would go back for many generations, way before whatever kind of Immortality scheme the current elders are cooking.

After all, note the difference in how Xichun and Hong Lu talk about those two concepts. Neither of them ever really question the competition between siblings, they're fully expecting murder attempts as if they were normal facts of life. There is no judgement of it, it's as natural to them as gravity causing things to fall or plants needing water.

On the other hand, this kind of idea of normalcy is not afforded to the search for Immortality by them. In fact, they both seem to see it as kind of a bother. Xichun calls it an "old, tiresome thing", while Hong Lu is clearly not even really taking part in it, with his writing in the Rose Hunter log implying he believes it to be the beliefs of a select few specific people in his Family.

While it's implied that both concepts have been around for a long while, the normalization of the sibling competition and the lack thereof for the search for Immortality suggests that the former is an established tradition of the Family, while the latter is only a development as recent as the current elders being the ones in power.

But... there is a deeper, thematic way that the two ideas connect together, despite their in-universe connection not being as close as you posit.

Both the sibling competition and the search for Immortality, and even Baoyu being kept within the Jias' grasp - they all serve a single purpose.

To allow for the endless and cyclical perpetuation of the Jia Family and its legacy of abuse and violence.

The competition between siblings isn't just to find the strongest and most ruthless child to become the next head, it's specifically to find an heir whose personal values are the most like the values the Jia Family itself holds, and which thus can continue to perpetuate it.

The search for Immortality then is just another incarnation of this attempt to continue perpetuating the Jia Family, but in this case in a more "efficient" manner. Instead of relying on the random chance of hoping that the one heir who comes out on top will share the values of the elders, the elders can just ensure the Jia Family remains as it is by always being the ones in power. Its legacy can't die if its head never dies after all.

And then, of course, is the one Immortal in question - Baoyu. The Family likely "treasures" him so much because he's their one sure way to never let the Jia Family die. As long as they can keep him locked, as long as they can shape him into the kind of person who would blindly follow what they say, they can ensure he can keep the legacy alive forevermore.

It's... an interesting and kind of poignant smaller scale parallel to how Project Moon portrays the City itself.

Both the City and the Jia Family are, in a way, their own "living" beings independent of any of the people that are a part of it, and yet which can only continue to live on in perpetuity because those same people are the ones who perpetuate their systems of abuse.

It's not a single person's fault that they both continue to live on and cause harm. ...But there's also very few who aren't at least in part to blame for keeping them alive. Even those who are being actively exploited by those in power and have no choice but to perpetuate those cycles... well, they're still perpetuating them all the same.

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Triad Part 1 — How You Met Cas and Az

A Cazriel x Reader Headcanon

Series Masterlist

A/N: This is a headcanon on steroids, haha! Kind of a prequel in the same universe as this one. I’ve got a few more in the works but feel free to shoot me an ask if you have any requests!

You met Cassian and Azriel when you were sent from your tiny border village to Velaris, hand-picked by Madja as one of her healer’s apprentices.

Cassian first; even through teeth gritted against pain, he’d been a shameless flirt.

“Wow, you’re really good with your hands,” he said, flashing a cheeky grin over his shoulder as you wrapped it in a bandage to keep it stable while his muscles finished healing.

You patched him up a few more times before meeting Az, but eventually the Shadowsinger showed up with a gash in his back, bisecting his wings.

It was clearly not an injury from active combat, nor did it seem like torture. It was a threat. Using power for power’s sake.

You’d made eye contact, and your eyes drooped at the corners like you knew not to mention it, but your concern needed to express itself somehow. Like your empathy for others was woven into your skin.

When you finished your apprenticeship, Rhysand offered you a job in his court as a field healer. Later, you’d learn it was Azriel who’d recommended you.

In hindsight, you should have seen it sooner. When Rhys needed a job done right, no questions asked, he sent his dream team. The general, the spy, and the healer.

You spent 5 decades convinced the connection between the three of you was purely platonic.

It was Azriel who started suspecting the mating bond first. He felt his shadows tugging him towards you like they’d already sniffed you out. They never listened properly around you unless someone was in mortal danger; preferring to lap at your feet like gentle waves. Sometimes, one would escape from his grasp and snake its way up your body and you’d giggle—it was over for him the first time heard it. So he kept quiet, either biding his time until the bond snapped and proved him right or left him doomed to an eternity of pining.

You were worth the risk.

Cassian, on the other hand, went straight to Rhys when he started suspecting. Just barged right into the High Lord’s study like he owned the place and draped himself over the armchair in the corner.

“What’s wrong, brother?” Rhys asked, secretly grateful for a distraction; he’d been doing paperwork all morning

“I just got done training with Y/N,” Cassian grumbled.

“Congratulations, or I’m sorry that happened?”

“I dunno, it’s been weird lately. Like my siphons aren’t working properly, or something. I can feel my magic flowing through my body when I’m around her and… it’s so fucking stupid, Rhys, but…” Cas trailed off, too afraid to say the words in case they weren’t true.

“You’re wondering if it could be the mating bond?” Cas buried his head in his hands and nodded. Rhys laughed at him. “Well, just from looking at you I think that it probably is, but I can take a look and see if your magic looks any different.”

“Do it.” There was no hesitation. He had to know.

Rhys slipped into Cassian’s mind and it was pure chaos. The red threads of his magic were tangled up with shimmering gold and deep violet.

Rhys pulls out and Cassian’s head snaps up, wide eyes locking on Rhys’s. Cas’s face lit up sight of the High Lord’s shit-eating smirk.

“Really?” he asked, letting the words escape atop a soft exhale.

“Congratulations, brother,” Rhys confirmed.

Cassian attempted to keep it a secret; he didn’t want to force you into anything you’re not ready for or cloud your judgement. But, Mother, he wanted to scream it from the top of Ramiel and let all of Prythian know that you’re his.

So one night, when he and Az were in Windhaven to check on Devlon, he spilled his secret over pints of ale in front of the fire at Rhys’s mother’s cottage.

“Wanna know a seeeeecret?” He slurred, lifting one finger off his glass to point at Az, squinting at the shadowsinger from across the room.

“You’re keeping a secret?” Az asked, one eyebrow raising alongside the corners of his lips. His expectations were low; most of the time, Cassian’s “secrets” were only secret to the male himself — he was usually the last to know.

But when Cassian leans forward and whispers, “Y/N’s my mate,” it takes all of Azriel’s hard-earned self control to keep his magic to himself. The bond was angry, wanted to lash out, but he forced an amused smile onto his lips and mumbled his congratulations into another sip of ale.

After that, Az tried so hard to keep his shadows under control. After all, he had only started suspecting his own bond a few weeks ago, and it’s not like he laid any claim to you, or anything, but… His magic seemed to think otherwise, and the longer he kept it contained, the harder it got to control.

And then the bond snapped while the three of you were on a mission together in the mortal lands. It didn’t snap for you, though, so they try to act normal around each other but it’s SO HARD, like their magic is butting them against each other. (It is, because they’re stupid).

Rhysand picked up on it as soon as you returned, the tension between the two of them that hadn’t been there when you left. Both men came to him with their concerns, and even though he suspected that there weren’t two separate bonds but one single thread of gold tying the three of you together, he kept quiet. He sat back, watching as their glares and muttered insults turned to heated arguments.

You were baffled at the abrupt change in their dynamic. You suspected it had something to do with a female, but that was none of your business. They’d eventually work out their differences; they were brothers, after all.

A part of you, deep down, felt burning, white-hot rage every time you thought about her, this nameless, faceless female. You bury the burn in work; whenever you’re not in the field, you pick up extra shifts with Madja, healing until you’re too exhausted to do anything but grab a sandwich from the cafe near your apartment and fall into bed. It’s the only way sleep comes without a fight.

It takes a few weeks for the pressure building between them to boil over; your shift is almost over when the two Illyrians show up, bruised and bloody. They stand in the doorway to your office, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast. Something in you snaps at the sight of them, that white-hot anger bursts into raging golden flames.

“What the fuck has gotten into you two lately?” You yell, crossing the small room in two long strides to poke a finger into each of their chests, reveling in the twin winces on their faces.

Cassian opens his mouth to speak but you glare at him to shut him up. “Actually, no, I don’t want to hear it. Whatever it is, you gotta figure that shit out because this is ridiculous.” You pause to take a deep breath before continuing. “The two of you have been so fucking annoying lately, I told Rhys not to send me back out with either of you until you pull your heads out of your asses.”

Like they were two halves of the same whole, their faces fell in unison. Warmth bloomed from your navel inwards, filling you with magic like molten caramel. The last thing you saw before you passed out were the apologies lurking behind their eyes, and then everything went black.

[bad268]

Behind the Goal (Pedri X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/FCB

Requested: Yee (ZEP ILY side note tho, what if I wrote for my favorite band people? like idk if anyone wants that but I kinda want to lol)

Warnings: none

POV: Third Person (They/them)

W.C.: 1196

Summary: It started as a harmless prank and ended with a mutual understanding…

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

It was not common knowledge, their relationship. One is a well-known midfielder for FC Barcelona and the other is a university student. It was not often that their schedules aligned enough to go out. Most of their dates had been in one of their houses or at the earliest hours of the day. It was not like they were trying to keep it under wraps. It just kind of happened.

One week, everything lined up. Y/n’s classes were virtual due to a campus-wide power outage that could not be fixed in the near future, and Pedri has (almost) back-to-back matches for the next week. Y/n thought this would finally be their opportunity to see Pedri in action and meet his friends. Despite being together for nearly a year, they had not met any of Pedri’s teammates. Could have been a red flag if not for the complicated schedules they all possessed. 

The early morning before the match against Real Madrid was interesting. Y/n woke up early with Pedri, ate breakfast, and worked out with him before starting to attend their classes. Lucky for them, Pedri had left his phone on the charger before he went to shower, and Y/n thought it would be funny to change his lock screen because why not? They took a few silly pictures before going through them and deciding against putting one of the selfies on the lock screen. Instead, they found a cute picture of the two of them together, so they changed the blank screen and put the phone back just as the shower turned off.

Coincidentally, right as Pedri walked out, Y/n had to get on a Zoom call, so they did not need to worry about looking suspicious. Pedri walked up behind them, quietly leaving a kiss on the top of their head as he left for the match, knowing Y/n would meet him there after classes. 

Usually, Pedri would put music on as he drove to the stadium, but in his rush, he decided to just listen to the radio. That being said, he did not look at his phone (no texting and driving in this household) the entire trip. It was not until he got into the locker room and met up with everyone that he even thought to check his phone. However, by the time he thought to check his phone, Gavi already had a hold of it. 

“Oooo who’s this?” Gavi teased, turning the phone to show Pedri the lock screen. Pedri was confused at first because he did not remember changing his lock screen, but there it was, clearly changed. And to a picture of Y/n and him, no less. “Are you seeing someone and haven't told us?”

“Maybe,” Pedri blushed, reaching over to try and grab the phone from Gavi. “Maybe not. Give me the phone.”

“You are!” Gavi gasped in mock offense. “And you’re keeping this from me? What have I done?”

“It’s not you, Gavi,” Pedri laughed as he tried to grab the phone again. “If you give me the phone, I’ll show you more pictures and call them. Or you could wait until after the match and meet them in person like the original plan.”

“Who’s pictures are we looking at? And who are we calling?” A couple of the other players said amongst themselves, overhearing Gavi and Pedri’s conversation.

“Pedri’s significant other that he did not tell us about,” Gavi answered with a glare toward Pedri as he begrudgingly gave the phone back. “You better show us some good pictures.”

“They’re cute,” Fermin commented as he looked over Gavi’s shoulder at the phone. “Why would you hide them from us?”

“Show us some more, man,” Joao laughed, throwing his arm over Pedri’s shoulders as he messed up Pedri’s hair. “I bet you’ve got better pictures if you know what I mean.”

“I bet he would love to show you a million and one pictures, but it’s time for warmups,” Xavi said as he walked up behind the two.

“Oh, saved by the bell,” Gavi chuckled as he bumped shoulders with Pedri. “After the match right?”

“Yeah, the plan was dinner if you want to meet them in person,” Pedri explained as they ran out onto the grass. 

“Team dinner on you? Count me in!” Gavi answered as he ran ahead.

“Not what I meant, but okay,” Pedri grumbled to himself as he followed swiftly after him.

~~

The game was close, ending in Barcelona’s favor 2-1, so the team was ready to celebrate. And it was against their biggest rival no less, so some of them were ready to get steamed. Gavi, on the other hand, just really wanted to know who the secret significant other is.

Despite being at the game, Y/n did not go into the locker room after the win like the other wives and girlfriends of the players. Y/n was not the biggest fan of huge crowds, so they thought it would be best to hang back and meet Pedri at his car when most of the fans had dispersed. Being that they took public transit to the stadium, they did not need to worry about their vehicle. They planned to ride with Pedri to the restaurant and maybe go bar hopping after, depending on the vibe of the team. 

It did not take nearly as long as they thought for the stadium to clear out, and they made their way out to the lot. They had a copy of Pedri’s keys, so they used them to unlock the car before climbing in. Then, they texted Pedri to let him know where they were, and almost immediately, he responded, saying that he was on his way out. Again, it did not take long for Pedri to make his way out of the tunnel and toward the car with Gavi, Fermin, and Joao walking in line with him, almost faster. 

Pedri pushed the guys towards their own cars, saying, “You’ll meet them at the restaurant.” He waited for Gavi to get in his own car since he was the most reluctant to split off before turning and climbing into the driver’s seat. He leaned over the center console and met Y/n in the middle as they kissed.

“Congratulations on the win. I saw that goal you made,” Y/n praised as they rand their fingers up his chest to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Did you see my surprise?”

“If you’re talking about changing my background to a picture of us, and subjecting me to the teasing I received from the boys, yes. I saw your surprise,” He sighed before planting a kiss on their nose. “The bright side is that the boys are excited to meet you.”

“The way you say that makes me think there is also bad news,” Y/n trailed off as Pedri started the car and started driving out of the lot. “Tell me what happened.”

“A couple of the guys think you're attractive, so now I need to be watching my back.”

“Well, now you know how I feel with all of your fans.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[mgnifique-tion]

— worlds apart.

summary || ``sometimes, genuine love isn’t enough for two to let things stay the same.``

pairing: 2012-2013!loki x gn!scientist!reader song recommendations: love you with all my heart – crush lowercase is intended… » part 1 | part 2

— themes and warning/s: angst yet slightly happy ending (?) somewhere in the middle, forbidden love, thorki happy ending (brotherly,, i can't believe i have to put brotherly in this one)

— a/n: finally, the last part is finished! this took me a while to post bc haha, i graduated and got a job (GOAT fr) 🎓 and idk, i'm not really awesome w the time management (un-GOATified) and i also wasn't happy with my first draft of this so i had to write a whole new second half 😭 but ig if you guys want the other - much happier ending, you can boost this up to 20 reblogs (that would be very great!! thx!! 🤘) and i'll post it right away bc it's already written anyway!!

— edit: check out the song rec,,, it’s magnificent. idk what koreans ate to make good OST 😭 + there's a noticeable timeskip from when loki returned to asgard and his imprisonment there + it was also before frigga's passing :(

[ total words: 2.5k ]

support me on ko-fi! ☕

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

loki left...

but at what cost?

now, you were standing in front of him while he was locked away in the cell provided by s.h.i.e.l.d. and he glared at you coldly, just like how he looked at you the first time. but right now, loki’s mind couldn’t unwrap around the fact that you had turned him in… or at least, that’s what he thought happened since he’s known betrayal far worse than everyone else, not even thor.

“loki.” you placed your palm against the glass as he looked away, a frown plastered over his face as a scowl escaped his lips. he really thought you were set apart from all the humans who were terrified of him, the humans who had surrounded him, and the humans who fired weapons stronger than bullets at him.

but in the end, you were still human… and he hated it badly. “you betrayed me,” loki spoke out, “... you don’t know the extent of your power, do you?”

and those first three words he uttered broke you. how could he think you betrayed him? for god’s sake, you’ve kissed him without thinking twice! you’ve followed his rules without complaining! you’ve eaten a midnight meal with him on the top of a mountain and talked to him about the little girl you failed to save… your little sister.

why on earth would he think that you, out of all people, have turned into a traitor?

“loki,” you said his name once more but in a softer manner, “look, you’re not seeing this right. i would never turn you in–”

“i am seeing it clearly.” he grunted, still not looking at you. he couldn’t dare to look at you after that godforsaken kiss; so heavenly to feel but so hellish to remember. “y/n, i–,” he had to cut himself off, knowing that he’s just called you by your name. the name that every friend would address you by. the name that would remind him that there was this closeness between both of you at one point.

for a short amount of time, he’d want to spend more with you but the universe had told him it was too big of a risk. “... i shouldn’t have set you free… i never expected you to be in front of me right now,” he solemnly whispered, now knowing the consequences of falling for a human. after all, how unethical would it be for a god to fall for some earthly creature? 

he found you beautiful in so many ways that he just couldn’t let himself not feel your lips, his mind overly consumed by the imagination of just taking you, claiming his place in you, and turning you as the right hand to his throne.

having you by his side; that was his fantasy. an everlasting one. 

and this fueled his rage even more against his older brother, who could love a human while he had to be kept in this cage, desperately reaching his hands out to you while the windows shielded you from him as if he was some beast; only allowed to watch but never touch. “you’re mine!” he growled loudly, now staring into your eyes while his fist banged against the glass, making you flinch. “... you were supposed to be mine.” 

as selfish and ridiculous as he may have sounded, saying those words broke him. it shattered him. the truth will always shatter the wall of lies he’s made for himself.

when you thought this situation couldn’t get any worse, you heard thundering footsteps from behind, almost as if it was approaching you. on the other side of the glass, loki’s eyes darkened, a familiar smirk creeping up his face like he’s worn a mask. “... so, you’ve taken l/n away from me as well? how generous.” the god of mischief’s voice was mixed with bitterness and disguised wrath as you turned around and saw the storm’s mighty warrior. 

“listen, brother,” thor called his name with a hint of hope, “that doctor did not turn you in, they just wanted to pay you a visit.”

of course loki didn’t believe him. in fact, loki couldn't; the god of mischief had been lied to many times before he turned his back against those same liars. “if they hadn’t turn me in, then why am i here? why are they not with me? why are they standing next to you outside of this room!?” jealousy seeped into the cracks of his mask, the reality of his emotions destroying himself.

he couldn’t bear seeing his brother standing next to you. “because you’re a criminal,” you spoke up, breaking the silence after loki just shouted at thor’s face. taking another step closer to the glass, you stated, “loki, you’ve taken me hostage and you kissed me–”

“no, you kissed me,” loki claimed.

“because you told me to!” you clarified.

“and you desired it.” he insisted.

while both of you fought, thor stood right beside you with a rather awkward stance, forced to listen to his younger, fucked in the head brother express how much he wanted you to be his. needless to say, it was an unpleasant discussion to witness all in real-time. “enough!” roared the mighty god of thunder, catching both of your attention at the speed of lightning.

but the argument didn’t stop there. “you tell me that i left an effect on you but you’re so full of yourself that you wouldn’t let this go.” and anger found you at that moment, showing loki all the consequences of his actions; what world domination led him to. 

“... my god, loki,” you uttered hopelessly, “you know you don’t have to do this. it never had to be like this.”

in those hours you’ve been around him, you knew that you weren’t the only one controlled by such power. his every move had to be right – had to make the plan progress or else, all things fail and by now, you’ve already noticed that loki so despised it.

loki so desperately didn’t want to bring the whole order down.

“please, your brother is willing to give us a chance–”

“if this is an attempt to persuade me to stop, you’re not doing so well at all.”

of course loki wasn’t quite fond on hearing about what his brother thought about the two of you. he couldn’t care less about him anymore; whether he truly wanted it or not, the plan will push through. 

this world will be molded in his hands and his horns will be everyone’s crucifix. 

so, you tried one more time. “... you already have power over me,” you admitted, your voice trembling in shame and pride. thor, who now stood behind you, couldn’t bear listening to this but he couldn’t help but think that his brother was turning you down over his ruling despite needing clarity that all he needed was love. “is that not enough?”

and there was coldness after the fire, filling in the entire room as you waited. there wasn’t enough patience for loki anymore but you kept on holding on because you had to. if this was the only way you could persuade him to stop all of this, then you had to do it.

if you couldn’t save her before, maybe you could save the people she’s left behind.

but there was no response as the alarms had gone off. agents from around the area had already told the rest of the avengers that dr. banner had turned into the emerald beast and you just had to be kept away from loki’s cell to prevent further damage yet what they didn’t know was that loki had given you a promise: that not even a finger from him would leave a bruise on your skin.

a promise that he continued to stand by even if it’s too late.

“forgive me, doctor.” he closed his eyes for a moment, letting his sorrow sink deeper into his hardened heart. soon, his irises stared into his open palm, determination floating above his guilt. 

“but this can’t be stopped.”

not even an hour later, his cell opened and chaos ensued in the rest of manhattan. creatures from other worlds led, buildings – new and old – fell, and the six were united and formed to defend the planet while the people genuinely thought that the end of the world had come for them; all because of the god with that damn scepter.

unfortunately, he ended up receiving a sentence from his father.

“you have a visitor.” the gentle voice of the woman who stood next to you called onto him. the god was facing away from the window, which exposed him to the other prisoners. those who have been imprisoned just like him no longer treated him with respect; after all, how could the son of odin do such a thing?

yet that was the entire problem: he was not odin’s son. not anymore. “a visitor?” he laughed at the idea of it, believing that no one would dare to visit him at this point. even for him, it was a surprise that his mother was doing that exact thing now after everything that happened.

he never meant to make it this far.

all he wanted was to end his pain but in return, he brought it to everyone.

“and who would that be, mother?”

“... a friend of yours. from midgard.”

the moment that damned planet was mentioned, he lifted his head from the floor, slowly turning around. his pupils dilated at the sight of you standing next to his mother as hundreds of questions broke into his mind. but one question remained unanswered: how on earth did you reach asgard?

“... you.” his gaze, voice, and demeanor softened. the idea of you visiting him in an outer space prison was weakening his cold heart on the spot. 

his mother stared at her son before shifting her gaze at you, giving you a small nod. “i’ll leave you both alone. thank you for visiting him…” she thanked you, taking the steps further away from you, the glass, and her imprisoned son after you returned her with a smile. it was the first time in months that loki had actually looked at someone with vulnerability showing in every crevice of his whole being.

carefully, you went up the short steps of the stairs in front of the glass, walking closer to him as you watched him do the same. “... your brother allowed me to pay you a visit,” you spoke, earning yet another one of those sarcastic laughs he always had. 

“oh, i don’t believe you,” he stated blatantly, “thor would never allow such a thing–”

“it was because he found me crying… about you.” you interrupted him, which silenced him right away. after his sentence had been announced around the headquarters, it felt as if a piece of your heart went missing, a void just forming right there. you never planned to visit him; what he did to manhattan was horrible, the entire world could’ve been put at stake if the black order continued.

but thor insisted after hearing you cry alone in your respective office.

“... well.” he shrugged, chuckling at the thought of it. “it’s unsurprising that he wanted you to see me like this,” he expressed as he looked at how much of a mess he was already, his palms resting against each other before placing them both behind his back. “... was it to embarrass me? in front of you?”

you shook your head and told him sternly, “no.”

he was yet taken aback once more, tilting his head to the side in confusion. he’s always believed his brother would only allow things to interact with him if it’ll shame him to the fullest. shame him for all the things he’s done. all the harm he’s caused.

“are you…” he paused, his throat drying up in anxiety. “... are you ashamed of me?”

it was rare for the god to ever ask someone that question. loki’s already made up his mind: he’s unloved, uncared for. a cunning, manipulative being who played with his subjects, leaving no room for regret in his heart.

but for the first time, he felt afraid of what you felt about him.

because all he wanted to be was to be next to you. to feel you. 

to hold the soft palms of your hands in his and never let them go ever again.

and again, you shook your head and placed your palm over the glass. “i could never be ashamed of you even if i wanted to,” you responded softly as loki’s breath hitched. “... but the things you did– they are… just… wrong...” you didn’t dare to say more as you watched how despair filled his gaze, his approaching hand further away from the glass as if he couldn’t see himself being with you. loki, in this very moment, was forced to swallow and embrace the truth – that the idea of you and him will always remain an idea because of what he did.

so, you’ve lowered your palm, too.

loki turned his back and walked away, his mind taken over by regret. if only he had met you differently, things wouldn’t have been like this. if only he hadn’t been so angry at his known family for keeping such a secret from him, you would’ve been his. if only things had been different, you could’ve been in his embrace right at this very moment.

but he knew that none of those would matter. “you should go.” the god denied himself of this privilege, which was something you didn’t want as you shook your head. you swore to never leave him; not in this state at least.

“and please,” he begged breathlessly as he kept his head down. “... live happily for me.” 

and the entire hall fell silent again. even the others seemed tense, listening to the words exchanged by both you and the god. 

“but i want to stay… i still love you.” those were the only words that could come out of your mouth at the moment, protesting hopelessly. 

“... it’s too late.” his voice trembled at the mention of it and before you could say anything back, his brother entered, catching your attention. with a single nod from him, you knew that it was best to follow the avenger instead of staying longer. after all, you were not part of their world… and neither should loki be a part of yours.

the god’s gaze lingered on you as the moment you were gone, he closed his eyes shut for a while until he realized that thor watched him. “what? are you glad that this happened? glad that i pushed them away for them to be finally free from this? for them to be happy?” loki snapped, scoffing at his brother’s observant glare. in response, thor just sighed deeply, slightly leaning against the glass.

“you do truly love them… if you want, i'll watch them for you. i’ve never expected you to love a human since you weren’t fond of the idea.” it took loki a long pause before he knew that his older brother really was willing to protect you from danger as long as he’s in prison because somehow, they both knew that he’ll escape someday. 

and for the first time, his lips curled into a tiny smile. “thank you… brother.”

[mutual-vigilance]

The Traveller and the Tyrant

This is my honest review and critique of the Witness's characterisation. I would ask you to "enjoy", but, considering its themes and the fact that it is over 3,700 words long, perhaps a better phrase would be: "you have been warned."

When I loaded into Excision last week, I was immediately struck by the opening cutscene’s resemblance to the final, climactic battle of The Lord of the Rings, where the steadfast commander of humanity gave a rousing speech to his allied troops before bravely charging forward into the shambling mass of deformed, mutated enemy foot-soldiers, all under the shadow of a monolithic tower, the abode of the ultimate villain of the story. This was nearly enough to make me tune out, and, alas, what followed was not much better.

I have myriad complaints about the Witness’s portrayal in Destiny, and this cinematic is as good a place as any to begin. I do not think the introduction to Excision was fitting for the end of the Light and Darkness saga. Throughout the series, we have fought off a number of escalating threats, beginning with opportunistic Eliksni scavengers, and ending with a being that can end the universe itself. I do not think that a horde of Scorn ought to be the best this being can come up with for its final stand. I would have preferred to see it bend reality, drag us into the arm-tunnel shown in the trailer, shatter an allied warship on the spot, do anything, anything other than tread the worn war-paths of Sauron and his hundreds of imitators in various works of fantasy. First, because this is science fantasy after all, and second, because many of those themes are deeply rooted in xenophobia, unfitting for our current day and age.

The visual designs of the Witness itself and its precursors draw heavily from the historical and present cultures of southwest Asia and north Africa. Their monumental structures of stone evoke the architecture of the region. Their tetrahedral ships remind one of the Egyptian pyramids, and their murals, of the intricate paintings in buried tombs. They are said to hail from the sandy desert. The precursor aliens covered their heads and sometimes entire bodies in cloth; the concept art clearly contains sketches based on humans who dress this way, in burqas; and even the Witness is clad in a long, black robe that hides its lower face, showing only its dark, single brow and dark eyes. I could go on, but I believe I have said enough to back up my next statement: It was not a wise decision to base this particular sci-fi faction on the peoples of the Levant.

The Witness’s army of Scorn is portrayed as a savage horde, in stark contrast to humanity and our allies. The Scorn don’t even have guns. They have crossbows and torches, yet they are a deadly threat to our shining ships. We are told that our enemy is magnitudes more powerful than us, but we are shown that its troops hail from the Bronze Age. Why is the Witness not allowed to demonstrate its technological or paracausal superiority? We are told that it is made of many people, but it is single-minded, ruthless, and its cruelty is unmatched. In fact, its constituent minds are not even slaves; they literally do not have individuality until they dissent, and any dissent is, of course, summarily suppressed. These characteristics – the savagery or “backwardness”, the collectivism and despotism – are common Orientalist stereotypes. And to top it all off, the Witness is driven purely by religious fanaticism. Its robed, veiled selves are ontologically evil and irredeemable, except in death, naturally. I note that Savathûn gets a pass, decked out as she and her throne world are in Gothic imagery and ball gowns, and roll my eyes. And in the game, our characters speak of the Witness as a poison, a disease. A corrupter of all that is good. A foreign snake in our Traveller’s garden. There is concept art of that. Appalling. 

I have always known that Destiny is a game made by and for Americans, or the West in general. I was even recently reminded of this by the way that Bungie hiked up the price of The Final Shape expansion for many non-USD currencies, but I still held hope for a satisfactory conclusion. I was too optimistic. It appears that even in this modern tale, the tired tropes that have plagued genre fiction since genre fiction existed are inescapable. I saw the Witness’s multi-armed form (reminding me immediately of Guanyin and perhaps others of Shiva) coming from a long way off, and I still laughed when I first finished Iconoclasm. It was like finding myself situated in that old drawing depicting the Christian nations of Europe as a group of humans, arming themselves against the distant, threatening silhouette of... the Buddha. An image published in 1895. Maybe a being with a thousand arms is threatening, who knows, but I’ve seen too many sticks of incense burnt before her altar to be afraid or awed. Buddhist villains are rare in fiction, and there was some potential in contrasting the Witness’s concept of the world as made of suffering with similar ideas in Buddhism, but the resemblance, in the end, was used for superficial, visual shock value. Sigh.

So then I went ahead anyway, defending the City upon the Hill (ringed with spears) against Satan, via feats of marksmanship and acrobatics through five exciting encounters, riffling through a diary that I picked up in the Monolith to try and learn more about my enemy. If I knew my enemy, and knew myself, then I could potentially complete Salvation’s Edge in a reasonable time-frame! Or not. The raid took my team and me a month and a half. Probably because the lore left me more confused about my enemy than I was at the start.

We are told that the Witness comprised a multitude when it first entered the Traveller, since people were still actively being cut out of it shortly thereafter. And then, by the end of Excision, the game implies that the multitude is gone, and only a single consciousness remains, which we kill with little fanfare (when we could’ve used a 2-minute cutscene. In my completely unbiased opinion). 

Where did the many go? Did they all become dissenters? How? Why?

It is possible that, like the lower-case gardener described in page 2 of the raid's lorebook, all of the constituent minds grew frustrated with being unable to achieve perfection even with the Traveller’s Light, abandoned their original goal of imposing the Final Shape upon the universe, and were sealed off into statues one by one until only the last remained. But this would imply that we, the player, had little to do with the Witness’s downfall, that it imploded from its own loss of faith. Hardly a triumphant victory for us to brag about when we go home, and it comes with the “bonus” moral that mortals should not aspire to godhood because such attempts are doomed to failure. This explanation is too dull for me to accept.

The alternative, then, is that we did do something to cause the constituent minds to defect en masse. But I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what. Remember, we killed the dissenters to weaken the Witness. Why would committing murder make other people dissent, people that are one hundred percent committed to the Witness’s goal? I imagine myself as a sailor on a warship in the heat of battle, or a member of a raid-race team that has been awake for 47 hours straight. I see the enemy ship fire at me. I see the 48-hour deadline drawing closer and closer. What could possibly make me turn against my own crew, sabotage my own team? Yes, it could be because my captain has been yelling at me and I am completely fed up with them and I would rather die than suffer them for another minute, but that is also either a preexisting weakness that we merely exploit, or a stress fracture within the Witness that is caused by destroying everything and everyone it throws in our way, not by convincing these constituent minds that our philosophy and goals are better than theirs. Yes, this is the genre of game where shooting and slashing solves all problems, but come on. It could’ve been different.

On page 4 of The Rubicon, the raid’s lorebook, we learn of a previous occasion upon which the Witness was nearly defeated. Its adversary offered it peace, but the Witness struck it down. The dissenter narrating this story was not shocked into individuality by the betrayal, but by the fact that the thing they created to be literally single-minded in its pursuit of the Final Shape... is single-minded in its pursuit of the Final Shape? And then, more pertinently, the dissenter dismisses any notion that the Witness could be changed, and begs us little lights to not hesitate when we are the ones holding the knife to its throat.

This dissenter, while earnest, is wrong. The death of the adversary did change the Witness. It dislodged one mind from the collective, did it not?

So imagine, if you will. 

We encounter the dissenters. We listen to their story. They beg us to destroy them to weaken the Witness. They desired to be exonerated in death, to be redeemed, to be saved by us and the paracausal entity behind us. 

And we refuse.

We are given a blade, but we strike the statues with the hilt instead, cracking the stone. We pull their living flesh – made of what, we do not know, but it is living – from the rubble and we spirit them away to the camps we’ve made. We sit them by the fire and we protect them from retribution and, though these nocturnal beings do not see very well in the Light, the Witness sees, and it knows. It may seethe at how we escape its clutches time after time, it may sneer that we are making everything harder for ourselves, that we forget the ultimate goal is survival, but, through our selflessness and our seemingly endless capacity to forgive, we stir up hope within the multitude that what awaits them could be better than death, than even finality. They begin to remember the ancient enemies that once offered them mercy, and they are confronted by a new enemy who, for the first time, uniting Light and Darkness, has the power to defend such a truce. Slowly, they realise that they do not want to be our enemy. They are cast off. We save every person we can. And in the end, together with all our allies, we confront those vicious minds that remain.

But page number 4 shut that down, and all I’m left with is my fireteam member’s gripe that wow, this is just like how the United States deals with uppity foreign countries. It doesn’t really attempt to show that it is better, but prefers to fund dissident groups within the enemy state until it collapses, and everyone there is worse off. Which is harsh, but I can understand my friend’s position, since I have related gripes of my own. You see, the campaign forced me to protect the Traveller, the very model of a foreign interventionist, and I cannot overstate how much I resent that.

I started to become interested in Destiny’s lore after seeing some amazing fanart. Through copious amounts of research, I came to the conclusion that the Traveller is a downright bastard. If you haven’t read Shattered Suns, Rhulk’s backstory, you should. But below is a summary of what Rhulk said about his society as he sat on the Witness’s therapy couch, looking directly into the camera:

“Long ago, my planet, Lubrae, was inhabited by clans of hunter-gatherers. One day, the Traveller came and provided us with resources that helped us survive the dangerous flora and fauna of the forest where we lived. (It may have also genetically modified his people, if his ‘we evolved’ phrasing is to be taken at face value.) People were of two minds about how to continue after that. Some wanted to take advantage of these resources and settle down in a well-protected City. Others preferred to stay in the forest, and live like how they did before. As a result, they fought, and they were still fighting by the time I was born. I grew up watching the better-fed, better-armed City people murder members of my forest-dwelling clan on sight.”

His clan, Rhulk explained, was egalitarian, and relied on one another for safety. The Traveller’s uplifting of his species changed all of that. Lubraeans were able to manufacture Glaives and other tools to better protect themselves against the wildlife. The newly-introduced technology shifted their very conception of safety from the clan to the Glaive, from their fellow Lubraeans to objects that could be gathered into one City, be cordoned off, monopolised, hoarded, controlled. In that City, they invented oligarchy, soldiering as a profession, and the death penalty. They started to march troops into the forest, trying to rid it of its original inhabitants.

I have read books and reports on modern hunter-gatherer societies, and all of them conclude that first contact, if unavoidable, should be made with extreme caution. To quote the 2013 IWGIA report on indigenous peoples in voluntary isolation and initial contact:

“[When we make initial contact,] what we are actually doing is forming the spearhead of a complex, cold and determined society that does not excuse adversaries with inferior technology. We are invading the lands they live on without being invited, without their agreement. We are introducing needs they have never had. We are destroying extremely rich social organisations. We are taking their peace and tranquillity away from them. We are launching them into a different, cruel and hard world. Often, we are leading them to their death.”

I do not like how the narrative of Destiny persistently exonerates the Traveller. At times, a character will rail vaguely against the “chaos” it causes, and the most frequent complaint we hear about it is that it left their species too soon. Rhulk was, to my knowledge, the only one to see the Traveller come to his world, distribute its technology among his people, dump a pile of societal problems into their laps as a result, saunter off without so much as a word, and subsequently come to the conclusion that Lubrae never needed the Traveller in the first place. And he was correct; it never did. I hope it is abundantly clear that if humans were to ever encounter an alien planet inhabited by hunter-gatherers who are themselves hunted by predators, our first course of action should not be to hand out shotguns left and right.

But what if we granted them different technology, such as high-yield crops? If human history is anything to go by, they would go on to invent chattel slavery. Agriculture increased the efficiency of food production, but humans, instead of distributing the labour evenly, have universally chosen to create an artificial underclass, and then force them to perform the majority of the labour. This was true in 2000 BC, and it remains true today. The fact of the matter is, societal issues can be much, much more difficult to solve than technological ones. The Traveller tripled human lifespan? So what? Humanity has already doubled it on our own, but we’re still struggling with concepts like “women deserve rights.”

Some might say that it does not matter, because those aliens would have invented all these things sooner or later, both the good and the bad; that the Traveller merely eased their transition into a prosperous future. To which I would respond: it does matter. They must be allowed to choose their fate. At the very least, they deserve an answer for why their prayers for safety and sustenance were answered in this ham-fisted manner. We are told that the Traveller wants to grant us freedom, but all it does is run roughshod over peoples’ right to self-determination. Look at what it did to the Witness’s homeworld. It terraformed an environment that sapient beings were already living in. Were the precursors not already adapted to the dry environment, physically and culturally? What is the purpose of making a forest sprout from the sand? Is it for the benefit of the nomads of the desert, or is it to reinforce the audience’s preconception of how utopia should look? Why does the game’s narrative re-iterate that the precursors ceaselessly sought answers from the Traveller, framing them as greedy, entitled, and unsatisfied with the “blessings” bestowed upon them? If I were a precursor, I would have questions too: what was wrong with the way I lived before? Why do you get to decide how I ought to live? Is walking away even an option at this point? Paradise is a prison when you cannot leave. Lubrae’s Wanderers tried, but they could not escape the new material conditions that the Light had imposed upon them.

Humans have had our share of prophets, many associated with millennia of internecine warfare. Now imagine if God, literal God, showed up in the desert one day, and stuck around until we achieved interstellar flight. The Traveller destroyed the precursors. We’re the unfortunate ones who have to deal with the consequences of its actions, if not its words. Destiny’s narrative insists that because the Traveller was silent, it is not responsible for what befell the precursors. That is untrue. Silent or not, the damage was done. The Traveller touched world after world, sending their peoples into crisis after crisis, and all the lore says on the subject is how much the Traveller cares about all of them. Truly. It can care all it likes, as long as it stops wielding the weapon of mass destruction strapped to its belly. Come here. Hand over the beam.

My opinion may sound extraordinary, but I assure you it is not. The following are some translated user comments, taken from the most-viewed version of the Witness origin cutscene from the Season of the Deep uploaded on Bilibili (video ID BV1Jm4y1t7cn):

“I feel that Traveller was messing around with the entire universe. In order to stop it, the Witness's people discovered the Veil and the Darkness, and tried to stop the Traveller from flooding everyone with its ‘kindness’. This caused the Traveller to embark on a foolish journey, drawing even more species into a cosmic war, just so it can continue to spread its so-called grace.”

“In summary: the Traveller tosses technology everywhere to all species, and then every species wants to expand their territory. It’s just setting fires everywhere.”

“I think the narrative may end up depicting the Traveller as a neutral power, or even close to a villain. After all, its existence has disrupted the fates of many species in the universe. No matter its original intentions, its unilateral interference is not a good thing. I don’t know how the plot will resolve; whether Light and Darkness will no longer continue to interfere in the universe, or whether the Darkness (Veil) will show its true face after the Witness is defeated…”

I am not cherry-picking. These are all highly-rated comments. You can go see for yourself. It’s fascinating that reactions like these are almost completely absent from the Anglophone fandom. I only reached my own opinion on the Traveller after extensive research, yet these fans on Bilibili took one look at that cutscene, and instinctively decided that our war is the Traveller’s fault. A vast Pacific lies between the writers of Destiny, and the messaging these players saw in its story. The game insists that the Traveller is innocent, that it always had good intentions; these fans say that intentions don’t matter when its actions have been the ruin of so many. Self-determination is more precious than any paradise a foreign saviour can grant.

On page 5 of The Rubicon, we see that the precursors learned well from their god. They began to journey among the stars, and render aid unto the other species they encountered. They did one better than the Traveller, in fact, as it appears that they actually bothered to ask those species beforehand why they may or may not desire aid, rather than park their ships in their skies and skip straight to the terraforming. Unfortunately, after too many refusals, the precursors decided to go to an even further extreme than their god. They would interfere in the life of every being in existence, all at once, forcing them to exist in an eternal, perfect moment. And unlike the Traveller, they would tell everyone exactly what was coming. The Final Shape.

Early on in the eponymous expansion, we discovered that the afterlife exists. Cayde-6 was perfectly aware and conscious after his death, suspended in a bright and comforting forever alongside his Ghost, Sundance. He enjoyed the experience, and disliked being resurrected yet again. This raises an incredible number of questions, but the thing that stood out to me the most was how familiar it sounded. How much it resembled what the Witness promised. For Zavala to be reunited with Hakim. For Crow to be reunited with Amanda. For Ikora to find peace in victory. And for us to…

I do not think the Witness was lying when it offered all of those things. It was not lying when it gave each of its disciples a different vision of its ultimate goal. Whether it was capable of carrying through is one thing, but whether it was honest is another, and I believe it was honest. Its Final Shape is a natural extension of what Guardians receive in death. Whereas Guardians are granted a peaceful eternity with their Ghost, the Witness would try to simultaneously grant every sapient creature an end in kind, tailored to their individual desires. That is not to say, I agree with its end. The Witness was a tyrant as much as the Traveller is a bastard, especially since it threatened to punish people for eternity, too, out of nothing but the pettiness in its bitter heart. Yes, I concur, I am a pawn of the light, but I will not suffer to be your pawn, either.

What I wanted to say after that, rebuking its offer to make me into a disciple, is: “I will join you, if you let me save you.”