#I cast power strip fire

[mad-scientist-enthusiast]

This week I witnessed the dangers of electrostatic discharge in action which broke at least two outlets AND my favorite necklace.

Despite knowing exactly how and why it happened, I have no choice but to believe I am a wizard with a magical amulet that destroys electronics with my kickass sparks.

If you disagree with me, your outlets will be next. Do not underestimate the power I wield with my amulet.

[vidavalor]

Great Balls of Fire

Ok, I've got a Final 15 theory on the kiss and the elevator and... pie?

This is for-- and in thanks to-- @indigovigilance, @ineffablelunatics and @somehow-a-human, as their metas reminded me of the idea of something in Aziraphale's mouth after the kiss and their talk of ball bearings and The Bullet Catch has eaten my brain alive and so here we are. Thanks also to @kayleefansposts for drawing my attention to 2/3rds of the metas. 🤗

What, exactly, happened in The Final 15? Maybe this...

As observed by many of us and discussed in the metas of the people I mentioned above, Aziraphale visibly has something in his mouth when he pulls back from the kiss. We also see him move the object around in his mouth-- or, we do, if his expression doesn't distract us first.

Because it's on his tongue, this isn't just light being weird or showing a filling or something. This is, clearly, a piece of metallic-colored something in Aziraphale's mouth. @indigovigilance pointed out how aspects of this parallel aspects of The Bullet Catch and I would agree with that. @ineffablelunatics, off of @somehow-a-human's post on the object, said it looked like a ball bearing and that's actually when I realized that I think the show might have subtly told us over the first two seasons what it is. And if it is what I think it is? The object is the reason for Aziraphale's reaction after the kiss-- not the kiss itself.

So, what is it?

To explain that, we have to start with two scenes, one from each season: 1601 and Crowley in Heaven with Muriel in 2.06.

In the 1601 scene, we learned that Crowley & Aziraphale experimented with their powers after they got tired of canceling each other out and that they discovered Heaven's dirty little secret in the process. That secret is that basically the only differences between them are the colors of their feathers and the lack of immunity to hellfire/holy water. Heaven has been telling everyone that some magic was "demonic" and that angels couldn't do it and they also had told everyone that demons no longer possessed angelic powers. Crowley & Aziraphale realized that this was bullshit-- Aziraphale could do temptations and Crowley could still do blessings. It's this discovery that allowed them to start fulfilling each other's assignments. They didn't tell a soul because of the danger of admitting they knew, especially because admitting it would be acknowledging that they had worked together to figure it out. This means that, with the exception of holy water being dangerous to him since he fell, Crowley is effectively still an angel in terms of the power he possesses.

This would mean he can magically make just about anything he could make when he was an angel. It's relevant because Crowley, as we'll see, made the object he slipped into Aziraphale's mouth during the kiss.

When Crowley is in Heaven with Muriel in 2.06, he opens the file on Gabriel's trial, which we are told can only be accessed by "a throne, or a dominion, or above"-- further showing that the truth is that Heaven actually can't strip angels of their power to do miracles. They're just simply telling them that they have done so as a form of social control and casting some to Hell to use them as way to discourage rebellion. This scene also reminds us of Crowley's awareness of this and shows him using his "angelic" powers to get information to help Gabriel.

The same scene with Muriel and Crowley that showed us that Crowley still retains his angelic powers reminds us again of the rank of throne/dominion in Heaven. (I say "throne/dominion" because Muriel's verbal commas and the way the sentence is structured-- along with the scene in S1 when Crowley goes from his throne to dominate his plants lol-- suggests that it is possible to be both ranks of angel at once, which is another topic so we won't go too far into that right now.) Crowley was undoubtedly a throne/dominion-- and it's not even just the fact that he had that hilariously tacky throne in S1. It's relevant here because of ties of throne-related things to what it is that Crowley made and slipped into Aziraphale's mouth.

Thrones are apparently God's chariots. They are concerned with justice and reside in the areas of space "where matter originates"-- which feels very Before the Beginning, right? They are symbolized by big wheels that rotate and by eyes that change color.

Yes, by wheels and eyes that change color... seems very Crowley, no?

The eyes repeat on the symbolic wheels and are in the position of what we on Earth would call ball bearings, apparently looking kind of like this:

...and remember the interconnected, turning wheels in the scroll that Crowley had Aziraphale hold in the moment they met, at the start of 2.01?...

It could be said that Crowley... a throne, a polymath, a scientist, an inventor... a being whose signature thing is the sexiest old car on four wheels... could make ball bearings from his body when he was an angel and, since we know that he still has basically everything but the ability to make holy water from his angel days, it means that he still can make those ball bearings...

...but we also know what else he can make from his body since he's also a demon-- and not just from his hands but from his mouth...

...hellfire.

Yes, I'm saying that it really was a ball bearing in Aziraphale's mouth-- but it was not hollow or empty. Not by a long shot. It was full of hellfire. It wasn't for Aziraphale's memories as Crowley didn't think that Aziraphale had time or opportunity left to extract them.

It was a suicide pill.

The story was calling back to The Original Ineffable Divorce in 1862...

Think about what Crowley saw when he was up in Heaven in S2...

Crowley is the one who put together what happened to Gabriel. He watched the video of Gabriel's sham "trial" and he saw The Metatron basically order Gabriel killed and cast down through the ranks and he knows that Gabriel only evaded Hell because of how it would have diminished the power of the institution of Heaven to send him there. Crowley knows that Aziraphale does not have this same amount of political power. He knows that The Metatron is a shifty motherfucker and that Michael cannot be counted on. He knows how much danger Aziraphale is in.

So, he takes a page from Lord Beezlebub after seeing that they protected Gabriel with the fly... only it's not exactly the same thing.

Beez's fly was given to Gabriel to help save him. It was a place to store his memories to help protect him long enough to keep him safe until they could make sure he was safe and intact. It worked because Beez and Gabriel had time to make a plan together. By the time Crowley is in Heaven watching the video of what happened to Gabriel and then getting back to the bookshop to sort it all out, there's no time for he and Aziraphale to make a plan. They are not alone again until after "The Metatron" has already shown up and, by then, Aziraphale is already on his way to being lost.

Beez is actually the first character we ever see make their signature thing on-screen and when they do? I mean...

Evocative of a kiss, with that big closeup on Beez's mouth. We watch them push the fly gently out of their mouth with their tongue. It foreshadows Crowley making something in his mouth and ties delivery of it to the kiss. We know that Crowley knows that he can make a single object that is of aspects of both Heaven and Hell combined-- like a ball of hellfire tempered, unless consumed, by a ball bearing.

Plus, earlier in the season, there's Gabriel tying The Fly-- which came about as a result of Beez trying to help him manage his depression by helping him to feel safer-- to metaphorical suicide when he spends the scene where the angels show up chasing it around the bookshop, trying to kill it with one of Aziraphale's Bibles, symbolizing just what Heaven is doing to everyone's mental health here...

But this is just where this possibility starts, really... because why else do I think it's a hellfire-full ball bearing suicide capsule that Crowley gave Aziraphale?

Well, for starters, there is all the holy water that is all over this plot at the end of S2... At the end, Crowley stands in Whickber Street outside The Bentley right across from The Dirty Donkey in a nod to-- among other scenes-- the 1967 scene, when Aziraphale brought Crowley the holy water.

Aziraphale knew that Crowley also secretly wanted holy water as a last resort and Aziraphale initially couldn't handle the idea of losing Crowley and reacted badly before eventually coming around to the idea that maybe Crowley needed to have some supernatural cyanide at his disposal in order to feel safer and that he should have that option. Based on the holy water story, Crowley, then, would be the first person to think that Aziraphale needed a suicide pill as an option if he found himself in trouble he couldn't get out of.

In 2.06, Crowley knows how likely it is that Aziraphale could be harmed by the angels and/or sent to Hell-- which is the domain of Crowley's assailant, who is literally Satan, and who hates both of them for, among other things, turning Adam against him. Crowley knows Aziraphale is a good person who wants to believe the best is possible but he also knows how unlikely it is that this is going to go well for Aziraphale. Crowley can't stand the thought of Aziraphale suffering so he gives him a way out as an act of love because Crowley would sooner lose Aziraphale for eternity than see him suffer.

When it becomes clear that Aziraphale is going with "The Metatron" and Crowley is out of ways to convince him not to, he sees Aziraphale look away and start to cry. Crowley goes back and kisses him as a last resort but Aziraphale is initially resistant-- not because this is their first kiss and not even just because they're upset (though that's part of it) but because to kiss Crowley then would be to let him in... (after all of those symbolic doors and "let me in"s happening in the story)... when Aziraphale making the mistake of trying to shut him out.

Aziraphale eventually, though, can't help but let Crowley in a little...

...because, ya know, it's Crowley...

...and, when he does, he opens up a little, and Crowley slips a suicide pill into Aziraphale's mouth.

It's also definitely worth noting that one of the reasons-- the primary reason, even-- why Crowley kisses Aziraphale is because he needs a cover to both make and give the fireball to Aziraphale without being noticed-- and to do so in such a way that Aziraphale would be assured of the ability to have it on his person when he got to Heaven-- even if he lost his clothes in the process, as like what happened to Gabriel when he was cast out. It has to go in Aziraphale's mouth for easy consumption for it to work and kissing him is the only way to do that. What's really worth noting, though?

Crowley's plan hinged on Aziraphale eventually giving in and kissing him back. He couldn't tongue the fireball into Aziraphale's mouth without Aziraphale parting his lips and Crowley knew he would... because he always does. Not that they're regularly trying to kiss while being super miserable lol but mah point is that Crowley knows that Aziraphale can't ever not kiss him. That's not indicative of this being a first kiss-- that's indicative of the complete opposite of that.

Anyway...

Aziraphale knows what Crowley can make and what it is that he just gave him and that's why this is his reaction after the kiss:

The devastation isn't over the kiss itself. It's because Aziraphale trusts Crowley's interpretations of things more than his own sometimes and, by secretly slipping Aziraphale a suicide capsule out of fear and love and delivered in a kiss, it really hits home for Aziraphale that Crowley thinks they are now in a situation where there probably isn't going to be another way out. It's not because it's a first kiss-- it's because it's likely a last one-- and things are so dire that it came with supernatural cyanide.

It's the realization that Crowley really thinks Aziraphale has been fooled and Aziraphale can't bear it because he knows, deep down, that Crowley is probably right and he's embarrassed. 'Pride goeth before a fall' and all that... Aziraphale is lovely-- an absolute poppet-- but he's imperfect, just like us all. One of his worst traits is that he doubles down when he's been embarrassed as a way of trying to save face and retain pride. It's maybe his worse flaw and it gets very dangerous for him here. Crowley is no stranger to trying to stop situations where it could happen, like this paralleling time in 1941:

Some other reasons why it's a fireball suicide pill before we get to what then happened in the elevator...

There's the fact that the show had a scene set in S2 in The Dirty Donkey-- where the elevator is. (As the start of the scene, Crowley & Aziraphale even walk through the door where the elevator will materialize at the end of S2.) Part of their conversation is very possibly Crowley recounting their first kiss-- at minimum, it's about kissing-- and then Aziraphale makes it also about balls, combining the two to, among other things, foreshadow The Final 15:

The wordplay here is already threefold in this scene off of Crowley's joke that follows Aziraphale remembering Jane Austen's balls: balls (testicles), the phrase that x person "has balls" (is badass), and balls (of the cotillion/dancing variety). This continues into the meeting that Aziraphale hosts-- the disaster of a ball that goes straight into the end game of the season. Here's Aziraphale making yet another ball-related wordplay joke-- this one, during The Meeting Ball:

"We're having a ball" as in they're literally having a ball-- a party-- but also the idiom "we're having a ball" meaning "we're having a great time." We are now up to four different meanings of the word 'ball' in S2, stretched across different scenes, emphasizing the importance of it. One of the missing ones still needed here to complete this idea is a literal ball-- and the ball bearing would not only meet this idea but would then make all of the ball-related wordplay have had the purpose of building towards it. We think it's building towards The Meeting Ball-- and it is-- but all of it, including The Meeting Ball, would actually then be building towards the hellfire ball, which is the actual ending of S2.

Then, there's what this all has to do with the eccles cakes...

Yes, eccles cakes lol... Eccles cakes, as a lot of us already know, are popularly referred to as "fly cakes", off of how the currents sometimes look in them, but the significant thing here is that, despite their name, eccles cakes are not actually cakes at all-- they are really pies.

Ball bearings are also used in Good Omens' favorite metaphor of food to weigh down dough when baking pie crust. Pie weights and ball bearings are basically the same things, just put to different use. It means you literally cannot make eccles cakes from scratch without a jar of pie weights... which are just, structurally, the same thing as ball bearings... and Crowley can make them. You also make pie dough by first rolling it into a ball.

Which is likely why this hilarious moment exists:

Please hold The Cake-Pies of Symbolism, my pie (and Pi)-loving dear...

Crowley's face at having to stand there holding some little pies 😂...

The eccles cakes-that-are-really-pies go along with this theory as well because look how the show presented the forthcoming apocalypse to us back in 2.01:

The horse is Crowley, the rider is Aziraphale, and they're headed for Armageddon-like mental health disaster-- all ushered in by the four eccles cakes, representing Gabriel, Beez, Nina (who suggested & gave them the eccles cakes) and Maggie.

Presumably, The Lords of the Flies are the two eccles cakes that are already canoodling on the back of the plate while Maggie and Nina are the two in the foreground who are aligned but not yet together. Crowley's S2 plot is largely working at the behest of these wonderfully rebellious pies. He looks after Gabriel, finds out what happened to him and connects it all to Beez... and this is after he spent the season on his vavoomy Operation Lovebirds to get Maggie and Nina together. He's responsible for the pie crust-- the containers of the eccles cakes-- in a show obsessed with containers. Crowley is, symbolically, a jar of pie weights in being form by way of his actions-- which is suggestive of the fact that he can probably physically make them. (There's also: "Just a few million years to bake," which Crowley said of his stars-- which he made-- in the opening scene of the season.)

"Nina, what do you sell that calms people down?"

Calm is from the Greek kauma, which means the heat of the day. Heat, as in slang for a weapon. Heat, as in hellfire. Heat, as in what's needed to bake. Heat, as in passion. Heat, as in "bringing the heat." The heat of the day-- the sunny daylight of The Final 15. Eccles cakes-- really: pies-- calm people down... they bring them heat, in every possible way, and it sets them on a path down-- to Hell.

Then, there's Agnes Nutter...

When The Witchfinder Army came to kill Agnes, she hid gunpowder (a weapon) and roofing nails (the construction-related metal that enabled it) in her dress. Agnes blew up-- she became a literal. fireball. Crowley wasn't necessarily suggesting that Aziraphale turn himself into an Agnes-like bomb in Heaven when he gave him the capsule but he was giving him a weapon involving fire with which he could kill himself if he had no other way out.

Then, there's the theme of suicide in examples from earlier in the season:

Crowley saving Elspeth (on the night Crowley was dragged to Hell)... The bit when Aziraphale then calls Crowley from Edinburgh in the present and tells him that he's read that Dalrymple left in disgrace and killed himself... "The Bananafish" being a short story about trauma by J.D. Salinger which ends with a traumatized man suddenly killing himself... Crowley setting Gabriel up to jump from the window and then stopping him from doing it...

There's also the fact that the end of S1 was Heaven and Hell forcing Crowley and Aziraphale into forms of suicide (getting into hellfire/holy water) and the "Aziraphale" in the Heaven part of it was Crowley spitting hellfire-- at Gabriel, no less, whose story is what jumpstarts S2.

Then, there's that the song that is The Clue to everything in S2 is "Everyday", the significance of which is that it's a foundational song of American rock 'n roll. Rock 'n roll is a blend of musical styles that actually wouldn't exist without first the big band/swing that Aziraphale loves that came before it-- symbolizing how Crowley & Aziraphale paved the way for Gabriel & Beez. There's another song, though, that, like "Everyday", is from the pivotal rock year of 1957 that is equally influential and is enormously Good Omens-y, in the sense that it cleverly uses wordplay to the effect of barely disguising sexual euphemisms and often through amusingly church-y language:

You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain/Too much love drives a man insane/You broke my will/But what a thrill...

Goodness gracious... great balls of fire...

[Also: less part of the theory and more just a possible nod but... "The Metatron" brought Aziraphale a coffee, there's a threat of non-existence, and Aziraphale might have gotten a 'kiss of death' from a being who is, essentially, a cherry pie lol... so, those of you who know that other greatest television show to ever television show might see a bit of a nod to Twin Peaks in here as well.]

Speaking of kisses of death... the film that popularized the word "vavoom"-- and which GO S2 is homaging all over the place-- is called 'Kiss Me Deadly.'..

So, after the kiss, Aziraphale gets the capsule and keeps it tucked into his mouth and he's gone too far with the conversation and doesn't want to admit that maybe he's wrong and Crowley is right. Crowley goes out, "The Metatron" comes back in, and Aziraphale keeps looking at Crowley staying by the car out the window and he's a bit more nervous now ("what about, um, my bookshop?"). Even if he still wants to be right, he's beginning to doubt even more that he is.

He almost tells "The Metatron" to go. He almost goes to Crowley. We see him start to say that he thinks he made a mistake but he doesn't go through with it. He's too embarrassed. Fraulein Maria can't face The Captain and is trying to run back to The Abbey over here.

Aziraphale goes out with "The Metatron" and the significant moment is this revelation: "We call it 'The Second Coming'."

This is the moment that Aziraphale realizes for sure that he's been tricked and there is no Supreme Archangel job for him. The Metatron doesn't want to change Heaven or save anybody-- he wants to destroy the world, same as he always has-- and there's no way that he'd ever trust Aziraphale to carry that out when Aziraphale is who stopped the first round. Heaven will never admit they did wrong by Crowley-- to do so would be to collapse the system because then every demon would want to appeal their own status and demand justice and the Heaven/Hell regime would fall, in the sense that their little supernatural empire would crumble. The Metatron would never allow that and Aziraphale realizes in this moment for sure that he has been played for a sucker.

It's still possible that, at this moment, Aziraphale might still believe that this being who has tempted him with the possibility of the justice he wants for Crowley more than Crowley actually wants for himself-- and with false reassurances that he and Crowley could be together forever-- actually is The Metatron. Or, Aziraphale might be starting to get the sense of what's actually happening but, either way, he now knows that he's been fooled. He knows now that while he and Crowley both got some things wrong (suggesting they run off and proposing suddenly were not great moves on Crowley's part)... about this bit anyway? About being in danger if he believes the being who came to the door? Crowley was right.

So, Aziraphale has a choice: does he go to Crowley or does he get in the elevator, knowing now that to do so is to go to a form of death?

He can't face Crowley. He knows Crowley would forgive him and just wants him to be safe but, in the moment, Aziraphale is too ashamed and too embarrassed to admit that he was fooled and to deal with how awfully he just behaved. He's also exhausted from being hounded by the weight of his halo and Heaven for thousands of years. Negative thought cycles in overdrive-- he's never truly believed that he deserves Crowley and he has convinced himself that maybe Crowley might be better off without him. Maybe they just don't get a happy ending and maybe Aziraphale is so tired and can't run and hide anymore and just wants it to end.

Imagine spending thousands of years in service of an organization that also doubles as family and who abused you and abandoned you and who now wants to kill you... and you so hoped that change was possible that you clung to the idea beyond a point of reason-- to the point of hurting the one you love, with whom you have the only real love you've ever known. And you know he'd forgive you in a heartbeat because he loves you and he just wants you to be safe but you can't face him because you can't yet face yourself... that's Aziraphale deciding between Crowley and the elevator.

Aziraphale can barely glance over at Crowley and when, he does, it's also The Bentley he's looking at because he's telling the car to play Crowley their song. Crowley said "no nightingales" but Aziraphale says, in response: "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square." His last moment on Earth and he uses it to basically leave a suicide note for Crowley that says nothing but I'm sorry. I love you.

Their song plays when Crowley starts the engine of The Bentley, which calls back to the first time they met in the Before the Beginning scene that began the season and showed how they started the engine of the universe together.

Aziraphale might be trying to warn Crowley about Armageddon by sending an "engine trouble"-type of message or he might be calling back to when they first met or, as I suspect, he might be doing both but the show, at least, is referencing Before the Beginning here with this, whether or not Aziraphale intentionally is.

So, Aziraphale? He makes his choice. He gets into the elevator...

...and he swallows the fireball. Which we can see him do here:

Or, as this was foreshadowed in S1 by the being whose own fall and subsequent arrival at the bookshop door set all the events in this season into motion:

(The eerieness of the fake grin on Gabriel after seeing how it foreshadows S2 ending with Aziraphale's mad grin...)

Because, when all is said and done, this poor bastard really would have a death-by-swallowing-something story over here, wouldn't he? Can they just hurry up and destroy the Heaven/Hell system so Aziraphale can have food and sex in peace already, please? 😄

Aziraphale knew he'd been played and he didn't want to go through whatever came next. He didn't want to reach the top floor of Heaven because he knows that only forms of death await him there. They'll take his memories. They'll cast him to Hell. Being a demon is no picnic and Aziraphale has seen that in being with Crowley for so long. Satan is not exactly the biggest fan of Aziraphale and Aziraphale, better than most, knows what Satan is capable of. He doesn't want any part of that. He ingested a suicide pill to avoid being captured by the enemy.

Crowley gave him the pill because angels are not immune to hellfire. That's what made it a suicide capsule, right? It was supposed to kill him within seconds. It was supposed to be quick and relatively painless-- a way to escape the horrors that might await him. Even when Aziraphale is at his worst-- as Aziraphale was in their last scene in bookshop-- he is still a pure-of-heart, lovely being to Crowley because Crowley loves Aziraphale as he is-- imperfect. Just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing. It never occurred to Crowley that the capsule might fail. Why? Because Aziraphale is, always and forever, his angel.

Both Crowley and Aziraphale thought the fireball should have protected Aziraphale from pain and suffering by killing him almost instantly once he ingested it.

By that measure, Aziraphale should have burst into flames in the elevator, seconds after he swallowed the pill just after stepping inside.

But he did not.

We watch as the seconds start to tick by... and we see the realization play out on Aziraphale's face as each second that passes is another one where he's still here...

...the look gets more and more unhinged as the elevator keeps climbing until we get the slightly mad dark grin as the last shot of him before a fade to a deathly black... with Aziraphale having spent the final splitscreen since he got into the elevator on the other side of Crowley, symbolizing what's happened.

In the elevator scene, we are watching the dawning realization play out on Aziraphale's face as the fireball doesn't work and there's only one reason why it wouldn't-- because he's no longer an angel.

Aziraphale has been sauntering vaguely downward for the season and maybe for awhile before then. He's been letting the darkness in, more and more, throughout all of S2. We have been watching his fall happen. The 'falling from a great height into a pit of boiling sulphur' part of falling? Ceremonial. An aftermath of sorts-- an additional punishment. It awaits Aziraphale when he gets off the elevator in Heaven but it's something we likely don't really need to see and never have seen in the show yet because that's not actually the main point of a fall. By the time you're literally falling from a great height, you've actually already fallen.

Aziraphale's determined-- but also just really half-mad-- final grim smile in the elevator over his understanding of what's happened is both the pain of thousands of years of religious trauma and abuse-related misery and a bit of completely unhinged I'm gonna burn this place to the fucking ground fury.

Aziraphale swallowing the capsule also parallels Gabriel having to "consume" The Fly to open it. The Fly went through Gabriel's eye and allowed him to "see"-- it give him realization and understanding by returning his memories to him. For Aziraphale, he swallows the fireball and it also gives him a kind of sight-- realization and understanding of what's happened and what's to come... all of this also in the moments before his memories (and, so, his sense of self/his life) will likely be taken from him.

(For a time-- he'll be fine eventually. *mantras* South Downs Cottage, South Downs Cottage...)

"And from his mouth go burning lamps and sparks of fire leap out." The Job quote on the matchbox. The matchbox contained the fly-- it's the equivalent to the ball bearing containing hellfire. Works now on several different levels but one of them then is: And from his mouth (Crowley's mouth/the kiss/the fireball/Aziraphale swallowing the fireball)...

...go burning lamps (the light that goes out in the bookshop when Aziraphale is in the elevator)...

...and sparks of fire leap out. Several meanings:

Literal sparks-- in that Aziraphale can now spit hellfire, like how Crowley did in his body in Heaven in S1.

Sparks of fire leaping out, in the sense that Aziraphale has made the leap-- he is a demon now.

Lastly, though... sparks of fire leap out... as in, Hell (and Heaven) hath no fury like this very, very, very pissed off Angel of the Eastern Gate whose whole thing is freeing those imprisoned by corrupt systems...

Visually paralleling the elevator with a grey wall behind him and light/darkness alternately striping Aziraphale is the 'Aziraphale and God' scene in 1.03, setting up its sister elevator scene in 2.06, where Aziraphale realizes that he has been tempted by Satan and has fallen. (Ironically, a realization about having fallen that happens while going Up in an elevator.)

God: "Aziraphale. (dryly) Angel of the Eastern Gate. Where is the flaming sword I gave you, Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale, unintentionally foreshadowing the fuck out of the plot:

"...must have put it down here somewhere."

Yeah. 😉 Give 'em hell, Aziraphale.

Bonuses:

The awning of a new age/Dawning of a New Age joke. An understanding/a daybreak that begins a new era...

"Oh, listen, I think it's about to happen-- the 'awning' of a new age." Yes, indeed, Crowley. A dawning of a new age was imminent...

...and, finally, if you substitute 'Aziraphale' for his parallel of 'Job' in these sentences, Bildaddy summarized the season endgame quite nicely in 2.02:

[phoenixcatch7]

Okay so I saw this post about dark percy (really him reaching his Limit and fighting full strength with everything he had) and I was imagining the potential fallout of that. Pretty bad, as you can guess.

The thing is a lot of percys strongest moments happen out of view of the olympians, especially in hoo. The hurricane atop the glacier in alaska, the poison scene in tartarus, bending the depression river and the one in the palace of nyx.

Stuff like the St Helens eruption got him washed up on an inescapable island literally removed from reality until calypso gave him the OK, the achillies curse he got tricked into losing by hera. Smaller moments, the minotaur, fighting ares, the stolen pirate ship, walking on water vs hyperion, freshwater sources, him knowing both Latin and Greek, they're more easily brushed off or at least mostly due to cunning, sword skills and sheer luck and grit.

But basically the olympians don't actually know the full extent of percys strength and divine power. They have hints - percy standing on the throne, winning against ares, his many victories - but what they aren't willing to brush aside in the heat of (an important) battle there have been pretty strong consequences for.

Heck, just look at Frank, he's no prodigy with weapons, he's polite and respectful, but his distant relation to two olympians letting him inherit shapeshifting earned him direct divine meddling and his life force tied to a hunk of half toasted firewood. Man is a honey bear with lactose intolerance and he was punished with a mythical death curse for being too strong.

If Percy's true strength came out, he would risk losing everything. His freedom, most certainly. If he wasn't straight up executed he might wind up in a Greek myth style imprisonment, the way of atlas, prometheus, calypso, or something like the myriad of ways Greek heroes met their end. Good scenario he survives a dozen curses and gets on with life with a dozen new disabilities, best case scenario he's stripped of every inch of divine power and dropped back to the mortal world, not even clear sighted. Total separation from the Greeks and Romans. Oh, annabeth would marry him either way, and his friends would hardly abandon him despite the gods wishes, but they'd hardly be able to see him, and no long range contact without the ability to IM him or vice versa.

All of that to say Percy is hiding his true strength from the gods themselves - maybe not consciously, and it's not even power he particularly wants - but if they ever find out?

It's game over.

But why is he so strong? I don't know. What I do know is that the half bloods of the books are so much stronger than the ones of myth. Used to be that divine blood would get you divine favour and a great fate whether you liked it or not. Maybe some cunning and bow skills. A spot of spell casting if you were really lucky. Achillies got his curse after he was born, Perseus had a dozen magic artifacts, orpheus had something going on but hercules is to my knowledge an outlier. Now? Everyone in camp has some special power. Flight, fire, necromancy, hypnotism, dream walking etc. However it's happening, half bloods are slowly but surely getting a lot, lot stronger every century that passes. Meta? I mean I guess. But.

What no one has done before is something that their godly parent couldn't.

Except.

Except Percy.

Except Percy, in tartarus, at his mental, emotional and physical limit, controlling poison with his mind, overpowering the goddess of poison in her home, making misery choke on misery. Feeling something in his chest crack. Doing something poseidon could not, and doing it better than the person who could.

Down there, hidden away from the gods, he evolved. For that brief moment, he did something, was something new.

And that was how the gods overthrew the titans.

And that's why they must never find out.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

INTERROGATION

dazai x reader

afab! reader

smut, minors DNI (ageless blogs will be blocked)

had a dream about this and had to write it. dazai gets you to talk the best way he knows how to

bondage, candle-play, overstimulation, slight dubcon

you had lost track of how long you had been on that bed.

he cuffed your hands above your head, attached to the bed frame. he left them just loose enough for you to squirm and struggle, but tight enough to draw the line at just that. the only thing he had bothered to cover were your eyes; the rest he had stripped bare. every touch felt like fire against your skin. your senses were heightened and every part of you was shaking. like a puppet on strings, he had left you helpless.

dazai reached out and traced a finger along your exposed skin, down your chest and dangerously close to the in-between on your thighs. he relished in the tremble that ran through your body, letting out a chuckle at your reactions. his breath slowly traced down your neck lower, lower, and lower. he made sure his lips abstained from contact- for now.

he continued to tease and touch you, enjoying your reactions. but even as he took pleasure in the moment, he never lost sight of what he needed from you.

"come on, angel, give me something. anything. i promise, i'll make it worth your while." he whispered into your ear, his tongue making the slightest contact with your neck. your head jerked back at the feeling, dazai ghosting his mouth over your neck and completing it with a heavy lick.

"fuck you." you grit your teeth. you were going to play this game. dazai could get anyone to talk, and you loved being the first to achieve things.

he chuckled. "stubborn little thing, aren't you?" he suddenly removed his contact, and you let out a breath of relief. luckily, your blindfold hid the ever-increasing hunger in his eyes. "i was almost hoping you’d hold out. lets see how long you can last when i do this…”

you suddenly feel a hot, liquid burn on your breasts. he must've lit a candle, letting it drip down you at an agonizingly slow pace. dazai's eyes observed with satisfaction as you gasped at the burning sensation. the flickering flame of the candle illuminated the room, casting dancing shadows that added to the intensity of the situation. but you were unaware, and could only focus on the mental games he played with you.

"poor thing, if only you had just talked….. this would all be over so soon." dazai teased you as you bit your lip. he continued to pour the hot wax down your body, moving down from your chest and to your thighs. he strategically avoided your most sensitive areas, for now. "i only save the best for last, angel."

dazai revelled in the power he had over you, watching the mix of pleasure and agony on your face. each droplet served as a testament to your willpower. he wanted to be impressed, but he knew he had more in for you.

after what felt like forever, you heard a clunk! on the table as he set down the candle. you gasped for air, the burning feeling lingering even after he finished. “i'm impressed, but we're just getting started."

“i-i’m not telling you shit.” you gasped.

"then don't." he slipped his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to suck. "i wanted to play with you more anyway.”

he moved his fingers in and out of your mouth, playing with your tongue and basking in the desperate noises you made. finally, he abruptly pulled out and left you to gasp. without warning, he pressed the two fingers to your clit. you cried out, feeling as he circled your folds before slowly spreading you out. he watched as your fluids ran down your pussy, admiring the sight as your wrists rattled furiously against the headboard.

slowly and deliberately, he pushed one finger inside of you. you screamed.

"how sensitive you are angel... i wonder what else i can do to you..”

he pushed two more fingers inside you, admiring how you dripped around him. your walls clung to his fingers as he slowly moved in and out of you. you felt everything, every inch of him as he fingered you at a torturous pace.

"its almost like you're enjoying this.. come on, tell me what i need to know angel.”

he grabs a chunk of your hair and yanks it, forcing your head to tilt. his tongue meets the skin of your neck once more as the pace of his fingers begins to increase. your body is on fire, your pussy clenches around his fingers as he drags his tongue down to your collarbone. his mouth finally reaches your breast, taking your nipple into his mouth. he sucks the sensitive bud, rolling it between his teeth before moving to the other side of your chest and repeating.

dazai moves in a messy pattern, licking and biting down all over your breasts as his other hand works diligently on your clit. your reaching your limit, but he isn't even close to being done. your wrists rattle against the cuffs as your legs shake like an earthquake had occurred.

"my my angel... are you ready to speak for me?"

he grabs your chin and forces you to face upwards. his thumb drags your lower lip down, daring you to talk for him. you want to spill your guts, to tell him everything. but right now your mind is blank, only focusing on the sweet nectar that dripped down your thighs. your speechless.

all is still for a moment.

that is, until you feel his the tip of his cock tease your folds.

you want to scream but he slaps his hand over your mouth, subduing your moans.

dazai drags the tip of his cock up and down your pussy, daring to push himself inside. you hands clutch the cuffs as you moan against his hand.

"awh, my poor little slut wants to talk now?" he leans in, whispering into your ear.

"too fucking late."

you feel him slowly, agonizingly slowly push his cock inside of you. you scream a moan against his hand as he begins to fuck into your pussy. he pounds into you with no mercy, the sound of slapping and your gagged moans fill the room.

your mind is completely blank. the feeling of his cock pulling out all the way before slamming right back into you is all you can comprehend. dazai fucks you with a savage hunger, gripping your hips as drives his cock inside of you ruthlessly. he lets his hand off from your mouth, allowing you to scream and moan to your heart’s content.

"such a good fucking slut you are.. taking my cock for me so well. beg more. beg for more." he commands.

"f-fuck, fuck. please. please, please." you cry out, forgetting how to speak entirely.

dazai grips the blindfold and pulls it off from you, allowing him to make eye contact with you for the first time.

he looks down at your body. covered in wax, breasts bouncing, wrists tied and your pussy full of him.

"lets interrogate you further, shall we?"

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 4 (smexy times ahead)

Three baskets of onion rings later, Kara feels a pleasant buzz humming through her body. She lets Lena climb the steps back up to street level first, only to find herself having to studiously avoid staring at the woman’s ass. They walk a little ways down the block in comfortable silence. Kara feels confident that they’ve managed to salvage the date– the conversation had recovered relatively well following her tragic backstory. 

She reflects on how Lena hadn’t lingered on the trauma, had neither asked questions nor offered unneeded sympathies. She’d simply let Kara drive the conversation, and followed when Kara had moved on to stories from the academy. Lena hadn’t shared much of herself, but Kara was content with her laughter and effusive smiles.

When they pause at the curb, Kara hesitates. She isn’t nearly ready for the night to end, but she doesn’t want to come on too strong. Now, it’s Lena’s turn to drive–

“So,” Lena says, tucking her hands into her back pockets. “How drunk do I need to be to go home with you?”

Kara jolts, not expecting the forthright question. She barks a laugh. “As drunk as you wanna be,” she says, taking a step closer. “But ideally not so drunk you won’t remember in the morning.”

Kara crooks her arm, and Lena threads her arm through it. She only saw Lena with the one drink, but that doesn’t keep her from continuing to tease. 

“Will I have to take a sobriety test?” she asks puckishly.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

It’s a short walk to Kara’s building. She leads Lena up to her third floor walk up, and unlocks the door to admit them both. Kara enters first, passing a critical glance across the first room as if she hasn’t already power cleaned expressly in anticipation of this possibility. Lena trails in after her, stripping off her leather jacket and as she casts a look around. Her gaze is less judgemental and more curious, to Kara’s eye, as though it might tell her more about Kara.

When she catches Kara observing her, she touches a finger to her nose. “Do I pass, Sergeant?”

Kara shakes her head with a huff. “Shut up,” she mutters. She steps smoothly into Lena’s space, gently pushing her back by the shoulders until she hits the wall. Only then do their lips meet in a collision of heated breath and quiet fervor.

The ball of tension that has been slowly building in her belly since meeting Lena on the scene releases when Lena moans into her mouth. Her hands slowly drift from Lena’s shoulders, to down her ribs– letting her thumbs give a deliberate brush of Lena’s breasts along the way. It elicits a sharp inhale from Lena, and an answering nip on Kara’s bottom lip.

“Jesus,” Kara murmurs. “You are so…”

“So…?” Lena prods. Her eyes are dark and heady, her swelling lips curling into a smirk.

Kara grins back. “Beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning–”

Lena captures her lips again, and this time Lena’s tongue gently quests forward, barely tasting Kara’s lips before Kara opens her mouth to receive her. But barely a moment later, Lena grunts and pulls back again.

“Couch?” she suggests.

Kara nods enthusiastically. “Yeah– yeah, of course.”

She takes a moment to peel off her own jacket and pull up a playlist on her phone, filling the room with a low, sensual beat. She meets Lena at the couch, and gamely sits when Lena pushes her onto the cushions. 

With a grin, Lena plants a knee on either side of Kara’s lap. She pulls her loose muscle tank up and over her head, exposing a toned, muscled midriff under her crop top. Kara’s breath catches in her chest. She’s been with beautiful women before. She’s been with fit, muscular women before. But none of them have captured Kara the way Lena has. 

Catching her staring, Lena reaches down to lift Kara’s hand to rest against her torso. Her skin is warm, and firm, and soft. “Better than a calendar, no?”

Kara swallows the sudden excess of saliva pooling in her mouth. “Oh, hell yeah.”

Lena bends, keeping Kara’s hand on her skin, and kisses her soundly. Kara moans, letting herself be pressed into the cushions. Lena’s free hand slips under her shirt, and soon Kara moves her own hand up to cup Lena’s breast. She lets her fingers play across Lena’s ribs, then tugs Lena closer, until the seat of her ass sits firmly in Kara’s lap.

“You are so fucking hot,” Lena utters, her voice a velvety purr. “So. Fucking. Hot.”

Heat rushes from Kara’s belly and flows directly to her crotch. Her underwear dampens, but she can’t find it in herself to feel embarrassed. She has Lena fucking Reilly in her lap. She is officially the luckiest woman in National City tonight.

“I want you so bad,” Kara returns. “I want to lick your clit until you come so hard you see stars.”

Lena’s eyes glint. “I certainly wouldn’t say no to that.”

In an instant, Kara has them flipped. She kisses Lena deeply, then makes her way down to the waistband of her jeans. When she pops the button she kisses a trail down the triangle of fabric that greets her. She’s pleased to find that the crotch of the fabric is as damp as hers, filling Kara’s senses with a sweet, musky scent. 

“Glad I’m not the only one who’s fucking drenched.” 

Kara’s voice pulls Lena gaze downwards, a dark brow arching. Kara gives a lascivious smile. “Drenched,” she emphasizes.

Plump lips curl in a satisfied smile. “I look forward to doing something about that. But first...”

Kara hooks a finger around the damp lace and pulls it aside, laving her tongue along the lips of Lena’s entrance. When she dips her tongue into the cleft between, without quite plunging inside, Lena gives a strangled whimper. In an instant, Kara decides that tonight isn’t a night for games. Perhaps another night, should she be lucky enough for another night, she could explore the limits of Lena’s patience. But tonight, Kara simply wants to make good on her promise.

She gets to work. 

Starting with a single finger, she curls up and Lena into. She finds a good spot almost immediately, confirmed by the snap of Lena’s thighs against her ears. Almost immediately, her knees fall open again.

“Sorry,” Lena huffs with a breathless chuckle. “Wasn’t expecting you to get there so soon.”

Kara glances up at her with a puckish grin. “What can I say? I guess I’m just that good.” 

“Show me,” Lena dares. “Show me how good you are.”

Kara obeys, dipping her back down. She adds another finger to Lena’s slick folds, then seals her lips around Lena’s clit. Lena squirms when Kara strokes slowly over the stiff, swollen bud, and gives a low moan that rumbles through her body. Warm fluid coats Kara’s fingers, dripping down through her fist.

Then, Lena’s hand brushes Kara’s head so tenderly, it almost makes Kara come on the spot. Long fingers drift down past her ear, until they cup the edge of Kara’s jaw. The touch is so gentle, affection in a sea of libido.

Kara’s eyes prickle unexpectedly. She blinks the sensation away, then begins in earnest. Stroking and thrusting in tandem, its not long before Lena’s gasping high and sharp ion every breath. Kara feels the way Lena’s thighs strain and tremble with tension, the way her walls clench and grab at her fingers with each stroke. It won’t be long now–

Lena crests with a cry. Another gush of arousal floods Kara’s briefs, and she increases her pace, intending to draw out Lena’s orgasm for as long as possible. Only when Lena’s moans turn to whimpers does she ease off. Kara leaves her fingers slack inside Lena, but removes her lips with a final steadying lick before pressing a sloppy kiss to the inside of Lena’s shaking thigh.

“You were so amazing,” she murmurs, panting.

Lena’s eyes blink blearily open, focusing on Kara with a delayed smile. 

“You okay?” Kara checks in.

Lena nods. She reaches down to withdraw Kara’s fingers and pull her back up onto the couch. Kara flops down beside where Lena slumps, taking a moment to wipe her chin. Still clasping Kara’s hand, Lena lifts Kara’s sticky fingers to her mouth and gives them a slow gentle lick before rolling to kiss Kara on the lips. 

“Stars accomplished,” she murmurs.

Kara grins goofily. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Lena giggles. 

“Good.” Kara gives Lena another kiss.

They sit for a long moment to reclaim their breath. Lena lets her head rest on Kara’s shoulder, and Kara rests her head on Lena’s. Their fingers remain laced together, until Lena finally lifts her head with a cheshire smile. 

“What do you like?” she asks plainly. 

Kara deflects. “Oh, I don’t need–”

“We don’t have to,” Lena affirms, “but I want to. I want to make you feel good.”

Kara chews her lip for a long moment, then cranes her neck to meet Lena’s gaze. “I have some toys in the bedroom…?”

Lena’s eyes spark with excitement.

“Excellent.”

—

Later, when they’re both sprawled on Kara’s bed, naked and exhausted with Kara’s favorite strap on discarded on the floor, Kara gazes at Lena’s sinuous form in the darkness. In the pale light of the street lamps outside, Kara can see the shadow of the tattoo she’d glimpsed when Lena had stripped earlier, the tally marks grouped in stacks of ten. She counts thirteen tallies.

“Hey, Kara?”

Kara hums. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question? About what you told me at the bar?” Lena shifts, turning her head to look at Kara. “I think I already know the answer, but…”

“Of course,” Kara returns. As she’d said before, she’s comfortable with talking about it, including answering the questions that many people have when they find out. Even if she wasn’t, with Lena she would be. “You can ask me anything.”

Lena inhales softly. “Do you still talk to Kenny?”

Oh. That isn’t a question she’s been asked before. 

“Yeah,” she responds quietly. “I do.”

She tries to visit at least once a month, but Kenny always forgives her when she can’t quite make it happen. It had taken a while, to get to a point where she was able to talk to him about something that wasn’t about the why and the why and the why… But Cat’s compassion that day in the hall had remained persistent in her memory, driving her back to the penitentiary again and again. Now, it almost feels like they’re back to the way they were before.

Kara sees Lena’s nod, but her bedmate doesn’t say anything. 

“Is that the answer you expected?”

A glimmer of light answers her as Lena flashes a brief, sweet smile. 

“Yeah,” Lena confirms. “It is.”

She squirms closer to Kara, pressing a brief kiss to the corner of her mouth before snuggling into Kara’s shoulder. Kara curls her pinned arm around Lena’s shoulders, rolling until their bodies are flush. They’ll likely overheat soon and separate, but sleep pulls at Kara’s eyelids. 

It’s been a long time since Kara has been afraid of anything. There’d been moments of fight or flight, adrenaline surges galore, but not fear. But there in that room with Lena, she can’t remember a time she’s ever felt so safe.

[midnightsapphire]

here’s a small snippet of my Hades x Persephone au with Aemond! I’m having so much fun writing this but I need help coming up with a title :c any help would be appreciated! 

-----

Aemond Targaryen, first of his name, rider of the largest war beast in all of Westeros, Vhagar, Prince Regent, Kinslayer. The list was growing endless as Aemond cast his single eye along the burning castles of Harrenhal, the orange flames that cast a glow against the blue sapphire he no longer felt ashamed of hiding away behind the leather eyepatches. He let out a victorious laugh atop his beast as his arms spread as wide as the wing’s of his dragon, relishing on the victory he had achieved for the crown, for his family, for his king. 

He watched as the people screamed, pleading with him to show mercy as they watched their homes, their fields, their livelihoods be swallowed in a gust of orange as Vhagar swept low enough to breath her hellflame along their borders. Aemond made note of their fear-stricken faces, the curses thrown at him, the bodies falling with every moment. 

Dare he say he relished in the destruction that followed his shadow. 

It had been long after the death of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Realm’s Delight, the Half-Queen no longer. The entirety of the Black’s reign whipped off the face of Westeros, a shell of an alliance that was never to be spoken in the King’s presence should they wish to keep their tongues, generously speaking on their part. The rule of Aegon the Second was rocky, but wholly accepted as the reign of the “true king” rose with Aemond’s assistance in allying themselves with the most powerful houses, keeping their own close and ridding the world of those that opposed them. 

“My brother, you’ve graciously returned!” Aegon slurred, his hefty cups of wine spilling with every word as he waved his hands graciously at the sight of his armor cladded brother, covered with soot and grime from the grueling fires that once again found itself on the ground of the Riverlands. Aemond bent the knee to his brother, casting his winged helmet at his side as he bestowed a sealed paper to his brother, that unceremoniously pushed the whore off his lap as he snatched the paper, lilac eyes skimming over it’s words as he felt a sickly smile grow on his face. 

“The fools had finally bent the knee.”

“They had no knees left to bend when I had stepped foot on their lands.” Aemond confirmed as he stood tall once again at the foot of the throne, his head held high as he glared at the whore that laid at Aegon’s feet, letting out a soft gasp and diverting her gaze away from the glimmering sapphire that ordained his face. 

“Perfect, they should remember with fire and blood who is truly meant to rule the seven kingdoms.” Aegon snickered as he stumbled upon the throne again, leaning his cheek along the top of his fist as he swallowed more swigs from his chalice, narrowing them at Aemond’s from above the rim. 

“Take it. Harrenhal.” Aegon spoke seriously, his head tilting as he eyed his brother. The ever dutiful son, the golden child, the one their mother clearly favored when he had bestowed the head of Daemon Targaryen after their fitful fight above God’s Eye, effectively ridding the world of the Rogue Prince and his blood worm, Caraxes. “You.. always had a knack for ruling, a taste for duty. Take it as it is, the barren wasteland. A gift from one brother to another.” He said with a brush of his hand. 

“It is no longer of any service to me when you have stripped the land bare of its forests and homes. Consider it.. your very own little underworld.” 

Thus he had become Aemond Targaryen, first of his name, rider of the largest war beast in all of Westeros, Vhagar, Prince Regent, Kinslayer, Ruler of the Underworld.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Forbidden Desires - Anthony Bridgerton

Word count: 1288

Summary: No one had ever said that having an affair and hiding your desires was easy, was it not?

Warnings: S M U T

Y/n Sharma, the middle Sharma sister, the massive chandelier that hung above you created an ethereal glow across your skin, reflecting off the intricate lace of your nightgown. 

The air was thick with anticipation as you adjusted the ribbon at your throat, your fingers trembling slightly. 

This was your favorite part of the evening when everyone was occupied with their amusements and no one paid you any mind.

 It was during these quiet moments that you could slip away and meet your secret lover, Anthony Bridgerton.

Your heart raced as you heard footsteps approaching from the opposite end of the hall. 

Quickly, you ducked behind a large marble pillar, careful not to make a sound.

 It was him. 

Anthony. 

His broad shoulders filled out his tailcoat perfectly, his dark hair mussed from their previous rendezvous in the gardens. 

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to step out from your hiding place and run to him.

 But you both had to be careful. 

If anyone found out about your trysts, it would not only bring scandal upon both your family.

Anthony paused at the foot of the stairs, glancing around furtively before darting his gaze toward the pilar where you were hiding. 

Your eyes met, and a shiver of desire ran down your spine. You could feel his presence, could almost taste him. 

Slowly, he began to climb the stairs, his footsteps silent against the richly woven carpet. 

When he was close enough, you whispered his name, your breath hot against his ear.

"Y/n," he breathed, his voice thick with desire. 

He reached out and cupped your face in his hands, pulling you closer. 

Your lips met in a hungry kiss, your tongues tangling as you tried to express all the feelings you had both been harboring throughout the day. 

You moaned into the kiss, arching your back against his chest. 

You could feel Anthony's arousal pressing against your stomach, and you ached for him.

You pulled away from the kiss, gasping for air.

 "I want you, Anthony. I need you." Your voice was urgent, pleading.

 He smiled down at you, his eyes dark with lust. "And I need you, y/n. Tonight, you're the midpoint of all my desires."

As he spoke, Anthony scooped you up into his arms, carrying you down the hall to a private chamber where you both could be alone. 

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the walls. 

He laid you down on the large, four-poster bed, both your hearts racing in anticipation of what was to come. 

Anthony stripped off his clothes, revealing his muscled chest and powerful arms. 

And you watched, mesmerized, as he climbed onto the bed and crawled towards you.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "I don't want to hurt you."

You reached up and traced his jawline with your finger.

 "I trust you, Anthony. I want this. I want you." Your words sent a shiver through him, and with one swift motion, he pushed inside you. 

You cried out, arching your back in pleasure as he filled you. Your bodies moved in perfect rhythm, lost in the passion of the moment.

Around you, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, intimate bubble. 

The air was thick with your breaths and the sound of your moans as you made love. 

You could feel yourself growing closer to the edge, your body tensed and aching for release. 

As Anthony thrust deeper inside you, you arched your back off the bed, crying out in ecstasy as your passion finally exploded around you both.

As your breathing began to slow, you wrapped your arms around Anthony, nestling your head against his chest. 

He stroked your hair gently, kissing the top of your head.

 "I love you," you whispered.

"I love you too," he murmured back. "I've never felt this way about anyone before." 

You lay together for a while longer, lost in the afterglow of your lovemaking. 

But soon, you would have to part ways and return to your respective lives. 

For now, you had this moment, this secret, shared between you.

 Anthony rolled off of you, propping himself up on one elbow as he looked down at you.

 His eyes traced the line of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, the soft curve of your stomach.

 He ran a finger down your cheek, wiping away a stray hair.

You smiled up at him, feeling a mixture of contentment and sadness well up inside you.

 You knew that this was only the beginning of your journey together and that you had many obstacles yet to overcome. 

But for now, at this moment, you wanted nothing more than to stay wrapped in Anthony's arms, safe and protected from the outside world.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You smiled up at him, your heart still racing from your lovemaking.

 "I was just thinking about how much I wish we could stay like this forever." You trailed your fingers along his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

Anthony laughed softly, kissing your forehead. 

"I wish that too, but we can't. We have responsibilities, both to ourselves and to those who rely on us. But," he added, a mischievous glint in his eye, "we can find ways to sneak away from time to time, can't we?"

You looked into his eyes, seeing the promise there.

 "We can," you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper. "And when we do, I want it to be like this. Just us, together."

He smiled, his gaze drifting down to your lips.

 "I promise you, my lady, that it will always be like this between us. No matter what life throws at us, I will always find a way to come back to you." His words sent a shiver of anticipation through you, and you leaned in closer, pressing your body against his.

As you both lay there together, lost in your thoughts and the afterglow of your lovemaking, you couldn't help but wonder about the future. 

You knew that your relationship was forbidden, and that you faced an uphill battle against the conventions and expectations of your time. 

But for now, you chose to focus on the here and now, on the warmth of Anthony's skin against yours, the beat of his heart beneath your ear.

Anthony shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow once more. 

His eyes roamed over your face, taking in every detail, as if he were trying to commit it all to memory. 

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I could spend hours looking at you."

You felt your cheeks flush at his words. 

You wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment forever, to forget about everything else and just be with him. 

But you knew that the world wouldn't wait for you, that both of you would have to eventually face reality.

"What about your duties as a Viscount?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Anthony smiled tenderly, reaching up to cup your cheek in his hand. "My heart lies with you, y/n. I will always find a way to balance my responsibilities with my love for you," he added with a mischievous glint in his eye, "I'm a smart man, do not underestimate me."

You smiled back at him, feeling a sense of peace wash over you.

 For now, you had each other.

 And even though you knew your time together was limited, you would make the most of it, cherishing every moment you could steal away from the rest of the world.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Order as Antagonist in TDP

So how about that trailer, eh? I was so excited I didn't notice this text up top on TDP's tweet for like. An hour.

We haven't heard anything about this Cosmic Order before. Is it a specific group? Is it a vibe? Is it a Startouch thing? Hard to say, yet. But there are some vibes from the Starscraper shots we've gotten in the trailer and teaser that may point us in the right direction:

This place has eight pillars, each with a recess that holds a relic staff seemingly identical to the one Viren's been toting around. It's not unique, and Aaravos didn't craft it. He stole it.

This is the Prometheus part of Aaravos' character. This is the fire that he stole for humans, from the gods. The relic staff. A relic staff, one of many.

Why did he, a godlike elf himself, feel the need to commit this act, for which he was cast down, exiled, and stripped of much of his power? Why?

Hard to say yet, but knowing all that he is capable of, I think it comes down to one thing: stealing it was the only way to get it. Nothing else he could think of would work. And he's pretty imaginative. But the system, the Cosmic Order, had him, too. He's a magic elf, bound by the same forces as everyone else up there. Breaking the rules was his only remaining option.

Aaravos chose Chaos over Order and put his money where his mouth is. He did get exiled and cast out, but humans have magic now. Somehow, that's not a thing the Order can take back from them, once it's out - rather like Pandora's Box.

But I want to look at this Order, and how pervasive it must be. How else would a powerful elf like Aaravos be reduced to petty thievery to accomplish his ends? Surely he tried other ways, other options, other persuasions. Why didn't they get him anywhere? Why did he have to take such a - for lack of a better term - human approach to the problem?

Let's back up a second and look at a seemingly random list of likes for one specific elf: Runaan. (no of course it isn't random, this is why this theory post exists. but shh, it'll make sense I promise)

Runaan likes four things in this list. Two of them are his immediate family. One is his favorite food. And the last item on the list?

Order.

I used to think this was just a bit of a wink to him being autistic-coded and liking his patterns. And I still do think that's accurate. But my third eye got pried open by the Cosmic Order text, and I think it's more than that now.

Runaan is a tiny cog in the grand engine that is the Cosmic Order. He goes where he is told, he kills who he is told to kill, he obeys without question, no matter how heinous his acts would be - he would have killed Ezran without blinking, because that's what the Dragon Queen told him to do.

Runaan is the most Moonshadow Moonshadow, according to the Deluxe Elf Interview. He's the epitome of what it means to be a Moonshadow elf. His devotion, sacrifice, and adherence to the rules are what makes him a good Moonshadow elf.

How convenient for the Order.

Runaan is still an individual, inside his own rules. He chose to become an assassin, and he did it to spare others from having to take lives and live with the weight of those acts. But that does imply that if he hadn't chosen this path, someone else would have, and people would still be dying.

And I think he's right. Maybe his love of order actually lets him perceive the great gears grinding over his head, up in the stars, turning the wheels of fate for everyone they control. Maybe he knows full well that he's part of a grand system - but there's nothing he can do about it except stay alive or die, because he is trapped inside it. He cannot change his fate because he is locked into it, just like everyone around him.

The Book 1 novelization tells us Runaan always expected to die on a mission, and that he meets that fate with a calm resignation on the balcony. He surrenders to his fate, because he cannot fight it.

What could lock Runaan into a fate that ends with him dying on a mission?

His own choices? Think bigger.

His society, then. Obligation, honor, guilt. Hmm, bigger than that.

It's been there the whole time - something that all the elves and dragons possess, but humans don't. Something which caused the imbalance in the first place.

Magic.

Magic is the Cosmic Order.

yes it has eight points and yes I'm back on my bullshit

Quick aside: The Cosmic Order is turning out to be the big magic version of King Harrow's Narrative of Strength, which he contrasted with the Narrative of Love - and we'll get back to that at the end of the post.

Alrighty, back to magic: The worst offenders seem to be the primal magics, which have locked the elves and dragons into very tight little boxes as far as what they can and cannot do, think, and imagine. An elf with a single arcanum can only think in terms of that primal source. It's as bad as an irl human who only knows one language, and so their brain literally cannot conceive of concepts that exist in other languages. (Learn more languages, guys, it's genuinely good for your brain, I am not kidding)

This helps explain why Aaravos was able to think a little bit outside his box and consider giving magic to humans when the Order said they didn't deserve any. He is an archmage, and he speaks many magical languages. He knows all six primal magics, as well as the ancient blood magic and dark magic. That's eight different ways of looking at a problem.

(is this why elves only have 8 fingers, because they literally cannot grasp anything outside of magic?)

From his multifaceted viewpoint, Aaravos can see the inherent unfairness in humans being forced to abide by the Order without getting any magic for their trouble. It's basically taxation without representation.

The Americans among us can attest to how well that went over in our own history.

Aaravos: Prometheus, Lucifer... Che Guevara... Guy Fawkes?

Aaravos really does love revolution.

Further thought: this post about Ethari's design has reminded me again about his lower-than-average magical ability and how that has manifested in his unique design and in his character. And I'm looking directly at how Ethari's lesser magic power may be the reason he's so mentally flexible. If he can challenge Runaan directly about how Rayla is not ready for that mission when everyone else is going along with it, isn't that lack of narrow-mindedness the thing that sets him apart?

What else might that freedom of thought do for him? Is this the reason he is actually able to invent at all? Because he is capable of envisioning that which does not yet exist? How rare that must be among Moonshadow elves!

tldr: Ethari is actually bad at being a Moonshadow elf, and that could very well be what saves him.

Contrast Ethari with Karim, who is a powerful Sunfire mage, and very much locked into his traditional views of elf vs human. He's willing to go to war in order to impose his views on all of the Sunfire elves if he can, because he genuinely believes he can see the Order of things better than anyone else can.

He believes in the superiority of the elven ways, while Janai has let her heart change her mind. Janai fell in love with a human, and it broke the Order's hold on her. She makes history now - it does not make her.

Side note: Is this... is this the formula, then? Is this how enduring ships work in TDP? An elf with a normal arcanum, paired with either a human or an elf with a "flawed" connection to the Order inside them? One who can anchor, and one who can imagine?

Let me make a quick list:

Claudia+Terry

Ethari+Runaan

Callum+Rayla

Amaya+Janai

Well. How bout that.

Ironically, this is a different path to what was going to be my final point in the first place: Order may be the default for elves and dragons and the way they are supposed to follow the rules of the universe, but love still exists, and they can always choose to embrace it. They can all be saved by love, in the end. It's their choice. In fact, choosing Love over Order is an act of defiance in itself.

Terry chose Claudia over fear. Janai chose Amaya over war. Rayla chose Callum over vengeance. And Runaan, my poster boy for stubbornness and suffering, chose Ethari over Order itself.

Saved by love.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

How does the protection magic that Lily's sacrifice placed on Harry work? On that note- how do the blood wards placed on the Dursley household operate?

Like- does the latter act as a notice me not/ fidelius of its own? Protecting Harry's location from other magicals? (It would have been easy for another Longbottom tragedy to occur after all) from what I remember the blood wards have no affect on the protection cast by Lily's sacrifice, and instead sort of extend the effect to the household???

Also on the topic of the protection- we saw the end Quirrel met. And... I just wondered- why didn't this sort of reaction extend to all the people - the Dursleys included- who laid their hands + spells on Harry with the intent to harm? By all means the blood wards should have fallen the moment The Dursleys tried to physically harm Harry. Can't see a protection powered by Lily's intent, extending to people who mean her son harm.

Unless of course the magic and the wards are targetted at Riddle specifically. Which brings the question- why didn't it set on fire/ harm anything considering even the traces of Riddle's presence/ influence. Eg. The people with the death Eater brands, the horcruxes, the soul shard inside Harry himself??

Ugh. Just so many questions.

Ps. Could the blood wards have been transferred/ worked in a residence comprising of the people Harry considered as his family and who reciprocated this sentiment? (based on the importance of intent to keep the spell going)

Wow, @ana-lyz, just like with the veil and death asks, I just started drafting a post about Lily's blood protections and what Dumbledore says about them. So...

Lily's Love Protection and Dumbledore's Blood Wards

Alright, strap in...

Okay, so let's start by seeing what we're told about the blood protections and whether we can gather something cohesive that makes magical sense out of it.

We have Voldemort's statement on this piece of magic:

“...I wanted Harry Potter’s blood. I wanted the blood of the one who had stripped me of power thirteen years ago . . . for the lingering protection his mother once gave him would then reside in my veins too. . . . “But how to get at Harry Potter? For he has been better protected than I think even he knows, protected in ways devised by Dumbledore long ago, when it fell to him to arrange the boy’s future. Dumbledore invoked an ancient magic, to ensure the boy’s protection as long as he is in his relations’ care. Not even I can touch him there. . . .

(GoF, 657)

Notice there is the lingering protection from Lily's magic and the ancient magic Dumbledore invoked. These are, I believe separate spells.

Dumbledore's statements:

“But why couldn’t Quirrell touch me?” “Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn’t realize that love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign…to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good.”

(PS, 215)

“But I knew too where Voldemort was weak. And so I made my decision. You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated — to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you. She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother’s blood. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative.” “She doesn’t love me,” said Harry at once. “She doesn’t give a damn —” “But she took you,” Dumbledore cut across him. “She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother’s sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you.” “I still don’t —” “While you can still call home the place where your mother’s blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past fifteen years.”

(OotP, 835-836)

Here again, Dumbledore mentions the ancient magic he made the decision to protect Harry with as a separate thing from the lingering protection from Lily.

And (as per this post) the Dumbledore Harry hallucinates statement:

“He took my blood.” said Harry. “Precisely!” said Dumbledore. “He took your blood and rebuilt his living body with it! Your blood in his veins, Harry, Lily’s protection inside both of you! He tethered you to life while he lives!”

(DH, 598)

And then we have what happened to Quirrell:

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell’s face — “AAAARGH!” Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn’t touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain — his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse. Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off — the pain in Harry’s head was building — he couldn’t see — he could only hear Quirrell’s terrible shrieks and Voldemort’s yells of, “KILL HIM! KILL HIM!”

(PS, 212)

What we know from this

Well, from the above quotes we can divide the magical protections on Harry into 2 different spells as I mentioned above:

Lily's sacrificial love protection - the intention magic Lily cast by protecting her son. This is the magic that blocked the Killing Curse and killed Quirrell.

Dumbledore's blood ward - this is the spell Dumbledore cast that (supposedly) protects Harry in his relatives' home. Voldemort says Dumbledore invoked this magic, and Dumbledore also mentions it's a ward he left that built upon Lily's protection, but it's not a spell Lily left.

So, what can Lil'y Sacrificial Love Protection do:

Makes the Killing Curse not kill Harry.

Returns the Killing Curse back to the sender.

Continues to hurt that initial "sender" whenever he tries to kill Harry.

What about Dumbledore's Blood Wards what do they do:

Nothing.

Dumbledore and Voldemort say this magic exists but it never does anything. We never see it active, it never protects Harry from anyone, neither his relatives nor Death Eaters. So, we don't know what it's supposed to be doing since it doesn't do anything in the books.

Voldemort says it won't allow him to touch Harry in his relatives' house.

How I think these spells actually work

I'll start with Dumbledore's Blood Wards:

I simply don't think this ward actually exists.

Dumbledore isn't very consistent with how this protection works. He says Harry needs to return for a bit to live with Petunia for the magic to work, but if that's all the requirement, why long weeks? Couldn't he return for a shorter time? And each year he spends a different amount of time at Private Drive? Couldn't he always be sent back just for the minimal required time? At first, the ward was about love but then it isn't, he says this: "While you can still call home the place where your mother’s blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort."

Harry didn't think of Private Drive as a home:

Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he’d already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had.

(PS, 123)

“I believe he had several reasons, though he confided none of them to Professor Dippet,” said Dumbledore. “Firstly, and very importantly, Voldemort was, I believe, more attached to this school than he has ever been to a person. Hogwarts was where he had been happiest; the first and only place he had felt at home.” Harry felt slightly uncomfortable at these words, for this was exactly how he felt about Hogwarts too.

(HBP, 431)

Harry never considered Private Drive and the Dursleys his home. Hogwarts was his first home.

If there is no love and it isn't a home, even if Dumbledore did cast a blood ward based on Petunia and Lily's sacrifice it won't actually be active. But personally, I don't think this ward actually exists.

Dumbledore needs a reason to keep Harry with his relatives.

Dumbledore needs Harry malleable, low on self-esteem, and lacking in a support network. Because he knew since October 1981 (but probably before) that he'd likely need Harry to die. He suspected Harry was a Horcrux from practically day 1:

Under a tuft of jetblack hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning. “Is that where —?” whispered Professor McGonagall. “Yes,” said Dumbledore. “He’ll have that scar forever.” “Couldn’t you do something about it, Dumbledore?” “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars can come in handy...

(PS, 13-14)

And being raised by the Dursleys ensured that when the time came, when Dumbledore needed Harry to die to destroy Voldemort, Harry would be willing. Because Harry would not put much worth in his own life. Because of that, I think it's not outside the realm of possibility Dumbledore would lie about this ward to have an excuse to keep sending Harry to the Dursleys.

(Sure, Dumbledore would've preferred not to kill Harry if it could be avoided, but he had been preparing for the situation since October 1981)

It's not like he did anything to better their treatment of Harry until book 6, when he needed Harry to start trusting him more...

And like I mentioned above, even if the ward was there, it would not be active because Private Drive was never a home for Harry. And after year 4, when Voldemort took his blood, any protection from any blood-related magic would be moot. Because Voldemort would not be counted as a threat by the ward.

So Dumbledore sending Harry back to the Dursleys after he knew the wards he left (if they were there at all) were gone, proves to me Harry's placement at the Dursleys was never about the wards to begin with. Because if the blood wards are gone, literally anywhere else around wizards who could protect Harry would be safer than at the Dursleys, even when thinking of Death Eaters and Voldemort as the only threat. If they came to find Harry at Private Drive, nothing would've stopped them (except Harry himself).

I could guess wards like this, if they actually were active, would have been an extension of Lily's protection and stopped Voldemrot from being able to enter the Dursleys' residence. From what's said, it seems this ward seems to target Voldemrot specifically, and no one else. But, as I mentioned, I don't think it's really there.

Lil'y Sacrificial Love Protection:

I mentioned in the past how intention and emotion mean a lot for magic in the HP universe. Lily, a witch who we are told repeatedly was powerful, intelligent, and talented, could very well cast a powerful protection out of her love and intention to protect her son. That is 100% possible with what we see magic is capable of and how magic seems to work.

That being said, the fact this never happened before suggests to me Lily did something different than just having a very strong wish for her son to survive. Dumbledore says it's because she had a choice, and in a way it is, but not because Voldemort gave her the option not to die, but because she chose to die instead of Harry.

I'll try to explain it, bear with me.

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” “Stand aside, you silly girl. . . stand aside now.” “Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—” “This is my last warning—” “Not Harry! Please . . . have mercy. . . have mercy. . . . Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I’ll do anything—” “Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!”

(DH, 297)

This is the "spell" Lily casts — the incantation. This is her wish moments before her death: "Not Harry, kill me instead," that's what she says, that's her promise, that's her wish, that's the magic.

Lily's protection only works on Voldemort because her spell essentially made a bargain with Voldemort (that he didn't agree to). that he'd kill her instead of Harry. Once he killed Lily, he couldn't kill Harry because that was the protection she left him, and Voldemort won't be able to kill him because she died in his stead.

That's why we don't see the same thing happen after James dies to buy Lily and Harry time, why when others die to protect someone they aren't protected from the killing curse. What Lily did is a combination of a few extraordinary circumstances coming together:

She's an incredibly powerful witch (shown by her childhood magic that was very controlled and advanced (not unlike Tom Riddle) and Slughorn's boasting)

She loved Harry dearly. Loved him enough to power an accidental spell.

Chose and intended to die instead of her son. She had intent when making her plea, intent required for any spell.

So what essentially happened is that Lily created a situation where Voldemort physically can't kill Harry because Lily died in his stead. If, for example, Quirrell touched Harry without intending to kill him (like he did when they shook hands in Diagon Alley or when he pulled Harry to stand in front of the mirror) the protection won't activate. All it does is stop Voldemort from killing Harry because he already killed Lily in Harry's stead.

So, Voldemort, as I mentioned in the past, wants to kill Harry, this is his only ambition in the 2nd war. So he takes Harry's blood into himself so the protection won't work anymore. And we see it doesn't in the woods when Voldemort casts the killing curse and it doesn't rebound back on him (which would've happened otherwise).

This love protection from Lily doesn't require anything to stay active. It was cast because Voldemort killed her and Harry doesn't need to do anything to keep it active. Staying with the Dursleys wasn't for the sake of Lily's spell but for Dumbledore's ward.

As for Lily's spell not protecting Hary from anything else, like I mentioned, the bargain was that Voldemort would kill her instead of Harry, it would only protect Harry from being killed by Voldemort. If Voldemort just asked a random Death Eater to kill Harry it still wouldn't have worked, but that won't be because of Lily's love magic, but because of Harry pretty much always being the Master of Death.

Basically, Voldemort was doomed because he had no chance of killing Harry. Ever.

But what about when Harry died in book 7 and said he cast the same sacrificial love?

Well, I don't think Harry cast the same sacrificial love. His feelings and intentions were completely different. In his case, I think he just took the mastership of the Elder Wand so it wasn't performing as well for Voldemort afterward.

Conclusions

There are actually two different and distinct spells referred to by the characters when it comes to the protections Lily left for Harry.

The first is Lily's Sacrificial Love Spell which worked like a bargain. She pleaded with Voldemort to kill her instead of Harry and after he killed her, he could no longer kill Harry because he was protected.

Voldemort taking Harry's blood does indeed circumvent this spell and allows him to kill Harry in the woods (if temporarily).

The second is the Blood Ward Dumbledore talks about that is supposedly placed on the Dursleys' home. This spell was invoked by Dumbledore and is not part of Lily's spell.

It's supposed to build on and strengthen Lily's protection from what's implied.

this second spell would've stopped its activity the moment Harry stopped considering number 4, Private Drive his home (which happened quite young, as he doesn't remember ever considering it a home)

Personally, I don't think this blood ward ever existed, but even if it did, it was moot from the get-go and never done anything.

Voldemort taking Harry's blood in year 4, circumvented this ward too.

Basically, Dumbledore kept Harry at the Durselys less because of the wards and more because it suited him to ensure Harry would become the martyr he needed him to be (something I should write a full post about eventually).

[theenchantresx]

Shadows of the Crown

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC Reader

Trigger Warnings: Violence and war (discussions of bloodshed, massacres), Emotional manipulation, Psychological trauma and guilt, Grief and loss (discussion of family betrayal, loss of loved ones), Mentions of past abuse and cruelty, Toxic relationships

Word Count: 3,500 words

All images are taken from Pinterest: credits to the original owners

The halls of the Red Keep were darker than usual, dimmed not just by the oncoming twilight but by the heavy weight of tension that seemed to seep into every corner. War loomed over the Seven Kingdoms like an ill-fated storm, and its cold winds had finally reached King's Landing. As Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen was supposed to be the pillar of strength, but even steel cracks under enough pressure.

The fire of his kin was burning him alive.

You had been one of the few who could still approach him without fear of being dismissed. Though "approach" was a loose term—he never truly allowed anyone close, not since he had turned his back on his family. His eye, the one left unscathed, was hard as dragonstone whenever you stood before him. And the one that was lost, now replaced by the sapphire, seemed even colder.

Tonight was no different.

You found Aemond in the council chamber, the stench of conspiracies still lingered in the air. Maps, letters, and spilled wine cluttered the table before him, untouched since the maesters had delivered the latest reports. He stood by the window, tall and rigid, the flames of the fireplace casting flickering shadows against his sharp features.

"You’ve come again," Aemond said without turning around. His voice was like poisoned honey, slow, sharp, and dangerous. "I do wonder, have you come to scold me like the rest of them?"

You stepped forward cautiously, sensing the sharp edge of his temper beneath the calm. "I didn't come to scold. I came because you're alone, Aemond. And you know it."

He turned then, slowly, his single violet eye locking onto you. He was regal, tall, a figure that inspired both awe and fear, but the cruelty in his gaze had grown over time—thicker, more consuming, as if the loss of his family’s loyalty had stripped away the last of his humanity.

"Alone?" He chuckled darkly, stepping toward you with a deliberate slowness that made your heart pound. "It is a crown that sits heavy, not companionship I seek. I need no one."

"You've turned everyone against you," you said, keeping your voice steady despite his approach. "Your family, the council, even those who once supported you. What will your rule be, Aemond, if there's no one left to support you?"

He stopped just inches from you, looming over you like the shadow of Vhagar herself. His lips curled in a bitter, mocking smile. "You think I seek fairness? To be a king like my brother? Weak, foolish Aegon… he was an idiot, and where did that get him, hmm? I will not make the same mistake."

The intensity of his gaze was almost unbearable, but you didn’t back down. "And what will your cruelty gain you? Fear? Power? They’re fragile things, Aemond. They slip through your fingers the moment you think you have control. There’s no peace in ruling with only fire and blood."

His smile faltered, just for a moment, but enough for you to see the weariness beneath the façade. Aemond turned away sharply, stalking back to the window with a frustrated exhale. "Peace?" he spat the word as if it were poison. "There is no peace, not for men like me. Only war and treachery. The time for peace ended when my family betrayed me. When they left me to burn in the fires of their ambitions."

"You’ve betrayed them too," you said quietly, knowing it was a risk to push him further. "Your mother, your sister, your brother… You abandoned your house loyalty for what? To avenge wrongs you suffered as a child? To prove you matter because having the biggest and oldest dragon isn't enough? And where did all this lead you?"

Aemond’s hands gripped the windowsill so tightly you could see his knuckles whiten. His back was to you, but you could feel the violent tension rolling off him. "They never saw me," he whispered, low and venomous. "Not truly. I was always the second son, the lesser, the shadow of Aegon. And now they would dare question my rule?"

"They did see you, Aemond. Perhaps not in the way you wanted, but they cared about you in their own twisted way. You still have time to make this right. You don’t have to—"

"Enough!" He whirled on you, his patience snapping. The rage in his eye was feral, unhinged, as if your words had struck a nerve too deep to bear. He advanced on you again, his tone icy. "You think I will grovel before them, beg for their forgiveness? I am Aemond Targaryen, the rider of Vhagar, the right ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. I will not be questioned by anyone. Not by my family, not by you."

His hand shot out and gripped your arm, firm but not painful, though the threat lingered in the air between you. His touch was cold, as though all the warmth had been leeched from him by the cruelty he had embraced.

"I am not here to question you," you said, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I’m here because I know you. Beneath all this, I know there’s a part of you that doesn't want to rule like this. You’re stronger than the hatred you’re clinging to, Aemond."

His eye searched yours for a long, agonizing moment, as if trying to find some weakness, some opening to crush. And yet, he hesitated. His grip on your arm tightened, but his face betrayed something you hadn’t seen in him for a long time—doubt.

For a heartbeat, you thought he might let go, that the cruelty might crack, but then he released you abruptly and turned his back once more. The coldness returned, the wall between you rising higher than before.

"You think you understand me," he said, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. "But you’re wrong. I will not bend. And you’d be wise to remember your place."

You stood in silence, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a cloak of frost. There was still a glimmer of hope, buried deep beneath his anger and pride, but it was slipping away, just as he was.

"If you continue down this path, Aemond," you said softly, taking a step back, "you’ll end up with nothing but ashes in your hands."

He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The silence between you spoke volumes, and as you turned to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had just witnessed the last flicker of light before the darkness consumed him entirely.

Perhaps one day he would see reason. Or perhaps, like his dragon, he would only ever know how to burn.

And if that day came, you feared even you might not be able to save him.

The door creaked behind you, the weight of your words still heavy in the air, but Aemond's silence held you rooted to the spot for a moment longer. You had seen the fleeting doubt in him, but that spark was suffocated as quickly as it had surfaced. His back remained turned, his gaze locked on the darkening horizon beyond the Red Keep’s windows.

You lingered by the threshold, hesitating. Leaving him like this—angry, alone—felt like sealing his fate. The civil war had already claimed too much; if Aemond fell further into his madness, there might be nothing left to salvage.

“I dreamt of Harrenhal,” you said softly, not quite looking at him. “Before the war… before all of this.”

Aemond stiffened, but he didn’t turn around. The mere mention of Harrenhal twisted something in him, something raw. You had struck another nerve, deeper than the last.

“I’ve seen the ruins in those dreams. I’ve seen you there, standing in the ashes.”

Still, no response. His silence was damning.

You took a breath and pressed on, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "That place… Harrenhal… it broke something in you, didn’t it?"

At that, Aemond finally turned, his single eye narrowing dangerously. “Broke me? Do not presume to know what I endured there.” His voice was a low growl, filled with a venomous bite. “Harrenhal did not break me. It forged me.”

There was a cold pride in his tone, but beneath it, you heard something else—something darker. You had heard the rumors, the whispers of what had happened at Harrenhal when Aemond had claimed the cursed castle. There had been blood, fire, and a cruelty even you had not imagined he was capable of.

“I know what you did there,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “The executions, the massacre. The blood on your hands… and for what, Aemond? What did it gain you?"

He stepped closer, the firelight catching the gleam of his sapphire eye. “It gained me control. Fear. Power.”

“Power built on ash,” you countered, your voice steady despite the cold dread pooling in your chest. "You didn’t need to kill all those people, Aemond. They weren’t your enemies; they were just… there.”

“They were in my way,” he said, as if that justified everything.

You shook your head, fighting the urge to step back from him. "The blood of innocents isn’t a price worth paying for your throne. Harrenhal… it’s cursed, you know that. It’s been a ruin since the day it was built, and now you carry that curse with you."

Aemond’s lip curled in a sneer. "Cursed? Don’t speak to me of superstitions. I don’t fear ghosts, nor do I fear the weight of my decisions. I did what needed to be done. And if I have to do it again, I will."

“You’ve become as cursed as the place itself,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. “And it’s driving you mad.”

For a moment, his sneer faltered, and you caught a glimpse of something else—an unease that flickered in his eye before it hardened again. He was quick to push it down, burying it beneath layers of bitterness and pride.

Aemond turned away from you, pacing the room like a caged dragon. “I am not mad,” he hissed, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. “I see clearly, clearer than I ever have before. I see the weakness in my family. I see the cowardice in their hearts.”

You could feel the heat rising in your chest, frustration swelling with each word he spoke. “This isn’t about your family anymore, Aemond! This is about you. You’ve let your hatred consume you.”

“Hate is all I have left,” he said, his voice a quiet, dangerous whisper. “What else do you expect me to hold onto? Love? Forgiveness?”

His eyes bored into yours with a cold, mocking intensity, and you could see the bitterness in them—the pain he refused to admit, even to himself. He was a prince surrounded by shadows, a ruler with a kingdom of ash beneath his feet.

But there was something else—something that hadn’t been spoken of yet.

“Helaena…” you said, and Aemond’s jaw tightened visibly at the sound of her name. “She saw all of this before it happened, didn’t she? The blood, the war… the destruction of your family. She tried to warn you.”

The mere mention of Helaena seemed to crack something in him. He turned sharply, his voice trembling with a barely-contained fury. “Do not speak of my sister.”

“She loved you, Aemond. Despite all, she tried to save you with her prophecies, but you wouldn’t listen—”

“Her words were riddles,” he spat, advancing on you again. “Nonsense! How could she save me when she could barely save herself?”

You could hear the agony beneath his anger now, the guilt he tried so desperately to hide. Helaena’s death had wounded him more deeply than any battlefield loss, and you knew he carried the weight of it like a chain around his neck.

“Helaena wasn’t mad, Aemond. You know that. She saw things none of us could. She warned you—she saw this war, saw the death that would come if you continued down this path. And yet you ignored her, even when you knew she spoke the truth.”

Aemond’s face twisted with grief, but it was fleeting, quickly replaced by a mask of cold indifference. “It’s too late now. Helaena is gone. And her words…” He trailed off, his voice low and bitter. “They mean nothing anymore: I faced death and I'm still here.”

“They mean everything, Aemond.” You stepped closer, your voice urgent. “You’ve become the one that destroys everything it touches.”

He recoiled at that, as if your words had struck him harder than any blade. For a moment, you saw the raw, wounded soul beneath the cruel mask he wore, the boy who had once been overshadowed by his brother, by his family. But that boy was long gone, buried beneath layers of hatred and vengeance.

“I am a Targaryen, a rider of dragons, a ruler by fire and blood. I will not be cowed by whispers and riddles.”

You could feel the distance between you growing once more, the coldness settling in the room like a thick fog. Aemond had buried his humanity beneath the weight of his ambition, and no matter how hard you tried to reach him, the walls he had built around himself were too high to scale.

“If you continue like this,” you said softly, your voice filled with a deep sorrow, “you’ll end up destroying everything, just like Harrenhal. There’ll be nothing left but ruins.”

Aemond stood in silence, staring at the darkened horizon beyond the window, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You could see the war raging within him—the battle between the man he had once been and the monster he was becoming.

But in the end, the shadows won.

“Leave me,” he said coldly, his voice distant. “There’s nothing more to discuss.”

Your heart ached as you looked at him, knowing that you had lost him to the darkness. There was no reasoning with him now, no way to pull him back from the edge.

With a heavy heart, you turned and left the room, the weight of your failure pressing down on you. You had tried to save him, but Aemond had already chosen his path.

And it was a path that led only to destruction.

You paused again at the door, Aemond’s cold command echoing in your mind. Your hand hovered over the handle, but you couldn’t leave. Not like this. The ache in your chest tightened, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled from your lips, raw and trembling.

"Am I nothing to you?"

Your voice cut through the heavy silence, and for a moment, it seemed to still the air in the room. Aemond’s back remained to you, his figure unmoving by the window, but the tension in his posture deepened, like a bowstring pulled too tight.

He didn’t respond immediately, and you took a tentative step forward, your heart hammering in your chest. "After everything… after all these years… do I mean nothing to you? Or am I just another piece to be cast aside like the others?"

Aemond’s head tilted slightly, but he still refused to look at you. You could see his fingers tightening around the windowsill, white-knuckled with restrained anger. His silence felt heavier than any response he could have given.

"I stood by you when no one else would. I tried to understand you when even your family turned away. And yet, here I am, begging for the smallest scrap of the man I thought I knew." Your voice trembled, but you pressed on. "Am I nothing, Aemond? Is that what I am to you?"

At last, Aemond turned to face you, and the coldness in his eye sent a shiver through your spine. The firelight flickered across his sharp features, casting deep shadows that only made him look more like the ruthless dragonlord he had become. But in that moment, there was something else, buried beneath the layers of cruelty—a flicker of guilt, of something he couldn’t admit.

“You presume too much,” he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. “You think your presence here makes you special? That your words can change what I have become?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. "I thought I was more than just another voice in the crowd, Aemond. I thought I mattered to you. But maybe I was wrong."

His eye flashed with something you couldn’t quite place—rage, perhaps, or regret. It was fleeting, but enough to make your chest tighten painfully.

"You do not understand," Aemond said through gritted teeth, his tone laced with frustration. "You cannot understand. There is no room for sentiment, not in this war, not in my world. Feelings, loyalty, love—they are weaknesses, chains that bind me to the past. I cannot afford them."

You felt the sting of his words, but you refused to back down. "You think you’re strong by pushing everyone away, by cutting yourself off from the people who care about you? That’s not strength, Aemond. That’s fear."

His expression darkened, and he took a step toward you, his presence looming like a shadow. "Fear?" he scoffed. "Do you think I fear anything? I’ve faced dragons, war, betrayal, and you think this frightens me?"

"I think you’re afraid of feeling anything at all," you whispered, holding his gaze despite the storm you saw brewing in his eye. "You’re terrified that if you let yourself care, if you let yourself be human for one moment, everything you’ve built will come crashing down."

Aemond’s face twisted with a mix of anger and something far more vulnerable. "You know nothing of what I’ve built, what I’ve sacrificed. My family, my blood, all of it—gone. I have no place for softness, no place for—"

"For me?" you interrupted, your voice breaking. "Is that it? You have no place for me in your life anymore, either?"

For a long, excruciating moment, Aemond didn’t respond. His eye locked onto yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw something—some hint of the man you used to know, the man who had once allowed you close. But whatever softness had flickered in him was quickly smothered by the cold, unyielding mask of the prince regent.

He stepped back, his expression hardening once more. “You are asking questions you don’t want answers to.”

The cold dismissal in his tone was like a blade to your chest, and the silence that followed was suffocating. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall, not in front of him.

"So I’m nothing," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. The realization hit you like a cold wave, and you turned away, your hand gripping the door handle. "After all this time… I’m nothing."

You moved to leave, but before you could open the door, Aemond’s voice cut through the room, softer now, almost pained.

“You were never nothing to me.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the room seemed to freeze. You stopped, heart pounding in your chest, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. His voice, so controlled, so cold, had cracked, just for a moment. But it wasn’t enough—not after everything.

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes as the weight of his words settled over you. “You have a strange way of showing it.”

And with that, you opened the door and stepped out, leaving Aemond Targaryen standing in the shadow of the crown he had so ruthlessly claimed, alone with the weight of the choices he could never take back.

[sinner-sunflower]

A HH Lucifer-centric AU 18/?

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22

I've really debated whether or not I'll post this particular part today or do another mystery and have it revealed in a flashback or something.

But then I said nah I'll give it now so you all can enjoy!

Very dialogue heavy.

I appreciate again your reblogs, likes, and very especially, your comments. Something about seeing your reactions or theories motivates me even more. Nothing says writer's pleasure like the suffering of their readers <3

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Once upon a time, all Lucifer wanted was to create and be happy. To love and be loved just the same. Being the Angel of Creation and Humility, his Father often sought his counsel regarding the first creations. He was affectionately called 'my Morning Star' by his Father, reminding him that he will be the first light His creations shall see.

When tasked with guarding the Garden, he embraced that duty wholeheartedly. But with Adam's growing ego and Lilith's festering defiance, he could feel himself struggling. He had tried so hard to make it comfortable for the both of them but it was never enough. The only reason Lilith stayed in the Garden for as long as she did was because Lucifer refused to leave right away.

Lucifer: It's my duty, Lily!

That's what he had said. He loved Lilith but he was still very much afraid of what repercussions his Father may give for his disobedience.

Then comes Eve.

Eve was a lovely girl. She's Lilith but softer. She's Adam but kinder. But she has no free will. Adam treated her like a maid and she took it all with a graceful smile.

And well, you know what happened next.

An apple. A sin. A trial. A fall. Darkness. Fire. He wants to get outOUTOUTOUTOUT!-

A makeshift table with 2 chairs appear in between him and Roo. The Root of All Evil moves to sit and motions for him to join her. Lucifer hesitates but follows.

Roo: See, dear fallen, your old man damaged me enough that I can't get my original form to heal like it was before. And just when I was recuperating my power, you and your sinful lot sealed me! Low blow, by the way. Thanks yo you, my vessel is truly destroyed.

Lucifer: That's why you take on these forms?

Roo: Yoou got it! I can show you what I originally looked like but it's merely confined in this space. Like every caged animal, I crave freedom. Freedom I am not willing to have without a proper vessel.

She giggles as Lucifer's expression dawns in realization.

Lucifer: You... want me? As your vessel?

Roo: Yup!

Lucifer: But- Why?

Roo: Consider it an investment! Why, I can't think of anyone better to powerful enough to control Hell and dear enough to hold against Heaven.

It was Lucifer's turn to scoff.

Lucifer: Hold against Heaven? I don't have any value to the people up there. I am no longer an angel?

Roo had to put a hand in her mouth to prevent her from laughing too much again.

Roo: Naive, little fallen. You really think that?

Lucifer: I know that! Or did you forget that I was exiled into this god awful pit?!

Roo: Ah. But that's all, isn't it?

Lucifer: I- huh?

Roo: Your angelic status is all that they took from you, no? And this place is merely a change of office. You still answer to Heaven, whether you admit it or not. You still watch over humanity, albeit the worst ones. And most importantly, you were not stripped of your heavenly powers. You know why? Because you-

She boops his forehead and it took all of his willpower not to bite her finger off.

Roo: -are God's little favorite.

Lucifer: That's not true.

Roo: Yes it is. Tell me, Lucifer. If God was to punish you for the greatest Sin ever committed, why leave you with power to rule it? If that was you, wouldn't you take away all of their being and leave them to rot in the very bottom of the grave they dug themselves? Why would I cast them out them make them rule it? That's just absurd.

Lucifer: You're speaking nonsense.

Roo: Am I? The old man obviously loved you enough to let you keep your divine powers. He probably could not stand the thought of His beloved son suffering at the hands of some lowly human souls.

The Sin of Pride wants to rebuke but can't get the words out. He always did wonder why he still had his wings, why he could still create, why he was made the King.

'Was it really your love, Father?'

He shakes his head and leaves that thought. He may not be at the bottom of the food chain, that doesn't change the fact that he did not, is not suffering.

Lucifer: And you think saying all that will make me give your reign on my body?

Roo: Of course not! But you asked and I gave my answer.

Lucifer: And what happens if I say yes?

Roo: Not a matter of if, fallen. I know you will.

Lucifer: I need you to be more specific.

Roo: Insurance. We already established that you do not have anything else to trap me with and I'd be more than happy to consume all of Hell. It will be a nice snack before my comeback. So, really, what other choice do you have?

Lucifer: I am not just going to let you use my body to get out of here and destroy Hell another way!

Roo: Woah! Who said I'll be destroying Hell? I just want a vessel so I can explore! Plus, as soon as I enter your body, your little Ring would be back to normal.

She produces a golden contract out of the blue and lays it down for Lucifer to see.

Roo: So, let's make a deal.

Lucifer: No.

Roo: Hush. Let me finish. I get my vessel and I won't touch a single thing in Hell anymore. Your body will act as my new "container" by which, until your demise, will remain yours.

Wait.

Lucifer: What? My demise?

Roo: Yup!

Lucifer: I'm immortal. If we go through with this, you'll never see the light of day again.

This is too good to be true. Not only will Roo be sealed for good but then Hell will safe. So why-

Roo: Then what's the fuss? You trap me forever and with you being immortal, won't even have to think about the other end of the bargain. Fun, right?!

Lucifer: No. What are you not telling me? Why after my 'death'? Is something going to happen that will permanently kill me?

She just gave him a menacing smiles.

Roo: Time is relevant, fallen. There will always be slips and an ancient being like myself, I'm bound to see something in between.

Lucifer: Quit being cryptic!

He is at his wits end. The longer he stays here the worse it gets outside!

Roo: Let me put down the basics of this offer then: I get my vessel and I'll stop this little party trick of mine. I will reside inside you until your 'hypothetical death' by which I'll claim all your being, powers and all. I'll even throw in a sweet deal of letting you keep your soul or have you give it to whoever you wish.

Lucifer: .....

Lucifer: I want to add conditions.

Roo: Be my guest~

Lucifer: In the aftermath of my death, you will do everything in your power to protect Hell and its people against anyone or anything that puts it in danger as long as you reside in my body. That means I also prevent you from leaving this vessel for another to get out of that clause.

Roo: Wonderful-

Lucifer: Hold on. I'm not done. Since you said that you do not wish to have property of my soul, you are to give it to Charlotte Morningstar. She will also ascend as acting ruler of Hell upon my death, not you. But you get to keep being the most powerful demon in Hell.

Roo: Hmmm. Sounds fair. I like those odds, my friend. So-

Roo holds out her glowing red hand. She no longer wore Charlie's face but instead she is now a blob of shadows and eyes. Lucifer has to narrow his eyes to prevent him from being blinded.

Roo: It's a deal then?

Lucifer can already feel Roo's energy inching inside him

Lucifer: Deal.

A handshake. A drop of blood. And a binding contract.

The game is set.

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

Holy shit?? This was so long??

Fun fact: this was one of the scenes I wanted to do in my first AU post, the radioapple one with Lilith and Eve. But this is more fitting here now.

ENJOYYY

please leave what you think!

If there are some changes then it's me proofreading it after posting a;sdkla

[windvexer]

Got any super duper cleansing magical tips?

hell yeah I do brother (nongendered)!

this is just kinda how I do things and people definitely have different opinions but here we go, in no particular order:

If at all possible, physical cleaning is going to go a lonnnnng way towards magical cleansing. Even a little cleaning helps. If we're discussing cleansing something big (like, an entire person, a room, or an entire home), there may also be "key points" which deliver the most cleansing returns if physically cleaned. For example, a human person may find that their spiritual cleansing is very much aided by washing of hands, feet, and face - even if they can't fit in a whole body scrub.

Likewise, certain areas within a room may hold more influence than expected. A certain shelf, bookcase, or corner may alleviate the room of much badness if they alone are tidied and dusted.

In the home overall, look for major thoroughfare areas (perhaps near the front door or kitchen) which have little corners that have gone too far untidied, perhaps sticky with dust.

When it comes to objects, even a little wash, rinse under soapy water, wiping down with a damp cloth, and so forth, can go a long way towards magical cleansing. Often I do not magically "cleanse" at all, as a normal clean suffices for me in most situations.

I don't find physical cleaning to be totally necessary for magical cleansing, but it can be very helpful both as a first step, and to tackle stubborn cleansing problems.

Speaking of physical cleaning, home cleaning recipes also tend to work well for magical cleansing. A little vinegar is a very strong cleansing agent. Steep some lemon and rosemary in that vinegar for a few weeks, and forget about it - that's both a general household cleaner, and it'll cleanse the shit out of your magic stuff, too.

Ammonia is regarded to be an immensely powerful magical cleanser - one that must be heavily diluted, and tends to strip not only negative influences, but positive ones too.

Early on in my education, I was advised that a bit of bleach can go a long way towards destroying magical bonds. So, don't discount the household chemical cabinet.

For the own self, applying bleach or ammonia directly to the skin simply doesn't do - but a very gentle shower scrub containing a bit of salt, plus various kitchen herbs (dealer's choice - try sage and rosemary to start with) goes a long way. Wash from top of head to bottom of feet, and don't forget the back of the neck.

Other mundane things, like filling a space with fresh air or good vibes, are useful in cleansing in general, but may not suffice in heavy-duty situations.

A very fine cleansing charm is created with saltwater, this being from Paul Huson's rhyme in Mastering Witchcraft:

Water and Earth Where you are cast Let no spell, nor ill intention last Not in complete accord with me As my word, so shall it be

My personal lazy modification for the use of incense:

Fire and Air Where you flare Let no spell, nor ill intention last Not in complete accord with me As my word, so shall it be

Speak this over a little bit of salt water (after mixing) or incense (after lighting) and then sprinkle/wave it all about the thing to be cleansed. To be done when physically cleaning did not suffice, or when physical cleaning is not possible, or when feeling a bit fancy, or when preferring to just do magic.

In cases of emergency, or when it's desired to strip all magic and influence away from a thing, put it inside a plastic bag and bury it completely in salt. Seal this entire thing up (ziplocks are under the purview of true magicians) and then cover it up in a black cloth (or inside-out black graphic t-shirt, or oatmeal gray pillowcase, or whatever's on hand - doesn't matter really) in the back of the closet for 3 days and 3 nights, or until you feel like dealing with it.

When retrieved, the object should have no magical influence on it whatsoever.

In cases of confusing or unsatisfying results, consider if "cleansing" is really the action you should take. For example, if a tool is acting up and producing bad results, it might not be because it's "dirty." It could be that the tool needs to be fed. It could be interference from an ancestor looking for attention. It could be because your technique needs an adjustment.

Cleansing is a fine first step, and it's probably not going to hurt anything, but it's kind of like the "have you tried turning it off and on again" of magic. A lot of the times it fixes a lot of problems, but it's not going to fix actual issues that require a mechanic. (The good news is, the mechanic is you, so you're going to save a lot on repair fees)

In advanced cases, consider why things cleanse the way they do, and employ this to your advantage. Rosemary and frankincense may be considered to be "cleansing" because they "raise the vibes" and create an atmosphere incompatible with a lot of heavy bullshit. But, neither of these Allies are really attack dogs (at least, not in my experience).

Clove and Jalapeno are "cleansing" in that they will take the offending energy out behind the woodshed and teach it a lesson, and tell it not to come back to town or else. But, in my experience, neither of these allies really elevate a space with the heavenly touch of more celestial Allies.

So while I would say the average "cleansing formula" (whether it be a vinegar, an incense, and so forth) works in most situations, from time to time a more nuanced approach is helpful. Like a stubborn little stain, difficult-to-cleanse energies aren't necessarily powerful or bad - they're just nonreactive with whatever formula you're trying to use.

[lostinthesasuke]

I just saw your Sasuke as Joan of Arc art and first of all I LOVE IT second of all I think it gave me a new kind of brain worms. Begging you to elaborate on what you mean by Sasuke would understand how Joan of arc felt, please I feel insane.

first of all thank you so much, that means a lot to me. <3

second of all, not sure if you know the can of (brain)worms u just opened. this is long so buckle up.

joan of arc was born into a century long war between france and england, and saw her home destroyed.

sasuke was born into a military state where children are primed to be perfect soldiers the moment they are old enough to hold a kunai. the state groomed his brother into a murderer, stripped his home and family from him.

throughout her life, joan of arc saw visions of saint michael, telling her she would be the one to lead france to salvation. joan vowed to avenge her country, and petitioned the king. at seventeen, joan was sent to war. at seventeen, she was victorious. when france was triumphant, she was beloved. when the tide of battle turned, she was blamed. she was burned at the stake.

sasuke was plagued by visions too, images of his family eviscerated at the hands of the most important person in his world. burned into his eyes like a brand, forced to watch on repeat.

with that, he resolved to wage his own war.

joan, who was once revered as a pure maiden and was made a symbol rather than a girl, became despised; villainized, and accused of demonic possession.

sasuke was made a symbol, too. the last of his clan, a powerful asset. an uchiha, a holder of a desired kekkei genkai, not a boy. he fled. like joan, he sought a powerful entity to gain strength, to forge his path in battle.

at seventeen, he learned the truth about his clan's state-sanctioned genocide. at seventeen, they called for his execution, too. discarded once he no longer served konoha's purpose, had abandoned the so-called 'will of fire'. the illustrious uchiha name tainted by blood, by a farcical "curse".

his opponent used the very power stolen from his kin, their doujutsu embedded in his arms. joan's detractors still benefited from her name long after her demise, too.

joan's emergence was prophesied, a legend of a virgin who would bring peace to france and end the war.

a virgin, pure. 

sasuke's ideological purity is a topic that has been debated at length by both his supporters and critics, both in the text and real life (and kishimoto himself.)

sasuke's "purity" and the morality of his actions are always under scrutiny. which follows since his clan name has been "dirtied". 

joan was also forced to defend her purity. a maiden and a virgin, she was put on trial for her supposed lack of virtue with her life hanging on the verdict. they labeled her a heretic crossdresser perverted by satan because she kept her hair cropped short and wore only men's clothing. they killed her for it.

sasuke and joan both blur the lines of gender. sasuke is portrayed as a heroine and a femme fatale, and objectified for his looks and his body (whether for power or other nefarious reasons). he is more scantily clad than any of the women characters, and cast in a lascivious light.

joan rebuffed suitors and refused marriage all her life. similarly, sasuke rejected all advances from women throughout the manga (post 700 doesn't exist to me) despite the intensity with which he was pursued.

joan's righteous fury at the british, at the wars that claimed her childhood, are all reflected in sasuke's motivations. in his quest for justice, in his resolution to bring peace to a war torn world, to make those in power pay for the suffering that they are complicit in and dismantle the very framework that allows it.

at seventeen, sasuke decided to become a martyr for the world's hatred. he decided he would be the one to shoulder it all, to purify the world of conflict by taking all of the animosity onto himself. like joan who believed she was sent by g-d to end war, sasuke resolved to become a savior.

a martyr like joan (like itachi), whose guilty verdict was only overturned long after her death. who was canonized as a saint long after mobs raged against her. who became a symbol of freedom and revolution enduring hundreds of years, her name a rallying cry despite the vitriol that claimed her life. 

sometimes when you're seventeen, the voices in your head tell you to start a revolution. sometimes, they're right. sometimes the institutions upheld by those in power need to be cleansed by holy fire, and maybe sometimes something better can rise from the ashes.

[penvisions]

the melting point {chapter 20}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (ex EMT! Reader)

Summary: The anniversary of meeting one Fransisco Morales approaches and with it, your marriage to the man who had become such a large part of your life in all the best ways.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: hurt and comfort, light angst, mild violence, one (1) instance of police abusing their power, talk of past gun violence, ptsd, reader has trauma similar to the triple frontier guys, reader is described as having tattoos for plot points, reader is handicapped, reader uses a cane and wheelchair, reader has mobility issues, adult content, smut, p in v smut, oral (m and f receiving), the whole gang is here, plus oc inserts, hints at a threesome perhaps (haha what?), sappy feelings, sexual feelings, joel and his part of the miller clan make an appearance, mentions of nausea, bodies are weird and so are emotions, (hopefully) good cliffhanger, lemme know if i missed anything else!

A/N: we made it, we did it. y'all this is the last chapter of this labor of love. i lost sight of it for a while there but i saw it through to the end and just a few days shy of the anniversary of the first chapter being posted!! thank y'all so much for being along for the ride ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

“Frankie! Frankie put me down!” You shout, laughter stalled in your throat as the man holds you tight in his grip and starts to walk down the deck.

“Nu-uh, you were badmouthin’ me. Gonna teach you a lesson.” You can’t see the look on his face but you can see the other’s all trying to contain their laughter as your thrown over his shoulder and uselessly pound your fists on his broad back.

“Do not throw me in that water! They’re things in there!”

“It was just a lil snake, mante! He’s more scared of you than you are of him!”

Your next words transform into a scream as Frankie shifts you to cling to his front, arms making sure your secure before he steps right off the last plank of sun warm wood and plunges you both into the water.

“Fransisco!” You shout as you bob up to the surface, legs kicking and arms flailing to keep your head up above the surface. He’s nowhere to be seen and you panic for a moment that you might have kicked him too harshly and he can’t make his way up to the surface. But something grabs a hold of your leg and you’re being pulled down.

He’s right in front of you underneath the surface, bubbles sprouting from his nose as he tries not to laugh at the shocked expression on your face. To sooth you, he swoops in and kisses you deep, giving you the very air from his lungs.

As the sun dips below the horizon, a fire is started in the put right on the deck. The crackling of split wood, bright glowing embers, and raucous laughter float about the air. Someone had come up with the idea to turn a regular game of poker into one of strip. The guys may be good at keeping their cool in tense situations, their training allowing them to think they would have the upper hand. But between you, Morgan, and Isabella whispering conspiratorially amongst yourselves and draping bare arms and legs over each other across the outdoor furniture as you help each other with cards gripped in loose hands, the cast of firelight illuminating the scene for their eyes alone, they had never stood a chance.

They all end up as stark naked as the day they were born, while all three of you have only a few pieces of clothing now exposing bikinis and skin that glowed in the fading firelight. And when Benny makes a beeline for the water at the end of the deck, Santiago is hauling a shrieking Morgan into his shoulder to follow suit. She slaps at his backside and you feel your face heat up as you realize what his clothes hint at is very much not an exaggeration. Frankie catches you eye with a twist of his own lips, but no one sees the way he pulls you into his lap to swallow your weak argument.

It's far too late when everyone is trudging from the cool water, droplets catching moonlight and tired muscles protesting the fun filled day now that it’s come to an end. You fall asleep atop Frankie’s chest in a matter of minutes, his lips pressed to your hair and his voice whispering his love for you.

Florida was a beautiful place to live, the winters weren’t too bad but the storms were. It rained the entire drive back from the cabin, something you suspected Will and Santiago had planned, knowing everyone was going to need a few days to recuperate after the fun of the week. Frankie pulled into the school parking lot just in time to see the bus begin to unload. The children were ushered into a line and lead down the main outdoor hall towards the two buildings of classrooms. Lex looked just as tired as the others, her bright purple umbrella standing out as she held it over her and a classmate.

“We’re giving her two options,” Frankie turned to you as the truck engine idled, holding up two fingers in a peace sign. “Pizza or that Japanese place you both like so much.”

“But-“

“Two options, and those are it.”

“What if-“

“Querida,” He sighs, no match for your wide eyes and pursed lips.

“I’ll be such a good girl for you later, please Fransisco?” You look up at him through your lashes and lean over the empty space on the bench seat between you, letting the collar to your dress dip lower than was appropriate for a school parking lot. It was blaringly obvious you hadn’t put on a bra that morning when you were packing up the sleep clothes and Frankie was mesmerized by the generous view of your cleavage. His hand holding up the peace sign fell to his lap and he shifted to fix himself, beginning to swell at the combination of you begging and the skin on display.

“You want that Mexican place that has the birria ramen, don’t you?”

“Please, Fransisco, I’ve been craving it like mad.”

“You play dirty, sweet girl.” He huffs out as you reach out a hand to caress it down his right arm, following the line of his down to where his hand rested over his lap. Sneaking it under his own, you press your palm fleetingly to the front of his jeans where the shape of him is semi-hard. At his gasp you’re pulling away and back to your side of the bench seat, phone in hand to bring up their menu for Lex to choose from.

“Yeah, but you like it.” You tease with a peek of your tongue between your teeth. He just rolls his eyes before grabbing his wallet from where it was nestled in your bag in the footwell.

“Mhm, love it, love you. Be right back,” He shoots you conspiratorial smirk before he’s moving out of the truck and down the walkway toward the building. He’s left the truck on so the humidity doesn’t seep into the cab of the vehicle.

Later that night, after Lex is in bed after a bath, Frankie slips into the guest room he had moved most of yours and his stuff into until the renovation. You’re fast asleep in the bed, curled up on your side with your hands balled up in front of you. The lamp is still on and your phone is half underneath the pillow you’re resting on as if it fell out of your grip. Your hair is loose and damp from your own attempt to wash the hours on the road away. The oversized shirt you’re wearing it one of his and he can tell you had tried to pull the covers over you but they only got as far as your hips. The two cats are curled up in the crook of your knees and on your pillow beside your head.

Lex had been so overjoyed at the realization that they were coming along with you when Frankie had asked her how she felt about you moving in with them. He now finds her taking her duties to make sure they have water and kibble very seriously, letting you or him know when they’re due for another bag way before one is needed. She didn’t want them to get mad at her if they noticed how low their container is, but he assured her that they weren’t that observant with an amused chuckle.

Sighing your name, he smiles as he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead as he pulls the covers up all the way. He knew you were gonna pass out the second your head hit the pillow, with the way you had begun to doze off on the couch after dinner, some cartoon on the screen to mildly occupy everyone in their hazy and lethargic state. He doesn’t fault you, he knows the week was long for you even if you hadn’t said as much. The swimming in the lake was a relief on your joints as much as it was irritating but he was glad you enjoyed yourself. You deserved it.

Your phone gets plugged into a charger and he makes sure to turn the lamp off on his way back out the door. He tidies up the kitchen from the scattered havoc of take out containers, plastic utensils, and to go cups, making sure it all goes out into the trash right inside the garage. Mind running, he snatches his own phone from the front pocket of his jeans and sends a text off to Joel Miller, double checking that they’re all set for their flight in the morning. As he waits for a response, he sees your truck parked and sitting there, a spot of oil beneath it staining the concrete of the ground.

Frowning he pops the hood and checks it out, making sure everything is okay for you to drive around tomorrow, ensures that your handicap placard is securely in place over the rearview mirror. He spots the large manilla envelope with your handicap emblazoned license and makes sure to replace your old one before he wipes down the dash and cleans out the various left behind items. The cab smells of your perfume and he smiles to himself as he basks in it. Warm vanilla and jasmine, a hint of citrus. You, so unbelievably you that it makes his heartrate pick up.

Something brushes up against his pant leg as he’s leaning into the cap, trying to get something that had fallen under the seat and he startles, bashing his hand on the mechanics of it. Removing himself, he looks down to see the form of your large tabby.

“Hey, Rig, just making sure your mami’s truck is all set for tomorrow.” He bends to scratch between the big guys ears, earning a purr of contentment. “We gotta get her a different car, though, huh bud?”

A long drawn out meow is the cat’s answer.

“What do you think she’d want?” Frankie picks up his phone and hits the button for Benny. The man’s magnetic energy and charming smile his best aid in the endeavor he had been silently thinking on since your release from the hospital. Once you had been cleared to drive, it was a larger worry, you having to climb up into the truck. He was able to help you when you rode with him, but he worried for you when you were out and about on your own.

“Fish, I literally just spent the whole week with you. I love you too, man, but I just laid down for the night.”

“Hey, yeah, sorry. Mind’s just firin’ away.”

“Is everything okay?” Shuffling can be heard down the line, Benny’s tone shifting to one of mild concern.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Lex and Mante are asleep, but I wanted to ask if you were able to go car shopping with me tomorrow.”

“For Manté?”

“Yeah, figured you could help charm the sales representatives and maybe co-sign if my standing isn’t good enough.”

“I’ll do you one better, I’ll sign it and gift it to you. Wedding gift.”

“I don’t-“

“I ain’t worried about it, I got a business to use as collateral. Get me a cheaper rate if they don’t let me just outright purchase something. I want to.”

“Ma’am, you can’t park there. That’s for handicapped civilians only.” A security guard approaches you, ticket book already flipped open. But you just reach for the cane secured in the passenger side and begin the process of getting down from the slightly heightened cab.

“I know.” Is all you say as you, reaching for your bag once your feet are on the ground. But as you turn your back, a shadow falls over you and a hand is wrapping around your upper arm.

“Ma’am, a cane you don’t need is not a good enough cover. Please get back in your vehicle and park somewhere else.”

“I will not be doing that and better get your hands off of me.” You try to be as gentle as you can with yanking your arm away, but you end up jostling not only yourself but he officer who hadn’t expected you to move in such a way. He’s frowning at you, one hand reaching for you again and the other behind his back for what you assume are his cuffs.

“Please don’t make write up a report for resisting arrest AND a ticket.”

“I’m not doing anything except trying to park to pick up my friends.” Bag on your shoulder, you grip the door to the truck and make to close it but the can in your right hand is suddenly gone, your balance along with it. Pain crawls sharp across your entire waist and down your right leg, it had been sore from the second you woke up. “Hey!”

“This,” The officer brandishes your cane now in his hand. Your eyes connect with a few curious passerby and you silently plead with someone, anyone to see that this is uncalled for. “Can be considered a weapon, I’m eradicating the threat and asking for your ID so I can run in through the system.”

“No, you won’t.” You lean heavily against the extended part of the cab, trying to get any weight off your lower half you can but the feeling is slowly waning from your legs. Reaching for your phone, you suddenly find yourself spun around and your front is pressed harshly into the vehicle. “Hey! I need my phone, I need you to get off of me before I fall!”

“There’s no need to shout.”

“Yes there is! You’re hurting me! You took my cane from me, and my hip is hurting!”

“Excuse me, I believe the lady told you to back off.” A deep southern drawl breaks the growing hysteria and frustration, a small crowd gathering around the designated handicap parking right outside the pick up area between the bus lanes and the actual lanes of traffic. You turn your head as best you can with your cheek flush against the silver of your truck to see a pair of tall men and two young girls by back of the parking spot you had chosen to pull into.

The two men who you were supposed to have met inside, Joel and Tommy Miller. And they were stunningly handsome, the girls absolutely gorgeous as they peeked out from behind them.

This was so not how you wanted the first interaction with the two men to go. You had wanted to walk into the baggage claim area and display a cute sign for them, greet them with a smile and drive them to the bakery to show them the apartment they would be living in for the duration of the renovation.

Definitely not this way, them curiously and maybe hesitantly leaving the cool, conditioned atmosphere of the airport in search of you only to find you about to get arrested. Even if they were an extension of your close knit friend group, it wasn’t a good impression.

“Sir, please, this has nothing to do with you.”

“I reckon it does, you got my client pinned up against her truck and her cane in your hand.” Joel stepped forward and your cane dropped from the officers hand to clatter on the ground as he reached for his holstered firearm. “Hey now, all I’m askin’ is that you let her go and we can calmly talk this over.”

“There’s no talking now, she’s illegally parking in a handicapped spot, ignored my questions, and started to resist physical restraint!”

“I’m not illegally parked! My placard is on the rearview mirror and I have it on my license plate!”

“Ma’am you need to calm-“

“Do not tell me to calm down!” You shout, officially at your capacity for the sheer stupidity of the entire situation. Another office is approaching, a woman with two small kids leading him. He calmly asks what the problem is from the other officer, who keeps insisting on what he thinks is happening, checks for the placard and the symbol on your license plate and then turns to you once he orders the man holding you to step back.

“Would you mind if I run your plates and ID?” He’s helping to support you as Joel reaches for your fallen cane. He wants to bring it to you but he’s hesitant at the arrival of the second officer, the crowd thickening around, and the way your breath is quickening as you reach into your bag. “Sir, you can step forward, it’s alright.”

He does so immediately, a calming hand wrapping around your waist to help steady you as he makes sure you have a good grip on the cane with a shaking hand.  He helps you to slip the card for the officer from your wallet when he sees you can’t manage it with one hand. His fingers are warm against yours as he gently helps you, towering over you as much as Frankie does.

“Thank you, I’ll be right back with this. I apologize for the out of line conduct.”

“Out of line?!” The first officer sputters, looking very much like he’s about to step toward you but at a hard look from the second one he stills and quiets.

“Are you okay, darlin’?” Joel’s deep baritone is close, he’s leaning down a little to speak lowly to you, trying to calm you as best he could despite just meeting you for the first time.

“Yeah, yes. I just…I just need a minute to breathe.”

“Do you need to sit down?”

“I- yeah.” You nod, registering the sound of the truck gate being lowered and then being carefully set atop it to get the weight of your body off of your lower limbs. Tommy is perching beside you, introducing himself with a bashful smile and a compliment on your tattoos. Small talk and introductions are made while you’re waiting for the officers to return, all easy going even if your nerves feel shot and your body is aching.

The second officer returns with an apology and a reassurance that you were well within your rights to park in the spot you had. His words were repeated a few times, something striking you as him trying to avoid a lawsuit. But you weren’t interested in doing anything like that, you had just wanted to park and go about your task of picking up the Miller family. With a sigh you wish the man a good day and brace your hands beside you on the lowered gate.

But Tommy is shoving off of it and offering to help you get down.

You idly wonder what Frankie is up to as you drive across town, the airport on the outskirts. He had left you a note by the coffee maker saying he had some errands to run with Benny. Wedding stuff, he had written and you had felt so touched by the way he was willing to participate in the planning and decisions. Past relationships had split at the mere thought of marriage in your mind, as if they could sense the way it began to linger. But Frankie, for all the time and miscommunication it had taken to get here, was all in. You loved him, who he was, who he had been, all versions of who he had to be. Because it meant you got him as he was now, and he was perfect. Through all the heartbreak, he had been worht waiting for.

“This is the bakery! There’s parking along the front and a small lot to the left but,” You guide the truck down the alley between the right side and the next building over. “There’s a gated space behind it big enough for two cars and the delivery trucks when orders are dropped off. I hope they aren’t too loud in the mornin’ for you, but apologies if they are.”

“And you’re sure it’s okay if we stay here, Pastel?” Tommy asked from the back seat, somehow he had been convinced to sit in the middle of the bench, the girls on either side of him with a window. Even if his only wan argument had been that they had the window seats on the plane. But it was endearing the way he gave in, as if he would even think about denying the teenagers anything they asked for. Within reason, you figured as he winked at you through the rearview mirror as they loaded up. 

“Of course, I don’t live here anymore since moving in with Frankie, even before the shooting.”

“What was it like, being shot? It was more than once, right?” Ellie turned from her window to look at you. Tommy is immediately elbowing her in disapproval as Joel tenses up in the passenger seat.

“Ellie, that is completely inappropriate. Darlin’, I am so sorry.” Joel shoots her a look as best he could, turning in his seat beside you. “She doesn’t need an answer to that, right?”

“No, I’m sorry.” She huffs out, crossing her arms and avoiding her father’s eyes.

Once parked, everyone piles out and you lead them through the backdoor. Motioning to the door leading to the apartment before walking them through the kitchen and to the café of the bakery. The girls fawn over the pink and pastel color palate of the place, the treats in the case, and the whole vibe of the shop. Joel and Tommy taking you up on the offer of coffee to refuel after the flight.

“There are two rooms, but the guest room has a queen and the main room has the same. The sofa turns into a bed as well, so whatever you’re all comfortable with and works best for you. There’s a laundry room but only one bathroom that’s connected to the main bedroom and the corner of the kitchen. It’s pretty decent, should accommodate all four of you.” A tour is moot, but you list off the accommodations as you pivot in the middle of the main room upstairs. 

“Apologies again for the last minute change of plans, the girls are smart and I trust ‘em. But six weeks is a long time to be left to their own devices.”

“I don’t mind at all, really. Just want you to be comfortable, the pantry is stocked and I’ve left a credit card on the counter for takeout and other supplies you might need for your stay. I did have a cleaning crew come in because I wasn’t sure if any of you were allergic to cats, and I have two. They’re at Santi’s now, but the house was cleaned professionally too just in case.

“Really thoughtful of ya, sweetheart.” Tommy brushes a hand over your shoulder as he takes in the apartment. He had been right in front of you, Joel behind you to ensure you got up the stairs okay.

“The girls are more than welcome to work with me in the bakery if I’m on shift or even sit in the café with their schoolwork. And all of you are welcome to get coffee and pastries in the morning, though the cabinet is stocked with stuff too.”

“You’ve really taken everything into consideration, gotta say you’re turning out to be one of the best clients we’ve had hire us.” Joel turns from where he’s inspecting the street down below from the window above the kitchen sink.

“I wouldn’t say that quite yet, might turn out to be nitpicky about tile placement or somethin’.”

“That wouldn’t be anything we couldn’t accommodate.”

“Okay, well, cookout’s at five or six, just bring yourselves. Will and Benny are hosting, I’m sure they can’t wait to see you. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment I need to get to, please make yourselves at home.”

“I don’t want to overstep, but do you need any help, darlin’? I couldn’t help but notice there wasn’t a wheelchair in the truck.”

“I think I can manage okay but thank you. You’re very kind to offer.”

“That officer had no business doin’ what he did. Just wanna make sure you’re alright.” Tommy agrees, closing in for a departing hug that turns into him ushering you towards the stairs.

“I am, if I wasn’t it’d be a simple call, but uh…please don’t tell the guys.” You pitched your voice low as the girls disappeared into the master bedroom. “I don’t want them to worry, we’ve all just managed to get through everything.”

The brother’s nod their silent agreement.

The garage won’t open even when you press the clicker fastened to your visor. Once, twice, three times before you just pull up into the empty drive. Frankie’s truck is parking on the curb right outside the house and you grumble a little as you start to gather the few bags from your errands. You hadn’t anticipated Joel brining along his daughter with them. Something he had covered the cost for, claiming it was no big deal and that she was excited to go somewhere new. It was all organized with her school, for her to finish up the last month or so of the academic year online, Joel explained along with how he didn’t feel comfortable leaving her to the neighbors for that long. He had only given you a lopsided grin and a shake of his head when you asked after a girlfriend or anything of the sort out of curiosity.

But the whole ordeal over the parking spot, the bakery being a little hectic, and being blindsided by the lovely arrival of the entire Miller family, you were tired and sore. Ready for a nap before the dinner that Will and Benny were hosting at their home. You didn’t even register Frankie as you stepped out of your sandals and hung up your bag. Not even when you walked directly passed him laid out on the couch, half asleep.

Hours later, you’re venturing out into the living room to find the man fully awake and going over the vendors who had offered to cater or help with the wedding party. He’s got his phone open on the coffee table and a fresh mug that lets loose steam into the air. It prickles your senses in a bad way, temples throbbing at the scent.

“….Frankie? I want to be completely transparent with you, but I don’t want to…” Trailing off, you realize how ridiculous the situation is, but you don’t think you can handle the sight of the man strutting about your home as the repairs and renovations get completed without staring just a little. You plop down on the couch, legs sore from the long day. You should soak in a bath later, to help alleviate some of it but you had been using the cane all day. “I dunno, make you uncomfortable.”

“What is it, Mami Pastel?” He teases, trying to lighten the tension that was coming off of you in waves.

“Well, I think you’re one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met. I mean, I look at you even just for a second and melt because you have the warmest, most gooey brown eyes and you’re so competent it adds to your attractiveness. The way you walk is…hypnotizing and the way your butt looks in jeans is just…mhm. The patches in your scruff, now I know you don’t like that you can’t grow a beard like Santi, but they are so you. I love pressing kisses to them and hearing your breath huff. And your smile, Frankie, your smile is my favorite in the whole entire world.”

“Okay…?” The man in question looks confused by your rather passionate rambling until he recalls the way you had stuttered under your breath and practically bolted towards the room to lay down when you returned from dropping off the Miller family at the bakery to settle in after their flight. He had seen photos of both sets of Miller brothers from family events before and it clicks. “Querida…do you have the hots for Joel?”

“No! I barely know the man.” You defend far too quickly, and you know it’s giving you away just as much as your intention to come clean anyway. Frankie just quirks a brow up in a silent question, his full lips twitching as he tried not to laugh at how adorably flustered you’re getting. He can practically feel the heat of embarrassment coming from the other side of the couch.  You aren’t able to meet his eyes, knowing it would just spark arousal paired with the image of both of them being such sturdy, broad men.

The thought of Frankie alone was enough to get you worked up, as had been the interactions with Joel.

The older man had been very attentive as you prattled on about the city as you drove them from the airport, about the bakery as you wound your way through the downtown area, and the apartment as you showed them where everything was and said you stocked it with essentials you thought they would need for the duration of their stay. But the two of them stood side by side, hands on hips and wrapped around blueprints for the house, the scent of them both mingling in your home? The sound of their voices blending in the perfect mix of deep southern twang and accented Spanish? Yeah, it was definitely doing something to you.

“Sweet girl, it’s okay if you think he’s attractive. He’s a handsome man.” Frankie shifts to pull you into his chest and you bury your face in his neck as he wraps his arms around your back. Embarrassed, you were so embarrassed that the thought of them together was getting you all worked up. The fabric of your dress far too loose to prove any relieve as you clenched your thighs together to ward it off. You pressed a kiss to the freckled skin of his neck at his comforting words, but it sent a spike of hot arousal through your middle as his scent enveloped you.  

“Sweet girl, are you…?” Frankie reached a large hand down to sneak underneath the fabric, thick fingers brushing against the front of your underwear to feel the damp material. His voice had dipped to a lower octave, something heady in the words. “Oh, you really think he’s attractive, huh?”

“I think you’re attractive.” You argue weakly, though your words were completely true.

“I’m not upset with you, I promise.”

“It’s not fair to you.”

“You didn’t do anything, right?” As your meek nod, he cups your face in both his hands. “Then it’s okay, perfectly normal to be attracted to other people.”

“Frankie, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, sweet girl. More than words can express.” He presses his lips to you and you sigh against him. “Hey, I’ve got a surprise for you. Me ‘n Benny got you something.”

“What?”

“C’mon,” He kisses you again before helping you to stand, making sure the cane is secure in your hand before he gently guides you toward the garage entrance off the kitchen. When he opens the door, you gasp at the sight of the car you had spent countless hours researching even before your relocation to Florida.

“Frankie!”

“Benny said it’s our wedding gift.”

“Frankie!” He’s fully prepared when you turn and jump into his arms, excitement and giggles sounding into the air. “Is this what you were doing today?”

“Wanted to make sure it had all the modifications you talked about, it’s the outdoors edition and the stereo system has a satellite subscription set up for you to blast your music.”

“We’ve got to christen it.” You smirk as you lean back to look down at him, his hold tightens on you before he begins to step toward the hood.

“As you wish, mi amor.” His own cheeky grin and huff of laughter stirring heat in your body as your backside is set atop the cool metal.

Six weeks go by, the renovation something Joel and Tommy pour their entire selves into. The girls join you everyday you’re in the bakery, helping you and having fun with it, even if they weren’t the best as using the piping bags. In turn, you make sure to either cook or order lunch for them and sit down with them to knock out some of their schoolwork each day. It’s a good routine, returning to Santiago’s home in the early evenings after picking up Lex, having been added to the office’s records at her school as a guardian. The man hosting you typically has dinner made when you walk through the front door.

Frankie is normally the last one home, taking over the task of bathing Lex before bed each night. Often finding you and his best friend cuddled or sprawled out in the living room with something playing lowly on the television. The sight warms his heart. Even more so when he walks through the door to see Morgan or any other of your friend group sharing in jovial evenings that he knows you cherish just as much. Each week someone hosted a cookout, since there were so many of you now, to get everyone together and ensure everyone is okay, breaking up the monotony of adulthood.

On the anniversary of first meeting the one and only Fransisco Morales, you both make your way down to the city hall and file for a marriage certificate. Just the two of you, something personal and intimate even if it was such a simple way to go about it. You both smiled so brightly at each other, recognizing how far of a journey it had been to get there. But one you would both traverse again and again if it ended all the same. Once the house was complete, the official celebration would take place.

And today was that day.

Everything was perfect, everything was what you had wanted it to be and more. The work Will and Benny’s cousins wrapped up, and the house Frankie had bought all those years finally exhibiting the life he had aspired to create for him and his daughter. For you, now too. Santiago’s home had become the home base during the repairs, but today, right now Joel and Tommy Miller were walking you through the completed house.

They were both so handsome and you wondered idly how you ended up surrounded by such beautiful people, inside and out. You had been so nervous to meet with them in person when they arrived, but an easy going and friendly ‘Well, hey there darlin’. Nice to put a pretty name to that pretty voice.’ had eased your anxieties as well as a greeting embrace from Joel once the whole parking ordeal had been resolved.

Tommy had been a little flustered, being so far away from home and having been flying once again, the only time he had known to do so was for his tour abroad with the Army. Something Joel had admitted to you when you called the morning before their flight to confirm everything and make sure they had the tickets in their hands.

So real, so human. So good, everyone in your life, in the little bubble you created for yourself born of running away from your old city and the traumas that had occurred there. With nothing but a newly signed deed for a building you had only looked at online and a crate of two cats, you had built your life up to what it is now and you couldn’t be more grateful.

“We did a little more than you asked for, but we didn’t mind. Wanted to make sure you had everythin’ you needed for getting around easy.” Joel leads the way through the door, your copy of the keys in his hands. Tommy was bringing up the line you, Frankie, and Alexia made.

“Saw the opportunity to do some modifications in the kitchen while we were putting the laundry in there and with Frankie’s approval we went ahead. He asked that we keep it a secret, a wedding gift to you.”

“Frankie…” You turn to look at the man, seated in your wheelchair today, the custom one having come in just in time for you to have a particularly bad flare of immobility in your lower extremities. There was a ramp now, through the garage, you had insisted you preferred the porch to have the steps and not alter it. The couch out here replaced with a slightly larger one that was higher up from the ground so your hips didn’t hinge as much to get up and sit down in it.

“I know you said you like the kitchen as is, but I just asked them to install gliding racks for the lower cabinets and had them replace the island so one side is low enough for you to roll up to if you feel like baking and can’t get up on your legs that day. No big deal, sweet girl.”

“It was an easy thing, don’t worry, darlin’.” Joel holds out a hand for you to take, Frankie watching diligently in case you trembled or dipped underneath your own weight. Your cane trading from his hand to Joel’s other and the older man leads you into the kitchen, since nothing was altered in the living room.

All new tile had been put down in the kitchen, the black and white stella star tiles you had torn yourself away from during a trip to the hardware store with the brothers when they caught up with you. The jade green backsplash you had taken a sample of gleamed to compliment the natural wooden cabinets that replaced the white ones that had previously been there. The countertops were now a white granite, the island indeed having been altered on one side.

“This is a little more than the island…”

“Was nothin’.” Tommy smiled as he opened up a lower cabinet and showed you the easy glide of the shelving put in place. “A baker has to have a kitchen that suits her.”

You feel tears prick hot and sticky behind your eyes, prompting Joel to stand right in front of you and tilt his head down to capture them. His eyes are so brown set into his handsome face and you feel heat rise to your face at being so close to him, acutely aware of Frankie just inside the threshold to the room with Tommy.

“We wanted to, all of us, okay? You’ve been dealt a harsh hand, darlin’. Wanted to bring some good into your life and we were able to, yeah? Besides, we’re gonna use the hell outta the photos we took for the business back home.” He hoped to lighten the mood, everyone relaxing when a giggle sprung from your lips as you wiped underneath your eyes.

“Papa! The house is so pretty!” Lex jostles Frankie as she hugs him tight around his legs. “It’s perfect for Mama Pastel!”

The small party is still going well into the night, the lights strung up all around the patio illuminating the jovial serenity. You feel the prickle of someone watching you and you turn from where you’re sitting to chat with Morgan who is seated across Santiago’s lap. Discussing possible dates for an end of the year trip out the cabin. Frankie is stood by the now cool grill, a beer in one hand and the other supporting the weight of Lex as she slumps against his chest with her face tucked over his shoulder. She’s tall for her age but not too small to be held by her father in the growing hour.

She should’ve been asleep an hour or so ago, but she had begged and pleaded to stay up ‘with the grown ups’. Taking her duty of ring bearer way more seriously than any of you had anticipated. Beside the man who is now your husband, stand Joel and you feel your stomach swoop at the sight of them together. Joel reaching out a hand to rub between the sleepy girl’s shoulders, words too low for you to hear from you spot. Both men chuckle, their teeth glinting as they share the moment.

Taylor saunters up to them both and you feel heat envelope you. You knew how two of them moved, how they felt, how they sounded. And the need to find out how Joel did too was strong. Guilt flared up at the direction your thoughts had taken. You were married now to such a loving and understanding, amazing man. But your body seemed to be out of your control as you felt something thrum through you at the sight of them all together chatting idly.

The memory of Frankie taunting you as he pinned you to the counter in the kitchen all those months ago springs up to the front of your depraved mind.

“Would you have let me take you in that store? While all those silly, jealous women watched? All those watching, dirty men palming themselves to the sight of you taking my cock in the middle of that aisle, pressed up against the shelves?” The tip of him caught on your entrance, and he pushed in, shallowly thrusting. He wasn’t giving you all of him, just teasing you open a little, waiting on an answer.

“Fuck, Frankie, yes.”

Frankie takes the last swig out of his bottle, Joel taking the empty glass from him and they share one last word before parting ways. Frankie brushes a hand over your shoulder as he passes, murmuring he’s going to lay Lex down and then he’ll be back. The other two men remain where they are by the grill, no doubt talking about the lumber and construction businesses they both are skilled in.

Sighing, you excuse yourself with the imitation of taking a drag from a cigarette and carefully make your way down the few steps into the yard. The grass is soft as it hushes over your sandaled feet, until you’re partially hidden off to the side underneath a tree. With another sigh you place the single cigarette you grabbed between your teeth and flick the lighter on. A few puffs into it and you’re startled by the sudden shadow of someone moving toward you.

“Sorry, darlin’, didn’t mean to scare ya.” Joel’s deep timbre greet you as ducks underneath one of the lower hanging branches. Your body sings at his close proximity, fueled by the few drinks you had indulged in and the quick trigger of your arousal as of late. Heat spears through your middle and down to your core as he steps impossibly closer, hand reaching for the cigarette, his fingers nudging against your own as he takes it from you to take a drag for himself.

He smells like the grill, like the embers of charcoal and wood from the still burning fire in the pit on the deck, like the body wash he must’ve used earlier that day as he got ready for the celebration. He’s watching you like you’re watching him, eyes dragging over the displayed ink across your skin. The light color of your flowing dress highlighting the detailed blackwork set into your tanned skin. His eyes are impossibly brown even in the dim light, so much like Frankie’s. You feel connected to him in a way you can’t quite explain.

“Y’look real gorgeous, Pastel. Glad to play a part in today.” He’s of course referring to the arch he and Taylor had constructed for the small ceremony, both of them collaborating once your best friend had arrived in town a week ago with his own child. The niggling feeling of wanting to share in that part of their respective lives bubbled up and warmth bloomed in your chest, both of them and Frankie all such good fathers. You…wanted that. To be a mother. The thought always a far off one, but now…now it seemed all the more like a waiting game. Something only touched upon by both you and Frankie. You and Joel as he passed the time with you during the days you didn’t work and made sure the second set of Miller brother’s had lunch and cool drinks while they did.

Gratitude was barely a whisper as you watched him exhale another drag.

“Gonna miss seein’ ya when we go back home.”

“Maybe we can visit.” The words are out of your mouth before you realized they were something you wanted.

“I’d like that.” He murmured, mouth upturning on one end to reveal a dimple so much like Frankie’s. His fingers were gentle as he passed the cigarette back to you. Your breath hitched as he dipped his head low to press a kiss to your cheek. “Gonna shove off, the girls need to get to bed. We’re still on for the zoo tomorrow?”

“Y-yes, of course.”

“Goodnight, darlin’.” Another kiss and then he’s gone, leaving you to titter to yourself for a few moments until you’re sure his little group is gone. When you step back onto the deck, Will and Isabella are gone as well as Santiago and Morgan. Benny and Taylor remain and you settle between them in an open chair.

“Hey Benny?”

“Yeah, mantequilla?”

“Thank you.” You reach out a hand to him and he takes it without question, his wide palm warm as it slides against your own. Taylor watches on with a smile on his face, fondness for you and the man who had extended his friendship to you in the time you had needed it most.

“Told you that first day you singed up for the gym, anythin’ you need.”

It’s depraved the way you move against him, desperate for him to touch you. He’s laughing as you trail sucking kisses down his neck, standing on the tips of your toes to reach. Your hands are on his waist, messing with the belt and buttons of his trousers before he can even take a breath to catch up to the way you’re moving against him.

“Frankie, I need you.”

“Okay, but let’s slow it down a little, we have all the time in the world.” His eyes had tracked you throughout the day, well into the night. On how you had leaned heavily on your cane for support as you stood beside him and exchanged rings underneath a beautiful arch covered in florals of soft colors. Of how you had been sat in each seat for long periods of time, how everyone seemed to read the same thing he had, that your body was aching.

“Nu-uh, not too sore for this.” Gently pressing your hands to his chest, you lean into him and he falls to the bed with a loud gasp.

“I’m not complaining, sweet girl. But what has gotten into you lately, you’re so eager.”

“I love you.” Pausing, you feel another wave of guilt wash over you. And then trepidation seeps in, taints the arousal that had been thrumming through your veins. You lean up and back away, standing a few feet from the foot of the bed where his legs hang over the mattress. Emotions being to swarm you, conflicting in their vie to be felt. Suddenly, you’re hiccupping, hands coming up to wipe at the tears threatening to fall. “Do…you not want me?”

“What? No! I-I…I’m just a little confused.” Frankie is quick to dispel your worries, to give you an honest answer. He’s sitting up, reaching for you. But you back away a few more steps and he let his hands fall.

“I know I’ve been a lot lately, between the renovations and the whole thing at the city hall, and- and- and the whole Joel thing. I don’t…I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately!” The tears are flowing now, your hands covering your face from view. “I feel so selfish…”

Your name falling from his lips grounds you, his body wrapping around your own even more so.

“You are not selfish, you are merely overwhelmed. It’s…it’s been a lot since the shooting. For you, especially.”

“Frankie, I…I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Joel, he…he oy I feel so silly and…weird.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, oh sweet girl. Here,” He holds out his hands for you and you willingly drift closer to stand between his legs. Expression open and accepting, you can feel him searching for something he must see because his eyes soften. He skims his hands up your sides, soothing the ache he knows is there in your hips and the sudden burst of emotions he was beginning to wonder what the cause of was.

It’s slow, it’s scorching, it’s perfect the way he worships you. Your husband. Your future. Your life.

It’s stifling, in the room. Sweat glistening across your entire body as you submitted to the roll of hips pressed against you, the hands that held tight to you, the sucking lips that latched onto whatever it could reach. Both pairs. One below and one behind. Scruff burns sweetly over your chest and the back of your neck, pulling mewling moans from you. The drag of hard, silken skin in and out of you has you panting for breath when you manage to pull in a lungful, only to be thrust from you as two bodies move in tandem with your own.

The feeling of course hairs against your clit have you arching, chest pressing to the man beneath you and back against the man behind you as he drapes over you. You try to warm them, the feeling of being completely full too much for you to handle, pleasure courses harshly through you, almost painful in its intensity but all you manage is a choked off sound before you’re tensing and falling over the edge of it.

Eyes catching brown eyes watching in wonder as you fall apart in a glimpse before black sparks over your vision.

Gasping, you bolt up from where you lay in bed. Chest heaving and eyes blurry you look around the room to find yourself alone beneath the covers. You’re as bare as you were when Frankie undressed you the night before, only now your skin is glistening with sweat from the overwhelming heat of your rather salacious dreamworld. Catching your breath after a moment, you feel embarrassment at what your mind concocted flare. You…you were never really one for that adventurous of a sex life. But your body was changing as you got older, your mind running away and the startling realization that you may be into something as risqué as that….kind of settles.

Nausea roils in your stomach, urging you to rush from the tangled covers that no doubt aided the feeling of being pressed between two bodies in your dream. You barely make it to the bathroom in time, hips twinging with the sudden movement and the way your knees knock into the patterned tile of the floor.

Groaning, you submit to the idea that maybe work would be too much on your body today.

The next step of your life, the one you had curated with Frankie makes itself known only a few hours later.

It all makes so much sense, literally everything. The week following the visit to city hall and the party, you’re hurling the two sips of coffee and granola bar you had for breakfast into the kitchen sink. It had prompted you to run to the store, the new car so smooth and easier to manage than the truck with how sore your legs had been. Frankie was gone to work early, a sunrise flight tour scheduled and he had been the only one willing to take it. But maybe that was for the best because you felt like it would all be too much for him so witness the way you almost dazedly went about the errand and returned home.

Conversations had been surface level, more of a curious ‘what if’ than an actual conversation. A more in depth one with the doctors and the concerns they had should you end up in the situation you were in, if the piece of plastic on the vanity counter could be trusted. It had been advised that you really weight the pros and cons of wanting it, of how much you were willing to alter in order to make it a reality. There were no concerns for your health aside from the way it would affect your hips, the extra weight that would rise as it went on, the claim that the only way for a safe delivery would be to schedule a procedure.

From the cravings to the increased libido, to the nausea and the zipping emotions.

The way you had been easily riled up at the simplest things, the way everyone around you seemed to exude brimming sexual energy, the way your body had responded to not only Frankie, but Taylor and Joel. The bursts of energy combating the spells of next to no energy. The way you had been seeking out specific foods and feeling intense dislike for others. The annoyance that had flared up far too quick along with hurt and sadness at the most mundane instances. The tears you had shed while bidding both Taylor and his son goodbye after the celebration a few weeks ago and the Miller family before that.

Ears pricking at the sound of steps, you look up and see Frankie reflected in the mirror. He’s stood in the doorway with his brows furrowed in concern. You were supposed to have gone to the bakery today, but your rather hectic start had dissolved the idea completely.

Turning from the vanity, you pick up the thing that had been holding your attention. You brandish the small screen so he can see it from his spot, hand unconsciously going to your middle. He’s watching you closely, concerned as he looks over your face that breaks out into a watery smile. To the item in your grip. Frankie’s breath gasps as he reads what the screen has displayed and his own lips stretch out into a wide grin, adorable dimple on display.

“Frankie, I’m pregnant.”

previous chapter || end

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[sengardet]

Terra's Target #6 Track Runner

A smug rich gal has a strong heart, but will it save her from an assassin?

Terra's slender frame moved gracefully through the grand hallway, her loose afro bouncing with each step. The dim light from ornate sconces cast shadows that danced across her dark skin as she subtly observed Felicia’s opulent surroundings. She had posed as a simple house servant from the trafficking rings to infiltrate this mansion, and now, she was about to meet its mistress.

"Over here," Felicia's voice commanded from the doorway of a lavishly decorated room. Terra turned, her eyes meeting Felicia's hazel gaze. The woman was a striking vision of toned strength, her brunette hair cascading over shoulders sculpted by years of intensive training.

"Yes, ma'am," Terra replied, her voice carrying a playful lilt.

"Good. Start with the floors." Felicia's tone left no room for argument. Terra went to work.

Later, on the track, Felicia’s arrogance became palpable as she asked Terra to race her. They lined up, side by side. Felicia's confidence radiated off her like heatwaves. The race began, and it was clear Felicia’s years of dedication gave her an edge. Terra pushed herself, muscles straining, but Felicia's superior training showed. She crossed the finish line first, breathless but triumphant.

"Not bad," Felicia panted, her chest heaving with exertion. "But not good enough."

"Congratulations," Terra replied with a slight smile.

"Let's celebrate," Felicia said, a wicked glint in her eye. She grabbed Terra's hand, pulling her towards the mansion. Terra followed obediently.

Inside Felicia’s private quarters, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew heavier, charged with electric tension. Felicia wasted no time, her hands rough and impatient as they stripped Terra of her clothes. Terra’s heart raced, not knowing what would come next.

Felicia donned a strap-on, large and purple, gleaming under the soft lights. She pressed Terra against the wall, her body hot and firm against Terra’s back. With each thrust, Felicia's breathing grew more labored as it rolled over her shoulders, her mighty heart slamming into Terra’s spine like a drumbeat of victory.

"Feel that?" Felicia whispered, her voice both a taunt and a promise. Terra could indeed feel it—Felicia’s powerful heart pounding harder and faster as she enjoyed herself, doubling the rhythm of her thrusts. Each beat resonated through her body.

"Yes," Terra breathed submissively. She could sense Felicia's approaching climax, the crescendo of her egotistical celebration. The moment hung suspended, each heartbeat a countdown.

With one final, shuddering thrust, Felicia’s orgasm crashed over her, a wave of primal satisfaction. Her mighty heart hammered wildly, a frenzied tattoo against Terra’s back. As Felicia slumped, spent and victorious, Terra kissed the woman’s spent body, playing her part and pleasing her mistress.

Felicia's body sprawled across Terra; their legs tangled in a mess of sheets. Felicia’s cheek rested against Terra's chest, her breath soft and even. Each exhale fluttered like a whisper against Terra’s skin, and beneath the delicate rise and fall of her breasts, Felicia's heart pulsed steadily, a muted drumbeat in the silence of the room.

When dawn crept through the curtains, Terra slipped out from under Felicia's weight, careful not to wake her. The absence of pressure left a ghostly imprint on her chest. She showered quickly, water cascading over her slender frame, washing away the remnants of last night’s encounter. Her afro, damp and loose, framed her face as she moved about the house, completing her chores with practiced efficiency.

Evening came swiftly, and once again, the two women found themselves on the track. Felicia's muscles rippled under her toned skin as they raced, her hazel eyes flashing with competitive fire. Terra pushed herself hard, but Felicia bested her once again.

"Still trying, I see," Felicia panted, a smug smile curling at her lips as she wiped sweat from her brow.

"Always," Terra replied, her tone playful but laden with an edge of something darker. "How about a little challenge? Sit-ups?"

"You're on," Felicia said, excitement lighting her gaze.

They ran to the gym, Felicia's breathing growing more labored with each step. By the time they arrived, like Terra, Felicia’s chest was heaving, sweat glistening on her skin. She lay down, her back against the cool floor, her pulse vibrant and visible—a rhythmic throb just below the surface of her sternum.

"Ready?" Terra knelt, her fingers brushing against Felicia's ankles, holding them firmly in place. Felicia's chest rose and fell, her heart pounding firmly beneath the thin layer of skin and muscle.

"Go," Felicia commanded, her voice a little less steady than before.

Terra watched intently as Felicia began her sit-ups, each movement causing her heart to hammer harder, straining against its confines. The sight was intoxicating—Felicia's powerful form reduced to panting desperation, her mighty heart struggling to keep up with the demands placed upon it. Terra's own heart raced in response, adrenaline mingling with anticipation. This was her move.

Terra's fingers curled around the cold, iron handle of the kettle bell beside her. She could feel the weight of it, solid and unyielding, as she strained to lift it. A playful grin curled on her lips, but her eyes held a vengeful promise.

"Ready for your next challenge?" Terra whispered, more to herself than to Felicia, who lay panting beneath her, her chest rising and falling in desperate rhythm.

“What?” Felicia responded. Without hesitation, Terra brought the kettle bell crashing down onto Felicia's sternum. The impact was immediate and brutal, driving the wind from Felicia's lungs and forcing her heart into a frantic dance between bone and spine. There was no time for Felicia to protest; Terra moved with swift precision, pinning Felicia's arms between the folds of her legs as she straddled her, ensuring she couldn't escape.

"Feel that, Felicia?" Terra's voice was a low murmur, dripping with sadistic glee. "That's your mighty heart struggling."

Felicia gasped, her hazel eyes wide with shock and pain, each shallow breath a testament to her body's fight against the crushing force. Terra could see the pulse hammering wildly beneath the sweat-slick skin, could almost hear the frantic thud-thud-thud as Felicia's heart fought for survival.

“Wait! what are you doing?!” Felicia yelled. Terra’s own heart pounded in her chest, mirroring the frenzied beat of Felicia's. The adrenaline coursed through her veins, heightening every sensation, every flicker of life beneath her.

With a grunt of effort, Terra slammed the weight down again, eliciting a choked cry from Felicia. The sound was intoxicating, feeding the dark hunger inside Terra. She watched, rapt, as Felicia's body jerked with the impact, her powerful form reduced to quivering vulnerability.

"Come on, Felicia. Show me that strength and vitality," Terra taunted, lifting the kettle bell yet again. Her chest heaved with exertion, the muscles in her arms burning with the effort. But she relished the pain, the shared suffering binding them in this twisted dance.

As she brought the weight down once more, Terra felt a thrill of power surge through her. Felicia's heart squirmed desperately; each beat a frantic plea for mercy. Terra leaned closer, her breath hot against Felicia's ear.

"Do you feel it? Your heart... it's begging me for mercy," she whispered, savoring the shudder that ran through Felicia's body.

Finally Terra stopped. She rested the heavy kettle bell on Felicia's chest, feeling the last tremors of resistance fade beneath its unrelenting pressure.

"Shh, it's over now," Terra cooed softly, her fingers tracing the outline of the kettle bell. She watched as Felicia's breaths grew shallower, the mighty heart once so defiant now subdued under the weight of Terra's victory.

The gym fell silent, save for the faint, strained breathing of the woman beneath her. Terra's own heartbeat slowed, the rush of adrenaline ebbing away, leaving a deep, satisfied calm in its wake. She leaned back, her eyes never leaving Felicia's face.

Felicia's heart shuddered to a stop beneath Terra's crushing hands. The pompous woman's eyes glazed over, her face frozen in pained shock.

Terra paused, cursing under her breath. Her client needed the password to access Felicia's safe. Without it, the job was incomplete.

Sighing, Terra placed her hands on Felicia's battered chest and began compressions, feeling the once-mighty heart slowly sputter back to life. Felicia's eyes fluttered open hazily as she gasped for breath.

"The password," Terra purred, voice dripping with malice. "Give it to me now, or I'll grab that kettle bell and finish the job."

"Seven...two...four...eight..." Felicia rasped weakly, relenting at last. Terra smiled.

"There's a good girl." She rose to her feet as promised.

Terra rose to her feet, looming over Felicia's prone body. But instead of walking away, she brought her foot down hard on the other woman's heaving chest. Terra smirked as she felt Felicia's racing heartbeat thrum against her sole. Terra lifted her foot, watching the woman's heart pump desperately beneath her softened rib cage.

She stomped down repeatedly, each impact jolting through Felicia's body as the woman gasped for breath. Terra peered down, recalling the way that same mighty organ had once pounded against her back, its vigorous rhythm accenting Felicia's triumphant thrusts as she took Terra from behind. Felicia could only gasp and groan in agony, all her haughtiness evaporated. Her heart strained and quivered like a trapped animal, ballooning with blood only to viciously squashed back down.

With a final, brutal stomp, Terra felt a wet pop vibrate up through her leg. "Ah, there it is," Terra whispered, lovingly. She could feel the aorta's rupture, the warm rush of blood flooding Felicia's chest cavity. Felicia's body went slack, a final shudder running through her as life drained from her eyes.

[nov4-rocket5]

It's genuinely impressive to watch Marvel take a niche character like Gwenpool and utterly kill any fanbase she may have had with every subsequent appearance she has post-Unbelievable.

- The original series isn't a huge financial success, but was well liked and earned her a small, dedicated fanbase.

- After cancelling the ongoing she's shoved onto a team book by a writer who doesn't like her and nerfs her powers so she doesn't have to put in any effort to use her

- After the team book gets canned she gets a 5 issue miniseries that reverts her to the selfie-thot people who didn't read her comic believed her to be, jammed it full of bad memes and exists solely to retcon her into a mutant to send her to Krakoa (Where she makes a grand total of 2 background appearances).

- Her only consistent appearances anymore are in the "It's Jeff!" web strip written by the writer of the team book who hates her, and the only reason she even appears is because the artists had to beg to start using her.

I just really wish I knew why not one single writer gets what made her work in Unbelievable: an earnest but kind of airheaded fangirl trying to earn her niche but continuously screwing up while learning that other people matter, it's that easy. Hastings gave Marvel a perfect blueprint to follow for an enjoyable character and even left a series of loose plot threads in the rapid-fire finale they could have expanded on or did something with but continuously revert her to a bad parody of herself. They don't even use her original extended cast (Something the original run called out before it even happened).