#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.

[wafflesandd1ck]

Weird little thought I just had.

"You have to be a dominion, throne or above" Muriel when explaining to crowley why they can't access, Gabriel's file.

Crowley flips it open and says. "I wasn't always a demon, and they never change their passwords."

In the first scene, we get of the inside of crowleys flat, we see a giant throne and matching desk.

Here's a behind the scenes pic for a better view.

I don't think God/heaven only dropped crowley. I think they dropped his entire department into hell

I think aziraphale was right. "Rumor has it, in 6,000 years they will be shutting all of this down again"

Ok bare with me, this is gonna be such a sloppy tangle of thoughts.

I think God has no intention of trying to make humans and the Earth again.

Crowley, being the ever-present sass master, told God off and said something along the lines of "you need me to make galaxies. " try to twist God's arm.

God said "oh ok bro" and dropped all of it AND gave crowley snake eyes.

The idea of "you created the stars you are blind to, you can keep your thrown but you only have power because WE gave it to you" feels totally up heavens alley. Making crowley take the thrown he fought for and got cast down for would be such a stab.

He helped create billions of galaxies, and what does he have to show for it? A damn chair.

And not just any chair mind you.

Crowleys throne also has symbolism. Now, the prop itself is called a "king Solomon throne," and it sells for roughly 3 thousand dollars.

THATS CROWLEYS EXACT THRONE.

Here's the kicker, though. King Solomons throne is a real thing that's mentioned in the Hebrew bible.

"The throne was seen as belonging to David, or to God Himself. In 1 Chronicles 29:23, it says, "Solomon sat on the throne of the LORD as king"

HOWEVER!

The throne is described in 1 Kings 10:18 as being made of ivory overlaid with gold, with six steps, a round top, and two lions standing beside it. Meaning it looks like this:

This painting (not the official. Its digital rendition) is called 'the throne of solomon' by Raphael.

Remember how Crowley HATES the 14th century with a passion? Hated it so much that he tried to sleep through it? Ya wanna know what became insanely popular in the 14th century?

A "14th century throne of Solomon" refers to the concept of a royal throne heavily inspired by the biblical description of King Solomon's throne, which was often depicted in art and used as a symbol of power by monarchs in the 14th century, particularly in Europe, where the imagery of a richly decorated, elevated throne with a canopy became a common representation of royal authority; essentially, it was a symbolic representation of Solomon's throne rather than a literal artifact from that time period.

Crowleys. Throne. Was used by monarchs to stroke their own egos. Crowleys throne became so popular that the humans started using HIS throne as a symbol of unjust judgment and believing they deserve to judge others as they judge themselves. As crowley judged God for wanting to shut down the universe.

Idk. Maybe I'm overthinking it, but I think the symbolism here, intentional or not is really cool.

Crowley was stripped of every inch of his power and position and was hacked out of heaven like garbage. could you imagine your boss firing you and hating you so much, he threw out your desk and chair too?? That's next level, petty. Then your own boss, hundreds of years later. Dedicates an entire art and religious movement around rubbing your nose in your mistake?

Sorry, this is so wordy and scrambled. I just wanted to share it.

[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.

[archie-sunshine]

Okay um, I wasn’t kidding about being Mentally Unwell about First Aid and his dumb little socks so I wanted to say thank you for making that and also as soon as I saw it I whipped this up real quick. So…

It was your turn to bring back dinner. You knew when the barkeep already had your plates waiting that you were the last one home this time. A simple but hardy arrangement of stew, bread, and ale you take the tray up to your room.

With a little bit of finagling you manage to swing the door open. Odd, you think, that First Aid isn’t there to help, he doesn’t even say hello.

You find him in front of the fire. Your fingers dig into the tray, pressing so hard you’re sure you’re going to tear the wooden thing asunder.

He’s spread out in front of the fire, the orange glow casting across his bare skin, and there was far more of that than usual. He’d stripped out of his trousers, down to his underwear and socks, ribbons still wrapped taut around his calves, and shirt unbuttoned barely clinging onto his shoulders, and surprisingly, his headgear remained on.

It’s a sensual combination that only through sheer will, determination and one more thing that keeps you from dumping dinner and lunging for him.

Far more than just lust, it’s the realization of just how beautiful he is in that moment. You wish you had a portrait of it. Unaware, caught in a moment of peace, it sends your heart fluttering. Seeing him so open, so comfortable, so vulnerable, waiting for you in your shared room—It’s a moment of domestic bliss that warms your soul, spreading from your chest through every vein down to your tippy toes.

It makes you crave a lifetime of this moment, frozen in time here with him in your tiny room in some ramshackle inn sharing meals together in front of a fire forever.

Something snaps him out of his reverie, his eyes catch yours, and the moment is gone.

“Oh! Oh Dear!” He scrambles up. “Give me a second and I’ll get that for you!” You laugh, brushing him off and set the tray down. He looks absolutely ridiculous standing up now half dressed in the strangest combination of clothes to be half dressed in—ridiculous, and beautiful.

He eyes you strangely though the tips of his very pointed ears are turning pink and you can see a hint of that same shade just above the line of his mask.

“What?” He asks you, suspicious.

“What?” You echo back.

“Why are you grinning like that?”

Your grin widens.

“I’m only thinking.”

You step closer to him, your arms slipping under his shirt, wrapping around his waist, your thumb rubs along the bare skin you’d been yearning for moments before. That little edge of skepticism fades from his eyes, outshone by his curiosity as he steps further into your embrace, wrapping around you in kind.

“About what?”

“Becoming a powerful wizard.” First Aid laughs.

“Why a wizard?”

“A powerful wizard. I would need to be one to stop time.” Such a sweet sport, he plays along with only a skeptical brow raise.

“Oh? And why would you need to do that.”

You carefully pluck the glasses off his face, setting them aside your cooling meals to press your forehead to his.

“My world domination plans of course.”

It’s not hard to see him roll his eyes from here. Maybe you’ll tell him the real reason after dinner, or maybe you won’t. You don’t need to. After all, that moment may be gone for now, but you have a lifetime more of opportunities.

AAAaAGGHHH THIS IS SO ADORABLE!!!! thank you thank you thank you thats so cute so so cute EEE!!!!!

sorry im normal

anyway my reasoning for aid's hat being on even though his boobs are out

[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).

[queenofdragons12]

I BOW FOR NO ONE — darth Vader

Darth Vader's heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor leading to your office, a sound that never failed to make the air thick with anticipation. As the door hissed open, the Dark Lord of the Sith strode in, his imposing figure casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the room. He slammed the door shut with a force that rattled the very foundation of the Star Destroyer, the power of his fury palpable. His eyes, piercing through the darkness of his helmet, locked onto yours—a silent demand for an explanation.

"The Emperor mentioned your summons, ⚚ 𝘼𝙉𝙎𝙐𝘼𝘿𝙄𝙏 ⚚." His voice, deep and resonant, reverberated with irritation. Yet beneath the layers of anger, you could almost taste the sweetness of his love for you, a love that could make even the most feared man in the galaxy tremble like a leaf in a storm.

You met his gaze with a knowing smile, the corners of your lips curling upwards to reveal the faintest hint of mischief. The crimson light of the room danced across the fabric of your robes as you took a step closer to him, the material shifting to expose the delicate lace of your lingerie beneath. The way the light played with the shadows on your skin was a tantalizing promise of the passion that lay dormant in the air, waiting to be released.

Vader's eyes widened imperceptibly, his pupils dilating as he took in the sight of you. The Dark Side pulsed within him, a maelstrom of desire and need that he struggled to contain. Despite his reputation for coldness and control, you had always been the one to make him feel vulnerable, to strip away the layers of darkness and reveal the man beneath the armor.

"I did," you replied, your voice as smooth as the silk that caressed your skin. With a dramatic flourish, your wings unfurled, a vibrant display of power and beauty that made his breath hitch. "I have a proposition for you, my love."

The Sith Lord took a step closer, his eyes raking over your form with a hunger that was almost predatory. You could feel the heat emanating from him, the energy of his desire that was as potent as the Force itself. His hands balled into fists at his sides, the only outward sign of his internal battle to keep his emotions in check.

"And what, pray tell, could possibly be so urgent that it would warrant my presence here?" His voice was strained, a testament to the effort he was making to keep his passion hidden. "I hope it is worth interrupting my busy schedule."

You stepped closer still, your wings brushing against his armor with a whisper that seemed to resonate through him. The scent of your arousal mingled with the acrid stench of the room, a heady cocktail that sent his senses reeling.

"Tell me, Vader," you murmured, your voice a siren's song that he could never resist, "are you not tired of this endless dance of power and control?" You reached out and trailed your fingertips along the line of his jaw, feeling the tension coiled within him. "Would you not prefer a moment of pure, unbridled passion?"

His eyes searched yours, a storm of conflict raging within. "What game is this, ⚚ 𝘼𝙉𝙎𝙐𝘼𝘿𝙄𝙏 ⚚?" he rasped, the sound of his breathing growing heavier. "You know I cannot refuse you when you present yourself like this."

With a flick of your wrist, you sent a tendril of the Force to lift the edge of your robe, revealing more of the seductive lace that clung to your curves. His eyes darkened further, the hunger in them unmistakable.

"Make it quick," he growled, his voice a rumble that seemed to shake the very fabric of the room. "For if it is not, I may not be able to control myself. I might just take you here, now, on this very desk."

The possessive fire in his eyes was intoxicating, a declaration of his need to claim you, to make you his in every conceivable way. Your heart raced, the thrill of the challenge coursing through your veins like a potent elixir. You knew that with every step you took, with every word you spoke, you pushed him closer to the edge. And you reveled in the power you had over him.

The heat emanating from your body as you lean in creates a sanctuary of intimacy, your tail extending with the grace of a willow branch to tenderly caress the fabric of his torso. The fur on his skin rises as the gentle pressure of your tail glides over him, setting his nerves alight with a longing he thought only you could elicit. His breathing deepens as he feels the warmth of your closeness, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierce yearning.

"You are indeed a marvel, my dear," you murmur, the timbre of your voice a melody that resonates through his very being. "Your dedication and skill are truly unrivaled."

The softness of your smile is a balm to his soul, as you stroke his cheek with the utmost care, your fingertips whispering secrets of adoration against the warmth of his skin. His pulse quickens beneath your touch, the blood rushing to the surface, eager to meet the warmth of your gaze.

"I had thought it only fair to offer you a token of my appreciation," you continue, the mischief in your eyes hinting at the delightful surprise that awaits. "A small reward for the boundless effort you've invested in our bond."

Vader's heart swells with affection at your words, his own voice thick with feeling as he responds. "⚚ 𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙄𝙃 ⚚," he whispers, his breath hitching. "You leave me in constant awe. Your compassion and generosity know no bounds."

With a gentle nuzzle into the softness of your palm, he surrenders to the comfort of your touch, his eyelids fluttering closed for a brief reprieve from the intensity of your gaze. His breaths come in quiet, uneven gasps, his body alive with anticipation.

"My existence is yours to command, ⚚ 𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙃 ⚚," he murmurs, the words a solemn vow that resonates in the air between you. "I am yours, in this life and any other that may follow."

Your snout grazes his lips with the barest touch, a tantalizing prelude to the passion that lies dormant within you. The scent of your breath fills his nostrils, stirring his desire even further.

"Ah, I see," you purr, your voice a siren's call. "Perhaps I should assist with this?" You gesture with a playful flick of your claw at the obstruction of his belt.

Vader nods, his voice barely a whisper. "Yes, please," he urges, his eyes gleaming with desire.

With a deft touch, you release the belt, allowing his trousers to fall away, exposing his rigid arousal to the cool air of the chamber. The tip glistens with pre-cum, a testament to his readiness for the pleasure you are about to bestow upon him.

"Magnificent," you murmur, your voice thick with appreciation. "Your beauty is truly breathtaking."

Dropping to your knees, you extend your tongue, the wet heat of it sliding along the velvety skin of his length. His body jolts at the sensation, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he feels you explore his most intimate part.

"⚚ 𝘼𝙉𝙃 ⚚," he moans, his hands reflexively reaching for your head, his grip in your fur firm but not demanding. "Please, don't stop, it feels so…so…amazing."

His hips rock slightly, urging you closer, seeking the warm embrace of your mouth. Each stroke of your tongue sends waves of pleasure through him, his legs trembling with the effort to remain standing.

Vader's eyes are transfixed on the sight of you, kneeling before him, your mouth working its magic. "You're perfect," he gasps, his voice strained with need. "I can't get enough of you."

With each breath, his desire for you grows more intense, his body tightening with the promise of release. "I love you," he whispers, the words a fervent declaration of his soul's bond to yours.

A knowing smile of pure seduction blossoms across your snout as you gently nuzzle against the firmness of Vader's body, your soft fur brushing teasingly against his sensitive scrotum. This tender touch elicits a muffled gasp from the dark lord, his eyes fluttering shut as he succumbs to the tantalizing sensation. "You're doing so well, my boy," you purr into his ear, your voice a siren's call, laden with the richness of honey and the promise of passionate indulgence. Each word is a warm caress, a gentle encouragement to explore the depths of pleasure that await him.

Vader's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, each breath a silent testament to the raging storm of desire that builds within him. His body responds instinctively to your tender ministrations, his cock pulsing with anticipation. As you pull away, your fur leaves a trail of warmth against his skin, and you stand before him, stretching with the grace of a jungle cat. The deliberate arch of your back and the fluid motion of your limbs are an erotic dance that speaks of your readiness, a silent invitation that no creature could resist.

"Take me, my love," you whisper, your eyes sparkling with an intensity that mirrors the brightest stars in the night sky. Your words hang in the air, a declaration of wanton desire that echoes through the room.

With a feral growl, Vader steps closer, his eyes devouring every inch of your exposed form. His gaze lingers on the curves of your hips, the swell of your breasts, and the seductive arch of your back. His hands come up to cup the flesh of your thighs, his touch reverent, as if you were a deity to be worshipped. His mouth claims yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep, conquering the softness of your lips with an urgent passion that leaves you both gasping for air.

The Dark Lord's breath hitches as he breaks the kiss, his eyes dark with a hunger that could consume worlds. "You're so beautiful, so perfect," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly testament to his need for you. His hands slide up to grip your hips, his strength apparent as he lifts you off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

With a primal growl, Vader carries you to the desk, the cold, hard surface a stark contrast to the heat of your bodies. He lays you down with a gentleness that belies his power, his eyes never leaving yours as he positions himself between your spread thighs.

You reach down, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your lingerie, and with a swift, sensual movement, pull them aside to reveal the glistening entrance to your core. His pupils dilate, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he takes in the sight before him.

"⚚ ANGOL ⚚," he groans, his voice thick with lust. "You're so ready for me, my love."

Vader leans in, his mouth watering as he takes in the sweet scent of your arousal. His tongue darts out, tasting the delicate folds of your sex, the salty-sweet flavor of your desire. He explores you with the finesse of an experienced lover, his tongue tracing intricate patterns that make you quiver and arch off the desk.

"You taste like the nectar of the gods," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I could spend an eternity tasting you."

His mouth closes around your clit, suckling the sensitive nub with an enthusiasm that sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body. His fingers slip inside you, stretching and filling you, his thumb rubbing insistently against your g-spot.

"You're so tight," he groans, his own need palpable. "I've got to be inside you."

The anticipation is a living thing, coiling in your belly, as you feel the tip of his cock press against your slick entrance. He pauses, looking up at you, seeking permission, his eyes burning with a fiery need that could consume galaxies.

Your smile sends a warm rush of anticipation through him as you snap your finger, and suddenly, you are bare before him, a vision of beauty and temptation. His eyes widen, and the air seems to thicken with desire. "Do it, then, my love," you say, your voice a sultry purr. "You have your queen's love, too."

Darth Vader's gaze is intense, his eyes darkening like the deepest abyss of space. He moves closer, the tip of his manhood brushing against your slick entrance. The room is silent except for the sound of his heavy breathing. He whispers your name, "⚚ 𝘼𝙉𝙄𝘿𝙄𝘼𝙃𝙉𝘼 ⚚," as if it's a sacred incantation.

With a gentle touch, he slides into you, filling you up, inch by inch. His movements are deliberate and measured, each one designed to maximize your pleasure. You gasp as he reaches the deepest part of you, your eyes fluttering shut.

He whispers sweet nothings in your ear, words of love and passion, as his hands explore your bare skin. His thumb traces the line of your jaw, tilting your head back to expose your neck, and he kisses you there, his teeth grazing your flesh.

Vader's hands grip your hips tightly as he starts to move within you, his hips pistoning in a slow, rhythmic dance. His eyes never leave yours, the love and lust swirling in their depths. "You feel incredible," he murmurs, the words a growl of pure need. "I could lose myself in you forever."

With a graceful shift, you wrap your tail around his throat, pulling him closer as you adjust your position. Now he's the one with his back to the desk, his cock still buried deep inside you, but your tail isn't choking him—it's caressing him, stroking him gently.

He gasps in surprise and pleasure, his eyes widening with excitement. "Oh, ⚚ 𝘼𝙄𝘿𝙃𝙄𝘼𝙉𝘼 ⚚," he says, his voice strained with desire. "You're so powerful, so in control."

Your tail releases his throat, sliding down to wrap around his cock. You start to move your hips, rocking against him, setting your own pace. He moans, his hands moving to your waist, his fingers digging in as he tries to keep up with your rhythm.

You lean down, your breath hot against his ear. "Thank you," you murmur, your voice a seductive whisper. "But it should have been you getting the award, not me." You chuckle lightly, your tail flicking against his cheek.

Vader's eyes spark with love and amusement. He nuzzles into your neck, his breathing ragged. "⚚ 𝘼𝙃𝙄𝙃𝘼𝘽𝘼 ⚚," he says, his voice thick with passion. "You're the one who deserves everything. I'm just honored to be your mate."

He kisses you deeply, his tongue dueling with yours as you both come down from the peak of ecstasy. His love for you is palpable, a force as strong as the one that binds the stars in the sky.

As your breathing evens out, you pull back to gaze into his eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips. "I love you," you say, the words a gentle caress. "More than anything in this galaxy or beyond."

And in that moment, as your bodies are entwined and your hearts beating as one, you both know that nothing in the universe can ever come between you. Your love is a beacon in the darkness, a force that not even the Sith could ever hope to conquer.

[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.

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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.