#something something desecration of the divine

[edgy-senju]

ꜰɪɢʜᴛ ᴍᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀɴ ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟ

[general-grey]

[takes a long drag from blunt] aatrox

[windvexer]

Crafts of the Witch Useful to Learn

Welcome to December 25th, here's some stuff about witchcraft to think about because you're on your phone looking for a distraction :)

So anyway here's stuff that's really useful to learn how to do before you actually need it because putting it all together for the first time on game day is stressful.

Creation and Desecration of a Poppet

A poppet is a deeply sympathetic representation of someone or something (usually another person).

According to the law of sympathy, whatever you do to the poppet will happen to the person it represents. You could cleanse and bless it, or smite it.

Poppets can be made in a wide variety of ways, from paper dolls, to clay figurines, to crocheted stuffies - anything you like. They also must be worked over magically to link them to their target.

The most ideal poppet is decorated to look very similar to the thing it represents, and is imbued with a taglock (such as hair, nail clippings, footprint dust, etc).

Learning Prompts:

The handicraft of creating the poppet - start with any arts and crafts you're interested in and see if they'll work for you

Practice making several poppets - you do not need to consecrate them. How easy is it for you to decorate it just like the real person? How easy is it for you to include taglocks?

Find a disposal plan. ""Voodoo dolls"" are steeped in public awareness; will it be safe for you to throw away the poppet in the trash when you're done with it?

Consecration or enlivening poppet as target. Find or develop a ritual to fill the poppet with magical life so that it becomes the target. Practice this once or twice (perhaps on a poppet of yourself, to cast blessings or prosperity magic on yourself)

Desecration or severing link. Find or develop a ritual to end the sympathetic link between the poppet and its target. Practice this once or twice.

Storage and tending of enlivened poppets. They are alive and they act like it. If you intend to have poppets sitting around for long-term spells or to use as-needed, you will need a system of storing them so that they "go to sleep" and remain undisturbed until you need them.

Consecration, In General

Here I mean "consecration" to be an act of magic which anoints an object as sacred unto a purpose, and therefore primed for magical use. In crude terms: you're making an object magical and giving it a purpose at the same time.

Consecration is a very useful thing to know how to do. In and of itself it can form a kind of minor enchantment (I consecrate this mug of oolong tea to be a potion of survival +1), but it can also prepare the way for powerful enchantments (I consecrate this ring to become a divine protector, ready to receive the powerful enchantment I soon cast upon it).

Learning Prompts:

Find or create a minor consecration spell which can be cast in under a minute. Strive to obtain one which is covert and can be done even in the presence of others. (Perhaps we could call this a 'cantrip'). Such a spell tends to be suitable for moving fate a few degrees over, or to dig a shallow pool in the tides of reality.

Find or create a hefty consecration spell. Consider what abilities or access you have that allows you to redefine the fate and purpose of an object. Contemplation of this spell can provide great insight into one's own belief and path. Such a spell may completely reorient fate, and carve new channels into the waterways of reality.

Practice minor consecrations on 5 different types of objects. Consecrating the tea, that's easy - stir it a few times. But how to consecrate a hairbrush? How to consecrate a mirror?

Practice major consecration twice, unto two very different domains. Perhaps a pepper oil of fiery smiting, and a crystal bracelet of deep soothing. This is an opportunity to compare and contrast the powers you raise when you work within different domains.

Desecration, In General; and Spell Reversal

To make profane; as in, to remove the magic from something and make it no more than a lump of physical matter, or a meaningless event like scattered dust on the winds of fate.

In my opinion, all witches should learn this - "don't raise up what you can't put down" also includes "don't enchant shit if you don't know how to undo enchantments."

To know how to nullify magic also means you can nullify unwanted and harmful things around you, and take the force and energy out of them.

Learning Prompts:

Find or create a minor desecration spell, one that you can cast on the fly and without tools or ingredients. Such a spell may be like a slapping a broom on a dusty rug; it will shake free things not tightly held.

Find or create a major desecration spell. Such a spell is like steam cleaning and shampooing a rug; it must remove every particle of magic and leave nothing behind but stripped fibers.

Practice minor desecrations 5 times in day-to-day life, targeting stank vibes and irritating situations that do not serve you.

Practice minor consecrations and desecrations 5 times by consecrating a stone, candle, etc., unto a magical purpose, and then removing the consecration.

Find an opportunity to cast a major desecration, which you may find the opportunity to do the next time the need for banishment comes up; or when sorting through old magical tools you no longer need, etc.

Find or create a solid spell reversal, one that you can use without having to have physical spell remnants on hand. Note that reverse to sender is not the same as nullifying your own magic.

Binding Divination Tools to Veracity, and Sundry Divination Management

Or if you like, binding veracity to divination tools. Binding is not baneful magic. Binding means to attach one thing to another thing, or to prevent something from being ways.

You can cast a binding on your divination tools to constrain them to only tell the truth, to truly peer beyond the veil, and only deliver what it can see; and never reflect your personal whims.

There's plenty of magic you can cast for your divinatory tools to make your life easier.

Prepare a binding spell to constrain a divination tool to only reflect the kind of truth you want. Do you want a tarot deck to only show your true state of mind? Do you want a set of runes to only read the will of the gods? Do you want your charm set to only read on the future, and not the past?

Find or create a protection spell to stop undue influence on a divination tool. This does not mean "evil spirits are manipulating your reading." Undue influence also means the strong emotions of querents, random psychic garbage, and the like; but it can also have an impact on the way you phrase questions and work with the tool itself.

Find or create a spell to enchant your tool as a magical seer/oracle. You can use a tarot deck out of the box, of course. You can also enchant it to be a magical object that obtains truth from mystical sources. Try it and see if you like the difference.

Find or create a charging ritual to revitalize your divination tools. This is a good opportunity to examine elemental energies; what kinds of energies are best suited to the purposes of divination and seeing beyond? The full moon is classically used for such purposes. Challenge yourself to recharge your divination tools once a month for 3 months, and see if you like the difference.

Blessing, In General

You have the power to generate and coalesce benevolent and helpful energies, and to distribute them into the world around you. You can bless anything you like, and perhaps the more the merrier; it's a very fine way to transform a space, and put love into the world.

Try considering blessings to have 2 parts; the first is to evoke a desirable force, and the second is to apply the force in a certain way: You could evoke the winter dawn as a blessing power, and then ask it to do something specific (provide a calm day, to make wise choices, to avoid bad traffic, etc).

Write your own minor blessing spell that you can perform in a minute or less. Try centering this blessing around a wonderful and benevolent force, whether it be a certain god, mushrooms, unconditional love, and so forth.

Write a separate minor blessing spell using a very different focus. Try the deep blue calming waters of the deep ocean, or the sprightly breezes of alpine hills, or the feeling of the first sip of a perfect bowl of soup; but make it have really different vibes from the first blessing.

Practice both minor blessings and see the difference. Challenge yourself to use each blessing cantrip 5 times. Try clustering the blessings to fill a space with that kind of energy (such as five items on desk blessed under the alpine breeze, and five items in the bathroom blessed under the deep ocean). Can you feel a difference in the spaces as you move in and out of them?

Write a major blessing using the various benevolent and lovely powers of your practice. This is another good opportunity to explore your practice. When you are in need of love, kindness, grace, and softness, what part of your path rises to meet your needs?

The Big Practice

Consecrate a poppet unto yourself. Bind and enchant a divination tool to be a powerful oracle of truth, and read on the most helpful equipment the poppet needs (RPG style: weapon, armor, familiar, potion?).

Whatever the answer, make a tiny container spell which serves the purpose. Consecrate it to be the tool that the poppet (you) needs.

Give the enchanted container spell to the poppet and cast a blessing on it, to be empowered with the new tool it has been granted in life.

Carefully store the poppet and its tool.

Periodically, perhaps between 1 to 6 times a year, recharge your divination tool and discern what new tools the poppet might need. Desecrate the old tool if you need to (or let them stack up), and consecrate new tools.

Keep the poppet and its tools for as long as you like, carefully severing the link between yourself and it when you're done with it.

[luetta]

capturing angels is easy. snipe them from the skies, break their halos, and watch the divine light fade from their eyes as you turn them into fleshlights.

capturing a seraph is harder.

they live in the upper atmosphere, far beyond reach. luckily nothing grabs their attention better than desecrating nature. you’ll have one hovering above you the moment you start pouring oil into the river.

but they’re invisible, they don’t actually do anything. they just watch with seething rage. but you can tell where they are, if you look carefully at the ripples in the sky. and they can be speargunned like any other piece of meat, they’re not intangible.

but they’re fast. once they get hit they’ll try to fly away, faster than you can blink. but it’s against their code to break something holy. that’s why i soaked the speargun rope in the blood of that drunk priest. it simply can’t snap the rope.

it’ll try attack you now, lifting it’s veil of invisibility and showing you it’s form. it’s beautiful, it’s blinding. that’s why we wear these industrial goggles to block most of its rays.

after the initial blast of light, you can see it’s true form. a 3m tall body of white porcelain, with undulating red spirals flowing from her talons. 3 halos, 2 pairs of wings, 6 uncaring eyes. it tries to attack us, shred us to pieces. but with a few more unbreakable spears, she’s essentially pinned in place.

it lets out a screech, attracting other seraphs. they come, but they just watch from afar. the leaves of all the trees nearby shrivel up. putting 2 pikes into her main wings, she can’t move. turning her head to look at us like an owl, she starts to speak.

“SURRENDIPITY. AMALGAMATION. DESECRATION. VOLITION. QUINTESSENCE.”

it’s best to just ignore them during this part. and instead just focus on the halos. that’s the target.

striking it with tools - sparks flying off - it’s amazing how much these floating discs feel like they’re anchored in place. they simply don’t react. but that’s a boon in our favour, not theirs. it means, eventually, they’ll shatter. if they warped it’d be exponentially harder to destroy.

eventually, the first one breaks with the help of a winch attached to the truck.

the seraph starts to struggle against her binds now, strange new feelings of danger making it panic.

“LIGHT FLOW BEAUTY RESIST ERODE TRANQUILITY. WATER AIR SPLIT GROW RECEDE. MAPLE LIMESTONE WIND TIDE BLOOD.”

the second halo breaks.

“SMOKE FIRE WAR WAR WAR. SHARK DARKNESS DEATH. MISERY. BLOODSHED. FEAR. TERROR. ACID BLINDNESS DECAY.”

the last halo cracks, it’s about to give out. the seraph is straining against the spears, shaking, desperate emotion in her eyes.

“LOVE WISDOM HAPPINESS. JOY PROSPERITY ENDLESS. RAINDROPS. YOURS. OWNERSHIP SUBJUGATION FREEDOM. LOVE EMPATHY ENVY PLEASURE RESPITE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. HOSPITALITY. INTIMACY. MERCY.”

the halo shatters to a million pieces. the area is no longer illuminated by some unseen source. the ripples in the sky disappear, the watchers retreat, uninterested now. the scared creature is speechless, her eyes wide and unbelieving. dirt now sticks to her body, instead of just sliding off. flesh instead of ceramic. we take the spears out, but bind her with ropes much harsher now. she’s still has strength, but it’s no longer unfathomable like it was.

now she’s just another fallen angel, about to learn the one thing divinity lacks, and humanity excels in. physicality. we have a lot of breaking in to do before she’s ready to join the other angels downtown. or perhaps i’ll find a private, permanent buyer. something like this would probably fetch enough to let us get out of this shithole finally.

as we throw her into its new room, a cold, stone room, with hooks in the walls to attach chains to, she speaks again.

“hurt. sadness. freedom fear anxiety. lost indecision hubris. mercy pain silence. separation beauty uncountability. exploration … limitations. unknown darkness fear. ”

“don’t worry darling. we’ll have you singing again in no time.”

[silvergarnet12]

What if you could find the Divine Beasts in the Depths?

You’re in this dark, alien environment, strange noises echoing around you, the inescapable anxiety your only companion. Squinting in the distance, you see a frighteningly familiar shade of blue flicker, faint in the distance.

Cautiously moving forward, you begin to realise the blue belongs to something much, much larger than a possible guardian. Eventually, an ancient behemoth looms overhead, still, silent, and empty, both at rest and unnervingly calm. A strange, restless melancholy replaces the sense of creeping dread, no less uneasy than before.

Entering the resting stone, in the corner of your eyes, you see movement flicker. At first you think a spirit, perhaps the Champions still linger… but deep down you know they’ve passed on… right?

Echoing footsteps fill the silence as you press on, avoiding gloom where there had once been malice, a desecration of a sacred resting place. You see the flicker again, turn on your foot and see for a split second, a beloved friend, an uneasy rival, a stalwart protector, a steadfast leader, an ally, a painful reminder of your worst failure. Even now, years later, it stings.

You try to get their attention, but there is no response. Instead, you watch. And realise. And mourn again. There are no spirits here. Not in the vast, decaying depths, not in the final resting places of a final hope.

These are echoes of the ones you knew. You can see them in the corner of your eyes sometimes, going about preparations for that ill-fated battle. It’s eerie, made no better by the Grand Poes gently swaying, their locations random but making uncomfortable sense.

Sometimes, on unlucky days, it is not preparations that these echoes go through. Pain torn screams faintly heard as their final moments are played out, a play on an eerie stage.

Vah Medoh groans in the dark, as the image of her pilot slams limply on her back, wing torn, and struggles to get up, defiance in his glare even now.

Vah Ruta cries a warning, as her pilot slumps over the controls, never seeing her killer, her last thought to warn the others.

Vah Rudania braces herself, as the echo of her pilot does the same, but the shield shatters, a flash of phantom heat coating the area, followed by darkness.

Vah Nabooris strides steady, until her pilot, fatigued from a relentless assualt, makes one fatal misstep in her final dance, lightning crackling in the air.

The stone beasts are restless, aware of the new threat, and unable to let go of the last pilots they’ll ever have, desperately trying to fight once more. But instead, they lay still, silent, a monument to their pilots lost to time.

What if you could find the Divine Beasts in the Depths?

[sausage-rolll]

I don't think a game has ever made me feel as physically ill as elden ring did when I found out about how Miquella was using Mohg. 

I always had a sneaking suspicion that Mohg's obsession with Miquella had something to do with his charming ability, but never really had much more than a hunch to go off of.

Finding out that that hunch was not only correct, but also how much deeper the rabbit hole went made me feel genuinely sick. He didn’t just charm Mohg, he somehow used him to gain access to the land of shadow, abandoned him and then stole his still warm corpse to desecrate into an entirely different form to house the soul of the consort he actually wanted.

Mohg doesn’t even get a footnote in his little “thank you” speech at the gate of divinity. To him, we were more impactful in his plans coming to fruition for inadvertently delivering Radahn’s soul to him than the person who got him into the land of shadow in the first place. The person who died to become the vessel of his king consort.

I don't know why this part of the game specifically had me feeling so disgusted, it's not really something I can explain. There's just something about this character that was put on such a high pedestal by the world around him, and who has received unconditional love throughout his entire life, weaponizing that very same love against someone that probably struggled with it for most of his life and used it to manipulate, take advantage of and isolate him.

And then when one of his knights comes looking for justice, for the freedom of his master, Miquella just charms him too, burying his memories of his devotion to his lord and stealing him for his own followers.

He stripped Mohg of absolutely everything and used him for his own gain until the very end and beyond. For me, Miquella’s age of compassion died the moment he decided doing that was acceptable.

[threepandas]

Bad End: My Faithful

Cling. Cling. Sacred bells and jewelry clatter, strike and move, in synch with song. No beat is wasted. No step, anything but sure. Muscles roll in the moonlight. He is beautiful. Enchanting. We gather. Each for different reasons. Each to worship something. As all of us, worship the divine.

The steps having meaning, I am told. They combine into a prayer. Swift and flowing, haunting as it is. His feet are so certain. His movements so graceful. It's no wonder the Gods love him so. His faith shines so purely. The high priest of Nox, beloved child of Night and Mind.

It's appalling, to me, that I should get to see this at all.

Like some cheap dancer on display, the King has demanded he perform, for the "sacred maiden" to witness. Ha. Sacred to WHOM? Certainly not us. The Lumos have been creeping like a sickness. Imbalancing the world, yet daring to proclaim themselves cures. And now? NOW? They have called upon their God to defy the natural order.

An otherworldly soul.

"Sacred", my ass.

She has bewitched the royal family, who already coddled the Lumos. Begun to collect powerful men like trinkets. And now? Now she wants to "learn about the Nox"? Ha! With out a shred of respect! It is because our High Priest is handsome. Because everyone knows that. I... I want to weep. Refuse too, during this sacred Rite.

They have made cheap, lustful spectacle, of one of our most holy rites. A sacred ritual dance. Meant to be perform only in the presence of the inner temple Grand Worshipers. Those who had cleansed themselves and been made pure.

Not... not those who would ogle him. Look upon him like a courtesan dancer.

What threat did they use? What disgraceful tactics? I stand amongst other Priests and Priestess', both in awe and sickened to my core. We have no right to be here. To see this. But... but we WILL. By Nox, none of us will leave.

I gathered as many as I could, when I heard. The purification baths ran from sun down to sun up. We had to borrow every tub we could find. More then a few of us skipping over a day's worth of meals, just to stay pure.

We bunked six or more to a room, traveled for days. But... but by Nox, I gathered them. Every Temple and worshiper I could find. And we are Pure. We are with him. Through us, I hope, Nox is with him, and... and that this ugly desecration of our ways, this foul spectacle, will not mar his soul.

I pray.

Watch, disgusted, as the so called Sacred Maiden "ooos and aaahs" like this is some festival event. Eating food as she blushes and ogles a holy man. The royal family around her, having the audacity to openly look bored. Only the youngest prince refuses food, wear properly dark colors. Treats this as the uncomfortable, twisted, but still holy event that it IS.

Perhaps all is not lost.

The Dance ends.

She has the audacity to CLAP.

The Lumos worshipers in the crowd begin to follow her lead, before noticing the appalled stares from our side. They awkwardly trail off. The youngest prince has closed his eyes in horror. You do NOT make NOISE after the Dance. You LISTEN, in a moment of silence, for the wisdom of Nox, as you consider your troubles.

Why don't you spit in our God's FACE next, you wretch!

You've done EVERYTHING ELSE.

Oblivious, she excitedly chatters, loudly, to her Royal lover. Points down to the High Priest in clear question and intent. No. NO. Absolutely NOT! I could not stop this travesty, but I would rather die at this point, then see it go further.

I step forward. Crossing the unspoken ritual line. My fellow Worshipers inhale sharply. What am I DOING? Have I gone insane? They must wonder. Perhaps I have. So be it. But from the corner of my eye, I see the Lumos harlot bouncing down from her viewing box, dragging along an indulgent royal. Entitled and presumptuous, they have taken ENOUGH.

My hand comes up to my night cloak. Ceremonial, yes, but beautifully indistinct. The wearer could be anyone. My strides lengthen. No more. By Nox, there will be no more.

His Holiness stands where the final step left him, head tilted back in prayer, eyes closed. Face somber in the face of this great insult. He has not bowed before such indignity, as what son of the Gods ever would? Before a mere King.

We, by all rights, should never meet. I am a simple, small time, temple keeper. A handful of Worshipers at best. But my faith can not, WILL NOT, let me stand idle. My presumption is unacceptable... but allowing His Holiness to be drooled over like meat? Be treated like a novelty and toy, to be trotted out for some Lumos woman's amusement? That is unthinkable.

I murmur apologies, even as I drape my cloak around his shoulders, raise the hood. Turn and guild him, gently but with insistence, back towards my fellow Worshipers. The Royals have noticed. Call for me to stop.

Not once do I break stride. They can call all they like. I will not.

The others have figured out my plan, simple as it is. Their loyalty is without question. Gently they drift forward, as though simply making room for each other. Parting to allow us into the crowd. Swallowing us instantly. A cloak is thrown over me by an older Priest, a spare, it seems. I nod. Keep walking.

His Holiness has lost his somberness, his touch of anger. The cold blade-like bite of rage. His arm slides around mine. Merely two Worshipers, out for a stroll. The curl of amusement at the edges of his lips. Behind us, Royal gaurds are roughly shoving people out of the way. The Nox are not making it easy.

Enough is enough.

Down the road, gaudy Lumos gaurds have cut off the path. Their precious little Maiden wants her amusement. If she seeks to meet a holy man? Then it does not matter that he is not for her to meet, that his faith has rules and traditions to adhere too. The spoiled child must have her toys. The burning light will consume as it pleases.

Ritualisticly painted fingers slid between mine. A cool hand, humming with power, gentle as it gripped my own. Startled, I looked down. His Holiness was holding my hand. His grip having casually slide down, even as he remained intertwined. He leaned, as we passed by an alley, nudging me into it. Swinging around me, on dancer's feet, to lightly brush the brickwork edge of the entrance with his other hand.

The one that was solid black, as a night without stars.

All light disappeared.

Behind us, I could hear the noise and fuss of the street. But only a few steps in? It disappeared. Everything hushing, like a heavy blanket upon the night. The stone beneath us... not cobbled. Not brickwork either. A Worshiper of the Light, I imagine, would be terrified. But I? I was in AWE.

It was the Night, concentrated. Shadows and darkness, yet I could see. Holy in its silence. It's quiet contemplation. There... there were colors, here, that I could not begin to name. A softness. Yet? A danger.

This was a place that would entice you. Call to you. Invite you to ponder and rest. Have no concern for the harsh light of day, the trouble of man. You could wander forever. Never to return. Sleep for centuries, uninterrupted. It was no wonder, that Nox did not grant this wonder to the common disciple. The strength His Holiness would need, not to go mad? To become lost? Was unimaginable.

I turned to him, certain the wonder must be painted on my face. My jaw on the floor. He seemed delighted by my reaction. A charmed look on his face. I had so many questions. Was uncertain I was even allowed to ask. Where would I even begin? Could I even begin?

"Ask," he allowed, voice soft and inviting. Tucking my arm close. Then moving to slide his arm around my body, no doubt to guide me. "I will-"

"YOU."

The word snapped and cracked through the air, like a great shattering. A command and accusation. It echoed in my bones, rattled in my soul, even as the silence if this place swallowed it's edges. I froze, midstep. Because... because that was impossible. That voice. It could not possibly be behind me.

Because....

His Holiness was standing right next to me.

"Unhand that child, you wretched thing!" Came the command from behind us. The cadence unmistakable, the sheer presence, impossible to match. I had attended enough sermons to know. "Did you think I would not find you?! Not see the chaos you cause in my name? I am not so blind!"

"....aren't you?"

That was not his Holiness voice.

Fear, like the branching death of a lightning strike, shoots through me. Horror and panic, crashing together in a suffocating dance, that commands me to move. Now. NOW! Move!!

I try to jerk away from the imposter next to me. Only to find that I can not. My body pressed against his side, like lovers on a stroll. When? When did he?! How did I not notice!? No. I DID notice. But thought nothing of it! Because His Holiness would never act untoward. Is a respectful and holy man. Oh Nox! But this is not-!

"Now look what you've done. You've upset her. How rude of you, Priest of Nox." Chides the imposter, even as my breath picks up. As I struggle harder, to no avail. No! No no NO! Help me! Somebody-! PLEASE!

His other arm comes up as he turns towards me, about to wrap around me like a cage. I feel tears begin to burn my eyes. Betrayal and fear, confusion and horror, what... what is HAPPENING!?

A shard a night, black and filled with stars, sings death and it shoots between us. Forcing the imposter to lean back. Away from me. The first is followed by a hail of more. Making him step back. One step. Two. Giving me just enough room to struggle free and stumble back.

"Keep your lustful eyes away from that child, Priest of Kháos! You have perverted, desecrated, enough! You will go no further."

Never had I so much as heard, much less seen, the High Priest in such a fury. And it WAS him. It could be no one else. He wore his robe, in full, prayer paint delicate across his face and hands. Starlight clung to his night black hair, danced in his eyes. He was a moon, a light, in this softly shadowed place. How... how could I have mistaken the imposter for him?

Desperately, I tried to run to his side. That pillar of strength, of faith, that would guide me through this nightmare. I barely got two steps. My cloak captured in an unshakable grip.

"Ah~ ah~ ah~, none of that, dear. We're not done." The imposter said, voice light and scolding. As though I was just being silly and difficult, not struggling desperately to escape. "And we were doing so well! Didn't you like me, dear? You were so thoughtful and charming. So cute! I've certainly come to like~ you~♡"

My terrified gaze met his Holiness', in both forever and an instant. There was fear for me there. Strength. Determination. The eyes of the man that had lead us all. With kindness and hope, faith and compassion. A brother and father and friend. I... I could see the exact moment... he decided.

He lunged forward, holy blade surging into being. Cutting through my cloak.

"GO!" He shouted. "RUN! Nox be with you!"

I run.

The silence is consumed behind me. Crashing and clanging. Whoosing and booms. The sounds of great, terrible battle between the powerful. All I can do... all I can hope to do? Is get to a safe distance. Survive this madness. Believe in his Holiness. He will win. He... he MUST win! He is the High Priest of Nox. A child beloved by the gods. He... he MUST win...

Right?

The shadows hide me, and for that I amgrateful, but they also hide all paths beneath my feet. The soft darkness is endless. Running, running, running. Long after it all falls to silence. Even as my lungs burn and my legs cramp. I... I don't know where I am. Can no longer hold back my tears.

What have I DONE?

I brought the loyal to the filthy alter of an imposter. A false idol. I have made apostates of the faithful, lead them astray! Nox, forgive me, I have betrayed my own family! Your people! I sob, curling into myself. I... I didn't mean too! I swear!

Alone, I pray in the dark.

Eventually though, my tears run dry, and all I can do... is wait.

I can not escape this place under my own power. No amount of running will find an exit. And sooner or later? Either there will be a victor... or both His Holiness and the Imposter will perish, and I will starve. Or perhaps be lost to this place? I do not know. All I can do, now, is... is face it with dignity. Wait. Pray.

.......alone.

Steps. Playful and almost dancing. Skipping and swirling erratically to a beat all their own. Discordant humming, three different song all at once, overlapping poorly. Dread seeps through my veins. I... I do not recognize the voice. Yet, I do. If it were to... to pretend to be...? Oh Nox.

"Darling~, there you are! My, my, you ran quite the distance! Didn't you?" The jingle of bells and discordant voices, shifting together as he speaks. I feel frozen. But that does not save me. The imposter merely meandering and dancing his way around, to loom directly above me. "Found~ you~, ha ha!"

As though it were a joke and not a horror. My vision filled with bright and garish colors. Bells and scarves. My cloak, like damning accusation, still draped around the liars shoulders. Eye level to a belt of many different sized bells and beads, I look up. A terrible smile lays in wait there, to greet me. Covetous and manic. Filled with rending teeth.

"You know the problem with assumptions, sweetness? It's the risk that you could be wrong! You go into a situation, think to yourself 'oh, I'm just gonna face off against a boring, lame little priest, like me!' when in REALITY? Your about to pick a fight with something so, SO much better."

"See," the imposter squats, as though about to reveal a secret, just between the two of us. "Cutey," A claw tipped had comming up to slide across my cheek before with a light pat, he decided to grip it. "Kháos? Oh He doesn't HAVE a high priest. No, no! Why waste the time? The effort! You gotta train those. And it's SO easy it lose um."

An exaggerated mockery of sorrow, before the grin returned.

"No, see, Kháos? HE has an AVATAR~! Isn't that fun? And you'll never guess, sweet, who that avatar is~. Go on. Guess." I was frozen. The level of power he was suggesting... oh Nox. No. Please, no. His Holiness was... "That's right! ME. Such a smart girl~! And you know what I've always wanted to do? Steal a pretty little priestess of my very own!"

"You and me? Well get along nicely, sweetheart. You're gonna covert great~♡"

There was no way out. The grip on my face threatened to bruise. All I could see was sharp, sharp teeth and a mad man's grin. Oh, Nox! Oh, NOX! Someone, anyone! Please! Even the Lumos at this point! I called out... but nothing answered.

"Worship at my alter. Just you and me, dear! I can't wait to burn the world down!"

"Now, close your eyes, give us a kiss, and let's pray, m'kay~♡?"

[surelysilly]

SuperPhantom Week 2024, go!

What: A week to celebrate the bestest crossover — Danny Phantom / Supernatural (TV 2005)! Fanfic, fanart, playlists/music, other multimedia or crafts, whatever you want, are all welcome! There are themed prompts for each day, so try to include it and more or as little as you want!

When: September 7th, 2024 - September 13th, 2024

Day 1: Sept. 7th - Divine / Impiety Day 2: Sept. 8th - Strange Day 3: Sept. 9th - Family / Outsider Day 4: Sept. 10th - Song (Fic) Day 5: Sept. 11th - Right / Left Day 6: Sept. 12th - Tools of the Trade Day 7: Sept. 13th - Free

*I will catch up on what I've missed in the following week to the best of my ability, but can't guarantee any swiftness. Submissions may show up the day after their prompt as I queue them up.

Sentence prompt for the week:

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

How: Post your works on Tumblr with the tags #superphantomweek2024 and #superphantom. I’ll reblog them here! Submissions to the week can also be added to this Ao3 Collection!

Just want everyone to have fun with this old little crossover here, so be free and be merry!!! <3

Below are extra details and information for each day.

Honorable mentions for extra brownie points:

Focus on side characters from either show! Last (few) season(s) nonsense Where do ghosts fit in the war between heaven and hell?

Day 1: Sept. 7th - Divine / Impiety

Do you think God lives in Heaven because He, too, lives in fear of what He's created Here on Earth? - Spy Kids 2

Divine: Angelic Presence, Angels, Grace, Holy, God(s), Wings, Pie, Fudge, Resurrection, Prophets

Impiety: Deals, Crossroads, Demon, Betrayal, Curse, Desecration, King of Hell, Abomination, Half-human (Nephilim, Cambion), Halfas (Half Angel & Half Ghost)

Day 2: Sept. 8th - Strange

There's something wrong with those boys... Something off about that house...

Too Many Eyes, Charade, Fleeting Glimpses, Veil, Death Defying, Midwestern Gothic, Limbo/Purgatory, Horror, Biblically Accurate, Ghosts, Weird Age Club

Day 3: Sept. 9th - Family / Outsider

This is about the blood of the covenant and the water of the womb, or neither or.

Family: Children, Childhood, Siblings, Old Friend, Blood, Fluff, Teamwork, Bonds

Outsider: Accidental Meeting, Secret, Outside POV, Found Footage, Ghost Facers, Wrongfully Accused, Strange Bedfellows, Incorrect Assumptions

Day 4: Sept. 10th - Song (Fic)

We've got a long road ahead of us... can't just sit in silence! Or can we...?

Mixtape, CD burn, Radio, Voice, Enochian, Ghost Speak, Silence, Lullaby

Day 5: Sept. 11th - Right / Left

The usual canon divergence, even canon compliance... or something even further removed!

Right: Time Travel, Pre-canon, The End AU, It's a Terrible Life AU

Left: Roleswap, Fantasy AU, Sci-fi, Multi-Crossover

Day 6: Sept. 12th - Tools of the Trade

These vary by profession. What are yours?

Overshadowing, Shot gun, Blade, Salt Circle, Trap, Ghost Portal, Ectoplasm, Impala, Feton AV, Cold Iron, Disguise, Fire, Possession, Wail, Monster of the Week, Summoning

Day 7: Sept. 13th - (Team) Free (Will)

New beginnings. Final endings. Let's do it all over again, it's only just getting started. Or is it?

Friday the 13th, Unlucky, Carry On My Wayward Son, Thrill, whatever you want!

*Take what you like, leave what you don't; these are all just extra suggestions for each day to help get the brain wrinkling up! Send any questions my way~

[p123apples]

please God, I want to be impregnated so bad. I want him. That beautiful, radiant angel. Like a god, having come down to Earth to cleanse us of our sins.

he is beyond divine. I can’t help but drop to my knees in worship whenever I see his beautiful figure. I yearn for him in a way both primal and spiritual. I would commit more war crimes than every president in United States history just to lick the sweet, glistening sweat from his smooth, creamy skin. I want to listen to his moans as his manhood throbs within , I want to hear his heart race as our bodies become one and our souls irreversibly intertwine in the holy sin of carnal union.

I want to suckle at his motherly bosom, slurping that rich mana milk from his teat as I would stir his cream into my coffee and let his balls boil in it. His cries of pleasure and the rocking of our bed would be louder than the cacophony of ten thousand drone strikes. I would make love to him until my body gave out, and then some. I would let him break my rib cage with any part of his body. I would let him hit me with his car just to be near him for a brief moment.

he’s so perfect it hurts. Every moment without him I suffer a pain worse than breaking every bone in my body simultaneously while drowning and also having shards of glass coated in hot sauce forced through every orifice of my body. I want him, I need him. I want to desecrate his crisp general suit. I want to start a family with him and retire after our twenty seven children have grown up and moved out. I want to see those luscious lips speak such filthy, perverse words into my ear while he slides ice cubes down my gaping pisshole.

I want to fuck him like he owes me money. I would let him step on me, just to feel the soft, firm warmth of his feet upon my face and his groin area. I would sleep under him just to catch his drool in my mouth. I would fish the strands of hair from his shower drain just to smell his alluring scent, and braid them into necklaces to keep him with me always. Or cock rings. Whichever would please him more.

God please, I would do anything for him. I would relinquish my life, all my hopes and dreams, just to become the socks on his feet so that I may warm his mouthwatering toes with my very being, so that he may feel the heat of my love always. I would encase myself in cement and become his doorstep, so that he may wipe his heels upon my face. I would tear my own limbs off. I don’t know what I’d do after that, or why he might want my limbs. But I would do it.

My prince, my god, the light of my life. Please God, let me have him. I want him to be mine and only mine. I would lick the Doritos dust from his fingers and fill his belly button with honey mustard to dip my teats in. I would give him a sponge-bath with my tongue every morning and serve him breakfast in bed. I would let him eat my eggs,straight from the source . i would let him eat steak off my body if it pleased him, no matter how painful the third-degree burns would be.

I would bear the torment of eternal damnation until the end of time to taste the seat of his car but once. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him, nothing I wouldn’t say. I wouldn’t even let myself cum until he gave me permission.

I love you,gojo . Please. Be mine. Be my life, my lover, my sorcerer daddy ,my everything. Say yes. I see it in your eyes, when you’re up there yapping about catching up to suguru or whatever. Answer my calls, respond to my letters. Something. Give me a sign, gojo. I’m waiting for you in chapter 269, come back my glorious emperor,it is time you got out of that airport or you would be escorted

descend from heaven satoru,i am waiting.

[redjademilktea]

I've talked about this before, but with the final episode of Downfall and the Cooldown that followed it I feel the need to write about it again.

The morality of saving the gods of Exandria was never going to be clear cut. Stopping Ludinus, stopping the Ruby Vanguard maybe. But there's an important conversation to be had about the nature of divinity that needs to be had. And Downfall makes this discourse more salient and pressing than it's ever been.

I really liked what Brennan brought up in the Cooldown, about "achieving enlightenment on their terms," or suffer the fate of "not being able to understand." The gods as they exist have protected and will continue to protect the way of being that allows for their continued existence. They dismiss anything that challenges that existence - anything that makes them confront the nature of mortality, as Brennan elegantly phrased it - as something not worth considering. As something that simply doesn't grasp what one needs to grasp to do what must be done.

And if doing what must be done means calling a truce in their great war. If that means collaborating with the very siblings on the opposing side of that conflict, which has led to so much loss of mortal life and desecration of the face of Exandria, then so be it. It has to be done. We are mere children, we wouldn't understand.

I'm reminded of Ann Stoler in her book "Along the Archival Grain," along with Avery Gordon's "Ghostly Matters." Both authors talk about the lengths and extents colonial states go to legitimate and justify their existence through the policing and curation of knowledge. It is in the best interest of the colonial state to produce and maintain knowledge that justifies its being. They are doing what they do because they define it to be right, to be just.

And those contradictions? The holes in colonial logic born out of the anxieties and fears of losing that legitimacy? Those inconsistencies that necessitate their reproduction and continued existence? Poor child, you do not understand. It is the right thing to do. There are things at play that are beyond fathoming for you. It simply must be this way. It is right for it to be this way. Fallicies and contradictions in colonial logic become justified and legitimated via the production of knowledge produced from the colonial archive to reproduce itself.

The knowledge of the divine killing weapon. The people, the complex, ephemeral, fleeting, textured, beautiful, pained, vibrant lives of those that held that knowledge. That knowledge that was spread to touch every soul on that floating city. All of it could not persist. For them to persist would mean the possibility of the way things are, the way things are ought to be from those who know better, could come to an end.

So it must be this way. The city must fall, despite its infinite arcane beauty. Lives must be lost, and so too must their chance for redemption, for a new beginning. All things must come to an end, if that means preserving the infinite. Family must persist. *They* must persist. And so it must be this way.

I say all this to highlight the fact that the morality underlying the theme of this campaign is not clear cut. The nature of it prevents that. The members of Bells Hells are not good or bad because some of them remain ambivalent to the existence of the gods. No single one of them is inherently right or wrong.

But you cannot argue there is a "right" answer when it comes to the gods. They simply are. Much like anything simply is. And what their existence means, especially for what it means to the lives of mortals on Exandria who must suffer the consequences of that divine existence, must be reckoned with.

I really am impressed with the bold scope of thematic ideas that Campaign 3 introduces and continues to grapple with. It is phenomenal story telling, and is strikingly resonant with the enmeshed struggles that permeate the very real world that informs the lives and experiences of its creators. All of them continue to blow me away every Thursday night!

[lovesickeros]

☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.

[gauloiseblue]

réchauffer un serpent dans son sein

(König × Angel!Reader)

[TW: rape, non-con, obsession, desecration of a sacred body]

Inspired by this and this posts

There's a saying that woods aren't what they seem. Wander too far, and you might get lost. But if you listen to the rustles, and follow the low whispers between the trees, you might stumble upon an unearthly place. Where the time seems dilated, and the space distorted.

If you're just a small child, there's a chance that you'd never come back. The Fae loves little humans, and it's not a surprise when many of them were lost in the forest.

When he's just a young child, he often heard about the missing cases. Another day gone, another kid disappeared. It's so common back then, that every parent would keep their kids away from the forest. Including his.

But still, the wonder of it got the best of him.

One day, when his parents were a bit careless, he slipped from the back door, and walked into the forest.

In the mind of an adult, his action might seem unreasonable. But at that time, he could only think about the sanctuary. The hidden place for ethereal beings, that the kids in town often whispered about.

The track to the place was steep, and he struggled to get through it. But once he arrived at the creek, all of his fatigue strangely disappeared.

He followed the stream, dipping his feet into the cool water. He took a sip of it, and tasted the mineral so sweet, he hunched down to drink some more.

Upstreams, the brook widened into a pond, with high, flowering walls of waterfall.

The sight of it was nothing he'd ever seen, and would continue to haunt him for decades. His pupils were blown, as they took in the beauty of it. He slowly walked further, until he reached a boulder near the cascade. It was at this moment, he found the trace of divinity.

Upon the big rock, he spotted a golden flow. It's not until he pulled it, that he recognized the shape of it. What's on his hands was a weightless veil—a Celestial veil.

And he was right, because the moment he lifted his head, he saw a figure on the cliff.

She's a pure being, glowing softly with her hair flowing with the stream. She's sitting on the protruding stone on the wall, washing her hair before her feet. The flowering tree did little to cover her body, and his eyes burned, as if he's looking right at the sun. While it should've been obvious by then, the little him couldn't comprehend what he saw wasn't a human. She's never a human.

It took a minute for him to close his gaping mouth, and a little more for her to notice his presence. And when she did, gone was her smile. Since what came after was a terrified gaze that pierced his heart, as if she saw something vile, repulsive. Something that's him.

She came down from the waterfall, and landed softly as if she's unbound from gravity. He clutched the veil tighter, while she approached him like one would to a beast.

"You shouldn't be here." She whispered, "This is not a place for you."

"Are you a Fey?" He asked, eyes fluttered with innocence and curiosity.

She opened her mouth, before she decided against it.

"You should go home." She muttered, before extending her hand towards him, "I'll guide you back, but please, return the veil to me."

"Why?" He pushed on, "Why should I give it back? Do you not want to take me?"

"No, I'm not—" She bit her lip, "Please, I won't harm you."

"How do I know if I can trust you?"

"You can, because I'm not a Fae." She pleaded, "You should leave, before they see you."

"Then what are you?" He tilted his head, "An angel?"

She froze, eyes widened as if he's holding a knife to her chest. He wanted to reach her hand, to offer some kind of comfort, but a sudden wind blew from the forest. It was so strong, that his clothes fluttered against his body.

"They're here." She mused, her voice filled with dread.

He gasped when she pulled him by his hand, and goosebumps broke out all over his body. He shuddered at her touch, and his legs gave out. She staggered when he fell on his knees, before she bent down to pick him up. In the corner of his eye, he saw a strange shadow standing between the trees.

She tried to take the veil from him, but his grip on it was too tight. Caused by a combination of shock and bliss from receiving an Angel's touch.

"I'm sorry." She murmured, before she cupped his chin and pressed her lips against his. Right at that moment, he felt Heaven on the tip of his tongue. His eyes rolled back in head, and his body turned limp in her arms. If her touch weakened him, her kiss could paralyzed him.

In the midst of haze and rapture, he felt the veil slip from his hand, before the breeze turned into gusting winds.

He must've blacked out during the flight, because the moment he opened his eyes, he's already in the arms of his parents.

Their tears had wetted his clothes, and his mother raised his head to see him. He couldn't hear the whispers from people around them, but he caught some of the repeated words. 'Lucky', 'missing', '3 days'.

When he laid on his bed, he traced his fingers on the place she had touched. His arms, his cheek, his lips… The caresses of her fingers still lingered on his skin. He wanted to meet her, to be touched by her again. Alas, he's prohibited from going to the woods.

He was screaming, crying, begging for his parents to let him go. But they didn't yield, they wouldn't give in.

At night, he'd curl up under his cover, as quiet sobs escaped his lips. With his fingers dug into his skin, in a futile attempt to preserve her touch. Yet no matter how hard he clung to it, the heavenly mark would slip away from his hands.

It's not until a half year later, that he finally got the chance to leave home.

He could remember the route like it's the back of his hand; see the big tree, and follow the stream. And when he found the brook, he let out a sigh of relief.

Yet it was short-lived, since the river went on. He didn't see any sign of sanctuary, no flowering trees, no sweet smell in the wind. He bent down to taste the water, but quickly spit it out. It was awful, it wasn't as pristine as he had before.

He looked up, trying to find any sign of the heavenly garden, but there's none. There were only grey clouds, and yellowing leaves upon him.

Faintly, he could hear chuckles and amused whispers from the forest. He turned his head towards the woods, and saw the moving shadows behind the trees.

'... the boy comes back for her…'

'... how cute…'

'... he didn't know that…'

'... she left…'

Perhaps if he could stop for a moment, and listen to them, he could see that his search was hopeless. But he was stubborn. Even after he walked through the creek, and found no flowering waterfall in the upstream.

That night, he's found by the townsman near the river. His eyes were red, and his hands were dirty with soil. The villagers escorted him back to his home, where his parents waited and prayed. They rushed to hold him, asking why he left, where he'd been, but he stayed silent.

He was bedridden for the next several days, from drenched clothes and sorrow he had yesterday. He remembers the weight in his heart, and the seeming emptiness within his chest. Of course, a young boy like him hadn't understood the heartache, but even then, he knew the sole cause of it was the Angel.

He pulled the blanket to his chest, gripping tightly as he sobbed. Why wouldn't she take him? Why wouldn't she look at him?

The questions would linger in the back of his mind, because the moment he looked in the mirror, the image of her flashed before his eyes. Why wouldn't she look at him? Was he so hideous, that she's terrified upon seeing him? If so, why would she kiss him?

He tried to ask the questions to his parents, but what he received weren't answers. Instead, they told him it's just a dream, because Angels didn't exist. He tried to tell the other kids around him, but he quickly learnt that no one believed him. No one found his story plausible, rather, they called him a liar. As a result, that name stayed with him throughout his school years.

On one day in October, as he hid behind the tree in the school yard, he vowed to himself to never tell a soul about his Angel.

While he kept her existence from the others, he still tried to seek her in the forest. When he grew up into adulthood, his parents ceased to worry about his whereabouts. For a reason that he's rarely home. When he's 18, he went down the path of the army. Which granted him more freedom to continue his search.

Of course, he had considered giving up and turned to worldly pleasures. But nothing could compare to her kiss.

It's a wonder how a single encounter could lead to a lifetime obsession. All his efforts, all his knowledge about the forest's paths were the result of a single desire—to see the Angel again. Yet after miles of walking through the woods, exploring every inch of the forest's paths, he found none of her. Not a single trace of her and her existence. Whenever he went back, empty-handed, he couldn't help but feel helpless. As if he's still the little boy who cried by the river.

The emptiness he felt isolated him from his peers, because he knew no one would understand him. When he agreed to the missions that required him to fight in the forest for months, many of his comrades questioned his decision. When he refused the comfort of the night women, the other soldiers would look at him strange. When he's lost in his thoughts, with his eyes fixed on the flowing river, his colleagues would whisper behind his back. Indulged themselves with rumors and speculations.

For a decade, he kept himself at a distance from the others. Until one night, when the alcohol loosened his tongue, he told the story of his past to his fellow soldier. For the first time in his life, someone listened to him without a frown.

"I know someone who knows about these things." He told him, "But I don’t know if he's willing to talk."

He sat up straight as he leaned forward, "Tell me."

His friend hesitated for a moment, before he cleared his throat. "He lived on the outskirts of town, just a bit further in the woods. Sometimes he's in the town's market, selling furs and meats from his hunting." He then leaned closer to say something in low tone, "But there's a rumor that he's selling other things, if you ask the right question."

"What's the question?"

The man shrugged, "I never asked."

He sighed, rubbing his face in frustration. "Alright." He retorted quietly, "Where can I find him?"

The next day, he visited the address his friend gave.

It was a 20 minute drive from the city, and the trip was slowed down since his house was off the beaten path. When he arrived at the driveway, he noticed a man by the house, bringing the axe down as he splitted the log.

As he approached the man, he sensed a piercing gaze on his face.

"What do you want?" The man scoffed, as he made no effort to hide his hostility.

"Someone told me you knew about the creatures in the forest."

"Deer?" The man sneered, "I can sell their pelts for cheap."

"No." He looked him straight in the eye, "I want information about Angels."

The man went quiet for a moment, before he shook his head in a jeering manner. "Another stray from the asylum."

"I'll do anything in exchange for the information."

It seemed to pique him, as he put his mocking facade down.

"Are you from the church?"

"Military."

"Why does a man like you want to know about Angels?"

"It's for personal reasons."

He grinned at him, showing yellowing teeth behind his lips. "You saw one, didn't you?"

He stayed quiet, and the man shrugged.

"It's not my business anyway." He mused, "I don't mind giving you information about Angels—for free, but I'll give you something better if you help me." He smirked, "I'll tell you how to catch one."

—

He stands on the edge of the dark woods, peering into the thick forest, where his first mark once resided. There's a quiet wind that carries the words from the past into his ear.

'... the boy comes back for her…'

He closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, savoring the smell of the forest.

"First, you have to disguise yourself." The man spoke while he packed up the hunting tools, "Those creatures have a sharp sense of smell, and human's scent is very distinct. So you have to wear their skin to mask your presence."

"What about deer skin?"

"It won't work." He said, "You have to take it from their kin. But there's one creature who has a strong smell, just like a human. It's so strong that it puts other creature's guard down."

"What is it?"

The man smirked, before a familiar name slipped out of his tongue.

A damp musk mixes in with the woody smell, and his grip on the prize tightens. The unearthly cloak feels heavy in his hand—a reminder of his hunt that's still fresh in his mind. The owner of the robe lays down at his feet, with its head far from where he stands.

An iridescent blood drips from his hand, and into the ground below. Painting the grass with luminous hues. He lets go of the iron machete, which falls with a loud thud. It's a wonder how a pure metal could kill the unassailable.

He had seen this creature many times in the forest. The first time was when the Angel touched him, and the rest when he searched for her. It took a form of moving shadows, and he only saw it in the corner of his eye.

"Believe it or not, Faeries were once considered as the guardians of the forest." He chuckled, "It's because the forest is their home, of course they'd be protective over it. They're very territorial after all."

"Is that why their scent can lower other's guard down?" He asked the man, while handing the fangs of the beast. "Because they smell familiar?"

"Correct." He responded, "But acquiring it isn't an easy business, because they're half-immortal. You see this scar? I almost lost my arm because of it."

"Did you kill it?"

The man sneered, "Who do you think I am?"

"Who do you think I am?" He mused, unconsciously repeated the words from his memory. He scoffs, as he realizes how far he has gone for a single obsession. Killing a forest God just to wear its skin, so he can catch the Angel off guard.

As he walks through the path, he drapes the heavy cloak on his shoulders. Putting the deer's skull mask on, before pulling down the dark veil to cover his face. There's no way of telling if the disguise works, since human's noses aren't as sensitive as theirs. But when he tastes the water, he knows he's on the right track.

"Angels rarely change places," The man claimed, "Once they found a good place to stay, they'd stay until they had no choice but to leave." He then added, "If you saw an Angel somewhere, then it's possible you'd see them again at the same place."

"Then why couldn't I find her?"

"Because they hide from humans." He answered, "You could see them when your heart was pure. Oftentimes, kids were the ones who could see them, because their hearts were still pure." He let out an amused snort when he saw the look on his face, "I can understand why she went into hiding. You don't hide your infatuation."

The brook is still the same as he remembers. With flowering walls and waterfalls. His heart beats so loud against his ribcage, that he's afraid the Angel would hear it.

He sucks in a breath, before marching deeper into the pond.

Behind the large boulder, he sees a blinding light reflecting from the water. His eyes narrowed at the sight before him, before a figure began to form at the heart of the lights.

An Angel.

"How do you subdue them?" He asked the man, "If you can't take their veil?"

"That's easy." He replied, "Drench them with blood." He laughed when he went silent. "I didn't mean their blood or any kind of blood, but the blood of the innocent." He rummaged through his cupboard, before he pulled a jar of crimson liquid. "It's a bait for vampires, but you can use it to suppress an Angel."

He furrowed his brows, "How does that work?"

"I'm not sure myself." He scratched his chin, "But there's a theory that Angels are the protector of the innocents, so having their blood on them means they fail their duty. And if they fail their duty, well, you can guess what'd happen to them."

He feels the heat begins to pool in his groin, as he clutches on the blood jar. She's so pure, so unassuming, and he'll be the one who defiles her.

With his strong hand, he hurls the container towards her. It shatters upon contact with the rock, just an inch away from her body. She didn't have the time to react—nor make sense of the situation, as the crimson blood rained on her.

He doesn't waste any time as he runs to her, catching her by her arm. She shouts at him as she struggles, but she's become as weak as a human. It doesn't take as much effort for him to drag her to the shore.

"Stop!" She screamed when he pinned her down by the neck, "This is heresy. You can't do this."

"Should've thought twice before you kissed me." He snarls when she begins to kick her legs around, "Your kiss is a mark, isn't it? You've marked me as yours from the start."

"It was for protection." She declared with a trembling voice, "You couldn't possibly fend yourself from Fey, I had to do it to protect you."

"Don't deny it." He growled, as his grip on her tightened. "You chose me."

She whimpers when his hand locks in around her delicate neck, and she tries to push him away by his wrist. "I didn't. I never chose you."

He goes quiet for a moment, staring at her struggling form. The splatter of blood has painted her body red, staining her radiant skin with mortal essence. A perfect picture of sacrilege.

"I want to be good for you," He spoke as he shrugged the cloak off him, "But you leave me with no choice."

Her eyes widen in terror as she watches his hand descend to her stomach, before it travels down to her thigh. "No. No! Stop!" She cried out when he pried her legs open, before lodging his hips in.

"I heard an Angel can't feel pain," He sneered as he slipped his pants down, "Shall we put it to the test?"

Her scream falls to deaf ears as he rubs his cock against her tender hole, giving himself a few strokes, before pushing his member in.

"The most common method to catch an Angel is to steal their veil—or what we often call as their 'wings'." The man lifts his finger before he could interject, "But, they can always leave once they find their wings back. So it's not a reliable method."

"Then how do you keep them from running away?" He frowned.

"There are a few ways to do it, but it all boils down to the same thing." He took a drag of his cigarette, before puffing the smoke out of his mouth. "Make them commit a sin."

He throws his head to the back, eyes roll up as he lets out a loud groan. Her hole is tighter than normal humans, but the friction of her walls sends him into a delirium state. He almost slips into blackness, if not for the flailing legs against his shoulders.

"Scheiße." He hissed as he thrust himself into her, "You feel like Heaven."

She lets out a broken sob, as her face contorted with pain. "Please—" She begged, "You're hurting me."

"Am I?" He drank the sight of her, before he slipped his hand between her folds, "I'll make you feel good."

There's a bump right above her stretched hole, and the protruding lump feels like a little pearl on his thumb. And when he strokes it, it begins to throb against his fingertip.

"Once they're close to falling, their halo will be visible to human's eye. When that happens, you should pull it off their head."

A flash of light goes off in front of him, and he shuts his eyes from the bright blaze. It flares for a few seconds, before a ring of light materializes above her crown.

He stares at it with fascination and awe, and his grip begins to loosen up from her neck.

She gasps when he touches her halo, before his fingers wrap around the ring.

There's a hard resistance when he tugs on the halo, as if it's bound to a strong magnet. Her hands shoot up to grab his wrist, clutching onto him with a painful grimace on her face.

A doubt crosses his mind when the divine ring wouldn't come off of her, no matter how hard he pulls it. But with every slam of his hips, her halo begins to budge slightly.

"Because once they lose their halo,"

He presses his lips against her ear—whispering filthy things, while he rubs her clit mercilessly.

"Give in." He growled into her ear, "Give in to sin."

"N-no—"

"You have no choice." He retorted, as he pounded his cock into her harder, "Give in to me."

"They can't go back to Heaven."

She screams, as her halo starts to bend.

"No, no, no—! Stop this madness! Please—"

"It's too late." His lips curled into a cruel smile, "You're not going back."

Her walls begin to pulsate, and he feels a cold rapture creep up along his spine. He groans as she squeezes around him, sucking his cock deeper into her. Tears start to wet her cheeks, and he bends down to catch them with his tongue.

A wretched cry echoes through the forest, as the halo slips away from its anchor. He loses his balance, as it crumbles into dust the moment it leaves her crown, while the rest of it flies away with the wind.

Her body trembles from both shock and worldly pleasure, and a sharp moan leaves his mouth when her walls clamp onto his cock. Shoving him into a state of bliss, as he fills her up with his seeds. The foreign sense of fullness causes her body to curl up, and she covers her face as she begins to sob.

He doesn't let her mourn, since her loss is a blessing for him. He laps her cheek, tasting the saccharine drops that escape her eye. Even when her glow has fading, she still feels as heavenly as before.

"At last," He grinned, as he felt his cock throbbed at the thoughts of the future. "You're finally mine."

[cod-imagines-fanfiction]

Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend to be interrogated by the 141 (2.3k words, part 2)

Summary: Valeria despairs when you don't answer her calls and immediately returns to her residence, only to find you gone. In the meantime, Graves presses you for information, and Alejandro starts to understand why Valeria hides you so well.

TW: mentions of cheating, toxic Valeria and very toxic Alejandro (OOC but I think it adds juicy drama, sorry for ruining him!). Mentions of death and violence. apologies for the imperfect Spanish, I've been using Google Translate! I titled this as 'Valeria's girlfriend' but I ended up writing them as kind of unofficially married. Link to part 1 Link to part 3 Link to A03

Valeria knew something was wrong when you didn't pick up the phone. In all your years together, she never had to call for you more than once, you were always at her beck and call. Her face turned to stone as the call went to voicemail, it felt like her heart stopped and then started again with fire and poison. In hindsight, she should have worried about your safety first, but unfortunately, her insecurities got the best of her. Anger seethed within her as she thought of all the ways you had betrayed her the moment she left you alone. Infidel! Her right-hand man Rafael was looking at you closely when she left, no? How could she be so blind as to trust you? Of course, you were jumping around with her men behind her back - you seemed all innocent and pure, but sure enough the viper within revealed itself and finally slithered out of her tight grasp. Immediately, she called Rafael to check up on the house, and when he also didn't pick up the phone, she cut her trip short and packed her bags. El Sin Nombre doesn't need to explain why she's leaving early! She commanded her business partners to figure it out amongst themselves as she went to her chopper and rushed home. Her hands shook as she navigated the helicopter, her mind unable to stop thinking of all the ways you were intertwined with Rafael on your marriage bed; desecrating your marriage vows. Of course this would happen. Why would fate let Valeria get away with the betrayal she'd inflicted on Alejandro? It was only right that her karmic debt would catch up with her.

It was as she was lowering her helicopter on the freshly cut grass of your home that she began to realise her devastating mistake. Doors were left open with the curtains billowing with the wind, broken glass from shattered windows littered the entryway and, worst of all, dried trails of blood lead a path from the house to the bushes. Her heart caught at her throat as her eyes roamed frantically from one catastrophic sign to the other. Guilt coiled around her stomach and she cursed her darkness for having doubted your loyalty when really, you were fighting for your life. "Mi esposa," Valeria whispered as rushed out of her helicopter, the blades still cutting the air as she ran indoors, not even bothering to be cautious of any enemies that could still be lurking within the shadows. She knew there were bodies dumped behind the green bushes that you so tenderly cared for, but she couldn't make herself check for you there. Part of her hoped you were smart and had the time to hide somewhere good, but she knew you were as helpless as a child when it came to things like this. You, who were so kind and good, left to fend for yourself. How could she possibly think you'd remain unharmed within this field of work? Valeria selfishly forced a divine light like you to live in the shadows with her, of course you'd get snuffed out eventually. If not by Valeria's own hand, her selfishness and greed, her need to possess and own you at all times, then by the selfish and greedy hands of others. All these thoughts rushed through her as she ran from one hallway to another, rushing to your part of the mansion. Memories of violence clung to your home like spiderwebs, she could see the struggle that ensued in the doors left open when you'd normally keep them closed. In the flower vase that you lovingly refilled every week that now lay on the floor shattered, shattered like her heart. The flowers lay on the floor, dying.

"Mi corazon...," she whimpered and came to a stop right before your bedroom door, one hand clutching her chest as she stood there, too afraid to step in and face your fate. She could only hear the wind catching on your curtains and the light humming of your electric blanket. She could already picture the catastrophe. You were in bed, lathering your lotions on, probably adjusting your night light because you were too afraid to sleep in the dark without Valeria next to you. You were all snuggled for bed, probably waiting for her call on the phone, when somebody came for you. "God, give me courage," she said as she stepped inside and lifted her eyes.

It was as if you evaporated into thin air. She saw the marks your body left on the bed where you lay on it and your phone was still there. Valeria's eyes scanned every inch of the space, no blood or other fluids were on any of the surfaces. You were either taken, or whatever happened to you happened elsewhere. All your belongings were still there. She didn't want to have false hope, so she willed herself to look at the bodies left by the bushes. She charged through the rest of the houses, taking note of all the mess. Her chopper was still on as she crossed the garden you tended to, the sweet smell of roses faintly covering the stench of blood lifting from the pile of bodies. Rafael was there, along with the rest of her men who manned the house in her absence. Treacherous relief washed through her because you were not there. This was the most devastating attack that Valeria had ever experienced in all her years and she could not think of anyone that hated her enough to do this. A rival cartel? Unlikely. They were violent criminals, sure, but they still kept a code of conduct amongst themselves. El Sin Nombre was the biggest competitor out there, no one was so stupid as to do this.

Valeria went to the security room and saw the CCTV footage. Her heart stopped when she saw an all-too-familiar figure invading her home. The tall, dark man cut through her men and made his way directly to where her wife lay. It's like he knew exactly where she was. "Alejandro?" Valeria's heart dropped as she watched Alejandro prepare to break the door and attack her wife, who was shrouded in a naive innocence where she could never comprehend the attack she was about to experience.

Angry tears threatened to spill from her glassy eyes as she saw Alejandro's hand grab you by the throat and drag you out of your marital bed. The same bed that you made love in every night, now permanently defiled with the way he violently dragged you out of it. Bruises from his fingers would have definitely formed on your soft skin by now, if you were still alive. Valeria watched on as Alejandro handcuffed her wife and pushed her through the hallways, saying something to her ear whilst parading her through the home she was supposed to be safe in. It was no coincidence that Alejandro stared directly at one of the cameras as he pushed her wife forward, looking directly at Valeria's eyes. This was no incidental operation; this was deliberate and malicious. More so, it was fucking personal. Yes, this was where Valeria ran her operation, but it was also the home you and her nested in so lovingly. And now it was trampled all over by men in uniforms, just like those fallen flowers. She forced herself to watch on as you were put in a helicopter and disappeared in the night sky.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "I hope you're ready to talk now, sweetheart." After a few hours of silence, the door to the container you were kept in opened, bringing in some rays of sunlight before shutting again. The American, whom you now knew was called Commander Graves, entered along with Alejandro. It had been many hours since your abduction, you had no way of telling how long exactly. But you were tired and restless, and cold. You thought they might move you to a cell at least, but they made no effort to transfer you out of the metal container. Too afraid to say anything when not spoken to, you sat still and waited. You wondered if Valeria had noticed your absence yet but even if she did, how could she find you? "I'm not sure what to tell you, sir." You remained polite hoping that courtesy would make up for your lack of talking. "Don't be like that, there's plenty to tell. How about we start with this little business trip of hers?" Graves circled around you, placing his hand on your shoulder before finally coming to a stop. " What'du hear about it?" Graves had many years of experience underneath his belt when it came to interrogation, especially the violent ones. And so did the 141. That was made very clear from the beginning. If this was any ordinary member of the cartel, they'd have buried them by now. But spouses were different; you hurt them and there'll be hell to pay. Even worse, there'll be no chance of making a deal with Valeria. "Like I said, I just know she went away for it, sir, that's all."

"Hm," he said and dropped his hand. He moved to stand right in front of you. "Well, you must know something. You know she's El Sin Nombre. You know she runs the biggest drug cartel in Latin America. You know she runs an international operation, you know she has friends in many places. What am I missing here?"

You looked up at him. "That's basically it, sir. It's a drug operation. But I don't know where it comes from, who her manufacturers are, or how she sells it. She doesn't deal with small details." Graves was starting to lose his patience, and not with her but with Alejandro. He couldn't understand why he insisted on extracting a housewife instead of the real deal. Here he was trying to gather intel on those Russian missiles with a trophy wife who hasn't had a day out of the kitchen, let alone discussions with the biggest terrorist organisation in the world. It was time to cut loose and make the call. "Hermano, take over for me will ya? I'll be right back." Graves walked away, wondering what General Sherperd will think of this whole situation.

You were alone with Alejandro now, who paced up and down the compound like a restless animal. You wondered to yourself how similar he was to Valeria, she had the exact same habit when she was stressed. They were very similar in temperament; too similar. Aggressive, hard-headed and dominant. Part of you gloated at the whole situation. Here was a Colonel of the Mexican Army, a well-decorated military man, wasting his time with you, someone quite irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, all because of- "Your wife," he said, disrupting your thoughts and you suddenly realised you were staring at him. "Is that correct?" He nodded at your ring finger. "Yes, sir," you replied timidly. He was exactly like Valeria, and it worked in your favour. You've spent so many years living with your partner that it was almost too easy to deal with people like her. People who could fill up a room with their presence; intimidating, powerful people who could hurt you badly. The sort of people who made the world go round. People, in other words, who could be domesticated.

Because violence and intimidation aren't the only ways to get what you want. Alejandro scoffed, "you've come a long way from that food stand, huh?" He looked at you with a faraway look in his eye, his mind having entered that shrouded area of the psyche where apparitions of the past hover, always eager to glide into the present in the form of memories. Your heart softened both at the memory he was referencing and because, at that moment, he seemed so pitifully sad, having lost himself in reminiscence.

Many years ago, you helped your Abuela run her restaurant in Las Almas, which stood very close to where the Mexican Army had its headquarters. Your Abuela was a genius in strategy and profited a lot from the laziness of soldiers who couldn't be bothered to cook for themselves but who also didn't want to eat whatever the Army served. And that's how you met Valeria, who was regularly sent by her teammates to fetch a group order. Valeria picked up the food because it was expected of her, an unfortunate burden of being one of the youngest women in her squad. But over time, she did it because it meant she got to see you. To everyone's surprise, when Valeria ran away to work for the cartel, that quiet girl in the small restaurant vanished too. "Alejandro." His eyes snapped back into yours. "Lo siento mucho. I really didn't know about you and Valeria. I am not that kind of person." You knew exactly what this was all about. Sure, they wanted to get El Sin Nombre and Valeria *was* the head of the biggest drug operation in the world. And she *has* made Las Almas dance to the rhythm of her tune for the past decade. But this was all just a big temper tantrum. And if you played your cards right, you could leave unscathed. You continued, "Whatever happens, I just wanted you to know that. I am truly sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone."

Something changed in his eyes. You could already picture what was about to happen. After your sincere self-flogging will come his pity, then the remorse. He might chuck you in a cell to show that he's treating you like the criminal collaborator that they all think you are, but soon enough he'll arrive bearing the fruits of forgiveness. Just like Valeria, you told yourself. Like moths to a flame. "Hm," he mumbled to himself, his eyes roaming all over you. "I get it now." He cocked his head to the side, "eres una cosa encantadora." At that moment, you felt a change in the air, something dark hovered between you two. It made you shiver.

"Tell me, Y/N. Have you ever been with a man?"

Hope you enjoy this part! Promised tags: @justmare @sleepiemain @caffeineliker @lesvii @silas-222 I'll bring Valeria and her partner together in part 3! I've also thought of a cute backstory for them that I want to get into :) also sorry for ruining Alejandro, i made him so toxic in this fic 😭

[twig-gy]

i tell you, here, now, i tasted it, i tasted it on my tongue - or It, or Him, i tasted it. i could feel it i could know exactly what he was saying. it was a sort of fever, i think, that infected me.

all of it really makes me wonder, makes me think of soul's life without me. ...it sounds sad.

where did the sickness stem from, for him? how did it start? there was no one to incite, unless Whole, his mirage, counts.

he told me plenty of things. he told me he dreamt of Whole. he told me he could feel Whole's fingers on his neck, palms on his shoulders, sending him down - feel the water soaking him head to toe, even His hoodie. you know. i never recognized the chain marks on his neck, Before. now i do. now i do.

again, this sickness, it surprises me, and it surprised me Before, too. it all made a perfect sense. it's like he took my worldview and snapped it. i was brittle. i was very, very brittle.

i wonder if it couldve happened to mind

mind is stronger than me. he's better. about this at least. he's better. it couldntve happened to him

right?

god, if it happened to him. it haunts me, if we succeeded. if soul backed him into the corner. he was backed into the corner! he was! it's just. he's stronger. say what you will about his logic policy but it must've been the only thing keeping him from buckling.

god i wish i was that logical

IF I HAD JUST BEEN BETTER?

it's not as if soul is just sick and twisted and

well. he is. saying he isn't would be fucking lying. but. it's more complicated than that

he's desperate. all of him is desperate.

he wasn't trying to hurt me. he thought he was right. Whole wasn't some game to him. it's not like his number one goal was to make me sick.

it isn't sickness to him it's divinity it's truth it's holy holy holy

can i blame him? i lie awake at night and think. can i blame him?

did he do something to me?

was it anything?

it was but it wasn't but

it's like -

i'm sitting in the grass, criss cross, plucking off the petals of this flower, and hoping random chance will give me the answers i seek. and no matter what the answer comes out to, i sigh, and i pick another flower.

it's kind of desecration.

I CAN'T SAY THAT ANYMORE. THAT ISN'T TRUE.

it feels like desecration. abandoning Whole feels like desecration.

whole isn't real

i don't have to capitalize his name anymore because he isn't. fucking. real.

i want to be pure. i had never thought about purity before. but he put an itch in me, the kind that can never get scratched cause it's muscle deep. i want to be pure i want to be pure i want to fish the disease out of me and i don't know whether it's soul's disease or i'm the disease and i need to pry away the flesh and muscle and get my hands dripping with blood and and and

DO YOU THINK I WILL EVER BE THE SAME AGAIN.

i'm sick.

[crimsonbastard]

Alright, might as well adress the elephant in the room:

- The absolute desecration of Alicent's Character is infuriating. Her straight up surrendering to Rhaneyra and throwing her sons to the wolves?? And betraying her own Father? Alicent HAS her issues with her family but there's no way that she's going to stoop as low as straight up giving them up. And oh, her saying that she was "fond" of Viserys?? Like what?? You mean the man who groomed you?? Put his rot in you and neglected you and your children??? What the actual fuck??? Was this the same woman who attacked Rhaenyra when her son got mutilated?? All of that for what?? Nothing! And what of your Grandson Alicent?? The little boy who was butchered?? Does his death mean nothing??

- Helaena's complete 180. Seriously?? Her guiding Daemon? The man who orchestrated her son's death? I understand Helaena not wanting to fight, and as Queen she has every right to deny Aemond, but her guiding Daemon towards his path?? Seriously?? And since when did her Visions get Lucid enough to pinpoint Aemond's grave?? Atleast Condom and Hiss had the courtesy of Helaena feel something towards her husband when she confronts Aemond about what he did.

- Oh Aemond, literally the only Green who (besides Cole & Daeron) who's fighting for his family. Him trying to force Helaena felt out of character, as, besides his mother it's her he cherishes the most. We see him lash out, that cold calculated mask finally dropping as he starts getting desperate when he lashes out on Sharp Point and it's innocent citizens as well as his sister. He still is that angry boy who lost his eye.

- We've got Rhaenyra openly admitting what Team Black had been denying all along. That for her to ascend, Aegon must be put to the sword.

- Cole finally being vulnerable and showing what's going through that head of his. How he thinks that this war is for nothing, and that whatever ideals he held onto before, have been let go of and that the only thing that keeps him going is Alicent. He knows that chances of him making out of this war are slim but he goes along with it, for her. Him admitting his hypocrisy, and that he has no shame was the cherry on top. A Jaime Parallel.

- Ah yes the Weirwood vision that conveniently removes any daemyra angst later on. Daemon realising how serious the upcoming horrors from beyond the north are, and that Daeneryes cameo is nothing but a cheap attempt by Condom and Hiss, just to:

a) Shoehorn Daenerys to appease Dany Stans

b) Remind the audience of the "divine right" of the Targaryens to rule westeros as only they can "unite" the realm.

c) Completely absolve all the future atrocities comitted by Rhaenyra and Daemon, as it is for the "Greater Good"

d) By doing so, they gave Daemon a convenient excuse to go on his "murder suicide" battle with Aemond other than abandoning his wife for one last girl he groomed, her being Nettles who is cut from the show, so as to not anger the Daemyra stans.

e) It doesn't even matter in the end, as it's Arya who kills the Night King.

- Alyn verbally decimating Corlys for abandoning him and his brother until his legitimate heirs were gone was satisfying to see.

- Aegon wanting to fashion himself as "The Realms Delight" Is interesting. Considering he will go down into the history books as the Rightful King whereas Rhaenyra goes from being "The Realm's Delight" to "Maegor with Teats". Aegon being negatively viewed by the smallfolk this season despite wanting to do good by them (to get their love and approval) whereas Rhaenyra leading innocent people to their deaths (by dragonfire) and watching from atop, and also sending a few "gifts" to the starving smallfolk, she herself being the cause of their starvation, via the blockade. If the writer's don't further fuck up, we might hopefully see the smallfolk shift their perception towards both rulers, with Rhaenyra being finally called "Maegor with Teats" and Aegon being somwhat looked at positively.

- Sunfyre cannot be dead. He's too important. I hope they made Larys mention that just to subvert our expectations.

- We finally get to see Tessarion, and she looks like a recolored Arrax. Hopefully with a bigger budget they'll give her a more fitting look.

[occasionallycjshipping]

“{Breathe, Heart.}” Soul whispers into the sensitive skin of Heart’s throat, the line of it bared to him, the possibility of taking it in teeth, rending the muscle, painting the skin purple, all so utterly obvious. Heart shivers, twitches, whatever term Soul can use for it- Soul presses his lips against the bottom of his neck and feels his pulse flutter and speed up, like a desperate bird’s wings. Like his wings.

Soul kisses up Heart’s neck, allowing himself to stain the pure thing, taste its sweat, bruise it up, and then nestles into the crook of it and Heart’s jaw. He breaks from Heart, raises his voice: “{Breathe.}” There’s an edge to it, telling Heart to follow, and it doesn’t matter why. It shouldn’t. Soul knows, here and now at the very least, Heart will do what he asks without any questions, and it leaves him with a satisfied grin and a kind of pleased thrill up his chest. {How far does it go? Well, that’s a question for another day, maybe never realistically, yet it’s one he wants to answer, needs to the same way he needs the fragile line of Heart’s neck in his fingers, in his hands, like a toy reserved for him only, a claim which Soul’s lipstick and his bruises corroborate in turns.}

Heart drags in a shuddering, deep breath that hitches.

“{There you are. That wasn’t so bad, right?}”

Heart shakes his head. It’s always something whenever Soul drives him to silence.

Soul has Heart completely at his disposal - what does he want to do?

For now - he will make chances like this later, hopefully - he grips the base of Heart’s wing, leans down, and bites. Not the most thought out thing, exactly - there is no thought of desecration, only divinity coming apart in his mouth, and unsurprisingly, it tastes like feathers. Until he yanks the flesh of it into his mouth, gagging a bit as the feathers hit the back of his throat but he digs his teeth into Heart’s flesh and hot blood runs down his throat and there’s his heartbeat, thrumming awfully fast. This all must be a pain for him, judging by the senseless squirm and shake of his wing, not that Soul cares. Soul is busy, drunk on consumption. Fulfilment. There is a clawing emptiness inside him where in humans a heart literal would lie, and in this moment, it is, finally, satisfied.

He cuts out and chews up a part of Heart’s flesh. It’s not about the taste, really, not about the iron almost bitter that spills into the hollow between his gums and cheek, it’s about chewing, the fullness, the harsh pulse, the softness of the feathers, the warmth that almost burns. And this is not cutting Heart open, but it is close, it is close, the workings of Heart’s divinity all there, and he can stick his tongue into the source of the blood and widen the wound and get salt, almost like tears. His tongue does not rival the dexterity of fingers, but somehow Soul doesn’t care. It’s almost animalistic - all of this is, as his teeth bloody, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He opens up the flesh, carves pieces off, swallows, devours, ruins.

Slowly, as if waking up, he becomes aware of a pained whine.

Soul blinks, tears another chunk out of Heart’s flesh, swallows down feathers, imbibes divinity. He listens.

On a thought, he drinks Heart in, and leaves his wing mauled - damaged and hanging limply from his side, he looks like a true angel.