#━ ✟ out of character : ❝ i walk between the veil of life and death. ❞

[voidmarkd]

#voidmarkd; an indie, selective and fandomless portrayal of Atlas Fitzgerald, featuring themes as life in a coven, rebirth through death, marked by the void, necromancy, betrayal and abandonment, the blood and the burden, keeper of forgotten graves, [ . . . ] mutuals only. 21+. low activity. eng/ger. ♱ carrd ♱ memes ♱ open starters

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

heyy, I just saw the first episode of season two and I’m completely destroyed. I need to read something with Jacaerys in which reader gives him a hug after what happened 🫶🏻

Request: Helloooo! I saw you were open to requests sooo with this episode- how about instead of Baela being the one to take Jace to Rheanyra, its reader who had been waiting for him since he landed? Jace x reader relationship is up to you!

I have written this a few weeks ago, but let's do a small blurb. Seeing Jace break was just so sad. Grab your tissues 🤧

Warnings: mention of character death, grief

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

On the journey back to Dragonstone, Jacaerys swallowed back his tears. Vermax could feel that his rider was in pain, but he stayed focused on flying home. 

Although you couldn’t predict when they would arrive, you knew Jacaerys would fly home immediately upon receiving the letter. 

You greeted him outside when he landed, but Jacaerys refused to meet your eyes, focussing on princely duties because he could not bear to face his role as brother and son in that moment. He spoke like a prince, asking to be taken to the Queen so he could give her his report. 

Without speaking a word, you walked him to Rhaenyra’s chambers. The guards opened the door for you, nodding their heads at the prince. As you stepped inside, Rhaenyra turned at the sound of your footsteps on the stone floor. 

You bowed to the Queen, casting a last glance on Jacaerys before you left the room. ‘’You know where to find me,’’ you whispered to him, your voice barely audible. 

He didn’t respond. 

While he spoke to his mother about the Vale and the North, Jacaerys was trying to remain professional and keep his composure. He needed to stay strong for her. His voice was steady until he mentioned the North. The name of Cregan Stark brought back the images of the northman delivering the news of Lucerys’s death, causing Jacaerys to choke up on his words.

Rhaenyra held her eldest and they cried together. 

When he thought the tears were over, Jacaerys left his mother’s chambers. Servants were politely nodding their head at him on his way to his own chambers, a veil of sympathy on their faces. But Jacaerys paid them no attention as his emotions were threatening to spill again. 

As promised, you were sitting on his — your — chambers when he stepped in, waiting for him. You stood when hearing the door, and he broke down completely, his body shaking with sobs as he collapsed into your arms. 

You held Jacaerys tightly as he sobbed uncontrollably, his grief pouring out with each shuddering breath. 

You always knew him as the strong son of Princess Rhaenyra who held his head high and never let anything affect him. The strength he usually exuded was gone, replaced by the vulnerability of a boy who had lost his brother. It was gut-wrenching to see him cry, his hands clutching at your dress to anchor himself through the storm of his emotions.

‘’He died because of me,’’ he whispered between sobs, his voice raw with pain. ‘’It was my idea to go on dragonback instead of sending ravens.’’ 

Guilt laced his voice, and you pulled his head back, seeing his eyes red and swollen. You knew no words would stop his guilt. He would have to live with his for the rest of his life. But you could try to show him he was not entirely at fault. It was Vhagar at the commands of Aemond targaryen who killed Lucerys. Not him.

‘’Mayhaps it was your idea, but you couldn’t have known Aemond would be at Storm’s End asking for support from Borros Baratheon. He is the one responsible for this barbarous act,’’ you said, holding his gaze.

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale@mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron  @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade@mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog@queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  @Anouknani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21

[angelsdreamm]

Bound by Fate: The Tyrant’s Reluctant Bride (001)

↳ gojo satoru/reader

short summary: when you encounter a twist of fate by dying in an act of unintended heroism, you awaken as the doomed bride of Gojo Satoru, the tyrannical male lead of a trashy romance novel you once read. Determined to escape your fate, you plan your end—only to discover that the tyrant is obsessively protective, annoyingly clingy, and hiding a curse that might rewrite both your stories.

genre: angst with a happy ending, referenced/implied suicide attempt, temporary character death, enemies to lovers, historical au, 18+

series masterlist ↳ episode two

You ran your palms over the absurdly expensive wedding dress, the silky fabric bunched between your trembling fingers. It didn’t matter how much you smoothed it out; the dress felt foreign and heavy, suffocating even. The layers of lace and embroidery that were supposed to symbolize elegance now felt like a weight dragging you deeper into the nightmare. You glanced around the ornate room, the grandeur of it all only making your chest tighten further. None of this felt real.

Except it was. Every bit of it.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself, but the breath caught in your throat. Today, you were to marry a man known far and wide as a tyrant. The thought alone made your stomach churn. And worse, you already knew how this story ended. Five months from now, you’d be dead. Not figuratively, not metaphorically—just dead. Slowly, painfully, and irreversibly.

You bit the inside of your cheek. How did it come to this? You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to be her.

Your life—your real life—had been nothing special. Twenty-eight years as a contract worker, with no family waiting for you and no friends to keep you grounded. When your last job ended, you had finally decided that would be it. Your plans had been straightforward: step out onto the bustling streets of Seoul and fade away quietly. No one would miss you.

But fate had other ideas.

It started with a little girl tugging on your sleeve, her big, scared eyes silently asking for help crossing the street. You hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t thought twice. After all, what was one more minute when you had nothing to lose? But that single act of kindness had turned into chaos. An angry voice, an accusation, a knife—it all blurred together until you were lying on the ground, bleeding out. The girl’s tear-streaked face had been the last thing you saw before the world went dark.

You thought it was over then. It should’ve been over.

But instead of finding peace, you woke up in this gilded cage, surrounded by strangers who acted as if you were made of glass. The realization came quickly, too quickly, and it hit you like a freight train: you’d been thrown into the pages of a trashy romance novel you’d read years ago. A novel so poorly written it was laughable—except you weren’t laughing now.

The name Gojo Satoru had burned itself into your memory long before you arrived. He was the male lead, the man with impossible looks and power to match. He was arrogant, manipulative, and utterly indifferent to anyone who didn’t amuse him. And now, somehow, you were his bride. The woman who, according to the book, would suffer for the crime of being tied to him.

The sound of footsteps outside the door jolted you from your thoughts. A tall man entered, his expression neutral as he gestured for you to follow. “It’s time,” he said simply.

Time. The word echoed in your mind as you stood, your legs feeling like lead. The veil they’d placed over your head made everything blurry, but it couldn’t hide the towering spires of the castle or the overwhelming weight of what awaited you. You trailed behind your escort, your heart pounding as you walked through the grand corridors.

You worked up the nerve to speak, your voice barely audible. “Who am I marrying?”

The man glanced at you over his shoulder, his expression briefly softening into something close to pity. “You’ll see,” he replied.

Before you could press further, a sharp voice echoed down the hall. “Where is she?” The tone was low but commanding, each syllable precise and brimming with impatience. “I’ve been waiting long enough.”

Your breath caught as he came into view. White hair framed a strikingly handsome face, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as they locked onto you. He looked every bit as untouchable as you remembered from the book, but the weight of his presence was far more crushing in real life.

“Well?” he said, his tone clipped but calm. “Are you going to stand there all day?”

You froze. The words you wanted to say caught in your throat, tangled with the growing panic threatening to spill over.

You couldn’t find the words to answer, every nerve in your body screaming at you to run. But you didn’t. Instead, you stood frozen as he reached out, his gloved hand lifting your chin. The veil fluttered back, and for the first time, you saw him fully. He was strikingly handsome in a way that felt almost unreal, but his presence was suffocating, his gaze sharp enough to cut.

“Interesting,” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips. “They didn’t tell me my bride would be this… intriguing.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze despite the fear clawing at your throat. “Do you always inspect your fiancées like livestock?” you snapped, your voice trembling but defiant.

His smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with something that looked disturbingly like amusement. “Oh, so you do have a tongue,” he said, leaning in just enough to make your pulse race.

You clenched your fists, determined not to let him see how much he rattled you.

"I'm not here to entertain you."

Gojo chuckled, the sound low and unsettling. "We'll see." He turned then, motioning for you to follow as he strode toward the grand doors leading to the chapel. You hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. Every fiber of your being screamed to run, to fight, to do anything but follow. And then an idea struck-a terrible, impulsive idea, but the only one you had.

Her jaw tightened, but she refused to look away, meeting his gaze head-on despite the warning thrumming in his tone. She could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears, a mix of defiance and fear she couldn’t suppress.

He straightened, brushing off his gloved hands as though the conversation were merely a formality. “Now then,” he said lightly, his tone returning to its usual playfulness, “shall we proceed?”

With an almost lazy flick of his hand, Gojo gestured toward the doorway, his commanding presence making the air feel heavier. “Let’s not waste more time,” he said, his tone light but carrying a clear edge of finality. “It’s time for you to fulfill your end of the deal.”

She hesitated, her chin lifting as though to steel herself against the inevitability of it all. But after a moment, she stepped forward, the faint rustle of her dress echoing through the otherwise silent room. The veil felt like a prison over her face, but the weight of Gojo’s presence ahead of her was even more suffocating. She forced herself to match his steady stride, ignoring the tightness in her chest with each step.

The grand hall stretched before them, its opulence somehow amplifying the dread knotting in her stomach. The details of the novel came flooding back, every word now a cruel script she was forced to follow. Five months, she thought bitterly. Five months until death.

Her steps slowed, her mind racing. No. If she was going to survive this, she had to act. The script wasn’t unchangeable—not if she could seize some control.

“You’ll regret this,” she muttered, her voice low but cutting, as much to herself as to him.

Gojo didn’t even glance back, though she caught the faint curve of his smirk. “You’re welcome to try, my dear.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The calm dismissal in his voice lit a spark of frustration. She scoffed without thinking, the sound sharper than she intended. “Or what?” she bit out, her voice louder now. “You’ll kill me? Let me save you the trouble.”

Without hesitation, she turned and stepped toward the open window nearby. The cool air rushed in as her dress flared out behind her, the veil fluttering free from her face. She didn’t glance back. The shock rippled through the room like thunder, and for a split second, she thought she might actually escape—not just the marriage but the story itself.

But before she could tip over the edge, a strong arm encircled her waist, yanking her back with an ease that left her breathless. Gojo’s laughter filled the air, rich and mocking, as though the whole thing had been a performance just for him.

“Dramatic much?” he drawled, his tone laced with amusement as he swung her into his arms like a child. She thrashed against his hold, her fists colliding with his chest, but he didn’t so much as flinch. “If you wanted attention, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.”

“You—let me go!” she snapped, twisting against him. Her frustration only seemed to amuse him further, the glint in his eyes bordering on predatory.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he replied smoothly, turning on his heel and heading straight for the chapel. “Suguru, fetch another priest. It seems this one won’t last long enough for the ceremony.”

Suguru blinked, momentarily stunned before he sighed and muttered, “Yes, Captain,” disappearing down the hall. Even as his footsteps faded, the bickering between Gojo and his reluctant bride echoed through the space.

When the new priest finally arrived, Gojo’s grip remained firm, as if daring her to make another escape attempt. Her glare was fierce, but the subtle tremble in her form didn’t escape his notice. As the priest began the ceremony, his focus never wavered from her face. She clenched her jaw, refusing to let her fear show, though she couldn’t stop her voice from shaking slightly as she spat out her “I do.”

By the time Suguru returned, a faint red handprint was visible on Gojo’s cheek, though it didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. In fact, the smug satisfaction on his face made it clear he’d enjoyed every second of her rebellion.

Suguru sighed again, watching the new couple leave the chapel. He wasn’t sure what sort of chaos the two would unleash on each other—or the world—but at least his captain looked genuinely entertained for the first time in years. That, he supposed, was a start.

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part nine

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Nine - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.5k

The sky is gradually surrendering to the encroaching darkness, the last remnants of daylight bleeding into deep purples and blues. The air is thick with the scent of pine and earth, the forest surrounding us alive with the subtle sounds of evening. 

Logan is almost at the beaten-up Honda, his steps heavy and slow, as if the weight of everything he carries is finally too much. I’m not letting him walk away this time—not without facing me, not without confronting the truth.

“Logan!” I call out, my voice cutting through the quiet of the forest. He doesn’t turn around, but I see the slight stiffening of his shoulders, a sign that he’s heard me. Still, he keeps walking, as if he can somehow ignore the confrontation he knows is coming.

“Logan, stop!” I demand, my voice louder now, edged with the frustration I’ve been holding back for too long.

He pauses, one hand on the car door, his back still to me. The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly despite my efforts to keep it steady. I take a step closer, closing the distance between us. “Why are you shutting me out? You’ve been different, Logan. You’re not the same.”

He finally turns to look at me, his face shadowed in the fading light, his eyes dark and unreadable. “What do you want me to say?” His voice is rough, like gravel grinding together, full of exhaustion and something else—something darker.

“I want you to talk to me!” I snap, my anger flaring. “Logan. I’m still here.”

He exhales sharply, his breath visible in the cooling air. “You don’t understand,” he mutters, shaking his head as if trying to dismiss the conversation altogether.

“No, you’re right—I don’t understand,” I shoot back, stepping closer until I am right in front of him, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Because you won’t let me. You used to be someone I could rely on. But now...now it’s like you’re just waiting for the end.”

He looks away, his jaw clenched tight, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Maybe I am,” he says quietly, the admission hanging heavy in the air.

“You’re a good man, Logan,” I say, my voice softer now, but still filled with the emotion I’ve been holding back for too long.

He turns his head slightly, just enough for me to see the haunted look in his eyes. “I’m the worst Wolverine,” he replies, his voice rough, laced with self-loathing. “You heard Wade.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I snap, stepping closer, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow. “You’re my Wolverine.”

His grip tightens on the car door, his knuckles white. “They’re all dead because of me! This suit is all I have left. It killed me, as best as anything could, Y/n! Scott used to beg me to wear it. You all did. You wanted me to be part of the team, and every time, I told you all how fucking ridiculous you looked. I couldn’t have you guys thinking I wanted to be there. And then the humans came hunting, and by the time I stumbled home shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead, every last one. I looked everywhere for you—your room was completely destroyed, and I could smell your blood, but I couldn’t see you. I thought I had lost you forever—my soul died that day with you.”

His raw pain cuts through me like a knife, tears welling up in my eyes as I listen to him. He turns to face me fully now, and I see the tears streaming down his face, mixing with the dirt and blood that smears his skin.

“And seeing you alive now?” He continues, his voice breaking. “I don’t know what to do, feel happy you’re here? I can’t forget that everyone else is not. This suit’s all I got to remind me of who they were. And what I did.”

I’m crying now, trying hard to fight back the sobs that threaten to overtake me. I take a shaky breath, searching for the right words.

“You can’t possibly put that all on you,” I say, my voice trembling. “Logan, I can see the fucking future. I should have seen it coming, found a way to end it all, but I couldn’t. And then the TVA sent me here, and maybe I didn’t die with them, but it felt like it. I may never get to see our world again. I thought I’d never see you again, and for the longest time, I assumed you had died with them. But you alone couldn’t have saved them, you may be unkillable, but they weren’t.”

I move closer to him, tears streaming down my face as I look up at him, trying to make him understand. “Please don’t blame yourself. The monsters that killed them? That’s who we blame.”

He flinches at the word “monster,” and I see the tears in his eyes, his pain laid bare. I reach up, cupping his cheek gently, my thumb brushing away a tear.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “But I’m beginning to realize that nothing could have saved it.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into my touch for a brief moment before pulling away, the pain still etched deeply in his features. “If they had found you, you would have been dead too,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” I reply, my voice steady despite the tears. “I know. But I would have died to save all of them, to save you. I know what it feels like now, to hold my whole world in my hands, and be unable to do anything to protect it from the hurt and pain.”

He looks at me, confusion flickering in his eyes, not realizing that I’m talking about him, about us.

“But Wade?” I continue, my voice firmer now. “His world can be saved, we can save it. I’d do anything to have that opportunity, and have people help me. So tomorrow morning, I’m going with them.”

I take a step back from him, my heart heavy with the weight of what I’m saying. “I hope you do too.”

Logan doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at me, his expression unreadable as I begin to walk back toward the house. But then, in a swift movement, I feel his hand grasp my wrist, and before I can react, he pulls me into his chest, wrapping me tightly in his arms. His hold is firm, almost desperate, and he tucks his head into the crook of my neck, as if seeking solace in my presence. My arms instinctively wind around his torso, fingers gripping the edge of his suit as if anchoring us both in this moment.

We stand like that for what feels like an eternity, a silent exchange of everything we can't put into words. The world around us fades away until the sound of soft footsteps shuffling behind us breaks the silence. Reluctantly, I pull away, turning to see Laura standing there, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions.

“You look so much like them,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

I blink, confused by her words. “Like who?”

“My parents,” she elaborates, her voice laced with a quiet reverence.

I feel a pang in my chest. She’s told me about Logan being her father, but she’s never mentioned her mother before.

“I know you don’t want me to talk about your variant, but she was my mom. She meant the world to me.” Laura’s words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I feel my heart drop to my stomach.

“I don’t want to hear about my variants because I don’t want to know what I could have been,” I admit, my voice shaky.

Laura shakes her head, her gaze steady. “You aren’t them. I know that. You should too. You’re not more or less than any other version of yourself.” She turns her attention to Logan, her eyes softening. “And you’re not the worst Wolverine. My dad was flawed—he made mistakes. My mom never let him get away with it, but they were always there for each other. She died before he did, and it crushed him. When my dad died saving me, I was never the same. But they got to be together in their lifetime, and after.”

She looks between us, her voice filled with a quiet intensity. “I got to have a life because of you. I got to grow up because of you. You’re both so similar, but so different from them. Don’t compare yourself to others. You’re your own person in every universe.”

With that, Laura walks away, leaving me standing there, overwhelmed by the weight of her words. Bewilderment and heartache swirl within me, as I process everything she said, the night air thick with emotions too complex to unravel.

Next Part

A/N: We finally got some communication! Yay, not everything has been said yet, but it’s a start.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

[joffyworld]

Shamura -

They of Knowledge and War

It's hard to remember much these days.

Often it's impossible to remember anything at all,

To recall the finer details and find my way;

It's as if I've been entangled in a darkened red shawl:

I can see beyond the darkness in glimpses of authenticity,

I can reach past the madness and almost touch what has now been repealed.

But there remains a thin veil between myself and the truth;

It feels insurmountable as I fall into my minds' obscurity.

Godly ichor seeps out of the wound naught can yet heal,

I sit there and watch it drip down till they come with more news

Were my past machinations truly mine or those of fate?

It's increasingly difficult to make it back from the fall.

Do I deserve these conditions for living a life full of hate?

I know those who claim to be my siblings don't deserve a life that's so cruel.

Even if I recover what awaits? A world of stability?

Can such a world, with us in it, even be real?

Every day I awake is a veritable who's who.

Did the past-me ever imagine a life of such vulnerability?

Are these the consequences of taking actions guided with zeal?

I see strange faces come and go, they mutter "we love you"

When I gave the order, was I at all even phased?

It seems so out of character, so unusual.

They tell me it was desperation that changed how I behaved;

But would a God of Knowledge really resort to adding to the fire more fuel?

Was it just of us to punish curiosity?

Was it righteous of us to tell our brother to kneel?

It didn't feel correct to leave a sibling askew.

When we plunged the chains through his limbs in this violent atrocity,

Did any of us leave room to heal?

Or had we already broken through the time to heal and break through to you?

Now when I close my eyes I see a void-white gate,

Standing at the end of a long, dark hall.

Traversing the barrier I spy a long-hewn lake,

I bellow loudly to its occupant, but they never hear my call.

I see my voice extend, almost physically, with such velocity.

But it quickly recoils, and is brought to its heel.

It was you whom I had called to,

You, my brother the Lord of Death and magnanimity.

I remember once you heard my voice, I watched it make you reel,

I suppose the voice you least expect is that which has betrayed you.

As I heal slowly all that's left is to ruminate,

Reflect on the ways in which I failed my thrall.

It drives me ever closer to the madness that consumes and degenerates:

Across my mind does it sprawl, a slaughter-hall of the attentive and philosophical.

That which once saw every angle and possibility has ultimately been replaced by this vacant unpredictability.

The madness has caused my brain to slowly allow the crown to congeal.

The crown's influence spreads with its purple-hazed hue,

The cue to allow the crown to finally take responsibility, to be rid of the me that was me and become without humility,

I can feel myself slipping away, until all I can recall is the ordeal;

The ordeal that took you.

I remember walking up to those ivory arches and the cacophony of silence that followed. The wave of the trees from the wind, the exposed roots struggling against the combatant wind at every turn of their opponent.

I remember the darkness filling the air where once there stood nothing, blackened tar swirling with vitriol at every second it hung so loosely in our world. The almost viscous substance that materialised in an instant, and seemed so eager to disappear as quickly as it had come.

I remember the eyes that peered down and gazed upon the windows of my soul with unknowable intent. How they scanned every detail of my form, how they analyzed without repent every single finite piece of me as though I were a piece of discarded art, thrown away by its creator, then remembered and gazed upon once more for its flaws, not its graces.

For long there was silence, glares exchanged and stances readied. Longer still was the time that passed, every second felt an hour, every minute felt a day, yet little passed at all but a matter of minutes in the days stead.

Then it spoke, measured, calm, poised:

"Son of Sun, God of War, God of Knowledge that you are. We beseech you listen closely, for your foes they closely are. They tread and thread within your web so take caution when you spin. The conspiracy lies deep inside, and you are deep within. Illusions of your safety work vice versa with yourself. Take heart in what companions you trust deeply with your wealth. There lies only one within the five that you should dare to question. You mistrust and pray that that's enough but irony's your predilection. There will come a day where you will say, that you had known for better. You will dull the pain with maddened songs that tell of your grief's measure.

Make your choice, They of War, but pray caution when you move. It is time to right your wrongs,

Just make sure your wrongs don't right you."

[violetmuses]

Versus - A. Aretas (Part III) 💔

Title: Versus - A. Aretas (Part III) 💔

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: One decision will change everything.

Tag List: @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @nobodygetsza @peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @deja-r @hyper-trash-panda @amethyst-loves-bucky 🏷

Part I ❤️‍🩹

Part 2 ❤️‍🩹

=====

2024

Shortly after your home settled down from those unexpected visitors, this doorbell rang once more.

Checking that RING camera again, you realize that Armando returned to the porch this time.

“What, did y'all forget something?” You barely opened the door, almost nervous.

“C'mon…” Aretas tried.

“What?” You don't even understand his point, not yet at least.

“I don't have much time before leaving, but we're doing this together.” Armando grounded reality.

“Say less.” You vowed, rushing to prepare for the battle yourself.

******

Outright monster James McGrath veiled his dark operations by working through one abandoned alligator park located somewhere deep in Florida.

“Armando's with Callie! Trail ‘em.” Mike Lowrey gritted his teeth amid crossfire and set your instructions for the mission.

McGrath just kidnapped Mike's wife Christine and even took Captain Howard's granddaughter Callie hostage. You fumed, raging from within.

___

“We're right here!” Callie lifted both palms for your vantage point just in case.

Yet wounds riddled Armando's body as this tree anchored his weakened presence.

“She…put me down by this tree. I'm okay…” His accented English struggles through pain, rightfully so.

“Kay…” Nodding down toward Armando, you're still protective despite everything.

“Hands up, Detective!” Marshal Judy Howard prompted your attention.

Raising both hands slowly, you turn around as expected.

“Mom, please don't hurt anyone!” Callie reveals tears, noting Aretas and you. “Armando saved my life and the detective looked out for us.”

“Move out of the way, Callie.” Judy continued staying armed.

“Mom, no!” Right when Callie shouted once more, Judy pulled the trigger.

Your body fell backwards as red dampened this tactical gear.

Yet, one lethal bullet pierced directly between your eyes, marking Judy's instant plan.

“Let me up, let up!” Right away, Armando wants Callie to help him stand from the ground, but immediately signals his father. “Mike, Mike!”

Seconds later, Detective Mike Lowrey joined this spot in the wilderness alongside Marcus Burnett as Judy keeps holding that firearm.

“What the fuck?!” Mike and Marcus shouted over this permanent view of your dead body.

“What happened?” Mike glanced toward Judy, both distraught and angered.

“I aimed for Armando but…”Judy revealed the truth about your death. “She wanted to protect him and Callie…”

“Aw, damn!” Genuinely crying, Marcus knelt toward your body this time.

“We can't call it in. Everyone will see Armando first.” Judy sniffled after holstering the firearm.

“What do you suggest?” Mike sought true guidance.

“Go. Leave with Armando before I change my mind.” Judy held her daughter Callie, but Mike understood this point.

Leave before everyone freaks out.

====

2025

Despite everyone marking calendars regardless, time slowed down.

The Miami Police Department lost joy while Marcus and Mike stopped laughing together.

Even your pictures still greeted desks at the precinct, showing camaraderie and highlighting true friendship.

“Listen to this, man.” Bringing his cell phone, Mike walked toward Marcus one afternoon.

“Hey, Lowrey! It's my day off.” Your laughter chimed this old voicemail. “Are we still planning cookouts for the department? I'll be there, just don't let Marcus eat Skittles. See you later, bye.”

“She'd sit in the corner with a plate now.” Marcus almost chuckled to avoid pain.

Memories could last forever.

[applepie2523]

"I feel like some of this criticism towards the show being pro-Black is unfounded, but there is truth to the sentiments, specifically in how key moments in the narrative have been framed and brushed over, while similar things have been focused on in a different manner

For example, the dichotomy between focusing on the girl Aegon rapes vs completely disregarding the person that Daemon killed to let Laenor escape his life

We get a lot of focus on Dyana and get showcased Alicient's veneer of hypocrisy- she who veils herself in religion but covers up her son's heinous crimes. Then we get a scene of her disparging her son for his vile behavior and hugging Helaena for the shame Aegon brings to others and his own marriage.

On the other hand, when Rhaenyra and Daemon plan for the fake-death of Laenor, the guy Daemon kills is a completely throwaway moment, and the focus of the scene is how there plan allows for Laenor to leave Westeros behind and live a happy life

Simply put, these two scenes where two random, "unimportant" people are victimized are presented in completely different manners which provoke completely different reactions from the audience. With the Laenor scene, the audience walks away happy because Rhaenyra and Daemon don't kill Laenor like it seemed they would from their speech and the focus is triumphant and just. The dead guy doesn't matter in the slightest. With Dyana, it completely shatters any sort of character arc or sympathy that Aegon may have had and firmly places him- who is the figurehead of the Greens- to be a character that is reviled by the audience and whose downfall is something to look forward to. Who the hell can even possibly support a rapist? Murder is something audience members can forgive, justify and accept- rape never ever

There are other moments throughout the show that are along the same lines. For example, giving Rhaenyra the opportunity to propose a marriage between Jace and Helaena as a peace offering that is rejected places her in a more sympathetic light as someone who was genuinely trying to reach out and make amends. I understand that this is an adaption and things are justifiably changed, but in the books, Corlys immediately has Jace and Luke bethroed to Baela and Rhaena so his true blood ends up on the throne and the insult of trying to pass off Strong bastards as true-born Velaryons is lessened. By making Corlys literally not care about blood and names, it gives the show an opportunity to make Rhaenyra look better

They also remove some of the brutality and ruthlessness of Rhaenyra. Instead of ordering the death of Vaemond and feeding his corpse to Syrax for insulting the parentage of her children, Vaemond is killed in court. And although violent and sudden, it is framed in a "good" way to the audience, since it directly follows the amazing Viserys sequence of coming to the throne and defending his daughter, along with the incredibly touching Daemon-Viserys moment of helping him to the throne

Likewise, the "questioned sharply" line following Aemond's mutilation is not framed in a way to express to the audience that Rhaenyra meant for Aemond to be tortured. She says he must be questioned sharply and then that transitions to Viserys simply questioning Aemond

This is kind of what, for me, makes the show pro-Black. If I had to characterize the show, I would say it's pro-Black and goes out of its way to make Alicient sympathetic. But overall it doesn't care too much for the Greens

I also feel like they slightly undermined the story that they themselves were trying to tell and set-up prior to the episode 6 timeskip and change-up of the actors. The show was clearly setting up that the primary motivation of the Greens was Alicient fearing for the safety of her children and family from Rhaenyra (with the rift starting by Rhaenyra's lies at the Godswood and Otto's departure in the rain) and the danger that Daemon posed

This would have required the Blacks and Daemon to be more unsavory and vicious in the post-timeskip episodes than they ended up being at all, because the show went out of its way to avoid that kind of stuff. For example- and this is a huge point that I think has been overlooked- the whole point of Rhaenyra and Daemon faking the death of Laenor was to signal to their enemies- ie Alicient and the Greens- that they were dangerous and should not be messed with.

The death of Laenor should have struck some fear in Alicient over what the two newly weds could have done to her own children. But narratively, literally the only consequence of Laenor's death was to introduce some temporary tension between the Blacks and Rhaenys that is ultimately resolved in the very same episode. The potential impact it should have had on Alicient is just not present

Another consequence that was completely ignored was the impact Rhaenyra and Daemon's marriage should have had on Viserys. It was already set up that he greatly disapproved of whatever was going on between the two of them in the earlier episodes, but there was no payoff to that once they got married. In the books, this is what causes Viserys to kick Rhaenyra out of court, but the show instead wanted to focus on the positive relationship between Rhaenyra and Viserys and Daemon and Viserys in his last episode

Now I'm not saying that that decision was a bad one- it was really touching and incredibly emotional- but paired up with everything else, I think the post-timeskip show has definitely tilted the narrative to be pro-Black and undermine what earlier parts of the story was trying to set up. It's doing this while also trying to maintain some sympathy for Alicient

The one very stand out thing that they have done is Aemond's character though. Obviously he will be a villain, but they've done an incredibly good job at making him sympathetic and understandable (I will fiercely maintain that he has done absolutely nothing wrong so far in the show). I wish that were extended to the rest of the Greens as they could make them the obvious villains they should be in the narrative, while still making them sympathetic and understandable." -- by a random person on the r/asoiaf subreddit

[postsforposting]

at the altar

previously i had thought there were only two weddings: the van and the reactor. however. there are four weddings and a funeral. because finding true love is hard, and the support of "friends" is essential. the movie has four "successful" weddings, one aborted wedding, and one funeral. the "successful" weddings all end in divorce. the funeral is for the partner of a gay man, but as this is during 1990s UK, they were not allowed to legally marry. it is explicitly said that they were "as a married couple". this funeral depicts "true love", but it's not "lasting" due to death. the one lasting, successful couple explicitly refuse to get married, and they are the only ones who have a family in the end.

the idea is that a "real wedding" cannot stand in for or replace real love and commitment. every single "real" wedding failed. in a line: beating out death--life after death--gives you forever, and no wedding gives you true love. in two senses: weddings literally don't replace love, and the lack of a wedding is defined as true love.

in dpw, there is no real wedding.

there is one failed funeral, in the reactor when everyone thinks they're dead. being joined in death is the only way to find forever; being joined in life is the only way to find love. to love forever, you must stand under god as one, reach forever by pledging yourselves "to death", and rise again together.

in biblical numerology, four represents stability and "freshness", aka "getting fresh" with each other in the sense of both insults and sex. insults, after all, get personal. character assassination is just a little ribbing joke between friends in this franchise. that's why there's four, and why they trade off roles.

wedding one:

in the movie Four Weddings and Funeral, there are actually five weddings held. the one that isn't counted as a "finished" wedding is where doubts were expressed during the ceremony that the groom loves someone else, and the bride dumps the groom at the altar.

wade dumps wolvie on the floor at paradox's altar after walking down the aisle with him.

paradox refuses to accept wade's proposal.

unlike in FWF, wade dumping wolvie wasn't about rejection. it was giving him a choice about whether he wanted to go through with this--to say "i do". he gets up and follows wade to "hell" of his own volition. for better and worse, right? they're joining at a low point because if you can't take him at his worst, you don't deserve to be his "best friend". this goes for deadpool and "worst" wolvie equally.

the "funeral" in this scene is paradox refusing to halt the death of the universe, insisting that everyone is going die eventually and there's nothing to be done about it. being sent to hell is also a literal death sentence, because no one is supposed to come back: it's forever.

this is an "aborted" wedding and a symbolic death, no funeral. wade pledged first but logan came right after.

wedding two:

the van. they make it to the altar, veil of seatbelts and all, but get driven away. they were dying to get there, too. what a shame.

a bower is both a wedding arch and a shady place under the trees. that's why they stop in the forest. they lay together, but not as one before the altar--no handholding here. they also didn't even get to the removal of the veil.

wedding three:

jumping into the marvel sparkle circle under the eyes of cassandra.

......jumping a "bundle of sticks" to a golden ring in the eyes of god.

while alioth, personification of death, is just a tick too late. not even the threat of death kept them from the altar. they weren't standing as one, together, though, so it's not a proper wedding.

in this one, logan wins the race: he falls first, and harder.

wedding four:

the reactor. down on their knees standing together under god: that's going to church. logan is the bride whose veil gets blown off.

it was supposed to be a funeral. paradox even gave them a eulogy. death did happen, and they thought it would last forever this time. but then they started a new life together, as one: marriage. they even said, repeatedly, "it should be me"-->"i want to be there for you"-->"i do". it could be read as both of them objecting that "you deserve better" while replying "but you're the one i want".

wade got to the altar first. even though it took logan longer to get there, he went at it harder.

this is the only wedding they got the whole way through, with all the necessary bits, and the only funeral. but it also wasn't a real wedding and the funeral didn't stick: that's how you get real forever love with four weddings and a funeral.

[bonefall]

I love the concept of MoleJay toxic yaoi so much. More weirdass chaotic romantic entanglement between the Bracken Four and The Three! The childhood crush of the teen who died young broke the rules of reality to save. His sister! A priest and a member of the heavenly body he's supposed to worship, except the priest has the power and the both of them keep pissing each other off. I named myself after the time I beat your ass in a fight, but that still means my name invokes our connection every time it is spoken. I tried to bring some meaning to my tragic death and afterlife by assigning myself this role of keeping you in line, and what I am outside of you? Just another tragedy? Better to be the man that stands in your way, better to be seen by you as a warden and source of irritation than just the guy who died of sickness and didn't get to walk out of heaven with you.

I think it's especially cool and funny when taking into account how you said that Moleflight's role as a character is "reflecting StarClan's general consensus and feelings towards Jay," because toxic yaoi really does reflect StarClan as a whole's weird love-hate feelings towards Jay. Like damn, this bitch is intimidating and frustrating and every time I talk to him he pisses me off. But. He is kinda cute tho.

Another aspect that crosses my mind a lot is that, when cats die young, StarClan quickly becomes more real than the brief life they had on the mortal plane. For most angels, death feels like a constant, lucid dream... but "cherubs" like Moleflight who received their full names in death didn't live enough life to differentiate it.

So if you think about it, Jayfeather IS his tie to the mortal plane.

Most cherubs quickly throw themselves into cosmic tasks that adult spirits feel strange about, very disconnected from mortality. Attending the founders, maintaining StarClan itself, lathering and polishing the stars that they may shine brighter. And yet, here is Moleflight, clinging to the life he could have known through being Jayfeather's obsessive guardian angel.

Like he doesn't want to move on. Like he wants to have something to miss.

Or maybe it is a bit of jealousy. Molepaw was the first to die in that outbreak and Poppypaw would have been the last. He watched from beyond the veil as Jaypaw pleaded for his sister to please, please come home. He didn't come for him. And without Poppy here with him, Moleflight was alone.

Inescapable. There is no separating them. Jayfeather's very name invokes Moleflight; and Moleflight has made it his mission to serve as a liasion between the stars and Jayfeather. Life and death divides them, and yet, they've never been apart. We are soulmates because we tangle our teeth and claws in each other's souls and refuse to let go.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Sixty-One

The journey to the Sept unfolded against a backdrop of palpable grief in the streets of King's Landing. The usually bustling and vibrant capital was draped in an atmosphere of mourning. The stone walls echoed with the muted sounds of sorrow, and the air carried a weight that surpassed the everyday hum of life. Countless mourners lined the roads, their faces etched with expressions of sadness, paying homage to the departed royal children.

Inside the carriage, Maera and Aemond shared the quiet passage with a solemnity that mirrored the city's mourning. Throughout the journey, a profound silence enveloped them, as if the weight of the occasion transcended the need for spoken words. Despite the absence of verbal communication, Aemond's hand remained a steadfast presence on Maera's leg, a gesture that conveyed more than words ever could—a silent assurance that they faced the challenges together.

As the carriage navigated the grief-stricken streets, the unspoken exchange between Aemond and Maera spoke volumes. The city's mourning became a shared experience, and within the confines of the carriage, the couple found solace in the simplicity of touch and the silent understanding that marked this poignant journey to bid a premature farewell to little Jaehaerys and the tiny unborn baby girl.

After a brief public service at the Sept, the funeral procession wound its way through the city until it reached a nearby cliff, a place chosen for its somber serenity. At the forefront of the procession was a cart bearing the wrapped bodies of the children. Maera, unable to summon the courage to look upon the small, shrouded figures, had avoided glimpsing them since she stepped out of the carriage back at the Sept.

As the procession reached the cliffside, a hushed solemnity settled over the gathering. The noble mourners, clad in garments of black, formed a solemn line along the edge of the cliff. The wind carried with it a whispering lament, an echo of the collective grief that draped the scene. Maera and Aemond’s carriage came to a halt, and a profound stillness enveloped the cliffside.

The natural beauty of the scenery served as a poignant contrast to the somber occasion, as if nature itself paused to acknowledge the depth of the loss. The air was heavy with the weight of farewell, and as the figures rested against the backdrop of the expansive horizon, a profound silence descended upon the mourners.

Aemond was the first to step out of the carriage, a silent sentinel of support for Maera. Extending his hand to her, he assisted her in descending onto the grounds. As she alighted, his hand found its place on the small of her back, guiding her toward the dais of the procession, where the rest of the royal family stood.

Upon reaching the solemn gathering, Maera took in the sight of House Targaryen assembled before her. Little Jaehaera and Maelor, the surviving children, were under the watchful eyes of their nursery maids. Both stood in quiet contemplation, their gaze fixated on the sky, perhaps finding solace in the flight of birds above. Dressed in mourning black, dowager Queen Alicent stood with a veil covering her face, an emblem of her grief.

As Maera made her way through the gathering, she noticed Prince Daeron, Aemond's younger brother and ward of Oldtown, in attendance at the funeral. Beside him stood Lord Otto, his face etched with solemnity, focused on the funeral pyre ahead. Aemond and Maera walked past other members of the family before standing before King Aegon and Queen Helaena. With a respectful bow and curtsy, they greeted the reigning monarchs, paying homage to their regal presence on such a trying day. The silent exchange marked the transition from the private sphere of mourning to the formal acknowledgment of the royal family's unity in grief.

As Maera observed the royal couple standing together, she couldn't help but notice that the apparent distance between King Aegon and Queen Helaena had developed even further since the tragedies. Though physically close, their violet eyes carried vacant looks as they gazed upon the shrouded bodies of their children.

Once formal greetings were concluded, Maera stood by Aemond's side, a few steps behind the grieving King and Queen, during the solemn funeral ceremony. At the forefrond stood High Septon Eustace, a figure draped in ceremonial robes, attempting to offer words of comfort and be a voice of the Seven in the face of such dark times. The High Septon's voice, though steady, carried a weight of empathy as he sought to navigate the delicate balance between solace and reverence for the departed.

As Eustace concluded his sermon, Maera watched in silence as her husband stepped forward, a figure of strength and resilience. In that poignant moment, a large, dark shadow began to stretch over the gathering, gradually blotting out the sun. It was the unmistakable silhouette of Vhagar, Aemond's formidable mount. The gigantic green and bronze creature emerged from behind a rocky hill, a colossal presence that commanded attention. As the beast stomped towards the pyre, her enormous eyes, filled with an otherworldly intelligence, remained locked onto her rider.

Maera turned to look at the other funeral attendants, and couldn't help but discern the subtle currents of political foresight woven into the decision. She knew, with a shrewd insight, that the suggestion for Vhagar to lead the pyre-burning had originated from the Queen mother, Alicent. It bore the mark of her strategic mind, considering both the symbolic and practical aspects of the act.

Firstly, Vhagar was the largest and fiercest dragon in the realm, and her fiery presence during the funeral would serve as a potent symbol of House Targaryen's strength in the face of adversity. Secondly, Alicent, ever the astute observer, voiced concerns about Aegon's state. While the official reason was that she assumed he would be too distraught to command Sunfyre, Maera understood the unspoken truth behind her mother-in-law's words, alluding to a more likely scenario—Aegon's tendency to drown his sorrows in drink, a habit that rendered him incapable of safely commanding his dragon.

Maera's gaze locked onto Aemond, who stood a few steps in front of her, his singular violet eye focused intently on his dragon, Vhagar. In that moment, she couldn't help but marvel at the remarkable transformation of the boy she had once known—singled out for lacking a dragon—into the man who now commanded the mightiest of them all. The evolution from perceived inadequacy to the pinnacle of strength stood before her, a testament to Aemond's resilience and the formidable bond he had forged with Vhagar.

As the weight of House Targaryen's history hung in the air, Aemond uttered a commanding "Dracarys." The air crackled with anticipation as Vhagar responded to her rider's call. Her massive jaws opened wide, revealing a searing fireball at the back of her throat. With a mighty surge, she propelled the fire forward, a torrent of flames that engulfed the wrapped bodies.

The pyre alighted, casting a brilliant, mournful glow over the cliffside. The flames danced with an ethereal grace, intertwining with the winds of sorrow that swept through the gathering. As the fire consumed the shrouded figures, the heat radiated a solemn warmth—a final embrace for the departed. The alight funeral pyre became a poignant tableau, a visual requiem that illuminated the cliffs with the sorrowful beauty of the farewell to little Prince Jaehaerys and the lost unborn child.

After a fleeting moment following the pyre's ignition, Aegon, King of the Seven Kingdoms, was the first to withdraw from the cliffside. The subtle scent of spiced wine lingered in the air as he walked past Maera, a reminder of the means by which he often sought solace. Alicent, attempting to engage with her son, found herself ignored, as Aegon continued his solitary retreat, accompanied only by a retinue of guards.

Turning her gaze back to Queen Helaena, Maera observed her standing alone, her gaze fixed on the consuming flames of the pyre. A pang of empathy and longing for connection tugged at Maera's heart. It had been too long since she and her old friend had shared a proper conversation, and the desire to reconnect with Helaena welled within her. Cautiously, Maera stepped towards Helaena, reaching out with the intention of a comforting touch. However, the Queen, sensing Maera's presence, flinched before the contact could be made.

When Helaena turned to look at her, the pain was evident across her face, her violet eyes seeming distant, lost in the consuming embers of the funeral pyre. Maera, with a tender expression, spoke softly, “Your Grace.” The formality hung in the air as Maera wrestled with the words that followed, fighting the urge to apologise for the irrevocable loss or to offer empty assurances of brighter days ahead. Instead, she let her features soften, hoping to bridge the chasm between them.

“I am happy to see you,” Maera uttered, her words a fragile attempt to anchor the conversation in a moment of solace. Yet, Queen Helaena remained silent, her gaze fixed in an abyss of grief, a stark departure from the girl Maera had once known. The air hung heavy with unspoken sorrow, leaving Maera grappling with the weight of words that could never truly mend the wounds.

Helaena's sudden grip sent a chill down Maera's spine, her friend's urgency etched in the vice-like hold. The cryptic words, "Two dragon eggs are laid. One in the rivers, one in the maelstrom," echoed in the air, a foreboding revelation that seized Maera's attention. It was no longer a mere enigmatic phrase, it appeared to be a warning. Before Maera could unravel the meaning, Queen Alicent materialized, her presence accompanied by a sad smile, then a concerned brow. She delicately intervened, placing a comforting hand on Helaena's gripping arm.

"Come, dearest," Alicent urged, her voice a gentle command. "Let us return to the carriage."

Helaena's gaze remained fixed on Maera, jaw tense with unspoken weight. However, yielding to her mother's directive, she reluctantly shifted her focus to the floor. With a nod towards Alicent, Helaena released Maera's arm, and the mother and daughter began to move away, leaving Maera standing amidst the lingering echoes of ominous prophecy.

Watching the women leave, Maera also witnessed the mournful procession of attendees making their way back to the waiting carriages, a sea of black against the vivid green backdrop of the cliffside. The solemnity of the moment lingered in the air, carried by the retreating figures clad in mourning attire.

In this poignant aftermath of the funeral for Jaehaerys and the unborn child, Maera's thoughts swirled with a complex array of emotions. Grief and sadness weighed heavily on her heart as she reflected on the loss that had befallen House Targaryen. The funeral pyre's fading glow mirrored the ephemerality of life, and the scars of tragedy etched themselves into the fabric of the royal family.

Amidst the collective mourning, a shadow of fear crept into Maera's thoughts. The ongoing war cast a looming uncertainty over the realm, and the prospect of having to bury her own child during these tumultuous times stirred a deep-seated anxiety within her. Swiftly, she shook the thought from her mind, unwilling to entertain the notion, and looked ahead, past the funeral pyre.

Aemond stood beside Vhagar, his gloved palm gently stroking the massive dragon's face, the vivid hues of green and bronze scales shimmering in the sunlight, capturing the majesty of the creature. The juxtaposition of the formidable dragon and the prince created a visual dichotomy, akin to a mouse standing next to a towering human. Yet, the undeniable bond between Aemond and Vhagar transcended mere appearances.

Approaching with a mix of reverence and curiosity, Maera ventured into the space where the prince and his formidable companion stood, eager to witness firsthand the depth of their connection. The colossal dragon's fiery orange eyes bore into Maera as she neared Aemond, a low growl resonating from the creature's throat. Startled, Maera instinctively took a worried step back, a gasp escaping her lips. The immense power emanating from the dragon was palpable, stirring a sense of caution in her.

Aemond, sensing the tension, turned to face Maera, his silver hair catching the light. With a calm authority, he commanded his colossal companion to ease, and the dragon's trill signaled compliance. Facing Maera, Aemond offered a reassuring smile, breaking the tension that lingered in the air.

"You can touch her if you want," Aemond invited, extending the opportunity for Maera to bridge the gap between them and the majestic creature. Despite her apprehension, Maera hesitated, her gaze flickering between Aemond and the dragon.

With a tentative tone, she admitted, "She may not wish me to." The unspoken dance of trust and fear unfolded in the presence of the awe-inspiring beast.

Aemond's chuckle echoed in the air, a glint of mischief in his single violet eye. "I am her rider; she does as I say," he asserted, a smirk playing on his sharp-featured face. The hint of a playful challenge lingered as he continued, "Unless she thinks you wish to harm me, then that is another story."

Maera, unimpressed by Aemond's attempt to incite a reaction, huffed and rolled her eyes. "I shall try not to get annoyed with you in her presence then," she quipped sarcastically.

Taking the opportunity to bridge the gap, Aemond gently took Maera's hand, guiding it to rest on Vhagar's scaled face. His hand rested atop hers, offering reassurance. The initial apprehension gave way to a surge of excitement as her hand made contact with the formidable creature beneath Aemond’s guidance.

The touch revealed a stark contrast to her previous experience with Ēbrion. Vhagar’s scales were much harder, bearing the scars and stories of battles waged. The war-torn texture spoke of the dragon’s seasoned history and the challenges she had faced. Yet, despite the rugged exterior, Vhagar exuded a warmth that resonated with Maera. The colossal dragon blinked slowly before seemingly leaning into Maera's touch, the immense creature pressing her face forward until the entirety of Maera's body was nestled against the dragon's formidable form.

Aemond's simple hum in response to his dragon's behavior caught Maera's attention, prompting her to shift her gaze toward him. "She can sense it," Aemond muttered, his eyes meeting Maera's with a knowing look.

Curiosity sparked in Maera's eyes as she inquired, "Sense what?" Aemond's gaze, however, traveled down to her lower stomach, where the unborn child nestled beneath her skin. Though there were no visible signs of life yet, the dragon's awareness of the growing life within Maera left her astounded.

"Oh," Maera responded, turning her attention back to Vhagar. The revelation of her pregnancy still hung in the air, a realization she was grappling with. Aemond's genuine interest and the dragon's uncanny awareness brought a sense of comfort, easing the uncertainties that lingered in the wake of impending parenthood.

The remaining sunlight, veiled behind grey clouds, was momentarily blocked again by a large black shadow, casting a subtle gloom over the cliffside. Before long, the vibrations of a thump resonated through the ground, heralding the arrival of another majestic presence. Appearing over the rocks, Ēbrion emerged—a formidable figure, dark blue and black scales gleaming in the subdued light. Each of his gigantic footsteps sent tremors through the earth, and Maera couldn't help but smile at the sight of the dragon she had grown familiar with.

As Ēbrion wandered over to the group, Maera felt the magnitude of his presence, and a chuckle escaped her lips at a whimsical thought. She entertained the idea that the blue dragon might be experiencing a touch of jealousy, watching her give attention to Vhagar.

The giant blue beast stood beside Vhagar, the camaraderie between the two dragons taking an unexpected turn in an instant. With a powerful nudge of his head, Ēbrion inadvertently disrupted Vhagar's connection with Maera, moving the older dragon's head away from her touch. Vhagar, roused from the moment, responded with an angry roar that echoed through the cliffside. The air crackled with tension as the two dragons exchanged hostile glares, their eyes ablaze with fiery intensity.

Aemond, sensing the need to restore order, attempted to capture Vhagar's attention.

“Dohaerās, Vhagar. Lykirī,” Serve, Vhagar. Be Calm, Aemond commanded his mount with a stern tone. However, Ēbrion, protective and assertive, leaned his head down, emitting a warning growl that echoed with authority. The narrow pupils of the blue dragon focused intently on the prince, a clear declaration of his stance in maintaining control. The dynamics between the dragons added an unexpected layer of drama to the air, a reminder of the untamed power that existed within these formidable creatures.

Out of instinct and a surge of protective urgency, Maera grasped Aemond's forearm and swiftly yanked him toward her. In this sudden move, her body positioned itself protectively in front of his. Aemond, though not entirely pleased with this rearrangement, responded by placing his hands on her hips, fingers digging in as he attempted to reposition his wife to what he perceived as safety behind him. Sensing the need for a calming influence, Maera called up to Ēbrion in a commanding yet softly spoken voice.

“Rȳbās Ēbrion. Kelītīs, rāpirī,” Listen Ēbrion. Stop, it’s ok. The words drew the dragon's immediate attention. The mighty beast pulled his face back, covering his teeth, and his pupils expanded as he fixated on Maera. She keenly observed the subtle signs of relaxation in Ēbrion's muscles, a silent acknowledgment that her words had reached and pacified the formidable dragon. She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that the situation hadn't escalated further, sparing her husband from any potential harm.

With the immediate threat diffused, Maera stepped forward, feeling the absence of Aemond's hands on her hips. Approaching Ēbrion, she extended a hand to his face, a gesture of reassurance. Then, leaning against the dragon's formidable form, she pressed her face into one of his scales, finding solace in the heat of the creature with a smile. The unspoken understanding, the calming influence she held over the mighty creature, and the comfort she found in his presence all hinted at a relationship that transcended mere proximity.

As Maera caressed Ēbrion’s scales, she turned her head slightly, catching sight of Aemond staring at her in awe. His widened violet eye reflected a mix of astonishment and admiration, lips slightly parted in silent wonder. The tableau of admiration painted on Aemond's face spoke volumes about the profundity of the connection unfolding before him.

“You are bonded to him.”

Notes: I am genuinely so sick of being sick, this is week three! Doctors have said it’s viral so there’s nothing I can do.

Tags: @abecerra611 @blue-serendipity @shesjustanothergeek @watercolorskyy @marvelescvpe

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[theredqueenandthebloodwyrm]

Oh hohoho, episode two of season 2 was certainly something!

Love the soundtrack so much, it always elevates the scene.

MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW for HOTD S2 EP2 (House of the Dragon, Season Two, Episode 2)

The music choice for the opening scene? Perfect! 10/10! Made me feel emotions! The servants (and possibly other nobles?) being led out by the guards, the chaotic nature of it all, the impending violence! Ser Criston Cole seemingly trying to do something? Just trying to look busy?

Aegon’s raging was wonderful acting! (Personally I was a fan of the model of Old Valyria so bit sad to see it get wrecked but wowww the actor nailed that rage). Aemond being ominous per usual.

See I thought in the episode prior when Helaena called Jaehaerys “the boy” it was either a weird quirk in the script or a deliberate attempt character-wise for her to try and cope by not saying his name directly? But it feels weird having Otto and Alicent both say “The Child” when referring to Jaehaerys? Not even “My granddaughter” from Alicent? Or “Prince Jaehaerys” from Otto.

I do like the acting for Alicent, her breakdown and sobbing, that guilt and how she blames herself for what happened.

“You’re already seen as weak, Aegon.” That line from Otto is pure gold. Hate Otto Hightower but he is damn good at his political maneuvering, using Prince Jaehaerys death to garner sympathy and paint Rhaenyra as this cruel monster akin to Maegor. Sidenote: at least Otto mentions Jaehaerys was his grandson (technically great-grandson).

The dresses! The embroidery! Costume department is doing greattt! Love the horses being decked out in green and gold.

I do like how you can see Helaena’s face and eyes flit back and forth as she thinks and realizes what Alicent is saying when she comes into her room and says they’re riding behind Jaehaerys in the funeral. And how Helaena very much doesn’t want to do it and says so, yet even her own mother ignores her wishes. (Just like how Aegon ignores Helaena’s on the episode prior, interrupting Jaehaerys from his lessons). I also love that Helaena gets more lines, and how she cuts off Alicent attempting to talk about how she walked in on her and Criston together. It’s very much “fucking hell, mother, I don’t care about your sex life, my son is death and you want to parade me and my dead son through the streets.”

Holy shit they actually showed Jaehaerys’s body/head during the funeral procession. I finally understand the still of Helaena during the funeral that kept being used before s2 came out, the black wisps on her face are from the black veil she’s wearing. I’d panic and freak out too if I was Helaena, my wagon gets stuck and suddenly a bunch of people swarm you and are reaching out trying to grab you, it’s already so much traumatic stuff happening coupled with the constant loud calling of your name, it’s overwhelming.

Rhaenyra’s sparkling red dress is so pretty. I love it. Daemon being a smug little shit, love that for him. Jacaerys being a responsible Prince and heir to the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra chewing Daemon out was such a well written piece of dialogue. But like What do you mean you’ve never trusted him wholly Rhaenyra?? Either she’s bluffing or the writer’s were on something because she was all for Daemon and trusting him. They got married because she wanted him (and his support but mostly because she wanted him). I suppose this is how they’re starting to drive the wedge between Rhaenyra and Daemon so when he goes to Harrenhal and spends time looking for Aemond (according to what I’ve heard/the wiki). I did think it was odd for Daemon to not just outright say he wanted Jaehaerys dead / accepted Jaehaerys as an alternative option for Aemond’s head instead he denied it. I feel like he’d probably be more likely to embrace that he did, and expect approval from Rhaenyra THEN she would be all “you’re pathetic, I never asked nor wanted Jaehaerys dead”.

Baela! Baela! Can’t wait to see her on Moondancer! Jace & Baela scenes!

Caraxes is back! Caraxes is back! My Blood Wrym is backkkk! Looking great as ever!

Awww little Aegon and little Viserys! Rhaenyra’s baby boys are so cute. And yeah I noticed the juxtaposition between them cleaning up Jaehaerys bloody bed then switching to Rhaenyra’s own blonde-haired toddlers. Criston Cole is such a petty projecting bitch man, getting on the case of another knight of the Kingsguard whose cloak had gotten physically muddy while Ser Criston has dirtied his white cloak in another way (failing to protect the royal family, sleeping with Alicent, etc). “Will you so easily sully our ancient honor?” Nah but you sure will Criston. THIS MAN! THE AUDACITY TO ASK what’s his name of the Kingsguard where he was when Prince Jaehaerys was murdered. Hah you fucking tell him whichever twin you are, where were you Lord Commander?

YEAH WHY THE FUCK HASNT THE QUEEN (QUEEN HELAENA) BEEN GIVEN A SWORN PROTECTOR? YOU ARE INFACT MAD, SER CRISTON COLE! seven hells, this man is so fucking annoying, he’s literally pissing me off with his whining bullshit, blaming everyone else except himself. Ah, his name is Ser Arryk.

Baela with her crossbow! Jacaerys going to check on her because she missed supper! Jacaerys reminiscing about Laenor spending time with him, and Baela asking of Ser Harwin Strong! Ohhhh I love Jacaerys and Baela. “I miss Luke.” That line from Jacaerys. Ohhhh someone help me, I can’t deal with this tragedy.

The Brothel scene with Aemond made me uncomfortable yet I can’t articulate why? It’s this weirdly vulnerable scene, he’s curled up in this fetal position, looking almost scrawny and small? Yet even then while he claims to be sorry for Luke’s death, he still downplays his own actions never taking full responsibility (at that point just embrace the evil shit you’re doing).

Ohhh so we’re meeting Ser Hugh this time, nice. Love Addam and Alyn so far! Great brotherly relationship. I feel like Addam and Alyn’s personalities ought to be switched? Not sure, we’ll see, I love them both so far anyways.

Love Corlys and Rhaenys’ relationship lol. Otto’s rage at Aegon’s rash decisions and stupidity is absolutely lovely and hilarious. Great acting from everyone. Aegon’s dismissive nature, not caring how many innocent men he hangs if there was a chance he got the guilty man alongside it and Criston Cole being the new lapdog of the King. Otto trying desperately to play politics while Aegon fucks shit up.

Oo we got to see more of Elinda, one of Rhaenyra’s ladies-in-waiting/handmaiden. The fight between Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk was tense, wonderful, good use of the environment. Ser Lorent Marbrand, Oo he’s from the Westerlands (House Marbrand is in the Westerlands).

Ohhhh they mentioned Daeron! Can’t wait to see Tessarion. Oh greattt (sarcasm) Alicent and Criston are having sex again, can’t wait to see Criston further project his own insecurities and emotions onto other people.

[voidmarkd]

I am going through my dms and memes since I am already back from my mini hiatus. Feel free to send in some memes or some of the questions while I work my way through everything you've already sent me.

[beebopboom]

Always an Angel, Never a Man

Intro post - where we discussed some more Wizard of Oz parallels and some of the title sequence

Now though we are going to dive deeper in the character that is the Metatron, and for that we are going to be going into The Book of Enoch and who he is as an angel - at least for this part

Background info

I've said this before but I’ll reiterate here - yes I know that Neil has said…somewhere that the Metatron has always been an angel in reference to someone asking about Enoch - but I don't think we can throw all the books away especially when it seems ideas have been pulled from them.

This actually started out as a question of whether or not the Metatron had come down to Earth and paraded around as Enoch to further his agenda - and well, it was a start.

So for the most part there seems to be two explanations for the origins of the Metatron - one: he was always an angel - two: he was the human, Enoch who was then turned into the Metatron. Each of these versions vary from religion to religion but for the most part that’s the gist of it

ha yeah right you know me time for probably unnecessary long explanations to the best of my ability

Disclaimer (I guess): These explanations are not going to stick to just one religion and are going to be summaries to the best of my ability - summaries are the devil how tf do people do this all the time

Also this is quite long - it took me about ten minutes to read through

The Metatron

The Voice of God, King of Angels, Prince of Divine Presence, Prince of the World, Prince of the Countenance, lesser YHWH, Angel of the Veil

Just some of the titles that have been attributed to the archangel known as Metatron - the list could go on

Created before or along side fellow archangels - including Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriel - he is considered to be above them and the one they defer to. He sits at the hand of God as their scribe and is one of the few angels able to see beyond the veil God sits behind, able to look upon and hear God. He is said to have immense Power and Wisdom

His main job is to write down the good deeds of both Heaven and the Earth and record those in the Book of Life. He is said to have connections to both the Tree of Knowledge and the Tree of Life therefore having a special interface between the two realms, physical and celestial - he is a bridge between God and humanity. He is a patron angel of children, giving them the knowledge they had not received and can be said to have been the angel who led the people of Israel through the wilderness. He is in charge of guiding the souls ascending to Heaven.

He is often attributed to roles God, Jesus, and even the Archangel Michael has had - to the point where there is a story of Rabbi Elisha calling out that there were two powers in Heaven and the Metatron is punished by 60 fiery lashes and unable to sit in Gods presence again for not correcting the assumption

Which leads us to the other origin story for him and that is-

Enoch

Now he has one mention in the Bible in the book of Genesis and it is only to say he no longer walks among men because God took him. This then spawned the Book of Enoch - which is really three books. Among other stories that I will get into later - it is the story of a man that was so righteous God took him so he didn’t experience death and made him an angel with all the same roles as we just went over.

This book covers things such as the concepts of fallen angels, a Messiah, Resurrection, the Final Judgement, and a heavenly kingdom on earth

………we aren't going to talk about the Nephilim

But there are these angels called the Watchers who have banded together and turned away from God. Enoch is shown the destruction and knowledge these angels have put upon humanity and shown the four archangels and their task to go about fixing the Earth. Enoch is then tasked with telling the Watchers that they shall have no peace or forgiveness for sin. He then goes on to see the universe - the Earth, the cosmos, and both Heaven and Hell - guided by angels. He sees the fiery pit that is where the Fallen are held and the river where all the dead souls await Judgement. He is shown the cornerstone of Earth and the pillars(mountains) of Heaven, and on the highest one sits the throne of God. He is told the secrets of the stars and is shown the hierarchy of Angels. 

He goes on a few journeys through the Heavens and eventually turned into the angel Metatron - which some would say this is a reversal of the Fall of Man, where Enoch is given that “spark" back. Upon reaching the 6th sphere of Heaven the angels call out to God asking why he has been brought to Heaven and God answered that he was righteous and worth the rest of the people - this is placed in flood times I forgot to mention

But why is any of this important? Well we are working with around 10 minutes of screentime people - crumbs I tell you, crumbs.

What really got this going though was Metatron saying this when referring to his outfit and corporation

"This calls for much less attention, though”

This implies the Metatron knows how to blend in - with humans and angels……and demons

But particularly with humans - further proven with the line

"I've ingested things in my time, you know”

Whether or not this is true he is really pushing this in front of Aziraphale and Crowley - clothes and food wonder why - it’s almost like it’s reminiscent of another conversation, one between Aziraphale and Gabriel back in season one at the Sushi restaurant.

Anyway though - the Metatron may not have had the transformation from Enoch but the story is still relevant to who he is as a character - it’s actually a great combination of the two

In season one he only appears as a floating head but I want to start with right before he appears

Four lights come down and four pointed stars start to appear

The thing is I think these are meant to represent our archangel council

The number four and its connection to the Metatron has been sitting in the back of my head for a while now - it's a common grouping in good omens with the horsepeople, the them, the angels, and the demons - but I think it's also a call back to Enoch and the four archangels that guided him, here me out - I mean it’s four colored lights surrounded by stars cmon

The only one missing is Raphael. In season one he is replaced with Sandalphon - who has a special connection to the Metatron with a similar origin story as Enoch and is said to be his twin brother. In season two he is replaced with Saraqael who is also mentioned in the Book of Enoch, one of the only places to do so.

This council though is the last stop before reaching the Metatron - so they have to come first. Four angels at the trial and four (active) angels when he appears in the bookshop. Sensing a theme of needing four angels.

Aziraphale then asks if he is God which is quickly corrected by the Metatron saying he is only the voice and to speak to him is to speak to God which then Aziraphale calls him a presidential spokesperson - and yeah that all tracks for what we know to be his role, just no mention of the other things he is in charge of

Which let’s take a quick break to point out that the Metatron is supposed to guide souls into Heaven - Heaven is very much empty, where are you taking them our dark clothed angel hmmm?

Season two though we really get a look into his character

In the trial we get to see a bunch of floating heads and yet his is still different, as he has no body. He is still concealed with no corporation - behind that curtain

Now we have two instances of this both in Heaven and Earth - not something we see with anyone else who all have a corporation to move about - besides when Aziraphale gets discorporated but even then he is still shown with his whole see-through body. So here is that special interface playing out - his way of showing his position off and maintaining an air of mystery

An interesting thing to note during his speech is him saying that for one prince of heaven to be cast down to hell makes for a good story - in the habit of telling stories about fallen angels there Metatron?

Now we’ve analyzed the coffee shop scene to death and I don’t particularly have anything to add so we are just going to keep truckin

But the bookshop - the bookshop tells us so much.

He walks in and hardly anyone recognizes him - only Crowley and Saraqael. And this makes sense, he’s in a corporal form - out from behind the curtain. The thing that made him special, that put him above other archangels - he’s removed it. They’ve probably never felt his full essence and it’s not like it’s going to set off alarm bells when they are the same rank as you, essentially. Then Crowley describes him in terms he knew Aziraphale (and others) would recognize - finally cluing everyone in 

But why Crowley and Saraqael? What makes them special?

I’ll admit I don’t have a clear answer for Saraqael - for why they are different. Only a theory that they are one of the angels that he has keeping an eye on the angelic deeds he was told to keep track of - perhaps even the corporations that are being used, when one is needed and whatnot

Crowley though is a Fallen Angel - the series goes through great lengths to stress this point - this term. You may remember that this is the term used in Enoch to describe the Watchers. The group of angels that turned away from God and Enoch then had to inform them of their fate.

It’s been sprinkled in throughout the series that Crowley only ever asked those “damn fool” questions and went his “own way” with hints that those questions were never asked to God. Which leaves the Metatron. The Metatron who Crowley has seen.

"Oh I know you. Last time I saw you, you were a big, floating giant head, mind.”

The last time implying there was a Before - before the beginning perhaps.

So let’s say God gives this criteria of what qualifies as a rebelling angel which then the Metatron is supposed to carry out the acts of punishment - except he’s an angelic scribe not a fighter so he gives this confrontation job to fellow archangels, let’s say Michael, and tells them this what God told them to do, while he works on the way to make it actually stick - through the Book of Life and finally activating the threat of this book by crossing the angels out causing them to lose their names, their status, their place in paradise

and then comes in this pretty high ranking angel, a prince perhaps, asking these questions that just happen to fit into this criteria but different in the way that they don’t want it all to end and you still turn him away

(I’m probably going to do a whole other thing about the connection between Crowley and the Metatron but for the sake of not derailing this post even more I’m just going to move on)

The Book of Life - The Metatron is said to be the angel that writes in it - records all the names of the beings doing good deeds in both Heaven and Earth. He hears all, sees all, and he’s going through past exploits. And yet has only just recently made a move - he truly is a King

He immediately calls Michael out for their “you’ll be erased from existence” spew saying they don’t have the authority for that and sending them away - implying he does have the authority and he’s here to offer a way for that not to happen**

And here on out we get to see some interesting characteristics. The Metatron has always been one to offer shallow praise - even back in season one - and he is shown to be openly revered and feared. He has this all seeing - big brother affect on all the angels. He is said to see everything it’s only a matter of what and when he chooses to use it. And use it well he does - he’s manipulative with praise and interest, with the knowledge he reveals. He is also in the nature to wind them up and watch them go. I’d say this is a twisted take on the Patron Angel of Children. 

So when you take out the parts of those two versions of Metatron’s backstory that we know are not canon to Good Omens and mush it all together - this could be a narrative that comes out

But I want to take a quick dip back into his clothes before rounding this off. He is dressed in darker colors, usually associated with demons, there is just no way to ignore this. An angel with duality written into their clothes - An angel that can go into Hell - An angel that is supposed to guide souls to Heaven and yet there are none but there is an overflow in Hell - An angel that created the back channels.

Now hear me out - I know we are heading into a crack theory area.

Back in season one when Michael brings forward the pictures of Aziraphale and Crowley they say they got them from the Earth observational files - something that the Metatron would be in charge of as the angel tasked with the Book of Life - and ask Gabriel to use the back channels already knowing they were going to.

Michael is the only angel we really see have any connection to these back channels, through the phone and actually going down to Hell. Michael is also very quick to take up the Supreme Archangel spot without explicit permission, a role apparently the Metatron is able to assign. It almost like the Metatron has given them special permission before….

Why would Metatron have use for those back channels though? Well gotta put those human souls somewhere, not that he particularly wants to deal the predictable and dim humans - and why not make sure all plans are running smoothly for the inevitable next War.

There is also this concept called the Humbling of the Metatron - has it already happened or is that where we are heading? All I know is we have a lying***, manipulative, exploitative Angel on our hands

and I truly think that he has made his moves and revealed his cards - it’s only putting it all together

**I really don’t think the Metatron has access to this book like he is foretold to have, like he acts like he does - at least not anymore

***When he orders the coffee he asks for a dash of almond syrup but when telling Aziraphale he says a hefty jiggle - such a weird thing to lie about there Metatron

————————————————————————

This series is mainly just going to be exploring the character that is The Metatron with pretty much every route possible. I’m not trying to say which is the correct conclusion because this character could really go in any direction. This is just for fun. I tired to get all the religious stuff as correct as possible but there is always the room for error, things I’ve missed, etc

but anyway for the next part we are going to dive into another big influence over our series and characters, as Crowley calls them - Occult Forces.

part 2 is out!!

[hyperfixationsporfavor]

Euphoric Reunion

Euphoric Reunion (Sukuna x Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey guys! This is just a one shot I felt like writing concerning the true form Sukuna. I feel a teensy bit guilty about the end (sorry Gojo). The general idea is that the reader is the reincarnated lover of Sukuna. Please don’t be too harsh. I don’t really write smut (this isn’t too graphic anyway). Please enjoy. Feedback is always appreciated. 

Warnings: True form Sukuna, smut, implied character death, minors dni

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d had such a vivid dream.

One that you felt coursing through your blood, emotions and consequence all feeling so lifelike in the murky dreamscape. 

“Sukuna,” you murmured.

You felt an insatiable heat building in your core when you walked into his chambers, a thinly veiled robe covering your bare frame. As you walked towards him the fabric slipped off your figure leaving you nude before him. The man in front of you straddled the line between human and demon, with additional limbs, an extra mouth, and two faces. 

He was abnormal, a creature of the darkest nightmares, and yet your lust grew stronger as he placed you atop of him. 

You had never seen him, but you knew him, vague memories of a life that wasn’t your own hazily playing in your head. 

You threw your head back in ecstasy as he used his extra hands to fondle your breasts. The mouth on his stomach made quick work of titillating your clit. All combined with the constant motion of thrusting himself  into you sent an unimaginable wave of pleasure coursing through you. 

“Sukuna,” you cried out.

You switched back and forth from participant to observer, feeling him stretching your every orifice to watching yourself come undone.

He hunched forward with a final thrust and panted as he pulled you into his muscular chest. Your bare bodies dripping with sweat.

“You’ll be my undoing,” he growled. “The nights are occupied by your needs.”

You smirked and brought your mouth up to his ear. 

“Again,” you whispered. 

~

Your alarm clock went off, sending you back to the real world. 

The morning sun blinded you when you opened your eyes. Your partner shifted next to you, mumbling an oblivious good morning. 

You just stared at the ceiling in awe, marveling at the intensity of the dream you had felt. Your body still tingled from your release. 

You still felt his hands lingering over you.

~

The monk led you to an empty corridor of the dilapidated building. Apparently it used to be a school. They said very little, just gesturing to a room at the end of the hall. You nodded and approached the door, taking a breath and pushing it open. 

You were taken aback when you saw him.

“Sukuna,” you gasped.

He just smirked, crossing both sets of arms across his chest. The corpse of a man with white hair lay crumpled at his feet.

“(Name), after a millennium, I’ve found you once more.”

~

The End. 

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part eight

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Eight - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2k

I don’t know how long I’m out for, but when I wake up, the first thing I notice is the warmth of a bed beneath me, soft and comforting. It takes a moment for the fog in my mind to clear, but then I feel it—a heavy limb draped across my back, pinning me down. My heart skips a beat, panic rising before I realize who it is. I shuffle slightly, turning my head just enough to see Wade sprawled out beside me, his leg thrown over the middle of my back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His torso is nearly falling off the edge of the bed, his mask slightly askew, revealing a rare moment of peace on his scarred face.

I grumble, annoyed but not entirely surprised, and carefully shimmy out from under him. He doesn’t stir, still lost in whatever dream world he’s managed to escape to. I glance around, taking in the environment, and relief floods through me. It’s familiar, comforting. I breathe a sigh of relief. They found us.

I sit up properly, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My muscles protest, sore from whatever happened before I blacked out. As I survey the room, I catch sight of Logan standing in the corner, a glass in hand, drinking from what I immediately recognize as Remy’s liquor collection. I shake my head slightly. Remy’s not going to be happy about that.

Logan turns to me, his eyes locking with mine. We don’t say anything for what feels like an eternity, just staring at each other, unspoken words hanging in the air. There’s a tension between us, a thousand things we should probably talk about but never will.

The silence is abruptly shattered when Wade shoots up, nearly falling off the bed in the process. He looks around, his usual manic energy snapping back into place.

“Where are we?” he asks, his voice groggy but laced with that familiar sarcasm.

I gesture to him and then to the room around us. “We’re in my bed. And this is the Borderlands.”

Just as the words leave my mouth, I hear footsteps approaching. My senses go on high alert, and I instinctively tense, but it’s just Elektra. She steps into view, her eyes sweeping the room, assessing the situation. I give her a small wave, and she responds with a short nod, her gaze lingering on Wade and Logan with clear suspicion. Then Eric walks in, followed by Remy and Johnny. The sight of them makes my heart swell with relief, and I quickly cross the room to hug Johnny. His arms wrap around me, and I can feel the tension in his muscles start to ease.

“I don’t know how the fuck you did that, but you saved my life,” Johnny mumbles into my hair. His voice is soft, almost vulnerable, and I can’t help but smile.

Wade immediately jumps in. “Okay, look at you all. You must be the others. Terrific. So just to refresh, you are Wonder...”

“Elektra,” she corrects him, her voice sharp and clipped.

“Elektra, yes. Who could forget?” Wade continues, undeterred. He shifts his attention to Eric, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And you, I was not expecting to see you here, but you were, you know, retired.”

“Retarded?” Eric responds dryly.

“Retired. I’m already in The Void. I’m not trying to get canceled again.”

“I don’t like you,” Eric says bluntly.

“You never did.” Wade shrugs, then turns his attention to Remy. “And who’s this succulent reminder of my own inadequacies? Look at you. You look like the superhero version of Hawkeye.”

Remy smirks, his Cajun accent thick as he introduces himself. “The name’s Remy LeBeau. De Diable Blanc. But you can call me The Gambit.”

Wade, ever the smartass, retorts, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Sling Blade, hit me again.”

“They call me The Gambit,” Remy repeats, his tone laced with a challenge.

“Do they? Are you sure you didn’t just really, really want them to, but it never quite worked out?”

“You know, we never had a Wolverine up in here. But I can tell you now, it’s just a common courtesy to ask before you drink up all of my liquor.” Remy says to Logan who gruffly responds, “It's a good thing I don’t give a fuck.” Remy’s eyes flash purple as he whispers something under his breath. With a flick of his wrist, a playing card flies across the room, charged with kinetic energy. It shatters the glass in Logan’s hand, sending shards flying.

Logan glares at Remy, then his eyes flicker to Johnny, “How the fuck are you here?” he asks.

“Ask Y/n, she did it,” Johnny replies, glancing at me with a hint of pride.

Logan’s expression shifts, a flicker of something almost like hurt crossing his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. Wade claps his hands together, drawing everyone’s attention back to him.

“Well, now that’s settled, look, we came a long way to find you four,” Wade says, his tone suddenly serious.

“There’s five of us,” Elektra corrects him again, her patience clearly wearing thin.

“There’s five? Wait, is it Magneto? Dear sweet God in heaven, let it be Magneto...”

“Dead,” Johnny interrupts, his voice flat.

“Fuck! Now the author gets lazy? It’s like Pinocchio jammed his face in my ass and started lying like crazy.”

Remy mutters something in French, and I try my best to understand, catching a bit about Wade being a nasty devil. Wade just grins, clearly enjoying the chaos he’s stirring up.

“Not a single word,” Wade quips, “What do you do exactly?”

“I charge the playing cards. Make them go boom,” Remy replies coolly.

“Your powers are close to magic. That’s good. We’re not totally fucked at all. So who brought us here?”

As if on cue, Laura walks in, her expression as fierce as ever. “That would be me. Don’t make me regret it,” she says, her voice icy.

Wade’s eyes widen in recognition. “Holy shit, Logan, that’s her, that’s X-23. She’s the one I told you about.” He says to Logan who looks at Laura, then looks away. “How did you all get stuck in The Void?”

“There was a knock at the door. TVA sent me here,” Eric replies, his voice grim.

“Me too,” Elektra adds.

Remy shrugs. “Maybe I was born here, so it’s hard to know for sure.”

“The TVA decided our universe was dying, and I never even got a chance to fight for it,” Eric says, bitterness seeping into his words.

“People like us don’t go quietly. TVA knows that, so they took us out,” Elektra adds, her tone fierce.

“The answer is yes, I’m in,” Wade declares, his voice filled with determination.

“In what?” Eric asks, confused.

“A team. Me, you, you and me, all of us together. Let’s get the fuck out of this place.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar,” Logan snaps, his voice filled with anger.

“It was an educated wish! Look, we’ve been inside Cassandra’s lair. The only way out of The Void is through her. She can get us home. She told us. Look, there’s strength in numbers, all right? Us, plus you guys, we can put Cassandra over our knee and force her to let us out of The Void. I know what it means to feel self-doubt.”

“I don’t feel that at all,” Elektra retorts.

“I’m good,” Eric agrees.

“Gnawing at your gut like a coke duct tape worm.”

“It’s like you’re in the middle of my soul,” Wade says, his voice almost reverent.

I look at him, confused as to how these two seem to be matching each other’s energy so to speak. 

“You guys may not have been able to save your universes, but you can avenge them. Maybe you couldn’t save your worlds, but Jesus Christ, you could save mine.”

“I don’t give a shit about your world, but if these four made it out alive, maybe together, we could get back in and take her down,” Elektra says, her voice laced with resolve.

“Where I come from, we call that suicide, cher,” Remy mutters, his voice somber.

“If we can block her psychic powers, we can get a leg up. I know it. Now, I know Magneto’s dead, but I venture to guess that his helmet is lying around here somewhere.”

“Cassandra melted the helmet,” Eric says, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Fuck!” Wade curses, his frustration palpable.

“Then she killed him,” Eric adds.

“She don’t play,” Elektra says, her voice cold.

“She knows that helmet was the only way to protect anyone from her powers. The only other helmet that strong is Juggernaut’s, but he works for Cassandra.”

“Juggernaut’s helmet, that’s it,” Wade says, his voice filled with hope.

“And we don’t be knowing that it ain’t coming out his head,” Remy warns, his tone cautious.

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with the weight of decisions that could change everything. 

Wade, pacing back and forth with his usual frenetic energy, stops and looks at Remy, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m so sorry, beautiful, how could this be gentle?” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who is your dialect coach? The minions? I feel like we’re missing critical exposition here.”

Elektra, her patience wearing thin, snaps, “I’m sick of this shit. I’m sick of hiding. Let’s face it, our world’s forgot about us.”

“Or never learned about us,” Remy adds, his voice tinged with bitterness.

“The heroes we were,” Elektra continues, her tone growing more impassioned.

“The lives we saved,” Blade chimes in, his deep voice resonating with an almost mournful tone.

“Or wanted to save,” Remy finishes, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the ground, lost in thought.

Elektra’s gaze hardens as she looks around at the group, her voice resolute. “Maybe these three are our chance, to be remembered the way we deserve.”

“Yes,” Wade agrees, his voice jumping an octave.

“An ending,” Elektra says, her voice filled with a mix of finality and hope.

“A legacy,” Blade adds.

Wade, unable to resist injecting some levity into the heavy moment, clapped his hands together. “Yes, yes, let this man cook. This is what I’m talking about. Big slow motion, fight sad music, everybody working together. Who knows if you live or die, that sort of thing. Who’s ready?”

Blade straightens, his expression fierce. “I was born ready.”

Wade turns to Remy, a playful smirk on his lips. “Yes, Gambit?”

Remy shrugs, a wry grin spreading across his face. “I ain’t know my daddy, but I’m sure I shot-out-of-his-dick ready.”

Wade pauses, blinking in disbelief before shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, that is graphic. Pumpkin?” His gaze then drifts over to me, and I can feel his eyes on me, almost as if he is trying to read my thoughts.

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest. “I’ll do it,” I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. I glance at Logan, searching his face for any sign of what he might be thinking. “I might regret it,” I admit, the weight of my words hanging in the air. “But I have nothing to lose.”

Wade’s expression softens, a rare moment of sincerity in his chaotic persona. “Oh, sweet cheeks, you won’t regret it. The author has some crazy plans for you.” He then tunrs his attention to Laura, his voice taking on a challenging tone. “X-23, what’s it gonna be?”

“The name’s Laura,” she says, her voice cold and determined. “Let’s fucking go.”

Wade grins, his excitement bubbling over. “Let’s fucking go.”

Elektra’s eyes blaze with a fire that has been long extinguished. “We’re doing this,” she declares, her voice unwavering.

Logan, ever the cynic, mutters darkly, “You’re all fucking dead.”

Wade, not missing a beat, shoots back, “My god, read the room.”

Logan huffs and storms out the room, I watch him leave, hesitating before following. I hear Wade whispering from behind me to no one in particular. “It’s happening, they’re finally going to communicate. Thank you, sweet author. I’m sure the readers were tired of the dialogue recaps.” His voice fades away as I follow after Logan.

Next Part

A/N: Guys, this chapter is a lotttt of just going through the meetings of the other characters, the good shit is coming soon. Sometimes when I’m writing for scenes that are in movies I find myself getting really repetitive with it, so next chapter I’m taking more creative liberty.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

[damnfandomproblems]

#5234 Sorry to dredge this up again (god, I am genuinely so sorry mods, lol), but someone in the comments mentioned M3gan and I actually just watched that movie because I was curious what they were talking about, and ok. There's a kid bully who's a total asshole towards the main kid character. He does some really nasty things and I was definitely going oh jee, I hope he gets his comeuppance. What kind of comeuppance was I thinking about? Obviously something bad like death, since this was a horror movie. Does that make me a bad person? Am I being brainwashed into wishing harm on kids? Oh god...! ...Oh. No. I'm not. All good. Then the kid dies violently (dang, that came out of nowhere lol!), and I'm cheering for the robot girl (Megan) because ha, that serves the kid right, and... Oh, I'm still not brainwashed. Poor kid. Probably could've used a lot of counselling in real life. But this ain't real life. The characters are tools for the narrative and, until that point, the narrative had been building up tension between the kid bully and the main kid character. There was going to be a payoff of some kind. What I'm trying to say is, I'm begging people to use their brains a bit when it comes to all this. Even movies that are written and shot to elicit certain reactions from people watching them aren't "romanticizing" anything. You don't watch The Painted Veil and walk away thinking, Walter threatened to strangle Kitty but she stuck around, they're romanticizing abuse. You walk away thinking, if only they had more time to grow as people, because that was the main focus of that narrative.

That's all! And sorry again, mods.

Posting as a response to a previous problem.