#━ ✟ 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

[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

[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

[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.

[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. 

[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.

[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.

[defira85]

Sigh

Blows the dust off of @arcanistderangement

I do have a dragon age side blog for my characters, but it's been growing mildew since like 2015, and I never got around to finishing Jo and Corinne's character bios so. I'll probably fix that up in the coming months

I WILL JUST POINT OUT THAT I POSTED JO'S BIO IN 2014 WHICH INCLUDED THE VEILED BROTHERHOOD because I was fucking salty that rogues never got a blood magic adjacent type class/boost like mages and knights did and I wanted to invent a blood magic rogue class, and I ALSO wanted to have demon hunters/monster hunters in Thedas because like. Gestures. Thedas needs demon hunters and monster hunters

“We fight to defend the Veil. We patrol the places between death and life, between dreams and daylight. We do not suffer a demon to walk in mortal lands. And we will uphold the Veil to our dying breath.”

- Ser Haron Gottschalk, Inquisition Templar and Hunter, 1:03 Divine

FROM 2014 get on my LEVEL Bioware

Not really the point of this post but @defirasvault is for Baldur's Gate sinning. Specifically Gortash. If you want that as well. It's mostly porn and if it's not porn, I make the tags very uncomfortable for everyone

[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

[sachiko1309]

The treasure of my heart

This story of a sweet Haldir taking care of Visha his soon to be wife was written at the request of: @wareagleofthemountain

Sumary: Visha gets overwhelmed and Haldir takes care of her. Hurt/comfort a lot of soft smut and fluff

Word count: 4621

Warnings: taking care of a wound, smut, Minors DNI

This is part of a fanfiction I write on Wattpad. Its called "the prophecy of the elven warrior" A fanfiction dealing with Visha the main character drawn between the Commander of the marchwardens and the prince of Mirkwood. Feel free to check it out, as I am almost finished with updating it. 😉🥰

I was walking through the woods of Lórien, letting my thoughts wander. My leg still hurt from time to time, leaving me with a visible limp. The healers assured me it would fade over time, but that’s not what I worried about the most. My thoughts were occupied with Geralt, Jaskier and Yennifer. Since I have been told I could never go back to my world, I wondered what my chosen family would think happened to me.

Would they think I got killed during my fight with the drowned dead?

Would they search for my body?

I was sure Jaskier would be openly devastated, while Geralt would try to push his feelings away. He would probably overthrow himself with the responsibility of my death, searching for release in alcohol and Yennifer.

Thinking of how destroyed I let them behind I couldn’t help but sink to my knees. A choked up whimper made its way through my throat initiating tears to spring from my eyes. The whole weight of my situation just came crushing down in that moment, pressing the air out of my lungs, leaving me shaking on the ground, having a full-on panic attack.

Due to me dropping to the floor without further care the wound on my leg started to bleed again. I didn’t care. I was curled to the side, arms hugging my legs, tears running down my cheeks, dropping to the damp forest floor. This was how Haldir found me. He tried to speak to me, snap me out of my psychotic state, but I didn’t react to him. So he picked me up, carrying me towards the little house I was sorted to stay in.

The closer we got, the more agitated I became. I didn’t want to be in the house that had me in a tight grip during my nightmares in the night. Although I wasn’t a prisoner, being left in a world I didn’t know, with people I didn’t understand, with nothing left to do, than lay in bed or wander through the realm I certainly felt like one.

I clinged to his tall frame, seeking stability from the only one I trusted enough. He wasn’t around often, due to his duties protecting the realm from the ever-growing packs of orcs. But when he was, he would sit with me in silence. Eat a meal he brought around, sharpen his weapons alongside me or just watch the birds and insects flying over the river in front of my house.

Without any further instructions he turned around walking down a path I didn’t recognize through the veil of my tears. What I could make out, were several elves standing aside, bowing their head in respect of Haldir, once we passed them. They tried their best to not stare, but I could feel their eyes upon me. Ever so often giving a slight shake of the head whispering in their language.

I learned rather quickly that it was seen as inappropriate for elves that didn’t court to touch, so me being carried in Haldirs arms, crying and holding on for dear life, while also ruining his marchwarden uniform, was probably a capital offence. But I didn’t care. My mind was occupied with the pain of loosing family, the pain of my leg, the irritation from being held by the Lórien prince who always made sure to never get to close to me.

Once we reached a Talan, I believed to be his, in one of the tall mellow trees he sat me down on the floor in front of his bed. I curled up to a ball again, still sobbing into the soft carpet. I heard him rummage through the room, then he called for a servant, they talked and the servant ran of doing whatever Haldir told him. Shortly he came back with a bucket in his hands and a handful of other elves following him.

Haldir crouched down next to me. “You need to take a bath, and let me clean your wound.” I didn’t respond, so he pressed on: “Please, I need to inspect your wound.” When I didn’t answer him other than grabbing his hand, still shaking from crying he sat down next to me. Stroking my head, watching the servants to fill the bathtub in the other room. When they were finished, the last woman to leave gave him a slight nod and quietly closed the door behind her.

“Come, Visha.” Haldir got up and pulled me to my feet. With his assistance I made it to the bathroom, sitting down on the edge of the tub. He turned around and gave me a few things: “Here, a towel, some soap and fresh clothes for you to wear when you are finished.” Putting the things down on the shelf next to me, he walked to the door, but I stopped him from leaving: “Please don’t go.”

Hearing my voice laced with desperation and fear he stopped in his track, closing the door. “Okey. I will stay here.” He said, not turning around. His stoic demeanor, trying to keep my dignity by not looking at me had me slip a slight giggle. “You can turn around.” I said. “I have bathed next to man before. You know? Living among mercenaries and riding through the lands to find someone paying for your services leads to a simple nature bound life.”

He cleared his throat. “I understand your points, but where I am from, a lady’s honor and innocence must be protected.”

“But what if said lady told you to not maintain those standards?” I asked, wiping my tears away, once they stopped flowing. A shaky noise rumbled through his chest. “I am not quit certain of your words, my lady. Please repeat it in a different phrasing. I might have not understood the meaning correctly. Forgive me, but your language is not spoken often by me.”

“I think you understood very well, what I am asking of you.” I pressed on, starting to undress myself. Slowly he turned around, eyes trained on the floor.

I was now in underwear, walking up to him. “I think you might look at my wound now.” I said softly, putting my hands on his chest. Clearing his throat, he pointed towards a chair in the corner of the room. “Take a seat, while I collect the things I need.” He still wasn’t looking at me, while he rushed out the room, only to reappear minutes later. Kneeling in front of my and taking my thigh in his hand. Carefully he removed the bandages covering my wound. They were bled through, but when he reached the wound, we could see it was only a small reopening.

With delicate movements, to not hurt me, he coated the wound in the herbal mixtures the healers created for such occasions. He didn’t wrap my wound up again, standing up and taking a few steps back. “I will reapply the mixture and properly bandage you, once you have taken your bath.”

“Thank you.” I said walking over to the tub. Ridding me of my last clothes I stepped in fully naked, flinching at the heat of the water. But when I subsided my body into the heat, I moaned at the relaxing feeling. Holding out a hand to Haldir: “Join me, my prince. I believe you could need a hot bath to. Given the fact you work hard to protect all of us.”

“I cant, my lady. This is not appropriate.” He argued, eyes glued to the floor.

“Please.” I begged him. “I cant stand it anymore. Everyone is so distant to me. Nobody seems to understand my pain, or care for my physical well-being. I need someone to hug me, hold me, touch me. Please be the one to free my mind. I trust you and I need you.”

“Well fuck it.” I don’t know what brought him to throw all of his believes and values over board, but he did what I asked of him. Putting his long hair up in a bun and slowly stepping out his clothes while I watched him. Being the warrior he was, his built was much more muscular than typical for elves. His arms, chest and back were covered in scars ranging in size and healing states. I withheld myself from looking past his hipbones, hurrying to make room behind me in the bathtub. Carefully he stepped behind me, spreading his legs around me and pulling me into a tight hug. I could feel his chest rise and fall in a hectic state and I was unsure what got him so nervous.

But once I snuggled into his embrace, he visibly relaxed. Still unsure what to do with his hands he let them rest on the edge of the tub. I grabbed them both, sending him straight again into shock, when I wrapped them around my torso each hand landing on one of my breasts. “My lady!” He breathed out, instantly pulling back, but I held him in place firmly.

“Touch me!” I begged. Leaning my full weight on his body. His callused hands were tenderly gripping my breasts. Massaging them softly. I let my head fall onto his shoulder when his thumb stroked over my hardening nipple. Teeth biting down on my lips to prevent myself from moaning too loud. Cautiously his hands wandered over my body, mapping out every curve, every scar it possessed. When his hands reached the lower side of my body I spread my legs, inviting him in.

He didn’t give in to my silent begging, carrying on with stroking my thighs, ever so slightly brushing against my core, riling me up with anticipation. But he never gave in. Instead, he took the washing cloth from the floor and soaked it with the soapy water we were sitting in. He began to wash away any possible dirt on my body, always making sure to not put to much pressure on his movements. The lose strands that fell out of my bun, sorted themselves into the delicate touches of his hands. I let myself completely fall into his hands, giving him all the access, he needed, but never took advantage of, driving me mad.

“Haldir, please.” I breathed out, my voice dripping in need of his touches. He chuckled, pressing his hardening member against my lower back. “Such a needy little girl.” He teased. “I will take my time with you. Give you everything you deserve. There is no rush for us now.”

Hearing those words gave me some sort of relaxation, knowing, that my needs will be met. The cloth in his hand was regarded and now his fingers were again wandering over my body, taking the paths that were treated with the piece of fabric not long ago. But this time his touches were more intense, taking a hold of me.

The fingers of his right hand finally found my attention starved core. Tenderly stroking my outer folds, accidently brushing over my throbbing pearl. His other hand playing with my erect nipples, circling them, tugging on them. And when his lips sank down on my neck, the first moan rolled over my lips. His kisses were soft, sucking the skin between his teeth, licking the hot pain away his marks left behind. I was in heaven. My brain turned mushy and I was only reacting to his touches, how they deliberately played my body like a fine-tuned instrument.

Finally, his fingers went were I wanted them the most. Slowly he pushed one finger inside of my curling them against the spongy sweet spot in my core. My breath went irregular and I gasped, when his thumb pressed against my clit. He didn’t move it, just letting it sit there, putting light pressure in his sweetest touch. Soon a second finger followed, massaging me seductively. I couldn’t help myself but arch my back, to get more friction from his touch, but he kept me in place with his left arm, pressing me on his chest. “Uh uh… You are going to let me take care of you. Let yourself fall. I will catch you.”

And I did exactly as told. Letting go of my build up tension, fully trusting him. Once he realized I gave up my barriers, he started to move his fingers again. Still pressing me to him, he worked my pussy with the softest of touches I had ever felt. His thumb circling my clit, while his fingers massaged my inside. Creating a steady rhythm.

I closed my eyes, lips hanging open, not caring what sounds I let slip. A fire was starting in my stomach, burning its way down to my core. The longer he touched me the hotter the fire got, threatening to burn me alive. “You are doing so good for me.” His soft voice praising me, wrapping me up in silken ropes. My legs started to shake, the first indicator I was close to my release. I could feel the blood rush to my face, painting a light pink shade all over it. My walls started to flutter around his digits, trying to keep them inside of me. My head lulled back, his name a sweet prayer on my lips. I was now so close to the edge; I feared the abyss would swallow me whole. Grabbing onto his arm, that was holding me I unwillingly pierced his skin, when my orgasm washed over me.

“So beautiful.” He murmured, kissing my neck, my earlobes, and my chin. Slowly he pulled his fingers out, laying his hand on top of my throbbing core. My breathing was still irregular and I tried my best to steady it. Only then I realized I was still holding onto his arm, letting go immediately. “I am sorry.” I whispered, when I saw the indents in his skin.

“Don’t worry, meleth.” He reassured me, turning my head for our first kiss. His lips were soft and plump. I gasped at his boldness, which he shamelessly took advantage of, by slipping his tongue inside my mouth.

I don’t know how, but he was able to free himself under my bodyweight and stepped out of the bathtub, still leaning down for our kiss. He grabbed me under my arms pulling me out of the tub with the effortlessness I couldn’t comprehend. I shrieked at the sudden movement, clinging onto him. “I am sorry, meleth.” He apologized. “I forgot, that I am so much stronger than you. Comes with being an elf.” He tried to take the tension from me by joking.

“Meleth.” I repeated. “What does that mean?” He thought for a moment. “I would translate it to love. Its mostly used as a pet name.” Unsure how I would react he rowed back: “I can stop using it, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Meleth.” I let the word roll over my tongue. “It is beautiful. I like it.” Smiling down on him while I was still hanging in his arms. Only then I became painfully aware of the heat of his erect member only inches away from my core. I wriggled in his arms, causing him to let me slip a bit, now I was touching his cock with my wet entrance, forcing a low grunt from his lips.

Kissing him in anticipation I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist. He certainly got the hint, carrying me to the bedroom. Not without grabbing a towel and throwing it on the sheets first. Then he let our wet bodies sink into the mattress. Holding his bodyweight with his forearms, to prevent me from being crushed. He was radiating heat and lust, his body pressing me down. I spread my legs wider, inviting him in. “Please.” I begged. “I need to feel you. I want you.”

But he didn’t. He did the opposite. “I cant, Visha. You do not behold the consequences of this act.” Sinking back to his knees, face contorted between longing, desire and pain. “You humans might take sex lightly, but we elves don’t. Once we connect physically there is no turning back. I will not be able to withhold myself from you even if you chose to leave me. I will be bound to you for eternity. You need to know for sure you want to do this, because I will not force you to a bond you don’t want or cannot bring upon you.”

I scrunched my nose. “What do you mean ‘bound for eternity’?” He sighted: “Elves take a long time courting their partner, it can range from decades to centuries even. Because when we chose to be intimate with another person, our faes get bound together, leaving us in an unbreakable bond.”

“Faes?” I asked.

“Souls.” He answered. “When we do this, we are soul bound. Do you understand that?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“No Visha.” His voice became agitated. “Not okay. I need you full consent to do this, to give your soul, your life to me. Because I will. The day we met, my fae called out for you, forcing me to be around you. I love you with all my heart and I promise to protect you with everything I can. Elves don’t love easily, but when they do, they do it with their whole being. We will be partners for life until death do us apart. There will be no turning back, no loophole, nothing. Just me and you.”

“Until death does us apart?” I questioned. That part scarred me. He nodded. “Yes. When one of us dies. The other will fall into a constant state of sorrow until they go to Valinor. Our place of afterlife, where we met again with our loved ones.”

“Do I get to be there, when I die?”

“When you are bound to me, yes.” He answered.

“Okay.” I repeated, spreading my legs wider. “I love you and I trust you. You where there for me, when no one else was. Keeping me sane, caring for my well-being. I want to be your partner, to be your rock, protector, lover, friend. All of it. But…” I stopped.

“What?” He looked scarred.

“Do you see that scar on my body?” I pointed towards the z looking scar and the double-crossed x. He nodded, tracing its outlines.

“The two x above each other is inguz our symbol for fertility, the z is ihwaz the rune for eternity and immortality. As you know I was born a witch, raised by witchers. Those two scars mean, I sacrificed my fertility for immortality. I did it to stay with Geralt, the man who saved me. So, I will not be able to ever give you children. And I understand if you want children, or if you are expected to have them. I wont be disappointed if you would leave me now.” I turned my head to the side, fighting for the tears to stop forming, but I lost.

“Don’t cry, meleth.” He soothed me. “I don’t care about children and I am not expected to have them. I have brothers may this task be laid upon them.” He had a angered grin on his face. “I only care about being with you. If you still want me, I will be your seron, your amath your protector. Im mel cin, meleth nin. Im mel cin.” His voice was hoarse, fingers fluttering over my face, wiping away the tears.

“I don’t understand half of what you are saying, but I don’t care. I want you. I want you forever, so I can learn what you just said.” I answered laughing through my tears. Now he was laughing to. “Seron means lover, amath means shield or protector. Im mel cin, meleth nin means I will forever love you, my love.” He quickly translated.

“Im mel cin.” I repeated what he said, miserably stumbling over the words, disfiguring the beautiful sound they made in his mouth. But Haldir didn’t seem to mind at all. Instead, he pressed his lips on mine, kissing me with such passion, my head was spinning.

His hands were roaming over my body, stroking my sensitive sides, making me squirm under his touch. I felt the heat rise in my core again, when he kissed his way down to my breasts taking a hard nipple in his mouth, while toying with the other. My hands wandered to his hair pulling the rod he used to secure it out of his bun. Once his hair fell around his face I intertwined my fingers with his silvern locks, pulling on the roots. His free hand was between my legs, collecting my arousal. “By Valar, you are so fucking wet.”

It was a rare occurrence for the elven prince to curse, but holy did it sound hot. Impatiently, I hooked my legs around his waist, pulling him in, eliciting a chuckle from his lips. “So needy.” He mused.

“Stop your antics and please fuck me.” My voice was laced with hunger, desire and anticipation.

“At your orders, my lady.” He grabbed his member with one hand while propping himself up on one arm. He looked at me one last time, waiting for my approval, before lining himself with my entrance. Slowly he eased his way into my core. His thick shaft was stretching me painfully, pulling a quiet scream from my lips.

“I am sorry, meleth.” He apologized, retorting back, but I held him in place with my legs. “Its alright. I just… I never… Its my first time.” I spilled, stumbling over my words once he bottomed me out.

“I thought you already had…” He was taking by surprise. “Back in the tub it sounded like you knew what was ahead of us.”

“No. I wanted to save myself for a 1000 year old elf from another world.” I joked, grinning at him. He raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I am 3126 years old. And to be correct you are the one from the other world.” I shrugged my shoulders at his statement. “Still in the range of datable.”

Shaking his head, he slowly began to move, setting a deep, sensual pace. It was driving me insane. Every time he pulled out and pushed back in, he stretched my walls, massaging me heavenly. Eyes rolling back in my head, I held on to his shoulders. A soft moan was slipping through my lips. “Do it again.” He spurred me on, breathing into my neck. “I want to hear, what pleasure I bring to you.”

“Who would have thought the prince of Lòrien was such a filthy tease in bed?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but his vicious pounding made me loose my mind, another moan ringing through the room. My sentence had him smiling devilishly: “You will learn over time, what it means to be the treasure of my love, but now I will be nothing else than the willing servant to your pleasure.”

His words were venom on my patience. My core aching for his member, savoring every inch of his marvelous cock. Taking one leg in his hand he threw it over his shoulder, now being able to push deeper inside me. Still keeping his slow, sensual pace he locked eyes with me. Edging me. “My pretty little meleth.” He whispered. “All mine to have. All mine to please.” I kind of expected him to be a possessive man, coming from the caring actions towards me, the way he protected me from the stares of other elves, but hearing him say those words, struck my core on another level.

“Haldir!” I moaned his name, watching his eyes flew shut. His hands trembling over my body. “Fuck, Visha…” he growled at me moaning his name.

“I need more, Haldir, please.” I whined grabbing everything of him I could get in my hands.

“You need what, meleth? Use your words. Tell me what you want.” He ordered slightly slipping in his commander side, but directly pulling back, once he realized.

“I need you to go harder, please.” I begged. “I want to feel you, I want you to take me.”

Dropping my leg from his shoulder he leaned down on me, pinning my wrists down on the mattress with his big hands. His long silvern hair framed both of our faces, separating us from the outside world. He picked up his pace, going faster and harder than before, slowly raising the speed in which he fucked me. Eyes not leaving mine, in case I was pulling back. But I didn’t. There was no way on earth I would stop him right now. Digging my nails in his back, I clawed onto him, arching my back to take him at a better angle.

His cock was now brushing my sweet spot every time he entered or pulled out. Mewled sounds fell from my lips, the heat in my core rising. I could see he was holding back at his strength and I swore at that moment, that one day I would tease him until he would go all mad about me. But now was not the time. Being way to fixated on the burning feeling washing over my body. My walls fluttered around him, dragging a string of curses from him.

“I am close.” I whimpered close to his ear.

“I know. Me too.” He groaned in my neck, kissing and sucking on the sweet spot behind my ear. “Hold out for me, meleth. Just a little longer.”

My legs were shaking and I could not help myself as the abyss of my orgasm drew me over the edge. I arched my back, closing my legs around his waist and clawing my nails into his back leaving red marks behind. His breathing became rigid, as my pulsating core pulled him over into the free fall of his orgasm. I could feel his cock twitch inside me, as he filled me with his hot seed.

Slowing down his movement he let us ride out our orgasms, before collapsing on me. He caught himself far enough to not crush me, but I could feel the weight of his body press me down. I closed my eyes and snuggled into his embrace. “I love you.” He whispered over and over in my ear, pulling out of me. Then he started to kiss my body everywhere he could, stroking me, holding me, always making sure I felt save.

“You did so good. Took me so well.” His warm breath fanned over my stomach, giving me goosebumps. “I swear I will always cherish you, for giving yourself to me. This means everything to me and I want everyone to know you are mine to behold.” He said kissing the two scars marking my immortality. “I will love you to the end of time. And whatever challenge life will throw at us, I am going to protect and guide you through it. You are now the sole reason for my existence, the treasure of my heart, the light to my eyes, the air in my lungs. Everything you are is mine to adore.”

I listened to his sweet ramblings, this time not fighting my tears. With every word he said I fell for him more, the pull towards him growing visibly stronger within the seconds.

“I love you.” Was all I could muster, before my throat was closed of by my tears. He took me into his warm embrace, head tucked under his chin, leg pulled over his waist and covering us with the warm blanket of his bed. “Nin gilgalad. My starlight.” Was the last thing I heard from him, before I felt into a deep slumber. The first deep sleep I had in weeks.

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Okay, I've had a couple of days to process it since reading ahead last week. I'm still not over it but nevertheless I persist.

Suicide is, of course, a prominent theme in this chapter so I'll put everything under the cut again I think.

Chapter Fifty: Bridgens

Bridgens reflects on how, over the years, he's often likened his life to different works of literature. He compares his youngest years to works like Canterbury Tales which implies perhaps a search for meaning and identity with Bridgens casting himself as various characters, both heroic and otherwise.

In his twenties, anxiety and indecision again seem to come to the forefront as he compares himself to Hamlet: "...suspended between thought and deed, between motive and action, frozen by a consciousness so astute and unrelenting that it made him think about everything, even thought itself."

More specifically, this unsurety, this 'to be or not to be', centres around Bridgens feelings about his own sexuality and his thoughts about suicide. Unhappy with his life, unhappy in pretending to be something he was not, Bridgens contemplated ending his own life but seemed to have overthought his way out of doing so in the end: "...miserable that he could only think about ending his own life because the fear that thought itself might continue on the other side of this mortal veil, "perchance to dream", kept him from acting even toward quick, decisive, cold-blooded self-murder." I think this is very much worth noting. That he's contemplated suicide before but was always stopped essentially by the idea of not knowing what was on the other side.

In his middle-age, Bridgens compares himself to Odysseus and comes to think of his skill and knowledge as a Steward as a kind of shield, a means of self-preservation - "He used his craft to become and to stay invisible."

Back in the present, Bridgens compares himself to King Lear and around him, the march continues. They intend to follow the southern coast of King William Island, set up another camp, and watch the strait to see whether the ice will break up enough or whether they'll have to haul across it toward the mouth of Back's River. Bridgens does not intend to join them in this.

As mentioned in a previous post, he sets his own journal away inside his sleeping bag and carries only Peglar's with him as he gets ready to leave. :(((

Interestingly, Goodsir is aware of his leaving and aware, at least in part, of Bridgens' feelings and his intentions in setting off into the landscape. He makes a rather Classical sort of reference to suicide: "You sound like a Stoic, Mr Bridgens. A followed of Marcus Aurelius. If the emperor is displeased with you, you go home, draw a warm bath..." Which is just gut-wrenching all round as - I believe - that refers to the death of Seneca, who drew a warm bath and cut his wrists in it at the behest of Emperor Nero. And, again, it's interesting too given the manner of death Goodsir himself chooses later in the show... :(((

There's great beauty though as well as great tragedy in the understanding and connection Goodsir and Bridgens have clearly come to share. Goodsir brings things full circle in many ways by referring back to Hamlet: "...I just wish to take a walk this evening. Perhaps a nap." "Perchance to dream?" said Goodsir. "Aye, there's the rub," admitted the steward.

He then encourages Bridgens to stay, but doesn't belabour the point too much, simply expresses again great understanding and respect: "There are other men who can help you, sir, and who have hands far steadier - and stronger - than mine" "But no one as intelligent," said Goodsir. "No one I can talk to as I have with you. I value your advice." :'))) And right enough, Bridgens imparts an important bit of advice as the two men part ways that's really stuck with me since: "I've always agreed with St Augustine when he said that the only real sin is human pain."

Bridgens makes his way out into the wilderness and stops before it gets dark. His last meal is a stale ship's biscuit - "it was one of the most delicious things he'd ever tasted.". And if ever we needed further proof of the peace and tranquility that's overcome him in his final hours, we know that he thinks of a comforting past more than a miserable present as he enjoys his final sunset - "the kind of sunset that Odysseus, not Lear, would have seen and enjoyed."

He reads through Peglar's papers one final time, reflects again on "one of the most intelligent human beings he'd ever known". Whatever fear Bridgens might once have had about the Great Unknown that follows death, it's gone now and replaced, I think, with a certainty that whatever the afterlife may bring, Harry Peglar will be a part of it. At that, he lies down for his final rest. "John Bridgens was asleep before the last of the grey sunlight died in the south.