#Skull bud with sword

[lairofdragonagelore]

Andrastian Statues

The purpose of this collection of statues is to show the Andrastian style depending on the region, the details in it, and how this may or may not influence other statues we saw in game. I also attempt to recollect some interpretations of them, although most of them are mostly based on speculations.

The current post contains the following set of statues:

Ferelden Style: Pre-Divine Andraste, Chasind Andraste, Ferelden warrior protector Andraste, The Maker, The Dwarf [?], Rider Maferath  [?], Masferath Repentant, Hanged Masferath, Other Statues.

Orlesian Style: Rustic Maferath, Hessarian, Andraste; The Orlesian Warrior Andraste, The Stylised Orlesian Andraste, The Orlesian Andraste, The Orlesian Maferath, The Orlesian Havard, and the Orlesian Hessarian; The Weight of War

Free Marches Style: The Free Marches Hessarian, The Free Marches Andrastian Warriors [?]

Unknown Style: The Skull with sword, The Guide, Guardians of the Path / The Watcher.

[This post belongs to the series “Analysis and speculation of Statues”]

Ferelden Style

Pre-Divine Andraste

One of the most iconic statues in DAI.  

It’s present all over Ferelden, specially in big, colossal statues along the paths of Hinterlands. They are so big that sometimes one can overlook them unless you look upwards [check Hinterlands: Statues, paintings, and structures found in the open]. 

In Skyhold, we can find this statue in a small version in the local chapel, which triggers the note Bride of the Maker.

Thanks to the DLC Jaws of Hakkon [Main Chamber of Razikale’s Reach], we know that this statue belongs to a pre-divine time. It is probably one of the oldest representations of Andraste we have in-game.

As usual, she has a one-spike helm that has strong resemblances to Flemeth’s tiara, and to Humanoid Mythal statue, Dragon Mythal statue, and the Ferelden Wyvern.

She has a sword in her hip. 

Her sleeves and skirt have long lines that emulate folding. It’s a style we saw in statues that were considered “elvhen” in-game [for example, the Elven Archers or The guide]. But we can see this became an Andrastian style since we also see it in the Blocky bearded humanoid.

Her gigantic hands have been used in several elvhen places, and I wonder how meaningful these are: these hands appear in Exalted Plains: the Dead Hand as well as in the  Shattered Library, holding eluvians. Is this a mere reuse of resources or hides some lore in it? We know DAI is less lazy about this than previous games.

This statue is curiously aligned with Humanoid Mythal statue in the Fade, as well as with the Imperial Highway Columns [check The Raw Fade:  Part 1]. A Design choice that keeps me wondering if it hides some meaning in it.

Chasind Andraste

It has the design of a totem.

Its relief is very intricate. 

She is represented as a protector warrior due to the strong presence of the shield on it. 

We can suspect this statue is also ancient, and you can see that it has similar style to the Alamarri Monolith with swirls we find all over Hinterlands.

If you pick the Chantry-related garden in Skyhold, this statue appears in it and the archivist Banon will mention details about it in The Women of All War. He claims it’s Chasind, not original from Skyhold, brought by Ferelden into the castle. He also suggest it’s a re-usage of an ancient totemic statue. 

This last comment streghtens the idea that ancient Andrastian art tends to be done over or using/co-opting statues from previous civilisations.

Ferelden warrior protector Andraste

Another classic representation of Andraste in game.

It’s Ferelden style.

She is represented as a warrior [holding shield and sword] but also as a divine entity [I suspect the ring behind her works as a rustic design of a halo].

There is a chance that the thick “halo” could be an adaptation from another icon we saw among the Elvhenan design: the Golden Ring. How is this possible? I think it’s not too strange considering how deeply related to the elves the Avvar are. If we think that part of this culture comes from the Alamarri, one could guess that through the elvhen lover that Thrydda had, some elvhen presence has been around this culture to incorporate elvhen iconography in their own art, translated later into something of this shape.

The Maker

This mysterious figure has no face, in fact, it looks like bandaged. In his right hand holds a crown, while in his left hand, a dagger. The outfit is a very simple robe. 

The dagger is quite curious for a representation of the Maker.

This statue took me a long whlie to identify. In early posts I kept calling it  Faceless figure holding a crown. I came to the conclusion it is the Maker.

This statue appears always within the context of the Andrastian statues, so it could not be asumed in any other way than related to the Andraste Myth. In the posts Andrastian Design: Stained Glasses and Andrastian Design: Tapestry and Tryptich, we can see that a figure with no face and wearing a crown of similar characteristics is represented as the Maker.  These are my main arguments to be confident about this identification.

In Hinterlands, he appears in the main hall of Haven very high upon the hall, hidden in the shadows, in a room filled with andrastian iconography, which reinforces the idea that it represents an entity that is above all of them, Andraste included. Another confirmation of being the Maker.

It also appears in the Tyrdda Bright-Axe Path, which has a mixture of statues, and in Forbidden Oasis, when the place was took by the Andrastian forces. It also appears in the mysterious Hinterlands: The Unknown Ruin. Other more natural and Andraste-related places where we find it: Redcliffe - Future,  Therinfal Redoubt, Western Approach: Adamant Fortress.

The Dwarf [?]

This figure was tag along the blog as Blocky bearded humanoid. It is found in the main hall of the Templar building of Therinfal Redoubt and in the corridors of Redcliffe - Future

The design of this statue feels closer to the pre-divine Andraste. Maybe it has some influence of the Alamarri style.

The long lines on sleeves and chest seem to suggest similarity in style with the pre-divine Andraste but also with the elvhenan statues such as the Elven Archers, or The guide.

Its face seems to show a big smile, but if you see it with more detail, it may also represent a long, long beard.  The broad constitution, the big ears, the lack of hair, and the prominent beard seem to suggest a golem-like or dwarven representation.

I can’t say I can identify this figure in the Andrastian Myth, but it’s related to the Andrastian Faith since it appears where there are other andrastian figures.

If this figure comes from the Alamarri and it was co-opted by the Andrastian faith, I could suspect that may be related to the dwarven culture that Alamarri had. If we remember Tyrdda Bright-Axe Path, she had a child with a dwarven prince. The Chasind also had mixed descendants of humans and dwarves. So, if it’s an alamarri statue co-opted by the Chantry, it could not be strange for it to be a dwarf. These details may indicate that the Alamarri had a deeper relationship with not only elvhen, but also dwarves, and this aspect appeared in the art until co-opted by the andrastian faith resulting in this figure.

Rider Maferath  [?]

This statue appears only in Fallow Mire. Although, the same statue appears riding a horse in Crestwood: surface. Maybe it’s a mere reuse of resources.

It has a similar design to the  Blocky bearded humanoid.

It represents a man with a beard, and its angular design may suggest similar time and style than the previous one.

More details in the section Other Statues from this post.

Masferath Repentant

Mostly seen in the region of Ferelden [although, you can find it too in Western Approach: Adamant Fortress] 

This is the typical Ferelden statue of Masferath, regretting his betrayal.

He is sitting on a stone which has a design of a snake surrounding it, representing the Tevinter influence or deal he made with the Archon before handing over his wife. 

The helm in this statue has a C-shape, which I find very similar in design to the Tevinter helms [check section “Outfits” in Patterns and Styles: Tevinter]. I’m not sure if this is mere coincidence, or it speaks of a common [dragon-inspired] origin source.

Hanged Masferath

This totemic sculpture can be found in Hinterlands: Statues, paintings, and structures found in the open.

This is a Ferelden representation of Masferath being hanged. Clearly Ferelden has a strong sentiment with his betrayal.

The totemic structure seems to show mabaris at its base, followed by two different kinds of birds or maybe it’s a dragon [hard to say].

The top of these totems keeps bringing my attention: I can’t stop thinking there may be some link with the Tevinter metallic statue that I called  “Tevinter bird”, found in Ferelden in the underground region of Crestwood: Flooded Caves.

Other Statues

The couple can be found in Hinterlands: Redcliffe - Present, as a symbol to remember those who died in DAO-Redcliffe. It can also be found in Crestwood: surface as a memory statue of the drown, and in Frostback Basin [DLC]: Nigel’s point, as a memory statue of Ameridan’s friends: The templar Haron and the dwarf Orinna. It feels more like a reuse in most cases since it’s a strange statue to represent "fallen/lost people”.  Certainly we can assume it’s Ferelden made.

The horse with the rider seems to have, as we see in its drawing from the book Art of Inquisition, a lot in common with the previous statue I called “Rider Masferath”. The horse has been removed in some other places to only let the human figure stay.  It can be seen in Fallow Mire without his horse, and in Crestwood: surface. Sometimes the rider is not well chiselled in the stone. 

The vessel with many faces is only seen once in the game, in the The Darvaarad - Part2. We know the Qunari took this castle and put a lot of statues that they gathered around the world. However, this statue of many faces looks like it belonged to the inner corridors of the castle, implying the castle per ser may have been Ferelden, or elvhen in origin, but repurposed by Ferelden later. In the game we only see the “back” part of it, while in the book Art of Inquisition, we can see the full statue, which implies a beheaded figure. Maybe it’s the representation of a jury. It could also be interpreted as an entity that puts “the right head” into the people, suiting the Qunari and their Qun philosophy, but this interpretation would make me question why it is so related to Ferelden art in the Art Book.

Orlesian Style

Rustic Maferath, Hessarian, Andraste

A bit distant to the style of the Blocky bearded humanoid, we have these series of statues representing typical characters from the Andrastian Myth.

They are mostly located in different areas all over Orlais [or inside the Skyhold if you pick an Andrastian garden].

We find Andraste, in blue and red [I’m assuming one is the bride of the Maker, while the other is the warrior protector of her people]

Masferath is carrying a crown (?) in his hands, and Hessarian is holding the Sword of Mercy.

These seem to belong to an Orlesian style but rustic or more “popular”. They give me the impression that were made by the working class people who could not afford realistic artists to sculpt them in stone. 

They seem to be made out of wood.

The Orlesian Warrior Andraste

Unlike the previous one, this Orlesian statue is made out of stone and is bigger, more detailed, and realistic. It seems to appear in rich/high class places.

It also appears in Emerald Graves: Din'an Hanin, which may represent the influence of the Andrastian faith among the Ancient Dalish when the Dales was their Kingdom land granted by Andraste herself.

This statue presents Andraste as a warrior: she is wearing a detailed armour, a big sword, and, curiously, a helm that has no iconic single-spike. However, I can see some similarities in the armour design to Flemeth’s armour or the armour used by Humanoid Mythal statue.

Due to the strong similarities in style, this statue belongs to the same group than the Orlesian Andraste, Orlesian Maferath, Orlesian Havard, and Orlesian Hessarian.

The Stylised Orlesian Andraste

Another over-detailed statue of Andraste made out of Stone which appears in wealthy places.

The whole design of Andraste has a strong similarity to Tyrdda Bright-Axe, which may suggest that this statue may have a strong alamarri influence, mixing Andraste tale with the representation of Tyrdda.

The icon that represents the sun, ironically, has a strong similarity with the statue I called Sun-head creature, deeply related to the Elvhenan and, potentially, to Tevinter and its old dragon gods. This may imply that this statue may have collected several icons and details from different cultures and faiths to gather them in the cult to Andraste. This process is well known in human History, where the forced religion tries to blend with the local ancient one to produce an assimilation of the new faith.

The Orlesian Andraste

This Orlesian statue is made out of stone and is bigger and a lot more detailed and realistic that the “wooden” sculptures. 

It tends to appear in wealthy places as well as inside the Chantries of the game.

It represents mostly the divine Andraste and the bride of the Maker, without any element of her warrior side.

She has a one-spike helm that has strong resemblances to Flemeth’s tiara, Humanoid Mythal statue, Dragon Mythal statue, and the Ferelden Wyvern.

Due to the strong similarities in style, this statue belongs to the same group than the Orlesian Warrior Andraste, Orlesian Maferath, Orlesian Havard, and Orlesian Hessarian.

The Orlesian Masferath

It is called “The Betrayer”. 

We see the man worried, grabbing his own head, showing the weight of his own betrayal. He keeps the crowd of his leadership of the Alamarri in his hand since the Chantry tale says that he betrayed Andraste out of jealousy because she was more important than him among their people. I always questioned this since he was the one commanding the armies and their people into Tevinter, and he may have chosen the “lesser bad” option [read the The Chantry and the Mythology of the Chant of Light for more details].

Due to the strong similarities in style, this statue belongs to the same group than the Orlesian Warrior Andraste, Orlesian Andraste, Orlesian Havard, and Orlesian Hessarian.

The Orlesian Havard

Havard is shown here with avvar clothings [fur-based]. 

He is  carrying the urn of Andraste’s ashes that will be placed in Haven and will become later the Temple of Andraste [DAO].

We know thanks to the notes triggered in it that this statue seems to represent Havard but its appearance was based on a noble’s lover [check it in Emprise du Lion: Pools of the Sun].

Due to the strong similarities in style, this statue belongs to the same group than the Orlesian Warrior Andraste, Orlesian Andraste, Orlesian Maferath, and Orlesian Hessarian.

The Orlesian Hessarian

He is holding the sword that will be called the Sword of Mercy, used to kill Andraste in the pyre so she could not suffer anymore.

His hat has a bent T-shape that we can see in many other helms of Tevinter warriors in the section of “outfits” in Patterns and Styles: Tevinter.

Due to the strong similarities in style, this statue belongs to the same group than the Orlesian Warrior Andraste, Orlesian Andraste, Orlesian Maferath, and Orlesian Havard.

The Weight of War

This statue was tagged in this blog as Man holding bigger head  for a long while.

It has appeared in Forbidden Oasis, Redcliffe - Future, and in Orlais: Winter Palace.

Thanks to the constant presence of Andrastian-themed art around it, I could finally assume that this statue belongs to Andrastian art in Orlesian style.

The main man has angular features, his ears are not visible since it looks like he is wearing a chain-mail. He uses scale-based pauldrons, and a robe. He is holding a sword with one hand while the other holds a bigger head. By comparison with the state of the overall figure, we can assume that the bigger head has a lot of wounds and scars [meaning that this is part of the sculpture design and not a consequence of erosion]. 

Despite looking similar, the head in his hand and this man’s profile are different. The bigger head has a smaller, shrank nose. 

The only significant shape in this statue that can give us a resemblance of a hint to whom it belongs is his belt, which has pointy ends. We had seen this pattern in two places: in Tevinter artefacts, such as the sacrificial burial, or in andrastian outfits.

It triggers a codex called The Weight of War which is a bit unreliable, since the person explaining this is an amateur historian, but it’s the only hint we have about this statue. The amateur historian implies that this statue may belong to a warrior with a philosophy similar to the Grey Wardens.

More details about this statue in the post Forbidden Oasis.

Free Marches Style

The Free Marches Hessarian

It appears mostly in the Templar fortress of Therinfal Redoubt

This statue has a strong resemblance to Tevinter art. It’s not only the dark metallic material used for the sculpture, which was strong similarities with Tevinter artefacts such as Thrummer,  Water dispenser, Tevinter urn,  Tevinter artefact with spikes, Tevinter golem or Claw of Dumat, but also the prominence of angles and pointy ends. 

There is no codex associated with this sculpture, but I can guess it may represent Hessarian [the main Tevinter figure in the Andrastian Myth] since this statue has a version carrying a sword. 

It has a long beard and hair.

This statue has also been present in DA2, specially in the Chantry district of Kirkwall [check it in Architecture of Kirkwall : The Chantry].

The Free Marches Andrastian Warriors [?]

It appears mostly in the Templar fortress of Therinfal Redoubt and in the Fade.

This statue has a strong resemblance to Tevinter art. It’s not only the dark metallic material used for the sculpture, which was strong similarities with Tevinter artefacts such as Thrummer,  Water dispenser, Tevinter urn,  Tevinter artefact with spikes, Tevinter golem or Claw of Dumat, but also the prominence of angles and pointy ends. 

It’s wearing a typical DA2 Andrastian robe, but the helm has always brought my attention:  it has a lot of more similarity to the Tevinter warriors than to the one-single spike helm of Andraste.

Its weapon also has a strong similarity to the weapon used by Tevinter golems, while its helm has strong similarities with the ones that belong to the Tevinter warriors. One may say that both of them, in fact, are representing the one-spike helm of Andraste.

The unmistakable identification with Andrastian faith is given by the robe: if we see the chest, we will see the pointy half sun on it, which was the main design of the outfit of Elthina and other chantry priests we saw in DA2.

Unknown Style

The Skull with sword

This is the statue that I called Skull bud with sword all over this blog.

The skull is quite long for a regular human. It holds a sword. The body seem to be inside a bud or a shell that may look like a flower bud but also as the shell of an insect/scarab. 

This statue has always appeared within Andrastian contexts such as in Frostback Mountains - Haven [the basement], Hinterlands:Dead Ram Grove, or Ferelden: Therinfal Redoubt,  but also in places where the Andrastian context is not that strong, but still yet reasonable to appear, for example in Hinterlands: The Unknown Ruin [overtaken by Andrastian faith lately, so far we see in the statues present in this room], or Emerald Graves: Din'an Hanin [which clearly shows how the Ancient Dalish allowed a certain level of assimilation of the Andrastian faith thanks to Andraste’s gift of the Dales]. However, we also find this statue in Western Approach: The Still Ruins, Viridis Walk and Inner Sanctum, which is a pre-blight Tevinter building, so one is inclined to think that this statue may have been Tevinter in origin, and somehow, adopted later by the Andrastian faith.  Or maybe it’s just Elvhenan, taken first by Tevinter, and later by the Chantry [as we see this pattern repeats over and over with everything related to Tevinter].

One of the potential interpretations is that this sculpture represents a coffin, or a dead who is put to sleep in this position. The fact that this skull is inside a bud or an insect shell [in addition to the speculation that, like all what comes from Tevinter, was originally elvhenan] brings the possibility of being related to Uthenera and the mysterious codex of Vir Dirthara: A Flowering Imago that I tried to multi-interpret in several ways in Ancient Elven codices; Vir Dirthara.

So far I know, there is no codex associated with it, and we have only speculations about it.

Its style is not strongly similar to all these Andrastian statues, but the fact that it appears mostly within andrastian themed rooms, it’s hard not to bring it into this post.

However, I’m not confident about how to understand this statue and to what culture associated it with.

The Guide

It can be seen in three places only: Emerald Graves: The open pointing more or less towards Elgar’nan’s Bastion, on top of Stone-Bear Hold Avvars - Part 2 pointing out to the sea, and in the Fade, exactly in Flemeth’s Fade:  Part 2, pointing the path towards Mythal/Flemeth.

It’s associated with the unreliable landmark called The guide [written by this orlesian scholar who lacks of deep knowledge of elven culture], which identifies it as an elvhen statue, but it has a lot of style similarities to the Blocky bearded humanoid and the pre-divine Andraste as well as to the Skull bud with sword. If we see the back of an Elven Archer statue, we can find line-based similarities too, so it’s hard to decide whether this is truly Elvhen in origin and co-opted by the Andrastian and repurposed later, or it truly belongs to the set of pre-divine statues we spoke above and this amateur scholar misunderstood it as Elvhenan.

The unreliable landmark links it to Falon’Din for the mere fact that it is pointing out a place, so it “guides”. If we overlook this pathetic logic, and we give it a remote chance for it to be elvhen, we should be careful to identify it with Falon’Din. First, Via Solas, we know that Falon’Din was far from guiding people [Check Evanuris], and second, even if we consider this statue to be Falon’Din, we should never forget how Falon’Din and Dirthamen are entangled one another [check Humanoid Dirthamen], so this could also be a statue representing Dirthamen. The shape of the sleeves has some resemblance to the Elven Owl statue [they have long lines along it], but once more, both gods are so indistinguishable one another that it’s hard to say who is who.

Guardians of the Path / The Watcher 

This hooded statue was called Humanoid Dirthamen/Falon'Din in this blog.

The hooded statue can be seen in four places: in Emerald Graves: The open, as a watcher of entrances, in the Hinterlands, along the Tyrdda Bright-Axe Path inside the Calenhad’s Foothold; in Exalted Plains: Northern Ramparts and Citadelle du Corbeau, as the main big statue when you step into the Citadelle [again, watching over an entrance] and in Flemeth’s Fade – Part 2, as a statue bleeding profusely with a sword in its back, as an unmistakable symbol of betrayal.

In all these cases, the hooded version of the statue seems to be related to “watch or protect entrances”. Due to its presence in the Fade of Flemeth, we also can associate it with deep betrayal.

Once we see how the pattern unfolds with the statue I called Humanoid Dirthamen/Falon'Din [hodded version] we can understand the Andrastian version “guardian of the path” in similar fashion [he always appears in entrances as well], suspecting it was a re-usage and co-opt of the elvhen hooded statue when the Andrastian forces conquered the Ancient Dalish's lands.

The Guardian of the Path appears twice in game: in Crestwood: surface, at the entrance of the region, similar position as the hooded versions in Emerald Graves, and in the entrance to the region of the Exalted Plains.

#andrastian design #andraste #The Guide #guardian of the path #Skull bud with sword #Man holding bigger head #orlesian design #ferelden design #Humanoid Dirthamen/Falon'Din #andraste statue #hessarian #havard #Maferath #blocky bearded humanoid #Faceless figure holding a crown #the maker #maker #Analysis and speculation of Statues

[stairain]

Double-Edged Sword

The only way Spencer is allowed to fuck you is to wear a strap-on.

Warnings: Sub Spencer, strap-on (he’s wearing it!), vibrator, riding, crying, slapping, erectile dysfunction, female orgasm, male orgasm, degradation, self-doubt. 

WC: 1.6K

The poor man was already in tears by the time you had buckled him into the harness. Weak pleads for you to show some semblance of mercy as you pull the dark leather tight against his trembling thighs. 

“Please, please ‘m sorry.” 

Spencer cries out as he shamefully looks down at the strap-on that’s replaced his own aching cock. He’d been bad, of course, but this was pure cruelty. 

Ignoring his pleads, you wrap your lips around the head of the fake cock, the cold silicone shining against the wet buds of your tongue.

His eyebrows furrow in envy, wishing to replace the toy instead of the vice versa he's found himself in. 

"Please, it's not fair.."

Spencer's voice trails off as you shamelessly stroke the dildo as if it were real. Using your circled fist, you wet the toy with a droplet of your spit and jerk it off.

And despite his envy, he wishes so desperately that he could get hard. You’d locked his poor cock in a wretched metal cage, the cold silver bars preventing him from reaching even half mast. 

His thighs tremble from around your head, and you coo pitifully at him, your hand still torturously wrapped around the strap. 

“Poor thing, sit down, will you?”

Your voice beckons to him, raising your chin a bit as you gently push him back until his legs hit the bed frame. 

With a frustrated huff, he sits down against the soft comforter as you climbs atop him. His eyes shine with tears and pleas for you to stop whatever this punishment is.

The pupils reading apologies and lines of ‘I learned my lesson’ that you had no interest in. 

Pulling your panties to the side, you rub the sensitive bud of your clit over the artificial head of the cock that was everything but him. 

“Can you feel how wet I am?”

You taunt, looking Spencer right in those sad eyes filled with betrayal and jealousy. With your lips parted in soft sighs, you reach past him to retrieve the box that had contained the strap-on.

Your hand rustles in the cardboard for a moment, before you pull out a small controller no larger than your palm. Spencer swallowed thickly and tried to reason with you one last time.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to.. Please just—“

A loud buzzing cuts him off, and his words plummet into a strained whine. Throwing his head back, a few tears run down his temples. 

As you grind your soaked folds against the tip, the double-sided toy was pressed right against the thin bars of his chastity cage. 

Spencer’s thighs squeezed together as the pain of not being able to get hard and the constant whirring of the vibrator quickly overwhelmed him. 

He lets out a slacked-jaw moan as the metal against his shaft shakes as frantically as his body. And you relish in the sight as you sink down onto thick, hard silicone.

You lean into the crook of his neck and press wet kisses against the sweaty skin, beginning to lift yourself up and down in his lap.

“You feel so good, Spence.”

You whisper in his ear, and he’s quick to turn his head away from you in the same kind of bratty manner that got him into this situation in the first place. 

He’s breathing heavily out of his nose, trying his hardest not to make any more noises. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of knowing how badly he wished it was him you were riding so fervently. 

You hadn’t fucked him like this in a while, his chest ached slightly at the thought. Your drenched cunt greedily swallowing the whole toy in ways that he couldn’t help but tear up in envy over.

He missed when it was his cock that was being coated in that slick layer of white that you so easily granted to a stupid toy. 

The brunet was snapped out of his jealous fantasy when you’re turning up the vibration on his toy. His eyes involuntarily roll into the back of his skull and his mouth can’t help but unhinge to let out a loud whimper. 

The fake cock was hitting that spongy spot inside of you that only Spencer was allowed to find, and you grin evilly as you grab his loose jaw and force him to look at you. 

You’re just as sweaty as he is, but your eyes aren’t filled with remorse like his are. 

“See what happens when you act out?”

You rhetorically ask before you slap him across his already red cheeks. His head quickly turns with the force, and he lets out a quiet gasp. 

Grabbing his jaw again, you’re quick to reprimand him once more.

“Thinking you can misbehave and still get what you want.”

You slap his face in the opposite direction and feel the tracks of tears that coat his face. 

As you circle your hips and ride the strap even faster, all it takes is one look and he knows you’re close. He shakes his head and tries to speak, but he just can’t.

He doesn’t want a toy to make you finish, that should be him. It should be his cock that you’re grinding so hard on, his length that you should be tightening around, and his tip that should be stamping into your spot. 

But instead, he’s forced to watch with a flaccid cock and heavy balls as you throw your head back and cum around slickened silicone.

Your release leaks around the dildo and onto his thighs, and that’s the only semblance of your pleasure he’s been allowed to feel. As your slick drips down his skin, tears stream down his face. 

And that stupid vibrator underneath his cock is unrelenting, he’s so turned on but can’t do a thing about it. 

With a heaving chest and lowered eyelids, you lift yourself up off his lap.

The toy bobs with the freedom from your cunt and dribbles with the pleasure of your orgasm. 

Spencer’s absolutely breathless as you lower yourself onto your knees in front of him. Strands of his hair stick to his face, and he can barely muster up the courage to look you in the eye.

Your face is a blur to him as you lick up your release from the fake cock, wrapping your wet lips around the shaft and swallowing your own slick. 

With a whimper, he closes his eyes and prays for this to be over. You’ve made your point, he’s easily replaceable, he needs to get his shit together.

But you’re not nearly done with him, not as you’re undoing the straps of leather as you suck off his replacement. 

You release the harness from his body and let it drop to the floor. The incessant buzzing from the toy still ringing in the air, taunting him.

The dual purpose toy had given everything to you, and he’d gotten nothing out of it. He was nothing without you, and you could have everything without him. 

Spencer’s head is clouded with sexual frustration and self disgust alike as you make quick work of fetching the key to his dear chastity cage. 

Twisting the small key into the lock, the cage becomes undone and you pull it off of him. 

But even as you discard the contraption, his soft cock lay before you in a pathetic display of uselessness. 

With gentle hands, you reach out to cup his small bulge. There’s a sick smile on your face as you pour up at him. 

“Look at you.. How could you have ever made me feel as good as that toy did?”

He huffs and tries his best to reason with you. He was certain he was better than that toy, he just couldn’t prove it. 

“I can.”

He says matter of factly, but as you nestle his lack of erection, he’s proven himself inferior. There’s an excuse dying on the tip of his tongue the moment he gets distracted by the soft caresses you deal to his flaccid length. 

It feels so good, but he simply couldn’t get hard. The cage had rendered him useless for your pleasures.

“It’s okay, Spence. We can just use the strap from now on..”

You softly murmur as you run your thumb against the soft head of his cock. The pathetic little thing leaks a drop of sticky precum, and you swirl it around as you can physically feel his refusal to your suggestion. 

“N-No. I’m better than that thing, please..”

He whines gently, having been broken down by whatever mind games you’ve played with him. 

Maybe the toy was better than him. At least it stayed hard, and at least it wasn’t about to cum from just a few soft touches. 

There’s a dull ache in the pit of his stomach, and a tingling in his pathetic little cock that he simply can’t ignore. 

Spencer tries his absolute hardest to hold out, but before you’ve even got a chance to rebuttal his pleads, a shaky moan forces its way from his throat as he spills over your thumb and pointer finger. 

As hot droplets of cum coat your fingers, you sigh almost disappointingly and watch as his release covers his soft length. 

“‘M sorry, I’m sorry.” 

He pitifully whispers as his entire body trembles with the aftershocks of a sorry excuse for an orgasm. 

The toy that resides the role of his rival mocks him. Vibrating gently against the wooden floors that his sticky ribbons drip onto. 

You stand up slowly and press a kiss against his tear stained cheek, knowing that he’d be on his best behavior from here on out.

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #sub spencer reid #sub spencer x reader #sub!spencer #sub spencer reid x reader #sub spencer #sub spencer reid smut #sub spencer reid x reader smut

[crown-ov-horns]

Captured Angel

Michael Langdon x F!Angel!Reader

Contains: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, elements of coercion, implied loss of virginity, blasphemy, hierophilia

“Good, you’re awake.”

A chill ran down your spine. You had awakened in an unfamiliar room. Your head ached, your wings hung limp, and your limbs were heavy. The air was soaked to the last thread in malice. It made you nauseous. Gritting your teeth, you dragged yourself up, your mind aflame with a single thought – you had to get out. You looked around, but before you could spot a way of escape, you felt a presence. Dark... Darker than the blackest night. Your heart froze in your chest, a taste of iron suddenly coating your tongue. Though you had not seen his face, you could recognize him anywhere. Seven heads. Ten horns. His honeyed voice left a cold, oily trace on your very soul as he spoke. You drew a deep breath, and spun around, to meet a pair of piercing blue eyes.

His lips crooked into a smirk. Holding your gaze, he moved towards you. You drew back.   

“Get away from me, filthy Beast...” you snarled.

Deep down, you loathed yourself for the instinctive reaction. You were a soldier. You had a duty to stand your ground, and instead, you cowered. He promptly crossed the gap between you two.

“Ah-ah!” he scolded, clasping your chin “That’s not very nice, now, is it?..”

You grimaced. Michael Langdon. How ironic, for Satan’s son to bear your General’s name. The one who cast him out... You hoped it hurt the Evil One greatly. Michael caressed your cheek. You winced, and pushed his hand away. Sneering, he grabbed you by the throat.  

“Why am I here?” you hissed through gritted teeth.

He glanced down at your heaving chest.

“You’re my captive” he purred “Isn’t it obvious?”

You swallowed. Struggling would only worsen your chances, you knew as much. His gaze darkened with hunger as he watched you – like a wolf, salivating at a wounded deer. Your guts had coiled into a tight knot, a sickly sweet taste coating your mouth.

“Why didn’t your bootlickers kill me?” you asked, not quite certain if you wished to know the answer.

A chuckle escaped his lips. The Antichrist’s lecherous expression made your blood boil. How dare the abomination touch an angel of the Lord, you thought. A strange sensation was budding between your legs, but you pointedly ignored it, just as you ignored the feeling of unease clawing at the back of your skull.   

“That would’ve been a waste...” Michael tilted his head “They thought a gift would please me. They weren’t wrong...”

You snarled, attempting to pull away.

“Get your putrid hands off me!”

He tightened his grip on your neck.

“Hush” he coaxed in a mockingly gentle voice “I’m not going to hurt you, angel.”

“Vile creature...” you spat.

He pulled you closer. You bared your teeth, as your face almost crashed into his. Though you did not need air, the pressure on your throat was beginning to make you dizzy. Every nerve in your body screamed to fight - your muscles   had tensed, prepared for combat. You might have broken away. Escaped this unholy place. You should have at least tried... But, perhaps because of the mist gathering over your mind, your legs trembled underneath you. You found yourself staring at his mouth. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and silken. Your pulse leapt into a frenzy.

Michael snuck his other hand under your clothes. The captors had stripped you of your armour, and taken away your sword, leaving only your linen tunic to cover you. His fingertips caressed your thigh, slowly creeping upwards. You held your breath as you felt him part the soft folds of your skin.

You had never been fondled like this before. Carnal pleasure was forbidden for your kind. You should be disgusted, you understood as much. Still, the electric-like impulse roused by his touch paralyzed you, preventing you from breaking his arm.

He stroked your entrance. You stifled a gasp, your intimate muscles tightened in anticipation. Your hole was beginning to well with slick. Taking your lack of resistance for a welcome, he slipped two fingers inside you. The feeling of his skin against your sensitive membrane made your head spin, and you barely held back from bucking your hips into his hand.

He let go of your neck, only to wrap his arm around your waist. Keeping you steady, he spread his fingers wider, straining you until it hurt. You shuddered. He massaged the velvety walls of your flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. Aware of how much satisfaction hearing your cries would give him, you clenched your jaw. His skin grazed against a certain knot of nerves, and you nearly sunk to the ground as your legs buckled from the bolt of stimulation. Still, somehow, you did not make a sound.

It only made Michael more determined. He fixated on your sweet spot, leaving you to desperately clutch the lapels of his jacket. His mouth lingered but a thread away from yours - you felt his heartbeat echo against your rib cage. He narrowed his eyes, and pressed his thumb to your clit. Overwhelmed, you drew a sharp breath.

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?..” he teased “What is it, my dear? What do you want, hm?”

He pushed a third finger into your dripping slit. You whined in pleasure muddled with despair.

“Speak up, angel” he demanded.

Virtue be damned. Something tameless had infected you. Caught in the furor of sin, you eagerly cast your innocence aflame.

“I...” you stammered “I want... I need you to ravish me...”

Michael threw you onto the bed, and climbed on top of you. Laying flat on your back, your wings sprawled open, you looked up at him, your eyes sweetly half-lidded. His knee shoved between your thighs, he ripped the front of your tunic open. You sighed as cold air brushed against your nipples. He placed his hands on your breasts, savouring the softness of your bare skin. His eyes aflame with lust, he took a moment to admire your flushed, helpless body. Biting your bottom lip, you pushed your chest into his touch. He grabbed you by the throat again.

“You’re mine” he snarled “Mine alone...”

Against your better judgement, you nodded. Your gaze wandered down to his crotch, causing your mouth to immediately water. Michael’s lips crooked into a sleazy smirk. He unbuckled his pants, and slipped his underwear down. Your eyes widened as his hard cock sprung free. Large, but not obscenely so. You pulled the skirt of your tunic up, leaving your aching cunt at his mercy.

He pinned you down under his full weight. You wrapped your arms around him, savouring the feel of luxurious fabric under your fingers. Like an animal in heat, you craved to feel him inside. His eyes locked with yours, Michael clasped your leg, and positioned himself more comfortably. You blindly caught hold of his member, helping guide it into your hole.

Your heart skipped a beat – you let out a moan as your membranes clamped around him. Hardly giving you a moment to adjust, he began to move. The sudden strain roused a twinge, but it soon was obscured by shattering pleasure. No longer holding back your mewls and whimpers, you sank your nails into his back. Should the expensive suit get ruined, it will be his fault.

Michael groaned, his teeth bared in primal satisfaction. Your response only encouraged him, and he quickly picked up the pace. Each thrust sent a shattering wave of pleasure through your fevered nerves. You wrapped your legs around his waist, welcoming them. He traced the tip of his tongue over your neck. You hissed as his long hair tickled you, overwhelming your senses even more. He purred, and nipped at your jaw.

“Kiss me” you demanded.

He obeyed, leaning down to press his mouth against yours. You parted your lips for him, and allowed your tongues to battle for dominance.

“Say my name” he ordered, upon pulling away.

“I can’t...” you gasped in horror.

“Your general isn’t here...” he growled “It’s just you and me...” he pressed his face to your temple “Say my name, sweetheart. Show the Beast how much you’re enjoying your downfall.”

He pulled his cock almost all the was out, then slammed it back in, roughly grazing your sweet spot. Your cried out, and sank your fingers into his hair. You didn’t want to think about her. You loathed to imagine her disappointment in you. But his presence eclipsed her face. Drowned it in the storm of ecstasy ravaging you.

“Michael!”

“Good girl” he praised with a grin.

Shock after shock of ecstasy tore through your body, setting every cell of it aflame. Your forehead was laced in sweat. Your muscles quivered from the tension. You were close. Very close. Turned feral by the pleasure, he grabbed you by the wrists, thrusting into you with merciless force.

“Michael...” you moaned.

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You arched your back, trembling and convulsing as a scream escaped your throat. Michael threw his head back with a snarl. You had grown painfully tight around him, prompting him to reach his own release. You felt him spill inside you – it was the strangest, most pleasant sensation  you had ever experienced.

You collapsed into the pillows, limp and gasping for breath. He slumped down on top of you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to soak in the glowing haze of bliss. But, just when he had crept off of you, and was about to pull you into his arms, you leapt up. Using his surprise for your advantage, you climbed onto him – this time, you were the one to pin him down. You caught his gaze, and drew a dagger from underneath your ruined tunic. Afraid to molest their master’s gift, the devil worshippers had missed it.

“You will find the men who captured me, crucify them, and bleed them like pigs” you growled, pressing the blade against his throat “Do you understand me, Antichrist?”

A drop of blood sept from under the metal, glowing against his milky skin in a warning.

“Yes” he murmured, as his eyes blazed with adoration.

#ahs #american horror story #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #ahs fanfic #ahs fanfiction #ahs fanwork #ahs fandom #horror fandom #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon x reader #angel!reader #blasphemy #hierophilia #i don't put too much weight on the loss of virginity #originally it was going to be full coercion but I decided I don't like that #so the angel has her power #tbh i have my suspicions reader got captured on purpose like girl where is your underwear #it's the first x reader i've ever done #and i'm a novice at writing sm*t #i often get bored and find it more work than it's worth #but this idea came to me and i thought why not work on expanding my skills #so please keep it in mind I'm kind of green :'D #still i hope you enjoy it! #my writing #tumblr fanfic #🍋 #story archive #my fic #short fic

[crazylittlejester]

i’ve seen two people share sexuality headcanons today so I felt inspired to share mine!!

Time: Bisexual, Malon knows all about his old crush on Sheik. Malon to me is also bi

Warriors: Asexual/Biromantic (?) but has DEFINITELY questioned if he’s somewhere on the aromantic spectrum. He’s know he was ace since before the War of Eras, but after it and everything that happened he lost interest in relationships like that and he’s not sure if he’s aro or bi, but I think he’d identify as biromantic while he figures it out

Twilight: Bisexual with a strong preference for women, specifically women that could throw him (*cough* Midna *cough*), but he does also like men

Sky: Bisexual, prefers men, but boy oh boy does he love his Zelda. She’s the only woman he’s ever liked, he thought he was gay at first and him realizing he had a crush on her when he was like 14 is what made him realize he was bisexual

Hyrule: Asexual/Panromantic, I just look into those big ol’ eyes of his and that’s the energy I get

Legend: Bisexual. I don’t really have notes for this one, he’s just bisexual to me

Wild: Also bisexual, he has no preference. He never really thought about his sexuality (since loosing his memory) until someone in the group made a comment about liking men AND women, and Wild was like “oh yeah me too”

Four: Aro/Ace, has never at any point in his life been interested in having a relationship like that, he and his Zelda are literally just super close friends, they do everything together. They’re best buds

Wind: Pansexual, took him a while to figure it out and he had a whole crisis over it when he did and he was scared to come out to his grandma, but lucky for him Tetra is a lesbian and was very supportive and he felt comfortable enough to come out to his grandma, who of course loves and supports him (its not that people are homophobic and he was scared of that, coming out can just be a nerve wracking experience and he was stressed from his journey, but Tetra and also shoving a sword through Ganon’s skull made him feel like he could do anything)

none of them feel straight to me, but these are just my headcanons 🫶

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu headcanons #lu time #lu warriors #lu twilight #lu sky #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu wild #lu four #lu wind #jes talks #jes headcanons

[drjohannn]

Name: Woland Callsign: Satan Age: (unknown) Height: 181 cm Marital Status: Was in a relationship many years ago, now single Biography: Woland is the most mysterious member of the crew. According to him, he caught the City back when it was founded, witnessed every war and saw all the prominent people live. The story of the present day, on the other hand, begins in one of the Districts closer to the centre of the City, the Nest. The events begin in one of the parks, where Woland joins a conversation between the budding writer Bezdomny and his pal Berlioz about God, during which he predicts the future for one of them - death under the wheels of a tram. They don't believe him, but it really happens - Berlioz loses his head because he falls under the wheels of a tram, and Bezdomny is hospitalised because he is suspected of mental illness. This news quickly spreads through the district along with all sorts of intrigues of Woland's entourage: a small team of the cat Behemoth, the translator Koroviev-Fagot, the mysterious man Azazello and the beautiful Gella in various places organise mystical performances, driving people to madness. Woland himself at this time is interested in the story of a certain Margarita, who seeks revenge on the people who prevented her lover and deprived him of everything he had, including his life. To help his new assistant and fulfil his personal mission, he mysteriously becomes the manager of one of the teams in the Limbus Company. Character: The man is very intelligent and quite tough, but fair. Treats everyone very friendly and gentle, but likes to laugh at the ignorant. Criminals and just terrible people he does not mind to punish. He treats his team with special kindness. Otherwise, he is reserved and is more of an observer than a participant in any events. Even the events taking place in the District were just an idea, and his entourage were the executors. As a manager, he is a good strategist and is quite good at building relationships within the team. Facts: -He doesn't use all of his abilities to their full potential, explaining that he wants to teach the sinners to experience things on their own. -The old man's guise is not his real body, but he uses it as a disguise. He rarely uses other guises. -He made a blood pact with each of the sinners - they had to drink one glass of his blood. The glass was made from Berlioz's skull. -The very tram that marked the beginning of all events became the basis for the team's transport - it was named after the "bad flat" - "number 50" where the entourage lived for a while and also, according to Koroviev and Azazello, has the spirit of Pontius Pilate, the judge of Yeshua Ha-Nozri (ascending to Jesus). For this reason the crew is called "crew number 50," and the tram itself is affectionately called "Pontius" by the sinners. -Woland has a weapon - a sword, hidden under the guise of a cane with a headboard in the form of a poodle's head. However, he himself is not involved in battles. -Source: Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov - The Master and Margarita

#limbus company #limbus oc #oc #projmoon #project moon #lcb

[ajgrey9647]

"hi" *raspy voice* + Boom! Comics; Sentry Skull; Post-Shattered Grid (but please, please, PLEASE don't go near the zombie timeline; me and mine are still so enraged about that)

A Skull in Bloom

*Not gonna lie, this is way longer than I thought. But came surprisingly quick as it unfolded in the wildness of my mind. Enjoy!

In the end, Tommy Oliver proved to be every bit of the ‘fucking dick’ he was purported to be. To Skull’s way of thinking, there was a big difference between just being a ‘fucking dick’ and being a ‘piece of shit.’ And to his astonishment, Tommy managed to fit both bills.

Skull’s cheeks were streaked with sweat and grime, the sun blindingly hot overhead as he made his way back to the other Coinless. His gear was heavy despite all the lithe muscle he had put on as one of Drakkon’s Red Sentries. It was a relief to never have to don that insulting red armor again.

As Lord Drakkon, Tommy had demonstrated more than just misplaced fear and anger. He was a whole psychopath; a cruel, vicious, narcissistic demon spit up straight from the bowels of Hell itself. If he recalled correctly, there was a religious story about the Devil being allowed to roam the Earth for so many years. He wasn’t sure, but it sounded familiar.

Things had changed so quickly that at times, it didn’t seem real. It was like the plot of a futuristic dystopian horror movie. So much carnage, pain, and death. Sometimes, Skull marveled that he managed to survive and at times even thrive. As a child and young teen, he was sure he’d be one of the ones to be picked off first.

Looking back, Skull attributed this miraculous survival to his actions that day at the mall, the day he’d valiantly shoved a cocky, hateful Green Ranger from the second level straight into the fountain below. He’d stopped him from killing the Blue Ranger before his very eyes. Really wild when you thought about it.

Eugene Skullivitch had saved someone’s life, and not just anyone. A fucking Power Ranger! Skull wasn’t a hero. He was just a lonely, neglected, goofy punk. A freak, as the Green Ranger had screamed at him full of wrath mixed with disgust. The evil Ranger had been thwarted by a powerless, skinny teenage boy, not another Ranger.

That had really bruised Tommy’s exaggerated ego.

Skull plunged the end of his walking stick into the dirt as he surveyed the horizon. Still a whole lot of nothing out here. Abandoned buildings, wild creatures scavenging for food, disease-infested insects. He wiped a hand across his shiny brow, dark strands licking at his flesh when they moved.

Up ahead stood the bombed-out hulk that used to be Angel Grove’s mall; his own personal Disneyland. The weary traveler gave a slight smile as memories flooded him of all the good times he’d spent in this place, enjoying bad mall snacks, rocking it at the arcades, and laughing his ass off in the joke shop. He still had his old banged up ear buds and his music player; older than dirt now, they were merely relics of a bygone age.

More importantly, it was the site of the beginning of his transformation.

Saving the Blue Ranger had inspired some latent part of him, a part he never knew existed. It wasn’t all the attention and accolades he’d received that gave him such satisfaction. He could have done without all that honestly.

That Blue Ranger was right. Skull was braver than he thought possible. He’d done something incredibly dangerous (and stupid) by charging the Green Ranger. What if he’d turned around, still holding that wicked-looking sword of his? Skull had no martial arts training period and this dude was able to kick even the Power Rangers’ asses.

Despite always having to look over his shoulder after that heroic stunt, Skull felt his confidence start to slowly bloom, like a delicate flower. He was actually capable of more. The Blue Ranger’s words always echoed in his mind when he found himself feeling frightened.

Skull had felt a weird connection with this Ranger that he couldn’t explain as well. Maybe it was because like Skull, the Blue Ranger was of a slighter build but unlike Skull he was soft spoken. The Red and Black Rangers were bulkier and more commanding in their actions and speech. Blue wasn’t flashy and upfront.

So it wasn’t a deal breaker to be a hero if one didn’t have muscles and bravado. You could be smaller and reserved and still powerful. Skull wished he had more time to talk with the Blue Ranger, but duty called. He could still see the graceful acrobatic flip he’d done over the railing to rejoin the team.

After that, Skull found that the Blue one was his favorite. He’d catch the monster battles on the news and wait on baited breath to see if his Ranger made it out alright. Somehow, he had also scraped together enough moola to get an action figure of his own. Bulk had ribbed him at first but Skull put his foot down.

Having that confidence boost surprised him. He found he had more influence than he believed. He was even able to steer Bulky in a different direction when he decided to get up to shit; no always but rather often. Skull started to relax into being his own unique person and express some of his hidden flamboyance.

Then everything just went to absolute hell.

The Power Rangers had been defeated. Rita had won. Then, the space witch was dead, killed by her own Ranger; he was revealed to be none other than that ‘fucking dick’ Tommy Oliver. Rechristened Lord Drakkon, that murderous fuck went on a killing rampage. Drunk on his own power and rage, he’d somehow overlooked Skull as he went after the Rangers.

Jason, the Red Ranger.

Zack, the Black Ranger.

Kimberly, the Pink Ranger.

Trini, the Yellow Ranger.

And most shocking of all: his former best friend and co-adventurer, Billy Cranston, the Blue Ranger.

The crazy bastard ended up slaughtering Jason in their Command Center and decimated Billy as the boy bravely defended Trini. Skull had to blink back tears; they stung his eyes with the sweat and grim irritating their surface. He sniffed and continued forward; the much-needed supplies tucked within his gear making his back ache with the strain.

He thought back to a conversation he’d had with Billy, before Tommy sprouted his fangs and dug them into the entire fucking planet.

Carrying his lunch tray, Skull strolled into the cafeteria, unsure where he was going to sit this day. The clatter of plastic trays on tables, cacophony of conversations, and random loud laughter filled the room. Scanning the open seats, he was somewhat surprised to find Billy sitting by himself in the farthest corner. And right next to him was a vacant seat.

Plopping down next to the bespectacled teen, Skull grinned.

“This seat taken?”

Billy sighed and rolled his eyes behind his glasses.

“Before you ask, it’s not true,” he huffed, cheeks starting to redden.

Twirling a crinkled, over-salted fry into catsup, Skull shrugged and laughed.

“About Jason and Kim? No, I know it’s bullshit. I think everyone else does too,” he added noncommittally. “Where’s the other dweebs? I heard Kim went home sick and Jason’s in lunch detention.”

Billy looked at Skull in surprise.

“You believe that rumor is false?”

Skull arched his brow.

“Yeah, those two are such goody-goodies. No one buys it. It’s just too juicy to drop.”

Billy stared down at his food a moment before answering his companion’s question.

“Zack is making up a science experiment that failed and Trini’s assisting him,” he muttered, dropping his chin into his hand, appetite gone.

Skull nodded like it all made sense.

“Not surprised. Oliver was Zack’s lab partner, right? Five bucks he fucked it up on purpose,” he stated, like it was fact.

Billy shook his head then frowned.

“Where’s Bulk?”

“Oh, he’s in lunch detention with Jason. Bulky was egging the fight on between him and Tommy in gym class. I tried to get him to cut it out but there was just too big a peanut gallery to play to,” he explained. “I tried to tell Mr. Kaplan that Tommy said something gross to Jason first, but the teacher only saw Tommy catching a punch.”

He glanced across the cafeteria at the teen in question, who was also sitting alone, picking at his food with a sneer of disgust.

“I bet he’s the one who spread that rumor about Kimberly giving Jason a blow job in the locker room, too,” Skull added.

“Most likely,” Billy answered. “They both got called into the guidance counselor’s office this morning. That lead to Kim asking to return home and why Jason was so agitated.”

“What crawled up his ass and died? He’s awful to you guys, especially Jason.”

Billy could only shrug and sit silently.

Then, he turned to Skull and changed the subject.

“I wanted to commend you for your rescue of the Blue Ranger. That took a lot of fortitude, Eugene,” he commented.

Skull squirmed and waved the statement away.

“It was nothing. Just doing my civic duty.”

Feeling eyes on them, he turned back towards Tommy’s table and found the teen staring daggers at them.

“A word to the wise, Billy-boy. Be careful with that one. He’s not just a teenage outcast like me and Bulk. Once when I was in the office, waiting to see Kaplan, the secretaries were talking about him and all the stuff the police were called out for and CPS shit. They thought I was listening to my music but I wasn’t. And I’m glad,” he said firmly, his expression serious as he stood with his empty tray.

“There’s something bad wrong with him. Like serial killer level bad. And the way he’s fixated on Jason? He’d better watch out too.”

Skull had hit that nail on the head, if he hadn’t known it at the time.

Drakkon was a killer and much more.

After Billy’s death at the asshole’s hands, Skull had managed to work his way into Red Sentries. It had taken a long time but he knew how to play the long game. He felt it was the right thing to do. It was a way to help even with the Power Ranger no longer with powers.

Even Bulk had stepped up and defended a traumatized Kimberly from a frenzied crowd. He pulled her under his wing and declared if anyone had an issue with her, they’d have to go through him first. Skull was immensely proud of Bulky.

Moving through the ranks, the former gangly teen had gotten physically stronger. Which was wonderful. It was the mental aspect that took a toll.

Lord Drakkon was a vindictive, cruel, and abusive tyrant. Skull came to appreciate the statement that there were worse things than death. On certain occasions, he had been glad Billy wasn’t alive to see this or be at risk to undergo some of Drakkon’s outlandish punishments. He himself had to fight back the vomit until Drakkon had disappeared back to his crypt before hurling violently, barely getting his helmet off in time.

The sadistic fuck even kept a prisoner that he had somehow mentally warped into his own psychotic little pet. Not much was known about him but he was as bonkers as Drakkon and just as deadly.

Sadly, even the usually perceptive Skull did not recognize his old classmate, Jason Scott, nor would he have believed it if told the man’s identity. ‘Red’ thinner and wild-eyed, with shaggy grey hair and a real violent streak. Jason would have killed himself before serving the tyrant.

Goddamn, Drakkon was a piece of all mighty shit.

Praise be, that he was finally fucking dead!

As Skull ambled across the entryway towards the palace, he noticed a group standing in the courtyard ahead.

Rangers?? Impossible! Why would they be here?

The Ranger Slayer stood before the team, their backs to the approaching former Sentry. Bulk stood at her side, a protective arm draped around her shoulder as they listened their guests. Her face was a mask of disbelief and horror.

Hearing footsteps behind them, the Rangers swiftly turned as Skull emerged onto the cobblestone terrace. He, himself, did not resemble the Skull that they knew in their universe. Older and rugged, a quiet confidence surrounded him. And at the same time, he still had a mischievous sparkle in his dark eyes, a flair for the extravagant when it was available.

Catching the eye of this Blue Ranger, a Billy, from another dimension, Skull gave a gentle smile as he moved to stand before him.

“Hi,” he said simply, his voice raspy from the long trek.

Billy could only stare into this man’s eyes, yes he was a grown man here, and found himself at a loss for words.

“Penny for your thoughts, Billy-boy,” he quipped at the Blue Ranger, dropping a cool wink. “As long as you aren’t here to tell us that motherfucker’s clawed his way up from hell again.”

#world of the coinless jason #power rangers #jason scott #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic #red sentry skull #eugene skullovitch #billy cranston #boom! comics power rangers #world of the coinless #lord drakkon #tommy oliver #mighty morphin power rangers

[cosette141]

Lost and Found (OUAT fanfic) | Chapter 12

Fandom: Once Upon A Time

Author: cosette141

Words: 70k+ (so far) | 10k (this chapter)

Summary: (Begin Again sequel) Emma had felt lost nearly her whole life, and Killian had lost everything he’d ever found. That is, until they found each other. With the Crocodile dead and Cora turned good, it seems happy endings have returned. However, new crises arise, threatening the budding family between them and Henry. But this is a family that always finds each other… and they have yet to fail. CS, Anti-Neal

AO3: Ch1 | Ch12 (this one)

Chapter 12

The closer they got to Skull Rock, the more rigid Killian became.

And once they did reach it, Emma instantly knew where it got its name.

Skull Rock was truly at the heart of the island, deep within the jungle, and it was a giant cavernous structure that resembled—she should have guessed—a skull. Just the sight of it sent a chill racing down her spine. The closer they'd gotten, the quieter the jungle became, until all there was around them was utter silence and the distinct sense of anticipation that felt like a vapor.

Killian had sheathed his sword a while back, trading his weapon for her hand.

His grip on her almost hurt.

And just past her own fear, she could feel his.

Together, they stopped a few yards away from the cave's opening, dark and dim with the flicker of torchlights, as uninviting as Regina had once been to her when she'd arrived in Storybrooke.

Emma felt herself swallow hard, feeling her determination, her courage, her belief, waver.

"You can do this, love."

Emma turned at Killian's soft voice, seeing his eyes on her. Seeing the sheer panic like a rough sea, but still holding onto that determination as well, that belief in her, even smiling at her.

And it touched her, how hard he was trying to encourage her, when she knew he so badly wanted to take her as far away from here as possible.

But she couldn't leave Mary Margaret and David—she couldn't leave her parents here. She just couldn't.

She saved them once, when she broke the curse.

She can save them again.

Somewhere inside her, she felt like Henry would be proud.

Emma let out a breath, trying to slow her hammering heart.

But her fear wasn't a bad thing; it seemed to be at the core of her magic.

She could use it.

"Ready, love?"

Emma turned to Killian, again seeing his unwavering loyalty, devotion, trust in her.

And without hesitation, Emma kissed him, her eyes shutting, her free hand finding the back of his neck. After a half second hesitation of shock, Killian kissed her back with just as much desperation, just as much passion. They pulled away, a little out of breath, her forehead resting against his. Her eyes opened, finding his an inch away.

"We'll do that again," she whispered.

It was her own promise.

It was we'll be okay.

It was trust me.

It was you won't lose me, too.

He heard the words she didn't say, and he smiled, hand cupping her cheek, thumb resting by her ear, eyes on hers like he was memorizing her. "Aye." he said just as softly, voice husky in a way that ran through her whole body.

Taking a breath, they both turned. Killian released her hand with the utmost reluctance to take his sword, and Emma grabbed hold of his hook, leaving her cutlass in the sheath over her back.

It wasn't the weapon she would be wielding.

That one was the warmth in her chest, racing as fast as her adrenaline.

As one, she and Killian started into the caves.

The moment they were inside, Emma immediately felt different. It was like that warmth inside her was slightly heightened.

"Emma?"

Killian's worried eyes were on her, at the hitch in her step at the sensation.

"I'm okay," she said. "I just… I think I can feel the magic."

Killian's brows drew together, unsettled. "Aye," he agreed. "The source of Neverland's magic resides at the top, a fire that's burned since magic had been brought here," he said gravely. With a swallow, he said, "That's where I assume we'll find your parents, and Pan himself."

Another chill racing down her spine, Emma clung onto that determination inside her, that belief.

She could do this.

She could do this.

Their ascent through the caves was chilling, every step rising the hair on the back of her neck, and increasing the sort of pressure in the air, the magic.

But the moment it became almost suffocating, Emma felt Killian's left arm flinch, pulling her slightly behind him, his muscles growing tight as rock.

And Emma saw what he did.

She gasped.

Just past the curve of the wall opened up into a large cave. Even more torchlight lit the room, but in the center of the room was a fire that raged blue in a pillar of rock.

But just past it, was a cage.

And within it, were Mary Margaret and David.

Emma's eyes widened.

Mary Margaret and David saw her at the same moment she saw them.

"Emma!" gasped Mary Margaret.

"Get out of here!" cried David.

But not a moment later, something flashed from behind the pillar, and suddenly an attack of what looked like black fog—magic—was heading straight for her and Killian.

"Emma!" cried Killian, his hooked arm moving instinctively around her, but Emma's eyes only narrowed.

Because she was ready.

The magic already having been at her fingertips, she let her fear react. The white-gold veil erupted sharply in front of herself and Killian just before the attack hit. Emma felt Killian's arm tighten around her, felt his heart pound as he pulled her back to his chest, but she'd been fast enough; the attack only made her jerk before it dispersed at the impact, falling away like smoke, and she staggered a little.

And standing before them through the clearing smoke, yards away, was a boy, his hand steaming with black residue of the attack.

And from Killian's flinch, Emma knew exactly who this boy was.

Peter Pan.

The boy was sinister looking. But more than that, there was an almost crazed, haunted look to him. He wasn't well; his weakness showed in the shadows under his eyes, the paleness of his skin, and it was clear that the attack he'd just launched took a hell of a lot out of him.

Pan stumbled with weakness, catching himself on the pillar, breathing hard, eyes ablaze. "Learned a few tricks, have you, Savior?" he spat, stumbling again with a groan, his eyes screwing shut.

"Emma," breathed Killian urgently. "While he's weak!" He lifted his sword, moving to attack, and Emma lifted her hands, trying to figure out how to attack rather than protect.

"Boys!" roared Pan, furious eyes snapping open, and suddenly out of the shadows of the cave, a group of Lost Boys emerged, armed with arrows.

All aimed at Mary Margaret and David.

"Attack me," hissed Pan at Killian and Emma, who suddenly froze, "and they die."

Emma exchanged a shaky look with Killian, who shared it.

"Don't worry about us!" shouted David, knuckles white from how hard he was holding the bars of the cage.

"Emma, run!" choked out Mary Margaret.

"I'm not leaving you!" said Emma, voice tight and pained, not lowering her hands, but not attacking either.

Beside her, as if fully taking Emma's lead, Killian's sword lowered, but was still firmly in front of him.

Pan let out a laugh that sounded almost hysterical, making a shiver run down Emma's spine. He managed to get back a sense of balance, but was still swaying on his feet, only looking more deranged.

"Let them go," she growled. She couldn't attack him as long as the Lost Boys had arrows aimed at Mary Margaret and David, and she couldn't protect them, herself and Killian at the same time. Her shields didn't stay up longer than a handful of seconds.

A sliver of doubt sped through her.

"You were foolish enough to give yourself up for the people who abandoned you," hissed Pan, making Emma, Mary Margaret and David flinch. Pan's furious eyes turned to Killian. "And you, Captain," he spat, that icy grin at his lips. "Leading yet another to their death?" Killian went rigid beside her. "You were foolish enough to let your brother die, and now her?"

Emma's eyes snapped to Killian.

All the color drained from his face.

"Don't worry," drawled Pan icily to Killian. "After she's dead, I'll put you out of your misery."

Emma felt her heart break at the look in Killian's eyes.

"Now," growled Pan to Emma. "Surrender yourself to me, or watch your parents die."

Emma spared a glance at them.

The panic in their eyes.

The tear falling down Mary Margaret's cheek.

Emma's eyes snapped back to Pan.

They were at a stalemate.

Hoping against hope that she was anticipating what Pan's instincts will be, Emma let her magic return to her fingertips, readying it. She shifted her weight a little, nudging Killian, hoping he knew to be ready.

And from how he only grew more tense, she knew he was.

So she took a breath, narrowed her eyes at Pan, and said firmly, "No."

Pan's eyes narrowed. "Then you leave me no choice. Boys!" And he turned toward her parents, rearing back to attack at the same time the Boys released their arrows.

Emma acted quick.

She channeled her magic, every thought, every emotion toward protecting her parents, and she watched the shield form around the cage. The Lost Boys' arrows struck the shield, snapping on impact.

Emma felt herself smile.

But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pan's eyes flash.

And he spun sharply, sending his attack…

…at her.

Emma's heart leapt into her throat, as she tried to summon another shield, this time for herself and Killian.

But this time, she wasn't fast enough.

Her shield only half-formed, Pan's attack struck and shattered her magic like glass. The force of it struck her hard, even if the partially-formed shield softened the blow, throwing her backward.

The last thing she heard was Killian, Mary Margaret and David screaming her name.

"EMMA!"

Mary Margaret's voice tore out of her throat, watching through the veil of the shield Emma had placed around the cage as Pan's attack struck Emma, throwing her backward.

Killian had staggered with the blow, but didn't take the brunt of it. He caught Emma as she fell, falling to his knees, nothing short of panicked horror in his eyes. "Emma!" he cried, shaking her, but her eyes were shut.

She wasn't the only one down, however.

This attack took a lot out of Pan, sending him down to his own hands and knees, heaving.

"Hook!" exclaimed David. "Is she—?!"

"She's alive," he breathed, and as Emma's shield faded from the cage, Mary Margaret could just see the slight rise and fall of Emma's chest as she lay in Killian's arms. The pirate desperately stressed her name, shaking her gently but urgently, his voice cracking with panic.

"For now."

Pan's rugged threat preceded a harsh groan from the demon, who was still shaking hard with weakness.

"Get Emma out of here!" cried David to Killian.

Killian spared a look to them. And something changed in his eyes, a softness, almost like an apology, before even more determination settled. He began to gather Emma in his arms.

But before he could even lift her, Pan growled something wild, and power was gathering again in his palm, however slower than it had the first time.

Killian's eyes widened at it, eyes finding nowhere to hide, no time to run.

So just as Pan released the attack, Killian let go of Emma to dart in front of her.

And the attack, instead, struck Killian.

"Killian!" cried Mary Margaret, panic tearing his name from her lips as the attack hit Killian square in the chest, the force of it throwing Killian into the cave wall hard enough it shook the room.

Killian crumpled to the ground, the only movement from him an unsteady breathing.

"Hook!" cried David.

Mary Margaret watched with wide, horrified eyes.

Pan, who had collapsed to the ground once again, dragged himself onto one arm, his furious eyes finding his attack having missed his target. He let out a sound half between a growl and a scream, body shaking even harder with weakness, eyes narrowed as sharp as a blade, utterly murderous.

But Pan's eyes zeroed in on Emma as he struggled to his knees. "No protective shield this time," he hissed. "No one left to save you," he mused to himself, sounding utterly unhinged. He laughed, a sound that raced a chill down Mary Margaret's spine. "Goodbye, Savior," he gasped, thrusting another attack with his hand, making Mary Margaret and David cry her name—

But the attack didn't come.

Pan collapsed back to the ground with a groan. He stared at his shaking hand like it failed him, a little fear in his eyes.

His magic.

Mary Margaret felt hope rise sharply in her chest.

His strength was failing him.

Mary Margaret looked sharply at Killian, who was still unconscious, but still breathing, still alive after taking an attack Pan had meant to kill Emma.

She felt a shaky smile at her lips.

Pan was too weak.

He was too weak.

And from David's expression, so much hope cutting into his panic, he made the same deduction she did.

But then, still struggling to get up, Pan suddenly looked at the barely flickering blue flame in the pillar, a smile dawning, freezing Mary Margaret's hope in her chest.

And Pan's weak, yet sly, wicked smile turned to David and Mary Margaret. "Don't get too… excited," he rasped, managing to get himself back to his knees, shaking like he was hypothermic. "Once I absorb the last of Neverland's… magic," he huffed, "I will have the power to destroy her."

Pan lifted his trembling hand to the flame, eyes shutting, the flame dissipating bit by bit as color, as strength, slowly returned to him.

Mary Margaret's eyes snapped back to Emma, lying unconscious on the ground.

Unable to protect herself.

With no one to protect her.

And again, Emma was hurt and in danger and alone, for saving them.

Agonizing emotion was twisting Mary Margaret's heart, tears burning her eyes.

She was not going to let Emma die.

Fierce determination raced through her.

She was Emma's mother.

She would not let her die.

Especially not for them.

Mary Margaret jerked hard against the cage, only for one of the Lost Boys to jab a sword toward her.

But even so, there was a wariness in the Boy's gaze—all of their gazes, as they watched Pan.

And it made Mary Margaret realize—they were afraid of him.

An idea struck her in an instant.

They just needed to get to Pan, to get him away from the magic before he could regain energy.

Mary Margaret quickly faced the Boys.

"You don't have to be afraid of him," said Mary Margaret breathlessly, making the Boys look at her sharply. "He's weak—if you stop him, he won't be able to control any of you anymore!"

But as one, the Lost Boys only seemed more afraid at the idea, and didn't move.

"Then let us," breathed David, grabbing the bars in desperation. "Let us out of here and we will stop him for you!"

The Boys hesitated.

Then, as one, shook their heads.

Mary Margaret felt panic racing through her.

How could she get through to them?!

But it hit her—

As painful as the fact was, she understood them now.

"You're afraid," she breathed. "Not just of Pan," she said, making the Boys stiffen. "You're afraid because he's the only person who ever made you feel wanted."

At the shock in their eyes, and the fact that the fire was half gone, Mary Margaret spoke faster.

"You've spent your whole life wanting parents," she whispered, tears stinging her eyes as they turned to Emma. "You wish for it every night, and it never comes true."

Pain in her chest, at the echo of the little, heartbroken girl in her dreams.

Of her little girl.

"How did you know that?"

The small voice was from the youngest looking of the Boys.

His weapon was no longer in front of him, no longer aimed at them, now loosely held at his side.

"Because," she whispered, a tear falling down her cheek, "the Savior is my daughter. And because of me… because of us…" She looked at David, who looked as torn up as she felt. "Emma had to live like you," she told the Boy. "Without her parents. Without us." Another tear slipped down her cheek. "And I can't go back and change that, no matter how badly I want to." she whispered.

She grabbed the cage bar, her knuckles white. "But I am here trying to do everything I can to make it up to her," she choked out. "I am trying to save her, so that I can make her feel loved and wanted and like a daughter for the rest of her life."

A tear fell down the Boy's cheek, like every word she said was every desire in his heart.

"And if you let us out of here," she breathed, seeing the fire nearly gone, Pan nearly risen to his full height, "I promise that we will take you home with us. And we will find you families and you will be wanted."

"You'd really do that?" asked a different Boy.

"You'd take us away from Neverland?" breathed another with incredulous hope.

"I promise," whispered Mary Margaret. "Just let us stop him and save our daughter!"

A heavy hesitation.

The Boys exchanged looks with each other.

However, the fire was gone.

And Pan was on his feet, grinning at his newfound strength, even as unsteady as he still was.

"Let us out, now!" cried Mary Margaret.

"Hurry!" exclaimed David.

And the littlest Boy broke through, finding the opening to the cage and swinging it open, freeing them.

Mary Margaret and David ran, but it was too late; Pan's black magic at his hands, he grinned something so wicked, so evil, as he launched the attack, straight for Emma.

Mary Margaret and David didn't even hesitate.

They ran as one, reaching Emma just before the attack struck. They both grabbed her, pulling her into their arms as they shielded her from it, shutting their eyes for what Mary Margaret knew with a heavy certainty would be their deaths.

But they would save Emma.

This was the last of Pan's magic.

Emma will be safe.

And so she smiled, even when it struck.

It hit both Mary Margaret and David at once, making them both curl tighter over Emma, protecting her as much as they could.

But…

The attack didn't feel like an attack.

Suddenly…

It just felt warm.

It was familiar, too—so much like that feeling that rushed through her when David woke her from the Sleeping Curse.

Mary Margaret opened her eyes, seeing David inches from her, looking at her in the same bewilderment. And they both looked down to see not only Emma, but all three of them encased in soft golden light.

And turning slowly around, both of them gasped.

Pan's attack had stopped inches from them, as if the golden light was acting like its own shield. Mary Margaret looked back at Emma, but she was still unconscious. And this sort of magic… it wasn't the white-gold that Emma's magic always was.

This wasn't Emma's magic; it was something different.

"No!"

The enraged scream had Mary Margaret turning back around, seeing Pan staring in utter fury.

But not a moment later, the golden light around the three of them exploded outward—

—sending Pan's attack straight back at him.

The black magic hit him, destroying him in a scream and a burst of black dust.

And with it, the very air seemed to loosen, seemed to breathe.

Mary Margaret and David looked at each other, trading a relieved, overjoyed smile.

And they looked at Emma in their arms, safe and sound.

This time, because of them.

They saved her.

"Emma?" whispered Mary Margaret. "Emma, sweetie?"

"Emma?" breathed David, gently shaking her shoulder. "Come on, baby," he whispered.

But Emma's eyes remained shut, sleeping on, the faintest glow of that golden light still surrounding her as if like a blanket.

Emma.

She was so beautiful—so perfect.

Not minutes old, Emma's big, green eyes found hers for the first time. And deep within her chest, her own heart skipped a beat as she held her daughter, her princess, safe in her arms.

Time froze for a moment, Emma's eyes on hers, the two of them making a connection that she's felt for the past nine months, but never like this. A connection that she somehow knew would never be broken.

For she was going to love this little girl, forever.

Her little girl.

A shaky smile slipped over her lips.

And for just that moment, it nearly made her forget about everything else.

The incoming Curse.

Regina.

The wardrobe, that had only been finished minutes before Emma had entered the world.

The wardrobe, that only took one.

Even days after they learned that fact, that she would need to leave David, that it would be her and Emma on their own for twenty-eight years in a land that no one here had even heard of…

She looked at David, whose eyes were on his baby girl, tears in them as Emma's little fingers tentatively grabbed his own. And when they did, this little smile, like dawn breaking through night, was on her little perfect lips, and a tear spilled down David's cheek. A beautiful joy and a horrible sadness in his face, watching her, knowing he wouldn't be able to watch her grow up.

Something that broke her own heart.

But she looked down at Emma, whose eyes were still on hers, so innocent, like someone who had been lost for ages, yet had finally found what she was looking for, and couldn't stand to look away.

And she, herself, knew the feeling.

It was when a shockwave that shook the very air, followed by Grumpy's terrified, distant shout of, "IT'S HERE!" that she felt her gaze torn from her daughter, her eyes snapping to David's, and she felt herself pull Emma instinctively closer to her heart.

"The Curse," breathed David, panic in his eyes. "Snow, we have to get you both to that wardrobe. Now." A shaky smile. "You'll find me. Like we always do."

But she felt her heart freeze.

Both.

Emma had been born early.

She and Emma were no longer one.

Utter cold trailed through her, numbing everything it touched.

Panic unlike anything she's ever experienced raced through her.

"David," she whispered, the words so reluctant they hurt to speak, "the wardrobe. It only takes… one."

And it was like watching glass break, right beside her, as the realization shattered the only hope they had.

He looked down at Emma, who was starting to understand something was wrong. Her big eyes were looking between them both, her little fingers reaching toward David, more adamantly, and a tear falling down his cheek, he gave her his other hand, too, looking at her with even more sadness. "Then our plan has failed," he whispered. A sad smile at Emma, his baby girl, he said brokenly, "At least we're together."

She felt herself look down at her daughter, a tear falling down her own cheek.

If she didn't take Emma through the wardrobe, if she didn't protect her from the Curse, then they would all be taken to this… this horrible land, this land of no happy endings.

This land, where Regina's memories were bound to be unaffected.

A flash of horror struck her heart like lightning.

If Emma was Regina's only threat…

Would Emma even be safe with them?

The thundering clouds of the Curse were getting louder, the sky darkening with a greenish purple hue, casting a horrible shadow over the room.

She felt herself lift her head, an idea striking her through her panic.

But even with the idea, came something even more horrifying.

She had never intended to be away from Emma.

She had intended to be with her.

Always.

More tears were spilling down her cheeks, and she was hugging Emma closer to her, as if just her hold could keep her safe… and why couldn't that be enough?

But time was running out, and there was only one way to guarantee that Emma would be safe.

That Emma will find them one day.

Even if they won't…

Even if they won't watch her grow up.

She felt her eyes fall to her baby girl.

Her Emma.

All the months of decorating her nursery, wondering which toy will be her favorite.

Of wondering which of her old gowns would Emma wear to her first ball.

Of the first time her daughter calls her "Mom."

More tears were falling down her cheeks.

But she shut her eyes, trying to stop the tears.

Emma will find them, will save them, and they will be together again.

It was what their family did.

So swallowing the agony twisting her heart, she looked at her husband. "No," she whispered, voice panicked and laced with pain that no potion, no spell, no True Love's Kiss could ever heal. "You have to take her," she breathed, seeing David's eyes snap to her in shock. "Take her to the wardrobe," she whispered, even as her voice choked.

David's eyes shot wide. "Are you out of your mind!?" He looked from where Emma was still holding tight to his finger, and then back to her, his eyes even wider with the idea.

His horror was the same one in her heart, the same one tightening her grip around her baby, knowing she'll never be able to hold her like this again. "It's the only way," she broke out. "You have to send her through."

"You don't know what you're saying," breathed David. "This… this is our child, Snow! We can't…" He looked at her, another tear falling down his cheek.

"No, we must," she choked out, just barely stopping a sob. "We have to believe that she'll be safe there, that she'll come back for us." This time, she couldn't stop the sob, looking down at her baby girl wrapped in her arms. "We have to give her her best chance."

David held her gaze, everything in him wanting to fight it.

But they had no idea where they were going.

The only thing they knew was that this wardrobe would protect Emma from their own fate.

The thundering was growing louder, the purple smoke beginning to seep into the room.

David, looking nothing short of broken, seemed to make his decision.

And gently, he kissed Emma over her forehead, shutting his eyes.

She felt herself look back at Emma when he pulled back.

And again, Emma's green eyes were on hers.

And she felt a snap in her own chest, her heart breaking.

But she kissed Emma, right over David had, and she whispered, "I love you, Emma." She held her baby's gaze, something she could have held forever. But her own brows creased, more tears falling down her face, and she whispered, "I will see you again."

Emma just held that gaze, those big eyes, clear windows to her heart.

And she felt herself shut her eyes, and David took her from her arms. The urge to fight, to hold her, to keep her in her arms, was blinding, and she couldn't help the sob when she felt him lift her away, until she couldn't feel her anymore.

And Emma began to cry.

She felt her own eyes crack back open, hearing her baby's distress, those green eyes still on her, those little fingers reaching for her.

And David's own sob breaking out of his chest, he only hugged her closer to him, whispering a broken, "It's all right," to either his daughter or his wife, neither of whom believed it.

And she watched until she could no longer see Emma's eyes, until David was gone, until Emma's cries were drowned out by the thunder.

And she broke.

Sobs broke out of her, tears spilling down her face as loneliness has never felt like this. How her arms have never felt so empty, her heart never so cold.

How she missed her daughter so much it was agony, how she loved her so much, how unfair everything was, because all she wanted was Emma, was her family together.

She had once fought only for her own happiness.

But now, she would give anything, anything, to give it to her baby girl.

He drew his sword with one hand, unable to stop the tears falling down his cheeks, burning as painfully as the broken heart in his chest.

As he ran, he spared a look at his daughter.

Emma.

She was crying.

The sound of it something that made tears spill from his eyes instinctively.

She was still trying to reach for Snow.

And his heart snapped again, because a baby, his baby, his princess, this pure, innocent little beautiful person in his arms did not deserve any of this.

Because right now, no one was suffering more from this Curse than Emma.

He ran through the halls, finding the room that housed the wardrobe, panic racing through him as smoke trailed through the windows, making it harder to breathe.

But Black Guards spotted him, running to cut him off from the doors, and he felt even more fear, because he's never fought with something so precious in his arms.

The fight was unsteady, sharp and brutal, the tip of a sword cutting into his shoulder as he kept it from striking Emma. She was still crying, and he was still trying to tell her it was all right, however untrue that was, as he managed to knock out one of the Guards.

The other however, slashed his sword toward his chest, nearly again striking Emma, and with a sickness David realized they either didn't care if they killed her, or that was exactly their plan. He felt his heart lurch as he barely caught the blade with his own, it hovering inches over Emma's little face, and suddenly he was even more desperate to get Emma into that wardrobe.

Regina and her Guards didn't care that Emma was a baby.

She stood in their way; that was all they saw.

So with a furious growl for nearly taking his baby girl from him, David managed to slide his own sword through the Guard's ribs. He dropped heavily, and David held Emma close as he ran into the room, all the way to the wardrobe.

He opened the doors with shaking hands.

He stared from the waiting floor of the wardrobe, to the little girl in his arms.

She was still crying.

He bent to his knee, and he held her to his chest, shutting his eyes, trying to pour every ounce of his love into her. Hoping that it was something she could feel, that maybe her heart could remember, even if she couldn't.

She stopped crying.

Slowly, he pulled back, facing her.

Those big, green eyes were on his.

Those little fingers grasping at the edge of a tear in his sleeve because she couldn't reach his hand.

And his heart shattered all over again.

"I love you, Emma," he whispered, even as more tears fell. "Daddy loves you." And like tearing himself apart, he laid her on the floor of the wardrobe, offering his hand one more time, a sob breaking when she took his finger with a smile. "Find us," he whispered, every ounce of his need for her to find them.

His need to see her again.

His daughter.

Another sob wracked him.

But a crash behind him made him turn to see more Guards bursting into the room.

He whipped back around, giving Emma a smile, because the last thing she sees of him for now should be his love.

But at the release of his finger from hers, tears brimmed in her own eyes, and David felt his chest ache knowing the last thing he'll see of her for twenty-eight years will be her sadness.

And his eyes on hers, he shut the doors, feeling a coldness sweep through him, a sharp pain in his chest, a hole in his heart that he knew wouldn't be filled for twenty-eight years.

A hole he knew he wouldn't be able to live with until he saw her again.

But it was when the sword sliced through his abdomen that he was shocked back to the chaos of the moment.

He felt the agony shock through him, sharp and horrible.

But it was nothing compared to the agony of letting her go.

He felt himself fall, felt the blood staining his skin, his clothes, the floor that would have been her home.

He watched the Guards tear open the wardrobe, to find it empty.

And he smiled.

Because she was safe.

"Emma," he whispered, so much in her name alone, hoping wherever she was, she could hear him.

That wherever she was, she will always know how much they love her.

Emma woke slowly.

Consciousness took its time, like she was rising to the surface of mud, still caught in the heaviness of the dream.

The dream that felt so vivid, as real as a memory.

A dream of a scene that felt so familiar, that with shock, Emma realized was a story she knew, like a bedtime story that had never given her sweet dreams.

The same story that had been in Henry's storybook.

Her story.

She found herself picturing the baby in the dream—Emma.

Her.

She'd dreamed about… herself?

And she's seen that castle before, that room. Not only in Henry's storybook.

Except the last time she'd seen it… it was destroyed.

Though, for as much as it was her dream…

…she wasn't seeing it… as herself.

It was as if she was dreaming of someone else's memories.

As sounds crescendoed in her ears, her mind caught between unconsciousness and waking, hearing voices she couldn't yet make out, her mind was racing, putting together the pieces—

It was almost as if she had been seeing through… her parents.

She dreamed she was Snow—Mary Margaret—her mother, the day she and David had abandoned her, and it had looked exactly as it did in Henry's storybook.

However, Emma didn't just see it in her dream.

She… felt it.

In her dream, Emma had felt their fear, their panic at the prospect of losing her.

The Curse was coming, the wardrobe had just been completed, and Emma had just been born.

But her dream changed the story she knew.

Within Snow's thoughts was the devastation that she would no longer be able to travel with her to the new world. The idea that Emma and Snow would go together had been the only reason that her parents had even considered such a plan.

That hadn't been in Henry's storybook.

But more than feeling their fear of sending her away, Emma felt something she'd never felt before.

She felt their love.

Snow had hugged her baby—Emma herself—so tight, her hold felt so warm, their connection, minutes old, already so strong. Emma had seen her own eyes watching Snow's, reflecting that love.

And it wasn't only Snow the dream had shown her, either.

It was… David.

The look on his face when Emma had grabbed his finger for the first time.

The way he'd held her, protected her, like there was nothing in the world more precious to him.

The way he'd nearly died sending her through the wardrobe.

"Daddy loves you."

She'd heard those words before, but they had never been spoken to her. They were always gifted to other kids, kids who'd had fathers to love them.

She could still hear the echo of his voice, and a feeling of such warmth ran through her.

His relief that she was safe had nearly washed away the pain of his injury.

But even that wasn't enough to cure the agony of letting her go.

The heartbreak of both David and Snow, over her.

It was like a physical snap in her chest.

To let her go tore them apart.

She's never once dreamed like that before.

She's never once had a dream that felt so real before—except, except the one she had in Neverland, the one from the foster home, when she'd wished on yet another broken star.

Any dreams of her parents were never… never so vivid, and never like… that.

Even after the Curse in Storybrooke was broken, even after learning that it was all true, even after Henry told her the true story of her abandonment…

She had never dreamed of it.

And would certainly have never dreamed of it like that.

How it was told to her seemed like they left her out of obligation to their Kingdom, to their people. Like they looked at her as some object, just something to save them.

But that dream…

It felt more like their obligation to her, the best choice they felt they could make within the minutes to make a decision.

And there was something else in that dream Emma had never felt before.

A parents' love.

How could her subconscious even fabricate such a feeling?

All the times she'd spent imagining what it would feel like to have parents who loved her, and none of it came close to how it had felt in her dream.

It was everything she'd ever dreamed of, to have parents to feel such a way about her. It was so warm, so safe.

All that love, in both David and Snow, was for her.

And it terrified her, because she was awake enough to know it was only a dream, and she didn't know if she could handle facing a reality without it.

And she never thought she could have felt jealous of her own imagination's manifestation, of that baby in her mother and father's arms. She never could have thought she'd be envious that she didn't know what that baby felt, to experience that hold, that love, for real, even for only a moment.

Sounds crescendoed in her ears as she rose closer to wakefulness. She felt herself try to fight it, try to hold onto the feelings from her dream like grasping onto a slippery rope that was tied to everything she's ever wanted.

But, suddenly, she could feel something around her.

Something warm, something comforting, something so familiar.

"Emma?!"

"Emma!"

Two voices broke through, worn like they'd been saying her name for some time.

And Emma realized she knew them.

They sounded just as afraid as they had been in her dream.

She felt her eyes open, shocking her back into vivid clarity.

"Emma!"

Emma blinked at the harmonized, relieved gasp of her name.

And she found herself looking up at Mary Margaret and David.

They both had tears on their cheeks, but smiles at their lips, looking down at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world.

But that wasn't all.

That wasn't what felt so familiar.

Emma felt her heart skip.

She was in their arms.

Emma was held so gently, so carefully between them, as if they thought she'd break, as if they couldn't take the chance she would.

And Emma felt herself fall still, with the shock of a realization.

The way Mary Margaret was holding her now.

Pulled up so close to her chest, to her heart. Her arms around her so tight and strong, like her arms alone could keep Emma safe from anything, and it even felt, to Emma, like they could.

A hold that felt so…

Familiar.

So much so that she suddenly couldn't breathe.

"Emma?" asked David suddenly, both their smiles fading at Emma's stillness. "Are you okay?"

"Emma?" whispered Mary Margaret.

Emma's eyes found Mary Margaret's, and settled there.

Just… looking.

And she felt Mary Margaret freeze, holding her gaze, like she felt the sudden connection the same way Emma did. Like just the look in Emma's eyes held unsaid words in a language only Mary Margaret could understand.

And Emma knew.

Whatever she had just experienced, it wasn't a dream.

Mary Margaret's hold, the look in her eyes now…

It was the same as the one in her dream, reflected in the baby's eyes—her eyes.

It was no dream.

Somehow, it was real.

And it wasn't Mary Margaret she was looking at now.

It was her mother.

Emma felt tears brim her eyes, still looking at Mary Margaret.

Her mother.

"Mom," whispered Emma suddenly, her whisper so loud, so musical in the silence.

Mary Margaret's gasp was mirrored by David, both of whom were looking at her in shock.

Emma smiled wider, because nothing has ever felt more right. "Mom," she repeated, making herself smile wider, liking the way it rolled off her tongue, the way it made her heart feel warm, the way the word itself felt like a tight hug.

A little hiccuped sob broke out of Mary Margaret's chest, with a smile as bright as sunlight off her namesake.

And Emma looked at David, her eyes meeting his.

But it wasn't David she was looking at.

It was her father.

David stared at her, caught in shock and awe, a fresh tear falling down his cheek.

Emma's eyes found his hand, the warmth of a memory she somehow didn't need the dream to remember moving her own hand.

He watched as she slowly, hesitantly, wrapped her fingers around his.

And such a warmth spread through her, because she's done this before.

David stared in shock.

And she smiled at him, lifting her eyes back to his, that same feeling so something so right in her chest as she whispered, "Dad."

A gasped sob broke out of his own chest, like she'd just said what he'd waited his life to hear. Another tear falling down his cheek, a smile so bright on his face, happier than Emma's ever seen him.

It was a joy that all three of them felt together, a moment they had all shared before.

Twenty-eight years ago.

Emma just smiled more, a tear falling down her own face, and it was all it took for her parents to gather her into their arms even tighter, pulling her to them, wrapping her between them in a hug that felt so perfect, that felt like she fit.

"Emma," gasped out her mother over her shoulder, holding her even tighter. "I'm so sorry." Her tears hit Emma's shoulder. "I am so sorry," she choked out. "When we… when we s-sent you away, we—we never knew how—how horrible—" Her voice broke.

"Emma," David took over, voice just as broken, holding her even tighter. "We never meant to hurt you, and—and we should have known how much you went through and—and…" His voice caught. "Emma, baby, we're so sorry."

And Emma felt tears rush down her cheeks, never feeling so loved, so cared for.

"I forgive you," she whispered, a shaky smile at her lips, because she did.

She didn't want to care about the past anymore.

She didn't want them to hurt anymore.

She didn't want to hurt anymore.

She just wanted them, and she just wanted to be theirs.

They both pulled back at her words, looking at her with unadulterated, desperate hope.

"You do?" breathed her mother, looking so fragile, as if the gentlest breeze could shatter her.

"Yes," she said softly, meaning it, watching those broken smiles return to her parents, however stunned those smiles were. Emma let out a breath, saying, "I was so angry, and so… confused, my whole life." Their smiles faded a little, a haunted look in their eyes, like they didn't just sympathize; they understood. "And when I met you," she went on softly, "it just felt like… I was just your… savior."

It was as if Emma could see their hearts break in their eyes.

"But," she whispered, "I just… I had this… dream." She looked at them, seeing something stunned replace their guilt. "It was of… us. Right after I was born. But… it felt like it was a… memory somehow." Her eyes shut, those feelings still so vivid, so strong. She opened her eyes even as a tear fell down her cheek. "It was like… I was you," she whispered to them both.

Both of their eyes widened.

"It was the night I was…" Emma couldn't say the words, but her parents heard them nonetheless, if the flash of pain in their eyes was any indicator. Emma's eyes settled on Mary Margaret. "You were supposed to go with me," she whispered.

Mary Margaret's face creased, another tear falling for twenty-eight years of what almost was. "I wish I could have," she broke out.

What had seemed like she had simply been planned, been had to save them, was wrong.

The realization felt so much softer than what she'd believed for so long.

That they had only done what they felt was right in a horrible, impossible situation.

"We… we had a dream, too," began David hesitantly, exchanging a look with Mary Margaret, brows creased with pain. "Of… well, as you," he whispered.

Emma froze.

"You were in this foster home," said Mary Margaret unsteadily. "You… you were wishing… for us," she breathed.

It was the same dream that she'd just re-lived.

The first night she lost hope.

The first night she realized that the stars were either broken, or simply didn't listen to her.

Emma looked at her parents, seeing the pain in their eyes.

The understanding.

Everything she'd tried to tell them was in their expressions now.

But Emma just felt herself smile, a warm tear falling down her cheek as she whispered, "It came true."

The look on their faces could have melted ice.

But that haunted look still in their eyes, Mary Margaret whispered, "We're so sorry, Emma."

But Emma shook her head, giving them a broken smile of her own. "It's okay," she said softly, watching as a relief dawned over them every time she spoke her forgiveness of them. "When I… when I dreamed of you both… as you both…" Her faint smile grew. "I could feel…" Her eyes filled with tears. "You loved me." A little choked laugh eased from her chest. Because she's never, not once, felt that before. Parents. Who loved her.

They both pulled her back into their arms.

"We always have," whispered Mary Margaret, voice shaky with emotion, and Emma smiled even more because she felt the truth.

"We always will." breathed David over her other shoulder, his hand running over her hair.

"We love you so much, Emma," whispered Mary Margaret.

And Emma felt that warmth fill her even more, as she hugged them back and whispered, "I love you, too."

They both pulled back in even more them both return it, their happiness like a physical light. "We will spend the rest of our lives making it up to you, angel," whispered David, wiping Emma's tears away.

"We promise," added her mother. She looked at Emma, like she couldn't believe the moment they were in. She hugged her again. "Oh, Emma, we are just so relieved you're all right."

Emma felt her brows crease at her mother's relief in confusion. Her mind had been so caught up in the dream, the moment.

It was only then, she remembered where they were.

Neverland.

Pan.

Pan had been holding Mary Margaret and David hostage, he'd gone to attack them, but then had changed his target to her—

—she couldn't get her magic to protect her fast enough and—

That was the last thing she remembered.

She pulled sharply back from Mary Margaret, eyes finding the cave, breaking her out of what had been so much happiness. Reality rushed in like a sharp winter wind in summer. "Wait—" she gasped. "Pan—"

"He's gone," said David quickly, with a relieved smile at the fact, and Emma felt her own panic begin to ease.

"How?" she breathed.

"Well," said Mary Margaret, exchanging a look with David, "Pan… attacked you, but he used the last of his own magic. He began to take the magic of that Neverland flame, and we… convinced the Lost Boys to free us." Her brows creased. "But by the time we were free…"

"He already attacked," whispered David, his own brows kneaded with the panic they must have felt.

Emma felt her heart skip a beat.

"But…" said Mary Margaret, smiling through a wince. "David and I… we ran to… protect you."

Emma's eyes widened.

"But… something happened," said David. "We had just gotten to you, and the attack was about to hit us, but… it… stopped," he said, puzzlement clear in his voice.

"It what?" breathed Emma.

"It felt like some sort of magic," said Mary Margaret. "It… protected us, and Pan's attack instead hit him."

But Emma was still hung up on their insinuation.

Looking at them with her own awe, she said, "You were going to take that attack for me?" she whispered. "You were going to… to die for me?" Her voice was barely audible.

Mary Margaret and David smiled a little at each other, before smiling even wider at her. "We meant it, Emma," said Mary Margaret softly. "We will never let anything happen to you again. You might be a savior," she said, "but from now on, we will be yours."

"Always," added David softly.

Emma felt herself smile, tears falling again down her cheeks.

Emma felt herself let out a shaky breath.

It was over.

They were all safe.

But that made her suddenly realize something was missing.

Someone.

She jerked up.

"Killian," she breathed, voice laced with panic.

Her whole body ran cold.

How could she have—

"Where's Killian?!" exclaimed Emma, voice cracking with fear.

Both David and Mary Margaret's eyes widened.

"He—Pan attacked him," breathed David.

"He was knocked unconscious—" said Mary Margaret through a gasp as both of them quickly moved to get up.

Emma was stumbling to her feet, eyes scanning the room in a panic.

There.

Across the cave lay Killian, crumpled beneath his black leather.

Her heart stopped.

"KILLIAN!" Emma nearly screamed, running to him. She dropped to her knees at his side, her trembling hands on him, shaking him a little. "Killian? Killian!"

But at her touch, he winced, and it was the most beautiful thing Emma had ever seen.

"Killian," she breathed, a shaky smile at her lips, seeing him move, seeing him alive.

At her voice, his eyes snapped open. "Em—" he cringed, his hand finding his side, and Emma wondered how many times someone could break the same ribs over and over. "Emma?" he breathed, his own voice panicked as he struggled to find her.

The moment he saw her, relief broke out over his features, "Emma!" She smiled, and he shot off the ground, despite a heavy cringe and a groan he caught with his teeth, grabbing her in a tight hug, pulling her into his chest, into an embrace that made her eyes shut, tears stinging them. She hugged him back just as tightly, a brand new sense of warmth rushing through her, like a magic of its own.

"Are you okay?" she whispered over his shoulder.

"Aye," he breathed. "You?" "Yeah," she whispered through a smile, snuggling her head into his shoulder, nearly collapsing into him, into the relief that they were all safe, they did it, they were okay.

But Killian suddenly pulled back, looking around with fear. "Is Pan—"

"He's gone," said David, firm and relieved.

"What?" breathed Killian. "How?"

"We're… not sure," said Mary Margaret, looking from David, back to Killian. "Pan sent an attack at Emma—" Emma felt Killian's hold around her tighten, pulling her even closer to him— "and David and I made it to her in time, but something happened when we did," said Mary Margaret. "Some kind of magic saved us, but it wasn't Emma's. It sent Pan's attack back at him, and he was destroyed."

Killian stared at her in utter shock. But he let out a weary sigh of relief, holding Emma to him even tighter. "Thank the bloody gods," he whispered.

Emma smiled, feeling waves of relief trailing through her from his embrace, feeling safer than she's ever felt before.

"I'm relieved you both are all right," added Killian to David and Mary Margaret.

David smiled. "And we're relieved you are." His brows kneaded a little. "Pan got you good… you sure you're all right?"

Killian smiled, dismissing the concern, but Emma could see how hard he was trying to keep the wince out of his face. "Aye," he said. "A few bruises, I'm sure, but I'll be all right."

Emma slowly helped Killian to his feet. He couldn't hide the cringe, even having to take his hand from hers to grab at his ribs. Emma's brows creased. "I can try to heal that," she said softly.

"Let's get home to that boy of yours first, aye?" said Killian, wince easing.

Emma felt a warm skip in her chest at the thought of Henry.

"Did you…"

They all turned to see the little group of Lost Boys standing behind them, staring at them with painfully hopeful eyes that were braced for a disappointment they didn't seem like they could take.

The littlest one had spoken, and he finished, "Did you mean what you said?" He spoke the words to Mary Margaret and David, voice small. "Will you still take us with you?"

Mary Margaret knelt to his level, smiling. "Of course," she said softly.

But Emma felt Killian's uncertainty before he even voiced it. "The only problem," he said reluctantly, "is how we're getting back to Storybrooke."

"I know how."

They all looked at another Boy, who looked about Henry's age. "I saw how Baelfire did it," said the Boy, making Emma and Killian both suddenly flinch at the name. "He used his Shadow and pixie dust. I dunno how to take off Shadows… But—but we could use one of your Shadows, and…" He looked at Emma. "I think your magic could work."

Emma blinked. With a little of that bravery that got her here, she smiled, nodding. And with it, something flared in her chest a little, like her magic ensuring her she could trust it to lead them home.

The Boy smiled something hesitant, but hope rippled through them all like a pebble skipping water.

"I can get the flint to separate a Shadow," said a Boy. "I saw'd Pan do it before."

"We can use mine," offered Killian, with a little reassuring smile to the Boy, who seemed surprised to see kindness from him. "We can attach it to my sail; get us home."

Emma felt herself smile.

Home.

"Get us that flint," said Killian gently to the Boys, "and find us on my ship, aye?"

The Boys let out shaky smiles, at the idea, the hope that they were actually going to be free.

They all but ran out of the cave to find the flint, only one Boy, the littlest, pausing by Mary Margaret.

"Don't leave without us," he whispered.

She smiled at him. "We won't. I promise." She spoke the words to the Boy, but her eyes were on Emma.

And after a second, the Boy smiled, and then bounded after his brothers.

"Wait—" said David, looking at Emma and Killian, eyes darkening. "Speaking of Neal, where the hell is he?" A little anger building— "He took some deal of Pan's to get you here—"

Emma exchanged a look with Killian, both of them holding each other a little tighter.

And Emma cleared her throat. "Neal…" she stumbled a little over his name. "Neal did find us," she said softly. "But… he didn't take Pan's deal."

"What?" breathed Mary Margaret, and David's brows lifted.

"He warned us," said Emma, eyes burning a little, "about what Pan did, taking you both. He told us not to go."

"He did?" said David with surprise.

Emma swallowed. "But… a Lost Boy followed him when he found us, and…" Her voice trailed off, her throat closing up.

Killian finished for her, "He took an arrow that would have killed me."

At their heavy silence, Mary Margaret and David caught onto what they didn't say.

"He's… dead?" whispered David.

Emma's eyes burning, she nodded.

"He died saving Killian?" breathed Mary Margaret in shock.

Emma nodded, unable to speak.

The four of them were caught in a moment of silence, of touched sadness. Something Emma hasn't quite processed yet, but chose to, for now, smile, because Neal had died for her happiness.

But, tears in her own eyes, Mary Margaret took a step closer to Emma, brushing the hair out of her face in such a tender touch, one that made Emma smile. "He told us," she whispered, "that he would do anything to make it up to you." Her own smile touched her lips. "It looks like he did." She took a breath, exchanging a look with David before settling her eyes back on Emma. "And… we know the feeling."

Emma smiled.

Her parents and Killian all nearly died for her happiness, and Neal had.

It was something she'd never experienced before—something she never thought she would experience.

To go from a life where no one cared, to a life where everyone did.

Emma felt her eyes burn, but the heat wasn't a painful one. She smiled, her gaze on her Mary Margaret and David. Her parents. Her parents. Ever since that dream, that memory, she could feel that familiarity. She could feel the love.

They were her parents, and they actually felt like her parents.

"Mom." she felt herself whisper, seeing a sparkle in Mary Margaret's eyes at the title. "Dad," she whispered, looking at David, whose own eyes were suddenly mistier. And from her side, Emma could just see Killian's brows shoot up in surprise.

"Emma," they both whispered at once, voices like harmonies of their True Love, and they both pulled Emma into a hug, one that made her shut her eyes and she reciprocated it, hugging them just as tightly as they held her. She felt two tears hit her shoulder.

But her eyes opened, finding Killian standing beside the three of them, a smile on his face, but a catch in his eyes, like he didn't know his place.

But before Emma could do anything, Mary Margaret reached out and took Killian's arm, pulling him into the embrace with them. At which David rolled his eyes, but moved to pat the pirate on the back, the men meeting eyes genuinely. Emma felt Killian wrap his arm around her waist, and she shut her eyes.

This feeling…

It was something Emma had never thought she'd have.

A family.

It made a tear roll down her cheek, like a drop of rain on dry land.

But this family was missing one member, whom Emma knew was very eager for them all to be with him again.

So she pulled back, three sets of eyes on her, and she said softly, "Let's go home."

-.-.-.

a/n: about 2 chapters left of this one! <3

-.-.-.

tag list: @kmomof4 @klynn-stormz @stahlop @ilovemesomekillianjones @hookmecaptain @tiganasummertree @jadehowlettthewolf @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @pirateprincessofpizza @stahlop @snowbellewells @eddisfargo @motherkatereloyshipper @confessionsofthemword @killian-whump

#captain swan #cs #cs ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #fanfiction #ouat #ouat fanfic #cs fic #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #emma and hook #emma and killian #hurt/comfort #begin again #cosette141 ffn #lost and found #neverland divergence #neverland fic #neverland #romance #fluff

[fellincantation]

19. a memory of someone they don’t see anymore

"Lord Grima."

A voice called out through the dark of the temple and Grima's head rose from the pillow it was rested on. The room was ornate and was a recent addition to the budding kingdom of Plegia, something Grima oversaw personally. The walls were covered in Grima's symbols and it fascinated the young dragon to no end what humans would do for them when they showed their power to them. Grima sighed softly as their body contorted uncomfortably, trying to hold together the makeshift human form it attempted to keep.

"Please, my Lord. Allow yourself to continue resting. There's nothing to worry about." The voice added and Grima's gaze turned toward it. A young man stood at the foot of Grima's altar. Its bed rested at the very top of the short staircase and Grima snorted through its nose.

"Come." Grima breathed, resting its head back down on the pillow. "The dragonstones have failed me and backfired completely. You're lucky I do not rip you apart for what you've done to my form."

The sound of footsteps drawing near only caused Grima to relax further. A soft hand rested on the top of Grima's malformed skull, hair and feathers fighting to poke out from its head.

"Forgive me, Lord Grima. I hoped the dragonstones would stabilize your body but it seems we're running out of time. The Exalt of Ylisse will arrive any day and war will be at our door." He said softly, soothing Grima's aching feathers with his touch. In Grima's arrogance, it was not afraid of what the Exalt would do to them and couldn't understand why her dearest friend sounded so frightened.

"You should not be afraid. Even in this state, I can kill one worm at our doorstep." Grima mumbled. Its body ached terribly despite its strong reassurances. Grima's body was a terrible twist of human and dragon and it couldn't seem to regain its normal size while its human parts were forcibly shed and rejected from its flesh.

"Lord Grima... Please. Form a pact with me. The Exalt has formed a pact with his own false god and we'll have a fighting chance together. You and I can slay the fools if you give me your power."

Grima couldn't deny that he was right. They would need to work together just as the Exalt and that fool Naga were working in tandem. Grima could possess his body and it would all work out in the end.

"Alright."

--

Grima should have known better. As the Exalt's sword pressed deep into their shared chest they should have known. Grima's fell blood had been passed on from its pact with its vessel but he would fall now and Grima would slumber. Their face was wet and pain radiated outward from their torso. This was it. Humans had betrayed them again. They had planned this from the very beginning. The Exalt had gotten into Plegia far too easily. Almost as if a path had been carved for him. A pained and terrifyingly childish cry left Grima's lips as the realization dawned on them. The sobs and wails of a twisted and barely human child rang through the air as darkness overtook them and their vessel crashed to the ground, lifeless.

#ic #asks #headcanon #(kinda) #// i like to think the first king of plegia was a dear friend to grima #body horror cw #in typical grima fashion ofc

[zen-wd]

So the latest pokémon presents has me in shambles, so I wanna throw my ideas into the pot about what I think the storylines are going to be.

In the direct, they said there would be 3 separate storylines for the player to follow, one of them being the typical fight the gyms and become the champion plot. But that raises the question of what will the other two stories be? Personally, I think the other two stories will focus around the region's evil team and the Terastal phenomenon/legendaries.

As of right now we do not know what the villains will be, but I'm willing to bet the bright plastered car with very large speakers and fire has something to do with that evil team. This car was also shown during the present when they were talking about the other storylines so it has some importance to one of the plots at least. If this is the villains car though, it doesn't really scream "villains" and more "rowdy and misunderstood" like the past two "evil" teams have been (Team Yell and Team Skull). This leads me to believe pokemon will be doing a similar theme of the evil teams not really being evil and instead have another set organization be evil. (for Sun/Moon it was the Aether Foundation. For Sword/Shield it was chairman Rose). If they do this, I'm excited to see who this real evil person will be. Who knows, maybe the school has something to do with it! I'm excited to see what pokemon comes up with for this storyline.

That leaves the other storyline though, which is not as set in stone in idea as the villains, however I believe it will have to do with the legendaries. It is implied you get your legendary at the very start of the game as a mount, however a legendary right from the start seems a bit much. So this third storyline will probably have to do with your legendary bud and "unlocking" their potential where you could then catch them and use them as a legendary. I believe the Terastal phenomenon will play a role in it as well, but I am not sure how.

Anyways, those are just my thoughts lol

#pokemon #Pokemon presents #Pokemon Scarlet #Pokemon Violet #Theories #I am dead set on the villain plot being one of them #And I can only hope we get a legendary storyline and they don't just give us a legendary to use from the get go #If they give us a legendary to use in battle at the very beginning I will be disappointed #I'm just excited lol #Zen Rambles

[lairofdragonagelore]

Emerald Graves: Din'an Hanin

Din'an Hanin is a large elven ruin found in the southeastern region of Orlais, in Elgar’nan’s Bastion. It is the final resting place of the Emerald Knights. Since the end of the Exalted March of the Dales and the fall of elven Halamshiral, Din'an Hanin has remained abandoned and largely forgotten.

It’s important to notice this is not exactly an “ancient elvhen” ruin. It’s an Elvhenan building taken by Ancient Dalish and turned into a ruin after the Exalted March of the Dales. This is very important to highlight to understand the iconography we are going to see here.

[This is part of the series “Playing DA like an archaeologist”] 

In my opinion, the clarification of the time in which  Halamshiral shone is key to understand this ruin. This tomb will reflect exactly the same spirit that Ameridan showed in the Frostback Mountains, DLC of Jaws of Hakkon.

As we enter Din'an Hanin, we see a stair surrounded by the undeniable shape of elven buildings with statues: we find a broken Humanoid Mythal’s statue on the ground, and two howling Fen’Harel. Mythal statue triggers fragments of the codex The Emerald Knights. The first fragment we have here seems to be a warning to me: Curse the past where lies were born. There is also another detail in this fragment: they call Andraste as “Lady”. There is respect to her. If contemporary history is to be believed; we know she helped the Dalish to have these lands, so it seems reasonable for them to respect her.

On the other side of the stair, we find one of the most strange statues to see in elven ruins: The cursed Skull bud with sword.

As we continue going ahead, we see more parts of the place that was attacked during the Exalted March, the rubble sinks deep enough in the terrain to assume it’s old destruction.

When we are reaching the entrance of the building, we meet another strange statue. We know with total certainty that these statues are Andraste, in her shape of a warrior. We have seen them everywhere in the game, and specially in Val Royeaux, triggering codices and notes about her. So, this is speaking to us that in a ruin of the time of Halamshiral, Andraste was honoured among the Dalish. She triggers another part of the codex The Emerald Knights.

We see more attacks of those days, collapsing parts of the ruin and making it inaccessible. This rock is likely to be from an Orlesian attack.

In the Hall of the Knights, we see ceilings that speak of ancient elven ruins, and statues of Owls which triggers the codex of Arlathan: Part One, an unreliable tale of Gisharel. Curiously, there is another statue hidden among the shadows:  The Strange Idol‘s face. It’s repeated in most of the arcs.

Continuing the path towards the tombs, we reach the corridor of the first floor, finding another strange element that speaks about how these elves were Dalish and not Elvhenan: the rugs in these parts display the symbol of the family of Celene’s mother: De Montfort. 

This is very curious because this family begins to raise in prominence around the time of the Fourth Blight, while these Emerald Knights of the  Exalted March were alive around the Second Blight. That this rug is here could mean that this place was explored before, or this family has very old ties with elves, specially during the time it was not an important family. With the context we were given about the Dales and the interracial examples of relationships, it’s not strange to assume that maybe this family is elf-blooded. But this goes into the speculation field. The only fact we see is that this rug with the De Montfort symbol is here, during a time [around the Second Blight] in which the family was not prominent.

At the end of the corridor, we begin to walk downstairs to head into the tombs. We see the strong elements of the elvhen decorations and the Orlesian rug.

We make our way to the Hollowed Tombs. I think this name explains a bit the structure we will see inside. The entrance welcomes you with howling Fen’Harel statues at the sides.

The place is already underground. It shows a mixture of Dalish, Elvhenan, and Chantry elements. Exactly the same kind of amalgamation of cultures we saw in Ameridan during the DLC Jaws of Hakkon. These elves were less radical with their culture as the current Dalish are, and they allowed the Chantry to permeate their elven temples to the point of placing statues of Andraste in them. 

This brings a natural question: if they did this centuries ago, how much were their tales changed when they added Andrastian flavour in them? The culture that the modern Dalish want to preserve has been altered centuries ago by their own people too, not only Tevinter. The Dalish cultural process and attempts to recover their culture is an incredible tragedy and irony at the same time. 

Going on with the exploration: at the sides of the entrance there are some pits interconnected with corridors. They show the inuksuit we always see related to funerary places. High up, close to the ceiling, we see Dalish banners. 

This is the object that says this place of elvhenan origin has been taken by Dalish at some point.

The central figure of this temple is Mythal, no doubt. The pit surrounds her, and her statue stands out among the others. Behind her, there is one of the typical paintings of ancient elves, this one I call “the shifting” halla or the bounded halla [for details read Nation Art: Elvhen].

Exactly in front of this Mythal statue we find an entrance with the face of The Strange Idol on its top, flanked by two statues of Andraste that trigger more fragments of the codex The Emerald Knights. This entrance is blocked with rubble, but if you cross it with the fly cam and follow the path of the stairs, you reach exactly to the entrance of Elandrin’s tomb, where The Strange Idol is. 

At the left side of the statue of Mythal, we find columns decorated with elven owls, and beyond them, a vandalised figure of Mythal. This is quite strange to me. It’s the statue of humanoid Mythal, with a skull on her head. The only  detail I remember seeing in similar fashion in the series was in the Fade of DAO, where a statue of Andraste had her head replaced with a skull. 

I can only find two potential reasons for this: 

The ancient one: I imagine that so many iconography with broken statues of Dragon Mythal along the game, and this vandalism of her statue may be related to the hatred that she earned from the other Evanuris. We know that after all, she ended up being assassinated by them. And unlike the Temple of Mythal, where there are really few statues of broken Dragon Mythal, the rest of the elvhen ruins depict a lot her dragon figure without her head. 

The modern one: maybe these Old Dalish elves related Andraste to a representation of Mythal, and her death [which happened before the complete fall of Halamshiral] was represented by them this way.

The configuration of this place is similar to the one we will see in Elandrin’s tomb: the main figure, [in this case Mythal] is in front of a pit. If the pit were filled with supplicants, they would be seeing her from a very low place. Unlike the Elandrin’s tomb, this pit doesn’t seem to have  a system to raise the lower platforms. It must have been destroyed with the collapse of the place or simply it never had it.

What’s most intriguing is the symbol on a side of one of the pit walls:  these golden rings are Elvhenan. We saw them in the Shattered Library. The Elvhenan statue of the owl always has one of these on its talons. 

In here, there are three rings of the same size, all aligned, and one bigger and thicker, surrounding and containing the middle one.

As potential links, we can have a quick reading of the many codices in the Shattered Library where concentric spheres are overlapped, or world in spheres are created. There is also a link with the red lyrium idol: the main figure has an arm crossing the same kind of ring than these. This figure has several links, specially if we take into account the murals of the series [For more details check:  Red Lyrium Idol  and Nation Art: Elvhen. It’s safe to assume that this is a symbol that belonged to the Elvhenan, and can’t be a representation of the creation of the Veil. When Solas created it, all the temples and tombs of the elvhenan had already been built, depicting this ring in their monuments or murals [More details in Nation Art: Elvhen].

If we explore the pit below and see what its corridors have to offer, we can see that at our left, the corridor is quickly blocked. It’s filled with funerary inuksuit...

...while the corridor at our right side allows us to explore many other rooms. We see in these pits a lot of arcs that were filled with bricks before. When you destroy them, you have access to new rooms. This is curious, but given the name of this chamber [hollowed tombs], it seems to be a characteristic of this place: hollowed rooms are sealed with bricks containing mostly urns and/or special runes and veilfire messages of mourning. 

Some of these pits have stairs that allow you to leave these corridors, but they have a strange feeling when you see the ancient paintings of slaved elves on its walls. If this is a tomb and we are right in assuming that Falon’Din was meant to guide the dead, but also this was a misunderstanding of his vanity that caused the death of many just for his whims, I wonder if these pits had an “elvhenan” function related to the slaves. What I mean is that maybe the Ancient Dalish used this ruin to give sepulchre to their warriors or honour Andraste, but this is an ancient elvhen ruin which must have had a different function long time ago. 

Anyways, returning to the main statue of Mythal, we see the painting detail on the back, and if we see the rooms behind this wall, we find more elvhenan paintings and sealed rooms of dead.  We see the painting of the dark armoured figure and breached walls [which I think it’s safe to assume it must have been the Venatori we find inside.] On a table, we see a book that triggers the Arlathan: Part Two, again an unreliable tale by Gisharel.

In the sealed rooms, we find dead, urns, paintings, and bones. Occasionally some of these structures trigger codices or notes about fallen Emerald Knights.

Sometimes these rooms are just locked but have no much difference with the others funerary rooms. 

Close to the Andraste’s statues in the main chamber of Hollowed Tombs, there is a stair that allows you to reach the highest level of this tomb.

As we walk upstairs, we find the typical mosaics of the Evanuris: Dirthamen and Falon’Din, one beside the other, and a painting of a “shifted” / bounded halla along the stairs [Read The Lost Temple of Dirthamen - Part 1 to understand my supposition of how this halla could also represent “bounding process” specially when it is related to Dirthamen and Falon’Din]. 

Around this place we find more mosaics: June with his anvil and Mythal with her babies. 

Mythal and Falon’din, which we know they had a confrontation [Solas’ words in the Temple of Mythal]. All these mosaics are normal ones in terms of colours [meaning, there is none red or weird so far I noticed].

From the highest level, we can see the main statues and the pits. It gives the impression that this is a place where high priests could oversee all the rituals below, but since it has fences, it also seems to be a place for observation instead of imparting rituals. If we compare it with the Temple of Mythal, where the highest places were big, high stages for the priests to impart their blessing on the petitioners. This one here seems more like a mere overseer level.

Along these corridors in the highest level we find more of these objects that trigger Dalish epitaphs.

The last statue that triggers the final part of the codex is beside a corner that seemed to head to Elandrin’s tomb, as the face of the strange idol on the top may indicate. Once more, we see these entrances sealed, likely as part of the tradition: seal the rooms of the dead.

[Index page of Dragon Age Lore ]

#paintings #Howling Fen'Harel statue #Skull bud with sword #Humanoid Mythal statue #Elven Owl statue #The Strange Idol #De Montfort Symbol #Golden ring #inuksuit #Evanuris Mosaics #Andrastian design #dirthamen #Falon'Din #mythal #june #Playing DA like an archaeologist

[dedenjoe]

So I made some new friends the other day...

This is “BUD”. He was unfortunately a part of the botched primming that my sharks with swords suffered as well... Also I thought he was an Ogre at first. Apparently he’s a giant fish man called a “MERROW” I thought his NAME was “MARROW”. I was already painting him like an Ogre when I saw the fins and double checked... So I just gave him pink fins and gills and called it a day! Fun to paint!

These are Shambling Mounds I made out of some twisted wire, some “Grassy” foam sheets, and tiny skulls from a set of skulls I had. These guys were REALLY fun to make! Maybe I used too many skulls and maybe they could have been better placed, but DANG do I think they look good!

Finally, these litle mushroomy boys! I saw them at the game shop and HAD to get them! They were too cute to pass up! They were fun to paint, fun to look at, just FUN all around! 

#Monsters #Shambling Mound #Ogre #Fish man #Myconids #mushrooms #minis #dedenjoe

[starofgold]

Singing the Song of the Hero in the Oasis of Scorching Sand - Part 4

White: I see. So we can touch on the memory of the flowers, so to speak. I’ll try one then. Hmm, which one… Look, a white light poured out from the petals. This light is…

Rustica: I think that’s the moonlight. Perhaps a beautiful night with the full moon showered this bud with its dazzling white light. What a subtle, elegant beauty.

Chloe: It sure gives off a refined and romantic ambiance. Hmm, what about this flower? Oh, what a mouth-watering smell. It’s like the smell of roast meat in a bun sold at the shop over there, I think. Maybe someone was eating that around this flower.

Rustica: I’ll see what this flower has then…. Oh, this is the sound of someone talking?

Flower: You think I don’t know anything? I can tell you’ve been seeing that person in secret. Come on, that’s a misunderstanding. I don’t have that kind of relationship…

Chloe: Oh, this is…

White: Seems like a lovers’ quarrel.

Rustica: It’s indeed a lovers’ quarrel.

Chloe: Uhm, I wonder what happened to them?!

Rustica: Perhaps there’s another flower around here that has the next part of this conversation.

Chloe – White: Let’s search for it.

[Change of scene]

Cain: Maybe this should be enough?

Mithra: This height is still unsatisfactory.

On the sand bank, Mithra and Cain were building something that looked like a huge castle with magic. It was likely above three meters in height.

Akira: What are you two playing?

Mithra: We are doing mountain-shattering.

Akira: Eh? Mountain shattering?

Mithra: What are you acting all surprised for? It was you who told us about this game.

Cain: It’s the game where you make a mountain out of sand then break it, you know?

Akira: N- now that I think about it, I did tell you about such a game yesterday.

Akira: (But they are totally unaware that they overdo it in all respects from the size to how the game is played. That’s very wizard of them)

Cain: There is lots of sand here, so Mithra thought it would be a good spot to play the game. Then since we’re already at it, it becomes a matter of making a big mountain.

Mithra: It isn’t worth our time to break only a small mountain, don’t you think so? With all of the effort we spend, there is no pride in breaking the mountain if it isn’t big and sturdy.

Akira: I suppose so. Anyway, what are these two doll-like things made of sand standing on the side of the mountain?  

Cain: They’re the monsters that live there.

Mithra: These two always argue about which one of them is stronger.

Cain: Do you see this big river that flow through the mountain? That marks the territories of the two monsters.  

Akira: (They unexpectedly spend a lot of effort on the background story for this)

Akira: This is a bit different from the mountain breaking game that I know, but it’s fun to do things your own way, I think. And both of you are very skilled.

Cain: Haha, thank you. It gets really fun once we started. If Heath were here, he’d craft the mountain even better. The terrain and other things would look very realistic with his skill.

Mithra: It is a bit plain this way though, isn’t it? Should I place a skull on the top of the mountain?  

Cain: Oh, that’s a great idea! I want to make a sword and place it on the top too.

Akira: (Somehow the mountain has become their art project. I wonder if they’ll have the heart to break it…)

Under the blazing sunlight, no matter if it was in the desert or by the lake, they wizards all had their own ways to have fun and enjoy their vacation to the fullest of their heart. It was a pleasant time, when we could relax and amuse ourselves however we liked.

After a while, we took a break from playing with sand. Sitting on a bench in the town, we enjoyed a drink served in a fruit that Cain recommended to us. White went with us to ensure that Mithra wouldn’t cause trouble.

Akira: Delicious! It has a pleasant pineapple-like taste. So refreshing!

Cain: I thought everyone would like this drink. After an exhausting trip in the desert, this drink helps our throat and body come back to life.

Mithra: It’s not bad. A bit chewy though.

White: Mithra dear, did you eat the utensil too?

Cain: The shell of that fruit is very tough. Like, painful death if thrown at your head kind of tough.

Mithra: Is that so? It’s crunchy so quite fun for eating, I find.  

From our bench, I saw the terrace of a café busy with customers. As I inhaled my drink with the straw, I saw a familiar face at a seat on the terrace.

Akira: (Oh, it’s Owen)

In front of him was a sumptuous assortment of parfaits and sweet treats lining up in a row. With a spoon, he was eating all of them alone in silence.

At that point. Chloe and Rustica arrived.

Chloe: Owen! So you’re here.

Rustica: When we heard that this is a famous café, we wondered if you would come here.

Owen: Tsk… The noisy ones have come.

Chloe: Whoa, so many kinds of confections! Oh, you have the huge parfaits here too! Amazing, it’s even bigger than what people say!

Rustica: Maybe we should get something too. Do they have a serving of tea so big one has to hold it with both hands too?

Owen: Don’t just sit as you please. What are you planning?

Rustica: I am planning to be Rustica. I believe Chloe doesn’t plan to be any other person but himself either.

Chloe: Eh? Ah yes. I’m just planning to be Chloe.

Rustica: What a delight. I’m Rustica. Here is Chloe. You’re Owen.

Owen: Do your ears malfunction too? I’m asking what do you come here for.

Chloe: We’d like to enjoy a cup of tea with you, Owen.

Rustica: If you aren’t in the mood for tea, having a chat is nice too.

Owen: Don’t wanna. Whether it’s tea or chatting.

Chloe: In that case, how about, uhm, shopping? There’re many interesting shops along the street over there.

Rustica: There’s a shop of musical instruments too. I just bought a lyre there. Aaah, just talking about it makes me want to play a song right way.

Rustica: ~ Lalala, in this beautiful oasis town ~

Murr: Lalala ~

Chloe: Hey, Murr!

Rustica: Hello. There’s Shino too.

Shino: I was wondering who is making a commotion here. So it’s you guys. And Owen is with you too.

Chloe – Rustica: Yeah.

Owen: You’re mistaken.

Shino: Anyway, that’s a lot of sweets over there. It’s like they all fell down from the table.

Owen: Hey, don’t get too close. You’ve sand all over you. What if that sticks to the cream.

Chloe: Shino, Murr, you have been sandboarding, right?

Murr: Indeed! We had a competition, you know. The one who catches more of the fish swimming in the sand wins.

Rustica: So who won?

Shino: It was a draw. Murr had the lead but by the end I caught three of them at the same time so I caught up with him.

Murr: I thought my lead was safe enough. But that was really fun! We caught a lot of fish so the people who watched our contest gave us some fruit.

Shino: I’ll give you a special treat and let you see the fish. They’re very fresh.

Chloe: Wow, they’re still moving.

Murr: Do you guys want to go catch them too? We can have a big competition! I saw a fish that were ten times bigger than usual. Perhaps that is the boss of the other fish in the area! I want to capture it!

Rustica: That sounds wonderful. It would be great to chase that big fish together.

Shino: Hey, Owen. It can be tricky to catch desert fish. Shall I show you how?

Chloe: Let’s go, let’s go! Owen, when you’re done with all that…

Owen: You lot have been nothing but annoying.

#summer 2022 #event story

[emotionaldystrophy]

freewrite: puer aeterna

moving with a grunt and sigh, i shift under the covers. cat launches from her haunches off the sill onto mattress. her warm fuzzy head in hand, beans kneading my breasts. good morning. brain continues its conscious contemplations, also shifting from incessant dream of paychecks, packing suitcases, and car i no longer own. covered in the blanket recovered from the laundromat lost and found whilst the fans blow dawn air across my bare and dirty feet, moist face, and crusty eyes. beauty must make the doughnuts because her brain cannot cease its exploration of itself.

oh lord, you should have given me a clear purpose, one that i have not defined for myself. lord, why have you given me this freedom with which to ignore the gathering and admonition of Your People. are they really your people when they force everyone to conform? i thought that was the goal of Satan, your failed, but fondest creation? did you create your son or was He a first attempt? if Jesus were born again today, would he be a They as I've always felt I Am? oh G_d, I love you! I do and always have, but did you not send me to save them? was everything my child brain decided wrong? was I not my most authentic then, before the tar sands and goose feathers of this world were scraped and plucked and dumped upon my skin?

i love men (and sometimes women). i plead to love the way uUu love and saw your archangels in the corner of the room and plead for that sword, that Thorn, to be lodged in the beating center of my world, and uUu obliged. now tell me what it all means because The World...

the world is so loud in my elder years, their breath scorching. was I born in the year of the dragon, bicentennial of the nation, to endure this inferno which I am not the only one to sense? for my head is of hardest keratin, that breaks for skull on skull blows, yet grows back faster than Wolverine's bones, and winds as willowy as European hair.

as a tree, I have thrived everywhere from the deserts of Sonora to the jungles of Jamaica. My spine is strong and from these thick arms grow branches as flexible as whips, and smooth as wax. I have covered the child within my shade, drawn out her tears and offered the wonder of the smallest, humblest leaves. These branches can be weaved into mats against damp ground, or used to lash, nay to inspire fear. such is the flexible nature of my body and soul and yet...

I Am the I am and puer aeterna? must you be so cruel to me Mankind? am I not eternally pure amidst the filth of the three-dimensional realm? am I not seeking the most genuine version of my infantile self? am I not seeking the Father Mother Sister Brother Aunt and Uncle of my soul? to be every iteration, every serpent, every budding flower?

.

calypso jewel, may 5 2024

#calypso jewel #poem #poetry #prose poetry #freewriting #automatic writing #puer aeterna

[bemystargirl]

𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎 — 02

𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 an FBI Agent, Isabella Kingsley, is enlisted into task force 141 to bring down a powerful Mexican drug cartel and their leader, Antonio Marquez involved in a large terrorism scandal.

Isabella leaned back in the wooden chair of the meeting room, She tried her best to ignore the fact that she was surrounded by large probably very dangerous men she had never seen before, some including a mow hawk and a skull mask.

Luckily there were a few familiar faces, Price and Laswell only, she took the seat in the right corner, over looking a few others., she gathered a few names, or call signs?

Mow hawk dude with the obnoxiously loud laugh and weird jokes was called 'soap' she also heard the skull-man call him johnny a few times.

skull-man was referred to 'ghost' a lot and the man with a cap was called 'Gaz'

Weird callsigns, not like she would know FBI agents didn't have callsigns, everyone called her Kingsley or Isabella.

"We got information about a Cartel leader, a terrorist." Laswell looked round the meeting room, ignoring a huff from 'Ghost' as she continued "With the recent.. incident, We're.. nibbing it in the bud."

That's one way to put it.

"Luckily, we've got help from agents, Kingsley will be with us during the mission." Isabella groaned internally listening to the squeaking of the chairs as they all turned to face her, she sent a quick nod going back to picking the dirt under her nails.

It didn't take long for her to zone out, briefing of a seemingly the most difficult mission she will ever do was the last thing on her mind, continuously going back to Jude, the gunshots. The girl. The train. Those fucking terrorist, cartel-- fucks whatever they were.

The muffled music hit her 10 times harder as she stepped inside of the bar, a smile immediately hit her as she noticed his charming smile, deep brown eyes and bright white teeth, Jude.

His whiskey perched in his hand, occasionally swishing the liquid round as he smooth talked some of their co-workers, When his eyes hit hers he grinned. Practically dashing over to her, they met half way.

Her arms wrapped round his neck, hugging him tightly, Isabella grinned up at the led lights. As he chuckled into her brown hair.

"If it isn't Kingsley.." He smirked looking at her shoulder-less black sweater and skinny jeans, His finger running over the scarring over knife mark down her back she shivered. "Te he extrañado mi hermana." He pressed a quick kiss to the cheek. "I've missed you, my sister"

"It's nice to see you, Jude." Isabella smiled waving at the others who lifted a glass up to her, Jude used his large palm to push her towards the others.

"Can't believe your back in action already, Bella." Simone laughed from her seat on the stool waving down the black heel, Isabella smiled.

"Well... got to pay the bills somehow." Isabella let out a dry laugh, everyone followed.

"Yeah.. but you took a pretty nasty fall..." Andrew looked over at the others who nodded and agreed, Isabella fought the urge to scoff, plastering on a smile to her lips.

"Just a few scars." She added with a shrug, some looked at each other for a second before replying

"You were on bed rest for two months... That's a lot of time to be out of work." Jason spoke taking a sip of his beer to coat his judgy words.

"For a gunshot wound, the scar on my back is from scrap car metal." Isabella felt herself getting a little more defensive, the group went silent as Jude spoke up.

"I think your scars pretty cool." He begun, the pad of this finger still tracing over the large sword slash like scar on her back. "But that shits in the past, lets get drunk."

The secluded area in the bar was dimmer, slightly though not much quieter and full of Isabella's and Jude's laughs and chuckles.

"They were being such bitches, dude..." Jude laughed, the whiskey starting to get to them.

"Innit, Like.. I know I was shot, no need to remind me.." Isabella responded, hushing her voice even though the group was on the other side of the room, Jude chuckled.

"I dunno why I even invited them, They're too posh." Jude rolled his eyes, Isabella slapped his arm.

"Simone is dressed like she's going out to a fuckin' night club.. And Andrew is eating that shit up like its his tea." Jude let out a louder laugh, spluttering into his whiskey.

The sound of softer music, started to play... the background singers begun as Isabella and Jude continue to laugh.

After a few minutes the laughter quietens down.

"We should do karaoke."

The two quickly downed the whiskey, stumbling up to the karaoke machine.

"Shit, they have our song." Isabella giggled to herself scrolling through the music choices, before Jude clicked one.

"Any one."

Isabella followed after the soldiers being led out to the military plane, this was going to be a looooong ride.

"Any one."

She felt her nerves rise higher as she stepped inside, she felt so out of place, Trying her best to find a seat which wasn't close to any of those soldiers was hard, until 'Gaz' waved her over.

"You can blame me--" Isabella and Jude begun, their slurred words and drunken giggles taking over the music sometimes but they pushed through, a hand on his arm as they held the microphones close to their mouths.

"Try to shame me."

Isabella reluctantly took the seat, Gaz patted for her, sending him an awkward smile in reality she was quiet thankful someone had offered her a seat.

"And still i'll care for you." The back light behind the karaoke machine burned into their backs, her sunburnt skin and scars open from the sweater she was wearing.

"Welcome to the task force, Kingsley right?" He had the same stupid charming grin Jude had, and a soft voice.

"That's right.. I hear people calling you.. Gaz?" She asked, out of respect sticking a hand out for him to shake he gladly took it. his hands were rough and calloused but somehow the palm of his hand still felt soft against hers.

"It's Kyle, but yeah.. Gaz is my callsign, you?" He asked, letting the light flow under his cap shining his long lashes and brown eyes.

"I'm FBI, we don't really have callsigns, People just normally call me Isabella." She let his hand go, shoving hers back into her jean pocket.

"You can run around."

Jude let out a loud laugh between lyrics as Isabella trips over her shoelace, sending her flying into him, gripping onto his white button up to keep her up.

"Even put me down."

The plane was pretty loud, the sound of the whizzing and beeping didn't exactly overtake their conversation, just enough to where Isabella had to raise her voice.

"You do this stuff often?" Isabella asked, Gaz twisted his head to look at her.

"Not my first rodeo." He shrugged, Isabella nodded turning her head back to the other soldiers. "What 'bout you?"

"Uh.. Sort of, Never actually had to go Mexico to deal with Cartel always in America. "

"Still i'll be there for you."

"This Cartels different, Terrorism and drugs." Isabella looked up at him.

"Well, I'm sure you guys will sort it." Isabella huffed, He shook his head with a frown.

"The world may think i'm foolish, they can't see you.. like i can"

Isabella felt his arm wrap around her shoulders keeping her close as the sung together, ignoring the stares, booing and other drunken slurred words thrown at them.

"Oh but anyone.. who knows what love is.. will understand."

Isabella frowned but continued to sing as he pulled away, checking his phone, his singing died down until he turned to look at her.

"Tengo que irme, hermana. Te veré en el trabajo." He whispered into her ear quickly rushing off the stage and back to grab his leather jacket before leaving the bar.

Isabella was drunk, confused and upset. She didn't understand a word he had said.

"Any one."

She found herself growing fond of Gaz, he was nicer.. less intimidating then the others he had introduced her to Soap which was still a bit awkward to speak to, and their was no chance she would speak to grim reaper over there without wanting to throw herself off the plane.

"I just feel so sorry."

Isabella's eyes were still trained onto the door she watched Jude leave from, her singing was now just background noise to her, she missed her best friend. she was worried, he was her brother, her hermano.

"For the ones who pity me."

" 'cause they just don't know."

"Oh they don't know what happiness and love can be."

"Any one."

"Any one."

"Any one."

[deucedeus]

King of the Boars and the Beasts

A man appeared on the Island of the Wildes. He made his way to the village at the center of the island, donning a mask that had the magic to give the Curse of the Beasts. The man cursed the village's king and family to have beast-like appearances and exiled the cursed king, queen, and their five children into the forest. The masked man became a tyrant and decreed an annual hunt for the cursed royal family. Each year someone fell to the hunt. And each year, a body part from the fallen member was kept as a trophy on the tyrant's mantle.

The arms of the cursed king, great and strong with muscles and claws of stone. The legs of the cursed queen, adorned with large beautiful scales that shimmered emerald even in the dark. The head of the eldest child was kept behind a glass case, snow colored hair and skin blue as night and speckled with light like stars. The eyes of the third eldest twins were irises of crystal and colorful reflection, taken and preserved like jewels on crushed velvet cushions. The heart of the youngest was plucked like a budding rose and sparkled with the most vibrant crimson anyone had ever seen. It was kept in a glass dome to preserve its beauty.

The second oldest had managed to survive for six years according to these deaths. But at the beginning of the seventh year, just as the annual hunt was declared, a massacre took place.

A battalion of wild boars came from the forest, led by the second eldest. The village was a small one and the second eldest slaughtered indiscriminately. In a single day, the villagers had all perished. The last one standing was the tyrant. Boars ate the remains of the villagers while the tyrant and second eldest fought. The two brawled over the mud. The tyrant pulled away and took up the royal sword. The second eldest, displaying thick and tall horns of deep amber, placed hands at the base where the horns and skull met. With a fierce heave, the dazzling amber horns were broken off and wielded like mauls. In the end, the tyrant was made to kneel before the second eldest, return the crown, and give up the magic mask that could inflict the Curse of the Beasts.

The second eldest then mauled the man.

The second eldest returned the body parts of the fallen and gifted the tyrant's crown to the leader of the boars, declaring him King Boar of the Island of the Wildes. The boars returned to the forest and the village was scorched in flame until even the ashes fled on the wind. The second eldest, now king of the boars and the beasts, donned the mask and disappeared into the night, weeping.

#short story #fairy tales #dark fairytale #magical creatures #folk magic #folktales #creative writing #poeticstories #writers #writing #folklore

[anosci]

(76-90 albums etc that I’ve listened to this year, copied from twitter) (now with art. [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7])

names and thoughts below cut

76/ Shpongle - Tales of the Inexpressible (2001) one of the more explicitly pro-toke albums ive heard in a minute. but this includes dub and psy elements. good times, though not my fav shpongle showing i think… weirdly i hear mazedude in this. i suspect hes a fan.

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77/ Gescom - Skull Snap EP (2011) like hip hop fed through turn of the century ukidm like taffy. crunchy mechanical taffy. engrossing.

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78/ Sword of the Far East - 序章 (2011) p sure sam rec'd this to me AGES ago. well im finally listening and: hot damn that's some slappy violin "長い雨" standout personal fav hgoly shit

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79/ Long Arm - Organic (2011) delicious triphop texture. chillhop? idk. great for today's rainy afternoon.

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80/ 100 gecs - 10,000 gecs (2023) fun! i think my fav tracks already appeared on youtube except 1mil dollars, which is "simpler" but fun!

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81/ Antagonist - Rites EP (2023) dark night, hazy lights. a lovely soundscape to envelop me.

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82/ DJ Girl - Hellworld (2023) revisiting all the cool vibes that i felt when discovering juke. i think the opening track is my fav. get down!

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83/ Culprate - 5 Star EP (2011) man i love this sound design. wheres that italian emoji……. 🤌

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84/ Bomb Strikes - Into Battle EP Volume 3 (2011) i think ive sort of oversaturated myself with these. but yet, sometimes… the funk still hits just right. im calling out the AA side specifically.

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85/ VA - Boys Noize Pres. Super Acid (2011) acid!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! to varying degrees. highlight: "Death Suite (Erol Alkan Edit)"!!!! "Uranus" also.

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86/ Culprate - Colours (2011) for some reason this doesnt hit me as hard as culprate usually does..? despite that, it's still filled with really fun sound design. it feels like culprate's take on psytrance sans trance. a journey. always feel sus when i like the last track most :I

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87/ IJO - The Easy Listener (2011) soft jungle jazz. or rather, it has a lot of empty space. just enough to hear the ice melt in your glass between the notes. (im saying this is nice) leans into squarepusher timbre. gotta put it next to him and Clifford Gilberto Rhythm Combo

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88/ The Black Dog - Liber Dogma (2011) deep dark tech no. more deep than bleep, oddly enough. (BD seems to be spearheading a bleep revival.) its been perfect for me as ive been slowly knocking out some work these past few days

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89/ Big Bud - Kool Beans (2011) (ive decided to be extra harsh against dnb) for the most part this almost vibes with me but… eh. the last few tracks drift away from dnb, which i enjoy more. especially the almost future-garage-esque "Righteous Dub"

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90/ BLÆRG - Everything Was Altered (2011) i had an itch for some twitchy perc breakcore and this hit the spot. of course, there's much more than that. a smoothness. it's good.

#media thread