#Follow your self-imposed restraining order | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

swimfuel · 3 years ago

Note

Hey!! The X-men are literally my favorite thing and I was wondering if you could elaborate on how Scott is a knight of doom

YES OF COURSE!!!! i'll put it under a cut since i tend to ramble a bit & i'm pulling a bunch of explanations from people smarter than i am

the knight weaponizes their aspect; they have an inherent understanding of their aspect that allows them to exploit it completely. doom is the aspect of systems, restrictions/limitations, sacrifices, and endings.

one of scott's core themes is reclaiming his restrictions in order to serve others/the greater good! he takes the possible liability that are his faulty powers and shifts them to become an advantage, largely through the strength of his restraint and discipline. his role as a tactician and the way he sees sacrifices (more on that later) also mesh EXTREMELY well with the knight of doom.

i feel like the Wh*don run (specifically astonishing x-men #22-23) really highlights how scott can turn a situation on its head through exploiting his disadvantages to the point where they become tactically advantageous!! like, let's count the ways:

the ship the x-men stole from kruun is obviously bugged, so his team won't be able to communicate without being overheard. he realizes this, and uses that restriction (being overheard) as an advantage, by falsifying their course of action.

he has been left "without his powers"—he presents a restriction that lowers the guard of his adversary and grants him entry to their home base. he then subverts this by exploding the shit out of everything when an opportune moment arrives

HE LITERALLY EXPLOITS DEATH...... HE EXPLOITS HIS OWN DEATH...................FOR THE GREATER GOOD..........DUDE???? someone get this man an advil

some more thoughts, followed by some examples by people smarter than me:

he exhibits a similar pattern of idolization/realization with xavier irt karkat/HICand dave/bro.... not sure if this by itself is a knight-y thing but i think the consistent disillusionment with their role in defending their aspect is interesting (aka knight burnout, more on that later)

he is def willing to sacrifice shit for the greater good of mutantkind. the shit in question sometimes being his closest friends and allies. the examples that stick out to me are how he allowed beast to get tortured (utopia era) while executing his plan to solve All His Problems At Once & also when he sent x-force to the future to defend hope knowing it was going to be a one-way trip

that entire issue revolving around just how GOOD scott is at self-repression😭😭😭 i'm pretty sure it's post-schism utopia era i don't remember the exact issue WAIT NVM i'm pretty sure it's uncanny #518

seeing phoenix!scott as an inversion to (rogue of) life is also an interesting concept (unchecked growth!)

the amount of responsibility he feels he has to take on (partially due to his idolization cycle w xavier/xavier's dream) is also both knight-y and doom-y

and of course the instinct to protect the people around him --> being expanded into the whole of mutantkind (which, in turn, expands his sense of obligation)

everything leading up to revolutionary cyclops is also very interesting through this framework because its reminiscent of the knights & doom players in hs! the "taking on an insane burden" (phoenix force, whatever whammied mituna) -> the "resignation to the fate handed to him by his aspect" (his stint in prison, dead daves, sollux in general) -> the "refusal to accept that fate" (prison break, dave not wanting to use time travel, sollux fucking off into the dreambubbles, karkat coming to terms w his relationship w leadership) --> experiencing knight burnout at the end of revolutionary era going into death of x

im not sure exactly how to put it into words but everything about his childhood/teenhood... like being surrounded by forces seeking to control him and use him for their own ends..... idk

(from @/land-of-classpects-and-analysis, sections highlighted red are of particular interest)

HIS GIANT STINKING MARTYR COMPLEX.....DUDE😭😭

side note & ive mentioned this before but scottjean is an interesting parallel to davejade in a way i cant verbalize

Then there are the ones who may accept [the fact of inevitable human suffering], and so choose to live in high alert of any danger - any threats - as well as living in fear of what harm may befall them and/or their loved ones. It is this third and final group of people that so deeply marks that of the Knight of Doom.

Now, this might cause a few eyebrows to become quirked. After all, a Knight? Being fearful of something - nevertheless that thing being related to their Aspect? Knights do often present themselves as ruthless and fearless warriors, yes, but that is only because their Aspects and the world around them raised and called them to act as such.

... A key factor in the Knight’s life, specifically before their journey truly begins, is that they are already well equipped with their Aspect.

... The Knight of Doom is one where their Aspect being all around them is far more bittersweet than anything else.

... What is important to acknowledge is that the facade the Knight of Doom puts up is not only to hide the fear they have for their Aspect, but it is most definitely there to hide the grief and pain they have not yet completely finished going through. Whether it’s been weeks or years, the Knight of Doom is someone who would rather hide themself away from these feelings than find a way to truly mend and heal them ... they have built a false wall between them and their suffering strong and thick enough to partially block it from their memory.

... Knights are known to become extremely stubborn whenever people try to order them around and pressure them into doing something, and the Knight of Doom is no different - especially if they believe what they are doing is for the greater good.

(from @/dahniwitchoflight)

Dahni’s Explanantion: “Doom can be a negative force that rejects and harms, fostering a sense of hostility or sadness. But, it is also the idea that you can pull backwards and cautiously and wisely withdraw into your own self. It can be the idea of Control taken from the sharp Black and White Restrictions that everything in the world gets sorted into. It understands community necessity and need, responsibly pulling back and lowering you down into its lap to help wind yourself down. Doom then is an ultimate gentle Equalizer, instilling its players with an internal sense of Acceptance and eventually true Wisdom.”

Knight of Doom: One who Exploits with Doom or Exploits Doom

Knights hide a fear of a perceived fundamental failure with their Aspect behind a shield of confidence and obsessive effort. Their challenge is to learn to take it down a notch and to understand that they are skilled enough

A Knight is very skilled with using the rules and limitations of any game or session to their advantage. They skillfully fulfill any responsibility or obligation required of them with ease. They might use their natural caution and pessimism to make realistic choices and endeavors. They use and exploit any rule or limit that they can to their advantage. They might also be very good at exploiting any sacrifices made or any obligation or responsibility that they are held to. They might be very good at avoiding any unnecessary thing or person and are very good at recognizing when something is too futile to even bother with.

Likewise they might only focus on the necessary things in their game or session so they are likely to not do much unless it’s absolutely necessary. They would very likely be very meticulous with themselves about following the rules properly and constantly restrict themselves, maybe thinking they aren’t following the rules properly enough or not following the right ones. They might sacrifice anything they consider unnecessary about themselves or the way they live, sometimes even going too far with it, in order to be considered or thought of as less useless. They’re always trying harder and holding themselves to extreme self-imposed standards.

They would likely wait for the opportune moment to strike, though they are slow to move or act, they always will when something necessary needs to happen. Out of all the Doom players, a Knight of Doom seems like the one most likely to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. A Knight of Doom can also expertly use and exploit fire, bombs and explosions to their advantage, maybe they create flashy distractions during fights. They might even use decaying or dying things to their advantage.

(from @/communistvriska)

Role in the Session: Rather like the Prince of Doom, this role’s title kinda has “edgelord” written all over it, but that’s not a set-in-stone character trait. The first thing that comes to mind re: what the Knight Class and the Aspect of Doom have in common is a strong sense of obligation. The Knight of Doom is bound to take their duties and responsibilities Extremely Seriously, perhaps rather too seriously at first ... Knights also tend to be very protective of both their Aspect as a concept, and of themselves and those close to them; while the Knight of Doom isn’t likely to be outwardly aggressive, given Doom’s reserved, slow-burn tendencies, woe betide those who try to deceive or confound the Knight or their allies. One of Doom’s internal contradictions (which I find personally fascinating) is that the aspect is associated both with cynical resignation and with a profound albeit restrained sense of passion and persistence. Doom is what’s left after everything else gets burnt away.

The Knight of Doom will likely be a very skilled combatant, as the Knight is a class strongly associated with Strife / battle, and Doom is one of the more overtly destructive Aspects. I’d put them in the Top 5 Roles to use a cool flamin sword, at least. They’re not going to be eager to fight, per se, but they’re not going to have much trouble scaling the echeladder when it comes to that either. Internally, they’re likely to struggle with a perceived (but largely imagined) inability to fulfill their duties, and they could well stumble once or twice in their quest to be perceived as reliable and stoic, or as someone who their friends can lean on. They’re probably doing more than enough already, but if they’re not careful they might overexert themselves and take on too heavy a burden, and they’re liable to be crushed by their own expectation that they face their challenges alone. This is going to factor into their capital-Q Quest and the environment of their planet, and will be the biggest obstacle in their path to Ascension. A Knight’s duty is to protect their co-players, but their co-players also have to support them.

#mail #scott summers

26 notes · View notes

mintseesaw · 4 years ago

Text

Aurora | 4

Pairing: general!jungkook x reader!princess x prince!jimin Genre: angst, fluff, historical au, forbidden love affair au Word count: 8.3k Warnings: themes of abduction and insurgence, imposing abortion as a punishment, story setting is heavily patriarchal // rating: 18+

translations of unfamiliar words will be provided below ^^

*unedited

masterlist

Previously...

“Did you miss me, Princess ________?” You heard him greet from behind. The sultry yet sweet tone of his voice, compelling you to face him as if your unwillingness to meet him so suddenly wasn’t there, anymore.

With a graceful turn, your solicitous expression caused by your unintended tryst last night gone in a flash tipping your chin forward to display a false confidence in front of the prince.

The amusement on his face widens, taking notice of the exceptional glow radiating from the princess. Have you been dolling yourself up just for him? The certain strangeness in the dark of your orbs igniting fire in him before he blinks and it vanishes, gone without a trace of acknowledgement from the weight of your stare.

He crosses the offending distance, smiling sweetly before he took hold of your hand and kisses your knuckles with an ardent gaze clashing against yours that harbor the coldness he had grown accustomed with.

“My lord,” an old man hurriedly attended to Jungkook just as he took an empty table without a word. Must be the owner of the stall. Uttering his request, the owner bobbed his head low before vanishing from his line of vision.

He was supposedly going to have breakfast with you after having tediously cooked the dishes, himself. The lack of light in your eyes and your dead enthusiasm had spoiled his appetite, and severely wounded his soul. Nothing could probably ease the ache sitting beneath his ribcage. Not when the intimacy he shared with you the night before and your cold treatment of him earlier painfully reverberated in his head like a roaring thunder in the sky.

You, giving him mixed signals, confused the hell out of his weak, young heart.

What am I supposed to do with you, Jagiya?

Perhaps, it was the uncertainty that was instigated by your emotions. That must have been the only reason.

Shortly after, the old man came back with an empty cup, pouring it full with rice wine from the bronze pitcher he brought with him. Jungkook mumbled an audible thanks before chugging down the alcohol like an angry man on his bad day.

“This isn’t something we both have a choice of.”

Your voice echoes in his head. A sweet, delicate voice that could easily slice his heart into two with your mere heartless words. A smirk made its way on his face, despite the amusement never reaching up his eyes.

There is nothing left to decide on because you’ll be with him in the end. He wouldn’t leave you, again. He wouldn’t lose his only chance he has to claim you as rightfully his. When he almost lost you back in the days you were young, right in his arms, before his eyes— it was the day he promised to show you what his heart truly desires. Whatever the cost may be.

He had never been that frantic in his life. Not even when he saw with his own eyes the deep cut in his arm gushing too much blood when he was young. Not when two poisonous arrows almost killed him in the battlefield.

When he stripped the covering off of the suspicious cart in search of any sign of you, the last thing he was expecting to see was your unconscious body, with your restrained arms and a piece of cloth stuffed in your mouth. With your aristocratic braids gone, he couldn’t see much of your face as your hair hung loose covering half of your face as your body lied down in a foetal position, as if you tried to make up with the little space the average sized cart provided which was filled dominantly by materials of what looked like rolls of linens of various colors.

He knew it was you.

Despite the filth covering your attire down to the skin of your bare hands, and your seemingly thinner frame, the mere sight of the body screams everything about you.

At the time, his younger self was almost sure he was going to explode at any moment from the excruciating constriction in his chest.

His eyes were livid while they scanned over the blood bathed bodies scattered around the cart that were slain by the sharp edges of his sword, looking for another sign of danger. When he was certain that none of the rebels on the ground were moving, he dropped his weapon.

“Princess!” He calls out, his bloody hands leaving imprints of the dirt-covered article of your hanbok as he shook your shoulders none too gently, desperate to wake you.

To no avail, you remain unconscious. The sight of you in a devastating state dreaded him. His younger self thought his world right there and then was collapsing, his surroundings slowing down and his gaze shrinking and focusing into you alone. Not even a pittance of fear shook him despite killing a group of rebels, none of the fact that he stood there alone fighting for his life did. None. Not until he pulled the bamboo mat off of the cart.

Where the fuck is that old man?

It’s been hours since Lord Min suddenly came up to his residence, forcing him out of his slumber at dawn without telling him the purpose of his abrupt disturbance.

When the scholar said he found another lead, Jungkook only took it lightly—not knowing it would turn out to be the key to finally locate you.

Lord Min led him to a trail behind a group of merchants who were supposed to exchange goods on the capital’s port with Mongolian merchants. When the suspicious group split into two directions— it left him and the scholar no option but to part ways as well. However, Jungkook insisted on following the merchants who particularly brought their supposed cart of goods.

As soon as he took his outer layer of robe to cover it on your shivering body, the morning breeze hits him mercilessly. Discreetly, he gathers you in his arms. As he sets you on his lap on the ground, he removes the cloth in your mouth, while pressing a trembling hand on your chest to feel your heartbeat.

“Your Highness,” he tried once more when he sensed a faint beating against your chest. His hands shuffle to remove the tie around your wrists.

“Come on… open your eyes for me, Princess.” He whispered desperately, tears freely rolling down on his cheeks without him ever noticing.

He gasped when he caught the slightest bit of movement from you. He thought he might have been hallucinating out of his desperation to see you alive. But then, you proved him wrong as your heavy eyelids slowly peeled open, before they closed shut, again.

“Your Highness! Please… do you hear me? Can you open your eyes again?”

You did, and with your slightly parted mouth, you drew a breath in heavily.

“W-Who are you?” you managed to rasp, almost inaudibly. However, he was too close not to miss what you said. Too close to be deemed righteous around the lady he desires. He didn’t care, because your cold body needed as much as heat from him. Nothing else mattered more to him than to save your life.

“It’s me, Jungkook. I am Prince Taehyung’s friend—“

“I-I… must… be dreaming,” you croaked in between dry, painful coughs.

“You’re not dreaming. Please, don’t talk. It's hurting you.” He chokes back a sob.

“Is this real? You finally noticed me,” you pause, only to breathe through your mouth once more. “I’m… tired, I want to rest,” you say without opening your eyes. But the moisture pooling out of your eyes meant one thing to him. You’ve been suffering from immense pain.

“No, no, no. Please, stay with me. Lord Min is coming to get us. He’ll be here soon,” he coos, not caring how he sounded a little more desperate, taking your cold hands up in his mouth to warm them up.

Jungkook continuously rocked your shivering body back and forth on his lap, never removing his eyes on you. He wanted to embrace you tight, cover you with his body to protect you from the horrible cold of the morning weather but he was afraid he would crush you.

He waited, waited and helplessly waited. Lord Min would come find him. That was what he reminded Jungkook as before they parted ways in the woods.

It was him and Lord Min who found you, even when the King had ordered a mass search for his missing daughter.

---

Although your disappearance was largely perceived as abduction, neither evidence nor eye witness was found to support the claim, hence stirring the urge to find you, himself. Roughly 10 days after you were last seen, not even a single trace of your whereabouts had been identified. Something was definitely off with the way the case was being handled. The lack of progress on the investigation drove the King in extreme desperation as well as the court in anguish due to the King’s adverse political decisions.

In spite of the rumors of insurgence spreading like a common gossip story in the villages surrounding the capital, the rumors fall on deaf ears in the court on the possibility that your disappearance was plotted by the rebel forces. As if the missing person was not a princess whom the rebels could use as a pawn to bend the King on his knees.

Jungkook spent most of his days in the capital, inside the gambling houses, pretending to play with men of all sorts of class. On some days, he visited the courtesan’s house capital marketplace under the disguise of an interested guest due to the rumors that some gisaengs, at the time, were avid followers of the insurgence. At nights, he pieced together the collective stories he tediously gathered during the day.

One day, he decided to make progress on his investigation, spying on a group of merchants trading with Jurchen merchants who were pretending under the guise of Mongolian heritage. It was Mina, a gisaeng whom he somehow befriended when his visits at the courtesan’s house had frequented, who shared her discovery of a Mongolian merchant accidentally revealing his identity when he fluently spoke a dialect she distinguished as her mother tongue since she was a Jurchen-born immigrant.

He didn’t find any suspicious or illegal goods being traded on the port nor could he confirm the real heritage of the merchants. However, on his way back to the capital, he was cornered by a man he recognized as one of the merchants in the port.

To his surprise, the merchant was strangely skilled enough to defeat him in a fight— scoring a severe cut on Jungkook’s side. He didn’t think the merchant would be merciful enough to let him live when Jungkook fell to the ground after what seemed like several minutes of intense sword-to-sword combat. Strangely enough, the merchant was forgiving and instead of ending the life out of him, the merchant took his time to scrutinize every item inside the satchel Jungkook brought with him. By then, he had already sensed that the man was anything but a mere trader.

Breathing heavily, he pressed his hand hard to his bloody waist as he watches the merchant curiously unfold a piece of hanji. It was the trade map he had drawn a few days ago, alongside the location where the camp can be found.

Jungkook knew it was over for him as he saw a glint of recognition in the eyes of the merchant.

After what seemed to be a long moment of silence, the merchant looks at him. “What is this map for?”

Jungkook laughed dryly and as his shoulders shook a little, a surge of pain shot in his core. He winces as the sensation doubled over his effort to make fun of the act the merchant was pulling in front of him.

“Are you one of them?”

If the merchant understood what he meant, he simply chose to ignore it. “I’m asking you a question, kid.”

“You’re one of them, are you not? I’m most certain you know what that map is.” Jungkook gritted through his teeth as the pain on his side intensified, spreading like a magma on his midriff.

By now, the merchant’s focus zeroed in on him. “You know about the camp? Who do you work for, kid?” The merchant interrogates, further. Though the man remained passive, Jungkook found it odd to notice the slightest bit of awe in the eyes of the strange man.

“You tell me, you act like you know my every activity.”

The merchant only raised an eyebrow. “Well, here’s the truth. I’m not a rebel. I’m not a merchant, either. I will help you if you tell me what you have gotten about the camp so far.”

Jungkook darted a glare at him. “As you can see, I’m heavily wounded, literally. You think I still care?”

“You’ll live,” the merchant dismisses nonchalantly, which made Jungkook scoff in disbelief.

“Look kid, I’m not going to kill you. But in exchange for your life, you’ll help me follow the movement.”

“It’s not like you gave me an option to decline.” Jungkook weakly contended.

The merchant effortlessly helped him up from the ground, “Come on, my grandfather is a physician. He’ll tend to your wound.”

Jungkook learned that the merchant who introduced himself as Lord Min turned out to be a scholar. He was writing a case relative to the alleged insurgence centering mostly in poor villages in the capital. Although he didn’t fully trust the scholar, sparing Jungkook his life was enough reason for him to disclose the true nature of his investigation to the scholar who was, at the time, penning colloquial stories about the insurgence.

Lord Min paused his scribbling, throwing a look of surprise at his new-found friend. “Did I hear you right? You believed the princess was abducted by the rebels?”

Jungkook only shrugged, already concluding what the scholar would say next. “It’s not the first time someone thought I was going crazy for telling them that.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I have been following the movement for months now,” Lord Min asserted, which prompted Jungkook to look back at him. “And since I heard about the sudden disappearance of the princess, it was the only theory I could come up with. Unless…” Lord Min trailed, taking notice of the interest glinting in Jungkook’s eyes.

“Unless?” Jungkook echoed expectantly.

Lord Min pretended to be in deep thought before adding up, “There is a lover involved.”

In disbelief, Jungkook threw a scornful look at him. “There’s no man in her life, I’m sure of that.” He remarked with conviction, folding his arms in his chest.

To his surprise, Lord Min hollered into fits of laughter, only severing the look of disdain on Jungkook’s expression. “For a young soldier like you, you seemed to be a little more concerned about the princess.” The older man remarked, meaningfully.

---

“Isn’t it too early to be drinking on your own, kid?” Taunts a voice, forcing him out of his reverie. With a lift of his head, his eyes landed on a commoner seemingly older than him adorned in a daffodil shade of a simple robe. Half of the man’s face was covered in conical shaped hat and just as the man tipped it high with his fingers, Jungkook immediately recognized the person standing across his table.

Your breath hitches on your throat as the warmth of his mouth sends tingles straight through your veins. With a subtle tug of your hand from his hold, the prince almost didn’t take your silent plea, not without his companion guard clearing their throat that snapped him out of daze.

If there’s particularly one thing that stood out to him aside from his aristocratic, --almost polished physical features, it was his forthright admission of his feelings on you. The was the he had made a move in regards to feelings. You appreciate the way he had not once tried to break into your boundaries for his satisfaction.

After what had happened, the least person you expected to see is him. The only man who had the guts to be with you despite the rumors that tainted your reputation. Guilt thrums heavily through your veins more than the throbbing of your muscles in your body.

Jimin deserves someone far better than what you can offer. Not with your heart, and most definitely not with your broken chastity.

“Your Excellency,” you greeted, tilting your head low in a subtle bow. Your eyes stayed firm on the ground, refusing to return his stare as you murmur, “I trust your journey has not been too much for you?”

You missed the way your concern roused a smile up on his flawless face or you would have flushed right away. “It was as expected. I am an impatient man, but it was worth the trouble now that my reward is standing in front of me.”

Taken aback at this teasing remark, your mouth unconsciously parted. You didn’t have the time to retract from the proximity he initiated just as he extended his arm, his palm meeting one of your cheeks as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. The pad of his thumb feather lightly caresses the softness of your skin there.

The abruptness of his move left you immobile for a moment, the heat coming from his hand involuntarily eliciting goosebumps to come out on your covered arms.

“Have you been well, little flower? I couldn’t be at peace knowing your health is not in the best condition. I was a thread of breath away from forcing my way into your quarters just to check on you myself, but you may never forgive me for if I ever disrespect your privacy.”

“There’s nothing to worry of. Mayhaps... my body has not been reacting too kindly to the cold weather. I had since taken herbal teas to help me recover.” The lie glided smoothly out of your tongue, piercing your lower lip with your teeth to prevent yourself from throwing up out of disgust.

The way his head bobs up lightly made you believe he bought your excuse. “Very well. Will you allow me to accompany you?” He whispers, as if it’s possible to turn down a powerful man like him.

“Of course, Your Excellency.” The smile you plastered on your face was enough to conceal your fears for now.

At your answer, the court ladies immediately hurried towards the recreational area, pulling the wooden chairs for you and the prince to sit on.

You take the opportunity to pull back from his touch as an excuse to occupy one of the chairs.

Mimicking your move, he settled on a seat, one that was the closest to yours. He then motions a dismissive wave on the watchful eyes of his guards, giving him and the rest of the court ladies a silent order to leave you two alone. With a bow, everyone retreated back down onto the ground, obediently.

As he turns his attention back at you, he asks, “Do you like to tease me, Princess?”

“W-What do you mean?” Your stutter evoked a subtle grin to reappear on the corners of his mouth. While your insides are a mess, the delight shining in his eyes lets you know he couldn’t see right through your miserable heart.

The subtle smile on the corners of his mouth stretches wider, “You know I like it when you call me by my name.”

His teasing once again scores a twin stain on your cheeks. Although you remain placid with his remark, he didn’t miss the immediate rush of blood coloring your face that, in return, earned a smirk from him.

Blinking, you straightened your back. “Why are you not appropriately dressed for the season, Your Excellency?”

Prince Jimin beamed in your attempt of changing the subject, eyes glimmering in glee. “My attire is fine. Mayhaps, if you are concerned, I can put on another layer of thick robe.”

Quickly, you shake your head. “There’s no need for such if you don’t feel like the weather is too much for you. Winter has just begun and only a few weeks more before the weather becomes unbearable, especially for envoys like yourself.”

“I can only imagine how our departure would be like.”

“You chose to come to the kingdom during the winter. Is there something that’s urgent on your purpose not to delay it until the weather has calmed down?”

”The only urgent thing I found was to see you. Have I not made it clear from the beginning?”

You purse your lips, afraid to voice out your thoughts. On the other hand, Jimin was way too deep in the subject to notice the slightest bit of trouble reflecting in your eyes.

“I didn’t think any woman would stir my interest after having my heart broken when I was young. You know, my brother—the Emperor gifted me a marriage in exchange for my service in the military. I was supposed to leave the palace for a while to visit my bride. The Emperor halted my plan only to have me represent him on his behalf during the coronation of Queen Soheon. If I didn’t come here, I would have been married by now.”

Burying your trembling hands on your lap, you distracted yourself with the beauty of the winter blooms on the pond, swallowing the gasp that threatened to spill as an involuntary reaction. His revelation left a lasting impact on you. In your head, you could hear yourself screaming the truth in front of him. He shouldn’t be this infatuated over you.

“Perhaps, you are well enough to company out of the palace? You still owe me a tour to the capital.” The prince posits all too suddenly.

Swiftly, he stood up and offered a helping hand in front of you. The sun is barely out, concealed with the thick layers of clouds to which is a great opportunity to wander around in the marketplace. Your false confidence slowly faltering as seconds turn to minutes with his gaze sweeping on your whole length. You accepted his hand, granting his wish. It was the least you could do to make up for him travelling a thousand miles to see you.

The following day, an event is set to be held in Changdeok to pay tribute for army’s victory in defeating the rebel forces in one of the borders in Joseon. Hours earlier than the customary outset in the palace, the finishing touches on the day’s festivities have already been wrapped up by the court ladies even before the sun rises on the east.

Historically, the day held no significance to the royal court nor to any prominent military figure in the nation. However, some weeks prior to the present day, the king received a letter from the young general relative to the army’s arrival to the capital, hence, the sudden establishment of a dogam to organize a jinchan for the returning heroes from the northern border.

With the anticipated attendance of the royal family in the morning banquet, you were forced to rise at dawn to prepare for your participation for the festivity.

Shortly after the attendants have finished braiding your hair, your morning tea was served just before you are set to leave your quarters.

“There will be two more banquets after the event in the morning, Your Highness.” Hyowon, one of the court ladies attending to your daily nourishment answers when you absentmindedly voiced out your thought as she pours a tea on your cup.

Fortunately, you were not foolish enough to utter the name of the man who’s been haunting your dreams since time immemorial. She may only be a distant relative of Jungkook, but the same blood runs thick in their veins and you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of anyone, much less to anyone related to him.

You nodded, taking your cup and hold it up to your lips.

Traditionally, the nighttime festivity is said to be the most anticipated from all sorts of celebrations as the audience who are commonly from noble descent look forward on the performances of high-class entertainers. Jungkook is obligated to attend all the events for the day as one of the honorary guests of the jinchan.

The supposed banquet is going to be your first attendance in a political gathering ever since you were given the title of a gongju on your seventh birthday. The thought was making you uneasy in some way in case something unforeseen transpires during the celebration, that it would be denunciated by the curse you were forced to live with in your lifetime. However, the thought of him present in the same room with you brings more in disarray.

A court lady from the dogam came to escort you to the reception afterwards. And not long after the arrival of Queen, the massive doors of the dining hall flew opened, revealing the King as he enter the premises.

Perhaps, you would still have had a clear view on whole expanse of the dining hall if not for the ivory article covering the totality of the platform where you and the rest of the royal palace women.

Meals have been simultaneously served just as the King had announced the ceremonial toast indicating the beginning of the celebration. An instrumental piece played by the musicians proceeded after, keeping the atmosphere pleasantly solemn despite the audible chatters in the hall.

From your seat, you could only see the king’s back as he led the banquet—sitting at the head of the table while the rest of the state and military officials sat in two long sets of vertically-arranged sobans. Despite the barrier, it was not difficult for you to locate where the man of your thoughts was settled at just by the mere sight of his silhouette. There he was beside Prince Taehyung, seemingly fascinated with the performances on the center if not occupied with something Prince Taehyung was telling him.

You could never change the way you treated him so poorly, yesterday. Your hostility was uncalled for, but perhaps, it was enough to displease him enough to lose his interest in you.

“You are not eating your meal, Gongju. Are the dishes not to your liking?” Princess Consort Sooyoung asks. Unlike you, your sister-in-law seems to enjoy the sumptuous serving on the soban, as opposed to your lack of enthusiasm on the food.

“It’s not that. Perhaps, it was too early for me to consume anything solid after I had my morning the tea.”

You drag your hand up on the table, picking up the pair of chopsticks to nestle them in between your fingers. To ease her worry, you attempted to touch the sweet flavored delicacy among the servings.

The banquet progressed rather slowly. As hours passed by, your legs grew numb from the lack of physical movement. It didn’t help that the remnants of muscle aches from your intimacy with Jungkook still lingers. Your sister-in-law caught the discomfort in your expression.

“Gongju,” Princess Consort Sooyoung calls for your attention, once more.

Tearing your gaze away from Jungkook, you tilt your head on the side to meet her solicitous eyes.

“Is your breathing alright? I noticed your heaving has frequented.”

“Uhh...I’m alright, Bubuin.” You falter. Instinctively, your eyes flew back to where he was situated. Your sister-in-law followed the trail of your gaze, and it was only then that she had pieced together the reason.

She chuckles softly, “I thought you were having difficulty with your breathing.”

Your face incredibly flushed with her words.

She didn’t attempt to speak to you after that, seemingly distracted in one of the ceremonial performances of the banquet.

Three hours later, the first phase of the jinchan had finally come to conclude to your relief.

When it was your turn to be escorted out of the hall, you couldn’t help but skim your eyes across the expansive lot. Of course, the chances of running into him are very slim to none. Not only that he was in a rush to leave the reception, but he would also take the path on the west out of the palace while you would take the opposite direction to go back to your quarters.

You thought wrong. Because the moment you arrive at the entrance of the Gyeongbok, you catch on the back of his frame on the small stretch between the library and the tall concrete wall.

Your heart instantly jumped at the mere sight of him adorned on the same uniform he wore the day before. But something didn’t make sense. What is he doing in the main palace—hiding there right after the banquet has ended?

The court lady remained still behind you as you tried to build up the courage to approach him. Perhaps, apologize for your behavior yesterday. But then as he shifted on his feet, you caught a glimpse of a hanbok across him— appearing nothing like the clothing of any man. A lady.

“You have the freedom to choose any woman in your life.”

Your own words hurriedly came rushing back on you, nearly losing your footing when the weight on your chest grew heavier. You couldn’t breathe.

“Princess—” you jumped at the sound of a low baritone voice from behind, the same voice you’ve known by heart since you were little.

Sheepishly, you turned to face your brother, his forehead crumpled causing his eyebrows to meet into a line.

“You looked like you’ve seen an apparition,” Prince Taehyung jests, with his face remaining passive without a trace of playfulness despite his obvious teasing.

That’s because you did! You seethed, internally. With an ugly emotion slowly seeping through your veins, you find it difficult to display indifference as if something—someone was not putting you in an emotional distress.

“Your Excellency,” you greeted half-heartedly.

“You are aware about the luncheon tomorrow, right? I am expecting you in my courtyard, little flower.”

“Of course,” You briefly answered. His face finally stretched into a grin, ruffling your neatly braided hair before bidding a farewell.

When you spun back to peer at the spot where Jungkook and his female companion were standing— nothing. No one was there anymore. Jungkook is gone, and so is the lady he was with.

The scene remained etched in your brain the rest of your day. Being unable to stay still in the confines of your quarters, you decided to do readings in in the library.

You were alone, just like what you have asked to your attendants, with the exception of a guard outside. Shortly after going through the shelves in the House of Yi section, you once again stumbled upon a book of biographical sketches after secretly reading the book several years ago. The sight of it alone refreshes your memory of the things you have discovered written in the pages of the books—specifically about Princess Moyoung, your grandfather’s eldest sister who slowly died in the hands of her husband who was born from a fourth class family.

It was said to be the matter that pressured the next royal generations to marry off any king’s daughter to a yangban which was prohibited prior to the princess’ unfortunate case to avoid any arising political conflicts.

It was the same thought that bothered you even when you had gone back in your quarters, bathed, and dressed in your night robe. If your father were still living, would he insist on keeping you in the palace? Or would he allow your supposed matrimonial union with Jimin over one with Jungkook?

However, you understand that either selection is a sacrifice. Life is about losing something to gain something else. You know what will be taken from you if you were to possibly end up with Jungkook. But what could you have possibly gained if you were to lose the man who owns your soul? An extravagant life with the prince?

The ache in your heart has sat idly in your chest since this morning. Your time in the library seemed to have worsened your distress as pain starts to sear in your head.

You stood up. Your attendant mimicking your movement to smoothen the sleeves of your silk robe. “I do not wish to be followed,” you simply say. They crouched their upper body low, conveying a silent message of obedience.

As you pass through the L-shaped corridor leading to the outdoor of your quarters, the rectangular hallway making up the main pathway of the courtyard is eerily quiet and empty. With subtle luminance provided by the light torches on each post you passed by, it was just as exactly the way you expected Gyeongbok during this time around. The reason why you chose to be alone since no one else will run into your way this time of night.

However, at your third turn, just as you enter the borderline of the queen’s courtyard, you hear a distinct sound of door opening from afar followed by the heavy, collective footsteps ringing in the air. As the footsteps grew louder, you hurriedly ran to the side of the greenhouse to hide, afraid of being seen without a companion to look after your care.

“Your Majesty!”

You bite your lip as your heartbeat picks up at the sound of a male voice—assumingly the queen’s eunuch, as if in desperation to stop Her Majesty to wherever she intends to go at this hour.

You didn’t know how long you were hiding there at the side of the greenhouse but it wasn’t long enough for you to be able to hold your breath until the traces of the footsteps were fading.

When any sign of human sound was out of earshot, you finally heave a sigh out of relief, taking a solid peek through the corner of the wooden wall to confirm your guess. Considering the pathway clear and safe from any presence, you cautiously proceed back to your footpath.

Merely focused on either side of your vision, you failed to sense that someone was making their way onto your direction. Their presence became known only when your arm was snatched from behind and a calloused palm right away covered your mouth, losing your chance to call for help. Panic immediately surges through your veins, your shock causing you to freeze momentarily.

Even without having a single look at your perpetrator, the feel of his thick arm around your waist lets you know you don’t stand a chance against their immense built and incredible strength. Just as you recovered from your shock, you frantically squirmed about against their hold but the more you struggle, the tighter their arm gets around your waist, pulling you flushed against their body.

“Why is Lady Yi- being punished?” Demanded Queen Soheon the moment she stepped foot inside the King’s quarters.

King Namjoon sprang up to his feet to meet her half-way, concern stirring immediate in him at the sight of his wife, noting the way her voice unusually croaked and holding such heavy emotion. He silently curses, taking notice how upset she had seemed to be over the scandal the concubine had caused all to herself.

“Sit down, my love. You shouldn’t allow your emotions to run high, it’s not good for your condition.”

Queen Soheon is always calm and graceful no matter how grave the situation is. He had not once witnessed her lose her innate grace ever since he married her, with the exception of the times he was intimate with her.

“Why?” She repeated, her eyes burning with fire.

“My love—”

“Jeonha, please… stop with your sweet filters and answer me why you didn’t stop them from forcing her to drink the medicine?”

He sighs just as he attempted to place her in his embrace. To his dismay, she pulled a good amount of distance between them, clearly setting the line of her anger on the matter, right straight to him.

How can he possibly be sure you would never find this matter out when only a slip of a tongue can give her the idea of what transpired some hours ago.

“You know I cannot disrespect Halma-mama’s power when it comes to the women in the inner court.”

As the Grand Royal Dowager Queen holds the highest rank in the inner court, it would only be necessary to say his grandmother ordered the punishment, when in fact it was never her idea to impose a harsh discipline on the concubine. However, the appeal of the elders in the inner court to decide on the fate of her unlawful conceiving resulted in a consensus decision to abort the unborn child. Unless the queen is proven to be sterile, the inner court strictly prohibits the harem to carry a King’s child.

“She is carrying your child!”

He knows that, very well. But he wished his wife would refrain from carrying the weight of her emotions as it might put a toll on her health and consequently affect their unborn child. “Calm down,” King Namjoon prompted cautiously.

He could never forgive himself for failing to protect his unborn child from being stripped off the chance to live in a world where his/her father rules out a kingdom. Never in this lifetime and in the next would he ever learn to spare himself the forgiveness.

“You know, Lady Li and I are both with child. If I were not your queen, you’d simply allow them to get rid of my child, would you not?”

He reaches out, once more. “No, no. Of course, not. Not under my watch.”

But the queen was quick enough to retract from the close proximity.

Perhaps, he was right. He cannot have the power to overrule the inner court, but why does his words feel insincere? It made her suddenly fear for her own child’s life despite the position she holds. When her mother warned her about the sickening life in the palace and the doctrines in the inner court, she never thought it would come to this extent.

How can she look at his family and pretend everything is alright. One wrong move and might lose her child as well.

All too suddenly, she could feel herself slowly being overwhelmed with disgust, needing the urge to throw up.

She couldn’t stand being here, to see anyone just yet. She fixes a glare at her attendants, warning them not to follow her. Her eyes lingered on him for a second before she took a swift turn, exiting her way out of the vicinity.

With quick strides, he followed her trail, only to spin back around, skimming through each one of servants in his quarters.

“No one must follow me or the queen,” his eyes particularly burned at his eunuch. “Do you understand?” He glowered, not waiting for them to answer as he too disappeared into the halls of his royal residence.

When you felt their grasp loosening, you began thrashing out as fear dominated your senses. Even with their hand pressed firmly on your mouth, you could hear your own sobs croaking out of your throat. And as if your pellucid fear had triggered them to stiffen, their hold around your waist loosened. But the adrenaline running in your senses all vanished the moment they finally spoke.

“Jagiya.”

Your eyes went round, recognizing the owner of the voice. He lets his hand fall from your mouth.

”J-Jungkook?” you hesitated. While you remained flushed against his body, you couldn’t be sure of their identity.

Swiftly, he spun you around to confirm your assumption for yourself. The light torches were a little far where you two stood but there was no denying it was him, judging by the little features of his face you could make out through the help of the vibrant moon lighting up in the sky behind him.

Yet, his action had already shaken you up, feeling the loud beating of your heart. All of your emotional baggage rushing all at once, you couldn’t help but lash out to him, seeing his chest as a target to release all your frustrations.

“Why did you do that?! I thought I was being kidnapped,” you anguished, horror remained etched on your face.

He took all your hits without a fight as guilt all too sudden consumed him after realizing the effect of what he had done. “I’m sorry, Jagiya. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmurs, drying the moisture on the corners of your eyes with his thumbs. The moon was like a spotlight focused solely on yours, giving him the clear view of your weary face.

It wasn’t long before you calmed down. Now, all you feel is shame as your anger washes out of your system with every hit of your fist against his chest. Your head bobbed lower, “Just... don’t do that, again.”

Hearing him whisper a promise not to repeat the same mistake, you all but give him a curt nod, allowing the silence to fill in the moment.

Jungkook, once again, made you upset, the second time he had gotten himself close to you after his return to the capital. Must he keep making you in anguish just whenever he’s around you? It was wrong of him to catch your attention the way he had just done when he could’ve simply called you out to do it. But after seeing the queen and her maids passing by the same path you’re about to take, he didn’t want to make an unnecessary sound in case anyone’s lurking around without him seeing through the vicinity covered in almost pitch black.

He wondered why you seemed determined to go on your way despite going on around without a company.

“Where are you going—”

“What are you doing here—”

You stilled just as he was surprised to hear you spoke the same time he decided to break the silence.

“I saw you going out of your quarters.” He simply answered. It was true. He left the festive banquet at the east to randomly visit your residence. He knew it would be unnecessary to invite himself into the premises so he just stood there, particularly waiting for nothing to kill time before he leaves the palace.

But then he saw the outermost doors of your residence opening, revealing none other than the subject of his thoughts. Then the rest was history.

“W-What? Are you spying on me?”

“Spying?” He chuckles at your choice of your words. He would’ve honestly accepted stalking better. “The banquet’s getting too loud to my liking. I’d rather spend my time with you. Mayhaps, luck is finally on my side when I saw you just in time— going out.”

Hearing his words earned a scoff from you. Wasn't he just with a woman this morning? Not to mention, it was one of the reasons why you randomly sought the need to breathe in some fresh air on a cold, winter night.

“I guess if you’re not distracted with your prince, you would have immediately caught the sound of my footing. Where are you going, anyway? Will you go see him?”

Your mouth parted in disbelief, “You didn’t hear anything from me when you were the one hiding with a woman just this morning.”

Hiding with a woman? For a second, his forehead crumpled in thought, recalling his activities prior to this moment. He couldn’t seem to remember when he actually hid with a woman. He didn’t even talk to any woman earlier in the morning, except for a friend—

“Ahh,” He hums in understanding, “Jagi, I’m not hiding with Mina—”

“Mina?”

He recalls speaking with Mina after the latter who belonged to the group of gisaengs during the banquet who recognized him inside the reception and was only able to catch up after him at the entrance main palace. Mina enthusiastically dragged him behind the closest infrastructure to briefly speak to him in peace without potentially attracting an audience.

“I met her a long time ago. Jagiya—“

“Forget it,” you immediately dismissed, but with him not missing the way color bloomed on your cheeks. “It’s not my business to hold it against you. You’re free to do as you wish.”

Are you being serious? How can you think he can be possibly interested to another woman?

He tilts your chin up so he can see your pretty eyes, clearly. “What are you saying, Jagiya? I thought we’ve already established that I’m yours. Have I not?”

He heard no answer from you, but didn’t miss the subtle shake of your head.

“No?” He echoes, the frown on his face deepens. Still, you refused to speak nor return the heavy weight of his peer.

“Our lovemaking wasn’t enough, was it?” His sudden brought up to the matter which should never be spoken of made you dart your eyes back up at him. There it was again, the same emotions reflecting in your eyes the morning when you put a cold shoulder at him. He couldn’t quite decipher the signals you were giving him.

“Jungkook, we’re not together anymore.”

“Then would you rather be with the prince over me?”

You look away, even though you really wanted to give an answer.

“I haven’t seen your beautiful smile since I came back, Jagi. But you were smiling a lot around him. Gods, was I jealous when you showed him of such privilege I was deprived of.” He groans, slowly inching his face closer, as if testing your reaction to his advance.

He took your lack of withdrawal as a sign to keep going. Silently, you gave him the freedom to intrude your personal space.

“You saw us,” you murmur, confirming it to yourself more than throwing it as a question to him.

Your jaw went slack, shamelessly anticipating for his lips to touch yours. Closer. Until your noses bumping, his mouth a breath away from touching your plump lips. It almost happened. Almost. Because just as he shifts his head a centimeter forward, finally capturing your awaiting lips with his, a cry of protest loudly resonated through the air, echoing as the sound bounces back from the empty silence.

“Stop following me!” The voice was undoubtedly owned by a woman.

If Jungkook didn’t recognize the voice, you certainly did. Her voice was too familiar for you not to identify her as the Queen, forcing you to draw back from the proximity immediately. Once again, panic courses through you, rapidly consuming your senses as fear worsened your capability to think rationally in a situation such as this.

Your wide eyes stared back Jungkook in a silent plea.

It wasn’t clear to you how far she was from both of you, but the nearing claps of footsteps tells you the queen and whoever was following her are passing by behind the greenhouse. If they decided to take a turn right across where you two stood, they will certainly not miss the sight of you seemingly in a rendezvous with Jungkook.

“I said—Jeonha!”

You gasp, slapping a hand to your mouth, utterly stunned at what you just heard. Jeonha? Does that mean she was addressing her order to your brother?

“The K-King is here...” you stammer.

He hushed you, silently telling you to keep still as he cages you against the outer wall of the greenhouse, as if shielding you from any potential eyesight. He was too close as he let his head hang low just beside the shell of your ear. You could hear his heavy breathing, the warmth oozing naturally from his body seemed to calm your nerves in some way, nearly forgetting about the predicament both of you are in, nearly missing the silence lingering in the air.

Are they gone?

Despite your pellucid reaction, Jungkook seems not one bit shaken by the fact you two are a thread away from being seen together in the dark.

Suddenly, he shifted onto your left, breaking his manmade territory around you to move further away from where you two were supposed to be hiding.

“Jungkook!” you desperately called for his attention in a panicked whisper.

Nervously, you watch his back as he extends his neck to peep behind the greenhouse. It didn’t take him long before he whirled back around, and in a flash, grapples your wrist and dragged you into the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?”

Though Jungkook could hear the agitation in your tone, he ignored your question, averting his focus to hide you and make no sound at all. The couple turned out to be closer than he had guessed them to be.

Just as he stopped in front of the doors of the greenhouse, he heard you argue about his choice of hiding spot, but ignored you for the second time.

In a calculated shuffling on the rusted bar keeping the twin panel of doors closed, he flicked it up, allowing him to push one of the doors open. The firm grip of his fingers on your waist was all you could focus on as he urged you to enter inside the greenhouse. Carefully, he pushed the door back closed, dragging you with it as he pressed your back against the cold surface. His hands on both sides of your head as he rests his forehead against the door, just above your shoulder. You couldn’t see much of the view behind him because of the lack of light inside. But the moonlight seeping through the transparent roofing of the greenhouse was enough to give you the faintest possible light to make out the features of his frame.

“It was too quiet, isn’t it? I thought the queen and king were gone.”

“We were intruding them,” he simply replied.

“W-What?”

He shifted his head to the side and before you knew it, a pair of warm lips touched yours in fervor. Jungkook has never been this bold before to break your personal space nor touches without asking your permission.

Years without seeing him, you understand that he might have grown into a persona different from what you know of him. When you saw him that weary day after four years, you picked up a sense of strangeness in his aura. Perhaps, it is his confidence or the powerful aura he naturally emits that made you speechless.

Groaning as the feel of your mouth accelerated the temperature of his body, Jungkook deepens the kiss with his tongue pushing passed your parted lips.

The way he held you in place, with his hands on your face and his torso locking you firm against the door, you didn’t expect him to withdraw from the kiss so soon which resulted in a soft breathy whine to slip out of your throat.

“Perhaps that answered your question,” he says, picking up the teasing tone in his voice. Jungkook dipped his head lower, burying his head on the crook of your neck to press a warm, wet kiss on the same spot he bruised purple two nights ago.

grand royal dowager queen - spouse of a former king; presently the king’s grandmother Halma-mama - how the royal grandchildren address their grandmother gongju - title of a princess bubuin - title of princess consort (wife of a prince) gisaeng - female entertainer yangban - any nobleman holding a government position dogam - a committee/body authorized to organize a royal event jinchan - other term for royal banquet soban - other term for a traditional table used in joseon era hanji - other term for traditional korean paper Changdeok - East Palace Gyeongbok - Main Palace/main residence of the royal family

note: after posting 4 chapters of the series, im finally opening a tag list skskssksjsj hahaahaha if u lovelies want to be tagged in the future chapters, send me your url here.

247 notes · View notes

urskekyagvi · 4 years ago

Text

MalVa Week: Campsite

@malvaweek

A hunter trudged into the clearing, bearing his latest kill upon his back. Blood stained the grass behind him, making a grisly trail through the forest. The arduff's corpse hung across his shoulder, a once majestic and imposing predator now someone else's prey; but that was the way of things.

SkekMal was all too aware of the way of things. Life and death were a never ending cycle, like an abiranariba serpent eating itself. Even he knew the sacred geometry; even a hunter had to know the signs. He swore under his breath as his knees buckled. A stumble, but at the end of it neither he nor the kill were on the ground.

He hadn't taken this beast's life without cost. He had miraculously remained unscathed, but the weeks of tracking, setting snares, and the final confrontation had left him exhausted. Only the scent of smoke kept the very last reserves of strength he had left fueled; smoke meant fire. Fire- usually- meant campsite, and campsite meant safety and rest. He paid no mind to the thought that there might already be someone there: gelfling and podling were easy enough to dispose of.

But now his only thought was rest. He dragged himself and his kill through the woods until the orange light of a flame was visible past the treeline. Finally he was close enough to feel the heat upon his skin, and there he deposited his prey and collapsed. Still, even in the midst of exhaustion he didn't abandon wariness.

He left one eye open, examining the space he had found himself in. From his position, he could see where the land sloped downward towards a stream, and near the fire there was a pile of leaves and branches and a large quilt, big enough for him to crawl under and curl up. He took a few deep breaths and rose to his feet, sniffing the air for any unusual scents.

No gelfling. No podling. Nothing but the smell of the forest, nearly drowned by the scent of blood he had tainted this peaceful place with. He was reminded of his kill, and rose fully to take care of it. It didn't take long; his knives had been properly sharpened before the hunt, and in short order he had his trophies and something to roast over the fire.

He laid the skin out to dry and finally sat down on a stone near the flames. It was only natural skeksis paranoia and instinct that kept his eyes open now, though he hadn't smelt or heard a thing for hours. The endless symphony of insects and various birds rang in his ears; a good sign, really, but now his mind didn't trust it; No one just abandoned a campsite like this, not without reason.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the stiff ache of action impeding his movement. Dried blood coated his armor and clothes, and really, a bath in that stream would be a welcome luxury. The only question remained: could he afford it?

He looked once again, poking around for anything at all that may betray the slightest sign of life or deception; nothing greeted him back. No traps, no leftover marks or traces of the former occupant of the site. He was alone. His searching had proven this as fact, but his mind would not let him rest.

And yet, while the danger was not immediate, he could allow himself some relaxation...and the stream was a rather tempting sight. Its cool waters cleansed his body and mind and soothed his parched throat. He cleaned his armor and clothes, and when he had gotten back the meat was ready to be eaten.

He didn't bother thanking the creature for the life it had lost, for it had not given it willingly; such a tradition was a soppy gelfling notion, something they did to convince their guilt-ridden minds that the supposed soul of the creature would return to its creator. SkekMal knew better. The beast had no soul. It hunted to keep itself alive, itself prey to death.

SkekMal hunted for a similar reason, and in that similarity there was a respect. He bit into the meat with a ravenous appetite, feeling the arduff's life become part of his own. Nothing would be wasted. Its flesh and organs he could eat, its bones would be made into trophies, its skin would hang upon his wall, a tapestry to commemorate his victory.

By the time he had eaten his fill for the evening the stars had come out. The Sisters shown their light down upon him, and the shadows from the fire flickered in a mesmerizing sway across the trees. Exhaustion weighed down upon him like a beast on his shoulders, digging its venomous claws into his eyes and making his movements sluggish and slow. The sleeping pile, with its soft quilt, looked more tempting by the moment…

He was obliged to lay upon it. It would have been a waste not to, and he despised waste. It was just as soft as it looked from a distance, easy upon his aching muscles yet supportive enough to spare his bones. His body sank into it, and the quilt kept him comfortably warm as he gazed up at the stars.

Worry did not stalk the corners of his mind any longer. Whoever had left the campsite here, clearly it had been intended to be his, by fate or accident he no longer cared. His eyes closed in a way they had not in a very, very long time, heavy instead of flitting open at the very first sound. Sleep took the night watch.

When he awoke the next morning, upon the first light of dawn, he felt rested. His bones didn't ache, and his mind was sharper than ever without paranoia or weariness making it so, and when he stretched his muscles were only mildly sore. It was a delightfully brisk morning all around him.

He rose to a sitting position, prepping for another full body stretch, when his tail curled against something. It was wooden, but much too straight to be a stick. Suspicion bit into his senses. He grasped the thing tightly in his hand and snatched it from under the covers.

It was an arrow, beautifully decorated, better as a trinket than a weapon or tool. It was lightweight, the shaft made of a white nut wood carved in thin leaf-like shapes and gilded vines; the fletching at its end could only be from the tail feathers of a rare albino shrookill; but the true beauty of it laid in the point, a sun-bleached bone.

SkekMal glared at the beautiful thing and then at the clearing around him. There was even something cooking on the fire already. Someone had been here- in fact, had always been here. Someone had laid this out for him...someone was trying to catch him.

And he knew who.

"Come on out, Archer!" He snapped at the trees, "Reveal yourself! I've seen through your little ruse."

A shrub rustled much too close nearby. He would have jumped, but barely managed to restrain himself in order to save face; he couldn't let anyone know he had let himself be deceived so easily...Though by the almost self-satisfied look on UrVa's face, it was a futile endeavor.

"It is no ruse," the Archer said calmly, giving his Other a small bow, "I thought you could use the rest."

SkekMal clutched the trinket he held even tighter, until his knuckles were almost as white as the shaft. He fumed in silence, his teeth grinding together in agitation. How dare he. The sheer audacity this other half of him had, so unlike the complacent sobriety of the rest of the urru; SkekMal found it annoying to no end...and yet he couldn't help but appreciate the gesture.

The anger faded quickly, having never been genuine to begin with. In truth, all he felt at that moment was gratitude. He ceded some of the tension in the grip he had around the arrow, holding it up gingerly to examine it in the light of the rising suns.

"...Indeed I could," he said, "that arduff did not come down easily...These feathers, where did you get them from?"

UrVa smiled and beckoned for SkekMal to follow him towards the campfire. The arduff meat was reheated to a perfect temperature, the outside skin crispy but not burnt. SkekMal cut himself a large hunk off the rear thigh and then laid another piece of it before his Other. UrVa paused to look at it, and it was SkekMal's turn to be smug.

"Don't deceive yourself, Archer," he said, tearing a bite out of his own portion, "the Master isn't here. I saw the way you were eyin' it."

UrVa did eat after that, but said a short prayer first, nonetheless. He took a small bite out of what SkekMal had given, pausing again to savor the taste with another sort of reverence. SkekMal let him, though he had not helped to bring down the kill.

"...An albino shrookill," UrVa said after his slow chewing had finally ceased.

"And where did you find an albino shrookill?" SkekMal couldn't hide his fascination. He had only heard the faintest rumors of such a thing existing, but had never seen it for himself.

"Where shrookills can often be found," was UrVa's blunt response before he took another bite of his meal.

SkekMal knew what he really meant, but on account of the good mood he was in he let it pass without so much as a growl. This meat was delicious.

"What of the bone?"

Here there was a longer pause than usual between chewing and speaking, and for the sake of the answer SkekMal allowed it, too. When UrVa spoke again, his voice held a hint of something almost playful.

"A piece of something you had lost and forgotten long ago," he said, and took another bite.

SkekMal had to scour his brain for the answer to the riddle, another act of solecism he allowed only because of a well rested body and full belly. Something he had lost long ago…He studied the piece of bone, hoping a moment of scrutiny would unveil the answer. Lost and forgotten long ago…

He turned it over in the light, and that was when he noticed a familiar tooth mark, and then the shape revealed itself to him. He fitted the little arrow head in his hand on a mental overlay of an animal skull, and came to realize that this would have been at the apex of the sagittal crest. The memory inundated his head like the wash of a tidal wave.

"My first kill!" The Hunter laughed and slapped his knee. "I never did get to keep the trophy. The others tore it apart so thoroughly I thought even the crawlies would have a hard time finding all the bits!"

UrVa nodded. "I myself almost reached the limit of my patience trying to find that one shard."

SkekMal snorted, without malice. "You? I thought there was no limit to your patience."

UrVa gave him a look that was as close to arch as a mystic could get. SkekMal vowed to get a better reaction out of him later. There would be plenty of time, if this one interaction went well. It was like hunting in a way: stalk your prey, set your snares, wait, and then pounce.

But it never ended between them, this eternal game of chase and capture, Hunter and Archer; and SkekMal would never admit that he enjoyed that prospect most of all.

#malvaweek2021 #skekmal #urva #fanfic #the dark crystal #I did my best

18 notes · View notes

anakinisvaderisanakin · 4 years ago

Text

All That Matters - Ahsoka Brings Anakin Back on Malachor AU Fic

"You don't have to do this alone," Ahsoka implored in what she hoped was a convincing tone, taking one hesitant step towards the man she'd once called her brother.

Her former master, her mentor. Anakin. He'd taught her everything she knew, taught her to be independent, believed in her when no one else would. He’d saved her life, he’d stood by her, he’d been heartbroken when she turned her back on the Jedi order. How had such an emotive man come to fall so far from grace? How had he successfully traded in his gentle, kind hearted, welcoming persona for the visage of a thoughtless, mass murdering machine?

"You fail to understand," he snapped, his voice a jumbled mixture of his voice box and a meek version of his own struggling vocal cords as he shot her down. "I am no longer that man."

There was a frantic sense of urgent desperation to the statement, as if he was barely managing to hold onto his own lie. As if the walls he’d forged over the years were crumbling around him. Ahsoka shook her head vehemently in response, continuing to resolutely approach him with a stubborn determination. Clenching her jaw, she let the hilts of the sabers she was clutching in her trembling hands fall to the floor with a clatter. Discarding her only self defense, stripping herself bare. She noticed his sickly yellow eyes dart towards the source of the noise, registering her surrender before the intense stare returned to capture hers.

"Then explain to me. I'm here now. It doesn't matter who you are, or what you've done. Make me understand."

Ahsoka meant every word, every utterance. He flinched visibly as he took in the weight of what she implied, the eye wide with jaded disbelief and confusion. The terrifying amount of loathing and disgust she'd sensed when she first arrived for the confrontation had all but vaporized. Dissipating as if it had never been there to begin with. Instead there lingered a tense, uneasy sense of dread between them. She wasn't afraid per se, she just couldn't predict his reactions. His behaviour was so far from the Anakin she'd once known. Although, some things remained the same, she could tell. For example, she could still read his exposed eye like an open book. He was wavering, his conviction faltering and she was there to catch him when he fell. If he fell.

She prayed that he would fall.

"But it does. It does matter. All the things I have done… I cannot change what I have become, neither can you. Your efforts are misguided."

He trailed off, finally looking away. Averting his gaze, a distinct sense of shame bled into Anakin’s Force signature. The guilt was suffocating, closing in around Ahsoka as it poured off of him. Crashing in thick waves, dark and deep and overwhelming. Still, she bit her lip and continued to close in. He wasn't making any effort of moving to attack, wasn't attempting to back away. She was vaguely aware of her hand coming up by its own volition to blindly reach out for him.

"I don't care," she assured, but she felt her voice catch in her throat as the burn of tears began behind her eyes.

"How dare you propose that?!" he roared, a static shriek accompanying the booming vocals of the modulator cutting her off; eyes wide and crazed. "Do you even understand who I am? Do you understand what I have done?"

Ahsoka stopped dead in her tracks, swallowing hard. She was almost expecting him to revert back into fervent denial, to shoot her down and once again proclaim himself to be Vader. To once again pretend she meant nothing to him, that their past was nullified and nonexistent. That he had erased her impact on his life.

Instead, she watched the eerie golden glow of his eye begin to diminish. Slowly, as if it were fading and tapering out. As if it were a hue or film, being slowly wiped away. As if the fog was lifting, as if the spell of his self imposed mind control was breaking. As if the facade was cracking, as if he was coming apart. And little by little, a familiar pale blue shade began to emerge.

When Anakin spoke again, his tone was broken and quiet.

“You should be horrified.”

His broad shoulders gave a small wince, before sagging. Ahsoka watched him blink rapidly, apologetic gaze darting all over her face. It hurt. The pain radiating off of him was aiming straight for her consciousness, surging through her like red hot wires. Forcing her to share his suffering with pulses of intense, sharp anguish. She could sense his turmoil, his reluctance, his terror. He was terrified when faced with the prospect of accepting every heinous act he had committed as Vader, every atrocious thing he had done. He was frightened of the need to admit that there had never been a Vader in the first place, that everything was on him. He alone was to blame.

Yet, Ahsoka found she couldn't bring herself to blame him alone. She may resent what he had become, what he had done, but she could never bring herself to hate him. He was still Anakin, and whatever had led him down this path, she imagined it must be horrific. She had abandoned him when he needed her the most, if only she had been there for him - perhaps he might never have stooped so low. Bracing herself, she began to inch closer to him again. Her fingers twitching in anticipation, hand still reaching out towards him. Offering him a connection, a saving grace.

"I killed them... every single one of them. Every Jedi I could see. All of them. I had to, I couldn't stop. I had no choice. I couldn't..."

Even through the malfunctioning voicebox, the way his voice broke carried through as an unnatural, irregular pitching tone.

Blue. His eye was so light, so alive, a hurricane of emotions whirling within its depths. Like a clear, cloudless sky with a thunderstorm lurking at the horizon. Bloodshot, the scleras more pink than white. But the iris was baby blue.

"I know," Ahsoka simply whispered, nodding her head before repeating her words. “I know.”

She stretched her arm out further, taking a couple of more steps as he hung his head low. His gaze falling to the ground, a shudder wracking his large bulky frame. She focused on the eye, or as much of it as she could see when the helmet he wore shrouded it in dark shadows. Just a gentle, barely perceptible grace as her fingertips brushed against the rough fabric of his black cape. He didn't react, and she suspected he couldn't feel it. How much of his body was even his own anymore? Cautiously, she let her palm touch the armour piece before sliding over his shoulder. When it reached his upper arm, she pressed down to offer it a comforting squeeze - hoping he would feel that.

It spurred an immediate reaction. His head flew up, and he reared back as if he'd been burnt. As if her touch stung him. Eye wide open as he stared at her in shock, in astonishment; pleading with her not to allow herself to be tainted by his sins. In defense, Ahsoka held both hands up in front of her; what she hoped to be a reassuring expression on her face. She felt her stomach twist itself into tight knots, the bile rising in her throat. Once again, she was near convinced he would backtrack. She expected him to reignite his lightsaber, to waste little time in dispatching her. She held her breath, waiting fretfully.

Instead, she watched his naked eye slide shut. Instead, she watched as his tight grip on his own weapon loosened. She watched the hilt slide out of his gloved grip. Eyes flying back up to his face, she once again caught him staring at her. His blue eye misty, glazed over. It was only then she caught the gleam of tears pooling at the corners. She watched them gather, watched the unshed beads of water continue to well up.

"Anakin..." she gasped. "Oh, Anakin."

"I killed the younglings. I killed them all," he whispered. "What have I done?"

His voice was so weak, so full of regret and tangible remorse. The voicebox didn't even pick up on it. Only his own strangled, choked human tone piped up. Ahsoka could barely make it out, but she watched in stunned silence as a single tear broke free. Slowly, it made its way down his scarred, deformed, deathly pale cheek. Then followed another. And another. She could see him visibly trembling with the effort of attempting to restrain himself, the effort of holding his suffering back. Keeping it locked up, despite its attempts to overrule his ironwill.

Two steps, and once again her palm touched his arm. Face hard set, despite the stinging salty wetness prickling at the corners of her own eyes, she let her free hand come up. Careful but without hesitance, she gently let the pad of her thumb reach inside the crack of his face plate. She ran it ever so smoothly over his pale damaged skin, brushing away the wetness it found there only for another tear to break free.

"I know, Anakin. I forgive you."

He didn't respond, and for a second Ahsoka feared she had destroyed what little may be left of his fragile sanity. He stood still as a statue, as if the words wouldn't register. Gaze fixed straight ahead, as if seeing right through her. She raised her voice slightly when she spoke up again, desperate to get through to him. She put every ounce of her unabashed sincerity behind the words.

"Anakin. I forgive you."

A hideous sound erupted from him, and she suspected it was a sob tearing its way out. She blinked back her own tears, keeping a hold on herself as Anakin's legs began to buckle under his own weight. Another choked, an erratic static noise the only way in which the modulator could translate the whimpers. Still clinging to him, she had no choice but to follow him down as he sank hapless to his knees; shoulders shaking while the pain, the guilt and the sorrow he must have been keeping bottled up for years broke free. Without second thoughts, Ahsoka wrapped her slender arms around his large frame to her best extent. With gentle hands, she caressed his broad back. She exhaled a stuttering, weak sigh.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he rambled brokenly in a mantra, hoarse and choppy as he cried. "Oh mom, forgive me, Padmé, forgive me...! Ahsoka... forgive me, please, forgive me...!"

"It's alright. I forgive you, Anakin. I forgive you," Ahsoka murmured, a pang of laboured guilt present in her chest but she could do nothing else.

As soon as she'd spoken those words, his hands flew up. Hovering midair inches from her waist as if afraid to touch her, as if he feared he might break her in half if he tried. Anakin, who had always been starving for hugs, for touches, for affection. Why had he deprived himself of physical comfort for so long? She could sense his loneliness, his solitude as clearly as were it her own. Pressing down, she stroked his back more firmly and hummed to encourage, as if to assure him it was okay. She relaxed when his trembling arms came around her in a humble, restrained embrace. It seemed as if he had to relearn how to hold another person all over again.

Anakin still weeping, Ahsoka finally allowed herself to cave into her own emotional overload. Sniffling, she smiled brokenly, keeping a watchful eye on him through her tears. They had so little time, it wasn't safe here. The entire temple was ready to collapse at any moment. Yet, if they died together like this, she wouldn't mind it much. Instead, she clung tighter to her brother, her master, her only remaining family.

Anakin. She forgave him. He was himself again. He was in his right state of mind, no matter how agonizing. No matter how harsh the truth may be.

They were together again. Nothing else mattered.

-------------

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325700

Found above on my Ao3, and reposted from my previous acc.

34 notes · View notes

inkheart01 · 4 years ago

Text

Escape from the Stars

Prologue (1/??)

Life was simple when they were just kids worrying about exams and homework and that cute date next week, it was easy when finals and work were the most pressing matters, when worrying about that math test you crammed for was eating at you like an illness. But now they're fighting for their lives and every moment could be there last.

It wasn't supposed to be this way, it was just supposed to be another summer, another camp. It was supposed to be fun, a way to de-stress, a getaway from life's worries, even for a week. But life rarely likes to make things easy.

So i thought i would stick this up here seeing as i’ve put it up almost everywhere else and love talking about this. Ask me anything about EFTS and i will give you an essay. These guys have one braincell between the lot of them and its permanently on vacation. Please send them help.

Cold, harsh rain lashed against the imposing concrete building, forcing any who had dared be outside to turn back and head for shelter. Lightning split the sky, brilliant and bright enough to see the array of radar dishes spanning far into the horizon over the dusty earth.

Turning away from the windows and to the inhabitants of the building, scurrying around frantically in their pristine lab coats, clutching their clipboards and shouting orders, he clicked, the sound losing itself amid the chaos. Truly an overreaction for the fierce storm outside. They were perfectly safe in the building.

Perfectly safe…

“Jade, let’s go!” “Mum! Where's my passport?” “What!” “My passport! I can't find it!” “Did you check my bag?” “...thanks!”

The spindly form slinking through the shadows stopped, humming silently. Perhaps they weren't afraid of the storm, but what it could conceal. He had certainly used it for his gain, if the wreck outside had anything to say.

Another hum was followed by a mechanical hiss and a sharp inhale. These small creatures couldn’t help him if they were panicked out of their minds.

Slipping silently down the hall and into a dark room, the creature allowed a smile to pass his usually emotionless composure, needle teeth glinting like ivory. Here was the vent opening he was looking for, at just the right height for him to get into the air filtration system. He lowered the hologram that camouflages him with his surroundings as he reached for the metal grate.

“Of course I’m on my way...what, no. The bus will be here any second...I told you-oh. Give me a second...yeah. Ian!” “Hey Rochelle, Have you seen Adam? “Yeah, I’m on a call with him, his mums driving him to the station.” “Thanks. He wasn't answering me and I got worried.”

Nimble fingers slipped into the gaps before a scream split his composure. With a growl, he covered his ringing ear and whipped towards the scientist.

They were backed against a wall, shaking like a leaf behind a purple clipboard as he ripped the cover off. The human trembled as they adjusted the glasses slipping down their nose, wide eyes never leaving him.

Moving slowly, he dropped the grate as he approached the petrified scientist, a thin wisp of blue leaving his maw to pool on the ground like fog.

As he leant down, ruby eyes casting a soft glow on their face, the scientist’s body-wracking trembles slowly stopped, leaving them swaying and yawning, and with eyes wide in even more terror. He briefly wondered if he had used too much, and then they went limp.

“Pocket knife?” “Check.” “Taser?” “Check.” “Walkie-talkie?” “Check. We’ve gone through this half a dozen times. I have everything.” “Calle, you know we worry.”

He swore and wrapped one of his thin sets of arms around the body that moved bonelessly. Guilt slowly seized control of him, because next time he would need to be far more careful. Arms still around them, he cleared the desk hidden in the dark and positioned the scientist on the chair, draping them over the table.

Once he deemed it an acceptable, albeit not desirable, sleeping position, he returned to the vent. Too much time had been wasted on this lone scientist.

With a grunt, he slithered in, slim limbs pulling and pushing him through. He had a layout of the vent system, but everything was much different when inside. Taking a left, he hoped he was going the right way as a fork in the path came up.

Not five minutes later and he was pretty certain that he was lost. Every turn looked the same and the map he had memorised was just turning into a jumble of lines. He was seconds away from cursing out every god he knew when a small breeze brushed softly against his face.

Oh. There we go.

‘Come on, Jade. The plane leaves in two hours!’ ‘I’ll be there, Jemma. I promise. Traffic’s just a pain.’ ‘I told you to take the train with me to avoid this.’ ‘Mum insisted’ “My baby’s all grown up!” ‘Oh...well...just hurry. Please?’

Breathing deeply, a wisp of soft blue left his mouth again, muddling in with the filtered air and staining the metal. It travelled quickly, spinning and dancing through the heavier air, joined by more and more strands until the vent was nothing but blue.

Slowly, ever so agonisingly slowly, the screams died down, leaving an eerie and suffocating silence that closed in like a wet blanket.

As he crawled back through the vents, he wondered if, again, it had been too much. He knew he had restrained himself this time. He knew. But Humans were fragile, their bodies so easily breakable and their self-destructive tendencies could have made them even weaker.

Surely not, he rationalised, he had been careful, using much less and being oh so picky with the intent. He had intended to calm them down, and unlike the first time, there was no trace of drowsiness in his intent.

They were so terrifyingly fragile. And so completely at his mercy. For any of his kind, the amount would barely be enough for their emotions to calm. And yet. And yet on a human, they were oh so delicate.

“Anna, anything we need?” “Nope. Last month's stock up is more than enough.” “Good. River, anything we should know?” “No boss. All the money is sorted.” “Don't take any this time. Sam, is the gear ready?” “Of course. I cleaned it all yesterday.” “Anika, Dan. Is everything planned?” “Naturally. We have everything sorted.” “Let’s keep them entertained, shall we. Emily, how’s the hideout?” “Andy made strawberry cake!”

Nearing an exit, he pushed his thoughts deep down, turning his focus instead on the cover he had to get through. It was easier than the last, considering the bodies slumped in the hall, yawning and engulfed in blue.

As he slipped silently from the vents, wincing at the harsh red light and silent alarm that blared through the building, he noticed quite a few of the dazed scientists would gasp weakly, struggling to get their tired bodies to respond enough to escape his presence. It was a futile endeavour, but a few did manage to flop onto the cold tile. Perhaps some could withstand his particular set of skills, he would need to look into it more. If he planned to stay.

He hummed as he stepped carefully over the unresponsive forms, ever so sweetly moving through the halls. The room he needed was closer to the other side of the complex.

“Quick! We have to leave now!” “This is a bad idea. Arlajullian’s going to kill you.” “Well, I’ll deal with her when she catches on.” “Milkanaheilm!” “Shush, they’ll hear you!” “Like there not going to hear us leave.”

Moving through hallway after hallway with barely any noise, it wasn’t long before he reached his destination. The communications room was like another dimension, dark and vibrant with a red glow amid buttons and screens, his glowing blue mist staining the floor. It was thinner here, not so much the opaque fog, but more like thin wafts of a dying campfire.

A soft groan pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see one of the rooms only other inhabitants pulling themselves up against one of the consoles, reaching desperately for a large button.

Humming, the creature moved quickly to the human’s side, lifting their thrashing body out of the fog.

“I’m warning you”, he spoke, language broken and voice as soft as he could get, “Prepare. Your kind’s in danger”

#efts #escapefromthestars #Escape from the stars #original character #my writing #aliens #alien oc #so many aliens #like holy hell theres a lot of aliens #aliens tw #original characters tw

2 notes · View notes

miceenscene · 5 years ago

Text

N7 Month - Day 14

Name

Everything hurt, that was the first thing Shepard registered. Everything really really really hurt. She could only recall being in this much pain once before, and it took eight billion credits, two years, and a deal with the devil to come back from that one. Her every nerve ending was burning, searing. Blood roared in her ears. Stop stop STOP, make it stop!

And then it did.

The abrupt return to something like normality was so jarring Shepard’s eyes shot open and she sucked in a breath, coughing and hacking at she sat up. For a few minutes she let the world spin around her, eyes shut again as she focused on her breathing. In and out, steady, centered. Then she opened her eyes to survey her surroundings.

She was in a building, or a space station perhaps, or maybe even a ship. The room was so nondescript it was difficult to tell. Just a large room with crates and boxes scattered around in a haphazard pattern. The much more concerning revelation was herself. She’d glanced down at her hands and did a double take, holding them up to stare at them in something like horror.

Before the waking up here and the hurt, half her armor had been melted away by a direct hit from Harbinger. She’d been bleeding out up on the Citadel turned Crucible, Anderson at her side with the best seats in the house. Now her suit was spotless, gleaming and ready for action. She pressed to where she’d had a wound on her stomach, but there was no pain now. She staggered up to her feet, the sheer lack of agony making her unsteady for a few moments.

Had she died? Was the afterlife just some room that looked like a thousand others she’d once ran missions through? Garrus was going to be disappointed about the lack of a bar, she thought automatically before grimacing. Forgive the insubordination… No, no she wasn’t dead. She had orders, she had a retirement to enjoy, some utterly impossible children to raise. She wouldn’t have let herself die and that’s all there was to it. Clinging to that thread of stubborn determination, she finished her self-census. She had all her usual weapons and her omnitool even seemed to work.

“Shepard to Normandy. Come in, Normandy,” she said, opening her comm channels. There wasn’t a response. “Joker, this is Shepard. Come in, Normandy. Alliance, Hackett, anybody.” More silence. “Dammit,” she muttered, shutting the omnitool.

Maybe if she got outside, or found a control room she could get better signal. She pulled out her trusted assault rifle and headed for the only door she saw. Listening for a moment, all she heard was the quiet air circulator cycle on. So she hacked the door open and stepped out into the hall, checking both ways for any sign of movement. Seeing none, she picked a direction and walked silently down the hall.

Stopping at the corner, she listened again, very aware that she was without back up in an unknown environment. If she hadn’t been standing completely still and focused she would have missed it. But she heard very quiet footsteps and the slight creak of body armor. Someone was near.

She waited, listening, as the footsteps drew nearer. Before they got too close, she leaned out just enough to glimpse around the corner. The hall was short and ended in another corner. She didn’t have to wait long as a rifle barrel started appearing from around the corner and then a moment later a person stepped around as well.

Relief flooded her system, making her almost drop her rifle. “Garrus,” she sighed, tears welling in her eyes as she stepped around the corner and ran towards him. “Garrus, honey. Oh thank god.”

Garrus froze as soon as she appeared and stared at her with wide eyes. She didn’t wait, just immediately wrapped her arms around his torso in a hug that wasn’t nearly close enough thanks to their armor.

“God, I was so worried,” she blubbered and sniffled a little. The tension release of him being here, him being safe had overwhelmed her control for the moment. She looked up at him and cupped his scarred mandible with her hand. “How’s your leg? Where are we? I can’t reach the Normandy. What happened with the Crucible?”

He didn’t reply, just stared down at her. Obviously in shock--not surprising given how distraught he’d been last he saw her.

“I followed orders,” she added with a slight smile in a whispery voice. “Somewhere warm and tropical, right?” God, she wanted to kiss him. Right here, any possible danger be damned. “Maybe even a few of those turian-human--”

“Vakarian,” a new voice called from further up the hall.

Shepard turned and a smile broke out on her face. “Vega,” she said, stepping back from Garrus for the moment. That was fine, there’d be plenty of time for a proper reunion back in her cabin. Vega sauntered down the hall, shotgun in hand. “Knew the reapers couldn’t keep you down.”

She reached out to shake his hand, but Vega just gave her a strange look for a moment before looking at Garrus.

“You want to introduce me to your friend?” he asked him.

“She’s not my friend,” Garrus replied in a frosty tone. Shepard’s head snapped over to look at him. What? Were they kidding right now?

“You two really think right now is the time for jokes?” she bit out, feeling deeply hurt that they would choose this moment to be idiots. Fine, if they wanted to be children then she would treat them like children. Garrus, she would have a talk with later. But Vega… “Lieutenant, status report,” she ordered, leaning into every bit of authority she possessed.

Instinctively, Vega snapped to attention for a breath. But then he seemed to realize what he’d done and brazenly relaxed. Oh, he was in for the dressing down of a lifetime.

Then all three of their comms crackled to life. “Lieutenant, status report,” a masculine voice ordered over her comm. Shepard frowned down at her omnitool--she didn’t recognize the voice at all.

Vega was still staring at her in bewilderment, but lifted his hand to activate his mic. “We found the source of that voice, Commander,” he replied. “Armed, but not… entirely hostile. Human. N7. Female.”

“On my way,” the voice replied.

Shepard looked between the two of them. “What the hell are you two playing at right now?” she demanded, patience worn completely through. Her hand curled instinctively around the handle of her rifle.

Garrus swiftly lifted his rifle and pointed it straight at her head. “Put the gun down, ma’am,” he warned in a low fierce tone. Her mouth dropped open in stinging betrayal for a heated second and then a thread of tension unspooled in her gut as something clicked together. She didn’t know where she was, she didn’t know how she’d gotten here, but she knew one thing for dead certain--that wasn’t her Garrus.

“Hands where I can see them,” that same masculine voice ordered from behind her. There was no doubt in Shepard’s mind that she now had several guns pointing at her. So she complied, still maintaining eye contact with the Garrus as she was very aware of what his rifle was capable of. “Turn around.”

Slowly, she turned away from the pair she knew and faced the source of the voice. Standing at the end of the hall was an N7 marine. She’d never seen this man before in her life, she was certain. He would be difficult to forget from the imposing figure to the glowing red scars that cut deep into his face. Even his eyes were illuminated a dull red, she realized as he moved closer.

“Lieutenant,” the N7 ordered. Vega pulled the rifle from Shepard’s hands and the shotgun from her back. He quickly patted her down, finding the flash grenades in her belt, and then stepped back.

“Clean.” Vega moved to stand behind the N7, arms full of her weapons.

The N7 approached with measured steps, an assault rifle that was the exact same model as her own raised to her head.

“Name and rank, soldier,” he said, not relaxing from an assault posture. She didn’t know who that Garrus was, or if that was actually Vega, but this N7 was obviously Alliance. As annoying as it could be at times, sometimes the gravitas her name demanded was useful.

“Commander Shepard,” she answered, not hiding her annoyance.

Vega’s eyes went wide. She heard the Garrus behind her adjust his grip on his rifle. The N7 just stepped closer, finger on the trigger now. One wrong move and she might actually be meeting Garrus at that bar.

“I’m only going to ask you this one more time,” he growled. “Name And Rank.”

“Commander Jane Carren Shepard, Alliance Navy, Fifth Fleet, service number 5923-AC-2826,” she answered without the annoyance this time. “N7 class of eighty-one, first human Spectre, commanding officer of the SSV Normandy SR-2.”

“What the hell is going on?” Vega asked, half under his breath, eyes jumping between her to the N7 repeatedly.

“Yeah, I’d like to know that myself,” Jane replied, despite the multiple weapons pointed at her. She locked eyes with the N7. “Who are you?”

He didn’t reply for a moment, just stood up straighter. “Commander Shepard,” he bit out and then looked past her. “Vakarian, restrain her. She’s coming back to the ship. We can sort this mess out there.”

The Commander turned without waiting and headed back the way he came as the Garrus pulled Jane's hands behind her back and fastened a set of cuffs around her wrist. How she got here was still a mystery, she thought as she was led away, but there was a far better question right now. Would she be able to get home?

Ao3 Version

[This is actually the first chapter of a new untitled project I'm working on. It's gonna be a bit before it sees the light of day, but this chapter fit the prompt well enough I thought I'd give a bit of a teaser.]

#n7month #mass effect #female shepard #garrus vakarian #james vega #male shepard #AU #fanfic #fic #shakarian

63 notes · View notes

talesfromthegameff14 · 5 years ago

Text

When you aren’t looking

[CW: Smut, pure indulgence, BDSM themes, power exchange, control, and messy, nasty sex. ]

Aya moved quietly to the corner of the bookcase, staying on his side of the corner unseen. Pausing, he tipped his head upon hearing a familiar, wet sound that was steadily increasing in pace. A predatory smile crossed his lips, the Xaela didn’t have to look around the corner to know what C’tolemy was doing just out of view. It was common enough that this had become a game over the time the two lived together. ‘Catch me if you can’, if you would.

Today? Aya did just that.

Patiently like the hunter he was, Aya waited for the rhythm of the sounds to turn almost frantic, C’tolemy’s breath hitching, panting, that bitten back mewl of bliss the clue Aya was waiting for. Quietly but firm, the command came from ‘nowhere’, from C’tolemy’s point of view at least. “Stop Kitten, your pleasure is mine tonight.”

A gasp of surprise and all noise ceased except for a low whine of protest, someone was so close to their peak that to stop was almost painful.

The silence lingered until C’tolemy’s breath slowed sufficiently for Aya to know that the Seeker wasn’t teetering on the edge of orgasm any longer.

“Fuck yourself, one finger only.”

No words were required on the miqo’te’s part, the bob of his head unseen as he complied, sliding one finger within his slick depths. C’tolemy’s tail curled and coiled about him, the man squirming as the sensation was pleasant but no more than that.

Waiting to ensure that his mate’s breathing hadn’t changed, Aya starts to speak, his voice a husky murmur that barely reached the keen ears of the Seeker around the corner. “It’s not enough, is it? Not nearly enough for my little cum slut to be satisfied with. Imagine it is my tail instead of your single, slim finger. Imagine how it would fill you, forcing you wider than is comfortable, both smooth and rough at the same time while it wiggles and thrusts within. It’s agony and ecstasy is it not? Drenched in your slick it almost moves smoothly, except when scales catch and tug at your flesh.”

Cruel, that his Xaela was a cruel, cruel master was the last rational thought C’tolemy had. The smaller man was doing his best to be quiet, unnoticed. It was part of the game after all, find a corner while everyone was sleeping at night and see what he could manage without being caught. Every word was a caress on too hot skin, sending spikes of pleasure soaring through his blood. He can almost imagine that he’s being fucked by his mate’s tail, almost. Again, that one finger is a damnable tease and no more.

It’s a problem Aya, even hidden around the corner, is very well aware of. “Tighten down around your finger pet.”

C’tolemy already was, but at the order he did so further and it only made the difference between reality and fantasy all that much sharper. Compared to his imagination the grip of his cunt around his slim finger left him feeling close to empty. A greedy gasp followed his compliance, paired with a heavy thump of his tail against the wooden floor.

“Need more still? Good.”, that damnable low chuckle followed the words, satisfied and a little mean. “Two fingers now, no three. I’ll be kind to my little kitten tonight, let him try to find satisfaction without me inside of him.”

“Ssseevvyyaaaaaa”, is the gasped out word that finally breaks C’tolemy’s self imposed silence, spoken out loud when he thrusts three fingers deep between his lust soaked lips. The Seeker knows what he yearns for, but he can’t quite reach, not like this. A sound between a sob and a moan, pitiful and pleading, isn’t so loud that it drowns out the sloppy, squelching noises of the desperate finger fucking he’s giving himself.

Aya smiles, a flash of fang that is nothing but predatory and vicious, enjoying the symphony of desire that he’s being treated to sight unseen. He doesn’t have to watch to imagine the flush that spreads across his mate's skin, how his expressions change in the flash of an eye while the miqo’te bucks and squirms against his own hand, half maddened with need. The scent of passion, carnal and musky fills the small area by the books, adding another sensual layer to the exchange between the two men.

In short? Aya found it irresistible, cock straining against the pants the Xaela slipped on before going to hunt down his missing mate. Hearing C’tolemy’s suffering ignited a slow burn through the Xaela’s veins that got stronger with every beat of his heart.

Luxuriating in the moment, Aya quietly listened, knowing that C’tolemy wouldn’t stop until he was told, wouldn’t find his bliss without permission once the gambit had been cast. He shifted so that he was leaning against the wall, head tilted back and eyes closed so that nothing distracted from the musical performance just a few fulms away. It was reaching it’s crescendo, the noises now close to what they were when Aya first took control away from his mate. Lazily, the Xaela caressed his sex over his pants, a hiss of pleasure just loud enough to be heard by the man around the corner, another bit of torment for the already struggling miqo’te.

Again, the damnable words come. “Stop, now.”

A wretched sob escapes C’tolemy’s lips, it felt like lightning was dancing along his skin, the sensation not abating at all despite the miqo’te’s compliance. The Xaela’s timing was perfect as always, just a stroke or two away from his control snapping in two under the unrelenting urgency to cum. It was a blessing and a curse, teetering on the brink like he was.

“On your knees, hands on your thighs.”

On his.. Aya wanted him to move? Somehow the Seeker managed, whimpering and twitching with every moment, having to swallow a shout from the sensation of pulling his fingers out from between his soaked folds. Dazed and disoriented, C’tolemy sways a bit on his knees, tail moving in counterpoint to keep him, mostly, in place.

Quiet as a shadow, Aya paces around the corner, stopping less than a fulm away from his kneeling mate. “Look at me, slut.”

There was no missing the presence of the Xaela standing before him, C’tolemy’s body swaying forward even before Aya spoke. Shuddering from the Xaela’s words, he lifts sex glazed eyes upwards, looking at his mate and master through long, dusky eyelashes. “S-s-sevya?”

It’s just in time for C’tolemy to watch Aya free his swollen cock from his pants, the head smeared with a bit of pre. It’s clear evidence that the taller man was very much interested in this play, if the gleam in his eyes and half smirk on his lips didn’t give that away. “Do you want a reward? Do you want me to shove this down your throat while you guzzle my cum? Fuck your face so hard that you choke, until it feels like your drowning under my hands? Will that make my raunchy little whore happy?”

There was no hesitation, C’tolemy’s head bobbing in agreement even before Aya was done speaking. “Yes, Sevya, please!”

“Then be my good little kitten and cum now.”

Words? Words shouldn’t be enough to send the Seeker tumbling into an orgasm, even delightful ones crooned out in that husky baritone that C’tolemy has come to savor and adore. But months of careful conditioning by the Xaela paired with standing on the knife’s edge of rapture was a more potent combination than the miqo’te bargained for. His walls spasmed against themselves, sending a curl of electric heat that started in his abdomen and spread outwards in a unrelenting wave of agony tinged fervor that had every muscle tensing from head to toe. It was confusing, some small part of him fighting the lust that overwhelmed him even as it left muscle and bone turned to jelly in the aftermath. Words, words shouldn’t...

Then it didn’t matter, all that mattered to the Seeker was the hand in his hair, wrenching his head up and back, the other on his jaw forcing it open to receive the gift that his master had promised. The first thrust of Aya’s ridged cock went right to the back of C’tolemy’s throat. The Seeker jerked from the force behind the movement, caught up short from the threat of his hair separating from his scalp. Feeling Aya pull his hips back slowly was a disorienting contrast to that first, brutal push. Pop by audible pop each ridge passes back over the Seeker’s lips until C’tolemy’s mouth was left bereft, empty.

Pleading, tear-filled eyes tried to look upwards, only able to manage a glimpse of Aya’s chest and nothing more from how the Xaela held his head still. C’tolemy was stuck there, waiting and needy, restrained from seeking out the promised reward by the firm grip in his hair.

It was a bit of kindness, for all the torment, Aya letting C’tolemy gulp down enough air for the Seeker to think about talking. Once those full lips parted to speak they were filled again, Aya’s hips bucking forward to hilt himself within his pet’s mouth. “Such a hungry little slut, aren’t you kitten?”, the fondly spoken words already show a hint of strain, the foreplay had left Aya ravenous.

A strangled moan is Aya’s only answer, and the only encouragement he requires to grind against the Seeker’s lips, bruising them with the force behind it. Lazily, C’tolemy’s head is tugged back then forward, back then forward along the thick shaft in his mouth. The dirty, wet sounds of flesh sliding against flesh underscoring the rapid pace of Aya’s breath. Abruptly, both hands tangled C’tolemy’s hair, holding the Seeker’s head in place instead of moving it. Urgency drove Aya to rapidly thrust his aching cock between C’tolemy’s lips over and over and over. It was with a single minded determination that Aya sought out his own pleasure, uncaring of how his mate writhed within his grip.

Only the briefest of opportunities is given to the Seeker to catch a bit of breath, the relentless debasement of his mouth at his mate’s hand seemed to stretch out of proportion with time. Minutes, seconds? They had little meaning when Aya was using C’tolemy like this, there was only the spine tingling satisfaction of being wanted, no, needed so badly that he could drive his mate to such lengths. The intensity was such that the Seeker couldn’t stay still, the thumping of his heart in his chest matching the battering thrusts against his throat. Tears streamed down his face as he choked and sobbed on Aya’s dick, the smaller man’s tail lashing around the two of them with a mind of its own.

“I didn’t say that you could cum kitten.”, is growled out just as the fire in C’tolemy’s veins threatened to overwhelm him once more. The pounding eased for a few seconds, though it was no gift this time. Instead, the Xaela rocked his hips hard against C’tolemy’s mouth, the swollen crown forced hard against that deliciously sensitive spot within his mate’s throat. Panic wells up within the smaller man, he couldn’t stop it, not with how Aya was tormenting him. But, he had to be good! He had to be...

Just as C’tolemy’s walls clenched, the slick dripping from his folds drenching the floor where he knelt, Aya drew his hips backwards much to the relief of his tortured mate. It was sufficient to keep the miqo’te from disobeying the harsh command, holding onto sanity by the tips of his claws. “You can cum when I do.”

The words barely register to the struggling, cock drunk man. All that mattered was that his mouth was filled again, hunger satisfied even though every time he was impaled by his mate’s shaft it sent more cracks through his failing control.

“You’re a good little slut aren’t you?”, Aya gasped out encouragingly as his movements turned erratic, sex flexing within the grip of C’tolemy’s lips. “A... little.. lon-longer, just a..ah...” The Xaela’s jaw snapped shut, muffling the shout that replaced his words. C’tolemy’s face was pulled tight to Aya’s groin as hot ropes of seed were shot into the smaller man’s throat. Euphoria washed over the Xaela sending his muscles to trembling, knees turning to jelly, breath catching in his throat. One hand went to his mate’s shoulder as he took a stumbling, half step forward to keep upright. It forced his pulsing sex just a little bit deeper between the Seeker’s lips much to both men’s delight.

Just as he was promised, C’tolemy was drowning. There was no breath, no sense of time, nothing but nerve searing delight as his body spasmed from the ecstasy that was consuming him whole. Yet, that was nothing compared to the honeyed words that were rasped close to his ear, “So good, kitten. You were the best.” Utterly satisfied, body and soul, the miqo’te drifted off into blessed nothingness. He was good, nothing else mattered.

[C’tolemy belongs to @ala-mhinyan]

#shamless smut #ffxiv rp #OC stories #ayanga uyagir #also Khenbish #just husband things

6 notes · View notes

creativerogues · 6 years ago

Text

Programmed Amnesia

9th Level Enchantment

Casting Time: 8 hours Range: Touch Components: V S Duration: Instantaneous Classes: Sorcerer, Wizard

As you finish the complicated procedure necessary to cast the spell, your target’s mind opens up to you like a book. You see the target’s memories like stories and know that you can rewrite them as a master bard rewrites the inferior works of his apprentices.

You can selectively destroy, alter, or implant memories in the subject creature as you see fit. Casting the spell gives you access to all of the subject’s thoughts and memories, allowing you to implement as many of the following specific effects as you like.

Memory Erasure: Memories possessed by the subject can be erased at the caster's will, including knowledge of specific events, people, or places. You can erase up to one full week of memories from the subject’s mind.

Memory Implant: You can create false memories in the subject’s mind as you see fit. You can implant memories of being friends with a hated enemy, events that didn’t really take place, or betrayals by people the subject regards as friends.

Skill Erasure:The subject can be made to forget any or all class-based skills or proficiencies, spellcasting, or any other ability that stems from learned knowledge.

The only characteristics that can't be affected by this usage of programmed amnesia are hit points, saving throws, and ability scores. A character's native language cannot be erased, either.

Persona Erasure: Combining the effects of a Skill Erasure and a Memory Erasure, this leaves the subject as a clean slate.

You can choose to implant a false set of memories, build a new persona for the creature, alter its alignment, beliefs, values, and personality traits.

Only the subject’s ability scores, hit points, saving throws, and native language remain. The character may assume any class or alignment available, beginning as a 1st-level character.

Programmed Erasure: You can program the subject to delay the onset of any of the above effects until a specific event takes place, such as the receipt of a coded message, capture by enemies, or arrival at some destination.

Similarly, you could specify some or all of the alterations you create in a subject to be removed by a specific event.

What is Programmed Amnesia?

The nature of Programmed Amnesia is such that a subject given new memories (whether willing or not) might be given cause to suspect that those memories are false, based on how complete your programming is.

The wizard must be able to see the spell's subject for the full duration of the spells casting. At the end of each day, the subject makes a wisdom or intelligence (caster’s choice) saving throw vs. the caster’s spell save DC to negate the effect.

Casting Programmed Amnesia

The casting time of this spell varies according to what effects the wizard wishes to impose on the subject.

To cast just one of the listed effects, the wizard must spend two days secluded away from any distractions - a personal laboratory is a good example of a secluded place.

In between the intense eight-hour casting sessions, the wizard can sleep and eat in the area they chose to seclude themselves in.

If the wizard breaks his or her seclusion for any reason, the spell is lost.

Also, for every effect over the first, another day (with its eight-hour intense casting period) must be spent in seclusion.

Using Programmed Amnesia in your Campaign

Generally, your subject must be either willing to undergo the spell or restrained in some way so that it cannot leave or interfere with the casting. Programmed amnesia cannot be dispelled, and so is normally permanent unless you care to specify events that will end the effect. Its effect can also be removed by a greater restoration or wish spell.

I’ve most recently used this spell on the Dragonborn Wizard in the party when he kept trying and trying to infiltrate a restricted part of a wizarding hall in order to ‘borrow’ a bunch of their books and research on new spells, so he could learn how new spells are developed and create his own (homebrew) spells.

He was eventually caught (though under the disguise of a simple human working there as an assistant) and was brought to Lady Ossariph, one of the higher-up head mages of the halls.

She questioned him, he rolled pretty good on deception, and managed to lie his way through and stole a book of spellcraft in the process of very quickly exiting the halls of magic.

Several weeks later, and after even more attempts to infiltrate, he woke in the middle of the night to find a phantasm trying to strangle him. He couldn’t cry for help and was eventually choked unconscious and woke up in chains in front of Lady Ossariph, who proceeded to essentially torture and interrogate the poor dragonborn to find out what he was planning on doing with their stolen research, asking him if he was some kind of spy (because dragonborn are pretty uncommon in the larger cities) and she immediately knew that he was lying to her the second that she meet his disguised self.

And so, after the dragonborn answered a few of her questions (some not so honestly), the Lady using various magics to read his thoughts and know whether he was lying.

And so asked him one last time if he intends on creating his own magic against the regulations set in place by the halls themselves, and said that he’d probably go to prison anyways, the Lady saying she could easily make him look like a spy from far away.

And after the dragonborn refused to answer her question on his intents of spellcraft, she decided to trap him there in his binds while she cast Programmed Amnesia over the course of several days, the party desperately trying to find their dragonborn friend, searching the whole city and going back to every place they had visited hoping to find him there.

Eventually the Lady finished her spell, and the dragonborn woke up in his bed just as the party arrived back at their makeshift headquarters of a tavern to find him.

They scolded him for leaving without telling him where he went, but he just gave a blank expression, seemingly no emotion to his face.

The Lady had made him forget all spellcasting he knew, and he had permanently forgotten about any venturing into the halls and essentially had become a blank slate of a man.

Now of course he wasn’t that way for long, the party eventually finding a way to restore his memories and finding out about the Halls of Magic and their dirty secrets about spellcraft, but for a few sessions, the dragonborn wizard was just... a dragonborn.

He learned his name again, but for a while he had no idea who he was, what he was, where he came from or even who these people he’s adventuring with are...

It was a great story arc, and a way to show just what happens when you start pushing your luck against a very powerful enchantress and try to steal her most precious work and research...

#spell #magic spells #homebrew #homebrew spells #dnd 5e homebrew #d&d story

168 notes · View notes

lovehaswonangelnumbers · 5 years ago

Photo

New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/full-moon-april-7-2020-illness-infection/

Full Moon April 7, 2020 – Illness & Infection

By Astrology King

The Libra full moon on Tuesday, April 7, 2020, increases the risks associated with the coronavirus pandemic. Full moon April 2020 makes an aspect to Neptune that is associated with health imbalances. And Neptune is the planet of illness and infection.

The April 2020 full moon is made more dangerous by Mars square Uranus. This impulsive influence makes people rebellious and aggressive. Jupiter conjunct Pluto amplifies the risks but a positive aspect to Mercury gives understanding and common sense. It means smart thinking and cooperation with friends and neighbors is the key to staying safe and relatively happy during the difficult moon phase.

Full Moon Meaning

Sun opposite Moon brings your home, family and intimate relationships into sharper focus for the following two weeks of this moon phase. Opposing forces such as work versus home, or what you need versus what you want, create inner tension and external pressures. This can lead to conflict and crises that drain your energy.

The lunar qualities of emotions and instincts reach their peak at a full moon. So use your increased emotional strength and intuition to overcome any relationship challenges. Subconscious awareness allows for an impartial and balanced look at your personal relationships. You will clearly see any relationship dynamics or negative feelings causing disharmony.

Full Moon April 2020 Astrology

The April 7 full moon at 18°43′ Libra makes one minor aspect to Neptune so the recent theme of illness and infection continues. The fixed stars in this area do not have an important influence on the full moon but there are other planetary aspects that are very significant. They do offer some hope but overall, this is another challenging moon phase.

Full Moon April 2020 Astrology

Neptune Illness and Infection

Full Moon quincunx Neptune increases your emotional sensitivity which can lead to confusion, insecurity and neurotic distress. The quincunx is an aspect of health imbalances, and Neptune rules illness and infection. So full moon April 2020 also increases the risks posed by the coronavirus. Cleanliness and hygeine are critical during this two-week moon phase.

There is also a risk of misdiagnosis, over-sensitivity to medications, addiction, and poisoning. Paranoia and suspicion can lead to mistrust and the poisoning of a relationship. You may be susceptible to isolation, gossip, scandal, betrayal, loss or disappointment. Interestingly, the coronavirus pandemic chart has this same aspect with almost the same orb.

Jupiter-Pluto Extremes

Jupiter conjunct Pluto is exact on April 4, only three days before the full moon. With an orb of only 0°18′, this is a very powerful influence for the whole moon phase. This major alignment is widely square the full moon which makes it more challenging than it would normally be. But it is exactly sextile Mercury which brings progressive thinking and perhaps even some good news.

Jupiter conjunct Pluto can make you very focused and driven to succeed. A mix of intense effort and good luck can bring power and influence to make a big difference in your life.

However this conjunction is going to intensify and exacerbate the coronavirus pandemic. This is because it falls on Pluto on the pandemic chart at 24°30′ Capricorn. So there will be more fear, mass death and extreme measures to restrict the spread of the virus.

Some people will react with ruthless, extreme, self-righteous, prejudiced, immoral or obsessive behavior. Selfishness, greed, jealousy, revenge, racism, violence and crime are possible.

Mercury sextile Jupiter brings positive thinking which should reduce the risk of those destructive behaviors mentioned above. A broad outlook and excellent decision-making skills allow you to make plans in response to new laws and regulations. This is a good full moon to implement new routines at home for schooling children.

Mercury sextile Pluto gives the intense focus and concentration to research the truth and uncover secrets. You can trust your intuition to guide your decisions. Mercury sextile Jupiter-Pluto means you transform your way of thinking and adapt to new restrictions affecting communications and movements. Working together with your friends and neighbors will help you stay safer and happier.

Full Moon Danger

Mars square Uranus only 8 hours before the full moon will have a dangerous influence. It will make people impulsive and erratic as they rebel against the restrictions imposed by governments. A tendency to act rashly without regard for the consequences may lead to great disruption or conflict.

You cannot restrain this erratic energy so you must express your crazy, creative or inventive side in a safe environment. Find a creative outlet socially, sexually or through a hobby. Get your kinky or dangerous desires out of your system in a safe way without upsetting others. Avoid impulsive actions and taking dangerous risks.

Full Moon April 2020 Summary

The April 7 full moon increases the risk of infection and illness because it is quincunx Neptune. Jupiter joins Pluto to intensify the coronavirus pandemic and amplify the risk.

Mars square Uranus also increases the risk of infection because it leads to impulsive actions. So it is critically important to remain patient and cautious because this aspect makes you want to break free of restrictions, regardless of the consequences.

The key to remaining safe during full moon April 2020 is using your brain. Mercury sextile Jupiter-Pluto means thinking, communications and local travel are assets. Use this full moon to change your way of thinking. Listen to advice, share your knowledge and be smart about how you move around and interact with your neighbors.

A full moon has a relationship with the previous new moon. The March 24 new moon is also a challenging influence. It is bringing sickness, misfortune, compulsory change, inhibitions and restraint. This is a time for protecting, nurturing and healing, of yourself and your loved ones. The April 7 full moon lasts for two weeks up to the April 22 new moon.

If the full moon directly impacts your horoscope decan you can read about it in your monthly horoscope. For more detail about how it affects your natal chart see full moon transits.

Previous Moon Phase: New Moon March 24, 2020

Next Moon Phase: New Moon April 22, 2020

2020 Moon Phases Calendar

Full Moon April 2020 Times and Dates

Los Angeles – April 7, 7:35 pm

New York – April 7, 10:35 pm

London – April 8, 3:35 am

Delhi – April 8, 8:05 am

Sydney – April 8, 12:35 pm

*****

LoveHasWon.org is a Non-Profit Charity, Heartfully Associated with the “World Blessing Church Trust” for the Benefit of Mother Earth

Share Our Messages with Love and Gratitude

LOVE US @ MeWe mewe.com/join/lovehaswon

Visit Our Online Store for Higher Consciousness Products and Tools: LoveHasWon Essentials

http://lovehaswonessentials.org/

Visit Our NEW Sister Site: LoveHasWon Angel Numbers

https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/

Commentary from The First Contact Ground Crew 5dSpiritual Healing Team:

Feel Blocked, Drained, Fatigued, Restless, Nausea, Achy, Ready to Give Up? We Can Help! We are preparing everyone for a Full Planetary Ascension, and provide you with the tools and techniques to assist you Home Into The Light. The First Contact Ground Crew Team, Will Help to Get You Ready For Ascension which is Underway. New Spiritual Sessions have now been created for an Entire Family, including the Crystal Children; Group Family Healing & Therapy. We have just began these and they are incredible. Highly recommend for any families struggling together in these times of intense changes. Email: [email protected] for more information or to schedule an emergency spiritual session. We can Assist You into Awakening into 5d Reality, where your experience is one of Constant Joy, Wholeness of Being, Whole Health, Balanced, Happy and Abundant. Lets DO THIS! Schedule Your Session Below by following the Link! Visit: http://www.lovehaswon.org/awaken-to-5d/

Introducing our New LoveHasWon Twin Flame Spiritual Intuitive Ascension Session. Visit the link below:

https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-twin-flame-spiritual-intuitive-ascension-session/

Request an Astonishing Personal Ascension Assessment Report or Astrology Reading, visit the link below for more information:

https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-ascension-assessment-report

https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-astrology/

Experiencing DeAscension Symptoms, Energy Blockages, Disease and more? Book a Holistic Healing Session

https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-holistic-healing-session/

To read our Testimonials you can follow this link: http://www.lovehaswon.org/testimonials

Connect with MotherGod~Mother of All Creation on Skype @ mothergoddess8

Request a copy of our Book: The Tree of Life ~ Light of The Immortals Book

Order a copy of Our LoveHasWon Ascension Guide: https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-ascension-guide/

**If you do not have a Paypal account, click on the button below:

If you wish to donate and receive a Tax Receipt, click the button below:

Donate with Paypal

Use Cash App with Our code and we’ll each get $5! FKMPGLH

Cash App Tag: $lovehaswon1111

Cash App

Donate with Venmo

VENMO

Support Our cause in the creation of the Crystal Schools for Children. Visit our fundraising link below:

LoveHasWon Charity for Crystal Schools

Support Our Charity in Co~Creating the New Earth Together by Helping Mother of All Creation. Visit our fundraising link below:

Support Mother Earth!

Support Us on PATREON

PATREON

Support Us Through Our LoveHasWon Wish List

LoveHasWon Wish List

We also accept Western Union and Moneygram. You may send an email to [email protected] for more information.

***If you wish to send Donations by mail or other methods, email us at [email protected] or [email protected]***

**** We Do Not Refund Donations****

MeWe ~ Youtube ~ Facebook ~ Apple News ~ Linkedin ~ Twitter ~ Tumblr ~ GAB ~ Minds ~ Google+ ~ Medium ~ StumbleUpon ~ Reddit ~ Informed Planet ~ Steemit ~ SocialClub ~ BlogLovin ~ Flipboard ~ Pinterest ~ Instagram ~ Snapchat

#5D Astrology #Astrology Updates

1 note · View note

zzzpax · 5 years ago

Text

so my father disappeared from this world when i was an infant, he disappeared from my grandparents life (with whom i maintained a relationship against the fact that i am their son’s daughter and he was no longer communicating with them), he also vanished from my mother and i’s world, and nobody ever talked about or discussed his existence during my whole childhood, at least not until i started therapy and it became obvious that it was a manic neurosis the way everyone avoided mentioning him and telling me what really happened. until this day it isn’t really clear what triggered his self imposed exile and what made him start despising his own family so he had to delete his presence.

and yes, what i just described isn’t an anomaly whatsoever in this society, it has been normalised in our conception of families that the paternal figure doesn’t really hold a lot of responsibility when it comes to emotions or raising a child, and it’s necessary to also understand that patriarchal communities that ensure that gender stays dichotomised in a binary archetype that gives different and drastically different purposes and amounts of privileges to each of them does construct a rigid and hierarchical familiar system that is inevitably and inherently violent and aggressive with anything that doesn’t conform to its norm; probably the root of so many social problems that we are facing right now worldwide, such as mental health and how it relates to individuals who can’t and will never adjust and/or adapt to society unless society goes through a series or transformations that will eventually lead us to being able to change the way it is and the way it submits the minorities, the divergent, the powerless and the vulnerable.

so, what i am trying to say here, taking in consideration the consequences of an absent and unaccountable paternal figure that directly relates with the way with cis-men are raised and how we perceive them in and as a patriarchal society, it is a fucking tragedy that it is a fucking standard: my dad vanishing and everybody taking care into acting as it wasn’t important or relevant and making me forget so i forgot about his existence and the pain it means to be abandoned and neglected as a child, to be able to normalise the discomfort we are taught to swallow when it comes to us and trying to develop a sense of identity, purpose or spirituality; naturalise the generalised misery we go through daily with the promise of an upgrade in our existence through acquisition of material goods (a bigger house, a faster car, a more luxurious life), so we learn to follow the social norms that are supposedly going to make us less uncomfortable and dissatisfied with the lives we should oh so desperately love (because wanting to kill yourself is seen so negatively even though probably every last one of us have had at least a fantasy with suicide) and very rarely attain any kind of happiness getting more and more hopeless and frightened that we will never be truly happy so we avoid pain.

unfortunately (or fortunately), with humans depending on their senses to understand reality, and also our senses providing us with very unpleasant physical manifestations of pain through our nervous system, our instinct makes sure we avoid sources of pain because usually it means danger, sickness, death. and because of this it may be easy to trick the human psyche (at least to an extent and where the consciousness rules over the subconscious) into thinking that it is possible to be happy (or at least happier) through not experiencing physical pain and through pleasurable activities and hedonistic behavior that it is and it has only (in a historical sense) been possible through privilege and power.

only when you’re wealthy you have time to feast because you don’t need to spend all of your energies trying to get access to food in the first place.

in times in which a considerable amount of the population has almost immediate access to multiple and abundant varieties of food, in which we have developed technology to a point where we have running water, health services, life insurance and free time if we have power of acquisition, is easy to be fooled into thinking that we might eventually be happy and no longer suffer as we earn power, or rationally validate the delusion of mercantilism that has made possible to materialise power transversely in our society: it’s easy to trick ourselves into thinking that as long as there is money in abundance we will get some sort of happiness along the way.

and now i’m practically preaching Freud (and i am so deeply sorry because i definitely am not his fan neither do i share most of his ideas but psychoanalysis is important and most definitely not his exclusively) but because we have to indeed repress our deepest emotional needs and because we are forced to neglect ourselves at mercy of patriarchy. so, if the only redemption is to at least be able to be forgiven by our physical pain, we will stay in permanent crisis and war with our deepest needs, leading us to indulge and be condescending with our wounded subconscious, so it’s stops being relevant how we secure our comfort, how we take into consideration what we destroy to get what we want. and ironically we never get it, so it escalates into even more violent ways of achieving by any means, an even more comfortable comfort.

it’s no surprise that the powerful and wealthy will stay disastrously frightened of loosing their power and design even more unfair and violent systems to ensure that things won’t ever change, to ensure that we stay ill and unhappy chasing a less painful existence through precarious coping mechanisms that will never be able to relieve us, the same way they don’t relieve them.

in order to transform society, the world we live in, we need to transform ourselves from within and only then, transform our families and the way we are raised, so we can start changing our community and stop feeling attacked by minorities that are fighting for their own rights. fighting against a society that doesn’t take them into consideration because its owners are rendered terrorised due to their own inability to face the inner pain that won’t ever vanish. because it can’t be excised. so it turns urgent for them to be able to face it and become comfortable with it. and it is because they have already given so much in order for them to get enough power or privileges so they can afford a more comfortable life, or because they have never had to deal with the nuisances of getting where they stand in terms of power and wealth that they are unable to come to terms with the idea of facing said suffering in the first place and get fucked by fear. fear about about having to deal with said distress.

without ever having to deal with pain we get fucking terrorised by the idea of it and are incapable of even measuring it against anything we know because in fact, we don’t know pain and all we have ever been told is that it is intolerable. biologically, when we feel pain, bells start ringing because it means that our existence is being threatened, so we associate every kind of pain with the danger it represents. we flee from any kind of stimuli that signifies pain. we fight, like our own life depended on it (and it truly, let me tell you that it probably doesn’t endanger the precious gift that life is when it comes to our inner turbulent and psychic conflict), and we become aggressive against anything that threatens to take comfort away from us, being violent in reaction to any whom is jeopardising our well being.

it probably is (at least to some extent) because of this that we might completely end society and humankind with our reckless ambition to avoid suffering. because the powerful, the privileged, the supremacy, submits everyone to become comfortable with the pain that society and reality inflict, to exempt themselves by oppressing others. others who are different, who are enslaved, who can’t adjust. so they can live a more comfortable life at mercy of the misery of others and never even attempt to ever trying to come to terms with the fact that we are not able to ever eradicate pain because we are not in control of reality and we can’t evade its principle. or maybe, if we learn how to face the struggles inside ourselves and our inner wounds that hurt and makes us uncomfortable, the unavoidable truth, that as long as reality exists and permits that we coexist with other individualities, and wish to continue enjoying the blessings that comes with cooperating and developing a culture (such as technology, language, art, love, pleasure, the possibility of developing ourselves spiritually) we will have to pay the price of respecting every form of existence and them will have to respect us by suppressing their urges to evade the distress of not being able to get what we want how we want when we want without working for it and negotiating with reality first.

pain is the price we pay to be conscious. because consciousness (as it has been depicted many, many times) exists to restrain the unconscious. and restraining the unconscious is tremendously and terribly painful.

and what i wanted to say in the first place, and what i am aiming to illustrate here in relation to our challenges to get to a better society in which we develop finally an additional level of consciousness that has to be with a way of collective thinking and perceiving reality is that probably, right now that we are transitioning still through the era of Pisces to the era of Aquarius, is that astrology might be a fundamental and irreplaceable key to what and how we continue our path.

Because astrology, learning to read its language and understanding how we have developed it so that is able, through the study of transits of celestial bodies around us, to identify and associate certain characteristics to them that affect us and the way we perceive and interact with time and reality. because it helps us to understand our pain, where it comes from, where we are, how we are and how we can transform ourselves to attain a more purposeful existence in a life that lacks purpose, knowing that everybody represents an otherness with its own intricate network of sensibilities, inherently divergent and sometimes radically difficult for us to relate due to the way that they exist can make us become more empathetic and ready when it comes to experience pain and not letting someone lead a dreadful existence by the expanse of our own.

#rant #astrology #i am out of my mind #and so grateful #i was going to write about vertex and ended up writing an essay #pax.txt #i will eventually write about vertex

1 note · View note

wistfulcynic · 6 years ago

Text

Their Way By Moonlight: What Henry Saw (Chapter 5)

In which we learn more about the curse and the lives of those under it, and there is something of a cliffhanger.

Summary: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time the Saviour is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from her son and anyone else who might help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Hook are soulmates, working together within their shared dreams to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from the clutches of evil yet again. (Alternate 3B, set in the What Dreams May Come universe)

Rating: A hard M

Tagging: @teamhook @wellhellotragic @rouhn @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @bonbonpirate @thejollyroger-writer @lfh1962 @laschatzi @katie-dub

Anyone wishing to be added to or dropped from this tag list, please do say so.

Read it on AO3

What Henry Saw:

As soon as the door closed behind Emma, Killian collapsed against the kitchen counter and ran a shaking hand over his face. He felt like a puppet with its strings cut; held tense and controlled throughout the performance but unable to keep himself upright or control his movements once that guidance had been severed. He’d thought he was prepared for every eventuality, had rehearsed a hundred scenarios in his head. What he would do if Emma hated him on sight, if she were back with Baelfire, if the curse made her inaccessible to him somehow, if she were simply indifferent to him. What he hadn’t prepared for was for her to look at him softly, the familiar attraction sparking in her eyes, asking him questions about herself as she caressed the ring that had not left his finger since she had placed it there more than a year before.

He missed her so much. Killian pressed the heel of his hand to his chest, just above where his heart was still thundering, still going, battered and sore as it was. It was ridiculous to miss someone when they were sitting right next to you, but sharing grilled cheese and hot chocolate with Emma that afternoon, as they had so often done before, Killian had never missed her more. At least a hundred times he’d had to consciously restrain himself from reaching out to touch her, had to clench his jaw to hold in the words he’d longed to speak when she had asked him about his wife.

Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.

He should never have invited her to lunch. Being near her in the apartment was far more difficult than it had been in the shop, but however fierce the pain of her company was that of her absence was worse. After a year of seeing her only in their dreams he hadn’t been strong enough to let her go again so soon. Not when her smile was so familiar, not when it was clear how unhappy she was in her cursed life.

Killian had suspected for some time that although she had her memories, Emma in the dreams was still partly under the influence of the curse. He suspected that it was this and not the dreams that prevented her from telling him what he needed to know, from speaking frankly about her life. Her belief that her cursed self loved Walsh seemed somehow... imposed on her, both asleep and awake, like a supplementary level of memory manipulation on top of the standard curse amnesia. Could it be that Emma was fighting back against the curse so successfully that she had to be given extra dose of it to keep her in line? If anyone could manage to throw off a curse singlehandedly, it would be Emma Swan. But who was administering this dose? Who was keeping watch on her?

He wished Henry would come home so they could talk about it. The lad was bound to have ideas.

A glance at the clock on his phone told him that it was just past two, Henry wouldn’t be back for well over an hour. Killian supposed he should do more work on the accounts, there was plenty to be done, but he doubted he’d be able sit still or concentrate. Now that the shock of weakness following Emma’s departure had passed he was feeling restless and antsy. He wanted to do something.

He decided to head to the office anyway, just to see if there was anything that might occupy his mind, but just as he was sitting down at his desk he heard the unmistakable sound of the shop door opening. Again.

Gods have mercy, he thought in exasperation, what is it now?

He went downstairs with his heart in his throat, forcing himself not to rush. When he saw who it was at the door a grin spread across his face even as he breathed a sigh of relief at finding himself greeted by nothing more alarming than a wide smile and a warm handshake.

“Bet you forgot I was coming, eh Jones?” crowed the man standing in the shop doorway, in a Queens accent so thick you could slice it and serve it on toast.

“Aye, I confess I did. I’ve had rather a lot on my mind, you know.”

“I believe it. Here I am though, as promised. Where do you want the stuff?”

Killian clapped the man on the shoulder, immensely cheered to see a familiar face that recognised him back, and followed him outside to a truck that was loaded with everything that Henry had ordered on the day of their arrival. This included a large leather Chesterfield sofa, which as the lad had predicted perfectly suited the spot underneath the large window at the end of the shop. Together the two men unloaded it along with a dozen boxes of books and enough wood to construct three more bookshelves.

“Well, this oughta keep you busy,” declared Frank McClelland, for that was the delivery man’s name, or at least the one he was using at present. He stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the shop, and when Killian came to stand next to him and offered him a beer he accepted it gladly, tapping the neck of his bottle against his host’s.

“Aye, and I’m grateful for it,” Killian replied, taking a long drink of his own beer. “I badly need a diversion, and something physical to do.”

“You’ve seen her then?” The question was casual, its tone was not.

“She left not long before you arrived.”

“She was here? Already? That’s quick work, buddy, even for you.”

“She came on her own initiative.”

“You don’t say,” said Frank McClelland thoughtfully. “Did she look at the books?”

“Aye. For over two hours.”

“Huh.”

Killian turned to look sharply at this man he dared to call a friend. Frank McClelland’s round face was ruddy and good-natured, by all appearances that of a jovial man who enjoyed a drink or two most nights and who spent his days doing physical labour in the out-of-doors. His eyes were set deep into this face, surrounded by laugh lines and pouches of bloat, and thick, wiry eyebrows. Most people didn’t look at them too closely, allowing themselves to be distracted by the cheerful grin that stretched wide across his countenance or by the bulbous nose that was always red at its tip. This suited Frank McClelland perfectly, for if they had looked they would have seen that his eyes were a sharp, iridescent green, luminous and mesmerising, brimming with an intelligence that was not entirely human. Most people, if they ever were tempted to look into those eyes would feel a prickling of unease, a deep and primal instinct warning them to step back, to look away. But Killian Jones had never been most people, and he knew what Frank McClelland was. Setting down his beer he abruptly caught the other man by the shoulders and stared directly into those remarkable eyes.

“I think she’s fighting off the curse,” he said, fixing the thought of Emma in his mind as the green eyes began to glow, flooding his field of vision with their light. “Trying to break free of it herself. Can she do that?”

“She can.” The flat Queens accent was gone, replaced by a far more lilting one, calling to mind verdant hills and rainbows arcing over distant horizons. “Emma Swan is the product of true love, wielder of powerful light magic. She was born to break curses and curses cannot easily constrain her. Even unaware of her abilities her magic is strong within her. But be forewarned, Killian Jones.” The lilting voice took on a hint of menace as the edges of Frank McClelland blurred and began to glow with a shimmering golden light. His eyes burned brightly and Killian found he could not look away from them, felt himself being sucked in and subsumed, his own blue eyes drowned in a sea of green. “Despite the strength of her determination, of her magic, and of her love, she cannot fully break this curse through will alone. She can but weaken it, forcing the hand of her enemy to strengthen the fetters that bind her. The Caster is as powerful in darkness as the Saviour is in light, and without intervention they will ever remain locked in stalemate. To break this curse the Saviour must have aid from her true loves. Both of them.”

She needs her true love. Killian grasped desperately at this thought, focusing his mind on it and it alone, clinging to the unravelling threads of his identity and refusing to let go until he felt the pull of Frank McClelland’s emerald gaze begin to weaken. Summoning every ounce of strength that remained in his limbs he pushed at the other man’s shoulders, propelling himself backwards into the wall, drained and trembling but free, and with at least some of the answers he needed. As he lay gasping against the cold brick the light surrounding the delivery man abruptly winked out, leaving the room feeling unnaturally dim in its absence. Frank McClelland calmly set his half empty beer bottle down next to Killian’s then retrieved a Mets cap from the back pocket of his jeans and pulled it low over his brow.

“Well, I should be going,” he said cheerfully, his flat vowels and nasal intonation returned in all their glory. “Long drive, you know.”

“Aye.” Killian stood up straight and offered his hand. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “For everything.”

The other man shook it warmly. “My duty,” he said, “And my pleasure. You’re a man of remarkable strength and daring, my friend.” The fae twinkled briefly in his expression, then was gone. “Bring your family back to see me, as soon as you’re able.”

“I will,” promised Killian, and he meant it.

Once Frank McClelland and his truck had disappeared from view, Killian took out his phone again. Henry’s school day had just ended, he should be heading home now. He wondered if the lad would send a message to say he was on his way, or if it would be considered ‘nagging’ if he sent one. Killian had a horror of nagging. He was still weighing the pros and cons a minute later when the phone buzzed in his hand and he jumped slightly in surprise.

Henry: Going to walk around a bit, explore. Won’t be too late.

Killian sighed. Of course. The boy had been holding in his curiosity for days now, it wouldn’t be suppressed forever. He texted back. All right, lad. You know what to do if there’s trouble.

He wouldn’t worry, Killian promised himself. Henry’s judgement could be trusted. Tucking his phone back into his pocket he began to open the newly delivered boxes and arrange what books he could onto the shelves, wondering how Henry’s day had gone.

Earlier that morning:

Henry kept his posture straight and his steps sure until he had turned the corner and moved out of sight of the apartment window, knowing his dad would be watching and not wanting to add to his worries by any show of hesitation or reluctance. Once out of view, however, his shoulders slumped and he dragged his feet through the damp leaves at the edge of the sidewalk, slowing his pace. He had no idea what to expect at school, and though he was determined to carry out his role in the plan the prospect of returning to another place that should be familiar but wasn’t unnerved him.

All of Storybrooke was like that, he reflected, looking around him. It was the same, the same signs and storefronts, the same houses and yards and even some of the same cars he remembered from the days of the original curse, and yet it wasn’t. It was subtly different in a way he couldn’t put his finger on, a way that was all the creepier for being so elusory. A shiver crawled up his spine on spidery feet and he clenched his fingers on the straps of his backpack, forcing himself to keep walking like nothing was amiss. There was no one behind him, he knew there wasn’t, but the feeling of a coldly curious gaze observing him as he walked was hard to shake. It was the same feeling he’d had going through the forest on their approach to town. Though he’d said nothing, not wanting to alarm his dad, that forest was not what he remembered.

He supposed he’d have to alarm his dad eventually, but intended to put it off until he’d determined what exactly there was to be alarmed about. Creepy feelings and ominous woodlands weren’t much to go on.

Carefully he kept his face in bored teenager mode even as his every sense was on alert for anything that stood out as odd, and for even a glimpse of any member of his family. He stopped in front of Granny’s, taking his phone from his pocket and slouching against the fence, appearing to any casual observer entirely absorbed in whatever was on the screen. Teenagers on their phones were a common enough sight that he would attract no particular attention or give anyone any reason to look closely enough to notice how his eyes were darting everywhere but at the screen. Quickly he scanned the crowd within the diner looking for his mom —either of his moms— but couldn’t see them. The dwarves were all there, Leroy’s plate piled high with bacon, but no sign of Emma or Regina. As he loitered a gust of wind whirled up from the ground and spiralled around him, carrying some of the drier leaves along with it, its icy tendrils of air curling like fingers under Henry's scarf and up the back of his neck. He suppressed a shudder and took the hint; apparently whoever —whatever— had its eye upon him was not as easily fooled as the passersby who were going about their business, taking no notice of him. Pushing himself away from the fence he continued walking, deciding not to wait for the bus. It wasn’t far to walk, he’d be there in plenty of time and walking would allow him some quiet moments to think. Henry had never been certain why Storybrooke even needed a school bus. Perhaps it was just what the curse thought a small Maine town would have.

As he entered the school grounds he began to notice some familiar faces. Grace was there, and Ava and Nicholas, and all the other kids he’d known over his years in Storybrooke, all appearing from the outside very much in line with his recollections of them. Eerily in line, actually. Under the first curse Henry had grown almost used to aging when no one else around him did but it had been a slow process then, and the realisation that his former classmates were just the same as he remembered while he himself had aged more than two years gave him a jolt.

He searched their faces for any hint of recognition. There was none.

Reporting directly to the office as his dad had instructed, he introduced himself to the bored looking school administrator who nodded and handed him his schedule without comment. HENRY JONES was written in bold capitals at the top. GRADE 7. Seeing that name and knowing it was his still gave him a little thrill even though he’d been using it now for more than a year. Names had power; even if he hadn’t known that from reading his storybook he’d have deduced it from his own experience. There was rather a lot of experience to go by, after all, he’d had more names than most. Henry Jones wasn’t quite the same person as Henry Mills or even Henry Swan. Henry Mills was a wide-eyed boy, clinging to hope and belief as his only weapons against the dark curse that surrounded him, Henry Swan was a normal New Yorker. Henry Jones, though, he was a pirate’s son, raised to the cusp of adulthood by a clever and dangerous man, taught by him the knack of survival and perseverance when all the power and all the odds were arrayed against him. Henry Jones was a risk taker with no patience for bullshit who would do whatever was necessary to save the people he loved, just like his dad. Henry Jones could infiltrate this school and this town and gather the intel they needed to break the curse. He grinned to himself. Henry Jones looked forward to the challenge.

As a seventh grader his classes were in the junior high building. He decided to take the long way there, a way that took him past his old fourth grade classroom. Mary Margaret’s classroom. Slowing his pace as he passed it he was able to peer through the open door, but once again the person he sought wasn’t where he’d thought to find her. In her place was a man, one he didn’t recognise. Henry frowned. If Mary Margaret wasn’t a teacher, where was she? Who was she? What had become of his grandparents under this curse?

Aside from his absent grandmother everything else about Henry’s first day back at school turned out to be frustratingly normal. The kids in his class were the same ones who’d been in the seventh grade when he’d been in the fourth, with the only startling thing being the addition of three new faces that he immediately recognised as Lost Boys. So at least some of Pan’s old crew had been swept up in this new curse too, thought Henry. Interesting. Interesting yet in no way illuminating.

As he left school that afternoon he found that his feet were of their own volition carrying him not in the direction of his current home, but down the familiar-yet-not streets that led to his old one. He should go home, he knew, back to the cannery loft to report the day’s findings to his dad. But he couldn’t go back yet, not until he’d investigated further, until he’d found some information on at least one of his relatives. Taking out his phone he sent a quick text. Going to walk around a bit, explore. Won’t be too late.

The reply came with an alacrity that suggested his dad had been waiting to hear from him. All right, lad. You know what to do if there’s trouble. Henry nodded in confirmation even though there was no one to see him. He did know what to do if there was trouble. He’d been taught well.

The house was as he remembered, starkly monochrome, its precisely cut greenery casting twisted shadows in the long afternoon light. He’d hated its austere elegance as a child and wasn’t any fonder of it now that its crisp edges and gleaming paintwork seemed to shimmer with the unsettling quality that permeated the town under this new curse, coiling and amplifying it into something almost physically malevolent. Henry suppressed a shudder and gritted his teeth, pushing through the gateway and into air that did not want him there, moving determinedly forward in defiance of the house’s angry resistance until he stood just to one side of the living room window, hidden from view but with a clear line of sight on the scene inside.

Well, he thought, that’s basically the last place I expected to find her.

The room was just as it had always been, its soothing neutral decor and crackling fire belying the stark rigidity of the hand that had shaped it, but the place on the damask sofa normally occupied by his adoptive mother was filled instead by his grandmother. Mary Margaret sat with her back straight and shoulders square, one ankle tucked behind the other and a book resting in her lap. She was dressed as Henry had never seen her before, not in the cute, retro style she had previously favoured but in a crisply cut skirt suit that recalled the same era as her former wardrobe, yet in a way that made her appear not gentle and approachable but coldly haughty. The suit was in a shade of pastel blue that should not have chilled his blood the way it did, nor should the three strands of matched pearls at her neck or the sharp tidiness of her hairstyle have caused his hand to tremble as he laid it on the windowsill, leaning forward as far as he dared to get a closer look. Her face was blank, devoid entirely of expression, and when Henry’s grandfather entered the room and she looked up at him it did not change.

David’s expression was equally blank, his clothing equally odd. Gone were the jeans and plaid shirts Henry had always known him to wear, replaced by tan chinos and a blue sport jacket. With a crest of some sort on the breast pocket. Henry blinked at the sight of that crest, shaken out of his alarm at this turn of events by a bizarre realisation. His grandparents were dressed up like dolls, perfectly costumed as stereotypes of wealthy WASPs of the 1960s, almost caricatures of them. Images he had seen in history books began to dance through Henry’s mind. John and Jackie Kennedy at Hyannis Port, on the campaign trail, in the White House, the brilliance of their moneyed gloss and attractive smiles concealing the fractured marriage beneath. Was that what this was?

Something tickled at the back of Henry’s consciousness, something he had heard, or possibly read. The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference. The indifference that now marked his grandparents’ interaction as they nodded to each other as people nod at acquaintances in the street. Mary Margaret picked up a small silver bell from the table at her side and rang it sharply, then returned her attention immediately to her book as David moved to the sideboard to pour himself a drink, leaning on his forearm against the mantel and staring silently into the flames beneath it as he sipped.

The wind that had chased Henry away from Granny’s that morning suddenly returned, more forcefully this time, driving frigid fingers of air into every gap in his clothing, wrapping around him, pulling at him, adding its strength to that of the house while its chill sapped his own. Henry acquiesced gladly to its demand; he hated being here and wanted nothing more than to get home and hug his dad, unburden himself of everything he’d learned today and let Killian’s sharp and logical mind break it all down and reassure him that they would be able to handle whatever the curse could conjure up. He began to turn away from the window, already anticipating the hot chocolate he knew his dad would make to warm him as they talked, when from the corner of his eye he saw the living room door open again, and the sight of person who walked through it froze Henry in his tracks.

She was dressed as a maid, because of course she was, in the black and white uniform he was pretty sure maids only wore in old movies. Another caricature. Her face was tired, haggard, with dark smudges beneath the eyes and lines of worry around the mouth, framed by dark hair that was limp and stringy and quite unlike the thick, well-tended mane she had always had, every day, for as long as he could remember. Not even Neverland had managed to render his mother anything less than perfectly coiffed. And yet here she was, looking so broken he barely recognised her, standing in front of Mary Margaret with her head bowed and her hands clasped loosely in front of her, awaiting instruction.

“Ah, yes, Regina,” said Mary Margaret, finally looking up from her book after allowing the silence to drag out just long enough for everyone to feel uncomfortable. “I will be dining alone this evening. I’m afraid Mr Nolan has other plans.”

David remained motionless against the mantelpiece, only his mouth curving into a bitter smile. He muttered something that Henry could barely hear, but it sounded like “I’ll certainly be making some.”

“Very good, madam,” said Regina, dropping a small curtsey before retreating from the room. Henry gaped. His dad was right. Whoever had cast this curse had a bloody vicious sense of humour. And a particular grudge against Regina.

Mary Margaret looked down at her book again. “Don’t let me keep you, David,” she said. David snorted and pushed away from the mantelpiece, draining his drink in one gulp and setting the glass back down on the sideboard with an angry thunk.

“Oh, you won’t,” he sneered and stalked from the room, letting the door bang shut behind him. Moments later he burst through the front entrance and strode purposefully down the path to the gate. Henry flattened himself against the wall of the house, but his grandfather didn’t even glance in his direction, instead sliding into a low-slung black sports car that could not be further from the beat-up old truck he’d driven before, and peeled away from the curb with a squeal of his tires.

Henry looked back into the room where Mary Margaret was still sitting, eyes still on her book. When the sound of David’s car had faded away she sighed and closed it, setting it aside as she rose and poured a drink for herself, tossing it back with an abandon that had Henry gawping again, and immediately pouring another. Henry stared, trying to process this development. He’d seen Killian and Emma drink like that once, one night when they’d thought he was asleep, but for them it had been a game, a challenge. Foreplay, though he knew they’d be mortified if they discovered he’d understood that. Mary Margaret’s drinking seemed to be driven by pure unhappiness, the simple need to forget. She filled her glass a third time and took a large gulp just as the door opened once more and Regina reappeared. “What is it, Regina?” she asked sharply.

“I beg your pardon, madam, but I forgot to tell you earlier. There wasn’t any kale in the market today, so I got arugula instead. I hope that’s all right.”

“It’s not all right, but I suppose it’s what I’ve come to expect from you,” snapped Mary Margaret, taking another long drink. “Have dinner ready at six. If you think you can manage that very simple task.”

“Yes, madam.” Regina curtsied again then turned to go and as she did she looked up and her eyes met Henry’s through the window. She gasped and stumbled, catching the doorframe to keep from falling, astonishment and terror in every line of her body.

“Wha’s wrong with you?” asked Mary Margaret, her words beginning to slur as she emptied drink number four. “You ‘ad better not be drunk.”

“No, madam, I— it’s nothing. I’m sorry.” She met Henry’s eyes again and hers implored him to go, run, get away from here! He heard the words as clearly as if she’d shouted them.

“‘Sthere someone ou’side?” Mary Margaret’s suspicious query spurred Henry into action. He pushed away from the wall and fled, as fast as he could go, letting the pull of the icy wind and the force that surrounded the house propel him forward, away from the appalling scene. He ran blindly until his lungs burned and his legs ached and he could go no further. Blinking away the tears that wanted to well up in his eyes he looked around, realising that he had unconsciously run to the old park where he had used to play, where his castle had been. The place he’d always felt safest in Storybrooke. Collapsing onto a bench he took out his phone and called his dad.

“Henry?” Killian answered on the first ring, his voice gruff with concern. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah, I— I need you to come get me. I’m at my old park, it’s near the—”

“I remember. I’ll be right there.”

Henry sighed deeply in relief. His dad was coming. Everything would be okay. He closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his head as the images of the scene he’d witnessed ran through it on an endless loop, unable to make them stop or to fully grasp what they meant. Soon he heard the sound of the truck pulling up, the door opening, and his dad’s footsteps running towards him. He leapt from the bench and began to run himself, meeting his dad halfway and slamming into his hard chest, letting his tears finally fall as Killian’s strong arms closed around him.

“What’s this, lad?” Killian stroked Henry’s hair, trying to soothe him. “What happened?”

“I went to my house,” gasped Henry, through his sobs. “My old house. It— it was awful. This curse is awful.” He pulled back, wiping his cheeks and looking up into Killian’s concerned face. “Dad, I think— I think my mom —Regina— I think she has her memories.”

#cs ff #canon divergence #alternative 3b #cursed captain swan #cursed storybrooke #captain cobra #mystery #cursed snowing #their way by moonlight #profdanglaisstuff

40 notes · View notes