#hallucinations can only repeat what you have thought consciously or subconsciously

[la-esmerqlda]

I think Ivan’s devil would have come across a lot better if he were written in a modern context. No because hear me out I do not have brain fever—

Ivan: so you have come all this way… and just to taunt me, for what! For what I ask! I beg of you, leave me alone with my own mind… I cannot live like this anymore…

The devil: ever tried illegal substances before? I have. Also you’re gay.

[swbumblebee]

What if Qui-Gon Jinn was not particularly special in his post-mortem abilities?

AKA “Old Ben” and his many Force parents.

They had all watched, their collective Force aura swamped in sadness, grief and longing, as Qui-Gon finally introduced himself to Obi-Wan.

They’d never call him ‘Old Ben’. The fact that he was only 40 years old notwithstanding, this was the boy they’d raised, grown up with, idolised. They remembered him toddling about the gardens, fascinated by the brightly coloured flowers; Getting shy around pretty people and developing awkward crushes. They remembered him standing alone at the head of an army, quietly confident and immeasurably capable. They had vivid memories of him carrying them back to the creche, so steady and strong; of his measured wisdom, and the confidence that Obi-Wan Kenobi would always triumph.

They remembered the mullet.

Nobody named “Old Ben” ever had a mullet.

The man they now, as they always had really, looked to for a light when everything else went dark.

They didn’t catch the murmured words. They were Jedi after all, (even if they were now technically one big Jedi rather than a temple full of Jedi) and eavesdropping was rude. Nobody listened to the sulky mutterings of the presence that was Quinlan Vos.

Their boy was nodding, sitting quietly on the floor whilst he finally, finally after weeks of careful and gentle persuasion, of them all keeping a tight rein on the order’s maverick (“Do not, we repeat do not, come out of the water tank. You’ll give him a cardiac arrest or something”) believed in the presence he saw before him.

They watched once more, pleased, as their missing piece allowed himself to be bullied to his feet, and guided over to the pile of blankets he called a bed.

They could feel Qui-Gon’s bitter relief as he perched next to his former student, his longing to pull the blankets up around his boy and smooth back his hair.

But words were all they had.

Still, as Obi-Wan Kenobi had shown the Galaxy; you could do a lot with words.

---

They’d argued (as much as an incorporeal fusion of spirits could argue) at length over who got to go next.

“I knew him longest, he’ll trust me!”

“He needs someone calm, measured. I will go”

“No offence Master Plo but you’ll make him cry. He needs cheering up, I’ll go!”

“Vos so help me Force-“

“I was the Master of the Order, I should do it”

“Master, we’re dead. I’m not sure seniority applies.”

In the end it was narrowed down to two options; Bant Erin, Obi-Wan’s oldest friend. Sweet natured and kind, she would be the perfect choice.

And Mace Windu.

It turns out seniority does still apply beyond the grave.

---

A small part of Obi-Wan’s subconscious was telling him that it was starting to get a bit awkward.

The transparent blue form of Mace Windu was looking down at him, the welcoming smile quickly turning into a grimace.

“…Obi-Wan?”

No. no no no this was not happening. He didn’t have time to go round the bend he had a child to protect!

He wasn’t sure if it was reasonable to measure sanity on the volume of dead loved ones he was hallucinating, but somehow one seemed saner than two.

Though it turns out he’s insane, and so not a good barometer of these things.

He knew his stare was starting to get very unnerving as his hysterical inner-ramblings reached a fever pitch.

“…Obi-Wan, are you alright?” Imaginary Mace Windu asked, concern and a tiny bit of nervousness showing on his face.

“I’m fine, how are you?” Obi-Wan asked, remembering a solid piece of advice from his formative years; Always fall back upon good manners when in unfamiliar territory Padawan mine.

Well, this was about as unfamiliar as it got.

Imaginary Mace looked at him, utterly baffled for a moment.

“Well…I’m dead, I suppose, is how I am” he answered awkwardly.

“Right. Obviously.” Obi-Wan nodded politely. “My condolences”

There was another awkward silence.

Imaginary Mace tilted his head for a moment, listening for something.

“Well…here I am” he said, spreading his arms a little.

“…yes.”

The other Jedi frowned at Obi-Wan’s strained reply and his act of scrubbing his hands down his face as if to wipe away the image in front of him.

“Qui-Gon didn’t…didn’t mention we were coming?” he asked tentatively.

Obi-Wan shook his head, wordlessly.

The frown on Imaginary Mace turned into a complete scowl as the pieces seemed to fall into place.

“JINN” he bellowed, and Obi-Wan felt it echo in the Force like nothing before.

“He can’t hear you, he’s with Yoda”

Another figure popped into existence next to Mace, and Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes once again as Depa Billaba bowed to him.

“Obi-Wan” she greeted with a grin.

“…hi” He took a deep breath, mentally cursing his absent-minded Master.

“Are you alright?” Depa didn’t stop for a reply as she looked down with him and gestured at him, gently instructing him to get up from the floor. “Oh look you’ve scraped your knee there! Master I knew you’d startle him!” she scolded her former Master.

It felt like he was having an out of body experience as Depa ushered him into a chair (the only chair in the hut), Mace looking on anxiously.

“There we go” Depa soothed as she got him settled “I wish we could make you some tea my friend.” She said disappointedly.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat.

“You ah…you can’t?” he asked, something permeating the haze. Of this whole situation, that seemed by far the most unfair thing.

Mace smiled encouragingly, seemingly happier to be on more binary ground.

“I’m afraid not, we are beings of the Force, like your Master.” He explained, before scowling again. “Who, I would kill if he weren’t already dead,” he growled.

“I’m so sorry Obi-Wan” Depa said, dismayed “We all wanted to come and be with you, but we though Qui-Gon might be best to start with, so as not to overwhelm you”

“Sorry about that” Mace said apologetically.

They sat in silence a moment, Depa and Mace watching him process.

For the first time ever, Obi-Wan had exactly zero thoughts in his head.

He was starting to feel the pressure.

“All?” he tried.

Depa and Mace looked at each other.

“You ah…you said ‘all wanted to come’” he clarified.

Depa nodded happily.

“Yes yes, we’re all there Obi-Wan” she smiled at him

“Any Jedi slain by a Sith, or the machinations of the Sith, is there” Mace explained.

Obi-Wan was having the slightest bit of trouble taking deep breaths. Neither of his companions seemed to have noticed.

“Where?” he asked, only mildly aware that his voice was getting just a little pitchy.

“In the Force, we’re all one in the Force” Depa started again, and then paused a little lost for words.

“We’re all together and we kind of…share our presences” Mace picked up, with difficulty “Everyone who was killed by Palpatine’s evil, everyone from us right down to the littlest initiate, we share one consciousness in the Force.”

Obi-Wan was none the wiser.

Mace waved a hand frustratedly.

“Sorry, Plo explains it better”

“Plo?” Obi-Wan loved Master Plo. He loved all of them. And they were gone.

“Hello Obi-Wan”

“Well, if Plo and Depa get to see him I’m bloody well here too!”

“Hi Obi”

“Obes!”

He could only watch, speechless, as the faces of old friends, comrades, mentors and carers crammed into his hut, all looking at him with unadulterated, unfiltered pleasure and love was the last thing he saw before his scrambled brain decided it’d had enough, and he knew nothing but darkness.

---

It turns out, living with the forms of all your dead teachers, carers and friends was actually rather trying, after a while.

“Oh thank goodness you’re not still drinking that awful caff”

“I like caff – Master Plo please don’t try and lift that”

“Relax Obi dear, we’re incorporeal”

“Can still see things though”

“Vos get out of my fresher!”

“What does this do?”

“Never you mind. No don’t – Ugh. Why don’t some nice, well behaved padawans ever come to see me?”

“They’re not allowed, only those who knew you personally can visit. We thought it might get a bit stressful otherwise.”

“…I can’t imagine.”

Aside from having to adapt his busy routine to accommodate half a dozen fidgety and curious…ghosts (?) poking around his small hut at any one time, another unexpected addition to his (attempted) isolation on Tatooine was the nagging. And Force could they nag! The concentrated worry of many, many, beings with nowhere else to direct their extra energies was powerful.

“Obi-Wan you haven’t drank enough today. Go and check the vaporators”

“Padawan aren’t you going to eat?”

“Listen, that plie of cloth can’t be good for your spine”

“Force! Get some sun block Kenobi or you’re going to look like an old shoe in three months”

“No right, I saw a sunhat he can buy at the market”

It was…weird. He’d always been very self-sufficient, not to mention being the centre of everyone’s attention was difficult, to say the least. But as the months went on, he found himself transitioning from awkward acquiescence to see-sawing between mulishness and good-natured obedience. The stubbornness rising usually when the despair did. But those days were few and far between.

And now, when they did occur (for one can only avoid one’s demons for so long) and he felt like he was drowning in the weight of existence, he could rely on his friends for encouragement, care, and the motivation to carry on.

“If you join us before your time I will KILL you Obi-Wan Kenobi. Now kriffing well eat something!”

---

Of course, when their brother, friend, son, comrade, teacher and last hope did at last join them, there was no nagging or disappointment (or violence). The ultimate Jedi was back in the fold and they were once again complete.

[jawritter]

Your Dean...

Request: Heyy! I'm sorry to be a bother. I was wondering if you can do a one-shot where the reader is prone to severe panic attacks and her husband Dean is the only one who knows how to calm her down? She gets a really bad attack but Dean for some reason ain't there, and no one is able to help her but eventually, he comes back and takes care of her. Sorry if this is a lot haha.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Trigger Warning... Anxiety, Panic Attack, Angst, Some fluff. That’s about it I think.

Word Count: 1447

A/N: As always all mistakes are mine! Please don’t copy my work! Feedback his golden! I hope you all enjoy this one!!

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

****MASTERLIST******

It doesn’t start out hard and in your face, not always… 

Usually, it’s a slow build over a course of days, sometimes hours, depending on what brought it on. 

Not this time… 

This time it felt like it hit you out of nowhere, and you didn’t even see it coming, not until it had already started to take hold of you.

The feeling like you’re being watched, paranoid over every little thing. That spine-tingling feeling that someone is following you, or watching you, judging you, and you know for a fact that no one is there. 

The way your mind overplays things, making them out to be worse than what they are. Constantly playing over and over again like a broken record things that normal people wouldn’t even pay attention to, but you, it drives you crazy. 

Every little mistake on a constant repeat in front of your mind’s eye, not letting you let it go…

Like this morning when you were in the gas station for a supply run. Dean would be home today, and he needed beer when he got home from a hunt because he liked to have it, and you knew it. 

So as a good girlfriend you always try to be, your OCD says you must have beer at the bunker by the time Dean got home.

They had the counters cluttered, you set your purse down on the counter, in a hurry to get home before the storm hit and the rain started, and in your hurry, you knocked over a small display of candy bars onto the floor. 

There was a line of people behind you… 

They saw your clumsy moment… 

That was all it took…

Your mind hyper-focused on that one moment, playing it over and over again. It wasn’t your fault really. They shouldn’t have had all that shit stacked up on the counter, but your mind wouldn’t let it go. 

It just kept playing the way people stared at you as you fumbled and tried to pick up the candy that had fallen over. 

Even though they weren’t really staring at you, your mind made you think that they were, because that’s how anxiety works. It takes a situation that’s small and just makes it seem like this unforgivable, insurmountable thing. 

Everyone that was in there had probably forgotten all about you and the candy display by the time they got to their cars.

You though, you could feel judgment that wasn’t there. 

You know the signs, you dealt with anxiety all your life. 

You know what’s coming….

You need to get home to Dean… He’s your distraction… Your grounding… Your safe space… He knows how to pull you out of your head before it goes too far…

Your Dean…

When you finally made it home and walk through the doors of the bunker Dean still wasn't home…

You slip a level deeper into your spiral, this time you don’t even notice it, your mind still hyper-focused on what happened in the gas station. Your subconscious now mixing with the gut-wrenching questions on top of your own humiliations…

Where’s Dean? 

He and Sam should have been home an hour ago? 

Has something happened? 

Are they hurt? 

Did they get in a wreck?

Should you go look for them?

Taking a deep breath you shove it down and try to rationalize it…

They just ran into traffic or stopped for lunch. They’ll be home soon…

So you put away the supplies and go take a shower, trying to relax yourself and stave off what you know is coming.

Your heart rate feels higher than normal. Your hyper-focused state doesn’t allow you to see that it’s just stress and you’re doing it to yourself.

“Oh God, something is wrong with me. I’m going to die. I won’t ever see Dean again…”

Your Dean…

Just that simple thought causes your hands to shake and your chest to tighten around your lungs. 

“There was so much I wanted to do, and now I won’t get to because I’m dying..”

“I wanted to see Dean one more time. Let him hold me one more time. See his smile. Feel his warmth… But my heart rate is up, and I’m going to die before he gets here… Now I won’t get to see him again…" 

Your Dean… 

You just wanted to see your Dean…

Your heart is now pounding in your ears as you try to dry yourself off and make your way to the bedroom you shared with Dean… 

You feel a little dizzy. 

“Oh, God… Is this it…” 

“How will Dean find me?”

“On the floor in the hallway. On the floor of our bedroom… In our bed? Would he think you were just sleeping… Leaving your dead body there for hours?”

“Will he burn your body? Give you a hunter’s funeral?”. 

“Will he do something stupid to try and get you back?”

Your chest grew tighter and tighter as your mind continued to reel.  Your breaths felt like they were becoming harder and harder to take as you slid down the wall not three feet away from the door of your shared room.

Everything started to sound like it was underwater. Your world started swimming around you. Your vision is blurring as you start to lose consciousness. 

You could hear a roaring sound like someone was yelling, but you couldn’t be sure everything sounded so far away…

Out of nowhere thick, strong arms wrapped around your shaking form and Dean’s cologne invaded your scenes…

Were you hallucinating? 

Did you die? 

Is this your Heaven… Dean shouldn’t be here… He should be alive…

"Y/N, sweetheart, breathe, you got to breathe for me okay? Breathe with me baby.”

You heard Dean take a deep breath, and you desperately wanted to do what he was telling you to do, but you couldn’t make your body do what your brain said you need to do. 

Dean’s large hand came to the side of your face, making you look at him. His piercing green eyes invaded your vision, making you focus on him.

“Y/N/N, come on sweetheart, focus on me. It’s not real, whatever happened to you is not real. I’m real. I’m right here with you. You need to concentrate. I need you to breathe, baby girl.”

Dean was real. He was there… You weren’t imagining it… Your Dean was there… He was home…

You take a deep breath with him this time, your lungs burned in protest, but you did it; counting to five in your head before letting it go. Then again… Every breath becomes easier…

“That’s it, baby…That’s my girl… I gotcha just breathe,"  Dean’s deep voice vibrated through your body as he held it to his thick chest, his hands making a trail up and down your spine, calming you, grounding you like only your Dean could.

Slowly your world came back into focus after a long time of just sitting the hallway in Dean’s lap as he brought you back down from your panic attack. Probably the worst one you’ve had in a while. 

Dean whispered comforting words to you until he was sure you were completely out of it before standing up with you in his arms like you weighed nothing at all, bringing you into your shared bedroom, and laying you down on his bed. Sliding in behind you, and wrapping his arms you, pulling you back to his chest, your head laying right over his heart. The sound of its steady rhythm helps to calm your own racing heart.

"That was the worst one I’ve seen you have since the night we got married, baby girl. What happened? Do you want to talk about it?” Dean asks as he plays with your hair, placing little butterfly kisses on your face, letting you know he was there, and that he loved you.

You thought back to that moment in the store when it all started to happen. When you knocked the candy display off the counter, but that really wasn’t what triggered it. You could see that now.

You’d been in your head for days, and you knew it. This hunt was a long one, and time away from Dean always was stressful, making your anxiety levels higher than normal.

“I really don’t know Dean… Guess I was just missing you… Got all in my own head… Blew little things out of proportion. You know me,” you tell him, and you nuzzle yourself into his neck, breathing him in and letting him feel all of you and wash it all away like only he could. 

Your Dean… 

Dean placed a chaste kiss to the top of your head and tucked the covers around the two of you tighter. Exhaustion was pulling at you, and he knew how much a panic attack on that level took it out of you.

“I’m right here sweet girl. I’m not going anywhere. I’m safe, you’re safe, I’ve got you, baby girl. I’ll always be here." 

Dean started humming slightly, and everything faded to black as consciousness gave way to a peaceful sleep. 

The first one in days. 

Your Dean… Your world. He was home. You were safe. He was safe. Everything was right again…

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

Tag List: 

@deanwanddamons​​ @imabitch4jensen​​ @rvgrsbrns​​ @bi-danvers0​​ @onethirstyunicorn​​ @i-love-superhero​​ @akshi8278​ @alanegaming​ @magssteenkamp​ @lemondropirwin​ @squirrelnotsam​ @hobby27​ @spnbaby-67​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @defenderrosetyler​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​

[witchfire00]

Stay at my Side

Summary: Cinder suffers from the aftermath at Beacon and nothing seems to help...until Salem decides it is time to find a new form of treatment.

Word Count: 1.8k

Rating: Mature (18+)

Warnings: dubious consent; breastfeeding kink

Since she had regained consciousness several months ago, Cinder’s life had been filled with pain. The loss of her eye, the following amputation of her arm, her burned throat and now the foreign grimm arm stuck to her limb, refusing to listen to her commands.

She just wanted it to stop.

Even with pain numbing medicine a day was torturous to endure.

Was this supposed to be her life now?

‘No!’

Not again!

Never again!

Sitting on her bed she unwrapped the bandages from her left hand, revealing the stubborn claw it hid from the world. Placing it on her lap, the maiden couldn’t help but scowl.

She took a deep breath, focusing all her will to command it, to move, even twitch for all she cared. Just...something she had control over.

...nothing.

With a frustrated growl, Cinder tugged her feet underneath her body and leaned against her pillow. Grasping the grimm claw at its wrist with her right hand she tried it again and again...and again.

Her breathing became ragged and almost painful.

‘Why?’

Why wasn’t it listening to her?

She was a maiden.

She was powerful now, so why?

“MOVE ALREADY!”

It was as if a fire had erupted inside her. Her throat throbbed painfully, refusing to die down, as each new breath felt like thousands of tiny needles prickling against her sensitive skin.

At the same time her own grip had become less than gentle, violently digging her nails inside the black shadowy claw that was now supposed to be a part of her.

A loud scream almost pierced her head.

Something that wanted to escape...

Something that wanted to split her mind in half...

‘Hmmmm...’

She couldn’t help but whimper silently, drawing her limbs together tightly, as she curled into a ball, trying to soothe the persistent ache spreading through her body.

“That was a rather foolish idea, don’t you think?”

Salem!

Cinder felt her presence as soon as she had entered her room, but she didn’t dare to open her eye...

She already looked pitiful enough she imagined.

No need to embarrass herself any further in front of her master.

The sound of footstep drew nearer. The maiden tried to pinpoint their direction, but before she could successfully do so, she could feel the bed dip slightly and a soft, cool hand started to caress her forehead.

The touch didn’t do much to dispel the pain cursing through Cinder’s entire body, but it did help to quell the burning and screaming a bit.

A shuddered breath escaped her lips, as she desperately tried not to move or make a sound.

She didn’t want to inflame her throat even more.

“You really need to keep your temper in check, Firefly...at least for now.”

Salem’s voice was like an anchor, tethering her to the here and now, a world outside the flames that wanted to consume her whole.

Something shifted against her...something warm.

She was tugged towards it, a feat that almost managed to make her cry out in pain again and send tears into Cinder’s right eye.

If there was something Cinder couldn’t stand…aside from losing control, it was disorientation.

Hesitantly she opened her eye, blinking through her blurry vision…and felt her face flush hotly.

‘What in the-?’

If she had ever imagined herself to be on Salem’s lap, buried against her chest…this surely wouldn’t have been how it played out.

Adding embarrassment into the mix of pain that wrecked her body certainly wasn’t pleasant and her master’s quiet laughter only managed to send more shudders done her spine…

From the sound or the vibrations she couldn’t tell, she only knew it added to her discomfort.

“I realize now that my expectations of you were…unfair.

For you to master your new powers you need to be free of all ailments.

The pain only hinders your growth.”

Cinder listened intently. Being this close to her master was a tad distracting, and yet her back straightened on her own accord to manage to catch every word.

There was something about how she said it…

She couldn’t quite put a finger on it though.

Salem seemed to interpret her reaction as approval to continue, letting a hand run through Cinder’s unruly hair, while the other was…shifting and rustling something soft around.

She didn’t dare to try and spot what exactly it was she was doing.

Not that she could have even if she wanted to.

“I decided on a new treatment for you.

I am confident this will help you recover at a much faster pace.”

‘Faster recovery?’

The maiden would give anything to feel normal again…or as normal as she could right now.

She tried to make a sound, to use her voice despite the burning inside it, but Salem shushed her…almost gently and turned her face around, softly guiding against smooth, pale flesh.

‘Wh-ha-hmm??’

Blushing brightly, Cinder tried to squirm away subconsciously.

Away from her master’s exposed breasts.

Was she hallucinating?

Did the constant pain drive her crazy in the end?

Salem surely wouldn’t…

“Hush girl, be still.”

The older woman’s grip on her became firmer, holding her in place and yet there was a certain…affection to it.

“I need you to drink from me, Cinder.”

‘…DRINK?!’

The dark haired girl’s eye widened.

How could she…?

There was no way…

Her thoughts were a jumbled mess.

Salem had to see just how red Cinder was at that prospect.

Why would she suggest such a thing?

Was that even possible to…she couldn’t even finish that thought.

It was ridiculous…and yet Salem waited patiently for her to calm down again, keeping her close.

“I am aware this is unlike anything I ever asked of you, but this is the only other option I can offer. It is either this…or the actual healing period.”

The actual healing period…

A year and a half is what Watts had said.

A year and a half full of pain.

A year and a half without being able to vocalize her thoughts.

A year and a half of her being weak and frail.

Depending on others to get by, to clothe, to bathe, to walk, to…feed…

Swallowing harshly against the lump in her throat, Cinder’s eye rested on the dark nubs that build a stark contrast between the incredibly pale mounds surrounding them.

…should she really…?

“I won’t force you, Firefly.”

She could feel the grip on her loosen, the decision now resting solely on her shoulders.

Pain echoed dully inside her, promising a swift return at a later time.

‘I hate it!’

With a grimace, the dark haired girl nuzzled hesitantly against Salem’s right breast, liking her dry lips nervously. Squeezing her eye shut she darted forward, her mouth closing around a dark nipple, as she gave it an experimental suck.

Her master’s hand had found the way into her hair again, gently tugging at a few loose strands.

This whole situation was just too overwhelming!

She needed to get it over with…now!

Cinder sucked on the sensitive nub again, this time way harder than before and while Salem seemed rather indifferent to it, something…sweet hit her tongue.

Swallowing the strange liquid she repeated the motion.

The milk…if you wanted to call it that, tasted unlike anything Cinder ever tasted before.

The sweetness had something…addicting to it.

She took another sip.

Something…

She shifted against Salem, running her tongue over her nipple almost teasingly.

Cinder was hot.

The milk running down her throat felt heavenly, relieving her of the burning ache that had resided there, extinguishing it completely.

Her body felt light. Pleasurable shudders ran down her spine, making her back arch in tandem with the soft tingles traveling through her veins.

‘I…need…’

More!

She needed more.

Cinder shifted her position again, straddling Salem in the process, her hands pressing against her shoulders, as she confined her master to the pillows beneath her.

Releasing the nipple with a loud plop, the dark haired girl panted heavily, her eye glazed over, as she mustered the older woman with open hunger. Ignoring the clear amusement in those crimson eyes, her mouth descended on Salem’s other breast, lavishing on it with needy nips and bites.

“Hmmmnn….”

The soft purr let Cinder come to an abrupt halt, as she glanced up once more.

Salem had her eyes closed, a rather peaceful expression on her face.

The maiden couldn’t help but drink in the sight before her.

It was so fascinating…

So…

‘Beautiful.’

There was a storm inside her. A fiery one that made her dizzy with hunger.

A different kind this time.

She lapped at her master’s breast, desperately trying to elicit more such noises from her, while drinking as much as she could from her.

Her ears were ringing, any kind of pain long forgotten, as one of her hands trailed over pale, soft skin.

As soon as it came into contact with Salem’s other breast, Cinder couldn’t help but relish at the tender feeling, rubbing her thumb along the sensitive nub, which stood rock hard seeking attention.

“Hmmm…Cinder…”

The sigh filled the dark haired girl with a longing too hard to resist.

Without being able to stop herself she bit down on Salem’s nipple that still spilled its sweet milk into her mouth, causing the hand in her hair to firmly tug her away.

But instead of furious, crimson eyes there was only more amusement found in her master’s gaze.

“Now you are just being greedy”, she said, entirely too pleased with herself.

If these words were supposed to be a warning, they did nothing to dispel the fire inside the maiden. In a fruitless attempt to get back to the older woman’s round mounds, her left hand sneaked from her master’s shoulder, only to be intercepted by a gentle but firm grip.

Annoyance flashed through Cinder’s eye, balling her hands into fists, as she met Salem’s knowing gaze with frustration.

That is until she arched her right eyebrow and tapped lightly on the girl’s left wrist.

‘What does she-?’

Following her gaze a fresh wave of clarity hit her, when she examined the grimm claw speechlessly. She loosened the digits and watched in wonder when the hand obliged.

Just like that she was able to extort control over it like she never had before.

‘How?’

Her eye found Salem’s again, who observed her with something akin to a lazy smile.

“It seems like I was right in my assumptions after all.”

Her voice sounded far away and yet crystal clear as if it was originating from inside Cinder herself.

“Which is why you will remain by my side as we continue your treatment.”

Leaning forward, Cinder captured Salem’s lips. She had expected to be stopped by her master, to be chided again, but instead the older woman deepened the kiss, stilling the hunger that had eaten away at the dark haired girl.

This felt so much better than the pain she had had to endure for so long.

“Yes”, she rasped contently.

She would get back on her own two feet in no time.

Salem would make sure of that.

[ilosttrackofthings]

“ you’re gonna be just fine, i promise ” - Jemmawill

A wishful s5 fic.

There are voicesjust out of reach, the words muffled by chaotic dreams and, as shedrags herself back to consciousness, increasing pain.

“-not much chanceof that,” a voice she doesn’t recognize says wryly. It’sfollowed by the sound of feet retreating and a heavy door shutting, the hum of an airtight seal engaging. But Jemma barely hears any of that; she’s rather preoccupied withthe feel of a rough thumb tracing over the back of her hand and thevoice which follows the first.

“You hear that?You’re gonna be just fine. I promise.” Her hand is lifted, abeard scrapes her skin as lips press to her knuckles. She knows thevoice, the hand holding hers, the mouth. It’s all impossible.

She opens her eyes.

And decides shemust still be dreaming.

“There you are,”Will says, his face breaking in one of his rare smiles. She lifts herfree hand to touch his cheek, feels his familiar warmth, as welcomeon a broken down spaceship as it ever was in Maveth’s tepidatmosphere.

That must be what’sbrought this on—she always dreams of Will when she’s feeling coldor lonely (she dreamt of him every night in the Framework)—orperhaps it’s simply that she’s thought of him near endlesslysince arriving on the ship, constantly asking herself what he mightdo in her shoes. She does wish though that this were one of thebetter dreams with Earth and sunshine. Seeing Will is always lovely but she’d prefer him somewhere that isn’t space.

His smile fades, asthey always did, and he touches her head. From the way it smarts andthe way his fingers trail carefully around the most tender area, sheimagines she has quite the head wound. Now that she thinks of it, shedoes remember one of the Kree backhanding her. Likely this is fromthe impact against the bulkhead and—she gingerly drops her head toone side—that stiffness radiating from her neck through hershoulder must be from the initial blow itself.

“You’re okay,”Will says softly. His fingers move down, trailing along her neckbefore lifting away almost self-consciously. His eyes move to thevery engrossing view of a blank wall. “You lost consciousness butthe scans came back fine.”

Several incongruousbits of data align themselves in Jemma’s mind at once. Sheshouldn’t be feeling pain in her dream. And Will—the Will hersubconscious has crafted in the two years since she lost him—doesn’tshy away from her. Cruel as her sleeping mind might be to repeatedlyforce her to awaken to a world without him, it isn’t so cruel as tohave the only Will available to her put distance between them.

The onlyconclusion—the impossible conclusion—propels her up. Will has tocatch her to keep her from toppling right off the cot (she doesn’t know what hescanned her with but she doesn’t trust the Kree tech as far as shecan throw it) and his hands are as warm and as real as ever, as isthe pain that floods her aching skull. It grows heavy and she longsto lay back down, but compromises by resting her forehead against hisshoulder.

On Maveth there wasvery little in the way of hygiene and she grew fond of Will’sunfortunately rank odor despite herself, but beneath it there wasalways Will, the scent that grew stronger during their brief nightstogether. Here there are similar constraints, but there is a form ofdisinfectant they all use in lieu of traditional soap. Beneath its strong scent,she smells that same Willness again. Rough and strong and utterly him.

“What are you?”she asks while tears sting at her eyes. She knows they’re not fromthe pain.

He stiffens andslowly, cruelly, shifts her away so that he can look in her eyes. Heisn’t a perfect replica—but that’s the trick, isn’t it? AWill exactly like the one she remembers would be obvious as a fakebut this one, with the new lines around his eyes and the grey in histrimmed beard, is far more believable.

She swallowsthickly. “Are you- are you some sort of hallucination the Kreecreated to learn more about us? Or an Inhuman who can assume others’forms? Because if you are, I should warn you-”

“I’m me,” hesays, his hands closing around her shoulders and with him so closeit’s exactly like that night they returned to the caves, when hetold her it wasn’t hell, not really, not anymore. She chokes down a sob. “I’m Will. I’m here.”

“Willis dead,” she says and wishes for a gun so she could do what shedid the last time she was forced to say those words. Maybe this timeit would do more than inconvenience the bastard watching her cry.

Hisbroad palms cup her jaw, his thumbs brush her tears aside. His mouthworks a time or two before a breath shudders out of him. “I’m notgonna hit you, okay? Because you already took a good knock and alsomy dad told me never to hit girls. But if you want you can hit me. Ifthat’ll help you believe I’m real, have at it.”

Shetries to shake her head. “No. You’re not him. Hive killed him, hestole him-”

“Hive?”he cuts in, his forehead wrinkling, deepening the lines, new and old.

Somethingin the vicinity of her heart tightens. It feels like hope, like thehope she left behind in that desert.

“It,”she says carefully. “Death. Its name was Hive.”

Hisface goes slack and a horror she’s only seen once or twice washesover him. His shaking hands drop back to her shoulders. “Itfollowed you? It found you?” His eyes drop, searching every inch ofher like he’s looking for some fatal cut to have opened up whilethey’ve been speaking.

Thathope blooms brighter. It’ll do anything to fool you,he said. And yet she believed so easily Fitz and Coulson’s tellingof events, even took Hive’s taunting as confirmation. She’d spent days circling water with no idea it was there; how difficult would it have been for Hive to create the illusion of a man,one it had spent more than a decade hunting. But if that is whatoccurred, that still doesn’t explain this.“How are you here?” she asks, the softness of her voice drawinghis attention back to her. “What happened? I thought It had killed you.”

Ittakes him a moment to compose himself, but when he does, he chuckles.“I was abducted by aliens, if you can believe it. I’ve beentrying to get back to Earth ever since.”

“Andyou ended up with the humans on this ship?” The odds seem rather, no pun intended, astronomical, but that does explain howthe humans out here all knew about SHIELD and why they keep referring to some unseen“astronaut.” She’d assumed it was just a nickname bestowed onsomeone who’s proven to be especially adept at this life or who, like Deke,makes a habit of going on ridiculously unsafe spacewalks.

Hesighs. “That – is a long story. And since I know you won’t besatisfied until you hear it-” he pushes her back down onto thenarrow cot- “you can listen while you rest.”

Shecan’t help a smile. He knows her so well. Despite that, however,she isn’t in the mood for a long story, especially one that willonly have to be repeated once they find the others.

Shefists a hand in his shirt and drags him down with her, marveling asshe does at the feel of new (well, newer)fabric beneath her hand. He’s finally found himself a change ofclothes and she’s almost sorry to lose the sight of him like this,but not so sorry as to change her plans.

“Thatcan wait.”

Will’seyes widen at the promise in her tone and his mouth even drops open. It’s adorable.

“Whatabout-”

Shepresses her mouth to his just when his lips are forming the fuhsound. She doesn’t want to explain what she’s been through or whoshe’s lost any more than she wants to hear more of his explanations. He’shere and he’s alive and he’s all that she wants. Nothing elsematters.

[jarienn972]

The Right Place - Chapter Five

Trying to get lots of updates in this week while things have slowed down with family life.  Chapter Six is actually already done as well and already up on both FF.net and AO3.  I’ll add it to Tumblr in the next few days.

Earlier chapters on Tumblr:  Prologue/Chap One  Chap Two  Chap Three  Chap Four

Tuesday afternoon, Portland Medical Center

At some point, Emma discovered that she'd dozed off, not entirely certain how she'd managed to relax enough to drift off to sleep. Awakened by the sound of a cough, she initially thought it came from Henry but a quick glance over toward the window revealed the teen still fully engaged with whatever was on the screen of his phone. She stretched, forcing herself out of her drowsy state as a second louder cough emanated from her left, followed by a wheezing gasp for air and a rustling of fabric.

"Killian?" she called out to him, spinning around just as he lurched forward with a coughing fit that had her nearly as frightened as his earlier panic with the breathing tube. His eyes were squeezed tightly closed as he fought against the spasms, trying to pull air into his lungs while clutching at his chest as the cough turned into dry heaves. Watching him struggling to breathe was agonizing and suddenly had her wondering why none of these contraptions he was connected to had alerted a nurse to his distress. Shouldn't someone be in here by now? She couldn't just sit here while her husband was suffering so she pressed the call button to the nurses' station, but there was no immediate response. Okay – why wasn't anyone responding? "Henry – I'm going to get help. Stay here with Killian…"

Henry nodded and sprang to his feet as his mother rushed out into the corridor in search of a nurse. He wasn't really sure what he was supposed to do as he stood there at the bedside worried that his stepfather might tear open his stitches with the force of these spasms but as swiftly as the coughing fit had begun, it gradually subsided. Killian was left struggling to catch his breath – sucking in precious oxygen in rapid, shallow gulps. It was only when he saw the pirate's eyes opening that the boy dared move closer to the bed, allowing Killian to take in the unfamiliar surroundings until his gaze finally settled on his stepson's face – thankful for that one recognizable sight as he raised his hand slowly to lift the irritating plastic mask from his face.

"Henry…?" His voice was raspy, but audible; his question hesitant as though unsure if he'd even be able to speak. "Where the devil am I?"

"A hospital. In Portland," the teen replied.

"Hospital...?" Killian repeated, slowly beginning to make sense of his earlier sensory overload but so much was a confusing haze. "How did I get here? …Did Ursula…"

Ursula? Why was his stepfather asking about the Sea Witch, Henry wondered? Had everything that had happened to him over the past few days made him a little delusional? The question would have to wait for a while though as his mother came through the doorway followed by a taller woman with short raven hair cut in similar style to how his grandmother wore hers.

"Killian!" Emma exclaimed, elated to see her husband awake and at least partially alert, the coughing fit passed for now. She wanted to hug him fiercely, but that didn't seem to be a particularly good idea at the moment, so she settled for giving him a sweet little peck on his forehead as the nurse fussed about him, a somewhat stern scowl on the woman's face that had Emma concerned that something still wasn't right although she ignored that possibility for the present time. "You had me worried with all that coughing. Are you alright?" God, what a dumb question to ask, she thought after the words had crossed her lips.

"I believe so," he replied with a weak attempt at a grin, his hand and arm still pressed against his aching chest while the less than jovial nurse checked his vitals. He was exhausted despite having just awakened and really wanted the dark haired woman to complete whatever tasks she needed and leave them be.

"I'm going to page Dr. Wallace," the nurse stated as she made a couple of adjustments to one of the machines above his head. "She'll want to examine you now that you've regained consciousness, Mr. Jones." Killian groaned his displeasure at the thought of being poked and prodded by various medical instruments, hoping only that this doctor would have a better bedside manner than Whale. The woman then at last left the room in search of this Dr. Wallace, leaving her patient fully aware that another interruption was imminent when all he wanted to do was speak to his wife, certain she'd be able to help him sort out the jumbled disorder that filled his head.

"I'm so glad you're finally awake," Emma gushed after the nurse was out of earshot, her voice echoing with both relief and a hearty dose of uncertainty. "I've got so many questions to ask you, but they can wait until you're ready…"

"Ready?" He didn't quite understand why she would say that, certain that he'd been left with some sort of delirium from whatever events placed him here. "Swan…, I'm so confused…" His chest cavity felt as though it had been ripped open; his throat was as parched and scratchy as though he'd traversed a desert. What the hell had happened to him? "The last thing I remember was hearing the Sea Witch's voice… Was I drowning?"

"The Sea Witch...? Ursula?" Emma questioned aloud, fearful now that his injuries might have been more severe than believed. Had he suffered a head injury that hadn't been detected or been without oxygen too long or had he simply been hallucinating? "Killian – you did nearly drown. Two lobster fishermen found you on a beach, miles from the harbor area where you were last seen…"

"She took me there…?" he mumbled as his coherency began to fade. Emma was poised to ask him why he thought that but all discussion of the Sea Witch was rapidly tabled when Dr. Wallace, the woman in the white lab coat and floral dress who'd been present for his earlier incident strolled in carrying the silver clipboard that contained the collection of various staff notations to his medical files.

"Mr. Jones," she addressed her patient, drawing what was remaining of his fleeting attention. "My name is Dr. Wallace. I've been overseeing your treatment for the past few days…"

"Few days…?" an increasingly befuddled Killian managed to eke out. Every new bit of information was only making matters worse. "How long have I…?" He lacked the energy to finish the query but the doctor understood and finished his sentence.

"How long have you been here? This is your third day here in our facility. Until today, you've been unconscious so we were unable to fully address the severity of your injury. It seems that you're aware of your identity and recognize your family so that's a good sign. You may have limited memories of the trauma you suffered and that's normal."

"Three days…?" His mind was reeling now as he screwed his eyelids closed again, a replay of disjointed images and sounds playing across his subconscious. Had these things really occurred three days ago? There were so many brief flashes – a damaged sail torn lose by a heavy gust of wind, a conversation with an older, blonde woman, blood dripping from his hand and then the sound of the Sea Witch's laughter. He wanted more than anything to ask what all these images meant but when he opened his mouth all that came out were more frenzied convulsions leaving his lungs burning. In a swift motion, Dr. Wallace repositioned the plastic mask he'd removed earlier, holding it firmly in place to force him to breathe in the pure oxygen.

"Enough talking for now," the doctor stated as the coughing fit abated and she took her hand away from the mask. Reaching into the right pocket of her lab coat, she withdrew a pre-filled syringe, removed its cap and injected the contents into his IV. "This should help keep some of the coughing at bay so your body can get some rest. You need to keep this mask in place though. You need the oxygen and if necessary, I'll put the tube back in, but I'd prefer not to do that."

Killian nodded in understanding, exhaustion overwhelming him as he allowed himself to fade back into sleep, smiling at his wife despite her worried visage. His questions would wait for later.

"He wasn't making a lot of sense," Emma informed the doctor. "I mean, something just seemed off…"

"That's not uncommon," the doctor replied. "He's been through a great deal of trauma so it's not surprising that he's experiencing some confusion. He's been unconscious for the better part of three days so we have to give his brain some time to sort out the events. If he continues to have issues with coherency, we'll address it. I gave him some medication that should help relax his diaphragm and cut down on those spasms, but until his lungs are clear of all fluid, you can expect the coughing to continue but we'll have to keep monitoring him because I don't want to risk reopening any of the sutures – especially the ones that repaired the hole in his diaphragm. If you notice him having any difficulty breathing or if the cough becomes uncontrollable, please notify my staff immediately."

Now it was Emma's turn to nod, her earlier elation tempered by the reminder that he wasn't out of the woods yet but for the sake of her son standing behind her, she was going to remain cautiously optimistic.

Tuesday evening

It was close to dinner time when Killian woke again. His bleary eyes opened to the sight of clouds tinged pink and orange by the setting sun just beyond his room's window along with the shadowed form of his stepson becoming visible, dozing peacefully against the wall. He expected to see his wife by his side but despite hearing her voice nearby, she wasn't in his viewable vicinity until he redirected his gaze toward the entryway where she stood in conversation with an unidentified man. Emma was clearly comfortable with the stranger's presence but his attire didn't match that of the medical staff so she must be an acquaintance from somewhere else. He made an attempt to eavesdrop on their whispers but it was far too difficult over the constant hiss of oxygen flowing through the mask and the infuriating beeping of some device behind his head. He shifted his body slightly against the pillows – as much as he could manage without inflicting agony upon himself and it was that subtle movement which garnered his wife's attention.

"Hey," she spoke up loudly, interrupting her chat with the as-yet unidentified person while she returned to his bedside. "Good timing. Deputy McCallen just stopped by at the end of his shift to get an update, so if you're feeling up to it, maybe he can ask a few questions?" Killian started to raise his hand to remove the annoying mask from his face, but hesitated as the doctor's words from earlier came back. "It's okay," she stated as if she'd read his mind. "You can take it off for a few minutes at a time to talk." Sensing his reluctance, she leaned in and eased the mask over his chin and let it hang around his neck. "See – it's okay…," she assured him, her voice soft and gentle to his ear. "I'll bet you're thirsty…" He nodded in affirmation, his brain still foggy as he watched her lift a beige pitcher and pour a small amount of water into a paper cup. She brought it to his lips and held it steady while tipping it forward to offer small sips. His throat burned as he swallowed the first minute amount, but subsequent sips began to quench the fire – at least until the liquid reached his empty stomach and it responded with swells of nausea.

"Thank you," Killian responded when he finally summoned the strength to speak, gently pushing her arm away to let her know he'd had enough water. "I see I've bored the lad…," he grinned as he gestured toward Henry.

"It's been a long day," she said with a somewhat sarcastic smile. "Anyway, Killian, this is Deputy Aaron McCallen with the local Sheriff's department. He's the primary investigator trying to find out what happened to you - starting with who you actually were and how you ended up stabbed and near drowned on one of the islands off the coast. Do you think you'd be up to answering a few of his questions?"

"I'll try," Killian responded, honestly unsure of how much of the events he'd be able to recall, but he'd try his best to remember what he could.

"Mr. Jones, I'll appreciate any additional information you can provide at this point," the young deputy stated as he extended his hand in greeting. Killian returned the gesture and shook the hand of the young, maybe quarter-century old man to whom he'd simply been a nameless victim until hours ago.

"Can't promise it will be much, but as I stated, I will try to remember what I'm capable of," the pirate responded as Emma took a seat beside him, resting her hand atop his forearm in a gesture of support.

"Well, we've gotten a few bits and pieces of Sunday's events so we know that you were taken hostage after a robbery attempt at a convenience shop near the ferry terminal. We know you were there waiting for the ferry to take you back out to Peaks Island, but what we don't know is what happened after you left the store. There are nearly three hours unaccounted for between the robbery and when a couple of fishermen found you on that shore. Is there anything you can remember to help us fill in some of the missing timeline? Whatever you can provide will help us in trying to identify and locate those two men who were responsible…"

"Three," Killian interrupted, correcting the deputy. "There were three individuals involved…"

"Three?" Emma asked, slightly skeptical of his answer as Jean Scott had only recounted two perpetrators and McCallen hadn't mentioned more than two persons on the security video. "Are you sure?" Maybe he was suffering from hallucinations after all…

"Yes – I'm quite certain of it. The two would-be thieves and a third man who'd been hiding on the vessel they used to take us out to sea – some sort of powerful, motor-driven boat…" Emma noticed that her husband didn't describe it as a ship so he was clearly referring to a smaller watercraft.

"Like a speedboat?" McCallen wondered, "or more like a yacht?" Killian had seen enough of these modern types of sea faring vessels in Storybrooke's harbor to have an idea of the differences, but neither fit the description of the craft they'd used.

"No – not a speedboat," Killian replied. "It was larger, the size of a small sailboat but without sails and the hull was not as sleek or fancy as a yacht. I remember seeing fishing equipment, but it wasn't a trawler either. I'm not exactly certain what you would call that type of vessel…"

"Sounds like some sort of pleasure boat," McCallen speculated. "It's not quite that season yet, but I've seen a few of them out around the bay. Could you identify the type of boat if you saw it again?"

"Yes," the pirate assured him. He never forgot an enemy vessel.

"Good. I'll put together some photos of potential matches and contact the harbormaster and see what vessels matching your partial description might have been moored there that morning," McCallen said as he scribbled notes into his memo pad. "Now, back to those three men – did you see any of their faces?"

"Two of the three. I pulled the mask off of one of them and got a good look at him…" Killian paused for a moment to take a few breaths, already succumbing to exhaustion. "Can't quite say the same for the man who stabbed me because I was already fighting to remain conscious after he climbed out of the hold, but I know I would recognize him if I saw his face again."

"Do you think you got a decent enough look at him to describe him to a sketch artist if we sent one over?" Killian nodded an affirmative, his chest aching from exertion and his throat raw once again. "Great," McCallen sensed that he needed to wrap up the inquiry soon. "I'll contact the forensic artist we use and see if I can get her over here tomorrow to work up a sketch and get the image out to law enforcement as quickly as we can. We'll also continue to keep a deputy posted outside that door at all times…"

"You do know that isn't really necessary…," Emma countered, intending to remind him that she was a sheriff herself and was more than capable of dealing with anyone who'd attempt to come after her husband, but she stopped short of actually saying the words.

"My boss would have my head if I even thought about pulling the guard," the deputy stated, almost as if he'd read her thoughts. "Mr. Jones is the sole person able to identify his assailants and we intend to protect him until either those individuals are captured or until he's well enough to leave Portland – although we'd certainly prefer if you'd stay here until these men are brought to justice."

Almost in unison, Emma and Killian both shook their heads. This poor young deputy would likely have a heart attack if he knew who he was really working with. He was still young and idealistic, not yet possessing the jaded nature of experience. He had no idea that the man he was working so hard to protect was actually a fearsome pirate captain. He only believed that Killian had an admiration and affinity for classical pirates – not that he actually was one of them.

"Well, we appreciate the gesture," Emma replied graciously.

"I'm taking a shift myself this evening," McCallen advised them. "I'll be back here around 10PM. If you think of anything that might be helpful, please let me know, okay?"

"Of course," she smiled, answering the question for Killian as she knew his strength was fading rapidly. "Thank you for everything today, Deputy McCallen." McCallen returned the thanks as he said his farewell before leaving the room. Emma could hear part of a conversation out in the corridor as the deputy paused to speak with his colleague for a moment then departed to the elevator. The bits and pieces she heard were about their upcoming shift change and a reminder to check all identification badges.

"Seems like an earnest young fellow," Killian whispered as he noticed his stepson shift slightly in his sleep. He didn't want to wake the boy so he lowered his voice which proved to be more difficult than he'd expected. He wanted desperately to take a deep breath but he couldn't get his lungs to comply and before he could even contemplate raising the oxygen mask back over his nose and mouth, Emma had already anticipated the need and repositioned it for him.

"Breathe," she said it like an order, firmly, yet still lovingly. "You've been talking too much."

"But I like to talk," he mumbled in protest as she lowered the mask which only elicited a glare from her jade green eyes as she made sure the elastic strap was tightened to hold it in place.

"How about I do the talking for a bit? You can think of ways to reply without speaking, okay?" Too weary to argue, he responded with a sarcastic grin and a simple nod of his head. "Okay – the store owner, a Ms. Jean Scott, told us that you were waiting for the ferry back to Peaks Island. Is that where you left the Jolly Roger?" The slight dip of his chin confirmed her belief. "I'm guessing it's cloaked using Cora's old spell?" This time, he cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow as if in disbelief that she'd even ask that question. Of course she's cloaked, he wanted to say, but his body language seemed to make the statement clear. "Okay, okay…," she chuckle. "I figured you would. Just had to be sure." Then she changed the direction of her questions. "You said the third man was the one who stabbed you but you got the mask off of one of them?" He nodded yet again as she pointed to the still painfully swollen bruises around his right eye. "Does one of them have a matching black eye?" His laughter and proud grin were enough of an answer to that one so now she had to get serious again. "Earlier, when you first woke, you mentioned Ursula. You were just regaining consciousness so we were a little concerned that you might have been delusional or even experiencing hallucinations. Be honest with me – did you really think you saw Ursula?"

This time, he lifted the mask off his face to verbalize his response. "She rescued me," he stated flatly.

"Are you really sure? Killian, honestly, you were rescued by a couple of lobster fishermen who spotted you unconscious on a deserted beach…"

"How do you think I managed to get to that beach?" he persisted. "She pulled me out of the water and got me to the shore before I drowned. I know I wasn't hallucinating…" Getting frustrated that his wife wasn't believing his tale, he started to feel the coughing fit coming on before it hit, but there was no time to prevent it. His chest constricted making the simple task of just filling his lungs with air a difficult task and all Emma could do after replacing the oxygen was watch helplessly as he fought through the spasms until they passed leaving him gasping for air.

"That's enough for now," she insisted. "Do you want me to get the nurse?" He quickly shook his head as his body gradually relaxed and allowed him to shrink back against the mattress. "Okay then – just rest," she said as she slid closer to him on the narrow bed, pulling him closer to her until his head rested on her left shoulder, holding him tightly as his chest continued to heave. "I've got you…"

He allowed himself to collapse against her as he waited for his racing heart to slow and for the searing pain in his lungs to fade. He tried to sleep, but his brain wanted to try and replay that fateful afternoon. He remembered attempting to tread water for a while after he'd been thrown overboard, but too far from shore and defenseless against the bitterly cold water and lashing swells, he should have drowned. He was semi-conscious and rapidly succumbing to hypothermia so common sense would dictate that he truly should have drowned. How did he manage to get to that beach? Had his memory of Ursula aiding him been nothing but his imagination? A deluded vision dreamed up by his failing mind?

He had to get the memories to return – at least those from the moment that those two masked men shoved him onto the motor boat after he'd promised to take them to his ship using more doubloons as a lure. But what had happened next?

[thesupergamercorpus]

This is a follow-up of the chapter discussing the focused mode. I have a lot of ideas every day, but not enough time to write them all down, so I chose to write the other ideas down before I forget them. I was pretty certain I won’t forget the ideas described in this chapter.

So the diffuse mode is somewhat the opposite of the focused mode. It is active in the background or your subconsciousness. The mistake most people and students tend to make when learning, is that they don’t spend a lot of time in the diffuse mode. This can cause a dramatic lack of depth in their understanding about subjects.

If you teach those students about the simulation hypothesis (see the chapter: 09/14/2019—Simulation Hypothesis and ‘Good and Evil’), they will use their focused mode to learn every bit of element related to that hypothesis, but won’t spend much time in the diffuse mode. What is the consequence of spending less time in the diffuse mode? Well, they won’t ask themselves those deep and abstract questions like “But how does this hypothesis relate to ethics and morals?” It is a sad trend you get to see in modern education, superficial understanding of material. I much prefer the old days like in Ancient Greece or Rome where even the emperors like Marcus Aurelius knew about philosophy and had a deep understanding about things.

How to enter the diffuse mode

First of all, you can enter the diffuse mode simply by not focusing on anything (through meditation or mindfulness), but this alone is not effective in terms of creativity and learning new things. In order to command your diffuse mode to learn something in the background, you need to use the focused mode first.

For example, you want to know your own personal definition of the meaning of life. What you could start with is simply Googling information (and also storing them long-term), try to answer and view as many perspectives as you can, and then just relax. Do something else like exercising or meditating, the thinking will continue and run in the background. And after 15 minutes or even hours afterward, simply return to the question and you will be surprised how many new and stronger connections were formed in your brain without the conscious ‘you’.

This technique can also beautifully be used when taking tests, exams, or making homework:

https://lifehacker.com/improve-your-test-scores-with-the-hard-start-jump-to-e-1790599531 — Improve Your Test Scores With the “Hard Start-Jump to Easy” Technique

Diffuse mode and working memory

The diffuse mode is not limited to the working memory slots located in your prefrontal cortex, unlike the focused mode which is. This makes your subconsciousness so much more powerful when used correctly (albeit not as powerful as depicted in those movies).

The focused mode also tends to activate old neural pathways that aren’t really that creative nor are the cerebral distances very long (the distance between two activated neurons, brain regions etc). The diffuse mode can activate but also create new neural pathways that have a much longer cerebral distance than the focused mode can. This allows the diffuse mode to be much more creative but also combine ideas from many different brain regions. Again, the diffuse mode is not limited to your working memory slots located in your prefrontal cortex, so it can connect and ‘think’ about as many ideas simultaneously as its neural resources allow.

Diffuse mode and psychedelics

I would really advise the book ‘How to Change Your Mind: What the New Science of Psychedelics Teaches Us About Consciousness, Dying, Addiction, Depression, and Transcendence’ by Michael Pollan to learn more about the information I am going to say next.

So the diffuse mode is mostly active when you don’t focus (using your focused mode). What mostly happens, neurophysiologically seen, is that the activity in the so-called default mode network increases. This allows for all kinds of connections to be much more active too, not only within one brain region but between brain regions, too. This is why someone taking psychedelics gets to see all kinds of weird hallucinations like seeing faces in inanimate objects (this phenomenon, called pareidolia, happens even without taking psychedelics, but the increased activity from the default mode network just increases the probability of occurrence).

People who take psychedelics or meditate have the feeling they have found all kinds of ‘truths’ never thought of before. You could say, that when taking psychedelics, you are essentially being aware of your diffuse mode. During sleep, you are experiencing your diffuse mode, too.

Diffuse mode and Entropic Learning Model

See the chapter 09/11/2019—Entropic Learning Model for more information.

The diffuse mode is just such an important part of our learning and thinking process, that I made a separate phase in my learning model to remind myself that after hours of hard thinking, I need to relax to allow my diffuse mode to take over the thinking work.

Can the diffuse mode run when you are activating the focused mode?

Yes, but only when you switch tasks or ways of thinking. If you are thinking about psychology and get stuck somewhere, switch to a more left-hemispheric mode of thinking like physics or mathematics (the idea that the left and right brain hemispheres are separated from each other, in terms of logic and creativity respectively, is a myth, but brain lateralization or specialization certainly does exist to a certain degree).

How long does it take to ‘enter’ the diffuse mode?

I am not sure, but as far as I have read the information, it can be as little as 10 minutes to even hours. The thing, however, is that to stay in the diffuse mode, you need to repeat to yourself the images, ideas, questions etc. from time to time in order to make your diffuse mode think about the subject even if it takes hours.

According to research, there seems to be a correlation between having more knowledge and the duration required to switch between focused and diffuse mode effectively. The more knowledge, the faster you can switch between those two modes.

Diffuse mode and exponential learning

It is important, no matter how much homework you have, to try to switch between the focused mode and diffuse mode. It may feel like it takes a lot more time to finish your homework, in the long run, you will understand the things much deeper. This deeper understanding will make it much easier to learn new and related material. You don’t want to end up studying for years and then only using and remembering less than 10%. Imagine how it feels to spend 40 hours a week studying, while knowing in the back of your head that only 4 of these hours were ‘effective’. Keep this thought alive in the background to motivate yourself to use that diffuse mode from time to time and not to rush your learning.

Of course there are many more techniques to make your retention get closer to that 100%, like the method of loci, spaced repetition, interleaved practice, exercise, nutrition, reducing stress, getting enough sleep (which most students lack), etc.

I personally don’t spend 40 hours a week learning (new) things, not only because I don’t have the time for it, but because I don’t really need to. My retention and understanding of material is very close to that 100% and you might even say above 100%, because of all the new ideas I am generating. Those little 20 hours a week quickly turn into the equivalent of 40 hours a week most students follow, and it grows exponentially.

[whenthemarshmallowmettheslayer]

Coffee and one more Joker to kill.

Fandoms: Red Robin comics, Batman comics, Death Note anime. 

Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Ryuk (mentioned), Ra’s Al Gul (mentioned), and Alfred Pennyworth (mentioned). 

Rated: Teen. (I only use the f word once.)

Summary: "Bruce couldn't protect me or Barbara from one. Now it turns out there had been three of those f*ckers?" Tim finally gave in and laid his head against Jason who was surprisingly a good pillow. A much better pillow than Tim's arm for sure.

"You're helping me find the third one tomorrow morning so I can find out his name," Jason ordered Tim who was slowing falling asleep once again.

Tim hummed. "You buy me coffee and it will be a date," he answered before closing his eyes and finally went back to sleep. Notes:

Tim groaned as he slipped back into consciousness.

His body ached and it's not from falling asleep in a chair while working on a speech he was going to have to give -

Tim paused his thought.

He drew his elbow back that a few minutes ago he had been using as a improvised pillow and swiped his finger to turn his laptop screen back on.

It was two in the morning.

Tim groaned again though this time it was from dismay instead of pain.

Okay he had six hours to finish his speech for the board of Wayne Enterprise, catch a few more zzz, have a shower, get dressed, and find those crutches that Tim had began to hate using.

Subconsciously Tim squinted his tired eyes at the glowing screen of his laptop, the only light in the dark vast room, which made his eyes hurt even more as he tried to remember if he left his crutches at his room at the Manor or here at the safe-house that had slowly became Tim's residence after his fight with Bruce about Captain Boomerang.

Suddenly Tim was jostle from his thoughts as he heard a loud banging on a door.

Tim winced at the loud sound that did nothing but cause his lack of coffee induced migraine to hurt further before letting out a menacing growl.

WHAT IN THE ACTUALLY FRACK, Tim thought murderously before stumbling as he tried to start walking towards the door that was still being heavily pounded on.

There were only two people who knew his current base of residency. Alfred who Tim swore had the super power of omnipresence and Ra's al Ghul.

Ra's al Ghul plus however many minions he had watching over Tim who the Demon's Head had dubbed "the detective" after Tim had out smarted him.

But neither option made sense.

Alfred knew that Tim was on coffee withdraw since it had been the "kindly" grandfatherly butler who had Tim cold turkey the caffeinated beverage. So it was unlikely that Alfred would disturb him, especially at two in the morning, instead of giving Tim a wide berth.

Ra's al Ghul also knew not to disturb Tim unless he wanted several of his main bases of operations to "accidentally" blow up because of mysterious and utterly coincidental gas leaks.

(Timothy Drake was never someone you should piss off and that's a fact without even adding his utter ruthlessness from being deprived of caffeine that even made demon-brat wary to test Tim.)

Hell, Ra's minions knew better than to disturb him when he was without caffeine unless they wanted Tim's metal bo-staff in their faces!

Maybe Ra's was here to attempt another speech that basically consisted of "join me in the dark side Tim we could rule the galaxy."

Tim paused at the front door.

For a second, only a second because Tim was not weak minded even without coffee in his system, Tim was tempted to say yes if caffeine was offered instead of cookies.

He opened the door not giving a damn to look out of the door's peephole.

He wasn't scared.

Tim Drake was actually itching to fight, an outlet for his lack of caffeine induced anger. He may not look like it but Tim was badass despite demon-brat's loudly voiced opinions.

Google "look like th' innocent flower, but be the serpent under 't," and you'll see his, Timothy Drake-Wayne's face because Tim had hacked google search engine and images out of boredom with Bart and Kon's encouragement. Or had they dared him? Tim mused as his eyes fell on a not so familiar face.

Tim blinked at the sight before him then blinked again.

It was true that whenever Tim was deprived from coffee (Caffeinated coffee mind you - Tim didn't drink the blasphemy that shall-not-be-named for its lack of caffeine.) he wasn't... how shall he put it?

Maximum warped speed Mr. Sulu.

...Or you know. He's most sane; apparently drinking the amount of coffee, which was a necessity for Tim as much as air was, Tim took everyday and than doing a cold turkey per Alfred's worried request - no, actually it was more like polite command caused several effects.

Migraines, sleepiness, irritability, lethargy, constipation, depression, muscle pain, stiffness and last but not by far the least hallucinations that could put Doctor Johnathan Crane's work to shame.

However an inebriated Jason Todd with freaky red eyes was not what Tim would have excepted.

"What the hell did you do or piss off?"

While Tim and Jason's relationship with one and another had improved dramatically Tim was on his third day (But whose counting?) without coffee. He had enough problems in his life (main one: coffee withdraws) without adding a drunk Jason with glowing red eyes.

"May I come in pretender?" Jason, ever the polite gentlemen, asked.

Tim fought the urge of slamming the door at his resurrected brother's face because Jason had asked a question instead of answering Tim's.

Didn't the great Red Hood know the rules on pseudo-interrogation?

Whoever asked first is suppose to be answered first.

Honestly was he and Alfred the only members of their family that knew common sense?

"Sure," Tim answered despite the annoyance he felt.

"Why haven't you tur- turned on the lights?" Jason asked with a slur in his speech.

Tim narrowed his eyes threateningly. "I'll answer when you answer my question," Tim answered with all but a snarl.

"I found a notebook in an abandoned warehouse that was suppose to contain some sex traders."

Tim raised a perfectly plucked ebony eyebrow.

"It's title was called Death Note," Jason said as though that explained why Jason had red eyes instead of Lazarus green.

"Oh?" Tim commented as he practically dragged Jason towards his couch. It was a miracle they didn't trip or break anything.

"It had all the rules about killing a person; as if I need a black, morbidly named diary to kill people."

Tim snorted his agreement.

"So a five days later I saw this thing."

"Thing?" Tim repeated the non-descriptive word back to Jason as they finally collapsed onto Tim's couch.

"His name is Ryuk. He's a Shinigami," Jason told Tim. The older man's breathe reeked of cheap beer.

"A Japanese god of death," the words came out of Tim's mouth unbidden; he winced, not meaning to interrupt Jason's explanation. Who knew how long Jason would stay conscious with all the alcohol he had consumed and smelled of.

"Always was the smart one replacement. That's why I wanted you as my Robin," Jason complemented him and Tim blinked owlishly. He was unsure how to process that statement. He filed it for later.

"He gave me the gist of the diary that can legitimately kill people if you have seen they're faces and know they're real names. Or if I made a deal for Shinigami eyes I could just kill by seeing an asshole's face."

"What was the cost of the deal Jason?" Anger crept in to Tim's tone. Yes, he's deductive reasoning was low without caffeine but he hadn't lost his common sense.

"Half of my life," Jason told Tim before Tim slapped Jason upside the head for stupidity.

"Why the hell would you do that?!" Tim shouted in anger before wincing.

Ow.

That hurt; that really hurt.

He had forgotten about his migraine because of Jason's story.

"Cause if a person's correct name is written in the Death Note and you've seen his face he can't come back."

Tim knew immediately the he Jason had referred to.

"What was his name?" Tim croaked curious even though he still wasn't over the fact Jason had made deal with the devil, actually a Japanese death god.

Jason let out a miserable sounding groan. "Not he Tim. Them. Why do you think I came by your place drunk off my ass replacement?"

Tim straightened up from the shock of the reveal but Jason pulled him into his arms. If Tim didn't already know that Jason was drunk he would of now.

Dick was the cuddlier of Tim's older brothers. Not Jason.

"Bruce couldn't protect me or Barbara from one. Now it turns out there had been three of those fuckers?"

Tim finally gave in and laid his head against Jason who was surprisingly a good pillow. A much better pillow than Tim's arm for sure.

"You're helping me find the third one tomorrow morning so I can find out his name," Jason ordered Tim who was slowing falling asleep once again.

Tim hummed. "You buy me coffee and it will be a date," he answered before closing his eyes and finally went back to sleep.

A/N: I have a perfectly good reason why I haven't update my any of my fics. I finally got around to watching Death Note. I'm not finished with the series but I'm getting there.One of the several things that inspired this fic was Coffee House Rules by chibi_nightowl. I would recommended reading it (it's a series of hilarious drabbles about Tim, coffee, and the batfamily) if you love Tim Drake or just the batfamily.

[shyanneskysummers-blog]

Psychedelics

This assignment was a good mix of fun and stress. Type, graphics, and design are within a field i am in the midst of discovering. If there is one thing I've taken from this class with the most grace is discovering and making connections in everything that I do. 

The concept of my book:

Once you have opened my book, you will embarkon a psychedelic adventure or “trip”. Each page is intended to bring the reader the psychedelic experience of each substance through the demonstration of type.

Grid: my grid was used mainly as a reference for text placement in order to best create consistency throughout my book.

Typefaces: 90% of my typefaces were found via research. The most repeated type face, which happens to be the same one used for the introduction to each substance is “Victor Moscoso” a pop/opt artist best known for producing psychedelic posters/ads back in the 60′s. This typeface proved to be perfect to imply a psychedelic experience. During my research I was able to find the typeface's “Magical Mystery Tour”& “Bootle” from the Beatles album covers, where i was able to quote the lyrics from their song “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”. The majority of the other fonts used were all in relative to the psychedelics discussed in throughout the book. To name a few more, “Acid, Shrooms, and Tripping on Acid”. 

LSD- Time is distorted, cross-over senses also known as “synesthesia”, bright colors, fractals, and is described to open the mind to a multitude of perceptions opposed from ordinary ways of thinking.

Shrooms- Mush of the same effects as LSD, however this substance does not last as long and is reported to have more control over you, where as LSD is said that the user has more control over how their experience goes. It has been described as “being awake in a dream” Where as you are conscious of everything happening, not a whole lot of it makes sense and your more of the “viewer” experiencing everything that going on around you, absorbing your surroundings rather then creating them consciously. 

Good trip/ Bad trip- I wanted these center pages to break up the 4 substances discussed. Often the experiences of psychedelics are influenced directly by the mind state/ perceptions that the user already has. These perceptions temporarily manifest into an illusionistic reality where the mental states are brought to life and the subconscious mind is being experienced through extra sensory perceptions. This is the concept behind “good and bad trips”. I tried to demonstrate through the use of black and white fragmented lines that almost work as a tunnel towards the saying “when in doubt just ride it out” (commonly used term, once someone has embarked on their ‘trip’ their is no turning back and its better to just ride along with it then it is to fight against it). I then shared a little reminder for each perception to continue to finish experiencing the book/ trip.

- After multiple attempts at printing my book, the final copy ended up losing the text on these center pages for a reason that remains unknown.

DMT- This one was really fun and also one of the most time consuming. This psychedelic commonly known as "the spirit molecule", is known to be produced naturally within the pineal gland when experiencing death, dreams, and out of body experiences. People often report experiencing an “ego death”. This substance also known as "ayahuasca" is traditionally used in sacred ceremonial practices to purge the subconscious mind and body of any attachments to ego. Many reports say that after taking DMT you leave your physical body immediately and project into another dimension. Geometric patterns, kalaidecopes and 3D shapes appear- i spent a lot of time creating these graphics from scratch to replicate the described experience. The “out of body” page i decided to take multiple quoted experiences from differing people to form the geometric shapes in the background. Although the content isn’t very illegible i thought it was more about the experience that the type created rather then what the words said. 

Salvia- This substance is reported to merge with or become other objects, loss of contact with reality, overall sense of uneasiness and extremely bizzare hallucinations. I used all of these descriptions and communicated them through the use of type in a variety of ways. With the use of the molecule of Salvia Divinorium, i was able to connect 3 of my ideas into one. Spelling ‘Hallucination” with the A, L, I, and A in SALVIA and then the N from the word “deleriant”. 

Printing- This was the MOST stressful part of this extremely time-limited project. After a week of putting all of this together until i ran completely zapped of energy, i went to submit my book to BLURB in order to receive by next week– to discover that they were not able to process my book. This was due to transferring a lot of my designs created in illustrator, over to in-design (which i have never done before). This was a painful learning curve for me. Every attempt I made to have the book printed for me turned into a dead end and I was faced yet again to attempt something I was unfamiliar with. These inconveniences lead me to creating my own book which ended up turning out most favourable with first-hand experience of printing, cropping, and binding it myself.

1.) Expect the unexpected. It's almost inevitable to run into a few areas of inconvenience while creating something digitally (especially printing) be prepared for and accepting of Not to get too fancy on a software I am still learning. Rules are put in place for a reason. Sometimes it’s good to push and explore a bit out of the comfort zone, where other times it may prove to be beneficial to stick to a book of rules.

2.) Make sure fun is one of the main driving forces behind any project.

3.) Make more time for planning, yes time seems to always be low and that influences one to want to get started quicker... but with a set out plan, it makes initiating the process go by with a lot more ease and grace then jumping right into it. Well thought out work always reflects more strongly and can also prevent future blocks (such as my initial idea with medicinal mushrooms)

4.) This one might be the most valuable lesson learned:

Ask for help- This is a reminder to myself that things are only as difficult as i make them and that even though I'm not used to asking for help, that it is available to me any time I make the effort to reach out for it. 

In order to create stronger and better work I will continue to make connections.

[jeichanhaka]

If Any Would Avenge: 27

Chapter 27: Dilemma

Lying on a cold, rough floor reminiscent of a dungeon, Killian's eyes shot open. His brain foggy, it took him a few moments and the soreness of his gut to remember about the cloaked woman and where she'd brought him. His stomach twisted and he lifted himself to his feet, while bracing himself against the pain from his gut. The air around him was cold and stale, tinged with a musty stench of mold. The walls damp, their gray cement hue only dimly discernible beneath the sparse electric ceiling light.

'I'm still in Storybrooke.' He muttered, glancing over the cement walls and electric lights. 'Or at least in The Land Without Magic.'

Glancing down the dimly lit corridor, he started walking forward, his eyes and ears alert for movement. The pain across his abdomen was already subsiding to a numb throb, only to instead fill with dread. It gnawed at him and at the lingering fog around his memory. There was something. Something he was forgetting. Something important.

Killian shook his head and pressed on, unwilling to spend the time trying to remember what he'd forgot. Not when he knew, sensed in his bones that those he loved were in danger. "I need to get to Emma and Sadie. That cloaked…." He groaned and nearly stumbled, his head throbbing as he tried to remember the cloaked woman's face. Her voice. It blurred the more he tried focusing on it, as though it was forbidden.

-"I've waited so long for this."-

A voice hissed in the pirate's head, the words distant like an echo of a memory hidden deep away. Killian gritted his teeth, ignoring the voice and the burning pain it triggered across his gut.

-"...didn't travel...years to...slip by me."-

The pirate drew in a deep breath, bracing himself using the wall as his gut roiled, the burning sensation stronger. It felt as though someone had repeatedly cut into his skin, not too deep but enough to make moving around a bitch. "...fuck." He swore and paused a moment, slipping his hand beneath his leather vest.

The moment he touched his stomach, he flinched, not just from the sharp pain as he touched his skin, but from the feeling of dried blood. He couldn't see them, but he felt the wounds on his stomach, crusted over with dried blood and pus.

"Bloody hell…." Killian groaned, his head throbbing.

"The Savior's…? You want Emma's daughter?" Gold gawked at the young man, surprised by the latter's demand. "Why? What could you possibly need with a newborn baby?" He asked, already thinking about all the various dark spells requiring a newborn or parts of one. His brown eyes narrowed, wondering which of such dark spells, if any, the youth sought to cast.

"That is my business. Mine alone." The youth replied brusquely, catching the furrow forming in the Dark One's brow and the glint of trepidation in his eyes. "Or are you having doubts about our deal already?"

"Of course not." Gold snapped, scowling at the young man. "I'm simply curious as to your reasons to want Emma's baby, or any baby. Certainly the child couldn't be much use to you, at least not enough for you to give up possession of the Dark One dagger so easily."

Listening to Gold, the youth tapped his lips, partly obscuring the gleeful smirk forming there. It widened as the Dark One's furrowed brow deepened and his eyes filled with suspicion. "...so you assume. But this child, Sadie, is special."

"Special? How so?" Gold inquired, curious. But to the Dark One's dismay the youth simply shook his head and placed his forefinger to his lips. Seconds after the gesture a cloud of dust surrounded the youth, obscuring him completely, and when it cleared he had vanished. Leaving behind nothing but silence and a single ebony feather.

x

Standing across from Emma and Killian's place, hidden by the shadows on the empty porch of what was William Kidd's house, Gold glowered silently. His eyes narrowed, many thoughts rushing through his head: some dealing with the 'coincidence' of Kidd's house being right across from the hook-handed pirate's, others with how he would manage to take Sadie. Hopefully without bringing suspicion upon himself - at least not until he had his dagger back and could leave for the Enchanted Forest with his full power.

But more than anything Gold thought about what his unwritten son had said. That Sadie was special. That something about her, something she possessed - magic or destiny or something - was worth the young man giving up the Dark One dagger. Worth surrendering his control over Gold, and his chance to take all the power of the Dark One for himself. Even now it chilled Gold thinking about how close he was to dying at his unwritten son's hand. Not since the first time he'd seen Gideon, grown up in Belle's dreams when he was trying to wake her from the sleeping curse, did he feel so horrified. And frustrated. The idea of his son not just hating him, but wanting to kill him, chilled him.

And despite denying and refusing to believe it every second of their earlier conversation, Gold knew the youth spoke the truth. The young man was his son from Isaac's book. A son whose personality was much like his own, cunning and thirsting for power. The only things missing was fear and a soft spot for loved-ones. Which only solidified his familial connection to Gold, as more than himself, the youth reminded him of his father. Peter Pan.

The youth was just as cold as the man-child. If the young man's chin and eye shape hadn't reminded him of Belle, Gold would've suspected he was some kind of trick thought of by the bastard who'd abandoned him. Now it was simply proof that the youth was the unwritten child.

His unwritten child, who wanted to kill him. Who relished the thought of killing him and taking his power. Gold wondered for a second if his own father had ever felt what he felt now. Knowing your own son wanted to kill you…it…. He shook his head, dispelling the idea that his father Peter Pan had ever felt similar to him now. The bastard who'd abandoned him had never wanted him, so it was unlikely he'd have been affected at all by Gold despising him.

Gold though wanted his sons. Always. Even the one Isaac had wrote for him in the book. The erased one. It mattered little that the young man's existence wasn't through natural means, he was his son. And the only child of his that was still alive. The only one he still had a chance to be a family with.

'But you do realize, don't you, who else he is?' His Dark One consciousness prodded, repeating its question despite his efforts to ignore it. 'His name. The name he took, it's echoed in your head since the moment you two spoke.' His imp voice crooned, appearing beside him as an hallucination. Chuckling coldly. 'Nemesis.'

Gold tensed, his jaw clenching at his Dark One's subconscious' words.

'That means, dearie, that he's the one who ordered Gideon's….'

"Shut up." Gold growled, stuffing away the thought firmly inside the deepest recesses of his brain. The idea the most unbearable. The most horrible.

'Fine. But it makes one wonder, doesn't it? If he can do that to his own blood, what will he do to Sadie? It's not like her young age will protect her.' His subconscious chided. 'You don't even know what he wants her for. Not to mention how it will affect your future plans.'

Gold flashed an angry scowl at the imp hallucination, his eyes gleaming with frustration and a tad bit of wariness.

'Come on, dearie. You can't hide the truth from me.' His imp form tittered, drawing up to him so that he was a mere inch or so away. 'You still want to corrupt the pirate's daughter. You still want to turn her dark for revenge. And for more than just Hook failing to protect Gideon.'

Gold sunk more firmly into the shadows of the porch, chilled but also lulled by his Dark One subconscious.

'You want him to pay for every transgression against you and yours.' The imp continued, his words followed by a mad giggle. 'Every. Single. One.'

Listening to his Dark One subconscious, Gold averted his gaze from the house, thinking about his plan and his premonition concerning Sadie. If Nemesis' plan for the newborn was deadly, if it risked the baby's life...that vision, that future revenge of his would be nonexistent. Worse, it would be his unwritten son who'd go dark, ur, darker, and yet another child would lose its life. For what?

"What does he want with her?" Gold muttered, glowering as he thought, trying to understand his would-be son. To imagine what the youth wanted. What, if anything, would be important to someone like Nemesis? Someone with the power to jump in at any point of time. Someone outside the story. Someone….

Someone…unwritten.

His narrowed eyes twitched, his scowling lips a thin line as the idea flashed through his thoughts, as clear and sure as one of his visions. Though it simply increased his befuddlement over Nemesis' actions. "Is that what he wants…to be rewritten into the story? But...why not just go to the Author? Surely Henry would've been able to write him back in. Why…?"

'Dearie, do you seriously have to ask why?' His imp self goaded, making a tsking sound before chuckling. 'Isaac wrote him to take after you. Ergo, he'd want what you would.'

Gold sucked in a breath and scowled at the floor of the porch without noticing it, realizing what Nemesis wanted. Or rather didn't want. "He doesn't want to lose his power. His ability to transverse to anywhere or when in the story. He wants to be returned to the story, but with his power intact."

'Hee hee. Right you are.' The tittering imp spoke, making a few grandiose gestures before cozying up close to him. 'And there's only one way he can accomplish that.'

"A powerful reversal spell. One cast on his page from Isaac's book." Gold muttered, his knowledge from his centuries of living and from being the Dark One meshing with his cleverness. "But that doesn't explain why he needs the pirate's daughter..." His eyes widened and he glanced back at the window leading to Sadie's nursery, a sickening feeling sinking in his stomach. "Unless…." Filled with curiosity, and with dread gnawing at his gut, he teleported himself into the baby's room, taking only the briefest of moments to check that no one else was around.

Appearing just a foot away from the crib, Gold peered down at the newborn and visibly relaxed upon noticing she was asleep. He still remembered how quickly he warmed to her earlier in the sheriff station, moved by his grief and paternal desire. Something he couldn't afford happening now, especially if his suspicion was correct.

"Now, now, dearie." He muttered, studying the newborn and debating how to proceed - to prove if his suspicion was right or not, he had to know what kind of magic Sadie had. Something more readily determined by seeing it in practice or testing a strand of hair - neither of which were feasible with the newborn. Babies seldom could use magic even when born with it, and like many newborns Sadie had little hair to speak of. "How to do…."

"Gah….Bhhr." Having woken up seconds after Gold started muttering, Sadie gurgled. Her wide blue eyes, filled with innocence, curiosity, and trust, gazed up at the Dark One. She smiled, reaching out for Gold, not at all afraid - far too young and innocent to know she should be wary. It nearly caused the Dark One to falter and teleport away to figure out some loophole to get his dagger back instead. Nearly.

"Shh. I…." Gold whispered, raising his hand in order to cast a sleeping spell on Sadie, lest she start bawling like the newborn she was.

It was in that moment that he froze and a strange feeling passed over his body. One quite like the times he crossed the town-line into the Land Without Magic. His eyes widened as he gawked at his hand, struggling to use magic but unable. His first thought was that Nemesis must have gotten hold of the chest and took the dagger back, but he quickly dismissed it. He wasn't being controlled, his magic was simply...gone.

"No…." He muttered, nearly giving into panic, until he realized his limp too was gone. His leg felt whole, strong, like it did before the Ogres War. Yet that wasn't…. Realizing the truth before even noticing that Sadie had managed to grab hold of his sleeve, he backed away quickly. The moment the newborn's tiny hand let go, he felt his magic flood back and his leg return to its crippled, but magically supported, state. Staring at the newborn, Gold's heart raced, horrified.

'Seems Nemesis was right, dearie.' His Dark One subconscious blurted, excited and amused. 'Sadie is special.' The imp paused, walking to the other side of the newborn's crib, and chuckling. 'This means your suspicion is on the nose as well. Nemesis….'

"No…." Gold shook his head, his stomach in knots.

'...is going to steal Sadie's magic and use it to renew his story.' The imp tittered, goading Gold. 'You'll once more have a son to dote on, dearie.' There was a pause, the manifestation of his Dark One subconscious leaning over the crib and flashing a heartless grin before continuing. 'There's just the one thing...this tiny, precious baby….' Another pause while the imp manifestation glanced down at Sadie, eyeing her emotionlessly except for an echo of his heartless grin twitching at his lips. '...will have to die.'