#then ill take a binding break and lie down

[aropride]

FUCK MY STUPID BAKA LIFE

[evilminji]

For once! Purely BNHA! Because I CAN NOT stop Pondering It!

Quirk: Transfer.

Vague name, right? Well it would have to be. Because NO ONE would believe a Self Insert, even in a world of Quirks. They wouldn't WANT to believe. Because? The prospect would be horrifying and terrible.

It's far easier to say it's "Quirk Related Neurosis".

Because "no, no, you silly child! Your Quirk can't POSSIBLY have grabbed a random soul from another dimension, which it now holds, as the ONLY thing powering your body! You can't have died, with all the trauma and loss that entails, only to be shoved into the body of a toddler! Silly baby, such wild imagination! Maybe your Quirk 'transfers' memories, too!"

Except NO, asshole. They are the one with the metaphorical arm here. THEY are the one who would know which way it does and does not "Bend". But trying explaining a something to someone who doesn't want to hear it. Something that makes them uneasy, that is outside of their world view.

That touchs on the random, unfeeling, chaos of the Universe and how it relates to their soft and supposedly sensible lives. What do you MEAN sometimes Bad Things happen to good people? What do you MEAN sometimes, even if I do everything "right" and take every precaution, terrible calamities can occur?

That I could Die?

That my very Soul could be ripped away from it's rightful rest, too some far off land?

That can't happen! That's not FAIR. It's not RIGHT. Crimes are Illegal! You can't be telling me that sometimes people DONT uphold their duties! Abuse their power! That things are unfair and injustice can strikes, no matter HOW safe I think I am!

That's Scary!

I'd rather believe you were wrong.

That things Make Sense and there are Rules I have to follow. That I am Safe and you are just a liar. Bad things happen for a reason. Bad people are bad BECAUSE they are evil and bad. Let's not think about this any more. Let's talk about TV shows and take-out.

What a terrifying Quirk.

To be held, at the nonexistent mercy, of the Universe's randomness and decay. Reliant on the compassion and understanding of Others, to cope with what has occurred.

Because while the Universe is uncaring, your fellow man SHOULD be. Bonding together against that great and frightful void. Making sense of it all. The compassion of stardust and all that. Children born of this universe, who in turn look back and observe it. Yet? To them you are either mad... or a liar.

Do they hide it fast enough? Do they even think too, in time?

Or is their's a childhood being told "your past is nothing more that hallucinations and stolen memories" before being fed pills, for illnesses they do not have? Do they doubt? Break down and believe. After all, everyone around them is telling them their memories are false.

Not to trust their lying mind.

Children have so few rights. Madmen even fewer.

Do they lie? Smile, nod, and agree with whatever the doctors say? Do they know their mind or does this destroy them? Perhaps... they are lucky. Good doctors and better care. Long talks and learning to cope, with no one believing. After all, hallucinations don't "go away" just because you know they aren't real.

Why would their memories?

A childhood never quite forgiving the ones who locked them away. Being treated as "insane". Being alone. Not sure if you WANT to "make friends" but trying anyway. Because humans are social animals. Because you know what an alarmingly intelligent and self disciplined child, who ALSO happens to be notably asocial, looks like to people.

A life of fear and lies.

The chronic, extreme, stress, and what it must do to their health.

Does Transfer grow with them? Most Quirks do.

What a terrifying childhood. To know, one day, it could just... quit. A straining muscle that finally gives out. The Quirk that binds you into this body just... running out of strength. Letting go.

Maybe grabbing a different soul.

After all, no one ever said YOUR soul was special. And no one believes you. So no tests have ever been done. And that hold? How strong, you must wonder, IS it?

Do they drift? In and out. Does their body suffer, from stress and a soul barely bound to it? Poorly transfered, by an Infants first manifestation? Why was it a SOUL? The first thing they Transfered? Was it based on need? Or was it always meant to be this way?

Can the Transfer other things, now? Or still just themselves? Still nothing but Souls? Is it even a transfer at all?

And what happens if it stops? Or gets copied? Influenced in anyway? Do they have a moral obligation to avoid those they know could be potentially killed by them? Who could potentially kill them by accident?

And, oh! Oh the QUANDARY of children! Quirks are GENETIC. Any mutation or variation of their Quirk? Will bring about ANOTHER. Do they have that RIGHT? Too kidnap another soul? Even if it's just to no longer be alone? Too condemn them to live when they may not wish too?

Their whole bloodline would be Self Inserts. No guarantee they'd be from the same universe! But they would be Reincarnations just like you. Born into a Story. One you KNOW, by nature, can never be peaceful.

Because a peaceful world is not an interesting Shonen Story.

Just as Batman can never truely win, just as the day never truely stayed saved, so too will this world forever decend back into chaos. So a new Protagonist can rise to meet it. What RIGHT would you have, to knowingly bring an innocent person into such danger, trapped in the body of a child?

I ponder the Self Insert Quirk.

How horrifying and numbing it must be. How crippling, the terror that, this? Is merely the beginning of a Tale that will destroy them. To be inserted into story's they long ago forgot, again and again, with no way to stop it. Forever.

Damned to be set dressing in another's grand campaign, even as they slowly go insane.

What a horrifying Quirk.

The Self Insert Quirk: Transfer.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @lolottes @babbling-babull

[blackwoolncrown]

For the past few days, a heatwave has glowered over the Pacific Northwest, forcing temperatures in the region to a record-breaking 118ºF. Few people in the region—neither Americans nor Canadians—have air-conditioning. Stores sold out of new AC units in hours as a panicked public sought a reasonable solution to the emergency. Unfortunately, air-conditioning is part of what’s causing the unusual heatwave in the first place.

We came close to destroying all life on Earth during the Cold War, with the threat of nuclear annihilation. But we may have come even closer during the cooling war, when the rising number of Americans with air conditioners—and a refrigerant industry that fought regulation—nearly obliterated the ozone layer. We avoided that environmental catastrophe, but the fundamental problem of air conditioning has never really been resolved.

Mechanical cooling appeared in the early 1900s not for comfort but for business. In manufacturing, the regulation of temperature—“process cooling”—controlled the quality of commodities like cotton, tobacco, and chewing gum. In 1903, Alfred Wolff installed the first cooling system for people at the New York Stock Exchange because comfortable traders yielded considerably higher stock returns. Only in the ’20s did “commercial cooling” appear. On Memorial Day weekend 1925, Willis Carrier debuted the first centrifugal air-conditioning system at the Rivoli Theater in Midtown Manhattan. Previously, theaters had shut down in the summer. With air-conditioning, the Rivoli became “the talk of Broadway” and inaugurated the summer blockbuster.

-another direct tie to capitalism. Everything born out of colonio-capitalism carries its toxic mark. Article totally not under the cut for those who can’t pay for Time. It honestly paints a really clear picture of the situation. Bolding mine.-

“It’s time we become more comfortable with discomfort. Our survival may depend on it.“

Before World War II, almost no one had air-conditioning at home. Besides being financially impractical and culturally odd, it was also dangerous. Chemical refrigerants like sulfur dioxide and methyl chloride filled most fridges and coolers, and leaks could kill a child, poison a hospital floor, even blow up a basement. Everything changed with the invention of Freon in 1928. Non-toxic and non-explosive, Freon was hailed as a “miracle.” It made the modernist skyscraper—with its sealed windows and heat-absorbing materials—possible. It made living in the desert possible. The small, winter resort of Phoenix, Arizona, became a year-round attraction. Architecture could now ignore the local climate. Anywhere could be 65ºF with 55% humidity. Cheap materials made boxy, suburban tract housing affordable to most Americans, but the sealed-up, stifling design of these homes required air-conditioning to keep the heat at bay. Quickly, air-conditioning transitioned from a luxury to a necessity. By 1980, more than half of all U.S. homes were air-conditioned. And despite millions of Black Americans fleeing the violence of Jim Crow, the South saw greater in-migration than out-migration for the first time—a direct result of AC. The American car was similarly transformed. In 1955, only 10 percent of American cars had air-conditioning. Thirty years later, it came standard.

The cooling boom also altered the way we work. Now, Americans could work anywhere at any hour of the day. Early ads for air-conditioning promised not health or comfort but productivity. The workday could proceed no matter the season or the climate. Even in the home, A/C brought comfort as a means to rest up before the next work day.

The use of air-conditioning was as symbolic as it was material. It conveyed class status. Who did and didn’t have air-conditioning often fell starkly along the color line, too, especially in the South. It conquered the weather and, with it, the need to sweat or squirm or lie down in the summer swelter. In that sense, air-conditioning allowed Americans to transcend their physical bodies, that long-sought fantasy of the Puritan settlers: to be in the world but not of it. Miracle, indeed.

But it came with a price. As it turned out, Freon isn’t exactly non-toxic. Freon is a chlorofluorocarbon (CFC), which depletes the ozone layer and also acts as a global warming gas. By 1974, the industrialized world was churning out CFCs, chemicals that had never appeared on the planet in any significant quantities, at a rate of one million metric tons a year—the equivalent mass of more than 500,000 cars. That was the year atmospheric chemists Sherry Rowland and Mario Molina first hypothesized that the chlorine molecules in CFCs might be destroying ozone in the stratosphere by bonding to free oxygen atoms and disrupting the atmosphere’s delicate chemistry. By then, CFCs were used not only as refrigerants but also as spray can propellants, manufacturing degreasers, and foam-blowing agents.

The ozone layer absorbs the worst of the sun’s ultraviolet radiation. Without stratospheric ozone, life as we know it is impossible. A 1 percent decline in the ozone layer’s thickness results in thousands of new cases of skin cancer. Greater depletion would lead to crop failures, the collapse of oceanic food systems, and, eventually, the destruction of all life on Earth.

In the 1980s, geophysicist Joseph Farman confirmed the Rowland-Molina hypothesis when he detected a near-absence of ozone over Antarctica—the “Ozone Hole.” A fierce battle ensued among industry, scientists, environmentalists, and politicians, but in 1987 the U.S signed the Montreal Protocol on Substances that Deplete the Ozone Layer, which ended Freon production.

The Montreal Protocol remains the world’s only successful international environmental treaty with legally binding emissions targets. Annual conferences to re-assess the goals of the treaty make it a living document, which is revised in light of up-to-date scientific data. For instance, the Montreal Protocol set out only to slow production of CFCs, but, by 1997, industrialized countries had stopped production entirely, far sooner than was thought possible. The world was saved through global cooperation.

The trouble is that the refrigerants replacing CFCs, hydrofluorocarbons (HFCs), turned out to be terrible for the planet, too. While they have an ozone-depleting potential of zero, they are potent greenhouse gases. They absorb infrared radiation from the sun and Earth and block heat that normally escapes into outer space. Carbon dioxide and methane do this too, but HFCs trap heat at rates thousands of times higher. Although the number of refrigerant molecules in the atmosphere is far fewer than those of other greenhouse gases, their destructive force, molecule for molecule, is far greater.

In three decades, the production of HFCs grew exponentially. Today, HFCs provide the cooling power to almost any air conditioner in the home, in the office, in the supermarket, or in the car. They cool vaccines, blood for transfusions, and temperature-sensitive medications, as well as the data processors and computer servers that make up the internet—everything from the cloud to blockchains. In 2019, annual global warming emissions from HFCs were the equivalent of 175 million metric tons of carbon dioxide.

In May, the EPA signaled it will begin phasing down HFCs and replacing them with more climate-friendly alternatives. Experts agree that a swift end to HFCs could prevent as much as 0.5ºC of warming over the next century—a third of the way to the goals of the Paris Climate Agreement.

Yet regardless of the refrigerant used, cooling still requires energy. According to the U.S. Energy Information Administration, air-conditioning accounts for nearly a fifth of annual U.S. residential electricity use. This is more energy for cooling overall and per capita than in any other nation. Most Americans consider the cost of energy only in terms of their electricity bills. But it’s also costing us the planet. Joe Biden’s announcement to shift toward a renewable energy infrastructure obscures the uncertainty of whether that infrastructure could meet Americans’ outrageously high energy demand—much of it for cooling that doesn’t save lives. Renewable energy infrastructure can take us only so far. The rest of the work is cultural. From Freon to HFCs, we keep replacing chemical refrigerants without taking a hard look at why we’re cooling in the first place.

Comfort cooling began not as a survival strategy but as a business venture. It still carries all those symbolic meanings, though its currency now works globally, cleaving the world into civilized cooling and barbaric heat. Despite what we assume, as a means of weathering a heat wave, individual air-conditioning is terribly ineffective. It works only for those who can afford it. But even then, their use in urban areas only makes the surrounding micro-climate hotter, sometimes by a factor of 10ºF, actively threatening the lives of those who don’t have access to cooling. (The sociologist Eric Klinenberg has brilliantly studied how, in a 1995 Chicago heat wave, about twice as many people died than in a comparable heat wave forty years earlier due to the city’s neglect of certain neighborhoods and social infrastructure.) Ironically, research suggests that exposure to constant air-conditioning can prevent our bodies from acclimatizing to hot weather, so those who subject themselves to “thermal monotony” are, in the end, making themselves more vulnerable to heat-related illness.

And, of course, air-conditioning only works when you have the electricity to power it. During heatwaves, when air-conditioning is needed most, blackouts are frequent. On Sunday, with afternoon temperatures reaching 112ºF around Portland, the power grid failed for more than 6,300 residences under control by Portland General Electrics.

The troubled history of air-conditioning suggests not that we chuck it entirely but that we focus on public cooling, on public comfort, rather than individual cooling, on individual comfort. Ensuring that the most vulnerable among the planet’s human inhabitants can keep cool through better access to public cooling centers, shade-giving trees, safe green spaces, water infrastructure to cool, and smart design will not only enrich our cities overall, it will lower the temperature for everyone. It’s far more efficient this way.

To do so, we’ll have to re-orient ourselves to the meaning of air-conditioning. And to comfort. Privatized air-conditioning survived the ozone crisis, but its power to separate—by class, by race, by nation, by ability—has survived, too. Comfort for some comes at the expense of the life on this planet.

It’s time we become more comfortable with discomfort. Our survival may depend on it.

[howlingday]

jaune's from a family of raiders

well not quite he's from a culture that puts a lot of stock in capturing and ransoming off their friends and neighbors from other tribes. think of it like a combat sport only some times you're also stealing cattle and horses.

he's a prince of the high king

well again it's more complicated the kingdoms are like city states they don't exactly legislate or collect taxes all the way out into the wilds. but they do send huntsmen to protect the area and then tax the huntsmen.

jaune's dad just happened to be a huntsman who didn't pay taxes because the area his family had lived in for generations also happened to be outside the control of vale. and lots of people wanna live near the huntsmen who can keep them safe. so he has a position of respect among all the tribes. and jaune is his son

he's also required to have a harem

this one is interesting because it's one of those cultural things that seems weird from the outside but makes more sense when you look at it. men are hard to keep alive without a hospital. even with aura. women are part of a protected group like children and so take less risks in life. leading to there being a ton more women than men. and since technology isn't quite to the level of the kingdoms proper,

well more hands to help maintain a house isn't bad right?

but most of all jaune is a man who only wants to do right by his family, whether that be those from the past, or the woman, or women, that he loves.

and this part needs no further clarification

tldr: au where jaune's part of a tribal community and brings his lover or lovers home to meet the family. how does that go for everyone?

P.S: also sorry for the flowery ask, i felt inspired by something

Ooh, do tell the inspiration!

"Unhand me, you brute!" Jaune sighed as the girl in white screeched and squirmed behind him. "Do you know who I am?! When my family hears of this, they will hang you for this! Do you hear me?"

Jaune kept his focus on the road ahead as he gripped the reigns of Valorie, his mare, glancing left and right occasionally to avoid an ambush. His family might have a hold on the territory, but with his father growing in age, so, too, did that grip loosen. A rival tribe or rogue patrol from the kingdoms would easily snatch up an easy target like the lone swordsman and his latest bride.

"Could you at least tell me where we're going?"

"Home." Jaune answered, not looking back.

"Oh, yes, of course! How could I not know? And where exactly is your home?"

"Just up ahead."

"Uh huh, I see, and what are you going to do once you're home?"

Jaune let out a long sigh as he stretched his shoulders a bit. "Well, drop you off with the others, then have you judged, if there's enough time."

"Judged?" Weiss raised an eyebrow. "Judged for what?"

"Wife material." Weiss blushed and her jaw dropped. "Can you cook; can you clean; are you good with children; can you have children; do you have any family illnesses?" He shrugged. "Routine wedding discussions."

"W-Wedding?!" Ah, and just like that, the shrieking began anew. "You savage! You brute! I refuse to be treated like some stock taken to auction, about to be sold to some pervert noble!"

"You're not being sold to a noble." Jaune smiled and looked back. "Just me." Before she could begin again, Jaune let out a sigh of relief. "Finally, we're home."

It may have only been about a week since Jaune had left, but it felt like forever since his departure from the lands of Arcadia. The valleys and hills were as green and lush as ever, and the summer winds carried the calming scent of flowers across it all. He passed the growing crops, where he saw his sisters, their wives, and some of his own watering and tending to them. They waved to him, and he returned one to them.

"Welcome home, Miss Weiss." The girl marveled at the beauty. She had only heard of such places from her studies in the manor, but to see it in person was something else. Before she could admire it more, however, the mare stopped, jostling her from her focus.

Jaune slid down, then pulled Weiss down as well, carrying her bridal style. He then set her onto her own feet and untied the binds on her wrists and ankles. She lifted her leg, then kicked his shin. He yelped in pain.

"That was for the kidnapping!" She shouted.

"Yeesh! Just a kick?" Weiss turned to see a lilac-eyed blonde woman in fieldwork garments smiling at her. "When he dropped me off, they had to get his old man to get me off of him." She looked past Weiss to Jaune. "You going soft on me, or just your taste in women?"

"And who are you?" Weiss spat. "One of his whores?"

Yang laughed and placed a sweaty, mud-encrusted paw on her delicate shoulder. It felt warm at first, then hot as her grip became tight, and her eyes red. "I dare you to say that again."

"Yang, stop it!" Weiss and Yang looked to the younger girl running from inside the house. She was a brunette with red tips and silver eyes, and she wore a red apron that she had to roll up to her shins. She futilely tugged on the blonde woman's arm. "Jaune told you not to hurt anyone else!"

She let go, making the girl yelp as she was lifted with her arm. "Aw, c'mon, Rubes, we were just playing!" She then looked to Weiss, her eyes lilac once more. "Ain't that right, Ice Queen?"

"Ice Queen?!" Weiss balked.

"Yang, cut it out, please." Jaune sighed.

"Fine, fine!" Yang turned around, lowering her arm. The smaller girl let go as she walked away. "Besides, the crops won't grow themselves. I'll go be a good workhorse." She stopped to look back and winked. "I expect my carrot tonight, though, sweetheart~."

"Play nice and we'll see." Jaune responded with a smile. With that, Yang chuckled and resumed walking, swaying her hips for a few more yards before jogging back to the field. He looked to the younger girl and smiled. "And how have you been, Ruby?"

She sighed. "Do you mean after you left, or after you came back?"

"Both."

"After you left, I missed you. It was your mom's birthday, but I couldn't afford a present, so I took on her chores for the week, but I didn't expect her chores included chimney cleaning, so now I have soot so far up my nose, I'm still sneezing black. Then I had to tend to the chickens, but they're so vicious, and I swear they can smell weakness, because the rooster jumped me at least six times. Then Zwei needed a bath, but he somehow tricked me into the tub, so I smell like wet dog a little bit. And then I had to bake her cake all on my own, but there were eggshells in it and it came out both burnt and raw somehow, and I just- Argh!" Ruby collapsed into Jaune's torso. "I really missed you."

Jaune held her and kissed the crown of her head. "I missed you, too, Ruby." He stepped back and held a hand outward towards Weiss. "Ruby Rose-Arc, this is Weiss Schnee. She's going to be my newest bride." He looked to Weiss. "Weiss Schnee, this is Ruby Rose-Arc, my second wife. She and Yang will help prepare you for judging."

"It's so nice to meet you!" Ruby swooped in, snatching the other woman's hands in hers. Her smile was wide and bright. "It'll be nice to have another short girl in our home!"

"No!" Weiss yanked her hands away. "I refuse! When my father hears of this, he'll-"

"Oh, that reminds me!" Jaune walked to Valorie and reached into her saddlebag. Weiss grumbled as she watched him pull out a small, burlap sack. "Here, Ruby. This was part of the dowry, but I want you to have it."

Ruby opened the sack and squealed in delight. "Dust crystals!" She hugged the new woman tightly. "You are the bestest bestie a bestie could ever have!"

"What the-?! Where did you get those?!" Weiss shrieked.

"From your father." Ruby ran inside with her new sack. "In exchange for marrying you, we'll allow him to trade through our lands."

"My father would never-!" Jaune gave her a curious look. "I mean, not to one of his own-!" Her voice grew softer. "I thought..."

"Listen," Jaune placed a hand on her shoulder, "if you don't want to marry me, I understand. Most of the others didn't want to, either. But if you give it a few days, you might learn to love it here. You won't go hungry, you'll be well protected, and I promise you'll be loved every day."

"I just... I didn't think I would be treated like this. By my own family."

"I know." Jaune removed his hand. "Would it be okay if I hugged you?"

"I-"

"JAUNEY!" The two saw a young woman bull rush towards Jaune, carrying a dead boar high above her head. Jaune extended his arms out and caught her, spinning in place at least a dozen times. Blood sprayed around, including onto Weiss and the other two as they embraced. When they stopped, Jaune set her down, giving her a butterfly kiss with his nose to hers. "You're home!"

Jaune chuckled. "Yup!" He peered around her and looked to Weiss. "And I brought back someone new."

Nora turned around and gasped as she looked at Weiss. "Oh! My! Dust! You are so small!" She looked to Jaune and waggled her brow. "Be careful you don't break her!" She then laughed. "I'd shake your hand, but, uh, I'm a little busy. I'm Nora Valkyrie-Arc, Jaune's fourth wife."

"Weiss Schnee." Blood dripped from her hair. "And I was just about to leave."

"Aw! Already?! We were gonna make pancakes tomorrow!"

"I was going to make pancakes, Nora." Weiss turned to the male voice and saw a slim man in the doorway, wearing both an apron and a blank expression. "Just like I do every morning for you."

"Renny!" Nora cheered before tossing the trophy to him. "This is my first husband, Lie-Valkyrie Ren!"

Despite his slim figure, the man held the heavy beast with seemingly no trouble. "A pleasure to meet you." He nodded, before turning to head inside.

"Is he also your husband?" Weiss asked. Jaune chuckled nervously. This was going to be a long day, but they both already knew that.

[nhinxsworld]

Hello, I really enjoyed your piece about Gojou's kinks in your masterlist! I was wondering if you write for male reader? Maybe a third year that Gojou likes to punish and degrade in praticular and be possessive over? (Sentimental Gojou?? He's been teaching him since his first year) Reader isn't weak or innocent but he lets Gojou treat him the way he does because he doesn't have anyone else in his life and Gojou has him wrapped around his little finger? Take it wherever you like, I'm sorry if this is too fucked up x

Is this what you wnated Im not sure!!! But i liked the request anyways 🥰 was little confused about what to do about male reader since I myself am not male! but it was fun to try i hope I did you justice on this :)

reader has Inumakis curse!!!

Gojo Satoru x male reader

my list uwu

warnings: manipulation ; non-con/dub-con(?) ; just slight degradation ; yeah im not good at this probably a couple uncomfortable stuff usage of slut etc.

Gojo Satoru loves all his students, he really does yet he still can't help himself but to pick favorites. They've all grown on him, but he can't seem to take his eyes of one specific student.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out who Gojos favorites are, it's easy to tell his favorite is his beloved third year.

Picking you up since you're only fifteen, Gojo had a liking the way you just seemed to always search for his validation. For you it has always been Gojo, Gojo, Gojo.

He has his pretty boy, by a leash and he decides how long it is.

The soccerer hums happily when he sees you in the classroom all alone, stepping inside he closes the room, causing you to look up at him.

"(Y/n)~" he calls almost too sweetly and puts his hand on the table pushing whatever you've been doing out of the way.

The rattling of paper, is heard. Before the paper could even land on the floor. He pulled down your mask to reveal your curse pattern, gripping you by your jaw "(Y/n)" he repeats and you look at him, eyes staring at his blindfold where his would usually be, yet you couldn't help yourself but trail from his blindfold to his rosy lips.

Just staring at him not able to say a word.

"Am I not your favorite?" he asks and you just stare at him. Why was he asking that, of course he is your favorite. Who else could it be?

Not allowing you to give him any kind of answer, he presses his tumb to your lips pushing at your bottom lip until, you bought out your tongue to lick and suck at his finger, making him smile.

"Haha of course I am your favorite. Who else would indulge such a dirty boy like you?" he chuckles as he spits in your face making you close your eyes instinctively. "Surely not Yuuta. Yuuta didn't pick you up when you needed someone the most now did he?"

Opening your eyes you shoke your head as Gojo just watches his spit run down your cheek like tears before he whipes it out in your face, his fingers lingering over your curse marks.

"That's right Sensei did." he reminds you once again, that it was him that took you in. It's him who made you, who you are and he can take it all away if he desires.

The older tugs at your shirt "Take everything off."

Starring at him for a moment you unbuttoned your uniform, that Gojo had chosen for you. Like many other choices, Gojo did them all for you.

Stripping of the shirt, taking off the shoes, slipping of the pants, your reached for you boxers too, taking everything of for the man before you. You're just so willing to listen to everything he says.

Pushing you down against the table he hums looking at your exposed body, the room feeling a couple degrees too cold now fully exposed, yet some other parts of your body are burning.

His large hands presses against a bruise on your side watching whince in pain and he just smiles "You see (Y/n), I have nothing against Yuuta. I like him, he is a precious student just like you."

Tracing over the bruise from your training session with the other pupils Gojo just laughs "But I have an issue, if you're getting hurt because of Yuuta."

Fingers digging into your bruise, until he hears you whine "because you're mine, this body is mine and I don't like my property getting damaged."

His, his body, his property, those words seems to spiral in your mind. His, his his, it's something you wished for. You remember clearly, the day you ran to him needing his comfort, his guidance, his touch.

Another laugh escapes his lips as he stares you down "Did my pathetic boys cock just twitch from me digging into his wounds?"

His grip gets even harsher "Or is it because this wound is caused by Yuuta? It's because of me right?"

You didn't answer him, it's none of those two options right? He had made you strip down in classroom, you're just anticipating for something else right? You're not getting off to him hurting you like this right?

A smirk spreads across his face "This bruised is caused by Sensei yeah?" he traces over it slowly as it has taken an even darker colour than before and you looked at him with scared eyes.

You weren't sure when it took a turn into this direction, from wanting to be with him, needing him as figure to guide you through the dark, to now depending your whole existence on him.

"You look so exited." he smiles as he traces careful lines under your eyes "Did you miss me?" he presses against the bruise soflty just to remind me you again of the aching pain "You can't live without my touch can you?"

You're terrified to feel this way, even more terrified the way your cock twitches from feeling like this.

He gives you a look of pity "I've told you, you're mine." Knocking against your head with his finger knuckle "Your dumb brain hasn't understood yet hmm? But your body has, and it's so honest."

"Don't you like it when Sensei talks down on you?" he questioned as he cups your face "I'd call you my pretty boy, but that doesn't make your little cock hard now does it?"

"It only does when I call you a pathetic slut, who is needy of my attention." his voice growls and to your confusion your body does react to those words, supporting his statements.

His hand gripped your throat with an amused yet somewhat judgemental face, he squeezes your neck just tiny bit, until he can hear you choke "You like this too don't you? When I'm mean, when I hurt you?"

It's hard to deny, to shake your head, wanting to tell him no, when you can't speak and you're body giving a completely diffrent answer. A harsh slap to your face, has you feeling it in your lower area.

"Haha~" he smiles "Pitifully cute aren't you?"

"You love sensei so much don't you? Your body grew accustomed to Sensei touching you the way he likes it hmm?" he askes you questions for questions knowing well you couldn't protest against him.

"Remember when you used to whimper around so cutely? When I used to praise you?" the older beams, reminiscing of older times "Sensei is your first hmm? He took such good care of you didn't he?"

"Such good care of you and your body." Gojo hums, pinching and twisting your nipples until they're hard "I had fun."

"It's so honest just for me now." The soccerer sounds proud of himself, proud to have taken such a pure boys first with love and care, just to slowly drift of that road.

Binding you to him with promises and words of love.

You felt a lash like feeling on your body, caused by his infinity "stop..." you choked out and he tilts his head to the side "Stop? You know that doesn't work on me dummy."

"When has it ever?" he laughs as he traces over your curse marks once again "Besides why would you want me to stop?"

"You like being bruised and hurt by me, no?" he continued and you want refuse, tell him no, but all you're able to do is shake you're head at him until he decides to hold your face still forcing you to nod.

"Don't lie to me." he pulls down his blindfold to reveal the sky blue eyes you've fallen in love with "You wanted me to do this, don't you remember?"

"You're such a good boy. I love you so much (Y/n). You're so perfect, I promise I'll be gentle, just tap me when I need to stop okay?"

-

"(Y/n), can we try something? Ill take it slow."

The first time you tapped against his skin, asking him to stop, with tears running down your cheeks and he stops to kissi your marks "Don't worry baby, haha see I stopped." Yet you failed to notice his cock just growing harder in his pants from the way you're crying.

-

Cries and taps, rapid taps against his shoulders, that turned into slaps, you're voice breaking from telling him to stop, an activation of your curse until he halts, blood running down your lips, you failed to notice how your curse didn't effect him "Awww no don't cry, it's okay, it's okay. I won't hit you anymore, if you don't like it. I love you, you don't have to do these things, because I like them. Don't worry about me, I give you what you need. You don't seem to like the things I do, maybe we should stop here."

-

The older had stopped touching you from there on just smiling and waving when sees you, no hugs, no kisses, no praise, nothing comes from him after what had happened making you feel guilty. This is you're fault isn't it?

Gojo always indulged in yours needs, why couldn't you indulge in his.

So the next time you see him you stopped him in his tracks, taking his hands in yours, already felling special as he had let you through his infinity. Bringing his hand to your face, you slapped yourself, and if you could see his eyes widen underneath his mask.

"Hmm? What's that for little one?"

Tugging your neck piece down you looked at him "Hurt me. Love me."

"Remember??" he looks psychotic "you wished for me to do this, I'm indulging in your fantasy. You've placed this curse on yourself, you placed this curse on us."

Gojo never leaves himself unprotected from your curse speech.

The soccerer never lets himself be vulnerable, specially not such technique as yours that is just so easy to block out. You can scream and hurt your pretty throat all you want, he won't be having any of that.

Gojo wraps his hands around yours and bought it up to his cheek slapping himself "Hurt me. Love me"

"That's what you did. I had nothing to do with that." he chuckles "You did that all on your own. I didn't force you, you wanted to be mine and I made you mine. You have to hold responsibility you know?"

Bringing you down to your knees infront of him unzipping his own pants "Don't strain yourself, you don't have to to say anything. Sensei knows, he always knows best for you hmm?"

Pumping his own cock a couple times he forced it into your mouth "Now be good boy."

Hands gripping onto his tight as he just fucks your mouth to his content, just so he can hear you choke and see you cry.

He just can't help himself when his pretty boy looks so lewd sucking him off, like it's the only thing you're made for.

"Hmmm, fuck. Might as well just be my full-time cocksleeve, if you like getting bruised and hurt so much, I'll just have to do it." he chuckled as you felt another lash like feeling against your skin making you moan.

"Awww, such a painslut aren't you?" he smirks as he looks down on you to admire his mess, his hand in your hair forcing down more than you can take "Come on slut, you've done this often enough."

A groan escapes his lips as he pulls you off him allowing you to breath "stop, please...." your voice broken and hoarse and just smiles "Didn't I tell you already not to strain yourself? You're so funny trying to pull these things on me."

No matter what you say, no matter what you do with Gojo it has no use, until it's something he wants himself.

"Or are you just that much of a plain slut? Needing to damage yourself as much as possible?" he asks as you felt the cold sole of his shoes pressed against your cock.

"Pathetically cute." he beams when he sees you're all hard and leaking, just from the way he talks to you and the sole of his shoes pressing against your lenght.

"Oh sensei loves you so much." he grins as he places a stinging slap to your face that stings and burns "And I show it through the pain I cause, I know you need this."

[star-ocean-peahen]

I was listening to Kotake and Koume's theme again and thinking about loam Link's backstory again and. Y'know how Ganon was trapped under Hyrule Castle for abit. And how the fae essentially tortured Link. How far fetched do you think it'd be for a couple of witchy twins to masquerade as fae folk and spring a trap for the Hero's Spirit for for Plot Reasons. Probably to try and extract like the actual Hero's Spirit or something or the triforce if she's got it. You mentioned the fae actually took Link's name and that's why they go by Link... I wonder what implications that might have. Impersonation, doppleganger maybe?

the twinrove theme is so mischievous, it's infectious

>:) oh i have PLANS for the name thing

but first Koume and Kotake's theme really is a HUGE bop. its BOUNCY and NICE

and as for fae trap............... >:) buckle up this is gonna be wild (TW for child abuse and enslavement)

So, the pieces of the goddess-blood essence are found and guarded by greedy monsters who want to possess them and use their power. The fourth piece is possessed by the Fae Lord (working name) in the alternate realm of Faerie, who also happens to be the same guy who enslaved Link and took her name. He has similar vibes to Ghirahim; cruel, unimaginably powerful, doesn't register you as a threat at all, etc.

When the group (just Link and Stella really) track him down, he reveals the piece of the goddess-blood essence that he has (the fourth one, Essence of the Skies) and the power it gave him. Within the faerie realm they're at a severe disadvantage (with reasons undecided upon) and he gives them one option: Link serves in his court for a day like she did when she was young, and he gives them his piece of the GBE. Might be some name influence in there, not sure. (deals with the fae are ALWAYS a VERY BAD idea. they can't lie but they can twist their words. the bargains are also binding so good luck)

ANYways they take the deal because they have to (shh ill have a better reason soon) and then you have to play through a series of minigames where Link has to relive her trauma while being completely vulnerable (she has to relinquish all her weapons, gear, even her clothes NO SHES NOT NAKED shes just wearing different ones its meant to show her vulnerability and lack of control okay).

The most important one is the last one, where she's serving at his table at a faerie banquet. You have to walk down the length of the table and pour red liquid (what is it 😉) from a crystal pitcher into the cups of the guests. The faerie sitting at the table will attempt to trip you as you walk by and bump you as you pour. Balancing the pitcher and pouring the liquid uses motion controls, so if you wobble and drop it, it's game over.

The reason behind that is that when Link as a child waited on the Fae Lord's table, any mistake would mean punishment. Torture, injury, and humiliation were fun for the Fae Lord and his guests, so when one of the enslaved kids dropped a dish or spilled anything they would be nonlethally mutilated at best, turned into an animal and eaten at worst. That's how Link got all of the scars on her face (and the antlers + extra thumb/claw + snake fangs on the roof of her mouth). She's the lucky one. None of the other kids that she knew survived, much less got out of faerie.

Anyway, Link makes her way to the end of the table (where the Fae Lord sits) after a slew of game overs. When she gets there and start pouring his drink, he bowls you over and the crystal pitcher s h a t t e r s

(Side note: Link has severe trauma related to shattering sounds. I didn't mention this before but I want the game over screen to feature some subtle shattering sound)(also i KNOW stella isn't doing anything during all of this shh ill figure something out for her)

This technically breaks the conditions of the deal, but he's "generous" and offers her a new one. If she can defeat him in battle using only what he gives her, he'll give her the goddess-blood essence and let her go. (She does know he won't actually relinquish the GBE and that she'll have to take it from him by force don't worry i didn't forget that)

And he hands her a single glass shard from the pitcher she broke.

We go straight into a one-on-one boss battle after this. He's just toying with you, like Ghirahim's first stage in his first fight. He kinda just lazily walks around in the arena, as you try to get close and swipe at him with your tiny piece of glass.

Time out: I need to describe something important. In this game Link has several fighting styles available for her to switch between. She starts with a basic, unarmed set of moves that contain punches and kicks, but if you get the combos going she'll start using the claw on her wrist and end it by unsheathing her fangs and sinking them into her enemy. During this battle all fighting style options except the one that uses the glass shard are greyed out, including the base unarmed one, because of the conditions of the deal (no tools except the one he gives you). I think you can see where this is going.

After you get a couple hits in, he stops to monologue at you about how useless you are, how helpless you are, how you have nothing right now, blah blah blah

And Link realizes something.

Because—he gave her fangs and horns and claws. But more than that, he taught her mettle and steadiness and courage. (Granted, it was all very shitty and really due to her actions and not his, but IT WORKS OKAY) I actually wrote her lines in this moment, whether she ends up speaking them or not:

"You gave me the fear in my bones, the wit in my nerves, and the fire in my blood.

"You gave me the horns on my head, the claws in my hands, the poison on my tongue.

"You taught me silence. You taught me fear. You taught me patience.

"You taught me courage."

And then, the base unarmed fighting style option is no longer greyed out.

It's still not an easy boss fight; she's still without her weapons. But it's not impossible either. And when she's got him pinned, he shouts the name he took from her.

She pauses.

Glares.

And says, "That's not my name."

Then goes in for the ending blow with her venomous fangs.

😁 whaddya think? I had a lot of fun with this.

[azems-familiar]

SWTOR characters masterlist (new and improved!)

so i know i already have one of these, but it wasn't exactly up to date with some changes i've made to characters, and i made it before starting my novelization, plus i have an entirely new canon with another person to talk about. so without further ado:

canon: start a war (with @ipreferfiction)

Lia Vhoss, Jedi Battlemaster + Commander of the Eternal Alliance

(more pictures to come as i get more)

Lia is my Jedi Knight and was Satele Shan's padawan from a young age. she's 21 at the start of the class story and along with her close friend and all-but-outright-stated queerplatonic partner J'lima (ipreferfiction's knight), she's thrust into the role of saving the galaxy time and time again. she begins a romantic relationship with Kira after Voss, takes Tau Idair as her padawan, and faces down Vitiate and Revan on Yavin and Ziost. she and J'lima are both captured by Arcann in the Eternal Empire's attack on the galaxy, but only Lia is possessed and locked in carbonite; when she's finally freed, she takes up the mantle of commander of the Alliance (and also starts a relationship with Lana, though there's a l o t of complications going on there). she's my beloved and probably could be considered, along with J'lima, to be the main character of start a war, although the rest of the cast is important as well.

Vreila Lanar, Jedi Master + Jedi High Councilor

Vreila is my Jedi Consular but is not the Barsen'thor in start a war the oldest of our combined pantheon, Vreila is the only one who outright remembers the Sacking of Coruscant: she was eleven years old and studying at the Coruscant Temple when the Sacking occurred and barely escaped with her life. Fifteen years later, she's a proud Jedi knight, formerly Syo Bakarn's padawan, and one of the most promising new diplomats in the Order. the resurgence of an ancient Sith plague nearly destroys her first assignment on Alderaan, but after she recovers, the Jedi Council places her with the Rift Alliance, first to keep the peace, then later to hunt down the Children of the Emperor. Vreila quietly marries Felix Iresso in a non-legally-binding ceremony shortly before the Eternal Empire attacks, and it isn't until after Felix is taken as a POW that she realizes she's pregnant. She and her by then four year old son end up on Odessen as a Republic emissary to the Alliance, in the hopes that the former Battlemaster now Commander will be willing to hunt down the Republic and Imperial POWs Zakuul still hasn't released custody of.

Kal'vaela Corrin, Commander of Blackout Squad

Kal is the youngest member of Havoc Squad. Ord Mantell is not her first deployment with them, but it is her last; she follows Tavus and her squadmates to the Empire without a second thought and joins in on the Imperial reorganization of Havoc Squad into Blackout Squad. when Tavus and Fuse begin to doubt their decision, Kal, not wanting the rest of her squad to get caught up in their disloyalty and seeing a chance to get a command of her own, comes up with a plan to frame them as conspiring with the Republic. after her plan succeeds and she's given command of Blackout, she turns her gaze towards destroying the Empire's enemies - and recruiting her ex-girlfriend and now commander of Havoc, Itharil Enaran, to the Empire where she belongs, as well as converting the undercover SIS agent Jonas Balker. when Itharil finally switches sides, she brings former Sergeant Jaxo and Aric Jorgan with her, and yes they end up in the most complicated horrible person polycule you have ever seen. we had to make a diagram for it

i'm not kidding. there's a diagram.

Vyl Kivan

Vyl my utter beloved. he's the youngest character in our combined canon, at seventeen when the class story starts - oh, and he's also trans. born into slavery on Ryloth then sold to a semi-powerful Sith family on Dromund Kaas, he's sixteen when his Force-sensitivity and powerful Force empathy are discovered, and after a year of training from his master, he's sent to Korriban in the place of her son, who is completely Force-blind. he's taken as an apprentice by Darth Baras for his impressive power and the ease by which he's manipulated, but treated as little more than a tool due to how he refuses to use the Dark Side of the Force no matter how he's pushed, and will only kill if it's a last resort. he learns to lie to Baras' face to protect himself as he frequently leaves targets alive, as he sends Nomen Karr back to the Jedi to heal and takes Jaesa as his apprentice, although really he's learning from her just as much as she is from him. he ends up being made the Wrath for similar reasons for why Baras took him in the first place. after some difficulty on Ilum and elsewhere in the galaxy, Vyl ends up defecting to the Republic and specifically the Jedi on Yavin after encouragement from Theron (his partner) and Master Orgus Din. he's one of the Alliance's founding members during the five-year gap and he and Theron end up bringing a very much alive Thexan Tirall into their relationship during the war with Zakuul.

Avaanla Ki, Darth Aedis + Sith Empress + Master of the Revanites

Avaanla was taken into slavery at a young age and ended up in a brothel for several years. raised and trained as a dancer, with a pleasure slave's brand on her wrist, her Force breakthrough occurs when she's fourteen years old, when she ends up killing a man for touching her. this becomes a not-uncommon occurrence over the next few years until she's finally purchased by a Sith who bargains training in exchange for work. at twenty, she's sent to Korriban, and she trains there for a while until stumbling upon a secret she wasn't supposed to find while exploring the tombs on a trial. she's saved by Darth Thanaton, who ends up taking her as an apprentice, and who enlists her in his desire to bring down Vitiate. after a mission on Dromund Kaas for another Sith, Avaanla finds herself hunting down the shadowy Revanite Master herself and taking the woman's place, and even breaks Revan free from Maelstrom Prison herself, in the goal of enlisting the powerful woman's help to take down the Emperor (and put herself in his place, of course - what's a Sith without ambition?). in pursuit of those goals, she ends up taking over the Sphere of Mysteries, gaining a seat on the Dark Council and an in to the Emperor's greatest secrets. after Thanaton's exile following his loss to Jana Vassi (newly crowned Darth Nox) in a Kaggath, Avaanla's plans are somewhat hampered, and after Darth Arkous goes rogue with a great deal of the Revanites she's forced into showing her hand early - but after it's all said and done, with Marr's disappearance, Avaanla finds herself taking the Sith throne after all, sharing it with Jana. she ends up in a polyamorous relationship with Jana and Andronikos, eventually.

Averr'iis'aloh, Cipher Eight + Legate + Keeper

Averr'iis'aloh, also known as Riisa, grew up on Csilla and joined the Csilla Secret Police at the age of fourteen. she was partnered with Tharel'elshe'reth (who later becomes Cipher Nine) and the two of them grew close (eventually starting a romantic relationship). when the two of them were in their early twenties, they stumbled upon an artifact on the Chiss world of Copero that the Empire didn't want being known - this was caused directly by Riisa's latent Force-sensitivity (just enough to get her into trouble). she and Elshe'reth were sent, reluctantly, to the Empire to join Imperial Intelligence, and the two of them worked as Ciphers to bring down Jadus and the Eagle's terror network. sent alone to infiltrate a particularly dangerous SIS spy ring, Riisa becomes drawn in to the way the Republic treats their agents, and takes the Legate role on in truth, partly driven by a complicated falling-out she has with Elshe'reth during this time. an ill-advised fling with Aristocra Saganu leaves her with a daughter (Miurani'var'ieth, Nivari) that she sends to be raised on Csilla, and Riisa ends up throwing herself fully into her role as a double agent for the Republic, getting named Keeper of Imperial Intelligence after she manages to bring down Dread Master Styrak. it isn't until sometime after the Eternal Alliance settles in as the major power in the galaxy that her deception is discovered and she's broken out of the Empire by Elshe'reth herself (now an agent for the Alliance). the two of them do, after much difficulty, end up back together and raising a family together.

[hieromonkcharbel]

You have failed to strengthen the weak, says the Lord. He is speaking to wicked shepherds, false shepherds, shepherds who seek their own concerns and not those of Christ. They enjoy the bounty of milk and wool, but they take no care at all of the sheep, and they make no effort to heal those who are ill. I think there is a difference between one who is weak (that is, not strong) and one who is ill, although we often say that the weak are also suffering from illness.

My brothers, when I try to make that distinction, perhaps I could do it better and with greater precision, or perhaps someone with more experience and insight could do so. But when it comes to the words of Scripture, I say what I think so that in the meantime you will not be deprived of all profit. In the case of the weak sheep, it is to be feared that the temptation, when it comes, may break him. The sick person, however, is already ill by reason of some illicit desire or other, and this is keeping him from entering God’s path and submitting to Christ’s yoke.

There are men who want to live a good life and have already decided to do so, but are not capable of bearing sufferings even though they are ready to do good. Now it is a part of the Christian’s strength not only to do good works but also to endure evil. Weak men are those who appear to be zealous in doing good works but are unwilling or unable to endure the sufferings that threaten. Lovers of the world, however, who are kept from good works by some evil desire, lie sick and listless, and it is this sickness that deprives them of any strength to accomplish good works.

The paralytic was like that. When his bearers could not bring him in to the Lord, they opened the roof and lowered him down to the feet of Christ. Perhaps you wish to do this in spirit: to open the roof and to lower a paralytic soul down to the Lord. All its limbs are lifeless, it is empty of every good work, burdened with its sins, and weak from the illness brought on by its evil desires. Since all its limbs are helpless, and the paralysis is interior, you cannot come to the physician. But perhaps the physician is himself concealed within; for the true understanding of Scripture is hidden. Reveal therefore what is hidden, and thus you will open the roof and lower the paralytic to the feet of Christ.

As for those who fail to do this and those who are negligent, you have heard what was said to them: You have failed to heal the sick; you have failed to bind up what was broken. Of this we have already spoken. Man was broken by terrible temptations. But there is at hand a consolation that will bind what was broken: God is faithful. He does not allow you to be tempted beyond your strength, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.

St Augustine's sermon On Pastors

[the-night-writer1]

I've been thinking(can only lead to bad things)

And, Macaque and Xaio- just talking about everything Macaque did to Xaios family. Like there forced into a room together and aren't going to be let up till they make up, or just gain better understanding of one another.

Macaque sat in the room quietly and looked at the wolf demon who'd been tied up for his own safety. His glamour was off and his teeth showing. Now that he thought about it, Xiao looked a lot his mom. Macaque could still remember her plead for the pup's life. He was too young to be a threat, he was a runt she said, she told macaque everything she could think of to get him to spare her pup.

Looking back on it now, since he knew about his own kids and just how much he'd do to protect them, he finally understood why. Why she was willing to trade her life for her son's and why she gave every reason under the sun and moon not to kill him. The desperation to save the only child she had left. Macaque let him live, dragging him out of the territory as his mother laid dying on the floor of his childhood home.

"why" Xiao growled struggling against his bindings. Macaque crossed his arms as he looked at Xiao. Debating on if he should tell the orphan the truth or lie to him. Honestly he didn't even want to look at Xiao but for the first time in Shanyao's life he threatened Macaque. Threatened to undo the immortality he gained because of Macaque's pleading when he fell ill. It shook Macaque to his core but also made him a bit proud that Shanyao had put his foot down so firmly," ANSWER ME!!"

"Easy with the tongue Mutt" Macaque snarled back and glared. He looked at Xiao in the eyes and to his surprise there was very little true anger that laid in the amber orbs. There was pain, and grief. Xiao was trying to lash out because of grief something Macaque knew far too well. He looked away from the wolf and uttered," the land was battlegrounds it was never meant to be lived on."

"it hadn't been battle ground for three hundred years!" Xiao yelled out tightening his ears against his head," My family was stupid! "

"I never said they were" Macaque hissed as he turned back to the wolf," they just were just in the wrong place pup"

“So you killed them?!” Xiao yelled as he tried to break the enchanted ropes. He had every right to accuse Macaque. Macaque had only done it for the territory and he didn’t even use the land. Macaque only nodded.

“I am a different man now” Macaque tried to state but the wolf cut him off.

“Yeah right and my fur’s purple!”

“Listen Mutt I dont expected you to forgive me I’m only doing this because lightbulb asked me too” Macaque said as he rolled his eye before he heard a snicker,”what?”

“lightbulb? really you nicknamed him light bulb?” Xiao snorted as he leaned back in the chair,” I have way better ones than light bulb”

“Oh really what’s better than light bulb?” Macaque asked as he raised a brow.

“lets see shine, night light, glow stone, sweet star, moon beam, I could go on” Xiao said as he wished he could cross his arms. Macaque chuckled as he pulled up a chair.

“Enlighten me Chew toy” Macaque said as he rest his head on his left hand. The next two hours were spent tossing back and forth pet names for Shanyao and just Shanyao facts the other didn’t know. Like Shanyao’s favorite color all the way to handle him when he has cramps. Macaque even untied him so Xiao could put his glamour back on.

“hey are you guys still alive in here-” Mk asked only getting the end of Xiao’s current sentence.

“And my gods he lost it. He couldn’t take anymore” Xiao said as he gestured with his hands while Macaque burst out laughing,” like just nope stop I cant do this anymore.”

(sorry this took so long)

[angel-fire]

set my soul alight

summary: loki finally has you right where he wants you.

warnings: slight dubcon, very very nsfw. knife play, enemies to lovers because if you’ve ever spoken to me you know i’m about that shit. as always, don’t read if you’re under 18. 

A/N: okay this is like... almost pure filth i don't even know what to say. but in honor of no nut november being over imma share what i finished writing the second i had an orgasm for the first time in a month. title from supermassive black hole (yes the one from twilight!!)

---

You’ve done plenty of stupid things in your life. Chasing whiskey with wine coolers, texting back people you probably should have blocked – deciding that yes, working alongside the Avengers seemed like a perfectly reasonable career path for the rest of your life.

You could deal with the spies, the weapons dealers, the abandoned Hydra bases you’d raided for intel from time to time. You’d made peace with the fact that at any moment, you could be summoned for a mission you wouldn’t return from. And, well, it’s hard to regret your decision when it’s more than just walking the line between life and death. It’s the bonds you make with your teammates, the lifelong friendships you know will last with people that leap into the abyss right alongside you.

Oslo, Norway. It was supposed to be simple. You weren’t supposed to get caught. Taken. The question of how you got here is unnecessary, simply chalking it up to just another ill-advised decision you’d make in your life. If it lasts.

The God of Mischief stands before you, clear blue eyes raking over your bound form as he observes you. Your wrists are tied up above your head by what feels like silk, your ankles tied with the same material, bound to what feels like a post attached to a wooden beam. You’re upright, head lolling around on your shoulders as you rouse into consciousness. You become extremely aware of the fact that you’re still in the jeans and top you were wearing while you were supposed to be undercover earlier. Undetectable. So much for that.

“You’re awake.” Loki remarks, taking a calculated step towards you. No shit, you think. You drink him in, clad in an all black suit with his hair brushing the tops of his shoulders. He’s still disarmingly attractive, which is an in-fucking-convenient thought for you to be having considering he’d kidnapped you about – from what you can assume by the absent sun outside the window to your left – one or two hours ago. “Good. I’ve missed you, darling.”

“What the hell are you doing?” you mumble, tired limbs struggling against your bindings in a futile attempt to free yourself. At least it isn’t rope, you muse. Being tied up with thick ropes and subsequently tased until your bones rattled under your skin had been the least fun you’d had six months ago in Venice. The most fun… well. That’d been involving the god before you, teasing him into a frenzy ending in a hushed whisper of salacious promises detailing the things he would do to you if he got you alone. You suppose decision making is definitely not your strength, because after you’d rebuked his filthy whispers with a mere smirk accompanied by a wink, you expected that to be the end of it. Flirting with the enemy can only get you so far.

“Do you remember what you said to me, that day?” Loki inquires, ignoring your question entirely. “When you’d begged so sweetly into my ear for me to fuck you, to take you in the most filthiest of ways? I’ll admit, you rendered me speechless.” He chuckles to himself at the memory as your face flushes.

“I was not begging, and I didn’t mean it,” you respond automatically, the lie tasting like ash as it slips off your tongue. Loki only smirks, making you internally cringe at yourself. No matter how good a liar you might be to any other enemy, your teammates, your friends - you knew you couldn’t lie to him. Not to the God of Mischief.

He’s not just your enemy, a small part of you whispers. You shove the thoughts down before they can gain any traction.

“I should punish you for trying to lie to me,” he glides closer to you, eyes trained on your heaving chest at having him in such close proximity. “Shouldn’t I?”

There’s an unmistakable sound of a blade being unsheathed, your eyes flicking down to his right hand and widening when he produces a dagger from his wrist. It’s long, sharp, the light of the moon reflecting along its blade as it glints at you. You shudder instinctively, fear and arousal licking up your spine the longer your stare lingers on it.

“You were always my favorite,” Loki muses, standing a breath away from you as he draws the knife closer and closer to your body. “So headstrong. Unbreakable. I do look forward to seeing you fall apart for me.”

“Fuck off, Loki,” you snap, pulling against the silk ties at your wrists once more, realizing that they’ve likely been spelled to stay put. You would have been able to break free by now if they weren’t. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. “I’m not doing anything for you.”

“Oh, you’ll beg for me, I know it,” he chuckles darkly. “I can practically smell your fear. The way your body responds so deliciously to it. You’re dripping in spite of it, because of it.  And if I did this-“ he raises the sharp edge of the knife up to the base of your throat, dragging it across the length of your clavicle to where it meets your shoulder. You shiver in anticipation, toes curling, and his eyes flash. “-you wouldn’t be able to hide just how much it excites you.”

“Shut up,” You gasp, watching the tip of the blade travel over your shoulder and, with a quick maneuver of Loki’s wrist, tear through the fabric of your top. “God, Loki, what the fuck?”

“Don’t act like you’re not aroused by the feeling of the steel against your skin alone,” he counters, dragging the blade clean through your top all the way down to its hem, effectively exposing your left side. “Knowing I could hurt you so easily if I applied just-“ he presses the knife’s tip into the delicate skin of covering your rib cage ever so slightly, drawing a shaky breath from you as you feel the rush of arousal flood between your legs. “-the right amount of pressure. Your body betrays you, little mortal.”

“You’re sadistic.” You breathe, unable to deny the urge to clench your thighs together to relieve the ache between them.

“Maybe,” Loki simply chuckles, pulling the knife away from you and flipping it between his nimble fingers in a way that makes your eyelids flutter and your heart race. His left hand travels up your other side, drawing your top above your breasts, gathering the material in his hand as he yanks you close. “But you love it, don’t you?”

You have no time to answer before his lips connect with yours, teeth biting at your lips and tongue curling around yours as you gasp into his mouth. The taste of his tongue sends you into a tailspin, wrists straining not just to escape, but to bury themselves into his raven hair and drag him closer. You chastise yourself for feeling this way, but when Loki pulls away and promptly lowers to his knees before you, your mind goes blank.

“Fuck,” you whisper, watching with wide eyes as he takes his knife and cuts straight through your flimsy jeans, waistline to ankle. You hope he doesn’t notice the way you tremble in excitement ever so slightly, but when you hear him hum quietly in approval, you realize it’s useless to try to hide it from him. Well, he is a god, you muse.

“There it is,” he murmurs, lithe fingers teasing at your skin as he cuts your jeans completely off of you, tossing the remaining scraps of it somewhere to his left. “You’re lovely when you give in, darling.”

“I won’t, you bastard,” you curse, shutting your eyes tightly and tilting your head back in an effort to delay the inevitable.

“You will.” He promises, and you feel the tip of the blade dance up your ankle, over your knee, pausing at your thigh as he brings it inwards towards your femoral artery, before passing over the crevice between where your thigh meets your sex to play at your hip bone. Loki lightly traces indiscernible patterns along your skin with the knife, and your spine alights with pleasure as heat builds in your core. He’s teasing, building up to something else, and you know it by the way he growls as he senses you becoming more and more aroused by the second, trading the knife for both his hands as he pries your thighs apart as far as they can go in your position. Your eyes snap open at the feeling of his hands on you, so close to where you want him, so close to where he’s very capable of making you give in.

The last coherent thought you have is about how you can no longer feel the tightness of silk binding your ankles, but the last thing you feel is Loki’s dark chuckle against your thigh before he dives in.

His tongue plunges deep into your pussy, lithe digits holding you open for him as your thighs shake and your legs ache to be released, to wrap around his head and squeeze in retaliation for this assault of pleasure. He pulls away just enough to raise his dark eyes up to yours, a sly grin dancing across his lips.

“Oh, Agent... Your cunt tastes absolutely divine.” Loki purrs, long tongue flicking out of his mouth to catch your essence spread across his lips. No sooner after, he dives back in, the wet muscle of his tongue flicking against your clit and urging your hips to arch into his mouth. He drinks from you voraciously, hungrily, a man starved of touch for so long that he can’t get enough when he finally has it.

“I wonder if your precious Avengers know just how sweetly you moan for their enemy,” he coos into your thigh as he takes a moment’s pause. “I wonder if maybe I should make them watch, next time. Watch you come apart at my touch, my tongue.”

The feral expression on his face as he devours you combined with the sounds of your slick heat between your legs in response to his ministrations causes you to let out a high pitched moan, jerking your hips wildly, to which Loki simply buries his face further into your folds. He wrenches your thighs even further apart and wraps your legs around his neck, ankles crossed between his shoulder blades as you clench around his tongue while his hands press bruises into your thighs. You’re helpless in resisting, taut body tensing above him as you hurtle towards your peak at an alarming rate.

“I feel you holding back, darling,” he murmurs against you, the rumble of his voice rippling through you like an electric shock. You let out a gasp when he inserts a long finger up and into you, making you tremble with delirious pleasure as you give another sharp moan. “Let go for me. Give in. Let me make you come.”

You squeak when he pushes another finger into your wet heat, stretching you open as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, your body unable to hold your release in any longer as you come apart in a wave of unbridled passion. You’re nearly bent backwards in half, Loki’s arms holding you up by your quivering thighs as you come into his mouth. He laps at you greedily, emitting growls that reverberate against your pussy, drawing whimpering moans from you when it only seems to prolong your orgasm. You’re lost in rapture, hands grasping for something to hold onto in an attempt to stay grounded but coming up with nothing but cold air and the sensation of silk on your wrists.

Loki’s already gazing up at you with darkened eyes, fingers lazily pumping in and out of you as you come down from your high. “Feel good, do you? You sang so beautifully for me, little mortal.”

You huff indignantly, narrowed eyes lowering to meet his blown pupils that surely mirror your own. “Don’t think this means anything.”

“It’s valiant of you to believe you aren’t already mine.” Loki hisses, dragging his fingers out of you and, as he rises from his feet, abruptly shoving them into your mouth. You inhale sharply around his fingers, the taste of yourself on your tongue jarring and intensified by his face nearing yours once more. Your eyes lock, and the challenge in his stare nearly makes you submit completely. Nearly.

Eyes still trained on his, you throw him a salacious wink before circling your tongue around his fingers, lightly sucking them into your mouth as you watch his stare grow darker and his breathing become heavier.

“Oh,” Loki rasps, voice thick with arousal. “You’re a little minx, aren’t you?”

Abruptly once more, he pulls his fingers from your mouth and winks in retaliation as he licks the rest of you off himself, humming in delight as he tastes the mix of your cum and saliva on his tongue. With the same hand, he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back to look up at him. A pang of arousal shoots through you and you let out a quiet whimper, Loki’s breath fanning across your face as his eyes scan your features.

“You want it, don’t you?” He beckons in a low voice, removing his hand from your hair to grip your jaw with bruising pressure. “You want my cock so deep in you that you see stars.”

With your breath trembling, you mutter what you hope comes off as an affirmation in a moment of pleasure-induced weakness. You take his satisfied smirk as confirmation that it did.

“Now,” he purrs into your ear, lips tracing down the length of your jawline and up to your mouth. You’re shaking with it, this need that could only be sated by his touch and his alone. “Are you mine?”

You’re breathless, aching for more – of his tongue, his lips, his cock. You manage to shoot him a sly smirk of your own, craning your neck towards him to whisper in his ear. You know the answer, and he knows it too, but you don’t pass up an opportunity to make just one more ill-advised decision.

“Why don’t you untie me and find out?”

[lillian-snz-fics]

Benediction (Athelstan, M, Cold) part 2/4?

I've decided to continue this story! I have ideas for a few shorts, too. I outlined it into four parts, but these things write themselves so I don't actually know how long it will be. I had some fun with an old English dictionary for this part, so please humor the random Saxon language lesson. Also be warned of the… artistic interpretation of pronunciation and obsessive attention paid to Ragnar's inner monologue. It has a point, I promise. We're just getting warmed up. 

“Heh….”

Ragnar jolted awake. He stared out into the forest, willing his eyes to see through the darkness and find the source of the sound that woke him.

“Hhhh… HESCHHU!”

Ah. Just Athelstan.

“Euh..hih… HIT’SHHngk! …ughhn.”

“Goda… geblotse þē,” Ragnar said, the Saxon words jumbling together in his mouth. They held a sort of magic when Athelstan said them. Not lilting like the speech of the Vikings, or stiff and recondite like Latin. Some of it was familiar to him— þ, the sound made with the tongue against the back of the teeth, like Thor.

“Goda ge-blowt-sa thee,” Athelstan corrected sleepily.

Goda geblótse þē. It was a quick prayer for another’s health, more for comfort than actual benediction. If the Christian God had to come down from heaven and bless every sneeze, he must not have time for much else. Athelstan sniffled and sat up on one elbow, then took in a sharp breath and jerked forward with a desperate, rushed, “HET’SCHHu!” He didn’t try to contain the expulsion, unlike all of the other times he’d sneezed in front of Ragnar. He immediately pressed a sleeve against his nose, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“You’re keeping your god busy,” Ragnar said under his breath.

“Mn?” Athelstan asked, surreptitiously wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“Nothing.” Ragnar grinned. “Ge-blowt-sa thee,” he said, with a dramatic flourish of his hand.

“Ic þancie þē,” Athelstan said gratefully. Ragnar involuntarily cringed at the heavy, miserable dullness in his voice, accompanied now by a noticeable rasp. He sounded much worse than he had a few hours ago.

“You sound like shit,” Ragnar said, keeping his tone light and conversational. He looked like shit too. Even in the dim light of the low-burning embers, Ragnar could see that his nose was raw and red, and his eyes glittered with tears as if he'd been crying. He sniffled again, a squeaky, frustrated sound, then let out a shaky exhale. Instead of responding, he searched the pockets of his tunic for the scrap of woolen cloth he’d been blowing his nose into all day. Ragnar leaned over to his traveling bag and pulled out a piece of clean, soft cloth usually reserved for binding wounds. He tossed it to Athelstan, who clumsily caught it. He buried his nose in the soft fabric and blew hard, need apparently overcoming his usual shyness about such things.

Ragnar waited for Athelstan to clean himself up. “Are you warm enough?” He asked. Athelstan nodded. Then shivered slightly. “You are not,” Ragnar said. He took off his cloak and wrapped it around Athelstan’s shoulders. Athelstan nodded his thanks, as if he didn’t trust his voice. Ragnar wondered absently when it would finally go. He’d noticed Athelstan was ill the night before, when he didn’t eat any supper, and trudged off to bed long before anyone else. He’d slept longer than anyone too, only rousing when Rollo shook him awake so he could restart the fire for the morning meal.

He’d come to learn that Athelstan held on tightly to some of his old customs. He compulsively crossed himself when he was frightened, and he seemed unusually bothered by his own body. It had never occurred to Ragnar to cover his face when sneezing, or to carry around a little cloth to wipe his nose with. It amused Floki and Rollo greatly, and they had no shame in laughing at him, but Ragnar was curious. He had kept an eye on him all day, and it looked to him like Athelstan was only a bit under the weather. But he noticed a drag to his movements, and a propensity to stare off into space for long amounts of time. This made him worry, just a little. The longer he watched, the more obvious it became that Athelstan was greatly affected by his illness, no matter how trivial it appeared. Ragnar was determined to figure out why.

First, he had to break through Athelstan’s shell of embarrassment. The former monk had stubbornly denied being ill, which only added to Ragnar’s curiosity. He also needed to make sure that if Athelstan became seriously ill, he would be there to try to prevent the gods from taking him. This was a common occurrence. Even the fiercest warriors succumbed to illnesses that had initially seemed harmless, but turned deadly very quickly. Their lives were hard; now made harder by camping in the forest between battles. Athelstan was not going to die on his watch.

“Athelstan, will you promise me something?”

“Of course,” Athelstan croaked, confirming Ragnar’s suspicions about the rapidly declining state of his voice.

“Never again lie to me about how you are feeling.”

Athelstan stared at him in confusion.

“But—“

“I took you from that church, I brought you here, I freed you, and now it is my job to keep you safe,” Ragnar said. “I cannot protect you if you will not tell me what you need.”

“W— hh… why… hyehhh…!” Athelstan seemed to be losing the battle against his rapidly hitching breaths. He held the cloth up to his face and gave in. “Hhih… hehh.. H’YESHHUU!” Ragnar watched as he blearily raised his head and lowered the cloth to meet his gaze. He waited a moment to see if there would be a second, as Athelstan was often not satisfied by just one, no matter how strong it was. But he held his gaze, unflinching, except for a slight flare of his nostrils, indicating that he probably wasn’t done. “Why do I need protecting?” he rasped.

Ragnar rolled his eyes. Did he really have to explain this?

Athelstan looked at his hands. Then back up at Ragnar. Then, eyebrows shooting up and brow furrowing, he ducked back into the cloth. “hh! HEXXNGT!”

Ragnar winced at his attempt to stifle it. “Let’s talk about this later,” he said. “You should rest.”

Athelstan nodded, face still buried. He jerked forward with a wrenching, exhausted “... ETSCHH!”

Ragnar sighed and gave him a gentle smack on the shoulder. “Goda geblótse þē,” he said.

[talpup]

Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud. He knew there would be trails. He knew trouble would come his way. Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant. What he didn’t know. Didn’t expect. Was that literal Chaos would come his way. That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble. Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Chapter 95

Yami was woken by to the base trembling on its foundations. He jumped out of bed, stepping into his pants. Grabbing his belt with his grimoire and katana, he took up his boots and a fresh shirt. Bounding down the hall, followed by Gendry, Olsen and Iban, he ran into Teris on the stairs who was followed by Venice.

“Where’s--” Teris stopped, seeing Bran exit his room and hurry down the hall.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, ready for anything. Seeing no intruders Yami dropped his boots and put on his belt.

Looking them over, Greywright praised. “You Black Bulls make good time.”

“Put your shirts on.” Jax ordered.

Teris’ eyes dropped from Yami’s naked chest.

Pulling his muscle shirt off of his shoulder, Yami pulled it over his head. He looked back to see Olsen was also partially dressed, as was Gendry. Bran, on the other hand, was fully clothed and ready to go. No wonder Bran had been slow in exiting his room. Yami made a mental note to talk to him about his lagging time. Iban was also fully dressed, but his door had been open before Yami had even opened his. Yami wondered if the Blood Mage ever slept.

Pulling down his shirt, Yami eyed Teris who buttoned her blouse over her tank top and plopped into a seat to lace her boots. He sat beside her, pulling a pair of clean socks out of one of his boots and putting them on.

Venice turned her back to everyone and closed up her pants then knelt to lace and tie her shoes.

“Teris. When and where did you last see Fuegoleon and Nozel?” Greywright asked.

Teris blinked up at the Magic Knights Commander. “Yesterday at Nebra’s party. I was there for little more than two and a half hours after returning from the... questioning.”

“Did either of them say anything to you about going off anywhere?” Greywright asked.

Teris shook her head. “Nozel and I didn’t speak after… all that. And—well, Fuegoleon and I didn’t talk about any plans he or Nozel had. Why? What’s going on, Commander?” There was an all too familiar gnaw of worry tugging at her heart once again.

Greywright sighed. He looked at the Black Bulls Captain handing Jax his transportation charm. “Go to Headquarters. Inform either Julius or Sir Jorah of what she said then comeback for me.”

Jax nodded and took the stone. Activating it, he disappeared.

“Commander?” Teris got to her feet.

Yami glanced from Teris to Commander Greywright and back. Shoving his foot into the final boot, he quickly laced it and stood.

“Neither Nozel or Fuegoleon have been seen since last night. The Castle Knights stationed on the bridge say that they left the Royal Isle together but neither returned. Mereoleona and Kess both report that their respective Vice Captain's have yet to show at base. Teams of Sentries were sent around Castle City. One of those team learned that Nozel and Fuegoleon had been drinking in a gentleman’s pub until closing. The waiter that served them reported that though neither seemed intoxicated when they got up and left, they apparently were, saying that after they exited the pub they staggered about and three cloaked figures rushed from across the street to help them. We’re holding a Captain's meeting to discuss--”

Jax reappeared. “Sir Jorah’s unhappy and impatient.”

“Stay put and be ready to go. Your Captain will return shortly with further orders.” Greywright instructed the Black Bulls.

Handing the transportation charm back to Greywright, Jax ordered his squad. “Get something to eat. But be waiting here when I return.”

The Black Bulls Captain and Magic Knights Commander disappear leaving Teris feeling at a loss.

‘Goodbye, Fuegoleon.’ The last words Teris had said to her cousin echoed in her head. They hadn’t even made up from the argument the day of the Star Awards, and they had argued yet again. And Nozel…

Yami ran a hand down Teris’ back. As badly as he wanted to comfort her, he wouldn’t give her any false assurances. Not when he didn’t even have a clue what had happened.

“Take a seat. Someone will cook something up and bring it to you.” Yami told.

As if that had been a direct order, Bran took off to the kitchens.

Teris nodded in a daze and sunk slowly back down onto the sofa.

Sitting down beside her, Yami draped an arm over her shoulders. He looked at the others and tilted his head, silently instructing them to get out.

95.2

Entering the cell with Calen and Himmel following at his heels, Alowishus ordered. “Wake them.”

Calen watched his Master out of the corner of his eye. Ever since Flic had run off two nights ago, Alowishus had been ill tempered. Ellara’s unexpected letter, which arrived yesterday afternoon, certainly hadn’t helped. It seemed that Flic had not only left; but had gone straight into the hands of the Magic Knights. Calen didn’t know what his Master had told Ellara to do and wasn’t about to ask, too afraid to bring the subject up. Despite the unfortunate turn of events, things would progress as planned. It made Calen once again see the wisdom in his Master not informing his followers of his plans to reach their end goal as Flic would have ruined this next step.

Chained to a stone wall with Nozel beside him, Fuegoleon pulled against his bonds. “What’s the meaning of this!”

Nozel glared at his captors as if they were nuisances that had offended him and not adversaries who held him at their mercy. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

“You are Nozel Silva, Teris Nova’s Intended. And you,” Alowishus turned mismatched eyes on Fuegoleon, “are her beloved cousin, Fuegoleon Vermillion.”

Fuegoleon swallowed, foreboding prickling the hair on the back of his neck. “You have us at a disadvantage, sir.”

“More like countless disadvantages.” Alowishus said.

“What do you want?” Fuegoleon questioned.

Alowishus took in a measured breath. “This isn’t about you. This is about who you are connected to.”

Nozel stared at the man. “You’re Alowishus Spade.”

“I am. Did your Intended tell you of me? I’m flattered.” Alowishus said.

Nozel wanted to rage and kill at the man for what he had put Teris through. But his magic wouldn’t work and the bonds, though physical, were too strong.

“I wouldn’t waste my energy.” Alowishus told Nozel, seeing the royal pull at his bindings. “Those bonds are unbreakable. Only one man has ever been able to break passed them and that was only by tapping into the Dark force inside him.”

“If they’ve been broken once, they’re not unbreakable.” Nozel glared, knowing Alowishus was speaking of Yami. He pulled against the restraints all the harder.

“We won’t help you.” Fuegoleon told.

“You already are.” Alowishus said.

Fuegoleon glanced at Nozel, thinking furiously. What was it Mereoleona had told him? If you have to lie, make sure it has a bit of truth in it. The best, most convincing lies weren’t complete and total falsehoods but distortions of the truth.

“You’ve taken the wrong people if you mean to coerce Teris into anything..” Fuegoleon said.

Alowishus arched an eyebrow, the scars along his face pulling and puckering. “Have I now?”

“She and I haven’t gotten on for a number of years. We even had another huge fight this last time we saw each other.” Fuegoleon said.

“Well it’s a good thing I have her Intended then.” Alowishus smiled.

Fuegoleon scoffed. “It’s her constant voicing that she won’t do what she’s told and wed Nozel that’s caused the rift between us. She can barely stand the sight of him. She’s with that foreign peasant.”

“Yami Sukehiro. That much I did know.” Alowishus looked at Nozel in mock sympathy. “I’m afraid you never stood a chance. Yami and Teris are two halves of the same coin. He is the Darkness to her Light, and she the Light to his Darkness. They were destined for each other from the start.”

Nozel glared at the Agents of Chaos’ Leader. He hadn’t thought he could hate the man more than he already did, but he had been wrong.

“But that hardly means you are unimportant to her.” Alowishus went on, as if bestowing Nozel some sort of consolation prize. “You and the Vermillion here are her oldest and dearest friends. Teris would do anything for you. And Yami would to anything for her. Where Teris may not have risked Yami, or Yami have stopped Teris if I merely took some unknown innocent. Teris will act without thought or care to see you two safe. And Yami, knowing what you mean to her, will follow Teris’ lead and therefore my command.”

“If it’s Yami Sukehiro you want I can deliver him to you. Just leave Teris out of it.” Nozel bargained.

“Were you not listening? They are a pair. Fated and inseparable.” Alowishus took a step closer. “Now. I have questions concerning Yami and Teris, as well as the traitor Flic you Magic Knights took into custody yesterday.”

“As if we’d tell you anything.” Fuegoleon snarled.

“Feel free to put up a fight. We have the whole day together. So long as you’re alive, I have little care what state you are in when I use you to get those two to bend to my will.” Alowishus’ expression took on a curious mixture of cruel taunting and tortured gloom. “I may be Death, but I know all too well that life is a far more painful punishment.”

95.3

Jax stepped into the Black Bulls great room through a portal created by Cob. Sir Jorah had given him, and the other Magic Knights Captain's, orders on the areas their squads were to search. It wasn’t unusual. Sir Jorah or Commander Greywright normally made such commands. But given the threat of the Agents of Chaos, Jax was wary. At least the Wizard King had left it up to him as to how and where he sent teams of his squad to search the areas assigned to him. If that hadn’t been the case, Jax would have definitely questioned if this was some scheme by the Agents of Chaos with Ellara effecting Sir Jorah to send Yami and Teris into Alowishus Spade’s hands. Even so, he was still suspicious.

You’re worrying about nothing, Jax told himself. The heirs to house Silva and Vermillion were taken. Not everything is about Yami and Teris. This is probably just another foolish, angry noble. Or some gang embolden by the assassins hired to kill Nozel six months back, who think they can take the prince’s for ransom.

Despite his mental word of reason, Jax couldn’t shake away his concern. The Summer Solstice was twenty days away. It brought to mind his selfish act last year when he had sent Yami and Teris out on mission in the hope of seeing them prompted. It made him wonder if he should keep them together now, or send them out separate.

Teris got to her feet. It had been a battle to stay put and wait for Jax’s return. With each passing second her anxiety had grown. She needed to be out there. To do something. “Our orders, Captain?”

Jax looked from Teris to Yami and back, deciding to keep them together. After all Yami was the only one who could light travel with Teris without any ill effect, no matter her control of the spell. He told his squad of the areas they were ordered to search. Putting them into teams, he sent the others out, keeping Yami and Teris behind.

“Before you go searching your assigned section. Mereoleona has sent Randall to check Fuegoleon’s emergency stashes. You know every Magic Knight has preferred areas they camp at when out in the field. Places where they keep a stash of supplies should trouble come. But Nozel’s not exactly friendly with his comrades, so none of the Silver Eagles know where he might keep such things. Would you happen to know?” Jax asked Teris.

“Not with any certainty but I could hazard a guess or two.” Teris said, after a moments thought.

While mildly disappointed, Jax had figured as much and had told Greywright so when the Knights Commander had asked. Sadly, the only other person who might know where Nozel would go if escaped or in trouble and unable to get to help, was missing right along with him.

“You and Yami go to the places you think Nozel might keep a stash. You know him better than anyone.”

“No, I don’t. Nozel—I mean were friends but--”

Jax placed a hand on Teris’ shoulder. “No one is laying this all on you, Teris. We’re all gonna be out searching. Even Randall checking Fuegoleon’s stashes is a long shot. But it’s best to check and be sure. No?”

Teris nodded.

Jax stepped back, hand falling to his side. “After you two have checked those places, start searching the area I assigned you. It’s a lot of ground. That much light travel will leave you weakened.” He glanced at Yami. “So look out for each other and take special care. No one expects you to cover the whole area in a day.”

95.4

Arriving at yet another location of the grid they were suppose to search, Teris staggered and would’ve fallen over if Yami hadn’t caught her.

“That’s it. We’re done.” Yami declared.

Teris turned, legs giving out at the dizziness the action caused. “I can--”

“Barely stand.” Yami finished, holding her up.

“If you’re tired just say so. You can go home and I’ll--”

“Stop.” Yami commanded.

Teris opened her mouth to argue further; but the unyielding look in his eyes made her stop. He had let her go on far longer than she thought he would’ve and hadn’t said a word against it. More then that, he was right. She was spent. She had never light traveled so many times in a month let alone a day. If they ran into trouble she would be more of a liability than use in battle. She wasn’t even sure she could do one more jump without falling over unconscious.

“Alright. I’m--”

“Quiet.” Yami hushed.

Teris bristled. “I’m trying to apolo--”

Yami pressed his fingers to her lips.

Finally, Teris noticed the tension in his body and focus in his eyes.

Yami felt Teris tense as understanding dawned. His senses strained, taking stock of the situation. Counting the number of distinctive Ki’s. He looked at Teris. She could barely stand on her own. He would've had her get behind him; but it wouldn’t have done any good. They were surrounded.

“Got one more trip in you?” Yami breathed, softly.

Teris’ hand clasped Yami’s forearm. She tried to light travel them away but nothing happened. Dread and shame filled her eyes. She had brought Yami here. Into this danger. And now she couldn’t take him away from it.

Yami cupped her face, thumb caressing her cheek. His lips pressed to her forehead. “It’s alright. I got this.”

A figure stepped out from the surrounding trees. Despite its nearness, it was nothing more than a dark silhouette in the moonless night.

“Don’t feel so bad, my dear. You wouldn’t have been able to travel away even if you weren’t exhausted.” Alowishus said. “Piper. Give us some light.”

Piper created several floating orbs of fire. The flames lit up their surroundings, affording Yami and Teris to see several of the encircling Agents of Chaos.

Teris looked up at Yami, feeling responsible. “I’m sorry. I--”

“This isn’t on you.” Yami silenced, eyes on Alowishus Spade.

“He’s right.” Alowishus told Teris. “We could have easily taken you at anytime. Truth be told, I was tempted to order the strike seven stops ago at the dry river bed, certain that Yami would call an end to things there.” His gaze focused on Yami. “You must truly realize how much those royal princes mean to her to humor her search to the point where she falling over exhausted and depleted of mana.”

Teeth gritted, Yami thought back. Never once had he sensed another persons mana or Ki at any of their stops. Obviously Teris hadn’t either or else she would have said something. But, Alowishus’ Ki told him that the man wasn’t lying.

“Where are they?” Teris tired to take a step.

Yami moved to stop her, but ending up catching her when she stumbled over her own feet. “Don’t listen to him.”

Teris looked up at Yami, dark eyes wide and beseeching. “But his telling the truth? He knows about Nozel and Leon.”

Yami swallowed thickly.

“Misandre. Open a portal. Let Kefer show the Lady Teris her beloved cousin, and Intended.” Alowishus ordered.

Misandre did as her Master commanded. Kefer appeared, stepping through the gateway. He put his hand through the portal making a connection to the other side. A vaporous cloud appeared showing Nozel and Fuegoleon.

Teris sucked a breath. She tired to move closer to the billowing image but was stayed by Yami’s strong arms.

Yami scowled at the bloody, battered state of the men. “What did you do to them?”

Alowishus smirked at Yami’s anger. “I merely asked them some questions. They were the ones who decided to be difficult.”

“Why? What do you want with them? They have no so called primordial force in them.” Teris said.

“No.” Alowishus agreed. “But in this instance, they have something nearly as important. Your love.”

Yami glowered.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Alowishus toyed with Yami. “I hardly mean the type of love Teris bares for you. But still, her love for the prince’s is great. So great that you and she will do as I bid. That is unless you want to see Nozel Silva and Fuegoleon Vermillion die before your eyes.”

Two mages stepped to Fuegoleon and Nozel.

Teris reached out. “Stop!”

Yami felt her trembled in his arms. He wondered how much of it was from fatigue and how much was fear for her friends. He turned to Alowishus. “What do you want?”

“At present. I simply want you to walk through the portal.” Alowishus said.

Yami made to move forward, but Teris held him tighter and shook her head. “Yami! No.”

“It’s either this or we fight while the Royal Bird and Lion Cub die.” Yami told her.

Still, Teris hesitated.

Yami nearly broke and pulled his katana free to fight. He had no clue what Alowishus and his Agents of Crazies wanted this time. Just because Alowishus Spade had more in store for them didn’t guarantee their survival. Teris’ brief moment of death during last years Summer Solstice had proven as much.

He held Teris tighter. The memories he wanted so badly to forget but couldn’t flinting through his mind. Teris’ screams, her lifeless body…

“It’ll be alright.” Yami assured himself as much as her.

Comments are VERY MUCH appreciated and really make my day. Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a special THANK YOU to those who have recently commented or re-blogged. It really means a lot.

Next chapter snippet:

Alowishus shook his head. “That’s not how this goes. Your friends go free only after you and Yami do as I say. Play difficult and we will continue harming them until you do or they die; whichever comes first. But I warn you. They proved difficult themselves, refusing to answer the simplest questions. It’s left them in bad shape. I doubt they’d be able to survive much more.”

[therainbowwillow]

https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/641225373410000896/therainbowwillow

Part 16! Well, this fic is getting so damn long! I have another (dare I say more important) project I’m *supposed* to be writing. This fic was meant to be a warm-up... anyway. Here is part 16!

Premise/last time: With their trial fast approaching, everyone arrives at the gates of Olympus. Hermes again receives the same foreboding prophecy, but they’ve come too far to turn back now.

The golden gates of Olympus span before them, in beautiful contrast to the city’s mostly marble architecture. Athena opens the doors, standing guard as they enter. “Welcome home,” she greets the returning Olympians.

“Are we safe?” Hermes questions her.

“You’re safer than you could be,” she says. “Hades insisted upon immediately locking you up, but we negotiated against chains. I am supposed to disarm you, however.”

“We only have Hades’s knife, as far as I know,” Hermes explains.

“I’ll take it.” He hands the knife to her. It’s stained with blood, unwashed since... Hermes doesn’t want to think about it. “Smart, preserving the evidence,” she tells him, turning it over in her hands. He accepts the compliment, although his intention hadn’t been to incriminate Hades.

“Apollo!”

He looks up as Artemis flies down the path and leaps into his arms. “Artemis! Ouch, wait. I took an arrow to the ankle, remember.”

“Sorry!” She holds him up for support. Hyacinthus takes his other side. “It’s been a while, Apollo.”

He chuckles. “And whose fault is that?”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry! I know I should’ve been there for you. It wasn’t you I was trying to avoid. Still, I should’ve said something.”

He tilts his head. “Who then?”

“Take a guess. Zeus and Hades blamed me for the Asclepius situation, because it was my hunter he resurrected. Our relatives are easier to avoid than to confront, so I ran. I see your lover didn’t stay down too long,” she remarks.

“I don’t know. I’d call seventeen- no, eighteen- years a long time,” Hyacinthus says.

She shrugs. “Shorter than most people stay dead for. Anyway, our prospects look fine. Zeus and Hades remain their ever-stubborn selves. Still, the whole world heard that song. Callisto and I were as far from the railroad as one could get and we heard it. That son of yours, he has the whole planet on his side.”

“You’re still with Callisto?” Apollo says with a smirk.

Her cheeks flush. “I suppose. She’s a wonderful hunting partner.”

“You don’t need the ‘hunting’ bit of that sentence.”

“And you wonder why I never visit,” she mutters.

“Aw, come on, Art. I’m only teasing. Please do come by more often.”

“I come by plenty when you aren’t moping and our father isn’t attempting to bring his wrath upon me. Shouldn’t we be discussing the trial?”

“Right.”

“I’ve been keeping my eye on Zeus,” she says, as they walk through the gates. “I posed a case for Hyacinthus, too. Our father seemed open to the idea of letting him live if it means you’ll get back to your duties.” 

Apollo grins. “Still, it’ll take some argument,” Artemis continues. “I overheard that Hermes will be the target of the trial, not Orpheus. I didn’t catch why they changed their plans, but I thought I’d warn you. Ares, Zeus, and Poseidon took Hades’s side. The rest of Olympus is loyal to Orpheus, to varying degrees, and for different reasons. Regardless, it’s support!”

“A little good news for once,” Hermes remarks.

“Yes. I’m sorry about your circumstances, though.”

“Better me than Orpheus. When does the trial start?” He asks.

“Soon,” Athena answers. “Let’s arrive before our opposition.” She guides them down the street, ethereal and white as the rest of the city. 

Orpheus notices the flowers, gardens pressed against every house and street corner, all in full bloom. It seems even Olympus feels his springtime. He absentmindedly plucks out a few notes on his lyre. The flower heads turn to face him. 

Eventually, they reach the center of the city. A marble building rises higher than the rest. Its domed roof has blue accents. The entrance is lined with sets of ornate pillars. 

“Here we are,” Athena says, “Get comfortable. Confidence will be an asset to our case.” 

Hestia welcomes them inside. “You must be Orpheus! The poet I’ve heard so much about.” Her smile is genuine and it lights up the entire room as Eurydice wheels him inside. 

“I am!” Orpheus says. “The gods know me!” He whispers to Eurydice.

“I am sorry for the circumstances of our meeting, Orpheus. My name is Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home. Are you comfortable as you are or would you like a chair?” 

“This is fine! Thank you.”

“Of course! You will all be provided food and drink throughout the trial,” she tells them. “And Hermes, Hades has express interest in shackling you to your chair. I am not sure what he expects you to do, but I wanted to warn you regardless.”

Hermes nods, soundlessly. 

Eurydice sits beside Orpheus. “You okay?” she asks, gently.

“Yes. I’m just... preparing myself to see Hades.” He lowers his voice. “It’s Hermes I’m really worried about. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“He’ll be alright,” she assures him, uneasily. 

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

Hermes sits on the far edge of the semicircle of seats, keeping Orpheus in his  line of sight. He’d picked out Hades’s chair, draped with a new grey coat and placed himself directly across from it. He’d keep a close eye on the king of the dead, he’d decided, for Orpheus’s sake. 

He sits in silence, separated from the rest of his side of the case. Three figures enter the room. The two men closely resemble each other. Thanatos and Hypnos, he realizes, with surprise. Orpheus looks at the ground, afraid to meet the god of death’s eyes.

“We are allies,” Thanatos announces, “To Orpheus.” The god takes a seat beside Hestia, adjacent to the rest of the room. Orpheus beams in disbelief.

Other deities trickle into the courtroom. Ares takes the first seat on the other side of the room. Aphrodite and her son, Eros, take Orpheus’s side. Demeter pulls Persephone into her arms in a long hug and takes a seat beside her daughter. The air seems to warm at their touch. The Anemoi, the four winds, side with Hades, probably due to Hyacinthus’s presence, Hermes notes. Poseidon and Zeus arrive together, taking their seats beside Ares. 

Hades is last to arrive. The air prickles in his presence. Persephone turns up her lip. Orpheus squeezes Eurydice’s hand. Hermes forces himself to keep his gaze fixed on Hades as he strides to his seat. He scans his ex-employer for weapons, anything he could use against Orpheus. He finds nothing and his head aches too badly to keep searching. Hades sits and glares, his eyes trained upon Hermes. He moves his head slightly. Hermes’s vision fades to black. 

He sees nothing, only hears the notes flooding over him and he feels the chains, boring into his wrists. Orpheus’s voice, so clear and effortless. He stops singing. A chair creaks. “No! No!” Orpheus screams. Blood. A stronger scent than ever before. Eurydice gasps. His vision returns. Drops of golden ichor bead on the marble floor beneath his feet. 

Hestia sits at his side. “Hermes?” She hands him a handkerchief. “Your nose is bleeding. Pinch, lean back a little. Are you alright?” He nods. “Would you like something to drink? You passed out.” He shakes his head. His eyelids feel heavy. “Okay, I want you to drink something anyway.”

She hands him a glass of nectar and he takes a sip. “Would you like to lie down for a moment?” 

He hears heavy footsteps approaching. Hades. “I told you, chain him up,” he growls.

“Hades, he’s clearly quite ill.” She places a hand against his forehead. “He’s running a fever. Perhaps we should delay-”

“No,” Hermes mutters. “I’m alright.” 

Hades presses shackles around his wrists. He can’t find the strength to fight back. “The trial proceeds.” Hades returns to his seat. 

Athena rises. “We proceed, then,” she says, uneasily. “The prosecution may give its opening statements.” 

Hades dips his head. “We open, Olympus, to traitors, with more support than those who abide by the law. To the lesser crimes of the foolish Orpheus, willing to unwind the binds of death for his selfish desire for the girl he forgot.” Hermes sees Orpheus draw in a small breath. Eurydice whispers something to him. 

“And the true cause for our gathering,” Hades continues, “Hermes. Impressive, I must admit, just how much of his contract he managed to break. Willing to betray his own family for the good of a mortal boy and his worthless lover.” Eurydice’s expression hardens, burning with anger. She sips from the glass beside her, hiding her fury. “Pathetic and foolish is his love of mortals. Even now, he betrays us, refusing to provide evidence before the court, simply because it incriminates a red-blooded boy. He hides from us the contract of Eurydice, a shade of Hadestown, returned to life by his maddened endeavors.” 

“How, Olympus, do you side with these cowards? Do the laws of our land mean nothing to you? Your very sustenance relies on the preservation of death. Without it, your precious world would be overrun by long-dead shades, many of them criminals. Murderers, thieves, vain enough to proclaim themselves above you. Today, let us prevent the fall of your civilized world. Let us uphold the borders that protect us and punish those who dare to tear them down.” He lowers himself methodically back into his seat.

Athena stands once more. “And the defense’s response. Lord Hades, the reason for Orpheus’s support is this: Olympus does not find your actions redeemable. This mortal boy walked into your realm on his own two legs. He sang a song, so beautiful, the world wept for his love. He reminded you, he reminded all of us what it means to lead. That strength is not found in cruelty and fear, but in love and respect. He stood before the King of the Dead and he sang. If that is cowardice, there is no bravery.”

Orpheus smiles. She continues, “You allowed him safe passage home, so long as he did not break your terms. He was not to sing until he reached the surface. Although his memory faded with the fog of the River Lethe, he did not break his contract. Still, you sent shades to hunt him down and blackmailed Thanatos into bringing you his soul. You tortured Orpheus, deprived an already injured and starved young man of food and drink and forced him to sing at your will until he could not force out another note. Once you discovered he was no longer of use, you stuck a knife through his stomach and left him to die, alone in the dark.” Hermes notices Orpheus’s misery at remembering his days in Hades’s prison. Orpheus sips his drink to distract himself.

“We are inclined to side with the truth and that Orpheus is a traitor is a lie. Broken contracts hold nothing to the crimes of Hades. The law exists to govern our morality. When the law is wrong, it is our job to uphold justice. Not in the name of the papers we signed, but in the name of what is just. Let us do today what is just: acquit the defendants and honor them for their gifts of springtime. Now, albeit unconventionally, I ask for a song.” 

Orpheus strums his lyre and sings his first notes. His song washes the room with an incredible warmth. A murmur goes about the crowd as flowers begin to bloom in the vast hall, wrapping chair legs in vines, springing from the ground. His shoulders drop, his fear fades as he sings. His song recites love. Not just his own. Not only Hades’s. 

Apollo is struck all over again by the first time he’d seen Hyacinthus, his beautiful Spartan prince, outlined against the sunrise. Achilles remembers Patroclus, racing him through Peleus’s halls. Artemis sees Callisto, her eyes glinting in the moonlight as they hunt, side by side. Even Hera feels the old flutter in her chest, some tiny spark of love for her husband, love she’d long since extinguished. Persephone feels the change of her husband’s heart. How he sees her, how he knows what must be done. 

Not a single note is out of place, not a single line is forgotten. Orpheus’s song is a song of love and warmth. A song of hope for what might be. What is now, so long as he keeps singing. And this time, his voice doesn’t fail him. He does not falter. He only sings and sings, until every flower on Olympus and on the ground faces him. Until his voice reaches Hadestown and echoes off the distant walls and the workers join the chorus, singing with a new vigor. His springtime is not the springtime of legends. It is more. It is hope for a new world, freedom from the past. And he keeps singing.

[bytheangell]

Where the Wild Things Make Sense

(Read on AO3) Square Filled: Ritual for @shadowhunterbingo Pairing: Malec (Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood) Rating: Teen and Up  – Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: curses, curse breaking, fairy tale elements Summary:  When Magnus finds a wooden figure in the woods with familiar magic, he finds himself unexpectedly entangled in the life of a mortal he never even met before.  ------------- Magnus is only meant to be passing through this part of his journey back to his father’s realm. His magic is running low so he’s conserving it for now, deciding to walk rather than portal which is the only reason he sees the figure in the woods. It looks like it’s made of twigs and branches, the form of an archer with a bow raised and arrow drawn. It looks as if it grew out of the very ground beneath it. A guardian spirit of the woods, perhaps? A shrine of sorts?

It pulls to Magnus, drawing him near, and he can feel something familiar about it. He can sense magic, though it’s heavily veiled, just the slightest hint of it calling out to him.

“Who are you?” he asks, circling the figure.

He doesn’t get a response, but he does hear the sounds of a town nearby and wonders if the people there will have an answer instead. He’s only meant to be passing through… but a quick stop won’t do any harm, right?

---

Magnus finds the local bard more than willing to tell him all about Alexander Lightwood, the brother of the town’s weapons smith, who was cursed and turned into the figure Magnus came across in the woods.

“The man who did it said that it was to keep something from happening in his future… that it was foretold Alec’s very existence would turn his son against him and bring about the warlock’s downfall. So he put a curse on him to remain in that form.”

A curse of that nature… it’s powerful. Magnus knows because it’s something he’s capable of himself. Someone else hears Simon talking and comes over with a story of how this Alexander put himself in front of a wild wolf to protect a child who wandered too far from town on her own, and another chimes in with a recollection of a time Alec stayed up for days on end when illness hit the village to make sure no family was without food or medicine.

It seems like the loss of this one man hit the village hard. “How long ago did it happen?”

“Eleven months, 2 weeks, and 4 days ago.”

The answer is immediate, coming from a blonde man in the corner who remained silent until now. A strange hush falls over the crowd that, up until that point, had been so caught up in their memories they didn’t seem to notice him arrive.

The small crowd disperses quickly as the blonde comes over to them.

“You know,” he says. “Alec would hate people talking about him like this.”

“Sorry,” Magnus says.

“He never wanted attention. He did what was right, and that’s it. He never asked for thanks. He wasn’t a hero. He was just… Alec.”

The blonde leaves and Simon lets out a long sigh next to Magnus. “That’s Jace, Alec’s brother. He was out with him the day it happened. Always blamed himself for not being able to save him.”

Magnus hums to himself, finishing his drink and tossing a coin onto the table as he gets up to leave. Perhaps that’s enough prying for one night.

---

He’s only halfway to the inn when a form steps out in front of him, blocking his path. It doesn’t take him long to recognize it as Jace.

“What are you doing here?” Jace asks.

“Just passing through,” Magnus says.

“Are you a warlock?” Jace demands.

Magnus considers lying. Warlocks are clearly not Jace’s favorite for obvious reasons, but Magnus gets the feeling that if he’s caught in that lie it’d be worse than telling the truth outright.

“Yes,” he admits slowly. “I am.”

“You look an awful lot like the one who cursed my brother.” It’s as much an observation as it is an accusation.

“You think if I cursed your brother I’d show back up to ask questions about him?” Magnus isn’t sure what Jace is aiming at here.

“No. I just… if you know who it was. If you’re protecting them…”

“I don’t,” Magnus says, but even as the words leave his mouth he realizes that isn’t entirely true. He doesn’t know, not for certain, but if it was a warlock who looked like Magnus, cursing someone to protect his own legacy… he might have an idea, but he isn’t about to say it out loud. Not until he’s certain.

“I promise I don’t mean you or your town any harm,” Magnus swears. “But if you want me to leave, I will.”

Jace looks him up and down. “You can leave in the morning.” It isn’t a suggestion.

Magnus nods. “Thank you. And for what it’s worth, I truly am sorry about your brother.”

“Me too,” Jace says before leaving back towards the tavern, leaving Magnus with a lot to consider during what ends up being a restless night.

---

Magnus wakes up in the morning with every intention of leaving. He doesn’t know these people. He doesn’t owe them anything. He has an entire Kingdom waiting for him, a life of power and wealth when he returns to his father’s realm from his time studying abroad. He knows that his father is ruthless in battle and that he can be cruel... but surely he isn’t cruel enough to take the life of an innocent over some nonsense prophecy?

He takes his bag and walks back out of town the same way he came… past the figure he now knows to be Alexander Lightwood in the woods. He should continue to walk past it. He should leave it behind and not look back.

But he can’t.

Magnus turns towards the twisting wood, running his fingers gently over the curves that make up the shoulder, the ones that twist their way down his back. “It wasn’t you that felt familiar,” Magnus mutters to no one in particular. “It was the magic that made you this way.” Now that he knows what he’s looking for Magnus senses it almost immediately. The sort of magic that could bind someone permanently like this… it wasn’t just everyday magic. This took years of practice. This was dark magic, the very kind he’d sworn off during his time away from home with the realization that there were other options.

“I believe you were told to leave, Warlock.”

The words come from a female with black hair and fierce eyes which narrow at him as her hands go to rest on the hilt of a blade at her hip.

“That won’t be necessary,” Magnus says, eyeing the weapon. “Isabelle, I’m guessing?”

“Please,” she says. “Spare us any more pain and just go.”

“What if,” Magnus starts slowly. “What if I can help him?”

“The warlock told Jace the spell was bound by blood,” Isabelle says, shaking her head.

“Yes,” Magnus agrees. “And if my suspicion is correct, then my blood should work just as well as my father’s to counter the curse.”

A look of realization dawns on Isabelle at that, and the weapon is drawn now, raised at him though she makes no move forward.

“I told you that won’t be necessary,” Magnus repeats. “If my father is the warlock behind this, I can find a way to undo it. If you’ll let me, I’d like to stay and try.”

“As if I’d let you leave now,” Isabelle huffs. “Let’s go.”

---

Magnus knows the other implications of the warlock behind Alexander’s curse being his father - that means that, somehow, Asmodus had it in his head that Alec would corrupt Magnus leading to Asmodeus’ downfall. That his own fate is so closely intertwined with that of a mortal he’s never met before… It’s a lot, even for Magnus, but if this is even indirectly his fault then he owes it to the people here to try and help.

Under very close watch, most often by Jace or Isabelle, Magnus is allowed to brew small batches of potions to try on Alexander’s form and to try and pull energy from him to better pinpoint exactly what was done to leave him like that. Magnus questions Jace as much as Jace questions him, trying to get any detail from the day this happened that might help him narrow down the wide variety of magic that might’ve been used.

The longer he remains in the town the closer he grows to not only Jace and Isabelle but so many others. Simon, Clary and her mother Jocelyn, Alexander’s mother Maryse and youngest sibling Max.

It’s entirely accidental when Magnus gets the breakthrough he needs - cutting his finger on a weathered section of wood, a drop of his blood falls onto some of the wood at the base of Alexander’s figure. Magnus watches as the wood reacts to it, opening themselves where it touched, moving out towards the blood, before closing again around it.

Of course. Magnus lets out a sharp, derisive laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Jace asks with narrowed eyes.

“It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. If my father never did this… I would’ve passed by this place without a second thought. I never would’ve stopped. I never would’ve asked questions. I never would’ve gotten invested in the lives of people I have no business caring about.”

“What are you talking about?” Jace asks.

“What causes my father’s ruin is going to be the very act he performed to prevent it. I think I know how to free your brother. But I need to prepare something first.”

---

Magnus holds a jar of blood and a handwritten letter, one in each hand, as he stands before Jace and Isabelle.

“I know a ritual that I believe will bring Alexander back,” Magnus begins. “But it’s a ritual of transference.”

“What does that mean?” Isabelle asks.

“It means it doesn’t break the curse, it only transfers it to someone else,” Magnus admits. He watches the uneasy look that the two siblings share over the idea that Alexander can be freed but at the cost of someone else’s entrapment.

“I’ll-” Jace immediately begins to volunteer, but Magnus holds a hand up to stop him.

“I’m going to do it,” Magnus says the words to the surprise of everyone, even a little bit himself because up until that moment he hadn’t been sure he wouldn’t take the inevitable offer from Jace or Isabelle he correctly anticipated. “Under one condition.”

He doesn’t fault them for the skeptical looks he receives. “What?”

“Give this to Alexander when he’s back.” Magnus holds out the jar and parchment. “It’s everything he’ll need to break the curse completely and release me.”

Jace steps forward to take both objects from Magnus, immediately opening the parchment to skim its contents.

“Why not do it yourself?” He asks, holding up the instructions.

“Because once someone is under this curse for more than a full year the petrification is permanent, and they’re trapped in this form for eternity. And by your recollection, if it is accurate, that only leaves us-”

“Until tomorrow,” Jace breaths out, eyes wide with horror at how close they came to nearly losing Alexander forever.

Magnus nods. “So once the ritual is complete I have a year for Alexander to break the curse.”

“And what if he doesn’t? What if you free him and we leave you out here to petrify?” Isabelle questions.

“That is a very real possibility,” Magnus agrees. “But if your Alexander is half the person this town has built him up to be, he’ll do it. I only ask you give him that and allow him the option to decide.”

Magnus knows the risks involved - it’s part of the reason he won’t allow anyone else to take Alexander’s place but himself. Should he fail to do what needs to be done and return within the year he would never be able to forgive himself for simply trading Alexander’s life for Jace’s, even if Jace would agree. This is, after all, partially because of him. If anyone should be made to suffer for his father’s sins it should be him, it feels only right.

Magnus begins to draw the sigils he needs on the ground, waiting until the moon begins to rise and hangs at just the right angle in the sky before he calls upon the power needed for the transference ritual. He takes out a small blade to cut a deep line into his palm, wincing as he drips the blood first over the sigils then onto the wood encasing Alexander.

As the branches begin to retreat into the ground to reveal Alexander Lightwood’s human form again they rise up again where Magnus stands. Magnus takes very deliberate final breaths of fresh air before the stasis hits.

He hopes he isn’t making a horrible mistake with his last conscious thought before the darkness consumes him, and everything goes black.

----

The first thing Magnus registers as he comes to is the very attractive pair of hazel eyes staring back at him.

“What a gorgeous vision to behold,” Magnus says. “Are you here to rescue me, or are you an angel and I’ve died and gone to heaven?”

The hazel eyes roll, and Magnus misses them for the moment they retreat back behind thickly lashed eyelids.

“Perhaps I should’ve listened to Jace and let you remain cursed,” the man says.

Magnus gasps. “And I thought we were friends,” he accuses, eyes turning to Jace. The dramatics are entirely forced, meant to cover the terrifying sense of relief he feels at the knowledge that his trust in a man he’s never met before wasn’t misplaced.

“I didn’t say he should let you die,” Jace defends. “I simply stated it was too dangerous and that I wouldn’t go through with it if I were him.”

“That’s the same thing as letting him die, Jace,” Isabelle points out with an elbow to his ribs. Seeing the three of them together like this feels… complete, somehow, in a way they hadn’t before. Jace and Isabelle’s smiles are easier than when he saw them last.

“You must be Alexander,” Magnus observes. He looks down to see the last of the branches retreating back into the ground below, as well as the markings on the ground in deep crimson. “Nice to properly meet you. I must say, the stories hardly did you justice.”

“Please tell me I didn’t go through all the trouble of saving your life just so you could flirt, Magnus,” a voice chimes in from behind him and Magnus spins with a grin to see Ragnor Fell standing there, his arms crossed and his head shaking disapprovingly.

“You’d be bored if I petrified into a tree and you know it,” Magnus huffs. “I knew you’d help him.”

“Of course I did. But your father’s blood? Honestly, Magnus, is nothing ever easy with you?”

Magnus hums as he considers his answer. “Not usually, no.”

He turns back to Alexander. “Did you… is he…” the spell to break the curse required the blood of his father mixed with his own. It didn’t necessarily call for the person’s death, but Magnus wouldn’t be surprised if that’d been the only way. He certainly wouldn’t blame them.

“He’s alive,” Alexander says, not looking particularly pleased about it. “But he bled enough as he fled that I could collect it for the spell.”

“Right.” Magnus nods, not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved at the news. He certainly can’t go back now, not knowing what he does about the sort of person his father truly is. “Well then, I suppose we should get to work.”

“What do you mean?” Alexander asks.

“You heard the prophecy - you’re to turn me against my father and bring about his downfall. So, Alexander? What do you say?” There’s a hint of a challenge to Magnus’ tone, but it’s a friendly one, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Should Alec say no and send him away, well, at least things turned out alright in the end. He’s alive, after all, and with quite the story to tell from it. But if Alec agrees…

“How about you stay for dinner, and we can discuss the potential downfalls of kings over drinks afterward?” Alexander offers instead.

“Drinks sound good,” Magnus agrees easily. “Breakfast sounds even better,” he adds with a suggestive wink that has Alexander flushing crimson.

“I can turn him back into a tree-” Ragnor offers helpfully, but Alec recovers quickly and shakes his head.

“No need,” Alec says. “I believe I can handle him from here.” Alec is already casually turning to walk back to the village as he adds over his shoulder, “I think he’ll find the breakfast at the inn he’ll be sleeping at just fine.”

Ragnor snorts at Alec’s response, and Magnus, caught off guard, watches as Alec, Jace, and Isabelle start off ahead, laughing.

“I like that one,” Ragnor admits.

“Yeah,” Magnus agrees, taking off after them. “Me too.”

[thebibliosphere]

So, your post(s) about anaphylaxis is making my red flags wave. Would it be possible for anaphylaxis to start, instead of immediately after eating the food, after you've eaten so much your body can't tolerate it? I've had gastrointestinal symptoms for years, but all my specialists just sorta threw their hands up in the air since it doesn't match symptoms for anything else. Hope you're having a good day ^-^

Hey Dawnie

I’m going to put this under a cut cause it gets really long, but the tl;dr version of this reply is yes, yes it is.

So the way histamine intolerance works, is that sometimes the person can tolerate certain foods in small doses, but if their body gets overloaded, it builds up and up because people with HIT and damaged mast cells, can’t process it out their system the way healthy people do, (there’s some enzyme we’re lacking in) and it can trigger the mast cells into a degranulation, and then the person may experience anaphylaxis or milder symptoms like itching, or gastrointestinal symptoms. The analogy used is often a “histamine bucket”, in that if something is full, and you keep adding to it, it will eventually spillover. (Although more recently they’ve updated it to “histamine window” as in “your window of tolerance” for something.)

So for example, I eat spinach in moderation every day, which is an incredibly high histamine food, but also extremely high in nutritional value and I desperately need everything it can provide me to deal with my pernicious and regular anemia. The reason my body can tolerate it, however, in small regular doses, is because I emptied out my “histamine bucket” through avoiding all my triggers as best I can, which includes things like other high histamine foods that I do not need to survive (chocolate, tea, alcohol, etc), external triggers like dust, pollen, strong scents, strenuous exercise (due to the hormones released), exposure to certain chemicals, and yes also stress because stress causes your body to create excess cortisol which is a mast cell destabilizer, which is also why they think HIT/MCAS is more common in people with PTSD due to the damage untreated and prolonged stress can do to the endocrine system, but that’s a whole other post I could go into for hours. 

Unfortunately, you cannot completely eradicate histamines from your food, as all foods have histamine, just some more than others. But even then we need to eat some of those high histamine things, cause without them we become malnourished. Which is why you’ll find me, trying to put new foods back into my diet every now and then, with my epi-pens out on the table, my phone readily available, and always under the supervision of an adult who knows how to use my epi-pen and to call 911 if something goes wrong. Cause as scary as it is, I’m not about to nearly die from malnourishment again. (Putting foods back in, however, is a thing only to be attempted under medical guidance, and done incredibly slowly and one at a time so as not to flood your system.)

I���m also able to regulate symptoms with antiallergen meds like xyzal, although for some people with HIT (which some doctors now believe to be part of the lower end of the MCAS spectrum disorder, and not separate like previously thought) antihistamines can stop the body from processing histamine properly, which can also lead to further complications, so really it’s the luck of your genetics and the severity of symptoms. For me, I can’t stop it or my PoTS symptoms go off the charts, even though I’ve been taking it for so long it no longer helps with day to day symptoms like pollen or dust. Some people also become reactive to the fillers in the meds over time, which is why a lot of MCAS patients require their medications to be individually compounded to their needs.

There are some other supplements you can take which are mast cell regulators. Quercitin comes to mind as being extremely effective, and there’s some evidence to show that vitamin c can help the body process out excess histamine, but the dosage required can affect other meds so should always be consulted with over a doctor first. The supplements, however, do need to be as refined as possible, and avoiding triggers in the fillers and bindings of pills is probably the hardest part about using them to help your body deal with its shit.

Lack of sleep is also a huge factor because if you’re not sleeping, your body isn’t processing things out the way it should and that can also affect your mast cell stability.Also being low on Vitamin D, as Vitamin D is necessary for healthy mast cells, so if you’re deficient you may find yourself developing new or intensifying allergies as the mast cells start to break down.

I also saw your comment on my other post re: seizures, and while seizures are not a particularly common symptom of MCAS, due to the fact that there are mast cells in literally every part of your body, they can and do affect brain function (as well as the blood-brain-barrier) which can result in seizures for some people. For me, it used to be debilitating migraines that felt like I was going to go blind from the pain. I used to lie on the floor and writhe while clutching my head. Now when I get migraines, they’re still bad, and can really make me ill, but nothing as bad as they used to be in my teens, when, with hindsight, I was dealing with a lot of stress and unfolding trauma.

So, tl;dr reply to your question: Yes, sometimes you can eat certain things in small amounts and be just fine, but if something tips the scales of your balance, it can result in symptoms of MCAS flares and even anaphylaxis if severe enough.

For me, food, environment, and stress are my biggest triggers (so just y’know, life) and  I have to take steps to regulate those things as best I can to keep my body under control. If I recall, you already have an MCAS doctor, did they try you on a low histamine elimination diet? Did they talk to you about other external triggers and how to avoid them? Did they mention lifestyle changes and therapy for helping you to manage stress better? If not, they really need to because those all first-line responses to HIT/MCAS (along with appropriate medication) and I’m a little surprised they didn’t tell you about histamine build-up through certain foods!NB for anyone reading this: I’m more comfortable giving Dawnie in-depth info about certain meds and supplements because we are friends and I know something of their situation. If you’re reading any of this and it sounds familiar, please speak to a doctor first before attempting to self regulate or medicate. The treatment for MCAS is almost as dangerous (in terms of high risk for malnutrition) as the illness itself.

[courtorderedcake]

Hallow : ch xx - CSSNS 2019

“The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King’s will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time.”

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Read on AO3 here.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Written for @cssns​

Ch xx / ?? - In which truths are finally revealed. 

Twisting the strange heaviness that was Arthur's engagement ring around her finger, Emma walked slowly down the corridors with a line of attendants behind her. The walk was stop and go, breathing as troubled as her mind as she tried to contemplate Killian's transgressions. 

How long had he been plotting if he managed to do this to her? The illness was something worthy of her hatred, but she could not bring herself to feel any anger when she remembered the way he had looked at her. His eyes had been so clear, the plea in them bright, sun catching ocean waves through fog. He had begged her to listen, and why would he stay if he had the dagger shard in hand? Surely he wouldn't take her life after everything they had gone through together. His revenge on her parents and her had fallen away… hadn't it? 

The tea she had earlier on Arthur's insistence twisted in her stomach painfully, her breath catching. Her lungs constricted, burning with effort, heart deafening in her ears until she was spinning, twirling round. 

"Mmm. Well," Killian smirked, pulling her close, bodies pressed together far more intimately than was required of a proper waltz. "Not that I don't love to hear the sad stories of the poor princess -" 

"Oh, come on -" Emma hissed, rolling her eyes and trying to pull away. 

" - but I would never deny you a chance to actually be kept on your toes." He dipped her low, humming something she could not discern, something older and much more jaunty. Spinning her with expertise across the small space, Emma fell into his lead if you could call it that. He didn't follow one style of step, and any stiffness was met with a complicated step she had to focus on, until she was laughing at the ridiculous over exaggerated styles he forced her to partner with. 

Both Killian and her were out of breath when he threw her into a wild spin, bringing her in close to intertwine her fingers with his. Emma breathlessly giggled, closing her eyes to clear the dizziness away, her eyes shooting open in surprise when she leaned forward and their foreheads met.  

Emma woke, sitting up and finding herself alone in a part of the castle she didn't recognize, standing with shaky confusion. 

"Hello?" she called out, almost slipping on a strange blue sparkling residue that surrounded the area where she had woken. "What in the -" 

"Princess, I'm sorry, I had no choice," Ali rounded a corner checking behind himself as her brows furrowed. "You need to hide; they're coming, Hades convinced them not to wait, and I can't control it very well - the call, the pull is too strong."

Ali doubled over, hissing lowly, and Emma stepped toward him with hesitation. "Ali? What is wrong? Are you alright?" 

"Emma, Arthur's not who you think he is." Ali pulled her aside, checking the space for any signs of life. He lowered his voice further. "Ask him about his heartache, and strife. He - Emma, no matter what he tries to charm you with, do not listen."

"But he's -" 

"I can't right now. They're coming, I have to -" He groaned, glowing a faint blue. 

"Ali, what is going on?" Emma reached for him, his sharp turn causing her to fall back. His eyes glowed a bright burning blue. "What are you!?" 

"I don't have time for this!" Ali yelled before disappearing in a puff of blue smoke.

Emma stood up carefully, confused as she looked around. Entering the garden, hands grabbed her from behind, sweeping her off her feet. 

"Put me down!" 

"Princess, what happened? Are you alright?" Arthur said, as she flailed in his grasp. "It's okay. I'm sorry for startling you, I -" 

"I don't know what is happening, I don't know what is going on!" Emma pulled free, standing shakily. "He turned blue, and he said, he said -" 

Holding her arm to steady her, Arthur tried soothing her, cooing softly. "Emma, you're not making sense, what are you talking about? Who said -" 

"You - He said you have heartache and strife?" Arthur stiffened, gripping her arm tightly. She winced, whimpering slightly until it turned into a cough. He let her go and she fell back, leaning against the wall. "What does that mean, Arthur? I know you were married, I know your wife is gone, but…" 

"It's nothing, darling. Really." He smiled, but even if she was without the gift of the Sphinx to know truths, Emma could feel the lie in his voice. "Come and lay down in your quarters. I've made you some more tea, and I'll help you get comfortable -" 

"I need to get to Jasmine; there's something wrong here. You're - You're not telling me the truth." Arthur's eyes went cold, before he softly smiled and approached. 

"My sweet flower, I have been avoiding the topic for fear of bruising your delicate petals. It's not a pleasant story." He swallowed hard, with a sigh. "Let me walk you back through the corridor. I'll tell you as we go, sound good?" 

"I don't think I -" Emma tried, but he was gripping her elbow tightly, pulling her through the halls. 

"I was very much in love with the woman I married. My Guinevere." He sighed, Emma trying to keep herself from falling at the pace he set. His grip was tight as he dragged her, weak noises of protest going unheard. "She didn't believe in me, or my dreams of what our kingdom could be. She wanted me to be proud of what we had, to live in the past relying on the strength of our people, not the strength of our steel. I tried to change her mind, but I know now that it was fruitless."

Emma pulled away, falling to the floor as she gasped for air. She stared hard at him, trying to will away the prickling fear that gripped her as his words rang with half truths. 

"Come on now, up you get blossom," he coaxed lightly, his sharp yank of her wrist fiercely violent in comparison. She yelped and his eyes darkened, narrowing dangerously. "This would have been much easier if you had drank more of the poppy flower I brewed, I didn't want to be this rough you know -" 

"Stop! Please -" 

"You women are so frustrating! You don't know what is good for you, come along." Emma attempted to scoot away again, trying to understand what he was saying. The tea in her stomach churned, the minimal amount still filling her with nausea at his strange comment. Poppy flower rang a bell in her mind, the red or orange blooms pulled apart by Regina in one of her lessons. What had they been making? "You're just like Guinevere, pushing me to correct your mistakes." 

His fingers tightened painfully around her wrist, the leer he gave as he looked down at her not befitting the Arthur she had been courting. The memory hit her like a punch to the gut. Poppies were used in sleeping potions, or to make someone drowsy and complicit. Arthur had drugged her. 

"You're mad! You've forgotten yourself Arthur, it's no wonder she left you if this is how you corrected her! How dare you drug me!" Emma snapped, his mouth twisting and eyes narrowing at her words. He chuckled darkly. 

"She didn't just leave me, she betrayed me, Emma. I don't take kindly to betrayal, and it was not my fault. They should have known. You should know now as well, so you," He pulled her up roughly to her feet, dragging her around a corner, "Know to listen ." 

He hissed the last words, and Emma felt sweat bead on her brow, the patterned floor below their feet unfamiliar. They were nowhere near her apartments in the palace, the corridor empty of any servants. 

"What -" The words caught in her throat, the question making Arthur grin as he caressed the ring on her finger with his thumb. 

"What happened to her? I killed her lover - one of my best knights too, which was a shame - then I killed our daughter, which was more accident than intentional. But Guinevere, I made her watch until she had a final choice to make."

Emma wrenched away, backing up as he advanced on her. 

"She could die by starvation, or fling herself from her room in the tower I locked her in." He laughed, as if he wasn't speaking madness, and Emma tried to keep upright. "By the third day she made her decision, and made the leap. It wasn't as clean as I'd hoped, but Guin always had a penchant for mess. I would hope you are cleaner, but our time together looks brief."

He seemed to frown slightly at this, but his eyes showed nothing but amusement. Emma threw the ring at him, unable to utter any words between her wheezing breaths. 

"Shhh, it's okay my sweet bud. Soon enough you'll be dead, we'll blame the Dark One for it, I'll gain your kingdom in your passing along with Agrabah, and the Dark One will be our one man army as we bind him to Excalibur." Arthur grabbed her face, pressing a kiss to her temple as she tried to push him away. Killian, they were going to hurt Killian and her people, what had she done ? He chuckled lowly at her panic, her squirms to get away doing nothing. "You truly were such a prize. It's just too bad that no one could ever love you more than your station. So much power in that title, truly far too much for a desperate naive girl like you. Now, come along. We are needed elsewhere."

He tugged hard as Emma fought, touch going from rough to brutally so in an instant. She cried in desperation, his fingers threading through her hair to yank her neck back, hope becoming a distant memory as she weakened. 

 *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

 The cell holding Killian was damp, the floor made of packed clay and damp sand that gave way to thick limestone blocks where manacle chains hung. Compared to the cell at the Royal Palace that had held him for what might as well have been eons, this was as flimsy as wet paper. The Darkness seemed to remind him of this on loop, but he couldn't hear it over the roar in his ears, the way Emma had looked at him from her bed like a stranger. 

She looked - Gods , she had looked - 

Arthur wanting to marry her so she could simply die had been so repulsively absurd until he had seen her. In the few days that had turned into a week's time, Emma had lost her coloring, her frame was skeletal, eyes sunken and chest almost concave. Wires and wards covered her, and he should have known, he should have been there by her side instead of ducking down hallways to prevent her from following. He had tried to lose her, and now he was to be successful, his heart breaking. 

He couldn't break out of his cell without proving his criminality, but if he stayed, she might - 

A blinding flash of blue startled and dazed him, his blinking unable to clear it from his vision at first. A man glowed before him, skin cracked like a bird shell, a bright azure light pouring from underneath. He wore a mask of twisted gray cloth and a thief's coarse linen tunic with breeches, but the eyes were unmistakable. Aladdin. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner, I had thought you would -" He approached Killian, and Killian was out of the manacles within seconds, his fist hitting hard against Aladdin's stomach. 

"You piece of shit," Killian hissed lowly, Aladdin letting out a wheeze. "You triple timing, absolute piece of -" 

"They're… Bandits!" Aladdin gasped out, the blue breaking through his skin more. Killian stepped back, circling him slowly, watching his movements. Arcane energy prickled in the air, small pebbles rising from the floor. "They're coming to… Kill… Arthur engaged, so Hades pushed the attack to today… They want… Kill Jasmine and take -" 

"Bloody buggering hell - why would you ally with them? Was everything with Jasmine and Emma a ruse?" Killian asked, surprised how the accusation was filled with concern. "I swear to you, I won't let Emma die because you -" 

"You have to hurry… I warned her, I tried… I'm being pulled, compelled, I can't - Emma's with Arthur. I can't hold on - gah -" He groaned, the glow becoming brighter, more skin sizzling away as he burned from within. "Save Emma from Arthur."

Aladdin looked up, their eyes meeting, before disappearing in a puff of blue smoke. As soon as he was gone, Killian was in movement, nothing but Emma's safety on his mind. 

 *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

 The fist that came from seemingly nowhere broke Arthur's hold on her, sending her sprawling to the ground with a ringing in her ears. She could hear the sound of blows hitting flesh, but could barely lift herself to see her would be savior, if that was what they were. Then they spoke, and her heart beat in a strange uneven quick step. 

"Fuck," Killian ground out, his voice rough as Arthur grunted between blows, "You, 'Mate'." 

Pulling herself to her knees, Emma attempted to crawl from where the two fought. Managing to turn into a courtyard, her dress caught on a raised stepping stone, her body collapsing. Fatigue and sheer emotional exhaustion pushed her into tears, fingers digging into the dirt to pull herself forward even slightly. 

Strong hands helped her up, Killian looking at her with concern she hadn't seen from him in weeks. 

"Are you - he didn't hurt you did he?" he asked, and she laughed herself into a coughing fit at the ridiculous question. He seemed mollified at this, swallowing hard. "I left him in a heap. He'll never hurt you again, alright love? At least you didn't marry that monster." 

Emma snorted, her raw throat burning through coughs. Finally she felt it unclench, anger flowing through her to yell at his stupid face, with his stupid consternation that was far too little, too late. 

“Why do you care? Of all the times you have hurt me, belittled me, or made it clear that you despise me, why now do you care? Is he not better than Nil or leaving my family with no contingency?" Pushing him away with what little force she could, he looked surprised at her anger. Emma felt her chest constrict, but continued. "You have wasted no time making it clear that you don't want to know my plans should I die. Why now do you have the gall to say that you want a say?" Wobbling in the new space between them, she raised her chin in defiance. Killian tried to close the gap again, and she took a step back. 

 "I'm sorry Emma. You're right, I shouldn't - "

"Damn right you shouldn't. Damn right that you even being here still makes me feel…" She hesitated, arms wrapping around her frame. "You told me that you were leaving on Selune, and again once on your ship. What possible reason do you have to stay if but to hurt me at every turn, Killian? Why come back? You should have just gone when you were freed, and left me alone. You shouldn't be here. You caused all of this!" 

He carded a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "It's not - That's not -" 

"Why can't you let me go? What am I to you? Was I wrong to believe that you had any hope of redemption?" Emma tried to ignore the rasp of her voice as it broke, tears streaking hot trails down her cheeks. "Do you have any idea how much pain you have caused me?" 

"You can't marry him, Emma. You can't." He reached for her, but she flinched away, his expression turning from worry to a pained hurt she wanted to slap off his face. "You couldn't do that to yourself. You know that he would have never been a good king."

"He was better than Nil!" Emma spat. "You have no right to have any say in this, Killian. I will do what I see fit, for my kingdom and my family -" 

"Please, just listen -" This time when he reached out for her, she looked at him in disgust, shoving his hands away. He was a liar, playing her for a fool, his pleading and his unsettling worried stare be damned. Even if it was true, it was him - he had no right to lecture her on who was 'good'. 

"I have heard enough. You have nothing of substance to say to me, and no answers to my questions!" Emma shouted. 

"He's not the one from your dreams, he's working along with Aladdin, the fake prince Ali. I'm -" 

Cutting him off, she spun on her heel, jabbing a finger at him in rage. "Why should I believe anything you have to say? Why should I trust you when all you have done is hurt me?" 

"I never meant for this, I never wanted to harm you. Please, please love, you have to listen. I beg you, please -" A loud noise that sounded like stone against metal shook the fountain that burbled happily in the corner, smoke drifting out from somewhere deeper in the palace. 

"I refuse, I refuse to listen to any more of your lies. You are the last person I would ever trust. You disgust me. How can you even stand here knowing that you haven't changed at all, and that you are the same monster?" Killian's eyes widened at her sudden proximity, his posture going rigid. His hands that had been reaching for her pulled to his sides, his breath coming out in a sharp exhale. He seemed almost nervous, the air around them suddenly stifling. Emma took another step putting them toe to toe. Shoving him proved fruitless when he barely moved from the weak push, but was satisfying as she continued yelling. "How dare you say anything to me about Arthur, how dare you try and trick me again! We were never friends, you never gave one moment or kindness without thought of yourself, we were never -" 

His hands shook as he touched her shoulders, one immediately pushing back his hair in frustration as he leveled his gaze with hers. His stare was hard, intensely fixed as he seemed to fight himself. Emma raised her chin and he moved a hand to hold her face, her shiver as he cupped her cheek involuntary. His touch felt right, her heart skipping in a strange hiccup that felt so familiar and yet still foreign. "You bloody stubborn, obstinate, maddening woman. I'm not sorry for this. I won't be." 

She gasped into his kiss, forgetting her anger in the way he moved his mouth against her own. It was practiced between both of them which stunned her and made her heat past feverish in seconds, anger dissolving completely as his tongue pressed further. Emma knew this touch, knew the longing that she could feel in the way they tasted each other, barely able to pull away when all common sense said to push him back. There was no doubt: 

Killian was who she had been dreaming of. 

"It's you, it's always been you -" A resounding crash came from the other side of the courtyard, smoke growing thicker. 

"Go hide. Don't answer to anyone, and stay silent. I… I will tell you everything when you are safe."

"But -" Emma protested, still slightly dazed. 

Killian grazed his lips on her knuckles, then pressed a kiss there before pulling away reluctantly. "Go."

 *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Emma stumbled away deeper into the courtyard, and he stood prepared to fight even without a weapon. The Darkness had succeeded in destroying his feelings for her, but destruction was not enough. Like a flower with unseen and deep roots, his feelings bloomed again simply by being around her. The Darkness howled, and he let himself howl with it, filled with anticipation of the brawl to come. The first attacker turned the corner to the hallway, then barreled headlong towards Killian with sword raised. More turned the corner as he dodged the blade, his attempts to disarm the man for his weapons futile as the sword arced in the air to land in the courtyard while the bandit battalion continued to grow around him. He managed to steal a pole staff, disabling several of them until it was hacked to bits by an axe. 

He scrambled for another weapon until he froze, looking at a familiar face. 

Brennan Jones stood looking at him with contempt, his club raised again as he glared. Killian stared back as his father's sneer changed to the wicked grin he had reserved for beating both he and Liam; on days when he'd fallen into the bottle. He was skinnier, unkempt and underfed, wrong in his phantom form. It didn't matter when he brought down the club again, and Killian heard his own skull shatter. A bag was placed over his head as he was dragged, his father grunting with strain. 

Something shattered nearby and Killian was hit again and again, before he was pushed into a roll with a sharp kick. 

"We need him alive, bosses said so. Should still be weak from all that ink crap they made." 

"You can't kill him, don't worry. He was supposed to be in the dungeon, wasn't he?"

 "Where's the other piece? We need -" 

"It doesn't matter, they both attract the other. It's easy, and even if we don't get it, Hades doesn't care and Arthur has that sword thing." 

There was a deafening crash, his captors and father yelling as Killian was pulled away. His hood was removed, light and dust hurting his unbroken eye as he looked up into Emma's face. She held a sword that she let drag in the mess of carnage she had wrought. The phantom of his father approached as she looked up, heaving with effort to take a stance. Killian watched her block the aggressive attacks in awe as she stood in his defense, wavering with every blow. 

His father was going to kill her, he was going to run her through, adrenaline surging through him as he watched helplessly. Then in attack, his father lunged suddenly, fiercely growling in rage. Emma shifted her weight to let him use his power to her advantage, sending him through a thick clay urn in a clattering heap. Her knees buckled but she caught herself by leaning on the hilt of the sword, turning to smile. Killian felt a bark of laughter bubble up in his throat at her refusal to listen to anything he said, every bit of him trying to force out how he felt. Instead of listening to his gurgling whisper, Emma whistled, footfalls approaching from nearby, as servants joined her or ran past to safety.

"Emma -" 

She clapped a hand over his mouth as he let out a groan, his ribs shooting pain up his nerves. Soon, Iago and Abu were helping to drag him behind a thick hedge as chaos enfolded around them from more bandits coming from every direction. Servants screamed and fought, Emma looking worse for wear with every step as she defended them with weak blocks and parries until she could no longer, collapsing into sitting. With her finally among them, Iago finished drawing something in chalk on the ground. Silence fell over them along with a thick shadow, the murky bubble of safety swallowing the assorted Fae that hid with them in its thick mass. Emma leaned against Killian, looking down at his bleeding face with remorse. 

"You're going to be alright?" she asked, a hand shakily tracing where his eye socket was most certainly broken. He nodded, wincing and Emma smiled, looking as if she might cry. "I can't heal you. I'm so sorry, I wish I could. You're going to have to wait for the healers or…"

Or rely on the Darkness. The words she couldn't bring herself to say. 

He swallowed hard, nodding again. 

"Princess, you need to rest, you are safe in this shadow for the time being unless someone can undo Goblin runes. You were running a high fever before and -" 

"Yes, Iago. I know," Emma sighed. Glancing down at him again, he could see the dark circles under her eyes clearly, and the deep hollows in her face that caught shadow themselves. "I'll rest in just a moment, I just… I have questions I need answered. I know you're hurting Killian, but try, please?"

He nodded with a grunt of pain. 

"Did you mean to return the shard to me? Did you over power the Darkness?" 

"Yes," he managed to grit out. 

"Ali is… Whatever Ali is, he's a traitor?" 

"Aye. Thief."  There was blood in his brain, he could feel it, the swelling making sparks behind his eyes. "Aladdin."

Swallowing, he tried to gather his thoughts, a question burning on his tongue. "Am I… You think I'm a monster? Irredeemable?" 

Emma smiled softly, her eyes wet. She looked terribly sad, all because of him, his mind falling away to the obvious answer that would come. Yes. She was sad because of his cowardice, his misdeeds. Yes, he was a monster, him and the Darkness together. 

"No, Killian. You're not irredeemable when you keep saving my life. You are just…" She paused, searching for a word. 

"A bloody fool?" He suggested, and her small laugh through the watery smile she directed at him made his own lips twitch upward. She stroked his hair, gently pushing strands aside. 

"Did you… did you cause this?" Her voice was so small, but still so loud in his ears. Emma's hand pressed his to her chest, indicating her illness. His thumb ran along the jutting shelf of her exposed clavicle as she shuddered slightly. 

The words dragged out in a slur as he tried to make them intelligible. "Don't know, but… Maybe… yes? M'sorry, love."

"I forgive you. I have this feeling, I know it wasn't you. It couldn't be you." It was raining, drops falling on his broken face. No, they were tears, Emma was crying again, openly now. He reached his hand up further with difficulty to touch her cheek, finding it was hot to the touch, her fever in full force. Gently, she pressed the wet apple of her cheek against his palm, and he wanted nothing more than to stop her from hurting because of him. "Please Killian, forgive me for everything. I'm so sorry I got sick, I'm sorry you had to be alone with the Darkness, I'm sorry I keep dreaming of you like I do. I'm sorry for all of it, I -" she choked on a sob. 

"No," he groaned, and her coughing became worse. He tried to catch his thoughts, or put them coherently in a way she could understand, but thought was becoming more and more difficult. "Not accepted." 

"Please -" 

"Not accepted," he mumbled again. How could he accept an apology when she had done nothing wrong? 

"Killian, please…" she sighed out in a strangled breath. Her coughing began anew, a servant catching her as she fell where Killian could not lift his head to see, the world spinning into nothingness. 

 *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It was never pleasant to fall into the Darkness when issues of mortality arose, and the sinewy bits of his body had to knit themselves back together, but it was increasingly unpleasant when the Darkness was furious inside him. It seethed, caustic as it boiled over his flesh and forced his bones back into place. It tore at muscle and dug into nerve endings just to stretch the pain out, watching the squirming of its vessel. 

However, Killian healed, and that was more than could be said of the princess. He had woken to healers bustling over her, a few pulling him onto a cot nearby while Jasmine barked directions hoarsely, but days had passed since the bandits had tried to stage their strange assault. 

They were all in a new area of the palace, walled off from potential further attacks and better guarded. Jasmine and her team were non stop motion and action as she made sure her people were safe. The truth was evident though, that Jasmine was beside herself, even as an investigation found that the bandits hadn't taken anything of value. Killian had heard whispers from servants that 'Prince Ali' had attacked the Sultana in cold blood, but he was not willing to press his luck at broaching that subject when his worries lay elsewhere. 

Foremost, his thoughts were preoccupied with Emma. He had not left her room even after her recovery, but he could not bring himself to follow through on his desires. The new space allowed for him to watch from a distance, to observe her from enough space where the temptation could be held at bay. He wanted to sit next to her bedside, to stroke her cheek, to gently push hair from her temple when it stuck as her temperature rose, to lay by her and hold her tightly. It was cowardice that held him back, however. He knew it, but the chance that she might hear him and ask what their dreams or that wonderful bloody kiss had meant during the siege caused immediate paralysis. 

Emma hadn't been lucid since the attack, her fever spiking multiple times while the illness raged on, unforgiving. Mostly she called for her mother, begged for relief from flames, and occasionally he thought he heard her call for him but it was ignored. She had a close call the last evening Killian had stayed, startling him when a loud noise began to ring through the room. Healers and medical attendants had run in, throwing aside everything as they worked to fix whatever was wrong, which Killian had only found out later was her body attempting to give out. After that, he struggled to stay near her when she clearly didn't recognize anyone close to her, let alone him. The temptation to hold her was overwhelming, the Darkness rapidly switching between unbearably loud or eclipsed by the need to be there. 

"Killian, a word," Jasmine said, crooking a finger towards him as she dismissed a crowd of servants. An Elven man and woman stayed behind, both wearing spectacles. Killian approached cautiously. 

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

Jasmine eyed him with the same wariness. "My doctors are puzzled by the princess and her illness. She's taken a turn for the worse I'm afraid. Worse still, with the bandit camp raiding our supplies, we don't have the means to keep up her treatment. We thought she might have weeks, but..."

"She's been unable to eat very much, her sleep is riddled with nightmares or waking hallucinations, her coughing seems to be caused by some sort of constricting force, but it is not anything we have experienced." The female doctor read notes off a leather-bound notebook, her voice trembling slightly. "Her magic is weak, growing weaker each time she seems to recover. It's as if there's poison in her veins."

"I'm afraid I don't know anything of importance," he managed to interject, though his mouth felt dry. He wondered why the Sultana and her small team seemed so on edge. "I've told everyone as much as I can, so I'm unsure of what more detailed information I can give -" 

"They are asking you to bring up to her what her plans would be if she were to expire in my kingdom, Killian. She's spoken to me about them, but not to you. She said before that you managed to avoid the subject. With Arthur gone and possibly able to create false statements about a proposal - " Jasmine touched his shoulder and he yanked away, staring at her as if she was mad. 

"She - there has to be more you can do? She's only a bit worse, not - I thought Arthur was misinformed or… But she was better, she was-" It hit him like a crushing blow, a wave that pulled you deep while simultaneously pushing the air from your lungs. "She can't be, we just - she just beat a creature Dragons could not slay, survived an attempted assassination by bandits! She was doing better, she said so! No, absolutely not. I demand to know what you are doing. She is sick and you are not doing enough! She can't be close to death, it's not possible -" 

"Yes," the female doctor said simply, her dark brown eyes looking at him with sadness. "She is. I'm sorry."

"We are trying our best m'lord, but she isn't responding to anything we do any longer. We had warned her that this day was coming, and she seems to be aware, but as her second you need to finalize her wishes. If she declines at this rate for another week, three at most -" 

"No." He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to breathe. "No, do something different, try something -" 

"We - we have m'lord. Her Majesty has given us every bit of her power to do so -" 

"Jasmine, can't you see what caused this?" Killian began to pace slightly, before turning to gesture in the direction of Emma's room. "Help her!" 

"I am, Killian. I cannot see what the cause is, that is in the past. I am as desperate as you are for another vision regarding the princess. Do you believe me an unkind host with all I have granted you?" 

He couldn't breathe, his fists balling as fingernails cut into his palms. "No, no, she can't die. I -" 

"You should spend what time she has left with her then," the male scientist grumbled. 

"What are you trying to imply mate?" Killian growled, "Because I'll -" 

"I don't mean to imply, m'lord. It’s just that she begs for you when we are present, and the kitchen maids say the only time that they have seen her calm is when you are visiting. An attendant said you shared an intimate moment in the attack, that several others corroborate." The man adjusted his glasses nervously, unable to make eye contact. "Sultana, I don't want to invoke his wrath, but…"

Jasmine sighed deeply. "You asked about the black handprint Killian, you made a point of it. You delayed treatment that could have kept her alive. You carry the title of Dark One, and the power of the Darkness. My doctor does not feel that your question is coincidental, and I… We need to know that you are on our team. Arthur, Hades and Ali - Aladdin - were traitors that I - we trusted. Their accusations of you are still concerning no matter their own actions against us. I need to know you're willing to help her."

Killian swallowed hard, carefully mulling over his words. He paused, and then let out a hiss of air. "They would be right. I don't know how I would have caused this though, unless it happened in the dreams we shared. I would never hurt her."

"But, you did."

"I'm aware of that!" he snapped, rounding on the doctor with a snarl. "I - I won't hurt her. It wasn't me who - I wasn't in control of my actions, and I have no recourse for that. If you can't help her, I'll find someone who will." 

Killian fled, the one place he wanted to be forbidden to him if he valued his sanity. But still, she suffered. Why couldn't they heal her? Her light was there, it could not be his fault; her light would crush any sort of stain like it was nothing. 

He needed to see her and see this illness for himself without worry. Under the cover of starlight, he moved into her room where she lay sleeping. She looked worse still, black creeping up her chest and different pads pressed against the dark blotches that seemed to be the worst. The Darkness had no understanding of his upset, or how much he wanted her, its insistence that he could not care deafening. 

It wasn't true though. 

"I don't know if you can hear me, or if you are even aware of me, but I… It's been so hard to ignore you. I hate myself for what I've done to you, and how terribly you’ve been hurt by the way I treated you. I was trying to push you away, I was trying to let you go, but I was so wrong. I've been so close to giving in and laying here with you, only to force myself to refuse your requests. You are my constant desire, I long to simply touch you, to feel your hand in my own. I miss you, I am so ashamed of my need for you... If I would have known, I would have never stopped anything at all. I'm so tired of hurting you, of not being able to make any decisions that keep you safe. So please, if you can hear me, please make the decision to live so I can keep trying."

Her voice startled him, Emma's eyes staying closed. "Am I going to die then?" she whispered in a cracked voice. 

He squeezed her hand, the slight smile she attempted pained. "Not if I can help it, love."

"I thought you must hate me, but you're here." The awe in her voice was like a blade. How could he let things go this wrong? "You're always such a hero when it comes to me. It suits you. It suits you more than the Darkness, even."

"A hero? No, you have it wro -" 

"You… You and I shared memories… I want to remember, but…" She opened her eyes, staring at him with adoration. His immediate reaction was to swallow the urge to scream, not at her, but at the unfairness of her looking at him in such a way. She was supposed to forget everything that had transpired. She had to forget. That wasn't him, it could never be him. Not with the Darkness staining his life. 

"What are you talking about?"

"You kept coming back for me, saving me. I wanted you to kiss me, and you tasted like sweet wine when you did. We danced again and again." She lifted herself, trying to stand and he pushed her back down onto the mattress. Tucking the thin sheets around her body, he tried to keep his emotion contained. Unable to look at her, he trained his sight on his sandals. 

"Emma - you shouldn't be getting up like that. You're very ill and need to rest." 

Emma didn't seem to hear him, suddenly crying out in pain as she wheezed, coughing in a harsh fit. When she managed to end it and gulped down air, she shivered as a sheen of sweat began to cover her skin. A small smile fell on her lips, her gaze shifting to dizzily fixate on his seat. She tried to reach for him again without grace, knocking over various bottles and untouched bowls of food. "Dancing with you made me happy… We should do that again sometime. Maybe later tonight at the Harvest Festival?" 

"You need to -" Killian stood to push her back onto the bed again, but she fell back on her own, her elbow buckling under her weight. The whimper she let out broke his heart, her muscles straining. 

"I'm burning. Killian, please make it stop. I want my Mom." 

"Shh, darling." Soothing her with a few hummed notes, she relaxed into dozing while he held her clammy hand in his. 

"Am I dreaming again? Or are you real? I miss you so much from what we were there. I miss how easily you -" Her voice ended in a gasp, coughing taking the rest of the thought. Killian tried to give her a bit of water in a small stone ladle laid out, but she struggled to swallow the liquid. He was struck by how small and how tired she looked. 

"Yes, love. You're dreaming." 

"I like the dreams like this. I miss you caring about me," Emma murmured in a forlorn voice. Killian let his lips rest against her knuckles. 

Speaking into her curled fingers, he let them muffle his words. "I do too."

"Why am I so tired? I miss the dreams that I could… "

"Because you need your rest, darling. Please, just rest. I'll be back soon." 

"Do you promise?" 

"Emma - yes. Yes, I promise." 

"Please don't break it, okay? I don't want to lose you." 

"I -" 

"I told you that I loved you, remember?" Emma whispered with a soft hum of a sigh. Killian felt frozen, the way she looked up at him, gingerly intertwining his fingers into her own. Her skin felt papery, but so warm against his. "If I'm going to die, you should know that I meant it. I meant it here too, all of you. I chose to see the best in you, and I see it so clearly sometimes - "

"You don't know what you're saying. You need to sleep, Princess. Go to sleep." She coughed again, but settled as he asked. 

Emma’s condition had worsened more than he could have dared to imagine. Her whimper of pain was raspier, her hand squeezing his. The urge to scream was back, the Darkness wondering why its vessel's eyes burned. If she died, he would never forgive himself. He’d raze Selune Isle to ashes; anything to forget about her. 

"You don't have to say it back. You don't have to feel it, either. Nothing unsaid between us. Nothing, now. I love you. I… " Her breathing evened out into hard exhales, sleep hard to ignore with how little oxygen she seemed to be keeping in her lungs. 

"I never stopped." He couldn't bring himself to say any more than that, to whisper a truth she should know, or to even think it, lest the Darkness hear his murmured admission. 

 *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

 In the early morning light, Emma lay still even as the sun tried to warm her sweaty forehead and the wind attempted to pull at her damp hair. She hadn't woken since the last time they had spoken, the night full of close calls and terror he hadn't known he could still feel. Killian sat by her side dutifully through it all, gently stroking her hand. The Darkness protested his urge to cry with venom, its screeching voice unable to break through his desire for her to come back to him. 

"Come back to me, love," he whispered. "I should have known when we fell from the sky into this world and I had to pull you from the water, that I would never have enough of you. I should have told you when you defeated Pan, or when you kissed me. I should have made it clear how I felt when we were reunited in Ursula's grotto, and how wrong I was. I should have whispered it like I wanted to so desperately when we danced on Selune, or I woke to you curled next to me. I should have told you that you were like an angel, when you in turn pulled me from my own hell, and I will forever regret not saying anything," Swallowing hard, he tucked a golden tendril of her hair behind her ear. "So, come back Emma. Please."

"Killian," Jasmine said from behind him. He looked up, and she crooked a finger, beckoning him to follow her into the courtyard area. He pressed a soft kiss to Emma's cheek before pulling himself reluctantly from her bedside. 

They sat in silence, a servant serving juices and a platter of various fresh fruit. Jasmine finally spoke after several minutes of both of them staring at the food but making no moves to taste it. 

"Killian, she's not going to last much longer," Jasmine said shakily. "Even if we could keep her alive, it would be cruel at this point."

Anguish and panic coursed through his veins. No. Not Emma. "What about the envoy you sent to Selune Isle, to seek out the Dragons?" 

Jasmine shook her head. "They have not let the ship into the barrier, even with our flags raised. My captain keeps circling and hoping someone greets him so he may request aid." 

"Bloody hell, they were in the process of making posts for this type of patrol but had not started." He laid his head in his hands, before standing abruptly and flipping the table in front of him. Jasmine watched, impassive, as he crushed grapes and figs among the shards of broken serving platters. 

The silence that came after, as he knelt in the shards of colored bowls and fragrant fruit, was interrupted by Jasmine's whisper. 

"Killian, Did you really hurt her?" 

"I -" He began, surprised when the word escaped him like a sob. 

"Don't lie to me," Jasmine whispered again, her voice grave. 

"Yes," Killian admitted. "I crushed her heart in a nightmare. I am the cause of her illness, and I'll do anything to help her get better. I didn't - I never meant for -" 

"It might not have been you, Killian, we don't know." Jasmine attempted to soothe, but he only barked out a cold, mirthless laugh. "It's not dark magic that is causing the strange blackness on her skin like you thought; this could be something else. Just because that happened -" 

"Tell me something, Sultana," Killian interrupted, scrubbing his face with his hand. "Is there a future you've seen, even a chance, that rids me of this curse?" The Darkness bit at him, protesting his question. He found he didn't care.

"I don't - I am still unable to see as much as I should," Jasmine said quickly before hesitating. "But… There is a future where you free yourself, yes. A few paths, almost all clouded by failure. The path I saw had you and the princess closely tied by the fates, her life in the balance."

"Because of course it bloody is. She’s going to die because of me -" 

"No - well, maybe, but not yet - there's still a chance. The path is longer, it does not end here. I am not able to see clearly with Aladdin's magic in my way. I am trying, but there's so much darkness…"

"Answer without sodding riddles, you are not a Sphinx!" 

"You said you would do anything to help her. Would you swear it instead on her name? The name of the woman I think we both know you lo -" 

"I swear on Emma, on my Swan, I swear it."

"Swear on yourself, Killian Jones, the man who is the Dark One. You must believe fully in your heart that you will save her."

"I…" Killian hesitated, swallowing hard. Taking a deep breath, he set his jaw. "I swear on myself."

Liar! You cowardly and pathetic shell of a man. LIAR. 

"Remember that, remember when you are fighting your worst enemy -" 

"Sultana!" A servant slammed the door wide open, looking at both of them in surprise. "Oh, I - uh -" 

"How dare you interrupt this!" Jasmine hissed, her eyes burning bright. "What was so important that ---" 

"It could not wait, my Sultana. I beg forgiveness, but it could not be delayed!" The servant threw himself at her feet, groveling. "Please, have mercy my Sultana! It is in regards to the sick woman, the princess." 

Both Killian and Jasmine glanced at each other. Killian stood, the servant beginning to quake with further fear as he stood next to Jasmine. 

"Who told you the princess was here?" Killian asked, his voice betraying his rising anger. "No one should know that, not a damned bloody soul -" 

"They named her by her first name! I swear! They say that they have a cure for the princess, and are friends of hers. They named you specifically Dark One, or Killian Jones."

Killian’s eyes narrowed, and he ground his teeth in thought, although his jaw protested. 

"Will you go? I can send sentries or an accompanying party," Jasmine said lowly. "If it's a threat we can -" 

"No. I'll go, and if I don't return, I don't return. If they have medicine for her, I'll find a way to get it. I swear it." 

Jasmine nodded, the servant handing an envelope to Killian before fleeing with a series of bows. 

"Let us hope that they are friends and not foes, with an actual cure for Princess Emma." Jasmine made a religious symbol with her hands, kissing the center. 

"I don't pray, and I don't hope." Killian brushed past Jasmine, without looking back. "If they don't have a bloody cure for my Swan, they won't have any prayers or any hope either." 

 *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

 Killian moved through the docks, and to their ship with practiced ease in the quiet alleyways he had discovered during his avoidance of Emma. The sandstone homes and terracotta steps that weaved to the sea were a fitting distraction for him to lose himself in, and a perfect metaphor for his jumbled thoughts. 

Who was it that wanted to speak to Emma through him? How did they know that from the thousands of ships moored in the docks of Agrabah, Emma had made a safe passage through the portals on the Jolly Roger? Who else knew? 

The thought of Nil sent a shudder down his spine, Emma's nightmare once again fresh in his mind. 

  You can keep her safe, but only if you fight for her. 

Only if you fight for your happiness, and yourself. 

 The quiet voice that was once blocked by the Darkness was growing bolder. 

 The Darkness strained against his constant pressure, snarling at his reinvigorated conscience. 

You can't save anyone, let alone your damned soul. I own you. I am you. You can't hold me back forever, and I will never go away. 

When you least expect it, I will destroy everything you love - all you have to do is let yourself relax. 

Holding his forehead in one hand, Killian pressed on, jumping on the deck of the ship with his sword drawn. Two Fae eyed him warily as he moved his feet into a fighting stance. He could not identify what sort of Fae or who they were, but they seemed to be close, the woman pushed behind the man with shaggy brown hair in a protective gesture Killian recognized as something he had done for Emma. 

The male counterpart rested his deep brown eyes on Killian, before smiling slightly. He bowed carefully, Killian grimacing and following the stranger with his sword's point. 

"You're him then? The Dark One? Killian Jones of the Blackwater?" the stranger asked. 

"Yes, and who are you?" Killian raised his sword higher, jabbing it as the man jumped back in surprise. "How did you come to know what -" 

The woman was heavy with child, which gave him pause until the man was throwing himself in front of her. He put his hands up, cowering slightly. "Is Emma alright? Did she remember to not use her magic? And you, did you take care of her? We warned her when she was under the rites, but it took longer than we thought to get here."

"You - how - " Killian faltered, but shook it off to straighten again, gripping his cutlass tighter. "I ask again: What business do you have with the princess?" 

"I'm Henry. I'm a friend I swear, and I serve fealty to her and the crown family. Emma is ill, yes? The Kitsune witch put some sort of parasitic creature in her; we told her this before we left to find you both. We sent her here to get help. We knew the Sultana could keep her alive and protected long enough for us to make our way here." Killian let his arm drop, the man relaxing without the blade in his face. "I have a spark of light magic I hold as a Hol guardian and protector of the realms. Time is completely out of control, and the Goblins are attacking pocket realms just like this one. Emma needs this to survive, and to fight back."

Henry produced a glowing ball of light that was iridescent in the sunshine. It sparkled like a faceted diamond as Henry held it. 

"I didn't know. Emma… she doesn't remember everything that happened, and she is barely holding on." Killian set his jaw, furious with himself. "I have to go, I need to save her."

The woman spoke, her accented voice drenched in exhaustion. "Thank you. We will seek passage again -" 

"Take this ship. It's stocked and ready to go, as I was…" Shame rose on his throat as he thought about almost leaving before. "Just take it. I'll save her." 

"You must know, this magic is akin to yours, Dark One." Henry approached cautiously, holding out the orb. The Darkness screeched, burrowing further into him, desperate to escape the strange ethereal glow the globe emitted. "The other side of the coin, the flicker of light that casts your shadow. Both have their extremes, and both can be addictive. Do not let her become blinded by the brightness as you cannot let yourself become lost in your abyss."

Killian let the spark fall in his palm, where it dimmed. He frowned and Henry clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

"Hurry, Dark One. Not only does Emma not have much time, but the longer you hold that spark, the more it will fade."

Killian gave no reply, sheathing his sword and turning in a single motion. The jump to the pier after launching himself off the deck was with as much grace as he could muster, his feet moving as soon as he had purchase, running as fast as his feet would carry him towards the palace. There was hope. He was absolved of one misdeed on his long list, and Emma would not suffer soon enough. Cruella had caused this, not him, and Emma had begged him to stay with faith that he was good, that he could be redeemed. She could be saved now, and he had faith she would be alright with the magic thrumming in his palm. 

It was a blur to her quarters, the sound of breaking glass chilling him. Someone was yelling, a strange blue smoke swirling around her quarters. People were on the ground coughing profusely as the shadow of a man pulled Emma into his arms. No, not just a man, his face visible as he turned. A thief Killian recognized at once. 

"Emma! No, wait -"

Emma's face was flushed against the thief's shoulder, her arms hanging weakly at her sides. She limply tried to reach out to Killian, but neither was fast enough when the thief jumped from the window. Killian ran to the window, terrified of how and where they had landed when there was a sheer drop outside, but could see no evidence of a fall from the balcony. A carpet whooshed past him as Jasmine ran into the room, Aladdin addressing them as Emma lolled in his hold barely conscious.

"We'll be at the Cave of Wonders, so don't dawdle. Especially since she doesn't have much time left." 

"No! Please, she's -" Killian lunged, almost falling the sheer drop from the balcony as Jasmine wrenched him back. 

"Aladdin, don't do this! Please!" Jasmine shouted, and Aladdin stared at her with a pained look crossing his face. The blue cracks on his skin had reached his chin and cheeks, tearing the flesh there. Emma had been right, the thief harbored magic that he clearly could not control. 

"You, Sultana, should know better than anyone that I have no choice." he said flatly. "Dark One, my Masters offer you a trade. Your life for hers. Make your choice."

"I - please don't -" Jasmine began, but Aladdin simply shook his head sadly, the carpet speeding into the sky. 

Killian roared with anger, his body full of a rage he could feel in every cell. Jasmine was barking orders hoarsely, people scurrying around behind him as he whirled to look at the Sultana. 

"Where did he -" 

"The Cave of Wonders. I'm responsible for this, and I'll do everything in my power to make sure you get Emma back." She touched his shoulder, looking surprised when he took another menacing step forward. 

"I said, where -" 

"I'll take you." Jasmine looked out across the desert, then turned to a few lingering servants. "We leave at once." 

Trying to pull away from him, he held her wrist firmly. "What is going on here? What happened with your thief, and why did he take Emma?" The growl of impatience and anger in his voice made Jasmine flinch, but she didn't answer as her brows pinched together. "Sultana!" 

Jasmine broke from her thoughts, carefully pulling away at the cage of his fingers to loosen his grip. "He was rambling the last time I saw him, and sick. He's a Djinn. Obviously fighting against his master's control on him, by the looks of it, which…" She paused, looking intently at his fingers. "He kept saying that he didn't want to hurt me, he didn't want to kill me, for me to run from him because the pull was too strong. He wanted me to end his life, and I didn't. I didn't believe him, and now, Emma…" 

Killian dropped her wrist, fighting the emotions that came to the surface, the situation eerily reminiscent. A master that demanded absolute obedience, and those caught in the crossfire being hurt despite every attempt. Aladdin had seen through him and the Darkness so quickly, catching him so off guard he hadn't seen the clear understanding the man held of his predicament. 

"The Carpets are ready, Sultana." A servant announced with a slight bow. "We will have to cross bandit blockades to get through to the cave, which Iago has located."

Jasmine nodded, turning to walk briskly toward another attendant that carried a hooded cloak as well as a knapsack. "The Cave of Wonders is the resting place of the Djinn All Father, or the Lord of Djinn. He can make people Genies, which is why he has been sealed away in a magical dungeon since my mother's death."

"So, this dungeon presumably is in all likelihood highly fortified by Jafar, Hades, and Arthur's men who have not one, but two Djinn?" Killian ran a hand through his hair, his jaw working. "We need a bloody army -" 

"One Genie. Aladdin. Who is down to his final wishes from the look of his degradation. The Djinn All Father does not leave his chambers or use his magic outside of creation for any reason, not since his daughter died resulting in his self imposed banishment." Swallowing hard, Jasmine stepped onto a carpet as it floated, Killian sitting by her side. "My mother. He is my Grandfather, and never stopped blaming himself for her fate, and my own."

The carpet rushed through the air, Killian's stomach immediately in his throat as their small group wove through the clouds. They were met with brief attacks here and there as they crossed what seemed like an empty expanse of cooked earth, none requiring a full scale assault. Unease prickled at the back of his mind when more than half of their original force had fallen behind to end small fights. This was clearly an ambush, but one that there was no choice but to fall into. The Sultana knew as well based on her terse expression when they drew near a a huge sand hill in the shape of a tiger. It's maw was opened wide, light beckoning from its throat where steps led down into the ground. They landed low as men swarmed from within, swords raised, yelling wild cries.

"Do not touch anything inside, Killian!" Jasmine shouted over the sounds of steel. "It's all enchanted to try and entice you - go straight to Emma." 

Killian gave her a nod, running to weave through the sparring crowd. The Sultana barked orders to cover him while he slashed through the first trickle of men defending the place, through halls filled with mountains of gold, through a banquet room of overflowing delicacies, all while curving deeper and deeper into the earth. 

Large, columned, doors that dwarfed him in size eight fold opened to a huge chamber lined with more columns. The floor was cracked in places, sand drifting from the ceiling to the floor making small hills or rocky platforms. On one flattened ledge, lay Emma. 

Her night dress clung to her skin, teeth visibly chattering while her eyes were screwed firmly shut. Warmth flooded Killian's chest, the strangeness of his heart both jumping out of and freezing in synchrony not stopping his feet from moving on their own accord to get to her. The shard rested on her bruised chest, his presence not acknowledged even as he touched her burning cheeks. Her breathing hitched when his thumb swept over a smudge on the apple of her cheek, the sliver of foggy green under her lashes the most precious thing he had seen in the stone halls varied treasures. 

"Kil -" Emma tried to whisper, but could not do so without coughing, her breath coming out in a rattling heave. Without grace, she tried to move closer to his body, instead falling back with a resounding thump. 

"Love, oh Emma, I'm so sorry." She moaned softly at the sound of his voice, clinging to him, the concave of her bosom barely moving from her shallow breaths. "Stop, stop trying to move, please -"

"You… You can't… Must… Go." Emma coughed again, before panting heavily. "Don't…" 

Smiling softly at her he kissed her temple, her surprised face making his own heart skip a beat. "You are too important to not fight for. For others to fight for. Henry found you a cure, love. You're going to be alright, you'll be just fine." 

"You… You don't… Even… Like… Me…" she gritted out. Closing her eyes, Killian held her close. "Couldn't stand... to... stay... even a… a… few minutes…"

"You're wrong. I should have stayed, and I wanted to more than anything. I didn't want you to get hurt - You weren't supposed to remember everything that happened when you were under the Kitsune's power, but you against all odds are. You're remembering, and I acted… I am a coward. I tried to avoid you because if you remember what happened, what transpired between us - "

"It's…?" 

"The dreams about us, the ones that you feel like you lived, like they're memories - they are real. They're what happened when you went through the Harvest ritual."

Emma tried to get out of his grip, pulling and pushing against his hands. She thrashed, her voice ringing in the space. "Why! How could you -" 

"Stop it, you're going to kill yourself. This is why, right here. Between everything happening, I'm going to hurt you, or you will get hurt because of the Darkness. Why don't you understand? Why don't you value your life like you should!" 

"I… I… don't want…" She hesitated, before looking up at him, her eyes wet and full of a deep sadness. "To lose you." 

"It's too strong, Emma. It's threatening your existence, and I am not strong enough to keep it at bay. I need to go, I need to stay away from you, if you and I are to ever be able to speak candidly about what happened. You deserve that much, and more."

Weakly, Emma whispered a rough plea. "Stay."

Killian chuckled lowly, trying to memorize her features. "I'll be happy knowing that you had a future, darling. Even if I'm not in it."

Pressing the spark against her sternum as he gave her forehead a peck, his arms wrapped around her to support her as she coughed. Emma doubled over, silk like threads escaping her mouth. She let out a muffled moan, gagging until she vomited a translucent, glittering, mother of pearl colored cocoon on the cave floor. Out of it, a black slug-like creature crawled with a familiar looking red nail stinger on its end, Killian crushing it immediately with his boot. The Kitsune had put one last creeping parasite into Emma, it's manifestation draining her to death to avenge its host. Repugnant, and very on brand of Cruella. 

Emma took a steady breath, the rattle gone. She glowed slightly, her power making his skin tingle. 

"Don't go with them, they aren't -" Emma tried to say something but was drowned out by the sounds of shouting from all around them. 

"What?" 

Arthur's voice was suddenly echoing around the cave. "Bind him with the ink."

"Killian, listen to me," Emma begged. Something burst over him, showering them with a spray of dark smoke. Killian tried to shield her, but to his great surprise found he was frozen in place. Emma touched his face in fear, her attempts to get her magic to work proving fruitless. "No, they're going to take you, that's what they wanted all along is you and the shard together -" 

She was wrenched away by several men, laughter echoing through the caves. Jasmine was thrown next to her, Aladdin stepping in front of them. His body was in pieces, skin melting away to sparking electric blue underneath. 

"Don't hurt them -" Killian bit out, Jafar sliding past him with a smirk. "I'll go willingly, just don't hurt them." 

Jafar laughed, a fist connecting to his face from the other side of his head. Arthur's voice oozed into his ringing ear. "Thought you might deserve that one, mate. "

Hades appeared in his peripheral, leaning down to hold up Emma's chin as her arms were held back. 

"This does put a damper on our timeline. Her being alive does not provide the Dark One the emotional turmoil we had initially planned on," Hades stated, his eyes flicking back to Killian. "We'll need to kill her here. Genie, please - "

Jafar scoffed. "The Genie is worthless for killing. He can't make anyone fall in love, bring back the dead, or kill anyone according to his code of honor. That's the only reason the Sultana still breathes." 

Aladdin looked down at the ground, Jasmine staring at him in surprise. 

"So, what's the plan then?" Hades asked, rolling his eyes. "We could take them to the compound which is a waste of time and resources, kill them here which wastes some time, or leave them behind to die here. There's no way out for the two of them."

Killian felt his voice loose before he could hold himself back. "No! No, please. I'll go with you willingly if you let them live, I swear it. I want to be rid of this scourge, and I will happily let you do whatever you want with me as long as you let them go."

Emma's head snapped up, her eyes wide. "No, Killian, what are you even saying? You can't be rid of it, they'll kill you -" 

A hand clapped over her mouth, her muffled words shrill. 

"We truly should keep the girl if she has this much hold over him. Imagine what torture on her would do for his compliance," Arthur mused, rubbing his scruff. Killian could see the bruising on his face from their last encounter, his eye still slightly purple. "I could also use her for the takeover of the United Realms -" 

"No. It's not worth keeping her alive." Hades shook his head, tone still methodical and cold. "My plan hinges on her death as a means of cooperation between the Goblins, United Realms, and the manipulation of the Dark One." 

"If you kill her, or harm her at all, I will never serve you. The dagger piece will never hold me, no matter how much magic you pour on me," Killian hissed, seething. He moved forward, striking towards Hades who had to lunge away. More of the black smoky substance was thrown at him, but he managed the best he could to fight it. "If you let them go, I won't fight. Only if you let them go."

There was a yelped curse from one of the men holding her, then Emma's voice pained and pleading. "Killian, no!" Emma cried, their eyes meeting. 

He smiled gently, as well as he could manage. "Let me die, or release myself from this torment, darling. Let that be the man you remember: The man who died the hero he wanted to be, for you. For us."

"Please, no. I can't -" Emma whimpered, the hand clapped back over her lips roughly as she struggled. 

"Fine. Deal taken." Hades nodded. Jafar scowled coldly. 

"Well, if we're discarding them here to be let go, Aladdin should also be left behind," Jafar drawled. 

Hades snapped his head to look at his partner. "What are you -" 

"Aladdin, for my second wish, I wish to be the sorcerer Sultan of Agrabah."

"No! You can't -" Jasmine cried out. 

A burst of magic surrounded her, her jeweled crown evaporating into dust, her clothes replaced by brown muslin. In a flash of light Jafar changed as well, his clothing embroidered in golden thread, the vest he wore covered in jewels. Upon his head sat a turban with a deep set ruby, the facets glittering like a crimson eye. "And as for our deal, for my third wish, I wish you were free of your binds as a Genie, living without your phenomenal cosmic powers. Be a Djinn no more." 

Hades groaned, his face full of obvious fury. 

Aladdin shimmered, the blue that had been eating away at him exploding outward as he fell to his knees. When he wobbled to his feet again, the fine clothes he wore dissolved to rags, blue dust shimmering over his skin. Jasmine blinked, her mouth opening in surprise. 

"You!" Jasmine pointed at Aladdin, a hand covering her mouth in shock. "But you're that peasant -" 

"I wanted to tell you Jasmine, but -" Aladdin started, sand beginning to pour from more gaps in the ceiling. 

"So you see, Prince Ali is merely a street rat. Just a bore, no longer so worldly, a weakling once more, brought down to size. As for me? " With his long, gnarled fingers he pointed to Jasmine. "I don't have to waste my time thinking of ways to kill you any longer. This will be a fitting grave for you, Sultana."

"No, you're not to hurt them, not to kill them as I said!" Killian grunted as he was dragged backwards, more of what he thought might be the same ink they had used before on the shard thrown in his face. It became hard to speak, his lungs burning from their inability to give him oxygen. 

"We aren't hurting them, and certainly not killing them, just as you desire Dark One." Jafar's smile was wide, crazed. "Leaving them here fits your requirements. If they starve in these caves, or fall prey to the many traps, it was not us."

Killian tried to struggle, but more of the substance kept being pushed on him, hands gripping him tightly as he was dragged back. He almost lost sight of Emma, but a captor dropped him without grace, and he could finally see her again. She was no longer looking at him, but instead stared at Arthur. 

Arthur approached Emma, his smile wide, lifting her chin. She pulled away in disgust at his touch, still unsteady as her hands shook. 

"You're just like Guinevere. Neither of you deserve me. You don't see my greatness; you're selfish just as she was. You could never have helped me wield Excalibur, or control the Darkness." He tugged on Emma's chain necklace, the protective enchantment giving way around his own force. It slipped from her neck even as she struggled, hanging from Arthur's palm. "At least I have this as a consolation prize. It makes it much easier not having to pretend to have feelings for you. All kingdoms for the price of the Dark One."

With a wave of Hades' hand, a golden elevator cage appeared around Killian and his captors. Emma shook her head, Killian frozen by the black concoction they'd thrown at him, the Darkness roaring with glee. She reached for the rising bars, reaching for him, her fingers wrapped tightly in his instead of caring about the shard like she should have - why him, what could he - 

"No, I can't say goodbye to you again!" Emma yelled, her face set in stubbornness. His limbs loosened, her magic weak but her determination strong, Jafar letting out a frustrated noise of disgust at her outburst. 

Killian came back into his body, clutching her hand tightly as her fingers scrabbled desperately trying to hold him. They parted, her scream of fury and sadness tearing at him. 

"I will find you, I will always find you! Please Killian, know that I will not ever stop until we are together again." 

The words gave him courage, his heart filled with pride and adoration. Emma would find him, he had no doubt. He would not let this place be her tomb. When he was able to move fully he rushed forward, smashing his forehead into the sorcerer's nose as hard as he could, grabbing the shard as they passed upwards into light of day. Pushing it into the abyss below as sand swallowed what was the entrance of the Cave of Wonders, Jafar bellowed out a noise, kicking him down and face first into the scorching sand. 

It didn't matter how many times the livid sorcerer kicked him or shouted to the skies, Emma would get her magic back. She would heal, they had the shard, and if he had any chance to peel the Darkness currently howling inside him away, he would take it. She would find him, free of his curse, and they would finally be together. 

  I can feel your doubt, boy.

  You know that you can't be free of me. Even in death, I remain. I am the constant in this body, you are just an echo. When Emma finds you again, I will have so much fun tearing her limbs off as the Dark One, without a trace of you left. 

  Nothing can save you now.

 "No," Killian moaned, as they dragged him through the sand, their camels forcing him to stumble blindly behind them. "No, never. Not Emma. No."

In the end, Killian hoped Emma would forgive him, and by some miracle he could be free.