#his other half is a fallen demon prince who cannot be allowed too much power bc he is Inherently Dirty and it would Corrupt him again

[ardentpoop]

truly cannot express often enuf that if sam doesnt stand out to you like a guiding light cutting through the bleak mire of supernatural's bloated canon i do not trust your taste in Literally Anything

[ruddcatha]

GUARDIAN

Thank you again to @heavenin--hell for your inspiration, I hope this story does your work justice.

posted on Ao3: Here

Posted on FFN: Here

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Chapter 9

Kagome groaned as the shrill sound of her phone forced her into consciousness.  It felt like she had only just fallen asleep.  It had taken her most of the night to clean the shards from the floor and dresser. She had no clue what had happened, but between her dreams and the mirror shattering, she had been too freaked out to fall back asleep, despite her exhaustion.

Thankfully, she had not had any further dreams after she had finally fallen into a broken slumber.  A slight shudder raked through her body at the memory.  She had been standing at the shrine with three vases on the alter in front of her. The first vase was familiar, she had seen and unfortunately broken it two days before, but here it was, intact. She reached out to touch it, and she saw Kanji characters flare red before fading like ash as the vase broke. As she watched smoke began to billow out of the cracks of the vase, coalescing above the alter, the faint shape of a dragon visible in the haze.  A voice whispered to Kagome, she could not make out the words, but the voice compelled her towards the second vase, a light gray vessel with white and black flowers for decoration, beautiful in its simplicity.  The whisper grew louder as she approached, and she was entranced by the vase.

“Kagome.”

She froze as Inuyasha’s voice purred her name in the dream, her hand centimeters from the second vase. At his voice she felt her head clear, the vase she had just found so beautiful and compelling now terrified her. There was danger inside the beauty, a darkness that she knew would try to destroy her.  She took a deep breath and felt energy course through her body. She raised her hand to see a light glow had enveloped her.  The whisper in the mist turned angry, and as she raised her head the dragon in the mist turning its head to watch her, its eyes glowing crimson though the smoke as the whisper turned into a howl of frustration.

She had been pulled out of the dream by the mirror cracking and shattering, her arms cut by flying pieces of glass.

Needless to say, she had not gotten a lot of rest.

Grumbling she picked up the phone and answered with a sleep “Hello?”

“Ah Kagome, good morning. I hope you do not mind but Totosai gave me your number and asked me to call you, we need to leave in a half hour.”

Kagome pulled her phone away from her ear in confusion “Who… who is this?”

She heard laughter. “Apologies Lady Kagome, this is Miroku.”

She groaned; it was too early to deal with him.  “What do you want Miroku?”

“The council meeting. We leave in a half hour and we need you to be there with us.”

Kagome groaned. “Totosai said I had the morning off, why does he need me there?”

“It... actually wasn’t Totosai who said you need to be there.”

That cut through Kagome’s sleep induced stupor.  

“Wait what?”

“It wasn’t Totosai. The Inu No Taisho said your presence was necessary.”

“But... why?”

She heard Miroku chuckle. “Something about being the one with the ability to awaken them and a broken seal.”

Kagome sat up straight, now wide awake, snippets of her dream and the broken vase flashing through her thoughts.

“How long do I have?”

“Thirty Minutes. See you then.”

Kagome scrambled out of bed and dashed for the shower.

------

Exactly thirty minutes later Kagome stood in the doorway to Totosai’s office, slightly panting from her sprint across campus.  Miroku stood inside waiting for her, a half smile on his face as he let her catch her breath.

“If you will follow me, they have already begun downstairs.”

Kagome visibly started. “Just how big is this building?”

Miroku chuckled. “It’s like the Tardis.  It’s bigger on the inside.”

“Nerd.” Kagome whispered as she passed him.

“My dear Kagome, you went on a two year walk about to learn more about different cultures and religions before deciding to study the past through the relics of the dead…”

Kagome glared at Miroku as they made their way towards a hidden elevator.  “And how exactly do you know about that?”

Miroku tilted his head as he studied her before entering the elevator and turning back to her.  “I help Totosai screen all the students.  He can read energy from objects; I can read energy from people.”

_______________

If you were to look at their campus, one would never have expected there to be what Kagome could only describe as an ancient arena under the buildings.  She stared in awe at the room in front of her, she and Miroku had entered the main presentation level where she could see Totosai, Inuyasha, Toga, and Sesshomaru standing.  The floor was surrounded by tiers of elegant seats, the room could easily hold 1000 if it were at full capacity.  Her gaze was drawn to the other end of the room to the seven… people… sitting in the seats watching the four in front of them.  Toga’s deep voice teased the edge of her hearing, but she could not make out the words.  Miroku took her by the elbow and moved with her to join the group.

As they moved forward, she could hear that Toga was discussing what had led to the sealing, Miroku whispering the translation for her, however her attention was caught by the group in the seating area.  

A man with black hair, deep tan skin and bright blue eyes sat in the middle, his posture and tone showed his familiarity with the Inu’s before him.  His hair was pulled away from his face, and as he turned to listen to a companion, she saw his ears were slightly pointed, like Toga and Sesshomaru’s. Miroku noticed that Kagome was not listening to him and followed the direction of her gaze.

“The yokai in the center is Koga.” Miroku leaned down to whisper to Kagome as they walked. “He is the prince of the Ookami, and Lord of the Northern Lands.  He has been a member of the council since its formation and was an ally of Lord Toga before the seals were placed.”

Miroku nodded his head slightly towards a man sitting to Koga’s right, his bright red hair tumbling in curls tied with a green ribbon that matched his eyes.

“That is Shippo, he represents the Kitsunes.  He was a child when the council was formed but inherited the seat when his father was unfortunately killed by the Thunder Brothers, allies of Ryukotsusei.  They tortured him for information on where the guardians were sealed and killed him in a fit of rage when he refused to answer.”

“Now I see why Inuyasha said they limited who had the information.” Kagome whispered back. Miroku nodded slightly in response. Kagome’s eyes went to the woman sitting to Koga’s left, her deeply tanned skin a stark contrast to her silver hair and lavender eyes.

“Lady Shiori, the representative of the bats.  They were one of the last Yokai to join the council, there was an internal fight over which faction they would join, until Ryukotsusei targeted them to obtain the secret to their barrier magic.  Shiori is the only member of the council that is a Hanyou like Inuyasha.” Kagome’s eyes darted to Miroku at that.

“She inherited the power of her father, Tsukuyomaru, to create barriers.  It is a unique ability among the bats, and highly revered.  Even as a hanyou she is one of the strongest members of the bats and was selected as their Lady.”

“And what of the woman sitting next to… Shippo was it?” Kagome asked.

Miroku looked at the woman, taking in her long dark hair pulled into a high ponytail and her crimson eyes.  The ends of her hair seemed to be constantly moving as if a soft wind had caught the strands.

“Kagura, a wind demon. She sits as the Lady of the Elemental Yokai that have sided with Lord Koga.  Our research does not have much information on her, other than a note to be warry, she is beautiful and lethal.”

Miroku went on to identify the remaining two women on the dais, Toran of the Panther Demons who looked human with pale green hair, and Tekki, the Queen of the Demon Birds with her gorgeous feathers and wings.  He paused looking at the last member.    

“Hachiemon, I am surprised he was chosen as the Tanuki representative.”  Hachiemon looked like… well he looked like a racoon, which surprised Kagome.  She had never encountered any stories of the Tanuki in her travels or research, and so he was a puzzle to her.

“Hachi is a friend of the family, he and I grew up together.  He is very eager but not always… the bravest, which is why I am surprised he is the representative.”

By the time Miroku finished the introductions, they were a few feet away from the four standing before the Lords.  

“…the dragon cannot be allowed to awaken until we are ready.” Kagome’s attention was drawn back to the conversation as she made out parts of the words.  She glanced sideways to Miroku, who immediately fell back into translating for her.

“Lord Toga, I remember when the pact was first made, and the blood of the Lords was used to seal Ryukotsusei. How do we know for sure that the appointed time is upon us, perhaps you were awoken early, and the battles are not yet at hand?”

“The first seal has been broken.” Toga’s words caused several of the Lords to gasp.  “Ryukotsusei does not have any of his abilities, nor is he able to possess any human or yokai, but he is still dangerous.  We must begin preparations immediately. We do not know what, if anything, Ryukotsusei has been able to accomplish or even how long he has been unsealed.”

“We must still have time.” Shiori interjected, her eyes reflecting her unease.  “You said only the first seal was broken.” Her movements stilled as her ears detected a subtle change in the room.  Shiori was able to hear the thirteen heartbeats in the room, and the rhythm of one had just… changed.  She closed her eyes to focus on isolating the sounds until she identified the change, lavender eyes opening to stare at Kagome.

“Lord Toga.” Shiori tilted her head as she considered Kagome. “may I ask who this woman is that has you?”

Toga turned and looked back to Kagome, his eyes softening as he took in her nerves before giving her a slight nod.  Kagome took a deep breath and clenched her hands into fists before looking up at the seven powerful beings before her.

“Kagome.  My name is Kagome.”

Koga’s eyes sparkled with appreciation at the bravery of the human.  “And how are you connected Lady Kagome?  I know you are not a member of the alliance.”

“She is the one who released my seal.” Inuyasha stated, a slight growl in his voice as he watched the wolf’s gaze.

“What is it you are hiding from this council Kagome?” Shiori asked softly, and all eyes flew to her then back to Kagome.  “I could hear a change in your heartbeat just now.”

Kagome looked to Miroku, her eyes silently questioning whether she heard the translation correctly. With a shaking voice, Kagome told the council about the vase she had accidentally broken two days before, the gold pulse in the room where Inuyasha, Toga and Sesshomaru had been sealed, the mist with the crimson eyes, finishing with her dream and the shattered mirror.  

As she spoke, Miroku translated for the benefit of the three Inu yokai. Toga’s face lost all hints of softness as he listened, and his eyes went hard as he turned back to the council members, watching them as the translation continued.  Inuyasha’s eyes never left Kagome’s, his lip curling with anger as he listened.  She gave a slight jump as he suddenly appeared beside her; she had not even seen him move.  

Inuyasha’s hand reached out to cup her elbow, drawing her arm up.  She had purposefully worn a long sleeve shirt to hide the cuts on her arms, but Inuyasha’s thumb unerringly traced along each cut gently, a questioning look in his eyes as he growled slightly.

“What’s this about?” Miroku whispered.

Kagome sighed. “When the mirror shattered a few of the pieces cut my arm.  I don’t know how he knew where I had been injured.”

Miroku smiled.  “Dog demons have superior senses of smell Kagome.”

“But why would he care?”

“That… I do not know Lady Kagome, but it is obvious he does.”

Toga’s voice cut through the room as he made a point to look at all seven members of the council.

“Time is of the essence. Ryukotsusei is aware of Kagome and knows that she can break the seals.   She is under our protection now, but we must secure the remaining seals and begin our preparations.  If we have humans and yokai working with us, we must begin training and ensure that all are prepared for what is to come.  Prince Koga, you remember the dangers and difficulties we faced against Ryukotsusei before.  You know what additional risks we will face and the impact of the current era.”

Toga’s eyes began to glow as he drew upon the full power of his yokai, once again donning the mantle of the Inu No Taisho, the Great Dog General.

“The appointed time is here, and Ryukotsusei has begun to awaken. I call upon the terms of the pact, sealed by the eight Yokai Lords, it is time to fulfill the blood vows.”  

Koga looked to the six Yokai leaders seated with him as each nodded slightly in turn.  

The left forearm of each of the yokai and hanyou’s in the room began to shimmer, silver blending with gold, blue, lavender, seafoam, green, burgundy, purple and yellow above their arms before the colors faded into the skin, leaving behind a shimmering mark.

Toga’s voice reverberated through the room.

“The pact is bound.”

[magnuslightwoodbane]

in bloom

written for @skullgirl808 in the malec secret santa 2019, ~2k words, read on ao3

It is a universally accepted truth that all humans have soulmates.

They can be platonic, romantic, or even antagonistic; some have marks, or words, or initials on their skin; they can be present from birth or appear when two fated souls meet – or worse, when they part. Whatever the circumstance, all humans have them, though whether you meet is purely up to chance.

In the Shadow World, however, it’s… less so.

It’s not impossible for half-human hybrids to have soulmates – they are, after all, half-human. The fae, as angel and demon, don’t, nor does it bother them in the slightest. Nephilim have a higher rate than most species, owing to their angel blood, but it’s still not guaranteed, hence the parabatai bond – much like their very creation, why let nature run its course when you can force it into shape?

With werewolves and vampires, former humans, it’s slightly more traumatic. Vampires always lose their bond whether formed or not, given they have, in fact, died – however, if a connection has already formed, it’s possible for it to be restored in the first 24 hours after resurrection with a powerful enough warlock.

Magnus has attended more re-bonding rituals than he can count, at this point. But sue him; he’s powerful, and a romantic.

Werewolves have a sixty percent chance of losing theirs due to the demonic infection & mutation; those cannot be restored. Those who are lucky and keep them are strongly warned not to flaunt this.

And warlocks? Their chance of having a potential bond is one-in-a-thousand. For the children of Princes of Hell, it’s an impossibility.

Magnus had been fascinated by the concept of soulmates as a child. His mother had Javanese edelweiss adorning one of her hips, running up and over into the small of her back – it had been buds, she explained, until it had blossomed upon meeting a young and handsome foreigner at a Jayakartan market stall.

His father was harsh on him sometimes, always pushing him to do and be better, but Magnus was glad that he loved his mama, that they were soulmates, even if sometimes it felt like his papa didn’t seem to be that invested in Magnus’s own life.

Even much, much later in life, the idea that they had been soulmates that had defied the odds at the time by crossing half the world to meet, and that Magnus’s very existence had caused their partnerships’ tragic end, was one that hounded him in his darker moments.

Asmodeus, posing as a father who loved him, was the one to tell him he would never have a soulmate and why. Magnus, who had still been barely 10 at the time, had been brought to tears by the loss of something he’d wanted so desperately – prompting Asmodeus to become truly angry at him for the first time.

Magnus, who also wanted desperately to not make his father angry at him again, never mentioned soulmates, instead pouring his energy into fulfilling his fathers’ wishes.

But that never stopped him wishing, or lamenting on alcohol-filled evenings, alone in wherever he was currently calling home.

He did come to learn that any relationships he pursued, no matter what type, were in no way inferior for his lack of a soulmate – he was, after all, not alone in this. He made friends, made rivals, took lovers and paramours and taught himself to live in the moment.

He couldn’t help, however, the fear whenever a romantic relationship began to develop deeper than surface-level attraction, the constant fear that his partner would leave him for their own soulmate one day. It was a different fear than the one that others would leave him for who he was, or what he’d done – both of those he could cover up, could change himself for the benefit of his partner and hope that that would make him actually become better. This was something he couldn’t change.

Camille, in wreaking her havoc on his heart, at least stopped him feeling that way – simply because he refused to allow himself to feel anything.

But oh, how he felt anyway.

Alexander had been a revelation. Four hundred years and he was continually surprised by him; a Shadowhunter in his early-mid-twenties redefining values Magnus’d held since he was barely a century old; a man who’s very core was burning bright with passion and justice that his people and culture had tried desperately to smother.

Being with Alexander… it hadn’t fixed Magnus, hadn’t solved all his traumas and anxieties, but for every new one it dredged up it seemed to soothe two. Magnus was meant to love – and here was this impossible man who loved him straight back. And yet.

The soulmate question.

Magnus had seen a mark on the left side of Alec’s ribs, the first time they’d made love. It fit in with the rest of his runes, stark black, but it didn’t look like any rune he’d seen before. It was almost like a lowercase a, but with an embellished tail, and a circle over the top.

He would have asked then, but Alec pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Beautiful,” Alec murmured. “I’ll tell you every day until you believe it.”

“It might – ah – it might take a while,” Magnus whispered back.

“That’s okay. I don’t mind.”

And the strange rune slipped his mind, to be replaced with only Alec for a night.

Then things sort of went to hell, and it wasn’t until after they’d confessed their love that Magnus spotted the strange rune again as Alec was dressing for work. Alec was rushing around, in no small part to them having spent the morning entangled in the duvet and each other; Magnus found he couldn’t summon a single ounce of regret as he sipped his tea.

But, curiosity built and eventually got the better of Magnus.

“Alexander,” he called out as Alec began to step through the portal Magnus had made. Alec hummed through his mouthful of toast, looking back, but Magnus waved him off.

“I’ll text you,” he said. It wouldn’t do to distract Alec in a portal and have him end up in Siberia, or something.

M: Alexander, that rune on your side

M: By your heart

M: What does it mean? I’ve never seen it before.

A: It’s my soulmate mark, it just looks like a rune

M: Oh,ok

A: You okay?

M: Yes, darling. Just curious

A: okay. I love you

Magnus knew he’d fallen for Alec far too quickly; his defences crumbling in the face of earnest smiles and bright long-lashed eyes and honest words. He could hardly help it – Alec had been a lot of things Magnus had hoped for without any kind of pretence on either of their parts. They simply worked, and Alexander loved him back, and it… it may not even be enough.

Because Alec had a soulmate out there, and it wasn’t Magnus. It could never be Magnus.

He put a brave face on; attended all his meetings and saw clients without betraying the cloud eating away at his heart and mind, until the evening found him without distractions, nursing a glass of whisky in his own loft.

“Hey, Magnus?” Alec called out, pushing open the front door with his recently given key. Magnus didn’t respond, too lost in thought, until Alec came around the back of his armchair, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Magnus startled.

“Alexander! You’re early,” he exclaimed, standing far too quickly in order to kiss Alec on the cheek.

“It’s 9pm,” Alec said, accepting the kiss with a frown.

“It is? Oh, too late to go out for food then, we’ll have to order in. Or I’ll cook! You must be famished.” Magnus waved his hand nonchalantly, heading towards the kitchen without breaking his speech or indeed, making any eye contact.

“I came over to see if you were alright. You haven’t responded to any messages today and even if you’re busy, it’s not like you. Are you… you know… okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine, my dear. Now, drink first? Or dinner first? I alw-“

“Magnus.”

Alec’s firm, yet pleading tone cut deeper than Magnus had expected it to, and he halted in his tracks, shoulders dropping as though their strings had been cut. He exhaled slowly, turning around to face Alec, stood tall in the centre of the room.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Alec said, quietly.

“If you promise to hear me out?” Alec nodded. “It’s about… it’s to do with soulmates. I don’t – can’t – have a soulmate. While it is possible for warlocks, my lineage is… it means it is physically impossible. And you have one anyway. Alexander, if you… if you found your soulmate, and if they were… if your connection with him was of a romantic nature, I would never hold it against you, and I want you to know that, okay? You deserve that connection, and I- I-”

Magnus had noticed but hadn’t fully comprehended Alec moving towards him during his speech until he was stood barely a foot away, his eyes soft in a way that reminded him of when Magnus’s glamour had first dropped around him. Alec reached out for the glass still in Magnus’s clutches, gently setting it aside and replacing it with his own hand.

“Magnus,” he said, voice gentle. “I promise you, it’s okay, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“I will not be the thing that stands between you and that potential, Alexander. I won’t do that to you.”

“No, you’re not listening. You won’t be because my soulmate is platonic, and it’s Izzy. Izzy is my soulmate, Magnus. That’s one of the reasons why Jace and I became parabatai, because then the three of us were linked through me. Look-“ Alec used the hand not holding Magnus’s and began unbuttoning his shirt clumsily.

“It’s getting remarkably easier to get you naked,” Magnus murmured, making jokes despite being still somewhat dazed. Trapped within his own insecurities, he hadn’t really dwelled on Alec having a platonic soulmate, his mind too eager to rip itself apart and bring him down.

Alec grinned at him, shrugging off one shoulder of the shirt. “You see? It’s a lowercase a, and a lowercase i. That’s what it means.”

“Ah. I fear I have made myself a bit of a fool.”

“No,” Alec shook his head, before leaning in to press a kiss to Magnus’s lips. “You’ve just been through more than most, than I can even begin to understand. But, Magnus – you know what this means for us?”

Magnus quirked an eyebrow at him.

“It means the universe doesn’t decide for us our fate. It means that while the universe has decided that Izzy and I choose each other, and protect each other - I get to decide, with all my, my heart, and my soul? I chose you. I’m choosing you, Magnus. And it means that you can choose me too, if you want.”

A tear escaped Magnus’s eye, his glamour slipping away with it. Alec raised a hand and wiped it away, and Magnus smiled for the first time since he’d learnt of the soulmark’s existence. His other hand, the one not still holding Alec’s, pressed over the bare skin above Alec’s heart, his palm spreading and feeling its steady beat.

“I love you,” Alec whispered.

“I love you too,” Magnus whispered back, and leaned into Alec.

As they held each other in the opening to Magnus’s kitchen, the only light from the outside city, Magnus revelled in what it was like to feel chosen by someone for no reason other than because they wanted to choose him.

If he was being totally honest, Magnus thought it felt a little like Javanese edelweiss, finally in bloom.

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @skullgirl808!

I saw you liked soulmate aus, and I hope you enjoy my take on it! Merry Christmas <3

Read on AO3

*****

in bloom

It is a universally accepted truth that all humans have soulmates.

They can be platonic, romantic, or even antagonistic; some have marks, or words, or initials on their skin; they can be present from birth or appear when two fated souls meet – or worse, when they part. Whatever the circumstance, all humans have them, though whether you meet is purely up to chance.

In the Shadow World, however, it’s… less so.

It’s not impossible for half-human hybrids to have soulmates – they are, after all, half-human. The fae, as angel and demon, don’t, nor does it bother them in the slightest. Nephilim have a higher rate than most species, owing to their angel blood, but it’s still not guaranteed, hence the parabatai bond – much like their very creation, why let nature run its course when you can force it into shape?

With werewolves and vampires, former humans, it’s slightly more traumatic. Vampires always lose their bond whether formed or not, given they have, in fact, died – however, if a connection has already formed, it’s possible for it to be restored in the first 24 hours after resurrection with a powerful enough warlock.

Magnus has attended more re-bonding rituals than he can count, at this point. But sue him; he’s powerful, and a romantic.

Werewolves have a sixty percent chance of losing theirs due to the demonic infection & mutation; those cannot be restored. Those who are lucky and keep them are strongly warned not to flaunt this.

And warlocks? Their chance of having a potential bond is one-in-a-thousand. For the children of Princes of Hell, it’s an impossibility.

Magnus had been fascinated by the concept of soulmates as a child. His mother had Javanese edelweiss adorning one of her hips, running up and over into the small of her back – it had been buds, she explained, until it had blossomed upon meeting a young and handsome foreigner at a Jayakartan market stall.

His father was harsh on him sometimes, always pushing him to do and be better, but Magnus was glad that he loved his mama, that they were soulmates, even if sometimes it felt like his papa didn’t seem to be that invested in Magnus’s own life.

Even much, much later in life, the idea that they had been soulmates that had defied the odds at the time by crossing half the world to meet, and that Magnus’s very existence had caused their partnerships’ tragic end, was one that hounded him in his darker moments.

Asmodeus, posing as a father who loved him, was the one to tell him he would never have a soulmate and why. Magnus, who had still been barely 10 at the time, had been brought to tears by the loss of something he’d wanted so desperately – prompting Asmodeus to become truly angry at him for the first time.

Magnus, who also wanted desperately to not make his father angry at him again, never mentioned soulmates, instead pouring his energy into fulfilling his fathers’ wishes.

But that never stopped him wishing, or lamenting on alcohol-filled evenings, alone in wherever he was currently calling home.

He did come to learn that any relationships he pursued, no matter what type, were in no way inferior for his lack of a soulmate – he was, after all, not alone in this. He made friends, made rivals, took lovers and paramours and taught himself to live in the moment.

He couldn’t help, however, the fear whenever a romantic relationship began to develop deeper than surface-level attraction, the constant fear that his partner would leave him for their own soulmate one day. It was a different fear than the one that others would leave him for who he was, or what he’d done – both of those he could cover up, could change himself for the benefit of his partner and hope that that would make him actually become better. This was something he couldn’t change.

Camille, in wreaking her havoc on his heart, at least stopped him feeling that way – simply because he refused to allow himself to feel anything.

But oh, how he felt anyway.

Alexander had been a revelation. Four hundred years and he was continually surprised by him; a Shadowhunter in his early-mid-twenties redefining values Magnus’d held since he was barely a century old; a man who’s very core was burning bright with passion and justice that his people and culture had tried desperately to smother.

Being with Alexander… it hadn’t fixed Magnus, hadn’t solved all his traumas and anxieties, but for every new one it dredged up it seemed to soothe two. Magnus was meant to love – and here was this impossible man who loved him straight back. And yet.

The soulmate question.

Magnus had seen a mark on the left side of Alec’s ribs, the first time they’d made love. It fit in with the rest of his runes, stark black, but it didn’t look like any rune he’d seen before. It was almost like a lowercase a, but with an embellished tail, and a circle over the top.

He would have asked then, but Alec pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Beautiful,” Alec murmured. “I’ll tell you every day until you believe it.”

“It might – ah – it might take a while,” Magnus whispered back.

“That’s okay. I don’t mind.”

And the strange rune slipped his mind, to be replaced with only Alec for a night.

Then things sort of went to hell, and it wasn’t until after they’d confessed their love that Magnus spotted the strange rune again as Alec was dressing for work. Alec was rushing around, in no small part to them having spent the morning entangled in the duvet and each other; Magnus found he couldn’t summon a single ounce of regret as he sipped his tea.

But, curiosity built and eventually got the better of Magnus.

“Alexander,” he called out as Alec began to step through the portal Magnus had made. Alec hummed through his mouthful of toast, looking back, but Magnus waved him off.

“I’ll text you,” he said. It wouldn’t do to distract Alec in a portal and have him end up in Siberia, or something.

Alexander, that rune on your side

By your heart

What does it mean? I’ve never seen it before.

It’s my soulmate mark, it just looks like a rune

Oh,ok

You okay?

Yes, darling. Just curious

okay. I love you

Magnus knew he’d fallen for Alec far too quickly; his defences crumbling in the face of earnest smiles and bright long-lashed eyes and honest words. He could hardly help it – Alec had been a lot of things Magnus had hoped for without any kind of pretence on either of their parts. They simply worked, and Alexander loved him back, and it… it may not even be enough.

Because Alec had a soulmate out there, and it wasn’t Magnus. It could never be Magnus.

He put a brave face on; attended all his meetings and saw clients without betraying the cloud eating away at his heart and mind, until the evening found him without distractions, nursing a glass of whisky in his own loft.

“Hey, Magnus?” Alec called out, pushing open the front door with his recently given key. Magnus didn’t respond, too lost in thought, until Alec came around the back of his armchair, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Magnus startled.

“Alexander! You’re early,” he exclaimed, standing far too quickly in order to kiss Alec on the cheek.

“It’s 9pm,” Alec said, accepting the kiss with a frown.

“It is? Oh, too late to go out for food then, we’ll have to order in. Or I’ll cook! You must be famished.” Magnus waved his hand nonchalantly, heading towards the kitchen without breaking his speech or indeed, making any eye contact.

“I came over to see if you were alright. You haven’t responded to any messages today and even if you’re busy, it’s not like you. Are you… you know… okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine, my dear. Now, drink first? Or dinner first? I alw-“

“Magnus.”

Alec’s firm, yet pleading tone cut deeper than Magnus had expected it to, and he halted in his tracks, shoulders dropping as though their strings had been cut. He exhaled slowly, turning around to face Alec, stood tall in the centre of the room.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Alec said, quietly.

“If you promise to hear me out?” Alec nodded. “It’s about… it’s to do with soulmates. I don’t – can’t – have a soulmate. While it is possible for warlocks, my lineage is… it means it is physically impossible. And you have one anyway. Alexander, if you… if you found your soulmate, and if they were… if your connection with him was of a romantic nature, I would never hold it against you, and I want you to know that, okay? You deserve that connection, and I- I-”

Magnus had noticed but hadn’t fully comprehended Alec moving towards him during his speech until he was stood barely a foot away, his eyes soft in a way that reminded him of when Magnus’s glamour had first dropped around him. Alec reached out for the glass still in Magnus’s clutches, gently setting it aside and replacing it with his own hand.

“Magnus,” he said, voice gentle. “I promise you, it’s okay, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“I will not be the thing that stands between you and that potential, Alexander. I won’t do that to you.”

“No, you’re not listening. You won’t be because my soulmate is platonic, and it’s Izzy. Izzy is my soulmate, Magnus. That’s one of the reasons why Jace and I became parabatai, because then the three of us were linked through me. Look-“ Alec used the hand not holding Magnus’s and began unbuttoning his shirt clumsily.

“It’s getting remarkably easier to get you naked,” Magnus murmured, making jokes despite being still somewhat dazed. Trapped within his own insecurities, he hadn’t really dwelled on Alec having a platonic soulmate, his mind too eager to rip itself apart and bring him down.

Alec grinned at him, shrugging off one shoulder of the shirt. “You see? It’s a lowercase a, and a lowercase i. That’s what it means.”

“Ah. I fear I have made myself a bit of a fool.”

“No,” Alec shook his head, before leaning in to press a kiss to Magnus’s lips. “You’ve just been through more than most, than I can even begin to understand. But, Magnus – you know what this means for us?”

Magnus quirked an eyebrow at him.

“It means the universe doesn’t decide for us our fate. It means that while the universe has decided that Izzy and I choose each other, and protect each other - I get to decide, with all my, my heart, and my soul? I chose you. I’m choosing you, Magnus. And it means that you can choose me too, if you want.”

A tear escaped Magnus’s eye, his glamour slipping away with it. Alec raised a hand and wiped it away, and Magnus smiled for the first time since he’d learnt of the soulmark’s existence. His other hand, the one not still holding Alec’s, pressed over the bare skin above Alec’s heart, his palm spreading and feeling its steady beat.

“I love you,” Alec whispered.

“I love you too,” Magnus whispered back, and leaned into Alec.

As they held each other in the opening to Magnus’s kitchen, the only light from the outside city, Magnus revelled in what it was like to feel chosen by someone for no reason other than because they wanted to choose him.

If he was being totally honest, Magnus thought it felt a little like Javanese edelweiss, finally in bloom.

[youngster-monster]

Errare Diabolicum Est

Read on AO3

Rommath leans, touching the bare skin on his arm where his wounds used to be. He can still feel the beginning of a headache — an inescapable consequence of too much magic in too little time — but apart from that, he’s as healthy as can be.

In front of him, Kael’thas sighs and sags in his chair, pushing his hand through his long hair.

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

The king huffs a laugh and shrugs. “I don’t know, cooking? Winning this war? Summoning demons?”

“You cook better than Lor’themar—” Rommath ignores the muttered 'a murloc can cook better than Lor’themar’ and continues, “And you’ve beend doing a descent job at stopping Jaina and Sylvanas from tearing each other’s throat, which is definitely helping the war effort. Now, if only you could become a warlock...”

“As if we need more demons,” Kael’thas says, but the realization that there’s magic he cannot do appears to annoy him.

Rommath ducks his head to hide his grin in his mask.

So maybe Kael’thas Sunstrider, crown prince of the sin’dorei, is a massive nerd. And maybe he loathes to leave a school of magic untried.

To each their faults.

It takes him a month to find the time, between the war against the Legion and his kingly duties, to study fel magic until he’s confident enough in his abilities to try his hand at summoning and binding a demon.

(It would have taken at the least a year of non-stop studying for anyone else to get there but if there’s anything true about Kael’thas, it’s that he’s a bit of a genius.)

And then it’s another week before he finds a single free evening in his schedule to actually do the summoning. The preparations take a little more time than he expected: he stumbles in his quarters at sunset (fresh out of five consecutive hours of peace summit, because for some reason Silvermoon couldn’t stay free of those for long) and when he stands above the finished summoning circle, the moon is high in the sky.

Kael’thas yawns, pops his back, and wonders if he has the time to grab a bite before he gets to the whole ‘dragging a creature from the void into Azeroth’ thing.

Well, he can always do that after. There’s no time like the present for possible disasters, after all.

The ritual he’s using doesn’t come from any of the ‘So you want to be a warlock’ books he managed to get his hand on. Being a warlock is all about the mutual pact between summoner and demon: the creature offers its powers in exchange for a bit of the summoner’s magic and life-force. Warlocks tend to live short lives because of it and, because Kael’thas doesn’t feel like selling a part of his soul to the Legion just for shits and giggles, he’s decided to use his own ritual.

So he’s hungry, tired, and about to summon a demon using a highly modified, one-hundred percent original ritual he scribbled on spare pieces of paper during meetings. This might just be the worst idea he ever had.

(And he almost joined Illidan on his roaring rampage of revenge: that’s how bad it is.)

A snap of his fingers and candles are set alight, illuminating the room with a golden glow that can barely hides the green light of Argus that spills through the windows.

(Anything having to do with Illidan is a bad idea: it has been proven again and again in the last decade.)

Kael’thas draws the blade of his dagger over the palm of his hand and holds it over the circle, careful not to step in it as drops of blood fall on the chalk lines.

(Although the man does have a few good points.)

He’s just as careful to contain his yawn as he intones the words that will open the rift to another dimension— or whatever it does, he can’t quite remember right now.

Or he could, but he won’t, because he’s tired and also frustrated to tears, which in him translates to trying dangerous experimental magic as a way to vent.

(Like, the destruction of the Legion by any mean necessary? Kael’thas can get behind that. It’s unethical but it’s efficient, too, and they’re too desperate to complain about it. He would do the same for his people — almost did, if not for Lor’themar swift reaction.)

He utters the last words and it feels like the world stretches and tugs like a rubber band, before snapping back into place in the same way. The light of the candles flare in a flash of bright green flames, twisting around a jagged line of absolute darkness in the center of the circle so that it is the only thing visible. Kael’thas takes half a step back and blinks rapidly, trying to rid his eyes of the afterimage.

When his sights clears, it is to see a dumbfounded demon hunter standing in the middle of the summoning circle.

“What... the fuck,” Illidan says, in the perfect calm of someone about to snap and kill someone if looked at the wrong way, at the exact same time as Kael’thas says,

“How in hell—”

They both fall quiet and wait in awkward silence for a second before Illidan waves a hand and says, oddly polite in that peculiar way of his that suggests eternal suffering, “Go on.”

“That’s not what this ritual was supposed to do at all.” Kael’thas doesn’t seems sensitive to Illidan’s almost-tangible killing intent: he frowns, turns on his heels and strides to an open grimoire precariously balanced on a pile of even more books, twisting his fingers in his long hair as he does. He looks — agitated, and even more frustrated still, if that’s possible. He mutters under his breath, to low for Illidan to catch it.

“And what, pray tell, was it supposed to do?” Illidan crosses his arms over his chest and quirks an eyebrow, rage giving place to careful amusement.

Kael’thas turns his head sharply and narrows his eyes, as if to gauge if the demon hunter is messing with him or just plain stupid — which he perfectly knows he isn’t, so he’s messing with him either way. “Summon a demon, of course.”

“A demon,” Illidan says, deadpan.

“Yes, obviously!” And, saying that, Kael’thas makes a grand sweep of his arm that shows the mess of books, chalk and candles that is his room at the moment like it’s enough of an explanation, and then goes back to his notes.

“Obviously,” Illidan repeats.

“If you’re just going to repeat everything I say and not be any help at all, Lord Illidan, you can kindly get back to your quarters.” Kael’thas hisses, in such a way that the subtext of ‘please get the fuck out of my room’ is impossible to miss.

“Well, I didn’t chose to be here.” And before Kael’thas can say anything else, he asks, “Can I even get out of this circle?”

The question seems to drain all the anger out of Kael’thas. The mage stops in his riffling of his notes, and tilts his head to the side. “Well, there’s no reason you couldn’t — the binding only included demons, it’d be inefficient against someone any more powerful or less demonic, and if it could summon you then what if it had summoned a dreadlord or something such, now that would have been a disaster—” He shakes his head. “Anyway, do try— I’m sure nothing bad will happen.”

“How reassuring,” Illidan drawls as he steps over the lines of the circle. Nothing happens. He shrugs lightly to himself and walks to Kael’thas, looking over his shoulder. “I wasn’t aware you were also a warlock, on top of everything else.”

Kael’thas glances at him, now more tired than annoyed, and says, “I’m not.”

Illidan is very careful to keep his surprise hidden — too careful, and Kael’thas, trained since early childhood to see the slightest crack in a political’s adversary mask, smiles slightly at the thought that he managed to catch the infamous demon hunter off-guard.

“And I suppose you haven’t found this ritual in some old, dusty grimoire lost to history?”

Kael’thas scoffs. “Me, using outdated magical theory? I’m not stupid.”

“That’s what I thought.” Illidan sighs and shifts his weight to his other leg, looking at the scribbled notes with renewed interest. Kael’thas's handwriting is terrible. “This is... Really advanced summoning magic.” He turns his unsettling eyes on Kael’thas. “I’d like to look into it, if you’ll allow me.”

“How polite of you,” Kael’thas says. “I’ll give you a copy of my notes tomorrow morning, if only you can be bothered to get to the negotiations this time.”

Illidan actually looks distraught at the idea. “Can’t I take those?”

“No, I need them to see what I did wrong. Now get the hell out of my room, Lord Illidan.”

The demon hunter would probably roll his eyes if he could. As it is, he only walks out with a shake of his head that makes his long hair slides over his back in a rather delightful way. Kael’thas stares, but only a little.

--

“I think I got it this time,” Kael’thas tells Al’ar, who’s overlooking his work while very carefully not setting anything on fire. Kael’thas lightly pats his fluffy, embers-warm head with one hand as he writes adjustments on his notes with the other. The summoning array — which he’ll probably never get out of the floor, considering — has gained three extra circles (for extra security) and so many rhunes Kael’thas had to invent new ones to get what he wanted from the frustratingly old language. He’s writte them down somewhere, probably; Rommath will be happy to learn about them.

(They are, technically, a revolution in summoning magic, as is everything he’s been doing these last two months.)

“Ready?” The phoenix makes his peculiar hum-chirp of assent and Kael’thas nods. “Alright, here goes.”

Dawn is barely breaking — he might have forgotten to sleep, too engrossed in this new challenge. Al’ar swoops over the candles that mark the major points of the array, and the rising sun has nothing on the shimmering gold of his feathers as he lighs every single one and rises back to his perch.

Kael’thas smiles. He’s a familiar to his image: glorious and magnificent.

He guide his chant with rhytmic gestures (it’s something he’s seen warlock do so often he wonders how he managed to forget it the first time — a rookie mistake) and slowly build a web of light around the array. It expends with the words, swirls like fallen leaves caught in the wind, golden and fel-green and colored in hues that don’t have names yet, turns into a solid sphere of bright light—

And then it dissipates, and in its place stands Illidan Stormrage.

“Again?” Kael’thas says, throwing his hands up and looking at Al’ar with exasperation. The fantastical bird flaps his wings in something like a shrug and flies out the window, probably to go laugh about his failure with Rommath. Treators.

“I see you didn’t find the fault in your ritual,” Illidan replies with a mocking grin.

Kael’thas lifts his hands and then thinks better of it and lets them fall down again. Strangling the master of the demon hunters to death is not the way to go.

“Oh give me a break, you didn’t either.” He looks pointedly at Illidan, then the door. “Now would you kindly leave me to my frustrated hair-pulling, please?”

“Of course, your royal highness.” Illidan steps out of the array—

Well.

Illidan tries to step out of the array.

“You—”

“Improved the security measures, yes,” Kael’thas says dimly, trying his best not to laugh.

A pause. “I see.” Illidan takes a deep breath and knocks on the invisible barrier with his very long, very sharp nail (claw? Talon? Kael’thas isn’t used to being turned on by things he doesn’t know the therminology of and it’s bothering him). “Would you—”

“Get you out of here, yes, of course, pardon me.”

It takes a surprising amount of time and research to get the shield down. It is, apparently, easier to keep demons in than it is to get them out, or at least that’s the logic of Kael’thas unique summoning ritual.

It’s an opportunity to test his magic in ways he never thought about, so Kael’thas thinks he can be pardonned if, while trying to help Illidan, he throws a bunch of stuff into the array with him, to see what can enter and what is stopped by the barrier.

When it goes down, it frees Illidan — as well as six books of different weights and materials, a cushion, a candle, two knives, an apple core (Illidan got hungry during the hour it took to deactivate the array), a cup of tea (because Kael’thas has some manners at least) and a single sock. Living things cannot cross the threshold, as was proven by Kael’thas trying to throw a passing cat into the array and ending up with a slightly stunned and very irrate feline definitely out of the array.

“It might have something to do with intent,” Illidan says as he scans the loose pages of notes thrown over the floor. “The first time you summoned me— What were you thinking of?”

“Our first meeting,” The other mage admits easily. “When Lor’themar threw me over his shoulder and almost jumped off a cliff.”

 “Odd. You know Theron better— for all intent and purpose, he should have been the one summoned then.”

“Maybe something to do with demon blood?” Kael’thas gestures to Illidan’s— well, everything. The man does look rather demon-y. “This is a demon summoning ritual, after all. Demon hunters are at least half demon, as far as blood is concerned.”

Illidan hums noncommittally. “Or maybe you’re not cut to be a warlock.”

And then he flees (makes a tactical retreat) the scene before Kael’thas can throw more books at him.

--

“We need to stop meeting like this.”

‘I don’t know, I kind of enjoy having you on my bedroom floor.’

“You don’t say.”

--

“Still no success on this, hm?”

“Get out of there.”

--

“Fucking hell!”

“Good morning to you too, King Sunstrider.”

--

“I—”

“I will kill you with my bare hands and sends your corpse to the Legion if you say a single word, Illidan.”

--

“You’re supposed to be in Outland.”

“Well at least we now know cross-dimensional summoning isn’t the issue.”

--

"Still trying?”

“No. Here’s your paperwork. If I have to suffer through it then so do you.”

--

“I wish I could find a way to summon someone else. Non-consensual teleportation holds so many possibilities.”

“By the Light, I hope you never do.”

--

“I can’t believe you summoned me to the peace summit.”

“It wasn’t as if you’d get there yourself, hm?”

--

“I don’t know about you or royalty in general but demon hunters, against all odds, do actually need to sleep every so often, and I was doing that just now.”

“I’m bored, come help me work on this whole summoning mess.” 

“Ugh, fine.”

--

In the end, it’s a surprise it didn’t come bite him in the ass sooner than that.

Another fruitless attempt to summon an actual demon (as in: the Burning Legion kind) ends in Illidan standing in the ever-increasing array on his bedroom floor. But this time he is covered in drying blood, slightly out of breath and distinctly singed around the edge. His hairtie has been lost or broken and his hair falls freely over his shoulders, and he looks pissed.

“You need to stop this,” He says as soon as he appears.

“I’m trying, but for some reason you keep appearing!”

“Then stop trying!” Illidan snarls, revealing sharp teeth and green ichor. Out of a battle against the Legion.

Kael’thas bends his head and curls his fingers into his hair, pulling hard. “I’m so close! I can feel it! I just need to—”

“No.” Illidan stands to his full height and his wings opens just slightly, like a bird trying to make itself look bigger. “This has to stop.”

“I can’t!” Kael’thas looks up, crazed eyes and shivering hands. “I can find a way to actually summon a demon. I— I can do it, I just need to keep trying!”

Illidan is suddenly very close, breath smelling of sulfur and blood brushing over Kael’thas’s forehead as he stands above him, long black hair framing his face in darkness. “I don’t think you understand,” He says very quietly. Too calm, like a storm just before the first lightning strike. “This. Must. Stop. What if you had tried this an hour earlier? What if you’d taken me right out of a fight, or just before one? It’s a miracle you haven’t yet.”

Poison-green blood drips from his hairline and falls on Kael’thas face. He doesn’t flinch at the burn. Instead, he grabs Illidan’s horns and drags him lower, closer, and snarls right back. “I will succeed, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Isn’t there?” Illidan’s voice holds a promise of pain and Kael’thas— 

Shivers, although he is not afraid.

“I could destroy you,” Illidan adds, like it’s a surprise — like it’s new. Like he never noticed that Kael’thas — bright and always burning — is smaller than he is, weaker in the way a sword is ultimately weaker than fire.

“You could try,” Kael’thas retorts, holding Illidan’s gaze even as his back hits the wall. He wasn’t even aware they were moving.

A clawed hand fists in his hair and Illidan wrenches his head backward, barring his throat, and a second one curls around it, sharp talons brushing against his jugular. Kael’thas snaps his mouth closed and clenches his teeth around a growl, biting his tongue until it bleeds. He is better than this.

The horns in his hands are rugged and warm, jagged edges just sharp enough to hurt where they dig in his skin. He pulls harder and Illidan (willing or taken by surprise he cannot say, although he can guess) falls even closer. Kael’thas smiles, a predator threat of bloody teeth.

And then he kisses Illidan.

It’s not a nice kiss, definitely not a gentle one. It’s closer to a fight, maybe, and it tastes like one, green and red blood mixing together on their lips. Kael’thas only lets go of Illidan when he’s out of breath, and he licks his lips with a feral grin.

“You have no power over me,” He says happily, and in a wave of his fingers Illidan is thrown back through whatever space-time rift will spit him back where he’s from.

He’s making progress: now that he can forces the teleportation both ways, he might find what’s keeping him from summoning anyone or anything else.

Whistling, Kael'thas goes back to his notes.