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peachesofteal · 7 months
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Which Witch
Part 2 of 2 / Faerie masterlist
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Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish/witch!reader 13.3k words - AO3 - Part 1 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Explicit sex. Fae!AU. Blood magic. Faerie magic. Angst. Tenderness. Comfort. Pining. Sex magic. Praise kink, light breeding kink. Magical dubious consent. Possessive Johnny, Protective Johnny. "I'm not beat up by this yet, you can't tell me to regret, Been in the dark since the day we met, Fire, help me to forget." - F + TM
Johnny has never experienced a headache before.
The feeling is surprisingly uncomfortable, and has been blooming behind his eyes since the other day, when you advanced on him outside the pub in the mortal realm, when you caught him off guard with your fury, your heartbreak.
He tries not to think about that part, too much.
Tries not to think about the torment he saw in your eyes.  
Tries not to think about his plans, laid to waste, to ruin. A dream, crumbled into a nightmare.
He tries not to think about the ache that’s settled beneath his ribs since the second you snatched your hand from his grasp and stomped away, the pressure of your magic making the stitching of the mortal realm feel too thin, too fragile.
He tries not to think about the extra weight of something that’s been added to him, nestled there in his side, the heavy feel of a magic that feels not unfamiliar, but alien at the same time.
“Bloody hell.” Gaz whispered. “No wonder ‘uve been keepin’ her a secret.” He whistled, low and sharp, as they watched you cross the street and slowly disappear from view, red and purple magic angrily arcing off from your body and tainting the air with a tart, burnt aftertaste. 
You were the only being on the street, besides them. All the mortals had gone off, pushed by you, sent scurrying by your power. “That’s one powerful little wi-“ 
“That’s enough.” Johnny snarled in his face, the ferocity, intensity of his tone, the words spat at his own brother surprising them both, signaling Kyle to step back, out of precaution, with a gentle hand raised. Johnny panted harshly, while his magic thrashed inside of him, desperate to get out, wild and nearly out of control, fully brimming with the chaos that he knows so well. 
It yearned for something, desperately. 
“Easy, Soap.” Price had been on them then, appearing from where he had been inside the bar, inserting himself between their two bodies, like he needed to protect Kyle, a ridiculous sentiment by any of their standards. 
“Sorry.” Johnny drew the word long, shaking his head from the pressure beating inside his skull. “’m sorry, Gaz. I dinnae- I-” 
“It’s alright mate.” He assured, reaching out, clasping a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. It was warm, and comforting, and he nodded in response. 
“I think you should probably get home. You’ve been here… too long.” Price follows up, and Johnny couldn’t argue. He felt drained, suddenly. Tired. A feeling that happens for them, from time to time. Especially when they’ve been in the mortal realm for an extended period. 
“Alright.”
He thinks this discomfort, this ailment, whatever it may be, will pass, once he’s been home for more than a few days. He imagines it’s just a side effect of being in the mortal realm too long, and he can practically hear Price telling him he needs to stay put, stay in Faerie for a while, or at least until his magic settles and his body adjusts to its rightful plane.
After all… his kind doesn’t take sick. They can suffer magical ailments, wounds from weapons or other Fae, but to fall ill is incredibly rare.
And usually only happens to those of them who are incredibly stupid. 
Still, the headache rots and spreads throughout his brain, festering in his magic until it becomes an unruly, ungovernable thing that barely recognizes him, and his muscles become excruciatingly sore, useless in his body when he tries to exert himself in any way.
The Isle itself seems restless, the sea raging tumultuously beneath the bluffs, the forests shielding themselves from the light of the sun. Johnny can feel her magic, biting and gnawing against him, yearning and screaming, the wind whistling through the oldest trees with a shriek that hurts his ears.
All the while, something else aches within him. An unbearable longing that builds and builds like a dark grey cloud growing heavy with rain.
“It’s your soul.” The Nereid, Ce, tells him softly. “You’re soul sick.”
“What?”
“Someone has bound themselves to you. Your soul, your magic, is woven together. When you’re separated, your soul will mourn for theirs.” The image of you pointing at him flashes through his mind, your gaze enraged, haunted, while you cursed him up and down.
Surely, you did not mean for this? 
Simon watches him knowingly, before pulling her into his arms, rubbing his hand over the swell of her belly where their child sleeps, blissfully unaware.
“Do you know, who it could be?” She questions, and he grimaces, eyes flicking to Simon who betrays nothing, only gives him a subtle nod.
“A… witch. From the mortal realm.” She stiffens in Simon’s lap, and then shakes her head in disbelief.
“A mortal witch could not cast a binding such as this, nor survive it.”
“Well, ah… dinnae believe she’s entirely mortal.” She turns, looking between them, before glaring openly at her husband.
“The only immortal witches who still live in the mortal realm are the elemental witches…” she trails off, looking out the window to where the sea crashes on the shore, something distant flickering in her gaze, realization settling heavily upon her. “What have you done?”
“You were my priority.” Simon utters, face shuttering, eyes going grim. Johnny shifts nervously in the chair. Ce is sharp, intelligent, and it doesn’t take too long before she’s whispering her confirmation of the truth.
“The song. She’s a blood witch.” He nods, unable to break the eye contact. Simon holds her hip firmly, but she doesn’t look away from Johnny, and before he even realizes, he’s spilling more secrets.
“Blood spinner.” Her eyes widen, and then rips Simon’s hand free from her body, standing unsteadily on her two legs. Her balance has gotten better in her time here, but she still struggles with managing her new walking appendages, something that always keeps Simon hovering near by, just in case he needs to catch her.
“You must find her.” She implores Johnny, while turning on her heel to poke a finger into Simon’s chest. “You’ve no idea what you’ve done.”
“Little huntress-“ He begins, but is swiftly cut off.
“No. Do not use your sweet words to try to placate me.” She turns her nose up from him, while facing Johnny. “You must, she’s in danger. Blood witches aren’t meant to be bound to others. The effects could be catastrophic, the binding could kill her.” His heart speeds to a halt. The binding could kill you. 
The feeling Johnny had a few days ago outside the pub compounds inside of him, the yearning infused with his chaos, the wild piece of his magic surging in his blood, eager to be set loose. He closes his eyes and reaches inside himself to settle his power, to soothe the uncontrolled pieces that are climbing closer to the top.
When he looks back to them, he realizes Simon is standing more than a few paces away, Ce shielded behind his body.
“It’s the binding! It can drive you mad, control your magic if you're separated too long.” She calls from around his shoulder, trying to peek out even though there is a formidable mass blocking her.
“Perhaps she planned this, Johnny.” Simon proposes, a sentiment that Johnny balks at. Were you capable of such a thing? His wife shakes her head reverently, and mouths a no. 
Danger.
Catastrophic.
When he thinks about the way you looked when you thrust your finger into his face, fiery and full of rage, he realizes it’s much, much more than what he thinks he knows, or what he believes.
You tricked me, you Fae bastard. 
Had you tricked him in return? 
The lock on your flat’s front door is not complex. It’s not even spelled for intruders, or unwanted guests, something that’s always sat uneasily within Johnny, even when he was taking full advantage of it. His magic knows this lock well, is intimately familiar with it, and plies the deadbolt free with ease, door swinging wide like it’s been expecting him, just like every other time before.
You tossed in your sleep, brow furrowed, distress written across your face as you shook your head back and forth, trapped in your own dreams, your memories, your nightmares.
Your body, still battered and bruised, slowly healing from whatever had happened to you on Samhain, trembled beneath the sheets, and you made small, terrified mouth sounds against your pillow. 
“You’re safe now, dove, you’re safe.” He stroked a thumb across your temple, down the apple of your cheek, whispering to you softly, sweetly. His own magic worked quickly, dragging you under, lulling you into a deep sleep, a near coma. He had hoped it would be enough, to keep you from waking while he worked, while he healed you from whatever ordeal you had been put through, whatever torture you had been subjected to. 
He built you the sweetest dreams he could conjure, images of his own realm, lush forests and sparkling aquamarine seas, the moss-covered stone bluffs of the Isle, the three moons when they’re full, the sparkle of the night sky, webs of worlds and starlight stretching out as far as any being could see. 
He had tried, so desperately, to burn the image of you from the previous night out of his mind, when you first answered his knocking with your broken soul and tearful eyes, abused body halfway hidden by the door. 
What happened to you? Who could mistreat you in such a way? 
He hadn’t known then, but he wanted to, urgently. Wanted you to tell him everything, wanted you to make him your tool, your harbinger of revenge. He wanted to kill for you, destroy for you, burn this entire realm for you. He wanted to lay all his promises at your feet, wanted to tell you that no one would ever touch you again, that no one would ever harm you if he was here. 
He cursed himself. Cursed the truth. Cursed the spell that you put him under, the one that didn’t even exist. 
He had gotten so lost in thought, lost in staring down at your now relaxed face, that he almost didn’t realize the sun was rising, the soft rays of light seeping across your room from under the curtain startling him into withdrawing his magic so he could allow you to wake and return with a coffee, maybe a pastry, some sort of breakfast sweet that mortals seemed to be overly fond of. 
He leaned over you for a quick moment, unable to help himself, breathing in the scent of your hair, your skin, your very soul. It intoxicated him, the sweet citrus and balsam mixing with the minerality of blood, of earth, creating something that seeped through his own being, pulling him closer and closer until he grazed his lips across your temple so gently, he’s not sure he’s even made contact. 
“I’ll be back soon.” He whispered above your ear, even though he knew you couldn’t hear him. “Have a good morning, sweet Fern.” 
“Fern.” He calls, before stepping across the threshold, but there’s no answer. There’s no sound or sign of movement, no echo of your voice down the hall. “Fern!” He tries again. His blood feels hot under his skin, and he’s nearly feverish, off balance and unsteady, while the spot beneath his ribs throbs in pain.
He expects to see Jet, or hear her hiss, considering how much the little creature loathes him, but when there’s no sign of her either, something prickles along the back of his neck.
“Do not hide from me, little witch. I know what’s happened.” He calls, raising his voice, projecting it with a touch of magic so it rings down the hall, through every room, into your personal library, and beyond.
When there’s still no answer, his sense of discomfort grows, and like there is a hook in him, in his very soul, he can feel his magic being tugged along, down the hall to your bedroom.
When pushes the door open, his heart slams to a halt. Fear is the foreign sensation that pours through him, paralyzes him. It’s fear that anesthetizes him as he stares at you, crumpled on the floor, surrounded by books, ancient grimoires and other texts, your magic drained from your body like someone has bled you dry, eyes wide in agony and a rasping breath on your lips. The room smells like mineral, like clay rich soil, like earth, and he chokes on it when he realizes the stain that darkens the carpet beneath you is your blood. 
 “Oh, little witch.” He murmurs, kneeling by your side, wide palm slipping behind your neck gently. “What have ye done?” He tucks you into his chest, and you mumble something as he carries you to your bed, trying to lay you flat, propping your face up so he can look into your eyes.
“N-no.” you push against him weakly.
“Shhh, Fern. It’s okay.”
“Don’t.” you hiss, and blood leaks from your lips. His magic thrashes, barely contained, bubbling up and trying to break free.
“Tell me what to do.” He pleads, desperation rising in him like the swell of high tide, threatening to tip him over into fathomless depths, places where he cannot swim, or survive.
“Lea… leave.” You moan, and he shakes his head. “Leave. I don’t… I don’t need your ‘elp.”
“No.” He refuses, cradling your face between his hands, and you blink at him slowly, eyelids heavy, expression disorientated. Long seconds pass and you look… confused suddenly, like you don’t recognize him, like all the vitriol and venom that you were spitting a moment ago has suddenly disappeared, and he feels a surge of your magic, the snapping of something, the binding, twisting, and tugging at the two of you.
“Johnny?” You mumble, and a smile breaks across his face, a small one, an encouraging one, something he hopes brings you comfort.
“Aye. It’s me, dove. It’s me. ’m here.” You tremble in his grasp, and more blood drips from your mouth. The sight of it is enough to loosen the hold on his power, and the room floods with bright light, illuminating every corner in the flat, and every detail on your face.
You need help. You need help, now. Badly.
He’s never wanted to have your name as frantically as he does in this moment. He wants to force you to tell him what to do, how to fix whatever this is, he wants to reach inside your magic and your mind and root around in your soul until he can pull the answer free from your lips.
A terrible thought forms in his mind. It’s wrong, and one he is sure you will hate him for, one he knows you will punish him for.
If you live. 
Danger. Catastrophic. 
Blood witches aren’t meant to be bound to others. 
The binding could kill her. 
Ce’s warning plays over and over in his mind, and when you cough again, blood splattering on his forearm, his magic makes his mind up for him, spreading forward to try to soothe you, cocooning you in a soft, twilight embrace that tries to lull you to sleep.
He pulls you back into his arms, tucking you against his body and concentrating his power on the thrum of your heartbeat, the power in your veins. He needs to blink the two of you to the closest door, and the only one that’s remotely doable is in Sherwood Forest, nestled among a ring of birch trees that all lean suspiciously inward.
“Fern.” He tries to get your eyes to focus on him, jostling you slightly as he strides away from your room. “Fern, I need… I have to take ye away.” Your brow furrows, and somewhere in the very back of his mind, he remembers how cute you are when you look at him like this, when you’re well, and not suffering.
He comes to halt in the kitchen, where Jet sits on her haunches atop the table, watching him with her head cocked.
“She’s dying.” He explains to her, and Jet scowls before she answers him, disdain dripping from her words.
“Because of you.” 
“What happened?” 
“The binding was an accident. She lost control.” 
“She needs help. Is there anyone?” 
“Not here… she’s been shunned. Thanks to you.” She glares at him, and he shoves down his urge to scream. Jet slinks towards him, eyes wise and wandering, sizing him before she sits down next to where he’s got you hovering above the table in his grip. “You’ll have to take her.” 
“I cannae. I need her name.” She flicks her gaze to you before hopping from the table, walking to where the door creaks open on its own.
“You need to get it on your own.”
“She’s dying, Jet.” 
“I know you won’t let that happen. After all, this was your plan, was it not?” She says before slipping outside, into the night.
You shiver against him, and he tightens his arms around you instinctively, lowering his nose into your hair, trying to find the sweet balsam and citrus scent under the sour smell of scorched earth and black blood. It’s there, but barely. There’s hope.
“Little witch.” He taps your cheek, trying to get you to concentrate on him, to look at him. “Fern, will you give me your name?” He coos sweetly, sugaring his voice with honey, dropping his glamour to pull your focus. It’s wrong, he knows this, so wrong, a true violation, but what choice does he have?
He won’t leave you to die.
You lick your lips, and he smiles, fully aware that he’s probably partially blinding you, scrambling the signals in your magic and mind, his own power pulling desperately at the binding to get you to comply.
Come on, sweet Fern. 
Give me your name, dove. 
He grips your hand, twisting your wrist until your palm is facing him, and for the first time without his glamour, he lets himself kiss you there, right on the heel below your thumb, dabbing his magic into the veins that vibrate just beneath your skin. He pushes, and then for good measure, pushes again, until your lips are cracking on an intake of breath, and your free hand is reaching for his, bloodied fingers smearing your ichor across his skin as you slowly speak, mouth forming the one thing he’s needed all along, the thing he’s wanted more than anything since the day he’s met you.
Your name. Given to him. By you.
It sinks into him, heating his own blood with the power of your admission, pulsing through his magic until it’s settling in that spot behind his ribs, the same spot that’s been aching since the last time he saw you, the place where the binding is nestled.
“Okay.” He coos, and then repeats your name, while you nod. “Okay, hold on to me.” He whispers, and then pulls everything in the flat tight, all the magic that’s spilled from your body, all the magic that he’s let run wild since he got here. He moves himself, and you, into the blink, and then the ground shifts, room tilting and splitting until the walls are fading into trees, the tile of your kitchen becoming grass under his feet, and your ceiling is a night sky. You squeeze your eyes shut and bury your face in his chest, and he knows it’s because the blink is uncomfortable, disorientating for those who are not Fae. Lesser creatures usually don’t even survive it.
But you are no lesser creature.
This fact, this truth, is the thing he takes comfort in as he barrels towards the door, his magic breaking through the threshold and crashing through the planes until he’s stumbling into Faerie with a blood covered witch curled against his chest.
“Are ye hungry?” Eilean asks from the threshold of the room, not willing to cross inside, but eager to see if she can help at all.
“No.”
“Should I bring some wine?” She tries, voice dipped in hopeful inflection. He rubs a palm over his face in part exasperation, part exhaustion.
“Please. Wine would be lovely, thank ye Eilean.” He placates her, and he doesn’t need to turn to know she’s smiling with approval.
He wouldn’t turn, regardless. He doesn’t dare look away from where you lay against the pillows in a bed that seems far too big. Where you lay, alone. Sleeping. Unconscious now, for far too many days. You’re weak, so weak, from travelling here, from trying to exist in this realm, a realm that you were not made for, a realm that no one seems to know if you can even persist in.
The Isle cradles you, fosters your survival. She holds you firm, holds you as he would, a casket of stone and sea weaving around your body, protecting you from anything. Everything.
Sometimes he fears she may be protecting you from him.
The waves crash against the rocks far below where he sits and you lay, sea ravaging against the rock, water pounding against stone over and over, the repetition enough to carve out caves and patterns in the walls, to change the physical manifestation of the Isle, to alter the very ground he lives on, walks on. The ground that he had hoped, one day, you may walk on with him. Beside him. The place he had hoped you might embrace with all her horror and secrets, that you might accept as a place of your own.
His hope fades with every breath you draw. It flickers like a flame being doused out.
Every now and then, you fidget beneath the blankets, body shivering and shaking, subdued whimpers escaping your lips as you twitch. He fears the binding may not need to drive him mad, because watching you suffer, watching you sleep endlessly, may do it regardless, in the end. 
However, the bleeding has stopped, a small thing that Johnny is immensely grateful for, even though no one knows why.
“She needs time.” The healer tried to tell him, their effervescent magic embracing you in a halo while they worked to stop the blood that had started leaking from your eyes and nose, as well as your mouth. “Her magic is overloaded by the binding. The best thing you can do for her is stay close by. She will wake on her own time.” 
“Her temperature-“
“We do not know. There are some things at work here, even we do not understand.” They explained, sympathy pooling across their face. 
They wished him well after that, instructing him to call for them should they be needed further. 
He didn’t know how to ask them to stay. He didn’t know how to tell them that for the first time in his eternally too long life, he was truly scared. 
“How is she?” This voice, this one that calls to him from the threshold, speaking to him in his mind, startles him in the armchair, even though he knows it belongs to his brother. He turns to see Gaz, who watches him through lowered lashes. He’s keeping his distance, as every other being has, unsure about how Johnny will react with another coming so close to his… witch. “Price says ya’ve been holed up in here for days. Thought I’d come check, see if anything was needed.”
“Come in.” Johnny implores, out loud, and Gaz does, hesitantly, watching his brother for any changes, any indication he may lose control. Once he gets about two meters away, Johnny holds his hand up, a signal to stop, and Gaz conjures a chair, brimming at the seams with sun kissed light, a neat trick that benefits him when he plops down in it, like he too, is exhausted and weary.
“Well?”
“She’s… ‘m not sure. She still hasn’t woken, and her temperature, her body is hot to the touch. Too hot. But she’s stopped bleeding, which I take as a good thing.” He hasn’t left your side, constantly feeding the binding his own magic in hopes it would help give you some strength or help heal you.
“She’ll be alright.” Kyle encourages lowly, smiling at him. “She has you to look out for her, after all.” Johnny nods, even if he doesn’t believe it.
“Thank ye, for comin’.” He whispers, clearing his throat.
“We’re family, Johnny. Even when you run away to this damn Isle with a blood witch that you’ve stolen from the mortal realm.” He laughs with a wink, and Johnny’s lips curl into a very subtle grin.
“Not much better than Simon, am I?”
“Well, you didn’t drag us all around the mortal realm for nearly a decade so, that’s something.” He sighs, leaning back, slinging his feet over the arm of the chair. “Besides. I’m not exactly exempt either now.” Johnny nods, and he watches the flicker of discontent that washes over his brother, the way his magic pulses through him and the chair before returning to stasis.
Now, it’s his turn to ask.
“How is she?” Gaz shakes his head.
“Violent.” The word gives Johnny pause, and he feels his sympathy grow. His brother is the gentlest of them, the most kind. The one who others seek out, for comfort, for care. The one who wields the sun’s light itself. “Won’t let me near ‘er. Won’t eat. Won’t open the door, only yells at me through it. Hardly even speaks to her sister.” He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose with graceful fingers. “She wants me to let her die.”
“And will ye?” He doesn’t respond right away, and they both just watch where you lay in the bed, silent.
“Don’t think I can. I feel… something for her. It’s different, from anything I’ve felt before. It’s-“
“Frightening.” Johnny finishes for him, and some tension leaks from his body. It is unlike them both, to feel fear. To feel fear and acknowledge it.
You twitch, eyes moving behind closed lids, and Gaz gives him a nod as he rises.
“See you soon?”
“Aye.”
It’s late, two days later, when you start to wake. Your temperature has gone down, and you’ve finally slept peacefully through an entire night. The moons have already risen, and Johnny has the drapes tucked open, so the room is illuminated in a silvery purple glow that shimmers across the floor and onto the bed. Your lashes flutter, and he feels the influx of magic in the room, ebbing and flowing, growing stronger and stronger, spilling from you as you swim closer and closer to consciousness, your eyes slowly opening, brow furrowed, discontent pulling your lips downwards in a frown. The wild yearning cries out inside of him, chaos beating in his heart, and he struggles to contain it.
“What’s…” your voice trails off as you look around, and Johnny waits for the moment when you find him in the chair by your bedside.
It happens fast. Your expression goes from confused, maybe a little contrite, but still curious, to rage filled, and startled. Fear reflects in your gaze, and his stomach drops.
“Fern.” He tries to calm you, and you hold your hand in front of your body like you’re trying to ward him off.
“Stay away from me.” You hiss. You try to sit up, try to move away from him, but your body is too weak, physically, and you sink down to your elbows in a second while you press yourself against the headboard. “What did you do to me? Where am I?” He stands, casting a little bit of magic out, trying to relax you, but you beat him back with your own before you’re yelling as loud as you can. “Help! Help! HELP ME!” you scream, voice drenched in horror, and a piece of his heart chips away in an instant.
You’re terrified of him. 
There’s a noise, behind him, like a soft chiming of bells, and then he feels the shadow of Eilean’s magic, her presence unmistakable. He holds a hand out to stop her in the doorway, and you gasp aloud, palm covering your mouth, eyes round with shock when you see her.
“Oh. My gods.” You look from her, back to him, and then around the room, tracking out the window to where the three moons glow, bathing the sea below in silky shades of lilac, before you try even harder to shuffle yourself away from the edge of the bed, your hands fully shaking. “You stole me.” You whisper it between your fingers. “You took me. We’re… we’re in Faerie.” Tears are coursing down your cheeks, breaths coming in frantic little puffs that grate at his soul, the spot beneath his ribs aching as you cry.
“I thought… ah thought I was goin’ lose ye.” He croaks. “I dinnae- I had no other choice.” You’re breathing too fast, too short, and he wants to tear at the unfathomable distance between you and him that seems to be widening by the moment.
“Get away from me.” You half yell, half cry at him, tone dripping in disdain, in fear. “Get away!” you scream, and the demand physically pains him, like you’re ripping him apart, like you’re taking a knife and jamming it up underneath his ribs, hollowing him out, destroying him from the inside.
He stumbles from the room, clutching his side like he’s been wounded, and your magic lashes forward to slam the door shut behind his back with a finality that hits like a killing blow.
“Well, she’s scared. And rightfully so.” Ce says with a hand on her hip, leveling Johnny with a look that he can feel burning through his skin. “I managed to get her to listen to me long enough so I could… explain everything.” He straightens.
“What did you tell her?”
“The truth.” She sighs, and shifts her weight, reaching for where Simon stands. He takes her outstretched hand and brings her into his body, wrapping her up with a supportive arm around her waist. Johnny eyes the doors of the bedroom, clearly overeager, and she shakes her head immediately. “She doesn’t want to see you.”
“But-“
“She’s traumatized. She was used by you, betrayed by you. And then you kidnapped her from the only home she’s ever known.” At that, she gives Simon a healthy glare, and he has the good sense to look at least, somewhat ashamed. “It gets worse, I’m afraid.” Simon watches closely, and Ce looks at Johnny with a face full of sadness. “The binding… she may not be able to undo it.”
“What?”
“It is powerful magic. Magic that she did not intend to cast. It came… from the heart.” Johnny lets his eyes slip shut at her words, jaw clenching tight. “You need to prepare for what is to come, if she cannot reverse it.” She ghosts a hand over her belly and implores him with a meaningful look, one that cannot be understated or misunderstood.
The magic that feels like you, the fibers that he believes are the binding, seem to flex within his power, like it’s being pulled, and he involuntarily takes a step towards the door.
“Soap.” Simon beseeches, and Johnny stops short. “You must give her some space for now.”
They’re right. He knows, they’re right. He’s violated you, forced your name from you, stole you from your home, betrayed you in every way.
But the binding, the burning ache in his side, cries out to him. Begs him to go to you. Begs him to take you into his arms, complete the binding right then and there, and steal you away forever.
He grits his teeth.
“Alright.”
Days pass, and Johnny fights himself every step of the way. He fights his magic, which has grown unruly and uncomfortable again, fights the gaping hole that seems to be forming in that spot behind his ribs, fights what he is sure now is the binding, the incessant pull that tries to drag him into your orbit. He fights how he feels, the deep-laid emotions that he’s spent months trying to bury, and the feelings of discontent, of missing something. Someone.
The estate is heavy with your ghost. Eilean keeps him informed of your comings and goings, your visits with Simon’s wife, your days spent locked in his library. She says you’re physically better, but tire easily. You only sleep for short moments at a time, like him. Johnny tries to tell himself he does not care that you refuse to see him. He tells himself that it does not bother him, that you were so willing to shut him out completely, so eager to escape him. He tells himself that the sound of your fear, of your cries for help are not burning into his memory, that they are not entrenching themselves into his soul, driving him mad. He tells himself it’s just the binding. That the binding is driving him to the brink, that the binding is to blame for his near descent into madness.
But he knows, it’s not responsible for everything, It’s not responsible for the yearning in his soul, his heart, his magic. For the wild edged chaos that brews out of control in his veins.
It's love. His heart bleats in the quiet hours of the night, when he holds his breath and feels for you through the estate, when he catches the barely-there scent of citrus and blood in a hallway where you must have recently lingered. It’s love. His mind screams when he closes his eyes to rest for a few precious moments, and all he can see is your face, smiling at him, giggling in the golden light of your kitchen at dusk. It’s love. His magic shrieks at him to go to you, to hold you, to tell you everything. To tell you about the way his power rioted in his blood the moment he saw you, the way his magic exploded in his chest the first time you shared your heart, your mind, your life with him, the way he knew after that very first day, that no other being would ever possess him, except you.
Eilean walks with you in the garden. He tries not to watch too closely, warily waiting for something to happen, for a decision to be made that he will not be able to fight, no matter how hard he tries. She delights you, when she shows you how to sow your magic into the fabric of Faerie, how to connect with Isle as you connect with the earth of your home realm.
Johnny does not allow himself the hope that lights in his soul, when she looks up at where he stands in the window, and nods. An approval. A yes. A piece of herself, given to you.
As time crawls by, he cannot stop himself from thinking about you, every waking moment. He cannot stop himself from wondering how you’re faring, if you need him, if you’re feeling well. His magic never lets him sleep, never lets him come, keeps him on the edge eternally, pacing, tossing, and turning while his mind is invaded by thoughts of you.
It is one of these nights, when he’s drowning in too many feelings, along with two bottles of wine, pacing fruitlessly, that Gaz blinks into the kitchen with an irritated huff.
“Look sharp. Been callin’ ya for hours.” Gaz spits, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “Bloody hell, Soap. Get yourself together. Simon sent for us.”
The meeting is a long one.
Simon outlines recent inquiries, payloads for work, demands of their presence in places across the realm, old contracts that have long laid dormant being renewed with a fresh round bloodshed.
It is the same song and dance. The same battle cry of blood and victory.
Fae and mortals are not as different in their hearts as they seem, he muses, reading over a potential contract, a high paying job for the removal of a seated power. It comes with a catch, a royal child who requires protection, and he places it on the top of the list for consideration. Children cost extra.
He is not surprised, when both Simon and Gaz seem hesitant to agree to anything, especially work that will take them away from extended periods of time.
Johnny says nothing but shares their feelings. The idea of leaving the Isle for any amount of time makes his magic churn in his veins. Even now, anxiety builds like a storm inside him, and he agonizes about returning.
“It’s not optimal.” Simon declares, while Price smirks from where he sits with his arms crossed.
“Ye going soft, Riley?” Johnny ribs him, and Simon scowls.
“I’ll show you soft, Soap.” He shoots back, while Gaz chuckles.
“I’m not opposed to taking it easy, for a bit.” Price offers something, an inquiry that caught his eye, a short engagement, not very far away, while Simon counters it with a different one that’s even less time. They bicker, back and forth, back and forth, and Gaz slowly becomes more interested in a half open book laying on Simon’s desk than he does the conversation.
Johnny loses interest completely. The spot beneath his ribs is pounding like his heart, and his magic is swelling violently in time with the binding. When he says his goodbyes, no one is surprised.
“I want to know.” 
“Witch business is no business of the Fae.” 
“Fern is my business.” She laughed at his demand, the echo of it scraping across the front his mind like he had been scratched by her claws. 
“So possessive.” She murmured. “Over a witch who does not even know the truth of who you are.” 
“Jet.” He warned, and she growled a sigh. 
“Divination is not practiced here as it practiced in your realm. It requires a sacrifice, and the visions are not easy, even for a powerful witch like Fern. It extracts a higher toll.” His blood curdled in his veins, and her tail whipped back and forth, green eyes watchful from where she sat in the kitchen. “Her participation is not voluntary.” 
“They force her?”
“They’ve forced her since she was a child. The coven only cares for their power, their vanity, their immortality, and without the blood spinner, without the Divination, they would have none of it.” He pictured you, a small girl, alone, defenseless, victim to practices of your coven, your magic and mind a tool for them to use, to take advantage of, to torture. She licked her paw before rising to all fours, casting an underhanded glance at him. “The way they see it, Fern belongs to them. The blood spinner is not a being with a soul, but a thing to be used as the coven sees fit.” Outside, the wind howled, spurred on by the tethers of magic that spun from Johnny, the chaos that reveled in his distress, ropes and ropes of rage and desperation twisting together with the force of his power, sowing down deep into the earth, and expelling into the sky. “Should one protest… well.” She didn’t finish, just fixed her gaze beyond him, out through the window where the sky swirled with violent hues of black and purple. 
“Her parents.” Jet refused him a response, but he didn’t need one to know the truth. “She doesn’t know.” He continued, and she slunk from her perch to the corner of the table. 
“Have you considered what will happen, after your damage is done? What the coven will do when they discover her betrayal? Or worse…. you and your brothers are not the only ones who go bump in the night here. Fern is a magnet for creatures. Without the protection of her coven, she will be a target. She will be vulnerable.” She studied him, and he felt the shadowed point of her power, probing along his own, trying to peer into his mind. 
He let a swirl of chaos break free, pushed out into the open. 
He let a sentiment slip through, into her sight. 
He had considered it, had planned for it. Anticipated it. 
She met his eyes with her own, and understanding, recognition occurred between them. 
“You plan to take her.” 
He blinks onto the veranda of his own home, eager to escape the argument, rubbing his neck in exasperation when he catches the scent of balsam and citrus, mineral and blood, coming from the garden.
It’s you. You’re in the garden. 
“Hello.” Johnny calls, stepping into the grass but no further, allowing you to see him, to recognize him as a non-threat. The light from the moons spills down your back and across your skin, making you shimmer under their glow, illuminating you in the brisk night air. The flowers around you are all in bloom, even in the middle of the night, and his lips quirk to the side with a smile when he realizes it’s your doing, velvety petals blossoming across the grounds in large swatches, vibrating with the signature of your magic.
You’re sitting amongst a variety of plants, long vines that stretch and strain towards where your fingers dance to entice them into reaching for you.
“Hi.” You don’t bother to lift your eyes, and it stings a little, disappointment settling heavy in his stomach. He takes a deep breath.
“I was hoping we could talk.”
“About what?” you bristle, and he grinds his teeth. About us? About the binding? About what happened? About how sorry I am? About how I cannot stop thinking about ye? Worrying about ye? Obsessing? He settles on, what happened, hoping that will ease you open to talking.
“About what happened.”
“About what happened, which time? The time when you used me to get information so your brother could abduct a Nereid, or the time you stole my name from me and then stole me from my own realm." 
Well. Fuck. 
“What’s wrong, Johnny? Cat got your tongue?” You latch onto his silence and dig in, not sparing him from your venom. His temper flares, needled on by the discomfort that is restless in his magic, and he pushes back at you.
“I will not apologize for doing what needed to be done to save ye, dove.” He snaps, drawing to his full height, and you glare at him, fury twisting your face into something that’s a little scary, and a little enthralling.
“Save me?” you hiss, incredulous. “Save me? You didn’t care much about saving me when you used me to get what you needed.” You stand, forgoing your plants to face him, fingers pointed to the ground, a hot flare of magic stretching across the space between him and you.
“I never wanted to hurt ye, I wanted to bring ye with me, but it was too late before ye knew the truth and I had no chance to explain.” He counters, and you laugh, the sound all sour and wrong, harsh, and unforgiving.
“You thought I would just go with you? You tricked me. You took advantage of me.” He feels the ground shifting, feels the earth growing under his feet, and your magic pulsing around him, strong and eager, pushing and pulling at something he cannot see. What is this?  “You lied to me. You betrayed me.” The forest at your back groans, like the Isle herself is protesting this battle of wills, like she objects to the clash of power. The pressure in the air rises, and then something is tightening around his feet, restricting his boots, and tying him to the ground.
Roots.
There are tree roots, crisscrossed across his toes, snaking up his ankles.
“Fern.” He warns.
“Johnny.” You mock, and the magic crests, more gnarled plant life coming to sprout from the ground, lashing across his wrists, tying them tight to his sides wrapping him up like rope. “You won’t fight back?” you taunt, mouth curving into a wicked little smile. Another tendril of green binds around his forearm, and he grunts with effort to stay calm.
“No.” he grits out.
“No? No?” you hiss and step closer, bare feet pressing the grass down between your toes. You look like a predator in this moment, eyes sharp and narrowed, stalking closer to your prey. You’re enchanting, and unsettling, and the binding hums inside of him.
The plants twist past his forearms, tightening against his circulation, curling up his biceps and stroking the skin of his shoulders.
His power flares, distressed, confused.
In battle, if you were a foe, he’d already have struck you down, dealt you a killing blow.
“Fern. Stop this.” The vines squeeze him, and then crawl up his neck, holding firm beneath his jaw.
“Do you know what they wanted to do to me, Johnny? After they found out what I did?” He chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to wait you out, trying to see if you’ll draw back. “Answer me!” your voice cracks, and so does his heart.
“No.”
“They wanted to burn me at the stake.” You whisper, the words enough to take his breath. His magic thrashes. The spot underneath his ribs aches. “It wasn’t enough to shun me. They wanted to kill me.” He shakes his head furiously.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-“
“No, don’t say that. You’re not.”
“Ah wouldn’t have let them. No one will ever touch ye again Fern, I swear it.”  
“Why even bother with more of these lies? You just needed to help your brother, and you didn’t care who was collateral damage. You used me.” You break, and a tear glitters on your cheek, refracting the light of the moons. “Just… just like them.” Oh, dove. 
“No, no. That’s not… It’s not true. Ah care for ye, ye’ve meant something to me since the first day I laid-“
“Stop.” The plants squeeze him, and any tighter they’ll probably be strangling him. Cutting off his air. He fights against them, just marginally, enough to give himself some breathing room, and is surprised when they don’t loosen so easily. “I’m stronger here. Eilean taught me, how to feel this earth. How to hear it breathing, find its water, its blood.” You explain, tone bitter, and he nods a slow agreement.
“Of course.” Of course, she did. Because she likes you, dove. She accepts you. She wishes for you to make your home here. With me. With us. 
He doesn’t try again, doesn’t flex in the web of plants that you’ve wrapped him in, just stands completely still, waiting. He urges his power to settle, to resist the call of blood and battle, to stand down as you seethe.
If he tried, only a little harder, he could shred the vines and roots in an instant. He could break free.
But a large part of him, spurred on by the gaping hole that’s been left by your absence, the pain that’s nestled in his diaphragm, doesn’t want to.
Most of him wants to stand here and take it, take everything from you.
It’s no more than he deserves, and he knows it.
Your hands are shaking, fingernails gleaming in the moonslight when you hastily wipe your cheek, and he wants so badly to reach for you. To hold you. To tell you how sorry he is. How he wishes he could take it all back. How he never wanted to hurt you.
“I trusted you.” It’s a whisper on the wind, spoken to the earth, to the sky, to anywhere but him. The words are hollow, like there’s nothing left there for him, like you’ve written your story, and his pages are long over.
“Ah know.” He murmurs. Your tears drip onto the grass, and he watches each one splash while dread swallows his heart whole. The ache in his ribs burns, magic howling through his limbs, tugging and digging against him to act, to move.
In the end, he doesn’t move at all. He stands trapped in the vines you’ve grown around him, stands trapped in time as you walk past him and up the veranda into the estate. The wind shrieks through the trees, whipping around where he stands immobile, and he watches the light in your room on the second-floor flick on, a warm yellow glow seeping out from behind the curtains as you peek around them, gazing down to where he stands, still like a statue in the garden below.
He stands there until your room goes dark.
The light sparkled across your skin, your hair, your eyes. He had never been fond of the mortal realm’s sun, always finding it too harsh, too abrasive, but the way it shone on you in that moment, he wasn’t sure he had loved anything more. 
“Which was your favorite, then?” You extended the thing in your hand towards him, the fragrant, sweet ice cream treat, and he politely shook his head to decline. 
“Ah dinnae care much for it, if ‘m being honest.” 
“What?” Your other arm stayed looped in his, allowing him to subtly press his hip against yours, feel the warmth of your skin through the fabric of your skirt as the two of you took long, loping steps down the park’s path. “How can you not like ice cream?” You frowned. “We sampled so many. You didn’t like any of them?” He considered explaining he only sampled them because it allowed him to stand to so close you in that tiny shop. That he liked it because he was able to wrap his fingers around yours when you passed him the tiny spoons. 
“The mint was alright.” He told you instead, and you huffed. “The lavender one too.” You gave him a curious look, and he couldn’t help himself, too eager to see you smile, too weak to resist the promise of your laughter. “It seems, I am overly fond of plants.” 
The sea roars beneath grassy knoll where he hides. He swears it’s screaming your name, calling to you, crying about you.
He tries to clear his mind.
It’s why he comes here. To think. To be alone. To be unbothered. The hill is tucked away from his home, and he sits in the shadow of an ash tree, staring at the sky, waiting to settle, waiting to feel at peace.
A fool’s errand. 
His mind is incapable of rest. It can only dwell on one thing, his desperation, his desire, his longing for you. The yearning in his heart that now works in tandem with the binding, trying to drag him towards you every waking moment of the day, trying to force him into your path.
You’re in the hallway when he returns, stack of books clutched to your body.
“Fern.” He chokes out, dumbstruck. He had planned a speech, for this, after what happened in the garden. A plea. A desperate sonnet of sadness and guilt. But in this moment, with you standing in front of him like a wild animal that may dart away at any moment, everything escapes him. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, his brain feels blank.
You’re frozen, looking back at him, eyes wide, and a tiny sliver of relief fractures through his heart when he doesn’t smell any fear on you.
“Hi.” You whisper, and like a magnet, he cannot stop himself from stepping closer.
You do not flinch, or move, or even look away. You just… stare at him.  
“Are ye well?” He tries, and you swallow so loud he can hear it rattling in his brain.
“I… am. Are you?”
“As well as I can be.” I’m in love with ye. I’ve been in love with ye. I’m sorry. All of these things echo in his mind, circling his consciousness but none of them come to the forefront. Instead, he stammers out a: “Ye look… beautiful.” Bleedin’ gods. It’s a massacre. He tries to smother his grimace and you give him a funny look.
“Thank you.”
“Are ye, getting on well here?” He motions to the too long, too wide hallway that seems to stretch farther and farther every second, and you nod slowly.
“Yes, you have… a lot of books.”
“Ah… ‘ve always been fond of them. The books.” He agrees, and your lips flick upwards in a polite smile. His heart races.
He takes another step.
It’s too much. You shrink away, moving backwards, and he curses himself.
“Sorry-“
“I should go.” You gesture the leather-bound volumes in your grasp.
“Of course.” He concedes, and you incline your head to him before turning around.
His magic screams through his body the entire time he watches you walk away.
You’ve made yourself at home in the library. He tries to push away the glee that it brings him, the fire that it stokes within him, the urge that it encourages. The binding warbles inside his magic, his soul, as he passes the door every day, tugging and dragging him until he’s trying the handle one morning, ignoring his prior commitments, opting to slide inside the heavy wooden doors just for a chance to see your face.
“You have books from my ho- from the mortal realm.” He winces, when you cut your words off abruptly and reroute them, all while staring at him from the desk in the library. Your fingers stroke the corner of a volume that lays open in front of you, and he takes a step closer, slowly, hesitantly, waiting to see if you’ll spook.
You don’t. You don’t even fidget, or flinch, just gently turn the pages as if everything is normal.
“Would ye like to see something special?” He cannot help it, this desire to impress you, to tempt you. He wants to catch you, keep you, hold you in a thrall like you hold him in yours. He thinks he should probably feel guilty, for using the things he knows you love so dear to entice you, to gentle you to him and draw you out, but he can’t find it in himself to feel poorly for it. He’s worried sick. He wants to see you smile again. Wants the life to come back to your eyes.
He wants his sweet Fern. His little witch.
He gestures to a book, one that sits in a glass case on a table next to his side, black binding shiny and perfect as if it were brand new and not thousands of years old.
“What is it?” You cannot help yourself, brushing past him to lean over the glass, eyes wide and curious.
“It’s a grimoire.” You inspect it with a frown, and he threads his magic through the air and into the glass, evaporating it into its original form, tiny spheres of sand that disappear before your eyes. You startle, and he smirks when you look up at him.
“Doesn’t look like any grimoire I’ve ever seen.” Your hand cautiously hovers above the spell book, and he can feel your magic probing along the edges, testing, seeking.
“It’s from a Netherworld.”
“Which?” you blurt, and then look half embarrassed, before tacking on a soft spoken, “And how?” He’s not surprised that you know of them, but it feels uneasy, knowing you may have been exposed to something from those realms, some sort of monster or creature, a Demon or worse, an Angel.
“The Below. I travel there, sometimes.” Your jaw goes slack, and you study him closer, something foreign flickering across your features before they turn doleful.
“I have seen them.” What? You turn a page with your magic, being careful not to let your fingers directly touch the pages. “Through Divination. I’ve seen both the Below, and Above.” You shudder, and his heart thunders, blood rushing through his ears.
A mortal witch, who’s not a mortal at all. Who spins blood and can see through realms, into the Below and Above. Places not even Gaz or Price dare travel to. 
Formidable indeed. 
“Dove, that’s… that must have been frightening.” Another page turns beneath your fingers, and you shrug.
“I have been Divining since I was a child. I’ve seen many things. It’s how I knew where we were, when I woke up,” Rage rips through him, unbridled and coarse, rousing his magic into a whirlwind of anger, the feel of it as violent as when he first learned the truth. It makes his blood boil in his veins, makes the shelves in the library vibrate in anticipation, his magic bouncing around the room, seeking to destroy, to sow chaos, to obliterate.
“Johnny.” Simon’s voice calls, echoing inside his skull, and he tenses, muscles turning to stone as he feels for his brother, locating him and Gaz outside, in the hall.
“Not now.” He grits in response, but he hasn’t forgotten his prior engagement, and knows trying to put it off is pointless.
When they come closer, when Simon pulls the doors wide, he bares his teeth, tension filling the air of the library. They stand at a respectful distance, not stepping inside, leagues away at the opposite end of the room, but he still feels overly exposed, can feel the pull of possession as he instinctually positions himself between your body and theirs.
You frown at his brothers before stepping into the shadow of his body, close enough that you brush against him, your fingers tracing a barely-there circle on the inside of his wrist.
“Why did you do it?” You break the silence, whispering to the ceiling, and he frowns.
“Do what?”
“Make me fall in love with you.” You still do not look at him, but he cannot tear his eyes from you, mouth wide with shock, the space beneath his ribs pulsing with chaotic magic, his heart beating too fast to count. “You could have just… used your magic. You could have taken what I knew, by force. Why did you spend all that time with me?” The confession slowly takes shape across his tongue, heavy and raw, ready to drip like honey from his mouth to yours.
“I- are ye in love with me, Fern?”
“Answer the question.”
“I knew what I had to do, to help my brother but ye were unexpected. The worst, and most wonderful surprise of my eternal existence.”
“Johnny.” Simon’s insistence echoes across his mind and he feels the urge to turn on them both, to banish them from the estate, from the Isle, from his life, just to keep his time with you from being interrupted.
‘Bloody terrible timing.”
“Clearly. But this cannot be delayed.” He clenches his jaw, and pulls your hand into his, smoothing a palm over your knuckles.
“I’ll be back later, if ye want to talk more.” It’s a hopeful thing, this sentence. Something that carries so much weight, without even being a question. Something that has the power to crush him, without a mere thought.
“Okay.” You whisper.
“Okay?” your head bobs, and you look down at the book with mock interest.  
“I do not forgive you but, I’d like to… talk. Yes.” Yes. Yes. The word rings between his ears. He can work for your forgiveness, he can spend the rest of his existence earning it, if this means you’ll let him. If you’ll speak to him.
“Later then?” He manages to get out, and then squeezes your hand in a goodbye after you nod.
He does not see the way you stare at your own fingers after he leaves, does not see the way your magic explodes throughout the library, before settling back against your skin like a warm embrace, your side of the binding fluttering in your heart.
“My home is alive.” He told your sleeping form, words quiet as he watched for any sign of you waking. “The place where my home is built, where I was born. The Isle. She chooses, who can stay, who can make their life there. She is a complex thing, a wild thing. Like you.” You twitched, and he paused, holding still as he waited. 
When you didn’t rouse, he pushed a small spark of chaos into your sleeping mind, drawing you in deeper, settling you into your wildest dreams. “Jet told me, about what ye’ve been through. About what the coven has done to ye, forced ye to do… and I think, the Isle would accept ye. Ah think she would like ye, and welcome ye, Fern. With me.” You shivered, and he instinctually warmed the room, raising the temperature until you settled.
“Johnny.” Price called inside his mind, insistent, but patient. “We have business.” He sighed. 
He had already been here too long tonight, and his brothers waited for him. 
The kiss to your hair was fleeting. Gentle. Sweet. Punctuated with a whisper lost on the breeze from the open window. 
“Gods, what have ye done to me little witch?” 
“Ye come out here often.” He says quietly from the door, standing just beyond it after spotting you on the veranda, and you nod slowly in response, eyes dragging away from the sky to his, before returning upwards. The night is soft. Calm edged and serene, the breeze carrying a hint of sea spray from the foam below.
“I’ve never seen so many.” 
“Stars?” 
“Planets.”
“Surely there are other planets besides your own?” He knows there are, he’s seen them in sky, in the mortal realm.
“Yes, but not like this. There’s… there’s nothing, like this.” Your lips part, throat bobbing with a breath and he feels a strange tightening his chest as he watches you take it in. You look so amazed, so enchanted, so captivated by something he views so ordinary, that he too, tilts his head back to look up at the dizzying number of planets. Hundreds of worlds swirl in the inky darkness above them, their colors so vibrant they shine like gemstones, blinking in and out of the velvet backdrop that is the night sky. “There are so many worlds. So many places.” you whisper to him, a smile full of awe sloping across your lips. “Do you go to them? These worlds?” 
“Some.” 
“Some.” you parrot. “Some.” you laugh, like the notion is absurd, which it probably is, to you. Something inconceivable, improbable. “They’re beautiful.” Your hand raises to reach for them, as if you could pluck one right out of the night and hold it in your palm. He watches, entranced by the way the three moon’s light shimmers across your face, bathing you in a purple silver glow, spilling over your shoulders and across your skin graciously, framing you like a star, a celestial being. His throat feels dry. 
“Aye. They are.” You lapse into silence, and he enjoys the feeling of being near you, his magic humming happily in his being, peace settling over him while you watch the stars, transfixed.
“Johnny.” You breathe his name, sweet and syrupy, magic dripping from each syllable. You look a little dazed, exhaustion pulling at your features, and he indulges in a daydream where he kisses your forehead, pressing a hint of power against your skin, wrapping you in a soft cocoon of his magic to comfort you. “I… I’d like to kiss you.” The words break him from his imaginations, and he jerks, pulling away to inspect your face, to see if were alright. Or if you were reading his mind. Or if you had become possessed by some Demon, some evil creature appearing here to make him suffer more than he already was.
But all he sees is his dove. His Fern. His little witch, face soft and open, expectant.
“Would you deny me, Johnny? After everything you’ve done?” You raise an eyebrow, and his heart sings, magic humming along happily, binding trilling in his body. You’re teasing him.
“Ye never have to ask.” The words are the same ones he said on Samhain, and he restrains his movements, keeping his body slow and steady while he leans into you, lowering his mouth to yours, the warmth of your lips against him sending his heart soaring, the intoxicating scent of you, the feel of your magic, the light caress of your fingers against his hip all amplified in this realm, and by the binding that seems to be stitching the two of you together by every moment.
He follows your lead, giving you space when you begin to ease off from him, and explosions rattle his soul as he stares down at you and your cautious smile.
“I love ye, Fern.” Your eyes go wide, and you startle, stepping a half pace away. “I dinnae how to tell ye, after everything. Ah ken, ah… there’s nothing that can be said, to make up for my treachery, for what I did to you.” He can feel the binding, the sailor’s knot tightening around the two of you, dragging you into one another, can feel the distinct signature of your magic, swirling around him, can smell the sweet citrus and blood dipped in balsam that floods his dreams. It’s enough to make his head spin.
“Johnny, this- this is the binding, it’s...” He shakes his head in rebuttal and reaches for your hand.
“I’ve loved ye since the first day I set foot in the shop. I’d burn the realms for ye, Fern.”
“You used me.”
“And ye will never know how I regret it, how I wish I could change it.” Let me love you. Let me hold you. Let me have you. The swell of the tide within him crests, magic churning into an excessive force, the binding burning, screaming, yearning against his lungs, and he pushes and pulls at it, twisting it up into something he struggles to contain. “Break the binding or leave it intact. It won’t change the way I feel.”
“I-“ Your words are snatched from your mouth when you draw a quick breath, bending at the waist, flat of your palm pressed to your belly with a soft groan.
“Fern?” His hand hovers at the small of your back, just above your skin.
“Sorry, I- I just had a cramp, is all.” You straighten, faint grimace sunken into your expression, and he frowns.
“What do ye need?”
“Nothing, I’m just gonna go lay down, I think.” You’re still holding your stomach, and worry froths in his heart, his mind as he watches you wince.
“Ye sure? Do you need-“
“I’m sure.” You wave him off, already turning away. “Goodnight, Johnny.” You murmur over your shoulder.
“Sleep well, little witch.”
The shockwave that ripples through his home in the small hours of the morning startles him from restless sleep. It jolts him into a panic, the binding clawing at his mind, his magic, tugging and pulling him towards something.
Towards you.
“Fern?” He calls, body teetering at the threshold of your room.
Are you dreaming? 
Are you ill? 
He can smell you from the doorway, balsam and citrus tinged with the scent of sour fruit, distress permeating through the air to where he stands, waiting. Holding his breath for answer.
“Fern.” He tries again, firmly, but you don’t respond, only moan into your pillow, the sound of your pain tearing at his heart until he’s blinkingacross the room, coming to lean over your trembling form, panic hammering inside his skull. “Hey, dove. Are ye with me?” He pulls you towards him, holding your face between his palms. Your eyes are nearly black, pupils so large they dot out your irises, and you thrash in his grip, nails digging into his skin while you cry out.
“Jo-Johnny. Johnny.” You’re sweating, sheets soaked beneath you, and the heat that’s blaring from your skin curdles his stomach.
The binding. The magic. It’s burning you from the inside. 
You whimper, and his heart breaks for you, bleeds for you while you bury your nose in his neck, panting heavily.
“I’m here.” He tries to hold you steady, cradling the back of your head in his hand, the sear of your skin far too warm to be comfortable, the effect of the binding boiling in your blood.
You’re suffering. You’re suffering, and it’s his fault. He did this. He caused this. 
Ce’s warning echoes sharply in his mind.
“You need to prepare for what is to come, if she cannot reverse it.”
The guilt fissures his heart in two.
“It hurts.” You try to tell him, weakly, and his frustration builds, the magic inside of him compounding, yearning to lash out.
“Ah know, Ah know it does.” The words are little comfort.
“Please. Pl-please make it stop.”
He can’t. He shouldn’t. 
“It hu-hurts Johnny. Please. It burns.” You’re breaking apart in front of him. Inconsolable. Desperate. Dying. 
“Shhh. ‘ve got ye.” He tries to calm you, holds you tight against him, pressing your body to his but all it does it make you squirm more, make you cry out against him, your voice broken with distress.
“Please! Please-“ you beg, and he slams his eyes shut.
He shouldn’t. He can’t.
But you’re in pain. 
You could die. 
The binding is heating your body past any measurable sense. You were not made to survive such a thing.
When he looks at you now, he knows his insistence on refusing this is pointless. He is too weak to give you up. He is not strong enough to say no. He has loved you since the day he first laid eyes on you. He would do anything to save you, to keep you alive.
Even if it meant this.
Even if it meant completing the bond the only way he knew how.
“I’m here, I’m here.” He kisses your breastbone, trails his lips down between your breasts, sucking marks into your skin, tasting the salt of your sweat like a dying mortal. “I’m going to make it okay.” He wants to take his time, wants to savor you, wants to have you the way he’s always dreamed about, slow and sweet, taking you apart piece by piece like you deserved.
There’s no time for that now.
“Johnny.” You whimper, something broken in your voice, a desperation unlike he’s ever heard before and it stings.
“Shhh. I’m going to take care of ye.”
A broken moan rises from your throat when he moves your body, shifting you underneath his weight, pinning your hips and teasing his tongue around one your nipples, nipping across you with his teeth just enough to sting your skin, to jolt you.
“I- I need- I want-“ You try to explain it, to direct him, and your magic flourishes forward, your hands gripping onto his shoulders for salvation.
“I know what ye need, Fern. Ah know.” His fingertips stroke over your navel, over where your lower belly tenses under his touch, and then to your cunt, where scorching heat mixes with liquid fire, your body wet and ready for him, desperate for him, magic burning you with arousal, with an undeniable need for him.
“Touch me.” You plead, and his lips find the inside of your thigh, dragging towards where you’re dripping, citrus and blood flooding his senses.
You taste like everything he’s ever dreamed of. Pressure builds up his spine, magic and desire burning like a fuse as he presses his tongue against your clit, and you shiver in his grasp when he lavishes you there.
His palm presses against your belly, holding you firm, muscles and sinew rippling under his touch, your voice peaking with a cry when he swirls around your swollen bud, over and over, working you relentlessly.
“Come for me, come on. Let me make it better, dove.” It won’t, and he knows it, knows only one thing will, but he hopes to the gods it will stave off some of your pain. He rasps against your skin and you keen, rocketing into an orgasm within a moment’s time, sharp and fiery, but only a balm for the burn of the binding, the incessant tugging beneath his ribs humming with miserable bliss over the moan of his name on your lips.
You’re still strung taut, seizing, the heat of your skin blazing against him. You tug fruitlessly at his clothes, fingers knotted up in his shirt, his pants, and he swipes a hand across your cheek to press his thumb against your tongue as he divests himself with one hand and a snap of magic.
His fingers are wet with you, with your spit, your arousal, and he coats himself with it, stroking the length of his cock, kissing the crown to your opening while he stares down at you indulgently.
His Fern. His dove. His little witch. 
“Please.” You breathe your plea into him, into his mouth, his skin. “Please, it’s- I need you.” You choke and he pushes, your eyes going wide as he batters his way into your body, the tight clench of your walls strangling him as he moves. “Gods-“ you gasp, and he strokes some hair from your face, lips pressing sweetly to your cheek, your jaw to soothe you, to quiet the discomfort from the stretch.
“I know, I know.” He murmurs, keeping his movements slow and steady, watching how your expression eases, how your body adjusts, how your brows unknit with each passing moment. You relax around him finally, face going slack with bliss as he folds one of your knees back towards your shoulder. “That’s it, good… good girl.” He hums over your ear, before pressing a gentle kiss there. “Take me so well. So perfect.” He needs to fill you, own you, fuck you full and possess every inch of your being. It’s the only way, the only way to soothe your soul, to soothe his own. It’s always been the only way, since the day he saw you. Since the first time he kissed you, in the shadow of Samhain.
His heart flutters, the binding clawing at his power, wrapping itself around your heart, stitching across the bridge between your bodies to reach the other side, encasing itself and him in the warmth of blood magic, of your magic. It only grows stronger as his hips stroke, his body moving inside of yours, gasps of pleasure falling from your lips.
Your muscles clench around him, desperate, and it feels right. Everything feels right, it feels fated, it feels meant to be. Like you were made for him, born for him. You, his equal. You, his balance. He pads over your clit with a press of his fingers, moving against you in time with his thrusts and your power surges to meet his, interweaving until it’s impossible to discern your beginning and his ending.
“I’ve always wanted ye here with me.” He nips along your collarbone, tracing a bead of sweat up the skin of your neck to your jaw. “I broke into the flat, just to watch ye sleep, every night after Samhain.” He punches his sentence with thrust of his cock, brushing against your cervix, and you keen. “I’ve loved ye. Dreamt of ye. I have betrayed ye,” you mumble something, lashes fluttering, and he swallows your words with his mouth before continuing. “and will spend the rest of my existence, our existence, apologizing for my transgressions.” Your body shifts with him, the rhythm he set upon your clit forcing you forward, spine curling you into him, his name a whisper on your lips.
“Johnny, Johnny.”
He fucks into you harder, wild, primal, full of ferocity and you cry out, shuddering beneath him, squeezing around his cock. The urge to fill you, to breed you, is too strong to fight, and the binding croons to him in your voice, spurring him onwards.
“Gods, dove.” His voice is broken song, a plea, and you respond with a melody of your own. “Ye belong to me.” You nod in a daze, lips forming a word that sounds like please. “Going to give ye my come. Keep ye forever.”
“Ye-es.”
“Sweet Fern.” He coos when he feels it, the build of your climax, ushering you along with the press of his body. “My good girl, coming all over my cock. Like ye were made for it.” You hiss, and then your orgasm is washing you away, your voice shouting his name as you come. Your eyes spark, celestial light glittering beneath the black pools that have expanded across your irises, and your fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulder, blood trickling down his chest, slicking between your bodies. It spills and spills, running like a river over the two of you, tracking across your breasts, down his abdomen, across your belly, down your thighs. It flows wildly, freely, rushing from him and towards you, spurred on by your mastery of it, your mastery of him.
You’re spinning him. You’re taking and taking, the binding drinking his magic in greedily, digging and scratching beneath the surface of his chaos, sowing vines that sprout and flourish, that tie him to you. His side of the binding shrieks in glee, in elation, and bends for you, arcing between your bodies to imbue you with cosmic pieces of chaos, a blend of blood and bedlam, boiling in your veins. In his.
Blood continues to gush from his body, his mouth full of you, of citrus and blood, of earth and balsam. You inhale him, pushing your tongue past his teeth, swirling in the mess there, and when you pull away, he can see the stains of ichor on your teeth under the curve your half-moon smile.
Your magic strangles him, strengthening itself, solidifying your power, absorbing what it can of his mayhem. The binding purrs, it sings to him, it sings to you, the sound chiming through his mind, echoing off the hollowed-out coves of the Isle, vibrating through its dark forest. He shouts against it, with it, orgasm just on the peak, both his body and yours trembling violently.
“Mine.” He snaps, and you answer easily. 
“Yours.” You nod, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He cradles you there, back of your head in his palm, and then he thrusts up into your body as hard as he can, overcome with need, with the burn of the binding, with love. It’s so much, the pull of the magic, the wildness of your heart seeping into his own, and he spills as deep as he can into your body, filling you with himself, plugging his come deep, your own body sucking him in desperately while you cry and shake in his arms.
His Fern. His dove. His little witch.
Ancient celestial light streams through the curtains, the proof of an entire day passing, the rising of the moons stirring you from where you have slept for the last few hours, body and binding finally sated, skin scrubbed clean from the stain of his blood.
You blink, heavily with exhaustion, and he pulls you into his body, unable to resist cuddling you close, breathing you in and wrapping an arm around your back to still you when you start to fidget. You smell different now, like a swirling storm of him and you, and his free hand drifts to your navel possessively.
“Johnny.” You murmur, and he answers by pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“I’m here.” He whispers. “Ye can rest dove. It’s okay.” You settle against him, and just as he’s starting to drift into his own star lit slumber, you sigh.
“You should start makin’ a list.”
“Of what?” You kiss his chest, lips soft against his skin.
“Of all the things,” you yawn, breath hot and sweet, and he wants to drag his tongue over your skin again, take you apart while he savors every tremble, every moan that leaves your body. “you’re going to do over the next hundred years to make it up to me.”
“One hundred years?” he chuckles in jest, but his heart soars. 
He knows, there is more hardship to come. He knows, the pain, the suffering, that you will experience, that you will unleash on the mortal realm, on him, when you learn the truth about your parents, about your coven. He knows the challenge ahead. 
But in this quiet moment, with you in his arms, nothing about it feels like the end. 
Only the beginning. 
“Careful." you breathe into him. "Or I’ll make it two.”
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satoru-is-the-way · 1 year
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SPOILERS FOR AVATAR 2!!
Avatar! Rick Quaritch x Na'vi Reader 
"Given Enough "
Series Master list
Tag list: @anyzandy   @kneelingforvillains @dioriez @mylovelyreblogs @dinobae-replyacc @the-wanderer-2022 @zootsutra @voodoogoul
Let me know if you want to be on the tag list.
Chapter 1 - The Invader
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Colonel Rick Quaritch shamefully tucked his tail and flew off. His mission to kill Jake Sully failed drastically. Now it's just him flying out into the wilderness of Pandora. His body is weak and needs to rest. Rick landed on a nearby plot of floating land,' Ayram alusìng' as Na'vi called them. However, this was not the Hallelujah Mountains. Quaritch had no clue where exactly he was. He grunts, removing his Queue from the Ikran. He slides off the mountain banshee’s back boots landing on the ground beneath him. The Colonel glanced around for any natives lurking in the trees or behind the bushes around him. The cost seemed clear enough to let his guard down. Little did he know a female Na'vi had been monitoring him long before he entered her tribe's domain. 
(Y/n) (L/n), the clan leader's firstborn. Her people were known as the Kamimaljuyú. The air tribe. They lived in the Ayram alsuìng and built their home there. Humans learned very little about their kind. Due to the terrain, it served as a natural shield against the sky people. Their technology did not last beyond a few miles before rendering them completely useless. The Kamimaljuyú made minimal contact with Sky people and preferred to keep it as such.
(E/c) orbs gradually examined the Avatar before her. She caught subtle differences between her people and the lab-grown organism. Their Avatar features included:  eyebrows, a pronounced nose, a stout physique, one extra finger, and a toe. Their entire race intrigued (Y/n). How did it make sense to leave their dying world only to bring their problems here? Humans would not change their way of life. Not even to save their race. They rather force their ways on others while avoiding the real problem. She could not allow him to stay here much longer. (Y/n) feared Quaritch might bring others. The Kamimaljuyú knew about the sky people’s return but had no involvement in such a meaningless slaughter. They were after the mighty Jake Sully, not her people.
Her chest rose and fell, soaking in the air around her. With a graceful hand, she retrieved an arrow from her quiver. (Y/n) placed the string between the nock before pulling back. Her accuracy could rival any hunter in their village because she never missed. Everything around her accounted for; the distance, position, and wind speed. She let go firing her poisoned lace weapon. Suddenly a gust of wind hit the trajectory changed. Her eyes widen as the arrow lands right at the Colonel’s boots. She then felt a strong presence, Eywa. Maybe the path for this Avatar is not death. The great mother is never wrong. 
Quaritch leaped up glancing in the direction the arrow came from. “Come on out. I might go easy on you.” He growled despite not being in the physical condition to fight. (Y/n) rolled her eyes before slowly emerging from the nearby bush. Her arrow is out as a precaution. 
“You look ready to collapse at any moment now, demon.” Her ears go back hissing as a warning. “I take it you couldn't handle the Na'vi as you thought? You may have an Avatar body but your skills and technology are no match for our spirit." 
Quaritch looked over the native female. He could not deny she was beautiful. The Colonel normally had no attraction to women of their race but. Her eyes, face, lips, and hair all came together perfectly. "You-you." He stutters before collapsing. The last thing he saw is (Y/n) rushing over to his body before everything went black. 
---
Quaritch had no idea how long he was out. He woke up surrounded by thousands of Navi. He hissed looking frantically for a way you. However, he is bound and helpless. What choice did he have? Why did she not kill him? What did they want? He instantly could tell the leaders apart from the other Navi. ‘Oh, shit’ He thought realizing the pretty native woman is not just anyone. It was their daughter. How lucky could he get? It brought flashbacks of Jake Sully meeting Neytiri. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. If Jake became one of them perhaps he could? Seduce the princess into falling in love. Oldest trick in the book. A mission he would be willing to extend if that meant killing the whole Sully family while Jake watched.
“Why have you come back to Pandora after Toruk Makto sent you flying back?”
“We come back in peace. Not all of us agree with what happened to the people all those years ago. Earth wants to make admins.” He looked down with sorrow as the lies spilled off his tongue. “I had gotten caught in a nasty fight with the water tribe. I tried to explain but they did not want to listen.” Quaritch looked up directly into (Y/n)’s eyes. 
“How can I trust the sky people? The last time ended in bloodshed for both sides.”
“I will do anything.” 
“Father…” He glanced at his daughter. Originally Cualli held great anger when (Y/n) returned from her hunt with this demon tied to her Ikran. That anger changed as (Y/n) told him Eywa gave her a sign not to kill the Avatar. “Yuum, leti' impidió ti' le flecha perforara u puksi'ik'al. In wojel ba'ax Eywa Ma'atech u equivoca.Yaan jump'éel plan ti'. In wojel jach jaaj.” (Father, she stopped the arrow from piercing his heart. I know Eywa is never wrong. She has a plan for him. I know it to be true). Quaritch listens closely not understanding this language. He knew about the Kamimaljuyú. They were one of the largest tribes on Pandora and preferred to stay isolated from the other Navi. It was mentioned in books their numbers are greater than the stars in the sky.
The people chatted amongst themselves. They had a right to be scared for the sky people. Other clans had not been so lucky with the alien invaders. Eywa had blessed them all this time. Now his daughter has brought the invader right into their home. His wife, Inez, placed a hand on the wounded Avatar's chest closing her eyes. The Navi went silent waiting for her judgment. “We have avoided war for over 30 years. We kept the sky people at a distance. Eywa has blessed us with protection. Now the great mother has given my daughter a sign. This Avatar has great spirits around him. Evil and good alike battling over his heart. Eywa now brings him here for reasons we do not know. In time she will guide us to find his path, his destiny.” Her voice traveled loud and certain of her communication with Eywa. (Y/n) sighed in relief he would not be harmed as of now. Cualli stepped up raising his staff. The crowd bowed down waiting for his final verdict. With a gesture (Y/n) walked to her father kneeling down.
“My daughter has been spoken to by Eywa. Told to spare his life for now. As we wait for his purpose my daughter will take on the responsibility of tending to his invader. He could be a threat or an ally. We have yet to learn his heart. Eywa sets everyone on two paths. It is his choice of which path to take. Rise, my daughter.” He spoke. (Y/n) rose to her feet ears back. She is left in charge of this man? “You are going to show him our ways. Teach him right and wrong. Then I will pass judgment on him. If he passes the test he will be welcomed as one of us. If not you will kill him yourself. Do you both accept?” 
Quaritch held back his smirk,” I accept.”
(Y/n) sighed deeply,”Je'el in wóotik” (I accept.)
“Then go your time starts now,” Cualli announced
“ Ma' in falles waal.” (Do not fail me, daughter.) Inez whispered already knowing this will not work and (Y/n) will once more disgrace their family. (Y/n) nods looking at Quaritch.
“Follow me.” She instructed as the villagers went back to their daily tasks. She huffed once arriving at the edge of their first village. “You will have to wear our clothes, eat our food, and learn our language.” (Y/n) growled.
“I am not going to run around in one of those thongs or whatever you call them” He adds. Without warning (Y/n) pulls her knife out cutting his shirt. “You will change for this role. You will have to make accommodations or else my father will kill you.” She looked over him. “No boots, no guns, no shirt, but your pants can be cut short enough to still allow for mobility. We are air people there is still forest on our land. So we know how to climb the trees, and swing on the vines, and you will also need to learn our language.” 
Quaritch sighed taking his cut shirt off. He kicked his muddy boots off and growled cutting his pants mid-thigh length. He did not like this one bit.  “Is that better for you Princess?”
“Don’t call me that!” She hissed tail slapping him. “You are going to fail…Eywa sees something in you and I do not know why. It’s getting late supper will be soon then I will show you where you will rest.”
“With you, I hope.” He smirks moving closer to (Y/n). She growled and turned away with a sway in her walk. The Colonel knew this is going to be fun. 
Chapter 2
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mcflymemes · 10 months
Text
PROMPTS FOR BODYGUARDS AND VIPs *  adjust as necessary, send 'reverse' for the reversal of action prompts
DIALOGUE PROMPTS
i told you to stay there.
it's my job to protect you.
i'll come with you.
i can't stand having someone follow me around all the time.
don't you have anything better to do than just stand there?
i don't need a bodyguard. i can take care of myself.
you won't even know i'm here.
you make me feel safe.
may i please come in?
if you need me, i'm right here.
i won't let anything happen to you.
we'll talk in the car.
stop sneaking away from me!
get behind me!
they think you need protecting.
your life is in danger. that's why i'm here.
don't call me that. my first name is fine.
maybe we should get to know each other, considering you're going to be around me all the time.
can you take me home?
i feel safe with you.
you're very intimidating, you know.
i'm just doing my job.
i don't think we're allowed to do that.
i'm not supposed to drink on the job.
stay with me. please.
i can be myself around you.
i don't see you as my bodyguard. i see you as a friend.
what if someone sees us?
i'll take extra precaution.
keep the paparazzi away from me.
i'm not used to the whole bodyguard thing.
i'm coming with you.
take my jacket. you're freezing.
i would lay down my life to protect you.
why do they think you need a bodyguard?
i didn't ask for this.
if anything happens, you get behind me. understand?
ACTION PROMPTS ( sender is assumed to be the bodyguard here. send 'reverse' for opposite )
[ limo ] sender rushes to the limo before receiver gets there and holds the door open for them, helping them climb inside with an outstretched hand
[ shield ] in the midst of danger, sender uses their body to shield and hide receiver behind them
[ escort ] sender escorts receiver to the door of a fancy party, offering their arm out to receiver to take
[ alone time ] sender and receiver are alone for the first time in receiver's room
[ eye contact ] across the busy room of a crowded event, sender makes eye contact with receiver
[ meet ] sender and receiver leave a crowded event and find a private space to talk
[ tearful ] sender comforts a crying receiver after a close call
[ paparazzi ] sender guides receiver through a crowd of photographers and screaming fans, keeping them safe from harm
[ award ] receiver mentions sender's name during an acceptance speech at an award show and finds them in the crowd
[ vacation ] sender accompanies receiver on a tropical vacation
[ drink ] alone together, receiver encourages sender to stop being so official, relax, and have a drink with them
[ explode ] sender and receiver fight about receiver needing a bodyguard in the first place
[ lecture ] sender lectures receiver about putting themselves in danger
[ dinner ] as receiver dines on a fancy dinner with other people, sender lingers in the room and keeps an eye on them
[ hug ] receiver rushes into sender's arms, seeking comfort from their bodyguard
[ locate ] receiver sneaks away from sender, and sender finally tracks them down
[ perform ] while receiver is on stage during a performance, they spot sender watching them backstage
[ accidental ] sender and receiver accidentally touch hands while reaching for the same thing
[ kiss ] hidden away from the cameras and noisy crowds, sender and receiver share a kiss
213 notes · View notes
babyhatesreality · 11 months
Note
So Little one isn’t allowed to be in the office without permission.
What does she do when they have to work in there but she isn’t allowed to be next to them (because they don’t want her to see anything harmful/ or they have so much to do) and she wants the attention from them? How would she get the attention and would they give her these? #cuddlybaby
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First- my apologies that it takes me so long to answer. Life has slipped in through the backdoor and I'm trying to find 'me' time to write. Thank you all for your patience <3
The office has been off limits without permission from day one. Even when you were in trials runs, you were told that you were absolutely not allowed in there without Steve or Bucky's permission, and never, ever alone.
You never really realized the full extent as to why, but it's because there is violent and sensitive material in there due to the Avengers' line of work.
It's actually a SHIELD rule, but Bucky and Steve agree with it wholeheartedly.
You were so lucky you didn't get your little butt busted when you were trying to be a dragon that one time and snuck in there without permission.
If the door is shut, you know you are to leave it alone unless it's an emergency. Steve and Bucky have a baby monitor set up in there, so if something happens, they will know. They don't really need one- super soldier hearing and all- but they take every precaution when it comes to you being physically separated from them.
However, you definitely have your clingy days, when you MUST be cuddled.
It'll start with you sitting in the hallway, leaning up against the door, sighing dramatically. Which always makes them both smirk.
Then you'll lay down on the floor and start whispering "Papaaaaaaa....Daddyyyyyyyyy..." underneath the door. At this point, you either get bored and go play orrrrrrrrrr.....
You start scratching at the door, like a kitty. When Alpine comes into your life (much later), she's very very good at helping you with this. And your voice gets louder as you call out to them.
If THAT doesn't work, you start slipping notes and drawings underneath the door. Sloppily crayon-drawn hearts, 'I miss you' scrawled out with the 's's backwards, pictures of a sad face.
They've usually broken by this point, but Steve and Bucky have a whole section of the wall in the office dedicated to these notes that help them remember to monitor their time in there. When they see these notes appear from underneath the door, it's time to stop, no matter what.
Then there are days when they're working in there and you are absolutely allowed to be in there with them.
You can only bring books or crayons in, as they're still legitimately working and can't handle the distraction of your exuberant play.
This suits you fine, as you usually just want to be near them. However, on those extra cuddly days.....
You often will simply crawl into their laps while they work. They will automatically adjust so you are comfortable while you snuggle into their chests, humming happily. They're not working on anything you shouldn't see, so this is fine.
But there was one day when Bucky was home alone with you, needing to go over sensitive material. HE was feeling extra clingy, so he broke his own rule, letting you play on the ground at his feet with the strict instructions that you were not to climb onto his lap (because he didn't want you to see the pictures he was examining).
You were fine with this. Until you weren't.
Knowing that you weren't supposed to look at the stuff Daddy was looking at but needing to be close to him, you quickly crawled up in between his legs, putting your head underneath his teeshirt as you climbed.
He was just inhaling to scold you when you giggled. And that broke him in the best way possible. He watched with an amused grin as you maneuvered your way onto his lap, staying under his shirt, giggling and grunting till you reached your goal.
When you gave a contented sigh of pleasure at finally being where you wanted to be, he laughed and wrapped his arms around you, beginning to tickle.
It became a wild game where he kept you trapped under there, poking and tickling while you giggled and laughed at his comments about this 'strange growth on his tummy' and 'must be an alien parasite' and how he was going to have to tickle it to death to get it out.
His field report was late the next day, but he completely tuned out Maria's yelling at him as he remembered your laughter. Worth it.
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thomasisaslut · 5 months
Text
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Eris Vanserra x Azriel Shadowsinger
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Cock (Stomach) Bulge — KTober
Word Count: 2.1k
Includes: Cock Bulge, Light Bondage, Choking, Breathplay, Anal Sex, Come Swallowing, Blow Jobs, Oral (M), Mating Bonds, Hate Sex, Spit as Lube, Wingplay, Sub/Dom, Size Kink.
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On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51045202
On Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1392164001-𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑-𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬-𝐂𝐨𝐜𝐤-𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡-𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐠𝐞-𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐬-𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚
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Eris was visiting the Court of Nightmares to discuss his alliance, upon visiting he can't help but notice that he has been feeling eyes on him, and shadows. Azriel's shadows to be exact. The dark clouds have been following his every move since he got here, Eris wonders if there is more than him just snooping as a spymaster.
At some point, when walking down one of the many hallways of the Court, Eris stomps on one of the shadows. A way of telling Azriel to fuck off. Unfortunately, that attempt was a terrible idea, the shadows swarm around his legs and waist, they drag him over into one of the rooms and before Eris can have another thought a hand is wrapped around his throat, he recognizes that same scarred hand.
"Shadowsinger." The Autumn's High Lord coughs out, regaining his breath after the sudden shock.
"Eris." The spymaster replies, blank and stern.
"Why have you shadows been stalking me?" Eris glares as he gets pinned against the fabric wall.
"Precautions."
"And what about now?" Eris motions the shadows clenching around his thighs, holding him against the strangely warm, cloth of the Court of Nightmares.
"Extra precautions." Azriel scoffs.
Eris attempts to move his legs but it is to no avail, Azriel smirks.
"I am not your enemy, Shadowsinger." Eris glares and attempts to move again.
"And how do I know that?"
"You are a spymaster, are you not? It is your job to know." Eris rolls his eyes, he begins to summon flames in his hands.
"Stop it." Azriel snaps, for some reason, Eris obeys instantly. The flames fade from his hands.
Eris goes to speak again when he is turned around, Azriel's wings surrounds the two of them as he tugs the smaller male closer to his chest. Eris' back now touching Azriel's muscular torso.
"What are you doing, spymaster?" Eris glares, he attempts to look over his shoulder when Azriel grabs his esophagus again, slightly taking his breath away. Eris gasps.
"Shutting you up."
"I wasn't even-"
Azriel's fingers tighten around his throat, cutting off his air and causing Eris' breath to hitch. Azriel's shadows begin to creep up his legs, they rip off his shirt which causes Eris to shiver, even as an autumn fae the basement of the mountain was freezing.
"What are you doing?" Eris asks again.
"I am sick of you being this know it all prince." Azriel moves his hand from Eris' neck to his jaw and forces the smaller to look over his shoulder. "Get on your knees." The spymaster demands.
Eris hesitates, he knew the Shadowsinger would truly never force him into that position, however... challenging the man would bring him his own twisted satisfaction.
"No." The High Lord smirks.
Azriel bites Eris' neck, sucking in a deep love bite. "Now, little fox."
That nickname made him weak.
Eris instantly sunk to his knees, he turns around. Now looking up at Azriel Eris' scent of arousal floods the room, his magic shield drops, Azriel's eyes widen.
"What was that-"
Eris realizes and tries to put the shield he has kept up for centuries back in place.
"Stop it." Azriel snaps, Eris meets his eyes again.
"You weren't suppose to find out about that." Eris refers to their mating bond, the thing that he has been hiding for the past five hundred years.
Azriel grabs Eris' jaw with his shadows, the dark clouds force him to look up again. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"You hated me, you do hate me. Why would I tell you?" Eris scoffs.
"Because I am your mate! I have the right to know." Azriel glares, but his tone sounds more hurt than injured.
"Beron would've killed you."
"Would've." Azriel repeats. "Why didn't you tell me after? It's been two years since his death."
Eris brings his hands to Azriel's hips. "That's not the point anymore, now let me do what you brought me in here for." He begins to fumble with his belt when Eris' wrists are restricted by the shadows.
Before Azirel can speak Eris cuts in.
"I was scared." Eris states. "I am a High Lord now, I need a wife, a woman, to continue my line. To have an heir for my Court, Azriel."
Azriel halts, his shadows free Eris from the hold, the dark clouds hand Eris back his shirt.
"You're right." Azriel states, his tone disappointed.
Eris stands, he didn't want to reject the bond, he has heard stories of how broken bonds are... how painful and empty it leaves the person.
His hand connects with Azriel's arm, he tugs him back before the spymaster can leave.
"No." Eris hesitates. "We... we could make it work, if you would want, Azriel."
"I am not a woman, I will never be a woman, Eris."
Eris halts. "We can find another way, Azriel, I see how you look at Nesta and Cassian, Feyre and Rhysand, even Lucien and Elain! I see how much you want a mate of your own." The High Lord begins to sound desperate, regret filling his tone, the words he previously stated clearly effecting the conversation. "I am willing to try... if you would like?"
Azriel's shadows form around Eris' legs, tugging him to his knees again. "Then prove it, show me how much you are willing to try, little fox." The smirk he previously had creeps back up to his face.
Eris smirks back, his hands grab Azriel's pants and shuck them down. He then pulls down his boxers, Azriel's hard cock springs out, the light pink head dripping with pre, a few beads fall onto Eris' green pants.
The Autumn Court's High Lord looks in awe, the member before him looks so large compared to Eris, his cock must be at least eight whole inches.
"What are you waiting for, fireling?" Azriel looks down, one of his scarred hands make his way to Eris' red locks, he grips his hair tightly.
Eris moves his right hand to Azriel's cock, giving it a few strokes before kissing the tip, he then takes the first inch into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it as he does so. Azriel grunts.
"More." The spymaster demands. Eris complies.
He takes more of the cock into his mouth, as much as he can before it hits the back of his throat. Eris' left hand moves to Azriel's balls, squeezing and toying with them as he begins to suck the other off.
"Fuck, little fox." Azriel begins to fuck Eris' throat, slamming the tip of his cock to the very back of the smaller's mouth.
Eris moans around the other's cock, it sends a jolt of excitement down Azriel's spine, encouraging his movements further.
The autumn fae clenches his grip on Azriel's balls, he feels them tighten before his cum shoots down his throat.
"Swallow." Azirel demands, Eris instantly does as told, he swallows every last drop that the spymaster has released.
"Stand."
Eris slowly wobbles to his feet, within a second he is held against Azriel's chest again, his back resting against his ripped torso.
Azriel's scarred hands travel down Eris' pants, he gropes Eris' cock, squeezing it firmly.
"Azriel." He moans, they can both feel the bond between them grow.
Azriel hums, he nibbles on the nape of Eris' neck, sucking another love bite into the pale skin. "Someone is coming." The spymaster warns, his wings cover the two again as they hide behind the pin-tan curtain.
They hear Cassian trail down the hallway, his drunken voice booming as he walks. But, Azriel doesn't stop his hand, instead he quickens his pace as he strokes off his mates member.
"A-Azriel." Eris groans. "He's going to hear..."
Azriel only grunts in reply, he doesn't stop his movements.
The two males hear Cassian stop by the doorframe, his scent leaks into the room—reeking of alcohol. A few moments later, the Lord of Bloodshed continues his stroll down the hallway.
In a second, Eris feels himself being winnowed. Now, they stand in Azriel's room.
"Why are we..."
"Lie down."
Eris instantly listens to his mates command, he lies on his back and spreads his legs. Azriel walks over and rips the autumn fae's pants off—literally—he throws the tattered pieces of cloth behind him before his shadows swarm around Eris' wrists—holding them above his head firmly.
"Please." Eris mutters.
Azriel smirks then places his hands on Eris' hips, his cock still slick from Eris' blow job, he then aligns his member with the High Lord's hole before slowly sliding in the tip.
"A-Azriel!" Eris squirms, the mere girth of the others cock was enough to make tears form in his eyes.
"Is it too much?"
"No! I... I want it so bad, please."
Azriel then begins to slide in further, now halfway in. The size was far to big, Eris was much smaller than the Illyrian warrior before him—by no means was Eris weak, no, just weaker than Azriel.
"Oh! Fuck! Azriel!"
"Such bad language for a High Lord, little fox..." Azriel smirks, his wings flare, outstretched.
"Let... let my hands out." Eris begs, Azriel's shadows release his wrists. Eris' hands move to Azriel's wings, he stroked the innermost part of the sensitive area and it causes Azriel to tense.
"Who said you could touch there?" He groans, he leans over Eris and then begins to pound.
Azirel has given up trying to be gentle with his mate, he thrusts his cock directly against his prostate every single time. He only halts when he sees something that makes his cock even harder.
He stops his movements when his member is fully buried inside of the other male, he sees in Eris' stomach a bulge, his cock's head.
"Oh... Azriel!" Eris moans, Azriel smirks and presses down on the spot.
In a second Eris' release shoots out of him, he arches his back as he moans.
"You like how that felt, my mate?" Azriel smirks.
"Y-Yes!" Eris whimpers. "Please... again, make me cum again, Az." He pleas.
Azriel's shadows form a pillow like shape under Eris' back, keeping him steady in his arched positions. Azriel begins to thrust his cock again, pounding that same spot every time. He nearly climaxes when he sees the bulge his cock makes as he fucks his mate.
"Fuck, Eris... take it. I'm so close."
"M-Me too! Please!" Eris moves his hand to his neglected cock, using his previous release as lube, he begins to stroke his cock at the same pace of Azriel's thrusts.
Azirel's pelvis slams against Eris' ass as he continues his relentless fucking. "Take it, take it!" The spymaster chants before cumming deep within the others ass. It was the most he ever has produced, his moans as he came was a sound so loud the entire palace could hear it.
Azriel moves his hand to Eris' cock, removing the others hand and replacing it with his own. In a few seconds Eris releases his second load, it spurts onto Azriel's hand and his lower stomach.
"Are you alright?" Azriel kisses the others temple, he slides out of the other male and feels his cock grow hard again at the sight, he sees the spot where his cock was once bulging was now stuffed with cum, making Eris' stomach inflate.
Eris nods, the shadows that were once underneath him move around him. They move Eris in the bed, tucking him under the covers and massaging his back.
Azriel scoots in beside him, his arm tucks under Eris and tugs him closer. He pecks the redheads forehead.
"Are you certain...? I didn't hold back." Azriel sounds purely concerned.
"I am fine, Az." Eris whispers, panting.
Azriel kisses his lips, a soft and delicate kiss. "So... would you have enough energy for another round?"
"Did seeing me stuffed with your cum that hard?"
"Yes."
Eris smirks. "Then get to work, Az."
* * *
Eris wakes up early, he sits up in the bed and smiles down at his sleeping mate. He has never felt so happy, he didn't have to worry about Beron torturing him, harming Azriel, anything.
The High Lord throws his legs over the side of the bed and stands, well, tries too. He instantly collapses to the floor. He hears a dark chuckle come from the bed.
"Shush." Eris grumbles. Azriel stands and hooks his arms under Eris' knees and neck. He hoists him up into his strong, warrior arms.
"Are you alright, Eris?" Azriel kisses his temple.
Eris nods. "I'm hungry."
"Later." The spymaster carries them to the bathroom.
* * *
After the two of them bathe together, Eris has regained his leg strength. They walk into the kitchen—luckily, no one was home so they didn't have to explain—and then Eris begins to fix them plates.
"I can help." Azriel states as he begins to stand.
"No." Azriel sits back down. "I heard that you present your mate with food for the bond to be official..." Eris sets down the plate before Azriel.
"Do you want to be my mate, Azriel?"
"Yes." The spymaster replies.
"Then eat."
So he does.
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Some of the story was based off this amazing art work by @the-beautiful-darkness-art
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trying-to-do-good · 13 days
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Hey there! Here is Chapter 15 of my really long, slow, self indulgent, self insert fan fic. I appreciate all of your comments and likes, it makes me smile every time I see it! This'll be my last update for a week or so, so please enjoy an extra long teaser below the break.
Rated M, Eventual Karlach x tav
I walk on, relieved at our success. 
We've set the trio of tiefling siblings up for success in the future Acts, we've initiated quest lines for both the druids and the tieflings, we've restocked our supplies, and we still have time to see Nettie! What a day!
The walk to the deep grove is long, but it feels lighter. Sure, there’s another high stakes social interaction coming up, but having my group with me makes the task seem so much more doable!
‘Hm. My group? What happened to being alone in this universe?’ I think apprehensively.  
Along the way, Gale recounts his shopping escapades to the group, while Astarion hides a snicker behind his hand. Lae’zel takes a notable interest in the acquired arrows and trail rations and demands to have Astarion’s pack to test the quality of the inventory more thoroughly. They fall to the back of the herd as they critique what had been available for sale. Wyll wanders closer to me and leans down to curtly pass along Zevlor’s predictable request to speak to the new First Druid on the refugee’s behalf. 
“Don’t worry about him.” I say in an equally low voice. “Kagha’s already asked me to talk to him on the druid’s behalf. Now, they’re both just waiting for us to talk to the other! Ha! Should buy us some time, and a bit of peace, to fix this before any more fights break out.” 
I think over my plan, and decide to put in an extra disclaimer as a precaution. “Just… don’t let either of them see us until then.” I warn.
Wyll looks down at me, his eyebrows raised. Then, very slowly, his devilish smile returns to his face. “You’re more clever than what I’ve given you credit for.” He admits, his good eye searching my face for offense. 
I shrug at him. How could I be insulted for being judged correctly? 
“This apology is late in coming, but I do regret being cross with you before.” He says with honest regret. “And for leading you astray this morning. The intention was noble, but I understand that I've made a grave error in judgment. Such behavior is unbecoming of the Blade.”
His sincerity feels like a punch to the gut. It’s nice that he no longer disapproves of me, but I have no idea how to handle an apology, much less a compliment, from a real life hero such as he.
In response, I raise a smile to my face like a shield and tell him ‘no worries.’
We reach the bottom of the stone steps and I take a moment to stare at the ritual. 
The druids are enthusiastically praying to their idol, their wild magic dying the air itself an emerald green and eliciting a foreboding foresty scent. The intensity of their spell should strike fear into my heart, but I’m feeling far too pleased to be scared of them. 
My eyes linger on their efforts as we continue forward. 
They can pray all they want, for all I care, but I’m doing everything in my power to make sure that they don't even get to use their dumb spell. 
Blissfully unaware of my counterproductive efforts, the druids continue their stupid ritual and let us pass unaccosted. Before we enter the intricately carved stone door to descend into the council rooms and the healer’s ward, the shine of gold from a nearby blue jay’s nest distracts Astarion. Feigning a similar interest, Shadowheart stoically follows the rogue. If I were a gambler, I’d bet money that she’s avoiding the possibility of running into that great wolf lurking in the council hall. 
I say nothing of their departure as the rest of our party heads inside. 
We find Rath and Kagha standing near the druidic library, still debating one another aggressively, despite Rath’s previous vow for cooperation. 
Good. Lets me hide behind the crowd of our group as we pass by. 
We greet Nettie in her ward while she is tending to another injured bird. She hails to Lae’zel and I, and I politely introduce the rest of our party to her.
Nettie seems a bit overwhelmed, but she still smiles and asks us how we've been faring. She really is such a kind soul. 
Then she asks me to strip and take a seat so that she can reexamine my injuries. 
Oh shit. Do they not have doctor/patient confidentiality here??
She’s been so kind to me, so I’d love to comply with her request, but it’s too fucking embarrassing! Remembering and revealing my previous failures and weaknesses, in front of my companions of all people, is enough to bring a bright blush to my cheeks. 
“M-maybe later, Nettie?” I hint, instinctively covering the slash in my pants with my hand. I haven't had time to fix that yet. “I actually have a different question, for you, as a healer.”
“Oh aye?” She asks curiously. I take a deep breath and hold it, struggling as to where to begin. 
In the game, the best way to deal with Nettie is to just be honest with her. Unfortunately, my version of ‘honest’ always comes off as a sort of… dishonest in this world. Does that mean my charisma is really low or is it my persuasion? Maybe it's both. Fuck me, I guess. 
“I was…” I begin.  “…infected with an illithid tadpole. A few days ago.” Nettie gasps. The group tenses, warily watching the healer’s negative reaction.
I hold up my hands to Nettie for peace. I have to make sure that a fight doesn't break out. That’d make everything we had to do in the grove much harder to deal with. 
Now, just what do I have to say to her again? 
“It happened on a mindflayer ship, the one that crashed nearby.” I recount as calmly as I can. “I don’t have any other symptoms, besides some headaches and psionic powers.” 
Nettie’s eyes burn into my own, searching for signs of the mind flayer parasite. She’s looking for any changes in me. I can almost see her memories of the day of the goblin attack flash behind her eyes. 
She purses her lips. “And your companions…?” She asks, turning a suspicious eye to the rest of the party. 
“They- they’re very worried!” I say hurriedly, recapturing the healer’s attention. “But they haven’t seen any signs that I’ve been changing.” I emphasize, holding a hand to my heart. 
The others, save Lae’zel, follow my lead and nod. Nettie pauses, then shakes her head sympathetically and turns to think more on the matter.
“I… might be able to help you.” She says hesitantly. “Follow me.” 
With a wave of her hand, her wild magic opens a secret stone door from one of the walls of the ward. She gestures for me to follow, but holds up a hand to the others. 
“I’d still like to look over your other injuries, if you don’t mind.” She states gently. “It’ll only take a moment, but unless you want an audience I suggest this lot waits out here.” She points my companions towards the other end of the ward. 
I must not look very healthy. I guess vampiric blood loss, threats of ceremorphosis, and strenuous fights with the undead tends to do that to people. I touch my neck in embarrassment. 
Well, dealing with Nettie one-on-one might be for the best. Her upcoming conversation and rescue request always came with mixed approvals from the group. As long as she never reaches for that deadly thorned branch on Halsin’s laboratory bench, I shouldn't have anything to worry about.
With a warm face and a weak smile, I wave at my party, conveying that I'd be alright by myself
Nettie magics the stone door closed with a flick of her wrist and in an instant it looks like a wall once more. She sighs and leads me deeper into the secret lab. I jump when I notice a large mass on a nearby table.
“FUCK!” I yelp. 
There’s another body on the slab. It’s the dead drow that Nettie and Halsin had been studying before he'd left with the adventurers. I'd forgotten about it. 
A slight hint of decay wafts over from the body, and I turn my head in disgust. I hold a hand to my racing heart as Nettie apologizes and points me towards an empty slab.
An unforeseen force starts to squirm against my skull when I pass by the body, as if my tadpole is pulling on my brain like a grotesque dog on a leash. 
“ There’s a parasite over there. ” the grating voice of the Emperor says in my mind. 
I can’t physically respond, but I do my best to convey that I know that already. If not from the game, then from the little fucker moving around in my head. 
“ Take it. ” the Emperor orders, not addressing my attempts at a response. 
I sit down heavily on the slab, holding my head in my hand. I had been put through the wringer for most of the day and it was nice to finally be able to sit down for a bit. 
I say as much to Nettie, thanking her softly for her hospitality. 
She gives me a pained smile, and offers to make me a drink. I hold out my hand to refuse, but then the little angel says the most magical phrase in her entire druidic vocabulary: 
“Would you like some tea?”
My soul practically screams with want. 
“Goddamnit, I would love some tea.” I say thirstily. “Yes, please, Nettie.”
Nettie nods and puts a small kettle on over a primitive bunsen burner.
“Let's check you over then, while we wait.” she suggests, pulling a short stool up to my slab.
I awkwardly undo all of the fucking laces of my clothes and pull them off. I lay them at the foot of the slab and resume sitting, trying my best to be a good patient. I shiver slightly as my warmth is sapped by the stone. Sitting in a damp cave in my underclothes doesn’t seem like the best way to carry out an exam on a sick patient, but then again, I’m not the expert here.
Without even having to chant, Nettie sets her hand aglow and holds it to my face. She asks me to follow a series of familiar instructions; open my mouth, turn so she can see inside my ears, follow her finger with my eyes; look up, look down, look side to side. She also touches my neck, just under my jaw.
I can see her raise her eyebrow at the fresh bite mark near my shoulder and the shallow slice mirrored on the other side but she asks nothing of it.
Her practiced hand then checks my pulse, while examining my nails and pressing on each of my fingers in the necessary, short silence.
The kettle rattles on its stand. Nettie lets me go and pats the bed, an invitation to lie down.
‘Why stand when you can sit, why sit when you can lie down?’ I think to myself with a smile, remembering this fun mantra from my school days. 
“I’m sorry that you��ve got me instead of Master Halsin. He’s the real healer here, not me. I’m still apprenticing at the moment.” Nettie says apologetically, extinguishing the bunsen burner and moving the kettle. “Master Halsin is the one most knowledgeable of infected folk here…”
She goes on with a speech very similar to what I remembered from the game, pulling a few bunches of leaves off from a nearby herb hanger and tying them together with a long stem as she talks. She pops the bundle into the kettle and walks back to me, moving her stool to accommodate the next part of the exam.
“We’ll just let that brew a bit.” She murmurs. Her eyes and fingers sweep across my body, prodding and stretching at the scars that she had healed over herself. The ghost of the weapons that had pierced me seem to linger within the scars, and I squirm under her touch. 
She then lays her head on my stomach. 
Ugh, too intimate, too embarrassing! Is the medical technology in this world really so primitive??
She moves up to my chest and tells me to take a deep breath, her ear to my lungs. I follow her instructions, keeping my eyes on the stalactites reaching down from the ceiling.
“You need more fluids.” She says at last, straightening to her full height. “And meat. I haven't met a lot of half-drow in my time, but I'd say you're a bit underweight.”
A half-drow? Is that what I am? Aren't they hated by every other race, including other drow? Of fucking course that’s the body I’m in. Why not, at this point, right? 
I chuckle dryly at my luck and sit up. 
Nettie casts a bit of wild magic that takes away the sting on both sides of my neck. She then steps down from her stool and returns to the kettle.
“Besides that, and your infection, you seem perfectly healthy. And perfectly normal…” She says, puzzled as she pours the tea with a shaky hand.
I rub my forehead once more and stand. With a groan, I stiffly pull on my clothes. An ache in my body persists despite Nettie’s healing. It probably comes from anxious exhaustion, and from sleeping on the ground every night. 
‘Perfectly healthy’ indeed. 
Before I can get to tying up all of my fucking laces, Nettie returns with two piping hot mugs, and gives one to me. It warms my hands and the steam smells reminiscent of peppermint. I sit down to fully savor and appreciate it. How long has it been since I’ve had a proper cuppa? I blow on the surface before taking a satisfying sip. It tastes like a warm hug.
After watching me indulge, Nettie goes on with her observations of my anatomy and the information that she and Halsin had gathered on the people infected with parasites recently. 
When she pauses, I reiterate that I, and my group, would like to find a cure for my tadpole infection as soon as possible. 
ASAP, if you will.
Nettie insists that my only chance would be with the First Druid, Master Halsin, the expert in healing and mind flayers. The First Druid who is, regrettably, missing at the moment. I take a long pull on my tea before offering to find the druid Halsin for her, in the Selunite temple occupied by a goblin horde, no problem.
No problemo. 
Nettie stares at me, then gives a quick, unconvinced glance at my meager body and my newly acquired scars. 
“I’ll… I’ll ask my party if we can go look for Halsin. Together.” I counteroffer, taking another swallow of my drink. “They’re really good. At doing things. I mean. My companions. Like, so good. At doing all of the things. They’re all really… strong. And-and smart…” I say goofily, thinking of my attractive companions, they're stunning figures flashing in my mind's eye. I take another sip of my tea. 
“I think you’ve had enough.” Nettie says anxiously, carefully extracting the mug from my loose grip. “Are you absolutely sure that you’re not changing? That you want to help us?” She asks, shaking my knee.
“Pfft. Yeah. Abs-solutely.” I slur. I try to give the healer a confident smile.
With a final, desperate look, Nettie sighs. “Alright. I’m going to have to trust you. I don’t have much choice. But I am going to trust you. You’re probably the only one here that is willing and able to leave the grove right now to search for Master Halsin.”
“Why… are my arms sooo heavy?” I say, flopping my limbs about. Nettie gives me a guilty look.
She and her face tattoos looks very silly from all the way up here.
“I couldn’t risk you transforming.” Nettie explains, pulling a black vial from her belt. “You’d be a danger to everyone in the grove, including your friends.” She uncorks the vial and puts it between my hands, pushing it to my mouth. “This’ll counteract the poison, drink it up and you’ll feel better.”
“Friendsss?” I say in disbelief, sniffing at the medicine. It smells vile. I cringe and seal my mouth shut. I’d rather drink my super delicious peppermint tea instead. I want to fight it, but Nettie tilts the noxious liquid into my mouth and urges me to swallow. 
A loud scraping of stone against stone startles me, and the rest of the antidote spills to the floor. Nettie and I look over to see Astarion in the entryway, kneeling in front of the group, a lock picking kit held midair. 
‘How could that possibly work?’ I wonder distantly. My body feels heavy but my mind feels light, nearly floating away in the tense silence. I give in to the tea's seductive comfort and slump onto the stone slab.
“Hey! What’re you doing?!” Someone shouts. 
Nettie backs off, hands raised, calmly recounting the situation to the group. She tells them about Halsin and his expertise, of my agreement to help find him, and of my current condition.
I give the group a floppy thumbs up from my horizontal position.
“She’s taken some medicine that’ll make her… a wee bit sleepy. It should wear off in a few hours or so.” She reassures them. “Here. Take this wyvern poison with you, if she starts transforming into a mind flayer, give it to her, and make sure she takes it. Immediately.”
There's another tense moment of silence before Nettie is brushed to the side and bodies are surrounding me. Big ones, bright ones, nice smelling ones... People are talking all around me, possibly even to me. Someone shakes my shoulders. Someone reaches out with their parasite to gleen what they can from my stupor. 
They don't get much as my parasite stays blissfully still in my head.
Fuck. I’m so tired, even my parasite is sleepy.
A pair of pale hands reach out and tie up all of my fucking laces for me. Someone puts a water skin to my mouth and tells me to drink. It tastes warm. A hand grips my chin, eyes are searching mine for lucidity. I lean into the hand and hum. It feels nice to be so still and content for a moment. 
“ GET THE PARASITE .” A slap of a voice says in my mind. I sluggishly try to wake up. 
Someone is urging me to stand. I sit up with assistance, but I can’t remember how to talk to my legs. I droop over the side of the stone slab instead. There is a grumble in my ear. 
Rough, strong arms scoop me up. It’s comfortable and familiar. I feel like I’ve been here before. I lay my head against the cool metal of a breastplate and sigh. 
“Enough of this place. We shall return to camp and begin packing at once. We have a long journey ahead before we reach the creche.” the faraway voice of Lae’zel commands. Not waiting for argument or agreement, she begins taking swift strides to the exit of the secret lab.
“Hold on now, the closer option for possible tadpole extradition is this Master Halsin fellow!” Gale argues, keeping pace with the gith. I hear other footsteps following behind us.
“I’d prefer facing a few goblins than trying to enter gith’s stronghold.” Shadowheart adds snidely.
A debate breaks out amongst the group. It seems to last for an eternity as I drowse within the increasing darkness of drug induced sedation. It’s like a lullaby; birds singing, wind blowing in the trees, and my companions arguing about their life threatening parasites amongst themselves. 
Throughout the walk, Lae’zel’s grip on me never falters. I’m never jostled too harshly, or hit with stray tree branches. I know that a githyanki hates seeing weakness like this, but I can’t help but indulge in it. It feels nice. Safe. 
Maybe if Lae’zel could have someone hold her the way that she holds me, she wouldn’t want to recoil from such displeasing things like vulnerability and comfort. 
I relax further into her arms, and let out the smallest sigh of appreciation. This security, this solace, and this soft rhythmic pace are enough to finally push me over the edge into a deep and embracing sleep.
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dakotas-stuff · 3 months
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so ummmm guys I MADE THE SILLY!!!!!
MERRYMIRTH
Pronouns: It/Its
it was supposed to look like a furry skeleton goat krampus thingy but i didn't know how to draw that so i just added a skeleton nose and hoped it worked
the tail is coated in feathers, pretend its anatomy makes sense
more info below image
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I had to add green and red colors because otherwise it would look like BRIAN GRIFFIN!!!!!!!
its horns are not candy canes i would not recommend trying to eat them
fun fact, see that its ribs are a part of its body? that's its defense mechanism. if it detects any kind of threat, its ribs will extend out, acting as a shield! it has a teleporting ability, but the rib-shield thing is just an extra precaution.
its eyes glow in the dark! :D
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random-xpressions · 10 months
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Keep an iron shield against negative energy, in whatever form or shape. Especially when it comes in the human form, then it has a far reaching catastrophic effect. Hence take extra precautions to keep them at bay. No access to you whatsoever, just like demons are forbidden from entry anywhere close to divine arenas. But even more challenging encounter is when the enemy is from within - your own negative thoughts, feelings, emotions, sentiments and beliefs. Just like iron that cannot be defeated but corroded by its own rust...
Random Xpressions
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cajunandfire · 6 months
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Hurray for Spicy Drabbles! How about #15?
"I'll always be there for you"
"I'll always be there for you" from this fic drabble ask.
Happy Birthday @myth-blossom! Wishing you all the best on your special day. Thank you for always being such a sweet pal and such a supportive part of our fandom!
-
Her first month as the constant had come with its growing pains. Managing the organization came rather naturally to her but it was wrangling some of her most senior heralds that was causing her difficulty.
Some of the heralds did not dare question her leadership. Kadir, Quill, Yinyuan, and Stavroula all bent the proverbial knee and fell in line. They didn't have to be swayed or convinced to support Diana Burnwood. They were smart; they knew how to survive in this business. Following Diana was the only way to continue on.
It was Richard Jones and Hira Amala that were starting to cause problems for her. The sneering and occasional snide remarks she could handle, but their defiance of her orders this week posed a serious threat. Not only that, but after returning to her office one recent afternoon, she found that it had been searched and riffled through. She promptly ordered herself additional security as a precaution.
It's late tonight, and she yawns at her desk as she begins collecting her things. She hits a button on her phone, paging her two guards to enter her office. It's time for them to take her home.
They walk down the hall, and a third guard joins them in the elevator after sweeping the hallway and boardroom. They ride down to the parkade, greeting yet another set of guards as they exit the elevator.
As they turn the corner and make their way to her car, it's clear something is wrong. The two guards posted at her car are nowhere to be found. Rather, the group stumbles upon two bodies, their backs leaned against the bumper of her car. Their positioning and deep blue suits painted a stark picture. Jones and Amala were dead, garrotted, and presented like the hunted gifts of a cat.
Organized chaos ensues. Her guards draw their guns, and one drops open a fabric kevlar shield to protect her, backing her towards the elevator. Two guards break off to sweep the area and the three draw her back upstairs to her office for her safety.
She drops her bag onto her desk and rubs her temples as she sits down. Her two problem heralds were suddenly dispensed of. Who? How? Could it have been....? No. How it could it have?
Suddenly it comes into view, a small, folded card rests on her desk, one that certainly wasn't there earlier. She takes it, inspecting the note scrawled in a very familiar penship.
I'll always be there for you
She looks up from the note and at the four guards posted inside of her office, all focused on the door and their radios for her safety. She realizes now that there is one extra guard in her room, with a most familiar stature and piercing blue eyes.
He turns his head to her, placing a gloved finger over his lips, asking for her silence. Ensuring the other guards are busy before she responds, she nods at him and mouths a silent 'thank you'. He nods back at her.
She takes the card, tucking it into her bag, relieved and grateful that her agent was somehow here, and watching over her. There's so much she wants to say to him, but she knows she can't do it now. His presence brings her a peace that she hadn't known for some time.
Once the call comes in that the building is safe, her car has deemed to be untampered with and the bodies have been removed, the group begins their journey downstairs again.
With one final long at each other, and a shared small smile, 47 quietly peels off from the group, making his escape.
They would meet again soon, she knew that as fact. As soon as she could dismantle Providence they would be together, free to speak and embrace as much as they wanted. That made this all worthwhile.
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delicatefade · 2 months
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WIP Wed: "I don't love it?"
Another wed, another excerpt from my kissy kissy elves draft. Dragon age setting, but it’s all OCs. My OC is Eilan Lavellan and @bluewren’s OC is Lex Lavellan.
Lex had been gone for 7 months. He returned earlier that day. He and Eilan spent the day with their clan. This is their first evening together, alone. CW: Kissy wissy? Questionable facial hair? WIP Wed tagging @inquisimer @bluewren @mrslyncx @breninarthur @nirikeehan@theluckywizard@monocytogenes@sunshowerdandelion@narravero@varric-tethras-editor@melisusthewee@rosella-writes@warpedlegacywrites wc: 622
Unwed Dalish youths were not given tents. They had to make do with nature’s hidden alcoves. Luckily, Lex and Eilan knew just the spot, the very same clearing in the woods that had witnessed their love blossom a year ago. The walk from camp to the clearing would have taken all of ten minutes were it not for their frequent stops. “Gods I missed your touch,” she whispered. Their lips were raw from kissing. He had her pinned against a tree, his body pressed against hers.
He cupped her face in one hand — she loved it when he did that. He must have known for he did it often. Lex looked at her like she was the most precious and beautiful thing he had ever seen, though he had never said as much in so many words. She told herself that if forced to choose between that look or those words, she would choose that look. His thumb tugged on her lower lip. She mewled softly. His hands fumbled with the layers she wore. Their breaths made little plumes in the frost of early spring. “The clearing,” she panted, cheek to cheek. Twenty minutes and four amorous detours later, they reached the clearing. Tempting as it may have been to tear off each other’s clothes and make love with abandon, they had learned after many months of meeting in the wilds in all kinds of weather that a little preparation went a long way. The ground had not yet thawed. The night would plummet into a chill. The forest’s proximity to a shemlen city meant that precautions needed to be taken against potential human threats. They worked together to prepare the camp. Lex set down a thick mat to shield them from the cold earth. Eilan contributed an extra wide scarf that doubled as a blanket. Their old fire pit was still there, though a little worse for wear. Lex tended to it, commanding the overgrowth to clear with an arcane whisper. As he did so, Eilan activated the warding runes that they had carved a year ago into the trees that ringed the clearing. She thought of making a joke, that they should get married if only to claim a tent at camp and make love whenever they wished. She thought better of it. Lex lit the fire pit with a burst of magic. The flames roared and burned without fuel. He sat on the mat and guided Eilan to sit astride his lap. In the firelight they looked at each other, smitten anew. He tucked a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. That enamored look returned to his eyes. “What?” she said coyly. “What?” He smiled at her flirtation. “That look.” “What look?” She shrugged one shoulder cheekily. “That look.” Lex tipped his head to the side, seemingly confused. Eilan’s brows lifted expectantly, as if by pretending that what she spoke of were obvious would make it so. Lex chuckled. “What, babe?” Never mind. She relaxed out of her expectant posture and masked her disappointment by stroking the patchy stubble on his chin. “What about this?” He rubbed the thin wisp of hair. “I’m thinking of growing it out.” Elves were not known for their ability to grow facial hair, and Lex, for all his talents and looks, was no exception. “Oh!” Her smile froze in place. “Really?” “Woooow! You hate it!” Lex laughed. “No-no! Well, it’s just that—” “Oh you really, really hate it.” Eilan winced and confessed regretfully, “I don’t love it?” He laughed harder. “Alright, miss hard-to-impress. Message received. Let’s see what you think of your gifts.” “Gifts, plural.” “Mhm.” He wagged his brows triumphantly as he pulled his pack closer. “Okay, gift number one.”
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godenvy · 4 months
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          he got separated from his date somewhere between point a and point b.  which.  it's fine.  he's fine, really.  he can handle himself on his own.  ryuu doesn't have to position himself as a wallflower tonight.  isn't that the point here  ?  mask on, lights dimmed, and no one is who they say they are.  halloween, if halloween was a month later and for sophisticated adults.
          not that he feels like a sophisticated adult.  doesn't mean he can't indulge himself in a drink.  a server passes by and he grabs a flute of champagne off the tray they're balancing.  drink spills as soon as it's halfway to his mouth, the stupid fucking beak of the stupid fucking plague doctor mask knocking it over.  cool.  fine.  mesh shirt was not the brightest idea but at least it won't stain.  he takes off the mask in frustration, completely messing up the hair he took way too much time doing.  both mask and now empty glass are set on a nearby table, and he finds a napkin to futilely dab at his shirt with.
          ryuu's just grateful that the entire debacle happened in a relatively secluded area of the venue, or at least as undisturbed as a place like this can get.  only a handful of other people linger here.  black domino mask, someone with devil horns, something so glittery it hurts to look at, black lace, white domino mask, one that's definitely real gold — wait, go back — black lace. 
          their face is shielded by the rim of a hat and the mask but there's a detail to the straight line of their shoulders and the curve of the jaw and the silhouette their suit makes.  his mouth goes dry.  countless times over the past few years he's mistaken a stranger for her, and each time he was glad he asked anyway.  ryuu's approaching them without thought, mask left behind and hand     (     he's wearing gloves; he won't attend an event so large and with so many extra ordinaries without proper precautions     )     out stretched to tap them on the shoulder and draw their attention.  
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          "     hey.  sorry.     "     an excuse, c'mon, literally anything to get them to turn around.     "     do you have the time  ?  i don't have my phone and i have to leave early.  to feed my...    "     okay, not literally anything.  what the fuck  ?     "     …  my succulents...     " / @fiiregaze — reiko nishiyama
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garrick-cargyll · 7 months
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THE ESCAPE OF THE GREENS FROM KING’S LANDING
Featuring @jaehaeraxtargaryen & @lencra, mention of @jaehaerysiitargaryen ( tw: violence, death )
He'd made a promise to his friend. His brother. And he was sworn to keep it.
Turmoil began quietly brewing in King's Landing when the news of the dragon prince's disappearance, with the rumors of his death. Power began to slip through Queen Daenerys' fingers in no time. The decree to remove the people of the West followed. The Lord of Cargyll then spoke to his princess as well as Jaehaerys' wife. It was time to leave.
Garrick led a small group of guards who descended from houses that supported the Greens when the dragons danced. They continued to pledge their loyalty, and so they were allowed to escort the princesses to safety. The sworn sword had purposely kept the escort small, wishing to avoid raising any suspicion. Both of the women wore light, yet sturdy chainmail under their dresses for extra precaution by his request. He rode as close to Lenora as possible, and Haera sat before him on his horse. His arms were wrapped around her as he held the beast's reins, shielding her as much as he could with his own body. Her hand was wrapped in his, and Garrick was determined to not let go of her this time.
“Ho,” he murmured, slowing his horse to a stop. His hand rose in a fist, indicating the men behind him to stop in their tracks too. With a single silent command, three of the men riding a few paces behind the consort princess positioned themselves at her side, flanking her mount in a protective manner.
They had just crossed the gates of the city, and now, before them, a handful of armored men began to pour from the edges of the road to block their path.
“State your business, before you're granted passage, ser” one of the men, the more mature-looking of the lot stated as he gave Garrick a once-over.
“I'm not at liberty to say, I answer only to her grace,” the sworn sword replied with a composed voice.
“Queen Daenerys did not grant you leave, Ser Garrick”.
“Not her,” the knight answered with a subtle scoff as he dismounted the horse. “Her,” he emphasized as he looked at Jaehaera, grabbing the reins to place them in her hands. He saw flashes of horror in her lilac eyes for a second. For a moment, his attention was hers, and he simply muttered “It’s going to be alright. I will hold your hand again in no time, my princess”. I will not let go. I will not let any harm come to you this time.
The remaining guards of his party gathered around the Targaryen princess, shielding her as they had done with Lenora just a moment ago. The men who stood preventing their easy trajectory forward began to pull out their swords. Good on them, to have an inkling of the reputation Jaehaerys’ sworn sword had.
“Let us pass. I will ask just this once,” the last Cargyll said as he slowly raised both hands in the air, walking ahead with a steady yet menacing gait. Those were the steps of a beast ready to attack.
“You’re not to leave,” the leader of that band of soldiers. “We have our orders”.
“And I have mine,” Garrick’s voice dropped to a dangerous note.
“You are under arrest—” the guard began.
“That's unfortunate. My orders don't include prisoners”. Whatever it takes, he knew. Those were the orders his prince would give. Safety, would be the only wish from his princess.
Their opponents might have felt a sense of ease in seeing Garrick’s sheathed swords at his back. They failed to look for anything else. Why would they? It was their grave mistake to fail to pay attention to his wrists. In one single motion, a bolt was shot out from under his sleeve, revealing a small, concealed crossbow. A genius little piece of engineering he'd acquired in Oldtown many moons ago. Just like that, the metallic bolt embedded itself in between the leader of the guards. In one swift motion, Garrick loaded again.
Violence erupted then. The carnage was quick. All eight bolts stored around his gauntlet were used, all eight meeting a target. His men bathed their swords in blood quicker than their opponents could coordinate a useful attack against the elite group of skilled soldiers. They didn't fight with the finesse of knights, even though some of them were. They fought in barbaric ways; using brute force, moving like swift beasts. Those men ought to have known; Jaehaerys wouldn't have entrusted his wife and sister's safety in the hands of men who wouldn't cross every line to keep them safe.
Ten to sixteen were the odds. And ten men killed sixteen, rolling their butchered corpses to the brush at the side of the road when it was all said and done.
Garrick wiped the blood of the sword he did use against the cloak of one of the dead men. He glanced around, pulling new bolts from a pouch attached to his belt, and setting them in place in his hidden crossbow. He had a feeling he'd not use it again today, yet it always served him well to be ready.
“Let's continue,” he called to his men as he rushed back to mount the horse. He sat behind Haera again, tightly gripping her hands in his for a moment. He could sense a light tremble in them. He hated she'd been a witness to such bloodshed, but his relief in having secured her safety trumped that. Again, his arms were around her lithe frame when he took hold of the reins of sank his heels on the mount's side, urging the destrier to trot again.
Garrick was followed by the steady sounds of the guards and the consort princess riding behind him. Riding to safety. It had been arranged for them to procure a carriage at the next town, then both Lenora and Jaehaera could get some rest and not find the journey to Storm's End quite so tiring.
“You're safe,” he murmured against his princess' silvery gold locks, and he was so infinitely eased by the way in which Haera's soft hand squeezed his own. The sworn sword allowed himself that brief moment of peace after the violence he'd inflicted just there, outside the capital's gates. I will not let go. I will not let any harm come to you this time.
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summerinthecloudsx · 1 year
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The Death Omen; Rindou Haitani x Fem!Reader
Warning: Canon typical violence. 
Chapter 4
You can’t concentrate. Though you know you should be hunting, you retreat within the safety of your home. Curled against the corner of your pale cream loveseat, you idly run your fingers across the bright coral trim. The feather soft navy blanket draped across you provides a comfort, a security you’ve been craving ever since the encounter with the Haitani brothers. Though the two appeared mannerly, you know better than to trust a gang member. And the minute you had a chance to research them, you cringed at the long list of criminal activity. 
Robbery. 
Assault.
Assault with a deadly weapon.
Murder.
Drug possession and distribution. 
And that’s only the short version. You can’t even begin to dive into how many counts of each crime they’ve committed, knowing it’ll only make your panic worse. Even more concerning is the fact that they were found not guilty on many of these charges, a result of the broken system or cunning planning on the gang's end, you’re not sure. You are certain that you’d like to disappear, though. You wish you could go back to the night the man appeared in your alley and ignore him, let him stumble along drunkenly, ignorantly. Though, if you had done that, he might have survived to kill more innocent people. Is it selfish then to wish for a different outcome? 
You rub furiously at your eyes, willing away the thoughts of a different outcome. You can’t change what happened, and the sooner you accept that the sooner you can get on with your life. It doesn’t make it any easier to pull yourself away from your comfortable loveseat, though. And it certainly doesn’t ease the anxiety of pushing back the navy lace draped over your windows. The material probably didn’t do much to shield your interior in the first place, but something about the way it distorts your view of the outside world makes you feel better. How childish, you think. It’s the ideology of, ‘if I can’t see them, then they can’t see me.’ 
And who are they to make you feel that way? Some pathetic little humans don’t stand a chance against someone with your strengths, gifts. You always question the sudden rush of confidence that accompanies the sun setting. It’s easier for your kind to hide in the dark, fewer witnesses for the sins you’re compelled to commit. And when you pair the raw strength with a mask to conceal your true self, you’re free to become someone else. Someone fearless, brutal, unforgiving. Although, it leaves you wondering how the gang has discovered you already. Your mask isn’t exactly an easy one to decipher. Just for extra precaution, you shove the lace material into the pocket of your black hoodie. It’s better if you put it on away from your home. Fewer people will be able to make conclusions that way. 
-
When you arrive at your alley, you’re pleased to find it in the same condition you left it a few days ago. The dent still rests in the dumpster, a reminder of the pitiful man you feasted upon. A shred of guilt, panic sparks in the back of your mind, but you quickly push it away. This is your space. This is your safety, a place where you’re free to be whoever you need or want to be. 
Taking a calming breath, you pull your mask from its hiding place. The black lace feels heavenly against your skin as you pull it over your head, rubies glittering in the light of the street lamps. Your identity was hidden, but it didn’t mean you had to be dull about it. [Who would stop you even if you attracted attention? They’d be too frightened to even step forward.] Flower shaped gems line the structure of your face from your cheekbones, jawline, and the bridge of your nose to your hairline. The only portion free from the jewels is your mouth and two holes elegantly cut out for your ghoulish eyes.You breathe in and out several times as the feeling of security washes over you, the sensation of being faceless, nameless. It’s a powerful thing, being an unknown devil to these humans.
Normally, you’d ascend a street lamp to wait for your prey to enter the alley, but tonight, you feel a bit more daring. You sniff the air as you catch the scent of two men nearby. Their exact location is indiscernible, though you’re sure you recognize the aroma. It grows stronger the longer you focus on it until the sound of shoes snapping against pavement joins your sensations. With the help of a flickering light, you see the shadows of two men stalking ever closer. Their steps are slow, unhurried with their hands shoved into the pockets of their pants. The shadows reveal one with short, neat hair and another with layered long strands. It’s impossible to deny what you’re witnessing, no matter how much you pray. The Haitani Brothers are approaching your alley. 
You cease your breathing as you calculate the best response. If you run, there’s a chance they might hear you and confirm your guilt. After all, only the guilty run without speaking first when it comes to gang matters. On the other hand, if you stay and greet them, there’s a chance they’ll ambush you. It isn’t as if you think they can truly kill you, but if they have any indication as to your true identity, they might have brought another ghoul to finish you off. Still, they might not recognize you. You might even get a decent meal out of them, so you decide to remain in the middle of the alley. 
“Strange,” the short haired man speaks when he turns the corner into your den. “You’re not running.” It’s a question. He’s decided your guilt, then. “You know who we are, don’t you?” He doesn’t mean their names. You remember the card he handed you and the extensive research you performed only hours prior. He’s toying with you, giving you a chance to run for his amusement or your benefit, you’re not sure. 
Your eyes drift from their feet to the long haired man’s face. His stoic expression morphs into shock at the sight of your black scleras and red irises that match the hue of the gems on your mask. The way his shoulders relax too quickly tell you he’s nervous, attempting to seem unphased by your obvious inhuman appearance. He reveals his fists finally, cracking his knuckles next to his side and glancing briefly at his brother. 
“Do you know who I am?” You ask with a primal tilt of your head. It’s a false confidence, a mask for your own panic rising. They can’t hurt you, though. They’re not ghouls, that much is obvious. “You’re trespassing on my territory.” 
“Is that why you killed my worker bee? All we found left of him was his jacket, covered in his own blood. Did he stumble upon your nest, little ant queen?” 
“Ant?” You sneer, lips retreating to bare your teeth. “To me, you both are ants. Your kind is inferior to me in every way.” You should calm down, you know it. Your heart is racing, pounding against your hoodie. Black dots form in your vision as your panic mingles with rage, a dangerous mix for someone like you. 
“Ran,” the long haired man grunts. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m getting bored.” 
Lies. You can smell how excited he is, and can practically see his muscles trembling with the anticipation of fighting you. They must be powerful if they’re willing to fight a ghoul. 
“Do you even remember his name?” You ask as you begin to unleash your kagune. If they want a fight, then by all means you’ll give it to them. 
Ran smirks. “No. He wasn’t really that important, right Rindou? All he was good for was getting drunk and hurting civilians. He was actually a pain to deal with, always having to bail him out.”
“Ran.” Rindou’s voice is firm where his brother’s is teasing. Violet hues count the red tentacle-like appendages swaying behind you. So far, there are only four. He doesn’t have time for these games, though. He just wants to leave before his brother gets both of them killed. 
“Sounds like I did you a favor, then,” you observe pridefully. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”
Ran’s smile grows, a sinister shadow looming over him. “Actually, I’ve been instructed to give you the option of joining Tokyo Manji. Your specific…” He pauses to observe your kagune, imagining all of the damage it can inflict. “Set of skills would be a great advantage to us.” 
Your eyes shift between the brothers, waiting for them to laugh at their own joke. When they both remain silent in anticipation of your response, you can’t hold back the laugh that erupts from your throat. “Me? Join your gang of losers after I purposefully killed one of your men? Have you lost your grip on reality?” 
“Maybe. Care to join and help me find it again?” The way he licks his lips makes you cringe. “I know what’s behind that mask, remember? You could help us in more than one way, I’m sure.” 
“Ran, stop,” Rindou whispers harshly. His eyes narrow at his brother, though he doesn’t seem surprised by his flirting.
Your kagune extends until it points directly in front of Ran, hardening to a dangerous tip. If he moved forward just slightly it might carve into his eye. As it is, you’re not sure you want to kill them, yet. They haven’t charged at you. Maybe they’ll leave with a warning to stay clear of their organization. Maybe they just want to toy with you. But as for you joining them? Absolutely not. 
“I’m not some girl to be passed around between your friends,” you hiss. “Leave before I change my mind and kill you.” Your eyes land on Rindou, who is visibly vibrating as he compels himself to remain stationary. So he’s been ordered not to hurt you, interesting. “I suggest you put a leash on your dog.” 
“It’s a simple question,” Rindou responds with furrowed brows. Conveniently, he ignores your jab at him. “We don’t know why but our boss wants you to join. So, yes or no? Think carefully. He doesn’t offer second chances too frequently.” 
And you do. If you say no, you’re sure there will be consequences. They could be ordered to attack you immediately, and if they knew your status as a ghoul, then they might have come prepared. They could threaten your family. In fact, you’ve already decided to rush to your parents when you leave, beg them to relocate and take on new identities if it’ll keep them safe. They’ll understand eventually. Still, if you say yes, then you’ll be going against everything you stand for. You’ll sacrifice your own morality to save yourself. It’s not a decision you’re willing to make. 
“Tell your boss he can go fuck himself,” you spit with a surge of confidence. Your kagune stays in place, pointed at them in case they attempt to attack you. “I’m not joining your gang.” 
Rindou opens his mouth as if to speak again, but before he can manage a sound, your kagune knocks the brothers back against the brick wall. It isn’t enough to kill them or even knock them unconscious, but it’s enough to distract them while you leap to the nearest light pole. Something inside you is screaming to run to your parents, explain the situation as quickly as possible and get them to a safe space. It might be useless panic, your true personality coming to light as your confidence vanishes. It’s not a risk you’re willing to take, though, and you pray for them to still be alone as you scale multiple buildings until you finally reach their home. 
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se-07spaceoreos · 2 years
Text
I.I.W.H.F.W.? Chapter 3
Summary:
You know about red strings, but have you heard about golden ones, those with a bond so strong fate could not ignore it.
Time could not weaken it, love and hatred could not divide it.
Only one’s willingness to accept that it is over, is when their tether to the bond came to an end, sometimes mistakenly leaving the other bound to them without notice.
You didn’t know?
Good, you weren’t supposed too.
Because you were one of the first to witness it.
Warnings: Things briefly mentioned/alluded to; blood, death, guns, kidnapping(?), War (Age of Ultron), Feel free to name any if I missed them
THE WARNINGS MENTIONED MAY NOT APPLY TO ALL CHAPTERS
Words: 737
I’m in Mr.Stark’s office, he is standing in front of me, he seems happier than before.
“So, I’ve thought about what you said, and you are so correct. How are you supposed to make plans to help people if you are unaware of the damage?”
He started making a cocktail, offering me one, I refused.
“So I thought, huh why don’t I send you and your team out to Slovakia? I mean there would be safety precautions seeing as, heh people hate us, but you would get a scope of the land and the things you would need to adjust. All I need is for you and your team to agree on it, I’ll pay and everything, what do you say?” 
A trip to Slovakia, the place that is currently in economic shambles, the place currently having a debate war over the Avengers, the one of the governments that wanted them to agree with the proposed slovakian accords. 
Is he crazy?
Say yes 
“Yes, I’d be happy to help, you may want to ask everyone on the team for their agreement though, and if you don’t mind me asking. What would the safety precautions be?”
He smiled, taking a sip of his drink.
“I’m glad you agree, and I’d happily answer that”
He touched his watch, notifying something? Someone, I don’t know.
He pointed behind me.
Footsteps, turn
Three people filed in, all every occupant of New York and Slovakia now new by name; 
Get up
Clint Barton,
Shake their hand
Wanda Maximoff,
Make eye contact
Natasha Romanoff.
   Mr. Stark gave everyone a week to prepare for the Slovakia reconstruction railroad project, otherwise known as the S.R.R. project. He gave us time to clear schedules, say goodbye, as we would be leaving for 2 months.
I was ready on the first night.
I didn’t have anyone to say goodbye to.
Well, no one close enough, anyways.
I rubbed the ring on my finger, I took the children's story book off my nightstand.
Mr.Stark explained that the three Avengers would be with my main team, as we are going to the ones assessing the damages.
Wanda Maximoff was there so she could guide us through the area, give us a scope on what the society looked like, and for the language barrier due to the older generations.
Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff would be there each as the head of their own group made out of shield agents for security.
My team consist of;
Maria Spoke - Telecommunications
Jamie Aristeidis - Telecommunications 
Julia White - Drafter 
Daniel Brooks - Drafter
Harleen Barlow - Accounting Specialist 
Alex Hammond -  Accounting Specialist(assistant)
Neil Bowman - Expenses Manager 
Jacob Shillingford - Electrician 
Eliza Blake - Electrician 
Stephen Alvarez - Plumer
Riley Willard - Plumer
Adrian Lewis - Mechanical engineering
Vicktor Hart - Mechanical engineering
Me - Electromechanical Engineering
That’s 28 people in total taking into account that the shield teams each consist of 6 people not including their respective head leaders.
Those are the people I will be with everyday, then there are the people Mr.Stark hired as extra and backup support.
Why is this important?
They say it’s good to get to know your team, that it creates a healthy environment, that's probably why I’m at a bar right now.
“How do you guys feel about the project, good idea by the way!”
Maria said while looking at me.
Adrian Lewis turned to me.
“Yeah great idea! Probably the only reason why we’re not still stuck in the conference room!”
He said while he pat my back.
I already knew most of them, the only new employees were the drafters, plumbers, and the expense managers. Though they were only transfers from known companies or old employees he fired once people found out he was Iron Man. Stark wanted to make sure that everyone was reliable for this project.
Smile thank them
“Thank you.”
Riley turned to the group.
“So you guys know who you’re rooming with?”
Because so many people lost housing, the residents around them and the hospitality businesses are letting them stay free of charge, presumably. Meaning that we will have little living space when we are there, it will also change frequently seeing as we do have to follow the railroads.
“We get to choose? I thought it was separated by occupation?”
“Wait no, isn’t it gender?”
“Where are we staying?”
They bickered over our short-term living conditions for the rest of the night.
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lis-likes-fics · 2 years
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A Witch Life | Chapter 13
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Morning came quicker than anyone was fond of—unless you were Dracula One and Two, who were far too excited than they should have been for a fight. Y/N woke everyone as she gathered her coven, urging everyone else to do the same. She grabbed a bag she had brought with her and handed every witch in her coven a small box. In each box held a necklace of their special sigil. Every witch did the same as they wore their necklaces with pride.
As they headed out, all the familiar took extra precaution as they took on their offensive forms. Freya's form was slightly bigger than the last time she had taken this mass of a creature's height. She was practically the size of a bear, standing at similar heights of Jacob's wolf form.
Cats turned to lions and panthers and more, birds became like the sizes of vultures, already wild animals grew in size until the werewolves were not the only intimidating masses. Freya knelt down as Y/N moved Althea to sit on her back. With the wave of her hand and help from some of Jia's special wardings, she had a protective shield over her and Renesmee that even Jia's brother would not be able to challenge as easily.
The snow clung to the cold ground, frigid temperatures surrounding them but not quite reaching them through the protection of their magic. They held together in huddles, providing each other extra warmth and support as they trekked the rest of the way through the cold.
As they walked through the trees, they took the natural magic residing in them and the ground and even the air around them to keep them charged. Jia's protection was already in hand and settled in as they walked. It took a moment to get used to—it was the same shield that they encountered when they went to retrieve them in China, but it was tweaked so that everyone under its protection would not become disoriented just by being under it.
Y/N found her stomach doing flips and was glad she had given that necklace to Althea the night before. It was not completely out of sentiment, but also to help her balance out her magic. Especially now, her gift would be eased from sensing every emotion so she could spare herself the overwhelming dump of feelings.
Y/N's hand stayed on Freya's side, her red fur bringing comfort as they came across a vast open field with Cole standing beside her. It was so bright because of the light that reflected off the blinding snow, but their eyes quickly adjusted as they came to a halt just at the mouth of the field.
They stood anxiously awaiting the Volturi's arrival, the wolves staying back in the trees until the right moment to appear. Covens typically stood with covens, spaced out in groups but in a large enough clump that they could be viewed as a strong group of one.
Althea was silent at Y/N's side and on Freya's back. Her foot tapped anxiously at her side, though, and Freya turned her head slightly at the movement. Y/N set a hand on her daughter's and gave as genuine a smile as she could. This calmed her a little, but Althea was still just as uneasy as everyone else.
"Daddy should be here," Althea whispered in her small voice to her. Ferra, from her spot on her shoulders, chittered lightly in reply.
Y/N squeezed her hand gently, speaking with as much sincerity as she could, even though her uncertainty may end up betraying her. "He will...He'll be here."
When Althea's head suddenly perked up, her eyes snapping to the field in front of her, Y/N turned as well. She could feel the mass of new magic moving toward them, she could just start to hear the shuffling of snow as boots moved through it. Just as soon as she felt it, she saw them.
A large gathering...an army...came from the trees. Their group was far greater than them as they walked, witches walking alongside witches and practically surrounding the dark robed vampires as they walked in perfect formation. They were not wearing the same black cloaks, their clothes were just as similar as their opponents, and they wore the same sigil-embedded necklaces in representation of their covens.
They were very well outnumbered, and quite possibly outgunned.
They kept their strength as the Volturi and the witches walking among them continued to advance. The Volturi Kings and the Guard stepped forward, the reds of the insides of their cloaks deep and threatening. As they stepped forward, so did the coven leaders, their larger familiars, and the right-and-left-hands chosen for the battle.
Acacius Kai, Veda Lynn, and Mary-Ann Carlyle looked over the witches gathered against them. Their faces remained void of many things-pleasantries and hatred. They stood tall as they walked, they betrayed nothing but also highlighted nothing.
Y/N watched as Aro's eyes wandered, and Edward confirmed her suspicions. "Aro's looking for Alice."
Just as his eyes returned to the central point, they wandered again just as quickly to fall upon Y/N. Her spine straightened when his gaze found hers, only for him to widen his stare on the child on Freya's back.
He had only caught mere glimpses of things in Irina's thoughts, but he had assumed it was something of an entirely different nature. Seeing the child before him now disproved those assumptions. His gaze turned back to Bella and Edward as the main focus of the fight.
As they grew even closer with no sign of stopping any time soon, a howl erupted from the trees, which some of the wolf familiars joined on as the werewolves advanced from the trees with hulking frames. They growled and snapped as they walked forward. Jacob eventually came to Bella's side as the wolves weaved their way within their army.
The Volturi finally came to a halt, deterred by the presence of the wolves. They removed their hoods from the heads, unveiling their heads better for them all to see.
Carlisle stepped forward to take his place as the head of the mass, the patriarchy of them all. He spoke in a voice that would have been far too low for anyone to hear with the distance between them. Had it not been for the heightened senses of the vampires and the magical enhancement from the witches, he would not have been heard. "Aro, let us discuss things as we used to: in a civilized manner."
Aro's smile was almost slimy on his face as he watched him, head tilted to the side as he spoke. "Fair words, Carlisle. But a little out of place, given the battalion you've assembled against us." His words almost made Y/N scowl. His army was larger than their own.
"I can promise you," Carlisle said, "that was never my intent. No laws have been broken."
"We see the child, and the one we knew nothing of. Do not treat us as fools!" Caius erupted, his usual anger making its way far too soon.
That was when Carlisle raised his voice, an announcement to be made as he spoke. "She is not an Immortal! These witnesses can attest to that. Or you can look." He raised his hands to motion toward Renesmee. "See the flush of human blood in her cheeks."
"Artifice!" Caius declared, before being promptly hushed by Aro with a firm voice.
"I will collect every facet of the truth, but from someone more central to the story," Aro said, his smile turning past Carlisle. "Edward...as the child clings to your newborn mate, I assume you are involved."
Edward set a hand on Renesmee's head and offered a smile before sharing a look with Bella. As he began to walk away from their group onto the next, Bella shifted her daughter between herself and Jacob. Y/N clung closer to Althea.
Tension filled the air as he walked, and soon Y/N could feel a presence of something in the air that quickly receded like a rubber band. It did not take much to identify it as Bella's gift.
Edward finally approached Aro, stepping through the barrier set up by Acacius, which molded to fit him in. It took a moment before Edward could adjust to the strange feeling, a touch of magic needed to be added so he would not collapse from the effects of the magic.
Aro held his hand out eagerly, scooping it up as soon as he could to flip through his mind and his thoughts. They watched as his face was consumed with excitement before morphing into something more...curious. His smile fell before his bloody eyes found Renesmee and Bella.
Edward pulled his hand away and Aro muttered something too quiet for the others to hear as anything but a whisper. Edward slowly turned around as Aro's face twisted with amusement. Edward's gaze fell on the two and Jacob growled before they began walking forward. As they passed, Emmett joined the group, much to the concern of Rosalie.
Y/N turned her head and her gaze fell on Kristen, a nod to ask her to join them. Kristen set a hand on Kiersey to briefly tell her to stay, which she did with a huff. She squeezed Verity's hand and gave Anthony a nod before walking off to join them.
They walked quickly to Aro and stopped plenty of feet away. They all stood protectively around Renesmee as Aro watched her giddily. His gaze turned to Bella, "Ah...young Bella. Immortality becomes you."
Only moments later, a strange laugh erupts from him as his excitement takes over. "I hear her strange heart!" he exclaimed. He was like a child...a slimy, greasy child that you wanted to kick across a football field.
Renesmee stepped forward slowly as Aro offered his hand. Instead, she set her hand to his cheek as she shared her memories with him. He was mesmerized with her power, lingering there a moment before pulling away abruptly.
"Half mortal, half immortal. Conceived and carried by this...newborn...while she was still human," Aro announced in astonishment.
"Impossible," Caius exclaimed, unbelieving of what seemed like a tale.
Aro turned to him, whipping around quicker than wind. His voice dropped like venom as he spoke, "Do you think they fooled me, brother?"
Caius stepped down a little, knowing his boundaries. Jacob stepped forward, still growling and barking as anger got the best of him. Caius gave him a cold stare, an annoyed look as he looked at him. Jacob finally backed off and returned to the others. Raising a hand in a come hither motion, Caius muttered, "Bring the informer forward."
Everyone shifted as Irina walked forward, tentative and hesitant. Caius raised his hand toward Renesmee. "Is that the child you saw?"
Irina turned to look at her, pain and fear in her voice as she avoided turning her gaze back to Caius. "I'm not sure."
"Jane," Caius said threateningly, a warning in his tone as he signaled the girl.
Irina spoke quickly, "She's changed! This child is bigger." Her voice wavered with unshed tears as she spoke.
Caius' poisonous stare stayed on her as he spoke, "Then your allegations were false."
Irina's gaze turned to her sisters, her next words regrettable as she sighed with a nod. "The Cullens are innocent. I take full responsibility for my mistake." She mouthed a silent apology to them as she braced for what was to come.
So much happened in the next moments. As soon as the fire was lit by one of the guards, Y/N's first instinct was to cover her daughter's eyes as she buried Althea's head in her shoulder. Edward's voice erupted in protest as he stepped forward. Y/N saw Irina's arms ripped from her body as her sisters screamed and charged forward. Her head was next and she fell to her knees, a fire engulfing her like a plague. The witches either looked away in shame or watched in horror. Y/N's eyes fell on Alaric, who nodded at the silent command. As Tanya and Kate rushed forward, they were stopped by large masses of solid obstacles that shot from the ground and hindered their quicker movement. Everyone moved quickly to grab them-Garrett getting his arms around Kate, who retaliated with her gift, Emmett and Eleazar grabbing Tanya. Alaric's obstacles came down.
"Blind them," Edward ordered Zafrina, who did so quickly.
Y/N held up a free hand for the witches to focus on her, and they all took pause to wait. She was keeping as calm as she could to be sure everyone else could follow her lead. She put her hand down and gestured with her head for them to stay on guard. She finally lowered her hand from Althea's eyes.
"Give me my sight back," Tanya snarled, looking around hopelessly for something to see. Edward spoke to her in a hushed voice as he stepped close to her, speaking something under his voice so no one else heard. He then nodded to Zafrina, who paused her gift and returned their sight. Tanya was still as the boys slowly let her go, and Kate followed suit hesitantly.
Everything calmed for a moment, but only for a moment. The next thing Y/N knew, Edward had fallen to the ground in pain, evidence of Jane's gift in use. Ferra's back arched in defense as a screech came from her, spreading the chaos among the familiars at the unfair usage of the vampire's gift. Y/N whipped her head around to Jia; her magic must have faltered when the chaos started all too suddenly. She began to mutter her barrier spell under her breath, her hand finding Jun's fur as she pet her gently for focus.
Bella's power came in faster than Jia's barrier, which only strengthened Bella's shield when it was finally up. Edward's pain slowed before coming to a stop as he stood, taking a breath as he rejoined Bella's side. Y/N nodded to Jia, who gave a nod back as she chanted for a little while longer until her spell was able to work on autopilot again.
Jane's frustration was evident in the way that her eyes frantically searched the others. She took a step forward, promptly being stopped by Alec as he held a hand out. She returned to her spot, angered by the magic surrounding them.
Y/N did not miss the way Acacius' lip turned up in a subtle smirk at his sister's magic.
Aro exchanged a look with Marcus, which switched when he caught sight of the black smoke coming from Alec's hands. The smoke retreated when he held a hand up and silence fell, although the wolves and their snarling betrayed some of that silence.
Aro raised a hand, palm up in another direction. Y/N's direction. Another interested smile took his face. "Y/N...my darling witch." His attention had caught on her during the small...sidestep. The way she had been leading the witches had not fallen short on him as he watched curiously. She had become bolder since last they met, and it only appealed to him more. "I have not forgotten about you."
His fingers wiggled as he beckoned her closer. Y/N clenched her jaw as her eyes found the ground. She took in a deep breath and then looked up at Althea, giving her a smile and a gentle nod as Ferra chittered a little. "Are you ready?" she asked quietly. She nodded and Y/N turned her gaze to Freya, who also nodded.
Cole took her side as they began to walk forward. Y/N heard shuffles behind her as she turned to see Eileen and Mariah moving closer. She raised a hand and shook her head gently, only for her gaze to shift over and see Romina step forward with Ronin. She did not attempt to stop the witch, resigning for her to come with.
The group walked forward, leaving the safety of Jia's aethereal shield. They felt that coldness wrap around them-not the actual bite of winter, but the lack of protection of their barrier. Y/N reached a hand to Althea's, checking to make sure her shield had remained intact and sighing when she felt some of its strength waned slightly.
They kept walking until they reached the next barrier set by Acacius. It was just slightly stronger than Jia's, but only because of the larger masses it had to cover. Y/N walked through with her group at her side. She almost wobbled as the unforgiving feeling of the barrier wrapped around her, which was eased with some of Acacius' magic.
As she looked up to check on Althea, she almost panicked when she saw the little girl slumped over Freya's fur. Her eyes were heavy and she looked like she would fall off any second now. "Momma," she whispered, her voice weak and sluggish. Ferra's hands lightly smacked her cheeks, grasping her face to shake her awake.
Y/N held her daughter's hand, holding her up as she tended to her. Romina looked at Acacius, "It's the shield. It's worse for her." Acacius understood and did not argue, understanding the limits of children and vampires under his shield made him infuse more magic into her passage so she was unaffected by the barrier-essentially making her a hole in his bubble of magic.
Althea practically gasped as she sat back up, eyes opening and consciousness returning. Ferra calmed. Y/N grasped her hand, reassuring the both of them that they were alright. Althea's gentle nod helped Y/N to some small degree as they took a few steps closer.
Aro's eyes watched the whole exchange with nothing short of fascination. His wide eyes focused between Y/N and Althea as he took them in. His smile returned as he looked at the witch, taking in her appearance with a sigh. "You've grown," he commented, her mental and emotional growth something he had spotted as soon as he saw her when he entered the field. "Even stronger than before."
She knew he was beginning to offer her place in his ranks once again, but he thought better of it when his eyes found Althea again. Her gaze looked back at him, softer and kinder than his own wonderstruck ones. "She looks just as her...father does," he said. He was testing the word to see if it fit, watching Y/N's expressions to see if it gave away anything of the truth. When her face did not betray her, he simply asked, "Where is Jasper, by the way?"
Y/N's eyes watched him just as closely as he watched her. "He'll be here," she simply said, too much hope in her voice in place of certainty. Aro simply hummed, his gaze continuing to roam toward Althea.
He held his hand out, his head tilting to look at the little witch. "Shall I meet her?"
Y/N looked up at Althea with as much a smile as she could manage. Freya began to growl a little bit, which was silenced when Y/N sent her a look to back down. Freya got far too hostile around them. Cole grabbed Althea and removed her from the large fox's back, setting her on her feet with Ferra as Y/N took her in her hold.
She stood behind the girl as she walked closer to Aro, eyes looking up at the vampire with a hesitant curiosity. "Aro..." she said, almost like she was testing the name to see if it fit the face. She had never met him in person or seen any pictures of him-Y/N had been glad about that-so seeing him for the first time was an experience she was mentally marking in her head.
Aro held out his hand to the child and Althea set hers in his hold, permitting her raccoon to snarl under her breath. He eagerly watched her as he took in her thoughts and memories. Curiosity, interest, and more passed through his face as he watched. When he let her go, Y/N pulled the girl back and Romina's hands found Althea's shoulders. She picked her up and set her back on Freya.
"Magnifico!" Aro exclaimed quietly to himself. "The daughter of a vampire and a witch... A hybrid of blood and magic..." He shook his head, appreciating the new information as he drank it in. His toothy grin was enough to make Y/N wince at the discomfort of his grin. Aro found her again, holding out an excited hand for her. "I would very much like to see...your side now."
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Predatory Stink Bug (nymph) - Apoecilus cynicus
My, my, out in the wilds of Kleinburg we find a wide and quite colorful insect! In an environment coated with tall and healthy greens, this nymph is a big stand out! While the large individual on display is the main focus of this post, the longer that you stare at these pictures, the more you’ll begin to see fellow Stink Bugs (and other miscellaneous Bugs) in the background. Certainly enough stem and flowers to go around for everyone and if my botany is correct, I believe that this Stink Bug is occupying wild parsnip! While the insects here can carefully navigate the plant’s flowers and (seemingly) tolerate the plant’s sap, humans aren’t so lucky. This plant’s sap is toxic, resulting in blisters on contact with the effects drastically amplified when exposed to light. Sometimes holding onto a plant to keep it steady in wind and/or bring it closer to the camera is needed for an insect picture, but this isn’t one of those plants to handle carelessly. I would advise caution when approaching this particular plant for insect observations and photography and to minimize skin contact where possible. With how humans react to the sap, it’s a miracle what these insects have grown to withstand in their environment...or perhaps they’re just very careful and observant to avoid danger. 
Plant precautions handled, let’s examine our young orange insect more closely. As it’s a nymph, it lacks developed wings but will gain after its final molt. Though a spectacular shade of orange and decorated with intricate black lines and red dots, these markings will disappear with the final molt, replaced with a faded-brown exterior. It’s always fascinating the differences in exposed colors between nymphs and adult Stinkbugs. Not only that, but while adult Stink Bugs have a shield shape, the nymphs begin life more rounded. They gradually become more shield-like in appearance as they molt, and I dare say this one is fairly close to that pentagonal shape. As a growing Bug, it needs a food source, and while plants are generally the food of choice, this Stink Bug specie prefers feeding on any soft-bodied insects that it can find. Similar to the Spined Solider Bug (a close relative, both are different genera in the subfamily Asopinae - Predatory Stink Bugs), they use their rostrum to pierce and feed. It was only after actually looking at the photos that I noticed how big the rostrum on this nymph actually is! You could be forgiven for thinking the appendage was an extra leg beneath the head! Interestingly, the rostrum is so enlarged that these insects have difficulty keeping it folded under them as they travel. This one had better be careful as piercing the parsnip stem could yield disaster! 
Pictures were taken on July 9, 2022 near Kleinburg village with a Google Pixel 4.
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