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#how to prevent forest fires
divine-nonchalance · 2 years
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If we want to reduce the heat we need to plant way more trees.
They provide shade, food, and effectively cool down the environment because they don’t hold heat like asphalt, pavement, bricks, traditional roofs, etc. 
Trees provide habitat for birds which eat immense amounts of insects including caterpillars, mosquitos and flies, while also fertilizing the soil with their manure.
Some trees fix nitrogen into the ground making the soil more fertile in a natural and effortless and free way, just by standing there.
More trees also means more wood.
Trees can be used to create food forests, which in turn reduce the chances of forest fires because with well-managed living crops growing in the soil under the trees they hold more moisture and don’t catch on fire so easily.
You can prune them at will to give the lower crops the perfect amount of light and shade. With the pruning we can create mulch, (fire)wood, and wood chips mixed with mycelium for making walkingpaths that grow mushrooms.
Add a small amount of chickens per large area and you have extra fertilization and excellent pest control as they eat the insects that also like to eat vegetables. Include ducks and they will get rid of the slugs too.
Tree roots also hold the soil together, preventing soil erosion while providing excellent drainage so that when it rains, the water can penetrate the soil faster and deeper, effectively absorbing floods as well.
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bonefall · 1 year
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I’d be REALLY wary of that idea. I know it’s not your intention but no matter how you slice it that creates a scenario where some cats are genetically superior and more civilised than others based on where they’re from, which I feel is bad even if they happen to be nice to kittypets. Really love your work but maybe consider how you’d handle that one !!
Yeah, that's exactly the reason why I tacked the big old "THIS IS NOT IN THE REWRITE" warning onto the front of it lmao.
It also creates a situation where the Clans have an actual, unfortunate REAL justification for cat eugenics, which would mix very, very badly even in situations where there is no Clan/Housecat conflict. Unless it was completely dominant and always passed on but... you see how it's already an uncomfortable idea I'd have to tack on a bunch of bandaids to.
Sometimes a thought remains just a thought exactly because you end up thinking through its implications, y'know?
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tothesolarium · 9 months
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Thinking about how I kinda pitched my story as a hell striving for utopia, with a lil hint of the moral authority being the “mad/bad guys”
When it’s more like, a hopeful critique of Utopia. It’ll always be struggle to make a safe place, but that struggle with keep Many happy and safe, even if not perfect
And that the moral authority, while being tortures are also soul themselves that have experienced a millennia of grief and been traumatized by their family as well as the memory of an earth that can no longer connect to, and really want to bring Justice to a life they feel will never be just
And how there’s whole other parts of hell with their own magic rules, coping with grief by making reality a dream. Spirits crafting their own rules on the backs of sleeping demons, demons acting as if they’re just a tree to watch what will happen, quiet nudges, or a world unlike anything seen before
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BC Forrest Fires, How to protect your home and keep your air clean
Table of Contents BC Forest Fires: How to Protect Your Home and Keep Your Air Clean The Impact of BC Forest Fires Protecting Your Home from Forest Fires 1. Create a Defensible Space 2. Install Fire-Resistant Materials 3. Maintain a Fire-Smart Landscape Keeping Your Air Clean during Forest Fires 1. Stay Informed 2. Use Air Purifiers 3. Seal Your Home 4. Create a Clean Room Summary BC Forest…
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homo-house · 5 months
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hey uh so I haven't seen anyone talking about this here yet, but
the amazon river, like the biggest river in the fucking world, in the middle of the amazon fucking rainforest, is currently going through its worst drought since the records began 121 years ago
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picture from Folha PE
there's a lot going on but I haven't seen much international buzz around this like there was when the forest was on fire (maybe because it's harder to shift the narrative to blame brazil exclusively as if the rest of the world didn't have fault in this) so I wanted to bring this to tumblr's attention
I don't know too many details as I live in the other side of the country and we are suffering from the exact opposite (at least three cyclones this year, honestly have stopped counting - it's unusual for us to get hit by even one - floods, landslides, we have a death toll, people are losing everything to the water), but like, I as a brazilian have literally never seen pictures of the river like this before. every single city in the amazonas state is in a state of emergency as of november 1st.
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pictures by Adriano Liziero (ig: geopanoramas)
we are used to seeing images of rio negro and solimões, the two main amazon river affluents, in all their grandiose and beauty and seeing these pictures is really fucking chilling. some of our news outlets are saying the solimões has turned to a sand desert... can you imagine this watery sight turning into a desert in the span of a year?
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while down south we are seeing amounts of rain and hailstorms the likes of which our infrastructure is simply not built to deal with, up north people who have built everything around the river are at a loss of what to do.
the houses there that are built to float are just on the ground, people who depend on fishing for a living have to walk kilometers to find any fish that are still alive at all, the biodiversity there is at risk, and on an economic level it's hard to grasp how people from the northern states are getting by at all - the main means of transport for ANYTHING in that region is via the river water. this will impact the region for months to come. it doesnt make a lot of sense to build a lot of roads bc it's just better to use the waterway system, everything is built around or floats on the river after all. and like, the water level is so incomprehensibly low the boats are just STUCK. people are having a hard time getting from one place to another - keep in mind the widest parts of the river are over 10 km apart!!
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this shit is really serious and i am trying not to think about it because we have a different kind of problem to worry about down south but it's really terrifying when I stop to think about it. you already know the climate crisis is real and the effects are beyond preventable now (we're past global warming, get used to calling it "global boiling"). we'll be switching strategies to damage control from now on and like, this is what it's come to.
I don't like to be alarmist but it's hard not to be alarmed. I'm sorry that I can't end this post with very clear intructions on how people overseas can help, there really isn't much to do except hope the water level rises soon, maybe pray if you believe in something. in that regard we just have to keep pressing for change at a global level; local conditions only would not, COULD NOT be causing this - the amazon river is a CONTINENTAL body of water, it spans across multiple countries. so my advice is spread the word, let your representatives know that you're worried and you want change towards sustainability, degrowth and reduced carbon emissions, support your local NGOs, maybe join a cause, I don't know? I recommend reading on ecological and feminist economics though
however, I know you can help the affected riverine families by donating to organizations dedicated to helping the region. keep in mind a single US dollar, pound or euro is worth over 5x more in our currency so anything you donate at all will certainly help those affected.
FAS - Sustainable Amazon Fundation
Idesam - Sustainable Developent and Preservation Institute of Amazonas
Greenpeace Brasil - I know Greenpeace isn't the best but they're one of the few options I can think of that have a bridge to the international world and they are helping directly
There are a lot of other smaller/local NGOs but I'm not sure how you could donate to them from overseas, I'll leave some of them here anyway:
Projeto Gari
Caritás Brasileira
If you know any other organizations please link them, I'll be sure to reblog though my reach isn't a lot
thank you so much for reading this to the end, don't feel obligated to share but please do if you can! even if you just read up to here it means a lot to me that someone out there knows
also as an afterthought, I wanted to expand on why I think this hasn't made big news yet: because unlike the case of the 2020 forest fires, other countries have to hold themselves accountable when looking at this situation. while in 2020 it was easier to pretend the fires were all our fault and people were talking about taking the amazon away from us like they wouldn't do much worse. global superpowers have no more forests to speak of so I guess they've been eyeing what latin america still has. so like this bit of the post is just to say if you're thinking of saying anything of the sort, maybe think of what your own country has done to contribute to this instead of blaming brazil exclusively and saying the amazon should be protected by force or whatever
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valeskafics · 3 months
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"Caged Bird" - Young!Coriolanus Snow x Victor!Reader
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Part 2 HERE.
Summary: Coryo is going to make you love him again. No matter what.
Word Count: 2,525
Rating: 18+, MDNI
TW: HEAVY DUBCON/NONCON, afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, chasing, knife kink, blood kink ig, breeding kink, bondage, overstim, p in v sex, this is foul idk what to tell you if i forgot any tw's lmk
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Hunger Games/Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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You knew it the moment he found that gun. That goddamned gun. He wasn’t going to follow you north. Coryo was born and bred in the Capitol. You don’t blame him for wanting to return. It’s all he’s ever known. But you can’t. You refuse. You hate everything the Capitol stands for - the opulence, the heartlessness, the sheer disregard for human life. It makes you sick. And the idea of him taking you there with him makes you nauseous. So, you do what any rational person would do in a situation like this.
You make a thin excuse about going out to forage for some food, giving Coryo a sweet smile, as if nothing is wrong. As if nothing has changed between the two of you. And with the way he smiles back, though his eyes seem a thousand miles away, you’re confident that you’ve fooled him. You’ll make your way north on your own. It was the plan from the beginning anyway, you’d only come to say goodbye.
You make your way through the foliage, keeping your breathing quiet, taking care not to step on any dry leaves or branches. You haven’t heard him come after you. Hell, you don’t even know if he will. But better safe than sorry. Part of you feels a bit hurt that he hasn’t called out your name, wondering where you are. You shake your head, holding your bag close to your chest, continuing to walk. Those kinds of thoughts are the ones that will get you killed.
Coryo isn’t to be trusted. You should’ve followed your instincts the first time you met him. Instead, you allowed him to charm his way into your heart with a touch of his hand and a flower in your hair. You trusted him with everything you had. And you should count your lucky stars that you haven’t ended up like Sejanus. It all fell into place when Coryo said he had killed three people. Sejanus. He betrayed him to tie up all the loose ends. Now all that’s left is you.
You cover your mouth to prevent any noise from escaping your lips when you hear him call out to you, cocking that goddamn rifle. You wince. He says he just wants to talk, that he isn’t going to hurt you. But how are you supposed to believe that, now that you’ve seen him for what he truly is? You hear his boots crunching against the ground and begin to pick up your pace, moving faster and faster, cringing when you step on a twig, the snapping noise echoing throughout the forest.
“Shit,” you whisper, moving faster.
“There she is,” you hear Coryo call out, running faster and faster in your direction, gaining on you with every step, his voice a low rumble as he vows, “You can run as fast as you want, little bird, but I will catch you.”
Is that a promise? Is it a threat? Perhaps a bit of both? You don’t have time to think about it. All you can do is run and pray that he doesn’t catch you. That you can lose him in the trees. But he takes you by surprise when he fires a warning shot, hitting a tree only a few feet away from you. You let out a cry of shock before covering your mouth and continuing to run. You can’t give up. Not now.
Your screams, your soft little cries, the vision of you running deeper into the forest… It all fuels Coryo. He knows, deep down, that this is wrong. That you won’t tell anyone, that all you want is your freedom, to escape north. That you have no intention of ratting him out and all you want is to get away from him. But he can’t let that happen. No, after everything he’s done for you? You’re his. His little bird. And no one is ever going to take you away from him.
He hears you call out, pleading, your voice desperate, “Coryo, please, just let me go!”
Coryo shakes his head, though he knows you can’t see it, before yelling back his reply,  “Never. I won’t let you go. I can’t. You’re mine.”
And he believes that. You’re meant to be his. From the moment he saw you, singing on that screen, he knew there was something about you. Something special. And as he’s gotten to know you, as he’s fallen so deeply in love with you, he knows that his first instinct was right. You’re special. He’s going to catch you, and he’s going to keep you.
The odds are in his favor, he muses, as he sees you from the corner of his eye, tripping falling over a tree root. You tumble down a hill, landing on your back with a quiet groan of pain. He runs to you, standing at your feet before you can even sit up, his blood boiling with perverse excitement at your helplessness, at the fear in your eyes as you try to crawl back away from him.
“Mine.” Coryo’s cock twitches in his jeans at the sight of you, staring up at him in terror. His pretty little bird looks so frightened, trying to scramble away from him, “You’re not going anywhere.” He pins you down to the forest floor, his voice low and smooth as he traces the contours of your face with a calloused finger, “Do as I say and you’ll be fine.” He leans in, running his nose along your cheek, inhaling your scent, “Mine.”
You surprise him with your resourcefulness when you grab a handful of dirt and throw it at him, squirming your way out from beneath him and trying to run once again. Coryo wipes the dirt from his face, grinning darkly before tackling you to the ground once more. His pretty little prey isn’t going to get away from him. He grabs your wrists, twisting them behind your back and ties them together with his mother’s scarf, what was supposed to be a token of his love for you. He rolls you over onto your back, his voice low and calm.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Get off me,” you scream, thrashing against him, kicking your legs out, “Coryo, please, let me go!”
“No,” he growls, pinning your legs down with his own, holding you in place. The hunt may be over, but the fun for him is just beginning, “There is no one else for you but me. You’re mine and you’ll do what I say, little bird.”
You stare up at him, scoffing incredulously, “You think I actually want to be with you after everything you’ve done? You’re insane!”
Thoroughly unfazed by your anger, his voice grows deeper, hoarser as he leans in close, the cool metal of his dog tag tickling your neck, making you wince, “You will be with me. You’re mine. There’s no escape from me. From this. You and I, we have a connection. You know that, little bird.” Coryo is taken slightly aback when you spit in his face, your eyes blazing with anger, chin stuck out in defiance, but all it does is arouse him more. Excite him more. He lets out a moan as he wipes his face before resting his forehead against yours, demanding, “Tell me you want me as much as I want you.”
“I fucking hate you!” You snarl, teeth bared in anger, but all he does is laugh.
Laugh at your anger because it just makes his cock even harder when he thinks about fucking you into submission, when he thinks about you writhing under him.
“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your face, “Do you really think I believe you? Look at me.” He grabs your jaw, squishing your cheeks together, your lips looking so full and kissable as he does, forcing you to face him. You try to turn away, but he holds you in place, his eyes boring into yours, “I know what you want,” Coryo whispers, “I see the heat in your eyes when you look at me, baby.”
You scowl at the feeling of his hands moving to run along your body, his gaze ravenous, mouth watering as he stares at you, pulling a knife from his pocket. You almost let out a whimper of fear at the sight of the blade, but you steel yourself, glaring up at him.
“You just want to keep me under your thumb. The last loose end.”
“Maybe,” he muses, taking the blade and running it across your lips, reveling in the way you shiver at the feel of it, his free hand moving to caress your throat, “Maybe I’m just obsessed with you. Maybe I need you, little bird. You think you can resist me?”
You decide to make one last appeal to his rational side, pleading desperately, “Let me leave Panem! I won’t tell anyone, Coryo, please!”
He shakes his head, moving the knife down to your cleavage, toying with the ribbon that holds the bodice of your dress together, “No. No, I can’t let you go, little bird. You belong to me. You’re mine to take care of. Mine to protect. Mine to love. Mine to own. You’ll be safe with me, in the Capitol. Keep you in a nice little penthouse we’ll share. I’ll make you love me again.”
“You want me to be your pretty little bird in a cage,” you hiss, “Is that it?”
Coryo smirks, nodding, undoing the top button of your dress with the knife, making you wince, “Exactly. I’ll take good care of you. You’ll have everything you ever wanted. I’ll dress you in the best clothes. Feed you the best of everything. The only thing you won’t have is the freedom to leave me, little bird. And after a while, you won’t want to.”
“I will never love you again,” you vow, your voice filled with as much vitriol and hate as you can muster, “I’ll fight you. For every day for the rest of my life, I’ll fight you, Coriolanus Snow.”
You scrunch your eyes shut as he continues cutting open your dress, staring at you in awe as your body is bared to him, your breasts, so full and round, chest heaving as you struggle for breath, the soft flesh of your thighs, your bare stomach… You’re so beautiful he can hardly bear it. So vulnerable and delicate laying beneath him, though you continue your struggle.
“My brave little bird,” he coos, knife tracing the valley between your breasts, moving to rest over one of your nipples, the coolness of it making the sensitive nub pebble against his ministrations, bringing a smirk to his face, “You say all this now, but you’ll crack. Your body is screaming for me. Soon your heart will too.”
“You can’t force someone to love you,” you manage through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the throbbing between your thighs as he moves to palm at your other breast, squeezing so hard, kneading the flesh between his hands to the point it has him moaning.
“Oh, baby, you underestimate how much I can make you crave my touch.” You feel his fingers move lower, trailing down your stomach before he begins stroking your pussy, a grin on his face when he feels that you’re already wet for him, his knife now against your throat, keeping you in place, “I’m going to have you begging for me, little bird. You’re going to be as desperate for me as I am for you.”
You watch as a devious smile spreads across his face and he moves his knife along your body. You shudder against the feel of the blade, gasping when he flips it around so that the hilt is facing you and pushes it between your thighs, making you let out a moan in spite of yourself. You grit your teeth as he moves the knife, the blade cutting his hand as he does, but he doesn’t care. The bounce of your breasts as he moves it in and out of you, how your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you struggle to hold back your noises of pleasure. Your eyes are screwed shut as he moves faster and faster, pushing the hilt inside you as deep as he can, rubbing it up against your sweet spot, watching you cry out as you reach your peak. You watch in a strange combination of disgust and fascination as he pulls it out of you, licking your juices off of it, the low moan he lets out making your stomach twist in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant.
Coryo moves to stand, quickly shedding his tee shirt and jeans, leaving him in only his briefs. You can see the way his cock strains against them, his hand moving to palm at himself before he rids himself of his underwear too. Your eyes go wide at how long and thick his cock is, the idea of having him inside of you being both terrifying and… Strangely exciting. You hate yourself. You hate yourself for the way you part your legs when his hands rest on your knees. You hate yourself for the whimper you let out as he pushes his fat cock inside you, sheathing himself to the hilt.
You hate yourself for the cries of pleasure you let out, the mockingjays flying above you imitating the noises you make, adding to the humiliation you feel. You can feel Coryo’s dog tag dangling against your breasts as he ruts against you, his eyes rolling back as he feels your cunt squeezing around him. His balls slap against you with every thrust as he imagines what a perfect little wife you’ll make him. His little bird, waiting for him at home every day in his bed, ready to take whatever he’s willing to give. He’s going to fill you up, breed you like a good little wife. Keep you with him forever.
He’s never going to let anything take you away from him.
You feel the fat head of his cock bullying against that rough patch inside of you, bringing you closer and closer to your end, though you try to will yourself not to come. But your body betrays you, and you mewl his name, soaking his cock, feeling him fuck you through your orgasm. You lay there, prone and pliant beneath him as he stares down at you, his hand moving to rub your clit furiously, the tender bud still sensitive after your peak, a third climax approaching faster and faster, your entire body feeling raw from his ministrations.
“My little bird,” Coryo rasps, thrusting into you over and over, punctuating every word by fucking into you deeper than before, “All. Fucking. Mine.”
You feel him spill himself inside you, his fingers pinching at your clit, drawing another orgasm from you, making you scream his name.
And as he lifts you into his arms to carry you back, you realize.
You’re his pretty little caged bird.
He’s gotten what he wants.
He has you. And he’s never going to let you go.
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assassinsblade · 3 months
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Heavy Weather
In which yours and Azriel’s mission is disrupted by a major inconvenience: your cycle.
WC: 4.1k
Warnings: Nothing really, just fluff and period stuff!
—————-
Gods, it was cold.
The snow fell down in sheets, covering the forest floor and soaking into your leathers. Azriel was trekking about twenty feet in front of you, eyes scouring the area, although his grip was loose around Truth Teller at his side.
“The Winter Court…” you grouched, mimicking your high lord. “Why couldn’t it have been Day Court. Or Autumn.”
Azriel chuckled. “You wanna spend time with Helion and Eris? I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
The air in front of you steamed as you let out an exhausted breath. You both had been pushing through this snow for hours. You couldn’t even remember what you were looking for at this point. You had only been there for about ten hours, and a little into the cold wilderness, you found your brain becoming foggy and your body fatigued. You really needed a blanket and sleep.
“Helion would never let me freeze. He likes body heat too much. And Eris has fire powers.”
“Something tells me Eris wouldn’t be too keen on helping.”
You shrugged, lifting your foot to step over a snow-covered log. “He’s always been fine to me.”
A muscle in Azriel's jaw jumped, his wings going tight against his back. You could barely make out the pink coloring of his mouth through the snowfall. “I don’t trust him,” he said. “Not after Mor, and not with you.”
“So dramatic.” You attempted to ease the tension in the air at your mention of the soon-to-be High Lord of the Autumn Court.
“I’m dramatic? You live in the Night Court and suddenly you act like snow is going to kill you.”
You did feel like it was going to kill you. You didn’t know what had you so exhausted, why the snow seemed to be soaking through your clothes and seeping its way straight into your bones. You had slept okay last night, hadn’t you? You were wearing weather-appropriate clothing. You had done enough training and exercise that this hike shouldn’t be wearing you down this much.
You hadn’t realized that Azriel had turned around to look at you, stopping in his tracks as he waited for you to catch up.
“Are you actually okay?” His voice was more serious this time, less teasing.
Giving him a nod, you focused on putting one foot in front of the other. “Yeah. Let’s just make shelter somewhere soon. I really am cold.”
He nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. You didn’t blame him, you must have looked pathetic. Your teeth were chattering so loud the same spies you came to the Winter Court to track would no doubt be able to hear you if close. Your body felt like you had weights pulling you down under the earth, with each step comparable to trudging through quicksand. And you just felt off - like you could pass out or throw up at any moment.
Azriel waited until you were by his side once again before continuing to move.
“There’s an abandoned cabin not too far from here. We’ll camp there for the night, get you some rest. Maybe a blanket or two.”
The wind burnt your cheeks as you tilted you head to look at him. He seemed completely unaffected. In fact, it was as if he was taking a stroll through the Summer Court, right along the water, basking in the breeze.
“How are you not freezing?”
His lips quirked up at your angry tone. “Believe it or not, Sunshine, I grew up in the snowy Illyrian mountains.”
You nodded, only half-hearing his response. And then your feet were stumbling over one another, and Azriel had to reach out quickly to prevent you from falling.
“Not too far now,” he reassured. But he kept his hand on your leathers the rest of the way to the cabin, monitoring your movements and ensuring you wouldn’t just topple over. Every so often, you felt him look over at you, as if he didn’t trust his hand and wanted to make sure you hadn’t fallen behind again.
It felt like hours before the rickety structure came into view, and by that point, you truly knew something was wrong with you. Had you been poisoned at some point during the trip? Were you sick? You didn’t think you’d ever been sick in your entire life as fae.
Once you were at the landing of the cabin, you realized Azriel had been supporting your weight much more than you had intended or thought. His entire forearm was supporting your back now, pushing you forward until you crossed the threshold into the enclosed space.
You heard the door shut tightly behind you, sucking the sound of the wind out with it. In the silence, you nearly collapsed.
There wasn’t much time to take in your surroundings. You briefly saw a couch, a kitchen area, and a fireplace. There was probably a bathroom down the hall, maybe a bed if you were lucky. Your thoughts didn’t go past that though as you stumbled for the sofa.
Azriel watched as you fell into it, your head tipping back and eyes scrunching closed. You tried to school your features into something less uncomfortable, but you doubted it was convincing.
“I’ll get a fire going.”
You heard his footsteps move toward the fireplace, the scuffling of movements as wood was moved from the keep to the hearth. However, despite his action to get the cabin warm for you, you could still feel his eyes drifting toward the couch intermittently.
Wood began cracking, a light forming in the corner of your vision. Still cold, still weak, you tried to breathe steadily.
You were about to say something to distract Azriel from your odd behavior when you felt fabric being laid over your body. Your hands automatically went to grip the blanket, pulling it up to your chin weakly before peeking your eyes open.
Azriel was already moving away from the couch, but he didn’t leave the room before muttering a quiet, “Get some sleep.”
Sleep, unfortunately, did not come easy to you. You alternated between feeling like you were going to vomit and feeling like you were being stabbed. Your muscles ached, and it seemed to take all of your energy to rise your chest in a breath.
You tried to focus on the fire, on the way sparks flew from the wood, briefly illuminating the dark stone. The warmth of the flames was drifting toward the couch now, and you tried to adjust your body to move closer to it.
In your movement, though, you noticed the way your damp clothes felt different against your skin. The snow had soaked into the fabric, but the feeling you recognized in your core at your movement toward the fireplace had you nearly whimpering.
Azriel was there before you could make it fully off the couch, reaching his hands out to catch you from falling.
“What are you doing?”
“I- I need to-“
“-Lay down,” he interrupted. “Rest.”
You tried to breathe through the pain. Your vision was becoming blurry with each stab through your abdomen, and you honestly did not understand how you missed your symptoms earlier.
“I can’t, Azriel… I need-“
“-I know.” He gently guided you back onto the couch, hands pulling the blanket over you once again. “I know. Just breathe. I’ll be right back.”
Did he know? Could he sense it now? Could he smell the blood? Recognize the symptoms too?
There wasn't time to be embarrassed because he was gone again quickly, and you couldn’t help the tears that escaped at the pain running through your body.
When you had first met Feyre and she had told you the difference between fae and human cycles, you had nearly cursed the Mother for torturing your kind. You had been literally stabbed before, beaten, and burned, and nothing compared to the pain of your cycle.
“Here,” Azriel said, reappearing before you. He laid some sort of steaming broth he must have found in a cupboard on the table in front of you, along with some torn pieces of cloth, presumably from a towel found in the rest of the house.
You looked at the items, tears blurring your eyes again. You felt like you couldn’t move, everything ached, everything hurt, everything felt wrong-
“I need help,” you got out through your tears, your voice sounding weak even to yourself.
“Okay.” Azriel nodded. “That’s okay.”
He gripped under your legs and behind your back, pulling you up until you were on the edge of the couch. "I have changes of clothes for us in my bag. Do you want me to help you to the bathroom?”
You nodded, too embarrassed to look at him. Azriel didn’t say a word though, instead grabbing a few of the pieces of cloth, his bag off the ground, and scooped you up into his arms.
He walked you both to the bathroom, and you kept your face buried close to his chest both so you wouldn’t have to see if you got anything on the couch and so that Azriel wouldn’t see the redness in your cheeks.
When he entered the bathroom, he set you onto the counter before setting the supplies down. From his bag, he pulled out the extra pair of underwear, pants, bra, and shirt you had packed for yourself.
“Do you want to wash off?” He asked genuinely, glimpsing over his shoulder at the antique bathtub.
Did you want to be clean? Absolutely. But your entire body felt like it was going to fall through the floor, weighed down with aches, pain, and exhaustion. You weren’t even sure you could get your arms to move enough to scrub yourself clean.
You whimpered at your inability to do what you needed, at how weak you felt, and the frustration that coursed through your veins.
"Hey, it's okay." Azriel brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, bringing your eyes to meet his own. "What do you need? What can I do?"
You just shook your head, face flushing red. "I can't ask you to help me with this."
Because this was embarrassing and some males thought it was weak and gross and something to be kept taboo. You were quite literally bleeding through your leathers, with your abdomen, back, and legs all twisting and cramping in pain, heat scouring your body, and you felt like a little kid again -- needing to be taken care of, unable to do the basic task of looking after yourself. It was humiliating, but especially in front of Azriel of all people. Someone so composed, so strong.
It wasn't as if your friends didn't know about your cycle or what you female fae went through. On the contrary, they always offered to help where they could. If you missed out on training because of your cycle, Cassian would always bring up some tonics or some extra food and water to make sure you were okay. A few cycles that were particularly bad had Rhys sending after Madja, and Azriel rushing when he heard. He was the one who had advocated for Madja to give you some sleeping tonics to help you sleep through the pain instead of withstanding it.
But here? On a mission? This was too much.
"Why not?" Azriel's question brought you back to the present. He looked genuinely confused, his brows furrowing slightly.
"Azriel..." you pleaded with his questioning, arms wrapping around your stomach as pain hit you again. You swayed slightly on the counter, Azriel's hands dropping from your face to your waist to steady you.
"You're in pain." His voice was serious, and you wanted to hide your face in his chest. "Let me help you. I don't like seeing you like this."
You swallowed, trying to reign in your shame and embarrassment. It wasn't a big deal, you told yourself. This was natural. And Azriel is over five hundred years old, surely he's seen and dealt with cycles and all they entail before. It doesn't have to make a difference being yours.
"Okay," you whispered. "Could you- could you uh, help me wash off? I don't think I can..."
He didn't make you finish your sentence once he realized you didn't know how to explain your own weakness at the moment. He just nodded, bringing his hands to your arms and rubbing up and down comfortingly.
"Of course."
You nodded, more-so reassuring yourself that this was okay. He was okay. Right? He'd say if he was uncomfortable?
Azriel turned and twisted the faucet to the bathtub, fingers resting under the water that came out until he found the temperature pleasing. The water was clear, thankfully, and the tub looked clean as well.
Once that was filling, he turned to the cabinets you were seated on, bending down and looking through them for any kind of soap and towels. Finding the supplies he was looking for, he set them by the edge of the tub and turned to where you were sitting.
"Arms up?"
His question was hesitant, asking more than if you needed help. Did you want to completely undress? Were you comfortable with him seeing you like this?
You lifted your arms, the weight of your limbs feeling heavy. You wanted to throw up, to go to sleep, to cry.
Azriel's gentle hands moved the fabric up your torso, keeping his touch to the clothing only. Once it was free from your form, you nodded at him to keep going.
He grasped your hips and lifted you to stand, holding onto the majority of your weight when you seemed unstable. His hands gripped your own and brought them to his own torso.
"Hold onto me."
And you did, allowing yourself to lean into his strong form as he unbuttoned your snow-soaked pants and began to pull them down. You rested your head on his chest, turning your face into him to hide your embarrassment at the blood that no doubt coated your pants and your middle.
Tears pricked your eyes at how vulnerable this all was, but you blinked them away as Azriel backed up, your bare form now before him.
His casual look over you wasn't one of lust or desire but of care and concern. He was looking for injuries, hypothermia, anything that would need immediate attention before the bath. When he was satisfied, his gentle touch led you to the edge of the tub, grasping your forearm and helping you ease into the water.
You sank low into the heat, releasing a breath you hadn't known you had been holding from your cramps.
Azriel seemed to notice how you had been holding your breath too. He brought a hand up to push some of the sweat-slicked hair back from your forehead. "Make sure you're breathing, sweetheart."
You nod, closing your eyes and trying to relax through the stabbing in your back.
You could hear the soap bottle cap opening, the sound of liquid meeting a hand, and scrubbing. Peeking an eye open, you see Azriel getting his hands wet and reaching for one of your arms.
"Is this okay?" He asked.
Your heart thumped in your chest. He was too good for you. Better than any male you had ever met.
"Yes. Thank you." Your voice was small, weak in your state, but you both could hear the emotion in it.
"You don't have to thank me," Azriel responded, his hands moving up and down your arm softly before reaching for the other. "I'm sorry you have to go through this."
Humming in response, you sat up so he could help get your back. He was mindful of your comfort, sweeping over any vulnerable or inappropriate places lightly to ensure you were clean but never lingering.
While he washed, he told you stories of Rhys' sister. How when they were younger and she had gotten her first cycle, Rhys hadn't known what to do. None of them had. They thought she was dying, and Rhys' mother had to corral them together into the living room to get them to calm down and stop their panicking. He laughed at the story, and you couldn't help the relaxed giggles of your own.
"I can't imagine the stoic shadowsinger panicking over a girl's cycle."
His lips curved into a soft smile, eyes bright with adoration. "What do you think I'm doing now?"
You looked up at him, smiling. You couldn't believe how comfortable you felt, how normal this all felt. You were completely naked in front of him, completely bare to his touch while he sat clothed next to you, but it felt safe.
"You don't seem too panicked," you tried to tease.
He scoffed. "You should have seen me in the kitchen when we first got here. I was borderline scrambling."
You laughed, and he led you to a sitting position, stroking your back with his fingers lightly. "You ready to get out?"
At your confirmation, he scooped you up into his arms, no doubt getting water everywhere on the floor and also all over his own clothes. You squeaked in protest, but he didn't seem to care, only setting you back onto your feet and wrapping you up tightly in a towel.
Teeth chattering at the newfound cold outside of the bath, you gripped the towel around you, staring up into the bright hazel eyes of the male in front of you. He was still holding you tightly, eyes surveying your form. You wondered what he was thinking in this moment, but you wanted nothing more than to lean forward and let him keep holding you.
His hands moved with the towel, rubbing your arms before bringing the fabric down to your legs.
Right. You needed to get dressed.
"Here we go." Azriel grabbed your spare change of clothes, starting with your underwear. He took some of the makeshift pads he had created, placing one in the underwear before leaning down.
He looked up at you from his knees, and you wanted to frame the image. The sight of this angel, his dark hair messy from the snow, hazel eyes shining with care, on his knees for you, hands open to help take care of you. You wanted to jump on him, kiss him, and never let him stop touching you.
But this was Azriel, and he had never given you any inclination that was something he wanted.
You stepped into the fabric, allowing the shadowsinger to pull it up your legs. Once those were on, he bundled you up in your new shirt before holding the pants in front of you.
"Did you want to wait until we leave for these? They are leathers. I don't want you to be more uncomfortable just for the sake of feeling like you have to wear them."
"I'd rather not."
He nodded, setting them aside before wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you back to the couch.
You were feeling a little better now that you were clean and not bleeding down your legs, but you still felt drowsy and like someone was hacking your insides apart. On your way back, your knees nearly gave way with the pain of a particular cramp, and you couldn't help the cry that escaped with it.
Azriel caught you swiftly, hiking you back up into his arms.
When he laid you back onto the couch, now covered in blankets with even more on top of you, you looked up at the exhausted male. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he said. He sounded genuine, but you couldn't help but feel guilty.
You gritted your teeth through the pain, gripping your abdomen tightly. "I ruined this mission."
"Nothing has been ruined."
He walked over to the fireplace once you were settled, stoking the logs to get the fire rising again. "Well," he continued. "Except your pants."
You couldn't help but laugh, and the shadowsinger actually cracked a smile at the sound. But then you were grimacing, tears coming to your eyes and your breath hitching in your throat at your body's attack on itself.
Azriel frowned, hands twitching at his sides.
"We'll get ahold of Rhys," he reassured. "Get you to Madja."
You tried to breathe through it, knuckles white from gripping the blankets around you. You could hear his footsteps getting closer, feel his heat as he kneeled down next to the couch beside you, feel his strong hands unravel your fingers from the blanket and grip them in his own.
His other hand came up and slowly stroked your hair back, gently weaving his fingers through the strands. Your eyes fluttered shut at the gentle touch, despite how tightly you squeezed his hand.
"I'm okay," you tried to convince him. "It's just a cycle."
You weren't sure why you were trying to downplay your pain so much. Were you trying to come across stronger than you were? To impress him? Did you think he would truly find you weak?
"I've seen fae be out for a full week because of a cycle. Not eating or drinking, just trying to make it through... You don't have to be okay."
And it was as if you needed his permission, because as soon as the words left his mouth, you tilted your head back, eyebrows scrunching in pain, and let the truth flow past your own lips.
"Yeah, it fucking hurts."
He laughed, but the sound was sympathetic. Bringing your hand up to his lips, he placed a gentle kiss there, and you nearly shot up at the action. You tried not to think too much into it but his lips on your skin was something you couldn't just ignore.
"Is there anything else I can do?"
His voice was soft, gentle, reverent. And he was looking at you like he would do anything you asked. Like you could tell him to go sit in the snow for an hour while you basked in the heat, and he would stand up diligently before marching his way into the blizzard.
He looked at you expectantly, and your heart swelled. One day you would tell him. Tell him how you loved him, how you thought that maybe there was something there between you two, something that tied your souls and hearts together.
"I'm still kind of cold," you admitted. "Could you lay with me?"
At first you thought the question was a bit of a risk, something he might not be comfortable with. But then you thought about how you were completely naked before him not even twenty minutes prior, and you felt less embarrassed to ask.
"Are you sure? There's not much room."
You nodded, and he looked down at his own snow-soaked leathers. He grunted in disapproval and discomfort, reaching down and lifting the tight clothing from his body. You nearly gasped at the action, at the toned body that now faced you. Gods, he was beautiful.
He walked away briefly, presumably to gather his other change of clothes. He might have even cleaned up a bit, because when he appeared again, he looked clean and comfortable. And then he was reaching under the blankets to adjust where you laid.
His body sunk into the cushions of the sofa, and he gathered you into his arms until you were halfway on his chest, his soft and clean shirt overwhelming your senses as you curled into him.
You hummed. "This is nice."
His arms were loose around you, but his hand was resting purposefully curled around your side, his fingers inching over onto your abdomen in a protective and comforting gesture. As if he could take your pain away with just a touch.
"Try to rest. We should be able to get back to Velaris in the morning."
You pushed away the pain radiating through your body, the disorientation and dizziness, and instead focused on the warm muscled body underneath you. The way he encased you, the way he made you feel safe and at peace despite your current state. The way he cared for you.
You would tell him soon -- how you felt.
But for now, you buried your face deeper into his chest, your body falling lax against him. For now, you would rest and savor this moment.
For now, you would pretend like he was doing this because he loved you too. And you held onto that until sleep took your pain away.
2K notes · View notes
thegnomelord · 2 months
Text
CH:2 You Were Made For This At Least You're Good For Something
CW: NSFW, blood, gore, scars, cannon typical violence, dissociating, Mage reader, Monster cod AU, poly141, eventual poly141 X reader, reader isn't a good person, survivor's guilt, military inaccuracies. Heavy description of reader having scars, reader gets called 'sir' once but overall GN.
AO3: 13.7k words. Big thanks for @rodolfoparras and @princeguri66 for betaing for me, love you guys!
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Magic is often described as a loaded gun, a double edged sword, a grenade with a missing pin, an unmarked minefield — and a thousand more little comparisons parents have come up with to frighten their children, to drill the dangers of magic into their heads. And, should their spawn unfortunately present with said aptitude, to teach them how to spend the rest of their lives vigilantly holding the leash on their emotions tight, lest the magic consume them the next time they throw a tantrum.
Your own parents spoke about magic like it was a beast sent by a vengeful God; a venomous insect hiding in your boots, a beautiful creature luring you to touch it's deadly skin, glowing eyes peering at you from the darkness, a handsome wolf stalking your red hood from the tree line. Something so desperate for a single chance to devour you. Famished. Ravenous.
What a load of shit.
—Ethereal mana rushes through your veins like water through a busted dam, your fingers forcing it to form into skin chafing ash. Large dark clouds swirl around you like a shield, stray cinders brush your feverish skin in a distorted attempt to mimic a lover's touch, smog curls around your head like blinders to focus your eyes forward so you don't need to notice if it's a combatant or a civilian your ash consumes—
If magic was half as unpredictable as people made it out to be, you would have never reached the heights you did.
—The thick disgusting scent of gas and burning human flesh tenderly presses down on your chest, sharp claws persuading you to breathe out by gently caressing the spaces between your ribs. Your breath fogs over the darkened lenses, steam rising from your chest as the generator inside churns out more mana—
What does that make you?
—Sparks nip at your heel when your body thinks of faltering, sharp needles pricking half dead nerves and commanding your limbs to move in order to evade obstacles and falling debris and whatever else is thrown at you, magic strengthening your muscles so you can rush through the streets like a forest fire—
A weapon? A fellow beast?
—Silent black flames devour the corpses your magic creates, leaving nothing behind. Stifling heat straddles your brainstem and burns away the weeds of empathy before they can spread the seeds of hesitation in your mind, isolating your heart so it remains too hot to harbor any mercy, regardless of how many lives you cut short—
Yeah, sounds about right.
—The roar of fire deafens the screams and sirens, the soft crackle of flames is indistinguishable to the crack! of breaking buildings and snapping bones. It makes it so easy to retain the single minded focus you were praised and cursed for. To remind yourself of what you are; a mage, a soldier, an Ifrit, a Red Right Hand—
What else are you good for?
You—
Breathe.
You need to breathe.
You need to think.
While you still can.
Your brain is a jumbled mess of puzzle pieces a frustrated child threw into the fireplace. Burnt edges and missing corners prevent your mind from its natural configuration and forces your thoughts into obtuse positions. It takes time and effort to open your eyes, needles of stagnated mana stabbing your irises and making what should be a pitch black room feel like you're staring into the sun. Your body feels light like you're falling, your vision swims with spots of blurriness and sharpness, the back of your throat tight in an attempt to get you to puke up your empty stomach. You only manage to cough, but the vestigial impulse gets some other thoughts to trickle from your mind.
You focus your eyes to one point and stare until the blurriness retreats to the edges of your vision and the tripling shapes solidify into one. It takes more time for your brain to understand what your eyes are seeing through the steam, but you manage to make out. . . your glowing hands. . . your knees. . . dark ash, muddied water, bathroom tiles.
Your vision improves the longer you keep your eyes open, the room steadily darkening and becoming more bearable as the stagnated mana is forced to recede.
You concentrate on what you feel; water pelts your naked body, only to sizzle and turn into steam after rolling an inch down your skin. Cool ceramic tiles brush against your spine every time you shift, rapidly warming up to your body temperature. A drizzle of discomfort nibbles on your nerves when the hot air you breathe out burns the corners of your dry lips. Your fingers feel like rusted pistons as you intertwine them and numbly watch your 'skin' bubble, and those bubbles 'pop', giving you a grim glimpse of your blackened muscle and sinew and bone before the surrounding lava covers them up.
You don't even notice the ringing in your ears until your slowly sharpening mind forces it to go away, replacing it with the sound of running water, of the ventilation fan uselessly trying to suck up the steam, of your own heart beating like a hummingbird against your ribs, woodpeckers drilling into your skull from all angles as the world becomes so fucking—
—Loud. The world is Loud. Nothing like the calm and quiet brought to you by the battlefield, nothing like the sense of safety that comes from familiarity. No. Now the world feels like a swarm of angry wasps are burrowing into your ears to build a nest in your skull, sharp pincers gnawing on your bones and flesh and nerves and—
No.
You got this far.
You're not allowed to fall back into panic.
You force your chest to expand and take in a deep, unfiltered, unrestricted, breath. Ash with the disgusting undertone of rotten eggs curls inside your nose and doesn't let anything else pass. But a small hint of you manages to register in your brain, light and calming; your body’s lackluster attempt at incense to cover up the stench of rot.
And you taste. . . a lot. Too much; morning breath, ash, smoke, blood, the peppery battery acid quality of your blood — all blended together into a disgusting cocktail tailor made for you by what's left of the butchered angel sitting on your shoulder.
You don't think when you reach out to grab the glass of whatever shit liquor past you had bought. 'Glass' is far too kind a word for the tin can you're using, but metal doesn't shatter in your burning hands like ceramic or glass.
Your head thunks against the wall as you throw it back to gulp down the alcohol before it can boil, swallowing in big gulps like it's water. Your stomach cramps, the devil's finest piss would taste better going down your throat than the booze, but it's as effective as it is disgusting and bleaches your mouth until it's the only thing you can taste — sweet relief wrapped in thorns.
You don't revel in it.
The tin can bends like playdoh as you squeeze your burning hand, quickly reddening metal molding to your palm before you crumple it into a small ball. You flick it into the corner where it becomes another piece of the small pile that's been steadily growing there over the months.
Breathing in deep makes your ribs creak and groan like rusted hinges, your lungs burn and complain as you keep the air trapped in them until they're forced to function properly and a shuddered breath escapes your parted lips. The water feels nice and a part of you wants to stay under the stream forever, a part of you would be content growing moss and listening to the soft apologies your mana murmurs as it nibbles on your blood vessels.
You would hit that part of yourself if you could.
The thinning steam urges you to move. Shifting to your knees is difficult with Atlas's burden weighing on your shoulders, forcing your fingers to find purchase in the scorched grooves previously melted in the wall. Pulling yourself to your feet causes them to grow a few inches deeper, your burning hands leaving singed handprints on the ceramic walls.
The weakness in your knees forces you to spend a few seconds just standing, watching your magic slowly start to slumber. The once runny lava consistency of your 'skin' shifts to that of cooling magma, the vast excess of loose mana still in your blood slowly coagulating atop your 'skin' in the form of large chunks of volcanic rock, little cracks remaining between them to simulate blood vessels.
Washing yourself isn't a relaxing affair in general, but it's made worse by the heavy duty soap and rough sponge you have to use in order to scrub away the grime and ash stubbornly clinging to your skin. You try not to look at your body more than you have to, your eyes transfixed on the way the dirty water carries the signs of your violence down the drain. You never get any blood on you, your fires burn too hot for that, and you don’t know if seeing the water turn red instead of black would make you feel better or worse.
The most painful place to wash is the sharp transition between mage marks and living tissue at your shoulders; magic cares little for appearances, volcanic rock abruptly transitioning to soft skin that boasts spiderweb cracks — a tell tale sign of your mana intending to spread further. The nerves there are partially eaten away too, turning your skin into a minefield of zero sensation and absolute hell when one of those nerves is prodded.
You get out when the water runs clear, the residual droplets turning to steam the second you turn off the shower. You stumble as take a few steps, bracing against the small sink next to the shower, staring at the tap to keep your gaze from doubling again.
Something gnaws on your heart as you recognize that you're standing naked in your small safehouse. You should have recovered by now, gotten your shit together and went off to carry out whatever other massacre your employer wanted to commit. Your mind, ever the problematic thing, chimes in: How improper.
Your eyes skirt to the dog tags sitting on the sink, those little plates of steel chastising you "Fuck's sake firebug, this isn't a nudist beach!" like their owners did before. . . before.
Just thinking about it gives you the phantom taste of blood and something acidic, makes you feel a ghostly ache in your bones as if your chest had been ripped open one rib at a time. Invisible glass digs into your throat as you swallow, fish hooks tug on your skin. The mirror hanging above the sink calls for you, mocks you, dares you, orders you to look at the horrid thing that replaced a sweet young child.
Burning flames greet your gaze, swallowing up every last bit of natural color in your eyes just as the hungering beast devours those stupid enough to enter its woods. And you were that fool. The raised bumps of veins and arteries snaking across your chest and throat like creeping ivy attest to that, each inch of your blood vessels meticulously, painfully, pulled from the safe depths of skin and bone to heal on the surface of your skin (or bleed and rot. You could never tell when torture turned into intended murder.)
Your body tells a tale of your survival (for whatever that's good for), most of your scars old and healed, created at a time when you didn't know how to heal yourself. Dimly glowing lines of hardened mana occasionally stretch across your skin, spiderwebs of deep cyan peek beneath your hair on one side of your head and pulse across your throat, glittering amber swirls across your side — small and pretty testaments of wounds so horrendous only magic could keep you in one piece.
An eternal flame burns in your chest, its steady unfaltering glow outlining your sternum and each rib in such clarity it's like you're a cadaver in a morgue, a textbook example of a person slowly spiraling towards lichdom. The light emanating from within you makes the jagged dark ink curving along the space of your ribs stand out like a sore thumb, D.O.D. 2016.01.01. Your fingers ache to trace the little shaky messages of not Today, Guess again, yuo wish, NO, just one more day that circle it, but you can't bring yourself to do it.
You can't sully the last few things you have left of them, you can't, you can't you can't—
Crack!
You realize you've broken the mirror when you pull your hand back and see large shards stick out between your knuckles. Little reflections of yourself continue to mock you as you pull the pieces out. It doesn't hurt, it hasn't hurt since the mage marks first cracked the pads of your fingers, though you're still unsure if it's a gift or a curse —"leave it for the scholars to bicker about" as your Commander loved to say.
A shadow flickers in the corner of your eye, almost like a silhouette of someone you think you knew. Glowing lines of a magic circle burst into the air before you can physically react, mana simmering beneath your skin as magic comes to you easier than breathing.
The hallway lights up to reveal nothing. The thing you saw was just the shadow of a tree branch moving in the wind. You unsummon your magic before it can burn anything, the dwindling sparks nipping your fingers before they’re snuffed out as a way to show your mana is not pleased by the false alarm.
There is nothing there.
You are alone.
Again.
Your phone rings, the factory setting music grating on your ears. The phone is a piece of shit Nokia brick that belongs in a museum, but it works fine as far as burner phones go. Archaic technology like this plays better with magic than the flashy electronics people use nowadays, and the fact it doesn't connect to wifi helps make you harder to track.
You use the back of your knuckle to answer the phone, luckily not needing to pick it up as your mana enhanced hearing is a lot better than human. You manage to force a rough "Yes?" out of your throat.
"Nicely done my friend." Khaled sounds pleased with the death you brought, "You put on a very nice show." The eloquent Arabic he speaks makes the praise sound even nicer to your ears, like a balm of milk and honey to soothe your mind after what you went through. You can see how he's amassed as many men as he has, you could see yourself joining him full time if you were younger and dumber.
Your thoughts sit on your tongue like hot coals, but you swallow them down. "Thank you sir." You say instead, politely. Respect for your superiors was beaten into you years ago, yet exhaustion makes your words sound far rougher than his. Thankfully you're able to keep the accent of your mother tongue from deforming the fragile vowels.
"Ever the modest one." Khaled's chuckle is deep and just at the edge of mean, the subtle change in tone making the fine hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. "I need to pick up some more toys." And by 'I' he means you.
Toys — guns, bombs, other weapons intended for mass destruction; you're not surprised he's using slang instead of saying it outright. Your employer may be an overgrown murderous warlord, but he's not dumb, there's no doubt heavy surveillance has been put on both of you and Al-Qatala as a whole after your stunt.
It makes sense why he'd want to send you for the weapon's deal instead of going himself, there's no telling when some military group or pmc will try to bushwhack them in hopes of body bagging Khaled. Hell, you'd be disappointed if the CIA wasn't already in the final stages of planning a counter terrorism measure. Nosy fucks.
"Understood sir. Send me the shopping list." You feel your brow twitch with irritation when Khaled abruptly cuts the call. A sigh escapes you; your stomach feels like a witch is using it for a cauldron, all sorts of nastiness bubbling into a disgusting brew — your body's trying to warn you of something you can't see.
Not like you listen.
Dropping the last of the mirror shards into the sink you reach over to grab the dog tags and slip the cold chain around your neck. The metal warms up quickly, becoming indistinguishable from your skin. You rest your hand over them. If you try hard enough, you can just about sense the last remaining dregs of their magic— cool water, nibbling ice, soft soil — but the rest blend together into senseless mana, nothing but whispers of the past.
16 other tags rest against your skin, your own nestled somewhere between the dead.
You should have died instead.
You tear your hand away with a scoff, shaking those thoughts off and go get dressed. You slip on your helmet last, the tension in your shoulders evaporating when your face is hidden. Your lungs stutter for a second before adapting to breathe normally. You throw a glance at the shattered mirror and this time it's the helmet that greets you; just another soldier, just a mage.
Yeah. . . that's you alright.
Your phone vibrates, telling you you've received a message.
Right. You have a job to do. Here's to hoping this one isn't your last.
You're not holding your beath.
. . .
The briefing room is silent as Laswell goes over the census: 200 confirmed dead, hundreds in serious condition, thousands more who will be affected in the coming weeks and months when the seasonal storms wash the toxins into water sources and pollute the earth. And that's not talking about the long term effects, who knows how many will be lost in the coming years trying to neutralize the poisonous magic and rebuild.
Toxic gas itself is problematic when they don't know what specific kind it is, but when it binds with loose particle magic like ash or sand it can linger for decades, eroding concrete and skin alike. A whole generation will be born in hazmat suits.
Kate finishes speaking. A minute of silence follows.
Soap takes the time to try and visualize the dead as people rather than just a statistic, but his mind falls short. His tail twitches with irritation, fists clenching by his sides; he just can't understand how one person could do all of that without rockets or explosives.
His brain births a grim thought — fire hot enough to burn through concrete wouldn't leave behind any bodies, so he can tack on several more hundred deaths to the census, ones that have no way of being confirmed, leaving families without a body to grieve over.
"As far as we know." Kate begins again, her face grim, deep dark shadows stretching beneath her eyes. Only caffeine and determination have helped chase away her exhaustion. "This was a terrorist attack organized by Khaled Al-Asad," She pulls up two pictures on the interactive board, one of Khaled, the other — the same featureless helmet they'd seen on the news. "And carried out by a mage mercenary called Ifrit. True identity unknown."
Soap's ear twitches and he tilts his head at Ghost. "Bet yeh he's an ugly focker."
Ghost's dark eyes flicker to him. "Didn't think that 'bout me did you?" He mutters, eyes returning to the screen, staring at your picture as if it'll reveal some deeper meaning; an insight into a murderer's mind. Soap holds off on doing the same, he doesn't want any of the sludge on him.
“Could also be a ‘her’.”
Their gazes turn to the two women sitting at the front, the captain and lieutenant of another pmc the US has contracted to help them deal with this problem.
The one who spoke is a woman in her late 30's, brown hair pulled in a tight bun, green eyes occasionally flickering with whisps of unnatural blue; Captain Roberts – if Johnny remembered her name correctly from orientation – continues. “Women are better at using magic, and control it with the finesse required for more complex spells.” She explains with a dismissive look, absentmindedly waving her gloved hand like they’re just insects buzzing around her head.
Yeah, Johnny doesn't like her. And it's not because she smells like sweet lotus mixed with the stench of rancid fish rotting under the sun. It's because she's as hoity-toity as every other mage he's met (thankfully he's only met a few).
The shorter woman sitting next to Captain Roberts shrugs, black hair pulled into a similarly tight bun. "A little biased there captain." Lieutenant Martinez says, her black eyes flickering to look at the monsters. "Though, I can't say it's unwarranted." He hears her mutter.
Johnny notices striped patches velcroed to their arms, 2 icy blue ones on Martinez, 3 deep blue on Roberts. Distantly he remembers them to signal the power level of a mage on the international power scale, though he's blurry on the finer details.
Johnny’s ears twitch as he hears Ghost mutter a “Fuckin’ ‘ell.” under his breath before the wraith gruffly speaks up loud enough for all to hear. “Nail Ifrit and you’ll get the chance to check for bollocks.”
Roberts turns her head to look at Ghost. Her eyes look him over and the initial scowl (which Johnny's sure she was born with) turns into something that makes Johnny's fur stand on end and gums itch with the need to bare his teeth. She opens her mouth to speak—
A low rumble wafts through the air as Price blows out a puff of cigar smoke, the soft cloud escaping through the open window but the strong scent remains. "Hush." Price's pupils are thin like needles, shutting up Roberts with one look before he looks at Kate. "What do we know about 'em?"
Kate frowns, "Not enough." She pulls up a map of the world, a red dot placed somewhere in Libya. “Ifrit first appeared on our radars 2 years ago under the employment of a Libyan warlord called Ahmed Saleh.” Next she pulls up a video, playing it. The camera work is shaky, but Soap's able to make out said warlord speaking in a language he doesn't know, Ifrit standing by his side like some freaky statue. The camera shifts to focus on the row of men behind them, all bound on their knees with bags over their heads.
Johnny knows immediately what this is.
He still flinches when glowing circles spring beneath the mens knees, violent flames shooting high up into the sky as if Ifrit just used their personal key to open Satan's backyard. The camera flickers like an old TV, catching the last few seconds of glitched dying screams and magic burning away skin and muscle before the the video ends.
"Jesus." Kyle mutters next to Soap, his clawed fingers carding through the black feathers on his other forearm in a self soothing motion. "Just. . . Jesus."
"Ah dinnae think he’ll help." Soap mutters back, nose wrinkling as if he can already smell the burning bodies.
"A few weeks after this video was taken, Ifrit went into hiding before resurfacing again under a different employer." If Kate's bothered by the public execution, she doesn't show it. "Cross referencing the attack in Uzrikstan we’ve found over 50 arson attacks with the same M.O.” More red dots spread across the world map haphazardly, seemingly with no rhyme or reason. “As well as indication of Ifrit's involvement in numerous organized crime groups. Khaled is just their latest employer.”
Ghost lets out a low whistle. "Our arsonist's been busy."
"So what?" Soap's fur bristles even more, "The torcher just pop oot like a weed aw o'a sudden an' immediately jump intae terrorism?"
"Maybe?" Kyle scratches the back of his neck. "If they're a late bloomer and unbound then it makes sense why some crime rings would want them," He turns his head to look at Captain Roberts, "Right?"
She doesn't spare him a look, chewing on her words like Kyle had put something foul in her mouth. "I suppose developing strong magic after adolescence is possible." She begrudgingly says, "And unbound magic is stronger than bound, making Ifrit look like an appealing attack dog." She crosses her arms over her chest, stroking her chin in thought.
"But unbound magic also damages to the body." Lieutenant Martinez pipes up. "And that type of mage marks would take more than just 2 years to develop even if they used magic 24/7."
"You're correct." Captain Roberts finally glances at Kyle, giving him a look as if he had asked the difference between a pug and a werewolf. "It's more likely they had magic for a while. Not to mention received training for it."
Another low rumble escapes Price's chest, the sound reminiscent of construction machinery. "How come we didn't know about the firebug earlier?" His voice is calm, making the sharp edge underneath it cut deeper.
Kate sighs, "I hate to say it, but Ifrit is good." She says solemnly. "Their magic destroys electronics, they never show their face or leave witnesses, and they manage to cover their tracks up so well that we can't find even a partial mana-cule signature on the arson attacks, the most recent one included."
Her words make little sense to him, entering Johnny's ear and exiting through the other. He remembers taking a few classes on the types of magic that can mimic explosive materials when he was doing his demolition course, but all the jargons had made his head hurt and wasn't needed in the end. His tail tucks closer to his leg. "A what?"
Captain Roberts scoffs, but her Lieutenant speaks up. "A mana-cule detector picks up the way magic that's left in a victim's body refracts light. It's specific to every mage, so, like a magical fingerprint." She holds up her gloved hand to give visual to her comparison.
Soap feels Gaz's feathers brush against him as the man folds his wings closer to his body, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks at the screen. Kyle's eyes wander back to the starting image of the video where you're standing behind the warlord, mentally comparing it with the brief glimpse of you he got on the news. Something about you screams 'professional' to him, like you've done this so many times you got used to it the same way he got used to pulling the trigger of his gun.
"Ifrit doesn't look like some gang banger Khaled or some warlord picked off the street." Kyle finally says, and though he knows Laswell probably had the same thought, he still asks. "Could they be ex military or part of some pmc?"
"We're operating under this assumption, but we can't confirm anything." Kate frowns. "We're still trying to find any personal information about them."
"Getting to the important information." Captain Roberts says, giving them a pointed look. "What even is Ifrit’s level? With destruction like that I can’t imagine anything beneath L3. L4 if they’re 3 seconds away from becoming a lich or just high on Magnus dust."
"Fuck what dust?" Soap asks, but Captain Roberts just waves him off like his question is too stupid for her to answer.
"Magical crack." Ghost shrugs. "Makes the magic stronger, but also turns the mage into a firecracker."
Kate rubs her brows, a headache starting to pound behind her eyes. "By our calculations Ifrit falls into the L5 category." Her words make the rest of them go silent, but Soap just looks around confused.
"Preposterous." Captain Roberts huffs, "I can count on my fingers how many L5's there have been since Christ was born. Ifrit being one is just impossible." A deep scowl etches across her face. "At best, Ifrit is just an L3 high on Magnus dust with no regard for their body. They'll be a lich in a couple months."
"Regardless of what Ifrit is," Price speaks up, stubbing the cigar butt on the window sill and throwing it out the window. "What do we do about them?" A small bit of smoke escapes the corner of his lip, dragon fire burning hot in his chest in response to his well masked anger.
"An insider in Al-Qatala claims a weapon deal will be going down in a day." Kate swipes away the previous pictures, putting on a bird’s eye-view map of a shipping dock. 5 large warehouses circle an empty concrete space bordering the ocean, clearly long abandoned. "From what we know, Khaled has Ifrit secure most of his weapons because they’re careful. If a buyer’s even a minute late they call it all off."
"So punctual and paranoid?" Gaz sumarrises.
Ghost hums to himself. "Quite the work ethic." He side-eyes Johnny. "You could lean som'thin' from 'em."
Soap just huffs, his tail bumping against Ghost's leg in retaliation, his snagglefang showing as his lip quirks up into a small smirk when Ghost's dark eyes flicker to him.
"You’ll need to be tight, there's no telling when this opportunity will present itself again." Kate continues, ignoring them. "Team Alfa," A dot pops up on one side of the docks, Price's and Lieutenant Martinez's faces beneath it. "you'll be going in from the north. Bravo—" Another dot appears on the opposite side with Ghost's and Captain Robert's faces. "—the south."
The dots move to indicate how they're supposed to approach the position, ending up with them completely surrounding the docks. "We don't know Ifrit's full battle capabilities, so you'll need to be careful. Isolate and tire them out before attempting capture, but kill if you must." Laswell looks at them all. "We can only assume ifrit's magic is short ranged so under no circumstances do you get close to them, understood?"
"Crystal ma'am." Captain Roberts shrugs, throwing a look at the monsters at Taskforce 141. "Just let us take care of the mage and keep out of the way so you don't become collateral. I would hate to waste my time healing you." Her eyes linger on Ghost, bits of bright blue mana flickering in her eyes. "Well, most of you." Soap feels Ghost subtly stiffen next to him.
That woman's charming as a train wreck; Soap can feel himself prickle with irritation, more and more strands of fur rising to stand straight on his tail the longer he has to stay near Roberts.
Luckily they're let go early to go rest up and prepare while the two mages stay with Price and Kate to iron out the finer details of which mages which team is taking and what spells to use. Apparently everyone but Price and Kate are too stupid to understand the 'complexity' of their spells.
Soap would be insulted, but he takes the opportunity offered to him. He glues himself to Ghost's side as much as he can 'professionally', his tail curling around his leg as Johnny throws a smug look over his shoulder at Captain Roberts.
Johnny catches her looking back at him like he’s a flea ridden mutt and that just makes his tail wag. He forgets about her the moment the door of the briefing room closes, busying himself by subtly rubbing his arm against Ghost's, spreading a bit of his scent on the wraith's jacket. It's one of the few times he's glad wraith's don't have a scent — makes it easy to smell himself on Ghost.
"Someone's territorial." Gaz chirps as he joins them on Ghost's other side, feathers brushing against their backs to throw his own scent into the mix.
Ghost just looks at Soap bemused, his thick paw of a hand coming up to cradle the back of Johnny's head, gloved fingers gripping his skin like he's a puppy. "You bettah not piss on me."
Gaz breaks out into laughter and Johnny feels his cheeks grow warm. "Dirty bastard." He huffs, but stores the idea for later. "Are all mages like that?" He tilts his head back at the door.
"Uptight?" Gaz asks. "Snotty?"
"Wankers with their heads shoved up their arse?" Ghost helpfully adds.
"That's putting it brawly," Soap lets out a breath, amusement tugging at his lips as his tail wags.
"Yeah, I think it's like a requirement to be a military mage." Kyle chuckles, holding up his hand like he's judging someone's height. "You've got to be this much of a twat to join." He grins, passing them as he goes to get ready.
Soap wants to say more but Ghost's hand on his neck demands his attention, tilting his head up. His breath catches in his throat as Ghost bends down until their foreheads bonk together softly, the cool metal of the mask tickling Soap's skin. "Don't go doing anything dumb pup, olright?"
Dark eyes meet his own, a shiver runs down Soap's spine, his mouth dry as a desert when he tries to swallow the rock in his throat; Soap can't even begin to define the strange thing that was born between them on that one night in Las Almas, he can still remember the way Ghost's deep voice had kept him sane and his wolf's demands to blindly rush the enemy and get back to his pack quiet.
Johnny certainly can't define the late nights spent sharing that dog piss Simon likes drinking, nor the rough touches and hickeys they leave on the other, though they never have time to get further than that.
This feels nice too.
His hands sneak to Ghost's hips, thumbs hooking under his belt loops to pull their bodies closer, pressing his chest against Ghost's. "When have I ever done that?" He smirks, lips ghosting over Simon's masked ones.
He feels Ghost's chest rumble as the man chuckles, his other hand roughly gripping Johnny's arse. "You want a list?"
Johnny's tail wags more, "Well, I reckon I'd be up fer-"
"Oi, I’d hate to break the snogfest but we’ve got things to do!" Kyle’s chuckle breaks them up before they can do anything else. Soap turns to flip the bird to the bird, but Kyle's tail feathers have already disappeared into the changing room.
. . .
 The night is calm.
Mellow waves break against the well worn concrete walls of the docks, tree leaves softly flutter in the mild breeze, crickets and frogs sing their songs into the night air. The world itself doesn't care about you or the soldiers guarding the docks. Absentmindedly you track the movements of the men Khaled gave you, the barely noticeable crumbs of magic you stuck on them flickering at the back of your mind like dwindling coals.
All are accounted for. The night is calm. There is nothing out of the ordinary.
And yet your nerves are on a razor's edge. The relative silence scratches down your spine with long crooked claws, the calmness crackles beneath your skin like electricity. Your fingers itch with the need to tap them against your thigh, to do something; waiting has always been your least refined quality regardless of how often you needed to use it. Your body, your magic, Hell — the very essence of what you are — craves the heat of battle, the sweet lull of adrenaline's song to put your nerves at ease.
You resist moving too much. Years of training make hiding the signs of unease and nervousness easy as breathing, your body so still you could be mistaken for a statue if your chest didn't steadily rise and fall.
Taim doesn't possess your abilities. You can feel his nervousness on your tongue, like licking an old battery. His hands shift to re-adjust the hold on his gun for the 6th time in the past 10 minutes. You doubt he knows you're watching him from the corner of your eye, so the tenseness of his shoulders must be from you just being near him.
It doesn't surprise you — many countries that have had Russian or Soviet influence consider mages more monstrous than actual monsters. Mages like you are perversions of God's template, thieves who possess power not intended for you. Urzikstan is no different.
You don't point out how Taim flinches when you raise your hand to look at the time, the watch face strapped to the inside of your wrist; some habits are hard to break.
The deal is supposed to happen at 3AM, and it's 02:57 already. "The seller's taking their sweet time." You say under your breath, lowering your hand. You have half the mind to call it off and tell Khaled to teach his suppliers punctuality. Hell, you've done it before when you had less surveillance on yourself and your employer. This just feels like tempting luck.
Taim looks at his own watch and glances your way. "I understand your frustration sir, but- but we just need to wait a bit more." He absentmindedly holds up three fingers to indicate the minutes left, starting the count from his thumb.
It wouldn't be so odd if middle eastern countries such as Urzikstan didn't start counting with the pinky finger. Americans count with the index. That just leaves the entirety of Europe. You hum a low sound at the back of your throat.
"They-" Taim quickly puts his hand down and grips his gun in both hands, apparently thinking you hadn't noticed his blunder. "They should be here any min- minuta." Another slipup; the hint of a different accent softens and shortens the last vowel of the Arabic word. It narrows down a couple countries, but nothing specific.
Taurus would have made you run around the base for days if you had ever made the same mistakes, provided you survived the consequences of getting caught.
What a fucking amateur.
But Khaled isn't paying you to get rid of vermin, so you let it slide. You catalogue this moment in case you'll need it later, concentrating on the present.
The radio inside your helmet sputters to life, a rough voice speaking quickly in Arabic. "Ship incoming."
Your gaze falls on the dark ocean, mana flowing to your eyes without even having to cast a spell. It's not the same as using a mana sensing spell, those leave your head feeling like you'd volunteered it to be used as a church bell in exchange for perfect clarity of the world around you. But your sight becomes significantly brighter and sharper, enough to see the ship sailing towards the docks. It's a medium sized fishing vessel, the lights inside turned off so as not to attract too much attention, but it meets the specifications Khaled had given you.
You reach up to activate the voice receiver of your radio, pressing the button hidden on the inside of your helmet just behind the gas mask portion. "Our seller's incoming. Get the truck, secure the perimeter and keep tight." You order into the radio, cutting it off again.
You motion for Taim to follow as you walk out from your cover. You had hidden yourselves between two warehouses, their roofs extending to the sides enough to hide you from the sight of drones.
You stop a few feet from the edge of the docks, listening to the truck back up behind you as the boat slowly sails up to the edge of the dock and drops it's anchor.
You don't recognize most of the men on the boat, except for one. "Ah, Ifrit, long time no see," Victor Zakhaev greets you in Russian as he steps off the boat first. You notice a new scar across his face, but otherwise he looks good considering last you've heard of him he'd gotten himself shot and left for dead by some monster taskforce. "I am not late, yes?" He asks in English, offering you his hand.
"Right on time." You say and take his hand in a firm handshake. You try to ignore the way the touch of another human, regardless of the fact you can't really feel his touch, makes your skin crawl.
"Good, good, from you, that is a compliment." He smirks and steps to your side, giving room for his men to unload the heavy weapon crates from the bowels of the ship onto the dock. "I assure you, you'll find the garden hoses and other peashooters are all accounted for." Zakhaev makes a motion with his hand, making his workers put a heavy box onto the ground beside you. "But I know you well, you want to check the goods, yes?"
Needles prick your skin and your mind kicks itself for becoming so predictable. But Zakhaev has known you since your stint with that warlord in Libya, it's only natural he would learn a few of your habits after so long. "You would be correct." You say, your voice betraying nothing.
Zakhaev just chuckles, his workers undoing the crate's top board with his company logo printed on top of it. Inside, nestled between a sea of white packing peanuts, lies one of many M134 miniguns Khaled has been keen on getting — people of your ilk call it the garden hose for the ridiculous amount of ammunition it can spit out in a minute.
Say what you want about the yankees, but their weapons are top notch. Having once been on the receiving end of that weapon, you know first had how useful it can be; both for tearing enemy combatants to shreds and for decimating their morale.
You look over the weapon, unable to find anything wrong with it. Zakhaev takes pride in the guns he sells, you've never had any problem with them. "Looks good." You nod your head at Khaled's men and stand up. "Load them up."
You reach into your pocket and pull out a flash drive. Khaled had paid half of the price up front, leaving you to deliver the second half. Inside the flash drive are wallets with thousands of dollars worth of crypto currency. This is a smart play on your employer's part; you don't need to lug around suspicious briefcases full of cash, and there's no wire transfer some nosy agent can trace back to Khaled.
"Rest of your payment." You say simply, handing the inconspicuous flash drive to Zakhaev.
"Thank you kindly." Zakhaev slips the drive into his pocket. You watch the men carry the heavy weapon crates and put them in the truck.
Zakhaev shuffles through his pockets and pulls out a packet of cigarettes, some Russian brand. He taps the bottom of the carton on the back of his hand, offering you the stick that partially sticks out of the box. "Care to join me?" He asks, taking it in stride when you don't react. With a shrug, he puts the cigarette between his teeth. "Help an old friend, yes?"
You don't particularly like being the personal lighter for anyone, but you acquiesce — powerful and resourceful men with fragile prides are better as friends than foes; The task is so simple you don't even need to form a magic circle, a single thought making the end of the cigarette smolder before vestigial flames spark up from nothing, catching on the tightly packed dried leaves and setting them alight.
"Impressive trick." Zakhaev compliments and breathes in the nicotine, unbothered when he receives your silence again. You expect the rest of the weapons exchange to pass quietly, you and him watching from the sidelines as the men load heavy crates into the back of a truck. Your presence here is only as a guard dog.
Zakhaev surprises you by speaking up again. "Ah, there was another thing I wanted to speak to you about."
Another crate is set by your feet. You tilt your head to look at Zakhaev before your gaze flickers to the worker who pries the top board open. Inside isn't a minigun or an automatic rifle Khaled had ordered, but a sniper rifle.
"What is this?" You ask, just about keeping yourself from tensing; This is unexpected, a surprise, and surprises can get you killed faster than playing patty cake with a landmine.
Zakhaev, as if sensing your unease, waves you off. "A gift, my friend." He says in Russian, the words easy to understand. "And a. . . taste, shall we say, of what I can offer you in the event you decide to seek other employment opportunities."
Ah. So that's what this is about — he's trying to bribe you.
Now that you think about it, it isn't too surprising. He knows what you're capable of, and mages of your abilities don't grow on trees. "Is that so?" You ask in Russian, playing along as you kneel down and pick up the gun.
Your fingers move with life of their own, gliding smoothly and confidently over the metal as if you'd been born with it. The barrel is straight as an arrow, the butt fits comfortably against your shoulder, the magazine locks into place with a soft 'click', the bolt moves back with buttery smoothness and gives you sight of the live round before it's loaded into place with a second satisfying sound. It tickles your brain, that violent thing in your chest stirs with interest.
"You like it, yes?" Zakhaev chuckles, the sharpness in his eyes momentarily lost as he observes you as one does a child opening gifts on Christmas morning. "It’s a .50BMG, semi-auto, 5 rounds every 1.6 seconds, 1,800mile range, 1,319 m/s velocity, and has a 5-round detachable box mag with a muzzle brake." He details, and you mentally whistle to yourself; guns like these cost a fortune. "It's a nice gun, no?"
It is a very nice gun.
Something at the back of your mind tingles; a smoldering coal is quenched, a string snaps and sends a single needle through your amygdala. Foreign mana, as subtle as a tank, traipses at the edge of your consciousness — a fly unknowingly vibrates the threads of a spider's nest.
It is a very nice gun.
And you just found a target to practice on.
. . .
"What is Zakhaev doing here? I thought we buried him in Verdansk?" Sergeant Garrick’s voice chatters quietly over the coms as Captain Roberts makes her way through the swamp, muddy water up to her knees and insects buzzing around her head. A few of her best mages trail behind her, the rest of her team mingled between the monsters on the other side of the docks.
"Turns out our matchstick's just a magnet for wankers." Sergeant MacTavish’s voice crackles. She doesn’t stop the scoff that comes to her lips. He just has a voice that’s easy to dislike, then again she never did like mutts.
"Our mission remains the same, get Zakhaev if you can but Ifrit’s a more dangerous target." Captain Roberts wants to argue with Price. Hell, she did for nearly an hour after the briefing was done just on the subject why everyone but him and the wraith had to wear gas masks. Captain Price is too paranoid in her opinion; after the terrorist attack there's no way their target's mana reserves aren't depleted to shit, Ifrit probably couldn't put up a fight tougher than wet tissue paper but nooo, Laswell just had to pick that lizard over her own kind.
"Took care of a straggler." The deep rumble of Lieutenant Ghost’s voice sends a nice shiver down her spine. He had broken off to go ahead, briefly giving her a nice look at his ass. At least there’s one sideshow in that freakshow of a taskforce that’s easy on the eyes. She bets he would look even better without that ugly mask, all those big muscles on display and quivering beneath her…
"Alfa team in position." Price speaks into the radio.
Roberts shakes her head, refocusing on the task as she kneels in the dark water. She's partially hidden behind a rotten tree stump, but the night is dark and there's enough critters and insects in the swamp to make sensing them with mana difficult. "Team Bravo in position." She says.
"Good, stand by, we only get one chance at this." That's probably the only thing she and Price agree on. Opportunities like this don't fall into their laps often, maybe she can even nab herself a promotion if she captures both Ifrit and Zakhaev.
Curiosity tugs on her mind as she watches the weapons deal go down. She doesn’t know what she expected but this isn’t it; The last time she had seen someone capable of similar destruction, it had been a teenager in the late stages of lichdom— mind eroded, body nothing but skin and bones, magic rotting the poor girl from the inside out until all that was left was an animal in human skin.
She expected something similar, maybe worse, not for Ifrit to look no different than every other criminal piece of shit she's seen.
Unable to hold back her curiosity she hunches her shoulders and takes off her gloves. Her mage marks are extensive and ugly; reach to the first knuckle of each finger, the dried coral like texture scratching her skin as she places one hand on her face to peer between her fingers, another resting over her chest.
Captain Roberts can at least feel proud for being so magically gifted she can shorten a 40 something word incantation to just 13 measly words: "Sister of steams, daughter of oceans, give me sight to see the hidden." She can feel her mana leisurely crawl through her veins as she murmurs the spell, like squeezing honey through a cheesecloth.
The world lights up in an array of colors like a broken kaleidoscope, shapes and outlines flickering in and out as the mana inside every living creature mixes and twirls with the dark backdrop of dead mana without rhyme or reason. The sight is something humans were never meant to see, and it stabs at her eyes for even daring to look, but she can stomach it long enough to catch sight of Ifrit's mana.
Captain Roberts is disappointed to see the mana surrounding you is nothing to write home about; orange mana cleanly outlines your entire frame, barely a couple of inches thick, not too bright and not even the barest flicker in the even surface to indicate mana suppression.
The disappointment morphs into relief as she deactivates her spell — at the very least she won't need to waste her time with this monster and terrorist nonsense longer than she has to. Shame, she had been looking for a challenge—
A violent shiver runs down her spine, her heart lurches and bashes against her ribs with the feral panic of a prey animal trying to escape, cold sweat breaks out across her skin and pain blooming in her arteries as mana rushes to her fingers—
A bullet strikes the rotten stump she's hiding behind.
Magic explodes on contact.
Violent flames race to devour those still living.
. . .
You count 5 seconds between the bullet hitting it's target, the magic you imbued it with exploding, and it all going to shit.
You throw a hand over Zakhaev's shoulder and force him to the ground as the first hail of bullets comes your way. You drop to your knee just in time to avoid receiving a lead injection, the concrete behind you exploding in small puffs of dust as the high caliber bullets hit the ground or bounce off Zakhaev's boat to tear through the meat shields that are Khaled's men. You try to take a few potshots, but your position is bad and you can't tell where the shots are coming from.
You catch large elongated sticks fall from the sky and clatter to the ground. You immediately screw your eyes shut, bending at the waist to put your face parallel with the ground and pressing your hands to your ears. You avoid the flash as the stun grenades go off, but the following bang! rattles inside your ears and makes you stumble as you straighten out.
But you know this is just a distraction: beneath the whizzing bullets and echoing shots you can feel the world groan, the air shivering with disgust as magic slowly gathers at the fingertips of enemy mages. They take every precious second given to them to build and strengthen their spells, the average cast time around a minute.
You need no such preparation.
The moment you feel their spells release, like a rubber band snapping against your skin, you summon your own magic. You have neither the time nor space to produce a proper counter spell when you haven't seen your enemies casting circles, so your offence becomes your best defense — glowing circles spark across the air to shoot out violent flames, burning heat and freezing cold colliding in the crisp night air. Your magic is far superior, turning the balls of ice and water into steam.
The boundless steam floods the area and rushes at you like a stampede of frantic beasts. You pull Zakhaev close to you, shielding his fragile body from the blistering mist as it washes over you, nothing but a mild inconvenience. Your stomach feels tight, as if mocking you for not listening to your body.
At least you can be certain this isn't just some group of Khaled's enemies or gangsters that stumbled on you. The fact they're using water and ice spells means this was preplanned, they have a specific target — you.
The thought makes something inside you stir. You feel your heart begin to beat a little faster, a little harder, a little louder, banging against your ribs in the slow start of a war march to rouse the slumbering beast in your veins. Enticing it with what it you craves.
You hear Zakhaev say something but his words fail to reach your ears, not that you'd be able to respond with how your tongue feels like it's made of lead. Your body always does this; jaw tensing to keep you quiet, muscles relaxing in preparation, the lingering vestiges of nervousness evaporating to clear your mind so you can focus. Something in that fucked up brain of yours makes you switch to the first language you ever learned — violence.
Your grip is ironclad as you throw Zakhaev over your shoulder like he's a sack of potatoes, summoning more spells for cover instead of listening to his cursing. Even more steam blankets the ground, joining alongside gunfire and magic to create a disorientating shroud you're very familiar with. You easily duck and weave through Khaled's men, catching glimpses of enemy bodies moving beyond the steam as you head to the truck, hoping to use it for momentary cover.
Throwing Zakhaev into the back of the truck with the weapon boxes you skirt to the front of the vehicle, the sharp bang! of your fist knocking against the metal door scaring the shit out of the driver. You meet the man's eyes through the darkened lenses of your helmet, giving a hand gesture for him to drive.
Hummingbirds peck at the back of your skull, giving you ample warning to jump out of the way even before a circle spreads beneath your feet. A shard of ice erupts from the ground where you'd just stood, thankfully avoiding the car and giving the driver further incentive to get the fuck out. Ants crawl down your spine in another warning, and you saw enough of the previous circle to disrupt the one that appears behind you, a few orange lines springing up in the neat blue circle to make it fizzle out and send the half built spell right back at the caster.
With the primary targets secured you can turn your full attention on the attackers, your gloves smoldering as hot mana rushes to your fingertips. You hear pebbles crunch under a boot while you summon your own magic circles, the return of that tight feeling in your stomach making you break concentration just enough to catch sight of one of Khaled's men in your periphery.
You notice the gun aimed at you a second too late.
Bang!
Pain flares through your shoulder, your body moving on its own as you throw yourself to the side to avoid another round. You don't need to think for your flames to burst beneath the feet of your attacker, using the distraction to retreat into the space between two warehouses, giving yourself better cover. Mana rushes to the hole in your shoulder, drops of molten metal leaking from your wound when you lean forward, your clothing greedily drinking up your mana saturated blood and sticking to your skin.
Your magic repairs your body as quickly as you're injured, pain rapidly fading away until only the dull sting of betrayal remains. Like a sacrificial lamb, it catches the deadly attention of the thing slumbering in your heart.
It wakes up angry and feral and oh so hungry.
Fangs of freezing heat tenderly grip your heart, ravenous nothingness once birthed by your desperation now begs and demands for your will to give it shape. How can you refuse?
Flames spark at your palms, burning away the thick material of your gloves to free your hands. A freezing chill gnaws on your burning fingers and harkens the arrival of something that slinks out of your heart like crude oil, bulging and molding itself to your veins as it crawls to your palms. Darkness consumes the orange glow of your magic, leaving behind little pitch black candlelight flames burning at your fingertips. 'Flames' is a bad word to describe them when they suck the light around them; it's like looking at black silhouettes in the approximation of fire, painted straight onto reality by a child's hand.
A magic circle spirals beneath you, glowing bright blue and stinking of enemy magic. You can just about hear the chanting of spells near you, more circles appearing on either side of you, trapping you.
"Beelzebub," You mutter under your breath, not out of need — you've long since mastered the art of wordless magic — but out of respect. "Devour."
2 measly words is all it takes for the black fires to shoot straight up like the fangs of a beast, leaping off your fingers in wide arcs and creating a quickly expanding perimeter around you, circling like sharks as they rush outwards. The meticulously crafted circles shatter like glass, hundreds of little shards of visible mana fluttering around you for a second before they're swallowed up by the black fires.
Beelzebub is a ravenous spell, lashing out at everything around you with the sole intent to consume, to devour every little bit of mana in an endlessly fruitless attempt to sate its hunger. Regardless, if said mana has already been made into a spell, of it's still inside a person.
You don't see it, but you know the exact moment Beelzebub finds the enemy mages, screams of horror and pain filling the air as black flames descend on them like bloodhounds. You can feel Beelzebub's freezing claws tear into them, leaving the flesh unharmed but tearing their mana out bit by bit, devouring it, syphoning the power back to you.
Once, long ago, the acrid rush of foreign mana through your system would have knocked you on your ass, now it just forces you to sway and lean against the warehouse wall. Long ago, the way stolen mana gnaws on your veins and claws at your chest for escape would have left you writhing on the floor, but now you can barely feel it. Your stomach cramps, the urge to vomit still as strong as it was back then, your senses registering all the rot; people don't think about how many forms rot can take — decaying kelp, festering flesh, acid rain, gangrene, moldy wall paper — hundreds of little deaths making up the very essence mages depend on.
Your body begs to use magic before you explode, muscles tensing, chest fluttering, ribs squeezing down on your lungs in an attempt to keep the stolen mana imprisoned. Sweet relief floods your mind as the searing heat of your own magic pushes the stolen mana through your veins, herding it into your palms where you can easily reshape it into something familiar to you: Ash.
Pushing off the wall you rush into the open, using Beelzebub's flames to burn the lines of the attack circle into the ground. The thinning steam lets you catch sight of enemies rounding the warehouses in front of you, likely human or monster since Beelzebub would have taken mages closest to you out of commission. You don't ponder this further, the second the final line is drawn you use Beelzebub as a transition point and push all the stolen mana out.
The docks erupt in a puff of disorientating ash. You don't waste time waiting for someone to fire the shot needed to ignite your magic, falling to your knee as you punch the ground. All it takes is for the chips of volcanic rock along your knuckles to scrape against the concrete for a spark to form.
The resulting explosion is never pleasant.
The sudden surge of light and the loud bang! leaves you disorientated for a few seconds, your skin dry yet clammy as if you has just got sprayed by a flash flood of boiling water. Tiny chisels pick at your bones as you stumble to your feet, trying to sculpt you into something holier than what you are.
But you can't complain when the same explosion tears through soldiers like they're paper, not even leaving behind blood to stain you when the harsh heat cremates the bodies closest to you. Your lungs struggle to get in a good breath, the stench of smog and burning meat passing through the filter and clinging to your tongue. You can hear your enemies coughing, you can feel them moving through the smog in search for you, but your ash is so thick it completely hides you, giving you a few seconds to think.
Thousands of thoughts roll around your skull, but one stands out — Khaled finally betrayed you.
Fire shoots out from beyond the ash at you. Your body moves instinctively as you throw your hand up to guard your head and turn away. The hot flames lick harmlessly over your skin, too similar to the heat inside you to harm you, so all it can do is burn your outer clothes until your shirt and bulletproof vest peek out beneath the large smoldering holes.
You get a second to catch sight of sharp curving horns and predatory blue eyes staring at you from the ash, the smog shifting around a rapidly approaching figure. Next thing you know something hard hits you right in the stomach, fast and unyielding like a truck.
Your skin and muscles ripple under the fist, you feel and hear your ribs crack! under the immense strength right before the punch flings you back like a ragdoll.
You crash into a warehouse wall, the metal denting in the shape of your back as more bones crack. Pain flares through your body, your tongue, caught between your teeth, bleeds peppery acrid blood into your mouth. You gasp for breath as much as you're able to, chest weakly fluttering like a butterfly's wing as you find yourself unable to take in a deep breath.
Then a sickening crack! rings right behind your eardrums as your magic pulls out the rib piercing your lung, pushing on it until it fully expands and you can breathe again. Heat slithers through your body to glue together broken bones and torn muscles, repairing you as if nothing ever happened. You're on your feet in seconds, the ripple in the ash giving you enough warning to lunge out of the way before another stream of flames can wash over you. You send your own in return, a magic circle forming in front of you before spewing out a beam of concentrated flame. The force behind it causes the lingering ash to disperse, giving you better sight of your opponent—
Dragon.
Of course your luck has to be so dogshit you'd get a fucking dragon sicked on you. What's next, a damn stone-skinned goliath? Maybe a leviathan to really fuck you over?
You bend your knees as you summon a magic circle beneath your feet. The ash erupts with such force it sends you careening through the air, launching you into the ash free air above you. You're close enough to a warehouse to grasp the jutting out metal sheet of the steel roof, your muscles tensing as you haul yourself up.
Quickly wiping away the ash stuck to your helmet lenses your eyes instinctively look up to search the sky, the bright spotlights of the docks making the night so much darker. If a dragon's after you then there's a high likelihood there are more monsters, and those rarely come without at least one flyer in their team.
The subtle, unnatural, flutter of distant stars across the dark sky gives you enough incentive to throw up a fiery shield, retreating further back onto the roof. Feathers sharp as knives burn to cinders in your flames, some stragglers imbedding themselves near your feet, easily slicing through the steel roof; Harpy.
You can't tell what kind it is, probably a common variety, but it doesn't really matter so long as you can clip the bird's wings.
Mana floods into your eyes as you use a mana sensing spell. The sky lights up like an aurora borealis, the ground below explodes in all sorts of nauseating colors that makes a headache pound against your skull. But it's worth it when the body of the harpy lights up like a lightbulb, contrasting sharply against the sky, it's wings making for the perfect target.
You know harpies are fast fliers. It forces you to give up some firepower in exchange for a homing ability. Changing a spell is an easy thing to do, mentally erasing and adding a couple of lines in your circle before you summon it. You disable your mana sight so you don't blind yourself and let your magic loose, firing off 4 tightly packed balls of fire in rapid order.
You don't stick around to see it try to dodge your magic, turning to your heel to race across the roof after you flood the earth bellow with even more ash. You need to escape; you could try to kill the monsters, you doubt they have anything worse than that dragon, but you have bigger problems — you can't let an enemy like Khaled live.
Something catches your leg like you're a rabbit in a snare, an unforgettable cold creeping up your skin to gnaw on your brain. Ethereal shadows curl like ropes around your ankle and pull you down before you can burn them away. You tumble to the steel roof and blindly summon flames around you, rolling to your side the moment you get yourself free and just barely managing to avoid your own shadow trying to skewer you.
You burn away the shadowy spikes sticking out from the ground, flames flaring up around you to momentarily distract your opponent as you get to your feet. Your eyes settle on the one that tripped you; big fucker, tall and wide, half wreathed in shadows, a skull mask peering at your from the darkness. Your spine feels like it wants to crawl out of your back, the silence of the grave ringing in your ears when you go to sense his magic and pick up nothing.
The same nothing that makes up Beelzebub. Furious. Hungry. Dead.
Wraith. You are facing a Wraith.
Not a goliath, not a leviathan. Worse. Much, much worse.
You have no shot at outrunning that thing when your own shadow can betray you, not to mention the wraith's range is far larger than yours in the dead of night. You have no choice but to charge at him, a circle forming beneath your heel and ash bursting out to launch you forward, your magic burning hot and bright to produce as much light as you can in an attempt to limit the shadows he can use.
Flames wreathe your fist as you throw a punch to his side, your sudden advance taking him off guard just enough for you to hit him, fire eating away at tactical gear to gnaw on the dead flesh. It forces a grunt out of him before shadows spew out from where you hit him to engulf your arm, leaving you open for a sharp knee to the gut. Your hands flare up, volcanic stone melting into active lava to burn away the shadows holding you. A pillar of flame erupts between you two to force him back, but whips of shadow shoot through the fire in quick retaliation. You duck and roll, adrenaline rushing through your veins like a feral hound as you charge at him again.
Shadows and flames are both volatile and taxing, making you two employ similar tactics: rush and overwhelm your opponent. You have to admit, the wraith is fucking good; he's not an oaf despite his size, using it to his advantage and giving you no reprieve from the constant jabs, trying to bully you into a position where you'd be open for his shadows to pierce your flesh.
But you're faster, ducking and weaving between his blows, mana pulsing through your blood and strengthening your muscles when they think of failing you down. You can almost hear Jackal shouting at you for being too slow.
Your flames are an extension of you, you trust them to clash with his shadows so you can focus purely on the Wraith. You can tell he's getting annoyed when you duck under another swing and jab your elbow into his ribs, the un-melted rocks covering your joint much more painful than actual bone. And that's before magic shoots out from your elbow, flames burning away both of your clothes and creating a sizable blistering wound on his side.
"Fucker," His shadows flare out to put out your flames, "Stay still." You catch a hind of a British accent in his rough voice, unable to get any more as liquid shadows roll of his shoulders and shoot out at you. You're forced to stumble back in an attempt to avoid the shadows trying to claw your face off, your heel ending right on the edge of the roof.
There's a small space between the edge you're standing on and the start of the roof of the warehouse adjacent to this one, the space big enough for you to fall through if you're not careful. The fall itself wouldn't be pleasant either. Your jaw clenches harder and you swing your arm down in an arch, summoning dozens of palm sized circles and shooting out bolts of concentrated flame through the shroud of darkness. Some of them hit him and force black smoke to fizzle out from the wounds you inflict on him, his shadows repairing the walking corpse the same way your magic does to you.
That's not good. While you could go hours, you'll run out of the mana you'll need to take out Khaled if you continue this attempt to put the wraith down. Beelzebub's cold flame simmers in your heart, begging to be set free. You'd rather not use it again when the closest mana source is a wraith — a dead thing full of unfiltered rot — god forbid it triggers the only spell you've sworn not to use, but you don't think you have many other options.
Just as Beelzebub readies to crawl from your heart something else grabs your foot, sharp claws digging into your skin and jerking you down. You buck forward and nearly fall face first, throwing your head to look at the thing that's caught you. A man has half hoisted himself up on the roof, clothes torn and barely hanging on to his frame, a gas mask obscuring his face, one clawed hand gripping the steel to keep himself up as the other has your leg in an iron grip that leaves your bones groaning.
You notice the man's elongated ears and gleaming blue eyes as those of a werewolf. Those blue eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when you summon a magic circle point black with his head, the reflective orange glow of your magic swallowing up all the color his eyes.
Shadows shoot out into the space between his head and your circle, devouring the ball of flames you shoot out so the worst the wolf gets is a face full of smoke and singed hair. You turn your body back to face the wrath, throwing up both hands to summon different circles to take both out, but you're too slow. Whips of shadow shoot out and hit you dead center in the chest. The force sends you crashing back, the dumb wolf holding onto your leg pulled down with you.
You crash through the window of the other warehouse and straight down to the ground. The fall forces a loud wheeze from your lungs as large glass shards embed themselves into your back and shoulders where the bulletproof vest doesn't reach. Your ribs crackle like popcorn as magic heals them, but the pain from constantly getting them broken and repaired is starting to linger.
Dark brown fur flickers in the periphery of your vision, the sensation of a heavy body bearing down on your own snapping you back to action. You throw your arm up, the sharp fangs meant for your throat biting down on your forearm. You don't feel pain there, but a sick sense of satisfaction bubbles in your stomach as you get the first row view of your assailant registering the blistering head of your mage marks against the tender flesh of his mouth.
He yelps like a kicked dog as he releases your forearm. With a grunt you grip his shoulders, the patches of fur there smoldering the few brief seconds it takes you to gather enough strength to throw the heavy mutt off you. You stumble to your knees quickly, forced to dampen your healing abilities. The glass shards dig deeper into your muscles as you move, but the threat of them exploding from the heat of your magic prevents you from doing healing your wounds; the best you can do is dull the pain.
The warehouse is dark, but the mana in your eyes gives you a rudimentary night vision, letting you see the werewolf scramble to his own feet, spitting saliva and curses at you, "Aw ye fockin' bawbag! I-"
The rest of his words fail to reach your brain as you register the ignited remains of your ash blanketing the ground, making it impossible to see your feet bellow your knees. The scent of melting steel and smoke invades your nose, your mind taking this as the most opportune time to replace the metal ceiling high above you with hundreds of feet of rubble. Your chest tightens, the wide walls of the warehouse closing in until you feel like there's no space to move.
You're trapped. Again.
Your eyes flicker around in search for an escape, flames sparking from your fingers to burn all the way up to your shoulders, your mage marks burning hot and bright in the darkness. There! — at the very back of the warehouse you spy a motorcycle, your way out. Only a werewolf stands between it and you. It's true what Taurus used to tell you: freedom is a rope and God wants you to hang from it.
Steeling yourself, your hands reach out to grasp the knives you keep strapped to your shins, a subtle shift of the handles in your palms letting your magic flow freely into the steel.
Let him try to stop you.
. . .
Soap 's hackles raise, his fur feeling like it wants to leap off his tail. Such a deep and strong stench of rot permeates his senses his mind thinks he's the one decaying for a second. His eyes focuse on you as flames coat the knives in your hands and artificially extend the blades to give you better reach. Laswell's voice replays in his mind, telling him not to get close. Hell, he swears he can he can hear his ma's voice call him a bloody idjit for thinking of rushing at the fucking demon.
But his body still shifts further, bones snapping and reforming, muscles growing and the tattered remains of his shirt snapping off his torso as his body doubles in size. He can see his glowing eyes reflect in the tinted lenses of your mask before he rushes at you, body low to the ground before he leaps, claws bared.
You sidestep at the last second and raise your arm, the artificial blade of flames licking a blistering cut across his side. Pain shoots up his spine, his blood literally boiling as the fire both cuts him and cautarizes the wound.
"Focker-" He yelps and drops to all fours to dodge a second slash, leaping up and swinging his arm in an uppercut. His claws cut into the Kevlar as they scrape against the bulletproof vest instead of your skin, snagging on something around your neck and pulling it with him as you lean down and duck back to create distance.
Johnny doesn't get to check what it is when you immediately retaliate by throwing your knife at him. He quickly pockets what he got off you and tries to avoid the weapon but it still hits him in the shoulder, hot flames burning at his skin to let the metal slide in deeper. "Bastard-" He snarls but before he can do anything you're next to him, ripping the knife from his shoulder as you duck past him to slash at the back of his knee.
Soap yelps from the pain as he tumbles forward, turning his body as he falls to roughly swipe at you with his superior reach. The force behind his swing makes you stumble, giving his body the few seconds it needs to regenerate. He rolls to all fours, muscles tensing to lunge again— a sense of wrongness shoots down his spine, forcing him to pause.
A pillar of flames erupts from the ground where he would have been had he lunged at you, the bright light blinding him. When he can see again, he catches your form on top of one of the shipping containers, magical circles appearing as you run across the container to pelt him with balls of concentrated ash. The balls explode in large puffballs of ash as they hit the ground, his mind urging him to move to avoid getting a face full of ash. "Aw no yer fockin' not." He mutters under his breath, taking a few quick and wide steps before he leaps onto the shipping container to escape the suffocating smog, racing after you on all fours.
This proves to be a mistake as you suddenly turn around, thrusting your hand out to cast a giant circle right in front of his eyes. Claws digging into the metal Soap throws himself to his side just as a beam of flames shoots out, singeing his furry tail and forcing a strangled gasp out of his lips as a bit of his thigh gets caught in the blast of fire.
He crashes to the concrete ground, the scent rot curling in his nose as the ash swirls over him, but can't reach his lungs thanks to the gas mask. Johnny's leg muscles twitch, his though skin blistered and red like a tomato, the tattered remains of his pants partially burned into his skin. He struggles to get to his knees, pain stabbing his skin as his body tries to heal, watching through blurry eyes as you reach your target — the motorcycle.
The engine revs to life and you get on it without wasting a second. A violent sensation rushes down his spine as you summon another circle, this one so big it stretches across the entire back wall of the warehouse. In a second the metal heats up to the point it's glowing, solid steel turning into molten slag and dropping to the ground like melting snow. Soap's mind stutters when you flip him off before racing away, shouting and gunfire audible but quickly growing quiet as you get away.
Fucking Bastard.
"So- Soap! H-ghr!- ow co-kghr-ppy?" Price's voice crackles through the radio, barely understandable thanks to how much magic is floating around him.
He groans, sucking in a sharp breath. "Still alive." He grinds out. Rapidly approaching footsteps make him stumble to stand, a threatening growl erupting from his throat.
"Just me." Ghost's voice makes him instantly calm down. His body presses against Johnny's and Soap lets himself put his weight on Ghost. "You broken?" Ghost asks, slipping Johnny's arm over his shoulder and gripping his waist, easily holding him up despite Johnny being nearly twice his size currently.
Johnny tries to breathe in deep with the gas mask restricting his lungs, "Just me pride." He glances down to his leg, the wound glistening with clear fluid and still blistered, his healing factor not even making a dent in it. "Fucker got me good." His ears twitch,
"We'll track 'em down." Ghost grunts as he helps Soap limp out of the ash filled warehouse, safe from the magic as he doesn't need to breathe. "I stuck a tracker, they're not getting far."
"Fockin' hope so, ah got a score to settle an' the bawbag flipped me off for fuck—" A thought comes to him. The tattered remains of his pants have pockets high up so he doesn't tear them when he transforms. He reaches into the pocket and pulls the thing he'd accidentally nicked off you. Johnny lifts it up so both of them can see the chain hanging off his fingers, a little more than a dozen dog tags dangling from it.
Even with the gas mask obscuring part of his face, Ghost knows Johnny's smirking. "Bet you Laswell will love this."
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Tag list: @resident-cryptid @diejager @lovingtyrantkitten @lieutnt @lilpothoscuttings @krystiannng @crankyweasel @ashy-kit @fyolaizs @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @aldis-nuts @whoislucas @birdiiiiiiiiiii
Masterlist; Chapter 1 <- Chapter 2(you are here) -> Chapter 3
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comicaurora · 1 year
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do you have any tips on writing soft magic systems? I only ever see them talked about when people are comparing it to hard magic systems or criticising it, which is a shame because I love systems where magic is just in the background being unimportant, with implied rules that will never be explained
god I wrote up like eight paragraphs of explanation and I was really working out some cool stuff there and then the app glitched and destroyed it all and I'm so upset
Unfortunately this reduces to a previous problem, which is "figure out how Tolkien did it and then do that."
Middle Earth is laden with magic. Hobbits being good at hiding is magic. There's a random throne in the ruins at the end of Fellowship that lets whoever sits in it see literally the entire world, and that's hella magic. Aragorn radiates One True King magic and occasionally heals people with a touch. Galadriel's mirror lets people see any point in time, past or future. Gandalf knows several spells, but most of the time he's doing less granular stuff by making lights or small fires or going all Servant Of The Secret Fire Wielder Of The Flame Of Anor etc etc. Elves are inherently so magical that the words of their language are never forgotten by anyone who hears them, the laws of physics don't apply to them, their havens are magically pleasant and beautiful, and the planet itself is magical for them - flat for the elves, round for everybody else.
The benefit of a soft magic system is that it produces a feeling in the characters and audience that the world is vast, wonderful and unknowable. It's at its best when it can answer why, but not how.
Why did the old empire of men have a throne that let you see the entire world? That makes sense! It's hugely tactically advantageous! HOW did they get the damn thing? No idea, doesn't matter, they clearly made it work somehow because the throne's right there. Why does Galadriel's mirror give you limited, randomized omniscience? Because while it's a useful tool if you can use it, seeing the future is a dicey and weird game, and the future can change if someone knows it's coming. HOW does riverwater in a birdbath do that? No idea.
Soft magic systems start running into difficulties when the writer needs to decide how it can or can't solve a given situation, which is a very common issue in storytelling, a format almost entirely centered on problems and solutions. For hard magic systems with clear parameters on what is and isn't possible, this is comparatively quite easy. The wizard can't magic this problem away because-
They're out of spell slots :(
They don't know a specific spell that can do that specific thing
There's another caster nearby stopping them
The object that lets them do magic isn't working
They need to speak words/do gestures/use materials to cast, and they can't for whatever reason
There's something "antimagic" around stopping them
Etc etc. The possibilities are easy to run through, because the "how" is clearly defined, and can be negated into a "how NOT." If magic uses spell slots, stop the characters using it by taking those slots away. If magic needs a material focus, break or destroy it. This prevents magic from feeling like an unsatisfying "a wizard did it" fix for all difficulties because the wizards can only do specific things under specific circumstances.
Soft magic systems can contrive answers to this too, but it can be a bit tricky to justify, and if it's Too Convenient it can feel like the magic system really just does what the writer needs it to do. When asked "why can't magic solve this problem?" soft magic systems can answer in several ways:
Too tired, sorry :( magic is Taxing and stuff so the caster can tip over whenever's convenient
They're in a Bad Vibes zone that's hindering their ability to cast because soft magic can be impeded by soft problems like "somebody was very mean here once"
That specific magic is tied to a specific location, like a magical elf forest, and doesn't work outside of it because it's intrinsic to the place and can't be replicated
There's another magical being around and their kung-fu is more powerful
These explanations work, but that's conditional on the story not making the audience think the magic SHOULD work in this situation, and this is entirely based on what's been established in the story thus far. If the wizard has been able to fly up until now, parking the gang at the bottom of the cliff and saying "sorry, fly machine broke" feels contrived. But if we've only ever seen other, intrinsically magical beings fly, the audience is unlikely to expect that the party's humble wizard will suddenly bust out a set of feathery wings as a gift from baby jesus himself. On the writing side, it's really a matter of feeling it out and making sure nothing feels too jarring - if the character who's previously displayed a certain specific space of abilities suddenly does something completely unrelated (like going from clairvoyance to slinging fireballs, or from a healing touch to earthbending) that feels inconsistent AND it teaches the audience that this soft magic system is softer than they realized, and can then make it much harder for the writer to then convince them that this caster CAN'T spontaneously manifest a power or gimmick that'll save them. But if the magical characters or objects operate within a specific space - one character that specializes in fire, one object that specializes in remote viewing, one artifact that lets its holder control the winds - then the audience will expect and accept things that fit in those broad, soft categories without speculating too much on the underlying "how" of their mechanics.
But the temptation to explain "how" is very strong for writers, and soft magic systems especially have trouble with this, because soft magic systems start calcifying into fragmentary hard systems when they're forced to explain "how". It locks in a hard-defined axiom that can be logically extrapolated. Because a soft system is not DESIGNED for that kind of internal logic, doing that will usually cause axiomatic collisions as they contradict one another. If a hard system is a crisp, geometric crystalline structure where any tangent line drawn through it will intersect cleanly with other lines in very predictable ways, adding "how"s to a soft magic system is like drawing tangent lines through a bowl of pudding - you're gonna get a lot of intersections in awkward places.
To pull an example out of absolutely nowhere, if a soft system without clear rules establishes something like "this spell can be used to summon an object towards the caster, but it DOES NOT WORK on living things", there are a number of questions that can become relevant:
Who made that spell to have those limitations?
Why can't WE make spells that DON'T have that limitation?
How is the spell defining "living things"? Would it work on a plant or a skeleton or a piercing in someone's body?
Why did you let this character use it on a living thing anyway, joanne?
In a lot of soft systems that try to lock in hard spell parameters, "who made these spells" and "why can't WE make spells" become the first and most obvious axiomatic clash. If magic can be created to do what the caster wants, why and how does that work, and why can't WE do it? This forces the writer to come up with an explanation to solve the clash without letting the protagonists make up whatever spells they want, therefore solving all plot problems forever - sometimes something like "the inventors of spells were intrinsically magical beings, like elves or dragons or whatever, and thus we ordinary scrub mortals can't make new ones." That's a functional explanation, but it reduces to a previous problem again - that this hard-ish magic system was created by someone with access to an unstructured soft system.
In a soft magic system, the only answer to the question "how does this magical thing work" is "because magic." If any other explanation is needed, things rapidly collapse into hard lines and axioms and covering for edge cases. How can elves run on powder snow, shoot targets in the dark and see for hundreds of miles? They're magical. Does that mean they can fly like a balrog or sling fire like gandalf or control weather like saruman maybe can? No, of course not, that's not their kind of magic and we have no reason to expect it from them. They're just magic. Magic means a lot of different things, and in a soft system the audience has to operate based on vibes rather than rules.
This can be difficult to balance. For instance, Star Wars has a soft system in The Force, and if you squint, every single movie and show uses it differently. It's not super disruptive to the audience's immersion because it's never framed like a Hard System with Hard Rules and it almost never pulls something out of COMPLETELY nowhere, but if you look at what it does from movie to movie and then show to show, it expands from "influence the wills of the weak-minded", "seeing the future a little bit" and "force choking" to "general telekinesis" and "limited telepathy" to "FUCKING LIGHTNING FROM THE HANDS MAN" which is a hell of a twist the first time you see it, to some even more buckwild stuff in the two different animated Clone Wars (like Mace Windu fighting an entire droid army Samurai Jack style and using the force to pull every bolt out of one of them at once, or the planet with the living incarnations of the Light and Dark Side) and the explanation never goes further than "The Force is magic, it's in everything, people who are good at The Force can use it to do a buncha stuff." It's not consistent, it doesn't have rules, but the audience accepts that Force users can just kind of do stuff that fits the Vibes of the stuff it's already been shown it can do. And as SOON as they tried to say "The Force is strong in people who have LOTS OF MIDICHLORIANS" everybody hated it, because it gave us a "how" answer to a question nobody wanted to ask and it made this pervasive, wonderous, soft magic system that Surrounds And Binds Us Luminous Beings Are We into "we are space wizards because we contain an above-average number of bugs."
As a chronic worldbuilder myself, I absolutely understand the impulse to explain and overexplain and lock in the Hows and the Whys, but as far as I can figure it, soft magic systems live and die on the writer's ability to restrain themselves from saying "how." The answer is "magic." The rest is just writing the story in such a way that "magic" doesn't become plot-breaking.
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omeganronpa · 3 months
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I Could Be A Concubine -Omega!Shikamaru Nara
A/N: Merry Christmas. Don't ever say I didn't give y'all anything. This is the sequel to I Burnt Bridges For You, Not For Concubines.
Warnings: attempted murder, poisoning, Nara Obsessions, Nara Bullshit, violence mentions, NSFW, bad writing, im sorry, blood mention, I know I'm missing warnings
Word Count: 20,151 - yes yes i know its long it took me so long
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The dark, dense Nara forest parts slowly the further you go into Nara territory. You hadn’t been able to pull yourself away from the window since your company reached the border, fascinated by the incredibly different terrain that is the Nara Kingdom. The tall trees, thick bushes, and clear air are markedly unlike the unyielding stone, frozen temperatures, and smoke that form your own kingdom and you are enraptured by the beauty of it. 
To anyone else, the treeline would have been intimidating. Nothing could be seen past the first few rows of trees and growth, a foreboding darkness and eerie silence shrouding unknown danger and warding off even the bravest of travelers from entering. 
To you though, it was the beginning of a new adventure. An ease spread through your chest as you eagerly watched the distance close between you and trees. Your guardian had long given up trying to pull you away, deciding the extra history lesson wasn’t worth the fight to keep your focus. Your current nanny tried to disagree, insistent that you were already so far behind your lessons, but she was silenced with a look. 
A small blessing for your exhausted brain.  
The forest canopy keeps the sun’s light from touching the ground but despite the darkness, you can make out the dense undergrowth of the forest floor, decorated with lush greenery and lovely flowers. Thick roots protrude from the ground, weaving and twisting around each other. The only break in the ground is an almost unnoticeable indent marking the edge of the path. If you hadn't been looking so closely, you would have missed it entirely. 
Only Naras know the ever-changing paths to the inner kingdom by intent and design. The Nara, in allegiance with the Yamanaka and the Akimichi, hold secrets unimaginable to those outside the Western Realm and the territories they rule over. The forest acts as their first line of defense, the density and darkness preventing enemies from getting too close too quickly. 
Those that attempt to enter without a Nara guide lose themselves before losing their life. Many armies have failed in their attempts to gain the upper hand in conflict using the forest, underestimating how difficult it is to navigate and control. The ground breathes and takes the air from the lungs of those it does not want around. It moves and undulates and drags people below to reclaim wasted energy and repurpose it to bringing new life to the undergrowth. 
It consumes as it lives. 
 As such, a Nara guide from the palace is dispatched every time permission is granted to enter the kingdom. 
Your Nara guide is a strict looking woman with a long single center braid starting from the front of her hair line and ending at her waist. The sides of her head are shaved, antler-like barbs tattooed on the bare skin. There is a scar across her throat, deep as it curves and disappears under her collar. Her eyes are golden-yellow, like the center of a fire. You hope you get a free moment out from under your guardian’s gaze to tell her that you think she is beautiful. 
It takes what feels like hours before the forest starts to thin but when the first rays of sunlight filter through, they do slowly and softly, gently illuminating your surroundings to your curious eyes. When the forms of wild deer appear, your nanny reprimands you for shaking the carriage in your excitement with a swap from her fan. The action isn’t intended to sting as much as it is to make you feel small and her scowl deepens when it does little to affect your mood. 
You don’t care about the dirty look. A killjoy Beta woman your guardian hired to make sure you were watched when you weren’t with them, she charged and demanded more than she was worth and you didn’t care much for her, her opinion, or her ugly fan. She knew it too and made sure to tell anyone who would listen about your impudence and disrespect.
Your guardian clears their throat, pulling your attention away from where the trees glittered in the sprinkling of light, “Remember your manners Y/N. The Naras are an esteemed and well-established noble family and offer us a great deal of resources that we are currently lacking. You are the heir to the throne. You would do well to remember your lessons.” The coldness in their eyes is unwavering, the disgust twitching along their upper lip ever-present. 
“Yes,” you nod solemnly, shrinking the tiniest bit under their stern glare. Their eyes narrow even further. 
Anxiety spikes through your chest as you realize your mistake. It's not very Alpha of you to cower. Correction will be given. The backs of your hands and legs throb.
You turn away, curling your body as close to the side of the carriage as possible. 
The room is dark when you awaken, the curtains drawn tight to keep the sun’s harsh direct light from touching your bed. There is a weight behind your eyelids, making it difficult to keep your eyes open. Sensation is lost to your body, limbs aching in their numbness. 
‘Wha…’ is all you manage before the pulsing in your head starts. The throbbing is intense, waves of agonizing pain dancing around the back of your skull and behind your eyes. Almost as if given the signal, parts of the rest of your body start cramping and pulling. Pins and needles and unpleasant tingles. It punches the air from your lungs and with a good deal of struggle, you manage to roll to your side. 
A quick peek at the side table reveals a pitcher of water and a glass half filled. Slowly and painfully, you reach over and grab it, wincing at the stretch of your arm. Your fingers struggle to get around the glass and lift it but you manage. The water is cool as it goes down, a balm on your throat. When the glass is empty, you place it back on the table and sit up slowly, taking pause when the movement turns blinding.
“Where am I?” you wonder when your vision stops fading to black, throat cracking from disuse as you look around at the room. It's smartly furnished with dark woods, a neutral earthy color palette, and various nature-inspired decor. Curiously, there is a pile of deer antlers in one of the corners of the room, cleaned but otherwise untouched. The bed you lay in is lush and conforming, the pillows beneath your head stuffed to the brim with feathers, and the blankets artfully and professionally crafted for maximum warmth and comfort. You don’t think you remember ever having such a comfortable bed. 
‘This isn’t my kingdom,’ you think groggily, eyes squinting in a poor attempt to make out the insignia on the door. It's a vastly different one than your own. Joy sparks dully in the back of your brain at the notion of no longer being trapped in the mountains, of never seeing your guardian’s face again. You dreamed of leaving that horrid place for years. ‘This isn’t my bedroom.’
A wild thought wanders to the forefront. ‘Is…is this my body?’ 
It's a silly thought but the fear that floods through you at the idea has you taking a peek at what lies under your shirt and pants. Finding everything as it should be, you breathe a sigh of relief. Your body may feel like it's been turned inside out but it is yours. 
Still, all things considered, it doesn’t answer the question at hand.
Where are you? 
If you aren’t in the mountains, then you are somewhere else. The sides of your temple throb at the attempt to form a more complex thought sequence.
‘Only one way to find out,’ you think, taking a deep breath.
Getting out of bed is a hassle when your arms and legs tingle painfully from disuse. The world shifts in and out of blackness for a few moments, stance wobbly. It takes several long moments before it stops but everything is still blurry. A spasm of electricity crawls up your spine, forcing you forward to face-plant into the bedding. There is a tightness in all your limbs as it shakes through you. 
There is a tugging in your chest suddenly, an urge to move forward. Tendrils of urgency trickle through your veins, prompting you to push through the pain and leave the room. Shadows of memory linger just outside of your reach but there is enough for you to grasp that you need to go somewhere. You need to be somewhere. There is something - or someone - waiting for you.
The door is heavier than it looks - or maybe you are just weaker than normal? - and by the time you get it open enough to slip through, you are short of breath and panting harshly. Thankfully, there is no one outside the room.
Peering down both sides of the hallway, your brow furrows, ‘Actually…’
It's pretty odd for there not to be at least one guard posted at your bedchamber door. 
“Maybe I’m no longer a royal?” you whisper aloud but it strikes you as wrong as soon as it passes your lips. Why were you in a very clearly marked royal bedroom if you weren’t a royal? A servant would be in a servant’s residence - either inside the castle or in town - and it wouldn’t be nearly as big as the room you woke up in. 
‘I could be a concubine,’ you think with the slightest bit of mortification. It would make sense though. If you were a favorite, you’d be granted more luxury than other concubines. If you were acting as a stud, you’d be granted access to the royal bedchambers for ease of access. Both options would explain the fancy bedroom.  It would also explain why you were left alone while suffering under what you could only assume was the aftereffects of an illness. Royals, nobles, and the like loved to keep their treasures close. ‘Do I suck cock for freedom?’ 
‘No,’ you point at yourself, eyes narrowed at your own finger, ‘Fool. You’d remember becoming a stud and you would gain nothing but a new prison if you had. Be quiet. You don’t suck cock for freedom.’
‘No, you suck it for fun,’ a smarmy voice echoes from somewhere deep in your brain and it makes your face warm in aggravation and embarrassment. 
‘You be quiet too. I’ve never sucked a cock in my life.’ 
The voice retreats with a snicker and part of you wants to chase after it in your brain and curse at it until your tongue is sore but the bigger, more reasonable, less insane part of you lets it go. 
Deciding that focusing on the reason behind the lack of people in front of your door is getting you nowhere, you carry on. Slipping the door closed as gently as possible, you look down the hallway in both directions once more. 
It is eerie. The hair prickles along the back of your neck and along your arms, a sense of foreboding pooling in your stomach. 
All of the windows in both directions were covered with thick curtains and the adjacent wall is covered in various portraits of presumed dead people and more of the same decor from the bedroom. The insignia of the royal family is embroidered many times on the long runner rug that reaches from one end to the other. The only light visible is on the floor beneath the windows where the curtains couldn’t stop it from bleeding in, much like it had been in the bedchamber, casting everything in a haunting glow. The only door is the one that led into the bedchamber. 
It's incredibly silent, eerily so. All you can hear is the sound of your own breathing as you wobble down the corridor, keeping a hand on the wall for balance. The edges of your vision are still bleary, the darkness darting in and out as you sluggishly turn a corner. 
The new hallway is longer than the one you just left but with less windows. and the walls were marked with seemingly endless dark doors. You don’t know where any of them lead but figure the big door, nearly encompassing the entirety of the wall and decorated with fresh flowers and greenery, will take you somewhere important. Maybe then you can get some answers. 
The world spins under your feets as you limp towards it with no small amount of determination. You regret leaving the bed. Part of you hopes it's the door to the library because libraries often have nice comfy chairs that one may sit down to rest in. 
A knot of anxiety twists low in your ribcage, pushing you forward at the idea. A chill dances along the edges of your skin as you open the fancy, decorated door. 
The sudden onslaught of light from the sun tells you that it was not, in fact, the door to the library. The brightness is painful and you collapse to the ground slowly but all at once. Nausea rips through you as your eyes work to adjust to the sudden exposure of stimulation. A gag settles into your throat but you are too stubborn to allow the vomit working its way up to escape. It goes back down with some resistance, your chest burning with the bile, but it's much better than puking all over a stranger’s rug.
Your eyes start to cross however, so you close them and focus on your breathing. The air is crisp, clean, and perfumed with a variety of different scents that all fight for attention in your nose. Aside from the gentle rustling of water from a fountain and the small chirping of birds, it's quiet outside. 
A different quiet though, than the oppressive and consuming silence from inside the castle. A quiet that feels tranquil rather than terrifying. You can’t hear anyone aside from yourself but it doesn’t spark the same sort of unease as it did before. The quiet inside is a dead stillness. The quiet outside is a gentle life. 
The contrast is stark. 
When the pain fades, you lift yourself back up to your feet and take in the view.
‘Yeah, I’m definitely not in the mountains.’ 
You feel giddy. The sun is high in the sky, casting light across the large expanse of land. On one side, there is a large garden sectioned off with thin but sturdy black gates. On the other side beyond the stone pathways that led to the castle, there is a meadow that spans several rolling hills. The entire meadow is tall grasses and dainty wildflowers flowers, perfect for frolicking and relaxing in. It splits the treeline in the horizon, creating a defined path to who knows where in who knows which direction.
If you squint, you can see the figures of several deer grazing by the trees along the split. 
Taking a deep inhale, you allow all the scents of nature to filter gently into your system. There is no smoke. No sulfur. No salt. Your lungs feel clear. Your skin feels clean. 
The nagging tugging in your chest appears again, pulling you further outside. You shut the door behind you gently and slowly, you wander down the beige stone steps.
You keep your hands on the thin black railing for support, and without thinking, turn towards the gates that section off the garden. The gate is partially open, allowing you to slip through without a fuss. There are several abandoned woven baskets besides several patches of harvestable vegetables, seemingly left in a hurry. Several of the new, unused beds have been disrupted, soil spilling across the stone walkways between them as if trampled on. 
Disturbed, you walk further in, past the fruit trees and the large deer statue arrangement and the lovely fountain waterfall, following the niggling feeling telling you to keep going. 
The feeling dissipates when you find yourself at the entrance of an alcove in the middle of a large hedge wall, decorated by a netted curtain of strung wildflowers. Pushing them to the side, your feet take you through. Inside, you can see the top of the hedges have been trained and grown to form an arch, providing shelter from the sun and casting everything in shadow. There is just enough sunlight to keep from stumbling in the dark but it's clear that this was meant to be some sort of hiding place. 
The alcove doesn’t lead very far so it doesn’t take long before you find yourself in the center of the secluded area. What you see makes you pause. Held up by a few thick trees is a hammock. A small pillow and a throw blanket rest inside it, both obviously used and used often. A familiar smell wafts from it, a scent that feels familiar deep in your bones but, much like everything else, you are unable to place it.
Still, it lulls you to relaxation just the same, pulling at your already weakened and sore body. 
The stone path disappears at the edge leading into the center and is replaced by patches of cushy moss and soft soil and the same wildflowers as the ones you saw in the fields. The flowers don’t stand as tall as they do in the fields but they are undoubtedly just as beautiful. There is no rhyme or reason to their placement, as if whoever created this space took a handful of seeds and threw them randomly across the area and let it be. 
A warm giddiness spreads from the center of your chest as you stare at the flowers, a smile forming on your mouth without reason. Carefully, you walk through the flowers and moss to settle against one of the trees. The hammock is very inviting - cushioned and soft and obviously very well-made - but there was a pointed disinterest in it that resonates within you. Instead, you walk around the trees and settle against one of them, the moss growing on it in the shadows soft and fluffy against your back and head.
There is no more tugging. No more urge to wander. No more need to keep going. You may rest here and be patient. Rest and wait. 
“I’ll wait here,” you whisper, closing your eyes, “It's safe here.”
^^^^^^^^^^
King Shikaku and Queen Yoshino are waiting at the entrance of the castle when the carriage stops. An attendant opens the door and holds it open for you, your nanny, and your guardian. Your guardian slips out first. You follow them out quickly, hurriedly adjusting the ill-fitted clothes you were put into. Your nanny slips out from behind you, shoving you not so subtly forward as your guardian climbs the stairs and greets the other royals.
King Shikaku is as intimidating as he’s rumored to be, standing tall and confident. His shoulders are broad and his legs are strong from years of training and battle. Two deep scars cross his face, given to him during the last major war, and it only makes him much more intimidating. He’s dressed in dark green and gold, his crown made of golden branches twisting around his skull. There are no jewels encrusted anywhere on it but you can faintly make out a small little ‘Y’ on the sides of the two main branches that act as the support for the rest of the crown. 
Yoshino Nara is dressed similarly to her husband in dark green and gold and you marvel at how pretty she is. Her gown is long and soft-looking and her crown matches her husbands, though it was obviously crafted to appear softer and the metal was handled with a lot more care. There are little metal flowers added between her branches as they wound around her head. Her eyes are large and kind as she watches you approach behind your guardian, her red-tinted mouth pulled into a gentle smile. You feel shy.
When you catch up to the adults, you bow. The queen coos something softly that you can’t quite make out but it causes her husband to chuckle fondly. When you rise, your eyes catch sight of a child leaning behind Queen Yoshino. His brown eyes scan over you, his boredom and annoyance reflective across his face. He’s the spitting image of King Shikaku, right down to the tip of his nose. His hair was pulled back and up into a ponytail and he wore high-quality dark green clothing that matched his parents with a large embroidered insignia on the lapel that reflected his status.
It was obvious he was uncomfortable in the clothing, his fingers plucking at the collar and sleeves in irritation.
“This is my ward Y/N, heir to our kingdom,” you hear yourself being introduced and you quickly bow again, avoiding their eyes. Disapproval radiates from your guardian at the submission but you doubt anything will come from it. It's better to be overly polite than a fraction rude when it comes to forming alliances with kingdoms more connected than your own, after all. 
“This is our son, Shikamaru,” Yoshino introduces to your entourage, gently guiding him out from behind her gown and nudging him towards you directly. It is clear that she has no interest in having him interact with the adults. He resists, pulling a face at his mother, but she is insistent. 
Your guardian nods to him but otherwise completely disregards his existence in the same manner they disregard yours when they don’t need you for anything. It makes your skin prickle unpleasantly.
When the formal greetings are finished, everyone is led inside to the Great Hall. You don’t get a chance to look around and marvel at it before your guardian informs you that they will be adjourning to a separate room with the King and Queen and you are to stay behind with the Prince. 
“Remember our talk,” they whisper in warning before allowing an attendant to lead them away. 
When you open your eyes again, it is with more clarity and awareness. The sky is dark and cloudy, the air thick with the smell of petrichor. 
Stretching, you rub at your eyes and blink in confusion as you realize where you are.
“How did I get here?” you whisper to yourself, looking around the alcove. As if summoned by the question, the memory of earlier filters through your mind. Waking up in your bed alone, stumbling down the hallway in search of something that lingered just along the outskirts of your thoughts but stayed just out of reach, the anxious feeling of needing to get away, marveling at the beauty of the kingdom around you, collapsing in exhaustion in the special place your mate set up for you both. 
“Oh.” 
Looking around surreptitiously despite no one being in the alcove, you stand up and dust yourself off, embarrassment making your neck hot. It had been so long since you last ‘slept-walked’ that you had hoped that you had officially grown out of it. 
The thought made you snort. ‘Grown out of it.’ Right. If only you were afforded that luxury. 
And did it even count as sleepwalking? While you hadn’t the faintest idea of where you were or why you were there, you do know that you knew for certain you were awake at the time. 
You don’t get a chance to ponder it further, thoughts broken by the sounds of an earth shattering scream coming from the direction of the castle. It is quickly followed by what you can only describe as an Omegan wail- a haunting, high pitched, guttural dying sound that rattles your bones and sets your teeth on edge. It makes you lean into the tree for support, bent over as the nausea from before returns with a vengeance. 
More memories start filtering in rapidly as you struggle not to gag against the tree, the wail petering off like fog in the wind. Your head throbs as the last however many weeks start reassembling themselves inside your mind. Lord John and his Omega entourage. The investigation into his involvement in the incident on the outskirts of the Uchiha kingdom. The confrontation in the Great Hall. Feeling fuzzy and blacking out. 
When the nausea passes, you make your way out of the alcove and cut through the messy garden back to the castle, keeping your pace quick but your steps silent. You catch a whiff of a sour scent, sick and feeble, that burns your nostrils entwined with the scent you know unequivocally as your mates and you turn on your heel to follow it. Remarkably you don’t pass anyone on your way.
‘Where are all the guards? The servants?’ you wonder, alarm bells ringing in your head, ‘What is going on? Where is Shikamaru?’
The scent leads you back to your bedchamber. You can feel the blood start rushing through your body, all other thoughts fleeing from your brain. Noises from inside make you pause, hand hovering over the doorway. 
“Where is my mate!?” you hear Shikamaru wail, the sound immediately followed by the sound of something heavy and made of glass breaking. Probably a vase. Without a moment of consideration, you remove your hand from the door and take several steps away from the door to hide behind the wall to the adjacent hallway. 
Cowardly? Yes.
Smart? Also yes.
In the entire year of you being his mate, Shikamaru hadn’t gotten to a state that prompted him to fling furniture but there were a few close calls that had him leaping over random objects to do…whatever weird thing his instincts were telling him to do. 
There is another loud crash and you wince, knowing how insufferable he’s going to be once he’s calm and realizes he’s going to have to double up his desensitization training time in the coming months. You love him, desperately, but he’s going to use every trick in his arsenal to avoid doing it and it's more than likely going to fall on you to get him to agree to it. 
The door to your bedchamber opens suddenly. One of the medical assistants slips out quickly, backing into the wall opposite the door. You watch them shake for a moment, their face pale and terrified, before fleeing down the hallway away from you, fear clogging up their scent as it scatters in a haphazard trail behind them. 
Faintly, you can hear three other voices, two of which are mostly muffled even with the door cracked open. You can’t make out much of what they are saying but you would bet an entire gold bar that they are likely trying to soothe the distraught Omega. The third voice is louder and very familiar but you can’t quite place it. It's too smooth to be Shikaku’s...
“What have you done with my Y/N!? Where did you take them?,” you hear your mate growl again, the sentence quickly followed by vicious snarling and a loud crashing noise that jolts you back a bit. Your heart breaks at how desperate and pained your Omega sounds, “My Y/N! Give them back to me!”
The smooth voice speaks but the only words you manage to catch are “explain” and “calm.” Both of which you know won’t go over well with Shikamaru in the state he’s in. 
“They were in bed this afternoon, my Lord. I-I checked in on them twice. Once at daybreak and once right after lunch. I haven’t been back here since. I didn’t take them anywhere,” one of the voices stutters, though you give them credit for how confident their reply is in the face of your mate’s wrath. You recognize it as belonging to the castle’s head physician Kiyoshi. 
Shikamaru’s distressed growling becomes more high-pitched and wounded-sounding. It makes your hackles rise. You can’t make out what he says, his voice both too low and quiet but also too garbled from his growling for it to make much sense to you from such a distance. 
Kiyoshi’s response is also done in a much quieter register, “Yes…Yes I swear to you, they were alive when I left them. No…Look. I have my notes here….” 
There are some more muffled growling noises that you can’t distinguish.
“No sir. My assistants have been with me all day, including when we checked on them. They were still unconscious but very much alive. See, here…” 
The conversation dies down into whispers and for a moment, you think they’ve managed to talk Shikamaru down. Minutes feel like hours as you strain your ears to catch any bit of noise you can from the room. Taking a deep breath, you release the death grip you’ve had on the wall when nothing happens. 
‘Its okay. He’s okay.They got him down.’
“GET OUT AND DON’T COME BACK UNTIL MY Y/N HAS BEEN FOUND!” 
Or not. 
You wait a few moments before the door opens and you see Kiyoshi and another of his assistants exit. You can make out someone behind them and when you see who they are, your nerves all collectively set themselves on fire with worry again. 
Asuma Sarutobi. They had to call Asuma. It's never good when they have to call Asuma. It's really not good when they have to call Asuma when he’s supposed to be a country away dealing with Ino’s training. It’s extremely not good if Asuma failed at getting Shikamaru under control. 
“We need to find them,” he sighs, world-weary. The steady timber of the older man’s voice is deep and graveled in an odd mix of soothing and stern despite being laced with concern. The bags under his eyes are dark and deep, speaking of what must have been endless nights dealing with your mate. “Shikamaru will not be able to calm himself unless he sees them. He’s already hallucinating.”
“Even if they are…” the assistant trails off. He’s new, you recall. Sent from the Oasis as part of a new negotiation with King Rasa to exchange medical knowledge if the cut of his coat was any indication. His knowledge of Nara interpersonal relationships must be just next to none. 
“Especially if they are. He’ll need to see the body himself to know they are gone from this world. He’ll lead us all to damnation in search of his Chosen.”
The doctor nodded sympathetically, “Shikaku will have to choose a new heir to take the throne.” 
“Why?”
“Nara’s don’t live long after their Chosen passes unless there are pups born from their union,” Asuma rubs his face, “The Prince and his Chosen made the decision to postpone producing heirs for the time being. Navigating the longstanding effects of their separation has taken precedence. Shikamaru does not feel ready for pups and his Chosen prioritizes Shikamaru's health in all things first and foremost. If Y/N has died, Shikamaru will not be too far behind as soon as it's confirmed.”
The atmosphere in the hall is thick and heavy as the reality of the situation seems to take root in the three men. Discomfort licks along your skin. 
“Master Sarutobi!” 
Rounding the corner on the opposite side of the hall, Botan’s pace is as frantic and hurried as is appropriate for a royal guard. Their voices drop to whispers you can’t hear but the look on Asuma’s face suggests that Botan has brought them unfortunate news. All four of them turn and walk in the opposite direction, their pace as quick and hurried as Botan’s had been a moment previous. 
Everything is suddenly oppressively quiet again. 
‘I should probably go inside and get Shikamaru sorted out,’ you think belatedly, forcing your legs to walk towards your bedchamber door. You slip inside quietly, locking the door behind you. 
Shikamaru’s back is to you and you take a moment to look around the room before he realizes he isn’t alone. The damage wasn’t as extensive as you thought. He had indeed flung a vase, the remains of it scattered across the other end of the bedchamber. There was a broken chair laying across the small table Shikamaru liked to play Shogi on, also broken. Several of Shikamaru’s mounted antlers had found themselves embedded in various paintings and cushions. 
The thing that stands out to you most however, is the papers all over the floor. Neither you nor Shikamaru dealt with paperwork in your bedchamber. The desk was only equipped with smaller papers used to send notes or leave reminders.
When you look back at your mate, you notice him shaking and it's enough to break you from your silence.
“Beloved,” you say, keeping your voice clear. You wish to say more - even though you don’t necessarily know what it is you want to say - but your mate jolts almost violently to face you. Shikamaru’s face turns a deathly pale when his eyes lock onto yours, his eyes blown out as you enter the room. You don’t take your eyes off of him as you take a step further into the room, away from the door. The sour scent is thick in the room, poisoning the air as it radiates from your mate in thick waves, and you almost gag when an even thicker, more rancid scent bleeds into it. 
He is afraid. Down to his soul, he is afraid. 
Slowly, you start releasing a calming scent, letting it gently spread around the room, clinging to walls and floorboards to drive away everything else.
“I heard you were looking for me,” you start, cautiously. 
Shikamaru’s face reddens, rage dripping from his fangs as he hisses, “I’m looking for my mate.”
“But I am your mate,” you assert, “I am Y/N Nara, consort and Chosen to the Prince Shikamaru Nara.”
“How do I know you are who you say you are?” he growls, the sound hoarse, gritty, like footsteps over gravel. “Huh! How do I know you are not another deception? How do I know you aren’t Inoichi attempting to relieve me of my pain?” He crumbles, hands grasping over the back of the chair to hold himself upright. His body trembles violently.  “Don’t...don’t give me hope...Where is my Y/N? Have I lost them again?”
It hurts you to see him so broken. Blood pours from the wound behind your ribcage. 
“How do I know you aren’t a ghost coming to tell me I am alone again?” His voice is a whisper now, his eyes staring blankly at the wall to your right. You don’t need to look back to know he’s staring at your wedding portrait. It is his favorite possession, so much so that they had to remove it from the great hall with the rest of the royal wedding portraits because of how much of a distraction it became for him.   
You approach him slowly, carefully. He allows it, regarding you with all the exhaustion of a dying man. His pretty brown eyes are red rimmed and glazed, tears resting along the bottom but unwilling to fall as he stares at you, his hands hovering over your face as if terrified to touch you. Your heart squeezes at the darkness under his eyes, the sunken paleness of his face. 
“I am no apparition, beloved,” you whisper, reaching up to gently guide his hand to your face, “I am flesh and blood and love for you. Feel me.”
The noise he makes is choking and grotesque, “You...you are cold like death.”
You aren’t but it would do no good to point it out to him. Your mate is not within the realm of clear, coherent thought. 
“I have been without your warmth,” you croon, taking a step closer so your bodies are touching, “Breathe deeply Shikamaru.”
Shikamaru does as you say, his eyes flashing and pupil’s dilating when your scent finally reaches his nose. His delusion breaks, shattering like glass. Your arms reach forward to crush him close to keep him from cutting himself on the shards. You guide his free hand between your bodies to rest it over your heart, letting him feel the organ pulse under your skin. Shikamaru bawls in his relief, wailing into the fabric of your soft linen shirt.
“That's it,” you murmur quietly, letting your lips brush against the tip of his ear, “Let it out. I’m okay. I’m here. I’m so sorry I worried you.”
“I would have joined you,” he sniffs, biting into the fabric of your shirt to muffle his cries, “I can’t stand it otherwise. I can’t do it again.” 
“My Chosen,” you whisper, holding him tight as the waves of emotion crash into you, “I am so sorry.”
Your mate croons, removing his head from your shoulder. Keeping a tight hold on you, he pulls you forward and sideways  until his back hits the wall right beside the corner of the room. You crush against his front, pinning him tightly. One of his legs wraps around the back of your calf to keep you from moving back. 
You regulate your breathing - large inhales and large exhales. Shikamaru’s breathing changes to match yours, his belly pressed tight against yours. His scent burst around you both, saturating your clothes and skin with the scents of trees and linen. 
“Where had you gone?” Shikamaru asks finally, putting a little space between you both so his bloodshot eyes can run over the length of your body, “You were not in bed when I came to see you. You weren’t…” His mouth quivers the tiniest bit and it kills you. He catches himself, swallowing thickly, “We checked everywhere.”
“In our alcove. I was disoriented when I regained consciousness, some time late this afternoon. I didn’t know where I was or why I was there.” You clear your throat, the memory of thinking you were a concubine flashing to the forefront of your mind. 
“I wandered and ended up in our special place. Everything is a bit of a blur if I’m honest,” you admit, a tad sheepish, “I felt like I needed to get up and go somewhere, get away from the room. I found my way to our alcove and I distinctly remember the sensation of  “I’m going to go sit in the flowers because it's safe here.” I must have used all my energy because I fell asleep almost immediately.”
“Idiot Alpha-mine,” Shikamaru sniffs, clinging harder to your body and shoving his face into your throat, “Stupid Y/N. I hate you. You’re going to be swaddled every time you get in bed for the rest of your days and I’m going to be rough about it, I swear it on my life. I have never run so much in my entire life. I hate you.” He punctuates his words with a harsh nip at your throat, right below your mating scar. 
He doesn’t. You can smell the relief and adoration oozing from his body. There is an undertone of spice however and it's enough to keep you treading delicately. 
“I know. I’m the worst,” you croon, nuzzling as much of him as you can.
“No,” comes the immediate reply and it makes you grin the tiniest bit.
“But you hate me,” you tease gently.
“No,” the nip this time is harder, more insistent. His voice is hard, growly, and you bite your lip to keep a laugh from escaping. “Be silent.”
“Oh we both know I’m incapable of such a thing,” you grin, gently pulling him away from the wall. He looks more like the man you know him to be. His eyes no longer glitter with tears. 
“I have never hated silence more,” he whispers, taking a large purposeful inhale of your scent. “If not for your heartbeat, I would have lost myself to madness.” 
The air is pulled from your lungs at his statement. It shakes you still, how all encompassing his devotion to you is. 
“I adore you,” you whisper back with a watery smile. He presses his forehead to yours, his hands reaching up to rub along your arms and shoulders, pressing his fingers in wherever he feels a muscle. Slowly, his scent loses the sick, burning edge. 
You have no idea how long you spend entwined with him before you are reminded of the world around you. As if reading your mind, he pulls away from you, trailing a hand from your shoulder to yours to grasp it tightly. It is obvious he does not want to be parted from you entirely, and given the contents of your last bits of memory, you can honestly say you feel the same. Parting from him felt near impossible. 
“Now,” you start, unsure where to even begin, “can you tell me what happened?”
“It would be better to reconvene with my father and get answers from him,” he responds, face pinking before his hands tighten, “Please do not think I am purposefully holding information from you without reason.” His stare was as intense as it was panicked. “I don’t wish to inspire distrust. I just…” His face pinkens as he looks down at the floor, “I haven’t been well. I wasn't privy to a lot of conversations about the incident since my only focus was to make sure you stayed alive. I know some things but not all.”
“Alright, we shall meet with your father and figure out what's going on from there,” is all you can say, kissing his forehead. He sighs at the feeling.
Something white catches the corner of your eye and you are reminded of the papers on the floor. 
“Can you tell me why there are papers all over the floor?” 
Shikamaru tenses once more, his mouth wobbling in a shadow of a grimace, “Someone left these on your pillow.”
He pulls away from you to pick up all the papers from the floor, refusing to look at them directly even as he puts them back in some sort of order. He hands them to you before curling up against your chest, nose directly against your pulse and fingers wrapped in the fabric of your shirt. 
On top, there was a note, written by Lord John if the decidedly lazy scrawl was anything to go by.
I’ve taken the liberty to start these for you. 
Underneath the note are several documents. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had sent your mate spiraling. 
 On the top was a death certificate. Followed by an order form for a casket, a list of available priests should your next of kin decide for one, a copy of your will and testament with recent ‘changes,’ and several inheritance disbursement forms. 
All the papers were filled out with your information, the time and date of your ‘death’ aligning with the time and date you had fallen unconscious.
“Slimy little wretch,” you growl under your breath before tossing the papers on the desk.
^^^^^^^^^^
The adults disappear behind large wooden double doors, leaving you alone with the prince. Well, as alone as you can be with guards stationed everywhere. The Great Hall was massive and beautifully decorated. It was obvious a lot of care went into designing the castle, every nook and cranny you could see carved and detailed with precision. Countless paintings adorned the walls, lit by the sun through the open windows.
Shikamaru stands in front of you, his face still just as bored as it had been a few moments ago. It was obvious he had no intention of breaking the silence between you both.  Feeling anxious, you decide to break it yourself. 
“My name is Y/N Y/N, heir to the throne of the L/N kingdom of the Eastern Realm, ward of the palace and first of my name,” you introduce yourself with a smile and a bow. 
The Omega offers a more subdued, polite smile, “My name is Shikamaru Nara, heir to the throne of the Nara kingdom of the Western Realm, son of King Shikaku Nara and Queen Yoshino Nara and first of my name.” He mimics your bow. 
“A pleasure,” you hum, trying to remember all the appropriate forms of greeting.
“Agreed.”
Silence befalls the room once more as you stare awkwardly between each other and different parts of the room. It's reminiscent of home, where silence echoes along the illuminated hallways and bounces off all the gleaming, cold metal but in the same breath, vastly different. It felt warmer, somehow.
And in that moment you remembered.
“I wish to see the flowers,” you announce suddenly, reaching a hand forward, “They were very pretty from the carriage window as we arrived but I’d like to see them closer. Would you join me? Show me the way?” 
He perked up, “I can show you my favorite hillside. I like to nap there when I’m bored of my lessons.”
Shikamaru takes your hand, warmth immediately flooding your arm but you pay it no mind, more eager to play with your new friend than focus on why your hand felt tingly. 
The dungeon is located below the ground floor, underground and only accessible by a single winding staircase. There are several guard posts that must be passed to goon way or another. The first time you were brought down here, Shikaku informed you that many dungeons failed because they were above ground, often with windows and other doors as entry and exit points. There were too many ways for people to escape, especially if they had someone aiding them.
You told him that the dungeon in your castle wasn’t capable of being underground because it was built into the mountain so the dungeon was placed at the side of the mountain. If your prisoners wanted to try their hand, they had the choice of trying to get past the guards or going through the window to fall to their deaths because there was no slope or ledge for them to climb anywhere. 
Shikamaru enters the dungeon before you do, keeping a hand on you at all times. He pokes his head in through the door, looking back and forth before walking in and allowing you to follow him. Inside, you see King Shikaku and several guards on one side of the room, opposite of the numerous holding cells that went deeper underground
Shikaku greets you with a nod and a smirk, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
“Great to be back, though I’d like to know why I left in the first place,” you chuckle lightly, allowing Shikamaru to curl up as close as he can while standing and throwing an arm around him. His face falls into your neck.
With Shikamaru preoccupied, you mouth, ‘How bad has he been?’
Your father-in-laws face says everything as he mouths back, ‘Don’t do it again.’
Rolling your eyes, you mime crossing your heart just in time for Shikamaru to pull away from your throat.  
“Where is the Queen?” 
“Upstairs dealing with a rather unpleasant turn of events.” The King’s voice reflects the ordeal everyone has been dealing with in your absence, “But that is a matter for another time. For now, follow me.”
He turns on his heel and you both follow him dutifully as he takes you all the way to the end of the tunnel-like room. It opens up a bit at the end, the walls pressed outward to create more space.  Inside the space, there is a table and a few chairs where you all seem to naturally convene around. One of the guards quickly lights the torches all across the wall, illuminating the space quite nicely.
Lord John is sitting in his cell, the one furthest from the single exit, bathed in the darkest of shadows. He wore the simple gown of a prisoner, his person stripped bare of all his pomp and accoutrement. His wrists and ankles are linked by a chain that is connected to the wall in several places. A bit unnecessary given his lack of real strength but you surmise Shikamaru insisted on it. 
He’s spiteful like that.
“How are you alive?” the Beta man screams when he catches sight of you, face turning a concerning shade of purple, visible even in the darkness. Spittle shoots from his mouth as he rages behind the bars. He throws his body forward but the chains keep him from getting far. 
It's enough to send your mate into a frenzy though, because of course it is. 
“No,” you huff, grabbing Shikamaru around his waist and pulling him back against your body as he lunges for the bars.
“Please,” he hisses back but he makes no movement to break away from your hold. Instead, he turns and puts his hands on you, strategically placed to know the moment you feel any sort of weakness that may cause you to tumble. 
The Beta continues to rage, speech degrading into nothing more than incomprehensible noises of anger and half-formed words. Shikamaru continues to snarl beside you, both hands tight around your body as he glares down at the wailing man from over your shoulder. 
“Do you ever get tired of the taste of talking?” Shikamaru growls before nodding at one of the guards, “Gag him. I wish for his silence.”
“What happened that night?” you ask, turning away from the cell. You didn’t really want to look at the prisoner any longer. “All I remember is falling into darkness. Someone screamed, I think.”
Shikamaru’s face turns pink but says nothing. You choose not to point it out. 
“Lord John made a direct attempt on your life. The chocolate balls you enjoy were laced. Lord John knew of your love of chocolate and my distaste for it so he knew I would not ask for one.” 
You resist the urge to snort. ‘Ask.’ 
“We ordered for his arrest, he tried to fight it by releasing shoddily made smoke bombs. When that didn’t work, he took one of the Omegas hostage. When that failed, he tried to run to the window but he could not fit through the opening and got stuck. We made the arrest after prying him out.”
You turn your gaze to look at the prisoner, eyes squinted in disbelief. 
“Unfortunately, we lost four of the Omegas. In the confusion, they fled under the cover of the smoke bombs.Our prisoner has been in this holding cell in the dungeon since you fell unconscious. He’s monitored all hours of the day and night.” 
“Only four?”
“Yes. Two of Omegas are accounted for. One is in the morgue..”
“The morgue?”
“Hmm,” your mate hums, “The short one that interrupted our mating. His hostage. Accidently cut her throat and she bled out on the floor.”
“Ah.”
“The four that managed to flee are believed to be heading towards the mountains. The Akimichi have been informed. Chouji is leading the search parties himself.” His eyes narrow as he thinks.
“You don’t believe that do you? That they are in the mountains.”
Shikamaru smiles gently over at you, softening impossibly, “You know me so well. No, I do not. Not for all of them at least.”
“And the other Omega? The second one we have accounted for…?”
“That would be me,” a silky smooth voice interjects. The redhead Omega sat a few feet away in a chair propped against a wall, unchained and unbothered as she cleans her knives. 
You look between your mate and your father-in-law in confusion, “Isn’t she the…?”
“The one who was ‘attacked’ by a Nara guard? Yes. Y/N, this is Maki Uchiha. One of the Uchiha Kingdom's finest intelligence agents,” Shikaku introduces as the woman stands and joins you all around the table.
“Oh, well. Nice to meet you. I think.”
You reach a hand out to shake hers but Shikamaru pulls it back and stuffs it into his jacket pocket. 
“Shikamaru,” you scold, “Was that necessary?”
“Yes. She poisoned you.”
“Oh I did not,” she bites back, rolling her eyes, “I merely paralyzed them.”
From the deep breath your father-in-law took, you know that this is not the first time they have bickered over the topic. Shikamaru huffs, leaning into your side and avoiding his father’s gaze.
“Anyway, yes I was the one who was ‘attacked.’” She pointedly looks away from your Omega to stare at you. Her eyes are a vibrant red, almost black in the low light, intimidating and seductive, “I was working undercover in the Usami District. My king sent me a letter and reassigned me to do resonance since he believed that our prisoner would head there. He was correct. Further instruction led me to following him here, with permission by the King and Queen Nara.”
She retrieves her bag from the corner and places it on the table, pulling out various papers and setting them on the table, “The prisoner in question arrived in the Usami district looking for Omegas in desperate need of money. His proposal was simple. Accompany him on his travel to a different kingdom as a status symbol and in exchange, he would pay a handsome reward.”
Fussing with a few papers on the top of her spread, she moved them over to Shikaku, “Here is the contract we signed.”
Shikaku reviewed the contents quickly before sliding it over for Shikamaru to see.
“How many of the Omegas are literate?” 
“Aside from me? Only one but his skill is no greater than that of an 8 year old.”
“So he gave them contracts they couldn’t read…” you murmur as Shikamaru scooted to the side to allow you to read it as well, “and lied about its contents if what I’m seeing is correct.”
“You would be,” Maki nods, “These Omegas are destitute, living in poor conditions with no formal education, and engaging in various illegal activities to get by. They were offered a sweet deal with pretty words and coerced into signing this instead. You were correct in your assumption that he was hoping the Prince would be single. His goal was, indeed, to try and be ‘Chosen.’ I don’t know much about what happened in my country but I could parse that Lord John did more than just have a finger in the pot and was desperately hoping Shikamaru would be his salvation.”
Shikamaru’s disgust was palpable, side-eying the Beta behind bars and tucking himself closer to you. 
“Why bring the Omega’s at all then? If his goal was to be mated to my Omega?”
“I suspect we were meant to be pawns, to be discarded far from home once he was done with us or left to take whatever punishment he garnered from himself,” she shrugs, “If you can’t tell, he doesn’t seem to form coherent, consecutive thoughts that make sense.”
“So…what? He arrived and decided to kill me?”
“Indeed. You were a threat to his path to promised immunity and safety,” Maki motions over to Shikamaru, red eyes gleaming in the candlelight, “And it certainly didn’t help that you were an Alpha and capable of besting him in combat. He believed that if you died, your mate would undergo another Choosing and well…” She lets her words trail off with a small nonchalant shrug that you know your mate does not appreciate. 
“Sneaky, underhanded cockroach of a man,” Shikamaru growled lowly, disgusting rolling off of him in waves. “Thats not how it works.” You felt similarly but pressed it down. You still needed answers.
“Okay, he realizes he won’t win in a duel so he…what? Poisons my snack? How did he manage to pull that off without scrutiny?”
Maki’s mouth pulled tight into a bitter smile, “Arika. The girl he killed. Originally, she and two others were meant to join you for your rut and kill you while your guard was down and your mind otherwise occupied. I was the distraction. He had not been expecting such…resistance from you.”
“Did he think of how Shikamaru would react?”
“No.”
“Of course he didn’t.”
“We were ordered to wait until he was asleep.”
“Shikamaru is allergic to sleep,” you huff, grinning at your mate. He grins back at you.
Maki ignores you both, “And when that failed, he sought to poison you. Arika, the girl he killed, was quite well versed in poisons and drugs. Knew her way around an apothecary. She was not meant for combat so she would drug the patrons that hired her for a night and stole wallets to keep her room at the Inn. She faced a life of slavery if she didn’t.”
“How old was she?”
Your mate looks at you carefully, his eyes roaming over your face intently as he tries to parse out why you felt the need to know. 
“18. Abandoned at 10, presumably for being another mouth to feed given both her parents are native to the district. Lord John offered her a way out, both physically and financially. She would have been a fool not to take it, even if it meant killing someone.”
It hurt you how well you understood this girl. There was once a time you felt a parallel desperation to escape the life you had.
“I swapped the vials before she went into the kitchen.The poison and paralytic look very similar so it wasn’t hard to switch them. The only drawback was that the paralytic is intense and if the dose is incorrect, it can cause organ pause. Your heart may have stopped when you consumed it, if only for a moment. Apologies.”
She offers you a small bow. 
“Apologies are necessary,” you reply simply, ignoring the protesting squawk your mate releases into your shoulder. At this point, there was nothing you could but forgive, especially if what she was saying was true. Better to suffer from paralysis than die choking on your own tongue.
“They are very necessary,” he hisses into your ear, his scent dipping into something darker, “She needs to apologize so I can never forgive her.” 
“Shikamaru…”
“No,” his voice is harsh, his stare hard as he looks between you and the Uchiha. 
“There was blood Alpha.” A hint of a whimper bled through his anger. “You fell limp, like all your life had been pulled from your body. Your eyes rolled back. Blood dripped from your nose. You were so…cold…” He takes a deep breath, “You were asleep for over a week. Close to a full fortnite.”
The Omega Uchiha shoots you a curious look, “You shouldn’t have bled…”
“No matter,” Shikaku interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers and his son huffs petulantly, “We…”
“Stupid Alpha-child!”
You close your eyes and take a deep breath at the interruption. It would seem that Lord John has freed his mouth from the gag. 
‘God, if you are there…’
Shikamaru’s hackles rise beside you, “You do not speak to them!”
“You do not tell me what to do, Filthy Omega Whore!”
“Oh what are you on about?” you complain loudly, and yes, you were aware you sounded like a child, but at this point, you just wanted to curl up in your bed with your mate and rest. Being the victim of an assassination attempt while being the future ruler of a kingdom was draining in the worst of ways. This annoying pest of a Beta was taking too much of your energy.
“You are a fool to fall for any of this nonsense,” the Beta spits angrily, “Blindly believing everything you are told. I was sparing you pain. Ask your Omega where he’s been. Ask him who he’s bedded while you lay dying. He certainly wasn’t having his needs and took full advantage of your absence..”
“The only need I had was for my mate to keep breathing,” Shikamaru states, cold and unfeeling. He doesn’t take his eyes off the man as he addresses you, “I was by your side every day. I laid next to you. I listened to your heart and felt your breath.”
“Ha! You really think-”
“Gag him again,” you order one of the guards, interrupting the horrid man, “Add a bite guard. Give him something new to choke on.”
Once he is silenced again, you turn back to Maki and Shikaku.
“What about the papers? The ones left in our bedchamber? How did they get there?” 
“They were sorted out beforehand and slipped into the room sometime during our search for you,” Shikaku murmurs, cracking his neck. “Shikamaru discovered the documents shortly before nightfall but they had not been there when we first discovered you missing.”
“You think it was one of the other Omegas?” you ask, looking back at your mate, “Is that what you meant by ‘not all of them?’
Shikamaru nods, “I reason that, instead of fleeing, one of them had planned to finish what was started with the poison…” his voice breaks into another growl, loud and vicious, face contorting viciously before clearing his throat and assuming his composure, “And when they found you missing, they left the documents on your pillow and joined in the search. They did not find you because you took a nap in the dirt like a gremlin.” 
With a playful, smug look on his face, he catches the hand you use to push him away from you to keep you beside him.
“Bite your tongue,” you bark out a laugh, struggling to get your hand and arm out of his grip.
“Never,” he croons mockingly, pressing an insistent kiss on your cheek.
“Ew,” Shikaku deadpans, face devoid of all emotion. Shikamaru pauses to look at his father, the most offended look you have ever seen forming on his face. You bite your lip and turn away, the laugh in your throat bubbling dangerously close to the surface. 
Picking up a pen from the table, Shikamaru twirls it around his fingers.. A quick glance at his side reveals that his favorite knife (and knife sheath) are missing. Given everything that has happened, it was probably for the best that he not be allowed to carry sharp objects. 
“That was part of the back-up plan,” Maki admits, shuffling the papers on the table again, “ This is a copy of the instructions he gave us in the event we were caught or if the poison did not work. We each had an assignment.One of us was to sneak into the royal bedchamber and suffocate the Royal Consort as they lay unmoving.” 
“And he wrote all this down?”
“Yes.” 
“Oh…bless the stupidity of egotistical men…” you exclaim, voice edged like razors. 
“Is there anything else that we need to know?” Shikaku asked, gathering all the papers from the table and rearranging them to his liking.
“This is as far as I’ve got. I don’t know where the other four are but I would assume that the three that took advantage of the distraction and left the castle have stolen aboard a ship by now. I do not think they are a threat.” 
The King nods solemnly, “Thank you, Lady Uchiha.” 
She says nothing as she bows.
He turns to you and his son, “We will meet tomorrow evening to go over other information we have found and prepare for our prisoner’s transportation to the Yamanakas. Rest now, both of you.”
With the papers in hand, Shikaku leaves you, his footsteps heavy as they echo off the walls of the dungeon. You politely wait for Maki to gather her things, even as Shikamaru starts herding you to the door as well. 
“Thank you for all your hard work,” you say, allowing Maki to walk ahead of you, “I appreciate you…uh…not allowing them to kill me.”
Her smile is a tinge sardonic, “My pleasure.”
Shikamaru huffs against your shoulder, hiding aggravated little noises in the collar of your shirt. The female Omega opens the door.
“Before I take my leave,” her entire demeanor shifted into that of a predator as she steps away from the door and glides around you, seemingly unaffected by the warning pheromones your mate was producing, “I must say, I do appreciate your….hospitality…It's very rare to find an Alpha willing to provide clothes to Omega prostitutes instead of the alternative…”
A light wash of her scent filters around you, detailing her interest. Her red eyes gleam mischievously as she looks between you and Shikamaru.
“Feel free to write…” she purrs sweetly, winking as she exits the dungeon.  
“You are never giving anyone anything ever again,” Shikamaru growls darkly, eyes stuck on the door Maki disappeared through. 
“Shikamaru…”
“No. Start being an asshole.”
^^^^^^^^^^
The castle was large but felt larger still as you weaved in and out of hallways behind Shikamaru until you found an exit that led to the fields. He didn’t stop until you were at the top of a large hill that oversaw much of the expansive fields. The flowers perfumed the land with the sweetest scents you’d ever smelt.
It didn’t take long for you to begin weaving a crown of the bright flowers.
“What are you making?” Shikamaru asked from his place beside you. He had immediately laid down in what he dubbed as ‘his favorite spot’ upon arrival. “Let me see.”
“A flower crown,” you respond, showing him your work quickly before wrapping another flower around the piece.
“But you already have a crown.” You laughed at the way Shikamaru’s face scrunched. You reached up to touch your travel crown before taking it off slowly. The jewels set in the cold white metal shone delicately under the sun. It was a good deal smaller than the normal one you wore at home, less heavy and harsh on your head and neck, but it was still unbearable to wear.
You shrugged, “Flower crowns are prettier. And I don’t get to see flowers often. Not ones like these anyway. We live in the mountains along the sea. Most of my people are miners and fishermen. We don’t grow from the earth, the weather and terrain make it nearly impossible.” 
Shikamaru reaches over to pluck your metal crown from your hands, running his fingers along it before dropping it into his lap with a start, “It's so sharp and heavy. How do you wear this?”
You shrug again, subconsciously touching the tiny scars around your temples, “I try not to. They hurt.” 
Shikamaru discards the crown to the side with a curled lip, choosing instead to roll onto his belly to watch you work. It didn’t take you long and when it was finished, you plopped it on your head. 
It felt infinitely nicer than your other crown, even if it was a bit sloppy and uneven.
“Do you want one?” you ask the boy, reaching over and plucking more of the flowers from the ground.
“I think so, yes,” he murmurs, face flushing pink. You smile and begin weaving. 
Shikamaru watches you intently as you switch between grabbing flowers and working them into a circular shape. When all the flowers in front of you are gone, you lean to the side to grab more.
“Oh,” you start, pausing from your work to pluck a white dandelion, “We can make wishes.”
The boy’s face scrunches in confusion, “How?”
“Here,” you hand him the dandelion. “Close your eyes and think of a wish. Don’t say it out loud but when you know what it is, blow until all the petals detach. If they all fly away, it will come true.” 
Shikamaru closes his eyes, makes a wish, and blows. 
The purring starts as soon as the door closes behind you. Your Omega is demanding, herding you towards the large comfortable bed at the back of the room that was to be your new bedchamber. Shikamaru was adamant that a new bedchamber was necessary since the other one was ‘ruined’ and ‘tainted’ and ‘dangerous.’ He didn’t want to sleep in the same room that so many people entered with ill-intent. 
You indulge him because when have you not? If the Omega has decided the den is not safe, it is the Alpha’s job to find them a new one after all. 
“Are you well?” he asks, keeping his body glued to yours. His hands do not remain idle as they wander over every part of you they can reach. 
You grin, pressing a kiss to his nose, “I am.” 
His eyes soften, “Good.”
Stripped bare by your mate’s persistent hands, he nudges you to sit upright in your bed, back against the pillows and headboard. Once divested of all your clothing, an equally nude Shikamaru crawls into your lap. His legs bracket yours as he gets comfortable. The vibrations in his chest get louder as his skin meets yours.
“Come here,” you insist, cradling the back of his head and tangling your fingers in his hair, loose from its normal tie, and bringing it down to your throat. Scent made sweeter, you guide his breathing so he inhales as much of it as possible. A hot, wet tongue meets your gland, lapping at it until it's swollen and pulsing, secreting enough scent to drown a fish. 
It feels heavenly and you convey that with a purr of your own. 
With your free hand, you rake your claws over the skin of his back gently. His body shakes and shudders in your arms. You slide it down to cup one of his cheeks, a finger rubbing against the furled skin of his asshole. While Shikamaru may not prefer anal, he does like when you tease that hole like you tease his other one. He arches further into you with a breathy little mewl, sticking his ass further into your palm.
The smell of slick is heavy on your tongue, your lap damp where he is sitting above you.
Gently you pull him away, using your hand still fisting in his hair to guide his head up and back, giving you unlimited and unrestrained access to his throat. Scraping your fangs against the skin, you kiss and mouth along the stretch of skin, making sure to leave several little red marks behind. You nip at his scent gland, encouraging it to pump out the heady smell you are addicted to. 
You hum happily against his skin.
Leaning back further, he adjusts so he can open his legs wider. He grips onto your knees, displaying himself to your greedy gaze. His body glistens with a light sheen of sweat, pink spreading down his chest and across his face as he exposes the entirety of his body for your consumption. His cock twitches against his belly, a glob of precum dripping down the side. The lips of his cunt are parted the tiniest bit, letting you glimpse the hidden treasure inside. 
“Aren’t you delicious?” you croon, trailing a hand from his throat down his body, groping his muscles and flicking at his nipples as you do. The little buds pebble under your attention. Shikamaru lets out a shaky breath as your claw traces over the nubs gently. “Such a strong Omega. I am blessed to be mated to one so handsome.”
You run the hand back up, cupping his jaw and forcing your thumb into his mouth. His eyes flutter as he closes his mouth around the digit. He doesn’t suck so much as he open-mouth kisses it. 
You take your spit slick thumb and gently swipe it against his clit as you descend onto his chest, biting and sucking at whatever skin you can reach. You decorate his chest thoroughly, making sure the skin will bruise because you know he likes to press on them. He likes to have reminders throughout the day that everything is as it should be. 
A happy moan escapes past his lips at the attention, “I love when you play with me like this.” 
“Oh?” you quirk a brow, lips tilted up in a smirk
Your Omega nods, licking his lips as he rocks against your thumb, “Yes. I think of little else than the feeling of your touch on my body.” His voice stuttered around a whimper as he grinds, hips twitching as you rub smaller circles on his clit. “Ah-h. Like that. Just like that. Play with me. Ah-ah. I’m yours. I’m all your-ah.” 
“I adore you,” you whisper, shifting your hand to insert two of your fingers inside of him without removing your thumb. His cunt squeezes at the intrusion, slick dripping down over your hand and wrist. He groans.
“That's it,” he croons, arching, “Touch me. I’ve missed you.”
“So tight beloved,” you moan, eyes fixated on the way his slick trailed down your hand and wrist, “And so wet. How fucking needy you are.”
“I have been without you,” he parrots your words back at you, 
“No one has touched me in your absence,” your mate insists, “I promise. No one but you has laid with me. I’d never…I don’t think I could take it if someone besides you shared my bed.”
“I know my beloved.”
“You believe me?” Your poor Omega looks so devastated at the very idea that you wouldn’t. You really wish you could kill Lord John. String him up by his guts and hit him with a stick like a pinata until the rest of his organs fall out. 
“Of course I do,” you insist, crooking your fingers inside of him just to press on his sweet spot and make him shiver.
“That's-thats it? Just like that? On my word alone, you believe me?” 
The confusion in his voice makes you wonder if there is more that has been said in your absence. The look in his eyes confirms it. 
“Of course,” you reiterate, pausing your ministrations to look at him directly, “Shikamaru?”
“I can prove I haven’t taken anyone to bed!” Your Omega insists, his scent spiking with anxiety, “I can prove my fidelity. I’d never stray from you. I didn’t…please…I…”
“Remember who you are speaking to. You don’t have to prove anything. I believe you at your word Shikamaru.” You press onto his mating mark with the hand that wasn’t buried inside of him. 
His face changes gradually as he mulls over your words. You pump out a wave of calming pheromones. After a few moments, he slumps, relaxed, “Of course you do. Of course I don’t.”
The smile on his face is lazy and soft, his body losing all tension. You move your fingers again, slower. Gentle. Your Omega purrs, going back to rocking on your hand as you bring him gentle pleasure. 
“I originally intended to take you in my mouth,” he murmurs, quietly as he stares into your eyes, “Taste my Alpha once more. Slip into the soft Omegaspace you bring me to when you use me in such a way. But now? I want to feel you grow inside of me. Are you amenable?”
Shifting up, he pulls your cock from where it was resting under his ass. Needy brown eyes look down at it where it's resting against his cunt and under his own cock. Even mostly limp, you were impressive. 
“Absolutely.”
 You remove your fingers from him, grinning at his disappointed whine at the loss, but it's quickly wiped away when he smears his own slick over your hardening flesh. Once it's sufficiently coated, he rolls you both over until he is underneath you. 
Settling between his open thighs, you slide into him easily despite the lack of hardness. You let out a shaky breath as he slowly took you in, the muscles expanding and contracting to welcome you. The moan he releases as you bottom out is nothing short of divine, one of his hands curling around the back of your head to bring your face down to kiss you. 
“Don’t move just yet. Let me feel it. Ohhhhh….” Head thrown back, he releases a deep, primal Omegan growl. It triggers your own growl, a response from your Alpha to his Omega. Ducking down, you bite and suck at the skin you can reach, brightening the marks you already left. His body trembles under yours.
He pants as your cock grows and pulses inside of him, dark eyes fogging up as he loses himself in the connection, the feeling of you growing more and more aroused inside of him. His legs twitch as your sides, his cunt clenching and unclenching around you as it's stretched. Slick spills from around your intrusion, dampening the sheets below you.
The pleasure is nearly blinding, the feeling of your Omega’s slick cunt around you second to none.. When it becomes obvious that you aren’t going to get any harder, your cock not getting any bigger, Shikamaru’s chest heaves, his mouth twitching up into a dazed smile as you melt into one being. 
“You fit inside me so perfectly. I never want this to end,” your Omega murmurs slowly, pressing gentle, chaste pecks on your mouth. 
“I won’t let it,” you whisper, lowering yourself down so your body is flush with his, cock throbbing against the soft gummy walls of your Omega’s cunt, “Never.”
“Yea?” he slurs, eyes rolling back a little as he feels your cock leak hot sticky precum inside of him, “Promise me?”
“We are going to grow old together,” you smile down at him, resting on your forearms. His eyes shoot open, dilated and wet and radiating awe up at you. “We may have spent 13 years apart but we will have the rest of them together. Fifty…sixty…seventy years. And nothing is going to stop us. I will not allow it.” 
He whimpers breathlessly as he nods, clenching around your cock again, “Yes, yes, yes. I’m yours for the rest of my lif-ah, ah, ah. You’re mine too right? All mine. My Alpha. My conso-ah, fuck.” 
You groan around a purr, “I’ve never been anyone else's. I’ve belonged to Shikamaru Nara since he made a wish on a dandelion.” 
“Love me,” he urges, momentarily snapping out of his haze to shoot you a look of utter desperation, “Please. I’m ready. Need you to move Alpha-mine.”
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” you promise, bracing yourself as you withdraw from the warm, wet heat and slide back in. Slow, gentle, repetitive rocking. 
“Yes. Yes. Yessss…,” your mate purrs and your heart swells with pride. Petting a hand down his side, you roll your hips a little more insistently. Shikamaru makes a low, beautiful noise and pushes his hips up against yours, his arms wrapping around you tightly. You are reminded of how horribly he wants you and you hardly know what to do with the feeling. Beyond words, you lick into his mouth.
When you pull away, you lift up and slide a hand down to wrap around the cock that was trapped between you, flicking your thumb over the head and using his own precum as a lube to ease the glide. Your mate is large for an Omega, thick and hot in your hand and you know from experience how good he tastes. His back arches with a loud keening noise and you take the opportunity to lean down to suck at his chest, flicking the pebbled nipples with your tongue.
“That's it. Let me hear you. Let your Alpha hear you.”
The slow, wet slap of flesh echoed through the bedchamber and you were positive that anyone who passed by the door could hear it.
‘Let them hear,’ your Alpha snarls as your knot begins to expand and catch along the rim of Shikamaru’s cunt, ‘Let them know that only you are allowed in this Omega’s bed. Only you have the privilege of mating with this strong, handsome prince.’ 
“Oh.Oh. I’m cumming,” Shikamaru breathes, whimpering as his body tightens, “Please. Please. I need it. Please.”
“Go ahead beloved. Cum for me. Just like this.”
“Say my name,” he pleads, “Cum inside me. Need to feel your knot break me open. Need to hear you.”
“Shikamaru,” the sound is strangled as you start to crest into your own orgasm.
Your knot popped in and out of his hole deliciously until you couldn’t move it anymore, keeping your pace as gentle as possible. Shikamaru’s arms let you go to splay above him on the bed, leaving himself completely open to you as he kneads the blanket under him. His eyes, doe-eyed and soft, never left your face, even as they flutter in pleasure. He doesn’t say much outside of his cooing moans and breathy sighs but he doesn’t need to. You know. 
“Such a good Omega,” you whisper, dropping gently on your forearms to kiss his mouth, “I love you.”
“I love you,” he responds, wispy and gentle, like it was the easiest thing in the world to say. You relish in the softness you rarely see outside of the privacy of your quarters.
Your orgasms are gentle, softly cresting as your bodies locked together. His tie milks your swollen knot as he spills over his own belly, encouraging you to empty inside of him. Shikamaru’s legs tremble as he’s filled with warmth, his mouth dropping open as his eyes flutter closed. Feeling you orgasm, your sticky cum plugged inside of him by the thickness of your knot, was always the most overwhelming part for him.
You were, after all, putting a part of you inside of him. 
“I love you,” he repeats, chuckling wetly, tears rolling down the sides of his face as you both come down from your euphoria, “I can’t stand a world without you in it.”
“You are everything,” you gently wipe the tears away, “There is no me without you anymore.”
He leans up to catch your lips, his tongue shoving its way into your mouth. His purring stutters with every pulse of cum you release inside of him, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. Soft incomprehensible words pass his lips as you take control of the kiss.
In an unexpected burst of energy, you are flat on your back with your Omega on top of you. Still connected by your knot, he grinds down, pulling at the connection to encourage oversensitive bursts of pleasure to crash through you. His internal muscles clench exquisitely, forcing a gasp out of you as he moans, loud and unabashed.
“Again,” Shikamaru pleads, rolling his hips on your deflating knot, “Love me again.” 
You indulge him because when have you not?
^^^^^^^^^^
It all happened so fast.
One moment you were happily eating dinner in the Nara castle’s dining hall with Shikamaru, his parents, and your guardian, nanny, and guards. Talks had gone well from what you had gathered from the pleased scent wafting around your guardian but you hadn’t cared much to inquire about it, as Shikamaru had taken a seat beside you and the way he was playing with your fingers was much more entertaining to you. 
In the next, everyone was yelling and you were being yanked in two separate directions. The loud rumbling growl that erupted suddenly from your guardian was something you never heard before and it sent shivers of terror along your spine. A rough, clawed hand circled your arm and dragged you from your chair. 
“What's going on?” you cry, eyes tearing up at the pain of claws digging into your skin. You try to tug free of them but you are no match for their strength. A smaller hand latches onto your other arm, tugging frantically. Shikamaru’s face is pale, eyes blown in fear as he fails to free you.
“Let them go! They’re mine!” the Omega boy yells, tears furiously pouring out of his eyes as you are yanked harshly from his grip, “You're hurting them! My Y/N!”
“Silence, you horrid demon child,” your guardian snarls at him, to which Yoshino drags her wailing son into her arms, dark eyes glowing in her fury. Her lips curl around her teeth, her own growl low and predatory. A growl worms its way to your throat, sounding no more frightening than a kitten’s yowl but with all the ferocity of an enraged Alpha. 
“Don’t be mean to him!” you spit, struggling with every bit of strength you could manage, “Let me go! Shikamaru!”
“Enough,” your guardian yells, smacking you in the mouth before handing you over to one of the guards roughly. Their arms wrap around you in a hold you had no hope of breaking. Shikamaru’s angry scream rattles the walls in the dining hall. “Our deal is off! We come asking for aid and you dare take advantage? Casting your Nara sorcery upon our only heir?” 
Shikaku’s face is incredibly dark but he says nothing, letting your guardian dig a hole for themselves. Yoshino’s impossibly black eyes dart between her mate and you, her face softening and hardening in turn as you cry and thrash in tune with her son’s distressed wailing. 
“I am not cursed,” you argue loudly, chest rumbling in aggravation, “All we did was play in the flowers! We are going to be friends forever! Let. Me. Go.” You sink your baby fangs in the sliver of bare skin between your captor’s gloves and armor, delighting in the angry hiss he releases. 
“Hold your tongue!” Your guardian hisses, fiery eyes glinting dangerously at you. The fear from earlier is gone, dissipated in your own burning anger. They don’t take their eyes from yours as they address the guard holding you, “Take them back to the carriage. We are leaving.
“No! No! Nooooooo! My Y/N! Stop them! You have to stop them! Please!” is all you hear as your guard lugs you out of the dining hall.
You wait for Shikamaru to fall asleep before you slip out of bed. It's a challenge, what with Shikamaru’s death grip on your body, but you manage without much fuss. He stirs briefly, his face pinching in disgust at the disturbance.
 “It's okay. Go back to sleep. I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be back,” you whisper gently, running a hand through his loose hair. He hums and settles into the warm spot you just left behind, a quiet “Be quick” murmured into your pillow. You kiss his head. 
Slipping on your robe and soft shoes, you grab a candle and leave the confines of your bed chamber. The castle is silent, foreboding in the shadows and darkness, but you fear nothing here. You nod at the two guards who are standing in front of the door, both looking wide awake. You gesture that you are going down the hall. They nod back in acknowledgement, though one of them cheekily tapped their bare wrist at you. 
You roll your eyes playfully. 
The dungeon is cold, much colder than it had been earlier, but it makes sense since its no longer lit by a row of torches. It's also no longer midday, the coolness of the night somehow chilling the underground. 
You nod at the guards at each post and inform them of why you are down there and they allow you passage as long as you promise to not murder the prisoner. Somehow, they don’t believe you when you say you only had intentions to speak with him.
The ‘we wouldn’t blame you if you did’ was unspoken but it was heard nonetheless.
You keep your footsteps light as you walk down the long narrow room.
Lord John is still bound at the other end of the cell, his beady little eyes narrowing in rage as you pull a chair up to the bars, making sure it scratched against the floor unpleasantly as you did. His gag has been removed, likely so he could eat his dinner. The sound was horrid against the stark silence. 
“Good evening,” you start, happy and pleasant.
“Go to hell,” he bites, a pathetic attempt at a growl forming in his throat.
“A wise leader knows to never give their opponent the home field advantage,” you respond, leaning against the back of the chair, “But there is no need for hostility. I’ve merely come to chat.
“I have nothing to say.”
“Well I do so I guess I’m going to monologue at you again and you are going to sit and listen,” you pause, tilting your head back and forth, “I mean, it's not like you have a choice. You aren’t going anywhere. Not for a few days at least.” 
The Beta huffs, irritated and angry and you can’t find any part of you that cares. 
“You caused quite the scene since you’ve arrived,” you start, crossing your arms over your chest, “and inspired distress amongst everyone you’ve come into contact with.”
“Have I touched a nerve?” he sneers, the hint of a smirk on his face.
“I thought you had nothing to say?”
His mouth clamps shut, his Beta scent souring unpleasantly. 
“I still don’t understand what you hoped to achieve by killing me. I don’t think I care to think about it any longer if I’m being honest. You were never going to replace me even if your plot had worked,” you sigh, mild exasperation in your tone, “The Choosing doesn’t work like that. Even if Shikamaru survived after my passing, he would Choose someone who is worthy of being a Chosen.”
Fixing your gaze to his, you drop your normal speaking voice to your Alpha one, “You are not worthy.”
Lord John’s forehead vein makes an appearance even as he recoils, body shuddering to reject the sound and the danger it threatens, and it brings you such delight. The Alpha voice is always intimidating, especially when the Alpha rarely ever uses it. 
You reregulate your voice to sound normal, “A Chosen is something rare and sacred, a built in protection against trauma bonds. If you had bothered to learn anything about Nara history, you’d know that but I understand if it was too many words for you.” 
Lord John continues to say nothing, which you weren’t expecting to be honest. He loved the sound of his own voice. Maybe having the Alpha pheromones stripped away also stripped his confidence?
One can only hope. 
“And if you had tried to force a bond while he was deep in despair, the Queen would have summoned all of hell to come down on you,” you continue, “Shikaku may be the King but Yoshino is the one to be feared. Again, something you would have known if you bothered to look into the Nara's involvement in the last war.”
“And then there is the matter of you…writing all your plans down…on paper…multiple times…but we don’t need to rehash all of that.”
You sigh with all the exasperation of a child’s tutor, “Based on all this, I’ve concluded that you are just stupid.”
That gets a reaction. The prisoner shouts angrily and thrashes against his bindings. You watch with passive interest until he gets tired of getting nowhere. You made those chains yourself in the forge with a special blend of metals that you learned in the forges in your homeland, you know how strong they are.
Sweating and panting, Lord John eventually collapses back to the floor. 
“Are you done having big feelings?”
The prisoner huffs angrily.
“You asked me what a Nara provides for their Chosen and I never answered, which is quite rude of me. Do forgive my slight.”
You cross your legs and lean forward, resting your arms over your knee.
“You said that Naras don’t provide anything to their Chosen. It's all one-sided. Much like with everything else, you have been wrong.” 
Taking a deep breath, you think of the way Shikamaru smiles at you and embrace the calm it provides. “The power I hold over him is unimaginable. It is all consuming. I can ask anything of him. My desires are his. If I so chose,” You drop your voice to a whisper, slipping the tiniest bit of Alpha inflection in it, “I could. I can. He would allow me anything. Follow me anywhere. A lesser person would crack under the weight of such a responsibility.”
Lord John’s gaze wavers under yours but not enough to look away completely.
“Make no mistake. It is no burden. When you become a Chosen, you assume responsibility of your Nara, yes, but you also assume the truest version of yourself. I know myself when I am with him. When I stand beside him, my mind is clear. I search for him in every room I walk in because I wander, lost in a daze - quite literally might I add, I ended up in the garden- you know what, not important- when he is not with me. I have a purpose. He gives me a purpose. I am a foil, a mirror, and a friend as much as I am a lover or a mate. We are a match.”
You stand up, brushing nonexistent dust from your pants and robe as you do. You return the chair to the table before looking back at him through the bars.
“You could never be a Chosen. You are too selfish, too egotistical, too unwaveringly…pathetic. You care little for others, take advantage of those you feel to be below you, and demand for things that do not belong to you. You do not have the courage or compassion to stand as one with a Nara.”
You approach the cell again, slowly, a rolling hunter’s gait. Repelled, your prisoner jerks to press himself against the wall.
“T-to what purpose did you bother coming down here?” he stutters, fear bleeding through his scent for the first time since you’ve known him. He must finally sense the danger he was in.
Better late than never.
“This is the last time we will cross paths,” you grin, giddy, “And I wanted to make sure you knew that you will never have what you so desperately crave. You will go to the Yamanakas for further interrogation and then to the Uchiha for punishment while I stay here, living the life you desire.”
“It was either we have a nice little chat,” you lick your teeth, flashing your fangs at the portly man, “or I give into my rage and pluck your eyes from your skull for looking at my mate, cut your tongue for speaking poorly about my mate, and break every bone in your hands for thinking of putting them on my mate. I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel when I came down here.” 
You shrug, slipping your hands in the pockets of your robe, “The Uchiha said that you needed to be brought back alive. They never said you had to come back in one piece. The Yamanakas know how to extract information from the deaf, blind, and mute so you didn’t need to be whole for them either.” 
“You are insane,” he spits, tiny eyes filled with an odd combination of hate and fear. His scent grows even more sour, burning into your nostrils.
“I am in love,” you correct with a twisted grin “A common mistake since one so often looks like the other.”
The journey back to your bed chamber is uneventful. There are new guards at your door. Both of them give you a curious look but you wave them off. They crack the door open for you.
Shikamaru is sitting up in bed, propped by God and spite, and he’s glaring sleepily at you as you enter. You smile at him, endeared by the messy hair and mismatched blinking.
“Where…you?” he mumbles crankily, messily swiping the hair away from his face. 
“Here. I am here,” you croon sweetly, approaching the bed. Without prompting, he shifts to his knees and ‘walks’ to the end of the bed to greet you. He is still naked from your earlier escapades. He smells of dark, rich earth, sleep, and sex as he barrels sloppily forwards into your open arms. It's divine.
“Bed?” 
“Yes, I’m coming back to bed.”
“Sleep?”
“Yes.”
“Sex?”
“Later,” you pause, adding on a quick, “if you want.”
A slow, lecherous smile forms on his tired face as half-lidded brown eyes blink at you slowly, “Always.”
A huffed laugh punches from your gut, quiet and soft as you kiss his brow, “Okay beloved.”
Just as you are about to discard your robe and climb back into bed, the room shakes with rapid-fire knocking on your chamber door. 
‘Quoth the raven nevermore.’
You shake your head at the intrusive thought. 
Shikamaru hisses at the door, claws digging into the fabric of your robe and sleep shirt as he jerks to complete wakefulness, “What now? Can’t I have a moment’s peace?”
“Apparently not. Put on some clothing. I will get the door.”
Reluctantly, you separate from him. 
Gaia is outside the door, looking incredibly nervous as they pace back and forth in small circles outside the door. They mutter to themselves under their breath. The other two guards look at eachother and back towards you nervously.
You don’t fault them for their anxiety. Life has been rough in recent times. 
“I hate to interrupt but the Queen has sent me,” Gaia breathes once Shikamaru joins you from the bed, his own robe wrapped tightly around him, “The news cannot wait any longer and it is best if you hear this now before word gets around.” 
You share a nervous look with your Omega.
“Go on.”
“A Choosing has happened.” 
^^^^^^^^^^
The moon is high when you set off. Getting out of the castle was easy enough, granted that you were now of age to set off on your own without any of your guardian’s lackey’s following you. You took great delight in firing each and everyone of them the moment the clock struck midnight the day of your birthday. Your guardian had been none too pleased but their opinion did not matter any longer. 
You are an adult now, capable of ruling a kingdom without aid. Your coronation had seen it so. 
If that is what you chose, however. 
But it wasn’t.
Your letter to Shikaku Nara had not been returned and you could only hope that meant he understood your intentions and was waiting for you, ideally without any hostility. In the years following the disaster of a dinner, your guardian did everything in their power to burn bridges between your kingdom and the Nara Kingdom. While smaller than the Nara’s, your kingdom had a monopoly on a vast majority of the mountains and the sea and all its contents on your side of the country. The Akimichi may have their own mountain region but their mountains yielded very little in terms of resources and skill needed to handle such resources. Nothing like what your kingdom could provide. 
Still, even if there was hostility, even if you were walking into a trap, it would be worth it to see Shikamaru one last time. It didn’t matter if he hated you. If he executed you himself.
He was worth taking the risk for. 
It took a few days but all your cessation paperwork was complete, leaving the entirety of the kingdom to a cousin of yours. She is a few years older and had been in line for her own throne until her parent’s suddenly produced an Alpha heir and removed her from her position. She may dislike you but the whole situation left a bad taste in your mouth and she would be a better ruler than anyone currently in line for your throne. 
While you may not love your people enough to stay, you loved them enough to leave them in capable, competent hands. She would take care of everyone. 
She also hated your guardian as much as you did so that was a plus.
Traveling from your old home to the Nara Kingdom was treacherous and long. You avoid main roads for most of the journey, trekking along the more dangerous paths to keep from being tracked. No one with a sane mind would pass through the canyons deep in the north side of your mountain but with your choices being ‘get caught’ and ‘ traverse through horrible terrain’, you have little choice. You have no real allies. You have no real connections. There is no one to help you if you are dragged back to the kingdom you abandoned. 
Word spreads of your departure and abandonment quickly, which puts a damper on your plans. Your journey becomes much harder and requires several disguise changes before you are safe enough to rent a room to sleep in or a carriage to take you through the desert. Throughout it all, you go back and forth on how you are going to plead your case to Shikaku.
You’ve made peace with all the possible outcomes but still, it felt right to offer some sort of apology or…something. You didn’t have money for a gift but you were capable of working so maybe you could offer free labor. 
There was no guide waiting at the treeline of the Nara forest and for the first time since you left, you felt trepidation. 
The forest is still as magical as you remember it being. You step over into the growth and the path reveals itself to you. The indents in the forest floor seem clearer, like it is sucking in a breath to make the path more prominent. You stay on the line as closely as possible, keeping your eyes towards the total blackness. 
The journey through the forest seems a lot shorter than when you were a child but you chalk it up to the world being so much larger to a child than to an adult. When the trees start opening up and you can see the sky again, the sun has risen, glittering between the branches and leaves at the canopy. 
The path stops abruptly as deer start emerging from behind the brush. They pay you no mind however, walking past you as if you were a normal part of their environment. You don’t pay them much mind, however, as the gate to the castle comes into view.
You see four guards - two on each side of the gates - and your stomach sinks when they all look at you in tandem. 
‘Well, at least I managed to change my clothes before I showed up,’ you think to yourself, straightening your shoulders. Faux confidence comes easy to you as you take a deep breath and approach.
“We’ve been waiting,” one of the guards - an Alpha male - smirks before you can open your mouth, “You took very long.”
“I was on foot for most of it.” 
“Welcome,” another says before the Alpha can respond again and you recognize her immediately. Her hair is much shorter now but one of the sides is still shaved, displaying her inked skin. The tattoos have been added to and obviously outlined in recent years. 
“It's nice to see you again,” you greet, bowing your head slightly. She grins a little, flicking her hand and allowing the gate to open. 
With a deep, shuddering breath, you walk through the gates, long enough to catch the tail end of whatever the king was saying to his son.
“But don’t take my word for it. Ask them yourself. They’re here.”
In a flash, Shikamaru meets your gaze, dark brown eyes focused on you as intensely as they had been in the fields and the world falls away as you approach the castle. 
The following week is a mess of meetings and deliberations. The King and Queen ultimately decided to leave the decision of the matter to you and Shikamaru, a test of your ability to lead. They will offer you aid in your decision-making but will leave the final verdict to you. They will enforce whatever you and your mate agree upon.
“This is a matter that pertains directly to you both,” Yoshino had said, a small sad smile on her mouth as she gently grasps your hand in hers, “Only you can decide what is appropriate. I trust you will make good choices.”
This was a good idea in theory but proved to be more tumultuous than predicted, since Shikamaru spent most of the time being in a very unforgiving and spiteful mood during deliberations. The full force of his brutal tactician training had come forth intensely, laying a fifty part argument at your feet about why he favors one side of the argument and why it's the best course of action.
You, on the other hand, countered his arguments from a less practical, more forgiving heart, something that left him frustrated and sitting with his back to you on your lap and refusing to hold your hand. To his credit, he took your words in and contemplated them, asking follow up questions once he got past the initial aggravation. He heard you and was listening, even though he really felt strongly in his stance.
Once a decision was made, preparations quickly followed, and before long you found yourself sitting on the throne that will one day yours. Shikamaru sat to your left, on his father’s throne, dressed in the royal blue attire you are so fond of. Your own attire matched his, something he was quite insistent on.The King and Queen stood off to the side of the podium. There were two guards at the door.
The Great Hall was empty otherwise.
“Let them in,” Shikamaru ordered, keeping his eyes steadfast on the door as it opened. Two figures walked in, arms wrapped around the other, and the door was quickly closed behind them, the sound terrifying in the silence. The guards stayed outside.
“Approach,” Shikamaru ordered again, back ramrod straight against the back of the throne. You mimicked his posture. 
Kohaku Nara, loyal guard and lifelong friend to Shikamaru, stepped forward, arm wrapped protectively around one of the Omega’s from Lord John’s entourage. You hadn’t paid much attention to him during his stay, the only interaction being when you asked him if the clothing you had provided for him was good enough. 
He is a sweet-looking thing with large blue eyes and golden blonde hair. He’s a good deal smaller than Kohaku and much more beautiful. In another life, you imagine he would have taken your fancy. 
The two stop a few feet away from the throne podium, dropping to their knees to bow before you both. Jin’s body shakes in fear, his normally sweet Omega scent bitter with it. Kohaku does his best to calm him, a burst of calming scent wrapping around the Omega. His hand reaches over to stroke one of Jin’s. 
“It was brought to our attention that you have Chosen,” Shikamaru begins, keeping his voice purposefully neutral as he addresses Kohaku, “and that your Chosen is the Omega Jin. From my reports, you apprehended the Omega as they attempted to sneak out of the castle and the Choosing occurred then. Is this accurate?”
“Yes my Prince,” Kohaku raises his head, “My Chosen is Jin Mugan.”
“I am sure you are aware of the dire circumstances they have found themselves in,” your mate says, waiting for Kohaku to nod before continuing, “And of the punishments for the crimes they have been a part of since entering the kingdom, both under duress and of their own discretion.”
Kohaku flinches, tucking his lips around his teeth to keep from baring them. You shoot Shikamaru a warning glance.
“My mate and I have spent a week in negotiation about what to do with you both. You can imagine that I am not his biggest fan.”
“Please!” Kohaku interrupts, frantic, “I beg of you! Please let them go! We will depart and never step foot in the kingdom again! I swear it on my life!”
“Quiet,” Shikamaru bites, exhaling roughly. His hand reaches over to hold your own, letting them lay together on the cushioned table between the two thrones.
“That will not be necessary. You are not being cast away. Jin will live,” Shikamaru’s eyes are sharp as he looks between Jin and Kohaku, “But he will work outside the castle. I have contacted Lady Berta down in the village and she is willing to train him in her craft and keep him under observation. He will not be allowed to move about the kingdom freely. He will be under intense supervision until I have decided he is worth trusting. As for you, you will be temporarily stripped of your titles and guard uniform while you undergo your desensitization training and adjustment to your new conditions.”
“Thank you My Prince,” Kohaku bowed, his voice trembling, “I cannot say enough about what this means to me and Jin.”
“Unnecessary. I know what it's like. Choosing is powerful,” Shikamaru addresses the guard, words heavy with meaning, “My mate has convinced me that he is deserving of a second chance, if only because all he has done was deliver a parcel of documents on Lord John’s behalf. A messenger that was paid to be a messenger. He is harmless.”
Shikamaru does not mention the instructions Lord John had given Jin in case the poisoning did not work. He does not mention that Jin hid in the castle instead of fleeing like the others had. He does not mention that Jin had been ordered to cut your throat while you slept and that, if you had not gotten up and wandered away, he would have done so. 
His face hardens as he turns to the Omega, who flinches the tiniest bit. Kohaku, with great restraint, suppresses his snarl. “Given that my Chosen is the one whose life was nearly stolen, I am willing to concede to their wish to pardon you. They have a large heart. You would do well to remember their kindness and remember that you are alive because they wish it so. If at any point you step out of line, I will personally execute you.”
The Omega nods frantically before bowing once again, “I shall. I shall do everything I can to prove that I can be trusted. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Lord John has been sent over to the Yamanaka kingdom for further interrogation and from there will be sent to the Uchihas but that doesn’t mean much given your particular circumstances,” you decide to chime in, the look on your mate’s face telling you that he is beyond done with this interaction, “Thus I have taken the liberty of having an escort retrieve your mother and relocate her to the village.”
“What?” Big blue eyes stare at you in amazement. Kohaku eyes you warily, the beginnings of jealousy bubbling under the surface.
“Lord John purposely went after Omegas who were vulnerable and in need of resources without the ability to obtain said resources. From a reliable source, I found that you signed your contract because he promised you that your mother will get the medical treatment she needs. I consulted our physician who informed me that while the medicine is cheap, it is incredibly expensive to have it sent to the Usami District. Your mother will get her care here from now on. We have excellent doctors in the village.”
“Thats…thats too kind,” the Omega blurts out but his body loses all tension, as if he were a puppet who had their strings cut. Perhaps, maybe he was. “I.…”
“I do not believe in punitive justice, especially in cases where a much more peaceful resolution can be made.”
You watch as the couple embrace, nuzzling at eachother happily. Shikamaru rolls his eyes and ushers them out quickly, his threshold for patience overflowing. Shikaku and Yoshino leave their posts to squeeze your and your mate’s shoulders.
“Well done,” the King praises, clear approval in his voice. It fills you with pride.
“You are both on the right path, “Yoshino agrees, forcing a kiss to her son’s cheek. He squirms away and you laugh at him. 
“Troublesome,” Shikamaru grumbles, getting off the throne and yanking you out of yours, “I’m taking my Alpha to my room for a nap. I don’t want to be disturbed until dinner time.”  
He doesn’t allow anyone to say anything about it but you do hear your in-laws chuckle as the doors close behind you.
“I’m proud of you,” you smile, kissing his temple as you walk down the corridor at his side. He grumbles petulantly but the pink on his cheeks tells you he’s thrilled about pleasing you.
“I am mind but you are heart. I value your opinion in all things, even if it pains me,” he sighs, “You have the training to rule and will have equal say over how we run the kingdom once we ascend to the throne. I trust in us as partners.”
“So sweet beloved,” you coo playfully, pinning him to the closest available wall to kiss at his mouth. 
He allows it before nudging you lightly, “But if you ask me to forgive another person who made an attempt on your life, I will lock you in the deer pen. I can’t handle it a third time.”
“I know, I know. I give you my word that the next time someone tries to kill me, you can roll around in their blood like the little psycho I know you are.”
“Shut up,” he bites your mouth.
“Never.”
^^^^^^^^^^
Shikamaru pulled you into the garden hastily, not giving you a moment to change from your sleep clothes to something more appropriate. You had woken up less than an hour ago, startling into full wakefulness when his face immediately appeared above yours. He pressed his nose to yours, purring happily at seeing that you were waking. 
“Come with me,” he had said, gently herding you out of bed with gentle but insistent touches.
“Where are we going?” you can’t help but ask as you slip on some soft shoes.
“I have a gift for you,” he smiled brightly, dark eyes sparkling before looking away nervously. Two of his fingers wrap around two of yours hesitantly, unsure. You squeeze the digits between yours and his face pinks beautifully.
The opening of the alcove is hidden by a curtain of wildflowers. He pulls it back and allows you to enter first before walking in front of you. He pulls you down the short pathway before turning around to face you.
“It's not finished but…this is my wedding gift to you,” he demures, pressing against your front sweetly. “This is our place. Me and you. No one else.” You smile at him, wrapping an arm around the small of his back.
“Show me.”
He does, walking backwards until you are standing in the opening of the large circular part of the alcove. 
“I plan to put a hammock between these two trees. The weaver I hired will be done with it by the time our honeymoon ends,” he says, pointing at the aforementioned trees.
“It's lovely,” you croon, looking around the inner alcove in complete awe.
“Oh well,” your intended’s face turns pink, “I’m glad you like it.” He coughs, not meeting your eyes, before he starts to gently tug at your hand, “Come. Sit with me.” 
The floor of the alcove is completely covered with soft mosses and the same wildflowers as the ones in the field. He sits you down against one of the trees and climbs into your lap facing you. His arms wrap around your neck.
“I…” he clears his throat, “I originally intended to bring you here after our marriage ceremony before the reception but the more I thought on it, the more I thought bringing you beforehand was the better idea.”
“Why?”
Brown eyes dilate as he pauses to examine your face. His fingers knead at the muscles in your back and shoulders. He is heavier than he looks, all strong, lean muscle, but the weight is comforting. 
“Years ago, I closed my eyes and wished for my Chosen on a dandelion. I opened my eyes and there you were,” he murmured shyly “Naras all know about the Chosing. We are told as soon as we are old enough to ask where babies come from. They say we get a best friend,” He huffed a small chuckle, playing with your fingers. “It can happen at any moment so it's pertinent to be informed but no one can really prepare you for when it happens.”
His face turns sad, “I wanted to always remember that day so I had the gardener work a blank patch of garden to create this spot for the day you returned to me. It took years to get the plants to grow into the shapes I needed but it worked well enough in the end. I could come here and think of you when everything got to be unbearable.”
The look on his face brightens considerably, “And now you are here. We are getting married in less than three days and I decided that I want you to kiss me here,” his voice drops to a whisper, closing the gaps between your faces, “I don’t want to share our first kiss at the altar for everyone to see.” 
“I didn’t know my mate was such a romantic,” you couldn’t help teasing as you pulled him closer. He crawled over your lap, settling with his legs bracketing yours. It went over his head, his face flushing intensely as he looked down on you. Dilated brown eyes locked onto your mouth before a shaky finger reached up to touch your bottom lip. 
They widen when you take his hand and turn it over to kiss along his palm and finger tips. 
“I’ve thought of little else besides you,” you admit cautiously, “You and the flowers. It has gotten me through some truly awful times and I knew that as soon as I was of age, I would make my way back to you somehow.”
He purrs happily in response.
“And while we barely know each other,” you continue, “I will pursue the knowledge as a starving Alpha. I will know you. I will give you everything.”
“I only need us.”
Gently, you guide him down and press your mouth to his….
The sun is warm where it filters through the branches and leaves through the top of the alcove. The hammock sways lightly as you and your mate rest together. There is nothing innately indecent about your touching but one could argue that having your hands resting under Shikamaru’s trousers to knead at his plump ass was far from innocent.
It didn’t matter though, because Shikamaru liked it
“I’m bothered,” he huffs, giving up on his latest quest to get you to slide your hands down lower.
“About what?”
“The blood.”
“What blood?”
“When you collapsed from the paralytic. Blood ran down your nose. The Uchiha said you weren’t supposed to bleed and the physician said you were in perfect health.”
“Oh. That was probably just a nosebleed.”
The alcove goes deathly quiet, Shikamaru tensing as he removes himself from your chest to hover above you to meet your eyes.
“A what?”
“A nosebleed. It's spring. I have allergies.”
Shikamaru blinks at you, the gears in his head turning so slowly you wonder if he’s malfunctioning. You can see the moment everything clicks in for him and the laughter escapes you before you have a chance to swallow it down. 
“You are going to kill me,” Shikamaru groans at you, rolling over to flop on top of you once more. His annoyance bleeds into his scent, “I am going to die of hysteria because my Alpha is made of a single good luck prayer and cheese.”
“Don’t bring cheese into this. It did nothing wrong,” you nudge him half-heartedly, grinning when he goes lax to keep from being moved, “This is our first real spring together. It slipped my mind to tell you that I occasionally have nosebleeds.”
“You’re telling me that the exact moment you ate a chocolate ball and fell unconscious, you had a nosebleed and that's why you bled all over my shirt?”
“Yes. It was quite serendipitous.”
“I will kill you.”
“No, you won’t.”
“I’m not okay with blood coming out of your body. It doesn’t belong out here,” he chuckles, peeking up at you from his resting place on your chest. The light, happy look on his face quickly falls away into one of annoyance as the familiar wetness in your nose makes itself known. 
You try not to laugh as the blood drips down to your top lip. You reach into your pocket to grab a cloth and tilt your head back with it pressed against your nose. 
“You did that on purpose,” Shikamaru huffed, deeply offended as he rolled so he was facing away from you. “Troublesome Alpha. I’m telling my mother.” 
“Of course I did,” you respond sarcastically, the sound distorted thanks to the cloth, “I can control my nosebleeds. You’ve found me out. I was going to keep bleeding with the sole purpose of aggravating my beloved.” 
He huffs again, moving his head to bite your thigh gently, “At least you admit it.” 
^^^^^^^^^^
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kisakis-boyfriend · 5 months
Note
monster reader with bennett? he's on an adventure, but he gets a bit more "excitement" than he initially anticipated. i hope this works with the horror/halloween requests!
Beware the Big Bad Wolf
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Pairings: Bennett x reader
Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, wolfboy!reader, sub/bottom!Bennett, dubcon, scratching, biting, breeding, reader is called 'sir', more virgin Bennett
Genre/Format: Smut; Oneshot
Author's Note: As usual, Bennett is 20+ here! I went with a wolfboy reader because I had a lovely idea for this, I hope that's ok, anon!!
Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!
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Bennett was on his way to Wolvendom for a commission, and a dangerous one at that. The Adventure's Guild posted a commission to investigate the outskirts of Wolvendom as there have been multiple disappearances lately. Several members of the guild had gone missing after attempting to trek through the forest as a shortcut. Remnants of shredded camping gear and clothing, shattered swords, broken weapons, food scraps, and traces of blood had cropped up in and around the famed area, causing quite a bit of panic to circulate within Monstadt
Ever the brave one, Bennett accepted the commission and pulled together a few other adventures to help him. But, as his luck usually plays out, all of them had something important come up at the last minute and they couldn't make it, leaving Bennett to take this on alone
So off he went, marching swiftly into the dark forest, home to many wolves and other woodland creatures. A single bead of sweat rolled down his cheek as the young man's trembling hands held the map that the guild had given to him, littered with markings and notes locating the pieces of evidence and routes that the adventurers had most likely taken
Staying past sunset was definitely not Bennett's plan, but he had been so focused on following trails that he lost track of the time. It was far too dark to navigate these woods alone and he did manage to pack camping gear...so making a fire and taking shelter was probably the smartest idea right now, despite the supposed danger lurking about. Bennett did the best he could do with the food packed for this journey, feeling content with dinner and quickly growing tired from the day's endeavors
A distant howling startled the poor boy, already a bit on edge due to the nature of his investigation. He wrapped his coat around his arms a little tighter, shivering from the cold night air. Another howl off to his right, still relatively far away, or at least that's what he assumed based on the low volume. Wolvendom was a beautiful forest, but it could become rather spooky at night. Especially to lonely adventurers
Lonely adventurers who had let their guard down, sitting with their back turned towards you...no weapons in sight, seemingly nodding off under the moonlight.... They were the perfect prey
“Aah- Mmph!” Bennett started to scream when a strong arm wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms against his body so that he couldn't fight back. A clawed hand swiftly muffled any sounds threatening to escape, preventing the struggling man from calling for help, not that anyone would come to the rescue though
“You humans are awfully persistent, aren't you?” you began, “How many of your kind have been killed and yet you still send more weaklings out here to their grave?” you scoffed, shaking your head at their sheer stupidity
“I mean, really...every few days I'm forced to tear another one apart because none of you will stay the fuck away from my territory.” A snarl punctuated your last words, your teeth nipping at the human's ear in the process. Bennett whimpered into your palm, on the verge of tears as you growled at him while he weakly struggled to break free. His efforts proved to be futile as your muscular arms kept him in place, pressed back against your chest while you tipped his head back further, exposing his throat and grazing your fangs against the skin
“Are you gonna be a good victim for me and keep your fucking mouth shut while I gut you?” You said, tossing the human onto the ground and hovering over his smaller frame, raising a clawed hand up as you were about to slash at him when he stammered out in fear, “Wait!! Waitwaitwaitplease– Please don't kill me!”
His shaky hands pressed against your chest in an attempt to hold you back, though you both knew it wouldn't work. “Please... C-can't we talk about th-is?” Bennett hiccuped, his body beginning to tremble more and more with every passing second. You contemplated his proposal for a minute, checking out his body in the meantime. He was an exceptionally beautiful human. While he was smaller than you his arms were rather toned, he also had the prettiest green eyes and fluffy white hair that was just begging you to pet it. Plus his scent was nice...like pine trees and campfire smoke with a little sweetness mixed in
A toothy grin made its way onto your face as you said, “Alright, then talk. Give me a good reason not to kill you.” The little purr in your voice sent a shiver crawling up the human's spine, gulping as he stuttered out nonsense in an attempt to come up with something that would convince you to spare him
Slowly, your hand creeped upwards until it encompassed the little human's throat, his weak grip finding its way to your wrist as his stammering grew quieter. “Ya know, it would be a shame to waste a pretty face like yours. Since you're having trouble convincing me of your worth, allow me to offer you a choice instead.”
Your breath fell on Bennett's cheek as you leaned in close and continued, “You will either become my mate and give your body over to me, or you become my dinner. What's it going to be, human?” Bennett's mind raced as your proposal swirled around in his head. M-mate?! What kind of mate?! I don't exactly trust this guy but...I d-don't have much of a choice here...
“O-ok...I'll be your...um, your mate...” The human said with uncertainty, gulping at the fanged smile growing on your face as you licked your lips. Immediately getting flipped onto his stomach and roughly held down by your hand on his spine. A strange pressure was now present on his bottom, it didn't hurt it just felt... weird. New, like nothing he has ever experienced before
“Gooood. Good boy. Mm, I'm going to enjoy breaking you in.” You growled above the man, grinding your hard-on in between his plump cheeks. Precum had already begun to spill inside of your pants from the excitement of finding a new mate after so long, and the way the bare member brushed against the fabric of your pants only caused more to leak out. Your cock ached to fill and knot someone's wet holes again, breeding them full of your pups night after night until they couldn't even walk. Scenting them so that no other would dare to touch them, unless the idiot wanted a painful death, that is
“Hah! Ow ow ow...too much...” Bennett whined. Your wandering thoughts caused you to claw into the poor thing's back tightly, cutting his skin in the process and spilling a bit of blood. Whoops. Attempting to apologize to your new mate, you leaned down and lapped at the new scratches, cleaning the blood off before kissing his back. This seemed to ease him a tiny bit as his fists unclenched slightly, exhaling a shaky breath when your lips touched his skin
“Sorry, I was jus' thinking about how good it's gonna feel when I sink into that tight hole of yours~” You groaned, fumbling with the human's belt until you were able to slip your hand down the front of his pants. Bennett let out a high-pitched gasp as his dick was touched for the first time, his legs involuntarily spreading to allow more room for you to stroke him
As your rough stroking pulled more whines and whimpers from the inexperienced man, your cock grew harder and began throbbing in the tight constraints of your clothing, begging to be let out to ravage the hole that you'd been dry humping this whole time. Not wanting to wait any longer, you released Bennett's smaller dick and undid your own belt, freeing your aching member with a hiss as the breeze hit your sensitive skin
“Keep that ass in the air for me, yeah?” You prompted, pulling his pants down so that his entrance was on full display. Biting your lip hard enough to nearly draw blood, your hands groped at his soft flesh as you spread his cheeks apart, spitting on the human's hole and rubbing it around until your thumb slipped in. A choked moan escaped from him as you breached the orifice, working in two fingers soon enough as he rocked his hips into your touch. You wrapped your hand around your own dick and jerked yourself off, imagining that the tightness of your fist was his ass
While Bennett was whining against the ground and thrusting back against your hand, you lined your cock up and swiftly replaced your fingers with it, pushing halfway inside with a loud, drawn-out groan, “Ooooohhh shiiiit...mhm, FUCK you're tight. ” As your nails dig into his soft hips, Bennett releases another high-pitched whine while his insides adjust to the intrusion, stretching in ways they never have before
You began thrusting shallowly into his hole, letting him get used to your girth at least a little bit before you bottomed out. The human's warm walls clenched around you and it felt like heaven; your cock dragging against his insides while you drooled above him. His hips would definitely be very bruised after tonight, but that thought had no place in your mind when you were fucking into your new precious mate
“Mm you feel so damn good. Taking my cock like this, fuck...” Your thrusts sped up as your climax approached hastily, fucking into Bennett's virgin ass like your life depended on it. Finally spilling your first load deep inside while his voice cracked from his place on the ground, delicious pleasure overtaking both of you as you remained buried within him
It wasn't long before you began to hump into his hole, humming while you carded your clawed fingers through the human's fluffy hair. The softness only lasted so long before your humping turned back into pounding his ass again. Bennett's hole was so wet from your previous round of cum that every thrust into him made squishy sounds, which enticed you to thrust harder just to hear those hot noises, soon emptying another fat load into his womb
“Ffffuuuck—!! You'll be a good breeding bitch, won't you? Hnnngh f-fuck– Gonna take more of my cum, yeah? Just. Like. That. ” You grunted directly into his ear, pressing against his back while you held his hips up so that you were still hitting him at the perfect angle to prevent your cum from spilling out
Bennett panted like a bitch in heat while more warm cum flooded his insides, gradually breaking his mind with each new load pumped into him. “Yeeess, sir... Y-yes...aaahh—!! ” His pretty moans filled the area while you relentlessly drilled into him, staining his guts with your seed so that no one else would even dream of breeding the little bitch. Meanwhile, your sharp teeth pierced his delicate shoulder in a fit of possessiveness, growling as you marked your mate on the outside too
The next couple hours carried on much the same, more cumshots fucked into the human's ass as you rutted into him. More bite marks littered all over his exposed skin. Letting your instincts take over as you relieved yourself after almost a year without a mate. Suffice to say that the unlucky adventurer wouldn't leave that forest for quite some time
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Reblogs are extremely appreciated <3
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remedyx · 5 months
Text
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Inception
Ateez Ot8 x Reader
Chapter 34
Chapter warnings: more mentions of blood, descriptions of pain, more angst but we're coupling it with some much needed fluff
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Yeosang POV
I ran a hand through my hair utterly exhausted. The last few days have been a test of my patience and while normally a rebellion wouldn’t be such a big deal, the fact that the rallying of two factions along the borders of Merene and Lodor meant this one was on a larger scale than we were used to seeing. For now, things were quiet. But I’m worried they’re only staying that way simply because the four of us had decided to make camp nearby to quell anything that might arise. Not to mention my temper’s threshold is a lot lower considering how long I’ve been kept away from my mate. It’s completely out of character for me, I knew that.
But the more days that passed, the worse I got. Y/N’s letters being the only thing to tide me over and bring me back to myself. I can’t say I’m the only one though. Whereas a short fuse on my end is unusual, I can’t say the same for Yunho. Our men have been avoiding him like the plague. Too afraid to potentially set him off as his mood was almost always sour. Like me, he was ready to wipe his hands of this issue. We all were. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon. Lanterns providing just enough light to stave off the darkness in the middle of camp. The further I walked from the center of the grounds the darker it was. But I didn’t mind. There was some comfort in the inky blackness the night gave. I thrived in it. Whether that was a trait belonging more to the dragon half of me, or due to the abilities my human self possessed, I didn’t know.
“You know, I’m not sure why you put so much effort into trying to assuage the tempers of people you know won’t change.” Wooyoung sighed, leaning against a tree right outside my tent as I approached.
He flipped the knife in his hand, fingers nimble as he fed it between each one. I paused to watch him, the action effortless until his eyes lifted from the knife to me. The break in concentration caused it to slip from his grip, the blade plummeting towards the ground. Then suddenly it wasn’t, the motion halted a mere few inches from the forest floor, hovering there.
“My job is to prevent violence, not enable it.” I muttered, resuming the trek to my tent.
Wooyoung shrugged, holding his hand out over the knife at his feet. It was quick to float up again, returning to its wielder before he pocketed it.
“Where’s Jongho and Yunho?”
“On their way.”
I rolled my eyes at the noncommittal answer. I guess it didn’t really matter. They’d show up sooner rather than later anyway. Within a few feet of the tent entrance, I stopped. Within me I could feel something wrong. My senses on high alert as I looked behind me at Wooyoung. He was frowning, hand lifting to his chest, rubbing it lightly as his gaze found mine.
“Do you feel that?” I asked.
He nodded. “My dragon is restless.”
Restless. That’s exactly what I was feeling. The agitation from my dragon was overwhelming, resulting in anxiety unlike any I’ve ever experienced taking over me. I turned, my next words coming out a lot harsher than I intended them to.
“Find Yunho and Jongho. Something’s wrong.”
My steps were quick as I walked back the way I came. Wooyoung’s form falling in line beside me, pace just as swift as we tried to get a hold of our emotions.
Yeosang, what’s going on?
Jongho’s voice in my head sounded just as panicky as I felt.
Something’s wrong. I don’t know what. Where are you?
Coming back from patrol. Yunho answered.
Wooyoung and I are nearly to rendezvous. Mee-
I grunted, legs nearly giving out from under me as I stumbled. I gripped at the mark over my chest, the sharp pain running like liquid fire through my veins bringing me to my knees. My lungs seized up, my heart pumping harder. Wooyoung hissed beside me, hand covering his own mark over his ribs as he doubled over in agony. I forced myself to suck in air as I realized exactly what this meant.
No.
I demanded my limbs work. My legs like lead as I shoved myself off the ground towards camp.
No. No.
“It’s Y/N.” Wooyoung panted behind me, confirming my fears.
It felt like the effort to cross the short distance to our rendezvous point was immense. The pain only getting worse and making it harder until all at once it subsided. Turning into a throbbing. And I didn’t know which I preferred. No longer feeling it meant I could no longer feel her. And it was terrifying. Jongho was the first to make it back. His harsh breathing filling the quietness of the night as he leaned against a tree. One hand crossed over to his opposite shoulder where I knew his mark laid. His face was pale and eyes wild as he looked between Wooyoung and I with the same panic-stricken expression we shared.
“We can’t stay here.” He groaned. “She needs us.”
I clenched my fists at my side. Squeezing my eyes shut tightly as I tried to get myself under control. I wanted nothing more than to find her. The sooner, the better. My dragon just below the surface, demanding I do exactly as Jongho said. But we couldn’t just leave. The control it took to tamp down my instincts substantial. And the pain of knowing I couldn’t drop everything and run to her right now worse than any physical phantom pain I endured. Yunho burst into the clearing. Hands already pulling at his clothes as he yanked his coat over his shoulders.
“I’m going.”
“Wait-“
My words cut off as another wave of pain seared through me. The snarl it ripped from Yunho shook the forest around us. The nightlife running from their hiding places in search of safety.
“I’m not fucking waiting.”
His tone was strained, and while it was hard to do anything with the agony radiating from our marks, he managed to pull the rest of his clothes off and shifted. His red scales turned nearly black in the dark. A dark red tint only visibly when he moved, and the half-obscured moon above glinted across his skin. Yellow eyes piercing me for only a split second before he took to the skies. Nearby trees groaning with the wind gale left behind by his wings. I cursed under my breath, my eyes finding Wooyoung’s as I jerked my head in the direction Yunho went.
“Go with him.”
He nodded, quick to oblige as he too stripped and gathered his and Yunho’s clothes before shifting. The ache was present deep in my chest again as the pain faded. I watched forlornly as Wooyoung took off to follow Yunho. As much as I wanted to see her for myself, I had things I needed to handle. One look at Jongho told me he wished to be the one going to her too. His features twisted into a grimace as he forced himself to look away from where the other two had disappeared.
“Let’s finish this.”
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It was cold. At least, I felt like I was freezing. My entire body was sore, and I was beyond exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but the voice above me forbad it. I blinked heavily, the effort it took to look up at the man holding me feeling insurmountable, but I did it. The rain had long since stopped, but the wind whipping around me was violent. Nothing like the smooth ride I had experienced with Yeosang.
“Hwa.” I croaked, my throat incredibly dry.
He looked down at me, the grief in his eyes squeezing my already weakened heart. His beautiful platinum hair a mess with the wind whipping through it.
“We’re almost there. I can hear him, Y/N. Just a little longer.”
I was struggling to remember just who we were supposed to be finding. What happened earlier tonight feeling like a hundred years ago already. Bits and pieces flickering in and out of memory as if my head was trying to dispel them. I could feel myself slipping. Consciousness on the verge of snuffing out again even with Seonghwa begging for me to keep my eyes open. But it was too hard. I was tired. And I just wanted a break from the pain. But apparently that was even too much to ask for. I jolted as the dragon below me landed. The impact of his feet on the ground rough, jostling my cradled arm making me cry out. I didn’t think I had any tears left, but they overflowed anyway.
“Pass her here.”
I recognized the voice. Somewhere within my muddled brain, it was working to put the pieces together as I was transferred from one set of arms to another. The dark gaze one I was very familiar with after having spent so much time with him in the infirmary.
“Yunho?”
“It’s me little minx. I’m here.”
“It hurts.” I whined, burying my face into his chest for the warmth he provided.
“I know. I’ll take care of it.” He soothed me. “Woo, build a fire. She’s freezing.”
Yunho settled the two of us near the fire pit Wooyoung was building. The crunching of leaves and branches sounding so much louder in the quietness until I had something else to focus on. Someone kneeled beside me, their presence just as comforting as Yunho’s.
“How bad is it?” Yunho asked.
“Her hand and up the length of her forearm. I had to cauterize the wound to stop the bleeding.”
Seonghwa. I would’ve reached for him if I could. But the most I could muster was tilting my head in his direction. The motion was all he needed to know what I wanted, his hand finding my cheek to cup it gently.
“I’ll need to undress it. Hold her.”
I was once again in Seonghwa’s arms. Tucking me close as Yunho’s hands gently set to work on the ripped fabric of Seonghwa’s shirt he had used to wrap it up. The warmth from the now set fire serving as a good distraction from what he was doing as I soaked in as much as I could. I was also thankful for the light it gave. For the first time I could see everybody somewhat clearly. Wooyoung’s worried gaze threatening to tear my heart apart just as much as the one I had seen earlier on Seonghwa. I attempted a small smile, not sure how successful I was, but everything was hard for me right now.
“Woo…”
The sound of his name called to him. He kneeled next to my head, burying his fingers into my hair as he looked down at me. A sad excuse for a smile barely lifting one corner of his lips. About as convincing as I’m sure mine was.
“This just won’t do kitten. I leave you alone for a few days and you get yourself hurt.”
“Just keeping you on your toes.”
He let out a breathless huff of a laugh.
“At this rate I’ll never be able to leave you.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
He shook his head, amusement slowly draining out of his expression as he finally saw what was underneath the bandage.
“Fuck.” Yunho cursed lowly, if it hadn’t been so quiet, I probably wouldn’t have heard it.
San finally appeared. Taking his place between Wooyoung and Yunho, the look of concern seeming to be the expression of the day as he stared down at me.
“Can you do it?” He directed the question to Yunho.
“I may not be able to prevent scarring, but I can at least repair everything and close it.”
“Do what you can.” Seonghwa nodded solemnly, eyes trained away from my injury as if he couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. “Anything is better than the state she’s in now.”
I wanted to watch, but I was also too afraid to look. One thing I remembered vividly was the way my hand and arm looked back at the castle. Even soaked in blood, the visual was gut-wrenching. So, I turned away, my body tense as I anticipated whatever Yunho would do. Wooyoung rubbed my head comfortingly as San shifted closer, effectively blocking my view.
“It’s alright Y/N. It doesn’t hurt.” San promised.
He was right. Yunho’s touch didn’t hurt, but the feeling was still strange. Tingles erupted where his hands laid, slowly spreading the length of my arm to my fingers and up to my shoulder. I could the muscles contracting in short bursts of spasms until all at once it stopped and there was nothing. It felt like I was weightless. My body floating while I sunk into that relief of not feeling anything at all. Except for where Yunho still held my arm. His touch grounded me. Almost as if that was the only thing keeping me here anymore. The sensations around me faded and while I could still see everyone around me, I couldn’t feel or hear them.
And as quick it had taken over me, it was gone. I was thrust back into my body. Sounds, touch, warmth, and emotions flooding in all at once leaving me gasping for air as I jolted in Seonghwa’s hold. Hands grabbed my shoulders, keeping me in place.
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Wooyoung comforted me.
It took me several minutes to catch my bearings. The experience leaving me confused and the reintroduction of everything that had been temporarily muted overwhelming. But there was no pain, and my discomfort was gone. The cold was still there though. Now that my injury was healed, my body shunt it’s action into regulating everything else once again. And the cold seeping into my bones was at the top of that list as I began shivering.
“She needs to be closer to the fire and out of her clothes.” Yunho ordered, shrugging his coat off his shoulders.
My teeth were chattering so hard I couldn’t even force words of protest out as Wooyoung and Seonghwa pulled my nightgown over my head. Before I could even think of being embarrassed, I was snugly wrapped in Yunho’s coat, the man himself taking care to button it up appropriately.
“Give her to me.” Wooyoung held his arms out for me as he sat as close to the fire as he could.
Seonghwa hesitated. His hold tightening as if he were worried Wooyoung would forcibly remove me himself. The younger man sighed, motioning impatiently.
“She’s cold and your clothes are still soaked. I’ll be able to warm her up faster.”
“Hwa, come help me.” Yunho called him over.
Letting out a low grumble of discontent, Seonghwa reluctantly let me go. The chill in the air sending me into another round of violent shivers as I lunged into Wooyoung’s embrace. I snuggled into him, tucking my bare feet under one of his legs as I tried to absorb as much warmth as I could. The fire helped, the heat hard at work trying to thaw me out. Wooyoung laid his cheek on top of my head, looking to the other three as San made it back with several more large pieces of wood.
“We have no provisions and she’s in no condition to travel for the rest of the night. Two of us need to go get some food and water and blankets and find her some clothes.”
I moved my head just enough to peek at them over the flames of the fire. San and Seonghwa were watching me silently, Yunho glanced briefly at me before looking back at the other two for an answer.
“I’ll go.” Seonghwa sighed.
Yunho nodded once. “Merene castle is closer. We’ll head there. San, keep the fire burning. Watch over her until we get back.”
I felt Wooyoung acknowledge Yunho’s words with a subtle nod.
“No. Don’t go.” I whimpered.
Wooyoung’s arms tightened around me, preventing me from moving away from him. Exhaustion was the only thing fighting me at this point, my entire being protesting even as I tried to sit up. Yunho was quick to round the small fire towards Wooyoung and I. He crouched next to us, his large hand settling on my head as he smiled softly.
“We have to. You need clothes and food for when you wake up. We’ll be back soon, I promise. Be good and get some sleep until we return.”
The last thing I wanted any of them to do was leave. He was right though. I was fighting the inevitable. My body nearly on the verge of collapse as I slumped against Wooyoung as Yunho ran his fingers through my hair. He was acutely aware of the effect he had on me, the lazy passes of his caresses continuing and nearly putting me to sleep. I mourned the loss of them as he pulled away, opting to lay a kiss against my temple before standing up to leave. Wooyoung was quick to distract me. Fingers resuming the same slow pattern through my hair. He laid us down, maneuvering me into his side so he could curl around me and lay my head on his shoulder. I could hear San bidding goodbye to the other two before he joined us. Taking a seat near my feet so he could pull them into his lap to keep them warm. The ground was uncomfortable, but I couldn’t care less. I was ready for sleep and the sooner I could get there, the sooner my other mates would be back and the sooner I could go back home.
Chapter 35》
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I fantasize with being part of a group that worships some entity. Like a forest sprite or a feral looking nature god.
Being one of the volunteers to participate in a ritual where the cult pleases said god in exchange for his blessings. Being all prettied up in a light gown and having simple but beautiful decorations as part of the ceremonial attire. Being led to the beast's chambers where he awaits, laying down luxuriously on bedding that accomodates his huge figure, with an array of other magical smaller creatures that serve him and wait for the ritual to begin. Having all other humans leave and approaching, nervous but excited, when he beckons me.
The only instructions for most of the ritual are just to keep still and enjoy their guidance, so when the servants approach eagerly, I would extend my arms to let them disrobe me, feeling the appreciative stare of the god as they do so. Hands suddenly all over me, preparing me for the nature god, different creatures caressing my chest, between my legs, getting me wet and heated and needy, until I'm led to lie down on the comfortable bedding too.
My legs pulled apart by two of the assistants for the nature god to direct his lustful gaze at. Hovering between then and it's hard not to tremble in anticipation. Another assistant takes a cue from the god and spreads my folds wide open, tasked to present my core to him. And he accepts it with delight, tasting me at last. My arms want to fly to my mouth to muffle my sounds but the servants hold them down to prevent just that so that the nature god can hear me. And when his tongue dips inside me, thick and wet, I'm already pushed over the edge, coming hard, but the god is greedy and I feel more hands touching my chest, rubbing against my clit, and my cries go higher in pitch, overstimulated but loving every second of it.
With a pleased rumble the beast then would roll on his back, and the only moments to breathe would be those it takes to reposition me on top him, my entrance just aligned with his throbbing cock. I can see him looking at me content and fond but nowhere near satisfied. Hands from the magical servants still hold me tight, no control on my part on when I get to lower myself and have him enter me. And I'm good and obey the rules of the ritual but my legs tremble as the moment his tongue left me, I feel needy and empty, and fuck perhaps his saliva is an aphrodisiac because despite the overestim from before my insides are on fire and I need more. And finally the hands that hold me lower me slooowly, so that I can feel every inch of the god as it stretches me to my limits and it feels like I can't breath from how good it feels. And I know the pace that follows it's one he controls, the look on his face tells me this, as he smirks at the sight of me losing my mind in pleasure as I'm bounced continually on him. And we're both lost in ecstasy without any of us moving a muscle for it.
But as his panting becomes ragged and his eyes darken into something feral and hungry, the servants know playtime is over, and swiftly move me once more. Face down and hips in the air, where they hold me as their leader takes me from behind. Thoroughly stretched his thrusts send any thoughts flying out of my mind, my whole body shaking, feeling him slam into me, deep, hard, demanding, making me orgasm, multiple hands once again touching where they can, extending my pleasure and sending me right into another orgasm. I come twice more until he suddenly stills, hitting the deepest part of me and reaches his own peak. Searing hot seed fills me, overflows, drips down my legs, makes me come with a scream, as the vibration of his growl shoots through me. I'm left panting, breathless. The servants retire and I'm left alone with him. The beast turns me over, and sets to clean me himself, dragging his tongue between my legs with utmost care, even if it provokes little aftershocks from how sensitive I am. He tells me I did a good job and that I should rest.
After all, it's just day one of the ritual.
.
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moonie-moon-o7 · 1 month
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Whitebeard Pirates Incorrect Quotes
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Ace: Hi, I'm Ace, and only you can prevent forest fires... seriously, it has to be you. I'm sure as hell not gonna do it.
You: I need a long word. Ace: T-rex but the long one.
Marco: Where are your parents? You: What are parents? Tatch: That’s just about the saddest thing I've ever heard.
Tatch: It’s Pride Month, you know what that means! Ace: I get to eat as many Skittles as I want? Tatch: What? No! What has the rookie been telling you? You, walking in, pouring Skittles into your mouth: Taste the rainbow, bitch.
Ace: How long do you reckon it’ll be until the rookie finally snaps and commits murder? Marco: I’ve been going through life assuming it’s already happened at some point and it’s just that no one was ever able to trace it back to them.
Tatch: WHO ATE MY BREAD?! Tatch: I'M GOING TO FUCKING K- You: I did? Tatch: Kiss you and buy some more, you haven't been eating anything today Kid. Tatch: *walks away* You: You: He's gone Ace. Ace, coming out the closet with bread stuffed in his mouth: Twankh uh!
You: If you aren't someone the church wanted dead 300 years ago, are you really living?
Marco: I think you're still suffering the effects of your party last night. You: All I drank were Redbulls! Marco: How many? You: Eighteen.
You: I wanna sleep for 40 hours. Marco: You know that's called a coma, right? You: You: That sounds so refreshing, I could totally go for a light coma right now.
Tatch: What do we say when life disappoints us? You: Called it! Izou: No.
Tatch: Hey, You? I need advice. You: I’m pretty useless at giving advice. Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment instead?
Teach: Go to hell! You: Where do you think I come from?
You: If I die, you can have what little I own. Izou: Wait. What do you mean "if" you die? You: My unending existence is fuelled by pure spite, that of which the painful experiences of life have rendered me full. Marco: Marco: *Sighs* Let me call your therapist again.
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scribefindegil · 1 year
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[Image ID: A page from the Reigen manga. Panel 1: Reigen stands in a forest looking exhausted. He says, “At least I bought bug spray this time . . .” Panel 2: He sprays himself down. Panel 3: A closeup of his face. He’s dripping with sweat and his eyes are sunken. He says, “Preparations complete.” Panel 4: Reigen loosens his tie as he staggers towards the viewer. His face is sweaty and he has a haggard expression. He says, “All right then . . .” End ID.]
Okay listen it’s been a month since i read this and i CANNOT stop thinking about “At least I bought bug spray this time. . .” It’s just. It’s so Reigen.
This man is dying. He is being eaten alive by a curse that will kill him in less than 3 hours--probably closer to 2 by this point because this place is pretty far outside of Seasoning City. Since Serizawa couldn’t destroy the curse, he knows that Mob is the only person who could get rid of it--and he doesn’t think that he’ll get there in time, if he comes at all. Reigen’s last-ditch plan is to try to trudge into the most haunted forbidden evil woods he knows about in the hope that he can make the curse that’s killing him fight a different, worse curse, and if that doesn’t work at least he’ll die in a place far away from other people and the curse will be prevented from victimizing anyone else.
And what does he say when he arrives at the Evil Death Woods? “At least I brought bug spray.”
One of the things that makes Reigen’s character work is that he is Just Some Guy. A deeply bewildering, paradoxical guy who lies for a living, but still just a guy. Different characters in MP100 are trying to exist in slightly different genres, and for all his absurdity Reigen is the character who is the most grounded in the real world. He worries about his fire insurance during a psychic terrorist attack. He’s the one who goes “Hey, this is illegal?” and “Kids should not be dealing with this” and “You’re supposed to be adults, what is your PROBLEM?” when he’s introduced to the shonen-anime-villain Scars.
And he’s the sort of person who thinks, yeah, dying of a horrible curse in the woods would be bad, but you know what would be worse? That and bug bites. And he’s not . . . wrong, but it’s not something that anyone else in the series is going to think of. It’s such a normal worry in such an abnormal situation. It’s so grounded.
And it’s also . . . weirdly hopeful? I feel like a lot of people talk about this part of the manga like Reigen’s given up and is just marching to his death, but he really isn’t. Yes, he was willing to take on the curse to save Tome, and he’s well aware that he might die, but he’s still trying to get out of it with everything he’s got. He doesn’t have powers, but he’s really clever! He goes into a place with a time distortion effect in the hope that it will buy him more time! He manipulates the curse into turning around so that it gets attacked by the Mimic spirit but he doesn’t! If it had been a more even match between them like he’d hoped, he might have been able to get out of the woods even without Mob coming to save him.
He’s aware of the danger and how much the odds are stacked against him, but he hasn’t given up! And the bug spray feels indicative of this. He thinks he might succeed in getting rid of the curse. He thinks he might need to get out of the woods on his own. And if that happens, he’s going to be so happy about not getting covered in bug bites this time.
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Half the land earmarked for regeneration by the 34-country African Forest Landscape Restoration Initiative (AFR100) is in savannah or other non-woodland areas, says a paper published in Science on Thursday.
[...]
“There is a vast area of non-forest across Africa that is earmarked for restoration, principally through tree planting,” said Catherine Parr, a co-author of the paper and an ecologist at Liverpool, Pretoria and Witwatersrand universities. “The focus solely on forests and trees is highly problematic for these non-forest systems.” The AFR100 project seeks to restore at least 100mn hectares of degraded land — an area the size of Egypt — in Africa by 2030, with big plans in countries including Cameroon, Ethiopia, Mali and Sudan. The initiative’s backers include the German government, the World Bank and the non-profit World Resources Institute. But about half of the approximately 130mn hectares that African countries have committed to restore through AFR100 is earmarked for non-forest ecosystems, principally savannahs and grasslands, according to the paper.
[...]
The dispute over the research highlights growing friction over pledges by philanthropists and corporate leaders to plant a trillion trees worldwide. These ambitious plans face obstacles including potential shortages of available land suitable for planting. Other questions concern how effective newly planted trees are at locking in significant amounts of carbon dioxide — and how vulnerable they are to risks such as forest fires. “There’s such a big focus at international level on deforestation, but the level of sophistication and understanding about ecosystems writ large is really low,” said Alex Reid, a policy adviser on nature and finance at Global Witness, a non-profit group.  Some scientists and conservationists argue that it is better to focus on preventing deforestation, by creating incentives to retain woodland areas. Greenhouse gases released by deforestation make up about 11 per cent of global emissions, according to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. 
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