Seven Devils Logs

"SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES."

January 2021

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Posts Tagged: 'ronan+o%27leary'

Sep. 11th, 2020


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THIS PLACE IS GOIN' UP | CZERNABOG PLOT


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RONAN O'LEARY + PRAIRIE ESLEY
A WARRIOR IN HIS GLORY
September 11th | Downtown | PG13 for language
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Ronan had been minding his own at the bar (which was candle lit, if you care for that sort of thing) when the commotion outside started and a scared, injured fellow stumbled in. At first the Fae just watched, smirking from behind his glass of whiskey as he listened to the man’s tale and side-glanced the actively bleeding scratch marks on his arm.

It wasn’t until the bartender kicked him out to close up, that he begrudgingly looked at the situation differently. Maybe these creatures would do a great deal of harm if left unchecked. Maybe these creatures were just the foot soldiers of something bigger. Now that was who Ronan wanted to fucking fight - whatever fire and brimstone bastard called these things its minions.

He’d settle for beating the shit outta the shadow creatures for a while until he found their Master, though.

Stepping outside, he was quickly surrounded by the black shadow creatures before he even reached the road. “So is this what it is then?” he slurred plainly, almost sounding unimpressed. “I suppose it’s a nice parlour trick,” the tree Fae said with a small shrug, tossing his lit cigarette into the trash bin nearby.

As he clashed with the first two creatures, he laughed - enjoying it all far too much as a fire started to grow in the bin. The light allowing him to see his opponents better.

Come on!” he shouted in his native tongue, holding his arms out, wide open and inviting for attack. His eyes burned with a dangerous golden hue - standing a few feet taller than he normally did, looking a bit more sturdier. Admittedly.. It had been a long ass time since he’d seen actual battle of any sort, and while this wasn’t quite so - it was still close enough to get a rise out of him and get that warrior blood pumping. In all the excitement of a damn good fight against another supernatural species, his true Fae form came through. Out of his right hand, a long wooden spear seemed to grow out of nowhere as he readied to throw it at whatever stirred from the darkness.

Aug. 17th, 2020


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a little souvenir, can I steal it from you?


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RONAN O'LEARY + NATYA ILANOV
don't be afraid to catch feels
August 15th - late evening | Natya's place | PG13
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The towering tree Fae no longer needed to be let into Natya’s apartment. She had her magic all over the door but he was no longer a person (or Fae) of interest that needed to be kept out. That and he knew where she kept the spare key. Slipping inside as quietly as he could, Ronan quickly found his way to the shower and helped himself. That way he didn’t have to hear the witch bark at him about getting everything dirty.

It was a small step toward being more considerate.

When he was done he pulled on a tank top and boxers he’d left behind. Looking at himself in the mirror; the image of his full human glamour looking back. His hair was less fiery red, more.. auburn brown, and no longer wildly “styled”. Instead, it was trimmed and neat, much like his beard. Ronan grumbled. His beard was the worst part. It was pathetic in comparison to his more Fae-friendly look. He had needed to use his magic to change his appearance and blend in more — to avoid the authorities, of course. A bar fight had gone a little too far and well, tables had been broken and maybe a leg as well.

It’d all wear off in a few hours, thankfully.

Grabbing the blue robe he’d stolen from Nat’s neighbor, he pulled it on before opening the bathroom door and wandering out.




It wasn’t unusual at this point for her magic to tell her that Ronan was in her apartment before she got there. His emotions were usually a jumbled mess that she blocked out -fae, she figured it was just what happened with fae emotions- but she could usually tell when he was at her place.

Which was more often than not, if she were honest, and not something she minded too much.

She’d stoked more food because he was there so often, she bought toiletries he’d probably prefer, eco-friendly, woody scents, the shower gel in a can that came out in a lather. She bought bigger towels and extra toothbrushes and basically accepted that she had a roommate that didn’t pay rent.

The shower was running when she locked up the doors, pulling off her boots and dropping her keys and wallet on the desk by the door. Work hadn’t been busy or too annoying that she was in desperate need of a shower, so she’d worry about that in the morning. Stripping off her clothes to pull on her threadbare shorts and an oversized, well worn t-shirt.

By the time the shower was off, Natya was in the small kitchenette, throwing a micro-meal into the microwave before glancing up and-- “Jesus fuck, what is this sorcery?”




When his gaze settled on the petite witch he grinned softly; before rolling his eyes somewhat at her reaction. “Had to go full fuckin’ glamour to avoid the cops,” Ronan answered with a shrug, as if it weren’t a big deal. As he walked over to snatch the meal box, looking it over, he scrunched his face up in suspicion. “It’ll wear off in a few hours.”

As he crossed the small kitchenette his hand moved so he could pinch the left cheek of her ass in passing. “And no I didn’t kill anyone,” the Fae added in afterthought, opening the fridge and taking the milk out. He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig straight from the container, trying to ignore just how domestic the both of them looked.

“Easy night? You’re home kind of early,” he noted, glancing at the clock as he lowered the milk jug.




She should’ve been annoyed. It should’ve bugged her, but she was already getting the second meal out to throw in the microwave now. Like it had been the plan all along. She didn’t even care that he was drinking out of the carton, gross as it was. She was too busy cataloguing this look.

Realistically she knew that he was like, half glamoured. He was fae. He was still distinctly not average at the best of times, but she hadn’t really considered a more human appearance. That he pulled it out so that he could hide from the cops? Not out of character.

The tidy beard, the fact that he was still broad in the shoulder, still tall and bulky. It made sense. “Yeah, well, when there’s not someone sitting around causing trouble we get a lot more done.” That and it wasn’t a busy night, students didn’t come out until Thursday at least. Even with college classing wrapping up, some of them stuck to their usual -cheaper drinks.

Hopping up on the counter, settling against the tiles on her thighs, Natya just grabbed her own meal when it dinged. “So, you didn’t kill anyone, did you maim someone? Need an alibi for when you don’t look like off duty Jason Bourne?”




When there’s not someone sitting around causing trouble — Ronan grinned again and raised both eyebrows as if to say oh really? To be honest he excelled at causing trouble for others. Typically, it was ~mostly harmless~ save for the frequent brawling. But all that trouble and trickery was just his Fae nature. And spoiled upbringing of getting away with it.

For Natya, though, it was a bit more personal. He enjoyed being around the witch, and seeing her temper flare. It was slightly alarming at times how evenly matched they were - a thought that had crossed his mind more lately. Ronan was a lot to deal with, even on a good day, and she took it all in stride. More importantly, she gave him shit in return and wasn’t afraid to stand up to him. “Boring night, then. Makes sense,” he commented, finally putting the milk back.

He watched her hop onto the counter, causing him to pause and blatantly eye her up for a moment. “A little,” the Fae admitted with another shrug. It wasn’t like the guy hadn’t asked for it. “Who the fuck is Jason Bourne?” he asked, going to grab two forks from the drawer without a second thought.

Ronan took the second meal and tossed it, gently, in the microwave. (And this time out of the box — lesson learned, there.) But he paused, looking over at her because he still had no idea how to work the microwave properly and either under or over cooked things. There was no happy medium. Much like with everything regarding Ronan.




Truth be told, he kept things interesting. She wouldn’t voice it, tell him that she liked when he bothered her at work, kept things from being terribly monotonous, because that would only encourage him and she wasn’t about to inflict that on anyone.

It was probably a little more than that; he practically stayed with her, more than just booty calls and hookups now, more than just the fact that he seemed so maladjusted to the human world that he barely understood soap. He spent a fair amount of time roaming around her apartment, even when she wasn’t there, and she didn’t mind in the least. It was just… a thing that he did.

“He’s a badass agent who basically kicks ass across the globe, but the point is he can curb stomp fifty men without breaking a sweat.” And yes, Natya was aware that Ronan didn’t look that much like Matt Damon, but frankly, she could make up her own Jason Bourne, thank you.

“How do you maim someone a little?” The violence should be off putting, the temper and the outbursts. Half the time she found it amusing, the other half it was hot. Somewhere along the line she wasn’t even remotely worried it would ever be directed at her, even with him finding out a witch bound his power.

It was far too introspective for this late at night.




His interest was clearly hooked with her description of this Jason Bourne. “Sounds like a decent guy,” Ronan insisted - making a note to try and search for it on the TV at some point. Maybe. He tried not to get sucked into too much television as a general rule. He’d rather be outside or doing something with his hands. Grave digging kept him busy, and furthermore there wasn’t anyone to bother him.

As far as jobs went he didn’t mind it.

Ronan randomly pressed a number on the microwave and hoped for the best. At least with hanging out in the kitchenette, he’d be able to smell if the meal was burning this time. Y’know, before the flames started.

At her question he moved to stand in front of her, even with Natya sitting on the counter he still stood a couple inches above her. Leaning forward, he rested his hands somewhat innocently on her thighs. “With panache,” he told her with a mischievous smirk. Ronan, of course, didn’t even suffer a bruise from the fight. Since finding Maggie his abilities were stronger and his luck having returned almost.

“I could teach you sometime?” Ronan offered jokingly. There wasn’t really anything to teach. That and he didn’t really worry about her safety or ability to defend herself. Not because he didn’t care. But because he knew better than to assume she was helpless simply because he hadn’t witnessed her full witchy powers.




A glance at the display told her that he wasn’t about to almost burn down the kitchen, again, so Natya just left it. She’d figure out if the Bourne movies were on Netflix later, since she highly doubted he’d sit still long enough to read the novels, no point in buying those when he probably wouldn’t bother.

Her bare feet hooked around his calves, brushing up as she leaned forwards just a little, not shifting his hands from her legs but appreciating the corded strength in his legs still. “Isn’t everything with panache with you?” It was lightly teasing, a small mock, because he was dramatic. Sometimes it was like a temper tantrum, but she was aware that he mostly just got in people’s faces for the fun of it.

Standing at barely five-foot-four, Natya wasn’t imposing at all. She was all angles and bones too, petite in the most literal sense of it. Sure, she could probably brawl if she needed to, but why would she need to? Raising an eyebrow, with a smirk pulling at the corner of her lip, Natya raised a hand to Ronan’s shoulder, flicking a finger to pull a towel across the room to thwap the back of his head.

“I only get physical with people I like.” Sure, it wasn’t like she could move a lot with her telekinesis, but it was usually enough to freak anyone and let her cast an enchantment.




Christ,” he hissed under his breath as her cold feet touched his bare skin. “Gotta keep things interesting,” Ronan insisted finally, fully aware that -at times- he could be a bit extra.

The towel hitting the back of his head caused his shoulders to hunch up lightly and blink, notably taken off guard by the little trick. Ronan narrowed his eyes and tightened his jaw, trying to look intimidating though there wasn’t any true malice for her behind it. “Tryin’ to pick a fight are ya?” he countered, his hands moving to just above the bend in her knees to squeeze lightly - enough to make her practically bounce off the counter by reflex alone.

With a pleased grin, he pressed a surprisingly tender kiss to her forehead. Two months ago his challenge would have resulted in him manhandling her and tossing her onto the bed.

There was a time where he snubbed his nose at witches. And honestly were it not for the free drinks and sex, Ronan probably would have still held such prejudices for the general populace but Natya had softened him up enough that he didn’t completely shut others out. And now he was practically living with a witch - falling into habits, growing attached to more than just the sway of her hips.




It certainly wasn’t what Natya had expected from things; a few tumbles in the sheets, an ally if needed, some comedy here and there. Getting to the point where she stocked up on supplies for Ronan as much as for herself hadn’t exactly been the plan in the least. But she didn’t hate it.

The laugh that was almost knocked out of her when he grabbed at her knees, her heels kicking a little at Ronan’s legs as she jumped a little and used his chest to brace, “Knock it off, before I brain myself.” The brief and soft affections were somewhat new, and still not bad.

She was aware that somewhere along the line ‘fuck buddy’ had slid towards ‘boyfriend’ and she had neither paid attention nor had she stopped it from happening. “Maybe we can fight later, when we have the energy to spare.” Without clothes. It was easier to throw in some innuendo than address the smooshy moments and feelings.




Were he to actually be confronted with even the notion of feelings, Ronan would have abrasively denied them. Depending on who they came from and how seemingly damning the accusations were to his ego. In truth, the last relationship he had was with the Unseelie Fae he had fallen for and almost started a war over. The only difference now was that Natya wasn’t arranged to be married to another. There was still an unspoken amount of danger in it for her, though - which Ronan also chose to blatantly ignore simply for the fact that he would raise every layer of Hell upon anyone who tried to bring harm to the witch.

It was a startling, sober thought, that caused him to back the fuck out of his own mind. Luckily enough, the microwave beeped steadily as it stopped.

His eyebrows shot up in a somewhat-jokingly offended manner. “Maybe,” he repeated in a mocking tone. Ronan reached for her legs to unhook them from his body and stepped to the side to get his food out. “Maybe I’ll use all your gel stuff to make a foamy sculpture on the shower wall tomorrow,” the towering Fae said under his breath with a shrug as he leaned back against the counter next to her, plucking the extra fork and jabbing it into his meal like a child who’d just had his favorite toy revoked or had run out of time for video games.




It was shockingly domestic. Or at least what Natya assumed domestic was meant to look like at least, which did mostly come from television shows, sure, but that was what those people had experienced too, she was sure. Given how often she’d moved around, and how disposable partners were to her mother, Natya hadn’t really seen a nuclear family anywhere but on television.

Even just consuming micromeals at ass o’clock in the morning felt okay.

“Maybe I’ll start watering down your drinks.” The tease was somewhat diminished by the grin on Natya’s face, still amused at the way Ronan reacted to her non-threats. “Or actually making you pay for them?” Idle threats, again, but still humorous to her.




A couple months ago their “normal” looked much different. More screaming, more sweat, and way more nudity. But he’d be lying if this didn’t seem suddenly normal to him, as well. A different sort of intimacy, some might call it.

“You do either of those things and I’ll go and sell all your fuckin’ jewelry and little fancy fuckin’ pebbles you got lyin’ around,” he said around a mouthful of food, waving his fork at her. Crystals. He meant the crystals - but to him they were basically just fancy rocks. He would do such a thing, too. Not to her, mostly likely, but anyone else he would pawn that shit off in a heartbeat for drinking money.




Natya didn’t stifle the snort, Ronan’s threat of selling her stuff sort of falling flat given how long he’d been here and how often he could’ve done exactly that. Not that her stuff was terribly expensive in the long run, but she wasn’t bringing that up.

“Consider me suitable chided.” She rolled her eyes at him, leaning sideways to open a cabinet to pull out a bottle of soda, because alcohol right now would probably put her to sleep, and it was all the way on the other side of the kitchen. “Honestly I’d hate to see the idiot who watered down your drink.” It was basically sacrilege, and the idiot who did try would likely be murdered on the spot.

“Then I really would need to hide you from the sheriff.”




Ronan quickly ate a few more bites while she got a soda for herself. Freeing up a hand, he took the bottle from her only to pop the cap off on the edge of the counter - handing it back. He would have stolen a sip but soda was disgusting unless it was 2% in alcohol.

“Been doing good with that actually,” he told her around another bite of food, his fork less accusing but still waggled in the air in her direction. “Havin’ Maggie around is like being my old self again,” Ronan insisted, his tone becoming a little more upbeat. The blonde witch just had to stay in town and basically follow him wherever he wanted to go and things would be fine. Least that’s what he told himself. “Now it’s a lot easier to avoid the cops when I’m not getting my jacket stuck in a car door, or falling in a fucking manhole.” True stories, both instances.

“Plus I can do this now,” the Fae said, motioning to his very normal looking face. His hair had a tinge more red hue to it, but it’d still be hours before his glamour fully wore off. Practically done with his meal, he used the moment of distraction to steal a bite of hers.




It was fairly clear that Ronan had calmed slightly since they’d first met and he’d been aggressive about literally everything -being cut off from your magic would be a decent reason for that, Natya knew she’d be a grump if she hadn’t had access to hers. Even if he was still headstrong and reckless at times, case in point, glamouring himself so that he could elude the cops.

Taking some soda, since he’d so kindly opened it for her, Natya actually paid attention to how things were going with the whole ‘bound magic’ thing. She didn’t know Maggie that well, other than through the witch community and seeing her at Temptation, but she had a feeling that with Ronan calming his shit a bit, she’d be far more receptive to what he needed to be able to gain some of his power.

“Some glamouring and not falling in open manholes are definitely moving in a good direction.” Which undoubtedly was a bonus. Finishing her dinner, Natya slid the dish to the sink with the cutlery, resting her hands on the edge of the counter while she watched Ronan.

“I kinda like this look.” She considered his face, the more subdued hue of his hair, the beard looking a bit more tidy, the vibe of above average guy, rather than built like a brick giant. “I mean, obviously I rather enjoy the other look too, but this one… I dig it.”




He stayed quiet, on purpose, as she commented about the glamour. Were he even younger and relatively new to the Mortal realm he might’ve taken more offense to it, but he still relatively looked like himself. Another forkful and he was done, reaching over with ease to set his dish on top of Natya’s.

“You like ‘em plain and boring, huh?” he asked teasingly with his best American sounding accent and a face that displayed his exaggerated disapproval and judgement. One hand hooked under one of her knees while the other wrapped around her waist - scooping her up off the counter to straddle his hips.

Ronan walked over to the couch with her instead of the bedroom, and eased down to sit. “Should I start drinking light beers and fall asleep right after sex?” the Fae joked with a snorting laughter. He still fell asleep, but only after a few rounds between the sheets.




By this point it was second nature to trust in Ronan’s strength to keep her up. Figuring it out the first time, that she didn’t need to struggle to brace herself, hold on too hard, because he could quite easily support her entire weight was pretty damn hot, it still got her a little steamy knowing that she could just clench her knees on his hips and drape her arms over his shoulders and trust that he wouldn’t drop her.

“Even if you were entirely human, I doubt you’d be boring.” Her fingers toyed at the back of his hair, feeling the different between the wild red of his own hair and the controlled style of this auburn. It wasn’t even that drastic a change, she could still make out a lot of the similar features, he just looked less like he could literally kill a man with one punch.

“Although, maybe a little boring now and then would keep things interesting.” It was hardly like it would be boring, Natya knew there wasn’t a chance that he’d adopt a full time human variation, even if he didn’t think it was laughable. But she settled happily in his lap, knees digging into the cushions on either side of his thighs while she sat back a little, braced on Ronan’s knees, inspecting the human-esque physique. “Besides, you still have a gym bod, that’s hardly bud-lite and chill.” The tank top might be a little different from usual, but it wasn’t hiding anything either. “But does this mean you don’t have your usual stamina?”




“I’d probably fucking feel bored,” he replied - realizing that punches would feel different, he’d get tired a lot more, he’d need to eat differently and actually work out more regularly. “Should see me in my true form,” Ronan told her, waggling his eyebrows at her even though in his Fae form he basically looked like a glorified tree.

His hands held her waist briefly as she settled before running down the length of her thighs and resting. Nat’s question warranted a curiously quirked brow in her direction. The answer was yes, of course, he was still built and still a Fae - but he managed to keep from smirking enough to play the oblivious card. “Not fuckin’ sure,” he insisted. “Think we’ll have to test it out..” he trailed off, his gaze flickering down over the petite curves of her body appreciatively.

“Oh that’s right…” he drawled quietly, his hands stopping as they had begun moving up her legs. “Maybe.” Ronan reminded her, removing his hands from her legs and holding them up in the air - a mischievous glint in his eyes that made it obvious he wasn’t truly salty about the statement just minutes ago. Okay, maybe a little, but he was mostly teasing.




Given his in-between form, the one she was most used to, she could imagine that the Fae form, fully Fae, was breathtakingly intimidating. Natya could wait for that to be an option, really, especially since he looked so damn smug.

The teasing about her earlier comment, about maybe. Like it was every a maybe.

Pushing up on her knees, dragging her nails down from Ronan’s shoulders over his chest, she leaned in to whisper against his ear, “You know, I don’t really need you to participate,” although she made a point in pressing close, grinding down against his lap just to make the point before she gave his earlobe a quick nip and pushed to her feet. “If you’re feeling too tired, and boring, I can amuse myself.”

She’d place money on him following her to the bedroom as she sauntered away. Because whatever tangled up feelings she might be having, it wasn’t like she had any doubts when it came to their bedroom activities.


Jul. 4th, 2020


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bandages


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RONAN O'LEARY AND PRAIRIE ESLEY
getting patched up by your favorite nurse who also hits you a lot
JULY 2nd - midnight-ish | St. Augustine ER | PG-13
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Thankfully it hadn’t been a night he took Adria out with him, because he was quick to get into trouble. And The Lookout was no place for her really, or him for that matter. Hunters were always good for a fight, even if it did take two of them to get the better of the large Seelie Fae.

He was finally escorted to one of the ER rooms by a tiny girl who seemed more scared of his injuries than him. “I’m fine, just here for some cleanup,” Ronan insisted, sitting on the edge of the bed - because when he stretched out on it his feet hung off the end. “Is Prairie working? She’s a friend,” he insisted. The girl seemed all too happy to quickly leave, he assumed to go and get the other Fae.

The alcohol running through his veins was numbing the pain, and at least his face wasn’t gushing blood anymore. The towel they’d given him in the waiting room had collected most of the blood that hadn’t run down the front of him. His eyebrow was busted open, a cut on the opposite cheek, and he was pretty sure his nose was broken.

“Miss me?” Ronan flashed the familiar Fae a big bloody grin as she walked in.




It had been a slow night in the Pit, not that Prairie would voice that observation whilst she was in a relatively good mood. The last time she said such a thing she was met with a myriad of gasps, glares, and berating words. Humans possessed the weirdest superstitions and she wouldn’t have any of them spoiling her sparkly demeanor tonight.

She didn’t know the secret to flipping the switch on her moods, but she figured avoiding annoyances from mundanes was probably a good preventative measure.

When the wide-eyed girl- who was surprisingly taller than Prairie’s glamour- came to fetch her and described the man that requested her by name, a slow smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. Finally some fun.

Making her way to his assigned room, one hand reached up to rest on the door facing while the other settled on her hip. “Like an idiot misses the point,” she mused- undeterred by that bloody grin and arching an eyebrow at his slew of injuries.




Ronan couldn’t help but give her a Look as if to say come on, you know you did.

“Seemed to have walked right into one of those damn door frames,” he began to lie - a white lie, of course, and a horrible one at that. “They make them too bloody low here.” Which wasn’t a false statement. He didn’t understand why most ceilings were as low as they were, and why things weren’t more grandeur in general.

Then again he was a spoiled Prince, once. And he refused to adjust his glamour to conform to the social normals of the mortal realm.

Holding his arms open wide as if wanting a hug, with semi-fresh blood all down the front of him, he gave her another smile. “Work that beautiful magic of yours,” he insisted, expecting to be patched up quick and sent on his way. He could still make it to a bar before last call, probably.




Rolling her eyes in defeat at that look Ronan gave her- because maybe she missed him a little- Prairie finally shut the door behind her and made her way into the small room as he rambled on about the door frame that broke his face. Yeah no. She wasn’t buying it.

“Pfft, everything is too bloody tall,” she countered. The younger fae knew she could fix that with a change to her glamour, but suddenly changing after ten years? No thanks. Besides, she was quite fond of this look. It was probably her all time favorite. “Tell me about this wicked door that attacked you. Did it survive?”

Grinning, because she knew damn well he didn’t actually want a hug, she gave him one anyway. Because the blood certainly didn’t bother her and well? She was a brat. Moving to wash her hands directly after, as if she were scrubbing in for surgery, she turned to wiggle her fingers at him. “What is on the menu this time, hmmm? Traditional medicine or the good stuff?”




“Barely,” he answered her question about the door — which was an exaggeration, and also him referring to the men he’d left beaten and battered.

As she moved in to call his bluff and do just as he’d offered, he rolled his eyes lightly. Letting out a huff of a sigh, Ronan briefly returned the hug. It was nice, for what it was worth, and Prairie had never fallen out of favor with him in the slightest. “This is happening far too fuckin’ much,” he commented, recalling all the hugs he’d gotten from Adria. Though in the wee one’s defense he did win her a stuffed unicorn.

“Whichever will get me back to the bar before it closes,” he told her with a brash grin, watching her wiggle her nimble little fingers at him. “Not like I got anything else to do in this piss-poor town,” Ronan grumbled with a shrug of one shoulder. He could always swing by the Bed and Breakfast and annoy the Gaines witch some more, though he knew it’d only prolong her finding a way to unbind his magic.

Which made him remember he hadn’t updated Prairie.

His smirk became a little more mischievous as he watched her buzz about. “Found that witch I was lookin’ for,” he told her. “It’s apparently a fuckin’ process to be getting my magic back though.”




Tossing him a knowing glanced as he went on to talk about the ‘door’ in question, she couldn’t help but be amused by his thinly veiled attempt at covering up his antics. This wasn’t her first rodeo with Ronan and if she had anything to do it with? It certainly wouldn’t be her last.

“Maybe you’re losing your scary touch. Hmm,” Prairie teased as he returned the hug, although she couldn’t foresee a future where that was a possibility. While she wasn’t afraid of him by any means, she was also keenly aware that she held his favor. Though perhaps, it wouldn’t matter if she didn’t? There wasn’t much in this realm that she was afraid of.

“The good stuff it is then.” Moving to grab one of the stools she kept tucked away in every room of the ER, she carried it over to place in front of him and climbed up. “I happen to be quite fond of this cute little town, and you certainly don’t seem to have a problem finding your own brand of mischief.”

Just as she was about to lay her hand over his cheek to heal the cut, his words piqued her ears and she stared at him for a few moments before reaching to smack his shoulder. “When!?! How? Where!?” Prairie spent a good deal of her free time looking for the witch in question...not that Ronan was entirely privy to that information.




“How dare you say such a blasphemy,” Ronan told her. “A select few get away with it on occasion,” he grumbled towards her, pretending to be annoyed but failing when in the presence of the Summer Fae. If anyone had seen him at his absolute worst, she was a pretty good candidate. Back in their realm during times of war, there was no mercy when his folk were called upon. And being the youngest of royal blood, well, he had enough to prove.

Ronan watched her petite frame seemingly conjure the stool and climb aboard, laughing softly as she still was barely his height sitting down. He wouldn’t say he was fond of the town, but they had decent bars. Well, one bar. They had one decent bar.

“Like you haven’t gotten up to your own mischief here,” Ronan said knowingly. Only he didn’t know details, but he was surely fishing for them with his comment.

He very nearly grabbed her hand and placed it on his cheek himself. His injuries didn’t exactly tickle, after all. But then she smacked his shoulder and his brows furrowed -- which hurt worse than the smack. “Ow! Fuck!” he reached up with a bloodied hand and tenderly pushed his brow, sucking air in sharply. Maybe if he kept poking it, it’d dull the pain. Usually worked in the middle of a fight - get stabbed in the gut? Punch it a few times to get the blood and adrenaline flowing. Good for another round.

“I was outside a bar-” he started to explain, as if literally every story he told her didn’t start with that phrase. “About a week and a half ago. She was just there,” he explained. “I feel like myself again.”




“You should bloody well know by now that I blaspheme to get a rise out of you.” Smirking, she wiggled her eyebrows. “And it works every time.” Prairie prided herself on being one of those few, though. As well she should, they’d certainly been through enough together- including numerous wars. She didn’t miss that aspect of their home. Honestly? She didn’t miss any aspect of it.

Her smirk only grew at that comment about her own mischief. Prairie played relatively nice for a spell, but recently? She stumbled across some fun, or rather it had been dragged into her ER by Seven Devils’ finest. “I’ve found myself a beast to tame.”

“Bollocks, don’t be such a big baby and stop poking at that,” she exclaimed- grabbing his face with one hand and placing the other over her brow that he was fiddling with. As soon as she made contact, her fingertips expelled a glowing warmth as they worked their magic to heal his wound. “One down.”

Prairie’s eyebrows furrowed when she thought of all the time she wasted the last week and a half searching for someone Ronan had already found. Being cross with him was irrational. He didn’t exactly know she was looking for the witch. “Just there,” she asked, trying to mask the screech her voice tried to produce. “And how did that go, hmmm?”

She was happy he was feeling like himself again. He waited long enough for this and deserved as much.




“Go on and ride your high horse while you can,” he chided fondly.

Truthfully, without Prairie in town his mood might’ve been just a tad more sour. On top of all the drama about his magic, and the guilt and general stubbornness he carried from being banished - without her, homesickness would be added onto it.

“A beast that’s not me? Lies and slander you’re full of tonight,” he insisted before she was arguing with him about touching his wounds, and smooshing his cheeks with how she grabbed his face.

Ronan shut his eyes tight, and even then the light from her fingertips was almost too bright and too warm — but just as it was becoming almost too much, it was done, and his eyebrow no longer felt five times its size. Or on fire.

He let out a pleased sigh, flashing her a small genuine smile before that too - faltered into a more devious looking smirk. “Remember that news story about the stretch of sidewalk on mainstreet being all unearthed?” he questioned with a mock innocence, knowing she’d just as easily connect the dots that it’d been him. “Fiery like her Gran, that one.”




“Going to ride it right off into the sunset, Pheata,” she mused.

Prairie’s saving grace in the mundane world was her adaptability. She could slip into any situation effortlessly, but she felt most at ease and like herself around Ronan. So often there seemed to be a million personalities, from all of the lives she’d lived over three hundred years amongst humans, vying for control of her brain. With her favourite patient though? The real her was able to take the reins.

“As pretty as my lies are? I’m allowed more than one beast in my life. Especially when this one can give me things I don’t want from you.” A girl had needs after all, and she smirked once more at that thought as she pulled back to survey her work on his brow.

It was perfect of course, just as it always was, and she gave him a smile to match the one he offered her. Then he was describing his encounter, and that smile faded into a purse of her lips. “You attacked that poor girl?” Without a hint of hesitation, she let go of his face only to whack him on the back of his head. “Fucking hell, Ronan. She didn’t steal your magic!”




Ronan grinned faintly at her reply.

And then she made it weird by saying things and want and— he was brash and spoiled but not blind. Still, Ronan had started off respecting her before there was even a friendship. That sort of thing was hard to act against and be brazen with. So, of course, his only reaction was to pull a face that said ‘ew’ but with amusement. “Poor fucker, havin’ to deal with you,” he teased back.

“Ow!” he grumbled in a very mild frustration, reaching back to the spot she’d just hit. “Would you stop fuckin’ smacking me?! I fucking came here to get fixed not abused!” Ronan argued, just for sake of arguing - because it was fun.

He crossed his arms over his chest, like a child, and refused to answer right away. Plus he didn’t want to admit that Prairie was right and maybe he had been too unfair.

“I know,” he insisted faintly with a roll of his eyes. Finally. “I've realized the error of my ways, alright?” Sort of. He was at least trying not to scare the Earth witch any longer.




“I’m a fucking delight,” Prairie replied, laughing at the face he pulled. “You on the other hand…” Trailing off she let the implication hang in the air with a mischievous smile. She knew she’d made things weird for a moment and had done so purposefully.

Despite her words and actions that suggested otherwise? She did possess a lot of respect for the older fae. The fact that he was for all intents and purposes a prince once, and still a prince as far as she was concerned? (Because honestly? Fuck the Courts.) Had very little to do with that respect.

“Stop doing things that warrant a fucking smack and I’ll stop smacking you.” Somewhere within the last few moments her Irish accent got thicker with her frustration. It didn’t help when he crossed his arms like a petulant child which only caused her to mirror his actions. It was a stare down of epic proportions, until he finally relented.

“Good. Then no more smacks for now.” Rolling her eyes as well, she placed her hand over his cheek and repeated the process of healing him. For a moment there she’d been tempted to just grab his nose and snap it back into place the old fashion way, but thankfully that impulse was thoroughly curbed.

Just as quickly as it began, all of that frustration disappeared like it never existed at all. “How do you get your magic back?”




He couldn’t help but snicker when she swore - he’d heard her drop an ‘F’ bomb before but when it was coupled with defending her own demeanor it was kind of adorable. So much that he didn’t argue when she implied he was less of a delight. In many ways he simply couldn’t argue — Ronan practically excelled at being a hard to swallow pill for most.

The fiery redhead managed a tiny look of shock as she cursed again, her accent lulling in her words ever so slightly. “That’s two in the swear jar now,” he threatened teasingly. Ronan did manage to reel the biting words and attitude in enough for her to continue healing him. The cut on his cheek closing and disappearing with the bright glow again. Thank the gods she was doing it their way and not the old fashioned route as he might’ve yelled loud enough for all to hear at the nurses station and he and the security guard didn’t exactly see eye to eye.

“Don’t fucking know,” he grumbled quietly, looking down at the dirt and blood beneath his fingernails. “I’m not gonna just.. take it from her,” Ronan admitted. As a Fae it was possible, with some fancy finagling he’d never attempted in his life, nor had he witnessed anyone else - but it would have resulted in Maggie’s death and… Well, he didn’t want that. The Gaines women were a thorn in his fucking side but, it was never enough to warrant such a permanent ending.

“She’s lookin’ through her Gran’s journals and things,” he added in explanation, shrugging lightly, to placate the healer Fae in front of him. “Just gotta wait a bit I suppose.” Ronan quirked a brow and held his hands out as if to say and that’s how I ended up here.




Prairie couldn’t help the quirk to her lips at the mention of the swear jar. While it wasn’t entirely a rare occurrence for vulgarities to fall off of her tongue, they didn’t usually consist of numerous ‘F’ bombs in a row. She preferred ‘feck’ or other alternatives. If anyone could bring it out of her, though? It was definitely Ronan.

With her mood completely swung away from frustration, she gently turned his head to the side to inspect his cheek. All that was left was his nose, unless he had other injuries she couldn’t see.

When he looked down, her expression softened a little and she reached to cover his hands with her own. “It’s been decades, Pheata. Maybe your luck is looking up? You found her after all.” Prairie often wondered during her own search if she constantly came up empty because of his horrible luck. “Try to be nice to the lass. It might produce faster results. There isn’t a doubt in my mind you’ll figure it out.”

Releasing his hands with a squeeze, she grasped his face again. “Ready for the nose?”




Pheata. Ronan almost rolled his eyes and pointed out how he was older than her — but in all honesty the manner of her affections was something that had been missing from his life for the last hundred years or so. In a moment of homesickness, or weakness, or a rare combination of the two, Ronan felt like burying his face in her hands and just resting. He didn’t - but the temptation was strong.

Clearly she had a knack for the whole ‘taming beasts’ thing.

“I’ll try, I’ll try..” he muttered, having already gotten a roundabout lecture from Natya which was annoyingly self-reflecting. Anything that made him realize he was being an arse just.. wasn’t a fun time for him. His luck wasn’t what it used to be, back in their realm, but the prolonged closeness to Maggie allowed it all to start trickling back.

When she asked about his nose he paused before closing his eyes. It was the last big injury, and arguably the worst one. The rest was just small knicks and bruises and a mixture of dried and caked on blood. “Just do it,” the redhead insisted, his hands reaching down to grip the edges of the hospital bed.




“See? There’s a good lad,” Prairie teased despite being a few years his junior. It was an attempt to shift the conversation back to their banter she was so fond of, and perhaps to distract him just a bit before she healed his worst injury.

Planting her feet in hopes to gain more purchase on her stool, she furrowed her eyebrows in concentration. “This is going to suck,” she warned just before placing her hand over his nose. It wasn’t exactly a needed warning since he was already bracing himself, but she felt it warranted saying all the same. As the light glowed around them once more, she could feel everything moving back into place beneath her touch.

Once upon a time the sound of bones grinding and cracking would have made her stomach churn, but over a century of healing battle wounds and numerous other injuries amongst the Court knocked that habit right out of her.




Ronan appreciated the warning, for what it was worth - though admittedly he still wasn’t prepared for the feeling of his bones sliding back together with a painful snap and fusing with an impressive amount of heat from her fingertips. He clearly wasn’t drunk enough for this. As evident by the string of words and colorful phrases that left Ronan’s mouth. Which, while in their native Gaeilge, would have made a nun blush a deep ruby red.

It was damn near sobering.

When it was over, or at least when the light faded and he no longer felt pain and pressure in his nasal cavity - he opened his eyes and let out a faint sigh of relief again. “Christ you weren’t lying,” he admitted. He could breathe through his nose again, though, so it was definitely worth the pain and discomfort.

The corners of his lips twitched up once more into a sort of fond smile as he reached out and snagged her hands in his. Pulling them up to his face he placed a kiss on the back of each in gratitude. “Thank you,” the forest Fae told her. They weren’t words he said often, not with his generally bratty behavior, but if anyone deserved to hear them from him, it was Prairie.




Prairie winced as those phrases fell off his tongue. The moment she laid eyes on the injury she was currently healing, she knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant. In any situation, she found it best to leave the worst for last.

Although she reveled in the enjoyment she received from wrangling the drunkards and various beasts that walked through the hospital doors, it didn’t bring her any joy to cause further pain to those she cared about.

“Want me to sober you the rest of the way up,” she asked with a mischievous grin and another wiggle of her fingers. “So you can go out for a repeat performance?”

Then he was snatching her hands and all the teasing faded away from her demeanor, as she smiled fondly at the kisses he bestowed. It was little moments like these that almost made Prairie long for the home she ran away from centuries ago. Not for the petty Courts, but for the land and more importantly? Their people.

It was a short lived longing, however. She had Ronan, one day she would have her brother again, and that was more than enough.

Lifting up onto her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’re welcome.”




“And ruin my buzz? Get those fingers outta here,” Ronan insisted, swatting playfully. “I ain’t made of money.” Which was funny to say, being a Prince. But with the amount of alcohol it took him to get drunk, he may as well just buy the bar itself so he could drink free. The habit was expensive and he didn’t make nearly enough. Although… he hadn’t tried conjuring up coins since arriving, and now that Maggie was closer and his powers were building up… It was definitely something he needed to try the next time he stepped foot in a bar.

Ronan snickered quietly as she had to get on her tiptoes to place the kiss. “Don’t be gettin’ used to it,” he warned — though there was absolutely no true mal intent behind them, just playful teasing.

Glancing down at his blood covered shirt and tank, the forest Fae grinned. “Any chance that magic of yours works on blood stains?”




Prairie laughed at the smacks to her fingers. “Fine, but do try to control yourself around those door frames. I may not be so nice if I have to see your smug mug again tonight.” The thought crossed her mind to offer him some coin for his exploits, but that was another impulse sufficiently curbed. Their kind were proud and ridiculously stubborn creatures, and she knew she wouldn’t take kindly to any charity thrown her way.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she cooed. “We’ve both got reps to protect.” Winking, she hopped down from the stool and immediately moved to wash the remnants of his blood from her hands. She would have to change her scrubs too after calling his bluff over that hug, but that was usually par for the course.

Whipping around at his question, she gave him a look. “Do I look like a cleaning service?”




“You love it,” Ronan drawled smugly in reply.

Standing slowly, he hid a grin as he stretched a little. While Prairie washed up he realized that he really should just go back to Natya’s and do the same - let the witch scrub the caked blood out of his hair. She’d be off work soon anyway.

When she spun round so quickly he froze, eyebrows shooting up in anticipation of another smack possibly. Ronan gave a lighthearted roll of his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I won’t push my luck,” he told her teasingly.

“Now which way do I sneak outta here so I can avoid that registration girl?” he asked, turning the door knob and peeking out briefly for any sign of her.




“Occasionally,” she shot back playfully.

It didn’t take long for that annoyed look to turn into a laugh at the way he froze in place. Any more prodding over clean up certainly would have warranted another smack, but lucky for him he seemed to know better.

Laughing again as he peered out the door, she dried her hands then moved over to grab his chart so she could dispose of it. Technically Prairie could ‘blink’ him out of the hospital, but it would be a risky move since most of her colleagues were aware of her location. It would raise questions on how she snuck outside and she didn’t have the patience for that annoyance.

“Give me a minute then leave. I’ll distract her so you can make your escape.” Flashing him one more grin, she grabbed the door knob herself. “Behave, Pheata,” she teased before making her exit- knowing very well that he wouldn’t.

Jun. 12th, 2020


[info]gainesmaggie
[info]sevendevilslog

[info]gainesmaggie
[info]sevendevilslog

[No Subject]


[info]gainesmaggie
[info]sevendevilslog
Drawn Together
MAGGIE + RONAN
with their powers combined, or when the Fae finds the Witch he's been searching for a while to find
11 June | Mainstreet in town | R for Language
Read more... )
Maggie was grateful for a few days of relative peace and quiet in town for the most part. She still had a few staying at the inn but none to be worried about so she took advantage to venture out and get a few supplies, both food, household, and other. Luckily all of the latter could be found at Runes and Relics. For a bit, she'd felt her magic was... off in some way and thought an influx of new tomes and spells might help. She didn't want to bring it up to the others yet as it could be nothing even if she hadn't been able to find anything in the books she'd looked at yet either.

Not to mention it felt like there were eyes everywhere in and around the town, and more than usual.

Having gone to get food and supplies first, her visit to the last store wasn't too long of a trip and she was back outside. Smiling, she paused, thinking if she'd forgotten anything, r of anywhere else she wanted to stop. Suddenly she looked up and gasped; there it was again, something weird and wavering of her magic in a way that she felt it through her whole self. Maggie shook her head; surely it wasn't anything to be overly concerned about, she thought to herself even as she wrapped her hand around the Celtic pendant she wore around her neck. It held no power as far as she knew other than a family heirloom and sentimentality. No, for that she would make offerings in the garden and to the Seelie, that should help things along.

"ó mhaitheas grásta", she said under her breath, not that most would even understand it, stepping out of the way a few hanging outside one of the bars, near the alley. It was times like this she wished she could just haul things easily on her bike.


**oh goodness gracious

Jun. 4th, 2020


[info]fifthintheworld
[info]sevendevilslog

[info]fifthintheworld
[info]sevendevilslog

[No Subject]


[info]fifthintheworld
[info]sevendevilslog
Who: Adria Blackspore & Ronan O'Leary
What: Exploring the Fete
When: June 4th, evening
Where: The fete, near a basketball-style stall
Rating: Low
Status: In Progess | Open

It's time to trust in the magic of beginnings )

Jun. 2nd, 2020


[info]slainte
[info]sevendevilslog

[info]slainte
[info]sevendevilslog

SWAGGER


[info]slainte
[info]sevendevilslog

NATYA + RONAN
drinks and flirting
JUNE 2nd - evening | Temptation | PG-13 crude language
Read more... )


The music was obnoxiously loud, and he had already seen enough glitter to make him wish he’d wandered half-drunk into a strip club instead, but he was running short on money and such establishments were typically easier to navigate when on a budget. Just by walking in he had finished off two discarded drinks without haste or a second thought. Could have been drugged, could have been piss water - the large Fae didn’t really care much. He wanted to drown his sorrows, however shallow they may be, in alcohol.

It was just unfortunate that it required a great deal in order for him to even begin to feel anything.

Ronan had parked himself at the bar, insisting that a man down the other end dressed in an ill-fitted suit was picking up his tab. It’d work for a little while, at least. That was the least of his problems currently, though. Every time he tried to light a damn cigarette, it was plucked from his lips and stamped out on the ledge of the bar top. "Hey give those back!" the tall Fae barked as he took the barely burnt cigarettes, his accent thick. "They don't grow on trees you know," he muttered under his breath, stuffing the hand rolled cigarettes into his jean jacket pocket for later. The other bartender, the not-fun-one, started to tell him the Wikipedia summary of the tobacco plant. For a moment he actually humored her, before his gaze inevitably drifted down to her chest and a tiny distracted smirk spread on his lips. She didn't notice at first, the flashing lights from the dance floor behind him in his favor — but when she did she huffed and threw the damp bar rag in his face.

Ronan peeled the dirty towel away from his beard to reveal a toothy grin.

"The fuck is this?" he said, motioning to the brightly colored drink that was placed in front of him. Cautiously sniffing the contents of the tall and skinny glass, Ronan's face scrunched up in disgust. It was alcohol, sure, but it smelled like a fucking fruit basket as well. His gaze shifted to the tiny black haired witch behind the bar. "You tryin' to poison me now?"




It wasn’t every night that was bustling and busy; the lights and glitter and music, that was most nights, sure, but you got used to it. Besides, it usually helped keep the clientele happy, and happy drinkers tipped well. Natya just encouraged that by leaning up a lot and wearing the tightest tops she could.

A couple of the girls liked to pretend they didn’t want to be ogled, that they weren’t trying to use their assets to get extra tips. Natya had no qualms about getting her girls all perky for appreciation if it meant she was slipped a couple extra fives.

Most of the time, it meant there wasn’t really a way to hear complaints over the bar, but there were some accents and tones that traveled, and Natya smirked as the tobacco police enforced the no-smoking policy that a few people tried to get around. She was sliding the drink in front of Grumps as her colleague gave up in disgust and wandered away.

“It’s a Love Potion,” Natya gave an amused smirk, “It’s today’s special and if you want anything else, you’re gonna drink it. I need to sell a bunch of these.” Most of the time, she didn’t mind the specials of the evenings, a lot of the younger crowd lapped them up, more sugar than alcohol and they kept the costs down.

Ronan, well, she just wanted to fuck with him and make him drink the fruity shit before contemplating the top shelf.




A Love Potion. Ronan all but rolled his eyes as he took another whiff of the drink, as if somehow it’d smell less like a cleaning product. Holding the glass in the air to inspect it for pieces of hair or extras that weren’t on the drink menu - just to make sure it wasn’t an actual love potion given she was a witch. “Is that fuckin’ glitter?” he commented, knowing full well that it was.

“Jesus Christ Almighty,” the Fae grumbled before begrudgingly chugging the entire glass. If he didn’t down it all in one go he probably would have spit it out.

Green eyes glared at Natya momentarily as he pulled a face in response, the mixed liquors going down… well a bit like he took a swig of Pine Sol and then added a dash of one of those liquid air fresheners you plugged into the wall. He rubbed the back of his hand across his lips to make sure there was no glitter hanging about.

Sliding the empty glass back toward the witch, he pressed his index finger down against the bar top with purpose. “Whiskey, now,” the fiery redhead demanded - although his tone carried little sway when she was the one literally in charge of the drinks. But Christ, he deserved a shot after that monstrosity.

“How many of those do the alcoholic overlords expect you to sell?”




There was a distinct possibility that Natya added a little more garnish than strictly necessary, but there was also the distinct possibility that Ronan deserved the shit he got when he voluntarily came here. It wasn’t like Natya knew all the regulars, she’d been there a month or so, got to know some faces, but it wasn’t a personal level kind of thing.

Ronan had been around far less than that, but he was memorable, for a great many reasons, and Natya just smirked at the look on his face while she grabbed some malt from below the bar to pour two measures into a glass. “Y’know, if you weren’t acting like I just poisoned you, I’d get less of a kick out of it.”

Which was probably true. But there was also the likelihood she’d find another way to amuse herself.

“A dozen, we all have to get a dozen out each. Which I don’t get, but okay?” Really, the need to push certain drinks didn’t make sense to her, least of all since these drinks weren’t anything fancy, wasn’t a specially ordered booze in them, unless you counted the dorky heart shaped edible glitter.




Whether or not she actually did just poison him remained to be seen - he’d feel it later for sure, if anything. As he waited, surprisingly patient, for her to prepare his drink - a real drink, mind you - he stole a quarter from someone’s change that sat on the counter top and began to walk it across his knuckles.

“A dozen?” he repeated in disbelief. Who the hell would even drink one of those? Not counting him, since he was pretty much forced to in order to get to the good stuff. Besides, he’d done far more incriminating things than that for far less alcohol. “Good luck with that,” Ronan told her with a scoff.

Of course if he had any real luck about him that statement might’ve actually meant something.

“So you know your way around a bottle,” he paused a moment. “And a cauldron.” Ronan smirked. “What brings you to this shithole again?”




Natya rolled her eyes, putting on a sweet voice, leaning over with both her arms squeezing her boobs together, “Oh, don’t you wanna try our special? It’s an aphrodisiac.” There was a pout on her lips that slowly broke into a smirk as she stepped back a little, “I’m doin’ just fine with it.”

Grabbing a rag, Natya decided to clean a portion of the bar, leaving her coworkers to deal with some drunk college girls who didn’t know what they wanted. “Any shithole is a decent enough place to make some bucks.”

The truth was that Natya wasn’t sure why she was in Seven Devils; aside from the few hints and messages she’d gotten that she’d find answers here, she wasn’t even sure what questions she was asking. But it was nice enough, the vibrations of power in the air had her cautiously curious, and she could sense the fae around. Maybe she’d eventually figure out what she wanted to ask one of them.

“Maybe I like the people in this shithole,” Natya didn’t mind them, but they weren’t anything special, “Present company excluded, of course.”




His eyebrows shot up in amusement as his gaze finally lifted to her face once more. “Well with such adaptable advertisement skills, I’m sorry I doubted ya Lass,” Ronan insisted with a wink before taking a sip of his hard-earned whiskey.

She was his favorite bartender, in a long time, for a multitude of reasons but the main one was that she tolerated him and she could throw the shit right back in his face. Through the banter and attitude, eventually, an actual conversation evolved.

“Don’t go tryin’ to pick a fight there, Natya,” Ronan warned, his smirk turning somewhat mischievous as he looked at her over the rim of his glass. He stole another quick swig of whiskey. “It’s been a few days.” He was practically aching to throw punches with some poor unsuspecting patron. Likely the guy down the end of the bar when he finally realized Ronan was racking up his tab.

“Besides, you're not the witch I’m here for,” he told her in a moment of honesty, downing the rest of his drink. “Although I can’t say I mind being a thorn in that tiny side of yours.” Christ, he didn’t even know if the witch he needed was actually in town or not. The entire place was like some sort of beacon of power, though, and he figured there was a decent chance he’d find her. “By the way, that guy’s payin’ so keep ‘em coming,” Ronan said, nodding in the direction of the stiff who was trying, and failing, to pick up a couple of co-eds.




“But I like fights,” at least ones she could win. And even if Ronan didn’t give off the same vibes as most fae (ethereal, otherworldly, like they were bleeding some kind of power everywhere that made her want to throw up) and was a lot easier to get along with, she doubted that she’d do much more than annoy him, even with her magic fully prepped. She didn’t like cursing people and empathy was only so useful in witch fights.

It was always in jest anyway.

“You say the sweetest things, you know. Whoever you’re looking for must be so thrilled to know you’re out there.” She did roll her eyes a little. In some ways it seemed like everyone who rolled into Seven Devils was looking for something, and she was aware that she was no different. But this place seemed to have some magnetic pull, Natya didn’t understand it in the least.

Glancing over at the stiff who was striking out left and right, the young witch just shook her head, “Y’know if you punch him you’ll probably knock all his teeth out, right? That idiot has never been in a brawl in his life.” And as amusing as it would be to watch, there’d probably be some damages other than some asshole leeches face.




While he had yet to actually witness her on the defense in any way, he didn’t doubt that she was scrappy in a fight. Probably didn’t easily back down, even when she should. He could appreciate that. Ronan was too goddamn stubborn to ever back down - but then again, rarely did he actually meet someone who gave him a truly fair fight.

“Sweet?” The Fae chuckled, bouncing the quarter once off the bar top and into the empty glass. “Is that what I am?” A lot of words could be used to describe the burly Fae but sweet wasn’t one he heard often. Even sarcastically. “Must be fooling all the right folk,” Ronan said with a fond sort of smirk.

Ronan stood, if only to stretch his legs, and for a moment towered over the witchy bartender. Of course he’d demolish the poor guy, probably break a couple bar stools in the process. But it’d be fun and that’s all that mattered. “So what your saying is, I should take pity and not start shit, right?” he asked as he plucked his reserve cigarette from behind his ear, holding it at the corner of his lips. And because he was a bastard - he glanced toward the suit once more before purposely, right in front of Natya’s face, summoning his zippo lighter and sparking a flame.




Fae were dramatic. That was definitely something she could tell for sure was a common thread with these beings. All powerful and knowledgeable and shit, and then they were like 15 year old drama students.

“Sweet like sweet tea anywhere outside of the south.” Which was never sweet. Yeah, there were a lot of ways Natya could describe Ronan, and some of them were even PG-13, but a lot of them were not flattering or nice. Which she appreciated about the giant.

Even with the heels on her boots, Ronan was practically a foot taller than her, and sure, that was insanely impressive and all kinds of intense, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to being taller than people. She didn’t think there was someone in the bar, human or otherwise, who matched Ronan’s height, even the bouncers were probably a good few inches shorter. “I’m saying pick on someone your own size, but I guess that’s really hard for you.”

She was almost used to his showing off, the little parlour tricks or sleight of hand he pulled now and then, probably just to keep his hands busy, but the appearance of the lighter still had her eyebrow raising. “Show off.”




“Haven’t a clue what that means here,” he replied plainly with a shrug, though he was just pulling her leg at this point. Being difficult just to be difficult. North and South in this country meant something completely different in another. The entire Southern culture he didn’t quite understand - all the Bless Your Heart horseshit was just words to him. But sweet tea? Christ he’d learnt the hard way never to disrespect an elderly Southern woman’s sweet tea.

He tugged at his ear momentarily - as if remembering a swift blow to the side of the head once.

“A few more drinks and he’ll think he’s as tall as me,” Ronan bet, the cigarette bouncing between his lips as he spoke. He quickly lit the cigarette and let his lighter slide down into the cuff of his jacket, disappearing.

Ronan’s smirk faded a little - all he really had anymore were his parlour tricks. Maybe he could grow a couple of vines if he was well rested and sober but half the time nothing happened how he wanted it to. “Should have seen me back home, ” the Fae muttered nostalgically. Some things he could relive with fondness - like fighting alongside his brother, or waking up after a long winter and watching everyone become vibrant and strong again. “The tricks I knew would make that pretty little head of yours spin.”

The Fae took a long drag off the cigarette and was just about to take it from his lips when the blond returned, plucking it with a frustrated whine and dropping it into an abandoned drink she had collected from making her rounds. Ronan quickly blew the smoke out and stood, one hand smacking the bar top in protest while the other held a finger up in accusation. “And that one needs to be fired!”




Natya didn’t bother asking as she fished out the bottle to pour Ronan another drink, catching that wistful tone when he spoke of ‘home’ and what he could’ve done. She hadn’t asked why he wasn’t in the Fae world, why he never went back. Of the Fae that she’d met they all waxed poetic about how much better their home was. Ronan seemed to miss it, but there was something she didn’t want to push at right there.

As Ronan’s hand slammed on the bar, his cigarette going off the way of the rest, Natya figured he wasn’t having the best evening of it anyway. “Oh, I’m sure there’s plenty you could still show me that’d make my head spin.” It was second nature to flirt, got her more tips, as much as showing off her boobs did really.

Most of the time she barely meant it, but there were times she put a little bit of feeling to it.




The blond flipped him off while she sauntered away, and Ronan decided he was going to give her Hell every time he came in. Which, it wasn’t really his type of bar and he only ever came round when Natya was working because she let him get away with shit. But still, he would make an honest effort to annoy the blond one to tears. Just for fun.

His attention turned somewhat pointedly back to the witch behind the bar. The Fae very nearly asked if she’d repeat herself, but like it’d really matter anyway? On a good day he was crude and inappropriate - generally taking advances and flirting too far until he got slapped or some boyfriend or husband or whatever showed up to try and make a stand.

Resting against the bar once more, Ronan leaned over a bit further with a grin. “I got plenty of tricks for the likes of you,” he promised, his tone quieter but suggestive. He studied her for a moment, part of him realizing how very little he actually knew about the witch. Again, not something that had ever really stopped him in the past. “I’d hate to have to beat up your jealous boyfriend down there, though,” he insisted teasingly, nodding again to the suited square - who this time seemed to have caught on to Ronan drinking on his dime.




Few times, Natya worried about who or what she was picking up, she was cautious and she took risk management very seriously, but she wanted to enjoy herself. She let herself get hit on all the time, she let herself be talked home by some guys or girls from the bar.

Sometimes it was a game, sometimes she pushed to see how far it would go. She dressed strategically, she performed an act most nights. There were a few times she actually saw someone that she wanted, rather than seeing who spoke to her.

Ronan, well. She wouldn’t say she hadn’t noticed him first. All shoulders and muscle and that stupid face that was constantly bruised. Don’t even get her started on his hands.

The suggestiveness in his voice just had her smirking back, licking her bottom lip, “You can beat up whoever you want,” probably very literally, “they’re not gonna be my problem.” She didn’t keep with the likes of boyfriends or girlfriends. Attachments did no one very good, and Natya moved too much to bother about them. “It’s just as well you look good bloody, huh?” Since it did seem like the guy footing the bill for Ronan’s night wasn’t best pleased about it.




“Really brings out my eyes,” Ronan replied nonchalantly. For once his face was actually free of major bruising or cuts. Seven Devils didn’t exactly have a booming underground fight scene that he could tap into when the mood struck. The next best thing was bar hopping in hopes that someone couldn’t hold their drink, and that his crude remarks to any fine lass, sparked a fight.

Ronan genuinely laughed quietly in afterthought. “Cute, that you think he’ll even get one shot in though,” he told her, picking up the glass to throw it back in one large gulp. “Keep ‘em coming until he works up the courage,” the Fae insisted, sliding the empty glass back. Hell, at this point he was tempted to just ask for the entire bottle.

A glance to his unwilling sponsor was all he gave before his attention turned back to Natya. “You get a break from all that slingin’ spirits?” Ronan asked, his gaze blatant working down and then back up the curves of her petite frame. Witch or not, he didn’t mind seeing her around. She never asked about his favorite color, or band, or any of that small talk bullshit. She didn’t complicate things.




Glancing over, she could tell that Ronan might get a couple more top shelf drinks out of the guy before he worked up the nerve to say anything, or even approach or complain, and it wasn’t like anyone was going to hold things against her; she’d been convinced that they were friends, that Ronan’s ‘buddy’ was footing the bill for the night, wingman stuff.

“Is it at all satisfying if you just punch him and he falls over?” Natya didn’t fight much. She had her moments, here and there, but it was usually fights with chicks who wanted to pull her hair or bite her, so when she punched a girl in the jaw it usually ended really quickly. She could really see that being the case with most people that Ronan ended up squaring up to. Especially suited and prissy rich boys who didn’t know what to do with themselves in a fight.

“Doesn’t that just leave you pent up, itching for something to blow off.” She was probably less than subtle, but at this point it hardly mattered. She caught the once over, and she wasn’t shy. Her jeans hugged every curve, her heeled boots helped her tiny little ass pop and her tits were merrily held up by a strappy black top that was probably two sizes too small. “I get a break, I only work the busy nights, and the slow ones when I need money.” Which wasn’t a lot, she had a few other cons to run after all. “Why, you feeling lonely?”




“Does a bear shit in the woods?” he countered with a grin. Indeed it was satisfying to get just one punch in. Better, when the tussle cleared out one side of the entire bar, and chairs and tables were broken by bodies being thrown against them - but beggars can’t be choosers. Fighting was nothing like real battle, but the thrill of it was enough. Natya’s second comment made Ronan pause, tightening his lips to quell the downright devilish smirk that threatened his face. He glanced down at the counter, though his eyebrows lifted in undeniable interest.

He was used to dive bars that only ever really had a smattering of locals drinking their sorrows away - so to him, Temptation was always busy. The Fae enjoyed her brash flirting, and her general attitude when it came to even more annoying patrons than himself. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” Ronan told her. “What time are you done tonight?”




It wasn’t like Natya watched a lot of fights, not in the bar and not on the sports channels, boxing didn’t really appeal to her. But she knew that if she was going to watch some testosterone fueled brawl, she’d want it to be satisfying. Drawn out, a real show of who had the better skill, more technique, who could take it. Someone taking a punch, or doling out one punch, that would just leave her disappointed. Looking for something else to appease the adrenaline.

Which was why she’d felt like getting brash, a little obvious with things maybe.

But Ronan was one of those who looked like he could go a couple rounds, could fight and burn off pent up aggression and anger, and frankly that was more attractive than a thousand dollar watch. She already wanted to climb the Fae like a tree and wrap her legs around him, why not just toss her cards on the table.

“I get off at eleven, I opened, don’t need to close.” Which was a bonus on opening up before it got busy and before people wanted to just drop money at the bar. “So if you wanna deck him, you should get it in soon, I don’t think my coworkers will be as tolerant.”




The poor bugger was down the end of the bar, watching the Fae like a hawk now and feeling the weight packed onto his wallet.

Ronan stood to straighten his posture, puff out his chest a bit in show, a brow shooting upwards at the witch. “Get it in soon? Someone’s impatient,” he said with a shake of his head and smug smirk. Ronan was one to talk. The patron saint of patience, he was not - and never would be.

“Let me push a couple more of his buttons so I could push yours, yeah?” he said as he motioned to the shot glasses behind the bar. Surely a few shots would get the guy to at least storm over. Ronan was looking to win a fight, not looking to get kicked out and banned. Although, he’d probably get kicked out anyway.

He also wanted a few more drinks out of the guy before having to leave and wait for the tiny witch to finish off her duties. The fight, or lack there of, would leave him wanting and having to occupy his time chain-smoking outside. “A toast, then,” Ronan added, insisting she take one of the shots for herself, “to you getting off tonight, starting at eleven.”




Innuendo wasn’t foreign to Natya, and she just grinned at the comment because what, she couldn’t have some fun with it? Still, short of all out murder in the bar, Temptation saw it’s fair share of fights. Sometimes the energy from downstairs worked its way up, sometimes tensions were just running too high, a drunken brawl here and there wasn’t unusual and provided all parties walked out under their own steam and took it elsewhere, the owners never seemed to mind.

Pouring a few shots with a smirk, Natya minded the splashes as she went, avoiding anything sweet and going for a smoky whisky shooter. Far more up Ronan’s alley and she enjoyed the burn. It also cost a lot more than the sugary crap.

“Starting at, now there’s a promise I’m going to hold you to.” She didn’t even wait to be asked for another shot, knocking back the one for herself and holding up the bottle to refill his glass -not typical practice but whatever, she was being lazy and Ronan probably didn’t care.




The amber colored alcohol went down smooth and started a fire in his belly. He wasn’t anywhere near drunk, but he was starting to at least feel the warmth of the alcohol coursing through his system. Ronan needed a bottle of whiskey to feel anything substantial, what with his hundred or so years of binging under his belt. But it was definitely time to start making bad decisions - and a few good ones, in her case.

Ronan gave a hearty, and genuine, laugh. “Fair enough,” he replied, knowing he was good for it. The Fae gladly gave up his glass for another refill before he calmly slid out of his denim jacket, laying it over the stool next to him. “You’d just better hold on in general,” Ronan told her with a mischievous glint in his eyes - rolling up his sleeves methodically as the suit was finally on the move.

He savored the refill a bit instead of just downing it - it was going to be his last, after all. “Show time,” the Fae said to Natya with a playful wink, pretending not to see the skinny, annoyed man in the suit moving to stand next to him.




It was a lot like foreplay.

Natya might need to check on herself at some point, she had some seriously destructive tendencies if this was turning her on. A sly glance to the side confirmed that the suit was in the process of working up the courage, either talking himself into it or out of it.

This lame evening just got so much more interesting, and she didn’t even need to curse anyone, it was fantastic. God, just seeing the play of muscles, the implications. “Try not break the bar.” That would be the only downside, because she didn’t want to have to clean that up.

Mar. 25th, 2020


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