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queerbrujas · 4 years ago

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then it vanished away from my hands (part two)

pairing: nate sewell x eva navarro word count: 3.6k for this chapter (6.1k total so far) rating: T warnings: same as before, lots of angst and this won’t have a happy ending

part one | part three | read on ao3

The mutation in her blood was not known to inhibit physical abilities. None of the studies had indicated even the slightest possibility of immunity to vampire venom.

once again thanks to @crowsintheisland for the text post that inspired this entire fic—and uh, i’m sorry?

—

part two: everything that’s under my skin

The transition can last anywhere from twenty minutes to several hours.

The exact duration is impossible to predict with certainty, as is the intensity of the pain she will endure, or the extent of the physical transformation.

(She has now heard all about Nate’s, how extreme it was—the worst the Agency has known since its establishment.

But things are easier now than they were three centuries ago, in the middle of the ocean, with… with everything that happened to him.

Things are easier.

There are substances that can dull the pain, if not counter it entirely. There are measures in place to make this go as smoothly as it possibly can. She will not have to suffer like he did.

Not least of all because she is choosing this.

That is a difference.)

Once the transition is complete and deemed successful, she will, in all likelihood, pass out from exhaustion. Nearly everyone does.

(Nearly everyone, of the ones who survive.)

She will then stay at the facility overnight, under observation until her condition becomes stable.

In addition to any of the common complications that might arise from the process itself, she will be monitored for out of control, violent tendencies upon reawakening (this is not a rare occurrence among the newly turned, she has been told), or for any unexpected reactions her blood might have to the vampire venom.

This will be the most difficult, painful period. Anything that touches her skin will feel like sandpaper. The slightest sound will be too loud.

There will be screaming. Thrashing. She will want to tear her skin apart and climb out of her body.

(A body she may or may not recognize anymore.)

This is expected.

And there will be the hunger. She will have to learn to live with this. Control it.

Over the next few days, her senses will stabilize. It will still be painful, and it will take much longer to learn to dampen them if she so chooses—but she will learn to function despite the pain. It will be a dull, constant ache she will grow used to.

She will then be reintroduced to people other than Agency medical staff.

Nate will be first. His presence is likely to be the only one she will be able to tolerate at this point.

(He will not be allowed to see her before this. This is for the best.)

Then the others.

Morgan.

Adam.

Farah.

In that order.

Then Rebecca.

(Because she is Agent Rebecca Navarro, the handler of Unit Bravo. Not because she is Rebecca-comma-her-mother.)

Her first feeding will be supervised, once again, by specialized staff.

It will not be human blood, not the first time.

Human blood is too intense, too flavorful, and it risks overwhelming her already fragile senses. It will give better results for her to work her way up to it over a period of time.

(She wonders who was the first to arrive at this conclusion, and how they had done so, but this has been Agency policy for at least a hundred years.)

Then, later, there will be tests.

Her blood will be studied again, analyzed for the way its unique composition might have changed or been influenced by the turning process. To assess if it retains any of its special properties, or if it is now indistinguishable from that of a regular vampire.

Eventually, she will be allowed to leave the Facility, and move back to the Warehouse.

She will meet with the fae counselor again. Twice a week, at first, then once weekly. This will continue for the next few months.

Once they deem it appropriate, she will be cleared to go on missions again.

Things will continue as normal.

With Eva finally, fully, a part of this world she has had a foot in for years now.

—

These are the things Eva had been prepared for.

The things she had researched, been informed of, agreed to. This is how things were supposed to go.

(Everything had been outlined in the paperwork she had signed, laid out for her in meetings and sessions the minute she had formally expressed her wish to turn.)

These are not the things that happened.

What did happen is something that has never, for as long as the Agency has had records (and the Agency has records dating back a very, very long time), happened before.

Failed supernatural turnings happen all the time, even under the supervision of the Agency.

Bad reactions to the venom, to the bite. People who are not strong enough, physically or mentally or emotionally.

People who are simply unlucky. It happens.

The strain of the process has claimed many lives.

The Agency tries to minimize the risk with all their prior assessments, but the odds are still not, never, favorable ones.

Eva knows this—this is what she agreed to.

In the end, it was a simple matter of probability—a 50%, 60%, 70% chance of death was always better than the eventual 100%.

(Always better than the knowledge that she would eventually waste away, and that her family—that Nate, her Nate—would have to watch. That she would have to see the already very obvious gap between them grow wider and wider with each passing year.)

It was the only thing that mattered that she had a chance, rather than none at all.

All or nothing.

This is what she agreed to.

But it has never happened before, for as long as the Agency has records, that the bite of a vampire, with the intent and the ability to turn, has absolutely no effect on the person who receives it.

No transformation.

No pain.

Nothing.

Eva’s blood has been studied in as much depth, its properties determined with as much precision and certainty, as the Agency’s technology and reagents have allowed.

The results have been—had been—deemed conclusive.

She was found to be immune to pheromones of all types, siren song, aura reading, precognition, tracking abilities, mood amplifiers.

All of this she has experienced firsthand during missions.

She is not immune to toxins, poisons, spores, paralyzing agents, venoms, or magically inflicted conditions.

This she has also experienced firsthand.

The mutation in her blood was not known to inhibit physical abilities. None of the studies had indicated even the slightest possibility of immunity to vampire venom.

And yet.

And yet. Here she is.

A still-bleeding bite on her neck.

Still human.

—

That night, she does not sleep.

She stays at the facility overnight, as she was meant to.

For very different reasons than she was meant to.

No one knows how to react to what has happened, Eva least of all, so she does the only thing she can trust herself to do: try to find an explanation, a solution.

Something that will allow her to move forward.

The medical staff is just as bewildered as she is, almost as eager to find out why it didn’t work.

There are more tests.

There will need to be more tests, later.

More studies, things they had measured before that will need to be measured again.

Her blood is drawn, sent for quick analysis.

There is no trace of venom in it.

It shouldn’t have disappeared so quickly. It shouldn’t have disappeared at all.

It makes no sense.

—

Nate is as panicked as she is forcing herself not to be.

(He has never done well under stress. This, too, has not changed.)

There is that tightness to his mouth, that slightly more forceful way he shoves his hands in his pockets.

It is so easy to revert to old habits. Especially ones that are hundreds of years old.

He tells her she should sleep, tells her they can work this out in the morning.

(Tries to soothe her when all she wants is to solve this.)

This was not part of the plan. Her hands are shaking.

Nate takes them in his—unsteady as he is right now, the contact helps. It always does.

He is probably right: it makes no difference to have the tests carried out at three or eight in the morning. But it is about the feeling of activity as much as it is about activity itself, and if she stands still she might go mad.

Too often she falls into action as a replacement for feeling.

It is so easy to revert to old habits. Even if they are not hundreds of years old.

She takes a deep breath. Lets Nate’s proximity ease her a little.

Nate is right.

She will—they will—figure this out.

It will work out.

It has to.

—

Over the following weeks, once the initial wave of panic subsides, Eva falls into a routine.

She does not have obligations to the station or to Wayhaven anymore, so she dedicates herself entirely to the Agency.

Unit Bravo is still sent on missions. She is still expected to take part in them, as she was before.

Her life at the Warehouse continues much the same as it was. With Nate, with the others.

She has always been good at compartmentalizing.

Every moment she does not spend with them, however, is now spent at the Facility, in the lab, meeting with doctors and scientists.

She doubles down on the research she had already begun to specialize in: supernatural biology was always going to be her field of study, a chance to put her skills and previous knowledge to far, far more use than she had ever managed as an officer, as a detective. From the moment the Agency started to trust her she had requested to be kept up to date on findings and developments, had requested permission to be included in research programs—to varying levels of success—and spent much of her free time studying what was already known.

(There had been many long, comfortable evenings spent with Nate in his library, reading treatises and books she still couldn’t believe ever made it to regular, human publication. He’d laughed softly when she’d brought that up, once, as she lay on the couch with her head resting on his lap.

“I mean it,” she said, sitting up with a half-laugh of her own. She’d been reading a tome from the early 20th century that detailed the regeneration abilities of phoenixes. “How did anyone take this seriously enough to publish?” She turned the book to look at the cover again. “And this was a regular publishing house.”

That, in turn, led to a fascinating conversation about humans’ tendency to ignore anything that disrupted their worldview too much, and the extent to which the Agency had in fact been connected to that “regular publishing house”, and how Nate knew the person responsible for the publication of that specific book.

The amount of actual studying she managed during those evenings always varied.)

Her newly acquired clearance now grants her access to tests and studies that she can sign off on herself, that she doesn’t need to request from Rebecca (or from anyone) with the hope that they’ll be approved.

Old habits come back, forgotten from her days at university, from a different life. She finds herself slipping into the same rhythm she had been so comfortable with, once—but there is a strange calmness to it even underneath her fevered, focused drive; something soothing about losing herself in slides and results and research.

This is what she had wanted, years ago, before the police, before Bobby. This is exactly what she had wanted.

She has so much of what she had always wanted.

And yet underneath that feeling, there is something else that is slowly, very slowly growing.

Very slowly taking root.

She does not look at it.

She does not think about it.

(Please don’t let it be taken away.)

She does not think about it.

She keeps herself busy.

—

When the Agency clears it, she contacts Verda again.

Eva knows he still has the blood test results from the Murphy case, from Janet Greenland. His research led nowhere, but it remained untouched.

He’s happy to hear from her—asks about her new job. She tells him she’s working in a lab that would make him jealous, would make even the City people jealous. She makes a joke about the Agency’s budget; he laughs.

It’s so easy.

(She is glad to hear his voice, and she asks with genuine interest about Eric and Cara and Lacey—they are doing wonderfully; little Lacey just had her birthday—but it is still so, so easy to lie.)

It is just as easy to convince him to send her his findings. The Agency, it turns out, is a wonderful excuse for pretty much anything, and he is all too happy to help her.

It ends up being yet another dead end. Janet Greenland’s blood had the same properties as her own, and Verda’s analyses say far less than the Agency’s.

There is nothing new in them, nothing Eva didn’t already know.

Another closed door.

(And that feeling is still there. Roots and vines spreading within her.)

—

It has been months.

She is no closer to finding a solution now than she was then: every door closes as soon as it opens. There had been another attempt—a different vampire, an Agency representative she didn’t know—it didn’t matter, it still didn’t work.

There have been tests and studies and even the possibility of turning into a different kind of supernatural—nothing, nothing. Nothing seems to lead anywhere.

It has been months, and she is too aware, too painfully aware in a way that she can’t ignore that months easily turn into years and she is not thirty years old anymore, has not been for a while.

It has been months and the roots and vines that grow within her have taken hold, have reached her throat. That thought is still there, that feeling.

She wakes up in the middle of the night and she can’t breathe.

It takes a terrifying, delirious moment to realize she is in her room—

(in their room, hers and Nate’s, their room in the Warehouse)

(and she’s not sure what she was dreaming except that she is left with that feeling of being on the edge of an abyss, of being about to fall)

—and Nate is there, he is always there, warm hands and strong arms and he is holding her against him, whispering into her ear—in languages she does not know but which have become familiar to her because they are his—until she can breathe again.

He whispers to her in Spanish, too, and in the middle of the night, lost as she feels, it hurts.

Hurts in the full, aching way his love has always hurt, in the way that makes the unshed tears of years past want to finally fall.

They don’t.

She blinks them away, buries her face in the crook of his neck.

“Jaan, love,” he says later, later, after her breathing has settled. His voice is all concern, all sweet care, spoken against her hair. “Sleep.”

He knows he won’t get her to talk, not when she is like this. He has learned her moods and her disposition, knows them better than she herself does. But she hasn’t slept through a night in weeks, and the worry in his voice mirrors the way his hands trace shapes on her skin, warm, soothing.

She doesn’t respond.

“I will figure this out,” she says instead. I have to, she doesn’t say.

She doesn’t look at him.

She’s not sure, really, if she’s saying it to Nate or if she’s saying it to herself.

He draws back, puts the smallest amount of space between them. Hooks a finger under her chin, tilts her head up so she can meet his eyes.

God, those eyes.

Those eyes have always been her undoing.

The purest, darkest brown (and she can’t see well enough now in the low light of their room, but she doesn’t need to, she knows them by heart, could bring them to mind at any moment—there is an even darker ring around the iris, long dark lashes framing them), warm and blazing in a way that stirs her alive.

“Eva,” he says, simply (and yet not, because there is nothing simple about her name in his mouth). It pulls her back from her thoughts, as it always has, as it always does.

(It’s in the way he says it. He has always said it the way it’s meant to be said, the way very few people in her life ever have. The subtle inflections of his accent shape themselves around it instead of forcing it into a different sound and those two syllables have never sounded so right as they do when he says them.

The name of a person you love is more than language. She’s not sure where it’s from. He quoted it to her once.

I summon you back by saying your nombre. This one she knows. It stings, in that same full, beautiful way.)

It’s too much.

His eyes and her name and his voice and his arms and the warmth of him around her and the vines in her throat. Too close. Too close.

Too much.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Her voice cracks. She hates that it does.

Nate blinks, once, twice, before his frown deepens with even more concern and even more love and even more care.

Those are not words heard from her often or even at all. I apologize, if she needs to, if she feels it is warranted—reparations and actions but not this. Never this.

“What for, my love?”

I don’t know.

I’m sorry I’m falling apart.

I’m sorry I’m breaking down.

I’m sorry this is such a mess and I’m sorry I’m getting overwhelmed and I’m sorry I don’t know what to do and and and

Everything in her wants to push the words down.

So she drags them out of her throat.

Painful, painful, it has always been painful (it will never not be painful; her heart was not made for this) but it is pain she embraces, pain that comes from love and from feeling.

She would not, could not hide anything from him. Even if it means giving voice to that one thought that she has refused, refused to look at ever since she felt it make its home there.

Voicing it gives it shape.

Giving it shape makes it something that needs to be confronted.

(“I’ve cracked myself open for you and nothing has ever given me such pleasure,” she wrote once—it seems so long ago—in a letter she meant to give to him but never did. Finding the words, looking at the parts of herself that she hated—she wouldn’t have had a reason to do it were it not for the fact that she wanted him to know all of her.)

“I’m scared, Nate—I don’t know what to do, I’m fucking terrified. What if it doesn’t—what if I can’t—”

And she is sobbing now, words half-formed, tumbling out with the fear acknowledged.

And she knows he doesn’t want to hear this, she knows, it took so long to even have this conversation in the first place and it only happened because she’d been the one to push for it—

Nate holds her, and lets her cry.

“Whatever happens, you have me. You will always have me, I promise,” is the last thing she hears before she falls asleep again, exhausted, drained.

(She thinks he might be crying, too.)

—

Things are different, after that.

She feels—fragile.

Unmoored.

—

Finally, finally, the answer comes.

The results of those initial tests, the ones from years ago, the ones before Murphy—they provide the key.

It is not the mutation in her blood that is preventing the venom from working.

Her blood would, should be able to react to it.

Except—

Except that because of what Murphy did to her, half her blood is supernatural. Half the blood in her veins is vampire blood.

Only half.

Only the blood.

Her DNA remains unaltered, purely and uniquely human, but it's enough.

Enough for the venom to be absorbed without any effect or consequence, because vampire venom does not react with vampire blood.

Because supernaturals can't be turned into other supernaturals.

It’s conclusive, this time, (and trying to undo it would kill her, with such certainty that it is not even something that can be considered at all), and what a fucking joke it is—she would laugh if she weren’t so stunned, isn’t sure she doesn’t—she can never not be human because her body thinks it's already something else.

—

That feeling of dread that grew steadily with every closed door, with every negative result—it claws up her throat now. Spills out, nothing containing it anymore.

It was only a matter of time.

Her hands shake as she turns the key in the lock (and she catches a glimpse of the scar on her wrist and she almost screams) and she is fucking glad she kept the apartment in Wayhaven, now, as she shuts the door behind her and collapses to the floor, a wailing sound like a wounded animal's leaving her—

And then she is crying, sobbing on the floor of an empty apartment she hasn't been to in god knows how long, the palms of her hands pressed hard against her eyelids and still her mind is trying, trying, desperately reaching for any kind of solution, anything that will let her hold on to hope for just a little longer—

But there isn't one.

She knows there isn’t one and she can’t look away from it anymore.

Her whole life she has always found a way forward, a way out of everything; things have always worked out in the end, but this, this, this one time—

This one thing—

She can never be their equal.

This one thing that she wants—

That abyss between them that she had thought possible to bridge, had not thought she could not bridge will do nothing but grow wider and wider and wider until—

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

What the fuck happens now?

How does she—?

Fuck.

#the wayhaven chronicles #nate sewell #qbwrites #qbwritestwc #oc: eva

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owletstarlet · 4 years ago

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water, sunlight (tender mercy)

“You’re full,” the spirit insists, eyes round and steady. “This will help.”

(also known as, owlet’s ill-advised spin on hanahaki. CW for Natsume’s Terrible Childhood, as well as a bit of a CW for symptoms of Vague Anime Illness during this our extended plague year.)

Ao3 link in the notes.

***

Four days.

He was twelve years old.

Twelve years old, and about to look after his aunt and uncle’s house during their long weekend trip north. He didn’t mind, had looked forward to it, honestly; he’d be on school break himself, and the quiet of the empty house had sounded more than appealing.

His cousin, two years older, had been tasked with leaving the spare key where Takashi could find it, under the potted yuzu tree on the porch.

Except she never did.

He tried and failed to find an unlatched window to shimmy through. He’d had enough change on him for a payphone, but the name and number of the hotel had been scrawled down on a pad left in the kitchen.

He contemplated the police station, next. But by now, so late in the day, his guardians would have reached their destination hours away. He’d head off the potential fallout from troubling them; they weren’t the warmest of people but Takashi was provided for, didn’t mind his school, and he hadn’t managed to step out of line just yet.

Four days couldn’t be so long, surely.

But then he’d misjudged some things. Namely, how much food that pocketful of change could get him at the hundred-yen shop, how cold it could still get at night even in early March, and how no 24-hour convenience store or café would let him in for long to warm up if he couldn’t pay for anything.

And it hadn’t been that bad, all things considered—the park he’d stayed overnight in was near enough to people’s homes that the larger youkai steered clear, and then on that last night when a chilly rain had driven him indoors the lady from the convenience store gave him a bento she’d been prepared to toss out, even heated it up for him.

And when his aunt and uncle returned to him dozing off on the porch, all it took was a quick lie about having locked himself out that morning and they were none the wiser to the whole ordeal. He even got to keep the food money, having tucked it away into his pillowcase the night before they’d left.

And yes, it’d been uncomfortable, and inconvenient. But definitely not worth waking up in a frigid sweat over, four years later.

It’s not just the once, either.

He’s otherwise had a nice week; there’d been a school trip to the botanical garden for everyone in their year. Touko had sent Takashi along with cranberry muffins for everyone to share on the train, and Nishimura hadn’t stopped rapturously singing their praises for the rest of the day. They’d made a sort of competition out comparing their mandatory sketches of the different plants to see whose bush clover was the very worst, and bickered a bit over what the prize ought to be while Sasada, their de-facto judge, just rolled her eyes at them and told them they ought to at least try. Takashi had dozed off for most of the train ride back, a dreamless nap, while Kitamoto and Taki took it upon themselves to steer him by the shoulders back from the train station to the bus stop. Takashi had let himself be led, in a pleasant twilit daze, all the way back to the Fujiwaras’ front door.

He woke up crying out, that night, heart hurling itself against a chest that felt brittle and thin.

***

Three days later finds Takashi crouched in the moss of a little forest clearing, riding out the wave of dizziness as a name swirls through the air above him. Its owner gives him a smile as it sinks through their skin—no flickers of Reiko this time, no associated memory for Takashi to absorb in turn. And there isn’t always, that’s not unusual, but what is unusual is the way they lean forward towards him once the process is complete, to place a cool finger right between his eyes. Once Takashi stops seeing double, he thinks hazily that the youkai looks rather like an heirloom doll—glossy straight hair, round apple-cheeks, blush-pink kimono—but their mouth is pinched, as if in passing concern.

“You’re full,” they tell him.

Takashi just blinks at them.

“Care to elaborate?” Beside him, Sensei’s eyes narrow. “Or don’t. We were just leaving.”

“You’re full,” the spirit insists, eyes round and steady. “This will help.”

They slide their fingers downwards across his face, his neck, to rest at the hollow of his throat. Takashi feels the pop, the sudden chill sinking through his flesh.

Sensei forces his way between them, then, poking at Takashi’s skin with his paw. “What was that?” he demands.

“A nudge,” the ayakashi says, simply. Seconds later, they’ve vanished.

***

Takashi doesn’t notice straightaway. He’s bleary-eyed and yawning through his Civics assignment after dinner, but he’d returned a name just hours before, so it doesn’t exactly raise an alarm bell. Neither does the tickle in the back of his throat, not when the weather’s chilly and half the school is sneezy and runny-nosed at the moment. He drinks the honeyed tea Touko brings him and has all but forgotten about it as he climbs into his futon that night.

He’s twelve years old. He wishes he’d taken a coat, before they’d left.

Touko offers, in the morning, to keep him home from school; he’d been coughing last night, loud enough that the sound carried down the hall. But Takashi can’t remember it, the only apparent trace of it in the persistent tickle that has him clearing his throat every now and then, so he accepts a mask and a thermos of tea and her pat to his cheek, then leaves as usual.

He’s not feeling truly dreadful until lunch the following day; throat prickling, chest too tight, stomach roiling too much to handle more than a few bites of rice. Nishimura walks him home, looping their arms together and resolutely waving off Takashi’s worry that he’ll just get him sick, too. They stop twice, Takashi left winded and red-faced from the deeper, heavier coughs that had begun just hours before.

Touko makes him tea again that night, when he feels bolstered enough to make his way back down to the kitchen for okayu that hurts to swallow. But the thick cup slips from his fingers seconds after she presses is into his hand. It cracks into three neat pieces when it hits the floor, its contents splattering his socks and the toes of Touko’s slippers.

He’s barely opened his mouth to apologize—

Cracked porcelain. Scalded fingers going red. Heartbeat in his throat.

He was seven years old.

“I—”

Whatever he was about to say is snatched away by a low, deep cough, colliding with the sudden urge to be sick.

He manages to keep his dinner down, just barely, after some not-so-deep breaths through his nose over the toilet he’d bolted to. But he’s leaning over anyways, moments later, hacking and spitting and something just beneath his sternum rips itself free.

He peers into the water, at the white scraggly thing, half curled in on itself, that he’s somehow just choked up.

He blinks, flushes it down. Heads straight up to bed, dazed, wondering with a sudden icy pinprick of fear just what he’d been about to say to Touko.

He wakes again that night, throat searing, the sight of blistered fingers and tea-darkened wood floors burned into the backs of his eyelids.

Sensei’s eyes narrow. “A chrysanthemum?” He prods at the damp crumpled thing lying on Takashi’s pillowcase, this one’s petals shot through with burgundy.

Takashi stares at it, knees drawn up beneath his chin, chest aching like something’s been torn loose from him.

***

Two nights later and he’s curled on his side, cheek pressed against the cool whorls of wood where Sensei had deposited him on the doorstep of the Yatsuhara Temple. Hauling himself upright to reach the doorbell is beyond him. He gets a shaky fist up to knock, somehow, unsure who will answer the door. Tanuma had said something about his dad and a business trip, maybe, but the details are like water through a sieve in his mind.

Nothing happens. He’s at the bottom of a lake, pushed down and down and when the sound of a doorbell drifts through his ears a nebulous moment later, it’s beyond him to wonder just how on earth Sensei managed to do that.

He senses the light of the opened door through shuttered eyes. A sharp intake of breath, a dull thunk of knees dropping to the floor beside him that he feels more than hears.

“Natsume?” Tanuma’s voice has gone low with fright, one tentative hand on his shoulder and another, seconds later, lighting on his forehead. It makes his skin prickle, and he feels his face screw up.

“Wh—is he hurt?”

“He asked to come here,” Sensei says, obliquely.

Takashi finds a thready sliver of his voice then, opens one eye to Tanuma’s face washed bloodless by the porch light, gaping at him. “Sorry,” he starts, but the word ends jagged on a cough.

And another, and another, and then he’s spitting mouthful after cloying mouthful of bruised petals into his own shaking fingers.

Before he’s opened his streaming eyes he feels cool hands uncover his mouth, a thumb swiping across his chin.

“What…what is this?”

***

Takashi has no real awareness of how he got inside, or even what room he’s in; just that they’re on the floor, that Tanuma’s got him gathered up in his arms.

He tries to lay him out flat, but an odd, reedy sound shakes loose from Takashi’s throat and he feeels his own fingers scrabbling at Tanuma’s sleeve. Tanuma stops halfway to the floor, a panicked question in his eyes, holding Takashi in place awkwardly half-cradled against his chest.

“Hurts,” Takashi manages, breathlessly, by way of explanation. He can’t elaborate. He watches frantic, imploring eyes flick to Sensei instead.

“He’s cursed.” Takashi can’t see him but there’s an edge to his voice. “Some busybody got it into their head that they were doing him a favor. Now he’s choking up flowers every minute or so, as if that’s at all useful. He’s got a soggy little garden in there now.” Takashi feels a paw prodding his ribs. “You could see them, couldn’t you? Out on the doorstep.”

Tanuma nods, slowly, and Takashi watches a dozen questions flit through his eyes. But he must see that Takashi can’t spare the breath for the answers, so instead he says, “How do we stop it?”

Sensei sighs. “Seems like it’ll resolve itself, sooner or later. The brat’s just selective about his audience for it. And your house was closer than the Taki girl’s, so here we are.”

“‘M sorry,” Takashi repeats, through a wheeze. “B-but Touko-san and Shigeru-san, they can’t…” It’s true, and it’s urgent, but the words escape his grasp like slippery minnows so all he can do is look up, dazed and panting as though he’d sprinted here.

“…maybe you shouldn’t be talking right now.” And with that, Takashi feels himself being gently turned and positioned so his back is against Tanuma’s chest.

“That’s the trouble, isn’t it,” Sensei mutters, even as Takashi’s pressing both hands over his mouth again while his chest, or his stomach, or some elusive in-between place, has begun to turn itself inside out again.

His fingers come away cupping a tattered flower, yellow now with splotches of red that stain his skin where the petals touch, and Tanuma sucks in a breath.

“What’s happening to you?”

He finds out, soon enough.

***

A water bottle with a cracked lid. His homeroom teacher, her kind face taut as she asked him to open his bento. He’d figured if he tucked himself in the corner and let it sit on the edge of the desk, nobody would ask. He was dizzy, his limbs felt like they might evaporate into the stuffy air. He wondered if she’d let him put his head down until the period ended.

He was thirteen years old.

Sensei rolled in an empty wastebasket, at some point. Takashi’s got his arms locked around it, head lolling halfway inside it. Tanuma hadn’t interrupted, hasn’t said a word other than the whispered assurances beside his ear every time something rips inside him, leaving him hacking and teary-eyed and trying not to whimper. The words, when they come, are drawn out like some unspooling thread, from the dustiest corners of his mind that he never looks at too closely.

Knees pulled up to his chest in the dark, perched on a musty stack of futons. Clutching at his stinging cheek, ears pricked for heavy, meandering footsteps.

He was eight years old.

Tanuma started tracing slow circles into his shoulder, at some point, while he spits bits of himself into the wastebasket.

“If you can stand, I can—my bed…”

“Doubtful,” Sensei says. He’s pressed lengthwise against Takashi’s thigh.

Scraped arms wrapped tight around a branch that feels weak, precarious in the breeze. The creature gazing up at him, amused, blackened blood on its lips. Thunder rolling in, far off still but the air already thick and charged.

He was ten years old.

It takes a bit of time to come back to himself, to slip back into his body from the spaces between. It’s not over, he knows, but Tanuma’s pressing a glass of water into his hands now, helping lift it to his lips when it’s clear his fingers have all but gone wooden.

The long look Tanuma gives him once he’s set the glass aside makes Takashi feel pinned down like an insect to a corkboard. It’s an odd crooked angle to look up at him from; the side of Takashi’s head is braced against his collarbone. But Tanuma’s jaw is locked, and his eyes are red and wet, seem like they have been for awhile but Takashi doesn’t have the presence of mind to recall when that had started.

He’s carding back Takashi’s damp fringe while Takashi wishes he could just squirm away, fingers endlessly careful even as his voice turns steely.

“It isn’t right.”

Takashi pushes the “sorry” out on a wheeze; it feels like an exercise in futility when there’s that itching promise behind his ribs of more to come, that stopping it would be like trying to swim straight up a waterfall.

Tanuma shakes his head, fingers coming to rest on Takashi’s cheek, where there must be dried-up spittle and bits of plant matter and blood coating the skin.

“It’s not—“ he starts to say, then lets out an unsteady breath. “It’s not what you’re telling me. I mean. That’s not right, either. And you shouldn’t ever believe it was. But you…” he trails off again, like he’s trying to parse out the proper words, and Takashi’s suspended, hovering right on the edge of something vast and formless and ready to snap him right up.

“These things…” he waves his hand vaguely at the wastebasket. “You never would’ve told me any of this, if that spirit hadn’t forced you, would you.” It’s not a question, but it’s not an indictment. Takashi says nothing.

“You shouldn’t have had to,” he continues, softly. “Ever, if you didn’t want to. It should have been your call.”

The sound that escapes Takashi’s mouth then is a bitten-off, ugly thing. He’s not sure when his eyes closed, but he feels the careful pads of thumbs swiping away the at the hollows beneath them.

“I meant that, but I didn’t mean to make you cry.” A pause, and Tanuma’s pinched face finally swims back into view above him. “You should try to finish the water, okay?”

He does, but there’s the sensation of tacks pressed into his throat when he swallows.

A sound of shuffling, then Sensei’s poking his knee. He’s dragged in a cushion that Takashi thinks came from the sitting room. “Just put him down here, if he can take it,” he huffs. “It looks like you’ve been trying to cradle a cooked noodle for the past hour.”

He ends up on his side with his cheek squashed against the cushion, a scent of stale incense clinging to the fabric, Sensei firmly sandwiched between his stomach and his arm.

Tanuma sits cross-legged in front of him, one hand resting on Takashi’s upper arm. His eyes are still puffy but he looks thoughtful, now.

“You know that Jizo altar in the garden?” he asks.

Takashi blinks, manages a nod.

“So, um. Yesterday I was out there sweeping and pulling the weeds around it, and I went around the back side and there was a swallow’s nest… I mean, I think that’s what it was, it looked like it was more mud than sticks and it was wedged up where the wall meets the roof.”

“Too early in the year for swallows, isn’t it.” Sensei’s voice is muffled by Takashi’s forearm.

“I thought so too. I haven’t seen any out there yet, but Dad said I could use his camera to try to get some photos anyways. He’ll put them in the monthly newsletter. And I’d like to get up there to see if there are any eggs inside, but…”

“It’d make a decent snack, if there were,” Sensei drawls. Takashi can’t muster much force, but he manages to flick Sensei in the ear hard enough to elicit an indignant squawk.

“I’m a little afraid that the swallows are gonna come back while I’m there and give me a hard time about it,” Kaname says, a rueful quirk to his lips.

“D-do swallows even…” Takashi has to stop halfway through to muster the breath, to gulp hard past prickling that’s morphed into burning. “Would they attack people?”

Sensei’s head pops up then, chin resting on Takashi’s arm. “Hah. If they do, I hope you record it.”

Tanuma’s hand migrates to the top of Sensei’s head. “Well you could just come see for yourself,” he says, fingers seeking out the spots around the bases of the ears Sensei likes best. “I was going to ask Natsume if he wanted to help get the photo. Once you’re feeling up to it,” he adds, to Takashi. Takashi manages a bare nod.

“Oh, and,” he goes on, with a considering glance towards the darkened window, “I’d thought it’d probably be a good idea to put a box on the ground underneath, with some newspaper inside? In case it falls.”

Takashi can feel another cough mounting behind his sternum, the wrongness clamoring to wrench itself free; knows he’s about to be swallowed up by another place and time. His lips twitch anyway.

“Kind of you.” The breath behind the words is rattling oddly, and judging by the tightness around Tanuma’s eyes, he doesn’t miss it.

“Well, I mean,” Tanuma says, after a beat of silence, with a thin smile of his own. “It’s probably pretty bad luck to let a bunch of of baby birds die right beside a Jizo, or bad form at least, but. Thanks. You can help with that too, if you want.”

Before Takashi can answer, the words have fallen straight out of his head and bled through the floor. And he’s tipping backwards, down, down until he’s nine years old again.

A bus stop in the rain, a rapidly darkening sky. His aunt was an hour and a half late, now. He’d just walk, if he knew the way.

Hungry yellow eyes, glinting out from between the bush and a vending machine.

***

Tanuma’s not there when Takashi wakes. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But the sheets on Tanuma’s bed smell like his uniform, tatami and detergent and incense. The curtain’s closed, but he can see the light peeking through the edges.

He doesn’t try to sit up. His chest feels scraped hollow and his brain skitters away from the thought of the mouthfuls of blood that had come up with the flowers. Sensei’s nowhere to be seen.

He’s staring at the ceiling lamp, drifting, when Tanuma appears in the doorway with a tray in hand. He opts not to flick the light on, setting the tray down to lean over the bed and draw the curtain halfway back. Takashi doesn’t need to ask if he got any sleep at all, not when he looks for all the world like he got punched in both eyes. But his smile had been real and relieved when he’d seen that Takashi was awake.

“I brought tea,” he says, perching on the edge of the bed. “But you’ll probably want water first, right?”

He does—he ends up chugging down two-thirds of the offered bottle like he’s dying, one of Tanuma’s hands behind his head and the other steadying his elbow, until Tanuma gently pries it from his fingers to keep him from being sick.

“Where’s Sensei?” he asks moment later, in a sandpaper voice, while Tanuma helps prop him up on the headboard.

“He said something about going back to the Fujiwaras’, pretending to be you long enough to come down for breakfast and tell them you were headed here for the day.”

Takashi grimaces, and the look Tanuma gives him is sympathetic and only slightly amused. “It’s better than making them worry, right? I’m glad it’s not a school day, anyways.”

They’re silent for a moment, after that, while Tanuma pours him the tea. Takashi smells lemon and honey. He stares down at the cup warming his chilled fingers, watches the steam curling towards his face. It’s good, but he feels torn open, still, like the whole of him is an exposed nerve.

“I—”

“If you’re trying to apologize, please don’t,” Tanuma says, abruptly, meeting his eyes. “You already did. A lot.”

“Oh.” He takes a sip of tea, not sure what else to do.

“Sorry. Just. You didn’t need to, is all. None of that was my business, if you didn’t want it to be. I told you that.” Takashi watches his jaw clench and unclench. “It just…made me. Really angry, at some people I’ve never met.”

“You don’t need to be,” Takashi murmurs, more to the blankets on his lap than to Tanuma. “It’s, um. It was long enough ago that who knows how much of it I was even remembering right.” He shrugs, and the movement makes his ribs ache. “And the Fujiwaras are kind, anyways. I’m lucky.”

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to say, because Tanuma’s face does something odd. Then his cup is taken out of his hands, and there are arms wrapped around his back, and a face buried in his hair. He’s shaking. Maybe they both are. Takashi goes still for all of two seconds before his arms are coming up too, of their own accord, and he’s clinging right back like his life depends on it. Like he could sink right through Tanuma’s skin, if he could just hold on tight enough. He’d be alright with that, he thinks. He’s lucky in more ways than one.

Beside them, the tea grows cold, dappled light falling across their knees.

***

#not great but i’m tired of looking at it #about the illness cw it’s a lot of coughing so 🙃#which makes everyone and their dog anxious right now #natsume's book of friends #natsume yuujinchou #tanunatsu #tanuma kaname #natsume takashi #cw child abuse #cw illness #owlet's fanfic #natsume yuujinchou fanfiction

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exophile3d · 4 years ago

Text

Old Rip (Part 2)

Male Gargoyle, Female Reader.

Part 1 (SFW)

Part 2 (SFW)

You cannot remember a worse date. The restaurant is overpriced and as pretentious as you feared, and Greg - the DB9-driving banker - fits right in. The courses are small and fiddly and almost everything tastes bitter. There is at least no shortage of wine, and since Greg seems happy to keep your glass full, you’re happy to do anything to numb your senses and speed the evening to its end. Although initially he talks of turning the gatehouse into an onsite shop for the luxury flats, you manage to convince him that you and Grumpa know everything there is to know about the manor, its needs and pecularities, the grounds maintenance, and the many licences and permits required to be renewed on an annual basis. By the end of the last course, you’re almost sure you’ve convinced him you’re indispensable.

It’s inevitable really. He’s hired a chauffeur-driven Bentley to ferry the two of you around for the evening, and on the way back to Ravenscourt, he gets handsy in the back seat. You make your feelings on the matter perfectly clear, land him with a punch that’ll have him singing soprano for days, and get out of the car a mile from your gate in the pouring rain. As the car turns and speeds back past you, you realise you’ve just made you and Grumpa homeless for the sake of your pride, and the rain washes your tears as you trudge the last few hundred yards to your little cottage. A light is still on in your porch, but the rest of the house is dark. You don’t want to be alone right now, but you also don’t want to wake your grandfather, so you climb the crumbling spiral steps to the narrow stone walkway that runs along the back of the archway, slick with rain. You reach your usual spot and wobbling a little from the wine, you dangle your legs over the edge just to the left of Old Rip’s face. Your thighs settle into their usual spots and you look out across the darkened driveway. There is no sound but the steady patter of rain, the night wind in the trees and the occasional hooting of an owl.

You tell Old Rip everything, leaving nothing out and examining and cross-examining your actions and feelings. You tell him of the choice you had and the choice you made, of your love for both the old manor and your Grumpa, and of your fears for the future. He’s always been a good listener, but tonight you wish he was able to give something back. You’d give your left arm for some advice right about now. Giving him one more affectionate pat on his ribbed stone pate, you swing your legs back across the low wall at the top, but overbalance in the dark and the wind, toppling into empty air with a shriek. You jolt to an abrupt halt, suspended some twenty feet above the wet gravel, feet dangling freely. You glance up, forcing air back into your shocked lungs, to find you’re caught on one of Old Rip’s clawed hands. It appears to be snagged on the hood of your jacket, and because it’s zipped up to your neck, you’re going nowhere. As you spin above the ground in the rain-soaked blackness, the stresses of the day and the evening, the excess wine you’ve drunk, and the dizzying effect of your predicament combine to send you spiralling into blessed darkness. Just as your eyes close, you could almost swear you see Old Rip’s stone face turn.

You wake the following morning on your bed, your jacket still zipped to your chin and your boots resting on wet, muddy spots on the covers. You’re not sure how you made it down, but you were so drunk last night that you probably fell like a rag doll and managed to land without injury before dragging yourself to bed. You’ve heard of weirder things happening. After a shower that thaws the chill from your bones, you fry up a breakfast for you and Grumpa and you sit down together in uncomfortable silence.

“So how’d it go with the new owner?” asks Grumpa eventually. You can see he was hesitant to ask. Your stewardship of the estate has always come with free lodgings and a small stipend, but in Grumpa’s time, people took jobs for life, and there’s never been a need for him to save enough to buy his own place. But times have changed. If Greg does turf you out, as seems likely, you can probably manage to scrape up enough between you to put down a rental downpayment on a tiny flat in a bad area. You hate to have to break the news, but you also can’t keep it from him.

“Not well. I think he’s going to want us out.”

Grumpa nods and chews his breakfast stolidly.

“I’ll start looking for places we can afford when the local paper comes later,” you say, a little surprised at his reaction.

“If you like,” he says, rising and taking his dishes to the sink.

“If I l- you do realise we’re going to have to move?” you ask. He’s getting on in years, but until now, you’d always thought he had kept all his marbles.

He shrugs and heads off outside, avoiding your question. “Archway’s fixed,” comes his comment from just outside the door.

“The arch - what?” You frown and hurry out to join him. He’s right. The foot-long block of masonry is back under Old Rip’s hand with not a trace of damage. “Grumpa! Did you-”

The old man shakes his head and pats you on the shoulder with a smile before going about his work.

The day is a whirl of phone calls and tasks and meetings and arguments which keep your mind blessedly occupied, otherwise you’d be frying your noodle over how you got down from the wall without breaking both your legs, and how that massive block of stone, which must weigh as much as a small child, got back into place overnight. But all is not going well with the renovations. While the banker is itching to get started - time is money - all manner of things appear to be going wrong. The builders turn up to find none of their equipment will work in any of the estate’s power outlets; the architects’ plans vanish from their ipads to be replaced with schematics for a theme park in Ireland; and the digger breaks down ten feet from the front gate, effectively blocking it for most of the day.

You clamber up to your usual perch above the drive at lunchtime, watching in amusement as three men in overalls stare in confusion at the digger’s engine and try ever more elaborate plans to try to get it started. You chuckle as one of them emerges from the engine bay with a broken spanner and you dangle a companionable arm over Rip’s stony head.

“Did you have a hand in all this, you rascal?”. You offer him the first mouthful of your sandwich, as you’ve done almost every day since you were a child. He’s never taken it of course, but this time, when you raise it to your mouth, there’s a bite-sized chunk missing.

Part 3

#monster x human #monster love #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monster lover #gargoyle boyfriend #gargoyle #fantasy #romance #adventure #angst

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valiantly-onward · 4 years ago

Text

The Serpentine War Ch. 12

Chapter 12: The Way Of The Ninja

The camp was buzzing by morning with news of Garmadon’s arrival. For his part, Wu remained holed up with his brother inside the tent, deep in discussion.

“You should see everyone,” Wu told him. “They are a fine Alliance. I’ll have them assembled.”

Garmadon made no protest. Wu quickly sent Haru to gather the Masters, and came back to the tent. He stood in the entryway for a moment, smiling. Overnight, a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He wasn’t doing this alone anymore.

“In honor of your arrival -” Wu began.

Garmadon looked up drily. “Wu -”

“I will give you -”

“Stop.”

“- my firstborn son.”

“Come on.”

Wu thought for a moment. “Or tea. I’ll just get you tea.”

He crossed the floor to his small firepit. He shifted the logs to coax the fire back into being, then hung his teapot on the rack. After it simmered for a while, Wu offered a cup to his brother. “I’m glad you’re here. I couldn’t do this without you. Believe me, I’ve been trying.”

Garmadon accepted the tea and stood. “I know, brother. That’s why I’m here.” He patted Wu’s shoulder and walked out, sipping his drink.

Wu stuck his tongue in his cheek and shook his head as he rose to follow.

Outside, the Alliance had congregated. Pride flared in Wu’s chest at the sight of them. Ray stood off to the left - when had he gotten so tall? - with Maya leaning against his shoulder. Those two had become closer than either realized; only an outsider could see it. They suffered severe familiarity and understanding. Give them a few hundreds years together and they’d be unstoppable.

Garmadon folded his arms, his teacup still in one hand. “So,” he began loudly. “What do we know about the Serpentine?”

The Masters stared at him.

Wu stepped forward. “Alliance, this is my brother, Garmadon. He will be joining us. You answer to him the same as you answer to me.”

Garmadon nodded his thanks to Wu, and asked again, “What do we know about the Serpentine?”

“Ugly!” Acronix shouted.

Laughter rippled through the small gathering.

“That,” Garmadon conceded. “What else? What do we know about them from battle?”

There was pensieve silence. Finally, Maya said, “We’ve never won a battle with Anacondrai. Every other tribe, yes. Not them.”

Garmadon nodded in agreement. “So, naturally, we must find the Anacondrai weakness if we ever hope to defeat the Serpentine.”

The Masters shifted uncomfortably. “But they have no weaknesses,” Vivian called forward.

“I said we must find one,” Garmadon replied. He paused; a look appeared in his eyes that Wu recognized all too well. He continued, “Which is why I’m sneaking into their camp tonight to spy on them.”

Uproar ensued. Wu simply watched as the Masters clamored and argued. It was insane! No one could sneak up on an Anacondrai. The risk spelled certain death, or capture in the very least.

Finally, Haru emerged from the contention with an actual question. “Will you go alone?”

“I could, but I prefer not to.” Garmadon’s eyes flicked back to Wu, for confirmation. Wu carefully nodded his agreement. He hadn’t considered sending spies so close to the Serpentine, but if anyone could pull it off, it was Garmadon.

“Well, then,” Garmadon declared. “I’ll need your stealthiest Masters. The Master of Shadow, perhaps? And you can still turn invisible, can’t you, Master of Light?”

True to his name, Sam Pale looked pale. Nevertheless, he stepped out from between Ray and Dojin. “I saw how you snuck around last night. You got me, uh...what should we call you?”

“Master Garmadon will do.” Garmadon raised his chin. “And the Master of Shadow?”

Lei raised a hand. “You’re crazy, Master Garmadon, but I dig it. I’m coming”

Garmadon nodded. “Good. We’ll convene here at sunset.”

He dropped back beside Wu, which Wu understood as turning over the floor. He stamped his staff. “Very well, everyone. Back to your usual duties, and the sentry schedule. Ray, Maya, I need you to go down to retrieve Lorin from the village. I - we - will give new orders once we know more about the situation. Dismissed.”

The Masters slowly dispersed, Ray and Maya jogging off in the direction of the village. Wu turned to his brother, who watched the Alliance go with deep contemplation.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Wu asked.

“Yes,” Garmadon replied, with no room for question in his voice.

“Then I trust you.”

Something flickered in Garmadon’s gaze, fleeting. But it was gone nearly as soon as it arrived. “Thank you, Wu.”

Wu grinned, and deftly swept Garmadon’s tea cup into his own hand. “But three of you, sneaking in after dark? I still don’t like it.”

“Relax, brother,” Garmadon said, already stepping backward into the tent. “I am, after all, a ninja.”

~~~

This mission served multiple purposes.

For one, Garmadon didn’t really need to spy on the Serpentine. He knew their basic strategy in this area, since he’d helped design it. That advantage wouldn’t last long; Chen would surely inform the Anacondrai that Garmadon had switched sides. Still, he didn’t want Wu to know how he’d obtained his prior information. So this mission would cover that.

The other purposes? Exactly what he’d said: learn the Anacondrai weakness. And, as a bonus, begin assessing the Alliance, starting with the Masters of Shadow and Light.

The hills were black as pitch at night. Garmadon was careful to avoid the areas he knew the snakes were, but he couldn’t be sure. And neither Lei nor Sam Pale were as stealthy as their powers had led him to believe.

After Lei tripped over another rock, swearing under her breath, Garmadon pulled to a stop.

“What is it?” Sam Pale asked, creeping up at Garmadon’s shoulder.

It was the Serpentine camp. Garmadon fell into a crouch, and the Masters followed in suit. Here, the hills sloped down into the edge of desert lands. A line of Serpentine guards stretched along the base of a small valley. Garmadon figured there would be more invisible Anacondrai sentries further out. The brightness of the camp torches and firepits seemed a little gaudy and stupid to him, but he soon recognized the problem they presented.

Sam Pale squinted as he tilted his head. “How are we supposed to get close? It’s bright as noon down there. And those guards?”

Garmadon sighed. The Master of Light presented a good point; the light would make it difficult to approach in shadows. But he lacked vision. “And so this becomes a lesson. Come here, both of you.”

They scooted closer. He crouched over their backs, pointing from between them. “You see that big tent down there? It’s casting shadows in every direction from those torches. The shadows aren’t very dark, but they exist. Lei, I want you to stay within those shadows as much as possible. How long can you stay incorporeal?”

“A few minutes,” Lei replied. “Maybe fifteen before I have to come out.”

“Test that limit. You will enter the shadows behind that tent and move from tent to tent. I want you to survey the Anacondrai troops as much as possible. Details, Lei. Meet behind the big tent when you’re done. Go.”

The Master of Shadow nodded. Just like that, her form turned misty and vanished. The shadows around them grew unnaturally long for a moment, in response to her presence; Garmadon knew she was gone when they returned to normal.

Garmadon patted Sam Pale’s shoulder. “You will be opposite Lei. You must stay in the light to turn invisible, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then stay in the light. Your orders are the same as Lei’s. Stay out there for as long as you can, and rendezvous behind the big tent.”

Sam Pale sat up on his haunches, shaking out his long hair. “What are you gonna do - uh, sir?”

“You’ll find me behind that command tent.” Garmadon gestured with his chin. “Go.”

So he did. The Master of Light crept slowly down the hill, the firelight gradually growing, and finally faded into the colorless air.

Garmadon crouched still for a moment in the warm night, whispering a near-silent prayer to his father. Then he slid down the other side of the rock face and let his instincts take over.

How could he have forgotten this? The thrill of this ancient art passed from the First Spinjitzu Master to Garmadon and from Garmadon to hundreds throughout the young history of the world. His own years of ninja training seemed so, so long ago, yet he still remembered every form with perfection.

Thankfully, he didn’t run into any invisible Anacondrai. But he soon realized that there would be no getting to the command tent without passing through that sentry line. So Garmadon chose a Serpentine duo far enough from their brethren that their disappearances might pass unseen.

He rolled soundlessly behind a boulder, then stepped out from behind it.

The Hypnobrai soldiers saw him.

Rather than slowing at their alarm, Garmadon picked up speed. He leapt up when he reached them, grasping one in a headlock and swinging around its shoulders. One strike to the soft spot behind its frill, and the Hypnobrai collapsed. Before it even hit the ground, Garmadon was already springboarding off its shoulders, falling kick-first toward the second soldier. This Hypnobrai swiped with his blade; Garmadon reoriented to avoid the well-placed strike. He hit the ground with a somersault, sprang up, and caught the Hypnobrai’s sword by the hilt as it slid past him. The Serpentine’s slit-eyes dilated, seemingly in slow-motion, as Garmadon yanked the sword to throw the creature off-balance. As it fell past him, he slammed its soft spot.

Two Serpentine down.

As Garmadon considered the fallen, he lamented the absence of an Anacondrai weak point. The Hypnobrai’s ability to induce the minds of others came with a flaw. But the Anacondrai power of invisibility had no downside. There was no way to neuter their abilities because most of those abilities were simply skill. Perhaps that was why the Anacondrai valued honor so much - at least, as much as snakes could. Unlike the other tribes, an Anacondrai couldn’t cheat their way to victory.

Garmadon stepped over the immobile Hypnobrai - it would be a long time before they awoke - and ducked down behind the tent. There were voices inside, marred by hisses and strained tones. Garmadon dared to lift the corner of the flap, just to see what he was dealing with.

Once, he and Wu had been familiar with all the Serpentine generals. Now, it was a scramble to remember even names. There were three Garmadon could see - a Venomari, a Fangpyre, and an Anacondrai.

The Fangpyre Kandoras was the oldest of the generals, two-headed like his father before him, and like his son after him; Fangpyre chiefdoms usually passed through blood, not combat. Kandoras was wise, and, to the Alliance’s benefit, he was reluctant to fight. He’d caused Chen a lot of trouble during the last few weeks.

Then there was Acidicus, the brilliant Venomari general, and Thraask, one of Arcturus’ right-hands, the bloodthirstiest Anacondrai Garmadon had ever met. Chen must’ve moved a lot of pieces around to get him to command this force.

“...enough, Traask,” Kandoras was saying. “These fools think we’re attacking them because of that giant snake roaming the countryside. We have to leave this place before the humans decide we’re too close.”

“It is not our fault if the humans are fools, as you say,” General Traask replied. Unlike Arcturus, he was diminutive for an Anacondrai, but a violent shade of purple graced his scales, glistening in the torchlight. “I assure you, General Arcturus knows what he’s doing.”

Giant snake, Garmadon thought. There was only one person he knew who kept such a creature. Apparently, sorcery wasn’t Clouse’s only means of wreaking havoc.

“We do not doubt the great general has a plan,” Kandoras’ second head continued, silkier than the first. “But are we simply to cast this treaty away?”

Traask clicked his talons together as he turned to the Venomari. “Tell me, General Acidicus, what does the human say?”

Acidicus’ intelligent eyes gleamed. “The human himself admits his people will turn on us.”

“So you see,” Traask declared, his snaky head twisting back toward Kandoras. “We are simply preparing for the inevitable. This treaty is nearly at an end.”

Someone harrumphed in the corner. Garmadon couldn’t see who it was from his vantage, but Traask spun toward the sound, flicking his tail in annoyance. “General Slithraa?”

The name was unfamiliar to Garmadon, which probably meant it was a new general who had recently won a throne through combat.

“Forgive me, my commander,” said a voice in reply. “but you tell us what we already know. My question is simply when we strike and how?”

Kandoras wound his way forward. His first head spoke again. “We object strongly. We cannot attack until the humans attack us. Traask, you of all serpents must understand honor. Your general made an agreement. We did not bring our tribe into this war so we could become cowards.”

Slithraa, still out of sight, chuckled raspily. “If you ask me, you didn’t need this war to become such.”

Kandoras was atop the Hypnobrai in an instant. His two snouts wrinkled fiercely. “Do not speak to me, neonate. Do not forget that your people were the last to join our union.”

Slithraa slid forward, so Garmadon could see him for the first time. The Hypnobrai was big for his age, a wide fan around his head, scales extensively patterned with yellow swirls. In one hand, he bore the golden staff of his people. Each of the Serpentine in the room, with the exception of Traask, also carried one. The antivenom contained in each could dispel the effects of the individual tribes’ abilities - the only such substance that existed in the world. Unfortunately, the Anacondrai staff was in Ouroboros.

“Traask,” Slithraa said, without looking away from Kandoras. “If you do not remove this disgusting pacifist from my sight, I will take my leave, with my army.”

“Now, let us be reasonable.” Traask slithered between them. “We are all Serpentine here. We are all brethren. Kandoras, if you so wish, you may recall your forces back to another camp. But -” He leered at the Fangpyre. “If we are attacked by the humans, I will hold you personally responsible if we fail to repel them. Understood?”

Garmadon figured the old Fangpyre’s pride would keep him from saying no, but whether he was proven right, he never found out. At that moment, Lei emerged from the shadows.

Only Garmadon’s nightmares and years of training kept him from jumping back in alarm and blowing their cover. “Lei -”

“Yeah, sorry,” she whispered, dismissive. Then she seemed to think better of it, and added, “Master Garmadon.”

He shoved a finger to his lips to quiet her. While Lei raised her eyebrows at the unconscious Hypnobrai guards, Garmadon leaned back to the tent flap. It seemed Slithraa and Kandoras had left, for their voices were nowhere to be heard.

“How would you like me to prepare?” Acidicus asked.

“Double the nightly patrol. Send word to General Skalidor and his Constrictai to prepare. Only one can remain.”

“Only one can remain.” There was a shuffling rasp, which meant one of them had slid out the tent door. Garmadon backed away.

“What was that about?” Lei hissed.

Garmadon was beginning to form an answer when shouts exploded from the parallel line of tents. Traask growled angrily from the other side of the tent wall. The hurried sound of scales on rock and dust accompanied a troop of snakes flashing past on the road.

Sam Pale materialized at the dividing line between light and shadows. His long hair looked slightly charred on one side.

“Sam Pale, what did you do?” Garmadon demanded.

Sam Pale flicked a finger at him. “A bit of a funny story, really. They think I’m a peasant though, so what do you say we run before they find out different, eh?”

~~~

Sam Pale and Lei weren’t stealthy, but they were fast.

Garmadon hung back, watching their trail, scuffing it as best he could. He could hear Serpentine hissing in the rocks and calling to each other, but none appeared in the shadows. Even as the Masters slowed, Garmadon snapped at them to keep going. They weren’t out of danger yet.

Garmadon called on some of his power too. He couldn’t do what Lei could, but the darkness did deepen as he raced past. At his command, rocks split in the distance, causing the Serpentine to move in the direction of the sound. Soon, the lights of their Alliance camp appeared over the hills.

Finally, Garmadon allowed the Masters to rest. Sam Pale tromped over to a rock and sprawled himself over the motley, dust-ridden grass. Lei brushed off the front of her purple robes. “Well.” She blew a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “That was a waste.”

“No, Master of Shadow,” Garmadon corrected, combing back his hair with a hand. “We learned something.”

“Which is?”

Garmadon smiled. “The Serpentine are at odds. Not even their generals can agree. Which means…” He looked up at the camp, firelight in his eyes. “They’re vulnerable.”

@greenygreenland

#the serpentine war #ninjago #ninjago fic #garmadon

21 notes · View notes

readyplayerhobi · 5 years ago

Text

A Court of Moonlight | 01

; Werewolf!Yoongi x Witch!Reader

; Genre: Fantasy, fluff, future angst, future smut

; Word Count: 14.7k

; Synopsis: As Prince Hoseok’s personal attendant, you travel with him on a diplomatic visit to Lunatis, home of the werewolves. There, you meet the enigmatic and intrguing werewolf prince, Min Yoongi, and discover more than you expected as a mere attendant.

; Spin-off from A Court of Curses

; A/N: So...this is only part one but as you can see, it’s already almost 15k so I thought it better to split in two! I’ve been working on this for a while; I hope it’s okay and you enjoy! Please, please reblog if you enjoyed so that other people can see it alongside liking it and I would love you forever if you leave me a comment or ask giving me feedback or your thoughts! :3 it helps encourage me on!

Folding the silk shirt in your hands carefully, you placed it down alongside the other articles of clothing that take up the large, ornate leather luggage case before running your fingers along the incredibly soft material gently. Turning your attention to the next shirt that has been passed to you by Soyeon, you give her a soft smile as she smiles in turn at you.

“Are you excited? I’ve never travelled beyond Hekatalia before.” She asks, her face sweet while her pretty eyes are wide and round with excitement for you. Soyeon is the Queen’s personal attendant, working almost solely to accommodate the Queen of Hekatalia’s wishes and demands.

Due to her busy life of ruling the kingdom, the Queen of the Witches was unable to travel to foreign kingdom’s herself. For the first 100 years of her rule, she had emissaries sent to her or hosted visiting royals and leaders while Hekatalia sent out its own emissaries to foreign nations.

But the last ten years had seen her husband take on a larger role in Hekatalian Court. Prince Hoseok, the Crown Prince of Sanguinus and Prince Consort of Hekatalia, had slowly begun to undertake diplomatic journeys to neighbouring kingdoms to provide a personal touch from the royal family that had been simply impossible beforehand.

The Queen’s entire family had been killed during the Great Demonic War, which had left her physically unable to leave her lands rulerless. Her marriage to Prince Hoseok had been forced upon her by the Faerie and werewolf kingdoms which had combined the vampires and the witches for the first time in history.

But it wasn’t a typical marriage; the marriage bonds also resulted in a curse being laid upon them both. Immortality was granted to them, but they had been forced to spend six months of the year in one another’s company and the remaining six months apart.

Any attempts to stay away or see each other during the respective time periods resulted in great pain for them both. Their kingdoms had to remain invested in the curse as well, as if the curse was ignored then the pain would spread out to the people of their kingdom, slowly killing until there was nothing left.

As such, both kingdoms had grudgingly accepted the marriage and curse itself.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the first one hundred years of their marriage had been cold and glacial to onlookers. Centuries upon centuries of hatred, anger and bloodshed did not merely vanish overnight. Or so everyone thought.

Ten years ago however, Prince Hoseok had returned only three months after he had left. It should have been impossible, and they should have been screaming in agony at the pain of being near each other. And yet the Queen had ran to him, hands trailing over his face gently before they had sealed their reunion with a deep and passionate kiss.

While those closest to the Queen had been aware of the kindled love between the star-crossed lovers, the rest of the kingdom’s had been shocked to find out that the cursed couple had fallen in love decades before.

Despite this, the vampires were still not trusted by the majority of the witch population of Hekatalia, but Prince Hoseok had become slowly beloved by the population. His obvious adoration of the Queen likely had something to do with that, alongside the much heralded arrival of Princess Soo-Ah nine months ago.

For one hundred and five years, Prince Hoseok had not been assigned a personal attendant when he resided in the palace and simply had various servants serve him temporarily. As far as you understood it, Soyeon had acted as an informal personal attendant for him sometimes while she served the Queen as well. But Soyeon’s marriage to the Keeper of Words, Park Jimin, had meant Prince Hoseok had required a legitimate attendant.

Which is where you came in.

For five years now, you have acted as Prince Hoseok’s personal attendant in Hekatalia. You have dressed him, cleaned his room and his clothes, attended to his every whim and ensured that he has been happy in the palace. The appointment had been nerve wracking to you, still afraid of being around a vampire but you’d been pleased to find Prince Hoseok was a kind and sweet master.

This would be the first time that you were to travel with him outside of Hekatalia to accompany him on his diplomatic travels though. His normal attendant who accompanied him on such journey’s unable to due to illness. And it was to the strange wildlands of the Lunatus Pack, the ruling werewolf class of the Lupine nation.

“I am excited, but nervous as well. What if I do something that reflects badly on Hekatalia?” You chew at your lip nervously as you finish folding the remaining clothes and pack them away carefully, closing the lid of the luggage case and securing it so that nothing will fall out during the journey there.

Soyeon lets out a light laugh; the sound airy and sugary sweet. You watch her for a moment as she finishes packing a second luggage case that is filled with Prince Hoseok’s formal clothing and locks that case up too. Gesturing to the two guards who stand just inside the doorframe, they immediately whisper a spell that has the cases levitating slowly and following them out of the room.

“I doubt you will do anything that will make Hekatalia look bad. You’re not going to be meeting any of the royalty while there, that’s Prince Hoseok’s job. So unless you plan on destroying his room for him, or doing something illegal then you will be fine. And His Highness will protect you, you know that. He’s got a soft spot for you.” She grins, nudging you lightly in the ribs as you both leave his rooms.

Rolling your eyes, you stick your tongue at her rather childishly. Soyeon was right though, Prince Hoseok was incredibly kind to you and part of you thought it was simply because he appreciated someone being nice to him in turn. He had spent a long time being lonely in the halls of this palace, so just as Soyeon had become a friend to the Queen, you had become a friend to him alongside his close friendships with Soyeon’s husband, Jimin, and the Captain of the Guard, and your cousin, Jeon Jungkook.

“Is the Queen saying goodbye to him?” You ask, reaching the corridor upon which the door to the carriages resided. Soyeon chuckled and shook her head, fingers lifting up to place a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“She said goodbye to him earlier, unfortunately she has the dignitary from the Sídhe to court today. I believe Prince Hoseok was going to the nursery to say his goodbyes to little Princess Soo-Ah, so you will likely need to go retrieve him.” Face breaking out into a smile, you chuckle in response and bow your head slightly.

You wait to leave until she disappears behind the door, likely to go say goodbye to her own husband who will be accompanying the prince on his journey due to his knowledge of werewolf society and trade agreements.

Turning, you move through the halls of the palace with an experienced ease, the intricate routes written into your brain from years of travelling them. The nursery is a new addition to the palace, an old storage room on the first level being converted into a room that Princess Soo-Ah would use as she grew up.

Her days were spent here, in the company of nursemaids and assistants while her parents attended to their day-to-day jobs. They both came and spent as much of their free time as they could with her, and Princess Soo-Ah slept in their bedroom at night.

The Queen and Prince Consort both maintained their own rooms, though it was well known that they both slept in one bed. Princess Soo-Ah, by their command, was to spend her nights with her parents. Even if it meant they lost precious sleep.

Due to his lesser schedule, it was usually Prince Hoseok who could be found in the nursery with his daughter. His complete and utter adoration for the tiny ball of dual sunshine and thunder was well known to all citizens of Hekatalia by now, and there was nothing that could put a smile on his face quicker than the sight of his tiny daughter.

Which is why you knew he would still be here, cuddling with her and likely reluctant to leave her for three months.

Opening the door, you look around the vast room with an idle eye for a moment. The walls had been painted a soothing pale yellow with an alternating white that had been specifically created to make everything seem cheery and bright. Princess Soo-Ah was deeply beloved by her parents and they wanted her childhood to be as happy as possible.

As such, exquisite handmade wooden toys sat around the room on cabinets and shelving units, simply waiting for the little princess to be old enough to play with them properly. Comfortable, plush armchairs sit beneath the giant window that looked out onto the gardens, a bookcase already filled with famous nursery rhymes and stories from both Sanguinus and Hekatalia.

In the corner of the room is an intricate rocking horse, its skin a gleaming midnight black with a soft mane and tail of silver stars that fell to the floor. The dip in the horse’s face gave away it’s Sanguinati breeding while a delicate, red leather saddle and bridle sat waiting for the princess to ride. It had been a gift from Prince Hoseok’s parents in Sanguinus to celebrate the birth of a child that no-one had thought was possible.

Princess Soo-Ah’s nursemaid sits in a rocking chair in the opposite corner, hands working diligently on a knitting pattern and you recognise the beginnings of a warm and cosy jumper. Unlike her parents, Princess Soo-Ah was always dressed in what looked comfortable and warm. They felt that there was no need for a baby to be dressed to impress and simply wanted her to be happy.

Her crib stands against a wall, the dark and rich wood sourced from a copse of trees that have been soaked in magic from a nearby Source before being carved by master carpenters. All along the elegant wood are tiny engravings symbolic to both the vampires and witches, combining her heritage together.

And in the centre of the room, on a pale white rug, lay perhaps the most important person to the entire kingdom right now. Princess Soo-Ah is tiny, even at nine months old. She had been born two months early, likely due to her dual nature according to the physicians, and there was a worry that she would remain small.

But you had seen how quickly she was growing, and had no concerns about the sweet girl. She was likely going to grow up big and strong, just like her parents.

The man you had come to coax away was laid next to her on his side, his head resting on his arm where it lay underneath him while his other hand lay on Princess Soo-Ah. She was still so small that his hand took up almost her entire stomach, causing you to smile at the sheer love and adoration that radiated from his eyes.

You couldn’t hear him, but you could see the way Prince Hoseok’s lips moved as he whispered to his precious daughter. She gurgled in response, legs kicking happily as her head moved to face him and give him the brightest smile of happiness.

He grinned in response and you heard his soft laugh as his body shook before he shuffled closer to press a sweet kiss to her head before pulling back to watch her some more.

It was quite the dichotomy to watch, the large and astonishingly handsome vampire wearing all black, from his leather boots to his coat, in the middle of a room that was everything soft and mellow. You found it hard to believe vampires were capable of extreme bloodshed and violence while watching the gentle and tender way he handles his daughter.

“Prince Hoseok? We are ready to leave now and are waiting for you. Please can you accompany me to the carriage?” You keep your words low and quiet, noting how he doesn’t even give any indication he was surprised by your arrival.

He wouldn’t be of course; vampires had superior hearing to witches.

Sighing, his lips turn down in an unhappy frown as he moves even closer to her until he’s got his nose in her downy soft hair, inhaling her scent deeply with closed eyes. “Daddy has to leave now princess. I’ll be back before you know it though, so be good for your mummy okay? And...don’t grow too fast while I’m gone. Please. I love you sweet girl, daddy loves you. So much. I’ll miss you.”

He presses a final kiss to her head before getting up, simply kneeling there and watching her for a few moments with a forlorn look upon his face before he stands. Looking at the nursemaid, he bows his head to her. “Please take care of her. And make sure she gets her mid-morning cuddles.”

“Don’t worry, Your Highness, I’ve already cleared out my schedule to make sure she doesn’t miss out.” The voice comes from behind you, causing you to jump with a squeak. Turning, you spot the adorable smile of Jeon Jungkook and scowl at him. Your cousin has always had an annoying ability to jump up on you.

With a final glance to his daughter, Prince Hoseok follows you out of the nursery and to the carriage, slapping a hand onto Jungkook’s shoulder with enough strength to make the younger man wince. “What does that mean?”

“It means...I know you’d worry about her so I’ve made sure that I can give her the cuddles you can’t. She’ll know it’s not you, but it’s her routine now right? And I’m not saying no to some cuddles with my favourite girl.” Jungkook smiles sweetly and you can’t help but shake your head with a smile. He’s always been a giant softie underneath his hard exterior, but you can see how much it means to Prince Hoseok as he struggles for a moment to keep a composed face.

This is the longest he will be apart from his daughter and wife, and despite spending years used to not being able to be near the one he loves, it obviously hasn’t gotten any easier for him.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” He whispers, nodding at Jungkook before heading out the door. Watching as he leaves, you turn to Jungkook before giving him a quick hug and patting at his chest.

“You are so soft. He really does appreciate it though, I hope you know that.” You grin, opening the door and turning to face him. Jungkook laughs and nods, resting a hand on the pommel of the sword at his hip.

“That’s why I did it.”

The journey to Lunatis, the land of the werewolves, was a long one and it passed through a wide variety of landscapes that changed drastically, including Sanguinus. Prince Hoseok’s own homeland was to the north of Hekatalia and according to all you had heard and read, it was a land that was vast and varied in its geography.

Barren sand dunes ate at the land in the west in vast deserts that shifted constantly before giving way to rocky peaks that soared into the sky in the east. Hills bucked their way in the land inbetween, and it was only as their land reached the Hekatalian border that it calmed and became gentle fields fit for growing crops and other plants.

The magic that enriched the very soil of Hekatalia also calmed the lands you and all your ancestors had been born onto. Forests were a rarity in Sanguinus apparently, but they were fairly common in the witchlands. Magic adored nature, and the careful use of it over the millennia by witches had soothed it into a pleasant presence that explained the absence of any extremes in either weather or landscape.

Lunatis however, was a land that was wild even by the vampire’s and the faeries standards. The people who inhabited it were closer to nature than anyone, even the witches. You lived with your magic in harmony with nature, but the wolves were a part of the very fabric of the land. The link between animals and humanity, joining the two together in an eternal bond.

You’d heard many rumours over the years about the wolf clans that inhabited the mountainous forests of Lunatis; situated to the east of Sanguinus and the north of the Fae lands. Some said their animal natures were a curse from a long dead witch, others said it was nature’s punishment for doing something so evil it had been forgotten in the minds of all.

Even the immortal Fae claimed ignorance of their origins, proving them to be one of the original races of the world you inhabited. The vampires were the newest, created millennia ago by a rogue sect of witches according to the Queen.

Still, you were excited and nervous to travel to the heart of their wildlands. During the long days it had taken to finally cross into the border of Lunatis, moving through Sanguinus at a steady pace, Prince Hoseok and Jimin had informed you of many tales involving the werewolves.

Apparently Prince Hoseok had visited their lands a few times as a dignitary for the Sanguinati court and was more acquainted with the Lunatus Pack than any other. It had been with fascination that you’d listened to his stories of their Great Hunts upon which the howls of hundreds of wolves could be heard echoing through the dense forests.

He always seemed to be half fascinated and half disgusted with them, but Jimin had informed you with a sly grin that it was purely because the two races didn’t get along very well. At their very nature, the vampires had originated from witches and so when they weren’t trying to kill each other the two got on surprisingly well.

Particularly given the positive interactions over the last ten years since the revelation of the Amendment to the curse.

But the vampires were a prim and proper race, a society that thrived on rules and fashion and elegance. It was a rare day to see Prince Hoseok without looking like he could take the starring role in an epic ball, dancing his way through a ballroom with royalty from any nation with a grace and poise that had been drilled into him since childhood.

The wolves apparently, were a little more baser in their instincts. An incredulous look had often appears on Prince Hoseok’s face when he talked about some of their customs. Their love of leather and fur seemed to be a particular sticking point, along with their complete lack of fighting skills.

You had pointed out many times that they could turn into wolves, so what did they need to fight for? To which he’d sneered lightly and pointed out that witches could use magic, so why did your soldiers learn to fight too?

It was a good point, but you’d simply retorted that you thought he sounded a little snobby and prim. That had Jimin chortling for a good five minutes while Prince Hoseok had looked distinctly unimpressed.

He wasn’t stuck up, he’d insisted, he had just learnt how to be proper.

As much as you enjoyed working for him, and he was your Queen’s husband which automatically meant he had your respect, you couldn’t help but tease him constantly about it on the journey in the cramped carriage. Which was why the topic was being repeated once more as you looked out in wonder at the towering forests.

The forests of Hekatalia felt like home, welcoming and warm with a current in the air that whispered of magic that had kept your ancestors going through tough times. Lunatis truly did feel wild and untamed, the magic here almost crackling with energy from the lack of a source and a conduit like your Queen.

Your carriage was moving along a mountain road, bumpy and uneven yet still well used. The vantage of being so high up the mountain meant that you could see ahead for miles, and all you could see was a veritable ocean of rich, sumptuous green as conifer trees spread far into the distance.

They grew untamed along the sides of the great, heaving mountains that had punched their way out of the ground in angry bursts, jagged peaks covered in layers of crystal white snow. Endless blue sky stretched ahead, making everything look so bright and vivid and you found yourself pressing your face closer to the glass window.

“You know Your Highness, I can understand why they wear furs now. It’s quite cold here, so it’s surely just common sense to make sure that you can live comfortably?” The question slips from your mouth as you scan over the top of the wave of the forest, noting the smoke that makes its way lazily to the sky at various points.

Werewolf villages likely, maybe even hamlets given how dense the forest was packed. A ribbon of shame ran through you as a momentary thought of the wolves being too uncivilised to be able to have great cities ran through your head and you shook it carefully.

They lived in an untamed nature, but it did not mean that they themselves were untamed.

You recalled seeing some of the Lunatus Pack a few years ago when they had arrived for a meeting with the Queen. They had looked just as everyone else had, if only their outfits had looked a little more weather worn.

The imposing landscape in front of you made it all the more understandable, and you understand why they retained a part of their wildness. It was likely the only way to survive in such a foreboding land.

Prince Hoseok lets out a quiet murmur, his gaze focused far beyond the mountain range as he rests his chin in his hand. These last few days have been the closest you've seen to him being almost casual, the long hours in the carriage cramped for you all and campsites at night testing all your resolves.

It's obvious that he misses his home though, and most importantly the family in it.

“It's beautiful isn't it?” Jimin muses quietly as he looks out of the window too. You nod in response before sighing.

“It's magnificent. I love Hekatalia but it has nothing on this.” And you truly mean it. You loved your homeland and the way everything seemed peaceful and pleasant, but there was something astonishingly beautiful about Lunatis. As if nature had fought magic for millennia and nature had won.

“You should see Sanguinus if you want natural beauty. Lunatis is beautiful and rugged, but Sanguinus has everything. Mountains, deserts, plains…” Prince Hoseok's voice trails off slowly, almost as if he’s aware of how he sounds, but a glance at Jimin tells you that you both heard the wistful tone to his words and you recognise that he’s not being mean.

He doesn't visit his homeland very often anymore; his duties as a husband and father out weighing those of an heir. You know the vampires are okay with this at the moment, but the future is uncertain.

One day, he will take the throne of Sanguinus. But his wife, the Queen of the Witches, would be unable to rule in that land with him due to the symbiotic relationship between her and the Source of magic in Hekatalia.

Which likely explained why he spent so much time with his family now, because it would be reduced in the future.

Still, you are curious about his homeland. He rarely mentions it, preferring not to stir any potential vampire hatred but the mountains of Lunatis must be somewhat similar to those of his childhood home.

“Do you miss it? Sanguinus? I know you haven't visited in two years,” He doesn't respond for a moment and you bow your head. “My apologies for intruding Your Highness.”

Prince Hoseok waves a hand lazily, his mouth quirking. “It's fine. You both are almost family anyway. And I do. I miss the blazing heat of summer when the winds blow the desert air to us and the freezing cold of the winter when the mountains hold us in their grasp. Hekatalia is wonderful, but it is tamed. There's something delightful about being at the mercy of nature.”

“I feel if a werewolf said that then you'd be snorting and rolling your eyes at them for being savage or something.” Jimin points out dryly, stretching out his legs as best he can in the cramped space.

The Prince let's out a small laugh and nods. “Maybe. I don't really think they're savage though. They respect nature in a way that no one else does and are a very hardy people. We just...don't have a good history. You forget that the wolves have a whole academy devoted to vampire hunting.”

“That's to hunt wayward vampires though. The ones who have gone rogue and won't submit to law.” You watch the conversation with wide eyed fascination.

“Yeah, they do. At the behest of my own kingdom sometimes because they're that good. The perfect trackers. Doesn't stop them from killing innocents too. If you can believe it, the witches are not our bogeyman. Ours howls in the night as a warning.” The small space goes silent then, and Jimin catches your eye with an awkward smile.

Prince Hoseok doesn’t seem to recognise the uncomfortable situation though and that alone tells you that he’s speaking the truth. Only people who have experienced things like that can talk about it with so much carelessness.

None of you speak further for the rest of the day, the night spent in a comfortable inn that had the protection of the guards who had come along with you to protect the Prince. Though as far as you knew, he was military capable himself and could probably deal with whatever came his way.

Although his comments about the vampire hunters made you worry for him that night, fussing over him a little more than normal as you helped him prepare for sleep. To his amusement, you’re sure, because there’s no way Lunatis would murder the Sanguinati Crown Prince and the Hekatalian Prince Consort.

You shuddered at just imagining the destruction your Queen would rain down on this mountainous nation in her grief and anger.

Not that they could actually kill him of course, but this was all just hypothetical obviously.

Needless to say, you’d been a little more anxious throughout the night and the rest of the journey to the home of the Lunatus Pack. Jimin could tell and kept trying to reassure you that all was fine, but it was hard to stop the anxiety that filled you.

The city that the majority of the Lunatus Pack inhabited proved to be an awe-inspiring sight when you finally came upon it, even if it looked almost nothing like the cities you were used to seeing in Hekatalia. Lykos, named for their animal counterpart, was imposing in a way that Hekatalian cities could never be.

Small buildings of timber dotted the outskirts, buried within the expansive forest before they slowly merged into a blend of stone and wood. By the time the carriage had reached what you presumed to be the centre of the city, the buildings were tall and built of solid stone. Further along the road, you noted an impressive looking complex that had been carved into the mountain itself, the solid rock protecting the inhabitants.

Hard to be attacked if your home was literally a mountain.

“That’s Mount Selanus, the largest mountain in Lunatis.” Prince Hoseok noted, peering out of the window to look up at the remarkable peak. Blue-grey stone was dotted with trees along the base before becoming barren rock as it reached into the sky while pure white snow rested atop the crest. It was beautiful.

“It’s impressive. And a good defense, they’ve built their homes into the mountain itself.” Jimin notes idly, causing you to feel pride at the fact you had noticed that too. The prince consort nods slowly, his eyes scanning the surroundings slowly.

“Yes, clever. That mountain is important to them too, I don’t remember the story properly. Something about it being a great wolf god who tried to reach the moon goddess but failed. I believe there’s some kind of pilgrimage every year from all the wolf pack’s who travel here to celebrate it.” He murmurs before shifting back in his seat and running his palms down the front of his jacket.

Your prince consort was no longer wearing his regal attire and had long since swapped it for more temperature appropriate gear. He’d claimed that it was because it was better to fit in with your host, as otherwise it could look like you were trying to be superior to them.

As such, his jacket was tailor made to cope with the colder weather while the outside retained characteristics that portrayed his loyalty to both Sanguinus and Hekatalia. Black with a subtle red accent was his overall colour scheme with silver buttons and fasteners. Prince Hoseok looked suitably regal while still observing the local fashions of the Lunatus.

Finally, the carriage came to a halt for the last time in this trip. You were finally here, the very heart of the werewolf lands and suddenly more nervous than ever. Jimin had coached you extensively on how to act around them, but what if you did something wrong?

The werewolves and the witches had never really had any truly bad blood between them, merely annoyances when the Sanguinati and witch conflicts had spilled into their lands. But still, they were often ruled by an animal instinct in a way that no other magical race was.

After checking over Prince Hoseok quickly, you exited the carriage first with the help of one of the Hekatalian soldiers who had travelled with you. The small retinue was already removing the Prince’s luggage and you eyed it carefully as they were directed by a Lunatus woman to head further into the mountain compound.

Stable boys were already quickly taking the horses from the soldiers who had ridden while others were removing the carriage horses, the tired animals being led away in the direction of the stables where they would be brushed down and cared for during your time here. It made you wonder how they would move the carriages without horses, but you supposed that was an issue for someone who wasn’t you.

The air smelled remarkably fresh here, to say that it was in the middle of a city. A small city yes, it had only taken around fifteen minutes to move from the outskirts to here, but it was a city all the same. In Hekatalia, that would mean the smell of rubbish, sewage, bodies and heat.

Here however, you scented pine and earth alongside the simple smell of the open outdoors. Indescribable, yet instantly recognisable. Perhaps it was due to the close proximity of the mountain and the surrounding forest; even from here you could easily see the towering tops of the striking trees.

The werewolves may live together in civility, but they were never far from the wilderness. You found that fitting, and this small city, strange to you, felt oddly homely to say that you had never been here before. But you liked it all the same.

“Good evening Prince Hoseok. I trust your journey was safe and well?” A low voice rolls out to your side, the owner appearing while you had been busy staring at your new surroundings. Turning, you note the newcomer through steady eyes with interest.

He stands shorter than the Prince, around the same height as Jimin it would seem. And unlike the other two, he doesn’t stand with a regal bearing. Instead, he almost slouches in front of them with his hands in the pockets of his brown leather trousers, thick black boots on his feet kicking the floor lazily and causing plumes of pale dust to fly.

A brown linen shirt covers his chest, laces stringing together a gap along the top but even these are left undone to dangle down. His coat is long, reaching down to his knees and is an intriguing mix of dark brown leather, aged until it almost looks like it could crack with a mere movement, while the inside is lined with thick, warm fur.

He looks slim beneath his large clothes, almost like he could be frail, but you have no doubt that he could likely kill you with the barest amount of effort. Given where you are, this man is most likely a werewolf.

It’s only when he glances over to you that you know your suspicions are confirmed. His hair is an ashy-grey, almost silver before shifting to a colour that looks almost dark blue as the light moves through the soft strands. Wolf grey, you think to yourself. His skin is paler than Prince Hoseok’s, still golden but more along the lines of Jimin’s but it’s his eyes that truly give him away.

For a moment, they are simply dark before they flash a vivid amber for a second as they scan you over. A blink, and they’re back to their original dark shade once more. Yes, a wolf to be sure.

“Prince Yoongi. What an honour to have you meet us here.” Prince Hoseok states airily, giving the slightest bow to the man. Your eyes widen momentarily, scanning over the new prince quickly with a confused look. He does wear what you would presume a prince to wear, nor does he stand like he has had any training.

Sure enough, his eyes roll while a despondent breath leaves him. “You’re impossible. You know we don’t have royalty here. You’re the only prince in Lunatis right now.”

Prince Hoseok chuckles, his hand coming to rest on Yoongi’s shoulder lightly as he nods and walks alongside him. You begin to follow, Jimin stepping into line with you before giving you a light shrug in response to your questioning glance.

“True, but I know it annoys you. Which is why I do it. How have you been? My Queen sends her condolences for not being able to travel; you know the story.” Yoongi lets out a low hum, nodding as he strides through the open courtyard towards the entrance of the large building.

It’s a barren courtyard, with stone upon stone upon stone. The only things of note are the beautiful wolf statues that litter the area, standing guard at each entrance and exit. Each one stands taller than you, with the details lovingly sculpted until they look like they could come to life and savage anyone wishing ill harm.

“Thank you. I’m fine. And I don’t think anyone expects her to leave her kingdom honestly. How is she? You have a child now, I believe, a little girl correct?” You can’t tell if the question is just idle chatter or if they are actually friends. Prince Hoseok seems to be very relaxed around him, which is at odds with the centuries old fear and rivalry the two races have had.

But then again, he never misses a chance to wax poetic about his little girl. Sure enough, you see a dreamy look appear on his face as a dopey smile appears. “I do. Soo-Ah. She’s perfect. So tiny.”

You almost expect Yoongi to tease him at that, the way Prince Hoseok’s voice softens and fills with a love that makes your chest ache. Instead, he smiles and pats the Sanguinati on the back. “Fatherhood suits you apparently. I wish her many moons and an easy childhood for your Queen and you.”

“Are they friends?” You whisper to Jimin, confusion threaded through your voice and evident in your body language from the tip to your brow. The Keeper of Words smiled slightly, eyes narrowing as the movement made his cheeks rounder and softer before nodding.

“In a fashion. It’s because of Min Yoongi that Hoseok got the courage to petition the Faerie Queen. We owe our royalty’s happiness to him, and despite their differences I believe them to be friends. Or as close as friends that as Sanguinati and a werewolf can be.” At that, Yoongi turns around with a brow raised at you both.

“I can hear you. And no doubt your prince can hear you too.” Prince Hoseok laughs before gesturing to you both.

“They mean no insult, I think they just forget the advanced hearing of other races. This is Park Jimin, our Keeper of Words who has accompanied me to keep note of our meetings and arrangements. And this is my personal attendant. She normally resides in the palace the majority of the time but my normal travelling attendant is unable to accompany me.” You bow slightly to Yoongi, unsure of what the protocol is for him. Or what he even is. “This is her first time in Lunatis. I believe she is suitably impressed by your beautiful nature.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond for a moment, simply letting his eyes track you up and down until you almost feel naked before him. A silly thought of course, as your hands touch the fabric of your heavy dress while your ribs push at the bones of the corset. And yet...he watches you like you’re his prey.

A disconcerting thought given he is very much a predator.

The moment is gone suddenly when he gives a polite smile, nodding his head. “I welcome you to Lunatis then. It is a beautiful country, if rugged and harsh. I hope it lives up to your expectations.”

As he scans you over once more before turning around, you can’t help but wonder what he thinks your expectations are. For that moment, you’re not even sure what your own are anymore.

A feast was given that night by your hosts, in honour of their royal guest who represented two nations. Delicious food that filled your stomach was brought in continuously; crisp roast chicken cooked with garlic and thyme, butter soaked carrots and parsnips, rich beef stew with hearty onions, potatoes and more than a splash of luscious red wine, seared pork chops coated in honey and mint, a leek and potato soup so creamy the serving spoon almost stood up in it and more.

It was a feast of the kind that you’d never truly witnessed before, the foods all homey and rich in flavour but with nothing too outrageous or exotic. No lemon soaked chicken, no orange drenched beef or anything that would be common in Hekatalia.

This didn’t surprise you though. Where would the wolves grow summer fruits such as that in their cold homelands? The Lunatus pack made their home in the northern reaches of Lunatis, deep in the mountain ranges and far from the mild lands of Hekatalia, the Sídhe or Orkana; the traditional home of tasty fruit and spices that sung of summer and spring.

Instead, the sweet foods that dotted these tables were a mix of decadent baked goods and cold resistant fruits. Luscious cakes with dense sponge layered in sweet buttercream frosting and dotted with apple slices, succulent liquor soaked cherries baked into pies with golden and crisp shells.

Everything was beautiful and made your tongue sing in delight, leading to you deciding that you would most definitely have to assess your own internal prejudices towards the werewolves. The absence of knowledge about them has resulted in a vacuum filled with terrible stereotypes, of which you would fully admit to believing.

You had been convinced that the food here would be basic, heavy on the meat with not much taste. Instead, you had found a veritable bounty of delicious food and even a few that you would happily beg the recipe for the cook's back in Hekatalia.

Jimin, beside you, had been most amused by your quiet yet lustful groans of delight as the flavours had burst on your tongue frequently. It had only been after five minutes of this that you had realised why, when many young male members of the Lunatus Pack had been staring at you with wide eyes.

Yoongi, further down the table, had simply looked amused while Prince Hoseok had laughed quietly to himself.

At least you were appreciating the food and not turning your nose up!

“Why do I get the feeling that people are surprised I’m eating?” The Prince asked his host towards the end, an elegant brow raising as he takes a sip of the strong ale from his goblet. You’re pretty sure it’s iron, but maybe it’s actually silver. Though weren’t werewolves supposed to be allergic to silver?

You didn’t know, though you would most certainly be querying Jimin to find out more after the meal had ended.

Yoongi lets out a low chuckle, spearing a piece of chicken before placing it into his mouth and chewing slowly. “Because they are. It has been a long time since your last visit, almost twenty years I believe, and many in this room have never seen your face. You are the only Sanguinati that we have seen in years and the stereotypes are still strong amongst the people. Not only that, you’re the Cursed Prince. That always gets you looks, as I’m sure you know.”

Prince Hoseok sighed deeply, taking a slice of apple from atop a cake and chewing on it. “Yes, the novel Prince. It’s always amusing to gaze upon someone else’s misfortune. And they are aware that I only drink blood, I don’t entirely rely on it?”

“Oh they know, but I’m sure it’s the same as your attendant over there being surprised that we eat things other than meat,” He gestures to you idly, causing your cheeks to heat as you squeak an apology. “Just ignorance that can be rectified once they are shown. And I believe you came out pretty well with this curse, correct? A wife that you love dearly and a much beloved daughter. There are other cursed beings who would give much for that.”

Your Prince nods sagely before sighing, running a hand down his face. He looks tired, which you have no doubt that he is after the weeks of travel. “Yes, I believe I did. But you must remember that everything good comes with a price for us.”

He stands at that, giving a slight nod of his head while Yoongi stands as well. Almost immediately Jimin and you follow, protocol stipulating that you follow your Prince’s movements. And he clearly means to retire for the night, for which you will be needed.

“What price is that? You will be king of Sanguinus one day; your wife is Queen of Hekatalia. Your daughter will rule both the vampires and witches, uniting them both.” Yoongi brow creases in confusion and you sighed sadly, glancing at Jimin who looks just as awkward.

Princess Soo-Ah was much beloved and she had been dearly desired by her parents. But everyone in the kingdom knew the cost to them. It was perhaps understandable that Yoongi did not know or understand, the curse was merely a story for the Lupine nation.

For Hekatalia and Sanguinus, it was their life.

“My daughter will never rule either nation. Our curse states that are our lands and people are directly tied to our lives. I will be king, she will be queen. Our lands will never know another leader, for we are cursed to immortality.” The werewolf still looks perplexed, and you can see his expression mirrored in those wolves who can overhear the conversation with the Prince.

Jimin takes pity on his ruler, and someone he has come to call a friend over the years as well, and informs Yoongi of what Prince Hoseok cannot manage to say. “Prince Hoseok and the Queen are cursed to immortality. Their children are not.”

Your Prince makes his excuses then and leaves, following one of the Lunatus maids as she directs him to his room. You follow behind quickly, glancing back at Yoongi to see the stunned look on his face. It’s almost enough to make you feel sorry for him, for the inevitable guilt he is likely feeling right now.

But there’s nothing to be done for it now.

Instead, you simply help Prince Hoseok to undress before leaving him to bathe in the warm water that has been drawn for him. He promises that he will be fine dressing in his bed clothes and bids you a good night as well, smiling softly as you rest a hand against his arm in a silent message of sorrow and strength.

Your own room is next to his for convenience, though you note it to be much smaller. Understandable obviously, given who he is and who you are. There’s no bath waiting for you though, so you leave to find a passing maid and ask where you can clean yourself as well.

She directs you to the closest bath house, located past a small garden that sits exposed to the world in a tiny courtyard. There’s not a lot here, but the ground has been turned and layered in dirt to allow sparse grass to grow along with a few carefully trimmed trees and colourful flowers.

A stone bench sits in the centre, looking slightly inconspicuous but you note that it once more carries the beautiful craftsmanship of the stone wolves outside. Combined with the awe inspiring compound, house, palace or whatever this place was called being carved into the mountain itself, you were positive that Lunatis contained some of the best stonemasons in the world.

Running your fingers along the edge of the bench, you crouch down to take in the detailed scene that plays out along the sides before spilling onto the back. It’s a series of wolves, painstakingly created until it looks like they could bound into the grass itself, leaping before they slowly begin to shift into half-man creatures before walking and running like the men and women they appear today.

An incredibly simple, and perhaps bastardised, tale of how the werewolves became as they are today maybe?

Either way, it was stunningly beautiful and you can’t help but admire it for a few moments.

“It’s not our history, if that’s what you’re wondering.” You can’t help the squeak that escapes you, jerking sideways before falling into the grass. It feels cold, the ground beneath almost freezing and you shiver beneath your thick fur coat.

Looking up, you sight the tall and lean figure of Min Yoongi before he crouches down with concern on his face. His hands hesitate over you for a moment before he’s gently pulling you up and looking you over.

“My apologies, I did not mean to scare you. I forget that witches cannot hear like we do.” His lips pursed slightly in a pout that looks far more adorable than you think he intends it to, and suddenly his foreboding image disappears. Gesturing to the bench, you sit upon the cold stone and watch as he sits next to you.

There is no ceiling in their garden, and instead you stare up with wide eyes at the awe-inspiring sight before you. Mount Selanus looms astonishingly tall above you, the wide and expansive base glowed a soft orange from the light of nearby fires before seeping into a deep black that blots out the stars.

And what a field of stars it is.

You see plenty of them in Hekatalia of course, but today it’s a pure expanse of tiny pinpricks of light that glitter and dot the surface. As if someone has taken a handful of sugar crystals and carelessly thrown them across the sky.

“You’re at one of the highest points in the whole continent here. We have more stars than anywhere else and Mount Selanus reaches higher than any other mountain.” Yoongi’s voice is soft, the syllables quiet and you find yourself curious as you stare at the large mass of stone and rock.

“Prince Hoseok said that you have a story about it. Something about a wolf god and the moon goddess?” The question you ask is implicit, even if you do not actually voice it out loud. His lips turn up slightly as you glance at him before he acquiesces to you.

“In our folk tales, Selanus was the first of us. In the beginning we were simply wolves, who ran across Lunatis on four legs in our great packs and hunted anything that came in our way. But then one day, Selanus looked into the night sky and instead of the thousands of stars he normally saw, he saw Lunarias, the goddess of the moon. Her face was pale and bright, lighting up the night and letting him see far beyond what he normally could. For years he would wait for her to brighten the dark skies and over time, he fell in love with the beautiful goddess.” Yoongi pauses for a moment, running his fingers over his chin before smiling.

“I mean, how could you not? The moon is beautiful on a dark night, and she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He would howl his love to her, as loud as he could, and she heard his cries of passion even from so far away. She would burn brighter for him, night after night to guide his way. But he was a wolf, and she had the form of a goddess, of a woman. And so he begged and pleaded with her. She acquiesced, and made bargains and pleas with the other gods to let her love take on the shape of a man. For then she could love him as an equal.” You were entirely enraptured by the story, imagining the ancient beings in such a passionate love, their story painting itself across your mind.

“They agreed, and Selanus was given the power to shift to a man. But the gods are fickle, and nothing comes without a price. Their price was that Selanus must forever be a wolf on the night the Lunarias’ power was strongest, her face the most beautiful. And Lunarias was banned from the Earth, forbidden to show her face at its full strength except for three days each month.”

You frown at that in confusion, looking up at Mount Selanus. “But..that means they couldn’t be together? And they did that to be together...right?”

Yoongi nods. “Yes. When Selanus was allowed to be a man, Lunarias was mostly gone with only glimpses given. When she was allowed to face her love, he was relegated to a wolf. She was forced to watch over him from above and the power she had given him meant she couldn’t fight it.”

“That’s terrible.” You whisper softly, looking down at your hands sadly. It may only be a folktale, but stories like this were important to your people and you could tell that this story held great importance to the werewolves.

“Yes, it is. Selanus was despondent with loss and Lunarias cried tears of pain that never reached the ground. He decided that he wanted to be with her forever, and he found the highest peak in the world with the conviction that if he could climb it, then he could reach his love. He climbed to the top of this mountain, but his love was still out of reach. His heart ache over it caused him to curl up at the top, where he eventually turned to stone under the watchful gaze of his beloved.” Yoongi lets out a soft laugh before shaking his head with a wry, almost embarrassed, smile. “I’m not the best storyteller, my grandmother tells it better than me.”

“No, no. We revere stories in Hekatalia. Oral history is important to us as so many of our spells comes from tradition. Thank you for telling me. It’s beautiful, if sad.” The night is quiet around you both, the smell of the earlier feast slowly dancing to your nose before passing by on a cold breeze.

“It’s just a story. I doubt that’s how the werewolves actually came about. But it gives us a reason as to why we have to take wolf form every full moon. Our actual history is lost to time but there is a statue of Selanus and Lunarias carved into the peak of the mountain by a generation long lost. It’s considered an honour to take a pilgrimage there.” He pauses for a moment, chewing on his lip carefully before sighing deeply. “About earlier...I did not mean to upset Prince Hoseok like that. I did not know, or think. The curse is just some story to us unfortunately, just like Selanus and Lunarias.”

You let out a deep breath of your own, stroking the soft grey fur of your coat. “I understand. But you must remember that it’s his life. He refuses to think about it. Princess Soo-Ah will live a few centuries at least and he takes consolation in that.”

“But why have a child if you know that one day you will bury them?” He sounds confused and you look at him with a raised brow, causing his cheeks to redden in the dim lighting of the nearby torches. “I’m sorry. Children are important in Lunatis, family is pack and pack is family. The very idea of having children that you will have to bury every time...it’s anathema to everything a wolf is.”

“Again, I understand but...think of it from their point of view. Everyone they know and love right now will die. And they will live. And the people they grow to love afterwards will die. And they will live. And the cycle will continue forever. Is it selfish? Yes. But they have so much love to give and none of us begrudge them the chance to have a family, to give that love to someone. Princess Soo-Ah will one day have children, and they will watch over them and so forth. I don’t envy them their position, and I don’t think anyone who does not have to go through what they will should judge their choices. They only have each other for the rest of time. They’re such good parents too, it would be such a waste.” The words you speak are truthful and you feel an ache in your chest at the idea of having to live forever and watch everyone you love die.

The silence falls once more for a few minutes, neither of you willing to say anything as you both absorb what you have explained. You can practically feel Yoongi turning it over in his head.

“I did not think. I don’t think anyone has. Is he a good father? He seemed happy earlier?” You smile at that, lips turning up as you remember the many times that you have walked in on him with his daughter, sometimes with his wife alongside him.

“He dotes on her. It’s well known in the kingdom that our Prince is completely smitten,” Yoongi smiles and laughs, shaking his head slightly. The poor lighting makes him look even more handsome oddly, and you watch his profile in the flickering light of a nearby sconce while curiosity bubbles in you once more. “If you’re not a prince, then what are you? I don’t really understand the structure of your...pack?”

The werewolf hums quietly, eyes flicking around the place as he chews on his lip while thinking of a way to explain his home. “My father is Alpha of the Lunatus Pack. That’s the equivalent of your Queen, only it is not inherited. Only the strongest take up the mantle of Alpha. Beneath him are his ten Beta’s, who give him advice and help him to run his pack. The Lunatus Pack is the largest and most powerful in Lunatis, which makes him the de facto leader of our nation which is made up of six packs. The five Omegas in our pack each lead a different area of society such as healing, the arts, education and so forth.”

“And you? What are you then? Everyone seems to defer to you here? I apologise if I overstep my boundaries, please tell me if I do. I’m just...curious.” You worry, concerned that you are asking too much of someone who you shouldn’t even be talking to. It’s an odd position to be in, being so close to one of the dual leaders of your own nation yet being only their attendant.

There’s every chance that Yoongi could become offended. But instead, he just gives you a sweet smile as his eyes flash that wolf amber once more.

“No, please. It’s fine. You’re a guest here too, and Prince Hoseok evidently trusts you. We have trials here, to judge the next Alpha apparent to see who will be the one to lead our nation once the Alpha retires or dies. I am the Alpha apparent.” He looks a little meek to be admitting that, and you let your eyes run over him once more.

“So...you’re important then? The Princess Soo-Ah of Lunatus?” A snort is your response, along with an eye roll.

“I guess so. But I’m not a prince. I’m not anything yet. I just stay with my father and learn what he does, because one day that will be me. The unfortunate fact of being born too strong to be anything else.”

“Oh...how ever will you cope.” Your words come out far more teasing than you intended, particularly for a mere personal attendant and almost immediately you bow your head in response while mumbling an apology. He merely waves a hand at you, uncaring of your faux pas and you wonder at the culture of the Lunatus Pack.

Were his own maids allowed to speak to him so casually? Although, you were technically with the guest of honour. So maybe you were being given more freedoms than you would be otherwise.

The night quietens around you, the windows slowly going dark as people retire to their chambers for the night. You note idly that there are no light wisps here, glowing softly amongst the sparse grass. Instead, there’s simply emptiness.

No sound escapes the Grand Hall anymore, nor do any scents and you presume that the kitchen staff are merely washing up for the night before eating their own meals. That’s how it was for the help. Serve first, self last.

It would likely be no different here.

“I presume you are a witch then?” Yoongi asks softly, breaking the silence between you both. For a moment, you simply look him over once more in the gentle warm light of the nearby sconce that burns merrily on the stone wall.

He looks almost soft, with his silvery-ash hair burning a pretty orange from the fire while his skin almost appears warm to the touch. Lips glisten as his tongue runs along them while his fingers trace along the stone bench slowly.

His chosen outfit for the dinner meant he wore less clothing than when he had greeted you all, but it still bore the distinct look of the astonishing wilderness that surrounds you. Supple leather that had been dyed so dark it was almost black clung to his legs while he also wore a shirt of clean white. It had buttons all along the front, each one an intricate piece of ironwork with the sigil of a wolf’s head howling.

For his venture outside, he had donned a black coat, the leather creaking pleasantly as he moved while the thick fur on the inside kept him warm. It pleased you to see that even the werewolves needed to remain warm in this cold place, even if he appeared far more content with the ambient temperature than you did.

“Yes. Isn’t that what Hekatalia is famous for?” Your smile kicks up slightly as you run your fingers along the pleasing fabric of your skirts. A lot of the women here seemed to favour trousers of leather or fur much like the men, and you wonder for a moment if women are allowed into their hierarchies as well.

“True, but it doesn’t mean everyone is capable of doing magic right? We have people who are born and cannot shift into their wolf. Instead, they are stuck in the body of a human.” Turning, you place a leg over your knee daintily as your brow creases.

“Isn’t that bad though? Do your people curse them for that? I would have thought it would be...well embarrassing or something.” You try hard to keep your tone neutral, afraid of offending him in some way but he simply smiles and turns towards you as well, drawing a leg up underneath him on the bench.

“No. I mean...it’s tragic yes, because everyone should have the chance to let their wolf free and run wild as our ancestors did. But we don’t judge them any worse for it. Lunarias makes them nowol’s for a reason. We don’t know what that is, but everything is done for a reason. Besides...why be cruel when they already have to live with their wolf trying to claw free?” At your confused look, he lets out a quiet laugh. “Nowol is what we call those who can’t shift. It’s just a shortened version of no wolf, because their wolf will never be heard.”

“That sounds...awful. I mean no offence when I say that but...I can’t imagine not being able to use my magic. Everyone born of a witch line can use it. Princess Soo-Ah will be able to use it, though it is unlikely that she would be powerful enough to act as a medium of power to the Ancient Oak given the Sanguinati in her. But she will still be able to wield magic of a far greater strength than anyone else.” The wolf heir looks confused at this, his face scrunching up almost adorably until you laugh.

Gesturing in front of you, tiny balls of light appear and begin to glow an ethereal blue-white in the darkness. Yoongi’s eyes widen as they form the shape of a tree, its branches overflowing while a tiny figure stands next to it.

“Magic exists in the world freely, but it is strongest in Hekatalia because there are more Sources there than anywhere else. The Ancient Oak in the Sacred Grove sustains most of the palace and city alone. We believe that these Sources exist as a way for magic to be channelled efficiently, to stop too much power coming at once and keeping a healthy balance with the land. The magic runs through the Sources before diverting through our Queen, and through her we all get a piece. If she was not there, then it would run rampant and wild, too much for us to comprehend. Magic would go haywire.” His mouth is open, the pink interior just visible to you as tiny balls of light filter from the tree to the figure and then back out.

“Like a dam? Your Queen makes it more manageable?” You nod with a smile. “That makes sense. Are you powerful then?”

“I have never been asked to join any of the Great Guilds. Not the Alchemists or the Pyromancers, the Healers or the Warriors, the Potion Masters or the Astronomers. My magic is small and if it was not for the fact that my cousin is Captain of the Guard then I would likely be working the fields with my parents.”

Yoongi watches the lights before they sputter and fizzle out of existence, his face falling slightly as darkness overwhelms once more. “I remember him. Jeon Jungkook right? Big, surprisingly muscular for a witch.”

“Don’t tell him that. He won’t be sure whether to be proud or take offence.” You titter, letting your hand rest against your mouth as you take note of the silver ring that glints on his finger. It too has a wolf’s head engraved in it.

“Witches are connected to the earth right? So can you make proper grass grow here? And not this grass that reminds me of the Deadlands?” He asks, pointing to the sparse and sad looking grass that dots the area in clumps. Attempts have evidently been made to make the earth it grows in rich, but he’s very right in that it reminds you more of the corpse grass that grows wild in the Deadlands to the west of Lunatis and north of Sanguinus.

You only know what it looks like because you have seen specimens grown in the experimental garden in the castle. It’s long and thick, the blades sharp and pale of all colour. There’s no wonder as to how it got its name.

“Well...I’m not the Queen and we are far away from a Source at the moment. It feels like we’re at least one hundred miles from the closest which means the magic here in your forests is wild and harder to control. On top of that...we are on a mountain and that is stone which seems to have...bound the magic almost? The earth cries but is muffled by rock.” But you have the urge to impress him, to make that sweet gummy smile you had seen at the feast come back to life.

You want to see his eyes flash that molten gold once more while he watches you, with the knowledge that it was caused by you and you alone. The thought of that makes you pause for a moment, a tiny frown creasing your brow before you shake your head.

It’s just because you never get to show off your powers. They’re nothing special, and living in a country of people far more talented than you...why would you need to show it off?

Kneeling down from the bench, you can’t help but grimace slightly as the earth presses against your knees beneath the layers of your dress. There’s little wonder that the grass is so coarse and hardy given that the dirt feels like it is made of purely small stones.

You try to ignore the small pinpricks of pain that radiates from the sharp ground, instead leaning forward to rest your hands against the frozen, hard floor. Closing your eyes, your breath leaves you in a long and slow exhale as you call to the magic that lies deep within the earth.

Your queen would probably be able to do this without even touching the ground, without even calling that hard. Even this far north, in this land of great stone where magic had run rampant and wild for millennia before sinking into the Sources that dot the continent.

But you do not have her power, and sweat begins to dot your brow as you call and call. Magic is an intrinsic part of you, as easy to use and wield as it is to write a letter but connecting to something that has been hidden, that has slumbered for so long is hard.

After a few minutes of silence, you have no doubt that Yoongi is probably wondering what the hell you’re doing on the floor but he seems to be too polite to question you outright, you finally feel a flicker responding to you.

Reaching for it, you grasp it desperately and twine your magic through it slowly and gently. It’s a small flame in comparison to the warm, ever burning fire of Hekatalia, but it’s fire and power all the same. Weak and unsure, struggling to reach you as you gently tug it forth through the heavy stone that blocks its way.

The magic follows the path you trail, slipping through tiny cracks that widen as it pushes through and moving the earth as it comes to you like a willful puppy. “That’s right,” You whisper softly, smiling to yourself as you encourage it to stay with it. “Come to me. Bring life to this barren garden.”

Images of what you imagine leave your mind and travel down the tremulous link you have and the magic sparks in response, zipping after you faster until it finally reaches your hands. For a moment, the skin burns before the magic calms down beneath you, soothing the hurts and spreading out across the ground.

The next few minutes are a flurry of energy that sparks and crackles in the air, the hairs on your arms rising as the air becomes electric. Hard stones beneath your palms smooth out before disintegrating and when you open your eyes to look, you smile at the rich, dark soil that cushions you.

But then you notice everything else and your eyes widen in shock. The few flowers that had been there are now overflowing with an abundance of vivid and bright colours; species that hadn’t even been present and are sure to die in the cold weather this far north.

Smuggler’s ivy creeps across every wall, crawling upwards on the buildings and dropping over the edge of the walls while a tree sapling dances in the soft breeze that blows through. From the color of the bark and the leaves, you estimate it to be a witchling tree which causes you to lean back in even more confusion.

Witchling trees only grow in Hekatalia, their bark soaking up wild magic until they are pure white. Their leaves often end up a rainbow of colours, ranging from dark purple through to maroon through to brilliant azure and a hundred shades inbetween. It was a common witch tale that no witchling tree was the same, and they had never been found outside of Hekatalia.

Until now it would seem.

“Err….I thought you said you weren’t powerful?” Yoongi asks from the bench, looking around with eyes so wide that you can see the whites even from here. He stands before crouching down, running his fingers through the silk soft strands of rich green grass before moving over to the tree. “What is this? I think I remember these when I visited Hekatalia last?”

You send a small pulse of thanks to the magic, a little concerned at how strong it suddenly feels whereas before you hadn’t even been able to feel a whisper unless you concentrated. The magic flares in response, tugging at your feet almost childishly and you wince as the tree suddenly grows another foot.

It’s taller than you both now, with the tiny leaves glimmering in shades ranging from rich gold to burnished copper, a few glinting with striking silver inbetween them all. It would appear this witchling tree has taken on the colours of the land it inhabits, with its range of shades representing the colours of the wolf furs that run rampant.

“I...er...well...I’m not. This...I can’t even make flowers grow in Hekatalia. The magic is too refined, too tame there for me to do much of anything with it. Lunatis is too...rocky and barren, at least that’s what I thought. I thought I was just catching a tiny sliver of the magic that slumbers far beneath us, to make the grass grow a little smoother and softer.” Yoongi laughs as he runs his finger down the witchling, turning to you with a bright smile.

“Well...it looks like you did that and more. This is an actual garden now. I’ve never even seen some of these things. What is this? How did it get here?” He asks, reaching up to stroke one of the amber leaves. It reminds you of his eyes when they shift.

“It’s a witchling, and it shouldn’t be here. They only grow in Hekatalia because of the abundance of magic there. The Fae have a similar tree species only theirs looks more like an oak and the leaves are simply purple. Witchling trees are never the same. I...don’t know. I’ll ask Jimin, he’ll know more.” Your voice tails off, hands twisting as nerves take over.

Yoongi seems to be able to tell, his nose twitching with a few deep inhalations before he gestures for you to move ahead of him. You do so quietly, heading towards the bathhouse you had initially intended to enter before becoming sidetracked.

“Well...it’s pretty that’s for sure. If that’s what someone with no real magical skill can do, then I never want to meet your queen in combat. I can see now why Hekatalia has never been conquered despite its indefensible position.” Laughing slightly, you nod your head.

“She is far more powerful, yes. Though I think you’d need to worry about Prince Hoseok first. I’m sorry if...people don’t like that.” You point to the now overflowing garden but he shakes his head while bringing a hand to rest on your shoulder lightly. It’s an innocent gesture, done thousands of times before by hundreds of people and yet you can feel the sheer heat of him through your clothing.

It seems to affect him as well, with his eyes flaring gold for a second before he coughs and shifts away from you. “Don’t worry, no one’s going to complain that we have flowers and nice grass for once. Anyway, I believe I’ve wasted enough of your time tonight. I apologise. I will see you on the morrow.”

You don’t even get a chance to say your goodbyes to him, for he turns immediately and walks away from you. Instead, you’re just left with the sounds of the night and the gentle crackling of the torch nearby.

A final glance to the garden has your head tilting once more, wondering why it had grown so rapidly and why species that shouldn’t be here look to be content. Even just the last few minutes has resulted in the witchling growing another foot, and you have suspicions that when everyone wakes in the morning they will find a fully grown tree in their midst.

You just needed to focus on not doing anything damaging in the future.

The Prince Consort is not in his rooms when you arrive the next morning to wake him, leading to you panicking momentarily and wondering if he has perhaps been kidnapped. You were not in your own lands after all, and the Prince was a race that was not well liked in this land of wolves.

But it only takes you mere minutes to find him when you rush outside to the little courtyard you had discovered the night before. He’s standing with Jimin, dressed in plain black clothing that is lined with grey fur and you wonder for a moment what your purpose is here if he’s just going to dress himself anyway.

Although he was prone to doing that sometimes back at the palace, so used to attending himself over the years.

Neither of them notice your arrival however, their gazes fixed on the small garden before them. Or what had been a small garden last night, before you’d pulled magic through the stone where there had been none before.

Sure enough, just like you’d suspected, the witchling now towered over the building; its enormous branches reaching outwards desperately towards the peak of Selanus and the skies that loomed over Lunatis. The leaves almost shimmered in the morning light as they swayed in the breeze; golds and coppers and silvers and hundreds of shades in between.

The stark white bark of the trunk stood out against everything else, leading down to the dark dirt that overflowed with emerald green grass. Flowers dotted everywhere now, pinks and purples and yellows peeking out from between the grass and even on the smuggler’s ivy that covered the walls.

“Okay...I know that I drank a little wine and ale last night, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t drink enough to misremember this courtyard.” Prince Hoseok states bluntly, confusion evident in every syllable of his voice. You cringe slightly, shuffling forward to take your place beside him.

Jimin hums lowly, his own expression a mirror reflection of Prince Hoseok’s. “No, you’re right. This was not like this last night. I know that for a fact...because that’s a witchling. And they do not grow here. Something happened.”

“Like what? What makes a whole tree appear? And...all this?” His hand waved towards everything and you eyed Prince Hoseok, wondering if he would be angry at what you’d done. You should have known that Jimin would be able to tell what went wrong.

“Well...last night there was no magic here. It was as barren magically as it looked in terms of plant life. Now...now there is magic here. Seeping from a tiny crack in the ground. The witchling is absorbing most of it, but the bits that are escaping are causing everything else to grow. I have a suspicion that in a month’s time, when you walk the streets outside that they too will be covered in vibrant colours.” You want the earth to open up and swallow you at that, to ask the magic to take it and disappear back to where it came from.

But you can’t, because that’s not how magic works.

“Is that...going to be a problem? We came here for diplomatic reasons, to negotiate trade. Instead, we’ve apparently decide to send their city to the whims of nature. Will they be offended over that?” Prince Hoseok’s voice is decidedly concerned and your veins turn to ice, wondering if perhaps the Lunatus Pack will take this badly.

“Fear not Prince Hoseok, if anything we will welcome the beautiful nature. It’s hard to find fragile nature this pretty so far in the mountains. And I believe it may allow us to plant crops that are will not grow in our normal stony soil. Besides...it was my fault. I asked your lovely attendant to show me some magic and it appears the magic hidden beneath our land really wants to be free.” Yoongi’s voice is soft and calm as he approaches, his grey hair soft while his mouth quirks up slightly.

At his words though, Prince Hoseok and Jimin both turn and look at you with incredulous gazes. Jimin is the first to speak though, pointing out towards the garden. “You did this? I thought you had no real skill of note?”

He doesn’t mean the words to be offending or insulting, nor do you take them that way. Jimin speaks the truth, and you can understand why they are both confused. “I don’t. It was hard to feel anything but I found a sliver that responded to me. All I did was just...encourage it up. It would seem there’s a well under the Lunatus Pack lands that has been stifled by the mountains. Now it’s free. My apologies for anything that happens, I am not skilled with this.”

Jimin sighs softly, rubbing at his nose before looking back up at the overflowing garden. “I can stem the breach slightly. Magic will still flow but at a much slower pace. Ideally, you’d have a witch here who would be able to weave the magic and make use of it before it goes wild but I’m afraid you’ll just have to get used to the witchling. It will absorb the excess magic for you.”

“I think we’ll be okay with that. It’s possibly the most beautiful tree I’ve ever seen. And given that I live in the midst of a forest, in a nation of trees, that says a lot.” Prince Hoseok chuckled at Yoongi’s words, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that’s the witches. Powerful, but pretty.” He teases Jimin then, smiling as he pushes the Keeper of Words forward with more affection than might be expected.

Jimin rolls his eyes in response, looking markedly close to his ruler, but he said nothing as he instead places his focus on the task at hand. Crouching down, he looks around the area quietly before he places a hand on the ground.

There’s a moment of silence and you note Yoongi and Prince Hoseok looking at each other with raised brows, probably wondering what was going on but you can feel the weaving that Jimin is doing. Even from here, you feel the way he carefully crossed the magic over and under, over and under until it made a barrier woven entirely of itself before feeding the ending back into the ground.

It was skillful work and you half felt ashamed that you had worked magic so badly, particularly given the wonderful show you’d just experienced from the Keeper of Words. There was little surprise as to why he’d gotten to high and lofty position at such a young age.

Your shame must be written on your face as Jimin sighs quietly, standing and brushing his hands clean on his trousers before walking over to you. Resting a hand on your arm, he squeezes in reassurance and gives you a small smile.

“Don’t worry too much about it. You couldn’t have known how desperate the magic was to be released. This is a land which forced its magic underground long ago and we aren’t used to this. Don’t be hard on yourself, this would have taken all of us by surprise. Besides, it looks pretty at least.” He grins at that, gesturing towards the courtyard which now bloomed with a multitude of colours and delightful scents.

“That it does. I doubt there will be many who complain about this. We are a nature loving people.” Yoongi said, moving over to you both with that long and loping stride that gave him so much innate grace. You simply give a strained smile, hoping that he’s right and that you haven’t actually made a huge mistake here.

There could be nothing worse than going to a foreign nation to serve your Prince Consort and ending up accidentally offending said foreign nation. Perhaps you just were not made for diplomacy.

Yoongi stands surprisingly close to you, the sheer heat of him warming you even beneath your thick clothing and you look up at him in surprise. He doesn’t seem to notice his close distance and you choose not to mention it. Perhaps a nation of shape shifters who live in packs wouldn’t think anything strange about being close all the time.

You see the way Jimin’s and Prince Hoseok’s brows rise slightly and know that they’re thinking it’s strange though. You can feel your cheeks warming from the rush of blood as embarrassment curls through you and you hasten to find a way to distract them all.

“Your Highness, I believe the morning feast is available now if the smell is anything to go by. Why don’t we head inside and make sure that you break your fast to start the day well?” Hands move to gesture towards the door that leads to the hall while you give him a bright smile. The slight wideness to your eyes probably gives away your desire to no longer be the subject of attention and his lips quirk slightly before he schools his face into a mask of pleasant indifference.

Bowing his head slightly, he begins to move towards the door with Jimin in tow before glancing back towards you, the corner of his mouth tilted up. “Thank you. After last night, I’m expecting a lot from this morning meal Yoongi.”

The wolf raises a single brow in response, his face carefully neutral and you chew on your lip slightly, wondering whether to rush after Prince Hoseok or wait for Yoongi to enter. It wasn’t seemly for the help to precede their hosts, particularly when their hosts were so high up in the hierarchy.

But this wasn’t Hekatalia, and you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do. Prince Hoseok gave no help, instead looking back once more as he reached the door and giving you a bright, white smile before he disappeared within. You got the sense he was enjoying something, and you disliked the fact that you didn’t know what that was.

“Should we go ins-”

“Would you like to co-”

The both of you speak at once; words rushing over each other and silence is suddenly deafening as you stop. Grimacing slightly, you gesture for him to speak first given his superiority to you. He gives a tiny, awkward smile and bows his head in response, rubbing at his neck.

“Sorry. I, err, would you like to come with me and explore the city? I can show you around...the interesting places and…” He trails off slightly, cheeks pinkening and you frown at him in confusion, wondering why he was asking you this. “Well, I mean...if you want to.”

“Don’t you have to go with Prince Hoseok and attend the meetings? And what about the morning meal?” The words are full of confusion, soft as they fall from your lips almost unsure. You don’t understand what’s going on, yet there’s a warmth in your stomach at the thought of exploring Lykos with only Yoongi and you didn’t know why.

Yoongi’s flush deepens, his eyes shifting amber as he looks away and works at his jaw before he shakes his head slowly. “No, he’s not meeting with me. I don’t need to be there. I just thought...that you might like to see Lykos. You seemed interested in our culture last night. And I know a nice bakery nearby to break our fast on.”

Teeth nibbling at your lower lip, you hum lightly as your fingers twist and play with each other before nodding slowly. You didn’t imagine that you would get much chance to explore with how busy Jimin and Prince Hoseok would be, nor did you want to make them pander to you. But it did mean that you would have many hours of loneliness and potential boredom while waiting for something to do.

“If...if you’re positive. And that I won’t be a burden to you. Then...I would like that very much. Please.” There’s a shyness to your words that fascinates you, wondering what it was about this man that causes such a reaction in you. A sense of relief washes through you as you see his shoulders lower as he lets out a deep breath, his lips widening in a bright and gummy smile that positively lights up his handsome face.

“Excellent. That’s...great. I mean...we should go. Now...because...the bakery,” He fumbles over his words endearingly and you smile widely, wondering what’s gotten into him and why he seems so nervous suddenly. He had no problem talking with Prince Hoseok and you were merely an attendant. “I mean...yes. Let’s...let’s go.”

Without another word, he turns on his heel and strides towards another door that leads off from the courtyard, a low mumbling sound reaching your ears and you chuckle quietly as you realise that he’s grumbling to himself. It’s only when you make that sound that he freezes suddenly, shoulders stiffening before he turns around with a slight wince.

“I...it would be better if I actually took you with me I suppose. Not much of a tour if you’re not there.” He mutters, waiting quietly as you make your way over to him and follow him through the door. Eyeing his slim figure, you smile to yourself and shake your head.

Min Yoongi was an important person in the world, the heir to an important nation. And yet he was like no one you had ever met before. A contradiction of things, all fascinating and amusing and you simply could not figure him out.

This was definitely going to be one of the most interesting times of your life.

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carruth00 · 4 years ago

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The Boy Who Cried Magic by Andi Gladwin - A Review

This is the Ad Copy:

After spending a decade producing more than 100 magic books for some of the biggest magicians in the industry, Andi Gladwin is finally releasing his own book. And it is quite possibly the most highly-anticipated book of the year!

While Andi has released numerous effects and many popular lectures, this is the first time he has ever compiled his very best card magic routines into one comprehensive magic book. Each of the 16 full routines and 15 sleights featured in this book have been carefully crafted over a lifetime of performing for every type of audience in every type of venue.

There is something for every card magician in this incredible book from Andi's amazing rapid-fire multiple selection routine known as "Fireworks" to his powerful thought-of cards across, super commercial "Whack your Phone Effect" and even a practical Triumph routine where the audience helps you mix the cards.

There's also, of course, plenty of material for the most dedicated sleight of hand card magicians, including 15 techniques such as his full work on the Master Pushoff, new moves such as the UnDo Cut and UnDo Shuffle, and a unique take on the Braue Popup that you're going to want to add directly into your Ambitious Card routine.

Beyond its remarkable contents, The Boy Who Cried Magic is quite possibly the most beautiful book Vanishing Inc. has ever produced. This breathtaking hardback book features 250 pages and 240 full color photos, all printed on premium glossy paper. The addition of a gorgeous slipcase will make this book stand out on your shelf.

"The Boy Who Cried Magic is a perfect magic book, written by the best writer in magic. The tricks are world-class performance pieces, and the book itself is stunning. Every magician should own it!" - Dynamo

"The Boy Who Cried Magic is one of the most beautifully-designed magic books in recent memory. It looks and feels like something you'd find in an art bookstore. As for the magic, Andi Gladwin's Undo Cut is a highly deceptive false cut that is going straight into my act." - Steve Cohen

My Thoughts:

The Boy Who Cried Magic is Andi Gladwin's first book of magic. It must be quite a challenge to be in Andi's shoes and know your first publication sets a bar at such an impossible height. I don't know if he is considering a second book, but personally, I'd have to set a spell and soak in all the wonderful reviews of my first one.

This was a much-anticipated publication by a highly respected performer.. and it met all the expectations. Everything from the effects, to the cover, binding, pages, super sharp photos and slip cover coalesced to create a masterful product.

The book features 16 complete effects/routines and 15 sleights in a total of 250 glossy pages. ( I constantly felt as if I were turning two pages..) The 240 color pictures by James Went and George Luck jump off the pages.. creating a complete visual to match Andi's narrative. I could go on and on about the book.. but I think you get the point.. There are absolutely no cut corners and no expenses spared publishing Andi's first book. As the publisher of over one hundred books and ebooks for other magicians, Andi knew exactly what he wanted.. and how to achieve it.

The first chapter of TBWCM is a treatise titled Making Magic Bulletproof. It is an essay of thoughts and tips from the author.. detailing Be Clear, Remove Abruptness, Be Authentic, Be Adaptable, Create Conversation and Adapt To It, Overlap Methods and, lastly.. Study. These are strong thoughts from a full-time professional.

The effects are Andi's. These are effects he uses throughout his performances and are corralled through hundreds of performances over twenty plus years. These are not add-ons or submissions from other performers. These are all directly from his repertoire. To quote: "My repertoire didn't appear overnight. It's impossible to see when you look at the finished product, but every effect in this book has gone through dozens of late-night sessions and incremental improvements. I lost hair over these tricks."

Andi's book is all about card tricks, moves, and effects. No close-up, no coins, no thump tips.. and one cell phone. These effects are not beginner effects, and anyone purchasing this book who doesn't possess at least a good, basic knowledge of cardmanship will probably be lost after the first effect. Everything is not super-complicated.. but it's not beginner magic either. Andi takes a great deal of time to explain several of the sleights he uses, giving everyone ample opportunity to follow.. exactly as Andi would have it. He never tries to get ahead of readers.

Undo Cut, Undo Shuffle and Cull Shuffle Control are all good examples of some of the sleights taught. Cut, Stop, Shuffle, Red/Black To The Future, and Castle Jacks are all some of the 'At the Card Table' effects. Whack Your Phone, Monte Python, and Pocket Mule are three of my favorite 'Close-Up' card effects. And Silent Movie, Supersonic, and Aura are three of the five 'Stand-Up' card effects taught.

Each effect is detailed. The performance and handling are highlighted, along with any and all credits. Much work was put into describing the history of each effect, its first cousins, and Andi's contribution to its advancement.

I could get into describing the various effects individually.. but I don't think it's going to matter. These are first-class routines, made available to anyone willing to part with fifty bucks. The cost is totally justified in all aspects. One of the effects alone is probably worth the cost of the book. Thought Experiment.. based on Edward G. Brown's ' Twelve Card Thought Transposition', can't be described as an 'effect', but more appropriately a 'study' of what Andi considers to be the 'best structured card trick of all time..'. "One sleight makes a genuinely thought-of card appear to travel across the room and you don't need to know the name of that card."

.. And this is only one of the 16 effects.

If you truly desire to immerse yourself in a tangent and intimate world of card magic, THE BOY WHO CRIED MAGIC is your elixir.

$50.00 .. Available at Murphy's Magic and their Associates..

https://www.murphysmagic.com/Product.aspx?id=66402

Review by Rick Carruth for Murphy's Magic & The Magic Roadshow..

#andi gladwin #rick carruth #magic news #magic roadshow #the boy who cried magic

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saibh29 · 5 years ago

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Minor Head Trauma (Part 1)

Pairing: Will Halstead x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, a little bit of medical jargon

AN: I’m not a doctor by any stretch and although a did a brief bit of googling on head trauma I’m sure i’ve made horrible mistakes so excuse me for that.

When an old friend of Ethan Choi’s ends up in Chicago Med’s ED she’s about to make life very difficult for Will Halstead.

********

“I do not need to be here” you grouched, folding your arms across your chest and glaring at Nolan who was stood smirking at you from the far corner of the ED cubicle. The junior Officer and your long term friend was finding far too much enjoyment in your misery. “I slipped. I hit my head; my skull is fairly fucking thick I’ve been told this numerous times. I’ll be fine”

That made Nolan snort in laughter. The doctor who unfortunately for him had gotten landed with you as a patient simply looked confused. He’d introduced himself earlier as Dr Halstead, when this farce of a medical drama had begun.

“British huh Miss Y/L/N?”

“Last time I checked Dr Halstead. What about you, red head, so…Irish? A while back considering the accent is fairly standard American and boring?”

“Miss Y/L/N, if you could follow the light please” apparently, he’d simply chosen to ignore your sarcasm. He held up the tiny pen torch in front of your eyes moving it back and forth. Despite your sarcastic words you did as you were told and followed the light.

“This is ridiculous and a waste of time” you muttered still doing as he asked.

The fact you were finally being a good patient was why you happened to be looking through the small gap in the curtains at exactly the moment a ghost appeared before them.

“Holy Fuck!”

“Boss?”

Nolan knew that tone and his whole body had gone on high alert, pushing off the wall he stood upright searching for whatever it was that had put that sound in your voice. You however, had gone somewhere else, entirely transported back to memories of years ago. You pushed away Dr Halstead jumping off the bed and going straight for the curtains.

“Miss Y/L/N? Miss Y/L/N…?”

You pushed the curtains entirely away and found a broad back walking away from you towards another set of curtains, staring at a chart in his right hand.

“CHOI”

He stopped as if he’d been stunned and slowly spun looking for whoever it was who had called his name in a voice he’d equally thought to never hear again. His eyes found you and he jerked like he’d been shot.

“Miss Y/L/N…” Dr Halstead had followed you out of the cubicle and almost run into your back when you’d abruptly stopped for seemingly no reason.

“Miss?” Ethan had walked over as well “You left?”

“No. I didn’t leave”

“You two know each other?” Halstead flicked his eyes between the two of you.

“I know her… Y/N what are you doing here?”

“I hit my head; Nolan dragged me here” you summarised.

Ethan went back to focusing on Dr Halstead “what are her symptoms?”

“Minor head wound, no visible sign of further trauma”

“Hah!” you looked around Halstead and back towards where Nolan was still stood “See you idiot. I told you I was fine and did not need to be in the ED. Next time fucking listen to your commanding officer”

“Commanding officer?” now poor Dr Halstead really did look completely lost.

“Oh yeah, I knew I was forgetting something, head wound and all, it’s not miss, Dr Halstead”

“It’s not Miss? So, what is it?”

“It’s Captain” Ethan answered for you. “It’s Captain Y/L/N”

That made them all look over at you once more, you shrugged. Your military rank was something you were familiar enough with to not pay attention to anymore. What you were paying attention to though was the fact that the edges of your vision had suddenly begun to blur. That was not a good sign at all, nor was the spinning that was accompanying the blurriness.

“Uh… Dr Halstead” you reached over, not really sure what you were reaching for but hoping to find something to steady yourself with. “I, um, I don’t think…”

Your hand hadn’t found anything to hold onto and you couldn’t stay up right any longer, swaying sideways you started to go over. Halstead being the closest to you grabbed you before you hit the ground and ended up with one more head wound. “Y/L/N... Y/L/N?” he was hovering over the top of you. “Captain Y/L/N? Can you hear me?”

“Y/N?”

“Boss?”

There was a lot of people all calling your name, a lot of people all wanting your attention to be on them. You however were struggling to focus on anyone or anything, the blurriness that had previously simply been around the edges was now filming over your entire eyes.

You truly did want to answer the constant questions but your body wasn’t responding in a way you wanted it to. In fact, it wasn’t responding at all and with a final random thought of just how red Halstead’s hair was you slipped into complete blackness.

***********

When you finally came too once more you were laying down in a bed, there were wires attached to your chest and a rather annoying constant beeping sound from just above the right side of your head.

Your eyes flickered open and you found Nolan sat beside you scrolling down his phone.

“Nolan?”

He jerked, head shooting up to stare at you. “Boss? You’re awake! You feel alright?”

“What happened Nolan?”

He smirked “you just went over Boss, fainted away into the good doctor’s arms”

Fuck, that was going to come back to haunt you, there was no way Nolan was going to keep that quiet and whether you were ill or not the story would be spun in such a way that had you falling into Dr Halstead’s arms like some sort of 19th century damsel.

“Great” trying to navigate the abundant wires attached to you, you got your knees pulled further up to your chest. “Any word on why I fainted?”

“Fuck if I know, I ain’t a doctor”

“Nolan, seriously…” if you hadn’t already had a headache Nolan would be giving you one right now. “Will you please be helpful for once in your life, go and find me a Doctor who does know something and do it right now” Nolan’s mouth opened and you cut him off. “Any jokes on Doctors and fainting that come out of your mouth right now will get you serious one on one time with me and a certain assault course”

Nolan flinched at that and closed his mouth, “sure thing Boss” he left to go and find a doctor.

Your head was still pounding but the blurriness had thank god started to dissipate. Your vision was back and the nausea felt more like you’d drank a whole bottle of red wine on your own rather than you were stuck in a washing machine without an exit.

“Captain Y/L/N, nice to see you awake once more” Dr Halstead was back.

“I fainted”

It was a statement not a question but Dr Halstead nodded anyway. “You did”

“Why did I faint?”

“That minor trauma to your ‘thick skulled’ head. Not so minor”

“Trying to be sarcastic Doctor?”

Halstead smiled at you coming over to stand beside your bed. “Not at all Captain Y/L/N”

You didn’t believe him for a second but were willing to let it go considering the fact that you were a little concerned about the point that he had said your ‘minor’ head trauma wasn’t exactly so minor. “So, not so minor?”

“The point of impact on your skull, here” he gently pushed your hair to one side so he could look at the small cut on the side of your head where you’d landed. “you hit it harder than anyone thought, the CT scan came back, it shows you have a subdural hematoma. A bleed on your brain”

“My brain is bleeding?” that did not sound in anyway good. “How do we stop it bleeding?”

“Most hematoma’s stop on their own, your bleed is small, localised. We’ll admit you overnight to monitor you but it should be that taking a few weeks rest will be enough for it to heal up on it’s own”

“A few weeks?”

“Maybe more”

“No” shaking your head turned out to be the wrong decision as it made your vision swim in a most unhelpful way, bringing a hand up to your head you tried to stop the spinning. “I can’t be in this bed for longer than today. I need to be back…”

“That’s not happening Captain”

“You don’t understand”

“I understand that if I let you leave here and the bleed gets worse then you’ll be looking at a lot more than a few weeks in bed. How does major Neurosurgery sound?”

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a shitty bedside manner Dr Halstead”

“It’s been mentioned”

The fact that he was keeping up with your acerbic tongue actually defused quite a lot of your frustration and actually made you smile instead. You put your hand down from your head and instead wrapped them around your still drawn up knees. You wondered how Dr Halstead was going to cope with the coming storm he’d create by keeping you in this hospital.

“I’ll need to make some calls”

“You don’t have a phone?”

“Oh, I do…” reaching over you got your hand tangled in the multitude of wires, something started beeping incessantly and you cursed in frustration.

Dr Halstead grabbed your hand to stop you pulling anymore wires out, then trying to mask his own smile at your clumsiness he carefully untangled you putting your hand safely back down on the bed.

“here” he picked up your bag and handed it over to you.

“Thanks” you rooted out your phone which was flashing angrily with what was no doubt hundreds of missed calls and messages. “What did you call this thing in my head again Doc?”

“A subdural hematoma”

“Subdural hematoma. Got it” you grinned in what you hoped was a friendly manner at the good doctor. “So, who do I say it is that’s ordering this bed rest?”

“Will Halstead”

“Will… William?”

“William”

“Good to know” you unlocked your phone as Dr Halstead continued to watch you carefully. “Dr William Halstead” the poor doctor was seriously going to regret his luck in being assigned your case this morning.

“Captain Y/L/N?”

“Y/N”

“Excuse me?”

“Its Y/N, you don’t have to keep calling me Captain Y/L/N, and before you get chance to finish that question, I'm on a short-term deployment with the rest of my unit to the Great Lakes training area. I know Ethan Choi from well before that, a previous deployment and Nolan who has vanished somewhere that I'm not to curious about right now is my junior officer. Anything I missed?”

“I think that was quite comprehensive, you did miss off one quite important point though”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“How’s your head feeling?”

You guessed that probably was quite an important question for the doctor to be asking. “Better than before. I can only see one of you again which is semi-disappointing but probably healthier”

“Oh I don’t know, even one of me can be quite interesting Captain” there was a knowing smile on his face that told you he knew exactly what he was insinuating and he’d done it on purpose.

“I don’t doubt it Doctor Halstead. I don’t doubt it at all” in your hand your phone started buzzing angrily at you once more, the name on the screen simply said General and was one you really shouldn’t ignore anymore. It was only going to make this whole situation ten times worse. “I should answer”

“I’ll be back to check on you later”

“I hope you will”

With a final smile Dr Halstead left you alone once more as you took another glance at your phone screen. You could almost feel anger and irritation coming through the small device.

Sighing you slide the button across to connect the call and held the phone to your ear.

“Captain Y/L/N where the hell are you and where is my information?”

“Nice to hear from you too Dad”

TBC.....

@clementines-x @the-chosen-one-time-lord @no-other-names-availible-blog @angelaiswriting @selldraug @angryares @thenovarose @georgiagrl1990 @punk-rock-5-sos @mindofthescattered @dontstopxx @iamabeautifulperson18 @madelinecraig03 @ka-x-in @im-hurric4ne @mesmericbell @something--awesome @weirdpotato-14 @putinontheritzz @soulslaststand @fuckthatfeeling @ember1201 @morganlb23 @kitkatbadass @tomhopperarms @fakingintrest @artprincessbree @dreamer-lover-laughter @artprincessbree @rime-warrior @captainvaneswife @jaib2-blog @kapolisradomthoughts @thingsandstuffienjoy @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @aya-fay @itsbubbaog @hp-hogwartsexpress @emmykinzs @thatbadassunicorn @sassywingednightmare @weirdnewbie @goyawriter @shipperfangirling @nathaliabakes @stillreadingfantasy

#chicago med #one chicago #chicago med fanfiction #chicago med imagine #will halstead #halstead #Dr Halstead #Will halstead x reader #will halstead x imagine #halstead x reader #halstead x fanfiction #imagine #fanfic

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vannahfanfics · 5 years ago

Text

Before you read, here’s the previous chapter!

Rise of the Guardians: Earthsong

Ao3

Chapter 1: Pitch Black is Back!

Jamie squealed with delight as he threw open the front door to his home, taking the front steps two at a time before throwing himself into his front yard and rolling around happily in the soft green grass that had seemingly appeared overnight. Sophie came plunking down the steps, chanting “one, two, one, two" as she went, before jumping down onto the concrete and squealing with delight to run over and sprawl out beside her brother. Jamie laughed as he spit out a lock of her blonde hair that had somehow gotten into his mouth, then rolled onto his back to breathe in the warm springtime air. Alongside the house, the flowers we shooting up, and would soon form colorful little buds. The trees alongside the street were beginning to develop new leaves, too.

“It's spring!” he cried, charmed, and his head suddenly snapped to the side as he heard an amused chuckle float down from the fence. He beamed widely when he saw who was sitting there; it was his best friend, Jack Frost, leaning against his staff as he sat on the wooden planks, one leg swinging lazily as he gave Jamie his signature lop-sided smile. “Hello, Jack!”

“Good morning, Jamie,” the youthful winter spirit and newly-named Guardian smiled gently down at him. It was then that Jamie realized that, with the oncoming of spring, his wonderful friend would probably be leaving for the season. Suddenly depressed, he sat up and pouted down at his lap, prompting Jack to hop down from the fence wearing a concerned look. “Hey, what's that face for?” he grinned weakly and ruffled Jamie's hair affectionately. Even though he was sad at Jack likely departing, he could not help but smile slightly.

“I was just thinking about how you would be leaving.” Jack frowned deeply and looked away awkwardly, swinging his wooden staff in his hands.

“Oh. Yeah. Gotta go spread joy to other kids in the world, ya know?” he smiled, but a hint of sadness still left a shadow on his boyish features. He then beamed widely and poked Jamie in the chest with the end of his staff, knocking him over into a fit of giggles. “But I’ll be back soon! What's spring without a freak ice storm, yeah?” he joked. It was then that Sophie came tottering up to Jack, jumping up and trying to grab his magic staff, and the tall boy laughed in amusement as he held it out of her reach. “So, Jamie, why don't you get all your friends? You really didn't think I would take off without a farewell party, did you?” he winked. Jamie gasped happily, then jumped to his feet to scramble down the sidewalk, calling for his sister to follow as he raced down the neighborhood to gather his friends. Jack watched him with a smile, leaning on his staff as the little boy ran from house to house.

I guess this is her doing, he thought as his wintery blue eyes swept over the neighborhood that was now cast in green. Just the night before, it had been Jack's domain, a winter wonderland where children built snowmen and snow angels and had fervent snowball fights. In all centuries he had been doing this, he had always thought that spring was a natural process, just a product of the Earth going about its business. It made sense now, though; he brought winter with him wherever he went, and so it stood to reason that there would be another side of the coin, a spirit of spring and flowers and warmth. Why is it just now that I’m seeing her, though? Wouldn't she have introduced herself by now? It was a puzzling situation, but unfortunately, he had no solutions. He had seen the girl once in four hundred years; who was to say when he would see her again?

“Jack! Jack, let's go!” Jamie demanded impatiently, and his friends chorused in agreement. Their whines abruptly ripped him out of his thoughts. He soon forgot all about the beautiful girl as he dashed over to the little boys and girls, dancing on the wind as he raced them to the nearby park.

The children fell upon the various play sections of the playground with glee, swinging from swings and sliding down slides with squeals of delight. Jack perched himself in the grass, cross-legged with his staff on his lap, watching them with a warm smile. It always did him good to see the kids happy, especially Jamie; the little boy was screaming with glee as Cupcake chased him across the playground in an intense game of tag. Abruptly, the chunky little girl shifted gears and charged him, startling him thoroughly. As he scrambled to his feet, sputtering for her to stop, she grinned cheekily at him before poking him in the chest. Though it was an innocent gesture, the girl had almost superhuman strength, and the small touch knocked him flat on his back.

“You’re it!” she cried with a booming laugh and sprinted away across the grass. Jack groaned as he sat up, rubbing his surely bruised chest while the children held their breath, waiting for him to chase them. He pretended to be disinterested for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, and then suddenly jumped to his feet and conjured a harsh wind to carry him across the park. They scattered like marbles, shrieking as the winter spirit chased them across the playground, riding across his magical windstorm. Jamie howled with laughter as he desperately tried to escape his friend, but in his effort, he lost control of himself and went crashing through a tangle of bushes. Jack immediately abandoned the game and went running after him, shoving the green shrubberies aside to glance around wildly.

“Jamie?” he called, and he could hear his voice floating up from somewhere. He hopped over the bush to find that the area was wooded and sloped downward at a considerable angle. He followed the trail of broken branches and strewn leaves to find Jamie sprawled on his back at the base. “Jamie!” he cried as he slid down to him, afraid that he was hurt; thankfully, the little boy just giggled happily. Smiling softly, Jack reached down and poked him in the forehead. “You're it.”

“Aw, nuts.” Smirking, Jack grabbed him by his skinny arm and pulled him to his feet, and Jamie took a moment to shake the leaves and twigs from his hair and brush the dust from his clothes. Before the boy could take off, however, they both stiffened as a vile voice drifted out of the trees. Jack raised a finger to his lips, then crouched down and cautiously crept over the ground to peer through some hawthorns. Jamie crawled after him, his eyes enormous as he peered through the gap in the bushes, and what they saw there sent shudders traveling up both their spines.

There, in a small clearing with a vicious scowl on his pasty white face, was none other than the Guardians arch-enemy Pitch Black.

“Ugly, disgusting things,” he snarled as he stamped a budding flower beneath his foot, grinding it mercilessly into dust. “Spring. I always hated it!” he roared as he whipped around, his black cloak fluttering like bats as he glared around at the beautiful springtime assemblage. “With all its warmth and goodness and light… It’s revolting,” he continued to mutter to himself in delirium. Frightened, Jamie pressed close to Jack, and to reassure him, the young teenager wrapped an arm around him as if to shield him from the dark villain. Angered by his presence, Jack's fingers curled around his staff, and his teeth clenched together.

“If it hadn't been for those meddlesome Guardians, this world would be mine!” Pitch ranted angrily as he continued to crush several flower buds beneath his feet, like a young child throwing a temper tantrum. He's so vile, Jack thought in disgust. Abruptly, Pitch froze in the middle of his angry hissing, and a slow, evil smile crept across his face. “This could still be mine,” he realized aloud, leaning down to pluck a flower shoot from the grassy clearing. He held it up, turning it over slowly in his hands with an evil snicker. “Yes… Yes… That's it! I can cast the world in darkness by draining it of its life… its warmth… its spring. Even if those Guardians are still around, the world will slowly rot into despair and fear if it’s trapped in an eternal winter!” he grinned evilly, and the fresh flower bud crunched as he savagely crushed it in his fist.

Before Jack could burst on the scene and confront him, he cackled evilly and vanished into the shadows. Even after his form had melted into the blackness, his evil laughed remained, echoing through the trees until fading up into the blue sky. Jack jumped out into the clearing, as if he could still catch him. He then sighed deeply and kneeled to gently pluck the mangled flower bud from the green grass layer.

“That can't be good,” he murmured and looked up to the place where Pitch had vanished. If he's on the loose again, he must be devising some evil scheme. What could he have possibly meant by ‘taking away the world’s spring’?” he wondered as he stood up, tucking the little crinkled flower into the pocket of his frosty blue hoodie. He turned his head as Jamie came crawling out of the bushes, looking around with scared eyes.

“Pitch Black is back,” he whispered fearfully.

“Seems like it. Come on. We had better get you guys home, if he's lurking around here,” he mumbled and walked over to the little boy, placing a hand on his back to begin guiding him up the hill. Jamie grabbed onto his hoodie, eyes still full of concern.

“The Guardians aren't gonna let Pitch do what he wants, right? You gotta!” Jack snorted with laughter and affectionately ruffled his brown hair, smiling broadly and nodding. That seemed to reassure the boy well enough, and so he began to dash up the hill, panting heavily. As the little boy ran off, Jack's smile wavered; he felt guilty, telling such a bald-faced lie. Taking down Pitch nearly destroyed the Guardians the last time; he couldn't guarantee anything. He looked down at his hoodie, pulling out the little mangled flower that had tried to grow with all its might. … We have to win, no matter what! I can't let Pitch spread the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~

After Jack had safely delivered the children home, the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon. He needed to head to the North Pole immediately to report the news to North and the other Guardians, but something inside Jack told him to linger. Twirling his staff in his hand like a baton, he strolled across the forest floor, leaving frosty footsteps in his wake; it was strange, walking across the soft, loamy ground, when he was so used to the forgiving crunch of snow. He tapped a tree occasionally, leaving fern-like patterns weaving across the bark, his signature mark. His feet carried him to the lake in which he had been born. It now glittered with light as gentle waves lapped at the sandy shore. It was a stark contrast to the mirror-like sheet of ice that was so perfect for ice skating. He walked to the edge of the lake, staring down into the blue water, watching little minnows swim about.

Jack had never given much thought to spring. He was the incarnation of winter, after all; it was theoretically his job to transition the warm, lovely summer into the cold, brusque chill of fall. If anything, spring was his enemy.

Still, he could not deny that standing there, watching the light play across the water as the sun dove below the spreading canopy of the forest with the warm breeze flowing over him, it felt nice. He smiled weakly. The children love spring, too. As a Guardian, it's my job to save it, then. He was about to turn to leave when he noticed something strange in the water, a reflection on the opposite bank. He watched it shift for a moment, unfocused, before it briefly took the form of a young woman in a brilliant white dress with golden hair. He gasped, his head snapping up to look at the opposite bank, but she wasn't there. Am I imagining things now? He wondered, staring at the tree line for a moment. No one emerged, and so he just wrote it off as a trick of his mind. He whipped his staff around, throwing up a wind to carry him to the North Pole, and grinned widely as he rode it into the sky.

Look out, Pitch! We'll be coming for you soon enough!

Here’s the next chapter! Want more stories? Check out my Table of Contents!

#rise of the guardians #rotg #rotg fanfiction #rise of the guardians fanfiction #jack frost x oc #rotg oc #jack frost #pitch black #rotg jamie #rise of the guardians jamie #frostednature #frosted nature #mother nature #mother nature oc

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d-noona · 5 years ago

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AERO

Chaper 6: The Search

"If I'd just gotten my ass kicked by a size three. I might be inclined to mind my own business." - Im Jaebeom

At his computer console, Jaebeom fast-forwards through a video surveillance tape from the previous day, freezing on Seven as she approaches the adjacent building with a delivery. He blows up the image until Seven's face fills the screen, her eyes looking right into the surveillance camera, right at him. He studies the picture for a long contemplative moment.

Ruben enters the room and looks over his boss and studies the photo his boss seems to be engrossed at "Glad you're getting your money's worth outta that tape. Had to grease the guard a hundred for it."

But with this Jaebeom doesn't hear him. He's utterly lost in the image of the young woman on the screen. Ruben teases him "You trying to ID the perp or a new girlfriend?"

Jaebeom snaps out of it and responds "If I'd just gotten my ass kicked by a size three. I might be inclined to mind my own business."

With this Jaebeom gets up from his seat, grabs his wallet and a 9mm out of his drawer. Heads straight out of his apartment to his SUV and drives off for the day.

Jaebeom arrives at JYPE X-press, he enters and looks around at the motley assortment of messengers, then crosses to the dispatch counter where JYP barks out an order to his not so merry men. "Pick-up at four-eleven going to Gangnam" He tosses out the package to Mark who catches the parcel with ease accompanied by the boys Youngjae and Jackson with deliveries on each of her hands.

Jaebeom approaches the boss "I'm looking for a lady who works here"

Not giving the young man the time of day Jyp arranges the packages for the next deliveries and responds "Ladies would be elsewhere."

With this Jaebeom flashes the picture of Seven which was lifted from the surveillance video. He slides it up to the stubby man "Know where I can find her?"

The man scans and surveys the photo and smirks at Jaebeom.

"You don't want to. Listen brother, she may be easy on the eyes but she's trouble trust me." Then Jyp leaves the station with packages on his arm and calls out for his messengers "Hot run two-oh-two Sansome" the old man kept passing on the packages to his workers with Jaebeom trailing behind him not giving him the peace he needed for work.

"I need to talk to her" says Jaebeom. He feels the patience leaving his body as the old man continues to ignore him. Jaebeom then has had enough, he pulls out an envelope with large sums of money and extends it to him.

"How about you give me her name and address?"

Jyp eyes the money and pockets it. "Seven something. I got no clue where she stays. But she normally hangs out after work with a bunch of these losers at a place called The Crash."

Jaebeom tilts his head and purses his lips. He salutes the man and leaves the building. Putting the coordinates of the place on his GPS. The GPS advises him that it's ready to go, he drives off the night headed to look for the beautiful thief.

As Jaebeom enters the bar, he sees Seven and a friend playing a game of eight ball. He purposely observed her from afar at first. She was wearing nothing but simple black sleeveless shirt, black pants, black gloves and black rubber boots. She had no make-up on yet her skin is tanned and flawless. Her eyes were intense and brown as she concentrates on beating her friend at a game. Black hair flowing beautifully from her back as it sways showing markings on her skin. Tattoos as he scans her carefully. She has a tattoo of an angel on her back with cherry blossom edging on both her left and right shoulder. From a front another tattoo catches his attention on her upper left chest just right below her collar bone. Some sort of an ECG reading.

She seems to be having fun tonight...

As Jaebeom surveys her. There's something about the way she smiles. Her body is relaxed but her eyes are weary, as if she was hiding a secret from everyone else. Jaebeom decides to approach Seven while she was speaking to her friend. Whilst walking towards her Seven looks up and sees him approaching.

"So this guy walks into a bar and says..." as Seven intensely gazing upon Jaebeom's eyes without blinking, he swore when a flash of light from the bar swept by her it looked as if he was staring in to a cat's eye.

He smiled at her and responded "We didn't get a chance to finish our conversation the other night." Without taking her off Jaebeom, he felt compelled to stare into her eyes as well.

Seven unmoving speaks at her friend who seems confused "Summer, say hi to my good friend..." the man cuts her off "Im Jaebeom" he says as he hands his hand to shake the hand of Seven's friend.

Summer being an ever loyal friend just looked at Jaebeom and gave him a brief respond "Hey."

But Seven and Jaebeom just stood there still looking at each other. Sensing that it's time to make herself scarce, Summer looks at her watch "Xena's on", then she splits.

"Sorry about your window" as Seven breaks her gaze upon the handsome man. Jaebeom does the same "Can we go somewhere and talk?" the two then heads out of the bar.

The two walk in silence for a moment, an easy affinity between them. After a moment Seven slightly gave Jaebeom a glance "So...How'd you find me?"

Jaebeom stared at her features ever so softly there was something about her that's enchanting him to no end. Obnoxiously he gave her a smile "It wasn't that hard."

She stops dead at her tracks, eyeing the man who was standing before her "Am I supposed to be flattered by all the attention?" As she snickers at him and walks a bit faster making Jaebeom speed up his pace.

"Well, now you know who I am, where I live. I figured I better find out who I'm dealing with in case you were looking to hurt me." He answers her earnestly.

They continued conversing whilst walking through a forgotten and condemned park. Surrounding them are old rusted rides all long forgotten. Seven sits on one of the old swings as Jaebeom followed the urge to push her slightly. She then turns to her side only seeing the Jaebeom's peripherals.

"So? Now you tracked me. What do you think?" as she continues to just sit by the swing.

Jaebeom moves to her side sitting on the empty space on her right. He looks at her "Hmmm...Too early to tell."

Seven giggles at him, catching the man by surprise. It's hard to think that this girl sitting beside him giggling over nothing actually took down Ruben and broke his window.

She then continues on "How does Mrs. Informant Net like being married to a guy on everyone's hit list?" she asks with a very innocent but serious look on her face. Flustered by her straightforward question he blushes, then she laughs at him obviously catching the man off guard.

"Aww, he blushes, how adorable. For someone who does cyber hacking I must say this is a surprise." As she continues to laugh on her own.

"Janna is not my wife." He replies to her.

"Girlfriend?" she quirks up an eyebrow on him.

"No. Janna Reid is the wife of James Reid. Her husband was murdered. She's one of my sources." As he intently looks at Seven's face to see if he can catch any type of emotion. To his dismay she never changed facade and stood up from where she was sitting as she continued to walk around the park.

"Tell me Im Jaebeom, what's your shot in all this? Being a famous underground pirate slash cyber journalist can't be much of a pay day."

He follows her as she walks around "Fortunately, my needs are met in that department" he says.

"So what, you just like the sound of your own voice?" Seven mocks him.

Jaebeom smiled in amusement. "Look around at all this Seven. This place was built by people till the pandemic and bomb happened on 2020. They blinked and overnight the government, the police, everything intended to protect the people had been turned against them."

Seven stops and turns at Jaebeom "You miss the good old days. Even though there were still poor people who died from diseases when they didn't have to...and rich people spent obscene amounts of money redecorating their houses to match the cat. Those good old days?"

Jaebeom sighs "Well at least people had a choice, even if they took it for granted. And now they obviously don't."

Nonchalantly the girl continues to walk "So what are you gonna do about it?"

"Something..." As Jaebeom answers, they continued to walk in silence for a beat.

Then to break the silence Jaebeom decides to speak up again. "That was a pretty extraordinary display of athleticism the other night. In fact, a little too extra ordinary. You wanna tell me how?" But he looks up at her and she's gone.

Jaebeom was left all alone on an empty park, looking for Seven who seems to have vanished in to thin air.