#but nevertheless the level of detail in this au is impressive

[vladdyissues]

Oh! I'm glad you liked the au of Immortal husbands + Omegaverse + Ghost king + Space shit (unless you mind, I'll call it Space Era of Earth AU, or just SEE AU). I put more thoughts in it.

The Phantom family has seen how ex-Homeland, the Earth, exploded. They had to- They had to record it to next generations of people know for what they fight for if the war will take centuries. After all, this will be the only media source of the Earth's History. The evacuation took place in a short period of time, people was too focused on transfering more important information.

In opposition to Dani her brother is close to people (I let you come up with his name, I'll just call him "S" for Son). S was born in Japan when old traditions and the strict discipline was on the peak as consequence of the World Demographic Depression in the end of XXI century. Ghosts always knew S as a son of King, people — as a son of great businessman/scientist/chose a proffesion Vlad-san. This is why he grew up a beta. In so far as S is close to the human world, he always fell in love with them. But he had a sex only once and it was trausmatic experience for both. Everything was fine until the moment S cummed inside her. Sperm came through a condom and hurt his love very strictly. He remembered, dad Danny advised to take an ecto-filter on a date. So, he used the liquid and hell pain was gone. Just imagine: you had a wonderful sex with your beloved, the first sex, but your cum make her scream in pain. It was their last date. Danny dated had a sex with one girl before Vlad, so, he knew it would happen but let S find it out himself. S finally understand Danny's advice to find an attractive ghost. But he is too far to ghosts, so, he'll always fall for humans.

I imagine those evil aliens as something between Qu from All Tomorrows (https://youtu.be/imNtSPM3-r4?si=ON7nkG1KstIfULJo) and aliens from Alien Stage by VIVINOS (https://youtu.be/VgPo3q01kbg?si=p5Xa7MlXjKC3tKc1). Less cruel than Qu but still powerful.

HC that family life soften Vlad's heart back. And when the first attempt to mutate people into halfas failed with a scandal (c'mon! there's is very little humans left, you can't kill them for fun), make a little break in his core. Vlad finally wondered why there weren't more artifical halfas, despite over 50 years of GIW experiments. They never survived. When he investigated his family's DNA (the reaction halfa's clear DNA and human's DNA on radiation), he was horrified the fact that 2-5 different nucleotide in his genom and he could die, too. I see it as there are sites that bind with ghost radiation of a certain wave and this radiation forms an armor that saves the genome and the whole cell from destructive radiation.

--

[lisinfleur]

The Perfect Date

The request:

Author’s Notes | It seems the family has more than one genius. Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Modern Age AU, requested by anon for 5CW Ivar II. Posted for HTGI Event. Words | 1857 ⁑ Warnings: Some self-ableism from Ivar, cursing.

It was more than time for you to move on over that childish passion.

You had been cultivating that hidden love for so long that you couldn't even remember when it was the first time you'd looked at Ivar and thought he was the owner of your heart.

But it was past the time to be over with that and move on with your life.

You were his friend.

Period!

You weren't his kind of girl. You mean... Look at Freydis! She was completely different from you, right? And Margrethe before her...

It is ok that Margrethe got the record of banging four of the five Lothbrok brothers, but Ivar was on her list, and you weren't like her.

At least, you never felt pretty like the two of them.

At least...

At least, Ivar never looked at you with those flickering eyes he had for them here or there in the story of your lives.

So, when Hvitserk told you he'd settled a date for you with someone he was sure was perfect to be with you, you've decided to give him a chance. He also knew you pretty well, and if he was saying someone could conquer your heart, then probably this person could have a chance to really do it.

So, at the date he settled, you got yourself prepared. Your best dress, soft makeup. Gods, you even made your hair in a saloon to feel prettier for that night!

However, the last person you thought you would find in that restaurant was Ivar: sitting at one of the tables, he seemed to be as prepared as you were but waiting for someone who dared to get late for whatever they had settled together.

Oh, great.

Your past and your feelings would be right there while you would be trying to surpass them.

Fuck!

At first, you tried to dodge his presence, sitting on a table that was a little away from his.

But, as the minutes passed, your heart shrunk by seeing he was becoming angrier as the person he was waiting for didn't show up. And your "perfect date" was also getting late...

Did Hvitserk lose his good finger? He knew how much you hated people who weren't punctual!

When you noticed, your date was about ten minutes late! And Ivar's angry grunt reached your ears as your friend seemed to be frustratedly threatening to get out of the restaurant.

You could almost read Ivar's thoughts.

Another failure.

OF COURSE, she wouldn't come! Nobody wants to date the crippled.

And that whole ableist bullshit you knew he would be thinking throughout days, maybe months after that failed date.

Fuck the perfect guy! You got up and walked towards Ivar's table, pretending you had just arrived and taking a seat right beside him - just to avoid taking the place his date would be taking in front of him if she was ever to come anyway.

"Ivar! What a coincidence!" you tried to start as if you didn't see each other there.

But Ivar's surprised blues told you your dodging skills were better than you thought: he didn't really have seen you before.

Or the thing with the dress and makeup had really gone right somehow...

"Whoa... You're pretty, Y/N".

Your cheeks burned hot! Did he have any idea of what was that simple sentence doing to you?

"T... thanks," you answered. "You look great too. Occupied?"

His eyes looked at the empty chair in front of his table, and he sighed.

"I guess I'm not. Want some fries?"

Your favorites!

Ivar knew everything about you. And you, about him.

"And ribs!"

His favorites... Ivar couldn't avoid smiling.

One hour of conversation and the two of you had completely forgotten the late dates that never came.

Two hours and Ivar was betting you would be drunk with half of a quarter he was able to drink!

When the two of you took notice, five hours had passed from the time settled for your dates, and no one had come through those doors searching for you guys.

Nevertheless, that was the best night the two of you shared together. You had gotten rid of your heels under the table, he had left the fancy coat on the back of his chair, and the two of you were now side by side on the table, playing with each other at the cellphones with an interesting application he had found to play hnefatafl against you online.

"That's not fair! You always win!" you complained after losing the tenth match for a proud Ivar smiling beside you.

But his smile had a different tone. A gentle tone.

"Thank you," he mumbled, confusing you.

"For what? For repeatedly losing ​to you in this complicated game?" you tried.

"For making this shit of a night something good for me to remember," he answered, impressing a serious tone to the conversation you'd started.

"Ivar," you mumbled.

"No, Y/N. This would've been a disaster if you weren't here to make this night perfect!" he completed, looking at you. "I'll never listen to Hvitserk ever again, but I cannot say I regret coming to this date he settled for me. You were here. And it was amazing to be with you tonight."

"Wait..." you said, looking at him. "Hvitserk settled a date for you  here?"

"Today, at..." he started.

"...eight." you finished, and your eyes became large. "Oh, my gods..."

"Y/N, what happened?" Ivar asked.

For the first time since you knew him, not being the one able to figure out the whole picture.

"Your date didn't come, did she?" you asked.

"No. The 'girl that would be perfect to me' doesn't exist, and I got Hvitserk's stupid pun."

Oh, no. He got it wrong...

"That's not the actual pun, Ivar," you mumbled, feeling your cheeks burning hot once again.

"What do you mean?" Ivar asked, already annoyed things were happening faster than his mind could understand.

"My date didn't come either," you said, looking at him. "I had a date today, here, at eight... Hvitserk said it would be the perfect guy to conquer my heart..."

"The motherfucker decided to make the same stupid prank with the two of us!"

Oh, how charming... There was a detail you always thought was cute about your brilliant best friend: he would always become dumb when he was too angry to think properly.

"Indeed, he pranked us, Ivar. But..."

Shit!

Why was it always so hard to tell him the truth?

"I'll punch his face for hurting you like this!" Ivar said, disposed to defend you with all his strength, but you held his hand, looking at him in the eyes.

"It is you, Ivar," you said, breaking his focus and causing him to look at you, confused.

It took him a second to figure out what you were talking about. And then another ten seconds for his face to frown in complete disbelief.

"Excuse me, what?" he asked, looking at you. "Are you telling me Hvitserk settled us on a date in the same place and at the same time trying us to..." he stopped.

His brain was finally making the right math this time.

"He was trying for us to date each other," you mumbled.

Already feeling, by his reaction, that he would somehow burst into laughs and say his brother was completely insane.

That you could never be perfect in any way to conquer his heart.

However, his head leaned, and he looked at you with a surprised expression.

"Sometimes I think there is a genius inside my brother's mind that he drowns every day with the amount of different alcoholic shit he drinks," he said.

Causing you to burst into laughing the way you would always laugh at his jokes.

Only you were able to understand his jokes, no matter how deep they were. And you would always think they were funny.

You would always be there for him, by his side, making his worst days better and his better days the best.

How come he'd never noticed this?

You were still laughing when Ivar's fingers touched your chin, catching your eyes.

"Hvitserk was right... You are the perfect woman to conquer my heart."

You froze.

And it was your time to frown and look at him, taken aback.

"Excuse me? What?" you mumbled, causing him to smile.

"Unexpected, but predictable," he mumbled, looking at you with a larger smile. "You know me better than anyone else. You like the same things I do. And you make me happy... You're prettier than any other woman I know... And by the way you're shocked by these conclusions now, I can almost say I finally discovered what's the only secret you've always kept from me..."

Fuck!

Fuck fuck fuck a thousand times!

You'd always told him that: there was only one thing about you he would never discover. And it was that he was the love you had hidden in your heart as deep as you could to keep your secret safe.

"And... What would be this secret, if you're so smart, Mr. Smartass?" you said.

Trying to keep your pose until the moment he approached, sealing his lips on yours all of a sudden, surprising you with the most delicious stolen kiss you had ever tasted in your life.

You melted in his hands, sighing against his mouth.

As his hands landed on your waist, yours embraced his neck and it was almost as if the two of you had been made to embrace each other like that.

The kiss didn't last too long, but it was enough to feel like an era for you. And Ivar smiled against your lips, fully cocky about his next words.

"I'm the one who has your heart," he said, revealing the only secret of yours he'd never laid hands on. "It's mine... You're mine. How could it be different?”

His fingers caressed your face and you noticed he was genuinely happy with that discovery

"I didn't want to lose our friendship," You mumbled, justifying your silence for so long beside him.

"We didn't lose it," he said, "It just evolved to a better level," he completed.

"And it was about time!" Hvitserk's voice sounded from the restaurant's door.

"You motherfucker!" You grunted at him.

"You little asshole!" Ivar growled.

And Hvitserk burst into laughter: his plan was a success and he smiled, throwing the car keys to Ivar who caught them.

"Mother told me to take you home, but I don't want to bother the love doves..." he joked just to receive a pair of fries from you and a cube of ice from Ivar's cup against his head. "Fuck, stop it!" he laughed. "You should be thanking me!"

"We're throwing food on you! Count it as gratitude!" Ivar joked back causing you to laugh out loud.

Hvitserk crossed his arms, smiling at the two of you.

"'Take care of each other," he said.

You would remember to prepare his favorite Damascus pie as a reward for being the perfect friend.

You couldn't be happier with the date he chose for you.

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[clarionglass]

It has taken me literally two years from me promising to do this to it actually appearing, but! May I at long last present the inevitable continuation of this piece of glorious mad fiction, based on the equally-if-not-more-so glorious characters and scenario created by @teashoesandhair! Like with the first part, I had an absolute ball stepping up the ridiculous formality in writing this, and I hope upon hope it’s worth the wait :)

In the Demonic Style, a Good Omens Mandy AU: Part the Second

Lilith-Anne Brandy-Mason knew quite a lot about uncles. She lived with a pair of them, after all, in a well-apportioned flat in Mayfair, its rooms decorated in gold and silver and jewel tones and old wood. They were the ones who had bestowed such an unwieldy moniker upon her, and she loved them for it—because that’s what one does with uncles, even when they are slightly embarrassing, and slightly strange. And if there were any words with which a nearly-eleven-year-old girl should describe Messrs Brandy and Mason, “slightly embarrassing, and slightly strange,” would be exactly they.

They were her uncles, of course. She knew this, because that’s what they told her, every day: that they were her uncles, and they desired nothing but the very best for her. It was one of her earliest memories, their insistence on that point. She was small enough to still be wheeled in a perambulator, and the three of them had been stopped by a woman in her middle age, with an expression so sour that Lilith-Anne, now with over a decade’s life experience, could only imagine that she must have had an entire lemon tree growing through her from head to unmentionables. 

If she were to ask one of her uncles, she would be furnished with a much clearer recollection of the event. The angel Bryndael, known to humanity as Mr Brandy, could recall with ease the ugly sort of suspicion stamped across the woman’s features as she attempted to catch him and his demonic companion out in a perceived sordidness. A local busybody, she knew both of them by reputation, if nothing else, and was always eager to claim the moral high ground over any and all of her acquaintances.

“Mr Brandy?” she had asked sharply. “And Mr Mason? What are the pair of you doing with that child?” 

Bryndael’s panic was immediate and all-consuming. “I’m, well, we’re her—”

“Uncles,” Mr Mason—the demon Manoch—had interjected, sensing the angel beginning to fluster.

“Yes, her uncles,” he agreed, latching onto the word with relief.

The woman was unconvinced, most likely since she knew they were unrelated, and had sniffed a haughty sniff in their direction. “Both of you?”

Mr Mason merely nodded calmly, leaving Bryndael to pick up the pieces. “I’m her mother’s brother,” he had offered in conciliation.

“Father’s,” Mr Mason added. “And we are giving her the best of care in their stead.”

It was beautiful, the way in which a typically-demonic twisting of the truth could be used for such good, and Bryndael, loath as he was to admit it, was rather taken by the quick response—as he was by the way Manoch’s electric black gaze, the same one that had thrilled—no, horrified—him through the aeons, had remained so perfectly level. Somewhat less satisfied with the answer than he was, their interrogator had sniffed her sniff once again, but had still returned to her own turn about the neighbourhood without further protest.

Lilith-Anne hardly remembered the event in such minute detail, due to only being a year old at the time, but it had nevertheless impressed upon he the importance of her relationship to the two gentlemen whose care she was under. They were her uncles, despite her being well and truly old enough to realise she looked nothing like either of them. People don’t have to look like their uncles, of course, but they were the closest family she had, and Lilith-Anne was still slightly put-out by the lack of familial resemblance. 

What made the whole ghastly situation worse, in her mind, was that she had never seen any pictures of her parents, despite the recent blossoming of the photographic art. Her uncles were very firm on that point—her parents had perished in a fire shortly after her birth, and Lilith-Anne suspected the wound that such a tragedy had caused would never fully heal. Mr Brandy was still prone to tearing up at any mention of his sister—“That poor woman,” he would murmur, blue eyes filling, “that poor, poor woman,”—and Mr Mason’s brother was, according to his dark and curiously fearful mutterings, “most likely still burning.” 

Even so, she would have liked to see some photographs of her parents. She was certain she must favour someone in her family, and for years had been quite determined to find out who this person would be. Many people who visited the teashop owned by the Brandy line for decades mentioned that the resemblance in that pedigree was quite strong, with father and son always apparently looking remarkably alike, and she was rather peeved the likeness had passed her by. Still, without any further clues, she suspected she must take after her mother, and was content enough to labour under that suspicion.

Not that Lilith-Anne Brandy-Mason would have cause to know as much, but she did in fact bear a startling resemblance to someone, or rather, a set of someones: a Mr and Mrs Young of Tadfield, a small village far from the bustle of London, and their daughter, a girl of a similar age to Lilith-Anne. A third golden-haired young lady, who rivalled Lilith-Anne for cumbersome appellations with the name of Theodora H. Dowling (a suitable title for the child of the ambassador from the new United States of America), also shared with them a certain similarity of appearance. The three young ladies also shared a similarity of birthdate and time—down to the very minute, as a matter of fact—a curiosity that nobody had noticed, save for the deity who had arranged it.

Now, if we were to imagine the God of this universe, we should imagine a baker twisting three strands of brioche dough into a plaited loaf, over and under in an incomprehensible pattern. The strands had already been twisted, and the interventions of Messrs Brandy and Mason, reaching into the pattern to tug on the wrong strands, only tangled them further. As it previously stood, to run with the brioche metaphor, Heaven and Hell merely saw a twist, not a braid, where:

The dough contributed by the Dowlings and started on the left side of the loaf, which we will call Strand A, had been cast aside to the right.

The dough contributed by the Youngs, which we will call Strand B, did not exist. 

The dough that has started on the right, which we will call the Anticrust, the Great Yeast and destroyer of celiacs, had been twisted to the left. 

In actuality:

Strand A had indeed been cast aside to the right.

Strand B, which had started in the middle, was now on the left.

The Anticrust, the Great Yeast and destroyer of celiacs, had been plaited into the middle. 

And with a few more plaits, with the “help” of Bryndael and Manoch:

Strand A, from the Dowlings, was now back in its starting position on the left. 

Strand B, from the Youngs, was on the right, where two man-shaped beings had their eyes on it.

The Anticrust, the Great Yeast and destroyer of celiacs, was still, unbeknownst to everyone, in the middle, Strand B's original position.

But nobody, save the baker herself, could tell which strand of dough ended up where. 

Still, this wasn’t important—not for the moment, anyway, as it had been ten years and three hundred and sixty days since that particular loaf had gone into the divine oven of life, and although it was reaching the point of being done, so to speak—Armageddon would become a very pressing engagement in a mere five days’ time—the point of greatest current concern to Messrs Brandy and Mason was the time of their young charge’s upcoming Latin tutorial.

“I keep telling you, it’s at three,” Mr Brandy insisted from the hallway, in the tones of someone who had continued this argument for a very long time indeed.

“Four,” Mr Mason countered for perhaps the fiftieth time.

“Sometimes I swear you argue just to be contrary,” the angel fussed.

“Do not,” Mr Mason argued.

“Do so,” Bryndael returned, before cutting himself off to glare at his companion.

Mr Mason just smiled, sharp and roguish, before sobering. “I’m not joking about Lily’s tutorial, though. The tutor changed it last week, remember?”

Bryndael frowned suspiciously. “It’s just like you to insist on being late.”

��Only fashionably.” 

“One cannot be fashionably late to a Latin tutorial!” Bryndael squeaked. 

Mr Mason raised a strong and perfectly-formed eyebrow with a smirk. “One can be fashionably late to anything, if one just tries hard enough.”

“Well, I don’t want to try!” Bryndael protested. “And neither does Lily!”

“You’re not going to back down, then?” Mr Mason asked coolly. The answer was already known to him, but nevertheless, there had to be a formality to these things.

“Of course not!” 

“One of us has to be correct,” Mr Mason pointed out, irritatingly reasonably. “And if you won’t believe me, there’s only one way to determine it.”

Bryndael sighed, a little huff that carried overtones of both petulance and anticipation. “Well. If you insist.”

Lilith-Anne Brandy-Mason knew quite a lot about uncles. It came with the territory, so to speak. However, she was fairly sure that between them, her uncles harboured more than a few peculiarities. Most people, if they were possessed of two uncles, did not receive a thorough instruction in the Good Book and the various figures through history who most embodied its teachings from one, and an equally rigorous tutelage in Machiavellian politics and the lives of ruthless conquerors from the other. Most people with uncles weren’t bade goodnight with two gentle kisses on the forehead, which accompanied the reminders to “crush your enemies beneath your heel, Lily,” and “treat all forms of life with the greatest respect and dignity, my dear.” Nor did most people’s uncles call each other “dear boy” or “angel,” particularly not in the public arena.

And she was almost certain that other people’s uncles didn’t settle their disagreements by smooching—or at least, not quite as passionately as the way in which Messrs Brandy and Mason were currently engaged. If they did, she had never seen it. By contrast, she had seen this particular scene more times than she could count, having often been called upon to adjudicate such contests.

After the twentieth minute, with no sign of the “victory” she had been taught to look for—but had never actually seen, not in any of the smooching contests she had witnessed—she cleared her throat significantly. 

“It’s at half-past three, actually,” she said loudly. “Uncle Mason is right, Mister Huddlesthwaite did postpone my lesson, but only by half an hour.”

She watched, unsurprised, as her uncles parted with no small amount of reluctance. They used to spring apart with something approaching guilt, back in the days when their disagreements were over what Lilith-Anne recalled as much weightier issues, but now, the gentle unclasping of lip from well-smooched lip seemed to take almost as long as the contest itself. 

“Oh, is that right?” Mr Mason asked, straightening his cravat with a carefully innocent hand.

“Dear me, how could I have forgotten?” Mr Brandy fussed as he smoothed his curls, then extracted an ornate silver pocketwatch from his waistcoat. “We’ll need to be off in—” 

A lesser being than the angel Bryndael would have yelped upon realising how late he had let the time grow, thoroughly distracted as he had been by the caressing hands and wickedly clever tongue of his opponent in smooching. Even so, the noise of entirely dignified surprise that escaped him brought a devilish smile to the soft lips he knew so… professionally intimately, and his head once again was filled with images he did not care to dwell on. 

“Now, my dear, now, come on!” he exclaimed, deliberately putting those warm thoughts out of his mind, and Lilith-Anne, who had been ready for the last fifteen minutes, carefully concealed a sigh as she was bundled out of the door. 

She did not notice as Bryndael paused for a moment on the steps that led down to the street, looking back towards his companion of the last eleven years, and the millennia besides. 

“Dear boy, was that really necessary?” he asked, the faint spark of confusion in his eyes lighting them the warm blue of summer skies. “If Lily knew the time of her tutorial already? I mean, we could have just asked her, yes?”

Mr Mason merely raised a shoulder in a laconic shrug, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards as he pulled the door shut behind them.

--

And far away in Tadfield, at that very moment, Eve Young reached a gleeful hand for the reddest, shiniest, most tempting apple from her neighbour’s tree, and, with the smallest of snaps, it separated gladly from its bough.

[notnctu]

love me like you do | x.dj ❀

❀ xiao dejun x reader ❀ genre - pure lovely fluff ❀ details - two friends in love with each other, college!au, genderneutral!reader ❀ word count - 1.3k ❀ warnings - swearing, pg kissing ❀ brief synopsis - every kiss begins with a k, but sometimes x marks the spot. 

❀ a/n: im just here to wish this baby dinosaur a happy birthday! he’s also legal now and tho wayv hasnt hit the states yet,, he best get turnt when they do hehe. jokes aside, he’s the cutest baby boy & deserves so many kisses! this is based off of up from here by wayv which is my fav song from the album -author doie ❀

you: happy birthday 

dejun from psych2A: i fall in love with you a little bit more everyday 

dejun from psych2A: oh shit wrong person ah ha 

you: .... but same.. 

dejun from psych 2A: that’s not funny y/n

you: but im not trying to be 

Dejun tosses his phone onto the bed, completely unbothered by your text messages. There is no way you are being serious, even he knows that you are the last person to confess over text. While, he is definitely the first person to do so, he smacks his head for accidentally sending it. 

There was nothing going on in his head when he typed it out.. in fact, it’s the easiest text he’s ever written to you. But he genuinely couldn’t believe his slip ups extend as far as something like this. Thank god, you played it off well or else he isn’t entirely sure how he would have taken you blocking his number.

As his screen lights up once more, he glances quickly at your new message.

you: fine ur no fun ): ill just laugh to myself! im here btw

His heart can rest a bit easier today. Dejun finds himself practically tripping over his own two feet as he hurries to open the door for you. And when you appear on the other side, he can’t help the hitch in his breath at seeing your lovely smile. Or when you pull him into a tight embrace, like there is a fear to let him go, but the only fear is whether you can feel the quick pace of his heart. 

It is hard to describe Dejun’s scent, but it reminds you of blooming flowers and familiarity. Overall, you can’t ever get enough of it or him. The truth: you love him enough for your heart to burst.

There are too many countless moments of your confessions to each other, you are more than receptive of Dejun’s regular clumsiness. And every time, you two play it off as nothing happened or a playful joke. However, you can’t wait any longer or keep with the back and forth. Tonight is going to be the night that the birthday boy will know your heart.

“I never understand why you’d want to spend your birthday alone.” Dejun’s arms fall from your waist disappointingly, both wishing that they would hold you for eternity. 

The cute boy runs his fingers through his bed of a mess locks, a wide smile creeping on his soft lips, “well, I’m not alone now that you’re here.”

It sounded less flirtatious in his head, so the heat reaches his cheeks out of embarrassment. The locked stares and subtle small smile reassures him that you didn’t seem to mind the cheekiness. 

Dejun joins you at your side as you pull the small cake out of the box. His gasp of excitement and face of awe makes you dance celebratory circles in his kitchen. Out of impulse, he draws you into another hug where you’re suffocated in his chest and wrapped up lovingly in his comfort. He snuggles his head against the top of your own and wiggles you in his arms.

“I’m so happy, I could cry.” His tiny voice reaches your ears and even though his face isn’t in view, you can imagine his eyes are closed from his gigantic, beautiful smile and his perfectly lined rows of teeth. “Being away from home, I thought I wasn’t getting a cake this year. My mom usually buys it for me.”

“From here on out, I’m going to buy you a birthday cake every year we’re in college together.” With muffles that tickle his chest, it causes him to rumble into a delightful, overjoyed giggle.

The warmth disappears when he lets you go to place the candles. With a flick of your thumb, they catch the impressive flame that hovers over their wicks. Dejun dims the fluorescent lights, letting the fire being the only thing illuminating the room. A smile remains well and shining on Dejun’s face as he pulls you next to him in front of the many melting candles. 

“I want you to blow them out with me. It’s my birthday, but I want your wishes to come true too.” And how can you say no to that? So with a firm nod, you both seal your eyes and think of the first wish on your hearts. 

i wish for a timeless and beautiful dream with you

Dejun is the first to blow out a few candles, making sure to do it softly to save you some. He grins at the sight of your closed eyes and concentrated expression, and with a big huff, you blow your wish into existence as well.

i wish to be loved by you 

This man has no explanation to why he cares about you with his whole existence. Without a second doubt, the answer in his heart is you and it is always going to be you. Through every ambiguous smile and brief moment of implied gazes, he has nothing but love for you.

After cake, you two lounge around in his bed. He can’t take his eyes off of you as the distance between you two shorten. And the beating of his heart races when your lips are inches away from his own.

“I have another present for you. But I’m going to need your permission to give it to you.” The courage inside of you doubles at this very moment, mixing with adrenaline as your eyes dart from his lips to his widen eyes.

Dejun doesn’t understand the implication of your question, but nevertheless agrees to it. His dark eyebrows furrow together when your body scoots even closer to him than before.

The intimate level raises higher than it has ever done so. But, Dejun doesn’t mind and if you weren’t going to do it, he probably would... accidentally. The next thing that leaves your mouth comes to a pure shock to him, leaving his throat dry and a wish that he had taken a mint beforehand.

“Can I kiss you?” The dim lighting in his room unknowingly set the mood in motion with your wondrous eyes blinking back at him, waiting for his permission. 

He isn’t entirely sure how you do it, but the way you can leave him utterly speechless and flustered is unbelievably a talent of your’s. Dejun’s string of stammered words fall from his mouth, “are we being serious-- like you want to? I mean, I want to too.. so yes.”

Almost all hope is lost when your giggle taunts him, but you hold his jaw with hot hands. The intimacy is too hard to ignore when your noses are slightly touching and the scent of your sweetness engulfs him. “happy birthday.” Your whisper grazes his top lip and both flutter your eyes closed.

His statement holds true, especially now that your lips finally have a proper introduction: he falls in love with you a little bit more everyday. All the more, the taste of melted candy and happiness lingers on his lips. Dejun holds his breath, scared that his senses will become overstimulated by you. 

The kiss is broken as you pull away from the eager boy. A light sprinkle of pink tints underneath his eyes, and a soft shyness embodies him. But his lips are plump with the desire for more of you.

“I think I’m in love with you.” There is no perfect unison, no other perfect harmony that you two would have ever shared except for those seven words. Mirroring widen eyes out of shock, fingers feather your delicate lips, there is a suffocating silence that bestows upon the atmosphere.

In a split second, seeing your beautiful flustered figure in front of him, Dejun takes back what he says. He knows he’s in love with you. and hopes to love you in every possible way.

[sunflowerstalks]

Maybe If Remus Had a Plan in the First Place This Fic Would Have Had a Name, Too

Remus is Remus, Roman is tired, and there’s a cat, too. Expected chaos ensues.

This is my gift for Pigeon, @the-pigeon, for @sanderssidesgiftxchange! I hope you enjoy your gift, and i hope your holidays were and continue to go well! Also, happy new year!! :D

word count: 2125

rating: teen and up (for slight language/innuendo)

content warnings: slight innuendo/language typical of remus, hair pulling as a stim, descriptions of bad things happening to animals (as an intrusive thought, it is dealt with accordingly), slight anxiety attack/sensory overload moment

relationships: platonic sides (all of em) with brotherly roman&remus focus, implied/background romantic roman/virgil and romantic patton/remus but it’s pretty subtle

characters: roman, remus, virgil, patton, logan, janus, c!thomas (meaning both character!thomas and cat!thomas asfhjakfh)

additional tags: high school au, punk au, heist fic, like slight conflict and then mostly fluff and comfort. also, side note, cain and abel are the twins’ cats sdhjgdskfh

“Remus.”

“Roman.”

A beat.

“Any chance you could explain… any of this?” Roman gestures wildly to the pile of metal scraps, receipts, the feral cat, and assorted other trinkets strewn across the sidewalk in front of Remus, before crossing his arms and impatiently awaiting an answer without his usual air of, well, put-together-ness.

“Well, I’d actually gotten around to finally cleaning my wallet, when—”

“The cat, Remus! Whose cat is this? Why do you have it? Why is it surrounded by trash?” Roman’s voice increased in both volume and shrillness as he went on, hands reaching unconsciously to tug at his hair.

“Hey, don’t do that shit,” Remus tugged at the cuffed jean at Roman’s ankle for emphasis, “Anyways, like I was saying, I was cleaning my wallet when I remembered that I was like, eighty assignments behind in anatomy, so I figured I could do some cool art or somethin’ with a cat! For… extra credit or something.” Remus faltered for a moment, “In all honesty, I didn’t think I’d get this far.” He had thought getting the cat would be the hard part, so now he was stuck in the swing of success without a direction to turn. Roman, however, was still stuck on the small details (in Remus’ humble opinion).

Roman took a deep breath, muttering something that sounded a lot like a prayer for forgiveness, before looking down at his brother yet again.

“Remus.”

“Yes, brother dearest?”

“Whose cat is this?”

“Do you want the honest answer?”

Roman looked moments away from manslaughter, yet managed to nod anyways. Remus’ face broke into a shit-eating grin;

“I have no fucking clue.”

---

“Let me get this straight—”

A chorus of ‘good luck with that’s and similar sentiments echoed Logan’s statement, much to his chagrin.

“Okay. Redo.”

“You can’t just say ‘redo’ IRL, Lo,” Virgil chuckled, not even bothering to look up from his phone—he had already checked out from the drama, but stayed for the simple pleasure of experiencing the familiar banter—and in fear of being called to the dean’s office for cutting class. Mostly the latter.

“And I would argue that you cannot say ‘IRL’ in a verbal conversation, yet here we are,” Logan paused for emphasis, adjusted his necklaces for the umpteenth time, and smoothed his hands over the table again before continuing, “Regardless. The situation that you—and I mean you two,” he gestured to the twins, “there is hardly a ‘we’ fault-wise here—have gotten into, is one of... feline larceny, without a known victim? Is that correct?” Remus nodded sheepishly—or as sheepish as his wolfish features could get, all teeth and eyes—while Roman just stewed in rage. Remus’ backpack laid halfway zipped on the lab table, and every once in a while a pink nose and whiskers would find its way into the light before being shoved back by a flurry of hands, aware of what yet another detention would mean for the twins. They couldn’t all just skip, though—they learned that the hard way from the last time one of Roman and Remus’ harebrained schemes had made its way from “a slight nuisance” to “an unignorable thorn in everyone’s side that also somehow ends with arson.” So, they had some past experience in handling the, well, experience that the twins brought along with their company—but they normally had at least a lead to work with.

“How,” Janus started, massaging his temples despite only just then contributing to the wreck of a conversation that their art class had devolved into, “do you steal a cat, and not know who from?” Remus just shrugged.

“It wasn’t intentional. I needed a cat, a guy had a cat, I didn’t ask questions. Was I supposed to?” Remus asked, eyebrows drawn together—normally, he’d be a sarcastic shit that would drive the group insane on (some level of) purpose, but now he just seemed genuinely afraid—of the consequences of his own actions, but, still—progress. Logan opened his mouth to offer his advice, but was silenced by the jarring ring of the bell. He sighed. This was going to be a long day of way more stress than he was qualified for—the twins were going to owe him another stick and poke if he had any say in the matter.

---

Remus must have been a wonderful, wonderful man in his past life. He had to have been. Because, somehow, by some good grace, he managed to make it through another two classes on his own, and to lunch in one piece, with a living cat by his side—well, in his backpack, but the merit stands. Logan could honestly say he was impressed—not that he would tell him that, though. Nevertheless, the six friends reconvened at lunch—still without a direction to turn.

“I could just put him back where I found him,” Remus started, attempting to break the icy silence at the table with a jackhammer as always.

“Do you even know where that is?” Roman scoffed, incredulous.

“Well, no, but I could get close.”

“This isn’t helping,” Logan interjected, “How about you bring it to a shelter? One nearby where you found it?” The table nodded in general agreement, but Remus only frowned.

“But that isn’t where I got it from. What if it has an owner? What if the closest shelter isn’t a no-kill shelter, and we go to all the trouble of saving the cat only for the fucks at the shelter to hurt it?” Remus’ pace picked up with his heart rate—despite only having this cat for maybe six hours, if anything happened to it, Remus had a pretty good idea of what he’d end up doing.

“We can check for that, can’t we, Lo?” Patton chimed in, placing a calming, steady hand on Remus’ shoulder, which sunk, relieved, at the touch.

“Possibly. But, regardless, it isn’t Remus’ cat. Our priority is to get it back to its original owner, if it has one,” Logan pointed out, “If that isn’t possible, then we need to reevaluate our plan, come up with another, and settle for a different goal.”

“Have we at any point today even actually had a plan?” Virgil snickered, ever the pessimist—it wasn’t like he was really helping as he was, once again, staring at his phone.

“Well, it’s not like you’ve done much besides stare at your phone today, edgelord,” Remus snarked, though it came out as more of a mumble—his face was pressed into the table, and his eyes were on the cat in the bag.

“You’re gonna have to get better nicknames, Dukey, we’re all edgelords here,” Janus deadpanned, smudging an unhealthy amount of eyeshadow around his eyes while Virgil and Remus argued over their respective contributions.

“Okay, can you, my brother,” Roman pointed to Remus, whose teeth clacked with how fast he shut up, ”and you, my boyfriend,” he pointed to Virgil, who could only look the smallest bit abashed,  “calm all the way down? Stop arguing, holy shit—” Roman took another breath, relishing the silence that had fallen over the table before pushing on, “—how about we all go, together, and fix this shit? I mean, what could go wrong?”

---

The answer was a lot. A fucking lot could go wrong when six seventeen-year-olds tried to coordinate anything, let alone an amateur heist.

Remus managed to get through the rest of the school day without much incident, but the rest of them were not so lucky, managing to receive a grand total of three detentions and six failed tests from lunch to the end of seventh period between the five of them. The teens recounted the horror stories of sixth period; Patton gesturing wildly from the driver's seat, Remus sat quietly (for maybe the second time in his life) in the passenger seat, and the remaining accomplices squished together in the back seat (which would fit three people at most for any group that wasn’t them). Also in the back seat was the cat, who had been dubbed “Thomas” for the time being—he was sat in Janus’ lap, curled up around an abandoned ball of yarn that had been left under one of the seats. The car ride across town would have been incredibly tense and unbearably long without the feline, and for that, Remus was grateful—even if he still had a sinking feeling of guilt swirling in his stomach.

---

           After a surprisingly uneventful car ride (except for the stop at a drive through for a morale boost (Patton’s words) of coffees and drinks which ended, after a rather nasty pothole, with a massive stain on the roof of the car), the party settled into the waiting room at the—no-kill, Remus triple checked—animal shelter. There weren’t enough chairs, so the group made more of a pile around Thomas, some of them standing, and the others sitting both on chairs and the floor. Juxtaposed with the sterile white of the walls, they stood out like the emo cousins that they basically were. Remus bounced his leg, up, down, up, down, over and over. He kept knocking his knee against Janus’, which jostled Thomas every time he did.

“Sorry,” Remus mumbled, trying to focus on holding still.  But it itched in the back of his brain, guilt and stress and fault and all the wonderful, terrible feelings churning, over and over. The clock behind the desk was too loud, and Remus couldn’t do anything about it because they wouldn’t even have to be here if not for him. So he kept his mouth shut and tried not to cry—for all of two minutes, because that was when Janus decided that he had had enough, and shoved a ball of fur into his arms. For a moment, Remus was terrified he was going to fuck it up, hurting Thomas or himself or causing some other inevitable disaster, but Thomas just pushed his warm face into Remus’ palm, and suddenly, somehow the only thing Remus could feel was loved. He choked out a wet laugh, unable to contain the bubbling build-up of emotions that had been brewing since he first saw Thomas that morning. His friends all looked at him, concerned at first, but all they could do was coo at Remus being the softest they had ever seen him. He sniffed, and gave them all a watery smile.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Sincerity? In my brother? It’s more likely than you think!” Roman teased, poking his brother in the arm. Remus stuck his tongue out at him, and the teens devolved into familiarity, playful taunts and sincere joy, waiting to be called back for Thomas’ check up.

---

While the veterinarian had been momentarily taken aback at the request for all six visitors to be in the room during the appointment, she also hadn’t seen a reason to say no at the time. Thus, once again, like the clowns they were, they piled into the room and crowded around the table, Thomas at the heart of it all—confoundingly calm given the situation, at least to the onlookers.

The veterinarian introduced herself to each of them, and began examining the cat for any injuries, microchips, or anything out of place.

“He seems to be healthy, no broken bones or infections…” The doctor said, reaching for a handheld device, “If he’s microchipped, and I’m able to reach the owner, you boys will be off the hook, okay?” Remus cringed, but nodded—he needed to remember that Thomas wasn’t his before he got hurt. She ran the scanner over Thomas’ back, and hummed.

“I’m… actually not finding anything. You said he was lost?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Remus confessed, “I found him on the street, so he could be a stray.”

“It seems he was a very lucky one, for sure. Most cats his age are incredibly susceptible to outside bacteria—finding you guys likely saved his life.” Remus’ eyes widened, and his hand reached for Thomas almost instinctively.

“You said that he doesn’t have an owner?”

“Not that I can determine, no. Did he have a collar, any sort of identification?”

Remus shook his head.

“Well, there are two options in the meantime; we can hold on to him, and put him up for adoption through our services, or you could adopt him. He needs to be immunized and neutered, first, but where he ends up is up to you guys.” Remus thought to himself for a moment.

“Hey, Roman. How mad do you think Mom would be if we brought Cain and Abel home a new friend?”

---

The answer? Not mad enough to outweigh her happiness at Remus’ smile with Thomas in his arms. And even though he didn’t end up getting the extra credit in anatomy, Remus’ circle of best friends grew by one, so he thinks he did alright in the end.

[crimson-ace]

Basewarming Party

Archive of Our Own Link

It’s been a few months, but here’s another Miraculous Transformers AU story! This time with some backstory.

Adrien, Alya, and Nino were leaving school when they saw three familiar vehicles nearby.

Nino ran over to the green dump truck and got in, planning to play some new songs for Stoneheart.

Alya headed over to the yellow sports car and groaned as Queen Bee told her to not mess up anything inside her.

Adrien got on the red motorcycle and smiled when Ladybug asked how his day was.

The three headed off and separated for a little bit to not draw suspicion as they soon met up on an empty road.

“So we spent the last solar cycle setting up an area of the base for you.” Ladybug explained to Adrien while they drove. “It’s normally used for human liaisons to present top-secret information when they need our help, but Pegasus thinks we did an okay job setting it up.”

Ladybug, Queen Bee, and Stoneheart soon made it to a road in Fontainebleau Forest and drove to a secret area that led to the location of the Autobot base. After giving their security codes, the three Autobots drove into the base and let the humans out, immediately transforming to their robot modes.

They noticed there was a banner hung up near one of the base’s computers that depicted the faces of Adrien, Alya, and Nino, as well as the Autobot insignia, with something written in an incomprehensible language.

“Uh...what does that say?” Nino asked.

Stoneheart tapped Ladybug’s shoulder lightly. “Ladybug...” He pointed to the banner, causing Ladybug’s optics to widen.

“Oh, scrap!” Ladybug hit her own head in frustration. “I forgot to write that in your language, not mine! Sorry!” She replied. “I meant to write ‘Welcome, Humans!’.”

“You made this?” Adrien was impressed with the level of detail in the banner.

Ladybug nodded. “Uh, yeah. I used to be an artist back on Cybertron. It was more of a hobby I picked up while I was in the Autobot academy. Why don’t you check out what we set up for you?” She added, realizing she was rambling on, and pointed to a staircase for the humans to walk up.

Adrien, Alya, and Nino walked up the stairs and were surprised by what they saw.

There was a couch set up in front of a small television which looked like a model from the mid to late 2000’s, and in between those was a “table” made from a board of wood on top of four cinderblocks. There was also a minifridge nearby, though most of the Autobots didn’t know what the humans ate, and planned to ask them later before getting snacks.

“So? What do you think?” Stoneheart asked as he walked over to the area and looked over them.

“Dude, this place looks awesome!” Nino chimed. “You guys did a great job!”

“I still think we should have put a cage here.” Queen Bee snarked, earning a glare from her fellow Autobots.

“So. what do you guys want to do now?” Alya asked the others.

“Well, earlier today, Stoneheart asked me about what Earth’s greatest warriors are like, so...” Nino took out a Blu-ray player and a container of the original Star Wars trilogy in the same format. “I said I would introduce him to Luke Skywalker.”

So the three humans sat down on the couch with Ladybug, Queen Bee, and Stoneheart sat down behind them to watch the movie. Even though they asked if this was based on Earth’s actual history, the Autobots were surprisingly invested in the film. When Obi-Wan Kenobi was killed by Darth Vader, Stoneheart cried out in despair, surprising everyone.

Apparently, the noise was enough for Pegasus to walk down, wondering why everyone was being so loud. “Can you all please keep all that noise down? I’m busy performing system diagnostics here.”

“Okay, C-3PO, we’ll be quiet.” Ladybug snickered as soon as she finished the sentence. “Did I say it right?” She asked Adrien, who nodded with approval.

Pegasus let out a sigh of frustration at the commotion. “I wasn’t built for this…” He grumbled. “What exactly are you doing anyway?”

“We’re learning about Earth history, obviously.” Queen Bee smirked. “Optimus said we need to familiarize ourselves with the planet.”

Pegasus scoffed. “We came here for a reason other than to watch human entertainment, Queen Bee.”

“Hey, why exactly are you here anyway?” Adrien asked. “I know you guys fought a war over control of your home and its energon, but why did you come all the way to Earth for it?”

Queen Bee smirked. “Well, as Optimus Prime’s second-in-command...”

“You mean acting second-in-command” Pegasus added, earning a glare from the Autobot.

“I, uh... I can explain what happened and how we got here, provided you don’t tell anyone else...” Queen Bee started to explain

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The civil war between Autobots and Decepticons had lasted for a very long time, so both sides were forced to abandon the planet Cybertron to find new sources of energy. For some reason, our ship’s scanners found your planet to have an a lot of raw energon. Like, we've never seen a planet with this much energon before.

Unfortunately, we weren’t the only ones to find out...

"Hull breach on Decks 3 to 5! Shields are also damaged!” Ladybug cried out.

“We’re taking heavy fire, sir! We also just lost one of the thrusters!” Pegasus added.

While the Decepticons had a majority of their resources with them on their ship, which they called the Nemesis to show how friendly they were, it was only the five of us on a much smaller ship not nearly as armed as what the Decepticons had.

After another onslaught of fire from the Nemesis, a majority of our systems were knocked offline.

“Brace for impact!” Optimus ordered as our ship plummeted to Earth. It was a miracle we managed to survive.

We all came back online after about a few of your Earth hours and assessed the situation with our ship.

“Diagnostics say the ship is beyond repair with our current resources.” Pegasus said solemnly. “Some of the computers are still online, but we don’t have a lot of working parts right now.”

“So, now what? What can we do now?” Ladybug seemed to be the most nervous about our predicament. Then again, she had the least amount of experience out of all of us. (Hey!)

“We came to this planet in search of energon, but it seems we have an additional mission now: to protect it from the Decepticons.” Optimus stated. “Is the ship’s probe still online?" After checking the systems, Pegasus nodded, causing Optimus to walk over to one of the ship’s control panels. “Teletraan I, scan the area for local lifeforms. We will take on their appearances to blend in to avoid suspicion from the Decepticons.”

So the ship’s probe flew around for a little bit and not only came back with data on forms we could take, but also an image of an energon mining site the natives had set up.

“Carbon-based lifeforms?” I scoffed at the idea of these inferior lifeforms being able to harvest energon. “Do they even know what they stumbled upon?”

Pegasus continued to browse through the footage and gasped. “I’m detecting Decepticon signals converging near that area. They must have noticed the energon too.”

“Nevertheless, we must scan an alternate mode and try to obtain this energon in a discreet manner before the Decepticons. We must disguise ourselves as what these lifeforms view as vehicles.” Optimus declared as a mechanism on the ship popped up while we all browsed through ideas for possible alternate modes.

Ladybug saw something with two wheels and smiled “Ooh, that looks nice.” she said as the ship’s systems reformatted her so she was able to transform into that.

Stoneheart saw what looked like a green vehicle designed to carry heavy objects. “So is this supposed to be like one of Earth’s more powerful vehicles? Either way, I like it”. Soon, he was reformatted as well.

Pegasus saw a yellow and white vehicle with brown highlights and emergency lights, reminding him of the Rescue Bots on Cybertron. “This seems like a suitable form to take.” He was the next to be reformatted.

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I couldn't really find anything like this in brown, but the motorcycle isn't spotted either, so just work with me, alright?)

Optimus chose a large red and blue vehicle with a trailer attached to it without saying anything as he was reformatted.

I on the other hand, had looked through the options for a form to take for a few nanoclicks. Naturally, a bot as beautiful as myself needed an appropriate form. Thankfully, I found something just as interesting, and one of the few good things about this planet. It was one of your Earth cars with a sleek design and yellow paintjob. I stood still as I eagerly waited for the machine to finish reformatting me.

“Remember, we must keep a low profile and only reveal ourselves unless absolutely necessary.” Optimus ordered. “For now… Autobots, transform and roll out!”

With that familiar command, we all transformed into our new vehicle modes (except Pegasus, who stayed to see if anything else on our ship was working) and left for the excavation site the humans had set up.

Granted, it took us a couple of run-ins with some other Earth vehicles to get the hang of this planet’s traffic laws, but we eventually made it to where the energon was. There was also a sign written in your language that said something like “GOPHER-MINT PROPERTY/NO TREE-PASSING”. In hindsight, we really should have familiarized ourselves with the language before we headed out.

It didn’t seem like the Decepticons had attacked yet, although we were in trouble with a different form of opposition.

“This is Officer Raincomprix! Step out of the vehicles right now! You have violated several traffic guidelines, and are now trespassing on government property.” Someone from your planet’s law enforcement had apparently been following us. The strange thing was that he had a human partner who looked much younger than he did, almost like she shared genetic qualities with the man. “I’m going to give you until the count of ten to get out of the vehicles. Wait… where are the drivers? WHY DO NONE OF THESE VEHICLES HAVE DRIVERS?!”

Before we could really say anything, a stray shot from the distance hit the ground, signaling the Decepticons were here. The officer ran back to his car and tried to drive away as the Decepticons made their way to the surface.

“So, Optimus Prime. I see you and your little band of Autobots managed to survive the trip to this planet.” That raspy voice taunting us belonged to only one Decepticon. The very same Cybertronian who started the Decepticon cause behind the civil war that had caused so much suffering across the galaxy for megacycles. The Emperor of Destruction and leader of the Decepticons, Megatron.

“I see you’re trying to maintain cover on this strange planet rather than simply harvesting all the energon the local life forms have managed to discover for us. Typical Autobot weakness.” Megatron smirked as he and his Vehicon troops opened fire on the mining site. “Take the energon, and see if these lifeforms found any more locations with it. If you find nothing, leave no survivors.” He gave that last order with a sadistic grin.

“What should we do?” Ladybug asked nervously.

“Even if it means exposing our cover, these organic lifeforms need help. Autobots, transform!” With that order, we all transformed into our robot modes and activated our weapons. “Autobots, make sure none of the local lifeforms are hurt. Now, split up!”

So we all scattered to engage the Vehicons. I armed my stingers and fired off electrical blasts at some of the Vehicon forces. Of course, the organics were afraid of a superior being like myself, so they ran away like cowards… or maybe that was because another Decepticon was right behind me.

“Reckless as usual, I see.” That stoic voice came from my Decepticon counterpart, the (actual, not acting) (shut up, Pegasus!) second in command of the Decepticons, Malediktator. I slowly turned around and saw he was armed with his signature weapon, a rocket launcher.

“Maybe, but at least I know I’m fighting for the right side.” I quipped as I aimed my stingers at Malediktator.

Malediktator began to open fire, shooting several heat-seeking rockets at me. I tried to blast some of them, but there were some rockets that still managed to hit their target. I was knocked to the ground and struggled to get up.

Malediktator was going to fire again, but he was hit in the head by Ladybug’s “weapon”, her yo-yo, causing Malediktator’s weapon to misfire. It was probably the only time she actually helped out in a fight before. (I’m standing right here, Queen Bee!)

One of the stray missiles went towards the human law enforcement and his genetic experiment in the distance, until Optimus ran over and covered the two, taking the hit in the process. I think they talked a little, but my auditory processors couldn’t pick up their conversation.

Ladybug and I kept fighting to disarm Malediktator, but even though it was two on one, he still managed to overwhelm us. We tried our best, but it was really hard to keep up with the second in command of the Decepticons. While we were fighting, I noticed Optimus fighting Megatron one on one, but it was hard to make out who was winning.

Malediktator knocked both me and Ladybug to the ground and took aim at us with his rocket launcher. He was about to open fire when we all heard a crash to the ground. We turned around and saw Megatron slowly getting up after presumably losing to Optimus.

“If you are to harm the humans, Megatron, know that I will do everything in my power to stop you.” Optimus said, raising his ion blaster and pointing it at Megatron.

Megatron simply laughed in response. “Very well. If you’re so determined to protect this pitiful race, I’ll let you have this victory. But be warned, the next time we meet, I won’t have such mercy.” He stated grimly as a ground bridge appeared behind him. “Malediktator! We’re leaving. You can scrap those two another time.” He said as he turned around and walked into the portal with the remaining Vehicons.

Malediktator lowered his weapon and nodded. “Yes, Lord Megatron.” He said before walking away into the ground bridge. I tried to blast him, but Optimus raised his arm, silently ordering everyone to stand down.

As soon as Malediktator entered the ground bridge, the portal closed.

We all got up and collected ourselves as the humans swarmed around us. Strangely, the law enforcement unit and his experiment were the closest to Optimus. It was like everyone was afraid of us except those two.

“Did you really mean what you said back there? That you’d protect us?” The law enforcement unit asked.

Optimus leaned down so he could look the human in whatever optics were for him. “Of course. Freedom is the right of all sentient beings.”

The unit was amazed by how serious Optimus sounded. “Is there anything we can do to hel--what am I doing? W-Who’s the highest ranking officer here?” Another human ran up, calling himself a “Colonel”, or something along those lines. He said he would talk to his superior about what happened.

After a mega-cycle or two, some vehicles I assumed belonged to this planet’s government arrived. One man came out, who was referred to as the “Prime Minister”. I didn’t really see what made him a Prime and I certainly didn’t know Earth had their own Primes, but everyone still listened to him.

“So, from what I’ve heard you’re at war and have come to our planet.” The Minister said. “What exactly are these ‘Decepticons’ you’re fighting after?”

“They are after a powerful source of energy and the lifeblood of our kind, energon. Your planet seems to have an abundance of it for some reason.” Optimus explained.

“And your ship crashed so now you need a new base of operations?” The Minister asked, earning a nod from Optimus.

“That is all that I ask for.” Optimus replied. “You kind need not interfere in this war. Even depleted of their resources, the Decepticons could lay waste to your planet if you aggravate them enough.”

This made the Minister sigh. “We can have some of our best men work on helping you construct a new base. Other than that, we’ll try and let you fight this war as long as you keep it a secret. If things heat up, we inform the United Nations about these... Decepticons. We’ll also expect status reports from you to make sure things are okay.”

Optimus nodded and stuck out his hand. “Understood.” He extended it to shake the human’s hand, but because the human was so small, he could only shake Optimus’ finger.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“But yeah, after a few orbital cycles, the humans helped us set up this base in the forest, and we keep in contact with them through a liaison.” Queen Bee said, finishing her story.

“Wow...” Adrien was impressed by everything Queen Bee had told about their journey to Earth. “And you really can’t get back?”

“Not unless we fix our ship or create a working space bridge.” Pegasus sighed.

“Oh...” Adrien felt bad for all the Autobots. “I’m so sorry...”

“You have no need to apologize.” Everyone turned around to see Optimus Prime entering the room. “Although we were forced to abandon Cybertron, Earth is not a prison. We are more than willing to protect any world from the Decepticons.”

“R-Really?” Adrien asked, earning a nod from Optimus. “Are you sure we can’t do anything else to help you get used to the planet?”

“Can we, Optimus?” Ladybug got up and asked. “It’s a good learning experience.”

Queen Bee got up next to her. “Ladybug has a point. Learning about Earth culture can help us better understand these strange organic lifeforms”

Optimus took a few moments to think about it and smiled in response. “Very well. Maybe this can be the humans’ way of repaying us for protecting them.” He said, making them all cheer.

“This is so lit!” Nino cried out, which only confused Stoneheart.

“What does ‘lit’ mean?” Stoneheart asked.

Ladybug shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with lighting things on fire?”

“Maybe we can teach you all about memes first! That’ll be fun!” Alya suggested. “Ooh! Let’s teach them about Rickrolling!” She took out her phone and started to look something up.

Queen Bee rolled her optics. “This isn’t what I meant when I said I wanted to know about Earth culture.”

“And now you know how I fe--” Before Pegasus could finish his sarcastic comment, they were all interrupted by a song playing on Alya’s phone that all three humans were dancing to.

We’re no strangers to loooooooove~

You know the rules, and so do I!

“Welcome to Earth!” Alya and Nino cried out to the music while they kept dancing

Optimus sighed. He had a feeling he really should have put more consideration into letting the humans educate the Autobots.

Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down!

Never gonna run around and desert you...

[zoryany]

Hey! Not sure if you’re still taking request for ficlet prompts but 67 with Luke + Padmé pleaseeeee!!! ❤️

send me ficlet prompts – optionally include characters67 –  My father may look like the scary one, but it’s my mother you need to be afraid of.(you sent me this SO LONG AGO and I’ve been wanting to answer it SO BADLY but lacked the inspiration until now. it kinda got away from me, ended up being more skysolo than I intended, and I accidentally created a new AU but ahh, I hope it was worth the wait!)

Gripping the controls of the speeder tight enough for his knuckles to turn white, Han Solo shifted nervously in the pilot’s seat. His passenger, looking incredible as always in his simple yet finely made black tunic and trousers, had the audacity to appear completely casual and not at all bothered. How in all the hells was Luke so calm?

Han licked his lips and furrowed his brow. Was he sweating? Why was he so nervous? He could out-shoot any bounty hunter, out-fly just about any pilot and charm the slime off a Hutt – he could do this, too. It was just meeting someone’s parents. He was good with people, so this should be no exception, right? Why should this time be any different?

Oh, right, that’s why, Han thought to himself as the Palace came into view. This time, the parents I’m meeting just so happen to be in charge of the entire kriffin’ galaxy!

He really did seem to have a particular kind of luck with his romantic interests, didn’t he?

“Relax, Han,” his companion soothed, resting a hand on his shoulder and tracing gentle circles there with his thumb. “They’re really not as scary as everyone makes out. Trust me. They don’t bite.”

“Nah, but I’ve seen what your old man is capable of,” he replied without thinking, instantly regretting it when the hand on his shoulder tensed, slightly.

“Yeah.” Han could practically feel the conflict and guilt radiating from the seat next to him, and he was ready to cut in with profuse apologies and lay himself down at the mercy of the court, but a wry laugh from Luke stopped him. “He makes a point not to do anything… to enforce the will of the Empire at home, so you should be good.”

Han didn’t miss the hesitation or the irony in those words, but Luke was smiling, at least, so he relaxed a little bit.

“Besides,” Luke continued, shrugging, “Father’s not the one you need to worry about. My father may look like the scary one, but it’s really my mother you need to be afraid of. And, well, my sister too, probably. Father’s protective, definitely a force to be reckoned with, but it’s no match for the bond between a mother and her child, or the one between twins.” A pause. Then, almost as an afterthought, “They’re also both politicians. Nothing is more dangerous than words.”

The grin on Luke’s face had taken on a wicked quality, a slight level of menace in his voice, and Han suddenly found himself sweating profusely. “Tell me again why this was a good idea?”

Bright peals of laughter filled the speeder as Luke had a good chortle at his expense. Han grumbled as the kid nudged him playfully and moved his hand to the back of Han’s neck, fingers snaking their way into his hair. “Relax. I’m just messing with you. Mostly. It’s gonna be fine. I promise. I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

Oh. That boded well.

***

As Luke approached the private entrance at the back of the palace, he had to admit to himself that he shared at least some of Han’s trepidation. Not quite to the same extent, but a hint of dread prickled at the back of his neck nonetheless. 

“Look, Han, I – I know I said I had a good feeling about this. And I know I assured you everything would be fine, but…” He hesitated. While he wasn’t nearly as eloquent as his mother or sister, he was unaccustomed to being as at a loss for words as he often found himself when he was around Han. Something about this smuggler made him feel more like a farmboy than the prince he’d been raised as. Normally, he didn’t mind, but this… this was important. “My family can be a lot. And, well, we’ve only known each other a few weeks, and all. So, I mean, if you’re not ready – ”

“Hey,” Han cut in, resting a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “I know how much this means to you – how much your family means to you. You think it’s time we all meet then I trust you.” He grinned, cheekily. “Don’t go thinkin’ you can get rid of me that easily, Your Worship.”

Rolling his eyes, Luke returned Han’s grin before nudging him with his elbow. “Alright, alright. Let’s get going, then. No point in putting it off.” He could still feel a healthy level of anxiety rolling off of Han, but his good-natured ribbing and confident stride made Luke feel a bit more at ease.

At least, it did until they stepped into his family’s sitting room and saw the look Leia was giving them.

“Y’know,” she said slowly, her voice smooth and silky, “I was sure I’d seen the height of your stupidity already.” She wore a dangerous smile on her face, one Luke knew far too well, and it only grew wider when he scowled at her. “I was sure you couldn’t do anything more idiotic than the time you took Father’s speeder out for a joy ride and thought he wouldn’t notice. But I think you’ve really outdone yourself this time, well done.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The look of delight on Leia’s face had quickly become the most accurate impression of an anooba playing with its meal before devouring it that Luke had ever seen. “Disappearing for weeks on end, leaving us nothing but a cryptic note, no hint of where you’ve gone and hardly a word from you over holocall, then showing back up here with this scruffy-looking scoundrel in tow?” Behind him, Han bristled, which really only served to feed into Leia’s amusement. “Honestly, Luke, I’m impressed. I mean it! The fit Father threw when he found out was spectacular, I haven’t seen anything like it since – well, the speeder incident, actually.”

Despite how entertained Leia seemed by all of this – and there was a vein of genuine amusement in her words – Luke could also sense her underlying worry. Nobody else would be able to detect the tension in her body, the shadow of concern in her eyes, the minute tremor in her voice… She was his twin, and he suddenly felt incredibly guilty for leaving her, even temporarily.

I’m sorry, Leia, he muttered through their bond.

Don’t you dare pull anything like that again, or I might have to strangle you.

With Han oblivious to their silent exchange, Luke decided to mirror Leia’s outward attitude as he raised a brow at her then turned to his “scruffy-looking scoundrel,” who looked like he was trying to decide whether to be terrified or irate. He ended up landing somewhere in the middle. “Han, it is my pleasure to introduce to you Her Royal Imperial Highness, Princess Leia Naberrie-Skywalker, my dear, lovely sister and twin. Leia, this is Captain Han Solo, my – ” He hesitated a moment, glancing at Han as the word caught in his throat. They never did decide what they were going to label their relationship as to his family. Han just gave him a small shrug and a short nod, prompting Luke to just pick something, for now. “He’s my companion.”

“Believe me,” Leia drawled, the delight on her face melting into a much colder, calculating look, “the pleasure is all mine.” Her eyes were piercing as she looked Han up and down, causing him to shift under her gaze. They lingered for a moment as she came to whatever conclusion she had about him before flicking them to meet Luke’s. “Mother’s expecting you in her parlour. Better not keep her waiting.”

All the warmth had left his sister’s voice, by now, but he could still feel her quiet concern. Leia sent him a silent Good luck as Luke led Han towards his mother’s chambers, a fresh knot of anxiety tying his stomach into knots as they went.

***

“Well,” the kid said quietly next to him, “that’s one down.”

Han rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if maybe he should’ve turned back when Luke gave him the chance, but tried to cling to a shred of optimism nevertheless. “If your mom’s anything like your sister, maybe I would’ve had more luck meeting your dad, first. Wasn’t expecting to get eaten alive like this.”

Luke chuckled darkly and shook his head. “No, trust me, it’s for the best that Father’s off-world until tonight. Leia’s all bark and no bite and Mother… you do have to earn her respect, but she’ll give you a fair chance to do so. Father, on the other hand…” Pausing a moment, he bit his lip while searching for the right words. “Well. You said yourself. You’ve seen what he can do.”

He knew full well how much Luke idolized his father. Pure admiration flooded his baby blues any time he brought him up, especially when he’d neglected to share with Han the little detail of his true line of work. It was unnerving, now, to see the discomfort in his face as he discussed Vader, but Han did have to admit to the relief he felt in knowing Luke’s devotion didn’t overshadow his moral code.

They reached the door to the Empress’ parlour before Han had a chance to say anything in response, so he just sighed and glanced down at Luke. “Well, I s’pose it’s now or never.”

Nodding in response, the kid gave the door two sharp raps before pushing it open and leading Han into a large, pleasantly decorated room. The floor was covered in a plush, bright crimson carpet except for directly in front of the fireplace at the far end of the room, which was lined with dark, smooth stones. Artwork lined the walls, from lavish paintings of lush worlds to intricately woven tapestries to complicated abstract works Han would never understand even if he dedicated the rest of his life to interpreting them. The room was furnished with two large, gold-trimmed sofas and a matching armchair that resembled a throne, all encircling an ornate golden table. Han felt entirely out of place, surrounded by this much luxury; even Luke didn’t look quite at home in his surroundings.

The woman before them, however, matched the decor perfectly. Dressed in a flowing, deep blue gown and a sheer, silvery cape, with a golden circlet perched atop the chestnut curls that cascaded past her shoulders and down her back, she stood regally in the centre of the room, awaiting their approach. Trying to keep himself from staring, Han fell into a kneeling position next to Luke, who was the picture of contrition.

“Mother. I have returned home, and I beg your forgiveness for my unannounced absence.” 

Having spent the first several weeks of their relationship unaware of his royal status, Han had never imagined Luke’s voice could sound so regal. It sure was a far cry from the naive, chattering kid who’d struck up conversation with him in a run-down shipyard on Ord Mantell. He had to admit, the change was a little spooky.

A few moments passed, feeling like hours, considering how nervous he was, but it wasn’t long before the woman strode forward and wrapped her arms around Luke, pulling him up. “Luke!” she breathed, pulling him into an embrace. Han suddenly felt like he was intruding on something very private. “My son, it’s so good to have you home.” She pulled out of the hug and gripped his shoulders, a stern look etched in her features. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again! If something had happened to you – What in the stars possessed you to do something so rash?”

Luke never did tell Han why he’d run in the first place. Sure, he’d asked, but the kid would get evasive every time he did so eventually he dropped the subject. Under his mother’s gaze, now, it was a lot more difficult to dodge the question, but Luke still seemed determined to do so.

“Oh, sweetheart,” the Empress sighed, brushing her fingers through his hair. “We can discuss this later, when your father returns.” Luke stiffened but bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Now! Are you going to introduce me to your guest, or were you planning on leaving him to kneel at our feet all day?”

Han’s head snapped up and he met Luke’s eyes, who nodded at him to rise. “Mother, this is Captain Han Solo of The Millennium Falcon. I’ve spent the last several weeks in his company, and the two of us have grown… close.”

He could practically feel the kid’s cheeks flush at his own choice of words. Thankfully, the Empress herself appeared to be plenty amused, and she offered Han a brilliant smile that left him somewhat weak in the knees. He could see what Luke meant about her being the dangerous one. There was something so very disarming about this woman and her charm, and he’d met enough charming women to know to be on his guard.

“Truly, I’m charmed, Captain,” she said, voice ringing like a bell as she slipped into formality. “Luke has a gift for befriending the most… fascinating of people.” After offering him another bright smile, she turned to face her son. “Luke, go prepare the guest room, please? If he’s to be staying with us, he’ll need proper accommodations.”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary, Majesty,” Han sputtered, “I got my ship, and – ”

“Nonsense!” The word was light and pleasant, but she somehow infused enough authority into it that he knew there was no point in arguing. “As a friend of my son’s, you are welcome in our home.” 

Han was sure they had servants or droids who could set up the bedroom, and even if they didn’t, he was more than capable of doing it himself. He didn’t see why she was sending the Prince to do it. “Well, alright, if you insist, but Luke doesn’t have to set up for me, I’m happy to get it myself.”

“No, no, you are our guest, and we your hosts.” Her deep eyes glimmered with something dangerous. “My son has brought you here, and it is proper etiquette for him to see to your comfort here. Luke? If you will?”

Luke wore a somewhat confused expression that he turned from his mother to Han, but his hesitation was brief as he bowed slightly and muttered “Yes, Mother,” before he set off towards the parlour door. 

Turning to follow, Han was frozen in place by a sharp tut from the Empress. “Not yet, Captain Solo. Sit. Relax. I’ll have some tea brought, and you and I can get acquainted.”

From the doorway, Luke shot an alarmed glance in their direction and looked, for a second, as though he was about to protest and insist on staying, but his mother’s expression brooked no argument. Pressing his lips together in a thin line and putting as much reassurance into his eyes, Luke gave Han a final nod before disappearing from sight.

Now alone with the Empress, in her domain, the smuggler couldn’t help but feel he’d landed in a krayt’s den and was about to find out just how dangerous this woman could really be.

After gliding towards the lavish armchair and perching on it, she indicated one of the sofas and stared at him with a pleasant yet sharp look. “Sit,” she repeated, and Han’s legs complied, of their own accord. As he did so, a protocol droid filed in and set down a tray carrying a steaming teapot, a bowl of sugar, cream, and four teacups. “How do you take your tea, Captain?”

With a lot of alcohol, he thought.

“Black,” he said, and she poured him a cup. He muttered an awkward thanks as she handed it to him.

When she’d fixed her own cup and taken a sip, she zeroed in on him, expression growing hard. “Now, Captain, I will be blunt.” Her voice was cold in a way it hadn’t been before, bearing an edge to it that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand at attention. “My son has a heart the size of the galaxy itself, and he’s prone to giving it away far too easily. That isn’t to say I do not trust his choices, nor do I believe him to be a poor judge of character. He has faith in people, believes in their strengths and capabilities and their capacity to do good.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen that part of him,” Han agreed, thinking back to all the down-on-their-luck Mantellians whose lives were just a bit more comfortable now, thanks to Luke.

The Empress nodded gravely. “Then I’m sure you know how easily he places that trust in those who may not deserve it. In the past he has been drawn to… the wrong sorts of people, and it’s gotten him into trouble more than once.”

Those words were pointed, they referred to him, Han knew, and he found himself scowling at the most powerful woman in the galaxy. “I can assure you, Your Majesty,” he ground out, “that I have no intentions of being the wrong sort of person for your son.” That would cost him, he was sure, but he felt the need to defend his – and Luke’s – honour, even if it meant snapping at the kriffin Empress herself.

Raising a single brow, she regarded him with an appraising stare, dark eyes seeming to burrow right into his soul. “See that you aren’t,” she said evenly. “There are precious few things in this galaxy, Captain, that I treasure more than my children and their wellbeing. So long as you are in Luke’s favour, you will be treated well, I assure you, but if you bring him to harm…” The threat lingered in the air for a moment. He got the message.

He maintained her gaze and held his ground. “Look, lady,” he said, far braver than he had any right to be, “I ain’t suicidal, I’m not about to go messing with your family, and I’m definitely not gonna hurt Luke. Don’t think I could handle his face if I did – looks too much like a kicked puppy when he’s just a bit disappointed, can’t imagine it when he’s genuinely hurt. Besides, seems to me he’s got enough pain in his life without me contributing to it. Now, I may not be some high and mighty noble or anything, and what the kid actually sees in me is anybody’s guess, but, dammit, he’s got me carin’ about him, and anyone who can do that is worth protecting, in my books.”

Well, Solo, you had a good run. Always knew that mouth of yours would be the end of you, just never expected to go quite as dramatic as running it in front of the Empress and getting executed. If only Lando could see you now…

Silence echoed deafeningly in the chamber, which now felt far larger than it actually was, ready to swallow him up. The Empress was staring at him, eyebrows raised, gaze flicking over him again. After what felt like an eternity, the barest shade of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Very well, Captain Solo. Perhaps you will do well here, after all.” For the first time she’d spoken to him, her voice carried genuine warmth. 

All of a sudden, he could breathe again, a wave of relief crashing over him as he sank into the sofa and sighed. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ll do my best.”

“See that you do.” A pause. “Now!” she chirped, “Luke should be finished with your accommodations by now. I’ll send Threepio to fetch him and my daughter, and we can all get acquainted properly over some tea. Yes, I think that sounds lovely.”

There was no way anyone he knew was going to believe this. He wasn’t sure he even believed it himself. But, sitting here in the Imperial Palace having tea with the Empress and her children, he couldn’t help but wonder just what he’d gotten himself into this time…

[mbuntamed]

Soul Commissioner - Part 2

Genre: Fantasy / Romance / Stray Kids

Word Count: 2600

Disclaimer: This story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this AU are fictitious. No identification with actual persons, places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Triggers: bullying, harassment, depression, death, murder, suicidal thoughts, trauma, torture, body shaming, ghosts, language, and sexual situations.

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(7:00 AM alarm rings)

Y/N reaches her arm out from under the covers and begins tapping around the nightstand for her phone. She finally makes contact with it and manages to snooze it for another ten minutes. She realized that she was going to be cutting it really close on time to get ready for school, but she honestly didn’t care; she just wanted more sleep. Besides, it’s not like she needed much time to get ready anyway. Who am I trying to impress, she thought to herself. 

Ten minutes later, her alarm rang out again. Only this time, she rolled over and turned it off. She slowly sat up, stretched out her arms, and let out the most obnoxious yawn she could project. She rubbed her eyes as if to wipe away her grogginess, not that it helped. Depression is weird that way...whether you get 2 hours, 8 hours, or 12 hours of sleep, it’s never enough and you’re always tired. 

Y/N’s parents died when she was eight, leaving her, an only child, to be taken in by another member of the family. The only issue was that no one seemed to want her. She wasn’t a bad child by any means; she was actually a very low maintenance, very well-behaved girl. But every member of her extended family seemed to have some grand reason why they could not take her. That is, until her aunt stepped in. That day was forever ingrained in her memory:

{{Aunt Cassia was Y/N’s mother’s younger sister. She was a professional photographer with work that took her all over the world. She was honestly the only member of the family with an actual reason as to why she couldn’t take her in. But as the family sat around a table at the funeral arguing over who would take in Y/N, and right in front of her, Cassia could not bear to watch it any longer. 

“I’ll take her,” Cassia said confidently as she stepped into the middle of the room. 

“You? You don’t even take care of yourself half the time,” one of the cousins said with a snooty laugh.

“I said I will take her,” Cassia said once more.

“How can YOU possibly know how to care for a child?” Another family member retorted.

“Well, seeing as how NONE of you are willing to step up and care for a member of your own family, I seem to be the last resort. That, and I rather like Y/N,” she said with a wink in her direction. 

Some time and much arguing later, Cassia bid her last farewell to her sister and left the funeral home with her niece. She had no idea what she was going to do, nor any clue how to raise a child, but nevertheless, she knew that this was what her sister would have wanted. And she also knew that no matter what, she would make sure that Y/N led a happy life.

So Cassia left her life of travel and exploration, traded in her one bedroom apartment for a two bedroom, took a job at an event-planning company as their official photographer, and did her best to keep her promise to make Y/N happy. She helped her with homework, even though sometimes Y/N seemed to be the one teaching Cassia. She kept her fed, clothed, and healthy. And on her days off, she made sure to spend as much time with Y/N as possible, teaching her everything she knew about the world. She wanted Y/N to grow up feeling wanted and loved so that neither of them would have any regrets.

But as the years passed, Y/N became more and more aware of the fact that Cassia was not as happy as she pretended to be. Y/N would catch Cassia looking through her old photography albums and magazine features, but it was always with such sad eyes. Sometimes, Y/N would open Cassia’s computer to do homework and there would be plane tickets to all over the world under pending purchases; but she never followed through.

Y/N knew that even though Cassia loved her like a mother loves a daughter, and Y/N loved her aunt equally, she was holding her back from the life she both wanted and deserved. It was right around Y/N’s fourteenth birthday that she decided that she would do everything she could to show her aunt that she could support herself so that Cassia could go back to her life of adventure. So every allowance, every holiday card, and every paycheck after Y/N turned sixteen and got a part time job, went into her savings account. And then, on her eighteenth birthday, instead of receiving a gift, Y/N gave one instead. 

Y/N had secretly been in correspondence with Cassia’s previous agent over the past few months. She was working hard at getting her aunt’s old job back so that Cassia couldn’t refuse her. Her agent had reluctantly agreed to allow her back at the company, but only on a trial basis. But Y/N knew they would make her permanent in no time; her aunt was really that talented and professional. 

So Y/N told her aunt that she had her old job back and also that she already sent in her resignation at the event-planning company. She was about to continue with the rest of the news, but Cassia looked like her eyes would bulge out of her head at any moment, so she gave her a moment to digest. When her aunt finally made eye contact with her, she looked like she was going to explode with anger. So Y/N started talking before her aunt could say anything. 

“Before you react, hear me out. I already signed a contract for a one-room apartment. I have enough in my savings to last me the year, plus I have a job so I’ll make more, I get good grades, and as I am now eighteen, I am more than capable of taking care of myself,” Y/N let out in one breath so that her aunt wouldn’t interrupt her. 

Cassia continued to sit and stare at Y/N. She sat there silently for what seemed like an eternity. Y/N felt so awkward and fidgety that she was about to break the silence herself when Cassia finally exhaled the breath she had obviously been holding in. 

“Why? She asked through gritted teeth.

“What do you mean why?” Y/N responded carefully.

“Why do you want me to leave? I mean I know I have my short-comings. And I know I’m not nearly as capable as your mom was, but I thought I was doing okay.” She asked as tears started to form.

Y/N crossed the room and sat down on the couch next to her aunt. She reached out her hands towards her aunt’s, but her aunt pulled her hands away abruptly. Y/N looked up to meet her aunt’s gaze, which was now full of sadness rather than anger. 

“Aunt Cassia-” Y/N began, but was cut off.

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it. Tomorrow, we’re going to void that apartment contract and get my old job back so that everything can remain the way it’s always been,” she said, wiping a sole tear that had fallen on her cheek.

“Aunt Cassia,” Y/N attempted again as she lay her hands on her aunt’s lap. “I love you. You have given me everything. But it’s time I give you something in return.”

“Like what? Abandonment?” Cassia said coldly.

“No. Like your life back,” Y/N responded with a smile.

“I never asked for that. And what makes you think I want any part of it anyway?” Cassia asked while raising her nose in the air with the high level of sass she was notorious for.

“Cassia,” Y/N began, “I know you. I know when you’re faking a smile. I know when you’re pretending to be happy. I’ve seen the old photographs and magazines and the plane tickets. It’s time for you to get back to your dream.”

“Oh no, I am the adult here. I am supposed to take care of you, not the other way around!” Cassia retorted.

The conversation turned into an argument, which then turned into a crying fest, which led to a hugging fest, and then finally became a civilized conversation between the two. It was abundantly apparent that Cassia really did love and cherish Y/N. Since taking her in all those years ago, they had become what any family strives to achieve in terms of closeness. And for all the reasons Y/N had worked hard at saving money over the years, it was just as clear that she loved her aunt more than anything else in the world. 

Cassia understood why Y/N did everything she did, but she was reluctant to accept. She felt as if she would be abandoning her niece, and more importantly, hurting her sister, if she were to return to her life of travel and leave Y/N to fend for herself. But Y/N had thought of everything; every last detail to make sure Cassia felt reassured. And much to her dismay, Cassia was starting to believe her. 

So after a long, LONG conversation, Y/N finally managed to convince her aunt that this was for the best and that everything was going to work out perfectly. Cassia would deposit a monthly allowance and fly home to visit at least every three months. In return, Y/N had to call Cassia at least once a week and fill her in on everything happening in her life...and honestly too. She wanted updates on grades, work, expenses, and basically every encounter she had with anyone. 

Y/N agreed with zero push back. Granted, she would have agreed to anything in order to help support her aunt’s dreams; she deserved that much. And besides, school, work, and money were easy subjects for her since she had been working so hard at all three for many years. It was the “every encounter” area that concerned her. She knew that her aunt knew she didn’t really get along with the other kids at school. What her aunt did not know was that she was bullied on a regular basis, and pretty severely. But Y/N was strong and tried to not let it affect her too much.}} 

______________________________________________________________

Y/N finally got out of bed and dragged herself to the bathroom. She made sure to have just enough time to brush her teeth and wash her face before throwing on her school uniform and heading out the door. Her apartment wasn’t too far from the school so she walked every day. Apart from the unpredictable elements, it wasn’t a bad walk either. Well, unless she ran into certain classmates. But as this was something she had been dealing with for years, she had many alternative routes and hiding spots in order to avoid her bullies. One of these hiding spots sometimes gave her breakfast, so it wasn’t all bad. 

When Y/N arrived at school, she made sure to get there minutes before the first bell rang to continue avoiding as many classmates as possible. She went straight to her locker to hang up her coat and change her shoes. If it was a good day, her locker would be clean and empty. If it was going to be a bad day, which most were, there would be some garbage or dead bugs, or at least a threatening note, in her locker. And judging by the apple core and banana peal she had to throw away, it was going to be a bad day. 

She hurried to Homeroom just before the first bell, but as she entered the classroom, the room got suspiciously quiet. She cautiously approached her desk fearing someone would trip her. But today, her classmates were going for a less physical approach. Written all over her desk were notes in permanent marker: “go away,” “no one likes you,” “transfer,” loser,” and a couple other suggestions that were much more aggressive.

Y/N pretended not to notice them as she sat down and began unpacking her backpack. She always thought that if she just ignored them and didn’t give them the reaction they wanted, they would just stop. Unfortunately, sometimes that just made it worse; again, today was one of those days. Because today, the group of girls who could only be described as the ring-leaders of the bullying campaign against her must have decided that her uniform was too clean. They, one by one, proceeded to “trip” as they walked past her and dump their iced macchiatos all over her. The last one was obviously a caramel macchiato, judging by the thick, sticky caramel syrup that was now clinging to Y/N’s hair. 

Unfazed, Y/N stood up to excuse herself to the restroom. But as she got to the door, the teacher entered the classroom, looked her up and down, and began scolding her.

“Miss Y/N,” he bellowed, “this is exactly why I do not allow food or beverages in my classroom. I mean could you be any more of a mess right now? You are an embarrassment to this school and yourself. Now go to the supply closet and get something to clean up the mess you made around your desk!”

The rest of the classroom tried to stifle their laughter, but a few of them couldn’t hold it in. Y/N turned around to face her classmates, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at them. So instead, she turned around to face the teacher and said “yes sir,” and walked out quickly. 

As she made her way to the girls’ restroom, she realized that she was fighting back tears. She had to hold them in; she promised she would never let anyone see her cry. So she kept her head down and hurriedly continued on her way. But as she rounded the corner with her head lowered, she bumped into another student. She sort of bounced off him and almost fell backwards, but she caught herself in time.

“I’m sorry,” she said to him with her head still lowered. 

But the boy did not respond. She slowly looked up, nervous to see which enemy she had incidentally assaulted. But when her eyes met his, she couldn’t contain the sigh of relief that escaped from her. She found herself thanking any and every deity that she bumped into this particular boy. Well, not particular like a specific person she knew, but particular as in she knew he was not one of the boys who got off on picking on her. 

She half smiled at him and repeated herself, “I’m really sorry.”

He barely looked up to meet her gaze, nodded in her direction, and then hurried off down the hall back towards the classrooms.

Y/N straightened herself back up and made her way to the girls’ restroom where she attempted to clean the coffee and syrup out of her hair and clothes. She eventually gave up and went to her locker to grab her gym clothes to change. She still smelled like coffee, but at least she wasn’t sticky anymore. So she raised her head high, grabbed the cleaning supplies she would need from the supply closet, and made her way back to the classroom. What more could they possibly do to me today that they haven’t already she thought to herself.

[flutteringphalanges]

                                 Caught in a Riptide

Summary: After the infamous Count Dracula is discovered and taken into custody by the Jonathan Harker Foundation, former nun and now guardian to her young niece, Zoe, Agatha Van Helsing is tasked with keeping tabs on the vampire after a mishap leads to his release into modern day society. Can Agatha remain levelheaded, or will fate turn her onto a new path?

Pairing: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Rated: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Thanks for the love as usualy Finished this faster than I thought! I hope you guys enjoy! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! It fuels the update monster haha! -Jen

                                      Chapter Three

Well it certainly hadn't started as a good day to begin with. Agatha glared with frustration at her breakfast, two pieces of buttered toast, that had dropped to the ground the moment she stepped out of her car. It didn't help that she decided against packing a lunch, too rushed to get to the Harker Foundation as early as she could. Low blood sugar always put her in a mood-something that wasn't good considering the situation she was about to put herself in. Plucking her nerves would be ripe for the picking if she allowed Dracula the chance. If she could just focus, stay in her head space during all of this, all would be just fine. Or so she hoped.

Walking into the Foundation it was abundantly clear that after yesterday's episode, Bloxham had taken to upping security measures. There were more guards in the lobby alone than she had ever seen in the facility since she started. Many pairs of eyes watched her as she retrieved her key card and slid it through the slot. When it lit up red than its usual green, her brows knitted in confusion.

"We're doubling up now." One of the men explained as he strode forward to her side. "Boss's orders. Last three numbers in your National Insurance Number." He pointed over to a keypad that Agatha just now noticed. "First card, then numbers."

It was almost impressive how quickly the Harker Foundation had reacted to the "breach". Though she was opposed to her given password, Agatha was grateful that it would lead to less slip ups. Punching her numbers in, the light finally emitted the approved glow and the former nun stepped inside.

As she began to walk down the long corridor, it was almost eerie how the lights snapped on as she passed. Before she hadn't been alone, Jack by her side as they hurried along to learn the news of Dracula's capture. Now the only faces that greeted her were the near motionless guards whose expressions were nearly masked by their tinted helmets. New protocol, she had to remind herself. An action taken for all of their safety.

Entering her information once more into a nearby device, Agatha was startled to find Bloxham waiting on the other side staring at her with great intent. In her arms she held a file folder that she pushed in the former's nun's hands without saying a word. It was obvious that the scientist didn't want to apologize or even discuss what happened between Zoe and Dracula last night. Instead, she picked up her pace expecting the other woman to follow her.

"You won't be alone in the room." Bloxham explained, eyes not meeting Agatha's. "There are armed guards posted in any direction that if he was to break loose, he'd be stopped before he'd reach the door." She exhaled as they stopped in front of a door. "Everything you need is in there." The scientist stated, finally turning to face the other woman. "Questions, details...I only ask that you try to stay strict to the script unless there is something you think ought to be asked." Her dark eyes narrowed and even Agatha found herself a little intimidated. "Are we clear?"

She really didn't like Bloxham, especially after her niece was endangered by her carelessness. But Agatha knew that the only way she'd ever get exposure to Dracula first hand was to follow that woman's orders. "Crystal." She agreed. "I'll go by the book."

The scientist was silent for a moment before giving a curt nod. "Just keep in mind of what he is." Bloxham stated as she unlocked the sealed door. "Not that you don't know well enough." Of course she bloody did. She was a Van Helsing after all. "Good luck." And the woman's tone lacked sincerity as she said it.

The moment she stepped into the room, Agatha's eyes immediately locked onto the prison. In the center sat Dracula, his posture relaxed as he stared at something in his hands. She squinted and to her surprise it was a tablet. How he'd managed to acquire one and from who she wasn't sure. But she certainly didn't like the idea of it.

"Oh, Agatha!" The Count's voice was cheerful as he set down his device. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in." Lies. "Come, join me. I'm sure you have many questions to ask. I know I do."

The woman eyed the flimsy plastic chair left out for her less than a meter away from his cell. Inhaling deeply through her nose, she strode over and took a seat. She had to remain confident-and though that wasn't a major concern, she couldn't help but wonder if he could smell fear. Perhaps she could squeeze that question in.

"Count Dracula," she greeted in a level tone. "I hope our accommodations have suited you well?"

"Well, it's no palace. But it has its perks." The vampire smirked as he motioned towards his tablet. "How's your niece-Zoe, right? Gave you a bit of a scare, but she seemed alright with me."

Don't take the bait. Don't be lured in. "According to our records, you've lived over five centuries?"

"More or less," he exhaled. "Why, I believe your grandfather would've known better than me. It's surprising how some people know more about you than you know yourself." The way he stared at her made her insides squirm. "He was a very intelligent man, you know. Very brave, and yet asinine at the same time. He almost got me though."

"You speak as if it was a fond memory." Agatha frowned, closing her notes. Bloxham be damned. "So you're saying he almost killed you?"

"Oh of course not." Dracula snorted, leaning forward to get a good look at his interrogator. "Almost, but not close. Nevertheless a valiant effort on his part. I hope he was proud of himself. He should be." He shook his head and smiled. "There is a fine line, Agatha Van Helsing, between what can and can't kill a vampire. Myth versus fact. Take for an obvious example the Sun. Captivating in its beauty, but deadlier than the bite of a cobra." His expression turned dreamy almost as if he was experiencing a tender thought. "But do how I wish to gaze upon it."

"The cross," the former nun continued. "It's deadly to you."

"Moreso highly unpleasant," the vampire nodded to himself. "But I suppose it could if used a certain way…" As Agatha opened her mouth to ask more, the Count held up a finger. "It's my turn now," he informed her. "You didn't think I'd just let you do all of the asking, did you?"

Until that moment, she hadn't really considered that. She was so fixated on learning more, furthering her knowledge that was passed down from Abraham Van Helsing that she didn't think about the vampire's own inquiries. Agatha inhaled slowly, lips pressed into a firm line as her bright blue eyes met the dark of his.

"Go on then," she agreed. "Ask your questions."

"You aren't from here are you?" Somehow the way he said it was off-putting. "And no," he rolled his eyes. "I don't mean your native country. I can hear that clearly from your accent. No...No, you haven't been working here long have you?" His smile was curious and yet menacing. "What are you, Agatha Van Helsing?"

She didn't answer at first, but when his eyes remained locked onto hers, she relented. "A nun," she responded. "I was a nun before taking a job here."

"Why?" He leaned in even closer. "You don't seem like a woman dedicated to God." Agatha realized that his gaze now focused on her jugular. Even though she was safe from his bullet proof, glass prison, her uneasiness grew. "Why were you a nun?"

"Knowledge." And she honestly didn't know why she answered. "I did so for knowledge."

"A librarian or a historian didn't seem fitting enough?" Dracula mused, an eyebrow cocked in question. "My you are an interesting one, Agatha. I'm glad we've had the chance to become acquainted." He grinned as he grabbed his device. "With so many options on here, an in person conversation is much more revealing." Once again, his eyes fixated on her neck. "Perhaps we could have dinner some time?"

"I'd prefer to share a meal with a rabid dog." The vampire grinned so widely at this that Agatha was almost concerned his face would split in two. Almost. Rising to her feet, documents in hand, she averted her eyes from meeting his. "I'll be seeing you, Count Dracula."

"Yes you will," he promised. "Much sooner than you think." Dracula continued to smirk as he waved away Agatha. Something about his words didn't settle right. The former nun clutched the folder as she made her way to the door. "Au revoir, Agatha."

                                                        XXX

"What's he like? I mean, is he as ruthless as they say?"

Jack stared intently at Agatha as she stabbed her fork through another prawn in her salad. It was a good thing the young doctor had proposed they go out for lunch, she needed the fresh air after dealing with Dracula. The interview had certainly not gone the way she would've liked and Bloxham would be far from happy to see how much she had diverged from the given material.

"Snide." She mumbled through a mouthful of salad. "An uncultured swine."

"That bad huh?" Jack nodded thoughtfully. "So, how much did you get out of him?"

"Not enough," Agatha admitted with a sigh. "He...is very clever with changing topics. I realize that now." She began to jab at her lettuce a little harder. "I'll be more prepared next time." At least she promised herself that. How he had managed to turn everything on to her, she wasn't sure. But never again. "I'll make sure to get everything we need to know."

"We got a few blood samples," the doctor commented. "Actually, you should've been there to see it. Needle wouldn't go through his skin. He had to use his nails. Actual nails, Agatha. I've never seen anything like it."

Impenetrable skin. She'd add that to her growing list. "Have yet realized it yet?" Agatha watched as Jack took another mouthful of his sandwich and shook his head. Pity. It would've been nice to know more of what they were dealing with.

"...Actually, Agatha, he did ask for you."

The former nun froze in her seat, her fork resting in her salad bowl. Asked for her? About what? Bloxham hadn't said anything and Dracula of all people hadn't. What was he talking about?

"Why did he ask for me?" She asked, picking up her utensil. She was jamming at the bowl now, not even paying attention whatsoever. "What did he ask, Jack?"

"He wanted a sample of your blood…" The young doctor finished. "I don't know why, your guess is as good as yours. Bloxham actually promised it to him. Maybe to get him to talk to you? Did he mention anything?"

"No," Agatha frowned deeply. "No one mentioned Dracula receiving my blood."

"Maybe it didn't happen yet then," Jack shrugged. "Maybe Bloxham is holding it over him like some sort of bribe."

"He's smarter than that," the woman scoffed. "As much as it pains me to admit it. For whatever reason, he didn't bring it up. Maybe he knows something we don't." Christ, she hoped that wasn't the case. Out of everyone, why did he want her blood anyway? "I'll have a word with Bloxham tomorrow and don't worry, I won't bring your name up." The last thing she wanted to do was to get Jack in trouble.

"Thanks, Agatha." He gave her a warm, genuine smile. If she could rely on anyone about anything, it was Jack. "Anyway, I meant to ask. I heard about what happened yesterday with Zoe. Is she okay? Did he…"

"No." And the young man was slightly taken aback by the dark expression that crossed the woman's features. "They had a friendly conversation but it didn't go any further than that." She sighed, shaking her head. "I really need to work with her on not talking to strangers. She's too…"

"Outgoing?" Jack suggested with a small smile.

"For her own good," Agatha finished. "Honestly, I don't know where she gets it from. Her father was the most introverted person I ever knew and her own aunt-me, was a nun of all things." She chuckled, but there was a hint of sadness in her tone. "Perhaps our lack of extroverted-ness had to go somewhere."

"She's a special little girl." The man exclaimed, raising his glass towards Agatha before taking a sip. "You're lucky."

"Yes." She exhaled, smiling softly. "I suppose I am."

Just as Agatha set her drink down, she heard her phone vibrating in her purse. Curious, she reached inside and retrieved it. The Jonathan Harker Foundation. Without even knowing why, the former nun felt her blood run cold. Locking eyes with Jack, she reluctantly answered it.

"Agatha Van Helsing speaking."

"It's Bloxham." Came the voice from the other line. "I need you and Jack to return back here as soon as possible."

"Why?" Something in Bloxham's tone was unnerving. Wrong. "Has something happened?"

For a brief moment, the scientist was silent. "We've received word about Dracula's incarceration." The woman sighed, sounding truly defeated. "Count Dracula is to be released from The Jonathan Harker Foundation." Another pause. "Tonight."

[sidereal-fantasies]

Sincerely, Not You

[Choi San]

02: The Genius Writer’s Mind

WARNING(S): None

College AU in which Choi San and many others receive letters that threaten to break their already fragile hearts

“A new opinion can certainly turn the world upside down.”

Everything felt like a mistake with each passing second.

You had only taken this writing class to get one of your credit requirements out of the way, yet the thought of having to produce something not out of logic and real-world evidence has also caused a tremendous amount of stress to fall on your shoulders. You glanced back at your laptop that sat on the makeshift kitchen table, keyboard most likely still burning from the rapidfire typing you produced from earlier in the ungodly hours of the morning.  

With the sound of keys dropping on the counter, you peered up to see Yoona, your roommate, walk in with multiple envelopes in one hand and what seemed like another cup of oddly sweet coffee in the other. Knowing Yoona for quite some time now, you were surprised that her signature drink didn’t change as much as her hair color (which was currently blonde due to not knowing which color she should tackle next). You couldn’t tease her about it, though, knowing that your extremely bitter choice of straight black coffee with the tiniest bit of sugar never settled well with most.

“[Name], I picked up your mail for you,” Yoona’s voice echoed as she entered the room. You murmured a quick thanks as you gently placed your now empty mug on the tiny side table before picking up said mail. Other than the usual letter from your parents, a small envelope with only your name written clearly on the front accompanied it as well. The corners of your mouth turned down slightly as you turned the envelope every which way in hopes to find some kind of hint as to who it was from. Weird, you thought. “No return address...”

“Oh? A secret admirer? Seems a little old-fashioned, but look at you,” Yoona teased which only caused you to roll your eyes in response. “Didn’t you say you were going to have a date with some guy from the music department?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to finish up some of your classwork at the campus cafe?” Yoona called out. The blonde nearly dropped her morning beverage at the sight of you jumping to your feet suddenly.

“Thanks for reminding me, Yoona! I should get going before I lose the chance to snag a seat!” You exclaimed as you began gathering all your essentials.

Your roommate remained by the small counter as she watched you scurry about the room, quickly tossing your things in a bag without a second thought before seeing you bolt out the door without another word spoken. 

“Oh, [Name]...”

“You met [Name] last night?”

San hummed in response with a slight nod of his head. “Is there a problem?” he inquired as he stopped typing.

Yeosang shook his head before he rested a hand on the back of his neck. Of course he had no issue with it, seeing that he wasn’t exactly close with you after all. But, it didn’t ease the sudden bemusement that washed over his thoughts. He never exactly received a friendly impression of you, but perhaps he was too quick to judge a book by its cover. Then again, Yeosang had to remind himself that he was speaking with San who always viewed the world through a rather unique perspective.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. [Name]’s always so curt with a lot of people, but here you are saying they’re much nicer than what everyone says.”

“You’re the same, hyung. When Wooyoung told me you’ve been his friend for several years, I couldn’t wrap my head around how someone as quiet as you are could be dragged into so many of Wooyoung’s schemes,” San responded.

Yeosang hummed softly. “Five years and still going,” the quiet man mumbled as he peered out the window.

Yeosang let San’s remark slide this time, acknowledging his point instead of shooting back one of his infamous retorts. He’s a writer after all, or soon-to-be one, at least. It was in his nature to dissect and characterize people in an oddly poetic manner that defined them in more ways than one. Anyone who caught San’s interest was automatically caught in his neverending story of life. To San, everyone was a character in life that was waiting to be unraveled by the genius writer himself.

“So, that’s it?”

San tore his gaze away from his computer screen as he arched an eyebrow at Yeosang. The elder sighed softly and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. Before he could utter another word, three booming voices came through, interrupting the serene morning. By the small corridor entered a teary-eyed Wooyoung who was accompanied by a beaming Song Mingi and Jeong Yunho.

Song Mingi was a force to be reckoned with at times. As co-captain of the university’s dance team and San’s dual-natured roommate, Mingi was a blazing fire, burning the image of a passionate and intimidating man into most strangers' minds, but also warming the hearts of his friends with his oddly cute side of his personality. Infuriating at some points since he likes to disagree with the group for fun? Quite so. Yet, it still caught San off guard at times to see the man he hears everyone is hesitant to approach fond over the simplest cat video he just so happened to scroll past on his social media feed. 

Jeong Yunho was very much different from the scarlet redhead despite being just as tall as him. He carried a calming aura around him, always attracting anyone and everyone and befriending with such ease due to his already gentle nature. An open-minded individual who wears his heart on his sleeve and charms everyone with his dazzling smile. A potentially hopeless romantic doomed to suffer if he isn’t careful with his glass heart in the eyes of the Genius Writer.

“San! You’re planning on hanging out with the rest of us this saturday, right?” Mingi’s voice boomed, earning a short chuckle out of the shorter male.

“Saturday’s the only day Hongjoong is ever not working,” San responded as he closed his laptop. The raven haired male casually slid the device back into his bag before he stood up and began making his way towards the door.

“Seems like San’s in a rush to leave already. Did he tell you what he was doing today, Yeosang?” Wooyoung inquired.

Yeosang shrugged his shoulders as he slumped back into the chair. “There’s a new café around the corner, so that’s one option. Or maybe he’s going to meet up with [Name].”

The trio all raised their eyebrows as they gawked at Yeosang for a moment, causing the light brunette to shift slightly in his seat as he turned his gaze away from the three. The feelings are mutual, he guessed. A miracle, perhaps, to all four of them as they contemplated over how the Genius Writer was able to befriend [Name], a fellow college student who always appeared to be much more devoted to education than socializing.

“Is there something wrong, Mingi?” Wooyoung questioned the redhead as he frowned slightly in the direction that San had walked off to.

“[Name] sounds very familiar for some reason…”

The café, as Yeosang had pointed out earlier, was not a far walk from San’s dorm. It was fairly new to the area, having only opened just a month ago, yet it was already gaining some popularity amongst the college student population. Another source of short-lived energy from drinks that most likely only contained a touch of coffee that barely broke through the uniquely flavored beverage that it was mixed in, if you will. Nevertheless, it was a café that many claimed as a spot for comfort and relaxation. The interior was brightly light by the few artificial lights that hung above café-goers as well as by the natural light that flooded through the windows that surrounded them completely, giving the area a fresh feeling of endlessness. There was comfort in the thought that the day’s weather was what encompassed the mood of the tiny café.

San slipped into the café to escape from the bustling crowd of students moving towards their first class of the day. Despite it being a little early in some ways, the café was moving just as much as San’s fellow peers outside. Popular in convenience, he supposed as he approached the counter.

The workers behind the counter did not take long and passed San’s order of a small latte. As San turned on his heel, he spotted you at one of the tables, eyebrows furrowed and a near permanent frown upon your lips, rapidly typing away with no hint of interest in your surroundings. He shook his head gently before deciding that it may be a good choice to distract you from your work for a few minutes.

“Funny seeing you here, friend” San spoke up as he slid into the seat across from you, earning a small smile in response. Judging your slightly tinted cheeks, San assumed you must have gotten here just a little earlier than him. 

“I needed to replenish my caffeine levels,” you answered sharply. “As I have found out, I still can’t type up a decent essay to save my life.” San chuckled before tapping the top of your laptop. You peered up at San with a faint frown gracing your lips, as if pleading the genius writer to bless you with the ability to forge an essay that would satisfy not only yourself, but your professor as well. “You probably don’t take the time to look at your surroundings,” San noted.

You tilted your head to the side slightly before motioning San to explain his statement. Heat brushed the dark haired male’s cheeks as he rested a hand on the back of his now burning neck. A sudden tightness in San’s throat accompanied the odd sensation he was experiencing which caused him to clear his throat before he averted his gaze away from you.

“Sometimes, when you are struggling to write, it’s because you’re set on staying within a tiny box. If you stay in that box, you miss a few details about the world around you,” San explained. He stole a quick glance at your features before he waved a hand in front of himself. “Tell me, when you look around the cafe, what do you see?”

Slowly, you let your eyes travel towards the peaceful scene of the cafe before you. It had calmed down since you first stepped in to save yourself from the bitter cold. More tables were empty, you noted, as the handful of workers slowed down and began taking their time in perfecting the orders that were coming in now. You then observed the other students as they furiously scribbled or typed away to finish an assignment that they have also procrastinated on for too long. Others chattered away with each other, basking in the glory of having their lives together. Funny, you thought. Stress plagued most students minds here, leaving nothing but an ominous feeling at the back of the mind. An impending doom from the possibility of not finishing an assignment you had all the time in the world to work on if you only had the motivation to start early. Despite that, it was evident to both San and you that you had missed a major point that San was trying to make.

“Students and baristas are working. More tables are empty- San, what are you trying to get out of this?” You grumbled out of frustration. 

San gently shook his head in slight disappointment after he stole another quick glance from you. “Like all other computer science majors, you view everything so objectively at times.”

You weren’t exactly amused with this answer until you caught a certain gleam in San’s eyes. The slight curl of the lips and the knowing gaze revealed an entire story to San. To San, the cafe’s atmosphere was placid, the natural light filtering in as if helping to chase away the anxious dark clouds that followed students too closely at times. The aroma of coffee, faintly bitter or sickenly sweet, traveled and filled every space in between, leaving only a pleasant sensation for all. Tired students remained scattered, eyes glued to the screens of laptops that most likely were burning just as much as an impatient mouth who needed to refuel on caffeine. Friends gossiped and giggled long after their mostly sugar and barely coffee drinks have gone cold. Busy, but not bustling. Scattered, but not nearly vacant. A perfect place to unleash creativity, as San would have commented.

“You need to make up a story sometimes just to achieve what you want in writing,” San stated.

“That’s easy for you to say, Genius Writer,” you countered with a huff. 

San quirked an eyebrow at your response before he let out a breathy chuckle. “Maybe so, but you somehow recognized me last night.”

“And what’s that supposed to prove?” you inquired. A soft hum left San as he placed his cup of coffee near his lips, blowing gently on it before savoring a small sip. He placed the cup down and gave a simple shrug of the shoulders. It took you a moment as you caught on to the fact that the slight simper San wore never disappeared in the first place.

“I’m not interested, if that’s what you’re implying,” you stated flatly. 

San blinked a few times, his confidence faltering slightly as if he was struggling to process the words that effortlessly slipped out of your mouth. It didn’t help his case either as he caught your gaze boring into your laptop screen again, completely ignoring San’s moment of embarrassment.

“I was gonna say you pick up on tiny details when something interests you, but thanks for friend-zoning me?” 

No response was uttered from your already slouching form, too focused on this frustrating assignment that has yet to meet your expectations of satisfaction. It didn’t sit well with you, of course. With how San sees and conveys everything as if it was a new story unfolding in front of his eyes; it was unnerving, for it seemed as if everyone was transparent as glass. But it also intrigued you. For you, who is so used to seeing the world as an endless code that continuously needs tweaks to function properly, seeing such vivid details and hearing new perspectives never crossed your mind. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why you seeked out San. Maybe, just maybe, your world would gradually expand its horizon and welcome in new experiences that you’d never expected to live in.

The time flashed in the right corner of the screen, signaling you to close your laptop with a soft sigh of defeat. “Well, I have to get to my class now. Have a fun time doing whatever future writers do,” you suddenly announced as you stood up. You quickly gathered your belongings, shoving most into your bag without a second thought before grabbing your laptop and scurrying away with only a nod of the head. Unbeknownst to you, your unopened letter had fallen out of the side pocket of your bag along with your earbuds. Having noticed this, San immediately picked up the forgotten items, but was just a second too late as he already saw you at the door.

“[N-Name]!!” 

With the chime of the bell, San slumped back into his chair as he wrapped your earbuds into a neat bundle before placing them in one of the pockets of his jacket. He then turned his attention towards the envelope before humming in amusement as the corners of lips curved upwards at the sight of the familiar penmanship that decorated the front of the envelope. Quietly shaking his head, he retrieved his own letter out of his bag before setting the two down on the table in front of him.

It seemed that you got a letter as well, [Name].

[littlemisskookie]

Spell-tacular

Spell-tacular Ship: Greaser!Yoongi | Witch!Reader Description: Highschool!AU, 50/60′s!AU, Witch!AU, Best Friends to Lovers; Despite living in the same neighborhood and going to the same school since diapers, you were a complete enigma to Yoongi. It wasn’t until you save his life that he realizes exactly what you are- and loves it. Warnings: Established Relationship, Public Sex, Unprotected Sex, Squirting, D/S Undertones, Dom!Yoongi, Pussy Slapping, Ass Eating (both), Blowjob, Face Fucking, Choking, Oral, Themes of Violence, Death, LOTS of Angst, So much fluff you’ll get a cavity Word Count: 22,664 A/N: Sorry I’ve been on Semi-Hiatus for a while! Hopefully, this makes up for it.

Yoongi knew you were different- though good or bad, he wasn't quite sure.

The two of you had lived in the tiny town your entire lives, and though everyone knew everything about everybody, that wasn't the case with you and your family. The group never seemed to venture far our outside of their house, and you were the only one frequently seen, though you stayed to yourself. Yoongi was never sure if that was because you wanted to stay alone, or because the entire town saw you and your people as an aloof freakshow.

Not that they had absolutely no reason to, however.

Your family was constantly seen wearing the weirdest clothes- bold and wild colors rather than the mundane browns that others wore. Most of the women in the suburbs wore heels and elegant dresses that reached knee length, supporting their husbands as they went off to war and heading to the factories. Your mother didn't seem to work in the factories though- but it wasn't as though she spent much time at home. It was the same way for her even during the depression. The few times your mother was seen she had worn combat boots with a purple cape, her face obscured by the hood, but one could tell that her hair had been held in a tight bun. On the few occasions that her face was seen, it was remarked that she had sunken in eyes as well as dark bags, as though the woman hadn't heard of makeup. Even once everyone was able to afford and buy it.

Your father was a more mysterious case. He didn't seem to do combat and join the army forces the way the other men did, but even after, he didn't work at the schools or the factories. He did dress better than your mother, however, though that wasn't a hard task to accomplish. The bow ties and clothing was far out of style, as though he had picked something up from decades before. He had the same dark circles but was somehow prestigious, his beard grown and his glasses perched upon the tip of his nose. He was more approachable, despite being aloof and shrouded with just as much mystery.

The neighborhood pitied their only daughter, having to grow up with such strange parents. You lived in the giant mansion up on the hill, and though it seemed run down, it still was eerily majestic. Many of the neighborhood boys claimed it was haunted by the looks of it, but something told Yoongi it was far deeper than that. He couldn't quite place what was off about it, though.

Yoongi's mother recounted one of the days she was off work and stayed at the daycare with the other moms and toddlers, and though Yoongi was too young to remember the incident, many of the witnesses that day can recall it with the same level of detail and accuracy.

Your mother wasn't interacting with the other women in the room, who would babble on about obscure things and their humdrum lives as their children played. Instead, she kept her eyes on you with a bored expression. It wasn't as though she were hovering over you or giving you that eagle-eye stare- overprotective parents were common. No, it seemed bored, as though she were expecting something.

And true enough, it did.

Out of the blue, the stuffed animal in your hand erupted into flames, fire catching onto it quickly enough. You held onto it, though, unreactive to the screams of the mothers around you, and not at all reactive to the fire.

Your mother, on the other hand, calmly picked it up and dropped it to the floor, stomping on it with her worn out boot until the flames were extinguished. She then sat back in her chair, crossing her arms and wearing the same undazed expression as you picked up the burnt and charred stuffed animal and continued what you were doing.

That wasn't the only time unnatural stuff occurred around you, however. By the time your grade had enrolled in school, there were odd occurrences. Your parents were no longer seen around, and because you lived further on top of the hill, the bus didn't pick you up. Yoongi would wonder how you found so much energy to walk to and from school every day, but you didn't seem to mind that. Maybe you just liked being alone instead of on a bus with rowdy kids who wouldn't want to talk to you anyway.

Throughout elementary school, there would be odd occurrences. In 2nd grade, Jung Eunwoo had made fun of the second-hand dress that was too loose on your body, comparing it to a paper bag. After recess that same day, the water fountain randomly combusted while Eunwoo was taking a drink, and she was soaked from head to toe.

In fifth grade, you were playing dodgeball during P.E., and Yoongi, popular despite how overly stoic he could seem, had picked you first out of kindness, knowing you'd often be picked last. You had seemed surprised by the gesture, busy reading through some thick, dusty textbook, but nevertheless joined. It was during that match that Jeon Jungkook, (an infamous cheater at the game who had given all too many people nosebleeds and tears, one time even cornering a girl and knocking her out with a single blow), had fainted mid-game after cornering you. Apparently, he passed out the moment he raised his arm to pummel you. Your team won by a landslide, but he was still shocked and confused over what happened that day.

Another event was in middle school, sixth grade when your grade was in the midst of puberty, acne and all. Your hair was frizzy, different from your parents, who always had it slicked back. Instead, it was as though you had been electrified, your hair static and standing on edge. You and the other girls in school were just beginning to grow curves and breasts, and despite how you were becoming more attractive through the slow process of puberty, people still didn't approach you. It didn't seem as though you'd mind, though, your nose always buried in the latest dusty textbook. Yoongi had once made the mistake of waiting all week for you at the library to see if you'd show up, but you never did. He assumed you just got the books from your house.

What truly solidified Yoongi's suspicions of your abnormal behaviors was next year, when you both in your last stage of preteen awkwardness, soon to be official teenagers. Yoongi had been tracked down on his way back home and was currently being jumped by a few upperclassmen, brutish high schoolers, intent on asserting their dominance on the gangly-limbed boy who they had stumbled upon. Yoongi was just an easy target, walking by himself, and with a lack of an impressive build. He wasn't the type to wear the leather jackets or grease his hair, as the typical 50s trend was. He was too young to truly catch up on much, quite frankly. Though he doubted that was the reason he was targetted. Despite the fact he'd later become the captain of the basketball team, he never seemed to have an intimidating stature when it came to height.

It was three other boys who didn't have anything better to do. No, they weren't jocks or delinquents- hell, Yoongi didn't know which stereotypical cliques they'd be classified from. It wasn't really the point- they were just boys trying to pick a fight that they knew they'd win.

At that point Yoongi had a busted lip and had crumpled on the floor, the three mocking him with flicks on the forehead and slaps at the back of the head, teasing him for his incapability to properly defend himself from three bullies. They continuously taunted him, pounding their fists and so on. It wasn't as though Yoongi could call 911, as cellphones hadn't existed back then, and the nearest pay phone wasn't in the neighborhood. He couldn't call out for help either since no one else was on the path to his suburban neighborhood, and he had to stay after school for basketball auditions.

He was trapped.

It wasn't until a girl with polka-dot magenta dress sauntered behind the boys when no one was paying attention. If Yoongi was looking out at his surroundings in the meantime, he would've recognized you from a mile away. It wasn't the boots that you always wore or the frizzy hair that was the icing on the cake, but rather the oversized goggles you constantly wore, pushed back like a headband to keep the wisps of hair out of your face. Sure, the fashion had switched from poodle skirts to tight jeans, but you were every bit as strange as your parents.

Yoongi had his arms over his head and was curled up in a ball to protect his face and vital organs. It wasn't until he heard a sharp yelp that his head snapped up, seeing you with your hand on one of the boys' shoulders, who had crumpled to his knees and shook violently before Yoongi. It was as though he was suffering from a violent seizure, his eyes rolling back and his body convulsing before him. In the distance, Yoongi could faintly make out the other two running away, and it wasn't until he fell flat on the floor, blacking out, that Yoongi allowed himself to breathe.

You wore a calm expression on your face, shoving your hands in your pockets as you looked down at Yoongi. You raised a brow, studying his face as though you had never seen it before, despite the fact you two had been in the same classes since you were in diapers.

"Are you ok, Yoongi?" you questioned, examining the blood at the corner of his lip where they had busted it.

"Y...Yeah," Yoongi said softly. He felt somewhat scared to question you about what had just happened, seeing as he could barely process it himself.

You kneeled down, face to face with him. Yoongi realized at that moment just how pretty you were. Weird and unusual, but pretty nonetheless. You weren't like Samantha Baker, who always had her hair smooth and skin flawless, but you had an undeniable beauty to you that someone could only notice if they looked at you from close up. Most people were ugly close up, as you could see their flaws and imperfections, but it was the opposite for you.

You reached out, brushing your thumb against the wound. Yoongi hissed and recoiled from the sting, and you withdrew your hand, some of the blood getting on your thumb.

"Sorry," you said quickly, flinching as well. "It's not that bad- it'll heal in no time, I'm sure. I've got some medicine at my place that should do the trick. I'd understand if you'd rather be left alone, though."

"No, it's ok.  I'll come," Yoongi said. He didn't know why he said it. It wasn't as though he knew you that well. Hell, you two weren't even friends, really. Besides, as curious as he was about your house and family, it wasn't as though he was itching for the opportunity to take a peek inside. Maybe... maybe he just wanted a little longer around you.

The two of you walked together towards your mansion on the hill, and though Yoongi didn't necessarily find it creepy or eery as did his friends, there was still an air of mystery to it.

As soon as you two approached the rusted gate at the base of the walkway to the mansion, it swung open for you two, and before he knew it the two of you were at the front door.

"Wait here," you said, easily opening the door and closing it behind you. Yoongi wondered why you didn't use a key, as it seemed rather foolish to leave such a prestigious house unlocked. He supposed, however, that it was none of his business. He was left staring at the face of the door knocker, a stone dragon with its mouth hanging wide open, the hoop clinging to its jaws between the monstrous teeth. It was so wide open, Yoongi figured he could fit the meat of his arm inside.

He was suddenly startled when he heard various crashing noises from the other side, and soon enough the door swung open. Your goggles were lopsided and your clothes fit funny, but you welcomed him in. To his surprise, the inside of the house was dusty but organized, despite the sounds of a quarrel earlier.

"Stay here. I'll get the medicine," you say, quickly leaving him to observe the house.

It was old and antique, looking ancient but expensive. He looked around, noticing how every inch of the walls was covered with bookshelves piled with dusty textbooks or scrolls. Some of the walls were covered in knickknacks, such as pictures or empty frames, or horseshoes and clocks. Needless objects covered each spare foot, some with writing that Yoongi had never seen before.

He heard the shuffling of footsteps all around him, or the sound of furniture moving, but each time he turned around to find the source of the noise... nothing.

Eventually, he found himself placed in front of a giant painting of your parents.

He could see where you got your quiet beauty from. Your father had strong features, despite how hidden it was. Your mother, for once depicted without the infamous hood, had a sultry and mysterious look, her dark makeup complimenting her image. The two of them appeared stern and broody, and Yoongi wondered how long they had to pose in order for the painter to portray them as old grumps.

"There you are. I was worried you had wandered off."

He turned, and in your hand, you held a bottle. You placed your hand on his cheek, your fingers warm as you made him face you. "Stay still," you spoke, pouring some of the ointment onto your fingers.

Your fingers brushed against his parted lips, and he felt tense. He had kissed a girl- what was so nerve-wracking about one touching his lips? Was it just because he was twelve, and got nervous over every girl in proximity? Or was it more?

"Hey, where are your parents? I would figure they'd be curious about a guy being over and all..." Yoongi wondered.

Your hand stilled in mid-air, and you were silent for a minute. Yoongi was worried about your pause when you spoke. "They're dead."

Yoongi's eyes were wide, but before he could speak you held your hand up to silence him. "It's fine. You don't have to apologize- it isn't your fault. Besides, it's not like I'm really torn up over it. They've been dead for about a year."

"Since you were eleven?" Yoongi gawked. "How did you stay alone in this huge mansion all by yourself? Go to school every day? And the bills for this place must be huge!"

You gave him a weak smile, your cheeks getting a dusty color. "I manage. I'd appreciate if you didn't tell anyone, though. They don't notice since my parents weren't exactly known for going out often, but still, it'd cause a lot of hassle if the word were to get out. I know my parents wouldn't have wanted that."

"You have my word," Yoongi solemnly promised.

You gave him a genuine smile at that and went back to put the medicine back in its proper place. Yoongi looked around, but when he looked back up to the painting, he saw your father's smile, and one of his eyes shut to give him a wink.

Yoongi let out a yelp in surprise, stepping back to bump into one of the sofas. It skidded far more forward than he had expected, and soon you were running back in.

"What is it? What happened?" Your eyes were wide as you looked to Yoongi frantically.

"T-The painting- Your dad-" Yoongi pointed to the painting in question, peering back up at it, only to see that the painting was back in its original state. He gawked in surprise, his jaw slack. "Wait, what? I swear- the picture- your father- he had smiled and was winking and- it moved!"

You shook your head at him, brows furrowed. "Pictures don't move, Yoongi."

"I'm telling you the truth!"

Yoongi wondered for a moment if you were gaslighting him, but he couldn't exactly confront you properly at that. Soon enough, you were escorting him from the premises. "I don't think this house is doing you much good. Besides, you've had a stressful day, it's natural for you to be seeing things. I'll see you around."

Before he could protest, you closed the door in his face, separating you two with the wooden barrier. Yoongi took notice to how the dragon's trap was shut this time around, and surprisingly, the next morning his busted lip had completely healed.

The bullies wouldn't be able to recall the events of what happened, as though it were completely wiped from their memory, and Yoongi was left wondering what exactly about you made all these things possible. His eye was kept on you in class, noting how even when your backpack was filled with textbooks from both home and school, you were able to lift it as though it were as light as a feather. Other times, when he'd see you running through the hallways to get from place to place, he could swear your feet didn't even touch the ground, a mere inch separating the soles of your rundown combat boots to the tile. No one seemed to notice how you were able to get into locked rooms without the teacher's key.

At this point, Yoongi wasn't even sure you were human.

It was when you were eating lunch alone about a week after that Yoongi finally found the guts to approach you. He didn't know what was wrong with him. At this point he had found a respectable reputation with your grade, already making it onto the basketball. Hell, rumor had it that Lim Nayoung had the hots for him, and in 7th grade, she was considered to be the prettiest dolly in class. For a twelve-year-old, that is.

But instead of simply swallowing whatever lingering curiosity he felt towards you, and playing it safe, he sat next to you.

You took a moment to realize he was sitting next to you, as you had your hands on a dusty book as always. It wasn't until Yoongi gave an awkward cough that you looked up, perplexed. You blinked in surprise. "Can I help you?"

Yoongi could feel the stares of his friends at the nearby table, their gazes burning through his skull, their murmurs audible. "I just wanted to talk. I realized I never properly thanked you. Thank you for what happened next week. I am grateful."

"It was nothing," you said simply, returning back to your book.

His face flushed red at the rejection, and he could hear the snickers of his friends behind him. Still, he persisted a bit. "I was wondering if you'd want to walk home together? We take the same path."

Your brows furrowed as you locked eyes with him. "No thank you."

He felt his heart sink. "I... respect your decision. But is it alright if I ask why?"

"I just don't want to be a source of amusement for your friends. They make fun of me enough," you shrug. Yoongi's mind wandered to when Nayoung and Eunwoo were commenting on how weird you were, murmuring and snickering to themselves about your weird books and funny clothes. It was no secret that you were seen as an oddball, as was the rest of your family. It was understandable that you had your reservations.

"I want you to know that wasn't my intention. I just wanted to spend some time with you. Get to know you better, y'know?" He paused, eliciting no reaction from you. He sighed. "I'll leave you alone then. Sorry for bothering you."

He walked back to his table, dejected. His friends hollered and slapped him on the back, snickering at his reaction.

"What made you go for weirdo Y/N of all girls? Got a type for freams?" one friend joked.

"Shut up, Jimin," Yoongi hissed. "You're the one who's mental, considering the fact you got your head stuck in a chair."

"It was one time!"

"What Jimin's saying is that you don't want to get involved with her. After all, she's her mother's daughter," another friend pointed out.

Yoongi's lips pursed in annoyance. "It's not the 1800's anymore, let's not express prejudice. The adults do that enough for us. Besides, I can say the same about you, Taehyung, and your mother collects bath salts."

"Wow, this crush has got you acting bonkers!" Jimin commented, wincing at Yoongi's low blow. "What's got you so whipped? I didn't even think you knew Y/N."

"Forget about it, ok? It's not a crush. What's wrong with a guy wanting to be friends with someone?"

"As much as she may not look- or act- like one, she is still a girl," Taehyung pointed out.

"So?"

"So? You're a boy. A straight one at that. I don't know what Y/N is, but considering the fact I saw her gawk at Kim Seokjin before he moved- right when he got his braces off if you remember- I'd say she's a straight girl."

"Get to the point," Yoongi grunted.

"It's a fundamental fact that boys and girls can't be friends."

"That's bull," Yoongi immediately replied.

"Just admit you want to jump her bones."

"My intentions are completely innocent, unlike you pervs."

The conversation was long forgotten until after lunch when you approached Yoongi, book clutched to your chest.

"I heard you defend me," you said simply, your voice monotonous.

"Oh, uh, it was nothing. Just the decent thing to do," Yoongi replied awkwardly. God, why was he so nervous around you when he had Lim Nayoung of all people up his ass?

"It was." You were silent for a moment, a pregnant pause between the two of you. "If you really want to walk with me to and from school, I'm ok with that. I of all people shouldn't have judged you so quickly. You seem to be a decent guy."

"Really? You're ok with that?" His brows seemed to disappear into his hairline.

"I am," you nodded. "Someone has to make sure you don't get your ass beat again."

Yoongi laughed at that, a genuine, hearty laugh that brought the first smile he had ever seen on your lips.

Time seemed to drag on before it was after school, and he found himself tapping his foot impatiently, anxiety filling him as he waited for you. You approached soon enough, the flurry of students escaping the building far ahead of you.

"You came," you commented.

"I'm the one who suggested this. I wasn't going to just stand you up," Yoongi shrugged, adjusting his backpack.

The two of you walked side by side, unsure of what to talk about.

Yoongi, being the dumbass he was, simply questioned what he had been wondering this entire time. "How'd you beat up those guys last week?"

"What do you mean?"

"Even if you're some expert fighter, being a small, younger girl against multiple bigger guys- it doesn't make sense," Yoongi questioned. "It's impossible."

"Is that why you asked me to walk with you?"

"No. Not completely. One of the reasons, I suppose. It's been on my mind. All of it- what I remember at least- was unnatural."

You hummed to yourself. "I dunno- dumb luck I guess."

"You didn't use any weapons."

"I don't carry a knife on me if that's what you're wondering."

"You just touched him and he passed out. A seizure."

"You were seeing things. You took a few blows to the head."

"Don't gaslight me!" Yoongi exclaimed, suddenly frustrated. "I know what I saw. I don't know why you're lying to my face."

You were silent for a moment, the two of you stop in your tracks. You studied his face. "Why are you so interested in me? Is it really because of that day?"

"I've been interested in getting to know you for a while now- but that was the catalyst," Yoongi guessed. "I knew something was off. The others may think you're weird, but they think that because of your hair or your family or your clothes. I just thought you wanted to keep to yourself but... I don't know, there seems to be more to you than there is to others. Same thing with your family. Things don't add up. What I saw, your house- everything. I'm not going to blab to others if that's what you're wondering, but I can't deny what I saw."

You pursed your lips. "You really should just forget about me, Yoongi."

"Is it why you don't have any friends?" Yoongi questioned. "I mean, why you stay to yourself all the time, just reading textbooks? Could you be doing everything you do just to keep others away? Most people join clubs or branch out or let people approach them but you're-"

"Different," you interrupted. "So you've said, as cliche as it is."

"I'm not going to judge you," Yoongi promised. "I really do want to be your friend- no funny business. From what I can tell you don't have any, but truthfully that doesn't seem very healthy. If you really want me to leave you alone, just tell me to fuck off. I'll pretend none of this ever happened. However, I think you and I both know that you need at least one good friend in this world. I can't help that I'm drawn to you, wanting to get to know you. So I'd really like it if you'd let me."

After he finished his little speech, there was a pause. He was anxious and tense, waiting for your response. You simply stared at him with those big, blank eyes of yours, and he wondered if you were really going to tell him to fuck off despite his proposal of friendship.

Instead, you sucked in a breath. "I can't believe I'm considering this."

He felt elated, excited, and shocked. "So yes?"

"You won't believe me. Let's go to my place, and I'll explain. You're right- I do owe you an explanation. What you saw was real, and I shouldn't gaslight you or lie to you. You're perhaps one of the only people at school who's decent to me, and as much as I hate to admit it, I do need a friend. If anyone's going to be that friend, it'll be you."

"What do you mean by that?" Yoongi wasn't insulted, only curious.

You turned back to him, lips pressed in a tight line. "You're the only one who's given me a chance. It's only fair I do the same for you."

-

Yoongi took in a deep breath the moment he stepped inside of your house, breathing in the scent. The scent was something similar to when someone opens a new book for the first time, breathing in the freshly made pages.

You departed momentarily, only to return shortly with two vials in hand.

You hand one to him. "I just want you to know, you have no reason to trust me. We're virtually strangers."

"I'm kinda trying to fix that."

"I'm just giving you a heads up that any suspicions you have are understandable. Once we do this, it'll be impossible for you to... I don't want to say back out, or forget. Maybe unsee? It's a point we can't turn from, you and I, and I'm taking a big risk by doing this."

"Well, let's do it already," Yoongi huffed. "Blabber all you want, but I thought we established this already."

You shrug nonchalantly, not taking his impatience to heart. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't have any last minute reservations. Should've figured with a persistent Clyde like you. Very well, then. Link our arms together, and then take it like a shot. It's going to taste bitter, so I've been told."

"Like some sort of circled couple, huh?" Yoongi questions, quirking a brow. "What does this do?"

"It's similar to the wedding thing, yes. What I'll say and show you will seem crazy, though. It'll link our souls together so that no matter how far away we are from each other, we're bonded. It's a soulmate sort of thing, our souls entwined. It means we can't be spiritually separated unless there are desperate means, a painful process, might I add. We'll barely sense the other's intense emotions, but that's about as freaky as that gets. After we drink, I'll tell you what you want to know, and the bond will prevent you from spilling to outsiders."

"Why does it not affect you?" Yoongi is unfazed, trying to keep his cool so that you don't suddenly get cold feet.

"It's my secret- and it does affect me, seeing as I'm going to be bonded to your ass for the rest of eternity," you huff. "You still in?"

"Fuck yeah," Yoongi says crassly, a sideways grin spreading across his face, growing more so once he sees you mimic it. "Let's do this."

Your arms intertwine, and you both tilt your head back, taking a shot of the bitter liquid. You were right, it was bitter. Yoongi felt as though he were taking a cumshot.

After your arms loosen, both of you wag your tongues out, trying to get the bitter taste out of your mouth.

"Dear god, that's disgusting. Remind me never to tell you any secrets that I can't risk getting out," Yoongi spat.

You coughed and sputtered, nodding your head at the statement. Once you both calmed down, your breathing evening, you huff.

Yoongi waits patiently for what you're about to say.

"I'm a witch," you say. "Magical, that is. My entire family is and we live among you all."

Well, that wasn't what he was expecting.

"So, like, the pointy top hat and everything? And a broom?" Yoongi cackled. "Were you seriously just doing all of this to scare me away? Bullshitting me?"

You snap your fingers, and suddenly Yoongi is being sat in a chair, a cushy sofa sliding forward to catch him. You smirk in amusement at his expression, and suddenly furniture begins to move in every which way, books flying off of shelves literally, flapping as though they had wings. Lamps flickered on and off, and the fireplace came to life, quite literally.

"Well well well, we've got a guest! Thought you were the antisocial type, Miss Y/N."

"Yoongi, I'd like you to meet my fireplace, Maximus. Maximus, my new soulmate."

The fireplace roared, flames reaching higher and curling around the cavern of its encampment. "You're not saying-"

"I did."

"Y/N, how could you?"

"Why not?" You huff, staring over at Yoongi's expression. "You can see why I was hesitant, can't you? Don't worry, if you want I can make you forget all of this ever happened. I have an elixir for almost everything in the pantry."

"That doesn't change the fact that your souls are bonded together!" Maximus reminded you, scowling.

"It was the only way to make sure he couldn't possibly blab even if he tried!" you argued. "He was persistent and..."

"And what?" Maximus scowled.

"And maybe I wanted a friend, ok? All the others think of me as some sort of freak, and it's hard having a fireplace as the only thing to talk to," you said quietly. Your eyes widen at your outburst, and you turn to Yoongi. "I'm sorry. I should be focusing on you. I'm sure this is all a shock to you."

Yoongi blinked a bit, slowly processing everything. You were a witch. Magic was real. Your fireplace was alive.

You began to panic, hyperventilating, your breathing heavy and voice shaky. With wide eyes, you begin to tremble, tears rolling down your cheek as your mind got the best of you. "You want to forget everything already, don't you? God, I regret this. I shouldn't have dragged you into this, but I was so selfish and I wanted a friend because I was lonely and God-"

"Y/N, Y/N, shh, calm down," Yoongi said, gently grasping your upper arms, running his hands up and down as though to soothe you. He gives you a warm smile, genuine and comforting, and little by little your breathing began to ease. "It's ok. Cool it. I understand. I don't regret finding out, and I'm more than interested to be your friends, magic and all. It's a bit much to process, but I can tell you upfront that it doesn't change how I feel. No sweat!"

You wipe away at the hot tears that had rolled down your cheeks, cracking a soft smile. "So you're ok with this? Me, being magic? Witches and all this stuff? You don't think it's weird? You still want to be my friend?"

Yoongi laughed at that, feeling elated, as though it were the start of a new beginning. It felt like the first few seconds when you get strapped into a ride, about to begin. "Everyone's varying levels of weird; you just have to find someone who's compatible."

You laugh at that, your tense shoulders beginning to visibly ease.

"So, tell me more about this magic thing."

-

It was the beginning of your budding friendship with Yoongi, and he found himself more enamored and fascinated than he could've believed. It was a whole new world to discover, one hidden beneath everyone's nose.

You and Yoongi had found yourselves in the woods, a frequent place for you and he to have your discussions. You weren't so comfortable with hanging out with him in public just yet, unused to stares and curious glances, people wanting to know more about you beyond the vague facts. Rumors would spread, ones far more tangible than the others, and all would pertain to Yoongi. Relationship? Blackmail? Family? You weren't prepared for the sort of rumors everyone else was usually talking about.

Yoongi didn't mind. He was patient. It was alright if he couldn't take you to the sock hops he frequented. Though, he was curious if you knew how to work a jukebox. He only wanted you to feel more comfortable around him, and if that meant alone, then so be it.

You were reading from a dusty textbook, which Yoongi would soon come to discover was a book of spells. It was in a language he couldn't decipher, though the pictures could show what one was trying to accomplish. It had many things from curses, jinxes, and potions. He supposed he would study rigorously too if it pertained to magic. What was better, learning to hold fire in one's palm, or memorize the digits of pi?

Yoongi's head nestled in your lap, the first time the two of you had even attempted to put some physical intimacy in your relationship. Yoongi had questioned if it was alright, and though you were nervous, you accepted.

So far, what Yoongi had learned about you wasn't beyond comprehension. Your anxiety could run from subtle to severe at times, and you weren't very self-assured. It mainly pertained to the fact that you had no friends, no one to really talk to or engage with regularly. Yoongi wondered if your friendship together would let you grow and become less socially awkward, perhaps letting you get more confidence.

"So how come witches and wizards don't just take over the world? Or come out of hiding? It must be exhausting having to hide your true self on a day to day basis."

"It's easier to stay in hiding so that both races can peacefully coexist. Last time our kind tried to reveal themselves was the Salem Witch Trials, and we know how that went. None of the actual witches were caught, but it did erupt havoc and destroy hundreds of lives. It wouldn't have happened if the witches in question were more careful. Besides, humans have gotten so far with their technology that it would completely detonate or destroy both races, what with their atom bombs and such. It's a lot less goopy to let both coexist, especially considering the fact that we're pretty integrated and many of us control things from behind the scenes. Not everything has to be solved with violence."

"Besides that," you continued, "there's a bit of a stigma about your people. We try to avoid mingling with you at all costs. Wizardkind has some sort of belief that humans are dangerous in their own right, simply spreading hatred and destroying everything in their wake. Besides that, they'd get greedy of the wizards' power, and seek it for themselves. I do agree with that bit to a degree, but I don't think they're as evil as perceived. My parents told me that there's good and bad to everything, which I think is right. You spread hatred, but there's some of you that spread love. I think those few are worth saving the group for."

"Seems like the opposite of the 'one bad apple ruins the bunch' phrase, hm?" Yoongi hummed.

You shrugged. "You're one of the good apples. I wouldn't want to punish you for your group's actions."

"You have a point there, I suppose," Yoongi agreed. Don't judge the group by the person, or the person by the group. "

"A lot of bloodsheds could've been prevented if people listened to those wise words," you muse whimsically.

"So how much is it that you know?"

"The basics, I suppose. And then some. I guess you'd have to specify," you say, playing with the fabric of your skirt. "There are different kinds of magic to specify in, you know. Some specify in potions, others in charms. There's light magic and dark magic, and while neither is necessarily evil, one is far more dangerous than the other. And of course, there are varying degrees of skill and such."

"So what are you best at, per se?" Yoongi inquired. "I see you more so as a jack of all trades, honestly."

You smile softly at that. "I'll take that as a compliment." You mull over it for a moment. "It's true, anyone can learn any particular skill, so long as they've got the magic running through their veins. Each family specializes in something. But there's a kind of talent that goes along with it that's necessary for one to excel. Sort of like how someone can be great at the piano and be only subpar at drawing, no matter how much they practice."

"So what's your talent?"

You press your lips together in a firm line. "I still have yet to really find that out. I'm young, so I've got a long way to go. My family specialized in the dark arts in particular."

Yoongi sits up at that. "You mean your family was of dark wizards?"

"I wouldn't necessarily say that. There is a stigma around wizards like us, but we aren't evil. I mean, they weren't," you correct yourself. "It's more dangerous though and looked down upon. Most wizards don't dare to even venture into it."

"What does it consist of?" Yoongi questioned. "Occult sort of things?"

"Somewhat," you shrug. "It can vary. Curses and hexes, some jinxes. Some of it is darker, though. Like raising people from the dead or speaking to them. There are some spells to make someone go insane, or control them."

"Have your parents taught you any of it? Or do you just know some from the book."

You purse your lips. "I don't really touch that sort of thing. We've got a small shelf in our library of those, but I try to avoid it."

"How come? It's sort of part of your heritage."

"Exactly," you sigh, "I mean... it reminds me of my parents."

Yoongi's face softens at that. "Oh... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

You shake your head, the sorrowful expression on your face being wiped off with a smile. "No, it's fine. I told you I'd answer any questions you have, and I meant it. We're friends, right? Friends tell each other these sorts of things."

Yoongi nods stiffly at that. "Yeah. I just didn't mean to pry."

"It's alright," you assure him. "What about you? We've spent too much time talking about me. I want to know about your family."

"There's not much to know. We aren't nearly as interesting as you guys," Yoongi shrugs. "I've got a younger brother named Yohan, and he's in... what is it, fourth, fifth grade? Yeah. He's nine."

"That's sweet," you smile softly. "I always wanted a younger sibling."

"Don't bother, they're annoying as hell," Yoongi scoffed. "Anyways, my dad has some office job downtown. Involves a lot of paperwork and seems boring as hell. Something to do with a lot of numbers. My mom's the most interesting, being a cancer survivor and all."

Your eyes light up at that. "You're kidding!"

"No, she is. She won't let me forget it, too. Every time I forget to clean my room or complain she uses it against me," Yoongi laughs. "Though I suppose she has the right to."

"I would too, if I were her," you tell him honestly. "I'm glad she's better now, though."

"So am I," Yoongi says. "What about your parents? When they were alive, if you don't mind me asking."

Your expression softens at that, no longer as bright. "They were... odd. I know that sounds weird coming from me. My mom was very stern and strict, having to teach me with discipline. She was a bit judgemental in my opinion, from what I remember, that is. My father was a lot more light-hearted, a bit more on the whimsical side. My father would make sure my mother wasn't always nagging and loosened up, and my mother made sure my father stayed grounded on Earth."

"How did they pass?" Yoongi questions.

"Automobile accident," you tell him. "Flip-top was old and unreliable, and my father was never one for human inventions. It's surprising it didn't happen earlier."

Yoongi's brows furrow. "I'm sure the papers would've reported that. No one else knows they're gone."

You tense up at that but shrug your shoulders. "Probably because they never left the house, anyway. The accident happened in another town anyway, so it wouldn't be reported here. Not that these nuclear families would care."

Yoongi opens his mouth to apologize, afraid that he had offended you, but you cut him off. "I apologize- that was crass," you say quickly. "I know I sound bitter, but it's just because I've been so distant from the rest of you. Regular people... it's discouraged from mingling with them any further than necessary, anything more than just blending in. My parents were adamant on that rule, and I had been sheltered so long that I grew to somewhat resent all of the others. Sure, they weren't exactly outreaching by any means, but I'm sure being aloof wasn't the best option. But I'm learning with you now, and I'm glad to do so."

Yoongi was oddly touched by your words, and he shifts on the grass, sitting closer next to you to bump his shoulder against your own. "I'm glad to be friends with you too," he says, wondering if it were too soon for him to admit that during this budding friendship.

You smiled, beaming at him, and soon his chin was resting on your shoulder as the two of you studied the pages of your textbook together.

-

"So, you've gotten pretty close to Yoongi, huh?"

You had been cornered in the middle of the hallway before your locker, your bright purple dress of the day making you easy to find. You automatically flinch at the sound of the locker slamming shut, Eunwoo's perfectly manicured hand splayed across the surface.

Your lungs felt tight, anxiety running high. You were a very anxious person, truth be told, though you weren't sure how much of that as you or just the fact that you were a preteen. Nevertheless, your heartbeat thundered in your ears, and you yearned for any way out. You were one to buckle under pressure or scamper away, anything to avoid confrontation. This wasn't an exception.

You couldn't say that you didn't see this coming, though. Only a week after befriending and hanging out with Yoongi, and you were being harassed. In a vicious cage known as middle school, popularity was everything, so it made sense that two alpha girls like Eunwoo's and Nayoung were here to put you in your proper place as prey.

Yoongi was one of the quieter guys who didn't seem that popular, yet every girl and guy liked. Sure, he wasn't super outgoing and outstanding, but perhaps it was his broody and casual demeanor- more accurately his looks- that just had prepubescent teens swooning left and right.

Eunwoo and Nayoung, the latter having a thing for him since elementary school since he kissed Seungyeon on the monkey bars, were no exception.

"Yes," you squeaked, hugging your books to your chest tightly. You were suddenly very self-conscious, staring down at your muddy, worn boots, soiled from the rain that morning. Your dress was barely being held together by safety pins, and you looked like you were a five year old attempting to play dress up.

Eunwoo towered over you, glaring down at you as Nayoung supported her at the back. She pokes the center of your chest, jabbing it roughly, as though daring you to meet her eye. You didn't. "What makes you so special, huh? You're just some nerd whose probs a secret Red. Regular commie who won't even make it anywhere in life."

"Why don't you quit the bit. Yoongi shouldn't have dirt like you rubbing onto his name," Nayoung snickered. "You're cruisin' for a bruisin' at this rate. I'd figure someone like you wouldn't be so fast, but I guess it's the only way for you to get anyone to like you. Slut."

You feel tears spring up in your eyes, and you try to choke them down. Your throat is tight, constricting around the lump as you do your best not to bawl. You wish to scream that you're not sleeping with Yoongi, that you just wanted to be a friend, but you had to contain yourself. Whenever your emotions got the best of you, your magic tended to burst out. You struggled already to contain it.

"Why don't you squares leave her alone," someone pipes up. The three of you look up to Yoongi, walking up to you only to sling an arm around your shoulders, tugging you close to his body in a protective manner. "You're just bugging her because you got clutched last Friday- everyone knows. Everyone also thinks that you're not destined to be anything more than paper shakers in the future, so why don't you do yourself a favor and split."

Eunwoo and Nayoung's faces turned bright red, both wishing to say something. True enough, both did split, stomping away. Yoongi turned to you, beaming. His expression morphs into worry, however, and he wipes away some of the tears you didn't realize had slid down your cheeks.

"Hey, don't cry, I've got this. I might not hold up well during a physical fight, but I've gotten pretty good at insulting people. One of the benefits of having a sibling," he chuckled. "You doing ok?"

You nodded, wiping your cheeks with your sleeves. "Yeah. You didn't have to do that, though. I don't want to burden you."

Yoongi scoffed at that. "Nonsense. What're friends for?"

He walked you to your classroom, and you were unable to conceal your smile the entire way. Yoongi was a true friend, through and through, it seemed.

-

"C'mon, I trust you!" Yoongi insisted. "It'll be fine. You need someone to practice on anyway."

"I'm not going to doom my best friend to the life of a toad!" you scowl back, crossing your arms. "It's not even my family's specialty- it isn't in my blood."

"You have yet to even tell me what said specialty is," Yoongi huffed.

The two of you were fourteen now, two years into the friendship. It was the summer before high school, both of you more than ready to move onto the next stage of adolescence. Throughout the two years, you and Yoongi had bonded, becoming attached to the hip practically. Many thought the two of you were going steady, but without a pin to prove it, they remained rumors.

The two of you let them stay rumors, merely enjoying each other's company. Little did they know that you and Yoongi were spending days together practicing spells and such.

Most of the time it was you practicing your spells with him, Yoongi acting as both a guinea pig and support system. Your adolescent anxiety had become a bit less prominent, your confidence slowly building with Yoongi's constant boosts. Other times Yoongi would drag you out dancing, putting in three plays of Elvis Presley's Don't Be Cruel. Yoongi would always laugh and spin you around on these days, making you scream in delight when he'd dip you in surprise. You got to see a side of Yoongi that wasn't stoic and cool, instead releasing a goofball who deeply cared for his loved ones. And in turn, he gave you confidence and moral support.

This was one of the days where Yoongi was pushing your boundaries, encouraging you to do one of the more difficult spells of transfiguration- the act of transforming one thing into another. In this case, he wanted to make you into a toad.

The two of you had already done many things magic-related together. From making potions and singing his eyebrows to extreme levitation spells where Yoongi got stuck on the ceiling for a day, and you had to float pieces of cereal and such up to him while he flew from wall to wall in attempts to get the spell to wear down quicker.

"No! What if I can't turn you back?"

"I believe in you! You just let your anxiety get the best of you sometimes and panic. It doesn't have to be a toad... Make it a cat or something. You like cats, right?"

"Yoongi, you're allergic to cats."

"I doubt I'll be allergic to myself," Yoongi huffed. "Look, remember how when we first started doing this you weren't able to do so much as ignite a flame? Now you're able to do love potions and levitation spells! You've improved so much, and practice makes perfect. I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't believe you could do it."

You frowned, taming your frizzy hair out of nervousness, mulling it over. "I don't know..."

Yoongi, however, could tell you were giving in. You were weak to the knees when it came to him, and he knew it. He let out a triumphant, gummy grin, knowing he was wearing you down. "It's the next chapter of your textbook, we can't just skip. Y/N, imagine how soft my ears will be. You know you'll want to pet me."

You grimaced. "Don't say it like that!"

"You're right, you want to pet me even when I'm in human form," Yoongi joked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Oh my god, I'll do it if you just shut up, pervert!" you exclaimed, your face turning bright red. You put on your goggles, strapping them over your face.

Yoongi had asked you once why you always put them on since they weren't needed. You told him that it was an old habit your father did when he did magic, and the goggles were his last gift to you before your parents' untimely demise.

Neither of you tried to dwell on that, though, knowing the past wasn't the best thing to be stuck in. Especially considering how dark yours tended to be. Yoongi could peel back the layers if he wanted, and though he knew there was more you were possibly hiding, he didn't pry. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to know.

Yoongi laughed heartily at that, watching you with delight. He'd never admit this to you, but he always found you absolutely enchanting when you did magic. Your eyes seemed to glow from within, the tips of your fingers turning gold as it flowed through you. The ends of your hair would float above your hair, flickering like a flame. With a sweep of your arms and uttering of a language that Yoongi failed to comprehend, Yoongi was suddenly thrust with a beam of dark purple.

He felt his limbs and body shrink, his clothes falling around him on the floor, and your small frame got unusually bigger... and bigger... and bigger. It wasn't until he was on all fours and staring up at you that he realized the transformation was complete.

He was a jet black cat.

You, on the other hand, had squeezed your eyes shut when you did the spell, only now opening your eyes to spare a peek at your creation. You immediately let out squeals of awe at the furry creature before you, scooping Cat-Yoongi into your arms and petting him, scratching behind his ears as he purred.

"Aren't you the cutest little thing!" you cooed. "I'm tempted to keep you this way so that I won't have to listen to your yapping anymore."

Cat-Yoongi hissed at that, and you laughed, scratching the bottom of his chin as you put him down. "I'm joking, I'm joking. I'm sure I'd be weird for even witch standards if my best friend was a cat."

"You did well on this one, Miss Y/N," Maximus complimented, his flames flickering. "Though you need to remember to keep your eyes open. You can't flinch and be scared of your own spells- what if you aimed wrong and hit someone else when performing a spell?"

"I won't have to worry about that for a bit. The self-defense and attacking spells aren't for another twenty chapters or so," you say.

"True, but at the rate, you're moving it'll be within only a few months," Maximus responded. "Now, try to keep your eyes open while you transform him back."

"Do I have to?" you pondered, Cat-Yoongi brushing between your legs affectionately. "Wait a minute- you better not be looking under my skirt, you heathen!"

Maximus chuckled, your fireplace finding your accusation amusing. "All the more reason to transform him back."

"Fine," you huffed, stepping back. Cat-Yoongi stood back at the spot he was at previously, cocking his head to the side to peer at you with those big round eyes of his. You gushed inside, knowing all too well you'd be performing this spell later on. You do the steps in reverse, and the moment your encantation leaves your lips the beam hits Yoongi square in the chest, and he's transformed back into his human form.

Naked.

"Gah! Put some clothes on!" You yank your goggles back over your head, covering your eyes as you turn to give him privacy.

"Don't look! Don't look!" Yoongi cried, hastily putting on his clothes in embarrassment.

Your fireplace only cackled wickedly at the scene that played out before him, the two of you embarrassed beyond belief.

-

You're fifteen when you tell Yoongi that you love him.

You didn't know why you did it. The two of you had been best friends for about three years now- things were going good.

Why'd you screw it up like this?

The truth was that you had a crush on Yoongi. A big fat crush that seemed to loom over you whenever you were in his presence. You had these feelings since forever, it seemed. You always thought he was cute- one of the reasons you went out of your way to save him when he was being taunted by bullies. Well, that and the goodness of your heart, you supposed.

Figures that it's the guy you were most attracted to in your prepubescent phase that you end up befriending.

So when the two of you became friends, you worked to suppress the feelings. He was your only friend- you didn't want to screw it up as you did everything else. Besides, boys were gross, you knew that. You were only distracted by his looks, and once you got to know all the disgusting details that came with friendship, surely the feelings would die down.

Right?

And yes, you learned many disgusting details. Yoongi was an idiot in many things, as it turned out. He'd leave his underwear around on the floor and give his little brother wet willies whenever he'd bug the two of you about dating, singing that kissing song until Yoongi popped his finger in his ear.

But despite the repulsive side to your best friend, you fell more. He was charming when he was allowed to be, soft and shy at times, but always honest and blunt. He saw things for more than what they appeared to be, despite what everyone else thought.

No matter, you thought. The two of you were going through puberty- no doubt he'd get ugly. You'd stay best friends with him of course, but surely your feelings for him were shallow and purely based on appearance. He'd become greasy-faced and lanky, being too tall and too shiny.

But no- God had decided to torture you. Instead of puberty hitting him like a bus, Yoongi eased into a handsome state. His jawline became sharper, shoulders became broader, and he sprouted like a weed, though not too tall for you to barely be able to make out his face in the clouds. He seemed to suit the present trends, wearing leather jackets and finally doing his hair instead of the mussed updo he adorned. You looked back on the photos of the two of you on your mantelpiece, wondering how you possibly found that little barnacle attractive when you were a preteen, at least in comparison to how he looked now.

You had to face the facts: you were undeniably, irrevocably, and totally in love with your best friend Min Yoongi.

Yet here you were, years of keeping your feelings at bay, only to blurt them out suddenly.

The two of you were watching an I Love Lucy rerun at his house since your own lacked a television. His family was asleep, and you spent so much time at each other's houses that none of them suspected much. If you two were to date, wouldn't you have done it already?

You were both planning a sleepover for the night. The grease was out of Yoongi's hair, and the two of you were wearing the matching cat pajamas you had bought shortly after the cat incident- a spell you'd use frequently. He knew it was the easiest way for you to cheer up when you were having a bad day, and there was nothing better than having Cat-Yoongi purring in your lap, sleeping as your sorrows melted away.

You and Yoongi were laughing at the part where Lucy got drunk on national television. He was shaking, his eyes squinting and gummy smile showing. You admired his happy look, noticing how he positively glowed in the light of the twelve-inch screen.

Which brought you to this moment.

"I love you."

Yoongi froze, looking up at you. "What?"

Your face flushed, and you were suddenly very self-conscious of the angel. He could probably see your double chin from this angle. You scoot away, letting his head fall to the cushions as you stammer to correct yourself. "A-As a best friend of course. Not anything weird l-like being in love with you or anything."

"Oh... right."

"I-I don't know why I said that. I made you uncomfortable, I'm sure. I blurted it out without thinking what it sounded like, and I'm really so-"

"I love you, too."

You freeze at that, looking up at him. His eyes have met yours, and he was sitting up now. There was a silence between the two of you, only filled with the noise from the TV.

"What?" you say, your voice a hushed whisper.

"I love you, too," he repeats, just as clear as before.

You light up, but your heart sinks again. He meant as a friend, of course. It was only to make you feel better.

"Do you mean that?" you question, voice soft.

"Of course I do. What would I do without you?" He slings an arm over your shoulders and hugs you to his body, pressing a kiss to your temple. "We're friends, after all."

Your heart sinks into your stomach, but your nerves have eased along with the embarrassment. You instead melt into his embrace, trying to seem happy still. "Yeah, best friends."

-

The two of you are sixteen when the prospect of a relationship finally comes up.

Yoongi had thought about it from time to time, of course. The two of you were in your sophomore year of high school, and while the two of you had grown a bit from your prepubescent ways, you were both close.

Yoongi ventured more to the greaser side, adorning leather jackets and checking out sock hops regularly. His new rag top was swinging, the car souped up due to some of your fancy spells. The cherry red color did well to attract girls to bring to the passion pit, the two of them usually necking and doing the ol' back seat bingo at the drive-in movies.

You, on the other hand, had become a bit more approachable. A bigger school meant bigger crowds, some more accepting at that. Perhaps it helped when Yoongi got you new threads before the start of high school, the two of you spending nights together sewing and forming clothes that'd fit you properly. You still wore your oversized goggles and boots, but with your favorite well-fitting pale, candle-like yellow dress that made your skin glow and the curves you developed, you were becoming a babe yourself. Gone was the naive girl who wouldn't look up from her own feet, but rather a developing woman who was becoming confident in her own abilities.

You and Yoongi were still well known best friends, despite being on the opposite sides. However, you had your own identities now. You were no longer known as the girl who hung at Yoongi's side, and he wasn't known as the one who took pity on the freak.

You were becoming yourselves.

However, neither of you were quite ready to admit your true feelings for one another- until a certain date came along.

Yoongi was hanging with the guys, helping them fix up their cars. All of them thought he was some sort of mechanical genius, but little did they know that there wasn't anything that your magic could do. That with melted butterfly wings and evaporated poison ivy (one of the smelliest potions Yoongi would come to find out).

He was helping Hoseok with his cruiser at the moment, Taehyung and Jimin out getting some food while the two of them worked on the rocket at hand. Hoseok's engine appeared to be having difficulty, and Yoongi could only do his best with what little information he actually did know. Couldn't risk his reputation, after all.

"Hey, Yoongs, I was sort of wanting to talk to you about something. It involves Y/N."

Yoongi froze, tense beneath the car. He scooted out, wiping some of the grease on his hands onto his white shirt. He had to stay composed. Worst case scenario, Hoseok had discovered what you actually were. Even that wouldn't be so bad, though. Out of all the hot rods that Yoongi hung out with, Hoseok seemed to be the least judgmental of you. Even back in the day, when you were an awkward preteen mess, Hoseok never spoke ill of you the way Taehyung or Jimin did, the teases.

"What about her?"

"Well, you two are friends right?" Hoseok appeared to be a bit cautious with his wording, as though afraid he'd set Yoongi off.

Yoongi only wore a blank expression. "Yeah, I'd say so. Best friends in fact."

"Yeah... So, are you like, anything more with her?" Hoseok wondered.

Yoongi' s heart stopped once he realized what Hoseok was trying to say. "You like Y/N?"

"Well, I mean yeah. I'm not, like, crazy for her or anything. I just think she's cute, y'know?" Hoseok explained. "But I wanted to ask you first because I wasn't sure whether or not you pinned her or anything. It wouldn't be cool to go after another guy's girl."

"Y/N isn't my girl," Yoongi clarified.

"So you'd be cool with me asking her out this weekend?" Hoseok asked, brightening up.

Yoongi gritted his teeth, anger swelling in his chest. "Yeah, sure dude. Whatever. Just don't fake out or anything. I don't want you to hurt her."

"You guys are close, huh?" Hoseok chuckled. "Didn't you call her your soulmate or something once?"

"Platonically speaking, I guess," Yoongi murmured. "We just get each other."

"I figured. You two were close since, what, middle school? I didn't think much of her back then, admittedly, but you did. It's like one day the two of you were strangers and the next you were all goo goo eyes. I thought you were whipped- hell, we all did. Thought you had her jacketed and everything. We were wrong, obviously, but even I have to admit she's a regular babe now."

"So you like her because she's attractive now?" Yoongi could hear the underlying malice in his tone, but he couldn't take it back even if he tried.

Hoseok put his hands up in false surrender. "Woah, dude, I didn't mean to offend you or anything. Don't get me wrong, she's nice and all as well. It's kinda hard to talk to her though. She's shy around everyone else but you, y'know. I wouldn't mind getting to know her well. Besides, if she really wanted someone who was there just for her personality, you two would've hit it off by now."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Sorry for snapping." What was wrong with him today? Something about you and Hoseok together seemed off to him. He didn't like the sound of it.

Hoseok clapped him on the back, grinning brightly. "Don't worry, Yoongs. Maybe we can double date someday or something. Didn't you lay one on Roa just two weeks ago? From what I heard she's dying to again. We could all see some flick together or something."

"I don't know, maybe. I'll think about it," Yoongi grumbled bitterly.

He was a mess.

-

You paced before Maximus, the fireplace crackling with each step you took. You fidgeted with your dress, smoothing wrinkles, playing with the hem.

"I don't understand why you're being so nervous. It's just a date," Maximus said. "Didn't you say Hoseok as a nice guy?"

"I know, I know. He is! I just..." You didn't know how to end the sentence.

"You wish it was Yoongi?"

"God, I'm pathetic, aren't I?" you whine, burying your face in your hands. "Here I am, pining over my best friend, all while some other guy is on his way to pick me up. I'd figure I'd be over it within four years."

"That's love, dear," Maximus hummed. "Some boys are just a bit more hesitant than others."

"Maybe this date is for the best," you pondered aloud. "It could help me move on, y'know? Friends shouldn't see each other as more than friends. It ruins the means of friendship and is irreversible."

"Do you really want to get over him, though?"

"I don't know!" you wail, throwing your hands up in the air. "I told Yoongi about the date, and he just said 'Congrats'. What does that mean?"

"Congratulations, I assume."

You bit your lip nervously. "Maybe I should call Hoseok and cancel the date. This is a bad idea-"

It was at that moment that your doorbell rang, and you jumped up, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Aren't you going to answer it?" Maximus questioned.

"Oh, right. Wish me luck," you said, grabbing your purse before heading to the door. You weren't sure if it was butterflies or dread filling your stomach.

-

You and Hoseok were at the sock hop, the two of you spinning around each other, your dress swishing around your legs. You weren't the best dancer, admittedly, but you came to find out that Hoseok could more than makeup for it. One moment you were grasping onto his leather jacket, stiff as a board, and the next moment your legs were in the air and your hands in his greased hair, doing your best to keep up with the music that was blaring throughout.

"See? You're not that bad!" Hoseok grinned, hands clasped in yours as you twisted your hips from side to side.

"Easy for you to say! You're barely breaking a sweat. I feel like I'll collapse any second!" you wheeze, earning a hearty laugh from Hoseok.

You expected to be awkward and stiff with Hoseok. Sure, you were less socially inept now than you were back in the day, but typically you were more on the introvert side with anyone other than Yoongi. Hoseok' s extroversion, however, seemed to draw out your looser side, one that you kept with Yoongi more often than not. Hoseok was the exact opposite of you in every way, yet you didn't seem to mind. Before long you actually began to enjoy yourself.

"You're fine," Hoseok laughed, giving you a twirl as you spun back into his arms. "You're a natural, trust me."

"You try it in heels," you huff, rolling your eyes.

"Alright, alright. Let's go out for a drive then, Granny, since you're so beat," he said jokingly.

"Oh thank God!" You fell into his arms in mock exasperation, and before long he was taking you in his cruiser. You were sipping on a milkshake, your hair blowing in the wind until the two of you stopped at the destination. It was a small ledge overlooking a lake, the moonlight shining above it.

"Are we in Lovers Lane?" you questioned, looking around at the other cars, all with other teenagers making out.

"Er- Yeah. I hope you don't mind," Hoseok said sheepishly.

"No, it's cool. I guess it's to be expected for a date," you nodded, trying to remain calm despite the fact that your heart was thundering in your chest. You didn't feel threatened by Hoseok. After all, you could whip out a smell that would do anything from fill his mouth with maggots to make him fall in love with a nearby tree. Then why were you so nervous?

Hoseok yawned, stretching his arms over his head to casually wrap one around your shoulders. He wiggled his brows at you, the two of you sharing a grin. "Smooth," you say, chuckling.

"Can I... Can I kiss you?" Hoseok questioned. "It's alright if you say no, I understand."

"Um... Sure."

You weren't sure what you expected. Maybe you thought he'd shove his tongue down your throat and start groping you. That's what you braced yourself for, at least.

He was surprisingly gentle, his lips pressing against yours with hesitancy, moving to give you time to get used to it. He moved in a way that told you he had the experience, the small breaks in between making out short lived. It wasn't long until you kissed him back, squeezing your eyes shut as he slipped his tongue inside your mouth.

One of his hands came up to grope your chest, and you didn't hate the sensation. Despite Hoseok's body on yours, however, you could only think of someone else.

You broke free, taking a deep breath. "I can't."

Hoseok stopped, stilling for a moment before returning to his seat, respecting your boundaries. "Did I do something?"

"No, you've done nothing. You've been perfect- an absolute gentleman. I really enjoyed my time with you, trust me. It's just that I..."

There was a pause between the two of you, silence hanging in the air.

"You love Yoongi," Hoseok finished for you.

You took in a deep breath. "Yeah," you admitted quietly.

Hoseok was silent for a moment. "I understand. You don't have to feel bad or anything. It's not your fault, y'know? Feelings are feelings. They aren't something you can really control. You can control reactions but not feelings, at least that's what I understand."

"I'm sorry if I led you on," you apologized. "If it were any other time, I could see myself falling for you."

"How come you agreed to the date then?" He didn't seem angry, just curious.

You sighed. "I don't know. Maybe to get over him? Unrequited love is still love... It makes you do crazy things."

There were a few more seconds of silence before Hoseok started abruptly laughing. Tears were in his eyes, and he clutched his stomach. You fumed, looking to him. "What's so funny?"

"You're just so oblivious! Both of you!" Hoseok exclaimed. "Yoongi likes you, too. He's crazy about you. He looked like he wanted to kill me when I asked him if it was OK to ask you out. I just figured if he wouldn't make a move then I would- but this? This takes the cake!"

You froze at that, frosted but confused. "Yoongi likes me?"

"That's an understatement."

You blinked in surprise. "I... I had no clue. I thought I was just a friend to him."

"Don't worry, I'm sure he had the same doubts about your feelings towards him. I won't tell him, but I suggest you do," Hoseok smiled, his face warm. "After all, the night's still young, and so are we. Time is the one thing that you can't get back."

You smiled, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you, Hoseok."

"Thanks for letting me cup a feel."

-

The last thing Yoongi had expected for you to do after your date was climb through his window.

He had been beating himself up all day for letting Hoseok ask you out, imagining the two of you doing god knows what. Why was he such a coward?

Yoongi liked you, yes, but his ego was too sensitive to handle the possibility of rejection. Especially at the prospect of losing his best friend.

He still thinks back on the day you told him you loved him. He had been so elated, your confession sounding so real until you corrected to yourself. You loved him as a friend. That's all he'd ever be to you.

So he kept it at that.

Still, it was surprising when you, a girl once so filled with anxiety she made him her soulmate to ensure he'd be silent about her secret, was the one who finally spoke up about the romantic tension between the two.

"Yoongi?"

The hoarse whisper woke him, and he rolled over, seeing you sitting on the windowsill, your finger lit like a candle to show a light. Your face was barely illuminated, and you stared at him through the dark.

The two of you had snuck in through each other's windows before. It was riskier for Yoongi, though, since he had parents and a little brother. It was easier for you because you could use levitation instead of climbing up vines similar to the ones that grow along the side of your house.

"Hey," he whispered back, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, trying to wake himself from his slumber-deprived state. "What's up? How was your... date with Hoseok."

"It was fine, I guess. I had a good time. It's over now," you said quietly.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping then? I'm sure he wore you out," Yoongi grumbled, trying to contain the bitterness in his voice.

Oddly enough, you revealed a small smile. "Sorry I just... I couldn't sleep."

"Wanna sleep next to me then?" Another common occurrence between you two.

"I can't. I mean, wait... No. It's not that," you said, sucking in a breath as you tried to find the right words. "I want to talk to you."

"Oh." Yoongi was fully awake now. "About what?"

"Us."

The word hung in the air for a moment, perspiring between the two of you as he soaked it in.

You were the first to break the silence. "Yoongi, I've been thinking about this for a long time. Four years, to be exact. You're my best friend, through and through, and our souls are bonded and such. But I know this doesn't have anything to do with that... What I feel for you isn't caused by any spell or potion or whatnot. I know I'm rambling but my point is that I can't see you as just a friend- or even a best friend for that matter. I've always seen you as more."

"I... I didn't know that." God, Yoongi was stupid. He had received confessions before, but something made his lungs squeeze with yours.

"I tried to go out with Hoseok. I tried to place my feelings for you onto him- yet when he kissed me I could only see you. I realized then that these feelings won't just fade. But what am I supposed to do then? Just... wait?

"You're going to leave for college in two years, and I'm going to leave for official witching school and whatnot around the same time. Our souls will be bonded, but even I know we only have a limited amount of time left before we'll have to separate- temporary or permanent. And I got to thinking why we never tried anything..." You let in a deep breath, as though trying to calm yourself. "I feel like a kid again, but I've been having thoughts of why we never even tried or discussed it. Stuff like you thinking I was ugly or weird and such and such... Long story short... Why haven't we tried... us?"

Yoongi thought about it for a moment and answered as honestly as he could. "I guess because I was scared."

"Scared?" you repeated, furrowing your brows. "Of me? Because I'm a witch?"

"No, not that," Yoongi clarified, slipping out of bed to step towards the window in front of you. He runs his hands through his messed up hair, a move that has your heart skip a beat. "Of us. You're my best friend, Y/N. You're my soulmate, literally. But what if you didn't like me back? What if we tried and it didn't work out? I didn't want to ruin everything we had built up. As you stated we only have two years left really, and then it's long distance. We'll still be bound, but how would that be if things were broken between us?"

"Yeah, you're right with those concerns," you nodded. "So... You've thought about it? Us being more than friends?"

"A lot," Yoongi admits. "More than I'd care to admit."

You chuckle a bit at that. "Me too."

You're silent for a few more moments before Yoongi speaks up. "So... we like each other or at least clarified it. Now what?"

You shrug at that. "That's up to us, I suppose. We can leave things as we are or... we can take a chance."

Your eyes meet, and Yoongi swallows hard. "Do you want to?"

"I really do. I don't think I've wanted anything more," you whisper quietly. "And you?"

"Same," he says softly. "I've wanted it for a long time."

He hadn't realized it, but the two of you had been moving closer and closer together, leaning in until your lips were mere centimeters apart. He could feel your soft breath, uneven.

Your unmatched hand reached for his own, shakily linking your fingers with his. "Yoongi?" you whisper, your voice faint as you stare into his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared."

"Me too."

Your lips attach at that point, softly brushing up against each other before slotting into place, feathery light and gentle. Yoongi cups your face, fingers threading through your hair as he gives in. The light is out, the two of you kissing in the dark, the moonlight acting as your sole witness.

You pull back, your eyes glistening with tears, tiny droplets caught in your lashes. Yoongi gives you an expression of worry. "Was that ok? Did I go too far?"

"No, I just," you wipe away the tear, giving a shaky smile. "I'm just really happy to be here with you right now, y'know? I'm so, so happy."

"So you have to go crying on me?" Yoongi teases, earning a playful slap to the chest from you.

"Shut up and kiss me again, idiot."

-

You and Yoongi settled into the diner, both of you holding onto the laminated menu's. Despite his now tough reputation, Yoongi felt as though he was a preteen again. Why was he so nervous? The two of you had been dating for a while now and had been best friends for even longer. There was no reason for him to have a cow over this.

"Are you ok, Yoongi?" you questioned, your expression soft.

"What? Yes, I'm perfectly fine. Why do you ask?" he questioned, trying to compose himself to avoid worrying you.

"You seem to have something on your mind, I suppose," you mumble. "We don't have to go out, you know. It's alright to just hang out. I know you're going through a rough time, with your Mom's cancer and all."

That's right. Two weeks ago the doctor told them that his mother's cancer had resurfaced- a devastating blow for all of them. Truthfully Yoongi was struggling to hold himself together through all of it. The guys would lose their shit if they knew Yoongi bawled like a baby in your arms, but all that went through Yoongi's mind was the last time they had to give treatment to his mother. She had gone through so much pain, becoming frail and weak. The entire family suffered.

Yoongi shook the memory away, instead offering a smile. "No, that's not what I'm thinking about. Well, I mean I am, but I'm thinking about something else as well."

"Oh, well talk to me then. Anything to help," you offered.

You really had been there for him through this. From a shoulder to cry on to a potion here and there to help with sleep. You were a godsend.

"Well, I was imagining this in a more romantic way, I suppose. Let's wait until the waiter comes."

You nodded, the waiter soon coming along to get your order. It was after the waiter dropped off the cherry cokes and cheeseburgers that you stared at Yoongi expectantly. "So? What is it?"

Yoongi sucked in a harsh breath. It didn't matter how much grease he had in his hair, how fast his car was, or how many leather jackets he wore- he was weak to the knees when it came to you.

He dug out a small pin from his pocket. "I figured since we were going steady, I'd finally get around to giving you this."

Your eyes widened with delight. "Your class pin?"

It was a big step in your relationship, that was for sure. Branded you as his in a sense, showed you were going steady. Official and all that jazz, so to speak. Yoongi nodded, and you squealed, leaning over the table to let him place the pin over your left breast, right above your heart.

You smiled warmly, giving him a peck on the lips before settling in your seat. You reached forward, placing his hands in your own. Yoongi's face went red, and his eyes did an automatic scan, making sure no one he knew was around to witness. He only got this soft for you.

"No matter what, we'll go through this together, ok? I'm here for you no matter what," you told him, your tone sincere.

"No matter what," he agreed wholeheartedly.

-

The two of you are 18 when you get your letters from college.

Dear Y/N, of the Mortem clan,

You are cordially invited to Magia, Academy for Witches and Wizards,

Your semester will start next fall. As it is a boarding institution, housing and food will be provided. We expect you to bring clothing and other necessities that you'll need for your studies. We've devised your schedule based on your skill set and heritage. Below will be the courses for the semester.

Intro to Familiars Advanced Potions Advanced Necromancy Standard Defense Spells Standard Charms Intro to Astronomy and Fortune Telling

We look forward to seeing you in the new school year.

Sincerely, Magia, Academy for Witches and Wizards

Yoongi stared down at the letter, analyzing it. He cleared his throat. "So, you're going, huh?"

"It's more or less mandatory. You're accepted if you've got magical abilities, regardless of whether or not you applied. They were always going to keep an eye on me because of my clan, anyway."

"Mortem? That's not your last name."

"Yes, but it's my bloodline. I've mentioned before how each family focuses on a single specialty- and that's the family I come from."

"What about familiars and necromancy? We've never practiced those."

"Familiars are usually something you dive into once you're of age. Difficult to handle one when you're only a teen. It's essentially a companion- a creature or animal that is by your side to help you with magic. You're spiritually linked, similar to how you and I are."

"And the necromancy?"

"Something I'll supposedly excel at, I suppose. The board of the academy typically knows more than I do," you shrug. "Now let me see yours."

It wasn't anything special, really. Just a letter to let Yoongi know he was accepted at the nearby college. Nevertheless, he handed you the letter, letting you analyze it. He tried to imagine you going to a normal college, learning normal topics. Perhaps the two of you would share a dorm together. Perhaps not. No matter how hard he tried to picture it, he knew you wouldn't be at place in the human setting.

"I'm really proud of you, Yoongi. It's a really good college- plus you'll be close to your mom. You worked hard for this. I didn't have to work for mine, but you really put yourself into this," you say, handing back the letter. "I know you'll do great things."

"Don't talk as though we'll be separated. I'm not sure if they'll let me visit witching school or whatever, but I'm sure you'll be able to drop by once in a while. Though  mine isn't nearly as impressive, I'm sure."

"We're bonded- we couldn't really even separate even if we tried," you hum softly.

Yoongi's quiet for a moment. He knew what you said was true, but the thought of you two being thousands of miles apart filled him with a sensation of melancholy. "Promise you'll send a letter every day? Or call?"

"I'll be sure to send a link through Maximus- he'll be coming with me. Not sure if you know but he's transportable, and the good thing about fire demons is they can help you communicate even through regular fire. I wouldn't recommend calling through your fireplace, but I'll give you a list of instructions to call me through a candle or something."

"God, just when I think that I've started to know a thing or two about magic, you surprise me with something else," Yoongi laughs.

The laughter dies, and your thoughts are tangible, hanging in the air.

"Well, we'll have to make the most of our summer," you note softly. "We'll stay in contact and all, but I know it won't be the same."

"You're not thinking about breaking up, are you?" Yoongi questions.

"No. But I'd understand if you'd want to. We're young- we're going to meet new people. You're very good with people and lord knows girls can't resist your type. I trust you, but I'd understand if you'd want something a bit more present. There's a lot I still won't be able to provide for you from miles away, and I'd understand. I'd love you no matter what and I'd wait for you," you tell him.

"No way. I don't want anyone other than you, and you should know that. We can make it work," he argues.

You shrug dully. "I know. I just... I don't want to hold you back, y'know? From a normal life just because you're with me. That kind of lifestyle isn't really obtainable with me, with how different we are."

"If I wanted normal I wouldn't have pestered you years ago, Y/N, you know that. Besides, if anything I'd think I'm holding you back from your true potential as a witch."

"That's a lie and you know it," you smile. "You've brought me out of my shell and much more. None of it would've been attainable without you."

"Well you bring out the potential in me, too," he replies.

"You're young, Yoongi. We're 18- do you really know what you want? Our whole lives are ahead of us- jobs, relationships, everything. Are we really ready for that commitment? To make those big decisions?" You think for a moment, sullen at the prospect of a life you don't want. "I don't want to be something you regret."

"Hey, look at me," Yoongi says, holding your hands in his and squeezing tightly. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, you know that? Who cares if we're young. We've got our whole lives ahead of us, sure, but I don't want to go through it without you."

"Are you sure about that, Yoongi? Forever's a long time. You might feel differently once I'm away," you tell him.

"I'll prove it. We can get married- right now! Go to a chapel and elope before the school year starts."

You laugh outright at that- a hearty, true one. "Now we're definitely too young for that."

"How so? My mom was pregnant with me when we were her age."

"Are you telling me you plan to knock me up, Yoongs?"

"Eventually, yeah. Maybe once we're older, though," he says

You smile, stroking his cheek before kissing him tenderly. "I'm going to miss you, you big idiot," you tell him, pressing your forehead against his.

"You're not gone yet," he reminds you, combing his fingers through your hair. "We've got all summer, baby, and then some."

"Let's make the most of it."

-

The two of you were watching the new release of Romeo and Juliet at a drive-in theater, the two of you sitting in the backseat of Yoongi's cruiser, his arm slung over your shoulders as he pulled you close to him. The summer air had cooled a few degrees along with the night, the screen illuminating along with the moon.

"Y'know, I never liked this play. Kill me, I mean it's still his best, but like... Weren't they kids? They were pulling some Lolita shit back then, too," Yoongi notes, his eyes on the screen. All you could do was giggle in response.

You loved these kinds of dates with Yoongi. It was the first date he took you on, now that you recall. The two of you were watching a reshowing of The Sound of Music, a movie Yoongi would later tell you he could barely tolerate despite Julie Andrews' brilliant performance.

Now that you think about it, a drive-in movie was also the first time the two of you had begun to get physical. You could recall the moment as if it were yesterday- the two of you watching some new Disney film as he fingered you in the car.

You felt heat pool in your stomach, and your thighs press together. You turn to him, nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck affectionately before giving small sucks and nibbles. It was always your tell, as you both knew it riled him up.

Yoongi sucked in a harsh breath. "Baby, can't we wait until after the movie?"

"But Daddy..."

Yoongi tensed.

That was it- the golden word. There was a fine line between Yoongi and Daddy, and it was whenever you said the magic word that the beast would be unleashed. You still remember how you had teased him, on a night before you two had even started dating. You both snuck his dad's beer and went onto the rooftop, drinking about what it'd be like once the two of you were older. Somehow the topic got to kinks, a taboo subject for your time. Hell, people weren't even supposed to say the word pregnant on TV! And yet the two of you whispered and giggled, and he confessed in a drunken state that he always had a thing for the term, something he had learned from one of his male friends.

After delving into your sex life together, you found out you liked it too.

"You sure you want to do this right here, baby? Where anyone can see?"

"I'll be quiet," you promise, flicking your tongue over the curve of his jaw. "I want you."

"I've got such an insatiable slut, don't I?" he questions, his voice a low rasp as he soon pins you down in the back seat. You suck in your breath, the two of you diving out of view from other movie goers. Still, if they were to walk over and see what was going on in the convertible, you two would be dead.

All worries pass, however, as Yoongi hitches your shirt up over your bra, revealing your underwear beneath the layers of fabric. He's quick to stuff your bra over your tits, letting them spill out, your panties landing on the car floor shortly after. Still, your dress remained on, quick to put down in case someone were to see what was happening.

Yoongi presses his lips against yours, his long fingers traveling down your body. You mewl as the digits slide up your folds, toying with your clit in a way that had your legs quiver on either side fo him. He played with you for a bit, swallowing any delicious moans that dared to escape your lips, before plunging a finger inside.

"So wet already, huh?" He chuckles, adding another without hesitation. "But we've got to be quick, babe. Can't let anyone else see what's mine, isn't that right? You know what that means."

You nod, your eyes wide with anticipation. "Please eat my ass, Daddy."

"How can I say no to that?" He smirks, spreading your legs wide to bury his face between your thighs. Upon closer inspection, he notices that some of your arousal had started to spill down your cheeks, adding as an extra bit of lube for his upcoming meal. "My messy little girl. You're gonna make a mess of the car, aren't you?"

You aren't even able to pathetically whine once his tongue is lapping over the puckered hole, collecting the juices that had dribbled down. He let it lay on his tongue, not swallowing a single drop before the pink muscles started to work around the rim, slowly entering the puckered hole.

The easiest way to get you wet was for him to eat your ass- nothing turned you on more. Perhaps it was because of how good it surprisingly felt, the lewdness of it all, or just the fact that Yoongi was doing it. Nevertheless, you shudder as a result, gushing for him so that more arousal landed on his awaiting tongue.

By the time he was done his face was drenched, from the tip of his nose being buried in your cunt to the bottom of his chin. He was a delectable sight, and you welcomed him with open arms as he smashed his lips against yours. You buried your hands through the gelled up locks, gripping onto the leather sleeves as he undoes his belt.

You feel the blunt head of his cock running along your folds, and you buck your hips up eagerly to meet his. He pushes inside, finding it an easy, though snug fit. The two of you moan, though his hand clasps over your mouth to silence you.

"Shh, pretty girl. You're gonna have to be real quiet for Daddy, ok? I'm gonna fuck you nice and hard, just like you wanted, but you can't make a single peep."

You nod dumbly, his palm still on your lips as he begins to rock into you. Your eyes roll at the delicious feeling, his pelvic bone pressing against you in just the right way. It doesn't take long for him to find his rhythm, and a few seconds more and he finds your sweet spot, hitting it again and again once he knows he found it.

"You're such a -mmf- good fu-fucking girl for Daddy, aren't you?" He grunts with each thrust, feeling the way your nails rake into his arms even throguh the leather. "My good little witch, huh?"

Your pussy clenches around him like a vice, sucking him back in as your hips rock back against his. You're sure by now people can notice the car rocking back and forth along with his thrusts, seeing how much force and vigor he's putting into it. You don't care though, the upcoming bliss threatening to push you over the edge.

"Are you close for Daddy already?" he questions, his voice a low rasp. "Are you gonna come all over this cock? Cream on my dick and get me nice and wet?"

Your eyes roll back once he places the hand that was on your mouth instead along the column of your throat, lightly squeezing. Your impending high comes over you as he pulls out, his hand repeatedly slapping against your quivering cunt as juices started to spray over him, ruining his pants and the car seats along with it. Yoongi didn't seem to care much, though. It wasn't the first time you squirted all over the nice seats- but there were helpful spells for that.

"Fuck, that's it, soak me, baby. Look what a mess my nasty little girl made for her Daddy," he cooes.

You ride the high, your breath uneven as you feel the bliss slowly die down, a comfortable, post-orgasmic buzz still looming through you.

"You alright, Y/N? You came pretty hard," Yoongi cooes, his dominant persona halting in place of your considerate boyfriend.

You still see the straining erection, though, glistening in the moonlight with your juices.

You beckon him closer, curling your fingers in mid-air similar to how he was inside of you. "You didn't get to cum."

"It's alright, baby. You don't have to-"

"No, I want to. Come up here and fuck my face."

God, how could he say no to that face? Without further hesitation or protest, he climbs up your body, straddling your face. Your hands come up to his ass, sitting him down as you return the favor, your tongue lapping over the pink rim and scrotum as he holds his cock up, stroking the shaft so that it didn't land on your forehead.

Once you're done eating his ass, you suck at his balls, knowing that's what really got him going. He let out a guttural moan, still hunched over you so that no one else would see.

"Fuck, Daddy's got a big load for you, baby. Think it's time I fuck that pretty mouth of yours." He scoots down some, placing his dick in your mouth as you relax your throat, signaling for him to begin.

He bucks into your mouth, his hips pointed down as he hovers over your face, listening closely to the sounds of you sucking him into your throat to take all of him. His pelvis lightly tapped the tip of your nose as he sunk down as far as he could, careful not to injure you in the process. You closed your eyes shut, focused on the sensation from his dick deep in your throat to the fine hair that brushed against your face.

"Fuck fuck fuck, I'm gonna cum."

Yoongi doesn't take long, and it's just when you feel your lungs about to collapse that he spills his load, the bitter liquid spilling down the column of your throat.

He climbs off of you as you swallow his cum, sucking in greedy breaths as he readjusts your clothing to its proper place.

"Are you ok? I think I was a bit too rough," he says, brushing the side of your cheek to examine the mascara that was smudged around your eyes.

"I'm alright," you laugh, your voice having a twinge of a rasp. You can't help but smile at his concern, but the moment is quickly ruined when you hear your names being called.

"Shit," Yoongi says, fixing you up one last time before making sure he's decent.

You're surprised to see his little brother, Yohan, run up to the car, screaming Yoongi's name at the top of his lungs, drawing attention to you.

"What do you want, ankle-biter?" Yoongi says, clearly annoyed that his 15-year-old brother was here when you two were supposed to be on a date. "Aren't you supposed to be-"

"Mom is dead."

Yoongi freezes, his eyes as wide as saucers as he stares at Yohan in disbelief.

"What?"

-

Yoongi cried on your shoulder the entire time during the funeral. Unlike his brother, still very concerned with the image of masculinity and strength, refusing to shed a single tear no matter how many welled up in his eyes, Yoongi sobbed. His body shook as he stared hopelessly at the casket, letting you hold him in your arms. He was so faded, a mere husk.

He couldn't so much as let out a single smile, still coping with his mother's death. He let his precious jackets gather dust and his hair had gotten drab without the products he usually had. His friends had given him the space he needed, though would occasionally drop by to check on him. They knew that just a few weeks, however, wouldn't be enough for their friend to move on.

The woman who raised him was gone forever. He believed he'd never see her again. He thought to his younger brother, who his mother would never teach to drive, who would never get the special birthday cake once he finally turned sixteen. Yoongi still remembered how embarrassed he was when his mother insisted on celebrating the event, even calling upon you to help her make it for the party. All of his friends came, insisting it was the best cake they ever had, and despite Yoongi's protests against the idea, he couldn't help but agree. The then 13-year-old Yohan had simply whined that he didn't get his own cake, and their mother promised she'd make one for him once he was of age.

He'd never get it, though.

You'd drop by the most, bringing food and caring for his family. His father spent most of his nights out at the bar, drinking himself to sleep until he had to go to work the next day. His little brother, on the other hand, preoccupied himself with everything else, joining sports and hanging out with friends as though to distract himself. You would give Mr. Min a special hangover cure, (what he didn't know was made of frog spit and unicorn blood), and you'd make sure to carry Yohan to his bed when he passed out on the couch after exhausting himself.

Yoongi was the most work admittedly. You were the one the boys often went to when they wanted updates on how Yoongi was. You had to make sure he ate and showered, caring for himself as he moped about the house on those hot summer days. You two hadn't kissed, hugged, or made love since his mother's death. You didn't pester him, however, as you understood more than anyone else the meaning behind the absence of a parent. Perhaps if Yoongi had a clearer head he would've appreciated your efforts more, how you never once complained or gave up on him.

It took you a while to understand exactly how to act around him. Over the course of a month, you had become less of his girlfriend and barely even a best friend to more of a caretaker. You became responsible for him in a sense, becoming stern as you made sure he ate right and went out into the sun every once in a while, whether he wanted to or not.

At first, you wondered how you should treat him. Should you joke with him as friends? Should you give him affection as a girlfriend?

It didn't seem he really needed either of those right now, though. You didn't want to replace his mother by any means, but no one else was looking out for him, and he was so distraught that he didn't feel the need to function properly.

It was at those desperate times that desperate measures were taken.

You had made yourself scarce lately, though still worked efficiently. Yoongi began to wonder if he should break up with you, for the time being, knowing that it was unfair for you to have to deal with this much pressure and care for him beyond necessary. He wasn't being the best boyfriend, admittedly, but it was hard for him to put effort into anything with the grief consuming him.

He had been pondering calling you to discuss a break in the relationship until he sorted things out when knocked on his bedroom door. His mother had given you a house key years before, and with how things have been lately, you've been using it frequently.

"I need to show you something."

"Y/N, I was just about to call you."

"I know- I sensed a bit of it. You're a bit more distressed than usual."

Ah, yes, another part of the soulmate thing. Intense emotions could be sensed at certain times, sort of like a ringing in the back of the head or a tingling sensation. You were far more in tune with it than Yoongi was, being able to decipher what means what.

"I think we need to talk," he says, his voice slow. He took in a deep breath, despite how much it hurt him knowing that he'd have to do this. You weren't going ot be happy about this either, but knowing you, you'd understand. You've been more than understanding so far, but it was unfair for him to drag you through this.

You sat on his bed beside him, brushing your fingers tenderly across his cheek. "Alright. Say what you need to, Yoongs. I'll listen."

"I just don't want you to be upset."

You sucked in a harsh breath, as though already sensing what he wanted to tell you. "I promise I won't get frosted, if that's what you're worried about," you assure him, trying to tug a weak smile up.

Yoongi looked in his lap, piercing pain in his chest as his heart seemed to break for the second time. "I think we should break up."

He saw how you tried to look unaffected, though you were clearly bracing yourself for it. From your stiff posture to your sucked in a breath, you weren't surprised. Still, you weren't happy about it either.

"Okay," is all you say, a quiet voice.

"Call it a break or whatever you want- anything that makes you feel better. I still love you- I'm still in love with you- but this is unfair to you. You shouldn't have to take care of me like my mother did just because I can't seem to pick myself up. It's cruel of me to drag you through this since I can't prioritize our relationship right now."

"Oh, Yoongi, you should know that I'd do this even if we weren't dating." Why were you two crying now? You had fast, hot tears rolling down your face, despite the fact you had anticipated this. He had slow, cold tears that didn't even make it into his lap, despite the fact that he had been thinking about this for days. You shakily reach up to the pin above your heart, taking it down and putting it in his hands, closing his fingers around the small item. For two years, you had worn that over your heart every single day, no matter how it clashed with your outfits or how odd it looked. It seemed strange to see you without it, at this point. "Broken up or not, we're still best friends. Soulmate, in fact."

Yoongi cried, squeezing onto the small pin to the point that it hurt, his knuckles turning white as he threatened to draw blood. "I'm sorry," he weeped. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I love you so much- you shouldn't have to deal with this- with me."

"Yoongi," you say, your voice a plea as you wrap your body around his, shaking as well. "It's alright,  understand. You're not alone."

He buries his face in your neck, ruining your blouse as he hugs you tightly, both of you crying and shaking, listening to your sobs and heartbeats becoming one.

You pet his hair, and after what felt like hours of you two embracing one another as your emotions flooded the room, it all seemed to come to a standstill. It was as though a river didn't have a single drop of water left, barren and dry once everything had left it.

"Yoongi?" you whispered, your tone soft. "I still have that thing to show you."

"Are you sure you still want to show me it?" he questions, his voice a mere rasp.

You nod, a weak smile pulling at your lips. "Positive. It's more magic stuff- perhaps it'll cheer you up."

You two hadn't been doing much of it lately, the most being whenever he wanted to turn into a cat so that you could hold him, reminding him of his mother's embrace when she'd lull him to sleep as a toddler. But this was far more than the typical magic you two would indulge in.

Far more.

You left Yoongi's house, a new sense of determination filling you. You had been preparing for this for a while- and it was now that you had to put your plan into action. Now was the time to truly begin your legacy.

You entered your house, which was darker than usual. It no longer teemed with life as it once did, the only light being Maximus, who glowed as nothing more than a small, dull flame.

"Y/N," he croaked, his plea desperate. "I've seen how it's consumed your parents- your entire family before. I know you won't be like them, but you won't be in the ways you need to be. Don't do this."

You give him a stern glare, your face stony. Giving no reply, you reach your hand into the flame, a sharp hiss leaving your lips as you flipped over a piece of coal, the ground below you sinking.

The dungeon that resided below- your parents' favorite place. You had little memory of it when you were younger, as it had frightened you then. Now that you were older, however, it gave you a much more homey feeling, as though this was where you belonged.

Your hand glided over the forbidden pages, scrolls, and textbooks. You didn't need to study these as rigorously as you did everything else, no doubt. This ran in your veins. You were a master at this craftsmanship before you even performed your first spell.

You looked over what you needed, potions and materials that were hard to come by- many of which were illegal in the witching community.

Sliding your oversized goggles over your face, you flipped over the thickest textbook, opening the bookmarked page as dust flew about. Coughing, you looked through the ancient text deciphering the code as you tried to collect yourself.

You had no doubt this would run smoothly.

But that's what you were afraid of.

Taking a silver dagger, you began the ritual, cutting along the upper half of your inner arm, at the bicep, letting the fresh blood pool onto the floor. You smeared the blood onto your hands, painting the floor with the liquid until you made a pentagram.

You bandaged yourself up quickly, the cut not deep enough to cause a mortal wound, but deep enough to sting. Flurrying about the room, you looked for the ingredients. You took a cow's eye and smooshed it into your bloody hands until it was the consistency of applesauce. Next, you took the heart of a virgin, the wings of a fairy, a jar of mist, and a vial of Yoongi's blood. You placed each ingredient at a point on the pentagram.

Yes, it was done exactly as instructed. A pentagram of blood, from the witch who calls upon thee. A cow's eye ground like mush, to help one see beyond. A virgin's heart, pure enough for the blackest of souls to desire. The wings of a fairy, ripped from her so she may never fly again. A jar of mist, a direct source from the limbo between life and death. And lastly the blood of a mortal, who must be related to thee.

You took a piece of parchment, writing the name of who you wanted to call upon, before lighting it on fire with a flame from Maximus in the center of the pentagram. The fire spread from the center to the points, each of the ingredients flying up into smoke along with the blood, until the floor was completely clean.

Your heart hammered in your ears, the lump in your throat making it hard for you to so much as swallow as you stared at the smoke. It condensed, packing itself tightly together as though to break the laws of physics until the black turned into color, and you looked before at the figure, stark as the day it was born.

You didn't dare to look at it, not wanting to think, and not wanting to feel. You threw the clothes you had prepared, stolen from Yoongi's home, though no one even noticed. You banished the figure from your premises, ordering what it should do. It would walk downhill until it was at a house of great familiarity, and it would forget the day entirely and a little before.

So imagine Yoongi's surprise when his mother stood before his front door, smiling as brightly as the afternoon sun, looking more youthful than ever before.

-

He couldn't figure it out.

It was explained as some sort of grand mistake- whether it was miss-identification, a miracle, or lord knows what. He didn't care what the explanation was, for his mother was back.

He didn't believe it at first, dragging her to her grave, though finding it completely undisturbed. A sinking feeling in his stomach told him that if he were to dig deep and open the casket, his mother's corpse wouldn't be in there. After all, she was standing beside him.

But could he call it a corpse? She looked better than he could even remember. More alive than before. She was healthy and happy, a youthful glow she couldn't attain back when she was sick.

Everyone accepted it without further questions, as though put under a haze, a veil of ignorance draped before their eyes.

But Yoongi didn't have the fortune of being blinded by said blissful blessing.

After a week's time of staring at his mother and confirming she was, in fact, alive and present (though she had no memory of her death or how she came back), he marched to your house. He had been so preoccupied he didn't even think to come to you, his now ex-girlfriend, to decipher how you had pulled off this fantastical feat.

He soon discovered, however, that it wasn't fantastic in the slightest.

You had a gaunt expression, almost skeletal. You were faded, the blood drained from your face. You looked sickly and tired, as though the life was being sucked out of you.

You gave him a smile once you locked eyes.

"Merry Christmas," you say jokingly, though you cough and sputter afterward. It took a lot of energy for you to even bring yourself to this, and here you were suffering the consequences.

"Y/N," Yoongi said, reaching up to your face, cradling it in his hands as his eyes searched you for clues. "What happened?"

"A bit of a flu, perhaps," you excuse, closing the door behind you.

"This isn't a flu," he snaps, worry straining his voice. "What happened to you? What did you do? How'd you bring my mother back?"

Your legs were wobbly, and you shook with great force before collapsing into Yoongi's arms. He caught you easily, finding you lighter than before, as though you had lost a tremendous amount of weight in the past week. He carried you to the living room, the place lifeless and dull.

It was at that moment you burst out crying.

"Y/N? Y/N, please tell me what's going on? Are you ok? What happened?" The color drained from his face. "Y/N... what did you do?"

"What I had to," you whisper. "I'm so sorry, Yoongi, I've been lying to you this entire time. The entire time we've known each other, it's all been just one big fat lie. I should've told you sooner."

He stands up, eyes wide as he looks at you in horror. "What? What lie?"

You wipe your tears, staring him in the face. "My parents were never dead, Yoongi. They never could be, really."

"What?" His mind is muddled and disoriented, everything vertigo. "What do you mean?"

You chuckle lowly, though it's humorless in every sense of the word. "Do you remember when you first came to this house, love? Before I told you a single thing about my magic?"

"Yes?" He was hesitant, unsure of where you were getting at.

You pointed one gnarled finger, and he followed the direction, his eyes landing on what you indicated.

His stomach dropped.

"The painting?"

You nod, more tears falling from your face when you recounted the memory. "My family is of the Mortem Clan, one of the most powerful in all of witch history, but also one of the most dangerous and evil. Mortem is Latin for death, and we were feared throughout all of our lives by the other clans. We were the devil worshipers that many were falsely accused of being. Necromancers. We specialize in death, from killing to reviving. Torturing souls until they drop dead only to bring them back to life and do it all over again. We'd bring back greedy kings who wanted to rule forever, and we'd bring back our worst enemies who couldn't even beg for death. That is my own family talent.

"We are especially good at it, in every sense of the word. It runs throguh our veins as the Nile runs through Egypt. You cannot escape your bloodline, no matter how you escape your family. I'm the most talented of all, supposedly, and the last of my generation. No other exists, whether it's because some of my relatives were cursed, or because they couldn't find a suitable partner. We're a vain type, between you and me; prideful despite the flaws that society illuminated.

"Witches aren't even supposed to live among mortals, but my parents figured it'd be best for me to grow up someplace where I wouldn't be feared. As you well know, though, another family talent appears to be being shunned. Nevertheless, they wanted a quiet life- or at least my father was. After the war, he simply wanted to settle down, but he had fallen in love with a Mortem; a simple life was never in the cards.

"My mother fell for him too, oddly enough, but when it came to me she put her foot down. I had magical abilities despite my human father, and great ones at that. By the time I could walk I had risen a cow from the dead. I was exceedingly well at it, of course, and my mother was proud, and my father was supportive as always.

"Everything changed when I was eleven, though. My mother had brought a young woman, lulled by either seduction or deceit into our home, from another town so that we wouldn't be suspected. My mother slit her throat in front of me, as though it were a cruel practice lesson. She urged me to raise her from the dead, but I had been so traumatized and frozen, I couldn't do it. Perhaps now I would've but she put too much faith in me. My magic was of a God's, but my brain was still of a little girl's. Besides, I had known that if I did revive the woman, she'd be subjected to the same fate over and over again.

"The details are hazy, but I remember my mother screaming and shaking me, and my father coming close to help calm her down. I was so overwhelmed that my magic simply burst, a spell no one knew. Before I knew it my parents were trapped in a painting, and even after all these years I haven't found out how to get them out."

You stared at the painting with a sullen look, your mother's eyes narrowing as you recounted events, her glare meeting yours. Your father only offered a sympathetic look, placing his hand on his wife's shoulder to hold her close to him.

You blinked away tears, both you and  Yoongi diverting your attention to one another. "You don't deserve a liar, Yoongi. I had never felt so alone before, and you came in. It was a mistake getting our souls tied together, but at that point I was desperate. I had no friends, and now no family. You could've had a nice mortal girl to become your high school sweetheart, but instead, you got me, nothing more than a dangerous liar. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to scare you off, and after on I figured it was too late."

"Y/N, what happened wasn't your fault. It's your mother's for putting you in that situation. Of course you'd feel overwhelmed at eleven," Yoongi reasons.

"Perhaps, but it is my fault for keeping the secret from you all these years. There's no one else to blame but me."

Yoongi's quiet at that. "I suppose. What changed though? You seemed to use every other spell now that I think about it."

"After the traumatizing experience, I had vowed never to dive into my true talent- especially when I had you. I didn't want to mess things up any further by getting you involved in dark magic. I knew if I told you the truth about necromancy you'd ask why I didn't bring my parents back, and everything would start to unravel. But then your mother died, and I love you so much Yoongi- I figured I owed you at least that much."

"Why are you so frail and sickly, though?"

You laughed bitterly at that. "Death has a price in all shapes and ways, a fashion that will never go out of style, no matter how much time passes. Raising a human from the dead is an amazing feat; therefore, it requires just as an amazing of a sacrifice. Some say it's because those who are in Death's embrace should remain in his arms, others say it's because he wants there to be balance in the scales. The Mortem clan does the devil's work of giving a steady flow of souls in and out of hell, so there's a simple rule: take a soul, give a soul. Long story short, in order to keep your mother here I must sacrifice a soul by the next full moon. If not, my own life will be the one taken, and I'll be seated at the right side of Lucifer with the rest of my ancestors."

Yoongi froze. "You can't mean that."

You were silent.

He grabs onto you, as though trying to grip both you and him to reality. "You mean you'll die within, what, a few days? No, Y/N, you can't die. I won't let you. I love you, goddammit."

"You love your mother, too," you say, pushing his hands off of you with what little strength you had, tears falling down your chin to slide along the curve of your jaw. You could barely even look at him. "You were destroyed when she was gone. I had to bring her back."

"I'll be destroyed when you're gone too! No, what am I saying, when? If! No, you won't be gone, I won't allow it."

"You deserve a good girl who won't lie to you, who you can have a normal life with. We'll be far apart once we're in school anyway, and I don't want to hold you back. With my death, our souls will be untethered, and you'll be free to live your life as it was meant to be: without me. A devil's servant isn't what you deserve by any means. This was the least I could do for burdening you for so long."

"Burden?" He laughed bitterly. "You're the love of my goddamn life, Y/N. We'll get a sacrifice to replace you and my mother, but I'm not letting go of you. We're soulmates even without the spell, goddammit. We were meant to meet, we were meant to be friends, we were meant to fall in love. I won't hesitate to get someone else-"

"No," you say, your hand on his chest. You stared him in the eye. "The witch who performed the ritual must replace the soul herself, and I refuse to kill anyone. That is the one moral I'll hold onto. I'll replace your mother in the realm of the dead, I'll take her place. It's about time my clan ended, anyways."

"No!" Yoongi was sobbing, hugging onto you tightly. You were limp, letting him, though you couldn't even embrace him back. "I won't let you! Y/N, you're the girl I was planning to marry."

"Was," you muse. "You're already beginning to become accustomed to the idea, it seems. A Freudian slip."

"I didn't mean-"

"Shh." You place your hand over his mouth, no longer crying, a look of contentment on your face. "Be happy, Yoongi. Don't let my sacrifice go to waste. I'll love you from even down below. They used to say that us Mortem don't have hearts, that we don't even have souls, but I know that to be true, for no soulless, heartless being can lover another with the capacity that I love you."

-

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow you'd die.

It had been three days time since you told him the truth- the complete truth. In that time his mother had brought joy to the family, all traces of grief gone when she so much as smiled. Each day Yoongi went to you, begging you to save yourself so that you could be together.

Each time you refused.

There was one thing you had said, however, that stuck with him.

"Raising a human from the dead is an amazing feat; therefore, it requires just as an amazing of a sacrifice. Some say it's because those who are in Death's embrace should remain in his arms, others say it's because he wants there to be balance in the scales."

According to that, the only way to save you from having to sacrifice yourself would be to take away the need for a sacrifice.

AKA, have his mother return to the realm of the dead.

Not exactly like he got a kick out of the idea, of course. He found himself between a rock and a hard place, a strange place of limbo as he looked between the two options.

Essentially he had to choose either you or his mother.

His mind spun, and he tried to collect his thoughts. On one hand one of the possible reasons for the need of a sacrifice is that the dead should stay dead. On the other hand, you yourself told him to make your sacrifice worthwhile.

So here he was, a kitchen knife in hand in the dead of night, the waxing moon looming over him as though to make his decision.

He closed his eyes, and there were two things he'd see. The first image was of his mother's corpse in the open casket, her skin becoming grey and her lips becoming blue as she slowly began to rot. Her skin and flesh would melt away until only a skeleton remained.

The second image was of you, what he had seen today. You looked similar to his mother's corpse, on the brink of death, unable to so much as rise from your bed. You couldn't even be called a dead girl walking, and instead reminded him of an elderly woman on her death bed, not at all like the young, vibrant teen you were but a few weeks before.

It was an impossible decision. His mother or his girlfriend? (Technically ex-girlfriend).

He walked down to the kitchen to get himself a midnight snack, still pondering over the two options when to his surprise he saw his mother. She was collecting the dishes, humming a lovely melody, as content as could be.

She looked at him, her face brightening up. "Oh, Yoongi, my sweet boy! What're you doing up at this hour? I know it's summer and all, but I don't want this to become a habit."

Yoongi hid the knife behind his back, staring at her. "Oh... I just wanted a snack."

She shook her head, smiling as she ruffled his hair with delight. "You want to help me make Yohan's cake? I've got some of the ingredients, but it'll take a few days to make. I can't believe my little boys are growing up so fast!"

That's right- Yohan would finally be able to taste his mother's special cake on his sixteenth birthday.

"You know, it was just yesterday when you were as big as my thigh- you were as long as my knee to my hip, you know that? My precious baby boy, how could I forget?" She cooed at him softly, stroking his face with affection. "You boys are the light of my life, you know that? I know I don't get to say it often since you two are teens and don't want your mother babying you... but I'll never love anything more than you two. You're my everything, and I hope you two find a purpose to your life the way I found mine in yours. You're what kept me fighting- even throguh cancer."

Yoongi felt a lump in his throat, tears welling up in his eyes, slipping down his cheeks. He felt as though he had been crying far too much recently. By now he should be out of tears.

His mother's thumb swiped over the tear, catching it as she gave him a tender smile. "Tears, Yoongi? It's alright, Mom's here. I'll always be here."

"I know," he choked out, his voice cracking.

Her eyes began to well up too, and she wiped any tears away. "Gosh, I don't know why I'm crying. Silly me."

"Mom?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Ca-an I have a hug?"

"Of course, my sweet boy." She wrapped her arms around him tightly, and he buried his face in her hair. Despite the fact he was taller than her by a great margin, he still felt like the little boy who needed an embrace from his mother after getting bullied on the playground. She stroked his hair softly, her warmth enveloping him entirely. "I love you more than anything in the world, Yoongi. Never forget that."

"I love you too, Mom."

With that, he raised the blade, plunging the knife into her back.

-

When you woke up, you felt like yourself again. Looking down at your arms, they seemed young and fresh, no longer just skin and bones. A new sense of energy had regenerated you, youth showing in your face again. You no longer resembled death incarnate, but at that reminder, your heart sunk.

You knew why.

You ran to down the stairs, fully intent on going to Yoongi's to question what had happened. To your surprise he was on the couch, blood staining his clothes, a dark look in his eye.

"Yoongi?"

His head snapped to turn to you, and before you knew it he was running to you, his lips smashing against yours. You tasted tears and blood, but you returned the kiss, missing the taste of him that lingered beneath the odd mixture against his lips. It had been so long since you kissed him.

You break free, eyes searching and questioning his expressions. "Yoongi..."

"I did." It was a short phrase, only two words and syllables, but you knew.

You held him tightly, burying your face in his chest, feeling his tears weave into your hair. You two are silent for a minute, soaking up the moment. Ultimately it was Yoongi who truly had to make the sacrifice. He chose you over his own mother.

"I'm sorry," you croak out.

"No- don't be. The dead are supposed to stay dead. It's cruel to keep her in this world when you get to it. At least I got to tell her I loved her one last time. My family and I will have to cope, but we'll find a way. We can't stay focused on the past, we can only learn and appreciate it for what it was. We have to live not only in the present but also for the future. You're both of those things for me, Y/N. My mother lived out her purpose in life, and I don't think yours was to die on account of my own grief."

"I'll help you clean everything up before your family wakes up."

"No need. Once she... once she died in my arms, she sort of went up into this black smoke. Besides, I wouldn't want to have you bury a body for a second time," he assures you.

You look up at him, stroking his face, clearing it of blood and tears, and going on your tippy toes to give him a tender kiss. He kissed you back, arms tight around you, and at that moment you thought not of death, not of college, not of your own sins- instead you only thought of his embrace.

And that was right where you wanted to be.

[banrionceallach]

Good Omens Crowley thoughts and headcanons

In no particular order

I just found out that the name Anthony can mean ‘praiseworthy’. Which, like, that’s fucking heartbreaking. I firmly believe that no matter how many times Anthony Janthony Crowley protests against being called nice or kind or good, that’s just a self-preservation instinct because if hell finds out he’s doing good he (and probably Aziraphale) would be in danger of getting destroyed. 

On a personal level I think he actually deeply appreciates being told that he’s good. Especially when it’s coming from Aziraphale. This is the guy who repeatedly mentioned that he didn’t mean to fall. Part of him misses Heaven (original flavour heaven with God present and communicating - not souless corporate heaven) quite desperately and wants to be told that he’s still worthy of it.

He was cast out for asking questions. This made him fall, as he says, doing a million light year freestyle dive into a pool of boiling sulphur. Nevertheless, throughout the show he continues to question God (show me a great plan! scene)

That bit where they’re watching Noah’s Ark and he questions Aziraphale: So, giving the mortals a flaming sword, how did that work out for you? To me there’s an underlying question there as well, viz. Did you get punished for disobedience? Did God throw you away too for not following orders or did They understand that you were just being kind, that you are good and caring? What did God think of your kindness? Are you like me now? Are you Fallen?

(The A/C shipper in me adds another unspoken question, which is : Do you need my help getting used to being Fallen? You’re still a kind anxious beautiful fusspot, you won’t do well in Hell they’ll hurt you. Do you need me to protect you? Let me protect you.)

Crowley really enjoys rescuing Aziraphale (from the guillotine, from the Nazis, turning up in a flaming car at the Armageddon and casually sauntering over while tossing Aziraphale a compliment) . Again, I think part of Crowley lives for validation and praise. Part of him wants to be the shining badass (arch?)angel coming to the rescue of his beloved. And when Aziraphale thanks him, he gets to feel that for a second. Yes. You are worthy, you are good, you never should have been cast out.

Shipper headcanon: I am convinced that Crowley has an entire daydream fantasy based around him rescuing Aziraphale from, Iet’s say demonic Nazis with guillotines. In the fantasy, after Aziraphale has been rescued he breathlessly confesses that he’s always loved Crowley and then they do one of those movie kisses where the hero bends the love-interest back as the impressed audience applauds.

He’s been coming back to this fantasy for 5000+ years. By 2019 it’s got quite specific details.

Personal AU ish Headcanon: Due to just not being that evil Crowley is actually immune to holy water. He just doesn’t know it. Possibly this something in a world where he used to be Raphael. Holy water won’t work on Archangels, even Fallen ones, especially not F-in-Evil fallen archangels like Crowley. For an evil Fallen archangel who’s into the whole do evil thing holy water burns like diluted acid, but can’t kill. For Crowley - it’s just water.

Crowley is actually good with kids. Aziraphale’s not terrible either. I think Warlock being kind of a dick is a combination of (a) Crowley and Aziraphale for all their influencing had positions as servants in the household not actual parents. (b) His mother might be okay (no evidence to the otherwise but she’s an ambassadors spouse so is probably very busy with work a lot of the time,) but I suspect that Mr I HAVE A MALE BOY SON Dowling at least probably dropped a pile of toxic masculinity into his kids impressionable head. (c) He’s 11. We’ve all been self-centred little shits when we were 11 (d)  His parents named him Warlock. I doubt that was fun on the playground. He probably deeply wants a name like John or Owen or Tom.

If they actually co-parented a kid together, that kid would probably be fine, if a little odd about religious stuff.

Crowley definitely pulled a fast one and saved lots of mesopotamian kids from the Flood, while Aziraphale quietly looked the other way. (What? The notorious Serpent Crawly interfered with the Almighty’s great Flood Plan? How ridiculous. If he was around I most certainly would have noticed!! Incidentally he prefers Crowley. Er - so I’ve heard. From . .  a demon I exorcised. Yes.)

Looking after 200+ kids until the waters receded meant that Crowley got a lot of experience with infants. He is ridiculously competent with small babies. Also he just likes them because the don’t know enough to be afraid of his eyes.

Funny HC: The Walk is genuinely because after 6000 years, this ridiculous dramatic Snek Man still can’t quite get the hang of legs.

Non Funny: it’s because of the curse God cast on him after he tempted A&E. Crawl on your belly and consume dust . . . .and if you don’t it’ll hurt. A Lot. Crowley has the angel equivelent of Scoliosis. His spine and hips are a mess in human form and he’s a regular on chronic pain management forums.

Coming across posts from kids with severe chronic pain makes him depressed and angry at God all over again.

[vintyvanora]

Inquisitor Verse (AU)

Okay so this is kind of a joke because it will probably never get used, but I got bored today while making answer keys and decided this was a good thing to do instead. All the details about decisions, companions, and advisors are beneath the “Read More” cause it got long...

General Information:

In Vanora’s inquisitor verse she arrives at Haven a day before the Conclave out of sheer curiosity to see how the South would handle the Mage Rebellion and broker peace between them and the Templars. Unfortunately, she had inadvertently put herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. When the Temple of Sacred Ashes exploded Vanora should have died along with everyone else. Instead, she walked right out of a fade rift and, eventually, into an unexpected new role as the Inquisitor.

Word of the Inquisition quickly spreads, traveling to the ears of former allies and family in Tevinter. Before any rumors can start that might damage the Inquisition Vanora reveals her true name and parentage, finding it endlessly amusing that a Tevinter Altus would end up the Herald of Andraste and the leader of the Inquisition. Predictably, most other people find it distinctly unamusing. That said, she has the ability to access all her resources in Tevinter without having to worry about hiding her identity.

Throughout her time as Inquisitor Vanora rejects people’s attempts to revere her as some sort of holy figure and the Herald of Andraste. She finds it unsettling, particularly as she herself does not believe in the Maker. She aims to make fair, level headed decisions and constantly keeps in mind the reputation and power of the Inquisition.

Major Decisions:

Allies with the mages

Allies with the wardens

Celene rules alone 

Leaves Stroud in the Fade

Morrigan drinks from the Well of Sorrows

Leliana becomes the new Divine

Relationships With Advisors:

Cassandra: Cassandra’s drive and purpose impress Vanora, who appreciates her energy and constant push forward. She speaks her mind and does not apologize for her beliefs, which Vanora respects. Although she isn’t the most diplomatic of the advisors, Vanora likes her all the same.

Companion Quest: Rebuilds the Seekers (also gets her Varric’s book)

Cullen: Although Vanora is initially suspicious of Cullen and how his bias against mages might affect the Inquisition, he proves himself to be a capable leader of the Inquisitions forces. While they don’t agree on the future of mages, Circles, and Templars, she respects his opinion and insight and appreciates that he is actively working to 

Personal: Encourages him to stop taking lyrium; tracks down Maddox and finds a way to break Sampson’s armor

Josephine: Predictably, Vanora gets on very well with Josephine. She appreciates and respects her political skill and her level-headedness (even if she doesn’t like her clothes). Vanora is incredibly grateful that there is someone with the political savvy to handle all the alliances/relationships/politicking while Vanora is otherwise engaged.

Personal: Assassinates the House of Repose’s assassins

Leliana: Despite the fact that Vanora isn’t keen on Leliana’s devotion to the Chantry and the Maker she greatly respects her prowess as a Spymaster and low key wishes she’d had access to her while living in Tevinter. As the Inquisitor, she relies heavily on Leliana’s information to make well-informed decisions.

Personal: Spares Natalie; “softens” Leliana

Relationships With Companions:

Blackwall: There is something off about Blackwall that makes Vanora suspicious of him. He’s cagey whenever she asks about the Wardens or his past which is a clear sign to her that he’s hiding something. Because of that she never quite trusts him, but he is a good soldier and has proven himself to be a formidable ally. 

Companion Quest: Pardons Blackwall/Thom Rainer

Dorian: Since they are both Altus from Tevinter it would stand to reason that Vanora gets along with Dorian. Although that is true, she finds him somewhat annoying with all his melodrama. He reminds her a bit too much of the people she was glad to leave behind in Tevinter. But at least they share many of the same opinions.

Companion Quest: Helps mend the relationship between Dorian and his father

Cole: Even by the end of Inquisition Vanora isn’t entirely sure how to feel about Cole. On one hand, he’s a fascinating once-in-a-lifetime discovery, but on the other hand there something almost childlike about him. 

Companion Quest: Becomes more human

Iron Bull: Initially, Vanora is hesitant to hire Iron Bull and the Chargers, particularly after finding out that he is Ben Hassrath. However, she does appreciate that he is upfront and doesn’t try to hide his role, which makes her much more amenable to him. They have very different ideas about mages but despite their differences and the fact that, by nature, Qunari and “Vints” don’t mix well, they get along well enough.

Companion Quest: Saves the chargers

Solas: Vanora has mixed feelings about Solas. On one hand, she finds his adventures in the Fade and research of magic to be incredibly interesting. On the other, she finds his superior, judgemental air can be abrasive and makes him difficult to work with at times. Nevertheless, his support of mages freedom and insight into magic and the Fade make her like him. (More or less.)

Companion Quest: Destroys the summoning stones, lets him kill the mages

Sera: Vanora cannot stand Sera and has, on several occasions, thought about kicking her out of the Inquisition. She finds her childish, immature antics incredibly irritating and she’s too loud and obnoxious. More often than not Vanora feels like an exasperated parent when dealing with her.

Companion Quest: Has Lord Harmond work for the Inquisition

Varric: Surprisingly, Vanora quite likes Varric. She enjoys his stories, as wild as they are, and at the very least knows to take everything he says with a grain of salt. He does, after all, make it abundantly clear that he is an excellent, and frequent, liar. 

Companion Quest: Tracked the source of the red lyrium and found the leak

Vivienne: While Vanora greatly appreciates having someone who understands all the subtleties of society, she has serious issues with Vivienne’s desire to reinstate the Circles, which puts a strain on their otherwise pleasant relationship. (Also she’s Orlesian and Vanora low key judges them and the “Great Game.”)

Companion Quest: Gives her the Snowy Wyvern heart

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 38

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.

SYNOPSIS: Jamie surreptitiously uncovers classified Intel about the man mentioned to Madame Cheung that is to be Claire’s client.  However, Madeline and Operations have other motives in mind that has him worried for Claire’s safety.  Although Madeline has profiled her mission, Jamie will not see Claire in jeopardy with this terrorist and he immediately starts to work out a plan.

THANK YOU all for hanging in there with this story each week.  I really value your support of my writing. It is very much appreciated.  Previous chapters can be found ... https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

 CHAPTER 38

Needing to find out just who this Le Comte St Germain was, Jamie typed the target’s name into Section’s Data Base to access Intel contained on his file, however, his computer showed that access was denied to his profile. This immediately raised his suspicions. Why was it highly classified and by whom? There could only be one reason and one person who had seen fit to place this Intel under a secret access code. Nevertheless, nothing was beyond the realms of possibility for James Fraser. Typing a special code into the confidential Vickers Log File, he waited for the necessary security clearance needed to access the secret files on Level 2. Inserting a small USB device into his computer Jamie downloaded the codes as they materialised before his eyes. Once transferred, he quickly removed it, shut down his computer, and left his office ... a man on a mission. James Fraser walked down several corridors in the labyrinth that was Section One until he was standing in front of a private elevator. Keying in a password, he surreptitiously looked around to make sure no one was watching him or more to the point following his movements. He entered the elevator and the doors closed after him with a whoosh. His fingers quickly punched the code … two-two-one-seven-one … into the keypad located on the wall and it quietly began to descend. The elevator continued down several levels, then stopped on seven. Using his apparatus pad Jamie plugged it into a port on the right of the elevator’s chamber. It immediately lit up and he keyed in the code once more. This time the elevator continued its descent before coming to a halt on Level 2.

The doors opened to reveal a deserted small antechamber. 

Stepping out Jamie carefully looked around as the doors shut behind him. This undocumented area was not under surveillance, but there was always the possibility that someone with clearance could arrive unexpectedly without his knowledge but that was a chance he was willing to take. Vigilantly confirming that there was no one there, Jamie turned right and began walking down a small corridor partially lit with eerie green and pink lights. As he walked, he studied the various panels lining both sides with each segment indicating a contained past mission. All the current missions were lit up with a flashing red light, but Jamie ignored them and made his way to K316 … the highly classified terrorists profiles. 

His eyes scanned the panels until he had located the one he was looking for. Feeling for the handle at the bottom of the panel he inserted his fingers in the groove and locating a button with his fingertips he pressed it. The shield immediately began to roll up to reveal a screen and port opening. Once the docking port for the panel was exposed Jamie plugged in his USB device then tapped in Le Comte St Germain’s name.

While the computer searched for Intel on the target he waited with resolve and ever vigilant for any disturbance in this top secret part of Section One. 

In no time at all several windows appeared. Scanning the Intel that materialized, Jamie looked for the one he wanted to appear on screen. In a short time the terrorist’s name was emblazoned on the monitor followed by copious notes on his dealings. Internalising the major details and character traits of St Germain he quickly scanned the Intel as it flashed across the screen. However a noise reverberating in the distance interrupted his perusal. Although tempted to read the remaining Intel Jamie resisted wanting to avoid discovery by Madeline or Operations in a classified area he was not meant to be in. He quickly depressed the download command and parallel bars soon appeared on the computer screen indicating that the information on Le Comte St Germain was being transferred to his office computer. 

What seemed like an inordinate amount of time for the transfer to occur only took milliseconds to succeed. Once completed, Jamie immediately folded it up, pulled his device out of the port, lowered the shield and returned to the elevator. 

Once he had secured the Intel on the target St Germain he immediately gave Claire the go ahead to contact Section One. He spoke her special code word. 

“Jos-e-phine.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Heading in the direction of his office, James Fraser passed through Systems where all operatives were engaged in their duties. However, before he had a chance to reach his office and look at the data he had secretly downloaded he was summoned to the Perch once again by the distinctive thunderous voice of Dougal Mackenzie. “Fraser! … My office! … Now!” Fergus and Murtagh stopped what they were doing and looked up towards the Perch as soon as they heard the command bellowed over the PA system wondering what had got Operations so riled up. They could see Madeline and Dougal Mackenzie deep in conversation in the interior of the eerie and both seemed to be putting across their point of view to the other as they witnessed hand gestures from each of their superiors. Their discussion came to an end when Operations turned to face the floor as if watching for Jamie to appear.  It seemed that all eyes in Section were focused on the man in black who confidently strode towards the Perch as commanded.

Section One’s best cold operative never looked frazzled; he always gave the impression of self-assuredness and control. The two friends shared a look as they watched the retreating back of James Fraser climb the stairs to the Perch to have counsel with Section One’s leaders. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “You wanted to see me?” “Come in James.” Standing as he always did when summoned to the Perch, James Fraser was a man who exuded strength with a deadly and steely aura of power his leaders had come to recognise was ingrained in their top Level 5 operative. James Fraser was a man who showed no weakness in adversity and whose loyalty to the Section was unchallenged. However, where there was connectedness to another person emotionally, there was always a weakness to be found. As of yet Jamie had not displayed his emotions towards Claire Beauchamp openly although Madeline and Operations knew there was a worrisome closeness they could not deny. Her mission profile for Claire could change all that this time. Jamie watched his superiors suspecting that he had been summoned because Claire had finally informed them of Madame Cheung’s surprise visitor this weekend. Their next statement only confirmed that his suspicions were correct. “We got lucky. We have received some Intel from Claire that could play right into our hands.” With a nod acknowledging his second in command, Operations continued, “Madeline has already profiled a special mission for her as a result of this information.” “Claire’s deep cover will only assist in capturing these terrorists and one in particular who has evaded Section One for some time,” Madeline stated with resolve and a look that seemed to be sizing up any reaction from Jamie. “Who?” “Le Comte St Germain.” “We have to run this on an accelerated clock as we have a small window of opportunity.” Operations stated categorically. “I see.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “Claire will do whatever it takes!” He announced adding, “She is Section and knew the consequences that may arise from this deep cover mission.” Standing there aloofly, Jamie digested all the Intel parameters of the mission from his superiors. He failed to respond or show any emotion to Operations’ statement, instead his thoughts centred on their previous briefing in the Perch earlier. It was all making sense now. The innuendo Madeline and Operations had paraphrased in the Perch had all been leading to this. It was exactly as he’d thought … Claire’s real mission at Madame Cheung’s had always meant to be a Valentine one ... probably to lure Sun Yee Lok initially, but due to the current circumstances it would now involve this Le Comte St Germain. Stalking up to Jamie, Operations’ voice spoke brusquely to him, indicating that he was not open to challenge on Madeline’s mission profile. “Do you hear me?” In a whispered voice Jamie eventually replied, “I heard ye.” “Good!” Continuing, Operations handed Jamie a PDA, remarking, “All relevant Intel is on your panel and there will be no deviation from the profile under any circumstances. Is that clear?” James Fraser gave his standard succinct answer in reply. “Of course.” "That will be all.” Jamie’s eyes revealed nothing and his blank persona gave nothing away to what he was thinking. He took the PDA, turned, and without a single glance towards either of his superiors made his way from the Perch. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Madeline and Operations watched from the Perch as their Level 5 operative walked in the direction of his office. They knew that what was contained on his PDA would not sit well with him. James Fraser was not going to like what Madeline had profiled for Claire that was for sure. “Jamie won’t like it. You know he won’t Madeline.” ���We’ll deal with that if and when it arises. He's got to let it go.” “What if he can't?” “He'll get over it … or Claire may be in jeopardy.” “It’s a huge risk. It might end very badly.” “It won’t.” 

“I doubt if it's going to be that simple Madeline. There's nothing that he won’t do to protect Claire.” 

“He knows the consequences if he disobeys orders Dougal.” “Cancellation?” “Exactly! No one is immune, and Jamie knows that.” Operations looked at Madeline with a concerned expression on his face for he knew they could never underestimate James Fraser despite his perceived loyalty to the Section. “It may backfire … We’ll need a contingency.” “I agree.” Turning to look at his second in Command, Dougal asked, “Any ideas?” Madeline's expression inferred that she had already given this some thought. “One or two,” she smiled secretively. “Good!” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Making his way past Systems, Jamie headed towards his office determined to find out if the Intel he had gained from the Level 2 secret files and what he knew would be contained on his PDA corresponded. He suspected that Madeline had profiled that Claire be the enticement for this Le Comte St Germain. He was also convinced that Madame Cheung would use Claire’s uncanny likeness to Annalise de Marillac as the lure that would hook her and the triad a very big fish.  All in good time, Madeline would eventually use her to catch an even bigger fish … the leader of the Rising Dragons himself.

However, anything that she had profiled on this mission would be counteracted if it put Claire in jeopardy in any way.  By manipulating the profile with little consequence to himself, Jamie would achieve the end game … but on his terms and his way.  His footsteps were a little quicker, his breathing a little more ragged but his steely resolve was focused on one thing … Claire’s safety.  He was already processing in his mind possible scenarios for the mission regardless of what Operations had said.

Being prepared by knowing who and what he was up against were the weapons of victory.  Jamie was thorough and resolute in his mindset.  Thankfully he was going alone to provide back up and that in itself played right into his hands.  As he walked closer to his office, the fingers of his left hand unconsciously inserted themselves into the button holes of his jacket and he loosened the buttons one at a time. This small sign of his uneasiness showed his doggedness too, for it illustrated the yin and yang of his personality.  

One thing the Master had taught him in martial arts training, and which Jamie had perfected on his own, was that the practise of this esoteric philosophy relied on internal power and strength … characteristics which he had in abundance.  It was the discipline of these two areas that he’d used time and time again on missions, and it was what gave him fortitude in adversity. The training of his inner spirit and mind as well as physical strength enabled him to have advantage over his foes. His stoicism, bravery, courage and powerfulness when unleashed were the characteristics of his inner strength.  This was why James Fraser was Section One’s penultimate cold operative. Showing no emotions he gave nothing away that his adversaries from outside or within Section could use against him.

First things first though.  He needed to check St Germain’s data and the PDA for the mission profile from Operations.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jamie entered his sanctum, closed the door, shut his blinds and without delay sat down and opened up his computer. In the confines of his office, he immediately keyed in his secret password to read the data he had downloaded from Level 2. As the Intel flashed across his monitor, his eyes scanned it. He quickly read the details on Le Comte St Germain’s profile and internalised what was revealed. Leaning back in his chair for a brief moment, Jamie rubbed his chin unconsciously deep in thought.  Then without delay, he cross-checked the details on his panel to see just what Intel Operations and Madeline had on the target and what they had profiled for this mission.  

Le Comte St Germain  is an industrialist and philanthropist, but he is a human trafficker.  He has links to the Russian Mafia and it is suspected that he is fostering new links to the Rising Dragons triad through their leader Sun Yee Lok. Once he has become established in the triad, he will have extensive connections through the Mafia and them to terrorists in both hemispheres.

He moves kids around all over the world in an underage prostitution racket.  St Germain makes them disappear when they have no parents with which to file a missing person or to check on their whereabouts.  He's been instrumental in providing young girls for several “businesses” but is not particular with whom he deals with as long as the money is forthcoming. Until now he's been very difficult to find, we have had no lead on him or his actions … But we do have a lead now and this planned trip to Hong Kong is an obvious ruse to procure business with the Rising Dragons and more to the point Madame Cheung who we suspect may possibly deal in child exploitation as well.

What Jamie discovered next though, set his mind into a tail spin.  It appeared that Le Comte St Germain was particularly fond of a certain type of entertainment, particularly with brunette, statuesque beauties.  Jamie knew that Madame Cheung would be able to provide for his every want and need and that Claire would be his certain type of woman.  If nothing else, she prided herself on her exclusivity in providing whatever her clientele required.  Madame Cheung had been grooming Claire for just this very opportunity where she would be used to entice the target for the benefit of the Rising Dragons.

Section One needs some leverage over him. Claire will do “whatever” is necessary to tag Le Comte St Germain.

Reading between the lines it was obvious that Claire had to valentine herself to this St Germain. Jamie closed his eyes momentarily lost in thought. He loathed valentine missions, but Claire … she would be repulsed by what Madeline had asked of her.  He would not place her in this situation if it could be avoided.

Jamie was well aware that Operations had forbidden him to change the profile in any way or suffer the consequences … usually the threat of cancellation for disobeying orders … but that had never stopped him before and it certainly wouldn’t stop him now.  Whenever his Sassenach was in jeopardy he always had a plan, and one was forming in his mind as he read further.

He read further instructions outlined on his PDA. Jamie will bring him in to Section.

Closing the PDA, Jamie meditatively sat back in his chair a wry smile bowing his mouth as he stroked his chin.  He knew exactly what he would do.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fergus watched James Fraser pass by Systems after his briefing without as much as a sideways glance his way.  Casting his eyes towards the Perch he’d seen Madeline and Operations follow Jamie’s departure as well.  Once he had disappeared down the corridor that led to his office, Fergus noticed that his superiors were deep in conversation.  Something was up judging by the way the two were speaking to each other, but this was nothing unusual for Section’s leaders, and he shrugged off the reservations that filled his head and continued on with his tasks.

However, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach would not go away and it was only exacerbated when he too was summoned to Madeline’s office a short while later.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You wanted to see me?” Fergus Claudel asked wondering why he had been sent for. With eyes downcast he waited for Madeline to speak.  

“Yes. When Jamie returns from this mission, I want you to sweep his panel,” she replied with a nonchalant glance.

“Why?”

“That’s no concern of yours.”

“Uh, what am I looking for?”

“Anything under the wire. Most likely, it will be encrypted.”

He knew immediately what Section’s head strategist was alluding to. “You’re looking for any changes to profile parameters?”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll get on it as soon as they get back,” Fergus replied assertively, knowing that if he valued his life he could not answer any other way or refuse Madeline’s order.

“Good. That will be all Mr Claudel. You may go.”

  *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued

[feynites]

*sneaks some more Reverse Reincarnation AU onto @selenelavellan’s reading pile*

Warnings for gross violence enacted upon an abuser.

Dirthamen dreams of Selene for weeks.

He learns a great deal about her in that time. That her name is the same. That her voice sounds the same. That she is Dalish, still, and that she is somewhere in the Free Marches. That there was a fire, where she lived. That she has since moved away from it. She is careful not to tell him her exact location, or to offer up the names of people in her personal life. She hardly seems to talk about her life at all, and Dirthamen is not certain if she avoids the subject only because she distrusts him, or because she dislikes speaking of it and would not wish to bother even if she trusted him completely.

That could just be his own projections, however.

Des is fascinated with the development as well, of course, but their contract has long since settled, and it makes it difficult for him to exert himself in the dreams he has allocated to Dirthamen. And they are reluctant to change the pattern of the dreams, lest it somehow prevent Selene from returning again. They do not know how she found them, and so they do not dare risk moving, or changing their schedule, or altering the fundamentals of Dirthamen’s dreaming space beyond the usual cosmetic details.

But it has an impact, of course. Dirthamen finds himself… engaged. Almost as if he is waking up, even though he is technically still asleep. And it carries over, too. More mornings, he wakes up feeling more presence within his body. Engaging more with Des, and retaining better memories of what they do throughout the day.

Which, in between Des’ pursuits, usually involves searching all of the databases on Dalish fire refugees in the Free Marches. Records are difficult to access, however, and Dirthamen finds himself calling upon favours he has not bothered with in a long time.

He phones Uthvir.

“You are dreaming about Selene,” they say, in a tone of voice that implies that this not surprising or noteworthy information in any sense.

“It is not a dream construction or a memory of her,” Dirthamen clarifies. “It is another incarnation of her. She has found me again.”

There is a long pause, and then low sound, like a breath being let out.

“I see,” Uthvir replies. “In that case, I should probably come and see you. Where are you?”

Peculiar. Uthvir is generally reluctant to leave their manor. But, then again, this is a highly unexpected situation.

“I do not require a meeting between us, as yet,” Dirthamen nevertheless explains. “I only need assistance in locating her in the real world. I believe she may require some assistance. That seems a plausible reason for her to have sought me out, on some level.” And it is an impression he has not been able to shake in his interactions with her. Something is wrong.

“So you want me to help you find Selene’s reincarnation, whom you have met in a dream?” Uthvir clarifies. “The dreams you regularly have about Selene, which are constructed by Des to be especially lifelike and believable?”

Dirthamen considers.

“Yes,” he confirms.

There is another long pause, and then another long breath.

“I suppose it would not hurt anything to look,” Uthvir decides. “Just so long as you do not take any drastic actions without consulting with me first, if you please.”

Dirthamen agrees, and even Des does not protest. Though, his partner has grudgingly grown to accept Uthvir’s counsel more readily over the years. Des is not particularly good at subtlety, and there have been a few times when he has been in command of situations that have subsequently deteriorated, and required outside aid to escape. Despite their own extreme preference for safety, Uthvir has never failed to help.

They do not disappoint in this situation, either.

It takes several more weeks, and many more dreams, before Uthvir finds a record of an elven merchant attending a Dalish conference on the wildfire incidents. According to the elf’s records, he has a wife, named Selene. Uthvir sends this information with many reminders that it is possibly only a coincidence. They do not recognize the name of the man on their list; Dirthamen cannot blame them. The incident where they might have crossed paths was many years ago, in college, and few had cared to recollect the name of the elf Dirthamen threw out of a window even during their lifetimes.

Dirthamen did not forget, however.

Haleir.

Reincarnation has not made an exception for Selene, it would seem. And this time she is married to her attacker.

Perhaps he is not a bad person in this life, Dirthamen hopes. And he is surprised to find Des echoing the desire. But in the grand scheme of things, he would rather Selene be happy with someone else, than be married to someone who would harm her.

He does not think this is a wish the universe has accommodated, however. The Selene he has been meeting in dreams has changed – but not very much.

Des gets them from their apartment in Denerim and onto a plane to Starkhaven. The records with Uthvir had found for them show that Haleir is a member of Clan Lavellan, which has mostly sought refuge among various shelters around Ostwick. When they land, they find their search somewhat stymied by the chaos and flood of inquiries which are barraging the Free Marches. Politics between the cities remains difficult to navigate, and records of various refugees are being divided between Starkhaven, the chantry, and various regional emergency services. A further call to Uthvir, and some more digging, and they board a second flight to Ostwick.

The plane has already taken off by the time Dirthamen looks towards the seats several rows up, and sees a familiar head of ginger hair.

He stills.

It could be a coincidence, of course. He cannot see the man’s face. But he is very tall, and has visibly elven ears.

Dirthamen stares at the back of his head, and waits to see if the man will move. It is not a long flight, however, and even when Des decides to get up and ‘use the restroom’ so that they can pass him, several other people opt to do the same. So they remain seated. Dirthamen stares and Des attempts to glean some of the man’s desires, instead, to pull a clue from there. But differentiating him from the other people on the flight is impossible. They did not know Haleir well enough the first time they met him to tell, and the plane is filled with a general ambiance of anticipation anyway. A desire to land and be reunited with people and to rest.

They keep an eye on him as they disembark. Confirmation comes later, when they are in the airport again, and they see the man waiting at the baggage claim.

It is him.

Des takes over, as Dirthamen pulls back. Drawn more into contemplation and consideration of their next move. Des purchases a book from the small airport library which is still within view of Haleir’s position. They did not bring anything apart from their carry-on. Dirthamen’s most valuable possessions are in safe storage, and Des enjoys buying new things when they travel, and neither of them knows how long they might be here for. Hours. Weeks. Years.

He finds a chair, and Des pretends to read, and in the meanwhile plucks at the threads of Desire that he can perceive in Haleir. The man is frustrated, so his desires are somewhat conflicting. He wants to go home, and he would have preferred to stay in Ferelden. He wants an opportunity. Nice things. Importance. He is satisfied that the disaster in his clan has put him in even higher standing, but he wants more.

He is looking forward to retrieving his wife and taking her to a hotel room. Of venting his frustrations on her.

Dirthamen considers killing Haleir on the spot. He wants to. Viscerally. The sight of his face again provokes a hatred that he did not know what still inside of him. But, there are many witnesses, and besides which – his presence may have at least simplified part of their search. Haleir is planning to retrieve Selene, which means he will go to her.

He will lead Dirthamen straight to her.

Of course, that would also mean that he will see Selene again. That would not be a permissible outcome, and if possible, should be prevented.

Mind made up, Dirthamen waits until Haleir leaves the airport. Des is much better at navigating the situation outside, and they draw close, nearly colliding with the man in the rush to hail a cab amidst other potential passengers.

“Where are you heading?” Des asks. “Maybe we could split the fare.”

Haleir sizes him up.

“I’m going a long ways out of the city,” he admits. “To one of the villages. Steriton.”

Des beams.

“A lucky coincidence,” he says. “I’m heading that way, too. You… are you Dalish? You must be. The tattoos, and the location – I’m a legal advocate from Arlathan, Des’din Adannaris. Just flew in to volunteer my services at facilitating discussions with some members of your clan who are interested in seeking asylum from Arlathan.”

Haleir blinks. His narrow, just for half a second, before he smiles affably.

“Well that is lucky!” he agrees. “Splitting the fare will certainly help the clan coffers, too.”

“A good cause,” Des cheerfully notes.

They share the backseat of the same cab.

Haleir asks them a few questions, which Des fields easily. He gets the man talking about himself, then, and that seems to be a topic which Haleir is fond of. He is a businessman, he explains. He organizes his clan’s finances and trade, and helps get them good deals on various pieces of craftwork they sell, and comes from a prestigious lineage within his clan. He has married recently, he explains.

“Not that it’s slowed me down much,” he explains, with a chuckle. “But my wife has a good bloodline. You know how it is. Good for making proper elven babies, passing on the traditions and all.”

Des’ returned smile comes back tight. Dirthamen does not like Haleir’s desires.

“Do you have a photo?” he asks, anyway. Just to see. He is not certain if he wants it to be his Selene or not, now. It seems so likely that it is. But perhaps it is not – perhaps she has escaped this. Except, then he would be at a loss as to how to find her again. That is better than the alternative, he thinks, just the same.

Ultimately, however, the universe and his desires are not often in concert. Reality is what it is. That is why it is not a dream.

Haleir shows him a photograph of himself and Selene on his phone. They are dressed in formal Dalish attire. Elrogathe, and a woman Dirthamen thinks must be Selene’s mother – going off of the resemblance – are in the photo as well.

“She is beautiful,” he notes.

“Eyes off,” Haleir says, jovially, but with just a hint of an edge. “She was promised to me since we were children. I’m glad she grew up as nicely as she did – you should see some of the dogs in our clan.”

Dirthamen frowns, until Des’ understanding of his meaning comes through. Ah. He is referring to unattractive women as dogs, not attempting to divert the conversation towards animal husbandry.

It is a long cab ride to Steriton. Dirthamen grows quiet after a time. Haleir even falls asleep for part of it, and the driver makes very little small talk. Her presence is the largest deterrent towards the idea of ending Haleir. That, and the fact that doing so would likely result in an aborted trip, and he still has not learned where precisely Selene is. Haleir gave their destination has a hotel, but no village hotels are serving as emergency shelters.

Still, Dirthamen thinks, he could always visit each of the prospective shelters himself. But killing Haleir is liable to cause disruption. It may upset Selene, even despite his mistreatment of her. And once it is done, it cannot be undone.

They reach the hotel, and split the fare. Haleir heads to the desk first, to receive the key for his reserved room. Des asks after a room for them, in turn, while Haleir moves towards the elevator and pulls out his phone. He dials a few times, frowning, as the concierge explains that they have no vacancies, but recommends an inn on the other side of the village. Dirthamen then pretends to consult his own phone, as he listens to Haleir finally get an answer to his call.

“Alaris!” he exclaims. “Good news, I’m back from the arlathvhen. Where’s Selene? I’ve been trying to reach her but my calls aren’t getting through-“

The conversation moves beyond Dirthamen’s ability to eavesdrop as Haleir gets into the hotel elevator.

However, before Dirthamen leaves the hotel lobby, the elevator comes back down to the ground floor again. Haleir hurries out.

“Is that cab still here?” he demands.

Dirthamen looks, and shakes his head.

“No,” Des says. “Why? Is something the matter?”

Haleir’s expression twists into something more like a grimace than worry.

“My wife’s gone missing,” he says. “I need to get to that chantry, figure out where she’s run… ah, what might have happened. She might have gotten overwhelmed by all of this. She has a fragile state of mind, and sometimes she gets confused, especially when her routines are disrupted.”

Des raises an eyebrow, and Dirthamen goes cold and sharp. Angry in way that is oddly satisfied with his anger, and worried in a way that makes his stomach drop.

“You don’t know where she is?” Des confirms.

Haleir gives him an odd look.

“No. That’s the whole problem,” he replies. “I need to call a cab-”

“I’ll do it,” Des offers. “I saw the number on the driver who just dropped us off. Where’s the chantry?”

Haleir gives him the address, and he calls the cab, and asks if the driver could take a passenger to the chantry on 232 Wheatley Street. The woman doesn’t seem eager, but she also accepts. Haleir doesn’t seem to think twice about it when they follow him out into the parking lot – but then, Dirthamen was already on his way out. It’s a natural flow of movement, to exit the hotel. Haleir still has his luggage with him.

Good.

There will probably be more information inside of it.

“Haleir, look,” Des says, gesturing towards a side street. “Is that your wife down there?”

Haleir spins, and frowns.

“Where?” he demands.

“I thought I saw her, just heading down the back street,” Des replies. “It was a tall blonde, at least. Leggy, with a similar face to the photo…”

Haleir is already moving. Dirthamen follows him until they’re halfway down the side of the building. The brick of the building next to it makes the space small enough for a simple illusion spell. Cover, to make the street seem empty. It’s fairly easy to get Haleir to stop before they reach the street behind the hotel. Dirthamen just settles a hand onto his shoulder.

“Where did…?”

“Haleir,” Dirthamen says.

Haleir looks back towards him, and balks. He opens his mouth, but Des is already moving. Satisfying the desire that has been in him since he first read Uthvir’s message. It stretches Des further away from their body than he has been in some time, but for this, he can manage it. Dark desires have gotten harder for him to follow over the years. Yet Dirthamen’s own desires are dark right now, so the bridge is neatly made.

Oh, Haleir. Tsk, tsk. What did you do? Did you hurt our Selene? You did. You hurt our Selene. You wanted to hurt her. I thought I made my point a lifetime ago, but we will have to try again, it seems. Perhaps death will make the lesson stick better this time. Perhaps more pain will leave a better impression.

It will have to be quick.

More’s the pity.

Haleir’s open mouth becomes a silent scream, as Des’ magic sinks into him, and sets him aflame.

Purple fires arc up Haleir’s body. It takes slightly longer than anticipated. Possibly because there is no smoke, so asphyxiation does not ensue. Dirthamen maintains the necessary illusions as Haleir drops to the ground and writhes, trying to put out fires there are immolating him from inside his own flesh. His skin cracks and bubbles, and it is an effort to disguise the scent, as his flesh cooks and his bowels evacuate, and his corneas turn white and then burst. They flames are very hot. Dirthamen has to take several steps back before they manage to reduce Haleir to ashen bones.

To dust.

It has barely been done, before Dirthamen hears the sound of a cab pulling into the hotel parking lot.

With some effort, he shifts his shape. Turning his hair ginger and changing his clothes to match Haleir’s suit. Des picks up the man’s bag, and runs a hand over their shifted locks; and he drops the illusions, as the wind kicks a strange new ash cloud out into the street.  Then he walks back towards the front of the hotel, and waves in acknowledgement just as the cab driver is opening the door.

“Thank you so much,” he says.

The driver looks at him for a moment, and then shrugs.

“Sure,” she replies. “Other guy’s not coming?”

“Oh, no,” Des replies. “He was a big help, but I don’t know where he’s gone to now.”

[redlemonz]

Day #4

I am someone else when I’m with you - someone more like myself. These are the thoughts I woke up to after the events of the last evening. She brings me countless levels of joy that were previously undiscovered before she stepped foot into my life. Her adventurous, outgoing spirit takes you everywhere - from the summit of many mountains, to the depths of the caves, to her own elemental home of water (all kinds of beaches, pools, natural springs). If life was a narcotic, she’d be the enabler. Even putting such factors aside, it’s easy to realise that she’s the human being we all strive to be - “the whole package” as modern day terminology would have it, the one you wish the rest of the world could take example from. Cliche as it all is, she truly does make me feel more like myself - it’s as if I’ve been constantly discovering more about myself through her.

Day 4 - love: the best self torture?

It’s Friday. Generally that’d be one of the most exciting features of any working class hero’s week - however as discovered, time and the brain are your own worst enemies, especially when they team up against you. It’s this time last week it all definitively fell apart for the last time. All I remember thinking is that I was excited to hear her voice on the phone that night after the shitty week without her due to my own insecurities causing more fights. Thinking that she finally understood and listened to me after the millionth time regarding a promise of my recognition being put forward of our existence together to her parents. Didn’t happen. After over a year (officially & unofficially counting), it finally concluded to what my mind would tell me all along - that I wasn’t worth the effort. Though I mostly didn’t see things actually ending this way, because her and the act of lying never went together at all - I had no choice but to accept it. It’s her life after all. Instead, I should have actually listened more to her feelings and stuck with, and by her principles in support (I’ve always wanted to support everything she does, and I failed so fair enough), rather than act selfishly. What sucks though is that after all the time passing, they’ll still never know what I was to her. Because it was never important enough. I was never important enough. I suppose this is the reason that I’ve somewhat started to accept and can have my content moments with this ending, and not go as insane as I imagined I might (though it’s still early days, jinx). Nevertheless, it’s still my first Friday as a lone ranger without her, and I don’t like it one bit. I wish I could turn back this damn clock and rectify all my regretful mistakes, or learn quicker - but it all happened too late. Oh If I could be that guy in “About time” with that capability. Though let’s talk about another one of my favourite movies. I relate way too much to the mindset of the main character in this movie. The way in which he establishes his own fantasy girl (whom for the purpose of projecting literature comes to life), only to be disappointed by his own expectations that he has, rather than let her live her life, make her own choices & be her own person. He learns the common sensical, straightforward truth that he can’t actually control her and hold her back from being her, even though that was never his intention to begin with. He was ultimately blinded by his selfishness, couldn’t handle his insecurities, and thus forgot about the treasure he was blinded by, which in turn he lost. As you would have it, he realised the errors of his ways and the choices he made far too late. He has to let go. Except when it’s happening in a movie, their fates end up aligned once more and he oh so miraculously gets another chance. I wish. Probably doesn’t help thinking about the fun fact that they’re married in real life either.

Just had some nuggets at work! What a momentously ecstatic time in my monotonously linear life currently. Finally got my special of 20 for $10 - it’s suppose to be a bargain anyway. I remember the only other time I attempted to attain this spectacular deal was after we had played some tennis. I won obviously.. well this time anyway. She’s a pretty damn good match in more ways than one after all. It’s why I prefer to have her on my side of the court in both sports & life altogether. We make quite the team. Anyhow the nugget promotion had run out at the time we reached that drive through which was certainly devastating. I’ve made it this far though, so I’ll continue to live. Later that day, we went back to hers for a swim in the pool. Saying that so casually now seems a bit odd, considering that before her, the concept of swimming to me had become mostly a stranger since I was a kid. There was that one time at camp (not band camp, ha) during which I was still fairly new to this Country, in Intermediate school which I don’t like talking about in detail. Essentially it involves the body shaming of an 11 year old me when I was about to join the rest of our camp group for our activity of the day; sailing (she use to sail too - of course she did, the crazy multi-talented beautiful mofo). Since that moment, I learned to keep judging myself through out the years, and on top of my existing mental insecurities and emotional instability, I was unable to take off my shirt due to feeling way too shitty about my physical image. I could exercise and make it slightly better and whatever, but it didn’t alter that fear of public shaming. Until she came along and changed everything that is. She made me care less about these insignificant traits.. and slowly my insecurities started fading away, day by day. I felt more alive and free thanks to her, and am able to be more comfortable than ever with myself when I’m with her. Probably even way too comfortable, as there is a lack of such a limit between us when we’re together.. which is just another delightfully pleasant and fulfilling seam of happiness.

So it’s dad’s birthday. I’ve picked him up a present and am suppose to get a cake on the way back home after work. One of the three lives near by me, so I confer with him that a certain cheesecake shop is nearby us, to which he responds that I should just bake a cake (he would say that, being a former chef and all it’s.. well, a piece of cake for him). But no, not again. The one time I baked a cake was for her birthday - a banana cake covered with my own Nutella chocolate icing recipe. Spent probably ten times the actual required amount of time, and made an absolute mess of my sisters kitchen which I booked out, to make sure everything was perfect. Thankfully, It did actually turn out pretty well and I think she liked it, as she finally received the banana cake I deprived her of the year before through telling people she was allergic to the fruit. My other attempt at baking for her involved some failed cookies (slightly much butter) delivered to her at home, on top of her car during crazy thesis time. Had to also provide a proper block of chocolate with that to make up for the failed attempt. Oh man the amount of chocolate and candy I’ve probably supplied her with is pretty criminal. She would joke about how I’m just fattening her up, which I’d laugh along to but there’s probably some element of truth there. She’s just got a damn good metabolism to be fair. Also for those times where she’s trying to be healthier (which is most of the time) I’d have to resort to ensuring it was a minimum of 70% cocoa dark chocolate. I already miss being her supplier, hence why I had to include chocolate in my flower delivery on day #2 one last time. Though let’s face it, knowing her it’s probably already all gone. In all likelihood it’s the one thing even she can’t resist. Who knows, it’s presumably the reason I resemble chocolate that she even found me appealing to begin with. Jokes aside (not her addiction - that’s real), It just sucks not being able to refill her jar of kisses.

Friday night draws inwards. We’ve just celebrated dad’s birthday at home - my sister, bro in law, nieces and even their kind of cute new au pair whom I dropped near the airport a couple weeks ago came along (cute = short, red head German girl). I debated pretty hard with myself whether to even transfer that thought across, quite thoroughly if I may add, but I guess I can now? I don’t know. Feels strange and unfamiliar because I don’t really want to either, but I figure what does it really even matter. She wouldn’t have cared either way because she’s never even supposedly had a hint of the green eyed monster. Am I sincerely the only one to find that a bit bizarre? Although I confess, my own insecurities have led my mind to be easily manipulated by itself sometimes. However, in my unnecessary self defence against..myself, such does also stem from the initial issue where I’ve always felt hidden on a social scale during our relationship. As if she was always uncertain about me so could ultimately never make the complete leap with her own heart.. which in turn would make me identify further with those very inadequate concerns of being second best standing away on some foggy sidelines, a constant back up until someone more attractive, talented, smarter, and well, just better, would come along. Until the person whom she might actually be excited to introduce to her family could come along, so that they could be impressed and happy with her choice. Understandably, I don’t fit that criteria. Looking back at all our fights this fundamentally core issue for me had caused, I realise now - when I view myself in the mirror that I too, would be embarrassed if it were me. That’s the one lie I didn’t enjoy - “it’s not a big deal”. I’d rather just that she would have admitted it was, so that I could gain more understanding - I mean I don’t think I can be that bad otherwise…Can I? Probably, I guess. Note that this is an unfair representation of her though, don’t get me wrong at all. You have to consider all the facts (which is what I failed incredibly hard to do furthermore at the time, as my heavy emotional weaknesses took over). I seriously just needed to listen to her. Although I guess the counter argument is that I didn’t feel like she ended up ever listening to me either - which left us at a stand still, where we both continuously shot at each other until the mess grew large enough, and we eventually fell apart. Natural attrition, as my work place has been calling it. I was so foolish though, seeking approval from sources that shouldn’t even matter at all, and left me once again becoming fully aware far too late, that I lost the only one that really did matter - hers. I don’t care if I sound like a loser for not saying my own approval here - I’ve never really cared for anyone else’s approval enough previously.. just the one I fell for. She was actually much too sweet in the end when reflecting upon the circumstances, as I did constantly exhaust her with this ongoing insecurity that I created myself. She didn’t need to put up with me for so long, but I do feel a sense of honour and self-worth ironically stemming from the fact that she did. In a way, she kind of gave me recognition and I didn’t even register it until literally this moment - by sticking by my side. Until she couldn’t anymore. Because I wasn’t worth the effort. Which just feels counteractive to the definition of being in love with someone - and I could definitely tell she still was/is from our weekend (+sick day monday). There was a certain spark in our eyes of a possibly better future there, but she would safeguard her heart from taking that leap once again. Her damn smart brain got in the way. Once again, ironically one of the most attractive things about her was my downfall at attempting to fix what is supposedly permanently broken to her. The fact of the matter still remains that love is the most illogical and beautiful phenomenon that we have as human beings, and it genuinely can make us do absurd things and challenge every principle and ethic we may believe in and hold dear, because it’s damn love. It’s what I believe in. It’s the core of humanity and all that is really required - The Beatles were onto that one. Questioning it rather than embracing it is what causes us to slowly limp away into the darkness of our mind, and lose ourselves. But hey, that’s just one prime example’s biased opinion - as we’ve clearly established that my mind is my own worst enemy. I fucked up everything on my own - she didn’t need to assist me in that regard.

All I know now, when thinking about love as per my above discovered profound wisdom (just clarifying that it is in fact sarcasm, in case I haven’t already proven to be arrogant enough asshole at times - but whatever, I don’t need to prove anything), is simply that I just want her to be beside me right now. I miss her presence next to me on a Friday night. I just want to hold her and forget about the rest of this damn world for one more perfectly blissful moment of love, and I know from experience that it’d feel like everything will be alright. But, I can’t tonight. Also I’ve snapped her three times today and offered her a trip to Fiji (my crappy April fools joke, don’t ask - I’ll disappoint once again) after the positive vibe I received from last night, but nothing back. So that’s great too. I’m glad she’s moving on with her life - genuinely am happy in that consideration for her. Maybe I should widen the gap on the bridge between us too, to assist her from a distance (figuratively and literally). I hope she has a wonderful weekend as she deserves, and that the sun shines for her (and the stars at night too). Warning: Incoming dramatic conclusion to day 4 - so please do excuse me for now, as I need to get back to digging this damned endless pit for my heart.

_____

Day 4 - continued - yay!

Hold everything. She just snapped me a cute selfie of her finding an excuse (someone on TV did it so it's a legitimate reason, duh) to have a shot of our fireball. Key word, cute - though I suppose that's literally every snap of her. Alright - so a much better conclusion to day 4. It's absolutely mind-blowing, crazy and 300% illogical how the smallest gesture can turn everything around, isn't it? Must be love.