#some fun facts: while it seems that the Shroud’s spent a lot more time in Spider-Woman comics

[age-of-moonknight]

“Darkness at the Edge of Town,” Avengers Unlimited (Vol. 1/2022), Infinity Comic, #33.

Writer: Alex Segura; Artist: Jim Towe; Colorist: Andres Mossa; Letterer: Joe Sabino

[everythingsinred]

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 20)

PART TWENTY! I've written thousands and thousands of words about this particular character's love. That's really crazy. And you guys read thousands and thousands of words! And we're not even done yet!

We will talk about the second half of this "gap arc", including one of my favorite chapters, and then the school will turn upside down, as we will see in the next part.

Chapter Ninety-Three

Mikan was so exhausted saving Narumi from Persona’s alice that she ended up hospitalized. Nobody else seems to know much of what really happened except Natsume, who spends so much time in the hospital these days that it would have been more surprising if he didn’t know she was there too.

Besides, Natsume knows so much about Mikan. He knows about her mom and that the ESP is interested in Mikan possibly possessing the stealing alice. He knows that she’s in danger. He’s vigilant, as I’ve said, and this vigilance means absorbing all possible information. He overhears Narumi warning Mikan to keep her new alice a secret, and Natsume gets confirmation that Mikan does indeed have the stealing alice, that Narumi knows and wants to protect Mikan too, and that this information could possibly get to the ESP if they’re not careful.

Dead man walking. Or rather... dead boy walking.

He walks away from her room, unseen, coughing. He walks down a hall of doctors and patients and nurses and he doesn’t stand out at all. Natsume’s presence in the hospital is so normal that nobody bats an eye anymore. Kaname is hospitalized for long stretches of time, as we shall continue to see, but Natsume merely goes to the hospital for limited periods of bed rest and for getting huge bags of medicine to take before bed so he doesn’t accidentally pass away in his sleep. Natsume might be in just as much need as Kaname for long periods of hospitalization, but he can’t for two reasons.

One, the school absolutely does not want that. They want their favorite child soldier to be always at the ready. He can’t be at their beck and call at all times if he’s cooped up in a hospital bed. He needs to be where they can grab him easily, and pumping him full of medicine and pretending that’s enough for him is the most they will do.

Two, Natsume absolutely does not want that. Mikan is in more danger than ever, and being sequestered in a hospital without seeing anyone leaves her alone and unprotected. How is he supposed to spy on the ESP and Persona for information on Mikan if he’s hospitalized? He needs to be free as a bird, just like they want him to be, so that he can be at Mikan’s beck and call. At the slightest threat, he will be there for her.

Later, when Bear follows Mikan around while Kaname is sicker than ever, Koko can discern that Bear wants Mikan to steal Kaname’s alice from inside of him. Many people are onlooking, and Natsume has a shocked expression, not because he didn’t know that Mikan has the stealing alice, but because he’s concerned for what consequences may come if more people find out. If the ESP comes to hear any of this, serious issues will arise. Things are already dangerous enough, but if the ESP finds out, then turmoil will come sooner than later.

This is an "Oh, shit" moment! How terrible.

Things get worse when the rumors about Mikan’s alice spread through the upper divisions. Mikan gets chased by upperclassmen who want her to steal their alices because they think their star rank will go up if they can catch her in the act. The ESP seems to have purposefully spread such a rumor in order to speed things along. He wants to push Mikan into a corner, perhaps force her into using her alice and exposing herself, so that he has an excuse to swoop in and take her into his custody.

We see a panel of Natsume hearing the news of the middle schoolers’ pursuit of Mikan and he’s just as shocked as before. Her life is endlessly hectic in the worst way. She is always under attack from rumors and speculation and being honest about her alice will only end poorly for her. This is the last glimpse we get of him this chapter, but his reactions, despite the fact that he says nothing this whole time, is enough to give hints to where his mind is right now. His priorities and concerns are all made clear, building up to when he will eventually be quite needed.

Chapter Ninety-Four

Class B is getting ready for swimming lessons in P.E. Most of the class, especially Mikan, are excited for this.

There’s not much Natsume in this chapter either, but we can see him on the poolside, obviously not well enough to swim. Swimming is one of the most physically taxing exercises because of how much it requires you to use your full body. Natsume can’t waste what little energy he has on P.E. when he has missions to do. Those are much more important.

Mikan may get occasionally down or sad about her alice and the uncomfortable state of things, but Ruka is there to cheer her up and play water polo with her. Natsume simply looks on.

Tsubasa spots him, and instantly looks troubled. He and Natsume are not just both in the DA class now, they’re also going on many of the same missions. He’s also the only one who knows the truth about Natsume’s alice shape, and how much the taxing missions affect his body. Seeing Natsume sit on the side and not join in with the others is not a good sign. He’s not doing well.

Fun and games are over! It was never gonna last long anyway!

The panel of everyone having fun while Natsume coughs by himself, isolated from everyone, brings to mind the page from Chapter Nine, so long ago. The last page of that chapter has Natsume being sent on a mission, in stark contrast to the final panel of the rest of the class having fun and bonding over dodgeball.

He could never join in for long was the message we got then, and it’s not any less true now. Natsume let himself get attached to Class B and to Mikan in particular but his fun happy times of joining in on the fun were never meant to last. He can’t play the sax anymore. He can’t run around with the rest of them. Luna was a warning to him as much as she was to Mikan. His time is running out and his life will always be too different from the rest of theirs. He will always be shrouded in darkness and an imminent death. They can take occasional breaks from the stress and worry of their lives, but he can’t. Not anymore. Not in any real way. Not without it taking a serious toll on his body.

The last page features two groups of best friends: Natsume and Ruka looking out the window at Hotaru and Mikan as they walk through the rain.

Bad things are going to happen. And that right soon.

There’s a feeling of foreboding in this arc. The last page carries some threat with it while also trying to stay on the side of hope. One should not take things for granted is the main take-away, a harsh lesson for these kids to learn, especially in this way.

These few chapters between the Sports Fest and the next arc are almost similar to the gap chapters between the Hana Hime den chapters and the Sports Fest. They are a much needed respite from the heavy chapters before and after. The difference is that these gap chapters are heavier and there’s a threat looming over Mikan and the others in each one. The happiness and lightness of the Valentine’s day chapter are not present, even in this sweet chapter about swimming. Everyone is unsettled and disturbed, aware that something horrible is to come.

Chapter Ninety-Five

And nothing good ever lasts, as this chapter reveals. The tension that has been building for so long is starting to reach a boiling point.

A lot will happen here. Hotaru gets called to the headquarters. Yuka returns to the Alice Academy campus to find Mikan. Tsubasa goes missing.

God, could they stop sending children to get blown up for FIVE MINUTES?!

Natsume and Tsubasa are separated during a nondescript mission. A warehouse explodes and Natsume screams out for Tsubasa, not knowing where he’s disappeared to, or if he’s even still alive.

Tsubasa is missing, his location unknown. Natsume has returned to campus from the mission, but he hasn’t been seen by anybody yet either. He’s busy trying to locate Tsubasa, trying to find information.

Natsume goes on missions all the time. He goes with other DA types and is frequently in life or death situations with them. That being said, he hates most of his classmates, Youichi being one exception. But Tsubasa is different. They have an unspoken respect for each other, and might even be considered friends. They spent a lot of time in the DA class on missions that we haven’t seen in the manga and their work to find--or rather not find--Yuka and protect Mikan has probably brought them closer.

Natsume wants to find Tsubasa because he’s so important to Mikan, because she loves him like a big brother and losing him would break her. He wants to find Tsubasa because Tsubasa is his friend too. If something happened to him on a mission they went on together, then it’s his responsibility to bring him back, and he might even feel guilty for his disappearance as well. Knowing what we do about Natsume’s self-esteem, martyr complex, and tendency to blame himself for everything, he is probably not taking this very well.

It’s exciting and nerve-wracking to see so many people involved in this chapter, but seeing as everything’s coming to a head, many of the characters narratively have to be involved.

Nobara, who discovers that Narumi plans to run away with Mikan to keep her safe from what’s to come, is soon after made aware that she will be blessed with a friend in the DA class: Mikan. Nobara and Natsume do not get along, but so far she’s been diligent in communicating with him about information she discovers that he would not otherwise find out. There’s no way she wouldn’t try to reach out to him, which explains why he knows about it.

Natsume has been mainly absent from the chapter, and from school as well. Nobody has seen him, because he’s too busy trying to find Tsubasa. But it’s nighttime now and everyone is going to sleep. The rumors about Tsubasa’s disappearance are all around the school and he knows that Mikan knows by now. And she’s all alone.

So he takes a break from all the work he has to do to go and comfort her. He cannot leave her alone, even if he originally planned on it.

He appears in her window and she rushes to him. She asks him questions, about where he’s been and all those wounds on his body, but he didn’t come here to talk about what happened to him. He’s here for her. He confesses that he hadn’t wanted to see anyone until he’d found Tsubasa safe and sound, but he had to see her, fearing that she was crying on her own.

They're both sad. They're each other's comfort.

Natsume knows Mikan, that she frequently acts fine even if she’s suffering. Her resilience and determination are great traits, and it’s easy to get lost in the illusion that she should always be bubbly and optimistic and smiling, but even a girl like Mikan needs to let it out sometimes. Finding out that someone you love is missing is not easy, and smiling in the face of that is not something that even Mikan can do all the time. She needs comfort, and Natsume wants to be there for her.

He’s wanted this the whole time, deep down, to be someone she could rely on, someone who could comfort her, and now he’s the only one who can. All the things he’s wanted to do for her this whole time: to comfort her, to tell her it’ll be okay, to hug her. He does it all because after all they’ve been together, she knows now that he’s someone she can rely on.

She’s crying, and she admits that she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to, because she has to cry in Natsume’s place.

Natsume came to comfort her, yes, but he’s been through a lot too. He also cares about Tsubasa and has been suffering on his own for even longer. He also needs comfort, and because he won’t let himself cry, she’ll do it for him. Mikan can see that he can’t afford to not be perfectly composed all the time. She’s thinking of him, too, and it must be nice to be seen so clearly by somebody he loves.

She knows that he's close to Tsubasa too, even if he won't admit it. THEY'RE EACH OTHER'S COMFORT.

He tells her he will find Tsubasa, and “about her too”, which means he’s letting her know he’s taking care of her. He will keep an eye out and try to keep her safe. He’s hinting that he knows about her other alice, and that he’s on top of it. He has to go now, but his farewell--his promise--is his final way of comforting her for the night. She doesn’t need to worry too much about Tsubasa or what will happen with the school, because he will fix it all. He will protect her.

Conclusion

There's something looming over the kids at the academy. Something really bad is going to happen, and everyone seems somewhat aware at this point. Natsume is at the ready for the slightest threat to Mikan, and he will finally be able to spring into action in the next edition of this already-too-long essay.

So... This is the twentieth part. If I'm to guess, I'd say there's not going to be another ten parts to make it to thirty, but I might be wrong, depending on how long my analysis gets in the last parts of the manga. As I post this, I'm about fifty chapters ahead (which sounds impressive but actually isn't considering the Time Travel Arc has groups of entire chapters that I had to skip). Maybe it'll get to something like twenty-eight but I'm not sure about thirty. We'll see. Once upon a time I thought it'd be forty, even! No, not Natsume's. Mikan's, maybe, but not Natsume's.

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[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Do-S Kyuuketsu VERSUS Ⅲ Vol.5 Shuu VS Yuma [Track 2]

Original title: 在りし日の証

Source: Diabolik Lovers VERSUS III Vol. 5 Shuu VS Yuma [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Toriumi Kousuke & Tatsuhisa Suzuki

Translator’s note: Sly Yuma is the best kind of Yuma. I honestly really love the tension between him and Shuu. They have such a cute past together and a lot of potential to still be good friends despite their vastly different personalities. I feel like they would get a lot out of the friendship though. Yuma could get Shuu to stop sitting on his butt all day while Shuu could teach Yuma a thing or two about thinking before acting, haha.

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5 ll Track 6

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 2: Marks of the Past

The two of you are walking through the forest.

Shuu: ...I’m pretty sure that once we make it past here...Mmh. Seems like I wasn’t wrong.

*Rustle*

Shuu: This tree is still here, huh? ...If I recall correctly there’s an escape route by the root...

*Rustle*

Shuu: Yeah...It should still be useable. ーー Oi, don’t stand there spacing out. Get over here already. Do you want to be left behind in a forest full of monsters?

You ask Shuu if they are going the right way.

Shuu: Haah...? Are you making fun of me? This is Vampire territory. In what world would I get lost?

The two of you continue walking.

*Drip drip drip*

Shuu: ...This place hasn’t changed at all.

You ask if he has been here before.

Shuu: I used to play here as a child, that’s all. ...!

Shuu suddenly comes to a halt.

Shuu: These doodles...

You look at them in confusion.

Shuu: It’s written in this world’s language. I guess you can’t read it, huh?

You ask what it says.

Shuu: I’m pretty sure that back then, he also...

You tilt your head to the side.

Shuu: It’s nothing. More importantly, let’s hurry aーー

He flinches, sensing a presence nearby.

Shuu: Oi, you! Come here!

*Rustle*

Shuu: Shh...! Somebody’s coming!

Approaching footsteps can be heard.

Shuu: ...!! Mukami...Yuma?

Yuma: ...!?

Shuu: What are you doing here...?

Yuma: That’s what I’d like to know! Don’t give me a fuckin’ heart attack!

Shuu: ...Let’s go.

Yuma: Wait!

Yuma grabs hold of his wrist.

Shuu: Don’t touch me!

Yuma: Don’t try and run.

Shuu: I’m not running.

Yuma: Heeh? Then while we’re here together anyway, why don’t we take a lil’ trip down memory lane, huh? ...There happens to be someone here to listen to our stories as well.

Yuma glances over at you.

Shuu: Ridiculous...If that’s what you want to do, suit yourself, but I’m leaving.

Shuu starts walking away.

Yuma: I mean, fine by me. ...But in return, leave this chick behind.

Shuu: ...!?

Yuma: Ya don’t mind, do ya?

Shuu: ...Be my guest.

Yuma: Hah! As to be expected of a lil’ rich kid, you’re quick to understand. Couldn’t be me. ...I mean, in the end, I’m nothin’ but a filthy farm boy. I refuse to let go of what I want, no matter what. ーー Especially when I’m ‘bout to lose it to some aristocrat. Well, I guess that sort of stuff doesn’t matter to Mr. Rich Boy who always has everythin’ go exactly his way.

Shuu: ...Please don’t assume that everything always plays out in my advantage.

Yuma: Hah! Ya tell me.

Shuu: You can only say that...because you don’t about us at all, no?

Yuma: ...Now don’t be mockin’ me. I know ya.

Yuma walks up to Shuu.

Yuma: We were pals in the past ーー Nah, pretty much best buds, no?

He grabs hold of Shuu’s collar.

Yuma: Have ya forgotten ‘bout that already? Doesn’t lookin’ at the words written on this wall bring back any memories?

Shuu: ...!! Don’t tell me...Your memory has...?

Yuma: So it really is true...

Shuu: ...!

Yuma: I’ve only regained fragments of my memories. So I tricked ya into revealin’ the truth.

Shuu: Che...

Yuma: You’ve only got yerself to blame for takin’ the bait. ...Well, I’m sure ya would have much preferred if I never remembered at all. ...I’ve been wantin’ to ask ya this whole time. ‘Bout the fire which broke out in my village that day, for example.

Shuu: ...

You perk up your head.

Yuma: Hehe...You’re curious as well, aren’t ya?

You nod.

Yuma: Come on, tell me. You’ve got somethin’ to tell me, don’t ya? On the day of the fire, what did ya see? What did ya think? We’ve both gathered here, so let’s use the opportunity to get things straight...Shuu.

Shuu: There’s not really...anything I have to tell you.

Yuma: Cut the crap!! ...That side of ya is exactly what pisses me off!! If ya think ya can get away with keepin’ quiet, you’re gravely mistaken! You witnessed the truth with yer very own eyes that day, no!? Then why are ya tryin’ to hide it!?

Shuu: ...Hah. Aren’t you getting the wrong idea here?

*Rustle*

Shuu: I’m not simply remaining silent. I just don’t feel like I need to tell you. Don’t try and act like you know me, when you barely remember anything. It’s annoying...

Yuma: Che...Spare me the bullshit.

You run up to them and try to stop their fight.

Shuu & Yuma: ...!?

Yuma: Oi, don’t butt in.

Yuma: Shut up, keep quiet!

Shuu: Haah...Whatever.

Yuma: Aah!? Hold it! ...You’re fine with this chick bein’ taken away from you!?

Shuu: Go ahead? You’re the one who asked me to leave her behind, remember? Well, one of those ‘rich kids’ you hate so much is being generous enough to lend her to you, so why don’t you happily accept the offering?

Shuu walks away.

Yuma: ...Ugh!

Yuma punches the wall.

*THUD*

Yuma: Fuck...!! I don’t like this one bit...!!

*THUD*

Yuma: Makin’ fun of me like that...! Ugh!

*THUD*

You try and stop Yuma.

Yuma: Don’t stop me! Buzz off...!!

You seem worried about the drawings on the wall being destroyed.

Yuma: The doodles...? Ya really think I give a damn ‘bout what happens to thoー ...Haah...My bad. I lost my temper for a sec there...I guess I’m havin’ trouble bein’ honest with myself as well. ...Altho you wouldn’t say so at present, we were actually reallly close back when we scribbled these.

You ask Yuma what is written on the wall.

Yuma: This was my name when I was still human...and this one’s his. His real name. ...His ‘Vampire name’, in other words, what he is truly called. Don’t ask me ‘bout the details. I can’t read these after all. ...But I’m certain that when we were kids, we both wrote our names on here. Guess ya could say this was like our secret hideout.

You seem surprised.

Yuma: Hard to believe, huh? I don’t remember everythin’, but it’s all too weird to be just some fantasy made up by me. These should be...definite memories of our time spent together.

You ask why the two of them don’t get along at present.

Yuma: We’ve both changed. ...The fire which broke out in my village. And the fact that I became a Vampire. Regardless of my memories being intact or not, the cirumstances are just far too different. I can’t imagine...the two of us will ever get along again. Besides, I don’t think I can ever forgive him for all those years he simply turned a blind eye to everythin’. Right now...He’s nothin’ but a coward runnin’ away from the reality he doesn’t want to accept.

*Rustle*

Yuma: Tsk...Anyway, I don’t know if it’s ‘cause I’ve been reminiscin’ ‘bout the part, but it’s as if my mind is shrouded in a fog, I feel like crap.

You voice your concerns.

Yuma: I’m not that weak, I don’t need ya worryin’ over me. I’m sure I’ll feel better if I just leave this place. ーー Let’s go. I don’t know if it’ll make much difference to ya, but I’m gonna take ya someplace nice.

You seem worried about Shuu.

Yuma: Don’t let it bother ya. He said he doesn’t need ya, remember? ...Come on, follow me.

Yuma grabs hold of your wrist and drags you along.

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

[yan-twst]

Can I ask for a dorms leader (not yandere) reacting to a MC that makes a plushie that looks like one of the others, please??

riddle rosehears

at first he's confused- who left a stuffed toy of another dormleader just laying around...? moreover, where does one even get such a thing; was sam selling them or something? it seems like a strange thing for the school shop to supply...?

he'll be quite surprised when his darling tells him they made it. for real? with their own hands? he knows perhaps someone who specialized in fabrics and magic could make something similar with practice- but knowing that his darling is magicless, that they made it with their own skill is quite awe worthy for him

... but he can't help but puff his cheeks as he notes that the plush toy is notably of another dorm leader.

he's not jealous! he swears! he'll claim he is absolutely not jealous that his darling made a plush toy of another dorm leader- ah, hell, he's absolutely a little jelly but doesn't want to admit it. it's just- the plush toy is very cute and his darling spent a lot of time on it, so...

but when his darling surprises him with a mini plush toy riddle, he also goes entirely red and stops functioning for a second. oh- it's... so cute... he'll feel a bit guilty that his immature jealousy over a toy of all things made his darling feel like they had to make one of him, but he'll secretly go red and overload with cuteness when he spots his darling napping with the mini-riddle doll

leona kingscholar

so what if his darling likes sewing dolls as a hobby? he isn't crazy over it, but he wouldn't ever put them down- he'll probably start to find the sound of a sewing machine and fabric rustling relaxing enough to sleep by his darling's side as they work

but when he wakes up from a nap and sees his darling's finished product... did they seriously make a stuffed toy out of another dorm leader? he'll pretend like he doesn't care, but he's puzzled and a bit jealous.

... and as indiferent as he acted, he'll end up using the plush toy as a pillow or cuddle toy whenever his darling can't nap with him. it smells like his darling! so what if it's another dorm leader; it's not lke he can see the shape while he's asleep. if ruggie ever walks in and sees him cuddled up with the toy, though...

he won't ask for his darling to make one of him: first of all, he's too proud to do that, second of all, he'd feel too silly asking for a plush toy of himself- what is he, a child?! ... but if his darling made one, he wouldn't be upset (ok, he'd pretend to be disinterested for a second before snatching the toy)...

azul ashengrotto

oh? has his darling finished working on their project? he'll be quite excited to see, until- oh. ok, ok, it's another dorm leader. ok! he'll act like he isn't shocked or confused at all

but like- he is incredibly confused. is this some sort of message? did his darling's world have any sort of tradition on making dolls out of people they were friends with or...? and moreover, did this somehow mean his darling was close friends with another dorm leader and he had somehow never noticed?

he'll try to find the answers in the most "businesslike" way possible, trying to not make his darling know what he's trying to find out; but in the end, he can't fool his own lover for long. his darling probably figures out azul has something to say about the plush toy.

he hates acting like a child, so he does try to maintain composure. does the doll mean anything? can his darling make one of him...? he just doesn't want to feel like his darling's taking interest in another dorm leader; he does hold some insecurities...

kalim al-asim

that's so cool! his darling is so cool! he's seen some expensive and antique dolls that his family held as heirlooms or sold as treasures, but never something like this! it's one of his fellow dorm leaders- he finds it very cute!

he isn't shy at all about asking his darling to make one of him. oh, can they make one for jamil too? and a magic carpet for the plushie?! and one of themselves?! he doesn't quite understand how much work goes into making the plush toys, but he's amazed by them

he would love to help his darling in making more, but he's absolutely not allowed to go near sewing needles, leave alone sewing machines and scissors. still, he'll get them expensive fabrics and threads- he would love to see them make more!

if his darling gifts him the original plushy of another dorm leader, kalim will absolutely sleep with it: it was made by his lover after all! even if everyone thinks it's a bit odd the scarabia dorm leader sleeps with a plush toy of another dorm leader...

vil schoenheit

well well, his little potato sure worked hard to make this little plush toy. he can admire the craftmanship and the care put into it, but...! why did they chose another dorm leader as inspiration? he wants to know the logic behind it

was it ease of design? some of the dorm leaders have complex siluethes while others have less complicated builds- perhaps that was why his darling made the choice?

he isn't jealous of whoever the plush is made after- he doesn't even think much of it, but he is a little jealous of the fact his darling didn't make him. come on- wouldn't he make a beautiful doll? he's already so doll-like!

it's a bit cute to see him so flustered over the whole affair. but well- he is a drama queen, and his darling knows this! what did they expect? however, he'll find himself interested in how the doll could be dressed up; since it's based off another dorm leader, it could help as a base to see how to improve said leader's outfits

idia shroud

come on, he's already so anxious and insecure- his darling showing they made a plush toy of another dorm leader would probably send him into a small fit of anxiety and insecurity

he'll very shyly ask if the plush toy means anything- oh no, do they like the other dorm leader better...? his darling would quickly reassure him that their love for him is as strong as ever! making a plush toy of another dorm leader doesn't mean anything like that!

he'd be very interested in his darling's craft, though. handsewn with no magic... sure, there's things like sewing machines- but for idia, all technology enhanced with magic is a common commodity: could he somehow enhance his darling's sewing equipment? or make any sort of gizmo to make their craft more enjoyable

also- idia and his darling probably have the biggest cuteness overload when they find ortho playing with the dorm leader plush... since the little boy often interacted with the other dorm leaders in idia's place, he was quite pleased with the plush

malleus draconia

he's no good at reading people, so he has no clue what his darling wants him to feel when they present him with a handmade plush toy of another dorm leader

he'd take the toy in his hands and examine it- is it... weird of him to say it's cute when he's technically holding a miniature version of one of his fellow dorm leaders?

he'd assume his darling was just having fun and doing what they like- if they made their craft based on another dorm leader, he shouldn't be bothered... but he is. a little bit.

he would be too shy to ask his darling if they could make one of him, though. would he be too difficult? his horns are rather prominent... he'd end up asking his darling directly if they could maybe make one of him

he'd try to surprise his darling by sewing a mini-them, as a way to make up for him asking them to make a plush toy of him, but... well, malleus finds out he isn't as skilled with needles and thread as his darling is; he'll just have to do something nice with his magic as thanks!

[rainofaugustsith]

SWTOR and Companion Death

So. Some thoughts about companion deaths in SWTOR in general.

I'm not a fan.

SPOILERS FOR KOTFE ONWARD.

I do know the name of the franchise is Star WARS, and people die in wars. It would probably be extremely unrealistic if we had a scenario where our characters spent literally 17 years of their lives (and counting...well, 12 if we don't count carbonite) fighting and nobody around them died.

However, in SWTOR I think that most of the deaths could been avoided. I don't think they benefit the story. I think that all they really do, in the end, is deprive the audience of a lot of interesting characters. 

I do think there are occasions when a player's character may wish to reject or kill a companion, but I also feel that there are ways to write so that it is an exception, and not commonplace.

And we have not even gotten to the NPC deaths. It has been a bloodbath for years with SWTOR and the writers show no signs of stopping it. Nathema - the body count from Nathema has taken almost twenty NPCs out of the main story. Onslaught? Yeah. Many more. It's become more unusual for an NPC to actually survive for the duration than to have a kill option.

I feel there are better ways to write than to take a Game of Thrones approach and kill everyone. When you eliminate everyone's beloved characters, and you leave the player with nothing more than a rotating cast of strangers, it's quite difficult to get into the story after a while.

Going through the companion deaths from KOTFE to Iokath:

Tanno Vik: The voiceover artist who played Tanno Vik died several years ago, and apparently the devs decided not to make the character recruitable in KOTFE because of that. I can understand this one. It seems that Tanno may die regardless of your choices, too. If you spare him during your meeting, he may not have survived the attack on Asylum, especially if the PC chose to use Valkorion's power.

HK-55: Yes, we get it, you wanted to show everyone that Arcann is a big old monster. The "thrown into carbonite," "slaughtering the Scions" “subjugating both the Republic and Empire” and "ruling as a harsh dictator" plot points didn't get it across quite enough. Dramatic. Yes. And they do bring HK-55 back

My objection to this death is not that they did it - because it actually does fit, even if it's a little extreme - is that they didn't make HK-55's return available to all in the actual main story of the game. I can understand making Shroud of Memory a bonus, because it's cute and funny but doesn't tie super directly into the main plot. But Arma Rasa? I think that should have been for everyone. Yes, I know you can buy it now - and I did - but I still think it should have been main story. If it were, we could have enjoyed HK-55's commentary in the rest of KOTFE and KOTET.

Kaliyo Djannis, Aric Jorgan: Fan service. But it makes no fucking sense. What exactly are you killing them for? They didn't listen, after they tried to compensate and salvage a mission that had gone south? They were left in the lurch because your PC was mission critical and went on a hallucinogenic hiking trip and didn't show up? There's literally nothing you can do to make the mission go right. It always fails, no matter who is in charge or what you tell them to do.

In Kaliyo's case, I really question why the devs thought that she, of all people, would be the character that most players would just love to spend an entire chapter with in one-on-one quality time in KOTFE. I think her kill option was a response to that - "yes, we forced you to play a chapter with this character but look, you can let her go now." Or perhaps it was a response to the frustration some players had with not being able to kill or reject her in the class story.

I think the class story could have sustained a branch where Kaliyo was asked to leave after the Wheezer incident. I think it's reasonable that a player's Agent may not have wanted to continue associating with her at that point. There were four other characters who could have taken her dialogue in the class story missions. But to do it years later? Eh.

In Aric's case, I have no idea what they were thinking. I've never had the feeling he's a character that is widely disliked. They needed to give an option to kill someone along with Kaliyo. I don't know. But it's weird and doesn't make sense IMHO.

Senya: So she's saved her boy. We get it. But considering that Senya also spent several chapters insisting that her children needed to be brought to justice, and was fully willing to engage Vaylin in combat if not kill her - the change of heart was confusing. I think Senya's fate was attached to Arcann's simply to give Arcann greater odds of survival. It seems that people like Senya even if they don't like Arcann. If the two had been separated, I really think less people would have saved Arcann.

Koth: Fan service. Nothing but fucking fan service. I'm sure it had nothing to do with Koth being a LGBTQ+ Black man who actually protested the player's actions and didn't let them off the hook. No, nothing to worry about here with that. That;s sarcasm in case I need to clarify. If things get to the point where Koth has left, your character literally works with him to save the ship and then can kill him while Lana stands there and watches and not a single person protests. After Koth has hijacked the ship and planted a bomb on it. The ship he adores. I can’t even. They could have done so much with this character and they just...did this instead. And then chose to completely ignore him even if he remained in the player's story. I still am salty, years later, that he didn't even get a cameo in the Nathema story. It's not as though the Gravestone's fate would have bothered him at all, amirite?

SCORPIO: One of the few kill options that actually might be justifiable, but the larger question is why she was trusted so much to begin with. And why the game feels it's light side to let her merge with a planet that keeps a necropolis of billions of organics it has slaughtered as research subjects.

Arcann: I feel Arcann should be handled and considered separately because he was not established first as a companion. He was framed and written as an adversary for all of KOTFE. But here we are forced to choose between "let Arcann live and become your new BFF who takes over Lana and Theron's place of trust with no punishment for his crimes" or "kill him on live television! I'm sure I'll be an Instagram Influencer now! Follow me at AllianceCommanderOdesssen uwu!"

Vette; Torian: Completely unnecessary. You have an Alliance that is so large that fighters are literally on the cliffs and in the trees helping you as you progress through the chapter. The Gravestone's taken to the skies. And yet nobody is available to swing by Torian or Vette's position to help them. You and Lana/Theron or Senya/Arcann are literally THE ONLY PEOPLE EVER who can do that. Oh, and the super-smart Hutt scientist in charge of your Research and Development team has given Vette an assault cannon for this huge battle against strong, skilled forces, despite the fact she's only operated an assault cannon...once? For a few minutes? *thumbs up, Oggurobb!*

I feel this was simply done to try to evoke emotion and to erase any sympathy the player may have had for Vaylin, since it immediately follows the Nathema sanitarium visit.

If they really felt the need to go with this, I feel they could have tied it to player actions earlier in the game. Did you do a lot of Alliance Alerts? Did you raise the Specialists' influence above 10? Did you do some of those veteran Star Fortresses and pick up a few extra companions? Then maybe you have enough extra personnel to save both. Quinn: More fan service, served up for those who would have liked to kill or reject Quinn all those years ago in the class story.

Just like Kaliyo - and Skadge, and Tanno Vik - I think the class story could have gone on without him if the Sith Warrior had been allowed to reject him after the Quinncident. I would have rejected him at that point. The writing in the class story could have sustained it. They could have given the healer role to one of the others. And then you'd get a branch where if Quinn was present, he'd show up on Iokath. If not, it would be someone else from the Sith class story, like one of the many Moffs the Warrior meets. Maybe the dude from Ilum, since he doesn't die. Or Hesker.

Theron: Now, here's the issue. The story sets up a scenario where asking Theron to leave because you no longer trust him is understandable. But I plead the case that it never should have gotten to that point. The entire betrayal story was completely unnecessary. Theron NEEDED to go undercover like that? He had a secret language he and Lana developed and just never used it to tip everyone off? He thought frying the Commander on Iokath or throwing her out the train window would be fun? After working so hard for peace, he literally sparked the next galactic war by tipping off everyone about Iokath and manipulating them all into going there so they could learn lots of fun new ways to kill each other?

Come. On. It doesn't make sense. Even in a spy game, I don't think Theron would have really thought that prodding the Empire and Republic to war with each other and the Alliance would have been worth it.

I feel like they could have done so many other things with the Order of Zildrog, and even had the same flashpoints, without making Theron appear to betray the Alliance. 

DS Jaesa: *sigh* So she saw the Commander on the Holonet, never thought of coming to Odessen and instead went to Iokath to slaughter Alliance troops. Oh, and threaten to kill Lana, who may be the player’s partner. Again, it sets up a scenario where it makes sense that a player might kill her, but why was that even necessary? The scenario itself doesn't make sense. If you have Master Ranos, she says that Jaesa was spotted hunting for artifacts, I think? Maybe just maybe they could have worked with that?

Xalek: You're killing Xalek for...um...terrorizing miners...and...yeah. Okay. Dude was in the class story for about five minutes so I don't think anyone knows what is going on here.

Broonmark: Yes, he's basically a cold-blooded killer. But he's going after this Wookiee senator because he's allying with the Republic? Or getting some Talz to be allies? The Talz already seem to be aligned Republic. He's a bit late to that party. Why is it that I don't think Broonmark would be into politics or watching the news and would not care about this?

Rusk: Um, yeah, Bey'wan, about that guy you wanted me to recruit, he's, um, dead. Because I decided to sell him out to a Black Sun gang leader. Don't be mad?

Skadge: One of the few kill options I think most could agree is...not that bad. Your mission with Rusk is to kill him. He was an adversary in the game. My headcanon for my bounty hunters is that he never gets on the ship after Belsavis. There’s no way they would have ever brought him along. Another case of correcting something from the class story?

[pellucidity-is-me]

Remus Lupin and Latin

Summary: A young Remus Lupin studies Latin for no reason in particular. Second installment, but works as a one-shot, too. You can find the link to my longer fic on my blog description, and this one is on my AO3/FFN account, too, if you want to read it in its entirety.

Wordcount: 2073

Remus Lupin starts learning Latin at age eight, too.

He's been a werewolf now for more than three years, and it has already taken its toll. His eyes always seem to be shrouded in shadow from intense periods of exhaustion—when Remus isn't plagued by constant nightmares, he is the nightmare himself, scratching himself to bits in the small family cellar while his mum quivers in fear in the sitting room and his father tosses and turns, trying in vain to be well-rested in order to heal his son the next day before going to work. When Remus looks at himself in the mirror, he only sees the amount of weight he's lost, the pallor of his skin, the scars on his hands, and the constant dead look in his eyes that he can't seem to get rid of, no matter how much he smiles.

It doesn't really matter how he looks, though. He sees no one, save his parents, and they don't really care how Remus looks so long as he's alive.

Remus can read all by himself now, but his parents still insist on reading to him after every full moon so that he can "rest his eyes". Remus knows that this is just a ploy to get him to fall asleep, which is a bit annoying. It doesn't matter if he looks and feels tired. He doesn't need to save his energy for anything. It's not as if he has school, dinner parties, football matches... or whatever kids his age typically do. He doesn't even have friends.

What Remus does have is time—too much time, in fact; Remus has all the time in the world. When he wants to go to sleep, he will. And right now, Remus does not want to sleep. He's been doing that for hours and he's ready for something new.

His father reads him Maxwell Melephant and the Magic Elephant for what seems like the hundredth time. Remus mushes his face into the pillow and groans so vehemently that he nearly falls off the couch.

"Are you hurt?" asks Remus' father, alarmed. It's evening, two days after the full moon, and it's also a weekend. Remus' father doesn't have to work today, so he can stay home all day and fuss over Remus. Remus isn't sure whether he's pleased or annoyed by the fact. "Did the wound on your side open again? Stay there, Remus; don't move—I'll fix it..."

"Nothing's happened," says Remus. He's a bit angry, actually, so he takes a few calming breaths—in through his nose, out through his mouth. Anger is reserved for full moons and full moons only. "I'm just kind of bored, that's all."

Remus' father takes a deep breath and then places the book upside-down on the coffee table. "I'm sorry," he says. "Ever so sorry, Remus. I know it's hard. I wish I could do more. I'd switch places with you in an instant, you know..."

"It's fine," says Remus automatically. "Could you keep reading? You were at the part when the elephant was climbing the redwood tree, I think."

"So I was," says Remus' father, but he doesn't pick up the book. He doesn't speak for a long time, and Remus tries to get comfortable while he's waiting. It's not quite possible with a large wound on his side—it seems to stab Remus sharply whenever he moves his stomach the slightest amount—but he can try anyway. Once he's more or less satisfied, he pulls the scratchy woolen blanket that his mum knitted up to his neck, obscuring the scar on his left shoulder that has remained a constant reminder of what Remus is for more than three years. Remus doesn't mind that scar, not really—but he knows that his parents do.

When Remus' father opens his mouth to speak again, it's not because he's resuming the story. "You need a hobby," he says thoughtfully.

"I have a hobby," says Remus. "Misery. That's a hobby, isn't it?"

Remus' father would normally laugh at such a joke (Remus didn't mean anything by it, after all), but he doesn't today. "Are you really miserable?" he asks seriously—and a little guiltily, if Remus isn't mistaken.

"No. I'm fine. You and Mum are loads of fun, Dad. I mean it."

"But what have we done?" muses Remus' father. "What have you done?"

Remus suspects that his father is talking to himself, since he isn't making any sense. Remus has just learned the word rhetorical, and he thinks that it applies in this situation. Remus replies anyway, of course. "You teach me some magic with your wand. That's fun. And Mum teaches me maths and writing. And I read a lot. And you let me play with that Boggart that we keep in the cupboard. I help Mum cook, and I play chess sometimes. And Mum taught me to crochet. And we draw pictures together sometimes... and you tell me stories. Remember when we tried to write one? Mum said that it was the worst story she'd ever read, and you know how much she hates Maxwell Melephant."

Remus' father smiles, but it seems to be nothing more than a formality. "Yes, but that was because we depicted her as a giant, fire-breathing dragon. Your mum doesn't particularly like being depicted as a heavyweight, ancient magical animal capable of destroying entire cities in a single breath."

Remus turns into a rather heavyweight animal with claws and teeth, capable of destroying entire cities in a few hours. He does that every month. But he doesn't mention it—why ruin a good thing? It'll only upset his father. Remus laughs weakly. "I have fun. I promise."

"No, you don't. You just don't know what fun is."

"I know what fun is. Fun is a three-letter English word, derived from—" Remus pauses here, because he is an eight-year-old child who knows nothing of etymology. He hears his parents make that joke sometimes (his father is a typical Ravenclaw; he knows these things. His mother just makes things up), but he never quite understands what comes next. It's something to do with other languages, he's pretty sure. One of them, he knows, is Latin.

Remus doesn't know any other languages. He wonders what it would be like to know another language. Is it anything like the foreign words that Remus' father teaches him to speak when he's casting spells? Does real magic happen when people speak other languages? Do people look different when they speak different languages? Remus doesn't know. He's only spent time around his mother and father, after all, and neither of them are bilingual.

"I want to learn Latin," says Remus. "Is that a hobby?"

Remus' father blinks. "Do you even know what Latin is, Remus?"

"Of course I know what Latin is."

Remus' father crosses his arms, and Remus knows that he's teasing him. "Oh, really? What is it?"

"It's like... you know, another language... that people speak."

"Half right," says Remus' father, laughing. "That's an odd hobby for an eight-year-old, but I'll ask your mother what she thinks when she's done with her nap. It's time to go to sleep now, all right, Remus?"

"Keep reading Maxwell Melephant?"

"Only if you finish that glass of water. You need to..."

"Hydrate," Remus finishes with a groan. He tries to reach for the glass, but there's a sharp stabbing pain in his side that causes him to cry out—his father wordlessly hands him the glass and helps him sit up. It is extraordinarily painful, but Remus manages to finish the water. He nearly asks for more, but he doesn't particularly want to navigate standing up and going to the loo if he happens to drink too much, so he merely leans back and falls asleep to the familiar words of Maxwell Melephant and the Magic Elephant.

When Remus wakes up, his mother is pressing a damp cloth to his forehead and mumbling something. Remus blinks the sleep out of his eyes and leans into his mother's touch; her words come into focus like the lens of a Muggle camera. "...mus? You're awake?" she says, and Remus nods. "Your father tells me that you want to learn Latin?"

"Sure," says Remus. "Dad says I need a hobby. Latin's a hobby, isn't it?"

Remus' mother laughs a little and removes the cloth from Remus' forehead. Remus almost protests, but it's not long before the cloth is dipped in water again and then replaced. "Sure, honey. I suppose it is, in the most basic sense of the word. I learned Latin in school, did you know?"

"Could you teach me?"

"Erm... no. No, I don't remember a thing. It's a bit of a dead language."

"How did it die?"

"No, not dead... not dead like that. There aren't native speakers of it anymore is what I mean. Everyone who speaks Latin also speaks another language—and it's more written than spoken to begin with."

"I can write," says Remus. He doesn't know why his heart is so set on learning Latin, but it is. "I bet I'll like it."

"I... I suppose you might. I never did. Dead languages are dead boring, in my opinion." She pats Remus' hand and ruffles his hair. Remus makes a face. "I'll pick up some books at the library, all right? And then I'll teach you what I remember. It'll take a lot of studying, I'm afraid, and I don't know exactly what you're going to do with it... but why would I stop my kid from learning Latin?" She laughs. "You're an odd one, Remus Lupin."

Remus might be odd, yes, but he is also patient. He waits a full week until his mother has time to fetch Latin books. When she returns, she sits down at the dining room table with Remus and teaches him the basics of conjugating and declining.

And Remus does not like Latin. He's not very good at memorizing things, even though he does it all the time (what else is there to do?). He doesn't have a good enough grasp on the English language quite yet to understand the subtleties of a second language. But he studies the language anyway.

And he keeps doing it for years.

He becomes relatively good at Latin, actually. He grows to love it. He likes studying by his window on a rainy day. He adores the time that he spends with his mother, studying Latin while she reads a book or knits or fusses over Remus. He relishes it, because every time that he spends on Latin is time spent—and all Remus aims to do is to spend time, really. He has no goal. Latin is a relatively useless language.

But when has Remus ever done anything that was beneficial for his future? Remus has no future. He knows this at eight years old. He knows this because the Ministry have told him so. He knows this because his whole life has implied the fact. There are constants in Remus Lupin's life: the full moon, pain, and loneliness. He will live in a small house with his three closest and only friends (his mother, his father, and the Boggart that they kept in the cupboard) forever. Remus cannot fathom forever, but he knows that it's a very long time, and he spends his seconds waiting for it to end.

He picks up Welsh a year and a half later. Remus is Welsh himself, though he hasn't lived in Wales since he was five. Remus' mother protests. "Remus, not everyone in Wales speaks Welsh," she says. "No one in my family speaks it. You'll have no one to speak Welsh with. We've been living in France for a week now; why don't you learn French instead?" But Remus hardly has anyone with which to speak English, even, so he doesn't really care. Besides, they only end up staying in France until the next full moon.

Remus' time whittles away, bit by bit, second by second. His life exists in intermissions between full moons. He can't do anything useful, because he would need a future to do so—so he learns languages that no one speaks, memorizes poetry for no real reason, and writes stories that no one will see. He doesn't have a reason behind anything, but—much like his appearance—he doesn't care so long as he's alive.

[bandyisdandy]

Persona 4 Golden - The Rainbow Connection (2/10/21)

Anyone who knows me within the space of gaming knows that my favorite game of all time is arguably Persona 5 Royal. The game just oozes personality and fun from the get-go. It is easy enough to pick up and check out, but also deep enough to keep you engaged for hours upon hours, hungering for more even after the credits roll on your 80 to 120 hour experience. Saying this, I also have to admit that, while it is the fifth entry in the franchise, I had never played another Persona before vanilla 5. Whenever hardcore players of the series I met over the years heard this, they insisted I play 3 and/or 4 before I go on saying that 5/Royal is my favorite in the franchise. This past January, I decided to finally pull the trigger and check out Persona 4 Golden on Steam. After playing the game for about 70 hours, I defeated the true final boss and finally put the controller down for a bit. All I can say is... what a god damn magical experience this was.

Persona 4 is a JRPG (Japanese Role-playing Game) that puts you in control of Yu, a high schooler living in the middle of Tokyo who is moving in to the country with his police officer uncle and young cousin while his parents go away for a year on business. While there, you meet a young man named Yosuke and a girl named Chie who tell you about a mysterious phenomenon known as the Midnight Channel that shows up when a heavy fog rolls into town and the clock strikes midnight. One night, while viewing this phenomenon, a girl appears in the screen who looks an awful lot like a senior to the students at their school. The next day, her corpse is found strung up on a telephone pole, baffling the police due to the fact that a similar death took place around the time of Yu’s arrival. While investigating the murder of their senior, Yu and Yosuke discover they can enter a special television at a department store, where they meet Teddie, a living teddy bear who can lead them through the fog-dense world within the TV. Upon finding a space where their senior once was, they fight beings known as Shadows and awaken Persona, living embodiments of their fighting spirit as well as their own belief and acceptance of themselves in order to do combat with the Shadows. After their victory, they figure out that someone pushed the upperclassman into the world within the television and the Midnight Channel prophesizes the deaths of those who appear on it. Using this knowledge, Yu and Yosuke continue to make friends, investigate the case, and do their best to uncover the culprit before a year is up and Yu must return home.

... That seems like a lot, right? Well, crazily enough, that is probably the first 5 hours or so at most, and there is another 65+ to go in your first playthrough. Now, this game, at first, is a tough sell especially if you are like me and played 5/Royal first as those games have spoiled our perceptions of what the franchise is and can be. Persona 4 Golden is definitely a step down visually as well as design and music-wise in comparison to 5. It just does not have the same substance that game does and the gameplay, in comparison, feels a bit dated here. The Shadows you encounter in 5′s dungeons are also the enemies you actually fight this time around and the Tarot Card system makes collecting and recruiting Persona much more annoying than the way 5 handles it in combat. However, while it sounds like I am being quite harsh on the game, in reality, this is by and far one of the best JRPGs I have ever played and cannot be recommended by me more. Since I got all the negatives out of the way, let’s look at the heaps of praise I have for this triumph of a game.

First and foremost, what really sets this game above and beyond a lot of others, maybe even doing this better in many respects than Persona 5/Royal, is the characters. Every character is just so damn interesting, and really adds so much charm to what is already a rather charming game. They bring the story as well as the countryside town you now find yourself in that much brighter and bigger. Each one has goals, values, idealizations, and realizations that flesh them out more than most games I have played, all of them having incredibly satisfying conclusions to their stories. Some stand outs for me are your young cousin Nanako, who is lonely due to her father always working as a police officer and her mother passing away in a car accident a few years prior to the start of the game, Kanji Tatsumi, a punk who uses violence and fear to mask his incredibly soft, caring side that enjoys arts and crafting more than he would care to admit, and Naoto Shirogane, a young detective hiding her femininity in order to find power and prestige in the world of private investigation which, in Japan especially, is a male dominated field - these are just some of the memorable characters you will meet. I am currently doing a second playthrough and have already met two characters I never encountered in my first playthrough that are honestly becoming some of my favorites in the series! Building relationships (yes, even romantic ones with your female classmates) is key to not only finding out more about them, but also key to getting stronger, unlocking abilities and weapons for you to use in your playthrough that will seriously make the game not only easier but I would go as far as to say more fun in regards to what possibilities open up to you in combat. Growing the bond between you and your friends within your party is also the only way to strengthen and evolve their Persona to bigger and better forms, making combat flow easier but also giving one a true sense of power, purpose and meaning in the memories you create with Yosuke and the gang.

The other thing that really made me fall in love with Persona 4 Golden is its story and location. While the bustling cityscape of Tokyo and Shibuya really makes Persona 5 and Royal feel big and grandiose in its vision of what a modern JRPG can be, Persona 4 Golden, while feeling smaller in comparison, feels much more unique and, weirdly enough, nostalgic - at least for me. The town of Inaba is small with little to do at first, but it still has some beautiful and honestly quite intriguing sights to see (I’m looking at you, Greedy Shrine Fox). As you become more accustomed to the town and what it offers, it surprises you and opens up even more based on your time within the game, the weather outside, and even the time of the day you are out and about exploring. I grew up in a small town outside of Boston and while it’s not exactly like Inaba, the parts I spent most of my days remind me of it - areas covered in trees near streams with small restaurants and bars nearby, nature trails to walk, seeing mostly the same people each and every day - it really sent me back to life growing up when I was the age of the characters and truly made the game something memorable and instantly connected me to what was happening. As for the plot, I am a sucker for a murder mystery - I love true crime and have always loved police or detective shows growing up. Being able to work towards a case and have your decisions, investigations, and choices up to certain points have merit and weight behind them in regards to what ending you get is absolutely amazing and really sets the tone for a game that shrouds you in mystery and keeps you at the edge of your seat at all times, all the while still finding the time to help you enjoy the ride with laughter, tears, and dialogue that just really gets to you from beginning to end, sticking with you even after you’ve beaten it. Throw in some seriously fantastic boss fights, great music, and top notch voice acting for the time and it all adds up to a package with so much content and so much to tell you along the way that you just can’t help but keep playing until you absolutely have to put it down, only to continue for hours and hours later on.

All in all, Persona 4 Golden is a seriously fun game. While I still think Persona 5 Royal is a better game than it, I cannot stop thinking about the journey it took me on. The places I saw, the people I met and became friends with along the way - it’s a surreal, dream-like game that really gets you thinking right from the beginning and keeps you on your toes until the bitter end. I found myself engrossed in the lives of these characters, worried for them anytime something happened to them within the context of the game’s narrative and only hopes to see them come out on top, and thankfully this was usually the case in my playthrough thanks to the choices I made. I can only wonder what would have happened if I chose things differently - where would my characters have ended up at the end of all this? Would things have gotten worse for them? Who knows - all I know is that once the game was over, I had nothing but smiles and happiness going through my head as I saw my friends say goodbye and I loaded up my stuff onto the train. All those precious moments, etched into my mind forever; the hardships of the dungeons, the toughness of the Shadows, the mystery of the killer - that’s how you create a great game narrative, and finish it with an even greater, satisfying ending. Check out Persona 4 Golden on Steam TODAY if you liked this review! https://store.steampowered.com/agecheck/app/1113000/

[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.

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

"we can work together. we can help each other." high school starker

do the thing - send in all the prompts. 

thanks for this one, nonnie - I love high school AUs! 

After figuring out the extent of his powers, Peter knew two things – one, he’d never be able to go out for football, and two, he needed to use his powers for good. The first fact felt like the ultimate bummer – what good was super strength if he couldn’t use it to boost his social status? Because, if we’re being honest, Peter didn’t have the greatest time amongst his peers in the halls of Midtown Science and Tech. Despite being surrounded by a school of people with higher levels of intelligence, Peter still fell pretty far down the loser ladder.

The second realization, well – he wasn’t too upset about that. After the first couple of times interacting with the criminals around Queens, it felt good to be a presence that kept mischief away. In his makeshift suit, he felt cool – and if the people who taunted and made fun of him could only see him in action, he knew their opinion would change.

Even low-level heroes didn’t get themselves into potentially dangerous situations for the notoriety, though – Peter wore a mask specifically so people didn’t know who he was. There’d been enough drama in his life up until this point, it didn’t make sense to invite more of it onto his doorstep. So – he tolerated being an outcast in the halls at school because Peter knew his own potential, he understood that even the little things he did to protect the people saved lives – and he supposed that’s really all that mattered.

At least, it felt that way until a new kid started to walk the halls halfway through junior year. Midtown didn’t get a lot of new students, so the guy was the talk of the halls for a while – his ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude was hard to ignore. On top of the superior intelligence, the new kid had all of the ingredients to be one of the chosen ones. Instead, he kept to himself – which if he were being honest with himself, Peter found a little odd.

Not that he had any room to talk – he’d been watching the boy in the hall for the last couple of months, trying to decide what his deal was, but never actually speaking to him. Their lockers were only five down from each other (Peter would be remiss to admit that yes, yes indeed, he did count) and there’s been more than a few opportunities to turn his head and simply say hello. Yet, he’s never taken any of them. For the most part, Peter enjoyed watching from afar, doing his best to understand with only half the facts.

Arriving late to Italian one Monday, Peter was shocked to see that the only place that did not have an ass in the seat was located right next to the new kid. Peter did his best to not be noticed when he stumbled in, his brow still a little sweaty from the chase he’d been in not even thirty minutes previously. He managed to get the guy webbed to the side of a building and an anonymous call in to the police before school started – but he missed the train, which seemed like the ultimate irony.

They were already halfway through the class period, so he spent time looking around the room, instead – and by looking around the room, that meant turning his head away from Tony whenever the boy caught him staring. When they were given time for conversation partners, Peter turned toward the other cautiously, his head tilted. “I’m Peter,” he started, his mouth working faster than the filter his brain was still trying to put into place.

A solid laugh from the other relieved a little bit of the tension in his chest – the tiniest hint of a smile slipping across his cheeks. “I know. I’m Tony – Tony Stark,” the other answered, the new kid finally attached to a name – a suave and debonair name to go with the mystery the guy was shrouded in. “You can’t speak Italian for shit, but you’re really good at Chemistry.”

Peter probably looked like a fish out of water, his lips gapping. It wasn’t often that Peter was the one being observed and from the fresh set of details Tony just dropped, it seemed like the tables were slowly being turned on him. He didn’t get to say anything else, though, their brief time to communicate cut short when the bell rang.

He didn’t see Tony again until he needed to work on his newest version of the web fluid – his old stuff just not doing the trick the way he needed it to. He needed to change the viscosity of it and knew the exact place in the formula to do it. Without thought, he wandered into the open Chemistry lab, his Spidey senses tingling a second before he noticed another human’s presence – the inky dark hair of none other than Tony Stark drawing his attention almost immediately.

No one said anything, in fact – Tony didn’t even look up. His hand flew across the piece of paper on the table below him, his brain obviously working a mile a minute. He could do the ignoring thing, too – and went about grabbing all of the things he needed to start working on the web fluid and got to it.

His head only turned every couple of minutes to look in the other’s direction.

Finally at the point where the reaction was starting to come together, Peter let out a shriek of embarrassment when the beaker started to bubble – his hand almost immediately stuck to the desk. “Oh, shit,” Peter mumbled, his free hand moving out of the way of the rogue solution, the idea of having both hands stuck to the desk more obscene than the current situation.

The rustle of papers and then feet brought Tony’s proximity to his attention – the boy standing in front of him, a huge smirk on his face. “Are you stuck to the table? What the hell is that stuff?” Tony immediately dove in, the questions coming out at an aggressive pace. His sepia eyes were wide, the boy tilting his head to get a better look at the piece of paper on the desk.

“Web fluid?” Tony asked, his tone curious. They caught glances and for the first time since meeting him, Peter understood how truly smart Tony Stark was. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes and then his hands were pulling his phone out and typing furiously on the screen.

“This is you, isn’t it?” Peter grimaced when he saw the video Tony pulled up on YouTube, his latest swing through the middle of the city playing in front of him. His stomach swam a bit, cheeks coloring.

“Uh – no. That’s just bull shit computer generation, right?” Peter replied, the words coming out of his mouth sounding a little weak, a sort of resignation already there. 

Tony was too smart for his own good and soon, another video was being played for him, this one showing the very chemical reaction he’d been trying to duplicate on the desk in front of him - his patented webbing the bad guy to a building coming back to bite him in the ass. 

“That’s totally you. That stuff is genius, Pete. I had Jarvis get his hands on some of the stuff from my dad’s lab – you created something that could serve a lot of purposes.” Tony kept talking, but Peter tuned him out after the uttered ‘from my dad’s lab’.

Choking, Peter suddenly realized why Tony’s last name sounded so familiar. Stark Industries was just on the tv for their newest energy saving development – he remembered saving the link to the article he looked up later to read through the next time he was bored.

Oh shit.

“Your dad’s lab – shit, Tony. You can’t tell anyone about this. Not that there’s anything to tell – but especially not your dad,” Peter babbled his brain forgetting for a second that he was still stuck to the table as he tried to pull away. “Please,” Peter mumbled, the flush in his cheeks getting worse by the second.

Tony didn’t reply for a second, his attention having moved to the piece of paper in front of him. He pulled a pen from behind his ear and worked out a few things, the scribbles from earlier back once again with a vengeance. He fucked around with a few of the chemicals on the table and measured everything out until he was looking at the beaker triumphantly.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. I want to help you,” Tony finally remarked, the boy pouring the liquid in the beaker onto the mess holding Peter to the table. Within a few seconds, the web fluid was loosening, allowing Peter to pull his hand free.

Looking at him speculatively, Peter raised a brow – apprehension tangible in the air between them. “Help me? How could you help me?”

Tony grinned, nimble fingers replacing the pen behind his ear. “Hear me out. We can work together. We can help each other. I have access to materials that could put this stuff to shame. I’ll help you with your gadgets and you teach me how to fight back, how to be brave." Though the words weren’t said with anything but confidence, Peter noticed the small falter, Tony’s weakness peeking through the cracks ever so slightly.

Peter pulled in a big sigh, his brain already saying yes, the idea of having help, of having someone who knew – it was too much of a siren call to resist.

“Fine – but you tell no one. Got it?” Peter demanded, his tone as forceful and assertive as he could make it.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Peter – I mean, Spider-Man,” Tony got out, the correction making his cheeks crinkle with a full faced smile.

[wincore]

count to six | lee donghyuck

pairing: haechan x reader

words: 2.7k

prompt: anonymous sent: could you write a boyfriend donghyuck for valentine’s day? i love your writing!

genre: fluff like a LOT of FLUFF

warnings: language (?)

a/n: i wasn’t sure what you wanted anon, please accept my heavy dose of fluff!! also i made it really cheesy again sdfghj i promise i’ll have more plot next time

If you ever, at some point in your life, thought getting stranded in the rain with your boyfriend is romantic, you were terribly wrong. Especially if your boyfriend is a whining mess, more grumbly than usual on a hungry stomach.

You slouch forward onto your knees, thinking you should really start paying attention to the weather forecast, and also to your three year-old of a boyfriend. Donghyuck sulks sitting at the steps to a closed restaurant, the only shelter you could find from the sudden downpour after your afternoon classes. It sucks having extra classes on a weekend, but the gloomy weather is what really ruined your mood. You just hope your notes aren’t soaked from the run you had to make after the suddenness of the first few raindrops.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just make a run for it,” Donghyuck repeats, “I don’t care if I get sick right now.”

“Because, Hyuck, you’re gross when you’re sick,” you state. He’s also grumpier when he’s sick, even worse than when he’s hungry.

Donghyuck frowns, exaggerating his feelings with a show of wiping away invisible tears. His pouted lips turn back to normal when he notices you deliberately ignoring his face.

“Think about it,” he says, looking up before turning to you, “It could be fun!”

“What’s so fun about your nose leaking?” you deadpan.

Donghyuck furrows his eyebrows. “That’s not the point. We don’t have to go to class, and I get to make chicken soup for you.”

The open-mouthed smile on his face is accompanied with an almost hopeful glance, while you suppress your laughter that comes naturally in his presence. It wasn’t like this before, but you’d have quite some trouble admitting you’re the happiest when you’re with him.

“Don’t you like taking care of me too?” he says, sudden teasing in his tone.

“When am I not taking care of you?” you rub your temples as you respond.

The flower pots lining the steps keep their residents facing the sky, as if waiting patiently for the sun to come out again. Donghyuck leans against the railing, his head touching the cold iron, as he sighs dramatically.

“My own lover treating me like a burden,” he says in a distressed tone, enough to land him an acting role at the annual play. “Truly a tragedy, my life is.”

“Gosh, you’re so dramatic,” you complain. “Just sit still for a while till the clouds clear up.”

“But that’ll take so long,” he whines, “And I’m hungry. I’m pretty sure I’ll die if I don’t eat soon.”

You roll your eyes, giving up trying to reason with him. There are times when your boyfriend is cute, and there are times when he’s annoying. Lately, they seem to be merging into making you feel an indescribable flurry of emotions where you want to just kiss him and smack him across the head at the same time. As noisy as he can get, he still looks annoyingly adorable with his lips shaped into a pout and his eyes as wide and resolute as a child’s.

Your temper and emotions go back and forth like a switch when you’re with Donghyuck. One moment, you’re talking casually about things you like and things you want to do, and the other, you’re at each other’s throats. The sort of relationship you have has given your friends a topic to joke about (especially Renjun, who pokes at either of you to tick you off) and while your life never gets devoid of colour, the push and pull can get tiring sometimes.

Right now, you feel exhausted. You’re sure Hyuck is too, and yes, a part of you feels bad for him skipping breakfast and having to go hungry no matter how much he dramatizes it. He’s usually responsible (surprising) but sometimes his mood swings do get the best of him. If you hadn’t known him, you would still be scowling at him and every little thing he does.

The first time you met him, the first day of college to be precise, it was more a mess than anything else. You got off on the wrong foot, and didn’t get along ever since for a very, very long time.

The way he spoke, and still speaks as though rules don’t apply to him, the way he liked to pick a fight with you every time in the cafeteria, the way he shrouded himself with the popular kid vibe—all of it pissed you off. You didn’t like how his teasing used to go too far, whether it was meant for you or anyone else not on his friend list, didn’t like how he was so full of mischief and all sorts of trouble, didn’t like how he was always determined to be the centre of attention. It was hard to find people who didn’t know him, but you found yourself frequently reminding him that he didn’t own the world, that the world wasn’t his best friend. You also hated how he was good at anything he did, the ugly portion of you ensured that. That was all part of Lee Donghyuck, you decided, the most annoying little monster you’ve ever known, the boy whose face made you regret stepping foot on campus.

Looking back on it, you wonder if you realized then that the world is more than black and white after meeting Donghyuck; that it has yellows and oranges, reds and purples too.

“Your face is so annoying,” Donghyuck made sure to tell you in every class you had together.

You glared at him every time and tried your best to ignore him. You never understood how he could be so maddening without any effort at all. It bothered you, however, that at least he was annoyingly loving towards his friends, whereas he never took off his mean demeanour with you.

And as it turned out Lee Donghyuck is also terrible at voicing his emotions. Or so you thought. It’s always been either making a show of overly affectionate kisses or verbal insults and teasing with him, as far as you knew. You, however, weren’t his friend and you deduced he most likely insulted you so frequently because he hated your guts and because of the competitive air of your classes.

The last person you had expected to find in the middle of your mental breakdown was, hence, Lee Donghyuck. You had tears streaming down your red and splotchy face, hugging your knees at some obscure corner of the campus grounds, with the skies getting ready to change colours. You didn’t expect to find anyone, much less Donghyuck there, and the unpredicted state of affairs left you paralyzed in your place.

And the last thing you expected was for Donghyuck to crouch down beside you and place a warm hand on your back. He looked as though he wanted to say something but he refrained, choosing to stay still instead. It was a few minutes of you choking back your sobs when he opened his mouth, his voice sounding unsure, unfamiliar with having to comfort someone in your condition.

“Just,” he says, voice soft, “Just count to six, and pretend it’s over.”

You breathed for the six seconds you’re instructed to count, and look at Donghyuck with a calmer mind. Your heart, however, doesn’t do so well with the closeness between yours and Donghyuck’s faces. The two of you get up hurriedly at the same time, Donghyuck awkwardly clearing his throat before you look at each other again. You were almost surprised to find the same shy smile on both of your faces as you thanked him quietly and parted ways.

The thought of Donghyuck looking your way gave you a different feeling after that evening. When he turned his head in your direction ignoring his friends while they talked, his eyes met yours on accident. There was a moment for which neither of you reacted, a rather tense moment for you, before Hyuck gave you a small smile. It was hard not to reciprocate and that was how things got smoother.

Even so, you found more things you disliked about Donghyuck. You didn’t like the way he thought he wasn’t all that good looking, even if you were to scream it in his face. You didn’t like the way he pretended he didn’t do enough, like he needed more to feel worth something, you didn’t like how he criticized himself continually, looking for ways to improve. The first time you argued as friends was when you found the bruises on his knuckles, the wounds he refused to take care of. It was almost as if he didn’t care about his health sometimes, and it worried you, although you wouldn’t explicitly voice it.

“I’m doing my best,” Donghyuck had reluctantly repeated after you, counting to six before that, despite the hoarseness of his voice.

“Yes, and you should stop forcing yourself to improve,” you chided.

“Gee, okay, mom.”

You glared at him, leaning away defensively, but soon after you had spent the evening having hot chocolate with Donghyuck and laughing at his imitation of Renjun’s face when he found a spider on his bedside table.

To be honest, you were so busy being afraid of Donghyuck giving you sunburns that you had ignored the actual warmth he radiated.

You ended up making more friends than you bargained for, but when you think about it now, the world has always been a little brighter since you’ve known Lee Donghyuck. It’s different now; Donghyuck’s teasing doesn’t affect you, in fact having grown more friendly and affectionate, and every fight you have ends with laughter instead of tired scowls. It became so strikingly different then that people had started to assume your relationship status. It’s frequent you heard people saying that they knew you’d end up like this since the beginning, and that it was so obvious you were into each other. Jaemin and Renjun’s loud teasing didn’t help (“Aww, our Donghyuck-ie is all grown up and falling in love.” “I can’t believe I’m friends with you.”) and although you shrugged it off, your heart was running off elsewhere.

You were more glad than anything to have found a companion that shared the same curiosity, same intensity. Did you actually love bickering with Donghyuck? Absolutely, but it’s not the only thing you enjoyed. You liked that Hyuck was always ready to receive your calls, to set out on any journey, no matter how spontaneous. The time you spent together gave you laughter and fun, thoughts and warmth.

To hear Donghyuck say he liked you had been an entirely new feeling. No matter how much he had planned beforehand, he messed it up in the end, his premature confession leaving you unable to respond. You have to admit though, the bright red of Donghyuck’s ears and the rapid movement of his lips trying explain himself gave your heart a little jump. Your heart got into even more of a frenzy as you cupped Donghyuck’s face (“Lee Donghyuck, you talk too much.” “I- I- huh?”) and flashed him your brightest smile, ending up being the one to officially ask him out.

You don’t know much about the puppy love phase, but the first few months did leave you annoyingly giddy at every touch. You hated how easy it was for him to influence your heartbeat and your breathing, but you loved every minute with him. It’s still fun to explore all the things that make your boyfriend Lee Donghyuck, fun to laugh with him at every date. It’s almost as if the sun’s decided to bask the two of you in its blessings. You almost laugh remembering your first kiss, and the look on Donghyuck’s face. That’s a memory you’re certainly going to keep.

“Let’s make a run for it,” Donghyuck snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Why are you still on that?” you groan.

“We won’t even get wet! Trust me on this,” he explains, moving his arms to emphasize, “The bus stop isn’t even that far away.”

“Oh, we definitely will get drenched. Do you hear the rain?”

Donghyuck glares at you. “Right. I forgot you run at 0.03 miles per hour.”

You take a sharp intake of breath before huffing. “You’re so impatient, Hyuck. Just wait for a bit more. Let’s count to six.”

You hear him mumble the numbers quickly and he ends with a loud ‘six!’. The look you give him makes him slouch again, as he sighs into his hands. You’re determined to wait this out.

“If you’re making me sit here, at least give me something interesting to do.”

“Go fetch.”

Donghyuck wraps an arm around you to hold you in an aggressive yet affectionate manner, shaking you slightly while questioning your affections for him, and it ends in laughter on both parts.

“I swear you don’t think of me as your boyfriend- am I just a cute puppy to you?” Donghyuck complains.

“You’re not even cute.”

Donghyuck twists his lips into a pout, batting his eyelashes, and you laugh once again.

“Fine. Maybe a little.”

You think you’ve spent at least half an hour more, as you rest your head against Donghyuck’s shoulders. The rain doesn’t stop yet, and you grow uneasy by the minute. Will it really take all afternoon?

Donghyuck suddenly gets up. He peers down at you with a blank face before crouching to grab your hand and pull you up.

“I have decided that I no longer care if you hate me,” he informs you, before dragging you out into the heavy downpour.

“H-hyuck!” you can barely speak as you’re hit with rain and wind. You know you’re going to be soaked through after barely a few minutes. Rains like these hardly show mercy to the unlucky. You don’t want to get sick, and god forbid you missing your classes right before your finals.

Hyuck suddenly stops midway, to turn and look at you. The rain still pours, although it’s lessened quite a bit since you made your sudden journey.

“Hyuck, what are you doing?! Are you crazy?” you wail.

“You’re being too uptight,” he pouts. “Besides, didn’t you say you like this kind of thing?”

“What thing?” you ask, and immediately regret it when Hyuck steps forward with a heart-fluttering smile, and the two of you stand there getting drenched. He cups your face and slowly leans in to press a chaste kiss to your lips, your chests touching and you barely register the taste of rain before he pulls away.

Your cheeks feel like they’re burning despite the cold as you try to muster coherent words to shoot at your boyfriend and his unpredictable decisions. Does he really not care about consequences?

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” Donghyuck says, his hair a wet mess and raindrops rolling down his face. But he’s smiling so bright, it’s like the sun has left the sky to stand in front of you.

“You cheesy fucker,” you accuse. Donghyuck doesn’t do things he dislikes very often, which means all the times he made fun of you for cooing at romance movies were not very accurate in representing in his true feelings.

“You didn’t pull me here just to kiss me in the rain, did you?” you ask, genuinely confused.

Donghyuck scratches the back of his head, suddenly shy as he speaks through his pout. “You’re the one who likes that kind of stuff. I was just…being considerate! You know? I didn’t really plan it…to be honest.”

You laugh, your shoulders shaking. Donghyuck’s eyes light up with a smile as he looks at you.

“I think we’re both very stupid,” you say.

“Yes, we’re standing in the rain, getting wet for no reason right now,” Donghyuck nods thoughtfully, as you grab his hand and rush towards the bus stop.

The bus driver might have looked at the two of you rather disdainfully as you climbed onto bus, wet steps trailing behind you, but it didn’t really matter when you had an excuse to stick closer to each other on the seats. Donghyuck intertwined his fingers with yours, a satisfied hum playing on his lips, as you placed your head against his shoulder. You still think heavy rains are awful, but this time might just be an exception.

(Note: You didn’t get sick, surprisingly. Did the kiss embarrass you enough to keep you warm?)

[fancat-not-fangirl]

It’s Not You Pt.17

a/n: Sorry for the delay!! I hope you guys like it!!! Thank you so much to those that read and review! I love you guys so so much <3

<><><>

The remainder of the day had been spent with the LEGOs. After hugging it out over their presents, the boys had put on Christmas music and cleared some space in the living room. Dean had dragged aside the coffee table, and had helped Cas shift the couch away from the center of the room. 

Spilling the pieces out onto the floor and opening the instruction manual, Cas and Dean then began the painstaking process of assembling the Death Star.

Dean couldn’t have been happier. He finally, finally, had a LEGO set of his own. Those meager bricks that he and Sam had found under the motel bed were nothing compared to the immense amount of them spread out before him now. And this time, what he’d build with them would actually resemble something, instead of the crude shapes he and his brother had put together in the backseat of the Impala all those years back. 

But what hadn’t changed from the last time he had played with LEGOs was that both times he was doing it with the people he loved most.

Cas seemed to be enjoying Dean’s childish excitement as the older of the two enthusiastically immersed himself in constructing the Death Star. His eyes twinkled with amusement every time Dean finished building a specific part of the set and let out a triumphant cry. He made teasing remarks about Dean’s little victory dances and immature squeals of happiness. Dean didn’t mind, though. Not at all.

The time flew. They had only managed to build about half of the Death Star and were in the middle of having a sword fight using the tiny lightsabers that came with the LEGO set when Cas had yawned, prompting him to get ‘stabbed’ by Dean’s lightsaber and ‘lose’ the fight. Getting up from off the floor and checking the time, Dean was surprised when the numbers on his phone read 9:30.

“Are you kidding me, Cas? It’s only nine thirty and you’re already tired?”

“Well, it’s not like I can say that I slept last night.”

That shut Dean up pretty quickly. If he was being honest, the previous night didn’t do him any favors, either. He couldn’t help but send a guilty look towards Cas, who accepted Dean’s outstretched hand as the older boy hauled the freshman off the floor and into his arms.

“Well I’m here now, and something tells me that tonight will be different.”

And it was. But not in the way that some perverts might think.

Even if it took them a while to actually get comfortable.

“Cas, stop elbowing me in the freaking ribs,” Dean whispered furiously as Cas shifted his position on the bed. Both boys had decided to sleep on Cas’s bed instead of the one in Dean’s temporary room. It was the bigger and more comfortable of the two, but even then it didn’t give them much space to move around. The blanket was also better in Cas’s room, but it, too, wasn’t as large as they would have hoped for. 

“Then you stop stealing all the blanket,” Cas hissed back at him, yanking on the edge of the blanket that Dean had curled around himself, leaving none for Cas. Dean harrumphed and didn’t budge. “Dean, I’m freezing my ass off here.”

At that, Dean rolled over and splayed on top of Cas, wrapping his arms around him and snuggling into Cas’s chest. “Better?”

Letting out a breath of air, Cas starting trying to shove Dean off. “No, you idiot. Get off of me!” But Cas’s attempts to remove Dean from on top of him failed miserably as the older boy simply locked his arms in a viselike grip around Cas and refused to budge. “Jesus Dean, how many elephants did you eat today?”

“None, as a matter of fact. You’re just weak.”

Cas huffed. “Just shut up and give me back my blanket.”

And after a while of outraged hissing and whispering back and forth, Dean relented and rolled back off of Cas, who immediately took possession of his half of the blanket and gave Dean one last glare before turning over to face away from him. Dean smiled and wrapped an arm around Cas’s waist, pulling him back against him. Chest to back. Cas was tense for a few moments more before letting out a sigh and relaxing against Dean, who squeezed him tighter and rested his head in the nape of Cas’s neck, inhaling the scent that had now become so familiar to him.

The previous night’s tears and pain slowly went away, and all that was left was the sounds of them breathing in sync, wrapped in Cas’s warm blanket.

<><><>

“Dean, I’m hungry.”

It was near noon but until this point, neither Dean nor Cas had made any move to get out of bed. They had been content to just lay side by side and cuddle, not having a care in the world.

That is, until Cas’s stomach started complaining.

“Dean, I’m hungry,” Cas repeated again, poking Dean in the side. They were in a position where Dean’s arms were around Cas’s waist and Cas was facing Dean. At first that had meant kissing, but now it meant that Cas had access to Dean’s ticklish sides. 

Dean didn’t appreciate that at all. He rolled Cas over and pinned Cas’s arms to his sides so that they wouldn’t be able to reach him. “No, this is comfy,” he murmured into Cas’s ear.

“I’m not saying that it’s not comfortable, I’m saying that I’m hungry and that we should go eat something.”

Dean shook his head. “No. I don’t want to get out of bed.”

Cas let out an exasperated sigh and tried to twist around but Dean held fast. There was no way he was letting Cas tickle him into getting out of bed. He was Dean Fricking Winchester. He was not going to be defeated by some meager-

“Aha!” Cas exclaimed triumphantly as he swivelled back around and started tickling Dean, and the older boy couldn’t hold back the howl of laughter that escaped his mouth as he writhed under Cas’s hands. He let go of Cas and his arms flew from Cas’s waist back to his own as he tried to get rid of the fingers attacking his sides.

“Ok! Ok, I surrender! I surrender!” Dean laughed out, letting out a breath of relief when Cas retreated his hands as the freshman rolled out of bed and stood up. Grinning, Dean followed suit, slapping Cas’s ass as the freshman brushed past him, out into the hallway and then into the bathroom. Cas had playfully stuck his tongue out at Dean, and as Dean strode into his own room to change into a sweater and jeans. He smiled to himself at the thought of Cas’s sleep ruffled hair. At his bright blue eyes. At his cute little nose, and perfect lips, and adorable smile, and Dean thought he could go on forever.

Dean slipped on a dark sweater and pulled on faded jeans, then as an afterthought he put on the new fuzzy socks that Cas had gotten him for Christmas. Walking out into the hallway, Dean felt how slippery the floor was under his socked feet. Smiling, he tried running down the hall and stopping suddenly, which sent him sliding along the floor. It was not unlike ice skating, and was just as fun. He did it again just as Cas was walking out of the bathroom. Cas danced out of the way when Dean tried to slap his ass this time and smacked Dean lightly on the arm before going into his own room to change.

Dean made his way downstairs and into the kitchen, running and sliding past the living room along the way. He had to admit, he was fairly proud at the amount of progress he and Cas had made with the LEGOs. If he had been doing it himself, it would have surely taken him at least a week, but yesterday with Cas helping him it had only taken them a few hours to get through almost half of the Death Star. That meant that if they had the time, they’d be able to finish it today.

On that optimistic note, Dean opened the fridge. Oh.

He heard Cas’s footsteps on the stairs and closed the fridge, calling up, “We don’t have any food.”

Seconds later there were arms slipping around his waist and a chin resting on his shoulder as Cas asked, “What, no food at all?”

“Well, we have leftovers. From a few days ago.”

Cas scrunched up his nose and Dean’s heart fluttered. He looked adorable when he did that. Instead of mentioning it though, Dean nodded. “Yeah, that’s how I feel about leftovers too.”

“Any Eggs?”

“Nope.”

“Toast?”

“Nope.”

“Waffles?”

“Also no.”

“Well that sucks.”

“Yep.”

There was a moment of silence before Dean untangled himself from Cas’s embrace and spun around. “Lets go to IHOP!”

Cas didn't hesitate before nodding in agreement, and they both made their way to the door, shrugging on their coats and pulling on their boots. Dean snatched the keys to the Impala from the counter and they left the house. 

There were a good few inches of snow piled on the roof of the car, and Dean tenderly brushed it off, murmuring something about how she must have been cold during the night. He saw Cas smile and roll his eyes before climbing into the car and waiting for Dean to finish getting rid of the snow. 

Once he was sure that his Baby was clear, Dean slid in beside Cas and started the engine, all the while whispering soft apologies to the car about how he had left her out all alone in the freezing cold.

Cas snorted. “Sometimes, it seems as if the car gets more love than I do.”

Dean grinned and pulled out of the driveway, bringing his right hand off the wheel and to Cas’s, intertwining their fingers. “Nah, that’s not possible.”

Cas beamed.

They drove in silence, marvelling at the white blankets of snow that covered all the trees and houses and glittered in the sun. Dean had always liked the winter. Everything was always so beautiful when it was shrouded in the gleaming white powder. It all flickered in the sun, and although it hurt his eyes at times, the beauty of it was worth it.

“IHOP. There,” Cas pointed at the sign by the road.

“No, I hop.”

Cas’s head swiveled towards him and he furrowed his brow. “What?”

Dean grinned. “You don’t hop. I hop.”

“I don’t-” Cas then realized what Dean was doing, and fixed him with a bitchface that might even have rivalled the ones that Sam made. “Oh, ha ha. You’re so funny.”

Pulling into the parking lot, Dean leaned in and kissed Cas on the cheek. “You bet I am.”

They both ordered pancakes. It had been a while since Dean had had any of those, and he savored each bite. Despite that, though, Dean couldn’t find room in his stomach for the entire set of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and coffee he had ordered and had insisted on taking the leftover home so that he could finish them later. Cas didn’t have the space to finish his whole meal, either, and had decided to take it home as well.

They left IHOP with full stomachs and high spirits.

Entering the house, they took their coats off and Dean watched as a smiling Cas hummed under his breath as he unwound the scarf from around his neck. Cas noticed Dean’s stare and made a face, then grabbed Dean’s hand and led him into the living room, where he dropped down next to their partially built Death Star and turned on some music.

 At first there was an array of Christmas songs that came on, and Dean and Cas sang along to all of them. But then Cas got tired of those and switched off the radio, instead turning on a playlist on his phone. More specifically, his Bruno Mars one.

It was then that it hit Dean; the realization that he had never played for Cas on the guitar. Cas had always known that he had a guitar, and had known that he played it, but Dean had never once played for his soulmate. And now, Dean decided, would be a perfect time to fix that.

“I’ll be right back,” he told a confused Cas and heaved himself up from off the ground, sliding down the hallway in his fuzzy socks and then sprinting up the stairs. The last Christmas song that they had heard was stuck in Dean’s head, and he belted out the lyrics to ‘Let it Snow!’ as he burst into his room and grabbed Baby 2.0 from off his bed. 

The guest room he was staying in was at the very end of the hall, which gave him plenty of space to slide down to the stairs. Breaking out in a run, Dean was now almost hollering the chorus to the song as he stopped and let the socks bring him the rest of the way down the hall. 

“The lights are turned way down low! Let it snow, let it snow, let it- JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, SHIT!”

He had realized too late that he was skidding too fast and too close to the small console table near the stairs, and his eyes widened at the sight of the glass vase on top of it mere seconds before he collided with it, and his singing turned into loud cursing as he threw his arm down, barely catching the vase before it could shatter on the floor.

“Is everything ok up there?” Dean heard Cas’s voice carry from the living room. Letting out a relieved breath and putting the vase back into its place, Dean firmly decided that he should probably keep his sliding to a minimum around breakable objects and carefully edged down the stairs.

“Yeah, it’s all good,” Dean said as he swung into the room, brandishing his guitar and dropping down onto the couch. He saw Cas’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of Baby 2.0. 

Dean smirked. “Keep your drool to yourself, please and thank you. She doesn’t like getting looked at like that by anyone but me.”

Cas stuck out his tongue and reached across to his phone, turning the music off. No sooner did he do that than Dean grabbed his hand and hauled him onto the couch, drawing him closer and pulling Cas down into him so that they were sitting chest to back. Dean’s mind quickly flashed to the previous night, where they had been in almost exactly the same position. 

In fact, Dean realized that he had slept better yesterday than he had in days. At least, certainly better than the sleep he had gotten the night of the fight, if he could even call it that. It had mostly been hours of curling in on himself on his bed and trying not to let his tears go. He couldn’t say that it had worked.

And no matter how much he had wanted to hate and blame Claire for the death of his mother, Dean found that he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Not when he had lived with her, eaten her food, laughed with her, built snowmen on her lawn. Not when he had fallen in love with her son.

He simply couldn’t find it in himself to hate her. 

And, Dean decided, that maybe that was for the best.

Because everything that he could have ever wanted was right here.

Dean placed the guitar in Cas’s lap and moved Cas’s arms and hands so that they were placed in the correct places on the guitar. All of Cas’s protests of “but I don’t know how to play” were shushed, and Dean maneuvered the fingers of Cas’s left hand so that they were pressing the right strings.

“Now this is an original composition of mine. It’s called ‘Just the Way You Are’ and it definitely wasn’t written by Bruno Mars.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but all pretenses for annoyance swiftly vanished as Dean started moving, muscles flexing under Cas. He went slow, shifting his fingers and Cas’s on the guitar neck. Cas’s right hand, though, got the gist pretty quickly, and soon was strumming the strings without the help of Dean’s hand, which strayed and wrapped itself around Cas’s waist.

Dean started singing.

Oh, your eyes, your eyes, make the stars look like they’re not shining.

Your hair, your hair, falls perfectly without you trying.

You’re so beautiful and I tell you every day.

Dean felt Cas’s breath hitch in his throat, but he kept singing.

When I see your face,

There's not a thing that I would change, 'cause you're amazing

Just the way you are.

And when you smile,

The whole world stops and stares for a while.

'Cause Cas you're amazing

Just the way you are

Cas’s left fingers were getting used to the chords now, and Dean carefully took his own hand away, letting Cas play by himself. He reached across Cas’s waist so that he had both arms wrapped around it and held Cas to him as Cas played. Dean rested his chin on Cas’s shoulder and sang, slowly and quietly.

But he meant every word.

Before they knew it the song was over, and Cas eased the guitar to the floor and twisted around, wrapping his arms around Dean and burying his face into Dean’s shoulder. Dean felt Cas’s shoulders shake slightly.

“Aww, did I make you cry?” Dean joked.

The muffled “No” didn’t sound reassuring at all, and Dean tightened his arms around Cas, pressing him to his chest. Without thinking, Dean’s hand immediately went to Cas’s head, and he absentmindedly started running his finger through Cas’s hair, feeling Cas melt into him.

Even with the comforting silence that surrounded them, Dean still almost didn’t hear it; the whisper of “I love you” that Cas breathed into his shoulder.

Feeling his heart grow almost three times bigger, Dean smiled against Cas’s hair. “I love you, too.”

The moment seemed to stretch forever and ever, but was cut off abruptly by a sound from outside.

A car’s engine.

Cas pulled back from Dean and Dean saw that his soulmate's eyes held too many emotions to make sense of. Love. Guilt. Sympathy. And fear.

They turned their heads towards the sound of keys in a lock, and Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about the words that came out of Cas’s mouth.

“Mom’s home.”

<><><>

End a/n: I’m so so so so so so so SO SO SO sorry that this took me so long! But school is over, so maybe, hopefully, I might be able to update more. No promises tho.

Idk why, but this chapter just gave me a lot of problems. I couldn’t seem to get into the flow of it and had some severe writer's block. Basically, I just had a tough time with it. If I’m being really, truly honest, I wouldn’t say that this was one of my best works. Personally, I don’t really like this chapter and I’m sorry if it wasn’t everything u guys hoped for.

Small disclaimer: I don’t know anything about the guitar, so for any of you guitar players out there, if anything seems wrong to you plz lmk so I can fix it. Thnx

[ak47stylegirl]

Wellcome to Honia: Chapter 4

Okay, here’s the fourth chapter in my Royal Au. Sorry that it took so long 😅I really hope you guys enjoy this! 😁 through warning, you may need tissues for a particular bit of the chapter... anyway, read on 😄

Bodyguard 2.0  

Kayo pov.

Honia was a beautiful country, it was her home even though she wasn't born there, she thought as she watched John make a speech at a function on behalf of the king. The poor guy was really out of his comfort zone...

She and her father had moved to the country in seek of refuge, their home country becoming unlivable following the global conflict. She was about seven when the war happened, it was the worst time of her life.

Her world was falling apart bit by bit. She lost her mother to the conflict, one moment she was there, all warmth and motherly love and then she was gone, her world freezing over, not to be thawed until years later.

At first, she hated that they had to move. She didn't want to lose anything else, even if her home country was nearly unliveable.

She didn't want to leave the place she called home, even if it wasn't much of a home anymore. But she would later be thankful because moving to honia gave her a new chance at life, a chance to heal. 

Not a lot of people got that. 

The first couple of years after they fled their home country wasn't easy, they didn't have a lot of money, her father had to work two jobs at the same time to make enough money to pay the rent, the little bit of leftover money going into feeding them…

it was a tough time, but at least the threat of death wasn't hanging over them like it was back in their home country.

Then everything changed unexpectedly in one night…

And all because one brown hair, blue-eyed teenager wanted to be a rebel and sneak out of the palace for a night on the town with his friends… 

Her father was walking home from his work late at night, having worked overtime to get a bit more money for food when he noticed a teenage boy being cornered at knifepoint in an alleyway. One thing you need to know about her father, he was an expert in martial arts.

The thug didn't stand a chance… 

You can imagine her father's surprise to learn that the young man that he had just rescued was not only royalty but the eldest son of the king. Her father stayed with the prince until a palace car picked the teenager up...

And more surprises kept coming, only days later did they receive a personal letter from the king. Thanking her father for saving his son (who she would imagine was very much grounded by that point) and offering her father a job as a juicer Royal guard, which was better pay then her father could ever imagine getting at his other jobs.

She and her father moved into a small apartment on the palace grounds meant for the guards and their families. As the years passed her father slowly got promoted up the scale until he was head of security and the king's personal bodyguard. 

Which was a great honour to her father, who considered the king a good friend.

She wasn't around a lot during this time, her father having decided to send her to boarding school to give her the best education she could get now that he could afford it. She didn't mind it, but she didn't particularly like it either.

She spent her school holidays at the palace, where she was able to meet and become good friends with the princes, who became like brothers to her. 

Scott, while not at the palace very often because of his training at the Air Force, took on a big brother role with her, making sure to chat with her while he was home and just being friendly and kind to her. 

He also spent a lot of his time while at home with his girlfriend (who would later be his wife), who was also really kind to her as well...

There was actually one time when she was about thirteen when she had accidentally found them kissing (and maybe getting close to something more than kissing) behind a hedge.

Scott made her swear not to tell anybody... 

John also took on a similar role of big brother with being a couple years older than her. Through he was a lot quieter and secluded then his brothers, so it took him a bit longer to warm up to her. But once he did, he was always there for her. 

He gave her his personal number, so she could call him while she was at school if she had any homework trouble. She really enjoyed those calls, though they had to be voice calls only because of security reasons.

Virgil took to her immediately becoming fast friends with her. It probably helped that they were about the same age, Virgil only being a year younger than her. 

Virgil tried to teach her to play the piano once, it didn't go very well…It sounded like someone was strangling a cat...

Gordon was a lot younger than her, so she didn't see him as often as his brothers. Though that didn't stop him from pulling a prank on her, which he shortly realised was a terrible idea and never did it again.

It seemed like she was the one this time around to take on the older sibling role, becoming a sort of big sister to Gordon, and she was not afraid to strike back when needed. Gordon wasn't the only one that could pull a prank.

You're probably wondering what about Alan? Well, Alan wasn't born at the time, it wouldn't be until she was a full-grown adult and one of the Royal guards that Alan was born and yes, he was an adorable baby…

But the day Alan was born...it was one that would haunt her for the rest of her life... Alan wasn't supposed to be born that day, if only she had noticed the threat…

The country wasn't supposed to lose two queens that day… their current queen and their future queen, Scott's wife, who was pregnant with Scott's heir…

The royal family wasn't supposed to lose three members that day...two much-beloved royals and a stillborn baby...

The Royal family was never the same after that, the king was never the same...the boys she considered her brothers were forever changed, Scott especially…

The palace was shrouded in mourning and grief for months...The royal family withdrew from public life, not appearing in public for months…

And in the centre of it all was a nursery and a small premature baby...a baby that all the doctors believe wouldn't make it to six months old and at times, it seemed like they were right...

The following years were hard, Alan was constantly in and out of the hospital, constantly unwell, just when he had gotten over one illness, he would catch another…

There were lots of nights where the whole palace was woken to a critically ill Alan being rushed to the hospital...

Alan had an immune disorder, which meant that his immune system didn't work properly…Which made him a perfect target for germs and illnesses, who attacked Alan's small body unrelentingly, which struggled to cope…

It didn't help that Alan also had asthma…Severe asthma to be exact, worsened by the fact that Alan's lungs were weaker and smaller than they should be...

All Because Alan was born early...Far too early… 

It all could have been avoided, Alan could have been born when he was supposed too, and he would not have those health issues…At least not all of them...

if only they knew, they wouldn't have lost so many lives that day, if only they had known, if only she had known about the threat…

Her own uncle...her flesh and blood...how could he...

If only she had been a bit more cautious, if only she did her job better… but it was too late now, they could only move forward…she could only move forward…

But it was hard, knowing that her uncle was still out there...Who knew when he'll strike again? He could be lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

At least Alan has been doing better this past year or two. Other than an occasional scare here and there, Alan has been doing a lot better.

But she wouldn't say he was a perfectly healthy child, even though she really wanted too… the kid was far from healthy, even though he seemed like a normal healthy kid at times, there was a lot underneath that…

Alan had a whole list of medication he had to take every day, and she has been told by Alan that some of them were pretty nasty tasting. The kid couldn't take tablets, so most of his medication was a syrup-like liquid or a capsule that could be broken and mixed in with something like honey or yogurt to make it easier for him to swallow...

And mask the taste a bit, she would imagine…

The kid also had to go to the doctor once a month for a full thorough check-up, like blood tests and every other test in between… Alan hated those check-ups with a passion…

Then there was Alan's asthma, which was a royal pain in the ass. Alan could be having lots of fun when suddenly an asthma attack comes and ruins it all… 

A bad asthma attack could leave Alan bedridden for days or even hospitalised. They had to be on constant alert for signs of an attack and be ready to stop it before it gets too bad. 

Alan's asthma was the worst in winter, and when he was sick, which seemed to constantly overlap. She knew Scott was constantly terrified that every time Alan got sick, that he would start on that downward spiral of illness again...

She knew all these details not just because she was friends with the princes, but because she was second in command of security after her father and a bodyguard to the princes.

Some people tried to question her position because her father was the head of security, but their argument went nowhere. She earned her position, anybody with eyes could see that.

And because of her position, she was entrusted with the royal family's secrets, even their biggest one. She would not reveal a word of any of them, even if she didn't agree with keeping a particular secret 'secret' in the first place…

She swore an oath to protect and keep the Royal family safe. She would rather die than betray the royal family, the closest thing she had to a proper family in years. She would not fail to protect them, not again…

The crowd clapped as John finished his speech and left the stage.

[luck-and-larceny]

100 OC Asks (Answers!)

I’ve decided just to put the answers to all the questions I received in a few posts instead of spamming you all with a whole bunch of them! Thank you all so super much for the Asks. They were fun and it makes me happy to get to interact with you! @dumb-hat, @keeperofthegamble, @riaevis-xiv, @yuki-yukichan, @thefreelanceangel, and a more Anonymous Asks than I expected! 2. What is their voice like? It’s feminine, cheerful, and very flirty. Specifically, I imagine it sounding a lot like this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OIwX2fyzQrQ7

7. Which of their relationships have impacted them most positively?

Oooooh. This is a tough one! She’d likely say, “All of them. I’ve left something and gained something from every single one.” And that’s true (even in the most literal sense since she steals from them and leaves mementos behind…).

Primarily: Maeryn, her sister, is the relationship that has impacted her the absolute most positively. Without Maeryn cheering her on, Malika’s cowardice might have led her to running away even more often than she already does. But her sister is patient, easy-going, and supportive and that has done wonders for the miqo’te who, prior to Maeryn, had no one like that in her life.

On that same token, recent interactions with characters who seem to genuinely accept her as she is, even sometimes appreciating who she is, flaws included, have made her feel more at ease. It’s…it’s likely that she will self-sabotage these relationships in the end, but for now they are good.

Evander, Khanah’to, Yuiri, Hawa, hopefully more characters sooooon~

8. What’s the weirdest thing they’ve ever eaten? “Hmmm. Alright. Here’s a “fun” story! Years ago, there was a period of time where I was stealing to survive. That’s how most thieves start, so I’m not claiming this as some way to get pity. What I am claiming to get pity is this: I didn’t really get a lot of choice about what I ate. Some days were OK. I could pocket a few gil, wash my face, and get some decent, cheap food from a vendor.

 Other days? Nooot so great.

 So, ok. Here we go. Picture this: It’s a late summer evening in the Shroud. I can hear the sounds of some sort of show taking place at Mih Khetto’s in Gridania off in the distance, so I know there will soon be people on the road traveling home. I’m bored. I sit down outside the city and start to fall asleep to the sound of the frogs all flirting with one another and the vision of fireflies doing the same. Good for them! I love both frogs and fireflies! I’m always hungry so I’m always tired too. 

Finally, an old hyur man and woman wake me up. I think the woman thought I was dead because they both look relieved when I open my eyes. They ask if I’m hungry. Yes! They ask if I want to share a bowl of soup. YES. The soup… it’s… Ok… I mean… I’m adventurous. I know, logically, rationally, it’s no big deal. In fact, I think it’s a popular dish in the Shroud. But… I mean…It’s made of snails and lava toad legs. I’m listening to these frogs singing about how great life is while I’m slurping on a soup made from the legs of their cousins. Knowing this makes my stomach sort of turn. Like I’m talking myself through every bite. “It’s OK. People eat this all the time. You’re hungry. It’s Ok. You’re not a wimp. You don’t back down from a challenge.”

I’m talking like I’m in a fight! So, yeah. I don’t know what the ‘weirdest’ thing I ever ate was, but that’s maybe the most memorable.

 I don’t know what frogs think of anymore, but I’m pretty sure that fireflies and I are still cool?” 

9. Describe the way that they sleep.

She mostly sleeps on her side, almost in a fetal position. This is in part because she spent 16 years of her life sleeping on a very, very narrow bed in a wagon and her body has just taken to trying not to take up too much space as it still behaves as though she might fall otherwise.

11. What do they feel most insecure about?

She might say, “Nothing!” to avoid thinking about it. She might say, “My stomach, I guess. But I’m working on it,” in a rare moment of honesty.

 But that’s not even the truth.What Malika is most insecure about is that she is not good enough. She has a very complicated relationship with the word “good.” She is certain that she is a shitty person who is only capable of hurting others, letting them down, and treating them badly. 

In rare moments of self-reflection, she looks back on failed relationships (romantic and otherwise) and sees herself as a socially inept fuckup. She sees other people maintaining long-term relationships (romantic and otherwise!) without the same difficulties in emotional expression that she has and quietly finds it to be further evidence of how she’s a massive, no good, fuckup.

But she also resents other people commenting on it because it makes her think even more on it. 

There have been several very well-meaning people in her life who have said things like, “There is a good person inside of you!” and “I know you could become a better person if you just try” and it has thoroughly insulted her. 

Why am I not good enough how I am? Why do you need me to change so badly?

[justasuicidecase]

Aquamarine (Part 2) - Switz

Several days past and the boys were finally back home. As much as he enjoyed the vacation, Eric enjoyed sleeping in his own bed again a lot more. Today, the others interrupted his precious beauty sleep by shouting. He tried to block out the calls of his name, but it proved impossible when Mason burst into his room.

After some convincing, Eric trudged downstairs, where the rest of the household greeted him. Everyone rushed to say something, but their voices mixed and he couldn’t hear a word. “One at a time!” he finally shouted.

They spent a minute looking between each other before Mason spoke, “So, I was walking along the beach and I found this thing. It looked like a guy, but it wasn’t. It was like orange and shit.” Eric stood there in confusion. It couldn‘t be the same thing he saw on vacation, that was all the way in China, for fuck’s sake!

Before he could ask anymore questions, the rest of the group barged in.

“What the hell could it be?” Toby wondered aloud. Jay wiggled his fingers as he said, “Maybe it’s a mermaid.” Immediately, Mason denied his friend’s statement, “No way, cunt. Those don’t fuckin’ exist.” The three stood in silence, considering their next move. Eric hoped they would forget about it and they could record some videos and laugh together. “Let’s go see if it’s there still.” Matt concluded, making his way towards the front door. Everyone but Eric agreed immediately. “I don’t know guys,” he said, uncertain about the whole situation. If he followed the group this far, who knows what his intentions are? What if he would kill them? They did not understand why he came to Melbourne. The whole situation was sketchy. A hand landed on his shoulder, “C’mon, Swagger,” Jay started. “It’ll be fun. Also, what’s the worst that could happen? There’s one of it and five of us, we easily outnumber it.” They weren’t letting up, his friends were going regardless whether he liked it. He sighed, “Fine. But know that I don’t approve of this at all.”

After a couple of minutes, the Misfits made their way to the beach, with Toby driving and Matt navigating. They reached the beach and Mason led them down the discrete trail. The path brought the group to a secluded area of the oceanfront. The water was as clear as the water when Eric first found the creature, minus the water lighting up like a neon sign. Weeping willows shrouded majority of the sand and some ocean in darkness. Waves crashing against the smoothed rocks completed the serene landscape. The scene looked like a movie set; it was perfect in every way.

The moment of peace ended when Mason shouted, “Where the fuck did he go?” Everyone’s heads turned to where Mason was pointing. The 19-year-old pointed towards a jagged rock pointed towards the sky, the sunlight bathed its entire surface. Everyone but Eric’s shoulders slumped in defeat disappointed with the lack of the creature’s presence. In unison, the group traveled back to the car and drove back home in silence. Guilt struck Eric’s heart, everyone else wanted to see the thing he was dreading.

Closing the front door behind him, Eric wanted to say something to comfort his roommates and friends, but Mason froze and pointed. “That’s it. That’s what I saw at the beach,” he said in shock. Everyone looked towards the backyard, Eric’s stomach dropped. It was the same thing he saw in China.

He was on the side of the pool, only his tail in the chlorinated water. The markings that were visible and glowing last time they met now blended into his torso. Everything that glowed that night now was mute and blended in with his regular orange and purple body.

Matt began to laugh, “Yeah, right, Mason. You fucking bought that, didn’t you?” he asked between laughs. Mason denied it, everyone stared at him as he tilted his head up towards the sun. Without fear, Mason sprinted towards the sliding glass door. Everyone shouted as he ripped open the door and dashed outside to greet the figure. The rest followed closely, in case he needed help.

The suddenness of the door opening startled the entity soaking in the sun. He snapped his head towards the four, body tensed. The yells were a mix of worrying for Mason’s safety and telling the merman to leave their property. It would be a long day for the five, Eric could already tell. He pinched his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to relieve all the stress that has been building up in his body throughout the day. When he opened his eyes, Eric found that the mythical being was looking directly at him. Their eyes met for a moment longer before the creature looked away bashfully.

After what seemed liked hours of interrogation, the group finally learned about him. When he formally introduced himself to them, no one fully understood what he said. The only thing they caught was ‘Fitz’, so they started call him that. He confirmed that he was, in fact, the same thing Eric saw while on vacation. Fitz never explained how he got into their pool or how he accomplished the task.

Maybe it was because the group was sleep deprived or they enjoyed the company of the merman, but they agreed to let Fitz stay in their pool. As the group retreated into the house, Fitz grabbed their attention, “Do you guys think you could get rid of whatever is making your water so strange? It isn’t too comfortable, mate.”

They paused, contemplating on what to do. Was there anything the guys could do? “Right now? No. But, if you could sleep on the ground for tonight, I can stop by the store and pick up a saltwater system first thing tomorrow. That work?” Eric turned to face him. Fitz briskly nodded his head and moved out of the water.

He laid on his back by edge of the pool, still warm from the setting sun’s rays. The merman raised his arms above his head and stared up at the sky far above them. The group walked into the house and their individual rooms. Majority of the house turned on their recording software and began to make some content, but Eric collapsed onto his bed and immediately fell into a dreamless sleep.

[talysings]

Party

So, I had my party. I await the repercussions.

I mean, I think people had a reasonably pleasant time. No one got in a fight (Fhey might argue that a fight is a positive contribution to a party), and it seemed that people mingled pretty well, even if they didn’t all know each other. I had lots to eat and drink, although once Fhey arrived and started pouring drinks even the reserves I had packed in began to suffer casualties.

And people seemed to like my house, which of course I was nervous about after all this time. To be fair, though, I invited pretty much everyone I know, I think, and most of them had never visited my house previously. They don’t know how cramped it was in my desperate attempt to fit as much as possible in without making alterations to the floor plan. The remodel, I think, has successfully made the small space I have with which to work feel larger, even though I have crammed even more stuff in. At least, it feels like it to me.

I was quite flustered at the turn-out. In the first place, I wasn’t sure anyone was actually going to show up. It was the end of a week, and people are tired and a lot of times just want to put up their feet. And then, I figured people that did come wouldn’t come all at once, that it might be here and there through the night. So, I expected I would be able to talk to everyone. However, despite my best efforts, that wasn’t possible, and so while I did try to move through the room and speak for a bit with everyone, there were too many people all at once for me to succeed. I hope if I didn’t talk to someone much past greeting them that they at least had fun speaking with some of the other guests.

I sang a song I rehearsed for the night called “Black Shroud Roads.” I think people liked it, mostly, and if not, at least it was pretty short. I played on my old acoustic guitar, which in some ways is the oldest friend I have.

Of course, my oldest friend who can actually talk back is Savo, and she gave me what had to be a ridiculously expensive gift. I opened the box, and inside it was a beautiful instrument case. I thought that alone was the gift, to be honest, and that she got it for me to carry my ceruleum guitar in. But there was a guitar inside it already! It’s red—my favorite color—a very deep red, like a fine wine. It was carved of maple, and the lacquer finish on it makes it almost seem to glow. It has Garlean pickups—well, I may not be a fan of the Empire, but they know their magitek—and a tremolo lock which it may take me some time to figure out, with a whammy bar. The frets and the machine heads for tightening the strings are both bronze, and a symbol in iron is set into the head stock—the sun and moon combination symbol tattooed on my shoulder. It’s a work of art. I will have to put it to good use pummeling eardrums in the near future. I love my folk songs, of course . . . but sometimes it’s fun to just rock out.

I was perhaps too happy to show off my home to people. Perhaps it is wrong to be proud of it. I spent most of my life having almost no money, and that fact did not make me unhappy, truth be known. I don’t want to get out of touch with real people now that I have so much money. So, is being proud of the work done on my house pretentious? I am lucky to have a house at all when so many do not. I should not wish anyone to think I was flaunting my wealth.

Then again, I don’t think most people really know I’ve come into money. Besides my house, I don’t think I’ve been too ostentatious about it. At least, I hope not. And when I’ve made contributions to orphanages and such (which I did even when I had little to spare), I have not asked for any public credit or anything, so beyond those I have specifically told, I imagine it remains a secret of sorts.

Dah’lia came by later in the evening. I find myself hesitant to write much about her. Since the spring, I have tried my best to bury the softer inclinations of my heart, out of fear that it would be broken again. I have told myself that it is, perhaps, the universe’s way of balancing the scales for the things I did when I was younger. And I have told myself that I am not fit for such things, anyway. But . . .

I shall speak no more, at the moment. I will say only this: she came to the party, and I was happy that she did. And perhaps one day, I will be less fearful and I will write more.

Cinnamon hid all night long! Silly fox.

(Screenshot courtesy of @athilthorne !)

[imnotinclinedtomaturity]

Love Yourself (Chapter 30)

title: Love Yourself summary: A lot of things about Dan’s life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he’s got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He’s currently lacking inspiration, he’s rather lonely, and he’s stuck in a rut. Dan’s been going to the same coffee shop for years. It’s quiet, it’s quaint, it’s near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that’s he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista. chapter words: 7.6k story words: 240k (so far) chapter: 30/? rating: m warnings: language, alcohol, sex mentions, some bi/homophobia, eventual explicit smut, some depression genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn [[ao3]] [[first chapter]] [[previous chapter]]

a/n: thanks to my one true love @auroraphilealis giving up whatever she was doing tonight to beta, even though she had a headache and unlimited lives on her fave mobile game of the moment xx 

Dan woke up early, groggy from jetlag. The hotel room was shrouded in dark shadows, and in his sleepy state, he couldn’t tell if it was from the thick curtains or if it was still dark outside. Whichever it was, it really made him not want to move — well, that and the warm weight of Phil’s arm wrapped around his waist and the soft, rhythmic tickle of Phil’s breath against the back of Dan’s neck. Sometime during the night, they’d shifted from their original position of Dan’s head on Phil’s chest. They hadn’t drifted far from each other, though. Somehow, they’d ended up spooning, and Dan secretly loved that even in their sleep, they’d wanted to stay close together.

But despite the serenity, worry nagged at the back of Dan’s mind, and he found himself itching to check his phone. He’d spent the majority of the plane ride ruminating about Isabella’s interview, his mind spiraling and dreaming up worst case scenarios. During the one hour of the flight he’d managed to sleep, he’d dreamed that Isabella had told everyone he’d cheated on her with Phil.

Luckily, last night he’d slept peacefully — he couldn’t imagine trying to film an interview in front of a live audience on a fitful night’s sleep. Dan suspected that Phil had something to do with why he’d slept so well, but now didn’t seem like the time to explore that thought.

Careful not to disturb Phil, Dan stretched forward to swipe his phone off the bedside table. He clicked it on, and was surprised to find that it was only half past seven — his alarm wasn’t due to go off for another half hour. Less surprising was the fact that there were already two text messages from Louise; it was five hours later there after all.

The messages had only come in an hour ago.

There was little doubt in Dan’s mind that the messages had something to do with Isabella’s interview, because Louise would have waited until a more reasonable time to text about anything else. Wiggling further back into Phil’s embrace, Dan took a deep breath and opened them.

Louise [6:28AM]: Tatler has already posted about the interview. They must have wanted to get it out fast, because it’s pretty much just a transcript, not a proper article. I’m going to read it now.

Louise [6:37AM]: You’re going to hate it. Honestly, it’s not that bad, there’s nothing so damning that you can’t fix it. But… you won’t like it :( Here’s the link: www.tatler.uk/18572650

“Fuck,” Dan muttered, apparently a little too loudly. Behind him, Phil stirred; his leg shifted, wrapping fully around Dan’s, and Phil pulled him in closer.

“What time’s it?” Phil asked, his voice deep and scratchy with sleep.

“Half seven,” Dan answered shortly.

“What’re you doin’ up?” Phil slurred. His hand dipped just inside the hem of Dan’s pyjama pants, his thumb stroking Dan’s bare hipbone. On any other morning, Dan was certain that this would be pleasant — peaceful even. But this morning, Dan’s mind couldn’t detach from the real world enough to enjoy the touch.

“Louise texted. The interview is up.” Even to his own ears, Dan’s voice sounded flat. Flat and tight.

The news seemed to affect Phil just as much as it had Dan. The gentle caress of Dan’s hip stopped abruptly, Phil’s hand gripping his waist tightly instead.

“How bad?” Phil asked warily.

Dan tipped his head slightly so that he could at least sort of see Phil. “Dunno yet. I haven’t read it. Louise said I wouldn’t like it, but it, and I quote, isn’t too bad and there’s nothing too damning.”

“That’s… contradictory.” Phil’s brows were furrowed; he looked just as confused as Dan felt.

“Fucking tell me about it,” Dan grumbled. Louise had never been one to sugar coat news about publicity, so he objectively knew this couldn’t be that horrific. But still, the fact that his best friend knew he’d hate what Isabella had to say… He had a feeling that meant that Izzy had probably gone for the jugular.

“Well,” Phil said with a sigh. “Should we read it?”

“Unfortunately,” Dan huffed. One hand dropped from his phone, reaching instead for Phil’s arm that was wrapped around his waist. Slowly, Dan slithered his hand down until his fingers linked with Phil’s. Looking over his shoulder, Dan’s eyes flickered back and forth between Phil’s. “Together?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course,” Phil agreed, leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to Dan’s forehead.

“Alright, here goes nothing.” With a sigh, Dan rolled back onto his side, and clicked the link Louise had sent. He felt Phil raise up on his elbow, his head hooking around Dan’s shoulder so he could read too. The page loaded, and Dan dove into reading, knowing that if he procrastinated at all, his anxiety might stop him from ever being able to read it.

—

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly of Love with Daniel Howell

This morning, I sat down with one of Tatler’s favorite models, Isabella De La Renta, to talk about her recent split from singer Daniel Howell (see here, here, and here for our past coverage of the shocking break up). For those curious, Isabella ordered a green tea (maybe inspired by her recent trip to China; see here for more details) and a yogurt parfait (no granola because she doesn’t eat carbs to maintain her perfect figure!). Isabella dished on everything from Dan’s shocking announcement about his sexuality (see his instagram post here) to how their relationship was going before their split.

You and Dan dated for a long time —

IDLR: Almost a year!

What’s life like now that you’re broken up?

IDLR: It’s been a hard adjustment. In so many ways, Dan was my best friend. It still feels weird to not be able to call him after a long day or to share good news.

I think it goes without saying that your breakup was a huge shock to your fans. Were you surprised?

IDLR: Yes and no. By the time we broke up, I knew it was the right thing to do, but if you asked me earlier this year, I never would have guessed. Just a few months ago, I went to Adalina’s birthday dinner — that’s Dan’s little sister — and his mum and I were talking about rings. His whole family was so welcoming and seemed really supportive of the idea of marriage.

Oh wow — rings. How did that come up?

IDLR: Dan’s mum was wearing a gorgeous diamond ring that he bought her for Christmas, and she made a point to tell me that. It was so clearly a sneaky way for him to get my opinion on what kind of rings I prefer. It was kind of sweet actually.

From ring talk to breaking up, that’s quite a change. You said that you knew breaking up was the right thing to do. Why was that?

For the first time since we sat down together, Isabella fell silent. Her eyes drifted out the window, and she was silent a long time. By the time she spoke again, her voice was choked up with tears and the model’s response was interrupted by delicate sniffles. It’s clear that this topic is still hard for her to talk about.

IDLR: We dated almost a year and, like I said, we were best friends. I thought I knew everything about Danny. And then in January, he told me he was attracted to guys, too. I really didn’t want it to affect our relationship, but I felt so betrayed that he’d kept such a big part of himself secret from me that it was hard to trust him anymore. In the end, I knew I couldn’t be with someone who wasn’t willing to be completely authentic with me.

Did you feel like he continued to be inauthentic with you after he came out to you?

IDLR: Yes, yes definitely. Dan assured me — just like he announced on his insta — that he’s bisexual. But after a year of dating him, and seeing how he is with a certain boy, I think maybe… maybe he’s not bisexual if you know what I mean.

Interesting. So what do you think that means about his relationship with you?

IDLR: Honestly, I feel really used. Before he told me about his sexuality, there were definitely moments where I felt like he was dating me for reasons he wasn’t letting on. But I never would have guessed it was a coverup for being gay.

I don't think any of us anticipated that! How did Dan handle the breakup?

IDLR: He really didn’t want to break up — he asked me several times to reconsider. I think he liked being able to show the world that he had a girlfriend, and ultimately, we did have a lot of fun together. Even if it did turn out to be not genuinely based on sex or romance.

Since you teased about it, will you tell us what the sex was like?

IDLR: Nosey nosey! For a while, it was good — maybe because it was new or him exploring or whatever. But that must have worn off or something. For the last few months, he wasn’t interested in it at all. He’d always find an excuse to get out of it, and the few times he didn’t… well, let’s just say it didn’t work and it wasn’t my fault. That was really hard to come to terms with and I felt so rejected.

That would be difficult for anyone to handle.

IDLR: I feel like it was extra hard for me because I’ve, like, never been rejected like that before. I grew up always being the pretty girl that everybody wanted, so to have Danny not want me in that way… Well, that’s when I knew for sure that he wasn’t bi, and realized our whole relationship was totally fake and I was just his… beard.

His beard — wow. That’s not something you hear much anymore.

IDLR: Maybe people are just better at keeping secrets now. Besides, it doesn’t take a genius to notice that I’m the only public relationship Dan’s had. Why else do you think that would be, if it wasn’t that all his lovers were men?

I asked Isabella if she had any final things to say about Daniel Howell, and she left us with this powerful message:

“Danny had me fooled for almost a year, and we were closer than I thought two people could be. Don’t hesitate to think that he might be fooling you too.” -IDLR.

—

“Fuck fuck fucking fuck!” Dan cursed. Every single word in the article was complete bullshit, but that quote at the end — that quote was the final fucking straw. How fucking dare Isabella twist the story like that, and then use her twisted, fucked up version of events to make everyone question everything he was going to say?

Adrenaline was coursing through Dan’s veins, and he couldn’t possibly stay still for another second. Dan chucked his phone towards the foot of the bed, not bothering to check if it landed safely — it was cracked anyway — and abruptly lunged out of Phil’s arm.

Pent up energy was eating at him, making him itch to move, so he began pacing their room. With vehement quickness, Dan marched up and down the small aisle between the foot of the bed and the dresser, pacing from the sofa to the bathroom and back, over and over and over.

“Fuck her, fuck her, that fucking cunt!” Dan spat, bringing one hand up to tug roughly at his tangled curls.

“Dan, I know you’re pissed off, but —” Phil started to say, but Dan wasn’t having any of it. He just barely glanced over, only fleetingly noting that Phil had pushed himself up to a sitting position and was now leaning forward like he wanted to say something.

“Pissed off?” Dan asked incredulously with a bitter laugh. Pissed off didn’t even begin to describe how Dan felt right now — he was downright livid, and he literally could not remember a single time where he’d been more upset than this. Not when his dad had sold his car without his permission, not when a group of obnoxious young fans had tried to harass Adaline for information, not when an unreleased, private song had accidentally been released to the public.

This — this was a whole new fucking level of anger, and there was only one way Dan knew how to cope with it.

Music.

He wanted everyone to know that Isabella was the one trying to fool the world, that Isabella was the one lying out of her ass. And what better way to do it than singing a song that practically screamed how fucked up Isabella’s behavior had been?

And if he sang it tonight, just hours after Isabella’s interview was released, people would know he’d written it beforehand — it would be at least one piece of evidence that would corroborate his version — the real version — of the story.

“That bitch isn’t getting away with this,” Dan muttered fiercely. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his side, his breaths coming in harsh huffs.

“Don’t do anything too rash, Dan,” Phil half-heartedly pleaded from the bed. The words knocked Dan out of his thoughts, and he froze mid-pace to spin around and face Phil.

“It’s not considered rash if I already planned on releasing the song at some point, right?” He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

Phil narrowed his gaze, though, eyeing Dan carefully. “I thought you said you only had one song you could perform without the backup band?”

Dan narrowed his eyes. He understood Phil’s rebuttal — Dan had told Phil that there was only one song he could play with just his guitar. My My My was Dan’s only acoustic song. But that didn’t mean it was the only song he could play without having his full backup band with him.

“Well, technically,” he admitted slowly. “But I do have another song — a perfect song — that’s basically ready. The band’s already recorded the instrumental parts, so I could just sing to that,” Dan suggested tentatively.

To Dan’s surprise, Phil pouted at the news. His bottom lip stuck out pitifully, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I thought my song was perfect?” he whined.

The anger that had been curling at Dan’s edges receded slightly, utter adoration for the man in front of him creeping into its place. Despite the urge to retaliate against Isabella’s accusations, Dan found his entire body, his entire demeanor, softening. Phil was so cute, and yet so petulant, that Dan couldn’t help melting. There was a happy glint in Phil’s eyes that was never there when Isabella had pouted at Dan, a spark that told Dan that this was different.

Before Dan could process his own actions, he was moving again, this time walking with purpose towards Phil and coming to a stop at the very edge of the bed.

Reaching out, Dan cupped Phil’s face in his palms, tilting his head up until their eyes met.

“Of course your song is perfect, Philly,” Dan reassured him with a soft smile. “But I wrote My My My, and the rest of your songs for that matter, when I was happy and giddy and in—” Dan paused, a hot flush rising to his cheeks. “Well. When I wasn’t in this kind of mood. And I’d rather the world didn’t hear any of them for the first time with this mood tainting it.”

For a moment, Phil just held Dan’s gaze. Dan raised his brows hopefully, almost pleading for Phil’s sad look to go away. But then Phil’s pouted melted, and a small smile replaced it instead. A part of Dan — a bigger part of him than he’d like to admit, really — was surprised at how quickly Phil’s pout had disappeared, even if the pout had only been joking in the first place. After a year with Isabella, Dan was used to fucking groveling if he wanted those sad looks to go away without sex.

“The rest of my songs?” Phil marveled, a hint of astonishment lacing his voice and a pink blush tainting his cheeks.

“Yes you loser, the rest of your songs.” Dan huffed, but not bothering to hide an enamoured grin.

“I didn’t know there was more than just the one,” Phil said softly, a note of awe in his voice.

“Did you even listen to the concept of the album?” Dan shook his head and rolled his eyes. Humor and fondness were seeping into his words no matter how hard he tried to sound serious; it didn’t matter that he’d been delirious with anger fifteen seconds ago, something about this boy managed to swing his mood to the polar opposite in the flicker of a second. “Wanting you, getting you… doesn’t that imply a bare minimum of two songs?” Dan teased, quirking an eyebrow and running one hand along the short, buzzcut side of Phil’s hair.

Isabella wasn’t right, he wasn’t gay, but he definitely reveled in how much of a boy Phil was.

“I mean,” Phil’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, his mouth pulling into a broad grin. Through his teeth, Phil’s tongue continued poking out of his mouth, and for once, his hand didn’t shoot up to hide it. “I guess I objectively figured that. But I didn’t, like… know. For sure, I mean.”

“You’re a dork, but I like you anyway,” Dan teased with a smirk.

Leaning down, Dan closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against Phil’s. The kiss was soft, almost chaste, at first, but the adrenaline that had been plaguing Dan must not have settled yet. The gentle kiss quickly grew heated, Dan’s mouth parting and his tongue darting out to lick along Phil’s bottom lip.

The soft whine Phil let out made Dan grin smugly.

“Before I call Lou about the song change, I need to shower and cool down,” Dan panted against Phil’s mouth after a moment, only drawing far enough back to mumble the words. Tipping his head forward, Dan captured Phil’s lips once more, playfully, sucking Phil’s bottom lip between his own, and letting his teeth graze along the sensitive skin just inside of Phil’s mouth. “Come with me?”

Hot staccatoed breaths fanned across Dan’s face as Phil chuckled, chasing Dan’s mouth to press a final, chaste kiss to his lips. “I’m pretty sure me showering with you will do the opposite of helping you cool down,” Phil teased.

“But Phi-illllll,” Dan whined, his voice several octaves higher than normal. Childish petulance seemed to take over Dan, and he stomped his foot on the ground, tugging pointedly at Phil’s hair.

“But D-annnn,” Phil mocked, his voice somehow even higher than Dan’s. Smirk on his face, Phil lightly shook Dan by the hips.

Actions speak louder than words, or so everyone said, so rather than replying, Dan opted to slide his hands from Phil’s cheeks down down down until he’d landed on Phil’s hips. Even then, Dan didn’t stop; one hand drifted farther, slipping into the hem of Phil’s pants. His fingers grazed Phil’s hipbone, creeping farther and farther back towards Phil’s arse.

Dan wiggled his eyebrows and licked his lips in what he hoped was a suggestive manner. “Come on,” he said gruffly, his hand lightly squeezing what he could reach of Phil’s arse.

“I’ll tell you what,” Phil started with a mischievous glint in his eye, shaking his head at Dan’s offer but smirking all the while. “I promise we’ll do something fun when you’re done filming the show.”

Lips pursed, Dan raised his brows skeptically. “Why can’t we do something fun later and now? It seems unnecessarily cruel for you to lounge in bed and leave me to wank in the shower,” he whined.

“Jesus christ, Dan,” Phil muttered, his eyes squeezing shut. Against his hips, Dan could feel the way Phil’s fingers dug in, he could see the way Phil’s entire body tensed. Everything about Phil’s demeanor made Dan confident that Phil would cave, if not now, then soon.

It took a moment, but Phil opened them again, although he didn’t quite meet Dan’s eye. “We both know if I come with you, we’ll both get absurdly distracted.”

“So?” Dan asked petulantly, sticking his lip out this time.

“So!” Phil huffed, exasperated. “You have a big day today and should focus on that. Besides, I should really call my mum.”

Dan wrinkled his nose, horrified at the change in subject. “Your mum? Are you really dragging your mum into this to turn me off?”

“Shut up, you twat.” Phil rolled his eyes, finally tipping his head far enough back to meet Dan’s gaze again. “My mum’s only request is that I text her if I leave the time zone, and now we’ve traveled through like six, so I think I owe her a call.”

“Yikes,” Dan cringed, his face scrunched up in horror. “You should have called her from the aeroport or something!” Dan tapped Phil’s shoulder impatiently, trying to get his point across.

Phil smiled softly, one hand reaching up to still Dan’s hand, trapping it against Phil’s neck. “I didn’t wanna leave you alone,” he said warmly, his other thumb grazing over Dan’s hipbone.

“Ugh,” Dan recoiled instantly, his nose wrinkling up in disgust. He wrangled his hand out of Phil’s grip, lightly swatting him on the shoulder. “Gross,” Dan whined, but his lips were drawn into a beaming smile.

Phil flicked Dan’s shoulder with his free hand, and flashed him a cheeky grin. “Shut up and go shower, Howell.”

“Fuck you too, Lester,” Dan pouted.

“You can do whatever you want later,” Phil teased coyly, his hand dipping into Dan’s pants to squeeze the top of his arse. Even knowing that Phil wasn’t going to accompany him to the shower, Dan couldn’t help but arch back into Phil’s touch.

“Fine, but you better believe I’m taking you up on that promise,” Dan griped, taking a minute step backward.

“Good,” Phil said with a shameless smile. “I hoped you would.”

********************

As much as Dan had resented having to get himself off with a rushed and mediocre handjob in the shower when he had a perfectly good, sexy boyfriend right outside the door, Phil had been right. From the minute Dan had gotten out of the shower — literally, he actually got out early because Louise was ringing — until the time Dan had been plopped down in a makeup chair in a small dressing room, he’d been having non-stop conversations about logistics and planning. Between Louise, his record label, and the Tonight Show coordinators, Dan barely had time to breathe — much less fuck around in the shower.

All the planning had been good though. It kept his mind busy and held his nerves at bay — until now.

Now, as some random woman dabbed foundation onto Dan’s face, there was nothing to do other than let his mind wander. Phil had ducked out a few minutes ago, going on a quest for decent coffee for Dan. While Dan really did want some tolerable caffeine, he was beginning to regret letting Phil be the one to get it.

Phil’s grounding chatter had disappeared, and along with it, so had Dan’s composure. Nerves had settled deep in the pit of his stomach and were slowly taking over his whole body. Sure, Dan had been given a run-down of topics Jimmy would hit on — and allowed to veto any he was uncomfortable with — but the gravity of what he was about to do, what he was about to talk about on national television, was weighing on him.

The makeup artist finished with the foundation and grabbed a natural-looking dark brown mascara from the pot. “Look up, please,” she instructed.

Dan eyed the brown mascara — mascara that was basically almost the exact same shade as his own eyelashes. Something about it didn’t feel right tonight, and he couldn’t quite keep his gut from screaming about it. This whole week was a movement towards being more authentic, and in a sudden moment of brazenness, Dan interrupted the makeup woman.

“Actually —” Dan paused. Stalled in hesitation, his tongue darting out to nervously wet his lower lip. Fuck it. Tonight was about making a statement. A big, loud and proud statement. He wasn’t going to half-ass it. “Can you do some eyeliner first? And maybe the black mascara?” The words came out more unsure than he’d wanted them to, and his hand was shaky as he pointed to the most dramatic tube, but he’d asked all the same. That’s what counted.

Dan expected the woman to be surprised, to balk at his request for something more feminine than she was offering. But to his surprise, she smiled broadly and gushed, “Of course!” as she pulled a small bag out of her kit. “What kind of look are you going for? Something subtle that will bring out your eyes? Or something more dramatic like the mid-2000s emo trend?”

“Um…” Dan floundered, suddenly doubting his decision — he didn’t want either of those options. Eyes fluttering closed, Dan listened to Adaline’s voice in his head saying one deep breath and then do the thing that scares you. “Neither,” he said as he met the makeup artist’s gaze with a defiant stare. This time, his voice wasn’t trembling or uncertain. It was strong. Confident.

The makeup artist’s head tilted slightly, and her lips quirked up into a small grin. “Okay, tell me what you’d like.”

Dan’s gaze drifted to his reflection in the mirror, his eyes tracing over the features of his face. “Nothing too dramatic, but I want it to be… noticeable.” He contemplated his long lashes and the dark brown of his eyes. “Something… pretty.”

“I can definitely do pretty!” The woman assured him with bubbly enthusiasm. “What are your thoughts about a bit of highlighter and bronzer to make those cute cheeks pop?”

A warm blush flushed Dan’s cheeks, and he looked down at his lap to hide his smile. He was flustered. Not from her calling him cute, but from the fact that someone other than Louise was willing to indulge his interest in makeup.

“Yeah,” Dan agreed softly, glancing up to meet the woman’s gaze in the mirror. “Whatever you think will look nice.”

Mesmerized, Dan watched as the woman pulled palette after palette out of her bag, opening and closing them as she seemed to debate which products to use. It was all so much nicer than the kid’s kit he’d bought Darcy, and so much more than the small stock Adaline used to have in her bathroom drawers.

The woman brushed powders over his cheeks, some feeling like they were almost down to his chin, some feeling like the went all the way up to his eye. Having his makeup done — proper makeup, not just stage makeup — was more nerve-wracking than Dan had anticipated, and he forced himself to avert his eyes anywhere but his own reflection. If he saw himself before she’d finished, he worried that he’d lose his courage; it was better to wait until the whole thing was done, then it would be harder to derail.

And maybe it’d look nice enough that he wouldn’t want to.

He reached out for one of the untouched palettes and opened it, only to find an array of greys and whites and blacks, some shimmery, some matte, and some straight up glitter. They were pretty — prettier than he thought he thought makeup could be, honestly.

“What’s this?” he asked, raising the palette a bit so the woman could see.

“Eyeshadow. Do you want some of that, too?” She asked it like it was the simplest question in the world, not like Dan was taking a rather large step in his slow but steady defiance of gender roles and heteronormativity.

His eyes lingered on one glittery grey powder, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly like a gaping fish.

After a moment’s hesitation, he weakly responded, “I think… not today.”

The makeup artist considered him for a second before plucking the palette out of his hands. “It’s up to you, of course, but we could do something really subtle. Maybe like this?” She spun the palette around so Dan could see it again, and pointed to one of the lightest options, a pale white with the faintest of shimmer. Dan didn’t know much about makeup, but he doubted the color would even show up on his skin.

“Does that even count as a color?” he asked doubtfully.

“It’s more of an accent, usually.” The makeup artist shrugged. “But if we swept it across your eyelids, the light shimmer would catch in the light and it would look nice. Barely noticeable if you weren’t looking for it, but nice.”

Dan hesitated again, his fingers tapping the table in front of him as he considered her offer. For some reason, eyeshadow — even eyeshadow that was basically nonexistent — seemed like a bigger step than eyeliner and something to accent his cheeks.

“Here,” the makeup artist said in a soothing voice, almost as if she sensed his apprehension. Without waiting for a response from Dan, she pulled a brush out of her toolkit and reached for Dan’s hand. “I’ll swipe it on your hand so you can see what it looks like on your skin first.”

“Oh!” Dan breathed, astonished. The idea of testing it somewhere hadn’t occurred to him at all, and he was suddenly realizing how fucking little he knew about makeup. Pliantly, Dan let her guide his hand towards her, and he felt his cheeks heat up again as she swiped the brush against the inside of his wrist. It tickled far more than he’d thought it would — not necessarily a bad thing, though. The sensation only lasted a few seconds before she released his hands and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Slowly, tentatively, Dan lowered his arm, flipping it up so that he could see the soft, paler skin on the inside of his wrist.

In the end, the powder she’d applied was so light that he almost couldn’t see it. It wasn’t until he tilted his arm back and forth that he was able to see how the powder caught the light. She was right — it was just a faint shimmer, one he might not notice if he wasn’t trying to find it.

Still, the barely-there glitter was hypnotizing, and he found himself unable to look away.

“It’s so pretty,” he breathed, more to himself than to the woman.

“I’ll put it on your eyes, then,” she said definitively, leaving no room for Dan to refuse. “If you hate it, it’s easy to take off,” she added, softer this time, as she pointed to a packet labeled makeup wipes. Dan nodded, letting her do as she pleased.

As he pleased.

Tonight’s interview wasn’t a now or never moment — there would be plenty of other opportunities to make the statements he wanted to make — but it felt just as heavy. This appearance, this interview on The Tonight Show, was his first deliberate appearance after coming out just two nights before. Big gestures, actions that spoke louder than words — those had always mattered to Dan. Deep in his gut, something about this moment — a moment when he knew the largest possible audience would be watching — was calling for a grand display, and he was determined to do it justice.

“Go on then,” Dan whispered, taking a deep breath and then closed his eyes.

The tickling sensation felt different on his eyelids, but it still made his skin prickle in the same pleasant way. It was gentler and far more precise than when Darcy had tried to do it, and some part of Dan — a part of himself that he didn’t fully understand — relished the soft caress of the brush.

Truth be told, he didn’t quite know what to make of the fact that he liked the makeup brush — and the makeup — so much.

He liked being a boy, that much he knew. He liked his body, he liked his identity. But he didn’t necessarily like the box that society tried to confine him with. There were some things, some things that were traditionally labeled as for girls, that he wanted to be able to embrace on occasion.

And as the soft bristles brushed glimmer powder across his skin, Dan knew this was a particular box he wanted to break out of every now and again.

The brush disappeared, and Dan started to open his eyes, but was interrupted by a fierce cry from the makeup artist. “Wait!” she exclaimed hurriedly. “I want you to get the full effect before you decide!”

Dan clamped his eyes shut again, inhaling another long breath. “Okay, just tell me what to do then.” Nerves and excitement both chewed at his stomach, fighting for dominance. At this point, he wasn’t sure which was going to win out. He just hoped this wonderful makeup artist was fucking magical and could give him the confidence to actually do this.

“Just keep your eyes shut,” she instructed. Dan huffed out his breath, keeping his eyes tightly shut. “Well, okay a little looser than that,” the makeup artist chuckled, her thumb lightly brushing over Dan’s eyelid.

Dan did his best to relax his face and let whatever was going to happen, happen. If worse came to worst, he could have her take it off.

The sweeping, soft tickle of the brush disappeared, and suddenly a more pointed, but not quite harsh, touch replaced it. The touch sweeped right alone his eyelid, just barely dipping out onto his temple. Late night youtube binges told him that this was probably eyeliner — and that it was probably some amount of a wing (a term he only knew after three consecutive hours of Manny MUA).

After just another drag of what felt like a pen, the makeup artist prompted, “You can open now.”

For once, Dan didn’t hesitate tonight. He knew whatever he saw, it’d probably be nice. Even if he didn’t want to wear it on television, he’d interacted with this girl long enough to trust that whatever she had done was at least worthy of a private selfie before he had her remove it.

But when Dan opened his eyes, he was greeted with the lightest, gentlest glow on his eyelids, and eyeliner that was just this side of dramatic. It wasn’t wings, not in the way he’d seen on youtube binges. But it also wasn’t just eyeliner accentuating the natural line of his eye. The eyeliner stretched out from the corner of his eye, just a hair, forming into a subtle point — nothing large enough to be truly loud, but enough to be definitively there.

Dan opened his mouth to say something, but the words got caught in his mouth. To his great annoyance, he felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes — tears he was determined to not let fall. With rough determination, he forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat, and cleared his voice before he tried to speak again.

“It’s great,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving his own eyes in the mirror. “Thanks.”

“Well let me put mascara on so you can get the full effect,” the woman said cheekily, waving a black tube in front of his face.

“Oh!” Dan gasped. Right — mascara. That was what had started this whole accidental makeup binge. “Go ahead, then,” Dan agreed.

He shifted his gaze up, prying his eyes open and forcing himself not to blink. The pull of the wand against his eyelashes was much more familiar — mascara was a pretty common part of stage makeup, a bit of makeup that was socially acceptable for guys to wear under certain conditions.

He loved that she was applying it after having put eyeshadow and eyeliner on.

“Okay, now tell me what you think.”

Dan’s eyes fluttered open again, appraising himself carefully in the mirror. The whole look seemed completed now that she’d added mascara. His eyes popped and his cheekbones seemed much more prominent than normal, the light reflecting off them more than usual. It wasn’t anything too radically different from how he normally looked, but still. The makeup was very clearly present. It was exactly what he’d wanted.

“Thank you,” he murmured softly, his eyes staying fixed on his reflection.

“Here,” the artist said, nudging something hard into his bicep. “You should keep this.”

Dan broke his own gaze, his eyes flitting down to his arm. In the woman’s hand was the eyeshadow palette, the one that was filled with shimmery and matte monochrome powders.

“I — I couldn’t, that’s yours,” Dan stumbled in surprise.

“I want you to have it.” She offered him a kind smile and set the palette down in his lap. “I can tell you like the colors.” Knocking her shoulder against Dan’s, she smiled softly and held his gaze in the mirror.

“Still —” Dan started, not quite knowing where his rebuttal was going, just knowing he felt guilty about taking something that probably cost decent money from someone. He swallowed thickly, glancing from the artist to the palette and back up again. “I could buy my own or something.”

“I know,” she said softly, shrugging. Her eyes met his in the mirror, holding his gaze steadily. “But now you don’t have to go find the courage to do that right away. Have fun with it, see what you think.”

Dan stared down at the dozen shades of white, grey, and black, at a loss for how to use them. “I — I barely know what to do with eyeshadow, much less this many of them.” Dan sheepishly looked up at the woman, not feeling nearly worthy of such a gift.

“There are loads of youtube videos.” The woman chuckled as she dug around in her purse. “But here, take my card and we can have a little skype if you don’t know what to do.”

“Wow,” Dan mumbled, numbly reaching out for the card and blankly staring at the bold black letters spelling Sofia Ricci against the stark white background. “Okay, um, I might take you up on that.”

“Good,” Sofia said definitively. “Now about those nails.”

Dan’s eyes shot down to his hands at the completely random observation, his eyes raking over his still matte-silver fingertips. His brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of Sofia’s comment.

“What about them?” he huffed, borderline offended as he glanced back up at her.

“I noticed some of them were smudged, and I was going to offer some nail polish remover, but…” Sofia trailed off, her eyes flickering down to her bag.

“But what?” Dan pushed when she didn’t finish her thought, eyes narrowed.

Bending over, Sofia dug through her bag for a second before holding out a small bottle of black nail polish in front of Dan. “Well, I thought maybe I could add some little designs over the smudges instead?”

Their eyes met in the mirror and Dan felt his heart fucking swell at how kind and supportive Sofia looked. Half an hour ago, she had just been a random makeup woman. And twenty minutes ago, she’d been offering to dress him up like Gerard Way à la 2006. But since then, she’d morphed into a supportive ally, someone who seemed to genuinely encourage Dan’s interest in all of… this.

“Hearts,” Dan said decisively, placing his hands on the table with purpose.

Sofia’s expression softened, a smile hinting at her lips. “Sure thing,” she assured as she unscrewed the black bottle with an air of confidence. Silently, she dipped a toothpick into the polish and gestured for Dan’s hand. Gently but confidently, she spread his fingers against the counter and began dotting the toothpick with intense concentration.

Somehow, the resolute attention that Sofia was giving to Dan’s nails was wildly different from the manicurist that Dan had occasionally gone to over the last few years. Sofia knew she was prepping Dan to go out in front of a massive public audience, Sofia was painstakingly painting delicate designs on Dan’s nails, Sofia was gently pushing Dan to be as authentic as he felt comfortable being.

Dan forced himself to look anywhere but his nails while Sofia worked. The whole nail polish thing — or at least wearing it in public — was new enough that it was still nerve-wracking, but he could still recall how lovely his nails had looked after the manicurist finished them earlier this week.

And he could perfectly remember the reverent look on Phil’s face when he’d noticed.

Sofia painted in silence for a few minutes, working her way through Dan’s entire right hand before she spoke again. The sound of her voice startled Dan enough that he glanced over at her.

“So,” she started tentatively. “I feel like I should confess that I saw your instagram post.”

Dan froze. “Oh,” he said, the one syllable coming out tight and short.

“I really liked it,” Sofia added softly, sounding far more tentative than she had since they’d been introduced.

Dread washed over Dan as he slowly began to process the meaning behind Sofia’s words — she clearly followed him on Instagram. She was probably a fan. In his experience, no secrets were safe with fans — that’s why he’d always had pretty much anyone he let close sign an NDA.

He hadn’t even hesitated with Sofia, though — and that was about to be his downfall. His interest in makeup was probably destined to be broadcasted all over the covers of the tabloids by this time tomorrow.

Frozen, Dan stared at himself in the mirror, unable to properly look at Sofia. Unfortunately, this meant he was forced to watch the way horror and fear flooded his own eyes. The terror was plainly written on his face, and it was impossible for Sofia not to notice it, too.

“Fuck — I mean, uh, frick, I mean —” Sofia stopped her dotting of his nails, instead looking up at him like a deer in headlights.

The expression was so startled, so genuine, that a little bit of Dan’s fears ebbed away. She looked so genuinely taken aback, so honestly scared of Dan’s reaction to what she’d said, that Dan couldn’t help but question if his worries were misplaced.

“Cursing is fine Sofia,” Dan assured her, his voice tighter than he wanted it to be. He drug his tongue along his bottom lip, trying to decide how much he wanted to allow. His eyes flickered to the eyeshadow palette and then to the business card on the table. He decided to take a leap of faith. “Just say whatever you want to say.”

“Right,” Sofia mumbled and flushed red, clearly embarrassed. “I just meant, I liked it… like, as a fan, it was good to see, but…” Her eyes didn’t quite meet Dan’s as she trailed off.

“...But?” Dan prompted, heart racing.

“But, as a fellow bisexual, it was the best post I’ve seen all year.”

“Oh,” Dan breathed, blinking rapidly in surprise. “I — I…”

Suddenly words seemed impossible to Dan — something that wasn’t exactly great since he was supposed to be talking about this very topic on national television in less than an hour. But he had hardly expected his makeup artist to broach this conversation with him (and he definitely hadn’t expected to ask for fucking eyeshadow from her).

“Sorry, I made it weird,” Sofia apologized, her gaze dropping back to her hands as she started steadily dotting another heart on Dan’s nails.

“No!” Dan exclaimed more forcefully than intended. “I mean, no,” he corrected, voice softer this time. “It’s not weird.”

Peeking up from Dan’s nails, Sofia caught his gaze in the mirror. “It’s not?”

“No. I — I didn’t realize until I came out how little bisexual representation there was out there.” Dan’s gaze flickered from Sofia’s gaze to his nails as he contemplated the decision he was making — the decision he’d technically already made. But with every word, the decision felt like more and more of an active choice. “And now… well, it doesn’t seem fair for us to keep being alone.”

“Thank you,” Sofia said softly, a hint of disbelief in her voice that Dan so desperately wished didn’t have to be there. That doubt wouldn’t exist if more people spoke up, if more people were authentic and tried to live their truth. “From all of us. It’s hard not seeing people like ourselves in the media, so what you’re doing… it means a lot.”

“Every listener I have is going to know that bisexuality is a real thing if I can help it,” Dan asserted, voice fierce for the first time that night.

“That’s the spirit,” Sofia whispered conspiratorially.

Dan nodded once, not saying anything else.

Of all the conversations he’d imagined having just before filming The Tonight Show, this certainly wasn’t one of them. But now that it had happened, it felt exactly like the conversation he’d needed — a conversation to remind him why he was so passionate about professing his bisexuality. Passion that stemmed from somewhere deeper, somewhere more important that Isabella’s whiny slander.

a/n2: look i was gonna have the interview in this chapter but i got fucking excited and carried away, okay?