#the witches brew is familiar in its taste

[nameissmile]

Merry Halloween everyone (and happy holidays to all! Have good food and good people surround this end of year)

Really feeling the vibes today haha

[nedjsmlfavs]

Hellooo i just finished your fic Stitched Together (I've melted) and it is now absolutely imperative I ask if you have read Bone Tea by peachcitt please please read it its not the same at all but it is everything and i think you'll be delighted by the world she builds with it

I have not read that one, but I do have it in the to read list! If you're into witch AU's, I'd also suggest:

Something Familiar by Freedom_Shamrock

Marinette is a teenage witch, and it's time for her to find a familiar. Witch AU, no kwamis, Adrien never got to go to school

It also has Cat!Adrien, though he's a cat by choice in this one. It didn't inspire Stitched Together, but I think they have a similar vibe, so if you liked one, then you'll probably like the other! Note that you need an AO3 account to read it.

Other mentioned fics for those who have not read them and need more witches in their lives:

Bone Tea by @peachcitt

Ingredients: (1) self conscious but talented witch (1) dissatisfied former model (4) dead witches (1) missing mother (1) really bad guy (add in another for a more bitter taste) Instructions: Brew on low heat, stirring occasionally. Take your time in mixing and adding ingredients, and make sure the burn is slow and sweet to contrast the bitter tang of the brew. Pour in mug and serve. Savor the taste. Result: A multi-colored magical mess on your tongue, in your mind, and - most importantly - in your heart.

As I said above, I have yet to read this one, but I've heard good things from more than one reader and I'm excited to check it out during my next writing break!*

Stitched Together by Nedjemet (that's me!)

Stitch Witch Marinette was just supposed to be having a nice, terrifying outing with her best friends. She never expected to find a magically trapped kitten, but here we are! Whatever happened to this poor little guy?

An Adrien POV for this one will probably be my valentines fic for this year, so keep an eye out for that!

Happy reading!

*I avoid reading long fic while I'm actively writing in the same fandom because it risks messing with my writing style/characterization, so I mark interesting long fic for reading when I'm taking a writing break. You're always welcome to toss recs my way! It will just take me a while to get to them.

[colemacgrathtkz]

Trouble at the market

Breaking out of Hooty's owl pellet was bad enough. She had to pick leaves out of her hair. Not to mention, bits and bones of whatever the tube demon last ate. Now came the crowds of fans of "Luz, the human ''.

Witches of the (unofficial) "bad girls coven" raced upon seeing one of their idols. Witches, young and old, swarmed around her. While others were snatching Penstagram selfies, uneasy fans wanted to know what caused the Isles to tremble just a short while ago. This might be a taste of fame. But it was still the pressure of everyone counting on a high schooler. Not exactly something Luz counted on when she helped save her friends. The witch apprentice turned hero, Luzura. Her identity as "the dummy in the principal's office" was crushing. But this was a new kind of pressure.

She tried to calm down the flock of worried admirers. But they kept asking about the "rainbow geyser" that rained down on the titan. From its head to its toes, liquid metal-like substances crashed down onto the ground.

Unable to answer all their questions, Luz nervously agreed to let everyone know when she learns more. One thing she learned to always keep on her, a bottle of fog brew. After her first day of Hexside, she wanted to ace her first potion. Now, the results spoke for themselves. Using the smokescreen and an invisibility glyph, she snuck away.

Young witch: "So cool. Like that other human hero. What was it? Man-bat?"

Luz(under her breath): "It's actually Bat..."

The slight exhale caused her glyph to wear off. Before she could use another one, she spotted a Glandus student sprinting in her direction.

Luz: "No,no,no, wait, I don't..."

They sped past her, completely ignoring the confused human. And then another, and another, and another. Panic could be heard getting closer, as the sounds of battle grew bigger as well. The ground shook as she saw witches retreating. The former emperor's coven guards fell under the banner of the "C.A.T.S". Those accepted were under the leadership of the original rebels against Belos. Raine Whispers, Daruis, Eberwolf, Lilith and Eda Clawthrone. Only those personally approved by one of them were made into peacekeepers.

C.A.T. guards fired spell after spell as they fell back. Dust and debris approached ominously toward Noceda's direction. She wasted no time running towards them, in hopes of being able to help.

From the dust cloud, two C.A.T. guards were launched through the air. Noceda used a glyph to catch them in greenery and created an ice wall with another. She readied herself and thundering footsteps approached. The sound of metal bending greeted her before the sight of a 30 foot blue humanoid newt emerged. In one arm, he held what looked like a sci-fi energy sword. A large abomination attempted to focus its attacks on his head. The witches responsible for the goo champion became over confident. One of them spotted Luz and became careless.

C.A.T. guard: "It's the human!"

At that moment, the large newt swung its tail. A chunk of rubble was sent crashing into the origin of that call. Their partner ran to their aid. With eyes irritated from the blows, he could just make out a familiar sight. A fuzzy silhouette of hair with leaves and sticks. The huge armored creature closed in on his human target.

King Andrias: "A human, huh?"

Luz: "Um, hi. You're a big boy, aren't ya?"

King Andrias: "What have you done with the box?"

Luz: "The box? I don't know what you're talking about. What box?"

King Andrias: "The power of Amphibia's greatest treasure. My battle on Earth just moments ago. Now, I'm here amongst these creatures. Of course, you sent me here. Always a little thief misusing its power."

Luz: "Listen, um, sir? I don't know anything about a box, but if you just..."

Wait, he knows about earth. He said, he was just there? What's going on in the human world? Did what happen back at the pool site reach there, too?

King Andrias: "You want to play games? Catch!"

Using his sword to bring down a wall, he swung his tail like a bat. Debris went flying towards Noceda's direction. She quickly slammed an ice glyph on the ground. But the frozen wall it created only held against the stone projectiles. Her attacker charged at her almost immediately. Swinging his sword through, he completely closed the distance between them. Despite towering over her, she could see the reds of his eyes. Even with his vision impaired, he was still a threat.

King Andrias: "You've got ice powers now?"

He caught her in his massive hand in an attempt to crush her. But she activated a fire glyph she planted on him, just under his fist. Right when he loosened his grip, she escaped and used a plant glyph to swing from his arm, up to his face. He spotted her aim and headbutted her before she could use another attack. She came down on the ground, hard.

He quickly tried to stomp on her. But she rolled out of the way.

King Andrais: "You think sending me away was going to save Earth?"

He swung his sword without giving her any reprieve. One of the blows cracked the street, causing Luz to lose her footing.

King Andrais: "I'm going to enjoy crushing everyone you care about when I'm done here."

At that moment, several spikes of ice went right for her opponent,

Luz(angrily): "What did you just say?!"

She coated a rod, lying on the ground, in ice. It almost looked like a shimmering sword.

King Andrias: "Touche."

She used a combo of fire and ice to create a fog. Using the cracks in the street, she used a plant glyph to attack from below. He evaded, but took his already poor eyesight off her. She used the distraction to slip away, using an invisibility glyph. Sneaking up on him, she surprised him with a large flash of light. With what felt like looking directly at the sun, he covered his eyes. His reaction from the pain made the opening Luz wanted. Using an ice platform, she launched herself up to his collar. With her makeshift weapon, she lodged it into his armor. Using vines, she knocked the sword out of his hand. She had to use one arm to hold on. But she appeared to immobilize one of his arms with a plant glyph. They managed to drag his arm closer to the ground. Unfortunately, she forgot about his tail. He knocked her off his back and snatched her out of the air with his spare arm.

King Andrias: "So many new powers. You’ve outdone yourself, chosen hero. I underestimated you. But now you die.”

Just as he raised his fist to smash her into the ground, sunlight allowed him to get a better look at his captive.

Bringing her closer to his face, he studied her features.

King Andrias: “You’re not Anne Boonchuy.”

Not wasting this opportunity, she remotely activated one of her last two glyphs. Using a vine to reach the rod under his collar, she set off a series of ice glyphs coated around vegetation that shackled his arm.

King Andrais: “What’s happening?”

He flung her in the direction of the floor. Fortunately, her last glyph allowing her to stop in mid air and land safely on the street.

The barrage of glyphs managed to reach underneath his armor. Finally, immobilizing him completely and ending the battle.

Author's note:

I was worried about how much I could fit here.

[snobby55]

fun new coffee experiment!!

i went to a flower nursery with my mom today and decided to pick a rose head from one of the big bushes, and now i dont actually know what to do with it and its dying!!

solution: make it into a strange concotion!!! :D

hypothesis: if i make this, then itll taste pretty good, and also give me magical powers and prove im a witch of some sort

I decided to decimate the petals with a coffee grinder and throw it into one of those little metal reusable k cups since we got one a those and ran it with water, and now ive turned it into this pleasantly pink drink!!

and actually quite quickly as of typing this its now turned into this brownish tea-like thing, which im not sure if its because of the ground residue in the coffee grinder or the heat, but oh well!!

actually, to note: when i removed the petals from the k cup, they were essentially just this dead grey mass of planty mush, which i think its kinda interesting because i thought the juices were just sucked into the water, but i guess theyre alive still? or something, idk im not a botanist

after that i added it to about 8oz of fireside rum coffee that i kept from christmas (since its a flavor im familiar with), and added the 2 brews together

as a control, i probably shouldve tried the flower mix on its own, but my mom called me out to yardwork and i got distracted, so i just dumped in in with the coffee, but i will try it without any other additives just to see if the flavors any good

ok so it tastes like this weird mix of like a mysterious herb, kinda like a mix of basil and mint, and kinda like sweet tea, and black coffee, which i dont even drink coffee black so i dont actually know why i did that.

when the light hits it right though its got the weird pinkish highlight to it which is pretty sick

anyway i added a bit of creamer and tastes a little herby, but its slightly cold because i left while making it

conclusion: solid 6/10 needs more eye of newt or something like that

[hogarsis]

for some reason, kyoko couldn't put a finger on why or how, but she always seemed to remember this date in particular. the day that the sakura family perished from within. the day that kyoko should have died. it wasn't exactly putting the youth in the best of moods, though she couldn't do much about it. she had a duty to fight witches, after all. so she did just that.

she was on patrol duty with sayaka, and the crimson-haired girl was extra aggressive fighting this witch and its familiars. she didn't realize how angry she was until a hand gently placed itself atop hers, lowering the spear she carried.

"what the hell are you doing, sayaka?!" kyoko snarled, glaring daggers at her friend. "do you want the witch to get away?!" she sighed and gritted her teeth. "look, i'm fine, okay?! don't look at me like you actually care about me, dumbass." despite this, there were tears practically crystallizing in the girl's eyes. "let's just kill this witch and go home." and where was home for kyoko, exactly?

KYOKO'S AGRESSION WAS NOTHING FOREGIN TO SAYAKA ; she's had bare witness and even had a taste of kyoko's raw anger clenching ( once before . ) but never as brutal or aimlessly draining the red-head , something she would never even think to see in someone like kyoko to crack down . a piping burst of steam hissing free from kyoko and sayaka could feel that heat hitting her , in spite of it of she wasn't going to let her concerns rest . " with the way you're fighting , the witch isn't gonna be the only one that's going to get killed . " sayaka kneels down quickly with her hand still latched onto kyoko as takes the red-head along with her , taking cover behind a prop of the labryinth breaking away from the heat of battle and a temporal moment of breakaway .

" you're hurt , idiot . do you just expect me not to bat an eye about it ? " a breathe passes from firm frowned lips , a drop of sweat etched onto her forehead smudging between her brows , struggling to keep herself a float from the occurring battle in front of them . THE SCRAPE OF FLESH AND BLOOD SEEPING entails a sight of kyoko's own anger drawing her to be careless , enduring any onslaught attacks from the witch and it's familiars . it pains sayaka , it hurts her to see her like this . she couldn't figure the mystery of the girl's brewing anger of any day being today . but her worries wouldn't fade unlike the wounds and scars kyoko has shouldered and endured from that day .

MAGIC SAILS ACROSS from her fingers , the symbol of musical notes drawn from above hovering over kyoko , singing a cool air healing the lancer from her wounds and weaving back the torn fabric . her gaze remains on her , focused as ever , while her hand is gripping tightly on the handle of her sword for the impending battle to eventually resume . " don't even think for a second that i'm going to let you walk away pretend like any of this didn't happen . " NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES IT WOULD TAKE , EVEN IF KYOKO WOULD PUSH HER AWAY . THROUGH ANY MEANS sayaka would persist , holding to aid the wounded fire-child and help her alleviate the pain that trapped her . she wasn't going to allow her friend , the person she walked through the exit with to be left alone .

[weeblyteblog]

Step into a World of Bubbling Cauldrons and Mystical Concoctions: The Witches Brew

Background information about The Witches Brew

This captivating coffee house, The Witches Brew, has been brewing magic since 1996 at its location at 311 Hempstead Turnpike in West Hempstead, NY 11552. The establishment offers a unique Halloween and spooky-themed experience for all enthusiasts, set within the ambiance of a century-old house adorned with spooky décor.

The Witches Brew is not simply a coffee shop; it is a haven for Halloween lovers seeking a one-of-a-kind experience, even if it requires a 20-minute detour. At night, the beautifully lit exterior adds to the enchanting vibe, drawing patrons into a world of bubbling cauldrons and mystical concoctions.

Upon entering, a mesmerizing ambiance engulfs the visitor. Exploring the intricate spooky décor adorning every corner is a delight that can easily consume 15 minutes. This commitment to a unique atmosphere extends to the menu, which boasts a vast selection of teas, coffees, and healthy food choices. Patrons can delight in the captivating surroundings as they indulge in the extensive range of vegan baked goods and fun drinks.

The Witches Brew: A Perfect Place to Relax and Enjoy a Spooky Treat

One should secure a spot on the website's waitlist to guarantee a table at The Witches Brew. Despite its relatively compact size, one can expect excellence in both service and cuisine. The mac and cheese is a must-try, while the classic Italian and beet salad are delightful. The decor is fantastic, and one can find an extensive coffee and tea menu. Checking out the offerings online beforehand saves one time. The desserts displayed behind the glass are irresistible. One can uncover the diverse offerings at The Witches Brew, known for its vast coffee and tea selections. Perusing the options online simplifies one's decision-making, allowing for full enjoyment of the enchanting experience that awaits. Treat yourself to the tempting desserts showcased behind the glass.

Despite its small size, The Witches Brew offers exceptional service and culinary delights. However, parking can be difficult, especially during peak hours, due to the limited availability of street parking.

A Feast for the Senses at The Witches Brew

The establishment of The Witches Brew, a captivating café located at 311 Hempstead Turnpike in West Hempstead, New York, in 1996, has led to the brewing of magic. Upon stepping into this enchanting establishment, one embarks on a journey into a realm where the blending of delectable aromas with a touch of whimsical charm takes place.

The culinary creations offered by The Witches Brew extend far beyond the ordinary, providing a delectable fusion of healthy and hearty options. Their menu, which features an eclectic mix of savory wraps and sandwiches, wholesome salads, and nourishing bowls, is crafted with fresh, high-quality ingredients. Each dish, a testament to the café's culinary prowess, leaves a symphony of flavors dancing on the taste buds.

The Witches Brew Workers

Friendly and welcoming assistance is guaranteed at The Witches Brew, where staff members are always ready to help with a smile. Passionate about coffee and tea, the staff shares their knowledge with visitors, ensuring a delightful experience. Their familiarity with the extensive menu enables them to assist customers in making the perfect choice for their taste buds.

Providing exceptional service is a priority at The Witches Brew, where a warm and inviting atmosphere is created for all visitors. Regardless of their experience with coffee or tea, visitors can expect a memorable visit. The staff's expertise in both beverages and menu offerings allows them to guide customers through the diverse options available, guaranteeing a satisfying and enjoyable experience for everyone.

The Advantages of Making a Reservation in Advance at The Witches Brew

A guarantee of preferred seating is offered as a primary benefit of making advance reservations. The choice to customize the experience is granted, whether the desire is for the cozy corner with a view or a spot near the bewitching desserts. Uncertainty is skipped, and the assurance that the chosen space awaits is relished, ensuring a seamless experience.

Additionally, minimal wait times are afforded by advance reservations. Bypassing queues and being immersed directly in the enchanting world of extraordinary flavors make entering The Witches Brew effortless. Whether a spontaneous coffee date or a planned celebration, prompt service and timely indulgence are guaranteed by a reserved spot.

Contact Information

Location: 311 Hempstead Turnpike, West Hempstead, NY 11552

Phone Number: +1 516-4899-482

Website: https://the-witches-brew.club/

[ajaxsbeloved]

HEY! I’m wondering if you can do another witch reader-? PLEASE IM OM MY KNEES BEGGING doesn’t matter if it’s Childe or Scarmouche or Xiao I just need one ;-;

-: rimmed hats & love potions :-

feat. childe, scaramouche, xiao, diluc (separate)

genre. fluff/comedy (slight angst on diluc’s order)

summary. being a witch is an interesting part of your life, but your boyfriend is around to make it a little more fun at least (continuation of this post)

warnings. possessiveness in scaramouche’s section (i know nothing about witches so there’s a lot of generic stuff here i’m so sorry)

A/N. omg you’re the first person i’vs seen in my inbox for like a whole year woah ok so i did stereotype witch again i hope that’s ok! also i added diluc idk why i just felt the need to throw him in LMAO

childe:

childe loves watching you brew potions, it’s probably one of his favorite ways to relax is just to lay around and watch you tinker with glass bottles and pretty flowers

he’s very attentive to if you need certain ingredients such as violet grass or naku weeds and whenever he’s traveling he’ll pick some stuff up for you

similarly to xiao in the last post he likes when you heal with your magic but NEVER on other people, he likes to be special

he comes home often times with scratches and cuts from battles and he insists that despite how it could be healed with a bandaid or normal medical supplies that you fix it up with your witchcraft which you can never say no to because of the glint in his eye when he asks

when it comes to your familiar he loves the little thing, i’ve mentioned that he sees it as your guys’ child and when i say he sees it as part of the family that means he includes it in family like activities as well

don’t be surprised if you come home to childe having made dinner for 3, 2 plates are with normal food and another plate for your familiar T-T

he also “takes parental control” of it sometimes meaning he’ll hang out with your familiar and just him every once and a while, he’ll sometimes even take it with him to work and let it rest on his shoulder as he sorts through paperwork and files

now we all know that childe can be a bit mischievous but what he never saw coming was when the mischief in your smile when you asked him to drink something you made for him

forgetting about the whole “i’m a witch thing” he drank the whole glass and was beaming over how good it tasted, that is until the next morning when he woke up and his hair was bright purple…

“(Y/N)!!!” he yelled from the bathroom and his voice cracked put of confusion

meanwhile you sat on the living room couch absolutely dying of laughter to which (no pun intended) increased tenfold when childe came sauntering in looking like he had just seen a ghost

“YOU-YOU I CANT BELIVE YOU WHA-DID YOU HEX ME?”

“maybe :3”

“YOU WITCH”

needless to say it made your whole day

scaramouche:

this guy is kinda stupid if i’m honest, he has no idea how it works but he finds it very useful

but then he starts treating it like you’re an archon or something and starts asking you to do impossible things like make shit out of thin air lmao

you have to explain to him that while your magic is special and not that of a vision users; it’s also not that or an archons and like all mystical abilities it too has its limits

he doesn’t allow you on the battle field, ever. his word is final, sure you had fought before dating him but once you were his he wouldn’t ever let you get hurt by anyone especially if it had to do with dealings of the fatui

he’d let you help out with his job such as healing and other small things but he would never let you into a fight whether or not you could use your magic to hold your own

he’d do his best to keep you away from the fatui, your magic could be useful to him but he wouldn’t allow others to use it. you were his and his alone.

if your magic would be useful to the tsaritsa he wouldn’t let you anywhere near her ever, he knew how dangerous not only his job was but the people he worked with. he was well aware that if you were ever found out you’d likely be in a position with a massive target on your back

of course he wouldn’t ever let you know of this, you’d be blissfully ignorant as he shadowed you and made sure you’re magic wasn’t an open invitation for the fatui

he didn’t mind your familiar but it wasn’t something he was often taking care of, to him it was like a pet which he never had the time to watch or show affection to

if something ever happened to your familiar though he would be really upset, not only because he did like it (though he would never admit it) but also because he knew it would be hard for you and whoever hurt your familiar would regret it

never and i mean never play pranks on him with your magic, the one time you did and made his hat disappear he threw a fit like an absolute toddler

he was so mad at you that he didn’t speak to you for 3 whole days and would ignore you everytime you tried to apologize

he’d end up forgiving you of course but he’d give you a stern talk about how it was to never happen again

xiao:

xiao is honestly hard to write for, i can’t see him having many opinions on this kind of thing or caring too much

it’s not that he doesn’t care he just doesn’t have an innate interest in this field

if there is one thing that interests him though it’s how your magic compares to that of the archons, vision holders, and yakshas

your magic was unique and something that the other people of teyvat weren’t familiar with nor capable of and this definitely intrigued xiao

he likes to see how you can use your magic in ways that the archons may not and wants to know what the limits of your abilities are

he secretly loves your familiar but would rather drop dead than ever admit it, he spends time with it while your asleep or while you’re away quite often and likes to cuddle with it

when you’re not around xiao sleeps with your familiar as he views it not only as a pet but also as another piece of you and so it helps to keep him calm and stop him from having nightmares :(

however because of this feeling that your familiar is a part of you this means that if anything happened to it he’d be furious, he’d get extremely overprotective and wouldn’t hesitate to destroy anyone who dare hurt it

he also would take care of your familiar if anything were to ever happen to you, he’d be the prime care taker and would sometimes have ganyu or zhongli babysit it (i’m crying this is so cute)

if you were to ever prank xiao with your magic he’d just get confused and have this annoyed look at his face but then he’d very surprisingly start laughing

while it wasn’t bursting out into laughter to the point in which your stomach hurts you could tell that he was smiling and he let out small chuckles at your prank

this would encourage your pranking and mischievous behavior to which xiao would continue to actually enjoy

eventually he’d get used to it and find it an endearing trait of yours, he’d simply smile and laugh a bit when thinking of your pranks or joining in on them every one and a while

diluc

first things first diluc would be in a constant state of worry over your well being, considering what happened to his father he would be very cautious about how your magic works and whether or not it’s dangerous to you

something he finds very interesting about your magic though is your ability to use it in ordinary life. sure it’s cool in combat and on the battle field but the thing he enjoys most about it is how versatile it is to you in mundane life

he also love your familiar, to him the little sprite is almost like a seelie but more useful

he doesn’t interact with it or take care of it a whole lot but he likes to quietly watch the bond between you and your familiar, it gives him a sense of calmness and almost makes him envious

he’d be interesting in how your magic would help the knights of favonious and if it would make them any more efficient

would secretly try to get you to get you to talk to jean about being a captain in the knights and helping the people of mondstadt in a safe way while also being useful to their cause

one time you and kaeya pulled a trick of diluc where you made kaeya look exactly like diluc for a day except it didn’t turn out how you expected

you were thinking that diluc wouldn’t be pleased and would just brush it off but shockingly he screamed in the highest voice you’ve ever heard from him when he came face to face with himself

he then became very intrigued and wanted to learn about the science behind your magic and more specifically how the twin trick worked

so what you expected to be a fun little prank to annoy your boyfriend became a lesson on your magic, though not that you minded

what you didn’t notice was diluc’s subtle smile as he watched your eyes sparkle as you talked about something like magic which was so important to you

tags:

[tteokdoroki]

⤷ 𝐅𝐋𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 : WRITTEN CHAPTER

⤷ CHAPTER SUMMARY: convinced by eijiro to tell hawks how you truly feel, you decide to give him a call  and let it all out.

author’s note(s): ok so this chapter i thought would be hard to convey just over text so i decided to do it as both, however tumblr is poopy so the confession is split between part seventeen.five and part eighteen ! nonetheless please let me know how if you liked it turned out :(( ily !! ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY

previous | part eighteen - keigo takami | next

word count: 1.2K.

with shaky breaths, your tongue darts out to wet the dry planes of your lips— nervous building up as the pressure your teeth use to sink into the swell of your bottom lip. you shouldn’t be nervous. this is keigo, kei, the guy who sung songs about chicken wings and moved so fast his brain couldn’t catch up with his words. the guy who held you tight in his arms while you shook with fear, who stared at you warmly to calm your nerves on set.

keigo takami was the guy you’d fallen head over heels for.

you shift from under the blankets, the sight of your phone screen lighting up pulling you from your flurry of thoughts. the darkness of your room is brightened by keigo’s contact photo flashing before your eyes. 

it was a picture of him that you’d taken on a lunch date one day— his golden avian eyes that held nothing but the sun were focused on the delicious meal in front of him, a small, earth shattering smile painting his sweet lips. you could look at the photo for hours; but choose to answer the call before your mind can get away from you.

“kei,” his name falls easily from your tongue, tasting of familiarity and comfort, as if it were the only name you were made to say. you could never get tired of saying it, hearing it. “i missed you...”

keigo chuckles from over the line, the sweet melody reminding you of the songbirds that play their tune for you every morning. sinking into your oversized sweater, you suppress the urge to squeal like a school girl and roll over into your sheets— even the simplest things about him have you reeling from the other end of the phone. “missed me? baby bird it’s only been a few hours since you last saw me,” his timbre voice fills the air in your room, resting in every inch and every corner— surrounding you as if he was right there with you. “what is it about me that you miss baby? is it my eyes? my voice? my touch? my...”

which each suggestion, his voice drops an octave, making your heart thump louder in your chest to the point that you’re afraid he might hear it. an embarrassed heat burns at the tips of your ears, flustered without him even being there with you. “keigo takami,” you scold him gently, knowing that if he could see, the smile that spreads across your lips would betray you. “don’t you dare go making me flustered, i’m trying to tell you something important!”

“i’m all ears baby bird.”

he falls quiet, nothing but the sound of ruffling sheets and static between you. you know what you want to say, you’d practiced every word for hours with eiji over the phone before; but now that you were face to face or rather— voice to voice— you couldn’t even think straight. your palms are sweating, heart rattling against your rib cage and now your throat is dry. 

what can you say? what can you do? you don’t want to leave him hanging but you don’t know if you can form a proper sentence but it seems your mouth has a mind of its own; speaking before your thoughts can catch up with it.

“yn? baby?”

“keigo takami, i think i have feelings for you.”

you smack a hand over your mouth, just hard enough to send you flying back into your bed sheets and pillows. you had a whole speech prepared, a confession that could win oscars if you really wanted it to but of course, you’d gone and messed that up too. 

the silence that crackles in the air causes your mind to race with anxiety, how much of a fool you’d look if keigo didn’t feel the same. after all, he was the hawks, a pro hero who was just as good as anyone out there. number two on the ranks and at the top of the game, he could have any girl, any guy, any person he desired. so why on earth would he choose you?

“you think, or you know?” the pro whispers into his device and you could almost hear the smirk entangled with his very tone. he’s teasing you. hawks was always one for jokes and humour; one thing you loved about him was his ability to keep any situation light hearted— but for a second you wished that he took the situation seriously.  fumbling with your fingers, you debate on whether or not you should ask keigo to forget you ever said anything, you could deal with the repercussions after drowning yourself in mina’s ice cream later, but keigo seems to have other plans. “i like you too baby bird, i know i do.” he mumbles as if he’s gone shy, now he’s the one waiting anxiously for your response.

you release a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, clutching at your chest as fresh air fills your lungs. “that makes two of us then,” you hum warmly, feeling your body warm up at the idea of your favourite pro liking you back.

but keigo doesn’t stop there, it’s almost as if he’s gripping the phone tighter— desperate to convince you that you’re everything that he needs. “i have for some time now yn, i don’t know when or how it happened, but i’m glad it was you. your heart and your soul are kind, half of me doesn’t want to taint it but the other half of me is a selfish bastard,” the hero you’ve come to care for pauses, mulling over his next words in a way that has you sitting up to prepare yourself. “that selfish side of me, that half of me needs you, wants to make you happy. that’s if you’ll let me, songbird...”

you find yourself nodding over the phone and it takes a second for you to realise that keigo can’t see you. desperately you wipe at your eyes, cheeks stained with tears you hadn’t noticed were falling and heart feeling more full than it’s ever been. 

you feel set free, cut from the restraints of your past love for bakugou— ready to make new ties with keigo.

“i want you too kei, more than anything.”

hawks lets out a contented sigh from his end, mumbling sweet words to you not long after. “then you can bet your ass i’m taking you on a date as soon as we’re both free, i’m gonna show you how much i care about you. how much i desire you, baby bird.”

the rest of the night is spent full of giggles and blushes and teases, keigo’s words burning a smile into your cheeks. eventually, he sends you to bed with the promise of a kiss as soon as he sees you next, hanging up the phone shortly after. 

plugging in your phone, you situate yourself amongst your pillows, ready to sleep with a smile on your face— when your phone lights up with a tweet notification from none other than the bird man himself.

‘sleep well, my baby bird, dream of me.’

it reads and despite the likes and retweet that flood the poor tweet, you know keigo wrote it especially for you. adding it to your bookmarks, before sending one of your own and drifting off to sleep.

‘goodnight bird boy, see you in my dreams.’

⤷ TAGLIST: ✈️ CLOSED

@underratedmage @darlingstudies @iambashfulperson @jqnposts @ih8beefnoodles @miniatureland @ozzy-bozzy @someweirdshitman @bro-vocaine @air-wreckaaa @xxangelofpunkrockxx @hyperkaiperrose @sailor-moons-butt @montechristos  @semiathleticnerdykid @headfirst-halo @sasukelore @patricia-ceballos @jadenyukis-bodypillow​ @leel-lol @bokutosuwus @moonlightaangel @atsumumu @cathy8taffy @sya-arts-blog @rosa-gamer @yuesphere @ela-ena @d3ad-b3at-b1tch @starry-yui @cowward @actuallyazriel @bunny-on-crack @yourlocalbabybird @moon-spirit-yue @chaichai-the-weeb @tuddles-on-ice @tamaki-amajiki-anon @loser-keiji @witcherydotcom @s4kurajima @nishinoya-is-baby @astroninaaa @witches-brewe @skyrina @underoosjae @darlingely @mirukosyn​ @peachpetalhoney @kayisweird

[snackhobi]

pairing: jimin x reader / word count: 11.8k / genre: tea witch!reader, nonwitch!jimin, growing up and finding your place in the world; fluff

summary: be careful, his mother would say. witches don’t care for mundane humans. be polite, do your business, but then leave. don’t linger. it’s not safe.

park jimin feels lost and alone and he’s still looking for home. but something unspoken leads him to your door—a witch who brews tea to match the stories and sadness that spill from his lips. a witch who gives him a question that he has to repay with an answer. (after all, you always have to pay a witch their dues.)

warnings/rating: SFW - talk of negative self thoughts, but that’s it I think! (so I suppose it’s a little angsty but it clears up dw :) )

a/n: thank you to the lovely @hobi-gif​ for beta reading this, ily queen!! the majority of teas mentioned are by the company bird & blend, and where possible I’ve inserted links to the exact teas I’ve included (so I suppose you could buy them yourself if you wanted to 👀)

edit [24/09/20]: please see the end of the story for an extra author’s note. -- Jimin is wet.

Jimin is tired, and sad, and lonely, but these are all things he's intimately familiar with, monochrome burden curled around his limbs and his heart, dragging him under their relentless weight. A familiar Sisyphean torture. Struggling against gravity only to be brought hurtling down once again. Yes, he's used to it by now.

But the wetness? That's new. Rain paints him with messy strokes, laid slick and cold across his body, soaking through clothes to skin to bone, reaching and curling chilled fingers into the heat of his insides. His shivers are full-bodied, every atom of his soul dripping rainwater, and Jimin—

Jimin wants to go home.

(He just doesn't know where that is, now.)

(Doesn't know if he's ever going to find it here.)

People rush past him. A sea of lifted hoods, unfolded umbrellas, crumpled newspapers— an array of protection from the downpour, some effective, some less so, but each offering at least a modicum of shielding. Hasty armour against the heavens. 

Jimin is not so lucky. His pockets are empty and his jacket has no hood. Sodden blond hair guides tributaries down his face, the back of his neck, rainwater rivers that touch him so soft, so cold. Just more weights on the scale that are tipping him down, down, down.

(He's so tired.)

(He's so lost.)

The city becomes a different beast in the rain, grey and hazy, heaving with bodies, and Jimin has been swept up and spat out, road signs useless, phone dead, passersby more intent on their own destination than his. Too busy to spare a glance for the soaked boy who stands aside, out of the shifting tides of people, out of place.

(He's used to that, too.)

But then: a touch. Feather-light. A breath of wind, the gentlest curl of fingers as it brushes over his rain-slick cheek; a summer breeze, dappled sunlight and rose tinted warmth.

He turns into that touch, turning his head into that ephemeral hand, chasing the sensation of sun-hot air, and then, it hits him—

the smell.

(Sea salt and pale waves, a view that stretches on forever and falls into nothingness, endless skies and deep waters; cold across his skin and in his nose as he breathes in Songjeong beach, fills his lungs with the mellowed chill. The sand is a familiar soft roughness under his feet as he stares across the horizon, out to the world beyond, so close he can almost touch it.) 

(Frying pastry, sticky street food, the smell of hot oil as the vendor flips the ssiat hotteok; air sweet with brown sugar and warm yeast, round and plump and full of seeds, a delicious crunch against his teeth. Laughter fills his ears and his lungs, as sweet as the sugar on his fingers, his lips, warmth and happiness and light.)

(Fish tang, salt and wet; the bustling yell of the fish market, fat shrimp and slick squid and rough oysters, fresh from the sea; everything breathing and shuffling and so alive, air full of the brightness of it all, edged with brine, sharp. He cuts through the choppy waves of people, treading a path that’s drawn by his steady feet, guiding him through this place he knows so well.)

Here, Jimin stands in the rain of Seoul, and all he can smell is Busan, Busan, Busan.

All he can smell is—

All he can smell is home.

(Home, that place of comfort, carved out in the heart of his memories, when he was younger and smaller and burned brighter; rose tinted and past perfect, unchangeable.)

Something stirs in his stomach. Something far reaching, but light, that soft curl of salt air brushing past the cold rain that's filled him.

He follows it.

(After all, it couldn't possibly take him somewhere that's worse than where he already is.)

--

Jimin has only met two witches in his life.

For the first, he was young, all chubby cheeks and small hands—he’s lost the round cheeks but the small hands have stayed.

He can easily recall the grizzled edges of the witch’s face and the deep solemnity in his voice. He’s a cliffside of a man, unbending and awe inspiring in his earthly solidness, almost terrifying; skin with pockmarks like crags, sandstone rough and chipped, eyes flint-hard and unchanging as he squats down to look at Jimin. The only thing that keeps him from bolting is his mother’s presence at his shoulder, hand warm in his, holding him tight and safe.

The witch is a monolith, and that scares Jimin. But whatever concoction the man passes over to Jimin’s mother—after she gives him jars of their family-recipe kimchi, spice and salt and sour—finally clears up the cough that’s been lingering in his throat for weeks, squeezing his lungs and throat, so he’s happy. (Even if his lips taste like sickly sweet aniseed and something deeper, something he still can't name).

For the second, he was all pubescent awkwardness, limbs still so short and yet so ungainly and gangly, a cygnet still shedding the grey plumage of his youth—desperate to reach the signature elegance and grace of a swan, all curved neck and crystal feathers and perfection.

This witch is all hard, perfect edges, glittering diamond, beautiful, untouchable; hair a dark waterfall around her face, lashes long, lips red, perfect curves and yet still so sharp. Terrifying. She eyes Jimin with something bordering on disdain, but disdain would require him to be worth her time. (He’s not.)

But he comes with payment, bundles of samphire he picked from the coast with bare hands, fat and green and salty, and so she deigns to give him a moment of that time. The metal charm is cold in his palm, ice and fire, but it works—Jonghee finally notices him, sees him, smiles at him. (Even if their relationship only lasts two weeks, a short lived school romance, she never would have looked at him twice without the charm that’s tucked in his pocket, drawing her gaze.)

Both witches had carried power like a cloak about their shoulders. Heavy around them, magic weighty and dark, smoke and fumes. Both were so different, but cut from the same cloth; clouds in the distance, sparking with lightning and weighty with rain.

Never cross a witch, they say. Always pay your dues, they say. Never approach a witch without knowing what you want, and never approach a witch without appropriate payment, ready to strike an accord, reach an agreement. One thing for another, tit-for-tat, keeping the scales even.

Witches are dangerous, they say.

(Be careful, his mother would say. Witches don’t care for mundane humans. Be polite, do your business, but then leave. Don’t linger. It’s not safe.)

(But witches keep their word. A promise from a witch is ironclad and unbreaking, written in stone. They’re dangerous, and you should always be wary, but there are rules they cannot and will not break. 

In a way, it’s easier to trust a witch more than anyone else, because they’ll always honour an agreement. Jimin might not have spoken to a witch in years, now, but he knows this: if a witch gives you their word, it’s worth more than its weight in gold.)

--

Jimin’s feet—so skilled at treading the sea slick sands of Busan’s beaches—are unsteady on the firm concrete of Seoul’s streets. But still, he follows them. They tread a path he doesn’t know, tracing directions he cannot see, but it’s impossible to ignore and even harder to resist.

Ley lines cross. They settle here, a soft X drawn in smudged pencil on a finger-worn map, and Jimin stops. 

The sign in the window says closed. At least, Jimin thinks it does, but then he blinks, and it’s almost like the words have rearranged themselves: open. 

The building is unassuming, nestled between two others, a stunted tree surrounded by towering redwoods, but it’s this shopfront door that draws his eye—duck-egg, blue green, the colour of new life, the morning sea, the ebbing tide. The sign that hangs above is wooden, a little faded, but in a way that suggests comfort and not disrepair; like an old jumper, worn soft with age, but still warm, still loved.

Aurora. 

A spark of light catches his eye. A glint, a dazzle, pulling his gaze towards it: below the sign, windchimes, circling a piece of quartz, catching the sunlight that's swallowed by clouds. It glitters at him through the rain. Even in the harsh breeze, the chimes are almost still, gently singing, soft voices whispering under the sound of falling water.

The door seems to swing forward at the lightest touch of Jimin’s gaze, already open, opening further. Beckoning him in. 

The smell of sea fills his senses.

The quartz throws refracted light over him, lines between each colour sharp and defined despite the rough hewn edges, a rainbow that shines even brighter on the dark wetness of his clothes as he steps through; the windchimes ring out, a crystalline murmur, and then the door eases shut behind him.

It’s warm. It’s warm, and dry, and serene. Light slants in through the windows, dulled by the rain but still painting the room in white and gold. Everything is in its place, neat and quiet and cheerful, a spray of pastel crocuses in a lopsided, handmade clay vase on the counter. The counter is clear while the rest of the room is full; busy shelves and wall hangings and a garland that has the shifting phases of the moon, crescent-quarter-gibbous-full; glittering geodes, polished crystals, water smoothed pebbles; half burned candles, jars and bottles and shells, all crowding against each other.

The whole place hums with magic. But unlike the magic Jimin has felt before, sulphur sour at the back of his throat, burned tobacco in his lungs, this is gentle, all encompassing—like a kitchen warmed by a busy oven, full to the brim with bread, filling the room with its scent and heat. 

Jimin feels out of place. He’s wet and dark and sad, drip-drip-dripping dirty rainwater on the hardwood floor. Hair hangs into his eyes, and he’s small and cold, almost bowing under the wet of the weather that clings to him. He shivers, caught up in the chill.

“Jinnie? Are you back already?”

A voice calls to him, out of sight. Jimin looks away from the mug and open book that lies on the counter, ring mark caught by the sliced geode coaster, sparkling copper green and jade.

“Did you forget to bring your charms? I told you to double check your bag before you left. I’m not done yet, anyway, I—”

Blink, blink. Wide eyed, soft and slow, surprised into stillness.

You look like comfort. It’s like someone’s taken a soft winter’s evening and turned it into a person��jumper big and thick weave warm, hair a softened mess, dangling earrings that look like little cherries, bare feet, skin touching the warm wood floor, mug in hand that coils with steam. Like a fireplace that flickers warmth and light in the cold.

Your pretty mouth is a little open, poised to speak another word that fails to come as you blink at Jimin.

“You’re not Jin,” you say, instead.

Drip, drip. Shying away from that doe-eyed gaze, Jimin looks down at his feet.

“The sign said open,” he mumbles, wanting to fold in on himself, a sodden origami crane that collapses under its own weight.

“It did?” There’s a tinge of surprise in your tone, but then a drip of rainwater trails down Jimin’s nose and falls, a teardrop of crystal. Your voice turns soft. “Oh, dear. No, of course it did. You’re soaking. Come on, come in. Take your shoes and coat off, leave them by the door. You look like you need a cup of tea.”

You leave no room for argument, disappearing back the way you came. Jimin is shocked into stillness, but then you reappear with a soft cream towel, an uplift to your eyebrows that looks expectant. Jimin pulls his worn shoes off, leaving them in self-created puddles at the door, jacket hung on the curved arms of an old coat rack.

The towel is warm around his neck and in his hair, cotton soaking up wetness with unnatural ease. The warmth of his surroundings is seeping in, chasing away the chill that’s settled in his bones, and when Jimin perches on the chair you’ve pulled out for him, he feels a little better. Not much, but a little, and that’s more than he can ask for.

The tea room is cluttered, racks of glass jars, some full to the brim, others almost empty, washed-out white and green and brown, some bright with full flower buds, some muted with dried berries and fruit; strings of dried orange slices hang from the ceiling above, surrounded by scatterings of bundled flowers and leaves. And yet, somehow, under the smell of bubbling water and dried tea, that tang of salt lingers, light on Jimin’s tongue.

“You look like you’ve had a long day. Would you like to talk about it?”

(In Seoul, no one has time for Jimin. Their eyes are closed off, hard, absorbed in themselves, their own problems—Jimin understands. Life is difficult, and it can be an uphill struggle, everyone so hungry, starved. Just like him. Trying to scrabble for a foothold in a mountain that’s been worn smooth by generations of grasping hands before him.)

The look you give Jimin is soft, and warm, and open; the look a mother gives a child when they fall and scrape open their knee. No pity, no judgement, just empathy.

“No,” Jimin says. Then: “Yes.” Then, after a long, lingering silence: “I don’t know where to start.”

You let out a little hum, patient, encouraging, reaching for two mismatched cups; one, soft camellia pink, the other, dark blue, bumpy ceramic, deep ocean waves.

“How about you start with how you’re feeling?”

How he’s feeling?

(How is he feeling?)

(Lost. Lonely. Alone. Like he’s caught in a riptide, and no matter how much he swims, the shore is growing further and further away; adrift and out to sea, swallowed by merciless waves.)

(Like he should have listened to the cautious words of everyone back home. Like he’d set himself up for failure from the moment he’d set his sights on Seoul, on success.)

(Like he’s never been good enough, will never be good enough, and he should have known that.)

Jimin doesn’t—Jimin doesn’t want to show you this raw, aching part of him, fit messily between his lungs. 

He doesn’t have to tell you anything. He doesn’t have to peel back the skin of his chest and lay himself bare.

--

But for the first time since he’s stepped foot onto Seoul’s soil, Jimin feels seen.

--

His words are slow and faltering.

Jimin is out of practice, talking about himself, the things that he keeps small and folded away in quiet corners of his heart, but you listen. You hum and shift and move, opening jars, closing jars, weighing out loose leaves, eyes intent on your work.  Maybe that’s what makes it easier. 

You’re not staring at Jimin, watching as he strips himself raw. You’re watching the fire that flickers on the small burner, water bubbling and almost boiling, but not quite. Not yet. You’re watching your careful hands as you scoop the blend into a cast iron pot, burnished darkness. You’re not watching him, but you’re listening: how he’d come to Seoul to pursue his passions, his dreams, how it’s left him lonely and lost and aching. A ship on a course without map or compass, sky overcast, no stars to guide him.

“Sometimes I feel like I should have stayed in Busan,” Jimin murmurs. His head is bowed forwards, eyes caught in a knot on the wood of the table, lines coiling together. “Everyone was right. I’m never going to make it.”

The cup set in front of him is empty.  Your fingers are curved around the handle as you turn it towards Jimin, and he notices little clouds on your nails, fluffy white against pastel blues. You hum lightly at his words, lifting the iron pot from its woven mat, steady as you pour.

(This is unlike any other place he’s ever known.)

“Do you want to go back to Busan?”

The tea smells lovely, a little floral, a little sweet, mellow and warm. It flows over the sharp salt that’s coating Jimin’s senses, sweeping away the last drops of rain that cling to his bones; washed fresh and clean. It settles in the pit of his stomach, lies light against his tongue, warming him from the inside out. 

(A blanket that’s tucked over his shoulders and wrapping him tight.)

Suddenly, Jimin wants to cry.

He swallows down the tears, the rising tide that threatens to spill from his eyes. He thinks about his answer—does he want to go back to Busan? Back to the salt and the sea? Back to the world he knows so well, misses so well?

“No,” he admits. “I miss it, but… no. I want to find my place in Seoul.”

I want to be good enough. I want to find a new home.

The answering smile on your face is a small, tender thing.

The tea stays hot, no matter how long Jimin takes to drink. Rooibos, coconut, lavender, cocoa, earthy and delicate flavours mixing across his senses. His hands wrap around his cup, the shifting blue waves steady around the liquid inside, cotton towel around his neck crowding even closer as his shoulders bow inwards. 

He notices, then, that he’s dry, somehow—every inch of him, from his skin to his hair to his clothes, whisked away by some unseen, ephemeral hand. Like he’d never been in the rain at all. His hair is soft on his head, clothes unwrinkled, and he smells like citrus and light, a shimmering garden. Not like rainwater and muted sorrow.

“You’re a witch,” he realises, suddenly. 

He knows this place must be home to magic, but he’d figured you some sort of assistant, apprentice, as soft and unassuming as you are. 

But, no. The magic he feels in the air, butter rich and sugar sweet, isn’t from the building. It’s from you.

He shouldn’t have told you anything. Witches are dangerous. He owes you now, undeniably so—for the tea he’s drunk, cup empty and cooling in front of him.

No one ever denies a witch their dues. No one would dare. But he has nothing to give you.

“I don’t have anything to give you.” Jimin’s eyes are wide. “I don’t have any money.”

“Jimin.” Your voice is a murmur, but it does nothing to quell the spike of worry in his heart, the realisation that he’d never told you his name, not once. But of course you know it. Witches see the unseen. Witches read the unknown. “You don’t owe me money. Please, don’t panic.”

Jimin tries to swallow down that panic.  There’s nothing in his pockets but his phone, dead as it is, an old bus ticket stub, his keys, plain and unadorned save for the tiny puppy keyring he’s had for years, but doesn’t remember the origin of. Nothing a witch might be interested in. “Then what can I give you?”

“You’ve already spilled your heart to me,” you say. “That’s half of the payment. A confession of feelings.”

Jimin’s lashes flutter. He can’t help his eyes darting over you, reading the signs he’d missed before—you might not stink of magic like coal dust and smothered fires, but instead it rests like a garland of flowers about your head, woven into the wool of your jumper like silken thread, gossamer. Delicate and light but undeniable, a fleur-de-lis that blooms over hard marble, strong and steady.

“What’s the other half?”

“That’s up to you.” You tilt your head, little cherries in your ears swinging with the motion. “A secret. A memory. Something you’d like to share. That’s the price; a story you want to share. The final half of the transaction.”

“Do you… keep it?” He’s heard of witches stealing the memory from people, leaving them hollow shells, but you shake your head with a soft laugh.

“No. You share your story, Jimin. You don’t give it to me. Your words and history are yours, not mine. I promise you: anything you give me remains your own.”

A witch’s promise. Unbreakable truth.

(What does he have that’s worth a witch’s time?)

A memory. A good one. 

Climbing the trail of Geumjeongsan, warmed by the sun overhead, filtered by the arching trees, his brother beside him, his parents behind. He was still young, too young to climb all the way up the mountain route, bundled into the cable car that had lifted them towards the heavens, world spread at his feet, a feast for his hungry eyes. Their dinner had been roasted duck, fatty and crisp, leaking oil over his lips and cheeks as he’d eagerly bit in after a day of hard work. His family had been laughing, surrounding him with their love, liquid sunlight spilling over him. Happiness.

Your chin rests in your palm as you listen, hair a soft frame around your softer eyes, smile lingering at the edges of your lips. Jimin’s words trickle and slow, and for a second he wonders if it was enough, if this years-old memory, fuzzy around the edges, pays his dues—but as his mouth curves around the final syllable, listing the room back into warm quiet as he smiles at this remembered joy, he knows. Something in his heart knows. It is. It’s enough.

“Thank you for sharing that happiness with me, Jimin. It was lovely.” 

For the first time in a long time, Jimin’s heart feels less like a broken thing. It feels like someone’s starting to take liquid gold to the cracks in his heart, protective resin that brings his broken parts together, the soft touch of kintsugi that shows his flaws but also lets him see that his heart can work despite them. 

Broken and imperfect but still here. Still whole.

(He may have paid off his debt, but Jimin feels like he’s taking away something that’s more than just a cup of tea.)

His shoes are dry when you return to the door, and when he reaches for his jacket, it’s like he’s just peeled it off a washing line, smelling of sun and fresh laundry. His trainers fit better on his feet, not rubbing at the heel like it should. Small, little things that change so much.

“It’s still raining,” you say. “There’s an umbrella in the stand that you can have.”

The umbrella is a long, sturdy thing, plain black, but when Jimin lifts it, there’s a small charm tied to the handle. A tiny string of rose quartz beads, polished pale pink.

Witches never give things away for free. Jimin knows this. 

“The price is that you have to share it with the first person you meet who needs it.” The words fall from your smiling lips before Jimin can ask. “You’ll know who it is when you see them.”

The arms of the umbrella spread so wide above him, engulfing him in protection, keeping him dry and safe. He turns to look at you. You're leaning against the doorframe, still barefoot, fingers that bear the sky barely peeping out of the sleeves of your jumper. Untouched by the rain and grime of Seoul, a lit candle in the night, vanilla scented wax, dribbling hot and sweet. So unlike any other witch Jimin has ever heard of.

There’s no smell of sea, any more. No lingering memories of Busan. Just petrichor, rain and concrete, an undercurrent to the fresh smell of his clothes, his hair, washed clean by a magic that’s softer than anything Jimin has ever known. 

The only thing that’s softer is the smile on your face, the curl of your fingers as you wave goodbye. The door swings shut as you step back, windchimes trembling at the gentle parting, quartz throwing glitter over Jimin’s cheeks and catching in his lashes.

(The sign in the window remains untouched.

As Jimin turns away, it says closed.)

The rain has lessened, a drizzle that threatens to sweep over him, but the umbrella keeps him safe, draped over the air around him, warding away the cold that tries so desperately to claw back into his chest. Jimin doesn’t know where he’s going, just like before—but he steps onto the street and immediately stops.

The string of rose quartz pearls swings into his wrist. 

“Hello. Would you like to share my umbrella?”

Jimin has to hold it up high, shorter than the long-limbed boy who stands in front of him. His eyes are dark and almost solemn, sliding across Jimin’s face as he seems to pull himself out of some faraway, unseen place. He doesn’t seem to notice the rain that’s starting to soak through his clothes, peppering his handsome face with small, cold kisses, but then he smiles, gratitude written across his grinning teeth.

“Hello.” His voice is so deep. “Thank you.” And then, after only the briefest pause: “My horoscope said I’d be helped by a Libra today.”

Jimin startles, umbrella scattering rain with the motion. “How did you know I’m a Libra?���

--

And so—this is how Park Jimin meets Kim Taehyung. With a witch’s blessing warm in his belly and overhead, umbrella a shield against the heavens.

--

And so—this is how Park Jimin meets Jeon Jungkook. With Kim Taehyung at his side, a witch’s charm around his wrist, rose quartz a soothing calm against his skin.

--

And so—this is how Park Jimin starts to build a home in Seoul, brick by brick, larger hands working alongside his own; Taehyung’s palms large, Jungkook’s fingers steady, laying the foundations to happiness. Together.

--

His feet find their way back to Aurora again and again, a moon that pulls at his waters, caught in its gravity. Quartz to citrine, aventurine to hematite, windchimes singing like bells whenever he passes underneath them, door swinging open at the lightest of touches.

Your wide eyed surprise ebbs like the tides. The second time, and then the third, and fourth, you’d stopped in your tracks at his arrival, hands a tumble of confusion whenever he’d appeared at your door, but now you’re always ready and waiting.

(“How did you find this place the first time?”

Today’s tea is sencha, salty sea-buckthorn, bright spearmint, delicate lemon verbena, tinged blue with cornflower and butterfly pea, the ocean waves in a cup, brewed just for him.

“I followed the sea,” Jimin answers. “The salt air. Didn’t you do that?”

“No.” The same tea lies in your own cup, a shared moment in the past and present. “You called out and you were answered. This shop is older than you or me, and even Jin doesn’t know the magic that lies in its walls. We don’t control this place. We just live here.”)

The stories he pays you with change over time, memories from years past, growing closer and closer to the present, an autobiography that lays out the peaks and valleys of his life; the happy, the sad, the embarrassments, the triumphs. The tea changes every time, too, mellow greens to bright fruits, smoky blacks to delicate whites, whisked matcha and woody lapsang souchong. Matching the timbre of his voice, reflecting his words, letting him dwell on happiness, or pulling him out of sorrow.

Sometimes Jin is there. Oftentimes, he isn’t. The tea room is sacred ground when Jimin is paying his dues, stories and secrets falling from his lips, but otherwise Jin will bundle in, all energy and noise, leaving plates of flaky pastry and tiny biscuits and soft bread, brioche lined with chocolate, melting and hot. They leave Jimin warm and full, no matter how much or how little he eats. Two kitchen witches that give, and give, and give.

Jimin pays for a plate of rose shortbread with a recollection of the time he’d spilled juice over his brother’s homework, only to blame the dog, who was refused his usual after-dinner gravy bones. Jimin still lives with the guilt. Jin laughs, and you smile, flower petals soft and sweet in your mouth as you listen to him speak.

He wants to bring Taehyung and Jungkook, share the brightness with them, with you, the things that make him smile and laugh; lifting him out the deep waters of sadness and towards the sun, light dappled waters, bright coral reefs, a multicolour display of life. But Aurora doesn’t call to them the way it calls to Jimin, which means he goes alone.

Taehyung’s eyes widen when Jimin mentions his disappointment.

“Jimin-ah.” His mouth is round with shock, a sweet pomegranate, red flushed lips. “Don’t you know?”

“Know what?” 

Jungkook’s cheeks bulge with lettuce and samgyeopsal, but he swallows it down in one go, a gannet with the metabolism of a god. (Lucky.) “Finding witches in Seoul is hard,” he says. “You have to actively search them out. Do you?”

Jungkook has met more witches than any of them, a little golden spark of magic nestled deep in his chest, a magnetised needle that points him forward like a compass. But even he can’t find Aurora, no matter how much Jimin tries to guide him.

“I just… walk,” Jimin says, unsure. “I just feel it and I walk.”

“I’ve alway wanted to get a cup of tea from that shop. They say the best way to solve your problems is to share it with a witch, but I’ve never been able to find it, no matter how hard I’ve tried,” says Taehyung. An empty leaf of lettuce lays in his palm, curled up, almost sad in how small it looks. (The same would be a riverboat in the tiny cups of Jimin’s hands.) But rather than jealousy sparking in his eyes, he just seems happy for Jimin, toothy grin appearing on his face. “You’re so lucky, Jimin-ah. I bet it’s incredible.”

--

(Jimin is a nightjar, a singing bird, calling out into the darkness. The dawn bursts over the horizon, light heavy, laden with brightness, aurora shimmering rose and gold, welcoming hands.)

(Jimin sings. You listen.)

--

This time when he finds Aurora—or maybe it finds him—it’s snowing.

Seoul is blanketed in white, pavements worn smooth with a thousand busy feet, roads salt slick and slush. The wind bites at his cheeks, apple crisp and sweet, the air a soft whisper that runs its chilled fingers through his hair and turns his head.

(The rose quartz lies warm around his wrist.)

The winter sun overhead casts short shadows, pale light flushing down Jimin’s face as he leans into that fleeting touch. It’s not Busan that fills his senses this time; it’s the smell of mulled wine, hot cinnamon, melting chocolate, but more than that—dark evergreen and sweet cherry-wood fires, dusty pepper and star anise, sticky caramel.

(Homely.)

Open, the sign says.

Today, the windchimes circle a shard of snowflake obsidian. It trills out a greeting as he touches his fingers to the door, tiny bells that tinkle their hello as Jimin steps over the threshold, Aurora just as warm and inviting as it had been the last time he’d stepped foot here. As warm and inviting as it always is.

(Closed, the sign says.)

He’s warm too, today. He’s wrapped up against winter, hand knitted hat on his head—a recent project by Taehyung—and his hands are nestled in his pockets, curled around the small hand warmers that Jungkook sneaks into his coat without comment. Reminders of the love of his friends even when they’re not beside him. His cheeks are flushed pink from the cold and his eyes are sparking happiness, smile wide as he stomps snow off his feet.

But there’s no one to greet him. No candles are lit, no half-finished drink on the counter, an unintentional offering to the quiet building. It feels like a held breath, light, heavy, ephemeral, weighty.

(Every moon hanging from the garland is waning.)

Jimin’s socked feet are quiet as he steps the familiar route to the tea room, hallway beckoning him forwards; the door is shut, and he hesitates, but even as he watches, it quietly swings open, untouched. 

You’re bowed over the table. A hand rests over your eyes, your body held still, a rictus of—of deep thought, maybe? The weight of decision, indecision. Maybe. Something that hangs heavy about you, usual shimmering magic pulled down, osmium heavy; still glittering and beautiful, but sharper edged, burdensome. 

The cup in front of you is dry, empty, matte ceramic the colour of bone, muted white, brittle cream. There’s no smell of warm tea today. Just still air.

(No matter how many times Jimin has seen you laugh and smile and tilt your head, the truth is that you’re a witch, and Jimin has only just started to map your world. He’s a cartographer with nothing more than his own hands and the aching need to find the stars, to trace those celestial bodies overhead that shine out so bright.)

The floor groans under Jimin’s unmoving feet and your head snaps up.

“Jimin?” Your eyes are wide and startled. All at once the air lifts, sunlight seeping from the floorboards; an open window that’s been thrown open to pull in the summer breeze. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

(The windchimes had been as loud as always, announcing his presence.)

“I’m sorry,” apologises Jimin. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You shift away from the table and straighten, magic coiling around your neck like a scarf, thick and warm. (Covering your mouth and muffling you.) “I just wasn’t expecting any customers,” you say. “You never have to apologise, Jimin. Come on in, take a seat. What do you want to talk about today?”

Jimin had wanted to share his happiness. He’d wanted to talk about Taehyung, and Jungkook, and the dancing job that’s turned steady, all the bright little pieces of his life, glistening opals, precious stones. But he realises, then, that’s not what he needs, really. 

(Not what he wants, really.)

“Nothing,” he says. His voice is soft and sweet, white milk bread, fluffy and light. “I just wanted to see you. How are you?”

The fire under the water flickers, a sun flare that dies as soon as it’s born, settling into its usual ring of tiny flames. The magic around your neck turns into a stole, slipping away from your mouth, settling about your shoulders. You’re silent, for a long moment, as if you’d been in some unseen place and Jimin has pulled you back.

You glance at him through the curl of your lashes. “Busy,” you say, eventually. “Distracted, I suppose. Trying to work things out.”

Why? Jimin wants to ask. Work what things out?

But he knows better than to pry for a witch’s secrets, as open armed and soft palmed as you might be. So he just says: “I hope it gets better soon. I’m sure you’ll find the answer.”

The bundles overhead shift in an unseen breeze, dusty cinnamon sticks and fat berries and handfuls of clove, stirring the spiced smell of winter. Jimin would swear he hears the windchimes singing, a tiny choir of voices that swells and breaks as quickly as a wave crashing against the shore. 

You let out a small laugh. It’s edged with something Jimin can’t put a name to. “Oh, this is the kind of answer that’s given, not found, so I have to wait, even if I think I know what it is,” you say. “And it’s… not one I was expecting. Witches don’t do well with being unable to take control of the situation, but I can’t do anything about it.”

Jimin pauses. He realises then, in a way, he’s been selfish—always speaking, never listening. But you don’t offer yourself up in the way Jimin does. A witch is a library of knowledge and secrets, locked to the outside world; Jimin wouldn’t dare to try and find the key. It would burn his hands, sear itself into his palm. The door has to be willingly opened by whoever’s inside.

He thinks about those words he’s heard you so many times, now, mouth so gentle around the syllables, the lilting question. A flickering constellation that guides his feet. One that he can trace, lines between the stars.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

The smile you offer him is one he hasn't seen before, crooked, a whispered secret. Sending the pages of all those books fluttering, stirring on their shelves. “Do you want to strike a bargain, Park Jimin? I give you a story, and you pay me in turn?” 

A tiny shiver prickles over Jimin’s skin. Your question feels like a test you both know he can't complete, but—there's something inside him that flickers bright at that challenge. 

He’s not a witch and has no magic glowing in his spirit, but a contract takes two people, mundane or not. He’s never considered himself bold, softer and gentler than he wishes he was, sometimes, but—there’s that unrelenting part in him, reckless and brave, hungry for more, that pulled him from Busan and set him in Seoul, that bruises his knees and rubs blisters on his feet from his endless dancing; the part that brings him to a witch’s door, over and over, heedless of the magic that lingers like crystallised sugar about his wrists and ankles, almost painful were it not so sweet.

(Bravery isn’t always about being bold. Sometimes bravery is trying again, and again, even if it seems hopeless.)

“If that would help you?”

The delicate hanging chains of your earrings tremble, tiny sparkling hearts of crystal, your eyes widening imperceptibly in surprise. Witches are forces of nature, relentless, but for a second—just a second—Jimin stops you in your tracks. Not as an imposing seawall built against the crashing waves, but rather, a soft hand that’s lifted, palm first, fingers spread wide.

(Bravery is this, too: being gentle and open where others might expect you to be cold and distant, worn bitter by the cold world around them.)

(Jimin has always known this, but you’d reminded him, when he’d almost forgotten.)

The air smells like mulled wine, heady and sweet, a bonfire of spice and tannin. For a moment, Jimin fears he’s misstepped, craggy cliffs crumbling underneath his feet and throwing him into the merciless waves below—but then you step back, cast your hand at the wall of jars, almost endless in width and height.

“What tea do you think I need today, then?”

Jimin smiles, all full lips and shy teeth, and says: “You have to tell me your story first. That's how the transaction goes.”

And for the first time, Jimin sees you truly laugh. You shed every piece of armour that’s girded about you; you might be quieter, and gentler, but your magic is coiled close, plate metal that shines so bright but falls so soft. Your heavy iron door opens, just a crack, the smell of leather bound books and old manuscripts curling outwards, letting Jimin catch a glimpse of the wonders inside. 

“I can’t tell you a story that hasn’t finished yet, but I have plenty of memories,” you say. “Hm. How about the day Jin and I found this place?”

Jimin doesn’t know how to blend tea. He doesn’t know how to balance flavours, top notes, heart notes, base notes, curling tastes together in a way you do so effortlessly. But he knows how to follow his heart, and as always, Aurora helps guide him.

He listens to your words the way you listen to his, with soft encouragement and gentle laughter, eyes bright as he swallows down the secrets of witchcraft that are banal to you but utterly fascinating to him. A glimpse into a world he’s barely touched. He traces unseen vibrations in the air, reaches for jar after jar, none of them labelled, but perfect each time he pulls them open and breathes in their scent. Almost jumping into his hands. He thinks of a feeling, a flavour to match each memory you lay in front of him, and the magic responds; not under his control, no, but letting him drift in its flow.

He plants a garden: fat rosebuds, yielding petals, bright lemongrass, earthy raspberry leaves, flaky cocoa shells. 

(Jimin doesn’t know these ingredients, but you do, eyes intent and sharp as you watch him move with an ease no one else has ever displayed here, moving around the room that’s entirely yours—a part of your heart nestled safe in Aurora’s walls, one that even Jin could not traverse, if he tried.)

(But here he is. With no magic in his bones, here he is, treading a delicate path through this sanctum, weaving the energy around him without knowledge or thought. Just human, but also so much more.)

The iron pot is heavier than Jimin realised, a solid weight that you always heft with ease. The scent that fills the room when he pours is delicate and light but it washes away the spicy scent of winter warmth, and instead smells like floral enchantment. 

He slips into the seat across from yours. It’s a reversal, tipping the world on its head, an entirely unfamiliar perspective; the wall behind you isn’t lined in the tools of your trade. Today, Jimin sits in the master’s seat. Today, you are silhouetted by the dried bouquets that hang from the crooked branch that coils from the ceiling, muted colours even quieter in the nimbus of your magic, dawn light and warmth, dripping honeycomb, gold and saccharine.

“Would you ever leave Aurora?”

(Even the fleeting thought sends disappointment through every part of him, an echo of loneliness for something that hasn’t happened. Jimin’s always been possessive, in a way, wanting to keep a tight hold of the things he cares about.)

(You’re one of those things, now.)

The smile you give Jimin is answer enough. “Once a witch finds their home, there’s no turning back. No matter how long I’m gone, or how far I go, I’ll always find my way back home.” And then there’s a little glitter in your warm eyes, gold dust under a sun-laden river. “Time for tea, I suppose?”

It’s rosewater sweetness, dark chocolate bitterness, a citrus undercurrent that flows around it all. Biting into Turkish delight, coated in rich chocolate, yielding to the press of your teeth, an explosion of flavour. Jimin has never tasted anything like this— rich and creamy but also fragrant and light.

Judging from your wide eyed stare, you haven’t, either.

(It’s perfect.)

(It takes that indecision that’s been settling around each of your bones, sweeps it away, Jimin’s eyes as large as the moon and just as bright. This cup is so much more than just a warm drink, a hot touch down your throat; it’s the world telling you something, showing you something, something about Jimin, something you thought you'd been wrong about.)

(Jimin has no magic of his own, but he burns so bright. A lovely, sweet, strong, talented boy, stronger than he knows, lovelier than he knows. The world fits around him so well, a backdrop to his beauty, shaping itself to his touch.)

(Your magic shapes itself around him in a way that's as easy as breathing, and it should frighten you.)

(But it doesn't.)

With any contract, the witch sets the price. Your story for this cup of tea should be enough, a parting of the curtain into a world he shouldn’t be allowed to see—but something still pulls in Jimin’s stomach. He feels a little empty. Like he’s eaten a meal and could be content to finish now, but he’s waiting for that final course, that bite of dessert. Something to satiate his lingering hunger.

You still need to pay the final part of the price.

“You need to give one more thing,” says Jimin, reciting the ancient law that he’s never been taught but sings in his bones. 

Your silence is summer lightning. Light sparks in the distance, flashing hot and bright, but without the weight of thunder, without the promise of rain.

“A secret,” you decide. “I’ll give you a secret.” 

If a witch’s word is worth more than gold, then a witch’s secret is worth more than rhodium; stronger, rarer.

“I’ve told you that Aurora answers people who call out, if they need our help?”

“Yes.” Jimin remembers this well, thinks about it every time he’s led back here, the guiding hands that helped him find the path he’s treading now. “You’ve told me that.”

“Witches can find the shop and come here often,” you say. “They come to buy things and leave again; they have to keep their magic safe. You see, a witch’s power is most potent in their own home, and weakest in another’s, so you’ll find witches won’t drink one of my teas, or eat Jin’s food, unless they’ve left the shop. It’s a sign of absolute trust to do something like that.”

You snack on Jin’s biscuits all the time, spread homemade jams over freshly-baked bread, watch Jin drizzle honey into soft camomile, slip lemon slices into hot Earl Grey. Mixing your magic and trust together like a tangle of fresh sheets.

“But humans, without magic? Even if you try, you can’t find this place unless it wants to be found. Neither Jin nor I control that, really, but the sign helps control the flow,” you continue. “If we put it on closed, the shop won’t beckon people in. But if it’s open? People come with their burdens and their sorrows, and I’ll sit, and I’ll listen. My magic isn’t what helps them. Sometimes all people need is a listening ear and that’s what I offer: a single moment of quiet in their busy lives before they leave again. You want to know what the secret is, Jimin?”

“Yes,” says Jimin, eager. Not just as a payment of something that’s owed, but for his own curiosity, digging its fingers into his stomach and lungs. “I want to know.”

The smile you deliver now is the final jolt of lightning, white hot and flooding the air with crackling energy, before the clouds part to reveal the quiet night sky, the vibrant colours of the Milky Way naked for the eyes to see. 

“My secret is this: you shouldn’t be able to keep finding this place. I didn’t realise anyone could, but here you are, again and again. You’re the only non-witch who’s ever stepped foot in here more than once.”

Clink.

“My secret is this: you are the only thing in my life that I cannot answer with magic, and it’s completely out of my control. Even if the sign says closed, you can walk in, regardless.”

Clink.

“My secret is this: I know I won’t be able to find that answer I'm looking for, because it’s not in me, or my magic, or my shop. It’s something in you.”

Clink. 

Three falling secrets that fold into one. A handful of coins tumbling over themselves into the waters of a wishing well, slipping into that liquid quiet. Throwing ripples across the glass surface.

Jimin has always thought that witches were gods of their domain, endless fonts of wisdom, magic cast over the world around them that catches knowledge in its weave, Indra’s net. “But I’m—I’m just human.”

Your eyes are soft. “There’s no just about it, Jimin,” you say. “Witch or not, we all have our place in the world, as small or large as it may be.”

“But I don’t have any magic. Jungkook does, and even Tae does, a little.” He always knows when to say bless you before someone sneezes. “But I’m just… completely mundane.”

“I know you don’t have magic, Jimin. But do you know what the word mundane originally meant? It doesn’t mean boring, or dull. It’s rooted in the world. The earth. There’s nothing more powerful. Don’t you know how brightly you shine?”

Jimin tilts his head away. The truth is that for all the happiness that’s started to grow across his heart like blooming roses, trailing wisteria, some days the river at his feet feels less like sun flecked waters and more like tar, thick and dark, ready to pull him back under. It’s not so easy to cast off sadness once it’s found you. Sometimes his chest feels like it could cave in under the weight of his own failings, each and every one of his flaws stacked up high, pressing on his lungs, his heart.

He doesn’t feel like he shines.

“Oh, Jimin. You really don’t see, do you?” The magic that curls around him is silken, light. Touching the rose quartz around his wrist with recognition. “Remember earlier, when I said the answer I wanted has to be given, not found? It’s because you need to find it. You can give it to me, once you do.”

“What if I never find it?” He looks back at you, back into your eyes, endless and deep. You’re a witch with power that drapes about you, a cascading mantle spun from silver and gold—if you don’t know the answer, how could Jimin possibly find it? “What do I do then?”

“I promise, you will,” you say. “You will. Sometimes the things we need to find appear when we’re not even looking for them. After all, you found your way here, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Jimin answers, truth settling quiet between his lungs. Easing that weight that presses down on them. “I did.”

--

He did. And he does. And he will.

--

You stand in the open door and watch Jimin go, wrapped up once more, a Christmas present of woven wool and thick socks.

“By the way,” you call, and Jimin stops, turns back. “You said that your friends wanted to come here too, right?”

“Yes,” answers Jimin. Taehyung asks him endless questions and Jungkook might pretend like he’s not interested but he’s always nearby when Jimin recounts his tales of the witch’s shop. “They really do. But we can never seem to find Aurora when we try, even though Jungkook is normally so good at finding magical places.”

“Next time, don’t focus on Jungkook.” Above your head the windchimes tremble, obsidian spiralling. “You said he was a compass, didn’t you? But he’s not the one with the map. You are. Don’t forget that, okay? Trust in yourself, Jimin. Be your own guide.”

--

The next time Jimin stands with his friends flanking him, he thinks about the moon. How its silver light is loved so dearly, even if it’s just a reflection of the unseen sun, shining with someone else’s flames. 

He might not have the strength of fire, but he can still shine.

The windchime’s call is throaty as Aurora comes into sight, brushed by a stone of lapis lazuli, door falling open at their arrival, the building filling with sunlight as Jimin steps in. Welcoming him. Jungkook and Taehyung are far more hesitant, staring at Jimin like he’s a voyager into unknown waters, here there be dragons, at risk of being swallowed whole, never to be seen again.

Jimin laughs at them. The lapis swings into the windchimes in a way that sounds like a giggle, too.

“Holy shit,” Jungkook says, once he’s inside. A candle sets alight. “Jimin, what the fuck.” Another. 

“It’s Jimin-hyung,” Jimin says, but Jungkook ignores him, staring at the candles that start to catch flame one by one as he watches them.

“It’s so nice, Jiminie.” Taehyung’s eyes are huge. “Aren’t those flowers pretty?”

On a nearby shelf, the bowl of pansies blooms brighter under Taehyung’s gaze, every plant in the room standing tall, trying to catch his attention.

But of course, the thing that’s stronger than any of the candles or plants or trinkets here—you, stepping into sight, every inch as overwhelming as always, swallowing the room with your magic. Souffle soft and sweet, with all the rich headiness of melted chocolate.

You’re barefoot, as always, cardigan overlarge and draping, nails adorned with tiny butterflies. Jimin’s never met another witch like you, but now that he knows you, it’s almost laughable how he hadn’t noticed from the instant he’d seen you; you’re a witch, through and through, magic dripping through the air like nectar, ambrosia. God touched.

“You finally made it,” you say. “Jimin's told me a lot about you both. Your timing is perfect; I’ve just put the water on to boil. Who wants to go first?”

“Holy shit,” murmurs Jungkook. 

The final candle bursts alight when you smile.

--

Jimin is always surprised at his capacity to find new happiness.

His parents had been heartbroken when he’d announced his decision to leave Busan, and pain had turned to anger, and anger had turned to arguments; he wanted too much, asked for too much, was never happy with what he was given. (All has been forgiven, now, but as always, the memory still lingers.)

Seoul had been so lonely, at first. He’d felt like the bottomless pit his parents had accused him of being, hungry, demanding ceaselessly for more, more, more—his heart had felt like a shrivelled thing, only good for holding onto sadness and bitterness. No room for happiness in any of the weeping corners of his soul.

But, now, Jimin realises that he’s sated. 

He’ll always strive higher, work harder, that little edge of hunger in his core, but life has been given to him in its fullest measure. Unconditional friendship stuffs his heart full, but it can grow and grow, more and more, shuffling around to make room. Taehyung and Jungkook, and now Hoseok, then Yoongi, then Namjoon, each one burning bright, another star in his growing galaxy.

(Things he’d needed to find without knowing, appearing when he hadn’t even been looking.)

He still doesn’t know what answer it is he’s looking for, to give to you, and really, he’s not sure what the question is. He’s been given so much, and he’s so grateful, but there’s still that tiny hollow inside him, waiting for his hands to close around the final puzzle piece. Waiting for him to slot it into place. 

But winter passes, sliding into spring, and then spring rolls into summer, and Jimin realises—he has time.

He has time. There’s no rush. He’s so used to chasing and running and aching, and that momentum will never leave him, but he’s starting to learn that it’s okay not to always sprint forwards. He sparks bright with progress, a glistening shine, but the things that shine out greater still are these: the moments of stillness. Taehyung and Jungkook sprawled around him, cheeks full of takeaway food. Hoseok in the dance studio, all the energy of his limbs brought to a quiet standstill as he sits and drinks water, staring at Jimin in the mirrors and wiggling his eyebrows. Yoongi beside him on the subway, eyes shut as he listens to the music coming from his earphones, tilting his head at Jimin’s questioning touch and taking one bud out to share. Namjoon, brows furrowed as he reads the book in front of him, large hands flipping the pages with such care, but turning his attention to Jimin the second he appears.

You, ankles hooked around the legs of your chair, cup of freshly brewed tea in front of you, letting the steam curl over your nose and cheeks. A cup of the same tea in front of Jimin, sometimes made by his own hands. Not often, but enough to find out more about you, the building blocks that have shaped you into who you are. 

Jimin learns about witchcraft, and magic, and how it’s far less complicated and somehow entirely more complex than he thought. You’ve pulled the library doors wide open and invited Jimin to browse at his leisure, through ancient tomes written in languages he doesn’t understand, vellum covered in calligraphy too faded to be read, but you’re his Rosetta stone, translating it all. He always thought that magic was a secret thing, and it is, but you’re letting him look in. You give him knowledge, and patience, and time. You give him an open door, a place that always welcomes him, no matter the time or weather. 

He doesn’t know exactly when it happened, but Jimin doesn’t have to wait for Aurora’s call any more. He doesn’t have to wait for that crest of that nascent dawn on the horizon. He follows the curvature of the earth and walks towards the sun himself, chases that luminous aureole and finds it all on his own. And there you wait for him, at the base of that shining star, your magic a halo that’s settled in your hair, the north on his compass. 

He still comes empty-handed, no answer to offer you; but you seem content to wait, so Jimin is, too.

He’ll wait.

He has time.

--

Jimin returns to Busan for the weekend. He sleeps in his childhood bed, eats food that never tastes the same when he tries to cook it himself, thinks about how tall he feels compared to his parents now, even if he hasn’t grown at all. He feels a little off kilter, like he’s pulled on an old t-shirt that used to fit him perfectly, but doesn’t anymore; too loose around the neck, too tight around the arms. Wearable, but different. Still comfortable, but not the same. He’s outgrown it now.

(Busan will always have a piece of his heart, but it’s not home anymore.)

(Home is somewhere close, he knows, but he’s still waiting to find that key, final tumbler of the lock sliding perfectly against its metallic teeth. He’s close, so close, but not there. Not yet.)

He’s walking past the fridges in the supermarket, on a quest for fresh radish for his mother, when he catches a smell that dredges up an old memory, smoke and ash. 

Jimin turns his head.

The witch looks just the same as before: ageless and perfect. Long dark hair in perfect curls, nails and lips blood red, eyebrows perfect arches, imperious ice. She’s already staring at him, and once their eyes touch, a flicker of recognition passes over her face, and then surprise, gaze darting over Jimin.

“Well, look at you. You finally grew into those cute cheeks of yours. I thought you would.” Although her words might be patronising, Jimin is shocked at her tone. It’s polite; almost friendly. Nothing like the aloofness she’d shown him all those years ago, when he’d come to her with the reckless desperation of a youth in love. “You’ve clearly done well for yourself.”

Jimin’s jeans are ripped more from wear than fashion, his shirt is from the discount rack at the Lotte mart, and his trainers are scuffed and worn. He might have grown into his face but nothing about him shouts success—and yet this witch is looking at him with something like mutual respect. “Pardon?”

“I can smell the power of the magic on you from here,” the witch says, and Jimin startles. “Like warm banana bread. Or the bark of a maple tree. It suits you.”

“That’s—that’s not mine,” Jimin admits. His heart races in his chest. He hadn’t known that he carries some brightness of your magic with him, some sweetness, motes of light swirling around him even after he’s left Seoul. He hadn’t known that other witches could smell that magic the way he can smell theirs.

(He hadn’t known that he would smell like you.)

The witch tilts her head. Her earrings are interlocking hoops, circling each other, sliding at the motion. “Oh, I know that,” she says. “It’s been given to you. It’s not yours, but it’s a part of you. It just takes a special kind of person to control that flow of power, and I’ve never met a mundane who can do that. Surely you must have realised?”

Jimin’s lashes flutter. He mixes tea, sure, but—that’s not him. It’s the shop guiding his hand. Isn’t it?

It’s been given to you. It’s not yours.

That promise you’d made Jimin, last year, the first time he’d stepped over your threshold, dripping rainwater and sorrow, so sad, so small: Anything you give me remains your own.

You just hadn’t mentioned it was the same for you, too.

(Hadn’t mentioned that you’d given him anything at all.)

(But you’ve given him so much, haven’t you?)

(It’s a part of you.)

(Jimin is changed by every person he meets, the sum of every part that’s ever been given to him by someone else. But he’s also more than those parts; he’s himself, something he’s made, is still making. Working towards being the best he can be.)

(He's himself, controls himself, the world around him. When he lifts those jars from the shelves, he's following his heart. He's his own guide. He trusts himself. Oh, it's not the shop after all, is it?)

(Is it?)

“Ah.” The witch lets out a knowing hum. “Understanding will come with time. Magic can seem such a fickle thing to the mundane, but it’s not. A witch’s magic is a reflection of who they are.”

He thinks of your magic, warm and honey-sweet. Dawn light; sun bright. A reflection of you. One that adorns him with its brilliance, even when you’re miles away from each other. You’re the silver lining to every cloud in his sky, when they’re white and wispy, or heavy with rain, torrenting water, weathering every season that turns in his heart. In the bittersweet death of autumn, the cold loneliness of winter, the emerging life of spring, the buoyant joy of summer. You’re a shelter against the elements. You’re the place Jimin feels safest in. You’re his—

Oh. 

Oh.

(There it is.)

(Home isn’t a place. Home is a feeling. You carry it with you, in your heart; that comfort, that belonging. Somewhere you want to come back to, that you know is waiting for you at the end of the day, any day, every day. That knowledge of love. Your friends; your family. Familiarity. Contentment. Feeling at peace because you know no matter where you are or where you go, home will always be there with you, and waiting for you back where you started, or wherever you finish.)

(Dropping that answer into his hands, feather light, rays of the morning sun cast over his palms, weightless in his grasp.)

(The key finally fits into the lock, and turns, door bursting wide open, letting life and light into Jimin’s heart, filling something that he already thought was full.)

The dark haired witch gives him a smile that’s equal parts pleased and self-satisfied. She sweeps away, leaving Jimin lost, and found.

--

Jimin steps down in Seoul with an utter lack of grace. Like the world has been pitching beneath his feet and has only just turned steady, sea legs buckling on the solid earth.

His bag is heavy with everything he’d brought to Busan for the weekend, and he’s tired after the train journey, and it’s hot, so hot, the summer heat oppressive in its height and weight, pressing sticky hands over his sweaty skin. Even so, he’d spent almost all three hours of travel with his leg jiggling up and down, wound up, pent up, every thread of him coiled around the knowledge he holds. The answer he’s been looking for, inside him all along. 

Part of him wants to run. That hungry part of him, still scared of not being good enough, terrified that if he doesn’t grab something with both hands it’ll slip away like quicksand; that the river at his feet will pull the earth up in its rush, leaving an empty canyon in front of him, lonely and deep.

But another part of him—the part of him that’s grown so bright, watered by the love of everyone around him—quells that fear. It’s the part that gently reminds him that he has time. It’s the part that carries him gently in its current, guiding him through the swell of bodies and busyness that’s all pervasive in Seoul, guiding him north. 

(His north.)

His feet aren’t a stumbling rush. He doesn’t have to hurry, after all. No matter how long he takes, he’ll get to his destination. 

(Home is always waiting for you at the end of your journey.)

The windchimes orbit rose quartz today. The same pastel pink that circles his wrist.

“Hello,” says Jimin. “I missed you.”

The windchimes shiver and spark out a note of happiness, and Aurora’s blue-green door swings open. He’s hit with a burst of cool air that pulls the sweat away from his skin. Stepping into the shop feels like a shot of caffeine in his veins, and, besides, he’s found what he’s looking for.

He has the question, and the answer. (He’s had it all along.)

(Where is your home?)

He sheds his shoes and bag, cast carelessly on the floor, and doesn’t hesitate to step forwards. The door to the tea room swings open before he reaches it, as always, feeling his urgency and responding without being asked.

And there you are.

Your hair is bundled up out of your face, arms and legs bare in the summer heat, tiny pineapples on your nails, a sweating pitcher of tea dripping rivulets of water on the table as you pour yourself a glass, ice tumbling around slices of fresh peach. You glance up at his arrival, and when you smile, Jimin feels how the magic in the room lifts and swirls around him. 

It’s the tart sweetness of fresh-squeezed lemonade; the soft chill of vanilla ice cream; the rich cream of mango parfait. It’s all happiness and tender affection, and Jimin wonders how he’s never seen the depth of it before now.

“Hi, Jimin.” Your voice is brighter than the summer sun outside, stronger still. “Did you just get back from Busan? You must be exhausted. How was your family?”

He answers by stepping forwards and wrapping his fingers around your glass. You watch in stunned silence as he lifts it to his lips, swallowing down the mix of flavours; rooibos, apple, hibiscus, rosehip, orange peel. Peach melba, sugary and mellow against his tongue, cold biting pain against his teeth.

He wipes away a stray drop of tea from his lips. Sunlight ripples in the room as your eyes flicker over his mouth. “Ask me.”

Your eyes tear back up to his. He can feel how the magic in the air slides away from you, pooling on the floor, swirling about your ankles; it’s like the brush of sand against his skin, treading across wet beaches, sticking to the soles of his feet. “Ask you what?”

“I need to pay for the tea. Ask me for a story.”

Jimin can feel the tug in his stomach, that telltale sensation that he has to pay his dues. Still, you seem surprised. “Okay, Jimin. What story do you have to share?”

“I met a witch, once. I was sad, and lonely, but she listened to me, every time I went to see her, again and again.” Jimin can feel your magic rising with each of his words, the gentlest tide. “And one day, she let me listen to her, too. She asked me to give her an answer for an unspoken question. But she didn’t press me for it. She just let me come back, again and again. She gave me a part of her magic. She’s not like any other witch in the world.  I’ve been waiting to find that answer to give to her, but then I realised I had it all along.”

(Where is your home?)

Your mouth drops open, but Jimin speaks over your intake of breath. That tugging in his stomach is still there. That pull towards you. “Ask me for a secret,” Jimin says.

“Okay, Jimin.” Your voice is quiet, but your magic has never felt stronger, spilling out of you like morning dew, shimmering, opalescent. “What’s your secret?”

“I think I’m in love,” he says, feels how the magic in the room swells, but he knows he still has more to give. “Ask me for a confession.”

“Okay, Jimin.” A whisper. Your magic is as bright as a solar flare, glimmering crystal, spun sugar. “What’s your confession?”

“I want to kiss you,” Jimin confesses.

And then he does.

Every window and door flies open, every plant bursts into bloom, every candle catches light, windchimes singing, breeze rushing through every room, but Jimin doesn’t notice any of these things. All he can feel is the warmth of your mouth against his own, the sweet taste of peach, how your magic fizzes on his tongue like champagne, a heady rush. 

Your breath is a flicker of candlelight in his mouth, one that grows into a bonfire, one he readily fans, watches how the flames leap high. One kiss turns to two, then three, your lips fitting so perfectly against his own, parting so readily at the first press of his tongue; your mouth a sweet little curve, dripping honey and syrup, as lovely as the rest of you. The world narrows down to this, to you; your hands warm where they cup his face, run through his hair, soft touches, how perfect those feel. 

He’s breathless when he finally pulls away, resting his forehead against your own. The magic is a heat shimmer, glistening air, surrounding the two of you in its embrace—but it doesn’t shine as brightly as you, your beauty, the sheen on your lips, kiss-swollen and exquisite.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Oh, Jimin.”

You’re so warm under his hands. The summer air that fills the room is swirling motes of brightness, brushing over you both with its delicate touch, and Jimin breathes you in. Not your magic, but you; a little salt, summer sweat, a little sweet, perfume soft. You feel so perfect like this, wrapped up in his arms, a powerful witch that’s opened up for him, the yielding petals of a flower, the sweet nectar at its core. Jimin’s always hated feeling so small, almost dainty, a slip of a thing compared to Taehyung’s height or Jungkook’s strength, and yet you fit so perfectly against him. 

For all the magic that drips from you like liquid gold, divine and powerful, here you are: all comfort and tenderness and affection, open arms, calling him home.

“I’m giving you my heart.” Jimin presses his words into the lovely swell of your cheeks, the line of your jaw, your neck, lips trailing over your skin, drinking down the way you shiver. “It’s still mine, I know, but I’m giving it to you, too.”

The smile on your face is all open happiness, laughter brighter than every star in the sky. “A witch never lets a payment go unreturned,” you say. “My heart for your heart. Sound fair?”

Jimin’s answering laugh is echoed by the windchimes outside, tickling and light. “I think that settles the score.”

--

(Where is your home?)

(Wherever you are.)

--

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

--

[24/09/20] author’s note: hi, guys. so I’ve recently been on a bit of a rereading binge, digging up old favourite fics of mine and enjoying them all over again, and I was horrified to discover a scene in a fic that’s eerily similar to something I’ve written here: namely, the scene where Jimin first comes across the shop and pays for a cup of tea with a happy memory. 

I genuinely had not read the fic in over two years and don’t recall many details at all, but I must have remembered it without realising and echoed it in my own writing. I was reading the fic and my heart genuinely stopped in my chest and I started to freak out because I would never, ever want to plagiarise someone else’s work, intentionally or unintentionally. 

however, on a reread of both the other fic and my own, the scene in question is somewhat similar but not the same. I just feel uncomfortable at the idea of benefiting from someone else’s time; writing is hard work and publishing things online takes a great deal of courage, and I know people who’ve had their work plagiarised, and how much it hurts. so I want to state for the record that when I wrote finding home it was without reference to anyone else’s story, so any similarities were coincidental. 

[lycheesmods]

So I've seen a couple people doing this ranking thing with Sims 4 packs and I thought I'd make one in terms of witchy gameplay, especially since some of those packs can be so useful for a fun pagan gameplay even if that's not what they're advertised for.

So I'm going to highlight my reasons for ranking the packs as above below the cut.

[Quick breakdown TL/DR, witchy-wise you got:

The litteral Seasons, Meditation Day, Witches, Outdoor Potions, Necromancy Stuff, Ocean Living with Ancestors, MOAR Familiars, Discover The Fae Cult, Eco Candlemaking, Spiritual Forest Escape, Spooky pUmPKIns, The Greek Well Garden, Get a Coven, Backyard Birds and Tumbled Adventure.

+Vampires, Country Kitchen, and Laundry Day. for a e s t h e t i c s.]

Essential:

Seasons : I'm sorry if you're pagan or a witch you need seasons in your name, literally. It adds the 4 seasons, snow, dead leaves, and on top of that it adds fully customizable Holidays, meaning you can make your own sabbaths or esbaths celebrations to put on the calendar. It also features gnomes that spawn and wait for the appropriate offering, give them the right thing and they will gift you seeds, otherwise they will be angry. They are linked to spring and are very much akin to the fae. Oh and of course, this is the best pack for gardening.

Spa Day: With that name it seems weird to put it so high but listen: Meditation, incense, and the wellness skill (developed with meditation and yoga). I use meditation as a way to have "circle" time in game (and there are meditation stool cc for that purpose!). It is for me essentially, the "ritual" interaction.

-

Needed per taste / path:

Realm of Magic: I almost put that one up in essentials but only a fraction can be used in a realistic way, and I'm talking about potions. The main reason this is not in essential is because you could choose either this pack or Outdoor Retreat for the "potion" feature. Anyways: this is the actual witch pack, including spells and potions in cauldron and a bunch of cool plants for gardening (and if you feel fancy you can fly on a broom). It also comes with familiars that can boost your confidence when you summon them.

Outdoor Retreat: This pack is the absolute best for more realistic potion-making but has less interesting options than Realm of Magic. Herbalism remedies they are called, though some are to help with stress and sadness or fertilizer (which can be used as a way to bless your plants). You have to collect a variety of wild herbs and bugs in order to mix your brews or you can keep the bugs as pets! How fun.

Paranormal Stuff: This newer addition to the sims is a blessing for any necromancer out there. Séances, which can be done with a séance table with a crystal ball or with a chalk circle on the ground, allow you to communicate with the dead, to appease the spirits (which can help calming and reducing ghostly activity in haunted houses), and to do a ghostly ritual which will make you a ghost for a few hours (which I like to imagine as astral travel). It features not only special interaction with basegame ghosts but also spectres, a new form of spirit which are more simple in personality and that can be appease with offerings or otherwise talked to.

Island Living: This pack is known to add a beachy world with mermaids and boats, but is also hides a very pagan tradition with the trait "child of the island" which has been called "shaman" by some, it makes your sim care about the island, its pollution state, the community events and feel a connection to the ancestors, which are spirits you can meet for wisdom. There is a drink called 'Kava', which is made in a special bowl and can be a nice thing to use as a special sabbath drink or offering. You can also collect seashells!

-

Got that ONE good feature:

Cats and Dogs: As the name states, it introduces Cats & Dogs and if you have Realm of Magic, your pets can be bound to you as familiars!

Discover University: As a university witch you can join the secret society which have meetings around a mushroom circle just off campus where they hang out in cloacks with the sprites and give them offerings on a stone altar for good luck and positive moods. Basically there are fae witches in University and you can be one.

Eco Lifestyle: Candlemaking! You can make your own candles! They like melt and stuff! Also for anyone interested in environment gameplay this is the pack with pollution and working as a neighbourhood to make the earth greener!

Snowy Escape: Actually this one got a few good pagan things. You can go hiking! Take a meditative walk in the woods, be inspired by nature, or walk up to the mountain shrine to make a wish and/or give an offering. You can also encounter various kinds of forest spirits on your walks and have multiple kind of interactions with them.

Spooky Stuff: Pumpkins! This pack comes with pumpkin carving and I use it every in-game Samhain.

-

Fun extra / could be useful

Romantic Garden Stuff: This one comes with a wishing well, give it various amounts of money (the bigger amount boost your chances of the wish coming true) and make a wish amongst the various options the game give you. Aesthetically this may be interesting for Hellenic witches who like the ancient greek vibes.

Get Together: The club system is useful for everyone and can definitly be used to make a coven.

Backyard Stuff: It comes with birdfeeders! And also windchimes and lemonade.

Jungle Adventure: This one almost went lower, but I do often use polished crystals on my altars. In basegame you have these relatively big crystal chunks but with the archeology table in jungle adventure you can polish them into smaller oval shapes, basically you can make tumbled crystals.

-

Just for Aesthetics

Vampires: For those of you who like the goth side of "witchy" aesthetic the Vampire pack will be good for you. One word: candlebra.

Country Kitchen Kit: My kitchen witches with country farm dreams will love the look of this small kit!

Laundry Day: Another one for some rustic fun. Don't like the washing machines? You can wash your clothes by hand! This is great with the off-the-grid lots that come with Island Living.

-

For the rest of the packs I couldn't think of a single witchy / pagan use to them.

~lolnyny

[starrysupercell]

Info dumps about my fantasy AU story because I'm weak and I just want to get my ideas out there lest it ends up like RaR and my Starr Force fic and everything else I work on ...Part one :}

~

Ash came from a poverty-stricken rundown kingdom. They dislike messes and would very much like it if everyone would get their shit together--

But it never happened, so she skipped out on her hometown at a pretty young age and became a page in the closest successful Kingdom. The Vandete Kingdom.

The law and order there was absolutely amazing for her, and she happily swore fealty to the King and Queen once she became a knight.

Shelly is the Princess of the Vandete Kingdom. She was... okay with her role, even if somewhat bored. However, her neutral stance with her life quickly became unsatisfying as the Kingdom came under attack... by Dragons.

She was able to briefly take up arms and defend her home before being swiped up by a certain blocky knight. Ash!

The Kingdom entered a war with the Dragons, and Shelly was sent away to a hidden tower to be kept safe. Ash was entrusted by the Royals to keep an eye on Shelly, to his dismay. He wanted to fight and defend! Not wait hand and foot on a Princess!... but they stilled their tongue and accepted their assigned role with grace.

Shelly, at the very least, found some solace in Ash being unable to join the fray, since they interrupted her own chance at a taste of battle.

So they both waited at the Tower, out of the loop to what befell their Kingdom... (tbc.)

~

Byron's owl name is Eglantine. She's his Familiar! She delivers letters, finds and brings back nearby items for him, can warn him of approaching dangers, and can almost always can be found by his side.

He's resides in the Flower Kingdom [placeholder name], and occupies a high position in the castle itself: Babysitting Guiding the young prince Sprout whenever neither Bea or Rosa are unable to. (Busy Queens, you see.)

While this Kingdom is well known for its magic users, Byron stands above the rest due to his expansive knowledge. He's spent an immeasurable amount of time studying books and magical concoctions, and has created many a spell.

For some odd reason, it seems like he always has what he needs for potions and brews, despite the fact that some key ingredients are rare, or may be found only in other lands.

But it's shrugged off easily. He either teleports where he needs to be, or has Eglantine recieve it, right?

Sprout was created by Bea and Rosa to carry and protect the mystical Sword in the Stone from anyone who may try to obtain it.

Sprout and Byron have an interesting bond.

While Byron was not keen on teaching such a young upstart, and a robot at that-- who have more difficulty connecting to the magical spark than humans do-- he eventually found its constant questions about several topics to be quite endearing.

Before long, Byron discovered that Sprout (and perhaps all robots?) has a knack for steel-type magic, along with barrier/construction magic.

He theorizes it has to do with the Sword that it was built to protect... but he has yet to study what exactly Robots are capable of with Magic.

Arthur and Merlin

~

Barley has a pet/companion Unicorn in this AU too, he just does, I don't know what to tell you.

Since he's dabbled in some wizardry before, it's unknown to a lot of people if the Unicorn might be a Familiar too, given that they're such rare creatures to find, much less befriend/tame.

If asked, he chuckles and waves off the question in one way or another. He's quite a curious fellow, never giving a straight answer. He seems to have a vast array of skills due to his colorful past too-- it's rumored he's even owned a tavern at one point.

He currently resides in the De La Prim Kingdom, as a very trusted and capable knight to the Royals there. He traveled far to arrive there.

Unfortunately, a mysterious curse has recently befallen the King and Queen of the Kingdom, leaving their two daughters and the rest of the land unprepared for such an event.

Deciding to keep it on the VERY down-low to protect the place, the Ruling title has been passed down to the next-in-line heir, (Lunar) Piper. Her younger sister, Colette, is also still in training to be a proper lady.

In the meanwhile, the search for either the Cure or the Witch/Wizard responsible is being tracked down.

~

There are more plot threads, travelers and other kingdoms I have planned... but I'll cover them next time~

[midnightseonghwa]

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐤.𝐡𝐣

𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐮 - 𝟏  

✕𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Witch!Hongjoong x Heart broken!Reader ft. Cat Shiter Familiar!San

✕𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Magic, Halloween, Witch Au  

✕𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.0k+  

✕𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭: Hongjoong finds himself lonely, working day in day out to make human money. But what happens when someone comes into his workplace and asks for a temporary fix? Only Hongjoong knows how to make it permanent. Alternatively: “To taste a poison as sweet as love and the mist that clouds your sense.”  

✕𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of physical abuse (not from Hongjoong though). Hongjoong is a little softie at first. Love at first sight and ‘I love you’s are exchanged quite fast. Slight obsessive themes towards the end, he takes a advantage of your broken heart and mentions of magic...because it is a witch au. 

✕𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: Unedited 

✕𝐀/𝐍: This took me three days to write and a reupload but I’m finally here. Okay, welcome to the first installation of the Wonderland Halloween Au series!  I’m so excited so please don’t let this flop :(... Do remember that this fiction and I don’t actually see Ateez in this way. I know this is different from my conventional tooth-rotting fluff but I’ve always wanted to dabble in a bit of fantasy au-s. I hope you like it as much as I do! 

✕𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @pancakes-for-teddy​ 

✕𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜: Here 

As Hongjoong fake smiled at the customer and turned around to make yet another damned pumpkin spice latte, he found himself hating this part of the year more than any other.

It was a curse in all its worth to live in the human world, having to make mortal money. But no matter how much Hongjoong cursed his existence, he took slight comfort in the fact that at least he wasn't on the street starving and dying.

"Here you go, miss," he smiled and handed the paper cup to the lady and moved onto the next customer. It had been the same routine for the last few years Hongjoong had been cursed to the mortal world by his witch coven and it was getting boring, to say the least.

"Next customer, please," he said and tapped the register before looking up at you standing in front of him.

"What can I get for you today?" He asked after you didn't utter a word and just stared at the menu while fiddling with your hands. Your face was covered with a grey hood, and all Hongjoong wanted to do was yank it down and hex you for taking so long.

"Why don't you wait on the side while I take the rest of the orders?" He suggested, and a chorus of agreements for you to step out of the line was heard from the back.

"When you're done deciding, I'll help you out."

With that, he saw you move out the line and get cursed by the obnoxious and uptight people behind you, who were probably running late for their "important" meetings.  

After shuffling about and preparing drinks behind the counter, he finally saw you stand in front of the register and right the little bell that was kept there to attract his attention.

"Are you finally ready to order?" He asked and you muttered a low 'yes' in response.

"What will you be having today?" He said and watched in annoyance as you brought your hands up to your hood and lowered it down to reveal your face.

"Just a black coffee, please. As strong as possible." Your voice was small and almost came out as a whisper. All the ill-will that Hongjoong had harboured against you vanished the moment he saw your blotchy face with dried tear streaks and small cuts.

"I'll get right on it," he said and mustered up a genuine smile, with his teeth showing.

You took out a crumpled note from your hoodie pocket and thrust it into Hongjoong's hand who just smiled at you again and put it in the tip jar, claiming your coffee was on the house.

When he stepped behind to attend to your drink, he made sure to provide extra attention to it. It looked like you had been through a rough day and all Hongjoong wanted at that moment was to make you feel better with his coffee. His coffee, crafted by his hands, made only for you.

An odd feeling churned at the bottom of his stomach as he lidded the paper cup and carrying it towards the end of the counter.

"Here you go. Strongest black coffee I could prepare," he said and you gave him a thankful nod.

You turned to leave, pulling your hood back over your head before Hongjoong called you out.

"Listen!"

You stopped in your tracks and shifted to face him. His red hair was falling into his wide eyes as he called out to you.

You approached him slowly and looked up to meet his eyes. They were a burnt umber colour, almost a warm reddish-brown and you found yourself getting slightly lost in them.

"If you don't mind," he started and you backed away a little, knowing how this would go. He was surely going to ask you for your number and you had no intention of giving it.

"What exactly happened? Who made you so sad that you couldn't sleep?"

The question startled you. You thought you had washed your face enough times to get rid of any lasting evidence but it seemed as if you were wrong.

"I-" you mulled over your words. Was it really alright to dump your problems on the barista of your local cafe?

"I stayed up all night fighting with my boyfriend," you admitted sadly and looked down at your hands that were clutching the coffee cup.

"Oh," Hongjoong frowned and felt that odd churning at the bottom of his stomach. Only this time, it was more fierce.

"It's not a problem, really. He just tends to get angry really quickly," you said and shrugged your shoulders as if it was no big deal.

Hongjoong didn't say anything but he had a small inkling as to what you were going through. While he may not have an immediate fix for it, he thought of something that would help.

"Hey, San!" He shouted and you watched as a lanky black-haired boy trudged out from the kitchen area.

"Can you please pack two cookies from the display case," he said and the boy meekly nodded before going off to do his task.

"I'm not sure of how much it will help..." Hongjoong trailed off and gave you a small knowing smile.

"But, I assure you, for as long as I have been living in the mortal world, I have never found any other cookie better than this."

You furrowed your eyebrows at his comment.

'Mortal world'?

Deciding to ignore it nonetheless, you lowly thanked the red-haired man in front of you before taking the paper bag out of San's hand, exiting the cafe.

As you soon as you exited, San clutched Hongjoong's hand and dragged him back to the kitchen area.

"I know what you're thinking," he said and Hongjoong watched the lanky boy turn back into his cat form and jump into his witch's arms.

"And what exactly am I thinking?" Hongjoong mused and raised one of his eyebrows, petting San's black fur and scratching behind his ears.

The cat hissed and bared its teeth at the witch who just laughed and ushered the cat back onto the floor.

"Sometimes San," he started and untied his apron, hanging up on one of the hooks, "You're too smart for your own good."

Hongjoong inhaled the scent of burning sage as he opened the door to his apartment with a small opening incantation. You could never really be too sure with these pesky humans. All pesky...except you.

Ever since Hongjoong's interaction with you at the cafe, he had set his heart on making you feel better, even if it does create a small dent in his supplies.

"San!" He called out once again and the cat made its appearance in front of him at once.

"Come on," Hongjoong said and stood in front of his bedroom door, muttering a quick spell before turning the handle and walking in.

The room was lined with wooden shelves from top to bottom with all types of witchy paraphernalia.

"Really? You're going to make that pesky human a potion?"

The cat turned boy was now leaning against the back wall, watching his owner word about his brewing room with a certain determination he had never seen before.

"Why not?" He said and dropped strawberry leaves along with a few dried jasmine flowers in a pot that was situated in the middle.

Hongjoong stood on one of the stools searching the higher shelves before he turned to San.

"We're out of willow barks," he said and San rolled his eyes before pushing himself off the wall and exiting the room through the window in cat form.

Hongjoong bustled about the room, adding different elements to the pot which had now turned an ugly black mixture.

Throwing in some dried butterfly wings and yarrow flowers, he sat down in the corner and waited for San to come back with his bark.

The night wind whistled through the room and Hongjoong's idle thoughts floated back to you. Even in your miserable state, he thought you mesmerising and while he wouldn't call it love at first sight, it was definitely love at first sight.

Everything about you set Hongjoong's nerves on fire with some kind of aphrodisiac. The poison of love slowly making its way through his system, flushing out all negative thoughts and replacing them with happy ones instead.

San meowed as he made an appearance in front of Hongjoong and dropped the willow bark into the pot. The potion turned a sweet dark pink and Hongjoong tipped the entire thing into a vial before shifting back to his room with a snap of his fingers.

When Hongjoong saw you next, he was more than prepared. But what he wasn't prepared for was for you to be in a worse situation than you were previously. The tear streaks had turned into cuts and the puffy eyes had turned into black-purple bruises that peeked out from under your makeup.

"What happened?" Hongjoong whispered and ghosted his fingers over a particularly nasty bruise. You flinched back and closed your eyes, thinking he was going to do exactly what your boyfriend did to you. Instead, he lightly caressed your cuts with his fingers, almost butterfly-like touches that you made you want to press your face into his hands.

"Was it him again?" He asked from behind the counter, leaning forward a bit to make sure that no one heard him.

You didn't say anything, the words getting horribly stuck in your throat. But your silence was answer enough for him.

"What's your name?" He asked and your eyes widened.

"(Y/n)," you whispered and looked down at your fiddling hands.

"Well, (y/n). My name is Hongjoong," he said and pointed to the small enamel plate pinned on his apron.

You nodded and gave him the most genuine smile you could muster in your state.

"Now, I'll make you some coffee and we're going to sit at that table over there and talk. Is that alright with you?" He asked and you nodded once again, hair covering your eyes a little.

He painted fingernails brushed the hair out of your face and shooed you out of the line with a sweet grin before turning around to make your coffee.

Slipping the small vile out of his apron pocket, he tipped in a capful of the potion he had concocted and watched as it slowly fizzled pink inside the blackish-brown liquid before settling down.

He set a small cookie on the saucer of your cup and set it down in front of you while seating himself in the opposite chair.

"How long has it been going on?" He said and you choked a little on the hot liquid, not expecting him to cut right through the chase.

"This is the second time," you responded, nibbling on your cookie.

Hongjoong didn't say a word. Except, he motioned for you to continue with your coffee while he just sat opposite you, admiring the way you looked so perfect. Save for the injuries here and there.

Slowly sipping the caffeinated liquid, you felt it soothe your oesophagus as it gushed down and settled in the pit of your stomach. The feeling was warm and it was almost as if it was temporarily fixing all your problems.

Oh, if only you knew.

"Do you like it?" Hongjoong asked and you nodded enthusiastically, the bitterness of it still stinging your tastebuds.

"There's something very flowery about it," you said and Hongjoong just gave you another one his innocent smiles before letting out a sheepish laugh.

"It's a special type of bean we get imported," he said and you completely believed it.

The conversation stopped there as Hongjoong had to go back to work. Picking up your now empty cup, he greeted you with a soft goodbye which you returned as you exited the cafe and walked down the street. It was a puzzling revelation to you but you found yourself feeling much better; half a heartbreak almost cured.

"You're falling in love with her, aren't you," San hissed from his corner in the room as Hongjoong grabbed the butterfly wings from his shelf and placed them on his work station.

"Absolutely... yes," Hongjoong said and smiled at his table that was scattered with handwritten notes for you. All declaring his love like some Romeo lost in time and oh, how jealous Juliette would be.

San sighed and turned back into his cat form, jumping up onto his witch's tables and scratching through some of the letters Hongjoong had written.

"Hey!" Hongjoong yelled and threw his body over the paper to shield them from San's claws.

"Mind your paws," he said and San just trudged off the table with an indecent flick of his black tail.

Over the past few weeks, Hongjoong and you had gotten close. It was finally yesterday when the last straw of his healing potion had worked and you broke out the courage to dump your stupid boyfriend and report him for abuse.

With him rotting in prison, you had a lot of time on your hand and what better way to spend it than with your precious Joongie.

"Why are you even making her another healing potion? Didn't (Y/n) dump the guy already?" San asked as he slinked over one of the chairs, his legs jutting over the arms.

"Silly kitty," Hongjoong started and San hissed in reply, baring his teeth.

"This," he gestured to the pot and then smiled, "Is not a healing potion anymore. It's a love potion."

At Hongjoog's words, San jerked straight up and looked at him with wide eyes.

"Are you serious?"

Hongjoong scoffed as he neatly folded his handwritten letters and placed them under one of the jars.

"Yes, very. I am very serious about my love for (Y/n). Now hand me the scissors."

San rolled his eyes and passed the scissors which Hongjoong used to cut up the rosed into small fragments of petals.

Flinging the roses into the boiling potion in the pot along with some bay leaves and lavender, his heart bubbled with excitement at the deep red colour it took on.

Taking all of his handwritten letters, he shredded them to pieces before adding them to the pot as well.

San and Hongjoong both moved away from the pot as it bubbled furiously and then shot out a bloody red mist in the air.

Hongjoong inhaled deeply while San hacked a cough here and there, changing into his cat form to hide from the poisonous mist.

Tipping the final step of his plan into a vile, he stored it safely in his jacket pocket for tomorrow before stepping out of the room.

"Good morning Joongie," you piped as you smiled at the red-haired boy in front of you.

"(Y/n)," he acknowledges and taps the screen of the register before clapping excitedly.

"Oh! We just got some new tea that I would love for you to try," he said and ushered you to one of the tables before getting behind the counter to prepare your tea.

Setting the prepared drink under your nose, you marvelled at the gorgeous colour. The way the sun hit just right to make the red seem almost pink and the way the steam from the cup had taken on a misty red hue.

"What is this called?" You asked and Hongjoong laughed, setting himself down in the opposite chair.

"It's a love potion," he said and you laughed, thinking he was joking.

"Well, let's hope it's my lucky day and I fall in love with the one I'm looking for," you joked back but Hongjoong just frowned and fiddled with his hands nervously.

Did you like someone else?

"Drink up," he said and you pushed the cup to your lips, drinking in all of the liquid at once.

Hongjoong almost squealed in excitement but he contained it and reached out to stroke your hand with his thumb instead.

"You know, (y/n). There's something I've been meaning to tell you," he started and watched with bubbling ecstasy as he saw your pupils dilate with a reddish tint before returning to normal.

"Go on," you smiled and clutched his hand. The rings felt cool against your skin and a slight buzz between both your hands caused your skin to tingle.

It was a refreshing feeling; the feeling of cliche love.

"I... I really like you (Y/n) and I was kind of hoping I could take you out?"

There, he had said it. Hongjoong had confessed the smallest part of his undying love for you.

"Oh..." you trailed off and Hongjoong furrowed his eyebrows.

Did the potion not work?

"Just think about it and let me know. You have my number," he said and got up to continue his work.

You, on the other hand, were at war with your inner self. There was a coworker that you had been crushing on for the last week or so and were planning to ask him out but why a clouding sense of Hongjoong had left you occupied with thoughts of him instead.

The walk back to your apartment was spent in a perplexing self argument. Every time you forced the thought of your coworker in your head, a repulsive feeling washed over you and only Hongjoong's face brought you to ease.

Instead of walking back to your apartment, you circled the playground near it the entire day before a ringing from your pocket interrupted your thoughts.

"I was wondering," you heard Hongjoong's smooth voice over the line and instantly found yourself smiling.

"If you had made up your mind?" He said and you sighed at the fantasy of him whispering 'I love you' to you in that voice. A rosy feeling poured out of your heart and rubbed the part over your chest to ease the excitement that was thrumming under it.

You looked around the playground and watched little children run and play with their parents. Suddenly, the world seemed to take on a rosy mist as if you were viewing it through red-tinted glasses.

"Hongjoong, I-" you spoke but your fingers tingled a little when you heard him laugh over the phone.

"Okay, alright. Take your time. Good night, (Y/n)," he said and hung up. You stood in the middle of the street, blinking as the shit-stained world was revealed to you once again.

Where did all the wonder go?

Your breath hitched as you started taking steps to the cafe, breaking out into a full-on sprint midway.

All the lights of the cafe were closed except for the spotlight on top of the counter. You saw Hongjoong clearing some things and quickly tried to push the glass door, only for it to not budge.

Frantically, you hit your palm against the glass causing Hongjoong to get startled and look up at the source of the noise. You locked eyes with him and it was as if at that moment, it was la vie en rose again.

Hongjoong hurried over from behind the counter, unlocking the door and pulling it open as you pushed from the other side.

Barrelling through the door, you locked your arms around his neck and buried your face into the crook of his neck. You exhaled shakily and Hongjoong almost fainted due to your warm breath that was hitting his neck.

"(Y/n), what happen?" He said and stroked your back with almost the same affection that a mother would give to her sobbing child.

Hongjoong tried to pull back but you only hugged him tighter, winding your arms tighter around his neck and pressing your body into his.

"I-I...I wanted to see you," you exhaled and Hongjoong's heart leapt at your words.

You wanted to see him!

"I'm right here," he said and led you to the back of the cafe where you saw San lazily sipping on a cup of milk.

"Hey (Y/n)- oh," he said and gazed at yours and Hongjoong's intertwined hands.

Hongjoong leaned against the counter next to San who had now shifted back into his cat form, nuzzling into Hongjoong's side.

"Is this your way of saying yes?" He asked and you just giggled. Hongjoong seemed ethereal to you under the rosy mist and his red hair complemented the flowers of love perfectly.

"No, Joongie...let's just skip all the initial formalities. I want it to be just you and me forever," you confessed with absolute determination in your voice and Hongjoong pulled you closer to him at your words.

"(Y/n), I love you," he whispered and San made a gagging noise at the side as Hongjoong yanked on his tail lightly, causing San to yowl and then scatter away.

"Joongie, I love you too."

For the people who said that the honeymoon phase never lasts, you and Hongjoong proved them horribly wrong.

Now, a year and a half into your relationship, you had shifted into Hongjoong's apartment with rosy dreams of marriage, little children or even more cats. You had quite your job, believing Hongjoong's claim about his job being more than enough to support the two of you. You spend your days lazing around the house with San who mostly stayed in his cat form unless he needed to stretch. During those times, instead of San the cat, you would hang out with San, Hongjoong's coworker and friend from the cafe who had decided to pay a visit.

Hongjoong never let you leave the house unless it was with him or unless he had given you an extra-strong cup of tea in the morning. You were perfectly content with being left to your own devices at home, dreaming of Hongjoong and bathing in the love you had for him.

"Here you go, love," Hongjoong said as he handed you the familiar red tea he had deemed a love potion. Over the months, the red tea had become your one source of liquid courage, comfort and support, completely oblivious to its side-effects.

Hongjoong watched you with a lovestruck smile as you sipped the tea he had concocted. Your pupils dilated with a red tint like every other time he had given you the tea, the rosy mist clouding your senses and mind.

An overwhelming amount of love spread through your body like fire as you leaned up to kiss Hongjoong on the lips. The sweet residue of his tea lingering between the two of you before you settled on the sofa to take a small nap.

"(Y/n)," Hongjoong called as he appeared in the doorway all dressed.

"I'm going to the cafe for a bit. Some stock has come in that the boss needs me to run it through."

You sighed dreamily before your eyes opened in panic and shock.

Hongjoong was leaving?

"Joongie, it's your day off. You said you would stay."

The male laughed and walked over to where you were lying down, stroking your cheeks and hair affectionately.

"I promise I'll be back as soon as I can," he said and brought your hand up to place a sugary kiss to it.

He picked up his things and moved to the front door as you launched yourself from the sofa and grabbed onto the back of his shirt.

"No, Joongie, please. I get so lonely and I just- you said you wouldn't go. Today's your day off," you begged and fisted his shirt in both your hands, preventing him from leaving.  

Hongjoong felt slightly alarmed but he would be lying if he said he didn't like it. He had never seen you act this way but it was something he wanted to keep.

"Alright (Y/n). I won't go," Hongjoong said and ushered you back into the house, brushing a few stray tears from your face.

"Thank you, Joongie. Can I please have some more tea please?" You asked and pouted, trying to woo the male in front of you.

Needless to say that he was already very whipped for you.

"Of course, my love," he said and moved to kitchen as you attached yourself to him like a koala.

"I love you, Joongie," you said and hugged him tighter, "Promise you won't ever leave me?"

"I love you too, (Y/n) and yes, I promise I'll never leave you."

[fandom-collective-writers]

Childlike (Arthur Conan Doyle x Reader)

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Arthur Conan Doyle x Reader

Prompt: Halloween

Warning: None! Just simple fluff!

Intended Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 1,089

Requested by: @liviavivi04​ 

Written by: @lordsister​/@lordsisterxotome (Click here to support me on ko-fi!<3)

Disclaimer: I do not own Ikemen Vampire or any of its characters. All of that goodness is the property of Cybird. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfic. Please do not repost this on any other website.

Other notes: After the last few days I’ve had, I really needed to write something that was simple and fluffy, nothing much to it besides something to plant a little seed of warmth in your heart - or at least I hope that’s how I’ve written it, haha. Hope you enjoy!

       You may have created a monster.

       Having idly mentioned Halloween when walking through the park one day, commenting on the trees turned orange by the grip of fall, the curiosity in Arthur’s eyes had immediately sparked to life, and he hadn’t left you alone until you’d answered all of his questions pertaining to the holiday. The creative potential was something he adored, the mystery behind ghosts and the paranormal, the magic behind witches and monsters. His blue gaze simply sparkled as he listened, his grip on you as you sat in his lap tightening as he grew more and more excited.

       As such, as writing received a tremendous boom, your words funding his inspiration. Arthur started staying up later, unaware of the hours passing as he filled page after page with new ideas. Your heart warmed at the smile that appeared on his face when a story came together, or the adorable look of concentration that turned his lips into a thoughtful pout, but you started to worry about his health. Lost in his work, he barely ate or slept, and you often found him slumped over his desk in the mornings, his fingers stained with ink and his glasses smooshed against his cheek.

       It was a couple of days before Halloween when you had an idea.

       The holiday wasn’t celebrated in this time nearly the way it was in the future, but you still wanted to give Arthur a taste of the experience, of the unique joy that came with eating candy and carving pumpkins and watching spooky movies until you couldn’t keep your eyes open. So, on October 31st, having procured everything you would need, you set to work in the kitchen. Sure, lots of different kinds of sweets existed in this era, but none of them really fit the Halloween vibe. Thus, you decided to recreate some of the candies from your childhood, Twix, and Almond Joys, and Snickers. 

       The first few tries ended up creating misshapen lumps that at the very least tasted better than they looked - the other residents were more than happy to take care of them - but you’d bought extra ingredients for this very reason. You had no recipe to go on after all, only memory of what the treats were supposed to look and taste like.

       It was evening by the time you finished your project, gathering the candies onto a plate and brewing a cup of chocolate imbued coffee before setting off for your boyfriend’s room. You knocked before entering, pushing the door open with your hip, and softly called his name as you peeked inside.

       Arthur lay asleep on the couch, an arm draped over his stomach as his chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths. Setting the tray of sweets and coffee down on the table, you took a seat beside him on the couch, reaching to run your fingers through his hair.

       “Arthur,” you called softly, feeling him stir and lean into your touch. A lazy smile curled at the edge of his lips as he exhaled a soft sigh of content.

       “Have you come to join my nap, darling?”

       “No,” you chuckled, leaning forward to peck his smiling lips. “I have something for you.”

       A brow lifted, his grin taking on a teasing edge. “Is it you?”

       “No~...at least not right now.”

       He pouted, whining softly as his eyes opened. Removing your hand from his hair, you moved further onto the couch, sliding onto his lap when his arms looped around your waist. His body was warm with sleep, gentle as he held you, and you could feel him relaxing again as you drew circles into his chest. Despite what you’d said before about not joining him for a nap, this felt so nice. He had been so busy writing lately, the two of you hadn’t had many opportunities to snuggle, but this wasn’t what you’d come here for and the coffee would get cold if you waited too much longer.

       Arthur made a noise of protest as you rose from him, reaching for the tray.

       “Chocolates?” he asked, his arms still around your waist.

       “Not just any kind of chocolate. Halloween candy!” 

       That same spark that had appeared when you’d first told him about the holiday entered his eyes again, childlike. “It’s different from today’s sweets?”

       “Very different.”

       “Well then.” He shifted, lazing against the arm of the sofa as he leveled half-lidded eyes your way. “Why don’t you feed me one? Do you mind?”

       Lifting a pseudo Snickers from the plate, you offered it to him, feeling your cheeks warm and your eyes skitter away when his lips closed around yours fingertips as well as the candy. Your boyfriend really was too flirty for his own good. At least you knew he only meant this intimacy for you. 

       “Peanuts...and caramel...and chocolate?” he asked, licking his lips and happily accepting another from your hesitant fingers.

       “Yep.” Taking an Almond Joy for yourself, you smiled at the familiar taste of almonds and coconut and the fond memories it brought with it.

       “You made these all for me?” 

       “Yeah.” Your smile turned a little sheepish now, eyes locked on the plate in your hands. “You seemed so excited about Halloween. I know we can’t watch scary movies or go trick-or-treating, but I wanted to share this with you, something from my childhood.” It was a little embarrassing to say it out loud, but the sweet tasting kiss he swept you up in erased all feelings of discomfort, licking away a morsel of melted chocolate on the corner of your lip when he pulled away.

       Only a few smudges of chocolate remained on the plate not long after, mugs of coffee wrapped in your hands as you resumed your cuddling. 

       “Will you read me some of what you’ve been writing?” you asked, leaning your head against your Englishman’s shoulder. 

       You felt a little burst of happiness vibrate through him, but he chuckled wryly as he asked, “You want to hear it? I’m afraid it’s dreadfully messy right now.”

       Turning to look up at him, you smiled. “Of course.”

       Leaving to bounce over to his desk, he gathered up a sheaf of papers before rejoining you on the couch, curling under the blanket with you.

       It may not have been trick-or-treating or scary movies, but as the art of Arthur’s words wrapped around you, the coffee warming you from the inside out, you couldn’t think of a better way to spend Halloween with your beloved.

[the-dream-team]

What I Would Do 

Read it on AO3

“And if you come anywhere within spitting distance of my friends again, you’ll lose a lot more than your voice, Mulciber .”

Lily Evans stared down the Slytherin whose ability to speak she’d stolen with a well-practiced Silencing Charm. Unable to spit out anymore foul language, Mulciber narrowed his eyes and stormed off towards the dungeons, accepting defeat. She turned to Mary and gave her a small smile. That problem was taken care of. For now, at least.

“Oh, that was marvelous!” came a clear, familiar voice from across the corridor. “Evans, you’re one helluva witch, have I told you that yet today?” Jamie Potter grinned at Lily, one hand clutching her stupid stolen snitch and another combing through her tangle of wild curls. Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew followed close behind her, as they always did. She playfully swatted Sirius’ shoulder and tugged at her shirt collar. “Padfoot, you know I can’t resist a girl who stands up against those bastard Death Eaters-in-training.” Sirius barked out a laugh.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Knock it off, Potter, or you’ll be next on my hit-list.”

Jamie’s grin only broadened. “Evans, you drive me crazy, you know that? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, what I would do if you started flying for the other team…”

As Jamie and her posse sauntered off down the hall, Mary sighed.

“It must be hard for her,” she said softly.

“Hard for who, Potter?” asked Lily in disbelief.

“Yes, Jamie, ” said Mary. “Having those kinds of unrequited feelings seeing as she’s the only girl here who… y’know.”

Lily’s mouth gaped open. “Mary! There are no feelings involved. Potter just can’t let go of an old joke.”

Mary raised her eyebrows. “If you say so.”

Unbelievable. Lily crossed her arms and furrowed her brow the rest of the way to the Library. Unrequited feelings my arse, she thought with a huff. Potter had been acting out the same schtick for years. She loved boasting about her deep, dramatic attraction towards Lily (most often in public places) and calling Lily’s preferences into question. It made her uneasy, and Potter knew it. Jamie liked rileing her up.

Of course, she had to admit it hadn’t started as a joke. Their third year, during a particularly rowdy Herbology lesson, Lily and Jamie got into a row over the Leaping Toadstools they were meant to be picking in the forest. After some bickering over who would be in charge of catching the mushrooms and a bit of shoving back and forth, Lily eventually threatened Jamie with a Bat-Bogey hex if she kept getting in her way.

Before she could stop herself, in front of the entire class, Jamie practically shouted, “Bloody hell, Evans, what I would do if only you were into girls.”

The heat burned so deeply on Lily’s cheeks that day, sometimes she still felt the licks of fire teasing her skin nearly four years later. The panic. The embarrassment. The fear. It all boiled up from her knotted stomach and racing heart, presenting as a disgusted expression that could only be painful for the receiving end.

Jamie’s usually confident smirk had been replaced with a gaping mouth and... were those tears welling in her eyes?

After the initial shock, Lily tried softening her expression, but the damage was done. In an instant, Jamie swiped a hand under her glasses, ran another through her fringe, and put on a forced lopsided grin. “So, er, you’ll keep me updated if anything changes, yeah?”

She let out a laugh, looking for the boys to back her up. They chuckled along with her the best they could while Jamie shrugged to the class and went back to their Toadstools, avoiding Lily’s eye for the rest of the lesson.

A stormcloud of guilt brewed in Lily’s chest the following weeks. Jamie had taken to staying in the boy’s dorm to avoid any kind of contact with her and the other girls. Sirius had stepped up, becoming extra protective of her and sending daggers at anyone who dared to even glance in Jamie’s direction. Lily tried getting her alone to apologize for weeks before eventually cornering her and Remus one day after Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“Potter,” said Lily, breathless as she chased her down the hallway, “please, I wanted to talk to you.”

Jamie spun around with a dazzling smile. “Evans! Coming to tell me you’ve finally changed your mind?”

The flirtatious wink sent Lily over the edge, her planned speech quickly abandoned. “Oh, you’re impossible!”

“Don’t worry, love,” Jamie casually laughed, “take your time, I can wait.”

Completely speechless and beyond flustered, Lily had no choice but to storm away. She was thirteen and emotional, and years away from controlling the way her feelings manifested themselves. So for the following weeks (and then years) as Jamie kept up the teasing, Lily responded emphatically with thunderous huffs and exaggerated scoffs.

By seventh year, their routine became so practiced, Lily barely noticed her heart skip anymore when Jamie shot off her endless string of compliments. Barely flinched when Potter suggested there could be a question of Lily’s tastes.

There weren’t any questions.

She didn’t fancy girls.

Had there been close calls through the years? Sure.

On a warm spring day down by the lake, when Dorcas placed an innocent hand on Lily’s thigh while laughing at a dumb joke, had Lily’s stomach somersaulted in a not-totally-unpleasant way? Yes. Had she spent the next few months secretly hoping it would happen again? Possibly.

Had there been times where Lily caught her eyes wandering to the hems of skirts or lingering on Jamie’s impossibly long eyelashes, only magnified by those stupid, round wire-rimmed lenses? It didn’t matter.

Those moments weren’t real. They never formed as full sentences in her head, mentally blocked before they took shape. The heat on her leg left behind from Dorcas’s touch didn’t mean anything if she didn’t give it a name. Ideas could float untethered around her mind as long as they never met the ground.

The thoughts she had about boys were real. Shared giggles with Mary about Sirius Black’s sharp jawline or Amos Diggory’s playful charm flowed with ease. Her crush on Remus Lupin during their fourth year terrified her to admit out loud, but there had never been a question about whether she was allowed to let her imagination run wild over his floppy sandy hair and pleasant quiet smile. Boys were easy.

The thought of liking girls never would have crossed her mind if Jamie hadn’t said those words to her in Herbology all those years ago. Lily hadn’t even known that was an option before. Perhaps if Jamie had kept her mouth shut, if she hadn’t spent the next four years poking and prodding at Lily’s very secure sexuality, then Lily would never have found herself repeating the whispered phrase in her mind,

Please don’t let me fancy girls. Please, please don’t let me fancy girls.

***

On one unusually warm and breezy day in March, Professor Slughorn called for Lily to stay behind for a moment after Potions. She waved on her friends, promising to meet them at the Great Hall later for lunch, and happily made her way to the front of the classroom.

“Miss Evans!” boomed Slughorn. “I had a favor to ask of you if you’d be up to it.”

“Of course,” she said. The Potions Professor had always been one of her biggest supporters at Hogwarts and she rarely passed up an opportunity to lend a hand.

“You see, I’ve completely run out of Flobberworm Mucus and I’ve got a lesson on Sleeping Draughts for my first years this afternoon.” He checked his watch and shook his head as a group of fourth years started parading into the dungeons. “And as you can see, I’ve got classes back to back until then! My dear, would you mind running down to Pippen’s Apothecary during your lunch break? I can write you a note and let Minerva know you’ll be popping down to Hogsmead for just a moment…”

“I’d be more than happy to,” said Lily, eager to get outside and stretch her legs. The prospect of getting to see the little village outside of the usually scheduled trips thrilled her.  

“Wonderful!” said Slughorn, summoning a piece of parchment and adding his signature in a swooping, elegant script. “A tankard of mucus should do, and of course they know where to bill it to.”

Lily grabbed the note with a grin and spun on her heel to head out the door, practically skipping on her way out.

The moment she stepped outside the castle, her lungs filled with a humid air, fresh from the previous night’s rain. Puddles littered the pathways, serving as an extra reminder to enjoy the sunny weather when it managed to crash through the otherwise constant cover of clouds. With a squeal of excitement, Lily shrugged off her robes and rolled up her sleeves, letting the warm breeze wash over her skin and whip through her hair.

A rare taste of independence played on Lily’s lips, curling up the corners into a wide smile. She held onto the precious moment alone, briskly walking towards the village as she imagined what life outside of Hogwarts had in store for her. Adulthood approached as quickly as the little shops and bustling pathways of Hogsmeade Village, and soon she reached her destination.

Faint, tinkling bells announced Lily’s arrival as she stepped through the front door of Pippen’s Apothecary. Sunlight poured through the large front windows, soaking the rows of shelves with a golden glow. Bundles of herbs, jars of multi-colored liquids, and barrels of crystals lined the shop’s walls and overflowed into its hallways. And towards the front of the store, a knobly old man in a well-worn cloak stroked a mewing black cat with round, yellow eyes.

“Welcome to Pippens,” he smiled. “It’s not a Hogwarts weekend, is it?”

Lily ignored the disappointed pang of being recognized as a student and approached the front counter. “No, sir, it’s a tuesday,” she said. “I’ve just been sent by Professor Slughorn to pick up a tankard of Flobberworm Mucus.”

“Ah, of course,” said the man, squinting down at Lily’s note. “Old Horace runs through that mucus faster than a unicorn during a solar eclipse.”

She let the unfamiliar metaphor fall to the side with a chuckle and watched the shopkeeper shuffle back into his storage closet. The cat nudged Lily’s arm with a soft meow, unflinching towards the clanking and bumping sounds of the man pouring a thick liquid into a pint-sized container.

“I’ve put Horace’s invoice in the bag here,” said the man, handing over a canvas tote with the mucus lovingly wrapped up inside. “He knows where to find me!”

Lily thanked him with and grin and gave the cat another scratch behind the ears before turning to leave.

“Now you didn’t hear this from me,” called the man as Lily was halfway out the door, “but Fortescue’s brought his ice cream cart out for the first warm day of the year, and I hear he’s handing out free samples.” He sent a cheery wink in her direction.

“Oh, thank you, sir!” Lily beamed and she waved goodbye.

Ice cream sounded lovely.

The cart wasn’t hard to find, as a small crowd of villagers had lined up to take advantage of Fortescue’s deal. The giddiness of being surrounded by adults in the real world fluttered back as Lily queued with other shopkeeps on their lunch breaks and locals enjoying an afternoon on the streets. When it came her turn to order, she received a generous sample of the mint chocolate chip and a sweet smile from Florean Fortescue himself.

She couldn’t dream up a more perfect afternoon. Lily walked slowly through the streets of Hogsmead, determined to drink in as much of the gorgeous day as possible. The trees, just starting to bud, swayed back and forth rhythmically, and the grass, freshly watered, still smelled like a new morning’s dew. She watched the witches and wizards stroll down the pathways. A short man with a top hat chased after a yappy dog while a large wizard peered down at his comically small pocket watch, and on a bench across the street from where she stood, two witches took turns sharing an ice cream cone.

Lily’s heart skipped a beat as her eyes locked onto the women sitting together on the bench. They looked to be in their late twenties or possibly early thirties. Both wore fashionable cloaks with trendy hairstyles and one of the women was reading a well-loved book in between licks of chocolate ice cream, her feet propped up on the bench, and her shoulder leaning against the other woman. A warmth flooded Lily’s chest as her heartrate quickened watching the pair, shocked by how lovely she found the simple scene.

Lily watched as the reading witch, not taking her eyes from her book, angled her head to ask for another bite of ice cream, but instead of bringing the cone to her lips as she had done before, the other woman surprised her with a quick kiss. The overwhelming flood of emotions burst from Lily’s chest in a gasp.

She wanted what she saw before her. She wanted the lazy afternoon sitting on a bench, curled up with a book and an ice cream cone and a girl to lean against.  

Her mind raced with thoughts crashing to the ground with such force that their echos reverberated through her entire body, making her knees week and hands tremble. Every blurry idea in her head racked into focus, each half formulated sentence allowed itself to be completed with an exclamation point. Lily stared ahead at the bench where the possibilities of her future blew open like a firework spreading across the night sky.

After what felt like ages of watching the two witches, Lily finally peeled her gaze away and forced herself to make her way back to Hogwarts. Every step felt like walking on clouds as she practically floated up the road towards the castle. That is until she came face to face with another girl wearing a school uniform and a stupidly happy grin on her face.

“Potter?”

“Evans?”

Jamie had appeared in front of her out of thin air.

“What are you doing at Hogsmeade?” asked Lily, praying her shaking voice wasn’t too obvious. She hadn’t been prepared to see Jamie while her emotions were this heightened. The pounding of her heart beat into her eardrums and threatened to leap out her throat. Jamie wore her usual crooked smile, so effortless on her soft features, mirrored perfectly in those mischievous hazel eyes.

“I could ask you the same question,” said Jamie, cocking an eyebrow. That feeling of anger Lily associated with Potter and her teasing bubbled up to the surface. But it wasn’t anger she felt. It was fear. A deep fear of how Jamie’s playful jokes made her stomach flutter and her cheeks blush. And now that Lily’s image of herself grew clearer in her mind’s eye with every passing moment, she no longer had the capacity to bottle up and explain away the fear she felt when looking at Jamie Potter, who had always made her feel this way.

Feeling so desperately alive, she had to do something.

“I’m running an errand for Professor Slughorn,” she said calmly, “but I can assume you don’t have an excuse to be outside the castle.”

“Ah, you caught me, Evans,” said Jamie with a chuckle. “Look, I was just popping down to Honeydukes to pick Remus up his favorite chocolate bars. I could’ve taken the tunnel- and I probably should’ve considering our little run-in here- but it’s such a lovely day that I said screw it and walked the path instead.” She shrugged her shoulders, not looking too disappointed about being discovered.

Lily narrowed her eyes and put all of her efforts into provoking Jamie. “Well, maybe I should just say screw it and give you a month's worth of detentions, Potter.”

It worked. Jamie’s eyes widened like saucers and her smirk grew into a proper grin. “Oh, Evans, stop that, you’re making me blush! Merlin, what I would do if you ever switched your fancies.”

Jamie had walked right into her trap. With a deep breath and a pointed stare, trying to convey every feeling exploding through her body, Lily responded, “What would you do?”

Jamie froze, clearly never expecting a reply to the scenario she so often suggested.

Lily ignored the flush spreading across her face and continued. “What would you do if I told you I fancied girls. If I fancied you. ” Her heart thudded so painfully against her chest, she thought she might be sick.

Jamie stood slackjawed, not breaking eye contact, like a deer in headlights. The girl who always had a quick comeback or a smart retort for every situation had been rendered speechless. The painful reality that Jamie’s previous words had no intent of action behind them crashed over Lily like a wave breaking in the middle of an ocean storm. And now the drops of saltwater spilled over, stinging the corners of her eyes.

“Enjoy your time in the village, Potter,” she said softly as she turned away from Jaimie, escaping the nightmare as quickly as possible.

The ground, which had felt weightless only a moment ago, became hard and cruel under her feet as she trudged back up the path to the castle. How could she be so stupid? Why did she allow her bursting adrenalin to make her do something so reckless?

“Evans!” Jamie shouted from behind, but Lily wouldn’t turn around, couldn’t let Potter see the tears welling in her eyes. “Lily, wait!”

A hand clutched Lily’s wrist and tugged back hard, spinning her whole body around in a flash. Two gentle palms grasped the side of her head and cupped her cheek while hazel eyes bore into her own. Jamie Potter’s face was inches from her own, dazed and flustered and looking for a clue.

Lily responded instinctually with the only clue Jamie needed. A laughing smile of uncontainable joy.

Jamie crashed forward, meeting Lily’s lips in an exhilarating kiss that set her nerve endings on fire. Soft and firm, the years of pent up emotion spilled between their mouths and hands and bodies as they drew closer to one another. Lily ran her fingers through Jamie’s wonderful hair and bumped her adorable wire-rimmed glasses with her nose. She never could have known how good this would feel.

When they finally came up for air, Jamie’s face glowed with shock and happiness under the sunlight, her cheeks flushed and eyes unbelieving. Lily couldn’t help but pull her into a tight embrace and commit the feeling of her to memory, never wanting to live in the dark ever again.

“Hey, Jamie?” Lily asked into the girl’s shoulder. “Do you want to go get ice cream with me?”

Jamie tightened the hug, nearly suffocating Lily in the best possible way. “Oh, Evans, what I would do to get ice cream with you.”

[witchyfictional]

Week 9 (SPRING 9/13)

Professional Log of Harper Tobin, Journeyman Witch

Patient #1: Yolanda Harrison, antique dealer

Ailment: Dragon Sickness [senses*] [wound*] (T4) The shop has been getting extremely cluttered lately, as poor Yolanda now refuses to sell any items at all, instead keeping them all for herself.

Recommend: A hearty dose of Come-To Brew

Patient #2: A stray cat my brother Edhaas brought home to Nana Dorea last week. She named him Muffins.

Ailment: Restless Bones [magic**] [bones*] The poor thing must have come across a bad miasma in a dungeon somewhere to catch this kind of curse - its skeleton has come alive inside its little body and is (ineffectually) trying to escape. Not as deadly as it sounds like it could be, but very uncomfortable.

Recommend: Coldrust to dispel the magic, Hermit Snail shells to soothe the bones

Field Notes:

My most immediate task was finding some Coffee Caps for Yolanda, as it’s always dangerous to leave the Dragon-Sickened unattended with your possessions for very long. It was a harrowing forage this time around...full of mishaps, even as short as it was.

First I had to forge a rather feisty river and lost my footing, falling straight into the arms of its resident naiad. So embarrassing. She was one of the most beautiful women I have ever laid eyes on, although she seemed flustered by my lack of coordination. I introduced myself and apologised profusely as she helped me back to shore. She told me her name is Nelofar, but that I could call her Nel if I liked. She was keen on conversation, and we spoke for a little while, but in time I had to explain my search to her and say my goodbyes. She seemed shy, but almost flirtatious? I don’t want to assume, but I think we hit it off. It’s really a shame that I had to move on in such a hurry. I wonder if I’ll see her again.

Soon after, I was fortunate to find what I was looking for - and yet, not so fortunate, as the mushrooms I was picking were probably growing in a fairy ring that I was too occupied to notice. I say this because halfway through my harvest I fell into a familiar fever and lost my footing again, blacking out to the sound of whispers in the strange and beautiful language I’ve only heard once before. I awoke just outside of town in another fairy ring - although, thankfully, still holding onto my Coffee Caps.

I was able to serve Yolanda her Come-To Brew in good time, despite everything, and she perked right out of her fixation. She even complimented me on the taste. She suggested I could start selling this concoction for purely recreational purposes as well, but I don’t think it would work out. It’s far too expensive to make.

Paid: 28 silver

My next destination was Hero’s Hollow to replenish the ingredients for Muffins’ remedy (I have them in the storeroom but it’s always good to keep stocked). Again, my trip was full of mixed luck. The very first thing I did was step into an acid trap and get badly burned, and I had to go right home again to heal myself. Of course then it felt like a challenge, and my stubbornness compelled me to return and try again.

This time I found the Coldrust I needed on a suit of armor in the old ruined library, and was able to gather Hermit Snail shells along the path outside of Rufus’ little dungeon shop. He asked if I was there to buy today, but I told him I’d better not. I wanted to see if I could gather a little more Vampire Venom on my way out. Sadly, all I did next was fall into yet another trap. I had to go home with a good deal less blood and no painkillers at all, neither for me or for Bàs Bàta.

I don’t know what I’ve done to bring this upon myself. Maybe that weird “Orendal” box I found in the lake was cursed.

“Chillixir Mix”

Crush Hermit Snail shells into a fine powder

Crush Coldrust & mix together with the shell dust

Dissolve powder into any beverage

End result will be cold & refreshing without the need for ice

Paid: 60 silver When my raven returned I saw that Nana Dorea passed along double payment as compensation for the burden of extra duties, which I’m certainly not going to refuse, especially if this is going to be the norm. I was already nearly regretting the new arrangement, after everything, but this might make just it all worth it.

Additional Notes:

I bought a sickle in town for 70 silver in hopes of improving my foraging a bit on bad-luck days. I also went and paid a visit to the Lunar Tower, in case the problem was that my equipment needed purification. After that I felt a little bit better, and I eventually managed to get up the gumption to head out to Hero’s Hollow again.

Already my luck was much better this time around, as I was able to get a good dose of Vamp Venom within the first few hours or so of the expedition. I was also startled by the sight of a wooden chest walking around and sniffing things as I rounded the corner. It seems to be a mimic, I assume - I know of them but this is the first time I’ve ever seen one in person - and it was very friendly. It shuffled right up to me and allowed me to give it a few pats. It seemed hungry, but when I offered some of my trail rations it was utterly disinterested, and it eventually wandered off. I wish I’d had something else to give it.

Further down the corridor I accidentally stepped on a skeleton again - why do they insist on sleeping in the middle of the floor? - and as his loud, droning complaints filled my ears I recognized the voice as the same one I’d stepped on last time. I called him out and asked where the helmet was that I’d given him, and his whining quieted instantly into a mutter as he told me he’d lost it. I asked his name (it’s Paul), then explained to him at length why it was a bad idea for him to sleep sprawled across the middle of a corridor if he didn’t want to get stepped on, and this time I think I might have gotten through to him. At least he was tired enough of my lecturing to agree and move along somewhere else.

When I accidentally entered the puzzle room, it was filled with mirrors, and it waylaid me for a long while as I tried to find my way out. The upside is that I discovered a vampire taking a nap in one corner - it seems it was lying in wait for a victim and dozed off. Taking my chance, I extracted a second dose of venom before taking my leave and heading back home.

OOC: Rep – 14 [Intermediate] Silver – 54 Tools – basics / coracle / sickle (+2 foraging points) Familiar skill – Hunter (-3 Animal reagent rarity) Golem Helper: getting settled

Upgrades: – Garden plot (x1; Surgeon Sap) – Raven Loft (take 2 jobs; if both on time, x2 pay for second draw)

Surplus reagents: ** Surgeon Sap [wound] [burn] [+1s]  — (freely available) *** Amethyst Antlers [magic] [curse] [mood] — (x1) ~Candy Rock [+4s] — (x1) * Coldrust [hot] [magic] — (x1) * Deep Reed [ear] [blood] [stomach] — (x1) ** Dentist Crabs [teeth] [mouth] [lungs] [infection] — (x1) ** Foot Fungus [burn] [boils] [rash] [+2p] — (x1) *** Fossil Fish [time] [magic] — (x1) * Gas Weed [lungs] — (x1) *** Ghost Goo [spirit] [curse] — (x1) ** Glittersnow [curse] [magic] — (x1) * Hermit Snails [wound] [bones] — (x1) *** Innocent’s Suffering [pain] [sleep] [nerves] [wound] — (x1) ! *** Jumpkin [stomach] [cold] — (x1) ** Mermaid’s Gift [hair] [+1p] — (x1) ** Milkstone [teeth] [pain] — (x1) *** Moon Moss [blood] [curse] — (x1) ** Princess Toad [wart] [rash] [mood] — (x1) * Scramble Bramble [mood] [senses] [+1p] — (x1) ** Shockfish [nerves] [pain] [boils] — (x2) * Silverleaf [infection] [rash] — (x1) * Skullcap [poison] [pain] — (x1) ** Slime Shells [parasite] [infection] [blood] — (x10) *** Vampire Venom [curse] [pain] [mood] — (x6) *** Wigfish [mood] [sleep] [hair] — (x2)

[thecasperanfamily]

Ficlet with Archie getting into a fight with the neighbour's dog to protect Bebe Lin?

The gratingly cheerful ringing of the doorbell slammed into Douxie’s ears and bounced around in his skull like a hyperactive gnome. He snorted as his head jerked up off of his pillow, crusty eyes blinking owlishly against the morning light. He pawed at his nightstand for his phone. 9:14 am. He groaned as he dropped the device back onto the nightstand.

“No civilized human being should be going around banging down doors at this ungodly hour...” he grumbled, pulling himself out of bed and heading for the front door with all the grace and energy of a zombie emerging from its tomb. He quickly changed his mind on the matter when he discovered that the person banging down his door was Claire Nuñez, and that she was holding a casserole dish.

“Hi, Teach!” she beamed. “Sorry, it’s a little early. Jim and I were going to have brunch in the park, and since your place is kind of on my way, I thought I’d drop off these enchiladas. Mama and I made them for you. Figured you probably don’t have much time to cook with a baby around.” It was at this point that she finally noticed his disheveled appearance. “...Did I wake you up?”

“No, no, I’ve been up for hours!” Douxie lied. “Come on in.” He stepped aside to let her in, and took the dish from her. The brightly-patterned kitchen towel wrapped around it did very little to conceal the heavenly smell of its contents. “...You’re an angel, Ms. Nuñez,” he sighed. “And your mum, too. I’ve just recently discovered a man can only subsist on frozen lasagna alone for so long before he starts losing his sense of taste.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised it took you this long,” Claire replied, settling down on the sofa while Douxie took the enchiladas to the kitchen.

“Can I get you anything?” he called. “I was just going to brew myself a cuppa.”

“Tea would be great, thank you. I won’t stay too long. I just wanted to check on you.”

“Probably wise,” Douxie admitted. There were a few minutes of comfortable silence as the wizard bustled about, bringing the water to a boil and setting up the tea tray. He brought it out to the living room and, after shoving a plush toy off of the coffee table with his foot, set the tray down with a flourish. He then immediately collapsed into the nearest armchair, thoroughly exhausted.

“It’s been a week now,” Claire began, politely ignoring the way Douxie was gulping his tea like his life depended on it. “How’s everything going with Samuel?”

“So far so good,” he answered, emerging from his cup with a sigh of relief. “We’ve taken to calling him Little Merlin--Zoe made us shorten it to Lin. He was uneasy the first few days, but he seems happy now.”

“What about his powers?”

“Highly unusual, to be sure,” Douxie mused, staring into his teacup thoughtfully. “But nothing dangerous so far. I can understand why his fosters were scared, though. It’s unsettling even for me. I’ve never heard of magic surfacing at such a young age, and when he’s upset, it’s like the whole room goes cold all of a sudden.”

“Where is he now?”

Douxie choked on his tea and bolted out of his chair. “Oh gods I don’t even know--!”

“He is with Archie in my garden,” a soft voice interrupted. Nari had evidently crept inside while they were conversing, and was now helping herself to one of the biscuits on the tray. She gave Claire a polite nod while Douxie fell back into his chair with a groan. “He awoke quite early this morning. Archie and I thought it would be best if we looked after him, since you were up so late last night.”

“Archie knows how to babysit?” Claire put in.

“Surprisingly, yes,” Douxie answered. “I mean, he did practically raise me, but I wasn’t expecting him to take to a baby this much. I can hardly tear him away from Lin’s side.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet, though!” Claire gushed. “I mean, I never would have guessed--” She stopped short, distracted by a movement outside the front window. Douxie looked up from the biscuit he was dunking and followed her line of sight. A cloud of golden-brown fluff was shuffling around the front yard, nose to the ground and tail swishing happily from side to side.

“Oh, that’s Cooper, the neighbor’s dog. He keeps getting out of his yard, but nobody really minds because he’s the sweetest thing on four legs. No offense to Archie.”

“He has a gentle soul,” Nari agreed, brushing biscuit crumbs off of her shirt. “I have spoken to him a few times. He reminds me quite a bit of Douxie. They have similar values.” She smiled coyly at the sound of Douxie’s indignant sputter.

“Yeah, I can see the resemblance,” Claire snickered. Cooper went out of sight around the side of the house, and the conversation resumed. “Do you have any potential guardians for Lin in mind, or are you still looking?”

“I have one or two old wizarding friends I can try,” Douxie said. “But getting their current contact information is a bit of a hassle. And anyways, right now I think the most important thing is figuring out exactly what Lin is and why his magic is manifesting like this. I was thinking about calling Blinky, ask him if he’s read anything about--” The discussion was once again stopped short, this time by ruckus coming from the back yard--a cacophony of plaintive yelps and draconic snarls. Douxie, Nari, and Claire all bolted out of their seats and raced for the back door. Douxie wrenched it open and dove outside, magic already gathering in his palms, only to find Lin sitting perfectly safe in a patch of clover, looking very confused but otherwise unharmed.

Archie, on the other hand, was about as far from calm as Douxie had ever seen him. His back was arched, spines standing up straight and sharp, the fur on his tail puffed out like a bottlebrush. He was glaring daggers at Cooper, who was curled against the back of the house, quivering and whimpering and rubbing at his snout with one of his paws.

“Archie, what the hell?!” Douxie burst out, trying to scoop his Familiar up before he caused any more damage.

“Unhand me at once!” the cat-dragon yowled. “If it wasn’t for me, your human kitten would have been swallowed by this brute!”

“He's a golden retriever, Arch! The only things he wants to swallow are dog treats and tennis balls!” Douxie shouted, struggling to hold the writhing mass of black fur and scales in his arms. Lin, obviously upset by the commotion, started to cry. Claire inhaled sharply. Douxie hadn't been exaggerating. She could feel the weight of Lin’s unease pressing down on her. Nari slipped around Douxie and approached Cooper, taking his face between her hands and whispering words of healing and reassurance. Archie finally stopped flailing and settled for simply glaring at the dog while hanging upside-down in Douxie’s grasp. Lin, becoming more upset the longer he was ignored, wailed all the louder.

“Claire, could you--?” Douxie grunted, unwilling to risk setting Archie down.

“Yeah, I got him.” The young witch scooped Lin up in her arms and bounced him gently. He settled down almost at once, staring up at Claire with large, curious eyes. “Hi there, Lin,” she cooed. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“As far as first meetings go, I feel like that could’ve been a bit smoother,” Douxie grumbled. Archie kicked him in the chin with his back paw.

“Cooper did not suffer any grave injuries, but he does wish to go home now,” Nari reported.

“Good. And don’t come back,” Archie snarled.

“Your instincts are admirable, Archie, but they are misplaced,” Nari replied as she coaxed Cooper away from the wall and ushered him on his way. He eyed Archie for a moment, then bolted away, tail tucked between his legs.

“Better to be safe than sorry,” the Familiar spat. “You can’t trust dogs.”

“Arch, we haven’t been chased by any dogs since the 1910s,” Douxie groaned. “You need to lighten up.”

“...Fine. Now put me down.” Douxie dropped him unceremoniously, and he landed on the grass with a draconic snort. He shifted back into his feline form and curled around Claire’s legs, beaming up at the baby in her arms proudly. A very long and awkward silence followed.

“Uh...” Claire glanced nervously between Archie, Lin, and Douxie, before finally landing on Nari, who gave her an encouraging nod. “...A-anybody want some enchiladas?”

Thanks so much for reading! ✨