i. jeongguk got yoongi this necklace - these earrings. twisted bits of silver and flecks of gold. burned his fingers making them. he went to jimin, for help; jimin suggested it, and threatened to squeeze his soul ‘til he fucking squealed if he told yoongi he’d helped out, at all. and, like. guk considered pointing out that he technically, kind of, didn’t have a soul, not a real one, but there was this look in jimin’s eyes and this energy in his fingers, resting real careful on the table, that made him change his mind. he was - human, or something like it, now. jimin could rip whatever substitute for a soul he had out his ass and there was, literally, nothing he could do about it - he could probably shove a soul into jeongguk, just to... to squeeze it. make him squirm. didn’t sound painful, necessarily, but weird, and invasive, a little sadistic, and not exactly in the way he liked.
(but, still, obviously. it was kind of - hot. in its own way. all that power, the helplessness, and jeongguk just files that away for later.)
ii. yoongi likes the pendant on his skin. a silvery circle of heat, tossed over his shoulder when he’s casting, brewing, working; it lies flat between his shoulder blades, gleaming.
yoongi: crouched over something dark and bloody, mumbling in French and Creole, and some guttural, grinding demonic dialect jeongguk whispers to him to let him sleep. uses it to ground him, stay whole when he’s giving away half of what he is to a spell
tucking his hair behind his ears, streaking red through white-blonde.
(”so much magick in one body,” jimin’d told him, “is bad for it. you should’ve started casting - making magick - years ago. a millenia ago.” / “i’m not a millenia old.” / “not the point.” the way jimin had looked at him - marvelling, hating, pitying. “yoongi, it’s a fucking wonder you’re still alive. white hair ... that’s the least of it. gods. you got lucky.”)
iii. there is an apocalypse, and it’s for them, only. the witches, the shamans; from across the way: the diviners of nigeria, the ifá. the followers of vodou, and the kitsune tsuaki. vampires, weres, hybrids and fae, the halflings, the dragon-born, the pixie-bred;
outside, in the world yoongi’s forgetting and remembering over and over, things go on. here, they fall apart. crumbling rot, got everything good, everything they hold dear and close, in the gut.
yoongi licks a little blood off his knuckle, turns up the radio, and keeps driving. him, guk - they’re in trouble, and they’ve got places to be.