#There technically isn't a way for her to Get There without knowing Exactly Where He Is unless he calls upon/summons Clara

[the-draconic-momther]

The adult one

Kidnapped

"Oh dear - that's not good- hm..."

*Clara is clearly upset by this, frowning while she thinks about what to do.*

[catoslvt]

Ben Hargreeves x Reader

I would've married you if you'd stuck around🐙

sorta s4 spoilers? but nobody takes the Marigold and lived their life.

plus I'm changing things because... yeah.

I walk into the birthday party for little Grace, who is one of Diego and Lila's children with her birthday present in my hand. It's just a silly child's keyboard because what the fuck do you get a six year old?

I make my way through the swarm of running and screaming children, the part of me that never grew up hurting because that's the childhood I always wished to have, yknow, running about, screaming my head off with all my friends but no, at the age of six I was learning how to disarm gunmen and learning how to control my powers.

God my life has gotten so much better without them.

Once I'm out the swarm of children, my eyes instantly fall on Sloane, Luther, and Ben, and I feel a slight shiver go down my spine at the sight of ben, I mean it's weird to think he has the face of the boy I used to love when we were like thirteen, but he's not the boy I love, I think anyway, I mean okay I sorta have feelings for this Ben, but I don't want him to think it's because he has the face of my old Ben, its confusing isn't it?

"y/n hi!" Sloane exclaims, waving me over with her hands, and I put on a wide smile as I make my way over to her, setting my present for Grace on the table beside her before she wraps me into a tight hug, which I return with an awkward laugh.

"I heard you're a firefighter now? that's sick." I say, turning to Luther with a smile and he just nods.

"we brought the Umbrella Academy, we're currently renovating it, I'd love for you to come stay some time." He tells me, and I widen my eyes, pretending to be interested as I make small 'oo' noises.

I hate when our family gather together, I mean Luther is married with a child, Diego is married with kids, I don't know what the fuck is going on with Allison, weve hardly spoken since we got to this time line and its not exactly that i dont want to talk to her, i just dont know what id say, Klaus doesn't need love, Five is technically married to a piece of plastic, Ben's just out of prison, Viktor has basically dated every girl in his town and I'm just.. there, I end up feeling extremely left out at the family gatherings when they start talking about issues with their kids or relationship problems because the only relationship problem was the fact Ben died on me.

"How was prison?" I ask ben, my eyes lighting up slightly as I turn to face him, all my attention now on him.

"I can't exactly say I enjoyed it." He tells me, raising a bottle of beer to his lips and taking a sip, and I just know his parole officer is gonna be pissed so I just let out a quiet laugh.

"So where are you staying then? I can't imagine your parole officer would let you live far." I then go onto ask, and he groans slightly, pointing at Luther and Sloane who are now talking to Diego.

"but I'm seriously debating robbing a bank just to get thrown back in." He then adds, looking around and I can't help but laugh a little louder.

"You're staying with them?" I scoff, turning to look at him with raised eyebrows.

"hardly by choice, I just needed a permanent address." He sighs, and I laugh again.

"Fresh out prison, and you're gonna be turned into a painter, electrician, plumber and babysitter. good luck." I tell him and he lets out a small chuckle before taking another drink from his beer.

"How have you been then?" Ben asks, and I shrug slightly.

"I mean, yeah, I've been.. living." I answer with a laugh, and he nods in agreement.

"Why don't we go get you a drink, we can sit at a table at the very back, and you can let it all out." He offers and I rapidly nod.

I sit at the table with Ben, taking a small sip from my beer before clearing my throat.

"I'm a child psychologist now." I tell him, and he nods slightly.

"I mean, it just felt right, yknow? I want to help kids so they don't end up with a childhood that we had. Well, I mean, without the powers, the robotic mom, the alien dad, you get what I mean." I tell him with a small wave of my hand, and he continues to nod, a small smile on his face.

"I get it." He tells me, and we both fall into a comfortable silence before he breaks it right as I take a mouthful of beer.

"don't you miss your powers?"

that question almost makes me spit my beer everywhere, my eyes widening as I stare at him.

"God, no, I don't miss them in this time line Nobody knows who I am, nobody takes a double take or gawks at me waiting to see my powers in use, I can be whatever I want to be in this timeline and I plan on using that to my hearts content." I tell him, and he just looks at me.

"You don't miss them? not even a little bit?" He asks, and I shake my head, which causes him to shrug slightly.

"I miss my powers, I feel.. ordinary without them." He tells me, and I furrow my eyebrows slightly.

"No offence, but I'm glad you don't have your powers. You died because of them in my original timeline, and it's good to see what my ben would've looked like grown up." I tell him, and he gives me a sad smile before we fall quiet yet again.

"and i think it's good to feel ordinary, I spent my whole childhood wanting to be normal to fit in, and now I do." I then add, and he scoffs.

"There's nothing ordinary about us y/n. Apart from the Umbrella Academy and the Sparrow Academy, nobody in the world has gone through even a fraction of what we have, and you've technically went through more than me because the Umbrellas ended the world in 2019, just to then go and do it again back in the 60s, to come back for it to end in 2019 again.." Ben says, and I just scoff, but I can't help but laugh and nod.

"and both times was technically Viktors fault." I argue, and we both smile before Five appears from under a slide somewhere and nods, a bottle of beer in his hand.

"it was Viktors fault both times. Actually, she's not making that up." He tells ben as he makes his way over to our table, dragging a chair along behind him, and ben just raised his eyebrows slightly, clearly pissed off our conversation had been distributed by Five, who still looks like a kid.

"Well, isn't this just a sad table of losers who feel out of place at their nieces birthday party with all the married couples and kids." Five says as he sits his beer down on our table with a large clink.

"I don't feel out of place, I could easily find someone I could marry and have kids with. you couldn't because you look like you're 18." I argue, and five leans back in his seat and crosses his arms slightly, mouthing ben so subtly so that ben can't see.

"Wait, y/n, did you ever even move on after your ben died?" My other Ben asks, and I look at him, my eyes wide as I try to muster an answer.

I try to muster up and answer, but none suitable come to my mind because the truth is I didn't even try to move on, I felt like there was no point, my whole childhood my heart was set on the fact that I'd be marrying Ben, I wanted to at the time despite how young we were and the fact we didn't fully understand the whole concept of marrige and he said he wanted to aswell. when he died I just blamed myself, I thought it was my fault he had died and I convinced myself everyone I love will die because of me, as a sort of reminder that my powers were a curse. obviously, that fact was proven false because my powers are gone. but even now, I'm still cautious to open myself back up to love, but when I'm with this ben, I feel myself slowly opening up again.

"I tried, but nobody stuck around." I lie, and Five shoots me a knowing glare, and Ben just nods, yet another comfortable silence falling over us as I take a large drink from my beer, staring down at my hands before Five starts a conversation with Ben and I can't help but sigh a sigh of relief.

somehow, Luther and Sloane have convinced me to come to theirs to stay the night.

"I think it'll have beneficial effects on releasing your childhood trauma y/n." Luther tells me as I sit in the back of his car, ben at the other side as sloane sits in the front and stares out the window.

"I'm the child psychologist Luther. You just stick to putting out fires." I state, crossing my arms slightly as I stare out the car window, watching the world go by the single frame of glass, trying to hide my smile as I hear Ben laugh at my comment.

"Do you ever sit and look at people and just laugh to yourself because you've saved their asses from the end of the world three times now?" I ask to Luther mainly due to the fact the Sparrow Academy have only had to save the world once, which ended up in all but two of them dying and he just shrugs as he continues to drive.

"Imagine how Viktor feels, knowing he almost killed them twice." Ben says, and that causes me to laugh, slapping a hand over my mouth as I try to stop it.

"That's nasty! the first time wasn't fully his fault. He just discovered his powers and didn't know how to stop them." I tell him, leaning over to gently slap his arm, but I'm still laughing.

"Plus, it's also semi Luther fault for locking him in this weird, safe thing." I add, and Luther groans, muttering something under his breath, leaving me to smile proudly.

"Let's just sit in silence till we get home." Luther suggests, and nobody says a single word to protest and I guess it would be sorta rude if I did seeing as I'm staying at his house tonight.

I sit in my old room, looking around at how empty it is because the Umbrella Academy doesn't exist in this timeline, meaning this room is just a room where I just so happened to share all of my good childhood memories, or atleast the handful I can call good.

"Why would you actually agree to come back here?" Ben asks with a laugh as he stands at the doorframe, staring down at me with questioning eyes.

"I think it's actually partly to do with what Luther said, I think it's good for myself to come see the place and realise that everything that happened back in my time line is just memories now, I dont know I guess I'm trying to give myself some closure." I answer with a shrug as ben walks further into the room, now sitting beside me on the bed.

"What were we like? in your timeline anyway?" ben asks, and I feel my heart stop for a second as I look at him for a brief moment.

"Really young but you -" I cut myself off. Is it wrong to address this ben as my Ben? because it is the same person, but it's not at the same time.

"we understood each other, he- *you* were one of the only people at the Umbrella Academy who showed me love despite our age. if we were doing paired work, we'd always be together, at meals we'd always pass notes, during training we always went easy on each other, during missions we always had a close eye on each other, we'd always spend time in my room. yeah, we were really young, but we still loved each other." I tell him, and he just looks at me, a sad smile on his face.

"we were convinced we were gonna get married, and in all honesty, I would've married you if you stuck around." I then add, looking away as I get an unbearable feeling of sadness.

"I would've married you if you came to the Sparrow Academy timeline earlier." Ben tells me, and I almost choke on my spit as I look at him, my eyes wide.

"What?" I ask, shaking my head slightly.

"I felt myself changing slightly the minute I looked at you when our academies met, but I was too.." He trails off trying to find the words.

"stuck up? full of yourself?" I begin listing and he rolls his eyes but he smiles slightly.

"Yeah, yeah, I was too stuck up to actually allow myself to change for you, and also, I was too scared because I know im nothing like your ben so I didn't want to cause a disappointment as though you lost him again." Ben admits, and I just stare at him.

"Ben, you are my ben." I state, my eyes not leaving his face, not even when his eyes light up slightly, not even when he turns to look at me.

"I didn't want to tell you in case you thought I'm just using you because of what happened with Umbrella Ben, but I promise you that is not the case. You are my ben." I then add, and I see his eyes softening as a small smile appears on the edge of his lips.

"so it's safe to say we like each other then?" He asks after a moment of us just staring at each other.

"I guess so." I jokingly groan, but I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into a hug, just savouring the feeling of ben in my arms, my ben as one of his arms wrap around my waist, the other one coming up to reach into my hair, pressing the back of my head closer into him.

"I can't believe you went to prison, you asshole! I was gonna tell you I had feelings for you once we all settled into the new timeline, and then you went to prison."I scoff, and he pulls away from the embrace slightly and looks at me.

"You could've always written a letter or something." He tells me, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I would've been better using a carrier pigeon. No chance was I gonna have a prison pen pal." I scoff, rolling my eyes, but I did write, and then I wrote again, and again, and guess what? I wrote again.

"I did write to you, over and over again, I just never had the courage to send them, because imagine you got one of the letters, wrote back but it didn't send to me?" I ask, a shiver going down my spine at the thought of never knowing if he felt the same way.

"Well, I would've rewrote the same letter every day and sent it to you until you got it." Ben says, a slight hint of promise in his words, and with that, I press a kiss to his lips, and he instantly returns it, his hand on my waist tightening, gently pushing my head closer to his as he depends the kiss and we continue in our kissing embrace got a few moments, before we hear a:

"When I said coming here would help to release your childhood trauma, I didn't mean by doing.. this." Luther says, and I just pull away laughing.

[ashwhowrites]

Hey, if you hadn't already done something like this, I was wondering if you'll write Eddie x Popular!Henderson!R, where they're sneaking around behind Dustin's back.... 1. Because Dustin looks up to him and they're friends and 2. She's not ready to let everyone know just yet (wanting to live in ignorant bliss just a little while longer before she falls under scrutiny for falling for "the freak").

And so, when one of her friends decides to hook her up on a date, she can't exactly refuse, so she goes along with it to shut her up, without letting Eddie know, of course. And during a game of dnd, Dustin let's it slip where you are for the night, unknowingly sending Eddie into a spiral, thinking she's cheating and that's why she wants to keep them a secret and after having an internal battle, he cuts the campaign short, surprising everyone, and he crashes her date, with hellfire in toe, demanding answers. And then everyone finds out and she explains blah blah and they live happily ever after. Sorry, this was long xx

This was so fun! I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Dustin's friend

When Dustin said he found a new friend, that was yet again years older than him, Y/N wasn't too pleased. First, it was Steve, and now a guy named Eddie. But when Y/N met Eddie for the first time, she couldn't care less about the age gap between him and her brother, all that mattered was that he was around her age and single.

Eddie still wasn't sure how he managed to get Dustin's hot popular sister to go out with him. Whatever he did, he thanked god for it because having Y/N on his lap with her tongue down his throat was his heaven.

"Missed you so much," Y/N whined, her hips moving against Eddie's as she yanked off his shirt.

"Fuck, I missed you too." Eddie moaned as Y/N sucked down his chest. She left her marks to travel south until she was just above his boxers.

"MOM WANTS YOU," Dustin screamed as he pounded on Y/N's locked door.

"Damn it," Eddie sighed and hung his head.

"BE RIGHT THERE," Y/N screamed back, she sighed and stood up. She handed Eddie his shirt with a sad smile. "Sorry, Eds."

"Fuckers are giving me blue balls. Are you sure we can't tell him? Maybe he'd stop interrupting as much." Eddie glared towards the door. He stood up and threw on his jeans.

"You know I'm not ready for all of that yet." Y/N sighed.

"Fine, I'll go home and finish the old-fashioned way." Eddie joked, smirking as he walked backward to her window, his eyes on her.

"Maybe I'll come over and join you, later." She winked. She kissed Eddie goodbye and waited for him to leave. Then she went to see what her mom wanted.

~~~

Y/N knew hiding her relationship with Eddie was hard and tiring. And she felt guilty every time she had to act like Eddie wasn't everything to her. But she was scared. She was scared to take away Dustin's friend, worried she overstepped. She was terrified it would ruin their friendship because of the bro code. And selfishly, she was scared of the damage it would do to her social life.

"I'm telling you, he has been begging me for a date with you. You are single and have no reason to say no." Chrissy whined.

"My reason to say no is that I don't want to," Y/N said, rolling her eyes as she slammed her locker shut.

She whined when Chrissy followed.

"Like you have anything going on tomorrow night, anyway?" Chrissy argued, her eyes taunting.

Y/N technically had nothing going on tomorrow, Dustin and Eddie had hellfire so both boys were busy.

"Stop thinking of an excuse and just go. Then if you hate it, I will never set you up again." Chrissy promised.

"Deal," Now Y/N could get Chrissy off her back.

~~~

"We are kicking ass today! I wish Y/N were here to see it." Dustin cheered. Y/N had spent more time watching Hellfire since she had to pick Dustin up anyway.

"Why isn't she?" Eddie asked, he prayed it sounded casual. He read ahead on his notes to look like he didn't care too much.

"On a date." Dustin shrugged, playing his next move. No one had the table had any idea that sentence sent Eddie into a panic. Sweat on his forehead as his leg shook beneath the table.

His girlfriend was on a date, with another guy.

It all made sense, she wanted him to be a secret because she was seeing someone. Dustin knew about the guy, and he couldn't know about Eddie. Because then her secret would be exposed. Like it just was.

"Where?" Eddie snapped, his angry tone had the table looking at him in seconds.

"Enzo's," Dustin said confused.

"Get in the van," Eddie snapped as he grabbed his keys.

~

The rest of hellfire sat confused as Eddie raced to the restaurant. He was silent but gripped the wheel until his knuckles were white. The boys followed as Eddie stormed out of the van and into the restaurant.

Eddie felt a wave of heartache flood in his chest when he saw her with him with his own eyes. She looked beautiful as she talked about something he couldn't hear.

"Why are we here? Why do you care about my sister?" Dustin asked, but Eddie already was moving.

His heavy boots hit the floor hard, and his hand slammed on the table. The couple jumped and fear showed in Y/N's eyes when Eddie leaned down to her level.

Face to face, Eddie's hard breathing smacked Y/N's face. She twiddled her thumbs nervously as she saw hellfire behind him. Her brother watching with confusion.

"Eddie, what are you doing?" She said through clenched teeth, trying to keep the conversation between them.

"Demanding why the fuck my girlfriend is on a date with another guy." Eddie snapped, his eyes dark as he glared at her. She knew he had every right to be mad, but she didn't want a scene.

She stood up, and Eddie straightened up. His eyes haven't left her, not even glancing at the stranger across from her.

"Can I please explain later? In private." She whispered, her eyes looking over Eddie's shoulder as the boys watched.

"No, I'm tired of this private shit. Explain right here, right now. Or we are done." Eddie threatened. He didn't want to break up, he wished on every star above him there was a way to make this relationship work.

"Eddie please." She whispered, her watery eyes pleading for him to back off until they could talk. "Not right now in front of everyone." Eddie tried to ignore her tears, not letting himself get sucked into her guilt trap.

"Fine, forget it. I'll see you around, Henderson." Eddie said coldly as he nodded and backed off. Y/N felt frozen in her spot as Eddie went out the door.

"Y/N?" Dustin spoke up, his hand reaching towards her.

In seconds she was running out the door.

"What is going on?" the random date asked.

"Shh man," Mike said, sliding into the booth next to him. He pointed out the window, a clear view of the couple. The boys followed, all sitting in the big booth as they stared out the window.

~

"I'm sorry! I got scared but please." Y/N cried as she tugged on Eddie's arm.

"Scared because you got caught. I can't believe you could do this to me. What about all that love bullshit? This is what you do when you love someone?" Eddie argued, hot tears in his eyes.

"I do love you! Nothing between us is bullshit. Chrissy was on my back for weeks about going on a date with this guy! I never agreed until she said If I went on it, she'd never do it again! I promise you I was just trying to get her off my back. I was going to tell her I hated it and finally have peace of just being with you."

"You know what else brings peace? Finally admitting to other people that you are in love with me," Eddie said sadly, "I'm tired of being your secret. I can't keep doing it."

Y/N sobbed as she reached forward and held his face in her hands.

"I'm so sorry. I love you so much. I'll tell Dustin and everyone. Please just give me a chance to make this up to you." Y/N begged, Eddie sniffled as he looked into her eyes.

"I love you too," he smiled, and Y/N felt relief in her bones. "You took a chance on me, so I'll take the chance on you."

Y/N smiled and leaned forward, Eddie met her halfway and smashed his lips on hers. His hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer.

~

"Oh my god!" The boys all said at once, the random date was long gone.

"Eddie and my sister?"

"Dude! Eddie is banging your sister!" Mike teased

"Is he touching her ass?" Lucas gasped as he moved closer to the window

"Oh, that is so much tongue." Gareth chuckled.

"Our boy is making out with a popular girl!" Jeff cheered, high fives all around the table, except for Dustin who sat in a state of shock.

~

"YOU ARE SCREWING MY SISTER?"

Eddie and Y/N jumped as Dustin screamed.

"DUSTIN!" Y/N screamed as Dustin ran straight into Eddie and took him to the ground.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger

[whetstonefires]

Honestly the most interesting thing about the Jiang interpersonal dynamics that is being totally slept on is how Jiang Fengmian's power as head of the family affects everyone, including him.

Yu Ziyuan knows Jiang Fengmian won't use his power against her unless he feels like he needs to, and that he doesn't fear her and isn't going to feel like he needs to act in self-defense unless she attempts significant physical harm, so short of that she can do whatever she likes against him, and he won't resist.

But if the collateral damage to the kids of her verbal attacks on him goes above a certain level, he says one word and she stops.

He just goes, 'wife.' ('My lady' but it's just a polite term for wife.) Sort of disapproving. Same kind of way he talks to Jiang Cheng when he acts like a shithead, but without the subsequent attempt at an ethics lesson.

And bam. Momentum halted. That line of attack is out of bounds. Nobody likes this, but good god it works.

And because they both know he ultimately has all the power, that Yu Ziyuan's lifestyle of privacy and doing exactly as she pleases at all times and so forth is all something that exists by Jiang Fengmian's generosity and sufferance, and she hates it, and he's not comfortable with it either, he sets that boundary really high, and she gets away with all kinds of cruelty because it's all stuff she's strictly allowed to do, entitled to do. So he'd be abusing his authority over her, by constraining her right to exercise her power within normative bounds over the people she outranks.

Even if she's using it harmfully and in a way directed by spite, these are her rights, she's not technically abusing her power, and her primary target in all the episodes he actually witnesses is him who outranks her; she's not being one of those mistresses.

So he'd be overstepping if he tried to constrain her, he'd be one of those husbands. Just like she always accuses him of.

(This is why she keeps insisting that she's also the master of jiang sect and he's 'forgetting' that in contexts where it doesn't make a huge amount of sense.)

Anyway, the fact that it's impossible to unpick where Jiang Fengmian's moral principles stop and his conflict-avoidance kicks in with this relationship is so much more interesting than the weirdly sexist readings I keep seeing, where it's all the conflict-avoidance and he's an unmanly loser who lets Yu Ziyuan bully him and his kids without ever standing up to her, for no good reason. When actually they have a really interesting and fantastically realistic toxic relationship.

He has a good reason! His reason is he's uncomfortable with the patriarchy! And guilty that his wife is miserable! And that he doesn't love her correctly! So he gives way as often as he can, trying to fix it!

But it doesn't fix it, because no amount of giving in to her gives her cause to trust him, and if she doesn't trust him and she knows that if he actually cares about an issue her ability to get her way will disappear, she can't feel secure about any of it. And therefore everything, especially Wei Wuxian the symbol of that fact, makes her angry and Want To Punish.

[dragon-kazansky]

The song in our hearts

Lestat De Lioncourt x Female Reader

A musician with a heart that sings and an admirer who wishes to see his songbird thrive. Two beings in different worlds get caught up in each other when someone threatens to steal his songbird's spotlight. Loving Lestat isn't simple, and your life will never be the same again. What is eternity without chaos?

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Two - Duet

“A date? With your mystery man?” She squeals. It didn't take much to make Amelie happy, but this felt like she could burst with joy any moment.

“Yes. Well, no. It's not technically a date. He has asked me to join him in his home to play for him.”

Amelie stares at you with wide brown eyes. “At his home?”

“Yes…”

“Should I come with you? I mean, is that safe? You don't actually know this man.” Her concern grows in an instant.

“Well, I…” You didn't really think. You had been swept away in the moment, lured in by his pretty eyes and sweet words.

“You have to be careful. He could be a creep.”

You bow your head down slightly and sigh. You were a little embarrassed to admit you had pretty much rushed into it and agreed to go to some strange man's house. 

Amelie sees the expression on your face and steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Look, how about I come with you, but stay outside? If there's trouble, scream.”

You smile. “Alright. Thank you, Amelie.”

“Hey, that's what friends are for.”

Amelie walks you home that night. She makes sure you're safe inside your home before heading home herself.

The next week your performance goes pretty much the same way. However, while playing your piano, you can't spot your admirer at all in the crowd. That makes you feel a little down. You finish your performance and head back to your dressing room.

The flowers on your dressing table brightens your mood. Amelie is sitting in the stool waiting for you. She offers a small smile as you walk over and check the note in the flowers.

‘Tonight. 10pm.’

His address is written underneath. Amelie looks down at the note and then up at you. “Are you sure?”

You stare at his nice handwriting. “No… but I'm going to do it anyway.”

“Okay,” she says softly, grabbing her coat. You grab yours and take her arm as you both leave the theater. You don't tell the manager of the theater where you're both going. You know exactly what he would say.

When you reach the street Lestat lives on, both you and Amelie stop to look up at the building. It's not the kind of place you could afford, that's for sure. Lestat definitely has money.

“This guy is too good to be true,” Amelie comments. You don't reply, only look up at the balcony where you see him standing. He's watching you silently. “So, you going in?”

“Yeah.”

Amelie removes her arm from yours and watches you cross over toward the house. She remains on the other side of the road, making herself comfortable near the wall of the opposite building. You approached the gates and let yourself through.

You knock on the door and within a few moments it's opened. Lestat stands there with a smile, his eyes lit up with delight. He's wearing a suit, similar to what he had worn the previous week.

“Hello,” you greet him shyly.

Lestat grins. “Hello.” He holds his hand out, gesturing for you to enter his home. You take a step through the door and walk into the hall. Lestat closes the door behind you. You turn to your right and see the living room. 

Lestat comes up beside you. “Make yourself comfortable.”

You glance at him and then head over to the sofas, taking a seat. You keep looking around the room taking it all in. Just how much money did he have? Not that you cared for money, but Lestat was obviously proud to show off.

“You look nervous.” He takes a seat across from you and crosses one leg over the other. “Is that why your friend wants for you outside?” He chuckles.

“Uh… Well… She was just worried about me.”

“Do I make you nervous?”

You swallow thickly and then nod your head. His grin grows wide and he begins to chuckle again. He found you so amusing.

“You wanted me to play the piano for you, yes?” You ask, needing to move along the conversion. You're not sure how to feel about him staring at you the way he was.

“Yes.” Lestat stands up rather quickly and you follow him with your eyes as he walks right past you. Turning in your seat, you watch him approach a piano. You hadn't noticed it there when you came in, too occupied with him.

Lestat beckons you over. You stand and make your way over to him, putting a little distance between you both. He wears a smile, bus doesn't say anything about the distance. He simply gestures to the piano bench. You glance at it before sitting on it.

“Play me something.”

“Any requests?” You ask, feeling nervous all of a sudden. Normally having a large audience is enough to set your anxiety off, but tonight it was just him.

“Your favourite piece.”

You look at the keys and slowly hover your fingers over them. Your favourite piece. Ah yes. You know what to play.

You begin.

Lestat watches the way your hands move along the keys. He listens to the notes you grace him with. Music fills his home and for the first time in a long time he feels something stirring within him. Listening to you play was like having a spell cast over him. 

He closes his eyes and listens.l to every note. You had talent. Beautiful talent. The whole world should hear you play as far as he was concerned. 

He only reopened his eyes when he noticed you had finished. You were looking at him expectantly.

He smiles. “Perfect.”

You smile too.

“You, my dear, have talent. To hear your play is my greatest delight. I hope you never stop sharing your music.”

His words please you. Other than those in the theater, you didn't get to hear many other compliments. Lestat was new and exciting to you.

“If I may?” He gestures to the piano.

“Oh, um, yes, of course.” You go to get up but he waves his hand.

“No, remain seated. I wish to join you.” He slides onto the bench with you. 

You're hyper aware of how close he is to you as he opens a book of sheet music up and props it up on the stand. “Please allow me the honor of paying this piece with you.”

You glance at the sheet music. Your heart is racing in your chest. He wants to make music with you. His hands are hovering over the keys waiting for you to join him. You move your hands into the same position and wait for his cue. He counts down quietly in French and you both begin to follow the music sheet.

Once again the room is filled with music. Two pairs of hands dance across the keys of the piano, almost chasing each other. The thought that he is perhaps playing a game with you crosses your mind and it makes you smile.

He wanted you to feel welcome in his presence.

One of his hands crosses over yours to play a note on your side and you can't help laughing slightly. You decide to play the same game and do the same on his side. Neither of you are even looking at the sheet of music anymore. The music plays without a hitch, with you both knowing this piece by heart. It has become a moment of bonding. A moment of trust.

Lestat smiles.

When you reach for the last note his little finger on his left hand brushes along your hand. His skin was cold, but you were a little more focused on how you were feeling to take much note of anything else.

“You look flushed.”

You look up at him feeling a little shy again.

“Why don't we get comfortable over there?” He asks, standing up. He holds out his hand to you. You glance at it before accepting his hand. He helps you up and guides you over the sofas again.

You sit down and he decides to sit beside you this time. He smiles as he watches you.

“I am… enamored with your talent.”

“I am flattered, but… I also don't understand. What's so special about my music?”

Lestat leans forward slightly. “I know pure talent when I see it. You possess it so naturally.”

“Not really. I spent many hours with my piano over the years.”

“And yet it comes naturally to you now. At what point did you stop reading the music I chose?” He smiles.

You look at him with a soft expression realizing what he was saying. You supposed he was right. You didn't need sheet music. You never used any when you performed, and he had noticed.

“Watching you perform always makes my night and I want you to never stop playing.”

You can't help but stare into his eyes as he looks at you. You're lured in by his gaze, his voice, his smile.

“So, you just want me to keep on playing?” You ask.

He chuckles. “Yes, and perhaps come here again from time to time to play for me.”

You smile. “I'd like that…”

You had enjoyed your time here in his home. You still don't know much about Lestat De Lioncourt, but you hoped that might change soon.

“Wonderful.” He grins. He reaches out and lightly brushes some hair behind your ear. You can only stare at him.

“I should let you get back to your friend before she thinks something untoward has happened.” He chuckles.

You snap out of your haze. “Oh, right… Amelie…”

Lestat chuckled again and rose from his seat. “You still look flushed. Perhaps some air will do you well.”

You rise from your own seat and nod, not trusting your voice right now. Lestat guides you to the door and leans against it once it's open.

“I have enjoyed having you in my home.” He smiles.

“Me too… I mean, I have enjoyed being here.”

Lestat chuckles and looks out through the gates. He can see Amelie waiting impatiently for you. He can hear her thoughts of concern. His lips twitch as he turns back to you. “Don't be a stranger.”

You smile at him and take your leave.

Amelie meets you halfway across the road and loops her arm with yours instantly. “Well? What happened? What did you do? How did it go? Is he a creep?”

You smile softly as you look at her. “I played piano with him. It was a nice evening, and no, he is not a creep. He is… strange.”

“Strange?”

“There is something about him I can't put my finger on, but I like him. He was very nice to me.” 

Amelie can tell by your little dreamy smile that you are thinking about him. She is both concerned and amused by these turns of events. As long as you're safe, she will support your choices. You know this.

Amelie takes you home.

As you walk away with her, Lestat, standing on his balcony, watches you go. His lips are curled into a grin, and he feels like the luckiest man in the world tonight.

@awanderingghost @theprettiesthead @cosmixstar @theblueslytherin @katherine2098 @sawendel @floofdeloop @sitkafay @bigbaddie45 @bluscryn

@secretisme4

[nofomogirl]

We need to talk about body snatching

I'm not a massive fan of the 1827 minisode - if you're curious why it bothers me, I've explained it in my post about two GO canons - but there's no denying it does an amazing job at exploring the complexity of morality and moral choices. It starts with a very black-and-white two-dimensional image and gradually adds shading and perspective, making it harder and harder to judge as we go along.

I think it's worth digging into (pun not intended but I'll take it).

Layer 1: body snatching bad

We learn someone did something

It's those first few seconds where we see a person robbing a grave, and since we know that robbing graves is a crime and generally not a good thing to do, we can quickly form a tentative conclusion that this is wrong.

Okay, in this exact instance, we immediately get enough context clues to see that this kind of judgment would be oversimplistic and superficial. Only Aziraphale, who for some reason acts as if it was his first day on Earth after a thorough memory wipe, is ready to condemn Elspeth based on just that.

Nevertheless, this is the first layer - the deed itself with no context.

Layer 2: body snatching acceptable

We learn about the person who did the thing

That's the whole journey with the first dug-up body where we get to know Elspeth and become privy to her circumstances - she's desperately poor, she has another person depending on her, she robs graves to survive. Aziraphale's suggestions that she might earn her living by selling books, weaving or farming just serve to prove how inaccessible more honest and dignified professions are to her. In turn, her comment about how she's not hurting anybody who isn't already dead hints that from the realistically available options, Elspeth could have chosen something much worse.

Technically this layer is a significant step up from layer 1 but it still isn't really challenging. Things are spelt out really loud for us, and most importantly everything we learn about Elspeth is just attenuating circumstances. To top it off both she and Wee Morag are immediately endearing. The takeaway is that sometimes things that in theory are bad can be excused which is important but the verdict still comes without any second thoughts.

Layer 3: body snatching complicated

We learn the larger context around the thing

This mostly happens when Aziraphale and Crowley discuss body snatching with Mr Dalrymple. We learn that the stolen corpses are used for a medical study that can advance human knowledge and make it possible to save living people and that surgeons have no legal means to obtain enough of them for their research - hence their need to buy them from body snatchers.

At first glance it's just more of what we got in layer 2 - more agruments in favour of body snatching that aren't all that nuanced and don't really give us any pause - just from a larger perspective, beyond Elspeth's individual experience. But if you glance more than once you'll notice this is when things stop being straightforward and easy to judge.

The moment we enter a proper grey area is when Aziraphale asks why Mr Dalrymple doesn't acquire the bodies himself. This is a very valid question - while we might easily agree that studying the human body to further medical knowledge is a good thing, and with just the slightest hesitation admit that it's acceptable to resort to using stolen bodies if that is the only way the research may continue, it's not as easy to excuse taking advantage of the poor and the desperate to do the actual stealing that we know is very dangerous.

The moment we know without a doubt we are in a proper grey area is when Mr Dalrymple laughs at Aziraphale's concern.

Objectively, the surgeon is right that it's more effective if he doesn't risk his own life in the graveyard and uses his time on actual research, teaching students and saving lives. But it's also clear he doesn't exactly see people like Elspeth as actual human beings and feels he has every right to use them. On the one hand, he is paying, on the other, he happily benefits from the cruel class system and is not even one bit remorseful about it. On the one hand, he takes risks too, on the other he has a chance of rewards Elspeth will not benefit from. It's not the poorest whose lives will get bettered by the progress of medicine, even though they're the ones who pay with their lives for that progress. And if Mr Dalrymple gets lucky and is knighted for his work (we know he wasn't in the end but it was a possibility), the poor still won't be pardoned for stealing for him. Nevertheless, he has no issue with that.

As I said, things get nuanced.

Layer 4: it's different when it's someone you know

The thing actually happens in your life

I think you'll all agree that the turning point of the minisode is when Elspeth decides to sell Wee Morag's still warm body. This is what finally leaves us speechless.

That's because up until now we've been approaching the issue intellectually. It's not that we didn't care about the characters, but we were allowed to keep a safe distance. The whole thing was like a problem to be solved - "Is body snatching right or wrong? Discuss in 500-1000 words" - and everything we've learned so far was data for this assignment. I believe that one of the reasons why this detachment came naturally was that there was a very thick line between people involved in body snatching and the bodies that were being snatched. The former were, well, people, obviously. The latter were inanimate objects.

It isn't until Wee Morag is to be sold that we are forced to see a person in a dead body. This is also when real emotions enter the equation.

This shift forces us to question our judgment for the first time. It was easy to justify Elspeth when she was selling a nameless corpse. But the fact that she decided to sell her closest companion - and most likely lover - shocks us. Something inside us strongly objects to how quickly she makes the decision.

And then there's the transaction, and it is also different when it's someone we know. The fact that we knew Wee Morag fully exposes Mr Dalrymple for the heartless jerk that he is. The way he treats Elspeth is the absolute worst and if you haven't realized he was a hypocrite earlier, you should be disillusioned by now.

But at least Elspeth is not a hypocrite, right? It may seem cold that she sold Wee Morag but it just proves she simply believed it's all right to sell a dead body, doesn't it?

Well, about that...

Layer 5: it's different when it's you

You are forced to face the thing happening to you

This layer is reached when Elspeth plans her suicide and asks Aziraphale and Crowley to bury her "somewhere where no ghouls will ever dig her back up again".

It turns out Elspeth McKinnon really was a filthy liar.

Not long ago she was insisting that body snatching doesn't hurt anyone who isn't already dead, and asking why she should let Wee Morag rot in the ground when she starves. But she wants to make sure it doesn't happen to her own body. The idea that someone might dig her up terrifies her and she calls people who do it ghouls. So why was digging up other people okay again? Why should she rot in the ground while other people suffer? There were other people living in the street where she and Wee Morag hid. Why not ask Aziraphale to give the money to them? Or just anybody in need? Why not ask to sell her body as well and use the earnings the same way?

Also, if you look at it from a certain perspective, Elspeth betrayed Wee Morag in the worst possible way. Wee Morag believed that if someone's body gets cut, that person's soul cannot enter Heaven. Yet Elspeth sold her to Mr Dalrymple, claiming that Wee Morag would have wanted her to have the means to survive. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps Wee Morag would have made that sacrifice. But then Elspeth decided to kill herself and use the money she got for Wee Morag's body for her own funeral.

But does it make Elspeth wicked? Certainly not. She's simply torn by grief. I seriously doubt she's been planning to commit suicide when she was taking Wee Morag to Mr Dalrymple. She might have genuinely tried to carry on but the reality of what happened caught up to her. Mr Dalrymple's cruel words certainly didn't help her cope with a personal tragedy. I even suspect one of the reasons she sold her friend was that she had no idea what else to do with a dead body.

Does this excuse her actions? Kind of, but not really.

Elspeth was a tragic character, not an innocent lamb with a heart of gold.

The point is - can any of us really judge her?

Which, coincidentally, is a question that the original Good Omens book toyed with quite a lot.

If you've reached this far, thank you for reading!

[sungbeam]

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 — part two

nonidol!ji changmin x f!reader

messing around with demonic rituals isn't exactly how you imagined getting bound to changmin's soul. (note to self: salt circles don't work when you draw the pentagram inside it...)

▷ genre, warnings. f2l, technically a college au, demon au (it's different from night terrors i swear. also it's not as intense lol), comedy, suspense/mystery, swearing (a lot... sorry 😭), drinking, low fantasy/supernatural elements, mentions of chronic illness, mentions of rituals and pentagrams, self induced soulmates? 🤔 but ofc 😂, kissing, mentions of blood, very small amount of violence (like one scene), what is a mfking slow burn like who needs to take their time w falling in love i sure don't 🤷🏻‍♂️, one allusion to death

▷ part word count. 18.5k out of 34.8k / read part one here

a/n: HI IF UR STILL HERE THEN YAY 😭 PLS DONT READ THIS WITHOUT HAVING READ THE FIRST PART. ALSO, ENJOY!

PART IV: THE SPELL

THERE WERE ONLY SO many ways to make a boy squirm. On top of that, there were only so many ways to make a demon boy squirm. Halfling status was of no consequence to certain observations of patterns involving the laws of attraction.

Case in point: Ji Changmin's dilemma.

“You look a little lost, man,” Hyunjae chortled into his friend's ear to bypass the bone-rattling volume of the house music.

Shuhua's friend Yangyang had thrown quite the rager in his shared house with his roommates. There was probably about a hundred people shoved into the first floor of the house, with some littered across the lawn outside and the backyard, too. The five of you had arrived as a unit and donated a few cases of beer to help the hosts out, but proceeded to grab your own drinks, disperse, and mingle.

Changmin coughed as he blinked furiously out of whatever daze he'd been in. His neck and ears had turned a brilliant shade of vermilion, but the dim lighting was his savior tonight. Oh, to have the shadows on one's side. “What?” he stammered.

Hyunjae's smile widened at his flustered reaction. “I'm sure Yn can introduce you to whoever her friend is.”

The roaring in Changmin's ears dulled considerably. “What?” he repeated, but this time, the word had an upward intonation at the end. Now he was confused.

He glanced back to where you were standing further into the living room. Who?

Oh.

Changmin hadn't even noticed you'd been talking to another person. His focus had been… elsewhere. Not that said focus was anywhere inappropriate in the name of Friendship—of course, the burn in his throat was the alcohol and the tightness in his chest was the soul-bond. That was all. He hadn't been considering the dress hugging your figure or the way your smile brightened your face—no, really it was the entire fucking room. He didn't want to linger on the thought of that torturous car ride over either, with his body pressed against your side and your perfume so sweet in his lungs. Was it possible to replace the very air he breathed with it?

Essentially: he was not faring well tonight. What had gotten into him? He'd attended plenty of parties with you before, and he hadn't been this strung up before.

Or maybe he had… he wasn't so sure of a lot of things at this moment. He wasn't supposed to be able to get tipsy on this human alcohol.

Only a week had passed since the soul bond was forged between you and him, too. Though he knew it was supposed to be an emotional and metaphysical link, he was certain it had nothing to do in terms of creating things that were never there in the first place.

Hyunjae grinned at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Come on! We should go introduce ourselves.”

For a moment, Changmin cringed at the thought of him appearing beside you with all the swagger he knew he lacked. He took a deep inhale and glanced back over at you… something in his mind flipped like a switch. “You know what? Sounds like a plan,” he said to Hyunjae, plastering a typical dimpled smile on his face.

The two of them maneuvered their way over to your position. As he gained proximity, the tightening in his chest gradually loosened, a rope slackening. Despite the loosening, it didn't mean the weight had gone away. The weight filled him with something comforting like his heart and lungs weren't alone in his ribcage.

He kept his eyes glued to you as he and Hyunjae neared.

You must have felt his gaze because you turned around to meet his eyes soon enough. There was a dilation in those pretty eyes and a smile that reached them.

“What have you been up to?” Changmin shouted to you over the music as he sidled up beside you. Your shoulders brushed against one another and he fought the urge to pull your form to his.

“Nothing much,” you chirped back, sharing his grin. You gestured to your talking companion. “This is Leona, by the way! She's a friend of Indigo's.”

Changmin finally pulled his eyes away from you. Leona, as you had introduced, was not someone he recognized. He didn't know many of Indigo's friends, but she smiled at him widely. “Nice to meet you!” she said.

“Nice to meet you, too. I'm Changmin,” he nodded back.

“And I'm Hyunjae,” his friend chimed in, raising a hand in greeting. “Did you come with Indigo then?”

Leona nodded her head. “I did! She went to go find Juyeon, so I'm not sure where they are now, but Yn found me wandering and we've been chatting since.” She flicked her attention back over to Changmin, and he cocked his head at the sight of something peculiar. He could have sworn there was a flash of electric blue in her eyes.

“Are you a student here?” he asked. He couldn't have imagined the blue, could he? But if she was a friend of Indigo's, then there was a good chance he hadn't.

“No, I'm from out east by Blue Brook,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm just in town for a couple of days visiting with my, uh, sisters.”

No, Changmin was certain now. Leona was a member of Indigo's coven. Blue Brook was where Indigo was from, and it was well-known amongst the supernatural community in this state as a witch's county. There were probably a dozen or so covens in that one area, but Indigo's was one of the largest. And if Leona was a witch, that meant…

Leona arched her brows at him expectantly. Demon? she mouthed.

Changmin stiffened beside you, and your head whipped over to him when you read her lips, too.

You swiftly turned to Hyunjae. “Hey! I'd love a drink, Jae. Let's go get one!”

Hyunjae's eyes widened as you snatched up his wrist and started hauling him in the direction of the kitchen. “Wha—hello? Bye, I guess?” he laughed in disbelief, sending a wink at Changmin through it.

Changmin pressed his lips together. He knew why you had taken Hyunjae away, but that didn't mean he liked it. Should it not be his wrist you were holding?

“She knows?” Leona's voice tore him out of whatever jealous stupor he was in. That cloud had returned to his head, the tightening to his chest.

He held his hand to his brow. “Yes,” he sighed. “Is there a reason you needed to make it so obvious?”

She shrugged innocently. “He didn't notice.”

“He could've.”

Leona wrinkled her nose at him. “Oh, loosen up. I forget that folks outside of heavily concentrated paranormal centers are so uptight about their identities. It's your heritage, for goddess's sake.”

“You mean you forget that you're privileged enough to live in a highly concentrated paranormal area,” he nearly snarled back at her. Adrenaline rushed into his veins with an uncontrollable velocity and bite. He wouldn't have gotten so worked up about this normally, but he already accepted that tonight was likely going to be filled with the irregular. “If you said it even louder than a whisper, that could've put you, me, and her in danger.”

Especially with some lunatic running around targeting demons with energy-draining curses, he couldn't be too safe.

The witch made a face. “I guess I know why Indigo's no fun now, too. No wonder you're friends…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes found someone behind Changmin.

Changmin peered back over his shoulder and locked eyes with a familiar face in the crowd. Indigo's dark eyes widened considerably at the sight of him before she began shoving her way through partygoers to reach him. He raised his arm up like a flag to signal where he floated in the ocean of people.

The crowd quite literally spit the poor thing out and she had to grapple onto his arm. “Where'd she go?” she exhaled out, head on a swivel.

“She's right—” Not here…? The place where Leona had been right beside him was vacated, as if she hadn't been there at all. Why did she run from Indigo?

“Changmin.” There was a desperate strain behind Indigo's voice as she wrestled his collar with her hands and dragged him down to look her right in the eyes to ensure he was listening. “Leona has been releasing empitachynsia synthios in the party. I don't know exactly where, but I found one broken flask of it on the second floor with Juyo.”

Empitachynsia synthios? In the Old Language most covens grew up learning, that term translated directly to ‘acceleration of emotion.’ Based on the vague knowledge Changmin boasted on potions, empitachynsia synthios was a potent liquid that turned into vapor when exposed to oxygen, affecting those who inhaled it by escalating their emotions to alarming proportions.

Changmin's eyes went as big as Indigo's. “She fucking drugged the party with an airborne stimulant?”

“Just the second floor,” Indigo corrected with a grimace, but she released the vice grip on his shirt collar. “I managed to convince Juyeon that it was someone's dropped perfume bottle, but I left him with Lee Minho on the porch to clear his airways.”

Changmin's head swam. Lee Minho—black cat spirit—okay, then Juyeon was fine. He dragged his hands through his hair with a groan. “Hell, if I had known, I wouldn't have turned away from her like that. Sorry, Indigo.”

“No, no, it's my fault for letting her come at all,” she dismissed with an anxious flick of her wrist, then flexed her fingers to crack her knuckles. “She's been acting strangely for the past few days and I should have taken it more seriously, but I thought it was because she needed to relax a bit.”

He exhaled through his nose and braced his hands onto his waist. “Yeah, she's got a loose mouth though, that's for sure.”

“Good goddess, what'd she say?”

“Let's just say that Hyunjae could've found out who I am.”

Indigo's face ashened to a horrified shade. “Shit. I'm so sorry about her. This is turning out to be more and more of a disaster.”

You can say that again, Changmin thought, but he wasn’t about to put the blame on Indigo for something that was her coven sister’s doing. Though, he couldn’t imagine what manner of thought convinced Leona to release such a strong, and potentially dangerous, potion into a house full of young adults. It didn’t matter that some were horny or hammered—all that mattered was that there would be consequences to this, and it wouldn’t even be their faults.

Indigo recruited his help to locate the runaway witch and Changmin was swift to agree. There were only so many places in this house that Leona could have run off to, but the problem was the amount of people here.

As he and Indigo hunted, he couldn’t help but linger upon the effects of empitachynsia synthios that he was aware about—its presence in the air must have been the reason for his own unrestrained thoughts earlier, both in regards to you and Leona. He convinced himself that that was the reason, not the bond or any feelings of his, but the artificial intensification of whatever miniscule feelings that lingered. The potion could not work from nothing—that wasn’t how magic worked—but he could stomach confessing to a little bit of the feelings from earlier.

This, however, should have not been his main concern. If he had even gotten a little bit of the potion in his system, then what about you? Were you feeling alright? Were Hyunjae and Shuhua unaffected? Hyunjae hadn’t acted differently from his usual self; he hadn’t had much to drink either—that applied to you, too.

Changmin could only come to a shaky conclusion that even if all of you had inhaled a drop of empitachynsia synthios, the dose was not strong enough to have any noticeable effect on your emotions.

It was some divine fortune or providence that, not even ten minutes later, Indigo reported that one of her friends had gotten a hold of Leona in one of the rooms upstairs. With all of the panic that had plagued the two of them, Changmin and Indigo agreed to take their separate ways for the night and to be grateful for a swiftly concluded catastrophe.

The remaining adrenaline left in his system fueled him in his search for you and Hyunjae, wherever the two of you had ended up. The bond had squeezed his chest cavity all throughout the past ten minutes when he was away. His senses led him toward the kitchen, whose crowd was hardly any better than out in the living room. He couldn’t quite differentiate the pounding of blood in his ears from the heavy bass in the house speakers; he could hardly hear himself think. But his eyes found yours and Hyunjae’s forms squished together in one corner of the kitchen, and there was no need for him to think anymore.

Hyunjae noticed Changmin first and tore his attention away from his phone where both you and he had been hunched over watching clips of cats on Instagram. “Hey, done so soon?” he posed the question with a teasing lilt in his voice.

The teasing, though no fault of Hyunjae’s, made Changmin’s eye twitch. Even the suspicion that Changmin was interested in Leona left him with a sour tongue and clenched throat. “Indigo came by,” he said with little inflection to signal the end to that conversation. He inclined his chin to you, who had yet to raise your head. “Oy, Y—”

Your head lolled slightly onto Hyunjae’s conveniently-located shoulder, and the shift in angle revealed to your two friends that you had, in fact, fallen asleep.

Changmin and Hyunjae shared a fond laugh between themselves, glancing at one another in silent agreement. The former quickly pulled out his phone to snap a picture of you unawares, saving it to the group photo album of drunk mishaps.

“How much did she drink?” Changmin lowered his voice, even if the music didn’t give a shit whether you were asleep or not.

Hyunjae screwed up his face into something like unserious exasperation. “I dunno what she was thinking, man. We were talking and she drank waaay too much of the flavored soju. You know how that stuff tastes and goes down like juice.”

Changmin bobbed his hand knowingly. “I think I’m done for the night, to be honest,” he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I can take Yn home. Have you seen Shuhua around?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” Hyunjae slipped his phone into his pocket and carefully swapped places with Changmin. “She came by with Yuqi to get refills of some cocktail and said that a few of them were playing Speed downstairs. I’ll probably go join them. Have you seen Juyeon?”

The weight of your head settled comfortably into the crook of Changmin’s shoulder, and he couldn’t help but gently ghost his fingers over your nose to brush the hair out of your eyes. “Huh? Oh yeah, he’s with Indigo and Lee Minho.”

Hyunjae stared between you and Changmin for a pregnant second, but nodded afterward. “Got it. Well, get home safe, man.”

Changmin clasped his free hand with Hyunjae’s. “Same to you.”

When it was only you and Changmin, your living and breathing pillow considered his current position. He did intend on escorting you home—you grew drowsy when you drank a little too much, and as Hyunjae asserted, it was the flavored soju’s fault; but he was loath to wake you from such a peaceful-looking nap. He twisted his head in a way to peer down at your face, your cheek squished against the muscle of his shoulder and your lip gloss leaving a shiny smudge on his shirt sleeve.

He exhaled a careful breath, then gently gave your shoulder a shake. “Rise ‘n’ shine,” he sang. The grin on his face was remarkably large and unsuppressable as you stirred with a small whine.

“There’s a new picture in the drunk folder, isn’t there?” You glowered while lifting your head up and blinking to adjust your vision. You squinted your eyes at him. “You’re not Hyunjae.”

“Is that so disappointing?” He hoped his voice didn’t betray the miniscule shard of bitterness that just pricked his chest. He reached over and helped you with an errant strand of hair; there was no need for him to sulk when he was the one with you now. (Hell, did he think like this all the time or was the potion still in his system?)

You still couldn’t open your eyes much and you yawned. “No, of course not. What time is it?”

“It’s nearly half past midnight.”

“Not bad,” you said. You yawned again, gingerly dabbing at the corners of your eyes when they began to mist. “I think I drank more than I planned to.”

Changmin chuckled, “Yeah, I figured. C’mon—I’ll take you home.”

The pair of you departed out through a side door in the kitchen, a rather convenient exit that helped you evade wading through the living room crowd to get to the front door. The alleyway on the side of the house was illuminated only by a single light above the kitchen door to accompany the trash bins.

You stumbled alongside Changmin with your wits not having returned yet.

His hand bumped against yours. “Can you walk?” he laughed, glancing over at you.

“If I said no, would you carry me?”

Perchance his pulse jumped. “Sure.”

There was nothing, to him in that moment, more lovely than the way you lit up like the fucking sun. Even the shadows in the alley washed away briefly in awe of your elation—an elation he elicited. “Really?”

His cheeks dimpled and a laugh, breathy but giddy, tumbled out of his mouth. “Yeah. Hop on.”

Thus, Changmin found himself strolling along a deserted sidewalk with your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms draped loosely over his shoulders. You had your head tucked into the warmth of his neck as you focused on trying to arrange an Uber to come pick the two of you up at the nearest 7-Eleven; Changmin fought every instinct in him to be still, including his heartbeat. There would be no hiding, even if you were drunk and less observant. Something about your weight on his back eased the ache in his chest at the front.

The night had a bearable chill to it. He rather enjoyed the silence encapsulating you and him, and the shadows clinging to his heels as if they were his guardian. Every so often, he would step into the glow of an amber circle of light and watch your entwined silhouettes cascade across the sidewalk.

“How’s the Uber situation coming along, sweetheart?”

He held his breath until you answered. “Almost,” you murmured in a small voice, focused. The white light of your phone screen streamed up the underside of his jawline from where you held it and also clung to him. “Done!”

He smiled and refrained from turning his head; that would be a dangerous thing to do with your mouth quite literally against his throat. “Good job. When will they be there?”

“I scheduled it for 1:30,” you replied matter-of-factly. You turned your phone off to ease the light shining up into his face, and settled your head against his shoulder in a more comfortable position. “Minnie?”

Ba-bump. “Yeah, Yn.”

“I remember why I drank more than I intended to earlier.” At his quiet prompting, you continued, “Hyunjae was asking about you. It was… he was kind of skirting around it, but he was kind of saying that we’ve been acting weird lately. He mentioned something about you and Leona—I think he saw that she mouthed the word ‘demon’ to you. So I got a little worried and thought if I got a bit tipsy, he’d change the subject.”

Changmin’s steps faltered, but he recovered neatly. A lump seemed to have lodged itself in his throat and it was no longer because he could feel your breath against his pulse. “Is that right,” he muttered, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He had been so careful, too, and all it took was one, little word to shatter his efforts. “Thanks for getting drunk then,” he jested in an effort to lighten his own mood.

“Maybe he doesn’t actually know,” you said to him quietly. “It took you at least two tries to get me to believe you, and Hyunjae’s more of a skeptic than I am.”

But Changmin simply couldn’t be too sure. Of course, what you said held ground, but paranoia was often a pebble in his shoe. “Don’t… don’t worry too much about it, okay? I’ll figure it out as we go.”

“I’m here for you, too.” You lifted one of your hands to give his head a pat. “Well, I’ve always been here for you, but now that I know your secret, you don’t have to hold onto it alone.”

He couldn’t fathom how mere words could warm him from the inside out as if you had taken a handful of whatever sunshine you radiated and placed it in his core. When you had asked him that day why supernaturals were forced to hide their identities from humans, he didn’t linger on the idea of his words sticking with you. He supposed he had underestimated you in that way—you were his friend, and you cared about him as much as he cared about you. Of course you would take those words to heart.

And perhaps that was what eased his anxieties about Hyunjae for the time being. He and Hyunjae were as good of friends as you and him; giving him the benefit of the doubt was what felt right.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

You hummed. “I’ll protect you, Minnie. Hyunjae—well, I guess it should be Leona, huh? Leona can catch my hands.”

Changmin’s joyful laugh echoed against the nearby houses. “Oh, you’re too cute.”

He felt your sigh even more than he heard it. “You’re always laughing at me,” you sulked. “I’m trying to be sincere here. Hey, that rhymed.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He was not super sorry; the grin wouldn't leave his face. “Thank you, Yn. Really.”

By the time you and Changmin raided the 7-Eleven, caught your Uber, and returned to your apartment complex, it was swiftly approaching two in the morning. Your knees no longer wobbled like those of a newborn giraffe, so you walked beside Changmin to your apartment unit. The hallway, alight with its typical blinding fluorescents, was appropriately deserted and effectively made even the smallest of whispers ricochet like the acoustics in an arena.

Changmin had walked this path to your apartment door dozens upon dozens of times before, and though the scenery and the smell hadn’t changed a bit, the feeling that nestled itself into the very fibers of his being had. The ache in his chest, the inconsistent thrumming of his heartbeat, and his headspace had all changed.

Your keys rattled with a tinny sound as you isolated your apartment key from the others. You shoved the carved metal inside the locking mechanism, then sent him a sidelong glance. “Wanna come in for a bit?”

His mouth went dry and it was difficult to pull his lips into the shape of the words that he didn’t want to say. “You should sleep. We should both get some sleep.”

He liked to think he imagined the slow blink of your eyes and the way your eyelashes brushed over the fleeting disappointment in them. “You’re right,” you sighed good-naturedly. You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth as a thought occurred to you. “I do have to be up in a few hours; I almost forgot.”

“Why’s that?” he chuckled, and the image of your feet propped up on your desk as you finished a last minute reading for one of your classes painted itself in his mind’s eye.

“Ah, uhm, Chan’s driving me up to see my parents and his sister.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you wished you could reel them back into your throat.

Changmin’s expression shuddered as the carefully constructed bubble that had formed around his reality tonight burst. The brightness of the hallway lights were suddenly stifling, and he feared what exactly lurked behind its artifice. It reminded him so starkly of your childhood friend—the cordial and warmth he put on as a show a stark contrast to a foreign murkiness that lurked below the surface of the water. There were only so many ways to make Ji Changmin squirm.

He managed a smile to reassure you. You didn’t have to censor yourself on his account, and he wished to know how you filled your days anyway. “Oh, that’s cool of him. Hope you guys have a nice trip home tomorrow,” he said, then brought his arm around your shoulders to bring you into a partial hug before he could talk himself out of it.

You reciprocated the action, but with both of your arms, slotting your bodies against one another so you were two hearts and one body for a second. “Thanks,” you murmured into his shirt. “And thanks for taking care of me. I should be the one taking care of you.”

Changmin pressed his cheek to the side of your head, his arms locking around your waist. The hidden implications behind your words weren’t lost on him, which was why he had told you that he would be good about the soul-bonding thing; about taking care of himself, so that you weren’t forced to in the name of your own privacy and safety.

He was the hazard out of the two of you, after all.

“You do,” he assured you. “You do take care of me.” By continuing to be normal with him, by continuing to treat him as you had always done, he could rest easy at night knowing that he still had a place in your life despite being who he was.

Love was felt in his chest where you belonged—you had made the bones of his ribcage your home, kept his lungs from collapsing, and rested your head against his heart at night. The bond had inadvertently made him two halves of a whole, and he could no longer bear to be without the other half.

There was too much negative space, you thought, as you laid in bed that night (morning). The ceiling was a rather interesting thing to look at with its imperfect, popcorned edges and the dark masses lying in the bottom of the lights, the dead carcasses of foolish insects who couldn’t help themselves.

In particular, there was a distinct lack of someone else. It was strange how fast another’s presence could grow on you, but how could that be when the two of you had already been friends for a couple years? When had spending time with Changmin become essential to easing an unseen ache in your chest?

When you were in the 7-Eleven earlier tonight, Changmin had filled you in on what had really happened at the house party. The idea of a witch being in your midst, releasing a perfumed potion that could escalate someone’s emotions was a frightening prospect. How many other times had you been in similar situations and none the wiser?

And if that potion had worked its way into your system or Hyunjae’s or Juyeon’s or Shuhua’s, then how did it affect Changmin?

A mental image flashed in your head. The first time one possessed another’s body would almost always feel akin to a dream. You were looking at yourself from an outside perspective at the party, your head tucked toward your chest as you slouched over Hyunjae’s shoulder. The body you were seeing through had laughed with him—subconsciously, you knew, exactly which laugh belonged to whom. But when he had pulled out his phone to snap a picture, that was the moment it came together.

When you woke up on Changmin’s shoulder at the party, you couldn’t be too sure that it was a dream; it had felt too real. Your physical body had yanked your astral form back into its vessel right before your eyes opened.

You lifted your hand up to your face in the dark and graced your fingers over the path Changmin’s had when he brushed the hair out of your sleeping face.

That same hand fell onto your sternum, the hard bone at the very center where you imagined your soul to rest deep within. You wished you could wrap your hand around the line that connected you to him, because then, maybe you could cling to it… and maybe it would make more sense as to how your mind ended up in his body tonight.

PART V: THE DIABOLICAL

TRUTHFULLY, 8AM was too early to be pondering moral dilemmas. Options as to how you would tell Changmin about your out-of-body experience flipped through your mind like a deck of flashcards. You were a hypocrite. You were a massive, clown-faced hypocrite whose thumbs hovered over her keyboard as you debated on how best to start the text message:

Option 1: Heeeey, you know how I gave you shit about possessing my body without permission? Well… we're even now.

Option 2: Guess what lol I might be going insane but I might have had a dream that wasn't a dream about possessing your body.

Or, last and certainly least, option 3: I'm pretty sure I'm interpreting your gestures wrong because I have feelings for you. Also, did I mention that I possessed you during my nap last night?

When you were drunk last night, you couldn't be so certain. (Saying this was if sleeping for less than three hours would've helped clarify your memory any better. Drunkenness and sleep deprivation were more alike as states of brain rot than one might think.) Nonetheless, you determined that you were in the wrong—not because you possessed him; that was an accident. You were in the wrong because you had contemplated murder for Changmin doing the same thing to you.

The question was: how? How were you able to take your soul and jump physical bodies? Changmin said this bond was largely for the benefit of the demon, but he also mentioned that the only reason his experience occurred was because he was exhausted.

If control was the baseline of demonic magic, and Changmin was under the influence of a powerful emotional stimulant, would that justify how you were able to pull it off?

(And if he really was under the influence, did that mean you were getting your hopes up about your feelings being reciprocated? Option 3 was looking less and less attractive.)

You chewed on your bottom lip meditatively as the driver's side door opened to your left.

Chan sighed as he dragged his seatbelt over his chest. “I can't believe I forgot to get gas last night,” he said, cranking the engine. “I could've sworn I did.”

“Maybe you just imagined it,” you teased quietly. When you peered over at him, you couldn't help the frown tugging down at the corners of your lips.

The eye bags and puffiness weren't exactly subtle on him. You could acknowledge that it was rather early for both of you to be up and at 'em, but it was essential to hit the road early since the drive was almost three hours.

Chan gave his head a rough shake in the same manner as a wet dog would. “Guess so,” he said before a yawn cut him off.

“Are you sure you're okay to drive?” You plucked one of the paper cups in the cupholders and handed it to him.

He gratefully accepted the cheap gas station coffee and took slow, measured gulps of the scalding liquid. “I think I should be fine. You should rest; you didn't get a lot of sleep last night, right?”

As he began pulling the car out of the quaint lights of the gas station proper, you adjusted your sitting position. “Chan,” you mused, “you look worse than I do right now. Were you up late last night, too?”

“Maybe a little later than usual… I was just—y’know, preparing some things for today.” He nudged his blinker on and craned his neck to check for oncoming traffic. When it was safe, he pulled out onto the road.

At this point in the morning, there weren't many cars accompanying the two of you on your journey north. The sky was a blanched blue further enfeebled by the pale autumn sunshine. You would instinctively settle in to watch the passing scenery—mountain ranges, pastures, and the like—but you continued to keep one eye on your driver this time around.

“Preparing things,” you repeated softly, turning your phone off having long given up on deciding on a text message to Changmin. “Are you—are you okay? Is everything okay?”

He liked to fuss over you, but you weren't ignorant to his own struggle. Chan was the one who faced adversity, not you—at least, in your mind. Sure, you faced your own troubles, but it hurt you to see him hurt. The two of you hadn't been as close recently, which was no fault of yours or his; people drifted apart sometimes. That was the way of life, but it didn't mean your care for the other waned even the slightest.

Chan physically loosened up his tense muscles. “Yeah, of course. I promise that I'm fine.”

Your eyes shot wide open as they tracked a trickle of something dark and viscous seeping down from his nose and into the cradle of his Cupid's bow. “Oh my god.”

Your friend's eyes flitted off the road for a second. “What?” He brought a hand up to his mouth and pulled it away. “Shit,” he muttered and gritted his teeth. The blood had dribbled into his mouth now to stain the white of his smile a gory crimson.

“I think you need to pull over,” you fretted as you tore through the center console for tissues.

Chan clutched the ball of tissues in one hand and held it up to his nose. “I'm fine, Yn—”

“Pull over. Now.” There was enough force behind your voice to make him twitch, but you suspected that the slight tremor wasn't unnoticeable either. Just how much had he been overexerting himself lately? “I'm driving.”

He didn't have a choice. Defeat clung to the tails of his exhaustion, digging the grooves of his eye bags deeper. Chan didn't argue as he pulled off to the side of the road.

You didn't have to pretend to be even a little angry—you were frustrated, yes, but only because he was clearly not in the state to drive for three hours. It was irresponsible and stupid, you wanted to say to him.

But after swapping seats and glancing over at him in the passenger seat, you opened your mouth with no voice to use. Chan couldn't meet your eyes as he kept the bloody wad of tissue to his nose. You didn't have the heart to reprimand him, and he sure as Hell didn't need that from you.

You reined in your concern and resumed the drive.

Changmin wondered if texting you was too desperate. Before one judged him too harshly, there once was a time when he didn't think about interactions like this as if they were rocket science. There was a time when he could text you with ease and without stress.

That was no longer the case.

“Please tell me you didn't spend the entire morning on your phone. That's a horrible example for the kids, you know.”

Changmin had known Aunt Jenna and her husband Kian were outside the door before they could pull out their house keys. His two cousins, who were reading and napping, respectively, on the rug scrambled to their feet with screeches of welcome to their parents. Changmin pretended their pitch didn't nearly destroy his eardrums. “No,” he protested, “we finished their homework really fast, so we were just chilling.”

“Yeah, eomma. We were just chilling!” parroted the youngest of the two—Dae—as he clung to his father's arm like a jungle gym.

Kian gave a laugh as he waddled into the kitchen with his hands full of groceries and a kid. The second child, Julia, wrapped around her limbs around his ankle; hence the waddling.

“Just chilling,” Jenna deadpanned, unimpressed. She swiped the bags from Kian and set them on the kitchen counter, peering over at her nephew. “Well, were they good?”

Changmin dimpled, nodding. “Yup. I think they deserve ice cream.”

“Oppa gave permission!” Julia hooted.

“I've got it,” Kian mused, squeezing past his wife in the narrow kitchen space. “Kids, go grab your jackets and we'll go down to the store.” He glanced between Jenna and Changmin. “We'll give you two some space.”

As soon as the front door slammed shut and the sounds of eager children disappeared down the hall, Jenna joined Changmin in the living room. Today was the day Changmin promised his aunt he would watch her kids. Rather than being out the entire day, Jenna and Kian promised to be back once they'd completed their long list of errands. Changmin didn't mind watching his cousins for the past few hours; they were, over all, decently well-behaved. (Plus, it was easy to bribe them with the promise of ice cream for good behavior.)

Jenna hiked up one leg beneath her as she claimed the opposite end of the couch from him. “How are you? Has it fully faded?”

Ah, there was no beating around the bush then. He sucked in a breath, but nodded. “I'm pretty sure, yeah. I haven't felt anything for at least a week.” It was strange to go from a period of sporadic headaches to none at all. It was like waiting for a dormant volcano to suddenly awaken; would the curse strike again and how soon?

How did he even come to be cursed? Now that was the question of the hour.

“Good, good. I don't… I can't sense it from you anymore,” she said, nibbling on her fingernail. “You had me worried there, Changmin-ah. How's your friend? Her name's Yn, right?”

A smile crawled onto his face. “You and Mom are always so bad with names.”

“I got it right, though,” she pointed out, but didn't deny his accusation.

“Yeah, she's doing alright.” He licked his lips and became contemplative. At least, he was pretty sure you were doing alright. The memories of last night came rushing back at him in a dizzying whirlwind of laughter, thrills, and warmth; the undeniable wholeness in his chest, your lips at his pulse. He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “I'm trying to focus my efforts on the curse situation now though,” he said after clearing his throat. “I think that should take priority.”

Jenna gave a grave nod. “I'm inclined to agree.”

“Right. I reached out to that one guy you told me about.”

“Oh, the prince? Did he answer?”

Changmin hummed an affirmative. “You said he's a… demon prince. What circle is he from and how the Hell was he let out?”

Out of all the years Changmin knew his Aunt Jenna, it never ceased to amaze him that she was friends with a duchess of Hell. She was more of a social butterfly than his mother, but the extrovert quality didn't necessarily grant one the keys to class mobility and intermingling. Demon pride ran as dense as concrete most of the time, so it was a wonder that Jenna kept in touch with her highborn friend even after moving to the human world.

Jenna squinted one eye. “Ah,” she drawled, “pretty sure he's only second prince. His older brother's inheriting the throne to the third circle.”

Damn. A prince to the third circle, huh? Changmin chewed his bottom lip and his knee began bouncing up and down fervently. He was aware that there were plenty of the supernatural among him on campus, but he didn't go out of his way to interact with them. There had been a party here and there, but he couldn't get away with too much since his closest friends were all human.

“Well,” he continued from earlier, “he replied to my text and agreed to meet with me.” The task had been surprisingly easy. He imagined demon princes, or demon mobility in general, to be unbearably arrogant with each boasting an ego the size of the moon; however, this prince didn't treat Changmin any differently than if he were a classmate with a mutual friend. It was… nerve-racking.

“That's great! The hard part is over.”

Changmin made a face. “I really don't think that was the hard part.”

She flicked her wrist flippantly. “Nonsense. He'll be just as anxious to uncover the culprit as you are.” Jenna cocked her head to the side in thought. “And, well, who knows? Maybe he knows how to break a soul-bond.”

Changmin cradled his hopes for this interaction close to his chest as the day went on. He was supposed to meet this guy in the early afternoon at one of the music studios by campus—apparently, he practically lived there. Word through the hellfire was essentially that this prince was barely seen at his apartment, in class, or outside for that matter.

Suffice to say that Changmin hadn't a fucking clue what he was walking into.

He chained up his bicycle just outside the studio building with his phone's GPS open in one hand and the other absentmindedly rubbing at his chest. (It had been tight all day; you must really be at home, hours away from where he was.)

He glanced up at the unassuming brownstone facade towering above him. This was supposedly the place. The numbers 1117 were tacked onto the side for the building's street address, and Changmin triple checked that it coincided with the address sent to him.

When he was satisfied, he strode over to the front door and let himself in.

The interior of the building was a labyrinth of its own with white plaster walls that looked the same down every corridor. The building designer had left a small mercy, however, in the form of a large directory in the lobby with arrows directing the weary wanderer down a certain path depending on their desired studio number.

Changmin located the number and followed the signs. Before long, he stood before a sleek, black door with A8 emblazoned on its surface. He inhaled deeply, then knocked.

A long moment passed.

Changmin drummed his fingers against the seam of his pants and glanced up and down the empty hallway. Did he get the wrong room?

As if the demon prince could hear his thoughts (Changmin wouldn't be surprised if he could), the door opened. A light brunet poked his head out into the hallway, his eyes large like a doe's and paired with a rather warm smile. “Ji Changmin, I presume?”

Changmin cleared his throat, awkwardly bending himself at the waist in a hasty bow. “Yep, that's me.”

“Not here, not here,” Prince Kim Hongjoong of the Third Circle hushed with a grimace. He flicked his hand in the air, widening the opening to flag him inside. “You really don't need to bow to me, man.”

Oh. There wasn't anything Changmin could think to say except to mutter out an apology under his breath. He ducked into the dimly lit studio, and Hongjoong shut the door behind him. The studio itself was larger than Changmin expected with a small couch shoved into a corner, an expansive mixing desk with a couple monitors, a mini fridge tucked beneath, and a recording booth that spanned the entire back half of the room.

A demon's vision, even a halfling's, didn't worsen or get better with more light, but Hongjoong still turned it up. “Sit, sit,” Hongjoong insisted, gesturing to the couch in the corner. He took his own perch upon the office chair by the mixing desk.

Changmin stiffly lowered himself onto the edge of the couch and placed his bag by his feet. He placed his hands on either of his knees. “Ah, thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” he said.

Hongjoong nodded. “Sure!” That smile was both beautiful and sharp; Changmin couldn't put his finger on it, but it was the epitome of demonic royalty. Hongjoong's expression sobered slightly. “But when you said something about the curse going around lately, I did think that it would be best to talk about it as soon as possible.”

“Right, same here. Were you inflicted by it at any point?” Changmin decided that Hongjoong didn't look any worse for wear, but not everything could simply be observed upon the surface.

“I was lucky,” he replied, shrugging. “Probably because I don't go out much, but I can't be too sure. What about you?”

Changmin dipped his head once. “My aunt says I was, and I had been feeling more exhausted than usual and had random headaches. It's faded by now—but that's because I'm half-blooded.”

Hongjoong nodded his head in understanding. “Okay, glad to hear you're not doing too bad now and the curse was able to fade for you” —he paused, massaging his jawline, before turning to his laptop on the mixing table— “that clears something up for me, at least. Here—I’ve been putting together a document with my findings.”

Changmin stood from his seat and leaned over the desk to see the screen. It seemed that despite Hongjoong's lack of touching grass, the prince did get down to business. He wondered if all princes of Hell were so attentive to their species’ needs; cynicism though told Changmin that they weren't.

“Basically, with your testimony, it seems that whatever curse was performed was intended to only affect those of demonic heritage.” Hongjoong scrolled down to one portion of the document to add in this new nuance. He then worked his way down to a section where there were three images pasted side by side on the screen. Changmin recognized that they were books, but he couldn't identify their titles or purposes. “Which then narrows the curse's point of origin.”

Two images were deleted. The one left was a tome fitted with a dark colored cover. Deep purple veins seemed to scar the black and its edges were torn and crumpled like decaying flesh. There were letters engraved into the front—Changmin squinted to read them: nem focta diabolica. It was an old dialect, more similar to Latin than the more modern dialects used in Hell.

“‘For diabolical deeds?’” he murmured. His eyebrows creased. “That's the Book of the Diabolical?”

Hongjoong hummed, “Yes. You've never seen it?”

“Not until now,” he said while shaking his head. A shiver rattled down his spine and he braced his hand on the desk by the laptop. The Book of the Diabolical was one of the several forbidden cursed magic tomes that existed throughout the realms. Each tome was stuffed full of curses written to specifically target a species. The often lethal effects and methods of use were why most originals were banned and locked away. “But you said that my testimonial is what confirms that this was only targeted toward demons. Could we not have assumed that based on reports of who have been affected?” The reports had only noted a pattern of demon victims. If anybody else was affected, word would have likely been spread.

“Yes and no,” the prince replied. “We can make a judgment call based on reports, but your experience specifically is what gives us cause. If your mild symptoms are due to your half non-demoness, then we can now conclude that the curse is only supposed to work on demons.”

Changmin straightened as his mind went to work, putting together the pieces. “So now we just need to find out who is in possession of the Book of the Diabolical.”

A solemn nod. “I thought it would be easier to track down, but there's been nothing through my contacts about recent acquisitions. We know there are copies of the book that exist, too. It's just… ah, frustrating.” Hongjoong combed a hand through his dirty blond strands, a muscle twitching in his jaw at the thought.

It must have been another layer of aggravating to be a prince and have no control over the situation. Changmin truly could only imagine. “Do we know exactly which spell was used? I know it's energy-stealing, but the nature of it could lead us toward an answer.”

Hongjoong leaned back into his chair as Changmin settled his back against the edge of the table. “I do,” the prince said. “I consulted my circle's chief authority on magic and she mentioned that it was a spell that took energy in order to transfer it to another living being. The spell is also able to locate demonic entities without knowing them personally, so any demons within a certain radius of the spell would be cursed.”

At his own utterance, Hongjoong lurched into an upright position. “So we need to determine where the curse was performed!”

Changmin jolted slightly at his sudden exclamation. “How do we do that? Is it like checking for radiation poisoning?”

“Kind of. We'd just need a sample to match.”

“I'd offer my blood, but I'm not sure how potent the magic is any—”

There weren't many ways to describe what happened simply because Changmin himself couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

One moment, he could breathe perfectly fine; the next, he'd doubled over, desperately clawing at his chest as every ounce of air left his body and refused to come back. Black spotted his vision, narrowing his sight into a tunnel as his knees slammed against the ground.

His blood thundered in his ears as the pain in his chest seized his body whole. Someone had taken a knife and carved their way down the center of his chest.

Then, as quickly as it'd come, it was gone.

Sweat dripped down the sides of his face as Changmin greedily inhaled air into his lungs. Hongjoong was right in front of him, his arm hoisting his body into an upright position. He was murmuring something, but the sound was muffled… little by little, the pain and the blood in his ears dwindled to nothing but a terrifying dream.

Changmin grabbed at his chest as if he could feel the strained pull deep down where soul lived—where you lived—

His eyes shot wide open. “Yn.” The stabbing sensation that pierced his chest now was no longer physical agony but pure, unbridled fear.

He fumbled around for his phone and Hongjoong grabbed it from where it had fallen onto the floor. Worry creased the prince's brows. “Are you okay, Changmin? Who's Yn?”

“My—my soul—” Changmin dialed your number, half blinded by the sweat and tears blurring his vision.

Hongjoong seemed to understand. “Something happened to her?”

“I don't—I don't know.” All he could think about was the fact that you were with Chan and that he was afraid.

You and Chan arrived at your parents’ house just before the clock hit noon. Your childhood home was much like it was when you left and visited every break: half-dead azalea bushes and a rusted wind chime hanging over the porch; hallways and a stairway adorned with the occasional family picture and portrait from over the years; and the smell that clung to the walls, and when bottled up, would be called “home.” It had been where you and Chan spent so many of your formative years together running, playing, crying, and living.

Lunch was eaten at home, and while you stayed to help your parents out with a few errands, Chan went ahead to the nearby hospital to see his sister.

You followed behind him nearly an hour after he'd left, your stomach full and your hands buried beneath a basket of treats that your parents put together for Chaeyoung. Flowers had been considered, but then your dad reminded your mom that flowers could not be eaten, and that had marked the end of that conversation.

The room the nurse's station directed your toward was down a lengthy hall of clean white. You'd consumed media before—books, shows, movies—where a character had a distinct aversion to hospitals because it reminded them of a lost loved one or a moment of distinct pain and weakness. Whenever you passed by the open doors or closed curtains of these rooms, you couldn't help but wonder how many of these people thought the same.

At the end of the hall, you stopped before a closed door whose accompanying window was sealed off with closed blinds. You couldn't tell by squinting through the slits if Chan and Chaeyoung were inside, but there was a little whiteboard off to the side with “Lee Chaeyoung :)” written in dry erase marker.

You lifted your fist up to the door, gently knocking upon its surface. When there wasn't an answer, you took the gamble to let yourself in.

Either the hospital was generous this time, you thought to yourself, or Chaeyoung just got really lucky. The room was spacious for a single person, but there was only room for one bed. Shoving a second in here would have been cruel and unusual punishment. The television hoisted onto the opposite wall from the bed was playing an old episode of Friends at low volume, a comfortable white noise for the sleeping form tucked into bed.

You carefully tread over to the bedside where you saw Chan's backpack left on the chair. You set the basket as quietly as possible onto the nightstand, your eyes flickering over to Chaeyoung to ensure you didn't wake her.

Just as you were moving Chan's backpack off the chair, a book slipped out from the open zipper.

“Shit,” you whispered, barely catching it before it slapped against the linoleum. You'd seen a lot of books before, but this one… you peered at it with a small frown. It was incredibly worn at the edges and the cover design seemed to be something like human veins but in the color of a deep violet. There were words scrawled at the center, but you couldn't get a good look at them before you heard Chaeyoung stir from the bed next to you.

You shoved the book into Chan's bag and set the backpack down, simultaneously dropping your butt into the chair. “I woke you up, huh?” you winced.

Chaeyoung smiled sheepishly at you. Even with the nasal cannula and the formless hospital gown, she was beautiful. Though her skin was more blanched than usual, it didn't take away from the utter warmth she radiated in this sterile environment. In that way, she and her brother were so similar. “Hi, Yn-ie,” she mused. “And no, I was just pretending to be asleep.”

“Well, that's not very nice then. Were you planning to let me watch you sleep this whole time?” you teased back at her. Your lips pulled into a fond smile. “How are you feeling? Any better today, unnie?”

She lifted her hand up onto the railing of the bed and you gently clasped it with your own. Throughout the years, she had come to be almost like your own older sister figure, in a way. “I'm a little tired, but it doesn't hurt a lot, so don't worry. A little coughing here and there, but nothing a bit of water won't fix.”

You wished you could believe her.

“But enough about me. What's going on with you? Are you seeing anyone yet?”

You choked on your own breathing air, pulling a grin out of Chaeyoung. You had to let go of her hand in order to thump your own chest. “You sound like my mom,” you retorted as heat crawled up the back of your neck.

Chaeyoung made a movement akin to a shrug. “I'm bored; sue me… so are you?”

The silence in the room was enough to speak volumes. The way your mind immediately flashed to a particular demonic friend of yours made the tightness in your chest hum gladly. You rubbed the spot with the heel of your palm absentmindedly.

“Oh, well you have to tell me about them now,” Chaeyoung gushed, squeezing your hand. “You can't even deny it—your eyes just went so soft, Yn.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. How were you supposed to tell her that they were only feelings? The urge to tell her about the knot around your ribs was suddenly too great; it was like looking into Shuhua's eyes and denying everything to her. “He's,” you stammered, “we're friends.”

“That's usually how it begins,” she chimed in.

You fixed her with a look. “And he's…” How did one say “everything” without saying everything?

Chaeyoung grinned, knowingly. “I know you'll just deny it, but it's—” Her words broke off with a violent cough.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you scrambled off your chair to reach for the tissues on the nightstand. Her coughing fit raged on without a moment of mercy, not even to let her breathe air. Each one grated on you for your stupidity, for letting her waste her energy on coaxing an answer out of you.

She took the tissues gratefully, shoving them against her mouth as she hacked up globs of crimson red to stain the paper and sheets.

You began searching for water. Maybe medication. Anything that might soothe her for a second.

The door bursted open, and Chan and an older man with a white coat hurried into the room. You ducked out of the way as another nurse barreled in after them. The doctor and the nurse converged on Chaeyoung's bed and you held your hands close together by your chest as you stood next to Chan in the doorway.

“They heard her heart monitor skyrocket from the nurse's station,” Chan said quietly with his eyes on his sister's bed. His eye bags had not gotten better as the day dragged on, but you had been foolish to think for a second that this trip would make him feel any better. His hand gently warmed the place between your shoulder blades. “Come on. Let's give them the room.”

You and Chan ended up in the hallway just outside the door. Your back was pressed against the wall facing the window while Chan practically paced a hole into the floor.

Just a minute ago, he'd seemed almost resigned. But the energy around him had become frantic, frazzled. You grew wary and nervous simply by watching him, your fingers cracking knuckles and tugging at loose strands on your shirt sleeves.

He tore his hands through his hair for what felt like the fiftieth time, and you stepped forward. “Chan—Chan, please just sit down. You're going to tire yourself out like this.”

“Yn, I can't,” he said, and the tremble in his voice was unmistakable.

You grabbed his hands away from his head to force him to look at you, to stay still. “She's going to be okay.”

His eyes glittered with mourning. The jewels that welled up in his eyes poured down the slopes of his cheeks. “She's not,” he rasped, shaking his head. “They said she's getting worse and—and I—I don't know what to do anymore.”

There was a heavy pang in your chest, but you forced both you and Chan to the side of the hallway closer to some of the chairs left out. He balked, stopping in his tracks. “Yn, I don't know how to save her. I've tried everything.”

You squeezed his hands and your eyes began to sting. “I know you have,” you breathed out. “I know you have and I am so sorry.”

“I don't know, I don't know,” he sobbed. He hung his head. “It's my fault. I should've tried harder—I could've done better—”

“Chan,” you cut in, “why in the world would you blame yourself? You've done so much for her; Chaeyoung would never blame you for this, not ever.”

Chan lifted his head and you were so certain there was a glint of purple in his eyes, but there were so many tears it could've only been a trick of the light. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Anything.”

His fingers curled with yours and you believed that he was finally squeezing you back—that he was finally leaning on you. “Can you promise me that you're not chained to him?”

What?

You hardly registered what he just asked you when you keeled over. A searing pain ripped through your body and twisted around your sternum. It was as if someone had wrapped their hands around that central bone and was trying to tear it out of you. Your heart and lungs seized all at once—you couldn't breathe.

Oh my god—you couldn't—breathe—

Air rushed into your lungs all at once, and you found yourself grappling onto the sides of a chair. Chan was saying something to you—they were words, but words you couldn't hear correctly. …so sorry… can't… you… like me.

Your center of gravity tilted violently on its axis and leaned toward the ground. As blood pumped violently back into your skull, you could feel the cold embrace of unconsciousness pull you closer.

A pair of hands grasped yours again, and you felt something cool pressed into your hold. A cup? Water?

“Yn? Yn, can you hear me? I'm gonna call a doctor—”

“No, no,” you waved the comment away with a weak hand. Your vision gradually cleared along with the fog in your head. You groaned quietly, bringing the paper cup to your mouth and poured it down your throat. Your chest heaved with labored breaths and you slumped into the chair you were draped in. “I'm fine now.”

Chan's face was twisted into deep worry as he leaned over you. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Yn, I can't lose you, too. That looked and sounded awful. What even happened?”

You closed your eyes. “I… I'm not sure.” It was like that one time you had nausea while Changmin was possessing you. But that wasn't nausea; whatever the Hell that had been, it was closer to your heart being clawed out than a measly migraine. “Would you mind just, uhm, getting me more water, please?”

“Yeah, of course. I'll get you a proper bottle from the vending machine.”

“Thanks, Channie.” You blindly patted his hand, and heard the sound of his footsteps soften as he hurried away.

You brought your hand up to your chest and let the warmth of your palm soothe the ache that haunted you. What was all that? There was no way that could have been a heart attack. You hadn't felt it in the heart.

“Shit,” you huffed as your phone vibrated in your back pocket. With a slight grunt, you managed to maneuver your hand beneath your body to answer the call. “Hello?”

A heavy breath filled your ears. “Oh Hell… are you okay?”

Déjà vu, much? You pulled the phone away from your ear to see the caller ID. “Changmin? How did you” —the pieces clicked together in your mind and you straightened in your seat— “oh my god, you felt that?”

“Are you okay?” he repeated instead with more strength.

“Yes, yeah,” you exhaled. The pain was slowly receding to the edges of your memory and breathing gradually became nature again. “Did you feel it, too, then? Are you alright?” The though of him enduring that pain at the same time as you—your heart might as well have fallen straight into the pit of your stomach.

You definitely weren't mistaken when you heard a sniffle from that side. “I'm alright,” Changmin said softly. “I just—I needed to hear—I needed to make sure you were okay.”

A smile pulled so strongly at your mouth that the corners curled downwards. “Well I'm okay now. I promise.”

“When are you coming home? I… I need to see you.”

Your free arm wrapped around your stomach and wished it was his. Unconsciously, your eyes raised from the glossy floor to the presence coming back down the hall with a water bottle in his hand. (Was it survival instinct that had you looking at him in a light you never once considered before?) “Soon,” you promised with all the tenderness in the world. “Wait for me?”

“For however long I need to.”

PART VI: THE CURSED

Nightfall swaddled the world in its embrace when Chan pulled his car into the parking lot at your apartment complex. The headlights sliced through like twin blades across the sidewalk to blind the bushes lining the building’s perimeter. Sleep hadn’t claimed you at any point during the drive back down to the university, and you could feel the dryness begin to sting at the corners of your eyes.

You grabbed your bag from between your legs as Chan let the engine thrum beneath you. “Thanks,” you said quietly.

“Yeah,” he muttered back, dragging a hand down his face.

The drive hadn’t been much better. If someone asked you to point to the exact moment you were aware of the rift between you and Chan, you wouldn’t be able to tell them. There was a cloud of uncertainty, dark and stormy, that now blocked the radiance you were used to.

You glanced out of the window with your palm ghosting over your chest and you locked eyes with a figure loitering by the entrance to your apartment complex. The jump in your heartbeat was confirmation enough of who it was.

Fingers grazed over your shoulder—you shifted away, something you had never done before. A meekness took over your counterpart’s face. “There’s nothing I could say, is there?”

“You’ve never brought this up to me before,” you countered. At some point between Chaeyoung’s hospital room and the apartment parking lot, you figured out what Chan had asked you and who he was referring to. ‘Chained’ was an interesting word choice; you foolishly decided not to dwindle on it too long while you were within five feet of him.

It was a lot to think about. The chasm that gradually stretched between you had never existed before, and it cracked through the bridge that was your history with him. Your immediate thought was that the bridge was worth saving, but whenever you leaned over to grab the flayed ends, there was something in the dark that snapped at your fingers.

“He’s… Yn, he’s not who you think he is.”

You shoved the car door open. “I’ll make that judgment for myself. Good night.” Without another word, you stole into the night and let the door’s slam echo in the quiet.

As you made your way across the sidewalk to Changmin, there was an undeniable skip in that reliable rhythm called a heartbeat. The more you closed the distance between you, the less your chest ached and tugged. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered the sound of tires dragging over gravel and lights fading away, but if it wasn’t in your direct view, you didn’t quite care.

Changmin didn’t look hurt, at least from the outside. His dimpled smile graced his features as he took a few steps to meet you.

“Hey—” Your mouth muffled against the fabric on his shoulder as his arms scooped around you and pulled your body flush against him. An emotion bubbled up in your chest, then your throat, as you relaxed into him. The ache was gone, but he was here. You slowly brought your arms up around his middle and allowed the unspeakable to simmer.

You heard a small sound by where his face was tucked into your neck, and when the realization hit you, you could only laugh. “Are you sniffing me?” you snickered.

“You smell nice,” he sulked.

You patted his back. “So not only are we leashed, but you have also adopted the characteristics of a dog—”

“I’m letting go now.”

“Noo, don’t let go. I’m sorry,” you said and locked your arms around him. You both knew he could break out of your hold at any point, but in your arms, he remained. “Are you okay? You wanted to see me right when I got back.”

A breath was released against your skin, and it was so similar to the brushes of wind that he demonstrated early on as a physical manifestation of his power. “I needed to see you,” he corrected. “I needed to see that you were okay.”

The top-left quadrant of your ribcage fluttered. “I… yeah that was scary, wasn’t it?” you whispered. The phantom pain ignited within your breast for a moment, and you screwed your eyes shut. How could a single touch cause such physical agony? You were careening toward the truth you had been avoiding for hours now. You were peering into a dark chasm with no end to the bottom, but the longer you delayed, the longer it would continue to instill that fear and anxiety within you.

You cupped the back of his head with your palm, brushing your thumb through the strands of hair. “We need to talk.”

He hummed. “We do.” Changmin straightened and while one of his arms lingered about the curve of your waist, the other lifted toward your face. Before he could touch you, he stopped himself and pulled the hand back down to his pocket. “Are you tired? We could talk about this tomorrow?”

The thought of tomorrow morning’s lecture, but leaving the seat beside Shuhua empty, made your stomach sink. Your nod was reluctant. “I guess so… thank you for coming though. It was sweet—good. It was really good to see you. I—”

That hand from just a moment ago reappeared to cup the underside of your jaw and drew you over to kiss you.

(Under oath, Changmin would have admitted that there was a part of him that had been craving to kiss you since that day in his apartment when he confessed that murder from your lips was damningly divine; but if you were to ask him now, he would have said he simply didn’t want to say good night yet.)

You weren’t out of your wits enough to be completely slow as to what was happening. His touch was hesitant and bereft of the full strength he wished to impart. The brush of his lips against yours was fleeting and he was pulling away all too soon.

Cheater. You grabbed a handful of his hoodie in your fist and yanked him back over to you. You’re not getting away with that.

He stumbled in surprise, slapping his palm against the wall over your head. That arm was looping back around you in an instant, and your chests pressed together as if connected by opposite poles of a magnet. He was better this time around—sloppier, more fervent. His fingers dug into the meat of your waist, his mouth bruising against yours.

You wondered if a few minutes spent devouring the air between each other was enough to carve the other’s name into your mouths permanently.

His mouth glistened in the low light when you pulled away to relieve your lungs. Changmin’s eyes were hooded, pupils dilated to the black of deep space: consuming, but wondrous. “Another thing to talk about tomorrow then?” he exhaled out against your skin.

You nodded—that was a given—and you watched his eyelashes flutter as he leaned in again. Something deeply satisfied purred in the recesses of your center, somewhere only one’s soul might dwell. (Love was felt in your chest where he belonged, after all.) You breathed him in as he kissed you once more. It wouldn’t matter if the invisible string that tethered you to him eventually faded because your souls were far too comfortable with each other to ever let go.

The sun hung midway between the sky's precipice and the horizon, washing the world beneath it in a whimsical filter of gold. While Mondays were usually a lighter load for you, today happened to be the one you stacked all of your academic appointments onto. It wasn't until about three in the afternoon that you were able to see Changmin again.

You stepped out of your department advisor's building with your hand raised to shield your eyes. Waiting for you at the curbside and straddling his bicycle was the other half of your soul bond.

“You like guys with bikes?” Changmin grinned, half laughing as he nodded to you.

You threw your head back and couldn't fight the smile off your face. “You pick up all your girls like this?”

“That would be a yes, 'cause I only have one girl and I don't have a car.”

Your laugh bounced off the nearby walls and made Changmin's cheeks hurt from how wide he smiled. You made your way over to him, and he curled his hand around your waist, thumb rubbing into your hip bone. “Hi,” he mused.

“Hi.” Nothing had been said between the two of you since last night besides wishes of good sleep and to perhaps see one another in your dreams. (If dreams were considered a weakness to demons, it was safe to say that Changmin didn't give a damn.) You licked your lips. “So where do you wanna talk? Because we do have to talk about some things.”

“I know. Juyeon said he won't be home, so I thought we could go back and talk, and maybe… watch a movie, if that's cool.”

You snorted. “You kiss a guy once and he suddenly gets game.”

His eyebrows went sky high as he handed you his helmet to strap on. “Actually,” he scoffed, “we kissed at least f—”

“Ah!” You pressed your pointer finger to his lips, fixing him with a pointed look and ignoring the warmth in your cheeks. “That's semantics. Is this even safe, by the way?” you asked, gesturing to the back of his bike where he had a small rack installed over the back wheel.

“Yeah, you just need to hold on tight.”

You threw one leg over the middle and braced your feet over the two bars jutting out from either side of the back wheel. Your arms came around his nearly nonexistent waist, the side of your head resting against his backpack. “You just want me to hug you.”

Changmin laughed from the front. “You said it, not me!”

Who said sharing a bike was romantic? Certainly not you, but there was plenty of fluttering in your stomach that made you think otherwise. You didn't keep your face against him for long, and lifted it up to feel the wind across your cheeks and through your hair.

It was strange to think of him as a demon when you had known him longest as a good friend. There was nothing remotely unhuman about him, but what made someone a human? Was it physical traits or lack of magic ability? Was it the realm we hailed from or was it simply… prejudice and stereotype?

Whenever you thought back to that fateful night, you couldn't believe you'd harbored even an ounce of fear for him. A part of you thought he'd pulled all those stops to make you scared, but the other part knew that maybe they were necessary out of his own alarm.

When you arrived at his apartment complex, he locked up his bike in the room in the lobby. The two of you worked your way up to his floor, a light conversation bubbling between you about what movie you should watch after you filled each other in. Speaking about anything regarding the supernatural out in the open like this was not ideal.

“—it’s really not even that scary,” Changmin insisted as he fished around his bag for his keys.

You crossed your arms over your chest, unconvinced. “I know you've got a thing for Chucky, but—”

His mouth fell agape as he managed to grab his keys and shimmy open the lock on the door. “I do not have a thing for Chucky. That's just disgusting and perverted. I thought you were better than—oh. Shit.”

You were about to ask him what was wrong when you followed him in through the door. Seated on the couch was Juyeon, Shuhua, and Hyunjae, two of whom had their arms crossed and their faces fitted with matching masks of suspicion.

“Hi guys,” you greeted awkwardly and nudged the door closed. What were they talking about without you and Changmin?

“We’ve been expecting you—ow! We agreed that I was going to greet them,” Hyunjae hissed to Shuhua who had dealt a brutal blow to his ribs with her elbow. “Also, your elbow is so fucking bony—”

Shuhua harrumphed, sitting up straight with her chin inclined. “We’ve been expecting you. Juyeon purposely lied to Changmin so we could confront the two of you.”

You and Changmin exchanged nervous glances. Your counterpart then swiftly turned toward his roommate with an expression of betrayal. “You lied to me?”

Juyeon went doe-eyed. “I’m sorry, Changminnie—they made me!”

Hyunjae’s cough was annoyingly loud, and he thumped his fist against his palm like a gavel. What was this—court? “Ahem. We all agreed that we needed to catch you guys in the act and to hold an intervention. I tried” —he dragged out the word ‘tried’ as if he’d nearly died in the Sahara Desert while doing it— “to confront Yn about it at the house party, but then you went and got yourself drunk.”

Oh. You performed a mental rewind all the way back to last Saturday. Oh no.

You and Changmin gravitated toward one another’s side. “What exactly,” Changmin drawled with narrowed eyes, “are you holding an intervention about?”

“Guys, please. We’re not fucking stupid,” Shuhua huffed. “We know you’ve been sneaking around together. And whether you’re actually dating or just hooking up—”

You choked on your own spit.

“—we need to know if you’re committing friendcest.”

You had to hold back both a laugh and a tremendous sigh. This was about fuckass friendcest, not Changmin’s demonhood. You opened your mouth to relieve your friends of their concern when Changmin beat you to the punchline.

“We’re not sneaking around for that reason,” he said, his eyes flickering over to you. You felt the back of his hand graze yours, and you blinked at him. While it was true that the original reason you started sneaking around was not because of mutual attraction, there was a tablespoon of truth to that now. If last night hadn’t happened before this conversation, it would have been a lot harder for you to answer their questions, and if you had talked about the kiss before…

There was conflict across Changmin’s face as he warred with himself on how to properly put yours and his hunt into words that they would understand. There was undoubtedly a build-up of years’ worth of guilt mounting in him to put pressure on his reveal of the truth, but it was clear that he was still not ready for that conversation yet.

You stepped forward and grabbed his hand. “He’s lying. We have been dating,” you declared. It was an innocent white lie that was somewhat truthful. “We” —you cleared your throat as every pair of eyes darted over to you, including Changmin’s— “wanted to try it out. We only really have gone out a couple times though, and it hasn’t been long since it started. We’re sorry we hid it from you guys.”

Changmin’s eyes gleamed with gratitude as his fingers braided with yours and he cupped around your bound hands with his free one.

A beat of silence passed as the other half of your friend group exchanged glances with one another. Had they expected you to deny it?

At last, Shuhua broke out into an almost pouty smile. “I wish you guys didn’t hide it from us, but if you’re happy…”

“We hid it because we weren’t sure yet and didn’t want it to affect the group’s dynamics,” Changmin chimed in. He squeezed your hand at his side. “I mean, I’m happy.” He glanced over at you, cheeks dimpled. “You?”

You smiled back, nodding. “Very.”

Juyeon sniffled and clasped a palm over his mouth. “Ugh, this is so romantic. You guys look so happy together. I need to tell Eric and Indigo about this.”

“Man,” Hyunjae feigned exasperation, but even he couldn’t hide the large grin on his face, “I really thought this was gonna be more dramatic. Glad you guys really were just sneaking around and dating and stuff, and not like, hiding a body or anything.”

You and Changmin looked at each other again and produced similar sounds bordering on a suspicious level of nervousness. “Yeah… definitely nothing like that.”

The other three were, unfortunately, sharper than you liked to give them credit for. “Wait, what do you mean—”

“Bye now!” Changmin whisked you out of the apartment unit with a slam of the front door. Yours and his giggles wrapped around one another as you left, leaving your dumbfounded friends high and dry.

When you and Changmin had escaped to the end of the hallway by the stairs, you finally released the breath you had been holding. Keeping Changmin's secret was one thing, but lying to your friends was another. What you claimed back there wasn't a total lie, but in this case, perhaps ignorance was bliss. You didn't doubt your friends would be supportive of Changmin's heritage, but if it was something he wanted to continue to keep undisclosed, then that was his prerogative and it was not your truth to reveal.

Yours and Changmin's hands remained intertwined as you made your way back down to the lobby. Since his apartment was clearly occupied, you would need to find somewhere else to speak privately. The answer came in the form of a park nearby, who's trails and pathways were rather vacant at this time of day.

Changmin locked his bike and helmet up at the park's entrance before his hand found yours again. “We are dating now, right?”

You snorted. “That's the first thing on the agenda?”

“Well, yes,” he beamed boyishly at you, swinging your hands between your bodies. “Are you saying that what you told them back there was really a lie?”

“I mean, no,” you stammered. Heat prickled beneath the surface of your skin and you fought to avoid his direct gaze, so knowing. “We are dating, if you're okay with it.”

“Sure.”

“Sure?” you squawked. Such indignation in that pretty boy smile of his. Your expression flattened into a deadpan. “I suppose I do have something to confess before we put a label on it.”

Changmin smiled to himself. “This is the moment you tell me you're a serial killer, isn't it?”

“You're really sick in the head,” you joked back. “But no, I mean that… well—hear me out: that night at the party when I was asleep? I may or may not have possessed your body.”

Changmin halted so abruptly that you were almost yanked back into his body from your linked hands. “What?”

You squeaked out a nervous laugh. “It's not, y'know, that big of a deal. It was only for a few seconds, and it really could have just been déjà vu or something.”

“No. No, it makes sense.” He shook his head, then pressed the black of his knuckles to his pursed lips, eyebrows creased together in a pensive stare. “My mind wasn't the most stable, so I wouldn't have been able to stop you from coming across the soul bond. It's just an interesting notion to consider; I've never heard of a case like this before.”

“Ah.” You were glad he wasn't bringing up the utter irony of the situation. “Maybe you can ask Aunt Jenna, and I bet most demons don't regularly come across that potion very often.”

Changmin cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “That's true. There is something that I've been meaning to tell you though. I don't know if you remember the random headaches I used to get” —you hummed your acknowledgement— “but it was apparently because I, and other demons in this area, were inflicted by a curse.”

Your face shuddered. A curse? How long had he been holding onto this?

His mouth set into a line. “I didn't want to worry you, but my being half human pretty much saved my life. It was… something from the Book of the Diabolical—a curse that stole energy from one being to transfer to another.”

The Book of the Diabolical rang a distant bell in your head. “That's really scary,” you murmured.

“I—I know,” he said, taking you by your arms, “but I'm working with another demon on campus to solve it. It shouldn't affect you at all because they've only been targeting demons, but—”

“That's incredibly worrying for you to say—”

He exhaled, “I know, I know. I can take care of myself though, especially now that I have this other demon to help.” Changmin's grip on your body tightened, but not to an uncomfortable degree. His possession of your gaze was even more secure; there was an urgency within him that compelled you. “I'm telling you this now because… because I can't stomach the thought of you getting hurt, and I need you to promise me to be careful.”

You brought your hand up to cover the back of one of his. “But you said this curse only affects demons,�� you whispered.

“Yes, but” —he cut himself off, tearing his eyes away for a moment. He bit his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. “I just have a very, very bad feeling about something.”

“Then tell me what it is,” you pushed. There was no way you could safeguard yourself if you didn't know what he was worried about.

Changmin considered you for a moment, then in a low voice, said, “It's about Lee Chan. I know you're friends with him, but I just can't put my finger on how he's connected to all of this.” Your eyes fell away from his, and his heart stuttered in his chest. His palm was gentle as he ran his thumb over your cheek. “Please. Please just be careful, sweetheart.” Please believe me.

At last, you nodded and slowly raised your head up to meet his eyes once more. “Okay,” you said, “I promise.”

There was a beat of hesitation in his heartbeat again—he couldn't bear to be without his other half.

Your conversation with Changmin was severed short when he received a call from his demonic friend—a Kim Hongjoong—about an update regarding the curse's residual essence. He biked you to your apartment complex first, walking you to your door. He left soon after, but not before bestowing a lingering kiss to your brow, the words between the stressed lines of his eyes imploring.

You promised to call him tonight, and you shouldered your way into your apartment. Your heart had not ceased to stop rattling in its confines since Changmin admitted his wariness about Chan. You didn't know why you didn't immediately agree with him then and tell him about your thoughts from the hospital day, but your thoughts whipped around in your mind, trapped in a violent rip current.

The reason you had looked away from him earlier was not because you doubted him, but because you feared those whispers of suspicion were quickly becoming your reality. It was a grave accusation to name Chan specifically, and to even suspect him having a hand in recent diabolical deeds, but you couldn't deny that your view of him was morphing into something else.

It wasn't right, you thought. Lee Chan was the sun—bright and warm. He wouldn't hurt a fly. Right?

You fumbled for the lights in your darkened apartment. It was strange that your roommates weren't home; usually they would have been. You suppressed a yawn as you failed to find the light switch for some reason. Had you been this tired all day? Your eyelids were growing heavier and heavier by the second…

“Shit,” you muttered as your foot hit something solid on the floor. Your fingers caught the switch and light flooded into the room.

A gasp tore out of your throat. By your foot laid the body of one of your roommates, her limbs splayed sporadically, but her chest still rising and falling with breath. (Asleep?) You lifted your head, and a dooming chill fell over you as you realized that the body on the couch was your second roommate; and there—the third's hand poked out from behind the kitchen counter.

There was another aspect to survival instinct. It launched into effect as soon as you spotted a figure emerge from your periphery.

You whipped around and reached for the door handle, but to no avail. A strong arm caged around your middle and slapped over your mouth. Whatever was on his hands—dry, chalky—dragged a cough from your throat. Though your heart pounded in merciless rhythm, it seemed only to work to your detriment.

“Can't let you do that,” said the voice behind you, gruffly. It was familiar.

The world grew darker… dimmer… your body's thrashing slowed. You screamed and attempted to flail around, desperate to get free. Why the Hell was your body getting weaker? Why—why were you tired—

Just before you surrendered to unconsciousness, the epiphany slammed into you like a truck. The worst part was it was way too fucking late.

If desperate people found faith, then Lee Chan was admittedly the most desperate of them all. Most people—humans, it should be clarified—found faith with the established religions of the world. There were truly far too many to count, but desperate and depressed ten year old boys were more resourceful than others gave them credit for.

The problem was that Chan was a creature made whole by the love imparted onto him by you and his older sister, as well as the neglect and hatred sown by his parents. It made for a dynamic persona—a soul torn asunder by the people he yearned for most. He wished his parents could have cared more, then perhaps he wouldn't have cared so much.

(Though, if they had cared even an inch more than they had, he wouldn't have traded their lives for Chaeyoung's in the first place… maybe he would have still done it, but he might have regretted it, at least.)

Wasn't there a definable point when a hero became a villain? No, he didn't like thinking of himself in those terms. “Protagonist” and “antagonist” were far too restricting. It was similar to the stigma surrounding the forbidden tome of curses in his possession; why was it forbidden if it was so very useful?

The only thing was that it lacked the spell he seemed to need most right now: a spell to convince you of the pure evil you had bound your soul to. Whether it was inadvertent or purposeful, Chan would do you a favor: by severing the demonic soul bond, he could save you—his beloved little sister. He could save you and protect you from an ill-begotten fate.

But even as he settled your unconscious body over the summoning circle sketched in confident, chalk strokes, he racked his brain for any possible reason why you were bound. To what end was your bargain with Changmin? Were you so desperate as to strike a doomed deal with a half-demon? He considered your face with a frown; even in sleep, your browser were furrowed with stress. He needed to get a move on.

The Book of the Diabolical laid open atop your desk where he had pushed it into the corner. The entirety of your room was rearranged in order to give him a wide berth to work—bed shoved to the far reaches, drawers and file boxes relegated to the closet. The middle of the room featured your body over his summoning circle, rounded out with burned phlox candles who's scent suffocated the room in its bitterness.

Chan hunched over the book and consulted the line of curse he had tabbed with a sea otter sticky note. Over the past several years of his life, he dedicated himself to learning how to decode the old dialect of this tome in order to use it to its full reaches. “Asmantha's star for summoning, check. Burned phlox, mhm. Conscious blood of the victim…” his voice trailed off as he caught miniscule movement from the corner of his eye. “You're awake already? What a weak spell.”

Your body stilled. “Chan…?”

“Just another minute,” he promised and reached into his backpack down by his feet. He withdrew a slim paring knife he had brought with him from his apartment. “This'll all be over soon.”

His eyes scanned over the lines of directions. Without looking back at you, he said, “I also wouldn't do that if I were you.”

You froze with your fingertips centimeters away from the edge of the summoning circle. If your nail had so much as crossed the line, your body would have been rendered paralyzed. It wasn't a pleasant feeling—Chan knew from experience—but it was a necessary evil.

“What are you doing to me? What is all this?” you queried, your voice as small as a mouse's.

He could feel your eyes go to the paring knife in his grip, and the thought occurred to him that it was troubling you. Chan turned around then with a reassuring smile, only to be met by your eyes, so round with fear. Oh. “Yn, this is for your own good,” he crooned sweetly with all the boyishness that you were used to. “I'm just doing you a favor. I know demon bonds are really hard to get rid of. They're nasty things, but I have a way to do it with minimal damage.”

You eyed him warily from your side of the line. “You mean a soul bond?”

Chan barked out a laugh. “Is that what he called it? Fucking disgusting,” he spat. Every molecule in his body boiled with anger—for you, of course. How dare Changmin fool you into some romantic vision of such a treacherous, vile thing? “I don't expect you to understand right now, especially if he's gotten into your head, but I'm going to help you.”

“Help me? I don't need any help—”

“You’ll thank me later,” he interjected with a click of his tongue. He nodded his head toward you. “Now hold out your hand. I just need a little bit of blood, and we'll be done.”

You scrambled backward on your hands. “What? No.”

Annoyance twitched in his jaw, but his chest twisted with something heavier. You were so far gone… if he didn't act now, it would be too late. “I'll come in there myself if I have to,” he replied and rose to his feet.

Wild, unbridled fear flashed across your face as your head swiveled around. You were trapped between a knife and the circle bounds, prey meeting predator.

Chan stepped into the summoning circle, brimming with determination. The spell's incantation swam fresh in the forefront of his mind, locked and loaded upon his tongue for the proper moment. His thumb ran over the flat side of the blade and he stalked over the chalk markings. “I only need a little,” he reassured you.

“Don't do this,” you sputtered, “please! You don't have to break the bond.”

Your words only spurred him on. Chan lunged for your ankle, and you rolled out of the way, the crown of your head narrowly missing the edge of the circle. It was to your slight advantage that he had drawn the thing so fucking large, but it only gave the lion more room to play with his food.

Rich purple fractured across his irises and you could no longer dismiss it as just a trick of the light. Stupid. You had been so fucking stupid.

He pounced again. The breath flew out of your lungs as you hit the ground, your hand grasping his knife wrist where it was poised above your cheek. Your entire body shook as you held him back. “Stop,” you cried. “Why are you doing this? Chan, we're friends.”

“That's exactly why,” he grunted and used his body weight and gravity to inch the blade down further.

Pure adrenaline was all that kept your limbs from failing. Sweat collected between the grooves of your palms and fingers, your heart racing at two hundred beats a second. Every ounce of energy went toward survival. “I don't” —you heaved at his wrist to get it to move away— “understand.”

Chan squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. Tears had welled up in the linings, trickling down onto your face. Agony contorted his own, flushed, as he exerted every exhausted bone in his body. He'd used so much of his energy lately. “I can't have you end up like me,” he said through gritted teeth. “And if I can't save noona, I can still save you.”

He slammed the knife down.

Your head jerked out of the way, just as the tip of the blade crunched into the wood floor.

Before you could tumble out of the way, he snatched the front of your throat with his free hand and pinned you in place. Your hands whipped up to your neck, desperately clawing at his fingers and knuckles, your airways narrowing. Blood from his hand trickled down from your angry marks, a river of red flowing to stain your own skin.

“Please,” you choked out.

He didn't listen. You felt the bite of steel; blood, hot and thick, bubbled out of the cut and dripped down the side of your face onto the floor like a tear.

Chan kept his hand around your throat. His eyes, drowning in his own sorrow, never left your face. You once knew his eyes, but the purple that corrupted them struck you with fear. “Utimana catenia ab eterno effodiant sycut sol ad auroramae. Abi, daemon. Abi, daemon!”

You never thought you'd ever feel that same searing pain from the hospital ever again, but this was much worse. A guttural scream tore out of your throat with more wind than volume. Someone had dug their way into your body and was ripping their way out. They buried their fingernails and were shredding your muscle, cracking your bones apart, and they wouldn't stop until they saw the cold light of day.

The physical sensation—it was no clean slice. When a rope was pulled under strain, every fiber unwound until it snapped. You couldn't breathe. Every fiber of your being, physical and metaphysical, clung onto the soul on the other end of the line.

The rope splintered. Only then did you lay still.

Air once again flooded into your lungs, but your chest ached and ached and ached. Your throat burned from your crying. Your head hit the ground beneath you and you pawed at your sternum. The negative space was so damn loud. He wasn't there—he wasn't there—

“Yn?” A shaky voice, small and childlike. Chan's face appeared above in your line of sight with worry written stark over his face. “He's gone now.”

He's gone now. A cough boiled up in your throat, and you turned your head to hack up the residual blood. It was as if something truly had broken in your body. An entire piece of you was missing.

When you remained silent, Chan dragged himself up to his feet. “You’ll be grateful one day, you know? I'll clean this up and leave you be—”

You didn't have the heart or strength to lift your head, but you heard what happened next.

Chan's breath caught, followed by sounds of growling protest. There was a foreign voice or two over by the doorway. Take him to the Third Circle. We'll deal with him later.

The heart in your chest, its beats weak, stuttered into a pitiful skip as if it could sense the other half of it approaching. A face appeared in your view, his eyes wet and blood seeping from his nose. “Yn?” he rasped, wiping the blood with the back of his hand.

His blond hair hung in his eyes as you peered up at him. Your body relaxed in the presence of the one it yearned for most.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking, as he dipped his head to touch his forehead to yours. I'm so sorry I'm late, so sorry I let him hurt you. You could feel his body shake with silent cries. “I am so fucking sorry.”

“He said you were gone,” you managed to croak with your hoarse voice. Your nose and eyes stung with oncoming tears, and as soon as the dam broke, you could not reverse it.

“I'm right here,” he assured you. His arms wrapped around your body and pulled you up toward his chest.

“It hurts.” You pressed a hand to your chest where the gaping chasm now sat. You didn't know how deep your soul laid within, bruised and battered. “Are you okay?”

Changmin loosened a wet chuckle from his mouth, holding the side of your face tenderly. “I should be asking you that. I was so scared—Hell—” Loss was a unique feeling. It was strange because you were right here in his arms, but no amount of proximity soothed the visceral throbbing in his chest. He once was whole, one part loved and the other part loving. But what was done, was done: the goal you and Changmin originally had in mind was accomplished, but neither of you were sure that you wanted it anymore.

The two figures you didn't recognize approached the summoning circle. One was a boy who looked human enough, but with eyes that seemed too sharp. The other beside him was a woman with gray hair, styled to coiffed perfection as a bed for the pair of curled black horns jutting out from the crown of her head.

You struggled into an upright position and leaned back against Changmin. “And” —you cleared the congestion in your throat— “you are?”

“Kim Hongjoong,” said the former with a sad tilt to his smile. He gestured to the woman. “My colleague, Amari.”

“Prince of Hell and Magika Supreme,” Changmin muttered into your ear.

Your eyes went wide. “Should I bow?”

Hongjoong waved his hands in front of him. “No need. Are you feeling alright though? Soul bonds are… they aren't the easiest things to live without once you've had one.”

“You know what it feels like?”

“Definitely not,” he said sheepishly. “But I can guess. Changmin collapsed when he felt his end was devastated. I, uhm, imagine that your experience was similar.” The prince lowered himself into a crouch to be eye level with the two of you. “Your friend—the one who did this to you.”

Your throat squeezed tight with the phantom of his hand around it. “Chan?” you stammered. “What's happened to him?”

“We've taken him into custody,” the Magika Supreme replied with a low voice and perfect posture. “Did you know that he had a copy of the Book of the Diabolical?”

There was that title again. You shook your head, but pointed in the direction of your desk. “That thing? I didn't know what it was until now. He—he had it when I was at the hospital with him yesterday.”

“Do you know how long he's had it in his possession?”

You were about to answer, when Changmin cut in. “With all due respect,” he swallowed, “Yn deserves her rest, not an interrogation.”

Hongjoong exchanged glances with Amari, then nodded and rose to his feet. “Fair enough. We'll help you clean up and be on our way—”

“Wait.” You didn't expect them to listen to you. “I need to know what happened. I don't—I still don't understand.” When had everything gone wrong for your friend? In your mind's eye, you could picture the canyon that spanned yours and Chan's relationship, the tattered bridge hanging listlessly over the gorge. You could not banish his words from your head: I can't let you end up like me. And if I can't save noona, I can still save you.

Hongjoong pressed his lips together. “Your friend has been using that book of curses for a very long time to steal energy and transfer it to his sister. Recently, your Changmin and many others fell victim to one of them.”

Your hand fell over where Changmin's rested across your middle. Could he feel the guilt sloshing in the pit of your stomach like turbulent waves?

“We believe he targeted demons specifically because of a deal he made with a demon in his past.” A shadow fell over the prince's face, and you read the grave sadness embedded there. “He must have held a grudge against our kind since that rotten deal.”

It made sense. As much as it caused bile to creep up your throat, the pieces were slipping into place. The pure, venomous loathing he directed toward Changmin and the soul bond—if he had experienced a demonic bargain before, he would not only be aware of the existence of the supernatural, but the nature of such soul-binding deals.

Chan had done it for Chaeyoung—that conclusion wrung you through the deepest pits of Hell and destroyed you. He'd done it to save her life, but it hadn't been enough.

“What's going to happen to her?” The bloody tissues and crude scratches of her coughing crushed into your mind. “She didn't ask for any of this.” They said she's getting worse.

The Magika Supreme was the one who answered. “The energy Lee Chan stole and imbued her with was corrupted, which is unfortunately why Miss Lee's condition is worsening.”

An idea manifested in your head and you shifted to sit up out of Changmin's hold. “Then can you—”

“Yn,” Changmin lamented, predicting where your mind had wandered.

“—save her? Could you save her? Is there any way?” Someone titled with Magika Supreme must have the power or authority to achieve something like this. Chan's love for his sister fundamentally fueled all of his actions. Every malicious deed he pulled, every incantation he uttered, had been with the intent to save Chaeyoung from a fate she could not control. You wished his desperation hadn't shoved him over the edge; you wished he never had reason to get to such a point.

Amari paused, but not because she was uncertain of the possibility. She passed a glance to her prince, then to Changmin, before returning to you. “Of course, there is always a way, but it would require something in return.”

“Name it.”

Changmin grappled onto your arm. “Yn, you're walking into another soul bond. Please, just think about this first,” he implored, forcing you to look him in his wide eyes, dark and entreating.

It was reckless, you knew, but Chaeyoung was dying. Her brother tried all his life to lead her from a fate she couldn't control, but it only doomed her more. Were you simply continuing the cycle or could you do something good for her?

“The difference between your friend's magic—” you and Changmin's attention flitted over to Hongjoong, “—and the Magika Supreme's is that the latter won't be using corrupt magic to steal corrupted energy.” Hongjoong's smile was something warm and reassuring. What an effortless prince he made. “Whatever healing magic she'll use will work without crippling Chaeyoung's health more. Though, I can't promise about side effects; nature is a difficult divinity to fight against.”

Right. You blindly curled your fingers with Changmin's and the touch eased the throbbing in your chest. “What would you ask for in return?”

“You would be called to testify against Chan in our court,” Hongjoong stated, but not unkindly. “Take your time to think about it. I'm sure Changmin has my number.”

In the blink of an eye, Hongjoong and Amari were before you one second, then gone without a trace. A light gust of wind brushed past your face as the only evidence of magic being used. Beneath you, your floors were rid of the summoning circle and candles; and the Book of the Diabolical had disappeared from your table.

You and Changmin took your time returning your room to its former state. Your roommates outside in the main living space had all woken up from their forced slumber, their minds blank of the events leading up to Chan's ambush.

The emptiness in your chest left none to be desired. You sat in bed with your head against Changmin's shoulder, his hand playing with yours while your other rubbed your chest absentmindedly. No matter how much pressure you put, the chasm remained. Staying close to Changmin though remained second nature.

“What're you thinking about?” he murmured into your hair.

You tilted your nose up to graze his pulse. “How I'm going to tell Chaeyoung about this. She deserves to know what happened to Chan, at least.”

Changmin gave a slow nod. “I agree.”

Your eyes flickered up to his. “You're okay with me telling her? I can leave you out of it.”

“No, that's okay. She doesn't really know me,” he chuckled, that dimple impressing into his cheek. His smile widened as you leaned over and pressed your lips to it. “Are you feeling alright though? After everything?”

There wasn't much you could express with your words at the moment. How did one describe the loss of a friend? And how did one string together the words to tell someone that they loved them, that they were both the remedy and reason for the pounding of your heart? You did not know either for the time being. “It’ll take some getting used to.”

“What? The hole in your soul?” He pressed his palm flat against the center of his chest to feel the distant beat of his heart, slow, solid, and steady.

“That, and not being able to possess you.”

Changmin squawked in indignation. “And you say I'm the creep?”

“You literally still are!”

Both yours and Changmin's laughter lit up the dark, one spurring on the other. Though, if the shadows truly claimed him, then he was the night to your day; the other half for your whole; the one. Even if this entanglement began as an accident, all of the love you held for him was fully intentional. You would keep it safe in your chest, where he would always belong.

[the cast of incantations will return... maybe?]

a/n: IMPORTANT!!! i would like to write a follow-up/sequel to not only continue the plotline, but to also get a chance to better explore minor character dynamics, subplots with loose ends, and the literal fallout of these events because leaving it here is VERY unsatisfying. it would fulfill my creative needs esp since this was written under an extreme time constraint, but i also won't feel inclined to unless u reblog TT so pls. reblog and lmk what u thought ! thank u so much for reading :')

[spaceorphan18]

The Lady Whistledown Papers: 1x06 Swish (Part 5)

Welcome back, Gentle Readers, to The Lady Whistledown Papers, where I’m taking an in-depth look at Penelope Featherington and Colin Bridgerton’s character arcs and romance within the show Bridgerton!

For previous issues, follow tag : The Lady Whistledown Papers

Alright, let's wrap this episode up ;)

Letters

I want to know what book she's not actually reading. Also, picture of me every evening, if we're being honest...

She looks so cute in her fake sickness, I wanna just take all the screencaps!

So. Portia. She comes in going on about some dinner invitation that she's happy to have. Portia just thrives on being in society, and now that Colin and Marina's engagement has hit the ton, people are asking her to dinner all over the place. And, apparently Portia enjoys having spite invitations just so she can laugh in the host's face.

Penelope has other things to do. And she's got a very short amount of time to do it. So she fakes being sick to get out of social obligations so she can get some work done.

The timeline on this is interesting, though... The Featheringtons had dinner with the Bridgertons -- Colin told Marina give him a day. So, this is the next day/evening? So the end of this episode actually takes place on the morning after this one? So, Colin needed over a day for his plans to work out? Idk, time in this world is a little wonky sometimes, and I don't always feel like I know when I am.

I kind of love Pen's nervous determination. I love that she's sneaking around in her own home. She isn't sure exactly what she's looking for -- but she's gotta find something that'll stop this wedding.

Penelope is an adorable, yet terrible snoop. She goes through all of Marina's shit hoping to find.... something? I don't think she even knows. What she does find is Marina's suitcase packed and ready to go. And Penelope gets it -- she gets that Marina is going to run away with Colin, which makes her even more frantic. But girl... you gotta clean up your mess when you're going through people's stuff. She leaves everything everywhere -- Marina will definitely know something's happened in her room.

Anyway... what Penelope also finds is a bunch of letters stuffed in the back of her drawer, and upon looking at them, figures out that the one final letter sent by George is a forgery. I mean, I give this girl some credit, because that's some serious detective shit being able to figure that out based on one signature that's slightly off. But she is a writer, and there's a chance she's savvy enough to notice the content of the letter isn't in character, either.

Alright, so by the time Marina returns (from dinner?) Penelope has put Marina's stuff back in place. Good girl. Also, how long has she been sitting there waiting?

Anyway, so Marina is a little wtf about Penelope being in there and going through her stuff, but Penelope is so excited, she doesn't even wait for Marina to get done scolding her. She blurts out that the signatures don't match, and that she found a letter in her mother's handwriting to compare, to show that Portia was the one who did the forgery of George's letter.

Penelope is so excited about this development, she's practically bouncing. There is a way out of this mess without anyone getting too hurt! (I mean, technically, Colin's getting hurt but this would be less hurtful than what is going to happen, and way less than what would happen if he married Marina.)

And here's where the story really takes a turn. Penelope is excited, because she's found a way to save Colin, but also... she loves romance. And this proves that George never turned Marina away, that there's a possibility that George still loves her, that Marina can also get her happy ending with someone she actually does love. This development is important because it plays into what Penelope greatly desires herself - a great love story.

Marina is in shock, and really not accepting of all of this. She's skeptical of Penelope's claims, most likely because she's been coming to terms that George broke her heart, and has accepted that he isn't coming for her. And the practical side of her is winning out. George hasn't continued to write (though - would she know if Portia was keeping letters from her?) and Colin is a sure thing. And she just can't take that gamble. She won't take the chance on the possibility of love when she has security in her grasp.

And this just perplexes Penelope. She may be young and naive herself, but love is one of the most important things to her. Why would you not do everything you can to be with the one you love? Why would you not fight for your love? Why would you push it away?

Marina doesn't care. She still feels abandoned, and won't give up her one chance for a safe life. So, she burns the evidence, a symbolic gesture to the ending of that story.

And this is just too much for Penelope. Not only is Marina discarding her last ditch effort to stall the marriage, she's turning her back on love, and Penelope can't with that -- especially when she's in the process of trying to protect her own love from an unhappy life.

So, Penelope just blurts out that she knows Marina has a bag packed and assumes she's on her way to Gretna Green for an elopement, and for the first time, really starts to push back against Marina. What will she do when Colin finds out about the baby? How are you going to deal with the fact that you're really going to hurt him when he figures it all out?

Marina isn't necessarily concerned about that. She knows Colin will care for the baby, and won't kick her to the street, and that ultimately is what matters to her.

Penelope, rather emotional now, digs in. What of Colin? What of him and his feelings -- because they do matter, too.

Cause here's the thing about Pen. If this had been a sincere love match, I do believe she wouldn't have loved watching it go down, but she would have accepted it. She wouldn't have meddled. She's always felt that Colin would never pay her any real attention in the romantic sense, and she's come to terms with that. But this isn't a love match. And Colin is being actively hurt in all of this. And Pen can't help but stick on that point.

And... I kind of love this next beat. Marina stands in silence at Penelope's emotional outburst. The score comes in with its omniums score. Penelope's just showed her heart in a way that she hasn't before. Her love for Colin is a very sacred thing, but one that she tries her best to keep to herself, and it's finally burst through to someone.

(Granted, I'll argue they're all dumb for not noticing it sooner, but this makes for a lovely dramatic moment.)

All the pieces fit together for Marina, and she finally gets it, and says the quiet part out loud -- Penelope is in love with Colin.

The look of shock on Pen's face, though... She tries to reign it in, downplay it, be confused by the accusation. But Marina calls her out on exactly what it is. But this is going to be Marina's ultimate downfall.

Marina does not give Penelope an ounce of sympathy here. She calls Penelope's feelings a "childish infatuation" and an "unrequited fantasy". And believes, most likely because of the situation she's in, that she's more understanding of the world because she's lived more in it.

This conversation is so dense and complex. Do I think Penelope is young and in love with the idea of love? Yes. Do I think Pen's feelings should be dismissed? No. And this is where I think Marina doesn't get it. Because Penelope's feelings aren't entirely ungrounded. Not only has she lived with and managed her feelings for a long, long time, not only has she been realistic about her chances, her feelings aren't entirely unrequited.

Colin might be in his own fantasy land with Marina, but he and Pen have a very real friendship and a very real mutual caring for one another. It might not be in the same way, but it's dismissive not to acknowledge that.

And in a way Marina does, but how she does is actually somewhat cruel. She throws at Pen that Colin thinks of her no more than he thinks of Eloise... but she doesn't stop, she adds not even Eloise, but 'little' Hyacinth. Marina is throwing at her that Colin doesn't just think of her as a sister, but as a little girl who follows him around.

And to add salt to the wound, Marina says that Colin thinks of her as a woman -- as a sexual being as well as a partner, something that Penelope will never have (ha!). And it's just mean.

I get what Marina's doing -- it's part of the self preservation that she's being doing all along, because Marina feels utterly alone and if she can't save herself, no one else will. So she's being purposeful in her confrontation to Penelope. She wants to break Pen's heart. She wants Pen to feel defeated and give up.

And I have to wonder if some of this is self reflection on Marina's part. She feels so jaded and cold from what the world has thrown at her, she almost can't help but dish it out in the same way. It doesn't make it right, but you can understand why she feels the need to do this.

Well, Marina, you just fucked with Lady Whistledown and the man she loves, so you're going to get what's coming to you (which, i'll argue, is the better outcome for her, so it's not really that bad).

And here's where I'll stand up for Pen a bit. Because up until this point she's tried :

Encouraging Marina to keep up her correspondence with George

Appealing to Marina on an empathetic level

Helping Marina find another man who would still be a worthy choice

Going to her mother to try to persuade other options.

Going to Colin and attempting honesty about Marina's feelings for another man, but not spilling the actual pregnancy secret

Trying to prove to Marina that she shouldn't lose hope that the man she loves is actually still out there.

She has tried every avenue, and as I've said before, if Marina had had genuine feelings she would have stepped aside. But Marina has just been somewhat cruel in her actions. And yes, Penelope may be doing this out of her own feelings, but it doesn't mean that she doesn't care about Marina or her well being. Or that she hasn't been trying to help everyone in the situation.

So, Penelope flees, and goes off to write one damning Whistledown article. As Whistledown will say in season three -- when one loses hope, one becomes reckless.

Whistledown

The two plotlines of the episode -- Daphne and Simon's issues and the Marina story are going to collide thematically, and are tied together, rather brilliantly, in the Lady Whistledown voice over, that speaks to both situations.

The narration speaks of love and war and how the human heart is the most fragile of things. And I think, while it's definitely reflecting the intensity of the Daphne and Simon stuff, it hits differently when you know it's Pen. Marina did get to her. Her heart is really broken. But she's going to do what she feels, ultimately, is the right choice -- and reveal Marina's secret.

She knows what it's going to do to Marina, to her family, to Colin, and to the Bridgertons - whom she adores very much. The narration is unsure if it's the right choice, but it feels like the only choice.

This little moment of Pen and Eloise, it's always made me curious. Penelope and Eloise haven't had any kind of contact since their tiff a few episodes earlier, but that's the thing about best friends, is that they'll always be there when you really need them. And Eloise is there to console an utterly broken Pen. I do wonder what she said when Eloise inevitably asks what's wrong because. I wonder if she ends up telling Eloise the truth about Marina's pregnancy and the plans of elopement. Because at this point, that secret doesn't matter, Pen's already told the world.

I have to say, it's a nice little touch of acting that Penelope looks so young, really like a child, as she breaks down.

The Whistledown narration goes on to reveal Marina's secret -- letting the world know she was pregnant not only before she was engaged, but upon arrival to Mayfair.

And i love LOVE the composition of these scenes with the reveal. Colin is ready for his Romeo and Juliet moment, ready to go off and have this romantic adventure, live out his fantasy dreams. And the real world is going to come crashing in.

I kind of love the way Violet and Portia are just standing there, each waiting, each with their own complex looks on their faces as they've both read Whistledown and know. Violet is sad for him, but also frustrated and also a little of... I knew something felt off about this. Portia is just, disappointed and angered.

(Also the contrast of colors in the two scenes -- the Bridgerton blues vs the Featherington yellow/pinks, the lighting is so devastatingly gorgeous in both scenes, it really just amplifies the atmosphere of the moment.)

Colin's world is shattered. Marina looks resigned to her defeat.

And Penelope calls herself out in the narration (even if it's talking about Marina and Daphne as well) -- she knows that she crossed a line with this one. Knows that her actions may be seen as inexcusable. Was what she did worth it? Perhaps time will...

[sugar-grigri]

Do you think we’ll at least see Asa’s perspective or thoughts on what Yoru has done to Denji? Especially with Yoru’s last statement in chapter 192? It just feels to jarring to see Yoru without any interference or anger from Asa. I’m sure that Asa likes Denji, but I don’t think she would want to pursue Denji like that. I think that logically Asa would want to scare Denji away. Isn’t Yoru’s deal finished? Yoru said she wanted to beat Chainsawman, she technically DID, so by logic Asa should get her body back, no?

I!!!!!! Don’t!!!!!! KNOW!!!!!!!!!!! 😢😢

I've got one side optimistic and the other very pessimistic on this point.

By the way, my recent theory on Asa may be disillusionment, as I refuse to accept what Fujimoto has done with his character.

So here are two answers:

If I'm being pessimistic, even though I'm hoping for more of Asa's POV, I don't think we'll get it.

Fujimoto had a very weird writing style, after the chapter where Yoru masturbates Denji (it's very crude said like that but hey), Asa's only reaction is to be afraid that Denji thinks she's an easy girl

And I admit I was like: HUH ????

What kind of reaction is this?

Either 1) Fujimoto is very based, and shows that Asa whether by her possession by Yoru - her age is unaware of her aggression. That she is once again more focused on her image than on protecting herself.

2) Either Fujimoto considers that he hasn't written an assault scene. I hope this isn't the case, otherwise a lot of CSM's narratives would fall apart, but I think we can get this impression precisely from Asa's lack of reaction/anger/disgust at everything Yoru has done.

Honestly, it all depends on the next chapters, so I can't say for sure.

If I'm being optimistic, maybe we'll get that reaction, but it doesn't really resemble Fujimoto's writing style, which likes scenes to stand on their own.

On the other hand, Asa's future development and actions can deepen his feelings and help us understand her point of view.

The absence of Asa is so glaring that I'm surprised it's a flaw in CSM and not something the reader focuses on.

As for your last two questions, I have to admit that we're in total limbo.

For me, Asa probably doesn't want to haggle over her first time for obvious reasons, but if we're very pessimistic, we could say that she shares Yoru's feelings on this point.

But if I'm being optimistic, I have a more precise reading Yoru wants to sleep with Denji IF he accomplishes her new objective, and since Asa doesn't share this objective, mathematically, she doesn't want to sleep with Denji like that.

As for Yoru's aim of defeating CSM, technically she didn't, and I have to admit that the previous arc is completely muddled on this subject: to the point where I didn't even understand why Yoru was fighting him any more.

In any case, she couldn't completely annihilate him because the devil of aging intervened.

But it's messy again, for example how do we explain that Yoru now has the goal of going after his big sister? The devil of death?

The only explanation is: the law of the strongest

Yoru has gained the upper hand over CSM, and his feelings for him, as well as his superiority in terms of power, allow him to consider turning him into a weapon.

He's a potential weapon, not an enemy

Yoru is the war devil, she needs opposition and fighting, so her next enemy is the death devil.

And when you think about it, I think that's exactly how Fami thought, which is why she insisted that Yoru had to beat the black CSM

1) for Yoru to change her objective on her own (no need to manipulate her)

2) Fami had prepared the ground with the fire demon to give her the means to have this power.

In short, nothing but grey areas! Let's hope Fujimoto doesn't go down a disappointing road!

[jungkoode]

THE 25TH HOUR | O4

“𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒”

"You’ve never been trained physically past the basics. Yet your body seems to know exactly how to counter every single one of Taehyung’s movements. Jimin doesn’t like you. And everybody seems insistent on not answering any of your questions."

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 3,5k

content: waking up in a stranger's room (but is it?), Jimin choosing violence before coffee, training room shenanigans with TaeKook, ability reveals that definitely break several laws of physics, and Y/N's body remembering combat moves she shouldn't know.

— author’s note

Y'ALL. I've been DYING to write this training sequence since day one because holy shit, the ABILITIES. Remember when I said everyone had their own temporal powers? No? WELL.

Let's talk about Jungkook casually breaking physics because he can, Taehyung being done™️ with everyone's shit, and Y/N discovering she has powers while getting her ass handed to her. Also featuring: Jimin choosing violence before breakfast, mysterious golden sparks that definitely aren't supposed to happen, and Y/N's body remembering things her mind doesn't (again).

Also can we appreciate Jimin's "above my pay grade" energy while deliberately withholding information? And don't even get me started on Jungkook doing that thing where he copies other people's abilities just to be annoying. The CHAOS of this team, I swear.

Special shoutout to everyone who's been wondering about Y/N's room situation because BOY do I have some spicy implications for you. That empty space in the bed? The missing personal items? The way her body keeps remembering things her mind doesn't? Yeah, there's a reason for that 👀

Fun fact: I actually had to create a spreadsheet to keep track of everyone's abilities because they kept doing cool shit I wasn't planning. Looking at you, Jungkook, you weren't supposed to be able to do that yet but here we are.

Anyway, get ready for some quality action featuring: precise measurements of ass-kicking, clinical descriptions of supernatural abilities, and Y/N's analytical brain trying to science her way through literally impossible situations. Also temporal physics continues to be completely ignored in favor of plot convenience because I said so.

— read on

ao3

wattpad

The first thing you notice is wrong is the color of the walls. 

Navy blue instead of regulation black, the shade precisely 27.4% lighter than standard temporal housing requirements. 

Your analytical mind automatically begins cataloging the discrepancies: king-sized bed versus your assigned individual unit, missing digital chronometer from the nightstand, non-regulation bookshelf filled with texts you can't quite make out from this distance.

The sheets pool around your hips as you sit up, cotton instead of the standard-issue synthetic blend. 

Your Chrono-Sync Watch reads 09:00:13 AM—back in normal time flow. The device's presence is oddly reassuring, though something about that feels wrong. 

Weren't they against CHRONOS? Your memory of last night fragments when you try to access it.

Most concerning is the inexplicable sensation of absence beside you. The mattress holds a phantom warmth your body seems to expect, though you've never shared sleeping quarters with anyone. The feeling triggers a 2.3% increase in your heart rate.

The door opens without warning—no knock, no announcement. You're beginning to detect a pattern in their disregard for entry protocols.

Pink hair appears first, followed by tactical gear that wouldn't look out of place in a CHRONOS security unit. 

Jimin. Your mind supplies the name with surprising certainty.

"So you finally decided to wake up." His tone carries carefully crafted disinterest as he surveys the room. "Thought you'd sleep through training at this rate."

"This isn't my room." The statement comes out more observation than protest.

Jimin's eyebrow arches as he lets out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Technically, it is. You just don't remember." 

His fingers find a bobblehead on a nearby shelf, setting it in motion with deliberate precision. The object's presence feels simultaneously foreign and familiar.

"My assigned quarters have regulation black walls," you begin listing discrepancies, falling into analyst mode. "This bed is 76.2 centimeters wider than standard issue. The furniture arrangement violates temporal housing code 7.3 regarding—"

"You know what's interesting?" He cuts you off, voice filled with mock curiosity. "For someone supposedly waking up in a strange room, you're being remarkably calm about it." His eyes meet yours. "Don't you find that... odd?"

The observation washes over you like temporal feedback. 

He's right—your response pattern doesn't match standard protocols for displacement scenarios. Your heart rate should be elevated, stress hormones spiking. Instead, you feel an inexplicable comfort, marred only by that persistent sense of absence beside you.

You don't answer. Can't answer.

"Come on, up." Jimin picks up a book from your shelf—your shelf?—and drops into a bean bag by the dresser. "You've got training with Taehyung."

"I don't require training." The words come automatically, though you're not entirely sure what training he's referring to. "My temporal monitoring certification is complete."

"Trust me," he drawls, flipping pages without looking at you, "you do. But don't worry, you'll pick it up quick. You always do." Something in his tone makes your temporal readings fluctuate by 0.4%.

His eyes flick toward the dresser. "Training gear's in there."

You glance at the dresser, then back at him. "Changing attire in the presence of an unrelated male violates temporal conduct regulation 15.2."

The laugh that bursts from him carries genuine amusement. "Now that's ironic."

"I fail to see the irony in basic temporal compliance."

"Doesn't seem to bother you with Yoongi," he mutters, still pretending to read.

Your pulse jumps 7 beats per minute at the name. 

"I have no personal relationship with Agent Min." The words taste wrong on your tongue, like reciting equations in the wrong order.

"Sure you don't." Jimin rolls his eyes, standing with fluid grace. "Get dressed. You've got 5 minutes before Taehyung starts getting impatient." He replaces the book with suspicious familiarity, then pauses at the door. "And don't worry about modesty, Noma. I don't swing that way."

The door closes behind him with a soft click that somehow sounds amused.

You stare at your Chrono-Sync Watch: 09:03:47 AM. 

Time moving normally, yet nothing about this feels normal. Your fingers trace the empty space beside you in the bed, a gesture you don't consciously initiate.

You have 4 minutes and 13 seconds until Taehyung expects you.

You wonder why that knowledge feels like muscle memory.

The sheets slide from your hips as you rise, cool air brushing against your skin in a way that feels sharper than it should. 

Your Chrono-Sync Watch ticks forward—09:04:02 AM. 

You note the time automatically, as if logging it for a report you're no longer required to submit. The absence of your digital clock on the nightstand is disorienting, but not enough to stop you from crossing the room.

The dresser is unassuming—plain wood, slightly worn at the edges. You hesitate before opening it, fingers pausing on the handle. There's a strange weight to the moment, like you're performing an action you've done countless times before but can't consciously recall.

Inside, neatly folded, is tactical gear. 

The fabric is matte black, fitted with precision you recognize as military-grade. It's similar to what you've seen Jimin wear—what most of them wear here, except for Jin and Namjoon with their white lab coats. 

Your fingers trace the sleeve uncharacteristically, following the line of the material until it transitions seamlessly into a glove.

The design catches your attention. The ensemble covers everything—head to toe. Efficient, practical. Yet something about it feels... deliberate. A choice made with more than function in mind.

You pause, catching on an inconsistency. Skin coverage isn't unusual; in fact, it's standard. Public regulations discourage unnecessary exposure under the guise of "professionalism" and "efficiency." 

But this? This feels excessive even by CHRONOS standards.

Your thoughts shift to Protocol 47.3, the regulation governing physical contact during temporal operations. 

The directive is drilled into every trainee during certification: Direct skin-to-skin contact during active temporal anomalies is prohibited unless explicitly authorized by a superior officer. The reasoning is sound—skin contact can destabilize temporal signatures, increasing the risk of anomalies or detection by hostile forces. 

But here? They’ve mentioned Protocol 47.3 repeatedly since your arrival, almost obsessively. Yoongi's gloved hands, his careful avoidance of direct contact even through fabric barriers—it all aligns too perfectly with the regulation's stipulations.

And yet...

Your fingers linger on the glove's edge as you consider what Jimin said earlier: "Doesn't seem to stop you with Yoongi." The words echo in your mind like feedback from an unstable temporal loop.

Why would he say that? You've followed every protocol to the letter since arriving here—or at least since waking up here. Haven't you?

Your hand pulls back from the gear as if burned, though there's no logical reason for the reaction. The tactile memory of Yoongi's grip on your wrist surfaces unbidden—the precise pressure of his fingers over fabric, the way his thumb shifted against your pulse point like he was measuring something only he could perceive.

You shake off the thought and refocus on the gear in front of you. Practicality wins out over discomfort as you begin changing into it piece by piece. The material fits snugly but not uncomfortably, designed for optimal movement without excess fabric that could snag or slow you down.

The gloves slide on last, their reinforced seams pressing lightly against your fingertips. You flex your hands experimentally, noting how they feel both foreign and familiar at once.

Your Chrono-Sync Watch reads 09:07:16 AM when you're fully dressed. Three minutes and forty-four seconds since Jimin left—not quite within his five-minute deadline but close enough to avoid reprimand.

Still, as you glance at yourself in a mirror mounted above the dresser—a mirror that shouldn't be there according to housing regulations—you can't shake the feeling that this uniform means something more than just practicality or compliance.

It feels like armor.

And for reasons you can't yet explain, that thought unsettles you more than anything else about this place so far.

You gather your hair into a ponytail efficiently, the motion feeling oddly routine despite never wearing your hair this way for work. Something about the weight of the tactical gear suggests you'll need the visibility. 

Your fingers work through the strands with mechanical precision—exactly three loops of the hair tie, tight enough to secure but not so tight it would cause temporal pressure points.

09:08:49 AM. 

You exit the room to find Jimin examining what appears to be a modified Chrono-Sync Watch, his fingers tapping against its surface deliberately.

"That's more like you," he comments, eyes flicking up to your ponytail.

"I have never worn such attire," you state, the words feeling hollow even as you say them.

His lips twitch, something between amusement and irritation. Without further comment, he turns and starts walking, his stride purposeful. You follow, mind already cataloging questions that need answers.

"Where exactly are we?" It's the most logical place to start.

"Underground facility, Boston sector." His tone suggests he's answered this before. Many times.

"That's impossible. CHRONOS maintains detailed structural maps of all underground facilities in the Eastern Seaboard. This location doesn't exist in any database."

"Exactly." He doesn't even look back.

You frown, calculating possibilities. "The energy requirements to maintain a facility of this size off-grid would be—"

"Let me guess," he interrupts, "astronomical? Impossible with current technology? Breaking several laws of temporal physics?"

"Yes, actually."

"Fascinating observation. Any other obvious statements you'd like to make?"

Your jaw tightens at his tone. "Why haven't you removed my watch? If you're against CHRONOS, it seems inconsistent to let me keep it."

Jimin actually laughs at that, the sound sharp. "Remove it? You want Yoongi to be your personal temporal stabilizer 24/7? Because that's what would happen. Your signature's too unstable without it."

"My temporal signature is perfectly synchronized with the Network," you counter.

"Is it?" He glances at your wrist. "Check your variance readings."

You do. The numbers make your head hurt—0.7% off baseline. That shouldn't be possible with an active Chrono-Sync connection.

"What training could I possibly need?" you ask instead of dwelling on the implications. "I'm already certified in temporal monitoring."

"Oh honey," he drawls, "you're certified in what CHRONOS wanted you to know. Not what you need to know."

"That makes no logical sense. CHRONOS exists to maintain temporal stability and prevent—"

"Chrono-terrorism?" He cuts you off, voice mockingly sweet. "Tell me, what exactly do you know about these supposed temporal terrorists?"

You open your mouth to cite historical records, then pause. The data feels... rehearsed. Memorized rather than learned.

"And what about Protocol 47.3?" Jimin continues, his pace never slowing. "Ever wonder why skin contact affects temporal signatures so much?"

"It creates destabilization patterns that—"

"That what? That CHRONOS can't control?" His voice carries an edge. "Ever think maybe that's the point?"

Your mind catches on the way Yoongi avoided touching you, even through fabric. On this full-coverage uniform that leaves no skin of yours exposed. 

Jimin is not wearing gloves, you note.

“The memory integration yesterday,” you say, mind catching on the failed procedure. “It didn’t work. I still don’t remember anything.”

“Wow, really? Shocking. Absolutely unprecedented. Whatever shall we do?” Jimin’s voice drips sarcasm as he checks his watch again. “It’s not like this happens every single time or anything.”

“If you know it won’t work, why attempt it?”

“Because Yoongi insists.” His tone shifts slightly, almost tired. “And because sometimes hope trumps statistics. Even if those statistics are currently,” he pretends to calculate, “zero for seventeen?”

“Seventeen what?”

“Attempts. Resets. Take your pick.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Though I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually. You always do.”

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Many, many things." His tone shifts slightly, almost tired. "But that's not my call to make. Ask Min, if you're so curious."

"I don't know Agent Min well enough to ask such questions."

"Right," he sighs, continuing down the corridor. "Of course you don't."

You quicken your pace to match his stride, questions tumbling out faster than you can analyze them for logical sequence.

"The temporal dampening field in this facility—how is it maintained without detection?"

"Through the power of not telling you everything." He doesn't break stride.

"Your Chrono-sync watch. It’s modified. These modifications, they're not just cosmetic, are they?"

"What gave it away? The temporal stabilization or the fact that CHRONOS can't track them?"

"But that's impossible without access to the Master Clock's base frequency—"

"Lots of impossible things happening lately, aren't there?" His tone drips with false sweetness.

"How did I become an Outlier? My clearance allows me such information but I feel there is more to it—so what does the term actually mean?”

"It means you ask too many questions." He takes another turn.

His constant dismissals are becoming more and more frustrating.

"The 25th hour shouldn't be possible. The human circadian rhythm—"

"Is as manufactured as your temporal compliance programming."

"I'm not programmed."

"Said the robot, robotically."

Your jaw tightens. "The golden traces when Agent Min touches things—"

"Above my pay grade." 

"You keep referring to events I haven't experienced—"

"Haven't you though?"

"The temporal resistance patterns the doctor mentioned—"

“Technically not a doctor.”

“—are confusing, so I would like—”

"Still not my story to tell."

You press your lips together, not understanding why he’s so particularly snappy. But that only makes you want to ask further questions. 

"And why does everyone seem to know me—"

"Weird how that works, isn't it?"

Your frustration finally peaks. 

"You don't like me."

Jimin finally stops, turning to face you with surprising intensity. 

"No," he says simply, "I don't."

The words carry weight—history you can't access, grievances you can't remember. You open your mouth to ask why, but he's already pushing open a door you hadn't noticed.

"Training room," he announces, effectively ending the conversation. "Try not to die. Paperwork's a bitch."

The casual reference to your potential death should probably concern you more than it does.

Jimin gives Taehyung a curt nod before slipping out the door. "Hobi!" His voice echoes down the corridor as he leaves. "Your turn to make coffee, and don't you dare let Namjoon near the machine again!"

You walk further into the training room, the soft click of the door locking behind you making your temporal readings spike by 0.3%. 

"Who locked the—"

The lights dim without anyone touching the controls. You immediately begin calculating the probability of automated systems in a facility that supposedly doesn't exist.

Taehyung stands with his back to you, but something about his posture suggests he's been aware of your presence since before you entered. Your footsteps are silent against the mat, yet he looks over his shoulder with precise timing.

You remember him from yesterday—the quiet one who arrived with Jungkook. He hadn't spoken then either, just watched you with that same unreadable expression he wears now.

He motions to the mat with a slight tilt of his head. You nod, calculating that perhaps he'll be more forthcoming than Jimin.

"The temporal dampening field—is it connected to the facility's power grid or does it run on an independent system?"

He assumes a ready stance.

"The resistance mentioned multiple teams. How many sectors are you operating in?"

No response. Just a slight shift in his weight distribution.

"Your tactical gear appears to have modified temporal shielding. Is that standard issue for your organization or—"

He moves.

The attack comes without warning—a precise strike that should have connected. Your body reacts before your mind processes the movement, sliding into a defensive stance that feels impossible yet natural.

"What the hell?" The words come out sharp as you regain your balance. "A warning would be standard protocol for—"

Another strike. You deflect it automatically, muscle memory you shouldn't have taking over.

"This is highly irregular," you try again, analyzing his movement patterns. "Combat training wasn't part of my temporal monitoring certification—"

He drops low, leg sweeping out in a spinning kick that connects despite your inexplicable reflexes. Your back hits the mat with enough force to knock the air from your lungs.

"Are you insane?" You glare up at him, calculating the statistical probability of internal bruising.

"Terrible." His voice, when he finally uses it, carries no emotion. Just clinical assessment.

You stay down, anger mixing with confusion as you try to understand how you knew those defensive moves in the first place.

"Up." He steps back, ready stance never wavering. "Again."

"Fuck you."

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. 

You freeze, horror washing over you as you realize what you’ve just said. Profanity violates temporal conduct regulation 23.1 regarding professional communication standards. The vulgarity alone could result in a citation from the Temporal Compliance Office—

Wait.

Your head throbs as you try to reconcile your automatic recitation of regulations with this new, inexplicable defiance.

Taehyung just watches, something almost like satisfaction flickering in his eyes.

"Up," Taehyung repeats, his voice flat, almost bored. 

He steps back, giving you space to rise, though his stance remains ready, as if expecting you to lunge at him—or maybe expecting himself to lunge at you.

Your Chrono-Sync Watch reads 09:23:47 AM. 

You push yourself up slowly, your muscles protesting from the impact of his earlier kick. The mat beneath your palms feels slightly uneven, or maybe that's just your frustration skewing your perception. Either way, you have a sinking feeling this is not going to be an easy feat.

The door creaks open behind you, and you barely turn your head to register the new figure entering the room. 

Jungkook. 

You recognize him from yesterday’s brief introduction—silent and watchful, standing beside Taehyung like a shadow. His tactical gear is identical to Taehyung's, though his presence feels lighter somehow, less weighted.

You don’t have time to fully process him before the floor beneath your feet shifts—not dramatically, but enough to send your balance spiraling. It’s as if the ground itself wavers for a split second, like a ripple through solid matter. Your body reacts instinctively, stumbling forward before Taehyung's hand shoots out to steady you.

The jarring gentleness of his grip catches you off guard. 

This is the same man who had been trying to knock you flat on your back ten seconds ago. You glance up at him, eyebrow raised in silent question.

"Not funny," Taehyung says sharply, his gaze snapping toward Jungkook.

Jungkook doesn’t respond verbally. He simply lifts the corners of his mouth in a faint smirk, his dark eyes glinting with something that feels both playful and calculated. The two lock eyes for exactly five seconds—long enough for you to notice the tension between them isn't hostile but... Familiarity? Understanding? 

You swear they’re communicating without speaking.

"How do you do that?" you ask, unable to keep the curiosity out of your voice.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers to you for the first time since entering the room. His expression doesn’t change—still quiet, still unreadable—but something shifts in the air around him. And then—

<Sup.>

The word isn’t spoken aloud. It’s not even whispered. It’s inside your head. A voice that isn’t yours but also doesn’t belong to anyone you've ever heard before.

You freeze, eyes widening as your brain struggles to reconcile what just happened. 

“What the heck is going on?" The words come out sharper than intended, but can anyone blame you?

Taehyung frowns, his grip on your arm tightening slightly before he lets go. His attention snaps back to Jungkook with an edge that wasn’t there before.

"Stop mimicking my abilities," he says coldly.

Jungkook shrugs one shoulder with infuriating nonchalance, as if he hasn’t just violated every known law of communication and physics. His smirk widens by a fraction—a silent admission of guilt—and he leans casually against the wall like he has all the time in the world.

Abilities? Mimicking? What are they’re talking about?

The floor shifting beneath you, Taehyung steadying you without hesitation, Jungkook’s voice somehow echoing inside your head—it all feels connected in ways that defy logic.

"You can interface?" The question slips out before you can stop it.

Jungkook simply smiles, the expression holding a hint of mischief that makes your temporal readings fluctuate. You've seen that same look on children testing boundaries.

"Focus." Taehyung's voice cuts through your analysis.

Your gaze snaps back to him just as he launches forward. His movements are precise—too precise, like he's done this exact sequence countless times before. You force yourself to concentrate on his approach rather than the questions burning in your mind:

How did Jungkook manipulate the floor's temporal stability?

Why can Taehyung interface with physical matter?

How did that voice end up in your head?

The analytical part of your brain wants to calculate the energy requirements for matter manipulation, to understand the quantum mechanics behind consciousness transfer. But Taehyung's fist is already moving toward your face, and somehow you know that theorizing about abilities right now will only end with you back on the mat.

So you focus.

Your Chrono-Sync Watch reads 09:24:13 AM.

Training has officially begun.

And the golden sparks erupting from your skin seem to know that too. 

taglist: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @ktownshizzle @yoongiiuu93 @billy-jeans23 @annyeongbitch7

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Lost & Found

(3-3)

Previous | Next

Short story # 20

Gif NOT mine.

Summary - Reunited with the loves of their lives once more, (Y/n) and Frank both feel as if they are made whole once more. And now finally alone they can embrace the way lonely lovers ought to.

Year posted - 2024

Rating - NSFW

Reading time (roughly) - 11 minutes

This one originally got posted by mistake because my queue is an asshole and doesn't want to work right. It was supposed to post the second one... I had this one scheduled for December so it wouldn't post this one, and it posted it anyways! 😤

"I can't believe you came." (Y/n) breathed into Frank's neck, the pair of them having moved from the broken table, to cuddle on the couch instead. "Of course I came, why wouldn't I come to you." He murmured softly, his arm tightening around her waist. "I mean... This isn't your universe." She pointed out, leaning up to look at him. "And I'm not technically the (Y/n) you knew." She added, her fingers idly tracing patterns against his sternum. "Maybe not, but your still the love of my life. I'll love you in every life, and in every universe." He promised before tugging her down for a kiss. "I'm happy to take things slow if you want." He added after they parted. "Take you out on a few dates, get to know you in this life." He smiled warmly at her, adoring the raw emotion that swirled in the pools of her eyes. "I'd like that... But I don't think I can be patient enough." (Y/n) hummed with a grin, her fingers slowly tracing down his chest and abdomen. "Well we could always save the dates for another day sweetheart." Frank said with a faint smirk, swallowing thickly when (Y/n)'s fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants. "Yeah I think I like that idea more." She hummed as her fingers ran along the edge of his waistband, a smile stretched across her face at the sight of his pupils widening with desire.

"I think I do to." Frank whispered softly, his hand idly traced up and down her side. "We should move to the bedroom, this couch isn't exactly sturdy." (Y/n) said with a soft laugh, afterwards sitting up and straddling his hips in order to climb off the couch. But before she could move to stand up, Frank took a hold of her hips, keeping her right where he wanted her. "I don't know breaking the couch might be kinda fun." Frank said with a small laugh, pulling her down to grind her against his bulge. (Y/n) giggled as she willingly grinded down against him. "While that does sound fun, I ain't payin for a new couch baby." She leaned down, pecking his lips softly. "Come on handsome." She encouraged as she pulled out of his hold, standing up she turned a wiggled her hips to taunt him. Without missing a beat Frank jumped up from the couch, and swept (Y/n) up into his arms, smiling at the excited squeal that escaped his lover. "God I've missed you." He breathed out before kissing her. "After you left the Void, it felt like a part of me died." He rest his forehead against hers as he walked her to the bedroom.

"You looked so beautiful fighting to get to Nova, fighting to help your friend." He smiled warmly at her. "And seeing you dressed up in all that body armor, you've never looked more sexy." Frank said before shooting her a wink. "I was thinking the same thing handsome." (Y/n) grinned at him, a giggle bubbling up from her throat, when Frank practically kicked open her bedroom door. "You never saw me in uniform in this universe?" He asked as he kicked the door shut behind them. "I was the soldier sweetheart, you were the stay at home dad." (Y/n) hummed with a dreamy smile, thinking back on better days. "You were the stay at home mom, you always hated when I had to leave for work." He chuckled softly, gently setting her down on the plush bed. "You always tried convincing me to retire early." (Y/n) said with amusement in her voice. "Now we have all the time in the world to make up for the time we've lost." Frank said as he joined her on the bed, hovering over her he braced himself on his arms. "I don't think it'll ever be enough." (Y/n) hummed softly before pulling him down for a kiss. When their lips met, it was like the first time all over again. They felt sparks and a passion they had both forgotten long ago. Frank's tongue swiped across (Y/n)'s bottom lip, and she granted him access without hesitation. A moan rose from her throat as her lips parted, a warmth blooming within her chest, at the feeling of Frank's tongue caressing her own.

(Y/n)'s hands traced down his back, then dipped under his shirt, tugging at it to get him to remove it. Frank pulled away from the kiss, stripping off his shirt he tossed it aside carelessly. Sitting up (Y/n) followed his lead, slipping off her shirt, and bra with a calmness that made his heart swell. Quietly they each removed every last piece of clothing, smiling at eachother and stealing the occasional kiss. Once completely stripped down (Y/n) lay back on her bed, observing Frank with a smile as he moved to lay directly beside her on his side. Leaning his upper half over her he pulled her into a passionate kiss, his fingers trailing slowly down her body. His fingertips hesitated at the peak of her pelvis, silently asking for her permission to continue. (Y/n) rocked her hips up, moaning into her husband's mouth, begging him to continue. Frank didn't need to be told twice, greedily tracing down her mound, his fingers teasing her outer lips. A groan rumbled in his throat, as his tongue dominated the kiss, exploring all that he had missed for so long. "Please Frank." (Y/n) whispered against his mouth, her hips bucking to find any source of friction, her sex throbbing with a once forgotten need. He chuckled softly against her, kissing her again as he parted her outer lips, his thumb brushing her clit masterfully. Happily he swallowed (Y/n)'s whimper of pleasure, and he became greedy to hear more, so he breached her hole with his middle finger. "Fuck." She murmured softly into the kiss, loving the torturously slow pace he set, to get her accustomed to him again.

Her moisture dripped down his knuckles and onto the bed. Frank chuckled as he pulled back from the kiss, just enough to look deep into her eyes. "You're damn near as wet as when we first made love." He stated in a soft loving tone, his head turning to observe how his finger sunk in and out of her heat. "Frank." She puffed in a whine, her eyes closing and her head falling back. "Please." She begged, her breath hitching when he easily sunk in a second finger. "I've got you baby." He cooed softly, looking back to her he nudged her jaw with his nose, smiling when she opened her eyes. "There's my girl." Frank hummed before kissing her cheek. "Look at how well you're taking my fingers." He instructed, his own eyes casting down once more. (Y/n) raised her head, then pushed herself up onto her elbows, moaning at the sight of her husband fingering her pussy. "I think I can fit another one in." He mused, lightly brushing her stretched cunt with a third finger, making her shudder. "How about we skip the rest of the foreplay, and you just fuck me already." (Y/n) challenged, smirking at the look of raw hunger that washed over her husband's handsome face. "If that's what the lady wishes." Frank hummed as he eased his fingers out of her sex, loving the look swirling within her eyes. "It is." She giggled as he placed himself between her spread thighs. "You sure you're ready?" Frank asked, teasingly brushing the bulbous head of his cock along her slit, tapping at her clit once he reached it. "Fuck yes I'm ready, please Frank I've waited too long for this, for you." (Y/n) said as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers toying with the hair at the back of his neck. "I love you." He murmured with a lovesick smile, notching the head of his cock into her weeping hole before she could respond. "Lo-love you too." She stammered as he sank inch after glorious inch into her heat.

A groan of pleasure rumbled in Frank's chest as he bottomed out in her, her pulsing wet walls like heaven. "Fuck I missed you." He admitted as he slowly pulled back, rocking back into her at a steady pace, while her fingers clutched at his shoulders for dear life. Their breaths mixed as they panted and huffed for air, lost in the feeling of eachother after being separated for so long. The bed squeaked as Frank adjusted himself, so he could wrap an arm around (Y/n)'s waist, and pull her flush against his chest. Sweat began to build up along Frank's spine, the bedroom feeling hot and stuffy, now with the combined smell of sex and sweat. And in a way, it was divine. Two lovers, who'd lost eachother, gone down dark and twisted paths, now reunited once more. All of that pain and anger washing away with every kiss, every caress, and every snap of Frank's hips. "God I've missed you." (Y/n) huffed, before pulling her husband down for a searing kiss, her hips grinding to meet each of his thrusts in perfect rhythm. When they parted for air, a small string of saliva connected their lips. "I don't know how long I'll last, it's been." Frank grunted, as his cock twitched within (Y/n)'s heat. "Been too long." He concluded, and his wife simply hummed in agreement. He laid her back against the bed, to put just enough space between them, so he could rub at her swollen clit. The touch had her mind reeling in pleasure, and she locked her ankles around Frank's slim hips, keeping him within her where she needed him most. "I'm gonna-" Her voice cut off with a whine, her eyes falling closed as the coil in her lower belly tightened almost painfully.

"Let go baby, I'm right behind you." Frank encouraged her, moaning at the feeling of her walls clenching down on him, when she reached her peak. A cry of pleasure died in her throat, and her head pushed back into the pillows. Euphoria washing over her in hot waves, making her muscles twitch, and her mind go fuzzy. As she neared the highest point of her peak, Frank's cock twitched and pulsed before painting her walls white. His thrusts became short and erratic in tempo, drawing out both of their peaks, until it became too much for the both of them. "Fuck." He panted as he stilled within her, looking down at her with adoration and longing. (Y/n) smiled up at him, tracing his jawline with her fingers, her heart feeling full and warm once more. "Don't go anywhere." Frank murmured before slowly pulling out of her sex, both of them hissing at the sensation it caused. "Okay." (Y/n) agreed while he climbed out of bed, watching as he walked out of the room and into the hall. Closing her eyes she lay her head back and simply basked in the afterglow, waiting patently for her love to come back to her. And when she felt a warm wet towel brush gently across her sensitive pussy, she shuddered and opened her eyes. Smiling at Frank who cleaned her up with practiced hands, and then kissed her softly when he was finished. "I brought you some water." He pointed to the glass on her nightstand. "Thank you." (Y/n) hummed as she grabbed the offered drink, overjoyed to find it was cold enough to cool her down a bit. Once he had disposed of the now dirty towel, Frank crawled back into bed with his awaiting wife. Both of them laying on their sides, facing one another. "No one will ever take you away from me again." Frank murmured softly, as their legs tangled together. "Likewise." (Y/n) agreed with a smile, wrapping her arms around his middle, she closed the small space between them, pressing against eachother in a lovers embrace.

Previously | Next

[ivyial]

okay time for some delulu gojohime analysis that's a bit of a reach.

so earlier today, i was rewatching a compilation of gojo and utahime's scenes from season 1 and it rang a bell (also, i just want to say, mappa gotta have gojohime shippers on the team cause some of the s2 gjhm elements weren't in the manga). ANYWAY.

so in episode 14 (the beginning of the tokyo-kyoto goodwill event arc), utahime is introduced (and i'm not gonna say that her literal second sentence onscreen ever is inquiring after gojo, but i am going to say that). then gojo comes in with gifts for the kyoto students - some charms from a tribe. this is how the panel goes in the manga:

nothing specific about those charms/souvenirs. gojo also explicitly mentions that they're for the kyoto kids - nothing for the staff.

now here's how it goes in the anime:

unfortunately i don't have the japanese script for this scene or the exact intended meaning, so i'll have to use the english translation :')

in the anime, there are two changes to gojo's dialogue:

the tribal charms are specifically protective. whether they work or not, they were made with the intention of protecting the user in mind

"the kyoto kids" becomes "everyone from kyoto" (including staff, technically)

now assuming that these changes are correct, it makes the scene way more relevant to gojohime.

as we know, gojo thinks utahime is weak. he says it to her multiple times and it's pretty much his go-to insult for her. we also know that gojo is loaded with cash, so spending a few more bucks isn't an issue. and yet... he didn't get her one of those. this is one amazing opportunity for gojo to make fun of utahime, by giving her one of those charms and implying that she needs it because she can't defend herself. but for some reason, he didn't take it.

there are a few ways to interpret that:

gojo is a decent enough guy to not embarrass her in public in front of other people. although, this isn't true, since he does do it in front of other people all the time: see season 2, episode 1, when he calls her weak in front of mei mei and geto. so maybe he just doesn't want to embarrass her in front of her students. again, not exactly true, since he puts her on the spot later in the goodwill event arc:

pretty 'eh' to ask her to give a speech unprepared in front of all of the students, especially since she ends up performing very poorly. maybe he draws the line at calling her weak in front of her students, because he understands that they look up to her.

2. gojo didn't give her a protective charm because despite calling her weak all the time, he doesn't fully believe that and he knows she can defend herself. it is vaguely reminiscent of their recent shared scene in the manga, in which *spoilers for the current arc* utahime's cursed technique is revealed and she acts as an amplifier for gojo's. he definitely trusts her enough to team up with her, just like he did to find the traitor at the kyoto school.

3. utahime doesn't need protection, because he is there. for this interpretation, i'm drawing a parallel between this scene and this post explaining how utahime is metaphorically always under gojo's eye. even without that detail, there's his whole spiel in 2x01 where he dramatically announces "i'm here to save you, utahime". it's worth noting that he pretty much came round to help her out because he knew she was in danger (i think? someone correct me if i'm wrong please).

one thing's for sure though, it's that gojo doesn't truly believe that utahime is too weak to be a sorcerer. is she weaker than him? sure, but that doesn't make her incompetent. and if she needs to be protected, he's more than happy to do it for her.

[semisolidmind]

i dunno if this has been asked before, but i kinda wanted to splurge a little bit.

how and where does azure lion and the other animal celestials play a part in the BEW au? or even TAB AU. my personal idea on it could be that azure uses reader kind of as leverage against wukong, while as in TAB maybe reader is used to cause a rift between the brothers so that azure has an easier time murking wukong.

alright, so. the big bad brotherhood. they mostly just play the part of extra soldiers and sovereigns in wukongs conquests, his own little war council. im gonna go with the idea that the betrayal hasn't happened, since wukong doesn't get recruited by heaven in the base versions of these aus

(ive said before that, at least in bad end, the brotherhood wouldn't bother with reader too much. buuuut i don't think i specified what they're like in TAB and their reaction to their comrades marrying reader.)

peng (the bitch) doesn't much care for reader. they wonder why the all-powerful wukong is bothering with a human. they likely make a snide comment or two when wukong first introduces her to them at a meeting, which wukong (and macaque) immediately shut down with threats of violence. mac especially doesn't tolerate peng being an ass to his wife; his hatred for the winged menace is potent. luckily the bird demon is catty, not stupid; and surprisingly, they learn to keep their beak shut about their leader's wife. this leads to them largely ignoring her. reader doesn't like them much either, but tries to be polite.

yellowtusk feels pity for reader. he knows she didn't exactly become queen of flower fruit mountain willingly, and believes that she would be happier with other humans. but he's not called "wise" for nothing; he won't be lifting a finger to help her. even as strong as he is, he knows he stands no chance against the two simian warlords. regardless, he's polite to reader and will speak with her about the various topics that she's read about. he's a surprisingly good conversationalist.

demon bull king is ambivalent towards reader. he knows what it's like to want someone outside your station, so he doesn't say anything negative to wukong about it. he'll speak to reader if she speaks to him, and is overall polite (seeing as she is technically a queen and he has a lot of respect for wukong), if not very gruff when doing so.

azure lion is the only one who would be actively kind to reader, the only one who would speak with her like a true equal. despite his status as a once-celestial soldier, demonic sovereign, and a general of the infamous monkey kings' demon army...he still has a soft spot for mortal civilians. if a platoon of the monkey king's army is passing through, one would hope that he's leading it. less innocent blood is spilt when the lion general is at the helm.

its because of this that he was concerned when wukong introduced reader to him. what was a human doing on flower fruit mountain? she's married to the monkey king? she seemed...very uncomfortable in the presence of her husband. the lion demon knows that she was likely frightened by the two monkey warlords' use of "demonic courting tactics" and introduced himself gently. the fact that she responded to him (considering his size and appearance) without too much hesitancy, was able to bow politely and look him in the eyes despite all she'd likely been through at the hands of his brothers–he couldn't help but admire her bravery.

azure is aware that his sworn simian brothers are unconventional in many aspects of their life, so the fact that the two of them would marry a human (the same human, no less) isn't too surprising. the two are of one mind, and azure has made a tentative peace with the ruthless way his brothers conduct their business.

...but he can't help but feel sympathy for reader. she didn't choose this life for herself, though he can see the lingering affection she has for wukong and macaque. and once he gets to know her (an occasional talk outside the council room while the warlords are busy discussing strategy, a close seating at a banquet, or during a party on the mountain), azure begins to understand why they chose this woman. a fondness grows in his heart for the quiet human who is kind to him despite knowing what he's done.

he won't say it aloud, but...had it been him who'd been found and tended to by reader, azure couldn't be sure he wouldn't have made the same choice as his brothers.

[ragecndybars]

Persona 3 Characters Ranked By How Good of Hugs They Give

kotone/hamuko/minako. best hugger in sees. she's a hashtag empath, so she always knows when you need a hug, too. will tug your head down to rest on her shoulder and start rubbing your back and everything. the technique? perfect. 10/10 no notes.

shinjiro. he's a lot less likely to hug anyone but aki, but when he does, it's big ol bear hug and he's not letting go until they feel better, period. he feels slightly awkward about it, but once he's holding on, he's committed. he's got that weighted blanket swag. (he doesn't smell the best though which holds him back from first place)

ryoji. hug will be a bit awkward at first but then he'll find his stride and suddenly he's a good hugger for all the same reasons as kotone. he had to get it from somewhere, after all. loses some points because he can be a little overly familiar, so he might employ back-rubbing in situations where it's unneeded.

fuuka. she's a little shy and less likely to hug, but if she does, she'll do it with all her heart!! a very gentle hugger who will try to console you as you're hugging. she might also start crying if things get emotional tbh but she won't get your shirt too wet. she also isn't likely to let go until you're smiling again.

aigis. she may be made of metal but i think we know from the ending of the game that she will cradle her loved ones so gently and with all the love and protection in her whole body <3 probably hugs a little tentatively because she doesn't want to crush the recipient of her hug. she's surprisingly warm, not cold, and her arms are less rigid than you would think.

i HAD to put koromaru this low because he technically can't hug you. but you can hug HIM and he is soft and warm and loves you so much.

yukari. she has good hugging technique, like fuuka's, but she's much more hesitant to actually hug and is more likely to pull away prematurely because she suddenly gets bashful. if someone else hugs her, she might even freeze up rather than hugging back, even if she wants to. her mind is racing with other thoughts as they hug, which makes her hug a little awkward and distracted.

theodore. gives an excellent gentle hug but he has no idea what to do next. he'll just stand there totally still indefinitely, and you have to kick him to get him to let you go.

elizabeth. hugs very enthusiastically but she will be saying some weird eccentric shit into your ear while you're trying to enjoy the hug. you could be on the verge of tears and she'd be like "oh my, is this what you humans call a 'bear hug'? should i summon a bear persona? ohohoho."

akihiko. he will hug with reckless abandon, but he is very awkward about it and hugs way too tight. like, a firm hug is nice and all, but akihiko please i cant breathe you'rE CRUSHING ME AKIHIKO--COUGH COUGH HACK--

minato/makoto. very stiff and wooden while he hugs you, so the hugging technique itself is pretty poor, but he has good awareness of when a hug is and isn't necessary and knows exactly when to squeeze a little and pull back. a quiet, slightly awkward hug.

ken. would be higher up on this list if he could just accept that he is Small but whenever he hugs someone he has to attempt to hug them in a Big Boy way which means he'll be trying to pull you down so he can hug you from "above", like with your head on his shoulder, and your back is gonna hurt like hell afterwards because he is just way too short.

junpei. gets self conscious and jerks away in the middle of a hug, just like yukari, but his technique is also awkward and wooden like minato, and if he's emotional enough to hug without feeling awkward then he'll be squeezing too tight like akihiko. worst of all worlds.

mitsuru. oh god. you're hugging her. why are you hugging her. what does she do with her arms. where should her face be. oh my god you're still holding on. are you saying something? she is not listening. she is too busy standing completely still like you're a t-rex whose vision is based on movement and if she just stays perfectly still you'll forget she's there and wander off.

[avalonbards]

and then the one and only, arthur!

gonna answer this one first because i'm having arthur feels and i'm so happy you've given me a chance to talk about my boy, dear~

favorite thing about them: i mean, he's king arthur, what isn't there to love about him? haha but i think it's just how he keeps going no matter what, always pushing forward following what he believes is right and good. i know that's not exactly unique to the arthuriana, but something about how arthur does it has stuck with me the most. maybe it was the burden of kingship being forced on him from a fairly young age? i can sympathize with feeling like suddenly everyone has unrealistic expectations on you because of something out of your control. plus he wants to be good. he wants to be a good king, to show he's not just a ruler because of a magic weapon in a magic rock and some fuckhead wizard said so. arthur wants to be what his people need him to be.

least favorite thing about them: he's too willing to be the nice uncle when he should actually discipline his nephews when they need it. had he actually stepped in, stepped up and not let gawain get away without any consequences with his very obvious murder of pellinore, so much later grief could have been avoided. but arthur is too desperate to please his family, so he would turn a blind eye and at most just, weakly, said that all of pellinore's bloodline were under his protection. which uhhh didn't exactly work out now did it arthur?

favorite line: this bit from vulgate lancelot part 1 is so funny to me and i can't explain it. bisexual disaster arthur confirmed.

brOTP: is there really any choice besides with his own foster brother cai/kay? well, i guess also i really like arthur and guinevere being friends honestly. and naturally arthur and all his family members are one big brotp technically! i even like him and morgan to have a bond, however strained it may become.

OTP: unsurprisingly to anyone who follows me, it's bedivere/bedwyr x arthur. the beauty of the most loyal knight being in love with his king who loves him in turn but it must all be kept private? in a way it's kind of a mirror of guinevere x lancelot but i have a preference for arthur and bedi's relationship being one guinevere approved of and encouraged.

nOTP: any form of incest, i don't care which of his family members it's with i don't want it keep it away. aside from that? lancelot x arthur if it's not done as lancelot being a pining loser with one-sided feelings.

random headcanon: arthur looks almost exactly like his mother, even down to having a similar height as her, igraine was fairly tall for a woman in my writings but still this makes arthur pretty slight in comparison to most men his age. still, he's got a definite beauty to where only a few traits similar to uther show, the freckles across his cheeks when he's been in the sun for a while, the shape of his eyes, and his nose being the main features.

unpopular opinion: while i like the vulgate i dislike the way it opened a path for arthur being "villainous" or basically just there to be hated on by readers in later narratives. i prefer arthur to be a flawed but ultimately noble and good man who cares deeply about his kingdom and people and especially his friends and family.

song i associate with them: god okay so technically it's two songs so the first is "the moon will sing" by the crane wives (specifically this cover by annapantsu) because "Tell me once again / I could have been anyone, anyone else / Before you made the choice for me" is so arthur with his quiet resentment towards myrddin and even britain itself despite how much he loves britain and its people, which matches the rest of the lyrics. the other song is "flowers" by hana hope because of the lyrics "What else shall we let go / To live our lives the only way we knew / The birds are soaring in the sky / So high above us all, we who cannot fly" really suit him i would think.

favorite picture of them: these little doodles i did of my arthur! i'm actually working on another picture of him but for as much as i love him i don't draw him much kjfdnhb

[neutrallyobsessed]

pls pls pls tell us more about the concept of ur tophrr and joan when theyre grown i read the long post about whos more manipulative and there isn't much about that part of it <_<

u mrntioned them in the future and i was just wondeirng how that would go about? like what kind of jobs? is there any secret double life or hide hustle? how does that play into them at home?

Hey, if im able to work out the joanpher daughter's title card of sorts, then I'll be able to post the grown up Joan and Topher art that goes with it, and I'm like super close to it!! Anyways, I hope you liked my long post of sweet toxic joanpher and hope you enjoy this other long post of:

The Entire Joanpher Timeline (as most complete to this day xd)

Let's start with establishing that in this timeline, Joan and Topher will more likely to drop out of school and never look back. Things I gotta work on are how to deal with Candide's wishes of World Domination, there will be a moment where Joan and Candide meet to discuss this but for the time being I have no solutions xd, so moving on...

When I say "season 3 doesn't happen here" I mean it in the without Topher and specially Joan, the events that happen in season 3 would be very different and maybe not even happen at all, cause yeah, Clone High and its students will continue on with their lives so technically season 3 "does" happen but it couldn't be the season 3 we know. And now, the meat of the post:

Underground artists going by stage names like Joan of Arc and Christopher Columbus go around the country doing plays, films and youtube videos of strange caliber. He is the face and she is the brains. But their most profitable venture is definitely when they occasionally direct music videos for some artists. And let me tell ya, the inmense quality of their work had people buzzing since the release of their second video. Being nomads and hard to find also makes them to be in high demand but they are quite the snobbish elitists and will pick both the artist and song, so have that in mind ;P. These are their best works to ever be made because music videos combine Joan's love of visually confusing storytelling and Topher's love of musical theatre.

Now, they are both a bit older, more mature and financially stable enough to put their world travel dreams in action! Tbh they did travel to Canada and Mexico before but they're really going places now, as many as possible! And in one of those trips, in one silly country of the very down south, they'd get to watch this quirky travel tv show of two surfer brothers travelling the world, doing exotic things and funny skits in between and they thought we could do that........

And that's exactly what they did.

With a clear vision in mind, episodes and plots to write, vigorously searching for the most interesting things a country can give, enjoying each adventure to the max, this lovely couple has enough of a pitch to show investors at a tv station. But from where? Italy? Poland? Estonia? I haven't decided that yet but the show is a medium hit, maybe it gets brought to a couple of nearby countries, they might be recognized very occassionally, it's all pretty cool and chill~~.

10 years later after their class was meant to graduate, Joan is one to know first of a Clone High High School reunion. Topher isn't too thrilled about this and doesn't want her to go either but she tells him that she wants to do something and, ableit somewhat recluntantly, agrees to at least takes her there.

I have the idea for this fic bouncing on my mind like a dvd logo and recently, if I think for long and hard enough of it, one day suddenly I am able to write almost the entire thing in one sitting so I'm hoping for this to happen, I kinda also wanna make it a comic but we'll see, we'll see…

Basically Joan and Abe catch up and he attempts to ask her out in a way, but she drops all nuclear bombs at once, that she's with Topher, married to him in fact, expecting a child and that she has never been this happy since dating him and it's all Abe's fault for being so oblivious but at least she found someone who cares for her, really destroying his heart real nice (but don't lose hope just yet). Topher could either not be there, just leaving Joan at the reunion and then picking her up or he could catch up with the bleacher creatures, it depends of what happens in the others timeline, will elaborate in a different post. In any case, I do want to add a scene where Joan looks at Abe and Topher and her gaze is the same because she's in love with both of them~~.

4 years later is when Abe realizes that Joan is pregnant y si hay que ser pelotudo pero esa es su gracia xdd.

So yeah, Marion Adèle Columbus of Arc is finally born! In the picturesque country of Czechia for no particular reason (of why Czchia) other than Joan and Topher thinking it could be best for her to have a relatively normal childhood in a stable place of residence. And she does, growing nice and healthy, doing girl things like playing with her (few) friends, watching tv, being online, going to school, hating physical activities and occassionally helping in her parents productions, even participating in a few of them!

It is all chill until she discovers her parents travelling show and she's like I WANNA GO I WANNA GO!!!!!!! and they're like ok but you gotta graduated school and when she turns 13 (ideally, cause idk how czech education is divided) all 3 of them do an extra season with Marion included.

It is around here when they travel to the US where there's this little casting place and Marion decides to try out without much push back from mom and dad. Little do they know that she was going to get a role for a long awaited sequel of a movie held in high regard by a branch studio of the biggest conglomerates of the entertaining industry.

And with "they" I mean that, I feel Marion totally knew what she was doing and was hoping that her parents either didn't realize till it was to late or didn't mind at all. Joan minded it a lot however...

No daughter of mine will work for mainstream blockbuster productions!!! she was like, and there are perverts in every corner she appealed to Topher's overprotectiveness, knowing full well that her own personal beef with normie media couldn't be enough to sway him. If that's what worries you then just stick cameras onto me and I'll have any degenerate in jail before they can say "wow you're so mature for your age!" Marion said with everything thought out beforehand. (Fuck, she really is my daughter) Topher thought proud of his little girl with dreams of acting and blackmailing. But of course he couldn't say that last part aloud. No daughter of mine will put herself in danger like that. Not until you're of age and have good self-defense training. At the end of the day, Topher wants to support their daughter no matter what and Joan also wants to but not like this, not like this!!!

Of course she ends up relenting later and after seeing the massive profits and giving work to those who were laid off at the end of the production, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all~~

But didn't Inside Out 2 come out the same year as Clone High season 3? TIME ISN'T REAL!!!! Don't worry about it!! Not a big deal!!

And so, Marion comes back to her home town and enters secondary school as a celebrity! And there's a lot of shenanigans about it that cool down as years pass and she doesn't make any other fuss with that side of hers.

Jumping much further into the future and considering the genetics in place, I don't really think Topher could outlive his clone-father, mayyyybe for two or three years and it could be a miracle of modern science if he reaches his 60s. In any case, he's fine with that. Even if dying a bit after the half-century is considered "dying young" by current standards, he'd do so happy knowing that during all these years he was able to live an amazing and fulfulling life, where he was able to make a name for himself beyond the legacy of his lineage (not as much as he wanted buuuut he may inspire someone else in the future)(and he did play an astronaut once so that's good and realistic enough) along a gorgeous, smart and caring woman and a beautiful, talented and wonderful daughter. The good years outnumber the bad years and there's really not a lot to regret at the end. Topher lived the good life that I think deserves is what I'm saying.

And after a life well lived, Joan returns to the US as a 60~ year old lady who did it pretty much all, except to live that life with the childhood best friend she always wanted to. But there might be hope in the end...

There's this close-to-S3-canon timeline where MaryAbe became canon and Abe is a ghost. She's too old to complain and you know, Mary can bring Topher's ghost back~ And now they all live togheter in a polycule of sorts cause the JoanAbe is actually cheating, but Mary and Topher let them and they also ghost-fuck too so they even ;3.

Meanwhile in the S3-never-happened timeline is a lot less... supernatural lol. Abe and Frida have gotten togheter but he widowed around their fifties. He wasn't much to date after that but didn't want to close off the chances either (to say, he didn't want to die alone). That's when Joan comes back into his life, a path clear ahead where they could live another 36-40 years togheter doing all those things they were meant to do so long ago~~♡