#the halfling's dilemma
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facetsofthecloset · 5 months ago
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i think one of my biggest hurdles as a writer (especially original fiction, but it also affects my fanfiction) is that i have an incredibly American/British-centric idea of what Fiction Books are supposed to be like, even though my personal lived experience is tangential to those things at best.
(rambly weird personal essay under the cut lol)
when i was a kid, i mostly read Doctor Dolittle and Narnia books, and when i got older i read HP, Septimus Heap, Artemis Fowl, Fablehaven, Sherlock Holmes, etc.
pretty standard kid's fantasy/fiction (i mean not Holmes but y'know). it definitely informed what i thought Fiction was supposed to be, and all of it is incredibly Western.
i've wanted to be a fantasy author since i was really young, but i could never really get anywhere because i was trying to copy what i read. and the problem with that is...well, i'm Japanese American, but i grew up going back and forth between Hawaii and Japan.
i have no personal connection to the environments the books i loved grew out of, so copying it was impossible to do organically. i didn't have the background lived experience to seep naturally into my writing in order to recreate these atmospheres and cultures.
from the language, to the culture, to the ecosystems and climate, none of it was what i knew was right outside my window. i couldn't write what i knew, because as far as i knew, you just...weren't supposed to.
you weren't supposed to write about the tropics except as some distant hypothetical. you weren't supposed to mention jungles outside of metaphors. winter and snow was a given. you're not writing a fantasy book without winter, you fool. no one knows what a japan is. no one knows what a hawaii is either. no one knows you, you're not supposed to exist in these books.
i think part of that is what appealed to me, actually, in wanting escapism, but when it comes to writing, it's a big hurdle. i'm a lot more comfortable writing from my own experiences now, but i still find myself wanting to ape the style and aesthetics of what i loved growing up.
it really doesn't help that i hesitate to claim any singular cultural identity for myself because i don't feel like an authority on either. if you pressed me, i'd say i'm American, but i'm still so far removed from what 99% of America (as in, the mainland) is.
i don't think of deer or squirrels or redwoods or prairie dogs or blue jays when i think about the "America" i'm from. i think of centipedes and green sea turtles and peacocks and jackson chameleons and myna birds (most of those are nonnative to hawaii but they were what i saw commonly growing up)
so there's just a huge disconnect between What I Know and the stories i want to write. which is annoying, why don't i want to write more stories about the beautiful world i knew and grew up in? there's magic there. there's potential for fantasy and adventure there. of course there is.
but no. i keep trying to recreate Narnia, or draw on European folk and fae, because i feel like i have none of my own. nothing that's allowed to appear in print.
i once read half of Julie Kagawa's The Iron King. i only read half because i hated it, part of which is probably because i was just too old for it.
but the other part, when i think about it is...i picked that book initially because i read that the author grew up in Hawaii, and she's Japanese. not first gen like me, but i thought, hey, maybe she'll get it.
but The Iron King is like a weird Midsummer Night's Dream thing, it's very old-Europe-filtered-and-strained-through-centuries-of-American. it's very temperate zone. i saw no trace of home or kin in those words and i think that disappointment is what turned me off it so virulently.
i wonder if my writing is as empty when i use fairies and satyrs and other mainstays of Western fantasy. if it comes across as a string of hollow tropes; words and ideas copied without heart or belief or connection into a story simply because that's what you're supposed to use.
i wonder why i use those things.
(part of it is because i'm definitely not native hawaiian and would feel weird about just lifting stuff bc i don't know if it'd be disrespectful or not and would have to do research on it. at this point, fairies are public domain, but menehune...ehhh, i don't think so.)
i think it's because i have so many examples and blueprints to work off of if i take ideas from the mainstream. whatever i try to do using me and what i know, and what is real and home to me...i don't know how to do that. i've never been shown a way.
(part of that is definitely that i just need to read more but i have a hard time starting new media of any kind, especially books. and i'm super picky with books especially so it makes it worse, but urgh i'm trying)
anyway i'm only thinking about this because i realized that trying to design a character that is the embodiment of Deer in Summer Forest is really hard when i've only seen a deer irl a handful of times and all the colors and leaf shapes are wrong for deer when i think of a Summer Forest. i'm designing a god by peering through a cloudy stained glass window into a room that only exists through stories and words. i can make a heart but there's no blood in it.
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sungbeam · 12 days ago
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𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 — part two
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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? đŸ€” 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 đŸ€·đŸ»â€â™‚ïž, 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!
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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?”
DĂ©jĂ  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.”
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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.
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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 dĂ©jĂ  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.
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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.
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[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 :')
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erinhay99 · 10 months ago
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Ashton playing a little game I like to call ‘yeet the halfling’
Let’s be real, Ash dragging Orym and Fearne with them was 100% the best move
 but part of me would have loved to see the dilemma if one of them had been dominated, especially Ash or Fearne!
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extrovertwithamission · 1 year ago
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bell's hells ep 71
God, that little moment: Ashton and their one track mind, rage and chaos up and run; spending their whole turn making sure Orym is safe. Small voice: "Thanks, Ash", the shoulder-rubbing.
What I love about ashrym, beyond a lot of little things, is the way Ashton feels like this burst of chaos with a deep sense of their own good/bad idea, and once they're set on [this is good] they will keep on that track, because while they does have this sense, I feel like they dislike and get impatient about moral dilemmas, preferring a clear, more direct approach.
And Orym might not be perfect but he is mostly unwavering on what Ashton can consider Good and I remember the little talk about how it was considered something in the group that Orym didn't ask for, but that doesn't mean Ashton is not considering him that anyway. Like "we shouldn't put this pressure on you", while being unable to *not* put it.
And this is very interesting!! Because I think Orym thrives in trust, and accepts the pressure because it's in his nature and his way of corresponding it is that same trust.
It's so fun to explore the possibilities. Because Orym is Good, or he tries to be, but what if something happens, what if he starts to waver, and how much Ashton would want to follow him through. (A lot).
And even without going through a darker route (sorry I always go to a darker route) I love the idea of an incredibly nice, tiny but builded-up halfling having this crazy rainbow colored lighted-up rock at his side.
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jakethesequel · 8 months ago
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My D&D/fantasy-TTRPG nerds: how do y'all feel about races/species aging differently? It's commonly a glossed-over part of the settings, IME. People will keep "Elves/Dwarves/whoever live longer than humans" but might homebrew out "Orcs/Kobolds live shorter lives," and ignore mentioning stuff like "Orcs become adults at a younger age" or "Elves are minors until they're like 100 years old."
I can understand why most people prefer not to focus on it, since it can lead to some moral quandaries that get in the way of playing a casual game. (It's not a great time at the table to have to get out a spreadsheet to figure out if your 50yo human bard is technically grooming the 100yo elf princess, or if fully-grown-adult goblin warriors are child soldiers or not since they're all 15 years old.) The longer-lived races tend to get a pass on their long lives because, being humans ourselves, it's easier and happier to imagine not dying and staying young forever than to imagine dying younger than usual. Ironically, this kind of makes us IRL humans guilty of the same things as how we stereotype fantasy elves: We look down on and pity the shorter-lived races as if a shorter life can't be as worth living.
My curiosity is mostly inspired by watching and reading Dungeon Meshi, and being impressed by how Kui does such an impressive job not ignoring the age differences. Ogres, orcs, and kobolds do mature faster and age quicker than humans (tall-men); as do halflings in a reversal of usual expectations. She even maintains how elves/dwarves/gnomes mature at a much slower rate than humans, when even 5e Dungeons & Dragons pulls a bit of a cop-out and says that they all reach physical maturity at the same rate as humans, but are considered young by cultural standards until a significantly higher age. Not only does she not cop out, it's not some swept-under-the-rug bit of lore either, the differences in maturation are front-and-center with stuff like Chilchuck's children and Marcille's backstory! Plus, it's never used as an excuse to be creepy and pull some "sure she looks like a sexualized child but she's actually a 1000 year old dragon" shit, the moral dilemmas are noted and addressed appropriately. It's such nice worldbuilding that it got me wondering whether my homebrew D&D setting should keep following 5e norms, ignore it for the sake of simple gameplay, or emphasize it even more for that immersive DunMeshi detailing.
What do y'all think? Do you prefer to downplay racial/species aging differences except for the positive ones like living longer? The middle-ground 5e standard? The complex Kui system? Something else? Let me know I'm very curious!
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katiekatdragon27 · 11 months ago
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Y'all can't cage my cringe! *starts breakdancing and explodes*
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Oookayy, this is gonna be interesting to explain lol.
SO! My siblings (@rainbow-wolf120) and I have gotten back into DND recently and we unanimously decided to base our characters on our latest fixations. That means we have a halfling bard/thief Rayman clone, a dwarf fighter Skylanders fusion, and a human cleric AU A. Sphere lol.
However, I decided to take some liberties with him and instead of using his canon movie personality for the character, I used his personality and design for post-"A Heightlander's Escape" (yes, my flatland 4th dimension AU has a name now lol, feel free to refer to it as either idc.)
More lore below lol (note: there is like a whole story synopsis, and it is very long):
First off, backstory.
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A. Sphere (or Abel Spherious as he is refed to in this campaign) was a very powerful cleric of dimensionality. He was incredibly gifted with magic at a very young age, so his grandfather proposed he joined the ministry to continue his magic evolution. Although he did not truly believe in there being higher dimensions than his own, he would do the usual rituals and sacrifices to maintain his phenomenal power. He even tried to teach lower dimensional being the 3D dimension to gain more favor of this supposed 4th dimensional god, but little did he know that was his downfall.
Abel's old kingdom had been attempting to deal with the "flatlander" ecosystem that was just on the outskirts of town. Labeled "Flatland," some wanted it preserved, others wanted it wiped out. The ministry would henceforth pray on the issue in hopes of some divine intervention that would give a clear answer to this dilemma. However, Abel was not one to wait on answers from gods he did not believe in.
Taking matters into his own hands, the Head Cleric decided to make contact with these aquatic flat creatures one-on-one attempting to prove that they were more intelligent than the public gave them credit for. Needless to say, it went poorly.
Desperate to spread this ideology and save these creatures, Abel did something you were never supposed to do; pull a 2D creature into a 3D world. He completed his goal of by teaching a small square lawyer of the 3D gospel, but the news spread like wildfire, leading to fear, disgust, and unbridled anger towards both the flatlander and Abel. After going to royal court with his square companion, he was ex-communicated from the ministry and lost his status as Head Cleric. It was there that war was declared by their rival kingdom that wanted Flatland exterminated.
As the war broke out, Abel did everything in his power to ensure that the flatlander (who he had started calling "Anthony") got back to Flatland safely, even at the cost of the cleric's own life. As a massive fire raged through the forest where Flatland was held, Abel fled with Anthony to get the little square stabilized back in his home environment.
Abel's efforts paid off, getting the square back in the lake just in the nick of time, but Abel ended up engulfed in flames, accepting his death as his actions caused this whole mess in the first place.
However, his efforts did not go unnoticed. Just before Abel was completely consumed, a young 4th dimensional goddess, the Tender-hearted Angelica, scooped him up and saved his life.
The two's relationship started very rocky. Angelica knew that Abel was supposed to die in that forest, but she intervened. If she was found out by their superiors, they were sure to get more than an earful. With the possible chance of being executed for saving this unworthy cleric, she takes Abel to a pocket dimension up in space. She gives him an angelic halo that allows for him to breath freely with little consequence.
Abel was very angry and sad for the few weeks his spent in the 4th dimension. Having basically lost everything, he felt that there was nothing left for him and that still living was meant to be a cruel joke just to punish him farther for going against these powerful gods and using their magic without deserving it. However, Angelica keeps insisting that he did deserve to live, but not as a punishment. Instead, he was meant to expose the hypocrisy in the teachings of the ministry and recreate a new one with the proper values (much like what Abel told Anthony when showing him 3D).
As the two spend more time together hiding from other 4D gods in the pocket dimension, they get closer and eventually become very close friends. They learn that they have more in common that initially thought, with their wishes to teach and preserve dimensional beings others may deem as disgusting and deplorable. They also learn that they have a common connection in Spherious (Abel's grandfather and Angelica's first real apostle).
If given the opportunity, Angelica would have gladly kept Abel in this pocket dimension to provide her company, but a mission is a mission. It needed to be completed.
After the war had ended, leaving both kingdoms in ruin, Angelica decided to finally bring Abel back to Earth. They briefly explained Abel's mission to him one more time. As Abel shows his understanding, Angelica provided him with a gift of companionship. Using her divinity, she managed to track down the "Anthony" Abel spoke very fondly of. They granted the square a blessing that allowed him to be out of the water and accompany Abel in his travels.
As a last parting gift, Angelica blessed the halo still around Abel's head with magic properties that allowed him to be a cleric once again. He was no longer part of a church, but with the favor of this goddess, he could still do his magic. It was significantly weaker for a plethora of reasons, but it was better than nothing. Although Angelica did not want Abel to dedicate his life to her, they did want him to send her updates on his mission by burning letters during his rituals for her.
As of now, Abel has joined this rag-tag group of adventurers into the unknown after living in the woods for a couple months. He is still needs to complete his mission, so maybe Chipa Chapa and Brawler Dude (yes my siblings named their dnd characters these shush) can help him out.
Second off, design choices.
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Like my last post on "A Heightlander's Escape", Abel still has the eye scar. However, when he was brought down to Earth once again, he was placed down "on the wrong side", so his scar switched sides.
Also, since Abel isn't transparent, the scaring is actually visible and impacts his ability to hold things and walk and stuff. His right hand can no longer use magic, but it is able to use weapons, hence the mace. The glove he wears on that hand helps with gripping and preventing blisters. His left hand is still able to use magic, although it is much weaker than before he went into the heavenly 4th dimension. He is working hard to get back to his stronger original self.
The halo was first used for breathing, but then changed to be a magic amplifier. Without it, Abel cannot use any sort of magic. He has a mace for when his magic fails (which is common now) and a shield for protection.
Abel original "priestly" outfit was basically destroyed in the fire, so Angelica decided to help him make a new one, which explains the major contrast (but still similar design) between the two.
All the other design choices were because I thought it looked cool. I think he deserves it after all the shit I put him through.
Also, Anthony sits in Abel's cloak fluff. Its soft and assists in Anthony's sensitivity to gravitational forces.
Third off, A. Sphere and A. Square;s friedship.
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These two as so similar in motivation now. At first, the meeting was transitional. I do something for you so you do something for me kinda deal. However, the two learned that they get along incredibly well, and when Abel comes back from 4D, realizes he is the farthest thing from a god and beings treating Antony more as a partner than a subject.
Anthony still "worships" Abel and all his powerful magic but knows that Abel is not the god his initially thought he was. Although he failed his mission on spreading the 3D gospel (and low-key dying oof), he can definitely be there for Abel's mission. He is there to be supportive, and that is what he will do. Maybe he'll learn some spells of his own too lol.
They are very much friends here. Imagine a witch and her familiar lol.
More on A. Square.
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In this world, Flatlanders are very fishlike. They still represent amoebas, but they have little fins on their arm and legs, and they make fish croaking sounds to communicate. Some can even be as loud as frogs, but that is pretty uncommon.
Mini Update: I've thought about it more, and I lied about flatlanders not being as loud as frogs. Women are as loud as frogs regularly and sometimes louder. Thanks cilekixxes 👍
They cannot truly learn a language other than the croaking. They can learn tone of voice and what it means, or they can pick up on certain sounds and do tasks. You cannot have an "intelligent conversation" with them without magic. Through magic, 3D beings can properly communicate with 2D beings, although there could be accent barriers that magic cannot translate.
Also, Anthony has a head injury from trying to share the gospel. While concussed, he gets into the crossfires of war and sort of dies (c'mon, most of you have seen the movie). When the light speaks to him, it is actually Angelica granting her blessing to him.
Although he does miss his family, he would not have made it there anyway without divine intervention. Angelica lets him say his last goodbyes to his family after explaining the situation. After some back and forth, an understanding is reached, and Anthony joins Abel's journey. His family is granted a blessing of protection from the war conflict and a prosperous future.
Geez this was a lot of writing. Thank you so much if you made it to the end, you're a real one. All of A. Sphere's AU lore will be explained in a later post outside of this DnD campaign, but this AU of an AU follows the original premise essentially.
If you have any questions, feel free to ask! I love this story to an unhealthy degree lol so people showing interest really boosts my morale.
Expect more "A Heightlander's Escape" (both fanon and canon) in the future. Have a lovely day fellas :)
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1waywardbirdlane · 1 month ago
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Do-it-tober Day 2
Only edited by me, not beta read. I can’t remember if that chest I mention at the end is actually armed or not
. I think it is but don’t hold it against me if I’m wrong. Approx 750 words, all written today 10/4/24. 😊
(In the Blighted Village)
“We’re not going to find anything else, why can’t we just leave?” he whined.
“Astarion, why don’t you go help Karlach fix that wagon. She can pull it back to camp for us with the cooking equipment Gale found.”
Astarion turned with a roll of his eyes and headed towards Karlach, grumbling all the while. He leaned against a boulder while she fumbled her first few attempts at repairing the wagon. The lumber she touched burst into flames after seconds, even if she just nudged them with her toe. Astarion watched her get frustrated, then discouraged. As you watched him, you watched an expression of pity flicker over his face. You saw the muscles in his jaw flex as he looked for something to say. His knuckles turned white and his nails pushed against his palms as if he thought to touch her, to pat her back. Karlach stood, shoulders down and rounded, dejected. Astarion couldn’t stand it. Finally a scowl settled over his face and he was saved from his dilemma by Wyll, who swaggered over with all the bravado of the famed Blade.
“Don’t worry Karlach, this wood is so old and dry there’s nothing it could do but burn. Let’s go look in the barn cellar for that workshop. Maybe we’ll find some metal we can use to reinforce the wagon. We’re going to need it good and sturdy if it’s going to last us through what I fear may be a long journey.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh! I can totally melt the metal to weld it together!”
“My thoughts exactly,” Wyll replied with a warm smile.
As they headed away, Astarion looked in the other direction to where Gale was still making neat stacks of the cookware and tools he was bringing back to camp. He stood briefly, thumb and forefinger holding his chin in thought, then nodded and headed towards some bookshelves in the next room, where you stood, going through various dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. You had also accumulated a pile of treasures- a small set of scales and measuring spoons, some contraption he couldn’t name and a box of empty vials. He rolled his eyes, realizing that he’d better go help with the wagon, because it was going to have to carry a LOT indeed if all you fools were going to keep accumulating such junk. At least the things he gathered were valuable. He was accumulating a decent amount of coin by selling his finds every few days to the halfling merchant at the Grove. But if nothing else, sometimes it gives him a small comfort to look at his beautiful loot in the darkest depths of night, when everyone else sleeps or meditates. To run his fingers over pearls and rubies set in gold, or to put on the "new" clothes that he's come across. To lean back on his bedroll under blankets or just lengths of fabric that were softer than anything he was allowed at home. 
Suddenly there’s a loud pounding sound. Then another. He looks around, but cannot find the source. A third pound is followed by a few seconds of tremendous rumbling and the earth shakes, enough for the box of vials you’d set aside to to fall over and off the counter. He understood now why you were going to take them. They must have been charmed to be unbreakable, because although they went flying and clattering across the floor, not one of them broke. He turned back to the barn. Usually any loud noises had something to do with Karlach, so he’d better go investigate. 
His eyes still were not used to rapid shifts from light to dark, as he was accustomed to mainly living in the dark. Stepping from a cloud free sunny day into the dark cellar almost made him dizzy. He wavered ever so slightly on his feet before focusing on the sound of Wyll and Karlach talking, and following it down some stairs. 
“What in the hells did you two get up to down here?”
Karlach is so easy to sneak up on. He’s not sure how she managed in the hells for 10 years as she jumps and shrieks at the sound of his voice. When he found them they had been staring at what was once probably a stone wall but was now a hole that led down to some caverns Astarion was certain he did not want to explore.
Wyll was better at hiding his surprise, and smiled knowingly. 
“Astarion, I’m glad you joined us. There’s an armed and locked chest over there. Think you can get into it?”
“With pleasure.”
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zuppizup · 2 years ago
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Work In Progress Wednesday - Out Of Time Sequel that you probably want to ignore
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Soooo, I told myself I wouldn’t long fic this one. That the challenge in writing it was the initial dilemma and how people tried to solve that.
That I would keep it to novella length and leave the ending open

And yet.
The usual suspects/enablers have done their thing, a document has been opened and an outline fleshed out.
The sky suddenly begins to darken, and Callum notices all the Moonshadow elves abruptly turn and look east. An instant later he feels something akin to a sudden surge run through him, instinctively looking east himself. What he sees makes him inhale sharply, stepping closer to Rayla and his son without thought.
A shadow falls over the sun as the moon began to pass in front to it. His eyes water as he watches the blinding spectacle, though he finds he couldn’t look away.
The air turns cold and birds stop singing as all gathered in the courtyard turn to look at the sky. The musicians have stopped playing and the large gathering becomes eerily silent.
He knows enough Moonshadow lore to be aware an eclipse is generally considered a good omen to those who know the arcanum of the Moon, yet something about this particular eclipse unnerves him. From the tense set to Rayla’s face he can tell she feels the same.
The sudden distressed wailing of their little halfling boy confirms it.
Out of Time Original Fic
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waltwhitmansbeard · 2 years ago
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Hello! May request, from the hospital prompt list, 31. "I'm not that sick!" with percahlia? (My first thought was mfl but honestly whichever universe you'd find appropriate :) Either way, hope you have/had a great day!
31. "I'm not that sick!" hell yeah, haven't done an mfl drabble in a while
turned my water into wine #32
Percy is neck-deep in schematics for repairs on the old granary on the south side of Zephrah when a hesitant knock on his office door pulls him from his work. Annoyed, he stands, crosses the room, and opens the door to reveal a member of the Royal Guard, a young halfling woman with wide eyes and rigid posture. Percy frowns, confused. "May I help you?"
"L-Lord Percival," she stutters, "I come with, um, an unusual request."
Well, he's certainly intrigued now. "Alright."
"It's the Captain, my lord."
Percy's blood runs cold. He's heard no alarm bells, no calls to arms from any of the guards within the castle. Surely there hasn't been some kind of attack? "Is she hurt?"
"She is...quite ill, my lord. And, well..." The guard worries her lip, embarrassed. "She will not rest, though her lieutenant is insisting she do so."
He presses his lips together, fighting a laugh. "Ah. So the Captain is being a stubborn goat, and her lieutenant has dispatched you to ask me to force her to get well, is that about the gist of it?" The guard nods, relieved that he's understood the dilemma so quickly. "Very well. I'll be there in just a moment."
"Thank you, my lord." She bows and turns to leave.
"Hold." She turns again, brow furrowed. "Why me?"
"My lord?"
"The Captain's brother works within the castle, has the ear of the princess. Surely he would be bettered suited to this particular task."
The guard flushes, the very tips of her ears turning red. "Oh. Well." She coughs once. "It was believed that the Captain would be more...amenable to an entreaty from you, my lord."
Oh. Well, he asked. He nods once. "I see. Thank you. I will...see to it."
Relieved to finally be done with this conversation, the guard scurries off, and Percy just stands there, dumbfounded, until he can shake his body into movement.
.
When he knocks on the door to Vex's study within the guard tower, he does not expect to be answered with the faint, gravelly voice that says, "Come in." He opens the door to find Vex half-draped atop her desk, quill loose in one hand as she feebly attempts to write something in the ledger in front of her. Even from the door, he can see that her face is wan and clammy, her eyes bloodshot. Every few seconds, she sniffles violently.
"Oh, dear." He slips inside, shutting the door behind him, and crosses over to her. "The prognosis is worse than I'd imagined."
"I'm fine," Vex grumbles, not even looking at him. "I'm not that sick."
"Vex'ahlia." He presses his hand to her forehead; he is shocked it doesn't burst into flames. "You are nearly on death's door. You are going to bed and Mistress Pike is taking a look at you."
"I said, I'm—"
"I'm not arguing with you, Vex'ahlia. You are hardly any use to your nation or your sovereign when you cannot lift your head." Her eyes dart to his face, clearly annoyed, but he's used to far more caustic ire from her. "Come." He takes her about the shoulders and gently lifts her from her chair. "Let's get you to bed."
"Always trying to get me into bed," she quips weakly. "And in the middle of the day, no less."
"No offense, dear, but even your most tantalizing feminine wiles could not tempt me into a dalliance with you at this moment."
Her head collapses down onto his shoulder as they shuffle toward the door. "Now you're just being mean."
"Yes, well, you're being ornery."
"I'm sick."
"Oh, she admits it!"
"Bastard." Still she tucks herself into his side, let him steer her down the steps onto the lawn. She starts to pull toward Zephrah, toward the little house she shares with her brother, but Percy guides her up toward the castle. "I thought you said..."
"Not your bed, silly woman. You'll rest in the castle, where we can keep an eye on you." Where you're with me, he does not say. He sees her cheeks flush red, for a different reason than illness, and oh how he thrills in surprising her, in shaking those sturdy walls she's spent so long building for herself. When he takes her to his chambers, helps her into his bed, pulls his blankets around her shoulders, he sees the stone cracking, the shaking foundations in her eyes before they close and she drifts off to sleep.
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loveofdetail · 1 year ago
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guess I'm in a Posting Mood so here are my two big actual critiques of baldur's gate 3. I'm not super far into the game so the closest thing to a spoiler here is talking about a combat mechanic in an act 1 encounter:
For how cornucopic the game tries to be/tries to portray itself to be re: horniness and bodies, there are some very obvious. Patterns. in what is considered viably attractive. Gale's nonsense abs are the tip of this iceberg. Lae'zel as a githyanki is the "weirdest" option. There are five romanceable elves/half-elves and zero gnomes dwarves or halflings. 😒 and that's all before I touch the obvious fatphobia. You can't even make a chubby pc. Come on.
The game treats KO'ing enemies and killing them as interchangeable. I aggro'd a character by refusing to accept the poison she offered me and decided she didn't deserve to die for that so I switched to nonlethal damage and my quest journal still said I killed her. During the hag fight when she disguises herself as her victim and you have to figure out which is the real mayrina and which is the illusion, you might think that non-lethal damage could be a cool solution to the dilemma but no. If you KO the wrong one things just progress as though you killed her. It is SUCH a weird design choice for a game that is otherwise so responsive to player decisionmaking!
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hungryhungryhalfling · 1 year ago
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Dilemma
I'm torn between having my girl Eloise romance a companion (I'm leaning towards Lae'zel) bc on the one hand:
They could be good for each other
Make each other see different perspectives
Eloise becomes more assertive while Lae'zel learns to slow down and contemplate the bigger picture
The devs legit encouraged players to romance characters with different ideals bc it challenges both the player and the character's way of thinking.
On the other hand:
Eloise is 20 (20's = teen years in halfling culture) and while she is considered an 'old soul' by those who know her, she does still have some naivete about her. Ergo, I don't want her getting in over her head in regard to relationship experience and expectations (I feel like a parent putting their foot down on their kid's dating life).
Also, even though we don't have canon ages for the companions save for certain ranges, she would definitely be considered the Youngest of the nautiloid crew. This could be quite... awkward.
She and Lae'zel may get on each other's nerves more often than not, which would not be healthy. That and also the fact that the way the Lae'zel romance route usually starts off in a very, ah, carnal way is not how Eloise likes approaching relationships.
Even if Eloise does realize that she's catching feelings, she knows that the adventure is not over yet and she doesn't want to count her chicks before they hatch. She knows they may not all reach the end alive and while cautiously optimistic for a happy ending, she doesn't want to set up false hope for herself or anyone else in her crew.
Ughhhhhh to romance or not to romance
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easy-there-leftovers · 7 months ago
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An Index of Some of my Tavs and Their Respective “Gaurdians “
(arranged from oldest to most recent)
Vernon Tchotchke:
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- An eccentric human bard, with an obsession for all manners art and arcane energy, and an extensive repertoire to prove it.
- All prior expeditions to fund such repertoire have been handsomely sponsored by an unknown benefactor. (It was from their inheritance.)
- Was in the middle of being invited to a grand party into the Szarr palace before the beckoner briefly remembered something. They were then abducted by the Nautiloid.
- Their Gaurdian is an adventurer whom they had been corresponding with after gaining interest in their “unusual symptoms” (Valhalla Arachai)
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Valhalla Arachai:
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- An orphaned child left to the fates of surface dwellers, Valhalla wished for a world where all could peacefully coexist. The attempt was to become their hero, the outcome was to be feared like a villain.
- A Half-Drow rogue that has been struggling with a “sudden decline in health,” despite living no differently than he had in the past, and with no records of troubling ailments.
- He has not been able to fulfill his usual duties due this peculiar phenomenon.
- His Guardian is a mysterious noble that calls themselves, “a researcher” and had agreed to personally meet him after learning of his symptoms. They promised to help him, free of cost for their labour. (Vernon Tchotchke)
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"Virgil"
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- With a cowardly nature that juxtaposes his intimidating features, the half-elf draconic sorcerer has failed the expectations of many throughout the years.
- With a past that he likes to keep under lock and key out of shame, Virgil’s apprehension and inexperience is apparent as he hurriedly tries to make himself useful, but often falls short in doing anything.
- Was abducted before he could get jumped by a group of halflings. He would’ve received quite the beating too, had anything happened otherwise, for his magic seemed to have disappeared in that moment.
- His Gaurdian is an older version of his childhood acquaintance, or so he assumes. For the thief that he used to harbor in his parents’ storage room had never returned when they said they would. (Undine Milagro)
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Undine Milagro
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- A thieving child that knew they could be great, this human wizard clawed and swindled their way through the pockets of many to learn and call upon the weave through books and scripts.
- She eventually become a student at the academy after making a name for themselves in the city.
- While a scrooge and a tightwad in her own right, she has a soft spot for children. Especially ones that have shown to be cunning and resourceful.
- Her Gaurdian is an aspiring wizard whom she has no recollection of ever meeting. She does, however, note that he is the kind of wizard she would have become if things had turned out differently. (Rolan)
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Sampaguita Surihano
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- A troubled Seladrine Drow with a more troubling dilemma, this bard has confusing and conflicting thoughts that surprise even herself.
- With no recollection of who she was before the nautilloid, she can only hope to piece together who she was.
- As of late, she contemplates whether the person she was is worth remembering at all.
- Her Gaurdian is a stranger to her, but she has the smallest feeling that he might have been family.
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Those are the one's that I have at least a semi-fleshed out story! These were just for fun, and the characters honesty wrote themselves!!
Some quirks, like Virgil’s “embarrassing past and juxtaposing nature,” were born out of failed ability checks, and Vernon’s “unknown benefactor” is a nod to both their noble background, and a bug/glitch that once gave me a lot more gold than I remembered having in my inventory!!
Also, if you’ve noticed that the “Dream Guardian’s” design is inconsistent with the characters designed like them, that’s because that’s how the Tav for that game would have pictured them!! That’s totally not because I didn’t bother looking back at my Tav’s before designing a new Dream Guardian—-
I hope you found them as interesting as I do, because I think I’ll be drawing them often for a while!!
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ace-angel-judas · 2 years ago
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Why doesn't she do both? Mount him while sinking her teeth into his neck
Hayoon had found that getting too close to Minho made her swoon. Something about the way he smelt made her throat burn and thighs clench.
Which bought her to her current dilemma.
The coven was throwing a party, a celebration of them coming back to the coven. Supposedly, Taeil had been born into the coven before their mother moved away.
Hayoon just needed a break, standing in the hallway of the large house. She wasn’t sure why she kept calling it a house, this place was much more like a palace. It had its own ballroom after all.
She never liked the smell of blood, her mother would always feed away from them all but it still lingered. The metallic, butter scent always made her want to gag.
Arguably, Hayoon was the most human of them all.
“Hayoon?”
The voice made her turn quickly, eyes wide as Minho walked down the hallway. He was in a sharp black suit with a red tie, a golden necklace around his neck. The vampires in his coven commonly wore gold, like it was a signature.
“Are you alright? You left rather urgently,” He spoke as he approached her.
The same scent filled her nose, her throat burning.
“I.. I just needed some air.,” Hayoon whispered, “I..I’m n-not a p-people person..,”
He stepped closer and she stepped back, until she was pressed up against the wall. Hayoon tried to hold her breath, after all, Minho was her cousin.
This person who she so desperately wanted was her god damn cousin.
“Your fangs are out,” Minho softly touched her chin.
She gasped and covered her mouth, cheeks turning red.
“It’s cute, how small they are,” Minho chuckled, “I notice they only come out when I’m around,”
Hayoon swallowed thickly, “I d-don’t drink blood..,”
“I know,” Minho smiled at her, “All halflings are different, some prefer human foods, others prefer blood but their instincts never lie to them,”
Looking up, Hayoon furrowed her brows in confusion.
“Yoonie, baby,” Minho chuckled, “Purebloods are named purebloods for a reason, first borns of their bloodlines tend to marry their cousins, it’s unavoidable actually,”
Hayoon was starting to shake, her fangs and thighs aching with need. Minho leaned closer, his neck mere inches away from her mouth.
“Their blood smells addictive to each other, it tastes even divine,” Minho explained in a whispered, “I’m the first born male of my parents and your the first born female of your parents, who are siblings,”
She felt him inhale, a deep snarl pulling from his throat.
“Yoonie, you smell utterly fucking delicious,”
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romeoandjulietyouwish · 2 years ago
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Au pair au got my mind whirring. Might I suggest Luc as the kid, and Beau as the au pair? Yeza needs help with Luc while working for Derogna (Edith is lovely, but not quite enough), and the assembly gives him funds to hire an au pair. Meanwhile, the Soul knows the assembly is using this halfling man for something, but not what. Beau never ran (was prevented from running?) from the soul, and is sent undercover to get the info an report back. An easy first job (perhaps also a way to see if she has the potential to be an expositor) and who knows, maybe working with a kid will teach her patience. Beau, of course, wants to be anywhere but Felderwin doing anything but this. Not in the least because seeing Yeza with Luc (an excellent father, with a kid close to TJ's age) brings up all sorts of feelings that she doesn't want (or know how) to confront. But Beau is actually pretty great with kids, and Luc is clever and mischievous (just Beau's kinda kid), and Yeza is so kind and loving, and she ends up genuinely coming to care for this family. But neither her care, nor her connection to the Soul can do anything to prevent Yeza from being taken. When the Nein show up she's faced with the dilemma: stay with Luc and protect "her" kid? Or go with the Nein, and fight to reunite the first proper, loving family she's ever witnessed.
YESSS omg I love it so much
Like just imagine Beau being given that assignment and being pissed because what the fuck has she been spending all this time learning combat for? Fucking babysitting? But when she gets to the house, she sees how fucking terrified Yeza is and how relieved he is to see her. Maybe he knows that she's from the Soul and is so thankful for the protection that her presence offers.
And you're so right, living in the house and seeing how much Yeza adores his son and will do anything, including working with awful, awful people, to keep him safe.
And when Yeza tells her to take Luc out of the house, she's fucking terrified because no part of her wants to leave Yeza alone with Derogna. But Yeza is insistent so she does, she takes him to Edith's house.
And when Veth shows up there demanding to see her son, Beau is just frozen because she's heard so much about this woman, though she had been told that she had been dead for a long time.
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theradicalscrivener · 3 months ago
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Imagine you are able to create your own custom Hyper Horny High Fantasy World. This includes the classic fantasy races like; Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Halflings, Orcs, Goblins, & Lizard-folk. What would you make each race look like physically/fashionably? Which race would be the most kinky versus vanilla? And the most important question of all which race would have the smallest and biggest cocks?
Hmm. I am unsure. I'm not super keen about grouping whole races into specific tropes. Like, when I start to think, my mind is like. Well, elves are often portrayed as like regal/classical so I could imagine elves being really lean/slim with a tiny package a la ancient Greek/Roman art, but then I also really love the idea of a high femme elf with a huge package.
I know that orcs are often portrayed as like the muscle dom type with often overlap with leather fetishes, but given how often Orcs are a stand in in fantasy media for like tribal savages and the like, making them all brutish and violent gets to feel dangerously racist. I kinda get into the same dilemma as I look at more bestial races like lizardfolk. Given how a lot of reptiles (like snakes) can consume things whole and have a different digestive process than mammals, there is potential to do some things with like safe/consensual vore play, but that's a bit outside my purvue.
And with things like dwarves, my immediate reaction is to make them like the traditional Bear type. Maybe make some super chubby and some just absolute brick shithouses of muscle. This overall sense of Absolute Unit extends to their dicks as well. Just total chodes with fat nuts that don't hang. In my mind dwarves are very hairy all over especially around the crotch area, so their shorties don't extend that far past their dense tangle of pubes.
Getting into halfling territory, I'm a bit torn. Like, oldschool hobbits have huge, hairy feet, but I really like Dungeon Meishi's take on half foots where they are like permanently tiny twinks.
If we're talking about actual fetishes though. My mind jumps to gnomes. Like, I grew up on WoW. Like I played in like middleschool and highschool so like, it has permanently tinted my perception of gnomes as like insane inventors / absolutely unhinged nutcases. I could see one of those guys making a Fred Jones style contraption to do some solo bondage play.
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incubusnero · 18 days ago
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Why did it matter? He hadn't really met any cambions, he knew he was young by demonic standards, but he knew the halflings didn't seem to advertise what they were. And it kind of seemed like this was the kind of situation where it was a 'show you mine if you show me yours' which left him with a dilemma. Because it's not like he particularly hid what he was, but he knew in terms of a relationship, it wasn't necessarily easy. Nero kind of figured it was kind of part of Cupid's stupid curse. Monogamy was somewhat off the table and for as much as he enjoyed not denying himself any earthly pleasures, he had been so monogamous that he'd often been jealous of the attention his knight had gotten from other people. Bastard. "As if Elokian would say yes." It's a gentle way of skirting around it just so he can circle back. "What am I supposed to be asking?" Sitting up on an elbow, he looks to Robin curiously, feeling more than a little conflicted. Because if he didn't speak up now he figured it would be a problem for later, would put off what might become an argument.
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Robin stayed laying down, though he rose an eyebrow at the question. "Why would it matter?" Perhaps it had been a hope at one point – that someone would be able to understand half of him, tell him how to control all these things. And the strange dreams he'd been having...well, that was something else entirely.
"I'm not a child, Nero. It's half of what I am. You're not asking what I thought you'd ask –" Maybe there was no right question, but it wasn't the one he was thinking of. Instead, Robin sat up, staring at Nero now. There was a strange feeling that he had, one that he got every time he was around the other. Whether or not Nero was just a human, though – Robin had never been entirely too sure. "My parents aren't a problem, anyway. They're both gone. Why, you gonna ask my dad for my hand?" He was sure Elokian had gotten to him anyway; that was scary enough.
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