#to be fair she didn't technically dump me for him

[glitterdustcyclops]

tonight i just randomly remembered how my ex invited me to stay with her if i ever wanted to visit her in colorado

you know, in the home she literally shares with her long-term partner, the one she dumped me for

and just

wow

[sungbeam]

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 — part one

nonidol!ji changmin x f!reader

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

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

▷ part word count. 16.3k out of 34.8k / read part two here

▷ inspired by. incantations (composed by richard meyer) it's not like,,, the fic's "soundtrack" or anything. i just think it sounds cool lol

this is my submission for deoboyznet's boyz who bite event! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

a/n: i'm telling u that i resisted the idea of another demon changmin au for ONE WHOLE MONTH. i went through THREE OTHER IDEAS BEFORE FALLING BACK ON THIS DRAFT. I SWEAR. so pls reblog + comment + enjoy! :') and thank u to @justalildumpling as usual for reading this for me 😭💖

PART I: THE CATALYST

THERE WERE WORSE WAYS TO GO OUT, you supposed. However, the paranormal wasn't often a subject you frequented, so sitting atop an ashy-white pentagram wasn't exactly how you expected to be spending a Friday night.

“Changmin, you're always hooting about this shit,” Juyeon said as he peered over his shoulder at the boy lurking in the far corner of the living room. “Are you seriously all bark and no bite?”

No one really paid attention to Changmin's response besides you and Juyeon (kind of—he was busy lighting the candles). Technically, it was a new behavior; Changmin was usually the one obsessed with horror movies and the paranormal, constantly getting you all to participate in Halloween horror nights and haunted houses, and bringing his beloved (cursed) Chucky doll to any and every group movie night. But now that you were finally acting on his demonic big talk, all of that stuff and nonsense dissipated like the snuffing out of a candle.

A shadow fell across his face. “I already warned you guys. This isn't something you should be toying around with.”

“It's a Ouija board—what could go wrong?” Shuhua wrinkled her nose as she began tapping out a circle of salt around your body and the pentagram on the floor. “I saw them on sale at Toys R Us for half off.”

Because you were the last one to arrive tonight, you were chosen as the sacrifice. It wasn't really fair because this was literally Juyeon and Changmin's apartment, but it didn't matter much in the end. You didn't believe in this stuff and it wasn't your salt being wasted. (You were also exempt from venmoing Hyunjae a portion of the paycheck he spent buying candles and chalk. Save fifteen bucks and sit on a pentagram in a salt circle? Why the fuck not.)

“Don't we need to draw blood or something?” you asked, half joking.

“No.” Changmin's expression somehow grew even darker. Your eyes widened slightly; you'd never seen him so serious. “Absolutely not. Do you want this to turn out worse?”

“Changmin, dude, you gotta chill, man.” Hyunjae dumped the Ouija board he'd dug out of his parents’ attic onto the floor next to you, just outside the salt circle.

Shuahua squawked. “Oy! You're ruining my perfect circle!”

“Just redo it, dumbass!”

“You redo it, asshat,” she growled back, tapping out some salt to finish it.

Juyeon, as if to placate your friend, said to Changmin, “The salt will protect her.”

You blinked. “Oh, that's what it's for?” You could've sworn that was what the candles were for, but again, you didn't believe in this, so why would you know a thing about it?

Changmin's face hit the palms of his hands with a resounding slap. “Absolutely not. You can't have Yn in the circle if she doesn't even know what the Hell is going on.”

“So do you wanna be in the circle?”

His left eye seemed to twitch as he cocked his head to the side. Something about that movement made a shiver crawl down your spine. The sensation was akin to watching a predator consider its prey from the brush… but that wasn't right. Changmin was all dimpled smiles and goofy shenanigans and twinning with his horror doll child. There wasn't anything remotely scary about him, unless you made him mad (you hadn't yet). So why were your inner alarms screaming for you to run? “That's actually not a bad idea—”

“Okay!” Hyunjae called his hands together. “Let's get started, shall we?”

The thoughts were brushed beneath the dusty rug in your head. You shrugged at Changmin. “Too late, I guess.”

You thought you heard him mutter out something under his breath in frustration, but you didn't understand the language.

All of your other friends began to gather on the side of the circle where the Ouija board was. You weren't even sure what all the pomp and circumstance was for, but Changmin didn't seem up to correct anything. He continued to sulk in the corner with his arms folded over his chest, eyes shaded by the brim of his cap as he stared onward.

Hyunjae's eyes fluttered closed as he, Juyeon, and Shuhua placed their fingers upon the planchette. “To the spirits who may be here in this room with us—”

“And demons,” Shuhua murmured.

A choked sound came from Changmin's side of the room.

Your eyes flickered open and saw him rub a hand down his face as if he was stressed.

“We are opening the veil between your world and ours,” Hyunjae continued. “My name is Hyunjae, and with me are Shuhua, Yn, Juyeon, and Changmin.”

Shuhua inhaled shallowly. “Is there someone here with us?”

The apartment was consumed in a dead silence as the five of you waited. You sat cross-legged in your ring of salt, cheek resting against your fist. Your eyes were drifting to half-mast—it’d been a long day for you, and considering it was approaching midnight already, it was about time you went to bed.

“We brought you a sacrifice,” Hyunjae said. “We were wondering if you could tell us your name.”

A chilling breeze brushed past your cheeks and you glanced up, expecting the air conditioning to have caused it. There was no vent above you, however. Strange.

You wrung your hands in your lap. “You could possess me if you'd like.”

Your eyes joined your friends’ as you all pinned your gazes to the Ouija board. The planchette remained still.

After a beat, your patience ran thin, and you sat up to lean back on your hands—wasn't something supposed to happen?

The amber glow from the candles in the living room wavered violently. In your surprise, your fingers grated against the salt and hardwood as you nearly fell backward. You yanked your hand back to you at the sting.

The bodies in the room went taut, speechless.

A gust of wind—something impossible in this enclosed space—whipped past you in a wide circle. The salt circle was no more, the candle flames were snuffed.

You sat stiff as a board. For a moment, you could swear you felt some invisible, foreign weight rest upon your chest. It sank deep into you, a phantom hand reaching into your body as if to latch onto your very soul.

Ba bump ba bump ba bump, your heart drummed wildly in your chest.

Howls and gasps of delight were drowned out by the blood in your ears; they were sounds of awe from your friends. You placed your hand over your sternum in the dark to feel for that unseen force, but there was nothing.

The room flooded with warm light. It chased away the shadows to the furthest corners.

You glanced up and saw Juyeon at the light switch with a boyish grin stretched across his lips. “That was crazy! Yn, how do you feel?”

Eyes darted to you.

The pentagram beneath you was smudged, the white chalk staining your pants and your hands. You managed a smile, and then a slow nod. What you felt earlier was probably nothing.

“I'm good,” you chirped. You glanced over at Changmin in the corner, his eyes still shaded by the brim of his cap, but with the muscle in his jaw clenched. Why? Why did you look at him? You couldn't fathom why survival instinct had you encoded to turn toward that which was capable of your demise. “Yeah, I'm good.”

A yawn tore through you as you stepped into your darkened apartment. Your hand fumbled for the light switch and you tucked your shoes away on the rack, before depositing your keys onto the table with a noisy clatter. The remainder of your time spent at Juyeon and Changmin's had been spent cleaning up the failed ritual, and you hit the road as soon as it was over.

Your roommates were all out for the night, so the apartment was cold and quiet as you stumbled down the hall to your bedroom. Compared to your friends, you'd left rather quickly because of a text you'd received from Lee Chan, a good friend of yours and former neighbor from childhood. His home life hadn't been the most spectacular, so you and he became fast friends during the moments after school when you hung out on your front lawn.

He'd swung by your apartment earlier to drop off banana muffins, but you hadn't been home. I'm home now! But you can totally come by in the morning instead, you texted him after setting your backpack down and peeling off your jacket.

As you sat in the dim gold illuminating from your desk lamp, the pressure in your chest returned. You could feel your heart pick up speed in your ribcage and you lifted your finger up to your mouth to suck on the dollop of blood that had welled to the surface. It was a small scratch from when the candles went out—your own clumsiness—but it was nothing a My Little Pony bandaid couldn't fix.

A featherweight sensation drifted over your arm, and you slapped your palm over it as if to catch whatever invisible insect crawled atop your skin.

There was nothing though.

You glanced over at the window to your right. The sky outside was an unpeculiar ebony riddled with the white speckles of distant stars. No breeze drifted in from outdoors and you double-checked that the window was closed.

You startled as your phone vibrated on top of your desk.

dino!!: oh it's okay! i have dance practice early in the morning, so i'd rather bother you while ur still awake haha dino!!: i'll be by in about 10ish min if that's cool? your phone: sounds good lol and tysm :’)) love mingyu's banana muffins

You smiled to yourself at the thought of those delicious pastries. Chan's friend Mingyu baked whenever he was stressed, and he usually gave out the results of his stress-bakes to friends. The first time you'd tasted his banana chip muffins was the closest you would ever get to heaven on Earth.

“I'm glad he makes you smile at least.”

Your phone clattered to the floor, your physical body leaping five feet in the air as your soul flew out of its encasing. Everything in you jolted like one, big heart palpitation, and your wide eyes took in the sight of a person standing by your window.

Ji fucking Changmin had nary an apology on his lips for scaring the everloving Hell out of you. It was as if he hadn't even moved out of his position at his apartment: the crossed arms, the tense posture, the clenched jaw.

Except, his eyebrow was cocked this time, unamused by your very valid fear.

“Oh, fuck you.” You braced your palms against your bed as you stood opposite from him. “Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you.”

“I got it the first time.”

You could have blown steam out of your ears. “What the fuck are you doing in my room, you creep?”

He raised his palms up, finally breaking pose. “I know what this looks like—”

“You know what this looks like?” You let out a scoff, throwing your arm out in wild gesticulation to match the throttle of your heartbeat. “This looks like Edward Cullen in Twilight, except this isn't a movie, you're not Robert Parkinson, and you just climbed up a five story building!”

Changmin stepped forward, and you took a very obvious step back. He exhaled, pressing his lips together. “Okay, I deserve that,” he muttered.

“No shit. I should call the cops on you, friend or not. What is the matter with you?” You had known Changmin for as long as your college career thus far. The five of you had met in the freshman dorms and stuck together like a package deal since. You were all quite close, and you'd spent more than your fair share of quality time with Changmin.

But this—nothing could warrant this behavior.

“I need to talk to you about something important.”

You enclosed your palms around your arms, defensive. “Then you call or text or use the front door. My window was locked—”

“The lock on your window should be the least of your concerns,” he huffed. There was a firmness in his voice and behind his words, and a matching gleam of desperation in his face. He pressed his fingers against your bedspread and the air seemed to still.

That phantom breeze had returned and it drifted against your arm. It came accompanied by the weight in your chest. “What,” you stammered, “do you mean?”

He glanced away then, that tension seizing his shoulders again. He scratched his jaw seemingly at odds with words. “The ritual that happened tonight… that was real.”

You paused. “You have got to be shitting me.”

“I'm not.”

“Changmin, I'm way too exhausted to deal with your pranks right now. If tonight was all an elaborate thing you guys did to get back at me for waking you up at 4AM—”

“Yn.” The tone of his voice made you stop. It made you think. You considered the graveness of his expression differently; you had never seen him so serious. It was jarring. “I am being incredibly serious. The thing that happened to you tonight? That was a summoning ritual, and you were actually put into contact with Hell.”

You remained quiet, unknowing of how to answer. All logic in your brain was countering his statements profusely—it wasn't possible. There was no way something as little as chalk, salt, and candles could open up a portal to Hell.

At your lack of response, Changmin continued, “Tonight, a line to Hell was opened. The ritual was meant to contact a demonic entity. Usually, ritualists use it to make deals and bargains with whoever answers the call. The human link—the 'sacrifice’” —he looked at you pointedly— “is one half of the signing party responsible for fulfilling whatever the bargain is.”

A shudder rattled down your spine at what he revealed to you. This had to be a joke, you thought. This could not be real. But every time you looked at Changmin, the expression on his face did not change and his voice did not waver.

You swallowed, hard. “So,” you said finally, your voice barely a whisper, “you're saying…”

A lone nod. “You made contact with a demon tonight.” He paused for a beat, something warring behind his eyes. “You made contact with me.”

What. You sputtered out a laugh.

Changmin released a small, but sharp exhale, patiently waiting for you to let your giggles out. There were undoubtedly better ways to reveal it, but any way would still evoke such a reaction from you.

“Okay, now I know you're fucking with me,” you said with the lingering curl of a smile on your face. “You're saying that you're a demon?”

He seemed to weigh an idea in his head for a millisecond before caving. He flicked his chin out toward you. “You cut yourself tonight?”

You flinched and instinctively curled your right hand, your other fingers running over the small slice in your index finger. “What?”

“Come on. Let me see.” At your balking, he lifted up his hand. “I bet you I have a matching mark.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What hand and where?”

“Right hand. Index.”

“This doesn't count because that's the most predictable hand and finger.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yn, don't be silly. I literally have the same mark.”

Slowly, he stepped his way around the bed to your side, stopping only close enough where you could inspect his hand from a distance. Lo and behold, the flesh of his index finger was neatly sliced open, slightly diagonal in the top right quadrant of the finger—exactly where yours was.

The breeze returned like a cool breath, gentle against your cheek, as you raised your eyes to meet his again. The horror in your gaze must have confirmed that he'd convinced you of who—no—what he was.

“So what does this mean exactly?” you asked him. There were no giggles this time.

Changmin sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. “We are now bound via soul,” he said and extended his hand out slightly. His fingers curled inward and he gave a tugging motion level with your chest, and something deep within you moved.

Your eyes went as wide as a full moon. “What the Hell…”

“That's the line we're connected by.”

“I'm on a leash?”

Changmin glanced toward the ceiling as if mentally counting to three, then took a breath. “Not a leash; it's just a line. That's what was created between us when I became the demon on the other end and you spilled your blood on the pentagram. It doesn't mean we're restrained to stay within physical proximity of one another, but it does mean that you can't run away and hide from me.”

You shuddered. “That sounds scary.”

“It would be if you didn't fulfill your end of a bargain, but you never made a bargain.” He lifted his baseball cap up to card a hand through his blond hair before replacing the hat on his head. “Which basically means that we're stuck like this. We are emotionally and metaphysically bound to one another.”

There were a lot of words that had been said over the past few minutes, and most of them were difficult to wrap your head around. The worst truth of all was the brief, but very real sensation you had felt when Changmin had tugged on the invisible link between the two of you. That weight on your chest from earlier… had that been the “bond” settling into place?

“How could sitting on a chalk pentagram even” —you waved your hands around as you attempted to formulate words— “how was all of that possible? I thought Ouija boards were fucking toys?”

“I told you guys that you shouldn't play around with those things.”

“Well, how the Hell were we supposed to know this was going to happen?” you countered. The four of you had done some innocent fooling around, and now, you were “emotionally and metaphysically bound” to Changmin. Whatever the fuck that meant.

Changmin sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “We can undo it. I think.”

You think? “How?”

“I—I need to do some research,” he said with a grimace. “I've never heard about instances like this and I didn't think it was even possible. I thought I could just intercept the call—”

Intercept the call? You shook your head. “I need you to start from the beginning, but slowly, as if you're speaking to a five year old.”

He opened his mouth to retort, then stopped abruptly.

A change in expression flickered across his face. It was brief, almost instinctual. You swore it looked like mild irritation, but it was gone before you could be sure. “You should probably answer the door.”

“Answer the what?”

You nearly yelped at the sound of loud knocking at the apartment door. Confusion pummeled you first, then you were swearing. “Chan.” You forgot he was stopping by.

“I'll be right back,” you said, moving toward the bedroom door.

“It’s fine. I need to go looking for answers.” Changmin stopped you before you went out, and you couldn't suppress the violent shudder when the invisible line in your chest pulled taut. “And Yn? Don't do anything stupid.”

You made a face at him from over your shoulder. “I'm already soul-bound to you by accident. How much more stupid can this get?”

He threw his hand up in the air. “Just don't do anything Hyunjae or Shuhua would do. Actually, just don't tell any of them about what I just told you.”

Why not? You were about to ask when you heard Chan's voice at the door calling out to you. Another swear fell from your mouth and you rushed out into the hallway to rip the door off its hinges.

Chan startled as it opened, his eyes going wide like a deer's in the bright hallway lights. There was a loose blue hoodie hanging over his green dinosaur pajama pants. He had his phone in his hands along with a paper bag undoubtedly carrying the legendary banana muffins. “Oh, hi. Sorry, is someone here with you? I thought I heard another voice.”

You braced a hand around the doorframe. Don't tell anyone. “Ah,” you winced, the lie curling up your tongue, “I was just on a call with a friend and he wouldn't shut up. Sorry about the wait.”

“No, it's no worries,” he insisted with a classic, easygoing smile. It made the adrenaline in your veins calm somewhat. Chan had always been a good presence to be around. There was something perpetually warm about his persona that made you want to stay in his orbit. “Oh, right!” He handed you the bag. “These are all yours. Mingyu says to let him know how they taste this time around, as always.”

As you accepted the bag, your face lit up like a Hollywood billboard. “I can guarantee that they will taste as divine as always. Tell him thanks for me” —you glanced up sheepishly from the paper bag— “and also, thanks for stopping by. I wish I was home earlier so you didn't have to drive all the way back.”

You didn't realize your face had contorted into a grimace. If only you had come straight home instead of indulging your friends’ curiosity tonight. Then, you would have been here with the banana muffins and one less soul-bond to worry about; and you would have been none the wiser to the fact that one of your college friends was a demonic entity.

Hadn't Changmin mentioned that you were now emotionally and metaphysically bound? Did that mean he could feel your emotions?

The smile had long since slipped from your face, but now your hands grew cold. When you got your muffins just now, did he know—

“Yn?” You perked up at the sound of your name. Chan's hand froze midair, then retracted back to his pocket. Concern shone on his face as stark as day. “Are you okay? You look like you just forgot you have something due tonight,” he chuckled half-heartedly, but the sheen in his eyes told a different story.

“Oh.” You forced out a laugh. “I'm fine! Yeah, I was just reminded of something. Actually—uhm, I shouldn't hold you up for any longer. It's getting late.”

Chan stared at you for a moment longer, and for that seemingly infinitesimal second, you feared he could see the invisible knot tied to your ribcage. “Right,” he said suddenly while shaking his head. “You should get some sleep.”

Your hand reached for the doorknob. “Thanks for dropping by again.”

“Wait” —his palm pressed against the door to keep you from closing it— “are you sure you're okay?”

It was as if your guilt was written in plain words across your forehead: No! I just became magically handcuffed to one of my demonic friends! And I also sat in a pentagram salt circle less than two hours ago! Please help me!

You channeled all your energy into a convincing smile. “Yes, I promise I'm okay. Have a good night, Chan.”

It was enough. That easygoing beam graced your eyes once more and he took his hand back. “Okay,” he said, “good night.” He waved to you as he turned on the ball of his foot, and you waited until he turned the corner before closing the door.

Your entire body deflated as you let out a rather dramatic sigh. That sigh turned into a loud groan, which eventually escalated into a borderline scream.

Like a woman possessed (would possession have been a better outcome than this?), you slunk back into your bedroom with your treasures in your grasp. “Hey,” you muttered as you kicked the door closed, “I'm… back.”

The room was vacant. Not a trace of the blond demon could be found.

“Son of a gun.” You settled into your desk chair and pulled out one of Mingyu's stress-baked muffins. As you peeled the parchment wrapper from the muffin's bottom half, you attempted to process all that had occurred within the past two hours. Every time you rewound the events, you met the same dozen or so questions. If only Changmin were still here to answer them, but he mentioned something about going off to answer questions of his own, including ones pertaining to undoing this rather inconvenient situation you’d found yourselves in.

“He should have stopped us,” you garbled between bites of banana chip muffin.

Your chewing came to a gradual halt as you marinated on that thought. “He… should have stopped us.” Why didn't he stop the four of you? If he had stopped you and suggested a movie instead, or any other activity for that matter, you wouldn't be here and he wouldn't be stressed.

He should have stopped you since he knew what you were getting yourselves into.

You crumpled the now empty muffin wrapper in your fist. Ji Changmin had far too much to explain to you.

PART II: THE CONSEQUENCES

IF THERE WAS NO REST FOR THE WICKED, Changmin didn't want to be wicked anymore. By popular perception, he and half his heritage were “evil.” While his father was a human from this mortal plane, his mother hailed from one of the nine circles of Hell. They'd fallen in love, conceived a halfling child, and the remainder was history.

“You look like shit, Ji.”

Changmin's eye twitched as irritation needled beneath the surface of his skin. “Thanks,” he drawled, not bothering to spare Lee Chan a glance. If he had limited energy reserves, he wasn't about to spend a drop on giving Chan the time of day.

Plus, Changmin was more than aware of the thick shadows that lingered beneath his eyes like fog clinging to cobblestone. He had woken up from his ninety minute power nap, trudged into the bathroom, and faced his own gauntness in the mirror. Why the fuck did Lee Chan think it necessary to point it out?

Chan's stare lingered on him through the practice room's mirror for a moment longer until he was called away by Kwon Soonyoung. Only then, when Chan's attention was passed elsewhere, could Changmin release the breath he was holding onto.

It was one thing that Changmin couldn't shake the offputting energy he felt whenever he was near Chan; he could stomach being on the same dance team as the guy, even though they each harbored an unspoken dislike for one another; but it was another thing entirely that he and Chan were both friends with you. The two boys attempted to be civil in front of you because your comfort was more important than their pettiness, but currently, said truce was nowhere in sight just as you were.

Simply, there were less reasons for him to be amiable today, including his thinning patience. Last night’s debacle had drained him of his energy. He was a halfling, not a pure-blooded demon. Additionally, his mother wasn’t a high-ranking demon by any means, which basically screwed him in the area of power stores. He had magical capabilities, but it could only handle so much. Answering ritual calls and creating soul bonds required a decent amount of power, which was why they were usually only answered by the more powerful demonheads of Hell. They enjoyed making human suffering a pastime.

Tacking onto that Changmin’s brilliant idea of warping into and out of your room last night instead of using his own two feet, as well as spending hours digging through the occultish corners of the internet, added all together to make for one exhausted, stressed, and grumpy halfling.

A presence—this one being far more welcome than the previous one—appeared by Changmin’s side in the mirror. “You really need to start going to bed when you say you're going to bed,” Juyeon said as plopped down onto the laminated hardwood to stretch out his calf muscles.

Changmin followed his lead onto the floor, but opted to slide into a left split. “I was tossing and turning the whole night,” he dismissed with an innocent lie. (Well, “innocent” was subjective.)

“You should try this new matcha that Hyunjae got from his hyung. He brought it back from his recent trip from Japan.”

For a second, Changmin let the words feed into his head one by one: matcha… from Hyunjae… from Hyunjae's brother… which one was he? Oh, the one who just got back from Japan, Sangyeon. When his tired brain finally caught up, he gave a nod. “What about it?” he asked, raising himself up to switch his hips into the right split.

Juyeon looked on with envious admiration, even if this was the thousandth time he stretched with Changmin. “It’s really refreshing and has a bit of a caffeine kick, but it's not as awful as coffee. Indigo likes it, too—said something about it being one of those rare finds that you can only get in the secluded countryside or something.”

Changmin paused. Juyeon's girlfriend Indigo was someone Changmin got along with well, but that wasn't why he was slightly interested in the matcha now. What Juyeon wasn't aware of was Indigo's witch heritage. Just as Changmin was hiding in plain sight, so too was Indigo. And if she recommended some countryside matcha powder, he was going to be inclined to try some.

“Yeah,” he coughed, “sure. Sounds like it wouldn't hurt to try.”

Pleased with the outcome of the conversation, Juyeon smiled and nodded. “I'll get you some later today then. Hopefully it'll help with the weird headaches you've been having, too.”

Changmin had nearly forgotten about those with everything that had happened. He'd recently been struck by random headaches; there were no patterns to their appearance, and no remedy—human, at least—that could soothe them until they faded on their own. He'd failed to ask Indigo about it because, well, he didn't think it was important enough to act on. But if this tea could help him out, then it would be taking out two birds with one stone.

Practice went on swimmingly. Though Changmin could only boast about his ninety minutes of sleep, when it came to dance, it was as if he was possessed. This was a hobby—a passion—that never failed to drive a fire through his veins. It didn't matter if he'd had the worst week in the history of worst weeks; when the music started, he was cued in, and he gave it his all.

As a river of sweat poured down his face and the room suffocated with the humidity of everybody's labored breathing, practice came to an end. Changmin hiked his duffle bag over his shoulder and poured water down his throat. Juyeon wasn't far behind as the two of them waved goodbye to their teammates and headed out.

Saturday mornings usually occurred in similar fashions: dance practice was held from 7AM to 10AM, then Changmin and Juyeon would return to their apartment to wash up; Changmin would then eat about an elephant's worth of food while he caught up on lecture recordings—unless he had something else to distract him.

In the case of this Saturday, as soon as Changmin had finished showering, he plummeted face-first into his pillows and was out like a light.

Demons could dream, one must understand. However, the demonic body tended only to dream when it was well spent—exhausted. Demons liked to correlate a weakness with having dreams, because foolish visions meant that one was unable to control their own mind. Control was rather important when dealing with magic.

Even if the dream was about, say, something real and occurring right at the moment Changmin was asleep—it was still considered a dream. Because he had not yet learned to leash his mind from meandering down his fresh soul bond, he found himself in a body that was not his own.

Yours. It was your body.

Was this real, he wondered, as he soaked in the familiar sight of your bed, the desk, and the closet space. He'd been in here just last night—albeit, in a fashion that wasn't agreeable—and he didn't expect it to change, but it did look real.

It was like he was actually sitting in your room, except he wasn't able to move or control his own body. The heart that beat in his chest was yours, the blood that pumped in his ears was yours, and the breath that fell from his mouth was yours.

He inwardly sighed as you adjusted your position at your desk chair. What a predicament he found himself in. He could feel the ache in your back from the uncomfortable piece of furniture beneath you, as well as the knots in your shoulders. (Did that mean you had a bad night of sleep?)

Though, it wasn't all bad, he supposed. He did adore the smell of your perfume lingering in the air and clinging to the sheets, the walls, the furniture… You would never know this of course, if he could help it.

You were currently reading a book—for class or for enjoyment, he hadn't the foggiest. The left side of the novel you clutched in your hand was riddled with colored sticky tabs, and you had the back of a ballpoint pen pressed between your lips. (His lips? …No, this was a precarious line of thinking.)

Changmin followed along as you read. Well, he tried. Whoever designed the layout of this book must have had perfect vision and no sympathy for someone visually challenged. The font size was likely less than ten point, and good grief, the line spacing—

“Holy shit.”

He paused. Right, that was you and not him.

You leaned forward and brought the book closer to your face as you read over the line again.

“Oh my gosh, Eliot, you incredible, talented woman.” This earnest compliment was swiftly followed by a colored tab to mark the passage. Changmin was about to read what you tabbed, but your eyes went down to the desk to scrawl a thought onto a post-it note. “Dorothea, you poor, poor soul. Casaubon needs to get the fuck over himself—you are fifty, dude.”

Changmin, frankly, had no clue what was happening. But he didn't entirely mind, because the pure joy that fluttered in your (his) chest was enough to keep him satisfied. There was something oddly serene about being in your sphere of presence, and in this state of being, that kept him at ease.

The stress of breaking this soul bond ebbed away like the receding edge of a tide.

Alas, all good things had to come to an end. Changmin couldn't tell how much time passed before you bookmarked your place with an index card and pulled your phone toward you.

12:04PM was what your lockscreen read.

Oh, so he was definitely catching up on sleep, at least.

Wait—had you not eaten lunch yet? The unmistakable void in the pit of your stomach…

Yn! Eat lunch, you silly girl! Eat—

“He could just be away from his phone,” you muttered to yourself. There were a few app notifications waiting for you, but each dismissal was fueled with mild disappointment.

Who were you talking about, he wondered.

A flash of bitter annoyance pierced his chest at the memory of who you'd been texting last night with that big smile on your face. However, any of that sentiment was dashed clean away when you pulled up your text chain with him, not Lee Chan.

Changmin's heart sped to a gallop as he watched you swipe out just as quickly as you'd checked in. The reason was two-pronged: one, you were wondering about him; and two, you had texted him while he was currently asleep and he did not know how to wake himself up.

Ji Changmin, he chastised himself, you're not only intruding, you're also inadvertently ignoring her.

He could understand that he put you (and abandoned you) in a worrisome place last night. If he could tear out the strands of his fried, blond hair he would.

You were his friend, were you not? He cared about you, and this soul bond wasn't only stressful to him, but to you as well. Maybe ignorance really would have been bliss in this case.

Your phone emitted a low vibration as it rang. Changmin had missed the moment you decided to call someone. Juyeon's contact name and photo was displayed in the middle of the screen, and he answered before the call went to voicemail. “Yn, what's up? You're—you’re not mad about last night, are you?” The wince in Juyeon’s voice was audible.

“No, I'm not mad,” you promised him as you leaned your cheek against your palm. “I was just wondering if you know where Changmin is. I texted him an hour ago and he hasn't answered yet—I guess I'm just a little antsy.”

Shuffling, then, “Oh! Changminnie's sleeping. He didn't sleep well last night, so as soon as we came home from practice, he was knocked out.”

Relief made your shoulders sag. “Ah, okay.” A smile, self-deprecating in nature, curled up on your mouth. “No worries then. Thanks, Juyo.”

“No problem. I'll let him know to call you once he wakes up.”

“No, it's okay” —you began putting your materials away— “have you had lunch yet? I can swing by with food; I haven't eaten yet.”

“Really? I haven't eaten yet, and Changmin hasn't either. I'll split the cost with you.” Changmin wished he could say that he would also split the cost. Why were you coming over? He hadn't gotten a good look at the texts you sent before.

(It had to be because you wanted to see him, right? To talk—of course to talk and not for any other reason.)

You stood up from your chair and stretched out the stiff muscles in your back. “I'll be by in—maybe twenty or thirty minutes?”

“Sounds great!” Juyeon chirped. “Thanks Yn-ie. See you in a bit.”

You let out a small laugh. “Yeah, see you.”

As the call cut off, Changmin was left with a daunting task: to wake himself up. There didn't seem to be many options as to do this. If demonic dreaming was activated based on lack of control, that meant he had a lack of energy. Thus, if he couldn't yet regain control, it could only mean that he was still tired.

There were a great many things that he had yet to figure out about this kind of magic. It wasn't like his mother ever anticipated he would need to know about it, so she never explicitly taught it and he never asked.

He was kicking himself in the head now.

Meanwhile, you had busied yourself with getting ready to leave. You'd selected a jacket from your closet, swiped on a thin layer of lip gloss, and spritzed yourself with that divine-smelling perfume. It made his toes curl and his chest feel fuzzy.

Just as you were filling your purse, your phone jolted with an incoming call.

Changmin soured as he saw the caller ID through your eyes and felt, not disdain, but pleasant surprise. He couldn't fathom what you saw in Lee Chan, but he never said anything; you and Chan knew each other longer, after all. It wasn't his place to say anything, especially when his reason revolved around something as subjective as a “vibe.”

“Hi Chan,” you greeted when you accepted the call.

It was funny—a dull, but annoyingly familiar pulsing appeared in Changmin's head. It beat steady against his cranium, hard and relentless. The longer it continued, the more it hurt. Could you feel it, too? The sensation was recognizable at this point after so many instances of the random headaches popping up. Was he seriously getting another stupid headache during a dream?

He winced to himself, but suddenly felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach when he heard you audibly grimace.

Was this headache yours or his? Should he be worried?

“What was that? Are you okay?” asked Chan from the other side.

Changmin/You clenched your jaw as your vision went spotty for a moment. Your hand whipped out to catch yourself against the table.

Panic seized his chest as you muttered out a reassurance, though unconvincing. The invisible string that tied Changmin to you tightened, stealing the breath right out of his lungs. It was as if his own physical body was yanking him back.

He was waking up.

No, he thought, no I need to make sure she's okay—

Distantly, he heard yours and Chan's voices. Your words between one another were muddied and distorted to Changmin. Before he could even begin to understand what was happening, his eyes opened.

“I could smell lunch through the door,” Juyeon sang to you in greeting as he eagerly beckoned you into the apartment.

You chuckled, shucking your shoes off under the rack by the door. In your hand, you held onto a large bag containing a box of delectably fragrant fried chicken and fries. Oh, glorious sodium and cholesterol. “Yeah, well, imagine my suffering as I was driving over here with it in the car,” you mused.

Juyeon locked the door behind you and took the bag out of your hands.

It was another thing to return to the site of last night's ritual. You'd been in this apartment dozens of times before, but it was difficult to look at the specific spot on the living room floor where the chalk and salt had been. Even if the vacuum cleaner had taken care of all that remained, you couldn't help but choose to sit on the end of the couch farthest from that spot on the floor.

“Oh, could I get a glass of water, by the way?” you asked Juyeon as the two of you began taking things out of the bag to lay them out on the coffee table. “I was feeling a bit lightheaded earlier.”

Juyeon's eyebrows creased as he straightened to head into the kitchen. “Shit, yeah—of course. You drove here while feeling like that? What if you passed out, Yn-ie?”

You snuck a fry into your mouth, murmuring your thanks as he handed you the cup of water. “I'm fine,” you insisted with a vague wave of your hand, “it was just the blood rushing up to my head, I think. And besides, you were already expecting me and I was hungry.”

“I would have woken Changmin up and dragged his ass out of bed.” Juyeon settled onto the couch with you and cracked open the can of Sprite he'd gotten out of the fridge. “You know, Changmin's been getting these random headaches, too. I guess not exactly nausea, but you guys have gotta be more careful,” he waved a fried potato at you as he said this.

The irony could not escape you, and you failed to keep a sarcastic smile to yourself. Uh huh. Be more careful, you say? Too late for that. You took a ginger sip of the water. “Is that right? Maybe he just needs more sleep or something.”

“That's what we thought at first,” Juyeon hummed, idly scratching the back of his neck, “but they happen no matter what he does. There's not really a noticeable pattern.”

You wondered if it had anything to do with his demoness. You couldn't be too sure because you hardly knew anything about his species yourself, but that could explain the seemingly randomness of the headaches. Perhaps it was another question to add to your list.

“Huh.” You frowned. “Well, I hope they go away for him soon.”

Juyeon nodded solemnly. “Yeah, same. Hyunjae's gonna bring over some matcha for him to try… oh, hey! You like matcha—do you want some?”

“Sure, I'd love—”

Your phone buzzed violently in your jacket pocket. A laugh of disbelief flew from your mouth when you saw the caller ID, and you flashed the screen at Juyeon. “Speak of the Devil.”

Juyeon chuckled as you answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, I'm so sorry I missed your text.” His voice, rough from sleep, was accompanied by heavy breathing and the sounds of fabric shuffling in your ear.

You nearly choked, but you remembered that Juyeon was none the wiser to the weird spike in your heartbeat, nor the reason for it. “It's all good; I was being impatient. Juyo said you didn't sleep well.” Your eyes darted to his closed bedroom door and wondered why he hadn't come out yet.

“Yeah.” A brief pause. “Are you—are you okay?”

“Of course, I'm okay,” you drawled, glancing over at Juyeon. “Why? Should I not be okay?”

“No, I mean—” His voice in your ear and behind his bedroom door overlapped one another like two ocean waves colliding along the sand. His door ripped open.

Changmin stood on the threshold with his phone in one hand and the other clutching the doorknob. He was in a loose white T-shirt and sweatpants, a thin layer of sweat making his cheekbones shine. His eyes, a wild creature of their own, landed on you—all of the tension in his body melted away.

He exhaled and sank against the doorframe, ending the call. “Hell…” he muttered under his breath as he dragged a hand through his hair.

Concern had you rising to your feet. “What? What's wrong?”

Changmin closed his bedroom door behind him and collapsed onto the couch somewhere between you and Juyeon. “Bad dream,” he grunted. “How much are we splitting?” The latter was asked as he shoved a fry into his mouth and pulled out the Venmo app on his phone.

You and Juyeon exchanged glances over the blond head: what just happened?; you think I know?

Juyeon sent you a shrug. “Well Yn?”

Now their focus was on you. You took your seat again and reached for your glass of water. “Ten bucks each.”

All of the food that you brought turned into crumbs faster than Cinderella's carriage at midnight. Considering all three of you had barely eaten all day, it was expected. At some point, Juyeon dipped out of the apartment to meet someone for a group project, so that left you and Changmin alone. It was the perfect opportunity to get what you came here for.

“You left pretty abruptly last night,” you said to him as you returned to the couch with a full glass of water. Changmin stood nearly opposite to you, his back against the wall by his bedroom door. He also nursed a cup of water. “And I have some questions.”

He let out a small laugh, his lips pressing his dimples into his cheeks. “I'm sure you do. Sorry, I realized that after I left,” he admitted and raised his free hand up to grab the back of his neck. “So shoot.”

It was strange, you thought. There was no way this guy could be a demon, but was that leaning into stereotype? Last night, that feeling you got when he looked at you from beneath the shadow of his cap… your hairs had stood on their ends and you couldn't shake the spike of adrenaline in your bloodstream. It had been undeniable.

But here he was with a pretty, boyish smile as if he was a completely different person.

“What did you mean by 'intercept the call?’ What exactly happened during the ritual last night?” you asked.

The smile slipped from his face a little, and his eyes flitted over to the spot you had been sitting twelve hours ago. “Like I said,” he began, “you opened a line to Hell—like a phone call, basically. I channeled enough energy to answer it before anyone else from Hell could. And instead of, y'know, appearing in front of you like another demon would, I was already there and just chose to stay quiet when the candles went out.”

You straightened. “So the breeze in the room was your doing?”

Changmin cocked his head to the side with a wince. “I think so? At least, I can't control it yet. Think of it as a physical manifestation of power.”

A physical manifestation of power—you imagined last night's scene from Changmin's point of view, where he stood in the far corner. He would have focused his energy toward the breach between the worlds, and that fulfillment swept through the room like a gust of wind. But then what about all the other times? That moment wasn't the only other instance of a cool breeze on your skin.

When you brought this up to him, Changmin pressed his lips together. “Ah. This?”

On cue, something lightweight and cool brushed past your cheek. Your hand darted up to cover it, and you looked over at Changmin who arched a brow at you. “You get creepier and creepier the more I know you.”

His mouth burst at the seams with a smile. He ducked his blond head, shaking it. You were missing some kind of joke here. “Don't speak too soon,” he said. When he raised his head back up, he ran his tongue over his smile. “It happens when I want it to, it happens when I don't want it to. Just depends.”

“Great.”

“I'll get it under control,” he promised.

You leaned forward onto your knees and pressed your mouth into a slight pout. “Is there anything I can do to bug the shit out of you? This seems like it's only entertaining for you.”

“Well,” Changmin shrugged helplessly, “that's kind of the point of why demons started to do this. They find humans entertaining, and they also like to hold them accountable. The line” —he gave a gentle tug at the invisible string you still couldn't find— “is an insurance policy.”

“Saying it like that just implies it's that much harder to work your way around it.”

“Pretty much.” A grin split his face, and you were struck by the ease you smiled back without having meant to. “Don't look too excited now.”

You flattened your face and voice. “I'm thrilled.”

Before Changmin could respond, you suddenly remembered the main question that plagued you last night. You cleared your throat, your fingers dancing around the sides of your glass. “By the way… why didn't you stop us last night?” You watched his facial expression and how it was carefully knitted into something blank. “If you knew what was going to happen, you could have insisted we stopped, and we would have. Why let us get to this point?” you asked, gesturing between the two of you.

Changmin's throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I was pretty confident that I could intercept it, so there wasn't any real risk with doing the ritual if you guys wanted to have fun. I just didn't count on…” He lifted his right hand, where the pinkish scar was left on his index finger.

He hadn't counted on you getting cut and sealing the bond.

You pinched the space between your eyes. “Ah. My clumsiness has now doomed me to be metaphysically handcuffed to you.”

“I wasn't going to say it…”

“Oh, go to Hell.”

Changmin laughed. “Only if you come with me.”

Heat rushed to the surface of your skin. Sometimes, his mouth moved too fast. You snuck a glance at him through your fingers while he sipped on his water. If you peered close enough, the tips of his ears were flushing to a light pink.

He lowered the glass from his lips, and a crease formed between his brows. “Also,” he said carefully, his tone starkly different from less than a minute ago, “I do have another side effect to add to the list.”

Your stomach flipped. Not another thing—

“I may or may not be able to occupy your physical body when I'm dreaming—”

Changmin grimaced as the bottom of your glass banged against the wooden coffee table. That expression only deepened at the wide-eyed fury—fear—on your face. “And when I was asleep earlier,” he continued on, dooming himself to walk the plank, “I kind of intruded on your reading session, and when you called Juyeon, and when Chan call—”

“Can I murder you? Would that harm me in any way?” you cut in.

His mouth was open, but no words were coming out.

You stood, abandoning your seat on the couch and your water glass, to step across the room toward him. “Because if I could,” you said while pressing the back of your knuckles to your lips, “I can rid myself of the absolute creep of a friend I have!”

Changmin's eyes widened as soon as it hit him—your hand. Your hand hit his shoulder.

He bolted.

“Hey, let's talk about this, Yn-ah!” he exclaimed and dove into the kitchen to duck behind the counter. Some monstrously high-pitched scream left his mouth as he scrambled to stay out of your reach.

“We are talking about this, Changmin-ah.” You charged after him, chasing him around the counter and back out of the kitchen. If you didn't respect Juyeon like you did, you would have fully embraced becoming a bull in a china shop.

Your fist hit the solid plane of his bedroom door just as it slammed in your face. You let out a sound suspiciously close to a growl. “You possessed my body without my consent!”

“It's not like I consented to it either! It just happened!”

“That's not a valid excuse, you panini head!”

“I don't want to possess your body!” he insisted through the door with his voice going higher than the Eiffel Tower. “Why would I want to possess your body? I don't wanna be around when you and bestie Lee Chan gush about Star Trek.”

On certain occasions you really wished you had Superman's laser vision. Then you could burn through this stupid piece of door and roast a demon. “You're not helping yourself, Ji.”

A beat passed. “Look,” he huffed. “It only happened because I was exhausted as shit, okay? I really had no control of it, I swear on my life.”

You remained still with your arms braided across your chest without a word coming to mind.

“I didn't see anything sensitive, I promise, and my body woke me up and pulled me out of it when you got that really bad headache.”

Huh? That bout of lightheadedness… was that related to how the connection was severed? Or at least, hindered? You brushed the curiosity aside; weren't you supposed to be mad at this guy?

“Which was also why I was worried when I woke up and asked if you were okay,” he added in earnest. He did look worried like you were going to die when he woke up…

You glared impetuously at the closed door to the point you were sure even the wood grains were two seconds from apologizing to you. “Okay, fine,” you relented. “But you're not fully off the hook; I just won't use the kitchen knives.”

A choking sound filtered through and you felt the corners of your mouth tug upward.

“What can I do to make it even?” Changmin asked, though he continued to remain behind the closed door.

Frankly, there weren't many things he could do to even the score unless you chose to be creepy and sit in on his private moments. You shuddered—you’d rather not. Those were private for a reason. Maybe he could burn his eyes out with bleach. (Kidding… ish.) “I don't know,” you said half-heartedly, ”tell me a secret.”

A moment of silence passed. “I thought it was hot when you asked if you could kill me.”

Not even an ounce of shame with this one, huh? “You're sick. I'm leaving.”

For the second time today, his bedroom door ripped open. “No, wait, I was kidding! Yn, I was kidding.” (He was not kidding).

You stopped, half-whirled around. In your periphery, he stepped out of his room, but refrained from getting too close. When you turned around fully, the red that dusted his cheekbones was unmistakable. Unfortunately, seeing him flustered was enough for you at the moment.

With a feigned, heavy sigh, you motioned to him. “C'mere.”

Changmin perked up like a confused puppy.

“Come here,” you repeated with more urgency this time. You curled your hand toward you to beckon him closer.

He crept closer to you. There was a gleam of uncertainty and suspicion in his eyes as you continued to gesture at him closer… and closer still. Your heart throttled against your ribcage; your physical body was even unsure of what exactly you had in mind.

Only once his face was close enough you could count his eyelashes were you satisfied. You could hear him gulp.

And maybe you let the moment linger too long. His gaze flickered away from your eye contact for a heartbeat, eyelashes fluttering as he considered something out of the bounds of friendship.

You raised your hand up to his forehead and flicked him between his eyes. Hard.

Changmin yelped and fumbled backward to the boisterous sound of your laughter. He rubbed his forehead furiously where an angry, red mark formed and smarted. He snarled at you, “Not cool!” His face was nearly as red as the mark… oops.

“That's what you get!” you countered with an accusing finger. “Now. Promise me you'll never purposely possess my body in your dreams, you perv.”

A grumble came from the depths of his throat—agreement. “I never did it on purpose,” he mumbled, slapping his hand with yours in a binding handshake. He sounded like a teen boy who's gaming console was just taken away.

“And promise me that you will take care of yourself, so that we can get out of this binding thing and so that you don't accidentally possess me.”

“Didn't you offer to get possessed last night?” Changmin stiffened as the words left his lips. “I didn't mean that! Don't get the kitchen knives!”

His giggles pierced the air, sharp but endearing, as he scrambled back into his room with you clinging to his heels. “Or get the kitchen knives—it’s kind of hot.”

“Ji Changmin.”

PART III: THE RELATIVE

WHEN YOU APPEARED IN YOUR 8:30 biopsychology lecture on Monday morning, you had nearly forgotten that the world had not completely turned upside down when you bound your soul to Changmin’s. No one else but you and he knew about it, and it seemed he was determined to keep it that way. Nonetheless, when you settled in your usual seat about midway up the lecture hall, close to the exit on stage right, you looked into Yeh Shuhua’s terrifyingly beautiful eyes and almost blurted your secret.

It was because of that reason, and the fact that she was one of your close friends. She was one of the participants of the ritual; it was only right that you disclosed to her the consequences of all your actions. However, the reminder from Changmin echoed in your head like a dull heartbeat: Don’t tell any of them. Don’t do something stupid like Hyunjae or Shuhua. He realized that ‘stupid’ applied to him, too, right?

“You seem antsy,” were her first words to you as you finally decided on how you would roll up your jacket. It had taken a couple tries and configurations before you settled on just draping it over the chair behind you.

You straightened in your chair. Perhaps subtlety was not with you this morning. “My coffee was too strong,” you said.

She snorted, a bright and unassuming sound, as she pulled her laptop out from her bag. “Honey, you don’t drink coffee.”

…Right. You let the words sink in to properly register your dumbassery, then settled on the most basic excuse known to college students. “It’s too early for this.”

“Amen.” Conversation saved.

When you first signed up for this class, you were under the impression that it would be a riveting insight into the brain and its inner workings. Alas, your professor from Psych101 did you a disservice by testifying to Psych210’s interest factor, because it was entirely lacking in interesting things. The majority of what was being discussed in lecture could be read about via the slides, but unfortunately, participation was mandatory. Even worse was that this class was the prerequisite to the neuroscience class that was actually interesting.

You didn’t like to critique the teaching skills of a professor who was meant to research and not to teach, but you were going to for the umpteenth time.

Beside you, Shuhua barely swallowed a yawn and hid the last bits of it behind the lid of her coffee tumbler. She took a sip, then leaned over to you. “I’m pretty sure I learned all of this in freshman year biology.”

“Is that right,” you murmured. You hadn’t taken the introductory biology series because you were only minoring in psychology, whereas Shuhua was a neuroscience major. “You must really be suffering then.”

Her head slowly touched down onto your shoulder. “Tell me about it… by the way, did you hear about the house party that’s happening on Saturday?”

You hummed. “Who’s hosting?” House parties were usually something you needed to be a part of a friend group to be invited to. Though, that was usually the case for all parties in college, you’d found out. Fraternity parties were oftentimes exclusive to Greeks, or if you knew a frat brother or sorority sister. Other parties were spread by word of mouth and required an entrance fee that amounted to a fraudulent sum of money. Thus, if you went to any party, it was either a house party hosted by a friend of a friend, or one of your friends’ birthday parties.

“Hm… it’s my family friend’s kid’s friend group.” She paused, then clarified her statement, “Yangyang. You know Yangyang, right?

You made a sound of acknowledgement. “Isn't he friends with Xiaojun, Kevin, and Yuqi, that group?”

“That's the one,” she chirped. “But he only lives with Xiaojun and a couple other guys. It's a house in one of the neighborhoods nearby.”

“I see. Are we going?”

“Of course we are, silly.” Shuhua blindly patted one of your hands and you imagined that her eyes were likely already closed. You and your friends were accustomed to forcing one another to socialize outside the group from time to time; it made the college riptide a bit easier to swim through. “I just didn't know if you were aware or not yet.”

“Well, now I am,” you chuckled.

“You sure are.”

The remainder of the lecture went by as dull as it usually did, and 9:30 could not come faster. You and Shuhua bumbled out of the packed auditorium among the crowd of others filing out.

A yawn stretched your mouth open as you checked your phone. “You've got a class after this, right?” you asked Shuhua.

She nodded. “Unfortunately. Do you wanna have lunch together afterward?”

“Ah” —guilt anchored itself to the pit of your stomach, allowing the urge to spill your secret to dwindle— “I'm actually hanging out with Changmin today.” Neither of you had terribly busy Mondays, so you both decided to do some solution-hunting together, whatever that meant. He just needed to be back by the time his dance rehearsal started.

Her mouth quirked to the side in a slight frown. “Oh, okay. Just you two?”

“Yep.”

For a second, you thought she was gazing right into your soul where the invisible knot was tied linking you to your mutual friend. But she suddenly smiled and blew you a kiss. “No worries! Have fun.”

You blinked, the anxiety lingering. “Yeah… thanks. You, too.”

Shuhua left first to hurry off to her next class while you remained in the lobby. You had fully expected that she would at least ask what the two of you were doing, and you were prepared to come up with another dumb excuse. It wasn't suspicious that you and Changmin were hanging out alone, right? There were plenty of instances where you hung out solo with your close friends.

You brushed it away. It was the paranoia talking.

You headed toward the nearest parking lot. Because you lived relatively close to campus, there was usually no need to drive, but since you and Changmin were going elsewhere in the city, you opted to drive.

As you settled into the front seat, you sent him a text to let you know you were on your way over to his apartment. It would be convenient if you could somehow use the soul-bond to communicate with him instead, you thought as you navigated through campus to a nearby neighborhood. Alas, based on what Changmin told you before, the bond was more useful to him than it was for you. How wonderful.

You let your car run as you pulled up to the curb outside of his apartment complex. Through the windows on the first floor, a periwinkle sheen caught your eye. There wasn’t much doubt in your mind that it was the ribbon Changmin tied to his bicycle. It was his favorite color—not that you knew that for any particular reason, other than the fact that you were friends. It was useful information for birthday cards, was your reasoning.

Before you could meander down some weird mental road of thoughts, the passenger side door opened and closed. Your counterpart was dressed in dark green today: dark green sweater, a darker but muted shade of cargo pants, followed by a matching cap shoved over his blond hair. “Hi,” he said, strapping himself in with the seatbelt and setting his bag down by his feet.

He looked particularly pocket-sized today with the cheeky, dimpled smile on his face and you smiled in greeting. “Hi!” you chirped back. “Where to?”

“An aunt of mine lives downtown. Do you know how to get to Union Station?”

You nodded, tugging the car into drive, “Yup. Wow, she lives down by the waterfront?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. When he did, he ducked his head so you only caught a glimpse of that dimpled smile. “She’s married to a siren.”

Your eyes went wide, and his laugh grew louder. You flattened your expression into a deadpan as heat rushed to the back of your neck. “Don’t laugh,” you muttered. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’d say for you to not pout then, but it’s cute,” he replied with that smile lingering on his face in the form of a half-smirk. He had pulled his phone out to text someone. “I’m only laughing because I had a feeling you’d react like that, and I was right.”

You huffed. “I feel like I’m at too much of a disadvantage around you.”

“You have more power than you think.” Changmin passed you a glance and deposited his phone in the cupholder. He leaned his cheek against his knuckles. “You just need to exercise it.”

“Well, I can’t exactly threaten you with kitchen knives and forehead flicks all the time.”

He shrugged. “That’s not what I meant, but it’s whatever. How was class?”

Changmin, Juyeon, and Hyunjae were all aware of yours and Shuhua’s disdain for your shared biopsychology class. The complaints had filed (flooded) in as soon as the first week of classes were over. You could gab on and on about the boredom that plagued you, but you hardly wanted to be a broken record when there were other things to talk about. “It was fine,” you said, then swiftly moved to something else. “I think I almost told Shuhua, like, twice about the soul bond thing. Why can’t we tell them again?”

“Do you really think they’d believe us?”

You thought about it—about the twin cuts on your index fingers, the unseen string that tethered your souls together, the dream that Changmin had. They would think Changmin had roped you into his regular shenanigans, and in a way, he had. You sighed, albeit reluctantly. “True. But it just feels…” you grimaced. “Is it weird that I feel guilty?”

Changmin shook his head. “No, I’ve had to tiptoe around my mom’s and my true nature around you guys for years. It’s natural to wanna be truthful to your friends, Yn, but some things are better left unsaid.”

“Is there a reason why the supernatural community stays hidden? Is that something I can ask?”

“Of course,” he said easily, turning his gaze out the window. “It’s just that it’s better—safer—for us this way. Humans can hardly handle differences amongst themselves as it is; imagine what would happen if they found that even more species of sentient beings existed, y’know?”

Truth was a difficult pill to swallow. It was a capsule that often found itself lodged in a throat rather than being digested. And even if it eventually managed to make it to the stomach, it sank to the bottom like a body anchored by bricks in a river. There was, unfortunately, much merit to what Changmin said.

Your eyes flickered to your side mirrors as you merged onto the highway. “I see.”

“It’s definitely relieving that at least one of my close friends knows the truth now, though.” He knocked the back of his hand against your arm in a warm gesture, and although you were unable to return the expression or even look at him then, he was looking at you.

Because you and Changmin set off just after rush hour passed, the drive through the downtown scene was relatively easy. The rest of your time in the car was spent chatting about the party Yangyang and his housemates were throwing, as well as Changmin directing you to his aunt’s residence by the marina. His ability to give directions left much to be desired; your car was filled with shouts and bickering whenever he told you to turn too late.

Somehow though, you arrived at the right street, and he even helped you find a parking spot along a curb that didn’t involve ungodly hourly parking rates. You wouldn’t call it a complete redemption, but he was on his way toward one.

“Are you sure it’s cool if we just show up unannounced like this?” you asked him, tilting your head back to peer up at the apartments that towered above you. Some of the windows were left open and their curtains drifted whimsically in the mid-morning breeze; some of the fire escapes were connected by copper-colored ladders, fitting together like a puzzle. You liked to think that complexes like this housed residents who were friendly to one another like some fantasy video game—a pair of friends hanging out of their windows to gossip across the fire escapes, a cat sleeping in the window—that sort of thing.

Changmin stood next to you, but his gaze was turned out to the marina in the distance, the sails of boats in the foreground of the slate blue-gray of the bay water. “Yeah, it’s cool. And we’re not exactly unannounced; I told her we were coming.”

“When?” You followed him in through the front door. The hinges squealed upon use and the door shuddered violently when it closed.

“In the car.”

You deadpanned at his back as you followed him up the stairs. “You’re an awful relative.”

“Don’t all relatives show up to their other relatives' homes unannounced?” he jested. “I’m a model nephew, actually.”

“A model in what standard? Hell?”

He shrugged up ahead, glancing back to pass you a boyish grin. “Yeah, basically. My mom says demons just kind of teleport into their relatives’ homes unannounced.”

“So that’s where your incredible lack of boundaries comes from,” you said and glowered up at him.

You met Changmin on the landing of the second floor and ducked out of the stairwell into the dimly-lit corridor. It was quiet here in the middle of the day, but you could hear the muffled sounds of television programs and voices emanating behind different doors you passed by. The carpet was well-trodden and didn’t kick dust up when you walked, and the overall smell was vaguely fishy and reminiscent of the seafood section of a supermarket.

“Cultural difference,” he replied cheekily. “This is hers, Aunt Jenna’s.” He gestured to the door he stood at with a rusted, gold B29 hanging on its surface just above the peephole.

You tucked your hands into your jacket pockets. “Anything I should know before going in?”

Changmin paused and his face flashed with realization. It translated roughly, but accurately enough, to ‘Uh oh.’ He opened his mouth to say something, but the door beat him to it.

Correction: his aunt beat him to it. Or at least, she was who you assumed was his aunt. Her facial features and bone structure weren't similar to Changmin’s at all, but those eyes—dark like the deepest corner of a shadow; engulfing, embracing, enveloping—her eyes were what made familiarity pang in your chest where the soul-knot sat.

Her mouth stretched into a bright smile. “Changmin-ah! And his significant other, isn’t it—or kids these days say partner instead, hm? Don’t be strangers now; come in, come in!”

What did she just say? You have got to be kidding me.

Too overwhelmed to think, you let his aunt usher you and Changmin in through her front door. You threw—chucked—an alarmed glance over at your counterpart, who could only meet your wide eyes with his own. Shoes were exchanged for slippers, and you were guided toward a couch settled in one part of the cozy living space.

“It’s nice to meet you, Aunt Jenna,” you finally managed to say through the heat flaring up your neck and behind your ears. “But I do have to, uhm, correct you.”

Changmin coughed beside you on the couch as his aunt perched on the coffee table across from you both. “She’s not my romantic partner, auntie. Yn’s just a friend.”

You nodded earnestly.

His aunt’s face flickered from that sunny smile to a more somber surprise. She broke into a sheepish sort of laugh, absentmindedly brushing a lock of hair behind her shoulder. “Oh, well how silly of me. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable—I got embarrassingly excited,” she confessed. She addressed Changmin specifically, reaching over to whack his knee, “You used the word for lover when you texted me earlier!”

Changmin’s hands rocketed up as both you and his aunt fixed him with pointed looks. ��It was a typo and an honest mistake,” he swore. “I haven’t spoken or written in that demonic dialect in awhile,” he said to you, “and the words for friend and lover are, like, one letter different.”

His mouth had pursed into an unconscious pout, and you reached over to flick him between the eyes. Bone against fingernail, and the dense thunk sound the impact produced was quite satisfying.

“Ow! I'm sorry!”

You turned to a rather amused Aunt Jenna. “I'm sorry I did that in front of you. I swear, I won't make a habit out of it.” That remained to be seen, however. How had you refrained from flicking him for his behavior before this?

She chuckled. “I'm sure he's warranted it more than once. It's nice to meet you, Yn.”

“Likewise. You have a lovely home.”

Changmin held his forehead with his hat now sitting in his lap, and his eyes narrowed at the two of you. “This was the worst idea I've ever had.”

“Do you drink tea, Yn?” his aunt asked you, waving aside her nephew's comment. “I'll make us some tea and we can talk about whatever you both came to discuss.”

Tea was served on an elegant tray made of polished dark wood. The color was a deep red, as if it had been dipped in a vat of blood, and was engraved with images of what you assumed to be flowers with long stems crowned with big, beautiful petals. You nursed a Finding Nemo mug between your palms, gently blowing on the steam that wafted out of the aromatic floral tea.

Just the fragrance of the drink was enough to put you at ease. The muscles and knots in your shoulders loosened, your frown lines smoothed over. You took a gentle sip and savored the tangible warmth that streamed down your throat and into your stomach.

You nodded to Aunt Jenna who's dark eyes gleamed knowingly over the rim of her mug. “That's very good,” you said.

“Isn't it? Would you like to take some home?”

Changmin harrumphed from beside you after taking a hulking gulp of his own drink. “Guys, please.”

“Mm yes, yes.” Aunt Jenna waved her free hand flippantly. “Your problem.”

While Jenna had prepared the tea, you and Changmin explained to her how your souls became tied together. Most of the explanation consisted of specific details of the ritual itself, not the circumstances before. You described the physical sensations on your end, and Changmin added in his out-of-body experience.

When your piece was said, it left Aunt Jenna to marinate on all the facts. She took a sip of her drink first. “Well, you're both fools, but you” —she wiggled an accusing finger at her nephew— “especially. How could you be so irresponsible as to let your friends go through with a bargaining ritual?”

Changmin grabbed the back of his neck and hung his head like a kicked puppy. “It didn't seem like the end of the world if they wanted to have fun.”

“I suppose,” Jenna muttered, but not without some sympathy. She was a demon living amongst humans, too, after all. “But look where that's gotten you both. There are just far too many unforeseen variables that could have made this situation ten times worse. You and Yn becoming soul-bound is probably the best outcome, frankly.”

You would beg to differ, but you kept your lips stitched together and attached to the rim of your mug.

“But as for undoing it, I'm afraid there aren't many options.”

You detached your mouth from the mug.

You and Changmin exchanged a glance with one another. He asked, “What are our options?”

Aunt Jenna's mouth pursed slightly to form small divots in the sides of her cheeks. “The one most accessible to you is to bargain with another, more powerful demon to take over your bond with Yn.”

“Absolutely not,” he interjected. “That's out of the question.”

“I guessed as much,” she said, taking another sip. “Then it's quite literally impossible—unless you used cursed magic—but even if you didn't care about facing the hellish consequences, gaining access to a Book of the Diabolical is insanely difficult.”

Though you were completely ignorant to almost everything Aunt Jenna was saying, you weren't so ignorant to her message between the lines: you were fucked. Supremely.

Looking over at Changmin only confirmed what you were thinking. There seemed to be a war being waged behind his eyes as he clutched his mug in his lap and glared at a grain in the hardwood floor. This situation was partially your fault and his, and now, the only thing you could do was to drown in the consequences.

You turned to his aunt. “Then how can we live with it?” In your periphery, Changmin's head raised. “I mean, are there techniques to better control this situation, like on both Changmin's end and my end if we can't simply rid ourselves of it?”

Aunt Jenna considered you for a moment, then nodded slowly. “There are,” she said. “Control is something very valuable to demons, Yn. I don't know how much Changmin's told you—”

You sent him a thin smile.

“—but mastering your own body is one of the most integral things young demons first learn. If you don't have control over your mind and body, then how could you possibly be trusted to control anything else?”

That made sense, you thought. It was a thoughtful principle, too, that others (humans) could learn from. What other parts of demon culture and values were there that these two would be willing to share with you?

Jenna had finished her cup of tea by now and set her empty mug back onto the tray. “So the easiest way, I think, to safeguard yourselves against one another is to strengthen your minds.”

What exactly Aunt Jenna had in mind was meditation. Because you were human and couldn't exactly perform the same demonic energy rituals and mind exercises that Jenna and Changmin could, meditation was the next best group activity. In order to do this, Jenna shut all of the curtains and sealed the living room off from the outside world. The coffee table and sofa were shoved to the edges of the room, while the empty space was occupied by three bath towels and a Bath and Body Works candle.

It was reminiscent of the ritual from That Night, but your heart rate sat a little more stable with the belief that you were in capable hands this time.

The three of you arranged yourselves in a loose triangle around the lit candle, its small flame shuddering at the force of your breaths.

“You can place your hands wherever you're most comfortable,” Aunt Jenna said lowly, softly—a vocal embodiment of the small head of fire upon the candle. “Sit up straight, close your eyes, and breathe in deep… let the darkness envelope you.”

There weren't many moments when you considered yourself petty, salty, or bitter. But at this very moment, you were most certainly all three at once.

“Are you really still mad that you fell asleep?” The question was posed with as much audacity as there was incredulity in his voice.

You didn't have to direct your glaring eyes at Changmin for him to feel the edge. “It was embarrassing,” you grumbled.

“Aw, it's okay. Not everyone has the mental fortitude to meditate.”

And you do? you wanted to snap back like a five year old. Instead, you tightened your grip on the steering wheel and focused on not steering the two of you off the road. “I will literally ditch you on the highway.”

He leaned his head against the window to watch you with a twinkle in his eyes and a toothy grin on his lips. “And I will literally haunt you in your sleep.”

The pair of you were in the car driving back up to the university. You had just left Aunt Jenna's about fifteen minutes ago after the failed meditation session (for you) and her insisting you both stayed for lunch. With your stomachs full and your heads quite literally empty, there was nothing left to do but to return home.

There had been a moment before you both left when Jenna pulled Changmin aside to have a private conversation. You had lingered outside the apartment door, but couldn't hear anything despite it being left slightly ajar. There must have been some crazy soundproofing done on her apartment. A charm, perhaps?

But when Changmin came to join you, you picked up the tail end of their talk. It had to do with Changmin pleading with her not to tell his mom about what happened; Aunt Jenna would only agree if he promised to babysit her kids next week.

That thought made you smile to yourself even through the cloud of salty pettiness in your vision. What was Changmin like around kids? The guy was rather childish himself, but… you wouldn't deny that he would probably be good—

“What are you smiling about?” he mused as he peered out from under the brim of his cap. He reclined his seat back a little and crossed his arms over his chest, settling himself in for the ride back.

You scoffed and forced the smile away. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He hummed. “Methinks it was about me,” he teased and tugged his cap further over his eyes so even his mouth was barely visible. At your silence, he murmured, “Also, I hope you're not bothered about earlier.”

“Hm?”

“I mean—the fact that you weren't able to meditate. And,” he added quickly, “I'm not trying to make fun of you. It's just that that was the only way Aunt Jenna could think that you could safeguard yourself against me. I'm gonna be really good about this, Yn, I swear. I don't—y’know, I don't want anything to change between us.”

Ah. Well, since his hat was over his eyes, you allowed your smile to slip back into place. The weight in your chest was warm, a comforting sort of tightness. You were gradually getting more accustomed to its presence, and at this particular moment, you were glad to be aware of it.

“I believe you,” you said to him. “And I don't want anything to change between us either.” You were friends before the ritual, and you would continue to be friends after it.

You were content with being accompanied by your thoughts and the radio for the remainder of the ride. Your companion in the passenger seat had drifted to sleep at some point when the highways began to grow rather congested with the early afternoon traffic. Changmin had a dance rehearsal in a couple hours, which gave some leeway as to what time you needed to get him back by.

By the time you hit the university district, the sun perched lower in a sky spotted with cirrus clouds, wispy and drifting in the autumn breeze. The filter it cast over the world was a mute gold, warm.

Changmin peered out his side window as you navigated through the busy streets, his face nearly pressed up against the glass because his cap was turned around. There was far too much foot traffic at three in the afternoon, but it was unfortunately a popular time to be out and about for students on a Monday. “Could you drop me off at the sandwich shop on the corner over there?” he asked suddenly, his voice gravelly from disuse. He inclined his chin further down the block, and you had enough time to switch lanes.

“Yeah, sure,” you murmured, glancing over at him. “You don’t want me to drop you off straight at the dance hall?”

“Nah, I’ve got a couple hours, so I think I’m gonna get another bite to eat first.” He rummaged around in the bag at his feet, double checking that he had brought along everything he needed. “D’you wanna…” His voice trailed off as he turned his head up toward you.

You hummed in question and furrowed your brows in concentration to direct your car into a parking spot along the curb.

“Did you wanna come in with me? I don’t know what your plans are after this.” Changmin had one foot out the door, but the rest of his body remained here with you, in the car, as if hesitant to leave just yet. With the brim of his cap turned around, you could better see his face, the hair pushed out of his dark eyes. There was a small smile seated upon his lips, hopeful in the way it curved into his cheeks in the way you always found slightly endearing.

Your hand lingered by your seatbelt. What were your plans after this? Nothing, right? “I mean, if you don—”

“Yn, is that you?”

The voice and the interruption elicited similar jolts from both of you. Your head whipped around on instinct to locate the person who had called out to you.

Crossing the street to you now was Lee Chan. He had his backpack slung over his shoulder, and he waved a hand at you when he caught your eye. But they flickered away from you to someone behind you—Changmin straightened to his full height, his head appearing over the roof of the car.

You glanced back at your counterpart. That smile, so boyish and innocent, had grown an edge.

“Thanks for the ride, Yn,” Changmin said to you, ducking his head to address you. He reached into the car so he could clasp your hand, his fingers clutching yours as he stole your gaze away… they lingered. “I’ll talk to you later, hm?”

You nodded, unsure why you were so dumbfounded. “Yeah, sure,” you stammered out. “I had fun today.”

“Same.” And there was that smile again. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it had softened out at the corners. With a final raise of his hand, he shut your passenger door and jogged off toward the shop.

You blinked as air suddenly filled your lungs again. Had you been holding your breath the whole time? You forgot to wish him a good rehearsal.

A knock on your window had you swiveling your head around. Chan grinned as you rolled your window down. “Hey, what’ve you been up to?”

Not a mention of Changmin, you noted. You were aware of Changmin and Chan’s dislike for one another, and though it caused you a torrent of internal conflict, there was nothing that you could do about it. If they were unwilling to talk about it with each other or with you, then there was no use. Both of them were important figures in your life, so it was just as important that you could keep them both—was that selfish? It seemed that they were able to somewhat coexist, however, if they participated on the same dance team. How did that even work out?

“I was out with Changmin for most of the day,” you said. “We were just… y’know, visiting a relative of his downtown.” There was no harm in saying that, right?

Chan’s expression didn’t even shudder. “Oh? I didn’t know he had relatives downtown.”

Of course, you didn’t. You appreciated that he tried to be civil about Changmin around you, but sometimes the pretense was more aggravating than the petty disdain. “Yeah, they were really nice. We drank tea and chatted a bit.”

“Glad it was a chill time,” he smiled. “Ah, speaking of—I was wondering if you wanted to go visit Chaeyoung noona with me sometime this week? I've been trying to figure out the best time to go see her before midterms.”

You brightened at the mention of Chan's older sister. Though his parents had passed away before Chan graduated high school, he was supported mostly by his older sister, Chaeyoung. You'd heard and seen for yourself the chronic illness that she was cursed with, however. There had been a decent stretch in time when her situation looked much better, but recently, she had been forced back into long-term care at the hospital.

“Yeah, definitely! It'll be nice to see her after so long. Just text me and let me know what day you decide.” The last time you saw Chaeyoung was probably at the start of the past summer break when you went home to see your parents with Chan. Though you and Chan were around the same age, he acted more as an older brother figure to you, likely because of Chaeyoung's good influence.

The golden hour sun glinted its rays into your eyes, and you were reminded of the time. “Oh, don’t you have dance practice soon? Need a ride over?”

“Yeah, I do, but I don’t need a ride,” he said. “I was about to meet Vernon in the cafe down the street though. Do you wanna come with?”

The idea of accepting his invitation crossed your mind, but the ache in your legs and at the nape of your neck were suddenly a lot more prominent than before. You hadn’t even realized how tired you were. “Not this time; I think I'm a little tired. Thanks for the invite, though!”

He pressed his mouth together in slight disappointment, but waved it away with a casual hand motion. “Of course. Drive home safe, then.”

“I will. Have a good time, Chan.”

Chan returned the sentiment back to you, but instead of leaving right away, his lips parted another time. He paused, concern gleaming in his eyes—or was that the setting sun? You couldn’t tell the difference, but there was something he couldn’t quite articulate with words that his facial expression was desperate to reveal to you instead.

You frowned. “Something wrong?”

He let out a small laugh and brushed away the thought. “No, don’t worry about it.”

Are you aware that you've been cursed?

Aunt Jenna's words echoed in Changmin's head ceaselessly throughout the dance rehearsal. They had been subdued slightly when he was asleep in your car earlier, but consciousness tended to surface more nightmares than the unconscious state. Even in the bright light of day, those shadows found a way to creep in and force him into some horrific tunnel vision.

No, he wasn't aware that he'd been cursed. How could he?

Out of everything he thought she pulled him aside for, that was the last thing he expected. The look in her eyes—those dark irises that mirrored his in depth—had been stricken by a grave worry. Those all-knowing eyes, far surpassing his in experience, had taken one look at him coming in through the door and determined something horrible had happened.

A curse?

You haven't been feeling strange lately? She had grasped him by the shoulders, her hands firm in their iron grip. Any strange aches and pains?

The headaches. He told her about the random, spotty headaches that had been plaguing him recently. It hadn't occurred to him at all that they could even be a side effect for a curse.

I've heard some strange things have been going on to the demons in your area. The curse has subsided for now because of your half-humanness, but…

Changmin could fill in the blanks.

His appeal to Aunt Jenna about not telling his mom about any of this included both the soul-bond and the curse. Based on what his aunt told him, there have been demons in this area who have been forced into critical conditions by an energy-stealing curse. That would explain his frequent headaches and his increased exhaustion. Though, the headaches had been on the decline as of late, which coincided with the other part of Jenna's warning.

He was at odds. He couldn't simply sit around and wait for whatever maniac was at large to suddenly stop. He and all the other demons around him were sitting ducks. Worrying about the soul-bond was one thing, but he supposed this now took priority.

Changmin hunched over his bag in one of the darkened corners of the practice room. The lights had been turned down slightly as their four reserved hours drew to a close. It was a hard night, but the sweat, heat, and adrenaline was a delightfully addicting mixture.

Absent-mindedly, he rubbed a palm over his chest. The invisible knot there that linked you to him tightened at the attention. He had made a habit of this over the course of the past few hours; the physical sensation of the string tugging grounded him and kept him from disappearing into his head too much.

Could you feel him on the other end? He was certain you could if he made it obvious. If he tugged just right—

“Ji. I need to talk to you.”

The only sign of surprise Changmin let Lee Chan see was the raising of his eyebrows. “I don't need to talk to you.”

“It's about Yn.”

Changmin's movements froze. He let go of his bag's strap and zippers with a sigh, then straightened up to meet Chan eye to eye. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What about Yn?” You were his problem now, whether you liked it or not.

Chan's eyes narrowed at him, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “I don't know what you think you're doing with her, but you need to stop. It was enough that she's friends with you—”

He couldn't help but scoff. What the fuck is he going on about? Changmin's mouth twisted into an incredulous smirk, the points of his canines peering out from under his lip as he jabbed his tongue into his cheek. “I was wondering when you'd finally drop the Nice Guy act.”

“This isn't about me putting up a front,” Chan quipped in hushed tones. He wouldn't have done so if he wanted to make a scene. “This isn't even about us not liking each other. My problem is that you're roping Yn into your—your fucking bullshit.”

Changmin furrowed his brows. “You're being vague and dramatic, Lee Chan. I really don't have the time or the patience for this.”

“I know who you really are, Ji.” In any other context, those words in that order would have made Changmin bark out a laugh.

Changmin shuddered as he sized up Lee Chan in a different light. It was almost funny how perspective could change everything. In the daylight and bright fluorescents, Chan was a model kid with a charming smile and unshakeable charisma. He cared about you and watched over you like a brother. But without the presence of light was when Changmin was most afraid of what he saw. It was not because he was afraid of the dark—the shadows, frankly, were a demon's ally—it was because the dark did something to Chan in the same way blood infested clear water.

Chan's mouth was set in a firm line, and nothing about his facial expression or stance gave even an inkling that he was bluffing.

“I still have no fucking clue what you're talking about,” Changmin replied lowly, scooping his bag up and brushing past Chan.

He went to find Juyeon. The organ in his chest pumped his blood wickedly fast through his system; the blood thundered in his ears, loud and deafening, like an oncoming train. Aunt Jenna was in his head, you were in his chest, Lee Chan was at his back.

Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom—

He and Juyeon were out the door in a flash, but Changmin glanced backward—because we always turned toward that which was capable of our demise; that was survival instinct—and he flinched when Chan's eyes caught his again.

Changmin let the door slam behind him as he stole into the cold night. If only the darkness could hide him from whatever just happened.

read part two here (if the link isn't there yet, refresh out of this page and it'll be linked at the top)

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[seijorhi]

haikyuu ice hockey just ignited something in me (probably bc ice hockey is the only sport i actually understand)

but it offers so much room for yandere v yandere drama. like, you're actually allowed to FIGHT in hockey (well, not allowed, but it's generally considered to be part of the sport.)

idk, it amuses me to think of a yandere player(cough oikawa cough) who's so insanely devoted to his sport, almost ruin his career by cracking the jaw of a player from another team who his darling started fucking/dating.

like she very unexpectedly dumped him right before the season started (when he didn't have the time or focus to spare to get her back) bc he was being weird and posessive, and it just gets harder and harder to watch the gossip tabloids and sports magazines spread rumors about his ex girlfriend finding new love. of course he was gonna crack.

(bonus points if he knows this other player (maybe they were on the same team growing up) and the other player is half getting with yn to piss the yandere off)

sorry for the ramble! i love your work!

ooh see i can definitely roll with ice hockey captain oikawa's girlfriend getting so sick of his jealous, possessive bullshit that she dumps him.

there's no denying he's irritated as fuck that you chose to wait until the new season starts, but he's not going into panic mode or anything. it's fine.

you can go a few dates, have your fun. oikawa's pretty sure those assholes won't be sticking around long after he brings some of his teammates along to have a nice, friendly chat with them–

(they don't have to know that he won't actually follow through on those threats to beat their faces in. probably)

–just give him a few weeks to settle into the season.

—

this wasn't technically a part of the plan.

there wasn't even a plan, until the guy you'd spend a good two drinks flirting with suddenly realised why you looked familiar, and all but high-tailed it out of there like the devil himself was at his heels.

it hasn't helped matters that your annoyingly persistent ex keeps sending you flowers – at work, at home, day after day, just so everyone in your life knows that broken up or not, oikawa still considers you his.

bullshit. it's such bullshit.

you suppose you can't blame some random guy for not wanting to get on the bad side of an ice hockey champ.

it's then, somewhere around the bottom of your third drink of the night, that the solution to your problems occurs to you.

sure, a normal, average guy might be intimidated by your ex, but you know plenty of players who'd jump at the chance. not necessarily to fuck you (you're not looking for an honest to god relationship here), but to fuck with oikawa? an opportnity to put a crack into that asshole's attitude? oh yeah.

there's a few players oikawa hates more than the shirtless blond currently draped over your shoulder, snapping what is very clearly a post-fuck selfie of the two of you to upload to his millions of followers. admittedly, kageyama probably would've worked better, if the thought of using him like that – even with his knowledge and explicit agreement – didn't leave you feeling strangely dirty, and ushijima... just no. god, you're not sure you'd even be able to get the words out, much less hold your nerve to wait for an answer.

but miya atsumu? the cocksure, arrogant as fuck (hot as hell), loudmouth winger who's got a special talent for pissing off his opponents? he'll do nicely.

—

he's gonna kill him.

oikawa's gonna fucking kill him. he'll take the penalty, take the loss, the suspension, whatever.

the moment that puck hits the ice, miya atsumu's fair game, and oikawa's going to beat his stupid, smug fucking face in.

[casteliacityramen]

The lunch rush has passed, replaced with a spectacle of two trainers trading fists for the sake of their pokemons' honor. Ayumi frowns as she watches a trainer take a fist to the face.

"I'm gonna lose this bet," Ayumi groans. Rio raises a half smile away from Ayumi's gaze, a tiny bit of triumph cracks through her lips.

But she drops her smile as quickly as it came, instead pausing to look at Ayumi's face as it contorted with "oohs" and "aah's" after each physical exchange. It was close to the end of the shift, and Ray might be on his way back. Now might be the best time to ask.

Rio's first reaction was to internally sigh with relief along with Ayumi, who did the same. Her next reaction, however, was to internally sigh out of frustration. She was, in fact, from the same Matsumoto clan she knew from a long, long time ago. There's no way Ray didn't know.

"Does Ray know about that whole business? Did he treat you differently once he found out?" Rio asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He knows, and…" Ayumi paused, giving it some thought as she thought back to a couple of years ago.

"Now that you mention it, yeah. He did start acting a little different," Ayumi furrowed her brows. When she looked at Rio for a comment, she met her confused look with an expectant one. She continued.

"He started actin'… nicer? Not the kinda nice where he's hittin' on me or trying to suck up to me 'cause I come from important history or whatever. But he looked kinda…" Ayumi stops, pausing as she remembers the late night noodle runs she had with her husband and her son.

She remembers the nights she'd catch him looking at her direction with a deep seated sorrow. She remembers how his shoulders would sag and his eyes would wander over her face to look for a resemblance to someone he knew before he shook himself and returned to his usual stoic face.

"He looked kinda sad. Did he know someone from my family?" Ayumi asks slowly.

"He did." Rio looks away. She searches within herself to find the right words to be vague enough to respond, but detailed enough to satisfy her question.

"Gotcha," Ayumi softly says, getting the idea that this was something she shouldn't press. She decided to take it a different direction.

"Well, it's fair you tell me somethin' since you keep askin' me all sorts of questions," Ayumi smiles.

"Why are you askin' so many questions about Ray? Don't ya two work together? He doesn't tell you nothin', huh?"

Rio's heart quickens, unexpectedly put on the spot. Again, she thinks about how to be simultaneously vague and truthful.

"I talk about him a lot because…"

"No, it's just that you need a last name to be fully registered in Castelia if you don't want to deal with any pokeballs. I just stole his last name, and I guess he stole Tai's," Rio says.

"I can't tell if you're worried for him or tryin' to find out what he's been doin'," Ayumi nervously laughs, looking slightly uncomfortable at the idea of unintentionally throwing Ray under the bus.

"Both. He hasn't been himself, recently. I guess I'm worried for him," Rio mutters begrudgingly.

"You must've dumped him pretty hard, huh?" Ayumi laughs. Rio looks away awkwardly.

"It was a mutual breakup."

"… So he must've dumped you pretty hard, huh?" Ayumi laughs again, and Rio quickly shoots a frown at her. Ayumi laughs harder.

"Just messin' with ya."

Rio huffs. It technically was Ray to first suggest that they separate, even after all the ordeals they went through together. It's not that she didn't disagree with the decision, but-

Before Rio could think more about it, the two are cut off as the trainers take a seat with pained expressions.

"Dammit, there goes five hundred pokeyen. Coming right up!" Ayumi smiles.

|| Previous Post | Pinned Post | Summarized Story ||

[oliveden]

"who are you?"

"who are you?" is the response atsushi gets, and y'know what, fair. he is technically trespassing, even though it wasn't intentional!

"my name is nakajima atsushi," he says, "and i am so sorry. i wasn't aware this was anybody's territory, i sort of got dumped through a portal by a god that was over in that forest and didn't know it belonged to anyone and-"

"you're a demigod?" the girl asks him.

"yeah," atushi responds slowly. "if you need someone to vouch for me, i have a friend who's a god and she'll come find me at some point-"

"no, i don't care about that, i know who you are," the girl interrupts him again. "if you're a demigod, though, you can find bram."

"...who?"

she gives him a look of exasperation, one he's gotten very used to seeing on lucy's face. the resemblance is mildly terrifying. "my adoptive father. you really don't know much, do you."

[hel-phoenyx]

New Year's Eve, interlude

A little thing on @corneille-but-not-the-author @soupedepates and me's ongoing story that strays from my editorial line (the brooding big bad wolf) but is important nonetheless

Enjoy :D

____

"Are you sulking, uncle ?"

I sigh for the thirteenth time today. I don't know how many times my nephew, ten years old and kicking, has asked me this question, but it is starting to get old. Even if I am currently destroying him at Wii:Sports.

Luckily for me the Wii is one of the only consoles I can play easily on, especially competitive games. I have a high-quality prosthesis, but there's still some games requiring too much cinetic accuracy for an artificial hand.

I am also very lucky Fen, being the hyperactive preteen he is, absolutely loves Wii:Sports.

It still doesn't discourage him to ask inappropriate questions.

"No, I am not."

"You look like you do, tho. Did you get dumped or what ?"

Children. I roll my eyes and send his Mii flying with a sucker punch remarkably well placed. Eh, I am boxing as a hobby.

The truth is, it may appear as so to Fen, used to smiles and me playing a lot with him, especially now, in the beginning of March, that both of us are technically on student leave. But I don't think I am sulking. Not particularily.

Let's rewind a bit, shall we ? Yesterday I was supposed to see Domhildr at the union's meeting. She invited me there after a little bit of texting, because as a student, I am not part of any unions. Even if I do involve myself in some actions with the CGT when i have the time. I was not here to plan a revolution, tho. I was here to talk to her.

We had no words for each other. Just a hug and a "I missed you" that hid, so, so much more. After that, the meeting started, and, even if it was not going well, I still had hope to find time to talk afterwards. Maybe get a drink or chill at a café. Take some time for ourselves.

And then, well. The middle aged leftist fucker had the nerve to call her a tramp in front of our faces. I knew how this would end. I tried to calm her down, even if I probably wasn't that convincing, furious as I was ; couldn't stop her to blurt out the longest streak of insults in Arabic I have ever heard coming out of her mouth.

I was, without lying, astonished. That woman is beautiful even when she spits out profanities, that isn't fair for the rest of the world.

She got out after that, and even if the poor goth lady she gave the mic to tried to speak again, no one heard her. The men exploded in anger about "how women can't control themselves in a serious place" and "it wasn't the time and place to let out petty grievances". I had to raise my voice a lot of times, and even then, couldn't bring back silence.

It's when the meeting ended I noticed the bastard was long gone.

And outside, no trace of Domhildr. Just blood drops not far from the entrance.

Needless to say I panicked. Called her countless times on her phone. Got no answer. Called Oli, who after laughing at my expense (deserved, and God knows I love you, Oli) told me they didn't have any news, either. Spent the evening, then the night in a state of absolute panic. I was, actually, this close to go to the police. maybe the infamous Sigismund Warsowar could help me, after all.

Kriss was the only thing stoppping me from doing so, with very valid arguments including but not limited to "you did exactly the same to her and it was not a lot of blood, she should be safe and sound, wait tomorrow if no one has news". She invited Brynja for the evening, and I have to admit I forgot about that for a fleeting time.

But we are in the beginning of the afternoon, and I still didn't got any call.

So maybe I am sulking, in the eyes of my nephew. But I am first and foremost worried.

Fen is looking at me with his ten years-old all-knowing eyes. I swear, that kid knows something I don't.

"Com"on, uncle Tyr, tell meeeee.... It's not funny when you're sulking, I don't like beating you up that way."

"HA ! You're the one beaten up, squirt."

"That's not truuuuuuue ! I got you once !"

Yeah, once. But you're ten, I'll let you have this.

Especially since I've spent so little time with you those last few years. Let's not take away the joy you get in seeing me.

"I'll go check if the cookies we put in the oven are baking properly, don't start a new game, I say standing up. Or even better, choose another one, since apparently it's not funny when I beat you."

"You're avoiding the question !"

"No I'm not. Keep to the Wii or the Switch, will you ?"

He sticks his tongue towards me, but says nothing else, lets me reach the kitchen. Well, the first batch of cookies, delicacy allowed only when I'm here to cook with them, is almost over. We still have like, three to do. Because Fen wants to do enough for all his friends at the school.

I miss the times I was only caring about making sure my friends are well-fed before learning about fractions or the French Revolution.

While I'm away, I hear a ring. Fen shouts from the living room loud enough to cover it.

"Phone for you, uncle Tyr !"

"Can you take it for me ? I'll be right back !"

The few notes I've heard are telling me it's a friend calling, maybe Oli or Aarni, they both have similar ringtones. Can't tell anyway, the kid picked up the call almost immediatly.

"Hello hello, Fen af Mundir-Lameni here, how can I help you today~"

I snort from the kitchen while the oven starts beeping. every time when he takes a phone call he has to get all gentlemanly. The pride of a child is not to be underestimated. It's cute.

Some words are spoken, but I cannot hear them, I am too busy putting a second cookie batch on the oven. Before I hear Fen bursting out laughing, and see his little brown head behind the door with the biggest smile on his face.

"Uncle Tyyyyyr ? That's your girlfrieeeeeend !"

Wait what ? But Brynja doesn't have that ringtone, and she litteraly left this morning, why would she call me-

"his what ?"

...

The voice on the other side of the phone, that a grinning Fen just put on speaker, is not Brynja's. It's Domhildr's. Who, of course, is calling me when I don't have access to my phone.

And now my damn nephew is laughing like a little devil and my ears are so, so red I think my brain is gonna implode from the heat. Fuck.

I held my hand out trying to hide the deep embarassment gripping on my limbs.

"Give me that."

"Sure, uncle~ Enjoy your talk !"

I roll my eyes and take the phone in my hand.

"Hey, Domi. Sorry about that-"

"It's fine. It's fine. Children, am I right... Look, I'm sorry about yesterday, It's just- Something happened, and-"

She takes a deep breath. Enough for me to notice she's talking far more fast than usual.

"Is everything alright ? You sound frantic."

"... A lot of things happened, but I'm alright. I promise. and uh, I know yesterday was cut short, so, are you- are you available by any chance ? I really really really gotta see you."

Well. We will have the cockroach on our backs, but aside that this is the opportunity I was waiting for.

"I'm at Kriss' right now, and won't move for the rest of the day. Come meet me there when you can, alright ? We made cookies. We'll just have Fen on our backs. He's on winter break."

"Lucky kid... Alright I'm coming. Cookies sound nice. See you, Tyr."

She hangs up. I sigh.

Well, I have another reason to finish all of those batches.

***

The door rings just in time for the last batch of cookies to get out of the oven. Fen, of course, leaves me there to run towards it in a hurry, smiling with all his teeth ; he even open it with a laugh caused from almost tripping on his own feet.

"Auntie Domi !"

Said auntie steps back just in time to avoid the preteen bullet. I roll my eyes.

"Fen, that's not a way to say hello to auntie."

We're used to it, by now. Fen has a lot of aunties and uncles, among my friends, or Kriss', all the people that saw him grow up. It's so he can forget the real family is awful and there's a reason we only see them on Christmas or some events we're forced to come.

So I'm probably psychoting if I say out loud I swear this time feels different.

Maybe it's because of Fen's huge grin.

"Sorry auntie..."

"Hello to you too, kid."

She turns towards me. Her left eye is twitching a bit. Stressed ? I am, too. This time, i'm sure, there will be no interruptions. an occasion to talk, after all this time.

Well, no interruption, except...

"Fen, can you put auntie's bike in mom's garage, please ? And then, if you could play in your room, that will be appreciated."

He groans.

"But I wanted to see auntie..."

"Later. We... Kinda need to discuss a lot of things, between adults."

Lord, Kriss would be so proud of me. Even prouder that I manage to send her son away without earning me as much as a grimace. Domhildr even turns towards me with a tiny smirk and I feel even more accomplished.

"Auntie", huh ?"

"You'll have all the occasion to sass me later, Domhildr. Come inside, don't stay here, I'll make us some tea."

She's sat in front of a whole plate of cookies, and speculoos I stole in Kriss's stash especially for that. I'll repay them later, and I'm sure she won't cuss me out for feeding a friend. That is litteraly inhaling them while I let the water for the tea boil.

"Still green mint tea ?"

"Yeah, thanks."

She's sill eating the biscuits, but I can see her eye twitch even more. Sometimes her finger is repeteadly tapping on the table. I'm not exactly at ease. That's probably why I'm running errands everywhere, fetching the mugs, then the tea (green mint for her, black with spices and cinnamon for me), then the tea bags, then other cookies. Haven't taken any time to sit down.

I fetch the tea, then the water, and starts pouring it. Green mint doesn't need as much time as black, it kinda gives me a little reprive. She's still looking at me with those eyes, her foot now swinging in the air.

"I don't remember if you take sugar in your tea, I ask knowing damn well she doesn't. I'll go get it if you want, wait a minute-"

"Are you gonna fucking pace all afternoon or are you finally going to talk, Tyrfing ?!"

Oh.

Shit.

I freeze, right in my place, the kettle still in my hand. Silent as a carp, unable to move in inch. Between my ears only cold.

"I came here to talk to you, goddamnit, she continues, voice cutting as a knife. Not listen to you pacing around the subject without ever saying a word about it ! Do you intend to talk or not ?!"

At this point

I don't know if I can answer.

I come back to the sofa, put down the kettle. Sit down. It takes me a long time to finally find a word that doesn't taste fake.

"... I'm sorry."

"Sure hope you are. Two months of no contact, you know how long that is, Tyr ? A fucking lot. Yes, even if you avoided everyone."

That is already more familiar. And the nickname feels far more warm than my full name. The one my loved ones only use when they're irremedialy mad at me.

It's not said with the cutting voice of my mother.

I lift my head. My eyes cross hers. Angry, face scrunched up, mouth pinched yet covered in speculoos crumbs. It's almost cute, if you forget she is, arguably in a legitimate way, furiously mad at me.

"... I'm aware. Kriss already gave me an earful about that, as did Oli and Meili when I finally breached said no-contact."

And by Gods I don't ever wanna see those eyes on Kaizarz's face ever again.

"Also, I am really sorry about New Years, outside the bar. Not that it's an excuse, I smile albeit a little sadly, but I wasn't exactly in the right headspace and you took me by surprise."

And I didn't think you would love me, ever, when you're surrounded with so many people that love you as you are without making any of my kind of difficulties.

I still don't think you do. I can't believe that idea. Not now that you have Sigismund and Oli.

Domhildr downs another speculoos, drinks her tea. Closes her eyes.

"Look, man, one thing clear, I don't care if you don't love me. I don't dream. Just, next time, have the decency to reject me to my face, except of keeping fucking silent and then avoiding me for months-"

"I do."

"What ?-"

She blinks, puzzled. I can feel my guts clench, but I promised I would act like a damn adult, and that means putting all cards on the table. Even if I'll end up with the unavoidable rejection.

"I do. Love you, I mean."

Silence. I guess it's karma. Fine. I deserve that. A part of me wants to hide in a dark corner, forget that I'm 6'9'' and definitely not able to hide properly. Act like an adult, they said. Come on. Don't stay here, say something.

"... I know it's hard to believe, especially after the two months of no-contact and the whole trainwreck at the bar. I don't expect you to return any feelings, especially now that you have Sigismund. But, hey, at least it's said, innit-"

"Wa'Allah you are an absolute fucking idiot."

Is she

Is she crying now ?

"I told you, last time, didn't I ? I have enough place in my heart for a lot of people. You included. It's not 'cause Sigi's there that you're gonna get kicked out, jeez !"

She is standing up.

My poor sister is gonna scream about the amount of tea spilled on her carpet.

But right now

I can only see her face.

Her eyes, shining, filled with tears, focused on me.

I blink.

Is there

Something wet on my eyelids ?

"I thought- I thought you said that to cheer me up."

"For fuck's sake how low is your self-esteem ?!? Also do you think so little of me for imagining a second I could lie to you even to make you feel better ?!"

One step. Two steps. She's in front of me now.

Her fist right in my stomach.

It hurts.

She's strong.

Always been.

And I've always been so unjust toward her.

"Yes, I love you, you absolute giant asshole ! And for the record I didn't think I had a chance, either ! Are you even aware of how I felt when I had no peep from you after the whole blowout, and for what, months ?! I thought- I-"

Something is closing around me.

It's a tiny pair of arms.

"I thought you hated me, Tyr..."

She's snuggling against me now. And I, like it is natural, close my arms around her.

Like I've been back home.

"............ I am, once again, sorry about that."

"If I hear one more "sorry" I'm ripping your throat out."

I laugh. Pull her closer.

Some seconds pass in silence, then minutes. I can hear Fen playing in his room, unaware of the scene unfolding underneath his feet. I think she's crying in my shirt, or at least it's wet. I don't put beneath her the act of spitting her tea on my clothes to spite me.

Wouldn't even hold a grudge at this point.

After a few minutes, though, I can't contain myself anymore.

"... Say, Domi, would it be in bad taste if I asked now if I can kiss you ?"

A fist comes hitting my ribs.

"Yes, it would be, bonehead. But for the record, I don't care. Please, do."

I generously comply.

It's not like I have been waiting for this moment

For years.

[peter-pantomime]

Stranger Things Fic Recs, Part 5

Part Four | Three | Two | One

Gen

the dreams in which i'm dying

“Well,” Eddie says easily, flopping down onto the bench next to her. “I’ll go with you if you want. Just as friends.” Chrissy closes her eyes. She probably should have seen that coming. Because that’s how it’s supposed to go, right? The prom queen dumps her jock boyfriend and gets together with the sweet guy who’s been right under her nose the whole time. Happily ever after, fade to black, roll credits. Chrissy’s seen plenty of rom-coms. She knows her lines here.

i will lay me down (like a bridge over troubled water)

Eddie is twelve, shot up like a weed, and too big to carry, but Wayne scoops him up anyway. Eddie wraps his arms and legs around Wayne clumsily and lets himself be carried, still crying, back to the trailer. Wayne’s knee clicks the entire way back, but he doesn’t tell Eddie to walk.Wayne is forty-one and clumsy with emotions, doesn’t know what he’s doing but is trying anyway, and Eddie is twelve and crying on Wayne’s kitchen counter.

seriously slipping out of control

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Steve asks, eyes flickering over to the shoebox of materials. “Like, do you have to go over it a bunch of times to make the ink dark enough? We don’t need them that dark.” “It doesn’t even need to be super straight or even or anything.” Robin adds. “Like don’t worry about making them perfect or anything.” “Are you guys sure you want tattoos?” Eddie double-checks. These are just verbal confirmations of what he’s already picked up on from their twitchy body language and constant thrum of nervous energy. They’re scared. Which like, fair. But their nervousness gives him pause, makes him wonder why they’re going with commemorative tattoos of all things to remind themselves of the tragic end of their summer jobs.

and it's a song you know

The lyrics are clever, because they hide under metaphor, apocalyptic imagery and all that stuff, but it clicks when Dustin gets to a verse about a tune echoing through a mall, ‘and it’s a song you know, you’ve known it all your life,’ and he’s suddenly thrown back to when he explained how Steve worked out the location of the Russian code, and Eddie was taking it all in, eyes as round as pennies. Dustin sets down the notebook and says, “It’s about us.” It’s not a question.

Steve/Eddie

the boy in the sweatshirt

It starts with the sweater. Technically, it starts with a broken beer bottle and forty-eight sleepless hours on the run bending the glass into ruby red lace against a pale freckled neck. But that’s a technicality, and those only really work well for campaigns and court cases. For Eddie, for the fucked up little story that is his life, it starts with the sweater. Eddie figuring out Steve (and himself) through the romance of certain old clothes.

the present only

"I'm just saying, I didn't get my reputation for nothing," Steve baits. "What reputation is that?" Eddie asks. Robin looks horrified and Steve can’t actually be sure whether Eddie is trying to embarrass him or her. If it's the former, Eddie is about to be disappointed. This is one department in which Steve is not ashamed of his performance. "Reciprocation," Steve says. The word alone has Robin pulling a face. "I used to have a 100% record," Steve adds a little grumpily to Eddie. Eddie narrows his eyes at him, and Steve can tell he's biting his tongue. Steve would like to bite it for him. Jesus. Get it together, Harrington. Or: Eddie gets a job; Steve wants to give him another; the universe - including Dustin, Robin, and Eddie himself - is against him.

So Newly Charming

Eddie leans against the van to peer over his shoulder as he connects the leads. He’s close enough that Steve can smell him; close enough that he can feel the shift of air on the side of his neck as Eddie breathes. If it were one of the kids, he’d shove them off and reassert his personal space, but it’s never really bothered him when it’s Eddie. It’s distracting, but Eddie is always kind of distracting. Steve doesn’t mind Or: Steve fixes Eddie's van and figures out several things about himself in quick succession.

the chauffeur

"He had intended on a normal drive, really, just cruising at the speed limit to clear his head. But upon passing the last house on the stretch for miles, the long, empty road looks suggestive. Maybe even a little seductive. A bad itch builds from the base of his spine. Swallowing nothing, he presses the gas pedal slowly, eyes continuously flicking down to the speedometer as it climbs exponentially. The drone of the engine changes with it, getting louder, pitch keening, synchronizing with the blood that churns and rushes in and out through his heart, veins, brain. The needle hovers just over 100mph for approximately one minute and fourteen seconds." Steve's attempts to return to normal aren't cutting it. When a casual drive turns into something more risky, he learns that a little rush of adrenaline can help. He learns that a little too well. Around the same time, Eddie starts having car troubles.

someone else's favorite song

“Not sick, not sick,” he slurs, and Eddie wants to see his face, wants to hold it in his hands, wants to look him in the eye when he says, “just sad. Sad. Fuck… fuck, sad.” “Why are you sad, big guy?” Eddie asks. Steve laughs again, but it’s sharper this time, it doesn’t last as long, because as soon as the words slip out of his mouth— “My mom’s dead—” —it walks that treacherous line between the two sounds and morphs straight to a broken sort of sobbing that reaches directly into Eddie’s chest and drags out his heart. A friends-with-benefits relationship goes complicated when who Steve and Eddie are to one another shifts with the coming of a new sort of tragedy.

messing with the beat of my heart

After Vecna nearly tears the world in half, Eddie and Wayne move away from Hawkins for a fresh start. When Dustin calls Eddie up and asks if Hellfire can come visit for one last summer campaign, Eddie agrees—it's not like he has anything better to do. He just doesn't expect Steve Harrington to come, too. (or: eddie deserves love. i love him.) (or: eddie and steve falling for each other, stupid and inevitable.)

i'm keeping you in sight

When there’s no immediate reply, he pauses for a moment, seemingly taking in the situation. “D’you want help with that, Stevie?” Eddie has the gall to get taller.

mister funny, mister cool

He swallows. Sweat trickles along his spine. He knows what he was thinking, what he’s still thinking. The itch of being talked about still irritates him. But—but that’s also not new. He used to be King of Hawkins High—people talked about him all the way up that track and all the way down and with a lot less kindness in their hearts. Even with them, it shouldn’t weigh this heavy because if they want to think he’s crazy that’s fine. Right? It should be fine, because Steve knows who he is. The guy with stupid jokes and free rides. The guy who comes back, who keeps them safe, who’s fine. Steve should be able to shrug this off. God, he’s so stupid. Mister Funny, Mister Cool is always fine. or, Steve Harrington's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad emotional breakdown.

the pre-show ritual

Steve wasn’t really all that surprised to find himself here. He had never seen a gloryhole before. He’d chalked them up to a horny teenager’s pot at the end of the rainbow. Fantasy, and nothing else. A fat old man couldn’t squeeze down a chimney, and a guy couldn’t get his dick sucked in a public bathroom. But here it was, a small circular hole cut into the side of two adjacent stalls, as real and as terrifying as it could be. What surprised Steve about tonight was that he wasn't sticking his dick through the hole. Instead, he found himself sitting on his heels in front of it, hands wringing anxiously in his lap as he licked his lips and waited for someone to shuffle into the other stall.

that's just wasteland, baby!

“Because all any of us get is right now,” he explains as well as he knows how. “It’s just right now, that’s all any of us can promise. Does that make sense? It’s just— it’s only ever right now—” “Yeah,” Eddie proves the closeness, makes it real, with the simple tip of his forehead to touch Steve’s. “What can you promise right now, Steve?” Four days after Upside Down breaches Hawkins, the military arrives and closes off all roads leading out, trapping anyone still within town limits from leaving. Months later, Steve Harrington could really use a good night’s sleep and a new pair of boots.

Like the Hero Who Never Ran

While Steve and Dustin are searching for survivors, they're surprised to find Eddie alive, hiding out in Rick's cabin. Steve takes up the task of caring for him while staying in his trailer.

Rich From Tender Care

Steve leans against the side of the boathouse and lets Eddie fumble with the cheap Bic lighter for a minute before he clears his throat and says, “You want a light?” It's hard to read his tone. There's a bitter, suspicious, self-defensive part of Eddie that wants to lash out, but instead he grips the lighter until the plastic creaks and says, “Sure. If you have one.” “Yeah.” Steve digs in his pocket and comes up with a nice Zippo. He doesn't hand it to Eddie; instead, he flicks the flame on and holds it out for him to lean down, and there's an intimacy to it that Eddie wasn't quite expecting. Like one of those old Leyendecker paintings. He imagines this tableau sketched out in clean art deco lines: the prom king and the freak. A study in contrasts. Or: In which Eddie survives the Upside Down, and Steve Harrington turns out to be nothing like he expects.

My Right Hand Man

In which movie night takes an unexpected turn, and it's surprisingly easy to just let it happen.

it's no better to be safe than sorry

“Do you think you’ll ever want to fuck me?” Steve starts choking and coughing wildly, which alright is Eddie’s fault. He probably shouldn’t have thrown that out there like that right after Steve shoveled an entire spoonful of Honeycombs into his mouth. But his brain’s only been online for thirty minutes tops, Eddie’s obviously not firing on cylinders right now. He just had to get it out before he lost his nerve. Again. He slaps Steve on the back until the worst of the coughing subsides. “Here?” Steve finally manages, gesturing at the kitchen island in front of them. He’s pink and watery eyed from the hacking fit, and maybe a little bit from Eddie’s indecent proposal. “No, not here.” Eddie clarifies. “Why, have you—” He casts his eyes around the kitchen as if the surfaces will answer the question for Steve. “Shit no.” Steve rushes to say, “My parents eat here.” 

Shot Right Through

Steve overhears a conversation between Eddie and Robin, and then spends a few weeks trying to think of anything else.

can't bear it alone

He thinks about the relief in Eddie’s voice when he said he had a hunch about Steve’s whereabouts, like Dustin is the chosen one for understanding what makes Steve tick. Eddie’s joked about it before; he’d called it “sibling telepathy” when Dustin had silently communicated his popcorn order at the movies, and he’d nudged Steve in the ribs when Steve’s nose wrinkled meaning Gross, dude. Then Steve had huffed a laugh, nudging Dustin back. Okay, okay. I’ll pay for it, you little shit. But Eddie gets Steve, too, Dustin thinks; that’s why he called him. And yeah, it’s different than the way Dustin understands Steve, but it’s significant enough for Eddie to make the cut of Steve Harrington Interpreters in Dustin’s mind.

see the luck i've had

Steve, Eddie, and 20 hurt/comfort prompts

no reason

The kiss is brief, only a second or two, not even long enough for Steve to really register what's happening before Eddie pulls away. Steve’s frozen in place, his arms still wrapped around Eddie. [...] Eddie closes his eyes, a weak smile on his lips. "Something to remember me by." [...] "You're literally not dying right now." His whole body is hot. Is he sweating? "You lost some blood but they didn't get deep enough—I looked—you're going to be fine." There's a pause. "I'm going to be fine?" Eddie asks, voice also going high and thin. "You're—sure?" "Yes." "Fascinating. Great. Are you—could you do me a favor, then, and maybe just—leave me here anyway?" "What?" Steve says. The dial tone gets louder. "No. Why?" "No reason," Eddie says, voice tight.

Leomund's Lamentable Belaborment Makes It Hard To Graduate High School

Everyone knows things happen in threes. Three wishes. Three sons of a king. Three notes make a chord. Eddie's third senior year is his last chance to get out. If he fails again, he's in a time loop.

Looks Like You're Hungry, Looks Like You're Drowning

It is almost a relief to see that it's Eddie Munson on the chair and not some huge random guy. That is until Eddie's eyes crinkle open and his face goes from blind terror to bemused, the way he's curled up like a bug at the noise slipping into something languid and easy. It's almost a relief until the prick smiles like a lunatic and Steve has to think of course, this fucking guy, because Eddie Munson may be the weirdest person Steve's ever met. AKA Two Years of Lifeguarding, One Morning of Finding Eddie Munson Asleep on a Deck Chair

keep with me forward

The house that the government buys Eddie is pink.

Car Hangs

Eddie had started walking to Robin’s house in the mornings to hitch a ride when Steve took her to school on his way to Family Video. It was a neat little route from Steve’s place to Robin’s to the high school to the store, and Robin lived halfway between Eddie’s place and the school, so the ride cut his journey in half. Steve wanted to offer to pick Eddie up from his place but, unlike the rest of the carpool arrangement, it didn’t make sense, spatially, and Eddie said he didn’t mind the walk, and Steve was too embarrassed to insist.

heavy is the head

What Steve wants… it’s not as if they’ve never done it. They’ve just never done it like that. And they sure as shit haven’t done it with Wayne Douglas Munson sitting in the very next room, only the low hum of the TV to drown out every deafening pound of Eddie’s heart. He’s still staring, heart going double time. Doesn’t budge an inch. Steve lifts one perfectly arched brow. Goddamn it. So, so stupid.

thursday afternoon

this was supposed to be about cleaning up, but despite the constant stream of water, he feels sweatier than before. his skin is burning, his wrists are cramping and his legs are straining from how tense he’s been. if eddie were here he’d slide to his knees, ignore the resulting twin cracks and swat steve’s thigh to stop him from making any comments. he’d nuzzle against his crotch, hair clinging to his strong neck, his cheeks, and run his hands up and down steve’s trembling thighs. or; it's thursday afternoon, eddie gets home early from work and catches his husband deep in thought. (amongst other things)

Steve/Tommy (past, unrequited, pre/current Steve/Eddie)

stitches and the devouring mouth

tommy wasn't a great person, or even a good person, but he was going to push steve out of hawkins. his one good deed.

every mistake was made purposely

“You are such a fucking asshole.” Steve says, but again there’s no venom behind his words. It comes out like an observational statement, like they’re back in Freshman year biology marking down the anatomy of the frog they dissected. Looks like spaghetti, Steve had said while they stared down at the guts in front of them, and even now Tommy can’t eat spaghetti without thinking of it. “You know, believe it or not, Eddie doesn’t treat people the way you do. He wouldn’t even think to.” Tommy scoffs, does an eye roll of his own. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s real sweet to people before he gouges their eyes out."

[bugwolfsstuff]

More W.I.Ps Yay

Psychopomp

Summary: Travis has psychopomp powers, Connor likely does too but no one knows other than Travis himself. Travis decides to summon Luke for some reason.

Notes to myself:

[the no good bad evil oneshot about Luke and Travis]

[Travis summons Luke]

[Make sure there has to be a lifeline that keeps Travis alive during the ritual.]

[Have his lifeline accidentally be Katie]

[Have Katie show up near the end]

[He compares the whispering to Katie talking so much, and that causes things to spitball and anchor his life]

["Great, just what I needed—Katie's voice in surround sound," he grumbled, a desperate attempt at humour in the face of the spectral onslaught.]

[Diaktoros- Guide, Messenger]

[Athanatos Diaktoros- Immortal guide]

["What are you doing?" Luke said

Travis rips the blanket off himself and throws it on the ground, suddenly disgusted by its existence.

"Don't throw my blanket".]

[Have Travis have a panic attack when Katie arrives because he's so scared of what she thinks]

[Have Travis refer to him and Katie as a demented demigod Persephone and Hades]

Small extract:

"Hey..."

"Mmm...five more minutes," I mumbled, trying to get at least a few more moments of sleep. The last few nights have been sleepless and filled with tossing and turning, nightmares and a bunch of other stuff I don't wanna talk about; sleep was something I really needed right now.

"Hey, Trav."

I shoved a pillow over my head. "Go away". I don't care if it was Cecil, Chris, or Connor—wow, there are alot of C names in this cabin. What is Hermes' deal with names that start with a C?

"Travis Thomas Stoll. Wake. Up. Now."

That wasn't even close to my middle name. I don't even think I have a middle name. But before I could even point that fact out, a small fist decided to acquaint itself with my stomach.

So it was Connor.

That little shithead.

------

2. Who is the monster? the children?

Summary: Magnus Chase/Norse myth oneshot of Loki's 'monster' children being brought to Odin. From the third person view of Hel.

Notes to myself:

[F you Odin]

[Think of a nickname for Jormungandr because I ain't calling him by his full name for the entire shot.]

[Forgot Hel was the youngest midway through this, so let's pretend Hel is freakishly (horrible phrasing) strong]

[Technically, a monster isn't a bad thing to be. It just has bad associations]

[Fun fact: Monster derives from the Latin monstrum, itself derived ultimately from the verb moneo—to remind, warn, instruct, or foretell

[höggspjót—chopping spear. It takes its name from Old Norse högg, stroke, blow, slaughter, beheading and spjót, "spear]

[They are so gonna use that on the snake :(]

Small extract:

 She assumes they must be young because they are only as big as Fenrir. Not as big as her mom or other Jotun.

Jormungandr hissed in her arms. She was playing with him when the warriors came with their pointy weapons and red faces, so he refused to let go of her. Even when the warriors pointed their höggspjót at him and

------

3. Wine Child: chapter two draft 4? Fuck what number are we on?

Summary: Percy's pov of the de aged Mr D fanfic. Hebe shows up, dumps 8yr old Dio at camp. Ruins Percy's date. Dives into Dio's demigod trauma.

Notes to myself:

[Work on chapter title]

[Dio has a sword, where does he get the sword? fuck knows. Hebe gave the 8yr old a sword for funsies]

[He's wearing a girls outfit and has wild curly hair]

[make him punch Percy in the balls]—has been changed to Will now.

Small extract:

Did I mention that she's holding a very alive-looking, violently squirming gym bag?

"Well, it's a funny story, really." She said, which meant in god language: It was very much not funny, but you better laugh or I vaporize you.

She twirled the gym bag in her hand as she talked, pulling it up by the straps and tipping it upside down like a very angry yoyo.

Whatever was in the bag really didn't like that, which to be fair, I'd be pretty cranky if some goddess shoved me in a gym bag and then started playing with the bag like a yoyo.

"What I didn't account for was how whiney he was. So then I thought, hmm, where was the best place where he could learn to appreciate youth? Nowhere else but summer camp!" 

[llycaons]

ep25 (pt 1): the superior PM blindfolding and wx scene

picking up directly where we left off last episode, wwx and jyl coming back in from harvesting lotus, wwx teasing the kids all the way. it's cute! and jyl is sooo pretty

jzx shows up so she changed, I guess. her clothes were wet anyway

jzx is such a dork in this episode. yeah. he's obnoxious and arrogant to her later, but when his awkward immaturity slips out from his veneer of smug superiority, it's quite endearing.

I do NOT know what jyl sees in him before this but maybe she was just excited to get married and be loved by someone? but in this episode she was going to dump him if he didn't change how he treated her which is the only way I got invested in their relationship. he had to work for it and prove himself and be genuine and selfless and kind!! and he did!! rip

this is so funny I love him

wwx is so good at deflecting, I feel like most fics don't do it as naturally or skilfully as canon did. teasing, confident, bordering on condescending. he has such a strong personality and it sucks to see him reduced to 'traumatized and clingy crier'. he is all three of those things too, and postcanon he is a bit chiller but he's still HIMSELF. bold and clever and sarcastic and unwilling to grovel before authority

this is SUCH a jyl and wwx episode. they're so silly together, he's making her laugh and she's hiding her smile behind her fan. this reminds me of the goofy things my little brother would do 🥺 he's not dead or anything I just haven't seen him in months

the wens getting paraded out really changed the tone of the scene. EVERYONE was taken aback, everyone looked shocked or nervous. wwx is the most visibly angry, and it's only bc of jc's frantic motions to 'DON'T DO ANYTHING' that he steps back. honestly I get jc's fears here, but...sign. tho none of the other sect leaders did anything either, looking at you lan 'fair judgement' xichen and nie 'justice' mingjue. lwj is also curiously subdued this episode - lxc says later he's distracted but he's even less expressive than usual

everyone handing him stuff cracks me up. he doesn't even need to LOOK. and his bow and arrows matchy with his robes and the tents and the tower itself WOW this world is so color-coordinated

ohhh super impressive! I wonder how anyone can beat a perfect bullseye?

this request kind of baffled me, bc his forehead ribbon is far too narrow to use as a blindfold. maybe he wanted it as a good-luck charm? the cut to jc looking angry was kind of funny though. how dare wwx be so shamelessly gay in public etc.

we never see these unwrapped iirc 👀

and of course they have matching bows for the yunmeng aesthetic

HELL YEAH. SEXIEST MOMENT OF THE EPISODE

aww even jc clapping for him. this expression is like one of the nicest he ever gets

and he's smiling to his sister!!! his face is honestly a little sexy for that but that's what he's doing

DUDE DUDE THIS SCENE!!!! wwx all alone, then seeing lwj, then remembering lxc's warning and looking away, then lwj seeing him and LEAVING THE PATH TO COME JOIN HIM ANYWAY??!! yet another of the tiny re-enactments of their relationship over the course of the show. and wwx's eyes get so big when lwj comes to him, he's clearly so touched that lwj isn't abandoning him even if he can't tell him the truth.

fuck I love the post-ss arc SO much this is like catnip to me the relationships and the drama and the tragedies are all so delicious

eh, I'll always favor 'soulmate' even if it it's technically correct. honestly 'confidante' would work better here too. anywa THIS IS IT!!!! I STILL AM!!! so earnest, so full of love, so ready to help, so scared for him. ough, the romance. the tragedy!

wwx looks at chenqing for such a long time after lwj says that...lwj wants to know what's going on and how he can help but wwx is so paranoid and traumatized and afraid that he just can't say it 😭

and this scene, where they're just looking at each other for a long time...the tension in this scene was INTENSE. if it had gone on a little longer, who knows what would have happened.

[simiansmoke]

@wolfpackmuses cont.

"Hah, finding time to relax is easy-peazy. You just ignore everything and taaaake a nap. When was your last vacay, any-way?" When it came to having a good time (not a long time) never really took the Kong prince much to settle in and add his vibe to the scene's vapors. Granted, a long time spent in the springs was usually not a possibility given the confines of how fur was so frustratingly insulating at times; nice if he wanted to go lord over club penguin for the day, but otherwise not a fair fit for their tropical kingdom. The fact that the sky was still weeping cooling tears onto the heated pool helped made the Kong feel a little bit better, and he flexed his shoulders upwards to accept the brisk offering from the canopy when some creature or another passed by overhead to dump more than a few droplets onto them as it hopped by from some unknown heights, which earned a smile plastered firm to the corner of his lips as he felt the heat to his core sink to Goldilocks zone again.

"Heh. Struggling, Fido?" He muses, noticing how the wolf's tongue escapes him again. Maybe he was lucky when it came to fur seeing as he actually had a few naked spots on his skin for airing, but the wolf didn't seem to have such luxury. Unless he decided to shave a few spots of course. "Gotta get lucky and hope for some wind up top to knock some leaf puddles on your head!" Though in normal circumstances, being suddenly drenched from a flying squirrel's mistakes seemed like more of an unlucky matter. The stupid little dizzy thought made him chuckle as he once again surrendered to saying just about anything and everything that came to mind. Though by now he could probably graduate from 'saying' to 'slurring'.

"Get lucky, get luuuucky! Up all nigh to GET LUCKY-" Cupping his hands around his mouth like a megaphone, he aimed the blast up and waited.

Then when a resounding, but distant 'WHOOP' sounded along with a shouted, but muffled response of 'alllllllllllniiiiiiiiiiight!!' DK snorts and side eyes the wolf.

"...an to thinkkkk...the humans gotta use weird technical mag to jus do that. Uh-...I think 'uigi called it...tweeting? Eitherrr way, our way's better!" And louder. And a bit more lost in translation, but hey. Surprises were fun. Most of the time...

Now situated in his fallen stupor - half straddling his guest in the pool and weighing the other's once floating legs down as he proceeded to squint at the other's rosy hue that seemed to only make it out thanks to the harsh class between red and white. "Weeell-...what kinda bounties were those? I mean if there's no story about it, did it even happ?" Basically, pics or it didn't happen bro. Though why the 'bounty' hunter was in town, he couldn't be sure. Had Dad called him? Seemed unlikely. If there was something out in jungle that needed beating up, DK was like - the kingdom's first layer of defense to call and usually the last.

"Heh, beats me. Maybe you'reeee just here on account'ah he wants to scare me sober?" He wouldn't put it past Cranky either...the old bastard. "-or - or...!" A tad more excitable after the partial rejuvenation via the rainfall, DK claps his hands on each of the wolf's shoulders and used them to help lift himself up slightly to feel more of the cooler air. "-maybe he'ssss...gonna train an ASS-a-sin fer our kingdom...that'd be sweeeeeeet- aw fuck. Why's it not mee? IT COULDA BEEN MEE-" Lip pursing at the perceived injustice, DK sighs into a slight slump, resting his weight back into his hackles where the wolf's paws rested.

"Nobody's gonna tell ME I wouldn' be the bes ass-'sin." Just like no one's gonna tell him he's going to slurr himself into a situation if he wasn't careful; but she was not there...dead and buried next to self-respect. "Heh, your...hand?" He's curious, rocking back into one while he leans sideways to retrieve the other from the water and bring it over to his head for a quick inspection. Yep, just as he thought. With one finger, he ... pokes dark little toe bean. "Boop! I knew I felt some beans back there...watcha gonna do with all those beans?"

[superfallingstars]

Re: your recent canon vs fanon post, and the ATYD timeline:

I appreciate that the ATYD timeline seems super useful to any fans writing fics based off that story. And to be fair, it's labeled fanon (f) or headcanon (hc) where possible. It's awesome that the author did that; there's a lot of ATYD that most people just accept as "basically canon", and it's nice that the creator at least took the time out to note that it's not really.

My biggest issue with it is the descriptions for canon events that are incorrect or not labelled appropriately. For example, Regulus's death is labelled "Regulus and Kreacher go to the cave late and Reg sacrifices himself for Kreacher after destroying the original horcrux". In canon, Regulus doesn't destroy the locket. That's kind of a big plot point of the seventh book...

And for another example: in the timeline, Snape's Worst Memory is labelled: "despite the fact that they were not talking anymore the mars hear Snape saying some shit about Remus and spreading 'rumors' that he is a werewolf. They immediately decide that they need to put a stop to that shit, snape's worst memory ensues. Snape had already told lily that R is a werewolf but L played dumb, however after hearing him call her a literal slur she is over his shit and friend dumps him". In canon, SWM happens because Sirius is bored, not because Snape plans to "out" Remus... he's actually sworn to secrecy at this point, and neither Sirius nor Remus ever give this as an excuse for their behavior during SWM; all they say is that they were young and acted like arrogant berks sometimes.

Idk. I appreciate the effort that went into the timeline but... I think calling it "accurate" is a bit of a stretch. Accurate to the fic, sure. Canon? No.

wow i very much appreciate that you took the time to write all this out, go off. i imagine the calendar is indeed a helpful resource for atyd marauders fans and also can very much see it as like a "hey guys i made this thing for myself and i'm super proud of it! maybe you'll like it too!" kinda thing... like it's not the end of the world if somebody's personal canon ("canon") reference is inaccurate and says snape is homophobic. it's just a pain in my world and i'll complain about it for a while

but also yeah you're very much right about the canon events. i guess it must be referring to events that are technically canon but happen differently in atyd? benefit of the doubt? also i genuinely can't believe that atyd changed snape's worst memory from snape getting bullied to... snape getting righteously bullied for being a bad person? the prospect of this is so funny to me that i'm legit cry laughing over it. tho it's also nearly 4am where i am. strange emotional reactions happen during the witching hour

idk i'm going to say that maybe op posted it for their circle of atyd fans and didn't expect it to break containment to the larger fandom, so didn't feel the need to say "accurate (to atyd)." admittedly i'm cbt-ing myself here but whatever, my sanity requires it. thank you for the ask and for your diligent corrections <3 now time for bed

[5mind]

"Yeah, I figured." She didn't really seem like a truck person to him. That and he'd never seen her with this particular vehicle before and they'd run into one another quite a fair bit by now. "But technically isn't it yours now? Unless you're planning to just dump it somewhere after this."

Indirectly, obscured by the visor of his helmet, he kept his eyes on Schatten. As much as he'd like to believe that they were on good terms, she was still a vigilante with seemingly no alliances. And he was still a villain.

"Horror, huh?" He went back to shuffling through the assortment of movies his date had provided. "Fine by me...oh! You got any horror comedy ones? Wouldn't want the atmosphere to get too bleak, y'know."

There's an amused huff from the villain at the vigilante's consideration that he might be into gore and screams in the background.

"Not really," he lied. Because making out with all that as a background track just felt tacky and 'cringe' to him. "Wouldn't really turn me off though. That is , if you're into it?"

He finally settled on a schlocky horror movie parody out of the bunch.

But was it really that hard to steal a truck, and some other stuff, to set all this up? Not in her opinion. Especially not with her ability. Schatten would have had way more problems if she had been the one who was suppose to cook for them. Not like she is cooking for herself either.

" Oh, it's not mine. I don't know any reason vhy I should own a truck, heh. But feel free to check zhe license plate later~ "

Of course she does have a vehicle. It's just not even a car. And she would never use it while she's out as the vigilante. That would make things way to easy for everyone else.

She lightly tilted her head, and smiled, when there was no complaining or something when she leaned against Antares. Funny actually that he let's her get so close. Schatten too lets him, but while he couldn't see it, her eyes were following his every movement. Of course it could be the same with the villain.

" Fine vith me~ And uh... "

The question should have been expected but still caught her off-guard. Schatten hadn't thought about an answer to that question. She really watched anything. Mostly fiction movies with all kind of genres. And it was less because she enjoyed watching movies, and more to learn what is 'normal'. Even though fictional works perhaps aren't exactly all that accurate all the time.

" Oh, vell, anything really. I do like horror movies zhough! I doubt zhat's gonna be nice zhough to have screaming and blood splattering in zhe background, heh~ "

A pause.

" Except you are into zhat! But I vill let you choose~ "

[gregrulzok]

See I don't necessarily think that's entirely true and I think there's more to it than that. Gregg for one thing doesn't strike me as the type to just completely throw his friend under the bus like that.

I think the idea is that Mae and Gregg, having been friends since their rowdy teen years, were both really immature and destructive together. And Gregg didn't begin growing up until after Mae left, so Mae never got to see that version of Gregg.

For that reason when Mae came back, Gregg found himself essentially regressing to that past rowdy version of himself (which technically never left, but certainly died down a little bit, yk) to hang out with her, because that dynamic feels the most natural to both of them. This is an actual psychological phenomenon that happens, mind you, and it's enhanced by the fact that Mae is... Well... Stunted. She didn't do much growing up, so it would feel weird for Gregg to act mature around her.

Angus isn't upset at Mae because she made Gregg do Crimes™, he's upset because he watched his boyfriend grow and change and improve himself, and then had to watch him essentially flush all that down the drain the moment Mae walked in.

Which is completely fair, because an abrupt change in your partner's behaviour is never pleasant to be honest, much less if it's pretty much just for the worse.

I don't think he was mad at Mae either, I think he was just frustrated. After all he /did/ have to grow up, and he doesn't regress, so if his partner suddenly goes back to the way he was as a kid, that means Angus has to pick up all the adulthood slack. It's not fair to dump all that responsibility on him, and while it isn't Mae's fault, it is /caused/ by Mae, which I think Angus understands.

Anyway. Angus Good Boy.

[mega-ringsandthings-world]

Might be long, just wanted to give my two cents if you'd let me. Sorry for the trolls, I guess to be expected with YA franchises like these, they tend to get VERY toxic over surprisingly little.

Both Peeta and Gale treat Katniss wrongly at points in the story, but Peeta is the only one to ever apologize at all. Katniss just is silent or forgives him on her own terms like "he's not like this" when he shows her time and again that he IS.

Mostly talking about up to Catching Fire with this because Mockingjay is a can of worms and not everyone has to agree with the character progression, but the scene where Gale literally pushes Katniss in CF after displaying a bunch of sudden physical affection irks me, in a love bombing sort of way. And I never got the impression he really thinks that highly of her considering he's so quick to throw Peeta and Cinna's gloves in her face, which Katniss stops herself from doing the same thing.

Maybe if he kept his character in the first book it'd seem like a fair fight as a love triangle, but he was barely given time to shine in the first book outside of Katniss remembering things about him. Which I don't mind their friendship at all, especially in the first, however I feel like Suzanne had to take his character somewhere bold if he'd ever leave a huge impression to be honest. Unfortunately he was given a bit too emotionally immature and angry of scenes when he was usually pretty smart and calculating like Katniss.

That's just my views on Gale at least as someone who prefers Peeta. But I see the appeal of Gale after rereading, as frustrated as he sometimes makes me. To be honest I'd just be as happy if Peeta got a cooking show at the end of the series and lived his dream in the Capitol lol.

As far as Mockingjay goes, admittedly I wished Peeta didn't get hijacked and instead had relationship conflicts with Katniss of his own volition because it'd be more realistic and interesting, because we see some conflict there but it never gets RESOLVED, and as for Gale, he shouldn't be the ONLY person who is being shamed and judged for "going too far" when the adults in his life put him in that position of power to begin with. Beetee was pretty happy with the bomb despite being in an arena twice. Like c'mon. MJ was very dumbed down in my opinion and I didn't like a lot of the newer characters too. But that's besides the point.

Okay, I'm glad you're polite, and I'm glad you wanted to share your thoughts! But fair warning, I disagree with...a lot of them. Peeta apologizes and is right to do, because he is the only one who has something to apologize for, which is treating Katniss so badly. Gale is brutally honest with Katniss at times, but he never does anything coming close to what Peeta does. Katniss doesn't need an apology from him, because the two know each other, and she knows why he does the things that he does, and understands her part in them. And even in the times she is upset with Gale, she understands him, and knows he understands her. So. Lol, that's not "lovebombing." Not even close to what the term means. (technically, lovebombing would apply more to Peeta, who withdrew all his affection abruptly after being displeased by Katniss) Gale pushes Katniss back, yes, but it's...due to the realization that she is not on the same terms with him? It's actually the appropriate thing to do in that situation. He's at first excited and overjoyed, and thinks that she's intending to go off with him like they'd spoken about, and thinks that she's admitting her love that way. And he expresses that through physical affection, which Katniss has no issue with. But when Gale realizes that Katniss is not on the same page, of course he withdraws. He's had something of a bucket of cold water dumped on his head. But he doesn't do it to hurt her, but because he is reacting in the moment. I don't know where are how you got that impression, but I can only assume you've been reading the books with a much, much different view of Gale and Katniss' relationship. So much of what Gale does is centered around how much he esteems and loves Katniss, just because he isn't gushing over her like Peeta doesn't mean he doesn't highly regard her. And as to the gloves, no again. (also, those gloves aren't Peeta's, they are Cinna's.) Gale gives the gloves back, because to him, they represent everything he loathes, and everything he fears will happen/is happening to Katniss. Gale does not know Cinna like Katniss does, he does not trust or care for Cinna much, if at all. To him, the gloves are product of the Capitol, and he sees it as an insult to be given them. Which, he's not to be blamed for. "Unfortunately he was given a bit too emotionally immature and angry of scenes when he was usually pretty smart and calculating like Katniss." All this. All this right here is part of the problem I have with people in this fandom. People are so quick to see or label Gale as immature or angry, when he has literally every right to be angry. And far as immature, Gale was hardly immature. He's certainly more mature than even Peeta or Katniss, and he is much more smart and calculating than Katniss at times too. Gale looks at the wider picture, while Katniss focuses on the personal. Gale's character was consistent throughout the books, at least until the end of MJ, and it was bold. People just don't like the type of bold that it was, lmao. But you prefer Peeta, so I'm not surprised in the slightest that you think of Gale that way. It's to be expected. As for MJ, I think we both agree on that, it warped a lot of the characters in ways I didn't like. As for Peeta being hijacked, I have no problem with it, but him being with Katniss at the end was for me the unrealistic thing. In any case, I'm dissatisfied with the endings for Katniss, Gale and Peeta, and I wish the author didn't rush things at the end to achieve her desired moral point.

[shewhotellsstories]

I understand the Suyin-Hate, I really do. But you portray Tenzin worse than he actually is.

Tenzin didn't cheat on Lin, at least not in canon, nor did he ask her to babysit his children. He asked her to protect his family, because they are friends and he trusts her. Lin was a good friend in this situation and was not taken advantage of by him or something like that.

The two are definitely not good lovers, but they are good friends. Was the breakup messy? Probably. Did he hurt her in the process? Definitely. But I think Tenzin has tried to make things right with her over the years and he was always very worried about her, like in S1E6 when he warned her about Tarrlok and didn't want her to be hurt during the finale. Or in S1E7, where he was worried that she might lose her job. Or in S1E9, where he scolds her for leaving the hospital to early. Or in S1E10, where he shouts after her, when she jumped of of Oogie.

Yes, Tenzin made mistakes, but at least he tried to stand up for them.

Believe it or not, I don't want to dislike Tenzin. I really don't. He's Katara and Aang's son, that alone makes me want to like him. I tried so hard to put myself in his shoes. I was really into doctor who a while back and the last of your kind(ish) thing is rough. That being said that man got on my nerves. Actually he got in, on and around my nerves as my grandma would say.

Pema tells Korra when she's pining for Mako, who is attached, that she declared her feelings for Tenzin when he was with Lin. It doesn't seem like Lin and Tenzin's long-term goals were compatible and that's fine, but still that's really disrespectful.

If you wanna get technical about it I said he asked her to babysit Pema. That was salty on my part, but I'm annoyed with the lack of consideration for Lin's feelings. That's a big, uncomfortable favor to ask of someone you'd only just started being friends with again after years of estrangement due to you drop-kicking them for a younger woman. But in fairness, some of this situation can be blamed on the writers' limited ideas about womanhood and motherhood.

It doesn’t seem like Tenzin and Lin talked much after they broke up tbh. Tenzin asks Lin to do this very uncomfortable favor and then Pema gets an attitude with her and literally dumps her son in Lin's lap and tells her to give him a bath. It wasn't cute or funny. Save the smoke for your husband. Would it have killed her to show a little respect to the woman who was there to keep her and her children from being murdered? And after all that degradation and a physical fight to protect his family, what does Tenzin do? He yells at Lin for endangering his kids. He doesn't even apologize after Lin explains what happened. Nor does he thank her. Can you understand why I don't have a charitable opinion of Tenzin? Maybe he did love Lin, but the way he treated her post-break up told me he cared for his own comfort a lot more.

Then there's Korra and the Air Nomads. He's a lousy teacher. He's impatient, low-key domineering, dismissive and withholds important info from her which left Korra ill-prepared to be the avatar. It seemed like he learned from his mistakes, but then he repeats them in season three. And I get that he was excited that it wasn't on him alone to repopulate the air nomads but it went right over his head that the new air nomads had lives and cultures of their own they might be attached to.

That's a nice segue into one of my biggest gripes with Tenzin: his lack of consideration for his siblings' feelings. It's not all his fault, unfortunately he seems to be follow Aang's lead on thinking Kya and Bumi weren't a part of Aang's legacy but his whole attitude bothered me. I understand that part of it was likely a defense mechanism, but it was still annoying and made me feel bad for Kya and Bumi. Again I understand that it was Aang's mess and Tenzin didn't deserve all their anger. But his behavior towards them wasn't great either. He didn't mention their existence to the air acolytes either. Tenzin behaved like he was Aang’s only child, but again, he didn’t get that idea from no where.

In the end Tenzin just feels very lacking on the emotional intelligence front. I just always got the impression he wasn't able to put himself in other people's shoes. When you've had it drilled into you from a young age that you're the future of a civilization maybe that's an inevitable consequence, but it was really frustrating to watch.

That got really long but I hope it explains my feelings.

[ontheticktick]

@fulcrumredeemed

The Merc wasn't exactly a SCIENTIST, not by any real stretch of the imagination, but he did have a NATURALLY CURIOUS MIND. When the stranger pointed out her unusual anatomy, it was enough to pique his interest in knowing more.

"Tendrils, tentacles, to-ma-to-to-mah-to." He shrugged his shoulders loosely. Wade never went out of his way to get into the FINER INTRICACIES of anyone else's biology...not without THER EXPLICIT PERMISSION, anyway.

WHOEVER this person was, they and their VERY NICE WASHBOARD ABS seemed...NEAT!

That word though, TENDRIL...it wasn't something that he had ever used actively in his entire life. Lucid dreaming was one thing, but he was pretty sure his mind and his dreams couldn't just correct him and teach him NEW VOCABULARY.

NOW, the Merc was concerned with just where he had found himself to be, even more so than he was before. If he wasn't dreaming, that meant that there was a LEGITIMATE AND LOGICAL REASON that he could still tune into his senses, why everything around him was SO TANGIBLE.

Wade really hated it when things were LEGITIMATE AND LOGICAL. Being forced into taking life seriously was Deadpool's equivalent to KRYPTONITE.

As if to test the reality around him, he kept his feet on the presumed ground beneath his feet, while hopping some in place, his eyes narrowing further as his mind had seemed to wander off to a GALAXY FAR, FAR AWAY. In all fairness though, it was in the name of SCIENCE technically. Undiagnosed ADHD and science.

That spark of wonder and inquisitiveness halted in its tracks though, when this lady turned around and threw an ACCUSATORY TONE at him.

Wade was suddenly standing up PIN STRAIGHT, inhaling a gasp and exhaling with an indignant HUFF.

"You BEG MY PARDON, do I LOOK like someone that knows WHY I end up where I am? I DON'T! Not ever, actually. Sorta feels like I'm at the mercy of some CORPORATE WRITER'S ROOM." He shook his head somewhat, trailing off before moving on.

"Look, I'm FUCKING CLUELESS here, okay? Well, actually," the Merc tilted his head slightly, "I'm Wade Wilson. My ex was Fucking Clueless. She's not anymore though, not since she dumped me." He held out his hand but didn't wait for her to take it and shake it before he was asking more questions, simply dropping his arm back to his side and walking past her with slight awe. He wasn't trying to be disrespectful, he just happened to be very good at it.

"Holy shit-biscuit...this place is like the WET DREAM of every BASIC WHITE BITCH with a nose ring that's neck deep in ASTROLOGY, an' TAROT CARDS, an'...I dunno, KOMBUCHA TEA."

Ahsoka didn't have any mental issues, that she knew of, and she was certainly not dreaming like Wade thought that he was. She did have a lot of anti-mutant trauma, and a starship size load of childhood trauma but now's not the time to go into that. Ahsoka also had this neat little World Between Worlds, that was all hers, or so she thought. Ahsoka had been under the assumption that this place was something created by one of her mutations.

Normally she came to, this angel's take on an astronomically celestial rendition of the Usher's Stairs print but live action, in order to get away. Translucent Roads, glowing a light aqua-blue glow, floating in the middle of space, surrounded by stars, galaxies, nebulas and magellanic clouds, full of intricate circles surrounded by an even more impressive outer display. She assumed that they were all portals to other places, because she had tried one or two, they had lead to other places that we had not began at, if they were not her door. Now Ahsoka, did, notice that the further the door was from her door that there seemed to be a time discrepancy but she usually chocked that up that the World Between Worlds didn't seem to operate time in the same way as Earth did anyway. Time seemed to be almost at a standstill there. Almost. Was that a voice? Coming to a place in order to be a lone only to hear a voice is disconcerting enough as is but to have it in a place that no one should have access to, while seeming to be in the middle of fucking outer space is insane and motherfucking terrifying. No that was definitely a voice echoing in the World Between Worlds. Ahsoka turned her head to look around, then not seeing anything that way, looked using her body. There was someone there. Ahsoka began, cautiously, walking toward the figure to get a better look at this other figure. As she got closer Ahsoka could see just someone in, what appeared to be, a very red spandex suit? Or maybe it was a red full body suit for kink related things? OH! Wait!!! He might be a super hero kind. Like Spider-Man, or the Wolverine. Then she heard him speak. What Ahsoka heard confused the hell out of her. Sex fantasy? Alien? Wait does she look like an alien? Ahsoka started looking herself over to check if she looked weird. Well weird-er, thanks to her three tendrils where her hair should be and two horns protruding from the top of her head, angled backwards, seemingly going to her tendrils. A smirk came across Ahsoka's face. This was her World Between Worlds after all. If he gets offended by her making jokes then he can just leave. "I mean, I may not have tentacles, but I have these?" Gently taking one of her tendrils in-between her pointer finger and thumb, Ahsoka lifted one of her tendrils to show Wade, as she continued to approach the red suited, masked, whatever it was. "I think people usually call them tendrils, though. Sorry." A chuckle in her voice, no one called them tendrils, no one called them anything. Ahsoka was one of a kind, as was her biology, so..... "BUT I do have wash-board abs." Lifting her shirt up enough to reveal her abs, that were indeed ones that someone could use to wash clothes on. On account of her living with monks and training nearly everyday until she left the temple, followed by Ahsoka continuing to do her katas and training, out of habit mostly but it did make sure that she stayed fit and healthy as well. Just in case she needed to fight a would be attacker or attackers. Like anyone working for Strucker. Wait was this guy on Strucker's payroll? Assassin! That was someone else that could wear a suit like that. "Waaaait...a...second." Narrowing her gradient sky-blue to dark blue eyes, in her realization of the potential danger. Man she must not be on her game today. Normally Strucker's trackers and assassins would be one of the first things that Ahsoka thinks about. "How'd you get in here? And why are you here?" Her tone becoming cautious, showing Ahsoka's suspicion of the very strange visitor.

@ontheticktick