#cannot design a dress to save my life

[robozombii]

school doodles. totally legit lewthur content and a vivi witch to start off the spooky month

#msa #mystery skulls #mystery skulls animated #vivi yukino #arthur kingsmen #lewis pepper #lewthur #me when i love women but #cannot design a dress to save my life #i wanna color these but idk if itd ruin the vibe #sketches always got a nice feeling to em #my art

[sailoryooons]

Gods of the Dark | One | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Dream god!Yoongi x f. human!reader

☾ Summary: Don’t ask for help in the dark. It’s an old tale you always heard whispered among the people of your village. But when you find yourself dragged kicking by the man you’re to marry, you have little choice but to beg for help long after the sun has set. The god who answers your pleas promises to save you, but every deal comes with a price. 

☾ Word Count: 21,606

☾ Genre: Fantasy, angst, strangers to lovers, smut

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Sexist and patriarchal society inspired by medieval europe, a lot of world building and discussion about theories/concept of dreams, discussions of morals and ethics, world building, angst, intense fight scenes, mentions/light depictions of an abusive family, discussions of gender roles and forced marriages, attempted murder via drowning, a physical fight between a man and a woman in the middle of a storm, sexual dream sequences featuring making out, biting (light), grinding, reader having flashbacks of trauma, a lot of thoughts about reader's terrible parents, a sort of power imbalance in the sense that reader is in Yoongi's realm as a part of a deal.

☾ Published: July 9, 2023

☾ A/N: It's finally here! This was originally supposed to be two giant chapters, but I cannot manage my time in a way to write to ~40k chapters and also fit all of this in a way that is not overwhelming or feels like it makes sense, so I have chosen to do this in 4 chapters of roughly 20k words! Thank you to everyone who has hyped me up for this idea, helped me work out some ideas, or listened to me struggle to write this because I was so unsure about the chemistry between Yoongi and reader at first. I am really excited to be writing this and have taken this in quite a different direction than the original idea when I had when I watched the Lilith MV, but that's okay. I heavily draw on inspiration from the Lilith MV, the song Possession of a Weapon by Ashnikko, The Sandman by Neil Gaiman, the movie The Witch, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab and the original myth of Hades and Persephone (where I got the deal/living in Yoongi's world idea from).

Special thank you to my amazing beta team who really helped make this fic what it is and make sure it was legible: @theharrowing and @here2bbtstrash

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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Tuck a knife with my heart up my sleeve

Change like a season

-

It begins with rain.

White sheets of it beating against the window in a gentle murmur, a soft leak in the corner of the kitchen dripping into the metal bucket your mother has set out. The storm brings a cool wind with it, blowing in on the back porch where your father rocks back and forth in his chair, watching the deluge. 

Shivering, you throw another log into the fireplace, pulling your shawl closer as orange embers spark and crackle, drifting up the shute. The smell of burning cedar grows and you smile, sitting down in front of the licking flames and holding out your hands to warm your palms. 

Behind you at the kitchen table, your mother pulls a thread and needle through a dress she’s been working on, stitching purple flowers into the sleeves. You wonder if she’s making it for the neighbor's daughter, a girl a few years younger than you to be wed soon. 

Mother makes some of the best stitching in the village, her practiced hands etching artful flowers and vines and designs on the sleeves and skirts of most of the village women. She’s tried for years to pass the craft on to you, but your fingers aren’t nearly as nimble and your eye for art is sorely lacking. 

What you lack in art you make up for in stories, though. Head in the clouds, swimming in worlds, places and things you’ve never seen. Lives and people who only exist in your mind, entire fantasies with more colors and sights and smells than your tiny little world contains. 

You’d write them down if you could. Writing and reading is not a woman’s craft, though, and you know better than to press your father on the subject any further than you have in the past. A terse word from him and your raw knuckles after being forced to do the wash alone for weeks kept you from bringing up the topic of learning to read and write ever again, especially when you remember the sting of his slap when you pushed too far.

Still, you have your mind. You have the ability to dream up worlds and twist fantasies together, to daze off and pretend that you’re somewhere else. That you’re living another life.

You have the days where you finish working at the inn early, sitting in the corner of the room with hard bread and cheese, listening to the town’s storyteller whisper tales and myths to the children of the village.

For now, it will suffice. 

When the rain finally slows in the late afternoon, it’s cloudy and cool outside, the perfect temperature for a walk. Pulling on a pair of linen pants and a tunic, you creep toward the door, hoping to avoid the attention of your parents as they begin to prepare dinner in the kitchen, their movements methodical and silent. 

Carefully, you slide boots on your feet. As you reach for the front door, hidden from the view of the kitchen, you hear your mother call your name. You pause, closing your eyes and grimacing as you call back, “Yes?”

“Where are you going? It’s wet and cold outside.”

“Just for a short walk.”

“You’re going to catch a cold,” she protests. Her steps move near you. You pull the door open and step into the wet air, eager to get away from her. “Come help us with dinner.”

“I’ll see you shortly, the weather is lovely!”

Before your mother can come around the corner and pin you with her disappointed stare, you’re down the slippery steps and sloshing into the yard, mud and grass sucking at your steps as you hurry. You hear your father yell something like dammit, girl but you can’t be sure, the sounds of birds and the bugs swallowing his curses as you rush through the front yard.

The world is covered in a layer of fine mist, tree boughs heavy with rain as they drip drip drip onto the forest floor around you. Thick, gray clouds hide the sun still. Thunder rolls in the distance, promising more rain through the night. You don’t mind, diving into the darkness of the trees on a well-worn path through the woods.

Water floods the path up to the ankle, soaking your boots. You grin and kick your feet as you walk, watching the ripples flow outward. Water mosquitoes dance on top of the surface of the flood and you note little tadpoles swim by, confirming that the river by your house is flooding up over the bank and washing into the mainland. 

This is common most summers. Your house is out of the way from the town, almost a thirty minute walk. This far north, you’re only ten minutes from the edge of the slow-moving river that floods yearly turning the land around your property into a marsh. 

It’s your favorite time of year. A heron startles as you wander through the trees, shaking its white wings and shedding water as it hurries away on long, thin legs. You spot a snake swimming through the reeds, rushing away from you once it senses you sloshing through. 

Closer to the river, you pause. It’s hard to tell where the embankment dips down with it flooded. You can see where the flood moves faster, powered by the depth of the river and the overflow from the lake up north. Leaning against a tree, you look around this world of water. 

It seems alien. Trees block out the sky and are reflected in the surface of the flood, giving the illusion that you stand between two worlds, two dimensions. 

What would that be like, you wonder. 

According to the high priest in town, there are other dimensions. There are the heavens for the gods of light and love, who bless the world with fire and harvest and rain and oceans, who protect the people and who will absolve you of all sin and greed if you pray to them hard enough and accept them as your patrons. Who will love you only if you are devout.

You don’t believe in them for a second. If those gods of love and light do exist, they are not entirely good. They have never answered your prayers, have never saved you from pain or from sorrow. You have begged the gods to give you a new life, to let you leave. To let you go somewhere far away.

They have been silent. They were silent when your father beat you after the first time you rejected a marital match. They didn’t help you when he burned all your materials when you tried to teach yourself the shapes and sounds of letters.

So you stopped praying to them. 

There are other gods, of course. Other places for the wicked, dark gods full of trickery and greed, who seek only to fill the world with sin and deceit, who desire to make humans suffer and lose themselves in hedonism and debauchery. Those gods have a place too, the dark underworld for those who should be punished and reminded what it is to be full of sin. 

You’ve never prayed to them either, too afraid of what it would cost you. But you wonder if they answer or if they too watch the world from a mountain so high that they cannot bother to help those who need it. 

Still, you wonder what it would be like to walk between two worlds. To see one reflected in the other, to fall face first into the cool water only to surface in another place, almost an exact replica of where you’re from. 

It would be nice. Perhaps there you wouldn’t be a disappointing daughter who has turned away every suitor in the village, much to your father’s rage. There, you would be allowed to pursue reading and writing. You’d have the agency to sail the world and see the ocean for the first time, to feel the freezing spray of the seas on your face while you hunt the coast for something lost. 

Always something lost. 

In all of your fantasies, you’re looking for something. Sometimes, you’re not sure what it is you’re looking for, you just know that something needs to be found. Other times, it’s a specific object or a person, something that, deep down, you know represents the thing you desire to find most: freedom. 

A small school of fish swim by your feet. They can’t be any larger than your pinky finger, scurrying along before they’re swept up in the suction of the flowing river. Sighing, you push off the tree and begin to head back home, swatting at your bare arms where gnats bite at your sweaty skin. 

Dark presses in as you walk back. You had stayed in the woods later than you intended, mind drifting far off among the sounds of the world around you. A cool tingle slides down your neck as you walk, water breaking around you. 

You pause. It’s the same feeling that you get whenever you spend far too long in the woods and the sun goes down. It feels like there’s someone there with you, just at your back. Slowly, you turn to look over your shoulder but there’s no one there, just the warm press of something you can’t see. 

When it happened the first time, you’d been so afraid you ran home. Now, though, you smile and look down at the ground as you keep walking. The presence, whether it’s real or something you have made up in your head, is always comforting. Always there, a gentle press of feeling. 

There are candles burning in the windows and an owl hoots in greeting when your house appears. Inside, you kick off your shoes and rush to meet your parents at the silent dinner table. Both of them look up at you, your mother’s mouth pinched, eyes weary. Your father’s gaze is thunderous as he picks up cutlery and begins to cut into his potato in saw-like motions, his knuckles going white.

You sit down without a word, bow your head to pretend to pray. Your mother clears her throat, drawing your attention. “It’s after dark. You missed your prayers.” 

It doesn’t matter. You weren’t going to pray anyway. But the way your parents look at you makes you drop your eyes down to the table, their expressions alarmed. Were you really about to pray after the sunset, when the benevolent gods were no longer listening? The only gods available to you now are dangerous. Violent. Tricky. 

Dinner is dry and too heavily salted. Still, you don’t complain. Somewhere in the world, you’re sure that there are wonderful feasts being held. Plates and platters of honey-glazed meats, roasted pheasant and charred filets. Whipped sweets and colorful confectionaries, dripping fruits and sugary drinks. 

None of those places exist anywhere that you’ve ever seen, but you like to imagine them as you chew your way through an oppressively silent meal. He says nothing, but you can tell your father is angry once again. Just as well, he at least keeps it to himself through the meal and says nothing when you’re done. 

“I’ll do the dishes,” you offer quickly when your parents finish. It’s an olive branch and they know it. They accept anyway, letting you gather plates as the soft hush of rain begins again. 

Rain washes out the night. You can’t see anything beyond the water that runs off the roof over the back porch as you dip your rag into warm water, scrubbing at the plates before setting them to dry in the stack next to you. 

Frogs croak, their loud voices blending together into the roar of the rain. Every now and again, lightning flashes above and thunder shakes the sky. You feel it vibrate through your ribs and you smile, inhaling the charged air. 

“... doesn’t have a choice!” You turn toward the open doorway. You can’t see your parents but the window is open to their room, voices coming in and out of the rain. “... force her! I’ve had… and he’s already agreed.”

You frown, stopping your scrubbing to lean further, straining your ears. “This won’t go well,” your mother says. 

“I don’t give a damn! It’s already done, woman. Enough.”

The rest of the conversation is drowned out by thunder. You frown and turn back to your task, trying to piece together what they’re talking about. You think back to your mother stitching the dress before dinner and think perhaps they’re gossiping about the neighbor again. She wasn’t happy that she was being married off and everyone knew it.

Still, she’s doing it. She’s stronger than you. It’s hard to imagine going through with something you don’t want, to live a life shackled to another person who doesn’t love you. Whose only purpose is to coexist with you and reproduce. To run a household and get through each and every day, the same as last.

It’s hard to say if your parents are in love. They are tender, at times, but you can’t ever point out a moment that your mother or father seem truly happy. Content isn’t the same as happiness. Not really. While they work together well and seem to have struck up a balance after the years, there’s nothing in the way they move through life that seems joyful. 

You had asked your mom if she was happy once. She gave you a funny look and said, I have a roof above my head and food on the table. How could I not be? 

Her response puzzles you still. To live is not to be happy. Being alive is just that - being alive. A bare minimum. But truly being happy is something else. At least, that’s how you understand it. How the heroes and characters in stories and tales live their lives, fighting for happiness. 

Later that night, you forget all about their whispers behind the sheets of rain. You’re tired and the storm is soothing, making you dream of a far away land where there are two armies entrenched in war, battling for their kingdoms and lighting the sky with storm magic. 

Another dream. Another fantasy. 

-

In your dream, a soft mouth meets yours. The kiss is slow, tongue dragging against yours, tasting of something sweet, mouth warm. It smells like clove and cinnamon, and though you don’t open your eyes to see the mouth that slides against yours, you know you are safe. 

-

It ends in darkness.

Dusk has settled around your home like a funeral shroud. Your father has been gone all day, your mother flippant when you ask about his whereabouts. Your mother is a painted picture of anxiety: mouth pinched, darting eyes that fail to meet yours, and hunched shoulders. It makes your palms sweat, the way she avoids you in the house. 

Rain comes down in patterns again, bands of storms floating by and turning the world gray. You don’t have to go to the inn with the road flooded, so you spend the day at the window instead, watching each storm flash by, listening to the frogs and watching the birds pick through bug-filled waters between each deluge. 

When the sun begins to set, you find your mother standing near the window, looking through wet glass as she chews the corner of her lip. She wipes her hands on her dress, not picking up that you’re standing in the doorway watching her.

The gown she has been stitching for the past few days lays on the table. It’s a beautiful thing, bursting with intricate flowers on the sleeves and the skirts. You don’t enjoy dresses - much less the kind for marriage - but you admire the careful needlework. 

“It’s a good dress,” you tell her. She startles from where she stands at the window, whirling around to face you. “One of your best.”

“Yes. I-” something crosses her face that’s unreadable. “Would you try it on for me? I want to make sure I got the sizing right.”

You shrug and pick it up. It’s not the first time she’s used you for sizing and you’re sure it won’t be the last. You just hope that she doesn’t make you stand on a stool for hours to place pins in the skirt, mapping where she needs to take in the seams and make the fabric fold. 

The material is a little scratchy when you put it on. It’s snug across the chest and a little bit long at the wrist, but the material ripples over you like water. Outside of your room, the sound of your father’s voice echoes. He sounds more jovial than usual, laughing loudly - another voice is with him. 

Frowning, you work the buttons on the side of the dress to secure it shut, pulling the fabric into place. It isn’t often that your father has guests over, but you can assume it’s one of his friends he has over for dinner. You make a sour face at the thought that perhaps it’s Mr. Laudermill and his son Nathaniel again, a family your father has tried to pawn you off on before. 

The list of people your father has tried to get you to marry is astounding. It’s become a joke in the town, a game of who will he ask next? At first, there were plenty of families who offered their sons to make the union. Now, after how vehemently you have protested for your right to pick your husband yourself, it’s you who is rejected when your father makes dowry offers.

It seems - much to your advantage - that the men of the town and even the neighboring villages grew tired of the girl who liked to say no. It gives you small satisfaction to know that sheer inconvenience has earned you freedom alongside your mother’s unwillingness to force you. 

Still, the Laudermills are a little persistent. Not your father’s favorite option he has ever brought up, but it was one that didn’t say no. 

You enter the main house with minor trepidation, uneager to spend the evening sighing at Nathaniel’s terrible jokes and attempts to win you over. You wonder if it’s sheer pride that brings him back this time, upset that he cannot beat the town's little conundrum. The unconquerable conquest. You get the feeling that’s why he and his father visit for dinner sometimes, Nathaniel’s pride unwilling to back down from the challenge. 

You’d respect him more if he had more admiration for the word no. 

Nathaniel and his father are in the main room of your home, speaking in laughing tones to your father. Your mother stands near the open back door, hands wringing together. There is another person in your house that you don’t expect, though. The village’s high priest nods his head along with something that your father is saying, wrinkled hands clasped in front of his robes.

Time seems to slow down. You take in the tight expression on your mother’s face, her eyes drifting over to the priest who is dressed in ceremonial purple robes, an air of professional courtesy about him. He’s nodding to Nathaniel who is speaking now, and it’s when you really look at him, dressed in nice linen pants, a long sleeved shirt and an ornate vest, that you put the pieces together. 

Too slowly do you react as your father turns to you. His smile is forced and his gaze is burning with warning when he gestures. “There’s our bride!”

The word sinks in like a blade. Right between the ribs and up, its point poking dangerous at your heart as your blood begins to roar in your ears. You’re frozen to the spot, staring at them from the threshold of your room. You can feel your pulse throbbing in your neck, your hands shaking. 

“You look beautiful,” Nathaniel says, grinning. It’s a genuine smile, a proud one. Something that says finally. “I’m so glad you’re ready, after all this time.”

“I… what?”

In a moment of razor-sharp clarity, you remember the conversation your parents were having last night, soft words whispered under the cover of the storm. You remember something about forcing her and someone having already agreed. 

No. No. Nonononononono. 

You don’t realize you’re speaking out loud as you back up into your room, the horror settling in as the rain begins to tap on the roof. Your mother looks crestfallen but remains silent as your father’s smile tightens and his face reddens. 

When he says your name, it’s full of warning. The back of your legs hit your bed and your weak knees buckle. You sit down with a huff and shake your head. “You can’t do this,” you whisper. You can’t find your voice, can’t work your throat louder. “You cannot make me marry.”

“Of course I can,” your father hisses. His smile drops and in its place is something dangerous. Horrific. The villain of all your dreams and epic fantasies. “I have given you more than enough time to choose. You have not. As the man of this house-”

“No!” you bark back, cutting him off and shooting to your feet. “I am a person-”

“You are a woman!” he roars, making the high priest flinch. “Your purpose is to grow up, get married, mind the household and provide an heir! You are the only fiendish woman in this entire forsaken village who seems to misunderstand this!”

“It is not my purpose!”

“It is, and you will fulfill it!” he hisses. “You will marry this man before the gods, with my blessing and the witness of the priest.” 

Behind you, thunder rolls. The rain comes down harder. Frogs croak loudly, bracketed by the sound of the trees bending with the weight of the wind. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at the people before you. Your mother with tears in her eyes, your father with fury in his face, the priest with disappointment and Nathaniel. Nathaniel with glee. With a grin. With a smirk. 

“I won’t do it,” you whisper. 

Before they can argue, you turn on your heel and leap onto your bed. Your father and Nathaniel rush at the doorway, their steps pounding behind you as you crawl through the window, your ribs slamming on the sill as you lean face forward. Rain soaks you immediately, your hands gripping the sill as you haul your middle half over the edge, intending to just flip down into the mud. 

Hands yank at your legs and you scream, a feral sound ripping through your lungs as you kick backward violently. You’re yanked back toward your room viciously, rib cage aching where you slide on the concrete frame. With another savage kick, you make contact and hear a loud shout before the hands drop from your waist. 

Pushing harshly, you throw yourself the rest of the way through the window, falling the few feet down to land with a splash. Your father is screaming inside the house but you’re already slipping to your feet, whatever he says drowned out in the rain. 

You don’t even think. You run, hands picking up the wet-leaden skirts on your dress as you tear off toward the woods. Water rushes around your ankles as you go and you hear commotion at the window as someone clambers through. You don’t dare turn around as you rush to the line of trees, unafraid of the dark but terrified of the slamming footsteps behind you.

It’s impossible to be fast in the flooded woods. You wince as your feet get cut up on rocks and sharp sticks that you can’t see. You trip over roots and kick solid things as you slog forward, biting back a cry as you try to flee. 

“Get back here, you wretched bitch!” Nathaniel screams behind you. 

It never occurred to you that he could say something so violent. It spurs you forward, mud and water sucking your feet down and making your flight sticky and slow. Rain pelts down between the leaves, the storm lighting up the treetops with purple flashes every now and again. Thunder shakes their branches and rumbles through your feet, the water rushing higher and higher. 

Nathaniel slams into you at the waist. You scream as he takes you down, his weight on top of you. Your scream is cut off as your mouth fills with water. You swallow in a panic, body thrumming with alarm as you choke, nose full of water, eyes burning. You can hear the dull roar of water, the swish of your tangled limbs on the floor. 

Clawing at him, you feel your nails rip down soft flesh and hear a muted yell. He lifts his weight off of you and you sit forward, breaking the surface and gasping for air, retching. Your lungs and nose burn as you gasp for air, fighting to get a breath in. 

Nathaniel is on you again, his hand going for your hair as he digs his fingers in hard, yanking at your scalp. Your hands fly to his wrist and you scream again, pulling at him, trying to free yourself. Tears smart your eyes from the stinging pain as he yanks hard enough that you think he’ll tear you right apart. 

“Fucking ungrateful,” he barks.

Your feet slide in the mud as he uses your buoyancy in the knee deep water to haul you back toward the house. You twist in his grip, mewling in panic and pain as you work to get your feet under you and fight back. You let go of his arm and throw a weak punch at his ribs. He grunts but doesn’t let go, even as you twist, hands shooting to the ground, digging through soaked earth and weeds until you feel the hard, rough shape of a rock. 

Grabbing it, you lift your hand from the water and bring it down hard on Nathaniel’s wrist. He screams and lets go of your hair. Your fingers ache from the blow but you don’t waste precious minutes, scrambling to your feet and sloshing away from him again. He’s already gripping at your dress, fingers ripping at the fabric to get a hold of you. 

Desperation claws at you and you scream for help. You don’t know if anyone else is out here in the dark of the woods but you don’t care. Bleeding, in pain, and terrified, you tear through the water, the rock clutched in your fingers, rushing in the dark as Nathaniel gives chase.

“Please!” you scream at the dark. “Anyone, please!” 

A thread of thought slivers through you about the gods. Praying to the gods has never gotten you anywhere. It didn’t make your father let you read. It didn’t get you out of your town. It didn’t save you from this. The supposed gods who rule with light and love had never heard you and you had long stopped believing in them.

But you’d never prayed to the gods of the dark. The gods who only listen to words whispered after the setting sun. 

“Please,” you beg, turning your head to the dark sky. Lighting flashes and thunder rumbles. Cool wind brushes against your face, wind that feels like it whispers I’m listening. “Please,” you scream again. “Help me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Help me!”

Nathaniel takes you down by the waist again. You gasp for air this time as your face slaps the water with a sting. The current is rushing faster here, pulling at you. Deeper. Colder. You’re close to the river, and you feel the suction of the force of the flow tugging at your body as Nathaniel digs his fingers into the meat of your arms. 

This time, he doesn’t pull you with him. He holds you down, shoving you deeper and deeper until you realize that he’s no longer interested in bringing you back. You kick at him, you tear at him. You slam his wrist with the rock again but his other hand grabs yours, wrenching the weapon away from you. 

Your lungs are screaming and water is rushing into your nose as oxygen escapes you. His grip is firm and you begin to panic. All you can think is help help help help. Please help. 

Bubbles escape your mouth as you’re forced to breathe out again. You’re running out of time and pain starts to build in your chest. You feel the way your lungs squeeze, needing air. You let out more air and press your lips tight, desperately trying not to inhale. 

Breathe in, your instincts scream. Breathe breathe breathe breathe. 

Agony. You’re in agony as you open your mouth in a final cry, unable to form the words. Unable to scream and ask for a higher power that you only believe in at this moment to help you. 

Water fills your mouth. You swallow it whole, feel it go down as you begin to spasm. 

You’re going to die. 

And then Nathaniel’s hands are gone. It takes you a moment to realize that there’s no crushing grip on your arms and in the brief moment of realization, you barely manage to push up. To break the surface and vomit, water coming out of you in a stinging, horrid mess. Your stomach turns and you feel your chest squeeze as you choke.

The storm is still raging around you, water pulling at you and pressing you into the rough bark of a tree. Blinking tears from your eyes, you look around but it’s too dark to see. You can hear Nathaniel looking for you, screaming your name in the dark. 

The back of your neck tingles. There’s a feeling in the air behind you - that sliver of breath that you often sense when you’re out in the woods alone just after dark. Like something or someone is there with you, just behind you. 

“What is it you want?” a deep, dark voice whispers. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you feel chilled to the bone. The voice is like none you’ve ever heard, sensual and dizzying. 

“Want?”

“You asked for help.” The voice switches to your other ear and you don’t dare turn around to find the speaker. “What do you want?” 

“What can you give?”

The voice chuckles. The sound makes you shiver, your eyelids fluttering. The voice purrs, “I can give you anything you dream, little lamb. Tell me: what do you want?”

You think about it. Lightning lances through the sky and for a brief moment, the world is a flash of silver. You see Nathaniel in the light, a few feet away from you. He’s bloody and heaving, his eyes snapping to where you hide against the tree.

“Freedom,” you gasp as the world falls to darkness again. “I want freedom.”

“What will you give me?”

“What do you want?” you beg, hearing Nathaniel move toward you.

There’s a soft hum and you feel lightheaded at the sound. “Your time.”

“My time?”

“Your time in exchange for freedom, little lamb. Better hurry, this offer is about to expire.” 

Nathaniel screams in a rage. Sloshes closer to you. Your heartbeat quickens. You can feel it in your chest, hear it in your ears, your pulse throbbing as he nears. 

“Okay,” you whisper, voice coming out shaky. 

“Then tell me you accept.”

You take a deep breath. “I accept.” 

There’s a brush at the nape of your neck, warm and soft. Though you’ve never been kissed before, you think that it’s the press of lips, intimate and barely there. Something inside you flickers to life, like a new instinct that has opened its eyes for the first time. You’re aware of another presence, a soft buzz that presses down on you as it stands up next to you. 

Thunder rolls and you feel someone brush by you.  A hand touches your cheek almost fondly, fingers dragging along the curve of your jaw. Blinking slowly, you lean into the touch, seeking its comfort. You don’t know who it belongs to. All you know is that just the feel of fingers on your skin has your stomach flipping, your toes curling. 

The hand drops from your face and you immediately miss the contact. Opening your eyes, you see another flash of lightning. There’s someone standing in front of you dressed in black, slick with rain. You can’t make out anything much, just the shape of a man in a dark cloak. 

A god. You know he’s a god, whoever this savior is. You know that something has heard your screams in the dark and has come to give you what you wanted. What you begged for. 

“She is no longer available to you,” the god announces to Nathaniel. It’s not the same whisper as a moment ago, but a deep, raspy voice. Dark. Demanding. “She’s mine.” 

“That’s my betrothed,” Nathaniel answers, though it comes out like a question, his voice trembling. “I– she belongs to-”

“Me,” the dark god assures. A loud clap of thunder makes you flinch. “Goodbye, Nathaniel Laudermill.” 

Nathaniel screams. You don’t know what happens. There’s just his shout of terror in the dark and a roll of thunder that shakes the trees and rattles the earth. You feel the vibration in the water from the unearthly thunder before you realize that this sound, this trembling, is the wrath of a god. 

The sound fades and the shaking stops. You feel more than see the god in front of you turn to face you, a sweeping warmth as he bends down. You cannot make out any features, your vision swimming with bursts of color in the lack of light. 

“You’re with me now,” he assures you. “And you should not be afraid.” 

Gentle hands reach out and cradle your face. You’re suddenly tired, every pain in your body weighing you down like stones, pulling at you until you’re closing your eyes and succumbing to the heavy exhaustion.

The last thing you remember is your whispered name on reverent lips. 

-

You’re dreaming. Your eyes are closed in this dream but you feel light and warm. Fingers brush over your cheek, soft and reverent. You hear a gentle, deep humming, a pleasant melody. It smells like clove and cinnamon, making you drift further into the dream. You lean into the hand cupping your face and hear a deep chuckle before drifting off into nothingness. 

-

The first thing you notice is the smell of clove and cinnamon. It’s a soothing scent that sends your heart fluttering as you roll over. The blankets wrapped around you feel divine, soft with a high loft that feels like you’re wrapped in clouds. The mattress is decadent, sucking you in further as you settle in on your side, inhaling deeply.

Then you remember hands tearing at your legs. Ripping you by the hair. Water filling your lungs and throat. The flash of lightning and the cold rain as you were dragged under a flood again and again. 

With a gasp you sit up in bed, heart hammering. You still as you look around, mouth dropping open at the opulent room. The bed is the largest thing you’ve ever seen, on a low platform swimming with charcoal colored sheets and pillows. The headboard looks like polished obsidian, glinting in the low light provided by dozens of flickering candles.

Stone walls make up the room, rough rock with sconces of flickering flames. The room is sprawling with a sitting area a step down from the bed, decorated with chaise lounges, a coffee table and high-backed chairs situated in front of a fireplace. Flames crackle on a log, orange light dancing across the room. On either side of the fireplace are bookshelves that stretch up to the high ceiling.

Across from the bed are open double doors where you can see a magnificent bathroom. From your vantage point, you can just make out sinks carved from a hewn rock and what looks like a trickling waterfall sluicing down the wall. 

Turning to the left, there is a set of glass doors, a balcony just on the other side. It appears to be nighttime outside, thousands of stars glittering through the glass and the largest moon you’ve ever seen suspended in the sky like a lone coin.

Carefully, you peel back the covers. You’re still in the wedding dress your mother made you. It’s stained and tattered and bloodied, making your stomach flip uncomfortably as you look down on it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you place your feet on the stone flooring, expecting it to be cold to the touch. 

It isn’t. Warmth radiates from the floor through the soles of your feet, making you sigh, tension bleeding from your shoulders as you close your eyes for a moment. Though the aches and the pains from being scratched and hit and torn down are gone, you wince as you recall them. 

Your parents were going to force you to marry Nathaniel. You don’t know how you missed the signs before, how you thought that there was any other path. With your elbows pressed to your knees, you hang your head in your hands, pressing your eyes shut and taking another shuddering breath.

This time, a sob slips out. Somehow, you had tricked yourself into thinking that your parents would abide by your wishes to make your own choices. Foolish, you realize. Your father had not grown complacent. He had been biding his time, waiting to strike. 

The smallest viper has the greatest sting.

And your mother was going to let him do it. The woman who had brought you into the world screaming and bloody was going to pass you off to a man, even if it meant that man dragged you kicking and screaming to the altar. 

Disgust curls in your stomach and your hands turn into firsts, pressing against your closed lids and making bursts of colors flash in your eyes. Split down the middle, one part of you mourns the loss of the parents you thought that you had. The other is an open wound, festering with a hateful infection at the very thought of them. 

The sound of the door opening catches your attention. Your heart leaps as you sit up straight, dropping your hands into your lap as a man slips through the large double doors near the sitting area. Your breath catches in your chest as he sweeps into the room, looping his hands behind his back as he sets his dark eyes on you and approaches. 

He’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen, you think. Inky hair falls into his enigmatic eyes. His skin is deep gold, a contrast to the all-black blouse that he wears tucked into black pants. You see the open collar of his shirt revealing a patch of tan skin and an elegant throat, but it’s his face that shatters your mind. 

The man - or god, you think - has a square, masculine jaw offset with a delicate mouth the color of rose petals. His nose is straight and wide and would look ridiculous on anyone else. On him, it’s the perfect balance, his cheekbones high and angular, cutting the roundness of his nose. 

“Good to see you’re awake,” he greets. The man stops at the edge of the step that leads to where the bed sits higher than the rest of the room. You stare and stare and stare at him, unable to process words as he grins at you. His voice is dulcet and warm, but not the voice that promised to save you. “How do you feel?”

“I…” you rasp out and you shake your head, unable to think of anything else.

His mouth quirks and he nods. “It sounds like you had a terrible time. How about you take a well-deserved bath and get out of that terrible dress? Sorry to have left you in it, I was under strict instructions not to invade your personal space.”

“Yes, please.” You hesitate. “Where am I? Whose instructions?”

“You’re somewhere safe with someone who wants you to remain safe.” 

“Where is safe?”

He gives you a secretive smile as he nods toward the bathroom before turning on his heel and striding away. On unsteady feet, you follow him. It helps that the floor is warm, giving you the strength you need to make it down the two steps and across the stone toward the bathroom. 

“I don’t think I’m the right person to answer your question,” he admits. “I’m just here to help you get settled. My name is Taehyung, by the way.”

“Taehyung.” You say the word, familiarizing yourself with the shape of it as you enter the room and stop. 

The bathroom is far more luxurious than you realized from afar. There is a waterfall running down the black rockface between two basins, trickling into a little fountain that drains on the floor. To the right side of the bathroom is a large body of steaming water. 

Herbal scents fill the room as you near the edge of the dark surface of the water. It reminds you of hot springs in a cave near the southern villages, a place you’d only heard of but never seen. It’s massive, surrounded by a smooth, stone edge. There is a corner full of what appears to be salts, soaps and herbs alongside flickering candles. 

Opposite the hot spring is a giant glass window that overlooks mountains and lush greenery. From the window, you can see the entire world of wherever you are stretched out in the most dazzling and wonderful display. You can’t help but feel as though you’re somewhere that belongs in the epitome of night.

“How deep is that?” you ask, turning to Taehyung with a wary expression as you gesture to the body of water. 

His expression softens. “Waist high when you stand in the middle. There is a ledge that you can sit on all the way around. It’s incredibly safe and very warm. I can stand just outside the door if anything goes wrong.”

“Okay.” 

Taehyung points to a stack of clothes resting on a stool near a cabinet full of towels and jars of things. “Those are for you to change into. The towels are for you to dry off, of course. Anything in the bathroom is yours to use.” Taehyung must sense your hesitation, because he gives you a soft smile. “You’re safe here. I promise.” 

“I’d feel better if I knew where here was.”

“Bathe. Relax. Then I’ll take you to him.” 

Taehyung does not give you a chance to ask to whom he refers. He strides out of the room and the door swings shut seemingly on its own. You blink a few times at it, standing in the middle of the warm bathroom in a daze.

Spinning, you look around the room and find yourself drawn to the window. Up close, you realize how high up you are. It’s a bit dizzying, and you look  down at the ground only to see that there is a garden bursting with purple and blue, neat rows of flowers that stretch until they meet a line of trees. 

A world of mountains unfolds beyond the window. You’ve never seen mountains but they are larger than you could have ever imagined, snowcaps stark against the night sky. It’s mesmerizing and a little too big, so you turn away from the window and head for the steaming basin of water. 

Peaking over the edge, you can see the bottom. It doesn’t look that deep, but your stomach twists as you pop the buttons on your dress. Your fingers feel stiff and disjointed as you work to undress. You look down at the ripped threads and the dirty fabric and think about how much time your mother spent stitching it.

Suddenly the dress feels suffocating and you pull hard on the garment, popping buttons from the threads and sending them clattering on the floor. You shed the dress and kick it away from you, stripping off your undergarments and lowering yourself to the edge of the water. 

A sigh leaves your mouth as you slide your feet and legs in first. The water is hot, though not scalding like you expected. Closing your eyes, you remain sitting on the edge for a moment, letting your calves soak and muscles unwind, fingers gripping the edge tight. 

Taking a deep breath, you slide forward a little, firmly placing your feet on the ledge Taehyung spoke of. For a moment, your fear spikes. You feel it sharp in your chest and you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the edge of the basin. With a few deep breaths, you carefully slide down to the ledge proper, sinking in the hot water to the chest. 

“I’m not going to drown,” you whisper to yourself. The words come out shaky and you’re not entirely sure that you believe them. “I’m not going to drown, I am not going to drown, I am not going to drown.”

You repeat the mantra until you believe it, your fingers grasping the edge of the stone seat as you try to relax and melt into the water. It takes a while, but you finally grow too tired of remaining tense, taking a deep breath and gaining the courage to relax. 

Gently, you rest your head against the edge of the basin. Heat seeps into your skin and you feel the anxiety bleed out of you, your tensed muscles unwinding. You hadn’t realized how clenched up you were until you let go, and your body sags a little bit in the water. 

Time slips away. Thankfully, your body doesn’t hurt the way you anticipated that it would. Frowning, you press your fingers into your skin where there should be bruises and pain. There is no evidence on your skin that Nathaniel laid his hands on you the night before - the day before? You’re unsure how much time has passed, only that there is an eerie absence of your wounds.

Turning your head, you look at your dress discarded on the floor. There’s certainly evidence of a struggle spattered all over the fabric, but it makes you wonder if the god who answered your prayers has healed you.

A god. 

The thought comes to you in a snap and you stare down at the water, eyes unfocusing as you try to recall the details of what happened. You remember screaming for help, the sound of your desperation ripping through your mouth. You don’t think you’ve ever screamed like that, terrified and wild. You remember thinking about the gods, begging them to hear you, willing them to listen. 

Water had been filling your lungs. Crushing out air. You remember the rush of the stream around you as it pulled at your fighting body. Nathaniel’s hands gripping you and holding you under viciously, fingers like claws as he tried to drown you. 

Then you surfaced and choked, completely shrouded in darkness…. And you remember that quiet voice made of smoke and shadow. Thinking of it now makes you shiver, despite how hot the water is. The voice had promised you freedom in exchange for time and had taken you to wherever this place was. 

You open your eyes, unsure when you had even closed them. Glancing around the room once more, you decide there is no way that you’re anywhere close to home. You’ve never seen anything like this bathroom before, a feat of what appears to be architecture and maybe magic. 

Soaps and salts line the edges of the bathing pool. When you feel brave enough, you dart across the middle like a minnow, trying not to think about how you nearly crossed death’s bridge in a shallow body of water not long ago. 

Unscrewing lids, you smell each of the glass bottles of liquid, humming in delight. You settle on a hard bar of soap that smells like lavender and mint. It feels good to scrub your skin raw. You imagine that you’re washing away all of the memories of Nathaniel’s fingers on your skin and the scratchy dress your mother made for you.

Fingers and feet pruned and skin feeling stripped of a top layer, you reluctantly exit the bath. The towels are the softest thing you’ve ever felt. You run the fabric between your fingers, tilting your head up at the sky and sighing. Wherever this dark god has taken you doesn’t seem so terrifying, yet it puts you more on edge, these luxuries. 

The clothes Taehyung left out for you fit well enough, though it’s obvious they are not your exact measurements. He’s provided you with soft, black pants and a loose, black tunic with intricate designs that look like clouds on the sleeves and collar. 

You hesitate when you’re ready to leave the bathroom. So far, it seems that whatever bargain you’ve struck with this god has been in your favor. But you know you’ve made a deal in a moment of fear, and you’re not entirely sure what you’ve agreed to.

Time.

Though you’re nervous, you can’t stay hidden in the bathroom forever. Nudging the door open, you peek around the edge, gaze sweeping the room as you look for Taehyung. He’s standing in the sitting area, face toward the flickering fire. He looks both terrifying and beautiful, hands linked behind his back as he watches the flames. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Taehyung calls without turning around. “I mean it when I tell you that you’re safe.”

Slipping through the door, you walk toward him, regarding him warily. “Still,” you answer. “I don’t know where I am. Are you even human?”

He does look over his shoulder then, flashing you a wicked grin. “I’m not.” 

Taehyung’s answer doesn’t put you at ease, but you’re unsure what to do. Wordlessly, he gestures for you to follow him as he heads through the door and out of the room. For a moment, you hesitate. What would happen if you refused to leave the room? Is your deal with the god already in effect? What are its limitations? 

You can answer none of the questions you have, so you follow Taehyung, hoping to find answers soon. Except as soon as you step out of the room, you think you might have even more questions. 

The halls are dark and lit with flickering torches, casting an orange glow up to the cavernous ceilings. Though you’ve never been in a castle or seen one, you have an idea of how grand they are. There is no doubt in your mind that this is a castle, the halls resplendent and sweeping with artwork and fabric and statues. 

In front of you, Taehyung walks jovially with his hands linked behind his back. He hums a tune you don’t know, but it sounds smooth and warm. You follow behind him, casting your gaze around as you walk, trying to remember which turns you take and what paintings you pass. 

You reach a tall, closed set of wooden double doors. Taehyung raps his fingers against the door, looking over his shoulder at you with an excited grin. Your stomach flips and you wipe your palms against the bottom of your tunic. Your hands feel shaky and you twine them into the fabric, willing them to stop. 

Taehyung must hear someone on the other side of the door, because he opens it and steps in and to the side, gesturing for you to enter. You take a deep breath and walk by him into the room, stopping immediately as you look up, your mouth falling open. 

It’s a library grander than you could ever imagine. Your town had quite a small library at the church that belonged to the high priest, but this is something beyond your wildest dreams. The ceiling stretches higher than your imagination, filled with floating lights and stars - the entire night sky is stretched above you in swirling constellations of purple and blue. 

Three floors make up the library, each lined with books and windows that look out into the evening. You can see sprawling gardens beyond the tinted glass, but it’s the shelves of books that catch your attention. Stepping into the room further, you slowly spin, looking at the sheer amount of volumes that line the walls. There are multiple seating areas with rich, velvet blue armchairs and couches, tables full of books and papers and ink bottles and maps. 

Your throat tightens as you look at Taehyung, your mouth wobbling. The urge to burst into tears has never felt greater than this moment. You never imagined that you could stand in a room with so many books, and the desire to pull one off the shelf and delve in is cut short by the single, glaring fact that you don’t know how to read them. 

Distracted by the books upon entry, it takes you a moment to notice another presence in the room. You feel a tingle at the back of your neck, one that draws your eyes toward a long table near the fireplace. It’s the same feeling you had when you were saved from Nathaniel, an awareness that buzzes along your skin.

A man stands in front of the table, watching you with dark, feline eyes. He’s beautiful. Otherworldly, really. His round features remind you of the moon, but it’s the sharp eyes and the careful pout of his mouth that draws you in. He looks both delicate and dangerous, and you notice the quirk on his lips as he watches you watch him. 

He’s in all black. Black pants tucked into black, knee-high boots, and a black, long-sleeved shirt. There’s a layer of necklaces around his neck and you can see shapes and runes that are unfamiliar to you. The same runes and shapes are on the rings on his long, delicate fingers, folded in front of him. 

This is the face of a god. You know it in the way that there’s something ancient in his eyes and in the way he glows from within. His power is tangible, a crackling energy pressing up against every nerve in your body. 

“How are you feeling?” his voice vibrates right to your core. Soft and dark like you remember it, though a little rougher now. Gravelly. He studies you, unmoving. “Hopefully well-rested?”

“I feel…. Better.” Finding the words is hard in his presence, especially under the scrutiny of his gaze. You want to dart out of the room and hide, but you also don’t want to leave the library without exploring. “I think I should thank you?”

It comes out as a question and he smirks a little. Your stomach flutters at the sight; he raises a brow. “You’re welcome. Are you hungry? You’ve been asleep for nearly a day.”

The door shuts behind you and you startle, whirling around to see that Taehyung has left you. Your nerves fray further and you turn back to look at the god watching you. Behind him on the table, you realize it is a feast of sorts. Roasted meats and poultry, platters of fruit, plates of cheese and neatly arranged crackers, steaming pans of vegetables and things you cannot identify. 

He notices. “You must be starving. Come. Eat.” When you don’t move, he sighs. “I didn’t save you just to harm you.” 

It’s true enough. You carefully approach the table, eyeing him as he unclasps his hands and pulls out a chair for you. When you hesitate, he arches a dark brow again and you feel yourself grow warm in the face, muttering your thanks as you hurry over to the chair and sit down. 

The god’s presence is buzzing. He doesn’t touch you, but it’s like you feel him anyway, just an inch away from you. He helps you slide your chair in and gives a deep, contented sigh before he moves toward the opposite end of the table, taking the dull hum of energy with him. 

Across the table, he sits. His gaze finds yours again as you stare at him, finding it difficult to look anywhere else. Even with the smell of a divine meal, your attention on him is a fixed point. If this bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he leans back in his seat, casual and confident. 

“Have what you like,” he offers. “I don’t know what you enjoy and I didn’t want to pry.”

The table is full of options. You chew the inside of your cheek. There is glazed duck and roasted ham, creamy looking potatoes and sauced vegetables. Your stomach growls and twists painfully as you stare at your choices. 

“The duck is good,” he offers gently. You glance up. He nods towards the dish in question. “Sorry, it’s probably overwhelming.”

“A little,” you answer, but take him up on his advice and go for the duck. “Where are we?”

“In between.”

You frown as you plate different foods, fingers sticky as you do. You’re hyper-aware of him watching you and you try not to look up, feeling your hands quake as you add roasted veggies to your plate. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what you think it does. We’re at the in-between of all things. Not a solid place in your sense of understanding. It’s not a physical manifestation of a land mass, but it is a world that contains physical things.” 

“A… dimension?”

“Exactly. This is my domain.”

“And what… are you?”

You look up at him then. His lips twitch at the corners and he tongues the inside of his cheek. “A god. But you already knew that.”

“Wanted to hear you say it.” 

Silence falls between you as you pick up a knife and fork, cutting carefully into your meat. You pop it between your lips, sighing when the duck melts on your tongue with the taste of honey and something else. You sag in the chair, not realizing until now how tense you had been to this point. The food sends a wave of warmth through you and the god watches as you take a few bites, patient as you eat.

“This is fantastic,” you say, glancing at him as you reach for a glass of water. “The flavors are like nothing I’ve ever had.”

“I assure you that all things here are like nothing you’ve ever had.” You hum in agreement, taking another eager bite. You cannot imagine anything in the real world tasting this succulent. You almost wonder if perhaps this is all a dream. “You didn’t pray before you began to eat.”

Your chewing pauses. He’s bemused, giving you a sideways grin with his brows raised. You swallow thickly and say, “Praying never got me anywhere until recently. Why did you help me?”

“Because you asked.”

“You didn’t have to, though.”

It isn’t a question. He answers anyway. “I didn’t.”

“So why did you? The other gods have never helped me.”

“The other gods aren’t me.” His voice is soft and lethal, raising the hair on your arms. “We are not all the same, and you’d do well to not make any further comparisons moving forward.” 

You lower your gaze. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Gods are fickle beings. We are quick to offend and slow to let go. You don’t know any better and are thus forgiven.” 

“What do I call you?”

For a moment, he hesitates. You think he isn’t going to answer just as he says, “Yoongi. You can call me Yoongi.”

“Is that your name?” 

“It’s one of them.” 

“How many names do you have?”

He chuckles. It’s a delightful sound and you smile, watching him lean his head back against his chair, looking up as he shrugs. “How much time do you have?”

Time. 

Suddenly, you remember that you aren’t here on this god - Yoongi’s - good graces. You’re here because you called for someone in a moment of need and he agreed to help you, but at a cost. Your time. He had asked for your time, and a sense of anxiety tiptoes its way up your spine as you think about the ambiguity of his deal. 

Swallowing harshly, you shift back in your seat. The food in your stomach feels a little heavy, far too rich for you to eat more than a few bites. You’ve only ever known your parents’ staples of meat, bread, cheese, and root vegetables. 

“When you saved me,” you begin. “You made a deal with me.”

“I did.”

“My freedom in exchange for my time.”

His eyes are glittering as he watches you, completely still. The fireplace next to you crackles. It makes shadows dance across his face, giving him the appearance of something wild and untamed. Your heartbeat quickens as you watch him, this godly being, as he stares you down. 

“That was the deal,” he finally hums. His head cocks to the side a little. “I don’t usually discuss business over dinner.”

“I’m done eating.”

He huffs but doesn’t seem annoyed. “Perhaps tea, then? It will help settle your stomach.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know that my stomach needs settling?” 

“I know a lot of things.” Yoongi rises and gestures to the chairs directly in front of the fireplace. You stand, following his lead. There’s a quiver of energy in the air and you pause, turning to look back at the table to see it’s completely bare, no trace of anything left. You whip around to look at Yoongi as he sits in a wingback chair. “I can do a lot of things.”

A steaming cup of tea sits on a wooden table next to the chair you sink into. The cushions are soft, swallowing you in and making your muscles melt. The cup is warm when you pick it up, steam curling off the surface. Sniffing, your eyes flutter as you inhale the smell of mint. 

“What are you the god of?” You open your eyes and look at him. Both of his feet are planted flat on the floor, his arms resting on the arms of the chair. He looks a little stiff, more so than he did at dinner. Orange firelight reflects in his inky eyes. “You’re a god of the dark.” 

“There’s no such thing,” he scoffs, and you frown. “Your concept of gods is skewed. There is neither good nor evil, light nor dark. There are just gods.” 

“So it doesn’t matter who you pray to?”

“We don’t need your patronage. If we did, we wouldn’t be gods, would we?” You’d never thought of it that way. You sip your tea, letting the warmth and sharp mint bloom in your mouth. “We’re beyond the simple classification that mortals use to understand and organize what they think our intentions are. I have been classed as both good and evil, light and dark, benevolent and malevolent.”

“But surely there are things that are inherently evil, even among the gods.”

“Of course there isn’t. Evil is a point of view. It is a word used to define the feeling one has when the opposite of their desire occurs.” 

“I… guess that makes sense. But isn’t something like murder wrong?”

“Are you not the villain of the duck you ate today?” You blanch. Yoongi looks smug as he gestures vaguely with his hands. “Are you not evil for calling down the wrath of a god on Nathaniel Laudermill?”

“He was going to kill me.”

“You rejected his hand in marriage. You did the opposite of what he desired. I believe in his eyes, you are the evil. Is Death evil for doing what he was made to do?” 

Yoongi’s words make your head spin. You gulp a mouthful of scalding tea before setting it on the table next to you, your mind reeling. The realization that you’re sitting in a library with a starry ceiling arguing over morals and the concept of evil with a god who has saved you from certain death makes you giggle. 

He seems surprised by your sudden outburst, raising his brows as you cover your mouth, your fingers pressed to your lips as you try to contain your sudden mirth. “Sorry. This seems absolutely insane. I’m arguing over the word ‘evil’ with a god in a realm that is everywhere and nowhere at all. It feels like perhaps I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not. Though your dreams are dizzying and far more colorful than anyone else I know. You should be proud of them.” You furrow your brows. How does he know what you dream of? Before you can ask him to clarify, Yoongi says, “You wanted to discuss the deal.”

“Oh. Right. What did you mean by wanting my time in exchange for my freedom?”

“It’s simple. I want you to spend two weeks each month here.” 

Yoongi’s words sink in as you look at the window behind him. Outside, the world is sinking into what you think might be night. The sky is swimming with stars and constellations, stuck in a perpetual twilight of sorts. You’re reminded that somehow, Yoongi is like the moon and the night itself, especially when you find his dark gaze on you as he waits for your response. 

“Why?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I’m often very alone. It would be nice to have some company.” 

“That’s it? You just want me to hang out in exchange for saving me?” He nods. “That seems too easy.” 

His lips curve upward. “Maybe I’m very annoying.” 

For some reason you think it might not be true. You think of all the things that you’ve heard about the gods. Yoongi tells you that everything you know about them is wrong, but you know that the gods of the dark are tricksters. They are experts in the art of luring mortals in, and you wonder if that’s what he’s doing now. 

“Does it have to be consecutive weeks?” you ask, trying to bide time to collect your thoughts and work out his intentions. “Or can it be a collective?”

“Consecutive.” 

“What… what happens when I go home? With my family.”

Yoongi’s face grows stormy. You shift in your seat. “You’re under my protection,” he says after a moment of deliberation. “You’ll bear a mark that protects you. No one will force their will upon you again.”

“Can you?”

He shakes his head, long hair brushing the tops of his shoulders. He looks haunting in the firelight, but beautiful. You avert your gaze, fixating on the books in the room instead. “You have my word, I will never control you. I promised you freedom, that includes me.” 

“But I have to be here. I can’t escape from that. Is that freedom?”

“You made that decision of your own free will. It’s your words that bind you here, not mine. While you’re here, you are able to do whatever it is you desire. In fact, I encourage it.” 

“Wording is really important to you, isn’t it?”

He chuckles and inclines his head, fingers tapping the arm of his chair. “It is. Consider the first day of your deal already spent. You slept most of it off while you healed.” Yoongi stands, drawing your attention to him. “Sleep more,” he insists gently. “Tomorrow, I’ll give you a tour.”

The thought of a tour - and seeing Yoongi for more days - thrills you. Taehyung appears at the doorway as Yoongi escorts you out. He wishes you goodnight and lets Taehyung take you back to your room, though you feel his gaze and presence as you leave. 

It isn’t until you’re back in your room that you realize you never asked Yoongi how long your deal is supposed to last. It occurs to you that while he has given you a sort of freedom, perhaps he has taken something from you after all. 

-

Tall trees surround you. Above them, you can make out a swirling sky of stars and planets and several moons, so bright that it turns the forest a shade of blue. The woods around you are familiar, and there’s a well-walked path just ahead of you that leads to the river by your home. You’ve walked among these trees and creatures hundreds of times, but never with a sky like this.

Crickets chirp as you walk through the woods now. Grass tickles your bare feet, the earth soft and damp beneath you. It smells like fresh rain, but there’s no flood or mud as you navigate by instinct. 

It’s peaceful out here. How many times have you come here to escape your father’s rage? How many times have you sat, back pressed against a tree, watching the light fade from the world until it was too dark to see where you were going? You always managed to get home safely, even with the lack of light. 

The river rushes a few yards ahead. You pick a spot to sit and watch, beneath the cover of leaves. The sound of running water and the smell of rain on the wind lulls you into a trance and you close your eyes, resting for a while. 

Here is where you find peace. Where you dream. 

Awareness creeps up on you and you open your eyes, looking upward as you sense someone approaching. Yoongi stands next to you, onyx eyes gazing at the river. He’s in black clothes like before, his hands tucked into his pockets. You smell clove and cinnamon, making you dizzy. Power radiates off of him but it feels warm and safe. Like the night air itself comes from his existence. 

“Am I dreaming?” you ask him. He looks down at you, an obsidian strand of hair falling in his face. He nods, giving you a gentle smile. “This is often where I go to dream.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer you. He looks back to the rushing river, his face becoming unreadable. He looks like he’s somewhere far away, lost in his thoughts. Absently, he says, “Your dreams are my favorite.”

“What do you mean?”

“They are bright, full of life and color and sound. You dream the way people create art, the way people create worlds. It is rare to see such magnificence among the sleeping.” 

“I just…” you shrug. “Think of places I would rather be.” 

Yoongi looks at you then and his face is shadowed, full of thunder. “You’ll never be forced to live that life again.” 

“Do you promise?” 

He opens and closes his mouth, narrowing his eyes a little before shaking his head. You feel a smile tug at your mouth, endeared by his microexpressions. “Yes, little lamb. I promise.”

-

You wake with a start, sitting up in bed and looking around. The room spins as your brain tries to catch up with your body, your physical and mental awareness completely out of sync as you swivel your head, drinking in the unfamiliar room and the soft sheets that smell like clove and cinnamon. 

For a moment, you forget where you are, and adrenaline surges through you. Your fingers twist in the sheets as you ground yourself, memories from the day before slotting into place. Letting out a long exhale, you relax, flopping backward in the opulent bed, your heart rate slowing down as your panic bleeds out of you. 

You’re in Yoongi’s home. In a place that is somewhere in between - whatever that means. The god has told you on multiple occasions that you’re safe and have nothing to fear from him and for some reason…. You believe him. Maybe it’s naive, but you can’t erase the feeling that Yoongi is being honest with you, that he has good intentions. 

Perhaps it’ll get you into trouble one day. For now, you cast off doubt and peel yourself out of bed, trailing to the windowed doors that lead to the balcony beyond. You try the handle and are delighted to find them unlocked. Slipping through the doors, you’re met with warm, balmy air. It smells like petrichor, the breeze kissing your skin gently.

Like before, the world seems wrapped in permanent twilight. There is no sun in the sky, but a vast stretch of swimming stars and the largest moon you’ve ever seen. In the distance, dark mountains loom over you, their peaks capped in snow and wreathed in mist. 

Forest stretches out toward them in a vibrant shade of green. There’s a settee on the balcony along with a table and chairs. Leaning on the stone railing, you look down to see colorful gardens and a large pond full of vibrant fish.

All of the radiance makes you smile. You’ve never seen colors so rich, and you’re unable to recall if your world was this vibrant. The garden below is bursting with violet and cerulean, the flowers unfamiliar to you. Their fragrant smell wafts up to the balcony, a hint of sweetness in the air. 

A roll of thunder catches your attention. You look to the east, noticing that one of the mountains in the distance is darker than the others. Lightning crackles in the sky around it and the mist is heavier there. You think the trees are darker too, though you can’t tell if they’re gray or if it’s the shade from the swollen thunderheads drifting over them. 

Behind you, the door to the balcony opens and startles you. Whirling around, you find Taehyung leaning against the frame, mouth curved upwards in a sideways grin. “When you didn’t answer the door I got worried.”

“I thought I was safe here? What is there to be worried about?”

He shrugs. “Maybe you took a dive off of the balcony.”

“What is that place?” you point to the thundering, shrouded mountain. Taehyung looks where you point, his smile dropping as he stares at the looming peak. “By the look on your face, somewhere bad.”

“Bad is a relative term.” 

You scrunch your nose. “You sound like Yoongi.”

“Already familiar, are we? Cute.” He pushes off the door frame and beckons you inside. “Ask Yoongi about it on your tour.”

“Are you not coming along?”

“I have things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Not give tours.”

If it weren’t for Taehyung’s playful tone and glint in his eye when he casts you a glance, you’d think you were bothering him. Instead of getting angry, he drapes himself on one of the couches by the fireplace, long legs dangling off the arm as he lounges.

Today, he’s in charcoal colored pants and a red, billowing shirt that shows off the smooth, tan skin of his chest. A dangling earring catches your attention as he leans his head back, silky hair shifting. If Yoongi is made of moonlight, you think that Taehyung might be made of sunlight: golden skin, warm energy. 

“By all means,” you mutter. “Hang out.” 

“This is my home first, human. I shall do as I please.”

You make a sound at the back of your throat and roll your eyes, walking toward a large, polished wardrobe made from dark wood. It smells like fresh cedar when you pull on the brass handle, opening the door to reveal tunics and dresses, all hung neatly. 

Rich silks, velvets and cottons greet you. You run your hand over the materials, amazed at how soft they feel. They are far better quality than your mother ever had access to. Your heart squeezes when you think of her, and you shake your head a little as if to physically dispel thoughts of your family out of your mind.

Facing them seems like an impossible task. You know that you’ll have to eventually. Two weeks with Yoongi in this strange world seems like a long time, but you’re not sure if it’s nearly long enough to mentally prepare to go back and face them after what’s happened. Will they still be angry? What will they say? Will they have been worried about you all this time?

There’s no way to know the answer. So instead, you pretend none of that exists. For once, you have stumbled into a dream and adventure like you’ve always wanted, and you intend on playing the part. 

An emerald shirt catches your eye. It’s made of a silky material, supple when you rub the sleeve between your fingers. It’s plain, save for the laced string at the throat to cinch and tie it off. You grab a pair of black, cotton pants as well, the fabric just as soft as the sheets in your bed. 

With Taehyung humming on the couch, you let yourself into the bathroom to change. You appreciate that the floor is warm wherever you go barefoot, and you quickly slide out of your clothes from the previous day and into the new ones. The measurements are a little off, but more than manageable as you pull the tie closed at your throat. Glancing into the mirror, you can’t help but smile a little.

You look so different. The shirt belongs to someone adventurous, you think. Perhaps a pirate or a huntress riding atop her horse through the woods. You slide your fingers along the material, its softness inviting and magical. 

Two weeks. You’ll be here for two weeks with Yoongi, a god who has been alive for hundreds of years, if your conversation from the night before was anything to go off of. It feels surreal and you’re a little nervous, but more than that, you’re excited.

Suddenly, the world is full of possibilities. No marriage to tie you down, no power held in your parents’ hands. 

 “Gods you’re slow to get dressed,” Taehyung announces when you enter the room. He sits up, appraising your outfit. “Green looks good on you.”

“How many are there?” he cocks his head at your question, peeling himself from the seat. “Gods and goddesses, I mean.”

“Pfft. Hundreds.”

“Hundreds?” 

“Maybe thousands, I don’t really know. There’s basically an infinite amount of universes. All anyone mostly cares about are the Eternals, the gods who remain the same no matter what name or history mortals assign to them.”

“Eternals?”

“Mhmm.” Taehyung leads you into the hallway. His hands are tucked into his pockets as he strolls leisurely. You follow beside him eagerly, looking up as he seems thoughtful. “Gods are hard to define. They are great beings with massive power. Some gods do the same thing, some don’t. They come from the infinite amount of worlds to which they are native, and somehow make it into mortal history. But the Eternals have always been here, always known. They do not change.”

“Who are the Eternals?”

“Life, death, chaos, time, pathos, dream and fate.” He makes a face then. “Fate and chaos are hard. They work in direct opposition to one another. It drives time insane, naturally.”

Seven Eternals. It makes sense, from a logical standpoint. Every world must have life and death and the passing of time. Where there exists a living thing, there exists a vessel of emotion and dreams. In all worlds there is the potential for chaos disrupting fate. 

“Yoongi is an Eternal?”

Taehyung glances sidelong at you, smug. “Yes, Yoongi is an Eternal.”

“Why do you look at me like that when I say his name?” Taehyung doesn’t answer, instead smirking as if he’s enjoying a private joke. Your fists close and open as you swallow down a demand to tell you what he finds so amusing. “Which one is he?”

“Have you no guesses?”

That makes you think. Recalling the night before, you remember the way Yoongi looks: dark eyes swimming with something magical, a soft and raspy voice, the way he appeared in your dreams. 

Though your dreams are mesmerizing and far more colorful than anyone else I know. You recall what he said about your dreams, the way he leveled his gaze at you, full of meaning that you didn’t understand. 

“Dreams,” you say, certain that you're right. “He’s the Eternal of Dreams?”

“He isn’t of dreams. He is Dream.”

You’re unable to clarify Taehyung’s emphasis on Yoongi being a deity of dreams as he opens the door to the same library as before. This time, he doesn’t knock. When you step inside, you realize it’s because the room is empty. Yoongi is nowhere to be seen, though pale light filters in through the windows. It’s still forever twilight outside, yet a little lighter. It feels like morning, even if it does not entirely appear to be morning. 

Behind you, the door shuts. You turn to see Taehyung has left without another word, leaving you entirely alone in the captivating space. 

Without hesitation, you walk to the nearest shelf housing rows and rows of books. The spines range from muted browns and neutrals to bright reds and rich blues. Velvet books, leather books, canvas, silk. There is no shortage of materials making up each one, letters painted, printed or stitched down the back of them to denote what they are. 

Each one breathes a world of possibility as you drag your finger along the shape of them. You wonder how many worlds and histories are scribbled away in the pages of this room, the very idea of it overwhelming. 

Trinkets and objects you’re unfamiliar with line the shelves as well. Your fingers trace their shape and you wonder what they are. One object in particular catches your eye in the corner of the room. It stands on three metal legs and has large, interlocking rings that spin lazily in some unknown pattern. The rings are hammered metal and appear to have markings engraved on them.

The device slowly spins of its own accord. Upon inspection, there seems to be nothing else responsible for its motion except magic or science that is beyond you. You can see that there are seven metal rings and different markings on each of them, but you cannot guess what the engravings read. 

“It represents the balance of the Eternals. Taehyung mentioned you had a vague starting point as to what I am.”

Yoongi’s deep voice makes you leap and screech, spinning on your heels to face him. Your hand flies to your chest and you can feel your heartbeat rattling wildly. Yoongi stands a few feet away from you, hands linked behind his back and eyebrows raised at your reaction. 

He’s dressed similar to the night before, though a little more casual. His black pants are tucked into knee high boots, and his black shirt is loose fitted with silver stitching around the collar. You notice that it’s in patterns of stars and moons, furthering your confirmation that Yoongi is associated with dreams in some manner. 

Yoongi’s long hair is pulled half out of his face today, tied away in a bun. The rest of his hair brushes the tops of his shoulders as his inky eyes regard you patiently. His curiosity makes you feel warm all over and you drop your hands to your sides, fingers twitching. 

“How so?” you ask. You turn back to the device. “What does it run on?”

“Our energy. Each ring represents a member of my family. The speed at which they turn represents the balance among us. When the speed is off, the balance is off.”

“What causes the balance to be off?” 

Yoongi steps closer to you. You hold your breath as he does it, but you can feel his presence like a buzzing vibration at the back of your neck.

His voice is softer when he answers, “A number of things. Sometimes some of us aren’t always performing the way we should be. Other times, we’re overperforming. Or fighting, really, as siblings are wont to do.”

“I don’t know what that’s like.”

“You’re not missing much. Especially when your siblings are as ancient and never ending as you are.” 

“How… old are you?”

You look at Yoongi to see he’s standing next to you now. He looks at you, face impassive as he lifts a shoulder. “How old is the earth? How old is existence? It’s hard to say.” 

“Where do you come from?”

“Chaos was first. Life and Death were next, twins born of the sudden whims of Chaos. I was next, for Life often dreamed. Time was always there, though no one knows if Time or Chaos came first. Pathos and Fate came later.”

You nod, though you don’t fully understand the scope of how old and fathomless the existence of things like chaos and time and dreams are. It makes your head spin, trying to conceptualize the thing next to you who looks very much like an ordinary man being something so ancient and primordial that he precedes human existence entirely. 

“You’re overwhelmed,” he notes, a bit of amusement in his voice. “I don’t blame you. The best way to understand it is that I am a living concept that can never be destroyed, so long as there exists something to dream about.” 

Crossing his arms in front of him, Yoongi clasps his hands and gives you a slight smile. He has a pretty smile, you realize. Delicate and almost shy. It makes your heart flutter and you mentally chastise yourself for thinking that a being of eternal dreams can possibly be shy. 

“How about a tour? Our deal is that you’ll spend two weeks a month here. I’d love for you to feel like this is a place you can be familiar with, if not something akin to a home.”

“Home?”

His smile grows. “If that word ever seems fitting, sure.”

Home. The word makes you think about what home means to you and suddenly you feel a pit form in the bottom of your stomach. Flashes of a flooded forest, lighting lancing across the sky, hands gripping you tight and shoving you under the water. 

“Um,” you clear your throat. “So a tour.”

Yoongi’s eyes glitter as he grins and turns, using a hand to gesture to the wide library. “This is the main library, but we’ll end our tour here. Let’s go through the gardens first, it’s nice weather.”

Yoongi starts without you, leaving you to stand staring after him as he goes. His gait is smooth and confident. He presses on a pane of glass that you realize is a door. A breeze teases the loose pieces of his hair, carrying the familiar scent of clove and cinnamon toward you. 

For a moment, you stare after him. Yoongi being a deity of dreams makes so much sense in this moment, stepping into the twilight, face tilted upward slightly as though he’s soaking up the sun. He looks radiant. Tranquil. When he turns to look at you expectantly, his rose pink mouth quirks sideways. 

“Right,” you say, hurrying to follow him. “Outside is where we start.” 

When you pass him, you get the sense that Yoongi wants to tease you further. Instead, he says nothing and leads you into the gardens. A cobblestone path leads from the door through wisteria trees, their amethyst leaves swooping down and filling the air with sweet fragrance. 

Up above, the sky is a mix of blue and purple, thousands of stars twinkling. There is a stone bench near one of the windows of the library, but Yoongi leads you away from the palace and down the path under the trees. The air is crisp and pleasant, cooling your anxious, sweat-slick skin. 

Yoongi links his hands behind his back. “This is the library garden,” he informs you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “It’s mostly wisteria trees, which are my favorite to walk through when I need to think.”

“They’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Much different from the woods outside of your home.”

“You know the woods outside of my home?”

“You called me there, remember?” You blanch at the memory, but if he notices, Yoongi says nothing. “Besides, I’m familiar with the woods that surround your home. Your village pays homage to my brother.”

“Your brother?”

He hums. “Life. Perhaps they don’t know that it’s him they pray to, but they do.”

Taking a left, Yoongi leads you on a looping path through the massive wisteria trees. They’re larger than anything you’ve ever seen, their bows sweeping monoliths of purple, trunks thick as boulders. A strange creature sits on the branches of one of the trees, making you stop and stare. 

A tiny, carnelian creature sits on a bough, bright against the lavender background of the leaves. It has four legs and scaled feet, sharp talons cutting into the bark as it keeps its balance in the tree. Small wings are folded on its back, bony limbs with paper-thin skin between them, a lighter red than the rest of its body. A long tail snakes around the branch, holding the creature in place as its long neck extends, head tilting to look at you curiously.

“Is that a dragon?” you whisper, staring at it.

You’ve only heard them described in stories, but you don’t really know what they look like. It has scales like a lizard and it blinks two large eyes at you, entirely black. There are small horns on its head, and a forked tongue snakes out as it tastes the air. 

“She’s a fey dragon,” Yoongi hums, looking up at the creature with a smile. “And she’s not supposed to be in the trees here, are you?”

A puff of smoke curls from the dragon’s nose as it huffs, making you take a step backward. Yoongi lets out a deep laugh that makes a tingle rattle down your spine and your toes curl. The sound is like smoke and velvet, heady in the air. 

“She won’t hurt you,” Yoongi assures, shaking his head to continue walking under the dragon’s branch. “She’s a pesky little thing, but she is incredibly sweet. Fey dragons are much smaller than their firedrake cousins and less dangerous than their basilisk relatives.”

With your eyes cast upward, you hurry after Yoongi, keeping your gaze on the large lizard as you run under the branch. Her dark eyes follow you, unblinking and fathomless. The hair on your arms stands up and you can’t help but feel that despite the dragon being small and what Yoongi calls harmless, it is incredibly intelligent. 

“There are dragons here?” 

“There is everything here.”

You frown, finally turning away from the dragon as you leave it behind. “That’s confusing. Everything as in…?”

“When you dream, you have limitless potential. You can go anywhere, be anything, see any creature. Dreams even invent things that do not exist in the natural world. Creatures, stories, songs, words, plants. The possibility for creation in a dream is limitless, and this place is the essence of dreams. It is me.”

“So you are this place and the place is you?”

He seems thoughtful before nodding. “More or less. This is a dream realm as much as it is a collection of ideas, thoughts and hopes. Everything that every living creature has ever dreamed about walks these lands.”

“Even nightmares?”

Yoongi pulls up short and whips his head at you. You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to meet his eyes under his severe expression. In the distance, you swear you hear thunder. An apology springs to your lips, but before you can give it, Yoongi nods sharply once and begins walking again.

“Nightmares too. Do not speak of nightmares here, lest they come searching.”

You think about Taehyung telling you that you were safe but being concerned when you didn’t answer the door earlier that morning. A chill seeps into your bones as you rejoin Yoongi on your walk, his pace not as relaxed now. 

“They come searching?” you try, a little curious, a little afraid. 

“Yes. They are different from dreams. Unpredictable in a way I admire and dislike.” He glances sidelong at you. “They have a mind of their own. You are safe with me always, but it’s best practice to not think of them while you’re here. This world has a way of manifesting.”

For a few moments, you walk in silence. You let your questions fall silent as you look around. The two of you exit the wisteria trees to see a large pond. A single, massive wisteria sits on its western edge with a bench underneath it. 

The surface of the pond is dark and smooth, reflecting the swirling stars in the sky. Yoongi leads you around the mirror surface and points out the mountains in the distance that you could see from your windows. 

“Mountains of Sleep,” he tells you. “It is where all beings who are ready for their eternal rest come to dream for the remainder of their existence. They are also called the Mountains of Divinity, for there are hundreds of divine immortals among their peaks.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Not all beings rest here. Some prefer their own planes and resting grounds. But this existed before those places, and has long been used for the tired and the weary who are ready to retire.”

“Are they dead?”

“No. The dead cannot come here.” He hesitates. “When they do, it is because they are not a dream.”

You get the sense that Yoongi is talking about nightmares again and you shiver as he takes you around the pond. “Don’t let anything in that body of water convince you to go swimming. They won’t intentionally hurt you but they don’t understand the concept of human life.”

“They?”

“They don’t have a name. They are water-folk who were dreamt up by someone once. I admire them and they’re beautiful and wicked smart, but they’re a bit cheeky.”

“I’m starting not to feel as safe as you said I was.”

Yoongi stops and frowns. He lifts a hand as though he’s about to touch your arm before he thinks better of it and drops it at his side. You realize you’re disappointed that he did before mentally kicking yourself, feeling a little ashamed to be so affected by a god. You’re sure Yoongi gets it often, but it makes you feel silly nonetheless. 

“You are safe.” He lowers his head a little, catching your gaze. Though his eyes are midnight black, you swear you see the stars above reflected in their dark pools. “But there are rules everywhere. This place has them just the same as your home did. You were relatively safe there, but there were rules.”

“And then I broke them and Nathaniel tried to murder me.”

“Nathaniel was dealt with and will never touch you again.” Thunder rolls in the distance and your heart flutters at the vehemence with which Yoongi says this. “The misdeeds of your family cannot chase you here.”

You don’t press Yoongi on the matter. Instead, you let him proceed with the tour, keeping your questions to a minimum as you wonder what Yoongi meant by Nathaniel being dealt with. You recall the soft, susurrated voice against your ear when Yoongi found you. The gentle brush of something like a kiss to your neck. The rage and power as he stepped in front of you to face Nathaniel when the deal was done.

It does not require much to make an assumption about Yoongi’s meaning. 

The yards of his palace are sprawling and full of color. Gardens with flowers he doesn’t know the name of but said a little girl had dreamed them and he liked them so he made more. Butterflies with colors you didn’t know existed flitting from plant to plant. Fruit orchards with the ripest, reddest apples you’ve ever seen. 

And the palace. It is the only word you have for it. The building is several stories tall, hewn from dark stone with at least five different towers. Starlight glitters in the windows as Yoongi guides you up the stairs toward the massive double doors that lead to the main entrance of the castle. On the door handle are two wrought-iron griffons with proud faces. 

Without a touch, the doors open on Yoongi’s arrival. You wonder if the building responds to his presence as the door swings open for the two of you. Inside, the foyer is as magnificent as the library, a lush purple carpet rolling over stone floors. 

In the center of the room is a massive spiral staircase. Looking up, you see that it goes all the way up the floors of the palace, dizzying circles of floor after floor. Yoongi explains there are other ways to go all the way up to the top throughout the castle but this is the easiest way, though he assures you that by the third floor you’d be out of breath. 

Each room Yoongi shows you is opulent and warm. Rich, deep wooden furniture, paintings with dark splashes of amethyst, scarlet and gold. Rooms for tea, rooms for painting, rooms for music, rooms for dancing. Yoongi has a room for everything, sometimes occupied by strange little creatures that hide when you walk in or curious things that lift their heads when they see him. 

No one else besides Taehyung seems to be there, though. You come across felines, little balls of light that bounce around Yoongi excitedly and light him up like a burst of flame, a little furry thing that you think is a fox but in a shade of shocking sapphire, and a massive wolf with eyes like ice that blink apathetically at you as you walk by. But never once do you see another person. Even Taehyung seems to be amiss. 

“Does no one else live here?” Yoongi takes you through another room empty of people and things. “It’s so empty.” 

He takes his time to answer as you leave the room and move into the hallway. It’s hard to tell which way you’re going, but you think that you’re headed toward the library again. Your legs ache from going up and down the stairs on an endless tour of rooms, and you’re eager to be in the library once more. 

“There used to be,” Yoongi says slowly. “But people don’t tend to do well in places that they don’t belong.”

“So you’re all alone here?”

His smile is sad. “I have Taehyung.” He pauses before he adds, “And now you.”

I’m often very alone. It would be nice to have some company. You think of Yoongi’s words from the night before and suddenly you’re filled with sadness. Sadness for this ancient being, who seems so gentle and quiet. Who lives alone in this giant castle with all of the world’s dreams around him and no one to share them with. 

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “How do you know I belong?”

“Pardon?”

“Do I? Belong, I mean. You wouldn’t… have me here if I wouldn’t do well, right?”

“No one dreams the way you do.” He says this firmly. Confident. Fierce. “I believe there is nothing you wouldn’t be able to find here.”

“Do you always know what I dream about?” 

“No. But you dream… loudly. Colorfully. Sometimes it’s hard to ignore. I don’t like to pry, though.” 

“Can you see everyone’s dreams?”

“Mhmm. I even make some.”

This catches your attention and you reach out and grab his wrist, stopping him. He glances down where your fingers touch his skin, your fingers buzzing where you’re connected. You flush with warmth and drop your hand, clearing your throat at how forward grabbing him was. 

Yoongi is smirking when you ask, “Can you show me?”

“One day, yes. For now, the end of the tour and lunch.”

At the mention of lunch, your stomach rumbles. His grin spreads into a full smile and Yoongi leads you back to the library. Again, the doors open without his touch and as you pass them, you study them for any sign of an auto-opening mechanism but find none. 

Yoongi’s magic appears limitless. You remember the food disappearing from dinner, the swell of power as Yoongi agreed to save you, and his sudden appearance as you were drowning. You know nothing about the god of dreams or what he’s capable of, but you’re awed at how easy it comes to him. 

“This is the main library.” Yoongi turns around to face you, sweeping his arms out on either side of him. “There are two others: one in my room and one located in the dream tower.”

“You didn’t show me the dream tower.”

“I’ll show you when you’re ready.” 

Unsure what ready means to Yoongi, you look around the library. Same as the night before, the shelves are crammed full of books and scrolls, so much paper and ink that it makes you lightheaded with excitement. It still smells of lemon and wax, though as you pass Yoongi to go to a shelf, you’re overcome with clove and cinnamon again. 

Trying to ignore the shiver that merely walking by Yoongi gives you, you brush the spines of books once again, feeling their potential under your fingertips. 

“You always have access to this library. You can read what you like.”

A pang goes through you and you drop your hand. Without looking at him, you mumble, “Thank you, but I can’t read.”

No response comes. You stare unseeing at the books before taking a breath to turn your head and steal a glance at Yoongi. You expect some sort of amusement or perhaps pity, but his face is unreadable, jaw working.

“That’s okay,” he finally says. “We will teach you. After lunch we will make a schedule to help fill your time here. Reading and writing lessons will be a part of that.”

Your heartbeat quickens. “Do you mean that?”

“Do you want to learn?” You nod your head eagerly. He grins gently. “Then we will teach you.” 

-

Yoongi’s eyes are dark as he presses forward. Your breath catches in your chest as you lay back, looking up at him with your lips parted, heart hammering in your chest. He settles his waist against you, the weight of him pressing you into your bed as you lay back. 

He is so beautiful that it puts you in a daze, staring up into his face as he leans over you. His hair is pulled back, but a few dark strands hang loose. His mouth is stained red with wine, making you want to lean forward and taste his lips and feel their softness. 

Tentatively, you reach a hand up and brush the loose strands of hair out of his face, tucking them behind his ear. You don’t stop touching him, though, hand cradling his flushed face. His eyes flutter shut and he leans into your palm as you cup his cheek, thumb sweeping back and forth. 

“Is this what you dream of?” he whispers, eyes remaining closed. “Being under me, like this?”

Dreaming. You realize you’re dreaming. You jolt and suddenly, you’re alone. 

-

“Your handwriting is terrible,” Taehyung admits, looming over your shoulder. You grip the quill tighter, nearly snapping it in two. “But you learn unbelievably fast. How many of these letters do you think you have consistently memorized?” 

Taehyung is in charge of your writing lessons today and you already want to kill him. It’s been five days of your new residency in the House of Dreams, as Yoongi calls it, and you’ve quickly learned that Taehyung is equally charming and playful as he is outright vexing. 

Instead of turning to give him a very harsh poke in the arm with your quill, you scan the shapes in front of you. There are twenty-six of them, all awkwardly slanted and misshapen where you’ve used too much ink or not enough. Using a quill and ink feels alien to your hand and your fingers struggle to remember the proper way to hold it as you draw your letters. 

“I think most of them,” you answer slowly, mentally sounding out each word on the page in your head as you go. “But there are a few of them that confuse me. The lowercase ‘d’ and ‘b’ I find nearly impossible to recall and ‘v’ and ‘u’ are rather frustrating.” 

“Whenever you see a ‘u’, think of it as having a scoop. Sc-uuup.” Taehyung points to a ‘u’ on the page and mimics the scooping motion. “Might be easier to associate the sound scoop with ‘u’ even though the word itself doesn’t have a ‘u’.” 

The desperate look you give him makes him laugh as you struggle to imagine why a word with a ‘u’ sound doesn’t actually contain the letters. You’re saved from Taehyung’s maddening - but helpful - instruction as Yoongi walks into the library. 

“You’d better not be laughing at her again.” 

Taehyung steps away from you and bows his head toward Yoongi. “I’m laughing with her. We’re just sharing amusement over the hypocrisy of letters.”  

“Yeah,” you deadpan. “It’s hilarious.”

Today, Yoongi is in a deep, amethyst colored shirt. It’s laced at the throat with the familiar moon and stars that he has stitched on much of his clothing, and his hair down and long, slicked back and tucked behind his ears. As always, he’s in dark pants and boots today, the sound of them clicking on the stone floor as he nudges Taehyung out of the way to peer over your shoulder. 

You tense. Being around Yoongi for the last five days has been intoxicating. It is bad enough that you get distracted during your lessons by the way his voice rumbles when he speaks and the way he chews his lips when working on his own things while you study. It’s worse that now he invades your dreams, whispering in your ear and hands wandering over your curves, sinful mouth brushing over your skin and leaving you to jolt awake in bed covered in sweat.

The very idea that Yoongi knows what you're dreaming of drives you to the edge of insanity. He’d promised he preferred to avoid your dreams, but you wonder if he knows. Knows that you have developed an insatiable habit of fantasizing about his hands, or about the tone of his voice. 

Gripping your quill tight, you hold your breath when he leans over you. He’s not touching you, but he’s close enough that you feel the heat of him and smell him, cinnamon and clove making your eyes flutter. If you didn’t know he was the god of dreams, you’d mistake him for the god of lust, if that was a thing.

“Why aren’t you breathing?” You peer upward to see Yoongi looking down at you. If you tilted your head back just a fraction more, you’d be pressed against his chest. Even from upside down, his moon-pale face and cosmos eyes make you want to scream. “Are you alright?”

“Nervous that I’m not performing well.”

His face softens. “You’re a quick learner. Don’t worry about progress and pace.”

“But what if I lose it when I go h- back.” 

Home. That’s what you were going to say. But the idea of home is terrifying. You don’t know what waits for you when you go back. You don’t know what splitting time between two worlds means. You don’t know what you’ll do when you have to spend two weeks there before coming back to Yoongi. 

Five days in Yoongi’s realm has been enough to make you feel like this has always been your life. You fit into the daily routines of Yoongi and Taehyung better than you imagined, and though you still sometimes get lost in the House of Dreams, you discover that you’re adapting. 

There’s always something new to discover, an adventure around the corner. You like learning your letters and the sounds that they make. You love studying the maps in the library and tracing the distances between countries you can’t name and have no idea where they are. 

Most of all, you love exploring. Rooms upon rooms of objects both normal and magical. Creatures that roam freely around the palace - including a clever little fox that has taken interest in following you around as you take breaks from studying by walking around the grounds. 

While Yoongi’s home doesn’t feel like it belongs to you, you’re more afraid to go back to your mother and father than you are to go near the pond at the edge of the wisteria garden. 

So you avoid thinking of going back.

“You’ll practice while you’re there,” Yoongi says, as though it’s the easiest answer in the world. “You have to practice every day.”

“My father won’t- he doesn’t…” You shake your head, unable to get the words out. That your father would strike you to the ground if he found you with books again. “I can’t bring anything back with me.”

“Sure you can.” You glance at him to find his expression is firm. “I told you, you’re under my protection. Things will be very different for you when you go back.”

“How?”

“It’s… difficult to say.” 

Yoongi offers nothing else. You become hyper aware of how close he’s standing to you again and you look down at your letter practicing. With a shaky hand, you dip the quill into the ink, lifting it from the inkwell and letting the excess drip before bringing it over to the paper. 

When Yoongi makes no move to leave, you inhale deeply to steel your nerves and continue tracing. He’s content to watch you as you work. If he knows how distracted this makes you, he doesn’t let on. Perhaps he has no idea that as you scrawl a shaky letter ‘k’, it’s Yoongi who consumes your thoughts. 

Even in your waking hours it seems you’re not rid of him. 

Most of your study sessions are like this, Yoongi watching you so closely that it makes your quill bleed too much ink. He is a passive teacher, letting you come to him with questions instead of correcting you constantly like Taehyung does. Even now, when you hesitate on the next letter of the alphabet, Yoongi doesn’t offer his help. Lets you figure it out. 

You dip the quill in ink and continue. 

After you finish the last shaky letter, you set the quill down, flexing your fingers open and closed. Yoongi makes a satisfied noise and steps away. You turn to see him walking toward the table by the fireplace, which is where you have started to take all your meals. Already, there are platters of food and drinks. Taehyung sits in a chair, plucking a grape from a plate and popping it in his mouth.

“I didn’t invite you,” Yoongi grumbles as he takes a seat at the head of the table. You push yourself up from your chair, legs aching from sitting so long. “Who said you can eat my grapes?”

“Ugh, I’m tired of eating alone.” 

“Let him stay, Yoongi.” The god looks at you with a glower, bottom lip jutted out slightly. It’s so cute that you can’t help but burst into laughter, hand flying to your mouth. “Sorry, I think you just pouted.” 

“He did.” Taehyung grins and leans back in his chair. “He wants you to himself.”

Yoongi hisses Taehyung’s name, shutting down the teasing immediately. You glance at Yoongi shyly as you sit down but he doesn’t meet your eyes, choosing to laden his plate with food instead. You can’t imagine why Yoongi would want you to himself, especially when all you do is ply him with questions. 

Still, a little bit of a thrill goes through you as you start loading your plate, your gaze drifting toward the deity again as he bites into a strawberry, the juice running down his chin. Your eyes track the movement as his tongue darts out, catching the drip before it escapes too far. 

Yoongi’s mouth is hypnotizing and it takes you a moment too long to realize he’s watching you stare at him. Quickly, you grab a cup and bring water to your lips, gulping the cool water and glancing up at the ceiling, feeling embarrassment bloom like warm liquid through you. 

When you put the cup down, you swear you see Yoongi smiling. 

-

Hungry lips suck at the tender flesh of your neck. You gasp, feeling your toes curl in pleasure, head spinning. Yoongi’s teeth scrape against the sensitive skin, the drag of his rough tongue soothing over the bites driving you mad. You let out a soft moan, eyes squeezing shut as you writhe under him. 

Yoongi’s large hands pin yours above your head, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he continues to ravish your neck with his hot mouth, tongue and teeth. His hips roll over you and you whine, feeling his hard-on pressing against you. 

Your parents would kill you if they knew you were here like this, trapped under a god of the dark as he sucks on your pulse point, mouth moving upward to nip your ear. Your chest is heaving and you can’t get enough breath, overwhelmed by the scent of cinnamon and clove, by the way his mouth pulls sounds from you so easily. 

Yoongi tears his lips away and looks down at you, eyes so dark and blown out that you think he might devour you, swallow you whole in one bite - 

“You’re dreaming of me again,” he whispers. “I don’t know if you mean to be dreaming of me, like this.” 

You startle, realizing this isn’t real, and the illusion fades. 

-

Twilight skies stretch above you. It’s warm outside, but the night air is cool against your skin, making you shiver as you sit down, folding your legs criss-cross. 

“Are you cold?” Yoongi asks, sitting down on the soft grass next to you. You shake your head, eyes fixed on the low table in front of you that's filled with platters of meats, cheeses and crackers. You eye a glass bottle of red liquid that you think is wine, mouth watering. “Are you sure?”

“Promise, the wind feels nice.” 

He looks doubtful as he sits down next to you, a healthy amount of space between you. 

Tonight, Yoongi has insisted on a late night snack outside under the stars. He seems eager, verging on giddy as he glances up at the sky before reaching for the bottle of red liquid and popping the cork. 

After nearly two weeks in the House of Dreams, you’ve learned that this world is forever twilight, lit up by dreams. Here, day and night don’t exist in their truest forms. There are always millions of people and creatures dreaming at every moment of existence, not limiting Yoongi’s world and power to times of day and night. 

The twilight is beautiful. You’ve grown accustomed to the purple tint to the world, the way that it gets just the barest bit darker outside during certain periods, as though even in a world where night and day don’t exist, there are still two separate halves of time. 

Yoongi passes you a glass. You bring it to your nose and sniff, delighted at the scent of cherries and something else. It’s certainly wine, though you wait for him to pour himself a glass to sip any. 

Earrings dangle in Yoongi’s ears tonight. Each lobe has a small, thin chain with a moon charm on the end that’s studded with sapphires, catching the moonlight as he sets down the bottle and sits back. His hair is pulled half-up, half-down again, leaving his full face in view as he looks at you and gives you a gummy grin that scatters your thoughts. 

“Chaos is moving through the sky tonight,” Yoongi informs you, glancing upward. “When she does, she’s beautiful to see. She doesn’t do it that often, but she’s passing us by on her way to do whatever it is she does somewhere. I wanted you to see.” 

He holds out his drink and you grip yours tight, raising your glass to clink with his like you’ve seen people do at the inn in your village. He turns away from you, bringing his wine to his lips to sip. You follow suit, tentatively tilting your glass.

Sweet cherries bloom on your tongue and you hum in delight. It isn’t just cherries you taste, though. There’s a lush sweetness too, edged with spice, filling your mouth with warmth. You look at Yoongi as you sip and see him watching with a closed-lipped smile, eyes searching your face.

“You like it?” 

You nod and set the glass down. “It’s delicious.” 

“You like sweet things.” 

“And you like salty.” He raises a brow in question. “You’re always going for the salted meats at dinner. And you have salted pork right there,” you point to the meat and cheeseboards. “Do gods get dehydrated?”

“We do not. I didn’t realize you were paying so much attention.” You shrug, picking up your wine to take small sips again. “Anything else you’ve noticed?” 

Everything, you want to say and don’t. You’ve noticed so many things about Yoongi, all of them coming to mind at once. But you don’t want to reveal just how much you’ve watched him over the last two weeks, paying far more attention than is proper. 

You could tell Yoongi how you’ve noticed that he wears seven necklaces exactly, each with a different symbol charm on them that you think corresponds to the seven Eternals. You could tell him that he has the habit of closing his eyes and tilting his face upward, like he’s absorbing moonlight. You know all of his favorite breakfast items, specifically crispy bacon and sugared strawberries. 

And there are other things you could tell him, like in your dreams his lips are soft as sin, his voice low and sultry. You could admit that most nights you feel his grip on your waist and that when you study his hands during your lessons, you can’t help but already know the shape of them. 

Perhaps two weeks back in your village is exactly what you need to get the ridiculous fantasy of this eternal being from your head. You don’t think you could bear the shame of him knowing exactly what living in the in-between realm has done for your imagination in a very unexpected way. 

“You like bacon,” you offer as an answer. “And sugared strawberries. In the evening, whiskey is your favorite. It smells a little bit like honey, but still spicy. And you must work in the dream tower often at night, because the door to the tower smells like clove and cinnamon and you always smell that way.”

Yoongi’s brows shoot up. You hide your expression with your glass of wine, taking a long draught. It hums in your veins, warm and rushing like nothing you’ve ever felt before. When you lower the glass, Yoongi watches you with an intense expression. You meet his gaze, suddenly unable to look away. 

The air feels charged as you stare. His eyes dip down to your mouth a single time, then back up to your eyes. The breeze moves strands of his hair and you smell the hint of clove followed by cinnamon, just as you always do when he’s near. Your heart starts to staccato as the silence presses on. 

A little shriek cuts through the tension like a knife. You flinch and turn around, looking at a red blur of movement burst from the wisteria trees. Tiera lands with a squawk, the fey dragon huffing as grey smoke curls from her lungs. She ignores you entirely as she normally does and skips over to where Yoongi is sitting before she settles next to him, curling like a cat and laying on her tail.

Yoongi laughs. “Hello, Tiera.” The dragon chuffs and lets out another puff of smoke. “Are you not going to say hello to our friend?” 

When the dragon pays no attention to you, you roll your eyes. “She hates me.”

“Dragons are capricious. She’s been with me for over a hundred years.”

“Not very mature then, is she?”

He chuckles again as you pluck cheese from the platter and pop it into your mouth. You’re delighted to find it’s soft and garlicky with a hint of rosemary as well. “She is still a child in dragon years.” 

“And you let her be a glutton.” 

“You could be too.” Your chewing slows and you swallow the cheese hard. You wait to see if he’s teasing you, but Yoongi watches you with a placid expression. “Dreams and desires are intertwined, you know. Desires come from dreams. It is in my nature to be indulgent.” 

“I’ve never really been indulgent in my life.”

“Do you want to be?”

“What?”

His mouth twitches. “Indulgent.”

“I think this is indulgent,” you gesture to the food. “And you’re teaching me to read and write. That is more indulgence than I could ever dream of.”

He hums and it sounds like disapproval. “I think your dreams are far more indulgent than that.” 

He knows. You think he’s going to say something, to ask about the way you dream of him. Instead, he says, “When you return, we’ll work on your indulgence. There is no shame in wanting things, you know?” 

“I don’t know. How could I?”

Light flashes above your head. You break eye contact with him to look up and gasp. The sky is full of shooting stars, hundreds of them, maybe thousands. The world lights up as you see rainbows streaking across the sky, bursts of colors and explosions of brilliance shooting through the sky. 

Your mouth hangs open as you watch, mystified into silence. You’re sure this is what Yoongi meant when he said Chaos was passing by, for the sky becomes a cacophony of color and stars and light. You blink your eyes, stunned by the display. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, your heart hammering with excitement as you watch it, legs crossed, head tilted up.

The stars begin to slow and there are less bursts of color, until finally, there is just a shimmering wake of stardust and pink simmering in the sky. You look at Yoongi, utterly speechless, to find him looking at you. His eyes reflect the night sky, full of constellations and stardust, glittering in the dark depths of his irises. 

Yoongi’s eyes are as wonderful as the display above, but you don’t say that. 

“That was beautiful,” you breathe. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His eyes don’t leave you when he hums softly in agreement. “It was.” 

Tiera shuffles next to Yoongi, drawing your attention. She snakes her long neck out, tongue tasting the air as she eyes the meat on the table. Yoongi hisses at her and taps her nose in chastisement, earning an angry croak as the dragon shuffles back to her napping position. 

The rest of your evening is spent snacking in companionable silence. Yoongi doesn’t talk much unless he’s answering your hundreds of questions, but tonight, you have none. You’re comfortable to just look at the world around you, the wisteria branches dancing in the breeze. 

In the distance, you hear thunder. Your eyes follow the sound to the same dark peak with lightning crackling through the mist. You’ve yet to ask Yoongi about that peak in particular, but you think you know what looms there. You remember Yoongi talking about how there are nightmares in this realm too, and you’re not eager to ask what that thunderous mountain holds. 

Yoongi doesn’t divulge, either. He watches you as you regard the peak and says nothing. Perhaps even the Eternal of dreams is hesitant to speak of that place, which is a good enough reason for you not to press him further on it. 

When your stomach is full and you’ve had another glass of wine, you lay back in the grass. Your limbs feel heavy with drink and your world is tilted on a slow-rotating axis. The buzz in your veins feels pleasant, though your thoughts are a little sticky like honey and they run together, untamed. 

Careful to keep his distance, Yoongi lays back in the grass with you. His face looks up at the sky, but you look at him. His features are so delicate and soft, nose and cheeks so round. His face don’t make sense in your head, so severe and terrifying yet gentle and innocent at the same time. 

“You’re staring,” he says eventually. 

“I’m indulging,” you tease back, loosened up by wine. “You said I can indulge, so let me stare.”

“What is there to indulge in?” 

“Your… earrings.” 

That makes him look at you, a brow quirked. “My earrings.”

“Yes. Very shiny. Very dangly.”

“Shiny and dangly?”

“Is there an echo out here?” you demand, frowning at him. “Yes, I am indulging in your jewelry!” 

“Would you like some earrings?”

“My ears aren’t pierced.”

“Well then we’ll pierce them.”

“Well,” you grump. “Don’t you have the answer for everything?”

He smiles then, that rare gummy smile that makes you shut right up. “I told you. I’m indulgent. Anything you want, all you need is to ask.” 

Rolling your eyes, you bite your lip to hide your smile at his words. It is insane to you that this ancient being is laying in the grass next to you telling you to only ask what you want. You don’t know what you want, but you do know that this feels like a dream. That you’re not really here, and that you’re going to wake up tomorrow and be in your bed at home. 

Dread fills you at the thought of going back to your parents. In a way, you want to see them. They’re your parents and there is… unfamiliarity without the sound of your mothers needle stitching through cloth. You could do without your father entirely. The rage inside of you when you picture his face is difficult to quell and is often followed by terror. 

Yoongi has told you that you will be safe when you return. You believe him. There is no reason not to. But more than anything, you’re terrified about what comes next. Living between two worlds is something you remember dreaming about that one day in the forest, looking at the way the world was reflected back on the mirror-calm surface of the water. 

Now that you have access to two worlds, you don’t know what to do with the other that has brought you nothing but suffering. And yet, you still want to see what is there. You’re not ready to leave it entirely without knowing. 

“Are you afraid to go back?” 

Yoongi’s question is soft. You don’t hesitate to answer, “Yes.” 

“You won’t be alone. All you have to do is dream of me, and I will come.”

You hesitate then ask, “Do you know any time someone dreams of you?”

“It’s like hearing someone call my name, but I never answer. My business is in creating dreams, not invading them. People like you are able to spin up dreams on your own without my assistance. I help those who cannot.” 

“That sounds like a lovely job.”

He hums. “It’s not without its stresses. I talk a lot about the nature of dreams, but there is more to me and to my job than that. Perhaps we will leave that for your next visit, yes?”

You nod. “Okay.” 

“Come on,” Yoongi sighs, heaving himself upward. “It is late and in the morning, you must return.” 

-

“Touch me,” you beg him, straddling Yoongi’s lap. His head rests against the back of the couch and he looks up at you as you run your fingers through his hair. It’s softer than you imagined, sliding like silk between your fingers. “You told me to ask for what I wanted. Touch me.”

“Anything,” Yoongi agrees. His hands skim up your thighs, warm and rough. He squeezes your flesh, making you moan as his hands continue their worship. Yoongi grips your hips tightly, kneading your flesh as he pulls you closer to him. “Anything. Everything. For you.”

-

When you wake up, you’re confused. The roof above your head is wood and thatch. The mattress beneath you is thin and lumpy, sweat sticking the sheets to your legs. Rolling over, your vision blurs until it comes into focus once more, revealing a tiny room with just a bed, a wardrobe and a closed door. 

Your  room. Well, your room in your parents’ house, you realize with a panic. 

You shoot up in bed as terror claws at you. Did you dream it all? Was it not real? Nothing in your room has changed and the windows are open to the cool air. Grey clouds drift in the sky and you can smell the petrichor of oncoming rain in the distance. 

Rushing to your bedroom door, you rip it open, your heart threatening to burst with how hard it’s beating. You don’t know what you’re looking for or what you expect to find, but the idea that you have just woken up from the most vivid, wonderful dream is so maddening that you need anything to tell you it was real. That it wasn’t in your head.

Your mother is sitting at the kitchen table stitching. She looks up when she hears you. She looks different, leaner and narrower than you ever remember, her greasy hair tied low at her neck. Her hands pause their stitching as she stares at you, stricken. 

“What day is it?” you ask her. The day you had been attacked had been a seventh day. You remember that clearly. “Tell me what day it is!”

Instead, your mother screams in sheer terror. 

Masterlist | Ask | Playlist | Series Masterlist | Tag Lists | Next Chapter

#yoongi fanfic #min yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #suga fanfic #suga bts #yoongi series #suga smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #minors dni #minors do not interact

[ahedderick]

Little Monsters

Little Monsters everywhere!

I bought this fabric from @pterribledinosaurdrawings designs (but I cannot for the life of me remember the name of the website) quite a while back. I made the green design into a dress for my little niece last spring, and saved the rainbow monsters for this year.

Small dresses are so quick to sew up compared to adult-sized ones!

#fabric #patterns #sewing #sewblr #kids clothes #toddler #kids

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

REWATCHING GO S1, LIVE PLAY-BY-PLAY OF DOOMSDAY WAHOO

HELLO MAGGOTS REWATCHING SEASON 1 BECAUSE THE FIRST TIME WAS A KIDNAPPING CHAOTIC MESS. EPISODE ONE HERE GOES. I DON'T REMEMBER A LOT OF DETAILS BUT YES.

Opening scene and Earth's got vibe-checked by God and I've been gaslit about the dinosaurs

GARDEN OF EDEEEEEN wow his first appearance and Aziraphale's already so prissy and flustered might fuck around and fall in love with him idk

I finally understand who these mf's are hi Hastur and Ligur you're not zombies after all

FOR FUCK'S SAKE SECOND SCENE CROWLEY'S BEEN IN AND SHE WALKED IN, SERVED HIPS HAIR AND CUNT, AND THEN MANAGED TO TALK HER AWAY INTO A PROBLEM

LIKE GENUINELY SHE COMES AND SASHAYS WITH HER HAIR AND SAYS TIMES ARE CHANGING AND HEAD OFFICE LOVES ME AND JUST INSTANTLY HASTUR AND LIGUR USE HER WORDS AGAINST HER

idk sister mary loquacious is kinda doing it for me rn with that satanic nun's habit and losergirl energy

third crowley scene and he's misplaced THE LITERALLY GODDAMNED ANTICHRIST because he made small talk with a bloke outside without checking for details

mmmmhm yes sister mary wink again your bitchless decisions are sexy y'know what i mean

Gabriel feels like his brain was eviscerated and replaced with one of those youtuber's paid course promos at the end of their how to change your life in 45 days: three simple mindset shifts video

so THIS IS WHY EVERYONE KEEPS SAYING PAVLOVIAN IN THIS FANDOM IT'S BECAUSE OF DUCKS of course it's because of ducks

mmmhm yes sure crepes French revolu--Crowley stop eye-fucking Aziraphale you're making everyone at the Ritz horny

Aziraphale don't moan into your food man you can't take these two anywhere

Crowley thanking the driver for slowing down is everything to me

And they're drunk hu-fucking-zzah good thing we'll have 11 year olds saving the world coz these fuckers sure ain't doing shit

OH MY GOD HE WAS TRYING TO SAY BOUILLABAISSE I JUST REALISED. I THOUGHT HE WAS JUST MAKING KISSY FACES AT AZIRAPHALE I'M NOT OK-

What Aziraphale was doing back was definitely kissy faces though that mfer wasn't even trying to say bouillabaisse when Crowley said what sounded suspiciously like baby

kissy kissy from lil miss prissy [i would have made such a great high school bully shame i had no inclinations that way]

SORRY WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK WAS THAT SOBERING UP EXCUSE ME THE FANFICS MADE IT SOUND LIKE IT WAS A CLICK AND THEY'RE SUDDENLY NORMAL WHY IS THE ALCOHOL REFILLING

oop nun down nun down

i want ya see a wile ya thwart amirite on a t-shirt

"actually i encourage humans to-" just say you're a lazy bitch azi we love you

love crowley fake-manipulating azi into helping like azi wants to be manipulated y'know so it's not technically his fault he was wiled over or whatever and they're both just such ENABLERS

not azi going SOFT at being godfathers with crowley

NOT BROTHER FRANCIS PLEASE NO FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS SACRED AZI WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS PLEASE

WARLOCKKKKK I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

HNNNG MICHAEL SHEEN HAD TOO MUCH FUN WITH THIS

why is nanny ashtoreth so seductive with that of course dear is it just crowley's inherent disastergirl sex appeal

HALF PONYTAIL CROWLEY I AM A FUCKING SLUT FOR HALF PONYTAIL

GASLIGHTING HEAVEN AND HELL THAT'S MY BABYGIRLS

erIC THE DISPOSABLE DEMON I DIDN'T KNOW THEY COME IN S1 well not come i hope unless being eaten by a hellho--nope

ANGEL CROWLEY SAID ANGEL ANGEL ANGEL

CROWLEY TRYING TO BE SUBTLE ABOUT KILLING BEFORE GETTING ANNOYED

waiter crOWLEY OUTFIT I CANNOT BE NORMAL AFTER THE WEDDING DRESS DESIGNING ABOUT THIS COSTUME

FOOLS WRONG BOY YOU FOOLS IM DEAD

DOG IS UNIRONICALLY SO CUTE EVEN BEFORE IT GOES SMOL

gonna give my roxie a kissy brb she's my angel and all this dog talk makes me miss her (she's a few feet away under the bed)

i asked her for a kissy and she crawled out and gave me a kiss i love her

DOGGGGG ADAMMM

...roxie's crying to be taken downstairs it's nearly 2 am this is on me for waking her up i crowley'd myself fml

EYYYYY WELCOME TO THE END TIMES don't mind me I'll have to take roxie down yes I know maggots I'm crowley-coded I KNOW THAT I'M A BLOODY DISASTER BYEEEEEEEE

#good omens mascot #good omens #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #maggots #good omens fandom #good omens season 1 #in the beginning #WAHOO #OK GTG TAKE MY DOG DOWNSTAIRS AT 1:45 IN THE MORNING #THE CROWLEY LIFE #IT'S HARD WORK BEING THE RESIDENT DISASTER #BUT SOMEONE'S GOTTA DO IT

[dogsayswoof]

Hounds From Hell Chapter 2

Summary: Football game, afterparty, and an unexpected development in your friendship with Wednesday

Word Count: 1.9k Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Hounds from Hell Masterlist)

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Wednesday could not believe that you or Enid was able to get her to attend such a trivial extracurricular event. As she sat in the crowd with her friends watching you move with such athletic grace, scrambling out of the pocket to launch a deep pass to your counterpart on a wide-open look. 

The crowd went wild as Benton caught the ball making a mad dash to the end zone, orange jerseys chasing after his purple figure. Your entire pack, except Elizabeth, and a few other athletic guys who wanted to join were on the team. Explaining the unspoken chemistry you had on the field. 

Enid was next to her, her face decorated with purple and black designs in cheery support for the school's pride and joy. Next to her was Ajax, who had dressed up in support of his girlfriend, followed by Yoko, Bianca, Xavier, Divina, and Kent. On the other side of Wednesday a smiling Eugene, who was just glad to have been invited to the event. 

"Oh come on, he was so close" yelled Enid as they watched Benton get slammed to the ground.

Wednesday was watching your tall figure jog up the field with the others in order to set up for the next play. While you intelligence for chemistry was lacking, your athletic IQ was superior to all. You were able to read the field within a second and make a decision. Your innate ability for strategy was heavily noted by the young goth girl.

"Wednesday, I was surprised to see you at an event like this, I thought it was a waste of time?" asked Bianca.

"It was of a friend's utmost importance that I attended." she said eyes not leaving you.

"Yeah friend" said Enid giving Wednesday a small nudge and a wiggle of her eyebrows.

"Touch me again and I promise you, I will break every individual bone in your arm" Wednesday said turning towards her a scowl plain across her face.

"What are you hiding from us Addams" said a smug Bianca and Wednesday's gaze shifted to her.

"I have nothing to hide, I am an open book." 

"Yeah, that's why you've been having study sessions with Y/N" said Enid before jumping up and screaming as you threw a touchdown pass to George. 

"You've been seeing Y/N??   Y/N   Y/L/N????" exclaimed Xavier and Wednesday nodded.

"She cannot pass chemistry to save her life and I simply offered my assistance"

"Damn Wednesday, I did not think that you had that in you... Y/N huh"

Wednesday turned back to face the game again watching as the boys celebrated at the score.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the game was over the last thing Wednesday expected was for you to interact with her. Your team was happy, coach was elated, and as her and her friends got up to leave the bleachers she heard her name being called.

"Wednesday!" you yelled jogging over to the side of the field her friends had been sitting.

You leaned on the railing looking up to where they were at.

"Wednesday, thank you so much. I wouldn't of been able to play without you." you said grinning up at her.

"It was a tortuous task but we did it anyways" she said and you stared at her for a second before noticing the smirks on her friends faces.

"Hey everyone" you said with the dopiest smile on your face and a small wave.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked and you opened your mouth but before you could say anything Bianca cut you off.

"The sirens are hosting a party tonight to celebrate your win. I better see you and your team there" she said and you nodded.

"Yeah of course, couldn't miss a party" you said and you heard your name being yelled, "Well I should go shower up, but we'll definitely be there" you said winking at Bianca. 

Wednesday felt a pang of jealousy, a similar feeling to spiders in her chest, at your small interaction with Bianca. She bit back the scowl that threatened to spread across her face at the risk of you thinking it was for you.

"See you guys later!" you said back peddling, "Wednesday.." 

The shift in your tone when she said your name sent her stomach flipping. 

"You're definitely going too" said Bianca with a finger in Wednesday's chest.

What have you done to her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were fighting with yourself and you were drunk. On one hand you definitely had feelings for Wednesday. The one on one time you had got to spend with her was.. enlightening to say the least. You had found yourself shredding back the layers behind the short dark girl, learning more about her than anyone else besides Enid and her family ever has. 

On the other hand you knew that she distained physical affection and emotional attachment. She would never let you in no matter how hard you tried. Maybe it would be better to just detach yourself before you got hurt. You could have anyone you wanted at this school except for the girl YOU wanted.

Sighing you threw back another shot of whatever the sirens had managed to sneak onto campus, in an attempt to calm your thinking. There were girls of all kind throwing themselves onto you and you entertained their attempts to flirt as you sipped your drink, though the image of the goth engrained at the back of your mind.

"Y/N" yelled a voice and you looked over to recognize Enid bouncing in, Wednesday trailing behind.

"Oh good, you made it" cheered Bianca over the loud music.

Quickly embracing Enid, she leaned in to Wednesday and whispered,

"Girls have been throwing themselves onto her all night. If you want her, you need to make a claim." she pulled back and disappeared into the mass of bodies.

Enid and you were talking as you made her a drink, chugging yours and making another.

"You want a drink?" you slurred at Wednesday and she nodded.

You made her a drink too, and handed it to her. She sipped it lightly and proceeded to put it down.

"I enjoyed your sporting event more than I thought I would" she said shortly and you had a small smile.

"I'm glad" you sipped your drink again scanning the room, "You want to meet my friends?"

"Sure"

You lead her through the crowd towards where your pack was standing.

"Guys, this is Wednesday Addams" you said gesturing to her, "Wednesday this is George and Elizabeth"

You pointed to the two white haired siblings. They had shimmering blue eyes and pale skin. Almost ghost like, Wednesday noted. Must be the soulhounds. They had small smiles and quietly said hello.

"And this is Atwell and Benton" you said at the two black haired kids. Benton was smiling wide, extremely friendly. 

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance ma'am" he said in his country accent and pretending to tip his hat at you.

"Hey" said Atwell, his accent not as thick.

"They're real country hicks" you laughed rubbing Atwells hair while he smiled sheepishly.

"It is a pleasure to make all of your acquaintances" Wednesday said politely.

One of the girls from earlier walked over and she grabbed onto your arm. Latching on to you and looking up at you with hearts in her eyes. It made Wednesday sick to her stomach.

"Y/N, come take a shot with us, to celebrate. Bianca said you would love to" she said in cheery sing-song-y voice.

Mental note: Make sure to murder Bianca   thought Wednesday.

"I'll be right back" you said being led away.

Except you weren't right back. At all. And Wednesday had lost tabs on you. She thought maybe that girl had taken you away to her dorm and you'd come walking around on campus with her attached at the hip tomorrow so she found Enid.

"I think I have had enough of this social interaction for the month" she said and Enid pouted.

"C'mon Wednesday, it's fun" she said throwing back another shot.

"I'm going back to our dorm, but you should stay and have your fun" she said heading for the door.

Wednesday had not had anything to drink besides the small sip she had when you had handed her the cup of foul liquid. The walk back was painful. She had tried to suppress her feelings for you chalking it up to nothing but teenage hormones, and she refused to prove her parents right. But the feeling she had when that girl looked at you dragging you away, was undeniable.

Wednesday Addams was jealous. 

She sat on her typewriter in an attempt to distract herself but she kept typing mistake after mistake having to crumble up the paper and toss it into the bin which was overflowing.

You are the reason. You infiltrated her mind and-

There was loud knocks on her door.

She chose to ignore them but they began to get louder and more frequent. She got up in a huff and swung the door open causing you on the other side to half stumble into her room.

"Hello Wed-nes-day" you slurred and she did nothing but stare at you.

"Why are you here?" she said coldly as you swayed on your feet in front of her.

"Because you disappeared" you said with a frown on your face.

"You're drunk" she stated and you nodded a dopey smile replacing the frown as you looked down into her onyx eyes.

"You're pretty"

Wednesday felt the spiders in her stomach and her breath catch as she processed what you said.

"Say that again and I'll cut your tongue out and feed it to the crows"

"Yeah.. oooookay" you chuckled and she crossed her arms at you.

You half walked - half stumbled around her room some more and she followed behind you.

"I'm serious Y/N"

"I am too" 

"You are one of the most frustrating and incessant people I have ever met" she said and you stepped closer to her slowly closing the distance.

"Oh yeah?" you said standing right in front of her, her arms still crossed.

"Yes. You are bothersome and aggravating and-" 

She was cut off by your lips. You were soft, a lot more softer than she imagined. Not that she had imagined kissing you before. Your lips were gone quicker than they appeared and you were standing in front of her. You cheeks stained red and the smile gone as your drunk state realized what you had done.

You both stood there breathing cautiously. Moments passing between you, tension palpable. Unspoken words shared before she grabbed your collar and pulled you back in.

Your hands grasped her waist pulling you close to you. You both moved back until you hit her desk in which you lifted her up and sat her on it. Allowing you to lean further into her. Your kisses were full of passion and unspoken desire building from your last few weeks together. 

Her hands wrapped around to your neck scratching it lightly as your lips moved to her neck. Softly kissing the skin that you ached to explore. Her shaking breathing as you left little bites before soothing them with a soft kiss on each, caused you to smirk into her skin before you kissed her once more.

You pulled away and stepped back as you saw her vulnerable sitting on the edge of the desk.

"I'm sorry" you said quietly and you admired the purple marks you left along her neck. You ran your hands through your hair before lying down on Enid's bed.

"Don't apologize. There is no need" she said hopping down from the desk and straightening her typewriter and smoothing her uniform.

When she turned back around to you, she heard the soft snores and saw you asleep strung out among the colorful sheets below.

Oh she was so fucked...

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #addams x reader #hellhound!reader x wednesday addams

[w1ldthoughts]

The Forgotten One Chapter One: Cheers to Four Years

Pairing: CEO!Jack Harlow x Amnesiac!Reader

A/n: First chapter of The Forgotten One Series! So excited to do my first Jack Harlow AU. It’ll be emotional and stressful but hopefully you all enjoy it!

Warnings: car accident description, hospital stay and description of injuries.

When your alarm sounded that morning, you were ready to go. There was so much to do today with so little time to get it all done. With a mental list in mind, you tried to sit up in bed to grab your phone and type it all out but a heavy weight pulled you right back down to reality.

“Don’t know where you’re about to go without a good morning kiss or anything? On our anniversary no less? My god.” Jack whines, pressing his lips to your bare shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you laughed. “Happy anniversary baby, you’re the love of my life.”

“That’s better isn’t it?”

The man’s smile says it all. He pulls you further into his arms, allowing your upper body to rest on top of him. “This—this is better.”

“Ever since you moved in, I think I’ve slept a lot better. Having this be our home instead of just mine has brought me so much peace. You bring me peace. Happy anniversary y/n.”

The kiss started off slow, lips lightly brushing together and filled with anticipation. Jack’s hands roamed your body, his hands finding purchase on the small of your back. He drew small circles against the sheet that was still covering your body, deepening the kiss. “We should skip work today, spend some quality time celebrating. Four years is a pretty big deal, you know?”

“It is a big deal but I have a big meeting at work today that I absolutely cannot miss. So I gotta go before I’m late. You and I both know my boss is all about us being 15 minutes early or we’re late while he shows up whenever he wants.” You tell him with a giggle, poking his nose.

He watches you get up from the bed and huffs out a breath, looking miserable. “So you’ll leave your boyfriend in bed who loves you so much to go see your terrible boss?”

“Yes, yes I am. Because this is my dream job and on the bright side he’s very sexy. So at least I’ll have something to look at.” After getting ready, you give him one last peck on the lips and tell him you have a gift for him tonight after dinner.

Pulling into your parking spot at Churchill Downs Inc. will never get old. The company was a foundational part of the state of Kentucky and you were lucky enough to get a small HR position out of college and steadily worked your way up to Director of Operations. Another girl who started at the company at the same time you did had climbed the ladder with you along the way and without Cleo’s support and encouragement during some very trying times, there was no way you’d be where you are today.

After swiping your company ID, you took the elevator up to your office on the 13th floor, welcomed by your assistant Ben who held your favorite coffee in his right hand and an overview of who would be attending the meeting in his left. Cleo came in a few minutes later to give a numbers update for you to present to the board, and to make lunch plans.

“I’m probably gonna order us some Proof on Main because I’m not leaving here until 8 tonight. Need to meet with Elijah down in accounting to make sure we’re on track and he’s been kind of hard to track down so I’ll be here for a while.” Cleo sits down on the couch in the corner of the room. She claims it’s her designated spot. “What time are you and Jack going to dinner?”

“Reservations are for 6:30 I think. So I’ll probably head out around 4:45.”

“I seriously cannot believe you guys have been together for four years,” she laughs. “Do you remember when we—“

“We don’t have to talk about the dark ages. Not when we had cubicles by the bathrooms and packed tuna sandwiches for lunch because we had to save our money to pay bills.” A shiver went down your spine at the thought of living paycheck to paycheck while having to dress up for various fundraisers and galas on a very small budget.

“Those were the days. Wouldn’t want to spend my nights watching ‘Good Girls’ and eating ramen on the couch with anyone else. I love you and I’m really glad we get to do this together every day.” Cleo states proudly, wiping a fake tear from her eye.

You stood up from your seat to grab her hand in agreement. “I love you too. And I will see you in 30 after my meeting. Wish me luck.”

“Please, you don’t need luck. You run this shit.”

Walking into a board room to speak in front of a group of men lit a fire under you that was hard to explain. Yes, Cathy and Rachel were on the board as well but they had probably been sitting in these meetings since you were in middle school. You walked around to the front of the board room and handed out the information sheets, giving everyone access to the numbers you’d be referencing and where they came from in case there were any questions. The entire board was in attendance, except your boss. Of course he’d demand that everyone be early and he was nowhere to be found. After giving it five minutes to see if he’d show up, you began to speak.

“Okay so I’m going to keep it short and just go over some big picture things for you all so everyone is on the same page regarding the schedule. We have racetrack inspections starting Wednesday and the repair crew will come in some time after to give a final ‘all clear’ and—“

The door opens and he walks in wearing a beige knitted top with olive green pants and brown New Balance 550s. How wonderful it must feel to be a modern day CEO. And comfortable. He simply sat down at the opposite end of you and was immediately handed all the necessary paperwork to catch up.

“As I was saying, we’re starting the newest season in the fall. Sports books open back up in six weeks which means that we need to beat out the numbers from last quarter. You all know that we had record breaking numbers in both wagers at $796 million and profit, which was at $319 million. From where we’re at today this quarter’s target numbers are $803 million in wagers and $360 million in profit.” You looked to the table at the impressed faces staring back at you, feeling proud. There was a very limited number of questions and the meeting was adjourned, everyone heading back to their respective offices, except for your boss who stayed behind as you grabbed your stuff.

“What could you possibly have been doing to show up to this meeting 12 minutes late?” You questioned him as he scrolled through his phone, very unmoved by your annoyed tone of voice.

“I’m sorry,” he put his phone down and stood up, placing his hands on your shoulders, making you relax a bit. “My girlfriend and I have pretty big plans tonight and I just had to make sure that Sadie cleared my schedule. You know she forgets things sometimes.”

You scoff, feeling tension in your shoulders again. “That’s because she wants to fuck you. So badly. Everyone knows that.”

“Well sometimes good things happen when you have sex with your boss. Like a four year, extremely stable, healthy and sexy relationship? Best thing that ever happened to you?” Jack beams, kissing your forehead.

“Hm, I guess life with you isn’t so bad, boss.”

“Hey enough with the dirty talk y/n. We’re on the clock.” He states, walking in front of you, getting ready to open the door.

“I literally didn’t say anything remotely sexual.”

He stops right as his hand touches the door handle, turning around to face you. His ocean eyes filled with pure adoration. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know I want you, all the fucking time.”

“Good thing you have me all to yourself then, huh?”

Your boyfriend gives you a knowing look, “I can’t wait to show you tonight how grateful I am to get to be with you.” He pecks your cheek and fully opens the door, heading back up to his office.

Before you knew it, 5pm hit and it was time to head home and get ready for dinner. You opted for a black leather miniskirt, a black top with an olive green trench coat and boots. Jack was leaning on the kitchen counter, typing away on his laptop clad in an all black outfit. Of course. After showering you with compliments and sneaking in a few cheeky kisses, it was time to leave.

The two of you headed off to the restaurant and were immediately seated in a private section for some much needed peace and quiet. He never really drank but for this occasion, he ordered two glasses of their most expensive wine.

“Cheers to us. Four years down, the best time of my life.” Jack declared, a light clink of your glasses hitting each other the only other sound in the room. “Here’s to so many more adventures together. I love you so much, baby.”

“I love you too. Cheers bubs.”

He laughs, shaking his head at the nickname that secretly made his stomach tingle. “So…gifts. I know we said we wouldn’t make a big deal out of it this year but I feel like we’ve been working so hard and haven’t actually gotten to spend time with each other for more than a day outside of work in the last few months…”

“Jackman, what did you do?” You mused.

“We’re going to the Maldives in two weeks. Just you and me and a California king bed overlooking the second most beautiful view I’ve ever seen. The first is you being naked if I wasn’t making myself clear.”

“No, I got it.” You reassure him with a giggle. This was really the man you chose out of all others in this world. “And I think it’s a great idea. Thank you my love.”

“Anything for you, pooks.”

Now it was your turn. “I’ve literally been looking for something to get you for months because what the hell do you get someone who already has everything they could possibly want? And I figured it out. You’re always in the office until late and I miss you. So I got an upgrade for your home office and it’s being set-up as we speak. It's a noise canceling Livit Studypod so you won’t have to physically be in your office to get that quiet feel you need when you’re trying to focus. That way I can just be downstairs if you need a break or whatever.”

“That is actually perfect, you’re a fucking genius.”

“I know.” You respond, taking a bite of your food. “It’s why you fell in love with me, even if I didn’t like you. Not even a little.”

Jack sighs, thinking back to a time that felt like centuries ago. “And now look at you. Can’t get enough of me.”

“If that’s what you tell yourself so you can sleep better at night then I’m gonna let you have it.”

On the way home, you and Jack were belting out “Candy Girl” by New Edition. He remembered going straight right after the light turned green. Everything happened so quickly after that, but also the world seemed to be going in slow motion. The other car must have been going at least 60 mph when it hit the passengers side. There was glass…everywhere. His all black Aston Martin DBX spun eight times before smashing into the median, leaving behind an overwhelming smell of burned rubber and gas. Bystanders watched in horror as the Prince of Kentucky and his longtime girlfriend were pulled out of the totaled car, placed on stretchers and heaved onto different ambulances. The scene looked catastrophic and all anyone could do was pray and hope for the best.

Two days went by. Two days full of national news coverage about the young CEO of Churchill Downs Inc. and the accident. The man who hit them walked away with a few bruises on his face and a broken nose from the airbag as well as getting arrested for driving under the influence. The only sounds that could be heard in Jack’s hospital room was the steady beep of the machines and his dad Brian’s soft snores. It was the first time in 37 hours that he’d actually slept. His mom was sitting next to the bed, nursing her ninth cup of coffee in the last day.

The first thing he felt when he woke up was the searing pain in his left shoulder. Then the fact that his lips were chapped and he was in desperate need of some water. He blinked his eyes open and attempted a deep breath, groaning at the painful sensation that resonated throughout his entire body.

“Jack? Sweetie, hi.” Maggie whispered, tears escaping the exact same blue eyes that were now staring back at her. “You’re awake. How—” she blew out a breath that she’d been holding since she arrived at Norton Hospital. “How are you feeling? Are you in any pain? I can—I can call someone to give you more meds or—”

“I’m fine, mom.” He rasps out his voice hoarse from lack of use. “How’s y/n? I need to see her. Where is she?” Jack mutters, getting himself ready to stand up from his bed. His dad and Clay pop up immediately, broken out of their sleepy daze to ease him back down.

“You can’t go anywhere bro.” Clay tells him. “You broke your collarbone, a grade two concussion and got a pretty nasty cut on your shoulder.”

His dad places a comforting hand on his good shoulder, “just take it easy son. She’s just next door and we’ll take you to her when you’ve got a little more energy.”

“Fine.” Jack scoffs, feeling too tired to argue. “Is she okay at least? Can you tell me anything?” The trio exchange looks that make him feel like they’re preparing him for the worst. “Somebody please tell me. I can—I can handle it.” He whispers, trying to settle his breaths. And even though everyone in the room knew that he definitely would not be able to handle it, they had to tell him.

Maggie sat at the side of the bed and placed a hand on her son’s leg. “Honey, she’s not awake yet. And it’s not looking good. The—impact of the crash caused some swelling in her brain and they had to put her in a medically induced coma. They’re still running tests but she,” his mom pauses at the look in her son’s eyes. It was like the light had gone out in them and the more she spoke, the more despondent he looked. “You should probably get some more rest. We’ll grab you some water and food so you can get your strength back? How does that sound?”

He didn’t respond, just gave her a simple nod and reclined the bed back a little so that he could lay down more comfortably, even with his injuries. The thought of you sitting there helpless and in pain was ten times as painful as his collarbone or anything he was experiencing. His family stepped outside and he knew they were whispering about him but all he could hear was the consistent dripping sound of his tears onto the pillow under his head.

Taglist

@killatravtramp

@jackharloww

#jack harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow angst #jackman thomas harlow #jack harlow au

[harveyguilleniconodelamoda]

Thoughts on Fashion & Style from Harvey's Instagram Live with Samantha Rei Crossland

Last night, Harvey Guillén joined fashion designer Samantha Rei Crossland for a chat on Instagram Live to talk about life, style, the entertainment industry, and to answer some fan questions! The full video may be available via Harvey or Samantha's IG eventually, as they saved it at the end, but in the meantime I've compiled some of the questions and answers related to Harvey's relationship with fashion and style here!

This text is taken from the video and has been lightly edited for clarity.

Samantha: Dollie says, "as a fan you can really tell Harvey worked deliberately through fashion and photoshoots to establish his style in person, in front of the camera, and on the red carpet. I'd love to hear more about that journey and additionally if you have any tips for achieving confidence in style and fashion."

Harvey: Wow, good question! I feel like that was an avenue that never was presented to me as an option for the first part of my career. You know everyone's like "oh who dressed you?" I dressed myself! I mean I still do, but I didn't really get any kind of help with anything stylish-wise until recently, when I got the opportunity to work with different designers and stylists who introduced me to those designers. That's really what it is: a stylist will get you into an atelier or someone's house, like Christian Siriano or someone like that. But for the most part, for a long time I just kind of dressed myself, and on a budget.

Knowing Harvey was putting these kinds looks together by himself on a budget in 2017 and 2018, I will never again cut any of the Chrises with their MCU money a single centimeter of slack for showing up year after year, to event after event, in bland black or navy suits.

Harvey (continued): Because stylists are worth every penny, but they're expensive! They are expensive because they do a great job, but you also have to be constantly doing that. I think Zendaya was just talking about this in an interview. There's moments where you want a stylist because you want to look your best and you want the best opportunity and possibility, and there's moments where you're like "I'll dress myself, it's just a small event, I'll make it work. I'll make it work with what I have."

But yeah, I really wanted to put myself in a position where...why can't I like fashion? Why can't I do a photoshoot, and why can't I do a cover? I had a publicist, one of my first publicists...I said "I want to be the first to do something, like be on a cover of something like this!" And they straight out loud said "that's not going to happen." And I was like..."oh well, I mean maybe not overnight, but that should be the goal, we should work toward--"

And they were like "yeah, but we want to be realistic...and that's not gonna happen."

Cannot imagine being the person to tell THIS man he's never going to be on the cover of a magazine.

Harvey (continued): I realized, if people on your team are naysayers or they're not seeing the vision, those people aren't on your team. So unfortunately, I had to let them go, because if there's someone on your team who's already being toxic towards your vision, that's not the vision, that's not the vibe, that's not it. And so I'm glad to report that shortly after that we did get a cover! And then I was able to kind of show that off and be like, "it can be done!" You just have to find the right team and the right people who see your vision.

I think for so long it's just been easy to say no to people who don't fit the mold of Hollywood, and I'm not here to fit a mold. I'm here to break it.

Samantha: You're killin' it! You have no idea how many of these questions were just "when is he starting a fashion line?"

Harvey: I want to! I think right now I'm so focused on my main passion, which is acting, and I'm so grateful and blessed to have opportunities that are coming my way and that I am excited for. And now wrapping something that I'm gonna hold so dear to my heart like Shadows for so long, I'm so grateful. And you know, most actors would kill for just the opportunity to be on a show like Shadows and call it a day, and I would be happy if that's the work that I'm known for, because it's such a great show.

But I'm fortunate that I have all of these other things that are coming up. I'm so excited for the opportunities, and I'm excited for the different characters and different roles and different hats I get to put on.

But eventually that would definitely be an avenue that...I mean, it would definitely be on brand! You know? It would be so on brand to open a plus size line, especially because growing up I didn't see as many options for plus size people, period. But if there were, obviously the lean is for female clothing, and it was never for men at all. Like the options for a plus sized guy was like...screen t-shirts and jeans. And that's it!

Or it was always Big and Tall, where if you weren't tall you got stuck with a really short and stout kind of shirt. The measurements were always catered to "if you're big, you gotta be tall," and well, I don't know if that's true, but there was no in between. So that's a market that I would definitely want to look at. But for the time being I'm focusing on the acting part of it.

Samantha: Kelly wants to ask, "do you like any specific colors or patterns? Where are your tastes when you dress high fashion?"

Harvey: I used to be afraid of color a lot because I was always told if you're plus sized or bigger you'll amplify yourself. But I think you shouldn't be afraid of color. Last year, a year ago next month, at the Meta Gala I wore pink! That was all Christian Siriano from head to toe, and there was a wink there and a story behind it--if you know you know--why he and I chose the color pink for the Met Gala and who they were honoring and all of that. So I'm not afraid of color. I try to be very specific about the dimensions and where my leg cuts off or where it elongates my leg.

Harvey's now-iconic outfit from the 2023 Met Gala--whose theme was honoring Karl Lagerfeld--blended foundational style elements of Lagerfeld's most famous designs for Chanel with all the things Lagerfeld loudly hated throughout his life. Lagerfeld was infamous for making shitty comments about plus sized people, people of color, short men, and a host of other things. He also disliked the color pink. So Harvey showing up as himself and looking stunning wearing that glorious pink number was possibly the classiest shade ever thrown.

Harvey (continued): I've just been like the Christian Siriano poster boy this year! Which is a funny story because when I first approached him over a year ago for the Oscars, he was really busy and he said "I really don't make menswear."

And I was like "well I'm not saying I want you to make completely a tuxedo, I want you to do something in the middle." And he was like "well, I kind of did that with Billy Porter" where he put Billy in this really amazing gown. And I was like "well I don't want to do a gown, I want something between that, you know? Like where it doesn't have to be a traditional, boring, just plain old tuxedo, and it doesn't have to be this amazing, beautiful ball gown that Billy had worn."

Because he doesn't really design for men, he designs for women. And he said "this would be the first I would do this." And I said "then that's great! It'll be the first!" And he definitely had never designed for a plus sized man, so we were checking all these boxes off.

So my idea was if someone in 1920 went to an award show but was trying to wear a vintage Victorian or Edwardian outfit to honor a vintage look. So the hair was 1920s. The hair was done by Connie, who was my hair person in What We Do In the Shadows, who helped me originate the original look for Guillermo.

And Romie--who's my best friend since third grade--is my makeup artist, and she did my makeup for the Oscars and makeup for a lot of the events I go to.

And it was just amazing, you know. That outfit...oh my god. Vogue ran it, they got so many likes, it was on every social [media] outlet, and it did so well that last fall, for the first time, [Christian] had a men's line. And I can't help but wonder if it was a coincidence, if it had anything to do with my "how about we try this experiment!"

This beautiful vintage-inspired look for the Oscars was Harvey's first red carpet collaboration with Christian Siriano and landed him on nearly every best dressed list for the event. The metallic brocade tuxedo gown and bell hem trouser were included in Siriano's Fall 2023 line, and are available to order on his website (for a hefty price) as separate pieces in sizes up to a size 30 (58 bust, 60 waist).

Harvey (continued): Christian's been great, and of course he would make amazing pieces for menswear, of course he would!

We collaborated on a lot of things. For the Critic's Choice award we did a really cool cut, which was like a midriff cut with a peek-a-boo of belly. Because you know, I like my body, and I can show it off! And he did it in a way where I was like "woah!" It elongated my leg and it had a peek-a-boo of a little bit of tummy, and it had a neckline that plunges. So it shows your chest, and it's mesh, and then this giant bow on the side that you can take off or put on.

This red carpet look Harvey wore for the Critic's Choice Awards is one of my personal favorites. It feels like plus size people are always being urged to both cover up as much as possible and make ourselves as small as possible. But this outfit stares those demands in the face and says "Why though? Fuck that! Show yourself off and take up space!"

Harvey (continued): It got so many compliments on the carpet! And it's to a T a Christian look, but also very much me, because we collaborated in what that would look like and how I want that on my body, how it looks on my body, because what looks good on me may not look good on someone else. But it's knowing what your best assets are and what you're showing off, and what you want to show off. Because that's what's going to make you feel the most comfortable, when you're showing off something that you love about yourself.

Samantha: That's literally what I tell my clients! You feel the best you've ever looked in your life when everything just fits you perfectly and shows off the best parts of your body that you like the most. It's not about hiding, it's about amplifying.

Harvey: Yeah, exactly.

---

Thank you so much to both Samantha and Harvey for this wonderful conversation on IG Live! It was truly a joy to witness it and get more insight into Harvey's thoughts on fashion and style.

If you're interested in Samantha's designs (including her OFMD-themed makeup pallets!), check out her website here. And you can find WWDITS-themed Harvey-approved merch at his website here!

#fashion #harvey guillén #christian siriano #plus size fashion #menswear #red carpet looks #samantha rei

[dkniade]

I’ve finally realized why I cannot culturally connect with the Liyue setting or characters as a Chinese person, and I’m drawn to Mondstadt a lot more: I’m an immigrant who hasn’t lived in China for a while now.

[quote.] “My life had less and less to do with Khaenri’ah as I grew up, and so I started caring less as well.” [end quote.]

I don’t know the proper terminology for it and it’s gonna come out in a really messy awkward way but… The traditions of Liyue, the architecture, the clothing, they’re not of my generation. They look nothing like what I see in my current life. I look around where I live, and it’s actually more comparable to Mondstadt.

[brackets.](And it frustrates me that Liyue characters by default are stuck in a xianxia setting and it permeates their designs. Going by Liyue outfit motifs, saying “This character is from Liyue and you can tell because they dress this way! [smiley face]” is like saying “This person is Chinese and you can tell because they dress like a xianxia character!” As an immigrant, being Chinese does not equate to being ~traditional and in touch with my culture.~ I used to think drawing Liyue characters in modern clothing erases their ethnicity but no! How a person dresses obviously does not make their ethnicity more or less authentic. I should’ve realized this. Maybe it’s because I feel such a weak link towards my culture that I felt defensive.)[end brackets.]

In fact, I’m so disconnected to my culture that to my surprise, I’m actually closer to Kaeya in terms of identity: born in one culture yet raised in another, to the point that my ties with my heritage is very weak—

[quote] “These days, my surname, Alberich, is probably the only link to Khaenri’ah that I have left.” [end quote]

…save for my surname and a language I understand but have trouble speaking.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. It’s… a really strange feeling as an immigrant to not connect with characters based on your culture, and instead connect with a character with a similar experience but different culture.

…[A pause.]

And yet…

[Another pause.]

It brings me an even stranger sense of comfort knowing it’s Kaeya…

[Slightly longer pause.]

I could even cry.

#(First time watching the scene) #Why does Dainsleif just suddenly sit down at the table without warning. #What a high-tension meeting between him and Kaeya #dusk personal writing #Kaeya

[rustyvanburace]

nanananan nanashi 4 ask game🥹

favorite thing about them: NANASHI HAS STYLE, and I will die on that hill. People bitch and moan about Nanashi's "ugly" design, but he is PUNK and that fits really well with IVA's themes. I'd rather have a protagonist with a totally unique appearance than yet another bland kid. Maybe that is antithesis to the roots of SMT (they've always favored bland "nobody" characters), but I am nonetheless sticking to my stance. I love that he is dressed for the part as a Hunter, but still embraces his own sense of identity and style -- which frankly is important and natural for teens. I feel the same way about Asahi's own style. I love that Nanashi's design incorporates aspects of the two Akiras from IV. HE. HAS. GOOD. DESIGN.

least favorite thing about them: Once again this is more of an issue I have with IVA's writing and it is not solely about Nanashi, but I do wish that IVA did explore Akira's motivations more (especially with rescuing his sister, which is just absent in IVA) and how his actions and choices would've later impacted his later reincarnated self. There's a lot of stuff that Akira did in the background of IV that only barely gets examined IVA. Akira's "betrayal" toward the Hunters and Nanashi falling into that same fate makes for an interesting foil, but is just another foil that gets resolved way too quickly for my liking. Nanashi saves the day by repelling the Tokugawa Mandela and is immediately forgiven and praised by all with almost hardly any skepticism. Again it's an issue I have with IVA at large, but it still leaves me wanting more out of the characters and their development.

favorite line: Can I even say I have a favorite line from a silent protagonist, lol? I can say that I do like how "extreme" Nanashi is with his answers, either being very openly kind to downright crass and cold. It's much more extreme than some of Flynn's answers in IV. Arguably it makes IVA's alignment choices too obvious, but I like that it gives Nanashi a polarizing personality and it fits with his design too. Plus some of his anarchy answers are downright hilarious.

Additionally, I'm also amazed at Nanashi's "Dagda!" voice clip in the massacre route. For most of the game, he calls for Dagda in such a high-pitched voice. But as soon as you're locked in massacre, his voice suddenly turns really gruff and deep. Lmao??

brOTP: HE IS BROS WITH EVERYONE. But especially with Asahi, Hallelujah, and Navarre! I love his caring sibling relationship with Asahi, I love him being best of buds with Hallelujah, and I love that Navarre is basically like the cool fun uncle to him.

I posted that stupid edit of Morcedai and Rigby earlier, but actually Nanashi and Hallelujah are WAY more like Morcedai and Rigby. That's them for realll.

OTP: Nanashi x Hallelujah NATION LET'S GO. I will absolutely ship them both as bros and as a pair! They have the best ever chemistry.

nOTP: Yeah so, I really do not like Asahi x Nanashi and I hate seeing Nanashi get shipped with adults. Stop it. Enough said.

random headcanon: I like to imagine that, even before the events of IVA, Nanashi has always had dreams of his past life -- just not as frequently or as "unusual" as they later would be, stuff that he'd just brush off and keep to himself. I also like to think that, partly cause of that, he feels a closeness or yearning towards the Sky Tower and Firmanent but cannot put into words as to why.

unpopular opinion: Nanashi's concept design (the one where he's older, has glasses, and the giant robot arm) sucks and I'm tired of people saying it is "superior" than Nanashi's final design. Maybe the older design would have worked better for an earlier story concept, but for the way IVA is now, it fucking sucks. You can't just switch Nanashi's design with that and expect it to seamlessly work with the game's narrative. People complain about Nanashi being a "discount Demi-fiend", but actually Nanashi's design is much more subtle and it HAS to be in order to work with the narrative. A giant robot arm is the very opposite of subtle.

God I'm just, so pissed at people saying Nanashi's design is "bad". I'm pissed I'm pissed!!

song I associate with them: I'm just gonna cross these out with all asks going forward, I am not good at picking songs lmao.

favorite picture of them: Once again, it's Nanashi's precious smile~!

Thank you for the ask!!

#shin megami tensei iv apocalypse #smt4a #nanashi #rusty answers

[mantra4ia]

I didn't think it was possible for an adaptation to break my fandom heart, however

I just finished season 3 of the Witcher on Netflix

and I cannot yet put into words how disheartened I feel about it except to say 1) bigger in scale doesn't always mean better in quality and 2) I feel like 90% of the commentary in "the making of season 3" is hype.

In my opinion, a majority of the dialogue in this season is painful no matter how hard the actors try to deliver them sincerely and the people who are trying to upsell how faithful it is to the books are clearly omitting much context of the books. I do not feel like reliving the dialogue to site a litany of grievance, but "you'd be dead already" was beaten to death, as was "never lost, always found." The scripting pen was a lot more clever in the days of death and destiny circa season 1. Not just clever, but cutting, sassy even in the midst of purposeful crudeness, artful, and complex. It didn't need to spell things out for you and could let you stumble into unraveling meaning whereas this season clocked you over the head. And it wasn't just the actual lines on the page, but the timing of their delivery — for example the monologues in combat — that makes a bad situation go from rough to rags. Cahir ("my life is yours" speech) and Vilgefortz ("the hardest part was holding back") have some of the worst offending instances. That, and when they threw in a "he's having a heart attack" medical drama one liner in the midst of battle on the Isle of Thanedd, I wanted to 🤦 smack a skull.

The set dressing, when it's not overwhelming —the outlandishness of Redania, back to back with the bombastic excesses of mages on the Isle hardly gives you a moment to discern the differences, it seems homogeneously over the top — makes be sad (footnote: random bowls of apples in hallways of an academy where people can conjure magical meals at will is just sort of silly in a very 90s movie, castle interior stereotype way). I don't think that one set or scenic shot caught my eye in a memorable way, and considering we saw Shaerrawedd this season that's a shame. Yarpen's tiny house is one of my few exceptions of well designed spaces. We also could have used more contrast in design by seeing life/ stylistic choices within the empire — given that the story from here on goes into the war trenches —and so it is disappointing that the few shots we get of Nilfgaard center around an underwhelming Emyhr as opposed to culture, mentality, and actual sense of the opposition and the scale of them.

Also, there were a few props that made me want to shut off my television in terms of quality on camera. Example: the first time we see Milva draw her bow. That poor, ridiculous bow that is neither a good example from text or a nod to any archers.

The fights do not all have their own distinct style as the commentary suggests, and the ones that do have distinguishable flare are filled with artful camera work for the sake of itself; as opposed to adding to the fight it was often distracting. There were also excessive cuts at various camera angles that were superfluous, as evidenced in the walk up leading to Geralt vs Vilgefortz. Two fight sequences were a joy to watch: the Rats escape and one of the opening sequences where Geralt confronts the bounty hunters and we see him walk away through the eyes of the man that he just beheaded as the skull hits the ground. It was an interesting stylistic choice with memorable impact. Nothing that hits like Blaviken combat, but a highlight.

The monster design (the flesh monster and others) makes me miserable, the rendering of which take me out of the fights built around them. Gone are the days of the Stryga and the Bruxa.

Not concluding the the first or the second act of season 3 with the siege of Aretuza and the destruction of Tor Lara was a mistake of timing. Following the battle, the subsequent desert scenes (and Brokilon to some extent) dragged on. Even weird, trippy cameos couldn't save them. Freya/Ciri has some decent beats of progressive desperation descending into madness leading up to finding "little horse" and confronting the demons of her psyche, but the cutting and the placement of the desert sequence does it no favors.

Speaking further on Aretuza, the battle of mages and scoia'tal missed a lot of moments. If we were going to spend precious screen time dividing the familial core four (Yen/Jaskier/Geralt/Ciri) so that Yen can go back for Tissaia— knowing that very soon in the plot it will be divided again when Ciri is portalled and someone is captured by Vilgefortz — then the battle better be worth it. It wasn't entirely. The conflict opened with a very "for the stage" kind of choreography with the assembly of mages. The conflict ramped up with dimeritium arrows (kinda predictable) and elven guts, and then ended on a strange note with Alzur's Thunder, an interesting nod to game play with 50/50 execution on screen. Given that this season likes narrative voiceovers, there was a lot they could have done with Alzur's Thunder in terms of sound, flashbacks, interior cuts of Tor Lara, narration, or even spell work of Yennefer being able to enter Tissaia's mind, to nicely harken back to the themes of control and deepest fears, when Tissaia's spell casting and loss of control parallels Yennefer's early years (lightning in a bottle), and each character comes full circle in pulling chaos back from the edge. But those themes are overshadowed by flash and bang. The opportunity for a contrasting small / personal moment with Yennefer and Tissaia amidst the larger battle is lost.

I'm sorry, but when LSH says this season is very character driven, I don't know what final cut she's watching. It feels like we're racing through plot points A-Z while nearly none of the character relationships get time to breath and impart their emotional beats. Spoiler alert: I should feel devastated when Vilgefortz beats Geralt, literally breaks him, but I don't. I should feel bad when Tissaia dies, I don't. They're trying to rush feelings between Triss and Istredd, Fringilla and Francesa, that I really can't be bothered about because there are so many characters given side quests that no one really gets their due. Least among them in the supporting cast Phillipa, which has animosity with Tissaia that doesn't land, a relationship with Dijkstra that doesn't land, a sidepiece that doesn't land, and is (apart from some interesting wardrobe, hair and makeup choices) reduced to a presence that provides forewarning about Lydia and Vilgefortz. And least among the main cast Geralt, who spends a whole lot of screen time in passive action exuding quiet contempt for other characters. Which is a shame, because if this truly is the last time we see Henry as Geralt, they should have given this man free reign to burn the barn down.

One shining note: I truly appreciate that we bookend this season with narration from Yennefer and, to a lesser extent, Geralt. It is a nice, if slightly less eloquent, homage to the corresponding letters in the novels (pieced together from multiple books). I would have loved far more for each episode to make some use of narration, as a kind of through-thread for this season, in order to get equal turns from Ciri and Jaskier. Ciri has some great internal dialogue of things that she wishes she could say to Yennefer but doesn't before their family splits apart (unspoken moments of respect, adoration, and love that get quickly summarized by ice skating montages). Ans Jaskier is quite often the "unreliable" narrator in sections of the novels, which flashes backwards and forwards from his slightly mythologized autobiography as a world famous bard. Both of them really needed their turn in this season to be an overarching voice.

This season hurts. I'm glad if you are a Witcher / Sapkowski fan and you enjoyed yourself in season 3. But it really let me down, the creative direction and didn't seem to come together into a cohesive tone (it couldn't strike the balance between humor and gravitas), vision, or unfolding of the story.

I don't know if I can bring myself to rewatch this season a second time with fresh eyes and hope for the best. But I will miss Henry Cavill, and have much respect for cast and crew.

#Netflix: the Witcher #the witcher season 3 #witcher reaction'd #the witcher Netflix spoilers #fail #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla of cintra #lauren hissrich

[transskywardsword]

hand reaching out emoji. phantom and tetra PELASE. girl and her same age alt timeline grandma. girl and her homestuck dancestor. the she/it king shits. (my headcanon, i don't remember what their pronouns are in yours??) i love them and i CANNOT WAIT to see your designs of both of them. i hope your day was good and that you sleep well

ASK AND YE SHALL RECIVIE! originally they both only used she/her for me, but i love the idea of phantom using it/its pronouns so i might steal that and add it to my bag of potential pronouns <33 i took so much inspiration from this beautiful redesign of spirit tracks zelda, but tried to make it resemble the in game armour more. also, phantom is quite young, so she's more focused on being able to carry the weight of the armor than how it looks. still, she's a princess at heart and is sure to gussey it up a bit.

tetra, my darling, love of my life!! her princess dress has been refashioned as a sash and undertunic, and that's the closest to princesshood she's ever gonna get. she's a pirate first, establisher of new hyrule second, and princess never.

phantom and tetra both dye their hair, but while phantom takes meticulous care of it and styles it after her grandma, tetra just bleaches the hell out of it and doesn't care if her roots grow back, covering them up with a bandana until she has time to fry them back to blond. her iconic spiral hairdo is actually a hair mat that she just pins up to avoid dealing with. this poor woman, someone save her hair T.T

thank you so much for your support. you really are too sweet <3

#zelda universe #zu phantom #zu tetra #my art

[gre-chankas-stuff]

Oc? 👀

YOU FOOL, YOU ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD !!! NOW ALL OF THE TUMBLR WILL KNOW I HAVE NO ARTISTIC TALENT!!!!!!!

On the serious note, thank you. Now, i can

1. Lok, a guy with amnesia

Appearance

I do not have a full ref of him because i cant draw coherent pictures as a reference.

Heres his colored floating head and a bunch of sketches i did in class with a pen and was still motivated to draw

And a silly little stickman rendition in that style i use in comics sometimes

Personality

Surprisingly good leader

A little cocky at times, but does know how to gain leverage against strong opponents

Does, in fact, like fighting. Weapon of preference is a sword, although he's also proficient in any object that can be used as weapon

Relies a lot on his reflexes though, sometimes maybe too much, which is a byproduct of the fact that his body knows more than he ever will.

Moderately caring person, although cannot pass by someone in distress without feeling a little guilty

Would die to save friend. Had died to save a friend. The world died for him to save a friend.

His teeth are not for show. Do not threaten what is his.

Story

His story is just as incoherent as are my attempts to give him full ref, only thing time it's intentional.

The premise is such: he wakes up in a world he only particularly recognises (but it feels Extremely off) with little memory of who he is, what he's supposed to do or go. The story itself is a journey to uncover his previous life, find his forgotten friends while gaining new ones, and discover the secrets of the world he inhabits!

What actually happens to him (as the story goes) is that he has a panic attack shortly after waking up, - because he doesn't even remember his own name! - fights a Big and Deadly Bird™ with his bare hands, face-plants in a mud puddle, has another panic attack after seeing his face in a river, kills some monsters with his teeth, dies, tears more monsters with the tools he scrapped from nothing and dies again. Yes, in that exact order. And it's not even the end of his first week here.

He's... Going through it

As of his ✨ mysterious backstory ✨.... It's incomplete :p

And by incomplete i mean that i have some bare bones structure of it, but its still mostly just... In the air. Because i love him as a blank slate that Knows something he Possibly Shouldn't (like craftsmanship, weapon usage, farming, ect.) that are so integrated in his muscle memory that it's literally so freaky actually. Man freak

Meta stuff

His appearance and general plot of his journey is actually based on a minecraft youtuber and his modded-mc-with-plot series that i watched at the time of creation. However, unlike the guy that won't allow his character to have any magnitude of personality and reflection of the inflicted trauma all his shenanigans surely caused, i'm rerouting the story Completely south of what actually happened there.

Although it is still happening minecraft, yes. Live with that.

Also, i classify my ocs in my head as siblings, from oldest (created earlier) to youngest (created later), and Lok is the fifth and the youngest in the family.

2. Enais "Ena" Crovn, girl that can survive Armageddon

Appearance

Imagine a generic long haired girl oc of a 11 years old that thought foxes and wings were cool, and you have basically Ena imagined fully

As you can tell.... This one is from 2017? Ish??

These ones are obviously new-er, although they are still entirely incomplete

I do not have Any new references of her except these rough sketches, and she needs Tremendous redesign because Generic Girl White Dress no longer fits, although not much have really changed with her design through the years

Design pending.

Personality

Honestly one of the least traumatised people out there. She's just living her life man.

She's just Just Some Guy.

Positive person, sometimes soft-spoken. Thinking if Fluttershy had to deliver mail instead of caring for animals, although, obviously, not to that extreme

Good with kids

Can fight but really, REALLY would rather just deliver mail, thank you very much

Loves flying

Story

Entirely unknown. Little me had at least 2 different stories for this gal, one of which was that she's an undertale-esque monster that just happened to look deceptively human and works as a mailman for the entire underground, the other being that she was a Freak Experiment of her insane scientist mother that sew wings and fox ears on her and gave her trauma

Surprisingly, the mailman (mailwoman?) one was the first one i actually came up with myself (while the Trauma route was influenced by a lot of gore mlp edits yt recommended me a lot around that time) and even there she was still cool and, by design, in genocide run would still fight the player somewhere in snowdin. So i think i will go with that one

Meta stuff

She IS actually second least traumatised oc i have. As per my ocs family tree, she's also the oldest - in fact, the very first to ever be made, so her knowledge of children comes from wrangling some ptsd and hyperactivity havers in the lot

There's actually third, secret backstory she has, which includes utdr multiverses we all know about. Although she still delivers mail there, she's actually the very same person who sends the asks to askboxes for character to receive through the entire multiverse, and she Is quite strong - because some universes are WILD and very much deadly and it was a necessity to learn to protect herself; which means she can survive anything under any circumstances.

Little me was based af for coming up with this

It is only two for now because i had not expected for it to take So Much Fucking Time to type out this little bits. Ugh

I need to make a list

#greching origins #my ocs #never used the tag before but might as well

[shibonzakura]

ZoTash fanfic ANGST!! ( Sequel )

Under the cut to avoid cluttering the dash. PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG UNLESS YOU ASK ME FIRST. Is a loosely tied sequel.

The truth is bulletproof. There is no fooling you. I don't dress the same. Me and who you say I was yesterday.

Have gone our separate ways. Left my life living fast somewhere in the past. Cause that's for chasing boats. Turns out open bars leave to broken hearts. And going way too far. I know I used to be crazy. You say that I used to be wild. I say I used to be young. You tell me time has done changed me. That's fine, I had a good run. I know I used to be crazy. That's because I used to be young.

Take one, pour it out, it's not worth crying about. The things you cannot erase. Like scars and regrets, words never meant. And ones that got away. Left my life living fast somewhere in the past. And took another road. Turns out crowded rooms empty out as soon. There's somewhere else to go. I know I used to be crazy. You say that I used to be wild. I say I used to be young. You tell me time has done changed me. That's fine, I had a good run. I know I used to be crazy. That's because I used to be young.

I know I used to be crazy. Messed up, but, God, was it fun. I know that I used to be wild. That's because I used to be young. Those wasted nights are not wasted. I remember every one. I know I used to be crazy. That's because I used to be young. You tell me time has done changed me. That's fine, I had a good run. I know I used to be crazy. That's because I used to be young.

Listening to Roronoa actually was the wisest decision Tashigi ever made. The option was given to her to take so why not run with it? She did the same when someone important in her life told her to collect swords that were crying instead of trying to give that person a hug.

That one road she chose gave her a goal and hobby, although to everyone else's detriment. Sure now it had hurt Tashigi's soul to give up the things she held dear before all of this but now her wings were free to flap into the sky above. No longer chained down by honor, justice, the way of the sword.

Things change with time, when anyone is prepared or not. The captain's goals and personality were part of those grand designs. Not only did her dream change to opening up a dojo and train others but also becoming more of a mentor to the younger generation when she turned 26.

Now 28, she was an established and well credited name where she decided to settle down. All the islanders treated her with respect, kindness, and equality that the woman deserved during her younger years. Tashigi bets that the child, young teenager, and young adult version would be absolutely floored on how much progress older her had made for herself.

Sure, she didn't have her old swords anymore but the marine had found some in the abandoned dojo that she decided to purchase on a whim using the funds of the World Government that she borrowed. It's not like they were going to use it for anything worthwhile. They got more out of the citizens than what Tashigi had took so it was all good.

Tashigi did worry about the children from Punk Hazard but the parents of the kids were nice enough to throw rocks and insults at her before finding this place. Which was completely understandable. She did run away from everything after all. Past her would be screaming, fighting, and tearing present Tashigi apart. However, the truth never lies.

This was her life now and nothing was going to change that. Not even Roronoa. Why he showed up now after 5 years was beyond her but she was going to treat him like a friend regardless. Their cat and mouse game ended with her leaving like she did. Not even saying a goodbye. Like that lunkhead would care anyway. Why should she?

Indifference was really a saving grace for both of them. So why show up at the island at all? Why ask to see her in the dojo training, where she's not as well kept as usual. Messy hair, cleavage showing, sweatpants dropping a little towards the floor, barefooted. Basically a hot mess. At least her glasses were still on the top of her head. A different look and feel for sure.

She finds Roronoa walking around aimlessly, still clueless with directions and still looking like he did since Punk Hazard. Tashigi coughs in her hand awkwardly and thankfully the pirate hunter is able to pick up on that. It's then when his jaw drops to the floor in disbelief and cheeks flushed red for some reason.

What in the world is wrong now? After all these years, the man is still trying to pick a fight and push her buttons. Sure, Tashigi seemed different and somewhat traded in sword styles for more of a punch fist like attack coated with different types of haki but nothing else was out of place so why? Nope. Just got to calm down and will herself back into a place of blissful happiness.

The marine smiled back, trying to show there was nothing wrong with the woman in front of Roronoa and this was who she truly was all this time. Pirate hunter on the other hand was reaching for Sandai and Enma and shifted his expression to a more comical one. Then laughing, Zoro shook his head, almost glad about something.

Like not being crazy and that a version of Tashigi with her literal hair down did exist. He was juggling around each of the two swords, squinting at them like they were fucking his mind or something. The marine could only smile back, as things never seemed to change with that green haired man, not even time could make this less than THE Roronoa Zoro getting the last laugh.

Which was fine. Tashigi didn't care about winning or losing anymore. Indifference was not going to let her down now. The pirate hunter then looked up and mouthed something. Like how Tashigi had changed. More weary eyed and will-less. The marine laughed, copying his silent mouth movements. Saying that it was fine and that she had a good run.

Zoro is then taken aback from her admission. Like he had lost a round or two. Which was funny because Tashigi wasn't taking score like she used to. Back then, she was wild. Crazy even. That's because she USED TO BE YOUNG.

- When you finally see someone who they were truly are, it's too late to have regrets. -Anonymous.

END

#long post cw #zotash #zotash cw #zoro x tashigi #SERE's cringe writing #do not reblog unless you ask me first

[fastlikealambo]

The Fiancée: Modern rockstar! Eddie Munson x Black Fem! Reader Angst Sneak Peek

Read the first in the trilogy, The Girlfriend.

Summary: Just a few months away from your wedding to rockstar Eddie Munson, a dangerous game of cat and mouse is played, threatening to destroy everything you hold dear.

Trigger Warnings: Violence, Stalking, Bullying, Mentions of Depression, Men with microphones

Minors, dni.

I don’t know if this is any good yet so I might scrap it, lemme know if it’s not complete hot garbage

Act One: The man in the mirror.

“Men in music are often stifled creatively by the inner workings of women. Women have forgotten their roles as supportive beings that cannot exist without men.  The best example of this I think most recently is Eddie Munson  of Corroded Coffin’s girlfriend. He destroyed the biggest tour in recent music history for a low value woman and if there’s anything we as men can learn from this to make sure your high value woman knows her place and that she can get replaced. Corroded Coffin will have no future if they remain in the company of low value individuals. This is The Music For High Value Men Podcast, signing off.” 

“I think this is the one, Mommy’s already crying into her champagne.” Your sister said as you spun around in your wedding gown, dizzy from the champagne and the happiness you felt. 

In the months since Eddie’s video went viral, you quit your job at the gallery and opened your own, moved into a new house, and finally started to feel okay again.

  Eddie had found new management, the band was working on their sophomore album after returning from the tour, and you two were stronger than ever, planning a small wedding for just your families and friends.

“You look beautiful honey!  I can’t believe my baby is getting married!” Your mom sobs into your sister’s shoulder as your designer comes back around.

“Are we saying yes to the dress?” The designer asked.

“I am, this is the one.” You said, smiling in the mirror, taking your sister and mother into your arms.

Just by chance, you looked over your sister’s shoulder and saw a man in the dressing room mirror, staring at you. When you turned around, there was nobody there.

“Everything okay sweetie?” Your mom asked, seeing your fallen face.

“Yeah, everything’s perfect.” You said, hugging them both tighter.

It was nothing, just a delivery worker who got lost on the way to the stockroom.

The person who actually had been watching you from the moment you left your house was doing just that, from the comfort of their own home.

Act Two: The break in.

“I just heard that Corroded Coffin is working on their second album. Does this mean that Eddie Munson has finally learned to control his woman? Only time will tell. Men, we cannot reach our full potential as providers if we allow disrespect in our households. Women like Munson’s girl cannot be allowed to believe that they are on the same level as one of the biggest bands in the world.  Corroded Coffin must be saved from ruin. This is The Music for High Value Men Podcast, signing off. ”

“This is why I told you to order your own damn dessert.” You groaned as your Eddie stole your spoon for the second time to enjoy the sundae.

“ But eating yours makes it taste better, baby.” Eddie said suggestively, laughing as you rolled your eyes.

“ I can’t believe I’m marrying an ice cream thief.”

“ You’re marrying the love of your life.” He corrected, leaning forward to kiss you but you stop when both your phones go off at the same time.

An alert from your security system informing you of the alarms being tripped in your house and the estimated time of arrival of the police.

The police at your home before you are, leading you both through your kicked in front door, Eddie’s hand never leaving yours.

“Nothing of value was taken, we believe this was just someone looking to attempt a robbery but the security system scared them off.” An officer explained but you’re not listening just staring off into space.

“Angel? Baby, are you listening?” Eddie asked, sliding an arm around you.

“I’m sorry, this is just a lot.” You muttered.

“I know, which is why we’re not staying here tonight, it’s not safe. Grab anything you need for the night, okay honey? ”

You nod wordlessly, an officer escorting you up to your bedroom. On autopilot, you grab clothes out of your closet, stuffing them in a bag. You’re almost done when you spot a piece of paper sticking out from under your pillow.

Without thinking it through, you pull out the paper, turning it over to see a single sentence typed out.

I SEE YOU.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson x yn #tw stalking #tw misogyny #tw sexism

[doodledebris]

Past and Present: Part Two: Ireena Kolyana

Generations have passed since the fateful day the warlord traded his humanity for a failed bid to have his brother’s bride. He, and the land with him, were pulled into a domain of dread. The mists swirled on the borders of the countryside, impassable save for a few technicalities, and the people suffered in their isolation. The warlord, known commonly now as the Devil Strahd, ruled with absolute power in his personal hell- and his only pleasures were causing misery to his trapped subjects.

Because not only are they trapped in life, no- even in death they cannot escape, their souls tumbling in desperation until finally they are reborn to suffer anew.

Tatyana’s soul was no exception. Strahd’s unsatisfied pursuit has chased her across several lifetimes, all ending in tragedy. He eagerly awaits each new incarnation, certain that this time, he can make her his.

The most recent life in this long line of misery is Ireena Kolyana. Daughter of Barovia’s burgomaster, Ireena was raised in the shadow of Castle Ravenloft, under the all-encompassing cultural fear of the Devil Strahd. Despite this, she had as happy a childhood as any Barovian could expect. The village, while grim, was the safest it’d been in recent memory- thanks to the clever determination of Burgomaster Kolyan and that Devil Strahd seemed focused elsewhere. Barovians breathed a sigh of relief.

The other shoe, of course, had to drop.

Things had been going so well that the burgomaster cautiously encouraged the planning of a modest festival, wanting his children to have a joyous occasion to look back on when the “good” times ended. His eldest, Ismark, questioned the wisdom of such an event, but assisted nonetheless at Ireena’s prodding.

The festival was one of the happiest days of Ireena’s life- she danced and sang with her community, wore flowers in her hair, and for a moment forgot all about the Devil Strahd.

But just for a moment.

Not long after the festival, her father started behaving strangely- dazed and unresponsive. He invited a stranger into their house in the dead of night, a man with a courtly accent and a terrifying hunger in his eyes. Twice he was allowed in, twice Ireena woke the next morning with hazy memories and puncture wounds in her neck. 

Upon finding out, Ismark shook their father for an explanation and broke the hold of the spell Strahd had placed on him. Immediately devastated, Kolyan promised never to let Strahd in their home again, and begged his children to forgive his folly.

Without his invitation, the Devil Strahd couldn’t access Ireena as easily- so he smugly started a campaign of terror. Every night, his wretched minions would swarm the burgomaster’s estate, wailing, clawing the walls, circling the grounds until dawn. It was too much for the burgomaster, who, already weakened by Strahd’s influence, passed away after weeks of this unholy torment.

Their father dead and their community too terrified of retribution to help them, Ireena and Ismark desperately look to outsiders as their last hope.

**I’m running CoS for my friends and decided to rework some NPC art. In recent official art Ireena is often pictured with a red scarf and a plate chest piece, but I wanted to add some ties to Tatyana’s dress design and purple color scheme.

#my art #dnd #d&d #curse of strahd #dungeons and dragons #my writing #tatyana #ireena kolyana

[fsbc-librarian]

I posted 500 times in 2022

That's 423 more posts than 2021!

86 posts created (17%)

414 posts reblogged (83%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@musette22

@fsbc-librarian

@buckymilf

@shrunkyclunksbang

@possibleplatypus

I tagged 175 of my posts in 2022

#stucky - 121 posts

#fsbc - 114 posts

#fsbc library - 109 posts

#bucky barnes - 92 posts

#steve rogers - 91 posts

#fanfiction - 66 posts

#stevebucky - 65 posts

#fanfic - 55 posts

#library - 49 posts

#fic rec - 26 posts

Longest Tag: 111 characters

#i remember reading the earliest versions of abo before supernatural took it and turned it into what it is today

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Nomad Steve..

100 notes - Posted May 22, 2022

#4

This is an open call for someone to create a ficlet for me.. I’ll even turn it into a podfic in the end

But imagine: Bucky is shopping with his and Steve’s daughter, but it’s been a long day and everyone is tired, and everyone is cranky and just want to get home, and this is the last thing that needs to happen before they can (cos it’s Sam and Nat’s wedding, and this kid is as stubborn as Steve ever was, and is the one who insisted on a dress in the first place, and god only knows what will happen if she doesn’t get one)..

185 notes - Posted June 10, 2022

#3

Stolen from a friend.. but this should be a Stucky Fic 👌

244 notes - Posted October 21, 2022

#2

I have three fics waiting to go into The Library, and I cannot for the life of me work out which category/s they belong in.. (PS these are all explicit, please check the tags before reading)

Collar Full of Chemistry

2bestfriends

Summary:

Steve is very rich and desperate to feel in control of his life again after a recent divorce has left him feeling bitter and lonely. When he keeps crossing paths with a disaster twenty-something, an unconventional solution presents itself. Steve's always been one for following his instincts.

Bucky is very broke and can't seem to catch a break, especially after some asshole fires him for one fucking mistake. So of course, it follows that he should sign a contract agreeing to do everything and anything that same asshole wants for a whole year in exchange for a payout that could finally change his life for the better.

~🔥~

in the gold room [ where everyone finally gets what they want ]

CircaClementine

Summary:

It’s only when they’re on opposite sides of the country attending University that our beloved boneheads realise how head over heels for each other they are. It’s true, after all, that you never know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.

Steve’s pining from New York, terrified to make a move and lose the person that means the most to him, while Bucky’s been planning a birthday present to himself– one that’s been over a decade in the making. Will Bucky have the courage after all? Will Steve risk the possible loss to see if Bucky feels the same way he does?

~🔥~

Proprietary Information

notlucy

Summary:

Okay, so Bucky Barnes has a crush on Steve Rogers. The guy's gorgeous, talented and, oh yeah, the Chief Design Officer of the biggest tech company in the world. In other words: he's so far out of Bucky's league that he might as well be in a different stratosphere.

~🔥~

And a reminder where you can find our current and upcoming categories

The Master List

258 notes - Posted May 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

As far as i’m concerned, fanfiction authors saved the entire MCU - y’all kept me around long enough for them to make the multiverse canon, which therefore canonises *every* fanfiction every made 🤷‍♀️

438 notes - Posted May 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review