#Sheet Metal Chair Design

[shalin-designs]

Sheet Metal Chair Designs for Auditorium Room

Creating a comfortable and aesthetically pleasing auditorium chair involves more than selecting the right materials. At Shalin Designs, we specialize in transforming client concepts into precise, manufacturable sheet metal designs, ensuring that every component is perfectly crafted. Our expertise extends from the initial design stages to the final creation of the Modeling, Drawings with Bill of Materials (BOM), and nesting dwg, making the production process seamless and efficient. In this blog, we'll explore our comprehensive approach to designing sheet metal parts for auditorium room chairs, highlighting key processes and considerations.

Designing auditorium chairs involves a blend of creativity, engineering, and precision. Shalin Designs is dedicated to providing top Sheet Metal Design Services that meet our client's exact specifications, ensuring the end product is both functional and visually appealing.

Understanding Client Requirements

The first step in our process is understanding the client's vision and requirements. This involves detailed discussions to grasp their aesthetic preferences, functional needs, and any specific constraints they might have. Our goal is to align our designs with their expectations while ensuring manufacturability.

Key Aspects We Consider:

Comfort and Ergonomics: Ensuring the chair provides adequate support and comfort for prolonged use.

Durability: Selecting materials and designs that can withstand regular use in an auditorium setting.

Aesthetics: Aligning with the overall design theme of the auditorium.

Creating Custom Sheet Metal Parts

Once we have a clear understanding of the client's requirements, we move on to the design phase. Using advanced CAD for Sheet Metal Design, we create detailed 3D models of the auditorium chair components. These models are meticulously crafted to ensure they can be efficiently manufactured using sheet metal.

Steps in the Design Process:

Initial Sketches and Concepts: Rough sketches to visualize the design and get client feedback.

3D Modeling: Creating detailed 3D models of each component, focusing on precision and fit.

Material Selection: Choosing the appropriate sheet metal materials that balance strength, weight, and cost.

BOM and Drawings Creation

A crucial part of the design process is creating the Bill of Materials (BOM) and detailed drawings. The BOM lists all the components, materials, and quantities required for manufacturing, ensuring no detail is overlooked.

Importance of BOM and Drawings:

Accuracy: Ensures that every part is accounted for and manufactured correctly.

Cost Management: Helps in estimating and controlling production costs.

Efficiency: Streamlines the manufacturing process by providing clear instructions.

Sheet Metal Nesting for CNC Machine

Nesting is the process of arranging the cut patterns on the sheet metal to minimize waste and maximize efficiency. This is particularly important in large-scale production where material costs can be significant.

Our Nesting Process:

Optimization Software: Using specialized software to arrange parts in a way that reduces waste.

Precision Cutting: Ensuring that the CNC machine cuts the parts accurately according to the nested layout.

Quality Control: Inspecting the cut parts to ensure they meet the design specifications.

Client Deliverables

Our clients receive comprehensive deliverables that facilitate the manufacturing process. This includes detailed drawings in DWG format, which can be directly used by CNC machines for cutting the sheet metal parts.

Deliverables:

DWG Files: Precise drawings for CNC cutting.

BOM: Detailed list of materials and components.

Assembly Instructions: Step-by-step guide for assembling the chair components.

Advantages of Our Approach

Choosing Shalin Designs for your auditorium chair project comes with numerous benefits:

Precision: Our detailed designs ensure that every component fits perfectly, reducing assembly time and errors.

Efficiency: Optimized nesting reduces material waste, saving costs.

Customization: Tailored designs that meet specific client requirements.

Support: Continuous support throughout the design and manufacturing process.

For a deeper understanding of the intricacies involved in sheet metal design and drawing, you can explore our detailed guide on all you need to know about sheet metal design and drawing services. This resource provides valuable insights into our design methodology, the latest industry standards, and tips for optimizing your sheet metal projects to achieve the best results.

Conclusion

Designing sheet metal parts for auditorium chairs requires a blend of creativity, technical expertise, and attention to detail. At Shalin Designs, we pride ourselves on delivering top-quality designs that meet our clients' exact specifications, ensuring their vision is brought to life with precision and efficiency. Our comprehensive approach, from initial design to final deliverables, ensures a smooth and cost-effective manufacturing process.

If you're looking for expert Custom Sheet Metal Fabrication Services for your auditorium chairs, look no further than Shalin Designs. Contact us today to discuss your project and see how our Industrial Sheet Metal Design services can help transform your ideas into reality. Our expertise in Outsourcing Sheet Metal Design Services ensures that your designs are handled with the utmost professionalism and precision.

[almostarts]

Govert flint's "SPRING" chair

SPRING is a chair made from a single material. It is extruded from two sheets. With a powerful hobby like kite surfing the sheets can be extruded into a chair volume.

SPRING chair is produced as part of Better Factory, a program by the European Commission. Design studio Enrichers also worked alongside furniture manufacturer Antares Romania to develop strategies to look into how furniture manufacturers can make their portfolio’s ready for circular economy.

[chobunz]

── inked. ( cbg ) 💉

๑ You ask your boyfriend, Beomgyu, to give you a tattoo. Who was he to decline ??

pair: tattoo artist!beomgyu ㅊ gf!reader | warnings: fluff, beomgyu kissing you through the process, suggestive content, praise, break-time visit, sketching | words: 1.1k

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“i’m still shocked you just showed up here without texting me.” beomgyu says as he drew out some of his clients ideas on a sketch-sheet. his voice low, full of concentration.

“what? so i can’t surprise visit my boyfriend now ? is that what you’re saying?” you dropped your vivienne westwood bag on his desk, peering over his shoulder to look at what he’s working on.

“yes, thats exactly what that means,” he spoke sarcastically, raising his brows, “y’know you’re welcome anytime.” “what about this ?” his arm lifted to show the man in the chair a few different designs. “go sit over there baby, i’ll be done in a quickie.” he rubbed the small of your back, kissing the crown of your forehead before walking across the room.

“okay.. ” you knew it wouldn’t be a long wait since the sketch seemed to be of something simple, like a name. you’d gotten comfortable on the couch for about an hour. most of the time you were occupied on your phone or studying beomgyu and his work environment.

you’d always wanted a tattoo, but upon watching a couple videos of people everytime you got curious— the cringe your body would feel after seeing them wincing in pain, you’d rather not. though, having an extra detail on your oh so very plain body wouldn’t be so awful. you could just picture yourself with a tattoo, something so small being well over enough to drastically change your appearance.

you caught yourself glancing over at the client, watching his facial expressions as beomgyu marked his pale skin. he hadn’t really made any look of discomfort. you weren’t that surprised though, he was full of ink. quite literally.

you’d be lying if you said some of beomgyu’s own tattoos hadn’t inspired you. his were so pretty and well put together. he had a full sleeve of ink and other random ones scattered all over his body, which he did most of them himself.

the noise of the door shutting awakened you from your trance. you watched as your boyfriend swept some of his hair out of his face, fixing his bangs to get a better look at you. “all done ?” you ask, body moving on it’s own, like a chunk of metal to a magnet. you caressed his figure, kissing his chin.

“yeah, for now, i have no more scheduled clients.” tongue grazing his lips before they latched onto yours, humming against the plump skin. “i’m on break right now though.” he smirked.

“‘s that so ?” you teased, caressing the side of his jaw.

“but you’re not here for me ? are you?” he laughed, seeing right through your intentions.

“well, no.. but yeah..” you showed your set of pearly white teeth once hearing his contagious laughter.

“what’s on your mind bun ?” he sat on his chair, motioning for you to come sit on his lap.

“well, you know— i dunno..” you shyed away. what if he didn’t want you ruining your skin, he’s always said he liked the pure look you gave off. what if he’ll be unattracted to you once you ruin it? you felt his hand caressing your thigh. he knew you were nervous, and he gave you all the time you needed. “what if.. i got a tattoo ?” “could i have one ?..”

he looked at you with furrowed brows. “why’re you asking me, you’re a grown ass woman.” he chuckled.

“but—”

“i don’t care what you do to your body baby, i’ll love it either way.” he cut you off, kissing your knuckles. “if you want one, i have nothing against your decision.” you had a sulky look upon your features, hearing how he spoke about you.

“i don’t know what i want though..”

“what are your looking for ? simple ? bold ? big ?”

“simple, for sure.” you quickly answered. his arms circled around you before he placed you down on the raised chair. he was quick to start sketching simple drawings, some cutesy ones you might like. he even wrote your name in a few different fonts.

“baby.. don’t you think that's a little narcissistic.” you giggled, eyeing his pen.

“have you seen yourself ? if i looked like you i’d be the biggest fucking narcissist.” he pursed, earning a grin from you. picking up the paper, displaying it before you. “choose wisely.” watching as your eyes curiously scanned the paper.

“hmm, i want this one !” you pointed at a star design. it was simple, small, but also gave off y2k vibes which you adored.

“you sure ? remember, there’s no going back.” he warns again, getting an alcohol wipe from his drawer. “where?”

“gyu, how come you never ask your actual clients these questions before you tat them ?” you pointed at your lower hip area indicating that’s where you wanted business done.

“i don’t know those people, who am i to tell them not to put some stupid shit on their skin.” he shrugged, lifting up your shirt, taking the cold wipe to your skin.

“valid— shit, that’s cold baby !” you caught his hand in your hand.

“my bad, princess.” he threw the wet tissue in the trash bin, taking the gun checking and shaking the ink that remained inside. “sit back and relax, kay ?” he kissed you after changing the tip on the machine.

it wasn’t until then that your breathing hitched. “baby.” he said sternly, looking at you. “just look at me. think about ponies or something.”

“shut the fuck up.” you rolled your eyes, “let’s do this already.”

he giggled before he took the tattoo gun to your skin, eyes shifting from the sketch and back to your skin.

surprisingly, it didn’t hurt but for a second. it just left you with a burning sensation once he finished. wiping the excess ink from your skin with another alcohol wipe, making you gasp for air.

“aaand we’re done cutie !” he grinned at his work, spreading a protective coat easing the warm area. “you did so well for me,” he kissed your head, helping you get up from your seat to look in a long mirror. “look at my beautiful girl.”

you weren’t in shock or anything, you knew you’d look hot with a tattoo— just kidding you were phenomenal. “woah, it looks really good ! thank you baby!” you clapped after flexing your waist in your reflection. “okay, now how do i care for it ?” you turn around to face his hovering figure.

“why do i need to tell you ? i’ll do it myself.” he wrapped his arms firmly around you.

“rightt.. well how much was it baby?”

“nothing at all.” he cheesed, admiring how pretty you looked.

“c’mon on that’s not fair ! let me pay !” you pout.

“no !”

“fine…how about a tip ?”

“just take care of mine..”

๑ ๑ ๑

[alyrasturnz]

THIS IS ME TRYING

❐ summary » y/n struggles silently with a heavy heart. unable to open up to matt, y/n pens a poignant suicide note, a final cry for help. unbeknownst to y/n, matt stumbles upon the note, unraveling the depth of y/n's hidden pain. as the weight of the discovery settles, matt is determined to bridge the chasm of silence and offer the support y/n desperately needs.

❐ pairings » bf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » suicidal thoughts, suicide letter, implied depression

❐ a/n && w/c » this was a request but i forgot to reply to the ask and i only realized when i was balls deep into designing this. so this was my 3rd update tonight.. i literally have school in an hour i didnt sleep at all. • 3.54k

you lay in bed, motionless, enveloped by the stillness of the room, your thoughts a tangled web of inertia and despondency. each breath felt like an echo in the cavernous silence. the world outside continued to spin, oblivious to the stasis that had overtaken your being, leaving you suspended in a void where time seemed to stretch infinitely.

you haven't been able to get out of your bed lately. the weight of innumerable burdens has been amassing, creating an insurmountable heap that leaves you paralyzed with indecision. you grapple with an internal tumult, yet the words to articulate your struggle elude you, leaving you in a silent battle against an invisible adversary.

you didn’t know much, countless questions swirling in your mind without answers. yet amidst the haze, one truth crystallized with stark clarity: you were utterly and profoundly tired, both in body and spirit.

so, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you mustered the strength to sit up. you stood, the chill of the hardwood floor seeping through your feet, grounding you in the present. with deliberate steps, you made your way to your desk, each movement a small yet significant triumph over the inertia that had held you captive.

you had brushed matt off countless times, relying on the familiar refrains of "i'm busy" or "i don't feel well." there were even moments when you chose silence over any response at all, letting the unspoken words hang in the air like a heavy fog.

and you felt a gnawing guilt that only compounded your stress. it was as if the weight of your actions, or lack thereof, was an additional burden you were too weak to carry. each moment of avoidance chipped away at your already fragile resolve, leaving you feeling utterly incapable of handling anything.

you had endured this countless times before, but this time, it felt almost surreal. it was as if a cruel twist had taken hold of your very core, leaving you with a nauseating sense of unease. the sensation was both visceral and disorienting, amplifying the sickening nature of the experience.

you lowered yourself into the chair, the familiar creak accompanying your descent. with deliberate movements, you opened your notebook, the rustle of pages breaking the silence. you tore out a sheet, the sound sharp and final, before reaching into the drawer to retrieve a pen, its cool metal a reminder of the task at hand.

your thumb instinctively navigated to the pen's tip, the satisfying click resonating in the quiet room as you began to inscribe your thoughts upon the paper.

your mind was a chaotic whirlwind, the words on the page becoming an indecipherable jumble. amidst the confusion, one truth remained clear: you needed to muster the strength to say a proper goodbye.

you were writing, but the words felt disjointed and uncertain. the only coherent threads in your mind were the vivid memories you held with matt, each one weaving through your thoughts like a haunting refrain.

the ink from your pen flowed freely onto the paper, creating a tapestry of words even as tears welled in your eyes, blurring the lines between emotion and expression.

as you completed the final sentence, you gently placed your pen down, allowing the tears that had been welling up to cascade freely from your eyes, each drop a silent testament to the emotions etched within your words.

your heart constricted with a sudden, intense pang. but then, the sound of your front door clicking open broke through the haze, your head snapping toward the source of the unexpected intrusion.

"y/n?" matt's voice reverberated through the house, a resonant echo that amplified your growing panic.

you quickly opened your drawer, tossing your pen inside with a sense of urgency. grasping the piece of paper tightly, your eyes darted around the room, frantically searching for a suitable place to hide it, if only for the meantime. your mind raced, considering and discarding potential hiding spots, each one seeming inadequate under the pressure of the moment.

your heart raced with mounting intensity as you discerned the deliberate footsteps of matt ascending the stairs, each step echoing ominously and amplifying your sense of impending confrontation.

you swiftly crumpled the paper in your trembling hands, casting it to the ground with a hurried flick. using your foot, you deftly kicked it to the side, hoping to obscure it from view.

matt opened the door, his gaze locking onto yours. his eyes, which had initially held a stern intensity, softened almost immediately, a subtle shift that spoke volumes.

"hi, sweetheart," he murmured, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he quietly closed the door behind him. "you okay? you don't look well," he continued, his voice laced with concern as he approached you. his hands tenderly cupped your face, his eyes meticulously examining your features for any sign of distress.

his eyes meticulously traced the contours of your face, lingering on the more pronounced cheekbones that seemed to have become more defined over time. he noted the somber shadows beneath your eyes, dark bags that told the silent tale of sleepless nights and unspoken worries. 

his gaze moved with a deliberate slowness, absorbing every detail as if trying to understand the depth of your weariness through the subtle changes in your appearance.

it's true. you don't look well at all. it seems you've neglected self-care, with showering becoming an infrequent luxury rather than a daily ritual. you haven't been nourishing yourself properly, if at all. sleep has eluded you for many moons, leaving you in a state of perpetual exhaustion. your once sun-kissed skin had now taken on a pallid hue, a stark contrast to its former vitality.

he surveyed your room, his eyes taking in the disarray before finally settling back on you.

"i was going to discuss something else with you, but..." he murmured softly, his thumb delicately tracing the contours of your face, lingering as if to memorize every curve. "do you want me to run a bath for you?" matt inquired, his voice a soothing balm to your weary soul.

a bath does sound nice, you muse internally, the thought wrapping around you like a warm, comforting embrace.

"yeah..." you murmur softly, accompanied by a gentle nod. matt's smile widens, his hands falling to his sides, fingers twitching slightly as if reluctant to let go. you turn around slowly, the weight of the moment lingering in the air, a silent understanding passing between you.

his hand found its way to the small of your back, a reassuring presence that guided you with gentle insistence towards the bathroom, each step a silent promise of comfort and care.

you stood in the middle of the bathroom, feeling the cool tiles beneath your feet, as he turned the faucet of your bathtub on. he then bent down, opening the cabinet under your sink with practiced ease, retrieving a bath bomb with a flourish, its vibrant colors promising a moment of tranquility.

he plopped the bath bomb into the water, watching as it dissolved and painted a mesmerizing tapestry of colors across the surface. turning to face you, his eyes reflected the swirling hues, a silent invitation to join in the moment of serene beauty.

"up," he said softly, his hands deftly finding their way to the hem of your shirt. as you lifted your arms, matt carefully guided the fabric upwards, the motion slow and deliberate, as though savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment.

matt discards the shirt into the laundry basket with a casual flick, his hands then finding their place on your hips. with a gentle yet firm pull, he slides your sweatpants down, the fabric pooling at your feet as you step out of them, the movement fluid and unhurried.

you slowly walked over to the bathtub, each step deliberate and measured. as you approached, matt turned the faucet off with a precise motion, the water now still and inviting as you stepped inside, feeling the warmth envelop you.

you felt the warmth of the water envelop your skin, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips for the first time in what felt like an eternity. the gentle embrace of the water seemed to wash away the weight of countless days, leaving behind a fleeting moment of pure serenity.

"i'm gonna be back," matt said, his voice a gentle promise as he left the bathroom, the door closing softly behind him. you sank further into the bathtub, the water cradling you as you closed your eyes, surrendering to a moment of deep relaxation.

matt surveyed your room, his eyes absorbing the disarray with a contemplative gaze before he made his way to your bed, each step deliberate amidst the chaos.

he meticulously made your bed, replacing the sheets with fresh, crisp ones and arranging the pillows with deliberate care, ensuring each one found its rightful place.

he then gathered the scattered dirty clothes from the floor, swiftly descending to the laundry room. with a practiced motion, he deposited the soiled sheets and garments into the washer before making his way back upstairs.

he then approached your desk with a discerning eye, methodically organizing the clutter and discarding any paper that served no purpose. his gaze landed on a piece of paper lying adjacent to the bin. he intended to discard it, but the extensive writing it bore caught his attention.

he picked it up, carefully uncrumpling it and placing it onto your table. he was about to move on, but something made him glance back at it. there, amidst the text, was his name, written with unmistakable clarity.

his brow furrowed in contemplation as he delicately retrieved the piece of paper, his fingers tracing its edges with a sense of curiosity.

matt,

i don't even know where to begin. my heart is breaking as i write this, and i can't help but think of all the memories we've shared. every laugh, every tear, every quiet moment where we just existed together. you were my everything, and i wish i could have been stronger for you.

i've been fighting this darkness for so long, and it's like a weight that i can't lift anymore. i've tried to hold on, for you, for us, but i'm so tired, matt. i feel like i'm suffocating, and there's no air left for me to breathe. please know that this isn't your fault. you did everything you could, and you were my light in the darkest times.

i'm so sorry for the pain this will cause you. i wish i could stay and be the person you deserve, but i can't keep pretending that i'm okay. i don't want you to remember me like this, broken and lost. think of the times we danced in the kitchen, the nights we stayed up talking about our dreams, the mornings we woke up tangled in each other's arms. hold on to those moments and let them bring you comfort.

whenever you look at the sunset, think of me. think of the warmth and the beauty, and let it remind you of the love we shared. as much as it might hurt, i want you to move on. my selfish actions shouldn't take away your happiness and your potential to become better. you deserve all the happiness in the world, and i hope one day you'll find it again. don't let my absence take away your light. keep shining, keep loving, and keep living. i'll always be with you, in your heart, in your memories.

with all my love,

y/n

as soon as matt finished reading the letter, tears began to cascade down his face uncontrollably. he felt as though the very air had been stolen from his lungs, each breath a struggle as the weight of the words pressed heavily upon his heart.

he let out a soft sob at the thought of losing you to something he could’ve helped with. oblivious to your suffering, he was tormented by the realization that you had never confided in him.

matt stumbled into the bathroom, his hands trembling as he clutched the note, the paper crinkling under the pressure of his grip. his eyes, red and swollen from the relentless tears that refused to cease, bore the weight of his anguish. y

ou looked up from the bathtub, your face a poignant blend of exhaustion and sorrow, the dark circles under your eyes speaking volumes of sleepless nights and silent suffering. the room seemed to close in around him, the air thick with unspoken words and the heavy scent of despair.

"matt?" you mutter, your voice laced with a palpable concern, each syllable trembling as it escapes your lips, reflecting the depth of your unease and the gravity of the moment.

matt raises his trembling hand, revealing the crumpled letter, and in that instant, you feel your heart seize, as if time itself has momentarily halted.

"what is this?" his voice cracked, but now it carried a sharp, almost accusatory edge. "what are you doing?"

you could barely meet his eyes, the weight of your emotions pressing down on you like an unrelenting tide. "matt, i... i don't know what i'm doing. i'm so lost. i'm so alone."

he dropped to his knees beside the tub, the note still clutched tightly in his hand. "you think this is the answer? just leaving me like this?" his voice trembled, a volatile mix of anger and hurt lacing every word.

tears streamed down your cheeks as you reached out to touch his face, your fingers trembling. "i'm sorry, matt. i feel like i'm drowning in my own thoughts. i don't know how to make it stop."

he shook his head, his frustration bubbling to the surface like a simmering cauldron. "you don't care about what this would do to me? to us? you think disappearing is the solution?"

you leaned in, your breath trembling as you delicately brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. you paused for a moment, your fingers lingering on his skin, tracing the contours of his face as if trying to memorize every detail. 

then, with a tenderness that belied the turmoil within you, you pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "i don't want to, but i feel so trapped. it's like i'm stuck in this darkness and i can't find my way out."

matt's eyes flashed with a tumultuous blend of anger and desperation. "you can't just give up! we have to fight this together. running away won't solve anything."

"i don't know how, matt. i don't know how to let you in when i can't even understand what's happening to me," you whispered, your voice trembling as you pulled away, feeling the warmth of his hands cupping your face.

"we'll figure it out together," he whispered, his voice filled with determination but still tinged with frustration. he took a deep breath, his fingers gently tracing the outline of your face, as if trying to imprint the moment into his memory. "just promise me you'll stay. we'll find a way through this, i swear."

you nodded, tears cascading down your cheeks like a relentless stream. "i'm scared, matt. i'm so scared of what i'm feeling," you confessed, your voice quivering with the weight of your emotions.

he pulled you into a tight embrace, his own tears mingling with yours. "i know, but you're not alone. i'm right here with you, every step of the way," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the storm of your fears, as his arms tightened around you, anchoring you in the shared vulnerability of the moment.

you clung to him, the warmth of his hug a small comfort in the storm of your mind. "thank you, matt. i don't know what i'd do without you," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you buried your face in his chest, seeking solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat amidst the chaos of your thoughts.

"you'll never have to find out," he vowed, his voice steady and strong, though the anger still simmered beneath the surface. "we'll get through this, together," he promised, his words a resolute anchor as his grip tightened, conveying a fierce determination to weather the storm side by side.

with that, you allowed yourself to lean into his strength, the darkness still looming but no longer as suffocating. matt's unwavering support and his raw, honest emotions were the beacon you needed to start navigating your way back from the abyss.

»--•--«

it had been half a year since matt had stumbled upon the letter that bared your soul's darkest thoughts. true to his word, he had been a steadfast beacon, guiding you through the tempestuous seas of your despair.

now, you find yourself enveloped in a profound sense of contentment, a state of happiness that has eluded you for what feels like an eternity. matt, with unwavering dedication, facilitated your journey into therapy, and his presence has become a constant in your life, as if he has seamlessly integrated himself into your very existence, never straying from your side.

you would find solace in the nights spent at his place, and he would reciprocate by staying over at yours. matt, with meticulous care, ensured that every action he took was aimed at nurturing your well-being and lifting your spirits.

he unearthed a myriad of shared hobbies for the two of you to indulge in, much like the one you're presently engaged in.

you and matt find yourselves amidst a picturesque picnic, where he has decided to embrace the art of painting as well.

your paintbrush delicately grazed the canvas, a gentle smile playing on your lips as you meticulously brought a beautiful garden to life through your strokes.

"matt! look," you giggle softly, your voice a melodic whisper, as matt leans over, his eyes twinkling with curiosity and admiration, to behold the intricate masterpiece you've crafted.

"that looks beautiful, sweetheart," he murmured tenderly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, as a delicate pink hue blossomed across your cheeks.

“y’think so?” you inquire, turning towards him with a mixture of hope and curiosity in your eyes, seeking the affirmation and reassurance that only his words could provide.

he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned in, planting a tender kiss onto your lips. "i know so," he murmured with a smile that spoke volumes of his unwavering certainty.

as you both continued painting, a comfortable silence enveloped the space between you. the gentle hum of nature filled the air, with the chirping of crickets and the rustle of leaves composing a symphony of tranquility that seemed to dance around you.

matt broke the silence, his voice imbued with a thoughtful resonance. he paused for a moment, glancing around as if the memories were painted in the very air around you. "do you remember the first time we came here? it was right after that big storm, and everything was so fresh and new."

you laughed softly, the memory vivid in your mind. the sound of your laughter seemed to blend with the gentle rustling of leaves, creating a harmonious melody. "yeah, we got soaked trying to find shelter, but it was worth it. the meadow looked like a scene from a fairy tale."

he nodded, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes reflecting the warmth of the memory. "i think that's when i knew this place would always be special to us. it's like our own little world, untouched by everything else."

you looked at him, feeling a surge of affection swell within you, like a tide rising to meet the shore. "it's not just the place, matt. it's what we've built together. the memories, the growth... it's all part of our story."

he squeezed your hand gently, his eyes reflecting the same sentiment, a silent echo of your own feelings. "you're right. and i wouldn't trade any of it for the world."

"you know," you began, dipping your brush into a shade of blue, watching the pigment mix with the water, swirling gently before lifting it to the canvas and applying it with careful, deliberate strokes, "i never thought i'd feel this peaceful again."

matt glanced over, his own painting a beautiful mess of colors and emotions, each brushstroke layered with meaning and depth. "i always knew you would," he replied, his voice soft yet unwavering. "you've come so far, y/n. it's incredible to see you like this." 

you smiled, the corners of your eyes crinkling with genuine happiness, a warmth spreading through your chest. "i couldn't have done it without you, matt. your support, your patience... it meant everything."

you both fell silent again, the weight of your shared history settling comfortably around you like a well-worn blanket. it was in these moments of quiet reflection that you truly appreciated the profound depth of your bond.

finally, you lifted your brush, a newfound resolve kindling within your heart. "to new beginnings," you said, your voice steady and imbued with hope.

matt echoed your words, his smile a reflection of your own. "to new beginnings," he repeated, his voice resonating with the same hopeful resolve.

tags — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @pinkishpearls @bandanamatt @thedangerousalleyway @muchloveforhacker @stinkytinkywinky @jetaimevous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike @blahbel668

[whateverwillbewilderme]

Ford f*cks you in the name of science

Word count:2085

Warnings:F/M, medical kink, medical experimentation, examination, sexual experimentation, dubious consent, internal camera, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, friends to… something, sexual inexperience, bad sexual conduct in general

You gotta love Ford really. He’s smart, kind, and handsome too. There’s lots to love about a man who loves his family and only strives to be better for the sake of them and science. But god damn can he be stupid sometimes.

“Naturally, I’ll compensate you for your help today [name],” Ford says more professionally than the situation calls for. More than it deserves actually. It’s hard to be professional when your legs are up in stirrups and the only thing shielding your crotch from being visible to Ford is a thin sheet he gave you.

“And why exactly do you need to study my vagina ford?” You ask brusquely.

“Well- not your vagina exactly, your pelvic muscles. I need to see how your muscles react to certain stimuli.” He seems to stammer a bit at the bluntness of your question. But his answer seems ‘sciencey’ enough for you to believe he has no dubious intentions.

He turns away from the janky examination chair he set up for you and grabs what could be confused for a vibrator bullet connected to a long wire from his desk. “I made this specifically for this study, using the simplistic design of a common bullet vibrator with a hidden camera!” It’s odd how proud Ford is of his little creation, holding it up like it was the newest phone that everyone would go crazy over. “I will insert this inside you to capture the movements of your vaginal canal while the stimuli is in motion.” He explains naturally, his genius mind on science-mode (as you heard Stanley call it affectionately).

“So you’re gonna make me cum to see how my body reacts from the inside?” You clarify.

“Precisely my dear!” He says, proud that you understand. “I’m sure this will be helpful in my studies of reproductive biology in anomalies in gravity falls! If I completely understand coitus from a human perspective I can use it as a basis for my hypothesis for anomaly breeding!”.

You decide that this is weird and Stanford is way too excited to do this. But he is a good friend, so you suppose you can suffer through the awkwardness of letting your best friend make you cum. “ I guess that sounds reasonable.”

“Wonderful [name]! We must get straight to this!” Of course no foreplay. Ford's hands eagerly pull the sheet covering you off quickly, leaving you to try and clench your thighs closed instinctively. The stirrups hold strong enough against your attempt though and your movements are hopeless.

Ford turns back to his desk, fiddling with the computer to turn on his insertable camera. Once making sure it works correctly, he grabs a plain bottle of lube coating the metal frame of the camera completely before turning back to you. “Now, are you ready?” He says, excited to continue his experiment. You can only nod once before the tip of the camera is pressed against your entrance. A sharp intake of air and a grunt is enough to get Ford to slow down. “Sorry- sorry- should I have been slower?” Ford asks genuinely. “Fuck yeah, Ford! No prep or nothing?” You growl, “You’re this old and you still don’t know it’ll hurt if you force something inside me?”

The lubed-up camera almost slips out of Ford's six-finger grip as you reprimand him. In his defense, he does look guilty. “I’m sorry- I’m very unaware of human women’s body behavior- I wasn’t particularly popular with women when I was younger and the aliens I came across only copulated to reproduce.” He explained. For the first time, his cheeks flush a little in embarrassment. “You- you might have to teach me how to ‘warm you up’.” He infers, unsure of how to refer to the act. A sigh escapes you as you realize this is probably gonna be longer than you wanted it to go for. “God- okay. Grab the lube again, and put that damn camera down.” You order. He follows the orders quickly, dropping his precious invention on a medical tray and returning with the bottle, looking at you eagerly waiting for the next order. “Fuck… okay now did you bring an actual vibrator or something?” You ask, ashamed that this is a conversation you have to have. “Why would I?” He says obliviously.

What.

“Ford, what were you going to use to stimulate me exactly?” You ask exasperated.

“My penis of course?” He responds as if you asked a dumb question. “This is to study breeding habits in creatures, so I need to see how you react to an actual penis, not some plastic toy that goes vroom.”

“So you were going to fuck me. You were going to fuck me and you didn’t even tell me?” Ford immediately understands how fucked that sounds.

“…”

he’s embarrassed now.

“I understand where your worry is coming from now.” He mutters.

You sigh, almost ashamed at how dumb this genius could be. “Ya know what it’s fine. Totally chill.” You say, trying to convince yourself. “Let’s just get this over with.” He only nods silently, still too ashamed to say anything else.

“Put some lube on your fingers and s-start rubbing my…” you can only gesture to your crotch, too embarrassed to fully speak out the steps. He covers his index and middle fingers with a generous amount of gel but hesitates to actually touch. He lets out a shaky breath before the pads of his sticky fingers press down on your clit, slathering some of the lubricant over the small bundle of nerves before rubbing small circles over it.

It’s a shame how unsexy this scenario is because his hands do feel really good. Or maybe it’s just been too long since you’ve been properly fucked. Your breath hitches as he caresses you gently, putting down a little more pressure when he notices your breath change. “Yeah- like that.” You choke out, trying to keep any moans from slipping past your lips. You can feel a pulse in your core, and when ford drags his fingers down your slit they come back glistening with a layer of your arousal coating them. Ford continues the motions for a few minutes, getting the hang of the movements well enough that your thighs tense around the edges of the leg rests. “You- you can try slipping a finger in. Gently.” You say, biting down on your lip. He doesn’t nod or say anything, just moving his attention to your weeping hole. His eyes are trained on the whole mess between your legs, as if creating a mental diagram of what your messy pussy looks like right now. He pushes his index finger in, slowly moving it in deeper until he’s in at the knuckle.

“Fascinating. Your muscles relax as stimulation is given, allowing for more to be inserted.” He mumbles to himself. Removing his hand, he grabs the forgotten and cold camera. “Forgive me, but I think it’s best we start using this now before we go to far ahead.” He insists. Luckily this time there’s no resistance, and it slips in easily, your walls forming around it. His eyes are trained towards the monitor showing the feedback of the camera. His fingers slip back in, now two instead of one. Clenching your eyes shut and breathing deeply, a small moan escapes past your lips as ford watches the screen, moving his fingers at a steady pace. “Good. Good. You’re clenching around them you know? Oh well I’m sure you do know, you probably feel it more than I do.” He says, mind on auto pilot.

“F-fuck…”

“Hmm? Is this affecting you now? It must be since your body is responding so strongly. You’re wet too. I knew women created their own lubrications but this is more than I expected. My fingers are soaked [name].” It’s terrible how good he sounds when he’s not even trying to talk dirty. You can’t help but let your noises out now, you’re lightheaded from keeping them in for so long. “Ah- ford- it’s just a lot-“ you try and say between cries of pleasure.

“If this is a lot how will you take my cock, hmm? Please just be good and let me continue with my studies a little longer, okay?” He asks, voice low and intimidating, but so fucking hot.

He removes his fingers and while he initially moves to wipe the slick off of it on his pants, he curiously brings them to his lips, licking off whatever juices still soaked him. “How… interesting.” He simply says. “We’ll have to do this again. I’d like to see how you react to oral stimulation next time.” He suggests, his (now clean) hands reaching to undo his belt next. Pushing down his pants and underwear In one motion his cock springs up, already hard.

Looking down at it you can’t help but be a little intimidated. Fords not exactly a small man, and his manhood isn’t either. It’s a nice and satisfying 7 inches or so and delightfully girthy. Little grey curly hairs bunch up around the base of it but it doesn’t make his cock any less attractive. Too busy ogling at his member, ford smirks as he lines himself up to your entrance. “I’m glad you like it.” He says cockily. Ford grunts as he thrusts in slowly, his inches stretching you further despite the prepping. His hands grip down onto the chair as he forces the rest of his length inside. “Fuck- i get it now. Your- so fucking tight!” He growls, leaning over you in a pure display of dominance.

“You’re squeezing me so well you know?” He rasps. his hand takes your chin and forces your gaze on the monitor. “Look. Do you see how your body reacts to me?” It’s impossible to speak right now, head to hazy to think about forming sentences right now. All you can manage to mumble out is a “uh-uh” between moans, eyes trained on the camera feed showing fords cock piston in and out of you.

A particularly harsh thrust causes the tip of fords cock so deep that it bumps against your cervix. It hurts, but the pain mixes deliciously with the immense pleasure you also feel that you decide you don’t mind. “Ford-“ you cry out, walls spasming as you cum, muscles tightening around fords cock. “There it is… that’s what I wanted to see…” he growls, watching the screen intently. Looking back down at you, ford grips down on your hips hard and thrusts faster, chasing his own high now. The change in pace makes your thighs shake, moaning wildly as he pummels into you. “See? I said you’d be compensated didn’t I? Doesn’t this feel good darling? If you like this maybe I can tempt you into joining me in some more studies. You’d like that wouldn’t you [name], always such a good friend…” he moans, getting off to his own words. “Fuck- fuck- fuck- my good little experiment-“ he moans before shoving himself in as deep as he can, burying himself in your pussy as he cums, The sudden feeling of fullness choking you. The camera view is blurred by white as he fills your pussy up, some even leaking out of you and dripping onto the chair.

A few moments pass before either of you even attempt to speak, the only sounds in the lab being pants for air. You’re disappointed when ford pulls out of you, followed by a stronger drizzle of his cum pooling out onto the table too. “Hah- thank you for your participation in this project [name].” Ford sighs, cock still twitching. You can only mutter an “Uh-huh…” as you come back down from your high. Ford turns to his computer again to turn off the camera feed, grabbing a clean towel from the medical cart beside him and turning back to you. Pulling out the camera by its cord, he tosses it onto the cart before he spends some time toweling you down.

“I enjoyed this, enjoyed you dear. For more than the science.” He admits, his eyes meeting yours. “I um- I did too ford. Did you really mean it when you said you wanted to do this again?” You ask, pulling your tired legs down from the stirrups. One of fords hands grabs one of your legs as you pull it down, then he leans in and leaves a kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“Dear… I’d love to do this again.”

[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. 

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[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 82)

The pod now lay in peices, a small team of drones hovering over each section, taking note of the way it was designed and more importantly why, so that it could be properly emulated then construction began on the proper escape shuttle.

That's what Uzi was doing now, sitting on a chair in the outdoor workshop that one of her team insisted she sit on instead of standing, and thinking realistically on what they would need to escape Copper- 9's gravity well safely and, more than that land somewhere else without being cooked in the atmosphere.

Aluminum, lots of it, first and foremost, it was the lightest metal they had on hand, and thankfully, present in the vehicles that littered the roads, the bunker had a forge, it was offline at the moment (because they had no use for an industrial grade forge) but it shouldn't be too difficult to reactivate. They had enough solid fuel to keep it running temporarily… just long enough to see this through.

N and V could both lift cars with ease, so getting the burned out vehicles into the bunker was also a non-issue, so at the very least, they had that covered.

Oxygen wasn't needed, Drones didn't need to breathe, she… could breathe, but it seemed like she didn't really need to all the time if her vents could get enough air into her system unaided, it was only went she was doing something laborus or anxiety inducing would they really start going. They need some sort of air though… so it will have to be pressurized in some way.

Khan would probably be in charge of that, pressurized doors sounded right up his area of expertise, so she filed that away for something to give to him.

Next came recharging, it was probably a good idea to reuse the standing charge pods that were present in the landing pods, it would be uncomfortable sure… but it would save on space and weight.

With all that in mind, she began a preliminary sketch, trying to fit in as many charging pods in as little space as she physically could, the bigger the shuttle, the longer it would take to construct and the harder it would be to get out of the planets gravity.

The gravity wasn't very strong… lacking a core would do that, but light was best regardless.

“Liz, I'm not going to ask you to do this… it's more my responsibility…” She heard V's voice from outside the building, sounding wary and tired.

“Hell no, girl you are not claiming sole responsibility. We're all part of this now. May as well own it.” And that was Lizzy, Uzi grumbled lightly, glad that Tera was with N at the moment.

“Heeeey.” Lizzy poked her head into the doorway, it now had a sheet over it to keep out some of the draft, Uzi shivered slightly as the freezing wind hit her silicone, her core fluttering in displeasure.

“What?” Uzi asked gruffly, not wanting to really interact with her, she wouldn't call them enemies now, but a “freind” was probably still a bit of a stretch.

Even so Lizzy trapised up right to her side, V following close behind, arms crossed and looking like she'd just lost a fight with a bear.

Lizzy, the bear in question, leaned on the table in front of Uzi, quiet for a moment, V's eyes never left her, as if begging her to not do whatever she was about to.

“So V said you and N have a nest.” She started, making Uzi freeze up for a moment, feeling the embarrassment crawl up her back before shoving it down, there was nothing embarrassing about it.

“Yes.” She said simply, turning her head up from her very important work that she would very much like it get back to. Lizzy made no indication that she was phased by it.

“And that she's been sleeping in it for the past couple of days.”

Uzi blinked. Was… was Lizzy jealous? Of V sleeping in N and hers nest? Oh! Oh that was hilarious!

“Mmmhm?” A small smirk made it's way to her face, Lizzy didn't seem to notice it.

“Great! You won't mind a fourth then right?”

And suddenly the smirk was gone, and she heard V let out the world's most ‘done with this woman’ sigh she'd ever heard.

“Uh, Yes I do mind! Why do you even want to?!” Uzi exclaimed, sketch now long forgotten due to the audacity of this woman! Uzi didn't ask if she could sleep in Lizzy's bedroom, what gave the right for Lizzy to?

“Because V thinks it's her job and only her job to take care of you when N isn't around, and that's not right when I'm right here!” She pointed to herself, flipping her hair like she was the obvious choice.

“I don't need taken care of. I'm fine! I don't need all of you doting on me!” Uzi snapped, standing up quickly in protest… too quickly, her vison blurred for a moment as she was hit with vertigo, swaying and holding her head for a moment.

Lizzy steadied her on one side, V on the other, Uzi grumbled, leaning more into V automaticaly when her lovely warmth washed over her.

“Uh huh, face it girl, you need help and you can't hog my…” V looked at her, blushing furiously as she made a cutting motion with her hand.

“B-bestie all to yourself.” Lizzy finished with a stammer and a wild blush, Uzi rolled her eyes, why did they even try to hide it anymore? It was so obvious it hurt. Her and N weren't this bad. Right?

“Bite me. Both of you.” She grumbled, but her body betrayed her by purring loudly when she felt V pet her head gently, making Lizzy giggle and Uzi blush madly.

“Uh, Uzi?” The three girls turned around, Thad poking his head into the room with a sheepish smile on his face, his eyebrow raised as if he was asking a question.

“No.” Uzi groaned, but it clearly didn't matter, she felt Lizzy nod and then punch V in the arm, and she nodded as well. “NO.” She said more sternly, she wanted the nest to be private!

And yet… that daybreak the nest was full of all six of them, N and Herself, sleeping in the middle with Tera between them, V and Lizzy, curled up next to each other, V's tail and arm wrapped around her protectively, and Thad passed out in a corner, snoring like a freight train…

And she slept like a baby…

Next ->

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Crewel taking care of a puppy found in the street and return it to the owner.

This interaction could have easily turned into a long fic (which I unfortunately don’t have the time for) so 😅 I’m afraid I had to cut it short! Luckily I was still able to sneak in some 101 Dalmatians and Cruella references.

If he doesn’t scare you, no evil thing will.

It happened on a rainy afternoon in the Foothill Town.

Umbrella open like a flower, Crewel made his way down the street. In his other hand was a fragrant bag full of high-quality tea leaves begging to be brewed into a nice warm cup.

Sheets of mist fell upon the rooftops, tracing shapes in a shimmering silver. It was chilly—not a concern for him, as he was outfitted in his signature fur coat. He was careful to take light steps to avoid splashing rainwater onto his well-tailored clothes.

A faint light cut through the gloom. It snagged on his periphery, drew his eyes toward it.

He came to a complete stop.

There, displayed in a boutique window, was a mannequin in a floral petticoat and a white ruffled skirt layered like a tiered cake. It was posed provocatively, legs propped up on a chair and body tilted back, hand on the hip. Scrawled on the glass pane was a shockingly scarlet message, as if scribbled by a drunken woman in her bright red lipstick: It should be fun!

“What a marvelous display,” Crewel mused. My compliments go to the designer.

The rain continued to fall like an icy shroud around him. The circle of golden light spilling from the lit interior of the boutique was his safe haven from the weather.

Surely it wouldn’t hurt to take a look—perhaps when I’m down browsing, the rain will have let up.

He headed for the door, swinging it open. His entry wad announced by the ringing of a bell, followed by soft scampering across the floorboards.

As Crewel made to close his umbrella, something quickly brushed by his pant leg.

He looked—and startled.

A Dalmatian pup had bolted in, its fur sopping wet from the outside. It skidded to a stop before him and aggressively shook itself off, sending a fine spray of water in all directions… and on Crewel’s tailored slacks. He blinked, but found himself crouching down to its level.

What do we have here, a lost pup?

The boutique owner cursed from behind the front counter. “Sir, please curb your dog!”

“It’s not my…” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t bring himself to protest.

The Dalmatian, ever so fearless, gave a friendly bark. It nuzzled against his leg, staring up at him with large chocolatey eyes.

The puppy earned a low laugh from Crewel.

“Diving into doors when the opportunity arises, drying yourself off on me… Hmph, you’re a scrappy one. I can’t say I dislike that. Come here.”

Crewel carefully scooped up the shivering creature in his arms. With a curt nod and an apology to the shopkeeper, he retreated to a quiet corner of the boutique, shielding the puppy in his coat. It pawed against his vest and tracking mud onto the fabric. Crewel sighed—he’d have to get the entire suit dry-cleaned later.

“Let’s have a proper look at you,” he muttered, bringing the Dalmation out again.

It was a small thing, dotted like every other dog of its breed. Notably, a large black spot swallowed its left eye.

Up close, he could tell it was no stray. No, this dog was far too full-bodied and muscular to be getting by on only scraps. Its fur, too shiny and trimmed.

… That, and there was a telltale crimson band around its neck. A collar, a metal tag glinting in the store’s bright lights. Patch, it read, male. When Crewel grasped it and turned it over, the tag yielded an address and phone number.

“Ah, that must be your owner,” Crewel tutted. “How naughty of you to make your escape. Shall I bring you back there?”

Patch responded with a hapless grin and a slobbery kiss. He began to go in for a second lick, but the attempt ended in a loud sneeze.

The boutique owner casted them a dirty look.

Crewel rolled his eyes but provided a polite “We’ll be on our way.

He stepped outside, umbrella out again. Crewel regarded his canine companion fondly, ruffling its head.

“Come along, you little rascal. We can’t return you to your owner in this sorry state.

“My apartment here on Sage’s Island is small, but it can temporarily accommodate one puppy. I’ll run you a bath and clean you up before then. A hot meal is also in order—this weather is awful.”

Patch yipped enthusiastically at his newfound friend. Whether he understood what was happening or not was debatable, but he seemed happy either way.

“I’ll take that as I have your permission to proceed.” Crewel draped his coat over Patch, holding him close.

They would brave the storm together, man and man’s best friend.

[randomthefox]

You know what would make an AMAZING short animation for Sonic? While Eggman is trying to create a new robot after his latest defeat, he gets bored and gloomy. He's a bit down from getting kicked in the ass by Sonic all the time. But then he gets the brilliant idea of pranking everyone to get back at them and cure his boredom. Eggman would be SO great at pulling pranks. XD

I can picture that really vividly. Camera showing a view of Eggmans workshop in the dark. Suddenly the door swings open with the light flooding in, Eggman stomping his way inside nursing a big bandage cross on the top of his head and picking blue quills out of his butt.

Grumbling he slams his way into his work chair and swivels to his building station, already pulling out schematics and blueprints to start designing his next scheme. But his foot bumps against a trash can which is filled with crumpled up blueprint paper, he fishes a few out and unwraps them to inspect and sees they're the discarded schematics from boss mechas from previous games. Going through each and every design which was attempted, and destroyed. At first with an angry expression on his face, but then it starts to get more sullen and depressed as he goes through sheet after sheet after sheet after sheet after sheet. Each and every one was a failure. Maybe even complete with a little sketch doodle animation on the blueprint paper of Sonic breaking the mecha and laughing in a little squeaky voice.

Eggman slumps over the desk with his head in his hands, tugging at his mustache in frustration. Combing through a literal pile of his failed past schemes is making him gloomy. He pushes away from his work desk and just staggers out of the room and starts idly roaming through his base. Inspecting the assembly lines. Looking over animal containment cages. His badniks manning those stations stiffening up nervously from his presence, but Eggman is basically just doing this meme.

Eventually as he's milling around listlessly he trips on a pile of nuts and bolts and falls flat on his ass. The badniks nearby when it happens scatter in fear of an ensuing tantrum. But he just lays on his back for a few seconds. Then he sits up and looks down at the stuff he tripped on, and toes at the pile for a second. Then his eyes widen and a big twinkle comes to his face and he starts grinning wide and huge as inspiration strikes.

Cut to Knuckles walking around on Angel Island, wandering around just on patrol. Then he struts back to where the master emerald only to stop and gawk with shocked horror. The camera panning around to show the emerald had toilet paper flung across the entire shrine and dripping yoke and broken egg shells from tossed eggs splattered all over it. Knuckles starts stomping around and raging while the camera pulls back showing Eggman hiding in the bushes cackling to himself.

Cut to Amy walking home while holding a bag of groceries, and once she gets in front of her door she pulls out the keys to unlock it and go inside, but once she tries stepping into the house she trips and falls flat dropping her grocery bag. She pushes up with a startle and looks down, and finding that her feet are stuck to the welcome mat which has been turned into a glue trap! She double takes with confusion, then glances up and looks around left to right in surprise at the sound of Eggman howling with laughter in the distance.

Cut to Tails in his hanger working on the Tornado, he takes a break wiping his brow and going over to his work desk to pop a mint into his mouth. Only to grimace and scrunch his face up, then coughs the mint out and sticks his tongue out while clutching at his throat. He frowns and inspects the mint and finds his entire bowl of candy has been replaced with what is conspicuously just metal nuts that have been painted to look like mints. Tails frowns and turns around and then gasps to find that the Tornado is sitting on top of cinderblocks, the landing gear wheels missing like a hub cap jacking.

Cut to Sonic sleeping under a tree in the shade, only for the shade to darken into a shadow as Eggman looms over him. Pov turning back to show Eggmans grinning laughing face as he leans in towards the camera until he fills up the entire frame with darkness. Then cut to later in the day with the camera sitting behind Sonics shoulder, he yawns awake and stretches. Suddenly Knuckles Amy and Tails all show up, all of them carrying the indications of their pranks Knuckles holding the entire master emerald aloft Amy stumbling with glue still on her feet and Tails holding the bowl of nut mints. They all converge in front of Sonic starting to chirp and complain, only to stop and stare as Sonic stands up and regards them with confused concern with the camera still looking just behind his shoulder. Then all three of them burst into laughter looking at Sonic, and the camera sweeps around showing Sonic's face - completely drawn over with magic marker making a fake mustache black eye and monocle and other silly scribbles all across him from chin to forehead while Sonic just looks baffled.

Cut back to Eggmans workshop just as Eggman is sitting back down at his desk, smiling and sighing with rejuvenated energy. Then he pulls out a fresh blueprint sheet and starts drawing away at a new mech design, the camera slowly pulling away while he giggles under his breath as he draws and some jaunty midi tune cover of E.G.G.M.A.N. plays out the video before it cuts to credits.

[leibal]

Aluminium Chair is a minimalist chair created by Netherlands-based designer Pelle Dekker. Currently, Dekker is developing a series of minimalist furniture pieces using sheet metal and metal tubes. The inaugural piece in this collection is the ‘Aluminum Chair.’

[theresattrpgforthat]

do you know of any ttrpgs where you play as a dragon rider? ideally that would be the main premise that the game is built around, but i'm open to anything that involves riding dragons.

THEME: Dragon Riders

Hello friend. For standalone games regarding Dragon Riders, I was only able to rustle up one. So to make up for it, I have some supplements for other games as suggestions, as well as a way of hacking a different genre to make it work for you.

Dragon Riding is Easy, Isn’t It? By Hans.

You are a Dragon Rider. With your companion dragon and your friends, you will face danger, see the world, and make new friends. Along the way you will take turns playing the Rival, driving the story forward and confronting the Dragon Riders with their foes.

This is a game with a lot of room for decisions about what exactly you’re riding dragons for. Collaboratively, your group will decide what makes Dragon Riders stand out, and what kinds of differences exist between the dragons of your world. The dice system uses d6s, with staggered levels of success. What’s interesting about your dice results is that each one must be assigned to an aspect of the task at hand (Goals, Risks, Traits and Complications), which means that your results well tell you more than whether or not you simply succeeded or failed. The meat of the story will surround the efforts of the group to foil the plot of the Rival, a character played by members of the party who sit in the GM’s chair - and everyone might get a chance to take a turn at this! The system itself feels pretty rules light, and the game its pay-what-you-want, so it’s worth checking out!

Dragon Riding, (for 13th Age) by Pelgrane Press.

The lethal combination of dragon and rider helped create the Dragon Empire. Now unleash the fury on your foes! Full rules for player character dragon riders appear alongside story advice for campaigns looking to add dragon-riding options.

13th Age is a fantasy game built similarly to games like D&D 3.5 and D&D 4e, but containing mechanics that address the narrative side of play. Rather than focusing on a consistently “realistically” coherent setting, 13th Age focuses on what is dramatically important instead. Character creation will look similar in that it has races and classes, but you also decide on a relationship between your character and an Icon of the setting - the Icon being a major player in the world. This relationship makes your character immediately relevant to whatever story is about to happen, putting them front-and-centre of the action.

The Dragon Riding Supplement adds rules to the base game and advice on how to incorporate dragon riding into a story. You don’t just get character options - you also get adventures and advice on how dragon riding might be incorporated into battle, how the healing system works with dragons, and more.

If you are familiar with games like D&D and Pathfinder, then 13th Age isn’t a very big step. However, if you ‘re new to tabletop roleplaying games, this is a pretty big learning curve, so be prepared for a significant amount of rules and lore.

Moth-Light by Justin Ford and RIDERS by Me!

If you’d like a game that can easily turn into a game about Dragon Riding, you can also check out my RIDERS supplement for Moth-Light. The creatures of Moth-Light are supposed to be giant insect-like creatures called Moths, but I wrote RIDERS while being deeply inspired by the Chronicles of Pern - which is a science-fiction setting that has dragon riders!

Metal Sword, by Mousewife Games.

Metal Sword is an "acoustic cover" of Austin Ramsay's Beam Saber.  It's a fully playable Forged in the Dark game, but with simpler rules, easy to read character sheets, and less overall math than is often seen in games of this genre.

The central mechanic for building both your pilot character and their vehicle are "Quirks", which you devise similar to how you would design your vehicle's Quirks in Beam Saber or a character's aspects in FATE.

Alright so you’re probably asking - why is there a mech game in this list of recommendations about dragon riders? I think there’s a lot of similarities between the kinds of stories told in mech games and the stories about dragon riders. You are a tiny, fragile human, responsible for a large, powerful creature or machine. Success in any mission requires a great level of knowledge and skill.

I chose Metal Sword because it’s a very stripped-down version of Beam Saber that is pretty easy to hack. The biggest change you’d have to make is the terminology. Your Vehicle becomes your Mount. Your Vehicle Actions become something like Heal, Maneuver, Sense and Blast. Because you are writing in the Quirks according to what makes you and your mount unique, you can incorporate details about your dragon’s powers and personality into character creation.

Not all Mech games will easily convert to Dragon Rider games. But I think there’s definitely potential!

[daflangstlairde-art]

A Catalog of Non-Definitive Acts — Chapter 1, 6167 words

Part 3 of DFL's Whumptober 2024

Work Summary:

Love was cauterized out of him young, because that is how you survive.  But coming back home with the Splintersons, Leo craved.  He craved and he ached and he hungered. Because the Jitsu family loves. They love ardently, fervently, they love in a way Leo has never, ever seen before, they love in a way Leo could never even conceptualize much less dream of. (She’s always taught him, by word but much more by example, to take what he wants and settle for nothing less.) 

“Three, two, one–” 

“TAA-DAAAAAA!” all the Jitsu siblings yelled in a chorus, Michelangelo doing jazz hands, Donatello setting off some sort of sparkler, April popping confetti, all as Raphael yanked the off-white curtain aside to reveal–

Oh.

...A cell. 

Leonardo—well, Leo, he supposed—shouldn't have hoped for anything different. He was new to their family, and he hadn't proved himself yet. It made sense!

“Wooowww!” he hummed, grinning, stepping forward with none of the disappointment he felt, to look around the cell. It was a nice cell, to be fair. Nothing like his old bedroom, but leagues better than Big Mama’s dungeons, eugh. Those things were a violation.

This cell had an actual bed with a bed frame, and a mattress, and bed sheets! Even a pillow. Wow. 

And it was all furnished! It didn't have a window—which made sense, they wouldn't trust him to not run off at first opportunity, and they probably wanted to keep an eye on him at least in the beginning. But really? Not even a window with some thick metal bars or something? But it had a ceiling light, and a night light on a nightstand by the bed. 

There was also a wardrobe, which implied he’d get to keep some of the outfits he would be given! That’s fun. He was looking forward to that. Well, if they were nice outfits. The Splintersons weren't really the “dressing” type... 

Even now, they were just... wearing gloves and socks and sashes and stuff. Only April had the decency to be in her usual fit. Leo himself was dressed decently. Not his favorite, but hey, he was in a rush, and he needed to be comfortable. Just a white button-up of a flowy material, and black slacks—not exactly comfortable wear, but it was better than the fancier stuff, and he hadn't exactly had access to his Nexus fits designed for movement. And he had to literally move, during his “moving out”. He took exactly zero accessories, too. 

There was also a desk, so that meant they had some studies planned for him! That could also be fun, maybe... depending on the studies. He usually preferred learning hands-on, not... hunched on a chair, but, he’s excelled at his teachings for years now. He was sure he could keep impressing even more. 

And there were empty shelves on the wall. For... he wasn't sure for what. Weapons? Gifts? Probably gifts. 

While he was doing his inspection, the Jitsus all had their hands clasped, leaning in, waiting for him to act out his part of the script.

“Soo?? What do you think???” Michelangelo– well, Mikey, since they were brothers now. Officially, that is. 

Oohh, that meant Leo was pushing it, if he was being nudged so obviously to reply. Had to play up his reaction even more then, to justify the build-up.

Because he was long, long trained in easily picking out the meanings of people’s words that laid underneath what they said. In this case: Where are your manners? We did this for you, now return the gesture and behave as we want. Be grateful.

He whirled around, a grin on his face (not too wide, so that he doesn't look manic or obviously artificial), and exclaimed “I love it!” 

“YAAAYY!”

“WOOOO!” 

The other four cheered and wooped, and it threw Leo off for a second. That wasn't the script he was expecting, but, okay! That was a lot of emotion, but he was starting to learn the Jitsus are... kind off... like that. In general. 

No wonder Mamá had tricked them so hard in their first meeting. If Leo hadn't interfered– well. 

...Oh no. He didn't know where the script went from here. Usually when it was Cell Time, he’d just... be left inside, locked, to endure his punishment or until he did better or something.

But they were just looking at him. They expected something–?

Oh, right! Leo was such an idiot, how could he forget? Years of classes on manners and how to do social interaction, and the moment he’s starting his own life, boom, fail.

“Thank you so much,” he told them, smiling. When receiving gifts, he has well learnt he needs to show his gratitude (even if he didn't like the gifts), and then work hard if he wanted to keep the gifts (even if he didn't want them) and to repay them. Big Mama liked giving gifts. And then taking them away. And then giving them again. Making sure the script stuck with Leo. “It’s wonderful,”

“I installed air conditioning,” Donnie pointed to a sort of vent close to the ceiling. So it was secured, then, if he was pointing it out so obviously. No escape from there either, emphasizing that it wasn't worth it to even try.

Leo, of course, read the meaning under the comment: Look how much effort this is. Your reaction isn't satisfying. 

Damn, what was he missing? He didn't know their specific scripts yet, but he was trained for this stuff! He should figure it out quick. For now, he’d just rely on the standard ones. 

“Oh, that is great, I love my air conditioned,” Leo said cheekily, and felt a little relief and satisfaction as Mikey giggled and Donnie rolled his eyes and all. 

Okay, not perfect, but he’ll figure it out. He will.

He wanted to stay here. He wanted to be with the Jitsus—they were nice, and not fake-nice, actually nice. Even when it was at their detriment. 

He’d gone through aaall the trouble of... hm, let's call it moving out, away from Big Mama to join them, because he really did think they could be worth it. 

And he was grateful, he was over the moon actually, that they also wanted him here. That they had not only accepted him, but helped him make his elaborate, arduous get-away. 

So he would put in the work. Learn their scripts and earn his place until they even allowed him to be in a room and not a cell. 

“Bathroom one is down the hall there, and bathroom two is next to it,” Raph pointed. 

Oh, was Leo even allowed to go to the bathroom whenever he wanted? Sick! 

“Wanna see my lab??” Donnie said, excited in a manic sort of way.

“Of course!” Leo voiced his dialogue, grinning.

“And then we can have dinner all together!!!” Mikey waved his arms around. 

And you can show us how well you behave now that you are in our territory.

“Sounds like a plan!” Leo agreed.

“Let’s go!” Donnie declared, whirling around to lead the way.

Leo followed. He couldn't help but note that he had no door. It was just a curtain. 

No lock, to keep him inside. But no privacy. It was the final confirmation—this was his trial period. They’d observe how he followed his schedule and behaved and they’d judge whether he was fit to earn a real, permanent place in their home.

He really, really hoped he would.

—

Dinnertime rolled around, and if Leonardo didn't have years of experience, he’d be drained. The last few days were already so close to leaving him a wreck—he had to not only spend weeks planning how to “move out”, the whole time not letting even a single sign that anything is happening; and then he actually had to execute that plan. With all the obstacles that had popped up. 

And let's just say—outplaying the biggest criminal boss in the entire Hidden City wasn't easy.

Good thing Leo was probably the one person who could match her. He was raised by her, after all, and she was thorough in teaching him her ways.

But it's fine. Leo could handle a dinner! Even if mealtime was always one of the most taxing slots in his schedule. He had to watch all tableside manners (which he used to really struggle remembering), while also keeping his perfect act. 

But he was good at the social events. He was a master at them, at this point. He could handle the underlying meanings of conversation like a professional handling a bomb. He could navigate conversational minefields in his sleep.

...

Even if the Mad Dogz evidently had no interest in, like, any of that. 

There was no order to the seating arrangement, because the table was circular, so Leo had no clue who was supposed to be the head. He was currently between Raph and Donnie, April next to the latter, face propped on her hand with her elbow on the table, and there was one seat left for Mikey because he was serving. Right, they didn't have servants, that's... weird to them, apparently.

It smelled really good. Some sort of soup. Fish stew?

Donnie had his feet up and was tapping away on his phone. Raph was already chewing on bread before any set of cutlery was even arranged. April was debating with Mikey... uh, which types of fish prep was better? Wait, was she also a chef? 

“Leo! How hungry are you??” Mikey asked in the middle of their argument(?). 

Weird way to ask, but Leo knew his lines. Like he said—social events are so his thing.

“Hungry as a turtle,” he said, cheeky. When uncertain, he could always rely on answering with a half-joke—it was just ambiguous enough to be inoffensive and charming, and therefore had a low likelihood of bring incorrect. Even if the lack of commitment and confidence showed, which made him look incapable.

But the Jitsus were highly receptive to his smartass responses so far—and again, Mikey giggled and April snorted.

“So, two ladles? Three?” 

No. Leo hadn't eaten nearly all day. He was hungry.

“Perfect,” he said easily. 

“We were gonna order pizza to celebrate, but Mikey wanted to do it with a homemade meal!” Raph chimed in, and Leo hummed in acknowledgment.

We're doing even more for you. You’ll have to pay it back. 

“Awe, Mikey, that’s so touching,” Leo commented, with the appropriate amount of heartfelt-ness. 

Mikey flashed him a grin, and then he started serving the soup.

And, insanely enough, he placed the first bowl in front of Leo–? Instead of... whoever was the head at the table???

...Oohh, right, he was like... an honored guest! Right? Yeah, that made sense. Like a special occasion.

The second bowl went to Raph, who immediately started eating. Third bowl to Donnie, then April, then, at last, Mikey, and he sat himself down as well.

So Raph was the head of the table. Got it. 

Well, he was eating, so Leo followed suit. 

...Even if... they had only one spoon per person, that's it, not even a napkin. And also... no glasses for water or other beverages–? Except for Donnie, who had a single regular glass cup???

Boy, Leo had a lot to learn. He's barely been here for a few hours and already everything was wildly different than his previous life.

“Man, Leo, can't wait to show you Jupiter Jim–!” 

“Oh we really gotta skate together–!” 

“Oohhh and we can show you our favorite spots around NYC–!” 

Leo nodded along and agreed to their enthusiastic ideas with a smile. Chipped in with a fun little comment or joke when there was a pause.

It really felt like the Mad Dogz might want him here.

Anyway. In the middle of the conversation, April just... got up, opened a cupboard, and poured herself water from the sink. Sat back down, continued like nothing had happened.

Aaaalright theeeen. Soo... there was a level of self-serve...? That– that made sense, Leo supposed.

Right, again, no servants. And they had insisted multiple times that they were all “equals”... he was still trying to understand that. 

Still, he didn’t risk it for now. Wouldn’t want to majorly goof it up on the first dinner! That would be humiliating. He’d save that for the thirddinner. 

Plus, they were being so welcoming. Making a nice meal just for him. He wouldn't want to be unappreciative and rude.

—

They were only waiting for April and Donnie to finish up their meals, and after that dinner would be–

“So, how ya feelin’ Leo?” Raph asked. “We can have a movie night! Or do you wanna head back to your room and rest? You gotta be pretty tired,” 

–oh, dinner was ending now, apparently.

Leo inwardly groaned. Damn, thanks Raph, giving him virtually nothing to figure out the correct response.

He knew what “movie night” meant in concept—they’d mentioned it, during that one conversation about Lou Jitsu and stuff, way back when they'd realized he was the current Battle Nexus champion. It was one of the ways they spent time together, like, bonding and stuff. 

I.e. it was their time. It was family time. Wouldn't that be intruding, if he joined? Or would it be rude if he declined the offer, instead? Raph had suggested it. But he’d also offered Leo go to his cell. 

...Oohh, or! Or maybe it was a weird way of saying, join us and behave, or do you WANT to go back to your cell? You know, behave or be punished.

All this figuring out, of course, happened in the span of a second, because not replying for long periods of time is awkward and rude. Man, all of this had become like second nature after years of practice—it was wild, being back to having to actually think about it.

“I’d love that,” Leo answered. 

“Watching movies or going to your room?” Donnie asked flatly, just looking at his phone, and Leo kept his reaction entirely internal. It felt a little like he’d been shot with a dart.

Nuts. He totally blundered that. Idiot. Get a grip, think. Be better!

Come on, he had to give an actual, clear answer now, commit. 

“You guys wanted to show me some movies, right?” he replied indirectly, still grinning, always grinning. 

“YEAH!” Mikey yelled, grabbing him by the arm, and wow the little guy was as intense as always with his reactions. It was a Mad Dog Thing™. It still took Leo off-guard, though, especially in tense moments like that. “You will LOVE Jupiter Jim, I JUST know it!!!” Mikey exclaimed. 

Leo exhaled unnoticeably. Great, perfect, he’d nailed it. Okay, more social time. He’d be introduced to something they love and to a nigh sacred familial ritual of theirs, he could not mess this up.

...

Easier said than done, because rules and structure at the Jitsu household were only getting more confusing.

In front of their projector, there was a couch and two beanbag chairs at each of its sides. Leo wasn't sure where to sit. Nobody told him. 

The three brothers were too busy squabbling over which movie to start with, which was a little funny. April was the only one who sat on the couch like a normal person. Well, sort of like a normal person, considering she kicked off her shoes and brought her feet up, stretched out, instead of just... sitting. 

Leo stared at the tussle happening while he tried to figure out his place in this arrangement. The couch? No way. He hadn't reached that level of... acceptance, yet. That'd be invading on their turf. Not his place. 

So, one of the beanbags? But which one? There were two, so probably, usually two of the Splintersons would occupy them? Which one belonged to who, however?

...Aaand then April noticed he was still standing and leaned over, patting the spot on the couch next to her. 

Okay.

So.

The couch then.

A clear invitation like that overrides previous structure. He was grateful to her as he moved over to the couch and sat. Normally. 

The brothers were still arguing which Jupiter Jim movie was the best, and Leo absentmindedly kept track of their conversation, as he did with all conversations. Well. Whenever he could. 

Paying attention wasn't... his strongest suit. To this day, he struggled with it, always a tiring fight. But! He really cared about figuring out the Jitsu ways and mastering them, so he paid attention to each specific word use and each preference stated, keeping a log in his mind. Memorizing their personalities. You never know what information could turn out to be useful, and if you're skilled enough, all information can be useful in some way, even minor.

Like, for example, if he was one on one with one of them, and they asked which movie was his favorite, he could say, well, I quite liked– and then say whatever their favorite is. One of his favorite cards to play, because it always worked well. It let him charm them by saying their favorite, while not explicitly marking it as his favorite, so if two opinions clashed, he could say I like both of them and please all parties.

“BOYS!” April finally cut off their arguing. Pretty sure all three had resorted to biting, hah! “Just pick the first one and let's start! We have loads of time, Leo will see them all!” she reasoned with them. Good compromise. 

They huffed and grumbled for a moment, but quickly moved on, inserting the first movie. 

Everyone sat on the couch. Luckily it was big enough. 

Everyone besides Donnie, who sat on the beanbag to the left, pulling his knees in. Actually, Mikey also sat with his legs crossed, right next to him. Okay, so, Leo was slowly learning they had... no care for how you sit. He was still going to sit properly, but, good to know.

Despite the movie not being their chosen favorite, all the Mad Dogz were full of energy as they watched it. Donnie sang the musical numbers and Mikey commented on the set design and Raph reacted to some scenes like he was seeing them for the first time, even though by the way they were able to recite the dialogue, Leo was sure they’d seen it at least a dozen.

And April seemed to be mirroring Leo’s own reaction—watching the goofs do their goofy thing, amused and affectionate. Even if she was far more open about it. 

She also seemed to have lower energy like him (she had school today), which made him feel more comfortable with not forcing himself to be... well, like the other three in order to fit in. 

It was... nice. 

Busy with the movie, there wasn't a whole lot of performing that Leo had to do. He could just observe, and occasionally react with the emotion that a specific scene called for. But he really could just... enjoy the others’ presence, the expectations for his behavior far lower than he’s used to. 

He hoped he would get to get used to this now. 

—

Leo kept his composure until he was cleared to finally leave to his cell. He kept his composure as he brushed his teeth with a toothbrush they’d gotten him. He kept his composure as Mikey and Raph hugged him for good night, although that had been a close one. It's not that Big Mama was never physically affectionate, it's just... it was just different. He didn't know how or why.

(“And don't hesitate to holler if y’ need anything!” Raph clapped him on the back.

“Will do,” Leo was smiling back, and made a mental note that he should go to Raph if there was a medical emergency. Weird, he would've thought Donnie was better at that stuff, what with his affinity for science stuff.

“Yeah! Even if you just wanna hang out!” Mikey beamed, and that– hm. Leo would decode that later.

“Thank you,” he said simply, and thankfully it was enough for them.)

He kept his composure even when he was finally alone in his cell, because first he had to check for cameras. He found none, which meant they wanted to observe him without him knowing it. Ugh, he always hated that. 

Only when he finally got in bed (a bed!), and almost completely covered himself with the blanket, facing the wall, did he let the act slough off of him just a little.

They didn't give him his schedule, which was unpleasant since he didn't know what to expect from tomorrow, but that's alright. Thinking on his feet and adapting are some of his best strengths. They probably didn't have time to quite organize it yet. He had a clock in his new cell (which, again, big step up compared to his old one), but he was not informed of when to wake up. 

Would someone come wake him? Or would it be safer to wake up early and just wait until they came to get him for his first slot, whatever it contained? Hh. 

Leo sighed soundlessly. All of this was kinda bringing back unpleasant memories from his early childhood. Before he got good. Before he started understanding how the world works. 

Back when a cell was his only room, and he didn't have the plush, spacious, beautiful-though-still-locked, real bedroom. Back when he’d go weeks at a time in there, months even, with barely any human contact, except for Big Mama and whoever Big Mama approved that’d work with him on his education and behavior.

He'd been such a... raw child, was the only way he could describe it. He’d expressed his emotions as they were, the moment he felt them. He hadn't understood a lot of things. He’d been desperate for an affection that just doesn't exist and would only ever be given to him as a manipulation tactic. Which always worked shamefully well on his stupid, stupid brain, always starving for even a shred of love, even fake love. Heck, he still sometimes fell for it to this day! That desperate, childish, emotional hope that he could be loved, actually loved, in the way that just doesn't happen.

Except when Raph picks Mikey up in a tight hug and spins him until Mikey laughs. Except when Mikey gets Donnie going on a real good infodump. Except when Donnie spends hours neticulously personalizing a gift for them. Except when they cuddle up and watch movies and share hugs and snacks and I love you’s, again and again and again–

Leo gritted his teeth. Curled into his blanket more.

...He wanted that. He’d learnt it would never happen with Big Mama, but... with them? 

Maybe. Just maybe, it could. He was almost actually grateful for all the lessons she’d commanded be branded into his bones, because now, when it mattered, he could prove himself. Could prove just how perfect he was, so perfect it was basically art. And maybe like art, he could be loved.

But for now, he went to sleep, dreaming of things he’d learnt to regard as nonexistent.

—

Okay, Leo was awake for three hours already. He'd managed to wake up at 7 a.m., which he would usually consider late. 

He frantically got dressed, luckily his one and only current outfit was simple. He made his bed—ages ago, he'd tried doing it even if he didn't have to, considering the staff usually did; but Big Mama had been pleased with him, so, trying to be a good son and impress, he kept it up. It was a habit now.

He’s checked everywhere for anything out of place, and everything was as it was the night before.

Aaand then nothing happened. 

He’d already waited, he’d already done some light exercises (handstand push-ups, some split stretches, the usual). And then he'd done some more waiting and exercises. 

Kept checking the clock. With each empty minute, he got more and more worried that he was doing something completely wrong. That he hadn't gotten the memo for what he’s supposed to be doing. 

He was doing his best to keep calm, but it was really building up, because he really, really didn't want to mess up on his first real day with the Mad Dogz. 

It was as the second hour passed to the third that it occurred to Leo, oh. Right. 

Cell. 

Of course. 

He relaxed once he remembered that. Duh! Of course he’ll be made to stay here! This is how cell time always goes! 

It’s like being told to stand in timeout in the corner, but, you know. For a few hours at minimum. A couple years at most, haha. He was deeply familiar with it. 

He could never decide which type of punishments were worse. Sure, Cell Time wasn't really... painful, like the other types, or emotionally awful. It wasn't boring like doing piles of paperwork. 

But Cell Time was its own kind of awful. It was fine for the first few hours, when Leo could take it as a sort of... break. Rest on the cot, take a nap, enjoy the relative quiet that differentiated it from his otherwise incredibly packed schedule (he hoped the Jitsus would give him his new schedule soon, and he secretly hoped it would be lighter, considering they weren't managing all of the Hidden City’s crime). 

He’d get to stretch, his wounds would get to heal more naturally, if he had any leftover from his most recent performance at the Nexus. 

But as it all dragged on, it really started dragging on. Despite the sheer amount of energy and stress that all social situations brought, Leo was a social kinda guy. He liked mastering social situations, he liked single-handedly manipulating the flow of it, he liked being charming. He liked talking to people, being in their presence. Most of all when it was someone... how could he say this... plain. People who weren't as educated as he was on manners and manipulation and whatnot. People who just said what they thought, who had sincere dreams and experiences instead of a carefully crafted life script. 

It fascinated him. He liked studying them. He liked being around them. Maybe they felt less threatening.

So being deprived of all contact for hours upon hours? It... it reminded him of a lonely and locked off childhood. As the boredom and isolation started settling in during Cell Time, he often wanted the worse punishments. Cell Time was way too good at wearing him down, because at least with pain, he could feel strong and active as he endured it. 

Cell Time always continued until Leo cracked and started saying exactly what was wanted of him to say. And especially in the past, that took a while.

But!

That wasn't happening yet, for now. Well. He was close to it. He really really did want the Jitsus to like him, so he was sitting at the desk’s chair, fervently trying to analyze all interactions he's had with them—before and after getting away from Big Mama—for the right things to say. Should he apologize? What for? Did he make a mistake? Or did they want him to ask politely? Beg? Promise to be better? 

He had to be careful, because whenever he got Cell Time and said the wrong thing, Big Mama would just chuckle or sigh, and say oh, turtely-boo in that condescending tone, it is more than obvious you have learned nothing, my dear, and are simply saying anything to get out, hm?

Which... he was, because he wasn't always sure what got him in trouble. He had to figure it out. But he couldn't show that he didn't know, that was the problem.

He got better at it over time. He was smart and adaptable like that. 

But he got smart with Big Mama’s rules. He was playing by different rules now. And it was like he was eight all over again, crying about how sorry he was and how he would be better, face pressed to the cold door. Because he didn't realize he was in timeout because of all the crying (it was loud and ugly and improper, and it broadcasted your weakness and emotions to everybody). 

He hated being reminded of all that. It was embarrassing, and it was tying his stomach in knots. But if he figured it out once, he could figure it out again. He will figure it out. 

So when there was a knock at– not his door, the wall beside the curtain, Leo shot to his feet. He appreciated the signal to let him know he should compose himself, that was nice.

He smoothed out his shirt and schooled his face into the same easy grin, standing to attention. Hiding away all the tension, because dammit, he still hadn't figured it out, and time was up.

“Heeeyyy Leeeooo–” Mikey’s hand pulled the curtain aside slowly, and then he paused and blinked with an “Oh! ...You're awake!” 

He was surprised? Didn't they see it on the cameras? ...Hm, no, the monitors had been in Donnie’s lab, he was probably the one who handled security. 

“Ready to face the day,” Leo said easily. 

“Nice!” the praise eased him a little. Okay, he'd done one thing right. He made a note to always be awake when they came to get him. 

“Good morning!” Raph also poked his head in, pulling the curtain further to the side, and oh, Donnie was also there. All of them looked to be in a good mood, so, that's good. And they weren't really... good, at hiding their emotions, not like him and Big Mama.

“Good morning,” Leo returned. 

“We have gifts for you!” Donnie declared.

“Yeah! Like... welcoming gifts!” Mikey grinned.

Wow, really? More gifts? Jeez, they were really hamming up the love bombing. Leo would have to watch himself, make sure he didn't get lost in it. He reminded himself it would be pulled away the moment he messed up or they wanted something. 

“Oh? That's so sweet of you, you didn't have to,” Leo said, humble. 

“‘Course we did! You're our brother!” Raph stated proudly, and something inside Leo twisted and lurched. An ache, a hunger, something grasping for that title—brother. Brother to them meant love and belonging and support and care and a myriad of other things that Leo has only ever gotten the fake, cheap version of. 

He wanted it so badly. 

And Raph said it so easily.

“That’s...” Leo said quietly, a little in awe, and then blinked, and caught himself slipping, and recomposed his act. Get it together, Leonardo. You can't blunder it now. “That means a lot,” nuts, too sincere, too genuine, reign it back in or it will be used against you–

“I drew us all!!!” Mikey was striding forward first, handing Leo a... drawing. Of the Jitsu family, all three turtles and April and their sensei Splinter, smiling and together.

All four turtles. Because Leo was there, too.

...First gift and he was already breaking. Damn, perhaps he underestimated them. Perhaps they were master manipulators, and they were actually so good Leo hadn't even realized it. 

Emotions were something he’d been conditioned for years to bury and hide and lock away, burn whenever possible. And yet here he was. Feeling... feeling... he wasn't even sure what. Just an overpowering emotion as he stared at the drawing, with him included. 

...There was... one detail that stuck out to him. Because, well, April and Splinter are a human and a rat, of course they’d be a little different to the rest, though they remained just as loved and just as accepted. 

But Leo was... the only turtle with a bare face. As always, Raph had his red bandana and Donnie had his purple one and Mikey had his orange one, and only Leo’s face was empty, save for his markings of course. He was grinning, neutrally smug, the way he’d been taught and the way he’d practiced in the mirror. To always look in control. Casual, easy, unbothered, unshakeable, intelligent, coy even.

All the others were smiling in joy or amusement, some of them with grins so big their teeth showed. 

Leo wanted to be part of that so, so badly. 

...Oh no, he’d lingered on it way too long, no no, dammit, now they knew it had affected him, oh no–

He wrenched his gaze away from the drawing and again recomposed himself, thinking up a response on the fly–

“And this is Boss Bearhug!” Raph declared, placing a... stuffed turtle plush in his arms. It was big enough to be called a tiny pillow. "'Cause he gives great hugs!"

Leo couldn't help but notice the red markings on its face. That looked exactly like his own.

Like... like the plushie was personally customized for him. 

“And I,” Donnie spoke up before Leo could process that emotional hit, because Donnie can never be too behind, hah, “thought I’d give you a more practical gift, to hopefully aid in the integration within semi-human society, because while I know you weren't entirely shut off from humans, you were mostly distanced from their—and our—way of casual living, and phones are–” he started rambling.

“It’s blue,” Leo whispered, staring at the smartphone in astonishment, and Donnie paused. 

“Huh?” he blinked, and fuck. Fuck. Leo has apparently completely lost his filter, huh? He's messing everything up, he had to get ahold of himself, he was going to ruin all of this– “Well, yes–? I– based it off the color of your mystic powers,” Donnie bulldozed ahead, unaware of Leo’s internal nervous breakdown (as he should be).

When he was little, Big Mama had taken one look at his face and immediately began building his brand around the color red. And Leo quickly caught on and began always claiming his favorite color was red, so when his red clothes or red make-up or red toys would get taken away as punishments, he could only act like it had an effect on him. 

But the truth is... well. When that whole fiasco at Laberinto de Muerte happened, and he was forced to save those dum-dums from “saving” him (he’d been training), things got a bit... heated, haha. And when that was the moment that his mystic ability decided to unlock itself after a lifetime of being a disappointing dud? 

Well. Secretly, Leo had been pleased. Because the portal was blue. 

Blue was his real favorite color. Like the pattern on his shell! But, well, red sold more. Red was aggression and passion and blood and attention and confidence, or, at least that’s what Big Mama and her consultants and Leo’s marketing tutor claimed. It was a great color for his stage presence in the Nexus.

Blue was always something he kept close to his heart.

The phone... case, he was pretty sure it was called. It was a light blue. It wasn't Leo’s favorite blue but it was blue. How did Donnie know to make it blue? 

“...I... I can swap it for, um, rrrred, if you don't like it...?” Donnie spoke up again, and was he hesitant?

No! Leo did not want that!

Okay, Leonardo, time to grab the reins of the conversation again. 

“Donnie, I adore it,” Leo said, smiling, hands too busy with the gifts to gesture with them but that's alright. Donnie’s eyes still widened and he still grinned with those sparkles in his eyes. “In fact, I love all of them, really,” he turned to the other two as well, and they were also smiling.

“We wanted you to have something for your room!!!!” Mikey was flapping his hands in what Leo had learned was excitement. 

“And to not be alone at night!” Raph added.

“And to feel less out of place,” Donnie nodded along. “And to have an easy, convenient way to communicate with us even when we’re not around, and to entertain yourself, and to learn about the world–” he once again picked up rambling about the greatness of phones. 

Leo nodded along, turning around to place the plushie on the shelves, the drawing on his nightstand, and... uh... where was he supposed to keep a phone–? A pocket? Yikes, he didn't have pockets on these pants– 

Wow. This cell... was really looking a bit weird. Like... a hybrid between a cell and a room. There was no window like the big-though-locked one of his old room, no plush carpeting, no fancy wallpaper, the bed was small and didn't have all the fluff and frill he was used to. Leo wondered if they'd keep the same furniture or give him new when he earned his own room here. 

He could hear the Mad Dogz losing their minds with excitement behind him over his enjoyment of the gifts, even though they were trying to be inconspicuous. It made his grin even more real, amused. Dang. These idiots are so charming. They're open like children. It was fascinating. It was endearing. He politely made no mention of it, because he didn't want them to stop. 

“Oh!!!” Donnie exclaimed. “Wait! I can show you how it works!” he waved his hands. 

So, bizarrely enough, that's what they did over breakfast. No manners, no behavior, no script, no rules—leaning over plates and talking with their mouth full, showing Leo how to use the phone. 

Insane. Leo was kinda loving it. 

[papasbaseball]

I wrote a small little Raphael x gn!Tav fluff. Kisses, love you, byeeee.

Green as deep as peacock feathers, red flowing like blood, I work the needle and thread in and out of the fabric. My eyes catch between the door and my embroidery, waiting for him. He never asked for this small sample of my devotion, but I hope that he’ll take it from his pocket after breaking a prisoner and smear the white silk with the stranger’s blood from his face. Punch and pull, I will my cruel design into the weave of the fabric.

The doors break open, the smell of sulfur sending me from my seat. His shoulders are thrown back, a tiger broken free from its enclosure. He clenches and unclenches his fists before hurling a bolt of fire at a bronze vase, gilded in a centuries old fashion. It clatters to the floor the hollow metal

“Vile vermin!” he spits. “To disrespect me in my house!”

Setting aside my work, I go after the still rolling vase. It’s warm to the touch as I set it back on the mantle.

“Is everything alright?” I ask.

A curl of hair untucks itself from behind his ear, smoldering with the anger that pinches creases between his brows. He could be irascible like this, sometimes when his food tasted bland or if the sheets to our bed had not been folded in the way he liked them. However, I’d never seen the fire in his eyes quite that white before.

“If I didn’t need that ungrateful drow I would have skinned them last week,” he says. Approaching the chair where I had sat, the heat leaves his face as he picks up my embroidery. His fingers trace along the fine floss, as if memorizing a war map with important battle lines and details.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” I say, approaching him. “I’m afraid it’s not very good.”

He turns and twist the hoop, squinting at the misaligned threads. “It’s a wonderful… sunset.”

I sigh and turn the hoop back right. “Rose. I told you it wasn’t very good.”

He regards me with those warm brown eyes and I think I spy forgiveness in them. “Of course it is. Maybe a few more details, but you’ll get there.”

His praise wraps me in a warmth to match the blazing fire in the hearth and I bite my lip. “I wanted to repay you. You’ve done so much for me.”

“Is owning your soul not enough?” he says. The embroidery is soon set on the side table and I’m pulled into his lap with ease. “Living in this place is part of your agreement. I did not expect for you to take such a liking to it.”

“I wanted to thank you and be of some use to you again. I liked being out there fighting to please you.” I sigh and rest my head against the smooth brocade of his doublet. “It was nice.”

“Little mouse,” he says, taking my hand in his, “It is enough to please me to end every day in your embrace. I am delighted by your devilish smile, even if you do lack the horns.”

He squeezes my mortal hand and I let myself believe that he might still need me for the smallest of seconds.

[a-clown-with-wings]

can I have an outline of how you draw bodies for reference please ^^ if u can and want too

I’m not good with tutorials because I’ve never been asked, but I’ll try my best tee hee

Also forgive the crusty art, it’s 2 am and I’m drawing mermaids.

Now, personally, I have a very different style that’s mainly culminated of many other styles that I have studied from other artists that I like, so this might not work for you or any other person that sees this, but I think trying in general is a big step in the right direction!

1. BLOCKING!!

Funny enough, I just started this step very recently, so if anything, it’s just an extra step to make sure everything is right. It’s actually helped me quite a lot since I have problems with anatomy and posing, so I really recommend it as a first step.

Think of it as a really messy sketch. In this step, you can do literally anything without being upset for getting frustrated because it doesn’t look right. It’s just a silhouette of an idea that you will expand on in the next step. I also recommend this for character design since silhouette is a BIG part of it and can make or break a line of characters. The last thing you want is for everyone character to look like a recolor of each other. ^^’

2. SHAPES!

I cannot stress enough how important shape language is for literally every single thing. Everything is made of shapes. People, animals, buildings, food. It all can be broken down into squares and circles. This is a part of anatomy that takes a little study, but once you get it, you get it.

For me, it’s changed a lot, but to put it simply: trapezoid and triangles. That’s all you really need for torsos really.

Now, for people of different body types, that’s a whole different story. Of course pear shaped people are not going to be built the same as people that are under rectangle or apple. That’s for another day, though. Slow and steady winds the race. If you take in too much, you’ll stress yourself out.

3. DETAILS!

Warning! If this part stresses you out the most, you are not alone.

I am better at drawing women and femmes because that was what my first Ocs were, so I’m still learning maize anatomy, but whatever. Nothing to worry about now.

This is completely reliant on what the person looks like. People have different bodies so not everyone is going to have a perfect hourglass figure. That being said, simply making the body wider or taller is not enough!! People have fat, it’s just one of the many things we are made of. Some people have more, some have less.

Think of it like a blanket almost. If you were to put a bed sheet over a chair, you would be able to see almost everything regarding the shape of it. If it was made of something thicker, like chunky crochet yarn, it would be harder to see the shape of the chair underneath. That’s putting it very simply. Things like muscle and stuff would be like throwing clothes onto the chair before putting the blanket on. Not a nursing major or anything, so take this with a grain of salt. I’m a stupid little guy.

It would take me forever to explain all of this, so I suggest looking into it on your own time in order to get a more in depth understanding of bodies and stuff like that. :)

EXTRAS!

If you haven’t noticed already p, which I completely understand, I am not that good at robots. I joined fnaf when Security Breach came out cus I like Suna nd Moon and I started this account with the intent of gaining an audience for my other Ocs. You goobers reeled me in and now I’m stuck here.

Anyway, when it comes to metal people, I draw them slightly different. They don’t have organs or anything, and are video game characters, so they don’t need a space for them. And nothing is better than saving space :)

I also make their bust a literal circle because I come on this app each day and see someone else draw them better and I start to sob uncontrollably. /j

This is completely up to you since people draw them all kinds of silly ways and I see no problem with that.

I don’t know how to end this but I hope this helped in some way :)

[dungeon-strugglers]

✨New item!✨ X-Ray Gum Wondrous item, uncommon

Inside of this small dispenser are 1d4+2 sticks of gray, horehound-flavored chewing gum.

As an action you can start to chew a stick of gum. While chewing the gum you can see into and through solid matter for up to 1 minute, at which point the gum loses its flavor. This vision has a radius of 30 feet. To you, solid objects within that radius appear transparent and don't prevent light from passing through them. The vision can penetrate 1 foot of stone, 1 inch of common metal, or up to 3 feet of wood or dirt. Thicker substances block the vision, as does a thin sheet of lead.

As an action before the flavor fades, you can blow a bubble and stick the bubble to a solid surface. The bubble allows creatures to see through a 6 inch diameter circle on the surface it is stuck to as if they are under the effect of this gum. The bubble lasts until the flavor fades and then it deflates and is destroyed.

Uriel stopped “Ah, there he is” and she pulled a wad of faintly glowing gray gum from her mouth, offering it to her companion. He stared at her offering in disgust “Absolutely not.” She rolled her eyes and shoved it back into her gob before blowing a large bubble, extracting it, and sticking it to the wall. The two of them could now see into the room, as if she had opened a one-way porthole. In the room were two men, one tied to a chair and the other gleefully poring over a desk bestrewn with vile torturing implements. “Quickly now!” she hissed. Her companion fumbled with a component pouch and whispered something that sounded like a bad joke into a crack in the wall. Suddenly the torturer doubled over and fell to the ground, cackling hysterically. With a resounding crack, audible over the torturer’s hideous laughter, Uriel kicked the door down and rushed into the room. Her husband was unconscious, so she lifted him chair and all, before spinning around and bellowing “Let’s get out of here!”

- 🖌🎨 Like our work? Consider supporting us on Patreon and gain access to the hi-resolution art for over 170 magic items, item cards and card packs, beautiful creature art and stat blocks and setting pdfs with narrative hooks and unique lore!🧙‍♂️

📜 Credit. Art and design by us: the Dungeon Strugglers. Please credit us if you repost elsewhere.

[endereies]

FUCK IT - MATT STURNIOLO - PART 4

Spotify Playlist:

Pairing: Matt x Oc

Contains: Growing up with parents who make her feel isolated, what happens when she meets Matt. A person who introduces her to new people, new experiences and new feelings.

Requested?: no

Author's notes: This chapter is my life rn fr

Word Count: 2879

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

“Is this something we are meant to do?”

“Fuck it.”

Alyia Pov:

I was sat sketching in my last period of the day, creating small doodles around the edges of the sheets I got handed only thirty minutes prior. I had attempted to go to the library to focus on my work but it had the opposite effect. I had been sat here for half an hour and spent that time doodling eyes in the corner of my work accompanies by small starts and hearts. My phone suddenly vibrated in my pocket which caused me to be dragged from the comfort of my sketches. A loud sigh escapes my lips as I bring the screen towards my face which shines in near full brightness. The top of my notification bar held a text message from Matt, sent only a minute prior.

Matt🥁:

‘hey alyia, can we work on the project at my house today rather than yours?’

I tap the border of my phone, picking in the gaps of the phone case and the metal flicking between replies in my head.

Alyia🎸:

‘yeah sure, any particular reason why?’

Matt🥁:

‘I just have some shit to do before hand and I don’t wanna go back and forth between places’

Alyia🎸:

‘alr then, send me the address and time and ill come over’

Matt🥁:

‘sweet, can you be here for 7 ish’

Alyia🎸:

‘see you at seven Matt’

I sit staring at my screen for a while, looking at the ‘online’ that lingered under Matt’s contact name. He finally leaves the chat and I follow suit to place my phone face down on the desk. I let my hands rest on the desk but my body leans back into the chair. I haven’t ever been to his house before and I was used to him coming to mine, I had no idea if his brothers or parents would be there. How they would react to me suddenly being in their house.

I didn’t get a chance to properly react or overthink due to the bell’s intrusive sound that emits from above on the library’s walls.

-

It had been an hour since I had gotten home and it was nearly time for me to leave my house if I wanted to get to his place on time. I had just finished building my outfit which wasn’t too casual but it wasn’t smart either. A long-sleeved top with a shorter-sleeved, thinner sweater onto covered a black shirt that hung just above my knee. A pair of black tights ran up my legs only being covered by some plain air forces which seemed too worse for wear. Even if the weather didn’t immediately call for it, I paired the outfit with a black jacket I purchased a few years ago. The arms of the jacket swung off the edge of the leather seat I threw it on to. I rummage through my desk drawers for my keys, vitamins, charger and any extra notes to throw into my backpack.

-

Their house looked so put together from the outside of it the designs being simplistic but appealing to look at. The car outside was one I recognised from the same parking spot at the entrance of the school which him and his brothers exited every morning. I noticed them walk towards the main entrance on my way to the music room most days.

I stand in front of their main door and I hesitate before finally hitting my knuckles onto the centre of their door making sure I avoid the blurred glass. A shadow emerges from behind that glass and I take a small step back not wanting to feel immediately intrusive.

“Hey, oh-“ my words fade when I realise Matt wasn’t the one who answered the door but instead it was a longer haired brunette.

“Alyia? Hey what’s up” he grabs a hold of the door frame and uses the rest of his weight to push the door open “Come one in”

I don’t respond right away, making note that Chris remembered my name perfectly. Either he focused on that detail when he first met me and barged into the music room, or Matt has spoken about me to his brothers often enough for them to know. As unlikely as that was.

“Chris, hi.” I take a step inside, following Chris and shutting the door behind me which he ignored and left.

“What are you doing here?”

“Matt didn’t’ tell you” I’m only met with a slight shake of his head due to a lollipop he just placed in his mouth.

“Matt wanted me to come to his house to work on the project tonight” I slide my backpack down my arm, noting the loss of friction as it gets stuck on the folds of my sweater

“Really? Kid didn’t mention that to me.” I go to respond but another voice emits before mine does.

“Chris, who was it!”

“It was Alyia, Matt has invited her over for the English shit.” Chris walks past a corner and his volume in his voice decreases, so I follow him to listen to the conversation that now included me.

“Alyia is here?” Nick turns from the sofa and rests an arm on the back as he faces me directly.

“Hey guys... uhm hate to interrupt but where can I put this?” my backpack rests in my palm, causing my wrist muscles to flex slightly and after a few seconds it starts to ache further down my arm.

“Literally anywhere at this point, we need to clean up this weekend anyway.” Nick circles his wrist in a general location of the main sitting area.

I drop my backpack and use my foot to push it further to the side, so that no one trips up over it.

“So…where is Matt?”

“In the shower upstairs, but he went in 10 minutes ago so he should be out soon” Chris speaks, keeping his gaze fixed on his phone in my hands, slumping down next to Nick harshly.

I simply nod in response and start to sit next to them, creating a small distance between us. I follow Chris’s actions and pull out my phone and go onto random apps one after another before finally scrolling on Instagram for a moment. I few minutes of awkward silence go by before a loud voice echoes from up the stairs.

“Yo Nick, have you seen my pink shirt, the one with the bear on it?”

“Yeah, it’s on top of the table down here!” Chris yells back up to Matt upstairs.

I lift my head up from my phone, putting my attention onto the voices exchanging between each of the brothers. Footsteps approach and I see Matt walking down the stairs towards the three of us.

Traces of water track down the back of his neck from water that was adsorbed from the towel he now holds in his arms. Strands of hair cling to his forehead which appear darker, almost black. His lower body is hugged by a blue pair of plaid pyjama pants, sat on the bottom of his hips. His tattoos are clearly on show and I take this time to analyse them, noticing a few designs I hadn’t seen before. They traced around his arms and tracked the lines of his muscles alongside missed droplets of water. He brushed the strands from the front of his face backwards, parting his hair with his fingers slowly, not wanting any knots to remain. His tongue parts his lips slightly, wetting them briefly. He finally looks up from the floor and notices me sat on their sofa.

Shit.

“Alyia...hey you’re here early” He reaches the bottom of the stairs and walks towards the vibrant shirt on the table.

I swallow harshly when he turns around, his back facing me as he lifts the shirt over his head and past his shoulders. His back muscles flex as he drags it past his chest and hips

“Uh, yeah, my car is being fixed so I had to take the bus... I just took the one that wouldn’t make me late.” I rub the back of my neck, trying to calm myself down.

“I guess that’s fair. So, you wanna work on the project now?”

“Yeah, about that.” Chris mumbles and drags out his words and Matt looks at him with a confused expression.

“Why can’t we Chris.” His tone is a little harsher and his voice raises in pitch as he grows more curious.

“Well. I didn’t know Alyia was coming over for one, so I invited Nate and Madi over...”

I hear a sigh from Matt from across the room and I look up at him.

“Nate’s that hockey player in our English class, right?”

“Yeah, he is” he stops looking at me and turns to face Chris. “Did you invite them to do anything?”

“I mean yeah. I do every time, games n shit. You guys can fuck the project for one night to hang?” Chris’s demeanour has relaxed and he cross his arms over his lower stomach.

“Alyia hasn’t ever spoke to Nate and Madi is that fair?” A voice from Nick emits for the first time in a while.

I sit up and put my arms weight on my knees, slouching over. “I can always leave if you wan-“ I suddenly get interrupted by Matt and I glance up to him, his expression making him seem deep in thought.

“You could hang out with us if you wanted. It’s not like these guys know you, it could be fun to know each other more.”

“I’m so down if y’all are?” Chris faces Nick, earning an eager nod. I get a similar eagerness when Chris turns his body to me expectantly.

“If you guys don’t mind, then I’m down.”

-

A few hours had gone by and we were all sat down on the floor onto of pillows and blankets playing an intense game of monopoly. Initially I was intimated by practically 4 new people in an unfamiliar setting but once we all sat down and started talking, I got used to it. I had found out that Nate was the captain of the hockey team and that Madi was working with fashion and was in Jenny’s class. Chris’s personality filled the room whenever intense moments happened and it was fun to be around. He was a bubble of energy and it felt like Nick had to reel him back down any time he yelled too much. Which seemed to be often. Chris was being a sore lower in monopoly anytime someone had to take money for him, only to celebrate moments later when he passed go and got $200. Nate was currently winning but Nick and I weren’t fair behind him money wise. Nick was winning property wise and already set in multiple hotels down.

“Oh, come on! Again!” Chris had started to complain again which made us giggle, especially Matt as Chris once again owed him money.

“Not my fault, I own Oxford Street and so...you owe me money.” Matt holds his hand across the board in front of Chris who simply rolls his eyes and begrudgingly slaps $1100 into his hand.

It was my turn to roll the dice and a number of 4 is added between them. I grab the dog character and move it across, landing on the same square that Chris did. I sigh and flick through my money and pull out $1100 and hold it out for Matt to take.

“Damn again, Matt you’re getting lucky right now I swear” Madi giggles along with Nate and Nick but Chris still sulks at his loss of money. Matt's hand reaches forwards and grazes mine as he takes the money with a weak smile.

-

“Damn it. I’ve fucking landed on Mayfair” I see Nick slam his money down on the board. Nate just responds with laughter as he takes the money from Nick.

I had lost a while ago, having to mortgage my property after I landed on Oxford Street again, I sat to the side talking with Chris and Madi who had lost to Nate.

“Honestly I’m glad that ended, it’s getting late” Nate mumbles before yawning.

“late? How late” I quietly speak as I pull my phone off the sofa behind me and turn the screen on, the screen a little too bright now that it was dark outside. “Oh shit.”

“Hey, you okay?” Matt stands up and faces me, leaning down to reach the board to help pack it away.

“Its like eleven right now, buses are gonna be fucked.” I frown at my phone screen as I pull up my bus times for the journey home.

“You could always stay over, it’s not like we have classes tomorrow.” Chris smiles at the suggestion Nick makes, facing me with a genuine kindness.

“Really? It wouldn’t be intrusive; I mean I’ve known you for one day.”

“We've heard enough through Matt to be honest; it would be nice honestly.”

“I appreciate it, but one problem. I don’t have any spare clothes on me” I look down at the outfit questioning if it’s suitable enough to sleep in.

“I have some clothes you can borrow...” Madi finishes putting the board game away and faces me with a wide smile.

“If that doesn’t fit since she is shorter than you, I have shit you can use for the night.” Matt reaches into the cupboard to place the box onto a high shelf.

“Uhm sure. If that’s okay”

“Of course, no worries.”

-

Matt pov:

I have showed Alyia to a spare room we have across from mine and carried her things into it and placed them at the foot of the bed. We haven’t had a chance to paint or fully decorate the room apart from the bare minimum but thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind. I return back to my room while I grab a few options of clothing for her to wear overnight. One of which is the same ransom tee I wore the first time Alyia and I met. I smile briefly while walking back towards Alyia’s room.

“Hey I picked out a few options for you”

“Thanks again for this, I appreciate it” Her demeanour seems more closed of than it was when playing the game less than an hour ago. She seems to hide herself, rubbing her arm in what I can only assume as a form of self-comfort.

“You, okay?”

“Hm? Yeah, I’m fine. Just don’t want to feel like I’m overstepping” She sits down on the bed behind her.

“Trust me. You aren’t, I want you here.” Those words come out a little too fast than what I wanted them to.

“Really?”

“Yeah...really.”

We smile at each other for a moment before I snap out of it and hand her the clothes that were draped over my arms.

“Thank you, Matt.” She gives me a small smile which I reciprocate before I even process it.

Her phone suddenly vibrates on the nightstand displaying the name ‘Scarlett Hawkes’.

“Sorry, I have to take this.”

Alyia pov:

“Hello mother.”

“Hello Ally, why are you not at home?”

“I went out with friends, I’m staying over.”

“And you didn’t tell me? I’m at home waiting for you and you aren’t here.”

“You didn’t tell me you would even be home.”

“I told you I would be home on Thursday, Ally”

“Mother it’s Friday.”

“Either way I expect you to be home tomorrow.”

I sigh and hang up the phone, not wanting to deal with the conversation any longer and I place my phone back on the nightstand.

“Sorry about that” I mumble quietly.

“Was that your mum?”

“Uh yeah, she is finally home and wondered why I'm not.” I speak slyly, hoping he doesn’t pick up on my attitude.

“I haven’t ever seen your mum at your home before...”

“She travels a load; she works in fashion and is constantly travelling and my dad organises her meetings and manages all her work. They try to be home when they can but it’s not often enough.”

“Fuck...well you’re always welcome over here if you ever feel lonely or something”

“Yeah?”

“Of course, you’re my mate and you get on well with my brothers and everyone, tonight was fun. I’m glad you stayed over.” He offers me a smile and I smile back, watching as he sits down next to me.

“Well thanks for inviting me”

“Don’t sweat it, the buses are awful at night and we have nothing planned”

I keep my smile as I look down at my hands, fidgeting with them quietly.

“Well...I’ll uh let you get ready and I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah, thanks again for this” I meet his gaze, standing up holding the clothes he gave me a few moments ago.

“If you need anything, let me know, yeah?”

I nod to him as he leaves my room, pushing the door to. His footsteps fade as he walks to his own room, hearing the chair creak as he sits in it.

I flick through the few shirts he gave me and I pull out a ransom shirt.

The one he wore when we met.

© ENDEREIES 2024

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