#my Persephone design is always changing
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Kinda crazy how I’ve never drawn Eva’s Eurydice before!
#my Persephone design is always changing#but her hair stays the same#I love Eva’s Eurydice I HAD to draw her#I headcannon that when Eurydice was alive#Persephone actually took a liking to her and that’s why Hades chose her as a way to make Seph jealous#because they were close!!#eurydice hadestown#hades#hadestown#hadesephone#Persephone#tagamemon#classics#Greek myth#Greek mythology#mythology#Orpheus#art#character design#my art
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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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#yoongi fanfic#min yoongi fanfic#yoongi smut#suga fanfic#suga bts#yoongi series#suga smut#bts fanfic#bts smut#yoongi x reader#yoongi x you#minors dni#minors do not interact
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okay so i've been working on some hadestown designs on and off for MONTHS and i wasnt planning on posting them until they were all done but i decided to post what i have done to maybe motivate me to finish the rest. so heres the two main couples!! every time i listen to hadestown a little fake production plays in my head so i wanted to get it out into the world. notes under the cut i have a lot to say <3
my orpheus is a butch lesbian idc you cant take this away from me
i'm bringing back the jean jacket from the london production because i love it so much but ALSO because its always bothered me that orpheus is the only human character that doesnt get a jacket for the winter?? it's worn for some scenes in act 1 including wait for me but is gone in act 2. i imagine she lost it at some point during the journey to the underworld, especially because its so hot down there
the idea was that orpheus' clothes are pretty nice (nice slacks, nice shoes) but theyre all worn out. scuffed shoes, baggy knees, holes in the shirt etc etc
patch on the knee matches eurydice's dress <3
i like the idea of eurydice having a bright dress under her huge dark coat. during summer she is happy and opening up to orpheus so her wardrobe changes to reflect that. but on the flip side during winter when her coat is stolen she is forced to bare her raw self to hades
she keeps her headband even in her hades uniform to show shes still holding onto her fading memories and individuality
okay so while i was working on this i came to the realization that i dont really like persephone's dress that much. and then i realized i can do whatever i want.
i referenced a lot of 30's evening gowns. i wanted something poofy and with a lot of movement. not super happy with how i drew the sleeves but its hardddd
theres this one persephone wig that has gray streaks in her hair i loveeee
both dresses of hers would be very shimmery and sparkly. im imagining a lot of subtle texture thats just hard to capture with digital art
i still HATE drawing suits
not a lot to say about hades i didnt stray too far from his established look because its so perfect
OH i added a red pocket square to both match the red back of his vest but also to be evocative of his heart! like under all the layers and walls he still has some feelings lol
#my art#fanart#hadestown#orpheus#orpheus hadestown#eurydice#eurydice hadestown#persephone hadestown#persephone#hades#hades hadestown#realizing i wrote way more abt orpheus than the others#not my fault shes my fav and i have a lot of thoughts about her. for normal reasons.#anyways i NEED yall to hold me accountable for finishing the rest of these designs#because i do really want to
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This is going to be a long post, so buckle up while I ramble on 😊😅. Warning I am not much of a writer, unlike many talented ones on here. So forgive me if my character profiling makes no sense. It's like almost 3am in the UK right now…..ah I just don't sleep✨✨
So this is some concept art for Melione and Makaria with some slight changes.
I have decided to completely change Melione's design in favour of one I did back in 2021. Am not sure as to why I didn't stick to this original design. Let's be honest, my past Melione design is nothing special. It, to me, feels like a Persephone copy and paste. Honestly, purple is my favourite colour. Why did I avoid it for so long 😭. I think this gives her more of the goddess of ghost vibes.
Melione is similar to Hades personality wise. Shes rebellious, witty and will always somehow break every one of her fathers rules.
Now Makaria is the opposite, definitely a miss “goody two sandals”. The golden child, you could say, but the two are very close. From stealing each other's togas to gossiping with the underworld souls.
For me, zagreus is the first born, Melione second with Makaria as the youngest.
(Please excuse my handwriting 💀)
This is just a small comic I did after reading the Horn of Plenty comic again. Now, in my own story, the children go with Persephone for the 6 mouths on earth. As you can imagine, both goddesses aren't fond of Olympus. They love their family but hate the continuous separation from their father.
Now, as for their relationship with Demeter, it's very loving. One thing I've always disliked in retellings is the villainization of Demeter and how she's this helicopter parent. There's nothing wrong with this trope, but it's just really overused.
From what I've seen from the TV show, Demeter is a kind goddess who's not afraid to get her hands dirty if necessary. With this, Demeter adores her grandchildren….just not her son-in-law lol.
🪻🩷🪻🩷🪻🩷🪻🩷🪻🩷🪻🩷🪻🩷🪻🩷
I have more sketches of Melione and Makaria. However, I want to shift my attention back to Hades and Persephone. I think I commented on one of @persephoneflowerpetals posts about having drawings of an evil persephone au…..which haven't seen the light of day in weeks 😅
Am very excited about future posts and can't wait to share. I really enjoyed doing my small comic and definitely want to try more.
As always, enjoy and have a lovely day!
🩷🪻🩷🪻🩷🪻🩷🪻🩷🪻🩷
#disney hades#disney persephone#disney hercules#my art#hades#persephone#hercules#art#hades and persephone#makaria#melione#demeter
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Hey there! Let me just start by saying that I love your work on Lore Rekindled. I've been super into Mythologies ever since I was like 6 (so that makes it nearly 20 years of constant adoration lmao), and your retelling of the Persephone myth is honestly one of the best ones I've seen so far. Which brings me to my question: I was wondering whether you would ever like to turn rekindled into a wholly original project. Perhaps after changing character designs and tweaking some details?
Keep up the great work and have a lovely day!
Thanks so much! I'm so glad it's resonating with people looking for a more grounded approach. That was pretty much half of my goal, I wanted to try and expand on the more creative interpretations Rachel started with (such as the modern setting) but actually tighten the worldbuilding and keep it more on theme with the original myths. So I'm always happy to hear from y'all that it's accomplishing that exactly as I had hoped :)
I've had people ask me that question about making it a more original thing, and I have considered it just for the sake of like, "making something my own", but at this point if I did that I'd have to completely redraw Rekindled from scratch and I don't know if I have the energy or strength to do that LOL (I'm already infected by the redrawing brainworms on my original stuff). And it would defeat the point of why I started Rekindled in the first place - to bring closure to myself and others who loved LO in the beginning and saw all the potential it had but never really delivered on. To remove it from the LO stylization would make it more 'original and unique' but would also remove it from its original purpose.
That said, I am hoping to do some other adaptions of Greek myth stories that were either poorly done by LO or not covered at all after Rekindled is done, so I'm considering doing a more original interpretation separated from the LO retelling for those, as they wouldn't necessarily depend on the H x P retelling that Rachel tried to accomplish. That way I can sorta try and have my cake and eat it too LOL But we'll see! I gotta get through Rekindled first :' )
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the ground vs the sky in hadestown
(in which i go very long on hadestown's lighting design to strengthen my eurydice = hades, orpheus = persephone agenda)
TL;DR: eurydice and hades are ground, orpheus and persephone are sky. the "ground" characters need the "sky" characters to be free, to dream, to remember that there can be a better world than this.
all screenshots used in this post are from a video by @medium-observation, thank you for your service as always
there's a ton of evidence in the show for this dichotomy, with the most obvious and literal one being the lighting associated with each character. during how long, hades and persephone take turns to sing, and as it switches between them the lighting changes too -- orange for him, blue for her.
orange for hades feels fairly obvious considering hadestown as a setting is bathed entirely in warm colors. per lighting designer bradley king:
Hadestown is very furnace-like: amber, orange, and rust.
persephone gets blue, which she brings with her at the beginning of livin' it up on top.
so that's what i mean when i say ground vs sky. for hades it's pretty literal - the ground is his domain, but it also reflects how he "keeps his head low, he keeps his back bending". persephone gets the blue of the sky because it symbolizes freedom - not just being free but feeling free. from the NYTW version of livin' it up on top:
Give me a sky that you can't buy Or sell at any price
the sky is a big thing for hades and persephone, because it's the one thing he can never give her. he expresses how he feels about that in chant:
Lover, I was lonesome So I laid a power grid In the ground on which you stood And wasn't it electrifying When I made the neon shine? Silver screen, cathode ray Brighter than the light of day
to him, that's the closest thing he can give her to a sky, which he hopes will outshine the real daylight (though of course that's not what she really wants from him).
in our lady of the underground, everything persephone offers up is also sky-related (moon, wind, stars)
I got a sight for the sorest eye When was the last time you saw the sky?
ok so we've established the hades and persephone part of this. what does this have to do with orpheus and eurydice? because the exact same lighting design is present with them, too - and it's especially clear in wedding song:
when eurydice sings during this song she's bathed in yellow and amber. then orpheus sings and the blue light starts creeping in to show how slowly, and despite herself, she's beginning to believe in him.
this all culminates in the dance they do in all i've ever known, where the entire stage is bathed in persephone's dark blue. the literal meaning in the scene is that it's nighttime, but the color - and choreography - is eurydice finally letting herself be free and untethered from the ground.
But when I saw you all alone against the sky It's like I’d known you all along
from 'working on a song':
It was a brief choreographic / staging moment, after the lovemaking, when the lovers lay on their backs side by side, holding hands and looking up at the sky. At the stars. It reminded me of how the stars had played such an important role in the early Vermont version of the show, with the Fates naming the constellations, and the idea of our destinies being “written in the stars.” And it moved me, I think, because of the knowledge of where our lovers were headed: a world without stars.
i actually find this dichotomy especially interesting because of the associations with the characters and the colors. temperament-wise, you'd probably say hades is "cold" and persephone is "warm", which is true. but hades gets the warm colors and persephone gets the cold ones.
why? because hades' orange is the suffocating kind of man-made heat, whereas persephone's blue is the endless possibility of the sky. and yet, artificial warmth is still warmth, while the open air can be bitterly cold... something that eurydice knows very well, and is the reason why she makes the choice she does.
during epic iii, when orpheus begins to sing, the scene is still orange. then as his song begins, the light on the walls becomes blue, like he's actually finding that "crack in the wall" to let the sky shine through. from a cut song that orpheus would sing called cloud machine (per 'working on a song'):
There’s a crack in the wall It’s a little bit wider It’s a little bit wider, that’s all
then, after the climax of the song, when the scene re-settles, the light goes back to being orange. but as soon as hades remembers the melody and he and persephone begin to dance, the light turns blue again, like the exact same thing is happening to hades that happened to eurydice in all i've ever known -- he's remembering how it feels to let himself be free.
ok i think that's about it. thanks for reading this super long post starring my brainworms
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Update of this post!
I did all of the sketches for the character pairings I wanted to do for this ship dynamic and decided that I wanted to colour this one first! This one is with my Telemachus design and my oc Pyrrha!
I’m going to include more info about Pyrrha under the cut because it’s gonna be a lot and I don’t want to obscure y’all’s scrolling 👍🏻
Pyrrha info
To start, Pyrrha’s “original” name was also Ambrosia (I liked the irony of a demigod child of Hades having a name that mean “immortality”), I have since given her the nickname Pyrrha (based off her hair colour lol) to help differentiate her from my goddess oc of the name name!
Pyrrha originally started as a Percy Jackson oc from like my middle school days. Every now and again I allow myself one “Mary Sue” type character, and Pyrrha was that character for PJO. I have a hand full of other OC’s and Pyrrha is literally the only one who’s a child of the big three, I don’t even had a Roman demigod who’s one of the big three. Pyrrha was pretty much just an amalgamation of things i thought were cool about the universe; so she’s a demigod child of Hades and is a Hunter of Artemis who’s lived a rather long life. I was still wanting to keep close to canon lore as well even back then, so she’s always been way older than the other characters to adhere to the fact that Hades never broke the pact he made with his brothers about not having more demigod kids after WW2. She has since grown to be a more “Greek mythology media in general” oc like Ambrosia. With that in mind, her lore does tend to change based off the lore of whatever media she’s in!
Her General Lore;
In the past two years I think, I’ve decided that she’s originally from Ancient Greece, Sparta specifically.
Her mother was a mortal and came from a well off family though was a very independent woman. She was a “follows the beat of her own drum” kind of person.
While she never seemed interested in marriage (she actually never married) she was someone who valued fidelity. She was quite upset with Hades when she discovered that he was married while he was seeing her and was very sympathetic towards Persephone.
Despite that, she did love Pyrrha very much and the two were close when Pyrrha was young.
Pyrrha’s mother did, however, die when Pyrrha was young. She didn’t know her father outside of the stories of the gods and her maternal grandfather was always busy so Pyrrha grew up a very isolated and lonely childhood.
Pyrrha did seem to inherit her mother’s independence so she never seems bothered by the loneliness. She would usually keep to herself and entertain herself by learning to hunt and use a bow.
Pyrrha would later be sent to train under Chiron. I haven’t decided how this came to be, but I’d probably go with the idea that Hades had a hand in it. Maybe he saw her talent in archery and thought Chiron could help train her, or maybe he thought Chiron would offer a more stable, fatherly role for her.
She thrived under Chiron’s guidance and would excel in almost anything she did. Chiron would become a fatherly figure to Pyrrha and he was the one who gave her the nickname “Pyrrha” in the first place.
Note: I personally like this Reddit comment when I come to estimates ages of the characters in the Iliad so it’s what I have roughly based Pyrrha’s age on! She’s roughly three years younger than Odysseus.
Pyrrha did meet a young Achilles while with Chiron. She’s roughly eight years older than Achilles so ngl she thought he was a little bit of a brat (I the idea of little Achilles having a little bit of an inflated ego because he’s a demigod, had a prophecy about him, or a little bit of both lol). The battiness did mellow out over the years 👍🏻
Despite their little “rivalry”, Pyrrha did see Achilles as something of a little brother for lack of a better word. She did care for him, he just annoyed her more often than not 😅
This is a common occurrence with Pyrrha mostly because she didn’t have a strong family unit before Chiron. She tends to apply familial titles to the people she’s close to and care for.
Pyrrha would train with Chiron for most of her early life, though she would occasionally travel if the urge struck her. This was especially common in her later teen years. She would occasionally travel to Ithaca or other closer city-states.
She met a younger Odysseus a couple of times when she would visit Ithaca, but they weren’t like best friends. It was more like “oh, there’s that quiet girl who’s surprisingly good with a bow who I bump into every once in a while.”
When Pyrrha was roughly 22 she tried twice to join the Trojan War. It was more out of a desire to bring Helen back home to Sparta than for glory or anything. She may not have lived in Sparta for many years, but there was still some loyalty there. Of course she was denied both times primarily because of her gender.
She met Artemis sometime after (perhaps a year or two later when Artemis was not helping Apollo and Troy) and devoted herself to Artemis (the nature of how the hunt works varies depending on the media). I should probably mention that Pyrrha is aroace, so she also has no desire to marry or have any sort of romantic/sexual relationship with anyone.
As I mentioned in the second image, Pyrrha met Telemachus when he was 10. I imagine he was like the embodiment of child like curiosity so when he saw this strange woman with red hair and a bow walking around Ithaca’s marketplace, he just sort of started following her (Telemachus honey….no…)
Long story short, Telemachus ended up growing on Pyrrha and she sort of just started teaching him archery. Of course Penelope knew what was going on (Pyrrha promptly brought back little Telemachus home when she realised she was being followed) and was okay with it as long as Telemachus wasn’t getting in trouble.
Again, as I mentioned in the second image, Pyrrha and Telemachus started to form a “mentor-student” type relationship over the next ten years. He was also the one to decide first that Pyrrha was kind of like a big sister or an aunt figure to him. She also had a very good relationship with Penelope.
Once Odysseus returned to Ithaca Pyrrha would become closer to Odysseus as well. It definitely would prompt her to visit more often.
Everything after that is kind of dependent on what media she’s being included in.
Lore that’s subject to change:
The nature of Artemis and her Hunt is one thing that’s subject to change. This also ties into Pyrrha and her apparent eternal youth or “immortality”.
I think most are familiar with how the hunt works in PJO; young women vow themselves to Artemis, reject romance in all forms, and are given semi-immortality as long as they keep their vows and aren’t killed in battle. As Pyrrha was originally a PJO oc, this was the original reason for her young appearance.
Outside of PJO, I generally think of the hunt as it was depicted in mythology. I think this Reddit post does a good job at kind of summarising/explaining the hunt in mythology. Pyrrha would absolutely devote herself to Artemis for life given she is aroace, it wouldn’t be a big life altering decision for her and would probably provide her another sense of community or familial support in her mind (she would see the other hunters as her sisters as they are sister in arms so to speak.)
This would then bring her semi-immortality into question. I feel like it would probably depend on the media’s lore, or it just wouldn’t be questioned. Perhaps Artemis gave it to her as a gift as she had sworn herself to Artemis for life. Perhaps she’s garnered the favour of another god or maybe her father had something to do with it. Idk, I kind of don’t want to make it too specific to where it can’t be a flexible detail.
Even her demigod status is something that is (very rarely) subject to change. This is mainly in reference to Blood of Zeus and maybe the Hades games. I’m not sure if either media grants Artemis any kind of group of hunters (BoZ definitely hasn’t shown any evidence of one, though Artemis hasn’t been shown as a main focal character…yet).
This prompted a little discussion with me and a friend where I mentioned that if she was given god status at any point, she’d probably be a goddess of kinship; particularly if non blood related kinship. Obviously, this would be because she had a tendency to form familial bonds with close friends as such.
This point, however, hasn’t been fully fleshed out. BoZ hasn’t really explored the idea of a mortal becoming a god (not sure if it will be touched on in future season) and I’m not super familiar with the detailed lore of the Hades games. My biggest concern is keeping Pyrrha’s lore as close to the media’s canon lore as I can which is why these are flexible detail points.
I think that’s all I have for now! If you made it to the end, thanks for taking the time to at least skim my ramblings lol. I don’t want this to get any longer than it is, so if anyone has any suggestions feel free to ask me!
Also Pyrrha and her lore is not meant to be taken seriously as a part of actual Greek mythology. I have tried to keep as close to mythology as I can while having creative liberties for my of and her “universe”, obviously she’s not a real mythological figure and shouldn’t be treated as such! She was made just for fun! 💕
#art#artist#greek mythology#epic the musical#tagamemnon#artists on tumblr#my art tag#digital art#greek mythology oc#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo oc#Percy Jackson oc#Pyrrha oc#Telemachus#telemachus of ithaca#they’re besties your honor#I’m so tempted to have her at least know of Achilles’ son Neoptolemus#I feel like they would be teased for having the same name#Neo went bt Pyrrhus which is the masculine version of Pyrrha btw#idk i think it would be funny
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percy jackson headcanons + picrews (long post, hcs under the cut. only grover, annabeth, and percy. i use the homestuck troll quadrants to describe their relationships)
in order: annabeth, percy, grover
some notes on their designs: they all have a lot more scars, grover’s mainly being on his legs from running through forests, annabeth’s mainly being on her sides (as she gets too cocky during fights and leaves them open on accident), and percy’s mainly being on her chest. annabeth and percy look really similar, but they’re not intended to be, just how picrew works ykyk. grover wears sunglasses and really baggy clothes to hide his goat features. percy is fem as hell and would prob love skirts, but i didnt really like any of them in the picrew.
percy
🐟 if you think hes cis, straight, or white ur crazy
🐟 on that note. Trans girl who uses she/he/bite, biromantic asexual but romance repulsed attraction to men due to trauma, and she’s latino, black, and libyan
🐟 i see people headcanon her name as persephone a lot and while i do love that to me shes parand and still goes by percy!
🐟 middle kid regressor, prob 7-13. i dont think bite would change much in terms of personality, besides maybe being louder due to lack of volume control
🐟 solarpunk, afropunk, hopepunk, and underseapunk for sure. she is an ACTIVIST!!! he, his siblings, his mom, and grover go to protests together im correct
🐟 fav bands: my chemical romance, pleasure venom, fea, meet me @ the altar, the tuts, and la armada. i dont listen to pierce the veil but maybe them too?
🐟 sharkhearted, aquatickin, and oceankin!
🐟 radicalized the rest of the 7, and while bite grew up with punk beliefs (ty sally), i think thalia was the one who gave her the final push ykyk?
🐟 he is NOT skinny and he does NOT have a 6 pack!! listen. most of bites exercise comes from combat and strength training. and typically, strength training (ESPECIALLY combat) doesnt focus heavily on bodybuilding. My girl is big and has muscles and is proud
🐟 collects comic books, legos, and video games! favorite comic run is napalm lullaby, doesnt have a favorite lego set but has a small ocean animals one she bought second hand that she pulls apart and puts together again for comfort, and she doesnt have a favorite video game but the one she replays the most is is sonic adventures 2! video games are his special interest (did i mention i hc him as autistic. Well that too. bite’s audhd dyslexic)
🐟 isnt dating annabeth anymore (in my perfect world). the two broke up and both are way happier and healthier as adults. i think that annabeth needed to be away from percy to get better, and percy COULDNT be better with annabeth.
🐟 (i do think theyd have the best femme&butch solidarity as friends once they are both ready to do so! just need time for healing and all, ykyk?)
🐟 jason is her ex-moirail and her auspitice for her and annabeth! jason stops them from entering an abusive pitch relationship. used to be clarrise’s kismesis, but broke it off to take a break from relationships (reason he broke off from being jason’s moirail)
annabeth
📘 i dont have many hcs for her because to me, shes a better character concept then character
📘 my girl is butch trust meeee. “oh shes so fem and percys strong fem gf” HER? HERR?? THAT ANNABETH? OUR ANNABETH?
📘 she/they demi-caedromantic butch lesbian demigirl. i think a lot of pjo characters like multiple genders in theory, but due to trauma, have lost most (or all) attraction to them. to me, she used to be interested in romance, but fell off from that after everything happened
📘 does NOT get good grades. I love her and i think shes actually smart because she likes to study, but like… my girl has dyslexia and adhd. and their mom is the goddess of WISDOM, not INTELLIGENCE. theres no way theyre getting all As and Bs
📘 afropunk and anarchopunk. shes not as active in local scenes due to them bouncing around (though their heart will always be in the punk scene in LA), but if theres a protest in her general area THEYRE GOING. i also think theyre riot grrrl but only after ending her relationship with percy and getting better as a person
📘 fav bands (during relationship, im not sure what she’d listen to post-percabeth): mel bryant & the mercy makers, the muslims, pat the bunny, mischief brew, big joanie, violent femmes, boygenius. i think she was largely influenced by grover and thalia, but starts really developing her own music taste when they settle down in their own life
📘 her hair is FUCKED UP. she tries to take good care of it!! they really do!! but after years of living in a camp with not a whole lot of access to supplies for their hair type, and then living on a BOAT with even LESS access, their hair is really damaged. all the seven have fucked up hair, but theirs especially, since they were under so much stress that she didn’t care much for upkeep.
📘 was radicalized to be anarchopunk and afropunk by thalia, but became riot grrrl thanks to piper’s influence
📘 not autistic (in the books, maybe the show). i personally dont see her as having many autistic traits (though they DEF have adhd traits and its insane people dont acknowledge that a lot). but yeah i just? cant see it? idk
📘 when they were dating percy they didnt realize they didnt actually have feelings and was just comphet. this led to a really unhealthy relationship. then by the time she realized the feelings had developed to just hate and they felt bad leaving. they eventually separated and she got a lot better
📘 away from dating for a while, but has a small, unrequited pale crush on piper
grover
🫐 GROVERRRRR guys hes one of my favs unironically
🫐 mixed african american-indian guy whos a t4t bisexual trans guy and uses he/him. “oh but all satyrs are male” yeah but also this is a book series that has been inaccurate about greek mythology since the beginning so shh
🫐 carries iron supplements with him because while he’s used to relying on hay and feed for iron, he can’t exactly do that disguised as a human
🫐 his handwriting is SHIT. i think most of his handwriting comes from signing himself up for things so that means he constantly looks like he’s signing his signature. only juniper can somewhat make it out and thats because hers is just as bad
🫐 solarpunk, afropunk, and hopepunk!!!! he is literally the og solarpunk trust me.
🫐 fav bands: punk on toast, earth 2 tiffany, tell everyone we’re dead, the tuts, be steadwell, zaphyria
🫐 age regresses to rlly young with no cg! he doesnt particularly want one either? hes just doing his own thing. percy is his playmate :)
🫐 not my headcanon but my friend says hed be really tenderheaded, like as in “can barely do his own hair without it hurting”. idk how accurate this is but i agree because my friend says so
🫐 used to get roped into the stoll’s pranks. he’d help them sneak onto the strawberry trucks, steal things, etc. eventually stopped as he got more anxious, but he and the stolls are still fairly close and he’ll still help them play pranks on occasion
🫐 fruits are his ultimate safe foods! strawberries, apples, whatever! he keeps a packet of fruit on him everywhere he goes for snacks
🫐 sees thalia, annabeth, and percy as his younger siblings. i think he deserves to be their proud older brother, as a treat <3. used to see luke as the same way, but not anymore for obvious reasons
🫐 juniper is her one and only matesprit!
#not icons#headcanons#percy jackson headcanons#annabeth chase headcanons#grover underwood headcanons#percy jackson#annabeth chase#grover underwood#my headcanons#pjo headcanon#made for self indulgence
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Ik it's too late but hear me out
Alastor as persephone with gladiolus instead of roses attached to his antlers bc of their significance for his mom.
Ik myth wise he's more of a minthe if we change up the myth a TON but stilll
Mayyyhaps with long hair 👉👈
I always like imagining al as a haunting androgynous beauty of sorts, cannon doesn't do him justice at all be it action or visual wise although in concept he's genuinely one of the most beautiful characters with great potential.
My favourite characterizations aside from yours are keely's, and that one fic "the indomitable human soul" which honestly feels strangely reminiscent of a deleted fic, "this mortal coil"
As you may have guessed I'm desperate for overtly analytical ao3 artist friends lmao
Choco? Strawberry? Berry? Friend! What is this coincidence where I’ve been stuck on the concept long-haired Alastor for the longest time and have been COINCIDENTALLY sketching the beautiful being for the past few days???
I agree with how much potential he has, both in character concept design and development which is why I love him so much. Endless things to write and draw! Worldbuilding!!! Although I guess the situation has been slightly changed now that I’ve been spoiled unintentionally about the next season. There are more things might be canon now, even though nothing is really confirmed until the next season comes out anyway. I go into detail about my feelings about it in the A/N of the upcoming chapter of The Devil’s Gift (without revealing the spoiler because I don’t do that lol) but I know some people would consider it a spoiler anyway, so I won’t write it here. I’ll hide it as a dropdown there with warnings!
But long-haired Alastor and mythical lore? Hello! I’ve dabbled with mythology in the past and yes, he’d be more of a minthe in TDG story, but Persephone!Alastor fits him so well! Think of all the flowy outfits he could wear. And the gladiolus antler crown would be *chef’s kiss* if I could get it right.
So…I’m off to tweak my sketch a bit! 😉
#hazbin hotel#alastor#questions#question that wasn’t a fic question but somehow i made it into one anyway
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Why I can't help but always romance Persephone in Stray Gods
1 - Prickly on the outside, soft on the inside personality trope
This is probably the biggest reason because it's also probably my most favourite personality type of all when it comes to fictional characters. I am so very weak for ladies who kick ass and look scary but are secretly huge sweethearts. And Persephone is this trope to a T. Sure, she's big and scary, no one can deny that. But she can also be so sweet. She helped Calliope when she left Olympus, she saved Chastity from her abusive husband, she takes to mentoring/helping Grace so quickly, she is happy to help Medusa if Grace offers her help and even goes as far as admitting that this help was long overdue (something Apollo never does by the way). These are just some instances we become privy to during the game.
I'm absolutely sure there are more times when she was secretly kind, especially to people who needed help but had no one in their corner. Because while her personal philosophy is that no one else can help you keep your head afloat (born out of her own experiences no doubt) she's shown to actively be giving advice to and helping Grace as well as genuinely worrying about her safety and doing what she can to keep her safe. She's also obviously remorseful for not having been able to exact the change Calliope wanted so badly after becoming part of the Chorus and sympathetic about Freddie's fate. She cares and she cares deeply. She simply does her best not to show it because experience has taught her that others don't tolerate her being weak or deign to offer her sympathy no matter how dire the situation she is in. This naturally leads to:
2 - A character who is all alone and without a supportive system but refuses to give up
This is sort of a subsection of the prickly on the outside, soft on the inside trope, I know, but I cannot help but love characters who have had a traumatizing past and been forced to deal with it on their own. I always, ALWAYS want to be in their corner and if they happen to be ladies I never fail to fall in love with them. I find it absolutely amazing that anyone can preserve their integrity and remain kind after being hurt so badly both in fiction and in real life if I'm honest. To me these are the real heroes - people who have been hurt but refuse to let that hurt turn them into monsters. If there is a character like that in any media I partake in, no other characters stand a chance. Not really.
3 - Mary Elizabeth McGlynn's voice
In reality this is actually pretty much tied with numbers 1 and 2 but I had to keep some semblance of order so here we go.
I am very much someone who has always and forever been weak for beautiful voices. And out of the whole VA cast giving life to the LIs it's Mary Elizabeth McGlynn's voice that never fails to make me swoon or give me chills. She's so very good at what she does this woman. Her delivery is flawless both when it comes to her spoken and sung lines. I can physically feel Persephone's pain when she asks Grace "Please, don't do this." as well as her anger and bitterness when she sings "I gutted a god." or says "The only god I killed deserved it." for example. This adds so much to the character for me, you have no idea. I cannot honestly say if I'd have loved Persephone so much if she had been voiced by a different actress. But the combination between tropes I love and her sublime voice created a perfect storm so now no one can even compete with Persephone. Not even Freddie. And I love Freddie. She's just not Persephone. I'm sorry.
4 - Persephone's design
I love Persephone's design so damn much! I can't decide what I love most - her badass haircut, her cool tattoos, her slightly weird but somehow totally working for her outfit, her make-up that suits her perfectly, the colour of her hair and eyes or her androgynous look. Everything comes together flawlessly and creates one total and extremely gorgeous package. I don't know who worked on her design, but bless them, they really knew what they were doing.
The amount of screenshots of Persephone I have is obscene and I keep taking more because I simply cannot get enough of how stunning she is. Even when I was replaying to romance Freddie, Apollo and Pan I still kept taking screenshots of Persephone and being distracted whenever she was in the frame because her look is just so... I am running out of adjectives meaning "beautiful" here... Let's go with alluring.
The way she looks just does things to me I can't even begin to describe. I might be ace but even I can tell when someone is objectively hot and Persephone is scorching. Aesthetic attraction is huge for me and I guess her looks hit all the right buttons because I can't help staring at her and going "Wow!" pretty much all the time. Basically this screenshot of Grace is me every time I look at Persephone:
And speaking of that, one thing I have found I am particularly weak for when it comes to her design is the way she looks when she's drawn in profile. I don't know what exactly it is about her profile but I just melt every time I see it. It really did not help that this was part of her introduction to us in game:
How was I expected to pay attention to anyone else after that?!
I have a whole collection of screenshots of Persephone in profile that I should post alongside this to reinforce my point but again - the way she looks does something to me and I apologize to everyone else but I cannot possibly pay any attention to them when I have this in front of me. I'm only human...
#stray gods#stray gods: the roleplaying musical#stray gods persephone#persephone my love#i adore you#no one else has the same effect as you on me#nad talks about the things she loves#long post
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Are you an artist? If you are, can you share some art of your characters from Byoldervine?
I would LOVE to
Gonna show everything in the order it was designed and go nuts rambling about it because I can. Just note that none of these are finished designs and are very much still concepts rather than what I’m sticking with
It all started with Kennedy; she’s always been the one I had the most specific mental image of. She’s only been getting a couple tweaks here and there, so there isn’t a huge lot to say. My requirements for her were medieval fantasy vibes, a sleeveless waistcoat, some level of green and her three brooches on her lapel
I moved on to Sy next for a number of reasons; first, I know exactly how I want Sy’s hair to go, so that was helpful, but mainly I didn’t know which of the main five to pick, so I used Sy as an exercise instead. Sy is the kind of character who would be the only one to change their wardrobe in a cartoon. They do their own fashion design, so I’d have to work on my (lack of) sense of style, but Sy is also non-binary, and I’m very much unused to designing non-binary characters and their outfits, especially ones that fit the theme of fantastical royalty
I’ve been quite set on the trousers for a while, which is why I kept reusing them, but I’m sure that in future I’ll try dress designs with Sy as well. In an older design somewhere on my laptop Sy wore trousers like those and also had their designer signature up one leg in a sort of loopy golden embroidery or something like that? Can’t remember where but I’ve seen that done somewhere else and it looked like just a pretty design and I loved it
Top-wise I’m trying to figure out Sy’s style still, I don’t wanna make it too masc or femme but realistically Sy could go either way depending on whatever outfit they feel like. I think red would suit them well, both to go with their hair and to emphasise their royal status. Pretty settled on red being Sy’s favourite colour
But yeah Sy is just my experimentation character to have fun designing rather than attempting to settle on anything specific
Enigma came next, and for the first design I tried to follow what I wrote like years ago about what I wanted her to look like - and quickly realised she needed an update. Persephone is pretty athletic and energetic, she loves gymnastics and parkour and stuff, so I wanted Enigma in something practical that would allow for flexibility and a range of movement. The poofy trousers ended up being a lot cuter than I expected, I actually love them now, and to add an extra pop of colour I added that red thing going down from her belt (I have no idea what it’s called but I love it. And the torso? Absolutely amazing, adore it. I found a reference on Pinterest that I copied and it came out so much nicer than I expected. I think everything is so much more well-balanced now
The requirements I had for Enigma are her lower face mask, her hooded cloak that splits around the small of her back, the dark greys and other dark colours, her utility belt and a necklace similar to Katara’s from ATLA with the seal of Nexus on it (you can see it in the first one but the other ones have it hidden beneath her mask and hood)
Angelus is an interesting one because he has two hero looks; he has the altered Guardian armour that he wears initially to go to stop the breaches from Paracosm - which I’m not even gonna attempt to draw, that’s a job for Hero Forge - and then the slightly more casual look he has while travelling through Paracosm. I didn’t have a major idea of how I wanted this to look, so I experimented a little. And I’ll admit that at first I was kinda reluctant to draw a mostly white outfit since that would mean I’d have to colour the template
Until now, Angelus didn’t actually have his own style since he was always wearing Guardian armour, so it was fun to experiment with giving him new colours. I loved how the coral and blue worked together, but ultimately the coral clashed with the gold and I had to prioritise his main accent colour. In the end I went back to the white and gold, and leaned into the armour idea again because I feel it just suits him
The thing about Angelus is that he’s a very showy person who tries his hardest to be grand and ethereal and… well, angelic. But at the same time, giving him a cape or cloak to billow dramatically behind him would impede his wings when he lets them out, so I settled with long flowy sleeves and the flowy train coming down from his belt. I think it created a nice compromise between style and practicality
#this has been so much fun#I love working on these and figuring out more about the characters as I go#I’m currently working on Lazulai and then it’s on to Connor#thanks for the ask!#writing#writers#writeblr#bookblr#book#writers on tumblr#writerscommunity#writers of tumblr#writer#creative writing#character art#original character art#art#character design
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Headcanons for Ikaris x Persephone!Eternal Reader (AKA Sephia)
Note: Persephone!Eternal’s name is Sephia (it’s still a Reader x Ikaris au, but it’s just easier for me to give her a name). Her powers are that she can make and create any kind of plant at any location. She is neurodivergent, and hopefully these headcanons will help me decide which scenes to write out in either oneshots or drabbles. So really these are Part 1 of the many headcanons I have planned for these two.
Also, because these are Ikaris x Reader headcanons, the reader will be referred as “You”. Please be kind, also I added an "Ask" button on my blog if you have any questions!
Ikaris never really paid any attention you since he opened his eyes on the Domo; he was more attracted to Sersi’s beauty and kindness to pay any attention to you (he’s a hoe)
But he noticed that you and her would always be kept close together as the both of you would help the humans with their crops and developing their agriculture.
He noticed that you would only do as you were told before going off and doing your own thing
He never paid any attention because all this meant was that he would spend more time with Sersi
You on the other hand…you were not a fan of Ikaris (don’t worry this changes)
Not only was it completely obvious to her that he was only “helping” the humans because he wanted to get together with Sersi
But also, because he was always so rude to her best friend Kaetlyn, just because of her powers were a little “dark” and that she had different views as him and Ajak
Furthermore, he liked to act like he knew more about how to harvest and plant the crops even though YOU were the one who designed and created them
It wasn’t until he overheard a discussion between you and her when he heard you call him a “fartface who is only acting nice because he wants to get together with her”
From that day on, he was determined to get you to like him…easier than done
He thought that getting you to like would be a walk in the park, ‘twas anything but!
Many of the Eternals thought that you were very shy and quiet, but you had a very sassy and petty personality that only comes out when you were experiencing a strong emotion
So, whenever Ikaris would try to make conversation, you would just straight up ignore his ass
He would get all pissy princess mode on you, and you would explain that you had no interest entertaining someone who’s only here to flirt and not actually do a good job
From there on out, Ikaris would actually get off his high horse and actually try to help out; and he would ask you for any help because he could tell that you knew more about the crops than Sersi
You and him would actually start to eventually trust one another, even enjoying each other’s company
He would also notice that you weren’t actually comfortable around the humans
You would often be really quiet when around them, even avoiding eye contact with them when they try to talk to you
Also, he found that you zoned out…a LOT
Like Ajak would be holding a group meeting, and you would just be unblinkingly staring at a corner with a blank expression; but then Kaetlyn would lightly nudge you with her elbow, and you would start paying attention again
When he asked you if you were okay because you were acting strange in the meeting; you explained that you heard Ajak mention the word “fruit,” and that made you start thinking about the new fruit that you and Kaety talked about
That led you to somehow thinking pollination and bees and… *cue the confusion on Scottish Space Homelander’s face*
He really starts paying attention to you when he notices that you always stayed behind the Thinkers’ meetings to ask Phastos about his inventions (will write out scene if y'all want me too)
He would start to look forward in seeing you, and always try to find you in the large gatherings and feasts hosted by the humans, only to find that you would only be there for a short period of time or just not show up at all
He would also notice that you would spend a LOT of time in the wilderness, and when he asked you about it, you said that “you wanted to find the areas with the best smells”
You then starting talking a lot of which plants the humans find to make oils and perfumes and how some are really light and how some are too strong
You became curious so you would explore the areas to find the plants and sometimes you would find animals
Then you would follow the animals and then you would find yourself in different parts of the woods altogether
You told him about the time you were trying to find this specific breed of wild mint, but then a squirrel was staring at you and so you started to chase it to its nest…and then you got lost so you had to call Kaety to take you back because you lost track of time and you didn’t want to be later than Sersi
You then go on a tangent on why you liked being around Kaety so much, and one of the reasons is that she always smells REALLY GOOD to cover up the smell of death from dissecting both deviants and human corpses
But one time she forgot to wash her face mask and it started to smell really chemically, so you made her stand about 5 feet away because you have a really good sense of smell and you loved her but she smelled super gross
You started to blush really hard because you just revealed that you were a smeller despite you trying so hard to hide this fact from the rest of the group as Kingo once noticed you doing it and almost called you out on it
Granted Kaetlyn used her shadow to tackle him off a cliff before he could
But you still crouched in flustered shame at your accidental reveal
Ikaris swears he has never laughed so hard ever in his life, and decided that he liked you way better when you got super talkative than when you were insanely quiet
This was when he realized that whatever attraction he felt towards Sersi was miniscule to what he felt for you
Sersi tells him that she knew this whole time and she is literally so excited to play matchmaker
Tagging: @spacetalbot, @valeskafics, @beananacake, @its-actually-minicika, @unfinished-sen, @siempre-bucky
Please let me know if you want to be tagged! I plan to make some Druig x Hecate!Eternal Reader (Kaetlyn) headcanons too!
#ikaris x reader#marvel eternals#ikaris imagine#ikaris x oc#eternals headcanons#eternals x reader#marvel x reader#neurodivergent reader#neurodivergent headcanons#ikaris headcanons
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What was the initial idea for perse? How has she changed over the course of making her?
Oh this is actually SUCH a fun question, because as only some of you guys will know, Perse actually started out as a different character entirely. My friend at the time had a story in the works called Brothers, and while the characters were actually human they were always drawn as furries. I made a joke about a furry wearing a “Ask me about my Skinsona” shirt and that paired with another then friend complaining about brightly colored eyesore furries resulted in this
She was married to one of the main characters, Lucifer, which is why she was named Persephone, or Perse for short. She was immune to a poison that could kill even gods, she stabbed first asked questions later (met her then husband for the first time because he tried to grab something and she pinned his hand to the table with a knife and he was smitten), and she was by virtue of being married to Lucifer, the queen of heaven. She was also a royal guard before she was queen, and I loved her! There were a few relatively minor design changes to her during this time period, none really worth showing
Then the friend and I kinda drifted apart. Originally they were going to purchase Perse from me for $50, but that fell through and she just gathered dust because I was ashamed for some reason. Another ex friend made an alien species that was very furry esq, and I was like oh I can rework Perse for this! And then this version of her was born
I still like that outfit ngl. She was similar in this iteration, still very stab happy, and I accidentally pissed the GM of a game off by playing her being flippent and having fun in a horror situation. Oops. This version of her did not last long because that “friend” got really nasty about me because I “hoard characters”, among other things. Do I eventually left that community and was once again left with a character I used to project on feeling like she and I just don’t belong. All of this is before I even knew the FTC existed.
And then I came here. I wasn’t going to make her, at first. I made a few trolls, I messed around, I was having fun! Then I was like lol what if I made an OC who is a human who hides by wearing a fursuit. That led to me going “oh wait I could use Perse for that, since she’s always had that Skinsona shirt! Wouldn’t it be ironic!” And so Perse the human on alternia was born. I eventually connected her to a few other furry OC’s, which led to her getting her best friend, Ashter. He was her handler at con’s before he was her moirail, you know.
And eventually I went you know what, I want her to be a troll. I had a few ideas for how I was going to do that, but the one I ended up going with involved her making a deal with a demon to get the body she wanted. Her troll form actually originally looked way different too! And I might revamp the old design and make it a different character
I would change at least some of the colors and probably the horns. But while I love this design it never quite fit right. Eventually I decided to just go you know what how about I design a troll version of her fursona (which also has a slightly different design now, but I do not currently have a ref of, I’m working on it) and that THAT finally hit correctly. Technically her design has changed slightly since then as well, but the final version is the one shown in her sprites as made by Roetrolls!
She’s slightly (slightly) less stab happy now, and instead of being immune to a poison that is deadly to literally everyone else, she is technically venomous/poisonous (it’s both), with a toxin that shuts off psionics, chucklevoodoos, anything like that. She’s a gamer now, which was honestly very close to her vibes originally, and still insanely loyal.
I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you were asking about and I’m happy to explain anything further that I need to!
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New OUAT OCs
this is all @the-witching-ash's fault for encouraging me to make a new oc to ship with Graham and now instead I have 10...
Angel Dearly | Anita Dumas in Long Live: Anita Radcliffe in the Enchanted Forest but has not married Roger so keeps her maiden name, Dumas. In Storybrooke she's a waitress at Granny's Diner who dreams of moving away and becoming a fashion designer. Shipped with @the-witching-ash's Roman Taylor | Roger Radcliffe and is Anastasia Dearly | Adelaide Dumas' granddaughter*
Named Angel for its similarities to Anita; Dearly for Anita's last name in the live action movie, and Dumas for Alexandre Dumas the French author/playwright
*this is specifically in Long Live/the crossover, theoretically she has a solo verse shipped with Graham but I only care about the crossover
Alissa Thorn | Priscilla Page in Dear Reader: Priscilla Page (from the Fables comics) in the Enchanted Forest, in Storybrooke she is the middle child between her sisters, her job is still TBD
Named Alissa as it means Wanderer, and Priscilla's place of power is the open road
Corrina Mills | Persephone in Rite Of Spring: Regina & Zelena's younger half sister, named after her mother Cora. She is Persephone in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke she's Corrina Mills, Regina's younger sister and the only person who can leave Storybrooke without any issue but she either always finds herself returning without meaning to or she forgets about Storybrooke when she's out of the bubble and forgets about the "real world" when she's in Storybrooke. Her father is Rumplestiltskin, and she is most likely going to be shipped with Graham
Named Corrina both for her mother, Cora, and because it's a variation of Kore, which is another name for Persephone
Dove Thorn | Robin Page in Dear Reader: The youngest of the Page/Thorn sisters. In the Enchanted Forest she is Robin Page (from the Fables comics), and in Storybrooke she is Dove Thorn, Alissa & Evelyn's younger sister who works somewhere in the Sheriff's Department.
Named Dove as it is a type of bird, like Robin
Eilwony in Rabbit Heart: Eilwony from the Black Cauldron. She was a captive to Regina in the Enchanted Forest and is still captive through the curse. Because of being in Regina's castle, she was not affected by the curse and has kept all of her memories, but she can't escape or do anything with that knowledge until Henry Mills finds her and helps to rescue her. Daughter of a magic user, but I haven't decided which one yet.
(name does not change as she does not have a Storybrooke version of herself)
Evelyn Thorn | Hillary Page in Dear Reader: The oldest Thorn sister, she's Hillary Page (from the Fables comics) in the Enchanted Forest. In Storybrooke she's Evelyn Thorn, who "recently" took over her mother's job as the elementary school librarian.
Named Evelyn after the most iconic librarian around, Evelyn O'Connell from The Mummy
Mirella Gold | Christine Daae in Once Upon A Song: Christine Daae (Phantom Of The Opera) in the Enchanted Forest, Rumplestiltskin takes on the role of her phantom in many ways. In Storybrooke she is Mirella Gold, who works as a personal assistant (tbd to who) but dreams of becoming a songwriter. She is raised by Mr Gold, but I haven't decided yet if she knows that she's adopted or believes that he's her father. Might be shipped with Graham.
Named Mirella after Mirella Freni, considered one of the best opera singers of all time
(in my heart, @the-witching-ash's Adelaide | Anastasia is her music teacher 🥺 )
Nieva in Eatnamen Vuelie: Nieva is Elsa's daughter, who Elsa does not know exists, and sadly that's all that I know so far!
Named Nieva as it means Snow, her name does not change as she does not have a Storybrooke version of herself
Paige Thorn | Prose Page in Dear Reader: Prose Page (from the Fables comics) in the Enchanted Forest. In Storybrooke she is Paige Thorn, English teacher turned school librarian who "recently" quit her job to open her own bookstore, leaving her eldest daughter to become the new librarian.
Named Paige as a pun on Prose Page's last name
Sadie “Sugar” Monroe | Charlotte LaBouff in Sweet Nothing: Charlotte LaBouff in the Enchanted Forest. In Storybrooke she is Sadie Monroe (but everyone calls her Sugar), a pageant princess rich girl with a heart of gold. She is an event planner and organizes plenty of town events and fundraisers, and will be shipped with either Graham or David.
Named Sadie as it is a common Southern girl name and nicknamed Sugar because it is a common nickname in the South (both chosen as a nod to Charlotte LaBouff being a Southern Belle), last name Monroe as Lottie's design was inspired by Marilyn Monroe
(ps thank you @ginevrastilinski-ocs for the help is naming Nieva and Sugar!)
#new oc#new idea#fyeahonceuponatimeocs#angel dearly#alissa thorn#corrina mills#dove thorn#eilwony#evelyn thorn#mirella gold#nieva#paige thorn#sugar monroe#long live#dear reader#rite of spring#rabbit heart#once upon a song#eatnamen vuelie#sweet nothing#my ocs#ouat oc
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I hope you won't mind this in particular because I have no way of posting this anonymously to the critical community outside of making a burner account but I'm hoping that maybe you could share this as you're well respected in the community and may understand where I'm coming from.
It has become increasingly uncomfortable the way I've seen some people in the community comment on Psyche's design. I'm Black, and while I have my issues with the way she's been introduced, her entire character arc, or the fact that she was made into a token character for diversity points, I still find the way part of the community discusses her increasingly uncomfortable and nearing anti-Blackness at times. Really all I want is for non-Black criticals to please be more mindful of their criticisms when it comes to her character. That's all. Some comments are starting to become hurtful, like her current hair being called ugly (which I get isn't done in more creative styles but puff ponytails are a thing Black women wear often) or just the fact that she's Black now at all, she was always brown, the only thing that really changed was her hair texture and eye color. And repeatedly seeing things like "She looked prettier before" when she isn't ugly or "I liked her hair before" it's...uncomfortable, which hurts because I really enjoy this community full of creative and intelligent people. 💔
That's all, thank you for taking the time to read this.
Ouu, this is a great post with some great points, thank you for sharing! I don't mind people sharing their takes through my inbox if it gives them a safe outlet to do so, just so long as y'all don't mind me responding to them!
CW: this is mostly just a very sensitive post regarding race and culture representation in LO so just be aware that this one miiiight be heavy and/or triggering, please please please if anyone has anything to share in response to this just let me know, these discussions are important to have but they can still be emotionally draining and I don't want to make anyone feel upset or invalidated by this lil' essay post!!!
So obviously I can't speak on this as a black person BUT as an Indigenous person, I feel like I would be in your same boat if Psyche were being drawn with Indigenous/Mi'kmaq traits and I saw people going "well she looks UGLY now and she was PRETTIER before." So I can empathize with you there in that regard, people's takes can be a little rough around the edges with this kind of topic.
But I'm willing to give people the benefit of the doubt most of the time when these topics do come up because a lot of the criticisms aren't aimed at Psyche specifically being black or having textured hair, they're aimed at Rachel for suddenly retroactively retconning Psyche from being a dark-skinned/brown Mediterranean woman into a black woman.
Like, straight up, what pisses me off about how Psyche is treated is simply how she's been drawn as 4 different women of color over the course of the comic. Having a hairstyle that changes often is one thing (literally every character in LO lacks consistency) but her hair texture and length is constantly changing (which isn't something you can just change on a whim unless you're Persephone LMAO) AND her skin tone has flip flopped between, again, dark-skinned/ woman and black woman. In some panels she's outright orange which is... ech.
Now, take this with grains of salt because I have no source on it, but I've seen claims that RS once stated she "always wanted to draw Psyche black, but didn't know how to." Besides the fact that this sounds outright lazy (it's not hard to learn how to paint skintones that are not your own, Google exists) it also seems like RS trying to paint herself as "progressive" which she's done for a LOT of things beyond just POC rep (ex. fat rep, mental health rep, etc. all things that she's butchered or misrepresented entirely but still pretended like she was doing well).
Again, I'm giving a lot of benefit of the doubt here and I'm sure I'm gonna be proven wrong on this (I welcome it if there's something I've blatantly missed here, educate me in the comment section below pls) but when I see people say Psyche's hair is "ugly" in the newer panels or they "prefer her old design" I don't see it as them saying the hair style or texture itself is ugly or that she, in and of herself, is ugly. Often times people will short form it to "it looks ugly" especially in the faster-paced discussion circles, but really more often than not they mean "I think the way RS is trying to draw her just isn't good." Especially considering how low effort and lip service-y it feels. Like, Psyche's hair rn is literally just a giant texture brush pressed onto the screen and her skin tones are just brown + brown set to Multiply.
And that design is a far cry from where Psyche started.
Like, these are LITERALLY not the same women and while some might say "well maybe it was after she became a Goddess-" nope, she looked like her S3 version when she turned back into a mortal from nymph form, except she had an entirely different hair texture and skin tone.
None of this is to invalidate anyone's feelings regarding this criticism and how it's delivered. There doesn't need to be an intent to hurt for something to be hurtful. The purpose of this post is more so just to explain my own interpretation of where these criticisms come from (as someone who's had them myself) and how I interpret them as a POC. I don't think anyone's trying to be intentionally malicious to people from the POC community (though they can be blasé) especially considering a lot of the people talking about it are black themselves. No one person is a monolith for the entire community so while some are fine with how Psyche is being drawn, others aren't, and I think both are valid in their own ways. Often times it can come down to individual experiences and what people are used to seeing in media when it comes to POC rep and that's something that will vary per person. I've definitely seen conversations revolve around something being racist towards the Indigenous community that I couldn't care less about because it just wasn't something that I found offensive due to my own upbringing or what I'm used to seeing in media. Doesn't mean I can't still be educated on why it's hurtful to others, though!
All I'm gonna say on it is that, personally, I don't find anything inherently wrong with any of the designs on their own, there's nothing ugly with any of those looks. If they were all each their own character, I'd be down for it, absolutely. It's just the fact that all these designs are for ONE character. It's a shame to see Psyche robbed of any consistency even more so than every other character in the plot, and it very much feels like a case of a white New Zealand woman trying too hard to win representation points (and yes, that's a hot take, but it's a small hill I'm willing to die on because we all know RS' history with this sort of thing at this point, she's not good at hiding it lmao). It feels very low effort and obligatory, like Psyche is just there to check off a list of mandatory representation rather than be her own character with her own goals or traits or motivations.
And, REAL hot take, though it isn't really related to the majority of this post, I have to point out that it gets even weirder/ickier when you remember the fact that nymphs are treated as lower class in the narrative and Psyche... becomes a black-coded nymph... who works for Aphrodite as a servant...
(sigh how was this any better than just doing the OG myth, Rachel?)
Anyways, that's all I'm gonna say on that. That is, again, my personal take on it but I obviously can't speak on behalf of the black community or people in it, most of what drives me nuts just has to do with the lack of character consistency and the feeling that RS is just phoning shit in. The designs on their own independently from one another are fine and I don't think that's what most of the criticisms out there are annoyed about anyways - we're all just tired of seeing Psyche morph into different POC rep characters every other week.
Thank you for taking the time to write and voice your opinion on it, it's definitely a topic that can veer into nasty territory if not treaded carefully but it's one that interests me in talking about because POC rep is important to me, whether or not I belong to the specific culture that's being represented. I know I would be in the same boat if it were concerning Mi'kmaq characters.
And by all means, if y'all think I'm just spouting shit out of my ass or speaking completely out of turn, tell me in the comments or in my asks, this isn't a discussion with one simple clear cut answer or solution so I'd love to hear your own takes o(* ̄▽ ̄*)ブ
#lore olympus critical#lo critical#antiloreolympus#anti lore olympus#essay post#ama#ask me anything#anon ama#anon ask me anything
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I really should have started with the Orfeo event because oh my god...
Shows me a smile of familiarity, as if we know each other.
===-
Orpheus: You..
Young Girl in a White Dress: Good evening! Orfeo!
Orpheus: You knew who I was playing as?
Orpheus: [The girl tilts her head and looks doubtfully at me]
Young Girl in a White Dress: Hasn't it always been like that? You're Orfeo and I'm Eurydice. Do you plan on playing a different character today?
When the player chooses the "Orfeo" option:
Orpheus: No, I'm Orfeo.
Young Girl in a White Dress: Did you study the script this time?
The video player bugs out so I can't tell what ption the person selected, but "Young Girl in a White Dress"'s name changes to "Eurydice and she asks Orpheus a question:
"Eurydice": But i've always wanted to ask, do you like the ending?
Orpheus, if you select the "I don't option: No, I think it's a tragedy.
"Eurydice": What kind of ending do you hope for?
Orpheus, If you select the [Eurydice and Orfeo never have to be separated again" option: I hope Eurydice and Orfeo never have to be separated again.
"Eurydice": Even if it means remaining in hell together?
Orpheus: Even if it means remaining in hell together...
"Eurydice: But Eurydice may not like this ending. [The girl mumbles and looks down].
The recording glitches so I can't see the message that pops up, but "Eurydice" leaves and the player goes to talk to Norton.
But yeah like... it's amazing how the sibling truthers tell on themselves... HOW do you play this event and not see the reveal of Orpheus being Alice's playmate coming? The Orfeo event came out about a month before the first episode of Ashes of Memory did... and yet people will still say AoM is a revamp when it's really just the pay off to what was set up in Time of Reunion... Ppl will look u directly in the eye and tell you theyre siblings knowing this was in the game...
====
Kind of unrelated, but I wonder if Melly's and Nortons designs for Pluto and Proserpina/Persephone is a reference to the Faerie King and Queen in Sir Orfeo. I said Orfeo is a reference to Sir Orfeo, but it could just be a reference to "Orfeo ed Euridice" which is a retelling of the Greek tragedy with a happy ending. It's also the way Orpheus is spelled in Italian lol.
But I can't help but wonder if they drew some inspiration from Sir Orfeo, because their appearance reminds me of the Tuatha de Danann - these were the Faeries the poet would have been referring to in Sir Orfeo, not those cute little creatures with butterfly wings. They just straight up looked like humans and were capable of benevolence and malevolence.
They probably made Norton look like that to tie him more closely with gold, since Pluto is also associated with wealth. So that checks out. Norton's association with gems and precious metals isn't far off from the way the Fairie King is portrayed either.
Even though most of their references lean more towards Greek and Roman mythology, I still can't help but think they've read that story, since Norton falls in line with the Fairy Kings actions in Sir Orfeo. Specifically the part where he whisks Heurodis [Eurydice] away to the Otherworld - the land of the Fae - after she falls asleep under a grafted tree. Norton is trying to take Alice away from Orpheus by... kidnapping her I think? Like idk what he's doing tbh, he chases her... the Orpheus knocks her out to get her away from him... then he gies her some medicine when she's in the cellar... but whatever he has planned for her ain't gonna be good.
Anyways, the point of this last bit is that you should read Sir Orfeo... and you should make Orpheus and Alice art that references Sir Orfeo... ;)
#identity v#theres more but i dont have the time to talk about it...#what are the IDV writers cooking...
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