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sailoryooons · 1 year

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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.

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.

#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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raplinesmoon · 1 year

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원샷! (One-shot!) - MYG x F!Reader

series masterlist

pairing: Doctor!Yoongi x Doctor!Reader genre(s): crack, fluff, brief smut au(s): medical AU, idiots-to-lovers (not quite yet) word count: 3.1k warnings: cynical Yoongi, hospital talk, artificial insemination and pregnancy, sperm for insemnation switched without readers’ knowledge/consent, Yoongi has no filter, 20,000 different ways to say sperm, unhinged behaviour from OC and Yoongi, probably HIPAA non-compliance, intoxication, marijuana use, an almost-kiss, did I mention they're idiots (affectionate), mentions divorce (OC's parents), bi-panic from Yoongi, implied masturbation (m) rating: 18+

summary: Yoongi's friendship with you is the one bright spot in his life. So when you tell him you're ready to have a baby, he thinks this will finally be his shot to take your friendship to the next level. Cue a few shots of soju, and one insemination party, and Yoongi suddenly has a huge problem on his hands.

a/n: Old rom-coms (aka pre-2012) are the best. I was rewatching The Switch the other day and felt a burst of inspo to write this cute little au! This will probably be a oneshot (get it?) for now, but never say never! I hope you enjoy!

disclaimer: I do not own, or have any affiliation with BTS. Any similarity between the version of the idol(s) mentioned and portrayed here and their real life counterparts is purely coincidental, and does not represent the thoughts and opinions of said idol(s). Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. This specific fic is based on the 2010 movie The Switch, which contains sensitive themes relating to accidental artificial insemnation, consent, and pregnancy. Please do your research before engaging with this fic, as these themes may not be for everyone.

In his somewhat short career of practicing medicine, Yoongi had become an expert people-watcher, you could say. For instance, he’d been privy to the same morning commute as hundreds of other strangers in the city for the past five or so years. In fact, he was so used to seeing their faces that they didn’t seem like strangers at all. There was the old man who rode in the same car he did, always clutching what seemed to be a bouquet of flowers or a baked good. Maybe it was for his wife. Or his mistress.

Yoongi puckers his lips sourly at the unsavory thought, shuddering at how cynical he’d become. Instead, he turns his attention to the girl sitting in the corner. She had to be in middle school, he thought. Only middle school could put that despondent look on the face of someone so young. Maybe she’d been jilted by a crush. Or more likely, she’d gotten a B on her math test and was about to walk into a lecture from her parents the moment she came home from school today. Yoongi knew the feeling all too well.

You see, it was Yoongi's job to be in the business of people. Being a doctor meant that he dealt with people all day long. They flitted in and out of his life like the flies that buzzed past his ears every time he entered the subway. And he always surprised himself with how much he could learn about them in a single meeting, or before they even walked into the room.

Which is why nothing could have prepared him for what awaited him when he walked into the hospital cafeteria that morning. Sweat streamed down his back in rivulets from the summer heat, drenching his scrubs. And yet, he still insisted on grabbing a piping cup of black coffee from the drinks counter.

“It keeps me awake for longer,” he grumbled when the man at the checkout counter shot him a quizzical look.

His eyes scan the crowded array of chairs and tables outside the café, looking for the one person who could perk up the start to another grueling work day, even more than his cup of coffee was capable of.

You wave to him enthusiastically from the crowd, bouncing up and down like a child waiting for a lollipop. It was probably from all the kids you hung around with all day. Peds was no joke, and Yoongi admired your ability to keep a bright, starry-eyed attitude when his own stomach turned at the thought of sick children.

“Please don’t tell me you saw another man with flowers who might be cheating on his wife,” you raise an eyebrow at the scowl on his face as he approaches the table. “Either that or today’s the day you finally regret not getting an iced coffee.”

Running a hand through his hair, he sighs, annoyed yet also mildly amused by your teasing.

“I told you, it–”

“It keeps you awake for longer, I know, I know,” you beam at him.

“It’s actually neither of those things,” he groans. “Today it was the old lady in the elevator who asked me what year of high school I was in.”

“That’s what you get for having a stupidly perfect face,” you quip, waving your fork at him. “You know Seungkwan from Derm would freak if he knew you only washed your face with bar soap?!”

Although you chuckle at your own joke, Yoongi can’t help the way his heart twists at your words, resisting the heat that rises to his cheeks when you compliment his face. But before he can think about it too long, he falters, noticing that your attention is buried deep within your pile of scrambled eggs, and you’re unable to look him in the eyes.

“You know, Seungkwan from Derm would also tell you that frowning causes premature wrinkles, ___,” Yoongi responds, and you lift your head up, eyebrows furrowed in worry. His hand twitches, and he fights the urge to reach out and squeeze your hand to reassure you everything will be alright.

You finally reach into your bag, pulling out a piece of paper.

“Look at these labs,” you push the paper towards him. “What do they say to you?”

Yoongi stares intently at the paper, trying to piece together this patient’s story, despite you failing to provide any helpful demographic information.

“Iron count, a full blood panel, HcG, any infectious diseases, genetic markers—” Yoongi pauses when he realizes. “You’ve got a pregnant kid on your hands?”

The paper is snatched from his hands before he can finish, your face redder than a tomato.

“No silly, it’s not a kid. I-it’s me. Those are my levels. Do you think they look okay?”

Yoongi can’t prevent his jaw from dropping wide open. He’s sure he must look like an idiot, staring blankly while you blink your eyes, waiting for him to respond.

“You’re having a baby?” he chokes out. The sick, twisty feeling in his stomach has returned, only this time it's a thousand times worse.

“Not yet. But I’m trying,” you admit sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

“So what, you want me to have sex with you?” Yoongi blurts out before he can stop himself, and he immediately sees you freeze. Sometimes he really hated that he had no filter when it came to his thoughts. That, combined with the fact that he’d had a crush on you since you nearly knocked him over with your Heelies during his first week of work, and Yoongi had found himself in a sticky situation more often than not.

“No!” you immediately blurt out, growing more flustered when Yoongi frowns. “Not that, I mean–, that’s totally beside the point, completely irrelevant to my clinical question, I, I– I’m using a sperm donor okay!”

For the second time in a matter of minutes, you’ve rendered Yoongi completely speechless.

“Is this about Kihyun?” he finally asks. “Or Doyoung? You know, I know you haven’t had the best track record with relationships in the past, but jumping into having a baby with a random guy is definitely not the solution!”

“It’s not about them!” you sputter, unable to stop your voice from rising. “It’s about me, okay! My choice to be an independent woman, raising a child, who doesn’t need a man to help her at all! I get paid well, I have all the resources I could dream of, a strong support system. My life is in session!”

Yoongi has to bite back at chuckle at you quoting one of the various hospital brochures that decorated every reception desk and spare table.

“So are you gonna help me find some jizz, or not?!” you finish, only to look around and realize nearly a dozen pairs of eyes are on you. Perhaps you’d said that last part a little too loudly.

“I-, I gotta go,” you whisper, slinging your bag over your shoulder and running as fast as you can out of the cafeteria, leaving a wistful Yoongi to ponder over the fact that you hadn’t even bothered to finish your breakfast.

You might have thought that breakfast was the end of your baby-making discussion, but judging by the way Yoongi cornered you immediately during the mid-afternoon patient lull, it seemed he hadn't.

“So you’re looking for, uh, semen,” he says, mortified when the charge nurse on your floor whips her head around to glare at him. He pulls you into an alcove by the windows, immediately realizing what a wrong move that was when he can smell the strawberry shampoo you’d used this morning, or count each one of your long eyelashes.

“What’s wrong with mine?” he asks innocently, before realizing he’d messed up yet again. The uncomfortable look on your face tells him as much.

“Listen, Yoongi, I’m sure you have great sperm, killer sperm even. Not in a murder-y way, you know, but like in a Darwinian kinda way. But we’re best friends, wouldn’t that be weird?”

“We don’t have to have sex, you know. I could just nut in a cup and hand it to you. I mean we’ve literally cleaned vomit off each other, how weird could this be?”

A strangled giggle erupts from your throat, and you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet. Yoongi knows you well enough to know your untapped anxiety is preventing you from saying what you really want.

“Okay, spit it out ___.”

“Well, no offense, Yoongi, but you’re kind of neurotic. And not to mention a little pessimistic, maybe even nihilistic…”

“Damn, ___. You could have just said you didn’t want my swimmers. No need to hit a man where it hurts.”

You smile, fondly recalling the time you two played for the hospital basketball team, only for Yoongi to suspend you when your pass had gone awry and smacked him straight in the balls.

“Oh please, you recovered just fine. And we still won the championship that year against the nurses.”

The smile Yoongi forces out of him is no match for the way his heart is breaking underneath. But he looks at you, eyes sparkling and so excited about the prospect of having a baby, and immediately sets his own feelings aside. He could do this. He was your best friend, and as your best friend, your happiness was his number one priority.

“Okay, I’ll help.”

“Thank you thank you thank you!” you crush him in a too-tight hug, his arms wrapping around you stiffly, before melting into it. Normally he would have pushed anyone else off by now, but you’d always been his exception to every rule he’d ever set for himself.

“So, what do you think about Hoseok from Finance?”

Yoongi freezes at the mention of the happy-go-lucky man with the heart-shaped smile and how he could immediately charm the pants off of anyone within his vicinity.

“Absolutely not,” he grumbles, walking away.

“Oh come on, why not? He has great fashion sense, can pull off any hair color, the nurses say he can dance well… Yoongi, YOONGI!”

After a tumultuous few months, which involved a rather precarious incident in which Yoongi had nearly gotten fired when he locked Taehyung, a cardiology fellow, in the bathroom after he’d gotten a bit too handsy with you at a party, Yoongi opens his apartment door one Saturday morning to find a comically large pink envelope on the outside.

The dozens of sperm-shaped balloons that fall out of the card have him jolting in surprise, and he looks up to find his across-the-hall neighbours, a mom and her daughter, staring at him dumbfoundedly, before swiftly slamming their door shut in his face.

I’m Getting Pregnant… And You’re Invited, the garish pink letters on the invitation read, and Yoongi wants to tell the stupid card to go shove all the balloons up its ass when he realizes in horror that you’d finally decided on someone. Without him.

Standing in the hallway with the huge mess around him, Yoongi wonders how despite changing people’s lives every day, he’d always managed to fall behind when it came to his own.

. . .

The obnoxious EDM bumping in your apartment is enough to make Yoongi’s ears bleed. Tugging at his hoodie, his eyes scan the crowd of people, recognizing more than a few people from the hospital. Frowning, he tries to run each one of them through his mind, wondering if you’d gone with Hoseok from Finance after all.

“Dr. Min!” Yoongi nearly chokes on his drink when Jimin from HR comes up to him, landing him a good-natured slap on the back. “You made it!”

“What the hell are you doing here, Jimin?” Yoongi deadpans. “Shouldn’t you be reporting this shit? I thought all this was supposed to be protected under HIPAA!”

“We’re all HIPAA-compliant here, Yoongi, except you,” Jimin chortles, before smirking at him. “Don’t think I don’t know that you’re the only one in your department who hasn’t submitted their training modules yet.”

“I-, I’ve been busy! You know, actually taking care of patients and stuff.” Yoongi knows Jimin is joking, but somehow still feels the need to defend himself.

“I’m sensing some negative energy from you, Yoongi,” Jimin drawls, and Yoongi is sure he has to be drunk, waving what looks like a turkey baster in his face. “This is ___’s moment! We should all be happy for her!”

“Oh I’m sooo happy,” Yoongi grumbles, disappearing into the crowd to look for you.

“Dr. Min!” another voice calls out to him. “Wanna take a hit?”

Yoongi turns to see Jungkook, one of the medical students rotating in his unit, offering him a lit joint.

“Put that damn thing away, Jeon!” Yoongi scolds him, before backtracking. “On second thought, gimme that.”

All Jungkook can do is blink in surprise when Yoongi takes a drag of the joint, immediately feeling his irate energy subside just a tiny bit. Still, he was antsy. Where were you?

Yoongi takes another few hits, downs a few shots of soju and he’s overcome with the munchies. Reaching for the hummus and pita chips, he groans when the dip plops down, staining his pristine white hoodie.

“Here, let me help you with that,” another disembodied voice calls out to him. Yoongi looks up at the sound, and is immediately taken aback.

Yoongi’s sure he’d never seen this dude at the hospital before. He was like, freakishly pretty. Tall, with dark hair and broad shoulders, and pink lips. He blinks, trying not to panic at the attractive man swiping the stain off his shirt.

“Yoongi!” you appear out of nowhere, wrapping him in another crushing hug. “I see you’ve met Seokjin.”

“I’m the donor,” the man called Seokjin reaches a hand out for him to shake, offering a blinding smile.

Fuck. Of course this stupidly attractive man was your sperm donor. Of course you’d want to have his baby. He was literally perfect. You probably had a crush on him. Hell, Yoongi kind of had a crush on him.

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you drunkenly lean on Yoongi for support. “You two have fun talking though!”

“___’s great,” Seokjin grins. “Super nice. Pretty hot too.”

“Why are you doing this?” Yoongi interjects bluntly. “I mean no offense, a guy like you, you could probably have anyone.”

“Ahh yeah,” Seokjin ruffles his hair, and Yoongi grits his teeth at how he still manages to look perfect doing that. “Money’s tight these days. A PhD in astrophysics at Harvard doesn’t exactly come cheap.”

Before Yoongi can make another smart comment, Seokjin is whisked away by Jimin and Hoseok from finance, the men slapping him on the back, hollering that it’s time to do the deed. He sees you disappear into your own room nervously, and can’t help himself from following you.

“Everything okay, ___?”

“NO!” you’re nearly bouncing off the walls. And there’s no kids to entertain in sight. “I’m freaking out!”

Yoongi’s next to you in seconds, taking you in his arms and letting your head lean against his shoulder. He’d discovered how much it calmed you down after one drunken night out where you’d basically recalled your childhood trauma from your parents’ divorce.

“Do you think I’m crazy, Yoongi? I want this so bad, but maybe this is the wrong way to go about it.”

“I think you want a family, ___. There’s nothing wrong with that. And I’ll be here every step of the way. Uncle Yoongi to the rescue.”

You giggle at his words, a dazed look in his eyes.

“You do act like a total dad.”

There’s a brief pause, silence falling in between you two. Your eyes peer into Yoongi’s and for a moment, he could swear you lean in, the shiny pink gloss on your lips sparkling in the dim light—-

Only to be interrupted by Jungkook bursting into the room, grabbing your hand and telling you its finally time.

One shot, Yoongi had promised himself. Only now he’s ten shots of soju deep and hiding in the fucking bathroom while the party rages on outside. The colors on the wall blend into each other, and Yoongi’s head throbs trying to figure out what he’s looking at. He smiles to himself when he sees its your meticulous pregnancy planning chart, filled with labs and calendars and lists of medications.

Lifting himself up off the floor, he stumbles, bracing himself against the toilet. He was about to hurl. In his stupor he hears something clatter, off to the side.

“Is someone in there?” the nervous voice of Kim Namjoon, one of the hospital’s talented surgeons, calls out from the other end. “I have to pee!”

Namjoon’s voice breaks Yoongi out of his daze, and he looks at the object lying on the floor.

Cum. A whole bucket’s worth of it, it looked like. The creamy white substance now lies swirling in your toilet bowl, and he feels his heart drop to his ass when he realizes it’s Seokjin’s. Oh fuck! It was Seokjin’s sample. Aka the sample you were supposed to shoot up in mere moments, to have the baby you’d been dreaming of for so long.

Yoongi tugs at his hair, wanting to scream at himself for ruining your plans, all because of his own stupidity. You’d be so mad at him. You’d probably yell at him in front of the entire hospital, hands on your hips, and your face would go all red.

He’s horrified when his dick twitches to life at the image of you cursing him out. How was it his fault that you were so hot and he was idiotically attracted to you?

A lightbulb goes off in his head, and Yoongi looks down again, caught in a face-off with Min. Jr. This was a very big problem with a very simple solution.

The pounding in his head continues as Yoongi drops his pants, getting right to work.

. . .

Thankfully, Yoongi doesn’t remember much about the night of your party. He thinks it’s a blessing, at least until you pounce on him in the hospital cafeteria a couple of weeks later.

Something about you is different, he thinks. You’d always been pretty but now you’re stunning, practically glowing from the inside out. He wonders if it has anything to do with stupidly handsome Seokjin when you tap him on the shoulder.

“It worked!” you blurt out, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m pregnant!”

Suddenly, it all comes back to Yoongi. His jealousy over Seokjin, the two of you nearly kissing in your room, the cup spilling into the toilet, the way Yoongi came with your name on his lips.

Shit.

A/N pt. 2: Thanks for reading! As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

509 notes · View notes

agent-cupcake · 8 months

Text

Flashbang

Chapter 1 - Puppet Loosely Strung

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: Running away to join the circus doesn’t go exactly as you hoped it would.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, murder, generally dark content

Word Count: 13.9k

Disclaimer: I don’t read the manga or watch the anime. This is based solely on OPLA Buggy because Jeff Ward.

Some quick notes before we start: This is what I've been working on this since October. Originally it was going to be one really big one-shot posted at the same time, but it's big enough that I can justify posting it as a series. I'll add warnings as I go, but this is not a happy story and there will be explicit content later on. The reader character might not be somebody you see yourself in, I had a very specific image of what character I had in mind while writing. To me, reader fic is more of a sort of play acting rather than "oh that's literally me" but I know that's not everybody's cup of tea. A lot of this is cope fic and it shows. When times get rough the porn gets rougher, right?

I had help writing this from an individual who is very dear to me. Flashbang wouldn't exist without her, especially since she was the one who gave me the clown brain rot. And then there has been the hours of brainstorming and spitballing and watching Jeff Ward shows/movies as she continued to feed my addiction. Thank you, my love, and also damn you because this wasn't what I needed.

New chapter every Sunday. Enjoy~

“Let me put myself in your shoes

As a puppet loosely strung

Around you, they were so confused

That a faulty man could have so much fun”

All it took was a little doubt. Through logic or confusion or wishful thinking, you could be convinced that the insignificant person who had parasitically driven you around for the past however many years was a stranger, and now they were gone. Everything that had ever happened fell into incomprehensible dust, and every thought you ever had belonged to somebody else. A cycle of a million memories you didn’t recognize spun through this foggy place, none of them real, none of them familiar.

Logic, confusion, wishful thinking, or unconsciousness. An endless dream of nothing at all. But as soon as you became aware, it was awareness that those thoughts happened in the past tense, crushed inward by the unrelenting force of existence, and you were shoved back into a body. You—not the real you, the stranger you, the one made of heat and fury and pain, the one you couldn’t recognize—were gasping and thrashing in ignorant confusion, coughing out the sickening taste of blood in your throat.

Everything, all of it, hurt. And that was all that existed.

Until it wasn’t.

Your panicked thrashing made you realize that you were upright, your body straining painfully against the various chains keeping you pinned against the wall in an X. The position put nearly all of your weight on your shoulders and left your head to sag heavily to the side, making the terrible, dizzying headache that much worse. Having suffered more than your fair share of them, you knew that this headache was from more than an uncomfortable position or your old injury. A hot throbbing pain radiated out from the back of your head, shooting little sparks down your spine. It hurt bad enough that nausea formed a tight, heavy ball in your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you forced your eye open, fighting the urge to cringe away from the light as it rolled this way and that. Colors and lights were nothing more than a nauseating smear, but at least you could see.

Little by little, you became aware of yourself. From far away, you had a vague recollection of leaving, of nerves, excitement, and then of danger. But… no, why weren’t you at home? Doom settled in its rightful place as you realized exactly how little you remembered or knew, slotting into the spot of coherence and reason. Despite the pain, you fought against the shackles holding you in the uncomfortable position, irrationally desperate to be free of them.

“There she is! Finally,” somebody said from your left. His voice hit like a hammer to the back of your aching head. You strained to look at the speaker, he sounded close, but you couldn’t turn your head far enough to make up for your limited vision.

Luckily, he didn’t stay out of sight for long. The man’s boots were loud and deliberate as he slowly moved out of your literal blind spot. To your ill-adjusting eye, he was not much more than a blur of white and red and blue, his big smile smudged as you rapidly blinked to focus. A little shock of meaningless recognition in your brain saw the makeup and red nose and said ‘clown’, but the sheer ridiculousness of that made you even more sure that this wasn’t real.

“Not a fun way to wake up, is it?” he asked. “Keep breathing, let it drain back and cough it out. Trust me, it’s over quicker that way.”

The question you tried to form was, “Who are you?” but all you could manage was a heavy groan followed by a fit of painful coughs, wheezing raggedly in between. Each desperate convulsion rattled the chains and caused the wood to creak, but did nothing to free your bound limbs. The man seemed bored by it, annoyed he had to wait for you to get ahold of yourself.

Since he hadn’t immediately helped you down, you could only assume that he was the one who shackled you in the first place. Strung you up against a wooden board of some kind in a room you didn’t know. Cramped and windowless, it reeked of paint and sweat and sawdust and sweet salty rot—a unique smell that didn’t help your nausea. Clutter stacked up against the walls. Dense, humid air pressed against you like a heavy coat, paradoxically chilling. Probably because of the fever burning beneath your skin, slicking you up with sweat, soaking into your clothes and the bandana you kept wrapped around your head over the left eye.

Breathe. You focused on your breathing. Panic wouldn’t help you.

“You done?” he asked. Without any other choices, you turned your head to shamefully wipe your face off on your sleeve before nodding. “Great. Well, now that you’re awake… Welcome!” He threw out his arms with the flamboyant manner of a showman with the greeting, but they wilted right after, his big smile dropping a bit. “Or, at least, that’s what I would say if you hadn’t let yourself in and stolen the opportunity from me.”

That was bad. Very, very bad. You jerked in an awkward, uncoordinated burst, physically reacting to the danger he presented.

“No, no, don’t leave on my account,” he said, waving his hands and getting closer as if to stop you. “Oh wait, you can’t! Hah! Yeah, ‘cause of the chains.” He smiled affably, like it was a harmless joke, standing close enough for his gloved fingers to skim along the chain wrapped around your neck. “I guess you’re not going anywhere, huh?”

You didn’t respond, barely daring to breathe when he was so close. Smiles and melodrama aside, his blue eyes were oddly dead, fixed on you without the slightest bit of humor. And then it finally came back to you, the vital thing that you should have known, that you would have known if you weren’t strung up and suffering such a crippling headache. The makeup, the nose, the hat—

“You’re,” you began to say, but your voice was hoarse and weak, you could barely get it out when he was looking at you so closely, so intently. You cleared your throat, wincing at the metallic taste. “You’re the-that pirate captain Buggy, like on the-the poster?” Right! The clown guy, the red-nosed pirate. You were looking for him. So this was… good, wasn’t it?

He gave you a flat look, clearly not sharing your weak enthusiasm. “Yes. I am that pirate captain. Buggy, the Genius Jester? The most feared pirate captain in all the East Blue?” He turned with a dramatic flick of his coat, messing with something that had to flash silver before you realized it was a knife. “The man destined to find the One Piece and become King of the Pirates. Yes. I am that pirate captain. And,” he paused, checking to make sure you were paying attention, “a very busy, very important man. I’ve got, oh, ten minutes or so for you to decide how this is gonna go. So let’s get straight to it.” He turned back, pointing the knife at you. “Who are you, and what are you after?”

The accusatory tone of his voice took you aback. “Nothing… I’m not anybody,” you stammered out. “And this… this isn’t what it looks like, I swear.”

Buggy, to your surprise, relented after a second of considering your appeal, nodding understandingly.

There was no transition from his look of sympathy to raising the knife and aiming it at you. By the time you realized he meant to throw it, you barely had a chance to yelp. The blade took a loud, thumping bite into the wood beside you. On your left side, of course. Where you couldn’t see it. You could feel it, though. The air displacement ruffled the fine hairs around your ear. If you had flinched in that direction, it probably would be in your skull. With your dizzy head aching and confused, you had no regulation to your fear or discomfort, your breathing dangerously unsteady and tears pricking the corner of your eyes.

“Let me try a different question,” Buggy said before you could collect yourself, pulling out another knife. “Who else knows about this place?”

“Nobody! I swear, nobody else. I was just…” You didn’t know what to say. It was all you could do to breathe the thick, heavy air and fight down the tide of nausea.

“Just what?” Buggy asked, leaning in with raised eyebrows to show that he was listening intently. You opened and closed your mouth, unable to come up with the right words. Thoughts churned through the thick sludge in your head, getting stuck or lost or confused.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, the stumbling apology coming out more naturally than anything else, an attempt to buy time while you organized your thoughts. “Please doh-don’t…. I’m so ss-sorry.”

Buggy sighed, standing up straight and raising his hand to aim.

“Nonono, please d-” You yelped louder this time, flinching away as the knife streaked through the air and stuck not even an inch away from your right cheek. You exhaled a pathetic little sob, whatever you were bound to shaking with your body.

“Listen, honey buns,” Buggy said. “Drop the act. Stop the whining. I caught you, red handed, sneaking into my lair.” He pulled something out of his pocket. Not another knife, but a piece of paper which he unfolded, holding it up for you to see. His wanted poster, creased into sixths from the way you folded it to keep it close, to keep it hidden. “I found this in your bag. You know who I am, and you know where you are. You have to, so let’s do away with all the theatrics, okay?”

You swallowed hard, nodding quickly in the hope that it would appease him.

“Right now, this is a conversation,” Buggy said, gesturing between the two of you. “A light interrogation, really. But if you keep being uncooperative and wasting my time, it’s gonna go from being interrogate-y to being torture-y real quick. You don’t want that, right?” Although he was unmistakably threatening you, Buggy’s tone was more natural than before. There was a bluntness to it, an honesty. Men like him didn’t idly use words like torture.

You sniffed, trying very hard to calm yourself down. This was a misunderstanding, so you just had to convince him. Simple as that. He would understand. You would make him understand.

“Right,” you agreed.

“Fantastic. So,” he loudly clapped his hands together, “who else knows about this place?”

“Nobody, I promise… I’m really sorry I broke in,” you told him, speaking slowly so your words didn’t catch. “I just wanted to meet with you.”

Buggy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, the hair hanging out from the sides of his hat swaying as his head tilted curiously. “You’re a fan?” he clarified. “That explains why you’re so pathetic. Well I hate to break it to you, but there’s a reason I only hold meet and greets after shows.”

“No, that’s not why! I-I want to join your crew,” you said. “I came to ask you to let me join your crew.”

He blinked twice, staring at you with obvious disbelief. “Excuse me, what?”

“I want to be a pirate,” you told him, louder. “Please. Please let me join your crew.”

Buggy’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the rippling shift of incredulity, befuddlement, skepticism, and then amusement in his eyes. That emotion burst outward into a loud laugh, making you flinch. “That’s the best you can do?” he asked. “Ask to join my crew?” He looked at you again, laughing even harder. “I don’t know what’s funnier—that anybody would send you to spy on me, or that you’d think I would consider hiring you.”

“I mean it!” you argued, humiliation and desperation seeping into the thousand other discomforts of your position. This wasn’t at all how you wanted this to go.

“Sweetheart,” Buggy said condescendingly, “even assuming I believe you, this is a pirate crew, not an afterschool club.”

“I know. I know what pirates do, I know what you do,” you told him. “I’ll do anything, whatever you want. Please, please, just give me a chance.”

He nodded, turning to pace as he thought about it.

“Okay, let’s say that I buy this… this act of yours,” Buggy said. “Do you have any experience? Maintaining ships, reading maps, loading cannons. You know, basic stuff.”

There was a line you had prepared to answer this question, one that would paint you in the most charitable light. You remembered that, but you couldn’t remember the line. All you could give was the truth. “A little.”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Thought so. What about specialties? Unique skills? Any sort of talent that I can use in my show—anything at all. I mean other than,” he gestured vaguely in your direction, “that. We don’t need another one eyed midget. They’re surprisingly common.”

“I’m not a midget,” you told him, nerves fading to incredulity.

Buggy stepped back to size you up before seemingly conceding the point with a shrug. “And the eye?” He covered his left eye to illustrate. “Is that for a bit or something?”

Your stomach twisted with a familiar lurch. Disgust. Shame. Phantom light in the dark. “It’s not.”

“How’d you lose it?”

“I didn’t… lose it.”

“It’s still in there?” he asked excitedly, stepping forward and reaching to remove the bandana. “I have got to see this.”

“No, please—please don’t,” you begged, trying to wriggle away from his hand. Pinned to the board with your hands bound above your head, there was nowhere to go. “Please don’t, please-”

“Come on,” Buggy said, indifferent to your pleas as he pulled the sweat soaked fabric off of your left eye. “How bad could it be—AH!” He yelled in horror, jumping away as if you’d bitten him.

The bandana hit the floor, leaving your ruined eye and its jagged scar exposed. You couldn’t hide. All you could do was flinch back, turning your head away. “I’m sorry,” you said, ready to continue apologizing before you realized that his shock had immediately dissolved into raucous laughter. “Why are you… why are you laughing?” you asked, pulling desperately against the chains.

“I got you good,” Buggy said, his laughter subsiding. “The way you reacted, I thought that you’d be completely deformed. A real sideshow. But this…” He grabbed your chin, forcing it to the side so he could get a better look. “I couldn’t charge for this.”

“Please stop,” you begged, shaking off his grip and staring hard at his shoulder.

“Ohhh. You’re really embarrassed about it.”

You didn’t say anything, focusing mostly on fighting the tears.

“Okay, alright, yeah,” Buggy said, stepping back. “I think I’m starting to get why you would risk life and limb to beg me for a job. You grew up as a cute girl in a shithole town like this. A big fish in a little pond, as they say. Then, suddenly, BAM, you’re deformed, and, sure, they all say that it was tragic, but the truth is that they can’t stand to look at you. Even the people who loved you, the people you trusted, think you’re a freak. They abandoned you. So, without any other options, you come to me, pleading for me to give you a place amidst your fellow freaks. That about it?”

You didn’t say anything—what could you say to that?— which Buggy seemed to take as confirmation, nodding thoughtfully.

“Well, go big or go home, right? As far as a starlet’s breakout role, you couldn’t go any bigger. Thing is, I’m not really looking for new acts. Not to mention your abysmal audition.” He sucked in a breath through his teeth, looking you up and down again.

You could feel your chance slipping away. Just like that. Go big or go home, that’s what he said.

“Please, Captain Buggy,” you begged, staring him in the eye despite how disquieting it was, despite how your skin crawled from exposing your left eye to somebody. Addressing him properly, at the very least, got his attention. “I promise that you won’t regret it. I’ll learn, I want to learn how to be a pirate, how to perform, all of it, everything. And if I can’t, I’ll do laundry and clean and cook, I have lots of experience with that. I don’t care what you ask me to do, if you let me join your crew, I’ll happily serve you for the rest of my life.”

Buggy didn’t respond right away. You thought—hoped—that it meant he understood how serious you were, but his expression gave you nothing. There wasn’t much light in the room in the first place, but somehow he found enough to shine unnervingly in his pale blue eyes. Somebody with a bright red clown nose shouldn’t have been able to look so intimidating, but the way he studied you burned with an uncomfortable intensity. It had been a while since anybody looked at you so frankly, so openly, without disgust or pity.

“Why?” he finally asked.

“Why…?” you repeated, confused.

“I get that you want to leave this place, and I even buy into your whole wanting to be a pirate thing, but, you know, aside from the obvious,” he gestured to himself, “why should I believe that you really want to serve me? You’re young and cute…ish, don’t you want freedom and empowerment and all those other things girls go on and on about?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why would I?”

A moment of quiet that wasn’t quite silence but twice as heavy passed before a slow smile began to spread over Buggy’s face, and then—of all the bizarre, uncomfortable responses he could have—he laughed. “Oh, you’re broken, aren’t you?” he asked, clearly overjoyed by the revelation. “Well, I’m sold. I’ll have to start you on probation just in case you’re secretly up to no good. But, after that, you can audition for real. I’m sure I can find something you’ll be useful for.”

His reaction gave you whiplash. The word ‘broken’ was obviously bad, but everything else was good. You had succeeded. Only, you didn’t know why. You were still trying to decide if being called cute-ish was a compliment or not.

“Hey, just one more thing, okay?” Buggy asked, tapping your cheek. Standing mere inches away, he smiled a rictus grin. It wrinkled his eyes, but they were without life or pity or mercy. “If you’re lying to me about anything, I’ll carve some symmetry into your cute little face. You’ll thank me for it too. You won’t want to see what the guys will do to you after I toss you out there.”

“I’m not lying,” you said softly, shrinking back. “I promise.”

“Great!” Buggy said, his demeanor immediately cheering up. “Let’s get you down.” He walked behind the board you were strung up on, and you let out a shaky exhale. “Brace yourself,” he called. You had no idea what that meant, or how you were supposed to brace yourself when there was nothing for you to brace yourself on. “Three… two…”

He undid the lock, and the chains keeping you bound to the board went slack. You dropped hard, your limbs as heavy as lead. Luckily, your head was too light to feel anything when you hit the ground with a dull thump and the loud cacophony of rattling chains, spinning and blank and utterly empty. There was a suspended moment of floating, lighter than air itself. And then you were blinking rapidly and nauseous, pain shooting up your arms and knees.

Buggy dropped a key in front of you, metal bouncing on the old concrete.

“Unfortunately we didn’t bring any real props with us, so I had to improvise,” he said. With numb fingers, you grabbed the key and worked it into the locked cuff around your wrist. “You lucked out, if this were the real Wheel of Death, you’d be blowing chunks!” He paused, looking down at you. “Can you hurry this up?”

“Sorry,” you said. Your shaking hands kept missing the keyholes, but you finally got the last lock on your ankle open. The cuffs hadn’t broken skin, but your wrists and ankles were rubbed raw, ugly bruises already developing. You’d had worse.

“Alright, upsy daisy,” Buggy said, crouching down to take the key away and grab the only chain you hadn’t gotten out of—the one around your neck.

It acted as a noose, giving you no other choice but to lurch upward with an unappealing choking sound, your head spinning all over again, the weightless itch tingling all the way down to the base of your spine. You stumbled forward, unintentionally falling against him.

“Holy shit,” Buggy exclaimed, helping you stand up straight with a hand on your shoulder. “I didn’t know girls came in fun size. Legally, at least. Are you sure you’re not just like… the maxiest midget?”

“‘m dizzy,” you muttered, swaying despite his support.

“That’s not really… Ah, whatever. Hey, at least if you fall, you don’t have that far to go.”

“I’m… I’m okay,” you finally said, which was mostly true. Breathing slow, steady breaths helped, and then you shook your head a little. The bump on the back of it throbbed painfully, and you’d have bruises on your knees the size of apples, but you would survive. You were still trying to get control over your body. It was heavy and unwieldy, although part of that must have been the exhaustion.

“If you need to vomit, make sure to aim away from me,” he said. That was about all the warning you got before he decided it was time to go, dragging you along behind him like a dog on a leash.

You realized you were leaving your bandana behind, your left eye uncovered, and reared back, trying to stop him. “Wait, I have to grab my-”

“No time,” he said, talking over you and tugging again at the chain.

There was nothing you could do but stumble over your own feet to keep up with him as he led you through the cluttered and dark storage area. You felt a tiny bit of relief that you were still in the familiar decaying buildings northside. The old warehouses were dark, dank, and dingy. Easily defended and difficult to navigate, perfect for criminals to hide out in. You knew them very well, and that helped orient you.

"As I’m sure you noticed, I’m running a bit of a skeleton crew here. The rest aren’t coming ‘til the grand finale,” Buggy said, leading you into the main warehouse space by the chain around your neck like it was completely normal. The awful smell of rot and decay was only compounded by a sickly sweet, chalky scent you didn’t recognize. Gray sunshine flooded in through the broken windows around the high ceilings, piercingly bright. “And after that, we’re gonna blow this town.”

You didn’t respond, growing even more skittish. The two of you drew the attention of the people scattered around. Some were lounging, others were training. All of them turned to look at you, watching with the dark, focused stare of hungry dogs. Colorfully dressed, very dangerous dogs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an introduction to make!” Buggy called in a loud enough voice to fill the large space. “Crew, new girl. New girl, crew. Make sure to give her a nice, warm welcome." None of them spoke or reacted, watching you with varying degrees of hostility. Buggy pulled you forward a few steps so he could whisper to you. “See that guy?” he asked, pointing to a bald man with square features and an especially dark glare. “That’s Ivo. He was the one who caught you. To be completely honest, I think he’s still a little angry that he didn't get to keep you. If I were you, I’d try to stay on his good side.”

“How?” you asked, your uneasy stomach sinking further, but Buggy was already preoccupied with something else.

“Oh, hey-” he called, flagging down a woman who was leaning against one of the steel supports. You stumbled behind him, holding the chain around your neck to ease the pressure. “Crina, I have got a very important job for you.”

The woman slowly looked from Buggy to you, giving you a weighty once-over with dark, kohl-lined eyes. Her clothes were different from the rest, draped with beads and loose and layered in shades of purple. Beneath the mystique, however, you felt the same hardness you recognized in all the pirate’s faces. “You want me to look after the little rat,” she said with an accent you didn’t recognize.

"God, it’s like you can read minds or something,” Buggy said, laughing. “Anyway, yes. Make sure she doesn’t get up to anything naughty while I’m gone. In fact, don’t let her out of your sight.”

“With all due respect,” Crina said, “why not just kill her?”

“Because I don’t want her dead,” Buggy snapped, suddenly irritated. If Crina was surprised or off put by the abrupt change of his mood, she didn’t show it.

“Of course, captain.”

“I thought I saw some cages over there,” Buggy said, gesturing vaguely and forcing the chain into Crina’s hand. “Stick her in one of those. In the back, away from any prying eyes.”

“A cage?” you asked.

“As fun as it is to see you all chained up,” Buggy said. “I worry that it might send the wrong message. Out of sight, out of mind—I don’t need you distracting my crew. They’re planning a very big surprise party. If you behave, I might be able to find some time for you later. Sound good?”

You nodded, almost surprised by how good that sounded. He ruffled your hair before turning away, barking orders to some of the men.

“Let’s go,” Crina said, pulling your attention back to her. “We have our orders.”

The cage Crina put you in, one out of several bolted to the floor in the corner out of the way from the main space, had just enough room for you to sit slouched, or lay curled on your side, meant for big dogs or small humans. There was a market for both, and you knew that this warehouse had likely housed both.

The old, dilapidated buildings had been out of use for a long time, as long as you could remember. Barley Village had been originally built to be close to the mineral deposits, but as those dried up and industry trended towards the water, southward expansion left all of the old buildings empty and rotting. There was always talk about tearing them down, but it was only ever talk. One time you were told that some people wanted to keep the buildings available to people who wished for some privacy. But when you asked your dad if that was true, he got angry, telling you that was a lie, that he would never let that happen. He said it would just be too expensive to take them down, and that there was really no point in it.

But he also told you to never, ever spend time northside. Of all of the rules he gave you, that was the only one you ever truly disobeyed. You had no idea how many times you had gotten in trouble for playing here, climbing up rusted stairs and crossing the support beams up by the ceiling, using rocks to knock out the jagged edges of broken glass from the windows so you could go onto the rooftops. Your health problems made it difficult, and sometimes impossible, but you were patient. Plus, that had been before the accident, when your coordination was still good.

Back then, you didn’t worry about the many dangers that lurked here, and you certainly didn’t believe you could be hurt. You were too entranced by the world you created for yourself. The only thing you worried about was the beatings you earned when you got caught. Dad used to tell you that if you kept disobeying him by going northside, you’d wind up locked in one of these cages—or worse. It took you a while to think of the word, because it wasn’t funny, but it also was. Ironic. It was ironic.

You couldn’t even imagine what kind of reaction he would have to what you had done now, what punishment you would earn. It would be bad. You knew it would be very bad.

Better not to think about it. Falling unconscious after being hit on the head was the most you had slept for the previous two days. It was the level of exhaustion that you could be staring down the business end of a sword with indifferent, sleepy eyes. Being locked up was bad, very bad, but you were content to lay listlessly on your side.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep because you weren’t entirely conscious when somebody kicked the front of your cage. “Hey, wake up.” Your physical response was to startle, jolting you awake enough to flinch away from the violence. But it was only Crina who crouched in front of the cage. “I have food for you. And medicine for the headache. I’m going let you out, and I suggest you don’t try to run. If the guys get a hold of you, I won’t stop them.”

“I won’t run,” you told her, your voice hoarse, your eyes fixed on what she had brought. A bowl of something that looked like stew and a bottle. More than food, you wanted water. Crina undid the lock and you shuffled out of the cage. Your head spun just as badly as it had when you dropped onto the floor earlier, your vision crawling with darkness and stomach heaving unhappily. She was right about the headache. It wasn’t a pain you ever got used to, no matter how many days you spent laid out from one. After an uneasy moment, you sat on the floor, grabbing the water and eagerly uncapping it.

“Hand,” Crina said, holding out a glass bottle. You allowed her to shake two capsules into your palm, tossing them into your mouth before taking in a blessedly wet mouthful of water. It soothed your tongue and throat like a salve, although you knew your stomach wouldn’t be quite so happy to receive anything. The stew’s scent alone made your stomach clench and churn with equal parts hunger and nausea. Slow. You had to take it slow.

“Thank you,” you told her, picking up the bowl. She’d brought a wrapped sailor’s biscuit to eat it with. Not very appetizing, but you hadn’t eaten much more than you slept. It could have been saw dust and you would have been grateful.

“I have your bag,” she said to fill the silence as you ate, pushing the limp canvas towards you. “They took anything that looked valuable, but your clothes are all there. They need to be washed. I’ll lend you something to wear in the meantime.”

Since your mouth was full, you nodded your thanks.

“While you eat, I’m going to talk. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Crina said. “You don’t strike me as the talkative type.”

She didn’t say that in an accusatory tone, but it still caused your heart to skip with anxiety. The fear had to be irrational, it wasn’t as if you had lied to Captain Buggy, so what did you have to worry about? Besides, only the guilty feared scrutiny, that was a favored line of your dad’s.

“There’s a man in town asking if anyone has seen a girl. Petite. Missing an eye. Mentally unwell. He’s concerned that she might have gotten lost somewhere,” Crina told you. “From what I gather, her father is a pillar of the community. They’re all very worried.”

You averted your gaze, anxiously pulling your hair to cover your left eye. Of course Randall would be looking for you, although you had hoped you would have more time before he noticed your absence. It didn’t matter that you left in such a way to raise as little suspicion as possible, or that you were an adult, or that you didn’t want to be found. Your dad asked him to be your keeper while he was gone, and Randall did as your father said. Everybody did.

“Finish your food,” Crina prompted. “It’s worse when it’s cold.”

Right. You started eating again, your movements mechanical. She said nothing, and you had nothing to say.

“Everybody has their reasons for turning to piracy, and they’re not always pleasant,” Crina suddenly said. “Unless it interferes with my own business, I don’t care about who you were and why you ran away. It was a stupid choice, I think you know that. I won’t try and convince you to leave. Buggy seems to like you, so you wouldn’t be able to go anyway. But you need to understand that there will be consequences. The life you had before, no matter how terrible, did not prepare you for the life you’ve thrown yourself into.”

You stared hard at the bowl, thinking about that. It was true, you had to accept that you had blindly stumbled into a world you knew nothing about. But what choice did you have? The things that led you to this point were arranged like the rusty, creaky rungs of a ladder scaling the side of a building. Climbing up had always been the easy part, it was the inevitable descent that gave you trouble. You had to go slow, one rung at a time, blindly feeling with your toes, holding on with sweaty fingers, not looking up and not looking down because once you were on the ladder, you could only keep going. The first rung was spotting the Buggy Pirates, which you only did because you were sulking around the docks after seeing your father off on his trip. You only recognized the crew because your dad kept track of pirate captains with significant bounties. You only had the courage to sneak away from your house because dad was too far away to stop you. You only had the ability to scope out Buggy’s temporary hideout because of how much time you spent northside when you were younger. Those things all connected and followed so naturally and you didn’t know if fate existed, but you knew for a fact that you wouldn’t have wound up here on your own volition. It wasn’t a choice you made, it was the only way to get down from the roof that you had been stranded on for so long.

“I’ll give you some advice,” Crina continued, her tone lighter, “and I suggest you listen. You’re young and pretty, and you wouldn’t be the first to try and use that to get an advantage. It might work for a while, but men will get bored and your looks will fade. Before long you’ll be spat out into a cheap whorehouse with a couple of children you can’t afford and a hell of a rash.”

The whiplash from your thoughts to the conclusion she had drawn made your stomach twist with disgust. “No,” you said. Was that what she thought of you? Even if the idea was utterly ridiculous, shame rolled uncomfortable through you. “I would never—I could never ever do that.”

“Don’t be naive,” Crina said, rolling her eyes. “The boys you’re used to are disgusted by that scar, but the kind of men you’ll meet from now on won’t be. If your low self-esteem dictates who you let between your legs, you’ll find yourself in the gutter. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t sleep with men to get an advantage if that’s an option, only that you must be smart about it.”

You pulled your hair forward again, shaking your head clear of what she was saying. She didn’t understand. It wasn’t the assumption that men would be repulsed by your scar—which they would be, you knew that—but that you didn’t have it in you to invite or manipulate male attention. In so many ways you were already ruined, but to stoop down to letting other men touch you would be too far, it would destroy you.

“Assuming you live past tomorrow night,” Crina continued, “get a knife and figure out how to use it. The men aren’t going to accept you as a member of the crew until you prove yourself. So if anybody gets too close, you prove yourself with blood.”

“Do you think they’ll try to hurt me?”

“I think you look like an easy target,” she said. “And I know you have no concept of self preservation or defense.”

“Yes, I do,” you said, frowning. You had made it this far, after all. That was more than anybody would have thought of you.

“You don’t,” she said plainly. “The tablets I gave you are for treating pain, but imagine if they weren’t. You didn’t so much as ask me to clarify what they were.”

You opened your mouth to argue, and closed it, shame squeezing your throat. You hadn’t even thought about that.

“It might not matter anyway,” she said, “depending on Buggy’s reasons for keeping you.”

“What do you mean?”

Crina gave you a long, pitying look and you could tell there was something she wanted to say, something she was holding back. Eventually she shrugged. “That is between the two of you.”

You wanted to push for more, confused by the cryptic answer, but you didn’t. You could tell by the hard look on her face that she wouldn’t tell you anyway.

“One more thing. The most important thing,” Crina told you, leaning close so she could whisper. “Never, ever mention the captain’s nose. In fact, never mention noses at all.”

“His nose?” you repeated softly. “Is it… is it real?”

“What did I just say?” she asked sharply. “He killed a few of the last new recruits for saying something that sounded like nose while he was in a bad mood.”

“He… killed them?” you asked.

“Buggy is a very temperamental man,” she said, leaning back. “Try not to get on his bad side.”

“It sounds like you don’t like him.”

“I do, actually. God knows why. Are you finished?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Come on then,” Crina told you, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. “There’s running water on the other side. I’ll keep watch so you can clean up.”

Although birds called and the breeze carried all sorts of noises from Barley Village, none of it really reached the northside. A solemn graveyard hush settled heavy between the wreckage of ruined buildings, drafty even in broad daylight. No ghosts hid in the shadows, no historical tragedy marred its name, but there remained the haunted imprint of people who were no longer around.

Before setting you on your task of the day, Crina had given you a dress of hers to wear while your own clothes dried in the sun. You swam in it, but a sash at the waist made the fit look somewhat intentional and the long sleeves hid the ugly bruises cuffing your wrists. That, combined with having slept the previous night and most of the day, left you feeling oddly refreshed. Sure, all of the sleep had been in a cage and the only ‘bath’ you had was a couple of minutes alone with a spout that spat freezing water and a washcloth, but it was better than yesterday. Better than the day before that too, save for the bruises and big goose egg bump on the back of your head.

Despite the headache, you were glad to be given something to do. The task wasn’t difficult. Busywork that kept you out of the way. Checking to ensure that everything which would be loaded on the ship was documented, organized, and ready for transport. It wasn’t entirely unlike what you had done in the past and, you imagined, would be doing in the future. It was, however, the opposite way around. The goods were obviously looted, you were creating a list to know exactly what and how much of it had been stolen.

Vinegar, oil, wax.

You used the end of the pen to scratch beneath your bandana, which Crina had kindly retrieved for you. Sometimes the scar got itchy, like it had when it was healing.

Twine, needles, thread.

There was a particular smell to supply crates like these. Something to do with the place they were stored, or where they were made. Even now, years since you had been on a ship, it was overwhelmingly familiar. It made your stomach ache and chest clench, although you weren’t sure which quality of the scent was so unsettling.

You scratched the scar again.

Vinegar, oil-

Wait, you had already done that. Annoyed, you crossed out those words and crouched down to get into the next crate. Rope. It was coiled in tight loops like a huge snake, coarse beneath your fingers. Anything that was strong enough to endure the fury of the sea had to be coarse. Good rope was vital on a ship, you knew that even with your limited experience. Touching it reminded you of the time your dad tried to show you how to tie knots, and then subsequently had to treat your rope burn.

What would he think when he returned? Retired Marine or not, he was deeply involved with northside business and law. Missing supplies, missing daughter. Sometimes you felt an acidic sort of pleasure when imagining his reaction to your absence, but usually it was just dread.

Or worse. Prickling paranoia. You could run, for a time. But that was all it was. Running. He used to be a Marine, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to find you. When you were younger, the thought gave you comfort.

But you didn’t want to think about that. Not at all. Not ever again. You stared very hard at the rope, desperate to put those thoughts out of your mind.

You stared and stared and stared and-

Somebody grabbed you around the bicep, dragging you to your feet and forcing you back to reality. Yelping in fear, you were nearly knocked back down from the bloodrush dizziness of standing up too fast, saved only by the crates.

“Good god, girl,” the unfamiliar man said, taking a step back, clearly put off by your reaction. “Are you deaf or something? I hollered at you three or four times. Were you sleeping?”

Putting a hand to your racing heart, you looked from him to the still open crate and the notepad you had abandoned mid-task. You had no idea how long you had been sitting there. Long enough for your foot to go numb, prickling with pins and needles now that you were standing up.

“I’m sorry,” you told him.

“The captain wants to see you. It’s urgent,” he said. When you didn’t immediately respond, still orienting yourself, he sighed impatiently and grabbed your elbow, physically dragging you away. You stumbled to keep up, trying very hard to avoid falling. “If Buggy asks why you took so long, you better tell him it was your fault.”

“I will,” you said to appease him, attempting to shake off his hand before realizing that it was pointless. “Please slow down.”

“Not my fault you’ve got stumpy legs,” he said. “Keep up.”

The unfairness of that stung, but you didn’t have much choice. You had a feeling that he’d keep on pulling you along even if it meant dragging you across the ground.

“Where are we going?” you asked, embarrassingly out of breath.

“There,” he said, nodding to one of the waterfront buildings. At least it was close. You never strayed so close to the water, the buildings were too squat to make for fun exploration and too exposed to give cover.

The pirate released you when you got to the door, leaving you winded and scared. You adjusted your bandana and tried to catch your breath. “Don’t forget to tell him it was your fault it took so long, not mine,” he said, opening the door.

“I won’t,” you promised, the words papery thin on your dry tongue.

You were in trouble. You had no idea what you might have done, but there had to be something. Why would you be summoned like this otherwise? A very bad feeling pressed against your sternum, but you forced yourself to walk forward. The door shut behind you. Inside, the air was dark and cool and wet, sending a little shiver down your spine.

Buggy stood in the middle of the room, the only place where the sun found its way between the mangled teeth of glass and steel that used to be windows, his own little spotlight amidst the ruins. There were three other men on the edges of the light, their backs to you. One of them was bound. You did not like this.

“There she is!” Buggy exclaimed, inviting you forward with his arms spread wide. “Come on, don’t be shy. Especially not after keeping us waiting so long. Your friend over here could hardly handle the suspense.

Rocks and broken glass crunched beneath your feet as you approached them. Once you got close enough, finally, you could see the faces of the other men. One was the square-featured, angry man Buggy called Ivo. Another, a man you didn’t know. And the third, the one bound with a busted lip and developing black eye—

Randall called your name, trying to escape and rush to your side. Ivo grabbed him, pressing the blade of his knife against his throat.

“See, I told you, they’re working together,” Ivo said, glaring at you. “She tipped him off. No doubt this place will be swarming with the law before long.”

You stood completely still, staring at Randall with the steadily rising tide of panic sloshing in your stomach. After everything you had done to misdirect him, the note you left to beg he didn’t follow, the trouble you had put yourself through to keep from being seen, he was still here.

“Are you okay?” Randall asked, looking you up and down frantically, concerned in a way he never had looked before. “Did they hurt you?”

“I told you, she’s fine,” Buggy said with a grin. “I mean, yeah, Ivo over there did give her a little knock on the ole noggin—a love tap, really—but the eye was already like that when we found her.”

“I wasn’t asking you,” Randall said, glaring at Buggy.

“Shut up,” Ivo said, pressing the knife close enough to Randall’s throat that it broke skin.

“No, no, let him go,” Buggy ordered casually, waving his hand. “He’s not gonna do anything stupid.” He threw an arm around your shoulder. “Not when I’ve got her.”

Ivo reluctantly complied, releasing Randall. He watched you intently, and you knew what he was thinking. How could he save you?

“Ivo over there thinks that the two of you are working together,” Buggy told you, smiling. His arm was heavy around your shoulders, oppressively so. “He thinks that we should kill you both.”

“I’m not—I wouldn’t,” you told him.

“And see, I wanna believe you. I really do. But he’s not talking, and,” Buggy ran his finger over your right cheek, reminding you of his threat from yesterday, “I’m starting to worry you’ve been lying to me.”

“I’m not,” you said, ice cold dread dripping into your veins a drop at a time. You fought your discomfort and forced yourself to meet his eyes, hoping he could see your sincerity. “I promise I’m not.”

“Then how did he find this place?”

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

“She used to hide here when we were kids,” Randall answered. “I thought she ran away, not that you freaks had kidnapped her. If I had known I’d find pirates here, I would have come armed.”

“Is that true?” Buggy asked you, pulling you even closer. Close enough to be embarrassing, to give the wrong impression, especially when he was stroking your cheek with a sort of affection that didn’t mesh with the danger in his blue eyes.

“I told you it is. Let her go, clown!” Randall shouted. His voice was loud enough to echo, and harsh enough to make you wince. That sort of rage wasn’t one you expected from him, but it was familiar all the same.

“Oh, wow,” Buggy said with a laugh, looking up at him. “Is that jealousy I hear? She didn’t tell me she was leaving behind a boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said softly, your insides twisting at the thought.

“Really?” Buggy asked. He shrugged, and looked at Randall. “If you’re not doing this because you want to have sex with her, why are you here?”

“I am a dear friend—both to her and her dad,” Randall answered. “He asked me to look after her because she… She’s not in a sound state of mind. And she’s the only family he has left. Without her, he’ll have nothing.” He grit his teeth. “Take me, kill me if you’re that thirsty for blood, but let her go. Please.”

“You’re a real knight in shining armor. Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but she came here all on her own,” Buggy said, releasing you to approach him instead. “She begged to join my crew, got down on her knees and told me that she would be happy to serve me for the rest of her life. It was the most adorable thing.”

“No,” Randall said, his face twisting with disgust. “You’re lying. She wouldn’t do that.”

“Ask her yourself,” Buggy invited, stepping aside and sweeping out his arm. All eyes landed on you like a spotlight. Blood rushed in your ears, and you felt dizzy with it, ready to pass out on the spot. When you looked at Buggy, he smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“It’s true,” you said.

“No. That is impossible,” Randall said. “This is insane. You are mad, you cannot make decisions like this for yourself.” You stared at his feet, your hands balled into fists. You were not crazy. You were not. That had to be true. “Whatever hysterics brought you here, give it up. These are pirates.”

“I’m a pirate too,” you declared, your hands forming fists at your sides. You weren’t crazy, or mad. You were thinking very clearly, more than you had in a while.

“No, you are your father’s daughter,” Randall insisted, loud enough to make you flinch. “Can you imagine the agony he would feel hearing you say that?”

Your breathing was too fast, rapid enough to make your head spin. You kept shaking your head, tears flying off of your cheek, but you couldn’t recall when you had begun to cry. “I don’t care.”

“Don’t care…? This bastard has already gotten into your head,” Randall said. “He has poisoned your broken mind with his lies and manipulations, please don’t let this go any further.”

You shook your head again, but there was nothing you could think of to say. You didn’t want to talk anymore, you just wanted this to be over.

“Believe me, as much as I would love to claim otherwise, I had nothing to do with this,” Buggy said, raising his hands innocently. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. Think about what would drive a girl like this into the arms of a pirate. A broken heart, maybe? Was that your doing, lover boy? Did you break her heart? Make her feel like she wasn’t good enough?”

“Keep your big goddamned nose out of our business, clown,” Randall said.

The other pirates audibly gasped, and you could feel the sudden zap of tension in the air. Buggy’s taunting smile froze in place, his posture icing over like a statue. And then, a second later, he was rushing at Randall, burying his fist in the other man’s stomach. Randall crumpled onto his knees with a heavy grunt and you waited for something else, something worse. Crina said that Buggy had killed over jokes about his nose, and, right then, you believed it.

Nothing happened. You watched, frozen, as Buggy breathed in deeply, his shoulders rising and falling with it, and then he raised a hand.

“New girl,” he called, snapping to beckon you closer. You obliged, rushing to his side. He didn’t look angry, not like you feared he would. Instead, he smiled. It was a mean smile, a frightening one. But a smile all the same. “Are you ready for your big moment?”

“What?”

“Your audition! I thought of the perfect act for you. Kill him.”

You looked down at Randall, he was clearly still in pain, his eyes watering as he looked up at you. “I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head again.

“You can and will. Assuming you want to remain on my crew. Otherwise I’ll kill him and you’ll have to explain to daddy why prince charming was here in the first place.” He held out his hand towards Ivo. “Knife.” When he got it, Buggy flipped the knife handle first, holding it to you with a flourish. “You’re up, babydoll.”

“She won’t do it, clown,” Randall said through grit teeth.

“Of course she will,” Buggy said. “For me.”

As if moving through the dusky haze of a dream, you took the knife, wrapping your sweaty hand around the grip. The way Buggy smiled in response made your heart flutter, something to cling to amidst the horror and disgust. It didn’t feel real anymore. How could it be real?

“I don’t know what to do.” Were those your words? Your voice?

Buggy laughed. “Of course you don’t,” he said, circling behind Randall. “C’mere, I’ll help you.”

Randall was shouting and pleading, but Buggy had grabbed a fistfull of his hair to keep him from escaping.

“You’ve gotta hold him still,” Buggy told you. “Like this, see?”

“-don’t do this, please. You can’t… I love you!”

You got a fistful of Randall’s hair, making him cry out in pain. There was no pleasure in the sound, only a roiling sense of disgust. It would be better when he was dead, and then he wouldn’t be in pain.

“God you’re short,” Buggy said as he adjusted you into place, right between him and Randall. “You’ll be better off going for their ankles.” He wrapped his hand around yours, getting a good grip on the knife and holding it still.

“-when he gets bored of fucking you. That’s all pirates do, rape and murder. You’ll never be one of them, you’ll just-”

“Start on one side and move to the other, easy as that,” Buggy said comfortingly, resting his chin against the side of your head.

“-he doesn’t kill you, your dad will. Do you really think you’ll ever be able to hide from him?”

Moving slowly, through a dream, you put the knife on the left side of Randall’s neck. It was no different from what a butcher did, really.

Breath in. Pull. You instinctively locked up at the sound of Randall’s screams and the resistance of his flesh, but Buggy forced your hand, pulling the blade deep into his neck and then fast to the side. The knife got caught part way through, stuck in something hard. You tried to saw through it and Randall made an inhuman noise of agony. Buggy had to help you unstick it, to follow through until the knife slashed that horrifying scream short and then there was just a sort of gurgling sound and you didn’t know if it was because he was still alive or if it was an automatic process.

There was so much blood, and it was hot, burning you. For some reason, you hadn’t anticipated the messy scarlet spray. From the deep slice came more blood. More, and more still. Randall’s heavy, limp body dropped onto the floor into a puddle of it, although you weren’t sure when you let go of his hair. Buggy released your hand, but you didn’t drop the knife, holding it in a death grip as blood streamed like red veins down your hand and wrist, down the blade and all the way to its tip before dripping to the dirty floor. The tang of iron filled your lungs. You shook all over, all the way down inside, your bones and organs shivering. It was your heart. It pounded frantically, like butterfly wings. And your breathing. Wheezing, gasping, gurgling like Randall’s had before he fell.

Your mouth opened to exhale, but there was nothing there. No air, no words. Nothing. Your cold gaze turned to look at Buggy, confused as to what you were supposed to do next. He had led you this far, but now you were lost. He smiled, and laughed, and took the knife away from you, tossing it to the side where it clanged and slid away.

And then he folded you into his arms, your head pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was firm and steady, and he was so warm. He smelled of gunpowder and salty sea air and greasepaint and the natural warm scent of his skin. You clung to that, breathing in deep to excise the scent of blood.

“Congratulations, babydoll,” Buggy told you. “Looks like you just got the part.”

The first firecracker went off not long after the sun had gone down, kicking off the surprise party with an especially loud zip and then a bang and a bursting sizzle. “It’s a surprise party,” Buggy told you, his face illuminated by the flash of red. “As in, the people who live here are going to be so surprised by the party I’m throwing for my crew. Get it?”

A chain of firecrackers followed the first, a show that the pirates set off amidst a barrage of explosions, lighting up the sky with brilliant colors and smoke, making the earth tremble beneath your feet. They acted as distraction and lure, drawing people further into the town and inviting the ship that had been lurking nearby to enter the harbor.

And after that came the chaos.

Many things happened that you were aware of, if only passively. Leaving the northside and then Barley Village, waiting at the dock, and then boarding the ship as men and women in colorful attire flooded the yard, overtaking the few armed guards. You were told to sit on the deck and wait, so you did. Aware of it all—noxious sulfur and smoke filling the air, thunderous claps of explosives, popping gunshots, screaming voices, roaring fires—but uninvolved. There was a sense of great quiet. Not outside where things were loud and violent and scary, but inside. You were very quiet on the inside. Far away from everything and everyone else.

Blood flaked off of your skin, caking beneath the nails when you scratched your arm. It would have been nice to wash it off, but you didn’t know where you would go for that, and you didn’t want to get up.

“Yoo-hoo, is anybody in there?”

A gloved hand waved in front of your face.

You let out a hoarse scream, nearly tipping backwards from how violently you startled. It didn’t take long for you to realize how overblown the reaction was, Buggy’s laughter made the point quite clearly.

“What was that?” he asked, almost laughing too hard to get the words out. He stood above you without his coat and hat, although he kept the striped headscarf, and a bottle tucked under his arm.

“You scared me,” you told him, a hand on your racing heart.

“That noise you just made though,” he said, still laughing. “It sounded like one of those scream-y fireworks.”

“I didn’t know you were there.”

“Your fault, not mine. I was trying to talk to you, but you just sat there. I thought it was your eye that didn’t work, not your ears.”

“I guess I… zoned out a little.”

“No shit. Ah, that was good,” Buggy said as his laughter subsided. “I had no idea human beings could even make sounds like that.” Letting out a big breath to settle himself, he sat down next to you. Very close, far closer than you would have, almost touching. “Kinda makes me wonder what other kinds of sounds you can make.”

“I know, it’s annoying,” you said, staring hard at the deck. “I’m sorry.”

Buggy laughed at that too, shaking his head. “You really have no clue, do you?” he asked. “Is it weird that I’m into it?”

“Into what?” you asked. “I’m sorry, I… don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t, and that’s okay,” he said with a mocking sort of indulgence, patting your head. “Anyway, I had a little business in town and snagged this from some rich guy’s house.” He held up a bottle by the neck and swished its contents a little for effect. “We’re going to celebrate.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be out there?” you asked, the first coherent question that came to your mind as it scrambled to make sense of what he had just said.

“Between you and me, this,” Buggy said with a confidential hush, gesturing to your burning town, “isn’t my thing. It’s a reward for my freaks, gives ‘em an outlet to express themselves artistically. I prefer a more… performative platform. True art deserves a spotlight and an audience.” He waved that away, smiling. “But this isn’t about me, it’s about you.”

“Me?”

“You really impressed me earlier. I mean, yeah, your technique needs polish, and you’ve got no stage presence to speak of, but you displayed raw talent. I really think you have a shot at success, sweetheart. Stick with me, and I’ll make something out of you yet.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, shying away from thinking about earlier. The praise though, that was heady. That made you feel warm.

Buggy popped the cork off the bottle, taking a drink straight from it and smacking his lips appreciatively. “You like sweet things, right?”

“I-”

“You’ll love this then. Here, try it.”

You eyed the bottle he was proffering to you warily. Alcohol was something you were familiar with, but you could count on your fingers the number of times you had actually tasted it. “I don’t know…” you said, trying to think of ways to reject drinking without seeming ungrateful.

“You’re a pirate now, so you’ve gotta learn to drink like one,” Buggy told you, pushing it into your hand. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

You sniffed the open lip, surprised by the sweetness. It didn’t smell as strongly of alcohol as you feared. Not like what your father drank. Maybe it would be okay. Trying to avoid embarrassing yourself, you tipped the bottle back just like he had. That was a mistake. It didn’t smell like alcohol, but you could taste it—feel it, even. Panicked by your body’s natural response to expel it, you swallowed as much as you could, coughing out the rest. Red liquid drooled down your chin, staining the dress that was already ruined with dried blood. Buggy laughed. A little at first, and then a lot.

Flushing, you wiped your mouth.

“Oh, don’t be like that. That was hilarious,” Buggy told you. You looked away, even more embarrassed. “Your face was priceless. You threw that back with the confidence of a real fire-hazard, saggy skinned, dead eyed alcoholic. You were so serious about it too, and then… Good lord.”

“I didn’t know!” you said, trying and failing not to sound shrill.

“It’s okay, you’ve got me to help you now. Try it again, but don’t be so greedy. Baby sips.”

“No, thank you,” you said, holding the bottle back to him.

“Drink. That’s an order,” he said, pushing it back to you.

That gave you pause. “Do you mean that?” you asked.

He nodded, urging you on.

Your shoulders drooped in defeat. Trepidatiously, you took a small sip. At least you didn’t hack it back up this time. While the taste was sweet, the burn was not. It rose up like smoke into your head, you could feel it.

“What if I get drunk?” you asked.

“Oh, you’re going to get drunk, captain’s orders,” Buggy said with a grin. “I can’t stand watching you sit around moping about killing that guy. Besides, you’re a pirate now.”

The little ball of anxiety deep in your gut doubled. This was wrong, you knew it was. Or maybe you were wrong, and Buggy was right. You didn’t know.

“I don’t want to embarrass myself,” you muttered.

“As long as you don’t jump into the water or shit yourself, you’ll be fine…” You looked at him, horrified. “Joking! C’mon, I’ve taken good care of you so far, haven’t I? You’ll be fine.”

The way he laughed made you want to believe him. He was your captain now. You nodded seriously and, steeling yourself, took another drink. And another.

“See? It’s good, right?” Buggy asked, holding out his hand for the bottle.

You licked your lips, cleaning up the lingering sweetness. “It is. Thank you,” you said, unable to keep yourself from admiring the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the view unfortunately obscured by his cravat.

The perverse thought took you by surprise. Was it the alcohol? Already, your head was spinning, your thoughts a little more disorganized. It wasn’t like the quiet, empty feeling of before. It was warm and distant, it made your shoulders relax, the anxiety and uncertainty of before fading. This was a good idea, you already felt so much better. When he passed the bottle back, you didn’t have to be prompted to imbibe, chasing that feeling.

“I don’t mean to pry, but when that guy back there mentioned your dad, it really seemed to get to you,” Buggy said. “What, did daddy not love you? Or maybe he loved you a little too much.”

You didn’t want to talk about that. You didn’t want to think about it. You took another big drink.

On the horizon, the town was utterly ablaze. As the night grew darker, the flames rose higher. Which building was burning so brightly? It belched thick, black smoke into the night sky. Who was in it? Anybody you knew?

“Don’t wanna talk about it, hm? That’s fine,” Buggy said, stealing the bottle back. “With any luck, my freaks’ll kill him tonight, eh? Then you’ll really be free.”

“He’s gone right now,” you said, your words soft and slurring together. “Out of town.” What would he think of the smoldering ashes? Would he believe you had perished in the flame? Somehow, you doubted that. He would know what you had done. There was no chance of freedom, not for you.

“That’s even better,” Buggy said.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to him, both in confusion and disbelief. “How?”

“Because, babydoll,” Buggy told you, shaking your shoulder to make sure you were paying attention. “It’s good to have somebody to hate—somebody to prove wrong. He tried to convince you that you’re crazy, he tried to keep you from ever being yourself. That pain and anger made you weak. But you’re not weak anymore. Tonight, I showed you how to be strong. It’s not enough to tell those assholes that they’re wrong, you have to prove it to them. That’s what tonight was about, right? You proved to your dad, to everybody, that you’re stronger than they thought. And, hey, you proved it to me, too. I wasn’t sure about you at first, but I changed my mind.” He threw an arm around you, pulling you close. “I like you, kiddo. A lot.”

“I like you too,” you said, relaxing into the little side hug, very aware of every place his bare arm met your bare shoulders and neck. The alcohol had stoked a nice blaze in your stomach and chest, making your head spin in a way you didn’t mind that much. Smoothing the colors, softening the air, making you want to lean into his touch, made you crave more of it.

Buggy pulled away, leaving the bottle in your hands. You felt a little cold without him.

“You know,” he said, smiling at you. The far off flames glinted mischievously in his eyes. The flaring reds and oranges highlighted his cheekbones too, defined the sharpness of his jaw. You were caught off guard by how viscerally you reacted to the thought that he was handsome, your filterless mind caught in an endless loop of focusing on the fact. “Burning down this shithole is nothing compared to what I will do. The towns I’ll raze to the ground, the treasure I’ll steal, the shows I’ll put on. Now that I’ve got a crew, I’m gonna put on a show like nobody’s ever seen. The biggest, flashiest, greatest show ever. Everybody will be screaming my name, recognize my face. I’ll shine so bright that they’ll have no choice but to love me. ”

Buggy’s intensity made you smile, you couldn’t help it. Alcohol had created a cloudy burst of affection within you, or maybe it was just the floodgates of tension finally collapsing, letting out something that would have otherwise been smothered. Either way, it was as intoxicating as the drink itself.

“Are you laughing at me?” Buggy asked, his tone filled with steel. You looked to see his dark expression, his narrowed eyes.

“I’m not,” you said, confused by his rapid shift in demeanor. “I’m… I’m happy. I’ll do anything to help you.”

He relaxed. “Well, you’d better start working on your act.”

That made you laugh, a dizzy, bubbly sound. “I can’t do an act. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“There has to be something. Let me think… Can you sing?”

“I used to, a little. But not for a really long time.”

“Come on, let me hear it.”

You were drunk, you knew that for a fact because in no state of sobriety would you offer to sing in front of another person. But, right then, bubbling with alcohol and protected by the darkness of the smoky night sky, you felt invincible.

“Oh, what do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning? Slash his…um… something, something, captain’s daughter. Toss him in… to… the dirty water…” Whatever coherence you held onto unraveled into a fit of drunken laughter at the awful rhyme. “I’m sorry, I think… I think I forgot some of the words.”

“Seems like you forgot the tune too,” Buggy said, wincing dramatically. All that did was make you laugh harder. “Hold on a second, let me wipe the blood out of my ears.”

You swatted his shoulder, although your attempted indignance probably wasn’t very convincing when you were still smiling. “Don’t be mean!”

“That’s a bold way to treat your captain,” he told you, but he was smiling too.

“Please don’t be mean to me, Captain Buggy,” you said, speaking slowly to emphasize how serious you were.

“Beg me again.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, waving it off in a way that made you think he was making fun of you. “Anyway, I’m being nice right now, especially after that performance. The critics would eat you alive for that one. So, singing is out. Clearly. What else have you got?”

“Oh! I know a, um, a rhyme. A joke.”

He looked at you skeptically. “Really?”

“What is that s’posed to mean?” you asked.

“You don’t strike me as somebody with… How should I put this… A sense of humor?”

You frowned.

“Alright, alright, quit pouting and tell me,” Buggy said impatiently, waving you to continue.

You cleared your throat very theatrically, sitting up as straight as you could manage.

“There was a young lass who thought

Very little but thought it a lot.

Then at long last she knew

What she wanted to do,

But before she could start, she forgot.”

Deflating, you laughed, surprised at how clearly you had delivered the words. Especially considering how long it had been since you heard them.

Buggy didn’t look nearly as impressed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a clean limerick before,” he said. “And now I know why. I mean, what’s the point of limerick without the ick.”

You blew a raspberry at him. “Fine, you do one.”

“Okay, but you have to prepare yourself,” Buggy said. You nodded encouragingly.

“There was a young plumber named Lee

Who was plumbing his girl by the sea.

She said, ‘Stop your plumbing,

There's somebody coming’

Said the plumber, still plumbing, ‘It's me.’"

Belatedly, you gasped, your hands covering your mouth. That shock dissolved into giggles. “That’s, oh, that’s… that’s dirty.”

“Aw, was it too much for your delicate sensibilities? Now that you’re a pirate, you’re gonna hear a lot worse than that. A looooooooot worse. I hope your unspoiled ears can handle it.”

“I can!” you insisted, taking a big drink to steel yourself before setting the bottle aside. If you were going to be a pirate, you had to stop getting so flustered. “More. Please.”

“Okay, okay…” Buggy cleared his throat. “A hooker roaming the East Blue,

Once filled her vagina with glue,

She said, with a grin, ‘Well, they paid to get in,

And they’ll damn sure pay to get out, too.’”

You laughed loudly, as much at the joke as the taboo nature of it. You laughed, and then giggled in a bubbly, drunken way that you knew was too loud and embarrassing. “That is icky,” you told him. “Jeez, that’s…” Your faux seriousness dissolved into a fit of giggles again and you leaned against him for stability. “What would you even do?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. It sounds like a sticky situation,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. That, of course, sent you into another fit of giggles.

“I’m sorry, I’m…” you said. “I think I’m drunk.” You looked behind yourself at the town, the glittery haze of joy buzzing in your head fading at the sight. It was horrific, wasn’t it? And here you were, laughing like a fool. You couldn’t really comprehend the magnitude of it all, even if you could acknowledge that it was terrible. “Is it okay?” you asked, looking back at him imploringly. “Everything that happened tonight… I thought I would feel very different after, but I don’t. It almost feels like it’s not even real. You ever get that? When things happen but they feel so impossible that you get confused?”

“If you can think that clearly,” Buggy said, “then you’re not drunk enough. Bottoms up, babydoll.” You smiled at his use of the pet name and the fluttery feeling it gave you. What else could you do but oblige, tipping the bottle back like before. Only, unlike before, you kept it all down. There wasn’t any real burn, just more sweetness, more warmth.

And then there was nothing left.

“Woah,” you said, lowering the empty bottle and wiping your mouth. “‘s all gone.”

“And how do you feel?” he asked.

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a dizzy sort of laugh. “I dunno…” you said, closing your eye, trying to collect your thoughts. “I’m…” Already things were getting even more fuzzy and foggy. Fabric stuck to your flushed skin, the salty air drying across your chest and cheeks. “I feel… very…”

Making an upset noise in the back of your throat, you pushed your hair back, catching the bandana and pulling it off so you could feel the breeze on your whole face. That helped. Drawing in a deep breath, you looked at him, trying to focus. Only, the second you saw him, all you could do was smile. His eyes were greedy about the light, sparkling with it. Even with the nose, Buggy was handsome. That was not something you could tell him though, not at all ever. Unfortunately you had forgotten what you were saying in the first place.

“Very… what?” Buggy asked. “‘Cause if you keep trying to be a buzzkill, I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

Were you a buzzkill? You couldn’t remember what you had said or done to earn that title. It was hard enough to comprehend what was happening in the moment. “Like what?” you asked.

“Like… this!” Buggy said, using the sash around your waist to pull you closer so he could tickle your sides. You jumped and squealed, the bottle rolling out of your hands as you tried to fight him off.

“No no no, don’t,” you cried, trying to escape. You were being too loud, moving too much, acting like an idiot, but you didn’t have enough control to stop.

“Why not?” he asked. “You’re laughing, aren’t you?”

It was true, you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, letting it out in panicked little bursts. Time had a bizarre elasticity to it, everything hitting you at once and fading just as fast. Laughing, sobbing, begging him to stop. It was easy to catch and hold onto one of his hands, but that left the other one free. And if you tried to catch that one instead, you had to release the first. There must have been a better way to do it, but you felt as if, bit by bit, particle by particle, the world was separating, the hot and humid air splitting, your limbs becoming loose, your capacity for rational thought dissipating like mist.

Lacking any sort of control and with a completely undeserved sense of invulnerability, you tackled him. Buggy let it happen, still laughing. At least he had stopped.

“God, it’s like being attacked by a drunk, one-eyed toddler,” he said. “What are you gonna do, whine me into submission?”

“Don’t be mean,” you said seriously, your words ruined by something wavering between a laugh and a sob, or maybe it was just the drunken slur.

“You attacked me. If anything, I'm the victim here.”

“No! You started it!”

“Hold on, are you… crying?” Buggy asked incredulously. “Aw, you poor thing. I mean, you were laughing so much, how could I have known you didn’t like it?”

“I don’t!” you insisted.

“To be clear,” he said. “You don’t like this?” He attacked your sides, not tickling so much as just teasing, but to the same effect. You yelped and sat up squirm away, swatting at his hands.

Rather than laugh like before, Buggy groaned, his hips bucking up against you. A loud, harsh gasp left your mouth, your entire body going rigid from the liquid heat of friction, your thighs squeezing around him. At some point, your skirt had ridden up, your panties being the only barrier left. You didn’t think you had ever been as acutely aware of how achingly empty, electrically tingly, as you were right then.

Bad. Very bad.

“Oh, there’s another fun noise,” Buggy said, laughing as he propped himself upright with his arms. “I can’t believe that got you.”

“No,” you said quickly, dizzy from the intensity of your reaction and how close the two of you were. You could smell him, the sweat, the musk, the salt, the greasepaint, the gunpowder. You could see the glitter in his makeup, the fire catching in his eyes. “It jus’... surprised me.”

“Is that why you’re shaking?” Buggy asked, rubbing your exposed thigh, the fabric of his glove catching the sensitive skin.

“I’m… um…” Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to organize the drunken slush of your brain. Being so close to him, feeling his body against yours, sent deviously tantalizing tingling sparks through you. And guilt. It was wrong, he wasn’t doing anything to invite those feelings, you were just being weird and drunk and embarrassing and you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. You’d have to tilt your head a lot, although the stubble would be more hazardous than his nose. The last time you kissed someone, you were both young enough that you didn’t have to navigate facial hair. And then there was the matter of the makeup. You tried to imagine what you might look like after, the slash of red and imprint of white. Maybe they’d mix into pink. You tried to force yourself to focus on something else, but you couldn’t meet his eyes either. Nervous and confused and filled with a million different feelings you had no name for, you squirmed again, thoughtlessly adding to the anxious feedback loop of heat and need and intoxicated emptiness.

“You know, sweetheart, this reminds me,” Buggy said, “there’s still the matter of your physical. It’s standard procedure for new crew. We could get that over and done with while you’re… lubricated.”

“What’re you… talking about?”

“I’ve gotta make sure you’re fit, healthy… Clean of anything you could pass on to the forty or so people you’re gonna be stuck with in an enclosed space for weeks at a time.”

“How d’you do that?”

“You’ve been to a doctor, right? It’s kinda like that. I know it can feel a little invasive, so it might be better to do it while you’re drunk.”

“What…” you started to ask, but then Buggy shifted, his hips pushing up against you. The fresh wash of warmth it sent into your core scattered your mind, and you lost the already tenuous thread of thought. Your eyelashes fluttered, although you weren’t sure when you had closed your eye. “Umm…”

“Well, first,” he said, answering the question you hadn’t asked, “you’d have to take off your clothes. Then relax while I have a little look-see. It’s important that you stay as still as possible. I’ll have a hard time finishing if you can’t stop squirming around the whole time.”

“Do you really have to?” you asked, your brow furrowing. It sounded embarrassing. But maybe if it was him, you didn’t mind? Your dad did all of your past medical check-ups so it wasn’t inherently wrong. But the thought of Buggy seeing you without clothes wasn’t exactly nice, you could only imagine his disgust. That was bad.

“Depends on if you’re serious about being a pirate or not,” Buggy said.

“I am serious!” you exclaimed. Your hands went to the sash around your waist to pull the bow free. If you did it quickly, you wouldn’t be as embarrassed.

“Woah, wait. Holy shit,” Buggy said, “are you seriously—” He cracked up laughing, making you freeze. “I didn’t think you’d actually fall for that.”

“You’re… laughing,” you said, your fingers falling with the slow sink of humiliation.

“You really were going to strip for me, out in the open and everything.” Buggy laughed harder, rocking forward. “I didn’t expect you to be so eager. Hey, if you really wanna get naked, I’m not going to stop you.”

“I don’t, I just… I thought…” you said, pulling away from him and trying to get onto your feet to get away, embarrassment lighting the worst sort of fire within you.

“Woah, calm down, it was just a joke,” Buggy said, his laughter fading. “You’re absolutely plastered, if you stand up, you’re gonna fall right back down.” You didn’t stop, resolute to get onto your feet and put some distance between you and him. “I won’t catch you.”

“’m fine,” you told him.

You finally got your footing and braced against your knee to lurch upright. For a second, you were standing up and weightless. And then you were nothing.

#opla buggy #opla buggy x reader #opla x reader #buggy x reader #my writing #one piece live action #buggy the clown #buggy the genius jester #buggy the flashy fool #lmao all of those come up when you type buggy that's cute #flashbang

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sweetprfct · 8 months

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**AN: my fics have constant repeated side characters like the reader's bff Sara.

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The Hate Formula - (18+, smut, enemies to lovers, fluff, comfort) Summary: Living in the same building, across from each other shouldn't be much of a problem, right? But how come you and Joe tend to always push each other's buttons every day? Is it because you both truly just hated each other or is it because there was something more to it? Total Wordcount: 34.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten

#Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader #Joe Quinn x Fem!Reader #Joseph Quinn rpf #Joe Quinn rpf #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn Fanfic #series masterlist #sweetprfct

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nctstar · 1 year

Text

hurry, i'm worried

labyrinth | ch. 1

It was that damn…melody. That sick, haunting tune. Once again. Over and over and…over again.

pairing: hyuckren x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k

genre: mystery-thriller, horror, angst

warnings: profanity (use of the f word), mental illness (some allusions to s/h, please don't read if sensitive), mentions of medications and psychiatry, polyamory, police, mild mention of sexual activity (minors proceed with caution)

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction purely from my imagination. I don't know the nct members and don't claim that they act like this in real life. I also don't condone any of the activity by any of the characters in this fic. I'm not a mental health expert and don't claim to be at all, if you are struggling please find some resources to help yourself or dm me for support <3

a/n: ahhh it's finally here! the series I've been wanting to write for SO LONG. I hope you enjoy the first chapter because I got this random burst of inspiration yesterday and wrote it all and I'm so happy with the set up! hopefully as it progresses it becomes spookier and creepier and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing this already <3 lav out p.s. can you tell I love my mystery-thriller movies and kdramas hahah (send me recs!!)

It was that damn…melody. That sick, haunting tune. Once again. Over and over and…over again.

You wake with a gasp, shooting up in your bed, blood rushing upwards and dampening your hearing with a blunt drone. You groaned at the jolts of pain in your temples, your cold hands caressing the supple skin as you squeezed your eyes shut. 8:09am.

“Renjun-ah?” Your voice came out a lot harsher than you expected, but there was nothing you could change about it as you watched your boyfriend’s petite frame walk into your shared room, his soft, nimble fingers tying the buttons on his wrist.

“Yeah?” He barely looked at you. His attention was divided, long lashes flicking up and down his wrists, and you realised with a sick nausea that you were starting to become annoying.

You swallowed, throat dry and eyes burning with tiredness. “Um, nothing. Just wanted to check if you had left already.” It took everything in you not to mention the dream, the song, but you knew how he would react. As if like clockwork, he had the same reaction every single time.

“You just miss him, _. That’s why you keep having these dreams. Take your meds, and get some rest today, okay?”

You were sick and tired of hearing the same line every single day, almost as much as you were tired of having the same dreams. If there was something worse than being stuck in this insane loop of same same same, it was not having Renjun the way you always did.

But could you complain? Ever since…well, you were only a shell of the person you were before. You were bitter, grating, much like the shots of expresso you had once downed with your lover, squealing ‘Oh! That’s so strong!’ much to the disgust of the haughty young waiter watching from the corner. You felt your chest tighten with a tender nostalgia as Renjun walked over to peck you on the forehead, his lips as fleeting as that memory passing through your brain.

Take care of yourself today, honey. Okay?

“Take care of yourself today, honey. Okay?” You smiled, gritting your teeth at the irritation of his newfound predictability. Falling into this routine of stark distance and hospital-grade perfection. You were truly and utterly sick of it.

You counted to 383…no, 384. Three hundred and eighty…(I don’t know what I should eat today)…Three hundred and eighty-one...(Renjun’s probably sat at his desk by now…)…Three hundred and eighty-two…(…wonder if he’s thinking of me…)…Three hundred and eighty-three…(…is he eating well? What if he gets sick from all the takeout?)…Three hundred and eighty-four.

You dragged yourself out of bed, looking at the date glaring back at you from your bedside alarm clock. August 6th, 2022.

Three hundred and eighty-four days since Haechan had gone missing.

∞

“We should have studied French properly instead of just-“

“Oh, our French sessions were pretty fun,” Renjun raised his eyebrows while Haechan smirked at you suggestively, swiftly followed by you giving him a playful kick under the table to shut him up. “She’s pretty damn good.”

“Gross, Haechan. We’re on vacation in a nice place. You should have left your shameless thoughts at home.”

“Hmm, but we are in the city of love, aren’t we?” Haechan outstretched his arms like a comical cartoon character, making you and Renjun both look down in embarrassment, Renjun cursing softly under his breath. You watched a young Timothee-Chalamet looking waiter side-eye the three of you in the corner and your cheeks grew warmer. Yet, you didn’t really care. He was right. You were in the city of love with the only two men you had ever loved in your entire life. What was so wrong about that?

“Waiter!” Haechan yelled out, raising his hand like he was a primary school student in class, and both you and Renjun lunged out to make him stop being so loud. “Hyuck, oh my god, everyone’s looking.”

“Yes?” It was almost a blessing the waiter had come regardless of your collective bickering, and Renjun went first, speaking in perfect French. “We’d like number 3, please.”

“All three of you?” He frowned through his glasses, peering through the lens like he would look at spectacles at a freak show. You suddenly felt self-conscious, but Haechan started leaning over towards Renjun, acting like the waiter wasn’t even there. “What was that? What did you say? Number 3? I don’t want that one. Tell him I want number 4.”

“The young man over there will have number 4, please. And for me and my girlfriend, number 3.” You swallowed a smile at the way Renjun exasperatedly acknowledged Haechan, and the way Haechan looked just as confused as before. Once the waiter stepped away, you smacked Haechan’s thigh playfully. “You’re so embarrassing!”

“Am I embarrassing, or do you just wanna impress mister oui oui baguette over there?”

“Haechan!” You laughed. “What do you mean?”

“I saw the way you were oogling him. Tsk, tsk.” He should his head exaggeratedly and added. “You have the hottest guy sitting next to you and you’re just gonna eyeball him?”

“Leave _ alone, Haechan.” Renjun was now peering at the menu, squinting intensely. The soft morning sun illuminated his body, giving him a tender glow and making your heart feel warm with affection. He shook his head to the side to move his fringe away from his eyes. “Baby, I think I might have ordered you a shot of expresso. Do you want to change it?”

“Huh? No, that’s okay, honey.”

“Are you sure?” You felt Haechan’s breath on your shoulder, and you rolled your eyes, pulling his arm closer to your side as you looked up at him. “Yes, I’m sure. I can handle it.” The smell of dark coffee from the kitchen mixed with Haechan’s natural musk and your light perfume, and you breathed in deeply.

Haechan’s chest vibrated as he chuckled. “I’m keen to see this.” In front of you, Renjun smiled at the table, a mix of love and playfulness, and you scoffed. “I-It’ll be fine. It will taste good. I will drink it all!” You fake-slammed the table in front of you with your fist as both men started giggling slowly.

∞

You remembered the memory fondly as you watched the milk swirl and dissolve into the brown instant coffee mix. Too tired (lazy) to use the coffee maker, you settle on a bland concoction of going-to-expire-today lukewarm milk and instant coffee powder that’s at least 2 years old for your everyday morning fix. Taking a sip, you sighed. Yep, just as disgusting as ever.

You flopped down on the couch, turning on the TV at the same time, like a trained reflex. The rain outside poured heavy and relentless, just the right amount of ambient noise to send you right back into your slumber. But you stayed awake. You couldn’t be sleeping all day again. It just wouldn’t be…right.

Turning on an old favourite show, Gilmore Girls, you let it play as you opened your laptop. The battery reader on the bottom right corner shone nice and bright. 0%.

Of course. You groaned out loud, cursing underneath your breath. Of course, the day you felt the tiniest twinge of motivation to do something, your laptop was dead. Getting up from the couch, you felt a warm-hot liquid pour all over your pajama bottoms.

“Ah! Fuck!” You swore out loud, watching the coffee stain your crotch and drip onto the skin of your thighs. Clutching your laptop to your chest, you ran back into you and Renjun’s shared room.

You stared at his pajamas on the shelf, neatly packed and folded, as if he was so ready to move on. You looked to your side of the bed, messy as ever, the oldest bra you ever owned strewn across the covers.

How embarrassing.

You felt a mixture of anger, first at Renjun, then at yourself. Stupid fucking perfect Renjun with his crisp ironed clothes and his tidy side of the bed and his take care of yourself, honeys. Gosh, I hate him. As you said these in your head, hot, frustrated tears poured down your cheeks and dripped onto your collarbones. I fucking hate that man. I fucking hate myself.

You didn’t know how long you were standing there, but after a while, you rubbed the rest of the rolling tears off your face and walked out of the room. You plugged in your laptop, walked to the kitchen for some paper towels and half-heartedly wiped down the almost-dried coffee (if you could even call it that) on the couch, took off your soaked pajama pants and lay on your side, facing the TV. You watched Lorelai and her mother fight for what seemed like hours, you watched Lorelai cry on the shoulder of some hunk of a man who very clearly loved her, and then you felt yourself slip into a sad, restless slumber as the credits rolled.

∞

You woke at the sound of your phone buzzing next to your ear.

You blinked once, then twice. Then you closed your eyes and opened them again.

There was no way.

my teddy

i’m coming home

What the actual fuck.

You grabbed at your phone, fumbling, shaking. You dialled Haechan’s number – once, twice, three times. It was going through. It was going through.

“Renjun!”

“What’s up, honey? Are you alright?”

You sobbed uncontrollably into the phone, the screen now wet with tears.

“Shhh, I’ll be there soon, okay? Please don’t hurt yourself again. Thank you for calling me. I’ll be there, baby, in just a few minutes. I love you so much. I’m coming.”

“No…n-no…” You rubbed your nose, hating the way it squeaked. “No, Renjun, it’s about H-Haechan.” Silence on the other side, as if you had said a bad word. “He’s coming home.”

You could feel the gears in Renjun’s head clicking, choosing his next words wisely. “Let’s talk about it when I get back, okay?”

“Renjun, no, you don’t fucking get it. He’s coming back. My baby’s coming back…”

“Honey…”

“Don’t fucking call me that! Fuck you!” You shouted into the phone, you had no idea why. You were trembling with a mixture of anger and sudden fear.

“Okay.” You heard Renjun’s voice tremble on the other line, the sounds of the rain louder now, pitter-pattering over the line. “I’m sorry. I’ll be home soon.”

“So will Haechan.” You said, before ending the call.

∞

“Please, please, don’t tell her.”

Those words haunted Renjun every single day he thought about Haechan. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. No, now was not the time to think about that. He kept side-glancing at the time on the dashboard, as if minutes would pass without his permission. The windshields scraped the glass with a jarring squeak everytime it moved, the rain pouring as strong as ever. He prayed silently for there to be no traffic on the main road he was about to turn into, not wanting to leave you home alone for another second.

His heart ached, thinking of the phone call, the bad signal in his car breaking up your cries. His eyes welled up with tears, but he quickly blinked them away, not wanting to get distracted. I need to get home right now.

Luckily, traffic moved at a steady pace, it not quite being rush hour yet, and he was pulling up to the driveway quicker than usual. He needed to remain calm and composed for you. He knew you didn’t mean any of it, and that you were having one of your episodes. He tried to think about what your psychiatrist had said, but his brain felt so heavy, like a burning lump of coal, black smoke shrouding any helpful thought he was trying to have. Dammit. I just need to go inside.

“_?” Not wanting to spook you, he started speaking from outside as he typed in the code for your shared apartment. “It’s me, Renjun, baby.” He paused slightly, wondering if he should wait for you to open the door. You clearly needed some space. Maybe he was imposing too much. Maybe you felt intruded, not in control. Maybe he should let you do small things like open the do-

“Renjun?”

At first it didn’t register, but as Renjun slowly turned around, his heart started pounding louder and louder in his chest and his legs felt like jelly. He knew what – or who – he was expecting to see, but the sight of him still threw him against the apartment door with a gasp.

There was no way.

“Oh my god. It’s really you.”

Renjun didn’t know what to say for once. Always the easy talker, known for making awkward situations normal, always known to have something smart to say. Nothing. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, immobile, weighed down with the weight of a thousand stones.

“Renjun. It’s me.” He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Renjun. He felt like a ghost for a split second, like his arms weren’t quite there. But then he smelt it. That faint smell of his best friends’ cologne he had used since their university days, back when they would go out for dinner after long days. Back before they had even met you.

Renjun inhaled sharply as the realisation hit him, his arms feeling more and more solid around his frame. “It’s really you. She wasn’t…but how did she…” Snapping out of his daze, the two men parted and Renjun thought about you.

Haechan called out first. “_! I’m home!”

∞

“So, you say you received a text message from Lee Haechan today before he came home?”

“Yes, yes. Here.” Your lit up screen illuminated the face of the officer, speckles of his stubble becoming visible. “Right.” He frowned, before handing your phone back to you, the charm jingling as he did. The tips of your fingers slightly touched his as you took your phone back, still staring at him with more questions than answers strewn across your features.

His chair made a high-pitched creak as he leaned back. “So, we have questioned him, as well as your, well…” The officer looked uncomfortable, almost squeamish, you reckoned at the thought of you having seduced not one, but two men in your lifetime.

“Yes, Renjun.” You spared him the misery. He nodded.

“Yes, and his story lines up with yours in terms of the disappearance. Lee Haechan, however, is saying that he cannot disclose where he was this entire time, because he just does not remember anything. We will continue to investigate his whereabouts for the past year. We have tried tracking his phone already, and we actually found its location.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, in your apartment.”

“Our apartment?” You were confused, and a weird feeling started brewing in the pit of your stomach.

“No, miss. At your apartment.”

“You mean the one I share with Renjun.”

The officer looked at you wordlessly, before flicking through the papers in his hands and passing one across the table to you.

You looked at it in utter disbelief. “W…what…”

“It was strange to us too. You didn’t mention to us that you had an apartment. Yet, we were able to find this under your name. We asked the owner, and she said you had indeed bought this four years ago. In person, too.”

“No way,” you breathed, your eyes as big as saucers. “Four years…” You would have been fresh out of high school, just about to enter university. You remembered being penniless then, having cut off your parents and working bizarre jobs just to get by. There was no way you would have even been able to afford an apartment. And the most important part was, if you had indeed done that, you would have remembered. Despite everything that had happened, and parts of your memory being faded due to the stress of the past year, there was no way you would have forgotten something so big as an apartment.

You sighed out loud, resting your head in both hands. You kept having those weird dreams…it always felt like, maybe they were…like…lost memories?

“I think my memory is just bad,” you chuckled uneasily, letting the officer ease back into the chair, some of his worry lifting off his shoulders. “That probably was me. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He drawled out the words, as if he didn’t really mean them. “We just wanted to inform you before we applied for the warrant because we’re going to search it.”

“Right.” Somehow, even though you had found out about this apartment 2 minutes ago, hearing that it was going to be searched made you feel kind of violated. The fluorescent white light started to feel hot against the skin of your face, and you were becoming aware of the stretch of time you had been here. Your leg started to jump, one of your many restless tics.

“Can I come?”

“Hmm?” The officer looked confused.

“Like, when you search. Can I come?”

He made a sorry kind of smile with his mouth and shook his head. You felt stupid for even asking, but the feelings dissipated when you watched the officer look increasingly uncomfortable, suddenly avoiding eye contact with you as if he was scared of you.

“So,” you leaned in, and watched as he cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “What does this mean? So, someone sent a text message using Haechan’s phone the day he came back. He said it wasn’t him, and now his phone is at my apartment?”

The officer gave you a blank stare, and all of a sudden, it all clicked.

“No, I-“

“Look, miss. We need to consider all possibilities. And your boyfriend told us that you’re…struggling with your mental health and currently on anti-psychotics…”

You gaped at him, not believing the words that were coming out of his mouth. “You think that’s supposed to make me uncomfortable? Yes, I’m batshit off the walls crazy, sir, thanks for acknowledging it. But I’m just not that kind of crazy to send myself a text from my missing boyfriend to soothe myself, I do know that.”

“That’s not what we’re- okay, look. Personally, I think it’s probably, like, a hack or something.” You recognised his ability to go off script, no matter how much he fought it, and you appreciated it, just a little bit. “We just wanted to check all the possibilities. We’ll be checking the footage around the apartment and finding out if anyone’s been coming and going, and we will search for the phone and check its usage.”

You nodded sharply. “Okay.”

The door opened, and a younger looking man inaudibly signalled at the officer in front of you. “That’s all for tonight. You are free to leave. Let us know if there are any updates, and we’ll do the same.”

∞

“So, what did they talk about with you guys?”

Renjun was slowly starting to come out of the shocked state he had been in for the past few hours as you nuzzled deeper into Hyuck’s warm body in the backseat of the car, the rain still roaring on outside.

“It was weird. They asked me about an apartment I own.”

“An apartment?” Renjun sounded curious, but you were distracted by the feel of Haechan’s slightly dry lips on your forehead, grazing the skin teasingly. “Haechan…”

“Let’s just forget about this for now. I missed you so much.” He pressed his lips against you, the kiss resounding in your skull.

“I missed you too.” You wanted to cry, laugh, scream. Everything was pouring out of you all at once, slow and viscous like thick honey on bread. “So much. You have no idea.”

“Yeah.” Renjun’s voice was silent. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

That night, your bed for two was a bed for three. Warm and safe, smelling like three instead of two. You were finally home. The dinner you three shared for the first time in over a year was quiet, all of you overwhelmed by the new familiarity that was now your new normal. Or old normal. It was all a bit strange. But it just felt so…right.

For once you drifted off to sleep naturally, not crying, or needing your pills or something to watch to distract yourself. It was like Haechan’s arrival repaired you, piece by piece, with nothing left over or loose from the reconstruction.

Everything felt right until the next morning, when you woke up to no Haechan next you, and you felt an insidious wave of anxiety waft over you, threatening to paralyse you. But then you heard chatter from the kitchen.

“She likes it like that now. Extra chilli. Make sure you don’t burn it.”

“Yes, ahjussi.” The unmistakeable nasal tone of your lover’s voice calmed you, and you were convinced you weren’t dreaming this time. This was real. Haechan came home.

You rolled over in bed and checked your phone. Old habits die hard.

Chills ran through your body.

my teddy

don’t worry. i’m staying inside.

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jennyandvastraflint · 2 months

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Hiya! I run into your commercialization of fandom post and got curious about fan activism. Would you mind rambling about it?

Wouldn't mind at all! I'm gonna use some of my slides from my presentation again XD Also, my sources will be linked/cited at the very end once again, except for if I take something directly from a text.

Now, I'm gonna start with a definition of what fan activism actually is... Fan Activism describes fan-driven efforts to address civic or political issues using engagement with and strategic deployment of popular culture content. It's often conducted through the infrastructure of existing fan practices and relationships, and frequently framed through metaphors drawn from popular and participatory culture. Fan Activism can of course be directed towards goals such as keeping a show on air, but it can also be used for political causes.

(more under the cut)

Disclaimer that these "forms" I refer to here are a non-exhaustive list and are obviously not mutually exclusive, meaning one thing can fall into multiple of these or outside of them. It's just some examples Brough and Shresthova brought in relation to these.

Content-related Lobbying wants to keep programmes on air, and advocates for diverse representation - a negative example for this were white Disney fans screaming and sobbing about the casting of Haley Bailey as Ariel and threatening to boycott the movie because "that's not my Ariel >:(((" Of course, there are also positive examples of this, for instance fans' reaction to the cancellation of Warrior Nun (after a year or two of sooo many sapphic cancellations).

Fandom Forward is a campaign that advoates for human rights and equality by utilising narratives from popular media to run advocacy campaigns. Currently, for instance, they are running a campaign called "Save our Progress" encouraging people to vote, and one called "Book Defenders" which encourages people to stand against book bans! (Btw, joining such fan activist campaigns is not only a great way to get more politically engaged, but also to find new friends <3 AND you can use your passion and interest as a force for good in the real world as well :D)

As already mentioned, Fan Activism frequently uses pop culture imagery, and one very prominent example of that would be indigenous and Palestinian rights groups using the fictional Na'vi from the 2009 Avatar film to attract media attention for their cause. This is underlined by the fact that they related their own lives under occupation to the Na'vi people. The picture on the right in this slide is an image taken in 2010 in Bil'in in Occupied Jerusalem, when protesters from the West Bank came together to protest Israel's occupation of Palestine.

With the internet being at our constant disposal, online mobilisation and community building is also a form fan avtivism can take, and they are often followed by one of the other forms, utilising the community that has been built as a way to spread their efforts further.

Fan activism can also be put towards goals of education, for which fan conventions and panels for discussions are an example.

In the presentation I've taken an example for the integration with real-world issues where fans made very evident the parallels between the dystopian scenes in our world and the setting of the Hunger Games, with the richest lavishing in their colourful, beautiful ballgowns while people outside are protesting and a genocide is taking place. There are many videos following the same principle as this one, showing the Met Gala (which also has an incredibly ironic theme) and the ongoing genocide in Gaza at the hand of Israel while the song "The Hanging Tree" plays.

And one other thing that I wanna bring up are Fan-driven charity events! We've seen many artists take up their (metaphorical) quill and offering gifted artwork or fic as a Thank You for donations to Palestine, and the FTH has raised tens of thousands of dollars going to charities every year since 2016!

The brilliant thing about fan activism is that there is a pretty low barrier for entry, meaning any fan who wants to can join these causes with fairly little effort. Take a charity event, for instance; donating five dollars will not only go towards a good cause together with many others donating five dollars, but you also get a little thank you gift from the community.

However, we can't equate all acts of engagement with popular culture as inherently political and activist, as such a framing can have a depoliticising effect. Completely leaving popular culture and fan activism out of the picture, however, is a purist and ultimately unproductive way of viewing the political.

If you're interested in learning more about this, I definitely recommend checking out the sources I'll link, and also Henry Jenkins' concept of civic imagination which describes "the capacity to imagine alternatives to current cultural, social, political, or economic conditions; one cannot change the world without imagining what a better world might look like" (Jenkins et al. 5) and it requires (and is realised through "the ability to imagine the process of change, to see oneself as a civic agent capable of making change, to feel solidarity with others whose perspectives and experiences are different than one’s own, to join a larger collective with shared interests, and to bring imaginative dimensions to real-world spaces and places" (Jenkins et al. 5).

For my part, I can only say that fan activism has definitely played a huge role in me becoming more active politically, and especially in the past year or so, I've participated - while not (yet) as a fanfic writer - in multiple events particularly connected to Palestine. Maybe this is a wake up call for some to also take a step out into the political world through their interest!

(Also, some of these texts are Open Access - particularly the one on the TWC, but some are not - if you would like to read these and other texts, shoot me a message as I can get my hands on SO many texts thanks to my university giving us free access to a ton of academic texts!)

Sources:

Bennett, Lucy. "Fan Activism for Social Mobilization: A Critical Review of the Literature." In "Transformative Works and Fan Activism," edited by Henry Jenkins and Sangita Shresthova, special issue, Transformative Works and Cultures, no. 10, 2012.

Brough, Melissa M, and Sangita Shresthova. “Fandom Meets Activism: Rethinking Civic and Political Participation.” Transformative Works and Cultures, no. 10, 2012.

Shresthova, Sangita, Gabriel Peters-Lazaro, and Henry Jenkins. "Popular Culture and the Civic Imagination : Case Studies of Creative Social Change." New York : New York UP, 2020.

#yea as you can tell I've literally done an entire presentation on fan activism in my course and read a bunch of texts and maybe fell down #a rabbit hole and read even more texts and yeaaaa #it's a really fascinating thing what can i say.#fan activism #fan studies #fandom studies #fandom #fandom culture #activism #fandom things #fan culture

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cloudbells · 9 months

Note

4, 9, 18, 38 for your mcu ask game! ILY❤️

HI THANK YOU ILY TOO MWAH MWAH <3

4. NOTP (Least favorite ship)

I have a couple answers to this that I can be normal about hating…but I fear the facade of me being not absolute bonkers coo coo crazy has long faded. So I will answer this with truth.

If I could mentally eradicate the existence of WinterIron from the minds of every single person who has contributed to its success…I’d wallow in the ethics of that for about 5 minutes and then immediately do it #mindwipingiscoolactually #giveMEthemindstone. I truly, truly, despise that ship with everything in me. And this isn’t a secret! Anyone who has ever spoken to me knows I hate this ship. Just the mere sight of it makes me sick to my stomach oh my goodness. Everyone knows to the point where I'll get disclaimers about any hint of winteriron in fic recs (also i love you guys who do this y'all are so REAL). And it’s not even for, like, morals reasons. I just hate it so much because of how I’ve seen it portrayed. I wish I could say the ship not making sense is the reason I hate it most, but it isn’t! Even though I firmly believe it makes no sense. That’s not anywhere near my main problem with it because I have plenty of ships that don’t make sense (Never ask user cloudbells what her current favorite ultra-sparkly rare pair is [the two characters aren't in the same fandom or even sister fandoms]).

I hate it for petty reasons. And I hate that it’s so popular. Why is it one of the most popular ships?! Why do people like them? Well, I know why people like them, but I wish I could live my entire life with never seeing it ever again. Every time I’ve ever saw it, it involves some weird ass Steve characterization. But also, I just hate the idea of taking Steve’s top ships and making them in love with each other and then all the weird hateful undertones when it comes to Steve? Plus, in no way are Tony and Bucky ever getting together. I can’t even stand them as besties if we’re gonna get real lmao. I can handle them becoming friendly…maybe friends eventually, but anything further than that and I need Ativan or something to chill out. Omg, I can’t think about this anymore, someone get the straightjacket. I’ll admit myself to residential. But I do always love the chance to talk about things I don’t like.

9. Favorite fight scene

Gotta say I’m a sucker for the scenes in CATWS where Steve fights Bucky. I love them so much. I love how you can clearly see the way his body twists, the way his muscles tense and release, the way his strikes flow - how sharp his jumping, punching and kicking are. UGH. It does everything for me. I loooooove Steve’s fighting choreography. He fights so clean…at least to me, someone who isn’t a trained fighter. Hm, well, maybe with this in mind, I should say I love the elevator fight. Or Hell - Natasha’s fight scenes. Side note that has nothing to do with the MCU: this just reinforced how much I love hand to hand. I remember when I watched Naruto and used to complain constantly over the lack of good taijutsu fights. I like seeing contact!!

18. Things you'd do if you're one of the MCU writers

Erm…SteveTony canon? Just kidding. But I wouldn’t say no to adding more undertones.

In all honesty, if we’re not talking about re-writes…I would absolutely give more weight to the Clint and Natasha relationship. I just mentioned this to someone, but I would do anything for a movie or mini-series or something just to see the moment where Natasha came to kill Clint and he instead decided to take her in, convince Fury to help, assisted with deprogramming her, ect. I’d love it. Seeing Natasha learn to trust again, seeing Clint struggle and being active in her healing. Natasha coping with everything she’s done, ect. Their bond forming…I need it. If any has any fic recs…

If we’re talking about Steve specifically, I would single-handedly force everyone to keep his deleted scenes and find somewhere to put them. I just wish we had more context on Steve himself. Like, I don’t need to see him having a self vs self angst we see with many other characters, because he’s not the type that needs that - but his external circumstances are fucking shitty and I’d love to see those explored more. I’d rewrite CACW to be more blatant on Steve’s motivations. I mean Hell, they were pretty damn clear to me, but apparently I can’t use myself as the leading authority on things like this (boooooo) and since it’s a CAPTAIN AMERICA movie, it should center around him. I shouldn’t have to defend Steve from the fandom concerning his own damn movie.

I have some more thoughts but this post is getting long omg, I might not have enough space.

38. Favorite and least favorite villain

Favorite? I really like the potential Kang has (though he wasn’t really…great to me in Ant Man tbh). But anyways, my favorites are Alexander Pierce and Killmonger. I’ve mentioned why I like Pierce as a villain before, but it boils down to how calmly and near seamlessly he executed his power. I’ve always loved a villain that is so outwardly calm and calculated and manages to manipulate even the most suspicious of people, precisely because from his view, his goals aren’t very different from some heroes’. And because he believes in his evil so deeply, it makes him more patient and determined to carry forward. I like that. Chills!

My like for Killmonger is more…it’s a little removed from the MCU verse. I’m a black American, so I really understood where his anger and sense of betrayal came from. I mean, we're also from the same exact city. And I grew up with all typa diaspora wars between black people and African people that felt reflected in the movie…it all just really connected with me. He’s still the villain no doubt for how he went about it, but I truly, truly got his resentment. His emotions and motivations make sense! And I love a character that makes sense.

Least favorite? The Howard guy in WandaVision. Ouuuuu, put me and him in a room for 2 minutes and he’ll be handled, permanently! I don’t even think he’s a badly written character because he (unfortunately) makes sense. But oh my goodness, I hate him so much. Now, least favorite as in boring or bad? Ultron, in my opinion. He could have been so much cooler, much more formidable, much more terrifying…but if they really dived into it, Ultron’s reign wouldn’t have started and ended in just one movie. But damn, was he disappointing.

Oh! If Namor counts as a villain (he does) I really like him. And NOT just because he's sexy and I have had a period of time where I had a very guilty and shameful crush on him.

Thank you for the ask!! <3

#INTERROGATE ME #me my mine

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uozlulu · 2 years

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Fic. IwtV AMC. Dream a Memory of Me. PG-13. Armand/Daniel

Character(s)/Relationship(s) Armand, Daniel, Lestat, Louis; Armand/Daniel, Armand/Louis, Armand/Louis/Daniel, Daniel/his unnamed second wife, Louis/Daniel, Louis/Lestat (some pairings are background pairings (past, mentioned, canonically present, etc…)). The main pairing and focus of the fic is Armand/Daniel. Genre Drama/Horror/Romance/Supernatural/Vampire Rating PG-13 Word Count 9,197 Disclaimer As this is fanfiction, I do not hold copyright to the source material(s) nor do I claim that I do. This is for free entertainment purposes only. Summary When Armand made Daniel forget their relationship decades ago, Daniel’s mind created a first wife to make sense of the memory loss. Now in Dubai, Daniel finds what he remembered from that time in his life distorting until he can no longer remember Alice but can only remember Armand during his years full of addiction. As the interview continues, Daniel tries to make sense of it all. Warning(s) spoilers up through season 1 episode 7, spoilers from the book Interview with the Vampire that will appear in season 2, inspiration drawn from spoilers for The Queen of the Damned, possibly other Vampire Chronicles spoilers, set during the COVID-19 pandemic, consensual blood drinking, addiction, food consumption, blood-fueled eating disorder, talking about death, discussion of murder, violence, fire, medication, language, chronic illness, toxic relationships, mention of potential suicidal behavior but nobody is actively suicidal, self-mutilation for blood drinking purposes Notes Saw a post on Tumblr that hypothesized that there was no Alice and that Daniel had a relationship with Armand instead, his mind compensating for his memory loss of that relationship by filling in the gaps with a fictional first wife. So, this fic is kind of an exploration of Daniel regaining some semblance of his actual memories as dreams. I tried to be clear with my transitions from memory to the present day. The ~ marks changes between groupings of memories and present day scenes.

This fic is my own odyssey of recollection since I read IwtV about twenty years ago, have since read synopsis for all the other books, listened to my friends obsess over the series since middle school, and absorbed a lot of information by being fandom adjacent for the last over twenty years online and fandom present for the TV show. So that, along with my Swiss cheesy memory, all kind of mixed together in my brain and out came this fic. Since IwtV AMC is an AU already, I figured it’s free real estate and went for it (also my brain wouldn’t shut up about the plot bunny).

AO3 link

Dream a Memory of Me

Snow flurries spit in the air. Slush froze at their feet. Cold fingers slid along Daniel’s face, following contours that no longer existed. A shadowed figure lit from above surrounded and surrounded by Christmas lights from behind spoke in a quiet, resonate voice, “When you are dying, I will return.”

Daniel’s eyes opened. He lay in bed in his room in Dubai, the dream already slipping from his mind. His phone said it was well past two in the morning in New York, which made it almost noon in Dubai. This was the second time he woke since falling asleep shortly after dawn local time. He would probably sleep and wake a few more times before giving up on sleep entirely near sunset.

His mind wanted to cling to its dream, whatever it was. Alice? No. Yes. The shadowy figure was as tall as Alice was and ran their fingers along the side of his face like she did, careful of the sharp fingernails. Their hair was wavy. Their voice…

Daniel could not remember what Alice sounded like. He remembered the lights strung above them at the café in Paris where they had that dessert the vampires gave him early into the present interview. He attended university dance recitals at Alice’s side as they watched the student she patronized outdo his classmates. There were kitchen gadgets on almost every spare space of countertop. There were the movie cameras with their reels, art, theater, blood….

Daniel’s eyes closed. Exhaustion claimed him just as his brain questioned why there would be blood, pungent, fresh, and plentiful.

As always, Daniel woke a few more times before resigning himself to “morning” near sunset and setting about his day. Once clean and clothed, he found his medicine waiting for him on a saucer beside a glass of water on a tray. He reluctantly took it. After that would come breakfast while sitting across from a vampire who could not pick a healthy partner to save his death. Daniel wondered what animal he would watch Louis devour tonight.

Daniel gathered his things for the interview and placed them in his laptop bag. The color of his room changed and drew his attention to the sunset. Intense orange and pale yellow spread across the sky and sparkled off the buildings and the Persian Gulf.

For a moment, his mind recalled a similar sky spread out across Greenwich Village decades ago. He grasped Alice’s cold hands and drew their hands close to him until her fingers almost warmed. Her hair tickled his face and she pressed her lips to his skin where his jaw met his neck. Much like his dream, she was in shadow and had only eyes for a face.

Daniel blinked and his mind returned to the bedroom in Dubai. The color began to fade from the sky.

“You are my mortal lover,” a phantom voice seemingly whispered in his ear.

Daniel looked around but there was no sign of anyone else. It did not sound like it did when Armand or Louis communicated with him in his mind either. He sighed silently, shouldered his laptop bag, and left the bedroom to start the next session.

The apartment was dingy and yellowed wallpaper started to peel from the walls. With a hiss of warning, the best of the 1970’s jewel tones filled the room punctuated by shrieks. Sharp nails sunk into Daniel’s skin. As fast as the pain erupted, the nails were gone as someone else threw themselves between Daniel and his adversary. Hissing and shrieking continued. Furniture upended. A water pitcher shattered on the floor. Someone kicked Daniel so hard that his back hit the door.

“Go!” a voice sounded Daniel’s head clearer than any dream. “Leave!”

Daniel ran without destination weaving his way through the alleys of San Francisco until he could no longer breathe. He rested his hands on his knees, bowed his head, and gasped for air. Blood dried on his arms from the claw marks. Sweat dripped from his face. He reached into his pockets. He did not have the energy to curse aloud. He no longer had his tape recorder.

Two feet gently landed beside him with barely any noise. Daniel looked up at Armand and held his gaze.

“Come with me,” Armand said.

“Give me my tape,” Daniel said.

“Louis has the tape,” Armand said. Cold fingers grasped Daniel’s wrist and urged him to follow, slipping away once Daniel obeyed. “He broke free and fled. He must not find you.”

They merged into a crowd of youths exploring the city’s nightlife. Daniel frowned. “But –”

“Louie will kill you if he finds you,” Armand said. “He denies his nature until he can no longer contain it. I do what I can to stop him, but he’s a vampire and he must feed properly. Someone will die tonight. Don’t volunteer.”

They approached a condominium complex that was much nicer than the apartment complex where the interview went sideways. Daniel wiped the sweat from his face. “Why not let him eat me?”

Armand paused before they reached the door. “Why let him eat you?”

“Answering a question with a question is a dick move,” Daniel said. He followed Armand inside.

The door closed and Daniel’s eyes opened. He was in the sitting room of the penthouse in Dubai. Once again, he fell asleep during a lull in the present interview. This was why he retired soon after his Parkinson’s medication increased the second time. He rubbed his face and sighed. Another dream that felt more like a memory. His eyebrows furrowed together. The condominium complex was more familiar to him than the events in the dream.

A cup and saucer clinked gently when they touched the table in front of Daniel. He raised his head and met Armand’s gaze before scanning the rest of the room. There was no sign of anyone else.

“Louis is resting. Recalling Paris is always stressful,” Armand said.

“Hard to talk about the death of your child and your vampire offspring with their killer always lurking nearby,” Daniel murmured. He accepted the tea.

“Vampires must think of their preservation. Even our kind need laws. Louis knows my reasoning and still chose to become my lover,” Armand said.

“Louis sees a pair of beautiful eyes and loses all reason.” Daniel set the tea down. “A man who flung him from a building and a man who can’t let him answer questions in peace.” Daniel shook his head. “He can really pick them.”

“I could give you both peace,” Armand remained standing, “but as Louis said earlier, he hasn’t killed in twenty years. Yes, he’s drunk human blood from willing participants, but that does not satiate our hunger entirely. You don’t want to become his next proper meal.”

“You said you wouldn’t save my life this time. I would think it wouldn’t matter what I become.” Daniel did not look away.

“I won’t save your life.” Armand leaned forward and placed a cold hand on Daniel’s tremoring hand. He lowered his voice until it existed only in the space between them, barely a whisper against Daniel’s ear. “You are going to die. I am going to save your death.”

Daniel shivered, but did not move away. “And if I refuse?”

“Will you refuse?” Armand kept his hand firmly on Daniel’s hand despite Daniel’s tremors.

“Answering a question with a question…” Daniel’s voice trailed as his brain distracted his speech by trying to recall the dream he had earlier.

“‘…is a dick move,’ Armand finished. After a beat, he asked as Daniel might repeat an interview question, “Will you refuse?”

“I want my real memories back,” Daniel said. “Give them to me. Whatever prank you’re pulling, I want no part of it.”

Armand leaned even closer. His breath was cool against Daniel’s skin. “You have them,” he let go of Daniel’s hand and traced the side of his face, learning the new contour, “and now you must forget the filler.”

Daniel frowned. Before he could speak, Armand’s fingers stilled and his thumb rested against the pulse point in Daniel’s neck. Daniel swallowed. He searched Armand’s eyes and then leaned away, freeing himself from Armand’s hand. His back hit the sofa cushion behind him.

Armand retracted his hand and straightened his posture. “When you first arrived, I removed the mental block I placed upon you decades ago. It’s up to your brain to do the rest.”

“Fantastic,” Daniel murmured. “Like asking a Model T to run Tesla software.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Armand said. “You’re already starting to question ‘Alice,’ aren’t you?”

Daniel did not confirm or deny it. He eyed Armand and then finished his tea. He rose from the sofa slowly. “I spent years with her. I should know what she looked like, what she sounded like.”

“‘Her,’” Armand repeated in a tone that sounded half-bemused. He picked up the teacup and saucer. “Did you leave ‘her’ or did ‘she’ leave you?”

Daniel eyed him. “Don’t you have rats to microwave?”

Armand snorted. He headed back to the kitchen. At the doorway, he turned and looked back at Daniel. “That ‘Buick’ you mentioned. It had a red interior.” He disappeared from sight.

Daniel rolled his eyes. He rubbed his face and retreated to his room. In all of his memories of that car, the interior was brown. Everything in his mind felt jumbled. He should have left like he considered doing after Louis and Armand revealed Armand’s identity days ago and the first supposed memory appeared.

Daniel’s eyes opened. Again, he was in Dubai. Again, he only slept a few hours before waking. He winced and sat up slowly. A sharp pain attacked the skin at the front of his ankle. It felt like a bite, but it was his nerves sending strange erroneous signals to his brain. He pressed on the affected skin, easing the sharpness until his nerve endings finally calmed.

Daniel breathed through his nose. His dream dissipated from his mind. He thought it was of Alice, but the more he tried to remember it, the less he remembered. It was the most he thought of her since writing his memoir soon after his Parkinson’s diagnosis.

The longer he tried to remember Alice’s face and voice, the more Daniel thought of Armand asking him if he was starting to question her. Daniel frowned and picked up his phone. He opened up an incognito browser window, typed “Alice,” and paused. Alice never took his name. He needed to remember her full name. His eyebrows drew together. He must have known it back then and likely heard it at their wedding. His gaze returned to the sunlight on the floor. When did they get married? Where did they get married? How did they get married?

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. They got married earlier in their relationship around the time he started using drugs more than earlier experimentation. If he could remember which city, if he could remember what kind of wedding, then maybe the rest would follow. San Francisco. Paris. Greenwich Village….

An image formed in Daniel’s mind, taking the shape of a memory. The full moon shed light into a dark room. Linoleum designed to look like tile was cold under his bare feet. Cold lips explored Daniel’s neck. “You are my mortal lover,” a voice whispered in his ear. “I will bind you to me.”

Daniel shivered. “Shouldn’t you ask immortal lover first?”

The voice laughed, its owner shrouded in the darkness of the room and the uncertainty of memory. “We have an agreement and he’s working on himself right now. Does it bother you to have to share?”

Cold fingers slid along the skin at Daniel’s waist, sharp nails pricking the skin without piercing it. Daniel shook his head. “No.”

The hands slid away slowly from Daniel’s body. The figure stepped back, the moon illuminating them from behind. Bright eyes held Daniel’s gaze, glowing in the dark. Long nails sliced through the flesh at the figure’s wrist. Blood dripped onto the floor audibly.

Daniel’s heart quickened. The figure drew close and brought their wrist towards his face. Daniel’s fingers tentatively ran along the figure’s arm. “Do we say vows? Binding seems serious.”

“Vows…” the figure paused and then grinned. “Sounds dramatic. Alright.” They paused for a moment to think. “This blood shall be our bond. Wherever we go, whenever we part, we will be one with each other. You will always find me and I will always find you.”

Daniel licked his lips. He never gave a thought to his own wedding let alone vows in his life. After a moment, he said, “This blood is our bond, binding us with certainty. We’ll find each other in the dark and a cold eternity.”

Fangs glinted in the light. “Very poetic.”

Daniel snorted and then licked his lips. There was no hesitation. He brought the wrist to his mouth. He ran his tongue along the trails of blood. It had no flavor he could recall. The occasional clot burst in the mouth with the texture of a fragile berry. He drank until the blood stopped flowing and the wound clotted.

His mind spun and he slowly let go. He licked the blood from his lips, wiped it from his face, and licked it from his fingers. He offered his wrist to the figure.

The figure grasped Daniel’s hand and held it in their own, bringing it towards their cold chest. “It’s not your time yet. Not here. Not now. We are bound as any mortal can be to my kind.” The figure leaned forward, let go of Daniel’s hand, and took Daniel’s face in their cold fingers. They kissed Daniel despite the blood smeared across his face and mouth. Daniel’s fingers tangled in their hair. Both of their feet rose off the ground as the kiss deepened.

Daniel’s eyes opened. He was in Dubai. A few hours passed since he fell asleep. His phone lay on his blankets and buzzed against his knee. He glanced at the screen. An automated appointment scheduling email notification appeared and disappeared. Daniel sighed, turned off his phone, and placed it back in its charger.

The thought of only moonlight, blood dripping down his chin, and cold fingers on his skin returned to his mind. It did not feel like a dream. There was viscosity to the blood, texture to the linoleum, and goosebumps on his flesh in the dream. He tried to recall more of the dream and see the figure in the shadows, but he was too tired. He stared up at the ceiling. The memory slipped away and slowly sleep claimed him again.

The penthouse in Dubai glowed in candlelight and artificial light. Louis sat in his chair and Daniel on the sofa. Armand was not far away.

“…and that’s when I met you,” Louis said. “Your mind all but sang at the bar. You were full of life.” His lips quirked upwards and his eyes almost seemed to soften despite catching the light. “But that’s a topic we can begin tomorrow.”

‘“Were full of life,”’ Daniel thought with an internal snort. He glanced at his computer but left the recording running. The sun would rise soon.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Louis said. “You are still full of life.”

“Don’t read my mind,” Daniel said. “I’m just an old bastard turning to dust. We can’t stay the people we were.”

“I’m glad you didn’t stay the same.” Louis leaned forward and held Daniel’s gaze. “You might be turning to dust for now, but my offer is still there.”

Daniel’s eyes shifted to Armand standing towards the back of the room. Armand’s thumb moved along his opposite hand. His jaw was tense. Daniel’s eyes returned to Louis. “And if I refuse?”

“Then that is your choice,” Louis said. “Everyone should have that choice.”

Daniel studied Louis a long moment. “I want to finish this project as an outsider. If I became a vampire during the process, it would no longer be the piece it should be.” After the project wrapped, Daniel was not sure which choice he might make.

Louis’ smile seemed to grow. He rose from his chair, bid Daniel good morning, and headed to the doorway. He paused when he passed Armand. They stared at each other a long moment and then Louis disappeared.

Daniel slowly rose from the sofa. He gathered his things. “It bothers you whenever Louis offers me the ‘gift.’” He looked across the room at Armand. “Why?”

Armand slowly slid his hands apart and let them rest at his sides. “It’s not his to give.”

“There don’t seem to be rules to it,” Daniel said. “Unlike this place.” His eyes scanned the room. “The books out of reach, the sterile sand garden in a lively desert. Your constant presence monitoring his every word.” His gaze returned to Armand. “Rules and control.”

“He is free to say and do what he likes,” Armand said. “I am not here to monitor his words.”

“Then why are you here?” Daniel asked. “If not to monitor his story, if not to spare my life, then why? Certainly there are more interesting things on TV.”

“What do you think will happen when the rest of the vampire world discovers this interview?” Armand asked. “What do you think they’ll do when they learn how Louis was spared despite attempting to murder one of us, how he has spoken about us, and his connections? Even Lestat creating a beaming bisexual beacon of a rock star will not distract from the rumors this time.”

“So you do know about Lestat’s band and Louis doesn’t,” Daniel said.

“I know because I use my ears and my eyes,” Armand said. “Louis chooses to pull away from such things.”

Daniel eyed Armand. He did not truly buy that this was entirely Louis’ idea. He did not think Louis would be able to resist if he heard Lestat’s voice on the radio or reason it away. Daniel slowly closed the bag.

Armand ran his thumb along his opposite hand and then slowly parted his hands. “You only know two vampires, and the written diary of a third. You cannot judge all vampires. We must protect each other, which means we must also kill each other when threatened. Louis is weak by his own choice. When you publish this interview, it could end with his severed head.”

“So why let him do the interview at all?” Daniel asked. “Doesn’t this interview also threaten you?”

“I am old enough to know a large majority of mortals will see your piece as a fantastic tale that deserves a speculative fiction award,” Armand said. “Other vampires are not so wise. This interview is no threat to me.”

“‘Wise,’” Daniel repeated with a tiny snort. “If this is a suicide mission, you should let him tell the truth.” Daniel shouldered his computer bag. “Otherwise it’s not worth dying for.” He headed to his bedroom. His limbs felt heavy and exhaustion tugged him towards his bed as if tonight he might have uninterrupted sleep. Yet, as usual, sleep was sporadic and unfulfilling.

Every time Daniel woke, he could almost just feel blood drip down his chin and puddle in his mouth. His heart palpated wildly to the point he almost could not breathe. His bouts of wakefulness were longer and his bouts of sleep shorter. Everything ached. No sleeping position seemed right. He thought of blood like he used to think of LSD in the middle of the night in New York with barely enough blankets against the cold. Anything to escape being overtired and too awake.

He still could not remember Alice’s face or voice. He began to doubt her eyebrows were unique. He still could not remember if they bothered with a wedding ceremony or signed papers in a courthouse. He had no idea how to find proof she existed beyond his own memoir. He knew she loved the theater and movies. He knew she was always devising some new horrible concoction of foods because the combined color was pretty or disgusting. He knew they broke up in the kitchen. Daniel closed his eyes.

In his dream, Daniel’s hands shook but differently than they shook from Parkinson’s. His clothes barely protected against the wind and hung off his thin frame. His stomach rumbled but the scent of every restaurant he passed on the street turned it upside down. The briefcase strapped over his shoulder with the notes for his latest article slapped against his hipbone, but he ignored the pain. His pace quickened when he saw the condominium complex up ahead.

A doorman with the thickest moustache and brightest blue suit stopped Daniel before he could even reach the door. He would not let Daniel pass even after Daniel showed him his driver’s license that had this very address printed across it.

Abruptly the door opened and a voice spoke, “You remember Daniel, don’t you? He lives with me. He’s a freelancer. He’s been abroad with a story.”

The doorman eyed Daniel but reluctantly let him enter the building. Daniel’s stomach rumbled loudly. He followed a shadowy figure up the dimly lit stairs. He wiped saliva from his mouth. He could not take his eyes off the figure’s skin especially their wrists.

“When did you last eat?” the figure asked.

“You know when,” Daniel almost growled. His stomach rumbled again.

“You’re a mortal. You cannot survive on my blood alone.” The figure let them into a unit near the top of the building. “You were gone for a month. You must have eaten something.”

“I drank coconut water,” Daniel said, “nothing else smelled or tasted right.”

The figure paused. Dark eyes regarded Daniel. “I see.” The figure moved deeper into the apartment.

Daniel set his bag down, kicked off his shoes, and followed them to the kitchen. The latest kitchenware technology lined the counter space.

“Sit,” the figure said.

“Feed me,” Daniel growled.

“I will. Sit.”

When Daniel sat on a nearby chair, the figure rummaged through the fridge. It ripped cabbage, tomato, and carrots into pieces with its claw-like fingernails. It tossed them all into a mixing bowl that was much too large for its contents. The figure found a fork and set the salad on the small table beside Daniel.

Daniel stared at the salad a long moment. His gaze slowly moved towards the figure. “Are you fucking serious?”

The figure reached out and grasped Daniel’s shirt collar, their grip tight. They moved the collar away from Daniel’s chest, exposing an ample gap. “I remember when this shirt clung to you.”

“I lost weight,” Daniel said. “It happens.”

The figure let go of Daniel’s shirt and turned back to the fridge. “I should feed you protein too. Do you think you would eat a cat? It’s meatier than usual. I think someone fed it well.”

“I would eat blood,” Daniel said. “You bound me to this. Feed me.”

The figure eyed him. They pushed dark wavy hair from their eyes with a dramatic gesture. “First it was ‘Turn me! Turn me! Turn me!’ and now it’s ‘Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!’ You’re only mortal I’ve ever bound. I thought it would keep you at my side not at my veins!”

“Then feed me from your side!” Daniel lunged for the figure. The figure lifted into the air. Daniel lunged repeatedly, but the figure was always out of reach. Daniel crashed into the table, knocking it over and the salad scattered across the floor.

“Pathetic,” the figure hissed. “This isn’t working.” Their feet gently landed on the floor and they knelt at Daniel’s side. “I told you if you bored me I would kill you, but a mortal death would be too kind and your blood would taste awful.”

Pain ripped into Daniel’s wrist and his blood oozed down his arm and gathered in drops on the floor. Daniel cried out.

The figure gathered Daniel’s blood on their fingers and brought it to their mouth. “I release you from our binding.” They gathered more of Daniel’s blood on their fingers and fed it to Daniel. “You will stop seeking me out. This blood is a symbol of a new pact. You are no longer bound to me.”

Daniel desperately licked his blood from the figure’s fingers. It tasted terrible and did not quell his hunger.

“I will leave you here.” The figure stood.

Daniel grasped their pants leg with his free hand. “….Armand…” he hissed.

Armand looked down at him no longer in shadow. “Live a long life, Daniel.” He lifted himself to the air just out of reach and left the kitchen. The door closed soon after.

Daniel could barely move from the floor. He let out a frustrated growl and shut his eyes. The hunger gnawed at him until he felt hollow. He drank his own blood and shouted in anger.

When Daniel’s eyes opened, the sunset was at its peak and his room and Dubai glowed red. Daniel slowly left the bed and approached the windows. His mind spun. Images flooded him, each one barely registering before the next took its place. Armand looking down at him in that kitchen full of disgust. Armand’s small smile whenever Daniel would take his hands to warm them with his own. Armand leaning forward while watching the dancer he patronized spin across the stage as the contemporary music droned. Armand sitting under strings of lights at a Paris café telling Daniel how awful the dessert tasted. Armand wasting food and destroying kitchen equipment with animals while talking excitedly about the artistry of his colorful messes. Armand filming short artsy films with excitement and dramatic flair. Armand leaning closer in a moonlit apartment, offering his dripping wrist while Daniel composed vows on the spot.

Daniel leaned against a window. His heart pounded in his ears. His legs weakened. He slowly sat on the floor without much warning. He bowed his head and put his hands over his ears when a memory of Louis from San Francisco sprang forth, gouging Daniel’s arms with his long nails. Daniel took deep breaths, but they felt more like gasps. His heart would not calm. The memories would not stop. He shut his eyes as tight as he could.

Slowly Armand’s face faded from Daniel’s mind until there was nothing. Little memories untouched by vampirism began to appear. Eating his first real meal after breaking up with Armand in a dirty McDonalds while the woman who would become who he thought of as his second wife closed up for the night. Sharing a car with her to and from an addiction recovery program while she talked about her struggle with opiates. Rain lashing on their wedding day two years later, their friends from the recovery program the only people in attendance. Holding his daughters as newborns years apart, finding how different babies could be even so tiny. His heart rate slowed and when he opened his eyes, the hotel room in Dubai was dark except for the glow of Armand’s iPad and a light in nearby room. Voices whispered. Daniel slowly began to understand the words.

“I read that it has to be adjusted periodically,” Louis said, “and eventually it will stop working. If it even was the medicine that caused this.” He stood across from the foot of the bed where Armand sat with his iPad lay on his lap, the brightness turned all the way down.

“We can’t rule the medicine out. We can’t trust the hospitals either,” Armand said.

“We might not have to,” Louis said. “We can assess things when he wakes. The doctor will be here soon. They’ll know what to do.”

Daniel slowly sat up. “I’m awake.” He rubbed his face and then flexed his fingers to ease the tremors. “What time is it?”

“Half past eleven,” Louis said. “How do you feel?”

Daniel’s gaze moved from Louis to Armand and back to Louis. “As normal as someone can when two vampires greet them in their bedroom.”

“Do you remember what happened?” Louis asked.

“I woke up, it was sunset. I woke up again, and it’s now,” Daniel said. “I feel like I’ve been microwaved.” He slowly moved his legs to the side of the bed.

“You collapsed,” Louis said. “Armand found you. You should stay in bed until the doctor arrives. We will continue the interview tomorrow.”

“I’m not that far gone,” Daniel said. He stood slowly, keeping one hand to the wall just in case his legs weakened again, but this time they did not. His head did not feel too full. His heart remained calm. He walked to his suitcase and picked out clothes for the night. He looked at the vampires watching him. “I didn’t break anything. I’m not dizzy. I’m going to get dressed and do my job.” He escaped to the bathroom.

Daniel could hear quiet discussion happening once he closed the door. He did not lock it just in case he did fall again, but he did not fall. When he left the bathroom, his brain still felt fried but his legs and heart felt like they always did in the last decade. The light in his room was on and the tray that always appeared after he got ready for the night sat in its spot with his medication and glass of water. The doctor who helped monitor his condition in Dubai waited for him. Daniel submitted to the exam.

The doctor assessed that Daniel was exhausted and agreed with Louis that Daniel should rest. It was frustrating, but provided an opportunity to review notes and evaluate strategy for upcoming interview sessions. The city lights glowed outside the windows in the sitting room and periodically drew Daniel’s gaze. Feeling eyes on him, Daniel found Armand watching him from the doorway. Daniel eyed him. “Gotten your fill screwing around with my memories yet?”

Armand set tea down in front of Daniel along with several ghraybeh cookies placed on a small china dessert plate. “I told you, I’ve removed my manipulations. It’s up to your own mind for what happens next.”

Daniel took a cookie. It had an almond placed in its center. It was delicious. “I think it’s more than that. Every memory I have that should be Alice, is now of you. So either this is a prank in which you replace my memories of her with bullshit or one of your experiments where you find out what happens when you fabricate a whole person, let them exist for over forty years, and then take the fake person away to see what happens.” Daniel sipped his tea. “Either way, it pisses me off. I’m not here to be one of your rats.”

“Or I took your memories of what happens and now gave them back.” Armand remained standing. “Have you figured out how we broke up?”

“You left me bleeding on the kitchen floor,” Daniel said.

“That was the first time,” Armand said, “but I miscalculated how to stop the hunger.”

“You shouldn’t have been feeding me your blood in the first place.” Daniel took another cookie.

“You kept begging me to turn you. I thought this would be a compromise.” Armand sighed inaudibly. “But it wasn’t what I wanted.”

“Well I’m glad both of us found the monkey paw in that then,” Daniel quipped. He finished the snack. His shoulders sagged more than he would have liked. He felt more unrested than usual despite waking much later than any other interview day. “And someone I’m supposed to believe you want to turn me now?”

Armand leaned on the table so their eyes would be level. “Why wouldn’t I? What other vampire can choose such a person? You know our secrets. You no longer think like a child. You have the fascination to want to turn but also the wisdom almost to resist.”

Daniel met his gaze. “I’m wrinkled and flabby. I don’t put up with bullshit. You won’t be able to keep me in this zoo of a penthouse.”

Armand reached out, running his fingers through Daniel’s hair and curling them at his ear. Armand leaned closer until his breath felt cold against Daniel’s neck. “If that bothered me, I would have plucked you sooner.”

Armand kissed Daniel right where his jaw met his neck, letting his lips linger a moment. Daniel shivered. He swallowed.

Armand stopped leaning on the table, picked up the tray of used china, and slipped from the room. Daniel watched him, his gaze lingering on the doorway even after Armand left.

Snow covered the mall parking lot. Christmas lights shone from any tree in sight. The car ran in the parking spot to keep warm. Luckily, the gas crisis was over. Daniel glanced at the rear view mirror. His daughter slept soundly where she lay on the backseat hugging a well-worn bear. His pregnant wife would get off work soon and they would all head home and out of the cold.

Last minute shoppers headed to their cars. Daniel idly watched them, but there was nothing interesting about any of them until one caught his attention. Daniel’s heartbeat immediately increased. Sweat gathered on his palms. His stomach rumbled even though he ate dinner two hours ago. He did not blink. He did not think. He left the car running and rushed out into the slush and snow, barely remembering to shut the door.

“Armand!” the almost whispered shout seemed to echo despite the snow and slush.

Armand had a large box in a bag in his hand. The snow clung to his hair as flurries spit from the sky. His attention turned towards Daniel.

Daniel rushed forward. “I need you…” his voice trailed. He glanced back over his shoulder. The car was still running with all the doors closed. The driver’s door was unlocked. He could not leave his daughter like that. His attention returned to Armand. His stomach rumbled audibly again. Sweat gathered at his brow. His heart pounded in his ears. His arms weakened. Thoughts of blood flooded his mind. He glanced back over his shoulder and then back at Armand. His body seemed to twitch. His mind ground to an almost audible halt.

Armand approached slowly. He took Daniel’s arm and guided him back to the car, peering inside. “Adorable,” he said with the same genuine voice he used when he spoke to the children in costumes on Halloween.

Daniel found his voice. “She’s mine.” He swallowed. “There’s another on the way.” His eyes did not move from Armand.

Armand’s attention returned to Daniel. He let go of Daniel’s arm and set his bag on top of the car instead of in the snow and slush at their feet. He caressed the side of Daniel’s face. The parking lot light made his hair glow. Christmas lights shone behind him. “I thought I could undo our blood bond, but I cannot. However, I can hide it.” His fingers slid to the back of Daniel’s neck, his grip firm. “When you are dying, I will return and give you what you truly want, but for now, I’ll take your memory, your hunger, your desire.” He leaned down and kissed Daniel. There was no nipping and no blood. The hand at Daniel’s neck kept Daniel still. When Armand broke the kiss, he stepped back. “Goodbye for now, Daniel.”

Daniel gasped for breath and fell forward into waiting arms. His eyes closed and he was only vaguely aware of Armand guiding him into the driver’s seat of his car and shutting the car door soundly.

When Daniel’s eyes opened, he was in his room in Dubai. He sat up slowly and fumbled with his phone. It was earlier than he might normally give up on sleeping. A notification flashed on screen. It was an email from his youngest daughter. Daniel held his breath a moment and then opened the app and the email.

“Dad,

“One of the other professors asked after you today. I’ve been so busy converting my lesson plans that I haven’t been keeping up on the news. He said you’re in Dubai.

“How is Dubai? Can you tell me why you’re there? Are you well? I want to hear it from you and not the news.”

Daniel sighed and stared out the windows. The phone slipped from his fingers and the screen eventually went to sleep. He could reply later on his laptop. He watched the sky a long moment. His mind was full but settled. His heart was calm. He had no desire to go back to sleep. He did not know if he wanted to stay.

Daniel slowly got out of bed and got ready for the night. Like the night after he found out “Rashid” was Armand, Daniel changed into clothes he could wear to the airport or the interview. He packed his bags while ignoring the medicine bottles, letting the movements ease the tremors in his hands. He could head to the airport and board the first flight he could find away from here. He was almost to the end of the interview and could stay to finish it. He could get away from Armand and let his memories return to normal if possible. It might not matter if these really were his true memories. He could tell the vampires to go fuck themselves again. He could finish his contract and leave his daughters with a financial cushion when the world was on the brink of a potential economic depression. He slowly closed his bag. He stared out the windows at the start of the sunset.

He could not remember what Armand’s blood tasted like, which made it all feel like dreams. He almost wanted to know, but he did not want to end up rock bottom on a kitchen floor ever again. He could feel the texture of it in his mouth. He swallowed and breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind. The feeling of eyes on him drew Daniel’s attention to the doorway.

Armand entered the room with the morning tray. He placed it where it belonged and placed pills from the medicine bottles nearby on the saucer so they did not obscure the painting in the center. “If you leave, don’t forget your medicine.”

“As if you’d let me leave,” Daniel said.

“You are always free to leave.” Armand stepped back so Daniel could access the tray. “But do you really want to leave?”

“Is Louis also always free to leave?” Daniel asked. He approached the tray but ignored it for now.

“He is, but he chooses not to,” Armand said. “When we discovered the diaries, it brought up a lot of negative emotion. He’s trying to avoid another outburst.”

They stood close enough that Daniel could feel the chill radiating from Armand. Armand’s clothing exposed his clavicle and neck but nothing more unlike the clothing he wore at the start of this interview.

“Should I return to the t-shirts?” Armand smiled an almost smirk.

“Out of my head,” Daniel said.

“I don’t have to pry into your mind to know what’s clearly on your face,” Armand said. “I know you.”

“Do the clothes affect your body temperature?” Daniel asked.

“As much as it would affect a corpse,” Armand said. “Are you going to take your medicine?”

Daniel looked at the pills. “There came a point at the start of the pandemic where I asked myself, ‘Am I living to live or living to avoid death?’” His gaze shifted to Armand. “I don’t want to waste my money on a life that’s no longer about living. I might deteriorate faster, but I am closer to dying than ever before, and the money that could go into putting death off should go to those who can use it to live.”

Armand moved closer and his fingers barely rested against Daniel’s waist just above his belt. “You could die to live and it would be irrelevant.”

Daniel did not avert his gaze or step back. “And stay with the man who fed me his blood because he didn’t know how to ask me to stay? Stay with the man who tangled my memories?”

“Would you rather I kept you bound to me all this time?” Armand drew closer.

The light from the sunset faded. A lamp lit on its own, providing dim light. Daniel licked his lips. “You could just ask for the things you want.” He slowly took Armand’s hands in his and brought them close to his body, holding them so that they would warm. Armand’s eyes fixed on their hands. His shoulders seemed to relax. When the tremors became too much, Daniel let go. He stepped away to take his medicine and then went to get his laptop bag with all of his interview supplies.

Armand pressed his own hands together, letting the vague warmth resonate until it dissipated.

The interview moved from the dining table to the sitting room. Daniel settled on the sofa and Louis on the chair. Armand sat on a different chair nearby with his iPad, one eye always watching the proceedings.

“You’ve started to remember more about the first interview, haven’t you?” Louis asked.

“Memories and dreams are too closely related,” Daniel said. “Besides, this is about your recollection and your perspective.”

“Of course,” Louis said. He took a breath and resumed his recollection, “Like in Florida, Armand and I started to cruise the bars in San Francisco. Tourists, students, people looking for a secret rendezvous – all were fair game. We worked as a team, seducing people back to a small apartment where no one would bother us and our prey. Armand always liked to watch.”

Daniel had dreams that felt like memories where he participated in a similar sexual game. He ignored those thoughts for now and said, “So you picked me, but you talked to me instead. What changed your mind?”

“It’s easy to almost hypnotize mortals, even when mortal,” Louis said. “You lean in, say the right words, place a strategic hand, and the rest follows. When I touched you, you noticed it was strange and cold. Instead of ignoring it or rationalizing it, you started thinking about it. I told you I was old enough to be your grandpa, and you considered it instead of dismissing it as a strange line.” Louis smiled slightly. “When you introduced yourself, I recognized your name from the newspaper. I admired your work trying to help clean up the rivers, so I thought if there was anyone who might believe me, anyone I could tell my story to, you were one of those rare people.

“I wasn’t wrong, but I was only starting to process what happened. I was still bitter. I hadn’t analyzed anything yet.” Louis continued his narration. After he attacked Daniel, he fled the apartment in San Francisco and hit the streets just as Armand said he would in one of the recovered memories. After this bender, Louis withdrew and used the next several years to think about the memories. He returned to New Orleans and Europe, forcing himself to confront what he could and the ghosts of his past.

“I knew Armand would take up with you,” Louis said. “I was more surprised that you hadn’t convinced him to turn you when you both arrived in Paris than I was surprised to see you with him.”

“Were you jealous?” Daniel asked.

“No,” Louis said. “After Paris, I saw you a few other times. Every time the life that drew me to you in San Francisco drained away. You were a phantom, irritable and obsessive. You were so preoccupied with the blood you craved that you barely noticed the rest of the world. You no longer had any curiosity.” He paused. “I felt sad and concerned for you, but no envy or jealousy. I was grateful to not be in your position.”

A silence passed. Daniel opened his mouth but a noise from his bedroom seemed to echo through the penthouse despite the carpeting. The sound of breeze knocking paper and other light items to the ground sounded. Footsteps approached. Armand discarded his iPad. Louis rose to his feet. Daniel switched to the recording app on his phone, put his laptop away as fast as he was capable, and then placed the strap of his laptop bag across his body securely.

A man appeared, his long golden hair windswept from climbing the building but somehow immaculately in place. He wore a plunging pirate’s blouse with puffed sleeves and the tightest pinkest leather pants. He strode into the room in heeled boots and his gazed fixed on Louis, his makeup firmly on point. “Good night, Louis.” He looked towards the sofa and gave a small wave. “Good night, Daniel.”

Daniel returned the wave in kind. “Good night.” He did not know how else to react.

Armand moved to Louis’ side. Louis’ eyes softened and then immediately hardened. His shoulders squared. “Why are you here, Lestat? Tired of playing dead?”

Lestat’s attention returned to Louis. He snorted. “Dead men don’t have conversations in abandoned houses! You were so consumed when we last met that you treated me as a specter, an illusion!” Lestat moved a hand through the air. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is the present. We’re in the middle of a great crisis and you are playing house.”

“I am not ‘playing house,’” Louis said. “I’ve been with Armand for sixty years now. I don’t want anything to do with this ‘grand conversion’ or whatever is happening out there.”

“It’s not a conversion,” Lestat said. “The mortals are dying of a plague while vampires are spontaneously combusting. Our populations aren’t growing; they’re dwindling, mortal and vampire alike.”

“If that was true, Marius would have said something,” Louis said. He looked at Armand. “Right?”

Armand nodded. “Marius mentioned something like that. It started around the time that the mortals started dying of a respiratory virus. I haven’t seen anyone combust myself. Those that have advised not to speak of it mentally.”

Louis stared a long moment. “The pandemic started months ago, when we moved to this penthouse. I had no idea.”

Armand did not avert his gaze. He did not say anything either.

“I too have spoken to Marius,” Lestat said. “It does not seem random. When I left him, I knew you would be hiding, but I had to find you. I immediately remembered a rumor I heard when I emerged from the ground forty years ago. Everyone said a vampire had a biographer. No one knew who it was. There was never an article or a book, so I thought it was just a story until I met Daniel Molloy.”

Daniel ran his tongue along his teeth. He was glad when no one looked his way.

“The other reporters who interviewed me on tour either thought of their own problems or if they noticed strange things about me, they dismissed these things easily,” Lestat continued. “Daniel did not do that. It made him remember someone with the same qualities. He had to be the biographer. He knew a vampire but was still mortal and unafraid.

“So, dear Louis, when I read that Daniel flew to Dubai, I knew of only one vampire who could inspire such risk, inspire such loyalty.” Lestat paused. “If I can find you, who else can find you? Whoever is causing the spontaneous combustion? Someone looking for revenge? Madeleine will not be as charitable as I am if you cross her path.”

Louis stiffened and took a step forward, pulling himself to his full height. “Keep her name out of your mouth!”

Lestat did not back away. This time his smile sparkled in his eyes. “Or what?”

Armand stepped between them. The glee left Lestat’s eyes for a moment. Armand leaned close to Louis’ ear. He rested a hand on Louis’ waist. “Louis, he’s trying to provoke you. You were there in Paris. You saw their ashes.”

“Then who did I meet?” Lestat asked. “The Madeleine I met is a charming Parisian woman at Claudia’s side who laments that her craft died out with Mattel.”

“Mattel didn’t exist then,” Armand said.

“In the 1990’s? I assure you it very much did,” Lestat said.

“In the 1940’s when she died,” Armand said. “When she turned to ash. Ash we saw.”

“Two women chained up in a courtyard waiting for the sun in a city full of soldiers looking for opportunity,” Lestat said. “You saw the ash, but who died that morning? Did you see who burnt in the courtyard?”

No one spoke. No one moved.

“Answer him,” Louis said quietly.

Armand’s gaze shifted from Lestat to Louis. “Louis, this is –”

“Answer him,” Louis almost hissed. He stepped away from Armand.

Armand took a deep breath. “I was not part of the team that kept watch that night. I was looking for an opportunity to free you.”

“After Claudia and Madeleine were to die,” Lestat said. “When did you find this opportunity? Two days later? Three days?”

Louis’ shoulders tensed. His hands trembled but not in the way that Daniel’s hands tremored. He stretched his jaw slowly.

“When else was I going to do it?” Armand asked. “If I freed him before that morning, he would have tried to save them, and he would have suffered their fate for it.”

“As if you would be so benevolent to let him even think of attempting a rescue,” Lestat said. “If you waited until they died, then you could have Louis to yourself, but he still rejected you.”

“And then became my lover fifteen years later,” Armand said, “while you were wallowing in New Orleans scavenging on vermin. He treated you as a specter because that’s what you were.”

“Enough,” Louis’ voice almost seemed to echo even though it was quiet.

Lestat and Armand immediately turned towards Louis.

“Enough,” Louis repeated. He stood in front of an interior wall, candles flickering nearby. “Claudia and Madeleine…all this time….” He shook his head and looked at Lestat and Armand. “I always knew y’all were treacherous. I always knew yall were cruel. I accepted this. It’s what you both are, what vampires are.” He paused for effect and his eyes rose to the ceiling. “It’s exciting. It’s alluring. It’s maybe even some kind of divine punishment.”

Lestat’s eyes never left Louis while Danniel and Armand’s eyes followed Louis’ gaze. A sprinkler head rested in the center of the ceiling. The mechanism that shut off access to the water slowly turned.

Armand knocked Louis to the ground to break his gaze. Louis fought back. Claws drew blood. Armand tried to subdue Louis. Louis tried to lash out and break free.

Daniel tensed but did not move from the sofa. Lestat watched the fight practically sparkling. He spoke to Daniel conversationally, “You are still here.”

“If I’m going to die, I’d rather be at the epicenter of the disaster and die instantly than suffocate in the elevator or fall down the stairs,” Daniel said.

“Of course.” Lestat’s smile grew whenever Louis gained an upper hand. “Tell me, Daniel. Do you want to die?”

Daniel held his breath a moment. His heartbeat increased. Both yes and no rested against his tongue. “I don’t know.”

Louis broke free from Armand and rushed to his feet. The light glinted off his fangs and Armand’s blood dripped from his nails. His eyes seemed to glow. His body trembled with rage. His stomach rumbled audibly.

“I would like a definite answer,” Lestat said. “Yes or no.”

Louis’ gaze shifted to Daniel. His stomach rumbled again. Daniel’s tongue went dry. Hesitation evaporated. “Not like this.”

Louis rushed forward. Armand leapt into the air and landed in front of Daniel at the same moment Lestat moved. Louis’ fangs dug into Lestat’s arm. The blood seemed to fill Louis’ senses. His eyes closed. He could not stop himself from guzzling.

“Take him!” Lestat said.

“Don’t order me!” Armand lifted Daniel from the sofa without effort.

Daniel opened his mouth to protest but before he could say a word, Armand rushed to the door, opened it with his mind, and slammed the door shut behind them. Daniel could hear the locks clicking back into place. “You can – You can put me down,” Daniel said.

“Not yet.” Armand went to the stairwell. His grip tightened on Daniel and then he lit onto the railing before plunging down the stairwell at a rapid pace.

Dizziness overtook Daniel. His wrapped his arms around Armand’s neck and closed his eyes. The falling seemed endless. They landed with barely a tap of Armand’s shoes on the ground floor landing.

The fire alarms rang. Residents filled the stairs. Armand slipped out the emergency exit. Armand took several leaps, riding the sea breeze almost like a kite, carrying Daniel across highways lined with trees. Breaks squealed and multiple vehicles crashed. Sirens and smoke filled the air. Armand finally landed.

Daniel waited for the dizziness to pass. His feet touched the ground and he slowly let go of Armand. They stood near a bench in a pedestrian area surrounded by high rises. Fire and smoke rose into the sky in the distance. City lights sparkled against a narrow lake in front of them. The sky began to lighten.

“The serial arsonist strikes again,” Daniel murmured. He sat on the bench. His heart raced. He fumbled with his phone and stopped the recording. He closed out of the application and opened an incognito search window.

Armand’s thumb ran along his other hand. He watched the building burning against the dawn.

Daniel scrolled through his flight options. The flight he could afford had a few seats left. His eyes wandered to Armand. The sunrise colored the sky and the buildings. Their portion of the pedestrian area remained in shadow. Daniel licked his lips and said, “The airport is a half hour from here by car. There’s a flight to New York leaving in the middle of the night tomorrow. It has two stops, but there’s still enough seats left for both of us.”

Armand sat on the bench. He peered at the phone screen and scrolled through the flights with his finger. “There are flights with no stops and enough seats.”

“For over one thousand dollars,” Daniel said.

Armand stopped touching the phone. He searched Daniel’s eyes. “Are you inviting me to go home with you?”

Daniel let his phone rest on his thigh before it could fall from his fingers. “Yes. Don’t make me change my mind.” His heart finally slowed. Exhaustion began to take hold.

Armand retrieved his own phone. His thumbs flew across the screen.

Daniel did not remember closing his eyes but almost immediately, Armand’s cold fingers on his arm woke him.

“I’ve secured a ride and a flight.” Armand pressed Daniel’s phone into his hands and slipped his own phone into his pocket.

Daniel pocketed his phone. He followed Armand away from the lake and up towards the street. In less than a day, they would be back in New York City.

The End

#my fanfics #my fanfics 2022 #my iwtv amc fanfics #iwtv amc fanfics #interview with the vampire amc #devils minion #armand x daniel

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presleyhearted · 1 year

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Yours Truly - author's note: before we begin

Hi! Before you begin reading, I would just like to say a few words if you don't mind.

Hi! I'm Rose.

First and foremost, I would like to say thank you for being drawn to my book, enough to give it a chance. I truly am grateful for it. I am sure that you would love to start the story, however if you do not mind, I will say a few words before we commence into the world of 'Yours truly.'

I have been an avid reader for a long time, which cultivated my desire to start writing my own stories. However, all of my writings have been seen by myself and only myself - until now.

The world of writing and reading is a vast space, which I am sure you are aware of. In this case, Fanfiction. I have read numerous fan fictions growing up, and I still do - drifting through one fandom to the next. I am relatively new to the Elvis Presley fandom, my interest started when I watched the brilliant movie Elvis (2022). I will warn you now that this is Fanfiction - so it is the line between reality and fantasy. Read cautiously and carefully.

Warning: This story has occupied every corner of my mind for MONTHS, and it took a lot of courage to entertain the idea and plan it out, and now gift it to you. So I will not tolerate plagiarism, copyright infringement, stealing of intellectual property - reproducing this story on any platform in any way. It is a NO. I am sure that your hearts are pure and you will not do this, but if you do see my story on any other platform - please inform me and I will report it. The only other platform this is posted on is my wattpad account : astralheart_

Disclaimer: As I have mentioned already; I am in no way, shape or form, portraying Elvis or any of the real people as who they actually were in real life. I do not know them personally. It is an Elvis fanfiction, please do not ignore the FICTION in that. I mentioned that I will be researching as I go along to sprinkle in some factual information, but this is not a biography. It is not cold, hard facts.

This story was conceptualised through a series of songs I've listened to, and dreams I've had. I first outlined the plot and the type of characters, and then I decided for this to be an Elvis fanfiction. Which was not an easy decision. In simple words: the story is the canvas, I am the painter, I just needed a muse to make this story happen.

I tend to be drawn to the unexpected, complex and incomprehensible books. The type of book that will make a reader pause for a second and think, before continuing to the next sentence. Therefore, this story will deliver both a sense of familiarity of simplicities, and the element of trying to fit the puzzle pieces together, but not quite being certain of it all.

In other words, I aim for those reading to be very immersed into the story - to be excited, to be thrilled, to be curious. This is why I am writing this.

What can you anticipate?

I do not want to spoil too much because I do love surprises, and I'm sure you do too. But just to briefly summarise - This story is something I hold very close to my heart. That being said, I want you to feel a plethora of emotions - good and bad, joy and despair, wonder and wishful thinking, love and heartbreak.

All at once.

Okay, okay. I'll stop talking now aha - I apologise for the long message. It was necessary though.

There is a series of songs that I think sets the mood for this story, I will post the Playlist next.

Then after that

the story begins.

So, with this note from me to you - I thank you once again and I am most wondrous to

Welcome you to the world of

Yours truly .

@literally-just-elvis-fics

#elvis x oc #elvis fanfic #elvis presley #elvis x original female character #original female character #fantasy #author's note #a/n #slow burn #angst #fluff #mystery #elvis fic

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sailoryooons · 1 year

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Gods of the Dark | Coming Soon | 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.

❀ Total Word Count: TBD

❀ 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.

❀ Series 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, sexually explicit content, themes of corruption and indulgence, depictions of hedonism, discussions of sexual and sensual pleasure, Yoongi is a deity of dreams and desires. Each chapter will have its own warning.

❀ A/N: I cannot wait to bring this to you in July! This fic is inspired by the Lilith music video and lyrics, Sandman by Neil Gaiman, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab, scenes from the movie The Witch, and the myth of Hades and Persephone! While it was originally a story in two parts, it will be a story in four parts to better capture everything I want to include in this because I cannot control myself for world building!

❀ 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.

#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

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sorryjustafangirl · 3 years

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pretty damn obvious

a/n: i had the pleasure of writing for @antoineroussel in her own fic exchange! i really liked this idea and i loved playing around with different ways to incorporate some of her favourite things into a fic! so to Demi, i really hope you enjoy this! there’s also an easter egg hidden in here for you :)

title: pretty damn obvious (aka Mat’s different love languages)

pairing: mat barzal x gn!reader

word count: 4.5k+

warnings: one creep/asshole in section two, mentions of alcohol, and like one swear

disclaimer: this is a piece of fiction and includes a real person so if you don't vibe with that, please don't read. also this gif is not mine, all credit to the amazing creator

one - quality time

There was a lot you loved about your hometown. The ocean was so close, the climate was warm enough for cute outfits in all seasons (but cool enough you could be graced with snow some winters), and even though it was a big city, it felt like a small town some days. But your favourite part about Vancouver? Mat Barzal was there with you.

Your families were close so it was a no brainer that the two of you became close as you both grew up. From weekly movie nights to helping him with his History homework to spending the summers with each other’s family, the two of you were thick as thieves. When Mat got drafted to the Islanders, things changed, but not as drastically as you thought. You still kept in touch through text and Snapchat but obviously weren’t as involved as close as when you were kids in the same city.

When you sold your first book series, Mat was the first one to promote it on his social media and even sent you a bottle of champagne all the way from Long Island. He told you all his favourite parts and even passed along some of the staff's thoughts on it.

And when you told him you would be moving to New York to be closer to your agent and publishing house, he was so quick to reinsert himself into your daily life. He picked you up from the airport, using Marty’s van to help move all your baggage, and showed you the place to get the best Chinese hot buns. Since you moved in before the season started, the two of you did some of the tourist-y stuff, like the Empire State building and Central Park, catching up on all the little details you’d missed in the thousand miles that had been between you. Weekly movie nights were reinstated and he left tickets for you to come to every home game.

“I’m here!” He called as he entered your apartment one week. He always insisted that movie nights should be at your place, even though your living room was significantly smaller than his and your apartment was out of the way for him.

From the couch, you waved to him. “Romantic comedy or romantic drama?”

He shrugged, and told you to choose whatever you wanted (like he did every week) but when you whined his name playfully, he picked romantic drama. Going with a classic, and one of your favourites, you selected Love Actually on Netflix. Mat brought you the bowl of popcorn you left on the kitchen island, before sitting beside you on the couch. He placed his phone face-down on the coffee table and moved closer to your side. You pressed play and your head drifted to his shoulder.

It was roughly halfway through the movie when Mat’s phone buzzed the first time. Your attention was drawn to the sound, but he didn’t seem to notice, even when it buzzed again after two minutes. You turned your attention back to the movie, his phone forgotten.

It got to the scene when Natalie and David are in the limousine when his phone buzzed again. And again. And again. It was almost constant buzzing and you caught Mat off guard when you paused the movie. You sat up, moving away from him a little, and waited patiently for him to check his notifications.

“What?” He asked.

“Oh my god, answer your phone!” He recoiled a little at the volume of your voice. “I’m sorry, but it’s buzzed like fifteen times, obviously it’s important."

He just shrugged. “Whatever it is, it can wait. I’m spending time with you."

“What if it’s your mom with some terrible news or something?” He stared at you for a moment before reaching for his device.

“Well, now you’ve made me paranoid,” He huffed, flipping his phone over to check the messages. Scrolling through them, he rolled his eyes. “It’s just Beau, he’s drunk.” He put his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ and placed it face-down again. Turning back to you, he asked. “Can we play it now? I want to know what happens to Hugh Grant."

A smile graced your face and you nodded, snuggling closer to him as you pressed play again. Mat’s hand delicately traced over your shoulder and his attention was solely on this time he got to spend with you.

two - physical touch

Since Mat had insisted you come to his home games, you’d come to know the team. Not very well, but you knew their faces and names and they knew yours. So it wasn’t all that much of a surprise to them when the two of you walked into the bar together after an Isles win.

You went to join the group while Mat ordered your first round of drinks. You slid into the booth with some of the better halves, while their boyfriends and husbands played a game of pool. They all greeted you, talked about how work is going, but Grace is the first to bring up your relationship with Mat.

“So you two are getting closer these days,” She teased, taking a sip of her drink.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s always touching you?” You looked down at your hands and shook your head, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks.

“Oh, that’s -that’s nothing. He’s been like that since we were kids, it doesn’t mean anything."

“Right now’s the first time since the game ended when your hand isn't in his,” Maggie, Tito’s girlfriend, commented.

“He was making sure I didn’t get lost in the crowd. It’s nothing.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Grace hummed in agreement and took another sip of her drink. Their comments got the gears in your head spinning, your fingers involuntarily starting to twist together. When Mat came back, he slid your favourite drink in front of you. You gave him a smile, considering you didn’t tell him what you wanted and leaned into his touch.

He settled in beside you, letting his arm drape over your shoulder. When you continued to look at him, he placed his hand over yours and gave it a squeeze. Your eyes softened and before you know it, the boys return to the table and various conversations spur. Mat is talking to Beau over Wally’s head and Sydney is showing you new pictures of Winnie from across the table but no matter how the two of you stretch, Mat’s touch lingered on your body.

You started to leave to get another round, but Mat gripped your hand forcing you to turn back to look at him. His eyebrow quirked up, not in a judgmental way but in a way that left you giddy he was concerned why you were leaving. You gave him a smile, motioning to the bar and he nodded, letting your hand drop. You headed over to the bar and ordered your drink as well as another one of Mat’s.

An arm slung over your shoulders and for a moment you lean into it, thinking it was Mat. But then you felt the roughness of the skin and realized this person’s touch was nothing like Mat’s.

“Hey sweetheart, so nice of you to order my favourite drink.” You looked up to see someone much taller than you standing close enough you could smell the cheap cologne and cigarette smoke in his breath. You moved his hand off your shoulder and moved away from him, but like a moth to a flame he followed you.

“Don’t be like that, there’s no way you got both of those drinks for yourself.”

“It’s for my boyfriend.”

“Don’t be like that, sweetie.” The stranger moved closer to you again. “He doesn’t have to know.”

An arm fell over your shoulders again, and you stiffened but quickly relaxed as you felt his familiar - safe - warmth come over you. Your hand quickly came up to grasp his and he gave it another squeeze.

“Is there a problem here, babe?” Mat gave you one of his soft smiles, before glancing to the man, his eyes hardening. You turned to the stranger as well, making eye contact with him.

“No, he was just leaving.” The man clenched his jaw and left in a huff. When he was out of your sight, you quickly turned to him.

“Oh my god, thank you, I..I don’t know what I would’ve done,” You rushed out and you felt Mat’s thumb caress your hand in a soothing pattern.

“Don’t worry about it.” His voice was a little strained.

“No, I-I don’t know what I would’ve done, he was so much bigger than me and I tried to tell him no but he wouldn’t- he just kept bothering me-'' Your lungs started to strain as you hyperventilated, tears beginning to well in your eyes. He pulled both of your hands into his own, grounding you as you tried to calm down.

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, you know that." Your lungs stopped working momentarily at his comment but slowly nodded and he pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head. “Besides, did you see his face when you told him to leave? You rocked it.” A small chuckle escaped you at his comment and he pressed another kiss to the top of your head. He ducked down a little to meet your mostly dry eyes.

“How does an Office marathon and some cuddles sound right now?”

“That sounds like the best thing.” He cracked a smile and pulled your hand through the crowd to get a cab. You ignored the sparks that were travelling up your arm, only focusing on his hand in yours and the comfort his touch brought you.

three - gift giving

When you were younger, you wanted to become a baker. Open up your own cozy bakery in Vancouver and spend your days in the kitchen crafting delicious desserts, just like your grandmother did at home. You and Mat would spend hours talking about your dreams under the safety of blanket forts in the winter. He’d talk about his NHL superstar future, playing for his favourite team, even playing for Team Canada one day. You’d talk about the open concept kitchen and the stainless steel professional islands and the baby pink mixers you’d get. As you grew up, it became more of a fantasy than a dream, but you still had the skills from those days spending time in the kitchen.

Those skills came in especially handy for times when your writer’s block was at an all time high. If no words were flowing from your fingers, you’d put them to good use with stirring, kneading, or rolling. It wasn’t something you often shared with people, and obviously you’d forgotten to tell your best friend because when you’d brought over the containers of brownies and muffins to give to Mat to share with the team, his eyes widened like saucers. When he got past his shock (and excitement to have goodies in his apartment), he’d noticed the blisters forming on your fingers from overworking them. You’d brushed him off, saying they’d heal in a jiffy. He frowned, but seemed to buy your answer and thanked you for the baked goods.

When your birthday started to approach, you made it clear to Mat that you wanted nothing extravagant. He’d always had a tendency to overdo it and with this being your first birthday in the Big Apple, you were worried he’d really overdo it. You could still feel the effects from your 19th birthday party Mat threw for you. He’d flown up from Seattle for the weekend and made sure you had a great time. It would’ve been really sweet if you could remember half of it. You do remember the morning after though. He relentlessly teased you for how you handled your alcohol but spent the rest of the day hanging out with you, giving you ibuprofen every 4 hours until your hangover went away.

But now that you were older, you couldn’t handle anything that crazy again. Your girlfriends had planned something separate but it conflicted with Mat’s schedule so you insisted on a relaxing night in, maybe some face masks and mimosas.

“What is that?” You asked, choking a little on your drink as he walked in with a box half of his size.

“Happy birthday!” He placed the messily wrapped box on your coffee table, making a loud thud sound. You continued to stare at the size of the box until he encouraged you to open it. You took your time, meticulously tearing the paper as if not to wreck whatever this extravagant gift was.

When all of the wrapping was off, your breath hitched in your throat. It was a state-of-the-art stand mixer, just one you saw in every show home, every cooking show, the exact same one you dreamed about when you were little. It was even the same shade of baby pink you’d envisioned.

“This way you won’t have to get blisters every time you need to stress bake. And it’s like the one you dreamed about when we were kids, remember? You and your bakery and me and the Flames?” You couldn’t take your eyes off of it. You’d dreamed about a machine like this since you were old enough to believe in Santa Claus.

“You remember that?” The side smile he gave you sent butterflies to your stomach. It must’ve been over ten years since you’d talked about that dream. But you came back to reality and quickly shook your head, dispelling those giddy feelings. “I can’t accept this, it’s too much.”

“It’s not though.”

“Yes! It is. I know how much one of these costs.”

He simply stared back at you. “So?”

“Mathew…”

“Don’t say my name like that,” He whined, coming over to you. “What good is an NHL salary if I can’t use it on the people.. on the people I love?” Your heart started beating faster when he said that word but you had to remind yourself that this was your best friend, the person you’d grown up with. Of course he loved you. But he only meant it the way he’d always meant it - platonically.

“Thank you.” The corners of his eyes crinkled from his smile and you gave him a long hug, his hands pressing you close to his chest. You thought you heard his heart beating faster than usual, but waved it off as your own nerves acting up.

four - acts of service

The Islanders’ two week West Coast roadie finally came and even though you’d miss him like always, you didn’t mind the physical distance between you and your best friend.

Maybe best friend wasn’t the correct word considering the more-than-friend feelings you were developing for him.

A ringing coming from your phone interrupted your thoughts and upon seeing Mat’s contact photo pop up, you immediately answered it. You kept the phone balanced under your ear as you continued to answer some emails.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” His voice is breathy. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” You said hesitantly, hearing his tone. Glancing at the clock, you realize that this isn’t when Mat usually phones, even with the time difference. “Rant or distraction?”

You heard him sigh before letting out a small chuckle. “How’d you know?”

“Because I know you, Maty. Now, do you want to rant or do you need to be distracted?”

“Do you have the time for that?”

“I always have time for you.” He paused at your words, and even though you couldn’t see it, he shook his head a little trying to suppress the smile you put on his face.

“Well, then distracted please.”

“Uh, okay, let’s see. Maggie invited me to lunch tomorrow so that’ll be fun. We’re going to that coffee shop, the one you brought me breakfast from last week when I overslept? She hasn’t been yet, so I suggested it and I hope she likes it. Oh! Last night I finished my outline for chapter 23 of my new book, which I really have to get started on because according to my schedule I’m already a chapter behind since my writer’s block was an ass last week. And my agent wants to talk about the next book on Thursday but since I haven’t finished this one, I don’t know what to say because you know that sometimes I get new ideas while writing, so it might be a mess. I’ll live, I get to paid to write, so I’ll just spend the next couple days writing until I pass out.”

“Don’t do that,” He chided. You could practically see the eye roll through the phone. “Make sure you eat between now and Thursday-”

“Yes, Mom,” You joked, but when you heard him sigh on the other end, you added that you would. The two of you talked for a few more minutes before he hung up to go to the arena.

A few days later, your conversation with Mat was long forgotten. Inspiration for your newest chapter struck in the middle of the night and the words had been flowing from your fingers ever since. There were half-empty mugs of cold coffee scattered and pages with snippets of paragraphs spewed all over the place.

A sharp knock at your door broke your trance and when you stood up, your joints hurt after being in the same position for so long. Using your peephole, you realized that no one was waiting at your door, only a small paper brown bag with a white piece of that looked like a receipt attached. You opened your door narrowly, so your neighbor didn’t have to see your ancient sweatpants and the too large shirt that said Barzal on the back. The name on the bag was your full name, and there was even a note that it was paid for. In the comments section of the receipt, you noticed only a simple note: From Mat <3

You immediately rushed to find your phone, only then realizing that you’d missed his afternoon game because you were so wrapped up in your writing. His number was favourited on FaceTime and he picked up after only one ring.

“Hey.”

“Hey? What is this?” You held up the bag to be in the frame. His eyes lit up.

“Oh, sweet, you got it!”

“It? What even is this?” You started to take the contents of the bag and a warm aroma of comfort food filled your room. “Italian?” Your face must have shifted because you Mat was quick to reassure you what it was.

“Authentic Italian!” He said proudly. “It’s from that restaurant on 178th Street, the one you told me had the only good pasta in the area.” Your eyes softened. That same restaurant didn’t do takeout orders, much less deliveries.

“You didn’t have to do all this for me.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Well, still. This means a lot Maty.” You took a bite and tried to suppress the moan that you made. “How’d you know?”

He shrugged. “You stopped answering my texts so I figured you were in your zone, which meant you definitely weren’t making yourself a meal.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his assumption and you changed the subject, talking about his game since you missed it, how the trip has been, if he was tired of sharing a room with Beau yet (which he didn’t answer much to your amusement). He’d asked about how you were coming along with your newest chapter and plans for when he got back.

Eventually, he hung up the phone, letting you get back to work now that he knew you had some food. He looked up from his phone, glancing over at Beau who gave him a knowing look. When Mat’s face scrunched in confusion, his best friend scoffed. “You’re not even dating them yet, tu es désespéré.” to which a pillow was thrown at him.

five - words of affirmation

All it took was one single piece of paper to send you spiraling.

A simple wedding RSVP for Mason and Mac, friends you’d grown up with in Vancouver, which was the funny part. Mason accompanied you to the year six dance and Mac lived down the street from your house growing up. You’d known them individually as people, as wonderful people so deserving of happiness, and you’d seen them find that in each other. They were a perfect couple and had been since high school. Everyone knew they were going to get married; it was just a matter of when.

Guess now was the time. But the more you stared at the ivory invitation, the more it set in that this was how it was going to be. Always a bridesmaid, never the bride; that sort of thing. And this was only the start. After this, you’d have a mailbox full of invitations where you’d have to write ‘party for 1’ over and over again.

You weren’t going to find that person. Society puts so much pressure on finding that one, getting married, having a family. Not to mention the timeline that they press, that by 25 everyone has their life figured out. You weren’t anywhere close to adhering to that nonsense. It might be ridiculous but there was still some part of you that wondered if you were falling behind in life. The last relationship you’d had lasted five months and was over a year ago. You had no problem being single but the invitation had so painfully reminded you that you were alone.

You hadn’t even realized that you’d started to sob until Mat was in front of you, his eyes wide. His lips were moving as if they were saying something but between the sound of your sobs and the various voices screaming in your head, you couldn’t comprehend what he was trying to tell you. He noticed, surrounding you with his arms, holding you tight until your sobs started to subside and your breathing returned to normal.

“What’s going on? Talk to me,” he asked. He was crouched in front of you with his hands resting on your wrists, the light touch comforting you. Instead of answering him, you sniffled and reached for the RSVP, giving it to him. With one hand, he inspected it, his other hand staying on your arm.

“Isn’t this a good thing? They’ve been together since high school,”

“It’s not that,” You said, pointing to the bottom.

Please circle how many seats we should reserve in your place: 1 or 2

“I still don’t get it. Why are you crying?”

“Because! I-” Your voice cracked and you looked away from your best friend. Yow knew he wouldn’t let this go, not after seeing how much it affected you, but this was personal and intimate in a way you hadn’t been with him before. He would never understand; he’s funny and athletic and all the things any person would look for. He wasn’t like you. “I’m just never going to have that. Like, I have to circle 1 because I’m not seeing anyone but then I’m going to show up alone to a wedding where I’m going to be constantly reminded that I’m falling behind in life and I’m never going to have a love like theirs because no one is going to love me like that. My last serious relationship wasn’t even serious and it’s been more than a year since I’ve had anything more than a first date! I just don’t know if someone loving me is in my cards.”

“You don’t seriously believe that, do you?”

“No, I just made it up for a personal breakdown. Of course, I believe it," You snapped.

“You don’t have to get defensive, it’s just…that’s a bunch of bullshit. You’re not falling behind in life because you’re not in a relationship right now. You’re not. And I know there’s lots of people who go to weddings alone and also you’re wrong because you are incredible. Why wouldn't anyone want to love you? You create whole universes from scratch, you always know how to make me laugh, and you're the best person I know, and that says something because I've met Sidney Crosby." His comment forced a small laugh out of you and he lifted your chin up to met his eyes. "So many people love you. I..I love you.”

Your heart clenched at those words and you looked down at your hands. You couldn’t look at him when he didn’t mean it in the way you so longed to hear. He’s said it platonically for years, and you wouldn’t get your hopes up every time he said it.

“Thanks Maty. I love you too,” You sniffled, looking back down at your hands. A moment passed and you heard him take a deep breath.

“No, I love you.”

Oh? Oh.

Your mind was racing a mile a minute at the idea that Mat could see everything in you that you saw in him. Your lips parted and you turned to see him with nerves written all over his face, something that looked out of place on your generally confident best friend. The longer you stared at him, memories and thoughts circling your brain, the more antsy he got in the silence.

“If you don’t feel the same, that’s-that’s fine, I just want you to be happy. It doesn’t have to be with me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “You’re my best friend.”

“Like I said, it’s fine-” You placed your hand on his thigh and he stopped talking long enough for you to speak.

“You’ve been my best friend since we were little, I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

“You mean that..?”

“I love you too.” His eyes lit up and the corners of his mouth started to turn up.

“Yeah?” You nodded and he quickly brought you into his arms, his head nuzzling into the crook of your neck. A laugh escaped you and you felt him smile. He pulled away, his eyes staring into yours before finally leaning in. Your lips met and you easily melted into him. It was new and exciting, sparks travelling up and down your body but it was also familiar, like being back on the beach or snuggling up in your favourite chair. It was exactly like Mat had always been with you; a sense of comfort that brought new adventures. One of your hands found the back of his neck and pulled him closer to you as he continued to kiss you. When you both pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours and you let out a small laugh.

“What took you so long?”

“What took me so long? I mean, I think it’s been pretty damn obvious,” He chuckled, pulling away from you to admire your skin in the lighting, the way your lips were swollen. “I tried showing you in like every love language because even after all these years, I still don’t know which one is yours but you still didn’t get it so.”

“Thanks for putting up with my obliviousness.” You brushed a stray hair that had fallen into his face and he gently grabbed your wrist, pressing a soft kiss to the inside before leaning into your touch.

“No one else I want to put up with.”

You brought him in for another kiss, and you soon found yourself in his lap, exchanging sweet nothings and deep, long overdue, kisses. Suddenly, he stopped, moving you out of his touch. He reached to his side and grabbed the forgotten invitation before going into the kitchen for something. He came back holding, triumphantly, a blue pen and brought you back into his embrace. He clicked the pen and circled ‘2’ and you pressed a kiss to his cheek, before leaning your head on his shoulder. There was no other person you’d want to attend any event with than the man who’d become your everything.

translation: tu es désespéré = you are hopeless

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#the winter fic exchange 2k21 #mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl x reader #new york islanders imagine #new york islanders fic #hockey fic #abby writes #and once again thank you for hosting and organizing the fic exchange i really do love participating

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breads-bakery · 2 years

Text

-- WARM BODIES || teaser

pairing: zombie!park jisung x afab reader

featuring: nct and more

tags: oneshot, zombie au!, romance, comedy , angst, smut horror , suggestive / mature content . MDNI !

disclaimer: all my works are solely fiction and entirely brought by my imagination ( or inspired by movies, songs,etc.. ), it doesn't relate to the real lives of the idols mentioned. any similarities to other works are purely coincidental. i do not allow anyone to repost or translate my works.

inspired by : warm bodies ( 2013 )

summary: after a highly unusual zombie saves a still-living girl from an attack, the two form an unusual relationship that sets in motion events that might transform the entire lifeless world . caught between the paranoid human forces and the ferocious "Bonies", zombies who are a mutual threat, they must find a way to bridge the differences of each side to fight for a better world no one thought possible.

warnings: rated r for language, horror , smut , angst, romance, character deaths(!) , zombie violence, a character pulls the skin off his face(!). if any of these topics make you uncomfortable please do not read!

word count : 935

taglist : @sunooscheeks @sunoobabie @leeknow-knows @legbouk @jaeminslut @succubus-moon @itzz-me-duh @nishmrriki

[ teaser | full fic ]

Jisung' s pov

my eyes flash open and I stand up, pushing dripping branches out of my face. it's still night time an the rain is still pummelling the earth. i step out of the trees and climb up onto the overpass, leaning against the railing, i look out at the empty freeway and the dark horizon beyond it. one thought pounds in my head like a migraine of rage: you're wrong. you fucking monsters are wrong. about everything.

out of the corner of my eye, i notice a silhouette on the other side of the overpass. the dark form moves towards me with slow and steady, lumbering steps. i hunch my muscles together, preparing for a fight. after wandering alone for way too long, the unincorporated Dead will sometimes lose the ability to distinguish their own kind from the Living.

and some are so far gone, so deep into this way of life, they just don't care either way. they'll eat anyone, anything, anywhere, because they can't fathom any other way to interact. i imagine one of these creatures surprising her as she stops the Mercedes to get her bearings, wrapping filthy hands around her face and biting down on her neck, and as that image ferments in my head, i prepare myself to tear this thing in front of me to shreds. the primordial rage that fills me every time I think of someone harming her is terrifying. the violence of just killing and eating people feels like friendly teasing compared to this consuming bloodlust.

the towering shadow staggers closer and closer. a flash of lightning finally illuminates its face, and i drop my arms to my sides.

'C?' i almost fail to recognise him at first. his face , torn and clawed, and there are several small chunks bitten out of his body.

'hey,' he grunts. the rain streaks down his face and pools in his wounds. 'let's . . . get out of . . . rain.' he walks past my leaky trees and climbs down the slope to the freeway below. i follow him to the dry space under the overpass. we huddle there in the dirt, surrounded by old beer cans, syringes and other random trash.

'what . . . are you . . . doing . . . out . . . out here?' i ask him, fighting for the words. i've been silent less than a day and i'm already so damn rusty.

'take . . . guess,' C says, pointing at his face, his wounds to be exact. 'Boneys...drove me out.'

'sorry.' i really am, i never wanted any of these to happen.

C grunts. 'fuck . . . it.' he kicks a random empty beer can. 'but guess . . . what?' something like a small grin illuminates his mangled face. 'some . . . came with me.'

he points down the freeway, and I see a few oher figures moving towards us, in those familiar slow, lumbering steps.

i look at C, confused. 'came . . . with? why?'

he shrugs. 'things . . . crazy . . . back home. toutines . . . shook.' he jabs a finger on the side of my head. 'you.'

'me?'

'you and . . . her. something . . . in air. movement.'

the group of the Dead stop under the overpass and stand there, looking at us blankly.

'hi,' i say. they sway and groan a little in response. one of them nods.

'where's . . . girl?' C asks me.

'her name is y/n.' this comes off my tongue fluidly, like a swish of hot chocolate on a cold winter night.

'y/ . . . n,' C stammers, then repeats with some effort. 'her! where is . . . she?'

'left. went home.'

C studies my face closely. he drops a hand onto my shoulder. 'you . . . okay?'

i close my eyes and take a slow, deep breath. 'no.' i look out at the freeway, towards the city, and something blooms in my head. first a feeling, then a thought, then... a choice. 'i am going after her.'

five syllables, which i said fluidly once again. i have broken my record once again.

'to . . . stadium?' he asks a little warily,and i just nod.

'why?' his eyebrows furrowed and he looks at me as if he's confused .'to . . . save her.' i replied after a brief thought.

'from . . . what?'

'ev . . . rything.'

C just looks at me for a long time. among the Dead, a piercing look can last several minutes, even up to hours. i wonder if he can possibly have any idea what I'm talking about, when I'm not even sure i do. its just a gut feeling. the soft pink zygote of a plan. a plan that's most likely not well-thought.

he gazes up at the sky, and a faraway, kind of melancholic look into his eyes. 'had . . . dream . . . last night. real dream. real memories.'

i stare at him 'remembered . . . when young. summer. my . . . name. a girl.' his eyes refocus on me. 'what . . . is it like?'

'what?' i give him a dazed look of bewilderment, not really getting what he's talking about.

'you've . . . felt it. you know . . . what it is?'

'what are . . . talking about?'

'my dream,' he says, his face full of wonder, i'd say. 'those things . . .like love?'

a shiver runs up my spine. what is happening? C is actually dreaming, reclaiming memories, asking these astonishing questions. i am breaking my syllable records day by day?

a fresh canvas is spread out in front of us. what do we paint on it? what's the first hue to splash on this blank field of grey?

'i'll . . . go with,' C says. 'i'll help you . . . save girl.' he turns to the waiting Dead. 'help us?' he asks, not raising his voice above its easy rumble. 'help save . . . girl? save . . .' he closes his eyes and tries to concentrate. 'y/ . . . n?'

they sway and groan in response, as a couple of them warily nod.

" let's...fucking do it "

#kpop #nct #nct imagines #nct smut #nct x reader #nct maknae #nct jisung #nct park jisung #park jisung zombie au!#park jisung one shot #park jisung smut #park jisung imagines #park jisung #nct hyung line #nct maknae line #nct dream jisung #nct dream #nct dream imagines

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honeypiehotchner · 3 years

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My Deep Blue Love (Tom Hiddleston x Fem!Reader) -- Soulmate AU one shot

This was 100% born out of boredom and loneliness and those damn Soulmate AU POV Tiktoks that I have seen practically 24/7 for the past WEEK on my fyp

(I’m not sure if I’ll do a part 2, rn I have no plans for it)

quick note on the technicality of this one: you lose all ability to see colors when you turn 12 and you don’t regain the ability until you meet your soulmate. but! you have to meet them in person and it has to be a mutual eye contact. pictures/videos of them don’t work, and if you just saw the back of their head or something in person, that doesn’t work either. it’s all about the shared eye contact babeyyy

small disclaimer: Brie Larson is mentioned in here and she has a wife, but that is very much only in this fic, and as far as i know Brie doesn’t have a wife irl lol (i also don’t know if she’s spoken about her sexuality at all so what i’m saying is take it with a grain of salt ok)

Summary: Everyone around you is meeting their soulmate, but you still see in black and white. You’re ready to give up, and basically have, when you lock eyes with your soulmate.

Warnings: None! Just a bit of angst, lots of fluff toward the end

You knock on your mom’s bedroom door at 4:58am. She’s already awake, sitting up in bed, ushering you over.

With tears in your eyes, you crawl onto her bed, snuggling close to her chest.

“I don’t want to lose my colors,” you whimper.

“I know, baby,” she whispers, kissing the top of your head. “It’s okay.”

You were born 12 years ago on this day at 5:08am, so in a few short minutes, when you officially turn 12 years old, all color will drain from your life.

Or the colors could stay, but that’s only if you’ve somehow already met your soulmate. And that’s rare, nearly impossible.

You squeeze your eyes shut at 5:07 and you don’t open them again until 5:10.

The colors are gone.

+++

twenty years later

You sigh heavily as you receive yet another wedding invite. You are invited to witness the official beginning of Olivia and Jeffrey’s lives together as husband and wife, soulmates for all of time.

The glitter sticks to your fingertips, tiny black dots against your skin. Your friend told you it’s gold. You barely remember what that looks like.

Lately it seems like everyone has been meeting their soulmate. Just yesterday, you were having coffee with a friend when she looked up at the girl sitting behind you, and boom.

“It’s like the world just exploded,” she had said. Colors were everywhere. She immediately left you to go talk to the girl.

You don’t blame her for that. If you had met your soulmate, you probably would’ve done the same thing. But you can’t say for sure because you don’t know.

You wouldn’t be so cynical of it all if your boyfriend of five years didn’t meet his soulmate while the two of you were out at dinner. You wish you could say that he was faking it. But it was clear from his face (and the girl’s) that he wasn’t kidding. It was real. He had met his soulmate, and it wasn’t you.

It’s never you.

You’ve had guys cut off dates before they even start, all because they didn’t see colors when they laid their eyes on you. They refuse to even be friends with you.

All anyone is doing anymore is searching for a soulmate and it’s exhausting when none of them are yours. When all of your friends see color now. When everyone assures you that it’ll happen soon. What does soon even mean?

You grab your ice cream from the freezer and fall onto the couch, flicking to whatever channel has late night shows that aren’t complete garbage.

As usual, you find yourself watching a talk show, and tonight Tom Hiddleston is one of the guests.

You’re sort of familiar with him from a few movies, but other than that, you hardly know anything about him.

“So, Tom, we’ve all been wondering what’s going on with you and Brie Larson?”

“Brie?” Tom asks, clearly shocked to hear this question. “We’re just good friends, that’s all.”

“Oh, she doesn’t make you see any colors?”

“Ah, no, actually, she does not,” Tom chuckles, but doesn’t sound sad at all, surprisingly. “Her wife does that for her, not me, I’m afraid.”

“Oh really?” The host brushes past the mention of Brie’s wife and keeps the focus on Tom, of course. “So is that true, you still don’t see color?”

Your ears perk up at the mention of someone else not seeing in color. It’s rare for anyone to talk about this on television. Most celebrities don’t talk about whether or not they’ve found their soulmate, but more often than not, those that have are quite loud about it.

“Yes, that’s true,” Tom answers. “I still see the world in a lovely black and white.”

You snort, harshly jabbing your spoon into your ice cream. Lovely. Yeah, right.

“Do you really think it’s nice? Do you not miss the colors?” The host asks.

“No, no, I do. I do,” Tom admits. “But I like to think I’ll see them when the time is right.”

You groan, going to Google to look up his age. And when you see he’s 40, you groan even louder. He’s older than you and he still hasn’t met his soulmate. That’s just depressing. How can he sound so optimistic?

“Alright, well, if there’s one thing you wish you could tell your soulmate, what would it be? Maybe they’re watching right now, you never know.”

Tom smiles wide. “Maybe, maybe, um… Oh, so many things,” Tom exhales deeply. “I guess I could be cliché and say I can’t wait to meet them and wait for me, but I think I want to say… I think I want to say I understand. It is frustrating, still seeing in black and white, but our paths will cross soon, I’m sure of it. Until then, my eyes are blue.”

Blue. Blue.

You roll your eyes. You don’t even remember what the color looks like.

+++

seven months later

“I am not going to a movie premiere. You’re insane!”

“Please!” Your friend, Catherine, cries. “You’ll love it, I swear.”

You glare at her over your coffee. “That just makes it sound like you have a trick up your sleeve.”

“I don’t,” she says. “I just want you to take advantage of this and come with us! When will you ever have the chance to go to a movie premiere again?”

She has a point. Dammit. “Touché. How did you get tickets, anyway? Please tell me you didn’t spend thousands for this.” You wouldn’t put it past her, even though you tell her not to every time before she does something like this.

“God, no, Joe surprised me with them earlier. He said he went to school with the lead.”

“Oh. Cool. Who?”

“Tom Hiddleston, I think. Have you heard of him? He’s British, but that’s about all I know. Joe just said they ran into each other the other day and reconnected.”

You stop halfway through a sip of coffee, careful to not choke on it. Slowly, you nod. “Yeah. I...I’ve seen him in a couple things.”

“Apparently, he hasn’t met his soulmate either…” Catherine trails away, raising her eyebrows at you.

You roll your eyes. “I heard,” you set your cup down. “He’s probably met them by now though since he blasted it on television like that.”

“Or he’s still searching and you’re still being too cynical.”

“You’re probably right,” you chuckle.

“Sooo, you’ll come?”

You sigh heavily. “As long as you help me pick something to wear.”

+++

“I’m regretting letting you talk me into this already,” you mutter when you nearly trip in your heels.

“Oh, hush,” Catherine swats your arm. “It’s an excuse to get dressed up and look hot for no reason. Take it.”

“Fine.”

Catherine’s soulmate, Joe, was whisked away almost as soon as the three of you stepped inside the venue by some director (you think), but he promised to return in a few minutes. Catherine told him not to worry. She’s used to him being dragged away for conversation. You can see from her face that she’s more proud of him than anything, and not at all annoyed.

Currently, you and Catherine are standing near the small bar, waiting for them to announce that it’s time to take your seats. You desperately want a drink, but part of you knows it would be a bad idea.

One glass of wine can’t hurt, though. Maybe it’ll take your mind off the pain in your feet.

You peel away from Catherine when you see Joe coming back, and you flag the bartender down quickly.

After ordering a glass of white wine, you wait patiently, wishing you had chosen a dress with sleeves. It’s fucking cold in here.

“Darling, you’re shivering, are you alright?”

Your head turns toward the smooth voice, face set and mind trying to decipher whether or not it was a sincere or creepy comment when the world quite literally explodes.

There, standing beside you, concern written all over his face, is Tom Hiddleston. Only now the concern has washed away into awe when your eyes lock with his.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, stumbling even though he’s standing in place.

“Blue,” you murmur. “Your eyes are blue.” Without even thinking or asking, your hand lifts to cup his cheek, and then you pull back, “Shit, sorry—”

But he grabs your wrist gently, placing your palm on his cheek. “It’s alright.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“I thought you didn’t exist,” you whisper in reply. But here he is. His eyes are blue, his lips are pink, he has tiny brown freckles all over his rosy cheeks. You look back to his eyes, narrowing your own. “You liar. Your eyes have green in them, too.”

“Do they really?” Tom chuckles. “I never would’ve known.”

“That’s why you have me,” you tease, and you don’t know where any of this is coming from, yet it doesn’t feel like you’re pretending. It feels like you’re finally yourself.

His other hand tangles with yours as he nods. “That’s why I have you, indeed.”

At this time, the lights in the theatre begin lightly flashing, signaling that it’s time for everyone to begin making their way to their seats.

But neither you or Tom move one inch.

The only issue is people are beginning to stare.

You notice it first, so you slowly pull your hand from his cheek. This movement shocks him back to reality, too, and he blinks a few times, yet he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“I, um, I have to make a speech,” he says. “But then I can come back to you. Will you save me a seat?”

“Don’t you have to sit up front?”

He nods. “I do, but—”

“Then I’ll come with you.” You aren’t sure if it’s the fact that he hasn’t let go of your hand yet, or if it’s because you’ve been waiting so long that now you don’t want him to be further than an arms length away from you, but you mean what you say.

“Are you sure?” He asks, but you both need to make a decision quickly because you can see someone waving from the wings, most likely trying to get Tom’s attention.

“I’m sure.”

He doesn’t question it, in fact, he grins, and brings your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Let’s go, then.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x fem!reader #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x soulmate!reader #tom hiddleston soulmate au #soulmate au #tom hiddleston one shot #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #completely self indulgent #as always

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wingodex · 3 years

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The Old Guard Speech Patterns Analysis

I made a post on the speech patterns of the main characters in The Old Guard, and a lot of people seemed interested in it, so I’ve cleaned up and clarified the rest of my notes. What I’ve looked at specifically here is mostly related to syntax, so grammar and sentence structure. I’ve vaguely looked at pragmatics, which has to do with how context contributes to meaning, and semantics, which deals with the meaning of words, phrases and sentences. I’ve also looked at sociolinguistics, which has to do with the effect of society on language, but I want to be upfront in saying that it’s not my personal area of interest so my knowledge is lacking there. On that same point, I have no formal linguistics training, I’m just into conlanging and everything I know about linguistics is self taught. For each of the characters I’ve talked about contraction usage, colloquialisms, phrases, verb and verb tense usage, ellipses, sentence composition, adjective and adverb frequency, discourse markers and fillers, profanity, vocabulary(ish), and questions.

You can also find all of this on ao3.

Couple of disclaimers to start: while this is obviously a great tool for fic writing, and can help you get a feel for the way that the characters speak in the movie, I’m asking non-Black writers to be very careful about the way you use some of this information when it comes to Nile. When Nile speaks, she uses a lot of colloquial/vernacular language, and while she doesn’t speak AAVE in the movie, her syntax does contain vernacular features. The history of transcribing colloquial language and vernacular dialects—African American/Black English in particular—is racist, classist and ableist. Your decision to write in colloquial language or to incorporate elements of Black English, rather than using Standard English, into Nile’s dialogue can potentially continue a tradition of racial othering if you’re not wary and conscious. Colloquial language in written form is often used to imply a lack of intelligence, a lack of education or a lower class. Be especially considerate of transcribing colloquial reductions like “wanna,” “gotta,” etc. Avoid eye-dialect at all cost, please, I am begging you. In general, the best way to transcribe dialects is through rhythm of prose, syntax, idioms/figures of speech and vocabulary. Even if you rely on those techniques for Nile, I’m still advising the utmost caution due to the complexity of syntax of AAVE and other dialects. For those unfamiliar with AAVE, I go into more detail about it here. If you do decide to use vernacular language for Nile, I’m going to insist you look into copula deletion/zero copula in AAVE outside of this post. It’s usage is very complex and specific. If you decide to use colloquial language for her to really take advantage of the intelligent way that she uses style-shifting in the movie then, at the very least, remember that the other characters (with the exception of Nicky) also use colloquial language frequently in the movie as well. If Nile is the only one in your fic using colloquial language, that’s a problem.

Most of the contextual analysis as it relates to sociolinguistics is based on my own speculation and interpretation of all the data I’ve collected. They contain my own personal biases and are influenced by my own experiences. If you have another interpretation of any of this, I’m absolutely interested in hearing it. Also, there is simply not enough data for any of my observations to be definitive, especially for Joe and Nicky. The two of them combined say around the same number of sentences as Booker, and he only says half as many sentences as Andy. There are literally verb tenses/aspects that not a single person uses in the whole movie. It’s also important to note that I am fallible, and while I do think most of this is accurate, I probably fucked up and missed something or miscounted! More than once! In some cases, I was only able to find one example of something and while I’ve included those observations, they are in no way indicative of a pattern, so don’t view them as strict rules.

I threw around a lot of jargon in this, and there wasn't really an easy way to avoid doing that while talking about most of this stuff. Descriptions are provided throughout the post. I've done my best to define all the more complex and lesser-known concepts, and to provide specific examples from the movie but feel free to reach out if you're unsure about any of it. Basic English grammar things that will be helpful to know to understand all of this post: parts of speech (nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, prepositions, conjunctions, determiners, interjections), clauses (subject + predicate), tense–aspect–mood for verb conjugation (in English we have: past and non-past; perfective, imperfective, and progressive; and indicative, imperative, and subjunctive), phrase structure, auxiliary verbs, phrasal verbs, wh-movement (who, what, when, where, why, how) and sentence sequencing (in English it’s SVO, or subject-verb-object).

On ellipsis: for Andy, Nile and Booker (and Joe, a little bit), the types of ellipses I focused on were mostly the types that you only see in spoken colloquial English. For Nicky, I talked a lot more about further classification of ellipses that do sometimes apply to the other four, but aren’t as noticeable.

For phrases, I mostly included idioms and expressions to avoid listing every single phrase in the movie. I generally avoided noun phrases (with a few exceptions), and I don't think I mention any adverb phrases.

For my own purposes, I’ve decided to define fillers as discourse markers without lexical content that are used to indicate that the pause while speaking is only temporary. The rest of the discourse markers use standard classification.

Thank you to both @disregardandfelicity and @youknowthegirls for looking over this post for me!

Andy

Andy uses every contraction for auxiliary verbs and personal pronouns (e.g. I’m, you’ve, it’s, etc). I mean, she actually doesn't in the movie, but she comes so close that I feel confident in saying she would use all the others. The Wikipedia page for English Auxiliary Verbs has a great chart for contractions. Of the characters, she's literally the only one who does this with this level of consistency.

Her contraction usage isn't limited to personal pronouns. She uses contractions with demonstrative, interrogative, relative and indefinite pronouns. She also uses contractions with "there" and "where", and presumably with “when” and “how” although there are no examples of that in the movie. She uses contractions with negative modal verbs.

Andy uses both the simple future and the more colloquial going-to future construction at various points in the movie. She seems to have a preference for going-to future, and the only time she uses the simple future is in her dramatic opening monologue and when she’s trying to reassure Nile. Otherwise, she sticks to going-to construction.

Simple future: “Will this time be the one?”, “Me and those three men in there will keep you safe.”

Going-to future: “And you’re going to help us.”

Andy also typically uses the colloquialism “gonna” when using going-to future construction. When she uses “going to” instead, it’s during moments of sincerity. As mentioned, she also iconically uses them both in the same sentence.

"I knew this was gonna happen", "You think knowing is gonna make you sleep better at night?"

“You’re not a Marine anymore. They’re going to lock you up.”, “When we leave a footprint in the sand, in the snow, in the ether, you’re going to sweep it.”

“You’re going to protect us from those who want to put us in cages, and you’re gonna help us find those jobs that are best suited to us.”

Andy uses the verb “have” and the phrasal verb “have got” interchangeably, and with no real pattern. Important note: I am only referring to the verb “to have” in the present tense, not when "have" is used as an auxiliary. She doesn’t seem to use “have got” in the negative (i.e. “haven’t got” vs “don’t have”).

“We have to find Copley.”, “I have the new one.”

“You’ve got blood in your hair.” “He’s got Joe and Nicky.”

“We don’t have all the answers, but we do have purpose.”

Andy also uses the colloquialism “gotta” in sentences where she uses “have got” with the infinitive “to”. When she does this, she usually uses contracted have/has. Occasionally she drops the auxiliary.

"You’ve gotta feel it, Nile.” "There's gotta be a price."

Andy drops the auxiliary when she says, "We gotta go" instead of “We’ve gotta go” and “Sometimes you gotta work with people you don’t wanna eat with” instead of “Sometimes you’ve gotta..”

Andy uses the colloquialism “wanna” in the place of “want to”.

“Well, sometimes you gotta work with people you don’t wanna eat with.” “You really wanna do this, kid?”

Andy incorrectly uses the object pronoun “me” like a true native English speaker

“Me and those three men in there will keep you safe.”

Andy seems to generally say “Yeah” but she says “Yes” when she really means it. She also says “Mm hmm.”

Andy uses several discourse markers throughout the movie. Discourse markers are words that are used to connect, organize and manage sentences while speaking. Andy uses discourse markers to start sentences, as responses, as interjections, etc. The discourse markers that Andy uses are:

Sentence openers: actually, so, come on, here, look, listen, now, oh, well, you know,

Sentence closers: I guess, maybe, right,

Responses: yeah

Interjections: hey

Connection: to be honest

Andy doesn’t use any fillers. Instead, she pauses and repeats herself as needed.

“Remember what it... what it was like to feel unbreakable.”

Of all the characters, Andy uses the imperative mood the most (throughout the movie Andy tells someone to do something 35 times using this mood)

When Andy repeats herself for emphasis, she usually does it in pairs. The only exception is when she says “why?” three times to Booker in the scene with Copley

Andy uses ellipses, which is when words are omitted from a sentence and the sentence can still be understood. This isn’t particularly noteworthy in what it says about her speech patterns, as everyone uses elliptical construction. It’s just part of how speech works, how dialogue works and how writing works. It’s a feature of English, spoken and written, rather than an anomaly. I do feel it’s worth mentioning though, because I’m going to talk a lot about some specific kinds of ellipses (null subject, null auxiliary and zero copula) that are only found in colloquial and spoken language. For more about elliptical construction, see the Nicky section.

Andy uses noun and verb ellipses when she says, “I’ve been here before... over and over again, and each time the same question.”

Andy uses answer ellipsis. That means that when she answers questions, she often speaks in sentence fragments rather than full sentences.

[Who’s gonna fly the plane?] “We don’t need a pilot” instead of “[Nobody is going to fly the plane.] We don’t need a pilot.”

Andy occasionally uses sentences with a truncated null subject (i.e. she doesn’t use subject pronouns), but not as frequently as the other characters.

“Can’t wait” instead of “I can’t wait.”

Andy frequently uses null auxiliary construction and zero copula when asking questions that normally use subject-auxiliary inversion. This means that she will drop the leading auxiliary verb. For more information about zero copula, see Nile.

Andy uses “You found Copley?” instead of “Have you found Copley?” and “Everyone still with me?” instead of “Is everyone still with me?”

When asking questions, Andy typically uses either the method described above or intonation if she can get away with it. However, she does still ask yes-no questions without dropping the auxiliary. Andy is also one of the only characters to use a disjunctive question. In contrast to the disjunctive (which is often condescending), Andy is also one of the only characters polite enough to use an indirect question.

Intonation: “Joe and Nicky?”

Disjunctive: “You don’t speak Russian, do you?”

Indirect: “Would you like me to take one for you?”

Andy doesn’t use the subordinating conjunction “that” at any point in the movie.

“Last time I checked, you had to be American to be in the CIA” instead of “Last time that I checked...”

Andy says “What the...” when she’s confused.

Andy makes a humming sound when she’s pleased that’s transcribed as “Mmm!”. Interesting to note that every time she makes this sound, it’s in response to Nicky.

Profanity used by Andy: asshole, fuck, goddamn, motherfucker, shit, shitty

Phrases, idioms and expressions used by Andy: bend it to [your] will, broke [a promise], changes nothing, come on, do the same, enough of this, for all I care, get some sleep, go big or go home, going out for a bit, gotta go, last time I checked, let’s, next time, now and always, on board, play dead, set up, straight to [something], tie off, to be honest, welcome back, what [he] said, whatever it takes, work out

Unrelated to word count or time spent speaking, Andy says more sentences than any other character. She says more than twice as many sentences as Booker and four times as many sentences as Joe and Nicky. Nile says a little less than 2/3 as many sentences as Andy.

Sentence composition**: 57% of Andy’s sentences are simple sentences, 31% are sentence fragments, 5% are compound sentences, 6% are complex sentences, and 1% are compound-complex sentences.

Languages spoken on-screen: English

Adjectives and adjective phrases appear in 13% of Andy’s sentences. Adverbs and adverb phrases appear in 9% of Andy’s sentences.

Andy is very consistent in her speech. She doesn’t style-shift much and almost exclusively speaks in a colloquial style of Standard American English. There are two exceptions to this: when she was talking to the tourists in Marrakesh, she was overly polite; and when she was dealing with Copley, she enunciated herself far more and was less likely to use contractions. When I say that Andy speaks Standard English, what I mean is that she speaks the dialect of English which has undergone the most regularization and standardization. It’s the one associated with public communication, the one that's used in commerce and government, and the one that has the most institutional support and sanction. Andy is very familiar and comfortable in this dialect, to the point where she even uses common grammar mistakes that native speakers do. Her speech is very casual. I would say that Andy has spent a significant amount of time recently in the United States or Canada, and I also suspect that English is the modern language that she is most comfortable in. I think that Andy has likely spent a lot of time speaking casually with other English native speakers and that her grasp of the language was formed without any kind of formal language training. Andy doesn’t use much descriptive language, and her sentences are typically short and clear. While I think Andy does read a little bit, it’s had very little impact on her speech patterns. I doubt she reads any kind of serious formal writing, or academic works.

Nile

Nile uses every contraction for auxiliary verbs and personal pronouns (e.g. I’m, you’re, it’s, etc). She also uses them with other nouns and names. Nile is very deliberate about contraction usage. For the most part, in casual speech, she uses contractions, although she does use a lack of contractions to express disbelief or for emphasis. Nile also uses a lack of contractions to show condescension or disapproval. When she’s trying to be authoritative, she’s less likely to use contractions. When she wants to make sure she’s understood, she also doesn’t use contractions.

“I am not jumping from a plane!” “You do not listen to her, you listen to me.”

“We are looking for this man. He has killed many of our people and many of yours.”

Nile uses contractions with demonstrative, interrogative, relative and indefinite pronouns. She also uses contractions with "there", "where", “why” and “how.” She uses contractions with negative modal verbs.

Nile doesn’t use the contraction “y’all” in the movie. In fact, she specifically doesn’t use it.

“How are you all in my dreams?”

Nile uses both the simple future and the colloquial going-to future construction at various points in the movie. Like with contractions, Nile is less likely to use colloquialisms when she’s serious or trying to be authoritative. I think it’s especially poignant when she uses it to express bravery (with Booker). Nile always uses the colloquialism “gonna” when using going-to future construction.

Simple future: “I’m the one who will walk out of there, one way or another.”

Going-to future: “People that are gonna worry.”

Nile uses the verb “have” and the phrasal verb “have got” interchangeably, however she has a very strong preference for “have got”

“You have my phone?”

“I got people that love me,” “You got a satellite link?”

Nile also uses the colloquialism “gotta” in sentences where she uses “have got” with the infinitive “to”. When she does this, she always uses null auxiliary construction (see below for more details).

“We gotta get out of here!”

Nile uses the colloquialism “wanna” in the place of “want to”.

“I just really wanna hear my mom’s voice one more time.”

Nile truncates “trying to” as “tryna”.

“I’m tryna save you, man!”

Nile truncates “out of” as “outta”

Nile uses a lot of discourse markers. She uses more discourse markers than any of the other characters, although Booker comes very close. Discourse markers are words that are used to connect, organise and manage sentences while speaking. Nile uses discourse markers to start sentences, as responses, as interjections, etc. The discourse markers that Nile uses are:

Sentence openers: so, well, wait, here, yeah, now

Sentence closers: or something, maybe, you know, okay, man

Interjections: come on, what, no way

Responses: yeah

Nile uses some fillers when speaking, however she doesn’t use them often. The fillers she uses are: uh, yeah

While Nile does occasionally use the imperative mood, she’s far more likely to give commands based on intonation alone, rather than syntax.

Intonation: “You do not listen to her, you listen to me,” “We gotta get out of here!”

Imperative: “Land this plane.”

Nile uses elliptical construction when speaking, which means that when words are omitted from a sentence, the sentence can still be understood. Again, this in and of itself is not very noteworthy, see Nicky for more details.

“South side of Chicago, a million different ways we could’ve went left.”

She also uses answer ellipsis, meaning that when answering questions, she speaks in sentence fragments.

Answer ellipsis: [You have someone?] “Just my family” instead of “[I have] just my family.”

Nile frequently uses null subject elliptical construction. When using null subject construction, she drops personal pronouns.

“Talked to Copley. Said he could fix it.” instead of “I talked to Copley. He said he could fix it.”

Nile’s use of ellipsis is mostly characterized by her usage of null auxiliary, which is when she drops auxiliary verbs from sentences. The way she does this is very distinct and she’s the only character who speaks like this. While the other characters who use null auxiliary construction do so in the specific context of asking questions, Nile’s usage is more complicated.

Like the others, Nile frequently uses null auxiliary construction and zero copula when asking questions that normally use subject-auxiliary inversion, but unlike the others, she also sometimes drops the auxiliary in wh- questions. For more on zero copula, see below.

"You gonna be okay?" "So, you good guys or bad guys?"

“Where you taking me?”

Outside of asking questions, Nile also occasionally uses both null auxiliary construction and the zero copula. She is the only character who does this (Andy does this, but only with one specific word/phrase. Nile's usage is less restrictive). Zero copula is a linguistic phenomena where the subject is joined to the predicate without marking that relationship (i.e. there’s no verb). In English, the main copula is the verb “to be”, so zero copula in English describes situations where inflections of “to be” are omitted. When the characters use null auxiliary construction to omit the inflected forms of “to be” while asking questions, they are using the copula deletion.

In the above example questions, all of them are examples of copula deletion as they are omitting inflections of the verb "to be"

When Nile says “I got people that love me”, she uses null auxiliary construction to omit the auxiliary “have”. Nile always drops the auxiliary “have” when using the “have got” form.

When Nile says “This the shit you into?” she’s actually using the zero copula twice. You’ll notice that she’s missing the leading “is” and in the dependent clause, she’s missing the “are (“Is this the shit you’re into?” in Standard English).

At one point in the movie, Nile includes a further truncated null subject, where she doesn’t use both the subject and the auxiliary verb. Joe does something similar in the present tense.

Nile says “Killed in action when I was eleven” instead of “He was killed in action when I was eleven.”

When asking questions, outside of wh- questions, Nile usually relies on intonation or dropping the auxiliary from subject-auxiliary inversion questions as described above. She does occasionally use inversion for yes/no questions without dropping the auxiliary.

Intonation: “You have my phone?”

Indirect: “So... you’re even older than him.”

As the audience surrogate, Nile asks the most questions in the movie (she asks 69 questions LMAO)

Another way that Nile formalizes her speech is by inserting the subordinating conjunction “that” into sentences where they would normally be omitted.

“And that was a blank that you shot me with.” “But... you said that we were immortal.”

Nile says “Uh uh” to mean “no” or “don’t even think about it”

Phrases, idioms and expressions used by Nile: a little help, backed down, brains of [the] outfit, come on, follow the money, gave [them] up, honest-to-God, how the hell, what kind of [noun], killed in action, let’s go, move on, never hurts to, no way, one more time, one way or another, roger that, sit your ass down, some bullshit, son of a bitch, stay tight, steal away, went left, what’s up (greeting),

Profanity used by Nile: ass, bitch, bullshit, damn, fuck, hell, shit

Sentence composition**: 60% of Nile’s sentences are simple sentences, 30% are sentence fragments, 3% are compound sentences, 6% are complex sentences and 1% are compound-complex sentences.

Adjectives and adjective phrases appear in 18% of Nile’s sentences. Adverbs appear in 4% of her sentences. Nile doesn’t use any adverb phrases.

Languages spoken on-screen: English, Pashto

Of all the characters, Nile’s use of English is the most deliberate. While the others are obviously fluent and capable in English, Nile’s use of style-shifting throughout the movie demonstrates a mastery of the language that the other characters simply don’t have. The way that she shifts between formal and colloquial language for emphasis, for clarity, to express disbelief or disapproval, to act authoritatively, to appear casual and friendly, and to invite others to engage with her, speaks to what she is capable of by her word and syntax choices. All of this is obviously enhanced by her tone, her cadence, her pitch, her volume and her speaking speed.

When Nile speaks, she doesn’t speak in AAVE. That being said, her speech does contain vernacular features. The two elements of Nile’s syntax that are most noticeable are her use of the zero copula and her deletion of “have” in situations where it can be contracted (to clarify: using copula deletion is not necessarily an indicator of AAVE. When the other characters use the zero copula, they are not speaking AAVE. The subtle differences in the context of their usage of copula deletion is what makes Nile’s speech distinctly Black). Some of Nile’s word choices and noun phrases are also reflective of the typical speech of Black people, as pointed out to me by this anon. It’s very likely that Nile can speak AAVE, but doesn’t in the movie. She was raised by two Black parents in a very residentially segregated city, and while Nile didn’t specify the neighborhood she grew up in (you can make some guesses to the general area based on how she talks about it, but that’s not quite the same), Chicago’s South Side is predominantly Black, so the people she was around, the place she attended school and the church she went to were all likely predominantly Black as well. Due to the fact that Standard English is the language taught in public schools in the United States, Nile has obviously also developed a fluency in that dialect as well and can probably code switch between the two dialects. The fact that she doesn’t speak AAVE in the movie isn’t particularly unusual. Society is largely hostile towards Black people speaking AAVE, so language self-policing becomes a survival tool. Nile had also just spent an indefinite amount of time in the US military, which has its own style which has its own style of speaking as well which she would have been using. And then she basically got kidnapped by mostly white people, some of whom have noticeable accents, so having her speak AAVE would’ve been an odd character choice, but not totally implausible.

The way that Nile switches between formal and colloquial English is a type of code switching that I would honestly refer to more as style-shifting. Because she isn’t actually speaking AAVE, I can’t say how the dialect factors into her speech patterns. I think it’s possible that Nile’s ability to style-shift between formal and informal language could have been an ability that she developed as a result of needing to code switch between AAVE and Standard English in an educational environment. I do want to make it very clear however, that when I’m talking about Nile style-shifting, it has very little bearing on the vernacular features of her speech, but rather the colloquial features like contractions, verb choice, ellipsis and her use of phrasal verbs. It’s possible that she uses code switching in the same way, however we don’t have evidence of that in the movie.

Booker

Booker uses most contractions, but not all, and with much less consistency than Andy or deliberate purpose like Nile. He uses contractions for auxiliaries and their inflected forms for personal pronouns. When speaking casually, he uses contractions, but when he’s upset, he uses them far less consistently. He doesn’t use contractions with the past tense inflected form of have (i.e. “had”).

Booker uses contractions with demonstrative, interrogative, relative and indefinite pronouns. He also uses contractions with "there", "where" and “how. He uses contractions with negative modal verbs.

Booker uses both the simple future and the going-to future construction at various points in the movie. He doesn’t seem to have a preference either way.

Simple future: “They will get to learn your secret.”

Going-to future: “It’s gonna take time.”

Booker always uses the colloquialism “gonna” when using going-to future construction.

Booker doesn’t seem to use the phrasal verb “have got” but I could only find one instance of him using the verb “to have” in the present tense, so this isn’t definitive either way. If I had to take a guess, I’d say that, like Andy, he uses “to have” and “have got” interchangeably.

Even though Booker speaks less than Nile and Andy, he uses close to the same amount of discourse markers as them, meaning that they appear far more regularly in his speech. Discourse markers are words that are used to connect, organize and manage sentences while speaking. Booker uses discourse markers to start sentences, as responses, as interjections, etc. The discourse markers he uses are:

Sentence openers: come on, hey, oh, well, listen, I mean, ooh (expressing pleasure), yeah

Sentence closers: right, of course

Responses: yeah, alright

Interjections: hey, ow! (expressing victory)

Connections: by the way, tell you what

Of all the characters, Booker uses the most fillers when speaking. The fillers that he uses are: oh, uh, um, yeah

Booker pauses and repeats himself as needed. He only does this when he’s upset. Otherwise, he seems to use fillers instead.

“Everyone you love is gonna... is gonna suffer and is gonna die."

When Booker repeats himself for emphasis, he always does it in pairs.

Booker often uses elliptical construction, and the most frequent type seems to be null auxiliary construction. He does use other types of ellipses though (For more about ellipsis, see Nicky).

“Just because we keep living doesn’t mean we stop hurting.”

Booker uses answer ellipsis, but almost to the point of incomprehensibility. Dude just gives the bare minimum. That means that when he answers questions, he speaks in sentence fragments rather than full sentences.

Answer ellipsis: [You found Copley?] “Nothing, but dead ends” instead of “[I found] nothing but dead ends.”

Booker frequently uses sentences with a truncated null subject (i.e. he doesn’t use subject pronouns).

“Lost the plot after that” instead of “I lost the plot after that”

Booker frequently uses null auxiliary construction and zero copula when asking questions that normally use subject-auxiliary inversion. For more information about zero copula, see Nile.

Booker says “You good?” instead of “Are you good?” and “You have someone?” instead of “Do you have someone?”

When asking questions, Booker almost always uses either the method described above, or intonation. The only time Booker asks a question without dropping the auxiliary is when he says “Are you all right, boss?” to Andy in the cave.

Intonation: “Oh, she gave it back?”

Booker doesn’t generally use the subordinating clause “that,” but he will sometimes.

“What I do know is she was alone for a long time before she found anyone like her.”

“And they will tell you... that you don’t love them.”

At two separate points in the movie, Booker references Elizabethan literature. “Misery loves company” is from Dr. Faustus by Marlowe and “That way madness lies” is from King Lear by Shakespeare

Phrases, expressions and idioms used by Booker: all in, by the way, calm down, change of clothes, come on, dead ends, give [her] time, give me your hand, how’s it going?, I’ll see you soon, in the open, leave no footprints, let’s go, lost the plot, moving out, misery loves company, reach out, stick to the plan, take time, tell you what, what’s going on, won’t hurt

Profanity used by Booker: shit, putain de merde

Sentence composition**: 59% of Booker’s sentences are simple sentences, 24% are sentence fragments, 3% are compound sentences, 9% are complex sentences, 1% are compound-complex sentences and 4% are not in English

Adjectives and adjective phrases appear in 16% of Booker’s sentences. Adverbs and adverb phrases appear in 8% of Booker’s sentences.

Languages spoken on-screen: English, French, Italian

We know from Booker’s backstory that he’s French and he’s from Marseilles, and other people have spoken about how Booker’s native language would likely have been Occitan, although he speaks French as well. Like Andy, Joe and Nicky, English is not Booker’s native language, although he does speak it with a high degree of fluency. While there are aspects of Booker’s speech that are more related to him being a non-native English speaker, I wanted to talk about French first. It’s worth noting that French is the only Romance language that isn't a null subject language (and as far as I can tell, Occitan isn’t either). This means that when Booker uses null subject construction, that’s either something he picked up from another language or from being around people speaking colloquial English. The thing that stands out to me the most about Booker’s speech though, is actually the way he uses intonation (and to a certain extent, null auxiliary construction as well) when asking questions. While French can use subject-auxiliary inversion, for the most part, you just ask questions by intonation. In the French dub of the movie when Booker asks “You travel?” he says “T’as voyagé?” which in English directly translates to “You travelled?” or “You’ve travelled?” While I could get into semantics about verb tenses, do-support and modality, what I’m getting at here is that both “You travel?” and “T’as voyagé?” mean the same thing and are expressed in a form that feels semantically similar to me even if it’s not syntactically similar, in the same way that ending a question with the tag “right?” (which Booker uses a lot) feels the same as the tag “non?”

There are a couple of things that I think are interesting about Booker’s manner of speech. Booker primarily speaks in simple and fragmented sentences, which is pretty normal, but what’s different about him is the way that a lot of his speech is referential. What I mean is that Booker relies on a lot of common phrases, common clauses, clichés and quotations when he speaks. In a lot of ways, Booker speaks the way your typical action hero is supposed to. You get a sense of Booker engaging in a broader cultural and literary conversation. I don’t know how to explain this exactly, but when Booker speaks, you just know he reads and that he watches tv and movies. And not just that, but that he borrows and imitates aspects of what he reads. But besides the pragmatic element of Booker’s speech, all of the things that are notable about Booker’s speech are things that you also see in Andy, Joe and Nicky. Syntactically, there’s nothing about Booker’s speech that is distinctly unique to him, unlike the rest of the characters who all have their own little quirks. It’s almost like Booker is imitating the others, or borrowing someone else’s words. There is one notable exception, and that’s when Booker is talking to Nile in the cave. As the conversation goes on, you see this breakdown of Booker’s language as he attempts to tell his own story. Suddenly, a lot of the conventions established about Booker’s speech prior to this scene don’t apply. Obviously there are multiple explanations for this, ranging from English not being his first language to the fact that he was talking about something deeply personal and traumatizing to someone who was essentially a stranger. But what makes this scene stand out is the fact that in his next major scene, Booker is clearly on the verge of a full breakdown, but because he’s again relying on this established lexicon, you don’t see it reflected in his speech the same way that it is in the cave.

Joe

When Joe bothers with personal pronouns, he usually uses contractions with auxiliary verbs (e.g. I’m, she’s, it’s, etc). The exception to this is that Joe doesn’t use contractions with the past tense inflected auxiliary form of have (i.e. “had”).

Joe uses contractions with demonstrative, interrogative, relative and indefinite pronouns. He also uses contractions with "there". He uses contractions with negative modal verbs.

Joe only uses a future tense once in the entire film, and when he does, he uses going-to future construction. When he uses going-to future construction he uses the colloquialism “gonna"

“What are you gonna do?”

Joe doesn’t use the colloquial “have got” and always uses “to have”.

“We have to find her”, “Well, now you have even more.”

This may be because Joe isn’t in the movie as much as the first three, or that he just genuinely doesn't use them often, but he uses considerably fewer discourse markers. Discourse markers are words that are used to connect, organize and manage sentences while speaking. Joe uses discourse markers to start sentences, and as interjections. The discourse markers that Joe uses are:

Sentence openers: oh, so, well, yeah

Interjections: hey, what

After Booker, Joe uses the second most amount of fillers. He uses more fillers when having a back-and-forth style conversation with someone than when he’s essentially monologuing. The fillers that Joe uses are: mmm, uh

Joe sometimes uses ellipses when speaking. Again, not super noteworthy, but I wanted to mention it nonetheless.

“He’s the moon when I’m lost in darkness and warmth when I shiver in cold.”

Joe uses answer ellipsis in the movie, but he doesn’t actually speak in sentence fragments when he does this. While answer ellipsis is pretty standard in English, Joe’s commitment to saying more than was asked of him isn’t.

[So... you’re even older than him.] “Nicky and I met in the Crusades.” instead of “[Yes, we are.] Nicky and I met in the Crusades.”

Joe uses sentences with a null subject (i.e. he doesn’t use subject pronouns).

“Depends on the century.” “Fought thousands of battles side by side.”

Joe uses sentences which have both a null subject and uses copula deletion. See Nile for more details on zero copula.

“Very pissed off.” “Faster than the elevator.”

In the movie, Joe only really asks wh- questions. He does ask a few using intonation, although most of those questions act more like additional tags on a wh-question, rather than a question by itself. As such, it's unclear whether Joe uses null auxiliary construction or the zero copula when asking questions.

Intonation: "Bedhead?” “So we just leave her out in the open?”

When Joe repeats himself for emphasis, it’s usually in groups of three.

Joe says “what” when he doesn’t hear something/doesn’t understand something

As previously mentioned, Joe uses some formal words like "thus" and the impersonal pronoun "one". Here are some other words to consider having Joe use unironically as well: alas, amidst, await, behest, ergo, hence, latter, much, nor, notwithstanding, promptly, quite, shall (modal), thence, thereupon, thoroughly, whereas, whom (used correctly of course), yield

Even though Joe speaks quite formally a lot of the time, he never uses the subordinating conjunction “that” when it can be omitted.

“The first immortal Andy found.”

Phrases, expressions and idioms used by Joe: all in, attention to detail, come on, I guess, out in the open, measure and reason, over a [time period], piece of shit, proved [their] case, side by side, way back

Profanity used by Joe: goddamnit, shit

Unrelated to word count or time spent speaking, Joe says the least amount of sentences out of the five main characters, although this doesn’t mean very much, considering Nicky says exactly one more sentence than him.

Sentence composition**: 57% of Joe’s sentences are simple sentences, 21% are sentence fragments, 5% are compound sentences, 4% are complex sentences, 4% are compound complex sentences and 9% are not in English.

Adjectives and adjective phrases appear in 29% of Joe’s sentences. Adverbs and adverb phrases appear in 8% of Joe’s sentences.

Languages spoken on-screen: English, Italian

The best way to describe Joe’s manner of speaking is that it’s like he has two different styles. You get the sense that sometimes Joe just says whatever and sometimes he says something that he’s rehearsed in his head. Joe is a Maghrebi Muslim man from the Islamic Golden Age so he comes from a culture and time with a rich history of and respect for both written and spoken poetry, both impromptu and memorized. I think he carries that tradition quite well. When Joe is orating (van speech and Quynh backstory), his sentences are much more structured and he uses more formal language. He doesn't speak in sentence fragments, he doesn't use any colloquial language besides contractions and he doesn't use discourse markers or fillers like he does in the more casual back-and-forth conversations. If you look at Joe's sentence composition percentages, you'll notice that Joe has comparatively less sentence fragments than other characters and that’s purely because when he orates, it's in full sentences (minus poetic ellipsis, but that's allowed). That's why it seems to me as though Joe rehearses some of what he says in advance. I don’t know the extent to which he does that, but at the very least it seems like he’s sat down and thought “how would I explain Quynh to the new immortal?” or “What would I say to someone belittling my relationship with Nicky?” Even in the delivery of the line “Faster than the elevator” there is quite a long pause between him seeing that Nile jumped out a window and actually making the joke, as if he’s thinking about it first. The majority of the sentences Joe says are in the van speech and while telling Quynh’s backstory. In casual conversations, Nicky seems to take the lead more than Joe.

I’d also speculate that Joe is quite literate. Obviously there’s his own affinity for storytelling and oration, but his use of language hints at a larger vocabulary. You see him use a frequently neglected pronoun in English and a relatively formal adverb. He also uses adjectives like “grotesque” and “infantile”. He does end sentences while prepositions though, so he obviously does not give a fuck about John Dryden and Joshua Poole. That being said, I think the idea of rearranging Joe’s sentences so they don’t end in prepositions is funny and fits his whole vibe.

Joe uses null subject construction in English, and while that’s pretty common in everyday speech in English, it is worth noting that both Italian and Arabic are null subject languages. The way that Joe uses null construction in English is far more similar to Italian than Arabic, which requires a change in sentence sequencing but I still think it’s neat. The thing that Arabic brings to the table that I’m more intrigued by is the fact that it’s a zero copula language. It’s not a matter of copula deletion like AAVE, there straight up is not a copula in the present tense, so the lack of a verb (and specific sentence sequencing) is the copula in the present tense. When Joe drops both subject and verb in the present tense he is, in effect, simulating a similar situation due to the ambiguity of the sentences themselves where the only way you can correctly interpret the sentence is by understanding that the missing verb must be a copula. He gets rid of a subject pronoun as a shout out to Italian, I guess, but also because it would sound so silly if he didn’t. I don’t think Joe necessarily picked up this habit from Arabic, but I do think it’s a fun coincidence.

Nicky

Of all the characters, Nicky has the least consistent contraction usage for personal pronouns and auxiliaries (e.g. I’ve, you’re, it’s, etc). There are examples throughout the film of him using a contraction and then in the next scene he just doesn’t. Unlike with the other characters, who have a discernable pattern (Andy always uses contractions, Nile uses contractions for dramatic emphasis, Booker becomes more inconsistent with contractions when upset, Joe doesn’t use contractions in certain tenses), Nicky is totally random in his contraction usage.

My personal favourite example of this is: “She’s more alone than she has ever been in her entire life.”

Nicky uses contractions with demonstrative, interrogative, relative and indefinite pronouns, however this usage is just as inconsistent as with personal pronouns. He also uses contractions with "there.” He uses contractions with negative modal verbs.

Outside of contractions, Nicky doesn't seem to use colloquialisms in the movie.

Nicky doesn’t use the colloquial going-to future construction and relies on simple future construction

“You will not be able to give him what he wants”, “If it’s now Andromache’s, nothing you do will stop it.

Nicky doesn’t use the colloquial phrasal verb “have got” and instead uses “have”

“I have something for you”

Nicky only has a few discourse markers in the movie. Discourse markers are words that are used to connect, organise and manage sentences while speaking. Nicky uses discourse markers to start sentences, as interjections and as responses. The discourse markers that he uses are:

Sentence openers: so

Interjections: hey, wait, what

Responses: yeah

Nicky doesn’t use any fillers. Instead, he pauses and repeats himself as needed.

"I believe it's because we... we are meant to find each other"

In my other post, I mentioned that Nicky speaks in full sentences, and while that is mostly true, it’s a bit of an oversimplification. While that kind of a statement is fine for an overview post, I felt it would be disingenuous to leave it at that. Nicky speaks in sentence fragments just like everyone else. In fact, he speaks in sentence fragments more than Joe does. He uses ellipsis, but the way he does it is functionally different from the specific methods of null subject, null auxiliary and zero copula that I’ve talked about with the other characters. While the others are quite formulaic about their usage of ellipses, Nicky’s is far more nebulous because it’s very much dependent on context.

Nicky uses answer ellipses, like the others.

[Bedhead?] “Nicely tousled.”

The next way that Nicky uses ellipses might better be described as anaphora. That means when he’s eliding words, the omitted words in the sentence can be found through the context of the sentence preceding it.

The sentence “The only reason we haven’t... is that it’s not our time yet” is missing a past participle. The missing verb is found in the previous sentence: “Everything has to die, Mr. Merrick.”

In fact, almost all of Nicky’s use of sentence fragments and ellipses can most easily be characterized this way. If the sentence that Nicky says is incomplete in some way by itself, that’s usually because he’s referring to something either he, or someone else, has said. In some cases, it’s as if he’s continuing or adding additional information to the sentence preceding it.

“We killed each other.” “Many times.”

“It was a woman. A Black woman.”

Another way of characterizing some of his use of ellipses is to imagine he’s using answer ellipsis to a question nobody asked him.

[What did you see?] “Dirt floor, clay walls.”

In one particular instance, Nicky says the noun phrase “A fine justification.” It’s already an example of anaphora, as it is referring back to Kozak’s “I believe this can change the world.” Nicky’s sentence bears some similarity to Joe’s “Faster than the elevator” as it’s also an example of a sentence which is missing both verb and subject, however when Joe uses this kind of construction, he only does so before an adjective phrase. One could extrapolate from this that Nicky uses null subject and zero copula construction with adjective phrases and Joe similarly uses it for noun phrases, but that’s just speculation.

The final way that we see Nicky use ellipsis is honestly the most baffling and I’m still not entirely sure how to best explain it. The sentence is “Spend eternity in a cage.” It is clearly not the imperative mood, it wouldn't make sense for Nicky to be telling Nile to spend eternity in a cage. Unlike the other examples of Nicky’s use of ellipsis, the preceding sentence (“That’s the reason we dread capture”) provides context but not specific form. Breaking it down from an English language perspective, the only thing that makes sense to me is that “spend” is actually the infinitive phrase “to spend” where the infinitive "to" has been elided and there is an implied “[We are afraid][to] spend eternity in a cage.” I want to be clear here: I understand this sentence. I know what Nicky is saying, I simply have no idea why I know what he's saying. I don't understand why this sentence works. For further theories, look at the section on sociolinguistics at the bottom.

Sometimes Nicky adds unnecessary pronouns to a sentence.

“But then, Andy and Quynh, they were accused of witchcraft themselves and they were trapped and caught.”

Nicky does use the subordinating conjunction “that” but there are also times when he doesn’t. The common Nicky pattern of *shrug*

“The only reason we haven’t... is that it’s not our time yet”

“As much as I like watching you sleep, I’m glad you’re awake.”

When Nicky asks questions, he doesn’t use any kind of null auxiliary construction or zero copula for subject-auxiliary inversion questions. Nicky is also the only other character (after Andy) polite enough to ask indirect questions, and he uses them when talking to people who kidnapped him, which is kind of a power move. Nicky doesn’t seem to use intonation much when asking questions either.

Subject auxiliary inversion (yes/no questions): “Are we too late?” “Are you sure?”

Indirect: “I don’t suppose it would be possible to get these chains off of us?”

Intonation: “Nile?”

Phrases, expressions and idioms used by Nicky: as much, cast off, do you know, get some rest, getting away, I suppose/don’t suppose, judge of character, love of my life,

Sentence composition**: 47% of Nicky’s sentences are simple sentences, 24% are sentence fragments, 3% are compound sentences, 15% are complex sentences, 2% are compound complex and 9% are not in English.

Adjectives and adjective phrases appear in 23% of Nicky’s sentences. Adverbs appear in 6% of Nicky’s sentences. Nicky doesn’t use adverb phrases.

Languages: English, Italian, Nuer

Before I start this, I want to say that despite having a strong accent, I think Nicky is quite proficient in English. He knows the subtle differences between words like “unethical” and “immoral,” he’s aware of and capable of using expressions with irregular syntax and he uses sophisticated linguistic phenomena in English. He uses so many complex sentences it makes my head spin. Leaving all that aside, I think that Nicky probably translates from Italian into English while speaking. Like Nile, Nicky is very deliberate about his language but in a different way. While Nile uses style-shifting to accomplish a number of different things, Nicky is primarily concerned with clarity. I think that Nicky’s tendency towards more formal language is a kind of overcompensation to make sure that he’s being understood. Another thing worth noting is that I think Nicky has actively studied language before, in a class setting or by himself, and has at least some knowledge of linguistics (specifically syntax). At the very least, he is knowledgeable about both Italian and English syntax.

This theory is largely based around the idea of overcompensation. Nicky is primarily concerned with the clarity of speech and because of that, he doubles-down on grammar and structure. Italian is a null subject language so you actually see Nicky use null subject construction when he says “Sono qui” and “Dovremmo tonarci” but you don’t see anything similar in the way that he speaks English even though all the other characters frequently rely on truncated null subjects. He demonstrates a clear awareness of the standard language restrictions of English and how that compares to the restrictions of Italian. And not just that: there’s actually an example in the movie where Nicky adds an extra and unnecessary pronoun in English. In another sentence, Nicky could have used a contraction on two separate instances and deliberately only contracted one of them because the contractions were two different tenses. For the most part, this overcompensation makes it so Nicky’s speech—while unconventional—is still grammatically correct. That’s how you get things like Nicky saying, “The love of my life was of the people I’ve been taught to hate,” which isn’t how most native-speakers would intuitively phrase it themselves and as a result, a further layer of nuance is added by the use of the Present Perfect Continuous. Despite the fact that Nicky uses some unconventional phrasing in English, he doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it or concerned about it. He’s more than willing to experiment with his speech and seems very confident in it as well. That’s why I think he has some kind of formal language training with English, because he clearly understands the system that he’s working with but is less aware of some of the common ways of speaking. I seriously doubt that Joe and Nicky spend much time speaking to each other in English.

Another point that I think is worth mentioning: while Joe seems to thrive while orating and speaks relatively simply otherwise, Nicky is the exact opposite. Nicky’s language capabilities are on full display when he’s engaging in discourse, but when he’s telling Nile about Quynh, you see a lot more irregular syntax structure from him. It’s during this discussion that you hear the line “Spend eternity in a cage,” that I’ve struggled with above. The other possible explanation for the use of this unconventional sentence construction was actually given to me by @rhubarbdreams, who said that the sentence actually makes more sense syntactically in Italian, which has an impersonal imperative. In fact, in the Italian dub, that’s allegedly what it does (“per non passare l'eternità in una gabbia.”) Whether Nicky’s apparent tendency towards unconventional speech in this circumstance is a chronic tendency from overthinking while speaking English or a result of the specific topic they were discussing is up for personal interpretation, although I do think it’s interesting that Nicky was the one primarily leading conversation up until Joe took over specifically when they were recounting a story. I think this is especially interesting considering Nicky was apparently a priest, however this might just be a limitation to him in languages he doesn’t use as often.

Bonus: Quynh

Quynh doesn’t have that many lines, so it’s not really possible to do any kind of meaningful analysis about her speech patterns (she says 16 sentences and 10 of those are screaming “no” or someone’s name). That being said, I do want to look at all the lines she presumably said in English (I’m ignoring Lykon’s death scene because if Lykon really did die in the 6th or 7th century, then they absolutely weren’t speaking Modern English, you know?)

So first we have the lines from the witch trials:

“I’ve never been burned alive before. What do you think it’s gonna be like?”

“Just you and me.”

Okay so obviously there’s some ambiguity over exactly when this happened, since Joe said 500 years in a box and TOGTH lists it happening around 1750. In the comics, Noriko fell overboard around 1590. I simply think the 1750 date is incorrect based on when people were being burned at the stake for witchcraft and heresy. I could talk more about that and my own headcanons about when it happened, but this is a post about linguistics, so what’s important to take from all this is that it probably took place at the earliest sometime in the late 15th century and, at the latest, the very beginning of the 17th century.

Taking all that into consideration, I can say almost certainly that all of Quynh’s lines are some kind of misremembered modern translation of what she actually said. She uses two contractions (I’ve and it’s) that were maybe in use, but likely uncommon. “It’s” was used, although you would be far more likely to see its counterpart “tis”, and contractions with “have” and “had” were only becoming common towards the end of the 16th century. There’s also the problem of the pronoun “you” and how singular “you” would not have been used in this informal context. And since “you” should be the singular “thou”, the archaic singular second-person conjugation of “do” would instead be correct. And finally: going-to future construction may have been used at the time (I can’t speak to the commonality of it), but I honestly can’t say with any certainty whether the colloquial “gonna” was in use. The first recorded use seems to be the 19th century. I’m sure there are other things that are anachronistic about the speech but I don’t know enough about Early Modern English morphology and syntax to speculate any more about it.

So yeah, Andy and Quynh’s conversation is either Andy’s misremembering of it in Modern English, it was never in English in the first place like the other scene, or just Hollywood movie magic for the viewers (I would love to see someone attempt to translate it back into Early Modern English though, I’m just saying).

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

The one line that I feel has legitimate value in the analysis of Quynh’s speech patterns in English is the final one that she says to Booker. She’s using ME, obviously, with its contractions and singular “you.” She’s also using a modified idiom, “Nice to meet you”, which is interesting because that absolutely wouldn’t have been used when she went under water considering the word “nice” was derogatory at the time. All of this implies to me that Quynh has definitely spent time on land before she finds Booker. Also she split the infinitive ("to meet"). I don't know what that says about her speech, but I sure am looking at it.

Fun Quynh fact: of the 6 times that Andy’s full name is used in the movie, half of them are said by Quynh

**A note on sentence composition: I intentionally didn't go into detail about sentence composition outside of brief mentions. If any of you are curious about it, you can ask. I'm more than willing to discuss sentence clause structure, but I didn't want this to become even longer and more convoluted than it already is. Part of why I’m reluctant to give it any weight here is because of how lenient I was with what was considered a sentence fragment vs. a simple sentence, as the characters are speaking colloquial English. A movie isn’t formal writing and to evaluate dialogue by that same metric is silly. Also, I considered interjections sentence fragments to start and then realized halfway through that that was a bad idea and they should have had their own separate section, but at that point I was in too deep, and didn’t want to go back and do it all again. In the same way, there are sentences that I considered compound or complex sentences, but that “technically” aren’t because a lot of characters drop pronominal subjects and like. Officially you can’t have null subject clauses in English, because that’s not how the language works on paper (imperative mood aside). Or they elided part of the sentence so that technically it's not a clause. But people don’t actually care about stuff like that when they talk. Also I may have messed up a few times, because complex sentences are hard and sometimes I get phrases and clauses confused. It can be difficult to tell when there’s a lot happening, you know? (this is about Nicky. Sir, why do you talk like that)

If you’re a fanfic writer, I’m going to advise that you take the part about sentence composition with a grain of salt or ignore it entirely, unless you’re already familiar with sentence clause structure in English. It will not be helpful to you for writing character dialogue until you’ve actually put in the work to understand it and practice. As mentioned, I still mess it up sometimes if a sentence has too many phrases. Basically, if you think too hard about it, I guarantee it’ll stress you out.

#the old guard #andromache the scythian #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani #nile freeman #sebastien le livre #quynh #tog meta #tog linguistics #long post #like reallyyyyyyy long #it's around 9.5k words #anyway i'm really excited to chare this with everyone!!#i've been working very hard on it #also in terms of formatting i like how it looks on ao3 much more than here so that's how i would recommend viewing it

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lvlyhao · 4 years

Text

『you’re dating him but he’s not your bias』

reaction fic; NCT Dream

A/N: this is nct dream’s reaction to realizing your bias is not him (and you’re a couple). gender neutral, got way too deep at some points and was NOT meant to be this long. enjoy.

note that english is my second language and i speak mixing slang, accents and spellings from 3283928 places so i did notice there’s practice written with both s and c down there so

just dont mind it pls

also, today’s photo theme is dream looking cute in low quality shots.

𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮𝓼: fluff (♡), angst (❆), comedy (☼), crack (⍢).

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: lots of swearing, my tough love for the neos, one mention of cheating that doesn’t actually happen, a couple of mentions of alcohol and drinking, some violence hidden in metaphors, me being chaotic, it got a bit more angsty and darker than i intended, but we do have all happy endings.

word count: 6.8K

pairing: nct dream members x reader ( includes mark, renjun, jeno, haechan, jaemin, chenle, jisung)

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Mark

oh, poor baby

i feel like he would be a little heartbroken

just a little

not so much if it’s someone from dream, because they’re his little brothers, but if it’s one of his hyungs from 127 or wayv,,,,,

boy might cry

he’s not super dramatic about it or anything but i don’t see him as being super confident about himself

so he might think like

“do they think he’s cooler than me?”

and it’s silly, yes, he knows

but it’s just something that pops up in his mind sometimes when you bring him up

so for the sake of this fanfic let’s pretend you’re johnny biased

because gods know i am

at least when it comes to 127

mark would be divided into fanboying with you and being like “YO, HE’S THE COOLEST GUY ON EARTH OH MY GOD I’M SO GLAD YOU AGREE”

and

“a h”

would constantly try to get closer to you when johnny is around, and just

showing off in little (kinda dumb) ways

complimenting you

being even more whipped than usual

like yes he’ll give you all of his watermelon slices just please don’t look at johnny like that again

i think johnny would kind of play into it with the whole “imma steal your s/o” thing

and he doesn’t do it to make mark jealous or hurt

we know he’d rather get hit by a train than ever actually upsetting his son on purpose

but we also know he’s johnny

cue “OH DUDE HE’S FLIRTING”

so yeah he might call you lil pet names (beautiful, cutie, you get it)

just to see you giggle

(and see your soul leave your body)

might say he’s taking you out for dinner when he’s just driving you to get more ice cream for a movie night with the gang lol

and winks

expect a lot of winks

anywhere and anytime

which makes mark sometimes feel like he’s intruding???

and that you appreciate johnny more than him???

he genuinely doesn’t understand how you can date him and still not have him as your bias

don’t you like, love him above everyone else or smth lol

his “showing off” phase eventually fades tho

now every time you hang you with the boys and johnny is around, he’ll be a bit more distant

he thinks he’s giving you space to interact with his friends but he’s just shying away from competing with one of his favourite people ever

and it’s a competition that Does Not Exist™

but he’s not 100% aware of that

and you’re not that dense

so ofc you notice

and you wait till you two are alone to talk to him, and he BEGRUDGINGLY admits that you being johnny biased makes him feel kinda small and unimportant

he’d never try to make you change your bias or anything

he just needs reminders that he’s your #1 boy sometimes

which is fine by you

and by him

cus now it’s you calling him pet names all the time

and hugging him

and kissing his cheek

and praising his work

and blowing kisses from across the room

and just telling him straight up that no matter what, you’ll always go to him

(not that you ever had any chance with johnny lmao)

THIS GOES TO SHOW COMMUNICATING IS KEY, CHILDREN

COMMUNICATE

Renjun

wym donghyuck is your bias lol

literally are you fucking kidding him

don’t get me wrong ok

everyone knows renjun loves haechan

they’re bffs and could not live without each other

but at the same time,,,

what is wrong with you

who did he choose as his s/o gods help him

if it was jeno, or mark, or jaehyun, or winwin, or kun, or lucas, or yuta, or taeyong, or ten, or,,,,

literally ANY of his other members

he’d understand your point and be like “ok fine”

but haechan???? hmmm bestie no

he’s not gonna throw a fit

not after the first time you told him anyways

HE WAS SURPRISED OKAY

and he just whined very loudly after having laughed for 5 minutes thinking it was a joke

if you don’t know that iconic scene, renjun had a whole ass meltdown in 3 seconds while yelling “aAAAAAH JINJJAAAAA” and getting ready to punch the living shit out of hyuck

for no reason other than the fact that it’s haechan we’re talking about and injun’s little body is filled with rage

BACK ON TRACK

would probably try to act all cool about it and be like “i don’t mind” but bruh does he mind

and it doesn’t help that haechan is such a little shit about it

he doesn’t even flirt with you

he just

constantly reminds renjun that he’s your bias—not him—and then constantly praises himself over you

“ah, y/n~ did you choose me as your bias because i’m the best vocalist? or was it because i’m the best dancer? mAYBE IT WAS BECAUSE OF MY OH SO BROAD SHOULDERS—”

(pause for injun to punch him)

(unpaused)

and ok in the beginning it was funny seeing him all worked up but now it’s just annoying to be in the same room as these two

haechan won’t let either of you live

and renjun just wants to

fight

so it eventually gets to the point where you’ll talk to renjun and jeno will talk to hyuck cus even the other dreamies are tired of it

except maybe for chenle, he always laughs his ass off when they start bickering

ANYWAY

your conversation goes something like “oh my god renjun i’m literally dating you, i don’t like haechan better or anything you little pile of fury”

while jeno sits hyuck down in front of him and jaemin and just

“bro why are you like this”

“bro”

no but renjun would apologize for going overboard with his protectiveness and jealous energy because he’s not generally like that

he’s angry all the time but never about something involving you, you know

he tries his best to treat you like the royalty you are

but something about hyuck being your bias makes him feel a bit like a castaway???

he’s very creative and as an artsy kid myself i know we’re very prone to feeling left out because we’re just different from the others

so he’d think maybe haechan really has a better voice

or better dancing skills

or he looks better

he is taller than injun after all, and has broader shoulders, and his hair is all fluffy and—

the whole thing just made him insecure about things he had settled with himself long ago

he was fine with being him

but not so much when it came to that

i don’t think you two would fight over it cus tbh i think renjun would really only get with someone who can be very understanding of him

and i think hyuck would actually apologize to renjun too

not when everyone’s around but like, maybe after dinner or something and he just needs to feel like they’re besties again

hyuck never meant for things to get out of control

he just really likes both injun and you as his friends, and aside from skinship his most prominent love language is,,,

teasing

he was really just trying (very poorly) to grow closer to the person his best friend loves so much—you—because renjun is SUCH a big part of his life it would just feel wrong to not be good friends with you as well

don’t tell them i said this but they hug it out

injun strikes me as someone that could take a bit of time to bounce back from something that hurt his pride or his sense of belonging

and his way of healing and bonding is just,,,

art

sure, keep being haechan biased, but also please read with him

and talk about his fantastic animal creations

and watch those buzzfeed unsolved alien theory videos because he really wants to discuss it and maybe even draw what he thinks the aliens look like

hyuck tones it down, you make sure renjun knows you like him for him, renjun starts to (secretly) appreciate hyuck’s talent along with you...

and now let’s take a moment to imagine the minute you watch their latest mv with injun by your side

and yes okay the first thing you see is CLEARLY how good renjun looks because holy fucking shit he’s an angel (and i’m clearly not renjun biased)

but then,,,,,,

wAS THAT A HAECHAN HIGH NOTE

(there’s always a haechan high note, just look for it)

and ok maybe he did scream a bit with you because of how good it all sounded

and you know what, it works out perfectly bc you two are my new otp and you were meant for each other

but we do have to mention the eventual happening of chenle saying like “oOoOoOoH y/N wErE yOu dRoOliNg oVeR hAeChAn AgAiN” after a special stage

and then you, injun and hyuck all attempt to choke him

i’m kidding

or not

Jeno

ah, lee jeno

aka samoyed boi

yes i do call him that no i will not stop

everyone is always writing jeno as being super protective and literally about to burst a lung if someone else ever does as much as look at you

but i just

don’t see him that way

he’s a taurus and from what i know about taurus they can be v v jealous, yes, but they mainly seek comfort

so he’s fine with you biasing jaemin

as long as you’re not ditching him or anything lol

and ok, imma be 100% honest here even if it sounds like literal no fun (jenojaem wink wonk)

jaemin doesn’t flirt with you

not any more than he flirts with

every other breathing creature

ever

he’s really only platonically interested in you, never remotely romantic or anything lol

on the other side, he is in love with jeno

basically, if jaemin is your bias, jeno is his

so nothing really changes

we know how nomin are, okay

they hold hands, they stare deeply into each other eyes, they nearly kiss at least once every time they go live

it's just them

you gotta respect it bruh

i know this is the most boring reaction ever so let’s create the one (1) instance where jeno would actually dislike that you bias someone else

i think he would feel a bit hurt if you seemed to be more supportive of jaemin’s work than his

and it’s not something big or on purpose

it’s just something like going with him to a recording session but not going with jeno because you have homework

or after a very busy practise day going to praise jaemin first

even if it’s just three words

“you did good”

and then you’re going towards him, he’s gonna feel like maybe he doesn’t deserve your praise as much as nana????

i actually feel like, among the dreamies, jeno is the least confident one when it comes to his performance

he knows he’s not an awful rapper or anything but i think it can be a bit too much, being around such bright and huge presences like the others while his nickname literally means “no fun”

his members are just so loud and full of energy most of the time

and sometimes he just really needs to be quiet and observe in silence

(yes i do know he’s chaotic and a crackhead, i’m just saying as we know he can be a bit introspective)

so what if you just

stopped seeing him?

did he become invisible to you?

did you finally fall for jaemin’s beautiful smile and stupid pick-up lines?

he’s not gonna let it show that he’s affected, though

earth signs are nearly always the ones to “stay strong” because we have this image that people are relying on us???

so we do what we do

bottle everything up and overwork ourselves bc we only got two modes

1. chill, super balanced and down to earth (ay for the pun)

2. please make us take a break we’re literally about to cry if we work for one more minute but we can’t allow ourselves to fucking take it easy

so yes you’ve guessed correctly, we’re going with 2

jeno is going to go so, SO hard on everything he does

literally every single activity you can think of from dance practice to photoshoots to cooking for the dreamies

he stays up later than usual to get that one tricky move in the choreo just right

he works out more because he thinks he has to look absolutely perfect for when they shoot the mv

jisung asked for ramen? he’s making it but you bet your ass he’s spending over 40 minutes just chopping so

many

vegetables

AND STUFF THAT JISUNG WON’T EVEN EAT

but he’s doing it anyway for the reason being that it just has to be the Best™

and it’s not like he’s competing with anyone else to be diligent

this is just about being better than he was and showing himself—and maybe you—how painstakingly hardworking and driven he can be

maybe then you’re gonna acknowledge him as much as you acknowledge nana :((

:(((((

writing this is making me downright sad, jeno is so underrated and unaware of his power UGH

and i need to point out this is NOT about making you change your bias from jaemin to him, this is solely about having you recognize his efforts, even if you already do

if you just thought jeno was like going off in work because it was asked of him to, jaemin would DEF notice and talk to you about it

turns out it’s a habit of jeno to go extra hard sometimes and he needs someone to make him take a break

so it goes down like you breaking into the practice room when jeno and jisung were practising

the first reaction is confusion

the second is oh hey babe how are you

third is

a-are you dragging jeno and his bag out of the door while screeching at jisung to order pizza and doughnuts for everyone??

yes you are and i’m proud of you

so jeno is still confused and making those cute “hUh” noises he does omg i love him so much

and you’re just rambling about how much of an amazing artist he is, and you love his voice, and he’s a fantastic dancer, and his expressions and gestures are on point, and he takes such good care of the dreamies and

he’s perfect

and he knows jaemin must have talked to you, and he feels so vulnerable to have you know how on edge he’s been

baby boy just needs some rest

and that’s exactly what you give him, with a bath full of those fancy bath bombs and flower petals and candles at your house/apt

then a quick sheet mask while you massage his shoulders and keep saying how much you genuinely admire him

the mask might be ruined cus he started crying out of exhaustion

after that’s been done and you’ve hugged for at least like 5 min nonstop, you head over to the dorms, where hyuck was in charge of setting up a blanket fort while mork and nana gather board games, jisung gets the food and chenle

well chenle just had to make sure jisung doesn’t forget to order for someone and doesn’t break like 10 plates trying to set the table lol

this is way longer than the others so imma wrap it up

make it obvious and loud that you see and respect jeno’s hard work and he’ll be alright again

and maybe make those game nights a weekly thing when possible, it would make him very happy

he’ll never again feel sad when you praise jaemin cus now he’s sure he does enough, and above all, he is enough

Haechan

haechan = full sun

why would you ever bias someone when you’re dating the goddamned sun

does not understand

but also does not care that much

actually, one out of two really depending on who your bias is

if it’s one of the members he has that tom/jerry relationship with, prepare for so

much

complaining

and clinging

AND HE’D BE SO LOUD OH MY FUCKING GOD

donghyuck please stop screaming about doyoung not deserving to be your baby’s bias, it’s 2 am

on the other hand, if it’s one of the (few) members he,,,

adores with all of his heart and is not afraid to show it

ex: sungchan, jaehyun, taeil and yang2x

then you can bet he’s going to be right beside you whenever you feel like throwing a fit because he’s just so handsome and talented

IF IT’S MARK OSHDISJD

i’m going to write you as being mark biased ok? ok

i honestly don’t know if he’d feel more jealous of mark or of you

he loves you both

a lot,,,,

and he really doesn’t like it when mark blushes when you compliment him

and he doesn’t like it when mark literally just walks past you and you trip over your feet because bro tf u doing, that’s some embarrassing shit

lowkey done with you two

but also PAY HIM SOME ATTENTION

or don’t, he’s fine either way (cue crossed arms and staring at you from across the room until you come give him a kiss)

“he’s pretty cute but i’m cuter right baby”

pouty pouty pouty if he ever feels neglected

will be so fucking annoying lmao i can’t write haechan, i love him but i do understand why renjun is always trying to beat him up

he’d be a show-off in a different way than mark because he can be so petty

will take every chance he gets to pull a one-liner

will sing everything he has to say just so you know he can hit those high notes

what do you mean dream doesn’t have a schedule today

oh man, he could swear they did

because that is the sole reason why he’s wearing his most expensive clothes and shoes + makeup to walk around the dorms, yes

no he doesn’t want to impress you

shut up

will text you like every single fancam he sees on twitter

every

single

one

and are they mark’s?

lol no, they’re his

he is so genuinely trying to make you a member of his sunflower cult

<whispers> “tell me i’m your bias”

“donghyuck what the actual hell why are you standing at the end of my bed in the middle of the night like a fucking demon child”

he really wants to act all cool and composed but he wants to be your bias so fucking bad

he’s a bad bitch all around and just does whatever

cus haechan privilege

and he tends to not care about what people say and think???

bc he knows he’s lee donghyuck

he’s fully aware of the effect he has on people

but you

not biasing him

naw, he can’t take it

will do anything and everything he can to make you say, JUST ONE TIME, he’s your bias

then you can go back to loving (his) mark

so for your sake, for his sake, for mark’s sake

just give donghyuck what he wants

i can promise he’ll keep being an ass no matter what you do

like yeah did you just buy him coffee and his favourite cake? well that’s sweet but iS HE YOUR BIAS YET

“aw babe thanks so much for taking a bullet for me but now please say i’m your bias”

if you still don’t do it, it’s time to be extra petty

will actually drop you for mark

his logic is something like: he can’t be your bias? pity, so he’s just gonna date him instead

and mark is mark so he has no idea what’s going on

everyone in 127 and dream finds this absolutely hilarious cus suddenly donghyuck seems to be doing his best to win over mark’s heart and i mean more than usual???? and he’s treating you like his bro????

<you leaving the dorms to go to uni or smth so you go to hyuck for a goodbye kiss> “no can do, i’m committed”

“i’m your partner”

“no that’s mark”

it’s not 100% a joke when i say i can see him getting down in one knee to propose to mark while making eye contact with you to

assert his dominance

and mark is just

“dude

what HAHAHA”

and you are so done, i’m so sorry you have to go through that bby

i don’t think there’s another way to fix haechan other than just admitting he was your bias for an era, or a comeback or something

like yeah with the other dreamies before him it’s bonding + healing time bc i wrote it all kinda angsty (lol sorry) but with donghyuck

“will you stop this if i say you were my bias during reload era”

“mark wasn’t in dream that era tho”

“yes i know”

i say he’s gonna take what he can get and now things can finally go back to normal

with the exception that something else comes along with hyuck being satisfied with you biasing him

he just has a full pass to fanboy over mark now too

what am i talking about?

new 127 mv is out

you: watching it beside haechan and going off about how pretty mark looks

him: going off even harder bc he’s whipped too

this is what a happy couple looks like

but now i pity mark because he has you two idiots fanboying over him irl

savemork2021

Jaemin

nana is just such a chill and fun guy

i can’t see him being actually jealous or anything if he finds out you bias someone else

and so the two of you become insufferable together

bitch, i’m telling you

he (ur bias) is not gonna have one peaceful day ever again in his entire life

cus you know the thing jaemin does where he just looks at someone doing some random shit and goes “oOoOoH sExY”

yes that thing

he’s doing it to your bias

and you’re doing it too

and your bias probably wants to run away to some very far away land

PLEASE IF IT’S JISUNG

i’m not gonna write this whole thing as if you bias him but let’s just imagine

two fully grown people

pilling on top of poor, poor park jisung playing games on his phone

“URI JISUNGIEEEEEE

MWOYA, MWOYAAAA~"

i genuinely think he would avoid being around you two at the same time

cus individually he can handle it

like yes y/n please let me go this hug has lasted for about 4 minutes now

or oh hi jaemin hyung my cheeks hurt when you pinch them that hard

but when you two are together

bruh

a power couple not bc you two are v confident or some shit but bc you can and will be extremely affectionate towards anyone that comes too close

and now let’s talk about how it would be if you biased jaehyun

jaemin loves jaehyun

they’re 2jae

2jae are soulmates

therefore,,,, it’s also kinda hellish but in a different way???

bc 2jae are on the end of that spectrum about the neos that know how in love the entire world is with them

they’re too powerful

they’re aware of their charm and they do everything they can to rub it in our faces

so the flirting between 2jae and you would be insane

and i mean insane

insane as in even johnny is kinda disgusted tbh bc

they’re doing a photo shoot with the 23 of them for some shit, idk don’t ask me

and of course, you had to tag along

but oh my god you three, please stop calling each other sexy/hot in weird voices now, the staff is staring

there are def rumours the 3 of you are a poly couple lmao

jaehyun denies everything on social media (throwback to saying “no way lol” when we asked if he REALLY slept in the same bed as jungwoo)

but every piece of content there is of you and jaemin or you and jaehyun or just them is so ridiculously flirty

you can bet there are compilations on youtube like

“y/n being in love with 2jae for 8 minutes heterosexual”

ok i was having way too much fun with that, moving on

i don’t think he’d ever be actually upset about you biasing someone else

he trusts you and treasures you a lot so he doesn’t see the problem in you also appreciating another one of his members

bc gods know he does

he’s a bit in love with everyone so why shouldn’t you be too lol

one time he would feel a bit blue because of it???

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

i think it’s possible he’d turn pouty or whiny or just kinda needy (not in a bad way, he just misses you) when he’s like

done with people

and needs some time away from everything

we know he’s an introvert, even if he acts very, very loud around the boys and it’s honestly just a matter of time until an introvert grows tired of being around humans

it depends on each person, of course, but there’s a 99% chance every once in a while he’ll start to feel too drained

and he’ll need a break to get his energy back

jaemin would probably want you around even when he feels like that, though

i see you being such a big source of comfort for him in a relationship

he enjoys taking care of people so please take care of him too

and for just this one day don’t talk about your bias that much, or don’t leave nana to go over to him to chat

and just cuddle him a lot

that will make him a smiley baby again

and then things are back to how they normally are

and by that i mean most neos hiding from you because they’re scared

i don’t have a lot to say aside from that so let’s think about the neos that would be the most intimidated by your shared thot aura

dotae would be confused in different ways lol

taeyong would be just ????????????blush/awkward smile/hahaha??????

and doyoung might actually ask what is wrong with you

<points to jeno and his s/o> “why can’t you be like them”

mark would laugh-scream and slap his knee into oblivion whenever you two are cornering him

but then go super shy and be like “dUDE DON’T DO THAT”

resident confident gay jungwoo would rejoice in the attention and make so many goddamned jokes

a literal comedian i love him

i think sicheng and renjun would be on the same wavelength of repugnance towards you lol

chenle would deadass call you weird and tell you to leave him alone

shotaro and kun might faint (or kun will panic-scold you)

taeil is as confused by affection as usual (have you seen the face he makes when haechan kisses him LMFAO he’s smiling but like wondering wtf happened on the inside)

ten is not very amused but might play into it

yangyang: that’s disgusting, man (cue flashbacks to that live with renjun after the from home stage where renjun pretended to lick his hand and slick his hair back,,, catboy injun,,, you know the one)

xiaojun and hendery are such panicked gays they just turn to stare at whoever else is around and make that “help” expression like they’re on the office

haechan is haechan, kinda doesn’t mind it

jeno is used to dealing with this at this point

lucas and yuta love the attention but while yuta will flirt right back lucas is just gonna smile and try to jop his way out of there while screaming

sungchan will go hide behind haechan and say “hyung they’re being dumbasses again”

this turned into ‘how would nct react to you and jaemin being super flirty together’ and i’m not sorry

Chenle

chenle is so fun to write i love him lmao

okay so

he doesn’t strike me as the possessive type with anyone other than jisung (bc i swear he can be a bit jelly towards his bestie but i think it comes with sungie being the sweetest bean ever, he’s just protective)

he’s such a ray of sunshine and witty jokes and dolphin laughter i love him

back to the plot

he literally couldn’t care less about you biasing someone else

b u t

i will say there’s an exception

this exception is tall, kinda lanky, very awkward and born on the 5th of february

you’ve guessed it, it’s jisung

i think most of the time he’d tease THE SHIT out of you for it because c’mon

you had 22 chances not to mess up

and you still somehow ended up biasing jisung? lol do better next time

and this is not me and chenle hating on jisung, please—

he’d just find it funny that your bias is his best friend and

hold the fuck up

your bias is his best friend

oH NO NO NO NO NO

i think after realizing that he would lowkey try to keep you two apart because he’s somehow jealous of both????

and if he can’t help it then you can bet your ass he will be screaming all along

it’s his sweet, dummy jisung

with his sweeter and dummier y/n

what is he going to do

probably has a mini-breakdown with kun because like he’s always wanted you two to get along bUT NOT LIKE THAT

kun will just sigh like the tired father he is and pet his back while saying “there, there”

and a genius idea is going to come to chenle’s mind

you know the teasing thing?

well it’s upgrade time

he’s gonna turn into such a try-hard with tmi and embarrassing shit you two have done

and he’s not trying to stop you from being friends

he just wants you to like

know who you’re befriending

bc i think since he’s really really close to jisung, he doesn’t want you getting closer to him bc you like his idol side alone

and he doesn’t want jisung getting close to you just because you’re his partner either

if you had high hopes for each other and ended up kinda falling face-first into the ground bc it was nothing like you had imagined—

he’d be so broken

because he loves you so much :((((

so like, if you can get past the teasing and annoying barrier he’s putting up, he’ll be more than happy to have two of the most important people in his life being buddies

so get ready for it

if you’re the type of person to go batshit crazy when you drink, oh boy, oh boy

so you and the dreamies are just having dinner when lele feels like it’s the perfect time to disclose some of your drunken adventures

“hey y/n”

“yeah babe?”

“remember that time you got really really drunk on vodka and candy and wanted to call your mom”

“chenle the hell don’t talk ab—”

“but then you tried using the microwave as a phone”

“...”

“or that other time you were equally as drunk and watched the make a wish mv and cried because you noticed the height difference between xiaojun hyung and lucas hyung”

yeah so now’s the part you get up to chase him around the dorms and try to land a kick

BUT WORRY NOT, HE’LL MAKE SURE TO EMBARRASS JISUNG JUST AS MUCH

he likes doing that when it’s just the three of you though

so picture this

movie night the girls boys

chenle would 100% pick the most terrifying horror movie he can find so that he could see jisung clinging to whoever’s closest to him

and then right before a jumpscare, he’d whisper like

“jisung”

“w-what”

“why don’t you do that thing you were doing while you slept last night”

(honestly, i’d be mildly scared if i heard lele say this with no context at all)

and then the jumpscare happens and jisung is nearly fainting and crying at the same time

but chenle is laughing

and trying to get out what he wants to tell you between wheezes

“he-he” <dolphin wheeze> “hE WAS SINGING CHEER UP BY TWICE WHILE SLEEPING” <more wheezes>

and look this is just gonna go on for weeks until you and jisung are over it

and stop being weird and awkward around each other

lele needs you two to be bros ok

so be bros

once you do adapt to being pals with your bias i think chenle would take the teasing down a notch just to make you more comfortable

and like he’s so happy now the three of you can hang out and there’s just no tension

happy chenle is the thing i love the most i swear to gods

and if you don’t adapt to it?

well,,,

i honestly think he’d be pretty disappointed, cus it means to him one of you isn’t ready to fully embrace the weirdness within????

and like what u scared of

jisung is a weirdo, what about it, so are you

either that or he’d think you’re maybe being judgemental

so yeah please accept jisungie and your dumbass boyfriend

then everyone can be besties

i love thinking about the three of you as just this hellbound chaotic trio

because chenji already wreak havoc wherever they go as the two of them

but now that you’re coming along,,,,

no neo would escape from your pranks ever again (and even members of other groups lmfao watch out sehun, i’m talking to you)

and it’s so incredible infuriating in a good way that it just turns to be endearing

you’re cute as fuck so no one gets actually mad with the shit you pull????

which is dangerous, someone should really keep an eye out on the three of you

we don’t need sm to be on fire

well we kinda do cus they’re pretty bad but not my point

i said somewhere above that chenle would tone the teasing down but i don’t mean he’d stop

bc c’mon guys

he’s chenle

no limits here

but sorry, i really cannot write jealous!chenle cus his heart is just too pure and filled with joy for him to be jealous for real

last scenario?

chenle after a comeback stage: ya y/n, i was gonna ask how was my performance today but you were probably more focused on jisung’s arms right

jisung is choking on water somewhere behind you

Jisung

it’s maknae time <plays i.n’s maknae on top>

i don’t mean to picture jisung as being like

ridiculously innocent or just downright naive because i really dislike it when people do that

he’s a literal 19 yo and jaemin himself has said he’s not as innocent as we think lol

however

i do see him as being quite new to all things love

i think you’d probably be his first partner and with first relationships comes a lot of other firsts

first kiss maybe, first time holding hands, first time being jealous….

first time being jealous, yes, focus on that

i don’t think jisung would be aware that like

you not biasing him is even a possibility

cuz you’re dating

doesn’t that come along????

ah poor baby i love him

if you biased chenle i think he’d be just

disgusted and weirded out but okay?? you do you i guess???

he’s comfortable enough with lele to not feel intimidated

but if it’s another member

ESPECIALLY one of the oldest ones

i think it would be a blow straight to his confidence

you biasing ten, kun, taeil, taeyong, doyoung or johnny and maybe yuta would make him feel a bit hesitant and concerned

his first thought would probably be that you don’t like being with someone as young as him

and who knows, maybe you’re even younger than him, maybe you’re the same age, but what if you actually like older guys??

what about him then???

and jisung doesn’t mean to feel so worried and insecure, ok, pls understand where i’m coming from

first relationships normally take like a very long time to build trust and acceptance of the other person’s feelings bc it’s literally a whole new world for you

and that goes extra hard for jisung because he is so fucking whipped for you it’s still hard to believe you like him as much

and it absolutely does not cross his mind that you’d cheat on him with your bias, GODS NO

he really respects you and his hyungs

so no, never

that’s not a thing that can happen

but you realize you’re too good for him and maybe see he doesn’t fit your ideal type?

well, yes, that’s what he’s thinking

probably goes straight to chenle or renjun (he talks about renjun so much asjahj) to vent and ask for advice

i think they’d be surprised to see what’s going on inside his pretty little head because it’s so obvious for everyone that you just adore jisung

and they do tell him that

however, i don’t think it would completely calm his nerves, and again, this has nothing to do with not trusting you

it’s just that

his hyungs are so cool…

HE CAN’T HELP IT OK

would probably try to mirror your bias (i’m saying it’s taeyong for the sake of what i’ve imagined ok) and like

grasp onto some of his qualities?

so in his mind taeyong is: nice, sweet, caring, amazing, perfect, smart, perfect, sexy, mature and did i mention perfect

i can see him trying some new rap styles that mimic tyong’s a bit???

like would lowkey learn his raps from cherry bomb and superm’s one and listen to recordings frequently to pick up on how taeyong does it

i think he’d also just change the way he acts in general to dodge a bit from his maknae image

so now he tries to speak with a more formal-ish language and learns random facts about things you like to seem more intelligent???

“good morning y/n, you look as beautiful as one of voiello’s paintings today :]”

“wait i thought that was a pasta brand”

he’s just trying to show you he can be mature and serious if you want him to

long story short, he’s not acting like himself (not that he’s childish, he’s just out of it) and you don’t like it, so you ask about it and wait for him to feel comfortable with sharing

when he does talk about it breaks your heart so much :((

you’re going to need some patience to try and show him you’d choose him, and not your bias, even if you had the chance

they’re completely different people and you love him BECAUSE he’s jisung, not for any other reason

please reassure him so he can go back to acting like his authentic self, i think it would be such a relief for him too

your words and affection are obviously enough for him, but if it ever happens that he feels especially low and insecure again, it would help if your bias talks to him too

and taeyong wouldn’t have a problem with it

actually, scratch that, taeyong probably knew what was going on all along

he just has that motherly 7th sense (ay) that is even more acute with the dreamies cus like

127 has him, wayv has kun, but dream has…

the dreamies

and that, my friend, is terrifying

anyway he’d come to talk to jisung asking like “what’s wrong buddy :(“ and sungie would be a bit ashamed because it sounds so silly when you say it out loud

of course tyong wouldn’t judge him, and he just really has to tell jisung what is it you and he are always talking about

it’s him

“when they come around to talk and hang out here it all goes back to you, jisungie. they can’t spend one second without mentioning your name

it’s so cute; it’s always like ‘oh jisung would love this’ or ‘jisung likes it that way’

so please be kinder to yourself and let yourself see that they’re in love with you, not with me and not with any other member they ever mention”

jisung would feel 10000000% better

and smiley

and giggly

and oh my god do you really talk about him that much

LOOK HE’S BLUSHING

would just go over to your house immediately and hug you, burying his face on your neck from behind you

and not let go

ever again

the whole situation just teaches him a lot about accepting your love for him and not questioning it

shut up i’m not crying

---

final notes: this was my first work after the humanity series and it was so fun lol i think next up is probs gonna be an ideal type scenario for ot23 (but if i really write it i’m gonna post it by subunit and its gonna be way shorter than this, don’t expect 23K words at once lmao)

if you’ve enjoyed this fic please consider reading my humanity series, which is a zombie apocalypse au with kun <3

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