#taking lyrics on art to the next level

[koilarist]

Maybe I'm trippin', but I don't mind...

[accio-victuuri]

goodnight song is what we thought it would be and more 🌙

even before this was fully released, we already had expectations and clowning related to it. and a line from this song was the first real clue we had that the rumored album was actually true. so cpn aside, this track will always be special. there is an official explanation to this song and everyone is free to keep it that way because it’s a perfectly good message that goes well with the entire album. however, as with all other kinds of art, it is up for interpretation. and who’s to say there aren’t alternative meanings. it’s not like he can publicly say that oh, this is about the loml. anyway, while i was reading through some reactions to it i found one that perfectly describes it:

There is not a word about love, but every sentence is filled with love. Every word in the lyrics is a clear love story that people who know can understand at a glance.

and that’s the beauty of this song. it doesn’t have love in big bold letters but to those of us who have paid attention for years, we can see it.

so what did we see? …..

let’s look at the lyrics. 📝

Using a bowl of noodles, a bowl of soup

To flush away this piece of sorrow that warms the heart

Thinking again of her, or of him

Just think of it as an after-meal refreshment

i was already freaking out with the first line! sure, you can say he is talking about a comfort food that makes him less lonely but then the next part goes that he is thinking of someone. who could it be? who was the someone who nagged him to eat noodles? not only that, the same person who always asked him to eat well? YIBO.

i think this is common knowledge by know. the infamous wonton noodles. even his solos cannot deny what they saw in the cql bts. even in lrlg, this is a usual scenario.

🟢 "I'll cook noodles for you"

🟢 “Get off the car and eat noodles”

🟢 "Mom said, when you come back, let me cook noodles for you."

🟢 "I'll cook noodles for you. Where can you eat your first meal if you're not at home?"

yibo making sure that xz is eating well and vice versa. as a cpf, this is one of those clues that made me side-eye their relationship. it’s not even the fact that wyb made sure he eats cause any friend can do that — but the lengths he would go to make sure xz did. it was different.

and now xz gave his answer of how he saw that. in this first line alone. it warmed his heart. it was and is an act of love in it’s most basic form 🥹🥹🥹🥹

i also feel like this is a case of if you know, you know. if that first line didn’t hit you in the head then no amount of explanation will.

Don't be too pessimistic; need to try to become habituated sooner or later

The one left behind has no choice but to bear it

A 'good night' left for my past

this to me is him having to get used to the distance from a lover because of his work. but they have no choice but to bear it and try to live through it by the good night from the last time they met/spoke.

How many people, must take how many corners

Before being able to find their other half

Don't retreat, seeing your single-mindedness

Is able to disperse my anxieties

xz acknowledges how hard it is to find your soulmate. your twin flame. and most likely, harder to keep it. but as explained here, that person’s single mindedness or maybe you can say that person’s devotion towards him is enough to soothe his anxieties.

when you hear single mindedness or maybe single minded focus, doesn’t that remind you of yibo? and i love how cpfs went back on how persistent yibo was when it comes to xz (evidenced by mostly cql bts). some saw it as being a gremlin or him being a naive boy with a crush but clearly xz was comforted by it. most likely even now. as yibo said, what he decided when he was 21, he will continue on till 81. that level of commitment to xz is what he needs to drive away the anxieties.

Using a short phrase, a bowl of food

To take away the entire night's loneliness

Time to stop speaking, the sun's about to rise

Thank you for the warmth you gifted me

Thank you for the 'good night' you gifted me

there we go with the sunrise again 🌄 and love and affection equated with warmth.

this is a really sweet way to describe love. it’s not about someone being with you at night but one who can take away the loneliness with just a good night. no kiss. no hugs. nothing barely physical mentioned. but something as simple as a good night. that at the end of a long exhausting day, or whatever happens, he has that someone who will wish him a good night.

i’m gonna cry 😭😭😭😭😭

and oh someone pointed out that the lyrics, you can see Y & B. YIBO. what a coincidence!

-END.

P.S: feel free to interpret this song however you want. this post is not a space to argue about what other meaning it could have. if you want the official meaning, his team already released that. there is no point in debating or trying to convince me of whatever. this post is on the cpf side so if that’s not you, why are you even reading this post lol.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Poetry Writing Tips

Rules for Writing Good Poetry

There are no officially sanctioned rules of poetry.

However, as with all creative writing, having some degree of structure can help you reign in your ideas and work productively.

Some guidelines for those looking to take their poetry writing to the next level.

Or, if you literally haven’t written a single poem since high school, you can think of this as a beginner's guide on the basics and have you writing poetry in no time:

Read a lot of poetry. If you want to write poetry, start by reading poetry. You can do this in a casual way by letting the words of your favorite poems wash over you without necessarily digging for deeper meaning. Or you can delve into analysis. Dissect an allegory in a Robert Frost verse. Ponder the underlying meaning of an Edward Hirsch poem. Retrieving the symbolism in Emily Dickinson’s work. Do a line-by-line analysis of a William Shakespeare sonnet. Simply let the individual words of a Walt Whitman elegy flow with emotion.

Listen to live poetry recitations. The experience of consuming poetry does not have to be an academic exercise in cataloging poetic devices like alliteration and metonymy. It can be musical—such as when you attend a poetry slam for the first time and hear the snappy consonants of a poem out loud. Many bookstores and coffeehouses have poetry readings, and these can be both fun and instructive for aspiring poets. By listening to the sounds of good poetry, you discover the beauty of its construction—the mix of stressed syllables and unstressed syllables, alliteration and assonance, a well placed internal rhyme, clever line breaks, and more. You’ll never think of the artform the same way once you hear good poems read aloud. (And if you ever get the chance to hear your own poem read aloud by someone else, seize the opportunity.)

Start small. A short poem like a haiku or a simple rhyming poem might be more attainable than diving into a narrative epic. A simple rhyming poem can be a non-intimidating entryway to poetry writing. Don’t mistake quantity for quality; a pristine seven-line free verse poem is more impressive than a sloppy, rambling epic of blank verse iambic pentameter, even though it probably took far less time to compose.

Don’t obsess over your first line. If you don’t feel you have exactly the right words to open your poem, don’t give up there. Keep writing and come back to the first line when you’re ready. The opening line is just one component of an overall piece of art. Don’t give it more outsized importance than it needs (which is a common mistake among first time poets).

Embrace tools. If a thesaurus or a rhyming dictionary will help you complete a poem, use it. You’d be surprised how many professional writers also make use of these tools. Just be sure you understand the true meaning of the words you insert into your poem. Some synonyms listed in a thesaurus will deviate from the meaning you wish to convey.

Enhance the poetic form with literary devices. Like any form of writing, poetry is enhanced by literary devices. Develop your poetry writing skills by inserting metaphor, allegory, synecdoche, metonymy, imagery, and other literary devices into your poems. This can be relatively easy in an unrhymed form like free verse and more challenging in poetic forms that have strict rules about meter and rhyme scheme.

Try telling a story with your poem. Many of the ideas you might express in a novel, a short story, or an essay can come out in a poem. A narrative poem like “The Waste Land” by T.S. Eliot can be as long as a novella. “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe expresses just as much dread and menace as some horror movies. As with all forms of English language writing, communication is the name of the game in poetry, so if you want to tell short stories in your poems, embrace that instinct.

Express big ideas. A lyric poem like “Banish Air from Air” by Emily Dickinson can express some of the same philosophical and political concepts you might articulate in an essay. Because good poetry is about precision of language, you can express a whole philosophy in very few words if you choose them carefully. Even seemingly light poetic forms like nursery rhymes or a silly rhyming limerick can communicate big, bold ideas. You just have to choose the right words.

Paint with words. When a poet paints with words, they use word choice to figuratively “paint” concrete images in a reader’s mind. In the field of visual art, painting pictures of course refers to the act of representing people, objects, and scenery for viewers to behold with their own eyes. In creative writing, painting pictures also refers to producing a vivid picture of people, objects, and scenes, but the artist’s medium is the written word.

Familiarize yourself with myriad forms of poetry. Each different form of poetry has its own requirements—rhyme scheme, number of lines, meter, subject matter, and more—that make them unique from other types of poems. Think of these structures as the poetic equivalent of the grammar rules that govern prose writing. Whether you’re writing a villanelle (a nineteen-line poem consisting of five tercets and a quatrain, with a highly specified internal rhyme scheme) or free verse poetry (which has no rules regarding length, meter, or rhyme scheme), it’s important to thrive within the boundaries of the type of poetry you’ve chosen. Even if you eventually compose all your work as one particular type of poem, versatility is still a valuable skill.

Connect with other poets. Poets connect with one another via poetry readings and perhaps poetry writing classes. Poets in an artistic community often read each other’s work, recite their own poems aloud, and provide feedback on first drafts. Good poetry can take many forms, and through a community, you may encounter different forms that vary from the type of poem you typically write—but are just as artistically inspiring. Seek out a poetry group where you can hear different types of poetry, discuss the artform, jot down new ideas, and learn from the work of your peers. A supportive community can help you brainstorm ideas, influence your state of mind as an artist, and share poetry exercises that may have helped other members of the group produce great poetry.

Source ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ References for Poets ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[msklassickilla]

Prada You 2 Chapter 3: Shackles

Summary:

Three years have passed, but in city, the past never truly stays buried. The Prada Bois have grown stronger, their grip on the city unshaken. Old faces remain, new tensions rise, and the streets are more dangerous than ever.

Toya’s wedding should be a day of celebration, but for those who knew her, it’s something more—a gathering thick with whispers, with the weight of what was lost. Some wounds have scarred over, while others remain raw, unspoken.

Yet, the night brings a shift. A presence. A force that neither time nor distance could erase. The whispers start first, a low hum of disbelief that spreads like wildfire. Some things refuse to be forgotten. Some stories aren’t finished.

Because in this city, love, loyalty, and revenge all walk the same tightrope. And once the past steps forward, there’s no turning back.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye), Jacob Fatu x Kiyah, Sami Zayn x Natasha, Jimmy Uso x Nataya

Author’s Note: This story is set in a AU that takes place over summer in 2002. It has four original characters. If you come across this and haven’t read the first story, click here.  Again, I appreciate y’all for all the love and support. I hope I’m able to create something that’s worthy as Prada You.

Warnings: Some minor harsh language and age gap relationships. And some heavy conversations and mentions of murder and violence.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 3: Shackles

May 25th 2002 (small change chapter 1 & 2 happened on the May 18th instead)

Saturday morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting narrow lines across the bathroom tile as I stood in front of the mirror, curling my hair with a level of focus that surprised even me.

“… 'cause you'll always be my baby.. And we'll linger on.. Time can't erase a feelin' this strong.. No way you're never gonna shake me.. Ooh darlin' 'cause you'll always be my baby..”

Mariah Carey’s "Always Be My Baby" floated from the stereo perched on the dresser in the far corner of my room, her voice soft but steady. I found myself singing along, curling one section at a time, trying not to think too hard about anything except getting through the day.

There was a calm to the morning I hadn’t felt in a while, a quietness that came from knowing I had something to look forward to. Reggie had offered to take me to the dealership today to pick out a car, and I wasn’t about to turn that down. Out of everybody, he was the one I trusted to help me make the right choice. Being a mechanic, he’d know what to look for—what was worth the money and what was a waste of it.

Mid-curl, my phone rang from the counter, vibrating against the cool marble. I glanced over, recognizing Kiyah’s name immediately. Setting the iron down, I wiped my hands on the towel before answering.

"Hey, girl. What's up?"

Her voice came through light and casual, but there was an edge to it. "What you got going on next Saturday?"

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at my reflection. "Far as I know, nothing. Why?"

There was a brief pause, then she sighed. "I’ma tell you in person. Come by later."

That piqued my curiosity, but I wasn’t about to press her over the phone. Kiyah was dramatic by nature, but if she wanted to wait, I’d let her. "Alright. I’ll come through once I get back from the dealership. Reggie’s takin’ me to get a car."

Kiyah perked up at that. "Not you finally about to get right? I know that’s right!"

I laughed, shaking my head. "I’m overdue."

We talked for a few more minutes, light conversation, mostly catching up the way we had been doing ever since the wedding. It was easy now—effortless even. The kind of bond that didn’t break just because time passed. Hanging up, I found myself smiling as I picked the curling iron back up to finish my hair.

----

By noon, Reggie, Mama, and I were pulling into the dealership. The sun sat high, hot against the pavement, and the lot stretched wide in front of us. I felt good walking in, knowing exactly what I came here to do. There would be no financing, no long-term payments hanging over my head. I’d saved too hard, sacrificed too much for that.

The salesman, some wiry man with a polite smile and eyes that kept darting between Reggie and Mama, gave us a quick tour of the lot. He showed us a few cars—mid-sized sedans, practical choices that didn’t excite me. Reggie inspected each one, doing that thing where he checked under the hood and nodded like he was speaking a language only he understood. Still, nothing felt right.

It wasn’t until the man led us further out that I saw it—a 2000 BMW E46 M3 in the color Laguna Seca Blue parked under the far awning like it had been waiting on me. The way the sunlight bounced off the hood, clean and smooth, caught my attention instantly. I didn’t even hesitate.

"That one," I said, pointing. My voice came out steady, certain.

The salesman’s expression lit up. "Ah, excellent choice. She’s used, but barely broken in. Good mileage."

Reggie gave it a thorough once-over, checking everything from the engine to the tires. Finally, he nodded with approval. "She’s solid. You sure?"

I smiled. "Positive."

The salesman smiled wider, already gearing up to pitch financing options. "Well, if you like, we can run some numbers and get you approved—"

I cut him off. "No need. I’m paying cash."

That shut him up quick. "Cash?"

"Cash,” I nodded.

We moved inside, the air-conditioned showroom feeling cooler than it should have. Mama and Reggie took seats beside me as I pulled my backpack onto the desk. Slowly, carefully, I unzipped it and started laying out stacks of bills—hundreds, fifties, twenties, and even a few tens. The sound of paper hitting wood echoed louder than expected.

It was then I realized how silent the room had become. Glancing up, I caught Reggie and Mama watching me—eyes wide, mouths slightly parted. Even the salesman was frozen, hands hovering over his keyboard like he forgot how to work it.

My cheeks burned. I cleared my throat, placing the last stack down.

Reggie laughed suddenly, breaking the tension. "Hell, we need to move up North Toy if that’s how they payin’ up there."

That earned a round of quiet chuckles, Mama shaking her head like she didn’t know whether to pop Reggie or ask me how I saved so much.

The car, after taxes and fees, totaled just over twelve grand. Once the money was counted and the paperwork signed, the keys were placed carefully in my hand like they might burn me if I wasn’t careful.

I stared at them, the weight of what this meant hitting me all at once. I’d done this. Me. Nobody else. The tears came before I could stop them, blurring my vision as I tried to blink them back.

Mama noticed first. She reached over, taking my face in her hands, kissing my forehead softly. "Don’t hold that in, baby. Cry if you need to. This is your moment."

Reggie patted my back, his voice warm. "I’m proud of you, girl. Real proud."

Their words should’ve settled me, but all I felt was that quiet gnawing guilt. Would they still be proud if they knew the truth? Knew what I’d really been doing these last two years to make that kind of money stack up? Some secrets weren’t meant to be shared. Not today.

I pushed it down, locked it away, and gave them both one last hug before sliding behind the wheel of my new car. They pulled off, leaving me sitting there in the driver’s seat, staring at the leather-wrapped steering wheel.

The car was perfect. Sleek, clean, the kind of purchase that made you sit up a little straighter. I ran my fingers over the dashboard, breathing in that faint smell of leather and old smoke.

But even in that moment, another memory snuck in—one I hadn’t thought about in years. Jey’s BMW. The first night I slid into that passenger seat after meeting up with him at the white house on Bend Dr. Heart racing like I was stepping into another world. That car felt like a spaceship back then. A ride that came with promises and consequences I wasn’t ready for.

And now? Now I had my own. No man attached, no strings, no regrets. This was mine—paid in full and earned. For the first time in a long time, I felt it deep—independence. To be my own woman, stand on my own two feet. Something I wish I knew the importance of three years ago, but better late than never.

----

I finally hit the road, hands gripping the wheel tighter than necessary as I pulled away from the dealership. Stopping at a gas station not too far down, I exhaled a slow breath. I had never been to that station before, and for once, I was grateful. It meant no lingering eyes, no familiar faces asking questions I didn’t feel like answering. Just me, the car, and the pump.

I paid inside, cash of course, and filled up the tank until the pump clicked. There was a small satisfaction in that—filling my own car for the first time. Another little piece of independence earned. I didn’t linger. I pulled off, easing onto the road, windows down just enough to let the spring air fill the car.

The radio played whatever the station felt like spinning—some Jagged Edge, a little Ashanti—and I let the music settle me as I made my way toward Kiyah’s apartment. She didn’t stay in the projects no more. None of us did, really. Kiyah lived in one of the new complexes about ten minutes away, and funny enough, Natasha stayed in another building on the opposite end.

Both places were still technically considered Prada Boi territory. That part didn’t surprise me. Still, I’d already decided—I’d be finding somewhere else to call home. I wasn’t trying to live that close to anything related to them. Nope.

Pulling up, I parked right out front, admiring how good the car looked sitting there like it belonged. I barely had time to cut the engine before Kiyah came flying down the steps, eyes wide with excitement.

“Oh, bitch… un uh. Not you in a Beamer!” she laughed loud, pointing as she approached. “You think you grown now, huh?”

I couldn’t help but laugh, climbing out of the car as Kiyah came around to inspect it like she worked at the dealership. “Chill, Kiyah. It ain’t even all that,” I teased, though deep down… I felt proud. I’d done that. Me.

Kiyah slid into the driver’s seat, running her hands over the wheel with a grin. “Jacob need to get me one of these for Christmas.” She laughed, pretending to drive, making car noises like a kid. I stood there shaking my head, laughing along with her, but that feeling—that small swell of pride—stayed with me.

When Kiyah finally finished her inspection, she climbed out and motioned for me to follow her upstairs. “Come on, let me show you my spot.”

The apartment was exactly what I expected—Kiyah had always had a taste for the finer things. Everything inside shimmered. Silver and crystal tones dominated the living room, plush white rugs, glass tables, and oversized white feathers sticking out of silver vases like she was expecting company any minute. It was pretty, no doubt, but too… perfect. Like one wrong move would break something.

I laughed as I looked around. “You don’t babysit them stepkids over here, huh?” I teased, arching an eyebrow.

Kiyah rolled her eyes dramatically. “Girl, please. I see them kids at Jacob’s house. Ain’t no way in hell they coming over here tearing up my shit.”

That made me chuckle harder than I should’ve. The thought of Kiyah—who barely had patience on a good day—playing stepmama to seven kids was comical. Yet, there she was… twenty-one and neck-deep in it.

I kicked off my shoes and sank into the soft silver sofa, leaning back as Kiyah disappeared into the kitchen. She came back carrying two glasses of Alizé and a bowl of popcorn, setting it down like she’d done it a hundred times. BET played in the background, videos flashing across the screen—Ludacris, Usher, the usual rotation.

We caught up for a while, reminiscing about old times, laughing until our sides hurt. I told her a little about my time away—just enough to satisfy her curiosity without opening any doors I didn’t want to walk through. Kiyah, of course, filled me in on everything I missed. She was still the same—messy, loud, always knowing everybody’s business. Some things never changed.

It was after three when the knock came. Kiyah smirked knowingly as she opened the door to reveal Natasha, looking every bit as frustrated as she did beautiful. She kicked off her heels and tossed her purse onto the dining table before flopping down right between us.

Without missing a beat, Natasha leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Hey, pooh… missed you,” she murmured, though her face said she had something heavy on her mind.

“You alright?” I asked, sitting up a little.

She sighed loud enough to fill the whole room. “Me and Sami got into it this morning. I planned this whole trip to the aquarium for us, somethin’ light, you know? But of course… Prada Boi business came up.” Her voice cracked, and I felt the weight of it.

I stayed quiet, letting her talk.

“I love him, Nye. I do,” she continued. “But it’s gettin’ harder. Sharin’ him with the streets… it ain’t easy no more. It’s gettin’ dangerous.” She glanced at Kiyah, who nodded like she already knew where this was going.

Kiyah sighed, tucking her leg under herself. “Same. I think about it all the time… losing Jacob to some bullshit.”

Their words hung in the air, heavier than anything I’d expected. I leaned forward. “What y’all mean by that? It wasn’t this bad before… not when I left.”

They exchanged a glance before Kiyah cleared her throat. “It’s bad now. That night, Nye… that night changed everything. What happened to you… it was the start.”

I swallowed hard, but I didn’t stop her.

“They got back at the dudes who did it. Every last one they could get their hands on. But it didn’t stop there. Retaliation came… and it’s been back and forth ever since.” Kiyah’s voice dropped. “It’s a war now. People dyin’, disappearin’. Left and right.”

I felt the knot settle in my stomach, twisting slow. I didn’t want to know more… but I had to. “And now?”

Natasha spoke this time, voice low. “Now? There’s a new crew. Call themselves The Hittas. They been tryin’ to take turf that belong to the Prada Bois. Jey and Jimmy? They ain’t havin’ that. Word is, they got orders—from their big cousin, Leati, who still locked up—to eliminate ‘em. All of ‘em.”

My chest tightened.

“It’s bodies droppin’, Nye. Shootouts… broad daylight. Fights breaking out almost weekly. Police can’t even keep up,” Natasha added.

I sat there, staring at the TV but not really seeing it. A part of me didn’t want to think about it, but it crept in my mind anyway.

How much blood… did Jey have on his hands now?

It was a ghost thought—one I pushed down quick.

It wasn’t my problem to solve. I’d made peace with leaving all that behind. But sitting there, listening to them… I realized real quick—

I might’ve come back home at the worst possible time.

----

We ended up ordering pizza and settling in for the rest of the afternoon, flipping through channels until we landed on some old movie neither of us was really watching. By the time the pizza arrived, it felt like we were right back in high school—three girls, half gossiping, half zoning out, just enjoying each other’s company like the world outside didn’t exist.

It was sometime after seven when I finally remembered what Kiyah had asked me earlier. I’d been so caught up in the day, in the heavy conversation, that it slipped my mind. Leaning back against the couch, I glanced over at her. “What was that you were tryin’ to ask me earlier? About next Saturday?”

Kiyah looked up from her slice, licking sauce from her fingers. “Oh… yeah. So, it’s Jacob’s son’s birthday next weekend—the one he got with Marcy.” She said the name like it tasted bitter on her tongue.

I blinked. “Oh.” That was all I could manage at first.

“I’m goin’,” Kiyah continued. “But… I wanted to know if you’d come with me. Not ‘cause it’s gonna be fun or anything, but… you know, give me something to do besides whoopin’ Marcy’s ass.”

Natasha snorted loud enough to make us both look over. “You probably gon’ end up doin’ that anyway,” she teased.

Kiyah rolled her eyes but smiled. “You know how she is. Always got somethin’ slick to say.” She turned back to me. “I just figured… maybe if you there, I won’t have to act up.”

I sat there, mulling it over longer than I probably should have. Truth was… part of me was curious. I’d heard enough about Marcy already, and a small part of me wanted to lay eyes on her myself. But that party… it came with baggage. Prada Boi baggage. And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.

Kiyah must’ve caught the way I hesitated because she shook her head. “Don’t worry. The only ones that’d show up to some Chuck E. Cheese party is Sami, Jimmy, Bronson, and maybe Zilla—the youngest one. Ain’t none of the rest gon’ show.”

I nodded slowly, but even then, I wasn’t convinced. I mean it had always been Jimmy and Jey. You could often find them together or not too far apart. Jimmy did come to the wedding alone but that was only because Jey wasn’t invited.

Kiyah shrugged. “Things different now, Nye. Shit just not the same. You’ll be alright.”

I took a breath. “I’ll let you know.”

Natasha leaned over, smirking. “You should come… just in case we gotta jump Marcy and her whole damn family.”

We all laughed at that, the tension breaking for a moment.

----

Just as the laughter settled, the front door opened, and Nataya strolled in like she had no care in the world. She did the same thing her sister did—kicked off her shoes and made a beeline straight for the kitchen. We heard the rustling of the pizza box before she reappeared, plate in hand, already chewing.

Kiyah shook her head. “Lord, Taya. As much as you eat, yo’ ass should be bigger than that.”

Nataya just grinned, mouth full of pizza. “That metabolism built different,” she mumbled.

I smiled but my eyes caught on something else—something small, but impossible to miss. The gold bracelet on Nataya’s wrist glinted under the light. She was still wearing it. I wondered, quietly, what she’d really endured with Jimmy that none of us knew about.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I asked, “Taya… how far along are you now?”

She looked up slowly, eyes full of something I couldn’t quite place. “Fifteen weeks.”

I nodded, chewing my lip, but Natasha didn’t hesitate.

“Jimmy did that shit on purpose,” she said flatly, locking eyes with me.

Nataya sighed so hard it sounded like it came from her soul. “Natasha, don’t start.”

But Natasha wasn’t stopping. “No, ‘cause I been sayin’ this. Soon as Jimmy saw you steppin’ out more, growin’ up… he trapped you. Same way they all do.”

I blinked, stunned. “You think he really…?”

Nataya opened her mouth, then closed it, eyes falling to the floor. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

That silence said more than words ever could.

Kiyah finally leaned forward. “Alright, y’all chill. I ain’t gon’ lie… part of me think he did it too. But none of that matter now. Baby’s here.”

Natasha snorted. “It matter. She still got time to do what’s right.”

The room went dead silent. That last part… we all knew what Natasha was implying, but nobody had the guts to say it out loud. Not even me.

I sat there staring at my lap, the weight of it settling heavy in my chest. Some things… some things were just too heavy to touch.

----

The mood shifted after that conversation. No matter how hard we tried, the weight of it hung there—settled into the corners of the room like smoke you couldn’t see but knew was there. Nataya stretched out on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling in silence while Kiyah and Natasha carried the conversation, voices softer now as they talked about summer plans and what was going on around the city.

I found myself on the floor beside Taya, reaching over to hold her hand without saying a word. I couldn’t claim to know what she was going through, not really, but I understood what it felt like to be weighed down by something you didn’t know how to carry. She didn’t say anything, but I could feel it—the way she squeezed my hand back. That was enough.

-----

By the time ten rolled around, I knew it was time to head home. We’d been sitting too long, letting the evening settle heavy on all of us. I stood, brushing the carpet fibers from my jeans as Kiyah followed me to the door. We hugged tightly—one of those long, lingering embraces that said more than words could.

“Let me know what you decide about next Saturday,” Kiyah said softly.

“I will,” I promised, knowing I needed time to think.

Outside, Natasha and Nataya took a moment to admire the car. They circled it once, nodding with small smiles like they couldn’t believe I really pulled it off. Funny how far we’d come. Natasha and Nataya both drove Mercedes now, while Kiyah had that Mustang she always wanted. We’d made it… in our own way. No more city buses or walking everywhere until our feet ached. We were grown now.

The drive home was quiet. The streets were mostly empty, the city settling in for the night. I was just starting to relax when my phone rang. Mama.

“Hey, baby. You mind stoppin’ by the store? I forgot a few things for dinner tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I can do that. Anything for you,” I replied.

I spotted the first grocery store still open and pulled in. The parking lot was half-empty, which was exactly how I liked it. I didn’t need any unexpected reunions tonight. Grabbing a cart, I made my way inside, the store music playing softly overhead—some old R&B song from the ’90s that made me hum along without thinking.

It felt good… normal. For once. I danced a little in the aisle as I grabbed what Mama needed—canned goods, seasonings, and whatever else caught my eye. I was almost done when I turned down the bread aisle, slowing as I debated which loaf to grab.

That’s when I heard it. A voice—deep, familiar—but I couldn’t quite place it at first. I stood still, my heart picking up pace as I strained to listen. The voice got closer, casual like whoever it belonged to was on the phone. And then it hit me… Solo.

Panic flared, quick and sharp. Of all the people, it had to be him. I glanced around, weighing my options. Leaving the cart wasn’t one of them—Mama needed these groceries, and I doubted any other store would be open this late. Still, my hands itched to run.

I cursed under my breath, scanning the aisle for an exit. If I moved quick, maybe I could slide out without him seeing me. But I didn’t know which direction he was coming from—or if he’d already seen me.

Screw it. I took a chance, pushing the cart fast down the next aisle, heart thudding in my chest like I was on Supermarket Sweep. I didn’t hear him anymore, which only made me more anxious. Where was he? Had he turned the other way?

I grabbed the last of what I needed and made my way to the front, praying to whoever was listening that the cashier would be fast. The girl behind the register looked half-asleep, scanning each item slow as molasses. I shifted my weight, glancing around like Solo might materialize any second.

“Damn, girl. How the hell I run into you?”

I froze. That voice was right behind me now.

Turning slightly, I met Solo’s eyes. He stood there, cart half-full, that same crooked grin on his face. I didn’t know whether to smile or run.

“Hey. How you been, Solo?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay even.

“I’m good. How you been?” His tone was light, almost playful.

“I’ve been alright,” I answered, placing the last of my groceries into the bag and sliding my card through. I could feel his eyes on me the whole time, and it gave me pause—not out of fear, but because I knew that look.

When I moved to leave, he stopped me with a nod. “It was good seein’ you. You look good, Nye.”

The way he said it, the way his eyes lingered—it wasn’t innocent. I’d been looked at like that many times before. I knew exactly what that look meant, but I wasn’t about to give it life.

“It was nice to see you too, Solo. Be safe… enjoy your night.” I pushed my cart toward the door without looking back.

Once I was inside my car, I sat there for a moment, staring straight ahead. My heart was racing—had been the whole damn time. I hated it. Hated how that moment felt like I was being hunted in plain sight. I couldn’t keep living like this—afraid of bumping into ghosts every time I stepped outside.

My hand drifted up without thinking, fingers brushing over the scar etched deep into the flesh of my upper arm. The skin there felt different—thicker, less like mine. A faint dip where the muscle used to be. It wasn’t big, maybe the size of a quarter, but it pulsed beneath my touch like a quiet reminder.

I remembered everything—how it felt that night. The heat. The pain. The way the bullet tore through me and left me forever altered.

No. I wasn’t doing this anymore.

That night, sitting in that car, I decided I was done running. Done hiding. The past wasn’t about to keep taking from me. Not anymore. I had a life to live, and whether the past liked it or not, I was taking my power back.

----

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 4.. (click here)

Taglist: @theusotwinzcom @nbanenefrmdao @queeny23 @punksyeet @partypoison00 @justazzi @southernpree @tian-monique @levissslutt @emotionalhottiee @blkgirlsneedlove2 @fafomama @bigjuiciisushii

[xzinbdg]

boynextdoor as songs from my playlist!

ᯓ★ sungho

daydreamin' - ariana grande

this song just feels like sungho! and he definitely got me daydreaming about him 😭😭😭

you're here that's the thing - beabadoobee

i have this habit of looking for sungho when there's all six of them like he just catches my eye easily

les - childish gambino

"baby you're the baddest" and damn right he is! sungho is one of the prettiest men i have ever seen 🥹 yeppi indeed 🤭

ᯓ★ riwoo

get into it (yuh) - doja cat

i honestly could watch riwoo dancing for 24/7 it's so good like get it babe!!! slay the dance floor!!!

darling - taeyang

are we surprised? this song is his atp everytime I hear it i just hear his voice 😭 drop the full cover pls

nervous - the neighborhood

idk what it is about riwoo but he makes me immensely nervous 😭 like i don't think I would ever be able to look this man in the eyes....

ᯓ★ jaehyun

mamacita - chase atlantic

the vibes!!!!!! this song is so myungjae coded!!! honestly i can see him listening to it!

standing next to you - jungkook

again are we suprised? this man takes being a jk stan to another level 🥹 and his cover was so good oh lord

monster - lady gaga

"he ate my heart" he ate not only my heart but also every stage he's been on 😋 but he really is like a monster the way he keeps coming for my heart and bias line

ᯓ★ taesan

blue monday' 88 - new order

especially this version of this song is so taesan! like the little guitar funk added to it 😩 god i love this song

alien blues - vundabar

I can see taesan making a song like this one! not only the beat but also the lyrics are so his style

t r a n s p a r e n t s o u l - willow, travis baker

taesan where's the cover??? like pls i would love to hear him cover this song 😭

ᯓ★ leehan

turn it up - pinkpantheress

"hey it's me, we've been talking twice a week" like the song gives me big leehan vibes 😭

art - tyla

hes the art here let's be honest.....and i totally see him being a muse to others not only in the art of painting 😌

fabulous - nimstarr

this whole song screams leehan to me!!!! like the lyrics, the beat, and nimstarr's voice is so leehan like wtf

ᯓ★ woonhak

go (xtayalive 2) - kanii

GO! JUST GO!!! it's so unagi! even though he hates acting cute to me it comes naturally for him 🥹

yale - ken carson

i feel like this song is kinda his style...like he definitely would listen to it and vibe 😌

nightclawler - travis scott, swae lee, chief keef

"young, free and wildin'" YUPPPP!!!! this song just comes to mind with woonhak and no one else for me!!!

boynextdoor masterlist

[mochii0park]

Next summer; 02 - Sokcho

Genre: Strangers to Lovers I Arranged Marriage

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Min Reader x Jung Hoseok 

Word count: 14.5K

Masterlist of the series

General masterlist

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There are moments in life when the universe seems to enjoy a good joke at your expense, and this, apparently, is one of them. On your third week at the company, you decide to do an enroute from home to work and buy yourself a hot chocolate from a cafe not far from the building.

The morning is soft and golden, it makes the world feel a little more possible. The sky is a lazy watercolor of blue and white, cicadas humming like a distant, forgotten song. The air is warm but not heavy, carrying the scent of sun-heated grass. Somewhere, the day is just beginning. You walk the street, the promise of ice chocolate roaming your thoughts as you push open the door to a tiny coffee shop.

The scent of espresso and freshly baked pastries envelops you immediately. It’s comforting, even though coffee has never been your thing. You’re reaching for your wallet when a hand taps your shoulder.

“Hey,” says Namjoon, standing there like he’s been placed into the scene for dramatic effect. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You turn, slightly surprised but mostly amused. “Hey yourself.”

He tilts his head. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been well,” you answer easily, then smirk. “Still haven’t changed my mind about Taehyung’s superiority, though.”

Namjoon lets out a laugh, rich and warm. “Of course you haven’t.”

You take your ice chocolate, the cup feeling cold against your fingers, and Namjoon falls into step beside you as you both exit the shop. The air outside is sharper now, the city stirring awake.

“Where are you headed?” he asks.

“Work,” you say.

His eyebrows lift. “Same here.”

“Small world,” you comment, though you don’t think much of it. Coincidences happen. People move in similar circles. It’s nothing extraordinary. But then, as you walk, something odd happens, neither of you change direction. The first block, it’s just funny. The second, you both glance at each other with curiosity. By the third, Namjoon chuckles, shaking his head.

“The universe is sending you signs,” he teases.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Or maybe you’re secretly stalking me.”

Namjoon gasps, mock offended. “Me? You’re the one walking in my direction.”

“I have better things to do in life,” you deadpan.

It’s playful, easy, but as the minutes pass and the Hope Entertainment building looms in front of you, realization dawns simultaneously. Namjoon slows. So do you.

He opens his mouth, probably to ask the same question forming in your head, but before he gets the chance—

“Noona!”

A familiar voice calls out, and Jungkook materializes in front of you with a bright grin. He greets Namjoon with a casual “Hyung,” then looks at you with the same level of comfort, like this is normal, like you aren’t currently stuck in a comedy skit.

You stand there, frozen in front of the building, your ice chocolate melting in your hands as the words leave your mouth at the exact same time as Namjoon’s.

“You work here?!”

Jungkook looks between the two of you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t know you guys know each other.”

Namjoon recovers first, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Yeah, mutual friends.”

You squint at him. “What do you do here?”

“Music production,” he says easily. “Lyric consultations, composition basically, I exist in the background of a lot of songs you probably don’t give enough credit to.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know I respect the art of songwriting.”

Namjoon smirks. “Yeah? Name three songs I’ve worked on.”

You stare at him. He stares back. Jungkook looks like he’s about to explode trying not to laugh.

You clear your throat. “So anyway, what do you do here, Jungkook?”

The youngest grins, deciding to let you off the hook. “I exist in the foreground of a lot of songs you probably do give credit to.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

You shake your head, still slightly bewildered. “This is so weird.”

“Fate,” Namjoon corrects.

“Coincidence,” you counter.

“Cosmic alignment,” Jungkook adds helpfully.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I don’t have the brain capacity for this conversation before 10 AM.”

Jungkook grins. “It’s 9:45.”

“Exactly.”

Namjoon laughs before nodding toward the entrance. “Come on, let’s head inside before Hoseok hyung starts wondering why we are loitering outside his company like lost souls.”

You groan. “Don’t remind me.”

Inside the building, the air hums with the quiet energy of a workday in full swing, muffled conversations behind glass doors, hurried footsteps against polished floors, the occasional chime of an elevator. Jungkook walks ahead, and then suddenly turns on his heel, walking backward like it's the most natural thing in the world.

“You wanna see how I record?” he asks, eyes alight with excitement. “I’ve got a session now.”

He says it like he’s inviting you to grab a coffee, as if sitting in on the creation of whatever song he’s been obsessing over is just a casual midday activity. You’re about to agree - because, honestly, why not?-- when another voice cuts in.

“She’s coming with me.”

You turn to see Taehyung standing there, looking entirely unbothered, which is almost impressive given the fact that he just hijacked a conversation mid-sentence.

“Noona,” he greets, voice warm with amusement.

You make a face. “I might be younger than you.”

He tilts his head, considering this. “Maybe, but you have the aura of a noona.”

Namjoon snorts, and you glare at him. “What does that even mean?”

Taehyung just smiles. “Wisdom. Maturity.” A pause. “Also, you scold me like one.”

Jungkook frowns. “What do you need Y/N for?”

Taehyung blinks at him like it should be obvious. “I have a music video to shoot.”

You blink, mirroring his expression. “Wait, what?”

“I have a music video to shoot,” he repeats, slower this time, like maybe you didn’t hear him the first time.

Namjoon frowns clearly confused. “Wait. Why would you go with him for that?”

Before you can answer, Taehyung remembers something. “Where are my clothes?”

“The driver took them to the company,” you say.

And that’s when Namjoon laughs. Not just any laugh—a full, rich, I-have-solved-the-mystery-of-the-century laugh.

“Ohhh,” he says, grinning wildly. “Now it makes sense.”

You groan. “It’s literally my third week here. Whatever you’re thinking is not true.”

Namjoon gives you a look like he knows things, like he’s already read the last page of the book you’re still trying to write. “Mmm,” he hums, unconvinced.

Taehyung, to his credit, just watches the interaction like it’s a particularly fascinating drama.

Jungkook crosses his arms. “Did you run this by Hoseok hyung?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” Taehyung admits, not even remotely guilty. Then, turning to you, he gestures vaguely. “Better if you ask him.”

You stare at him. “Isn’t the whole point of my job to go with you guys if you need me?”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But ask him anyway.”

You sigh, already reaching for your phone. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m a visionary,” he corrects.

Jungkook groans. “You’re a pain in the ass, is what you are.”

Taehyung only grins as type out a message to Hoseok.

You: When is Taehyung’s MV shoot today?

His reply comes immediately, because Hoseok is the kind of person who always answers right away, the kind of person who exists in perpetual motion.

Hoseok: Sokcho, shooting starts tomorrow and lasts three days. He leaves at 5. Why?

You stare at your phone screen. Sokcho. Three days.

You weren’t sure what you had expected, something more local, something that didn’t require you to pack a bag or rearrange your entire week. But three days? That was a commitment. That was time, you obviously didn't have. It meant that you'll be back around Saturday evening only to follow Hoseok to the party later that day. You'll die from exhaustion.

You narrow your eyes at Taehyung, arms crossed over your chest. “It’s a three-day job, Taehyung. That means I’ll barely be home by Saturday, and I have an event to attend.”

Taehyung waves a hand dismissively. “So? Just go with the flow.”

You scoff. “Go with the flow?”

“Yes,” he nods, very seriously. “Like water.”

Jungkook snorts. “Like bullshit.”

Taehyung glares at him before turning back to you, expression suddenly shifting into something tragically sincere. “But what if I get stressed?” he says, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “What if the pressure is too much, and I mess up? What if I crumble under the weight of it all, and the entire music video is ruined?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung snaps, barely glancing his way before refocusing on you. He leans in, his gaze big and imploring, his mouth forming into a perfect, practiced pout.

Oh no.

You shake your head immediately. “Nope. Don’t even try it.”

His eyes somehow get rounder. Shinier. He tilts his head just slightly, his lower lip jutting out.

Jungkook sighs dramatically beside you. “He’s doing the puppy eyes. We’re doomed.”

“Shush,” Taehyung hisses at him before looking at you again. “Come with me.”

You exhale, pressing your fingers to your temples. “I hate you.”

“I know you don't,” he counters instantly.

Jungkook mutters under his breath. “This is so stupid.”

You tap out a message to Hoseok. 

You: Taehyung asked me to go.

Hoseok, ever the enigma, replies almost immediately. 

Hoseok: Then you should go.

You frown. 

You: Just like that?

Hoseok: He probably need moral support?

You squint at your screen, feeling vaguely like a pawn in some elaborate chess game you never signed up for. Then you sigh, lock your phone, and look back at Taehyung, who’s watching you with the kind of quiet anticipation usually reserved for exam results and marriage proposals.

“Guess I’m going to Sokcho,” you say.

Taehyung grins, clearly victorious. “You should probably start packing.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “I should probably start rethinking my life choices.”

“Too late for that,” he singsongs, already backing away. “See you soon!”

And then, just like that, he disappears down the hallway, leaving you with the consequences of your inability to say no to Kim Taehyung.

Before you can even sigh, Jungkook turns to you, his expression somewhere between a pout and a full-blown sulk. “You have to come to my MV next week,” he declares, arms crossed like a child who just got his toy stolen.

You’re too tired to argue. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.”

Jungkook grins, suddenly appeased, and without another word, he spins on his heel and heads for the recording room, humming under his breath.

You’re about to leave when Namjoon calls out your name. There’s something in his voice, something careful, deliberate. You turn around, raising an eyebrow.

He choosing his words like he’s afraid of laying them down wrong. “I mean, I’ve only worked on one project with Taehyung, so I can’t say for sure,” he starts, “but I spend more time with Jungkook than his own mother does, and he told me that after the last MV Taehyung shot, he came back pretty out of it. Like, really not himself. Jungkook was worried.” Namjoon shrugs, but there’s weight behind it. “So maybe there’s a reason why he asked you to go with him.”

That stops you in your tracks.

You replay the moment, Taehyung’s stubborn insistence, the way he shushed Jungkook like he was hiding something, the way his voice took on that overly casual lilt like he was trying too hard to make it seem unimportant.

Maybe it wasn’t just Taehyung being Taehyung.

Maybe this was something else entirely. Before you have the chance to ask Namjoon more, your phone buzzes in your hand.

You glance down. A message from Hoseok.

Hoseok: Don't forget the charity ball on Saturday.

You: Even if I wanted to I can't.

The typing bubble pops up almost immediately.

He sends you a GIF of Leonardo DiCaprio raising a glass in a toast, followed by: Cheers my darling.

You shake your head, typing back. You’re weird.

And you’re stuck with me – message comes back with Hoseok's face smiling as he points at the ring on his finger like a reminder of your oh so important commitment.

Packing is one of those things that always feels like a metaphor for something bigger. You’re never just putting clothes into a suitcase, you’re preparing for a journey, making choices about what parts of your life to take with you and what parts to leave behind. But right now, it’s just you, a half-zipped suitcase, and the sinking realization that you don’t know if three days in Sokcho requires more than one pair of shoes.

The door swings open, and in walks Hoseok, looking obnoxiously well-rested for someone who runs on four hours of sleep and sheer force of will. “Packing already?” he asks, like you’re the weird one for being prepared.

“You could’ve waited until the last minute,” he continues. “That’s what normal people do.”

“I’d rather not have a breakdown at 5:55 PM because I forgot my charger,” you say, shoving a sweater into the suitcase.

He shrugs, accepting your over-preparedness, and then, with the casualness of someone announcing the weather, says, “Um I mayhap forgot to tell you that Yoongi will be there at the event on Saturday.”

That stops you. “My Yoongi?”

Hoseok smirks. “I’m pretty sure he’s his own Yoongi.”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I saw him last night,” Hoseok says, crossing his arms. “He walked past me like I was a piece of furniture he never really liked but couldn’t be bothered to throw out.”

“That’s just his personality,” you say, returning to your suitcase. “He’s PMS-ing. Ignore him.”

Hoseok doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? He seemed, like, committed to the bit.”

“He’s fine.” And then, because that feels too much like a lie, you add, “Mostly.”

There’s a brief pause, it lingers just long enough to be noticeable, and then Hoseok shifts, suddenly looking less like a person who breezes through life and more like someone who knows something they’re not saying.

“You should probably know—” He stops. A beat. Then: “Never mind.”

You stare at him. “Never mind, what?”

Hoseok shakes his head, feigning nonchalance. “It’s about Taehyung.”

That gets your attention. “What about him?”

He hesitates, and you recognize the expression. It’s the same one people get when they’re holding a fragile secret in their hands and aren’t sure whether to pass it to you or keep it to themselves. You decide to make it easier for him.

“Speaking purely from a psychological standpoint,” you say, “should I be concerned?”

Something in his shoulders relaxes. He smiles, but it’s a placeholder for a real expression. “No, nothing like that. He’ll open up eventually. But whatever happened to him, it won’t mess with his performance or compromise your work.” A pause. “No fear.”

And because you can’t make him tell you more, you nod. You accept it. For now.

Hoseok picks up one of your suitcases, and you grab the other. Together, you haul them to the waiting cab. As he shuts the trunk, you wonder, not for the first time, how many things in this world are left unsaid, floating between people like messages in bottles, waiting for the right shore to wash up on.

The backyard of the company hums with quietness that isn’t really quiet at all—the shuffling of feet, the soft buzz of last-minute conversations, the occasional cough of a bodyguard who looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. It’s the moment that exists in the in-between, like the pause before a song starts or the second before the plane lifts off the ground.

Taehyung stands in the middle of it all, a little apart from the others.  His manager is beside him, along with a few people you recognize, hair and makeup, security, the driver from the fashion show. You greet them all, trying to seem like you belong here, like you are part of the orbit of people who make Taehyung into Taehyung.

Then you step next to him, and he turns to you with a smile that is equal parts casual and calculated. And then he just stares.

Not the kind of stare where someone is lost in thought. Not even the kind where they’re debating whether or not to say something. This is the kind of stare that feels like it should come with a soundtrack, like something impossibly significant is about to happen.

He leans in, close enough that you can count his eyelashes.

“Do you like it?”

Your brain goes blank for a second. Like what? Like the existential dread that comes with being perceived? Like the feeling of being this close to someone who radiates presence the way he does?

But then he runs a hand through his hair, and you see it.

Blonde.

It should be a small thing, an aesthetic choice, but for some reason, it feels bigger than that. Before you can stop yourself, you reach out, fingers brushing through the strands, letting the silkiness of it slip between them.

Taehyung doesn’t move. He just watches you.

You don’t realize what you’re doing until the driver clears his throat. “Should I put the suitcase in my car or the other one?”

You snatch your hand back so quickly it’s like you touched fire. “Uh—”

“In this van,” Taehyung answers before you can. “She’s coming with me and my manager.”

His manager, who looks like he has exactly zero patience for whatever this is, exhales and gestures to the open van door. “I’ll brief you about the shoot once we’re inside.”

You nod, stepping toward the van. Taehyung waits for you to go in first, and even though you know this moment has already passed, already unravelled into nothing, you swear you can still feel the weight of his stare.

Jae has the air of a man who has witnessed unspeakable things—missed flights, last-minute script changes, Taehyung’s general disregard for schedules—and has somehow made peace with it. He leans against the seat, flipping through a clipboard that looks as exhausted as he does.

“There are four locations,” he says, like a man delivering bad news gently. “The beach, a moving van, a house, and a ship.”

You nod because that seems reasonable. Filming a music video at a beach? Makes sense. A moving van? Sure, very cinematic. A house? Completely normal. A ship at dawn? That one seems ambitious, but okay.

“The villa in Sokcho is for you, Taehyung, and me,” Jae continues. “The bodyguards will be in the house next door. Everyone else is in a hotel.”

You sit with that for a moment, staring out the window at the city moving past, before turning back to Jae. “Is there anything I can actually help with? I don’t want to just stand around.”

Jae looks at you the way a veteran detective looks at a rookie who still believes in justice. “Just bring Taehyung to set on time.”

“That’s it?”

“That will be the hardest part.”

Next to you, Taehyung lets out an incredulous noise, offended in the way only a person who has never been on time to anything in his life can be. “My perception of time is excellent.”

Jae doesn’t even look at him. “You missed your flight from Rome to Lisbon because you stopped to watch street performers.”

“That was different,” Taehyung says, indignant. “It was art.”

“It was a guy juggling oranges,” Jae deadpans.

“He was really good.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “So just to be clear, I don’t have to, like, help with set design or adjust lighting. I have to make sure he gets places?”

Jae nods. Taehyung grins at you.

You stare out the window again, realizing that this might actually be an adventure. For Taehyung, of course.

For you?

It will be an exercise in patience. A true test of character. Possibly a migraine.

Soon enough, Jae is out cold, snoring in the seat beside you, the kind of exhausted sleep that only people with a million responsibilities and no time to breathe can manage. You watch him for a second, envious of how easy it looks, then shift your gaze to Taehyung who is unbuckling his seatbelt with the kind of reckless abandon that suggests he has never once been personally victimized by physics.

“Put it back on,” you say, because you are, at heart, a responsible citizen of the world.

He groans. “Don’t noona me for that too.”

“I’m not noona-ing you, I’m saving you.”

He tilts his head, considering this. “Same thing.”

You roll your eyes, and he smiles like he’s just won something.

“Let’s play a game,” he says, as if that’s the natural progression of this conversation.

You narrow your eyes. “What kind of game?”

“Twenty-one questions.”

You groan. “Oh my god, you’ve read too many Wattpad fanfictions.”

“I have not.”

“You absolutely have.”

He ignores you. “You go first.”

Fine. If this is how the universe wants to test your patience, so be it. “What’s your favourite colour?”

Taehyung makes a face like you’ve just asked him to recite the periodic table in reverse. “That’s the most boring question in existence.”

“It’s a perfectly normal question.”

“It’s as plain as Namjoon’s ramen.”

You don’t know what that means, but it sounds insulting.

“If you’re so profound, you go first,” you challenge.

He grins, like he was hoping you’d say that. “If you could meet any parallel-universe version of yourself, which one would it be and why?”

You blink. Because—what? That’s not the kind of question you expected at 6 in the evening in the back of a van with a sleep-deprived idol.

You think for a second, and then you say, “I’d want to meet the version of me who is completely free. Who wakes up in a different city every week and has no obligations, no guilt, no one asking her where she’s been or where she’s going. Just… existing. Just living.”

Taehyung watches you, with an unblinking attention that makes people nervous. He hums, like he’s tucking your answer away in a pocket for later.

“My turn,” you say. “What’s the hardest decision you’ve ever made to chase your dreams?”

His lips curve up, small and knowing. “Ah,” he says, nodding. “You’re finally getting the hang of this.”

And then, just like that, the humour fades. His voice drops lower, quieter. He looks out the window, as if the answer is out there somewhere, floating just above the road.

“Leaving behind my friends and family,” he says. “That was the hardest part.”

And for the first time in this ridiculous game, you don’t have a comeback.

Taehyung must sense the weight of his own words, or maybe just the way they settle into the air between you. So, he does what people like him do, people who wear their emotions like an oversized coat, shrugging it off before anyone can notice the way it drowns them, he pivots.

“What’s the worst excuse you’ve ever used to get out of a bad date?” he asks, tilting his head like he already knows the answer is going to be a disaster.

You groan. “Oh god. Hyun, my cousin, set me up on this blind date once. I don’t even remember his name, which probably tells you everything you need to know, but I do remember two things: One, he chewed like he was personally trying to destroy the concept of table manners. And two, he was obsessed with his ex-girlfriend.”

Taehyung winces. “Oh, one of those.”

“Yeah, he just… kept going. Like, I was sitting there, trying to be a decent person, while he narrated the entire history of their relationship. Every fight, every miscommunication, every ‘crazy’ thing she did—which, spoiler alert, was just having boundaries.”

“What did you do?”

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “I panicked. And I told him that my dog, who by the way, does not exist, was single. And that I couldn’t in good conscience continue dating while his love life remained non-existent.”

Taehyung stares at you. “You told him you couldn’t date because your imaginary dog was single?”

“…Yes.”

A beat of silence. And then he’s laughing, head thrown back, a laugh that makes you feel like maybe you did something right in this world, even if it was born out of absolute chaos.

“That is so deeply unhinged,” he manages between gasps for air. “Like, genuinely, that might be the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

You shrug. “Desperate times.”

His laughter lingers as he stretches out in his seat, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Alright, your turn.”

You hum, considering. “Who’s your favourite character from literature?”

He tilts his head, thinking. And then, with zero hesitation, he says, “Holden Caulfield.”

You make a face. “Catcher in the Rye Holden Caulfield?”

He nods.

“Bold choice,” you say, drawing out the words. “Explain.”

He exhales through his nose, amused. “Why do I feel like I’m about to be judged?”

“Because you absolutely are.”

He shakes his head, but the teasing fades as he leans back. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “I just… I get him. The way he sees the world. The way he’s kind of lost but trying so hard not to be lost. How he cares about things but doesn’t know how to show it the right way.” He pauses, fingers stilling against the fabric of his jeans. “I guess I just think he deserved someone who understood him.”

You study him for a second, the way his voice softened just slightly when he said it. Maybe you’re overthinking it. Or maybe you’re not.

The game stretches on, question after question, some absurd, some serious, some lingering. Taehyung asks if you believe in parallel universes since your first answer was so intriguing, and you tell him you have to, because the alternative means this is the only life you get, and that’s too much pressure for one person to handle. You ask him if he’d rather be able to talk to animals or understand every language in the world, and he says, “Animals. People already lie too much.” And maybe it’s the way he says it, like it’s something he learned the hard way, but you don’t push.

At some point, the driver speaks up and announces, “We’re almost there.”

Taehyung glances over at you. “That went by fast.”

You hum in agreement. “Time passes quicker in good company, I guess.”

The van pulls up to the villa, and from the backseat, you hear Jae groan himself into consciousness. He checks his watch, squinting at the numbers. “Alright,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes to case away the lingering sleepiness. “Beach. 5 a.m. I’m going to bed.”

Taehyung grins, watching as Jae stumbles out of the van, looking about five seconds away from collapsing into the gravel. “If Jae could pick one thing to do for the rest of his life, it’d be sleep.”

You huff a laugh. “Isn’t that just being… dead?”

“Nah,” Taehyung muses. “Jae doesn’t fully sleep. He lingers. You know, in that space between awake and dreaming. Half-conscious. Limbo.”

You nod, pretending you understand whatever philosophical thread he’s following.

The villa is massive, unnecessarily so. As you step inside, your first thought is that maybe they could’ve picked a smaller house, because there are three of you, not ten, and yet ten is exactly how many guest rooms there are.

Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind. He grabs your suitcase before you can protest. “I’ll put your stuff in the room next to mine.”

You don’t think much of it. You’re too tired to overanalyse, too drained to pick apart the meaning of proximity. Instead, you drift towards the balcony, the cool night air wrapping around you as you sink into a chair.

The ocean stretches endlessly before you, waves kissing the shore in quiet devotion. The sky is an inky blue, painted with faint constellations that hum their silent melodies. And for a moment, there’s nothing but this—the crash of the tide, the weight of the night.      

Taehyung doesn’t say anything when he steps onto the balcony, just quietly drapes a blanket over your shoulders, the kind of small, effortless kindness. It smells like fresh detergent and something softer, something inherently him. You clutch it tighter around yourself, murmuring a “thanks” as the wind brushes through your hair.

“Excited for tomorrow?” you ask.

He leans against the railing, eyes fixed on the water, like it’s whispering a secret meant only for him. “Filming MVs stopped being exciting a long time ago,” he admits, voice low, almost lost beneath the sound of the waves. “But I like the concept of this one.”

“You usually do darker ones,” you say. “More artsy. More tragic.”

“Exactly,” he nods, then grins as he turns to you. “But you already knew that. Seeing as you’re my biggest fan and all.”

You grunt. “You really have to drop that.”

“But I don’t want to.” He shrugs, easy, unbothered. “I think it’s cute.”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly fall out of your head, choosing instead to stare at the horizon, where the sky and sea blur into a single shade of infinite blue.

Taehyung exhales, long and slow. “I love the ocean,” he says, mostly to himself. “That’s why I go to Busan with Jungkook when I can. Something about it just—” he waves a hand vaguely, searching for the word. “Makes everything quieter.”

“I like it, too,” you admit. “But only from a distance.”

His gaze flicks to you. “Why?”

You hesitate, then shrug. “I never learned how to swim.”

His eyebrows lift slightly. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” you say. “And I think that’s where the fear comes from. Not knowing how to move in it. Not knowing if it’ll pull me under and never let me go.”

There’s a beat of silence. Taehyung studies you like he’s trying to peel back all your layers and see what’s underneath. Then, he smiles. “Then I’ll teach you,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

You snort. “We’ll see.”

He doesn’t argue. Just leans back against the railing, watching the waves stretch themselves toward the shore, over and over, like they don’t know how to do anything else.

You wake up to the sound of your alarm, which you are convinced was designed by a sadist. The clock blinks 3:00 a.m., and you seriously contemplate the possibility that you have made a series of irreversibly bad decisions in life, the most recent being staying up with Taehyung until midnight, watching the waves pretend they had all the time in the world.

You move like a ghost through the routine - shower, bag, something vaguely responsible about extra clothes. You knock on Taehyung’s door, because that is what normal, reasonable people do before barging into someone’s room at an ungodly hour. But Taehyung, ever himself, does not answer.

A moment of hesitation. Then you push the door open.

And there he is.

Sprawled across the bed like he was sculptured by God himself, the blanket he had so graciously draped over you last night now barely covering him. He is shirtless, because of course he is, and his chest moves with the kind of slow, steady breathing that belongs to people who don’t wake up at three in the morning. His hair is a mess, a few strands stuck to his forehead, his lips slightly parted like he’s about to murmur something in his sleep.

For a moment, you just stand there, watching, because it is impossible not to. There’s something almost unfair about him like this, like he exists just a little outside of time, like he is not bound to the same laws of exhaustion and pre-dawn misery as the rest of humanity.

But you—tragically, reluctantly—are.

You step closer, placing a hesitant hand on his arm, your fingers cold against his skin. "Taehyung," you whisper, shaking him gently. Nothing.

You try again.

This time, his eyelids flutter open, and he looks at you, really looks at you. However, there’s no recognition yet, only the hazy blur of sleep. It takes him a second to catch up with reality, and when he does, it is slow and reluctant, as if waking up is a favour he isn’t entirely sure you deserve.

"You need to get up," you say softly. "I’ll make breakfast."

He stares for a beat longer, then mumbles, "Pancakes." And just like that, his eyes close again.

There is a brief, fleeting moment in which you consider letting him sleep and just claiming you tried. But then you remember that you actually need to get to the set, and Taehyung, beautiful as he may be, is also notoriously bad at being punctual.

You shake him again, and this time, he reaches out, fingers curling lazily around your wrist. His grip is loose but warm, and something in the air shifts—just slightly, just enough for you to notice.

"I’m just resting," he murmurs.

"You’re procrastinating," you correct.

He hums, and for a second, you think he’s fallen back asleep while holding your wrist, which is both impressive and infuriating. So, you do what any rational person in this situation would do.

You flick his forehead.

He jolts, eyes snapping open as he immediately reaches up to rub the spot. "That was violent," he says, voice still thick with sleep, but now laced with betrayal. "If the makeup team can’t cover this, I’m blaming you."

"You’ll live," you say straight-faced, stepping away ignoring the way your skin still tingles where his fingers had been, ignoring the way his hair is a mess, ignoring all of it. Because it’s too early for this.

Breakfast feels like something out of a quiet indie film where the protagonist stares out the window, contemplating life over a cup of coffee that’s gone cold. Except, instead of contemplating life, you’re contemplating the absurdity of Taehyung’s entire existence.

Because he walks into the kitchen looking like that, casual shirt, jeans, hair still slightly messy but in a way that seems intentional, as if he personally made a deal with the universe to always look effortlessly perfect. You, on the other hand, are pretty sure you still have sleep lines creased into your cheek.

He thanks you for the pancakes, sits down, and eats in that quiet, thoughtful way he does everything, like even the act of breakfast deserves his full attention.

Jae, who has been observing all of this like some kind of scientist conducting a social experiment, smirks. “I’m impressed you managed to wake him up,” he says between bites of toast. “It usually takes me half an hour. Maybe Hoseok knew what he was doing sending you here.”

You glance at Taehyung, waiting for him to deny it, to call Jae out for being ridiculous, to at least make a sarcastic comment about how you practically assaulted him awake, but he just keeps eating. Quiet. Unbothered.

By the time breakfast is over, the driver is outside, waiting. The ride to the beach feels suspended in time, a journey where you’re neither fully awake nor fully dreaming. The sky is still a soft, hesitant blue, as if the sun is debating whether or not it actually wants to rise today.

When you arrive, the world is already moving at full speed. The film crew is everywhere setting up, shouting instructions, adjusting props. Everything is happening at once, and yet, somehow, it all makes sense.

Taehyung is instantly stolen by the hair and makeup team, disappearing into their grasp with a resigned sort of acceptance. You stand at the edge of it all, watching. Just watching.

The wind smells like salt. The waves crash against the shore, rhythmic, patient. There’s something oddly cinematic about it, like you’re standing in the middle of a metaphor you don’t fully understand yet.

And then, just as your eyes start to flutter shut, just as you allow yourself one small moment of rest, someone calls your name. Jae asks if you can pick up a prop, and you nod before he even finishes explaining. 

A crown, handcrafted by a local artisan, meant for a fleeting moment in the music video. You doubt it’ll get more than three seconds of screen time, but you’re not here to question things at least the ones that got to do with the MV. He hands you an address, tells you they won’t need it until after the break, and waves you off.

The town unfolds before you like something out of a novel, cobbled streets, sun-warmed storefronts, the air thick with salt and the unhurried rhythm of people who refuse to be rushed. Unlike Seoul, where the city moves with the urgency of someone running late, this place seems content to exist at its own pace. You take your time, admiring the architecture, the tiny cafes tucked into corners like secrets, the locals who smile.

By the time you find the store, an hour has passed. The shopkeeper is friendly, almost too eager, launching into an impassioned speech about the craftsmanship of the crown, how the material reacts to humidity, how to hold it so it doesn’t warp, how it must be treated with care. You nod along, trying to commit at least 10% of the information to memory, but mostly you’re just thinking about how this thing will probably be on Taehyung’s head for all of five seconds before getting tossed into a props bin.

Leaving the store feels like breaking free from a side quest, except instead of returning victorious, you promptly get lost. The streets that once felt charming now feel like a maze, and every turn somehow leads you further from where you’re supposed to be. 

You check your phone, but the Google Maps seems to think you’re in the middle of the ocean - just your luck with. By the time you finally make it back to the beach, another hour has passed, and you’re slightly sunburnt, slightly frustrated, and very much aware of the fact that you have been gone for too long.

You approach Jae, showing him the crown like you just returned from a perilous journey. “Mission accomplished,” you say, but he barely looks up from his clipboard.

“You took your time,” he notes, flipping through some papers.

“I got lost,” you admit, and Jae snorts like this is the most predictable thing in the world.

“You and Taehyung both,” he mutters before nodding toward the set. “They’re wrapping up this shot. You should go check on him.”

As you step onto the sand, the scene in front of you looks like something out of a coming-of-age movie, golden-hour lighting, wind tousling hair just right, and Taehyung, barefoot and sun-drenched, tossing a volleyball with ease.

But then cut. The camera stops rolling, and the shift in him is immediate. His shoulders tense, his expression turns unreadable. He doesn’t join in on the lingering laughter. Instead, he stands there, quiet. The makeup artist moves toward him, dusting powder over his face, touching him up for whatever comes next.

You grip the crown a little tighter. Something about the scene feels off.

When she steps away, you walk up to him, holding out the crown. “For you, my liege,” you say, attempting to break whatever weird mood he’s in.

Taehyung blinks at the crown, then at you, before finally cracking a small, tired smile. “You were gone forever,” he says, taking it from your hands.

“I was on a grand adventure. There were trials. Tribulations. A very talkative shopkeeper.”

He hums in amusement but doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he just turns the crown in his hands, studying it.

“You good?” you ask after a moment.

Taehyung hesitates, then shrugs. “Yeah,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction. Then, in an attempt to redirect, he tilts his head at you. “Are you good? You look a little sunburnt.”

“Lost for an hour. The sun did its damage.”

He reaches up, grazing a cool fingertip over the warm skin of your cheek. “You should put something on that,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to touch you so casually.

You step back. “Yeah, well, maybe focus on your own face first, Prince.” You gesture vaguely to the crown in his hands. “They’re waiting for you.”

Taehyung glances toward the crew, sighs, and places the crown on his head. It’s slightly crooked, but he doesn’t fix it. Instead, he looks at you one last time before walking back to set, his expression unreadable once again.

You didn’t notice the reasoning for such change, not at first. Whenever they were done filming a scene Taehyung would become a shell of his former self again and he’d rarely interact with anyone.  You try, at first, to reach him but every time you inch closer, Taehyung finds a way to slip through your fingers like sand.

“You are really, okay?” you ask, when he takes a seat near the monitor, eyes fixed on the waves instead of the replay on the screen.

“Hm?” He blinks up at you, feigning confusion, then stretches his arms dramatically. “Just tired.”

It’s an easy answer. Too easy. So, you push a little. “You sure? You seem—”

“If you had to switch lives with a historical figure for a day, who would it be?” he interrupts, turning to you fully now, eyes suddenly alight with something unreadable.

You frown. “That’s… not an answer.”

“But it’s a good question,” he counters, smiling, like that was the point all along.

And that’s how it goes. Every attempt you make to figure out what’s going on is met with a carefully placed roadblock; deflections, nonsensical questions, diversions so smooth you almost don’t catch them in time. It’s only when the break is called, and Taehyung wordlessly slips away into the van that you realize, this isn’t just about exhaustion. Something is wrong. And he doesn’t want you to see it until you do by pure accident. 

You were searching for Jae, wanting to ask him when do you need to be at the second location only to find him with the director. From a distance it, at first it looked like a normal conversation perhaps a start of bickering. It wasn’t until you approached that the scene was playing in front of you that you figured it was vastly different.

The director’s voice slices through the air, jagged and merciless. He’s pacing, one hand clutching his script, the other flailing like it’s searching for something to strangle. His words come fast, sharp, surgically precise in their cruelty.

“This is a mess. A catastrophe. Do you even understand how a schedule works? The sun doesn’t wait for your little mistakes, Jae. The crew is unfocused, the actors are dragging, and you—” he jabs a finger toward Jae’s chest like a knife, “you are letting it all fall apart because you can’t keep an idol in check.”

Jae doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t defend himself. He just stands there nodding like a man who has built a quiet, private home inside the eye of a hurricane. The director scoffs, mutters something about "art being wasted on the unworthy," and storms off.

You watch Jae exhale slowly, like he’s trying to release something bigger than just breath, and you decide to step in.

“What was that about?” you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Jae forces a smile that looks more like a grimace. “Nothing new.”

“He just screamed batshit crazy at you. That’s not nothing.”

Jae sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, his usual easy-going energy worn thin. “The director is… a perfectionist.” He says it like it’s a disease. “He wants things a certain way.”

You glance toward the van, where Taehyung had disappeared. “And Taehyung? He just… puts up with this?”

Jae hesitates. Just for a second. Just long enough for you to notice. “He knows how this works,” he says finally. “He knows what’s expected. This isn’t his first MV with this director.”

Something about that makes your stomach twist. Because knowing how things work isn’t the same as being okay with them. And knowing what’s expected feels a lot like being told to smile through something that might be quietly eating you alive. You follow him towards the van and as you step inside Taehyung doesn’t look at your way.

The silence in the van feels like one which settles between people who know something you don’t. It’s thick, humming with unsaid things. Jae scrolls through his phone like the answers to all life’s problems are buried somewhere between an Instagram reel and an unread email. 

Taehyung stares out the window, arms crossed, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He looks like he’s chewing on something bitter, something he won’t spit out no matter how much you prod. You don’t ask. You’ve learned by now that asking only gets you a deflection or, worse, one of his impossibly obscure questions that leave you more lost than when you started.

The second location is a long, winding road. The director is already shouting by the time you step out of the van, throwing his arms around like a man who believes the world would cease to exist if things don’t go exactly the way he imagined. The scene is simple: Taehyung, window down, head tilted up to the sky with free-spirited, effortless joy that only looks real when captured in slow motion.

But it doesn’t work.

First take car passes too close, and Taehyung flinches. Second take someone honks, and he pulls back instinctively. Third take he hesitates before the camera even starts rolling, and by the fourth, the director has had enough.

The van lurches to a stop. The driver mutters something under his breath, but you don’t catch it because all you can hear is the director’s voice.

“For fuck’s sake, Taehyung! Are you five years old? It’s just a goddamn car!”

You hear the words before you see two of them, before you even register what’s happening. But when you do, Taehyung is standing there, shoulders drawn tight, hands gripping the edge of the car door like it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t push back, doesn’t make excuses. Just takes it.

And the worst part?

He looks like he’s used to it. Like this is just part of the job. Like somewhere along the way, he decided this is what he deserves.

“Hey.”

The word leaves your mouth before you even think about it, before you can calculate consequences or determine whether this is a bad idea - which it probably is. But Taehyung is standing there like a statue, like a boy drowning in a flood who has decided not to swim, and you can’t, won’t, watch this happen.

The director turns. His eyes rake over you, sharp, appraising, dismissive. “Excuse me?”

“I think you should take it down a notch.” You say it as evenly as possible, like this is a reasonable request, like you’re not already halfway to throwing his stupid headset into the ocean.

He exhales, a sharp, condescending laugh. “Oh, fantastic. Another amateur who thinks they know how this industry works.”

You don’t blink. “I know that screaming at someone isn’t how you get a good performance.”

His smirk falters, just a little. “This is how it’s done. He’s an idol. He’s not a child.”

“No,” you agree, shifting your gaze to Taehyung, who still hasn’t moved. “He’s not a child but he is human.”

Something cracks in the air between you. The director scoffs, mutters something under his breath, and waves a dismissive hand. “If you’re done playing hero, we have a scene to finish.”

The moment doesn’t feel like a victory. You glance at Taehyung again, and he finally moves, just barely, just a twitch of his fingers as he looks away.

The shoot resumes.

They redo the scene. Once. Twice. Five times. The sky shifts from gold to navy, and the director, who hasn’t spoken to you since, finally sighs like he’s been holding his breath all day.

“Alright,” he says, rubbing his temples. “That’s enough for today.”

The crew moves like a machine, packing up, winding cables, dimming lights. You turn to Taehyung, who’s still staring at the ground, his hair falling into his eyes.

“Are you okay?” you ask, voice softer now.

He looks at you, and it takes you a second to realize why the expression in his eyes unsettles you. It’s because you’ve never seen him look small before. Not on stage, not in rehearsals, not even in the quiet moments in between. But now, in this emptying set, under flickering lights, he looks like a boy who’s been carrying something heavy for far too long.

“I don’t know,” he admits. Then, after a pause: “Thank you.”

It’s quiet. Uncertain. Like he’s not sure if he should be grateful or if he should be embarrassed that you saw any of this. But you just nod, because you understand.

And when you walk off set together, the world feels just a little lighter.

The villa is quiet when you arrive. You only notice now how it sits at the farthest edge of the island, kissed by the ocean on one side and framed by thick, swaying palms on the other. You step out of the car, stretching your limbs, trying to shake off the tension still coiled inside of you from earlier. Taehyung lingers beside you, gaze flickering between the sand and the horizon.

“Wanna take a walk?” he asks, voice softer now, stripped of the exhaustion and frustration that had laced it before.

You glance toward the empty beach, the waves rolling in slow and rhythmic, the golden glow of the sun sinking into the water. “No one's around anyway,” he adds, as if reading your hesitation.

So, you nod. And the two of you walk.

It starts off in silence, just the sound of the waves brushing against the shore and the occasional crunch of sand beneath your feet. Then, finally, you ask, “What happened today?”

Taehyung exhales, long and shaky. “It wasn’t my first time working with him.” His voice is measured, carefully composed, but there’s an edge to it. “He never liked me much. I don’t know why. I think....I think I always knew, but today was the first time I really felt it. That blunt, open hate.”

You glance at him, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. “Why didn’t you tell Hoseok?”

Taehyung stops walking. The waves pull at the sand near his feet, the water lapping at his ankles. “Because he has influence. A lot of it. And if I say something, if Hoseok says something it could ruin the company’s reputation.” He looks at you then, really looks at you, his eyes dark and honest and tired. “I don’t want to be the reason that happens.”

Taehyung exhales, staring out at the water. The wind tangles in his hair, carrying away words he hasn’t said yet, words he isn’t sure he wants to. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, like he’s confessing something to the ocean rather than to you.

"Jae tries," he continues, the ghost of a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth before disappearing entirely. "He always tries. But there’s only so much he can do before he gets too close to the line. Before it stops being about me and starts being about him."

The pause stretches between you, and then Taehyung shifts.

"There was this photoshoot once," he starts, and you know immediately that it’s one of those stories that left a scar, the kind that never quite fades, no matter how many years go by. "It was for a magazine. Big one. The photographer, he wasn’t just ‘well-known’. He was a person people treated like a God. A person who could snap his fingers and end careers, and everyone knew it."

Taehyung lets out a dry laugh. "He took one look at me, literally just one and decided I was a problem. Said I wasn’t ‘giving’ enough. That I wasn’t trying. I hadn’t even posed yet. I was just… standing there, waiting for instructions. And then he just started talking like I wasn’t in the room."

His jaw clenches.

"‘Maybe if he actually had a personality, we’d be able to get something out of him.’ ‘God, idols these days, so fucking boring.’ ‘You sure he can even read the teleprompter?’" He shakes his head, a bitter smile on his lips. "They were right there. The crew. The stylists. Nobody said a word. Just stared at their feet, pretended they didn’t hear anything."

Your stomach twists, anger curling its way into your ribs, settling there. "And you?"

"I smiled," he says, voice flat. "I apologized. I posed the way he wanted me to. I let him tear me apart, and I acted like it didn’t hurt," he glances at you then, and his eyes are sharp, "Because if I had spoken up, I would’ve been the problem. If I had walked out, I would’ve been the unprofessional one. That’s how it works. The people with power get to be cruel, and the people without it get to take it."

You don’t realize your hands have curled into fists until you feel your nails pressing into your palm.

"That’s—"

"That’s just how it is," Taehyung finishes for you. He exhales slowly, like he’s letting something go, like maybe saying it out loud makes it easier to carry. "At least, that’s what I told myself." He pauses, then glances at you again, eyes unreadable. "But today… I don’t know. When you stepped in, when you didn’t back down, it made me wonder if maybe I should have spoken up sooner. If maybe I should have told Hoseok. If maybe—"

"You should have," you say, voice firm. "And you still should."

He watches you for a long moment, like he’s trying to figure out how you can say it with so much certainty, like he’s never even considered the possibility that someone might be on his side. Then, finally, he nods.

"Maybe," he murmurs. "Maybe it’s time."

You huff, deciding that enough of this heavy conversation has been had for one night. Wanting to lighten the mood you do the only thing that makes sense in the moment—splash Taehyung with a handful of water from the ocean.

It hits him square in the chest, darkening the fabric of his white shirt, and he freezes, blinking down at the wet splotch like he can’t quite believe what just happened. Slowly, his eyes lift to meet yours, and you catch the exact second that his expression changes from disbelief to pure, unfiltered mischief.

"Oh," he says, shaking his head. "You shouldn’t have done that."

"Taehyung," you warn, but it’s too late.

He’s already kicking off his slippers, already sprinting toward you, already reaching for you before you can register what’s happening. You shriek, attempting to dart away, but his hands are quick, firm as they wrap around your wrist. And then—

Then you’re airborne, weightless for all half a second before you come crashing into the water with a loud splash, completely submerged. The shock of it knocks the air from your lungs, and you flail, scrambling to find your footing in the sand.

When you break the surface, gasping, Taehyung is already laughing. His hair is dripping, strands of it plastered against his forehead, and his shirt clings to his frame, but he looks nothing short of triumphant.

"You’re an absolute menace," you gasp, wiping furiously at your face. "You’re lucky you didn’t throw me in deep water, or I swear—"

"You’re fine," he grins, unconcerned. "See? You’re still standing."

Barely above a whisper, he says, "You should know better than to start something you can’t win."

Your chest heave as you stare at him, loss for words.

“Round two?” he teases.

You don’t even think. You run.

“This is not what I wanted. “ you scream, feet kicking up water and sand as Taehyung chases after you, his chuckles rolling over the sound of the waves.

The next morning, everyone arrives on set expecting a simple shoot. But the moment the director claps his hands together, looking far too energized for someone who almost gave up yesterda, a collective groan spreads through the crew.

“Change of plans!” he announces. “We’re moving through multiple locations today. I want variety, I want magic, I want… cinema!”

Jae, clutching his coffee like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, blinks. “I haven’t even digested my breakfast, and now we’re going on a pilgrimage?”

Tiffany, one of the actors in the video, an epitome of elegance even when complaining, sighs dramatically. “Great. Another day of suffering for the sake of art. This is why I should have married rich.”

You glance at Taehyung, who’s already grinning. “She still has time,” you murmur.

“Yeah, any volunteers?” Taehyung adds, scanning the group. “Namjoon?”

The mental image of Tiffany attempting to boss Namjoon around as a husband makes you burst into laughter.

“Ugh, forget it. I’d rather suffer,” Tiffany declares, taking a sip of her green juice like she’s above all of you.

And with that, the long, chaotic day of filming begins.

The director, in his ambitious vision, takes the crew through beaches, alleyways, a quiet dock, and even an abandoned amusement park to capture different moods for the film.

The dock scene is the first disaster. The crew sets up, adjusting lighting and framing, when Jae, who has the balance of a newborn deer, stumbles dangerously close to the water.

“Careful!” someone shouts, but it’s Taehyung who grabs the back of Jae’s jacket just before he falls in.

“If you’re trying to reenact Titanic, at least make it look intentional,” Taehyung teases, patting Jae’s back like he did something heroic.

Jae, still in shock, mutters, “I swear this job is shaving years off my life.”

Next, in the alleyway scene, an old man walking past mistakes the film crew for street performers and tosses a handful of coins into a prop hat sitting on the ground.

Jae, never one to waste an opportunity, bows deeply as if he planned it. “For our struggles,” he says, pocketing the coins.

By the time the abandoned amusement park shoot rolls around, everyone is overtired, underfed, and teetering on delirium. Tiffany sits on a rusted carousel horse, scrolling through her phone.

“This better turn out amazing,” she says, sighing. “I refuse to suffer in a haunted playground for mediocre cinematography.”

“Imagine if Jungkook were here,” you muse. “He’d either cry or insist on filming a horror vlog.”

Taehyung snickers. “Namjoon would get lost, Hoseok would pretend not to be scared, and Jungkook would jump out of nowhere to test their reactions.”

Jae hums in agreement. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

The conversation is interrupted by the director shouting for another take.

By the end of the day, exhaustion hits everyone like a truck, but the sense of accomplishment makes it worth it. Jae suggested you all grab a bite or two before you go home. Tiffanny and Eun, another actor in the MV, decided to join you. 

The four of you had only planned for a quick meal, but as the sizzling bulgogi hit the grill and the soju bottles started emptying, the conversation turned lively.

Tiffany was the first to challenge Taehyung to a shot-taking contest, which he easily won, much to her dismay. Jae, in his usual dramatic flair, declared that the food was so good it must have been his fate to eat here today, which led to a heated debate about whether or not destiny actually existed.

Stepping out of the restaurant Jae let out a long sigh as he stared down the street. “My mom said I’d find luck in another city,” he muttered, his tone both hopeful and dubious.

You snorted. “What, like career luck? Or…?”

“Or romance?” Taehyung grinned, nudging him. “Is this your destiny arc?”

Jae rolled his eyes. “Laugh all you want, but I say we test it. There’s a fortune teller nearby. Let’s see if fate is on my side.”

Tiffany groaned but didn’t protest, while Eun, always up for something out of the ordinary, perked up. “I’m in. Could be fun.”

You and Taehyung exchanged an amused look before shrugging. “Why not?” you said.

The moment you stepped into the fortune teller’s shop, you knew this was going to be an experience. The scent of incense was so strong it nearly knocked you back, and a cat—an actual black cat—stared judgmentally from the corner like it had seen too many fools walk through these doors.

Beaded curtains swayed as a hunched old woman emerged, dressed in layers of mismatched fabrics, a crystal pendant swinging ominously from her neck.

“Who seeks the wisdom of the spirits?” she asked, voice raspy with theatric flair.

Jae stepped forward, ever the believer. “Me. I need to know if luck is on my side.”

The fortune teller gave him a long, slow once-over before sighing dramatically. “Sit.”

Jae obeyed, while the rest of you crammed onto a rickety bench nearby, trying and failing, not to burst out laughing at how serious he looked. Tiffany elbowed you. “He looks like he’s about to be told he’s the next king of Korea.”

You nudged Taehyung, whispering, “Five bucks says she tells him something incredibly vague.”

The woman placed her hands on the crystal ball in front of her, eyes fluttering shut. The room fell into an exaggerated silence before she finally hummed. “Ah… I see… a great opportunity… but also… a great misfortune…”

Jae frowned. “What kind of misfortune?”

She dramatically opened her eyes. “One that could change your life… forever.”

Eun coughed to cover a laugh, while you and Taehyung exchanged looks, your shoulders already shaking.

Jae leaned in. “Can you be more specific?”

The woman squinted, waving her hands over the crystal ball. “A journey awaits you… but beware, for not all who smile at you have kind intentions.”

That was it. Taehyung lost it, burying his face in your shoulder as he shook with silent laughter. You clutched your stomach, barely holding in your wheezing. “Jae, she just told you to be careful of fake friends. This is literally a horoscope from a newspaper.”

Jae groaned. “Fine, laugh. But you’re all getting readings now too.”

Tiffany went next, and the woman told her she had “two souls fighting within her”—which sent the entire group into a fit because Tiffany had spent the last week debating between two hair colors. Eun’s reading wasn’t much better—“Your past life holds the key to your future”—which led to immediate accusations that he had once been an old fisherman.

But it was Taehyung’s turn that truly finished you off.

The fortune teller studied him, eyes narrowing before she let out a heavy sigh. “Oh… oh, you poor thing.”

Taehyung blinked. “What? What poor thing?”

She shook her head gravely. “Your heart… it is burdened. Confused. A storm brews inside you.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, trying not to make it obvious how hard you were shaking with laughter. Tiffany’s eyes were wide with fake concern. “Taehyung… are you okay?”

Jae gasped. “Do you have unresolved feelings for someone?”

Taehyung pointed at him. “Don’t start.”

The woman continued, her voice dropping lower. “You are at a crossroads. One path leads to safety… the other…” She trailed off ominously.

Taehyung leaned forward. “The other leads to what?”

“A great mystery.”

That was it. You collapsed against Taehyung, laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe, while he clutched your arm, doubled over in his own fit.

Jae sighed, rubbing his temples. “You guys are the worst people to bring here.”

As you finally calmed down, wiping at your eyes, the fortune teller turned to you. “And you… would you like to see your fate?”

You hesitated, but with Taehyung still chuckling beside you and Jae giving you an expectant look—his arms crossed like he had personally invested in the outcome—you sighed and took your place in front of the crystal ball.

The woman reached out, taking your hands in hers. Unlike the rest of the group, she didn’t immediately start with theatrics. Instead, she pressed her fingers to your palm, tilting her head as if listening to something only she could hear.

Then she let out a low hum. “Oh, my dear… your path is not an easy one.”

The way she said it made the laughter still lingering in your chest falter. Her grip on your hands was firm, her expression unreadable. Even the incense around you seemed thicker, making it harder to breathe.

“Challenges lie ahead for you,” she murmured, tracing a line down your palm. “Your love life… ah, it is not simple.”

From the side, Tiffany let out a small gasp. “Oh my God, what does that mean?”

You tried to laugh it off. “I think it means dating is hard for everyone.”

The fortune teller ignored you, still staring at your hand. Then, out of nowhere, she suddenly flicked her gaze toward Taehyung.

The woman clicked her tongue. “Ah, the threads of fate… they twist in unexpected ways.”

You frowned. “Threads of fate?”

She didn’t answer directly. Instead, she tapped her fingers on your palm, her tone dropping lower. “There is someone… standing close, yet far. One whose presence lingers, even when they are gone.”

The group fell silent, and for the first time since stepping into this place, you felt a shiver run down your spine.

Then, suddenly, she smiled. “But do not fear. What is meant to be will find its way.”

Taehyung, seemingly snapping out of his daze, coughed and nudged you with his elbow. “Okay, that’s enough mystery for one night.”

Jae exhaled, shaking his head. “Honestly, she could’ve been talking about anyone. Maybe it’s someone from your past. Or a future person. Or maybe—” He gasped dramatically. “It’s Namjoon. He’s always gone but somehow always in our lives.”

The entire group burst into laughter, the eerie weight of the moment shattering in an instant. Tiffany wiped a fake tear. “Or Jungkook! His presence lingers in every conversation.”

Eun nodded sagely. “Perhaps even Hoseok. He is standing close yet far… in the sense that he is always busy.”

Taehyung, grinning now, leaned toward you. “Damn, you have so many men lingering in your life. What a dilemma.”

You rolled your eyes, finally shaking off the odd feeling from before. “Guess I’m just lucky.”

As you all stood to leave, the fortune teller watched you with an expression that was almost… knowing. But before you could question it, Jae clapped a hand on your shoulder.

“Well, that was sufficiently cryptic. Who’s ready for more drinks?”

Laughing, you followed the group out into the cool night air, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. Whatever fate had in store, you’d worry about it later. Right now, all that mattered was the lingering laughter and the warmth of the people around you.

_______

The next morning, you arrived on set with the crew, the air buzzing with the familiar energy of wrapping up a long shoot. The director had planned for one more location change today, so everyone was bracing for an easy schedule. 

Tiffany groaned as she stretched, rubbing her shoulders. “I swear, by the time I finish this project, my bones will be held together by pure willpower.”

Eun, sipping his iced coffee, smirked. “Sounds like a fun future. Just you, struggling to walk, while your grandkids ask why you move like an old doll.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like you’re not just as exhausted. I saw you nearly faceplant into your script yesterday.”

Eun grinned, unbothered. “That was method acting. I was channeling a man on the verge of collapse.”

Taehyung, who had been quietly stretching his neck, chuckled. “You should’ve told the director. He might’ve given you an award for dedication.”

Eun shot him a finger heart. “My talents are underappreciated.”

The day moved quickly after that, with scene after scene flying by. One particular moment had the entire set laughing when Tiffany, meant to do a dramatic turn, accidentally tripped over her own feet and nearly took Jae down with her.

Jae, lying sprawled on the ground, lifted a hand weakly. “Tell my mother I fought bravely.”

Tiffany, wheezing with laughter, held up two fingers. “Noted.”

Even Taehyung, usually composed on set, had to take a moment to compose himself before his next scene. As the sun started dipping lower, signaling the end of the day, the atmosphere shifted into something more relaxed. Everyone knew they were close to finishing, and that brought a certain lightness to the air.

You were sitting on one of the set chairs when Taehyung wandered over. He looked a little tired but pleased. "Eun found some jazz bar," he said, tilting his head toward where the other actor was chatting with Jae. "He wants us all to go check it out."

You raised a brow. "Are you sure this isn’t a trap to get us all to watch him sing?"

Taehyung laughed, leaning in slightly. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

You pretended to think. "Depends. Is he good?"

His grin widened. "Guess we’ll find out tonight."

You nod. The night air is too good to waste, and besides, you’d rather ride this high than be left alone with your thoughts.

“Perfect,” he says. “I just need to change first.”

The streets of Sokcho hum with a quiet kind of energy, something that belongs to seaside towns where everything feels a little more alive at night. The neon signs flicker, casting their glow on rain-damp pavement, and the air carries a mix of salt, grilled fish, and something sweet—honey hotteok, maybe.

You walk beside Taehyung, a few paces behind the others. Jae is up ahead, laughing at something one of the actors said, his voice light in a way that tells you he’s finally letting himself relax.

“You did well today,” you tell Taehyung, nudging his shoulder slightly.

“I had a good team,” he says, but the smile that tugs at his lips is soft, real.

The Moonlight Lounge sits at the end of a narrow street, tucked between a bookstore and a pojangmacha with steam curling into the air. The sign is in delicate gold lettering, glowing just enough to catch your eye but not demand attention. Inside, the air is filled with warmth and music—a saxophone crooning softly over the chatter of people nursing drinks in dimly lit corners.

It’s a jazz club, but it’s still undeniably Korean. The walls are lined with old vinyl records and faded posters of Shin Joong Hyun and Kim Jung Mi, legends of another time. A woman in a hanbok greets you at the door, her voice smooth as she guides you to your table near the stage. The tables are dark wood, worn down by years of cigarette smoke and quiet conversations. Someone brings over soju and makgeolli without asking, and you settle into your seat, the night pressing in like the first note of a song.

The crew had sprawled out in a corner booth, drinks in hand, finally able to relax without cameras, scripts, or shouting directors. Tiffany, ever the dramatic soul, took a deep breath and stared wistfully into her cocktail.

"What now?" she mused, swirling the ice in her glass. "The project is over. Will we ever see each other again? Or will life tear us apart?"

Jae, chewing lazily on a straw, snorted. "Tiffany, we have a wrap-up dinner next week. Calm down."

Taehyung smirked over the rim of his glass. "To never seeing each other again, then?" He raised his drink in mock solemnity.

"To our tragic separation," you added dramatically, clinking your glass against his.

The table erupted into laughter, Jae shaking his head while Eun wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye.

"I'm going to miss this nonsense," Eun said, sighing.

"Then take a picture," Jae quipped. "It’ll last longer."

You took a sip of your drink, only for Jae to suddenly straighten up, eyes widening as if he had just made a shocking discovery. "Wait a second," he said, pointing at you. "Have we all just ignored the fact that she spent this entire trip acting less like a therapist and more like Taehyung’s unpaid intern?"

You blinked. "What?"

Tiffany gasped, dramatically clutching her chest. "Oh my god, he’s right! Weren’t you supposed to be here for moral support? Instead, you’ve been adjusting his mic, fixing his hair, reminding him of his cues—"

"And don’t forget the ‘lyric revisions,’" Eun added, raising an eyebrow. "Did you secretly take up a second job as his songwriter?"

Taehyung, lounging comfortably beside you, simply shrugged. "She’s just a natural helper."

"Helper?" Jae scoffed. "She’s one clipboard away from being promoted to manager. I swear, Hoseok should start paying her."

You smirked, turning to Jae. "Actually, seeing how much you sleep on the job, I should take your spot."

Jae gasped, hand flying to his chest like you’d just mortally wounded him. "Excuse me?! I work hard!"

Taehyung snorted. "When? In your dreams?"

Eun patted Jae’s shoulder, shaking his head. "I mean… she did do most of your job this trip."

Jae groaned. "Okay, so I take one nap—"

"Multiple naps," you corrected.

Jae sighed heavily. "And suddenly I’m getting replaced. This industry is ruthless. One minute you're at the top, the next, your job is being stolen by someone who isn’t even on payroll!"

Tiffany giggled. "Oh, don’t worry, Jae. Maybe she’ll let you be her assistant once she takes over."

Jae pointed at you. "I expect weekends off, full dental, and a daily nap allowance."

You grinned. "No promises."

Before anyone could tease further, Jae groaned. "Okay, this music is putting me to sleep. Can we request something upbeat?"

And then—

You notice her.

A waitress, hovering near your table, her hands nervously smoothing over the fabric of her apron. Her eyes flicker to Taehyung, then back down, uncertainty keeping her frozen in place. You nudge him with your knee under the table.

He looks at you, confused. You tilt your head toward the girl.

Realization dawns on him, and he offers her a small, encouraging smile. It works. The girl hesitates for just a second longer before taking a step forward, clearing her throat.

“Excuse me,” she says, voice soft, uncertain.

Taehyung leans in slightly, giving her his full attention. “Yes?”

Her fingers twist into the hem of her apron. “I—um.” She glances to the corner of the room, where an older woman sits, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. “My mother… She’s a big fan.”

Taehyung follows her gaze. The woman is watching quietly, eyes kind, waiting but not expecting.

The girl takes a breath. “Would you… would you sing for her?”

There’s no hesitation, no flicker of doubt. Taehyung’s smile softens, something tender unfolding behind his eyes. He nods.

“Of course.”

The waitress exhales in visible relief, her smile breaking wide and unguarded.

Taehyung moves toward the microphone like he’s done it a thousand times before. Maybe because he has. He doesn’t look at the crowd as much as he listens to them—feeling their breath, their anticipation, their weight pressing in on him, waiting for something brilliant to happen.

He talks to the musicians in hushed tones, his fingers drumming lightly against the side of the mic stand, and when he turns back, there’s something effortless about the way he smiles, the way he breathes into the microphone like it’s a part of him.

He doesn’t introduce himself as V. Doesn’t roll out the title, the name the world chants at stadiums, the one printed on billboards and whispered between strangers in train stations. Instead, he simply says, “I’m Taehyung. Or Tae, if you prefer.”

Your table chuckles.

And then the music starts. The soft melody of "Sway" filled the dimly lit space, his voice weaving through the air like silk, smooth and intoxicating.

"When marimba rhythms start to play, dance with me, make me sway..."

Taehyung’s voice is a drug. Maybe it’s the soju, or the salt-tinged air of Sokcho, but every word he sings wraps around you like silk, light and intoxicating. His deep timbre, the way he sings as if the lyrics were written for him and him alone, has you forgetting to breathe.

Taehyung’s gaze caught yours as he sang, his lips curling slightly as if daring you to step closer. And you did. The moment his hand extended, fingers grazing yours, the song pulled you in like a tide, and suddenly, you were dancing.

The makeshift dance floor—just an open space between scattered tables—felt like its own little world, a pocket in time where only the two of you existed.

Taehyung was patient as he guided you through the movements, his voice low, soothing. His hands lingered, light touches against your wrist, the small of your back, the curve of your waist—fleeting but there. It made your pulse quicken, an awareness of him settling under your skin, even as you tried to focus on the steps.

He twirled you suddenly, his voice rich as he continued, "Like a flower bending in the breeze, bend with me, sway with ease..."

You yelped, but the sound melted into laughter as you spun, your body moving effortlessly under his guidance. When you landed back in front of him, closer than before, his hand rested at your hip, steadying you.

His touch was light but grounding, and for a moment, you forgot about the people watching, the crew, the bar, it was just him, his voice, and the way his fingers traced patterns against the fabric of your dress.

“Loosen up,” he teased when you stiffened after a misstep, his hand squeezing your shoulder before drifting down to your arm in reassurance. “Dancing isn’t about counting steps, it’s about feeling the music.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Easy for you to say, dance prodigy.”

He scoffed. “Hardly. You should’ve seen me when I first started training.”

You turned to look at him, playful suspicion in your eyes. “You? Struggling to dance?”

“I’m serious,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “I looked like a baby deer trying to ice skate.”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. It made Taehyung pause, his own grin softening as he watched you. His hand slid down your arm, fingers brushing against yours before he intertwined them and gave a gentle squeeze.

"Other dancers may be on the floor, dear, but my eyes will see only you..."

The words carried a different weight when directed at you, and something flickered in his gaze. The music played on, but you barely heard it over the sound of your own heartbeat.

Then, as if shaking off the moment, Taehyung smirked. “See? You’re a natural.”

You scoffed, stepping back just enough to nudge his side. “Liar.”

He chuckled, letting his hand fall away as he took a small bow. “Thank you for trusting me with your two left feet.”

You swatted at him, but the teasing lilt in his voice made it impossible to be annoyed. The tension between you, stayed, but you both ignored it, choosing laughter instead.

As you stepped out of the jazz bar, the crisp air wrapped around you, a sharp contrast to the lingering warmth of the dimly lit space you’d just left. The laughter of the crew trailed behind you, mixing with the distant crash of waves against the shore.

Taehyung walked beside you, his breath visible in the night air. The streets were quieter now, the hum of the city settling as the hour grew late.

As you passed by the filming location from earlier, the remnants of the day's work were still scattered across the lot—cables coiled near the sidewalk, light stands waiting to be stowed away, crew members moving with practiced efficiency despite their exhaustion. Jae, Tiffany and Eun went to help some of workers, so the packing would be faster.

“That was the worst dance lesson I’ve ever had,” you joked, hands tucked into your pockets.

“Excuse me,” Taehyung feigned offense, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’ll have you know people pay to learn from me.”

“Poor souls,” you murmured, making him laugh. The sound of it, warm and unguarded, sent a flicker of something through you.

As you walked, you passed by a few of the crew members, laughing at some inside joke. One of them tripped over a camera bag, and without missing a beat, Taehyung leaned in and whispered, “That’s how I looked when I started dancing.”

You burst into laughter, covering your mouth as you leaned into him. “I knew it!”

He grinned, nudging you with his shoulder. “Should we tell them, or let them keep their dignity?”

You pretended to think. “Let them suffer.”

As you continued walking, the conversation drifted into playful challenges. Pranks, dares, ways to pass the time. You nudged Taehyung’s arm. “Okay, but what if we swapped Namjoon’s phone wallpaper with something ridiculous?”

Taehyung’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Like a cursed meme?”

You grinned. “Or Jungkook’s baby pictures.”

He gasped. “You have access to those?”

You wiggled your eyebrows. “I have my ways.”

Taehyung looked genuinely impressed, then thoughtful. “I’d like to formally opt out of pranking Jungkook. He has too much energy. He’ll chase us for revenge.”

“Agreed,” you said quickly.

You decided to join Jae, who was directing a few people on where to load the remaining equipment into the vans. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he glanced up, eyes narrowing in amusement. “You two finally done dancing?”

You rolled your eyes. “Very funny.”

“Tifanny recorded it and sent it to Jungkook, you know.” Jae smirked. “I’m sure it’ll make for excellent blackmail material.”

Taehyung groaned, throwing his head back. “Of course she did.”

You laughed. “At least let me see it before he weaponizes it.”

The night stretched on with more laughter, playful pranks, and easy conversation. When the packing was done and the group go together again Jae suggested playing charades, you barely had a chance to protest before Taehyung grabbed your wrist and pulled you to his side.

“You’re on my team,” he declared with a smug grin.

“Oh, because I’m so good at this?” you deadpanned.

“No, because I need someone to take the blame if we lose,” he said with a straight face, then smirked when you lightly smacked his arm.

The first few rounds were chaotic, filled with exaggerated gestures and absurd guesses. But the moment it was your turn, something shifted. Taehyung was guessing, and somehow, he read your movements instantly.

“The Matrix.”

You had barely mimed dodging bullets before he got it right.

Next round, Taehyung was up, and with one small wave of his hand, you blurted, “The Lion King.”

Eun groaned. “How—how did you even get that?”

You shrugged, grinning. “Have you seen his dramatic hand movements? He is Simba.”

It became an ongoing joke as the game continued, you and Taehyung so in sync that it was almost unfair. He barely needed to act things out, and you barely needed to see them before guessing.

Jae threw his arms up in frustration. “They’re cheating!”

Taehyung leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “Should we tell them, or let them keep suffering?”

You grinned, pretending to think about it. “Let them suffer.”

It only got worse from there. You both breezed through every round, finishing in record time while the other teams struggled, and soon, it wasn’t even about winning, it was about watching everyone else slowly lose their minds over how effortlessly you worked together.

“You guys are insufferable,” Tifanny muttered as he failed his round.

“It’s not our fault we’re naturally good at this,” Taehyung said smugly, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah, it’s actually kind of scary,” Eun added, eyeing the two of you.

As the night breeze rolled in the group slowly began to wind down. Eun stretched with a dramatic groan. "Alright, I'm calling it. My bed is calling me," he declared, rubbing his eyes.

"You sure it’s your bed and not the hotel’s mini-fridge?" Tiffany teased, smirking. "I saw you stash like five ice creams in there."

"Listen," Eun huffed, placing a hand over his chest. "A man needs his emergency rations. You never know when hunger might strike!"

Jae scoffed. "Right, because the five-course meals we’ve been getting clearly aren’t enough."

Tiffany glanced at you and Taehyung. "What about you guys?"

You shrugged. "Jae, Tae, and I are heading back to the villa."

Jae yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "I swear, I’m running on fumes. I don’t even remember how we got here."

"You walked," Taehyung deadpanned.

Jae blinked. "Oh. That explains why my legs hurt."

You snorted. "Wow. That’s some next-level detective work, Jae."

Eun smirked. "Yeah, Jae. You must be exhausted from all that critical thinking."

Jae sighed dramatically. "You all mock me now, but when I disappear into the mountains and live a peaceful life away from this abuse, don’t come looking for me."

Taehyung nodded solemnly. "I give it three days before he starts talking to a rock and names it Steve."

"Two days," you corrected.

Tiffany cackled. "One day. He’d probably befriend a seagull before sunset."

Jae threw his hands up. "Unbelievable. I hope Steve and the seagulls treat me better than you guys."

The headlights of a black car appeared in the distance, and Eun clapped his hands. "That’s our ride. Guess this is where we part ways."

"Don’t let Steve replace us," you teased.

"No promises," Jae shot back.

Eun and Tiffany got into the car, waving as they drove off.

Taehyung let out a content sigh. "I like nights like this."

Jae stretched. "Yeah, until you wake up tomorrow realizing you got sand everywhere."

You groaned. "Why would you say that? Now I can feel it in my shoes already."

"Better than in your bed," Taehyung added, nudging you playfully.

"Great. Looking forward to that."

With one last glance at the dark waves, you turned and started the walk back to the villa, laughter still lingering in the air.

[madrone33]

I don't know what to say. Thank you. Thank you Jorge. Thank you everyone who sung, and drew, and edited, and worked on EPIC: The Musical because you have all given me something that I will always - ALWAYS - remember and cherish.

I've been on this journey for over a year now, since Halloween 2023 when WolfyTheWitch posted a random short of Poseidon with the coldest musical lyrics I've ever heard. Ruthlessness brought me to this project, to this fandom. I was in all the events my timezone could reach, posted and messaged and freaked out with fellow fans on discord and tumblr and youtube and tiktok and twitch. I scoured the whole internet to find every piece of music, read the interviews, watched every livestream - most notably of which were the Ocean Crowdcast stream, the Circe Stream Crash of 2024, the Policy Violation Stream, and the IRL Odyssey streams XD

I got my family into it and was able to gush and rant and ramble to them about it; I've made so many friends because of this, and entered so many other fandoms too: MHSG, Udad, PJO, Hadestown, JCS, Lucids, DEH, and so many, many more; I've made essays and graphs and spreadsheets and analysis, discussing and picking apart the themes, characters, music details, motifs, lyrics; My voice has grown leaps and bounds because of how much I sing out loud now, I learned the songs on the piano, I started drawing?? I've written almost 112k words of fanfic for Epic, it's insane (and also not written down so much more LMAO). I even went out of my comfort zone and posted some of my writing and my covers which is CRAZY and nerve wracking and really fun!

Each saga I was left completely stunned and awestruck. Each saga I thought "surely, nothing can top this" and yet EVERY TIME I was blown away again the next time. The writing, the singing, the voice acting, the visuals, the orchestration, the lyrics, everything is just- !!!

Jorge. Miguel. Rivera-Herrans. HOW?? It's so good! It's SO GOOD!! And everyone's voices?? Everyone, just everyone is just talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same- THIS MUSICAL IS PURE ART, A MASTERPIECE OF A LEVEL HITHERTO UNKNOWN, THE LIKES OF WHICH MAY NEVER BE SEEN AGAIN. The fact that I was born in this spot in time, able to experience and appreciate and bask in the light of this glorious concept musical?? I am unfathomably lucky, and I thank the musical gods that it is so.

This past year has been one hell of a journey. I laughed a lot, I wrote lmao while actually only internally laughing a lot, I was tired and comforted and excited and anxious, I cried which I'm almost never able to do with media; Every day I would wake up and immediately check my phone for an upload notification, which is how I caught the Livestream today instead of missing it, so phew; I felt burned out sometimes, but managed to catch it and diversify my activities a bit, sinking into something else for a while before coming back refreshed and even more excited; My entire music wrapped this year was Jorge, Epic cast members' independent music, and greek mythology musicals; I watched the fandom grow even more, all the art, the fanfic, the theories, the memes, the friends.

I still don't think it's fully sunk in yet, but the entire musical is out now. It's done. I'm watched from saga three to nine, from Ocean to Ithaca. I've been here, every day, for a year. This is something that I don't think I'll ever experience again. I am so so thankful.

Thank you, Jorge, for bringing this into the world. What would it be, five and a half years now that he's been creating EPIC? He should be so proud, because I'm sure as hell proud. Odysseus finally made it home. The story is over.

But still, as Jorge said - This not the end of the journey, this is just the end of a chapter; the journey goes on!!

And I'll be here, taking that journey with you.

[cityofmeliora]

What’s your take on the ghouls ? Like do you think they’re rlly non human (if so what like) or do you go with the more human appearance?

though it's not my personal headcanon, i love non-human Ghoul art! shout out to @bonesy-doodles my favorite Ghoul artist :3

anyway tho, i personally think the Ghouls are humans– specifically undead / resurrected humans.

all signs point to them being human.

Nihil's Ghouls from Era 0 are obviously human.

PHOTO: The Future Is A Foreign Land // PHOTO: Metal Myths

Primo says the Ghoul Writer is human.

That’s right. Ghost have their music written for them. In one online interview, a so-called “ghoul writer” is mentioned who supposedly composes melodies and lyrics with the help of ungraspable powers from beyond – devilish whispers instruct him which words should accompany which chords, and so forth. “There is indeed a human individual who composes patterns of tones and words which operate ever so beautifully in unison. However, I am of the belief that there is a higher being who speaks through this individual,” asserts the Pope. Sweden Rock Magazine (November 2010)

the Meliora Era video The Summoning (part 1) from 2015 shows the Ghouls are humans who wear costumes. Sister Imperator is talking to the Ghouls here, and she presents their new masks to them.

PHOTOS: The Summoning

anyway, i like the idea that the Ghouls are undead because of this quote from Metal Myths:

DUSTY COMSTOCK: If the breaking of the sacred bloodline wasn't enough, what Sister Imperator did next was shocking. She had orchestrated, and had carried out, the assassinations of Papas 1, 2, and 3. They'd been housed in The Ministry since their retirements, as is customary, but Sister, with the collaboration and support of Papa Nihil, had a different plan for what should become of them: reanimate them, and use them as 'faceless ghouls' on the impending tour. Once on tour, these former Papas would be entombed in a traveling crypt, as in the catacombs of old. Metal Myths: Ghost Pt. 2 (April 2022)

this quote describes the Papas' dead bodies being reanimated as "faceless ghouls", implying that Ghouls are dead people.

and also this quote from The Summoning.

SISTER IMPERATOR: It started with a vision: you were all standing before me, hoodwinked and bound with both caddy and shack! I led you each toward a coffin, where you were made to lie down. The lids were closed. And one by one, I placed a level on the top to make sure you were still and cold in the darkness. Iron nails fell from my hands and scattered like leaves around my feet. The Summoning V: The Square And Hammer (September 2016)

it's not clear if this is just a vision or if it was a real thing that happened at some point, but it shows a flashback of young Sister Imperator while she's saying this, so maybe it did, IDK. anyway. Sister Imperator is describing kidnapping the Ghouls, tying them up, and then burying them alive.

i think the Ghouls are made rather than literally summoned from hell. i think Ghouls are members of the cult who are sacrificed and turned into undead servants.

i also like this idea because it means you can come up with backstories for the Ghouls easily!

The Summoning videos use the phrase "THE CLERGY HAS ADJOURNED AND THE NAMELESS GHOULS ARE SUMMONED...", but they didn't mean "summoned" as in like, called up from hell, they just mean "summoned" as in like, called to attend these meetings asdkjfadskjfadsf.

[munson-blurbs]

How do you think a grumpy, slightly introverted (probably?) fluffy-haired, blue-eyed gremlin meets an outgoing, slightly naive but studious brown-eyed girl?

Annie in her college era (2006 specifically) had an amazing bartending job at a hole-in-the-wall bar, two a day practices for pole vault and a love-hate relationship with o-chem lab.

And maybe would blast Stone Temple Pilots and Seether until her ears bled while studying instead of partying, I dunno

you are the literal best I cannot wait

You meet Gareth while studying at your college library!

CW: college AU, lip ring Gareth specifically for you WC: 574 Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

Can you see just like a child?  Can you see just what I want?  Can I bring you back to life?  Are you still alive?

You tapped your toe in time with the beat blasting through your headphones, your sneaker nearly silent against the library carpet. In your opinion, the best way to listen to music was loud enough to wake the fallen, even when you were studying. Badass guitar solos and angry lyrics always made preparing for Organic Chemistry tests less awful.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like chemistry; you actually loved it. When you were in high school, you opted for science electives over the music or art classes your friends preferred to take. It was just this class, with the sheer amount of work and the tragically boring professor who droned on and on like he got paid by the syllable.

Burn, burn, burn, burn, burn  Burn your wicked garden down  Burn, burn, burn, burn, burn  Burn your wicked garden to the ground, yeah

A tap on your shoulder snapped you from your musical stupor and sent your heartbeat into overdrive. You slid your headphones down around your neck and looked behind you to find the cutest guy you’d ever seen in your life.

His eyebrows shot up to his mop of brown curls as he realized he’d startled you. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” His tongue brushed over the ring curled around his lower lip. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It–It’s okay.” Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself and met his gaze as your heart rate accelerated to a normal level. “Do you need something?”

The guy cleared his throat. “I’m Gareth. I think we have o-chem together?” He gestured to your thoroughly highlighted and sticky-noted papers. 

You hadn’t seen him before, but it was a big class. With a polite nod, you smiled at Gareth. “Tuesdays and Thursdays at 1:30 with Dr. Carr?”

Gareth’s face lit up. “Yup. God, that guy is…” He trailed off and waited for your reaction, in case you actually liked the professor for some unknown reason.

“Brutal,” you finished for him. “Are you also studying for next week’s test?” Dr. Carr had warned that no one ever passed it, which raised more questions than answers for you. Like, why give an exam that everyone fails? And what kind of sadistic asshole found joy in that? 

“Trying to. But I feel like I’m just going in circles.” Gareth let out a reluctant laugh. “I was wondering if you were having better luck.”

You cocked your head towards an empty chair at a nearby table. “Grab a seat and I’ll help you.” Was this really happening? Was this super hot guy–with a goddamn lip ring–going to sit mere inches away from you and listen intently while you went full science geek? Or was this some sort of hallucination brought on by mid-semester exhaustion?

But it was very real–his cologne, his fingers brushing over yours to turn your notebook page, the way he eventually rested his chin on your shoulder as you explained different compound compositions and reactions. And when you yawned mid-sentence, the coffee he bought for you was also real–and much appreciated. 

“We should meet up again tomorrow.” You suggested once you finished your drink and could barely keep your eyes open. “Maybe grab some Chinese food and study some more.”

Gareth ran his tongue over his lip ring once again. “It’s a date.”

--

[narcosfandomdiscord]

Narcovember Prompt Roulette List

Saalud a mi gente! We in the Narcos Fandom Forever discord server are excited to bring another 30-day challenge: a multifandom event that we’re nevertheless calling Narcovember. Despite its name, this is open to ALL FANDOMS, NOT JUST NARCOS. Creators are encouraged to submit fanworks (fic, art, gifs, vids, op-eds) for any fandom your heart desires!

This event's format is a bit unconventional. Instead of a prompt for each day of the month, there's a Prompt Roulette Wheel and a Prompt Index (☟ below) featuring numbered items with three prompts each. Every day you'll spin the wheel. The number that comes up on the spin corresponds to a number on the index where you can then pick one of the three prompts.

So for example, say on day one, I spin the wheel and get number 8. I’d go to 8 on the index (titled These Damn Restraints). Of those three prompts, I like Yikes best so that's my day one prompt. Next day, I spin and get 14. I find 14 on the index (Decisions, Decisions, Decisions) and pick one of those for day two's prompt. And so on. Note: If, on Day 2, instead of 14 I got 8 again, I’d spin the wheel again to get a new number. If, for whatever reason, you don’t want to spin twice, you can choose another prompt from that "Book of" that you haven't used (e.g. Day 1, I chose Yikes. So Day 2, I’d go for, "Now you know why I never say anything.") Ideally, we think it’s more fun to not repeat index items, but ultimately it’s dealer’s choice. Aka we're not about to get real fascist policing, aint nobody got time for that.

Here's -> the roulette wheel. Or you can make your own! (Just make sure it has 30 slices.)

Use the hashtag #narcovember or tag us to submit your entries so we can reblog them! A note on the masterlist - bc of the Tumblr-imposed link limit, for now we'll only link the fic. BUT at the end of the month, there will be a comprehensive list with all the contributors’ blogs so ppl can find your other work easily. 

Happy spinning, everybody!

❖ Prompt Index ❖

1 — Book of Genesis

Fanwork inspired by someone else’s fanwork (be sure to tag the creator of the OG work!) 

“The fun begins here.” 

Ghosts

2 — Book of Fuck-ups

Righteous indignation glo-up aka fanwork that corrects a plot misstep or writing blunder that bugs the shit outta you 

“It’s not the what-ifs that fuck you up, so much as the what-might-have-beens.” 

Bite

>>>>>>>>>> more prompts below the cut <<<<<<<<<<<<

3 - Book of Stuff That Goes in the Junk Drawer

Fanwork inspired by a song and include why the song sparked the idea (was it the lyrics, genre? something you thought a character would like? etc) 

“It’s never too late to make history.”

Juice

4 — Book of the Uno-Card-Reverse

Fanwork based on your fav reverse/inverse trope**

“Evil isn’t always forever.” 

Mirrors 

5 — Book of Negative Spaces

Fanwork using a line from a diff show/movie as a prompt (e.g. line from Mad Men, “I don’t think of you at all” in a Narcos fic, line from Band of Brothers, “The only hope you have is to accept the fact that you’re already dead,” in a Hannibal fic, etc etc) 

“We gain more from our mistakes than our success, you know that?”

Pitch

6 — Book of (un)Consciousness

Fanwork inspired by a dream you’ve had (include 1-2 sentence summary of the dream at the beginning of the post) 

“Just dream with me.”

Technicolor 

7 — Book of Time-travel

Fanwork inspired by ancient mythology (Greek, Norse, aztec, celtic, etc. Bible counts as mythology, fuck it) 

“It’s only a matter of time.”

Constellation

8 — Book of These Damn Restraints

Fanwork that ends with 2(+) characters trapped in a phone booth with no way out 

“Now you know why I never say anything.”

Yikes

9 — Book of Fateful Conversations

Fanwork where the plot takes place entirely in the back of a cab OR where one character is the cab driver and the other is the passenger 

“You'd be surprised what you can live with.” 

Cursed

10 — Book of Nepo-baby Levels of Incompetence

Fanwork where character is in a profession they have no business being in with no prior training, so they fake knowing what they’re doing – like imposter syndrome except they’re just actually a fraud (e.g. Rust Cohle is a grief counselor, Richie Jerimovich is a hedge fund manager, Roman Roy is a beat cop) 

“And who hasn’t believed a flattering lie?” 

Evergreen 

11 — Book of Pit Stops

Fanwork that starts with a character hitchhiking and getting picked up by another character(s) 

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” 

Rush

12 — Book of Balancing In Between

Fanwork whose setting is a liminal space (e.g. empty swimming pool, bar or arcade after hours, airport terminal, church confessional, empty elevator, Twin Peaks black lodge, John Wick continental bar, etc) 

“Good things come in threes.” 

Wire

13 — Book of in Urgent Need of Assistance

Fanwork where a character wakes up on an empty submarine, 300ft underwater, thinking they’re the only person aboard until they run into another character(s) 

“One day I’ll wake up and it won’t hurt so much.” 

Desperate

14 - Book of Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

Crossover for 2(+) fandoms you have used before but 2(+) characters you’ve never used or vice versa 

“All we have are our choices.” 

Crossroads 

15 — Book of How tf Did We Get Here

Fanwork that starts off with 2(+) characters waiting in line at the DMV and ends in a completely different, totally unpredictable, why-and-how-tf-did-we-get-here place 

“There’s a moon a mile from here and nobody home.” 

Ambition

16 — Book of Locally Sourced

Fanwork that mimics a bottle episode, so the entirety of it takes place in a relatively mundane setting (e.g. the stockroom of a store, interrogation room, a hotel lobby, waiting room of a doctor’s office, etc etc) 

“Make yourself comfortable while you can."

Notebook

17 — Book of Inception

Fanwork that provides an origin story for a character that doesn’t have one in canon 

“It (he/she/they) made me who I am.”

Improvement

18 — Book of Mysteries

Fanwork where 2(+) characters have to escape a panic room. Depending on fandom, this can be like the innocent party version that you take your friends to for someone’s bday, or can be an actual doomsday shelter 

“I thought they were with you!?"

Endurance

19 — Book of Near Misses

Fanwork with 2(+) characters from the same movie/show/book who’ve never met 

“Looks like we missed our window.” 

Rattled

20 — Book of Sleight of Hand

Fanwork of partners (romantic, profesh, or both) running into each other unexpectedly while both are doing something criminal/something they know they aren’t supposed to do (e.g. burying a body, carrying out a heist, meeting someone they shouldn’t)

“You can't ask the truth from someone who trades in lies.” 

Brace

21— Book of Nerves of Steel

Fanwork where 2(+) characters do a B&E, but get stuck when the owner unexpectedly comes home, and they whisper-yell argue over how to get out

“You won't believe the day I just had.”

Cortisol

22 — Book of Identity Theft

Fanwork where 2(+) characters meet accidentally bc one has accidentally dialed the wrong number (e.g. Syd [The Bear] tries to call Carm to yell at him for Something Dumb He Did but ends up calling Cousin Greg [Succession] instead) 

“I'm not the one.”

Brand

23 — Book of Just Chaos™️™️™️

Cracked crossover/ship with 2(+) characters from very diff genres (e.g. Dwight Schrute [The Office] & Tommy Shelby [Peaky Blinders], Frenchie [The Boys] x Penelope [Bridgerton], etc) 

“You’re my idiot, forever.” 

Untouchable

24 — Book of Revelation

Fanwork where 2(+) characters are stranded in the desert and in a sick twist, must decide which one of them to leave behind in order for the other(s) to be saved

“I like that I don't have to worry about you.”

Rapture

25 — Book of Reciprocity

Fanwork where 2(+) characters play poker (or any card game that has betting) but the chips are magic and the winner gets extra years of life instead of money (e.g. say, in poker, green chips = $500, blue chips = $1k, red chips = $2k, black chips = $5k. In this scenario, green chips = 6mos, blue chips = 1yr, red chips = 2yrs, black chips = 5yrs, etc) 

“Fine, I'll do it myself.”

Quid-Pro-Quo

26 — Book of Abduction

Fanwork where 2(+) characters get kidnapped by a kooky cult, are thrown into the trunk of a car together and have to figure out how to escape

“Somebody has to be paying attention.” 

Spiral

27 — Book of Caretaking

Fanwork where a character accidentally shoots/stabs/otherwise maims another character and has to perform first responder, triage levels of first aid to save them (dealer’s choice as to whether it's successful bc yolo) 

“Don't make me take care of you.” 

 Ritual

28 — Book of Weaponized Passive Aggression

Fanwork where 2(+) characters attend a dinner party and witness that moment when a couple starts passive-aggressively arguing but not outright fighting in front of the whole table and it’s even more painfully awkward than if they just straight up fought OR the 2(+) characters are the ones arguing making everyone else uncomfortable asf

“I wish you the best and I hope you find it far from me.”

Attitude

29 — Book of the (un)Dead

Fanwork where a character dies and another character shepherds them to the afterlife like their own personal grim reaper

“We bury our dead alive.” 

Siesta

30 — Book of There's No Place Like ...

Back from the dead: a character came back wrong or right, but either way, no one else knows how to handle it

“Even if you make it, you’ll never really go home.” 

Homesick

**There will be a reverse trope list in another post for examples.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Literally not a single soul asked for more information about my idea for a Florence + the Machine jukebox musical of Shakespeare’s Othello (because, well, why would they?) but I have a lot of time on my hands so buckle up because you’re getting more information

(If you want to be able to better picture my mad rambling, I'd recommend playing the songs so you know what parts I'm referring to)

Opening number: 100 Years (from High As Hope)

We open on an almost empty stage with Desdemona slowly stepping into the spotlight as she sings the first few lines (I believe in you and in/our hearts we know the truth/And I believe in love and the/darker it gets the more I do); if we want to get super specific she’s wearing a white dress that’s a similar shape to the one Florence wears on the album art because just yes yes yes and also angel imagery for the win and ALSO over the course of the production her dress becomes pale pink or grey and then very gradually gets darker but in fact the nightdress she wears when she dies is back to white again. She does not bleed, people, she is the only character that dies without bleeding (!!!!!!!) and I will never shut up about that. Anyway, she sings up to the repetition of “and never, and never turn to night” with orchestral accompaniment and then when the “Then it’s just too much” line hits and the beat comes in things change. More lights come on and the chorus (wearing all black) move slowly into the stage; they’re tap dancing, creating the beat/ rhythm of the song. As they’re moving in Desdemona seems to show some level of fear towards them, constantly switching focus to see them approaching her on all sides; they represent the inescapability of her being the tragic hero. Notable: Desdemona is performing ballet and maybe some lyrical but I’m kind of imagining her en pointe for a lot of this; the chorus is performing tap. At natural breaks in the music and rhythm the tap dancers freeze in place for Desdemona to dance whilst she sings the next lines. On the second rendition of “then it’s just too much” vocal accompaniment to Desdemona’s melody begins and members of the chorus grab Desdemona’s shoulders and arms to pull her backwards, as she continues to sing she tries to break away from them and they follow her/she falls into other chorus members. They close in on her and she is completely covered until the rise in the music on the next rendition of “And then it’s just too much” when she reaches upwards and is lifted above the group, set down on the same line. The chorus continue to seemingly fight her through the next two lines. Then entrance of Othello comes on “I let him sleep, and as he does”. He does not sing yet. What we’re seeing here is more about Desdemona’s thoughts than it is actual events; Othello enters and takes Desdemona’s hand to briefly dance together, including him lowering her almost to the floor and then snatching her back to her feet again on “my heart bends and breaks so many, many times”. They stand opposite each other for “And is born again with each sunrise” and Desdemona reaches to touch his cheek. Othello catches her hand in the air and holds it so she walks with him as he begins to exit (he is walking backwards) and he sings the repeat of the line, but as they approach the wing he turns and exits alone, abandoning Desdemona on stage to be taken hold of by the chorus again in the following instrumental. For the final verse the chorus join Desdemona in singing but she is still the only main character on stage

Othello and Desdemona Duet: I’m Not Calling You A Liar (I should mention I’m not listing these in any particular order and also I do not have a copy of Othello with me rn to double check that I've got order right so I won't be trying just in case I get mixed up)

Gonna be so honest I feel like if you know the song then this one is self-explanatory, but I would also really love a quiet, sad, short reprise of it in the last scene with Desdemona on the bed reaching up to cup Othello's cheek and whispering "And I love you so much/I'm gonna let you kill me" before she dies

Emilia and Iago Duet: Back In Town

Iago and Emilia are alone on stage. The song begins after the exit of Desdemona at stage left and Emilia, who followed her almost to the wings, is subsequently standing alone at down or centre stage left and does not immediately know that Iago is standing somewhere behind her upstage right. Emilia steps slowly away from where she was been watching Desdemona leave and slowly starts to approach the audience as the music begins, and sings the first two lines believing she is still alone - Never really been alive before/I always lived in my head. Iago steps forward from the shadows and sings the next two lines (And sometimes it was easier/Hungover and half dead) taking Emilia by surprise, as though he is simply stating fact to her and she is forced to nod along and accept them . At this point Iago takes over the song and from now on sings most of it as a solo. He approaches Emilia across the stage and takes hold of her - notably by the wrist, not by the hand, to pull her in as he sings “I’m back in town why don’t we go out?” and on “spin” of the next line twirls her across the stage and straight into him so she falls against his chest and he is holding her up. The choreography continues in a relatively similar fashion as the song goes on; it is a slow dance, they are constantly close together, it is not entirely believable that Emilia wants to be there. To a casual eye it may appear that they are simply dancing together, but when you actually watch them you can see that her movements are always half a beat behind his, and always in the direction that he moves her. He never lets go of her for long, and in the brief moments of freedom that she catches she tries to move away as though it is part of the dance, as though she thinks she can hide her true intent beneath fluid motions that mimic his own, but every time he notices and forces her back. This is both a metaphor for their entire relationship and foreshadowing of her death. By the time he’s sing “And if you get spat on that’s just your big city baptism, you’re the star of the show” it is plainly evident that he is trying to convince her to do something for him. On this line Emilia finds herself with her back pressed against Iago’s chest as they both face out to the audience, his hand raised as though showing her a name is glowing lights, and she follows the movement of his hand with her head and with awe, eagerness, and the slightest edge of terror in her eyes. From here, as the lines continue, Iago turns and dips her slowly towards the floor. Emilia’s leg extends and he reaches his free arm to force her raised foot into pointe/demipointe; she is not committed to this dance, but he will force her to be. On the final lines Iago lifts her back to standing and pulls her close to him, moving her hands so she is clasping them together and he is clasping hers to his chest. He lifts her chin with his fingers so she is forced to look up at him as he sings “‘cause it’s always the same”. Still holding her chin, he looks out to the audience when he sings “I came for the pleasure but I stayed,” and it is Emilia who sings the echo “Yes, I stayed,” not at first looking at the audience but directly up to where his hand is now retracting from where he moved her to. She slowly turns her face towards the audience as they harmonise together for the final words: For the pain. On the final, low beats of the music Iago paces away and Emilia stumbles as she realises that he truly was the only thing holding her up. He exits stage right and Emilia sinks to her knees, watching him - a direct reflection of her watching Desdemona leave just three or four minutes ago on the other side.

Emilia Song 1: What Kind of Man

This will immediately follow on from the one above, thus beginning with Emilia knelt on the stage alone somewhere near centrestage right, looking out into the wings. She will sing the very opening lines exactly where she is, I envision only a very brief pause between these songs, and then slowly begin to stand and brush herself off so that she is ready to start walking towards centrestage by the time she is singing “I’d already had a sip, so I reasoned I was drunk enough to deal with it”. She sings alone at first; the stage is dark but for a spotlight on her, the orchestral accompaniment is relatively low to add emphasis to quite how complete her loneliness is in this moment - she is not safe, she does not know what to do, and the one person she can usually confide in and trust (Desdemona) is not only not here but also the very subject of the terrifying questions Emilia must now grapple with. On the higher background notes surrounding the line “and with one kiss” Emilia raises her hands and thrusts them towards her chest as though there is a blade between them, as though these hands belong to someone other than herself. She is both foreshadowing her own death with this movement, in the very pattern that her husband will commit it, and also presenting the image of her very first kiss with Iago being the thing that sealed her fate rather than anything within the content of the play: Emilia was doomed from the start, perhaps arguably doomed by the narrative, because her marriage is not one that she would have ever been able to survive. On that note I would really like to emphasise the youth of these characters so I would probably change “a fire of devotion that lasted 20 years” to “the fire of devotion that’s lasted all these years” so that we don’t get confused and tangled in the numbers of it. On this line (You inspired the fire of devotion/That’s lasted all these years) Emilia looks towards the wing where Iago exited with longing in her expression, but as she turns away her face hardens and her voice gains new vigour for the disgust and outrage with which she spits “What kind of man loves like this?”. And now we get the beat dropppppp. The music swells and gets louder; the lighting change is remarkable - lines spotlights running up and down stage, overlapping each other in places, and through them we can see the chorus moving into place. The slow, balletic movements of Emilia that have been the remnants of the control Iago instilled in her during Back In Town are abandoned completely in favour Contemporary as she paces backwards and the lights settle to illuminate the entire stage. The chorus are two lines of people all in black and Emilia, dressed in either red or grey I haven’t quite decided yet (maybe she is in grey and Bianca is in red??), is at the centre of the front line. The take up various positions with arms raised at strange angles and on the low notes of the background music turn their wrists until the beat hits - when they stamp their feet and snap their wrists into position. (Pls note I am not looking a score of anything I’m just listening to spotify so I might be badly screwing up musical terminology/details but I’m hoping you can gather which parts I mean) All participate in this until the lyrics begin. The “oohs” are sung by the chorus. When the lyrics begin Emilia steps forward to sing them, maintaining the same energy, and the chorus continue the same choreography until the repetition of “What kind of man” begins. As the repetition of these lines begins Emilia paces backwards and the two lines of chorus morph into a crowd that semi-circle close around her back. They grab Emilia on each beat, releasing her in between, and pull her in different directions as she sings (+the chorus are providing vocal accompaniment).At first it doesn’t particularly appear that she’s fighting them but as we exit the chorus to approach “You’re a holy fool all coloured blue” she does; she throws herself forwards on this line and the chorus are forced to relinquish her. She spreads her arms and the chorus are thrown backwards

Damn I just reached text block maximum whoops

The chorus are thrown backwards and spiral out to create a larger curve. Two chorus members take hold of Emilia’s arms to lift her and carry her a short distance upstage as she sings, raising and lowering her within the confines of the line “You do such damage how do you manage?” At the end of which Emilia is briefly lost in the crowd before she appears trying to force her way between two chorus members who are creating a wall in front of her, reaching out towards the audience as she sings “trynna crawl in back for more”. She gives in at the end of this line and sways sidewards as though fainting, caught by chorus members and lowered to her knees as she sings the repetition of the “and with one kiss” refrain. This time she remains on her knees for the first “What kind of man loves like this?” and then bound to her feet and continues to dance for the following. The chorus sing the following lines as Emilia dances I don’t have super specific moves in mind for this but continuing the same energy and the same style, I want everything about this to both vastly contrast and deeply reflect who she was in the previous song. Emilia begins to sing again for “But I can’t beat you/Cause I’m still with you” and the following verse, for which the chorus continue to provide vocal accompaniment. The chorus join her again when the What Kind Of Man chorus begins again. The dance and choreography continue in a similar fashion until the very last line; the chorus exit in a whirlwind and leave Emilia alone on stage as the music dies down to sing much quieter “What kind of man?” She has fallen still, her hands clutched closer to her stomach as though she is already holding the wound that will kill her

Ensemble song with Othello and other solos (maybe even to close act 1??): Howl

Starts with the stage empty except for Othello. The chorus slowly move in, all wearing flowy white costumes. The dance is one of slow, consistent movements during the intro music but on the accented notes they make sharper hand or leg motions before continues the same smooth line much slower as the music relaxes. Othello is mostly still during this but he does pace slowly into centre stage. Desdemona also slowly walks in during the intro, having returned to a long white dress instead of the pink or grey or something like that that she'll have been wearing in her previous scene. She moves very much like the chorus do, whilst Othello moves just as he usually does. Othello takes Desdemona's hands and pulls her in to dance with him as he sings the opening lines "If you could only see the beast you've made of me/I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free". It is very much that Othello is controlling the dance and Desdeoma is following him, an eerie parallel to Iago and Emilia during Back In Town. He spins her beneath his arm on the lines "Screaming in the dark/I howl when we're apart" and she leans back with her weight on one demi-pointe and in the arm he has around her, the othr leg extended. Othello sings "Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart" and leans into her, his other arm wrapping around her so the audience can barely see her. Desdemona drops into him and to her knees, now facing the audience kneeling directly in front of Othello, who takes tight hold of her shoulders and leans down towards her ear as he sings "my fingers claw your skin/try to tear my way in/you are the moon that breaks at night for which I have to howl". For most of this the chorus have been in pairs mimicking a similar dance to Othello and Desdemona, but now they have turned and are watching them, moving slowly closer. When Othello repeats the last two lines his voice is more desperate, clinging to Desdemona whilst she stares blankly out at the audience, barely seeming to notice his presence. On the rising repeat of "howl" the chorus closes in around them and pull the pair in opposite directions. Othello and the entire ensemble sing the word "howl" together. The following two lines are a repeat of this word, during which the dance becomes more rhythmic and Othello and Desdemona are moved to face each other on opposite sides of the stage. Though the chorus still appear to be attempting to separate them, they sing to each other across a gap that has formed down centrestage and are fighting to reach other. They exchange lines of the next verse as follows:

Desdemona: There's no holding back

Othello: I'm making to attack

Desdemona: My blood is singing with your voice

Othello: I want to pour it out

Desdemona: The Saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound

Othello: I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground

During this exchange they break free and meet in centre stage, taking up a dramatic dance that is mostly in hold. However, Desdemona pulls away from hold on her "The Saints can't help me now" line, and Othello draws her back in on his. Desdemona steps forwards, as though telling the audience, when she sings "like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins". Othello grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her in, leaning over her almost as though he would go to kiss her neck as he sings "I want to find you, tear out all your tenderness". Desdemona throws herself free as both of them sing the repeated "howl" lines, joined again by the chorus, but this time Desdemona's voice can distinctly be heard differently from the rest because she is not singing from any kind of power or passion but from genuine terror. By the end of this chorus Othello and Desdemon are in an almost violent dance together, half in hold and half out, big sweeping arm movements and I'm imagining that Desdemona's skirt would unpin to fan out and show a gorgeous wide black or dark red skirt that would properly like swish around whilst they were dancing and stuff (does that make sense???). They continue to dance without singing whilst the chorus, who are back in their pairs and dancing faster, more intense dances than before but none quite to the extent of the main couple, sing "Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers/Starts so soft and sweet and/turns them to hunters". I'm imagining that the chorus' skirts could also unpin in the same way so either Desdemona's would turn black and all of theirs would turn red or vice versa, but I want to kind of see some variety in the chorus outfits maybe (??) instead of them all being identical so I might have to put a bit of thought into that. Anyway the point is that after this line we get a big rhythmic chorus dancing moment and it looks super cool, they're singing the low "hunters" "howl into your heart" repetitions and moving their swishy skirts and dancing and then they part to show Othello and Desdemona again and Desdemona is now dressed in a super dramatic dress that is entirely the colour that was hidden inside her skirt and the skirt of this new dress is insane and Othello all but carries her to the front centre stage and he is all over her as he sings "the fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress/Until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest/The Saints can't help me now" and everything kinda continues in a similar style with some gorgeous choreography. I'm kind of imagining there being a table on stage by the end because I want Othello to lift Desdemona onto it and her to lay down on it, don't ask me how the table got there I don't know, but this happens with the massive dramatic flowing over the sides of the table and onto the ground whilst the chorus sings "A man who's pure of heart and says his prayers by night/May still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright" and I'm picturing that they would sing these lines like they were a Church choir gathered around Othello and Desdemona, and they continue to sing the closing lines of the song as Desdemona stands up and Othello climbs onto to the table after her. He unpins the skirt and the fabric all falls away (removed from the stage by chorus members) like a waterfall so that he and Desdemona (who will be wearing trousers/leggings/a leoptard) beneath the skirt) can dance together on the table top whilst the chorus continue to sing, moving away from the choir-imagery and back to the earlier style. This continues right up until the very last line ("I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground") where Othello drops to his knees and clasps his arms around Desdemona's legs on the word "ground" and the curtain falls.

I am wondering if this would work for the act 1 closer????? But I'm not 100% sure where the interval would be

Emilia Song 2: Which Witch

If this isn't Emilia questioning herself for "betraying" Desdemona and whether or not she should give Iago the handkerchief then I don't know what is. I don't have loads to say about this one but the most potent lyrics for it in my opinion are these ones:

And it's my whole heart/deemed and delivered a crime/I'm on trial

Who's a heretic now/ am I making sense?

I'm miles away/He's on mind/I'm getting tired of crawling all the way

I'm not beaten by this yet/You can't tell me to regret/Been in the dark since the day we met/Fire help me to forget

And it's my whole heart/while tried and tested, it's mine

And it's my whole heart/burned but not buried this time

We'd have all of these lines (ie most of the song) whilst she's weighing up what she ought to do and she'd feeling really strong but then there's a small musical interlude where Iago comes on stage without her expecting him to, they speak briefly and she hands the handkerchief over; he walks away as she tries to ask him what he intends to do with it, chasing after him until he physically shoves her off and keeps walking. Emilia falls to the ground and as the music sweels again she sings the closing lines "Chained and shackles, oh/I'll unravel, oh/It's a pity, oh" [she gets to her feet] "Never to return/But I never learn/It's a pity, oh" and then repeats it with particular emphasis on the transition from "Never to return" to "Say I won't return". By the time she finishes the final rendition of "it's a pity, oh" the orchestra has almost completely died out and she wanders alone offstage humming the final few notes to herself

I could keep going...

Maybe I will at some point but I'm tired now

[aurae-rori]

MESMERIZER ANALYSIS!

Hi guys, Aurae is back at it again at Krispy Kreme, this time with a voacloid song analysis (woah!). So, before we get into this, here's my usual disclaimer! I have been researching psychology for a WHILE and I plan to go into it professionally (:O). HOWEVER, that said, I am NOT a professional, so understand that everything I come to conclusions about has been analyzed with some personal judgement, personal interpretations, and this is just what I have concluded.

This also contains a lot of personal projecting onto this song as art is aways up to interpretations, and I see a lot of my childhood in this song. I will be touching on topics that are implied through lyrics, and you may not see this song the same way that I do, and that is perfectly okay! This is my take on deconstructing some of the messages that this song has.

A TW FOR THIS ANALYSIS INCLUDES: hypnotism, escapism, unhealthy coping mechanisms, suicide, self-harm, depictions of abusive environments (as that is how I interpret this song), manipulation, gaslighting, dehumanization, neon colours.

So, now let's get into the confetti and fun wonderland of MESMERIZER!

I'll be splitting this into three parts: The part where I talk about the song lyrics, the part where I talk about the animation itself, and then I'll explain a few theories I've seen, as well as my own, adding onto the story that I think it is telling.

PART 1: SONG LYRICS ANALYSIS

“No thinking about real feelings

Are you pretending to not notice?

The absolute truths and your own heart

That's how the safe zone is shrinking

Prostituting your wounds

You give a feeble cry, such shameful conduct”

Although the song itself is quite catchy, cheerful, and jubilant, the lyrics are far from those things. We immediately start off with the idea of disregarding one’s own feelings, Miku talking about how people pretend not to not notice their own feelings and the ‘truths’ of their own hearts. However, this is hard to avoid forever, and their ‘safe zones’ (escapism places) are shrinking as reality creeps up on them, so they ‘showcase’ their sorrow to others. I think this is definitely a metaphor for how some people overshare to others and tell others all about the ways that they’ve hurt, which can be used against them, as this gives others easy access to material that could be used to manipulate them. However, there are also undertones of self-shame (which comes with trauma), calling their cries for help ‘shameful’. It should also be noted that some abuse survivors, while being abused, have relatively clear cries for help through their actions that nobody else seems to pick up on, which is also a theme in this song as nobody answers Teto’s cries for help. 

“I’ve got a recommendation for you, the ultimate escape

Eventually, you will be saved from being lured into sweet traps

Now that you can no longer live sanely in this world anymore

Perhaps pretending to know nothing

And surrendering yourself is the optimal solution”

This ‘ultimate escape’ that the song talks about is escapism, or imagination. Reality is too hard to deal with, so children turn to their own minds as a way to stop the pain from taking over. It’s much easier to live in a dreamworld rather than a reality where you’re being hurt, right? They say that ‘ignorance is bliss’, and they’re taking it to the next level here by repressing, ignoring, and denying their own true feelings in order to feel happiness. They escape to that ‘safe zone’ mentioned earlier within their minds. However, there is an irony in the second line where they talk about ‘sweet traps’, as it can be interpreted as the imaginary world being ‘sweet traps’, or maybe the harshness and certainty of reality can be considered a ‘sweet trap’ as well, depending on how you look at it. 

“If a bunch of flowers dressed up with words

Can steal one's heart, are they real?

To an event where everything will be tainted

I give you an invitation”

This runs even further with the idea of imagination and escapism, because flowers cannot literally dress up and speak in the real world. This is talking about how maybe the characters feel like they can no longer distinguish fiction from reality, talking about how fictional things can make you feel things, so they must be real, too. It’s basically saying that because fiction has such an effect on us, then can fiction and imagination be considered to be another form of reality, as well? However, it is mentioned that the event will be ‘tainted’, possibly referencing the idea of fiction completely overtaking reality. 

“Farewell

You're tailor-made for this era

With an appearance of vulnerability

Fooled by this truthful acting

Your heart beats so very loudly

Your extra lives are quickly being lost

Your durability worn away

Dodging matters right in front of you

You got your hands full just living”

This is where we go back to the idea of manipulation, and maybe even conditioning. ‘Tailor-made for this era’ implies that something turned these people into the kinds of people that would be easily manipulated. It is also implied that the two are hurting and explicitly stated that they’re vulnerable and easy to take advantage of. I would consider the theme of hypnosis and brainwashing to tie into this as well. They are more vulnerable to the idea of being manipulated and taken control of due to the fact that they are hurting and want to escape to another reality, and will believe anybody that says that they will make things better because they are hurt too much. They are fooled by the acting of the people that pretend to love them, who are really here to just control them. This is talking about the urge that people have to run away from reality, because just getting up and existing can be such a challenge. 

“You’re getting sleepy, a shallow hypnosis

Your head, your body are becoming muddled

No way, so many tricks?

Swinging a coin before your eyes

You'll become completely still

"This is fine," even you can be coaxed into shut down”

This is Miku’s part, and the part where she is completely hypnotized and taken control of. She ‘shuts down’, completely rejecting reality and going into the ‘imagination world’. She does not want to feel pain any longer and takes the opportunity to run from it, turning into a puppet for others to control and manipulate. 

“You're getting sleepy, a shallow hypnosis

Your head, your body are becoming muddled

No way, so many tricks?

Swinging a coin before your eyes

You'll become completely still

(coercion cancellation)” 

Teto’s part however, in the middle of it, fades out, as she does not completely listen to what the people have to say. She resists the manipulation, and it’s explicitly stated with the part where it goes ‘coercion cancellation’. She is actively fighting the urge to run away into escapism, and resisting the manipulation of whatever is trying to do so to them. 

“However you survive today, it's unrewarding everyday

You're already in a bot-like cycle

Continuing from the moment of inertia

If you have no luck, no hope, it's all the more pointless

If you haven't got it then give up

Playing with the leftovers is your fate”

This is just more stuff about giving up on the real world. Inertia means “the inherent property of a body that makes it oppose any force that would cause a change in its motion”, aka: refusing to move, even when force is put upon something. I would say ‘inertia’ is a synonym for birth or consciousness, because it’s talking about how even from the moment that you are born that you are stuck in a cycle of endless pain in reality. This part is basically talking about why you should give up on reality entirely and simply live in the worlds of your own creation, running away into escapism and disregarding the real world in favor of not feeling pain. 

“You’re tailor-made for this era

With an appearance of vulnerability

Fooled by this truthful acting

Your heart beats so very loudly

Exaltation has already lost its meaning

A fake charisma

If you stare directly at reality, you’ll end up going blind

So do it in moderation”

Once again, talks about being perfect subjects of manipulation. However, Teto speaks of the fact that the rush of joy that you usually get after originally going into the escapism world has already been lost, and that it is fake. However, she also mentions that if you keep on living in the real world the entire time, it will not do you any good, so she advises everyone else to live in your imagination only sometimes, but to keep an eye on the real world. 

PART 2: THE ANIMATION 

This is just a lot of things that I have noticed other people saying, but some tidbits about the animation include: 

This is a screenshot from the very start, showing how there are themes of hypnosis from the beginning. 

I believe it is also mentioned that the 13-pointed star that is shown a lot represents immortality. 

Also, can I mention that their outfits seem almost childish in nature? I believe that this is meant to represent that they are ‘vulnerable’, intensifying the idea that they are easily taken advantage of. However, these also look like worker outfits in the way, with the yellow rectangles almost looking like name tags. It almost seems like they’re workers for a children’s amusement park? Which would make the horror aspect of this even worse… 

Miku’s shoes are rollerblades, which can be interpreted of her being more carefree and more willing to run away, because wheels are faster, and can also be interpreted of her being less connected to the ground/reality. It can also be shown in the idea that she is the more ‘childish’ of the two of them, being easier to manipulate, which is why she falls to hypnosis first. 

In contrast, Teto’s shoes look rather normal. Probably a representation of her being more grounded? 

I’ve seen people interpret Miku’s cuffs as like places for strings to hold onto during her later animations, which can tie into her being more of a puppet rather than a human? 

Star pupils at the start for both of them when Teto talks about an escape. They are clearly both looking for one. 

However, Teto pretty early on also does the ASL sign for “HELP”.

Also, Teto blinks in morse code for “SOS” during the first chorus. 

The first letter of all of these spell out “help”, while the fourth letters spell out “SOS”. 

“phosphoribosylaminoimidazole succinic carboxamide” is something that helps with energy metabolism, as well as DNA synthesis. I believe this can be a reference to the fact that many abuse survivors go through dehumanization, or it could be a reference to the idea that neither of them feel “real” or “human”. 

Also, at the end here, Teto makes another nonverbal sign for help with her hands. 

Miku is hypnotized pretty easily, swaying from side to side like following the motions of a coin. 

However...

Teto resists hypnosis for ten days, if you count the amount of times the sun rises and sets in this scene. Although, at the end…

Even she falls into hypnosis.

Also, their entire background is green here. Teto looks a little shocked, while Miku finds nothing wrong with this. This may be a green screen, which further emphasizes that the world that they are in is not real, and is only a product of escapism and/or imagination. 

Miku has never done this pose before, until after she was hypnotized. 

Also, it’s a good time to say that Miku’s movements here look robotic, or like she’s being puppeteered, with how jarring they are. 

I didn’t point this out before, but this happens earlier too – they point at the star, and tell you to “focus”, before “MESMERIZER” is spelt out really quickly in the star, at the very start, but not at the second time.  

As we start the next chorus, Miku’s face develops into this. It’s also noted that Teto stops bouncing for a few moments in pure shock. Also, I should mention that after you hang yourself, your tongue can protude from your mouth. There’s also a choker around her neck, and her skin seems to pale considerably, which points to the idea of a suicide. However, if she’s dead, what is puppeteering her? 

Also, the star at this point is swirling. It’s outright trying to hypnotize you. 

However, after this, Miku continues to dance, even after her part is over, and even goes off beat. The amount of confetti in this scene is increased considerably, as if whatever is trying to hypnotize them or control them is trying extra hard to make Teto give in. 

At the end, she does. 

PART 3: THEORIES 

So, what the hell does this all mean? 

Let’s recap– 

Teto & Miku are going to the unhealthy coping mechanism of escapism to deal with their lives, through one form or another, to run from reality. This much is clear. However, it gets to be too much for them and they are inevitably hypnotized by something or someone, taken control of, and while Teto asks for help, Miku gives in early, leading to the ending. This is all we can take from surface level. 

This is where I get into it with my theories. 

I like to mention the fact that these two feel immensely like they’re being conditioned by something, or someone, that they are supposed to trust. Maybe an adult figure in their lives. They clearly have faced hard shit during their lives, which explains the need for escapism. Teto is the more grounded one, and Miku just wants to escape from the pain. The first way that I interpret this is: 

Childhood abuse. Both of them are being manipulated and coerced by their own parents, and are finding solace in one another. Teto brings up escapism to Miku, and they do it together, creating worlds together and having fun at the start. Teto keeps on trying to ask for help to the people of the outside world in miniscule ways, but even when she directly asks for help dealing with her situation, she is still ignored and pushed aside. So, they then escape whenever they can because it gives them a feeling of control when in fact their own escapism mannerisms are a way to try and control their real lives but it doesn’t matter because it’s better this way. So all of her “SOS”s are for nothing. 

However, the longer the abuse goes on, the more they fall into it as their only method to be saved, and Miku eventually cannot handle reality, falling into the imagination world forever – that is, killing herself so that she will never have to deal with reality again, being pushed over by the expectations she had to fulfill in reality. Teto stays afterwards, however, trying to handle life, but is eventually manipulated into being something that she’s not, and kills herself as well due to the pressure. However, this could also be interpreted as a “loss of the self” as they either drown themselves both in the imagination world, or could be interpreted as the fact that they eventually simply turned into the people their parents wanted them to be. 

I can also interpret this in a completely opposite way – that the world that is full of colours and whimsy is actually a world that their parents have trapped them in. That they are being pressured to be happy all the time even though they don’t want to be, and that in front of everyone else they have to act like everything is fine even though it isn’t. Maybe they’re being coerced by their parents to never feel sadness, to leave all of those ridiculous things behind, to become perfect – almost like a Coraline situation. They’re pretending like everything is fine even though it isn’t. However, eventually, they get caught up in all of their lies and the fake reality they set up for themselves. They’d rather look at it rather than reality, but at the same time, they are being puppeteered by their surroundings in a harmful manner. 

Escapism. :) 

Second interpretation: they are working for some studio or something, which could be why there was a green screen at one point. They are promoting the idea of escapism to other people, but unwillingly. Miku falls into the ideals of their director and falls into the headspace entirely, agreeing with the ideals of others while they are forced to continue spreading this message in an almost dystopian manner. They are hypnotized by the person producing this message. 

Third: Maybe this is a story about them working in some sort of childhood theme park in order to escape their realities as well, and be children forever? This ties the two previous ideas together. They are overworking themselves to the point where reality and fiction are indistinguishable. Unable to deal with everything that she has to do, Miku dies, and Teto follows suit. 

Four: Literal hypnosis. Maybe some sort of horror story of becoming victims of some hypnosis monster? I like this one the most because it makes me think of a story where Mikuy and Teto were struggling, and perhaps made a deal with some eldritch being so that they can escape reality into their own fictional world. However, as more time goes on, the more the world that they’ve entered becomes twisted, and Miku falls to the being’s whims, turning into a mindless puppet in order to reject reality further. Teto, horrified at what has happened, tries to reach out to others, only to have nobody listen to her. She then gives up entirely and joins her friend. 

There’s a lot of ways to interpret this, but the general message is that people want to escape from their harsh realities. This is natural, especially if you’re a victim of manipulation or abuse, but this is also a reminder that you can’t go too far from it, and that there are still people waiting for you. 

TLDR: Escapism, slay! But don’t slay too hard, unless you want to end up like MESMERIZER Miku!! I love this song so much and I can and will elaborate on ideas. I’m really tired due to my exams so I am so sorry if something doesn’t sound coherent here, but thank you for reading!! <3 

[kquil]

WHEN STARS ALIGN

PAIR. : Wolfstar x Lola (moot)

SUM. : soulmates only came in pairs right? so why does Lola have a matching soulmate mark to the guitarist and bassist of the rockband 'The Marauders'?

TAGS. : fluff ; rockstar guitarist sirius ; rockstar bassist remus ; they're in a band ; famous au ; soulmate au ; fan lola ; modern au ; muggle au ; hurt/comfort ; slow realisation ; hidden mark ; wolfstar!

LENGTH : 1.9k

DEDICATED TO @futurecorps3 (1k cake request)

EVENT : CLOSED

You've been a fan of the rock band ‘The Marauders’ for as long as you can remember. Their music – a blend of raw energy and lyrical depth – spoke to you in ways no other band has done before, and you weren’t the only one it seemed, considering their ever-growing fanbase. But it's not just their music that draws you in; it's the soulmate mark on your left wrist, identical to the ones Sirius Black and Remus Lupin openly display. Just the thought of it sends your heart aflutter. Quite the pessimistic grump, you didn’t want to believe it, especially because they were one of your favourite bands and your infatuation with them was getting to dangerous levels. 

That wasn’t the only problem, however, soulmates are supposed to come in pairs. Never threes. At times, you wonder if your love for the band was the connection you felt to the guitarist and bassist – you didn’t want to consider yourself a pseudo-fan just for that; you truly appreciated the musical and lyrical art they produced. 

Deceived into believing that it was all a coincidence or a mistake, you've kept your mark hidden beneath an array of bracelets and charms. And yet, as you stand in line for the meet and greet,  hosted right after their exhilarating concert, your mark tingles, reacting to their closeness.

It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real…

The repeated phrases seems to be the only thing that’s been able to ground you tonight. Your heart is hammering in your ears as your teeth gnaw at your plump lips. Anxiously, your small hands can’t keep still and your fingers twist and coil around each other almost unnaturally, sometimes finding their way up to the longer strands of your mullet-style hair. 

Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts as you inch closer to the front of the line. Their voices become clearer and despite having just heard them sing their hearts out, your heart begins to ache again for them, it neither feels entirely bad nor good. It’s just a dull, squeezing ache that you’ve grown accustomed to experiencing every time you hear their voices in songs. Nevertheless, you've dreamed of this moment for so long. You can easily ignore that stubborn sting.

In your stomach, a precarious concoction of excitement and dread bubbles up. What if they see your mark? Looking down, you contemplate whether your bracelets cover it up enough? What if they realise you're connected to them somehow? Will they deny it like you did? The thought makes you chuckle humorlessly underneath your breath. Your only way of coping with that unbelievable revelation was to reject it all together and yet the thought of them rejecting you in return tears your heart apart.  

Plagued by your thoughts, it takes you by surprise when it’s finally your turn. As you approach the table, Sirius's steel grey eyes lock onto yours immediately, sending an electrifying shiver down your spine. Next to him, Remus, with his soft, brown eyes, gives you a warm smile that makes your heart flutter. And suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. You exchange greetings and their voices are as mesmerising as their music.

“Good evening, Dollface,” Sirius winks playful, ever the flirt. Beside him, Remus chuckles and leans back in his chair, observing your curvaceous frame almost appreciatively? No, that can’t be true. You shake the thoughts away, “Did you enjoy the concert tonight?”

“Uh, yes!” you stutter subtly, starstruck but also battling your inner turmoil. Something in you wants to shout and scream and reveal your identical soulmate mark. You crave their validation over the circumstance. Will they accept you? Will they not? It’s a constant battle between which of the two potential reactions you’d rather receive from them. 

“What was your favourite part?” Remus asks, his voice, warm and deep. He calms your racing thoughts and overactive nerves, his effect on you almost addictive. Sirius finishes signing off the poster you had brought for them to sign and hands it off with a ‘here you go, Moony,’, and is received by a ‘thanks, Pads,’ — if they knew, would they give you a nickname and call you fondly by it too?

“Be honest, it was my surprise guitar solo right?” Sirius teases, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he raises a curious brow at you, only to receive a light push on his shoulder by Remus. The interaction pulls a delighted giggle from your lips, which pulls their eyes to you like magnets. Between them they share a curious, bewildering and almost adrenalised look as you slowly open your dark brown eyes to meet theirs. 

“That was very impressive, Siri,” it was a nickname their fandom commonly called him by but hearing you refer to him so familiarly made the dark haired, tattooed guitarist bristle up with elation. That’s never happened before with a fan… “But my favourite part was when you played Prankster’s Serenade,”

“Is that your favourite song?” Remus asks, already having finished his signing but was reluctant to hand you over to James and Peter. 

“No, it’s one of my top five,” you shrug your shoulders, surprised at how easy it was to talk to them despite your racing heart — you wonder if they can hear it? — although that could have been because of your fated connection, “but I liked the dance performance the best,” the two share a laugh that makes your heart sing. It was routine for them to do a playful, unrehearsed dance every time the song’s bridge plays, it was always a fan favourite and the two soulmates loved doing it too. 

“Now I’m curious,” Sirius speaks up, also not wanting to hand you over to James and Peter as he sees Remus begin to hand off your poster, “What are your top five favourite songs?”

“Hmmm…” they control their expressions as you write up the mental list of your favourite songs, but in their hearts a profound blossom of fondness blooms when they observe your adorable expression. That, and they wanted to respectfully keep away from admiring your ample bust and deliciously slim waist, “In no particular order, I like… ‘Whispers under the Willow’, ‘Prankster’s Serenade’, ‘Dance of the Stag and Wolf’, ‘Mischief Managed’ and ‘Unbreakable Vow’,” they smile at your choice of songs and regretfully hand you over to James and Peter but not before hurriedly asking for your name, apologising for their rudeness. 

“I’m Lola,”

“Lola…” they repeat your name almost breathlessly and it takes everything in you to suppress the climbing heat from rising to your cheeks and exploding. Instead you smile sweetly and move on, lightly brushing Remus's fingers as you do so, sending a jolt of electricity through you. You catch the briefest flicker of surprise on his face, which was mirrored in Sirius's expression, who’s stare trailed down your arm. Hurriedly, you step forward and greet James, who gives you his signature million-watt smile.

The meet and greet goes on as normal, ending with the Marauders waving goodbye to their fans and wishing them all well collectively. They then move to the back and leave the fans to exit the venue orderly. You turn to follow the crowd but are stopped by security, who gently asks you to stay behind. 

Panic sets in. You can't let them see your mark; it would change everything. Reflexively, you grip at your wrist, over your bracelets and try to calm your breathing as you wait. The crowd slowly disperses around you and leaves you alone for the security guard to finally lead you back to Sirius and Remus. They approach you with a mix of concern and curiosity on their faces.

"We felt something," Sirius begins, his voice a mixture of wonder and confusion. "When Moony touched you and when I saw your…” he pauses, eyeing your bracelets and bites his lip, choosing to not finish his sentence, “It's never happened before,”

Remus nods, his gaze intense. "It's like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place. But that's impossible, right? We're already soulmates," he gestures between him and Sirius.

Your heart simultaneously pounds in your chest and breaks apart. They felt the connection too. But were also denying it somehow… With a trembling hand, you reveal the mark on your wrist. Their reactions are a mirror of your own when you first realised it — a mix of shock and disbelief.

"This doesn't make sense," Remus whispers, his eyes not leaving your mark.

"We're supposed to be a pair," Sirius adds, his voice laced with a mix of awe and confusion.

Overwhelmed, you move your bracelets back to cover them, “That’s right…” you whisper, dejected and with tears in your eyes, “excuse me,” not meeting their eyes, you turn and hurriedly leave the venue. Behind you, you hear them call your name, but you don't stop. You need to escape. They gave you their answer — they don’t believe it, they don’t want to believe it. That’s fine. You’re fine. You already knew this would be the outcome anyway… but you hoped…you hoped that it wouldn’t be. 

Once outside, the cool night air greets you, a refreshing, crisp feeling as you sprint away from the venue. You got there by bus so you just need to find the returning stop. Unknown to you, Sirius and Remus are quick to follow, Sirius on a motorcycle, and Remus, in his car. In no time at all, they catch up to you and block your path. They have you cornered with your back against a wall and your heart racing in your chest. But there's no threat in their eyes, only concern and a desire to understand.

"Lola, please," Sirius says softly, taking off his helmet and musing his hair further, "please don’t run away. Just hear us out, Doll,"

Remus's voice is gentle and calming, "we don't understand what's happening, but we want to try. Together,"

You look at them, really look at them. Sirius, with his rebellious charm and fierce loyalty, and Remus, with his quiet strength and thoughtful nature. They're more than just musicians; they're people who have somehow become a part of your life without even knowing it.

Sirius steps closer, his hand outstretched but not touching. "We've always felt something was missing, even with each other. Maybe it was you all along,"

Remus's hand joins his partner and bandmate, hovering in the space between you, "we don't have all the answers, but we want to figure this out, with you,"

Tears well in your eyes as you realise the truth in their words. You've always felt a connection to their music, to them, but you never dared to believe it could be more than the admiration of a fan. With a shaky breath, you reach out, placing your hand in theirs. The connection is immediate, a warmth spreads through you that feels like coming home.

"We'll navigate this together," Remus promises, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that disarms you and melts your heart.

Sirius's grip tightens around your hand, reassuring and strong, "please give us a chance, we didn’t mean to upset you,"

“We’re sorry,” Remus adds with utmost sincerity and presses a kiss to your hand. A gesture that Sirius repeats with your other. A silent apology; a promise to never hurt you again. 

You have no words and all you could muster was a timid nod of your head as they pulled you into their strong, comforting embrace. The world around you fades away. And it's just you, Sirius and Remus, connected in a way you never thought possible.

A/N : out of all the storylines, i think yours was my most favourite, i honestly can't believe i came up with that plot. although, i don't think i would have been able to come up with it without your suggestions and particular, exquisite taste in tropes and au's! thank you so much for being patient with me darling, i hope this was to your liking! i really really hope it doesn't come across as too cheesy either. also, today was busier than i originally planned it to be so i don't think this piece is as well edited or proofread as my others but i promise to fix that up for you tomorrow my love! please enjoy it for now!

1K MILESTONE EVENT : CLOSED | NAVI.

1K MILESTONE MLIST

[wizardempires]

am i your girl by peach pit

Patrick thinking about art....???

#1: i'm really loving this thing we're doing where you guys ask me things so i get to talk about music and do challengers literary analysis all at once 😋

#2: YEAH I SEE THE VISION!!!! i had actually not listened to this song before now but i NEVER back down from an opportunity for growth.

let me talk your ear off about this... ↓

so right off the bat... i am a major pusher of the patrick feminization agenda. art is all classic male repression and manipulation but patrick.... with the way he was BEGGING for it throughout this whole film ??? those beautiful sad eyes in the sauna??? as a community we need to edit little coquette bows into him more often. he deserves to be somebody's little puppy too.

my take is that this song is them in the sauna, patrick trying to fit back into the familiar way they used to be and art FIRMLY shutting him down. now that i have listened to this song a few times it's so synonymous with that look patrick gives him, that "i don't matter?" look.... the first lyrics of "am i your girl / once again now" realllyyyyyy hammers this home.

then this is followed by "could be your all / but you figured me out in the bathroom stall". immediately bathroom stall translates as sauna to me so keep that in mind. in the context of this scene, it also could be interpreted as patrick being a little bit sarcastic, a little bit of a bitch, as he is wont to do... like 'we could have rebuilt this bridge, but you took your perception of me over what's actually there. you "figured me out" in this bathroom stall, so you're pushing me away yet again. you won't get over yourself and you're punishing me for it'. classic art repression!

after that is "i was, you've been / but could be you're back at me". patrick is calling back to the times Before The Horrors, thinking look at how they used to be! they were inseperable, and this challenger has the potential to bring them back together. this has the Potential to fix everything, but due to the way that both of them are (repressed, horny as hell, etc.) it simply will not happen. "could be you're back at me" is a little hopeful, thinking maybe art has changed his mind and come back around to their friendship, but the wording is also dangerously close to 'getting back at me'. it's sort of on a precipice, standing on the hope of rekindling but only one word away from tipping into bitterness and distrust once more. with art looking at him and telling him he doesn't matter, it does feel an awful lot like he's trying to get back at him.

the next lyrics that really struck me were, of course, "months have brought me somebody new / yeah, it's not you". nothing will fill the void of the relationship they used to have, whether we think of that as platonic or romantic or what. patrick fucks and we know this, but since he and art had their friendship breakup, he hasn't been able to get that same level of emotional involvement. even with tashi when they've hooked up, it's been very physical with as few words exchanged as possible. so yeah, patrick isn't ALONE by any means, but then he thinks about art and holy fuck he is lonely. nobody is him!

the rest of the lyrics here are all pretty much the same with the exception of "but it seems that i lost you a bit last fall" which like... yeah. he did. taking 'last fall' to mean back at stanford when art yelled at him to get the fuck out, ofc... but just that look on his face when he realises art has picked tashi over him. he is realising nothing will be the same between them! and he is right! and now they're here in this sauna talking properly face to face for the first time in over a decade and it's so so different. art is different. patrick has lost the boy he grew up with in a really major way!!

overall i love patrick wanting to be art's girl. this song and of course the ever brilliant 'one of your girls' by troye sivan are EXCELLENT for this. just something about patrick wearing his heart on his sleeve and all his emotions playing out plain across his face while art shoves them all down deep inside of him and never ever lets them out. patrick begging art to throw him a bone, give him something to think maybe this isn't a lost cause. patrick knowing that if art called he would answer on the first ring every time, no matter if it's been 20 minutes or 20 years since they've last spoken. i LOVE patrick being pathetic!!!! justice for patrick being pathetic!!!!!

thank you INCREDIBLY for this ask !!! if anyone else has made it this far please send me asks about music and challengers !!!! i will tell you literally anything you want to know. ask me about songs for each character, for each scene, for which era of their lives... ask me to explain the songs off my playlist... give me NEW songs to analyse..... i will do it all. i go crazy for music and i ALWAYS have things to say about challengers.

here is the challengers playlist in question... see u guys around 😋

[firegiftlouis]

Just saw the “Louis is actually a Byronic hero” post and the takes are so surface level they have all the shallowness of a puddle.

I’m talking about takes like, “Louis can’t be the ‘battered housewife’ (something no one who believes in femme Louis calls him but go off) because people liken him to the wife in a…derogatory way and also he was a pimp in Storyville!”

Being derogatorily referred to as a housewife or other feminine roles is something that happens all the time because we live in a misogynistic society and yes it even happens to cis women so this point is, and if this person knew anything at all about the history of Storyville then they would know that Louis’ role as a brothel owner in Storyville is a role that historically, in real fucking life, was held by women during this time! So this does not in any way disqualify him from being femme, if anything that supports it.

Also op saying that Lestat refers to Louis as Pelleas is literally incorrect?? They even put up the lyrics like they were cooking or something but literally “Your Pelleas” has an unspoken “I’m” before the your, and “my Melisandre” is literally in the possessive of the pov of the singer and I don’t understand how that couldn’t be more clear?

Another hilariously bad take is where they said Armand making Louis Juliet and himself as Romeo doesn’t count because…reasons but goes on a tangent about how Louis reading Madam Bovary has Lestat as Bovary, because I guess that’s the only book Louis read in all of season one right? 🙄

Honestly this comment made on that post does a better job of showing just how deep the tales are here:

The show couldn’t have made it clearer Lestat where’s a dress during the parade to shock and disturb “polite society”, this is the same scene where he eats a fake fucking baby. He wears that dress for exactly one scene and the next time we see him he’s dressed like a King but that doesn’t fit into their belief system so they simply ignore it. And I can’t believe there’s still “Mother Lestat” believers out there, I guess Louis having a painting on his wall at the end of season 2 depicting a mother and a child means absolutely nothing right? The meticulous art direction of this show went out the window during the last moments of season 2 and they got lazy and didn’t bother finding a painting that had a Father and a child right? 🙄

[divine-crows]

Grimoire/Bos Prompts or Research Topics for the Witch that Doesn’t Know What To Do Next

(Pt. 2/4) 

Another list with ideas, as always, these ideas and prompts by no means belong to me, and if you’d like, check out my first post for more prompt-type ideas (hopefully I’ll remember to link the first one before I post this.)

- What does each season mean to you and what are witchy activities, spells, and rituals you can do during these seasons? This one is pretty self-explanatory. A cool idea I had for it is dedicating a page to each season and including something from each season in it (like a pressed leaf for fall, pressed flower for spring, etc.) You can also include how plants or the weather usually looks during each season (An idea courtesy of Molly Roberts on YT). 

- If you like fantasy novels-- how their magic differs from real magic, things you wish fantasy authors would incorporate or do, and any phrases that speak to you on a magical level. You could also write a sort of self-analysis about why you like the genre and any possible magical ties. (Ex. maybe you like fantasy novels because you realized it’s the only way you really see magic in media, or maybe it’s indulging the inner child in you that still wants to shoot fire out of your hands). 

- Music, Art pieces, or general Artists that give you magical vibes. You can also put the lyrics, the art, or something pertaining to the artist in a page/use it to decorate empty space. This also can tie into pop magic. 

- If you play an instrument and have something like a string that can’t be used anymore, write about it and find ways you can magically incorporate it, and if you want, you can find a way to decorate the page with said object. This can be extra fun if you use the instrument for magical workings, and it can also apply to things like old art supplies. 

- Your heritage and how you can use it in your craft. This can range from a list of types of magical concepts that relate to your heritage, to whole practices and paths that were made that your far back ancestors would have used. You can list these types of magic and: 1) list the history of them 2) talk about how it’s connected to you [is it personal? Is it something you want to make personal?] 3) Are there factors about it that should be considered? [is it a part of a practice, did another group influence/use it?]. This can be useful because it gives you a way to connect further with your practice and to take a fun adventure where you can learn more about yourself. Always be aware of other cultural factors and don’t appropriate. 

- How you prefer leaving offerings. Most likely, you’ve at some point learned how to leave offerings (whether it’s working with deities, or with nature in general), and you’ve found a way to leave offerings that work for you. Maybe you prefer praying/speaking before or after leaving an offering, maybe you just leave an offering with a brief couple of words, or maybe you prefer leaving art you’ve made from paintings to poems. Further, maybe you prefer having an outside altar versus an inside one and vice versa, or any of those things might vary depending on what you’re communicating with. Write about it, and why you do it for future use.