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#the mv is another discussion.

thinkin-bout-milgram · 2 years

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Speculation on Release Dates of Next Milgram Vids

If they follow the same release pattern as Trial 1, here would be the dates to look forward to!

July 8th 2022 - New PV with a glimpse of the next Es song and character voice lines of how they’re currently doing + ungrayed versions of the recent images

July 12th 2022 - Next Jackalope Vid

July 27th 2022 - Character voice trailer full version

July 29th 2022 - Next Es MV

August 10th 2022 - Character Song Previews

Late August/Early September - Character MV 1 (Best guess 8/24 or 9/2)

Late September/Early October - Character MV 2 (Best Guess 9/2 or 10/7)

December - Character MV 3

They released most MVs trial 1 on fridays and the schedule I counted out did put Es on a Friday which gives me a little confidence! This is assuming they release the same types of vids though and also keep a similar schedule.

The schedule of the Trial 1’s Videos were:

April 17th 2020 - teaser trailer (in which it says Trial 1 starts 4/27)

April 27th 2020 - the PV thing with a glimpse of the es song and player voice lines

May 1 2020 - jackalope explanation of the stuffs

May 13 2020 - character voice trailer full version (with the creepy static lines)

May 15 2020 - Es Undercover

May 27 2020 - character song previews

June 12 2020 - haruka MV

July 17 2020 - Yuno MV

Sept 18 2020 - Futa MV

Etc (there were some holdups on the technical side so this should give a fairly good basis)

#milgram #release dates #trial 2 #admin Saturn #another admin and I were discussing which video we thought they'd be releasing the 8th and it's looking like it probably wouldn't be an MV #but on the plus side we should be getting another Jackalope vid relatively shortly!#again assuming they release the same kind of videos with the same timeline #they did say things would be looking different next trial so who knows maybe that means release dates!#I'm just really excited for the next song previews #it hasn't set in in the slightest that we'll be getting new music #I need proof of it #like actual new content to theorize on????#bro #and when we get the next MV titles??#That's gonna be HYPE now that we know the direction the vid titles could point us in

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azuremist · 2 months

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Haruka isn’t autistic-coded – he has an intellectual disability (and why that matters)

(AO3 Mirror)

A lot of people in the MILGRAM fandom (especially English-speaking MILGRAM fandom) state that Haruka is autistic-coded, as if it’s fact. Most recognize that Haruka is coded as disabled. (If you didn’t recognize that, I hope this post will help to explain why.) However, to state that he is coded as autistic specifically is incorrect. Haruka is coded as intellectually disabled.

Now, there are likely two things that contribute to this issue. One is the invisibility of intellectual disability as a whole, and another is the fact that a lot of this has to do with things that only someone who speaks Japanese would understand (such as complex vs non-complex words in Japanese).

In this post, I plan to lay out what an intellectual disability is and how it differs from neurodivergencies such as autism or ADHD. After that, I want to discuss the way Haruka speaks and uses words, the symbolism in his MVs, and how this lends to him being coded as intellectually disabled. Finally, I want to discuss why this even matters at all. Because, in truth, viewing Haruka as autistic instead of intellectually disabled leaves the viewer misunderstanding his story in a huge way that seems far too common in English-speaking MILGRAM fandom. So, I hope you listen to what I have to say.

What does it mean to be intellectually disabled?

Confusing autism and intellectual disability (henceforth referred to as ID) is not an issue unique to the MILGRAM fandom. They are quite commonly mistaken for each other, in the same way that autism and ADHD are both commonly mistaken for each other. And for the same reason, too – autism and ID are comorbid. This means that, if someone is autistic, they are more likely to have an ID. For this reason, it makes perfect sense to headcanon Haruka as autistic. I headcanon him as autistic, myself, actually. But, in this post, I’m going to be strictly talking about his coding, not headcanons, and he is very specifically coded with an ID.

So, what’s the difference? In the words of the National Institutes of Health, “Whereas ID is associated with general deficits across developmental domains, ASD is in fact defined by the observation that social communication deficits are particularly impairing.” (Source)

To say this in layman’s terms, autism is primarily characterized by difficulties in social communications. Cognitive abilities in autistic individuals vary, just like with allistic individuals, but the defining features are issues with social interaction and nonverbal communication. Autism by itself effects how effectively one communicates, but not intelligence. On the other hand, ID is a limitation on intellectual functioning, just like the name implies. This causes issues in areas like learning, problem-solving, and abstract reasoning.

A lot of people think ID is a synonym for ‘learning disability’. ‘Learning disability’ is an umbrella term that covers things such as dyslexia and dysgraphia. This isn’t the case. For one thing, ID can be a diagnosis on its own. ID is subdivided into syndromic ID, where intellectual deficits are present with other signs and symptoms, and nonsyndromic ID, where ID is, itself, the diagnosis. Examples of syndromic IDs include fragile X syndrome, and Down syndrome. For another, those with learning disabilities tend to have average to above-average intellectual abilities. Their disorder affects their ability to acquire and process information, but they are still able to learn. In contrast, ID affects the ability to learn at all, as well as affecting development and general function.

ID is a debilitating disorder. Many people with an ID cannot live independently, require help with self-care activities, and have limited communicative abilities. Understanding this – particularly, how ID is often a disability that requires a caregiver – is a key point to understanding Haruka as a character. But that’s to be covered later.

Words

The reason why this is a problem in the English fandom specifically is because the main thing tipping off the viewer to Haruka’s ID is the way that he speaks.

‘Weakness’, Haruka’s first-trial song, is written entirely in INCREDIBLY basic, elementary-level kanji – mostly hiragana and katakana. In fact, his first-trial song is misspelled in a lot of official releases of the song (‘Weekness’), which is a good way to get the same effect across. This is not the case across all platforms, though, for whatever reason. He also writes, in his trial 1 interrogation, with only that elementary-level kanji; often only one-word answers. The only complicated characters he knows are usually ones that mean something along the lines of, “I’m a stupid, idiot child,” which can be assumed to be because that’s what he has heard his whole life.

While I’m unsure if it is ENTIRELY in this basic kanji, his second trial song and interrogation is at least mostly written like this, as well. At this point, Muu is teaching him how to read and write (or, that’s what’s implied), but, even with that one-on-one attention, he is still speaking like a child most of the time to the Japanese ear.

When he’s forced to use or listen to words outside of this elementary-level kanji, he gets audibly confused, as well. In the AVIOT earbud collab, he has the voiceline, “Pairing seems to be in progress,” but, if you listen, he says “pairing” like it’s a question. (“Pair-ing?”) He doesn’t know the word is an English loanword that isn’t often used in everyday conversation, so he’s struggling to say it.

He also struggles when speaking to Es in his interrogations. He tries to say, “I will acknowledge any falsehood or silence,” but the words used are very advanced in Japanese. As such, he struggles with it, repeating, “False-hood? Si-lence?” Multiple similar exchanges happen in his interrogations, with Haruka misunderstanding words Es uses, and stuttering over unfamiliar words. The implication is that Haruka struggles with higher vocabulary or unfamiliar words, and with speaking and communication in general. He apologizes multiple times to Es for struggling, saying that he is not intelligent as an explanation multiple times. Additionally, in his second trial investigation, he talks about how he could never do the same things as everyone around him. When Es calls him stupid, he agrees. Es even states, “You really have no learning ability whatsoever.” When, mind you, having delayed or slowed learning is, like, the symptom of intellectual disability. It’s quite blatant. (Why is this not fandom consensus yet, again?)

Moving on from the point of how Haruka uses words, we can talk about other forms of word-based MILGRAM media. For example: when introducing himself, he says he thinks he’s 17, which implies that he isn’t actually sure. Additionally, there is lots of evidence for his intellectual disability in his interrogation questions:

He considers it impossible to learn another language

His dream is to ‘live normally’

He states he disappointed his father (not inherently an ID-related thing, but also, makes sense with his coding in mind)

Many answers imply that he’s been unable to live his own life, and he doesn’t really have any aspirations outside of being given attention

Finally, we have the lyrics to his songs. Again, on top of being written in very basic kanji, we have lines like the following, which include repeated themes of needing a caregiver (being ‘hopeless’ by himself), not being able to do what others can do, hating how he was born, and struggling to function. (I have bolded examples that I think are especially apt.)

“Why was I born like this? Why does it hurt so much?” / “Why was I born to be me? Why does it hurt so much?”

“Instead you kept calling me “hopeless” / You never called me by my name / You were always comparing me to someone else”

“If I tried and couldn’t say it, you would get angry at me and say “You’re hopeless”” / “When I tried to understand it, you’ll make that disappointed face again”

“I just wanted to be your good boy” (what did the MILGRAM team want us to think when they included this line? likely that he’s childish or ‘hasn’t grown up’, right?)

“Mommy, look / I’ve done great” (calling her ‘mommy’ instead of ‘mom’ – again, ask what the MILGRAM team wants us to think when they included this)

“If only I could do what anyone else could do”

“It’s enough, I am a “disappointment””

“My life started in a wrong spot”

With regards to his relationship with Muu, he doesn’t understand why Muu using him would be a bad thing, or how she is manipulating him. People with ID tend to have poor judgment, and Haruka not being able to tell the difference and not caring about the difference between negative and positive attention shows this (although his trauma definitely also plays a role).

Finally, we have the trial song titles.

We’ve already discussed how “Weakness” is sometimes alternatively misspelled as “Weekness”, and that is because the title in Japanese is, arguably, misspelled, too. The Japanese title is a play on the phrase jakuniku kyoushoku, which is equivalent to the English phrase, “Survival of the fittest.” More directly, it translates to, “The weak are meat, the strong do eat.” The character for “strong” (kyou) is replaced by “together” (also kyou) – with the implication being that Haruka forgot which version of the word was correct for this situation. This also works to create a pun, of sorts, as this makes the title more like, “The weak are meat, communal eating”, creating an emphasis on the fact that there are more people eating than there are ‘weak people’. There are differing ways to interpret this pun, but one way is to view it as a statement on Haruka’s status as a minority, oppressed (‘eaten’) by the majority.

On the other hand, we have All-Knowing and All-Agony. In Japanese, this song title is Zenchi Zennou, which can be translated as “Omniscient and Omnipotent”, used to describe the Christian God. Once again, we have what we can assume is Haruka misspelling the title, creating a pun. One that is much more on the nose, as the character for “ability” (nou) is replaced with the character for “worry, distress, pain” (also nou).

It seems that the reason why Haruka uses new complicated words (aside from the words meaning “idiot” and the like) in All-Knowing and All-Agony is because Muu is teaching him. It features the more complicated “食” (shoku; food), when we know from Haruka’s 2023 birthday portal that Muu is bringing him meals. It also prominently features Muu’s name, 夢 (yume; dream), which is more complicated, as well.

Imagery

Now, we get on to the non-verbal, more visually-based evidence for Haruka’s ID. Be prepared for a lot more images!

Going back to Muu teaching Haruka how to write: it’s not just clear in his usage of kanji, but also how he writes. Comparing his handwriting, it becomes much easier to read after Trial 2’s start, and his writing is soft and bubbly; much like a teen girl’s writing might be.

All of these improvements are able to be linked back to Muu (both his style of writing and in the more complicated words that he knows), who we know is looking after him. Considering this, it’s pretty clear why he sees her like a maternal figure.

One of the Minigram comics shows the prisoners eating curry udon together. Of the four shown (Amane, Haruka, Shidou and Mahiru), Amane and Haruka are the only two who make messes out of their clothes. Since the other two characters in the comic have active roles, and Haruka has the most passive one, Haruka’s inclusion can be assumed to be because he is the only prisoner aside from the child, Amane, who would make a mess while eating.

Childish themes and imagery are seen scattered throughout his MV, as well, especially his first one. He draws with the skill level of a child, which is a very prevalent motif, and he is shown to sleep with a plushie.

Additionally, he seems to have trouble putting on his clothes. He wears two entirely different socks – not just different colors, but also two different lengths. His pant legs are also two different lengths when he tries to roll them up in his Trial 2 art, and he seems to exclusively wear slip-on shoes up until he befriends Muu (where we can presume that she begins helping him, and even then, they're not done properly).

There are various visual parallels drawn between himself as a child and himself as he is now (for example, the way that his clothes are a mix of his current shirt and the vest he wore as a child in All-Knowing and All-Agony), and he often compares himself to a child wanting praise.

Even the violent acts that Haruka is shown committing are also a sign of an ID. People with IDs tend to have meltdowns, and devolve into fits of violence. The reasons for these meltdowns vary depending on the person, but reasons can include anger / frustration (especially in reaction to not being able to communicate well), sensory overload, and confusion.

You may note that Haruka’s mother reacts the exact wrong way for dealing with these meltdowns. When trying to help someone experiencing a meltdown, especially a violent meltdown, the last thing you want to do is appear frightened. The number one piece of advice everyone gives for helping someone experiencing a meltdown is to remain calm. It’s also not advised to leave the person alone, either, because that sends the message, “I want to avoid you when you feel this way.” (Which I suppose, for a neglectful mother like Haruka’s, would be technically accurate, but still not at all helpful.)

It only makes sense that Haruka’s tantrums continue to get worse and worse.

But after the meltdowns fade, he seems to not understand what he’s done. He’s shown experiencing fear and confusion after he hurts something, even shown as his child self at one point. A major part of IDs is being unable to connect actions to consequences.

Finally, we go onto his body language. Frankly, I considered putting, “Imagine this as a real person doing these things and not an anime boy, and you’ll see my point.” Which is true. But I decided to go a little more in depth.

Swaying is heavily associated with people with IDs. This is, in part, because people with IDs have reduced postural balance, and general body balance. Because of that lack of postural balance, people with IDs tend to slump quite heavily, as well. Both of these traits are shown very obviously with Haruka, in All-Knowing and All-Agony.

In the same MV, he’s also shown biting his nails. Like autistic people, people with IDs stim, and this could also be a version of hand mouthing (repetitive contact between the hands and the mouth / tongue), which is also heavily associated with / often seen in intellectually disabled people. He's also shown doing this in promo art.

So, why does this matter?

Haruka being intellectually disabled is a huge part of his story, and, when taking it into consideration, it changes how one views his story a lot.

Haruka being treated better as a child makes more sense with this framework. He wants to return to when he was a child because his level of intellect then was seen as more ‘normal’. There wasn’t as much obviously ‘wrong’ with him yet. Children are expected to be a little slow, but it’s when they remain that way that many parents begin to become concerned. He yearns for when his mother didn’t know he was disabled, and when she treated him better for that reason.

Haruka being severely neglected / abused by his mother would be awful, no matter what, but him being intellectually disabled makes it so much worse. He needs attention and care from his caregivers even more so than the average child does, because he has trouble even functioning on the day-to-day without help. This is why he thrives under Muu’s care; she is meeting his support needs. Likely not perfectly (she’s just a teenage girl, and she is almost certainly not trained or educated in this regard), but even with the amount of support that she is able to give, Haruka is thriving. He’s more confident, he’s learning how to write, and he’s eating more consistently.

Without that care, he struggles so severely that he melts down regularly, going into fits of violence over the fact that his support needs aren’t being met (on top of all of the other emotional baggage that comes with any child being neglected by their parent). Haruka’s mother continued to ignore these cries for attention, for help, for care… Until it went too far.

The way that Haruka’s story is viewed changes drastically with this information. If Haruka was autistic, it would affect very few of the things that I listed. So much of Haruka's story hinges on specifically his intelligence level, not how he socializes. And do you have any idea how many people I’ve seen say, “He’s a neurodivergent with a shitty mom, but so am I, and I didn’t kill anyone about it”? No. If you are not intellectually disabled, you do not get to compare your experiences as if they are equal. If you don’t have an ID, your experiences cannot be compared in this way.

Haruka has a debilitating disability that requires support which he was not getting. He was experiencing ableist abuse at the hands of his mother, and he didn’t know how to handle it. All of his violence happened during his meltdowns, and his disability makes it harder for him to connect his actions to the consequences, or find alternate ways to solve his problems – this is all extremely important information and context when you’re discussing whether or not his crime is forgivable.

If you still don’t forgive him, that’s alright. But to neglect this aspect of his character is, to be frank, baffling, if you’re trying to participate in the spirit of the series and understand everyone’s crime to the fullest extent. And to make jokes, comparing your own experiences to Haruka’s, since you assume him to be neurodivergent and nothing else, does a huge disservice to his story! And, when it’s done to demean him? It honestly comes off a slight bit ableist.

So, I’d like everyone to keep this information in mind moving forward. Don’t infantilize Haruka for his disability. But do consider this information in your analysis posts, your discussions, and so on. I’d like to see this become common knowledge in the MILGRAM fandom, especially since the idea of him being specifically autistic-coded is so widespread by this point.

Thank you!

#haruka sakurai #milgram #the milgram project #milgram meta #milgram analysis #intellectual disability #haruka #sakurai haruka #azure does a thing

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leeyammie · 29 days

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Slippery Encounter

Warning: Minors DNI / NSFW

Masterlist

Pairing: Top!Johnny x Bottom!Male reader - Requested

Genre: smut

Word Count: 1,657 words

It was your first day at your new internship. Having majored in art management and administration you felt over the moon upon receiving an email confirming your acceptance into your dream internship company.

As soon as you stepped into your department's floor everyone greeted you with warm smiles and head nods. Your manager directed you to your desk, giving you a list of upcoming projects and tasks assigned to the company's art management department.

"Here's a list of the current ongoing events. Given that it's still your first day, you can restrict yourself to participating in the tasks found at the bottom of the list. As you gain more and more experience, you'll be able to take part in higher comeback promotions."

As you went through the list, a certain category entitled "Sticker MV Photoshoot", caught your eye. It was about the promotion of the company's most successful group by far. Acknowledging that you could take part in it, you rejoiced off your chair thanking your manager and went directly to the elevator heading to the floor where the photoshoot was taking place.

Once you reached the spot, you went in admiring the decoration setting, from which you could tell that it was cowboy theme coded. You were greeted by the security who requested to see your intern card before directing you to the director. Luckily enough, you showed up during their lunch break which allowed you to discuss your participation in the project with the photoshoot director. Although you may have sounded as if you were trading your life for the spot, that only showed how dedicated you were towards your work.

"I'd be grateful and honored if you would allow me to take part in this promotion, and given that it is my first day, it would excite me even more if I could be of help in a project that would be released this soon!"

You were basically boasting and bragging about your capabilities just for you to win over the director's approval. The director amused by your eagerness and enthusiasm replied with approval.

"If you insist this much, you could help in preparing Mr. Johnny for his next shoot. Lucky for you that one of our make-up artists called in sick today, maybe you could fill in their place for now."

"Thank you so much sir! I'll make sure not to disappoint your expectations."

"Well then head to the idol's cabin already and keep in mind that Johnny dislikes delays or wasting time." The director patted your back wishing you good luck before heading back to work.

You headed directly to the male's cabin, knocking first on the door first so as not to intrude his privacy.

"Come on in."

You opened the door greeted with a tall cowboy figure with their back turned to you. They turned around revealing to you their exposed god-matched up-front body.

"Ah. You must be the new makeup artist or intern I was just informed of. Although I usually dislike working with newbies, if you can get the job done then it's fine by me."

He then proceeded to get off his shirt revealing his marvelous figure. You couldn't help but notice how his biceps and triceps contracted, how his back muscles crushed upon one another, and how his shoulders enlarged as he was taking off his upper garment.

"Make sure to give me that nice sun glow." He said with smirk, handing over the oil bottle.

A little flustered by his requested you shyly nodded and sprayed out some of oil over your hands, rubbing them well together.

"And you are?"

He asked looking down at your small yet well rounded figure. Your name barely left your mouth as you were mesmerized by the closeup look at the idol's body. His muscles were no joke at all. You could tell just by looking at them that he has spent almost all of his days hitting the gym. And the fact that you were asked to handle every single aesthetic detail of his body has left you flabbergasted.

You first started massaging his chest and laid out the first batch of oil over his pumped pectorals which revealed them with a shiny glow. Your hands then trailed downwards over his magnificently sculpted abdominals which hit against your hand like a rock. Finally, Johnny autonomously turned around, letting you oil up his back which had an undulated figure, with each ripple showing off a muscle.

And when you were about to place your final touch over his boulder shoulders, you seemed to hear a moan coming out the other male which has taken you aback. Seeing that you have stopped, he titled his head towards you.

"Is there anything wrong y/n?"

"N-no sir! Not at all! I-I' m almost done!"

As you finished, allowing Johnny to turn around, you noticed a small tent that has taken rise in the male's pants. Pretending not to have noticed you lifted your gaze to look at him, only to be greeted with a smirk on his face. This confirmed your doubts - Johnny has indeed moaned while you were handling him.

He put his shirt back on, placing a small note on the desk near you before heading out. You picked it up, turning it around. It was the address a renowned spa resort not very far from the company. Beneath the address was left a small note: "See you there at midnight ;) ♡"

Your shift was finally over. As a first day at your internship, it actually went better than expected. You headed out to your car and tried to get out your keys when you remembered Johnny's note. You glanced at your watch, it was already 10:30 PM.

And before you knew it, you were inside the spa resort being directed by one of the receptionists who greeted you warmly.

"Lucky for you, this duo sauna has been reserved for the whole day. You may go in and relax. Do not hesitate to ring the bell if you require anything."

You got inside and found your body greeted by warm and hot water steams. You gently discarded your clothes and submerged your body in the hot water springs. It didn't take you long before feeling all of your body muscles getting loose which sent you dozing off.

You were awoken up by a hand gently caressing your face. As you struggled to open your eyes and make up the silhouette in front of you, it was enough to recognize the person by their voice. "Have I known you'd be here earlier than expected I would have sent you here right after your shift."

And there he was, standing right in front of you completely naked, showcasing a sweat dripping god-sculpture that left you unconsciously drooling over. As you glanced over his body, it didn't take you long to notice his shaft - this sight has left you speechless. Not only were you witnessing a well-built body, but it was also equipped with gigantic thick weapon.

Johnny having noticed your gazes grew a smirk on his face before sitting on the bench. "You know your hands back then were phenomenal, you really know how to relax someone with a couple of hand massages. Or even better, bring them to the edge." He added that last comment with a wink before going on.

"This is why I asked you to come over here. Nothing better than being massaged between hot water steams don't you think?" He handed over to you the oil bottle which you've taken hesitantly.

"But don't you think that this sort of meeting could endanger both of our careers?" You replied hesitantly.

"I've already taken care of that baby boy. As long as you pleasure me, everything would be fine."

Realizing that you don't really hold a choice, and knowing that you'd be lying if you declined his offer, you smeared oil over his while body this time and let your hands do the work. His body was glistering beneath your touch. All those squeezable muscles splashing some of the oil right your hands again.

"Oh yess~ Just like that baby~ Why don't you give your hands a break and use something else instead~"

He suggested while throwing his head back and rolling his eyes. You could already tell how enjoyed he was by your work from his bulge twitching and hitting your chest.

Deciding to act a little cocky, you grabbed his shaft and smeared it with extra oil. You then started to pump it up gently with your hand which turned Johnny into an unstoppable moaning machine.

"Let me give you a hand shall I?"

He then proceeded to bring your face closer and took the lead over your hands motions as he started to buck his hips up and down, thrusting with forced in between your hands.

Feeling his size this close to your face, you unconsciously licked the tip which had a mixed taste of oil, sweat and precum. Meanwhile Johnny took the chance to shove his member further down your mouth, making you gag over it.

A couple more thrusts and you got adjusted to Johnny's force. You two ended up moaning in sync, more precisely your moan kept on sending pulsating vibrations through the other male's shaft, turning him on even more.

"You like having your mouth served a juicy thick meat meal don't you? Then make sure to savor it some more!"

He became uncountable, further burying his shaft and reaching your throat, your face was buried within his thighs forcing you to take up all of his manly musk and sweat which left you intoxicated.

It only took him a few more thrusts before you felt his dick pulsating inside your throat and spurting within all of the juicy cum that he had in reserve for you.

"Here comes your desert baby boy!~"

It tasted so sweet and thick, nothing like anything you've tasted before. You could also tell from the loads amount and thickness that Johnny enjoyed it too.

This is how you and Johnny developed a daily midnight routine allowing you to "relax" after a loaded day at work.

note: I am still experimenting with my writing style and layout. If you have any sorts or feedbacks please let me know! And feel free to send your requests (my upload times are mentioned on my profile) and I'll try to accommodate them as much as possible. Hope you enjoyed the read! (I apologize in advance for any typos!)

#nct127 #nct127 x male reader #nct127 smut #nct 127 johnny #johnny suh #johnny suh smut #johnny suh x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #kpop x male reader #male reader smut #male reader #nct x male reader #nct #nct x reader #nct127 x reader

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sailoryooons · 10 months

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Gods of the Dark | One | myg (m)

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

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

☾ Word Count: 21,606

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

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

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

☾ Published: July 9, 2023

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

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

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

Tuck a knife with my heart up my sleeve

Change like a season

It begins with rain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now, it will suffice.

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

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

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

“Just for a short walk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What would that be like, you wonder.

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

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

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

So you stopped praying to them.

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

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

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

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

Always something lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another dream. Another fantasy.

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

It ends in darkness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… what?”

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

No. No. Nonononononono.

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

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

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

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

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

“It is not my purpose!”

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

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

“I won’t do it,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking ungrateful,” he barks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to die.

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

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

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

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

“Want?”

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

“What can you give?”

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

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

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

“What will you give me?”

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

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

“My time?”

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

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

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

“Then tell me you accept.”

You take a deep breath. “I accept.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The smallest viper has the greatest sting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where is safe?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A god.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In between.”

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

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

“A… dimension?”

“Exactly. This is my domain.”

“And what… are you?”

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

“Wanted to hear you say it.”

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

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

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

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

“Because you asked.”

“You didn’t have to, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What do I call you?”

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

“Is that your name?”

“It’s one of them.”

“How many names do you have?”

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

Time.

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

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

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

“I did.”

“My freedom in exchange for my time.”

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

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

“I’m done eating.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was going to kill me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Consecutive.”

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

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

“Can you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here is where you find peace. Where you dream.

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

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

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

“Do you promise?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bad is a relative term.”

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

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

“Are you not coming along?”

“I have things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Not give tours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pfft. Hundreds.”

“Hundreds?”

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

“Eternals?”

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

“Who are the Eternals?”

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

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

“Yoongi is an Eternal?”

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

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

“Have you no guesses?”

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

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

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

“He isn’t of dreams. He is Dream.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What causes the balance to be off?”

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

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

“I don’t know what that’s like.”

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

“How… old are you?”

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

“Where do you come from?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know the woods outside of my home?”

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

“Your brother?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There are dragons here?”

“There is everything here.”

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

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

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

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

“Even nightmares?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

“Are they dead?”

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

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

“They?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you’re all alone here?”

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

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

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

“Pardon?”

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

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

“Do you always know what I dream about?”

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

“Can you see everyone’s dreams?”

“Mhmm. I even make some.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t show me the dream tower.”

“I’ll show you when you’re ready.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heartbeat quickens. “Do you mean that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nervous that I’m not performing well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you avoid thinking of going back.

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

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

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

“How?”

“It’s… difficult to say.”

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

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

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

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

You dip the quill in ink and continue.

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

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

“Ugh, I’m tired of eating alone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Promise, the wind feels nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it?”

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

“You like sweet things.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not very mature then, is she?”

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

“And you let her be a glutton.”

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

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

“Do you want to be?”

“What?”

His mouth twitches. “Indulgent.”

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

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

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

“I don’t know. How could I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re staring,” he says eventually.

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

“What is there to indulge in?”

“Your… earrings.”

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

“Yes. Very shiny. Very dangly.”

“Shiny and dangly?”

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

“Would you like some earrings?”

“My ears aren’t pierced.”

“Well then we’ll pierce them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you afraid to go back?”

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

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

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

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

“That sounds like a lovely job.”

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

You nod. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, your mother screams in sheer terror.

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

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bettyshoweduptotheparty · 13 days

Text

Anti Hero Dinner Scene: Grab a glass of wine, Readers ☺

Have you ever wondered where we feature in the Anti-Hero mv? I think everyone has pretty much caught on to the children in the funeral scene representing her fan groups (swifties: Preston and DIL Kimber/ gaylors: Chad) and while they obviously fight over who killed her, they are ultimately both after her money and fame. They're not there because they actually care for her. So, where are the Dear Readers? The fans that actually read her lyrics, those that care for her art and not her boyfriends, and those that stuck with her when the world did not? I think I found them in the dinner scene from the second verse:

Notice how they look like they're having an animated discussion, and they are all drinking red wine from the bottle on the table. The bottle with Taylor's family crest on it.... so, maybe they're discussing her messages from the bottle?

Giant Taylor comes in with another wine bottle (more messages/music) wanting to join the party, but oh no, too big to hang out...

I assume this is a 🏳️‍🌈 group, one because the two women on the right are holding each other’s hand when giant Taylor comes in, and two, because Taylor simply is too big of a celebrity to just casually hang out in queer spaces.

I also think this is specifically her 2019 Lover self, because she’s attacked by the archer, revealing her lavender glitter blood, tries to cover it up with the table cloth (effectively ‘pulling the rug’ from under her own community) scaring all the diners away and they run away just as she sings the line “one day I watch as you’re leaving cause you got tired of my scheming”. She then covers up the lavender blood with the political activism pin but it still seeps out from underneath it.

Thank you to the lovely people who helped me identify the painting next to Taylor’s head in this scene, it’s a painting called ‘I’m not the Man I was’, which in itself is interesting considering she called herself The Man in this very album. I did a bit of research and the artist David Fruchter is an ex naval officer who was discharged from the Navy and imprisoned for drug distribution. So, perhaps a nod to being an outcast and bringing dishonour to your community in the context of this scene.

Anyway, that's my take in the Anti Hero dinner scene, let me know your thoughts.

#anti hero #dinner scene #anti hero mv #kaylor family crest #message in a bottle

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charismaofobedience · 6 months

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what makes you think mikoto is good rep? specifically, what is it about double that convinces you?

Okay okay, it took me some time to perfectly articulate my thoughts on how MIkotos system isn't horrible rep and instead was tackled... Somewhat well? This was also written after me and another friend who's a system discussed this extensively and how our own situations lowkey match the situation Mikoto himself is facing. Under the cut because I did *not* expect this to get so long </3

To start it off with some debunking of things people have been mentioning as "oh but this proves he's not a system" (after Milgram itself confirmed them as one but oh well), the whole thing on how DID only appears during childhood isn't... Really the full truth? The most common thing to happen with DID is, instead, for someone to develop the conditions for it through their childhood, but the symptoms only start showing when older. I myself was a case of that and while it started around my 6 years, we only had our first split at 14. Mikotos just happen to be later. I personally also think that, during the phone call with his mom, there wouldn't just have a random baby crying noise for no reason. He probably developed it that early, but just didn't split until recently, however that's just my own reading and not anything confirmed.

For the point of "but then, why don't the milgram rules work on John if he is indeed the killer? This proves it's Mikoto who killed", just look at irl court cases of systems. The one being judged will always be the host almost all the times, after all, he's the main one who fronts, and not whichever alter committed the murder. The host and body would be the one in jail etc in a real life prison, not the alter who committed it. Milgram is a perfect parallel to that, with Mikoto being restrained and the Es barrier working on him even if he didn't commit any murder while John, the alter and one who committed the crime, doesn't has any restraints or barrier that work on him. Because Mikoto is the host and core of their system, not John.

Second, some quick system terminology. I'll be using the terms host, protector/persecutor and dormancy on this, so for a quick understanding: Host means that, basically, that alter is the one who mainly fronts and takes care of things, may or may not be the core ("original" person), but at Mikotos case I'll assume he's both the core and the host. Protector is what the name implies, they're alters who have as their purpose to protect the system and body. Persecutors just so happen to be protectors who have more drastic means to do things and will inherently be harmful to the system in a way in another, they are not necessarily bad, and might instead just be misguided and think what they are doing is a solution for a issue and that by doing so they're protecting the system. Finally, dormancy is when an alter of a system... Well, goes into dormancy. They can't come to front anymore and will be "asleep" for some time or even forever depending on the conditions. A inclusion is also possible, where two alters (or more) will become one etc, but I don't think that will be the case for Mikoto.

So, as it's settled, Mikoto is the Host and Core of the system and Orekoto/John is the Protector/Persecutor of it. Let's get to the explanation now.

Mikoto's split seemingly very much occurred due to the stress situation he had been feeling from his work. We have John welcoming him home twice through the mv and noticing that Mikoto isn't smiling or anything when coming home anymore and it isn't the only times judging by the "another day" mention. We can see on the second one he's either getting the subway to go home or go to work (probably the first one), but on the first time it's said we get to see Mikoto's phone and, specifically, messages coming through and through.

All the texts are coming from his boss, and from the looks of it Mikoto works for a black company in Japan, so it's no wonder he's stressed and very clearly depressed there. Judging by the time Mikoto would be going back home at midnight and, at that time, he's texted by his boss that he needs to remake a whole product and correct mistakes from another thing for the next day of work, and with "next day" you can bet they mean "when i see you in around 10 hours". For now, this is the main reasoning and sustenance we have for "but why did he split?", aka, Mikoto was under a lot of stress on work and it lingered even when he was home to the point that, eventually, John split as himself and, as himself said, he's got Mikoto, and he could leave it all to him.

By this point I like to think it was already John fronting to reply to the boss call. John got tired of Mikoto overworking himself to the brink of breaking down to appease to his boss and superiors and, wanting to help, came to front to "take it all on" in his own words. I think bringing MeMe up for Double discussion is extremely important because we have to remember that MeMe was visibly only from Mikoto's point of view while in Double we have John telling his own point of view. I don't think Mikoto is lying about not knowing he's a system etc, but instead that Mikoto thinks something is wrong, yes, that he knows whoever this person ruining his life is both not him and him at the same time (mirror scene), but isn't aware exactly that he's a system. John is portrayed as scary and evil and cruel etc in MeMe because that's what Mikoto assumes to be happening, Mikoto doesn't know whatever John is doing and what are his intentions, we knew since them Mikoto is the type of guy to take things happening to him lightly (joking about the milgram situation etc) because he may think he deserves it, and this extended to his work and personal life. Through MeMe we see Mikoto looking sad and not smiling anytime until we got to the ending in the headspace where he's sitting on the couch somewhat smiling, but not looking downright miserable like he is in double because Mikoto's main focus was that there is some scary guy there, not that his work life was putting him under so much strain to the point of splitting. Hell, his work life was never brought up until Double anyways, because Mikoto didn't think it was important and kept playing as if it was cool (even during the call with his mom in Double, as John showed us) and that he could handle it, meanwhile Double has John showing us just how miserable Mikoto looked after work and some situations that would happen on his day to day work, how he never went back home smiling etc. MeMe has a bigger focus on Mikoto, as a Host, not knowing that he's a system and how scary that can feel when you're fully unaware of why you're seemingly doing certain actions that you're not aware of when they're brought up to you, meanwhile Double focuses on his alter, John, telling us about his own motivations and the truth about Mikoto's daily life, showing us that whatever it is he did was to protect Mikoto because being a protector is his role in the system. Mikoto didn't take his issues seriously in MeMe, and in Double John gives us a glimpse on how bad it was. For Mikoto, all of his personal issues were coming from the fact that there was an Evil Scary Serial Killer guy around, while John tells us that nuh uh, it was capitalism all along and he'll protect Mikoto from that stress.

The voice drama also tracks some of these points, such as Es mentioning that Mikoto laughs whenever he's troubled and rarely gets angry or frustrated, ignoring problems, and Es mentioning that John acts more rationally, contrary to what he expected... After all, Es' only views of John came from MeMe as a mv, and then from John getting angry and frustrated as Es because, in the beginning, to John it all felt like people were trying to trouble and hurt Mikoto yet again. He was just doing his job as a protector.

I've seen most people say that the "made me a scoundrel" refers to us, the viewers, but also... I feel it might also just be John talking with Mikoto himself. Mikoto saw John as a evil bad alter on MeMe as we just discussed, and from what we see here... Yes, John is violent and impulsive, but he's still a protector who did things with the goal of "I need to protect Mikoto" in mind. We didn't knew that through the entirety of MeMe because Mikoto himself didn't know, and John might be frustrated that the guilty verdict could have come only because Mikoto portrayed himself in such a way first and foremost. John asks him why he's crying because I'm fairly sure he isn't aware that Mikoto isn't aware of him either. The main issue at play here is the fact their system communication is horrible if not non existent. They can't communicate with each other properly for some reason even through writing etc, so there's no way for them to be certain of how the other feels. There's no way for Mikoto to know why John was doing all that. There's no way for Mikoto to know John was trying to protect and help him.

John in the middle of Double even states that he doesn't know why he's there. So yes, most of us are all assuming it was all due to Mikoto's stress with work, but hell we could all be wrong because, again, Mikoto refuses to open up and actually talk about issues with anyone. "Come to know me as an honest man" is John asking for all of us and Es to go and know him as himself, as John the alter, and not the vision Mikoto had of him on MeMe and the entirety of trial one. Because yes, you can't change the violent nature of his, but we should at least come to know and understand that he is a protector and was simply trying his best to protect Mikoto from something (what? We don't know and can't be sure, but yet again, our best bet for now is his job). John is seemingly willing to open up more this trial, admitting he is indeed the one who committed the murder and asking Es to understand the situation they're being put under, with Mikoto feeling stressed and please forgive him, because Mikoto is not the one who committed the murders. I'm sure we will get more on their situation etc when the questions for Mikoto and Kotoko come, but for now we only have that.

John simply wished to save and protect Mikoto, he himself doesn't know how it all ended like *this* (Mikoto as guilty and not innocent, running away from him on the train because, again, Mikoto isn't aware John is simply trying to help him). Having John asking us to forgive Mikoto many times through both the mv (first image of these 3) and voice drama (next screenshot) basically affirms his beliefs and wishes, that he wants us to guilt him, but not Mikoto. After all, if we get another guilty verdict? In his own words Mikoto will go into dormancy due to the stressful situations of having two guilty verdicts in a row, but if Mikoto gets a innocent this time around? Then, there will be less need for John to front... After all, if the situation becomes a bit more calming for them, then John's purpose of protecting Mikoto will be gone for some time... What we can't have, however, Is Mikoto going into dormancy and then forcing John as the new host, because John wouldn't know what to do by then. He was born to be a protector and his identity is intrinsically connected to this role, the duty of protecting Mikoto, for him, comes above him as his own person. With Mikoto's dormancy, John himself would lose his purpose and motive of existing.

And even so, John apologizes at the end of the milgram, questioning even his own existence that "none of this wouldn't have happened if I wasn't even born". In John's eyes, he failed on his role of a protector by getting Mikoto into this situation. The protector guilt is shown so greatly on John that I did tear up a bit when first watching the Double mv and reading the lyrics. The fact they expanded away from the "scary evil alter" troupe that Mikoto made us belief in trial 1 into a protector/persecutor who feels guilt that his actions caused harm to the host? Into a protector with low empathy who cares more for the well being of their host than his own? Mikoto was neutral on the scale of "is this good system rep" for me initially because, again, Mikoto himself didn't know he was a system. Now we got more information on how things work thanks to John and, from the feelings of how scary finding out there's someone else besides you to the fear of realizing that the person who did whatever the hell it was wasn't you mentally, but it physically was you at the same time is terrifying. I think their writing was very well handled to cover the topics of fear and guilt from both sides. Mikoto is still a host who's unaware of the fact he's a system. John is a protector who feels like he failed on his role after getting Mikoto into this mess. Their communication, due to seemingly being a recent split, is non existent so they cant fully talk with each other to comprehend the other. To me, this is a perfect example of how it felt when I myself found out I wasn't a singlet. I don't think Mikoto's writing is perfect and has no flaws, not at all, but on the grander scale of things? Having this type of rep coming from a japanese song media franchise is great and almost unseen since it's mostly always used as a joke or for the scary evil alter trope alone. Milgram and the team could do some stuff better, sure, but from what we have right now? It's far from me of calling them "bad system representation". After all, just like John tells Mikoto, they're both doing their best.

#Milgram #Mikoto Kayano #John Kayano #Orekoto #milgram analysis #♡𑁬࿔ chii talks

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project-sekai-facts · 4 months

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What’s your opinion on the recent discussion popping up about possible n25 favoritism by the devs? Such as their world link cut ins compared to vbs’ or 2DMV amount over the past few months.

staff is not biased towards N25 like, why would they be biased? here's the thing: Twilight Light had a lot of sybolism connecting with their story/individual character arcs/etc - just look at the 2DMV! It's not surprising that their another cuts referenced past material, like Kanade's fes card, Mafuyu's recurring marionette symbolism, and the IDSMILE 3DMV (also toa produced both songs). However, despite the fact that Beyond the way also had plot-relevant lyrics, VBS as a unit has a very different image to N25.

N25 has always had lots of symbolism and their stories are very focused on character struggles and healing, like that's their main goal compared to every other unit that has an end goal of some sort of music or performance related thing. Their another cuts fit them very well.

VBS is the cool street music unit, their 3DMVs are dance focused more than anything and are probably some of the most complex dance routines in the game, their cards are almost always street fashion or adjacent, with only 2 or 3 exceptions not counting mixed events, and their songs aren't really going to fit the slow-paced, melancholic and reflective vibes that the Niigo another cuts were going for. Yeah sure they could've done a lot better than what we were given, but I genuinely think that staff just thought what we got looks cool and fits their image. They definitely could've added fes card/3dmv/other symbolism references, but it's definitely not favoritism towards Niigo. Also like compare the Beyond the way and Twilight Light 2DMVs and then look at their another cuts. It's very much an image thing.

I say this in a joking manner but realistically shouldn't we say VBS is moreso staff's favorite? They got VBS archives which meant they could cover vsinger only songs (and songs which already had a cover), before 3rd anni they were the only unit to get a comm released with both MV types, and they got an event commission as part of a collab (Cinema / Ayase). Niigo didn't get full unit covers regularly until after the 2nd anniversary, they went almost a year without getting a 2DMV in 2022, and they used to always be behind on lims. Maybe this is compensation lol

#asks #mod talks

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alocon · 2 months

Text

A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be [5] - Max Verstappen

written by alocon

Note: Name and Part One based on the song A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be by Jess Benko

Summary: Max is convinced that you are ignoring him, but he can't for sure prove it until he catches you after the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix

Before you read: Use of Y/N (sorry!!), angst x

fc: Blanca Soler

[Previous Part Here][The Masterlist][Next Part Here]

A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be [Part Five] - MV¹

You were ignoring Max. Well, he was convinced you were ignoring him. Since the sleepover, you had been a little quieter, playing it off as just being tired due to not sleeping well, which he completely understood. However, you were now in Saudi Arabia and he had barely seen you. He had, however, seen clips of you around the paddock talking to other drivers. You seemed really happy around people, but he found it weird how the two of you never bumped into each other. Sure, you still weren't to the level of actively planning to hang out in the paddock due to the way the media would react, but you still bumped into one another usually. Except now, it seemed that wherever he was, you weren't. Almost as if you were ignoring him. It all came to a head for the Dutchman when you were stood talking to Daniel and, when Max came to join the two of you, you only stood there for a moment or two before claiming you had a meeting to get to and retreating to the Mercedes Paddock. He knew that, realistically speaking, there were likely only two people who knew why she was acting like that and, luckily, he just so happened to bump into the two of them. Together.

“Is she ignoring me?” That was the first thing Max asked. No hello, no good morning, no how are you, straight to the point.

“No?” George questioned, confused about the sudden randomness of the discussion.

“Okay, let me rephrase that.” Max paused, thinking of his wording. “Do either of you have any idea why she might be ignoring me?”

Charles shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said as the three walked together towards the media pen. “Did you say something to upset her?”

Max shook his head.

“When did you last properly speak?”

Max thought for a moment, before responding to the Brit's question. “At the sleepover, then since that day she's been acting weird.”

Max found it strange the way Charles’ head snapped towards him after he mentioned the sleepover. “The morning after we all got up?” He watched as Max nodded once again. “What did she say to you? When you were in the kitchen together?” It was as if the Monegasque had a realisation. That confused Max even more.

“She said she wanted to talk to me about something and she seemed serious… and then Daniel interrupted us and she didn't seem serious about it anymore.” He looked at Charles. “Do you know what this is about?”

“I might do,” the Monegasque driver replied, voice wavering slightly as he spoke. “And then after that she became closed off? Acting like she was fine and just tired I assume?”

“Yes, exactly like that.”

“I can talk to her after media?” George suggested

Max shook his head before shrugging. “I just need to know if I did something.”

Charles stopped moving, looking between the two. “Max after you basically broke the girl's heart, she stopped expressing her emotions fully. She expresses she positive ones, but she struggles to reach out when things are… difficult. She won't ask if she needs support or someone to talk to, she just closes herself off. If she was going to talk to you about what I think she was going to talk to you about, Daniel interrupting probably freaked her out and closed her off just after letting her guard down.”

“What was she going to talk to me about? Do you know?”

He looked at Max in response. “I… can't tell you that, it's not my place. If I get a chance to, I'll speak to her.”

And with that, they walked into the press conference. Charles joined Oscar who was sat at the very end of the sofa and Max sat beside Charles. You walked in and joined them, Fernando in tow, sitting beside you. You smiled politely to Max, before it started.

“Are you-” Max started but was cut off by Crofty starting the press conference.

“Hello everybody, welcome to the Formula One Press Conference for the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. Today we are joined by 5 drivers - From left to right, we have Fernando Alonso, Y/N L/N, Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, and Oscar Piastri. Hope you're all doing well?” There were murmurs and nods in response. “Wonderful. Let's get on with the questions, shall we?”

Fernando was asked the first question, which gave Max a moment to lean over to you. “Are you okay?” He whispered. You looked at him.

“I'm okay, why?”

‘Liar’ he thought, still being able to see right through you when you weren't okay. “I'm just worried about you. You've been strangely quiet this week, which is weird because you never know how to shut up.” His words resulted in a bat on the arm from you as he gently chuckled. Your name was then called.

“This question is for Y/N,” the reporter started, before going off on a kind of long explanation from a previous year, before asking a question.

You nudged the Spaniard beside you before whispering “Gentlemen, a short view back to the past” causing him to have to cover his mouth to hide his giggles.

He mentioned how, your first year in Formula One, you had heard a lot of backlash of people doubting your skill and other such things and asked whether you felt like Formula One Press Conferences were more inclusive now for you.

You thought for a moment about your answer. “I guess, in some ways, yes. However, I still do get a lot of unsavoury things said in conferences. Sometimes I wish people would treat me how they treat the male drivers because, even though I'm not male, I'm still a driver and I wouldn't be here if I wasn't a good one so, realistically speaking, they are way too rude sometimes.�� You were thanked by the reporter before some questions were asked to the other drivers. You had a few more asked, mostly about how you were feeling for the weekend, especially after 2 double podiums in a row for Mercedes.

After answering a question, Max turned to see if you were busy so he could speak to you again but he saw you already talking to Fernando. He wasn't sure what about but Fernando looked relatively serious whilst they were speaking. He heard a soft response from you. “Nando, I'm alright. I'm fine.”

The press conference continued, until finally, it was over. Max turned to respond to something Charles had just said to him but, by the time he turned back to talk to you, you were already gone. For God's Sake.

Max did not see you for the rest of the day and, when having seen you over the weekend, you had found a way to avoid him. He found comfort in the fact that he wasn't the only one, though. Apparently, and he found this out from Daniel, you had been avoiding all the drivers except Charles, Fernando and the essential members of your team. Not only that, you had also only been having short conversations with Fred, Mick and George when necessary, the longest ones being the debriefs and your conversations with the Monegasque, apparently. He refused to explain why you were being so quiet with everyone, simply saying that you were struggling and talking to people was overwhelming you. You did the same before the race too, only leaving your room to go over to the anthem, standing at the end of the line of drivers, beside Charles and George. After that, you went straight to the car. Max went to his. He turned on his radio, speaking to GP as they waited for the formation lap to start. “Do you know if Y/N is okay by the way, Max? She hasn't said hi to me at all this weekend and she usually does at least once a week.”

“She comes and says hi to you?”

“Yeah. She started doing it when you were together but after you broke up, she'd still come and make conversation. Did you two argue again or something?”

“Mate, honestly, I've got no idea. She's avoiding everyone except Charles from what I've been told.”

“Oh.” GP was quiet for a moment. “Weird. Anyways, formation lap is in 30 seconds so I'll speak to you in the race, Max, mate.”

The formation lap went without any crashes (*cough cough* Charles *cough cough*) and then the lights started turning on.

One light. Two lights. Three lights. Four lights. Five lights.

“And it's lights out and away we go.” Max slammed his foot down, quickly speeding toward the first corner. Beside him, you drove, George slightly behind and a Haas somehow here too. Max easily went into the first corner ahead, focusing on the driving rather than what was happening behind him. It was time for him to get his first win of the season. Lap by lap, he was well ahead, but then slowly, je saw a Mercedes getting closer and closer. “For fucks sake,” he said through the radio, already accepting defeat in his mind, well aware you had the ability to pass him. “How far back is she?”

“She? Mate, George is behind you.”

“Oh really? I can't see the number, I assumed it was her because she is a monster on the track. It's kind of scary actually.” He chuckled.

“George is 1.2 behind. Push as much as you can, Max.”

“Understood.”

Slowly, Charles ended up catching up to George and, somehow, overtook him. This meant that it was him he was fighting for the lead with, now. On lap 41, GP came through the radio. “Red flag, mate, lead everyone into the pits please.”

“Is everything alright? What happened?”

“Appears to be a collision between L/N and Magnussen.”

“Are they-”

“Yes, they've both replied on the radio saying that they're okay, mate. There's just a lot of debris on the track, hence the red flag.” Max let out a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, you heard your race engineer start speaking. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” You sighed, pressing the radio button.

“I'm fine. I'm fine. Just a little frustrated. Can you let me know when it's safe to get out of the car please?”

“Of course. You are still going to have to wait for the car to come and get you and you may need to go to the med centre.”

K-Mag had been trying to un-lap himself just after you had lapped him for some reason when his car had collided with yours and you had smashed into the barrier. He wasn’t there, though, so you assumed that he was able to continue. You got out of the car, looking as marshals attempted to move your car. Luckily, it was at least manoeuvrable, so you helped to move it as much as you could despite the marshals saying that you didn’t need to because you couldn’t be sure if you had any injuries. Instead, you started helping with the debris until the car got there. Once back in the pits, you headed over to your pit wall section.

“Did it at least look cool?” Was the first question that came out of your mouth when the pit wall crew turned to you. The look on Ben’s face showed that he was not, in any way impressed with that comment. He looked at the grin on your face, shaking his head slightly.

“You certainly know how to crash with style,” George replied jokingly.

You signalled between him and Ben. “See, that’s how we should joke about this kind of stuff,” you teased, watching as Ben rolled his eyes.

“I was worried about you. It said the crash was more than 15g so you have to go to medical, please.” You leant over to hug him, before sighing. “Can I stay here for a bit first?”

Toto, who had now joined you, shook his head. “Why would you want to do that?”

“The longer I stay here, the longer I get peace before the interviews.”

“The quicker you go to medical, the quicker you get through the interviews, the quicker you get to go back to your driver’s room,” George responded. You couldn’t argue with that logic, so off you went.

After a painful hour's worth of tests in the medical centre, they deemed you fine and sent you on your way. Most of the post race interviews went as expected, asking super insightful questions (sarcasm) such as "Do you think being a woman affected your ability to control the car?", "Were you distracted by your personal life, being a woman and all?" and "Do you think your emotions got the best of you out there?" Typical. The best interview you had was with Rachel Brookes.

“Rachel. You look beautiful, as always,” you said, grinning at your favourite post-race interview reporter. She smiled back at you.

“Why thank you, you look lovely too. How are you doing?”

“A lot better now I’m speaking to a reporter who is going to be respectful,” you said, causing her to gain a confused look on her face.

“What do you mean? Have people not been respecting you?” She asked, now slightly concerned.

You shrugged. “You know what they’re like. I think if I hear a question like ‘Is this crash a reflection of women not being as skilled as men in racing?’ one more time, I will go crazy.”

The interview went by quickly and, not long after, you had to say your goodbyes to Rachel. Turning to the exit to the media pen, you saw the Dutchmen leaning against the wall, eyes fixated on you. You attempted to walk past him as you broke off from your press officer, but soon felt his presence as you continued walking in the direction of the Mercedes Motorhome.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asked, rushing to catch up.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your response was quick, simple, as you sped up, the Mercedes garage in sight and getting closer by the second.

Max chuckled dryly. “You know for a fact you’re ignoring me. You wouldn’t be speeding up if you weren’t.” He reached out to grab your arm, stopping you from walking into the motorhome. “You’ve done it before many times.”

“Name one time.”

“The last two races of the 2018 season, you didn’t race. I broke up with you on media day in Brazil and suddenly you were too sick to race. What a coincidence, right? And then at Abu Dhabi, you didn’t race, either. You were so excited to race in both of those. And you didn’t, to avoid me.”

“That’s not why I didn’t race, Max,” you responded, voice low as you listened to him get louder the more frustrated he got with you.

“Oh yeah? What possible other reason could you have had to not race other than that? I know you weren’t ill because I saw you with Charles the evening of the race in Brazil.” He rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to lie to me.”

“I didn’t pull out of the races to avoid you, Max.” Your voice was also getting louder now, fed up with his tone.

“Yeah, sure. Just like how you weren’t avoiding me this weekend, yes? I definitely believe that.” He let out a sharp breath.

Then you said something that caused Max to freeze on the spot, looking at you as you turned and walked straight to your driver's room when you realised that a few of the Mercedes workers had heard you. The silence was deafening as Max questioned whether to follow you or not.

[Word Count - 2.6k]

Hi All, Oops... Might've left it on some drama accidentally. Oh no, what will happen? Who knows. Let's hope this is all a rumour, yes? Is it really an F1 gossip account without some completely outrageous rumours? All will be revealed in the next part, do not worry x OH ALSO PLS IGNORE THAT ALL THE DATES SAY JUNE 1, THIS IS SET ON MARCH 24TH I JUST FORGOT TO CHANGE IT!! Have a good day Alocon

Taglist: @c-losur3 @itsjustkhaos @reidsworld

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gayloringinplainsight · 2 months

Note

"Rights are being stripped from basically everyone who isn't a straight white cisgender male," she tells Vogue, when asked about why she chose to, all of a sudden, stand up for LGBTQ+ rights. "I didn't realize until recently that I could advocate for a community that I'm not a part of."

Source: https://www.out.com/news/2019/8/08/taylor-swift-says-shes-straight-despite-all-bisexual-rumors#toggle-gdpr

I was waiting for this to come through my inbox lol. (There was more then one ask about this but I'm only responding to the first.)

There's lots to unpack here but the first and foremost thing is: She doesn't actually say here, "I'm straight." It was a perfect opportunity. It was the ideal conversation. She punted. Why?

Why did she instead give this vague, circuitous, carefully couched answer?

She calls out communities encompassing sexuality, race, and gender, followed by saying, "a community that I'm not a part of." There are lots of communities that she could have been referring to, but she crafted the sentence in such a way that makes it unclear which one. She could have been talking about the trans community. She could have been talking about the poc community. She could have been talking about the ace community. She could have been talking about the gay male community. There are lots of possibilities. In this carefully worded sentence, she deliberately avoided naming the specific community she's talking about.

Another thing to consider is that many, many closeted people don't consider themselves part of the queer community. They don't feel like they belong because they're not out and proud. And even once people come out, it often still takes time before they feel like they're part of the queer community. That was certainly my personal experience. Cara Delevingne said something similar in her Hulu show when discussing her own coming out.

Let's move on. The link anon provided isn't the source. It's an article quoting the source. The actual source is the 2019 Vogue cover article. And the full article is important because there are lots of interesting things that give context to this quote.

First, there's a great deal of conversation about gay stuff and lgbtq+ rights. And the writer makes a point of saying about this subject matter that Taylor seems to enjoy that part of the conversation "as much as she’d enjoy a root canal." Wouldn't a straight ally be eager to discuss this? They would. And a closeted queer person would be uncomfortable and panicking at the thought of having to talk so blatantly about this subject. The writer also makes a point of saying that once the conversation changes to music, Taylor lights up and her demeanor and speech patterns relax dramatically.

The other important context that the Vogue article discusses is Taylor's very long history of supporting lgbtq+ rights. Everything from the Mean mv of a gay boy being bullied to the "boys and boys and girls and girls" line in WTNY to donations to lgbtq+ organizations to giving out queer awards to queer people to dedicating Dress to Loie Fuller, an openly gay artist. There are plenty of other examples of Taylor advocating for the queer community that aren't mentioned. All the way back in 2008 she participated in the LOGO queer anti-bullying PSA. In 2009 she was in Seventeen magazine taking a stand against the slaying of a teenager for being gay.

Why is this important? Because it proves that Taylor is lying in the quote in question. "I didn't realize until recently that I could advocate…" girl yes you did. You've been advocating for years and years at this point. She's lying. She's lying. She's covering herself up. She's hiding in the closet and hoping desperately that no one notices.

And this isn't the first time she's done this either. During the 1989 press tour she gave an interview where she was asked about the "And you can want who you want / Boys and boys and girls and girls" line. As the interviewer is starting to speak about this, a look of pure panic immediately takes over Taylor's face:

And then she starts stumbling around trying to give a coherent answer. At one point she stutters out, "And also I wrote this song, um, I wrote this song, kind of, kind of following, the, uh, when gay marriage became legal in New York." This interview was in October 2014. Gay marriage had been legal in New York since June 2011. Sooo three years later is "kind of following." Right. Sure, Taylor. Nice closeting. You really nailed it.

Okay let's review. She doesn't actually say she's straight even though this was a perfect opportunity to do so. She doesn't name the actual community she's talking about, giving herself cover if she ever comes out. She's closeted and probably doesn't think she's part of the queer community anyways. She full-on lies about not knowing she can advocate for others. And the writer states Taylor seems deeply uncomfortable talking about lgbtq+ things even though the context of the article was that blondie wanted to make it clear how much of an ally she is.

None of this remotely adds up to hetero. And none of this comes even close to Taylor saying that she's straight.

#gaylor #gaylor swift #Taylor swift #yeah I wrote another essay so what

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yall-hate-kids-tourney · 1 month

Text

Round 5 (main finals): Chara Dreemurr (Undertale) vs. Amane Momose (MILGRAM)

Propaganda below the cut

Chara Dreemurr (?):

They were constantly blamed for killing all of monster kind in the no mercy route, despite players choosing to go that route. People ignored that they sacrificed themselves to attempt to free the monsters from the underground.

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everyone wants to blame their own actions (genocide route) on chara, who is a literal child. i don’t know how to tell you this but you are the one playing the game. it’s about YOUR CHOICES. chara is there is punish you for that, you killed the only family that ever loved them! how could they not be upset at that! also if you don’t mind, here’s a good video essay on the subject

youtube

Amane Momose (12):

Amane was voted guilty in the first trial so that she would acknowledge her guilt. It backfired, and now she’s considered a threat. Well, everyone is a threat, but nobody’s threat level has been as heavily discussed and debated as hers. Consider the next prisoner in line, Mikoto. He’s objectively more dangerous and cannot be restrained. He beat up the guard in trial 1, and he was able to hold his own when the other guilty prisoners were attacked. But a good incentive to forgive him is so that he will calm down. You know what? That’s a good incentive to forgive Amane too! But she *can* be restrained, so a good portion of the discussion went into how she should be voted guilty so she *will* be restrained and not a threat. Since her vote was a near 50/50, of course a good chunk of the voters expressed dissatisfaction with her forgiven verdict. Some are already planning to vote her guilty for trial 3, calling her a “lost cause”. She hasn’t even done any concrete harm yet. Hold the pitchforks until she actually causes harm, please? And what if she *was* voted guilty in trial 2? We’ve been warned that she will continue to deny our judgement. A second guilty verdict won’t make her better either, and then what? She’d be called a “lost cause” as well. There is no winning with her.

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Where do I even start? So first of all she’s an cult child who was physically and mentally abused and tortured by her parents and then (presumably) murdered her mother after her mother killed a cat that she took care of.

Now everyone in Milgram is a murderer but when Amane came and her MV showed her murder and circumstance in an admittedly highly fictionalized depiction of it the audience decided to…repeat the cycle of abuse!

She was voted guilty for the main reason of “teaching her” and helping her “realize that she was abused.” I would like to note that this tough love approach is something her parents utilized against her. “We are only doing this to help you.”

So the audience replicates Amane’s abusers and repeats the cycle of abuse and that’s pretty shitty but it isn’t exactly “Fuck Em Kids” level.

And then Trial 2 happened. Cause Amane is bitter and angry and horrifically traumatized so she acts aggressive and hostile. Especially towards another prisoner.

Now, again, everyone here is a fucking murderer (of atleast could be constructed as one) These people being able to Harm is a core concept of this series.

Yet for some reason it feels like people treat Amane as a “delusional creepy kid who wants to kill people” which completly takes away the nuance of her character. She does have the capacity to harm! Everyone here does! She’s not Uniquly Dangerous! She just has a Reason to be Dangerous. A Reason we GAVE HER by REPEATING THE CYCLE OF ABUSE.

In short: In a series full of Murderers I’m honestly a bit pissed that the 12 year old abuse victim is the one who’s treated like the guy from American Pyscho.

----

TL;DR: "We metavoted this abused, indoctrinated child guilty in trial 1, but it didn't work. Now she is a threat to three grown adults: one who is fully free and two whom she has been shown to get along with. Please metavote her guilty again so she will be restrained and unable to attack them, even though that means subjecting her to further psychological torture." Amane Momose is the youngest of ten murderers, prisoners of Milgram who are to be judged innocent (forgiven) or guilty (unforgiven). In the first interrogation (voice drama), she said that what she did was in line with her religion's doctrines. If we judged her the "wrong way", she said she will just deny the verdict. Combining the voice drama and music video, you could piece together that she was raised in a cult and abused, even though she is cheerful and downplays her pain. She never shows *who* she killed, only *why* she did. After the first day of her vote, she was 81% innocent, but this wouldn't last the whole three months. Many people voted her guilty so she would "see her sins", part of the practice commonly known as "metavoting". Her innocent percentage rapidly decreased, and she hit guilty in the last 15 days, finishing at 51% guilty. At the end of the first trial, Jackalope (who is something like a host) went over all the prisoners' verdicts and commented on the general reasoning. When he got to Amane, he *laughed* at the audience for voting that way to make her realize her sins. Trial 2 rolled around, and it was revealed that Amane's victim was her abuser. On day one, she was at 74% innocent. Seems like a cut-and-dry case now, right? Well... in the intermission, two of the prisoners (Fuuta and Mahiru) were badly beaten up and became reliant on the care of Shidou, a doctor. Amane became hostile to Shidou because what he was doing was against her beliefs. She visited all three of them on their birthdays to convince them to change their ways. She seems to be especially close to Fuuta, who is now murmuring about salvation. Guilty prisoners are psychologically tortured, forced to listen to voices that reject their beliefs. Fuuta and Mahiru both say that the mental strain is worse than their physical injuries. But Amane, who also looks worse for wear, was thrown under the bus because she isn't injured and is considered a physical threat to them (never mind that she gets along with them). She's considered a threat to Shidou, a grown man who is twice her size and fully free, while she is partially restricted by the long sleeves in her trial 2 uniform. She might indoctrinate Fuuta even though, in a prison of ten people and one guard, she's the only voice of her cult. Fortunately, she got a break. Her vote was falling at a similar rate to the first trial. But this time, it stabilized at 51% innocent, 12 days before the end of her vote. But there's no way this is over.

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kanmom51 · 10 months

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Seven JK MV

youtube

LOVED IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Just a short one here, before I watch and re-watch and probably dissect the shit out of it.

Because this was sooooooo good.

Song about sex - hell yeah. Oozing with it.

MV about a f/m couple - yep, as expected.

But definitley not the cookie cut boring boy love girl I was fearing.

This is filled with humour. JK being JK. The bad actor that he is makes it even better.

Y/n anons can come running and screaming and crying, yay, they got to see JK in a frame with a woman and actually holding hands.... shock and awe, lol.

Because there is not a single bone in that man's body that is heterosexual, but we'll leave that for another discussion.

Did I mention how I love JK? That humour.

He is so cute.

Sohee so funny too. That constant annoyance. I think that JK taught her that look from his own experience. He knows that look oh so well... from NJ that is...having to deal with him and his boyfie.

Btw, am I the only one that saw Taenni's Paris walk as JK was walking off with Sohee, with the hand movement? Lol.

And, of course (or not so of course), no female pronouns.

And yeah, just gonna put this out there...

You ask for it...

You get it...

Ahm... I think that's taken care of tonight.

I'll be back with more...

#Jungkook #JK #JK Seven #Jikook #Kookmin #Minkook #Jimin #JM #Youtube

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red-moon-at-night · 10 months

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Let's talk a little bit about Mahiru's boyfriend

This post is alternatively titled "Mahiru's Boyfriend Probably Had An Eating Disorder And I Am Very Sad About It So Now You Get To Be Sad About It With Me" but that felt a bit much in the bold title font so I'm trying to tone this down at least a little bit :')

So I was reading this wonderful post earlier (you should too btw it has a LOT of interesting information), and as I was going through the food section something clicked in my brain. Pieces of information that were drifting aimlessly before quickly came together for me and I almost wish they hadn’t because oh boy is it depressing.

Now, nothing I’m about to say here is explicitly stated - but I do think it is strongly insinuated, through the MVs of both ‘This Is How To Be In Love With You’ (TIHTBILWY what an acronym wow) and ‘I Love You’. I am aware that the latter video has a lot of metaphorical imagery, but I still think some of this imagery can be taken in a literal sense to reinforce ideas established in TIHTBILWY.

TW/Trigger Warnings: discussion of eating disorders (anorexia, bulimia, etc.), discussion of suicide and suicidal thoughts. Please take these into consideration and stay safe!

credit to iaobug’s transcribed images from ‘This Is How To Be In Love With You’ used below btw!

Now I’ve always had an inkling this could be possible, but I didn’t realise until recently there was this much evidence supporting a little idea of mine dancing around in my head.

But First, Some Quick Definitions and Criteria

First things first, I think we should briefly clarify what an eating disorder is and what eating disorder I think Mahiru’s boyfriend most likely had.

Here are some definitions:

Eating disorders are behavioral conditions characterized by severe and persistent disturbance in eating behaviors and associated distressing thoughts and emotions. They can be very serious conditions affecting physical, psychological and social function. (source)

An eating disorder is a mental health condition where you use the control of food to cope with feelings and other situations. (source)

And here are some brief introductions to several types of eating disorders:

The most common eating disorders are:

anorexia nervosa – trying to control your weight by not eating enough food, exercising too much, or doing both bulimia – losing control over how much you eat and then taking drastic action to not put on weight binge eating disorder (BED) – eating large portions of food until you feel uncomfortably full

Other specified feeding or eating disorder (OSFED) – A person may have an OSFED if their symptoms do not exactly fit the expected symptoms for any specific eating disorders.

(source)

Okay, so we have some basic information down, cool! This is not fully comprehensive but it will do for the purposes of this segment.

So what eating disorder do I believe Mahiru’s boyfriend had?

I’m not sure! The information we have is not conclusive enough for me to confidently pick an option. What I will say is most likely, and most common, is OSFED and the concept of the eating disorder cycle. People’s symptoms will often overlap with multiple diagnoses, or shift from one mode of behaviour (e.g. the restrictive eating behaviours found in anorexia) to another (e.g. binge eating and following compensatory behaviours found in bulimia).

Things are often not as clear-cut or black and white as we’d like to imagine.

Let’s move onto looking at the MVs, shall we?

This first music video has a wealth of information hidden in its cute magazine-style annotations and imagery - information that, when you look a little closer and consider the bigger picture, raises all the alarm bells in my mind.

Parts of ‘This Is How To Be In Love With You’ That Make Me Pause In Concern, In Chronological Order:

The Bread

Let's start off with a not very obvious one.

One of the first things we learn about Mahiru’s soon-to-be-boyfriend (which by the way this is literally the 2nd time he’s mentioned) is ‘wow he buys a lot of bread’. Insignificant on its own, I know, but consider this through my lens if you will: my man has bought 5 whole baguettes from a bakery. Not 2 or 3, but 5. Actually, on closer inspection there's even more bread of a different type at the bottom of that bag too. These aren’t store-bought, they’re fresh and will probably go stale in a few days. Pray tell, if the man is not eating baguette for breakfast lunch and dinner over the course of 72 hours... why did he buy so much fucking bread?

What comes to mind when I see this is binge eating. Bread is one of the most common binge foods out there; anything with high carbohydrates or high fat content, in fact, often due to its “unhealthy” or “forbidden” nature.

We'll just have a quick look at Mahiru's comment again:

"I thought to buy the same bread he did, but this is far too much for me to eat... ><

I forgot to ask how many calories there are..."

If it hasn't been established by now with the MV's aesthetic, Mahiru cares about her appearance. A lot. Her self-image and beauty directly ties into looking 'good' enough for others, so she can find the love of her life and please him with her looks.

If Mahiru is also calorie counting, this does not bode well for their relationship. I should probably speak in past tense, actually... Mahiru's own self-image behaviours made her blind to her boyfriend's self-image behaviours. There we go.

But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

So, We have an indication of binge eating behaviours. Remind me again what comes after binging?

The Jogging Hobby

Oh, that’s right - purging.

Excessive exercise is an indirect method of purging/compensatory behaviour found in bulimia. A more commonly known purging method is self-induced vomiting, but that's certainly not the only way to counteract excess calories.

So the jogging, while harmless in isolation, is starting to paint an ever-so-slightly worrying picture.

Again, let's take a look at Mahiru's comment:

"I had a chance to chat with him today, and he mentioned his hobby was jogging. ... I haven't exercised this much in ages... I'm totally exhausted..."

The only hobby (not hobbies but hobby, singular) that we learn the boyfriend has is this. Sure, there's one movie that he also likes... but that's it. There's not much else to him! So when the two most prevalent ideas attached to this guy are 'food' (in excess) and 'exercise' (in excess)... you can see where I'm going with this.

And by the way, the post I linked at the very beginning? Well, they worked out the location of where this running loop is, and judging by Mahiru’s position and direction it would suggest she’s already jogged about 5km and beginning another loop. So we’re looking at a jog ranging from 5-10km (or more)...

The Alcohol

Okay, here's a quick pop quiz question for you. Who is more likely to get drunk on the same volume of alcohol: a 5"1 woman, or an average height (5"7 in Japan) man?

In theory, it should be the 5"7 man on the basis of his height and size. Alcohol tolerance goes up the bigger you are.

So why is it that the boyfriend ended up blackout drunk, and Mahiru... didn't?

Let’s take a look at the comment:

“My first date at a bar, how heartpounding!

Here is where I learned he’s the biggest lightweight I’ve ever met! ...or maybe I’m just really good at holding alcohol?

Whatever the case, blackout drunk him is so cute!”

Three possible options:

Mahiru really can 'hold her liquor'. Judging by her sheltered home life and general lack of adult life experience though, I'm gonna press x to doubt here sorry mappi.

The boyfriend drunk more alcohol than Mahiru. Also unlikely, as she calls him a 'lightweight' and I think she would've highlighted this in her comment.

He drank on an empty stomach. Alcohol absorbs way faster if you haven't had anything to eat beforehand. This, I think is the most likely scenario.

Here's a little more on the subject that I found interesting:

You absorb 20 per cent of alcohol into your bloodstream through your stomach and the rest into your bloodstream through your small intestine.

Drinking a small amount of alcohol stimulates your appetite because it increases the flow of stomach juices. A large amount of alcohol dulls your appetite and can cause malnutrition. (source)

What have we learnt so far?

So we’ve established some concerning behaviours here.

He eats in excess

He exercises in excess

He drinks in excess (on an empty stomach)

I’m actually going to move onto material from the ‘I Love You’ MV, but intertwine it with some of the remaining points from TIHTBILWY.

At this point the relationship has progressed, we’re moving into winter which brings with it the holiday season! Yay! Except not yay, because things are starting to look really bad for Mahiru’s boyfriend. We've gone from this:

To this:

The carousel was fine at first but now it’s taking its toll on him. Both of them have tattered clothes but Mahiru looks optimistic, whilst the boyfriend looks very distraught. His cheekbones are visible and overall he looks a lot less healthy. I guess this is a good time to point out how distinct and visible his collarbone has been this entire time by the way? He’s even bonier than before. Not great.

A lot of events occur at this time of year, such as Christmas (celebrated between couples in Japan as more of a lovers holiday) and new years. What happens a lot during that period of time? Food. Lots of it. This point in the year is not ideal for someone suffering from a worsening eating disorder. This is a period of time which someone would want to move very quickly from because they can’t see the end of it.

I think it’s time to read Mahiru’s comment from day 15:

“Happy new years! To celebrate, we went to a shrine.

Predictably, I already have my wish in mind.

May we stay like this until the end of time.

May nobody stand in my way”

She, on the other hand, is very happy for things to remain as they are.

Day 16 - AKA, Oh No Things Have Gone Terribly Wrong

This is where the narrative hits its climax and everything starts to snowball.

Now, we reach this scene where the boyfriend stops walking and breaks down. He kneels on the ground, digs his nails into it, and pleads for... something. Help? An intervention? A stop to this carousel that’s doing him no good and only making his health (physical and mental) worse?

He never speaks. It is a silent plea.

One that Mahiru misses.

Saying I love you but doing what I did, I know I have no right, crossed and covered in sin

My love, it scored an own goal, destroyed my love and me with its weight

Tell me, oh tell me why, can’t I just do it right

What did you do, Mahiru?

I believe that this scene and response:

Is directly parallel to this event:

As in, they’re the same thing.

One more comment to read:

He’ll be in for a big, delicious surprise once he gets home!

I’ve made SO many notes about his favorite foods, and practiced my butt off!

I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees it all.

Her love - her surprise buffet to cheer him up - scored an own goal, so to speak.

I don’t think I need to say much about this picture, or this scene. She’s giving him excess but that excess is literally driving him over the edge. The nuance is lost between them, and they both need different things from each other and they’re not getting it. Cake to rats, rats to cake.

They’re back on the carousel, spinning around and around with things never changing, no end in sight.

I want to end on this frame of the MV. You see the pole behind the boyfriend? It’s reminding me of rope, and of a certain visual at the end of the video. The juxtaposition of Mahiru forcing her ‘love’ onto him, and of suicidal ideation being the only way off this ride and his problems.

#milgram #mahiru shiina #analysis #long post #eating disorder tw #anorexia tw #bulimia tw #this is how to be in love with you #ai nan desu yo #I love you #daisuki #I DID THE THING and it's... long. and sad :(#this was a really interesting interpretation to write! it's certainly not bulletproof but I truly believe this guy had problems in life #and mahiru couldn't have changed that fact. did she help? not really! did things get bad bad? y. yeah. but! ...#...I have nothing uplifting to say here. her love was plentiful and well meaning but woefully misguided </3 #I genuinely care about this nameless character now... he looks so happy at the start embracing her and im certain in better--#--days between them they were having a great lovey dovey time!! ugH my heart it hurts.....#if there's typos it's because it's late and I'm tired LMAO

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opalspring · 8 months

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Fuuta not being the one to give the final blow to Killcheroy theory

This is a pretty well-known theory in the fandom, but I wanted to make a post with all the evidence I could think of that could hint at Fuuta not being the one to doxx Killcheroy at the end of Bring It On. We’ll mostly discuss content from the music videos for that.

Hint from Undercover

Unlike other prisoners’ victims implied to have commited suicide, namely Hinako and Mahiru’s boyfriend, Es has both of their boots on during Fuuta’s murder scene in Undercover.

This is strange, because it was basically confirmed both by Fuuta and in Backdraft (with the suffocating/burning to death metaphor) that Killcheroy ended her life.

In my opinion, Es still has their boots on in the Fuuta frame simply because Fuuta wasn’t directly responsible for Killcheroy’s death (though he is undeniably linked to it).

There is more substantial evidence for this in both Bring It On and Backdraft. There are also the parts in Fuuta’s voice dramas that have him declare he didn’t kill anyone, but let’s just look at the mvs, where the prisoners can’t lie.

Hints from Bring It On

Through the rpg sequences in Fuuta’s first mv, there’s always a map in the bottom-left of the screen where we see Fuuta’s icon in blue that shows where he’s facing, the enemy icons in red, as well as the green icons, Fuuta’s allies.

The first battle, with eleven green dots, the enemy and Fuuta’s icon facing it.

The second battle, with six green dots, the enemy, and Fuuta facing it up close.

After that is when things start to get weird. Unlike the first two battles (at the game arcade and the university), we don’t know where this one takes place.

Also, for some reason Fuuta is in his everyday clothes inside of the dark triad rpg interface, with Neuschwanstein castle in the back. I talked about my interpretation of this part in another theory, but what we want to look at here is the map on the bottom-left.

At first glance, there’s nothing out of the ordinary with Fuuta’s icon and six green dots being present. However, even if it’s hard to see with the distortion of the screen in the mv, something very interesting happens during this part.

(let's zoom in for convenience)

Yeah, the left-most green dot split into two at some point and left the group.

This is probably a representation of one of Fuuta’s allies betraying him and leaving. Or in the context of Twitter, making another account to impersonate Fuuta.

@ otums on Twitter pointed out the writing styles of each Dark Triad member in Bring It On, and how Fuuta’s didn’t match the last messages Storm Pazuzu sends to Killcheroy.

I completely agree with these points, and in my opinion we can also link the different icon colors Storm Pazuzu has throughout the mv.

For the entirety of it save for the very end, the account has a blue icon.

(Taking the professor case as an example as we’re 100% sure Fuuta was the one to write this tweet, as he witnessed the scene live and took a photo.)

And here’s the red icon. In my opinion this could be a hint of the impersonation going on.

Also note the phone’s model we see here. At first it looks like Fuuta’s phone in the beginning of the mv but some parts are different.

Both phones’ shapes are different: the one at the end is thinner and longer. The camera’s position also differs, on Fuuta’s phone at the beginning it’s in the top-left part, whereas on the phone at the end it’s in the middle of the phone and on top.

Another thing is how Fuuta uses dark mode Twitter unlike on the phone at the end.

So that’s probably another sign that Fuuta was set up by someone at the mv’s end.

One last thing about the rpg scenes, we can see on the map in the last one that Fuuta’s icon is facing away from the enemy, unlike the two previous battles. This could be another hint that Fuuta was left in the dark for most of it, even if he did participate in some way (as seen with the photo he takes in Undercover, and the line “I won’t forgive you just because you’re a kid” in the distorted voice lines).

So, a question arises from all this. Just who betrayed Fuuta and made the fake account? There are some clues in both mvs to guide us.

Out of all the characters in the Dark Triad, there’s one that Fuuta seems particularly close to. It’s pretty well-known in the fandom but after each battle, Fuuta always looks in the direction of the soldier type party member:

Turning in his direction at the end too.

So despite seemingly being a background character, the spear guy apparently has some sort of connection to Fuuta.

@ otums on Twitter also pointed out that we can actually link him to one of the characters at the arcade:

Thanks to the color-coding, we can identify the green guy as Rumerie (the account with the tweet on top). There are multiple accounts with a green icon, but we’ll see in the Backdraft section that there’s more content about him specifically.

In my opinion, it’s extremely likely Rumerie was the one to impersonate Fuuta and doxx Killcheroy.

The first hint is the difference in writing style between Fuuta’s tweets and the ones we see at the end of the mv.

Here’s a tweet we’re 100% sure Fuuta wrote:

“Please spread this around. A sexual harassment scene involving one of the university’s teachers. He probably didn’t see someone was watching lmao

Thanks in advance for reporting him”

Here’s a tweet Rumerie wrote:

“What a pig, that’s so damn gross lmaooo”

And here are two of the callout tweets at the end of the mv:

“Should we crush her? ^ ^ Just because you’re in middle school it doesn’t mean you can just do whatever you want lmaoooo

Don’t go easy on her because she’s cute y’all”

“I managed to dig up some of her details. Thanks to her previous publications I could find out which school she goes to. It’s hilarious she lives so close by lmao”

From these, the last tweet fits Rumerie’s style more than Fuuta’s, mostly because Rumerie’s laugh tends to be a lot more expressive than Fuuta’s more simple “w” (though the red account does use it at one point in the second tweet). The use of emoticons doesn’t fit Fuuta’s rather negative/sarcastic tweets either.

While we have the tweets under our eyes, it’s interesting to note Storm Pazuzu’s blue icon account has the @ pazuzu_soccer_0419 while we can’t see past @ pazuzu_soccer_ for the red icon account.

Some people have searched for it on Twitter and behold:

So the red icon account is a totally different account from @ pazuzu_soccer_0419 indeed. Technically, this isn’t a part of milgram itself, but the fact the account was created in 2016 makes it seem pretty clear it was made by the creators, anticipating people would look up the accounts.

Also note the number of followers the account has, it looks more like a burner account made for callout posts than the main account Fuuta would supposedly use, where we know he follows at least a few people, not just one.

Hints from Backdraft

While Backdraft mostly focuses on Fuuta’s mental state in Milgram, it also gives us additional hints regarding his crime.

In the last part we discussed Rumerie’s potential importance in Fuuta’s case. And, luckily for us, in Backdraft he actually gets referenced by name in one of the graffitis.

@ otums on Twitter made a nice breakdown of the graffiti but I’d rather not post their image without permission so here’s a tentative reconstruction:

and Pazuzu, Fuuta’s account name, is mixed in too:

This information seems to cement Rumerie as an important character in Fuuta’s story. In the previous section, we talked about the possibility of Rumerie being the one to doxx Killcheroy while impersonating Fuuta, and Backdraft gives some hints relating to it.

The first interesting part for this is when we see a second Fuuta appear on screen at this point of the song:

In the following shot we get this interesting line overlapping with the second Fuuta:

The English line works too but in the Japanese version the literal translation is more like “You can clearly see it’s not my fault, right?”

This gives some Muu vibes, which makes sense since the two of them work as each other’s parallel, but in the context of the Rumerie/impersonation theory, the line gets a new context.

Another thing to note is the way the second Fuuta sprays the paint. In the first two “encounters”, or here the graffiti viewing, Fuuta sprays paint like this:

For Killcheroy’s turn, however, the paint looks like this:

While Fuuta’s style is sharp, vertical and condensed, in the third pic the paint is horizontal and it looks evaporated since it was sprayed slowly (compare the animations between him and the “first” Fuuta too).

From this, it feels like the staff is trying to bring something to our attention regarding how the three encounters occurred… and potential unusual things happening in them.

There are more hints to the impersonation theory in Backdraft, this time regarding Fuuta’s party/followers.

Here, they appear as additional people spraying the graffitis following Fuuta’s lead. Let’s look at the instances where they show up:

In the first pic, after the second battle, there are five spray cans on the floor, so five people, making six in total with Fuuta.

The second pic seems to follow suit with five people following Fuuta’s lead in slashing Killcheroy’s graffiti.

But then, after Killcheroy appears on screen and Fuuta’s followers start attacking her directly, we get these two shots:

Multiple things to note here. First, why did the storyboarders decide to split these two shots in two? If the intent was to show Fuuta’s followers attacking the victim at the same time, why is the person spraying blue paint left out of the first pic almost completely?

In the following pic, we see both Fuuta and the victim, which isn’t too strange, but why is the blue person shown there as well? And why do they have a watch when all the other characters don’t have distinct features?

To answer the first question, we have to remember composition is a very important part in visual storytelling. So I’m convinced there’s special meaning in splitting the two above images into distinct shots in the mv. The staff probably wanted to show us the blue spray person was important both with the composition, as well as them wearing a watch.

Another important detail is shown with the number of hands on screen during this scene. Remember how we established before that, including Fuuta, there were six main “attackers” during the Twitter altercations? Then why is it that in the final Killcheroy scene, there are six hands spraying paint… but Fuuta isn’t participating and staring at them from the background?

As for the watch part, there’s actually a character in Fuuta’s story that’s shown to wear one, the guy theorized to be Rumerie (wanted to add a pic but already reached the limit per post... oops). The reason why one of Fuuta’s allies could have chosen to turn against him is a mystery but it’s interesting to think about.

When adding up all these details, I feel like it’s reasonable to consider Rumerie being the one to doxx Killcheroy as a viable theory. That’s pretty much all I wanted to point out, hope you found this interesting.

#found out about the 30 image per post limit with this lol #let's hope Fuuta's T3 gives more insight on his case in general #milgram #milgram theory #long post #VERY long post #fuuta kajiyama

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9w1ft · 5 months

Note

Re: Carolina Herrera and Karlie. We’ve discussed this before, but a lot of people don’t know that Karlie is not simply the face of a perfume in the same way that Timothee Chalemet is the current face of one of Chanel’s perfumes, or Joe Alwyn did an ad for Tom Ford Beau du Jour one time. Good Girl perfume was created especially in conjunction with Karlie being the face of it. She’s not just the face of it, she is the Good Girl. It’s a whole other level of business partnership and branding. It’s been going strong for 7 years, and Good Girl continues to be one of the best selling perfumes in the world. You can be walking down the street in Slovakia or Shanghai or some place, and there’s Karlie The Good Girl on a billboard. Every airport with a duty free in the world, and most Ulta Beautys and Sophoras in the US have her picture showing. CH also happens to be the first runway she walked at fashion week when she was 15. She absolutely would have influence over what they do and we’ve seen it over and over again, including this year and last (remember Karlie did her pink smoke effect before Taylor filmed hers in the LH MV, and the midnight version of GG was developed and announced well before Taylor announced Midnights, and this stuff goes way back to the first ads which had subtle references to This Is What You Came For, and another one where she said “Don’t call me kid” long before Taylor released Illicit Affairs.) There is absolutely no way anyone will ever convince me these things aren’t pre-referencing Taylor’s work, or Taylor’s work is referencing these ads. And the only way this is possible is if Karlie knows ahead of time what’s coming (usually months ahead) and/or Taylor is referencing Karlie ads later. The only reason the former would happen is if they are on good terms (very good terms and Taylor is ok with it) and the only way the latter happens is if Taylor’s obsessed with Karlie.

thank you for typing this out for me i almost typed it up but was like, i’ve written about this, so i went to find a post and then i couldn’t find it immediately and then i started about my day and such and forgot 😆

i think if you’re new its hard to appreciate or grasp what brands are important to karlie. like i remember distinctly way back when when i first got here in 2018 looking at taymojis and people freaking out about there being a stiletto taymoji and how it was a kaylor reference and the photo people were using to talk about why it was a reference was —to me— just a pic of a carolina herrera ad where karlie was wearing a stiletto and i remember thinking to myself, come on guys it’s a shoe, what’s specific about a shoe?? but i was lacking the context of The Swift Life app being released in late 2017 (meaning it was being built/prepped throughout 2017, likely early 2017 with all the other rep promo) in combination with karlie having been made the face of what was then the new carolina herrera good girl perfume just the year prior (mid 2016), which was a big get for her at the time, and that the perfume bottle is stiletto shaped. now, looking back, i understand what about that taymoji was sus, given all this extra context. karlie now being the face of a perfume was a big achievement for her. and the achievement happened to be shoe shaped. so why not celebrate that? etc.

so anyway, if anon is feeling anything like the way i did, but are somewhat interested in kaylor anyway, i would suggest just sticking a pin in stuff like this and moving on for now and maybe coming back to it a half year or year from now after gaining a little more perspective and seeing if your perspective has changed

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abyssmare · 9 months

Text

Kazui Sexuality Analysis

For the past few months, i’ve convinced multiple people that Kazui Mukuhara is gay— and with the introduction of the Cat MV, I felt it’d be good to make a master list documenting exactly why the theory came across. Primarily to indoctrinate people. Sorry. Thank you @prisoner-000 for helping me with this! >_< ( Despite me initially being the one indoctrinating you lol! )

TW : Open talk discussing Suicide.

WARNING : Spoilers for Trial 2.

Welcome to the ride.

Also I forget Hinako canonically has a name so she’s referred to as “his wife” the whole time. Oops..

Let’s start with the First Trial Voice Drama: “Gouging in the Night” / “Another Night”.

With this being an introductory voice drama, it’s hard to necessarily gauge much of the depth regarding Kazui’s character, but we do get our first introductory to his heavily emphasized ‘lying’ aspect of his character. We also get multiple instances in which he identifies adults with being those that cannot act on their emotions, as Kazui did, because in doing so makes them ‘weak’. Es refers to Kazui as someone with a fake smile, that’s been “consciously crafted to show himself a certain way”, which can be common in those that have experiences having to mask their identity due to a rough home-life / lack of being understood by peers around them.

“What's so good about it? I don't like this.It's just a fake smile that you've consciously crafted to show yourself in a certain way. You're acting based on how you want others to see you - your face clearly shows that you're lying.”

“This is, this is.... You're pretty strict. * Laughs* it's not like I'm not scared at all, either. But I've got the responsibility that comes with being older, too - even in an abnormal situation like this, there's no way I could just let myself panic in front of the kids. Well, even if it's fake, adults need to keep up a smile... in order to not let you young ones down, you know.”

Having to keep up a ‘mask’/‘facade’ in order to keep those around him happy.

—— • ——

“If you say that I'm lying.. You might just be right. Unfortunately, once you're an adult, you get very good at lying.”

“.. Adults, huh?”

Another brief mention of ‘lying’ being natural for adults.

—— • ——

“I... see. It might be as you say. We just become more and more passive to avoid causing pain. Yeah... that's right. It's true that my lies killed her, and even now, I still haven't changed. No, that's not it - I can't change because I was already born this way. But... Don't talk big without even knowing a thing about my feelings, kid.”

“...Nice to meet you, Kazui Mukuhara, it feels like I've finally come face to face with you. Well met, I am Es, the prison guard of MILGRAM.”

“* Exhales, chuckles * Such a fashionable way of greeting, huh? Well, hopefully, you won't come to regret this. These kinds of relationships tend to bring pain with them.”

Despite his wife dying, he says he has not changed, despite all the guilt he supposedly holds for her suicide.

A vague remark regarding their relationship being inherently ‘painful’, despite it being shown that they seemed happy in their relationship. This is emphasized in the “Cat” MV, where you get a better glimpse at their personal relationship.

—— • ——

“As you know, with this personality of mine... I have trouble talking to others about myself openly. I guess, despite physically being as big as I am, I've still got a cowardly side to myself.”

“I'm not interested in your self-deprecation.”

“There's something I'm thinking about now, with this situation... I... all of my sins and weaknesses that I've been hiding... I might have been subconciously waiting for for someone to forcibly uncover them all along.”

He has been “subconsciously waiting for someone to forcibly uncover them,” which implies a sense of relief when he is finally uncovered as a liar. He would not have to show face, or lie about himself.

This is common in gay people who cannot reveal their identity due to negative reception/social status. It is easier to hide than it is to reveal and be honest with those around you, though that relief would still exist.

——————��——————————

The “Half” MV.

the title for half could easily be showing a one-sided love— only one ‘half’ sharing that love.

“If only your heart would change, but that’s not possible.”

Here we begin with the first bits of implication, and strongly at that. The description of the video highlights a lyrical piece I believe is incredibly important— as I personally believe it’s him speaking to himself. He had no reason for his wife to have a change of heart, he is shaming himself here. He has openly stated he dislikes himself, so it’s not necessarily surprising.

“Laughing together, side by side, this distance in our relationship is misleading me. Is this what happiness is?”

Under the idea that Kazui seeked compassion and love in a relationship, as it’s hinted at in “Cat”, it’s likely around this time that he actually began to realize that he had struggled to be attracted to her beyond face value. What he lists is not inherently romantic, and in fact can be viewed as a lyric about a best friend whom viewed him as a lover.

“Where did I go wrong? Probably from the beginning,

Please tell me what I should do, feelings shrouded in lies will float away and disappear”

He’s beginning to understand that his feelings aren’t attraction to her, but built up on the ideal of what attraction should be. Kazui mentions that his parents would be disappointed in him now— and that begs the question, why? His life was generally exactly as you’d expect if not more from an adult man. He seemed to have a well-off job, a loving wife, and the only thing missing is a lack of kids. There was nothing there to disappoint them in the first place.

“I could try you, and I could touch you, but you probably wouldn’t notice

I understand that this love is out of bounds, so nothing has to change”

After these lines, likely referencing Kazui’s inability to grasp their relationship romantically, he is shown to stare up at his audience member self. I am under the belief that there are two Kazui’s: the one masking his sexuality, and the other painfully aware of it. The ‘actor’ (masking) one proceeds to gesture his head over for the audience member to proceed to the right— and this is where he sees it.

The “Forbidden Fruit” Motif

This will be referenced in both MV’s.

It’s hard to explain the origin of the “Forbidden Fruit” idea, but the generalized concensus for the usage of this motif in media is the following :

As a metaphor outside of the Abrahamic religions, the phrase typically refers to any indulgence or pleasure that is considered illegal or immoral.

Kazui’s forbidden fruit motif is intense. The representation of it through a green apple is something he finds with distaste, stepping away from it and staring aghast.

“All this time till now has hurt me. The scales of my heart has decided to sway.”

Kazui is unhappy. He is admitting to that unhappiness, even being pictured in the MV as this is when he confessed to his wife.

“If continuing to hide is called unhappiness, not even one word will get to you.”

I’m not sure what to make of the second part, I believe to an extent this is her ‘denial’ of his feelings. A fear that this is happening, something that is truly real. Kazui openly states he’s unhappy, and she cannot fathom that. Reasonably so.

“I’m sure nothing will change and we’ll laugh together and call each other stupid names.

So many things I wish I hadn’t known, i’m just a coward.

Why is it questioning me now?”

Kazui wished to remain friends. And that broke her. That broke her enough to which she ended up committing suicide. He was oblivious, and let his emotional side get to him— this is why he insists on the fact he “failed when he prioritized his emotions.”

—————————————————

The Birthday Art

For their birthdays in 2021, Milgram released art + merch with the characters, with flowers representative of aspects of their characters. Flower meaning plays a large role in this.

Kazui has a spiderwort on his vest. This can be representative of “wisdom” or “I respect you, but not in love”. Uh.. do I really have to hyper-analyze this?

—————————————————

Second Trial Voice Drama : “ Imposter Boulevard “

FINALLY. Dead confirmation that the cheating theories are entirely false— which begs the question of ‘What the hell is going on with this man?’ … You know why we’re here.

In this voice drama, i’d argue he’s incredibly open about the fact there’s more to him than we initially believed. Thank you Onigiriico for the translations!

“That’s ridiculous. If you can save someone by telling a lie, that’s what you should do.”

“However… You killed someone with your lies, didn’t you?”

“… Ah… You forgave me, didn’t you? Aren’t you being especially strict towards me?”

He admits that lying in order to save someone is where his moral compass lies.

“Marriage is something that both partners want equally, isn’t it? It’s something you can’t do if only one person wants it. Deciding to treat it as a punishment all on your own… You’re making a mockery out of it.”

“I really am. Ah… She must have thought so as well. My wife, that is.”

“I’ve said this before: You’re a liar. Those lies have killed a person.”

No notes. You get it.

“I despise myself for lying, too. Being a liar, you see – it’s painful.”

“Heh. Then just–“

“So I’ve tried to change! I’ve tried to change. I have tried to stop lying to myself and others!”

“…”

“I’ve confided in others. I’ve tried to be myself! I’ve tried to just be the way I was born!”

“…Hey, Kazui–“

“It’s not my lies that killed her. She’s dead because I stopped lying to her! If I had just kept lying- She wouldn’t have died…!”

The implication that he has had to ‘confide’ in others, attempting to be himself rather than the masking he has done all his life.. and now here he is, in Milgram, reminded of his past. Hauntingly, almost.

“All the lies I’ve told are tying me down. Ever since I was little, I’ve never truly opened myself to anyone. But in the end, people can’t be saved if they don’t [open up]. And by now, it’s gotten to a point where I can’t do it by myself anymore…”

( machinery whirrs, bell rings )

“I did think Milgram would be able to force its way past that, though.”

He’s hidden he was gay since he was a child, but he knows the Milgram Prison of all things can dig into his memory and force him to confess.

—————————————————

The “Cat” MV.

With the active removal of the ‘cheating’ theory people centrically revolved towards, the introduction of the “Cat” MV was something i’ve been looking forward to for a while now due to the possibilities that it contained. And possibilities it showed, investing in the origin of the couple we’ve been following for so long. Two coworkers turned into a married couple, happily together with one ‘small’ issue. Kazui seems to recognize that his feelings for hers do not match what she wishes.. after they’re married.

“I just wanted to touch, to caress, i just wanted to be touched. So it’s wrong? Shove that!”

“If it’s for the sake of true love, who wouldn’t lis for that?”

Kazui is seeking attention. He views romantic relationships as capable of giving him that, and assumed that’s what the relationships entail. In doing so, he’s indirectly ‘using’ her for the romantic aspects he’s unaware he doesn’t reciprocate. He views this as the normality for relationships, assumably having not been in many before then.

“Love (plus) Destiny = Crap

Smash it, shatter it, bye-bye

That sticky-sweet sequence: Dinner + Camouflage + You-Know-What

Loving Affection (minus) Love

Victim and Perpetrator, let’s keep it simple”

A long collective of lines, but it’s perfectly representative of what I previously stated. Kazui cannot understand what is meant to be a romantic relationship. In discovering what he believes to be one, he lashes out, assuming that relationships are something that he deem more inconvenient than the exciting things that are talked about in stories.

This is where Kazui begins to realize he is not happy in his relationship, and it is not because of his wife. And of course, in response to this distress— not too long later in the video, the green apple returns.

The return of the “Forbidden Fruit”, a constant reminder that he is living a lie. I don’t believe this is directly meant to symbolize his homosexuality, but rather the aspects of it he is trying to ignore. He is hiding the things he knows will hurt her, even if it hurts him. As stated in one of the lines during this sequence:

“All the things I wanna do that I can’t say out loud, I gotta keep it inside and act.”

He has conformed to the idea of just being another actor playing his role in life. This will crumble soon. For both their sakes.

Quickly, the sequence shifts once again to Kazui’s inner dialogue.

“I can’t stop, I can’t be normal

This feeling, it can’t be gratified

This feeling, it yearns to be satisfied”

Kazui yearns for what he can’t have: a relationship where he shares the feelings his partner does. He yearns to love and be loved. He is an adult, far too late in his life ( in his eyes ) to do so. It’d be selfish to turn back now and begin a new life, but it’s just as painful to live a lie of loving someone he just is not capable of loving. This is why the sequence breaks so quickly.

He cannot confide in the smoking he is indulging in to cope, quickly taking the animal and taking a bite, representative of him tearing their marriage apart by his ‘confession’.

“I want to be loved, just like a cat”

And then his wife is shown to die, him bloodied from the animal and nothing but the facade left in the dust.

Kazui Mukuhara and Hinako Mukuhara were never meant to love. But in Kazui’s desperation, and Hinako’s love, they’ve created a lavender marriage(1) webbed in lies and deception— and the only way a love story like this ends is in tragedy.

—————————————————

Interrogation Notables

Who do you respect?

“You wouldn’t know them, but I have a childhood friend. I really look up to them. Sorry for bringing up someone you have no clue about.”

Do note that this “childhood friend” he briefly mentions has had he/him pronouns in a few translations. It is also notable that he mentions said childhood friend owns a boat. And guys like boats idk im grasping for straws here as usual

Is your family proud of you?

“No. They must find me embarrassing.”

Logic or Emotion, which do you prioritize more?

“I’ve failed before when prioritizing emotions. I’ll never act on my feelings again.”

Do you like yourself?

“Well, not really.”

If the world were to end tomorrow, what would you do?

“Relax and go traveling, I guess. That childhood friend I talked about before has a boat.”

Do you regret your “murder”?

“I do regret it. I should’ve continued to just pile up my lies.”

Do you want to be forgiven?

“I don’t know. I do think I want my weakness to be accepted, if I were to be honest.”

—————————————————

Extra Speculation/Key Notes

The René Magritte painting comparison is something that’s notably been pointed out since Cat’s release, being that one of the shots mimics a painting of René Magritte’s very closely— though, one would mark it as coincidence, the comparison and meaning behind the piece actually makes it appear intentional.

The meaning behind the painting ‘The Son of the Man’, or in Margritte’s words, is “Everything we see hides something else. We always want to see what is hidden with what we see but this is not possible. Humans hide their secrets very well.” This is clearly intentional, given Kazui’s open inability to just confess to his ‘lying’ himself- entrusting on Milgram to open up his mind and make him confess to something he has hidden ‘since he was young’.

The “bartender”, or as the fandom has dubbed him “Kazui’s gay lover”, is a very popular outsider character to Milgram due to his seemingly close connection to Kazui. He is shown in both the “Half” and “Cat” as a sort of friend to him— a connection to the bar he is familiar with, and even resorts to in rough times. In the “Half” MV he is notably missing a wedding ring, whilst at the “Cat” wedding he is wearing one.

Many people theorize that Kazui recognized he had feelings for this man, and that was his way of recognizing that he was gay, whilst the feelings were unreciprocated due to him being assumably married. In a shot in “Cat”, Kazui is seen staring into a glass, although it’s unknown where or whom he is speaking to. A line says the following:

“Hey, so what if I said I like-liked you, what would you do?”

This is post-wedding, clearly thanks to Kazui’s scuffed appearance. But that is in no-way you would speak to your wife, is it not? It is easy to assume that he is speaking to the bartender in this instance.

DO NOTE : It is possible the bartender is not featured in the “Cat” MV, and it happens to be a design incredibly similar. He was in the center of the shot though, and that’d be an insane coincidence IMO.

@prisoner-000 : “ The roles he takes on in the play (Soldier, office worker, host) are anchored in masculinity, at least in their societal perceptions. His actor costume is supposed to represent his status as an actor even more clearly. (There seems to be a recurring motif of him as an “actor”). “

@prisoner-000 : Portal interaction addition.