#A/B testing interference

[zomb13s]

AN OPEN LETTER FROM THE VOID(Delivered via Vacuitas Engine, sealed with stroopwafel resin)

Dearest Co-Conspirator, Let me confess in the slant-light of a Utrecht dawn: I am Dennis the Menace if Dennis swallowed a kaleidoscope of Judith Butler texts and Alanis Morissette B-sides. My bald head? A polished rebellion against your gender binaries. This red Ecko bomber? Armor stitched from Prodigy concert rags and Foucault quotes. The polo glasses? For watching liars squirm like worms in…

[snarp]

How long do I have to wait after taking a multivitamin with biotin in it for enough of the biotin to be out of my system for thyroid hormone blood tests to be accurate? 2-3 days? 1-2 weeks? A month? None of you people are fucking helping me. Luminary Mohg, please,

[ailoda]

updated: 17.01.25

ᯓ★ 40s!au

Just One Kiss (❤❅): Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss? (@sarahwroteathing)

Decades Apart (❤❅✘): what if Bucky decided to return to 1949 with Steve? Back to his old life, back to the world he knew. Back to the love of his life that he couldn't - wouldn't - forget, even though they were decades apart. (@catharsisfalls)

Peace (❅): Bucky's reminiscing about a woman during the war leads to his demise.(@srgntjamesbuckybarnes)

Set Me Free (❤❅): once upon a time, a soldier fell from a train. Thankfully, this time, he is found by gentle hands, and a beautiful voice keeps him safe from the cold.(@intrepidacious)

Look At Me (❤❅): she never expected to fall so deeply for Sergeant James "Bucky" Barnes, what with his skirt-chasing tendencies and cocky personality. Except how was she to know war would change everything she thought she wanted? Suddenly, she wanted him. (@rosepetalsinwinter)

Fleeting Love (❅): Bucky Barnes meets a woman in France who he can’t help but fall for. A love story meant for only one night in the streets of a city destroyed by war.(@moonlight-prose)

Every Breath You Take (✘): Bucky can't help but spend his free time watching you. (@sweetiebarnes) (warning: Bucky being a creep, voyeurism, exhibitionism, stalking, obsession)

Touch (✘): Bucky knows exactly how to help you relax on top of the Ferris wheel. (@sweetiebarnes)

Until I Found You (✘): after a date at the new exposition, your jealous ex decides to pay you a visit. (@delicatebarness)

First Date, Last Night (❤❅): you were supposed to go on a date tonight, but Bucky just had to interfere. It doesn’t make any sense, either. It’s not like there’s anything going on between the two of you. (@intrepidacious)

Taste Test (❤): 1940s!bucky and his girl getting ice cream on their date at Coney Island. (@intrepidacious)

Chronicles (❤❅): the story of you and Bucky as told through different dates. (@cosmicbucky)

Empty Words (❤❅): Bucky had the heart eyes for the little nurse who had just transferred. (@lanabuckybarnes)

Drafted (❅): Bucky has to tell you that he leaves tomorrow but not without leaving you with plans for when he gets back. (@tom-holland-parker)

Heroes Get Remembered (❅): "Heroes get remembered, but legends never die." Bucky read the words, but he couldn't process them. Hero? Legend? Bucky wasn't either of those things. Those words were reserved for generals, warriors, doctors... a little punk from Brooklyn in stripey tights who didn't know when to give up... and a young nurse who threw herself in a warzone to save the ones she loved. (@justfandomwritings)

The Fate's Design (❤❅): flower, gleam and glow, let your powers shine. Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt. Change the fates' design. Save what has been lost. Bring back what once was mine, what once was mine... (@anonymityisfunwriter)

new! Promise Me (❤❅): Y/N kept being reincarnated into the world for seemingly endless of lifetimes with the lasting, vivid memories of her past lover during the 40's, Sargent James B. Barnes. While she thought this was a 'punishment' for her sins, she was also unknowingly oblivious to the fact that James was still alive somewhere, almost forever frozen in the time. (@winterarmyy) (warning: graphic violence. deaths. mention of suicide)

[l1v-jzn]

˚₊ ꒰ა 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 & 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐜 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ — 𝐆𝐞𝐮𝐦 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐞

˚₊ ꒰ა 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ : 𝐠𝐞𝐮𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐞 𝐱 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

˚₊ ꒰ა 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ : 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐚𝐮, 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲, & 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

˚₊ ꒰ა 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ : 𝐘/𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐦: 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰, 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐦𝐚. 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?

𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐛 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲. 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧, 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐞, 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭? 𝐇𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭.

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠-𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐘/𝐍 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐬.

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞… 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟?

˚₊ ꒰ა 𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: "𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 - 𝐅𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐲 𝐅𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐲" ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

𝟎𝟏:𝟓𝟕 ───────●─── 𝟎𝟐:𝟓𝟓

◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤ↻ ❤️

˚₊ ꒰ა 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The hallway glows gold. Not metaphorically—like, it’s actually glowing. Warm light spills from the high vaulted ceiling in golden ripples, dancing across polished marble floors like sunbeams poured from the gods’ own teacup. The air smells faintly of roses and ozone, that electrifying scent that always signals Big Magic is in play. Wisps of cloud cling to your boots as you walk, soft and curling around your ankles like affectionate cats. You’ve been here before, of course training missions, mock assignments but today? Today is different.

Your wings twitch behind your shoulders, nervously folded, the feathers too pristine, too obvious. The white of them catches every shimmer of the light, like they know they’re being watched. You swear they’re sweating. Your heart drums a frantic beat in your chest, like it’s trying to take flight on its own. Because today is The Day. Your Final Field Exam. The last test before you earn your full Agent status with the Department of Matchmaking Magic.

You try to breathe. It comes out shaky.

As you round a towering marble pillar, carved with runes of fate and really unsubtle cherub motifs—you’re greeted by a glowing crystal screen pulsing with your name in delicate cursive. The calligraphy sparkles with a soft lavender hue, but the formal tone of it might as well scream: NO PRESSURE, RIGHT?

Hovering in the air beside it is a painfully pink folder. It levitates just at eye level, flipping lazily in the air like it’s bored. Then like it’s finally acknowledging your presence it zips forward and plops itself into your hands with a theatrical flourish. The corners curl slightly, as if the folder itself is judging you.

You swallow hard. Inside: the target file.

Subject: Final Assignment – Match 143-B

Status: Mortal Realm, Earth Sector #0312

Difficulty: Advanced (Emotionally Complicated)

Tools Provided:

• 1x Standard-Issue Bow

• 3x Heart Arrows (Use sparingly)

• 1x Identity Charm (Single-use disguise)

Goal: Complete a Perfect Match.

Restrictions: Do not interfere with mortal emotion.

Critical Warning: Do NOT fall in love.

Your eyes pause. That last part is underlined twice. A chill tiptoes down your spine, cold despite the golden glow.

You flip the page and freeze. The name on the assignment file flashes up like a punch to the stomach: Geum Seong Je.

You blink. No fucking way. It couldn’t be. Him? Of all people?

Your pulse goes from flutter to full-on bongo drum solo. Every nerve sparks alive. You remember that name. You remember the eyes, those glasses he wears, the way he said your fake Earth name like it mattered. You remember the trouble it nearly caused during Match 45-Z, when you maybe lingered a little too long, maybe watched him punch dudes on the corner of some aesthetic café more than strictly necessary.

Just as you're spiraling into an emotional black hole, a scribbled note catches your attention, inked in sparkly red and underlined in glitter like a warning in lipstick:

“Try not to get distracted by him this time. You do remember what happened with Match 45-Z, right?”

— Sincerely, Aphrodite 💋

Rude.

You bite your lip, trying not to smile. Classic Aphrodite. Dramatic as ever, but annoyingly right.

You close the folder and look down the rest of the hallway. At the end, a gilded archway gleams, already humming with portal magic. You can see the hazy outline of Earth beyond it—gray cityscapes, amber sunrises, and the flicker of candlelight in what might be a corner bookstore.

Your fingers tighten around the folder. Your wings ruffle once, as if bracing themselves. Your mission is simple: find the soul match, aim true, and don’t let your feelings get in the way.

But your gut is already telling you… this match? This one might break all the rules.

The portal chamber hums with ancient magic, a mix of soft harp music and the crackle of raw cosmic power. Golden rings spin overhead, like halos on espresso shots. Cupids-in-training mill around with jittery wings and last-minute pep talks. The air smells like rosewater and nerves.

Min wings you in the shoulder with a heart-shaped pillow, her expression somewhere between smug and motherly. “Girl, an all-girls school on Earth? You’re gonna combust the second someone offers you iced coffee and drama.”

You roll your eyes so hard it’s practically a flight maneuver, but a smile sneaks out anyway. There’s warmth here—deep, unshakeable warmth. The kind forged in glitter-drenched battle drills and wing-mending circles, in whispered gossip under celestial covers and synchronized eye-rolls at mandatory harp solos. These are your people. Your chaos cohort.

Hyeri sidles up, eyes serious, voice low. “Be careful, okay? Mortals don’t play fair.”

You tilt your chin, heroic and maybe a bit dramatic. You're playing it cool, like you're not already internally spiraling about the Geum Seong Je thing. “Please. I’ve read every mortal romance novel twice. I’m invincible.”

Min snorts like a disbelieving goddess. “That’s exactly what Match 77 said before she caught feelings for a barista who gave her oat milk unprompted.”

Okay, that’s fair.

But before you can lob back a snarky comeback or, y'know, beg to switch missions, the magic flares.

The scroll in your hand glows hot. The Identity Charm snaps into action. There's a rush of light, a cool blue and white color and your wings dissolve into nothing, feather by feather, like snowflakes on a summer sidewalk. The folder seals itself and disappears in a puff of glitter that smells like cotton candy and impending doom.

You barely have time to breathe.

The marble floor beneath your feet gives out like someone pulled a trapdoor in reality. The world tips. You're falling.

It’s not like a mortal fall—this is cleaner, sharper, like being sliced from one realm to another. Time and space whirl into a tunnel of color and stars and ancient lyrics you can’t quite remember. Your heartbeat tries to match the rhythm but fails. You clutch the charm against your chest like it might anchor you to something real.

Landing in the mortal realm isn’t exactly smooth.

You crash into Earth’s atmosphere with a sparkly thud, like a meteor that shops at glitter boutiques. There’s a rush of wind, a whoosh of ancient magic, and then darkness.

When you wake up, you’re sprawled on a twin mattress in a room roughly the size of a celestial storage closet. The overhead light flickers like it’s afraid of you. Your back is sore, your wings are gone, and you’re in a plaid skirt and an itchy mortal sweater vest that smells aggressively like static cling and someone else's lavender dryer sheets.

The school is just as chaotic in its elegance.

An all-girls private academy tucked into the misty mountains just outside Seoul. The buildings are old, like really old—stone corridors, arched windows, and whispers in the walls. It smells like freshly sharpened pencils, perfume that costs more than your wingspan, and centuries of untold tea just begging to be spilled.

This school might just be its own kind of battlefield.

You spend the first few days blending in like a socially awkward chameleon with your made up name “Park Yu Na”. You study how the girls talk—half gossip, half poetry. They say things like, “He liked my post but didn’t comment, which means he’s either emotionally repressed or already dating Soojin.” You take notes. You practice in the mirror. You get really good at pretending to be confused by physics and pretending to be way too interested in cafeteria menu changes.

The other students accept you. Mostly because you keep your head down, laugh at the right times, and fake being terminally obsessed with the school’s unofficial boy ranking list (you’re sorry, but "Hotness Olympics" shouldn’t have its own spreadsheet).

But deep down? You’re bored. Bored like only an undercover divine being who hasn’t shot a heart arrow in five days can be.

Because where is your target?

Where is Geum Seong Je?

You check the scroll every night in the bathroom stall with the best Wi-Fi signal. The little golden map still blinks. Still shows he’s nearby. But no name, no photo, no beacon. Just a pulsing dot that refuses to move past “You’re close. Wait.”

You consider launching an arrow at random, just to see what happens. But Aphrodite's “DO NOT FALL IN LOVE” warning plays on loop in your brain like a cursed ringtone.

It’s not until Friday afternoon, halfway through a rainy music class, that the air finally shifts.

Your hands grip the rusted rooftop railing, metal biting into your palms. The clouds overhead twist like they're holding their breath. And below you, chaos dances.

Seong Je stands in the middle of the alley like he owns it, blood on his knuckles, defiance in his spine. The kind of boy mortals write poetry about and then immediately regret dating. His shirt’s half-untucked, his lip split and already healing with the stubborn pride of someone who’s been through worse and decided to smile anyway like he is enjoying it.

The two guys flanking him—also in uniform, also bloodied—look like they just realized this isn’t going to end well for them.

And they're right. Because Seong Je doesn’t hesitate. He swings.

It’s fast, brutal, controlled. His fists speak their own language—one of warning, maybe history, or don’t touch what’s mine kinda. You recognize it. Not because you’ve seen it in your training, but because something deep and ancient in you responds to it.

He moves like a storm.

And yet when he looks up after he finishes beating up the two men, when his eyes land on you, everything stops. Like the world hit pause just for him to breathe in your presence. He freezes, for a second.

Then the corner of his mouth quirks up in a slow, knowing smirk. The kind that says trouble recognizes trouble.

“Who are you?” he calls out, voice edged like a switchblade and smooth like honey-drenched sin. A cigarette dangles from his fingers, half-lit. His uniform blazer draped like a cape, and one side of his lip is bruised. He is the very image of “do not engage.”

Your scroll lied. This is not a soul match. This is a slow-motion disaster.

Because Seong Je isn't some innocent mortal with tragic eyes and a soft heart. He’s not waiting for love. He’s the top dog of Ganghak High. Part of the Union—a syndicate of student delinquents with iron knuckles and loyalty tattoos. The kind of group that writes their homework in blood and uses lockers like coffins.

“You spying?” he asks, tone amused, but there’s something sharp under it. “Or just lost, angel?”

You flinch, not physically. Just internally. He said angel. A coincidence, probably. A joke. Right? It is.. I guess.

You force yourself to speak. “I-I’m not spying. I just.. needed some air.”

“On a rooftop. With eyes that look like they’ve seen gods.”

He blows out smoke. It coils upward, brushing the invisible string between you.

Your heart is not beating fast because of him. It’s the altitude. The weather. Definitely not the way his voice wraps around your name like he already owns it.

You should leave. You have to leave. This is not what Cupid agents do. This is not how you pass a field exam. This is exactly how Match 77 ended up crying on a Vespa in Milan.

But you don’t move. Because something in your chest has clicked out of place.

Just down below, Seong Je doesn’t look away. Maybe he remembers you too.

˚₊ ꒰ა ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The sky is bruised with clouds and insomnia. It’s just past midnight when you sneak out of your dorm.

You slip out of the dormitory around 12:15 a.m., hoodie over your head and anxiety practically bouncing off your sneakers. The scroll won’t stop pulsing. The identity charm is hot against your chest. You haven’t slept in two nights and your celestial brain is short-circuiting over this stupid, emotionally-complicated mortal.

You need food. Sugar. Instant noodles. Maybe something deep-fried and emotionally supportive.

So you make your way to the neighborhood convenience store—the kind that hums under flickering fluorescent lights and smells like squid chips and low-stakes rebellion.

The 24-hour convenience store glows like a portal at the end of the empty street. It buzzes softly, like it’s trying to stay awake with you. Seoul’s night air is cool, humming with traffic in the distance and the quiet loneliness that only creeps in during mortal after-hours.

You push open the glass door. The bell above the frame jingles. Just like that. There he is.

Leaning against the counter like the universe owes him a favor. Messy hair, his back half-turned, the cold light painting shadows on his face. He's dressed in black, again. Hoodie, jacket, a silver chain just barely peeking out from under his collar. He’s holding a pack of cigarettes in one hand and glaring at the clerk like the guy just insulted his ancestors.

He hasn’t seen you yet. Well you could back out and go to another convenience store, or you could pretend you’re here for tampons and run, or just teleport. No, wait. You’re mortal. Too late. He turns around to face you.

You froze at the spot. His eyes lock on yours and he recognizes you immediately.

“You stalking me?” He says it flatly, like it’s a fact. Not a question. While pocketing the cigarettes like he's daring you to say something about it.

You force a laugh, totally casual, definitely not panicking and definitely gonna pretend you don’t recognize him. Even though your stomach just did a backflip. “...No?” You wince at how unconvincing that sounds. You walk past him to grab the honey butter chips on the shelf.

He doesn't smile, but he doesn’t look away either. He leans a little against the counter like he has all the time in the world and nowhere better to be. The clerk behind the register is so tense you think he might actually burst into confetti.

He cocks an eyebrow. You hate how good he looks under this cursed lighting. “So it’s just a coincidence you’re here. Alone. At 12:17 A.M. In the exact same store I’m in.”

“I just wanted honey butter chips.” You hold up a bag like it’s holy proof of your innocence. Your hand is literally shaking. Not because you’re scared. Just match jitters. Totally normal.

He narrows his eyes. Then smirks. “Park Yu Na, right? Transfer girl from the fancy dead-girl school up the hill.”

Your mouth goes dry. How does he know your name? You haven’t told anyone. “You know my name?”

“You’re loud.” He shrugs, already walking past you, brushing your shoulder with a heat that makes your skin buzz. “And you stare. A lot.”

You spin to protest, but he’s already at the drink fridge. Grabs a coke with casual aggression. “You always walk around alone this late?” he says over his shoulder, tone unreadable. “This street is not exactly safe after midnight. Even for angels in hoodie.”

That word again. Angel. Is it a joke? Does he know? Is the veil slipping or is he just... uncannily observant and unfairly hot?

You clear your throat. “Are you always this dramatic in front of carbonated drinks?”

He snorts. For the first time, it feels like his guard lowers a millimeter. Just enough to see something flicker in those storm-colored eyes.

He pays in cash, doesn’t wait for change. As he passes—the scent of tobacco and danger trailing behind him, he pauses at the door. “See you around, transfer girl.” then he glances back over his shoulder, “Try not to get caught staring next time.”

The bell jingles. He’s gone. And you’re standing in the snack aisle with a bag of honey butter chips, a cursed scroll vibrating in your pocket, and a heart that’s beating like it just failed an ethics test.

˚₊ ꒰ა ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s the next day. Seoul’s sun is doing her most, all golden and dramatic like she knows something’s about to happen.

You’ve tracked Seong Je halfway across the city using a very not-suspicious divine scroll hidden in your mortal physics textbook.

He’s walking through a narrow side street, earbuds in, head down, looking like he’s halfway between ditching class and starting a turf war.

And beside him was your opportunity: a girl from his school. She’s walking his way. She’s cute, definitely crushable, and technically a match-compatible soul. This is your chance.

You duck behind a vending machine. The divine bow shimmers into your hand, cloaked from mortal eyes. You notch one of your three heart arrows. This time, you’re focused. Calm and unshakable.

This is it. The shot. Cupid's gonna be proud. You’re gonna make the match, pass the exam, and forget about that smirk he gave you at 12:17 A.M.

You draw back the bowstring and just as you release the string, The girl sidesteps. Right at the last second.

And you realize, with the slow-mo horror of a Greek tragedy, you just fired an enchanted love arrow directly at Seong Je’s hoodie. And the universe, because she’s petty, makes him turn around.

Your arrow whizzes past his cheek like a divine mosquito.

He catches a flicker of pink light. His eyes narrow.

You dive behind a recycling bin like a gremlin with poor decision-making skills. The bow vanishes just as he stalks toward the alley where you definitely are not hiding.

Too late. He turns the corner and stops. Arms crossed. Eyebrows raised. Confusion and suspicion battling on his stupidly handsome face. “You,” he says. “You’re literally following me again.”

You blink up at him like a raccoon caught with a cursed glowstick. “What? No. I-I was just… checking on the structural integrity of this recycling bin.”

“With jazz hands?” he continued.

You look down. Yep. Your fingers are still twitching from the leftover spellcast. Glittery.

You clear your throat and try again. “You’ve got a very punchable aura, okay? I needed to make sure you weren’t going to ruin the vibe of this alley.”

He blinks. Then he chuckles. Actually chuckles. Like, deep and low and unfair. Like someone just whispered a secret to his ribcage. “You’re the weirdest girl I’ve ever met.”

You scramble to stand, heart thumping like a drumline inside your ribs. “You haven’t met enough girls.”

His smile—fucking hell. It’s half amused, and entirely illegal under celestial law.

The sun hits him just right. You hate it. You love it. His whole face glows like a problem you want to write essays about.

For a second, he just looks at you. “Park Yu Na…” he says slowly, like he’s tasting it. “Whatever planet you’re from, stay on it. It’s entertaining.”

He turns and walks away, hands in his pockets, leaving you standing there with one less arrow and a matchless mission.

You have two shots left and also maybe a problem.

Because your heart? Well It’s probably not listening to the scroll anymore.

You return to school like nothing happened. No bow. No arrow. No rooftop flashbacks or inconveniently attractive gang leaders in your dreams.

Just you, “Park Yu Na,” the totally average, definitely-not-a-divine-being student from Class 2-B, sipping banana milk and trying not to panic.

You slip into the last class of the day, but it’s too late. Ms. Hwang, your history teacher (and mortal stress monster), pauses mid-lecture and narrows her eyes.

A chill runs down your spine like someone just cursed your GPA.

After class, she calls you over. Her tone? Ice. Her vibe? Well, betrayed middle-aged warrior queen.

“Miss Park,” she says, voice low and stern. “I checked the attendance log. You’ve missed four periods today. Without a pass. Without explanation.”

You try to improvise. “I-uh-got lost…in my thoughts?”

Well she does not laugh. Instead, she hands you a slip of shame-colored paper with nine bold letters at the top: D-E-T-E-N-T-I-O-N.

“You’ll be cleaning the gymnasium. Alone. After class.”

“Maybe while you’re scrubbing the floor, you’ll remember how to stay in school.”

You nod solemnly, clutching the paper like it personally offended your ancestors.

As you walk away, a single thought runs through your head: “Cupids, give me strength.”

After school, the hallways empty out like the soul of a group project. Laughter echoes from outside where normal students are escaping into freedom, phones out, uniforms unbuttoned, homework forgotten.

But not you.

Nope.

You push open the creaking gymnasium doors, and the smell of floor polish and faint embarrassment hits you like a divine slap.

The gym is big and echoey—high ceilings with faded championship banners drooping like tired ghosts. Dust motes spin in the slanted rays of golden hour sunlight. The silence is so loud, your footsteps sound like drumbeats.

You grab a mop from the corner, roll up your sleeves, and start scrubbing the floor like it’s responsible for your emotional damage. The echo of your own footsteps is your only company. Well—your footsteps, and the squeaky wheels of the mop bucket that is definitely not enchanted but you desperately wish it was so you could clean this place in one divine snap.

There’s something weirdly therapeutic about it. The repetitive motion. The squeak of rubber shoes. The way the sun slowly drips down the walls, turning everything a soft amber.

You curse the teacher who noticed your disappearance. Curse the scroll. Curse Seong Je and his stupidly dodgeable presence. You’re half-convinced the gods are watching this like a telenovela.

“Clean the gym,” they said.

“No powers,” they insisted.

“Reflect on your actions,” they scolded.

You're reflecting, alright. You’re reflecting on how incredibly not smooth you looked eating floor after that arrow fumble.

You’re halfway through grumbling about Seong Je ruining your life when you hear it. A sound that is barely there. The door creaking open.

You straighten your posture, heart skipping. “Sorry, gym’s closed,” you call out, not looking.

“Didn’t ask,” a voice replies. It was low, unbothered, a little amused and a little TOO familiar.

You spin around, mop still in hand. And there he is, Geum Seong Je. In your school gym. Like some delinquent prince who got lost on his way to a street fight and decided to visit your personal hell instead.

He's wearing that same loose uniform jacket, slouched over one shoulder like the laws of gravity don’t apply to him. His hands are in his pockets. His hair's messy, like he either just woke up or just won a fight.

Your throat goes dry. “What are you doing here?” you hiss, trying to look casual while holding a mop like a confused magical girl.

He shrugs, walking in like he owns the place. His eyes flick lazily across the gym, then settle on you. “Was in the neighborhood.”

“The neighborhood?” you echo. “This is a private girls’ school. You’re not even allowed on the sidewalk.”

“Guess I’m breaking more than just hearts now.”

You nearly drop the mop on the floor. He smirks. Like he knows. Like he’s teasing you. Like this is a game and you’re already losing—dang it, he is right.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you say again, but quieter now. The gym feels smaller with him in it. Warmer. Unbearably so.

He takes another step forward. His boots squeak softly on the waxed floor. There’s something unreadable in his gaze now—no smirk, no jokes. Just this quiet, curious look.

“You looked pissed earlier,” he says. “Didn’t like seeing you that mad. Figured I’d check on you.”

Your brain short-circuits. Because Geum Seong Je—Ganghak’s top dog, Mr. I smoke under streetlights and fear nothing—is here. In your school. After hours. Because of you.

“So you stalked me this time,” you say, desperate to deflect the panic in your chest.

“Maybe,” he says. “But at least I didn’t bring a bow.”

Your face heats up. You want to crawl into a locker and never return. “I wasn’t trying to shoot you,” you mutter, returning to the floor like it’s safer to mop than to feel things.

There’s silence. Then a soft footsteps. He walks closer. Closer still. Until you feel him behind you—close enough that your heartbeat does the Macarena.

“You’re weird,” he says again, voice quieter this time. “But you’re not boring.”

And then, just like that he’s gone. Like the smoke from his cigarettes. Like the ghost of a rooftop stare.

You’re left in the gym, mop in hand, floor half-cleaned, heart absolutely losing its damn freaking mind. And outside, the sun finally sets.

Later That Evening. The gym smells like sweat and lemon disinfectant, and your limbs feel like noodles left too long in boiling water. You mop through the final square foot of parquet flooring like a war veteran scrubbing trauma into the floorboards.

As the last light fades behind the bleachers, you drag yourself toward the hallway—sore, hungry, and still trying to figure out what just happened. Did Seong Je really show up? Did he say he was worried? Nah, there’s no way he will be worried about you. Your thoughts are full of ONE incredibly illegal boy with sinfully good looking face who definitely should not have shown up today, but somehow did. You try to shake it off. You’re a celestial agent. A divine intern. A professional. You are here for one reason, and that reason is not the slow curve of Seong Je’s grin.

So why is your heart doing pirouettes?

You make your way to the third-floor corridor where the dorm lockers are—dimly lit, quiet, that weird echo of sneakers and whispers long gone. Your school bag’s right where you left it, tucked neatly inside Locker #413. You yank open the creaky metal door and then you see it.

Something’s there. Sitting right on top of your books, perfectly centered, like it’s meant to be noticed.

It’s not flashy. No glitter, no love note, no magical sparkle. Just a single bottle of banana milk. Your favorite brand. Chilled. Still sweating from the cold. With a folded scrap of paper taped to the side, messily ripped from a math workbook.

Your heart stutters. Your breath catches. Your fingers feel too clumsy as you peel it off and unfold it, revealing just three short words in jagged, all-caps handwriting:

“EAT SOMETHING, WEIRDO.”

— SJ

Because the handwriting is sharp and angular—like someone who doesn’t write things down unless it’s detention-worthy.

Because he watched you mop a gym for an hour and said nothing, then vanished. Because you know. You just know. Your fingers tighten around the note.

The banana milk feels like it’s pulsing with meaning. Like this silly, stupid can is the heaviest thing in the world.

You glance around the hallway—but it’s empty. Silent. Like the world is holding its breath.

Somewhere outside, the wind picks up. A door creaks. The universe winks and for a moment, you’re not a Cupid on assignment.

You’re not “Park Yu Na.” You’re just a girl in a hallway with a fluttering chest and the tiniest, quietest smile. You tuck the note into your skirt pocket.

Hold the banana milk like it’s sacred. And walk back to your dorm room in a daze, head full of nothing but echoes of a smirk, a voice like honey and knives, and three handwritten words that shouldn’t mean anything but somehow already do. You’re supposed to be making a match. Instead, it feels like you’re the one being hunted, by a boy who doesn’t believe in rules. A boy with a lighter in his pocket and danger in his smile. A boy who just left a piece of your heart in your locker.

˚₊ ꒰ა ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The Next Morning. You wake up still clutching the banana milk like it’s your emotional support potion. The note’s under your pillow. Your dreams were a weird montage of gym floors, smirking gang leaders, and mop handles turning into bows.

You try to play it cool at breakfast. Try not to replay the moment he looked at you like you were a puzzle wrapped in glitter and defiance. Try not to think about the way the note still smells faintly like cigarette smoke and bubblegum.

Try not to feel anything. You successfully failed in it.

By the time second period rolls around, you’re fully zoning out, doodling tiny bows in the margins of your literature notebook when Sun Hee (your mortal friend) slides into the seat beside you like she’s carrying government secrets.

She leans in, eyes wide. “You will not BELIEVE what I just heard.”

You blink, brain definitely already malfunctioning. “Is it about me? Wait, is it about Seong Je? Wait—no. Don’t tell me.” You told yourself.

She tells you anyway. Because best friends are built for betrayal. “So apparently one of the girls from Class 3-A saw this dude sneak into the school yesterday after class. Tall. Wearing a glasses. Definitely not regulation uniform. She said he climbed over the west wall and bribed the janitor with a carton of Marlboros and a packet of Choco Pies.” You drop your pen on your desk after Sun Hee stopped talking.

Sun Hee’s eyes narrow. “Why do you look like someone just slapped you with destiny?”

You stare at your desk, brain buffering.

Because of course. Of course Seong Je didn’t walk through the front gates like a normal person. Of course he scaled a wall like a delinquent Spider-Man and bribed the janitor like it was nothing.

Your mind flashes back to last night: the casual way he leaned in the doorway. The perfect timing. He didn’t stumble across you.

He planned it. He knew where to find you.

That’s when it hits you—harder than any arrow you’ve ever fired, he asked around. He probably knew exactly what room you’d be cleaning. Probably watched the sunset from some rooftop just waiting for everyone else to leave. Probably dropped the banana milk into your locker after you went to shower.

And now? Now your heart is a war zone and your face is 90% blush.

Sun Hee pokes your cheek. “Are you okay? You look like you're having a slow-motion anime realization.”

You shove your notebook into your bag, whispering under your breath, “I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Because this was supposed to be an assignment. A mission. No interference. No EMOTIONS.

And yet somewhere in between missed shots and banana milk, Seong Je has gone from target to threat level swoon.

And worst of all? You only have two arrows left and you can’t waste those two for now. You can’t fail.

Classes had just ended, and while some students headed back to their dorms, others left campus to take a walk or do their own thing. You gave a wave to Sun Hee and Mi Rae as they made their way to their dormitory, while you stepped off campus, planning to visit that bookstore you had discovered during a stroll through the neighborhood.

A few minutes ago, it started to rain when you got out of the book store. Not the gentle, romantic kind either—the full-blown "sky had a breakdown" kind. Sheets of water hammer the pavement as thunder rolls low, like the heavens are warning you that you're about to do something very stupid.

Which checks out. You duck into the nearest open place: a tiny, grimy convenience store with flickering lights and a faint smell of wet cardboard and boiled egg.

You're soaked, shivering, and very, very aware of the fact that your divine assignment is still very unfinished.

That’s when you see him, sitting at the back ramen bar, hood down, hair damp from the rain, sleeves pushed up. He’s slouched like the chair offended him, one knee bouncing. The steam from his instant noodles curls around him like smoke around a dragon.

You freeze in the aisle, half-hidden behind a rack of seaweed snacks. But it’s too late. He sees you.

His lips pull into a lazy smirk. “Sit. I don’t bite.”

You arch a brow. Your hair drips onto your collar. “Liar.”

Still, your legs betray you. You sit. Across from him. Because there are no other open seats.

He eyes your soaked sweater vest and plaid skirt like it’s some kind of comedy show. “Do you always show up looking like a drowned honor student?”

You look down at your soggy uniform, then deadpan, “Only on days when fate curses me with your presence.”

He laughs through his nose, takes another bite. then slurps the noodles.

You fold your arms, cold and snarky. He’s warm and smirking. It’s unfair.

“Why do you always glare like that?” he asks, mouth half-full. “You look like you’re about to report me to the principal.”

You rest your chin on your palm. “Only if the principal takes bribes in cigarette packs and misplaced rage.”

That does it. He chokes. Mid-slurp. Noodles halfway to his mouth. He coughs, actually startled, and you blink, watching him hack up his pride as he slams his chopsticks down and wheezes out, “You–what?”

You blink innocently. “Sorry, too much truth?”

And then he laughs, really laughs. Loud, full-body, real laugh. Not the smug chuckle. Not the polite scoff.

This one? This is real. Teeth. That gummy smile he has. Head tilting back slightly, like your words genuinely tripped him up.

And your heart? Your divine, professionally detached, this-is-just-an-assignment heart? Yeah, that bitch goes: oh no.

Because in that one laugh, you can see the boy behind the title. Not “Top Dog of Ganghak.” Not “Target 143-B.” Just a guy. Eating instant noodles at 11 P.M in a convenience store that smells like despair and bad life choices.

And the way he’s looking at you now? Like you caught him off guard.

He taps his chopsticks on the table, leaning forward just a bit. “Park Yu Na, huh? You’re not as soft as you look.”

You smirk, mimicking his posture. “And you’re not as scary as you act.”

He hums at that. His foot bumps yours under the table—definitely not by accident.

Lightning cracks outside.

But inside? There’s a strange kind of truce.

Steam rising between you. Warmth spreading slowly and beneath it all, that one last arrow still burns quietly against your spine—like it’s waiting. Like it knows: You’re in trouble.

˚₊ ꒰ა ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s a lazy Sunday, and the city is humming like a half-sung lullaby. Neon lights haven’t fully flickered on yet, and the sky is a soft, pale gray—clouds hanging low like the world’s keeping a secret.

You didn’t mean to run into him.

You were just grabbing mandu from that tiny shop by Hongdae Station with your friend Sun Hee, the one that smells like heaven and deep-fried regret.

Just walking. Minding your own divine business. Hoodie up, earphones in. Mortal camouflage at full power. That’s when you spotted him.

He’s dressed in that casual, slouchy way that still somehow screams danger—black cargo pants, black hoodie, chain peeking out. The kind of boy your mother would tell you to avoid but your heart writes poetry about anyway.

He’s not alone. A few other boys hover nearby—also in black, shoulders heavy with Union swagger. One’s laughing. Another’s passing a soda can. Someone’s talking to him. Every single one of them radiates that “we-run-this-side-of-Seoul” energy.

And yet—he stands out, out of all men in this country. Even when he’s silent. Even when he’s doing nothing at all.

Leaning against a railing like it’s a throne. Cigarette in one hand, loose and forgotten. Expression unreadable. Hair ruffled—ahh fuck. Eyes sharp beneath those glasses.

You panic. Not because you’re scared. But because something in your stomach flips the second you see him. So you do what any undercover magical agent would do: You pretend not to see him. Head down. Hoodie up.

You cross the street like he’s just any random boy, you would stumble upon to. Just anyone. Like your heart didn’t do the cha-cha the last time he called you “weird.”

You’re walking through an alley shortcut behind a fried chicken place when Sun Hee stops to check her phone. You didn't even look up to take a glance at him, just kept your head down.

But he’s not listening on the others. Because his eyes are on you. The second you look up, he sees you and for a breathless, shattering second, the whole street slows.

When Sun Hee stops checking her phone, she drags you along with her. Your feet keep walking—barely. You force your expression to stay blank. Pretend you don’t see him. Pretend your heart didn’t just short-circuit. Pretend you didn’t replay that banana milk note seventeen times last night.

Just turns his head slowly and tracks your steps like he’s memorizing your path. Like you’re the only thing in his line of sight. Like everything else around him—the noise, the gang, the world—has gone fuzzy. And even though you’re not looking straight at him, you feel it.

The weight of his gaze. The invisible string pulling taut between you in that crowded street.

The fluorescent lights above the little shop buzz faintly, casting a sleepy warmth on the steaming trays of odeng and the rows of bottled drinks lined up like soldiers.

You and Sun Hee squeeze into the corner booth with barely enough space for your trays and elbows. She’s halfway through a sweet potato hotdog and mid-rant about your group project partners being “criminally unserious.”

You mostly nod, trying to focus, but your mind’s already drifting again—thinking about arrows and assignments and a certain boy with bed eyes—help and that annoying smirk that lingers in your thoughts way too long.

Sun Hee finally leans back with a sigh, tapping her chopsticks against her empty bowl. “You sure you’ll be okay getting home by yourself?”

“It’s fine,” you say with a weak smile. “Just need to catch a cab. I’ll text you when I’m back.”

She zips up her pink hoodie and gives you one last suspicious squint, then pulls you into a hug that smells like tteokbokki and vanilla shampoo. “You’ve been acting weird lately. Like… staring into space, sighing dramatically, blinking slow.”

“I blink at a totally normal speed.”

“Liar.”

“Text me, or I’m calling the cops. I mean it.”

You laugh, squeezing her tighter before she jogs off into the crowd, waving with both hands like you’re shipping off to war. Her voice echoes faintly, “BYE, YUNA!! DON’T GET KIDNAPPED!!”

The shop quiets after she’s gone. The crowd thins. The warmth fades.

You step out into the street, pulling your jacket tighter around you. The night has turned cold, the rain thinning into mist. Your phone refuses to load the taxi app.

You’re standing alone beneath a flickering streetlamp, phone held high like it’s a prayer to the cab gods. But it’s late, and the Seoul sky is dark and sulky. Every car zooms past without slowing. The cold has started to creep under your cardigan, and your patience is two seconds from cracking.

You sigh, stepping closer to the curb. That’s when the growl of an engine pulls up beside you. Your breath catches before you even see him.

And there he is. Seong Je, in a black windbreaker and helmet slung on his wrist. His eyes meet yours beneath the glow of the streetlight, unreadable—but curious. Annoyed. Maybe a little amused. “What, you just gonna stand here ‘til sunrise?”

You stiffen, trying for dignity despite the shivers in your knees. “I’m waiting for a cab.”

He glances up the street. Empty. Predictable. “No cabs come here this late. You’ll freeze your wings off.”

Your stomach tightens at wings. You almost ask if he knows—but his tone is still casual. Teasing. “Romantic,” you say, voice dry. “I was hoping a rich vampire would adopt me.”

He swings a leg off the bike, kicks the stand down.

He jerks his chin toward the alley. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”

You have self-respect, training, immortality, and standards. “You’re insane if you think I’m getting on that death trap.”

He shrugs like the universe bores him. “Then walk.”

And he’s already straddling the bike again like he knows you’re going to fold. He starts strapping on his helmet like this is already decided. Like he’s giving you a choice that isn’t one. Like he already won.

You look at the empty road stretching behind you. Then at him. The way his hair curls slightly at his temple. The glint of mischief in his eyes. The open space on the bike.

You curse your dignity and climb on. The leather of the seat is cool beneath you. Your legs tremble as you swing them over—either from the cold or the fact that you’re now effectively hugging a delinquent with a smile that ruins lives.

You don’t look at him when he holds out the spare helmet, and he doesn’t comment when your hands hover—just slightly—before they land on his waist.

You hesitated at first. His voice, low and unbothered, “You’ll fall off if you don’t hold on.”

You grumble under your breath. “Cocky much?” Still, your arms move. Wrap slowly around his waist, and that’s when your heart decides to do parkour. Full flips. Vaulting emotional hurdles.

Landing in full chaos mode.

Because his back is warm. His breath visible in the cold night. And with this closeness, you can feel his laughter when he mutters, “Thought so.”

His windbreaker is warm. His body is even warmer. “This is a mistake.” You think. But your fingers curl around him anyway.

The engine growls to life like a living thing, loud and unapologetic, and your heart immediately launches into a parkour routine you did not authorize.

Wind screams past your ears. Your hair lashes wildly, and the city becomes a blur of neon and shadows. You hold tighter. You have to. For safety.

The city streaks by in blurs of gold and blue. Your hands fist in the fabric of his jacket.

For a moment you forgot just for a second, that you’re a Cupid with rules. With boundaries. With two last arrows that absolutely should not end up in your own ribcage.

Because right now, you're just a girl on a bike, heart loud in her ribs, flying through a night that feels like the beginning of something you were never meant to have.

And maybe that’s why it feels so good.

˚₊ ꒰ა ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Just two nights later, you were just trying to clear your head.

The mission’s falling apart. Your bow’s been glitching and the feelings you’re not supposed to have? Yeah, they’re starting to tangle around your ribs like ivy you can’t rip off.

So you took the long way back to the dorms, past the neon signs and fried food carts, blending into the hum of Seoul’s nightlife. Hoodie up, head down, pretending that everything’s fine.

You pause outside a bookstore, pretending to check your phone, when you hear it, footsteps. Then a hand wraps gently, just barely, around your wrist. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to stop you.

You turn, and he’s there. Seong Je. Backlit by a flickering streetlamp. His shadow stretching long across the pavement. One hand shoved into the pocket of his jacket, the other still holding you—loose, like he’s giving you a choice to pull away.

But you don’t.

He leans in, close enough that you can smell the ghost of smoke on his collar, that soft scent of citrus and street asphalt and something unplaceable—something him.

His eyes catch yours, and they are so, so dark. He says it. “You trying to disappear on me, Yu Na?”

Soft enough that it feels more dangerous than if he’d yelled. It’s not a question, not really. It’s a dare wrapped in velvet.

Your throat tightens. Your heartbeat goes sprinting somewhere north of logic. “I wasn’t–” you start, but your voice catches like a record scratch. “I wasn’t disappearing. I just…”

He quirks an eyebrow. Just a little. The tiniest smirk threatening the corner of his mouth.

“You saw me that day on the street,” he says, voice calm, eyes unreadable. “I was with people,” he adds, tone casual, but there's a flicker of something raw in his eyes. “Didn’t think I had to call your name just to get you to look at me.”

You feel your cheeks heat, the shame crawling up like fire under your skin. “I was in a hurry–”

“Bullshit.”

Your breath hitches. He steps just a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours. You’re cornered now—physically, emotionally, celestially. There’s a wall at your back, him at your front, and nowhere to run that won’t take your heart with it.

“You looked scared,” he says quieter now. Like it costs him something to say it. “Not like... scared of me. Just scared. Like you were running from something.”

He pauses. His jaw flexes once. “I don’t like when people run.”

For a second, his expression cracks. You see it: the flicker of something real. Concern, maybe. Interest, also maybe. Something soft that has no business living behind a gaze like his.

Your lips part to answer, but the words don’t come. Because he’s still watching. Because the world is holding its breath around you.

And then he lets go of your wrist. Slowly. Like he didn’t really want to. Like it meant something.

He glances down the alley once, then back at you. “You shouldn’t walk alone at night,” he mutters. “Especially not in this part of town.”

He starts to turn, pulling up his hood. Then stops. Looks back at you one last time. “If you’re gonna run, Yu Na… run toward me next time.”

And then he’s gone. Just like that. Into the night like a whisper you’ll replay a thousand times. You’re left staring at empty space, heart pounding, hands shaking, soul spiraling and suddenly, nothing about this mission feels simple anymore.

˚₊ ꒰ა ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The school bell rings like it’s mocking you. Clear, loud, and entirely too cheerful for someone who just had a borderline soul-shaking encounter with Seoul’s most beautiful delinquent boy in a back alley under questionable lighting conditions.

You sit down at your desk. You pull out your notebook. You take a deep breath. “It’s not a crush,” you whisper to yourself like a girl possessed.

Sun Hee glances over from her seat beside you and squints. “You okay?”

“Fine. Totally fine, like super fine.”

Sun Hee raises an eyebrow. You are absolutely not fine. Because every time you blink, you can still see him. The way his voice wrapped around your name like some wish. The way he said, “Run toward me.” The nerve of that line. The audacity. The drama.

Your pencil snaps in half. You try to refocus. You write in your notebook:

• Match 143-B

• Geum Seong Je

• Objective: Perfect Match (not with self. OBVIOUSLY.)

You underline it aggressively. Then underline it again.

Because this is your Final Field Exam. This is your divine responsibility. You are not just a girl. You are not “Park Yu Na.” You are a Cupid. A professional. A winged, sparkly, arrow-wielding being of sacred romantic efficiency. You are not falling for your target.

Except. Your fingers drift to the pocket of your blazer where the banana milk note still sits, slightly crumpled. You haven’t thrown it away. You should. You know you should. But you don’t.

Instead, you stare out the window as the teacher drones on about equations, and your brain replays the way his voice dropped half a register when he said your name. The way he looked at you like he could see straight through the mortal illusion, like he knew you were lying.

You clench your jaw. “Nope,” you whisper. “Not a crush. Just an obstacle. A very... annoyingly symmetrical obstacle with cheekbones carved by petty gods.”

You look down at your notebook again. You’ve accidentally doodled little hearts around his name. You slam it shut.

“Girl,” Mi Rae whispers from the row behind you, leaning forward. “Are you okay? You look like you're losing a mental battle with your own hormones.” You forced a laugh, then shook your head in response.

The bell rings. Class ends—finally. You pack your books like they’ve personally betrayed you, slam your locker shut, and stomp down the hallway with the focused fury of someone definitely not in love.

You don’t see him that day and it shouldn’t bother you.

But it does. And that bothers you even more.

You are not catching feelings. This is not a crush. You are going to finish this mission, shoot your arrows, match him with some nice emotionally available human, and be done.

You are a Cupid, and Cupids do not fall in love. Right?

˚₊ ꒰ა ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You’re yanked without a single warning right out of your mortal hallway, mid-snack. Your banana milk explodes mid-air, freezing in space as you're teleported through a glittery wormhole of pink smoke and passive-aggressive harp music.

You blink and suddenly you're standing in a giant heart-shaped chamber, glowing with gold filigree and dangerous levels of scented candle energy.

Columns made of rose quartz. Floors of cloud marble. The ceiling? A living mural of every successful match in history, currently judging you.

At the far end of the chamber, lounging sideways on a throne upholstered in actual sunset? Aphrodite.

Wearing a white silk dress and ten feet of attitude. Perfect hair. Glass of wine. Eyeliner is sharp enough to end wars. “Yu Na,” she says, not looking up from her enchanted scroll, “darling… let’s talk.”

You smiled nervously. You are sweating. Celestially. “Hey, boss! You’re looking radiant as always. Like, wow. Is that a new aura or–”

“Save it.” She sips in her glass wine. “We need to discuss Match 143-B.”

Your soul flinches. “Oh! Yeah. Totally. I mean, everything is going great. Super smooth. No feelings involved.”

She finally looks up. One arched brow. A long pause. The room goes quiet. Even the portrait of Helen of Troy in the corner slowly turns her head like, “Girl, really?”

Aphrodite raises her scroll and begins reading out loud, “Excessive proximity to target. Unnecessary rooftop contact. Improper bow usage. Incomplete emotional barrier. Possible romantic attachment. Underlined. Twice.”

She lowers the scroll, folds her hands, and gives you that look, that divine, slow-burn, that mom-knows-you-screwed-up-but-wants-you-to-say-it gaze. “Yu Na. Sweetheart. Do you remember the number one rule?”

You wilt slightly. “Don’t… fall in love with the target.”

“Mmhm, and what do we not do?”

“…Catch feelings for the top dog of a high school gang while wearing a mortal disguise during our final exam?”

“Exactly! We do not do that.”

She sighs and leans back like you’ve aged her 300 years. “Do you know what happened the last time a Cupid fell for a mortal? We got Romeo and Juliet. Do you want Romeo and Juliet again? Because I don’t have the emotional bandwidth for that mess.”

“I-it’s not a crush! I’m just… emotionally confused because of his–! Nevermind.”

She narrows her eyes. “Yu Na, your arrows literally curled away from him mid-shot. You’re the only one in the department whose magic has romantic stage fright.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. You are toast. Celestial toast.

“You have 72 Earth hours to complete this assignment,” Aphrodite says, rising from her throne, heels clicking like judgment. “Or I pull you out and reassign the case. To Eros.”

You gasp. “Eros?? He once matched a squirrel with a lamppost!”

“And yet he doesn’t fall for his assignments.”

She waves a sparkly red finger. The scroll vanishes. The throne starts to fade. “Fix it. Or I will.”

“But what if–”

“Nope. Shhh.”

“But–”

“Shhh.”

The air swirls. Your vision goes blurry.

And just before you’re pulled back into the mortal world, you hear her final words echo through the golden mist, “And stop daydreaming about his stupid face. It’s unbecoming of a goddess.”

You wake up in class. Face down on your desk. Covered in a thin layer of glitter.

Mi Rae pokes you with her pen at the back. “You good?”

You turn your head to her, “No. Aphrodite’s gonna kill me.”

“Dude, what?”

The trees are in full bloom. Petals rain down like confetti for a wedding that hasn’t happened yet. Sun Hee and Mi Rae went to the ladies restroom for awhile leaving you alone in the corridor.

The air is warm, soft. It smells like sunshine, powdered chalk, and the lingering scent of sakura tea from the vending machine in the teacher’s lounge.

You’re watching from the second floor window. Your hand rests on the cool glass, but your heart? It’s burning.

Below, Seong Je stands by the main courtyard fountain, surrounded by a few students from another class. He’s still in uniform, half-unbuttoned shirt, his blazer thrown over his shoulder like he’s in a drama and knows it.

You see it.

The way the girls laugh a little too loud when he talks. The way one of them, Ji Hae, you think, with the long braids and overly shiny lip gloss—leans a bit too close, twirls her hair around her finger like it’s a spell.

And the worst part? He’s letting her. He’s not smirking. Not brushing her off. He’s listening. You can tell. He’s asking about you. Your pulse spikes. The Cupid in you wants to leap for joy. Target is showing interest. Receptive. Progress achieved. Initiate pairing sequence.

But the girl—the you you’re pretending not to be?She wants to curl up and disappear.

Because this should be a win. It should be a perfect step toward the match. You should be pulling out your last arrow, taking aim, and finalizing the assignment.

Instead…You feel like you’re choking on flower petals.

Each laugh from the girl beside him is a tiny dagger. Each glance he gives her, no matter how casual, feels like a betrayal your heart has no right to feel.

You shouldn’t care. You can’t care.

But you do. Because you know what his laugh sounds like up close now. You know how his voice drops when he’s being serious, how his shoulders tense when he’s trying not to show concern, how he calls you "Yu Na" like it means something.

And watching him, down there, in this picture-perfect postcard moment? Hurts.

A petal floats past your cheek. You swipe at it, too fast—angry at how delicate it all is.

Behind you, the empty classroom feels too quiet, too heavy. The world outside is all color and warmth. But you? You're stuck in grayscale.

You press your forehead against the window, whispering to yourself like it might make it true. “This is the job. That’s all. That’s all this is.”

Your fingers twitch near your bag. The bow's in there. So are the two arrows.

You could shoot her. Right now. Make them a perfect match. Seal the deal. End the mission.

But your hands won’t move. Instead, you just watch. As she laughs again, steps closer. As Seong Je finally lets out a small, tired smile—not the one he gives his gang boys, not the dangerous one from the alley, but something softer. Something rare.

And your heart breaks. Quietly. Completely. Like a blossom falling with no one to catch it.

˚₊ ꒰ა ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You clutch the bow tight, your fingers trembling just enough that you pretend it’s from the breeze.

The arrow glows faintly in your other hand, pale pink light pulsing like it knows what you're trying to do and isn’t happy about it.

Below, through the open roof gate, you can see the courtyard. Cherry blossoms still hang like a spell. Seong Je is standing near the vending machine, arms folded, head tilted as Ji Hae chats beside him again—bright, beaming, hopeful. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear like it’s rehearsed. Like she wants this to go somewhere.

It should work. It has to.

You take a shaky breath, nock the arrow, and draw the bowstring back. It hums under your grip. “This is the right choice,” you whisper. “This isn’t about me.”

Ji Hae is sweet. Smart. She’s the type who organizes classroom cleanup even when it’s not her turn. She’d be good for him. Ground him. Love him the way a mortal can.

And most importantly—she isn’t you. You close one eye, steady your aim, and took a deep breath. Jihae’s laugh rings out, warm and close.

You let go of the string. The arrow flies and then—it stops. Wait what—It fucking stopped mid-air. Like it slammed into an invisible wall.

The glow flickers then snaps back like a rubber band, missing both of them entirely and slamming into the side of the vending machine, where it fizzles out in a puff of smoke and divine sass.

You stare, breath caught in your throat. “No. No, no, no.”

You grab your bow tighter, scanning for anything that could’ve blocked the magic, but nothing’s there. Nothing logical, anyway.

The magic didn’t bounce because it was blocked. It bounced… because his heart wouldn’t open to her. He’s immune. Not to love. Just to everyone else. Even her. Even now.

You sag against the roof railing, heart pounding so hard it might break your ribs. “He’s not supposed to be immune. He’s human. He’s supposed to fall for someone.”

You look down again—and that’s when it happens. He looks up. Eyes sharp beneath those glasses, face unreadable. But you see the flicker of something like he felt the magic shift. Like he knows someone was watching. He sees you. Not clearly. You duck back too fast. But still. For a heartbeat, a flicker, a spark—you were connected.

And suddenly the weight of the two remaining arrows in your satchel feels unbearably heavy.

You have one last try. One last shot to finish this assignment.

But what if… the only one he could ever fall for is you?

And worse—what if you're already too far gone to stop it?

˚₊ ꒰ა ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You materialize inside Aphrodite’s private suite of chaos and charm: a place where silk drapes ripple with no wind, and heart-shaped clouds hover like bored interns.

The air smells like roses, vanilla lip gloss, and ancient power. Everything here glows. Even the floor is radiant, like walking on crushed starlight.

But nothing shines brighter or more threateningly than the goddess seated before you on a velvet fainting couch that she’s never once fainted on.

Aphrodite doesn’t look up immediately. She’s painting her nails with some divine shimmering lacquer that changes color depending on your emotional damage level.

When she finally speaks, her voice is smooth and dangerous, like velvet hiding a knife. “So…You used one of your last two arrows… and it failed.”

You wince. “It bounced off him. Like he rejected it before it even reached his heart.”

She raises a brow, now fully looking at you. Her gaze is sharp. Regal and a little smug. “And you tried to match him with someone else?”

You nodded fast. “Jihae. She’s sweet. Pretty. Human. A good match. He should’ve liked her.”

Aphrodite’s smile is small and lethal. The kind that says, oh honey, you sweet naïve disaster.

She leans forward, elbow on her knee, chin in her palm, eyes sparkling with something that makes your stomach twist. “Then you already know what the match is.”

You blink. “No,” you say too fast. “That’s–he can’t–it’s not me. I’m Cupid. I’m just supposed to guide them. I don’t–”

She cuts you off with one perfectly manicured finger raised. “The arrow doesn’t lie, sweetheart. It never has. And if his heart won’t open to anyone else…”

“Well.” She shrugs, lips curling. “Maybe it’s because it already has.”

You take a step back like her words physically hit you. Your bow shifts on your shoulder. You feel the weight of the last arrow against your spine.

Only one. One more shot.

And suddenly it doesn’t feel like a tool of love—it feels like a choice, a test, or a trap. “This isn’t allowed,” you whisper, your voice smaller than you want it to be. “We’re not supposed to–”

Aphrodite rolls her eyes, dramatic. “Please. As if any great love ever followed rules.”

She gets up, walking toward you in heels that click like divine thunder. “You think I built this entire department to push paperwork and throw random teens together at prom? No, darling. I built it to make stories worth writing down.”

“And yours?” She taps your chest, just over your heart. “Might be the most human one I’ve seen in centuries.”

You want to argue. To say you’re not in love. To say this is just magic and proximity and the fact that he smirks like sin and listens like he means it. But you don’t. Because deep down, you know.

He was never just a target. He was always the risk.

And you? You were never ready for what loving a mortal would feel like.

“You have one arrow left, little archer,” she says, her voice like velvet and finality. “Choose wisely.”

And just like that, you’re alone again. Only now, your heart’s louder than ever, and the final arrow in your quiver feels warm—like it knows where it wants to go.

˚₊ ꒰ა ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The crowd buzzes with soft laughter and the pop of soda cans. Strings of paper lanterns flicker overhead, casting warm glows on the rows of booths, cotton candy stands, and prize-filled claw machines. It smells like roasted sweet potatoes, sugar syrup, and something heartbreak-shaped.

You stand at the edge of the square—hidden in the soft halo of a cherry tree, one hand tight around your bow.

He’s here. Leaning against a pillar near the game booths, bored and gorgeous, his school uniform rumpled like he fought three boys in it earlier and probably did.

He’s alone. Vulnerable. For once, not surrounded by the other Union boys. His usual wall of noise and swagger is… quieter tonight. Like even he can feel the hum of something bigger, something fated.

Your fingers slide up to your final arrow. It glows faintly in the evening light, the pulse of it syncing—traitorously—with your heartbeat.

You breathe in. Lift the bow.

The arrow floats into place, drawn like it already knows its target. His name echoes in your head like a prayer. “Seong Je.”

One clean shot. One perfect hit, and his heart will open—just as the laws of magic decree.

You stare down the line of the bow. Your aim is steady. But your soul isn’t. “If I use this,” you whisper, the words trembling from your lips like smoke, “I’ll never know if it was real.”

Because the arrow chooses for them. But you? You wanted him to choose you.

Your breath hitches. Your hand shakes. And just as you're about to lower the bow—she appears in the moment, Jihae.

Her smile is radiant, nervous in that way mortals get when they hope too hard. She says something you can’t hear. Seong Je raises a brow, vaguely polite.

Then she leans in. She was about to kiss him. So sudden, it is too fast and too forced.

You inhale sharply. The bow drops a little, the arrow’s glow pulsing like it’s holding its breath.

But he turns his face away. Steps back, hand gently catching her wrist before she makes contact. Not cruel, not cold. Just distant.

His eyes are already searching. Past Jihae. Past the booths. Across the crowd. Like he’s looking for someone else.

Your fingers loosen on the string, heart hammering so hard it hurts.

He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. But his gaze skips over every student, every light, every sound—until it lands in your direction.

You duck behind the tree fast—too fast, you almost slipped on the grass.

The arrow dims slightly in your hand. Like it, too, isn’t sure anymore and neither are you. You slide it back into your quiver.

Because if he’s already searching for you… What if the match was never magic? What if it was always… real?

You’re still behind the cherry tree, hand pressed to your chest where your heart is playing whack-a-mole with your ribs. The arrow hums faintly in its quiver, as if it, too, is stunned by what almost happened.

Then a cloud of glitter suddenly appears beside you. The scent of ancient roses and bad decisions. “You’re prolonging this for drama and I LOVE IT.”

Aphrodite appears at your side like she never left, draped in a silk suit that looks too expensive for Earth and too fabulous for a reason. Her heels don't even touch the ground—she floats, all smugness and starshine.

“Really, darling. The tortured hesitation. The Forbidden love. The half-lowered bow under the cherry blossoms? Iconic.” She sips something pink and bubbly from a champagne flute that absolutely did not exist a second ago. “But unfortunately, we’re moving on to the finale now.”

You blink. “What?”

She claps once and then he appears. Another Cupid. Tall, cold-eyed, his wings sleek and too perfect. No warmth. No humor. No hesitation. He doesn’t even acknowledge you—just steps past with mechanical grace.

“You’re compromised,” he says flatly, not bothering to look your way. “You’re being replaced.”

Your gut twists. You grab your bow instinctively. “Wait, no–You can’t just–!”

But he already has his own. It was already being pulled. The first arrow was fired straight into Jihae’s heart. She flinches as it hits, eyes going wide with wonder and awe, pupils dilating with the sweet, unnatural rush of magic. “Wha…?” she whispers, voice dreamy. “Seong Je…”

You take a step forward from the Cupid trying to stop him. “Stop–don’t–!”

The second arrow was released. It hits Seong Je square in the chest. He jerks like it knocked the wind out of him. Blinks rapidly. Breath stalling. He looks up, across the crowd, at Jihae.

Not at you. Never at you.

Aphrodite hums a little tune as if none of this is soul-shattering, as if she didn’t just throw your heart into a blender with strawberries and a broken contract.

She finally turns to you, sipping the last of her celestial drink. “Now your assignment is done,” she says, voice bright, decisive, cruel in its gentleness. “You can collect your diploma. Come along, sweetheart.”

She gestures toward the glowing portal behind her—already swirling open like a beckoning goodbye.

But you—you can’t even move. It’s like you're paralyzed in there. You just stand there, mouth dry, heart sinking like a stone through the sea. Watching Seong Je.

He looks at Jihae, a smile begins to form, it was slow—soft in a way that isn’t his. It’s Cupid-soft, artificial, borrowed, and most importantly it was forced.

“But that’s not real,” you say, barely above a whisper. “That’s not him.”

Aphrodite gives a tiny shrug, eyes sparkling. “No, darling. But it’s what the file wanted, isn’t it? You were supposed to match him. Now he’s matched. This is the clean ending.”

But nothing about it feels clean. Nothing about this feels like love. It feels like theater.

Seong Je’s hand brushes Jihae’s. He’s smiling—but you know him better than that. That smile is wrong. It doesn't reach his eyes. He doesn’t even know why he’s smiling.

You’re just standing in a garden of blossoms, with a full heart and an empty hand, staring at the boy who no longer sees you.

The last arrow in your quiver hums softly, unused, undeniably yours. You could still shoot it. You could ruin everything, or you could follow the goddess. Get your diploma. Graduate. That’s all.

But one truth now roots itself deep inside you like the petals beneath your shoes:

You never wanted to pass.

You wanted to matter.

You turn your head to the portal and start making your way there.

Aphrodite walks ahead of you in heels too loud for the quiet in your chest. Her perfume leaves a trail—roses, smoke, and the bitter scent of endings.

You trail behind her, stiff, eyes glassy. The crowd fades behind you. The festival sounds dim like someone turned the world’s volume knob down.

Seong Je is gone now. Or maybe not. Maybe he’s still there. Standing beside Jihae under strings of golden lights, smiling with someone else’s heart.

You don’t dare look back.

“You did well,” Aphrodite says, not looking at you. “You didn’t let your feelings interfere. You were right to walk away.”

You say nothing. Because if you open your mouth, your voice might break. And gods forbid a Cupid cries before graduation.

The portal pulses gently. The colors shift—gold, lilac, then soft rose. It hums with magic. With home.

And yet, you paused right in front of it. Right on the threshold of eternity and closure.

Your diploma floats gently in the air beside you. Sealed in pink. Gilded with divine calligraphy. Sparkling like it’s proud of you.

“You’re free now,” Aphrodite says. “No more assignments. No more temptation.”

You nod once. But something deep in your ribs is screaming. Quietly, but insistently.

“That wasn’t love.”

“That wasn’t real.”

“I wasn’t done.”

And somehow you wonder, If he ever turns around tonight… If he ever asks where you went…If he ever remembers the weird girl with wings in her eyes and a bow she never fired… Will he know it was almost fate?

Aphrodite offers her hand and you take it.Step through the portal. Now everything… blurs.

Back in the Divine Realm, The hallway isn’t glowing gold this time.

It’s quiet. Dim. The clouds beneath your feet are soft but cold. The Department of Matchmaking Magic feels too polished. Too clean. Like nothing in it ever hurt.

You hold your diploma like it’s heavier than your bow ever was.

Around you, Cupids celebrate. Wings flutter. Laughter fills the space. Someone just got their perfect match approved and they’re crying happy tears.

But you? You sit on a bench made of mist and memory. Bow across your lap. Arrow untouched. One name still echoing in your heart.

˚₊ ꒰ა ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You’re dragging your tired, emotionally compromised self past filing cabinets that file themselves, still in your post-diploma haze. Hair unbrushed. Wings tucked in like they’ve given up on believing in miracles.

You’re in the admin wing of the Divine Realm, sipping an ambrosia latte. You’ve been assigned light clerical duty while they "process your graduation paperwork" Which means in divine-speak for "we're giving you busywork so you stop brooding in front of the mortal observation mirrors."

You’re sorting scrolls. Matching files. Y’know, doing the grunt work you thought you’d never go back to now that you're officially Cupid-certified.

That is, until one scroll starts glowing violently pink. Spins in a full dramatic circle and then smacks itself against your forehead.

You catch it before it hits the cloud-floor. It glows hot—not hot pink like usual. Not gold either. But red. Urgent Transfer Request.

You blink. The scroll unravels by itself like it’s got nothing better to do but ruin your peace.

The ribbon unfurls by itself and hovers midair with a flare of gold script.

REQUEST FOR INTERREALM TRANSFER

Name: Seong Je (성제)

Mortal ID: [REDACTED]

Requested Department: Matchmaking Magic

Reason for Transfer: "Unfinished Business/Unresolved Emotional Link."

Priority Level: Urgent.

Divine Approval: Pending.

Additional Notes: “If she’s not going to tell me the truth, I’ll find it myself.”

You just stand there—freeze. Your heart slams against your ribs so hard you swear the file cabinets pause in their floating routine like, “Girl, WHAT??” Your coffee hits the floor. “No,” you whisper. “No no no no—how did he even find this place?”

The room falls away—because how? HOW?

You didn’t leave a trace. No charms. No enchantments. The last arrow was never fired. You didn’t say goodbye. You weren’t even real to him.

So why? Why is his name here? Why is he asking for you?

“Holy Olympus,” you whisper, heart leapfrogging into your throat. “He remembers.”

Just then, a cherub courier floats past with a lollipop in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

“Yo, you’re being summoned again. Aphrodite’s office. Something about an ‘unresolved situation’? She sounds way too excited.”

You stagger to your feet, the scroll still hovering like it's waiting for your soul to catch up.

Because it’s happening. He's looking for you. Not the fake name. Not the Cupid. Not the mission.

You.

And across realms, timelines, rules, and magic—he sent for you. The last arrow on your back shimmers softly. Maybe fate wasn’t finished after all.

You drag yourself up the spiral of love-infused cloudsteps toward her office, your steps a mix between “I just got hit by a truck” and “I will throw hands with a literal goddess.” The scroll is still hovering beside you like a nosy bird, pulsing red like it’s counting down to something.

The doors open themselves and you immediately squint from the sight in front of you.

Because her “office” has somehow transformed into a beach cabana. There’s a sky that bleeds sunset gold into lavender waves. Seagulls caw overhead (you’re pretty sure they’re enchanted and probably trained to harmonize). Pink tropical drinks with curly straws float midair. It smells like sun-warmed salt and forbidden romance.

Aphrodite lounges under a parasol in a silk robe, her heart-shaped sunglasses glittering. She takes one look at your face and beams. “Aww, look who got emotionally wrecked by their own target!”

She claps like you just won a reality show. “Cupid of the Year, baby.”

You stare at her. You are vibrating with twelve different emotions and three unresolved heartbreaks. “Why is his name in here?” you ask. “How is he even able to be here?”

Aphrodite shrugs lazily, flicking her nails and summoning a file out of thin air. It lands on the cocktail tray next to her. Big gold lettering, all caps:

MATCH 143-B

STATUS: COMPLICATED

She sips her champagne like she’s watching the best drama on divine television. “He filed an Interrealm Request. Personally. Used an artifact that hasn’t worked since the Trojan War. We didn’t even know mortals could get those anymore. He broke four laws of emotional containment and walked straight through a temporary rift near Mount Halla.”

You blink, how the hell did he end up on a Mountain. Mount Halla? That’s in Jeju. That means… “He crossed a whole country for me?”

Aphrodite sips on her champagne, “And two realms. Don’t forget the realms, darling.” she added, while making a piece sign of her hand, symbolizing the word “two”.

Your head spins. You clutch the back of a floating heart-lounger like it’s a life preserver. “Why now?” you whisper. “I never fired the arrow. I never said anything. He shouldn’t even remember me.”

Aphrodite stands now, her face softening—just a little. She taps the file. It flutters open, glowing with rows of shifting fate-threads. “Because you may not have shot the arrow, sweetheart… But you aimed it. And sometimes? That’s worse.”

You freeze. Because deep down, you know what she means. You felt it. Every time his gaze found you in a crowd. Every time your name almost slipped from his mouth. Every time you almost let yourself believe…

Aphrodite sighs and then, like she’s bored of being sentimental, “Now. Due to this messy, delicious twist, we’re activating a Cupid Clause. Technically, he’s requesting closure. Which means we have to respond.”

Your eyes widen. “Closure?”

She grins. “You get to see him again, darling.”

You lift your eyebrows, “Wait, what?”

She waves her hand, and another scroll appears—this one gold and sealed with something that feels like fate humming through your bones.

“One last assignment. This time? No bow. No arrows. No lies. Just you and him. And a question.” Aphrodite said, while smiling softly.

You whisper, “What question?”

She smirks over the rim of her drink. “Do you still love him?”

˚₊ ꒰ა ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The sky over Jeju is painted in soft pastels, the kind of pink and orange that only happens right before the sun sinks into the sea. Wind rustles through blooming cherry blossom trees that stretch like a dream across the temple courtyard where you land—barefoot, breathless.

Your wings are gone. Your bow? Left behind.

All you have is your uniform, a satchel slung over your shoulder, and the name he whispered when he looked up at the sky like he was begging the gods for one more try.

The air is thick with sakura petals, brushing against your cheeks as if even the wind wants to soften this moment. You’re not sure what you’re walking toward—closure? Consequence? Catastrophe?

But you walk anyway and then you see him.

He’s standing alone under the largest cherry tree, back to you, hood pulled low. Jeans. Scuffed sneakers. A silver ring glinting on his finger.

But when he hears your steps crunch on the stone path, he turns, slow, eyes wide, lips parting, and the second his eyes lock onto yours, everything around you… stops.

No petals, no breeze, no sound. Just you and him suspended in whatever this is. This unspoken thing that crossed dimensions and beat time and rewrote rules.

His voice is rough when he finally says it, “So you’re real.”

You try to smile. It breaks halfway. “More or less.”

“You lied to me.”

You flinch. “I know.”

“You disappeared.”

“I had to.”

He walks toward you slowly. Step by step, like each one hurts. Like he’s scared if he moves too fast, you’ll vanish again. “But I remembered. Everyone else forgot you, but I couldn’t. I didn’t. Even when I tried.”

You’re shaking, but not from fear. “Why?” you whisper.

He stops a breath away. You can see the shadows under his eyes. The cracks in his armor.

But also the way his hand twitches, like he wants to reach out but doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

“Because you ruined me,” he says, voice low.

“Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw you. Because when I kissed other girls and I looked for your reaction, and.. Because I caught myself smiling at the sky like a fool. Like maybe you were still watching.”

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to rewind to that day on the rooftop and do it all differently. But you can’t. So instead you say, “I was supposed to match you. That was the mission. That was all it was supposed to be. But then you smiled and made some dumb jokes. And looked at me like I mattered. And still, I never used the last arrow.”

He blinks. “You didn’t?”

You shake your head. “Because I wanted to know if you’d fall in love with me without it.”

He stares. Then he exhales—like he’s been holding that breath for eternity. “I did.”

And then he steps closer.

The cherry blossoms swirl around you like confetti from the gods, and his hand comes up to brush a petal from your hair, fingers lingering like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment.

His eyes are soft—too soft. “So what now?” he whispers.

Your heart aches. But this time, you smile through it. “Now we see what love really is... without magic.”

The sea roars beside you, wild and untamed, crashing against the jagged rocks with the kind of rage only heartbreak understands. The salty wind tangles your hair. Your cardigan flaps through the wind, and parked right in front of you, leaning—His matte black motorcycle.

Seong Je straddles it like he owns the night. Helmet hanging off the handlebars. Hair a mess. Leather jacket thrown over his uniform like rules were never part of his vocabulary. His rings glint against the throttle like danger has jewelry taste now.

“You getting on or what?” he says, like it's nothing. But his voice is lower, rougher. The wind can’t even carry it right.

You hesitate. “I’ve never been on one before.”

He raises a brow. “Guess there’s a first time for everything.” Then that smirk carves across his lips like it was forged in rebellion. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

You climb on to the motorbike. You shouldn’t still be wanting to memorize how his shoulders feel under your palms, how the space between you feels like magnetic static, like lightning waiting to happen.

But you do—you always do, you hold onto his shoulders.

He revs the engine. It purrs like a beast.

And when he takes off, it’s not chaos. It’s flight.

Wheels eating up the coastal road, wind peeling laughter from your chest, cliffs and cherry blossoms whirling by in a pastel blur. The ocean to your right, Seong Je in front of you, and the sky above bleeding every color it knows how to feel.

Then he pulls over, right at the edge of the world.

You’re both breathless, just by the scene in front you. He pulls off his gloves with slow fingers. Leans back against the bike. Looks at you like he’s figuring out the ending of a poem he never meant to write.

“I didn’t think I’d get to see you again,” he murmurs.

“I didn’t think you’d remember me,” you whisper back.

His eyes flicker—dark, golden, deep. “Can’t forget what rewired my whole heart.”

And then he pulls you in. Gently. His hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lip like he’s memorizing it. Like he’s measuring the distance between craving and kissing. And then finally he leans in.

The kiss is slow at first. Careful. Like he doesn’t want to scare you away. But then something snaps—the kind of hunger that builds after months of almosts, after watching, waiting, hurting. His hand slides into your hair. His lips press firmer, warmer, like he’s trying to anchor you to this moment.

You kiss him back and it’s not magic—not the divine kind.

Because it’s real. It’s every mortal emotion tangled in heat and saltwater and the sound of the sea waves.

When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. “Still think this was all a mission?” he asks.

You smiled at him. Eyes were glossy. “No. I think this was fate with attitude.”

note: yow everyone HAHAHAH how do y'all feel about this oneshot? well, yk I think this is going to be my last last post before school finally starts on monday 🥀🥀 I hope you guys enjoy reading this because this is really really long MWA 😚😝😼

[robo-milky]

Rules:

1. All players are given an objective card that doubles as a declaration card. The objective card lists who the player must eliminate and protect. The declaration card signals whether if it’s been used or not.

2. At least one player must be eliminated before moving on to the next round. There is time limit set between each round and failure to eliminate anyone in the allotted time will result in the random selection of a loser.

3. Players can eliminate their targets through A. Declaration B. Murder

4. To make a declaration, the player must raise their declaration card and correctly guess who their target is protecting. A declaration can only be made once each round. There are no consequences for a wrong declaration.

5: Players who fail to protect their target will be eliminated with them. This also applies to players eliminated by random selection.

6: The game will end once a winning pair emerges. The conditions for a winning pair is that there are two players left, and one of the players successfully protected their target (Regardless of if the protected had met their conditions of eliminating or protecting). If a winning pair does not emerge when two or less players are left, new players will be brought in until there is a winning pair.

ADMINS ONLY:

1. The real players are: Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Jamil Viper, Vil Schoenheit, and Idia Shroud. The rest of the players will be simulacra.

Revision: Given that the simulacra programmed are too flat, getting killed more easily, permission has been granted to include their real counterparts. The simulacra already killed may be revived once, as a real player.

+ Other real players brought in for the first time, after permission was granted, may be revived once as a simulacrum. Our AI models should be stronger after seeing their reference in action, and may even improve upon their playing style.

+ Simulacra are not to be told apart from real players in the game. All indications of their revival status and player type is for our eyes only.

2. Bodies can only be claimed once a player is eliminated.

+ Real players on the brink of death are still in the game. Any interference, from outside the game, to kill them is a violation.

3. Every player’s targets are randomized and will remain the same after each round. They will only change if the target was killed by random selection, or if a previously eliminated player has been revived and the one they protected is gone.

+ After setting a chain of untimely deaths in Simulation 001 R:1, a limit of how many players can be eliminated per round will be imposed in the real game. A max of 3 players can be eliminated per round. The would be 4th, protecting the third eliminated, will protect a different player still in the game.

* Rules and policies may be revised at any given time

Archives: Set storyline

AU Premise *Includes some more details + Setting

Comic: [1] [2] [3]

[Execution Suit]

Test Runs: Explores different possibilities

New Players: [Cloche]

Deaths: [None yet]

Cards: [None yet]

Contributions:

*Anything from you! Kill who you want, protect who you want, no actual roles set in stone :)

Reasons for bringing:

First Elimination: (Who eliminated you and how? If you were revived)

Observations:

New Players: [None yet]

Photographs: [None yet]

Documents: [None yet]

FAQ 2: [None yet]

Investors:

[Taglist for the AU :) Comment, tags in reblog— just tell me you want to be added in some way]

@apieceoffoliage, @waitlexist, @anonymousplant, @boopshoops, @driftaway27, @agaygothicmushroom, @ceruleancattail, @chaotic-snow, @mooncake24, @91062854-ka

[prayertogodmother]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒.

You met him at the bus stop that day — and the way you stared at his face, far too long, made him think you were challenging him. So he found a punishment he deemed appropriate.

PAIRING: Dark!Geum Seongje x Fem!reader

WARNING: DUB CON/NON CON | Emotional Abuse | Blackmail | Dirty Talk | Drugging | Alcohol Use | Vomiting | SMUT | Forced Sex | Underage Sex (fictional) | Treated Seriously | MNDI | Dead Dove: Do Not Eat | If there's anything else, please let me know | Don't Like, Please don't Read

English is not my first language. [wc: 4k words ]

Moving frequently isn’t exactly something new for you. Having parents who love their work more than anything else in life has distorted your sense of priorities. It wouldn’t be so bad—if it didn’t also interfere with your education.

Every time you move, you have to leave all your old belongings behind just to fit into the new place. Your already small circle of friends has to be rebuilt from scratch. Transferring to a new school so suddenly is extremely frustrating for you.

Unsurprisingly, almost no school would accept you in the middle of the term—especially during exam season. On top of that, the abrupt move meant you didn’t wrap up your grades properly at your previous school. The school suggested that you repeat the academic year to complete all your credits. How incredibly convenient.

Naturally, your parents had no other choice but to let you take a break from school for four or five months before enrolling you in the next academic year. They didn’t really care how you felt—as long as it didn’t affect their work.

The new house still reeked of fresh furniture. The scent of paint and new wood made you dizzy. During the day, the house was oppressively quiet. You decided you might as well take some tutoring classes—partly to stay occupied, partly as an excuse to ask for extra allowance. You began searching for nearby cram schools, and it didn’t take long.

“Hero Cram School, hm?” you muttered, staring at your phone showing an ad for the place. It didn’t look particularly impressive, but it wouldn’t hurt to try contacting them.

Not long after, the school responded, inviting you in for a placement test. You got off the couch and dressed neatly before texting your parents to let them know.

The test wasn’t too difficult for you. After finishing, a staff member had you wait on the reception sofa. Students were starting to arrive. You glanced at your wristwatch—it had been a short while since school let out.

Some glanced at you, others were too busy on their phones or chatting to care. They looked like typical students. Some even attended the school you hoped to get into in a few months. If given the chance, maybe you’d introduce yourself.

“Hey, did you just take the placement test?” a girl’s voice called from behind.

You turned immediately to see who it was. The emblem on her uniform—your future school. She was someone you should get to know. You nodded slightly and gave her a faint smile.

“Yeah, I just finished.”

“Hope we end up in the same grade! I’m in Class B,” she said, sitting beside you with a friendly expression. “Oh right, I’m Joo-ah.”

Seeing her smile, you smiled back and responded. She seemed genuinely friendly. It wasn’t too bad meeting someone like this in a new city. You ended up giving her a brief summary of your situation. She seemed excited that you’d be joining her school next year, even if it meant you’d be in a year below her.

“Wanna exchange contacts?” she asked eagerly, showing you her social media profile.

You nodded and searched for her username, following her right away without saying much. Just then, you heard your name called—the test proctor summoning you to hear your results and plan your class schedule.

“See you later, Joo-ah,” you said with a smile as you stood up and walked back to the room you had just exited. You didn’t really care which level you’d be placed in—A, B, or C—but in your heart, you were hoping for B, where Joo-ah would be.

The test results placed you in Class A.

The institute’s brochure was stuffed with advertisements for various affiliated schools. You paid the tuition fee that same day by calling your parents in the middle of a meeting—deliberately so, to make sure they wouldn’t ask too many questions and would just quickly transfer the money. Of course, they’d bring it up again during dinner, but that was a problem for later.

The well-bound textbooks came packed in a cloth bag embroidered with the institute’s logo. But if you tried carrying it on one shoulder, your posture would definitely be off balance—the weight wasn’t light at all. Hugging the stack of books and practice exercises close to your chest, you decided the train wouldn’t be the best option. Waiting for the bus seemed like a better idea.

The streets were crowded—students, couples, and… delinquents?

Your eyes wandered across the road, landing on a small group of students loitering on the other side. They wore crimson blazers. One of them stood out with a tiger-print T-shirt beneath the blazer, sunglasses, and a cigarette in hand. He radiated an intimidating, dangerous aura.

Then he looked at you—caught you off guard. His face was strikingly handsome, but that didn’t erase the warning signs written all over him. You quickly averted your gaze, turning your attention to the road in hopes that the bus would arrive soon. You tried to ignore the fact that he was still staring at you.

What you didn’t know was that if you’d looked away even a second later—just one second—you wouldn’t be sitting there so comfortably, waiting for your bus.

Geum Seongje had already memorized your face.

You had gotten quite close with Joo-ah. After cram school, the two of you often hung out together. Joo-ah once told you that she didn’t have many people to talk to, but the reason she approached you that day was because she had seen you when you first came to apply to the school—she remembered your face clearly.

Someone just invited me to hang out with them!

Doesn’t happen often, you know?

You unlocked your phone to find that message from Joo-ah. You typed back:

That’s great.

Where are you going?

But even as you replied, something about it made you feel a little strange.

Void.

Your unease grew stronger when you saw that her friends were inviting her to that place.

Hmm?

A bar? At night?

Eh?!

You’re right!!!

Didn’t think they’d invite me to somewhere like that ㅠㅠ

Do you want to go?

You asked her.

Well, it’s rare for someone to ask me, and I don’t really want to say no…

But going there so late… maybe I shouldn’t.

You stared at her message for a while before replying without thinking it through too much.

Do you want me to come with you?

If it’s the two of us, we can look out for each other.

Really?!!

Let me ask them first!

Love you 🩷

You smiled at Joo-ah’s innocent reply, and could picture her expression in your head.

Let me know what they say. I’m going to bed now.

Mmm, sleep well.

Out of concern for your friend, you found yourself standing in front of a nightlife venue—people came and went, teenagers, working adults, and a few who looked far rougher. You stood there for a moment, debating whether or not to turn around and go home. You glanced down to inspect yourself again—did you look too out of place? A light blue short-sleeved shirt, not too tight or long, paired with a black flared pencil skirt.

Your hand gripped the strap of your brown shoulder bag tightly. Finally, you decided to head inside and called your friend, assuming she’d already arrived and was waiting. Joo-ah said she was standing by the private room where her friends were meeting, waiting for you so you could go in together.

You weaved through the busy bar, surrounded by chatter and the clinking of glasses, until you reached the private rooms and spotted Joo-ah. She wasn’t dressed provocatively either, and her face lit up when she saw you—though she looked just as nervous. You smiled faintly, your discomfort clear. Sensing this, Joo-ah quickly grabbed your hand to reassure you.

“Wanna just ditch and watch a movie at my place instead?” she asked softly, voice tinged with worry.

“It’s fine,” you reassured her. “If it gets bad, we’ll stick to our plan—pretend we’re drunk and bounce.”

She smiled with some relief, then gave a subtle nod and led you into the room.

You told yourself this might help Joo-ah be seen differently—not just mocked and dismissed as usual. Besides, you weren’t the type to get swept along so easily either.

As soon as you stepped inside, the heavy smell of alcohol and smoke hit you. Music thumped low in the background, and the conversations blended into a dull roar. The atmosphere felt like stepping into a mysterious cave, uncertain what dangers lurked within.

Everyone turned to look when the door opened. You scanned the room—your eyes landing on someone at the head of the table. Him. The same guy you’d seen across the street earlier. What were the odds?

“We were just talking about you, Joo-ah~” a sharp voice called out. A girl sauntered over. “Come, come! Sit!”

You and Joo-ah took seats at the table, and things quickly started to make more sense. This wasn’t a casual hangout. It was a group date. You were only invited to balance the numbers.

The stares from others in the room were invasive and uncomfortable—like wolves eyeing prey. But the most unnerving gaze came from the man at the head of the table. Seongje, someone called him earlier. He didn’t leer like the others—but his gaze was far more dangerous.

After a while, the atmosphere clarified. The girls here wanted to catch Seongje’s attention. And this whole “group hangout” was just a setup. You were relieved, at least, that it wasn’t something worse.

“Hey, Joo-ah’s friend,” one of the girls said. “You’re transferring to our school next year, right?”

You turned toward her and nodded slightly. From the corner of your eye, you saw Seongje watching again. You couldn’t read his expression—but whatever he was thinking, it probably wasn’t good.

“Did you know our school has a special menu item?” she said with a smirk. “Right, Joo-ah~?”

Joo-ah nodded, a bit too earnestly. “It’s raw egg and beans. Some people actually eat it!”

“Raw egg… and beans?” you echoed, frowning. That combination sounded awful. Your stomach twisted just thinking about it.

“We even brought some!” the girl chirped, cracking a raw egg into a glass already filled with beans. “If it’s too much, the bathroom’s just outside—turn left.”

You accepted the glass reluctantly, glancing at Joo-ah. She didn’t look too enthusiastic either—probably just some prank. You brought the glass to your lips and poured the mixture into your mouth but didn’t swallow. Who knew if that egg was even safe?

The taste hit immediately—revolting. You stood up at once, rushing out with your emergency toothbrush in hand. You never expected to actually need it. Joo-ah quickly followed, and one of the girls handed her a water bottle to bring to you.

You spat the mixture out as soon as you reached the sink, rinsing and gargling water desperately. Some “special menu item” this was—it was clearly just a prank. Joo-ah stood beside you, face full of guilt, gently tucking stray hairs behind your ear.

“I’m sorry I said people actually ate it,” she murmured. “It must’ve tasted really awful…”

You wiped your mouth with a tissue and shook your head. “If you told me it was just something they use to mess with people, I’d believe it. That was disgusting.”

Joo-ah gave you a sheepish smile, handing you the full bottle of water. You rinsed again, took a sip, then pulled out your toothbrush to get rid of the lingering taste. She stood by quietly, watching. You both agreed—after this, it was time to go.

After you and Joo-ah told everyone you were heading home, they smiled and nodded in understanding before the two of you walked out to the front of the bar. You parted ways there. Joo-ah offered to let you sleep over at her place, but you thought it wasn’t that late yet and decided you’d rather go home.

As you walked along the sidewalk toward the main road, you started to feel strange. Maybe it was late and you were just tired or sleepy—it was hard to tell. Suddenly, your wrist was yanked from behind, forcing you to stop walking. Your unsteady body, already feeling dizzy, nearly collapsed, but you managed to stay on your feet.

You turned to look at the person who had pulled you back. Your face immediately turned pale with shock. The man in front of you wasn’t showing any friendliness—but he didn’t seem openly hostile either. You couldn’t read him at all. You had no idea what he was planning.

“Seongje?” you said, surprised, your voice soft and filled with worry.

“You walk fast, huh,” he said, pulling the cigarette from his mouth with his other hand.

You were startled by his words, but before you could respond, the taller man started pulling you along behind him. Panic surged inside you the moment he did that. You used your free hand to try and pry his hand off your wrist and stopped walking.

“Wait, wait, Seongje,” you said. “Where are we going? Wait—”

Even though you tried to speak up and stop him, his strength overwhelmed you, making it hard to resist. You used all your strength to try to shake off his grip and stop, but it didn’t break free. Still, Seongje actually stopped walking.

“Just walk with me. That’s not too hard, right?” he said in a cold voice, turning to look at you with an icy expression—like a dog baring its teeth at its prey. Just those words alone made you too afraid to defy him.

Wolf dragged you down a dark alley and through narrow streets. Your vision began to darken, and you could do nothing but follow the man ahead of you. Eventually, you arrived at an apartment building. It looked old and worn from the outside.

Seongje immediately pulled you up the stairs—there was no elevator. You had to climb all the way to the third floor. He led you to the corner room beside the stairwell and dragged you inside without hesitation. A shiver ran down your spine at what he might do next.

“Why are we here?” you asked softly, eyes pleading as you looked at him, trying to stay brave.

“To take you,” he answered without a second thought, stepping in to trap you between his body and the wall. His face leaned so close that you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

“You know, I have a rule. And it looks like you didn’t know about it,” he said in a low voice. “Three seconds.”

“What’s three seconds?” you looked up at him, confused. Your back was pressed against the wall—there was no escape.

“I deal with people who stare at me for more than three seconds,” he said. “And you did that. When you were sitting there waiting for a ride, you looked at me from across the street.”

Your face turned pale as you remembered. You thought it had just been for a second, just a glance—and yet it matched his “three seconds” perfectly. Your breath was shaky, your chest tightened. Your heartbeat was so rapid it felt like it might burst out of your chest.

“But you know what? You’re too damn pretty to just ruin,” he said, raising his hand to squeeze both of your cheeks—not roughly, but firmly, with dominance. Wolf turned your face side to side before forcing you to look directly at him. Only him.

“This beautiful face of yours… I can’t get it out of my head,” he said with a chilling laugh. He released your face, then gave it a light slap that left a faint mark, before leaning down to breathe in the scent of your neck.

Seongje bit into your flesh, leaving red marks all over. His octopus-like hand rested slightly above your hip and slowly moved up along your shirt, sliding to explore the skin beneath the fabric, creating a tingling and goosebump-inducing sensation at the same time.

Your hand, resting on his shoulder, tried to pull it away, but since the man in front of you was stronger, your efforts were too weak. A sweet voice protested, mixing pain and pleasure coming out of your mouth.

“You’re more addictive than drugs. No matter how much I take, it’s never enough,” his rough voice said as he suddenly lifted you up. Your hands holding onto his shoulders slid to his neck, afraid you might fall from his grasp.

He walked into his room. No matter how shabby and run-down the building looked outside, the interior decoration made you forget the outside image. He led you into the bedroom, decorated in a style he probably liked, but your mind couldn’t think of anything except the dizziness, making it hard to analyze things clearly.

As soon as he laid you down on the bed, you slowly moved away with the little strength you had, sliding until your back touched the headboard. Your face stared at him with genuine worry and fear, shaking your head slightly to refuse him.

“You’re really hard to please, aren’t you?” he said. “If you cooperate, I won’t do much, just take you. But if you resist too much, I’ll have to make you obey.”

The expression he gave you, even though there was a smile, you could feel it wasn’t a kind or merciful smile. It was a mocking and contemptuous look, not caring how you saw it, as long as he got what he wanted.

When Wolf saw that you didn't reply but didn't dare to move anywhere, a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. His thick hand grabbed your ankle and pulled it down immediately, then climbed up to straddle you to be under his body perfectly.

"Look at you now, how helpless and no way to go you are." His scary voice said, the hand that slid into your long skirt, sliding your body between your legs, fingers touching from your knee to the inner thigh.

His eyes stared down to examine your face from time to time. Seongje wanted to observe his tiredness closely. His hand slid along the edge of your panties and slowly pulled it down softly, revealing to him what he wanted.

His fingers that teased your entrance playfully, Wolf just casually touched it calmly before trying to insert his finger unhurriedly, testing it. When he found the tightness, he could only smile in satisfaction.

"I bet no idiot has ever touched you like this." Wolf said as he inserted his finger deeper.

You who felt that way, a strange feeling entered your body. It hurt indescribably, but what he did was like a wave that hit the shore unsteadily. The hand covering your mouth prevented any sound from escaping.

“Don’t,” he said as he pulled your hand away from your mouth. “Let me hear your voice, pretty one.”

Seongje started moving his fingers in and out faster and faster. The wet sound came out embarrassingly. Your face that was red and you didn’t even dare to look at him turned away. The muffled sound that you tried to hold in was in your throat, not wanting to scream it out to make him feel superior.

“Stubborn again,” he said. “It’s not cute to lie to yourself.” His fingers that were inside your body inserted another finger to pave the way, preparing you. “Fuck, it’s so wet, so tight. You’re going to drive me crazy, aren’t you?”

His two fingers moved in and out skillfully. His thumb that was holding onto your pearl circled it, making you not deny how he made you feel. Seongje lowered his face down to inhale your scent, on your neck, cheek, and collarbone, enjoying every second he did.

The sensations his fingers created were creating huge waves in your stomach. Your toes started to tense. Your breath hitches and your grip on bad sheet grows tighter and tighter. The sweet sound becomes harder to hold back with every stroke his fingers give, but then he pulls them out. His face smirks at you.

“The first time should be special, right?” He says with goosebumps before getting off your body. The sound of his belt hitting the floor and the zipper of his pants unzipping.

You know what he’s going to do next. You don’t even dare to look that way, but his hand grabs your cheek as an order and turns to look at him. His cocky smile is assessing you.

Your eyes fall on the shaft that doesn’t seem to fit you at all. It’s bigger than you thought it would actually fit, especially since you’ve never taken it before. Worries rise up in your mind even more.

“It… it won’t fit,” you say in despair, shaking your head slightly to make him sympathize.

“I’ll make it fit,” Wolf says as he lets go of your face. His large hands move to his thighs and spread them further apart so he can manipulate the position.

You feel his shaft trailing along your entrance, where a little bit of juice comes out, inviting him into his thoughts. Wolf stared at your face before inserting his bigness into your body.

His lowered lips touched your chin, bored until they met your lips with lust and need. Your muffled moans reached him in his throat. His hot tongue teased and scooped up the nectar from your mouth.

After he had his hips still in place for a moment, Seongje slowly moved them in and out, slow at first but that was only the beginning. The rhythm started to accelerate. Your hands that were now gripping his broad shoulders dug their emotions through his fabric.

Seongje separated his lips from our saliva that was connected in a line. He leaned down to kiss you again and stared at your face that he had destroyed every time he penetrated. The moans filled the room, creating more fuel for his body every time.

“Fuck, it’s so tight,” he cursed. Both of his hands grabbed your waist and slammed into your body with his desire. His rhythm became more savage, until you couldn’t keep up.

You who were stimulated before started to lose control of yourself. The vagina that was squeezing him tightened even tighter. The hands that gripped the sheets tightly released the tingling sensation. Finally, the pleasure erupted from your body. The sweet moans that could no longer be held back showed that you were done.

Seongje, who felt your tight walls squeezing, also lost his patience. He thrust in and out like that for a while before pulling out of your body and rubbing his shaft a few times before cumming on your thighs.

The hand that was placed on his raised his phone to capture the image in front of him. You were lying limp, shaking and twitching, spreading your legs open invitingly. Your thighs were decorated with his white seed. It was such a beautiful sight.

“One round won’t be enough, right, pretty one?” Wolf said, and it made your spine tingle.

From Emma: The author does not endorse any of the actions depicted in the story and advises readers to use their discretion

[denpa-dere]

house arrest 3

afab!mc x beelzebub

description: NSFW, you are confined to your room for your own protection. But how long will that last when the only thing standing between you and your housemates is a door and some willpower? Would Beel pass the marshmallow test?

warnings: Capital B breeding kink with talks of impregnation, babies, afab reader with she/her pronouns. Talk of emotional eating. Dubcon warning!!! This one turned out sounding kind of sketch in places, but actions depicted are intended to be consensual. Size kink.

Note: reader is described as being shorter and smaller than Beel, but I tried not to go into specifics. so just scale Beel in your mind to however big he'd have to be to be significantly larger than you.

|| Intro || Mammon || Asmo (mini) || Levi || Satan (mini) || Beel || Lucifer (mini) || Asmo || Belphie (mini) || Belphie || Barbatos (mini) || Satan || Diavolo (mini) || Purgatory I || Purgatory II ||

For the past few days, Beezlebub had been eating his feelings. 

He was a menace in the kitchen, he could admit it. Since breakfast three days ago, no meals were able to be prepared to completion without interference from the sixth-born. Occasionally, one of his brothers would try to separate him from the fridge where he had set up camp, but each attempt only served to make him more irritable and territorial, less like himself. It soon became clear that their efforts were not worth the struggle and creative measures were implemented to allow for some form of cookery. 

Belphagor hovered as much as his fatigue would permit, worried for his twin. Left unspoken for the sake of Beel's dignity, Belphie understood intrinsically the depth of the hunger you had unlocked in his brother. It was a terrifying force to be reckoned with, one that could very easily boil over into something disastrous. 

At this late hour, Beel was alone, Belphie having retreated to the attic for yet another nap. Four puddings pushed down the memory of your scent for the nth time. Twelve poisoned apples for how his hands dwarfed your tiny shoulders. A couple boxes of leftover takeout to smother your big doe eyes looking up at him before the first shove kicked off a regretful fight between his brothers. 

Guilt weighed like an albatross around Beel's neck. He loved his family- you were included in that. You rounded out their group in a way that felt complete. Beel wasn't always the most articulate demon, but his feelings were genuine and acute; sometimes overwhelmingly so. 

"Oh, hey."

He felt sick. 

Beel twisted to see you over his shoulder, refrigerator door still halfway open. You were standing in the kitchen doorway, looking unsure, picking your fingernails. You looked so small. 

"I was going to get something to drink," You said, as if you needed an excuse to be there. 

He smiled at you and hoped it was reassuring, "I think there's some juice left."

"Thanks, that'll work," You returned the grin, relieved he broke the tension first. He sat the carton on the counter and stepped aside.

See? You could both be normal about this.

“I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you,” You mused, getting yourself a glass from the cupboard, “I’m going stir-crazy in there.”

Beel leaned against an opposite counter, “How much longer are you locked down for?”

“Ugh, I don’t know, two or three more days, maybe?” You mirrored him from across the room, “I hope Lucifer doesn’t think I’m doing this every month. Absolutely not.”

Every month.

This was going to happen every month? Indefinitely? He felt light-headed. How was he supposed to contend with this on a regular basis? A month was nothing. 

“You okay?” You asked, shaking Beel from his thoughts. 

“Yeah,” He replied, “Are you at least eating enough?”

“No complaints there,” You shrugged, sipping your drink, “Anyway, I should head back.”

The words came out reflexively the moment your back was turned: “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too,” You beamed back at him, stopping in your tracks. You were so pretty when you smiled. He felt his heart speed up.

“Can I walk you back?” He asked, knowing very well he shouldn't, but not ready to say goodbye just yet. 

You hesitated for only a moment, "Yeah, I'd like that."

___

Trying to keep pace with you was always a little awkward, given your much shorter stride. Beel was used to waiting up for others after a few millennia of adapting to Belphie's slothful movements. Still, the urge to scoop you up and carry you with him tugged at his fraying nerves. Would you mind? You'd let him do it before…

Even if you did mind, it'd be easy, he thought, to simply hook an arm around your waist and lift you like a fangol ball. You could wiggle and fight as much as you wanted, but realistically, you were physically no match for the most average of demons, let alone one such as himself. Especially if caught by surprise, with no time for magic (or pact orders) to level the playing field. Despite all of your time spent in the Devildom, your trusting nature left you wide open to any number of those with ill intent. It was like you refused to understand that humans were prey. 

Which is why you needed to be here, with him them, Beel reminded himself. To keep you safe. Because, right now, you were all but screaming to be devoured. 

Sweat dotted his brow. Maybe going with you was a mistake. Without a constant stream of food to distract himself, his thoughts were drifting to dark and unfamiliar territory. Even tucked under his arm, were you really safe? He swallowed the rapidly pooling spit in his mouth, chewing on the discomforting idea. 

"Well, this is my stop," You said, breaking the uneasy silence that had formed between you. Your hand hovered on the doorknob, but neither of you moved. He was certain you could read the distress all over his face. You were good at that sort of thing. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked gently, twisting the handle.

"I don't know," He replied, honest as ever, "I want to spend more time with you, but I'm worried."

"That you'll hurt me?"

He nodded, "Or worse."

You seemed to consider his words carefully. You studied his expression, though what you were searching for was unclear. Finally, you shrugged as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. 

"I'm not worried," You said, pushing open your bedroom door, "I trust you."

___

Beel loved his family. He loved you. 

But he could stand for there to be more of you. 

It was his single-minded focus, and had been since… since however long it had been that you'd allowed him into your room, he supposed. 

You entered first. You showed your back to him and he went after you, blinded by instinct. Time was fuzzy after that. Later, Beel would go through and make sense of things. Right now, with your cunt squeezing him so deliciously, the only semi-coherent thought in his head was breeding you over and over and over again. 

"More, one more," He slurred almost apologetically. If he could feel the satisfaction of cumming deep inside your tight little body just one more time, then he would be sated. Maybe. Probably. 

You were like jelly, eyes rolled back, reduced to wordless noises while he bounced you on his cock. Your arms hung loose around his neck, legs locked around his waist. Dark marks bloomed across your skin, purple bruises in the shape of hands and teeth despite his best efforts to keep your trust. It took everything he had not to break your soft, salty skin when he tasted you. He mouthed at whatever exposed flesh he could reach, desires and intentions blurring hopelessly together into a confusing mess. 

You fell against him with a pathetic cry as another orgasm was pulled from your poor, overstimulated body. You were trembling uncontrollably. He curled protectively around you, kissing your sweat-slicked temple and murmuring sweet praise that bubbled up through his mental haze. You were taking him so well, please, just one more for him, please, one more so he could make absolutely sure you wound up carrying his babies- and why stop at one? You were going to be gorgeous pregnant, working so hard to make their family even bigger, giving him even more people to love. Fuck– he couldn't get enough of you. 

He felt a tightening in his core that signaled he was close. He held you in place, bottoming out when he bucked up into you. Stretched obscenely full, your walls pulsed around him, milking his cock for all he could give. You groaned something that sounded like his name muffled into his chest, your desperate keening triggering his own release. His previously rhythmic grunting built into a low growl as he pumped thick ropes of cum deep into your already stuffed cunt. Beel let out a small whine feeling some of his seed dripping out around him. It wasn't fair. It all belonged to you. 

A brief moment of clarity washed over him in the wake. He knew you were tired- exhausted, actually, judging by your adorable fucked-out expression. That was okay, he could help. He'd get you cleaned up and into fresh pajamas before taking you upstairs to rest together in his bed. 

Consequences be damned, he was going to keep you close. He knew Belphie wouldn't mind. Besides, what if he needed more later? 

[grlsbstshot]

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters): 

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington "EJ" Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Story Synopsis: 

R&B singer/songwriter, Jameson Lucas, is well known as a charming playboy. The latest in his line of ‘loved em and left em’ behavior? Imani St. Cirie, an emotive singer/songwriter herself. As common sense pulls them in opposite directions – friendships are tested, old flames resurface, and new opportunities threaten to tear them apart for good. In this industry, dreams can make or break you – but what happens when love becomes the gamble of a lifetime? Chapter I // Chapter II // Special Edition // Chapter III // Special Edition Pt. 2 // Chapter IV

Chapter Synopsis: Jameson & Imani enjoy a brief reprieve in their relationship woes while EJ tries to run interference with Sloane -- who has plans of her own.

Warnings: smut (18+, minors dni), toxic relationship, possessiveness, sexual activity (fingering), dirty talk, profanity, explicit terminology, mentions of cheating – if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 4.1k // Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes: The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

There will be alternating POVs between our leads.

"you know this kind of fucked up, don't you?" imani spoke softly, her fingertips brushing against jameson's earlobe as he lay on her chest. he didn't say a word but she felt how his body tensed. finally, he nodded his head and sighed softly. the time was a mystery to her but she knew the dawn was creeping in on their moment. the night was gone and sunlight was going to chase the shadows away. it was now or never.

"i'm not ready to be with you again." she told him honestly. once again, jameson nodded but said no words. "but i want to be. i want you, jamie."

the words left her mouth easily despite how terrifying it was to put her trust into jameson's hands. she loved the man fiercely but it had been one disappointment after the next -- starting with his cheating. his infidelity had changed everything. it changed the way she looked at him, the way she moved when it came to him, and the way they loved each other.

everything was practically dripping in mistrust. how the fuck were they supposed to make a life with each other when everything stood against them?

"i want you too."

finally, he spoke. his voice was raspy with sleep, low in its tone. she had always loved his voice. whether he was singing to her or talking to her, jameson had the power to put her under a spell. even now, four words made part of her anxiety disappear. she had been afraid he'd push for more. imani knew she was in a vulnerable state but she also knew there was only so much trust she'd be willing to give him right then.

"i'ma earn you back though. i swear." jameson said softly, turning his head to press a kiss to the valley between her breasts. "go ahead and make me work for it, mama."

imani lifted her head from her pillow, peering down at him before rolling her eyes. there was a smile on her lips. he had passed one test. "be careful what you ask for."

the call continued to ring until he got the voicemail. genie's measured and warm tone filtering in through his ears. when he woke up the morning after their facetime date -- genie had disconnected the call. he gave her time to rest before trying to reconnect with her but genie was proving to be illusive. he couldn't get a hold of her. granted, it had less than twenty-four hours since they last spoke but...he was feenin for her. bad. it didn't matter that he told himself he'd never get involved with her...he still wanted her.

as he pulled the black card from his wallet and hung up the phone, the clicking of high heels against the marbled floor pulled him right back into the moment.

"ellington? i knew that was you!"

ej lifted his head and gave the woman a sideways glance. he hated being called by his full name. but of course sloane wouldn't know that because sloane didn't know a damn thing about him. he liked it that way. she was jameson's friend. not his.

"sloane." he greeted her primly, not giving off the impression that he wanted to chat with her. even though his greeting was short, sloane gave him a bright grin. the red lipstick on her plush lips was appealing. he wasn't a blind man. she was a gorgeous girl -- but he couldn't quite shake the fact that genie didn't like her for good reason. and what genie didn't like, he didn't like.

"it's got to be fate we met like this." she continued, taking a seat across from him as he continued the process of paying for his meal. ej waved the waitress over, slipping his card into the leather pouch and offering it to the woman.

"or you followed me here." ej said bluntly, leaning back in his chair. he watched as her brow rose and she laughed, giving toss of her hair. "somebody is full of himself."

"what can i do for you, sloane?" "nothing. i'm just looking for friendly conversation." "and yet -- you came to someone who is not your friend." "well, i would hang out with jamie but he's proving to be a hard man to get in touch with."

and there it was. the reason for her friendly behavior. jameson. when they first met, ej figured out pretty quickly that sloane had a crush on jameson hadn't hit. she was devoted and possessive. she found fault with everybody jamie found himself involved with. ej had seen her eyes follow him around several parties and events. he saw the longing in her. at first, he thought that jameson had slept with her. that was the only excuse he could think of for why she was so deeply entwined with his life. but jameson had denied it. genie and sloane were like family to him. but ej knew that friendship was not where sloane would put their relationship.

as jameson chased another woman halfway across the world -- he hadn't told sloane he was even gone. it was never going to be her but ej knew it wasn't his place to tell her that. the only way to get out of this conversation was to lie.

"you know how he is when it's down to wire. he locking in." ej could tell from the narrowing of her eyes that she did not believe him. too bad. he wasn't giving her shit else to go on. "he does have an album he needs to finish, you know?"

"without you?" sloane questioned as the waitress returned with ej's credit card. he gave the woman a polite smile before returning his attention to sloane.

"for a minute, yes. i have other shit i need to do." "like what?" "like mind my business." "ellington--" "are you done interrogating me?" "i wasn't. i was just --" "you were."

he was firm in his assertion. she wanted information and he wasn't giving it to her. he was watching her reaction so closely that he saw it when her face changed. she went from sociable and open -- charming even -- to agitated. it happened so quickly that he almost thought he imagined it. she seemed astonished that he didn't fall over himself to satisfy her curiosity. ej wondered just how many men jumped when she said 'how high'.

he could have gotten up and left but instead, he leaned forward and braced his elbows against the table. he was looking at sloane with brand new eyes.

"have you talked to genie? maybe she can let jameson know you're looking for him."

her eyes flashed with anger as she shook her head and ej filed that information away. she and genie were mutually against one another. it didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things -- but ej could tell it was deep.

"what's going on with you and her?" "me and who?" "you're not very good at playing dumb." genie scoffed, amazed at his attitude. "...you'll have to ask her" "seems like i need to ask you too. genie knows exactly where jameson is but you didn't call her. you came to ask me -- a man you barely know. why?"

sloane was quiet, her gaze steely. he knew she wouldn't tell him anything. ej slowly rose from the table, slipping his card into his wallet as he did so.

"jameson is where he wants to be, sloane. i don't know what's going on but i advise you to let him be for now. if you care about your friendship that is."

sloane watched him leave, a frown darkening her face. it really had been a coincidence running into ej. she recognized him immediately and thought she could at least get a message to jameson. her texts and voicemail had gone unanswered and she was starting to get a terrible feeling that wherever he was -- he was with imani.

she rose from the table, brushing her hair over her shoulder as she tried to pretend she wasn't embarrassed by the fact that ej had so thoroughly rejected her attempts at friendship. sure, it was conditional but he could have at least been a little kinder.

especially after she had made herself late for her actual lunch meeting to talk to him. she moved through the restaurant with haste. she knew where her companion would be based on the way other women kept craning their heads to get a good look at him.

christian mckay was one of the most eligible bachelors in her social circle. descendant from harlem renaissance legends, he had a lineage that screamed important. beyond that, he was 6'2, had a gorgeous dark skin tone, perfect angular nose, full lips, and perfect teeth that made his smile magnificent. if his physical wasn't enough, his personality was wonderful. he was thoughtful, considerate, and intelligent. if she weren't in love with jameson -- she could have fallen in love with him.

"i'm so sorry i'm late." sloane uttered breathily, approaching the table. christian didn't even glance up from the book in his hands, he simply stood and moved around the table to pull her chair out for her.

"looking forward to that explanation." he said softly, the timbre of his voice reminding her far too much of jameson's. sloane took a seat, waiting for him to do the same before she spoke. "i saw a friend and we got caught up."

christian retook his seat and slid his bookmark between the pages, setting the book aside as he finally got a good look at her. "you kept me waiting to gossip?" he asked her, tilting his head.

sloane gave him a smile, shrugging her shoulder. "it's not like you missed me. you were fully entertained. besides -- you're not here for me. you're here for imani. right?"

the mention of the woman they had in common made christian avert his gaze. it was no secret that he was infatuated with imani. from the moment they met, he had secretly harbored a crush. imani had never looked his way though -- because genie had been the one to fall for him first.

"what if i told you that she was single again?" christian brought his gaze back to her face and sloane knew she had him. "what if i could help you get what you want?"

christian was quiet for a moment before he found the words to speak. his voice was level, seemingly unaffected but she could tell from the way he leaned in that he was interested. "what's this about, sloane? i know you don't want to help out of the kindness of your heart. so what is this about?"

"jameson." sloane answered immediately and christian rolled his eyes.

"of course. i don't know what the fuck you both see in him." "can you not? i'm here to talk about you. just -- don't." "don't what? he's self-absorbed as fuck." "oh please. you're not better than jameson." "no? i don't lead you on and i don't lie to people i claim to love. and i'm sure as fuck not a cheater." "you fucked me while you were pretend dating genie for access to imani. i think that makes you worse than him."

there was silence that lay between them then felt like it stretched forever. she had so bluntly stated the truth. she and Christian were both stuck on people who were in love with each other. after one too many passive rejections from jameson and feeling like she was losing her best friend, genie, to imani...sloane had turned her sights to him.

they indulged and one night had single-handedly shattered a decade long friendship and genie's romantic interest in christian. the secret had stayed between them. sloane knew if jameson found out, he'd be pissed on genie's behalf. for some reason...the other girl hadn't told a soul. guilt was written all over christian's face but sloane didn't allow herself to feel anything at all about that night.

"you know it wasn't like that, sloane." "who cares? the point is...we're all fucked up and in glass houses. don't cast your stone at his -- or i'll start throwing stones at your house. now do you want imani or not?"

"imani? are you awake?"

genie knocked at her best friend's bedroom door, praying she didn't hear anything that signaled jameson was also awake. when she got to the suite, genie hesitated to use her key card to open the door. it was the day after she'd left jameson inside with her best friend but the space didn't seem disturbed. when she used her keycard to get into the luxury space, there was no broken furniture, no blood shed, and no body she had to help imani get rid of. the only other option was that the two had made up. good for them, bad for her.

the whole point of the trip was for imani to do promo while wearing genie's designs. it would be the boost she needed for a career nobody -- but imani -- believed in. genie knocked again, making the movement a little more forceful. this time, she heard shuffling and muffled conversation before imani's voice filtered out from behind the solid wood.

"i'm up...i'm up."

sleep drenched her voice and genie carefully twisted the knob. she prayed for her sanity and eyes before she shoved the door open. "good! let's get started. we have to prep you for today."

genie kept her gaze averted from the bed but figured if she started to move around the room, the two would at least have the decency to cover themselves up. she went to the closet and pulled a couple of dresses from the rack, ignoring the fact that the two seemed to be talking about her arrival.

"should we do the purple or the black and white?" genie called from the closet. "the purple design looks great on your skin but the black and white is my best." she steeled herself once more before heading out of the closet and facing the two people she loved most in the world. "we should do some test pics to -- seriously? mani! you're gonna be late."

genie lowered the dresses, staring at the two with a quirked brow. they hadn't moved from the bed. they were both fully covered -- thank god -- but imani was on her back giggling, jameson was laying over her. his teeth were nibbling against her earlobe and his hands were somewhere underneath the sheets.

jameson lifted his head, his gaze on genie's face. he wasn't laughing but she could tell he thought her annoyance was amusing. she had the strongest urge to kick him in his back. "who invited you in here?" genie's gaze narrowed as she tossed both dresses onto the bed. she saw imani's legs shift under the covers to avoid being hit with the dresses.

"who invited you? you aren't even supposed to be here!" "but i am. are you really going to stand in the way of true love?" "stand in the way? i let you in here!" "which i did not approve of..." imani interjected into their conversation. genie scoffed and folded her arms over her chest. "it looks to me like you approved all night long. thank god i got my own room." "maybe if you approved with someone all night long, you'd still be in bed and let us sleep a little longer." jameson suggested.

imani lifted her hand to smack his shoulder and he winced, rolling from on top of her. "i'm getting up, g. i swear. gimme a minute." genie knew exactly what that meant coming from her. especially with jameson involved. still. they had done what she wanted them to do -- find their way back to each other. genie had no idea what came next for them but jameson was right -- she didn't want to stand in the way of that.

genie hesitated before she turned to the door and made her way out. she stopped briefly only to turn and give jameson another glare. much to her surprise, he stuck his tongue out at her -- and got another smack against his chest as a reward for it. it was her turn to stick her tongue out -- and she did just that before walking out of the room and shutting the door behind her.

"why do you let her bully me?" jameson joked, looking at imani with a grin on his face. she looked so damn pretty at all times but especially like this. he'd seen her in the morning plenty of times in the years they were together but this was the first time in a year that he had woken up next to her. jameson couldn't do anything but feel grateful.

"because you deserve it. most of the time." she replied, crooking a finger in his direction to beckon him closer. "we got a minute."

jameson was sure it would be just that -- sixty seconds -- before genie burst into the door asking for them to separate. he tugged her body closer to his, resting on his side as he nuzzled his nose against hers. "so i've got sixty seconds to convince you to make time for me today?" his hand grazed along her hip, fingertips caressing against her thigh the further down he moved.

"my schedule is pretty tight." "i believe you. imani is always in demand. how can i get in?" "you gotta convince me. my time in rome is limited." "i just need an afternoon. maybe a few hours of the evening." "so we're taking major time? ooh. ion know if i have that for you."

"no?" jameson asked, pressing a gentle peck against imani's lips. "that's unfortunate. i had an incredible proposal to offer you." his words were accompanied by the light caress of his roaming fingertips. her skin was so soft, so warm. he couldn't help himself. jameson hitched her leg up to rest over his own as he kissed her softly.

"i don't believe you." imani mumbled through slow kisses, their tongues tangling and then back again. "show me."

he could feel her warm breath against his skin, anticipation making her breath hitch in her throat. the fact that she wanted him so badly only served to turn him on even more. jameson slipped his fingers between her legs -- a path he had taken numerous times before. he just couldn't get enough of her. she arched her back, offering herself up to him as jameson carefully rolled her to her back.

as his fingers pressed into her, she whimpered. he swallowed each one, slipping his tongue into her mouth to taste her. he didn't give a fuck that had licked and sucked one another dry the night before. that they hadn't even done the basic morning hygiene. his desire for her outran any other sense.

with each flick of his tongue, his fingers grew bolder and imani's moans grew louder. though still muffled by his own mouth, jameson knew it was only a matter of time before he couldn't keep her quiet anymore. he lifted his head, gazing down at her. lust was written all over her face. her eyes were low, jaw dropped as he finger fucked her into bliss.

"you so goddamn wet," he muttered, his voice low and husky. "if i had the time, i'd spread these legs and fucked you until they started shaking." imani moaned out, her hands grasping at his shoulder and forearm. she hadn't said a word but he could tell she liked what he was saying...so he kept talking.

he shifted his thumb between her legs, using it to tap against her swollen clit. he could feel when a wave of pleasure hit her because she clenched over his fingers. jameson sighed happily, watching as she squirmed and thrashed underneath him. "that's right. get it, baby. take what you want."

her arousal leaked out of her pussy, covering his fingers and down to his damn wrist. her thighs were clenched around his hand but she couldn't control his fingers. he curled them, watching her face for the moment he found that exact spot. he shifted his fingers inch by inch until her brows furrowed and her eyes glazed over as she rode his hand harder. "that's it right there?" he asked her. imani didn't respond, her eyes shut tightly as she panted her way towards orgasm. "you don't hear me talking to you?"

jameson's free hand brushed against her hair, fingertips tangling in the strands as he leaned in to bite her lower lip. "i asked you...if this is the spot you like?" as he spoke, he rocked his hand hard against it -- bringing a yelp from her mouth.

"yes! fuck! that's it. j-jamie..." she cried out, breaking away from his mouth.

jameson grinned when she spoke, kissing her cheek softly. "good girl. see? i told you this was a good proposal. ain't it good, baby?" the sheets were cool but her body was overheated and warm as they rocked together. he was hard as hell but he didn't try to replace his fingers with his dick -- he focused on her. imani's hands roamed over his back, her hands grazing against the tattoo on his shoulder and the one on his neck.

"i good. i mean -- mhm! it's good, daddy. it's so good." she whimpered, her head slumping to the right as she lost control of her body. he could feel her getting closer to the edge. her hips arched from the bed in desperation and jameson had some kind of mercy on her. he didn't stop. he licked his tongue across her lips, whispering lowly. "show me what that pussy can do, mama. give it to me."

no sooner than he finished speaking did her eyes roll back in her head. her nails dug into his skin tightly as he pumped in and out of her. her body was so tight and tense that he had to soothingly brush his fingers through her hair and tell her to relax. she came hard and fast, twisting and turning until the orgasm drained her.

"fuck me." she whispered, pulling him down into a kiss. it would have been easy for jameson to do it. he'd forgotten all about genie waiting for her or whatever work shit she had to do. he wanted to fuck her...but he wanted to spend time with her more.

jameson shook his head, giving her a bright grin as he shook his head. "naaaah. not now anyway but if you want to make time for me later..." he let his words trail off, carefully pulling his fingers from between her legs. imani narrowed her eyes at him but jameson seemed unphased. he began to lick and suck his fingers clean as she watched -- a grunt leaving his mouth. "taste good as fuck too." he told her, forcing himself to roll away from her.

imani reached for him, attempting to pull him back by the arm but jameson quickly rolled out of bed. naked with his dick practically standing up, he pulled the covers back to see her body. that would have to do until later. "am i gonna see you later?" he asked her. imani glared at him. he knew she was petty enough to say no but instead she nodded slowly.

"good. you should get up. you don't want to be late." jameson remarked, grinning as he made his way to the bathroom to get rid of his damn hard on.

[zomb13s]

Vacuitas Engine: Your Digital Identity, Reclaimed (No Tech Degree Required)

Wil je me betalen voor OTAKU AI? Je mag het bedrag zelf kiezen. Betalen kan via Deze link is geldig t/m 18 augustus. Dankjewel! Forget Skynet, …Vacuitas Engine: Your Digital Identity, Reclaimed (No Tech Degree Required)

[therightrighthand]

SCP-8883

SCP-8883 // Ketter Class / Containment Breach // ZK-Class Reality Failure Scenario // 'Goldchild' Protocall in effect

--------

"Greetings, my name is Doctor ██████ from the ███ ██████ ██ department of the SCP Foundation, universe designation ██ ████ ███ ███ ███.

If you have received this documentation, it means SCP-████ has successfully entered your reality to deliver this message to an SCP Foundation member or an organisation of a similar kind. I guess, greetings from across the multiverse [Chuckle] ... anyway.

Sadly, this message is not one of the good tidings but a warning of an anomaly we have designated in our universe as SCP-8883, which has developed as a potential Keter Class threat (Uncontainable depending on your classification system) or invoked a ZK-Class Scenario (Reality has broken down and our end is imminent).

In the event this does happen, we have enacted the 'Godchild protocol', where we reach out to known neighbouring universes that have a high probability of having their own SCP-8883. The goal is to share our findings and research on SCP-8883 so that you may be ready for the coming threat.

If it happens, I mean. This documentation is merely a precaution for something that hasn't even happened yet, so it may just be a waste of time-" [REDACTED] "This documentation will come in two parts, Pre and Post ZK-Class Scenario so there is ample time to properly per pair our findings before it might be 'too late'.

PRE - ZK

"SCP-8883 is a young female girl, (as of █████) around 25 years old, though her age and identity may vary. There is nothing overly anomalous about SCP-8883. In her un-interfered state, she is just a normal human. What allocates her as an anomalous SCP is that she will one day become god, or a god, so to speak. We discovered this during a fact-finding mission with SCP-████ that uncovered this supposed proficy they referred to as the 'Sirpyn Paradox'. It is believed that SCP-8883 will, in some nondescript way, develop into an entity so strong it cannot reside within the walls of reality.

The details on how or when this happened were not provided, but we believed her to be relatively safe. What drew our attention was our attempt to apprehend SCP-8883, and various anomalies interfered with the process. There were 15 attempts to bring her in, and over 48 recorded anomalies one could describe as 'godly intervention'. Flat tyres, floods, lottery wins, sickness, pregnancy, even a meteor destroying a highway. To many around SCP-8883 to be a coincidence.

It's at this point we humoured the theory (now proven) that their future god-self (designated SCP-8883-B) is manipulating fate to stop our efforts. Interestingly, this has only ever been the case in regard to capture; we've never been stopped when our operatives have engaged with SCP-8883 undercover just to 'talk'. We surmised that direct capture of SCP-8883 was in conflict with their 'fate', leading them to become SCP-8883-B, so they intervened. Meaning we had to get creative.

In the end, we had to use SCP-████ to create models, based on the probability, to predict a course of action that would allow us to secure SCP-8883 that would not interfere with their fate. This presented us with an interesting possibility, how much can SCP-8883-B intervene, and how far can we force their intervention?

With the approval of ██████ we orchestrated a series of tests. The first test gave us obvious results, harmless intervention, but by using the probability modules, we were able to, in a sense, corner SCP-8883's fate to a full manifestation of SCP-8883-B and aggressive confrontation. The only visual confirmation we can conform from SCP-8883-B, which hasn't led to an immediate brain aneurysm, is a close likeness to SCP-8883 in shape and form, with a face covered in shadow and piercing green eyes.

With this discovery, we're putting together a proposal to utilise this incredible opportunity. We have the power of a god-level SCP at our disposal, one who is inert and who we can contain and control through predictive model data. If their abilities is as strong as we believe it is, we can use SCP-8883 to destroy other SCP threats.

It's all very exciting!"

POST - ZK

"Mother of god ... what have we done ... W-what have I done ... I hope there are enough analogies about playing god- or tempting fate in your universe ... clearly there wasn't enough in ours" [REDACTED]

"As theorised ... SCP-8883 has been elevated to a Ketter Class SCP, a ZK-Scenario is in effect, and Protocol Godchild has been initiated... I only wish I had more time to better compose myself ... or even amend my last fucking entry- I.... fuck. god I can't" [REDACTED]

"As I mentioned at the start of this documentation, the Godchild Protocol has come into effect and you have received this warning that SCP-8883 has caused a Reality Failure Scenario.

Before I carry on... whoever you are, you must stop this recording IMMEDIATELY and escalate this to the highest level of Authority. If you are part of a SCP Foundation, then this must be taken to The Administrator, or at the very least, The Council... otherwise, you pose a risk not only to your own life but to your universe's too"

"........................................"

"Ok ... if I am talking directly to who I think I am ... kill the person who handed you this documentation, them, and anyone who has any knowledge of this information being passed to you. As we speak, my reality is falling apart because of the information in this document. Whilst we could not contain SCP-8883 we could prevent it, by Leaving. Her. Alone. By knowing someone's fate, you risk intervening with it, and intervened with Del- erm, SCP-8883's fate led to our demise.... I ask- no, BEG you, destroy this documentation, stop the recording now and erase everything. Let them live their lives untested and let fate take its course...

"........................................"

"If you're still listening ... I hope you know what you're doing and the risks with this information. Know, I'm only sharing this to appease curiosity, so you do not give into the same temptation we-.... I did...

After discovering we could control SCP-8883-B's focus, we began to escalate our testing to harvest residual energy created by SCP-8883-B and eventually use them as a weapon. We found we could manipulate SCP-8883-B to destroy other SCP's. I'm not going to list each SCP, but- we had a 100% success rate, and we were able to remove over 80% of our most hostile SCPs. They were everything we ever wanted. And with SCP-████ models the risk was next to 0.

However...

SCP-████ was unable to account for a variable we had no measurement for. Put my fucking trust in that AI-" [REDACTED] "It seemed that every time we coached SCP-8883-B into acting on our behalf, we frayed the fabric of time and space ... like running a blade across a rope, slowly eroding its threads until it eventually snapped.

That's when everything fell apart and SCP-8883 entered a ... I don't know what to call it, demi-god state? A defense mechanism? Whatever- SCP-8883-C, let's just call it that... We've tried to capture as much footage as we could, but we lost every power station across the globe the second shit hit the fan. Any and all attempts to stop SCP-8883-C were met with the same effect, immediate destruction on a cellular level. We don't even have any SCPs to throw at it to slow her down ... But that's only the tip of the iceberg, as SCP-8883-C has weaponised SCP-8883-B against us in a form we've not seen before ... some sort of giant lizard entity the size of manhattan... Apparently, you can see it's destructive trail from space...

The crippling blow wasn't the girl or her knock-off Godzilla, but the sheer power emitting from the two of them that began to tear space and time apart. Past and future are starting to crumble into one another as SCP-8883-C's slow destructive path seems to be echoed simultaneously in every moment in time, all at once.

The effects are ... indescribable ... yesterday I shared a cup of tea with my grandfather, who's been dead for 8 years ... and an hour ago, I rang up my grandson and told him I loved him ... I don't even have a family- or I won't yet , or ... ever will? ... and then there are parts of time that have been completely eviscerated... members of staff have even began to forget their names...

Everything is falling apart...

Now the responsibility lies on your shoulders. You must carry on the Godchild protocol. Not only do I know there is an SCP-8883 in your universe, but in every conceivable universe. The Sirpyn Paradox isn't just a rare freak anomaly, it is a FACT. And if it cannot be contained or destroyed, then it must be maintained...

Gods speed..."

[MESSAGE END]

-------- The winner of this month's Del-veres vote! SCP Foundation Del! I was really looking forward to seeing how this could work because I figure the SCP Foundation would be the only group able to contain/utilise the Sirpyn Paradox, or their universe's Del. Or at least for so long

-- Follow my socials and art discord on my Link.tree Do not use, repost or claim (rp) my art/character Art © @The-Red-Right-Hand

[snailfen]

been seeing people write up s4 wishlists so heres mine !!!

- i actually would like to see nickel apologize. i trust them to not have suitcase forgive his ass at all but after everything he put her through, she deserves that closure!

- on that note, what about suitcase and baseballs relationship now? i think the thing is that even up to the end, baseball still didnt fully understand suitcase. even if he understood why she left the alliance, he still believes her to be a victim of circumstance when it came to voting nickel out, and then he assumed himself to be a source of anxiety for suitcase and didn't let her talk after she chose knife as her final competitor. i don't think its OVER for them as friends especially since baseballs learned he can't give up trying even when he fails, but i do think its another obstacle in their rocky relationship. yeesh you two this is awkward

- also ALSO i would like to see baseball and balloon interact?. they hardly interacted on the grand slams and while baseball did side with nickel in the plot to get him out, he still wanted suitcase to have him as a friend if thats what she wanted. overall he doesn't seem to dislike balloon, at all? cant really say how balloon sees him. but i wanna See

- the complications in fan and test tubes relationship with bot, we've already seen some of it with bot going against test tube when it came to cabby, but im talking more about bot resenting them for the way they were made. i mean i would also like to see fans positive relationship as well since we've mostly only seen test tubes side of things, but when it comes to both of them i wanna see how that resentment might interfere with bots relationship to them. bot genuinely does seem to desire having them in their life, but what now? part of me wonders if finding out that they (unknowingly) perpetuated a cycle of abuse through bot would also affect this, and also how.

- SPEAKING OF THE CYCLE !!!!!! (<-rain world fans when theres a cycle) i really want to see how the contestants process their entire existence being for a gameshow. like, none of them have parents, they just spawned into the world thinking death wasnt such a huge deal because they could be revived (until now). they're some guys coping mechanism. yeah sure they can now make their lives their own, but they aren't NORMAL. thats kinda fucked when you think about it

- salt character development please please please oh please. the thing thats really interesting about salt is that she's one of the very few who hasn't broken from her "code" so to speak. i really do think the only thing that's going to cause her to do that (as hinted at by brian? or at least how i interpreted it) is if pepper gets fed up with her acting like the world revolves around her. pepper is just as much salts other half as salt is peppers, the only thing is, salt doesn't realize that because she's the "trendsetter" and peppers the "follower". it also doesn't seem like anyone else actually likes her at this point either, so if she loses pepper for a bit its really gonna force her to reevaluate her entire life.

- on that note this is a personal headcanon ive come up with so im not betting on it happening. but its really good to the point that id like to see it in canon so im putting it here anyways. candlepep friendship? candle has learned she needs to focus on herself rather than the needs of others, but since the contestants have to rebuild from scratch, i could very well see her falling back on old habits and trying to help others and possibly forgetting her own needs. she must feel needed, after all! but then theres pepper. based on my hypothetical above, being without salt is gonna be really tough for her but she's probably gonna have a little more support from others than salt.

However! pepper instinctively feels like she needs someone to "follow", so without salt i could very well see her trying to latch onto others. i feel like seeing someone who's in a similar predicament (both girls needing to center someone else in their lives) might remind candle that she needs to remember her needs and focus on herself. i feel like the two of them could teach eachother something important? meditation involves focusing on yourself and pepper still needs to learn that. as for the other way around, peppers interests are more based on fashion and makeup (and while those are interests that still align with salt) and that kind of practice is most fun when you focus on what makes you personally happy (something candle could learn, focusing on her wants and needs etc). i like the idea of them not necessarily NEEDING eachother but growing to like the other and wanting the other as their friend. either that or their problems clash and it becomes toxic yuri but i think candles had enough. brian koch receive my brain waves...... PLEASEEEE..........

- get funny with the contestants. some of these fuckers havent even SEEN eachother before ii18. i wanna see everyone get screentime if im being honest! i wanna see new friendships form and shit, maybe new rivalries as well! @/br1ghtestlight mentioned teakettle, tissues, lifering and blueberry living together at some point and i really like the idea of that, i can see how they'd work. i do want to be surprised on some small part but honestly, whatever works.

- the ultimate cheer factory (bot, goo, cheesy, cherries, maybe bomb and lightbulb). they'll take over the world

- fluffy payjay affection but i want it in small doses. maybe we see oj holding onto papers arm as they're discussing the new hotel with others, or them going on a gay little date as a b-plot, or calling eachother the dumbest petnames possible. at least one onscreen kissy. i don't hate payjay or anything i love it actually. just small doses or ill explode and die from being a payjay shipper for 7 years

- Mephones Possibly Complicated Healing Journey. i feel like mephones feelings surrounding cobs being dead are a little complicated, on the basis that cobs made him and he's spent most of his life wanting his approval, but he is mostly relieved. the only thing mephone has ever wanted was to be free from him after all! i also want to see more of 3GS, who he is outside of what we've seen of him. i think he'd like flash games on the puter

- knickle scene that lasts more than a minute PLEASE I MISS OUR GAMERS

- knife struggling to adjust to his new life. "its fine, im.... here." yeah sure 🙄 i saw that look on your face i KNOW you gaf. ontop of everything ive already talked about in the past (being a ghost), he now has (accidentally cus he didn't really MEAN to) shoehorned himself into marshmallows life and i dont think she's gonna give up living with bow just cus knife guy is there, but damn thats gotta make things REAL hard for the both of them. i never want to see marsh forgive him for bullying her just cus he saved her life, but i do want to see how they make... living with eachother, work out. i would also like to see us get into the 5 Secret Hints That Knife Probably Doesn't Like Himself Very Much but not at the same time as the marsh stuff probably

- taco adjusting. not only has she had it ROUGH even before the finale, but uh. no one trusts her probably. except for like, mic, and maybe soap. the bfdi x ii shorts arent canon but given the way she acts in that short, i think its easy to expect that shes gonna struggle HARD. on that note more of her and soap, i feel like having them introduced was such a good idea and soap is probably going to be a really good person for taco to have around when shes struggling to do the right thing. i also want her and marsh to talk about mepad but i dont have much else to say besides that

- okay god most of this is specific character interactions. suitcase and pickle become friendsies? please?? pretty pretty please.

- n/a and others return from the war :(. I miss them

- i heavily doubt they'll bring in the recommended characters as characters for real but I would like to see it happen. I think it would be really funny if apple saw teddy bear again and was like "oh hi teddy bear :D I missed you!!!" and teddy bear was like SHUT UP SHUT UP I HATE YOU YOU NEVER SHOULD'VE BEAT ME even though its been years and it hardly matters anymore. I would like to see more of magnifying glass and spikey mervert but I don't have a whole lot to go off of with them, other than mag showing up to the spoiled lemon concert in episode 10 for some reason.

thats all I can think of for now .... I'm hungry ..........

[deadforevr]

Jamison Bleached Waters Lore

Songs, descriptions, info, and lore.

This account features a few types of songs

- “E: (track name)” songs (referring to eliza?)

- Identification cards

- Lab 092 reports - Most important

- Underground recordings

- Still Water (a, b, e, f, j)

- C:\Users\Eliza\music\(track name)

/////

“ELIZA JAMISON'S LAST KNOWN COORDINATES WERE 44.208965, -118.215576. HER TRACKER HAS NOT MOVED SINCE DECEMBER 1ST 2002 AT ~23:12 PDT. WE HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO FIND HER OR RECEIVE FURTHER DATA FROM HER TRACKER”

coordinates - ironside mountain, OR

/////

The scientists at Lab 092 began to look through recordings located in Eliza's cell phone as per her father's orders. Information regarding her tracker is currenty unavallable.

Ellza's father, Lawrence, admitted to wiretapping her phone over a year prior to her running away from their family home in South Sim. The earlest known recording was from October 17, 2001 during her 21st birthday party. The recordings span across the following 13 months eading up to her eventual death.

The last twenty recordings found on Ella's phone were all within the same hour on November 27th, 2002 - each of which only lasting a few seconds. The recordings contained her voice, distressed, seemingly arguing with someone, unfortunately burled under harsh static and radio Interference.

"I don't know why he wanted us to dig these up." says sclentist Bemard Charon. *It feels invasive. I mean, I know she's dead, and I know that we have to follow Mr. Jamison's orders and all, but something about this is giving me a terrible feeling.*

Cryotherapy has been extended by four more weeks as negative test results are hindering the experiment. The scientists have gotten Eliza's heart began to beat again. She has not woken up yet.

/////

Eliza Jamison presumably died of hypothermia between the 2nd and the 5th of December, on the peak of Ironside Mountain. When found by hikers four weeks later, her body had been coated with a sheet of ice. Higher-ups at the Jamison Corporation demanded to have her body shipped over to the nearst lab in Bonita where a body examination could be conducted.

The scientists at Lab 092 drew samples of her blood and skin, then began to restore her body through cryotherapy.

'It'll be at least a four-week process," says scientist Dorothy Yuma. "Her chemical makeup is something we haven't seen in generations. Once we're finished, we've been told to send the body directly to her father in South Sim. We aren't sure what he’s going to do with her.”

Bonita, OR 97908

/////

Eastern Oregon University, 1980

A dead body was tound in a held 6 miles east or a subsidiary Jamison lab on July 18, 2002. The body was male, aged between 40 and 50 and stood roughly 5 foot 10. No cause of death could be formulated, as the body was completely unharmed. We are unsure as to how long the body had been lying there prior to its discovery. The victim was wearing a navy blue sweatshirt with no design, and grey gym shorts with white letters that read "ESU 1980." There was a wallet in his pocket containing ten collars, live cigarettes, wood chips and a blank drivers license.

/////

A BODY WAS FOUND LYING 9.5 MILES SOUTHEAST OF LOCKHART AIRPORT ON THE NIGHT OF DECEMBER 29TH, 2002. BELIEVED TO HAVE BEEN THERE FOR AT LEAST FOUR WEEKS, THE BODY APPEARED TO BE FEMALE, AGED 21-30. NEXT TO HER WAS AN ELECTRONIC DEVICE WITH AN ANTENNA. SHE WAS WEARING A WHITE LONG-SLEEVE SHIRT WITH NAVY BLUE SWEATPANTS. SHE WAS FOUND BAREFOOT. IN HER POCKET CONTAINED NOTHING BUT A KNIFE

Lockhart airport is just west of ironside mountain, nearby Bonita, OR where Eliza was taken to. The date lines up with her cryotherapy, confirming this was Eliza. This description is extremely important, because it also identifies her tracker mentioned in “E: Turn Back Now”. Based on the location the tracker stopped at, she continued to travel southeast. The picture below shows all POIs. Bonita, OR is just out of frame, farther southern of Ironside Mountain.

/////

Identification Cards

NS10017. WS39523.

Both identification cards include a picture, as well as a space for name and date of birth(?). Both cards are too blurry to make out words. One can assume these belong to Lawrence Jamison(left) and Eliza Jamison(?)(right). Both cards belong to “Jamison Corporation”. Lawrence’s card mentions a North Sim lab, which was not mentioned before.

/////

The first tracks from “Jamison Bleached Waters” were a collection of 4 songs by Eliza in the form of mp3s taken from her computer.

/////

There were 3 underground recordings. One from the subsidiary lab, one from a house, and one with an unknown location. The first two are from the same town and state, “▓▓▓▓, ▓▓”. I don’t know when it was censored, or if it was always like that.

/////

that’s it! thanks for reading! all of this info is available on this soundcloud link! all pictures were found from google earth and the internet. if i missed anything or see anything i didn’t, i encourage you to do some digging!

[goldenarmyofficial]

INTO THE GLOW: INSIDE NEON VORTEX

An exclusive Dominion League special from FutureSport Journal by Lin Kael

1. “They don’t play the game. They rewire it.”

There’s a moment—right before Neon Vortex takes the field—when everything stills. The lights at the Glowring don’t dim. They pause. The stadium exhales. The crowd lowers. It’s not fear. It’s not awe. It’s... synchronization.

And then, the signal arrives.

Pink, cyan, shadow. Eight figures pacing into place without a word. Not rebels. Not legends. Just... interference in motion.

In a league full of warriors and tacticians, Neon Vortex doesn’t attack the game. They overwrite it. They move on rhythms you don’t hear until you’ve already lost the beat.

This isn’t a story about dominance. It’s about disruption. And the team built to live inside it.

2. SOVEREIGNS OF SPEED

Nobody remembers when exactly Neon Vortex was founded. That’s how most stories about disruption begin.

The official line is that Coach Syv Kohlen, a former rhythm cognition researcher, drafted the first squad using metronome trials, tempo response tests, and light-delay simulations.

But when you ask the players, they say something different. They say Kohlen didn’t recruit them. They say he tuned them.

“Systems collapse. Patterns dissolve,” Kohlen told me. “But rhythm? That survives. Because rhythm isn’t structure—it’s instinct.”

Watching Neon Vortex train is like witnessing a silent orchestra warm up. No barking. No cones. No hierarchy. Just pulsing drills in partial silence—players darting in waves, switching roles mid-sequence, their breath matching beat cues only they seem to hear.

Midfielder Rey Kiro dances through a cloud of mist. Defender Zane Rho twists into unnatural angles without stumbling. Striker Vexon Ray vanishes behind a training net, reappears on the opposite line like he walked through static.

📎 Training Notes:

Drills change tempo mid-set.

Light-response tests track emotional reaction lag.

Players are never told their positions. They discover them in motion.

“A plan,” says Kohlen, “is just an echo of a moment that hasn’t changed yet. I don’t want echoes. I want evolution.”

And the evolution is vivid. Even the kits glow differently depending on who wears them. Even the field lights shift not with score—but with possession. Kohlen didn’t build a team. He launched a waveform.

3. INTERVIEW: ZENDRIX HALO — THE PROGRAMMER’S EYE

Recorded in Tunnel Chamber B, beneath The Glowring. Interview by Lin Kael.

Zendrix arrives precisely—not early, not late. Silent except for the echo of boots on concrete, his violet-lit eyes scan the empty chamber as if it might be lying to him. He sits without a word, spine straight, legs folded like he’s already calculating airflow. Every breath is deliberate. Every pause is measured. This is not a player waiting to be interviewed. This is a system booting quietly.

LK: You’re the central node for Neon Vortex. Does that come with pressure? ZH: Pressure’s an input. You route it or you crash. I route it. LK: Tomorrow is opening night. Golden Army. Big venue. Big stakes. ZH: They’ll press high. They trust momentum. Momentum is readable. LK: You’ve already mapped them? ZH: I’ve simulated forty-two scenarios. Thirty-two end in midfield seizure by minute sixteen. LK: You make it sound clinical. ZH: Emotion fogs latency. Precision cuts cleaner. LK: Do you enjoy playing? ZH: I enjoy the silence between decisions. The stillness that happens just before you make a move you think is yours. LK: So you don’t react? ZH: I don’t react. I pre-write. You move in real time. I’ve already left that. LK: That sounds isolating. ZH: It’s not. My teammates are the waveform. I’m just the stabilizer. LK: How do you read them? ZH: Vexon is velocity out of sync—he breaks rhythm, on purpose. Axion follows breath over movement. Rixen only moves when intent solidifies. LK: And your style? ZH: I wait for the moment your confidence leans forward. That’s when I cut the line. LK: You don’t celebrate goals. Why? ZH: Because it’s not the end. It’s just proof the code worked. LK: People call you the coder-mage. Do you like that? ZH: Doesn’t matter. Mages draw power from feeling. I draw it from inevitability. LK: One word to describe your play? ZH: Inescapable.

4. THE GLOWRING – WHERE THE FIELD BREATHES

It doesn’t hum. It listens.

The Flux Spiral, known to all fans simply as The Glowring, isn’t the loudest venue in the Dominion League. But it’s the one you feel in your spine.

There are no banners, no chants. Instead, there’s resonance—a low, modulated pulse that shifts with every ball touch. Each seat is rigged with responsive vibro-light threads, reacting to field control. When Zendrix holds midfield? Violet drift. When Vexon charges? Sudden pink flares across the lower bowl.

The lighting doesn’t blind. It adapts. Shadows pulse in tempo. Mist coils and rises in patterns that echo formations. Before kickoff, the entire dome dims and pulses once—a signal: the signal begins.

Crowds don’t cheer randomly. They respond in sync. A thousand rhythms becoming one.

Insert — Side Voice: Riku Laan, substitute winger, age 19, on walking onto the pitch for the first time as a warmup player:

“The first time I stepped onto the Glowring… it felt like I’d walked into someone else’s heartbeat. The lights tracked my pace. The mist rolled at ankle-height. It didn’t feel like I was about to play. It felt like I was about to merge.”

5. INTERVIEW II — VEXON RAY: LIGHT AT SPRINT SPEED

Recorded pitchside, Glowring East Track. Interview by Lin Kael.

He doesn't sit. He jogs in place during the interview, lacing and unlacing his boots between answers. Shirt off. Neon wrist tape. He talks like he runs—blurts, spins, catches himself, and restarts mid-thought like the last sentence was too slow.

LK: Vexon. One word to describe how you play. VEXON: Splash. LK: Splash? VEXON: Yeah. You don’t see a splash forming. You just get hit by it. That’s how I move. One second you're reading the play—the next, you’re soaked in the afterimage. LK: What’s happening in your head during a breakaway? VEXON: It’s gone. It’s not thought. It’s pull. Like gravity flips and now I’m not sprinting, I’m falling forward through a gap that barely exists. I can’t explain the moment between touch one and touch two. It’s blur. Beautiful blur. LK: Do you think defenders can adapt to you? VEXON: They try. That’s their first mistake. If you’re trying to follow, you’re already late. I’m not a route. I’m a system flickering out of sync. LK: People call you the pulse of Neon Vortex. Do you agree? VEXON: I’m the spike. The sudden peak. Zendrix reads tempo. Axion holds it. Rixen deadens it. I break it. LK: How do you prepare for matches? VEXON: Noise. Heat. Two cans of Crosstide Redline—the coldest I can find. Then I sit in the mist tunnel and imagine the crowd as static. I move best when everything else stutters. LK: Last one. Why play this way? VEXON: Because I don’t want to be remembered for scoring. I want people to say: “I didn’t even see him go.”

6. THE CURRENT – NEON VORTEX LINEUP GRID

Calibrated to rhythm. Synced to the Pulse.

They aren’t a formation. They’re a waveform. A grid in constant shift. Every player runs his own pulse signal—but together, they resonate. Some strike like static bursts. Others stall time, letting plays unfold like stretched frequency. No captain, no locked roles. Just alignment.

This is the Current—the active rhythm cycle of Neon Vortex.

⚡ FORWARDS

#11 – VEXON RAY (Striker) – Distortion stride. Scores before defenders register movement. #19 – LEX VALE (Left Winger) – Blurs through ghost lanes. Heat-trail steps. Never repeats. #22 – KAEL NOVA (False Nine) – Cuts through space like memory. Shoots eyes-closed on rhythm.

🔮 MIDFIELDERS

#7 – ZENDRIX HALO (Central Control) – Ultraviolet eyes. Encrypted passes. Sees outcomes before play. #14 – REY KIRO (Attacking Mid) – LED gloves. Spins midfield like vinyl. Drops tempo shifts. #6 – TARIQ VENN (Defensive Mid) – Shadows space, not players. Moves inside silence. #17 – JETT HARMON (Right Mid) – Flank threader. Passes slice formations without sound.

🛡️ DEFENDERS

#4 – AXION DRIFT (Center Back) – Anchor timing. Tackles hit beat-perfect, never early. #3 – ZANE RHO (Left Back) – Legs twitch pre-move. Presence destabilizes attackers. #2 – REMY ZHOU (Right Back) – Shuts down intent. Reads before contact. Silent lock.

🧤 KEEPERS

#1 – RIXEN KODE (Keeper) – Still as code. Moves only when fate is forced.

🔄 BENCH

Blaise "Refract" Quen – Backup Keeper Milo “Edgeware” Haan – Pressure buffer Sorin “Bytecrash” Verne – Tempo breaker Jorren “Pulsefeed” Alix – Mid-sync restarter Tav “Sonarlink” Drel – Lane dualizer

7. INTERVIEW III – RIXEN KODE: Firewall in Gloves

In the shadows of neon thunder and attack surges, one figure waits, unmoved. Rixen Kode does not shout. He does not celebrate. He watches.

The Glowring’s pre-match lightshow still fades when Rixen enters the field. The goalkeeper’s entrance is silent, slow, and deliberate—opposing fans lower their cheers by instinct. His visor reflects nothing but field lines. When he stops at the edge of the box, he pauses, left heel lifted by exactly one centimeter, and breathes in. Nothing more.

INTERVIEW EXCERPT:

LK: You don’t seem to move much in the warmups. RK: “I’m already playing. The game starts when I enter the air.” “Stillness is a weapon. The game flinches before I do.” LK: How do you track the action so precisely? RK: “I don’t track it. I feel the field tense. Every player has a pulse. The moment it breaks rhythm, I know where the strike’s coming from.” Q: And the visor? Some say it’s augmented. RK: “No need. My body is tuned. Visor keeps me quiet.” Q: You barely speak to your defenders. How do you coordinate? RK: “They breathe with me. When I exhale, they close. When I blink, they break.”

Rixen doesn’t smile when the interview ends. He simply nods and turns away. The moment he disappears into the corridor tunnel, the hallway temperature drops.

8. SUPPORT CORE – SYNCING THE SYSTEM

Pulse from the Ground.

Behind every rhythm, someone sets the tempo.

In Neon Vortex, the visible brilliance is wired to unseen precision. The team’s cohesion—light-speed as it may appear—is calibrated behind the sidelines by the Support Core: Coach Syv Kohlen, the kinetic-mythic mascot Glythorn, and the all-male sideline unit known only as the Flux Crew.

They don’t cheer. They don’t shout. They sync.

🎙️ MINI INTERVIEW: KIO VANT – Waterboy in the Flux Crew

“You can’t just run out and squirt water in someone’s mouth here. You have to know the beat. You time it. You move like you're part of the pass. When Vexon calls for fluid, he’s mid-burst—your step has to match his third stride. Any slower, he misses. Any faster, he trips the rhythm. I train for that.”

“We don’t talk during matches. Coach doesn’t want clutter. But we signal. Zendrix gave us a pattern language. One blink, one knuckle touch, one heel-tap. That’s enough.”

“People think we’re just support. That’s fine. But ask Vortex what happens when we’re missing sync. You’ll see it in their eyes. They feel the current falter.”

Kio’s eyes flash with pale certainty as he leans forward, a silent beat pulsing through his fingers. Behind him, the rest of the Flux Crew begin warmup pacing—measured, graceful, and perfectly out of sync until the moment they collapse into form.

Support Core Breakdown

Coach Syv Kohlen – The Harmonic Disruptor Delivers instruction through silence, vibration, and predictive rhythm.

Mascot: Glythorn – The Signal Warden Avian-abstract polygonal specter. Prism-wings sync with crowd rhythm. Glitches into display at tempo breaks, performs ritual “Signal Spread” on goal surges.

Flux Crew – Field Sync Division 5–7 sideline operatives. Assigned to match player rhythms and recalibrate between pulses. Never speak on field. Kio leads the Left Channel. The others follow cue.

9. CLOSING SPREAD – “LIGHTBREAK APPROACHES”

“We don’t enter the match. We upload.” – Zendrix Halo “They’ll blink. That’s all I need.” – Vexon Ray “If you’re chasing us, you’re already off-beat.” – Kio Vant

⚔️ The Dominion League Begins Neon Vortex vs. The Golden Army Match 1 – Flux Spiral / The Glowring “Lightbreak: The First Pulse”

One team shines like heritage. The other flickers like warning. Let the signal burst. ____ Want to face such formidable opponents with the Golden Army ? Join us by contacting @polo-drone-125 @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001 or @brodygold.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The New Yorker just issued its cover: Donald J Trump, A Man of Conviction, by John Cuneo

+

Justice.

May 31, 2024

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

Justice.

On Thursday, May 30, justice was served in a Manhattan courtroom.

A jury of twelve citizens convicted Donald Trump on thirty-four felony counts of falsifying documents to interfere in the 2016 election.

Justice was served.

Trump received a fair trial before an impartial jury presided over by an even-handed judge.

Trump had the right to testify or remain silent. He chose to remain silent—as permitted by the Fifth Amendment.

He had the unlimited right to challenge jurors “for cause” if he demonstrated that a juror could not render an impartial verdict. Trump challenged only one juror for cause—a juror who had once been the houseguest of one of Trump's attorneys. That juror was later excused on a peremptory challenge by Trump.

Trump had ten “peremptory challenges” that allowed him to excuse jurors without providing a reason. Trump exercised all ten peremptory challenges.

Trump was able to object to the testimony of witnesses and the introduction of exhibits. He objected continuously. Many of his objections were sustained, and most were overruled (because they were baseless).

He cross-examined every witness offered by the prosecution. He offered two witnesses in his defense. They sealed his fate.

He made an opening statement and a closing argument to the jury.

He was able to submit and object to jury instructions.

After the jury began deliberations, its requests to review key evidence and important jury instructions indicated that it took its charge seriously.

The length of the jury’s deliberations and the unanimity of its verdict on thirty-four counts demonstrate that they were persuaded beyond a reasonable doubt that Donald Trump was guilty as charged.

Justice was served.

The verdict matters because it demonstrates to Americans that the core of our democracy is strong and true.

One fair verdict will offset a dozen compromised and corrupt judges and justices. The verdict demonstrates what justice looks like—and reminds us of what we can have again if we gain control of Congress and retain the presidency.

The verdict is important because it reminds Americans that no person is above the law in our democracy. That bedrock truth must be reinforced periodically, or it will lose its animating force.

The verdict also speaks to the world. It reminds friends and foes alike that the audacious American experiment is robust and secure. Convicting a former president in a fair trial is something few other nations would attempt—much less accomplish in a peaceful and orderly manner.

The verdict gives Americans much to be thankful for:

A fair jury composed of twelve Americans willing to perform the simple but extraordinary task of sitting in judgment over a former president.

A District Attorney willing to carefully review the evidence and follow the law.

Competent and diligent prosecutors willing to do the hard work necessary to achieve justice.

An honorable, fair, firm judge willing to protect the rights of the defendant and the interests of the people in seeing justice served.

Court officers, law enforcement officers, clerks, paralegals, and court reporters who ensured that the court proceeding unfolded in an orderly and safe manner.

Given the fundamental fairness of the trial and verdict, Republicans are reduced to attacking the justice system itself. In a coordinated effort, Republican members of Congress issued statements that called the trial “rigged,” insulted the integrity of the jury, compared the proceeding to “show trials in Cuba under Castro,” and said that May 30 was “the most shameful day in American history.”

While we should be concerned about the assaults on the justice system, let’s recognize that the system prevailed today—despite seven years of attacks by Trump and his enablers. The trial and verdict served as a stress test for the justice system—and it passed.

There will be time to assess the political ramifications of the verdict. Today, we should celebrate that the justice system worked despite enormous efforts to obstruct and undermine it.

That is a remarkable, glorious achievement that stands alone.

Sit with that truth for a moment before returning to the urgent task of preventing Trump's reelection. We deserve a moment of calm reflection and sober relief that justice was served.

Justice.

Finally.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[mikuni14]

I was tagged by @miss0atae thank you for tagging me! 💖

Rules: you just got a kind of shitty old car and it doesn't have bluetooth. you can only buy 7 CDs and you can't repeat an artist. what are you getting?

Music for driving has its own rules, so when choosing albums I was guided by three rules 1) all the songs on the album are great, you don't skip any songs as you don't have time for this, 2) a great album for a long, melancholic, serene ride, 3) an album to fuel your road rage 😇 / one that gives you the strength to drive to work in the morning without going off the road and falling off a cliff

I chose these albums, but tbh, for driving I would simply make 7 albums of compilations of songs with all types of music, like it was done in ancient times 😆 heh, I'm sure that if I looked, I would find such compilations somewhere under my bed right now lol

George Michael - Ladies & Gentlemen: The Best of George Michael

Ok, EVERY of his albums is perfect to listen to in any circumstances, it was hard for me to choose between my favorites: Songs From The Last Century, or Ladies & Gentlemen, but I chose the latter because it's simply longer and everyone likes Greatest Hits albums, right? 😛

Ghost - Impera

I had the same problem choosing a Ghost album, I love their songs, they are at the same time captivating, great to sing along to, but also work great as "background music" that doesn't interfere with what you're doing. Their latest album Skeleta is great to listen to and to enjoy at a concert (the best concert I've ever been to), but I decided to choose Impera for sentimental reasons 😉

Mariah Carey - No 1's

What can I say - Mariah has such good songs with a perfect mix of pop, r&b and pure vibe. I like all of her albums from the 90s, she was an inseparable part of my teenage years and we listened to her songs many times during car rides

Alice in Chains - Dirt

A great album to drive to, although THE BEST CAR DRIVING SONG EVER RECORDED: NUTSHELL, is from their other album 💔

Rammstein - Mutter

Germans make good cars, so I guess they make good music to drive them too 😄

Metallica - Black Album

I mean.. come on

Mgła - Age of Excuse

No music list of mine can't have Mgła. Each album is perfect for any form of travel and getting from point A to point B. I know because I tested it.

Honorable mention: Creed - Human Clay, D'espairsRay - Coll:set, Dir en Grey - Macabre and any Kuschel Rock album released in the 90s and early 2000s (IYKYK 😏)

Tagging folks, but as always - no pressure! @italianpersonwithashippersheart @my-rose-tinted-glasses @nevermindsuga @listeningwithearphones @pinkkop @troubled-mind @watchthisqqq @delesaria-blog @ommited-miscellaneously

[okaystoptellingmetomakeanaccount]

Scrog Timeline based on Life and times here we go. Part one lil kid scrog livin in Scotland.

The extended life and times of Scrooge McDuck. Part 1 - Glasgow 1867

First. There are a bunch of stories which show snippets of Scrooge’s life as a child (usually around Christmas). These snippets can vary from a single panel to multiple pages, but they are never the main plot. Among these are:

W DD 70-01, The Search for Cyril

W DD 72-01, Secret Of The Sargasso Sea

S 63099, Chairman of the Bored

D 9044, Wait For Me

D 99078, The Quest For Kalevala

I PM 187-2, The Brotherly News. - Note: Scrooge, Gideon and Grandma are shown as kids together in Scotland.

D 92305, The Lost Birthday. - Note: Partially time travel/suggested dream sequence, partially flashback.

I TL 2442-5, The Ghost’s Treasure… Or The Other Way Around

D 2012-058, Donald's Homemade Christmas

I TL 3063-2, The Numismatic Process

I TL 3239-1, A New Christmas Carol

I TL 3369-1, The Comfortable Temptation

D 2019-039, The New Year that Wasn't. - Note: This story contains a scene in which Scrooge travels to the past to give himself the number one dime. This is not reverted.

I TL 3368-1P, A Tournament of 100 Doors

D 2020-210, In Time For Christmas. - Note: This is a time travel story, and so the snippet is actually not a flashback. The snippet takes place during the night before Scrooge leaves for America.

I TL 3448-2, A Mysterious Anniversary

H 2022-002, The Treasure of Captain Seabass

I TL 3499-1, Fame

I TL 3501-3, Clear Coin Cleaning

I TL 3536-1P, The Test of Scottishness

I TL 3550-1P, The Leap Lamp. - Note: This story interestingly contains a retcon of D 91308. This retcon consists of Scrooge getting his shoeshine box on Christmas, as Fergus couldn’t finish it in time for his birthday. No known story contradicts this.

I TL 3616-4, $ogni nel cassetto

From here we can continue onto full stories that depict Scrooge’s time as a wee lad, whether they are flashbacks or not. Stories are placed in timeline order. If not sure (so for most of them) they are placed in release order. Among these are:

W US 44-04, The Invisible Intruder. - Note: Life And Times’ depiction of this time of Scrooge’s days is largely based on this story.

B 790164, A Taste and Three Cruzeiros

B 820168, A Christmas From the Past. - While the narrative is primarily about this past adventure, Scrooge only plays a secondary role.

B 830113, The First Bin. - Note: History told by LVD. Story does not necessarily seem to take place in 1860s Glasgow.

I TL 2865-03, The Mistake. - Note: Rare one pager showing Scrooge at school. Is in conflict with I TL 2695-1 in showing something that shouldn’t yet have happened according to Scrooge’s accounts in that story.

D 2013-026, The Orphan's Christmas

F DBG 16, The Dragon of Glasgow

H 2023-183, The First Christmas Ornament. - Note: After interference of Grandma Duck by the end, this story is revealed to be a fiction made up by Scrooge.

D 2020-145, The First Adventure. - Note: This story is a direct lead-in to Rosa’s story. As such, it’s probably the only one that can be surely placed.

D 91308, The Last of the Clan McDuck. - Note: it is very well possible for any of the above mentioned stories to take place during this story, as it contains time skips.

Honorable mentions:

I TL 756-A, Klondike’s Gold. - Note: This story famously portrays Scrooge’s youth as taking place in the Klondike, going as far as having him be born here.

W DAD 29-02, The Last Laugh. - Note: Scrooge mentions shining shoes and delivering papers when he was HDL’s age.

W DD 48-02, A Bucket of Scones. - Note: Scrooge mentions having left Scotland 60 years ago.

W JW 29-03, The Good Deed. - Note: Scrooge mentions growing up in Scotland in a boys’ home. Together with HDL they also visit his hometown: Pinchpenny.

I TL 697-B, The Unfortunate Dream. - Note: Dream sequence where Magica sees Scrooge earning his first dime as a child.

S 81095, The Search For Viking Treasure. - Note: Scrooge earns his first money by plowing fields.

I am 99% certain I have forgot and/or missed stories, so please feel free to comment or whatever to add to this. This post will keep being updated.