#INVISIBLE STRING....

[mulherviado]

and just like that we watch adult mistynat being born

[helpimsleepdeprived]

invisible string theory 2009-2024

[archivegyu]

masterlist

invisible string

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

There’s a golden softness to late afternoons in Seoul. The kind that melts into the floorboards and sneaks into the corners of rooms. In Seungcheol’s apartment, it spills in through the wide living room windows, lazily painting everything with that hazy warmth only spring can offer. It catches in the ridges of your coffee mug, glimmers against the silver edges of your ruler, and warms the back of your neck as you hunch over the center table.

The apartment is quiet, save for the low hum of your laptop fan and the occasional scribble of your stylus across the screen. Your project , fills the display in layers of blueprints and notes. Post-its clutter the table’s edge, reminders of measurements and deadlines, and in the middle of it all, there’s you; oversized hoodie, glasses slipping down your nose, hair pulled back in a lazy bun.

And next to you, lying belly-up with a kind of careless peace you envy, is Kkuma.

She lets out a little huff, tail twitching as if in a dream. You reach over to scratch behind her ear with your free hand, lips twitching into a tired smile.

This is what most of your evenings look like lately. Half-finished sketches, cold takeout, and a drowsy dog keeping you company while your best friend dances himself to the bone in some faraway practice room.

You hadn’t meant to stay here long. When Seungcheol first offered his spare room, you’d told yourself it was just for a few months — until your life calmed down, until rent became less of a monster, until breathing felt easier.

But the months stretched, and the apartment never stopped feeling safe. He never made you feel like a guest, either. It wasn’t his place. It became yours too. The kind of home that smells like coffee and fabric softener, where the walls are filled with memories neither of you ever had to say out loud.

The front door clicks open a little past eight.

You don’t look up. You don’t need to.

The soft shuffle of sneakers on tile. The familiar thud of a duffle bag hitting the entryway floor. Then the drag of tired footsteps across the wood, slow and heavy, like gravity itself decided to cling to him today.

“I’m home,” he calls, his voice quieter than usual. Rough around the edges.

Still, you smile without looking. “There’s kimchi fried rice on the stove.”

He pauses, then: “Did you cook or order again?”

“Define ‘cook.’”

He laughs under his breath. A real one. Not the polite, camera-ready kind.

You finally glance up and find him standing a few feet away, hoodie soaked through, bangs sticking to his forehead, sweat glistening at his collarbone. Exhaustion clings to him like second skin, but his eyes are gentle, warm when they land on you.

“You’re still working?” he asks, nodding toward the screen.

You shrug. “Final review is next week.”

“You said that last week.”

“I meant it then, too.”

He shakes his head, kneels to pet Kkuma. She perks up, tail wagging in sleepy little thumps against the floor.

“She’s spoiled now,” he mutters. “Doesn’t even greet me at the door anymore.”

You hum without thinking, eyes drifting back to your screen. “She likes people who feed her on time.”

He snorts. “I’m taking a shower. Don’t pass out on the floor again.”

You raise a hand in lazy salute, already tuning back into the chaos of your canvas.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

You’re fast asleep by the time he finds you again.

Curled up on the center table, cheek pressed to your folded arms, a pencil still tucked between your fingers. Your laptop screen has dimmed to black, casting the room into a warm hush. Kkuma lies beside you, paw resting near your knee like she’s been guarding you all evening.

Seungcheol exhales quietly from where he stands in the hallway, towel slung around his shoulders. His hair is still damp, shirt clinging slightly to his skin from the shower. His body aches from practice, but his chest aches for something else entirely.

He steps forward, careful not to wake you. There’s something fragile about the scene; the way your face is turned toward the window, the way your brows are relaxed, mouth slightly parted, like the weight you always carry has finally slipped off for just a moment.

And God, you still wear that hoodie he gave you two winters ago— fraying at the sleeves, too big for your frame, swallowed by the fabric.

He kneels beside the table.

“You weren’t supposed to fall asleep like this,” he murmurs softly, reaching to brush a stray hair out of your face.

You don’t stir. You never do, not when you’re this tired. It’s something he’s learned from the years. How you give everything you have until your body stops you. How you always say you’re fine even when you aren’t. How you carry the weight of the world in silence.

He hesitates, then gently scoops you up in his arms. You sink into his chest instinctively, head resting against the hollow of his shoulder. You smell like shampoo and his vanilla lotion you pretend not to like.

Your fingers twitch once in your sleep, curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt.

And that’s what does it; that tiny movement, that subconscious reach for him. Like something inside you knows, even now, even half-asleep, that it’s him.

He carries you to your room, nudging the door open with his foot. Lays you down slowly, carefully, like you’re something precious. Something breakable. His fingers linger on your wrist for a second too long before he pulls the blanket over you.

Then, without thinking, he reaches up and grazes the back of his knuckle along your cheek.

“Night, pretty girl,” he whispers, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Even your dreams deserve rest.”

He closes the door quietly behind him.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Back in the living room, Seungcheol sinks into the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. The quiet presses in; thick and full of everything he’s never said.

Kkuma climbs up beside him, paws light on the cushion. She flops down, tail flicking once, then still.

He chuckles softly, leaning back. “She’s gonna burn herself out before she even graduates.”

Kkuma yawns.

“She doesn’t take care of herself unless someone makes her. It’s annoying,” he says, his voice softer now, gentler. “But… I wouldn’t want anyone else to be the one who reminds her.”

Silence stretches between him and the dog.

“You know, I’ve been trying to ignore it. For years, maybe. Told myself it was just comfort, or familiarity. Like she’s just… always been here.”

He stares up at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded.

“But it’s not that. It’s never been that.”

His voice wavers just a little.

“I’m in love with her.”

There. He says it. Not to you. Not to anyone who can answer. Just to the only soul in the room who might understand.

Kkuma lifts her head slightly, ears twitching.

“I don’t even know when it started,” he continues, his eyes growing distant. “Maybe it was when she stood up to my bully. Maybe when she shared her candy and said I could have the red one.”

A soft laugh escapes him, short and breathless.

“Maybe I’ve always known.”

He reaches down and pets Kkuma’s head again, more to ground himself than anything.

“I don’t know what she’d say if I told her. I don’t know if she’d laugh, or freeze, or leave.” His voice turns quiet. “But I’d rather have her here, like this, than risk losing her at all.”

He looks toward your closed bedroom door.

“So maybe I’ll just wait a little longer.”

The city hums quietly outside the windows. And in this in-between, not quite night, not quite morning; he sits in the golden aftermath of everything unsaid, gently held by the thread that’s tied you to him all this time.

[pineapplehazard]

And if I choose to believe Chris and Eddie arrived in LAX at the same time Buck was dropping Abby there?

[dostoslaysky]

has anyone mentioned the invisible string that brought them to the same bar at the same time yet?

[therewasholyground]

you're so cool, it makes me hate you so much

[princessazzi]

I know the general consensus is that Paige and Azzi first met in 2017 during the tryouts for the USA Basketball Women's U16 National Team. However, I still remember a post here suggesting a theory that Paige might have known Azzi even earlier than that as she was spotted watching one of her games in 2016. This has always been my biggest pazzi "what if". I can't help but wonder if Paige and Azzi ever realized they had crossed paths before. Whether they knew it or not at the time, it's something only they can answer — maybe in due time (fingers crossed 🤞🏽)

[dearmyloveleys]

Suho and Sieun being tied by the invisible string theory is so incredibly unspoken about. What do you mean they probably spent months to a year not acknowledging each other’s presence in the same classroom? What do you mean for months, Suho has been sleeping in the classroom until dawn and Sieun is the first to enter the classroom but they don’t interact? All the shared award ceremonies, PE lessons, chem lab practicals? It only takes one accident to set off everything between them.

[jackabbot]

9-1-1 • S2E08 || S7E09:DELETED SCENE

[mctwinkdom]

Oh this tweet just changed my life

[beargyufairy]

My world used to be grey

But thanks to you

It became so colorful

DanDaDan Ep 11 “First Love”

[archivegyu]

masterlist

tailored for you

The Manhattan skyline glittered against the evening sky as she gazed out of the penthouse suite window. The sun was setting, casting golden hues across the city that never sleeps. In a few hours, the Metropolitan Museum of Art would be hosting the most prestigious fashion event of the year—the Met Gala—and her childhood sweetheart, now the love of her life, would be making his debut on the iconic steps.

She turned away from the window to look at Choi Seungcheol, better known to his fans as S.Coups, leader of the globally acclaimed K-pop group SEVENTEEN. He was standing in front of a full-length mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his custom-made BOSS suit for what must have been the twentieth time in the past hour.

"Is it too much?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection. "Maybe I should have gone with something more... conventional?"

She smiled, walking over to stand behind him. Her hands reached up to smooth down the shoulders of his impeccably tailored jacket. The designer had created something truly special—a modern interpretation of this year's theme, "Superfine: Tailoring Black Style" (or "Tailored for You"), fashioning an elegant gray suit with elements inspired by traditional Korean hanbok. The clean lines, and subtle asymmetrical closure evoked his heritage while the refined tailoring showcased Seungcheol's strong frame and commanding presence.

"It's perfect," she assured him, her voice soft but certain. "You look incredible."

Seungcheol's reflection offered a shy smile, but she could see the anxiety swimming in his eyes. This was different from performing on stage with his members. Tonight, he would be representing BOSS as one of their global ambassadors, walking the Met Gala carpet solo, surrounded by Hollywood A-listers and fashion royalty.

"I keep thinking I'm going to trip on the stairs," he admitted, turning to face her. His hand reached up to ruffle his perfectly styled hair—a nervous habit he'd had since they were children—but she caught his wrist just in time.

"Don't you dare," she laughed. "Your stylist will have a meltdown."

Seungcheol pouted, and for a moment, she saw the same boy who had climbed the tree outside her childhood home in Daegu to leave little notes on her window sill. The boy who had promised, at just thirteen years old, that one day they would see the world together.

"How is it that twenty years later, you still get that same look when you're nervous?" she asked, cupping his face with her hands. "The same pout from when you were about to perform at the school talent show and thought no one would like your rap."

His expression softened into a genuine smile. "And you're still the only one who can calm me down."

The sound of his phone ringing interrupted the moment. Seungcheol glanced at the screen and chuckled. "It's the guys," he said, using his affectionate term for his fellow members. "Probably calling to wish me luck... or to make fun of me."

He answered the video call, and immediately the room filled with the chaotic energy of nine excited voices.

"HYUNG!" Seungkwan's voice dominated initially. "Show us the outfit! We've been dying to see the final look!"

Seungcheol laughed, some of his nervousness visibly melting away as he propped the phone up against a vase and stepped back to give them a full view of his ensemble.

"Wah, as expected of our leader!" Mingyu exclaimed, his handsome face filling most of the screen as he apparently leaned too close to the camera.

"Ya, move back, we can only see your nostrils," Soonyoung's voice commented, pulling Mingyu away.

"Hyung looks like James Bond," Hansol added appreciatively.

"Better than James Bond," Joshua corrected with his signature smile. "Our Cheollie is going to be the best-dressed man there."

She watched from the side, heart full as she observed the genuine brotherhood between these men who had spent their youth chasing dreams together. Now in their thirties, SEVENTEEN had achieved more than they had ever imagined—multiple world tours, numerous awards, and global recognition that extended well beyond the music industry into fashion, film, and philanthropy.

"Noona!" Chan, the youngest member, spotted her hovering at the edge of the frame. "You have to send us pictures! We know Seungcheol-hyung won't because he'll be too nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Seungcheol protested unconvincingly.

"Your left eye is twitching," Joshua pointed out in English before switching back to Korean. "It always does that before big events."

"Make sure he doesn't drink too much champagne," Jihoon added with a mischievous grin.

She stepped closer to the screen, smiling at the faces of the men who had become like family to her over the years. "I promise I'll keep him in line and send plenty of photos."

After a few more minutes of teasing and sincere well-wishes, they ended the call. Seungcheol's shoulders seemed lighter, his stance more relaxed.

"Better?" she asked, knowing how much strength he drew from his members, even from thousands of miles away.

"Better," he confirmed, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing the top of her head. "Though I'm still not convinced I belong at something like the Met Gala."

She pulled back slightly to look him in the eyes. "Choi Seungcheol, you've performed in stadiums in front of tens of thousands of people. You've spoken at the United Nations. Your group's music has broken cultural and language barriers that people thought were impenetrable. If anyone belongs on that carpet tonight, it's you."

He gazed at her with such tenderness that her heart fluttered, just as it had when they were teenagers and he first told her he liked her more than just a friend.

"How do you always know the right thing to say?" he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Twenty years of practice" she replied with a soft smile.

[youwannadance]

so....

Tommy is Abby's ex fiancé

Chimney saves Tommy's life

Tommy saves Bobby's life, therefore giving Bobby and Athena a chance to meet and for Eddie, Buck and Ravi to join the 118 under Bobby AND giving Bobby 8 more years during which he finds happiness again

Tommy leaves the 118 and is replaced by Buck

Tommy saves Eddie's life by dropping water on a burning house he's stuck in, after being contacted by Chimney

Tommy steals a helicopter to save Bobby (and Athena) again after being contacted by Chimney again, which leads to Buck and Eddie meeting him, which leads to Tommy and Eddie becoming besties, which leads to Buck being jealous, which leads to Tommy kissing Buck which leads to Buck figuring out he's bisexual

Tommy is Buck's only love interest that got Bobby's approval (and the only one that ever will)

Tommy shows up to help save Chimney's life, even after breaking up with Buck

Tommy is a pallbearer at Bobby's funeral

(and obviously so much more to talk about in regards to Buck..)

.....which could mean nothing.....

[stillgotscars]

going from “chains around my demons” to “and hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons, even if i die screaming” is such a punch in the gut

[jakeperalta]

Timeless is literally the most Taylor Swift song ever written. Projecting a current romance onto old people and fictional stories? ✔️ Believing you're destined by fate to be together in every timeline? ✔️ Reference to forbidden love? ✔️ Emotional bridge that culminates in the story honing back in on the narrator? ✔️ Ending line that returns to the beginning? ✔️ Eyes meeting in a crowded room? ✔️ Love letters? Antique shop? Old photographs? Teenage love? Arranged marriage? ✔️✔️✔️✔️✔️

[adhdevankinard]

In 8x11, Bobby kept accidentally calling Ravi “Eddie.” What if there’s a flashback to see more of Buck's first week at the 118? And Bobby keeps calling him “Tommy.”

And Buck is like, “Ugh. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. 🙄 I never wanna hear the name Tommy again.”

Ha. Idiot. 🥰