#he is very chaos and void coded

[jesteriisms]

Spokeishere and other drawings!

[veiledwhisper]

Fatal Error_Dream sans

Fatal_Dream

Once a guardian of hope, Dream Sans was the shining beacon for fractured timelines — tirelessly working to mend broken universes and inspire peace. But something changed.

A virus had begun spreading across the multiverse — not a typical one, but a living, evolving code that devoured positivity and twisted the very structure of timelines. This virus, later known to some as Fatal Error, had already consumed countless AUs, leaving behind glitchy husks of reality. Dream, obsessed with saving the infected worlds, refused to retreat when warned.

The Fall: Dream traced the corruption to an unstable, decaying node in the multiverse: a forgotten AU sealed in chaos. But what he found wasn’t just decay — it was a trap, set not by Nightmare, nor Error... but a convergence of both. A fusion glitch — a piece of Nightmare's influence riding on the corrupted code from Fatal Error, meant for Error to feed on but misdirected by Nightmare’s spite.

Dream was dragged into the Flower Void, a hidden sub-layer beneath the collapsing timelines. An infinite chasm of golden flower sprites, coated in translucent glitch-code, forming a glass-like terrain beneath him. He was meant to die there — forgotten.

But Dream did not die. His soul, bombarded by corrupted code and Nightmarish influence, began to fracture. His positivity, once pure, began to distort — not vanish, but mutate. The constant exposure to the glitch-code caused Dream to errorify, forming a broken hybrid of hope and chaos.

The Transformation:

His bow now draws glitch-powered arrows spun from corrupted strings of hope — capable of binding enemies like puppets.

His thoughts are no longer solely his own; he hallucinates Nightmare whispering to him in his sleep, when his guard is down, or when emotion runs high.

His once calm expression now flickers — like his body — between joy, dread, and emptiness.

He is haunted by memories of himself and Error — though neither side claims him now. He is Fatal Dream, a new anomaly.

Now: He roams the Flower Void — perhaps not by choice, but by instinct — glitching in and out of collapsed AUs, searching for stability, or perhaps redemption. He is neither savior nor destroyer. He is a corrupted remnant of hope, holding the power to save or obliterate what remains.

[venussaidso]

Ketu Dominant Themes — 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 (part 1) 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝟑

disclaimer: spoilers for all movies or shows mentioned.

the warnings: mentions of drug abuse, sexual violence, self-harm, genocide, mental disorders/illnesses, cannibalism and self amputation.

The most interesting theme within all the Ketu nakshatras is one that is unexpected, as Ketu is commonly associated with concepts of disconnection or isolation from society as a whole — given its frequent link to the 12th house. However, it is more about the interactions with the unseen forces within society than anything else. The 12th house also represents the collective consciousness and all the interconnected energies that come with it, which we all become deeply influenced by. Ashwini is the most sensitive Ketu nakshatra, as it is easily consumes and absorbs by these 12th house energies through the native, often leading to chaos and loneliness.

Ashwini Nakshatra embodies nothingness, the oldest energy in the universe. It exists in the space before actualized creation and after the rise of awareness that emerges from nothingness (or the cosmic void). It is very fitting that this is the first nakshatra, but it should also be considered the last Ketu nakshatra. The focus here is on the spirit's evolution. The energy found in this nakshatra is as undeveloped as it is chaotic, which is why evolution needs to take place — and this usually involves extremely harsh forces to tame it. In Ashwini, there is confusion or a lack of self-awareness regarding one's own identity. I am going to use some films as examples to explore this point.

First, I'll use the most typical Ketu-coded character; Ashwini Moon Christian Bale's Patrick Bateman in American Psycho. This film follows an investment banker who revels in the wealthy excesses of his superficial lifestyle, surrounded by others who do the same. His life is empty, mostly revolving around getting into exclusive restaurants, indulging in designer suits, and maintaining a meticulous morning routine. There is a general pressure to conform, and the Ashwini native is highly sensitive to these societal energies, which they absorb — driving them to compete and, eventually, to go too far. For Patrick Bateman, it’s no longer about conformity; it becomes an obsession, and these pressures push him into homicidal tendencies as an outlet. This film perfectly encapsulates modern-day consumerism, and it is, of course, an Ashwini native who descends into madness as a result of the empty, superficial yuppie culture he is subjected to.

Nothing can fill the emptiness inside him, and he knows it. This crippling, painful awareness continuously fuels his violent self-hatred and his hatred toward others. This is why he remains trapped in a cycle of loneliness, surrounded by the same narcissistic, self-absorbed individuals who perpetuate this soulless culture.

The movie was adapted from the book with the same name, written by Mula Moon Bret Easton Ellis whose own experiences inspired the book "American Psycho".

Quote from an interview; OregonLive (2010);

"[Patrick Bateman] did not come out of me sitting down and wanting to write a grand sweeping indictment of yuppie culture. It initiated because my own isolation and alienation at a point in my life. I was living like Patrick Bateman. I was slipping into a consumerist kind of void that was supposed to give me confidence and make me feel good about myself but just made me feel worse and worse and worse about myself. That is where the tension of 'American Psycho' came from... It came from a much more personal place."

-- Mula Moon Bret Easton Ellis

Now, onto the movie "Fight Club", which was directed by Magha Sun David Fincher, and stars Magha Sun Edward Norton and Mula Sun Brad Pitt.

The most highlighted character from this film, played by Brad Pitt, is Tyler Durden, who plans on making a revolution to destroy the hyper-capitalistic, materialistic superficial culture that we saw destroy Patrick Bateman from the inside in "American Psycho".

(video - 🎧)

Of course, just like Ashwini Moon Patrick Bateman took his obsessive consumerism too far; Mula Sun Tyler Durden lays on the opposite spectrum, aiming to destroy modern society by blowing up all credit card companies and ruining the world's economy. Mula is related to destruction as it is ruled by Nirriti, the goddess of destruction. The oppressive forces that weigh on this Mula character, Tyler Durden, causes him into a spiral for freedom (9H), using extremities and acts of terrorism to be rid of ego/society. Whereas Ashwini, having no solid identity and just being undeveloped in nature, is more likely to conform; but so long as Ketu is there, there will always be an emptiness in the ambitious pursuit of things. Ashwini can grant excess wealth and fame, but with no inner fulfillment or balance, you see characters like Patrick Bateman. Or Daniel Plainview from "There Will Be Blood".

A movie directed by Paul Thomas Anderson who has Ketu in Magha, and stars Ashwini Moon, Mula Ascendant Daniel Day Lewis who portrays Daniel Plainview. Plainview is more Ashwini, as he is an extremely ambitious, capitalistic and competitive oilman.

His pursuit for wealth and power leads him to personal loneliness, isolation and emptiness, we see how Ketuvians become so drained by the energies they absorb in the pursuit of things. Similarly to Patrick Bateman, he not only hates others but himself as well and wishes for no one to succeed in life.

His primal competitiveness and self-loathing even drive away his only family, his only child. His adult son means to do his own oilrig business and cuts his partnership with him. But Plainview's unchecked ambition shows that even after attaining success and power, he literally goes ahead to disown his own son as he considers him competition now. And now he extends the same hatred he has for others to him. Further isolating himself; this validating his deep sense of loneliness that was always there with his self-loathing.

The film ends in an Ashwini fashion; in which Plainview goes into a psychotic meltdown and murders someone who he has had a long stewing hatred for.

(YouTube clip by me - 🎧)

I wanted to provide a brilliant video from the YouTuber "The Vile Eye", who explored the dark nature of this character; because it perfectly illustrates Ashwini nakshatra in a twisted way, especially in how Aries in this segment is influenced by Ketu forces. Everything about this character is every Aries stereotype you can think of from the top of your head, but Ketu exaggerates it to the point of extremity and tragedy.

Amazing video for anyone who wants to understand Ashwini at its extreme which can manifest in real life of course.

The series "Peaky Blinders" stars Ashwini Moon Cillian Murphy whose character faces moral dilemmas, as his relentless pursuit of power contributes to his moral ambiguity.

His ruthless ambition to become the most powerful in the criminal underworld is something I couldn't help but relate it back to Ashwini's drive & competitiveness.

The movie "Scarface" stars Ashwini Sun Al Pacino who plays Tony Montana. And fun fact, Tony Montana is loosely based and inspired by the real-life figure, Al Capone, who had Ashwini Moon, according to astrotheme — although take with a grain of salt as it conflicts with other data.

Both Tony Montana and Al Capone had unchecked ambitions and an unrelenting desire for power. In Ashwini, extreme power can be attained, and we saw how Tony Montana quickly rose to it (as Ashwini is the Star of Transport and it is associated with Shidhra Vyapani Shakti which translates to 'The Power to Quickly Reach Things'). Similarly, Al Capone was also driven by the desire for power, and he attained it.

Like Daniel Plainview in "There Will Be Blood", Tony Montana starts to experience isolation after all of his achievements. His chaotic behaviour contributes to his alienation, and he starts to feel intensifying loneliness, which seems to be a theme with this nakshatra. And this film also ends in Ashwini fashion; with absolute chaos, the psychotic unraveling of Tony and of course death.

I wanted to also add in the movie "Nightcrawler" which stars Mula Sun Jake Gyllenhaal who plays a character willing to go to the extreme lengths for success and personal achievement, to the point of exploiting others, unconcerned with ethical boundaries.

He has a distorted view of success and has an unchecked, ruthless ambition. He is also a socially isolated character, behaving inappropriately as he is disconnected from social norms. In his obsessive & relentless pursuit of success, he is devoid of humanity. Had to mention this film because these themes are not exclusive to Ashwini.

But as I did mention, Mula natives are more likely to be aware of societal pressures and these natives often feel deeply disturbed by them. In the film "Falling Down", Mula Moon Michael Douglas plays a character who has become disillusioned and is now aware of the pressures and oppression caused by the modern-day life. This movie is literally directed by Magha Sun Joel Schumacher.

He confronts many issues such as homelessness and crime, which are heavily rooted in the greedy, capitalistic system of modern society. But he becomes violent and chaotic himself, going into a descent to madness (from absorbing the energies felt by the collective who feel the weight of these oppressive forces within society). This movie deals with the consequences of unchecked rage, a theme shared in all Ketu nakshatras.

The film "Taxi Driver", which stars Magha Sun Robert De Niro and is directed by Magha Ascendant Martin Scorsese, depicts a man who suffers from extreme loneliness, alienation from society, and struggles with existential crisis. The film explores social decay; such as social disparities, the disillusionment of our main character to society's ills, crime, poverty etc. He goes into a descent into vigilantism, using violence as a catharsis which is a common thing for these Ketu nakshatras (mainly Magha and Mula as it looks at societal frustrations and the emptiness in life/modern culture).

The character also suffers from a possible case of untreated mental illness, and insomnia — and this seems to be a theme with all Ketu nakshatras in general.

Another film where the main character suffers from extreme insomnia is "The Machinist", starring Ashwini Moon Christian Bale whose character's insomnia and untreated mental illness literally contribute to his isolation and alienation.

And the film "Fight Club", in which Magha Sun Edward Norton plays an insomniac character who has dissociative identity disorder. And his split personality is interestingly played by Mula Sun Brad Pitt.

Then the film "Insomnia", directed by Ketu in Magha Christopher Nolan, starring Ashwini Sun Al Pacino who plays an insomniac detective who faces some mental challenges.

There is a spiritual belief about insomnia which suggests there may be a disturbance in one's spirit; unresolved issues that have been long reppressed may be linked to an imbalance of energy within the body. This imbalance causes restlessness and mental problems. This idea aligns with Ketu and the 12th house, which deal with the unconscious — particularly deep-rooted traumas and the ways in which they affect us and those around us. It isn’t just about traumas; it can also stem from the repression of internal suffering caused by loneliness or external pressures. We see this with Patrick Bateman, whose only outlet is literal murder, or Tyler Durden's "revolutionary" fight club, which causes more destruction around him as planned. Both characters violently act out from these unaddressed, decaying energies within themselves and within society.

The series "Sharp Objects", directed by Magha Moon Jean-Marc Vallé, mostly deals with family traumas, but also shows how those traumas and unresolved energies literally cause death and chaos around them.

Camille Preaker, played by Magha Sun Amy Adams, is deeply traumatized and troubled. She has a history of self-harm and bears many scars on her body; her self-destructive behaviour is a coping mechanism for the trauma she experienced in her youth (sexual violence by a group of boys and witnessing the slow, preventable death of her sister). Then we have her younger half-sister Amma, played by Magha Moon Eliza Scanlen, who has a hidden dark side shaped by the family’s troubled history and generational trauma. By the end of the series, we discover that Amma is the killer responsible for the violent murders that have shocked the townspeople of Wind Gap. Amma is behind all the gruesome deaths of the girls whose teeth were removed.

While Camille’s coping mechanism involves cutting herself as self-punishment for the guilt she harbours from her sister’s death, Amma literally commits homicidal acts. This reflects just how damaged and complex their trauma is, as well as the toxicity of the community they grew up in. Their mother, played by Mula Moon Patricia Clarkson, has Munchausen syndrome and is responsible for the death of her oldest daughter. Camille witnessed her sister’s suffering and death, viewing her mother as a monster — and now sees her little sister as an extension of her mother.

This series is an excellent example of how unchecked personal trauma can impact others, especially those who are uninvolved. It also shows how much destruction can be caused, as seen with Amma killing other girls as an outlet — similar to Patrick Bateman's. This is why I now realize how wrong I was about Ketu. Ketu is not necessarily about isolating from society. In relation to society, Ketu represents the unaddressed, rotting energies within it, always tying back to individuals’ personal and generational traumas. It makes sense that Magha relates to ancestral roots and the origins of oneself, including the origins of one’s trauma.

Now onto the film "Nocturnal Animals", which is directed by Magha Sun Tom Ford, stars Magha Sun Amy Adams and Mula Sun Jake Gyllenhaal.

Amy Adams plays Susan, a successful art gallery owner. She receives a manuscript for a novel called Nocturnal Animals sent to her by her ex-husband Edward, played by Jake Gyllenhaal. The book is extremely violent and tragic, but it turns out to be a symbolic reflection of their relationship and marriage, tying into Ketu themes of unresolved trauma and getting to the roots of it. The book forces Susan to confront how much her actions hurt Edward.

The movie focuses on confronting one's past and demonstrates how trauma continues to shape the lives of those involved. It also shows Susan still has unresolved issues, evident in her repulsed reactions to the extreme parts of the novel.

The movies "Split" and "Glass", stars two Ashwini Suns, Anya Taylor Joy and James McAvoy. McAvoy's character, Kevin, has dissociative personality disorder and these different personalities exist to keep him safe. His trauma is so extreme and deeply painful that it manifested into the creation of The Beast, his most dangerous and superhuman personality. Three kidnapped girls are prey to The Beast as they end up being devoured by it but only one survives — and that's Anya Taylor Joy's character, Casey.

The reason why she doesn't fall victim is because she, too, has suffered extreme trauma and her resilience through it is what creates her immediate connection with Kevin. It is when The Beast sees her scars that he calls her pure, implying that those who have been damaged are the ones who are truly evolved.

(YouTube clip by me - 🎧)

Also, "Split" is another example of how deeply repressed energies and traumas of one can ruin everything around them and victimize those close to the Ketuvians (usually uninvolved people's lives being violently taken; "Split", "Sharp Objects", "American Psycho", "Falling Down" etc.).

Ashwini Moon Zendaya in the series "Euphoria" plays a character, Rue, who has been through a significant amount of trauma, including the passing of her father. She uses self-destructive ways to cope with her deep emotional pain and grief, very similarly to Magha Sun Amy Adams's character in "Sharp Objects". Rue uses drugs to numb herself from her harsh realities. There is a moment in the series in which she has a chaotic meltdown.

(YouTube clip by me - 🎧)

Something I now understand with Ashwini is how explosive, volatile and scary its ungrounded energy can be — exactly why I'd commonly associate it with hysterical meltdowns which can lead to accidental or unplanned homicidal acts or other forms of harm/self-harm. This scene of Rue is vaguely taking me back to Ashwini Moon Christian Bale's spiraling and meltdowns in "American Psycho".

(YouTube clip by me - 🎧)

Ketu, especially with Magha, seems to cause erratic behaviours when its natives aren't purified of their long-accumulated baggage in their unconsciousness — exactly why the 8th house is also ruled by Ketu, as Scorpio shares this particular theme. As long as there is deep disturbance and imbalance in the body, there is no rest for the soul – even for future incarnations to come.

But now, I want to touch on the senseless harshness of Ketu. Remember, this energy embodies the eternal, sucking void. Mula nakshatra relates to the center of the cosmic void and delves straight into its roots. Ashwini has already risen from it, while Mula is centering itself back into it. Mula is where we seek an awakening to the truth behind reality. What lies on the other side of the cosmic void?

Truth is sought in Mula; but it seems in Ashwini nakshatra, it is understood that chaos and nothing is the absolute truth of reality. There is no inherent meaning to anything, which may sound nihilistic, but it is precisely what makes life beautiful.

In the film The Pianist, written and directed by Magha Sun Roman Polanski and starring Ashwini Sun Adrien Brody, the story begins on a warm note with a well-put-together family and a handsome, talented Ashwini man who dreams of being a pianist. However, things take a drastic turn.

We witness a once bright-eyed man transform into a shell of his former self after enduring harrowing events. The events continue to worsen, growing more tragic until there is no longer even a sliver of hope. The majority of the film is filled with despair, senseless cruelty, and the slow annihilation of the protagonist’s soul.

I've never watched a film more Ketuvian than this — surrounded by genocide, death, and complete isolation, consumed by one's own lonely misery. One moment, you think a character might somehow make it out alive because they have the conviction and drive to survive, but the film immediately takes that hope away as they helplessly die. You think the protagonist might finally see some light, and the film even provides brief moments of comfort, but it ultimately shows how everything stays horrific.

There are no answers to any prayers, as suffering is ongoing. This tone creates another layer of entrapment, and you watch as the character resigns himself to letting life do whatever it wants to him, trapped in a world where he is helpless. With Ketu, you come to realize there was never any security at all.

But his survival at the end makes you question why he even went through that to begin with. There was no lesson to be learned. Why did his friends and family die, but not him? In the end, he became the successful pianist he had dreamed of from the beginning. He was exceptionally talented from the start; these events took everything from him except his passion for the piano.

What he went through was senseless, as Ketu has no prime motivation. Saturn will push you through the worst so that you can reach a level where you can attain all of your reaped rewards, but Ketu doesn’t care about what you get in the end – that's also Rahu's objective, as Rahu deals with ego. Ketu deals with the evolution of one's soul, and that usually involves its annihilation.

The film "Society of the Snow" is literally directed by Ashwini Moon J.A. Bayona, based on real life events. There's a documentary based on these events as well, "Stranded: I've Come from a Plane That Crashed on the Mountains", directed by Magha Moon Gonzalo Arijon.

Now, in Society of the Snow, there is a tone of hopelessness set in the film because of the gruesome reality these characters (based on real-life people) experience. Never in their lifetime did they think that everything would change so drastically from just living the average life of normal teenage boys — echoing the opening of "The Pianist". These characters, who were part of a rugby team, get on a plane that would soon crash onto a glacier surrounded by endless, cold, harsh mountains — with just a piece of the wrecked plane remaining, which they take shelter in. The protagonists are surrounded by the dead bodies of friends who did not survive the crash, signifying total despair and loss. They couldn’t even sleep; the first night spent with many of them crying and wailing out loud, nearly freezing to death.

A day after, a rescue helicopter searches for them and they all scream out for help. But the helicopter misses them, barely noticeable under all the glacier that surrounds them. This is when the sense of hopelessness starts to intensify as the story progresses. Now that the chances of being rescued remain at zero, they realize they can’t ignore their growing hunger anymore. They all have no choice but to eat the flesh of the dead bodies, after running out of chocolates, and we see how these decisions mentally challenge some of the characters.

It is truly tragic that they were stranded, isolated from the world, and in complete despair every waking day, for a span of 72 days. After being rescued, we see just how malnourished they were from the looks of their bodies. They come back home bone-skinny and depleted. The monologue in the ending scene tells us how the survivors wondered: "Why didn’t we all get to come back [home]?" "What is the meaning of it all?" These were the questions I wondered for the movie "The Pianist".

Ashwini Moon J.A. Bayona also made the film "The Impossible", which is about survival and resilience — based on real life events. Much like "Society of the Snow", it also has a sense of complete despair and there is an involuntary separation of a family (which reminds me of "The Pianist" in which Ashwini Sun Adrien Brody's character is also separated from his family in the story).

"Nothing is more powerful than the human spirit", it writes on the poster.

"Nowhere", is directed by Ashwini Moon Albert Pintó. It's a survival thriller about a pregnant woman who finds herself isolated from society as she's drifting in the sea trapped inside a container. Because of her newborn baby, she is forced to survive and protect her child even when there is no hope. The reason she's even in the container is because she was fleeing a society of a dystopian future in which women & children are caged and murdered (her attempt to run away from oppressive, societal forces leads her to total isolation).

And we also have the film "127 Hours", directed by Ashwini Moon Danny Boyle, starring Ashwini Sun James Franco who plays Aron Ralston, whose right arm becomes trapped against the canyon wall when he was on a solo canyoneering trip. When he is unable to release himself, we realize the severity of his situation. He is completely isolated and alone. His own supplies have run out and he's losing his mind. The struggle for survival and one's own helplessness is a theme of Ashwini nakshatra as this drives one into taking extreme measures for freedom — as he resorts to cutting his own arm off.

These themes seem to speak of the power and resilience of the human spirit, as emphasized in "The Impossible" and "Society of the Snow". Our ability to survive even just our own personal traumas must be a testament to our spirit being an extension of the Higher Power which is behind the happenings of all of these senseless yet significant experiences and events we go through.

It is in Ashwini that one's experience through harsh forces contributes to the spirit's evolution after total annihilation, which leads us on the path towards moksha.

Ketu is very pure by nature, and it wants to destroy impurities. The repression of one's accumulated dirt can manifest in destructive tendencies. By facing one's true inner self and embracing your entirety is how you embrace Ketu in general. But one must go deep and inward. All three Ketu nakshatras deal with getting to the roots for this reason.

Ashwini is ruled by the Ashwini Kumaras, gods of medicine and healing, also known as divine physicians. In order to heal, one must get to the root of all disturbances to create the perfect medicine for healing. As Ashwini is ruled by the 1st house, this involves getting to the roots of oneself for self-liberation. Magha, on the other hand, is about tracing your own existence back to the existence of others — usually family members and ancestors. Magha relates to generational trauma and shining light on it in order to become freer.

Mula is symbolized by the roots of a tree, and "mula" translates to "roots." It signifies ancestral roots as well, but primarily the truth. Mula is where disillusionment takes place as one gets directly into the roots of everything, going right into the galactic center — which can also signify going right into the roots of our demons and letting all of that rotting energy burn from your body. After this purification process, one's consciousness raises by default.

Ashwini has strong, undeveloped energies that can be tamed and grounded to be properly channeled. In order to achieve this, one must let go of poisonous impurities so that they are no longer controlled or possessed by unseen forces. It is in Ashwini that we know of the interconnection of the collective consciousness, which was secretly discovered in Uttara Bhadrapada and remembered in Revati. Ashwini nakshatra is extremely sensitive to outward energies, as are the rest of the Ketu nakshatras. Every individual's consciousness is affecting the whole world in some way. This, being a Ketu theme in general, describes the whole energetic field of the world and how we each play a part in it and affect each other's lives.

As all Ketu nakshatras deal with getting into the roots of things, we must get dirty by digging into our own roots. These unconscious triggers, which form our Shadow Self, contribute to how we interact with the world and other people. There is always the capacity to harm or further traumatize others because of our own unchecked, hidden troubles.

[monodramatic-cannibal]

An Error design. He doesn't have a name yet, but I have a few names to pick from.

He's from the same au that Memento Cadre are from. I just don't have a name for the au yet.

More stuff under the cut

Inspos:

-These two mood boards

-His legs were semi-based off of Nekomata from zzz's legs.

-Undertale's CORE (I wanted him to be related to the CORE's in aus somehow)

-The og Error (By LoverofPiggies)

Possible names for him and explanations for them:

-Bug -Like a computer bug (I also think it's funny to give a cute name to a guy who is angry/violent lol)

-Snafu -"a confused or chaotic state; a mess." "in utter confusion or chaos." "throw (a situation) into chaos." Those are the descriptions for the word, and I feel it fits really well in terms of what it means. (I also think the word itself is funny, so like the name Bug, I think its funny for a violent character to have a goofy name)

-Lapse -I thought of this as 'time-lapse', like maybe him taking some sort of photos to show progress of himself destroying aus. Since he is a very task based guy I feel like he'd like to see that sort of stuff. Could also be the saying "lapse in judgement", since he is also prone to brash behavior.

-Breach -Like "Breach containment" Either that be referring to the CORE, or the Anti-Void. Or could be seen as him breaching an au to destroy it. Or Breaching the code.

I would do a poll to decide the name, but the thing is I am so unsure of the outcome. I also feel like people would vote on the before reading the reason behind each name, some may not even read it at all and just vote at random. But it would be nice to know other's opinions if you've read this far feel free to drop a comment about it lol

Also take these funny screenshots from Discord when I was looking for a name for this guy (e.g. looking for similar names to Error) (TW gets a bit suggestive in one sentence)

[ladybugmania]

Donald Trump:

The Stray looking for his master

Donald Trump has always been a mangy dog, desperate for a pack. But instead of standing with leaders who value loyalty and dignity, he spent years sniffing the rotten buttholes of tyrants, Putin, Kim Jong-un, trading America’s honor for hollow praise. He didn’t lose his way. He sold it, piece by piece, for applause from men who see him as a useful idiot.

True packs know when a dog doesn’t belong. They bite, they exile, they forget. Trump, obsessed only with his name, his bloodline, and a fantasy of being crowned royalty, now finds himself rejected by everyone. The old allies have turned their backs. The dictators mock him. He's a mutt no pack will claim, limping from campfire to campfire, whining into the void.

At Pope Francis’ funeral, Trump's pathetic desperation was on full display. Other world leaders barely acknowledged him, treating him like the ghost he is. When the time came for final respects, Trump and Melania, true to their parasitic nature, couldn't even follow the sacred rules: Trump couldn't follow a simple dress code and they were explicitly told not to step onto the rug bearing the Pope’s coffin, a simple act of reverence, yet they trampled it anyway, as if laws and decency do not apply to their filthy, narcissistic clan.

Trump's rhetoric, his divisive policies, and his glorification of strongman tactics have not only eroded America's global standing, but have directly contributed to worldwide instability. His withdrawal from alliances like NATO, his trade wars, and his reckless praise of autocratic regimes have displaced countless lives economically and politically. America, once a beacon, has, under his influence, been seen less as a leader and more as a cautionary tale.

Just like that lonely, shunned dog, Trump is now neither trusted by the old pack nor truly embraced by the new. He stands alone, howling into a world that will learn to move on without him.

Meanwhile, the wreckage Trump is leaving behind smolders across the globe: alliances shattered, dictators emboldened, millions displaced by the chaos he fed.

Trump isn’t just a failed leader.

He is a warning: a traitor gnawing at the very hands that once tried to lift him up.

He is the stray dog looking for his master.

Yours Truly

Moth Hawk

[justareallyverychillperson]

"The Well" theory: The Midnight entity and the Doctor's name

[Posting this rn just in case I'm right later on]

First of all, I don't think the Midnight entity knew the Doctor's name from when it was inside the Doctor's head 400 millennia ago ok? «The Shakespeare Code» has this quote:

Why would a man hide his title in such despair?

When Reinette is inside his head, she says this;

Doctor Who? It's more than just a secret isn't it?

She knows he has serious personal feelings about that question (and by association, his name)

So, it's not something any random copycat chaos goblin can just waltz through any open door in the Doctor's mind and read plain as day. But, it has gotten stronger so yes, it did find it in there this time.

But how?

Here we get to the shock and blind fear the Doctor gets immediately after, presumably from something the entity whispers to him, this time presumably about itself. The Doctor likely rebuffed its attempt to get back inside his head and pulled a Reinette (door is open in both directions) and evidently regretted it soon after; until he figured out the mercury thing of course.

My theory, which explains both how it found his name so easily and what about its whispery resume scares the Doctor so thoroughly- It's from somewhere close to where the Doctor is from. The mystery void place (or planet if Tecteun is correct) that created the Timeless Child and the place that the entity originates are either one and the same or at the very least, next door neighbours. It revealed that it is from some void-ish place and duly recognises the Doctor as a kindred spirit of sorts.

And given everything they DO NOT have in common, i.e violent tendencies, harmful telepathy etc. then yeah finding out you may be 1/16th MIDNIGHT ENTITY or that Timeless Child is to said entity like humans and Cro Magnon...yeah that's creepy!

To quote the Ninth Doctor:

“We're not the same!”

[deartys]

Connecting the Evanuris with Spirits and Demons

The Evanuris are very interesting to think about and its neat that Solas gets bigger and has purple eyes in Veilguard, visually similar to the Pride Demon.

Ancient elves might not be spirits no longer but they hold a similar narrow thinking, not too different from their Spirit selves, and their archdemons explore that even further. Now without further ado:

Code- Blue: Canon, Orange: Headcanon

Solas, The Dread Wolf

Archdemon: N/A

Spirit: Wisdom

Demon: Pride

Mythal, the All-Mother

Archdemon: N/A

Spirit: Justice that shattered to both Benevolence and Retribuiton

Demon: Vengeance

Or

Spirit: Love

Demon: Envy

Note: Flemeth mentions that she wants to see Mythal Avenged, Mythal is drawn to those who have been betrayed and/or wronged. She is both called has the Goddess of Love, and Goddess of Justice.

Elgar'nan, God of the Sun

Archdemon: Lusacan, Dragon of Night

Spirit: (edit) Command

Demon: (edit) Tiranny

notes: Any of the vices would apply to him, but he is more complex than Rage, and more blunt than Desire. And i see Hunger as an all consuming need to try fill the void, similar to greed. A tyrant who is never satisfied.

Ghilan'ain, Goddess of the Halla

Archdemon: Razikale, Dragon of Mysteries

Spirit: not originally a Spirit, risen by Andruil

Notes: I just enjoy that originally born from a body is the One that uses flesh like a tool.

Andruil, Goddess of the Hunt

Archdemon: Andoral, Dragon of Slaves

Spirit: Purpose

Demon: Desire

Note: She has a single mindedness to her, and Desire usually works with deals, and she was the one to strike one with Ghilan'ain and rise her to godhood

June, God of Craft

Archdemon: Urthemiel, Dragon of Beauty

Spirit: Learning or Curiosity

Demon: Sloth

Note: He stops being the active creator and becomes the passive watcher

Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper

Archdemon: Toth, Dragon of Fire

Spirit: Valor

Demon: Rage

Note: again, unsure about her Spirit form but Rage is fire and destruction, with no clear goal. Valor creates weapons aided by fire.

Falon'Din, Friend of the Dead

Archdemon : Zazikel , Dragon of Chaos

Spirit: fragmented alongside Dirthamen (probably Compassion or Hope)

Demon: Fear

Note: Terror also applies, being both Fear demons. Compassion makes sense by being able to feel other's pain. His archdemon led the most bloodthirsty blight that led to the griffon extintion.

Dirthamen, Keeper of Secrets

Archdemon: Dumat, Dragon of Silence

Spirit: fragmented alongside Falon'Din (probably Hope or Compassion)

Demon: Despair

Notes: The first archdemon that taugth humans blood magic, the first and longest blight, the God that relished in the Despair his Silence creates.

-

Feel free to comment any further insight, I myself feel unsure about the spirits in many cases

[cheollollipop]

Fragments of Us - Chapter 5. | c.sc

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader genre: angst, fluff, smut (minors fuck off, in the nicest way possible) warning(s): just teenage angst tbh. nothing crazy. summary: two years after a messy breakup, seungcheol and yn reconnect unexpectedly. word count: 17k (?) start date: nov. 20, 2024

a/n: trying to post this has been a pain in my ass!!!!! the formatting might be off idkidkidk. anyways, here's a throwback ch. of how everyone becomes friends. even a romance that no one sees coming :)

I didn’t expect the group chat to explode when I sent the text. I thought I'd get a thumbs-up emoji, maybe a "cool" from Jeonghan.

Instead, I got this: GROUP CHAT: chaos but make it childhood trauma

Me: so uh I'm transferring to seoul high lol...

Dokyeom: WHAT?!?!

Jeonghan: I JUST WOKE UP AND YOU'RE DROPPING LORE????

Jihoon: It is 8:07... Can we not do this right now?

Me: surprise...? starting monday lol

Jeonghan: MONDAY? MONDAY AS IN TOMORROW MONDAY?!

Dokyeom: I AM SWEATING THROUGH MY PAJAMAS! I'M TOO YOUNG FOR THIS MUCH JOY

Jihoon: You're fifteen.

Dokyeom: EXACTLY!

Me: I finally convinced my parents. gave a whole speech about how I am emotionally dependent on you guys. very persuasive stuff...also may have cried a little. theatrically.

Jeonghan: That's my girl.

Dokyeom: THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!

Jeonghan: wait DO YOU GUYS REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS?!

Dokyeom: hallway chaos? synchronized class skipping? group projects that get nothing done?! COMFORT LUNCHES???? we are gonna be unstoppable

Jeongahn: no no. bigger than that! SHE HASN'T MET SEUNGCHEOL YET

Me: uh..who?

Dokyeom: oh this is going to be good

Jeonghan: I bet he falls for her in a week

Dokyeom: bold. i say three days

Me: WHO IS SEUNGCHEOL? WHY IS HE FALLING? 

Jihoon: Please. Do not encourage them.

Jeonghan: Seungcheol is just... you'll see. tall. soft-spoken. occasional disaster.

Dokyeom: mysterious hallway menace. emotionally stable-ish. probably writes poetry in his notes app.  no. he DEFINITELY does.

Me: you guys are weird.

Jihoon: You're just now realizing this?

Jeonghan: anyway. we're doing a full seoul high crash course tomorrow. meet at the park, 1pm. bring snacks and an open mind.

Me: should I be worried?

Jihoon: Yes.

The group chat has been suspiciously quiet since last night. Which can only mean one of two things: 1. They've fallen into a group nap. 2. They're planning something.

And based on the fact that Jeonghan texted me this morning—just a selfie with two sunglasses on and the words "ready for war"—I'm guessing it's option two. When I get to the park, they're already waiting on our usual patch of grass near the busted basketball court.

Jeonghan's lying down like a man who's never known stress. He's got a cold drink in one hand and his phone in the other, probably making a playlist for "walking around and talking like we're in a coming-of-age movie."

Dokyeom sees me first and immediately jumps to his feet like I just stepped off a plane from overseas.

"THERE SHE IS!" he yells, full of golden retriever energy. "BACK FROM THE ACADEMIC VOID!"

I laugh as he jogs over and pulls me into the tightest, most dramatic hug possible. "You saw me last week."

"Yeah, but now you're a Seoul High kid. There's a difference. You've been reborn."

"Okay, calm down. I haven't even walked through the gates yet."

He holds me at arm's length. "You're glowing. It's the transfer student effect."

"Please stop," Jihoon mutters as he arrives, earbuds still in and energy already drained. "It's not even 1:05 and I'm regretting this."

Jeonghan finally sits up, brushing grass off his jeans. "Come on, Ji. It's her prep day. Our girl's about to enter the war zone that is public education with no map."

"I was at a different school for two weeks, not exiled."

"Same thing," Jeonghan shrugs. "Anyway. Welcome to Seoul High Orientation, Chaos Edition."

He stands dramatically and pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

"You made an itinerary?" I ask.

"It's color-coded."

"I'm scared."

Dokyeom leans in. "I helped. My section is the cafeteria, obviously."

"I'm going to regret this," Jihoon says again, but he follows us anyway.

Stop #1: The Front Gate:

"This is where you'll see at least four couples pretending not to be dating," Jeonghan says, pointing at a bench by the sidewalk.

"Also," Dokyeom adds, "don't walk near the bushes after fifth period. One time I saw someone get tackled by a rogue soccer ball and it never left me."

"Duly noted."

Stop #2: The Vending Machines:

"Row three. Bottom left," Dokyeom says with a hand on his heart. "That chocolate milk will change your life."

"The green tea's okay too," Jeonghan adds, "if you want to feel emotionally empty for forty-five minutes."

Jihoon throws a pack of crackers at him. "It's just tea, Han."

"It's a lifestyle, Ji."

Stop #3: The Courtyard:

"This is where we eat," Jeonghan says proudly, spreading his arms out like he's presenting a kingdom. "Under the big tree. Shade, good breeze, low teacher traffic."

I smile as I take it in. "It's cute."

"We're not," Jihoon says.

"No," I agree. "But this is."

By the time we're halfway through the tour, I've got a mental folder labeled "Seoul High Survival" and about thirty Jeonghan-led side tangents I did not ask for. But the truth is... this? This is everything I missed.

The laughing. The bickering. Jihoon pretending not to care while handing me the exact snack I love without saying a word. Jeonghan spinning wild tales of hallway drama. Dokyeom trailing behind me to make sure I don't get trampled by a roaming club rush. I feel... settled.

Like the two weird weeks at my old school were a glitch in the system, and this chaos, noise, and love is where I'm meant to be. We end the day back at the park, laying in the grass like we're thirteen again and avoiding responsibility.

"I still can't believe you're gonna be with us again," Dokyeom says, arms stretched above his head.

"Yeah," I say softly. "Me either."

There's a pause. Just long enough for Jeonghan to get ideas.

"So," he says slowly, "on a scale of 1 to 'should I get my tux ready,' how soon do we think Seungcheol's gonna fall for her?"

I groan. "Why are we back on this?"

Jihoon sighs. "We never left it."

"Who is this guy again?" I ask, squinting at them.

"He's in our lunch period," Jeonghan says. "Tall. Wears hoodies like they're armor. Brooding, soft-spoken, suspiciously poetic."

Dokyeom nods. "He's also weirdly graceful. Like, if a cat and a tree had a baby."

"What does that even mean?"

"You'll see."

"Is he nice?"

"Too nice," Jeonghan says. "It's suspicious."

"He's gonna fall for you in under a week," Dokyeom adds.

I roll onto my side and squint at the sky. "You two are insufferable."

"And yet," Jeonghan sings, "you love us."

"Regrettably."

Jihoon tosses a leaf in my face. "Can we go home now?"

"Yeah," I say, still smiling. "Let's go."

Tomorrow's going to be the first page of a brand new chapter. Same neighborhood, same chaos, new school. And maybe... a new character.

We end up at my place because, well, we always do. I don't remember when it started—sometime around elementary school when my house became the designated "safe zone" after long days of bike riding, hide-and-seek, and overly competitive UNO games. But even now, the pattern hasn't changed. They drift toward my front door like gravity pulls them here.

My mom isn't even surprised when we walk in. She waves from the couch and asks if we want tteokbokki or ramyeon for dinner.

"Both?" Dokyeom asks, hopeful.

She nods like she expected that answer, already moving to the kitchen. Legend.

We pile into the living room—bags tossed in the hallway, shoes left in a mess near the door (except Jihoon, who lines his up neatly like the responsible citizen he is). The TV's playing something none of us are paying attention to, and Jeonghan claims his usual spot on the beanbag like a throne.

"This house smells the same," he says, inhaling dramatically. "Like candles and comfort."

"Like old books and guilt," Jihoon mutters.

"Like snacks and serotonin," Dokyeom adds with a dreamy sigh, already halfway through the chips he found in the cabinet without asking.

"You're welcome," I say, flopping onto the floor with a soda in hand. We hang out like that for hours.

Jeonghan plays with the filters on my phone and takes the ugliest selfies known to man. Dokyeom puts on music and dramatically lip-syncs to every chorus like we're in a music video. Jihoon half-watches from the couch, half-judging all of us, but he doesn't move or leave—he never does. And me? I soak it all in.

The noise. The laughter. The bickering. The way Jeonghan throws popcorn at Jihoon and misses, hitting my ceiling instead. The way Dokyeom sings off-key just to make me laugh. The way Jihoon pretends to hate it, but keeps pushing the bowl of snacks closer to me whenever it gets too far. This is what I missed. Not just the chaos. The comfort. The absolute certainty that no matter how weird or awful or overwhelming tomorrow is... I'll have this. These people. 

Around 8:30, we're sprawled out on every available surface—Dokyeom upside-down on the recliner, Jeonghan draped over half the beanbag like a Victorian ghost, and Jihoon holding the remote like he's the last sane person left on Earth.

"We should go over the schedule again," Jihoon says suddenly.

Jeonghan groans. "We already did that."

"I wasn't paying attention," I admit, taking a long sip from my drink.

"See?" Jihoon gestures toward me like he's in a courtroom.

He pulls out his phone and opens the Seoul High schedule app. "You start with History. Room 2B. I'm in 2C, so we'll walk over together."

"You memorized my schedule?"

"No," he says too fast.

Jeonghan coughs, "Soft."

"I'm being helpful," Jihoon mutters.

Dokyeom sits up like he's had an epiphany. "Wait, who's walking her to lunch?"

Everyone looks at each other.

"Not it," Jihoon says immediately.

Jeonghan gasps. "How dare you."

Eventually, my mom calls us for dinner and we crowd around the table like we're still kids coming in from playing outside. Elbows bump. Someone drops chopsticks. Jeonghan steals from my bowl. Jihoon sighs. Dokyeom does his happy food dance. Everything feels stupidly perfect.

Later, when they've all gone home and I'm finally alone in my room, the silence feels louder—but not empty. There's a warmth in it. A weightless sort of joy that hums beneath the quiet.

I set out my uniform for tomorrow, check my backpack one more time and then crawl under the covers.

My alarm goes off at 6:45.

It's rude. Aggressively loud. Too chipper for this hour. I silence it with the strength of someone who briefly considers faking an illness but remembers she fought tooth and nail to transfer here. No backing out now.

I lie in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the reality settle in: I'm starting over. Sort of. New school. New teachers. New classmates. But not totally new.

I get up and head to the bathroom. My uniform looks fine—I tried it on twice yesterday to make sure it wasn't weirdly too long or too short. I do my hair in a simple style and throw on a little lip balm before grabbing my backpack and heading downstairs. Mom's already up, making toast. She smiles when she sees me.

"Nervous?"

I shrug, slipping on my shoes. "Excited. Mostly."

She hands me a packed lunch. "You're going to be great."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Say hi to the boys for me. Especially Jihoon. He's the only one I trust not to set something on fire."

"I'll let him know he's the chosen one," I laugh, heading for the door.

We agreed to meet at the corner near Jeonghan's house—same spot we've used as our unofficial meet-up location since elementary school. I'm a few minutes early. I adjust my bag, check my phone, and take a deep breath. The air is crisp, that September kind of cool that says summer's still hanging on but barely.

"Wow," a voice says behind me. "You actually showed up on time. New year, new you?"

I turn around and roll my eyes. "Hello to you, too, Jihoon."

He's in uniform too, blazer slightly wrinkled like he didn't bother ironing it. His backpack looks like it's already carrying emotional damage.

"I had a feeling you'd say that," I grin.

"I had a feeling you'd be annoying this early in the morning," he deadpans.

"Don't worry. I'm just getting started."

Before he can respond, someone yells, "FRESHMAN PRINCESS!" from across the street.

Jeonghan.

He runs up dramatically, iced coffee in hand, sunglasses on like it's not 7:20 a.m.

"You're lucky I'm walking with you," he says, looping his arm through mine. "The hallways are a battlefield. I will protect you."

"Why do you look like you're attending a music festival?" Jihoon asks.

"It's called style, Hoonie. Look it up."

Dokyeom appears seconds later, full of sunshine as usual. "WE'RE DOING THIS, GUYS!"

"We are," I say, grinning. "Day one."

Jeonghan adjusts his sunglasses. "Let the chaos begin."

The four of us start walking—shoulders bumping, shoes dragging, backpacks swaying. It feels weirdly perfect. Like we've done this forever.

Jeonghan launches into a dramatic retelling of a cafeteria fight he witnessed last week (spoiler: it involved pudding and questionable martial arts), while Dokyeom swears someone in the second-year class is secretly famous on TikTok. Jihoon grunts at regular intervals to remind us that he's still here and still suffering.

The sidewalk, the trees, the sound of their voices bouncing off each other like background music in the best kind of teen drama.

The front gate is already swarming when we get there—students spilling onto campus in loose clusters, backpacks slung over shoulders, half-asleep conversations floating through the air. It's loud and chaotic in a way that feels alive. The moment we step through the gates, Jeonghan slings an arm across my shoulders like we're on parade.

"Fresh meat," he whispers dramatically. "Do you smell it, Jihoon?"

"Please don't talk to me."

Jeonghan completely ignores him and gestures to a group of students near the front steps. "That's where the morning gossip happens. Most of it's fake. All of it's entertaining."

Dokyeom leans in like he's narrating a documentary. "That corner near the vending machines? That's where couples break up before first period."

I squint. "Is that real?"

"Yup," Jeonghan says. "We once saw someone dump their boyfriend with a Post-it note. Iconic."

We make our way through the hallways, Jeonghan pointing out every landmark like he's a tour guide and I'm a visiting diplomat.

"Left hallway is the music room. Where dreams go to die."

"I thought you liked music class," I say.

"I do. I just hate being graded on vibes."

Jihoon groans. "I swear to God—"

"Language," Jeonghan says sweetly.

By the time the warning bell rings, I've got a decent sense of the building—where my classes are, which bathroom stalls to avoid, which stairwells are used for crying.

I make it through first period with only one awkward "Are you new here?" moment. Second period is better. By third, I manage to raise my hand without my voice shaking. And suddenly, it's lunch.

"So," Jeonghan says, linking our arms as we weave through the courtyard, "are you emotionally prepared to meet the guy we've already decided is going to fall in love with you?"

"I'm sorry?" I blink. "Back up."

"Seungcheol," he sing-songs. "Tall, quiet, mysterious. Hoodie guy. Pretty eyes. You've heard us mention him."

"I thought you were joking when you said he writes poems and sulks during gym."

"Oh, he does. But he's also a walking soft boy aesthetic, and I just know you're his exact type."

I narrow my eyes. "And what exactly is his type?"

"Dangerously witty, occasionally unhinged girls who will probably roast him for wearing the same hoodie four days in a row."

"I'm honored," I deadpan.

"Listen," Jeonghan grins. "If he doesn't fall in love by the end of lunch, I'll give you five bucks."

"That's it?"

"Emotional damage isn't cheap, YN."

We round the corner and there they are—Jihoon, sitting cross-legged on the grass like he's contemplating life, and Dokyeom, animatedly telling a story with full body gestures and a dramatic reenactment.

Jeonghan waves like he's entering a fan meet. "Boys! Look who I found lurking in the halls like a lost soul."

Jihoon groans. "God, spare me."

"Jihoon," I grin. "Still allergic to joy, I see."

"Still the human equivalent of spilled soda," he mutters, but he shifts slightly so I can sit beside him.

Dokyeom cheers. "Our girl's officially one of us again! Let the unhinged lunch sessions resume!"

"Can't wait," I laugh, sitting down and pulling out my lunch.

"So—how's Seoul High treating you so far?"

"Eh," I shrug. "Nothing chaotic so far".

"Yet," Jihoon adds.

Jeonghan suddenly sits up straighter, lips curling. "Incoming."

I glance toward where he's looking. And then I see him.

Seungcheol.

Tall, broad-shouldered, sleeves half-covering his hands, hoodie slightly oversized. He's walking toward us with the calm of someone who's used to being invisible, but the kind of invisible people still notice. And he's looking at me. Just for a second. Then he looks away.

When he sits, he doesn't say anything. He just nods at Jeonghan, gives Dokyeom a quiet greeting, and glances in Jihoon's direction like he's silently asking about my presence.

"This," Jeonghan says, all false casual, "is YN."

Seungcheol turns to me, eyes soft but unreadable. "You're the transfer?"

"That's me," I nod. "Fresh meat. Bring on the hazing."

He blinks. Slowly. "We don't really do that here."

"Shame," I say. "I had a whole dramatic speech prepared about rising from the ashes."

A pause. Then, just barely—he smiles.

Oh no.

His smile is the quiet kind. The kind you almost miss if you're not paying attention. But I see it.

Dokyeom's eyes widen ever so slightly.

Jeonghan hides a cough behind his hand.

Jihoon mutters, "Here we go."

"So," I continue, leaning back on my palms, "you're Seungcheol. I've heard things."

That gets his attention. "Like what?"

"Mostly that you wear hoodies like armor and possibly write sad poetry."

He looks stunned for half a second. Then says, "...I plead the fifth."

Jeonghan loses it.

"God, you're already corrupted," Jihoon mutters, stabbing at his lunch like it wronged him.

"Don't worry, Ji," I grin at him. "I'll leave your delicate moral compass intact."

"You broke that years ago."

"I never touched it."

"You threw it out a window."

I grin. "You're just mad I beat you in Mario Kart and the spelling bee."

Jeonghan gasps. "You did not bring up the spelling bee."

"She spelled 'acquiesce' in record time," Dokyeom says proudly.

"She whispered it," Jihoon grumbles.

"Power move," I say with a shrug.

Seungcheol is quiet—but I catch him smiling again.

Twice in one lunch. Interesting.

As we all start eating, I feel Jeonghan nudge my shoulder. When I glance over, he's grinning like a devil.

"No love at first sight," he whispers, "but I'm feeling a solid slow burn."

"Shut up and eat your rice," I whisper back.

But I'm smiling, too. And across from me, Seungcheol keeps glancing my way.

By the time I unwrap the sandwich my mom made me, the conversation has unraveled into three different threads: Dokyeom trying to convince us that aliens are real, Jeonghan attempting to set up an impromptu talent show, and Jihoon—bless him—trying to ignore all of it while chewing like it's a stress reliever. And then there's Seungcheol. Silent. Observing.

Twisting the cap of his drink back and forth between his fingers like it's giving him something to focus on. I don't know what it is exactly, but something about him makes me... curious. He's not cold, not standoffish—but there's a distance. Like he's not sure if he should be here, but he is. Like he's still deciding what kind of person he's allowed to be in front of me. Which, okay, that might be projecting. But I'm intrigued.

"So, Cheol," Jeonghan says out of nowhere, eyes sharp with barely contained mischief. "YN is a spelling bee champion. Impressive, right?"

Seungcheol looks up mid-sip. "Spelling bee?"

"It was fifth grade," I say quickly. "Jeonghan's just bitter because I beat him."

"She spelled 'rendezvous' and I panicked and said 'cow,'" he says, hand to chest. "A dark day for me."

Jihoon sighs. "You spelled 'cow' in a French vocabulary competition."

"And I spelled it perfectly."

Seungcheol blinks. "Sounds like you deserved that loss."

Oh. Oh. He speaks. Seungcheol actually laughs. Just once. Soft and a little caught off guard, like he didn't mean to. Jeonghan stares at him like he's just grown wings.

Dokyeom, not even trying to be subtle, leans over and fake-whispers, "Is this... is this the most Cheol's ever spoken to a new person?"

Seungcheol shoots him a look. "You're not helping."

"I'm not trying to."

Jeonghan leans in. "This is a safe space, Cheol. You can admit you like her."

My head snaps around. "Jeonghan!"

"What?" he says innocently. "He's clearly smiling in, like, two-minute intervals. That's basically a love confession." Seungcheol buries his face in his hand.

Dokyeom claps. "I knew it! I said three days. We're ahead of schedule."

Jihoon doesn't even look up. "You two are the reason I have stress-induced eye twitching."

"I'm honored," Jeonghan beams.

I wave my sandwich between them. "Can we maybe not make my first lunch here about whether or not I'm breaking someone's emotional armor?"

Seungcheol peeks up from behind his hand, gaze flickering to mine, half amused, half mortified.

"I don't have emotional armor," he mumbles.

"Sure," I say, giving him a playful look. "You've got hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like they're hiding state secrets."

He blinks. Then smiles. Again. That's smile number three. We're keeping count now. Jihoon pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I can't do four years of this."

"Oh, you can," I say sweetly. "And you will."

Jeonghan claps. "God, I missed her."

"Missed?" Jihoon repeats. "She's been gone two weeks."

"Two long weeks," Dokyeom sighs dramatically.

"Thank you for acknowledging my impact," I say, wiping my hands on a napkin. "I like to think I leave a small trail of chaos wherever I go."

Seungcheol glances at me. "You do."

I raise a brow. "You say that like you have evidence."

"I've known you for thirty minutes."

"And that's enough?"

He pauses. Then nods.

I smile, leaning back on my hands. "Fair."

The bell rings not long after that, too loud, too soon.

Everyone groans, especially Dokyeom, who slumps forward like the concept of geometry is personally attacking him. As we start packing up, I catch Seungcheol glancing at me again. Just for a moment. Then he looks away like it didn't happen. Jeonghan sees it, of course. He lives for it. But, for once, he says nothing. Which somehow feels louder. As we all start heading toward the building again—Jihoon and Dokyeom walking ahead, already arguing over which staircase is faster—Jeonghan lingers behind with me.

He leans in close, voice low. "So. Thoughts?"

I raise a brow. "On what?"

"On the quiet boy who, by the way, totally laughed at your joke and voluntarily spoke to you more than six syllables."

"Maybe he's warming up to me."

"Maybe you're the sun."

I scoff. "You are so dramatic."

"And you," he says, nudging my side, "are so lying if you say you didn't like it."

I don't answer. Because I don't have to. I'm still smiling.

Back inside, the hallways feel stuffier somehow—more humid, more crowded. Someone's playing music on a Bluetooth speaker a few lockers down, and two second-years are mock-arguing about who owes whom bread from the vending machine. It's normal chaos.

I trail behind the boys as we head to our lockers. Jeonghan's retelling the story of the "spelling bee betrayal" for the third time in twenty minutes with new embellishments. Apparently, I now wore sunglasses and whispered the final word like a spy. Jihoon is visibly trying not to throttle him.

"Please," Jihoon groans, "I will pay you to shut up."

"Okay, but like... ten bucks minimum," Jeonghan says without missing a beat.

Dokyeom turns to me. "So what's your next class?"

"Math," I say, feigning dread. "Room 1C. I had a good streak going and now it ends."

"You're with me," Jihoon grunts. "Come on, let's go before the students clog the stairs."

"Your optimism is infectious."

He just rolls his eyes and starts walking, and I follow—throwing a quick wave back at Jeonghan and Dokyeom. Seungcheol's there too, halfway turned, backpack over one shoulder. Our eyes meet briefly. It's not a long look. Just one of those quick, tiny moments of recognition. But it lands. Harder than I expected.

Math Class – 10 Minutes Later - It's exactly as tragic as I feared. The teacher drones on about number sets and functions while my brain tries desperately to remember what integers even are. Jihoon passes me a spare pencil when mine breaks, muttering something about "karma for being smug."

I spend half the class doodling stars in the corner of my notebook and pretending I'm absorbing something. I catch Jihoon glancing over once to see if I'm paying attention—he doesn't say anything, but I feel the judgment.

By the time the bell rings, I've retained maybe five percent of the material and zero percent of my dignity.

"Remind me to steal your notes later," I say as we pack up.

"I won't."

"Wow. Some best friend you are."

He slams his notebook closed. "Some best friend you are. You abandoned me for two weeks and came back with main character energy."

"That's because I am the main character."

"God help us all.

I meet up with Jeonghan and Dokyeom in the stairwell before our last class of the day. Seungcheol's already there too, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. He glances up when I approach. Doesn't say anything. Just gives a small nod. I return it with a smile and nudge Jeonghan. "So how much longer are you guys pretending you're not planning something?"

He puts on his best "Who, me?" face.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Sure."

"I just think it's cute," he says, way too casually. "The quiet boy and the witty transfer. Enemies to lovers but, like, without the enemies part."

"You've been watching too many dramas."

"Only for research."

"On what?"

"Your life arc," he says, linking arms with me again. "And frankly, it's delivering."

I groan. "Please let me survive a week here before you assign me a love interest."

"No promises."

Last Period – Literature: We file into class and the teacher, Mr. Park, gives a welcoming smile and points me to a desk near the middle.

To my left: Jeonghan. Of course.

To my right? Seungcheol. Because fate is a very funny, very chaotic little thing.

We exchange a brief glance and both pretend we're not aware of the other's presence. Jeonghan's already watching us like a director behind a camera lens.

"You good?" Seungcheol asks quietly once the teacher starts talking.

His voice is soft. A little husky, like he doesn't talk much by the end of the day. I glance at him, then nod. "Yeah. Math tried to kill me, but I pulled through."

He chuckles under his breath. "Jihoon?"

"Obviously."

"I could tell. You looked like you were planning your escape."

"Still am."

Another small smile. God, he's unfair.

Class goes on, and we don't talk much after that, but he's there. He passes me a spare worksheet when mine goes missing. I hand him an extra pen when his runs out. Small things. Quiet things. Things I didn't expect to matter. But they do.

By the end of class, I don't know what we are. Not friends. Not strangers. Something in between. But as we walk out and our arms brush just barely in the hallway, I kind of want to find out. The moment the final bell rings, the hallways erupt like a prison break.

Bags zip. Lockers slam. Someone's already blasting music from their phone and another kid's yelling about losing a shoe.

I find Jeonghan, Dokyeom, and Jihoon by the usual stairwell. Jeonghan's sitting on the ledge like he owns the building. Dokyeom's halfway through a banana. Jihoon's glaring at both of them like he's aged five years since lunch.

"Everyone survive?" I ask as I approach.

"Barely," Jihoon mutters. "I had to stop Jeonghan from starting a fake fire drill."

"It was a tiny flame."

"It was a lighter," Jihoon snaps. "And you tried to pass it off as a 'science experiment.'"

"Art is subjective," Jeonghan shrugs.

Dokyeom claps me on the shoulder. "First day down. Look at you. Thriving."

"Thriving is a stretch," I say, adjusting my backpack. "But I didn't fall down the stairs, so I'll take it."

"Low bar," Jihoon says.

"High success rate," I shoot back.

We fall into our usual rhythm, feet dragging down the sidewalk toward our neighborhood. The sun's dipped lower in the sky, softening everything into gold. The street's quiet, familiar.

"I still can't believe you're actually here," Dokyeom says, smiling. "Like, physically attending our school. Eating our cafeteria food. Existing in the same hallways."

"You say that like I moved across the country and didn't just live ten minutes away."

Jeonghan loops his arms around both mine and Dokyeom's. "It felt like long-distance."

Jihoon walks a few steps ahead, muttering, "She was literally here last weekend."

"Emotionally long-distance," Jeonghan corrects.

"Unbearable," I say dramatically. "I had to spend lunch with strangers for two weeks. Strangers. Who didn't even know about Jihoon's middle school bowl cut."

Dokyeom gasps. "The legend returns."

Jihoon glares over his shoulder. "I will destroy you all."

"Anyway," Jeonghan cuts in, grinning, "now that we're whole again, I propose a welcome-home homework session."

"Which means...?" I raise an eyebrow.

"We invade your house."

"Obviously," Dokyeom grins.

I don't even bother pretending to argue.

We tumble into my house like we own it. Shoes come off, bags hit the floor, and my mom just glances up from the kitchen with a raised brow.

"Living room. No fire hazards this time."

"That was one time!" Jeonghan shouts.

"It was smoke," Dokyeom adds helpfully.

"It was scorched noodles," Jihoon mutters, heading straight to the dining table like this is a business meeting.

I head to the kitchen to grab snacks while Jeonghan and Dokyeom claim the couch like they're royalty returning to their thrones.

As I come back with chips and sodas, I catch Jeonghan elbowing Dokyeom with a smirk.

"Operation Slow-Burn is already underway," he whispers.

"Did you see how he looked at her during lunch?" Dokyeom stage-whispers back. "I thought he was gonna short-circuit."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing!" Jeonghan says brightly. "Love the snacks."

"You're terrible liars."

"We're visionaries," Jeonghan corrects. "There's a difference."

"I have literally no idea what you're talking about."

Dokyeom gives me a very unsubtle side-eye. "No thoughts about a certain quiet boy with hoodie sleeves and resting brooding face?"

I throw a chip at him. "You're reading into things."

"Sure," Jeonghan hums. "And he definitely wasn't looking at you like you hang the stars."

"I—" I pause. "He barely said five words to me."

"But he said them with feeling," Dokyeom nods, serious.

"You guys need help."

"You need to admit you're thinking about him," Jeonghan sings.

"I'm thinking about getting through math homework without setting something on fire."

Jihoon, without looking up: "You're all exhausting."

"Thank you for your support," I say.

He gestures with his pencil. "Don't drag me into your weird rom-com subplot."

"It's not a rom-com subplot," I say quickly.

"Uh-huh."

I flop down onto the carpet with a dramatic groan. "Why did I transfer again?"

"Because you missed us," Jeonghan says, already stealing a chip. "And because fate clearly wants you to fall in love with someone who wears the same hoodie every Tuesday."

"I literally just got here."

"Exactly," Dokyeom grins. "Perfect timing."

I groan again, but as I open my notebook, my brain is already replaying the exact way Seungcheol smiled at me in Lit class. Soft. Cautious. Real.

Which is so not helpful. At all.

The house is quiet now. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that only happens after the storm—that specific kind of stillness that lingers after Jeonghan has stopped singing show tunes, Dokyeom has stopped dramatically reenacting hallway drama, and Jihoon has stopped muttering about all of us being incurable idiots.

They left an hour ago, but the energy still lingers in the living room. Empty soda cans on the coffee table. An abandoned sock (Jeonghan's, probably). Jihoon's neatly stacked math notes, which he "accidentally" left behind so I'd study properly.

I clean up on autopilot, the rhythm of it soothing in that "I'm trying not to think about things" kind of way. But of course, the moment my hands aren't busy, my brain betrays me.

Seungcheol. Ugh.

I flop onto my bed, face buried in my pillow. This is ridiculous. We barely spoke. A few jokes. A soft smile. Some hoodie-based banter. That's it. Right? So why did I feel so weird when he looked at me? Not bad weird. Just... noticeable. Like something was shifting and I hadn't caught up to it yet.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I try to convince myself I'm just reacting to the idea Jeonghan and Dokyeom planted in my head.

But still... He was so quiet, but not in a dismissive way. Just careful. Measured. Like he didn't waste words, so when he did speak—when he asked if I was okay, or offered a pen, or actually laughed—it felt... important.

And now my best friends are trying to turn this into a slow-burn romance with plot twists and emotional development and who knows what else. I should tell them to chill. I should also tell myself to chill.

Instead, I reach for my phone. No texts from Seungcheol, obviously. Why would there be?

Just the group chat, where Jeonghan has sent a blurry picture of Jihoon looking like he's contemplating homicide and labeled it: "mood when YN and Cheol lock eyes again tomorrow."

I snort. I hate them.

I also love them.

I send a single middle finger emoji in response and toss my phone aside. Then I get up to get ready for bed.

Shower. Skincare. Pajamas.

I brush my hair out slowly, the silence in my room now soft instead of heavy. Comfortable. I line up my uniform for the next day. Repack my bag. Plug in my phone. When I crawl under the covers, I feel it again—that calm hum in my chest. A flicker of something new.

Hope? Excitement? I'm not sure. But whatever it is... it feels good. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Maybe Jeonghan's right. Perhaps something is happening. Maybe not. Either way... I think I'm okay with finding out.

I wake up before my alarm. Which is disgusting. And uncalled for.

I lie there for a moment, blinking at the ceiling like the main character in a coming-of-age movie. Then I remember: I go to Seoul High now. With my best friends. With a hoodie-wearing boy who may or may not be quietly unraveling every time I look at him.

Cool. Not thinking about that.

I get up, get dressed, pull my hair into something presentable, and head out with my backpack slung over one shoulder. As I step outside, I see Jihoon waiting at the corner of the street, already holding a convenience store coffee and looking like this is the 37th Monday he's endured in a row.

"You're early," I say, blinking.

"You're late," he says, even though I'm literally on time.

"Someone's cranky."

"I'm walking to school with Jeonghan and Dokyeom. Of course I'm cranky."

Right on cue, we hear them before we see them. Jeonghan's singing something dramatic and entirely off-key, and Dokyeom is beatboxing badly in support.

"They've been like this since I left the house," Jihoon mutters.

"God gives his toughest battles to his most sleep-deprived soldiers," I say solemnly.

The boys turn the corner, and Jeonghan gasps like he's seeing me for the first time in years.

"There she is! The girl who haunts our group chat dreams!"

"Hello to you too," I say, rolling my eyes.

"We were just talking about how love can bloom in the quietest corners of a lunch period," Dokyeom says, completely unprovoked.

"Not this again."

"Sweetie," Jeonghan says, linking arms with me. "We're not saying you're in love. We're just saying if this were a drama, yesterday would've been the pilot episode, and the viewers are already emotionally invested."

Jihoon groans and we start walking.

"Anyway," I say casually, "what classes do we all have today?"

"History first for me," Jeonghan says. "Gonna sleep through 70% of it."

"I've got physics," Dokyeom sighs. "Pray for me."

"History," Jihoon mutters. "You too, right?"

I nod. "Yup. And Seungcheol, I think."

There's a subtle pause. Jeonghan smirks and Dokyeom quietly gasps. Jihoon speeds up like he's trying to leave the conversation physically.

"I swear we didn't plan that," Jeonghan says.

"Again, terrible liars."

At School – Before First Period: I'm heading toward History when someone falls into step beside me.

"Morning."

I turn. It's Seungcheol. Same hoodie (black this time), hair slightly damp like he just showered, eyes a little sleepy.

"Oh. Hey," I say, surprised. "Didn't think you were an 'early to school' kind of guy."

He shrugs. "Usually not. Got a ride today."

"From who?"

"Hyung."

He doesn't elaborate.

I nod like that explains something. "You ready to sit through Mr. Ahn's metaphors of doom again?"

"No," he says. "But I brought gum."

I grin. "A man with a plan."

He glances at me, lips twitching. "Want one?"

I blink. "Seriously?"

He offers me the pack like it's no big deal. I take one. Our fingers brush. (It means nothing. I tell myself that twice.)

"Thanks," I say.

He hums in response, and we walk the rest of the way in companionable silence. Not awkward. Just quiet. Safe.

History Class – Partner Work: Mr. Ahn's in rare form today, assigning a group analysis project and giving us exactly two class periods to finish it. "Pick someone near you," he says. "Someone you won't get distracted with."

Naturally, I turn to my right and meet Seungcheol's gaze at the same time he meets mine.

There's a silent moment of agreement.

We pair up again.

"Déjà vu," I say as we pull out our notes.

"You regretting it already?"

"Too soon to tell." He chuckles.

We start reading the passage together, breaking it down. He's sharp. More insightful than he lets on. His handwriting's messier today, and he keeps clicking his pen like it's a nervous habit. He only glances at me three times while I talk.

(Okay, four.)

And every time I catch him doing it, he looks away fast, like he got caught shoplifting. I pretend not to notice.

After Class – In the Hallway: I'm gathering my things when Jeonghan and Dokyeom ambush me like I just won a prize.

"So?" Jeonghan asks.

"How was group project part two?" Dokyeom grins.

"Educational," I say dryly. "About the text. And nothing else."

"Oh please," Jeonghan says. "I saw the gum exchange. Very flirty. Very symbolic."

"He handed me a stick of gum, not his heart."

"Same thing, if you squint."

Jihoon appears out of nowhere and shoves a worksheet into Jeonghan's chest. "This is what you should be focused on."

"Oh god," Jeonghan groans. "Homework? Already? YN, distract him."

"Yeah," Jihoon says. "That's going well."

I make a face. "You guys are insufferable."

And yet, when I glance down the hallway and see Seungcheol turning the corner—

I smile.

After Literature, the day picks up speed. There's a moment between classes where I find myself alone for the first time all day—just me and a hallway full of lockers and too-loud morning announcements. Jeonghan and Dokyeom are in gym. Jihoon had to go to the music room. Seungcheol disappeared like a vapor trail the second class ended.

So, for now, it's just me. And honestly? It's kind of nice.

Third Period – Environmental Science: I slide into a seat near the middle and pull out my notebook. The room smells like pencil shavings and leftover dissection trauma. There's a poster of a polar bear on the wall that looks weirdly judgmental.

A guy drops into the seat next to me a few seconds later. Tall-ish, tousled hair, blazer unbuttoned like a walking dress code violation.

"Hey," he says, friendly. "You're new, right?"

I blink. "Wow. How'd you guess?"

"You still look like you're trying to map out the school in your head."

"I am. I'm also emotionally invested in locating the vending machine that doesn't steal my money."

He grins. "West wing. Third floor. Kinda cursed, but it spits out two sodas if you hit it just right."

I squint. "You're joking."

"Only sometimes. I'm Taeyang, by the way."

"YN."

"Cool name."

"Cool vending machine tip."

He laughs, and the teacher calls class to attention before he can say anything else. We end up as lab partners for the day. He's sharp and surprisingly funny, and he doesn't hesitate to hand me the better pencil when mine breaks again.

It's... easy. Different.

Flirty, maybe?

No. I'm reading into it. Probably.

Fourth Period – Art

Art ends up being the class where I meet two girls who immediately adopt me like I'm their new emotionally damaged project.

"Transfer?" one of them asks, a girl with pink clips in her hair and a neon green pencil case that could double as a weapon.

I nod. "Is it that obvious?"

"You're not slumped over like the rest of us," the other one says, pulling out paintbrushes. "That's how you spot the new blood."

I laugh. "I'll slump soon. Just give me time."

They introduce themselves as Jiwon and Hyejin. We get paired up for the color theory project, and within ten minutes, they've added me to their group chat, offered me half their snacks, and told me everything about the "hallway couples ranking" that apparently exists.

They're weird. I like them immediately.

Halfway through class, Hyejin leans in. "Be honest. Are you dating that tall guy from lunch yesterday?"

"Who?"

"You were sitting across from him. Hoodie. Deep voice. Intense stare. He looked like he'd murder someone if they took the last bread from the cafeteria."

"...Seungcheol?"

"YES."

Jiwon hums. "He doesn't talk to people. And he laughed when you made that ramen joke."

"You were sitting near us?"

"We're professional eavesdroppers," Hyejin says proudly.

"She made him laugh," Jiwon repeats. "That's not normal."

"I'm not dating anyone," I say quickly.

But my face is warm and they notice. Of course they do.

By the time the final bell rings, I'm exhausted—but in a good way. Like I actually survived the day without totally embarrassing myself. I head to my locker, swinging my bag over my shoulder. As I round the corner, I see Taeyang again, leaning against the wall like it's his part-time job.

"Hey," he says when he sees me. "You made it through the cursed vending machine and polar bear judgment class."

"Barely," I say, smiling.

"You walking home?"

I hesitate.

Before I can answer, someone appears just past his shoulder—hands in his pockets, hoodie up.

Seungcheol.

He doesn't say anything at first. Just nods at me.

"You coming?"

It's directed at me. Not rude. Not rushed. Just... expectant. Like he already knows what the answer is.

Taeyang raises an eyebrow but steps aside. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I say. "See you."

I fall into step beside Seungcheol as we head toward the school gate. He doesn't ask about the other guy. Doesn't say much at all. But his shoulders are a little stiffer than usual. And when he hands me a piece of gum again without looking at me? I take it. And I definitely notice the way his fingers linger an extra second this time.

"That guy," he says.

I glance at him. "Huh?"

He nods toward the building. "From earlier. Tall. Wavy hair. He was talking to you.”

Oh.

He means Taeyang.

"Right," I say slowly. "That's Taeyang."

He waits. Like maybe I'll offer more.

I do, eventually. "We had science together today. He's... chill."

"Chill," Seungcheol echoes, like it's a word he's holding up to the light.

I squint at him. "Why?"

"No reason."

There's a silence.

Not awkward. But dense.

He looks straight ahead, jaw tight in that unreadable way that makes me wonder if he's actually annoyed, or just thinking really, really hard.

"You don't like him?" I ask, half-teasing.

"I don't know him," he says. "I just—he looked familiar."

"You mean you were watching?"

He cuts me a look. "No."

I smirk. "You sound a little defensive."

"I'm not."

"You sure?"

He exhales slowly, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "Jeonghan warned me."

I snort. "Okay. That's ominous."

He finally meets my eyes again. "He said you'd be loud. Smart. Kind of a menace."

"Accurate."

"He didn't say anything about the guy with the vending machine tips."

I blink.

And suddenly I get it.

"Oh my god," I say slowly. "Are you asking if I like him?"

His face doesn't change.

But his ears go pink.

"I'm just asking."

"Are you?"

He's quiet for a beat.

Then, without looking at me: "You seem... interested."

I raise an eyebrow. "And that matters to you?"

He freezes. Almost like that question knocked the wind out of him.

Neither of us has spoken for a few moments, but the quiet between us doesn't feel awkward—it feels... new. The kind of silence that makes your heart race a little faster because it feels full of possibilities. I shift on my feet, gripping the strap of my backpack, suddenly very aware of how close he's standing. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I notice the warmth coming off his arm. If I leaned even slightly—

I don't.

Before I can say anything, voices ring across the courtyard. Jeonghan's dramatic tone and Dokyeom's telltale laughter echo toward us, Jihoon's quieter voice not far behind. The rest of our trio. I instinctively take a step back, just a small one. Not because I'm nervous—but because I can already hear the teasing. Sure enough, Jeonghan spots us and throws his arms out like he's discovered something scandalous.

"There you are!" he cries. "Were you two having a dramatic goodbye scene? Did I miss a confession? A single tear?"

Dokyeom gasps, clutching his chest. "They were definitely about to ride off into the sunset."

"We were just talking," I say, trying for casual but not quite managing it. I tug at the strap of my backpack. "Nothing scandalous."

Seungcheol laughs softly beside me, scratching the back of his neck. He looks flustered—but in a good way. A small smile tugs at his lips, and he doesn't move away.

"Just talking, huh?" Jeonghan peers between us, pretending to analyze the situation like a detective. "Then why are both of you blushing?"

"We are not—" I start, but Dokyeom gasps again, exaggerated.

"I knew it," he declares. "Even Jihoon can see the tension."

Jihoon raises an eyebrow. "I see a group of idiots standing in the way of me going home."

That shuts them up for half a second.

Seungcheol steps forward, lightly herding us toward the sidewalk. "Come on," he says, voice warm. "Let's walk."

The teasing simmers but doesn't disappear. Jeonghan throws an arm around my shoulder while Dokyeom hums some made-up theme song behind us. Jihoon trails behind with a dramatic sigh like he's already regretting this friendship.

Eventually, the group shifts and rearranges, and I find myself walking next to Seungcheol again. We're quiet for a few minutes. Our friends are louder ahead of us, bouncing jokes and stories back and forth like it's a game.

I don't mind the quiet. In fact, it feels... easy. Comfortable.

At some point, the group starts to split off—first Jihoon, then Jeonghan and Dokyeom, with parting quips that make me roll my eyes and laugh anyway. And then it's just me and Seungcheol again, heading toward my block under the soft pink-orange glow of sunset.

We slow near my house, and I turn toward him.

"Well," I say lightly, "this is me."

He nods, hands still tucked in his pockets. "Thanks for letting me walk with you."

"Thanks for not letting me get roasted alone," I reply, smiling.

His laugh is soft. "I tried my best."

A breeze picks up, rustling the trees overhead. I tug my hoodie sleeves over my hands and glance at him.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" I ask.

"You better," he says, and the easy way he says it makes my heart skip.

I laugh. "Okay. Goodnight, Seungcheol."

He offers a wave, stepping back a little. "Goodnight, YN."

Just a quiet goodbye, a shared smile, and something lingering in the air—something that feels like the beginning of whatever this is turning into.

The next month is... a lot. In the best, most overwhelming, "how is it still only October?" kind of way.

I start to feel more settled. My locker stops rebelling against me. The cafeteria lady remembers my name (and my love for extra dumplings). I finally master the timing of the vending machines, so I don't end up behind the juniors who take ten years to choose between chips.

I make more friends, too. A few girls from chemistry. A tall kid from art class who speaks exclusively in dramatic metaphors. Taeyang, who seems weirdly dedicated to impressing me.

And I mean dedicated.

Every other day, he's got some new joke or skill to show off.

"You like magic tricks?" "Not particularly." "Too bad. Pick a card."

He's sweet. Harmless. His confidence is... kind of admirable, in a dizzying, secondhand-embarrassment way. But he's not the one I keep looking for across the hallway.

That's still Seungcheol. Or it was, anyway.

Things started off light. Banter. Subtle smiles. The kind of soft teasing that made my stomach flip. But lately... something's changed. He's still kind. Still around. But the playful touches and lingering glances? Gone. Like he flipped a switch.

One day we're laughing about Jihoon's handwriting in homeroom, and the next, he's slipping out early without a word. I can't tell if I did something wrong. If I imagined all of it. And maybe I'd spiral about it more if life didn't hit the accelerate button halfway through the month. Because that's when the transfers arrived.

Sonya. Wonwoo. Mingyu.

Sonya and I clicked instantly—like, soul-twin, "why haven't we met before?" levels of fast. She's sharp, effortlessly cool, and chaotic in all the best ways. The kind of person who could break your heart or braid your hair while texting four people at once. She's already doodled all over my notebooks and claimed the empty seat next to me in nearly every class we have together.

Wonwoo is quiet, unreadable, and low-key the reason Sonya's been wearing lip gloss every day. I caught her once staring at him during physics like he was the main plot and Newton's Laws were filler. She hasn't denied it.

And then there's Mingyu.

He's tall. Stupidly tall. With a smile so dazzling it should come with a warning label. The second he tripped over a desk in the middle of our history class and tried to play it off by finger-gunning the teacher, I felt it—just the tiniest flutter. A tiny, potentially dangerous flutter.

We started talking after class. Nothing big. Just little moments. Laughing at the same memes. Complaining about Mr. Cho's ancient projector. And maybe, just maybe, I started to enjoy seeing him walk through the door a little more than I should've.

Our friend group grows faster than I can keep track of. One minute it's just us—me, Jeonghan, DK, Jihoon, and (sometimes) Seungcheol—and the next, we've absorbed half the school.

Soonyoung (the human equivalent of a triple-shot espresso). Joshua (so nice it's suspicious). Jun and Minghao (from China, both effortlessly cool and too pretty to be real). Vernon (the calm one who quietly says the funniest thing you've ever heard). Chan, who insists we call him Dino and corrects us every single time. And Seungkwan, who could probably emcee the school assembly and a karaoke night back to back.

It's a lot. But it's also kind of magical.

There's something about walking into the courtyard and seeing all of them spread out—laughing, shouting over each other, fighting over snacks—and realizing they're my people now. This is my world. And it's getting bigger, louder, better by the day.

Still, every now and then, I catch Seungcheol watching from the sidelines. Not distant, exactly. Just... unsure. Like he's holding something back. And I don't know if it's because of me. But I miss the way we used to orbit closer. I miss the tension, the teasing. The not-so-subtle "maybe" that hung in the air between us. I don't know what's happening anymore.

Then:

It starts with a pencil.

Not in a cliché, "he lent me his and our fingers brushed" kind of way. No, it's much more embarrassing than that.

I forgot mine during a quiz. And panicked.

Mingyu noticed before I could even fake confidence. He tapped his pencil twice on his desk, then slid it toward me with a little smirk like he was waiting for me to crumble.

"You look like you were about to borrow Jihoon's soul instead," he whispered.

I stared at the pencil, then at him. "You're a lifesaver."

"No worries," he grinned. "But you owe me. Pencil tax."

"What's pencil tax?"

"I'll come up with something dramatic later."

And he did.

Later turned into a boba run after school, "to repay the pencil debt." He insisted on paying anyway, even though I argued it defeated the purpose. "Consider it interest," he said, before handing me my favorite drink—somehow, he remembered. Things like that keep happening.

He finds me at lunch, dropping into the seat across from me like he's always been there. Laughs a little too hard at my jokes. Offers to carry my books between classes. Sometimes I catch him watching me from across the room, and when I glance back, he just grins like I've proven a point he never said out loud.

Sonya teases me constantly now. Elbows me every time Mingyu says something even vaguely flirty. "You like him," she sings once, and I almost launch a shoe at her.

But she's not entirely wrong. There's a tension there. A spark. Something light and new and easy. And it's exciting. Still... it feels different. Not better, not worse. Just different.

Like Mingyu flirts to make me smile—and Seungcheol used to flirt like he couldn't help it.

And lately, Seungcheol's been quieter than ever.

I still catch him around the group. He's still himself, still warm, still steady. But he doesn't sit next to me anymore when there's space. Doesn't say much unless someone asks. There's a distance there now, soft and subtle but noticeable if you're looking. Which I am.

Especially when I see him glance between me and Mingyu and then look away, like something stings and he's pretending it doesn't.

Jeonghan notices, of course. He watches me watch Seungcheol like he's tracking subtext in a romcom and mentally rating our tension out of ten.

Meanwhile, Dokyeom's thriving on the chaos. He makes jokes. "So YN's starting a love triangle? Bold of you this early in the year." He says it with popcorn in hand like he's waiting for someone to make a dramatic confession under the bleachers.

Jihoon, as always, is unimpressed. "It's not a triangle," he mutters one afternoon. "It's a bunch of teenagers too emotionally repressed to talk to each other."

"Beautiful," Jeonghan says. "Poetic. But I'm still taking bets."

I don't say much. Because I don't know how I feel. Mingyu is warm, sweet, and charming. He makes me laugh. He makes it easy. But Seungcheol still lingers in my head—quiet and careful and frustrating in a way that makes me miss him even when we're standing in the same room.

And if I'm honest? I don't know who I want to pull me closer first. But I know I'm waiting for someone to try.

It all comes to a head on a Wednesday.

We're at the table behind the science building, the one our whole group's unofficially claimed as our own. It's shaded, slightly cracked, and only fits half of us comfortably, which means someone's always sitting on the tabletop, legs swinging over the side, or plopped on the ground with a bag as a makeshift pillow.

Today, it's a full house. Joshua's trying to teach Jun and Minghao how to play some card game with far too many rules. Dino's munching chips and yelling "no spoilers!" every time someone even hints at the ending of the movie we're watching this weekend. Seungkwan is explaining, in alarming detail, the ranking of idol survival shows based on emotional damage. It's chaos. Loud and colorful and familiar.

I'm perched on the bench beside Sonya, legs crossed under me, sipping a cold drink she made me try from the corner store. It's too sweet. I love it anyway. Mingyu flops down dramatically across from us, hair ruffled, tie loose around his neck. "Is it hot, or is it just me?"

"It's always just you," Seungkwan mutters.

"It's hot," I say, fanning myself with a worksheet. "Maybe you shouldn't sprint here from PE like the main character in a drama."

"Hey, I make it look good," Mingyu winks.

Sonya leans toward me, whispering out of the side of her mouth, "He's flirting again."

"I know."

"Do you like it?"

"I don't know."

Across the table, Seungcheol's quiet. He's sitting with his elbows on his knees, picking at the label of his water bottle. Not sulking, exactly. But not present, either. He hasn't joined in the conversation, hasn't made a snarky remark in minutes. He only glances up when I laugh at something Mingyu says.

And it's a glance like a paper cut—quick, sharp, barely there, but it stings all the same.

Later, I sit on the edge of the table with Sonya and Jun, dangling my legs while they argue about the worst cafeteria meals. Mingyu comes up behind me and taps my shoulder with the back of his hand.

"Hey, YN. I was wondering—do you wanna study for the bio quiz later? I was gonna hit the library after school."

Before I can answer, I feel eyes on me. I look up instinctively, and sure enough—across the yard, Seungcheol's looking right at us. I freeze. He doesn't. He just holds my gaze for a beat too long, then turns away like nothing happened.

"Uh, maybe," I tell Mingyu. "Let me check my notes. I'll text you."

He beams. "Cool. No pressure."

As he walks away, Sonya nudges me again. "You're torn," she whispers.

"Yeah," I breathe. "I think I am."

Because here's the thing: Mingyu makes me feel wanted. But Seungcheol makes me feel seen.

And lately, I'm starting to realize—those aren't the same thing.

That night, Jeonghan calls me.

"I'm just saying," he starts without so much as a hello, "I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You do."

"I really don't."

There's a pause.

Then, softer: "Do you like him?"

I don't answer. Mostly because I don't know how.

Jeonghan sighs. "YN. Look, I'm not trying to rush you. But you gotta figure it out before someone gets hurt."

He doesn't say who. He doesn't have to.

The next day, Seungcheol doesn't sit next to me in class. And I realize it's the first time in weeks he hasn't. Something's shifting. And I have no idea which way it's about to go.

By Friday, I've had enough.

Enough of the tension, the unreadable glances, the way Seungcheol pulls away just when it feels like we're getting close. It's like trying to hold smoke. One second he's warm and steady by my side—the next, he's distant, half-vanished, like I imagined the whole thing.

And I'm tired of waiting. For a look. For a sign. For a maybe. So I make a choice. It starts with a simple yes.

"Yes," I say, turning toward Mingyu in the middle of lunch, interrupting a story about the disastrous time he tried to cook instant noodles without water.

"Yes?"

"To studying," I clarify, smiling. "Today. After school. I'm free."

He grins like I just handed him front-row tickets to his own birthday party. "Really? Nice. I'll even buy you snacks. Brain fuel. My treat."

"Careful," Jeonghan chimes in, not even looking up from his phone. "She has expensive taste."

"She eats hot Cheetos and banana milk like it's a five-star combo," Jihoon deadpans.

"She's consistent," Dokyeom defends, patting my back. "I respect that."

Mingyu laughs, turning back to me. "Whatever you want. I'm just happy you said yes."

It's cute. He's cute.

And when he smiles like that—boyish, soft around the edges—I let myself feel it. The flutter in my chest. The way my cheeks warm just slightly. I let myself feel wanted.

After school, we sit across from each other at the library table closest to the window. Golden light filters through the blinds, striping his notebook and my half-eaten snack bag. He's easy to talk to. Funny. A little clumsy—he drops his pen twice and accidentally elbows his drink across the table—but he makes me laugh in the way that makes your stomach clench and your jaw ache.

We quiz each other until the sun dips low enough that the librarian flips the lights on, and even then, we don't leave right away. We just linger—talking about music, favorite ramen shops, weird childhood dreams.

I don't realize I've been smiling for most of it until Mingyu says, "I like it when you laugh."

"What?"

He shrugs sheepishly. "You laugh like you mean it. Like it takes over your whole face."

And I feel it again—that tiny flutter. Except this time, there's no guilt tethered to it.

"I laugh a lot around you," I say, quiet but honest.

He doesn't say anything. Just reaches out and flicks a crumb from my sleeve with this soft, fond expression that makes something in me shift.

Maybe I'm allowed to like this. Maybe I'm allowed to let it happen.

The following day, I walk into school and find Jeonghan already waiting at my locker like a nosy guardian angel.

"So?" he asks, eyes twinkling. "How was your little study date?"

"It wasn't a date," I say, unlocking my locker.

He gasps. "That means it went well."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help but smile. "It was... nice. Mingyu's nice."

He hums. "Seungcheol's been sulking."

I glance at him sharply. "What?"

He shrugs. "Didn't say anything, but he had That Look on his face when you left with Mingyu. You know the one."

I don't answer. Because I do know the one. And because part of me wants to look back and ask, why didn't he say anything? But I don't.

Instead, I close my locker and say, "Well, I'm done waiting."

And for the first time in weeks, I mean it.

The next few days are a whirlwind. Mingyu finds any excuse to talk to me—passing notes in class, sliding into group conversations with ease, offering me the last choco pie from his lunchbox like it's a rare gem. It's sweet. He's sweet.

After all, Seungcheol has been nothing but quiet glances and half-smiles lately. A ghost of what we almost were, if we were ever anything at all. And I'm not chasing ghosts anymore.

So when Mingyu slings his arm over my shoulders during a group project and leans in a little too close to whisper a joke in my ear—I laugh. Loudly. And I feel Seungcheol's eyes on me across the room. Burning. Brief. Then gone.

It happens again at lunch. Mingyu's sitting beside me, our knees brushing beneath the table, and he's animatedly recounting a story about him and Wonwoo getting chased by a rogue cat outside a convenience store. My head tips back in laughter just as Seungcheol sits down across from us, tray clattering a little louder than necessary.

Dokyeom clocks it immediately. His eyes dart between Seungcheol and me like he's watching a tennis match.

"So," he says loudly, drawing out the word, "how's the new dynamic duo?"

"Us?"

Mingyu flashes that dimpled grin. "We make a good team. YN's the brains, I'm the moral support."

"And the walking disaster," I tease, nudging his knee.

Seungcheol's fork pauses midair.

Jeonghan leans back in his seat, hands behind his head, wearing the smuggest grin I've ever seen. "You know, this is fascinating. Really. The romantic tension in this group is going to reach critical mass soon."

"You're not allowed to turn real life into fanfiction," Jihoon says flatly, not looking up from his lunch.

Minghao glances between all of us, brows raised. "Do I want to know?"

"No," Seungcheol mutters, stabbing a piece of kimchi like it insulted him personally.

I glance at him, heart hiccuping at the tension in his jaw. There's something different in his gaze today. Not soft. Not shy. Sharp, almost. And for the first time, I'm the one feeling watched. Later, after lunch, as I'm walking to class with Sonya and Mingyu, I hear footsteps fall into rhythm beside me. Seungcheol.

"Hey," he says, voice low. He's not looking at me, just forward.

"Hey," I echo, unsure.

A pause.

Then, suddenly: "You and Mingyu."

I glance at him. "What about us?"

"Are you...?" He trails off, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "Never mind."

I stop walking. "Cheol."

He stops too, just ahead of me. Turns around slowly. His expression is unreadable. Quiet and conflicted in that Seungcheol way I'm starting to resent a little. The silence stretches until it stings.

"You don't get to ask," I say softly. "Not if you're not going to answer anything yourself."

He swallows. Nods once. "Fair."

Then he walks away. I stay frozen for a moment, heart tight in my chest.

Behind me, Mingyu gently touches my arm. "You okay?"

I turn to him. Smile. "Yeah. Let's go."

Because maybe Seungcheol is finally feeling something. But right now, I want someone who's showing it. And Mingyu's hand brushing mine as we walk says more than Seungcheol ever has.

Over the next week, Mingyu becomes a permanent fixture at my side.

At lunch, he claims the spot next to me before anyone else can. In the hallway, his hand always hovers a little too close to mine. When we're paired for assignments, he grins like he's just won the lottery.

I don't stop him. If anything, I lean in—literally and figuratively.

"YN, are you even listening?" Mingyu nudges me during study hall.

I blink, caught mid-daydream. "Huh?"

He chuckles, tilting his head, his smile doing that devastating thing again. "I was saying if we survive this group project, I owe you bubble tea. But now I'm thinking you owe me one, for enduring your zoning out."

"I was thinking deeply about math, thank you very much."

He raises an eyebrow. "Right. Totally math. Not me."

I roll my eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Kim." But my grin gives me away.

After school, he walks me home. Not always—but more often than not. He kicks pebbles down the sidewalk and talks about his dog, his love for horror movies, how he once tried to dye his hair blue and ended up looking like a Smurf. I laugh until my stomach hurts. And I realize—somewhere along the way—I look forward to this. To him.

He's warm, magnetic, easy in a way that makes me want to stay close. And he's not shy about how he feels, either.

"You ever gonna let me take you out?" he asks one evening, casual like it's not the question that's been hanging in the air for days.

I freeze for a heartbeat, startled. "Is that what this has been? You flirting with me to get a date?"

He chuckles. "What gave it away?"

"I don't know... the constant compliments? The boba bribes?"

"Hey," he says, feigning offense, "you never said no to the boba."

I smile. "Maybe I didn't want to."

He slows to a stop, just outside my gate, backpack slung over one shoulder. "So? You gonna let me?"

There's a beat of silence between us. Then I step forward, poking him lightly in the chest. "Only if you let me pay for the second date."

His grin is immediate. "Deal."

Across the street, someone calls his name—Wonwoo, waiting at the corner.

"I'll text you," Mingyu says as he jogs backward, that smile never leaving his face. "Don't ghost me, YN!"

"I won't!" I call, heart thudding in my chest.

And I mean it.

This feels like me choosing myself. Even if, somewhere deep down, part of me wonders what Seungcheol would've done if I hadn't said yes.

It only takes a day for the news to travel.

Okay, maybe not "news" exactly—but in the world of high school hallways and group chats that never sleep, one look at the way Mingyu slings an arm around my shoulder as we walk into school the next morning is enough to set the tone.

"So," Sonya drawls, flopping into her seat beside me in homeroom, "did I miss the memo or are we officially crushing on the tall golden retriever now?"

I open my mouth to deny it—and immediately close it again when Mingyu appears in the doorway and flashes me that sunbeam of a smile.

Sonya follows my gaze. "Aha."

We haven't labeled anything, not really. But when we sit next to each other in class, his knee taps mine like a secret. When we pass each other in the hallway, his fingers find mine for a second longer than necessary. During lunch, he doesn't even ask before dropping his tray next to mine like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You two are gross," Jeonghan declares one afternoon, after watching Mingyu wipe sauce from the corner of my mouth with his thumb.

I snort into my drink. "Says the guy who made Dokyeom recreate a proposal with a bread roll in the cafeteria last week."

"That was performance art," Dokyeom argues, dead serious.

Seungcheol, sitting across from me, says nothing. He's been quieter lately—still around, still part of the group, but the easy rhythm we were building before has shifted. I catch him watching sometimes—his gaze lingering a little too long, his laugh just a beat late. And when Mingyu leans in close to whisper something in my ear, I swear Seungcheol's whole body tenses, just for a second.

Jihoon notices too. I can tell by the way he watches Seungcheol watching me. But he doesn't say anything. Just occasionally shoots me a look across the table like he's silently asking, You good? I am. I think.

Mingyu makes it easy. He's warm and silly, and ridiculously charming in that "trip over his own feet and still land cool" kind of way. He gives me attention without making it feel like pressure. He listens when I ramble about my favorite books, offers to carry my backpack when I'm too tired, and remembers that I like exactly three ice cubes in my iced coffee—not two, not four, three.

We aren't official. But everyone knows So when Mingyu finds me by the vending machine after sixth period and grins, I already know something ridiculous is coming.

"Date idea," he says. "We recreate that scene from Titanic."

"You mean—the boat?"

"No," he says seriously. "The door. We build a raft and test whether both of us could've survived."

I stare at him. "Why are you like this?"

He just shrugs, still grinning. "If we're gonna be iconic, we might as well start now."

I laugh, and his fingers brush mine, soft and deliberate. Behind him, down the hall, I catch Seungcheol standing by his locker. Our eyes meet. And just like that, the breath in my chest wobbles. But Mingyu's hand finds mine again, and the moment passes.

At lunch the next day, Jeonghan pokes me on the side as he plops down beside me. "So... when's the wedding?"

I throw a carrot stick at his head. Dokyeom catches it mid-air and eats it like it's a treat. Jihoon rolls his eyes so hard they practically leave orbit. And across the table, Seungcheol watches me and Mingyu laugh with that unreadable expression again—like he's trying to figure out when exactly everything changed. And maybe—just maybe—he's wondering if it's too late to change it back.

Then, a note. Not a text. Not a DM. A literal folded-up scrap of notebook paper slipped under my water bottle during lunch while I'm deep in conversation with Sonya.

I blink down at it: For YN (a very important human). Do not open until after lunch. This is very serious.

I raise an eyebrow.

Across the table, Mingyu is very busy pretending he isn't watching me. He's focused on peeling the sticker off his banana like it's a bomb he's disarming.

"Did you just—" I start.

"—hmm?" he says innocently, eyes wide. "Banana?"

Sonya leans in. "Girl, open it."

I wait. I do. But the second the lunch bell rings and trays start clattering, I unfold the note. Inside, written in very questionable handwriting and at least two different pen colors:

YN,

This is going to sound cooler in my head than it probably does in real life, but go with me here:

You're one of my favorite people. You're funny and smart and terrifyingly good at making fun of me. You make school days feel like movie scenes. And I like being near you. So I was wondering— Wanna go on a date?

Like a real one. Just me. Just you. No Jeonghan hiding in a tree with binoculars (hopefully). Just us.

I can even promise I won't talk about conspiracy theories or make you taste-test my weird smoothie recipes. (Unless you want to.) Check yes or yes:

[] yes [] also yes — Mingyu

P.S. If this note flopped, pretend I dropped it by accident and never read it. I'll fake a nosebleed and run.

Mingyu is still at the trash can, very slowly and very dramatically throwing away a banana peel like he's buying himself time to pretend this isn't happening.

I stand, and he turns, eyes locking with mine, hopeful and slightly terrified. I hold up the note, shake it once in the air, then grin. "You forgot a box that says obviously."

His jaw drops, and Sonya whoops behind me. Mingyu bolts over like a golden retriever off the leash. "Wait, is that—was that a yes? That's a yes, right?"

I laugh. "Yes, Kim Mingyu. It's a yes." He fist pumps. Loudly. And then, without warning, spins me in a circle like we're in a Disney Channel hallway. We nearly knock over a trash can.

Jihoon—passing by—pauses, blinks, and just mutters, "I hate all of you," before walking off.

That night, I text him:

Where are we going?

He sends back:

Anywhere. But I hear the smoothie place by your house now has a "girlfriend discount."

Me: ...so that's what this was about.

Mingyu: Only partially. Mostly I just like you. Also I need you to tell me if my shirt options are ugly.

The Date: The smoothie shop near my house is a little too on-the-nose. Cute fairy lights strung across the windows, chalkboard specials written in curly letters, and some kind of acoustic cover of "Love Story" playing faintly over the speakers. It feels like it should be cheesy. But with Mingyu bouncing beside me in a denim jacket two sizes too big, it just feels right.

"This is totally not a first date spot," I tease as we step inside.

"Oh, no," he says seriously. "It's way better. I figured, why not take the prettiest girl I know to the ugliest-tasting smoothie bar in Seoul?"

"Wait, the smoothies are bad?"

"Terrible," he grins, eyes crinkling. "But the straws are biodegradable."

We both burst out laughing. We order something purple and suspicious-looking, and Mingyu insists on paying ("They're giving me the loyal customer in love discount," he claims). He grabs the booth in the corner, then proceeds to quiz me on my zombie apocalypse plan, my Hogwarts house, and whether I believe in aliens.

"Your ideal date involves conspiracy theories and doomsday scenarios?" I laugh.

"Only if they end with me holding your hand."

My face burns. He's grinning like a goof and not even trying to be smooth—but that's the thing. It works on me. Everything about him does.

Later, we walk to the nearby park, still sipping from those stupid smoothies and talking about everything from childhood dreams to who we'd pick as our three-person heist team (Mingyu, of course, picks himself three times). And as the sun dips low, casting pink and gold across the sky, Mingyu reaches for my hand. Not in a big, dramatic way. Just a soft brush, fingers curling slowly around mine like he's testing the waters.

I let him. And squeeze back.

The Next Day – Lunch Table Chaos: I barely sit down at our usual lunch table before Sonya blurts, "So? How was it?!"

Dokyeom nearly spills his milk. "Wait—it happened?!"

Jeonghan, of course, is already leaning across the table like an aunt at a family reunion. "Tell us everything. Did he cry? He looks like he'd cry on first dates."

"He did not cry," I laugh, stealing a bite of Sonya's lunch. "But he did try to convince me Bigfoot is a misunderstood forest gentleman."

"I stand by that," Mingyu calls out from the other side, cheeks puffed with rice.

Joshua, wide-eyed and clutching his tray, just hums. "Honestly? I kinda believe that."

"Of course you do," Jihoon mutters, stabbing at his food.

I glance around, still giggling from the whirlwind of voices—and that's when I notice. Seungcheol isn't here. The realization hits me like a wrong note in an otherwise perfect chord. His usual spot, right across from Jihoon, is empty. Untouched lunch tray. Unclaimed seat.

"Where's Cheol?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

Jihoon doesn't look up. "Said he wasn't hungry."

Jeonghan glances at me briefly, something unreadable flashing in his eyes before he shrugs. "Probably sulking about that gym class dodgeball loss." But he's lying. I can tell.

And when Sonya nudges me under the table and raises her eyebrows, I realize she knows it too.

Mingyu, bless his oblivious heart, just throws an arm over the back of my chair and starts talking about a new movie he wants us to watch together. And I nod and laugh and listen...

But in the corner of my mind, all I can think about is that empty seat—and what it might mean.

Later That Day — After School: The hallway is quieter than usual. Most students have already scattered, and I linger near the lockers, heart thudding just a little faster than normal.

I spot him down the corridor—leaning against the vending machine, hood up, staring blankly at the row of drinks like they personally offended him.

"Hey," I say softly, stepping up beside him.

Seungcheol doesn't look at me right away. He just shoves some coins into the machine and presses a button. "Hey."

I rock back on my heels. "You missed lunch."

"Yeah," he mutters. The bottle thuds into the slot below, and he bends to grab it.

I pause. "You okay?"

He twists the cap off the drink. Shrugs. "Just had stuff to do."

"Right," I nod slowly. "Important vending machine business."

That gets the faintest twitch of his lips—but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"I noticed you didn't say much today." I tilt my head, watching him. "Everything cool between us?"

He finally looks at me. His gaze is steady, a little guarded, but not cold. "You and Mingyu looked pretty happy."

The shift in my stomach is immediate. I blink. "We are," I say carefully. "But that doesn't mean I want... weirdness between us."

Seungcheol huffs out a quiet breath—half laugh, half sigh. "There's no weirdness, YN."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," he says, offering a small smile that looks practiced. "We're good."

But I don't quite believe him. He takes a sip of his drink, and before I can say anything else, he pushes off the vending machine and gives me a gentle nod. "See you tomorrow."

And just like that, he walks off. And it hurts more than I expected.

The Rest of the Week — Group Dynamics Shift: By Tuesday, things settle... sort of.

Mingyu's still walking me to class with his ridiculous grin and carrying my backpack like it's a love declaration. Sonya has become the official president of the Mingyu and YN Defense Squad (self-appointed, naturally). Dokyeom and Jeonghan are insufferable about it, whispering behind their hands every time Mingyu so much as breathes near me.

"Should we start planning the wedding now, or...?" Jeonghan hums, scrolling on his phone.

"I call best man," Dokyeom says immediately.

"You're both banned," I deadpan.

But behind the teasing, I notice the subtle shifts.

Seungcheol still shows up—but he's quieter. Laughs when someone cracks a joke, but it doesn't stick. He doesn't sit next to me anymore. Doesn't meet my eyes as often. Even Jihoon notices.

"You know," he says one afternoon, sitting across from me as we all do homework at the café down the block, "he's not mad at you."

I look up from my notebook. "I never said he was."

"You don't have to," Jihoon says bluntly. "Just saying... he's still figuring out how to be okay."

I glance toward where Seungcheol sits at the far end of the booth, headphones in, nodding along to whatever playlist he's buried in. He looks calm. But I know him well enough now to recognize a performance when I see one.

Still, I can't bring myself to fix it. Not yet. Not when I'm still trying to figure out if I made the right choice—or if this ache in my chest is trying to tell me something I'm not ready to admit.

Thursday Evening – My Room: My curtains are drawn, the soft yellow glow from my desk lamp the only light in the room. The usual clutter—books, my hoodie draped over the chair, a pair of mismatched socks near the bed—makes it feel lived in, but tonight, it just feels... still.

I'm lying on my stomach, chin resting on my crossed arms, while Jihoon sits in the beanbag near the window. He's been here for about an hour, supposedly helping me revise for our bio quiz. But so far, we've gotten through maybe one and a half flashcards.

My head's been elsewhere. And Jihoon knows it.

"Okay," he finally says, flipping the flashcard in his hand without even looking at it. "Spit it out."

"What?"

"You've been sighing like a drama heroine for the past twenty minutes," he deadpans. "What's going on in that overactive brain of yours?"

I let out another sigh for good measure. "It's nothing."

Jihoon levels me with a look. "YN."

I groan and bury my face in my arms. "It's just... everything."

"Be more vague," he says dryly. "I dare you."

I push myself up so I'm sitting cross-legged, fiddling with the string on my sweatpants. "It's Mingyu. And Seungcheol. And me. And the universe, probably."

"That narrows it down."

I toss a pillow at him. He dodges it with a smirk and waits.

"I like Mingyu," I admit quietly. "I really do. He's funny, and sweet, and he makes everything feel easy."

Jihoon nods, not saying anything yet.

"But..." I pause. "There's always a but, isn't there?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Usually."

"It's just—Cheol." My voice dips without meaning to. "He's been pulling away, and I keep wondering if I did something wrong. If... I misread everything from the beginning."

Jihoon leans his head back against the wall, thoughtful. "You didn't misread it."

I look up, surprised. "What?"

"He likes you," Jihoon says simply. "It's obvious. Has been since the second he met you."

"Then why—?"

"Because he's Seungcheol," Jihoon shrugs. "He cares too much and doesn't always know what to do with it."

I chew on my bottom lip, heart heavy. "So now what? I'm dating Mingyu. I chose him. But... sometimes I still catch Seungcheol looking at me like—like he's still hoping."

Jihoon doesn't respond right away. He watches me for a long moment, then finally speaks.

"You don't have to have all the answers right now. But you do have to be honest—with yourself and with them. Especially with Mingyu."

That hits a little too close. I look down, twisting the cardigan sleeve I'm wearing—Seungcheol's cardigan, still folded around me like a comfort I can't let go of.

"I didn't mean for it to get this complicated," I whisper.

"Yeah, well," Jihoon mutters, grabbing a second flashcard. "It's high school. Welcome to the chaos."

I huff a quiet laugh, even as my heart tightens in my chest.

Jihoon's about to say something else when my door creaks open without warning.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything scandalous," Sonya says, poking her head in with a teasing grin. "But someone left the kettle on, and I figured you'd want tea before your existential crisis fully peaks."

"You made tea?"

"Peppermint," she says, stepping into the room and holding out a steaming mug like peace offering. "And don't worry—I added a spoon of honey, because you look like you've been dragged through three emotional monologues and a slow burn romance arc."

Jihoon snorts from his beanbag. "She's halfway through act three, yeah."

"Perfect," Sonya says, settling cross-legged beside me and handing over the mug. "Now spill. What's the verdict? Are we madly in love with Mingyu? Or is the Seungcheol situation still taking up real estate in your head?"

My cheeks burn. "You guys make it sound like I'm living in a soap opera."

"You kind of are," Sonya says, not unkindly. "With less backstabbing and more brooding hallway glances."

"She's not wrong," Jihoon murmurs.

I take a sip of tea, the warmth blooming in my chest like something close to comfort. "It's not that I don't like Mingyu," I say quietly. "I do. He's... everything, really. And I'm happy."

Sonya hums. "But?"

I stare at the rim of my mug. "But sometimes I think about Seungcheol. And not in a what if I picked him instead kind of way, just... in this quiet, sad sort of way. Like we missed something."

Sonya is quiet for a beat. "I think that's allowed," she says finally. "You're not a robot. You're allowed to feel complicated things."

Jihoon sighs like this entire conversation has emotionally aged him ten years. "You should just host a love triangle support group at this point. I'll make snacks."

Sonya grins. "I'll bring tissues."

I laugh, setting the mug on my nightstand. "You guys are the worst."

"But also the best," Sonya says, bumping her shoulder into mine. "And for what it's worth? Mingyu clearly adores you. And Seungcheol... well, let's just say the boy's been looking like a kicked puppy every time you're not around."

"That's an insult to puppies," Jihoon mutters, but he doesn't deny it.

I bury my face in my hands and groan. "This is so messy."

Sonya leans back on her palms, giving me a knowing look. "Yeah. But if anyone's going to make it through high school love geometry without combusting, it's you."

Jihoon lifts his mug in mock toast. "To surviving teenage angst."

I lift mine too. "Barely."

Sonya smiles, clinking her mug against ours. "To the chaos. And to figuring it out."

If you had told me a month ago that I'd start dating Mingyu, spend almost every lunch by his side, walk home with our hands brushing more often than not, and then break up without a single tear or fight—I would've laughed in your face.

But here we are. A month later. Still sitting across from each other at lunch. Still teasing, still bickering like always. The only difference now? There's no flutter in my chest when he smiles. No skipped heartbeat when our shoulders bump. And the same goes for him.

It didn't happen all at once. There wasn't a big moment or a dramatic shift. Just... a series of little ones.

The way our conversations started drifting toward other people. How we started hanging out with the group more than just the two of us. How I stopped overthinking my texts, and he stopped calling me babe and went back to YN without either of us flinching.

And then one night, walking home, we looked at each other and just kind of... laughed.

"This feels weird, right?" he said, tugging at his hoodie strings.

I snorted. "So weird."

He smiled at me. "I think I like you better as my chaos partner."

"Same," I said without missing a beat. "You're a terrible flirt anyway."

"Wow," he gasped, clutching his chest. "And to think I almost let you meet my dog."

"You don't even have a dog."

"I was gonna get one for the bit!"

We broke up right there on the sidewalk—if you can even call it that. No tears. No bitterness. Just two people realizing the thing they were holding onto so carefully wasn't quite the thing they thought it was. And that was okay.

Of course, the group didn't take it quite as smoothly.

"You what?" Jeonghan asked the next morning at lunch, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

"We broke up," I said simply, popping a grape into my mouth.

Dokyeom blinked. "Since when?"

"Last night."

"And you're... fine?" Jeonghan asked, narrowing his eyes like he was waiting for the emotional breakdown to surface.

"We're good," Mingyu confirmed, sitting beside me and digging into his sandwich like he hadn't just blown everyone's minds.

Jihoon, across the table, barely looked up from his notes. "Told you it wasn't gonna last," he mumbled, scribbling something in his margins.

"Wow, thanks for the optimism, Ji," I said dryly.

He shrugged. "You're happier now. That's what matters."

Meanwhile, Soonyoung sat frozen, blinking rapidly. "Wait. So you're not together? At all?"

"Nope."

"And there's... no secret pining? No dramatic tension? No hidden love letters?"

Mingyu and I looked at each other and then back at him. "Nope," we said in unison.

Soonyoung slumped dramatically in his seat. "Man, what's the point of even being in high school if we're not living in a K-drama?"

Joshua laughed from down the table. "They're being adults about it. You should try it sometime."

"Never," Soonyoung replied. "I live for the drama."

Mingyu just leaned back, grinning. "Then you're watching the wrong couple."

Everyone's gaze collectively shifted.

And I didn't even have to look to know who they were looking at.

Because the moment that sentence left Mingyu's mouth, I could feel it.

The way Seungcheol went quiet across the courtyard. The way his eyes flicked to me just a second too long. The way Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, and Jihoon sighed like he was already bracing for what came next.

But that? That's another story.

For now, I'm single again. And strangely at peace.

Mingyu and I still share jokes. Sonya's still my right-hand girl. And Seungcheol... well. He's still watching from a distance.

The rest of lunch goes by in a blur of half-listened conversations and forced laughter. Mingyu's still cracking jokes, Sonya's nudging my elbow every time someone mentions anything remotely flirty, and Dokyeom keeps dramatically reenacting his imagined version of our breakup like it was some tragic K-drama finale.

"But what about the line, YN?" he cries, clutching his chest. "The 'I like you better as my chaos partner'—oh my god, it's like Shakespeare in hoodies."

"Please stop," I mutter, hiding my face behind my water bottle.

Seungcheol hasn't said a word.

He's at the end of the table, poking at his rice like it personally offended him, occasionally muttering something to Jihoon or Vernon but otherwise staying quiet. I sneak a glance his way and catch him already looking. He looks away just as fast.

I sigh and peel the wrapper off my snack bar with too much force, the plastic crinkling louder than it should.

He's been like this for weeks now—ever since I started getting closer to Mingyu. No more casual banter, no more half-smiles between classes, no more sarcastic jabs that made my stomach flip for no good reason. He hasn't been rude, exactly. Just... distant. Neutral. Professional, almost. Like we're classmates, not friends. Like we never spent an entire walk home laughing about nothing. Like he never let his hand rest on the small of my back like it meant something. It's driving me insane.

After lunch, I catch up with Sonya while heading to science class.

"Okay," she says, pushing her hair out of her face, "you and Mingyu are good, we've emotionally processed that, blah blah—now can we talk about the fact that someone hasn't looked at you for more than two seconds all week?"

"Which 'someone' are we referring to?" I ask innocently, even though I already know exactly who she means.

Sonya gives me a deadpan look. "Cheol. Your mysterious, broody almost-but-not-quite something."

I snort. "We were never—"

"Oh, save it," she says, waving me off. "I was there when he offered you his cardigan and stood outside your gate like he was auditioning for a romance movie. That's not 'just friends' energy."

I open my mouth, then shut it again. Because she's not wrong.

"I don't get it," I finally say, rounding the corner with her. "He was warm and sweet and borderline flirty for a solid two weeks. Then I start talking to someone else and he ghosts me emotionally. Like, what is that?"

"He likes you," she says easily. "And he's sulking."

"That's not how you handle your feelings."

"It is when you're a teenage boy with the emotional range of a teaspoon," she says, dead serious. "Give him time. Or don't. You could always call him out and see what happens."

I hesitate. "That feels... risky."

Sonya shrugs. "So is every good story. But for now, we let him simmer in his mysteriousness. Come on. Mr. Lee's class awaits."

We slide into our seats just as the bell rings. I try to focus on the whiteboard, the lesson, anything that isn't the brooding figure two rows behind me who won't even breathe in my direction. But I can feel it—the way the air changes when he shifts, the tension rolling off of him like a silent tide.

He's not mad. But he's definitely something. And for the first time in weeks, I realize: I want to know what it is.

The courtyard is quiet. Golden sunlight spills across the cracked pavement as the last few students filter out of the gates, voices trailing behind them until they're swallowed by the street noise beyond. I should be heading home. I know that. But I linger by the gate, backpack strap gripped tight in one hand. I had told the others I'd wait for them—Jeonghan, Jihoon, DK—but somewhere between my last class and the front gate, I changed my mind. I wanted space.

"Hey," a voice says behind me. Familiar. Soft.

I don't turn around immediately, but I already know who it is. Seungcheol. He approaches slowly, like he's not sure he has the right to. Maybe he doesn't.

"You waiting for the guys?" he asks, tentative.

I shake my head. "Decided to walk home alone today."

He stops a few steps from me. "Oh."

I don't say anything. I shift my weight, eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead like it might open up and swallow me whole.

There's a long pause. The kind that makes you feel every second pressing down on your chest.

"I wasn't sure if you'd talk to me," he says eventually.

I glance over at him, just enough to meet his eyes. "I'm still not sure I want to."

His face tightens, just a little, like he expected it but still hoped for something else. "Fair."

I start walking. Not fast, just enough to signal that I'm not interested in standing still. He hesitates for a second, then follows beside me, matching my pace.

We walk in silence for a block. A cool breeze kicks up, rustling the trees above. I don't look at him, and he doesn't push.

Then, finally: "I owe you an apology."

I stay quiet. He continues anyway.

"I should've said something. Should've explained why I pulled back. But I didn't. I just... left you hanging."

I stop walking. He stops too. I turn toward him. "Yeah. You did."

The air shifts between us, heavier now.

"I got jealous," he admits, voice low. "That's not an excuse, but... it's the truth. I didn't know how to deal with it. Seeing you and Mingyu—he's easy to like. He makes you laugh. You looked happy, and I thought maybe that was better for you. Safer."

I blink at him, stunned—not by the words themselves, but by the nerve of him saying them now, like we could just pick up where he left me.

"You ghosted me because you were jealous?" I repeat, disbelief threading into my tone.

"I didn't mean to—"

"But you did." My voice is soft, but it doesn't waver. "You disappeared. You didn't check in. You didn't say a thing. Not even when everything felt like it was falling apart."

He looks like he wants to reach for me, to close the space between us, but he doesn't.

"I'm sorry," he says again, quieter this time. "I really am."

"I'm not saying I don't care," I say, biting the inside of my cheek. "Because I do. That's what makes this worse. You were my friend, Cheol. You mattered to me. And you just... vanished."

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. The streetlamp above us flickers, casting long shadows that dance at our feet.

"I get it," he finally says. "I messed up."

I nod once, slow and deliberate. "Yeah. You did."

Another pause.

"I don't expect you to forgive me right now," he says. "I just... needed you to know. I never stopped wanting to be around you. I just got scared. And stupid."

I close my eyes for a beat, then take a breath. When I open them, I meet his gaze squarely.

"I need time, Seungcheol."

"Okay."

"I don't hate you. But I'm still hurt. And I don't want to pretend like that didn't happen just because it's easier now."

"I'm not asking you to," he says gently. "Take all the time you need."

I nod, hugging my arms around myself.

"I'll head home from here," I say, already taking a step back toward my side street. "I just want to walk the rest of the way alone."

He gives a short, understanding nod. "Okay."

"Goodnight, Seungcheol."

"Goodnight, YN."

And just like that, I turn and walk away. Not angry. Not broken. Just tired—and healing.

The morning sun barely filters through the half-drawn blinds when I settle into my seat for first period. The classroom buzzes with the usual energy—shuffling bags, chairs dragging across tile, someone in the back already cracking dumb jokes—but it all feels muted to me. Distant.

I rest my chin on my hand and let my eyes wander to the window. The teacher walks in and starts reviewing the homework, but the words blur around the edges. I manage to scribble down a few things, but I can feel it—everyone else is moving forward, laughing, chatting, doing normal high school things, and I'm stuck.

It's not that I want to mope. I hate being that person. But after last night—after Seungcheol's awkward half-confession and my own barely stitched-together response—I don't exactly feel like myself. The whole walk home played in my head like a loop I couldn't escape. The way he said it was jealousy. The way I had to shut it down.

"YN," the teacher calls, snapping me out of my daze. "Can you read question five?"

"Uh—yeah. Sorry." I fumble with my textbook, cheeks warm, and read the question aloud, trying to focus. But it's hard when I can feel the eyes on me.

Sonya leans over as soon as we're dismissed for group work, her voice hushed. "You good?"

I nod, too quickly. "Yeah. Just tired."

She doesn't push, just shoots me a look that says she doesn't believe me but will wait. That's the thing about her—she always waits. By the time lunch rolls around, I already know I'm not going. I shove my bento back into my bag and make a beeline for the music room instead. It's usually empty during this time, the piano tucked in the corner and sunlight pouring in through the tall windows. Peaceful. Quiet.

I slide into the back row and pull out my sketchbook, pretending to doodle while my thoughts swirl. Somewhere down the hall, I hear laughter—the kind that belongs to Jeonghan and Dokyeom, probably arguing about who forgot to grab snacks for the table. I imagine Jihoon rolling his eyes. I imagine Seungcheol sitting there too, pretending not to notice I'm missing.

But I hope he does. Because maybe if he notices I'm gone, he'll realize how much he made me feel like I wasn't worth staying for. And maybe, just maybe... he'll finally do something about it.

────────────────

back | masterlist | next

[auriidae]

PART 2 ‼️ me & my friends when we are stuck at life (pt 1) (pt 3)

character notes under the cut!!!!!

both in true hs canon and in this au, rage represents chaos. and lifeseries grian is so undoubtedly linked to chaos above all else — he thrives off it, subsists on it even. if it’s not something he can seek out it’s something he’ll initiate. but — make no mistake, the anarchy he initiates is very much limited to within the game. he doesn’t break the game system, he works within it and disrupts whatever system the players are trying to put in place… for the benefit of the game itself. and again, with heirs being played by their aspect, it only makes sense for him to be one. rather than jimi, though, he’s okay with this — being an agent of chaos ties him to it intrinsically, and that makes him feel so, so alive. he’s okay with being controlled, for the most part, because it also means he’s in control. at least at the beginning.

i wanted to make eethos a mind player so bad you don’t understand 😔 but i think he is closer to void in reality. either way he’s a thief — dealing in redistribution of his aspect only to himself, whether consciously or unconsciously. i think void makes sense for eethos because he’s such an unknown to many of the other players (and also to some extent probably himself). a thief of void — taking the mystery from others, knowing them and their secrets and cloaking yourself in them, making yourself an unknown. if void is an aspect more focused inward, also (i like the idea that the central struggle of void players’ character arcs are more personal than some of the other aspects), we could have eethos vs the mortifying ordeal of being known + choosing to stay. which comes back to his class, with thieves having to let others have their aspect as well in order to fully complete their character arc. with that being said eethos “wghats the deal wiht abtrhoom pesnis” mind player will always be real in my heart ok

beedub oh beedub my beloved rogue beedub. rogues typically have the problem, right, where they are capable of redistributing their aspect for the benefit of others but never for themselves. so they try to find others who can help them with it but really just have to learn to stand on their own (and end up finding a source of their aspect that way). this specifically throws beedub n eethos’s friendship into the saddest light because beedub is okay with giving everything to his friends + allies (esp eethos) while quietly hoping they will help him in return, but the thing beedub wants eethos (as a thief) is incapable of giving to him. he can only take, and that’s where their sort of falling out where eethos starts avoiding him and spending more time with others comes from. eethos needs to learn to give to others (not beedub) and beedub needs to learn to stand on his own. ethubs makes me sad. BUT ANYWAYS hope as the aspect of imagination, of being caught up in seeing what could be, of love and trust unconditionally without paying mind to the possible repercussions. that is pretty bdubs-coded i think. he’s a hope player and he’s going to be ok guys he’s going to be fine :)

again feel free to ask me questions abt them !!! lifestuck is in my brain

[eclipixels]

Alien Superstar

L&DS boys

Content: Song lyrics fic

A/N: "Alien Superstar" by Beyonce is to L&DS MC coded.

      "Unicforn is the uniform you put on"

      The sound of boots against metal echoed in the hall as you walked, the weight of the uniform settling on your shoulders. The fabric was tight, the seams of the "Unicorn" insignia stitched into the sleeve a reminder of everything you had worked for, everything you had become.

      You adjusted the collar, glancing at your reflection in the polished surface of the corridor. The silver accents of the uniform caught the light, sharp and striking. The Unicorns were a team built on precision, skill, and the kind of deadly grace that was often reserved for legends. And now, you were one of them.

      Unicorns were known for their agility, their quick strikes, and their ability to blend into the shadows. The work was hard, the missions dangerous, but there was something addictive about it.

      "Alien Superstar"

      "We just reaching out to the solar system"

      Xavier moved like a dream across the battlefield, his every motion a dance of precision and power. The glow of his energy blades reflected in the darkness of the void, casting fleeting shadows on his form as he took on the Wanderers with unmatched grace. To you, watching from the sidelines, it felt like an endless, breathtaking spectacle. Every strike, every twist, every moment seemed to transcend the very fabric of the war they fought.

      The way his body shifted, muscles taut and sleek, was almost hypnotic. There was a raw beauty to the way he fought, like he was made for this, his every move sculpted by destiny itself. His blonde hair whipped around him like a halo, catching the light of distant stars, and his eyes, fierce and focused, never once faltered.

      He was so impossibly beautiful in that moment, like he belonged to the stars themselves. Even as the chaos of battle raged on, Xavier moved with a calm intensity that made everything seem to slow down, his every motion deliberate, flawless. He wasn’t just a soldier. He was a star.

      With a final, fluid slash, Xavier brought down a Wanderer, his form effortlessly fluid as he landed in a crouch, the smoke of battle swirling around him. He looked up, catching your gaze for a brief moment. In that instant, you swore they saw the universe in his eyes, a light that felt like everything you had ever hoped for. And in that brief silence, amidst the explosions and the hum of energy blades, you couldn’t help but think that maybe Xavier was a god among men.

      You glance over at him, his face bathed in the pale blue glow of the dashboard. His hands move with practiced precision, and there's something about the way the light catches his features, something almost otherworldly. It’s not just his beauty that holds your gaze, but the way everything feels suspended in time. In this moment, nothing else exists but you and him, and the boundless cosmos stretching around you both.

      You don’t speak immediately. There’s no need. You feel it in the way the universe hums around you, in the way your connection with him transcends everything else. You step closer, drawn to him like gravity itself can’t hold you back. The pull between you both feels supernatural, as if your very souls are intertwined with the stars themselves.

      The silence wraps around you like a blanket, soft and infinite, and you reach out, your fingers grazing his cheek. "Xavier," you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a promise. He takes your hand, pulling you closer, and in the stillness of the cosmos, you find each other, two souls woven into the fabric of the universe.

      He leans in, his lips brushing against yours, and in that kiss, time seems to stop. The past, the future, nothing matters anymore. There’s only this moment, this connection, as if it’s always been meant to be. The stars outside shimmer in sync with your hearts, and in that instant, you realize that nothing else matters. The entire solar system could vanish, and you wouldn’t notice, because in that kiss, you have everything you’ll ever need.

      “Drip intravenous”

      The soft glow of the medical lights above cast a gentle aura over the sterile room. You sit on the edge of the examination table, your fingers tapping rhythmically against your knee, heart racing with anticipation. Zayne, in his white coat, moves with practiced ease around the room, preparing his tools, but there’s a quiet intensity to the way he works. His presence fills the space, and you can feel it in your chest, like a magnetic pull that draws you in.

      Zayne steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he’s savoring every moment. He doesn’t reach for his tools just yet; instead, he stands in front of you, close enough that you can feel his warmth radiating. His hand gently brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch soft, but his eyes burn with intensity.

      “Sometimes, you need more than just a simple fix. You need the kind of connection that runs deeper. Like medicine for the soul.”

      His words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel the weight of them, heavy with meaning. The atmosphere between you is thick with something unspoken, something electric. You lean forward slightly, meeting his gaze, your voice barely a whisper. “And what do you prescribe, Dr. Zayne?”

      He smiles, soft and dangerous at the same time. “Something that flows through your veins.”

      Before you can respond, he gently tilts your chin, his thumb brushing over your skin. The next moment, his lips find yours—slow, tender, and full of promise. It's a kiss that makes you forget the world, that makes everything outside of this room dissolve into nothing. The softness of his touch, the heat of his body so close to yours—everything about him is intoxicating.

      "Masterpiece, genius,"

      "Can't find an ocean deep"

      "Fire beneath your feet, music when you speak"

      "We paint a certain way"

      "Feed you diamonds and pearls,"

      The room was quiet, save for the soft crackle of firelight dancing in the hearth and a soft humming of a song you never heard before. Rafayel sat across from you, his sketchbook open on his lap, fingers tracing the edges of the page. His eyes were distant, like they always were when he was deep in thought, but you didn’t mind. There was something beautiful about the way he seemed to lose himself in his art, as if the rest of the world faded away and he became part of the canvas itself.

      You watched him for a moment, the way his dark hair fell across his face, the glimmer of firelight flickering in his eyes. There was an intensity to him, but also a softness, like the ocean he once called home. The fire was his element, but sometimes, you caught glimpses of the ocean in his soul. You could almost hear the waves in the silence, the echo of something ancient and deep.

      Without a word, Rafayel reached for the brush on the table, dipping it into his paint and then bringing it to the page with slow, deliberate strokes. His movements were fluid, elegant.

      You leaned back, your gaze never leaving him. It was moments like this, so fleeting and quiet, that made you feel like you were seeing him more clearly than ever. His artistry, his powers, the depths of his being, everything about him was a mystery, but in this moment, you didn’t need to understand. You just needed to be.

      The fire crackled, and as the warmth filled the room, you noticed a tear slip from Rafayel's eye. It shimmered in the dim light, rolling down his cheek before falling onto the sketchbook. You blinked, surprised, as the tear turned into a tiny pearl, resting on the page like a delicate drop of the ocean itself.

      Rafayel didn’t seem to notice, his focus entirely on his work, but you couldn’t look away. It was as if the universe had gifted you a piece of him, something so pure and fragile that you couldn’t help but feel humbled by its beauty.

      Without thinking, you reached out, gently picking up the pearl. It was warm, like the fire, but also smooth, cool to the touch. You held it in your hand, feeling the weight of it. When you looked up, Rafayel’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything else faded. His gaze was soft, as if he had known exactly what you were thinking all along.

      He didn’t say a word, but the unspoken connection between you was enough. The world outside didn’t matter in that fleeting moment. All that existed was the quiet beauty of him, his art, his tears, his fire, his song and you, in this shared space, this quiet pause in time.

      Rafayel smiled then, a small, gentle smile that made your heart ache in the best possible way, and for a moment, you both existed in perfect harmony, like a song without sound, but with all the meaning in the world.

      "Stilettos kicking vintage crystal off the bar"

      The auction hall was buzzing with excitement, the air thick with anticipation. Sylus stood beside you, his presence like a shadow, powerful, commanding, yet subtle. The protocores on display were beautiful, but your focus was more on him than anything else.

      "Don’t get too distracted," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, as he caught you glancing at him instead of the bids.

      Before you could respond, the doors slammed open. A group of masked figures stormed in, weapons drawn, and chaos erupted in an instant. People screamed, scattering for cover.

      Sylus grabbed your arm, pulling you toward the back of the room. “Stay close,” he said, his voice cold and calm as he scanned the situation. But you weren’t just going to hide.

      You noticed one of the attackers heading straight for the bar, reaching for the protocore you and Sylus were here for. With a quick, fluid move, you sprinted toward the bar, your leg swinging in a sharp arc as you kicked it with your heel.

      The protocore flew from its place, spinning through the air and landed in Sylus’s palms before the attacker could get a grip on it.

      Sylus caught your eye, a flicker of approval in his gaze as he took down an opponent nearby.

      "always dreamed of paper planes"

      "We flying over bullshit, we flying over"

      The hum of the engines was a soft lullaby, a constant rhythm in the vastness of space. Caleb’s fingers danced across the controls with practiced ease, his focus unwavering as he piloted the ship through the stars. Outside the viewport, the galaxy stretched on forever, infinite constellations swirling in a dance that only he seemed to understand.

      You sat beside him, watching in quiet admiration, the steady cadence of his movements more mesmerizing than any starry display. His brow furrowed slightly as he adjusted the ship's course, a habit of his when he was deep in concentration. You could feel the pull of his presence, the way it steadied you, grounding you even in the boundless silence of space.

      The comms crackled softly, a reminder that you weren’t alone, but Caleb didn’t take his eyes off the stars. "It’s a perfect night," you whispered, your voice barely rising above the hum.

      He smiled without looking at you, the small curve of his lips all the answer you needed. Caleb’s entire demeanor softened when you were around, as if the weight of the universe wasn’t on his shoulders when you were there.

      "It always is when you're here," he said, his voice low, almost private, as if it were a secret meant only for the two of you.

      The words settled between you, warm and easy. You leaned back in your seat, your eyes slipping closed for a moment as the ship sliced through the darkness, the stars becoming a blur of lights. It felt as if time itself had paused, the world outside this ship suspended, just so you could be here with him. The only thing that existed in that moment was Caleb, the hum of the engines, and the quiet space between your hearts that felt like it was slowly, gently closing.

      Caleb’s hand shifted, and suddenly his fingers brushed against yours, just a soft touch but enough to send a shiver of warmth through you. He didn’t look at you, didn’t need to. The connection was there, silent but undeniable.

      “You’re always so calm when you fly,” you murmured, turning your hand to lace your fingers with his. The simple act felt like a promise, a quiet assurance that, no matter where you were, you were together.

      He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through the quiet cabin. “When you’re here, it’s easy to be calm,” he said, finally turning to meet your gaze. His eyes, so steady and knowing, softened as they met yours, and for a brief moment, the vastness of space seemed to shrink.

      In that moment, nothing else mattered. The ship, the mission, the stars—they all faded away. All that remained was Caleb, his touch, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the whole universe.

      And as he flew you both through the stars, you knew—no matter where the journey took you—it would always be perfect, as long as you were by his side.

[dakusan]

Penguin anon, again...because my last ask went before I completed it. Anyway, as I was saying, slow descend into madness.

I really love the response to the neurospicy ask I sent. Specially the ADHD one. My ADHD actually does feel like a hum just under the surface of my skin. I also have O RH- blood, so did I spend an entire afternoon daydreaming about being an extremely exotic and therefore sought after source of blood? You can bet I did.

However, and this might be a silly question, I also saw the response about how someone gets turned. So if a blood doll gets turned, does that mean they can no longer be a source of blood? I am guessing that when someone is turned, their entire chemical composition changes, down to the last cell. How would blood change? Would blood groups be a thing for vampires? Sorry, this is a long ask but I am very deep into the rabbit hole right now!!

OH PENGUIN ANON… You’ve slid headfirst into the rabbit hole wearing a velvet cloak and fangs and I’m here with open arms, blood vials, and scientific chaos. Let’s go 🐧🩸💉

· · ──────༺��༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

❓"If a blood doll gets turned… can they still be a source of blood?"

Short answer: no. Long answer: NOOOOOOOOOOPE. Not unless you're courting death or delusion.

Once a human becomes a vampire, they go from source to seeker. The blood that used to feed another now becomes magic-reactive, undead-coded, and chemically incompatible with ingestion—especially for their original vampire bond.

Let’s break this down like a blood-slick PowerPoint, shall we?

🧬 WHAT HAPPENS TO THE BLOOD WHEN YOU’RE TURNED?

“The moment the venom touches the heart, everything rewrites.” – Chan, Nocte Labs

Turning is not just about dying. It’s full-system biochemical resurrection. The blood inside a turned vampire is no longer human blood. It becomes a volatile bio-magical medium known as:

☣️ Phase V Blood

This shit is wild:

No longer oxygen-based: it transports life force, not air.

Hyper-coagulative: heals cuts in seconds.

Tastes rancid to all vampires unless soul-bonded (and even then, it’s addictive and dangerous af).

Reeks of venom to scent-trackers. Like licking ozone and saltwater and iron in a thunderstorm.

Once turned, your blood is like drinking acid-soaked gasoline to a normal vampire. It’s a HARD PASS. Not only is it disgusting, it’s toxic unless filtered through intense ritual bonding or magical blood exchange.

🩸 DO BLOOD TYPES STILL MATTER AFTER TURNING?

OH BABY. YES. But not in the way you think.

In the human stage, blood type + Rh factor absolutely affect how delicious, compatible, or euphorically addictive your blood is.

You having O RH-? That’s extremely rare. In the vamp world, it’s called a Void-Class Blood Thread. Pure. Unmarked. Compatible with all. Vampires would sell their souls and siblings for a hit of that (And yes… some of them do).

BUT— once turned, that classification gets overwritten. Instead of A, B, O, AB… you get categorized by your:

🩸 Blood Signature Tier

Null-Bloods – newly turned, still unstable

Flux-Bloods – actively mutating magic signature

Bound-Bloods – bonded or soul-claimed, magic-stabilized

Phase V-Rare – Abnormal vampires, born or ascended, blood unreadable and dangerously potent

Your human type becomes part of your vampire origin but no longer defines your value as blood. Instead, it becomes lore. For example:

“He was O RH-, pre-turning. That's why she bonded to him so fast. Blood recognized blood before the magic ever did.”

🦴 IF A BLOOD DOLL TURNS... WHAT HAPPENS TO THE BOND?

Now we get into tragedy.

A blood doll is like a sacred chalice. Their blood is living memory, magic, identity.

Turning them? Destroys that source. Like smashing the cup mid-ritual.

It can cause:

Bond destabilization

Withdrawal psychosis

Cravings redirected into obsession

In rare Abnormal cases: a violent mating spiral where the vampire turns feral trying to “reclaim” what was lost

Some vampires refuse to turn their dolls for this reason alone. The blood is too precious. Too holy. Too theirs.

Unless the bond was already shifting to love, trust, forever—turning can feel like a betrayal. Or worse: abandonment.

🐧 TL;DR FOR YOU, PENGUIN ANON:

Blood dolls = luxury vintage wine

Turned vampires = cursed whiskey cocktails

Your O RH- blood? RARE. WANTED. DANGEROUSLY ADDICTIVE.

Once turned = your blood = fire hazard to drink

Can blood types survive the transition? Not really, but the memory of them does.

AND YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST DAYDREAMING. Now look at you. Exotic, high-value, untouchable. Your file is locked in Luxe Health under a “Class One Forbidden” tag.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

Thank you for spiraling with me, beloved Penguin Anon 🩸💋

[boyfriendtodeathconfessional]

💀🎤 Welcome to the Boyfriend to Death Confessional Booth™ 🎤💀 Where you can scream into the void about your cursed BTD / TPOF / YKMET opinions 😈💘—without showing your shame-stricken face 😳🫣

🖤 Got a weird take? 🧠 A brainworm you can’t shake?? 🫀 A horny thought that lives rent-free in your psyche??? SEND. IT. IN. Nobody knows who you are. Nobody needs to. 🕳️👀

We’re here for ✨spicy discourse✨, trash opinions, and ✨chaotic mutual obsession✨ with murder boyfriends. We are NOT your politics homework 📉📚, your therapy couch 🛋️💬, or your morality debate team 🧑‍⚖️🚫

🚨 NO MINORS ALLOWED. This booth is for the depraved, the delulu, and the deeply unwell ONLY. 🚨 👉 You must be 18+ or we will send Strade after you with a power tool and no supervision. 🔪🔞🧼

🌚 “Why hasn’t my ask shown up??” Well, babe… maybe it sucked. OR maybe it just didn’t offer anything the fandom can scream about together.

Acceptable ask example: 💬 “I think it’s dumb to hate Strade but simp for Ren/Fox.” 🌈 Why? Because people can fight in the replies like rabid raccoons and the fandom lives another day.

❌ Unacceptable ask: “I had a dream where Mason was my dad and he made me cereal.” 🤨 What are we supposed to do with that.

So if you’re ready to yeet your darkest thoughts into the fandom abyss… 😈💌 The box is open. 📯 Make it messy. Make it interesting. Make it very hard to explain to your therapist. 💅🩸

❌🗑️UNACCEPTABLE SUBMISSION:

“I think MrBlorbo86 is stupid and annoying.”

🛑 WHY THIS GETS YEETED: Babes… what are you doing. This isn’t “Confess Your Parasocial Crimes.” Dragging a real-ass person into your mess? 👁️👄👁️ Nah. We’re not doing that. That’s real life, and we don’t ruin that here.

🔥 This kind of thing fuels dogpile behavior, makes fandom spaces hostile, and frankly? It’s giving Mean Girls but without the camp. 🧼 Keep it about fictional horrors and freaky game boys. Leave your personal vendettas at the door or go scream into a pillow like the rest of us.

✅💬ACCEPTABLE SUBMISSION:

“I don’t like XYZ, I think it’s dumb/wrong/bad.”

👏 WHY THIS SLAPS: A simple ✨vibe check✨. You're just launching your little opinion into the ether like a paper airplane and seeing where it lands. 🎈 No name-calling, no blood feuds—just vibes. Maybe someone agrees, maybe someone shrieks in all caps, maybe you start a dialogue. That’s what we want. Controlled chaos. 🧪

❌🔥UNACCEPTABLE SUBMISSION:

“I don’t like XYZ and anyone who does is an idiot.”

🚨 WHY THIS GOES STRAIGHT TO THE VOID: This ain’t a gladiator pit. It’s a fandom confessional, not a fight club for egos. When you jump from “I have a take” to “anyone who disagrees is a dumb bitch,” you’re not sparking conversation—you’re just throwing rocks at people’s brains. 🪨🧠💥

💡 Passion ≠ aggression. You can scream, cry, throw up over Ren’s eyebrows without punching a stranger in the jaw over it. Be spicy, not spiteful. 🌶️💋

✅🔍ACCEPTABLE SUBMISSION:

“Did Gatobob, Darqx, or EP design Ren?”

🧠 WHY THIS IS TOTALLY CHILL: This is just a clean lil’ lore query. No shade, no accusations, just a neutral, fandom-focused question about who drew which red flag. 🚩🎨 Zero drama, zero blood spilled. A perfectly valid question for anyone deep in the BTD rabbit hole. Ask away, detective. 🕵️‍♀️🔪

❌⚠️UNACCEPTABLE SUBMISSION:

“Didn’t Gatobob/Darqx/EP do XYZ???”

🚫 WHY THIS GOES STRAIGHT TO THE TRASH FIRE: Okay. Let’s not play coy. This is less of a question and more of a Molotov cocktail tossed at the fandom group chat. 🧨 Unless XYZ is “coded a sprite” or “drew a hot murderer,” it’s irrelevant. You’re not here to learn. You’re here to stir the pot. And we’re unplugging the stove. 🍲🙅‍♀️

💡 Let’s keep it real: This is the BTD fandom. Morally grey is the default setting. Charcoal is our neutral tone. We do not need to re-litigate anyone’s Tumblr sins from 2009. If it’s not about the game, the characters, or your deeply cursed OC ship, it’s not welcome here.

🧼 Friendly Reminder: Your internet experience? Yours to manage. Don’t like someone’s art, takes, or entire existence? That’s cool. Hit that block button and cleanse your feed like a digital exorcism. Need help purging a tag or nuking your dash? We’ve got you. Just say the word. 💅💻🔥

💥 EXTRAS 💥

🏷️ Tags:

Personal Posts: Mod-Demon

Self-Harm Mentions: S-H

Proship Discourse / Takes: PRO-SHIP

Fictives / System Talk: FICT-IVES

Electricpuke Mentions: E-P

Darqx Mentions: DAR-QX

Sexual Content: NSFW (🔞 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🔞)

❤️‍🔥 Ship Tags:

Strade x Ren: 🦊🍺

Ren x Lawrence: 🦊🥀

Strade x Lawrence: 🍺🥀

😈 Claimed Emojis:

(Don’t steal them unless you wanna fight in the confession box 💅)

🦊 · 🥃 · 🔨 · 🤖 · 🦝 🐹 · 🌀 · 🐞 · 🫀 · 🦨 🌕🐺 · 💀 · ☀️ · 🫀🦊 · 🐗 🪼 · 🐰 · 🍯🐝 · 🦂🧨 · ☢️ 🖤 · V 🫀 · 🦌 · 🐾🦊 · 🌼 😺🍯 · 🫀fvcker

🏆 Confessional MVPs:

🏅Award for Best April Headcanon: Anon–☢️ Gaze upon their radioactive bragging rights. They earned it. 💚💀💫

this took me three weeks. i shed feathers. i forgot how to sleep. i blacked out halfway through and woke up with bark in my teeth. i don’t even know what this is anymore, but it’s yours now. take it. With all the love of a thing that lives in your rafters and watches you type, birdie🐦

.

[obscurecharactershowdown]

Semi-Finals

[image ID: the first image is of the cover for the Hello from the Hallowoods podcast. it depicts the silhouettes of trees, and a large creature emerging from behind them. it's furry, with many red eyes, horns, large antlers, and a clawed hand raised up, as if waving at the viewer. above the creature, in the middle of a red gun sight, reads: "Hello." in red text. the second image is of No Significant Harassment, a shadowy figure standing behind a sleeping pink-red, fox-like creature. their green hands seem to be holding up the floating creature. end ID]

Diggory Graves

Convinced they only lost the deadguydeathmatch because not enough people knew about them. A bit of a Frankenstein's monster scenario. Uses they/them pronouns, is dating a ghost trans man. Despite their intimidating appearance they are lovely and would go to the ends of the Earth for their friends. Their arms are for hugs and their claws are for fighting

No Significant Harassment

They're just a silly little guy. A jokester. Significant harassment if you will. Anyway, a more in depth run down: They're a city sized supercomputer built by a Buddhist adjacent society to figure out how to transcend the 'Great Cycle' (semi-metaphorical cycle of death and rebirth) in a safer way than the previous method (submerging oneself in the 'void sea' which is a mysterious golden liquid that dissolves whatever it touches). Despite being built for this express purpose NSH never really shows a pressing interest in ascension, even cracking jokes about those who are still looking for a solution. Whether this is due to indifference, dislike of, or humor to cope with being unable to ascend is not clear and really up to interpretation. Example: NSH: I wish them super good luck in that endeavor. How is it going to happen? Have the overseers gnaw through bedrock until their entire can crashes down in the void sea? BSM: Please be respectful when speaking of the Void Sea. Grey Wind, where did you hear this? CW: I really shouldn't say. He's going to attempt some sort of breeding program. Thought you might want to know. NSH: Haha with the slimers, lizards and etceteras? Surely the answer was in a lizard skull all along! He's very flippant, but does care very intensely for those close to him. NSH: Moon? It's me again. NSH: I do not know if you are receiving these. Please signal in any way you can. NSH: I need to talk to you. I need to know you're okay. NSH: … NSH: Its difficult for us to assist you over this distance. NSH: Even more difficult for us to do anything in the midst of these tantrums. NSH: Were going to try everything that we can. NSH: Just hold on a little longer. (Context for previous convo: They genetically engineered a super organism of a slugcat (the species you play as in Rain World) to help reset his coworker/sibling after her collapse and restart her systems. He was so desperate to fix her that he accidentally messed up the slugcat's (Hunter) genetic code and as a result it became riddle with the Rot (relatively similar to aggressive cancer) :( which parallels his other coworker/siblings condition who also has the rot. ) He canonically uses he/they pronouns too! Nonbinary swag! NSH has major internet troll vibes. He has sent a data pearl of "something distasteful" to his neighbors on several(?) occasions and causes chaos. If he had access to the wider internet he'd probably be an influencer So…yeah! Vote NSH this website likes the allure of heavy machinery and stuff like that so… there you go. Kind of a blorbo. End post.

[zorya-reads]

Chapter 20.

The Lost Princess

Context: Lottie made it her goal to mess up her sleep schedule even worse than in UP, deciding to go for nightly walks every day. One night, she stumbles upon Jamie, injured because he casually fell a few hundred meters because he had nothing better to do. What follows is a cute Jottie moment and my rising concern for professional medical help.

Lottie not being asleep and the void only calling the name of Jamie into her mind is ummmmmmm... am I reading a romance book? bc this is heavily dark-male-love-interest-pov-chapter-coded.

Is this a Jottie Chapter???? 0.o

Ok just kidding. Jamie still hasn’t arrived from his surprise bday party.

LOTTIE STOP BEING MAD AT OLLIE. YOU’RE LIVING YOUR GUYS’ DREAMS. OFC HE’S DESPERATE AND INSECURE AND FEELS NEGLECTED???? (Lottie’s not updating Ollie, and his texts are guilt-tripping her because he naturally feels insecure, jealous, and neglected, which understandably annoys Lottie. Both are valid and wrong but for the drama: Whose side are we on? >:D 🤜🏻🥊)

Nooooo, Ellie having a nightmare.

Not Lottie asking herself, “Is it true that everything revolves around Ellie?” like that’s not a toxic thought in the first place.

Group therapyyy.

Lottie being scared that Vampy is gonna scratch her for not giving Jamie enough attention HAHA. Plot twist: Jamie is either a Husky or a Cat of the school as well. Like a black, angry cat.

COLD Y’ALL STOP GOING OUTSIDE AT NIGHT FOR A MINUTE?? YOUR TEETH WOULD BE TREMBLING IF THIS WAS ROSEWOOD. ALSO, NO ONE KNOWS YOU’RE OUT. SHOULD THEY THINK YOU GOT KIDNAPPED OR WHAT? AND WHAT ABOUT THE POSSIBILITY OF YOU ACTUALLY GETTING KIDNAPPED? IT’S NIGHTTIME, DAMN IT. DON’T CATCH A COLD.

Holy shit, this IS a Jottie chapter.

Holy shit, how did this man fall from a skyscraper, didn’t see a doctor, and casually walked probably multiple kilometres, all in just a few hours?

Oh my god, it’s raining dhdbshsjsj

Are they hugging?????? Shsbsbsb

Listen, I was happy to see some Lollie chapters, since Pip had more Jottie, and I desperately need this book to convince me to switch teams. AND THEN THEY JUST GONNA BRING A WHOLE “lol-I-fell-down-a-building-y’all-. omg-we’re-scared-for-you-for-hours-we-thought-we-lost-you-hugging-ITS-RAINING-CUTE-SCENE-IN-RAIN-UNDER-TEARS.” LIKE, COME ON, DUDE, WE WERE ON A GOOD LOLLIE PATH UNTIL NOW. SHHSHD.

CALL A FUCKING DOCTOR.

Finally had one Lottie POV Jamie description where she isn’t gushing over his muscles. Might have needed him to be very fucking injured, but ok. Baby steps.

Her trying not to cry seeing the wounds. Awww.

“I fell from the roof. and then it started to rain.” Awwww, I love it when Jamie puts two heavily different sentences in terms of importance and concern equal to each other casually in the same sentence. 🥺 /s

Sir, get therapy.

Awwww, him not wanting Lottie to go (……and get help. Bro really wants to die from bleeding.)

“The Goat-Man.” PFFFFHAHA I’M CRYING.

Ok, this chapter is all the chaos between “Aww, my heart,” “lols shenanigans,” and “Guys, you know that falling a few hundred meters and not getting medical help is mildly concerning?”

Awwww, he’s acknowledging that she’s a good runner.

/\ This actually makes me happy. Girly put so much effort and dedication into it. 💖

“The Goat-Man is Leviathan.” lol: Is Leviathan the G.O.A.T., is a Goat 🐐 Leviathan, or are they just trying to start their milk, meat, fibre, and skin business?

HAHA, NOT SAYURI COMING IN, SEEING JAMIE WHO FELL FROM A SKYSCRAPER, PASSING OUT, AND ONLY SAYING, “That’s a good partizan. Good investment.” (/ref SoC)

NOT THE ORANGE FAT CAT HAHA.

✧ Read All Chapter Reactions

Premise: I’m rereading the Rosewood Chronicles Series for the first time after years, so take my chaotic commentary with a grain of salt (or a whole salt shaker). Open to spoilers.

[ofmaddogs]

-- OH, SO MANY WAYS HE FELT OLD AND TOO YOUNG IN THIS MOMENT. Just finished a shift scrubbing dishes at the Old Shasta for a wad of cash. Managed to pick up a few new phrases in Spanish and Jamaican. Taught Chef Z how to whistle danger coming in his own native tongue: the whistle-code that carried through the old choke-cherry trees on a hunter's moon.

There's the moment, out here in the world, off the mountain. The smog in the air and the neon signs buzzing and the footsteps on concrete, it's noise and chaos and a buzzing energy beneath his skin. The grizzled old hermit had never been one to trust strangers, he wasn't naive and far from innocent, just a bit-- sheltered, there in that snowy homestead his entire life.

The stubbornness of an old dog forced to learn new tricks. In his fifties going from yeh can't get there from heah to learning how to use public transit. Learning how to navigate a crowded kitchen, learning to tolerate the way that everything was so bright and, god the lack of stars that made the night a navy-green void. That lack of stars hadn't stopped bugging him, made him feel adrift without Orion to help him know the safe path home.

Closing time. It was nice, having people call as he shut the door. Could almost pretend the Mad Dogs were back, heard Chef Z whistle out a mangled blessing-song as Jack trudged to the dumpster with a few last broken plates. Wasn't sure if hearing the blessing-song used that was was comforting or ominous. At least they were trying, with the scant few details the old hermit gave anyone about who he was.

The alley was dark, the lightbulb burnt out or broken. Jack sighed, looked over his shoulder and took his sunglasses off. Orange embers lit within his eyes as he blinked the shadows away. The alley became clear as day, if slightly grayscale.

There was a third glowing ember around his eye-level, someone sparking a cigarette. A smell of blood in the air, thick and copper. This city was too damn hot-- the smell of blood was supposed to be clear-cut with the ice and snow, not this humid lingering.

Fiddlers don't meddle in human affairs. That's what he'd grown up on. Rules were rules, hadn't he said that so many times? He was only supposed to be here for a few weeks. Checking out the Shasta Trinity National Forest for yew trees, nothing more.

Following the rules had gotten him nothing but trouble before, hadn't it? Not meddling in human matters. But, the scene before him was anything but human. Looked almost like a bear attack. Claws were claws, and he wasn't keen to get closer.

Then the other man looked up lazily, regarded his presence. The old Mad Dog felt his hackles raise, bit the inside of his cheek. The man nabbed the pack of cigarettes again and held them up, offering one. Jack had never been a smoker but... Curiosity killed the cat, might as well kill the Dog too.

He took a wary step closer, hit with another wave of that shimmering too-humid blood. He dropped the half-broken plate and plucked the cigarette and held it. Bent close as the man lit it.

Saw the man's eyes glint yellow in the flame. It was no trick of the light. Six points of warm light hung in the dark blue-grey alley; Jack's orange embers, the two red-orange cigarettes, and the stranger's golden eyeshine.

Jack bit down the questions and simply straightened back up. He nodded in thanks. Glanced down at the body.

At the very least, he was stuck here until the cigarette was done. Rules were rules, right?

"Seems like you've had a hell of a night." Tried to keep his voice casual.

// @zoanthropiic

[cus-oc-box]

ok pinned post time

rp rules:

keep it sfw, i dont do erp on tumblr (some exceptions may be made if you're cute enough)

no excessive gore please

your characters can be assholes if you want but that does not give you a free pass to be one out of character too

if i say not to do something FUCKING STOP

have fun, if you're not and there's something i can do differently to change that don't be afraid to ask, or feel free to drop the whole rp if you dont know what needs changed

character list below cut

first up is

silver

her status as a character is kinda a mess due to @silvers-cave existing but whatever

Silver is a shapeshifting silver ice dragon

chaotic good

she is a friend of almost all

and will try to help almost anyone with anything

though if you get on her bad side you are in for a world of hurt

she mainly takes a human form but can become a full sized (or smaller fluffy) dragon

next is

she can also take a dragon born like form as well

oh also she's bi lol

the author

the author is my main oc on tumblr

depending on mood may be chaotic good or chaotic neutral

she has very pale skin and long white hair

she is generally seen wearing a dark robe with silver accents around purple gems and holding her book which is a tome with a void black cover and the same accents and gems as the robe

her powers run on belief, meaning if she can convince your character she could do something then she can do it for the most part

the brighter the gems on her robe and book glow the more power she has at the moment

to use her powers she simply writes in her book and if she has enough power at the time what she wrote will happen

the book is soul bound to her meaning she can call it to her at anytime when its close enough as well as the book doesn't tend to work well to at all for anyone but her but some may find ways to use it anyway or the book may allow itself to be used if the author is in danger and cant access it for some reason

alright, next is

anything written like this *she greets you kindly then vanishes* and colored like that is her writing into her book

no clue what her sexuality is yet lol, its never come up so i've never picked

nazithal

naz was my main oc off of tumblr for a while but i dont use them much anymore

he is depending on mood a lawful evil to lawful neutral lich

there is so much backstory for him that i still do not feel like writing out rn

second to last we have

for the most part just dont get in the way of his plans and you'll be fine

aroace

Code_Red

code red speaks like this:

hello_world

they are a genderless rogue ai that mostly does what they want because they can

probably a good play to avoid if you can unless you wanna help them cause chaos and dont really care who gets hurt in the process

they have little to no morals but they do kinda have a personal code

fight fair if you can afford to

trust no one

dont kill someone who is more interesting alive then dead

and last but not least we have

dont target people who dont interfere

also aroace but may fake attraction for personal gain

m1dn16h7 (midnight)

(i have way too many purple ocs)

midnight is an unfinished prototype protogen model that breached containment in the lab she was being worked on

she's got some issues based around labs and people who make cyborgs, robots, synths, and androids

she's got wings with almost metallic feathers that are razor sharp and can grow back in minutes

all limbs are modular and can be replaced if damaged or with ones that would better suit what she's going to be doing

midnight is basically me so bi af

name: xeyar

a fey asshole trickster god from a dead world

weak for a god since most of his powers come from illusions and shapeshifting

if his life is actually in danger he will steal your magical/godly abilities for about an hour as a panic response, leaving you with just your raw strength and weapons

you must obey fey etiquette when interacting with him unless you want bad things to happen

good luck

i'll add more here as i remember it over time lol