#but on a surface level it's such a slay

[natjennie]

she's actually so iconic for this. I can't get over it.

[knockknockitsnickels]

God I don't want to be too harsh because I know nobody means any harm by it but the way people analyze the Voices drives me crazy sometimes. Not even in the sense that I disagree with what's being written, but more in the sense of how these analyses treat the Princess.

I feel like in a certain section of the fandom there's this reluctance to admit that the Voices aren't always "positive" (for lack of a better term) characters? You'll see people give lip service to the idea that "it's good for a character to have flaws!" and then turn around and try to excuse their worst moments (and it's like. You don't have to do that. You can still like them).

And one of the consequences of this type of analysis is that the way the player's and the voice's actions affect the Princess is downplayed. I have seen analyzes of Happily Ever After which barely even mention the Princess, because they're so fixated on defending Smitten. I've seen people write off entire chapters as "bad" just because they didn't like the way the Voices were acting (with, again, barely a mention of the Princess). The Greys and the Witch chapters are arguably where both the Player and the Voices are at their worst, but fans will still twist around to make the Princess the sole villain of the story.

I don't know. I hate making these kinda posts because I don't want to shame anyone from writing/drawing something they love. But as a big fan of the Princess it's really saddening to see her pushed aside in favor of the male characters.

[writingdevil]

In that post about writing requests, you said you weren't too confident about your ability to write the Princesses, so I'll give you one that might help you flex those muscles: just write a character study of your favorite Princess!

(Oh! That's a good idea! Thanks for the request! Although, I will say that I've never written a character study before, so it's probably going to be really bad and I'm really sorry for that. Anyway, enjoy!)

It's hard to pick a favorite Princess because they've all got a charm to them that I love. I was debating between Nightmare and Razor for my favourite, but I think I could write more about Nightmare, so that's who I'll take a crack at.

The one thing that makes Nightmare my favourite and so interesting (besides the fact that that route gets me my favourite voice-Paranoid) is the fact that I personally feel like Nightmare is one of the most interesting vessels of the Shifting Mound.

The way the Nightmare is, seems so much more different than the other vessels because of what she does to the Long Quiet, even if she's like that because of our fear of her. With vessels like the Spectre and the Beast, it kinda feels like a given that they'll either possess you or attack you like an animal, but the Nightmare does so much more to the player.

The Nightmare paralyzes the Long Quiet and shuts down his body with a touch, to which the only way to snap out of it is to have Paranoid run the automatic nervous system with a chant that somebody has to keep doing. None of the other vessels are that degree of dangerous, to my knowledge.

But then, instead of using a blade or physically attacking the Long Quiet, the Nightmare can just take her mask off and-that's it. You're dead. You can't even really fight against that. All she has to do is take her mask off, and whatever's underneath it kills us instantly before we can actually see it.

The Nightmare is just a different type of horror, in my opinion.

Another thing about her that I find intriguing is the fact that, despite the joy she takes in making us suffer, she wants us to stick around and to not be alone anymore.

'She desires only companionship, but the only thing she knows is how to hurt.'

That's what the Shifting Mound says about the Nightmare, along with calling her an 'abandoned doll.' She can't help the way she is, and she can't help but want someone to talk to and to not die so easily around her, which I find makes her really complex and interesting-the fact that she's so lonely and so desperate for a friend, but her whole existence is around terror and death, and she can't help what she does, but You can actually hold out against her power, so maybe you're all the company she needs.

She's willing to leave and have you by her side, because who else would she want to go with besides the only other person that can handle her?This person must be special, so she can't let them out of her grasp at all.

BUT THEN WE ALSO GET THE MOMENT OF CLARITY!

The MOC is the only other route where you can get all the voices at at once, and as we all know, none of them are doing alright.

But then right before that, there's also that whole sequence with the Narrator, which I'm still not entirely sure is about, but I still love it, especially near the end where the Narrator can't keep talking, because what do you mean you can't keep going?When that happened, I was floored. I couldn't believe it.

The Nightmare seems to have brought everyone to their lowest, including the Narrator, apparently. Even the Hero, who has, for the entirety of the game, gone along and stood behind every decision that the Long Quiet makes and tries to be your moral compass, tells you that you should give up.

Then there's that moment when you're looking at the mirror, and it seems like every voice gives up and surrenders, giving up the piece of them that makes the Long Quiet who they are, accepting death almost.

The Nightmare and the MOC does something to the Long Quiet that makes it seem like an end of everything to them. There's no point in fighting. There's no point in running. There's nothing left that you can do except give up and face the darkness.

The Nightmare is just a fascinating vessel to me, because she wants something that her very being makes difficult to have-a friend, and she drives most of the voices to their lowest point, including the Hero.vShe's horrifying and lonely, and I love her.

(Honourable mention to Razor, because her route is so funny, what with Cheated and The Look, and I also just really like the idea of her having blades in her skin. That's a cool concept. I also really like the way she speaks, like she's very obvious when she's lying, and then she speaks so bluntly-which I, as an autistic person that has a blunt way of speaking, I really appreciate.)

[moldri]

ALL THE SLAY THE PRINCESS ANALYSIS-ISH POSTS IVE FOUND ON HERE SO FAR

As someone who can never really grasp meanings in media beyond surface level, analyses like these are always lovely to read. Here are all the ones I’ve gathered during my short time in the fanbase so far, this is mainly for myself, but maybe it would be useful to someone else!! Also. If anyone knows of any more, please please send them to me!! I will add more as I go too.

I don’t think these all count as analyses, but they all made me go “oooh :0” so yeah

https://www.tumblr.com/momentomori24/735278091386126336/i-just-had-an-epiphany-about-the-cold-that-i-never

https://www.tumblr.com/lipstickchainsaw/735000176332259328/the-pristine-blade

https://www.tumblr.com/electronicdelusionstarlight/735270452740734976/id-like-to-point-out-that-in-the-wild-if-you

https://www.tumblr.com/dapperrokyuu/735178155760992257/alright-now-that-ive-seen-the-end-slay-the

https://www.tumblr.com/momentomori24/735068416032047104/something-i-really-love-about-the-smitten-is-how

https://www.tumblr.com/geebeeskoos/735078530884534272/the-nightmare-the-moment-of-clarity-might-be-the

https://www.tumblr.com/electronicdelusionstarlight/734951196420358144/id-like-to-point-out-that-while-the-tower-and-the

https://www.tumblr.com/bpdwwx/734705488874422272/insane-over-slay-the-princess-imagine-death

https://www.tumblr.com/satellite-slickers/734633384872132608/slay-the-princess-is-really-cool-because-learning

https://www.tumblr.com/satellite-slickers/734573430353117184/i-just-realized-that-even-though-our-protagonist

https://www.tumblr.com/satellite-slickers/734558408577073153/i-like-how-the-twist-in-slay-the-princess-isnt

https://www.tumblr.com/golvio/734492024048369664/it-was-a-bit-of-whiplash-going-from-the-damsel-to

https://www.tumblr.com/three-lesbians-of-the-apocalypse/734467272705490944/theres-something-so-chilling-about-asking-the

https://www.tumblr.com/in-fair-verona-we-set-our-scene/734463751524319232/the-more-i-think-about-it-the-more-not-exactly

https://www.tumblr.com/honeyfizzly/734464645923045376/i-think-the-horror-of-deconstructed-damsel-comes

https://www.tumblr.com/colorful-noircuts/733183847545683968/rambling-about-something-i-realised-in-slay-the hello my lovely mutual!!

https://www.tumblr.com/k20spock/734344272686481408/i-feel-like-i-havent-seen-as-much-discussion-of

https://www.tumblr.com/nerdlordofnerds/734384189011607552/man-dont-you-hate-it-when-you-try-to-rid-the-world

https://www.tumblr.com/lipstickchainsaw/735338029994115072/oh-for-the-stp-questions-what-do-you-think-of

https://www.tumblr.com/honeyfizzly/735336172257198080/i-really-adore-the-witch-wild-route-because

https://www.tumblr.com/supervillainies/735028943239921664/ive-mentioned-it-before-but-voice-of-the-cold

https://www.tumblr.com/lots-of-little-pink-clouds/734249738756620288/follow-up-thought-tsm-says-when-you-meet-he-gave

https://www.tumblr.com/angelofthemornings/734527183265185792/one-thing-i-like-about-slay-the-princess-is-that?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/metanarrates/734373760026705920/if-you-choose-to-chain-yourself-next-to-the?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/satellite-slickers/734216961853095936/durring-slay-the-princess-our-leads-have-the-only?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/golvio/734035911415857152/tried-the-damsel-route-today-this-shot-and-the?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/electronicdelusionstarlight/733870455536173056/say-what-you-want-about-the-smitten-but-the-man?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/electronicdelusionstarlight/733801315338190848/the-way-the-skeptic-implicitly-trusts-the?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/electronicdelusionstarlight/733269659334426624/the-way-the-shifting-mound-ends-every-ending-by

https://www.tumblr.com/electronicdelusionstarlight/733333027972907008/the-way-the-princess-has-no-name-but-at-the-same

https://www.tumblr.com/justsalpals/733475592170848256/the-spectre-really-had-no-idea-what-she-was-doing

https://www.tumblr.com/electronicdelusionstarlight/733630301609295872/the-way-you-can-only-kill-the-princess-with-the

https://www.tumblr.com/lipstickchainsaw/735453678374469632/also-what-do-you-think-of-the-adversary-i-like

https://www.tumblr.com/lipstickchainsaw/735448991864635392/oh-oh-another-question-what-do-you-think-is-up

https://www.tumblr.com/lipstickchainsaw/735538031989293056/oh-what-do-you-think-of-the-spectre-and-prisoner

https://www.tumblr.com/lipstickchainsaw/735509320346812416/what-do-you-think-of-nightmare-and-spectre

https://www.tumblr.com/minotaur-asterion/735506279592787968/might-be-a-weird-question-but-what-do-you-think this one isn’t an analysis at all but I thought it was funny

https://www.tumblr.com/birdmitosis/735586819735961601/this-honestly-really-fascinates-me-because-it

https://www.tumblr.com/lipstickchainsaw/735614693262196736/ohhhh-and-what-about-the-narrator

https://www.tumblr.com/elieclowngamer/735849806204960768/okay-but-like-spoilers-for-slay-the-princess

https://www.tumblr.com/lipstickchainsaw/735902648917721088/what-do-you-think-about-the-beast-in-stp

https://www.tumblr.com/lipstickchainsaw/736242037895168000/what-do-you-think-about-the-fury-and-the

https://www.tumblr.com/k20spock/736789844699807744/birds-and-trees-in-slay-the-princess

https://www.tumblr.com/lipstickchainsaw/735509712935829504/what-do-you-think-of-nightmare-and-spectre

https://www.tumblr.com/lipstickchainsaw/736243685245730816/what-do-you-think-about-the-fury-and-the

https://www.tumblr.com/fierce-little-miana/736431035990016000/strange-beginnings-ending

https://www.tumblr.com/chi-the-idiot/736610535159873536/ok-but-we-need-to-adress-how-slay-the-princess

[ersatz-colubridae-888]

waiting for ur stp analysis like a hungry wolf

SMILESSS REALLY BIG AT YOU!!! geheeheheee i want to make a sort of collection of all my thoughts on the game with my experience as a system, how it succeeds as horror in so many different ways, the way i view existence in general, how this game has affected it and the extremely unique way the Narrator affects the game's world and ideas of existence in his reweaving of these abstract concepts. as well as the Just as you were once nothing ending because i don't see nearly ANYBODY talking about it (probably because less than 10% of people have lol...) these are all really different things though so i'm not sure if i should split them up or make it all into one post... well what do you think! since you're like my only(?) mutual that's played it :3

[youreaclownnow]

Banana fish was good but damn that shit hurted. Would recommend to anyone who loves bl that causes pain or just likes very pretty anime👍

[bloomfish]

I'm so mean to miss kaur but I do legitimately think she's simply a marketing genius. I don't (don't want to) think she's genuinely trying to write meaningful poetry I think she's in it to scam impressionable teen girls on instagram

[astrow1zar6]

Big Slay Placements to have in your chart

Jupiter in the 10th house: big boss placement, these people are usually so hardworking and ambitious at whatever job they do & have the ability to climb the financial ladder very quickly. Gives good luck in finding a career & making money. A lot of big business bosses & CEOs have this placement.

Jupiter in Leo: oh you’re the main character, this is such a lucky placement to find in your chart. Grants amazing level of confidence and charisma that can get you very far in life. Usually have good luck in dating as well & can be very good with children. This person will be very generous & big hearted, usually the party starts when they walk in. Very loud & unashamed of themselves. If afflicted however it can be big narcissists & have a hard time saving money. But overall these people are pretty lucky.

Venusian moon/degrees (Taurus + Libra, 2,14,19,26 degrees) gives a very pleasant personality and a charming mannerism. Bestows beauty on the native as well. I’ve never met anyone with these placements/degrees that are unattractive I swear. These people also have an easier time finding their soulmate than most. Can have very satisfying relationships that are usually long term. Their partners are also usually pretty attractive as well. These are truly bad bitches!

Venus in the 5th house: can charm the pants out if anyone. Even if they aren’t that attractive they can get anyone in their bed I swear. Although I notice their relationships can be rather short lived it’s usually not long till they have another admirer waiting to date them. They love to flirt.. and are usually very good at it. They see flirting & seduction as a game & have a lot of fun with it. It usually makes the native very physically attractive & have very beautiful children as well. U ever see those families where all of them just look so perfect?? 9/10 one of the parents got Venus in the 5th house. However they can struggle with addiction easily whether it be sex, gambling, dating ect.. so be careful you can get very overindulgent!

Venus/asc or in 1st house: a classic bad bitch astro placement. These people are just super pretty. They get noticed for their beauty and lot and usually have a lot of admirers. These people are easy to get along with and are agreeable (they hate arguments and confrontation). They can get popular easily on social media for how they look. Have a very ideal feminine body type (usually hourglass figures with a big 🍑). They can be love addicts as well just like Venus in the 5th house people. Tend to be interested in dating and had crushes at a very young age. They also attract pretty partners and friends as well (they do not fuck with ugliness😭). They can come off as pretty vain and superficial but it’s hard to fully hate these people even if they are a lil surface level. Also very blessed career and financial wise most of the time. (Their appearance helps them get jobs they aren’t normally qualified for) super blessed imo.

Venus conjunct Jupiter: idk why but I think of Santa Claus when I see this placement, just super generous & have big love for others. This placement also screams POPULAR. Your social life is always booming and really busy. People are just really drawn to you and you have amazing social skills. U attract all different people from all walks of life. Anything Jupiter touches it expands so when it touches Venus everything associated with Venus is multiplied in your life meaning you can attract nice things easily, attract a lot of wealth, partners, friends ect. They can have a very exotic look or be attracted to others with exotic looks (people from different cultures/ethnicities). They also can be very spiritual and have strong beliefs and a good amount of faith which gives them confidence and optimism. Beware of overindulgence and laziness because they can become pretty lazy if they don’t challenge themselves.

Sun in the first house: they are usually very flashy personalities (even the introverts). Every one I met with this placement had a big star quality about them like you can tell they have the skills to be very well known. They have a great amount of confidence & and lot of people I see with this dress soooo nice & are really good at taking pictures on social media. They love attention which is why a lot of celebrities have this in their chart they attract others to them like a magnet. This magnetism however attracts a lot of jealousy from others, you can have a lot of haters as well as admirers (it’s cuz you’re popping💋). These people can get too lost in the spotlight and become really egotistical & arrogant if they don’t watch themselves which can cause a lot of chaos in their life. But overall these people usually have a big fan base (even if they aren’t famous). Very good placement for the sun.

Neptune in the 1st house: they all look like they came out of a vintage Hollywood magazine. They are so naturally glamorous and glossy looking. They can have features that look very ethereal or out of this world like in a mystical way. When I think of this placement I think of lady Amalthea from the last unicorn. Many models and celebrities have this in their chart. They tend to take perfect selfies as well. These people actually can benefit from plastic surgery (not instigating it at all) but they can make themselves look even more unreal if they get it. (Ex; Kylie Jenner lips). These people can be big trendsetters too and can notice a lot of people try to copy them (it’ll never be the same effect however) they look so naturally cool and glamorous it’s hard not to copy. Most have very creative original styles that people admire so much. These people however can fall into addiction & mental health problems if they don’t take care of themselves… they have very fragile mental states due to their extreme sensitivity so it’s important for them to take care of themselves instead of using escapist tendencies. But overall these people are real life mermaids/fairies🥺

If you guys want a part two I will be willing to make more of these☺️ cuz I have a list of placements I find super cool to have. Lmk in the comments 💋

[jungkoode]

THE 25TH HOUR | O7

“𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐒”

"The most annoying thing about Agent Min isn’t how easily he dodges your questions��it’s how effortlessly he outmatches your wit."

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 7,4k

content: field trips, noma being curious as usual, yoongi being half amused half exasperated, yoongi being a smart lil shit and evading her questions, her growing frustrated, forced proximity, eery memorials and visceral reactions.

— author’s note

Hiii peeps!!!

It’s been a long time coming huh??? FINALLY chapter 7 reached the goals yesterday!!! *cue the confetti that i absolutely do not have the energy to throw*

I’ve been writing this chapter for what feels like an eternity (literally aged 10 years minimum) but I just finished the last scene today and edited and proofread it just now soooo I hope everything’s okay??? If you see a typo… no you didn’t (ಥ﹏ಥ).

Not gonna lie to you, I had to reread chapter 6 because I straight up forgot whether I had tasked Yoongi and Noma to the Monitoring Hub or if that was someone else ahahaha—spoiler alert: it was Tae and Jungkook who got stuck with that chore, not Yoongi and Y/N. Slay for us!

Then I reread some of my notes and remembered some plotlines I had emotionally suppressed and well… the last scene about the park basically wrote itself. Yeah. It’s eery. Prepare yourselves.

There’s SO much to unpack from this fic and SO little we have even scratched the surface of. I know The 25th Hour is my most head-wrecking fanfic so PLEASE, feel free to vomit ALL of your theories at me hahaha. I’m here for the chaos.

As always—remember my fics are sloooooow paced and sloooooow burn because my brain doesn’t know how to operate differently. Don’t expect fast plot movement, I’m intentionally taking my time to build the world and lay tiny breadcrumbs for you to gather. Pick them up. Put them in your emotional basket. Analyze them to your heart’s content.

Enjoy, goblins! <3

— read on

ao3

wattpad

The streets feel fundamentally wrong.  

It's not something you can quantify, not yet. The temperature is stable, the air quality within acceptable parameters, and the ambient noise levels hover at a predictable 67 decibels. 

But still, something feels… off.  

Sector 4 has always been bustling, it is a fact you do not question. 

Coffee shops line the sidewalks—windows are fogged with steam and promises of overpriced caffeine. Restaurants have flickering neon signs in rhythmic patterns that seem to draw people in inevitably. Storefronts display fashion statements that you’ve never found appealing but still manage to catch your eye every time you pass them.  

You do like fashion—at least, theoretically. 

You’ve never bought anything from these stores, though. 

Agent Min walks ahead of you now, stride measured as always. You recalibrate your position almost immediately, adjusting your pace to walk beside him instead of behind. 

Not behind him. Never behind him.  

You don’t know why it matters so much, but it does. To you, at least. Or maybe to whatever part of you keeps acting out without conscious thought lately.  

Your eyes betray you again, flickering to his gloved hand for the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. Covered, as always. Black leather stretched taut over fingers that move very precisely—cataloging, calculating, anticipating.  

You’re still stuck on his earlier words: “Protection from me.”

What did he mean by that? Is his touch scalding? Dangerous? 

You haven’t seen him touch anyone else without those gloves—not once since arriving at the facility. It’s plausible enough to form a hypothesis around it, but not enough to test it without risking another nosebleed—or worse.  

Still… you want to test it anyway.  

And then there’s the matter of your own gloves—thin fabric ones that feel more like a restriction than protection. 

Nobody else wears them except Yoongi. Just him and you. You and him.  

Why? Why? Why? Why?  

The question loops through your mind like a broken record, each repetition louder than the last until it feels like static buzzing beneath your skin. 

You want to ask him outright, even though you know it will get you nowhere.  

But still… you want to ask.

“Why gloves?”  

The words slip out before your analytical mind can filter them properly—an impulsive breach of protocol that surprises even you.  

Yoongi sighs—a sound weighted with irritation but tempered by something softer beneath—and doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze flickers around the street instead, cataloging details invisible to your untrained eye.

“Stop staring at my hand,” he says finally, voice low enough that only you can hear over the ambient noise of Sector 4’s busiest avenue.

“I wasn’t staring at your hand,” you counter, the denial emerging with suspicious automaticity.

And technically, it’s not a lie. 

Your focus was on the glove itself—the material composition, the precision fit, the way it moves with his fingers as if designed specifically for his unique biomechanics.

“My gloves cover my hands,” he points out, logic impeccable as always. “You looking at my glove is functionally equivalent to looking at my hand.”

Your analytical mind acknowledges the validity of his reasoning—the correlation between glove and hand approaches 99.7% in this context.

“Stop trying to be clever,” he adds, the corner of his mouth twitching upward by approximately 0.3 millimeters—a microexpression your body recognizes as amusement despite your mind having no reference point for it.

“I’m not trying to be clever,” you respond, your tone matching his. “Fabric is not skin. I was technically not observing your hand but rather the material covering it.”

His eyes narrow by exactly 1.2 millimeters. “You’re doing it right now.”

“Doing what?”

“Attempting to establish semantic superiority through technical correctness.”

“I am not.”

“You are. Stop it.”

Your lips press together, suppressing what feels suspiciously like a smile. Your gaze shifts to his profile, noting the controlled tension in his jaw, the rhythm of his breathing.

“Why?” The question emerges softer than intended.

He turns, eyes meeting yours with unsettling directness. 

The contact lasts 2.7 seconds—42% longer than standard conversational eye contact.

“Because,” his eyes flicker gold for precisely 0.3 seconds, “being intellectual antagonists with each other is essentially our foreplay.”

Your Chrono-Sync Watch beeps softly: Temporal variance: 1.37%.

“That would imply sexual attraction.”

“Yes, it would.”

“Are you sexually attracted to me?”

He doesn’t respond. 

You weren’t expecting him to.

Doesn’t make it less annoying.

But curiosity nags at you as your eyes flicker down to his gloves. And before you can process your next question, you’re already voicing it out.

"Can I hold your hand?"

Agent Min halts mid-step, his shoulders stiffening by precisely 0.6 centimeters. The sigh that follows is audible, weighted with the kind of exasperation that suggests this isn't the first time he's had to deal with you derailing his focus. 

"Not this again," he mutters, his voice carrying the same energy as someone who just realized they forgot to defrost the chicken for dinner.

You blink up at him, unbothered by the irritation radiating off of him in waves. 

“What? I’m serious."

He turns his head slowly, mint-green hair catching the sunlight in a way that seems almost too vibrant for someone with such a perpetually dark aura. His eyes narrow slightly—not in anger, but in that uniquely way of his that suggests he's already regretting engaging with you.

"You want to hold my hand," he repeats flatly, as if saying it out loud might somehow make it sound less ridiculous.

"Yes." You nod once, decisively. "Without the gloves."

His jaw tightens by 3 degrees, and for a moment, you think he might ignore you entirely. But then he exhales sharply through his nose—an audible punctuation mark to his mounting frustration—and tilts his head just enough to meet your gaze.

"Why?" he asks, voice low and measured, like he's trying to reason with a particularly stubborn child.

You pause, considering the question. 

Why do you want to hold his hand? 

It’s not like you’ve ever been particularly interested in physical contact before. In fact, you generally find it inefficient and unnecessary—an outdated social construct with no practical application in most scenarios.

But this feels... different. Important. Like there’s some unquantifiable variable at play that your analytical mind can’t quite grasp.

"I don’t know," you admit finally, your tone carrying the same blunt honesty that has gotten you into trouble more times than you can count. "I just do."

Yoongi closes his eyes briefly—1.2 seconds exactly—before pinching the bridge of his nose through the fabric of his glove. 

“You can’t just go around asking people if you can hold their hands."

"Why not?" Your brow furrows as you process his response. "Is it against protocol?"

"It’s not about protocol," he says, dropping his hand back to his side with a resigned sigh. "It’s about basic social norms."

"Social norms are arbitrary constructs," you argue, crossing your arms over your chest. "If I want to hold your hand and you don’t explicitly object, then what’s the issue?"

"The issue," he says slowly, as if explaining quantum mechanics to a toddler, "is that most people don’t ask questions like that because they understand how it might make someone else feel."

You tilt your head slightly, analyzing his expression for any sign of genuine discomfort. His face remains impassive—calm but guarded, like he’s carefully controlling every microexpression to avoid giving anything away.

"I don’t see how it would make you feel anything," you say finally, your tone more curious than defensive. "It’s just skin-to-skin contact. Statistically insignificant unless there’s some kind of chemical reaction involved."

Yoongi stares at you for a long moment—4.7 seconds exactly—before shaking his head slightly and muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like why me?

"You’re impossible," he says finally, turning away from you and resuming his perfectly measured stride down the street.

You fall into step beside him without hesitation, adjusting your pace to match his once again. 

“You didn’t answer my question," you point out after exactly 3 seconds of silence.

"I thought I did," he replies dryly.

"No," you counter, your tone taking on that annoyingly persistent edge that you realize seems to get under his skin. "You explained why most people wouldn’t ask to hold someone’s hand. You didn’t explain why I shouldn’t ask."

He exhales sharply again—louder this time—and glances at you out of the corner of his eye. His gaze flickers briefly to your gloved hands before returning to the path ahead.

"Because it’s not normal," he says finally.

"Neither is wearing gloves all the time," you shoot back without missing a beat.

His lips twitch upward for 0.2 seconds before flattening again—a microexpression so fleeting that most people wouldn’t have noticed it. 

But you do.

"Fair," he mutters under his breath.

You take this as a victory and press on. "So? Can I?"

"No." 

"But why?" Your voice edges into what could almost be described as a whine—not because you’re upset, but because you genuinely don’t understand why he’s being so difficult about something so seemingly insignificant.

Yoongi stops abruptly again—his second unplanned halt in less than five minutes—and turns to face you fully this time. His eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your pulse spike by 8 beats per minute.

"Because," he says slowly, enunciating each syllable like it physically pains him to explain this to you, "if I let you hold my hand without gloves, it won’t stop there."

You blink, processing his words. 

"What do you mean it won't stop there?" 

Your head tilts exactly 4.3 degrees to the right—a physical manifestation of your curiosity. Yoongi's jaw tightens, the muscle visibly tensing beneath his skin. 

"Just drop it."

"Is it just the hands?" you press, undeterred by his obvious discomfort. "Or would any skin contact cause this... whatever it is you're concerned about?"

"Any skin contact," he answers flatly.

You process this new variable. "So if I touch any part of your skin, the reaction would be the same?"

"Yes." 

His response is clipped, precise—clearly hoping brevity will discourage further inquiry.

It doesn't.

"Is that why we're both covered head to toe? To prevent skin contact?" 

The question emerges as you glance down at your own tactical gear, noting how thoroughly it encases your body.

"Yes."

"But not our faces," you point out, studying the exposed skin of his cheeks, his jaw, his forehead. "Our faces remain uncovered."

He exhales, the sound carrying precisely 23% more frustration than his previous sigh. 

"Covering our faces would make us suspicious to CHRONOS agents. We need to blend in."

Your analysis immediately detects the logical inconsistency. 

“Your resistance movement seems quite popular among CHRONOS employees. I've counted at least 27 defectors in your facility."

"Mhm."

"How come agents don't recognize you then?" The question presents itself naturally as you catalog variables. "Wouldn't they have put a face to your name by now? Especially given your apparent leadership position?"

"Part of my ability."

Your temporal readings spike by 0.12% at the mention of his ability. You've been collecting fragments of information since arriving, piecing together a picture of what each team member can do. But Yoongi's ability remains the most significant unknown variable.

"What's your ability?" You ask directly, knowing the probability of receiving a straightforward answer approaches zero.

Indeed, his lips quirk upward—0.3 millimeters, right side only. 

"Guess."

You narrow your eyes, cataloging the available data:

- His ability relates to temporal manipulation

- It affects perception

- It involves skin contact

- It has restoration properties, as demonstrated with your glove

"Time manipulation," you venture, knowing it's insufficient but hoping to prompt elaboration.

"Not specific enough." 

"Temporal reconstruction?" You recalibrate, adding the restoration variable.

He makes that sound again—the one that's almost amusement but contains too much restraint. 

“Closer."

Your analytical mind sorts through theoretical temporal abilities, discarding those incompatible with observed phenomena. 

“Chronological restoration with perceptual manipulation components."

His eyebrow raises by exactly 0.4 centimeters. "Sometimes I forget how unnecessarily technical you can be."

"Is that accurate?" you press.

"Parts of it." 

His attention shifts to the street ahead, where the monitoring hub should be visible. But it isn't. Not where your memory insists it should be.

You follow his gaze, temporal cognition struggling to reconcile the discrepancy. 

"The hub is missing."

"No," he corrects, "it's been moved. Remember?"

The correction creates a curious double-vision effect in your cognitive processing—you simultaneously remember the hub at its original location AND at its new position three blocks east.

Your nose starts bleeding.

Agent Min doesn't even look—simply extends the black handkerchief towards your nose. 

"Stop trying to hold both memories at once," he instructs, voice dropping to 42 decibels. "Accept the new one as current reality while maintaining awareness that it's been altered."

"That's contradictory," you argue, pressing the handkerchief to your nose.

"Not to your brain, it isn't." His eyes never leave the street ahead, yet you sense his focus remains partially on you. "Your temporal signature allows you to perceive both timelines simultaneously. The cognitive dissonance is what causes the bleeding."

"How do you know so much about my temporal signature?" The question emerges with sudden intensity.

His jaw tightens. "Focus on the mission."

"Answer the question."

"No."

Your frustration spikes by approximately 37%. 

“You know significantly more about my physiological responses than should be possible given our limited interaction history."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Classified."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes—a social gesture you've never found particularly productive. 

“That's not an answer."

"It's all you're getting right now." His tone shifts, carrying a finality that suggests further inquiry would be pointless.

Your gaze returns to the street, where two distinct sets of memories continue to overlap in your perception. The monitoring hub that should be directly ahead isn't there. Instead, an upscale coffee shop occupies the space, patrons moving in and out with the synchronized efficiency of people who have no idea reality has been restructured around them.

"They don't notice," you murmur, observing the civilians. "They genuinely believe that coffee shop has always been there."

"Yes." Agent Min's confirmation is unnecessary but appreciated. "For them, reality is singular and consistent. No contradictions."

"And for us?"

His eyes meet yours briefly. "For Outliers, reality is... negotiable."

“Outliers. That’s me now, too.”

"Yes. People whose temporal signatures resist CHRONOS manipulation," he elaborates, voice dropping lower. "People who remember when reality changes. People who can see through the illusion."

"Like right now," you note, focusing on the coffee shop while maintaining awareness of the monitoring hub that should occupy its space. "I can hold both versions simultaneously."

"Exactly." For once, he doesn't sound annoyed by your analysis. "That's what makes you valuable. And dangerous."

Your Chrono-Sync Watch beeps softly: Temporal variance: 1.42%.

Agent Min's eyes flick to your wrist. "We need to stabilize you before continuing. Your variance is climbing."

"I'm fine," you counter, though the persistent throbbing behind your eyes suggests otherwise.

"You're not." His contradiction carries no room for debate. "Find somewhere quiet. Now."

You scan the area, identifying a narrow alley between buildings approximately 34 meters ahead. 

“There."

He follows your gaze and nods once, already adjusting his trajectory. His stride lengthens by precisely 0.07 meters—not enough for casual observation to detect, but you note the change immediately.

The alley provides 68% reduction in ambient noise and 74% decrease in visual stimuli—optimal conditions for temporal stabilization according to the limited data you've gathered.

Agent Min positions himself at precisely 47 centimeters from you—close enough for what you now understand is temporal alignment, but far enough to maintain whatever invisible boundary he's established.

"Your variance is too high," he states, glancing at your watch. "We need to reduce it before continuing."

"How?" The question is direct, clinical—exactly how you intend it.

His expression shifts, eyes darkening by approximately 12%. "Proximity and synchronized breathing. It's slow but effective."

Your analytical mind immediately identifies the logical gap. 

"If proximity helps stabilize my temporal signature, then closer proximity should logically be more efficient. Physical contact would provide maximum efficiency."

His jaw tightens so suddenly you can almost hear the teeth grinding. 

"No."

"Why not? It's the most logical solution."

"Because I said so." 

The childish response seems deliberately designed to irritate you.

It works.

"That's not a scientifically valid reason," you counter, crossing your arms. "Is there another method besides proximity and breathing?"

"No." 

His response comes too quickly—0.37 seconds faster than his average response time. You narrow your eyes, analytical mind immediately flagging the statistical anomaly. 

"You're lying."

"I'm not lying," he counters, voice dropping to that dangerous octave that somehow makes your skin prickle despite the climate-controlled tactical gear. "I'm just not telling you the whole truth."

"That's the same thing."

"It's really not." His lips quirk upward in that infuriating half-smile. "One involves active deception. The other involves strategic omission."

"Strategic omission," you repeat, the term rolling off your tongue with obvious distaste. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"We've always called it that. You just don't remember."

Your Chrono-Sync Watch beeps again: Temporal variance: 1.57%.

"Your variance is still climbing," he notes, voice shifting to something that might almost be concern if you didn't know better. "Focus on your breathing. Match mine."

You want to argue further, to push until he breaks and gives you the answers your analytical mind craves. But the pressure behind your eyes is intensifying, and your temporal readings are becoming increasingly unstable.

"Fine," you concede, though the word carries more edge than intended. "Breathing."

He inhales slowly—4 seconds in, 6 seconds out—establishing a rhythm that your body automatically begins to follow. 

The synchronization feels practiced, like muscle memory you shouldn't possess.

"Why do I know this pattern?" 

"Because your body remembers even when your mind doesn't."

"You keep saying that. It is not scientifically possible."

"Then why is it working?”

Your temporal variance begins to decrease—1.52%, 1.47%, 1.39%—the numbers falling in precise correlation with your synchronized breathing.

"Fascinating," you murmur, analytical mind already calculating the energy transfer mechanisms that might explain this phenomenon. "The temporal resonance between our signatures creates a stabilizing effect that—"

"Stop analyzing it," he interrupts, the command carrying a sharp edge. "The more you try to understand it, the worse your variance gets."

"That's counterintuitive."

"Welcome to temporal physics." His tone carries a dry humor that catches you off guard. "Where everything you think you know is wrong, and trying to figure out why makes your nose bleed."

Despite yourself, your lips twitch upward. 

Illogical. 

“That's an inefficient system."

"It's by design." His eyes never leave yours as he continues the breathing pattern. "CHRONOS doesn't want people understanding how reality actually works."

"And you do?"

A softening around the eyes that lasts precisely 0.7 seconds swallows his pupils before disappearing. 

"I want you to understand. Just not all at once."

The admission carries more weight than it should, creating a curious pressure in your chest that defies analytical categorization.

Your variance continues to decrease—1.31%, 1.24%, 1.18%—each number bringing you closer to stability.

"There's something you're not telling me," you state, the certainty absolute despite having no empirical evidence to support it.

His lips quirk upward—0.4 millimeters, right side only. 

"There are approximately 7,429 things I'm not telling you, A-735. You'll have to be more specific."

"About stabilization methods." Your eyes narrow, focusing on the micro-expressions that betray him. "There's another way, isn't there? Something more efficient than this."

His breathing pattern falters for exactly 0.3 seconds—a statistical anomaly that confirms your hypothesis.

"Yes," he admits finally, the word emerging with obvious reluctance.

"What is it?"

His jaw tightens, eyes darkening to that dangerous shade that makes your pulse accelerate by 7.2 beats per minute.

"Nothing you need to know right now."

"I disagree."

"Shocking."

The sarcasm in his tone is so thick you could practically measure its density. Strangely, it registers a progress in your head. 

"Is it dangerous?" 

“Not in the way you're thinking."

"Then why won't you tell me?"

He holds your gaze for exactly 3.7 seconds—42% longer than standard conversational eye contact. 

“Because once you know, you'll want to try it. And once you try it..." He pauses, something raw and unguarded flashing in his eyes. "Let's just say it complicates things."

"How?"

"Classified."

You exhale sharply through your nose, frustration spiking by approximately 43%. 

"You can't just classify everything you don't want to explain."

"Actually," he counters, that infuriating half-smile returning, "I can. It's one of the perks of being in charge."

"You're impossible."

"So I've been told." His eyes flicker to your watch. "1.03%. Almost stable."

Your variance continues to decrease—0.97%, 0.92%, 0.88%—each number bringing you closer to the standard range.

"We should continue the mission," you state once your readings stabilize at 0.84%.

He nods once, already turning toward the street. But before he can take a step, you catch his wrist—your gloved fingers wrapping around the tactical material covering his arm.

He freezes, entire body tensing like you've applied an electric shock.

"This isn't over," you state, voice low and precise. "I will figure it out."

His eyes meet yours, something dark and dangerous flickering in their depths. 

"I know you will. You always do."

The statement carries too much weight, too much history that you can't access. But before you can question it, he gently extracts his wrist from your grip and steps back onto the street.

You follow, sorting through the fragments of information, piecing together the puzzle that is Agent Min.

He's hiding something. Something important. Something about you, about him, about whatever connection exists between you that defies logical explanation.

And you're definitely going to figure out what it is.

You’ve been walking for exactly twenty-three minutes.

And Agent Min has looked at you ten times in the past five.

Each glance is quick—measured flickers of attention, like he’s trying to calculate something without setting off an alarm.

You count them anyway. You always count things when you don’t know what they mean.

The silence stretches between you, and it’s thick; clinging really. You expected him to appreciate it—your restraint, your control, your refusal to ask questions he won’t answer.

But instead, he’s growing restless.

Another glance. Quick. Sharp.

You stop walking.

He takes two more steps before realizing you aren’t following, turning around with a tilt of his head that would seem casual if it weren’t so obviously deliberate.

You cross your arms. Narrow your eyes. Catalog the slight shift in his posture.

“What.”

It comes out flat. Demanding.

He exhales—short, controlled, dismissive.

“Nothing.”

You frown, recalculating. “Then stop looking at me.”

He raises an eyebrow by approximately 0.5 centimeters. Very deliberate. Very measured.

“Not looking at you.”

You tilt your head, mirroring his earlier gesture.

“Incorrect. You’ve looked at me ten times in the last five minutes. Nine, if you want to exclude peripheral glances.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, which statistically increases the likelihood that he’s internally debating whether arguing is worth it.

You decide to press anyway. “Why?”

His mouth tightens, a minuscule shift of muscle you might have missed before. Not now. Now you notice everything.

“You’re distracting,” he says finally. Short. Clipped. Like ripping off a bandage.

You blink, recalibrating.

“How?”

He sighs, heavier this time—more oxygen expended, betraying more irritation than he probably intends.

“You’re…” He searches for the word like it’s a personal affront to have to find it. “…loud.”

“I’m not speaking.”

“Exactly.”

You process that.

“So my silence is distracting.”

“Yes.”

“Because you’re used to me questioning you.”

“Partly.”

Your eyes narrow. His left hand flexes at his side, the faint creak of leather betraying tension he’s probably holding in check.

“Then elaborate,” you say. Curious. Intrigued despite yourself.

“No.”

You resist the urge to sigh back at him—your own version of his exasperation. 

“Is it proximity?” you try again.  “I can increase distance if needed.”

The corner of his mouth twitches—barely—but enough to register.

“It’s not proximity,” he mutters, almost to himself.

“Then what is it?”

His eyes flicker back to you, sharp and cutting.

“You’re unpredictable,” he says. “That’s the problem.”

You tilt your head again, absorbing that.

“Unpredictability usually denotes a flaw in pattern recognition,” you say thoughtfully. “And you pride yourself on anticipating variables.”

His expression tightens, the faintest edge of irritation sparking.

Good. You’re getting somewhere.

“You’re not a variable,” he says finally, voice low. “You’re an anomaly.”

Your heart stutters—not from sentiment, but from the weight of the word.

Anomaly. Noma.

The nickname he’s never explained.

You hold his gaze, cataloging the dilation of his pupils, the slight tremor in his exhale.

0.4 seconds too long before he looks away.

Enough to register. Enough to matter.

You tilt your head a fraction to the left. Testing. Probing. 

“Your behavior denotes a penchant for sadism,” you observe. Neutral enough to pretend the words don’t sting a little when they land between you.

Yoongi exhales—slow, the faintest curl of amusement threading through the air. 

“Because I’m sadistic, clearly,” he mutters, voice rougher than necessary. 

Calculated imperfection.

You narrow your eyes. Catalog the rhythm of his steps, how they slow imperceptibly as you fall into pace again, how the ambient noise seems to dull when he speaks.

“You are being purposefully obtuse,” you accuse, sharper this time. “Being wistfully cryptic does not align with leadership traits. I would assume the leader of the 7th Hour would not engage in childish tactics.”

A beat.

He hums low in his throat—a noise of neither agreement nor denial. More like he’s tasting your words, deciding whether to bother answering at all.

“Me?” he says finally, deadpan. “Childish? Never.”

The dryness of it slashes across your skin like a blade dipped in velvet.

You scowl, which only earns you another flicker of that infuriating almost-smirk.

“I expected more,” you say, voice clipped. Measured. “That is on me for applying inappropriate expectations.”

“You’ll learn.” His tone drops, lazy and lethal. “Eventually.”

The way he says it—you’ll learn—prickles under your skin. 

Because it doesn’t sound like a threat.

It sounds like a promise.

Your body catalogues the microadjustments again: the flex of leather at his hands, the sharp lines of his jaw as he grinds out the words with so little effort it’s almost mocking.

You resist the irrational urge to step closer.

Proximity is inefficient. Emotional responses disrupt cognitive processing.

You recite it mentally like a catechism.

Still.

The question rises, unbidden.

The same way it seems to always do with him.

“What is the mission objective?”

Blunt. Necessary. Something to tether yourself back to reason.

He doesn’t break stride. Doesn’t even flinch.

“You’re a smart girl,” he says instead, so casually it almost doesn’t register as condescension. Almost. “You’ll figure it out.”

You exhale sharply through your nose. Inefficient communication strategies. You’re tempted to cite the statistical decrease in operational success rates when leadership fails to fully brief its agents, but he’s baiting you. Purposefully.

And you, predictably, are already chasing.

“Statistically,” you begin, voice taut with precision, “the likelihood of successful insertion without a clear objective—”

“Statistically,” he cuts in, unbothered, “there shouldn’t even be a 25th hour.”

The implication lands harder than it should.

You tighten your jaw, recalibrating, watching how he watches you.

Like he’s daring you to keep up.

“You are evading,” you say. “Obfuscating under the guise of intellectual superiority.”

“Am I?” he says, feigning disinterest. His shoulders shrug—barely, beautifully. “Or maybe you just don’t like not being the smartest person in the room.”

You blink once. Slow. Methodical.

Your pulse betrays you anyway, kicking up by approximately 6 bpm.

“You overestimate your own cleverness,” you say evenly, even though some traitorous part of you wants him to keep doing it. 

Keep outsmarting you. Keep sparring until the tension snaps under its own weight.

“You underestimate my patience,” he counters.

Another tiny smirk. Quicker this time. Sharper.

Your chest feels too tight around your ribs.

Inefficient physiological response.

You step away—not because you want distance, but because your processing centers are beginning to overload. You need new data. A new angle.

You pivot sharply toward the park ahead.

Three steps away before you hear his chuckle—so quiet you almost mistake it for a glitch in ambient noise.

You don’t turn back.

Instead, you focus on the new structure—the park that wasn’t there before.

It waits ahead, pristine and out of place. Grass too green. Air too clean. Symmetry too perfect.

Manufactured. Synthetic.

You slow your pace, narrowing your eyes, cataloging inconsistencies: tree spacing (1.3 meters apart, unnaturally even), the curvature of the path (identical to simulation model 8C), the temperature drop (2 degrees lower than the surrounding sector).

You feel Yoongi’s presence a few steps behind you. Not following. Not chasing.

Waiting.

Just like he always does.

Just like he always has.

And somehow, despite everything you know—despite every logic protocol firing in your mind—you want him to follow anyway.

You inhale sharply. Taste static on your tongue.

Focus.

Not on him.

On the mission.

On the park.

Focus on anything except the way Min Yoongi—a ghost, an anomaly—manages to outsmart you without even trying.

So that’s what you do—you focus forward, eyes locking onto the new structure rising ahead of you—all marble paths and manicured trees and gentle, glistening statues under the waning light.

A park that didn’t exist last week.

A plaza that hums wrong against your skin.

Your steps slow as you approach, instinct warning you even before your mind can fully process it.

You analyze the angles of the paths. The symmetry of the displays. The too-perfect gloss of the stone.

The air feels wrong here—too still, like it's been filtered of something vital.

But curiosity nags at you. It always does, when things defy explanations.

You step forward into the park, assessing its dimensions with a precision that seems excessive even to you. The perimeter measures exactly 247.8 meters around. The pathways curve at identical 30-degree angles. The statues are placed at equidistant intervals of precisely 12.4 meters.

Perfect. Too perfect.

Your temporal readings spike by 0.17% as you observe families strolling casually through what your analytical mind categorizes as a statistical impossibility. A man pushes a stroller past a bronze figure frozen mid-gesture. A couple takes selfies beneath the outstretched arm of another.

"The Garden of Stability," reads a polished plaque at the entrance. "Honoring those who sacrificed to maintain our timeline."

You've never seen this place before. You're certain of it. 

Yet your Chrono-Sync Watch registers no anomalies beyond the acceptable variance threshold.

Curious.

You move deeper into the garden, cataloging details: like the fact that the statues are eerily lifelike—capturing expressions with a fidelity that exceeds current manufacturing capabilities by approximately 27%. 

Furthermore, each statue has a small plaque fixed to its base. 

You approach the nearest one, a figure of a woman with her hand extended, fingers splayed as if reaching for something just beyond grasp.

"In memory of Eska Thior—sacrificed herself to stabilize Sector 7 during the temporal disturbance of 2156."

Your eyes narrow as you analyze the woman's expression. 

The sculptor has captured what should be determination, but there's something else—something in the eyes that registers as wrong. 

Your visual processing identifies it as fear, not resolve.

You move to the next statue. A man looking skyward, one foot slightly raised as if caught mid-step.

"In memory of Vayon Zesian—sacrificed himself to protect civilian timelines during the Sector 4 anomaly."

The black man's face is frozen in what the plaque suggests is awe or reverence. But your pattern recognition flags inconsistencies: the tension in his jaw is 38% higher than would be expected in a reverent expression. His fingers are curved at angles suggesting resistance, not surrender.

Your head throbs—a dull, persistent ache that intensifies as you catalog each discrepancy. Yet you continue, your analytical mind demanding more data despite the physical discomfort.

A sharp tug at your wrist interrupts your analysis. You turn, ready to object to the invasion of your personal space, when you register Agent Min's face exactly 31.7 centimeters from yours. His eyes contain a warning that makes no logical sense given the context.

"Shh," he says, the sound barely audible at 22 decibels. "Act normal."

You blink, processing both the command and the unusual tension in his posture. His hand remains on your wrist, gloved fingers gripping with precisely 42% more pressure than necessary for attention-getting purposes.

"This wasn't here yesterday," you whisper, your voice automatically matching his volume. "It's new."

"Yes, it is," he confirms, his eyes never meeting yours. Instead, they scan the perimeter. "And I'd advise against looking at the statues."

The request is illogical. You're already looking at them. You've already cataloged five discrepancies and three statistical anomalies in their design.

"Why?" you ask, the question forming before you can process the tension radiating from his body.

You turn away from him precisely as he tightens his grip—too late to stop your movement. Your eyes land on a statue directly ahead, positioned 15.3 meters from your current location. 

A man in a CHRONOS uniform, arms outstretched as if embracing the air around him.

Robin.

Your cognitive processes stutter, creating a 0.7-second delay between visual input and meaning assignment. 

Robin. Cubicle 47-B. Coffee preference: black with one sugar. Temporal compliance rating: 98.7%. Lunch companion: yesterday, 12:37 PM to 1:14 PM.

"That's Robin," you state, your voice dropping to 19 decibels. "I had lunch with him yesterday."

Your stomach contracts unexpectedly, digestive acids rising by approximately 37%. Your neural pathways struggle to reconcile the contradiction: Robin alive yesterday. Robin memorialized today.

Robin moving, breathing, complaining about the cafeteria's tempeh option yesterday.

Robin frozen in bronze today.

No fabrication facility could produce a statue this detailed in less than 24 hours. 

The metallurgical processes alone would require at minimum 72 hours for casting and cooling, with an additional 48 for detailing and patina development.

Unless...

Your analytical mind reaches the conclusion precisely as your stomach lurches again—a visceral response you didn't anticipate and cannot control.

They're not statues.

"We need to leave," Agent Min says, voice pitched extremely low. 

His fingers adjust on your wrist, shifting downward by 2.3 centimeters until they rest against the pulse point where your glove meets your sleeve.

Your heart rate increases by 13.7 beats per minute.

Not from his touch. From the realization.

"They're not statues," you confirm aloud, your voice clinical despite the acid burning the back of your throat. "They're people. Frozen in some form of temporal stasis."

Agent Min's jaw tightens, the muscle visibly tensing beneath his skin. 

“Not here," he warns, his voice barely audible. "Camera at your two o'clock, range 17 meters. Audio capture capabilities."

You process this new variable, immediately adjusting your behavior patterns. Your posture shifts by 4.3 degrees—more casual, less alert. Your expression recalibrates to something 76% more neutral.

"The craftsmanship is remarkable," you say at standard conversational volume, the words feeling like ash on your tongue. "Such attention to detail."

Agent Min's eyes flash with something that might be approval if it weren't overshadowed by urgency. 

“We should continue our walk," he says evenly. "There's more to see in Sector 4."

His fingers remain at your pulse point for exactly 2.7 seconds longer than necessary before releasing. The warmth lingers—a ghost sensation you struggle to categorize.

You follow his lead, moving away from Robin's frozen form with measured steps despite the increasing pressure in your chest. Your breathing adjusts automatically—in for 4 seconds, out for 6—matching the pattern Agent Min established earlier.

Families continue to mill around you, oblivious to the horror disguised as art. A child points at Robin's statue, tugging at her mother's sleeve.

"He looks so happy, mommy! Like he's giving everyone a big hug!"

Your vision blurs by approximately 12%—an inexplicable visual phenomenon you'll need to analyze later.

Agent Min positions himself precisely 47 centimeters to your left—close enough for temporal alignment, far enough to maintain whatever invisible boundary he's established. 

But something has changed. 

His posture carries 27% more tension than before, and his eyes scan the area with a renowned frequency.

"Don't look back," he instructs as you approach the park's exit. "And whatever you do, don't react when I tell you this."

You maintain your neutral expression, eyes fixed forward as instructed.

"There are seventeen of them in this garden," he says, voice low and controlled. "All from your monitoring facility. All disappeared within the last 72 hours."

Your Chrono-Sync Watch beeps softly: Temporal variance: 1.12%.

A warning. Your emotional response is affecting your temporal stability.

You inhale slowly, forcing your analytical mind to take precedence over the uncomfortable pressure building behind your sternum.

"Probability of coincidence: less than 0.003%," you calculate aloud, keeping your voice steady despite the data.

"It's not a coincidence," he confirms, voice dropping even lower. "It's a message."

"For who?"

His eyes meet yours briefly—0.8 seconds of direct contact that somehow feels heavier than it should.

"For us," he says simply. "For you."

Your temporal variance increases to 1.17%.

"They're hunting for Outliers," he continues, eyes scanning the path ahead. "This garden is both a warning and a trap. They're watching for reactions—for people who recognize what they're really seeing."

“That's why you grabbed my wrist. You anticipated my reaction."

A ghost of that infuriating half-smile crosses his face. "You're predictable in some ways, Noma."

The nickname dulls the ache sitting low in your stomach for reasons you cannot comprehend.

"Robin greeted me yesterday," you realize aloud, the pieces clicking into place. "At lunch. He looked at me strangely when I mentioned the temporal fluctuation in Sector 3."

Agent Min's expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes darkens. 

“How long was the conversation?"

"17 minutes, 42 seconds."

"And did you discuss anything related to temporal anomalies after that?"

You review the memory, analyzing each exchange with renewed scrutiny. 

"Negative. The conversation shifted to cafeteria food quality."

He exhales—a controlled release of breath that betrays nothing of his thoughts. 

“That might have been enough."

Your stomach lurches.

Robin is frozen in bronze because of you. Because he noticed something. Because he might have reported it.

The data is insufficient for a definitive conclusion, but the probability exceeds 72.4%.

Your temporal variance increases to 1.23%.

"Steady," Agent Min murmurs, his voice carrying a cadence that seems designed to stabilize your readings. "Focus on your breathing. In for 4, out for 6."

You comply automatically, your body responding to the instruction before your mind can process why. 

"Is this what happens to all Outliers?" you ask once your variance stabilizes at 1.09%. "They become... monuments?"

"No," he says finally. "Most are simply erased and reprogrammed. This is... new."

"A tactical adjustment," you surmise. "Enhanced psychological warfare."

"Yes." 

"Why now?"

His jaw tightens, eyes darkening to that dangerous shade that makes your pulse accelerate by 7.2 beats per minute. 

"Because they're getting desperate."

"Why would CHRONOS be desperate? They control reality itself."

His eyes meet yours, something unreadable flashing in their depths. 

“That's what I'd like to know," he mutters, voice dropping to that dangerous octave that makes your skin prickle.

The discrepancy registers immediately. Agent Min doesn't ask questions—he provides answers, often cryptic and insufficient, but answers nonetheless. This response pattern deviates by approximately 87% from established behavioral norms.

Before you can analyze further, your body betrays you.

It starts as a contraction in your esophagus—sudden, violent, measuring approximately 74% stronger than standard swallowing reflex. Your salivary glands activate at 243% above baseline, flooding your mouth with excess moisture. Your stomach muscles clench in rhythmic waves, each contraction more intense than the last.

The analytical part of your mind calculates: gastric acid rising at 7.2 centimeters per second, diaphragm contracting at 3.7 times normal pressure, throat constricting at 82% capacity.

The rest of you simply feels.

Robin's face. Frozen in bronze that isn't bronze.

Your Chrono-Sync Watch beeps a warning: Temporal variance: 2.43%.

A dangerous spike.

Your body heaves, doubling you over with a force that defies voluntary control. The acid burns at exactly 4.7 on the pH scale, searing the back of your throat as you fight to contain it. Your vision narrows to a field of approximately 47 degrees, peripheral awareness fading as your sensory systems redirect all processing power to the immediate crisis.

You register Agent Min's hand on your back—exactly T4 vertebra, pressure precisely calibrated at 2.3 kilograms, generating heat at 38.2°C despite the glove barrier.

"CHRONOS agents," he says, voice suddenly sharp with urgency. "Two o'clock, range 43 meters. Moving this way."

Your body doesn't care about CHRONOS agents. Your body only knows that Robin is frozen in timeless agony while families take selfies beneath his outstretched arms.

Another contraction—87% stronger than the previous one. Your analytical mind attempts to categorize the physiological response but finds no suitable parameters. 

This isn't logical. This isn't efficient. This isn't you.

Agent Min's hand moves from your spine to your wrist in one fluid motion. His fingers lock around the pulse point where your glove meets your sleeve, grip tensing to exactly 3.6 kilograms of pressure.

"Move. Now."

Your body moves before your mind processes the instruction, legs automatically adjusting to match his sudden directional shift. You register environmental changes with fragmented precision: ambient temperature decreasing by 1.7°C, crowd density increasing by 23%, noise levels rising to 72 decibels.

Agent Min guides you, his body angled at exactly 37 degrees relative to yours—shielding you from direct line of sight with the approaching agents while maintaining casual appearance.

"Temporal signature spiking," he mutters, grip tightening by another 0.4 kilograms. "They'll detect it if we don't stabilize you."

Your watch confirms his assessment: Temporal variance: 3.17%.

Critical threshold approaching.

The nausea intensifies, each wave synchronized perfectly with the beeping of your watch. Their correlation approaches 97.3%—statistically significant by any measure.

"Coffee shop," Agent Min decides, adjusting your trajectory by 28 degrees. "Northeast corner. Dampening field in the walls."

Your cognitive processes struggle to keep pace with the sensory overload. The street blurs around you—not from speed but from some perceptual distortion your analytical mind cannot quantify.

You glimpse your reflection in a storefront window as you pass—your face pale by approximately 37% compared to baseline, pupils dilated to 7.2 millimeters, micro-expressions cycling at 3.4 times normal rate.

You barely recognize yourself.

Another contraction seizes your stomach, more violent than before. Agent Min's arm shifts, sliding around your waist with a familiarity that feels habitual despite being entirely new. 

"Almost there," he says, voice dropping to that calibrated cadence that seems designed to stabilize your readings. "In for 4, out for 6. Match me."

Your body complies automatically, respiratory system syncing to his pattern without conscious direction. 

CHRONOS agents appear in your peripheral vision—three of them, moving with the unnatural precision that marks them as Timekeepers. Their trajectory will intersect with yours in approximately 12.3 seconds at current velocity.

"They're tracking your signature," Agent Min confirms, pace increasing by 0.3 meters per second. "Coffee shop.”

The coffee shop materializes ahead—a nondescript building with that averageness that makes it practically invisible to casual observation. Its design incorporates exactly zero distinguishing architectural features, rendering it 87% forgettable to the human brain.

Perfect camouflage.

Agent Min guides you through the door body positioned at precisely the optimal angle to shield yours from external observation. The bell chimes at exactly 56 hertz—a frequency your analytical mind flags as mathematically significant though you cannot immediately determine why.

The door closes behind you with a soft click that somehow sounds final.

Agent Min's arm remains around your waist—a point of contact your body accepts with suspicious automaticity.

Your Chrono-Sync Watch beeps one last time before falling silent: Temporal variance: 1.78%.

Decreasing. Stabilizing.

The nausea recedes by approximately 42%, leaving behind a hollow sensation you cannot properly categorize.

Agent Min's eyes meet yours, and he looks… concerned?

"Breathe," he instructs.

You comply, your body responding to his command without conscious direction.

In for 4.

Out for 6.

In for 4.

Out for 6.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

goal: 100 notes.

next | index

— taglist

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @ktownshizzle @yoongiiuu93 @billy-jeans23 @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @hobis-sprite0218 @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @cristy-101 @mellyyyyyyx

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[saphireeyes9875]

You know, I love all the analyses the fandom is making about the Pristine Cut and Slay the Princess in general, but I haven't seen a lot of people talk about the nature of the Construct. Sure, we all know that the Narrator created it somehow to contain both the Long Quiet and the Shifting Mound, but the actual “fabric” of the Construct is these two gods.  An attentive eye might catch very early in a playthrough that the trees, the sky, the ground - they’re all shades of dark grey and black, with a feathery texture that is unquestionably Quiet. The new Apotheosis showcases this very well. 

But the cabin is different. It’s all light grey and white - Shifty’s colors. I believe that the most notable way this is shown is during our encounters with Shifty’s incomplete form. When we are “at the cabin”, all we can see is her mass of hands and the vessel we brought her - which implies that Shifty is the cabin itself.

And that’s fascinating to me, because the cabin is also, by the Narrator’s design, her own prison. Just as he establishes in his opening monologue that we are on a path in the woods, he also cleverly says that the Princess is within that cabin, and that if she escapes it, the world ends. And, except in the Wild, none of these two statements are ever refuted by either the Hero or the Princess, because to do so is to unravel the very fabric of their false reality.

So even though it seems like the cabin should bend to the Princess’ will, being quite literally her domain, it remains her prison in every other route.

In many Chapter 2’s, but especially in the Nightmare and the Beast, the Princess emphasizes the fact that the cabin will not let her leave - very ironic, since we’ve just seen how the interior of the cabin has been completely reshaped by the Princess’ influence.

I love this line from the Beast, because you can so clearly see how the Narrator’s beliefs have bled through the Construct. I was reminded of it the first time I played through the Princess and the Dragon, because the repetition of “this is what you deserve”, as other people pointed out, seems very much like something the Narrator would tell her.

Speaking of the Princess and the Dragon, I've recently noticed a very interesting line in the lead-up to this chapter! Once Spectre possesses you and you decide to slay her, the Narrator says this:

Here, our very flesh imprisons the Princess in the same way the Narrator imprisoned the Shifting Mound - the cabin - within the Construct - which is, of course, the Long Quiet itself. I almost can't believe the Narrator would make such a direct comparison like this, but I suppose that in this route we never come to question our surroundings like in the Wild.

Notably, however, the Princess can escape the cabin when you are accompanying her. On a meta-narrative level, this makes complete sense: the characters can only escape the cycle of violence they are trapped in when they work together. But within the narrative of the game, this doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the Construct’s rules. The Narrator would never allow such a thing if he could help it, so this must be Shifty’s influence coming through, right?

And this reminds me of another two routes, the ones I’ve seen people describe as the most genre-savvy ones: the Damsel and the Tower.

If in Chapter 1, you don't question how you should get her out of her chains, in this variation of the Damsel route the Voice of the Hero will ask why the Princess hasn’t escaped already if her shackle is so loose, and Smitten replies with this line: “we’ve yet to present her with her freedom”.

On a surface level, this seems like a pretty arrogant, even demeaning line, a trend in this chapter that robs the Damsel of her agency. On a meta-narrative level, this is commenting on how the “damsel in distress” archetype is often a shell of a character that simply exists to reward the “hero”. But I also think this hints at how the Princess, either subconsciously or by the Narrator’s influence, doesn’t believe that it’s possible for her to escape alone - and therefore, she can’t.

Tower, arguably the vessel most aware of the extent of her powers, is even clearer when she tells us that she could easily break her chains and escape the cabin - and she does so in the Apotheosis - but that’s not the story she wants to tell. As much as they yearn for freedom, all the Princesses, by their very nature as beings of perception, want to be perceived, to connect with someone… especially with the Hero, of course.

(this line makes me go feral every time btw, it's so simple and yet so effective -)

Anyway, this was a very long winded way of saying that the Narrator somehow managed to make the Shifting Mound’s “body” into her own prison (which is insane if you think about it) and she can only be freed with the Long Quiet’s help. I’m not sure if this is like, super obvious, but I still wanted to talk about it, soooo if anyone wants to add to this, I'd love to discuss more!

(Edit 11/01/25: Added a missing Damsel screenshot with the help of @quicksilversnails, and rambled a bit about the lead-up to the Princess and the Dragon.)

[mokishy]

Diomedes is not so fundamentally different from his father.

I HAVE DELIVERED

After months of dragging my feet, I finally fished it! (in 4 hours holy shit) and I'm kinda proud of it, but this is probably also the product of my excessive overthinking, but with not further ado, let's begin!

Let’s start with the basics: Tydeus was known for being a wild, out-of-control warrior. His rage was legendary. Diomedes? On paper, he’s the golden child: loyal, calm, respectful, chosen by Athena herself.

But that image of diomedes comes crashing down the moment you dig deeper into his character

On the surface, Diomedes is framed as the “better” version of his father, Tydeus: more disciplined, more strategic, favored by Athena instead of punished by her as stated previously. The Achaeans respect him (not so much leave the poor boy alone let him have his moment instead of comparing him to his father), the gods empower him, and Homer seems to elevate him as the model warrior.

But as i said, when you dig into the text, really look at what Diomedes does, how he fights, how he speaks, you start to see something much deeper and darker: he's not all that different from Tydeus at all when you think about it.

Reading the iliad but focusing on diomedes character its as if he’s constantly on the edge, just barely containing something

he’s a machine of destruction. He slaughters Trojans left and right, wounds Aphrodite without hesitation, and goes after Ares, the literal god of war. He only stops when Apollo himself tells him to back off—and even then, he makes a move again before finally being shut down.

That kind of divine defiance? That’s Tydeus-level rage. It’s just masked under a sheen of Athena’s wisdom and a more calculated cool. Diomedes may wear the face of the perfect Homeric hero, but there’s a savage streak that echoes his father’s madness, just barely held in check.

In the iliad book 10 dio and ody sneak in trojan teritory they catch dolon a trojan spie

Odysseus promises to spare him if he gives them info about the trojans and man sure does he spill

After that? Diomedes decapitates him.

He doesn’t just kill Dolon (after promising to spare him,) he slaughters him, strips him, and then goes on a joyride of death through the enemy camp. When they find Rhesus and his Thracians, Diomedes doesn’t blink—he kills twelve men in their sleep. And then he wants to keep going, like it’s not enough. It’s only when Athena, again, steps in and essentially says, “Okay, calm down now,” that he stops. In this book with Rhesus and the Thracians, Diomedes is already done. He’s already got what he came for. But instead of retreating, he chooses to kill—because it’s not about necessity. It’s about the desire to keep going.

And what’s so chilling about this is how pointless it is, tactically. After Dolon gives them all the info, they don’t need to go murder a dozen men. Diomedes chooses to. He gets no kleos, no divine reward. he doesn’t need a prize. The violence is the prize. He just does it. Because he can.

it’s explicit in the language Homer uses. Diomedes is in full battle ecstasy mode. described as moving like a lion among sheep, grinning and glorying in the chaos. he doesn’t just kill efficiently.

He revels in it.

He likes it, he thrives on the battlefield, and he enjoys bloodshed

"And the son of Tydeus, Diomedes, was glad in his heart as he struck down the men." Iliad book 5

"Glad in his heart" That phrase ("χαῖρε δὲ θυμῷ") pops up in a moments of sheer war ecstasy. It’s not just duty or valor—it’s joy. And when you see it describing Diomedes mid-slaying spree? That’s not your clean-cut hero. That’s a man dancing on the edge of madness.

it’s not just duty. It’s pleasure.

This illustrates how Diomedes isn’t just acting out of obligation not out of practicality, not out of necessity he’s relishing in the kill. It’s not just about the heroics or strategy; there’s an almost primal enjoyment in the violence itself.

The fact that he “was glad in his heart” tells you how far this man is from just being a noble warrior. He’s got that bloodlust burning inside him, and there’s an undeniable thrill in the destruction. It's scary how much he enjoys others suffering.

It’s clear that Diomedes, despite his noble status and divine favor, has that same chaotic, destructive edge his father Tydeus had—it’s just barely held in check.

That bloodlust? That JUST SCREAMS tydeus the difference?: Diomedes knows how to leash it. He’s not the monster his father was; he’s the tamer of that monster within himself. That restraint is what elevates him from being another brutal warrior into something greater: a true hero who chooses to remain in control, even when the thrill of violence is right there.

In fact, the only real difference is that Diomedes is simply better at pretending he’s in control. He puts on the face of the noble hero, but underneath, that same wildfire of rage, that same lust for blood, is burning—just like it was in Tydeus.

Diomedes doesn’t just embody the traits of a Homeric hero—he tests their limits. He walks a razor-thin line between earning immortal kleos and crossing into the kind of reckless savagery the gods despise. The same rage that drives his heroism threatens to tip him into hubris at any moment; and he gets away with it every time.

What makes Diomedes so compelling and so chilling is not that he lacks the ferocity of his father but that he’s better at hiding it. Tydeus is obvious in his rage; he makes no effort to conceal the monster he is. Diomedes, on the other hand, knows how to perform the role of the ideal hero: the noble warrior, the obedient champion of Athena

He’s not more virtuous—he’s just more strategic. He doesn’t kill less, or more cleanly, or even more justly. He kills with the same savage delight, but with the awareness to pull back just before he crosses a line that would cost him divine favor or mortal admiration. This ability to pretend, to wear a hero’s mask while feeding the same destructive instincts as Tydeus hiding the underlying madness behind that mask, makes Diomedes the more dangerous figure. Tydeus may have lost control; but Diomedes hides his control so well, it’s easy to forget what he’s controlling in the first place.

What makes this ironic is that Diomedes, despite all his bloodlust and near-madness, still (in some versions), gets the immortality that was denied to his father. Tydeus, who couldn’t contain his violent nature, ended up punished by the gods; he was denied the eternal glory he craved. Diomedes, on the other hand, dances on the edge of divine retribution, right there with him, and yet, he walks away with not just divine favor but immortality itself.

He’s not Tydeus 2.0.

He’s Tydeus 2.0 with better self-control

And honestly,

I think he kinda fooled all of us

[superbfirnacho]

Words cannot describe how much I despise the og dreamtale story, and I'll share why.

if we're speaking purely by the barebones plot, dreamtale can be, on a surface level, considered a well put together story on how there are different ways to feel negative and positive emotions and how feeling negativity towards some things is healthy, but letting it consume you leads to you yourself becoming what you previously hated the most. It also explores how being to positive and not letting yourself feel negative emotion is harmful toward your mental health and wellbeing.

This is where I think Dreamtale fundamentally fails.

Joku decided to write Nightmare (and dream but we'll get there) in a way that actually harms the story its trying to tell.

Passive is an innocent child, bullied for something he cannot control, this is because the people around him associate negative emotion and negativity = Bad, harmful. As the readers, we know this isn't the case, but eventually, passive is pushed over the edge and consumes one of the apples of negativity.

Nightmare is immediately corrupted, but instead of Nightmare being well.... nightmare, passive is apparently dead and nightmare is now a dead, vengeful hunter that had tried to slay Nim (Dream and Nightmares Mother) a soul was trapped in the tree?

This could be Joku trying to convey that sometimes negativity can consume a person so much it fundamentally changes them, but this is much less impactful. We have not grown close to this Nightmare, we just know that he's evil now, and he wants to kill everyone yet also have more negativity? The only motive that makes sense is killing his brother.

I believe that this could have been much more impactful if we cut the hunter out entirely and portray Nightmare as he really was when he transformed; A scared, hurt child.

Nightmare wasn't immediately this imposing, dark, and looming figure of uncertain fate, he was a child whose negative emotions consumed him, and being a young child, he lashed out.

And he would continue lashing out, for many years, many different villages. But as he aged, he also matured and realized that the murder of thousands of people would not help him achieve his main goal: Killing Dream. After this realization, he hid himself away in an abandoned castle, collecting his followers from across the multiverse and preparing for the fights with Dream soon to come.

Dream is a little more complicated to asses, as throughout the story, he is portrayed as an innocent baby who can never do anything wrong.

But Dream is an adult.... and he should be treated as such. we never see any of Dreams flaws and disadvantages explored, only the fact that he loves his brother.

I wish we could've seen Dream struggle with negative emotions and feels as thought he must bottle them up being the guardian of positivity.

I want to see him look back and hate the villagers that hurt his brother, and he has to come and confront the fact that he has hate and negativity in his soul and its okay to feel those emotions.

But this is all just my opinion, share your thoughts/how you think the story could have been handled better.

[j0kb0x]

Since guts and blackpowder gives us free range for the characters here’s some personal headcanons for their personalities and lives given you can only psychoanalyze them so much. This is as realistic as I can make it based off surface level psychoanalysis + untrue garbage I made up.

Barry:

Despite his short temper (Typical brit) Williams is socially inept and shy. Like super timid. That dumb little softboy persona he has going on there shouldn’t be an indicator that he isn’t dangerous. Dude literally got trained as an infantry solider. He doesn’t want to hurt people, in fact, he avoids it when he can. The war is needless to him and he doesn’t understand why they’d draft someone like him — a lowly stableboy who’s quite known in his village for treating his horses and farm animals like his babies. His overly affectionate and polite personality (which came directly from his overbearing mother) has landed him a lot of bullying by his peers. Aforementioned hesitation to the enemy, but to zombies? He’s under the belief they’re from satan himself like the rest of the world. Afraid of them, but feels a spiritual duty to slay God’s enemies.

Jean:

He’s overly paranoid of Napoleon failing, and holds those french revolutionary beliefs. He wants Napoleon to win, so badly. He really doesn’t want his children living in a world with a stupid monarchy eating better than they do. Jean has no comprehension that maybe Napoleon isn’t the best fit for a country’s leader, in fact he’ll yell at you if you suggest otherwise. His wife died during childbirth and this, coupled with war has hardened him. He has never laid a single hand on his children because his father was deeply abusive, and of course this resulted in a pretty pessimistic, sad, depressed mess of a man. Constantly wanting better and yet fearing the worst. He’s a tough love kind of fatherly friend. Eat your damn rations or you will die. Speaking of which he literally wants to die :D

Jacob:

If this were modern day he’d be legally blind. His clumsiness isn’t the result of stupidity. The direct opposite in fact. He overthinks his job way too much and couple that with his dogshit eyesight, it’s no wonder he has a track record of being the napoleonic war’s personal south park Kenny. If ever a cartoon were made, I could l definitely see him in the background nailing in stakes incorrectly and getting confused as to why it wasn’t as affective as the other sapper’s. He has two sisters back at home and they hate him. They’re pro-monarchy, he isn’t. He raised and took care of these awful pieces of shit. Who were independent thinking teenagers by the time their parents died of sickness. So he couldn’t really influence them even if he tried. He has largely remained non(?) un(?) courted and unmarried his entire life. Hes a huge wine mom induced by stress and if you ever asked him why he never took a wife, he’d start spontaneously crying probably. Sad drunk. Cannot show emotions unless he’s drunk.

Karl / Unnamed Officer:

Selective mutism, ambition.. Way too much ambition. He wants to take down Napoleon himself and even fully believes he’s capable of doing so. Wants to cheat his way above the ranks somehow. He hides this and refuses to reveal his intentions to virtually anyone. Trying to get as close to the general as possible. Not because he agrees with the monarchy thing, but he just wants the fame and glory that comes along with executing him. The other men have horrible tempers but him? Holy. shit. He does not usually act upon his anger but as a wise man once said, “Silence speaks louder than words.” He silently judges those he’s angry at. Could imagine him getting teased, gripping a damn teacup so hard that it shatters in his hand and causes the entire room to go quiet. His whole regiment is batshit TERRIFIED of him. He refuses to betray his life story, let alone if he has any family. Nobody knows crap about him and that furthers the fear. Karl literally popped out of nowhere and his adorable babyface and gentle voice has won him the hearts of women wishing to be his wives… Whom he rudely pushed away in disgust. Has anyone seen that one scene in pootie tang where a woman is simping after him, and so he slips her a bowl of milk like a fucking clingy cat? Yeah I feel Karl would pull something like that.

[mihai-florescu]

I know you guys dont read with your eyes closed but just to clarify, he never built a relationship with her to manipulate, exploit, abuse, or get anything out of it, he's always been professional and looked over her as his junior in the same industry. Her admiration and crush on him is not reciprocated nor is it a result of grooming. Sometimes kids and teens just get crushes on people they look up to without those people having planted these feelings with an agenda

No way i saw someone on tiktok say akiomi groomed arashi💀💀💀

[reddpenn]

Your whole rock collection is a slay. Show me some funky pieces you haven't been asked about yet!!!!

Here’s a rock I’ve been dying to talk about! This little guy is orthoclase feldspar! You might be familiar with the feldspar family, as it contains gemstones such as sunstone, moonstone, labradorite, and amazonite. What’s really, really interesting about this piece of feldspar is its shape. This cool formation is called a Carlsbad Twin. Let me tell you about it!

Feldspar crystals often form as flat-topped, six-sided prisms which are strongly skewed sideways. Here’s an example of another feldspar in my collection, amazonite, which shows off this crystal habit really clearly!

The two crystals in my piece of orthoclase are making that common feldspar shape! But you’ve probably also noticed how they appear to be mirror images of each other, and also growing through each other.

That’s Carlsbad twinning!! It’s a type of penetration twinning, which means the crystals appear to be penetrating or passing through each other. But looks can be deceiving; what's ACTUALLY happening here is much cooler. These crystals are conjoined twins! One hasn’t penetrated the other; they’re actually sharing some of their molecules like human conjoined twins might share organs.

This can happen because of the shape of feldspar’s crystal lattice - the orderly arrangement of its molecules.

The crystal lattice won't match up perfectly throughout the entire structure, but it WILL match up right along the C axis, where we flipped it. Along this line the grid of molecules aligns, and our twin crystals can share them. The place where lattice points are shared is called the composition surface.

Simply put, molecules don’t know what shape they’re making on a macro level. The shapes they make are by complete accident, because that just happens to be what shape you get when you arrange molecules in that kind of grid. The only thing the molecules know is how they can connect to other molecules. It doesn’t matter to them which direction the crystal is growing in, or which direction the crystal lattice is facing. If they can connect up in a way that completely flips the crystal lattice, well... they don't know they're doing that! They're just doing what molecules do!

And that’s how you get Carlsbad Twins!

[astrow1zar6]

Astrology Observations- 34

Capricorn moons are very uncomfortable expressing emotions and can get kinda weird when others express strong emotions to them. A lot of cap moons felt they needed to detach from their emotions to survive when young so it can be harder for them to get in tune with their emotional nature. (They are surprisingly sensitive tho however)

Mercury in Pisces usually struggled with logical thinking and speaking when growing up. They usually understand things without having to think about them it’s like they get a hunch and just know without explanation but they usually have a hard time expressing what they know in logical terms so that others can understand. Because of this inability many people might’ve thought they weren’t smart or are never paying attention.

Sun in the 1st house people are so magnetic. Even if they barely speak they usually have a a bunch of people trying to date them or be their friend. If any of you ever watched Naruto I feel like Sasuke definitely had this placement. He really didn’t care to be around anyone or socialize but people were so obsessed with him. They just have the IT factor whether they realize it or not.

Moon in Leo’s really enjoy being babied by people especially by their partners! They really crave emotional attention low-key.

Mars in the 8th house people can be without human touch for too long or they start acting really unstable. They are very physical people.

Saturn in the 8th house people don’t really experience true intimacy till later in life. I’ve seen a lot of people with this placement deal with very surface level relationships that are usually unsatisfying. they deeply fear emotional connections mainly because they are very sensitive to criticism and rejection which causes them to avoid it completely. when things get too deep they put up more walls which prevents their relationships from blossoming past a certain point. As they age however they will learn to trust others more.

Pisces sun/moons loved to play pretend when they were kids. They were always pretending they were fairytale creatures and usually had imaginary friends.

Jupiter in Leo is such a slay placement. If you have this placement you ARE the main character (especially if it’s in the 1st, 2nd, 7th or 10th house) chefs kiss 😘 🤌🏼

Virgo moons can be veryyyy petty when mad mad. I know a lot who enjoy throwing others flaws in their face, they can be very notorious for that (if underdeveloped however) they can be more impulsive with their words than Aries moons at times.

Leo risings can be very blinded by others beauty. I’ve seen some that date the shittiest people just cuz they’re attractive they can be very superficial (similar to libra rising) they just really appreciate beauty and love showing off attractive partners they can almost see it like a trophy.

Pisces sun/mercury can become very confused easily. They can be listening to someone so intently and then completely forget what they were talking about or vice versa they can be telling a story to someone and then in the middle of the story completely forget what they’re talking about 😂 (I’m guilty for this 😭)

Sag risings could’ve been called obnoxious a lot growing up :(

Leo suns love attention negative and positive. That’s why they usually take fame better than most signs they just really love being seen.

Having a lot of 3rd house placements can make even the most introverted person talk A LOT. Especially when it’s in Venus or mercury. When given an opportunity they can yap all day and when it’s something they’re into you’ll never hear the end of it😂 it’s very cute tho

If a Capricorn rising looks really bothered while you are talking to them they are lol. They HATE pointless yap.

Saturn in 7th house have DADDY ISSUES!!!

Moon in 5th house composite is sooooo adorable 🥺 you feel so happy inside being near them even if you don’t say a word to eachother you just want them there. You also love touching eachother.