𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏

[hdriyan]

yo ☁️ thank you for allowing me to take up space. the name’s 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 and meet, 𝑹𝑰𝒀𝑨𝑵 𝑴𝑶𝑶𝑵. a flamboyant yet strategic; charming yet a calculating socialite. he's the kind of person who can own a room with a glance but keeps his cards close to his chest nonetheless. read more about him down below, & like this post to start a conversation!

® extra pages: about, pinterest, discord (mssg).

𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑶𝑵𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑻𝒀

raised in a world of wealth and luxury, riyan learned pretty early that power isn’t just about money, it’s about presence. effortlessly charming, he's the type to command attention without demanding it. you see, growing up between new york and seoul he adapted to any environment, slipping between high society circles and underground creatives so easily.

riyan is a leo ☀️, and it shows. he thrives on admiration and knows exactly how to curate an image that keeps all eyes on him. fashion-forward and always impeccably styled, he has a sense of what works and what doesn’t, both in his wardrobe and in life. he’s unapologetically flamboyant but never careless. every move he makes is intentional, every word he says is equally measured.

beneath his bold exterior, riyan harbors a complicated relationship with his past. he is intelligent and strategic, using his wit to navigate a world that never quite embraced him the way it did his older, less tactful brother. he carries a quiet resentment, a desire to prove himself, not just a son, but as someone who can build his own empire.

loyal to those he chooses, riyan protects his inner circle fiercely. he’s the type to offer a listening ear, a designer jacket over your shoulders, and a sharp-tongued remark to those who dare to cross you. but trust is expensive with him. once broken, it’s never repaired.

despite his confidence, riyan craves something REAL. luxury and admiration aren’t enough, he wants people who sees through the performance and still chooses to stay. but for now? he plays the game, because love is just another power move. change his mind?

𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑲𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀 & 𝑭𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑺

born into a life of privilege, riyan was sent to korea at 11 after his mother’s passing, a decision that felt more like exile than protection. while his grandparents provided more warmth than he ever received from his parents, his father sent money, a currency meant to replace affection. he learned early that love wasn’t unconditional it had to be earned.

in boarding school, riyan carved out his place by sheer force of personality. he made friends in high and low places, learned the power of secrets, and honed his skills in music and dance, arts, that let him express what words never could. despite excelling, he always felt like an outsider, the boy with a different accent and a hidden grudge.

instead of following his father’s business path, riyan pursued entertainment, determined to make a name for himself on his own terms. his sharp looks, charisma, and raw talent caught the attention of agencies, and soon, he was on the path to becoming the next big thing.

but even under the stage lights, he’s still that boy searching for something more, more, and more. still wondering if his vanity and success will ever be enough.

𝑷𝑳𝑶𝑻 𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑺

besties: your muse and riyan have been friends for years, bonded by high fashion, scandalous gossip, and expensive tastes. let's go shopping and talk sh*t.

rivalries: maybe they’re both climbing the industry ladder, and there's a little too much tension between them. friendly competition or something more?

past relationships: riyan's had his fair share of exes, some messy, some unforgettable. are you one of them?

business connections: his father is a powerful man, does your muse have ties to the moon family? good or bad?

party partners: riyan thrives in nightlife. let's dance, drink, and make some expensive choices.

aesthetic muses: he loves being photographed, admired, and styled. take his picture, and maybe take his heart.

[hdharu]

haru  held  a  plastic  bottle  in  his  hand  with  the  cap  already  twisted  off  and  discarded,  ready  to  replenish  the  sheer  biological  toll  exerted  by  their  performance.  however,  the  only  motion  that  could  be  observed  from  him  was  the  subtle,  rhythmic  tightening  of  his  knuckles  around  the  thin  plastic.  he  was  a  pristine,  frozen  statue,  his  dark  eyes  still  cast  out  towards  the  audience,  as  if  he  were  waiting  for  the  deafening,  reverberating  roar  of  the  crowd  to  physically  knock  him  back  into  reality—or  more  accurately,  to  prove  to  him  that  this  was  reality  indeed.

it  took  him  a  few  heavy  seconds  to  recalibrate  his  senses  when  riyan's  voice  pierced  through  the  static.  blinking  slowly,  haru  turned  his  body  and  anchored  his  gaze  away  from  the  stage  to  offer  the  other  male  his  full,  undivided  attention.

behind  his  eyes,  the  lingering  embers  of  performance  adrenaline  still  burned,  bleeding  into  his  voice  as  it  carried  a  quiet,  uncharacteristic  confidence.  "i..."  haru  began,  his  tone  a  smooth,  grounding  contrast  against  the  frantic  energy  surrounding  them.  "yeah.  maybe  it  is."

for  better  or  for  worse,  riyan  had  caught  him  in  a  profoundly  unguarded  and  vulnerable  state.  his  usual  pedantic  architecture  gave  way  to  raw  instinct,  and  the  honest  thoughts  came  barrelling  out  before  his  systems  could  reel  them  back  in.

haru  shut  his  eyes  briefly  and  gave  his  head  a  subtle  shake,  as  though  he  were  physically  casting  aside  the  remaining  haze  of  exhaustion.  when  his  eyes  opened  again,  the  intense  fire  had  settled  into  a  muted  warmth,  and  he  offered  a  small,  disarmingly  genuine  smile.  "but  i'm  just  glad  i  didn't  get  in  anyone's  way.  i  spent  some  time  watching  your  past  performances  so  that  i'd  know  how  to  integrate  myself.  i  didn't...  i  didn't  expect  us  to  fall  into  sync  this  easily."

haru's  heartbeat  rang  loud  and  erratic  between  his  ears,  leaving  him  entirely  unable  to  determine  if  the  violent  thudding  against  his  ribcage  was  merely  the  lingering  echo  of  the  stage,  or  if  his  treacherous  mind  was  actively  short-circuiting  at  the  interpretation  of  riyan's  words  as  praise.

[hdriyan]

"You could never looked out of place." He reaches over before he fully thinks about it and flicks the crumpled plastic bottle lightly with two fingers. Just enough to disrupt the knuckled grip Haru has around it. The gesture is casual in theory, intimate in practice.

"Oh god, you watched my performances?" He laughs, carrying the aftertaste of adrenaline. "What did you think? I wasn't so bad, right? Those performances weren't like… This. With you." He thinks about debut often, the actual feeling of it: the nausea before walking onstage, loneliness of trying to look larger than he felt, scandals, an awful awareness that everyone around him was just as terrified and pretending otherwise. He didn't want newcomers to feel the same, and was kind of glad of this temporary group slash bootcamp.

Tonight had momentum.

He can still hear the crowd chanting somewhere outside, muffled, but enough to make his skin buzz all over again. It occurs to him suddenly, absurdly, that this might be the first time since training started that he's wanted the night to stretch instead of end. Riyan pushes off the wall completely then, stepping close enough that Haru could probably still feel the heat radiating off him from the stage. "People say being in sync happens accidentally, when you can't explain chemistry." He tosses the words lightly despite all what could mean, but then he smiles, quick and unbearably crooked. "So," he adds, "Cheers to you, Haru."

[hdyeonseok]

Jehwan stepped closer. And Yeonseong felt all his senses sharpen to a single point— as if suddenly made aware of their arrangement on the balcony, the distance between their bodies. Everything unnamed and undefined surrounding the two of them, still. It would be imprudent to continue to humor the conversation at hand; Jehwan may not have been a ghost, but he was still a stranger, and Yeonseong could not help but feel as if he were being coaxed into admitting something neither of them could really and wholly comprehend. In spite of this, the insinuation that they had both left something behind— and that Yeonseong had lost the memory of it, even now— had felt reassuring somehow. A calm settled in Yeonseong’s blood. An avowal.

“I’ve long suffered this thought, that I am not quite where I should be. But I do not have the imagination to envision myself elsewhere.” His mouth curved into a slow, self-deprecatory smile. “Your delivery of this scripture has consoled me. Thank you.” There was a brief pause before he continued again. Hesitantly now, and almost abashed: “Is it foolish of me to wonder if it consoles you, too?”

[hdriyan]

Jehwan suffered the silence to begin for a long while. The words swelled heavy inside his mind, until the only language remaining was a quiet heat that lingered in the scant breadth separating their bodies. The other's countenance was a beautiful betrayal of tenderness. "Perhaps what consoles is the comfort in discovering I am not alone in haunting these corridors like a ghost." His eyes lingered upon him then, ruinously intent. "I'm being foolish... It does console me. It renders the silence of this Pavilion alive."

His hand came to rest upon the cold lacquered railing, long fingers tapping once, twice, "Come," he said at last, the invitation itself an act of undressing. "You ought to hear the more of the poetry I have written. Though I warn you, they are not what they first sound." He turned from the balcony, letting a pale shimmer of his aura trail after him like moonlight spilled upon dark water. His chambers lay somewhere beyond the Pavilion's upper floors, yet the magic of that accursed estate never permitted certainty. He hooked his arm into the scholar’s to safe guard the journey there.

[hdriyan]

FT. @hdharu 🦁

Backstage at Yonsei University is total chaos. Cables snake across the floor, staff brush past without apology, hands appear out of nowhere with towels, with bottles, or with instructions that dissolve the second they're given. Everything is too immediate, suggesting the performance hasn't ended so much as it's followed them in. Riyan takes a water bottle without looking, twists it open, and drinks like he's been underwater for three minutes too long but make it demurely. He taps the back of his hand across his lips gently, eyes cutting sideways toward Haru like he needs to confirm it happened outside of himself. He's still carrying the grain of the stage, but loosened underneath now, uncoiled, or unguarded in a way that feels close despite their minimal interactions.

The reception was the best they've ever had. And that made Riyan think Haru might be the missing variable in an equation he didn't realize he was solving. Up close, everything is louder in a different way, the echo of the crowd still ringing in his ears, the faint hitch in his own breath, the way adrenaline lingers like a second heartbeat. "You felt that, right?" he asks, not demanding, but not quite casual either. Riyan tilts his head slightly, studying haru with an attention built out of shared exhaustion and the particular intimacy of surviving the same cut. "I ask because I didn't feel this during debut. Maybe it's because of you joining," Riyan adds, cheeky because he doesn't like to hide the truth, yet he is testing how much of it he can get away with.

[hdyeonseok]

Yeonseong had arrived alone, which also meant that he had arrived defenseless. He found himself at the mercy of sunlight, and although Je-hwan’s beauty was unfortunately lost upon him, Yeonseong’s eyes, set against the bleached expanse of morning sky, could still determine the faint outline of the other male’s silhouette. Could hear the resonant peal of his voice upon the wind. Yeonseong could not see him, and yet he was not at all immune to Je-hwan’s draw. He was unguarded against it, and he bowed his head down, low and courteous. “Red is not often a color I am associated with.”

Lacking any form of introduction, he had not even the vaguest of notions as to who he was speaking to: nobleman or servant, human or otherwise. Outside his family’s sprawling estate, he’d found himself more and more frequently in the company of sparrows and their benevolent keepers. And so— he did not think it a stretch to believe he was now speaking to something not entirely earthly. A seonnyeo, perhaps. Or a celestial who was exceptionally fond of riddles. “‘The world we left behind’... Do you speak of the capital?” Yeonseong was doubtful the answer could be so straightforward. “I’m afraid I do not recognize your meaning. Though, if you find me worthy of an explanation, I will do my utmost to understand it.”

[hdriyan]

Jehwan regarded him in silence first, as though the act itself were a courtesy he could extend or withdraw at will. Up close, the other's features and composure revealed its seams and it was… disarming. The way true beauty was meant to disarm. His lashes lowered, a careful dimming. "A fortunate omission," he said softly, conceding a point that had never been pressed. There was the faintest bow in his posture — enough to acknowledge Yeonseong's bow, though not so deep as to mirror it. Politeness, he was taught, is observed at a fair distance.

He stepped closer. He doesn't want to intrude, though his presence could no longer be mistaken for a ghost carried by the wind. The space between them growing intentionally. "You ask for meaning, but I cannot give you one... I was simply uttering a verse I read in old maiden scriptures. Don't mind my tongue," Jehwan said, "but is it understanding you seek… or permission to name what you have already felt?" Jehwan liked to think he was a riddler of sorts that minored in mysticism.

[lovestereo]

Visit Original Link

[hdriyan]

FT. (OPEN STARTER @hdyeonseok) 🌺

The pavilion had recalibrated itself by dawn by the groan of unseen gears. They now overlooked a valley where the plum blossoms were less like flowers and more like a collective gasp of pink silk against morning frost. Jehwan stood on a cantilevered balcony, looking less like a nobleman and more like a beautiful architectural error. Below, the Spring Social Season was in full, suffocating swing. The elite of Hanyang moved in a synchronized ballet of choreographed bows and sly smiles, their auras blooming in a sickeningly sweet palette. It was all so curated, a high-stakes performance of "harmonies" that felt hollow to his eyes.

Jehwan let his own light remain a stagnant. He was the beauty in the rafters, watching the clockwork of a society that had already declared him a unworthy. Then, the reflection of someone is caught in the polished silver of his ink-well, the ice in his chest finally beginning to scream as it splintered under their gaze. "The matchmakers claim that red is the only auspicious color for a destiny such as yours," Je-hwan chirped and turned around, "Tell me, does your soul recognize the world we left behind?"

[hdriyan]

[ ARCHIVE 1805 ] LOCATION: Hanyang, Korea | The Kinetic Palace STATUS: Unmoored. Unclaimed. Unforgiven.

🍃 SECTION I — Identity

Name: Moon Je-Hwan (文 諸喚)

Clan: Former scholars-arboreals. Your grandfather, father, and uncles were the premier architects of the moving hotel, but your family fell into ruin following a failed geomancy ritual. You are close to a recluse, holding the keys to the pavillion's mechanical heart except you're forbidden from its highest balconies.

The Reputation: Everyone calls you displeasing like a "Winter Thorn." Even though you're always smiling, bashful, and curious. Townsfolk whisper that your touch withers flower blossoms and that you're a petulant child.

🦋 SECTION II — Aura

Color: Withered gold. Instead of a a bright coin, it's a heavy weathered color, like an antique mirror that hasn't seen the sun in a century. Thick and dim.

Trigger: You're a pro at a good "stone face," but the second someone shows you a shred of real, genuine kindness? Your aura loses its mind. You become all dimples and cute aggression.

The Interpretation: Everyone thinks your aura means you're rotting from the inside out, like a villain in the making. In reality it's heavy-duty emotional insulation. You are protected.

🌷 SECTION III — The Heart

Arrangement: Matchmakers definitely swiped left on your scroll. They complain you are always serving looks but never serving a marriage proposal.

Memory: You close your eyes and hear ground-rumbling music you can't possibly name. You miss the bitter taste of watered-down roasted beans and the feel of slim-fit clothes. This silk is heavy honey, and it doesn't let you breathe.

The Scandal: A servant found a scrap of hanji paper in your workshop with a sketch of a "skyscraper" or a "subway map" labeled in a frantic, modern stroke. You fear you'll be charged with architectural heresy and be advised to marriage, just to save face.

[hdriyan]

ɴᴏ ᴘʜᴏɴᴇꜱ, ɴᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱᴇꜱ.

FILE: EVENT YEAR END 2K25

riyan skipped company parties without apology for one of the awards show. too many crystal glasses fogging under manicured hands, too many smiles that spoke in contracts and bloodlines and be patient. old money loved gratitude. expected it. it bored him. they wanted him polished and quiet, dressed to fit, trophy-style, into their rooms.

he moved the way he always did when thinking shut off, precise when it mattered, and fluid when the beat cracked open. the fabric of his shirt clung where sweat had already earned it, sheer enough at the collarbone to hint, structured enough at the shoulders to hold its shape. knees bent low, the waistband of his trousers riding just right, intentional, always intentional. shoulders rolled loose, the chain at his throat catching light every time he turned. sweat darkened the neckline and he did not wipe it away.

tonight, he dressed for himself.

this party was already alive when he arrived fashionably late. the bass sat in his chest like a second heartbeat. at the door, everyone signed something, names pressed beneath a promise of silence. no phones. no leaks. riyan kept his rings on and left the watch behind. he liked knowing the time without letting anyone else track him... this year had taken pieces from him. endless practices that went nowhere. compliments that never became decisions. being told he was close, always so close, like the door stayed cracked on purpose. others passed him. others, like avery, leff. louder wins rose. he learned how not to fold. learned how to let the room move around him while he stayed centered, weightless in his heels, spine easy.

eventually, he slipped away.

the hallway dimmed him down. the bathroom light did the opposite. he locked the door and leaned into the sink, bracelets clinking soft against porcelain. his chest rose and fell beneath damp fabric. sweat cooled along his back. the mirror gave him back a sharper version of himself, cheekbones cutting cleaner, eyes darkened from heat and intention, mouth set like he knew something no one else did.

he washed his face, pushed his hair back into place, adjusted the chain once, just once, and stayed there a moment longer. alone. grounded. still burning under the skin.

[enhypendata]

[SUNOO] There's not much time left this year 😭 😢 😥

[hdriyan]

crossing paths, casually

FT. @hdhanie

riyan nearly collides with him by accident — shoulder to shoulder in the hallway of the practice rooms, the kind of almost-crash that makes his iced water slosh dangerously close to spilling. he steadies it with an easy reflex, eyes flicking up just in time to catch hanbin mid-apology, phone already half-raised like muscle memory.

he clocks the dimples first. then the grin. then the fact that this boy looks way too put-together for someone who just walked straight into him.

"—whoa," riyan laughs, light and unbothered, stepping back a half pace instead of forward. "my bad. hallways be dangerous around this hour."

he notices the camera app still open on hanbin's screen, the soft glow of it reflected in his eyes. very gen z. very cute. riyan doesn't comment on it — just tips his bottle in a small, lazy salute.

"you filming content," he asks, tone easy, curious without prying, "or collecting evidence for when hydra finally blames us for structural damage?"

his gaze drifts, takes in the lean lines of hanbin's frame, the way he stands like he's always ready to move — dancer instincts, even if the confidence isn't loud yet. riyan smiles, subtle, like he already knows this encounter's about to turn into something recurring. "i'm riyan," he adds, thumb hooking casually into his waistband. "you're… new-new, right?" there's no rush in the way he waits for the answer. an open space, an invitation. running into each other was always going to happen eventually anyway.

[hdriyan]

ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ.

FILE: EVENT DEBUT2K25

riyan doesn't rush out when the meeting ends.

the auditorium empties in waves. the girls first, clustered tight with packets clutched to chests and wide smiles. the boys drift out slower, heavier. riyan stays seated long enough for staff to stop looking at him. the echo of fans-first, healing arcs, no music promotions to settles into his bones where it can't be shrugged off.

fashionably late leader. that's what they call him when things are light. today it feels like an accusation. the boys are in trouble. and for the first time, the thought lands ugly and persistent: maybe it's on me. at a crosswalk, his phone buzzes. a message from hanbin; short, polite, too polite actually. hyung, are we… okay? riyan types a reply to hanbin. deletes it. types again. deletes it again, and decides not to reply at all.

he ducks into a small boutique near the station, the kind that smells like starch and incense. shopping has always been his reset ritual. fabric doesn't lie.cuts don't soften things the way people do. he thumbs through racks, fingers brushing wool, denim, silk. he picks a structured black coat he doesn't need, then a softer knit, something forgiving. leadership, he thinks, is knowing when to armor up and when to let things breathe. he hasn't taught that well enough...

haru crosses his mind uninvited... this new, quiet eyes that are always watching. riyan imagines what today sounded like to him. no stages. no music. just bonding and vulnerability— yuck. by the time he heads back, bags and shoulders heavier, riyan knows this comeback (if it comes at all) will be won in the unglamorous hours. in showing up early instead of late. in letting his members see the fault lines and standing there anyway.

[sunoofiles]

251014 | SUNOO 위버스

🦊: 잘자ㅏㅏ

[lovestereo]

Visit Original Link

[gddeonu]

My prince 😻

[hdriyan]

ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ꜱʜᴇᴇᴛꜱ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ 🦇

FT. @hdseungho

the air in seungho's dorm always tastes faintly of sin. it clung to the curtains, the walls, the white sheets that tangled loosely around riányun's hips. dawn hadn't decided to arrive yet; the world hung suspended between grey and gold, the kind of quiet that begged for a confession. riányun lay still, naked, skin glimmering like water poured over a vase rather than born, waterlight (sweat) lingering over the curve of his throat. his reflection flickered faintly in the glass of the balcony door, distorted by the faint haze curling from seungho's cigarette.

outside, the demon leaned against the railing, also naked, cigarette ember pulsing like a heartbeat. smoke drifted through the open door, wrapping the room in slow, lazy spirals.

riányun's voice finally broke the silence, carrying the rhythm of rain sliding down glass. "you burn so carelessly," he murmured, eyes half-lidded. "don't you ever wonder what might happen if the flame decided to love you back?"

[losthavenmine]

Hocus Pocus (1993)