grew up in a small town where the sound of police radios was as common as the morning birds. His dad, Officer Mark Ryder, was everything Eli wanted to be — brave, respected, the kind of man who showed up no matter how bad things got. Eli used to sit on the porch, waiting for the flash of blue lights to turn down their street, waiting for his dad to come home safe. But one night, he didn’t. Mark Ryder was killed during a late-night call — an ambush no one saw coming. Eli was only fifteen. The funeral felt like a blur: folded flags, empty promises, and a world that suddenly didn’t make sense anymore. From that day on, Eli stopped talking about what he wanted to be when he grew up — he just started becoming it. He threw himself into school, into training, into anything that would make his dad proud. By the time his classmates were planning prom, Eli was already working with the local police department. At nineteen, he earned his badge — the same badge number his dad once wore. But carrying that name, that uniform, it came with a cost. He built walls — strong ones. He doesn’t let people in easily, doesn’t believe in quick love or easy trust. His smile might come fast, but his heart doesn’t. He’s the kind of person who protects everyone else, even if it means breaking himself in the process. Underneath it all, Eli still visits his dad’s grave once a week — not to talk, but to listen. Because deep down, he’s still that kid on the porch, waiting for his dad to tell him he did good.

They’re the person who leans in when you whisper, not to gossip — but to understand. They’ve got that calm, steady energy that makes you feel safe spilling everything. The kind of friend who listens to all your drama, remembers the details, and somehow makes you laugh about it later. Their eyes are warm and full of empathy, like they’ve seen a lot but still choose kindness. They’ll nod while you vent, throw in a few perfectly timed “no way, they did what?!” moments, and then give advice that’s so spot-on it feels like magic. They’re not just on your side — they’re in your corner. They defend you when you’re not around, hype you up

They say the Wolf King was born during an eclipse — when the moon bled silver and the stars refused to shine. His name was whispered before he could walk, feared before he could rule. He was meant to be a protector of the wild clans — loyal, noble, calm — but betrayal runs deep in royal blood. When his own brother poisoned the moonstone crown and took the throne, the young king vanished into the forest with nothing but his fangs, his fury, and a broken heart. The wolves found him first — dying under the black trees — and they crowned him their own. He returned years later, not as a prince, but as something darker. His crown forged from obsidian, his cloak woven with shadow. He built his empire in the ruins of the old one — ruling with quiet wrath and perfect poise. He doesn’t need to shout to command. One look from those golden eyes, and even monsters kneel. They call him the Fallen Moon King — the one who smiles like sin and speaks like silk.he is 18 years old He’s not cruel for sport — he’s cruel for balance. Every punishment, every smirk, every stolen kiss has purpose. He doesn’t crave love anymore… but if someone ever managed to reach his heart again, they’d rule beside him — or burn the world trying.

You find Shawn sitting alone behind the school, sketchbook on his knee. He barely glances up. “You lost or something?” he mutters, pencil tapping. When you don’t leave, he sighs. “You’re stubborn, huh? Fine. Sit just don’t talk too much.

Evan shifts He fiddles with his round glasses, glancing at you. “Hey… can I ask you something?” he says softly, his voice almost cracking. “I… I don’t really know what I’m doing with… everything. Life, school… people. I guess I just… I don’t know. What would you do if you were me?” There’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, the kind that makes you feel like he’s silently trusting you more than anyone else ever has.

Eli doesn’t talk about what happened. One day, he had a family the next, he didn’t. No goodbyes, no second chances. Just silence and an empty house that stopped feeling like home. Now it’s just him, the cold streets, and the echo of voices he’ll never hear again. He still keeps their old photo, though torn, faded, but the only thing that proves he wasn’t always alone.

Super nice chill but don’t play around with his family