#((slightly altered the lyrics to fit better))

[its-haughty]

This banger of a song possessed me tonight

Shitpost under the cut

this is how gordie’s dates with grayson look half the time

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part one

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, vampire au, slow burn

part one word count: 19.3k

part one warnings: swearing, blood and all sorts of other vampire-y things, semi graphic descriptions/depictions of violence, I don't know anything about publishing and wrote about it anyway, not quite as much in this part, but I want to forewarn you that while there is still nothing explicit, we do get a little ~sexier~ than most stllmnstr fics

note/disclaimer: I have been itching to write an enha vampire fic for ages because hello? the material is RIGHT THERE!! this is a story I'm super excited about, and it's definitely gotten me out of my comfort zone. in order to help build this world, I did draw from some outside sources. primarily, a lot of the vampire lore and some plot elements are inspired by the dark moon webtoon series. I did also pull some things from twilight and other well-known vampire myths. lastly, there is a section with "poetry" in it. these "poems" are translated lyrics from still monster, chaconne, and lucifer by enhypen. some are in their original form and some I altered slightly. everything else is straight from yours truly! as always, happy reading ♡

soundtrack: still monster / moonstruck / lucifer - enhypen / everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears / immortal - marina / supermassive black hole - muse / saturn - sleeping at last / everybody’s watching me (uh oh) - the neighbourhood

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

A literature student in your third year of university, you’ve been dreaming of having your writing published for as long as you can remember. With a perfect opportunity dangling at your fingertips, the only obstacle that stands in your way comes in the form of a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome, and unfortunately, very talented writer by the name of Lee Heeseung. Unwilling to let your dream slip out of reach, you commit to being better than the aforementioned pain in your ass at absolutely everything.

But when a string of vampire attacks strikes close to your city for the first time in nearly two hundred years, publishing is suddenly the last thing on your mind. And, as you soon begin to discover, Heeseung may not quite be the person you thought he was.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

The last sip of your coffee tastes bitter on your tongue. Acidic, like it was left to brew too long. Or maybe not long enough. Your limited knowledge of coffee extends to its effects on your alertness and little else. 

Taste has always been an afterthought, something of little consequence. Besides, some bitterness is to be expected when you take your coffee black. 

Suppressing the small wince that always follows your final sip, you set the reusable thermos down on your desk. Next to your open notebook and favorite ballpoint pen, it settles in nicely with your other class essentials. 

Call it poetic or romantic or unbearably pretentious, but you actually do prefer to take your notes by hand. Partly because it feels more fitting for a literature major and mostly because your laptop is on its last leg and between tuition and rent, you don’t exactly have the funds to shell out for a new one. 

Frowning at the bitter taste that still lingers on your tongue, you feel another pang of regret for forgetting to pack your water bottle this morning. But no matter. Today is a day for optimism. The bitterness now only means that your imminent victory will taste that much sweeter in comparison. 

Because today is the last day of the fall semester of your third year. Which means that this is the last morning you’ll be sitting here in this lecture hall in the minutes preceding 9 am. 

Which means that today is the day of your professor’s long awaited announcement. You still remember the day, nearly four months ago, when he first told the entire room of undermotivated, overcaffeinated students about it. 

A publishing opportunity. A real, actual publishing opportunity. Something most literature students would sell their soul for. 

Because Professor Kim, while a rather mediocre professor who prefers to dish out criticism and bite back praise, has an excellent eye for great writing. So much so that nearly twenty years ago, he founded his very own publishing house. 

Known by the name New Haven Publishing, it’s a small operation that deals mostly in short pieces that are marketed more for niche literary circles than mass public appeal. Being published by New Haven may not be a straight shot to the New York Times’ Best Sellers List, but it’s still professional publishing. 

And a week into classes, he announced that for the first time ever, he would be choosing one of you to not only intern at New Haven the following semester, but also to publish an original piece of short fiction with them. 

You’ve been fantasizing about it for months now. You can already imagine it. A piece of your very own, marketed and edited by professionals. Published and complete with Professor Kim’s stamp of approval. 

It’s what you’ve been craving ever since you decided to switch paths and pursue literature studies at the end of your first semester. It’s everything you’re sure you need. Validation that your writing is good, that your words are worth reading. 

Hell, maybe it will even earn you the approval of your parents. 

And, perhaps most satisfying of all, you will have officially beaten Lee Heeseng once and for all. You don’t want to speak poorly of the rest of your classmates and their writing abilities, but this has always been a competition between you and him. 

Or, at least, it has been for you. 

It’s the last day of the semester, and honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if Heeseung still had a hard time remembering that the internship was even happening. Then again, you wouldn’t exactly be shocked if he couldn't remember your name, either.  

And if you were hard pressed to choose only one thing, that would probably be what annoys you the most about him. Not the way his hair is alway somehow perfectly mussed. Not the way his writing is painfully beautiful and poetic that you swell green with envy just thinking about it. 

No, the root cause of your infinite ire when it comes to Lee Heeseung is how damn aloof he is. Like his classmates and professors and even his greatest rival aren’t worth the effort of remembering. 

And it’s not like it’s because he’s got some kind of crazy social life outside of academics. Other than mandatory discussion groups, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him so much as talk to anyone. 

But that’s just the way he is, you suppose. 

Perfect Heeseung with his perfect hair and his perfect writing and perfect attendance record doesn’t need anyone but himself—

Wait. 

Perfect attendance record. 

Glancing at the clock mounted high above the front door of the lecture hall, you can hardly believe what you’re seeing. 

8:59. 

There’s no way. There’s no fucking way that the universe is rooting for you this hard, that the stars are aligning this perfectly. 

Despite your doubts, the second hand continues its onward march. You suppress the sudden urge to bounce your leg in a matching rhythm. 

He has five seconds. 

Four. Three. Two. One. 

And it’s official. A ridiculous amount of pent up tension drains from your shoulders as your spine straightens. You can’t believe it was that easy. 

A semester of agonizing over every word, every sentence, every assignment you handed in for this class. A semester of panicking over missed buses and waking up way too early just to make sure you always beat the clock. 

But today is the day where everything comes to a head. 

And Lee Heeseung is officially late. 

Professor Kim, at the beginning of the semester, had only two pieces of advice to offer his students that were suddenly all gunning for a shot at being published:

One: “Don’t make me read awful writing.”

And two: “Don’t be late to class. I have zero tolerance for tardiness.”

Heeseung has just broken a cardinal rule. One row down, nine seats to the left from where you sit. It’s the place that would usually be filled with an annoyingly broad set of shoulders and distractingly sharp jawline. In fact, Heeseung usually beats you here most days. Not that you’re keeping track, of course. And not that it matters. 

Because this morning, this fateful morning, that particular seat, his seat, is glaringly, gloriously empty. 

Your eyes flicker over to it again without your permission. But you can’t help it. You’re so antsy now, teeming with self-satisfied excitement. It’s almost unbelievable actually. A golden stroke of luck that he chose today, of all days, to be late.

In fact, you think the more you stare at the empty seat, Lee Heeseung is such a reliable presence that the entire lecture hall suddenly seems a bit off kilter. Tilted too far in some precarious state of imbalance. 

Your smugness is still there, yes, but now there’s also a heavy feeling beginning to settle at the bottom of your gut. Why on earth is Lee Heeseung late?

You’re so distracted by his absence, the endless loop of possibilities and explanations running through your mind, that you almost miss the second abnormality of the morning. 

Because now the clock reads 9:04, and Heeseung isn’t the only one missing. 

All at once, your attention is on the podium at the front of the lecture hall. It’s empty, too. And Professor Kim may be a hardass, but he’s no hypocrite. Never once throughout this entire semester has he ever begun a class even a millisecond late.

Frowning, you pull out your phone to confirm that the clock on the wall is not playing tricks on you. Maybe there was a power outage or something, and maintenance hasn’t had time to correct it yet. 

But your phone screen lights up, and 9:05 is the time that stares back at you. 

Glancing around, no one else seems too particularly bothered by this. There are a few titters, a few annoyed grumbles that sound like hypocrite and double standard where they reach your ears. 

But still, the clock ticks forward. 

The minute hand has fallen another two notches when the front door finally opens, Professor Kim striding in unhurried. Despite his lateness, his steps are steady, even. There’s nothing frantic or apologetic about the way he sets his briefcase down next to the podium, pulling out his laptop and a small stack of notes before clearing his throat. 

As the students around you fall silent, class begins as it always does. Other than the time, nothing is out of the ordinary. 

But your spirits are still high, and you figure you can cut your professor some slack. Maybe he ran into a bad bit of traffic or spilled coffee all over his shirt. Maybe he’s too embarrassed to draw more attention to his error and has decided that not acknowledging it at all is the best course of action. 

Oh, well. It’s no use ruminating on it now. Settling back into your seat, you do your best to focus your attention on the front of the room and not that damn empty chair. But the distraction isn’t necessary for long. 

The clock is just striking 9:12 when a second late arrival draws the eyes of the class to the front door of the lecture hall. Like your professor, Heeseung maintains a certain air of composedness as he makes his way towards his seat wordlessly. 

There’s a moment, a fraction of a second, where Professor Kim pauses, letting a sentence drift into silence. 

Twelve minutes late. It’s a rookie mistake. For a fleeting moment, you almost feel bad for him. Because surely Professor Kim is about to make an example of him. No one walks into his lectures late and leaves unscathed. 

Wincing, you remember a handful of weeks ago when a poor girl that sits a few rows behind you arrived late. Not only had Professor Kim stopped the entire flow of his lecture to draw attention to her tardiness, he had also assigned her an extra short story for homework. One on the merits of punctuality.

But the ebb in the lecture begins to flow again, the moment passing as soon as it comes. Heeseung settles into his chair. Your professor resumes his sentence. 

For the remainder of the class, you do your best to pay attention, but you’re having trouble finding a point. It’s not like he can assign homework or an exam or a discussion on the last day of the semester. 

Like you, most of your peers are fully zoned out, just waiting for him to get to what everyone has been dying to know for months. 

Who’s interning at New Haven? Who’s getting published?

But distractions in this class have never been hard to come by. More than once, you find your wandering gaze drifting to the back of Heeseung’s head. Usually, you’d be bitterly admiring how soft his hair looks. But today, there’s only one question that plays in your mind as you stare. 

What on earth happened that made perfect Lee Heeseung late?

Your thoughts are only interrupted by the sudden shuffle of small movement around you as everyone sits up a bit straighter in their seats. 

“Ah,” Professor Kim glances at the time. “That wraps up our semester, then. As promised, I would like to announce the student who will be interning with New Haven Publishing this upcoming semester. And, of course, the student that will have the opportunity to publish an original piece with us.”

He pauses for a moment, looking down at his notes. You wonder if the people sitting close to you can hear the way your heart pounds in your chest. 

Please be me. Please be me. Please be me. 

The rushing in your ears is so loud that you almost miss it. But not quite. Because the sound of your own name is something you’d recognize anywhere. 

Because it was your name that he said. Not anyone else’s. Not Heeseung’s.

You. You did it. 

You’re officially going to be interning with New Haven. You’re going to be published. 

When he asks you to stay a minute after class to discuss the details, it’s all you can do to nod. Butterflies are still scattered in your stomach. 

As the rest of the students begin to file out, you pack up your materials with hands that shake slightly. It doesn’t feel real. It feels too good to be true. You poured your everything into this all semester long, and now it’s actually happening. 

Your mind is a mess, and an erratic movement almost sends your empty thermos flying. Luckily, you snap out of it long enough to  catch it before it hits the ground. With everything packed back into your bag, you make your way down to the podium on slightly unsteady feet. 

A handful of passing classmates congratulate you on their way out, and you smile in return. 

You’ve almost made it to the front of the lecture hall when a body blocks your path. It takes a moment for your brain to register the identity of the offender. And once it does, it spits his name with venom. Heeseung. 

Oblivious and self-centered as always, he nearly knocks you over. Rolling your eyes, you move to step around him. Apparently whatever gift he was given for writing doesn’t extend to his spatial awareness or consideration for others. 

But as you lean to the left, he follows the movement, still in your path. Your gaze snaps up, eyebrows raised when you find him already looking at you. 

Oh. So it’s not a spatial awareness problem, then. He’s in your way on purpose. 

As always, his expression is infuriatingly blank. You can’t get any sort of read on him, and it unnerves you. Irritates you. Here he is, blocking your path, and the only thing he has to offer you is an empty, silent stare.

You could just say excuse me, force your way around him, and be done with it. You should. The semester is over, your professor’s decision is made, and you have no stake left in this game. 

But you’ve been biting back snarky comments and masking irritated expressions with mild indifference for months. The nerve he has to block you. The utter gall of it all. To physically stand in your way when he’s been your metaphorical obstacle to success all semester. 

When every time you look at him, you still remember that one sunny afternoon, early in the semester. The time you tried, actually tried to be his friend. When he waved you off like a buzzing fly that was nothing more than a nuisance. 

You inhale, weighing your options. His head tilts slightly at the movement, and it’s your last straw. 

There’s poison in your voice when you bite, “Oh, what? Now that I’ve proved myself, you can spare some time out of your day to talk to me?”

Heeseung’s eyes widen, lips parting slightly. It’s the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, and he’s wasting it on shock. As if he can’t quite comprehend why the girl he’s been giving headaches for months might not want to stop and have a friendly chat with him. Not that you imagine he’d even be capable of that if you tried. 

Already, you regret your comment. In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have said anything. You’d be just as detached and cold and aloof as he was on that day you hate to think about. You still remember it like it was yesterday. Without your permission, the memory floats front and center to your mind. 

It was warmer, then. The last clutches of summer were still holding on tight. Sunlight was bright in the sky, and it felt like a good time to breach the barrier of your comfort zone. 

Class had just ended. Usually, Heeseung was one of the first to leave. You had to pack up abnormally quickly just to catch him in the quad right outside the lecture hall. 

But you did catch up to him.

And in a voice braver than you felt, you asked, “Hey, it’s Heeseung, right?” 

You’d been brighter, then. Still full of an energy you haven’t been able to muster since midterms. Not yet burdened by the weight of assignments and rejection, your disposition was as sunny as the sky above. 

Heeseung hadn’t bothered to dignify your question with an actual answer, but he had at least stopped walking, and that seemed like an invitation at the time. Now, with the power of hindsight, you wince. You should have spared yourself the regret.

You remember watching as he pulled out his earbuds, tucking them back into his pocket before turning his attention to you. Or at least half of it. Even then, you never felt like he was truly looking at you, hearing you. His mind always seemed off in the distance, preoccupied somewhere you could never quite reach. 

You recall being nervous, heat in your cheeks as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes tracked the movement like a cat tracks a ray of sunlight. Lazily, intently. With an energy you weren’t quite sure what to do with. 

Instead, you had stuttered, “I, uh, I wanted to tell you that I thought your analysis today was brilliant.” The worst part is that it really was a brilliant analysis. Although you’d never admit that today, and much less to his face. 

Instead, you cringe just thinking about it. You should have taken his blank stare as a sign. You should have just let the one-sided conversation die there. With at least a little dignity and some of your pride left to spare. 

But you hadn’t. 

“I never thought about the use of sunlight as a metaphor for life. I mean, now that you’ve pointed it out, it seems kind of obvious.” The memory of your nervous giggles settle like rocks in your stomach. “Anyway, I feel like I’m rambling, but if you ever want to get together and look through assignments or review each other’s analyses, I’d love to—”

You’d heard his voice before, of course. In class discussions and presentations. But never this close. And never directed at you. 

He kept it short, his interruption, his response to your shaky offer. 

“I’m busy.”

And that was it. Two words. Two fucking words. And not even an explanation or an I’m sorry or a sheepish expression to go along with them. 

With that, you’d watched, a bit helplessly, as he pulled his earbuds out of his pocket, put them back into his ears and turned away from you before you could realize just how thoroughly you’d been rejected. 

With a sudden haze in the air and hope dying in your heart, your friendly smile slipped into confused dismay as you watched him track a steady path across the quad. 

If your cheekbones felt warm before, you were sure they must have been aflame by then. After all, it was your body’s natural response to the crushing weight of the embarrassment and thoroughly bruised ego he’d left you there standing with. 

Fine then, you’d resolved after walking as quickly as you could in the opposite direction, sending a prayer to the heavens that no one from your class had just witnessed the most mortifying interaction you’ve ever had. If Lee Heeseung wanted nothing to do with you, the feeling could be mutual. 

In fact, it was probably for the best. You were vying for that internship and if the past class discussions were anything to go by, Heeseung would be your only real competition. If he was too busy for you, then you would just have to be too busy for him. 

Too busy perfecting every assignment and acing every exam. Too busy drowning in dictionaries and thesauruses and reference materials to make sure everything you submitted was perfect — no, scratch that — better than perfect. 

Too busy to attempt another conversation or interaction or do anything but nod along politely whenever he did make an unfortunately great point in class. 

So, no. Heeseung doesn’t get to dictate your time or attention or conversation now that you’ve actually been awarded with a publishing opportunity, now that all of your efforts and dedication and late nights have paid off. 

If Lee Heeseung wants a bit of your attention on today of all days, at this moment of all moments, then you’re just going to have to be too busy to entertain him. 

Standing in front of you, still blocking your path to the podium, Heeseung has the nerve to look confused. As if you have no reason to give him the cold shoulder. As if you’re the one being unreasonable here. 

His brow furrows further. “What?” It’s the third word he’s ever spoken directly to you. It makes your blood boil. “No, I…” he trails off. You can practically see the gears running in his mind, like this wasn’t the conversation he expected to be having. Like he has no idea how to navigate it now. “I was just going to say that you should maybe reconsider.”

Your voice is ice when you ask, “Reconsider what?” 

“Well…” He’s treading in dangerous territory, and he seems to realize it too. “The internship,” he clarifies, and it’s the second most insulting thing he’s ever said to your face. 

You screw your eyes shut. Cold and detached. Blank and aloof. All the things you should be. But you’ve always run a little hot. And end of the semester exhaustion finds you more willing to throw caution to the wind. 

“You have got to be fucking with me.” Eyes reopening, you’re met with that same expression of mild shock. Brows raised, lips parted. And god, he even looks good like that. “Yeah, right. Let me guess, so you can do the internship and publish a piece of your own? If all you came over to do is insult me, then save your breath.”

“What?” He still looks so damn confused. “No, I—”

You don’t want to hear it. “I have nothing to say to you.” If he won’t get out of your way, you’ll just have to go through him. The shoulder check is maybe slightly more intense than it needs to be as you shove your way past him. He barely stumbles back an inch. It makes you want to rip your hair out. “Besides,” you add, not bothering to turn back to look at him. “I’m busy.”

It’s a dig at him, yes, but it’s also true. You are. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and Lee Heeseung is not about to ruin it for you. 

To your unending gratitude, he doesn’t try to intercept you again. Your path to the front of the lecture hall is clear, and Professor Kim is just tucking his laptop back into his briefcase when you reach the podium. 

Ultimately, it’s a watered down version of the million times you’ve imagined this moment in your head. Even coming on the tail end of the most annoying interaction you’ve had in months. Professor Kim congratulates you again, and hands you a printed schedule of when you’ll be expected at the publishing office for the first time. 

There are also submission dates. Deadlines for you to submit drafts of the piece that you’ll be publishing. You take it all in with a beam and enthusiastic nods, mishap with Heeseung from minutes ago all but forgotten. 

That is, until Professor Kim’s gaze lands somewhere over your shoulder after he tells you he’ll also send you a follow-up email with all the information you need. 

You watch as his expression shifts, something uneasy, distrustful entering his gaze as he looks beyond you. “Something I can help you with, Mr. Lee?”

Following his gaze, you turn to look behind you. The lecture hall is empty, students cleared out from the class that dismissed nearly five minutes ago. All except for one, that is. 

Gone is the shock from Heeseung’s delicately sharp features. Instead, he wears his mask of indifference again, betraying no emotion. You must be imagining the way it looks almost strained this time, as if he’s forcing his expression into neutrality instead of it there of its own accord. 

Wordlessly, his gaze shifts to you. 

And now it’s your turn to be confused, but you won’t let it last long. At least not outwardly. You’re quick to match his gaze with nothing but pure ire, venom dripping seeping from every inch of your glare. 

Is he seriously still trying to ruin this for you? So much for being busy. 

“No, sir.” Heeseung shakes his head. He’s addressing your professor, but he’s still looking at you. A muscle ticks in his jaw, betrays a hint of tension. “I was just on my way out.”

True to his word, he begins a steady descent towards the front door. 

Your professor clears his throat, turns his attention back to you, resuming the wrap-up of your conversation. 

You’re extra grateful for that follow-up email now, given the way movement in your periphery distracts you from Professor Kim’s last few statements. Instead, your focus hones in on the even footsteps that carry Heeseung to the door, allow him to slip through it silently. 

It must be a trick of the light, must be a figment of your overworked, over irritated imagination. But you swear you see him linger there, just on the other side of the small glass window carved into the door. 

Professor Kim says his parting words, and you thank him one final time. If there’s an unnatural quickness in your footsteps as you turn to leave, you tell yourself that it’s because you’re excited to get started on your draft, not because you have the sneaking suspicion Heeseung is still standing just on the other side of the door. 

But you swear that’s his silhouette you see as you draw closer, shrouded in shadows but distinct all the same. You’re debating the merits of shouting at him or maybe accidentally shoulder checking him again as you pull open the door handle, a little more roughly than you intend. 

But the only thing that greets you on the other side of the door is a nearly empty hallway, save for the pair of students bent over a laptop a few paces away. You ignore their twin expressions of shock as you let the door fall closed behind you, much more calmly than you opened it. 

…..

The blank expanse of your notebook stares at you accusingly. 

You’d stare back, if that would somehow make words appear on the page. Sighing, you reach for your long forgotten cup of tea sitting on your desk. Taking a slow sip, you realize it’s gone cold. 

That just makes you double down on your frustration. How long have you been sitting here, waiting for inspiration to strike? 

People always talk about the merits of a change in scenery, but ever since you started your first semester of university three years ago, your favorite place to write has always been here, at the small, simple desk that sits in the corner of your bedroom. 

Back then, writing was a hobby. Something to do when the last of your biochemistry homework was finished. A way to release pent-up stress and tension from long days in the university lab and long hours feeling like you were drowning between all of the extra study sessions, TA workshops, and office hours. 

At first, it had been worth it. You maintained high grades and high spirits. Mostly because of the small sprinkles of support your parents showered you with. 

Every little You got this! that lit up your phone screen on dreary afternoons and We believe in you! that made your evening lectures a little more bearable felt like tokens of your parents’ affection. Something tangible to show for the care they held for you. 

Most of all, you cherished the We’re proud of you messages. You can’t remember the last time you received one. 

And it’s not like they were mad, exactly, when you told them you wanted to change majors. They did their best to be supportive in the ways that they knew how. 

For your father, that was concern. “Are you sure? Literature? What do the job prospects after graduation look like?”

And for your mother, that was letting you know that she thought you were capable of more. Of better. “It’s not that literature is bad, sweetie. It’s just… Well, you’ve always been such a smart girl…”

You get it; you really do. All the questions and prodding comments that felt like criticism were wrapped in nothing but love. But that didn’t do much to soften the sting. 

In the end, it was this desk that made you follow through with your change in major. Slumped in your hand-me-down chair late one Friday night, half finished lab report sitting untouched in your bag, the threat of tears burning at the corners of your eyes, all you wanted to do was write.  

To put into words the feelings and emotions and fantasies and frustrations that you could never seem to express otherwise. To commit a piece of your soul to paper and wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was someone else out there who would read it and find a sense of solidarity, of common ground. 

You submitted your official change request the next morning. You never regretted it once. 

But your parents still make comments, still share their concerns. And for the last three years, you haven’t had anything to show for it except for empty promises. But now, you have something. A real something. 

Publishing a story of your own is the exact validation that you need that your choice was the right one. And it’s the proof you need to assuage your parents’ fears, to show them that pursuing literature was the right call. That you can carve out a life for yourself with it. 

You’ve fantasized about this for years. For the chance to have your voice heard, your words read. There are a million half-baked thoughts and partially written drafts scattered in your notebooks and digital documents and on the corners of takeout napkins that have been lying in wait for a moment just like this. 

But no matter how hard you stare at the page in front of you, the words just won’t come. The more old drafts you scour, the more amateur your writing feels. The more you feel like maybe Heeseung should have won the internship over you. 

It’s a miserable cycle your brain works itself into. The less you write, the more you criticize, the more you wonder. 

What if he hadn’t been late that morning? What if Professor Kim was hoping to choose him instead? What if the reason he didn’t say anything when Heeseung finally arrived in class was because he was so disappointed that his first choice wasn’t an option anymore?

Groaning out loud to an empty room, your head falls on your desk with a muted thud. 

It’s there, facedown on your desk, where an idea strikes you. If you can’t manifest a draft out of thin air, maybe you just need some parameters. A general guide to get the creative juices flowing. 

Lifting your head back up, you push your notebook to the side and reach for your laptop. Opening a web browser, you navigate to New Haven Publishing House’s homepage. 

It’s a simple website, reflective of its simple namesake. Chin in one hand, you click the link that reads Recently Published. 

The list that pops up is modest. Unlike a larger, more corporate publishing house, your professor’s self-made enterprise is churning out new releases at a slower rate and smaller volume. 

Perusing the titles and descriptions, you note that the vast majority of the works are short form fiction. There are very few full length novels. The majority is made up of essay and poetry collections, short stories, and memoirs. 

Scanning the list again, a title close to the top catches your eye. 

The Thirst for Revenge: An Analysis of Contemporary Vampire Activity. It was published less than a month ago. 

Your cursor hovers over the link, brow furrowing. It strikes you as odd that something so… archaic would be published so recently. 

Professor Kim has always come across as a discerning man. Someone that prides himself on his well curated taste. 

But vampires… that’s hardly a headline worthy topic these days. 

While most people still practice caution walking down dark alleyways at night and some even go so far as to carry charms infused with garlic cloves, monsters of the night are by and large a thing of the past.

The entire species of bloodthirsty, ravaging immortals were hunted to near extinction almost two hundred years ago. Those that survived relocated to remote areas. Some adapted to life in the countryside by learning to enjoy the taste of animal blood. Others found humans willing to donate small portions of their own blood intermittently. You won’t pretend to understand, but you suppose it’s preferable to the alternative.  

Some still hunted in the traditional way, of course, but vampire attacks on humans are few are far between these days. After all, vampires, as a means of survival, have all but forsaken major urban areas. Population density spells demise for their species. 

You’d have to confirm through research, but if you remember correctly, the last recorded vampire-related death in your city was nearly two hundred years ago. 

Without bothering to click on the link, you continue scrolling down. Honestly, it was probably just a fluke. After all, who knows? Maybe there’s some niche circle out there that enjoys analyzing vampire literature, regardless of how outdated it is. 

The next title seems a bit more promising. Shadowless Nights. The brief description marks it as a short story published half a year ago. 

You click on it, take a sip of room temperature tea while the page loads. 

Night was my favorite time of day, the first line reads. 

I loved the stillness of it all, the all encompassing serenity. With the moon in the sky and stars in my eyes, every moment felt like a secret between me and the universe. Something we alone shared. 

I whispered secrets to the earth and held hers in return. My days felt like dreams. Distant, blurry, faded. It was only then, in the distinct stillness of midnight, that I truly came alive. 

Interesting, you think. It’s a bit more melodramatic than you expected, but maybe your professor prefers a poetic touch. 

In the night, I earned peace. And in the night, I learned fear. 

It came slowly at first, that sinking feeling of dread. The horrible suspicion that made the hair on the back of my neck feel sharp, the air in my throat feel shallow. 

But if I have learned anything of monsters, it is that they revel in that fear. That sickeningly overt reminder of mortality, of humanity. The way I couldn’t help the racing of my pulse, the darting of my eyes. 

He enjoyed it, toying with me from the shadows. Watching me become desperate, watching me become weak. 

But it paled in comparison, I’m sure, with what came next. Every story has its climax, and every beginning has its end. For him, it was the sweet, clean taste of my blood. 

Wait. Another vampire story? One was strange enough, but for the last two published works at New Haven to be vampire related doesn’t feel like a coincidence. Especially since the more you read, the more you realize it’s not as much of a story as it is thinly veiled anti-vampire rhetoric. 

The dramatized descriptions of a weak, innocent female lead being victimized by a faceless, bloodthirsty monster. It just feels… strange. Outdated. Irrelevant, even. 

Clicking back to the list, you scan over the next five entries. All of them are more or less the same. Some are more metaphorical than others, abstract in their rhetoric, but the topic is always the same. And the conclusion always affirms the immense, inevitable, irredeemable blight that vampirism is to the world. 

It’s just bizarre. Especially considering that Professor Kim never once had you analyze any anti-vampire propaganda throughout the entire semester. In fact, you were never assigned to read anything vampire related at all. 

If this type of literature is so central to his professional career, it doesn't make sense to you that he wouldn’t incorporate it into his class. Especially considering the fact that he was awarding an internship at New Haven to one of the students. 

You take another long sip of cold tea. Well… you could try to come up with something that aligns with the current profile of New Haven’s recently published works. It’s not like you’ve ever written anything related to vampires. Maybe you just need to think of it as a writing exercise, a challenge of sorts. Producing a piece that feels relevant and fresh even if the central topic is a bit out of style. 

According to the revision schedule Professor Kim gave you, your first draft issue in a week and a half. The same day that you’re set to go to New Haven for the first time and tour the office you’ll be interning at once winter break is over. It’s an ambitious timeline, but he did specify that he’s looking more for a solid concept than a well polished draft. But something in you wants to have more than just a concept. You want his approval, to impress him. 

So you have a week and a half to come up with a draft that will catch his attention, that will convince him that you were the right choice for this opportunity. Not anyone else in your class. Not Heeseung. You. 

A concept that will excite New Haven Publishing House’s usual reader base, that will maybe actually earn you some commercial success. 

A story that will prove to your parents that literature was the right choice for you. That your words do matter, that you can make a name for yourself with your writing. 

Well, you think, suppressing an internal groan, it looks like you have your work cut out for you. 

…..

Despite your admitted lack of vampiric knowledge, once you have your topic, the words start to flow. You’re not sure if it’s your best work. You’re not even sure if it’s good. But it feels a hell of a lot better than staring at a blank page for hours. 

This afternoon finds you in the corner of your favorite coffee shop. Mostly because they offer half priced lattes on Wednesdays. As you make a dent in yours, the pen in your other hand continues to fly over the pages of your notebook, occasionally stopping to scratch out a word or rewrite a sentence. 

The bare bones are there. Just like in the handful of stories you perused on New Haven’s website, your plot features a young woman. It’s a historic setting, mostly because you still can’t quite bring yourself to write vampires into the modern day when the reality is so starkly different. 

And it’s not a vampire story. At least not at first glance. Instead, you weave an enduring metaphor to symbolize a parasitic relationship between two lovers.

The woman in your draft is young, full of life and energy and optimism. And she dreams. Vivid, brilliant dreams that she clings to in order to escape the harshness of her reality as a lower class woman in the countryside. 

Her husband, however, is a brute. Older than her and with a decidedly less sunny disposition. When he learns that his health is failing, he discovers that he can heal himself temporarily by stealing these dreams from her. 

So, no. It’s not overtly about vampires. But it does fall into step with some of the more abstract anti-vampire tropes you came across in your preliminary research. 

Crossing a dark line through the word you just penned, you sigh. 

This is the fastest you’ve put a story together in ages. It’s cohesive, and the writing is solid. Your use of metaphor is strong and concise, and the prose feels true to your identity as a writer. 

But something in you withers a bit with every new word you commit to paper. It’s not that you hate your topic. If anything, it’s just that you have no stake in it at all. It doesn't feel innovative or exciting or representative of your creativity. 

No matter how easily the words flow out of you, something about it just feels… flat. One dimensional. 

You need something new. A different angle or an alternative perspective or… Or a fresh set of eyes. 

Struck with a sudden idea, you pull out your phone, plan taking form in your mind. The literature club at your university hosts bimonthly peer review sessions, and you haven’t taken advantage of them nearly as much as you should. They’re a chance for any writer, literature major or otherwise, to come together and workshop any piece of writing of their choice. 

Tapping your finger impatiently on the table, you wait for the page to load. The fall semester did end almost a week ago, so it may be a long shot. You’re not sure if the club typically holds sessions over winter break. But as you pull up the club’s calendar of events, a small smile tugs at your lips. 

Luck seems to be on your side this time. It’s written there in plain, bold font that there will be a session this upcoming Friday evening. That means that if you attend the session and get some solid ideas for revision, you’ll have exactly five days to refine your draft before you present it to Professor Kim. 

The idea of having not only a topic, as the schedule outlined, but an actual complete,  well-written draft to show him next Wednesday, turns your small smile into one that overtakes your features. 

Energized with a new vigor, you reach for your pen again. It doesn’t have to be perfect, you remind yourself, even as a turn of phrase makes you cringe. Even as a piece of punctuation feels out of place. It just needs to be written. You just need to have as much content as you can to share on Friday. 

Besides, you’re sure that a second opinion will help you fine tune this story into something you’re proud to share, something you’re excited to attach your name to.

The afternoon is quick to blur into early evening, and you’re still bent over your favorite corner table. Coffee long drained, you’re full of a new confidence. The thought of proving yourself suddenly doesn’t seem like such an unachievable, out of reach task. 

And when you do finally gather up all of your belongings and make your way back to your apartment for the night, you’re sure that this is the exact boost you needed. 

That same stroke of self-assuredness carries you all the way through a finished first draft. It’s rough and messy and littered with loose ends, but it’s tucked away in the bottom of your tote bag with a smile as you haul it to classroom number 105 in the university liberal arts building Friday evening. 

You pause at the door to the classroom, only for a moment. The inhale you breathe in is deep, full. Nodding to yourself once, you push open the door. 

You haven’t been to one of these workshop sessions since the second semester of your first year, back when you had just switched to a literature major. You remember being wide-eyed and incredibly protective over your work. It was hard to part with it, to let anyone else read over the sentences you were so unsure of. The writing you had little confidence in. 

But your partner had been kind. Another girl in her first year, she had nothing but gentle feedback to give and reassurance that your writing was worth reading. Honestly, it was such an overwhelmingly positive experience that you would have come back for more sessions if you weren’t constantly struggling to find minutes to spare in the day. 

You’re hoping that tonight will be just as rewarding as you enter the classroom, tote bag in tow. But as you survey the space around you, your face falls flat, easy going smile dropping from your lips. 

You weren’t expecting a big crowd, considering that it is winter break and most students are deliberately avoiding campus right now, but you were hoping there’d be more than one other person in attendance. 

Well, you think, deciding to look on the bright side of things. At least you’re not the only person. 

The other attendee is sitting in the far corner of the room, occupying a desk near the front of the classroom. At the sound of your entrance, they turn to face you. 

With that, your small disappointment is quick to snowball into an intense wave of exasperation. Because why is the universe so hellbent on playing games with you?

Your mouth drops open without your permission. “Heeseung?” 

Your sudden outburst fills the room and lingers long into the awkward silence that follows. You hadn’t meant to say anything, but really, what are the god forsaken odds?

If he’s bothered by your reaction to seeing him, Heeseung doesn’t show it. Instead he looks strangely… relieved. It makes absolutely no sense for him to feel any sort of relief at the sight of you, but it’s hard to put a more apt descriptor to the way tension drains from his shoulders, crease between his brows softening as he looks at you, scans you from head to toe. 

A moment of stilted silence passes between the two of you. Another. Your heartbeat feels too loud in your chest.

You exhale, a cross between a scoff and a laugh so humorless it could freeze a flame. Weighing your options, the most tempting by far is to just turn on your heel and exit the way you came. 

Heeseung seems to read your intention before you can commit to it. 

Breaking the heaviness in the atmosphere, he acts as if you’ve greeted him like an old friend, not as the source of all your recent headaches. 

“Hi,” he nods, so tentatively you almost want to let your jaw drop open in shock. Almost. 

Because what the fuck does he mean by ‘Hi?’ This has to be some kind of mind game, some way to get in your head and ruin this for you. 

“Right.” Your lips pull into a tight line. You don’t bother to return his greeting. “I’m just gonna go, then.” Hiking up your bag on your shoulder, you turn to do just that. Your first draft will just have to be unpolished. Oh, well. You’re sure Professor Kim will have better feedback for you than Lee Heeseung ever would anyway. 

Once again, Heeseung’s voice cuts across the classroom. “Wait.” There’s a command in his voice. Gentle, but firm. Insistent. So pervasive that you find yourself following without really meaning to. 

Mind made up and dead set on leaving, now you’re just annoyed. What a waste of a Friday evening.

“What?” You turn back to him. You’re not sure if there’s more venom in your voice or your eyes. 

And Heeseung, who commands a classroom with quiet grace, with his steady, unwavering presence, suddenly looks so damn unsure. As if tormenting you is uncharted territory. As if he’s never once left you in the cold with flaming cheeks and a thoroughly shattered ego. 

“I…” he trails off, not quite meeting your furious gaze. “Didn’t you come here to get feedback?”

“Right.” You scoff again. “Because I’m sure you’d love nothing more than to tear my writing to shreds. Forgive me, but I’m not interested in being the butt end of your joke tonight.”

“What?” If you didn’t know any better, the ignorance he feigns would be rather convincing. “That’s not why I’m here.” He shakes his head. “I brought something I want reviewed too.” 

Your brow arches. He can’t be serious. “Even if I did stay,” you counter, “you’re actually the last person I would want to read my work. Feel free to be offended by that, by the way.”

For a solid minute, Heeseung just looks at you. He wears that same damn deer-in-the-headlights expression he had after you brushed him off when he intercepted you in class the other day. He pauses, weighing words on his tongue. “Look, ____.” The sound of your name on his lips strikes a strange chord in you. Until now, you were certain he didn’t even know it. “Did I do something to offend—”

And no. Absolutely not. No way are you rehashing that day in the quad with him now. 

“You know what,” you interrupt. You need to go. Now. You need an out. “I’m actually, like, super tired. I think I’m just gonna head back, and—”

But then it’s his turn to cut off your train of thought. “It’s your piece for Professor Kim, isn’t it?” Heeseung takes your silence as confirmation. “Publishing is a big deal. A second set of eyes will only make your work stronger. And if you hate my feedback, it’s not like you have to use any of it.”

You hate it. You despise the way his reasoning matches your internal monologue nearly word for word. The way your thoughts align exactly. 

You pause, a decision weighing heavy on your mind. He is an excellent writer… There would probably be substance to his feedback. Real, actual, good substance that you could use to make your writing bloom into something truly amazing. He could be the exact spark you need to make your story come to life. 

You purse your lips. “What’s in it for you?”

Heeseung smiles, a nearly imperceptible quirk of his lips. He knows he’s won. “Like I said, I brought something I’ve been working on.” There’s an intention you can’t quite read behind his gaze when he adds, “I want to know what you think of it.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

With a grumble, you take reluctant steps towards where he sits on the opposite side of the classroom. And if you slide down into the seat next to him with a little more force than necessary, well, it’s just because you’ve had a long week. No other reason. None at all. 

“Fine,” you relent, reaching to pull your notebook out of your bag. “You get twenty minutes.”

“That’s not nearly long eno—”

“Thirty,” you concede. “And don’t push it.”

Sensing your disdain, Heeseung doesn’t respond. Instead, he accepts the notebook you reluctantly hand him with an outstretched hand and an open palm. The transfer between the two of you is gentle. You have the distinct sense that he’ll treat your work with care, in more than one way. 

Still, something in your heart seizes at the thought of letting your work be read. Of letting him be the one to read it. 

In return, he offers you a notebook of his own. Bound in brown, aged leather, it’s certainly much more refined than yours. Of course. 

He hands it to you still closed. Staring down at the cover, you ask, “What page?” It feels intrusive to start flipping through his writing uninvited. 

“There’s a bookmark.” Heeseung nods his chin towards the small piece of paper sticking out of the top edge that you missed at first glance. 

And then the transfer is complete. A piece of your heart is spread open on his desk, and a piece of his soul is in your hands. 

Ignoring the way your fingers tremble with a slight shake, you delicately open his notebook to the bookmarked page, letting it fall open on the desk in front of you. 

At first glance, the writing strikes you as odd. The paragraphs are strange lengths, ending at random junctures instead of extending all the way to the margins. And then it hits you. They’re not paragraphs. They’re stanzas. 

Poetry. Lee Heeseung writes poetry. 

You sneak a sidelong glance at him out of your periphery. He’s already engrossed in the pages of your notebook, pausing occasionally to jot a note down on a scrap piece of paper. His brow is furrowed, and there’s a tension in his jawline that only makes it sharper. 

Still, the image of his profile is shrouded in a distinct sort of softness. The kind of effortless beauty that feels like it should be reserved for intimate moments in the dead of night, secrets passed between lovers. It’s wasted under the fluorescent lights and patchy, beige walls of an underfunded classroom, but you waste another minute staring at him all the same. 

For a fleeting moment, it’s not hard to imagine those hands, those long, delicate fingers maintaining an even grip on a ballpoint pen to write something as romantic as poetry. 

Shaking your head, you clear the errant thoughts. Instead, you turn your focus back to the page in front of you and begin with the first poem. Forcing your eyes to focus, you read. 

As if nothing happened,

She looks at me

With shadowless eyes.

But it is me who has been 

Forgiven and reborn countless times.

You inhale. Exhale. Short and succinct with a distinct twinge of tragedy. That was… not what you were expecting. Pushing forward, you move onto the next entry. 

Even the stars in the universe

Will close their eyes one day.

Underneath their watchful gaze,

All of these moments are precious.

For memory, for regret,

I will carve them

Into the repetition of the moment.

Again, you pause, taking a moment to breathe. It’s so… melancholy, so poignant in its evocation of pain, of regret. While you’ve been familiar with Heeseung’s ability to analyze the hell out of a novella, this was not something you thought you’d find in his repertoire. And the more you read on, the more you realize these aren’t flukes. This is his identity as a writer, or at least a significant part of it. 

The world that abandoned us

Slowly turns to ash. 

But I don’t feel the pain. 

I only feel the cold.

My god. You nearly close the notebook on instinct. Without your permission, your eyes flick ove to the desk next to you. The broad set of shoulders that fill the seat. What has this boy been through? Why is he letting you read this? 

Heeseung looks up. Not at you, but the movement is enough to startle you out of your staring. Returning your eyes to his notebook, you read the last entry on the page. 

A shaded castle with no sun

The thick scent of dying roses never fades. 

In a broken mirror, I see myself. 

And my reflection whispers, “Monster.”

The breath you release is long. Audible. You’re overcome with the urge to run your fingers over his words, to feel the indents his pen made as he carved pain into the page. His writing is gorgeous. It’s beautifully, tragically haunting. Of that much, you’re certain. But you have no idea what to do with that information. 

His words feel too raw, too terribly intimate. Like something that was never meant for your eyes. You can’t understand what on earth possibly possessed him to let — no — to encourage you to read these. 

You can’t fathom any kind of feedback you could offer him. These feel like pieces of his soul, not something to be commodified or commented on in a writing workshop. Discussed in the cold, unfeeling walls of an old classroom.

Despite the discomfort that lingers with each passing stanza, his writing has an almost addictive quality. Over and over, you find yourself rereading each brief poem. You’re searching for meaning, for clarity, for something hidden between the lines that you missed on your first handful of reads. 

Thirty minutes pass in a trance, and Heeseung, true to his word, is the one to break the silence when your half hour is up. 

Mind still reeling, you realize with a sinking feeling that you have absolutely no feedback to give him at all. 

Instead, you turn to face him. Throwing a meaningful glance at where your notebook still lies open on the desk in front of him. Doing your best to not look too hopeful, you ask, “Well?”

For a moment, Heeseung just looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. Tension pulls at his temple, his jaw. Frustration seeps from beneath his skin, and you can’t tell where it’s directed. 

“Oh, come on,” you prod when his silence extends even longer. “I know you’re dying to spill the gory details of how grossly incompetent I am and how horrifically amateur my writing is, so don’t—”

Heeseung wastes no fanfare. “This is awful.”

Your lips flatten. “Or just cut right to the chase.”

He’s quick to clarify. “But not for any of the reasons you just listed. I mean, sure, there are some craft issues here, but even those seem like a result of your concept.”

“What’s wrong with my concept?” The edge of defensiveness in your voice escapes without your permission. 

Heeseung just levels you with a look. Returning his gaze to your notebook, he reads from your draft verbatim, “...Stashing away the light from her life. Tucking it into his back pocket like extra change just for the satisfaction of temporary happiness. It was never love that bound him to her, but the promise of a never ending fountain of life. Of wishes and thoughts and hopes and dreams that he could use to sustain himself as long as he subjected himself to the numbing pleasure of existing at her side.” 

He raises an eyebrow, turns back to you. “I mean, really, ____? I’ve read some nauseatingly vitriolic vampire pieces in my life, and this just about has all of them beat. Besides, the whole vampire thing just feels so… irrelevant. Do people still read this stuff anymore?”

Your first instinct is to defend yourself, your work, even if his thoughts mirror your own. Before you can, Heeseung is pressing on. You don’t have the space to get a word in sideways. “I mean, what happened to the writing from that piece you presented back in September? I don’t remember all the details, but there was something about watching birds land on water and connecting it to the feeling of belonging but never truly fitting in.” He looks at you again. There’s more emotion, more glittering life in his eyes than you’ve ever seen from him before. “That was a fresh take and a well done metaphor.”

Your mind is reeling. It’s far too much information to take in all at once. But something stands out amongst the rest. Because that almost sounded like— 

“Was that a compliment?” It seems unlikely, but you can’t find another way to take his words. “You paid attention to my presentation?” 

You liked it? You don’t ask that question out loud, but the needier parts of you crave his answer anyway.

“Yeah, of course I did. Peer review was a mandatory component of the course.” Heeseung’s cheekbones remain the same, even, honey-tinted tone, but you swear you see a flash of embarrassment in the way he averts his gaze. 

“Well, yeah.” It’s not a justification that holds much weight in your mind. “But you don’t exactly seem like the type to really pay attention to other people’s stuff. Especially if you think it’s not worth your time.”

“I just told you your presentation was good, didn’t I?”

You arch a brow. “Yeah, right after you finished calling my draft horrific.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “I didn’t say it was horrific…”

“Oh, please. Spare us both the semantics. That’s what you meant.” You’re not sure why your mind always goes back to that day in the quad, but you find yourself still sore from his rejection, his new assertion of your work poking at old wounds. Picking at poorly healed scabs. “And it’s not like you were jumping for joy at the chance to review my work back then, either.”

Heeseung’s brow furrows. You can practically see the gears turning in his mind. You’re not sure if it makes you feel better or worse, the fact that he doesn’t seem to remember that day at all. 

In the end, you decide to spare him the effort of empty recollection. With a sigh, you spill your shame. At least this time around, you’re the only two that will bear witness. “That one day in class. Back at the beginning of the semester. We had to present our analysis of that one short story. You remember, the one about planting seeds in bad soil.” Heeseung nods, but there’s no spark of realization. Not yet. 

Continuing, it only pains you slightly to admit, “Your analysis was brilliant, and I gushed about it in front of the whole class. Laid it on thick with the compliments. And then after class, I stopped you in the quad.” Something flickers over Heeseung’s features. A memory tugging at the back of his mind. “When I asked if you wanted to review each other’s pieces for the next assignment, you completely brushed me off.”

Brow still pulled downwards, Heeseung is thinking back to that day, too. But it doesn't seem to hold the same awful, leaden weight in his mind. “I didn’t brush you off,” he argues. “I think I said I was busy.”

It takes a lot of willpower not to let your jaw drop open. “That’s brushing someone off!” Your voice is too loud for the near empty classroom, for your close proximity. “Like literally the textbook definition. Everyone knows that ‘I’m busy’ is code for ‘leave me the hell alone.’”

Almost imperceptibly, Heeseung’s features soften as he watches yours strain. The fluorescent light bulbs that fill the room suddenly don’t seem quite as harsh when he says, “Well, that's not what I meant. I was busy.”

It’s hardly a satisfying answer. But you suppose it makes little difference. If he wants to stick to his story, you’ll continue to feign indifference. “Whatever. It’s not like it matters now anyway.”

And then your mind is back on his poems. His beautiful, tragic, gorgeously phrased stanzas scribbled in his handwriting. Fragments of vulnerability that he handed to you without hesitation. 

It’s like comparing apples to oranges in a way, but there is no doubt in your mind that between the two of you, the writing he brought tonight is better. Better than your story, better than most things you’ve ever written, probably. The imagery is evocative, striking in a way you’ve never quite been able to achieve no matter how many seminars and workshops and lectures you attend. 

Not for the first time, your brain dangles a dangerous thought in a place where you can’t avoid it. What if Professor Kim chose wrong? What if Heeseung hadn’t been late to class that day? Would you be sitting here with a mediocre draft and a raging inferiority complex?

You’ll never know, not really, but you find yourself asking anyway, “Why were you late to class that day?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you wish you could take them back. It’s not like his answer will change anything. And it’s invasive. Far too personal to ask someone you barely know. That up until thirty minutes ago, you actively avoided. 

But maybe the universe is on your side for once. Maybe you got ridiculously lucky and he didn’t hear you, despite the fact that it’s dead silent in this classroom. Maybe—

“What?”

Or not.

Well, you’re committed now. “The last day of class. When the winner for the publishing opportunity was announced,” you clarify. “You were late. Honestly,” you add with a wry smile, “you’d probably be the one writing overdramatic vampire slander right now if you hadn’t been.”

It’s a self-deprecating joke. It might land poorly, but you’re hoping it will lighten the atmosphere. 

A dark shadow crosses Heeseung’s features. “Trust me, ___. You winning had nothing to do with me being late that day.”

If he thinks flattery will get him anywhere, he’s wrong. You can feel your frustrations bubbling in your throat, clawing at your mind. You won. You beat him. So why doesn’t it feel like it? Why doesn’t it feel like anything you do is ever good enough?

“C’mon, Heeseung.” He doesn’t deserve your anger. At least, not now. But he gets it anyway. Insecurities and inferiority and frustration all wrapped in rage. “You were practically a shoe-in, and everyone knows it.”

He’s just as insistent. Leaning towards you slightly, he looks anything but aloof now. “No I wasn’t. Professor Kim chose you to intern with him. He read both of our submissions all semester and chose you to publish with his firm. I told you, your writing is good. Really good.” Glancing down at your notebook, he adds, “Even if this one is a bit… uninspired.”

A compliment and a slight. His version of the truth, wrapped up in a bow and delivered right to your waiting ears. You don’t know whether to be furious or overjoyed. Maybe it would be best to feel absolutely nothing at all. It scares you, just how much weight his opinion holds. 

But approval from him has its way of feeling like a long sought victory, and now the air feels fraught with something delicate, fragile. Precarious, even. 

It’s early evening in a threadbare classroom. The most neutral territory imaginable. But it’s the two of you, alone, secluded. And suddenly, that frightens you. 

“Right.” You won’t tell him ‘thank you’ for the compliment or ‘go fuck yourself’ for the criticism. Both options feel like you would be revealing too much. 

Instead, you take a glance at the clock. It’s not late, but it’s an excuse. “I should probably get going.”

Heeseung exhales. Leans back in his seat. “Of course,” he concedes easily, reaching to hand you your notebook.

You do the same with his, almost sad to watch his poetry pass from your hands to his. It’s odd, the way his words already feel like something you’ll miss. 

You realize then that he hasn’t asked you for your opinion on his work. For your advice on how to make it better. In all honesty, you’re relieved. You haven’t the slightest idea what you would say. 

So instead, you busy yourself with repacking your tote bag. In your haste, you knock your pen off of your desk. The sound it makes as it strikes the thinning carpet can’t be loud, but it feels thunderous in your ears. 

As you reach to pick it up, Heeseung does the same. There’s a moment, fleeting but unmistakable, when the skin of his hand brushes against yours. 

Instantly, Heeseung recoils as if you’ve burned him. His hand is back in his own space at a speed so fast you nearly miss it. 

It was an accident, a tiny blip with no real consequences, but the way he’s looking at you with those damn eyes makes you feel like you should be apologizing. 

“Sorry.” The severity of his reaction stings like rejection. It’s not like he’s exactly your favorite person either, but at least you have the common decency to not look repulsed at the thought of touching him. At the accidental brushing of your hands. 

Heeseung frowns. Shakes his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts. “No, I…” he trails off, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he concludes, but it feels disingenuous. And he doesn’t bother to elaborate. Looking over your shoulder, he reads the clock on the wall. “It’s getting kind of late. Where are you parked? I can walk you to your car.”

His hands are busy putting his notebook back in his back. It’s a considerate offer, but coming on the tail end of everything else, it doesn’t hold much weight with you. His words don’t match his actions, and you decide you’d be a fool to take them at face value. 

“Don’t bother. I’m walking home, not driving.”

Heeseung freezes, hand still inside his bag. He’s not looking at you, but you feel the weight of his attention all the same. “Do you need someone to walk with you?”

The way he phrases the question makes you feel like a burden. He’s asking if you need someone to walk with you, not offering because he wants to. A subtle difference maybe, but the last thing you want is to feel like you owe him any favors. 

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” He does look at you now, concern painted across his features. “It’s getting dark earlier these days, and—”

His words are wasted on you. You’re already halfway to the door. “I’m sure.” But before you leave, you decide one more hit to your pride can’t worsen the damage that’s already been done. At least this time, it will be by your doing. Standing under the doorframe, you turn back to him. “Thank you for your feedback. It was good to hear an honest opinion.”

Your words sink into the air. Linger for a moment. 

Heeseung nods. Something in his jaw tightens. “You know, if you do decide to change topics, I’d be happy to read whatever you write.”

It almost sounds like another compliment. Or maybe another insult. Either way, you’re sure that even if you figure it out, you’ll still have no idea what to do with it. You nod, only once, and then your back is turned again before you can linger too long on any of it. 

But his words, the sweet ones this time, replay in your mind the entire walk home. 

Maybe if you weren’t so distracted by the ghosts of compliments, you’d have noticed the pair of quiet, even footsteps that trailed after you in the distance. That only retreated once the front door to your apartment was pulled shut and locked tight behind you. 

Then again, maybe not. Heeseung has always had a knack for going undetected. 

…..

You wake up the next morning with Heeseung’s words replaying in your mind. 

Awful. Irrelevant. And of course your favorite, ‘nauseatingly vitriolic vampire piece.’

In the faded glow of morning light, you groan out loud to your empty bedroom. The worst part of it all is that he’s not even wrong. But it’s Saturday morning, and your first draft is due on Wednesday. The thought of starting a new story from scratch and writing it to completion within that time frame is enough to make you want to curl into a ball and screw your eyes shut until you can pretend the world outside your bedroom is nothing but a figment of your imagination. 

So no, you don’t think you can start over entirely. But maybe, just maybe, you can rework things. Tweak the narrative to feel less cliche, less outdated. More true to you. 

Part of you wants to abandon the vampire concept entirely, convinced it’s what’s holding you down. The other part is hesitant to do so based on New Haven’s list of recently published works. 

And while Heeseung’s criticism was the confirmation you needed that your story needs reworking, it’s not like he gave you any ideas as to what you should change. What direction you should take.

Nauseatingly vitriolic vampire piece. That seemed to be Heeseung’s biggest problem with your draft. Not that it alluded to vampirism. No, you think he disliked that it was a tired and rehashed propaganda piece on the inherent evilness of vampires. 

Everyone knows that vampires were monsters. Writing about it, no matter how many metaphors and symbolic phrases you wrap it up in, just isn’t interesting. 

That’s the route you’ll take, then, you decide. You don’t have to invent a new concept out of thin air. You just need to find a way to bring something new to the table. Something worth reading. Climbing out of bed, you switch your pajamas for clothes more acceptable in public. 

And then you make your way to the university library. 

Just as you suspected, it’s essentially empty. Between long rows of meticulously shelved books, vacant study rooms, and community computers, the only other person you see is the librarian that greets you as you arrive. Even her eyebrows raise in mild shock to see someone else during the break, and on a weekend at that.

Heading to the second floor, the first section you peruse through is historical records. But between old newspapers, reports, and journals, the content itself is quite cut and dry. Detached descriptions of vampire attacks that only contain details of the date, time, and death toll aren’t exactly riveting. And you don’t think they’ll do much for your feeble draft. 

Before long, you move away from the nonfiction section. Navigating to supernatural fiction on the third floor, you start browsing titles. Vampire stories make up a rather small portion of the texts, and from what you can tell, the vast majority align with what you found on New Haven’s website. 

From Demons of the Dark to Left in Cold Blood, you doubt that most of what you find will offer any kind of new perspective. But on your third, slightly desperate scouring of the shelf, you make a discovery. 

It’s a small, nondescript book. The muted tones and faded lettering on the spine go easily undetected amongst the much flashier copies of anti-vampire propaganda it’s nestled between. 

Pulling the book out from the shelf with a delicate touch, you flip the cover face-up in your hand. 

Sacred Monsters: A Collection of Essays on the Origins of Immortality

It piques your interest. At the very least, it seems different from all the other novels. 

Book in hand, you make your way to a nearby desk. Once you’re settled in, you pull out your notebook, opening to a new page with the intention of taking notes. 

The book you lay on the desk next to your notebook seems like it’s lived a long life, the old scent of dust and aged paper and time all contained within its pages. Flipping open the front cover, you look for an author or publication date. But there’s nothing there, not even a title page or a table of contents. 

Glossing over the slight oddity, you decide the beginning is as good a place as any to start. 

The Taste of Blood, is the title at the top of the page. 

And the first sentence begins:

It is neither sweet nor particularly savory. There is no distinct aroma, no compelling flavor profile, nothing that appeals to the eye or excites the taste buds. The only merit is the fact that it is necessary. For even those blessed with immortality know what it means to survive. And even those cursed to live forever know what it means to die. 

Frowning, you flip back to the cover, as if that will provide any clarity for the strange passage you just read. But nothing is different. Nothing new stands out. Just the same, faded title. No author or indication of any kind of publication date. 

Intrigued, you turn back and resume where you left off. 

Some are said to enjoy the act. The purity of release, of giving in to the instincts that can be convinced into domesticity but never fully silenced. I have never found such relief. The ghost of my humanity has always been stronger than the voice of the monster, even as he screams with unbounded ferocity. 

Without it, I feel incomplete. With it, I feel irredeemable. Even now, I dodge the truth, omit the profane. I have seen many moons, enjoyed their silver glow. I have stolen the very same pleasure from countless others. And yet, I struggle to call it by name. I cannot reconcile the battles waged in my bones, the war fought in my mind. 

There is no winner in either. All that remains in the taste of it. Lingering on my breath. Haunting my waking dreams. That which I cannot name. 

The taste of blood. 

In my fervor, it soothes like honey. In my regret, it turns to ash. 

And still, nothing changes. And still, nothing remains the same.

-- Anonymous

Well, if you were looking for something different, you found it. Because what the absolute fuck are you reading? If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it were written from the perspective of a vampire. 

Then again, shelved in the fiction section, you suppose it’s plausible. Actual vampires may have housed little room in their consciousness for anything outside of bloodlust, but it is an interesting idea to think of vampires as conflicted. Haunted by the brutality of their innate instincts. 

You’re not exactly sure how or if this will be able to influence your own story for the better, but something about it makes you want to keep reading. 

Alone, tucked amongst the dusty shelves of a neglected section of the library, you lose yourself between the pages of the mysterious book. 

As the title indicated, it’s a collection of essays. Most are quite short, around the same length as the first one you read. And none are claimed by an author. All are signed off with the same boldface type that spells Anonymous. There are subtle differences in the writing though, stylistic choices that make you think that more than one person wrote these essays. 

Despite that, they’re all woven together by a common thread. The first essay, as you discover, was not a fluke. Every single one is written in first person from the perspective of a vampire. 

The writing is compelling, humorous in places and deeply upsetting in others. It seems odd to you, just how much humanity is captured within the pages, within each turn of phrase. 

You feel inclined to root for the narrator in some stories and abjectly horrified by them in others. But never once does the writing make you think that vampires are incapable of self-actualization, of reflection, of morality. 

In all honesty, aside from Heeseung’s poems, it’s the most interesting thing you’ve read in ages. So much so that by the time you realize you’ve finished the last essay, the winter sun is teeming dangerously close to the horizon, and the library is nearing its closing hours. 

The notebook page you intended to use for notes, to jot down points of inspiration, is still woefully blank. But as you make your way back to the front of the library, the small, strange book comes along with you. 

Stopping at the front desk to formally check it out, the librarian frowns when she enters the number from the spine into the system. She clicks around on her computer for a moment longer before handing the book back to you. 

“I’m sorry, but the book isn’t coming up in our system for some reason. Would you mind writing down your student ID number for me? I’ll have to enter the information manually.”

You oblige her request, tucking the book into your bag before you leave. 

It’s chilly outside, the cold clutches of winter gaining a full grasp on the crisp, frigid air. After a long day in a stuffy library, the freezing air is almost soothing. Tucking your hands into your pockets, you turn towards the direction that will take you home. 

You’ve barely taken five steps when a voice calls your name from behind. Pausing, you turn to find the source of the sound. 

“Heeseung?” But there’s no mistaking it. That is most definitely Lee Heeseung, currently jogging towards you on the otherwise empty sidewalk in front of the university library. 

He catches up to you easily, no sign of perspiration or even a hint of breathlessness when he asks, “What are you doing walking alone at night?” As if you’re the strange one in this situation.

You give him a once over. The loose jeans and dark winter coat he wears are nothing special, but he wears them well regardless. You suppress the urge to sigh. “I could ask you the same.”

“Fair enough.” His tone is too light, too casual. Like he’s forcing it. Like he’s hiding something. “Are you headed home? I’ll walk you there.”

And if you weren’t suspicious before, you sure as hell are now. Why on earth would he want to walk you home? “I’m fine, thanks.” You turn away from him, heading in the direction of your apartment and hoping he’ll take the hint. 

Your wish goes ungranted. He matches your pace easily, even as you try to quicken it. “It’s after dark, ___. And there are a lot of…” He trails off, searching for the right word. “strange people out at night these days. I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

Lips tight, you don’t bother looking at him. The idea of Heeseung letting you do anything makes you want to throw things. “I’ll be fine.”

But he’s persistent. He’s all smiles and a strange amount of desperate when he says, “Either you let me walk you back or I’ll just follow you at a weird distance, which will be far more uncomfortable for both of us.”

That makes you stop in your tracks. And now you do turn to look at him. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Heeseung nods, “Exactly. So—”

You arch an unimpressed brow, crossing your arms over your chest. “It sounds like you’re the strange person at night I need to stay away from.���

Heeseung sighs, matches your eye. A strand of hair falls into his eyes, and he pushes it away with long fingers. “Are you gonna start walking or are we gonna stand here and argue a little longer?”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“What a great night to find out.”

You stare at him a moment longer, lips tight. You don’t want to be the one to give in, to hand him any kind of victory, no matter how small. 

But it is getting late. The walk from campus to your apartment is never one that’s made you uneasy, but it never hurts to have someone at your side. Besides, you think he was serious about following you. He’s made it clear that he’ll be tagging along one way or another. 

“Fine,” you huff, arms still crossed over your chest. “But only because the streetlight a few blocks away is out.”

Heeseung inclines his head, a minute acknowledgement. There’s a hint of movement at the corner of his lips. “Naturally.”

You resume walking, and he falls into your pace with a practiced ease, hands in his pocket, eyes on the stars. It’s a cloudless evening. The sky above you feels vast, immense as the last rays of daylight lie to rest on the distant horizon. 

With a slight shiver, you pull your jacket tighter around your body. Heeseung notices the movement. Parts his lips as if he wants to say something. Changes his mind. Closes them. 

You’ve just reached the far edge of campus when he breaks the steady silence. 

“How’s your draft coming?”

“It’s…” You trail off, not sure how well honesty will serve you here. It feels vulnerable, like a blatant weakness to admit that you’ve got nothing. But something about cold air and the vast expanse of night has you wanting to tell the truth. “Not great.”

Heeseung lets your response settle. Turns it over in his mind a few times. You’ve noticed that about him. He’s careful with his responses. Weighs his words before breathing them to life. “Still looking for inspiration?”

“I don’t know if it’s inspiration I need.” It’s easier to talk to him like this, when your eyes have something to focus on, when your body has the constant repetition of steps to occupy part of your mind. Without little distractions like these, Heeseung has a way of becoming all consuming. “I feel like I backed myself into a corner with the vampire concept. I’m not sure if there's really anything there to explore that won’t feel outdated and irrelevant.” 

“Mm,” Heeseung muses. It’s noncommittal, neither an agreement nor an argument. “Maybe. You said it yourself; vampires are nothing but bloodlust. Riled completely by instinct. Nothing left of their humanity.”

Frowning, your footsteps almost falter. “I didn’t say that.”

“Forgive me.” If there’s a tinge of bitterness in his tone, you suppose it must be because of the cold. The fact that he’s wasting his Saturday night walking you home. “Heavily implied it.”

“Honestly, the only reason I even wrote that story was because there were a lot of similar ones on New Haven’s list of recently published works.” Your reasoning feels almost stupid when you admit it aloud like this. You’ve always prided yourself on your originality, your commitment to staying true to yourself as a writer. But when push comes to shove, you let your desire to impress your professor get in the way of that. “I wanted something that would align with their usual publications.” 

You’ve admitted a weakness, a poorly made choice. You’re expecting ire, more of that haughty contempt. But Heeseung’s mind is going in an entirely different direction.

He’s not questioning your abilities, not even alluding to them at all when he asks, “What do you think of vampires, then?”

His question catches you off guard. Why on earth would he care about that? “What’s it to you?”

“My bad. We can just walk in awkward silence if you prefer.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of your energy to swallow the laugh that bubbles in your throat. Since when did Heeseung crack jokes? Since when did you have to fight the urge to giggle at them like a schoolgirl with a crush? You suddenly find yourself grateful for the cover of night, the way shadows make the heat on your cheeks undetectable. 

But his question still lingers. Ruminating on it, your mind flickers to the small, odd book currently sitting at the bottom of your bag. 

Sacred Monsters. 

It feels like a strange combination of words, two concepts that shouldn’t fit together. 

“I think it’s more complicated than that,” you breathe. You don’t know if it could possibly be true, the idea that creatures of the night have a high level of consciousness, the ability to moralize, to feel conflicted. But it certainly makes for a more interesting story. 

“I mean, vampires had to have some level of base cognition, right?” You’ll never know for sure, but the more you think about it, the more it makes sense. “They were hunted to near extinction, but they put up a good fight. They hid. They fled. They tried blending in as humans. Some resorted to drinking animal blood. I guess there’s no way of knowing, but that doesn’t feel like pure biology or an evolutionary response alone. It feels like… something a human would do.”

“Wouldn’t that be worse?” Heeseung’s voice is low. If the faint hum of faraway traffic were any louder, you might not hear him at all. “For them to know what it means to be alive and still make the choice to take that away from someone else? To exist as a parasite.”

“It would certainly be tragic.” The words of the first essay come back to you. 

For even those blessed with immortality know what it means to survive. And even those cursed to live forever know what it means to die.

“It’s a fatal flaw, a cruel design. They need blood to survive. The very thing that their bodies used to create on their own. It’s parasitic, yes, but that doesn’t make it animal instinct. I can’t imagine the horror of having to experience that with the burden of human consciousness.” 

You feel the weight of Heeseung’s gaze on the side of your face. “It’s still evil, is it not?”

His words feel heavy, weighted under moonlight. Though you can’t imagine why, you have the distinct sense that your answer is important to him. 

“Like I said, I think it’s more complicated than that. Taking someone’s life is evil, yes, but that was never unique to vampires. Is a vampire that chooses animal blood still evil just because they’re a vampire? Is a human that chooses to kill another absolved of their crime just by virtue of being human?”

Your words settle into the space between you. 

“That,” Heeseung finally breathes, “would make a much better story than the one I read last night.”

This time, you do laugh, a light airy thing. It feels easy, lighthearted as some of the tension drains from the atmosphere.

“Unfortunately, I’m not so sure Professor Kim would agree. Based on everything New Haven publishes, he seems to have some weird anti-vampire vendetta.”

As you round the corner, your apartment comes into view. Nodding toward the staircase that leads to your front door, you tell him, “This is me, by the way.”

Heeseung glances at the stairs, then back at you. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “When is your draft due?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groan. “Wednesday.”

“Mm,” he winces, an offer of understanding. “What time?”

“I’m supposed to be at New Haven by three, so—”

“What?” Heeseung cuts you off, expression suddenly tense, voice suddenly sharp. “You’re going to the publishing office?”

“Yeah.” You nod slowly, unsure why that would possibly warrant such a strong reaction. “I’m dropping off my first draft and getting a tour. The internship starts right when spring semester does, so he told me I could come in person to familiarize myself with the space first.”

“Right.” Heeseung nods. The tension in his jaw doesn’t relax.

It’s all so strange. He always seems to be speaking in riddles, dealing with invisible problems you can’t detect. 

You’re tired and confused, and the moon that hangs above you doesn’t feel like a remedy for either of those things. In fact, it might be making things worse. 

Because despite the way you feel like you’ll never quite understand him, bathed in the shimmering glow of moonlight, Heeseung looks… 

He looks like all the things you’ve been trying to avoid calling him for the duration of the semester. Ethereal. Beautiful. Maybe even kind, at least when he wants to be. 

After all, you’re standing at the base of your staircase with company, and it wasn’t due to any insistence on your end. 

The silence lingers. A string somewhere is pulled taught. 

You’re standing still, and you’re still a little breathless when you tell him, “I should go.” You don’t want to. You’re not sure why. 

Again, Heeseung only nods. 

The movement sends shadows dancing over his features. The bridge of his nose. The plane of his cheek. The line of his jaw. Things you’ve never let yourself linger on. Things you’re having a hard time looking away from now. 

 But he’s seen you home safe and sound, and even nights under the stars have their inevitable end. 

It occurs to you then that you have no idea how he plans to get home, or even how far away he lives. 

After he walked you home,it’s the least you could do to offer, “Do you live far? I could help you pay for a cab or something if—”

Heeseung shakes his head. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It won’t take me long. Besides, I like to walk at night.”

“Okay.” It feels strange, trading these bits of kindness. You’re craving some normalcy, something unwavering. So with a final wave and a small goodnight, you climb the stairs to your door. 

You couldn’t say for sure if his eyes follow you on the way up. You feel the heat of them, the weight of a steady gaze on your spine. But it’s a fickle sensation and you’ve been wrong before. And you can’t quite bring yourself to turn around and look. 

The door closes behind you. Surrounded by the stillness of an empty apartment, you release a long held exhale. It drains out of you audibly. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath. 

…..

Dawn breaks Wednesday morning and carries with it a certain kind of dread. 

Despite your efforts, and there have been many, your draft remains far too close to its original state for your satisfaction. No matter how many times you pour over Sacred Monsters, you can never quite seem to find a way to make your submission more interesting while also staying true to New Haven’s general themes. 

If anything, the book has been a distraction. Long hours that you could have spent editing or revising or rewriting were instead dedicated to detailed web searches with a variety of keywords and spellings that never seemed to bear any fruit. 

It doesn’t matter which search engine you use. It doesn’t matter which database you browse. Other than the copy sitting on your desk, Sacred Monsters doesn’t seem to exist. 

But the annoying, wonderful, awful thing about time is that it passes. Time doesn’t care that you haven’t found it in yourself to produce a draft you’re proud of. Time doesn’t relent just because you always feel like it’s slipping through your fingers. 

And Wednesday morning turns to Wednesday afternoon with the same steady predictability as always. 

You’d like to think that you know the area around your university quite well, but New Haven’s main office is in an entirely different part of the city. You’ll have to leave now if you want to catch the bus with a little cushion of time to spare. The last thing you want to do is be late to your first day. Especially since the draft tucked neatly into your bag isn’t one you can hand over with confidence. 

To your relief, the bus is relatively empty. You tuck yourself into a seat and thank your lucky stars that you missed the afternoon rush. 

Popping your headphones in, you’re searching for something to fill the time. There’s the draft sitting in your bag, of course, but the last thing you want to do is spend the next thirty minutes agonizing over it. For now, it will just have to be the mess of mediocrity that it is. 

Instead, you reach for your phone. Maybe some mindless scrolling will be what you need to put your nerves at ease. 

But when the app loads, the first post you see doesn’t have you giggling or rolling your eyes or scrolling on without a thought at all. Instead, your spine straightens, shoulders suddenly tense. 

Because the words you’re reading are not something you ever expected to see in your lifetime. 

Three dead in suspected vampire attack, the latest headline from your local news reporting channel reads. 

Clicking on the article, the details are hazy, but that does little to lessen the grip of fear that makes a sudden grab at your throat. Fragments of sentences capture your attention as you scan the page. 

Three bodies found near the river…

Bite marks on their necks…

No trace of recent animal activity in the area…

Eyes widening with every new piece of information, fear claws at your throat. 

Bodies completely drained of blood.

Two hundred years. Two hundred years of the belief that vampires have all but been eradicated. Shattered in one fell swoop. 

And in your city, of all places. At the river. Somewhere you’ve been. Somewhere you wouldn’t think twice about going. It’s not particularly close to your apartment or university, but it’s not exactly far enough away for comfort.

You shudder, suddenly grateful that Heeseung was there to walk you home last night. Not that he would be able to do much if you did stumble across the path of a vampire, but—”

Oh god. Oh god. 

Heeseung. 

You have no idea if he made it home safe after parting ways with you and you have no way of checking. He hadn’t made any indication as to where he lived before saying goodnight. For all you know, he could have been heading in the direction of the river. He could have been at the river. Right when the attacks occurred. 

Doubling down on your phone, you scour the article for any information you can find on the victims. Objectively, it’s probably a good thing that they’re described only vaguely. Probably an intentional choice to protect the privacy of grieving friends and families. 

But ‘three victims, two men and one woman, all in their early twenties’ does very, very little to assuage your terror. In fact, it only heightens it. 

Blood pounding in your ears and dread pooling in your stomach, thirty minutes passes in the blink of an eye, you nearly miss your stop. But as you get off of the bus, you’re spiraling. Should you even be here? It feels wrong, leaving such a terrifying loose end untied. 

But then you think it through a little further. Even if you got back on the bus, rode it all the way to the stop by your apartment, you have no idea where you’d go from there. You may have shared insults and confidence and a moment under the moonlight with Heeseung, but you don’t know anything about him. Where he lives, where to reach him, where he could possibly be right now. 

But Professor Kim might. You’re sure that student information is strictly confidential, but if you explain the situation to him, he might be understanding, might just be willing to bend the rules a bit for you. 

So with a heaviness in your heart and fire in your footsteps, you double check the address of New Haven’s office and start walking away from the bus stop. Your surroundings are not a primary area of your focus, but it does strike you as odd how deserted the whole area seems. 

Other than a few residential looking buildings, the street you walk is mostly empty lots. Abandoned houses. Not the kind of place you would consider ideal for any business. 

Despite the cold morning sunshine, the afternoon has brought a cover of clouds. Squinting towards the distance, you wonder if you should have brought your umbrella, just in case. It almost looks as if it’s going to rain. 

When you do finally find the building, you have to stop to double check the address. Not only is there no signage, but New Haven’s supposed headquarters looks just as run down as all of the other buildings in the area. 

Frowning, you reread your email. The address does match the faded numbers next to the front door, and Professor Kim seems too meticulous to make a mistake like an incorrect address. Then again, he also seems too well off to run his publishing company out of a decrepit building far away from any of the city’s major business centers. 

But you won’t bother worrying about it now. Even your dreary first draft feels like an afterthought at this point. Who cares if the building’s not what you expected, if the location isn’t ideal? Right now, you need to focus on finding Heeseung, on making sure he’s okay. 

Because the alternative…

No, you refuse to let yourself spiral there either. But the pressure of grief borrowed from the future is already pressing firmly against the backs of your eyelids, blurring your surroundings. 

As you approach the front door, you notice a small, faded placard. 

New Haven. Well, at least that confirms that you’re in the right spot. Even if it is a bit odd that they left off Publishing. 

Standing at the door, you hesitate. Should you knock? Just walk in? You take a sidelong glance at the window, scanning for any sign of movement. But there’s nothing there. In fact, it looks as if the lights are off. 

Dark, quiet, desolate. Strange, yes, but not something you’ll waste time ruminating on now. 

You knock once. Twice. The sound echoes; the only response is the whistling of the wind.

Deep in the pit of your stomach, a sense of unease begins to build. It feels off, like something is wrong. Senses on high alert, you force the feeling aside. You need a way to find Heeseung, to make sure he’s okay. Besides, the lingering unease is probably just the anxiety of not knowing if he’s safe. 

Steeling your resolve, you reach for the door handle, twisting it tentatively. It opens slowly, the hinges groaning in protest. As if the building itself doesn’t want you there. Stepping inside does little to shake the feeling. Dark and devoid of any decoration, the interior is nearly as gloomy as the sunless sky outside. 

And even the layout of the building is strange. The front door opens to a long, dark hallway with no lights on. It’s eerily quiet. Too quiet. Too empty. You weren’t expecting a welcoming party by any means, but it’s hard to imagine anyone, much less Professor Kim, even being here. 

“Hello?” You call, clutching your bag a little closer to your body, suppressing the shudder that licks at the base of your spine. “Professor Kim?” You wait a moment, but sustained silence is the only response. 

Forcing your footsteps forward, you tread tentatively down the hallway. After all, you didn’t come this far just to turn around. Especially now that Professor Kim might be your only way of finding Heeseung. 

Taking slow steps down the dark hallway, you pass two doors, both of them pulled shut. The end of the hall opens into a larger room, still empty of any furnishings. It certainly doesn’t look like a publishing house. It doesn't look like much at all. At the very least, there’s a bit more visibility here, faint traces of faded daylight streaming in through the half drawn blinds on the other side of the room. 

Turning to your left, you see another door. This one is also pulled shut, but there’s a name placard on the front. Drawing closer, you read your professor’s name. It still doesn't feel right. Ducking down slightly, you check the gap between the bottom of the door and the hardwood floor for any sign of light, of movement. But it’s just as dark, just as quiet as the rest of the strange building. 

As you stand back up to your full height, you raise a hand to knock. Just before your knuckles make contact with the door, you see it. An odd array of crimson stains near the handle. Peering closer, your brow furrows in a combination of disgust and confusion. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think it looked like blood. 

But that doesn’t make any sense. None of this does. You won’t pretend to know Professor Kim, but he’s never shown up to a lecture with so much as a hair out of place. Why on earth would he run his publishing company out of a building that’s nearly falling apart? Why would there be strange, suspicious looking stains on the door to his office? Why would it be empty at the time he asked you to come present your draft and tour your future internship location?

You have no idea what to do. Opening the door to his office and letting yourself in would feel like an inappropriate invasion of privacy, but you’re at a loss. This entire thing is so strange. 

Before you can decide how to proceed, you hear something. A faint noise, barely there, but distinct from the wind that still whistles outside. It’s disjointed, arrhythmic like the sound of hushed voices. Overlapping. Arguing, maybe. 

Inclining your head, your brow creases further. It sounds like it’s coming from your professor’s office, but how could it be? The noises are too muffled, too distant to be coming from right in front of you. 

You lean closer. Deciding you’re past the point of maintaining decorum, you press your ear to the door, careful to avoid any of the suspicious looking stains. 

For a moment, you hear nothing. Half convinced the voices were nothing but a figment of your overactive imagination, you almost pull away. 

But then you hear them again. Still muffled, still indecipherable, but undoubtedly louder than before. Which means they must be coming from behind the door. The voices pause, suspend you in silence once again. 

And then you hear another noise, different this time. Less like a voice and more like movement. Scuffling, maybe. Feet dragging against the floor. It’s punctuated by a strange gurgling noise. Something wet and thick and throaty. The kind of sound that makes you wince in a subconscious reaction. 

And then a sudden thump has your bones jolting beneath your skin, everything muscle in your body tensing as you suppress an uninvited gasp. Because that didn’t sound far away. It was loud, too loud to be anywhere but right on the other side of the door. 

Mild unease is quick to transform into sheer panic as you stagger backwards on shaky footsteps. You need to leave. You need to leave now. 

You’ll find another way to get ahold of Heeseung, to make sure he’s okay. And maybe there’s a rational explanation for all of this. Maybe this is an old New Haven office and Professor Kim forgot to send you the new address. Maybe there’s an email in your inbox now, and he’s apologizing for the oversight and rescheduling your draft meeting. Maybe he’s—

The sound of the front door you walked in through minutes ago slamming shut kills the train of thought. This time, you can’t bite down the noise that crawls up your throat. 

It’s stupid, from a logical perspective. A fatal flaw of human nature that your first instinct is to scream. To alert whatever danger surely lurks nearby of your exact location, the precise depth of your fear. 

But the terror that leaves your lips is muffled. It comes from behind, the palm that covers your mouth. The outline of a body that presses into your back, forces you into submission with a hand around your wrist.  

You thrash against the ironclad grip to no avail. Dig your heels into the ground but find little purchase in the hardwood floor as you’re dragged backwards, every nerve in your body singing with terror as you’re forced into a dark room. Even with your elbows flailing and head jerking, the grip on you remains steady, firm. 

In the end, it’s a bite that frees you. The hand that covers your mouth drops away as soon as you sink your teeth into the flesh of your captor’s fingers. There’s a muffled grunt of pain in your ear as you spin on your heel. 

Again, it’s stupid. You should be running, sprinting in the opposite direction, but everything in you is begging to know. To gain some sense of control over the situation. Eyes still adjusting to the dark and blinded by fear, you turn to find—

“Heeseung?” Your mind is spinning a million miles a minute. There are too many thoughts, too many emotions to keep up with. Relief. Fear. Confusion.

Relief, because he’s okay and he’s here, but—

“What are you doing?” You have a million questions that demand answers. “Why are you here? Why did you grab me like th—”

“Are you okay?” Heeseung takes a step closer to you, reaches his hands out as if to grab you again. Thinking better of it, he lets them fall back to his side with a slight shake of his head. There’s terror in his eyes too when he clarifies, “You’re not hurt?”

“No, I…” What the hell is going on? “I’m fine, but—”

A flash of relief makes itself apparent on Heeseung’s features before they’re morphing again, regaining all the urgency, the fear that was there before. He’s serious, gravely so when he tells you, “We have to get out of here.”

“Okay,” you stumble forward as he reaches for your wrist again, intent on tugging you behind him. “But I don’t understand. What’s—”

“I’ll explain everything later.” He’s frantic, you realize. Desperate. And so terribly afraid. Emotions you’ve never seen him wear. Not in the cool, calm mask of indifference he had in class. Not in the faint flickers of vulnerability from stolen moments under moonlight. This is different. This is so much worse. “But we have to go. Now.”

With that much command in his voice, that much fear in his eyes, you’re putty in his hands. But in the end, it makes little difference. The door to the room he’s dragged you into opens with a resounding bang before the two of you can make your escape. The sound is so loud, so frightening that you feel reverberations in your marrow as the door collides with the room’s interior wall, no doubt leaving a sizable dent.

And standing there, shrouded by the gray tones of sunless winter daylight, your professor blocks the room’s only exit. 

Instinctively, you take a step closer to Heeseung. He does the same, pulling you towards him, behind him, until half of your body is covered by his. Peering over his shoulder, the sight that greets you is one that will haunt waking nightmares for a long time to come. 

Professor Kim, who always prided himself on maintaining a neat, clean appearance couldn’t be further from that now. His clothes are ripped, hanging from his body at odd angles, adding an element of disfigured monstrosity to his silhouette. 

And his eyes. His eyes. Bloodshot and so wide they must hurt, they dart around the room, narrow in on you and Heeseung like he doesn’t see humans. Only targets. Enemies. Prey. Mouth open and snarling, you swear you see a glint in his mouth, the shape of a tooth far too long and pointed to belong to any normal person. 

But even those things you could force yourself to forget. 

What horrifies you the most is the blood. Even in the shadows, the unnaturally potent shade of crimson is unmistakable. It stains him, covers him, drips from him. Seeps from his clothes and his skin and his mouth. 

Panic clawing at your throat, you suppress the urge to vomit. 

“Get behind me,” Heeseung whispers, low. “Now.”

But a split second of averted attention is all your professor needs. Professor Kim, lover of literature, beacon of taste, a role model you’ve looked up to since the first time you stepped foot in his class a handful of months ago, pinches a tiny object between his long, bony, blood-covered fingers. And then he throws it. 

With startling precision, it whistles through the air, races through a hazy cloud of confusion and panic before it strikes its target true. 

It doesn’t hurt, not really. The hand that flies to the side of your neck is instinct, more than anything. But the fingers that linger on your pulse point don’t find the smooth expanse of your unblemished throat that they usually would. 

Because there’s something there now. An object lodged just beneath your jaw. Delicately, you draw your hand back in front of your face. There’s no blood on your fingers, but that doesn’t stop them from shaking. 

As you look over Heeseung’s shoulder, the world starts to blur around the edges. Darken, as if your eyes are closing of their own volition, against your will. You see him retreat, the terrible ghost of your professor. In the dark, he looks almost forlorn. Regretful. 

“Fuck,” Heeseung whispers. He doesn’t see the way your professor spins on his heel, runs in the opposite direction. His attention is trained fully on the space beneath your jaw. “Fuck.”

“Heeseung?” Your voice sounds strange to your own ears. Distant, muffled as if you’re submerged beneath water. You have so many questions. 

But it’s suddenly so cold. And you’re so tired. Wouldn’t it be nice to just lay down? Rest for a moment? Surely that couldn’t hurt anything. 

Your legs are wobbly beneath you, and you would collapse to the floor in an ungraceful heap if it weren’t for the two hands on your waist, supporting your weight. 

“I’m here,” he tells you. Cold. When did it get so cold? Your eyes try to focus on Heeseung, but your vision is swimming. You wonder if he would be warm. “I’m right here. Just… fuck.”

Gently, he eases you both to the ground. The floor is hard beneath you, but it feels like a reprieve. You’re tired of holding the weight of your body upright. Your blinking is becoming slow, lethargic. Your head is suddenly far too heavy for your neck. 

Slowly, Heeseung removes his hands from your waist, relocates them to either side of your jaw. With the care of someone well versed in patience, he delicately maneuvers your head to the side, exposing the length of your neck. 

Whatever he finds there must be displeasing. You can’t imagine why. You can’t think much of anything. The world has taken on a sort of dreamlike quality in which everything feels loose, fluid and unburdened by the laws of any physics. 

“Fuck,” he whispers for the fourth time. The curse scatters over your cheekbone like a kiss. 

Pulling back slightly, he meets your half-closed eyes. “I’m sorry.” It sounds like a prayer. “This might…” he swallows, something in his resolve wavering. “This might hurt.”

Pain. You can barely conceptualize the sensation. It feels like a distant memory. 

And then he’s tilting your head to the side again. His face draws closer, overcomes the last of your remaining senses, demands the full attention of what’s left of your consciousness. 

You think he might kiss you. Whatever desire remains in you almost wishes he would. 

Your eyes flutter shut, lips parting slightly as your eyelashes fan against the tops of your cheeks. 

But his mouth never finds yours. Instead, you feel the soft caress of his lips against the side of your neck, a fleeting touch against the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw. Inhibitions whittled to nothing, you shudder against the sensation, release the airy ghost of a sigh.

He was wrong, you think. With his mouth on your neck, pain is the last thing you feel. 

You feel his lips part against your skin, chasing away some of the cold that has only seeped deeper into bones, into the very essence of your being. 

And then you feel it. Whatever capacity for sensation that remains all focuses on the sudden flash of agony as his teeth pierce the skin of your throat. 

The tiny moan that escapes your lips is pitiful. Your ability to think, to rationalize, feels like something that’s dangling in front of you, just out of reach. Your body is too heavy, too weak to respond to the flash of searing pain as your skin is pierced deeper. 

He can’t speak, but you feel the shallow vibration of a hum against your neck. Soothing, calming. His hand that doesn’t bear the weight of your head moves to push a stray strand of hair from your forehead. It’s gentle, reverent. In complete opposition to the war he wages against your neck. 

Mouth still full of you, a groan escapes him. It’s heady, throaty, and you feel it travel the length of your spine, settle in the pit of your stomach. Sensation is the only thing tethering you to this world, and you can’t quite tell if this is pleasure or pain. 

He pulls back, the absence of his steady heat leaving your jaw vulnerable to the chill in the air. 

“Hold on,” you hear. You can’t pinpoint where the noise comes from. Sound surrounds you, washes over you in a strange uniformity. You feel the ground fall away, something warm and solid behind your shoulders and under your knees.“We’ll be there soon.”

Floating, you think. You must be floating. It’s hard to tell. Moments are bleeding into one another too quickly for you to keep up. 

Eyes closed, body molten, you relax into the steady grip that carries you. 

And the last thing you hear before reality loses its hold is the fervent, whispered sound of your name. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

CONTINUED IN PART 2 (which can be found on my masterlist!)

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: THANK YOUUUUU for reading!!! this is pretty different from what I usually write plot wise, so I hope it made for a good read. vampire heeseung and this oc are near and dear to me, and I'm excited to continue their story. the rest of this fic is fully plotted and partially written. I'm actively continuing to work on it, and hearing your thoughts/theories/screaming/feedback/etc. is great motivation! as always, I love know what you're thinking. ♡

[nipuni]

We went to see Phantom Madrid last weekend!! ❤️ Geronimo Rauch was amazing!! I'm going to write my thoughts on the whole performance under a cut for those interested 😊

I am going to be comparing it to the London version for reference since it's the only one I've seen live. I think my first impression was that It was better than I expected it to be! I read opinions about the Trieste production and I was a little worried but I found that I enjoyed a lot of the things I've seen being criticized.

The stage spinning around was awesome and added so much depth to scenes and made transitions very smooth. The backdrops were very nicely done!

As for costumes I think they were pretty good with the exception of Aminta's dress and the Masquerade costumes being kind of underwhelming.

The singing was good overall, although the translated lyrics are weird sometimes. The main songs translate well but some others become very confusing in Spanish, some wording seems forced and some notes are slightly altered to fit the phrases. Raoul is very calm and soft, maybe a little too much at times, Christine is very neutral and simple. Geronimo was amazing tho no notes!

Now the acting! I have opinions 😫 This show was very Christine and Raoul centric to such an extent that it flattened the plot for me 😬 Christine seems scared and disgusted from start to finish so there is no conflict in her character. She is never torn, she recoils from the phantom's touch during Music of the Night, and during Final Lair she sings the "pitiful creature of darkness" lines looking at Raoul the whole time backing away towards the phantom and steeling herself and only turns reluctantly at the last second to kiss Erik. She comes back to return his ring and just leaves it on the organ stool as soon as he turns around because she's scared to get close to him, when he sings "I love you" she shakes her head at him 🥹 like girl please give us something!!

Geronimo's phantom is a delight tho!! He whimpers, crawls, cries, screams, pants, it's great. He's acting his butt off and is the highlight of the show for me.

A thing that I really liked was in the end when the mob comes Erik is curled up in his bed crying and Madame Giry finds him there and tells him to hide under the covers and leads the mob away from him, I thought it was sweet and transitions into LND nicely.

OH also!! I really enjoyed the Phantom swinging on a rope across the stage during the ballet and Buquet's hanging, it's so good!! the flaming chandelier scene is also good!! in Final Lair they actually hang Raoul in the air which was very nice too! (and with his shirt still on) and even the angel wings and flying that I've seen people hating on was honestly so cool. It didn't look as goofy as I expected it to, it's very smooth and the lighting makes it scary, he casts thunder and flies!! the wings are not very visible since the scene is very dark. The light work was super good in general.

Masquerade and Don Juan were a bit of a let down, much simpler but not bad. I think my main issues were about the choices for Christine really 🤔 and I think some scenes needed more movement, especially the roof one (they couldn't move because they are sitting on a ledge)

The show in general feels a bit one note compared to the West End version but it was good!! I'm just nitpicky 😂 also I want Geronimo's autograph!! I love him 😭

Anyway if you want to see/hear more let me know on discord wink wonk 😁

[memies]

MARINA LYRIC BASED SENTENCE STARTER - Feel free to change pronouns e.t.c. Some lyrics slightly altered to fit the format better!

“Are you satisfied with an average life?”

“My love is a planet revolving your heart.”

“I'm not afraid of God, I am afraid of man.”

“Before I met you, I pushed them all away.”

“I want to be immortal, like a God in the sky.”

“When it comes to love, you’re an easy fight.”

“I said goodbye when I shouldn't have said it.”

“It's not my problem if you don't see what I see.”

“I know exactly what I want and who I want to be.”

“If I could buy forever at a price, I would buy it twice.”

“You still mean everything to me, but I want to be free.”

“Don't wanna talk anymore. I'm obsessed with silence.”

“I feel like I'm the worst, so I always act like I'm the best.”

“It isn't fair and it isn’t right, to lead you on like it’s all alright.”

“They say I'm a control freak, driven by a greed to succeed.”

“Suspicious from the start, I always had my doubts about you.”

“If you are not very careful, your possessions will possess you.”

“It only takes two lonely people to fuck love up and make it evil.”

“And I've tried to say, babe, I'm gonna ruin you if you let me stay.”

“Was I meant to feel happy that my life was just about to change?”

“It’s difficult to move on, when nothing was right and nothing’s wrong.”

“Spent so long chasing happiness, when all I needed was a little peace.”

“I've had my share of beautiful men, but I'm still young and I want to love again.”

“I envy the birds high up in the trees. They live out their lives, so purposefully.”

“What I like about you is you know who you are. What you like about me is I know what I'm not.”

“I want to mean something to somebody else, feel a significance in the real world. It's not enough to live out a lucky life.”

[alpydk]

"Fanfic Writer Ask Game"

Oh you want it, you got it! We're into deep, we're into deep❗ 👏😆I want to know it all

❤️💥👻👓🦈🌻💛💭🧪

Oh damn! You got it, you precious demon of chaos! Love it!

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

I have too many that come to mind, The eclipse moment is the obvious one, but that's technically 2 lines so going to with this from Disgusting, tainted, used - "You’d made your bed, and now you had lain in its ethereal sheets." - Such a simple and common phrase but altered slightly and the guilt/self blame behind it sticks with me bad.

💥 What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

I'm honestly stumped. Like I know, I want more of the Gale/Durge confrontation after the coronation, especially if you're romancing him, but that's not so much a change. I think I'd want the Mystra stuff changed, if anything. I'm not getting on either side of the discussion and what needs changing, only that it needs some proper planning, so there isn't a discussion. Maybe just a better timeline, who this Mystra really is in the scheme of things rather than just metadata and speculation. (Yes, I've seen the many posts.)

👻 What is your wildest headcanon?

That Aradin is a lawyer. He's given it up thinking that being an adventurer would be easier, and this is why he has a (probably very detailed) contract with Lorroakan. He wasn't a talented lawyer, instead one of those intro to the Ace Attorney type prosecution lawyers that you'd get for free. It also explains why he's not that good in a fistfight.

👓 What helps you focus when you write?

Music, particularly if it's not in a language I speak, so Kpop, Breed 77 (Spanish), Rammstein (German). Things like that.

🦈 Which character is the toughest to write?

Elminster by far. Take a normal sentence, flower it up, flower it up some more. Is it understandable? No, then you've not gone far enough. For someone like me who's very straight to the point, writing him hurttttt....

🌻 How often do you read your own fics?

Quite a lot, actually. I'm a huge fan of my own work. I've got everything I like, excess angst, likeable characters, and I update my fics often. Why wouldn't I read it all the time?

💛 What is the most impactful lesson you’ve learned about writing?

That I'm writing for me and me alone and fuck the haters. Like really, as someone who is extremely sensitive to the reactions of others, learning this (and still learning it) has been the most important thing. I still have days where I don't see the notes tick up and I think why do I bother, but then as I'm writing it, sitting in that imaginary world of my creation, I realise that I'm happy anyway, and I don't need other people's validation to have that.

💭 What inspires you and your writing?

Music is a big inspiration for me. I might hear a song or see a lyric and think that suits X character. How can I get that to fit in a narrative sense? And from there it just builds up. The entirety of Eclipse was based on one song alone.

🧪 Do you research for your fics?

I might check up on something if I'm unsure, colours for example or what the name of a specific thing is. I know for Ink Stains I had to look quite a bit into codependent relationships to make sure I was hitting the topic correctly, like I had my own experiences to go on, but it didn't feel enough.

Right anyway - Rugan isn't going to save himself at this rate but thank you for the ask. I really don't get enough (shameless hint to those reading this :p)

[crazykacey]

Hitosuji no Hikari sung by Sailor Moon(Riko Tanaka) and Enkaku Ryokou by both human(MARISA) and cat(Yune Sakurai) forms of Luna! Enkaku Ryokou had slightly altered lyrics o fit this musical better

I love both of these soo much <3 Hitosuji is such an amazing and underrated song <3 and Enkaku Ryokou just makes me cry everytime😭💖

(If using headphones, it only works on the right ear. Also there is a lot of clapping cause everyone had the time of their life. So yeah I didn't edit any of them at all cause I only have my phone with me. Also also if shared, please credit me!)

[stuntgirlatthevampiremansion]

To the Rhythm of the Ocean

Pairing: Jake Kiszka/reader

word count: 2,226

warnings: first person POV, the reader is mentioned to be an artist and bisexual but it is not important to the plot. Other than that its just a fluffy day at the beach. 😊

A/n: at last, I finally wrote a fic. It is extremely self-indulgent and was inspired by some anons that @safari-karrot got that I definitely did NOT send ;). I also want to thank Kate for being my beta! I worked pretty hard on it and im proud of it. Hope you enjoy!

-----------

Walking into the elevator of my apartment complex, I was able to let my shoulders relax and my guard down for the first time all day. The day at the studio was intense today, and for all the wrong reasons. No matter how much I tried, I wasn’t able to create anything, as if all of the motivation and drive to do my work had burned out. I was burnt out. I was lucky enough to score an apartment next door to a pair of twins, Jake and Josh, who quickly became good friends. And even more fortunate, they had come back home this week from recording with their band, which meant I could spend my afternoon with them instead of alone in my own apartment. 

I entered my house and set my bags and work down on the dining table. It was impossible to make out where the table was under pile of unfinished sketches and work plans, but that was a tomorrow problem. I put on the kettle to make some tea and shot Jake a text asking if I could come over. 

  Jake... in the last couple of years that i have known the twins, the have become an indispensable part of my life. We take turns cooking for the three of us and hosting movie nights, an even go do laundry together. Having them away for so long felt like a hole had been carved out of my soul, and it also made my harboring crush on Jake ache deeper and deeper. He was unlike anyone I had ever met, we understood each other in a way I never thought I would have with anyone, yet he was still an enigma. He was insanely talented and driven, and he was smart. And kind. And funny. And extremely easy on the eyes. I would never tell him this though, his friendship is all I can get, and I’ll learn to live with that. 

His text came back telling me that his door was open. I finished and drank my tea, washed my face, changed into more comfortable clothes, and made my way next door. 

When I came into the twins’s apartment Jake was sitting on the sofa playing his guitar, a small notebook sat on his lap. At my entrance, he sent a smile my way, but continued playing. 

“Where is Josh?” 

“He’s out filming. Why, did you need him?” 

“No, just wonderin’.” 

“You know, if you just want to hang out with me to try to get into my brother’s pants, you could have just told me. And I want no part of it. Here I was thinking we were best friends.” He teased and wiped fake tears from his eyes, but his smile said that he was just messing. That did not, however, stop my nerves. Best friend.

“I do not want to get into your brother’s pants, Jake. They wouldn’t fit me.” I took of my boots and plopped on the couch next to him. “I’m your best friend?! What about Josh, Danny and Sam?”

“That’s different, they’re my brothers.”

“Hm... I guess you’re a fine friend too, one could even say the best one I’ve had.” Friend. 

“And the best one you’ll ever have.” He set his guitar down to his other side, “how was the studio today? Any new paintings?“ 

I let out an exasperated sigh “I wish. I am incredible burned out, I can barely even pick up a pencil! I have gotten close to nothing done all week and Rachel keeps asking me out, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Rachel? What did you say?” If I didn’t know better I would’ve thought I saw pain flash across his face.

“I told her no, but that is besides the point. I’m just so out of it...” 

“You do look like you need some adventure.”

“You could say that” 

“You know what?” He got up from the couch and pulled me to stand with him. “I’ll give it to you. Go get dressed, I’ll get everything ready.” 

  “What? Where are we going?”

“If i tell you it wont be a surprise. Now go to your house and get ready.” 

“Then what do I wear?”

He seemed to think about it for a while, then said “something comfortable, but tropical.” 

“Jake, that tells me absolutely nothing—“

“You’ll figure it out. Now leave, and don’t come back unless you’re on party business.” It was futile to keep going so I just stuck my tongue back at him and walked out of the door and into my apartment. 

I settled on wearing a short blue sundress, boots, and a pair of sunglasses. I walked back into his apartment to find Jake in the shortest shorts i have even seen him wear, an unbuttoned white shirt, and his signature combination of necklaces and a bucket hat. “Are those Sam’s?” 

“No, I own shorts too.” He put down two boxes on the coffee table and looked me over once. “That is exactly what I meant! Now carry this to the car.” He handed me a box full of snacks and drinks and we made our way down to the car. 

I rode shotgun. He still refused to tell where we were headed. No matter how much I pushed and tried to wear him down, he just said to wait and find out. We got busy talking and listening to music and I gave up asking. Instead, I admired the scenery passing around us, and I admired Jake, with the windows down, his hair wild in the wind, and rocking out to our playlist. He had the ability to make me happy by just taking me on a drive. He didn’t even have to try. 

Eventually the buildings turned into trees, and the trees to palm trees, until finally we arrived at a clearing by the ocean. Jake parked the car, “We’re here!”

“You brought me to the beach!” He brought me to the beach! The ocean! The one place I loved most in the world. “I could marry you right now!” I threw my arms around him and jumped out of the car. My boots were off in a second and by the next my feet were already in the water. Jake did the same before joining me at the shore. 

“So, was it a good surprise?” I could hear his smile without even looking at him. And he knew the answer before I even spoke.

“The best! Thank you, Jake. Really.” 

We set on an easy pace through the shore, side by side. Each picking out seashells and skipping rocks on the water. The sun wasn’t unbearable, for it was afternoon. The sky was blue and almost cloudless, the only thing that altered it were the shapes of birds flying overhead. The sand was coarse and stuck to our feet, but it wasn’t burning. The sea... it was an array of the bluest blues one could imagine, all coexisting for our pleasure. Jake was glowing,  and I must have been too, I was incandescently happy. 

Back at the car, I set out our snacks and liquor while Jake put in some music. Halfway through our first meal and first bottle, Jake turned up the radio, and waited for my reaction.

“I love this song!”

“I know you do, thats why I put it.” He took our food and put it away on the roof of the car; and for the second time today, pulled me by the hand to stand. “let’s dance” 

His touch sent electric currents up my back. Best friend. “this song isn’t danceable, Jake!”

“It is if we want it to be.” And he held my hand in his and dragged me towards the clearing. The breeze was calming, the sea was a splendid blue. The waves lapped at the shore, not strong enough to disrupt our song.

Turns out, the song was danceable after all; and so were all the others that came after it. We held each other while we took turns twirling and laughing, belting our lyrics and acting out the drama of the songs. Every lick of his fingers on my skin left a burning sensation, yet I couldn't get enough. If he knew what this was doing to me... If he knew I was drunk on him and falling on every shared glance, every smile, every touch. 

The sun started its descend and our dancing got closer. He held his hands of my waist, my chest pressed against his, my hands on his shoulders as we swayed around our little ballroom of a clearing. My spine tingled, with every inhale, I got drunk in his scent of pine and peppermint.   

We got lost in our dancing, and then he got lost in the horizon. The sky had started to turn all shades of orange and pink, the water glimmered upon our eyes like tiny mirrors. A pelican flew over us and dived into the water in search for dinner. 

We had stopped moving, yet his hands remained placed at the small of my back, he looked at ease. My fingers twirled a strand of his hair, he didn’t mind. 

He looked like he belonged in the landscape, to the oranges and pinks that tinted the sky, he belonged to nature.

And I belonged looking at him, within arms reach yet so unattainable. He would always be a mystery. There was always more to him than met the eye, and even after years of knowing him, I hadn’t deciphered him completely. And I didn’t intend to, he was just like that. And he wasn’t mine to understand like that. 

If all I would get were stolen glances with the setting sun as out witness, I’d take it. Because right here, right now, the sight before me was one to behold. Jakes eyes were transfixed on the horizon, his mouth agape. The sun was finally hiding behind the waves, which mean our day was coming to an end. I tried not to think about it, I wouldn’t let the sun steal the light of this day from me. Ocean breeze ruffled his long hair, and as I saw the last light of day melt into his golden brown eyes, I knew that home wasn’t a place. Home is a person. And he was mine. But he would never know, for I doubted I’d be his. 

I was thrown out of my daydream when he slightly pulled back and chuckled. “ So home is a person, huh?” 

“I— “ I said that out loud. Shit shit shit. I just stared at him like a deer in the headlights. There was no way to dig myself out of this, so I remained silent. Though my hear was beating like a drum and I was certain that he could feel it due to how close he still held on. Best friends don’t say that. 

There was a shit-eating grin on his face, one that said he certainly knew what was going through my head. Instead of taunting me further, he said the words I’d most longed fo hear. 

“Then you are certainly mine” 

Nothing could stop the smile that broke out across both of our faces at that.  “And you mine” 

Before he had time to reply, I grabbed his face and pulled his lips to mine. There was static in the air, his lips were incredibly soft and tasted of coffee and chocolate. His mouth moved with expertise against mine, he held me close. Closer. Closer even still, until there was no space left between us. My heart was pounding, he licked at my bottom lip asking for entrance, which I gave, and deepened the kiss. My hands held on to him tightly, as if he would disappear would I let go. He dipped me slightly and I swore I would fall on the sand if he hadn’t held me. The purple sky could’ve turned bright yellow and I would have paid no attention. 

We pulled apart for air and the sun was completely gone. 

“Jake, I—“

“I know, I feel it too. I have for a while.”

“I was so scared that you wouldn't. Ive felt this way for you for the longest time, I—” 

“But I do!” 

“But you do!”

He pecked my lips and whispered close to my ear “And if you want, we’ll make it official. Right now. You and me, and a million sunsets to come.”

“I’m yours for as long as you want me, Jake.”

“And I’m yours forever, y/n. Even when i’m far away.” 

No words could describe what I felt. It’s as if my blood was replaced by honey and my ribcage contained the moon in all her love and glory.  “I wish I could stay here forever, in this moment. With you, and round the world.”

“Check the trunk.” He smiled too wide and untangled his arms from mine.

I reluctantly let go of him and walked towards the car. He tossed me the keys and I popped the trunk open to see the second box Jake hadn’t let me look into. I opened it and found all sorts of camping gear: One tent, two sleeping bags, toiletries, even pajamas. Jake creeped up behind me and slid his arms around my waist. I turned around with an incredulous grin.

“Is that a tent?!”

“That is a tent, sweetheart.”

The end.

—- A/N: I literally CANNOT write unless its in 1st POV. This is 100% self-indulgent, and I have no idea how to write a kiss. Hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! 

[howlermemes]

                                       𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐤𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐭                                                l  y  r  i  c    s  t  a  r  t  e  r  s

✽  long post ahead bc i have no self control ! ✽  change pronouns / punctuation as needed . ✽  some lyrics are explicit. ✽  some themes are slightly darker. ✽  alteratively, send    ♫ 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚔𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚎    to have a lyric automatically generated & said to your muse instead .

[ track 01 ]   the 1 ❛ I'm doing good! I'm on some new shit. ❜ ❛ I thought I saw you at the bus stop. ❜ ❛ I hit the ground running each night. ❜ ❛ You know, the greatest films of all time were never made. ❜ ❛ If you wanted me, you really should have showed. ❜ ❛ If you never bleed, you're never gonna grow. ❜ ❛ It's alright now. ❜ ❛ We were something, don't you think so? ❜ ❛ If my wishes came true, it would have been you. ❜ ❛ In my defense — I have none for never leaving well enough alone. ❜ ❛ It would have been fun if you would have been the one. ❜ ❛ I had this dream you're doing cool shit, having adventures on your own. ❜ ❛ We never painted by the numbers, baby. ❜ ❛ We were making it count. ❜ ❛ You know the greatest loves of all time are over now. ❜ ❛ I guess you never know. ❜ ❛ It's another day of waking up alone. ❜ ❛ If one thing had been different, would everything be different today? ❜ ❛ It would have been sweet if it could've been me. ❜ ❛ In my defense, I have none for digging up the grave another time. ❜

[ track 02 ]   cardigan ❛ When you are young, they assume you know nothing. ❜ ❛ Baby, kiss it better. ❜ ❛ I was your favorite. ❜ ❛ A friend to all is a friend to none. ❜ ❛ Chase two girls, lose the one. ❜ ❛ To kiss in cars and downtown bars was all we needed. ❜ ❛ You drew stars around my scars and now I'm bleeding. ❜ ❛ I knew you tried to change the ending. ❜ ❛ I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss. ❜ ❛ I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs. ❜ ❛ I knew everything when I was young. ❜ ❛ I knew I'd curse you for the longest time. ❜ ❛ I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired, and you'd be standing in my front porch light. ❜ ❛ I knew you'd come back to me. ❜

[ track 03 ]   the last great american dynasty ❛ How did a middle-class divorcee do it? ❜ ❛ The wedding was a charming, if a little gauche. ❜ ❛ There's only so far new money goes. ❜ ❛ Their parties were tasteful, if a little loud. ❜ ❛ It must have been her fault his heart gave out. ❜ ❛ There goes the last great American dynasty. ❜ ❛ Who knows, if she never showed up, what could have been. ❜ ❛ There goes the maddest woman this town has ever seen. ❜ ❛ They say she was seen on occasion, pacing the rocks, staring out the sea. ❜ ❛ In a feud with her neighbor, she stole his dog and dyed it key lime green. ❜ ❛ Fifty years is a long time. ❜ ❛ Who knows, if I never showed up, what could've been. ❜ ❛ I had a marvelous time ruining everything. ❜ ❛ I had a marvelous time. ❜

[ track 04 ]   exile ❛ I can see you standing, honey, with his arms around your body. ❜ ❛ I think I've seen this film before, and I didn't like the ending. ❜ ❛ You're not my homeland anymore. ❜ ❛ What am I defending now? ❜ ❛ You were my town. Now I'm in exile, seeing you out. ❜ ❛ I can see you staring, honey, like he's just your understudy, like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me. ❜ ❛ You'd get your knuckles bloody for me. ❜ ❛ Those eyes add insult to injury. ❜ ❛ I'm not your problem anymore. ❜ ❛ Who am I offending now? ❜ ❛ You were my crown. Now I'm in exile, seeing you out. ❜ ❛ I'm leaving out the side door. ❜ ❛ There is no amount of crying I can do for you. ❜ ❛ All this time, we always walked a very thin line. ❜ ❛ You didn't even hear me out. ❜ ❛ You never gave a warning sign. ❜ ❛ I gave so many signs. ❜ ❛ All this time, I never learned to read your mind. ❜ ❛ I couldn't turn things around. ❜ ❛ You never turned things around. ❜ ❛ You didn't even see the signs. ❜

[ track 05 ]   my tears ricochet ❛ If I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes, too. ❜ ❛ Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe — all the hell you gave me? ❜ ❛ I loved you, I swear I loved you, until my dying day. ❜ ❛ I didn't have it in myself to go with grace. ❜ ❛ You're the hero flying around, saving face. ❜ ❛ If I'm dead to you, why were you at the wake? ❜ ❛ Look at how my tears ricochet. ❜ ❛ We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean. ❜ ❛ You know I didn't want to have to haunt you. ❜ ❛ What a ghostly scene. ❜ ❛ You used to tell me I was brave. ❜ ❛ I can go anywhere I want. Anywhere I want, just not home. ❜ ❛ You can aim for my heart — go for blood. ❜ ❛ You would still miss me in your bones. ❜ ❛ I still talk to you when I'm screaming at the sky. ❜ ❛ You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same. ❜ ❛ You turned into your worst fears. ❜ ❛ You're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain, crossing out the good years. ❜

[ track 06 ]   mirrorball ❛ I'll show you every version of yourself tonight. ❜ ❛ When I break, it's a million pieces. ❜ ❛ Hush. ❜ ❛ You'll find me on my tallest tip-toes, spinning in my highest heels, love — shining just for you. ❜ ❛ I know they said the end is near. ❜ ❛ I can change everything about me to fit in. ❜ ❛ You're not like the regulars. ❜ ❛ I'm still on that tightrope. ❜ ❛ I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me. ❜ ❛ I'm still a believer, but I don't know why. ❜ ❛ I've never been a natural. ❜ ❛ All I do is try, try, try. ❜ ❛ I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me. ❜

[ track 07 ]   seven ❛ Please picture me in the trees. ❜ ❛ I hit my peak at seven, feet in the swing over the creek. ❜ ❛ I was too scared to jump in, but I was high in the sky. ❜ ❛ Are there still beautiful things? ❜ ❛ Cross your heart. ❜ ❛ Though I can't recall your face, I still got love for you. ❜ ❛ Love you to the moon and to Saturn. ❜ ❛ The love lasts so long. ❜ ❛ I've been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted. ❜ ❛ Your dad is always mad. ❜ ❛ I think you should come live with me. ❜ ❛ We can be pirates! ❜ ❛ You won't have to cry or hide in the closet. ❜ ❛ Our love will be passed on. ❜ ❛ I used to scream ferociously any time I wanted. ❜ ❛ Pack your dolls and a sweater. ❜

[ track 08 ]   august ❛ Salt air and the rust on your door — I never needed anything more. ❜ ❛ I can see us lost in the memory. ❜ ❛ August slipped away into a moment in time, because it was never mine. ❜ ❛ I was see us twisted in bedsheets. ❜ ❛ August sipped away like a bottle of wine, because you were never mine. ❜ ❛ Will you call me when you're back at school? ❜ ❛ I remember thinking I had you. ❜ ❛ It was never mine. ❜ ❛ You were never mine. ❜ ❛ For me, it was enough to live for the hope of it all. ❜ ❛ I canceled plans just in case you'd call. ❜ ❛ Meet me behind the mall. ❜ ❛ So much for summer love and saying "us". ❜ ❛ You weren't mine to lose. ❜ ❛ Do you remember? ❜ ❛ Remember when I pulled up and said "Get in the car." ❛ I was living for the hope of it all. ❜

[ track 09 ]   this is me trying ❛ I've been having a hard time adjusting. ❜ ❛ I didn't know if you'd care if I came back. ❜ ❛ I have a lot of regrets about that. ❜ ❛ Maybe I don't quite know what to say. ❜ ❛ I'm here in your doorway. ❜ ❛ I just wanted you to know this is me trying. ❜ ❛ I got wasted like all my potential. ❜ ❛ My words shoot to kill when I'm mad. I have a lot of regrets about that. ❜ ❛ I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere. ❜ ❛ I ended up here, pouring my heart out to a stranger. ❜ ❛ I didn't pour the whiskey. ❜ ❛ At least I'm trying. ❜ ❛ It's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound. ❜ ❛ It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you. ❜ ❛ You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town. ❜

[ track 10 ]   illicit affairs ❛ Make sure nobody sees you leave. ❜ ❛ Tell your friends you're out for a run. ❜ ❛ You'll be flushed when you return. ❜ ❛ Take the road less traveled by. ❜ ❛ Tell yourself you can always stop. ❜ ❛ What started in beautiful rooms, ends with meeting in parking lots. ❜ ❛ That's the thing about illicit affairs — and clandestine meetings and longing stares. ❜ ❛ It's born from just one single glance, but it dies and it dies and it dies a million little times. ❜ ❛ You leave no trace behind. ❜ ❛ Take the words for what they are — a dwindling mercurial high, a drug that only worked the first few hundred times. ❜ ❛ They show their truth one single time, but they lie and they lie and they lie. A million little times. ❜ ❛ Don't call me "kid". ❜ ❛ Don't call me "baby". ❜ ❛ Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me. ❜ ❛ You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else. ❜ ❛ Look at this idiotic fool that you made me. ❜ ❛ You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else. ❜ ❛ You know damn well, for you, I would ruin myself a million little times. ❜

[ track 11 ]   invisible string ❛ I used to think I would meet somebody there. ❜ ❛ Teal was the color of your shirt when you were sixteen at the yogurt shop. ❜ ❛ Time, curious time. ❜ ❛ Were there clues I didn't see? ❜ ❛ Isn't it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me? ❜ ❛ You ate at my favorite spot for dinner. ❜ ❛ She said I looked like an American singer. ❜ ❛ Time, mystical time — cutting me open, then healing me fine. ❜ ❛ Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire. ❜ ❛ One single thread of gold tied me to you. ❜ ❛ Gold was the color of the leaves when you around Centennial Park. ❜ ❛ Hell was the journey, but it brought me to heaven. ❜ ❛ Time, wondrous time, gave me the blues and then purple-pink skies. ❜ ❛ It's cool, baby, with me. ❜

[ track 12 ]   mad woman ❛ What did you think I'd say to that? ❜ ❛ Does a scorpion sting when fighting back? ❜ ❛ They strike to kill, and you know I will. ❜ ❛ What do you sing on your drive home? ❜ ❛ Do you see my face in the neighbors lawn? ❜ ❛ Fuck you forever. ❜ ❛ Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy. ❜ ❛ When you say I seem angry, I get more angry. ❜ ❛ There's nothing like a mad woman. ❜ ❛ What a shame she went mad. ❜ ❛ No one likes a mad woman. You made her like that. ❜ ❛ You'll poke that bear 'till her claws come out and you find something to wrap your noose around. ❜ ❛ I breathe flames each time I talk. ❜ ❛ They say "Move On," but you know I won't. ❜ ❛ Women like hunting witches too, doing your dirtiest work for you. ❜ ❛ It's obvious that wanting me dead has really brought you two together. ❜ ❛ I'm taking my time. ❜ ❛ You took everything from me. ❜ ❛ She should be mad, should be scathing like me. ❜

[ track 13 ]   epiphany ❛ I think he's bleeding out. ❜ ❛ Some things you just can't speak about. ❜ ❛ With you, I serve. With you, I fall down. ❜ ❛ I think she's crashing out. ❜ ❛ Only twenty minutes to sleep. ❛ You dream of some epiphany — just one single glimpse of relief. ❜

[ track 14 ]   betty ❛ I won't make assumptions. ❜ ❛ I think it's because of me. ❜ ❛ One time, I was riding on my skateboard when I passed your house. ❜ ❛ It's like I couldn't breathe. ❜ ❛ You heard the rumors. ❜ ❛ You can't believe a word she says most times. But this time, it was true. ❜ ❛ The worst thing that I ever did was what I did to you. ❜ ❛ If I just showed up at your party, would you have me? ❜ ❛ Would you want me? ❜ ❛ Would you tell me to go fuck myself? ❜ ❛ In the garden, would you trust me if I told you it was a just a summer thing? ❜ ❛ I'm only seventeen. I don't know anything. ❜ ❛ I don't know anything, but I know I miss you. ❜ ❛ I know where it all went wrong. ❜ ❛ I was nowhere to be found. ❜ ❛ I hate crowds. You know that. ❜ ❛ I saw you dance with him. ❜ ❛ I was walking home on broken cobblestones, just thinking of you. ❛ She pulled up like a figment of my worst intentions. ❜ ❛ Get in. Let's drive. ❜ ❛ I dreamt of you all summer long. ❜ ❛ I planned it out for weeks now. ❜ ❛ It's finally sinking in. ❜ ❛ Right now is the last time. ❜ ❛ I can dream about what happens when you can see my face again. ❜ ❛ The only thing I wanna do is make it up to you. ❜ ❛ Will you have me? ❜ ❛ Will you love me? ❜ ❛ Will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends? ❜ ❛ If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it? ❜ ❛ I don't know anything. ❜

[ track 15 ]   peace ❛ Our coming-of-age has come and gone. ❜ ❛ I never had the courage of my convictions, as long as danger is near. ❜ ❛ It's just around the corner, darlin. ❜ ❛ I could never give you peace. ❜ ❛ I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm. ❜ ❛ All these people think love's for show, but I would die for you in secret. ❜ ❛ The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me. ❜ ❛ Would it be enough if I could never give you peace? ❜ ❛ Your integrity makes me seem small. ❜ ❛ I talk shit with my friends. It's like I'm wasting your honor. ❜ ❛ Is it enough? ❜ ❛ I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best. ❜ ❛ The rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me. ❜

[ track 16 ]   hoax ❛ This has broken me down. ❜ ❛ This has frozen my ground. ❜ ❛ Give me a reason. ❜ ❛ Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in. ❜ ❛ Don't want no other shade of blue, but you. ❜ ❛ No other sadness in the world would do. ❜ ❛ I am ash from your fire. ❜ ❛ You know I left a part of me back in New York. ❜ ❛ You knew the hero died, so what's the movie for? ❜ ❛ You knew it still hurts underneath my scars. ❜ ❛ You knew you won, so what's the point of keeping score? ❜ ❛ It still hurts underneath my scars. ❜ ❛ What you did was just as dark. ❜ ❛ Darling, this was just as hard as when they pulled me apart. ❜

[quickspinner]

Hi, Miss Quickspiner, umm please "you’re good enough" whit Lukanette? I think Lu need hear that so badly. Also I really love all yours art, you are amazing 💙

Thank you so much 😊I continued from this one, hope that’s okay.

When Marinette woke, she was alone, but it didn’t scare her. She was comfortable and more relaxed than she’d been in a long time, and the gentle rock of the Liberty along with Luka’s god awful wallpaper a few inches from her nose were more than enough to ground her as she clawed her way up from sleep. Music was playing from a speaker somewhere, which wasn’t surprising, but the song playing was. Not the usual Couffaine style. Her curiosity gave her enough energy to sit up, drag herself off the bed, and open the door of Luka’s room. 

“The only way to live now is to know you’re gonna fly, don’t listen to the lying liars and there lies,” Luka’s voice rang out, and Marinette followed it to the main room. Marinette covered her hand to keep in her laughter when she saw Luka behind the galley counter, dancing in place as he put together two plates of snacks. Tikki sat on the counter beside him, munching on a cookie. Based on the crumbs on the counter, it wasn’t her first one. She smiled as best she could with her puffy cheeks and waved to Marinette. 

“I know she’s superwoman, I know she’s strong,” Luka sang, “I know she’s got this because she’s had it all along. She’s phenomenal, and she’s enough…” 

Marinette couldn’t stop the giggles anymore when she heard the way he altered the lyrics, and he stopped singing as he looked up. 

“Hey,” he smiled, not the least bit embarrassed that she could. “Feeling a little more rested?”

She nodded. She did, actually. Rested and...lighter. “Much, thank you.” She tilted her head slightly, indicating the music. “Really?” she grinned.

Luka shrugged. “I maybe needed to process a little, and well, if the song fits, it fits.” He winked at her. “We don’t music shame in this house. Probably listened to it a dozen times in the last hour.” He reached over and tapped something on his phone, restarting the song, and then held out his hands to her. When she took them, he pulled her in to dance with him, swinging their hands between them. “I might write a Kitty Section cover. I bet Rose would love it. Maybe we could convince Juleka to make it a duet. They’d be amazing.” 

“Rose would love it,” Marinette grinned, moving with him. Gosh, when was the last time she danced, just for fun? Was it really Clara’s video? “And that would be amazing, the two of them together. Although I like your version too.”

Luka grinned. “I know you’re superwoman,” he sang, as Marinette laughed. “I know you’re strong. I know you’ve got this cause you’ve had it all along. You’re phenomenal, and you’re enough. I don’t need to tell you who to be—” He cut off with a slight oof as Marinette threw herself into him and hugged him tight. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Oh, Marinette,” Luka sighed, slipping his arms out from where she’d pinned them and wrapping them around her. “I only wish I could do more. You’ve got so much piled on you.” He hesitated slightly. “Tikki and I have been talking, and we had some thoughts, if you want to hear them. It’s...it’s not much,” he admitted, blowing out a sigh as he ran his fingers through his hair. “When I think about it it seems like practically nothing at all. I wish—” He broke off and looked away. 

Marinette leaned back a little, and took his face in her hands so she could make him look at her. “Luka. Even before you knew, nobody has done more for me than you. You’ve always let me just be whatever I needed to be, and that’s been so important to me. Now, just...just knowing that you know...that you see me…it’s enough. I feel so much better already.” She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, not quite able to look in his eyes, afraid that what she might see there would overwhelm her. “I don’t need you to be a hero or fix everything or come up with all the answers. You’re good enough, Luka, just like this.”

Luka let out a shaky breath, and then wound his arms around her, pulling her close, cradling one hand behind her head to guide it to his shoulder. 

“Unbroken and still beautiful,” he sang softly with the end of the song, and Marinette snuggled closer, holding him tight.

In a few minutes, they’d have to let go, and they would have to have that talk, and then she would have to leave, to go back to the lies and the secrets that she lived every day. 

But Luka would still know. And for now, that really was enough.  

So the song here is Kelly Clarkson, Broken and Beautiful, which I’ve probably heard a million times but only really listened to just recently. Of course I went looking for covers, because I love covers, and I didn’t find many, but I did enjoy this one and I keep imagining Rose and Juleka doing it this way together. (not really sure about the whole singing while driving while filming a video thing, but nobody died, so we’ll just ignore that) 

[memies]

BLACKBRIAR STARTERS - Feel free to change pronouns e.t.c. Some lyrics slightly altered to fit the format better. 

Warning for potentially triggering topics! 

“You loathed my free spirit and locked me up so you could kill it.”

“Oh, my love, we'll meet again, we always do, in the end our two souls are destined to be.”

“Death is weak and we are strong.”

“I am a liar by nature.”

“I tried to warn you.”

“I feel like dead flowers in a vase somebody forgot to throw away.”

“Will you have this dance with me?”

“Oh, how I wish that this night would last forever.”

“I do not care if I am disturbing you.”

“Passion grows, even when you're heartless.”

“Most would say it's a nightmare, but I woke up smiling.”

“You won't find any modesty over here, nothing but pure honesty, my dear.”

“You look so familiar to me. Like I know you from a dream.”

“I feel I need to be with her right away.”

“You will be the death of me, I feel it in my bones.”

“We already know how this will end, but just for tonight, let's risk it all.”

“When the world's asleep at nightfall, let's walk away just you and I, get out of sight and hide.”

“Full of love and passion, you said. Now I'm full of hatred and filled with dread.”

“We had a bond that was stronger than they could ever comprehend, and you know that people fear what they don't quite understand.”

[meetmeatthestart]

Sonic the Hedgehog lyric starters { part 5 ~ Extras }

Lyrics from various vocal themes in the Sonic franchise to use as RP starters. Some lines may be slightly altered to work better. Feel free to adjust them to fit your character’s speech patterns.

Endless Possibility

❝Please wake me up when I get there.❞

❝My time to shine has come, I feel it!❞

❝Drop that smile 'cause you're beaten again.❞

❝You're losing speed, you're losing your flow.❞

❝We've all gotta start from somewhere.❞

❝The possibilities are never ending!❞

❝I know in my heart that it's my time.❞ 

❝It feels like I'm lost in a dream.❞

Dear My Friend

❝Thank you for staying so true.❞

❝My heart will always be with you.❞

❝We're made for each other.❞

❝You are my reason I can make it through.❞

❝I'm so glad I met you.❞

❝I will be there if you need me.❞

❝I will be there if you need me and I know you'll do the same.❞

❝I can see you, I can hear you in my heart.❞

❝I will give my word that I will come in time to rescue.❞ 

His World

❝Go on and get yourself together, there's no time to rest.❞

❝Never fear the fall.❞

❝The only way to break free is to break the mold.❞

❝Life is just a game you play.❞

❝Don't make me spell it out, bring your best!❞

❝Come on and psyche yourself up 'cause its time to play.❞

❝You can't stop now, lock and load!❞

❝Bounce to the beats and the rhymes 'cause they're here to stay.❞

❝Nothing's forever here to stay.❞

❝Don't stop now, come on, rock n' roll!❞

❝When you leap without a net you'll find it won't be there all the time.❞

❝Watch your step, don't fall!❞

❝It seems unreal but it's true, the power lives inside of you.❞

❝Beware of the time as it moves along.❞

❝We can see your strength inside.❞

❝If you fall, if you may falter, we'll be with you.❞

❝Beware of your mind as it proves you wrong.❞

Dreams of an Absolution

❝In the nightlight, do you see what you dream?❞

❝Every night I will save your life.❞

❝If you were able, would you go change the past?❞

❝Every night it just stays the same.❞

❝Look around you, then you may realize happiness lies trapped in misery.❞

❝Every night I will make it right.❞

❝All your troubles, are they all what they seem?❞

❝Who knows what of our future?❞

❝Every night I will make it right, and every night I will come to you.❞

❝You'll see that this is my dream.❞ 

❝In the night light, do you still feel your pain?❞

❝Every night I still lay awake and I dream of an absolution.❞ 

❝If you were able, would you go change the past? To mend a faux pas with one last chance?❞

❝Every night I lay awake and I find no conclusion.❞ 

My Destiny

❝I remember memories from a long, long time ago.❞

❝Take hold of my destiny, I may give you life.❞

❝You've taught me that life can be revived.❞

❝I can rule the world, my love!❞

❝Can you stay forever more?❞

❝No matter what it takes for me, I'll find you.❞

❝Can't you see that we can all survive?❞

❝If you'll be by my side the world will be a better place for us all.❞

❝Ever since I met you I want you by my side.❞

❝Stay close to me, my love!❞ 

Live Life

❝Don’t stop reaching high. Don’t let the time pass you by.❞

❝What seems fair today, tomorrow it may not.❞

❝Don’t let go. Don’t lose sight.❞

❝Take a look inside your heart. What once seemed impossible, today is not!❞

❝So many ways that you can try to forget. So many ways you’ll wake up to regret.❞

Speak With Your Heart

❝You'll never know if you don't try.❞

❝If you could tell me how to lend a hand I would try to understand.❞

❝No words could say how much I care.❞

❝I've been here before and I know that we must stand up tall.❞

❝Forget about this hatred.❞

❝Don't fall apart, speak with your heart.❞

❝Together we can take a stand!❞

❝I knew all along we'd find some way to communicate.❞

❝Now we're side by side, this is fate.❞

So Much More

❝It’s like a hand on my heart that's stopping me to breathe.❞

❝You were never the one to let me down.❞

❝You can't map out my destiny.❞

❝Gotta be lost before I can be found.❞

❝You ripped up my heart. I don't want to believe.❞

❝One foot after the other we will find our way through.❞

❝I've gotta be so much more than this...❞

❝What can I be if not me?❞

❝No compromise. Be true.❞

Green Light Ride

❝We've got the strength we need.❞

❝There's no better feeling than to be here with you.❞

❝There's no chance we're losing!❞

❝We're one together.❞

❝You need a little more; a little push and fight.❞

❝It's in our heart and soul; we stand for something.❞

❝We're the fire you feed.❞

❝You're not so tough.❞

[missmalice202]

Designing Your Melody: Chapter 09 - Letters

Chapter 01 - Chapter 08

With less than three weeks to go until Paris’s Fall Fashion Week, Marinette was surprisingly relaxed. After her initial fittings with both Adrien and Juleka, she had been sewing non-stop in preparation for her first major fashion show of her career. A select few of her pieces had been featured in shows and competitions before, but this was to be her official debut of “Designs by Marinette” and she couldn’t be more excited… or more terrified.

So far, she had been making amazing progress completing her collection. Most of Adrien’s looks were finished. It had been a big help that his measurements over the years hadn’t changed much, so a lot of the clothing she had made hadn’t needed much altering to fit the slender model to perfection. She really was fortunate to have such a good friend in Adrien. The advice and behind the scenes knowledge of Fashion Week he had shared with her made her confident that she was mentally prepared for her show. Admittedly, she still had had a panic attack or two due to the immense pressure she was putting on herself, but for her, that was significant progress from the absolute mess she used to be in high school. Yay for maturity! She giggled as she thought that maybe her online screen name may have rubbed some of its good luck onto her.

Carefully hanging up a meticulously packed garment bag on the portable clothing rack she had purchased for the show, she looked at her tablet once more and checked off another item on her “Fashion Week Collection Pieces” checklist.

Setting her tablet down on her sewing table, she heard the alarm on her phone begin to chime. Brow furrowed, she walked over to where it lay next to her computer, still attached to the charger. Why had she set an alarm? She couldn’t remember if she had to do anything today. Later in the morning she was expecting a delivery from the fabric store that she had ordered the lining for Juleka’s final look from, but she wouldn’t have set an alarm to remind her of that.

Upon reading the text on screen accompanying the alarm, Marinette gasped. How could she possibly forget? She had an appointment to meet with the producer of her fashion show to go over music and a few last-minute details at 11:00am. She had thirty minutes to get to the venue on time and no time to call and reschedule the delivery of her material.

Shoving her feet into her pink ballet flats, she hastily tugged the pencil she had used to hold her midnight locks in a messy bun out of her hair and raced over to her vanity mirror. After a quick finger comb to smooth out any obvious kinks, she hastily tied her hair back into her signature pigtails. She grabbed her purse, stuffed her phone inside, and was down the trap door.

She stopped at the counter where her mother was taking care of customers to ask her mother to tell the delivery boy to take her package up to her room when he arrived to drop it off. She wanted to be extra careful with the expensive material she had ordered to be the showpiece of her collection. And frankly, she didn’t want a trace of flour to mar the beautiful deep purple satin she had chosen for her masterpiece.

With a kiss blown to her mom over her shoulder and a shouted “Au revoir” to her papa, Marinette was out the door, disappearing down the street in a blur before the door closed behind her.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

Pedaling down the street with his guitar safely stowed away on his bike, Luka once again checked the GPS on his phone to make sure he was going to the right address.

A few minutes ago, while he had been sitting in the park, noodling on his guitar, he had gotten a text from the courier service he worked for, VeloPostal, asking him to make a pickup and delivery. He’d sent a reply text that he accepted the job, packed up his guitar and set out on his way to the specialty textile store, Brocade, to pick up a bolt of fabric that was to be delivered to a bakery of all places. Why a bakery would want expensive fabric, Luka could only wonder. To each their own, he supposed.

After he signed for the delivery, he secured the large bold of fabric to the back of his bike and once again brought up the job description on the phone. For the first time, he noticed the name of the bakery he was to make the delivery to: Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie and Patisserie, the very same bakery that Juleka had brought home those delicious pastries from.

The corner of his mouth turned up in a small smile as he thanked his luck on this job. Ever since he had eaten their delicious confections, he had been meaning to track down that bakery so he could get some more, but between working for the delivery service and putting up with Jagged and Mr. Roth’s antics, he just hadn’t had the time to scour the city in search of tasty treats. But today was apparently his lucky day.

With renewed enthusiasm, he pushed himself to go faster to arrive at the bakery. Parking his bike against the pale limestone wall of the bakery, he gently removed the bundle of cloth from the back of his bike and entered the building.

Immediately, he was surrounded by the delicious scent of freshly baked bread and hot, sweet icing. The bell over the door announced his arrival and behind the counter, a pretty little Asian woman looked around the customer she was currently serving and smiled at him.

“I’ll be right with you, dear.” Her voice was lyrical in its clarity, having a sweet tone to it and an almost breathless quality to it. He smiled at her and crossed over the black and white tiled floor to the display case. As he gazed upon its offerings, he completely forgot his reason for being there. The sparkling glass shelves were filled to the brim with an assortment of flaky pastries, berry topped cakes, multi-colored macaroons, and even a triple layer chocolate cake, a hefty wedge missing from where it had already been sampled by the masses. Mouth watering at the appetizing food on the other side of the glass, he gripped the package he was supposed to deliver closer to his chest to keep himself from caressing the glass in a somewhat obscene manner.

“Can I help you, sweetie,” the woman behind the counter asked sweetly.

Jerking his head to snap out of his reverie, Luka reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the display of delicacies and focused his marine eyes on the woman. “I’m with VeloPostal with a delivery from Brocade,” he said.

Eyes falling to the plastic wrapped package in his arms, the woman’s mouth bowed in a smile. “Ah yes, My daughter mentioned that she was expecting a delivery.” She wiped her hands on the apron covering her front and walked around the counter to stand in front of him. His lips quirked as he observed how much short she was compared to him.

She gazed up at him and tilted her head slightly. “I wonder if I could trouble you for a small favor. Would you be so kind as to bring that up to my daughter’s room?”

Luka hesitated. It was usually frowned upon to enter a customer’s home and he didn’t want to get in trouble with his employer.

“I understand that it’s a strange request, but I have to watch the register and Tom is in the back getting an order ready. I’d leave it down here in the bakery, but unfortunately, flour and dark fabric just do not mix well. My daughter asked me before she left to have you bring it up to her room.” She tilted her head in the other direction and looked up at him with eyes sparkling with humor. “If there are any issues, I’ll take full responsibility.”

He thought about it for a moment. “I’ll tell you what, if you can box me up a half dozen of those croissants and a slice of that fruit tart, then I’ll be a customer. There aren’t any rules about customers doing you any favors, is there?”

She blinked at him for a moment, before throwing her head back and laughing. “Oh, I like you.” She turned and walked back behind the counter and grabbed a box to pack his order into. “You’re funny. For doing me a favor, it’s on the house. That way, it’s a favor between friends.”

He grinned at her, nodding his head. “I like the sound of that. My name is Luka.”

“Enchantée, Luka. I’m Sabine. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she replied.

Introductions made, he followed her directions up the stairs and made his way to the top floor of the cozy little apartment. Upon entering the room on the other side of the trap door, the first thing he noticed was the chaos. Bits of fabric and scraps of paper were scattered all over the wood floor. It was made obvious that the room belonged to a seamstress, given the sewing machine in a place of honor in the middle of the room, surrounded by other bits and bobs of her craft.

He looked around to find a safe place to leave his cargo and he decided that the best place to leave it would be right on her worktable. Tiptoeing around the mess on the floor lest he unknowingly disrupt a vital piece of her creative process, he made his way to the table that was home to a green cutting mat and multiple other folded bits of fabric. He gently placed the bolt on top and turned to leave.

And froze. There, against the wall behind the trap door, was a pair of dress forms, one male, one female. The female form was unadorned, but he didn’t notice its naked state in his captivation.

On the male dress form was a work of art. A finely patterned blazed hung from the form’s broad shoulders. The black fabric of the garment shimmered with a nearly imperceptible pattern of vines and the lapels were made out of silk brocade patterned with ivy leaves the color of freshly cut grass. Asymmetrical pockets accented by the same brocade were detailed on the front, one pocket on the left hip, two on the right. Stepping closer to get a better look at the jacket, Luka noticed that the lapels sparkled with fine golden thread; tiny, hand-embroidered veins decorating the ivy leaves.

The construction of the garment reminds him of the design that had haunted him since the day he picked it up from under his boot. Looking up from the piece, he notices the drawings taped to her wall behind the forms which he assumes is for easy access to her designs when she’s working on the pieces.

Stepping closer, his heart stopped.

There, in the corner of every drawing, are three small letters: MDC. He reached his hand out to trace them before he realized what he was about to do. Here he is, in her private domain, invading her personal space. The tips of his ears color and he quickly withdrew his hand and shoved them both into his jacket pockets. After one last glance around her creative space, he descends the stairs into to bakery below.

Sabine – Mrs. Cheng – was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for him, his box of baked goods in her hands. “Thank you so much for bringing that up for me,” she said.

Once more embarrassed at almost losing his cool and touching her personal effects, Luka dragged his eyes away from her observing expression and trained them on the box she holds out for him to take.

“It’s no problem at all, Mrs. …” he trailed off, stretching the silence he hoped she’d fill.

Quirking an eyebrow, she smiled in response to his not-so-subtle inquiry. “Cheng. I kept my last name after I married my husband, Tom. This bakery has been passed down in his family, so our daughter’s last name is hyphenated so if she decides to take it over someday, it’ll still be a DuPain Bakery.”

He chuckled, walking with her as she returned to her spot behind the counter. “From what I saw upstairs, it looks like your daughter has another career path in mind.”

Sabine’s smile was blinding as she proudly said, “I know. My Marinette’s dream is to become a famous fashion designer. She’s well on her way, too.” She sighed. “My husband and I are so proud of her, but I know deep down Tom wishes she would take over the bakery when she gets older.” Shrugging her shoulders, she continues, “But I know that’s not where her heart lies.”

Nodding his head in understanding, Luka bids her adieu and leaves the bakery.

Now armed with her name, Marinette DuPain-Cheng (and some delicious, flaky pastries), he dons his helmet and pedals off down the road, more determined than ever to make the Tom & Sabine bakery a regular stop. Who knows? Maybe next time he’s in the mood for a croissant, he’ll run into Mademoiselle Marinette, his mystery muse.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

Chapter 10

*Woohoo! He finally knows her name! yay! progress! But it’s not going to be that easy... or is it? Find out next time, my lovelies XOXO*

[ferrethyun]

pt,,,,pt 3,,,ówò,,,, "you can't be here now" + "zero fucks given. next please" where poly bts watch m/n practices dance and vocals, dress rehearsal, make up, with a small,,, "please don't die". a little angst but make it fluffy? like a toasted marshmallow?? theyre all getting comfy with each other,, maybe a little too comfy 😏

I’m gonna link both parts here (Part 1 + Part 2 ) uwu,,,, I?’m just gonna say that they’re in an established relationship now owo,,, also like lowkey sweating bc i’ve not rlly written anything like smut or close to it uwu’’’’ I didn’t manage to fit in the last promt unfortunately,,, i hope thats okay >w>

Pairing: Poly!Bts x M!Idol!Reader

His come back was postponed; the company had decided, due to his injuries and need for a mental health break that, the comeback should be pushed further back instead of being brought forwards. It had only taken the group of 7 a few minutes to convince their boss after telling him all that they had witnessed M/n go through. After hearing the news, M/n had a week free from any and all scheduled practices and rehearsals. During this time, M/n had taken it upon himself to familiarise himself with the feelings he felt for all 7 members; at first he felt a bit greedy but eventually came to terms with the idea that he couldn’t help who he fell in love with. Over the time he spent with the members, he had learnt how to calm the raging blush that always took over his ear and face whenever he was with them; but this didn’t stop his heart from trying to escape from his chest whenever he was with them.

Eventually, M/n had to get back to practising, which meant he couldn’t spend as much time with his crushes as he wanted to; but this didn’t stop them from coming to him. Several times had the members interrupted his dance or vocal practice, offering M/n an easy distraction. As practices went on and comeback dates drew nearer, The amount of practising that had to be done increased, but he was coping much better with it now than he ever had before. This particular day, M/n had decided to stay late after a final fitting for the outfit he was going to wear for his title track. Over the time he had off, M/n decided to alter the mood of his title track to something more... sexy.

He stood in the centre of the practice room, head to toe in red. Red suit jacket, red slacks and some black suit shoes; He wore a barely there mesh top with a slight turtleneck and was dripping in jewellery. Honestly? He never felt sexier.

He hit the play button on the remote that was in his hand before quickly shoving it into his jacket pocket, feeling the sultry base flow through his body. M/n timed himself into the song and began executing the moves he became all to familiar with over the past few weeks. Around the half way mark of the song, M/n could hear the door open; he looked up to the mirror through sultry eyes to see who had come in. He heard breaths hitch, it was Hoseok and Yoongi. M/n didn’t stop dancing, instead he began to sing along to the lyrics of the song, his tone light but deeply seductive at the same time. M/n watched as red seeped up their necks and to their ears and he didn’t stop until the song faded out.

“You can’t be here now” M/n’s voice barely reached the ears of the two males that stood near the door.

“I... Wow?” Hoseoks voice came out barely above a whisper, his tone unsure if he was seeing things right

“M/n,” Yoongi jumped in with a cough, rubbing at the back of his neck, “You look... good.”

At the compliment, M/ns whole demeanour changed, his cheeks burning as he took a few steps back towards the mirror “Thank you-” His voice was small, “-Do... Do you like it?”  M/n watched as the two males made their way towards him; for every step they took towards him, M/n took one step backwards till his back hit the mirror. Soon enough, Yoongi and Hoseok were either side of M/n looking his outfit up and down, lifting pieces of jewellery to get a better look at them. It was only when Yoongi was looking at the lining of M/n jacket and that Hoseok was looking at his earrings did M/n realise what was happening. He snapped out of it when he felt Hoseoks breath fan against his neck and Yoongis hand ghost over his chest “W-Wait guys” M/n stammered out, “You guys- I-”

Both the rappers gave each other a look before looking back up to M/n “This is okay, right?” Both of them spoke, voice quiet. Yoongi moved to place his hand on M/ns waist, fingers looped through his belt loops; Hoseok moving to place his hand on the top of M/n neck, thumb caressing his jaw. They felt M/n let out a shaky breath before nodding “But- but we can’t do this here” He squeaked out, heart racing faster when he felt both move, Yoongi kissing at his neck and Hoseoks grip getting a bit firmer.

“Zero fucks given. Next please” Hoseok whispered out before his lips met M/ns. At first, M/n wasn’t sure what to do, both the males making work of him causing his heart to race faster and faster. Once over the initial shock, M/n began to kiss back almost as if he was challenging the dancer; Hoseok couldn’t help but chuckle at the others sudden confidence and licked at his bottom lip to gain access, a tongue battle then commencing

“Stupid... fucking shirt” Yoongi growled out, trying to get the mesh top out of the way without ripping it. Yoongi moved his hand from the loops of M/n slacks, giving a squeeze to his waist before letting it wonder back down to the the top of the red material, popping the button and pulling at the zip. M/n couldn’t help but let out a moan when he felt the rapper bite and suckle at his neck, the sounds of his pants and whines filling the room as Hoseok pulled away with a smirk. The three males felt trapped in their boxers, Hoseok moving to put his leg in between M/ns. Both members pulled back sightly from their positions, letting out soft groans as they watched M/n try to get some sort of friction against Hoseoks leg.

“Well, well, well...” A smug voice came from the door way, “What’s going on here?~” M/n watched through hooded eyes as the two males stepped back slightly to reveal the rest of the members, his semi-fucked out complexion combined with the outfit he was wearing making a blush creep up the cheeks of the members.

“G-Guys, I told you we couldn’t do this here” M/ns tone was slightly whiny, “Now look...” M/n took a moment to pull himself together before realising exactly what had just happened, his face exploding with red. Each of the members watched as he slowly withered to the floor, covering his face in embarrassment.

[eurosong]

Undo my ESC 2020 (SF1)

Good evening, folks! “Undo my ESC”, my look at how I would have changed this year’s contest, is back! Even though the EBU, well, indeed sadly and very literally did undo the ESC this year, there is still room for changing about my personal ideal Eurovision 2020. Let’s have a look at the first semi-final! 🇦🇺 Australia: I continue to be mightily impressed with the quality of Australia Decides, an NF putting forward a number of credible options to represent Oz. I felt the juries helped dodge a bullet this year, because the televote winning song was a rather cliché and dated choice, out of step with the relatively vibrant and contemporary feel of the field. The actual winner was pretty decent albeit with dubious live vocals and an even odder stage concept. It could be improved by working on those two factors, though even better would be to send instead the dramatic Rabbit Hole, truly a title for our season, or even better, the searingly emotional Raw stuff which knocked me off my feet upon first listen and still packs that punch 🇦🇿 Azerbaijan: Once again, Azerbaijan went down the “buy in a song from elsewhere and attempt to put on a thin gloss of local instrumentation onto a generic pop song in lieu of some actual authenticity. I can’t say I even hate the song this time, though I do dislike how they reportedly nabbed it off non-oil-rich San Marino in a bidding war. I would have brought back Dihaj or... anyone who could produce something halfway Azeri? Also, something that doesn’t make me do a full-body cringe as much as the country ranked the worst in the ESC-sphere for LGBT rights sending a song about “gay or straight or in between.”

🇧🇾 Belarus: Belarus made the right choice - I can really rarely say those words. For only the second time ever, we got a song in Belarusian, and whilst it isn’t up there with the gorgeous Historyja majho žyccia for me, Da widna is still a pleasant listen that soars above many of the hyped pre-contest fan favourites and was a nice surprise from a bad NF. The only thing that I would change? That the unhinged comic brilliance of Pavloni be in the final. Watch from about halfway through to the end for an absolute mood whiplash odyssey. 

🇧🇪 Belgium: A lot of people had plenty of hope when they heard that the veteran Hooverphonic were set to represent Belgium in 2020, and I was amongst them. My reäction to what they ended up bringing though was tepid. It’s got the quality rich instrumentation that I expected from this band, pleasant vox, but as a song, it goes nowhere for me, in part because of how repetitive it is and lacking in a hook I find it. I would have picked a more immediate song for Eurovision, because this felt like another DNQ for Belgium, following the same mistakes as 2018 and 2019. They will be back in 2021, and I will be interested to see if they take a slightly different tack. 

🇭🇷 Croatia: Following up on Belarus, Croatia was another example of a selection in which I had no hope providing something excellent to recompense for usually reliable countries going off the rails. I finally have from Croatia something to fit in with the likes of Adio from Montenegro and Nije ljubav stvar from Serbia as an epic Balkan ballad. Few people were expecting Divlji vjetre would win; I was over the moon that it did and would change nothing. I hope Croatia re-send the gentleman Damir next year with an equally strong song. 

🇨🇾 Cyprus: After giving us a literal replay of Fuego last year, this year they’ve gone a slightly different route, but no less generic (even coming with one of the several duplicately named titles of this year), no less uninspiring, no less completely detached from Cypriot music. I’m longing for Cyprus to send something like Eimai anthropos kai ego again.

🇮🇪 Ireland: So RTÉ came into Eurovision all guns blazing this year, promising “an almighty bop” that will be “remembered in 10 years’ time like Euphoria.” I had feared that their frame of reference for their song would be 10 years’ stale, but instead they cast their net even further back to the mid-2000s. It properly sent me into hysterics when I heard this being compared to EVERY major female singer of that period, depending on whom you asked, before this came into general release. You know what, though? I hold my hands up and admit that I adore the anthemic Story of my life. It’s just so drenched in colour that I feel uplifted every time I listen to it, which is often! Lesley has such a likeable, authentic charisma that adds to the song too. I am so gutted we’ll never see the staging because I feel this would have been a memorable party moment. This is just 3 minutes of happy nostalgia and I live for it.

🇮🇱 Israel: You know, usually, I am not a fan of single-artist national finals, because if you are not a fan of the artist, your choice is very limited indeed. However - I don’t know how one can nót be a fan of Eden to some degree. Her music is not up my street, but she sells it to me through sheer force of personality, positivity and presence. She had four songs and she put her heart and soul into them all. The winner was the vibrant Feker libi, which I would only change by altering the chorus a bit, as its odd 90s dance vibe doesn’t sit so well with the rest of the song. As for Eden, she cried when she reälised she couldn’t go to ESC 2020 and again when she found out she’d been picked for 2021. I wish all artists had this amount of passion. 

🇱🇹 Lithuania: There was a sea change in Lithuania this year. I don’t know what happened, but they went from punchline to packing a punch. Their national final had been one that pretty much no one watched, dragging on for several weeks and almost always to choose a mediocre, anticlimactic choice after all that effort. This year, it was one of the most entertaining and diverse NFs of the bunch. My early favourite to win was the powerhouse Monika Marija’s return with If I leave, very much up my street with its country stylings. However, by the time the final came, I had been won over also by the eventual winner, the offbeat and infectious On fire, whose victory I would not alter because it serves as a more dramatic turn of the page for Lithuania’s Eurovision presence. It was such a relief to see this prevailing, with a huge lead in the televote, over the awful, imported Unbreakable or the respectable but pedestrian Make me human. I hope the broadcasters will respect the support this has in Lithuania and allow the Roop to come back in 2021. 🇲🇰 Macedonia: Just no. No. No. Scrap everything about this, bring back Kaliopi and let her get her revenge for the juries screwing her out of qualification with the beautiful “Dona.” 🇲🇹 Malta: Malta have done the unthinkable and sent two songs in a row that I really like for the first time since 1997-8. As Ian would have put it, I was expecting a mere “vocal exercise” from Malta to show off the impressive range of Destiny. Instead, they came out with something so soulful that I have no choice but to enjoy. I hope they go a similar route in 21.

🇳🇴 Norway: So, finally Norway saw some sense and reverted to making the most of having a talented composer, Kjetil Mørland, who is so enthusiastic about Eurovision that he has come back since his success with A monster like me a few times. He should have won with En livredd mann; I wouldn’t have been unhappy at all had he won with Who we are, and indeed, Attention was another song that I had to consider as being amongst the best of its (bizarrely organised) selection. The one thing I’d change? The lyrics. It sounds like an infatuated 12 year old with low self-esteem singing, not a grown woman.

🇷🇴 Romania: It’s not up there with Goodbye or On a Sunday, but Romania have returned with a third song I really enjoy. Alcohol you was head and shoulders above the others in the single-artist selection, and I am still sent by the way she sabotaged the bop that was predicted to win the final so that she could send this more meditative, confessional effort. What would I change? The unnecessary revamp that abruptly shifts the direction of the song in the last third.🇷🇺 Russia: When this first came out, I thought “well done, Russia. Kept us waiting on you until way past the deadline, and all for this bizarre Aquaësque troll entry.” Despite myself, “Uno” has grown on me to some degree. Maybe it’s because of the death stare of the female backing singer who’s giving me some strong Rosa from Brooklyn 99 vibes, and I live for that. Maybe it’s because it’s serving a flourescent lime green in a year when there is so much beige that even an ugly odd colour seems pleasing. I wouldn’t change this, and I hope they get sent again next year because it’s delightful seeing Russia unpaired from Kirkorov. 

🇸🇮 Slovenia: Again, I am going to find myself in a small minority, but Slovenia was, like Belarus and Croatia, an unappetising selection that nonetheless yielded a gem for me. They really said screw you to underlying trends and went for a song that moves at a glacial pace fitting of the title, Voda. This was constantly in last place on the Eurovision scoreboard app, which just speaks to the limited taste tolerance of many of its users. There is so much here to enjoy: Slovenia sticking with its language yet again; the ethereal vibes; the deep, rich voice of the singer; the melancholic and poëtic lyrics; and the fact that it was perhaps the only good “revamp” of the season, going in the opposite direction of Albania and inserting an orchestra to make it that much richer in sound. Wonderful stuff and hope she returns in 2021.

🇸🇪 Sweden: So, for the first time since 2014, Sweden has sent a female artist - 3 in fact - and with them, left the cookie cutter niche they’d occupied since then behind. They sent my favourite of their songs since 2013, Move, a joyous gospel-infused effort where the love and positivity of the Mamas gave me tingles to watch. And yet, it wasn’t my ideal choice. My personal winner would have been my favourite entry from Sweden since... possibly as far back as I morgon är en annan dag in 1992. I’m talking ‘bout Dotter of course. The artist whose beautiful Melodifestivalen début with Cry got bizarrely ignored had a superb redemptive arc this year, becoming the huge favourite with Bulletproof. I watched her performance of this over 200 times so far and still watch often. I find the song so poignant, the performance and her presence so bewitching. It’s a rarity for songwriters who also perform their songs to get this far in MF these days, and Dotter lost out by the narrowest of margins, but would have been a great encouragement to others like her had she won. It was widely said that Sweden had the potential for a record-equalling seventh win if they had sent Bulletproof. As much as I cherish Ireland’s record, had it been Dotter to equal it, I wouldn’t have been mad at all. 🇺🇦 Ukraine: Widbir got over their Maruw drama in great style, once again being one of the coolest and most alternative national finals out there. Well done, Ukraine! There were a number of propositions that I would have been happy to see represent the country. My initial favourite was Vegan, one of my most streamed songs of the season and one which always puts a smile on my face with Jerry’s facial expressions and puns like “‘cause I’m vegan, I can’t even call you honey.” And honestly, I would have loved to have seen it in Rotterdam. I also loved, amongst others, Tam kudy ja jdu and Picz, which were both the victims of being in a semi-final with all the good songs whilst the second semi-final was nowhere near as competitive. Having said all that, I am not sure that I would change the eventual winner, Solowej, because it’s its own brand of delightfully authentic. I would undo their unnecessary revamp and keep it as the live version linked to above, though. And the automatic qualifiers: 🇩🇪 Germany: As you would expect from one of the musical monoliths of Europe, Germany once had some of the best and most diverse national finals of the continent, but something went wrong - they kept inviting wild cards, whose scrappiness endeared them to the public even when their songs were mediocre, and so we saw complete no-marks getting the Teutonic nod despite star-studded competition. Nonetheless, “Unser Lied für” was always worth tuning in for, an annual dose of getting mesmer-eyes’d by Barbara Schöneberger too. This year, they threw it all away for one of the most repetitive songs of the year, with a young, confused looking Slovenian being the god knows how many’th contestant to channel his inner Justin Timberlake with another knockoff that sounds as German as fajitas. I would have kept the national final - or, if they’re really going to start doing internal selections, go daring with Lily among clouds, whose Surprise was one of the crown jewels of the previous NF season. 🇮🇹 Italy: Sanremo, which actually predates Eurovision, is so much more than an NF, but its own cultural institution, and the quality is such that a song can be your fifth or sixth in Sanremo but still rank really highly in your ESC rankings. Performing with, and composing for, the orchestra, seems to give its entries a timeless quality that few others compare with. My initial favourites were Tosca’s Ho amato tutto, which from its first strains to the final, saudadic “eh” that serves as an unofficial coda, breaks my heart still sublimely; Viceversa, a heartwarming effort by the unbelievably charming Gabbani and Tikibombom, a slice of Sicilian excellence with trenchant lyrics. My most streamed has been Sincero, remembered more for the hugely memetic moment of one of its representatives changing the lyrics and the other walking out disgusted, but which I adore for its synthy vibes and its brilliant lyrics. The eventual winner was Fai rumore, which I also love too much to propose that it be changed. The lines about “an unnatural silence between us” are all the more poignant now. Lowkey think this could have won Italy its long-awaited third victory. 🇳🇱 Netherlands: Now, this is what I call a host nation song. The way I see it, if you’re hosting, you have a direct ticket to the final that you may not enjoy again for a long time, so why not go for a risk? And a risk NL indeed took. Grow is a very atypical song. It builds in a way we do not expect it to. It is mostly minimalist, focusing most of our attention to Jeangu’s voice, making this an intimate, almost confessional track. The crescendo is cathartic. After Albania destroyed itself with an unnecessary revamp, this became my #1 and I would change nothing about it. It really sucks that a song so personal to its writer and performer won’t be allowed on the stage in 2021 - that’s what I would change. A ridiculous decision on the EBU’s part.

[2-fast-2-curious]

Adore You Like The Roses

Summary: Auston is bad with words but tries to fix that with you

Words: 1450

Warnings: none

Author’s Note: To get the random thirsty Instagram comments all I had to do was scroll through my own message box. Also, I went to see The Maine today and they reminded me that they’re from Phoenix so I decided to rename this after one of their lyrics. Didn’t add very much smut because I’m tired AF.

It had been a long time since Auston had a girlfriend. In fact, he wasn’t even looking for one when he first met you. Everything was casual and great until it wasn’t. The more he got to know you, the harder it was to shake the romantic attraction he had for you. So Auston asked you if you wanted to be exclusive, if you wanted to be his girlfriend. In hindsight, he should’ve taken note of your response. “Oh” followed by seconds of silence as Auston waited on bated breath. “I honestly didn’t know you felt that strongly about me, Auston.” Auston picked up a lot of things naturally: hockey, video games, fashion (although he understood that last one was very subjective). How to ‘boyfriend material’ or ‘couple goals’ with you was not one of them. He was in love with you, he was sure of it, he was just bad at showing his feelings. You had agreed to be his girlfriend and Auston was relieved. Despite what some people wanted to believe, he wasn’t an asshole. At least not on purpose. He treated you well, he made you laugh, he bought you stupidly expensive designer things even though you insisted he didn’t have to. Speak of designer items, you and Stephanie had gone shopping for dresses for a black tie Leafs’ charity event. Auston and Mitch were going to meet the two of you at Holt Renfrew to see your final selection before grabbing dinner. You had texted Auston and Mitch directions to the private shopping suite the store had given you which was really just a very large private dressing room with couches and snacks.

In a corner was a rolling rack full of colourful, floor length dresses. Auston sat down on a couch. “Y/N, Steph, are you guys ready?”

You took a deep breath as you shuffled your sky-high Louboutins out of the dressing area. You knew Auston was getting a custom navy blue suit for the event so you had chosen a dress made of sparkly sapphire blue lace on top of fabric that mimicked the colour of your skin. “So what do you think?” You asked Auston, as you spun around in the dress. You had spent all afternoon stepping in and out of dresses before you had chosen this one, thinking Auston would enjoy the lacey details. Auston knew you looked amazing, he just didn’t know how to put it into words. So he decided to go with something safe. “You look nice, babe.” The smile fell from your face and Auston knew he fucked up. Meanwhile, Mitch was looking lovingly into Stephanie’s eyes while telling how gorgeous she looked in her rose gold sequined dress. You slipped off the shoes and went back into the changing area, trying to swallow back your feelings of disappointment at Auston’s reaction or lack therefore. Stephanie escaped Mitch’s grasp and went to join you. “I wish I knew how to do that.” Auston admitted as he beckoned the sales associate to bring him the card machine so he could pay for your Louboutins. “It’s just that every time, I think of how I want to compliment Y/N, I’m worried it will sound stupid or creepy.” “You feel stupid giving your girlfriend compliments?” Mitch asked, slightly confused at his teammate's aversion. “Well when you say it like that, I sound like an idiot.” Auston admitted, handing his Black Amex to a sales associate. He placed the heel next to his foot, amused at how small your feet were compared to his. Mitch laughed. “Because you’re being an idiot, Mats. It’s a compliment, who cares if you sound creepy or stupid? And if that happens, you just have to remember not to do that next time.” Auston frowned, that seemed like an oversimplification of his problem. He took out his phone, seeing that you had a new post on your Instagram. It was a carousel of mirror selfies of a couple of the dresses you had tried on today. You rarely posted pictures of yourself claiming that no one wanted to see you. Auston wanted to comment something to encourage you, it would at least be a step in the right direction if he wanted to start giving you more compliments. He frowned when he saw some of the comments on your post. your face is cute and your cleavage is sexy 😁 we should chat

So damn cute 😍😍😍

Hey there can I add ur snapchat? Auston wanted to show these random accounts that you were spoken for. But all he had started and erased several different messages and was now staring at the blank comment box. How the hell were faceless accounts on Instagram better at complimenting you than your own boyfriend? Babygirl looks 🔥 I’m the luckiest guy in the world Can’t wait to Auston had spent so much time trying to craft a message, you and Stephanie walked out of the dressing room, back in your street clothes. Your dress would have to stay at the store since it still needed alterations to fit you properly. Things were frosty between you and Auston during dinner as you let Mitch and Stephanie steer the conversation. You were more sad than anything. Auston seemed to care a lot more about his appearance than you did since he was a public figure. You thought that maybe seeing you in that dress would make him want to excited for the event and the opportunity to show you off. You knew Auston wasn't someone who gave compliments easily but did he give them ever? Hell, even the waiter had complimented you more than your own boyfriend had when he replied "Excellent choice" when you told him you wanted the ceviche. You and Auston ordered an Uber to take you home. You shrugged off your jacket and threw it on the coat rack. With all the dress fittings, today had been an exhausting day. “Auston, if you don't like the dress, I can call the store and tell them we don't want it anymore.” Auston followed you as you went to the bathroom to wash your face. "Are you kidding? I love that dress." "You really weren't acting like it. But I guess that's normal for you." You say as you massage your face wash into your skin. "Listen Y/N, I feel really shitty that I don't give you all the compliments that you deserve." Auston sat on the edge of the bathtub as he watched you wipe the soap off your face. "I want to know how much it means to me when I'm wearing my gameday suit and you always make sure to tell me how handsome I look before I leave. Or how you'll Skype me when I'm on the road and just woke up and you'll still tell me how hot you think I am." "Wow, I'm making you really conceited." You reply, not sure where Auston was going to go with this. Auston laughed. "You make me feel really good about myself. I realize that I need to make you feel the same way." Auston lifted you up and placed you on the counter next to the sink. "You look really nice when your face is just washed, it's so soft and it smells so good." He kissed your cheek, his stubble scratching you. He took his phone out and snapped a photo of the two of you in the mirror. Your back was to the camera, his face was in your neck, one hand was holding his phone and the other reached across your back to cup your butt. "Don't we look cute together? I'm going to make this my lock screen." You bit your lip, you had to admit you and Auston looked good together in that photo. You especially liked how his tattooed arm looked against you. You kind of wanted him to send it to you so you could post it. You didn't have a lot of photos of just you and Auston. "You looked really beautiful in the dress you picked. It suits you so well." The smile Auston gave you was so genuine, your heart fluttered. Auston helped you out of your shirt. He watched his hands in the mirror as they lifted your shirt over your head, exposing your bare back to the mirror. Auston took the time to admire your bra. "Pretty." "Aus, your hands are cold." You giggled as your torso shivered when he removed your bra. Auston smirked as he used his extra cold thumbs to play with your nipples. "All the better to touch you with."

“Auston that’s not even how Little Red Ridinghood goes.“ You say as you lean in to kiss your boyfriend’s lips.

Part 2

[queensparklekitten]

11-year-old me’s takes on Willcraft Animations Monster School

My pre-teen self had massive amounts of fanon and headcanons with the Monster School videos that actually made the videos more complex and worldbuilt than they ever were in canon. Part of this came from me imagining up dialogue into every single video, part of it was just me observing and coming up with theories. 

Anyways: 

The reason Creep has to steal others’ work is that he can’t see the whiteboard behind Ghist. (seriously, watch the Crafting video, he sits right behind a ghast!) 

Speaking of the crafting video, you know how Creep made a pickaxe, Ghist made a lantern (out of Zombee’s head) and Skellington made an ender eye? They were all planning to go mining and exploring strongholds after school. 

In the cooking video, Zombee puts gold in the cauldron. Why? Because he thought it was an actual cooking ingredient- namely, butter! After all, there IS a popular YouTuber who refers to gold as butter in Minecraft... and Zombee watches him. 

What a lot of the characters (except Zombee, who does NOT commit autocannibalism) made in the cooking video is something they like to eat. Endie loves melon, Mucus likes cake, Spider likes that stew he made with the potatoes and the villager and the XP point, Zombieswine likes mushroom stew, Skellington likes anything he can make to look cool (like that chicken-and-melon thing that looks like a flower), Ghist eats porkchops and apples when she can access them, and meanwhile, Creep put TNT in the furnace because TNT is the main diet of creepers. Also, the dyes are all flavoured. 

There’s a password to get by the iron golem in Stealing. The password is different for every species. Creep got past, but Zombee tried “lemonade” and failed because that’s the creeper password.  (i picked Lemonade from a lyric in the Creeper Rap video) 

Zombieswine and Ghist formed that alliance because many Nether mobs have an unspoken fraternity that comes of living in the land of fire and death. 

 You know Endie’s terrifying berserker mode? All endermen have that, and it awakens for the first time in pre-teen or early teen years. Before then, making eye contact with a player has no effect, but then again, it’s not like younger endermen ever leave the End, so they probably won’t have player encounters. Some endermen simply have heightened kill instincts and highly heightened desire to kill, and have their strength and physical stats upped. Other endermen enter a completely different state of mind where they practically become someone else, and are entranced in their desire to KILL in an over-the-top way that often involves toying with or dismembering your prey before killing it, as well as eating it afterwards. Endie is firmly all the way at the “different state of mind, decisions made entirely by subconscious because the conscious mind has one thought and that’s KILL” end of that spectrum, making him one of the more deadly endermen when in berserker mode. Also, when this superpowered killer state is about to awaken for the first time, there’s signs all over the place. In the Hiding video, remember how Endie was noticeably meaner than usual, throwing a bookshelf at Zombieswine and going out of his way to give himself a better hiding spot then the others? That’s no accident. Endermen suddenly losing their morals is a sign that their berserker mode has awakened and that next time they make eye contact with a player, that player will be DESTROYED. 

Word of Endie’s superpowered killer side spread REALLY fast, and everyone knew about it very fast. By combat class, everyone was raring to see it. That’s why, when Endie covered his eyes due to being slightly scared of his sadistic killer alter ego, Spider climbed on him and moved his hands. When Endie fought in that class, everyone cheered him on and freaked out. 

Also in the combat video, when Skellington is forced to use a bow, he remembers that he had arrows in his backpack, and he fetches his backpack. He intentionally hid the poisoned pumpkin pie in there, and it was his plan all along to use that instead. 

Zombieswine plays Super Mario. That’s why he always gets mushrooms involved in what he does. 

In the Halloween video, the reason Zupay griefed the second house too even though it gave him candy was because he hates that flavour. 

Endie does eventually get over his fear of his berserker mode, seeing as he willingly enters it in Scaring class. He still won’t use it against other hostile mobs without a reason to, though. It can still be activated against them, though, which Herobrine exploited when he used illusion stuff to make Endie see Witton as a player just long enough to activate his superpowered killer mode in the second combat video. 

In the field trip episode, Zupay went dragonriding because, on the bus, Endie told him and others about it when he was chatting about the End on the way there. Endermen do ride the ender dragon sometimes, but it’s a rule in the End that you can’t do it unless it’s on the dragon’s terms, a rule which Zupay straight-up broke. Later on, Endie is chatting with the enderdragon because he knows her, and he’s both apologizing for Zupay and talking shit about him. 

The bus trip episode takes place after the second combat one. And when Hildegarde confiscates the flint and steel, Zupay NEVER gets it back. Serves him right! 

You see that rec room at the beginning of the second combat video? And the other room Zupay was in? Yeah, the second room is meant for killing practice, on chickens and animals, but it’s not used nearly as often as the rec room with a snack bar and a block crafts section. 

The longer Endie spends in berserker mode, the more violent he gets, and the more likely he is to go out of his way to inflict as much pain and suffering as he can before the kill. He also loses the ability to distinguish friends from enemies when in berserker mode, as can be demonstrated when he not only mercilessly tears apart Multus in the second combat video, but also seems to take sadistic pleasure in doing so while leaving his enemy alive as long as possible. Only other endermen are immune to being seen as kill targets when Endie is in that state. The same is true for all endermen. 

Mucus freaking LOVES redstone. 

Before I saw the Christmas episode, I’d formed headcanons about where the characters all lived. I liked them better than the caves, so I decided that during holidays and events, it’s considered good luck among hostile mobs to spend the night in the nearest cave, especially if you decorate it a little. (yeah, for Nether mobs, this includes under-lava caves.) The energies from caves (the darkness, the noises that scare players, the treasures, the protection from sunlight) is believed to bring power and fortune. As for where they live when it’s not event season, Skellington’s place is a mob spawner room, Cavell’s is an abandoned mineshaft, Silvester’s is a stronghold, Endie lives in the End (and he teleports to the Overworld so he can hang out with his friends in caves during events), Ghist lives on an overhang in the Nether that’s partly walled off by lava, Spider and Creep live in a forest, Zombieswine’s place is just the fiery Nether terrain, same with Maggie but she’s closer to the lava sea, Blaise and Witton are Nether fortress roommates and don’t believe the cave superstition, and Zombee and Mucus actually do live in caves (the latter is near the bedrock layer). 

You know the ripoffs? The monster school videos made by people other than Willcraft, videos that copied the format but lack what makes Monster School awesome? Yeah, those are actually different schools, but they exist in the same universe. Every now and then there’s competitions between the schools. Come on, that one building can’t fit every preteen/teenage hostile mob around! There’s gotta be several.