#and then with knowledge from their myth origin its like...

[sweetevoltrap]

Sylus saying "...don't run" to MC when they're finally being openly honest about their desire for one another and their trust and shared spaces.

[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

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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.

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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. ♡

[nymphaea-blue]

Love and Deepspace boys with a lemurian!reader.

Info : 1.2k+ word count (about 400 per part), fluff, very slight angst in Zaynes part.

Notes : We need more content about lemurians, especially now since it's mermay!

Rafayels part is here!

Zayne

He would be curious about you and how your body is different from humans because of your origin, he would study you a lot and ask frequent questions. It was a bit creepy at first but he has your best interest at hand - he just wants to be able to take care of you in case something happens, so of course he needs the knowledge to do that. He doesn’t say it but he is afraid that you will be in pain because of some lemurian sickness or something will happen to you and he wouldn’t be able to help, or worse - he would harm you further.

Zayne finally realised why you were clinging to him so much. His body temperature was oftentimes naturally cold because of his evol and since cold temperature reminded you of water which was once your home, you of course often migrated to him. He made sure to have ice cream or cold water in his apartment whenever you came during hot seasons to cool you down, though his favourite method to do that was still cuddles.

He was a little unsure of your lemurian form at first, he wouldn’t come too close or talk too much but that was just because he was stunned, you were beautiful. It was shocking to him to see a literal tail instead of your legs but he quite liked you like this, not much changed in your relationship… other than the fact that now he was much more keen to have baths with you after he understood your need for the water, and he would encourage you to change into your lemurian form more to “stretch out your tail to keep it healthy” (he just wants to admire you). He’s also just a little freaked out by your ability to breathe underwater but he gets used to it.

Zayne made sure to keep your secret hidden, he was a supportive boyfriend from the start even if he didn’t know much about you and didn’t fully understand all your quirks yet. Not many people knew about Lemuria, people thought it was just a myth but now he knew it wasn’t and he was dead set on keeping you safe. Need a checkup in the hospital? Zayne would be doing that. One of the doctors thinks your temperature is too low? No it isn’t, you just didn’t wear warm enough clothes, he would say.

Xavier

He would not know for a longer time and he would probably be oblivious to any hints about it too. Once you would tell him though, he would be supportive but it ended at that. Later on however, he would start acting all weird with you. You were sitting down with him, talking to him about what happened at work and then he suddenly gets you a glass of water even though you had a different drink. You visited him in his apartment and he now had a humidifier and a lotion that he would randomly start to apply on you. And more. When you asked him about it, it turned out that he was studying how to care for fishes and other water animals and it said they needed lots of water and a cold, humid environment, and it worked. 

Xavier would find your Lemurian form to be very pretty though you wouldn’t have many chances to show it to him, since your dates were mostly to public swimming pools and he didn’t have a big enough tub, but you did manage to show it to him once and he absolutely adored it. All the shiny scales, your eyes, he loved literally all changes of yours. You were worried he wouldn’t like them, but Xavier reads a lot of comic books so he was used to the image of fantasy creatures, though you were still the prettiest one he ever saw.

He would start to look at you a little more closely, try to see your mannerism, what you liked, what you didn’t want to touch, everything. He wanted to figure out how to make you more comfortable, since he guessed being a lemurian did come with its own challenges but he was prepared to help you navigate them. You felt bad since sometimes you had to cancel dates because you just didn’t feel like yourself but he always understood and just stayed at your place with you instead.

Xavier wouldn’t bring it up too much, it just became something natural for him at some point so he wasn’t even surprised if he would find you sitting in a bathtub for a few hours or if you would start speaking in lemurian after something scared you. He did however like to ask you about your home sometimes, since it was something very precious to you. 

Sylus

Supportive king from the start because he is a dragon! You told him once over dinner and while he was curious, he was very respectful and made sure you took everything at your own pace. He would playfully tease you about it but it was all in love, his favourite way to tease you is to ask you if you still ate seafood if they were technically your neighbors and he would start to call you something like “starfish” instead of “kitten” sometimes just to see the reaction he would get out of you.

Fascinated about your lemurian form, he took it in as if he was looking at the most expensive diamond in his collection and he touched you like it too. He was always careful, gentle, as if he was afraid to hurt you or say something wrong but he would hide it with his confident tone. His pool was big enough to contain you so you sometimes had a chance to transform, but Sylus noticed that it wasn’t really as big as it should be for you to swim around freely so he made it like 5 times bigger. And his bathtub got upgraded to a bigger one too so you would be able to bathe with him while in your lemurian form since he wanted you to feel free to always transform whenever you wanted.

Sylus adores it when you speak lemurian, it’s like the hottest thing to him. He knows many languages but this one he sadly can’t learn since it’s lost to time but it was no issue because now you get to teach him! He managed to pick up some necessary stuff for when you don’t remember words in English or for when you are feeling horrible during one of the many cycles you go through as a lemurian, things like “food”, “need water” or his favourite - “hug me”. He also loves to hear you sing, your voice is one of a true siren and he will gladly fall under your spell each time if it means he gets to hear you sing more.

Ensures that nobody knows except him that you are a lemurian, not even the twins know since as much as they are useful, they probably would make you feel swamped with questions which he didn’t want. One day someone during an auction accidentally heard you say something in lemurian to Sylus and he did not hesitate to kill that guy on the spot. Another time during an auction people were talking about lemurians, their blood especially, and some were trying to gather intel on them, but Sylus quickly shut the whole thing down, because not only he cared about you but also about the very few of your kind that were somewhere in the world.

[theatricalmage]

The brainrot took over and so here's a vat7k hadestown au!! Don't know if I'll develop it fully but I liked designing it at least!

More info under the cut:

- Varian, the Coronan royal alchemist, tasks himself with deciphering an incantation capable of bringing the world back into tune. Times are tough, and the royal family + Quirin are doing their best to cope with the meagre crop yields and desolate weather (Corona not really being the sunshine kingdom - hasn't been for a while). He wants to help and do good and I think he'd be a good Orpheus.

- Hugo, having moved about from place to place, still has his interest in alchemy and does what he can to get by. He plans on temporarily staying in Corona before looting, but he encounters a certain like-minded scientist at the Snuggly Duckling. I think him being selfish works especially well in Eurydice's role, having a more pessimistic view of the world. It also works with how he gets drawn to Donella's offer of working for her later on, leading him to his death.

- Ulla as Persephone! I was initially stuck on whether to have Rapunzel (and either Eugene/Cass) as her (and Hades) but I was drawn to the connection that Hugo has to Donella and the Donella/Ulla relationship in vat7k just works too well. In this case, Ulla won't be Varian's mother. She's still gonna be somewhat of an inspiration to him though, being the previous Coronan royal alchemist and for her intelligence. For half the year, she'll return to Corona with food, drinks, and alchemical compounds/inventions, bringing Spring and Summer to the world, if only for a bit.

- Donella would be such an interesting Hades, losing sight of her love for Ulla, heart filled with fear and hurt, leading to bitterness and cruelty. Ingvarr being Hadestown and how by being the esteemed Ingvarrian engineer, she'd be in charge of major technological advances across the kingdoms and so would wield a significant amount of power (like how Hades is literally the ruler of the underworld). Ingvarr essentially being a near death sentence for its workers while also displaying its technological prowess, all still shrouded in mystery and corruption - a place so otherworldly compared to the rest of the kingdoms.

I didn't want to modify the outfits too much nor the personalities,, if anything I imagine the general plot beats being the same as the original musical/story but with slight differences that'd you get inherently as a result of these characters. I wouldn't want it to be the case where it's just the show but the names are changed. I'd want this to still make reasonable sense in this AU, with the actions being understandable for this particular cast of characters.

For Hermes, I ended up picking Xavier, as he's most knowledgeable of old legends and stories, which would work in reference to the Hades and Persephone myth (and so Donella and Ulla)! He'd act as a mentor figure for V, someone who can guide him in uncovering the forgotten incantation. Quirin would still be the good supportive dad he is (even if he doesn't fully understand his son's project).

Last but not least, the fates!! often lurking in the background, I'm still a bit stuck on who it could be? I'm tempted to have it be Raps, Cass, and Nuru as they've had celestial connections at some point (and ya know how stars can represent fate), but I also love the freckled siblings dynamic so much. Also Team Radical... Maybe Raps and Cass can be their normal selves but their Sundrop/Moonstone counterparts are the manifested physical forms of the fates? They wouldn't be visible to the characters though, just voices in the wind.

Anyways yeah!! Those are my thoughts. Do let me know if you've got any cool ideas or questions. I'm really combining my interests at full force and there's nothing anyone, not even myself, can do about it quite frankly. 😮‍💨

[purplecritter]

theories/thoughts/analysis about touchstarved 2025 demo

So uh, I did a long analysis post back when the first demo dropped. I won’t repeat things that I already wrote there but I have some more thoughts especially with the changes and additions they made + several of the scattered official tumblr posts that followed the demo release!

Also heads-up, I will edit this with the daily routine posts from the devs' account if they're relevant, since I already commented on Mhin’s, but apart from those I won’t touch this anymore afterwards 🙏

(Spoilers under the cut)

Kuras

His new red choice… Really amps up his association with fire, and it seems to be directly linked with how close we are to him: if you didn’t get the red choice you still feel it, but you’ll miss this line: “I realize it’s more than physical warmth. The sensation calms my nerves and quiets my mind—the closest thing I’ve ever felt to a comforting embrace”. One thing is interesting though: the red choice was unlocked during my Unnamed playthrough, but not during my others even if I picked the same choices. I tried again picking the opposite choices with my Unnamed and still got that red choice, so I’m pretty sure it depends on your origin, not your relationship with him. Since, as of now, Kuras hasn’t yet revealed his true nature to us (I suspect Eridia more or less knows, though), it would make sense that specifically the origin about detecting hidden supernatural presences would notice earlier than the others.

The dev answered a question on their tumblr about Kuras, “Kuras came through the Shroud because he loved humanity. He’s had human friends, colleagues, and lovers… all of whom he’s destined to outlive. Each person he’s loved—and lost—left an indelible stamp on him.” The stamp part caught my attention; since we feel his powers more whenever when get closed (physically, but moreso emotionally), I wonder if he can… channel? That affection into energy. Kind of how deities are fueled by their followers’ faith, perhaps an angelic being like Kuras is fueled by emotions?

A bit of relevant lore was posted on the dev team's tumblr: “Divine Teacher — The Senobium's folklorists note a curious pattern in humanity's oldest tales. Though the details vary, these stories share a common theme: an otherworldly teacher, bringing the divine gift of knowledge. Alchemy and literacy, art and war...supposedly this being shared all that they knew with the earliest civilizations. In some tales, the otherworldly teacher is a loving, benevolent figure. In others, they are a harbinger of chaos and ruin.” as well as the quote “Hope. A strange concept, after so long seeing myself as the agent of ruin.” Prometheus is the obvious parallel, due to his association with fire (though I would hope Kuras still has his liver intact), but there’s many versions of the Theft of Fire; in the Book of Enoch there’s fallen angels who shared knowledge with humans, too; and undoubtedly several more myths about inhuman figures sharing knowledge. Mhin says that “[Kuras]rarely does [take payment from patients]. That just means he’s paying down the debt elsewhere” which could be related to his distaste for dealing with the Senobium… I wouldn’t even be surprised if he had a hand in creating the Senobium (his robes are white too, and he does collaborate often, yet he isn’t afraid of retribution for messing a little with its members from what we can see of his ending scene), and he had all the time in the world to witness how the knowledge he gifted was used for worse things that he could’ve hoped for :(

Kuras, like Ais, keeps on his own for the most part, though they don’t dislike feeling close to people: Ais actually dislikes isolation but he’s probably too jaded to want to bother interacting, while Kuras actively craves closeness (it’s part of the reason he has a free clinic methinks) even if he knows it will hurt him when he loses it.

Leander

Leander’s group is now called The Adderstone. The symbology of an adder stone, aka witch stone, is definitely a bigger hint at Leander’s unique connection to magic, whereas previously the Bloodhounds evoked the feeling of a mercenary group with a penchant for investigations. In the new demo Adderstone is defined as “a semi-precious mineral that draws out poison”, which also makes me think of his constant disposition as a confident protector and his tendency to disregard the riskier aspects (ie, he wouldn’t care about getting poisoned himself). The Adderstone’s meaning is still vaguely reminiscent of my previous thoughts about the Bloodhounds: Hounds are a breed specifically intended to track something specific (or someone specific) by scent, and in the new metaphor that something/someone is the poison that Leander and his mercenaries are drawing out, hunting.

Adder stones are sometimes also symbolically tied to snakes, some sources saying they were created by turning dead snakes into the stone, others say that the ring-like formation was made by a hardened bubble of saliva when snakes joined together… All quite nicely tied to the recurring Ouroboros symbol in Leander’s outfit and merch!

“I’m no prior or curator. I’m not much for paperwork or pencil pushing. And honestly, I don’t even think those robes come in my size.” I am reminded of an old post by user @/toeridiaorbust about how Leander and the Bloodhounds Adderstones clothes are a direct color inversion of the Senobium’s robes.

“If you want nothing but guidelines, improper policies, and needless bureaucracy, you know where to go […] The Senobium won’t help you. They’re more likely to torture you than to lend you a hand.” Now this? Makes me wonder if his prominent scars are connected to his loathing towards the Senobium.

“But I’m not going to wait from word from on high […] These are our streets. We make our own luck here […] I founded the Adderstones to help people like you.” connects to the “as above, so below” tagline that was in his posters in the first demo and first hinted at him creating the Adderstone as an alternative to the Senobium.

The lore snippet about him on the dev’s tumblr doesn’t add anything that we don’t know from the new demo about Leander and the Adderstone, but there’s an interesting part at the end: “Locals speak praise for the charming leader whose seemingly benign reign extends even below the city streets into the shadowed depths of the Silent Crypts.” Considering all of his symbolism about the cycle of rebirth (I went into detail in my old analysis post), the fact that this references a crypt of all places doesn’t feel coincidental… We haven’t heard of the location yet from what I can remember, but I would bet that it’s connected to Leander’s hidden curse / source of power.

In an old post, the devs confirmed that “The magically talented son of an old Hightown family, Leander was expected to join the Senobium when he came of age. Instead, he packed up his bags twelve years ago to chase his own dreams” which matches with his own words in the demo: “I grew up idolizing the Senobium. I wanted nothing more than to join their ranks, to learn magic from the best, to make a real difference. I was young and blinded by the legends and the legacy. I was so damn naive. All it took was one trip here, to Lowtown, to show me the truth.”

“I won’t leave you, and you won’t leave me” + “How would you feel about being on a leash?” + “You can decide how to thank me. Or I can decide for you.” he’s not beating the yandere allegations.

“It’s not every day I find something that truly challenges me” we already knew he likes being challenged, which is pretty much his whole relationship with Ais. It’s interesting because with MC, he tends to prefer when they defer to him, trust him, take the flower and hold hands…. I think both things are a way to reaffirm his confidence: a challenge surpassed is proof that he’s strong enough to face what he has ahead, and having people trust him (in Kuras’ words, even willing to put their lives on the line for him) is a different way to feel that kind of influence.

The new scene of him coming into MC’s room with the excuse of having information about the curse, it feels like a contrast with the other characters’ ending scenes. Everyone shows a little about themselves, their attitude or their habits, but Leander feels like he mirrors MC. Even asking him about his relationship with the others, he comments on what we say about them rather than speaking up about them unprompted.

I initially didn’t think much of it so it may be nothing but it’s worth mentioning anyways: while chatting with Leander nearer the ending, he can say “How would you feel about being on a leash?” which is easy to dismiss as just him being a little freaky, but then I recalled after the first encounter with Vere, when the MC remarks that they could share his fate and get “leashed” by the Senobium. I doubt Leander would intentionally let MC in the hands of the Senobium, considering his animosity towards them, but it’s still a chilling thought that feels like foreshadowing...

Vere

re: his bad/secret ending, I appreciate that he shows some restraint this time around. I’m now pretty certain that you can only get the option to “Reach out to him” (red choice) versus “Resist him” (neutral) if you played along with him at least a little bit; while “Surrender” (bad ending) is only unlocked if you don’t have his approval and you say that if you can’t find a cure it’s over for you (rather than “I’ll keep looking”).

In two posts on tumblr (here and here), the devs posted a couple of peeks at Vere’s living space. “Candles flicker in the waning light, illuminating a crowded desk at odds with its gloomy surroundings.” and “Few in living memory know why the Senobium built the secret prison where Vere is kept. What do you think happened to the other prisoners?”. Given it’s described as a secret prison, I’m torn about it being located in the entertainment district where we first found him. One one hand, he was shackled there and it was morning, the Senobium cleric hadn’t yet come to fetch him. On the other hand, it feels like a weirdly dangerous place to put the deathly charming Monster in? No other buildings can be seen from the window, which is either just to not clutter the view or it’s a tall building, a spire taller than the rest, which would only leave the blue sky visible from that angle. The three items that mainly occupy his space are candles (I would’ve thought he would be able to see in the dark, perhaps just not comfortably or perhaps he likes the atmosphere they create... or they're not there for his benefit, but that of his captors), books (I could swear there’s a full picture of his sketchbook somewhere but just considering this sneak peek of it here, I think it’s the one in the middle of the desk… As for the books, he doesn’t like puzzles, I’m not sure he would be the studious type, so my bet is on them being entertainment), and shackles in his bedroom and by the desk. This last detail feels particularly invasive, as the implications are that someone is scheduled to keep an eye on his routine, dictating when he is allowed bedtime and when he can read/draw/brush his tail (there’s a little brush and mirror in the shelves). There’s also some handwritten papers on his desk, I wonder if he’s allowed to send letters or if he just writes them? One additional detail caught my attention: doesn’t the decoration in the chair by his desk look remarkably similar to the design of Kuras’ earrings? Though there’s different additional elements for each, they both are a circle with three drops underneath it… Which makes me even more convinced that Kuras played a significant part in initially capturing Vere. The comment about “What do you think happened to the other prisoners?” brings to mind Vere’s insistence that if the Senobium realized what the MC is, they’d be leashed as well. I don’t doubt that other Monsters have been kept by them in a similar manner, perhaps some of them also were offered a way to end their suffering by Vere, like he did with MC in his secret/bad ending.

In a tumblr post by the dev team about his lore: “Bloodstained Snow — The Senobium's archives hold countless records of stories that defy belief. One ancient report recounts the haunting of a remote village by what is described at first as a god, and then as a demon. Heavily redacted, the papers depict a team of researchers hunted by a self-proclaimed deity that transforms into a malignant entity. After the beast succumbs to freezing conditions, its ultimate fate is unknown-doubtlessly lost with the pages removed from the report.” I would bet that this is (part of) the reason why Vere dislikes snow… Apart from that, it’s interesting that Vere presented as a god first. History is written by the victors, and I wouldn’t take this recounting as the full truth. If he approached the village like he did with us, at first charming (if a bit unnerving, but deities can afford that) and then started preying on people’s trauma/insecurities, it’s not much of a stretch that they’d label him a demon—and to be fair, his monstrous form doesn’t inspire much safety either. I wonder if he first caught Kuras’ attention (or wrath) by proclaiming himself a god?

I’m also still thinking of Vere being a foil for Mhin: both hunt Soulless, he does out of obligation and they do presumably as a choice in line with their ideals; one leans completely on his Monster side and lets it leak through nonchalantly, the other despises Monsters and hides their own unnatural skills; Vere puts on airs to hide his thoughts, overwhelming you with (effective or not) charm, while Mhin is standoffish and avoids opening up by… well, avoiding you.

Ais

The Exile notices “Not many scars, though. Strange. Save for one cut along his brow, Ais is unmarked for how seasoned he acts.” In a post on tumblr the team answered a question about this particular scar: “Ais’s scar serves as a memento of his first day in the human realm, a stark reminder of all that can be lost. His gang imparted a lesson he’ll never forget, and he returned the favor in kind.” What feels more likely to me, is that he passed through the Shroud with his gang, they had a serious disagreement and/or they betrayed him (we already know from the character sheets and other hints that he doesn’t like being alone, I feel like it’d take something serious for him to turn his back on them), fought and he got injured during this confrontation. Then he found (?) Ocudeus, and we can assume from the fact that the red-eyed woman who lead us to the Seaspring still had visible marks of her previous health, that the Seaspring doesn’t restore wounds, so the wound was already there and didn’t get healed. I don’t think it’s likely that Ais has regenerative powers (also, his knuckles are bruised constantly, and he bleeds when MC bites him).

Leander also says that Ais “doesn’t see humans as equals”. Humans, by their very nature, can’t realistically be a match for the power of a Monster, so Ais wouldn’t consider them on the same level as him. In the same line of thinking, he seems to like more when MC can hold their own, and I feel like it’s connected to his trauma about being betrayed: if people can take care of themselves (like Vere, who’s as dangerous as Ais, and Leander, whom he respects), if he gets betrayed by those he likes, then at least he won’t have to hold back and it will be a fair fight.

When Ais says his old gang “took a walk”, the Exile wonders about this “He knows how to scare people, and he expects submission, but it’s uncommon for someone so used to being in power to be so… alone.” The Exile also has the most positive reaction by far to the Soulless in the Seaspring. When talking with Mhin, the Exile says “[Ais’] Soulless seem to like him though […] There’s a big difference between Ais’ Soulless and that many-eyed Soulless [that attacked me].” Being playful (perhaps even being in groups) isn’t a behavior they usually display, and I wonder how much of that is because they share being under the influence of Ocudeus so they're not hostile to what they consider allies, and how much it could be Ais’ doing instead: if he feels so alone, I would bet that he would (subconsciously or not) use the bond with the Groupmind as a way to feel less isolated, and those feelings impact the behaviour of the Soulless.

Ais talks about “a time where Leander’s resolve will be tested, same for anyone in this plane or the next” I think that the Adderstones remind him of what he had, or could have had. He sees something of himself in Leander, but Ais is jaded by his previous experience. I now wonder if the assassination attempts are his way to test him, make sure he’s ready for whatever comes, something that he feels like he lacked when he was left alone?

The lore post about Ais on the official tumblr reads: “Death Knell — Whispers echo about a fearsome Monster within the Shroud, their overwhelming power and authority stretching across the realm’s underworld. Few have seen the face of this infamous ruler. As Monsters continued to abandon the Shroud to seek thrills in the human realm, the being stayed behind, devouring forsaken domains and Monsters alike until no challenges were left. Now, as the being seeks conquest elsewhere, Monsters stir in anticipation of impending carnage.” This also could reference the time where [everyone’s] resolve will be tested; I wonder if it’s a general comment, about Monsters as a whole (Ais himself likes a good challenge), or if Ocudeus specifically is working towards something. In England, there was a tradition to ring the so called passing bell from the church when someone’s death was imminent; then the death knell when they passed away (there’d be additional rings to signify gender, and age, so that people could get an idea of who it was); and finally the corpse bell when the funeral was being held. If we want to read too much into the cool moniker, perhaps Ais is not meant to be the harbinger of chaos, but merely a warning sign.

The Unnamed will comment about hearing a faint heartbeat pulsing underground, when they first approach the land near the Seaspring. Earlier they also comment about feeling a kind of thrumming in Eridia itself, I wonder how far Ocuseus’ influence expands? Is it limited to where its Groupmind members are?

Leander says that he’s known Ais for around six years, which considering Kuras says that Ais is a recent arrival, could be that he’s passed through the Shroud into Eridia for less than a decade even?

Mhin

They’re EVEN MORE of a nerd in this version. Clearly knowledgeable about Soulless’ biology, even though they deny having studied anatomy or medicine. In an older post on the devs' tumblr, “Mhin was forced to apply their anatomical knowledge to violence in order to survive. After years of bitter experience, they learned to fight with agility, elegance, and surgical precision. Even in Eridia, their skills see more use in combat than healing.” which again makes me think they maybe didn’t formally study them, but being an apprentice to someone isn’t out of the equation (perhaps even Kuras, the Divine Teacher?). Them saying to an Alchemist’s red choice “It’s been a while since I had someone answer [my theories]” hints that they weren’t always alone in leading a life like this, before. Like Leander says about them, “Vulnerability doesn’t get you much except heartache.”

“Something about them is strange, unlike any human or Monster I’ve ever met. I can’t quite place my hand on why, and that’s a first” is what an Unnamed says when first encountering them. Not human, not Monster, but a mix of both—Not enough Monster yet too far gone from Human. A post on the devs’ tumblr depicts Mhin (partially?) transformed: they’re still clearly recognizable, it could be they’re just mid transformation but considering the comment from the Unnamed, I don’t think Mhin can become fully a Monster (like, say, Vere’s shadow fox is also kinda incorporeal but more shaped): it is said that Monster gain more control over their human form as time progresses, so Mhin has probably only recently become like this. The description of “a tar-like substance leaking from their eyes and bony extrusions” matches their pin designs as well as their “costume” in the official 2024 Halloween art, and the tar/blood leaking from their eye matches the pastry on the official 2025 Valentine’s Day art (bottom right corner).

Ais calls them “dove” and considering their Monster form seems to be quite the opposite, black ichory feathers and all, makes me believe that Ais has seen them shifted sometime and is poking fun at it. Or I’m just reading into it too much and it’s about them having white hair and Ais defaulting to bird nicknames for some reason.

The Exile comments “It’s one thing to strike down Soulless. They’re creatures of instinct, aggressive and dangerous to everyone. But Monsters are lucid, thinking beings—beings that Mhin seems to loathe.” It feels like their hatred is brought on by how familiar they are: they know the thoughts that compel a Monster (hence their insistence that MC seeks help from someone less dangerous than them) and they hate that they’re their own thoughts.

In a recent post detailing their daily schedule, it seems to me that Mhin doesn’t sleep, or barely does. I’m more inclined to say that it’s a consequence of their nature, that they haven’t accepted (so they still want to sleep, even if they can’t or don’t need it), similar to how Kuras doesn’t really eat.

Since they both compete in the same field, I wonder if Mhin and Vere first met while hunting Soulless? Do they ever meet while on the same contract, or do they run in different circles?

I don’t think they mentioned this in the first demo, but Mhin says they grew up in Eridia. Which really surprised me, because in the pre-release content they’re referred as “outsider” and “outcast”… Unless that’s changed in the rewrite, maybe they were cast off when they were young, or maybe they weren’t physically exiled but rather their family/group of origin estranged them? “Eridia wasn’t perfect, but it used to be a place worth living in” also could be said in a more subjective sense, Mhin didn’t lead a perfect life but they were satisfied with it before. Moreover, Leander says about them “I’ve known them since they arrived here.” Perhaps they grew up in Eridia, left at some point, and came back later? And when asking Kuras about Mhin, he says “Like you, they’re a recent arrival.” though that could just be that Kuras has a different concept of time, considering he’s centuries old. In any case, I highly doubt it’s just an oversight from the team because so far every detail is very curated. There’s something here about Mhin’s timeline that I can’t quite put my hands on yet.

Now the juiciest bit of info about them yet in my opinion, is on their tumblr lore drop from the studio: “Lost Expeditions — In a bygone era, before Eridia became the last beacon of humanity, there was Lovent. Yet where a bustling metropolis once stood, there is now only a blasted crater and empty ruins, blanketed by fog. The inhabitants, and large chunks of the city, had vanished into thin air. Over the following years, scholars flocked to the ruins in search of answers. Like the Loventians, they disappeared without a trace, and none ever returned.” Lovent is also referenced in another post, as “The previous largest city, Lovent, was the epicenter of the first Fogfall. In the century since, Soulless and Monster incursions destroyed most cities, leaving Eridia as the largest remaining one.” It makes me wonder, if Mhin maybe did grow up in Eridia, went to Lovent either in time to be caught in its destruction, or afterwards to investigate it. It’s possible that this is how they became a Monster… In the description of their flower, there’s also a reference to “barren wastelands to ruins perpetually shrouded in Fogfall” which is way too similar to “empty ruins, blanketed by fog” to be a coincidence. It’s possible that they physically entered the Fogfall/Shroud, and what emerged wasn’t fully them anymore.

Thanks if you read so far, as always I’m always happy to read other thoughts about it all or if I missed something 👀

[fobarchiveteam]

The Fall Out Boy 2001 Demo... and the fact that there's actually two of them!

A few years ago, the wonderful Dave Hofer, who owns the DuPage County Hardcore Archive, uploaded the first Fall Out Boy demo from 2001 onto his archive, revealing its existence to the world. Dave was able to locate both a copy of the CD and the cassette versions of this demo, finding out that limited amounts of CDrs and around 100 cassettes were ever made. The CDr has uncut and unmastered versions of the recordings that later appear on the Project Rocket split, but the cassette contains completely different recordings for the first two songs, while an original song that is found nowhere else called “A Nice Myth” replaces Moving Pictures. The truth is that these are actually two separate demos: the cassette recordings came first. These demos were both made in 2001. For the first demo, the band consisted of Patrick on vocals, Pete on bass, Joe on guitar, and two other members who only lasted for a short time in the band: Ben Rose on drums, and John Flamadan on rhythm guitar. It was recorded on an 8-track in Ben’s basement. That 8-track was later turned into the cassette, of course. Both Ben and John left shortly after, and Jared Logan and TJ Kunasch replaced them on the CDr recordings respectively. What you may not know is there was an even rarer version of the CDr demo made: two types of lathe cuts.

These lathe cuts were posted on Discogs as pictures years before Dave’s discovery, so they sat dormant and undiscovered by FOB fans for a long time. After researching the cassettes and CDs for our archive, we stumbled upon these pictures and were perplexed that nobody has mentioned this version elsewhere before. Although this was not really a “new” discovery, we were still intrigued. We contacted the uploader of the picture, and this is what he had to say:

Hey!! Yeah it's honestly a crazy story on how I acquired it, but I believe it's legit. Basically, a few years back (I think 2018 or 19? The listing on the page for the clear version that sold for $0.50 or something crazy was from me, that's how I bought it). I messaged a guy on here that had the CD added in his collection if he would be willing to send me the mp3s/WAV files for his copy, and he did. We talked for a bit about the band and he said I seemed knowledgeable about the band and asked if I wanted his second copy of the lathe (he had two, one clear, one black). I obviously was like "hell yeah dude" and he said he would ship it to me. Fast forward a few weeks (he lived in Australia or some shit) and low & behold, I actually got the damn thing in the mail, plus two promo trading cards from the TTTYG album cycle, one with Andy & one with Joe. A few years later he messaged me that he got in touch with the dude that made the lathes for the band (he was based in Chicago which makes sense). Apparently 26 copies were cut & only 20 got labels thrown on them, members of the band slapped them on themselves. They were only in white paper sleeves, not any picture sleeves unfortunately. The sound quality on them is actually pretty decent for a lathe made in 2001, which is what leads me to believe it's legit. Also, like you had mentioned, the songs didn't leak until a few years back, when I got it I had never heard these versions (it's just the Project Rocket split versions uncut & unmastered essentially, same versions as the ones that leaked from the CD version. That is pretty much all the info I have on it, I hoped that helped some!!

Cheers from Florida - Jake

He later followed up with:

If I'm not mistaken, I believe the guy I got it from got both the clear and black copies verified to be legit by the guy that made them. Also small detail I forgot to include before, he obtained both copies through a lot of FOB merch from eBay. He was looking to get a complete set of TTTYG trading cards, which is why he bought it. But I know in the lot he also got the two lathes & a demo CD, I forget what else he had mentioned. It's odd that the band hasn't spoken of their existence, maybe they forgot? The lathes were probably more of a novelty item than anything, considering that vinyl wasn't very popular in 2001 & they weren't packaged as "properly" as the CDs & tapes, plus they made a lot less of them. I'm assuming they just kinda got tossed around between friends of the band or got sold at random at their early shows. Either way, it's been one of my prized possessions since I've acquired it, let me know if hou have any other questions on it haha

Currently we have no idea who this elusive Chicago lathe maker is, but maybe we may find out one day. These lathe cuts may possibly be the rarest FOB merch in existence.

Side note: The fact that the top title on the cassette specific insert says "Fallout Boy - Growing Up" and then later lists Growing Up as a song below, it may have been intended to be the title of the cassette, and the song was a title track. This is unconfirmed though.

[blackstarlineage]

Great Zimbabwe: An In-Depth Analysis of Africa’s Architectural and Economic Masterpiece

Introduction: The Greatness of African Civilization

Great Zimbabwe stands as one of the most remarkable and sophisticated civilizations in African history. Located in modern-day Zimbabwe, it flourished between 1100 and 1500 CE, serving as the centre of a vast trade empire that connected Africa to the Middle East, India, and China.

Despite colonial-era attempts to deny its African origins, Great Zimbabwe was entirely built by Black Africans, proving that African civilizations developed advanced architecture, urban centres, and economic systems long before European contact.

From a Garveyite perspective, the study of Great Zimbabwe is crucial because it represents:

Black architectural brilliance – The largest ancient stone city in sub-Saharan Africa.

Black economic power – A major hub for gold, ivory, and international trade.

Black political sovereignty – An empire built, governed, and controlled by Africans.

By reclaiming the history of Great Zimbabwe, Black people worldwide can reject colonial myths and recognize Africa’s legacy of innovation, wealth, and self-sufficiency.

1. The Origins of Great Zimbabwe

A. Geographic and Strategic Importance

Great Zimbabwe was built in a strategic location with access to gold mines, fertile lands, and trade routes.

The civilization was part of the Shona culture, whose people were skilled in ironworking, agriculture, and trade.

Its name, Zimbabwe, means “House of Stone” in the Shona language, reflecting its impressive stone structures.

Example: The city covered nearly 1,800 acres and housed up to 18,000 people, making it one of the largest pre-colonial African urban centres.

Key Takeaway: African civilizations were not nomadic or primitive—they built vast cities with complex infrastructures.

2. The Architectural Genius of Great Zimbabwe

A. The Great Enclosure: An African Architectural Wonder

The most famous structure in Great Zimbabwe is the Great Enclosure, a massive circular stone wall built without mortar.

The walls reach up to 36 feet high and stretch over 820 feet in length, making them the largest ancient stone structures south of the Sahara.

The conical tower inside the Great Enclosure is believed to be a symbol of power, wealth, and spiritual significance.

Example: European colonists refused to believe Black Africans built Great Zimbabwe and tried to attribute it to foreign civilizations (Phoenicians, Arabs, or even aliens), highlighting their racist denial of African ingenuity.

Key Takeaway: Africa had master builders who engineered grand cities using advanced techniques, disproving colonial myths.

B. The Hill Complex: The Royal and Religious Centre

The Hill Complex, located on a granite hill, served as the political and religious centre of Great Zimbabwe.

It was the seat of the king and was likely used for religious ceremonies, governance, and strategic defense.

The Shona people practiced ancestor worship, and the structures reflect a deep spiritual connection to their land and heritage.

Example: Many structures align with the movement of the sun and stars, proving that Great Zimbabweans had advanced knowledge of astronomy.

Key Takeaway: Black civilizations had political, spiritual, and scientific achievements that rivalled other global civilizations of the time.

3. Great Zimbabwe’s Economic Power: The Centre of a Global Trade Network

A. Control Over Gold Trade

Great Zimbabwe controlled rich gold mines in the region, making it one of the wealthiest African states of its time.

It became a major gold supplier for Swahili coastal cities, the Middle East, and even China.

Gold from Great Zimbabwe was traded across the Indian Ocean and found in Persian, Indian, and Chinese markets.

Example: The famous Kilwa Sultanate on the Swahili Coast depended on Great Zimbabwe for its gold supply, showing Africa’s key role in global trade.

Key Takeaway: Africa was not isolated—its resources fueled economies worldwide long before European colonization.

B. Trade with Asia and the Middle East

Archaeological discoveries in Great Zimbabwe include Chinese porcelain, Persian glass, and Indian beads, proving international trade.

The Swahili Coast, linked to Great Zimbabwe, had trading posts with Arab, Persian, and Indian merchants.

Ivory, copper, iron, and textiles were also traded, creating a diverse and wealthy economy.

Example: The trade connections of Great Zimbabwe show that Africans were engaged in globalization centuries before European involvement.

Key Takeaway: Africa was a key player in world trade, not an isolated or underdeveloped continent.

4. The Political and Social Structure of Great Zimbabwe

A. The Role of the King and Governance

Great Zimbabwe was ruled by a monarch, often referred to as the Mwene Mutapa (King).

The king controlled trade, wealth, and spiritual leadership, serving as a link between the people and the ancestors.

The empire was organized into a federation of smaller kingdoms, all loyal to the central ruler.

Example: The Kingdom of Mutapa, which rose after Great Zimbabwe’s decline, continued its legacy and expanded its power into Mozambique.

Key Takeaway: African civilizations had complex governance structures, contradicting colonial lies about African “tribalism.”

B. The Social Structure: A Balanced Society

The society was hierarchical, with royalty, nobles, traders, craftsmen, and farmers contributing to the empire.

Women held important roles in agriculture, trade, and spiritual leadership.

The people of Great Zimbabwe built strong, organized communities with specialized labor and social systems.

Example: Women played key roles in spiritual rituals and trade, showing the presence of gender balance in African societies.

Key Takeaway: African civilizations were structured, organized, and socially progressive.

The Decline of Great Zimbabwe: Lessons for Today

A. Why Did Great Zimbabwe Collapse?

The empire declined due to:

Overuse of natural resources, including deforestation and soil depletion.

Shifting trade routes that bypassed the city, reducing its economic power.

Internal conflicts and possible political instability.

By 1500 CE, Great Zimbabwe was largely abandoned, but its culture and influence lived on in successor states like the Kingdom of Mutapa.

Example: The modern nation of Zimbabwe is named after Great Zimbabwe, honouring its legacy of African greatness.

Key Takeaway: No Black nation can survive without sustainable economic policies, resource management, and strong leadership.

6. The Garveyite Vision: Rebuilding Africa’s Lost Glory

Great Zimbabwe proves that Africa was a centre of trade, culture, and innovation.

Black people today must control their own resources, just as Great Zimbabwe controlled its gold mines.

African architecture, governance, and economic systems must be reclaimed and studied to guide future development.

Pan-African unity is necessary—Black nations must work together as Great Zimbabwe did with the Swahili Coast.

Final Thought: Will We Reclaim the Legacy of Great Zimbabwe?

Marcus Garvey taught:

“The Black skin is not a badge of shame, but rather a glorious symbol of national greatness.”

Will Black people continue to believe colonial lies about African history, or will we reclaim the truth?

Will we build self-sufficient Black economies, or remain dependent on foreign powers?

Will we celebrate our past and use it to shape our future, or let our history be erased?

The Choice is Ours. The Time is Now.

[alatismeni-theitsa]

In "KAOS" nothing is anything, and everything is wrong

Two disclaimers: I am no stranger to modern art, and I have no issue with queerness in shows, or in my own mythology (I'm Greek). I am also aware that KAOS is a comedy. It's in the gutter of British comedy, but still part of the genre. At least I laughed every time they said "Oh God!". I don't believe this is the same person who wrote the great and amusing "End of the F**king World"! The premise of "The gods in our modern world" appeals to me a lot, so that wasn't my problem either. My general issue with KAOS is its horrible delivery, bad writing, and piss-poor Greek representation.

This is gonna be long and full of stupid gifs, so sit comfortably, grab a coffee or some popcorn and... pame!

The "ILoveGreekMythology" Kid

Art without context is just a pretty thing to look at. Most of the time, this context can be found within the art piece itself, as the artist has taken care to weave it in. KAOS refuses to connect itself to any context besides the names and a few vague powers. It aims to exist outside of those "boring old stories of the Greek myth" and be entirely "fresh and modern". Something impossible when the entire show and the meanings are based on ancient recorded material. In other words, KAOS is so meta that it ends up being nothing. KAOS cannot stand on its own because you need more than the viewers being familiar with the Greek myth basics to pull such a show off.

KAOS tells us "See? I know all the names of the gods, and what they did, and I know all the locations, so I am qualified to tackle this". More or less like any Western kid who takes all their knowledge from PJO and Marvel and proceeds to unironically hate ancient deities and make a girlboss out of Medusa.

Here's a Greek word for you guys, ημιμάθεια, meaning "half-knowledge". Α Greek saying very well declares "Half-knowledge is worse than no knowledge". The confidence of thinking you know enough often leads you to grave mistakes whereas the humility of not knowing prevents you from touching shit that you shouldn't. When you have no idea what the original myth is trying to say and spit on its meaning, knowing a few names and locations is just smoke and mirrors. I don't believe the audience fell for that.

And don't get me started on the "subversions". A good subversion is intriguing and thought-provoking. In KAOS, every twist was hollow - Greek myth related or otherwise.

"What if Euridice doesn't love Orpheus?" I don't know, babe. What if??? What was the point of that? What did you show us? That women's stories are dominated by men and men don't listen to women, perhaps? And you chose to twist... the love story of Orpheus and Euridice to show this?? One of the best and most tragic love stories Greek mythology has to offer?? You just mocked the myth, you didn't make anything profound out of it.

The Greek Stuff (Nothing salvageable)

I was surprised to see they had a Consulting Producer (Georgia Christou) and an Assistant Script Editor (Isabella Yianni) who happen to be Greek. And I stress that because those people probably weren't hired or utilized for being Greek. We are not sure they were involved in cultural decisions because we have no evidence and because shows with no Greek elements can have more Greeks than that on their staff.

Okay, perhaps they took 5 seconds to ask Isabella about a greeting - which they proceeded to say in a wrong intonation 🙄🤌It's where Poseidon says "ya sás" in the Fates, by the way. How he said it sounds more like "for you (pl.)" than "health to you (pl.)".

Surprise! The only Greek actor present (Peter Polycarpou) has less than 5 minutes of screen time and plays the caricature of an immigrant with a thick (and inaccurate Greek) accent. He has a canteen, selling falafel which is not Greek, and Dionysus buys from him an unidentified tortilla wrap (which... is also not Greek, if you haven't caught up).

For the show they brought in actors of Maori, Nigerian and Sierra Leonean, Pakistani, Black American, Latvian-Jewish, Iranian, Egyptian, Indo-Fijian and Malay descent and you tell me it was impossible for them to seek and find an English-speaking, skilled actor of Greek descent in a show regarding Greek heritage. Sometimes I wonder, do y'all hate us so much?

They considered Greeks only to give us a simple (and wrong) greeting and a stereotype. Crumbs, we are supposed to be happy with. By the way, there are over 70.000 Greek immigrants just in the UK, usually in the urban centers, many of them students or fairly young employees in the corporate workforce. Not the largest minority but not hard to spot either.

Another plague of Anglophone shows: Almost everyone's Greek name is shortened. Yes, we know their full names but we are told that we will use the short ones. Greeks and their "long and difficult" names am I right fellas? Because saying "Ariadne" apparently requires 5 years of Greek language training, and no English word ever has more than two syllables.

Coincidentally, short names are cool in Anglophone imaginary universes and the "long" names are not. it's so strange Anglophones never make universes where it's cool for Greek names to be spoken in full hmmm... They don't even want to practice saying a whole Greek name for just 2 minutes in preparation for a show full of Greek names. And don't give me that "Greek is hard" shit when we only talk about a few syllables. If Greek kids can learn English since first grade and people here can sing English songs and spell English names, you have no excuse.

They also said the name "Fotis" means light, which is close enough but... ugh.. It's like saying Sebastian means "respect". I am not sure if they asked anyone or what their research was here. If I had the writers in front of me, I'd be like:

(This character from an all-time favorite Greek show is called Fotis)

They also made the flag of "Krete" an alteration of the Greek flag and the local Cretan flag. Which is the stupidest move, because they had to remove the religious symbol of the cross to make the flag fit the universe. These are flags created based on 1) Christianity 2) the Greek Revolution of 1821.

National Greek flag to the left, local Cretan flag to the right:

Flag of the KAOS' "Krete":

The only time they seriously took into account anything Greek, was the time when they decided to remove the religious symbol of our ethnoreligion AND (from what I could observe) keep the nine stripes?? The nine stripes of our national flag represent the syllables in "Freedom or Death". The colors are from the white foustanela of the mainland attire and the dark blue vraka of the island attire, the clothing of the Revolution fighters. (That's more of a meta explanation but the characteristics of the flag were decided during and nearly after the Revolution.)

I think I don't have to explain it more but it's not a homage to put the nine stripes in an ancient era where they have no meaning, and to replace a cross??? Let's... not replace religious symbols on national flags, okay? Thank you.

Another cultural element they changed was making everyone have a dedicated coin to pay Charon. Orpheus has Euridice's coin, "her coin", and he's meant to put it on her before she got buried. In Greek culture, any coin would do. Sorry that our culture restricts your script, dear writers. I guess you had to bend this too, in order to create a cohesive plot with a semblance of a twist.

Finally, the many "Kerberus" dogs were cute and I can understand the creative decision behind that. However, in a show full of inaccuracies, this made me roll my eyes a little. I think the showrunners know that Kerveros is not a breed of dog, and there can only be one of him because he doesn't have any other "Kerveros" to breed with. On the other hand, as demonstrated from art/writing on the internet, quite a lot of Westerners are not exactly aware of how our monsters work, so forgive my uncertainty 😅

Nothing is Anything

Every element KAOS played with ended up meaningless. In the words of a Lifo article:

“Zeus is a paranoid authoritarian dictator in mid-life crisis who fears losing his power and murders his aides to vent. Hera is a promiscuous goddess who repeatedly betrays Zeus and has mutilated mute priestesses for protection. Dionysos is a spoiled and immature zoomer who, apart from pranks, indulges in orgies with all genders. Poseidon a sadistic god of the sea, who tortures the crew on his ship for fun. Prometheus is gay and killed his lover so he could overthrow Zeus. Orpheus is a famous pop singer and Eurydice does not love him. Theseus is black and gay. The Erinyes are tough-as-nails mechs that look like they stepped out of ‘Sons of Anarchy’. The Fates resemble a three-member jury in a talent show. The Trojans are a terrorist group that acts against the gods. Crete is more reminiscent of California than the Mediterranean.”

The "River Styx" is a sea, the "River Lethe" is a lake, the gods are nothing more than spoiled humans, the Moirai are drag queens, the Cave is a club where you have to take a quiz to enter the underworld, and generally everything is modern, flat, mundane and anticlimactic. The producers aimed to achieve a work so meta that a "river" is now a concept, a metaphor, whatever you have in your heart. And those who want to see a river when we speak of a river are probably uncultured swines and don't understand postmodernism. Never mind that rivers are rivers in Greek mythology for a reason. That's not culturally interesting enough to explore compared to the new, cool approach of not assigning meaning to anything. That totally shows love for the original rich and meaningful material...

And the reason behind all this subversion? Probably the shock factor. They brought the characters to a point where they said "We have to save the world from Zeus" - Zeus! The father of gods, heroes and humans! - just because they could. It gives off a certain type of smugness that I personally don't like. I mean, I would like the smugness and cheekiness of KAOS if it wasn't a vapid and practically meaningless show. As nothing symbolizes anything anymore, we are just led from hollow plot point to hollow plot point.

If you cut it out of any cultural influence and see it as a story then it's... okay, I guess. But when you consider that it's meant to derive from certain material and it fails spectacularly, it's not a good story. It forgets its bases and doesn't play with the ancient elements at all. Disney's Hercules did it better, FFS!

Bad Writing (pt.1)

KAOS is not without recognizable themes but their demonstration is so juvenile and heavy-handed that it fails to influence a viewer of average intelligence. For instance, "Riddy" says to her religious mother "You dedicated your whole life to Hera, what about me?" Okay, KAOS, we get it. At the same time, this theme nulls itself because it turns out that Ridy's mother was right to do what she did, as she had a greater goal in mind. (And this, kiddos, is called Bad Writing, because your themes and scenes contradict each other)

The biggest theme I spotted was a criticism of religion and religious people who say "Do as I say, not as I do" and create exceptions for themselves. Only, it's not a criticism of anything real, in this case. It's a fact that some people in the clergy tend to preach peace and love and then they do harm, but we don't know, for example, that The Goddess of Marriage is a cheater and yet she pressures everyone into strict marriages. By focusing their wrath on divine beings who are not known for their hypocrisy, the creators missed the mark.

I can give KAOS props for how it handled Trojans to reflect real issues regarding how immigrants and war refugees are mistreated and blamed. I'd argue it was the only (nearly) well-done theme in the whole show because it had the least on-the-nose delivery and some genuine/serious scenes. But that's it.

More Bad Writing!

Jeff Goldblum's Zeus is shit. He'd crap his pants in an argument with a stern Greek dad/uncle his age. Is this character supposed to be intimidating? (Laughs in Mediterranean) That's not to say that Goldblum is not a good actor, but this role wasn't for him. The same can be said for the other actors, too. They are competent but they only give off the air of "The Greek gods if they lived in London, from the minds of people who think beards and body hair are an affliction". In addition to being misplaced, the actors cannot show their talent when following a script that resembles a children's book.

Why does THE GOD Dionysus have the maturity of a 15-year-old? I repeat, The God Dionysus. He's a freaking deity, and a very old one at that. He is not a teenager neither in appearance nor in experience. In our culture, he is mystical, mighty, wise. Why did they downgrade him so? Just for the plot? This is not Dionysus just because you named him so.

The dialogue rarely takes itself seriously to the point it has you wondering at times "Do people talk and behave like that?". In a comedy where everything is meant to be already extreme and parodied. Even in comedies, something must occasionally be serious so there is a healthy fluctuation in tone and the funny moments can hit you. In KAOS very few scenes treated their impactful dialogue as it should be treated.

The queerness and diversity (good elements, in general) were worse off for being in KAOS. Like, I want these elements to be there. I'm just sad about the whole situation. It's not enough that the show is shit, now you also give an additional reason for conservatives to shit on diverse and queer characters because they are part of a stupid narrative.

I'm the type of person who doesn't mind the queerness of Astyanax and Theseus being lovers in the context of this specific show but they're still the oddest pairing to me because they're from the most irrelevant myths and eras. Also, Astyanax in my mind is a baby who died tragically, for little reason if we are honest, so to bring him back and make him a love interest is... ekh.

In addition, isn't Astyanax supposed to be crippled after a fall from the city walls when he was a baby? Sorry to change subjects but the show is so convoluted and with so many issues that it's extremely difficult to stay on track with what's wrong.

To the person who thought this show was a good idea:

Whatever. Bye. I'm fucking done.

[melanie-the-artful]

Genshin Character Names` Meanings Pt. 4

Tighnari | Most likely a reference to Arab Muslim botanist (as well as traveler, poet and physician) Al-Tighnari (born in village Tignar), who wrote a treatise on Middle East agriculture

Collei | Uncertain, but there seemingly is a Persian name Collei that means «Aware», «Sentimental», or «Noble»; Also literally «Lost» in Welsh

Cyno | Originates from Cynopolis, an Egyptian city which used to be centre of Anubis cult, and as we all know, Cyno is based on Anubis

Sethos | Most likely references Seth, the God of deserts, storms, disorder, violence and foreigners in Ancient Egypt. Known to have accompanied Ra on his barque in repelling Apep, but in the Osiris myth depicted as the usurper who murdered and mutilated his own brother, who is Osiris himself

Dori | Literally «Shining», «Glowing» in Persian, also derived from the word dor (دُر) which means «Large Pearl»

Nilou | «Water Lily», «Lotus» – Persian Name

Candace | «Clarity», «Whiteness» – An ancient title derived from word Kandake, once used by queens of Ethiopia; has Latin roots

Dehya | «Leader of Soldiers» – Algerian Amazeigh/Berber name, which refers to Kahina Dehya, the female Algerian priestess, who was a religious and military leader

Layla | Literally «Night» in Arabic

Faruzan | «Luminous», «Shining», or «Resplendent» – Persian Name

Alhaitham | Haitham is a first name and it means «Young Eagle» or «Young Hawk». Meanwhile Al is a prefix usually used in Middle East last names before the name of the family/tribe itself. Basically, it is a definite article, like 'the' in English. He is also most likely named so after Hasan Ibn al-Haitham (Latinicized version of his name also sounds like Alhazen) who was an Arab mathematician, astronomer and physicist during the Islamic Golden Age

Kaveh | «Of Royal Origin» – Persian/Iranian Name; Might be based on Kaveh the Blacksmith from Iranian mythology, who launched a national uprising against the evil foreign tyrant Zahāk and re-established the rule of Iranians

Nahida | «Delightful», «Gentle», «Kind», «Soft» – Persian Name. Another version – Nahiya, means «Advisor»

Kusanali | Derived from the Pali words «kusa» (kusa-grass, a sacred plant used in Hindu ceremonies) and «nāḷi» («a hollow stalk or tube»).

Buer | Comes from Governor Buer, the 10th of Goetia Demons 

Rukkhadevata |  रुक्खदेवता – "tree-goddess" in Shaivism is a Yakṣiṇī who is worshiped as the goddess of wealth or the guardian spirit of practitioners. The Yakṣiṇīs are the female counterparts of the Yakshas in Hinduism and Buddhism, and also appear in Jātaka literature, where they are considered as local deities living in trees and sometimes referred to individually as "rukkha-devatā".

Cuilein-Anbar | Literally «Darling Amber». Cuilein (directly translating to «pup/cub») is a Gaelic term of endearment commonly used for young animals, equivalent to «darling», while anbar is an Arabic word meaning «amber».

Mehrak | «Like the Sun» – Persian Name

Faranak | Derived from the word پروانه (parvâneh), which means «butterfly» in Persian

Dunyarzad | Likely named so after Dunyazad (دنیازاد in Persian), who is the younger sister of Queen Scheherazade from One Thousand and One Nights

Sorush | Originates from Zoroastrian divinity of «Conscience» and «Observance», with its name having those two exact meanings 

Apep | Based on an ancient Egyptian deity of darkness and disorder, also known as Aphoph or Apophis, who also was often depicted as a snake

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

........Hi

Not even gonna make up excuses this time, just want you to know that I do have an intention to finish these series, it`s just that God knows when I actually will

In any case, I wanted to add Jeht as well, but I couldn't find a reliable source that would tell me where her names comes from, so I would be grateful if anyone knowledgeable helped me out here. I think I saw a version that says it's an Arabic name meaning «Freedom Lover» or «Scholar», but I'm not sure if that's right??

Anyways, see ya soon, hope you'll have a great year, take care of yourself, stay hydrated and bye.

[13lunarstar]

The mythology of Ashwini nakshatra

The mythology behind each nakshatra helps in understanding the characteristics of each lunar mansion more accurately and precisely.

As we know, a horse's head is the primary symbol of Ashwini, the first of the 27 nakshatras. Ashwini Nakshatra is ruled by the Ashwini twins, who are known as celestial healers and surgeons, delivering the rejuvenating drink Soma to those in need. The Ashwini twins are the children of the Sun, born when the Sun and his wife took the form of a horse. This is why the symbol of Ashwini Nakshatra is associated with the horse.

The Sun, having a fiery nature and ruling the Kshatriya signs (Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius), symbolizes vitality, health, rationality, and creativity - key traits of Ashwini Nakshatra.

The ruler of Ashwini is the shadow planet Ketu (South Lunar Node), known for its connection to the past, unpredictability, and sudden transformations. Ashwini also has a co-ruler, Lord Shiva, who destroys anything that hinders development and growth. For Ketu, Ashwini is one of the most favourable and natural placements in a birth chart.

Another myth associated with Ashwini’s desire for healing and sacred knowledge tells the following story:

The Ashwini twins wanted to gain knowledge about immortality from Shukra. However, the god Indra forbade Shukra from sharing it and even threatened to cut off his head if he did. When the Ashwini twins, known for their exceptional healing and surgical skills, learned about this, they proposed a plan to Shukra. First, they would cut off Shukra's head and replace it with the head of a horse—allowing Shukra to share the knowledge in his horse form. Afterwards, an enraged Indra would come and cut off Shukra's head. Finally, the Ashwini twins would restore Shukra’s original head.

Ashwini is also known for its association with repetition, which can manifest as recurring events in life. Individuals with Ashwini placements may have twin siblings or siblings with whom they share a close bond.

Question to my readers - would you like to read more posts about the mythology of various nakshatras?

[genericpuff]

Not to be nitpicky or anything, but I notice you occasionally critique LO for its lack of Greek culture, but reading Rekindled, Greek culture isn’t very present in it either minus some outfits, which is basically the same case as LO. It seems to also suffer from a lot of Americanized butchering of cultures.

Again so sorry if this is rude but I couldn’t help but notice it

I cricitize LO for its lack of Greek culture because its non-Greek creator claims she's a folklorist and that her knowledge of Greek myth is more advanced than everyone else's.

I myself am also a non-Greek person who is currently creating LO fanfiction with the intent of honoring the original themes of the its source material (especially The Hymn to Demeter) but that requires the additional layer of keeping it within the original restrictions of LO as it was first established back in 2017/2018 (i.e. I can only make so many creative differences without it going against the nature of it being an LO-retelling, so that often means some of the flaws of LO still have to stick around in Rekindled for it to still be an LO rewrite, if that makes sense).

Therein lies the difference, at least in my own humble opinion 💀😆 By all means, I'm not opposed to criticism of Rekindled for not being 1:1 with Greek myth either, but Rekindled wasn't created to be 1:1 with Greek myth, it was created to re-interpret what LO attempted to be while cleaning up the story, making the character designs more consistent, and actually tackling the plotlines that were dropped back in S1. If I wanted to do my own built-from-the-ground-up retelling of Greek myth, I would have, but my goal was more so to retell Lore Olympus in and of itself because that's where my interest lies. And that means working in the same context as LO, keeping what I like and reworking what I didn't like.

There are loads of creators who also do their own Greek myth re-imaginings that aren't 100% accurate to the myths but the works themselves are still incredibly entertaining and worth reading (and even the ones I'm not a diehard fan of I still don't have strong criticisms for). None of those creators claim to be an authority on Greek myth which is what I (and many others) specifically criticize Rachel for.

If LO had remained a fluffy office drama with low stakes, I probably wouldn't have had so many bones to pick with it in the end. It's the fact that its creator has built an audience around herself that treats her as the authority on the subject - which she has even gone out of her way to declare herself as - but then in practice can't even write a coherent story, let alone a coherent retelling based on the myths she claims to be so educated on. That's what made her work so subject to criticism and analysis more so than any other Greek myth retelling on the platform. That's what makes people such as myself expect better of her.

[aliciavance4228]

Was Athena a Feminist or a Female Misogynist?

Athena is perhaps the one most famous goddesses from Greek Mythology, and was for a very long time considered a good role model for women and a feminist due to the fact that she's a smart woman who can fight in battles. However, there are also a lot of people who claim that she is in fact a female misogynist and consider her to be the original "pick-me girl" or "I'm not like the other girls" girl. And the fact that she's seen besides male heroes most of the time or the myths of Medusa and Arachne doesn’t make this situation any better.

And the very first problem in this equation is that people are using a lot of modern terms (and a modern mentality in general) in order to label a figure that was firstly mentioned thousands of years ago. So there's a LOT to unpack here.

The first mentions of Athena come from mycenaean mythology. Back then the place that later became Athens surpringly had a matriarchal view on society, which would explain why Athena as a female figures isn't depicted in a traditionally feminine way. But years have passed, and things have changed a lot both socially and culturally. Athens, despite of being one of the most developed cities from Ancient Greece, had a very patriarchal view on society, to the point where even the other cities considered it to over exaggerate. In order to understand just how misogynistic athenians were, they believed not only that the woman is a disfigured version of the man, but that men could find a way to reproduce themselves without the help of women and that the female is nothing but a vessel when it comes to reproduction.

The thing is that, while a lot of things changed in the Athens in time, the goddess that was the patron of that city remained the same. So the question that naturally comes is: If women are inferior to men, then why is our patron deity a goddess? And so, the only play which specifically depicts Athena as a female misogynist appeared: Eumenides. This play was obviously written by a male Athenian, and its pure intention is to answer to that question. In the Eumenides, Athena says this thing:

It is my duty to give the final judgment and I shall cast my vote for Orestes. [735] For there was no mother who gave me birth; and in all things, except for marriage, whole-heartedly I am for the male and entirely on the father’s side. Therefore, I will not award greater honor to the death of a woman who killed her husband, the master of the house. [740] Orestes wins, even if the vote comes out equal.

As you can observe from this quote, the dialogue is ment to confirm the ancient athenian perspective about reproduction, as well as their views on women in general. Despite the fact that Metis was supposed to be Athena's mother since she was pregnant with her when Zeus ate her, in this play she is completely erased and Athena has one single parent figure: Zeus.

In other words, Athena was clearly a product of the society that worpshipped her; a society that believed that traits such as high intellect or strenght cannot be attributed to women. It is up to you guys to decide wheter the Eumenides is canon to the rest of Greek Mythology or not.

However, aside from this particular play, Athena shows no ill-will towards women purely for their gender. She had a very close relationship with Pallas to the point where she even takes her name after she killed her by accident (Thank you, Zeus!), and acted as the big sis towards Artemis and Persephone, as it is suggested in Homeric Hymns to Demeter.

Furthermore, if you ever read the Iliad then you would observe that her interactions with mortal women are very different compared to those with Medusa or Arachne from Roman Mythology.

In the Iliad, Athena gifts Penelope in handicrafts, wiles, and storytelling, making Penelope an anti-Arachne due to the fact that she isn't punished by the goddess for her talents, but rather blessed for them.

Athena has endowed her above other women with knowledge of fair handiwork and an understanding heart, and wiles, such as we have never yet heard that any even of the women of old knew, of those who long ago were fair-tressed Achaean women— [120] Tyro and Alcmene and Mycene of the fair crown—of whom not one was like Penelope in shrewd device…

At the same time, we have the story of Cassandra and how Athena avenged her. Cassandra was brutally raped by Ajax the Lesser in her temple. She asked Athena for revenge, telling her what happened to her. Athena was absolutely livid, sent a storm to wreck the Achaeans' boats when they failed to kill Ajax, then destroyed his ship near the Whirling Rocks and left him to die, or lifted him in the sky during a storm and impaled him with her father's thunderbolt. At this point, Cassandra is an anti-Medusa, because she was avenged instead of being punished for being raped. Furthermore, in the original greek myths Athena herself was about to be raped by Hephaestus at some point. She was very aware of the fact that there's a difference between a woman who had sex on her own will and one that didn’t consent to it, so it makes no sense why she wouldn't help a rape victim.

Medusa and Arachne were later additions by Ovid, and their stories were anti-Authority Propaganda.

So instead of quickly coming to any sort of conclusion and deciding wheter or not Athena was a Feminist or a Misogynist, perhaps people should understand the fact that the situation was way more complicated as she was nothing more than a character that was depicted both according to the societal and personal views ancient greeks had on women (which were more or less different depending on the century and the poet), and that the answer is way more complicated than we think.

[eeriepromis]

CALEB'S LIMITED MYTH - THE SIX-WINGED ANGEL

(source)

I felt like I just had to share this theory. I came across it on xhs by chance and just had to look further into it so here is what I found:

“I once soared with six wings, but now only the weight of my sins keeps me grounded."

"If I was made to serve, then tell me - why does my heart still yearn for freedom?"

The Symbolism of a Six-Winged Angel (Seraphim)

The six-winged angel, or seraph, is deeply symbolic in various mythologies, religious traditions, and fantasy settings. It often represents divine power, judgment, enlightenment, and transformation, but when fallen, it carries themes of rebellion, loss, and tragic defiance. 

Divine Power & High Rank in Celestial Hierarchy

In many religious traditions, Seraphim are the highest-ranking angels, standing closest to the divine.

Two wings to cover the face → Humility before God’s presence

Two wings to cover the feet → Modesty and reverence

Two wings to fly → Active service and divine duty

The Fallen Seraph: Rebellion and Tragedy

If a six-winged angel falls from grace, it carries themes of rebellion, defiance, and sorrowful wisdom. Lucifer is often depicted as a fallen seraph - a being of immense power who rejected divine order, falling from light to darkness. This could represent:

Losing faith in a higher power (or in one’s purpose)

Breaking away from imposed destiny

A shift from order to chaos, or from purity to corruption

The burden of forbidden knowledge (knowing things mortals or even angels should not)

A fallen six-winged angel is no longer just a servant of light -it becomes a wanderer, an exile, or even a tragic antihero who carries the weight of its former divinity. (Guys, this would parallel Zayne's lore as well since he also served a god.

"If I am to fall, let it be by your hand."

The Name "Caleb" - Meaning & Symbolism

Hebrew Origin: Caleb is a biblical name that means "devotion to God" or "wholehearted" - which is very ironic if he represents a fallen seraph or a rebel figure.

Symbolism in a Mythological Context

If Caleb was once "devoted" but fell from grace, it parallels a Seraph who defied the divine order.

His "wholehearted" nature could reflect his unwavering, obsessive devotion - either to MC or to some cause he once believed in but now questions.

Biblical & Mythological Parallels to Caleb's Role

Caleb as a Fallen Warrior (Lucifer Archetype): In biblical texts, Lucifer was often described as a bright, high-ranking angel before he rebelled. If Caleb mirrors this, he could have been a perfect soldier, an elite warrior - until he defied orders. (Reminds me too much of Zayne's lore though)

Caleb as a Tragic Guardian (Michael or Abaddon Archetype): The Archangel Michael was a protector, but also a warrior who cast others down. The name Abaddon (sometimes associated with fallen angels) means "destruction" or "the abyss." Caleb could have once been an enforcer of fate, only to become a rogue force when he realized the truth. (I kinda like the Abaddon route?? Imagine Sylus being accused of being the reason the world will end, but it was actually Caleb all along?)

Abaddon: The Angel of the Abyss

The name Abaddon comes from biblical and apocalyptic literature, often meaning:

“Destruction” or “Doom.”

“The Angel of the Abyss.”

A being tied to the end of the world, chaos, and divine judgment.

A fallen angel, cast into the Abyss for defying divine law.

The commander of fallen souls or destroyer of civilizations.

A force of judgment who isn’t inherently evil but rather a necessary aspect of destruction and rebirth.

“I loved you before the fall. I will love you even after oblivion takes me.”

If Caleb as Abaddon, the Fallen Seraph of the Abyss:

He is not just a lost warrior - he is a force that should not exist.

His love for MC is forbidden, consuming, and tragic.

He is both protector and destroyer, standing at the edge of oblivion.

His myth would be one of rebellion, exile, and devotion that never fades - no matter how many times he falls.

Angel Sanctuary Parallel

Caleb's Forbidden Love & the Adam/Lilith Parallel

Similarly, Caleb’s themes in Love and Deepspace involve temptation, knowledge, and a forbidden love.

Angel Sanctuary incorporates Adam & Lilith symbolism, where Lilith represents rebellion, defiance, and temptation.

Caleb’s myth theories also tie him to Lilith and the White Snake, suggesting his love for MC might be both fated and doomed.

If Caleb mirrors Lilith, then his love for MC could be seen as a rebellion against fate - a love that shouldn’t exist but does anyway.

Setsuna/Alexiel & Sara's Love

Alexiel was a powerful angel who rebelled against Heaven and was punished by having her soul reincarnated endlessly into human lives.

Every time she is reborn, she lives in suffering, forgetting who she once was.

Setsuna is her latest incarnation, but he is not aware of his past identity.

He falls in love with Sara his sister and reincarnation of Gabriel

Angel Sanctuary takes this idea of fated love and self-destruction to an extreme: -- The past and present selves are in conflict. -- Love and destiny are intertwined in ways that are painful and inescapable.

For more amazing Fallen Angel Myth theories pay a visit to this post by @starmocha. <3

[pangaeaseas]

The Founders as Myth and the Characterization of Voldemort

ok so as a fandom we should be willing to admit that story we get in canon about the foundation of hogwarts makes like no sense historically right? like how the fuck was this modern school existing in tenth century Scotland (scotland of all places). that does not track with any basic historical knowledge how the fuck was a nineteenth century boarding school randomly invented in the tenth century without massively changing the history of British education. It is much more likely that the institution of Hogwarts grew over time and its original form was nothing like the modern form. so in order to resolve this dilemma we should be able to admit that the founders are at least somewhat mythologized. the only one we have any evidence really existed was Rowena ravenclaw, and like the grey lady could be lying. And Rowena Ravenclaw existing...doesn't actually imply the others did. It makes more sense that they would be either not even real people or historical figures given anachronistic significance (your classic random medieval king suddenly the founder of a nation in the nineteenth century).

So where does this leave us? With a much more plausible idea of the founders as the foundational myth of modern wizarding Britain. Yay fun with historiography!!!

Except. Oh. Wait. Isn't there a character who would be massively impacted by this headcanon. Oh. Yeah. The main villain of the series, a man notably obsessed with his own self-mythology...see the Dark Mark and the whole title of Lord Voldemort, an identity specifically constructed to be all that Tom Riddle was not.

I think it's really interesting to think about Voldemort's characterization in light of the idea of Salazar Slytherin as a historiographical myth. Whether or not Voldemort knew his imagined ancestor it's very intriguing, but I think Voldemort knew. He's smart and inquisitive and interested in making himself into a figure of myth. Voldemort isn't descended from Salazar Slytherin. He deliberately played into the myth of Slytherin to create his self image and power.

This raises the further questions of the artifact horcruxes. Did Voldemort think they were real? I personally believe the locket and cup had no powers but were made up artifacts for made up founders, family heirlooms of the Smith and who-even-knows families given a founder association for prestige, and the diadem was a real artifact made by a real scholar named Rowena Ravenclaw (with a more period accurate name this is the modernization lol) that was later associated with Hogwarts. If you interpret Voldemort as buying into the mythology, he could easily have believed the artifacts had more power than they actually did (which is pretty funny and IC of him lol, mr. I don't actually know how the elder wand works). But if Voldemort knew Slytherin was made up, did he choose the artifacts to keep playing up the myth by disappearing these famous items, like the cup of Hufflepuff? Did at some point he lose track of whether he was faking it?

I don't have the answer to every question about how treating Salazar Slytherin as a myth impacts Voldemort's characterization, but I think it's a really interesting example of how worldbuilding can make characters more nuanced and I think this idea should be talked about more!

[pmamtraveller]

MAX PIETSCHMANN - POLYPHEMUS' FISH CATCH, 1892

The painting illustrates Polyphemus, the one-eyed giant son of Poseidon, known from Homer's "Odyssey." In this artwork, Polyphemus is portrayed not in his typical role of capturing and eating Odysseus' men but rather in a different mythological context where he is involved in "fishing."

Polyphemus is shown holding a red-haired woman aloft, suggesting he has just "caught" her, much like one would hold up a fish. This scene alludes to a different aspect of Polyphemus' myth where he is known for his unrequited love for the sea nymph Galatea. However, in Pietschmann's version, this is depicted with a humorous twist, where Polyphemus treats the woman more like a catch of the day rather than an object of affection.

The backdrop is a scenic coastal environment, likely near the sea where Polyphemus lives, with other sea maidens sitting on the rocks, observing the scene. These figures appear nonchalant, suggesting they might be accustomed to such events and probably see Polyphemus' action as an inevitable part of their existence.

After its initial acclaim in the 1890s, including its exhibition at the World's Columbian Exposition, the painting's whereabouts became unclear. Over the years, it slipped into obscurity, with only reproductions available. The original had been lost in private hands without public knowledge. In 2020, an individual in Dresden was sorting through an old attic when they stumbled upon the canvas. The painting was rolled up and covered in dust, indicating it had been stored away for a considerable time without recognition of its value. Following the confirmation of its authenticity, the painting was put up for auction.

[acupofinkedblood]

Firebrand x siren sovereign reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• Inpherno has been quite an enigma for naked eyes of those who walks around this world as mortals despite how much they claim to be set with a certain collection of knowledge that seems to be somewhat enough to satisfy their own curiosity. Yet said demons can’t just know everything about this world with how their eyes have been set to the wrong direction from the start. Myths and legends come from if not the same source of their fragments of imagination, for those who are interested in such aspect, maybe they shall seek their answers soon if they didn’t just deem it as unreasonable fairytale weaved by bored geezers

• Sure, Inpherno has now changed rapidly with innovation which has set this territory into the future ahead. Technology has invaded almost everywhere in all regions, modernization has done their kins a great favor of exploring the possibilities of what originally appeared to be rather impossible. Good for them, at least for now. But then with how much demon has been so independent on their own, they don’t even need the deities like how they used to anymore. If that’s the case for the all mighty SFOTH deities, then what are the odds to such mythological creatures such as siren or centaur, correct?

• Sometimes you do find yourself in such absurd positions among your peers. You, the noble one of the aquatic world, hidden away from the light of unnecessary civilization to remain still underwater as its ruler. Who could have predicted that demons would no longer be interested in your kins — not as much as before at least, those time when they just went out all of their ways to capture your sirens was definitely unpleasant, to say at least — and leave your people alone like that? It’s definitely a pleasant surprise, though it can be a tad bit boring. But it’s for the best after all

• You, the siren sovereign who has the ultimate duty of ensuring the safety of your kingdom from decades ago. Your mission of becoming the righteous ruler has been decided since birth. Just that typical royal trivia. You’re the heir after all, so chin up. It’s not like you just got crowned yesterday, you have been doing this for who knows how long! So pray tell, what’s that grimace on your face when you’re alone, looking into nowhere with the memories replaying in your mind like a camera film of the mortal’s world? Does the distinguished highness have something in mind?

• The answer is obvious, isn’t it? No one can really hide that much of a thought under your clearly disturbed eyes, your majesty. Pray tell, is it all about that beautiful little love story you had millennia ago? Well, millennia might be an exaggeration at some point, but with your kins, time is barely a swift of wind passing through. You might not inherit the divine immortality of a deity since you aren’t technically too invincible, but at some point you do stand among the demi-deity, no? That’s enough to ensure your eternal existence on the long run. Well, at least it was more than plenty of time for that little relationship with you and lord Firebrand

• Alright, that’s enough for storytelling, wouldn’t want the customers to grow bored of all this nonsense now, wouldn’t you? Let’s just cut to the chase at this point. The love story between one of the SFOTH deities and a royal siren of the depth, how amusing

• Here lays the ultimate question: How did you and him even meet? You belong in the water, while he literally has the ‘fire’ right there in his name. To be graced with the presence of a deity back then is rather a nuisance for even their followers, let alone someone like you. Yet by some magical miracle of which one fail to grasp — whether it’s just fate’s doing or a pure coincidence — you manage to see Firebrand in flesh with your own eyes. Back when technology hasn’t become that big of the deal, Inphernals still rely on traditional methods of communication instead of just sending a text right away, you probably met him while he was personally involved in an expedition or just royalty’s matter in general on the sea

• Firebrand sees those below him with a fascinating awe. Especially towards the Inphernals under his rule, which is similar to how mortals treat their own pets. He has only come into contact with either mortals or his fellow siblings, maybe a few encounters with extraordinary creatures of the unknown but most of them aren’t too fond about the heat of lava anyway. Plus, they barely want to hold a conversation with him more than a few minutes. That’s just how quirky those little beasts are, he doesn’t really blame them. But you on the other hand, you managed to capture his attention almost instantly in a heartbeat

• It’s not everyday that you see a blue blooded siren in the flesh. And once you do, you can only pray that you won’t die too soon after having the blessing to witness the miracle that occurs once in a blue moon. That’s what the majority tales of mortal’s words, and about Firebrand? He is pretty certain that his heart has leapt out from his chest to run toward you in that time. The deity himself was too stunned because of your appearance before he could even comprehend the fact that you already dived into the depth of the water. That’s just how siren does. They act in the fog to lure sailors in, but then escape when one has stared at them for too long. How quirky, maybe it’s the same thing for you

• As for you, what did you originally first think of him? That is a question that only you should be able to answer. But knowing how you usually peek up from the water to see if he was there or not might be enough of an answer already. You observe the deity from afar with mixed feelings, and maybe you do notice just how he looks at you in pure interest steaming from curiosity. Keeping an eye on him despite not understanding how is he like, maybe you do have the same problem with prying around like him. After who knows how long of keeping things in a certain distance through expeditions or any trips that require a ship, it’s Firebrand who has the idea of encountering you properly first

• Let’s just say that it doesn’t go too smoothly at first, because it’s either him accidentally scare you or you accidentally shoo him away due to the mutual bewilderment between you two when the other makes the first step of contact out of nowhere. Despite the similar royalty status, there are certain differences between those on land and those in the deep water, so confusion is pretty much understandable for the both of you. Heck, the first actual contact you made with him was just standing in a certain distance on the rock while he floated on the air looking down on you. It was pretty comical, but not too unexpected

• Firebrand is pretty insistent on getting to know you better without pushing you off your comfort zone. In which before he finally has the chance to interact with you, he relies on old research of siren from ages ago as a slight chance to understand you and your behavior. You will be stunned when knowing just how much he had done his research on the siren kin — the blue blooded one like you, to be specific — to the point that Umbrella was this close to throw Firebrand into the water to get over with this entire thing about you if they were at his equal. Most of the knowledge he has about you is pretty accurate, aside from a certain things which you already clear up for him. Maybe it’s how you manage to bound with him after the slightly embarrassing first meet between you and him

• Gradually, you and Firebrand develop quite the bound together. You start to become more open about this new idea of being friends with someone like him, which Firebrand is rather pleased with the current situation. At some point, you aren’t too different from the Inphernals he has been looking out for aside from the obvious siren’s features of your appearance. But even with that, you aren’t that much of an oddity in Firebrand’s eyes. And he meant that in a most positive sense as he could even word it. Unlike others who might treat you like an exotic creature on display, Firebrand sees you in the adoration similar to how one first saw a rainbow after a storm

• That oh so sweet bound starts to become something more intimate. It’s just the amount of time before Firebrand admits that he is in love with you from the start. It starts at curiosity, then admiration, and then adoration in a romantic sense. Perhaps you do feel the same. If not, why would you even bother to swim near the shore whenever you have the chance to wait for him there? It’s quite the risky move, and you know what the elders will say — probably stuff like a crowned heir shouldn’t do something so outrageous, especially with a ‘dangerous’ kin like those deities — but then you just follow your heart to come back to him. And as if Firebrand is any different. He is the type to both fell first and fell harder the more he learned about you. This man is a lover at heart after all

• Firebrand is reluctant about touching you considering the circumstances of his hands. Lava runs deep in his blood, heating his skin to the point that burning something down if he holds it in his hands. The last thing Firebrand wants is to hurt those he holds dear in his heart — his family, his grandchildren, and you. He wishes to hold you, to caress your cheek gently while cooing sweet nothings in your ears and to keep you safe in his embrace all secured so that no harm shall come to you. But he also wishes for your safety. Despite yearning for physical affection, Firebrand puts your wellbeing at top priority. You are aware of this, but then an idea pops up into your mind. When you tell him to get in the water, Firebrand is a bit uncertain at first because he does remember accidentally burning the water in the surface which causes it to evaporate into nowhere, but that’s just a small amount of water! Surely the sea will do its trick on him, no?

• And you have never been more than correct. When Firebrand finally listens to you — since it does worth a try anyway, he isn’t made of entirely fire, it’s not like he will just evaporate into thin air when he gets down — he reluctantly gets into the water. As his hands make contact with the water, it immediately begins to steam like crazy. The both of you wait for a while to see how things will turn out, and to your surprise, his once burning hand has turned into obsidian after who knows how long of staying underwater. He does a bit of experimenting with it, and knows that when he gets out of the cold water, the obsidian covered with hand will just crack then burn away, leaving his hand completely normal as ever. That’s more than enough for him to realize that he can be physically close to you without hurting you, as long as he keeps his hands in the water! And you already knows the drill, he will keep you near him as close as possible at this point

• On the note of physical intimacy underwater, sometimes you will wrap your tail around Firebrand as a sign of affection. Sure, your upper body is more than capable of doing anything you wish to him when it comes to affection. But there’s this particular thing about merfolk is that their tails are more than just important to them. A gentle nudge from your tail to his side will be the start of it which indicates just how much you trust him. Even when swimming together — whether he can swim or not is debatable, but one thing for sure is that he can’t drown — you often entwine your body around him, letting your tail slightly swirl around his body before guiding him back to the shore. When you finally decide to get closer, Firebrand literally has to hold his breath during the first few time to make sure that he doesn’t screw it up. His reaction is rather cute though

• Firebrand can spend eternity listening to your alluring voice if his duties don’t drag him back to Crossroads. You’re such a miracle, so breathtaking and full of surprises. Tales from the sailors who have encountered your kins are definitely realistic at how they swear those sirens can guide them to the fantasy full of sweet dreams, only to be drown and devoured in the midst of daydreaming. And you are even more powerful than the said sirens in the tales. But does that make Firebrand see you differently? Of course not! He loves your voice, he loves your beauty, he loves your personality, and to top it all - he loves you. Hell, he will gladly be an audience for your songs as long as you wish. Sometimes you even sing about him, how can he stay calm in such moments?

• If Umbrella is so done with Firebrand’s constant ramblings about you, and you know your servants’ ears are suffering the same fate. Be it your maids or your pets, they will have to stay there and listen to you going on and on about this man that you love so much. Oh the little thing you admire of this man, you can list it out forever if you’re able to, no matter how tired your servants have been due to the constant mention of this Firebrand. And you make sure to make them swear on their soul to never tell any of the others about this, or else you will make sure that the consequences won’t be gentle

• You gifted him a piece of your scales for a keepsake. It’s somewhat normal for your scales to accidentally fall out when you’re cleaning your tails. It doesn’t hurt when falling off naturally, don’t worry too much. Normal siren’s scale is already valuable, but one coming from a royal siren? It will cost a massive fortune to even have their hand on it. The scale illuminates under the light like a magical solidified night sky, a captivating hue that one fail to look away from. You decide to let your lover keep one of it as a sign of trust. And Firebrand treasures the shiny gift as if his life depends on it. Hell, he will probably put it inside his locket necklace which he keeps a photo of his grandchildren in then brings it everywhere he goes. That’s how he quietly show how you have become someone important in his life

• Firebrand loves you with all of his burning heart and soul. Most of the gifts he gets for you is based on the myths he has heard from other folks about sirens. Don’t get me wrong, he still pays attention to what you actually like, but this was before you opened up completely to him about your interests. He will spend a great amount of time trying to find the most suitable high quality jewelry for you, all in pink diamonds and pearls because apparently he has read somewhere that those are the things your kins like. Then proceed to bring you the finest antiques he comes across with that somehow reminds him of you. He also hears it from someone that the best gift for a siren is a mirror, and so he obliges

• He will sing for you, or more like serenade you with his voice. That’s also a thing he knows about merfolks when doing his research, mind you. Although his voice isn’t a match for your powerful vocals which can lure people to their demise, but it feels so heartwarming when hearing him sings like that. Firebrand can just hum and you will be certain of the fact that your heart will be swooned all over again. His singing voice is rather low, more suitable for classic love songs from the old times if you know what I mean. A duet with your beloved under the moonlight suddenly doesn’t seem so bad now, no?

• It feels like a fairytale, how loving he has been towards you despite the bumpy start at the beginning. This was a secret between the two of you, mostly because he doesn’t want your family to be a nuisance to you about the whole trivia of how dangerous it was to be in such intimate relationship with a deity that belongs on the land. Especially with how you’re literally an upcoming. Just the typical stereotype of those elders, as you claimed. The day of your official coronation, Firebrand even secretly sets sail to congratulate you personally after you manage to sneak away. A bit of firecracker to light up the mood doesn’t seem so bad, it is rather sweet of him

• One day, Firebrand makes an appearance at the usual meeting spot of yours. When you rises up from the water, you have noticed the obvious change of your lover’s expression. He looks rather stressed, even when he tries to shrug it off and reassure you that nothing is wrong. He simply says that he might have to leave for a little while because of some important matter. He promises that once everything is dealt with, he will come back to your embrace soundly. Just so you wait, Firebrand has made himself clear that everything will be going smoothly

• But things aren’t going too well like he has promised. Firebrand has been M.I.A for quite the long time, to the point that people start to question what on Inpherno is happening within the royalty of Crossroad. And the same goes for you. To say you’re worried about Friebrand is an understatement. If only you weren’t bound to the deep sea, you would have tried to find him on land already. Yet all you can do at this moment is just waiting and waiting over decades. You miss him, miss that bright smile and gentle demeanor. All you can do at this point is just to wish that he would return safely to you again. But then how long would you have to wait? So here’s the question for you: Where is your beloved now, o siren sovereign of the depth?

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: Since the SFOTH QnA has failed me with my expectations for Firebrand, I shall continue to be at ease with my own creativity to serve my original purpose once again (ᓀ◡ᓂ) Even when I’d admit that this isn’t my best work so far- There’s too few information about him

Note 2: I’m so sorry that this takes hella long- My schedule will be so sporadic from now on ( T^T)