#hello. pretentious fic time

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part one

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

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

part one word count: 19.3k

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

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

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

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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. ♡

[cutielando]

Hello love, how is everything going?🫂

I'm the one from the Jay in the truck fic, which was amazing, you made someone very happy today (someone is me)😚🩷

If you have time you could write one where Jay dates the reader but he is a few years younger than him, but he's so proud to have met a girl like her, maybe someone on the team makes playful comments about it because he is tough in part but it is as if he was always so soft with her that they come to not know him. maybe they even see a couple of hickeys on him but he looks proud because he is LITERALLY so in love that he kisses the ground where she steps and he loves that they know he has a girl, a little pretentious about it🤭

Maybe also after a difficult case he looks for her because she is his safe space.🫶🏼🥹

This is a bit messy but I'm not good at putting ideas together, I apologize, also english is not my first language in case this is something difficult to understand.🥹🫶🏼

Also sorry that there are so many haha you can take them if you want or just let them pass if you don't feel comfortable, sending you love!💌

comfort person | j.h.

my masterlist

Jay couldn't believe his luck, in all honesty.

Ever since he could remember, his luck when it came to love and personal relationships was close to being non-existent. His relationship history was excellent proof of that.

But everything seemed to change for the better when he met you.

You had met in a bar, out of all places. Hit it off right away, chatted over a drink, promised to stay in touch.

And oh boy, had you stayed in touch.

You were wary of hanging out with Jay at first, mainly because of the dangers of his job (that he sometimes reminded you of) and because of the age difference.

5 years was not that much, if you were being realistic, but it was still something. You were afraid that you wouldn’t be the woman he was looking for, maybe his expectations in life didn’t align with yours.

Thankfully, you were very wrong about that.

And so, you found yourself together, 1 year later, happier and more in love than ever. Much to the joy of his team, who made it their mission to tease the fuck out of Jay every single day at the precinct.

Especially when they would notice certain marks on his neck after a wild night in bed.

Such an instance was right after the team had finished a very hard case involving a child kidnapping. When Jay got home, you could tell he was absolutely hammered and needed to unwind, so you did the thing you knew would help him out.

The next morning at the precinct, you went with him to say hi to the team, but you got teased instead.

“Woah, did an animal attack you last night?” Adam asked Jay as soon as he got a good look at his colleague.

Jay furrowed his eyebrows, while you were trying to hide your blush in his bicep.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, checking his arms for any kind of marks.

Adam smirked and pointed to his neck, which immediately made your boyfriend realize what he was talking about.

Even though you couldn’t see it because you were hiding your face into his arm, you could tell Jay was blushing furiously while being teased by his close friend.

“Don’t you dare say a word” Jay threatened Adam, who could only laugh at the situation between the two of you.

“I’m gonna go now” you murmured to Jay, quickly standing on your tiptoes to peck his cheek before basically running out of the precinct.

Jay could only blame Adam for your quick departure, much faster than what he had been hoping.

“She certainly keeps you active” Ruzek said once he came back from their break room with a cup of coffee.

“Shut up, Ruz. You’re just jealous you’re not getting any” Jay commented, making Adam act offended.

"I'm just saying, she's sure keeping you busy and fit" Adam continued, giving Jay a sly smile.

"She makes me happy" Jay confessed, smiling to himself when he thought about you and your relationship.

The conversation died with that, a new case putting a pause on Jay's thoughts about you for the time being.

Jay hadn't expected the case to be as rough as it was, and he felt awful by the time he got home to you. He was tired, his limbs were sore and his heart ached. The only thing he wanted in that moment was the sole comfort of your presence, your comforting hugs and just quality time spent away from his job.

When you heard the keys in the lock, you excitedly ran to the front door to welcome him, but your smile was instantly wiped off your face when you saw just how broken and tired he was.

"Rough day?" you asked as you cautiously watched him taking off his shoes and hanging his coat on the hanger.

"Yeah, got a tough care after you came home" he sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before going into the bedroom, placing his gun and badge into his safe before coming back out and joining you on the couch.

He melted into the soft couch, his hand finding yours instantly. You felt for him, not even wanting to imagine how tough his job must get on the hard days, like this one.

You moved Jay's head off the back of the couch and maneuvered him until he was resting his head into your lap, your fingers softly running through his soft hair.

"You want to talk about it?" you asked softly, careful not to disturb the serene atmosphere that had settled between the two of you.

His eyes opened and looked at you, dozens of emotions swimming behind his irises. The only thoughts that occupied his head were how lucky he was to have you, how cared for he was and how much he loved you. He cherished you more than you could ever know, especially in moments like this one, when he is reminded of just how grateful he should be for the life he has.

"I love you" he whispered softly, making you smile at him and lean down to peck his lips, your free hand caressing the side of his face softly.

"I love you more" you whispered back, licking your lips.

And so, the entire evening was spent exactly like that, whispering love confessions to each other like they were a secret to the entire world.

But you loved every second of it.

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[pumpkinbxtch]

hey, ik requests are closed but if you could do this one, i'll be very grateful. just remember, if you don't want to, you don't have to.

i was thinking if post-trial apollo, meets the reader, after the trial (can the reader be a child of Hades? like a child of Hades would be so iconic), love at first sight (fuck, why is this so cliche 😭😭) and tries to spend more time with the reader. the reader is new to the entire camp thing, and is getting more used to it, and grows closer to Apollo. but he's like scared to admit he's in love bc he thinks, that just like all his past lovers, the reader would run away, or kill herself, or fall into deep trouble, but after some really had event in which he almost loses y/n, he goes all haywire, confessing everything and it becomes a cute, fluffy scene together

AGAIN ik you aren't taking in requests, so if you don't want to do it, it's totally fine. love so many of your fics btw ♥️♥️

i love you, isn't that the worst thing you've ever heard?

— apollo/lester x child of hades!reader

warnings: none a/n: Hello beautiful person. You're seeing this, now you know that I take your request and I want to say why and it's because you asked me so nice that I couldn't resist. I have corazón de pollo which is something like being very sensitive or being warm-hearted. Anyway, let me know if you liked it. I hope it was like that and thank you for reading me, for your support. ❤️ Kisses from Pluto! ha ha

Your legs settled back over Apollo’s knees, and he kept them in place with his hands, letting out a snort.

— You’re pretty comfortable with a god, aren’t you? — His pretentious tone just made you smile and shrug.

— You didn’t move my feet, did you? — you replied in the same tone, and he leaned against the cabin wall. It was true, and if it were up to him, he never would.

— Whatever…— he muttered, watching you lie back down, putting your attention back on a comic book Will Solace had lent you, saying it was based on one of his favorite movies, which made you interested in reading it. You thought you and Will weren’t that different, and you liked him but not in ‘that’ way, just as a friend. After all, Will was becoming part of the family with your brother Nico because they seemed to have something slowly brewing.

— How many times have you said I love you?— you asked out of the blue, still not taking your eyes off the comic. Apollo almost choked on his own saliva.

— What’s that about? — he said evasively. He didn’t want to talk about it because if he remembered correctly, all those times had ended badly. He tried to catch your eyes but found the glossy cover of the comic in the way.

You shrugged and turned the page, continuing with the same topic.

— I heard Nico say that to Will once when they thought I was out of our cabin, but I was just in the bathroom.

— Hmmm. And?

— Nothing, just that Nico doesn’t say it often. I’ve only heard him say it to his sister Bianca, his real sister. Also to Hazel, to me, and to Will.

Now Apollo understood but played dumb.

— I don’t know.

You tapped his thigh with your foot.

— Of course you do.

And obviously, he did, but stayed silent, hoping the comic would distract you enough.

— I think they’re falling in love — you stated, laughing at something you read. Apollo could never understand how demigods managed with ADHD; now, it just seemed like a curse.

— Well, I suppose.

His half-hearted responses annoyed you, and you put the comic down with a frown, and he apologized with his eyes.

— Have you fallen in love recently?

That question threw him off. Apollo gently moved your legs aside to sit on the edge of the bed with his heart racing and a pout on his face.

— Where are you going? — you asked, concerned, setting the comic aside and sitting next to him. Apollo smiled sheepishly. He didn’t like lying to you, but whenever you started guiding the conversation that way, he had to find a way to escape.

— I need to do something in olympus, they just told me.

You made a face and nodded. You never got involved in that; after all, he was a god.

In the end, Apollo sat moodily on his throne, watching time pass at Camp Half-Blood. Since his return as the sun god, things had changed in his heart, so he found himself more in that place despite what the gods said, which reminded him of when he met you.

You had recently arrived and caught attention for reaching an age where any demigod would have died, but shortly after, if not the same day, everyone knew you weren’t just any demigod. You were a child of Hades. Of course, the most delighted with this was Nico, who welcomed you and made sure you were never alone.

Things were fresh, so Apollo ended up in your close circle until it became very close. If Apollo was at Camp Half-Blood, you were with him, and it didn’t take long for him to fall in love with you, though you hadn’t realized it yet.

You felt safe growing up by his side; no one would mess with you since you were a child of the big three and a close friend of a god. Some fools judged you for your company, but they were afraid to approach when you were – according to Apollo – an adorable person.

The god watched through the fire as you thrived in camp after his unexpected departure, and to him, you were doing too well, though some things were too good for his liking, and he couldn’t deny it; you were charming in more than one way, which obviously attracted campers like Harley, that son of Hephaestus who sometimes gave you cute things like that pomegranate made of metal leaves. A gift that seemed very familiar when he saw Leo flirting with Calypso.

Leo flirting with Calypso.

Leo flirting.

The god stood up and admired the scene closely. Harley had blushed cheeks while giving you the gift, and you smiled gratefully. No way, he knew the sons of Hephaestus were bold, but he never imagined someone would be so obvious with you due to your lack of understanding of indirect hints. They approached but never that close, and he should have guessed, but also, he wasn’t one to get angry.

You received the gift and admired it closely, but only thanked him briefly, which seemed enough proof of your affection to the son of Hephaestus, something Apollo obviously loathed as well as keeping him awake the rest of the night.

He didn't know why (well he did) but the god ended sitting at the dining pavilion, his nails digging into the table.

— Everything okay? — Your voice snapped him out of his trance, and he smiled. You always seemed to have a radar for when he was near.

— Will fell in love with Nico, and Nico with him. Do you think they both realized it or just one?— His question took you by surprise, and more than making you think twice, it excited you that he finally answered that kind of question since he always seemed to have a repulsion to them.

You sat beside him, and Apollo gave you a sweet look, waiting for your answer.

— Maybe Nico and Will know, but Will could be waiting for Nico to give clear signals about it.

— Maybe Nico is scared.

— Does he think Will isn’t?

You both fell silent. It was clear; it was in the air, you weren’t really talking about your brother and Will.

— What’s the worst thing he could say to Will? — you asked, your hand reaching for Apollo’s to intertwine your fingers. The blonde swallowed and suddenly felt breathless.

— I don’t know, but I can think of something.

Apollo made a face and turned a little more towards you, his cheeks red and his eyes shiny. He was afraid of hurting you, of things not working out as they did with his previous lovers; he could never afford to make you suffer when he already knew the degree of consequence it would have in his life, but beyond his good or bad karma, he cared about you. He loved you enough never to try to have you.

Your patience was reaching its limit, and although the son of Hephaestus was cute, sweet, a good match… your heart belonged to someone since the first moment you saw him.

—Apollo… —your voice called him with a bit of seriousness, a peculiar tone that made the god realize his time for redundancies was over.

— I love you, isn’t that the worst I could say?

Your eyes widened with hope, and you moved a little closer to him, bumping knees.

— From Nico to Will? — you asked, not wanting to humiliate yourself.

Apollo’s blue eyes examined you suspiciously. The responsibility would fall on him; he was never the best at hiding his feelings, but if your happiness depended on it, the first moment he saw your life in danger, he wouldn’t hesitate to disappear from it. For now, a confession was something very innocent.

The sun god turned to you with a bit more evident confidence and didn’t let go of your hand; instead, he kissed it.

— No. From me to you…

[flightfoot]

Could you recommend good written rarepair fics?

Sure! I don't know what you qualify as rarepair, so I'll use my old standby of "everything that isn't Lovesquare". I've got a lot of these to recommend, so I'll split it up by ship, unless there's only one fic in the pairing, in which case I'll dump it at the end.

I've split this up by pairing. If I have multiple fics to rec for a pairing, I'll give it its own category, if not, then it goes into the "one-offs" category at then end.

I have categories for Adrino, Marigami, MarcNath, Lukadrien, Julerose, Chlobrina, DJWifi, Alyanette, and FeLuka, in that order.

---

Adrino:

Within Your Heart by Inkyibis

It’s Valentine’s Day and Ladybug just wants to her superhero partner to find his love. And what she wants, the Lucky Charm will create. If only she could remember what it is she did last night.

Adrino fic here! Marinette’s drunk and feeling awful that her superhero partner is alone on Valentine’s (she’s in a loving and committed relationship with Alya), so she creates a Lucky Charm to help Chat find love! In this universe, Ladybug’s Lucky Charms have the power to create new rules for the universe to follow, such as making one that demands that if you have any magic in you, you have to tell the truth or else you’ll freeze. Or in Adrien’s case, that he has to wake up in the arms of his true love every day XD. It’s very sweet and I love both Adrien’s and Nino’s relationship, and the relationship between the rest of the Miracuteam members as well, even though that’s not the focus.

---

I’ll give myself a name (something stupid and pretentious) by @bbutterflies

Nino looked at the number and didn’t recognize it. Usually he wouldn’t answer, but he had nothing better to do – and could still really use a distraction – so he did. “Hello?”

“Hey, Nino.”

Nino stood up quickly, chest tightening. He knew that voice. He’d been waiting to hear it again for over two years. “Adrien?” he whispered.

“Yeah. It’s me."

-

When Monarch is defeated (and revealed to be Gabriel Agreste), Chat Noir immediately goes missing. Adrien disappears not long after. When Adrien finally shows up in Paris again, Nino would do anything to make sure he doesn't disappear again.

Ah this is lovely, Adrien’s been in a lot of emotional turmoil since Monarch’s defeat, convinced that everyone would hate him, SHOULD hate him, for not realizing that his father was the villain, and should hate him even more for disappearing like he does. But slowly Marinette and Nino get through to him, convince him that they just want him back. 

And also Adrien and Nino smooch. Multiple times. So that’s a bonus XD.

---

Would Trust You With Everything by @kasienda

Nino breaks off, tears streaking down his face. Adrien wishes he was here as himself instead of Chat so he could offer a hug.

“It’s not like I don’t think she deserved her privacy. It’s just it felt like I was her last priority. And if I knew why, then maybe we could overcome it. But when I don’t, I’m not willing to be her last thought. You know? I always put her first.”

“Yeah,” Chat agrees, able to relate too well. He always put Ladybug first too, and he’s not sure it has ever been the same for her. “I’m sorry you’ve been so alone through this."

“I haven’t been totally alone,” Nino disagrees, holding up his phone. “My best friend has been keeping me company virtually most of the day.”

“Yeah? It helped?”

“I don’t know if any of the stuff he sent helped, but like, given what I know he’s up to, he totally had to move heaven and earth to talk to me so much, and that really helped. You know, just knowing that someone was thinking of me.”

“I’m glad,” Chat Noir said. “I wish he could be there in person for you.”

Nino sighs. “Yeah, me too, but at least you’re here."

...

Season 4 au - canon divergent from Rocketear Rocketear led to DJWiFi breakup.

Ahh, Adrino my beloved XD. I love the identity shenanigans in this one with Adrien being around Nino as both Adrien and Chat Noir, and both of them vaguely describing their situations to each other. It takes Adrien a bit to figure out that he has a crush on Nino, but once he does...

---

The moment I knew (I’d no choice but to love you) by @bbutterflies

“He’s dating me,” Nino said, taking Adrien’s hand in his own.

Adrien could only stare back at him in shock.

“How dare you all force him to come out?” Nino continued, glaring at the reporters. “That was disgusting.” He pulled Adrien over to the car, guided him in, and shut the door behind them.

In the relative quiet and privacy of the backseat, Adrien finally processed what had just happened. “So… when were you going to tell me we were dating?”

This Adrino fic is delicious XD. Reporters keep hounding Adrien about his love life, so Nino finally gets them off Adrien’s back by fake-dating him. Problem is, Adrien’s actually been madly in love with Nino for years but has never been able to tell him. And now as they’re spending more time together, Nino’s beginning to find that he’s enjoying all these “couple” activities more than maybe he ought to if it’s entirely platonic...

If you want to see Adrien and Nino PINING for each other while “fake” dating (is it really fake if both parties want it to be real?) then you’ve come to the right fic!

---

Chemistry With Him by @bbutterflies

It kind of sucked Nino was taking chemistry, but classes had filled up fast and he needed to take something and his advisor had said the credits would, somehow, count towards his major. It really sucked he was taking it first thing on a Monday morning (and Wednesdays, and Fridays, unfortunately). But he could get through it. He knew he could.

So no more boys. No distractions. He could do this all on his own.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

Nino looked up to find the source of the voice. A blond, green-eyed, absolutely beautiful someone.

Okay. Maybe one distraction.

Ah, adorable Adrino. This is a universe where Adrien never went to public school, so while Chat Noir, Ladybug, Carapace, and Rena Rouge all know each other (and Marinette, Alya, and Nino all know each other’s identities) they’re unaware that they are all already friends with Adrien. I loved seeing Chat and Carapace excitedly tell each other about their awesome crush/boyfriend, not knowing they were talking about each other XD.

---

Awaken by InkyIbis

The previously white butterfly, now oozing black and purple as a conduit of the butterfly miraculous powers, flutters softly within the silvered-gloved hand.

It sits there for a long time.

"Go, my akuma," The soft sigh pushes the butterfly, the akuma, out towards the despair of a love not returned. The same ache within his chest. On a level so great that he's willing to sacrifice the city to mend it.

It's okay if he's the villain for now. He'll force the miraculous of creation and destruction to be revealed, and once he gets his hands on them, none of this pain, none of his loss, will ever happen.

This is essentially a canon rewrite for Miraculous (specifically seasons 1 and 2, with a bunch of the events mixed around) that focuses primarily on Adrien, with his relationship with Nino being the main driving relationship of the fic. (Don’t worry, Marinette’s still treated fine, she’s just not the focus). This is the best “rewrite Miraculous with more of a focus on Adrien” type fic I’ve seen, with it reworking the plots of the episodes so that they’re different enough to be their own distinct thing - it’s not trying to just rewrite the canon episodes but from Adrien’s POV, there’s a lot of lore changes going on as well, and things occur in different orders.

Like lorewise, Chat’s given a more important role in cleaning up the mess the akumas leave, with his power helping to cleanse akuma victims and he and Ladybug needing to use their powers in tandem in order to cast Miraculous Ladybug. There’s also no Miracle Box holding the kwamis. Instead, Chat sometimes surpasses his limits and ends up summoning kwamis, which is dangerous to him, but very useful.

What really makes this fic great though, is its focus on Adrien’s emotions. You really get a feel for Adrien’s insecurities, especially when it comes to not feeling like he’s good enough for Nino, with not wanting to bother him when he absolutely should, with feeling like he’s not a good enough friend to him, and then there’s dealing with all of Gabriel’s usual abuse on top of that.

Speaking of Nino, this is an Adrino fic (though several characters get crushes on Adrien, Nino’s the one who matters most for this), though a slowburn one. Nino’s clearly head-over-heels for Adrien, but Adrien has like, no context for what a romantic crush feels like and is basically viewing Nino the way he viewed Marinette in canon prior to season 5. He clearly cares for him a lot, including romantically, he just... doesn’t get it.

Anyway, if you want an interesting canon rewrite fic from Adrien’s perspective with Adrino as the main pairing, this is a good story to pick up!

---

If I hold you too close by @bbutterflies

Paris didn’t come to a screeching halt for akumas anymore. They were so commonplace, so frequent, no one stopped their lives unless they were in danger. They trusted the heroes to fix everything if something did go wrong, save them if they got hurt. Adrien was still fighting the urge to find Plagg and go running into battle. Plagg wasn’t here, though. --- Post-season 5 where Adrien got sent to London sooner and gave up his Miraculous to keep Paris safe.

If you know this author, then you've probably already guessed that this is an Adrino fic (seriously if you like Adrino, check out bbutterflies fics, though honestly if you ARE an Adrino fan, you probably already have).

So in this scenario, Adrien was sent to London and didn't get to return, so he gave Plagg the ring so he could find another Holder. In this case, Nino. After a few years, once he's an adult, Adrien manages to come back from London, but he's in ROUGH shape. He drinks a lot, he has a reputation for partying hard and causing disruptions, and is really depressed and hates himself, and hates Felinoir (Nino's Black Cat form) even more, for having what he lost.

But even while Adrien's pushing everyone away to protect himself, his old friends refuse to give up on him, even though he's given up on himself.

While Adrien's problems are the primary focus of the fic, they're not the entire focus. Nino gets a POV, and he has personal issues and insecurities of his own. He has trouble holding down relationships, he doesn't have a lot of close friends these days, and he's struggling to keep up in school with all the akumas he's had to fight. He and Ladybug are fine coworkers, but they aren't much more than that - they aren't friends like Chat Noir and Ladybug were.

Oh, also, Nino's a transman. That's also caused some issues in making and keeping friends.

It's a beautiful story of one person hitting rock-bottom and gradually being pulled back out of it again, until they can stand on their own and push themselves up the rest of the way, and of a friend who discovers their childhood best friend (and crush) has changed enormously since they last saw them, and not in good ways - only to find that their friend is, at their core, still there. They just need help seeing it themselves.

---

Marigami:

Plans Aren’t Everything by BeeRye

Feeling a bit fed up with constantly having her dates with Marinette cut short, Kagami sets aside some time in order to plan the perfect outing for the two of them. Despite being the holder of the Miraculous of the Black Cat, she believes one day of romance isn’t too much to ask for. As long as she treats it all like she does everything else in her life, the results she wants should come to pass. She doesn’t quite know what to do if that ends up not being the case.

This was adorable and captured Kagami’s mindset well, she decided, rather optimistically that she could just brute force the date into going well. Unfortunately, that’s not gonna stop Hawk Moth. Fortunately, Marinette has her own back-up plans…

---

Anchor by @liiinerle

“Marinette. Please take that sabre out of your neck.” “Right. Thanks. I forgot it was there.” She grabbed hold of the guard and pulled; the blade slid out like it had only been run through butter. After dropping it on the floor, she picked up one of the teacups and picked up a biscuit from a tin she’d brought in; she placed the biscuit on the saucer plate and handed the whole thing to Kagami, who could only really resign herself to accepting it. —– Marinette has raised Kagami from the dead, and also happens to be dead herself. It turns out some bad choices were made in the past. But that doesn’t mean they’ll lead to bad outcomes for them now.

I love this, Marinette’s incredibly blase about being a zombie - which makes sense, given how long she’s had to get used to the idea. And she’s waited so long, tried so hard to bring Kagami back as well, though if she didn’t WANT to be back, she’d accede to that request. Luckily, Kagami doesn’t seem to mind as long as she’s with Marinette XD.

---

Galaxy In Your Eyes by @liiinerle

Arriving in Paris, Kagami almost immediately finds herself assaulted by a dark, infectious butterfly. When she wakes up, a ladybug-themed superhero is standing over her, and her eyes are like holes into an empty, vast, and incredibly alluring universe… An AU where the two main Miraculous function differently from the norm.

Nice Marigami fic here! Or should I say, Ladygami - technically Marinette doesn’t exist, only Ladybug, who’s an immortal creation goddess, or something like that. But she still fights to protect Paris from Hawk Moth alongside Chat Noir, who is still a normal, squishy human underneath the suit.

Anyway, there’s a but of inspiration from Nimona here, with a lot of people being scared of Ladybug because she’s a bit… out there, especially when she shapeshifts to have like, 6 extra arms and a lobster tail. Kagami’s into it though XD

---

Accidents Are Also Miracles by @liiinerle

After a few turbulent days where four new people discover her secret identity, Marinette loses faith in her ability to keep the secret hidden. Wracked with doubts and insecurities, she pleads with Alya to take over as Scarabella, but she still can't let those worries go. Especially not once Monarch starts taking a particular, and personal, interest in her.

Along the way, she also starts to date Kagami, and has to deal with changing feelings about herself, Adrien, Alya, Kagami, and the idea of being Ladybug. At the same time, Alya works to uncover Monarch's secret identity, while Kagami struggles against a controlling parent, and a girlfriend who seems bent on destroying herself - with or without Monarch's involvement.

Fantastic Marigami fic here! You’ve got three major POVs in this fic: Marinette, Kagami, and to my delight, Alya. I loved getting to see Alya cope with taking over as Scarabella especially.

But of course, this fic centers more around Marinette and Kagami, with Marinette struggling with Monarch targeting her, and Kagami struggling against her abusive parent, as well as both of them trying to navigate their relationship together when they know that not everyone will approve. 

There’s also some other plots going on in here, like Sabrina breaking away from Chloe and becoming more independent (and closer to Adrien in fact), as well as a Lila takedown plot, though thankfully not one that involves demonizing other characters. While there are conversations about people believing Lila and siding with her, no one’s actually attacked for it except for Lila herself.

Oh yeah, and while this fic may not have much focus on Adrien, he’s still treated fairly and with respect, even when he messes up. He can make mistakes, but people understand where he’s coming from, and are still kind to him and want things to be okay, and to help him escape his abusive circumstances.

---

Marcnath:

Day 7: Book by Andromeda612

During one of his works, Marc comes across a rather interesting book.

MarcNath AU fic here! Basically Marc is a super powerful warlock, and is brought in to help with the case of a lying witch who apparently caused a lot of problems for people, using her magic to help fool everyone. She’s actually dead by the time the story starts, and everyone’s trying to go back through and figure out what she’s done and why memories surrounding her seem to be foggy. Meanwhile there’s a book she left behind which appears to be sentient, and which Marc’s taken a liking too...

---

don't you worry child by @mexicancat-girl

Marc and Nathaniel have a good life, married and living together in a cottage in the woods. But they consider having children at some point. Marc in particular really wants to start a family with his husband. He knows the fey are real, so he goes searching in the woods to find one to strike a deal. He may get a bit more than he bargained for in the process.

This is based on a tumblr post that’s been going around, which I think a lot of people will recognize as they continue going through the story. That post is credited at the end of the fic, so as not to spoil the plot.

---

Confession Plans of Questionable Sanity by yellow14

Nathanael Kurtzberg has a confession to make. He’s in love with his big classmate Ivan. With the help of Marc, Marinette, Adrien and Nino, he’s going to confess, using increasingly complicated schemes. Marc meanwhile, is busy coming up with even more complicated schemes to sabotage those schemes so he can confess HIS feelings for his redheaded friend. Nothing could POSSIBLY go wrong with this, right? Written for the March 2023 gift exchange on the Miraculous Fanworks Discord forum for CassieTheweirdWolf.

This fic’s just really funny. These kids love to make things waaaaay harder than they need to be. But hey, everything ends up working out in the end, even if it’s not the way they planned!

---

Evillustrator Reimagined by onewaywriteturn

A full, mostly-standalone rewrite of the episode "The Evillustrator".

Nathaniel never planned to tell anyone about his secret crush on his friend Marc, but his world changes when Chloe picks up his sketchbook and mocks his art in front of the whole class, inadvertently outing him as bisexual. Now as the Evillustrator, he has two objectives: to take vengeance on Chloe for what she did to him and to go on a date with Marc for his birthday.

At the same time, Marinette is already struggling to defend Sabrina from Chloe when she learns of the Evillustrator's crush on Marc, one of her good friends. And while getting Marc involved with an akuma fight is messy enough, the fact that Marc has secretly liked Nathaniel for a long time complicates the situation so much more.

If you ever wanted to see Evillustrator rewritten to focus around NathMarc, this is the fic for you! The two of them just PINE for each other so hard and are so convinced that the other person couldn’t possibly actually want to date them, even with Evillustrator making it uh. Exceedingly obvious XD.

---

I'd Do Anything For $20 (To Feel More In Control) by Shroomifyiy

Bee!Nathaniel AU one shot (because I think he's silly teehee) Nathaniel hated keeping secrets, especially from someone he cared about. But unfortunately, it's not up to him to decide that. Marc feels hurt from Nathaniel's actions. He just wants his boyfriend to be honest with him. Hawkmoth is a bitch ass motherfucker. Enough said.

Fun Nathmarc fic here! I love seeing Nathaniel's interactions with Pollen, and him cope with the strain on his relationship with needing to run off all the time to go fight akumas with only the flimsiest of excuses. He loves Marc deeply, as deeply as Marc loves him. But Marc's getting suspicious and wondering what's going on, and Nathaniel doesn't think he can tell him.

---

Handle With Care by @dragonchris

AU where soulmates can feel each other's emotions. But having a soulmate isn't always beautiful and romantic. Sometimes it's messy. Sometimes it hurts. Marc and Nath have to learn what that means for them.

This was cute, I loved seeing how Nathaniel and Marc both thought about their soulmate, and how they cope with the aftermath of Reverser in this AU. Helps that Alix is a platonic soulmate of Nathaniel's here (Nathaniel has two soulmates).

---

Lukadrien:

When feelings are too big for words by ClockworkCaptain

When Luka takes a gig playing for a drag show he's falls hard and fast for the drag queen Buttercup who uses her performances to work through her own emotions. Meanwhile Adrien's been using drag to work through his own emotions and thinks maybe Luka coming back into his life and showing interest might mean a second chance. Made for @mlsecretsanta 2022

One of the issues I tend to have with Luka shipfics, and with Lukadrien especially (though I think Lukanette actually has this problem worse) is how Luka tends to disappear within the fic and the pairing, feeling more like “The Love Interest” than his own person. Not so here! While most of the intrigue surrounds Adrien, I still got the sense of Luka being his own person, not just existing in the fic for Adrien.

I adored Adrien getting to display an aspect of himself through persona and performance - that does align well with how he approaches Chat Noir - and overall I just had a lot of fun with this fic!

---

forever (and a little bit) by @rainbow-arrow

Now the world was out of tune. It was messy and blurry and Luka could not fathom waking up tomorrow and accepting his new life. He had less than nothing. How could he care about anything when the better half of his melody was replaced with silence. --- see also: Luka's villain origin story

This is a tragedy, don't go into it expecting a happy ending. Adrien breaks up with Marinette because he's upset over her lying to him about his father's fate and not telling him he's a sentimonster, and gradually becomes closer to Luka instead, first as a friend and later as a lover. There are fragments of story from the future that let you know this love story isn't going to last...

It's rated M, though I think that's mostly because of Adrien's injuries. I can see why it's M rated, but I think most teens should be fine reading this.

---

Two is Company by Shadownoble

Adrien’s father wants him to play for an upcoming party. Only this time he won’t be doing it alone.

This Lukadrien fic's adorable! Luka's got selective mutism, which Adrien takes in stride. I love how their relationship develops, they're smitten with each other! Though of course while Gabriel brought the two of them together, he's an obstacle too. Because he's a dick.

---

Julerose:

How Could I Not? by SorryJustAnotherPerson

In fairy tale books, Princesses were saved by nights from ferocious dragons. Those books were not their story, but Rose was happy to flip over a new page with her Juleka every single day. Many years ago, she was put to this tower by her parents and her kingdom, along with a fire breathing dragon, so she could find her prince charming one day. How foolish for them to not calculate her falling in love with the dragon. I mean seriously. How could she not?

I love fairy tale type stories, especially fractured fairy tales. And Juleka being a dragon is awesome. This is just a fun and adorable story.

---

You’ll be the prince and I’ll be the princess by @mexicancat-girl

With Team Miraculous now full-time holders, Ladybug has them patrolling in pairs like her and Chat Noir. New partners Pigella and Purple Tigress get along phenomenally, their easy banter and similar wavelengths making working with each other a joy in and out of combat. But sometimes Tigress is surprised just how close she is with her partner. Sometimes she tries not to feel too guilty thinking about it.

There’s some nice Julerose here! I love them kinda getting into a lovesquare with each other, though it’s not as much of a problem as it is in canon since it’s reciprocal in every relationship and they’re both down for a poly. It’s fun, and I love the “Luka attempting to woo some of his love interests” plot going on in the background XD.

---

Chlobrina:

Tides of Time by JayJoy3000

Chloe, to her disdain, attends a prestigious university in London where she happens to run into her traitorous, ex-best friend who left Paris years ago without an explanation. But Sabrina is not the shy pushover she once was... Or, the one where Chloe Bourgeois absolutely does NOT spend months pining after Sabrina Raincomprix. No, that would be ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

I love how this fic handles Chloe, this is a Chloe who's realized her parents are crap and decided to try to be better, and made some real friends with Juleka and Luka (and seems to be on decently friendly terms with the rest of the class, but they don't come up much), but still has a ways to go, with not really understanding why Sabrina ghosted her, that Sabrina wasn't as happy as she thought.

Also at the beginning of the story Chloe still believes she's straight. Chloe is the ONLY one who believes Chloe is straight XD.

---

Hanahaki by @generalluxun

First fic: Late Bloomer

On what might very well be the last night of her life, Sabrina Raincomprix pulls out a very special scrapbook, pressed between the pages is the past, the past she has never shared with anyone. She relives how she got to this moment one page at a time, preparing herself for the end. A phone call interrupts her self-imposed exile and brings news that could change her life forever. Even if it does though the question looms... change it how?

I love this series, how it shows how both Sabrina and Chloe have changed, how bad Chloe's circumstances are, and how much she needs help. She's not in good shape when Sabrina reunites with her - she's got a pretty severe eating disorder, for one thing - and Sabrina can't just... leave things like they are.

I love the delving into of Chloe's and Sabrina's psychology and viewpoints, and them both growing as a result (this is solely from Sabrina's perspective, but Chloe's the focus of the plot, so you see a lot of her).

---

DJWifi:

Strangely Familiar by @sunfoxfic

Alya Césaire’s life is perfect. Indeed, between the success of the Ladyblog, how well she’s doing in school, and the fact that she’s a superhero who has never bore the weight of a crisis of epic proportions, her life almost couldn’t be better. Almost. But Alya has always been a go-getter, and so she’ll chase after that perfect life if it kills her. Which is how she ends up rushing to move out of her father’s apartment and in with Marinette, Adrien, and a complete stranger: Nino Lahiffe. And in fact, her life does seem perfect — she and Nino are fast friends. They spend a lot of time together and get to know each other really well. But in the end, fortunate situations will bear unfortunate truths, and she learns things about herself that aren’t quite comfortable. Like I said, though: Alya has always been a go-getter, and she won’t let new feelings deter her from chasing after her perfect life.

This is the single longest DJWifi-centric fic on AO3 (which is a travesty) and it is GLORIOUS. Alya and Nino are both well fleshed-out here, with their own problems and baggage they’re dealing with, but it’s easier together.

---

disconnected by just_an_ordinary_fan

Lady Wifi believes she might be the only one who does not want to obey Hawkmoth's orders. When she sees another akuma hesitate in the battle, she finds she might not be entirely alone.

I actually wrote my own fic, Nullius in Verba, based off of this one. It’s short but has an intriguing premise, with all the akumas being transported to this warehouse after the fight’s over, having been basically forced to do Hawkmoth’s bidding. The akumas also don’t seem to remember who they were before, or even that they WERE ordinary people before, which is an interesting twist.

---

Alyanette:

is it chill that you're in my head? by bringthestorm

Alya stared at the picture plastered across the homepage of every single tabloid and news site, whispering every curse she could think of under her breath. SHOCKING SECRET ROMANCE BETWEEN LADYBLOGGER AND PARISIAN SUPERVILLAIN REVEALED!!! the headline announced, casually shouting the words she had been dreading for all of Paris to read. --- Alya had always assumed that someday Paris would discover that she had secretly been kissing their most wanted vigilante, but she had never thought it would happen so soon. As the domino effects of her relationship with Ladybug go spiraling through her life, Alya turns her sights towards the one responsible: the elusive superhero Hawkmoth. AKA Someone outs Alya and her girlfriend so she retaliates by deciding to take down Hawkmoth 

I recommend this to anyone who either A. Loves Alya and wants to see more of her in a starring role, or B., wants to see an AU where Parisians could feasibly believe that Hawkmoth is the good guy, and that Ladybug and Chat Noir are, if not villains, at least reckless.

---

the best laid plans (of bugs and bakers) by @mexicancat-girl

Paris is buzzing with the appearance of a new ladybug-themed hero, Scarabella. Alya decides to use her second hero identity to help her best friend Marinette. A bit of her flirting with Marinette is bound to make Marinette’s crushes jealous and finally ask her out! Her plan is fool-proof…! Except when it’s not. Not enough people are talking about Scarabella flirting with Marinette. How can Alya properly help her best friend if the news can’t be bothered to cover Marinette’s budding romance with Scarabella and only posts things about Marinette with Chat Noir?! So Alya puts her all into her plan, upping up her flirting each time she appears as the newbie hero Scarabella. This totally does not backfire in any way.

I adore fics that center on Alya, I haven’t exactly been shy about that fact. This is a nice one for some Alyanette adorableness! (And some Scarabella and Chat banter, I really enjoyed reading that as well). “Fake” flirting to make crushes jealous tends to turn real very quickly, and this is no exception. It’s hilarious, Alya’s the last one to figure out that her romantic relationship with Marinette is very much real XD.

---

Feluka:

Boomer!Luka: FeLuka Ending series by @19thsentry-blog

In the Shadows (the first fic in the series) summary:

On one side is Luka, 140-year-old Snake Miraculous holder and keeper of the Guardian's secrets, on the other is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a relatively newly minted hero of Paris and Guardian of the Miracle Box. Each is looking to fulfill their promises to their now gone mentors to reunite the Kwamis and keep them safe. Sounds simple--until you throw in a rocky start, the Atlantic Ocean, Félix Graham de Vanily, and a whole host of secrets…and suddenly simple becomes complicated (story of Marinette's life, right?).

So this is obviously way outside my normal wheelhouse. I don’t typically read Lukanette fics, even ones that turn into FeLuka later on in the series (though boy it becomes apparent quickly that the author’s fascinated with FeLuka’s dynamic.) But this one is really good, with the best Luka-centric fics I’ve ever read, and some of the best Felix-centric content as well. I love how Luka has his own baggage here, with all the pressure of wandering around for over a century, looking after the few Miraculous he found, trying to keep what’s left of the Order alive, unaware of Fu’s survival or of the Miraculous user’s re-emergence in Paris. There’s a lot of focus on Luka’s own feelings and thoughts and problems, not just on helping other people with them. 

The plot works even without the romantic aspect, so even if Lukanette isn’t a pairing that draws you in, I still recommend this fic, so long as you don’t actively dislike the pairing itself. And even though it’s a Lukanette fic, Adrien and Alya are treated fairly and with respect. Adrien may not end up with Marinette and is bummed about it, but the narrative is still kind to him overall, there’s clearly no ill well towards him, or Alya for that matter. (There are later fics in the series that focus more on Adrien just healing and coping and living after finding out that his father’s a villain and his mom’s been in the basement this whole time, and in the multiversal travel fic, Alya gets some standout appearances as Scarabella which are fun).

And FELIX - it’s clear that 19thsentry has this whole conception about Felix’s psychology. He’s wrapped in a ton of self-loathing until it started to consume him, made him lash out. Him being a sentimonster, wanting to get the Peacock Miraculous, actually gave him some direction for that at least. And he’s just in this pit of his own making, until he meets Luka, who can see through him when no one else can, who cares for him even though he doesn’t understand why, who’d been through so much over the years and yet kept himself kind. He’s attracted like a moth to a flame, infuriated that he cares, yet not able to stop himself from caring about this mysterious, infuriating musician. 

Yeah if you can’t tell this is the series that really sold me on FeLuka as a couple.

Oh yeah, one of the fics in here is M-rated, and it does earn the M rating for sexual content, though it’s nothing too major.

---

See This Chance by @19thsentry-blog

Luka died in 2016. Yep. Crushed by the Arc de Triumph when Mayura’s Robustus slammed into it. It was kind of a big deal, but once you’re dead, you’re dead—especially when there’s no Lucky Charm to bring you back. Luka’s been dealing with it in the typical ways. Written for FeLuka week 2023.

Yes, this is FeLuka. Not one of the typical ships I read, but I ain’t opposed to it, and this is a nice foray into the pairing. I love ghost AUs! Luka’s just fumbling around, unsure what to do with his incorporeal existence, until he starts haunting Felix. It’s an intriguing plot and I gotta admit, I wish it was longer so it could be fleshed out more, but what’s here is good.

---

One-offs:

Come Take My Hand by @carelisswriting

Luka heard his soulmate for the first time when he was ten. All he knows about her is that she likes fencing. It's just a coincidence that Kagami likes fencing, right? (Lukagami Soulmate AU, written for the Miraculous Ladybug Secret Santa Exchange!)

I’m a sucker for soulmate fics, and this had an interesting take on it, with your soulmate able to hear you thinking only about the thing you’re most passionate about. Loved Kagami’s way of showing Luka she’s his soulmate especially!

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Attack of the Crystal Zombies by @trainsinanime

Kagami had spent more and more time hanging out with Zoé, talking about things like families, expectations and crushes on Marinette. It was only natural, probably, that she would help Zoé practice flirting. That was definitely a great idea. Granted, the deadly Akuma battle around them was a bit of an issue…

Quality Zoegami fic here! I loved how Kagami kept thinking she was bad at flirting, but it was sure working on Zoe XD. The akuma attack going on around them, interweaving with their conversation, added a bit of spice to the whole affair!

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All Of Them? Every Single One? by @liiinerle

It turns out that Marinette loves a lot more people than she’d initially thought.

This is hilarious and adorable. Tikki lays out how Marinette has a crush on basically every girl she’s met - and even girls she doesn’t know are girls yet XD. 

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Emotional Mountain Ranges by @liiinerle

After Zoé’s attempted romantic confession to Marinette is interrupted by an incensed Chloé and Audrey Bourgeois, she’s left distraught and adrift, a crying mess in an alleyway far from home. Ladybug saves her from the incoming akuma, and tries to help her back on her feet - and Zoé wonders what she could possibly have done to earn this much attention from a superhero…

Lovely Zoenette fic here! I especially like how Marinette talks to Zoe, reassures her that she’s good enough, that she (as Ladybug) isn’t as perfect and composed as she thinks, and just… tries to get Zoe to have more confidence in herself. It’s mostly from Zoe’s perspective too, which I like since there aren’t a lot of Zoe POV fics.

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Swimming in Circles by @generalluxun

Life has moved on for Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She’s not where she thought she would be seven years ago, but she’s still in a good place. Classes, hobbies, friends, her life is full despite the lingering shades of her faded yet sweet middle-school romance. Then just as quick at the first time, someone drops into her life and turns her into an absolute mess once more. Love and crushes might be her undoing, but she’s got a little more experience this time to weather the storm. This fateful stranger stirs memories as well as emotions inside of her, and with a forthrightness her old self would be jealous of, Marinette takes the plunge.

So this is a Trans fic, with Marinette’s new crush being a trans version of a certain classmate who she doesn’t recognize, who’s changed a lot, for the better. I like how it deals with the baggage she has with that person, has her think that through.

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Three’s company by @torvalvt

Kagami has been doing her best for years to ignore her feelings for her friends. It doesn’t help that Adrien and Marinette insist on spending as much time as possible with her, even going so far as inviting her along on their dates together. If only the affection she felt for them wouldn’t get in the way of their relationship. Because it is growing harder and harder to tamp down her feelings with how close they are getting to her.

This is adorable. Adrien and Marinette really want Kagami to join their relationship and she just doesn’t dare hope for it. If you want some adorable Adrigaminette from Kagami’s perspective, I recommend checking this fic out!

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Stone Streak by kingxuppu

Ladybug and Violet Tigress had been fighting the mysterious Duskwing for eight years now. Through the years, the two have grown stronger together and even gotten married, they are waiting until they finally beat Duskwing to start a family. At least, that was the plan. When Juleka gets confronted with the realization that her friends are starting families of their own, she realizes just how badly she wants to be a mother.

Due to unfortunate circumstances, Juleka and Marinette get the chance to adopt Juleka's young modeling friend Adrien.

Maybe they aren't quite a traditional family, but with magic, rockstars, and fame, normal was never an option.

Via Discovery: There are actually two terms of venery for tigers, depending on the makeup of the group. The first is a streak of tigers and this refers to a female tiger and her cubs.

Now this is a rare pairing, there’s not a lot of Julenette fics! Adrien and Rose actually have some ship tease going on, the whole kid group in canon got broken up into two groups here, one that remained around canon age (so like 13) which notably consists of Chloe, Rose, and Adrien, and then I think everyone else are adults in their mid-twenties. It’s weird seeing Adrien as Marinette’s and Juleka’s son, but hey it works! I love how Juleka really showed Adrien the ropes on modeling and became a Mama tiger for him, the fic’s mostly just very sweet, though with a surprisingly dark final act. 

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In Direct Opposition by @generalluxun

Alya Cesaire is a brand new student to Francis Dupont, to Paris even. The first student she meets is one Chloé Bourgeois, and Alya is determined to make a friend. Things advance Chaotically. Her new 'friend' is definitely a handful, and suddenly Paris has a supervillain and two brand new superheroes! Alya finds herself balancing a lot of things, trying to live up to her ideals and those of her icons.

And then reality seems to contradict itself.

As time progresses it seems to happen more often. Becoming a hero, battling villains, staying alive, working through friendships. Something is lurking, tweaking events at times, changing them, and no one seems aware. Alya will need all her wits to get to the bottom of this. Her investigative mind can only get her so far though, and then she needs to rely on her friends. This is not a foe you can beat head on.

I betaed this entire fic, it’s really good! I adore the focus on Alya’s philosophy here, her determination to be a hero, to help people and defeat evil - and that defeating evil means trying to reform the people doing bad things when possible, to try to save EVERYONE, even the “villain”. I thought it was really clever the ways Alya would redirect Chloe and subtly encourage her to be a better person, while also trying to get the people around her to give her a second chance and keep an open mind. 

Also Alya and Chloe are an adorable sapphic couple XD.

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Herbs And Steam by @liiinerle

Juleka le Flor Blef, nature witch from near the forest of Couffaine, arrives at Eiffel Castle so she can partake in the Queen's Trials - a contest to determine the strongest witch in all of France. She wants to prove the strength of her magic, but when she arrives, her attention is quickly distracted by two very interesting women: Kagami, the princess, who seems to act nothing like a princess should; and Marinette, the blacksmith, who has created a magic all her own through metal, steam, and ingenuity. Juleka is immediately besotted with both of them, and needs to work extra hard to focus on her magic. Juleka also soon becomes aware that there is stronger magic at Eiffel castle than she had expected. For one thing, there's a tree in the courtyard put there years ago by a witch whose powers seem to surpass hers; for another, there's Alya la Pluvie Versaunt, who must be the most powerful mage Juleka has ever met...

Unusual poly here, there aren't a lot of Juleka/Kagami/Marinette fics! I love the world here, getting to see all these different witches honing their craft, and Juleka making friends with many of them - though especially the nonwitches Kagami and Marinette, of course XD. If you like some femslash or a good fantasy AU, this fic should scratch that itch!

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Graveyard Love Series by @liiinerle

A brief two-parter series which chronicles what happens after Lila dies suddenly, and Marinette finds out that she's the one saved as Lila's emergency contact on her phone. In part one, Marinette seeks answers with Alya's help - and what she finds ends up testing their friendship. In part two, Alya seeks to rebuild their relationship - and perhaps build it into something more.

First fic in series: Absent Soul

Just for a moment, Alya seemed speechless, her eyes as wide as the hallway was long. “You’re really going to start to believe her now?” Marinette sighed. “It’s not her I believe. I just… I don’t think she could manage all… this if it was fake. And besides… me, her emergency contact? That’s too bizarre to be a lie.” Even more than that, it was too bizarre to be true. So what could Lila possibly hope to achieve? “I’m not sure I agree with you,” said Alya. “But I’m not gonna let you go this alone. And I’m pulling you away if I smell anything cooking.” The thing was, Marinette wasn’t sure she agreed with herself. Nothing made sense. Even just knowing more would help settle the tumult in her brain, which felt like it had been speeding up almost imperceptibly for every door she’d passed through since the balcony. --- Marinette suddenly learns that she's saved as Lila's emergency contact on her phone... the same day she learns that Lila has been in a fatal accident. She is then pulled through a week of responsibilities and discoveries she never imagined having before, and a growing fondness for someone she once hated.

So this is fascinating, I love how it explored the insanity of whatever bizarre situation Lila has going on. Marinette's great here, she doesn't understand why Lila did the things she did, or what her background truly was, but if she had no one else, then at least she has Marinette to make sure her remains are taken care of properly. Though perhaps to a worrying extent. Thankfully, Alya's here as well to give support, and perhaps an intervention if things go too far. The second fic in the series focuses around Alya giving that intervention, of a sort.

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And Mark Ronson Can Get Stuffed by @liiinerle

Marinette gets a call from Vivica, Jagged Stone's guitarist, with a proposition. She wants a producer - and she's heard Marinette's the best one for the job. At least, that's what Jagged says, and well, the only real competition is Bob Roth... ... but Marinette still isn't prepared for the whirlwind of feelings she'll get spinning through her brain whenever she sees Vivica play. Or for the realisations she'll make about herself as she sits engulfed in a type of music that feels like it gets her, and gazes up at the angel who's holding the guitar.

So this is a RARE rare pair, I've never seen Vivinette before! Man though, is this a great first fic for the pairing! I love seeing Marinette's efforts to be the best producer she can be for Vivica, not totally realizing at first why she's so nervous and determined to be the best she can be for her... and then becoming all too aware of her feelings XD. I especially adore how enamored Marinette becomes with Vivica's songs, being deeply affected by them but unable to put her feelings into words well enough to give feedback.

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Stop Time by @liiinerle

— she put her hand on the page, blocking it so the words wouldn’t scream so loudly at her. They had screamed more than enough already. Gritting her teeth, she pulled her fingers together, crumpling the paper slightly — just enough that it didn’t look so pristine and mocking. It needed to be full of despair, in every possible way. “Marinette —” started Mullo. “No! Never again. Marinette is… gone, forever.” She let go of the paper. Now it lay alone in the light, as the last thing she could ever tell them. That she loved them, that she’d miss them, that she would never talk to them again. A suicide note. Of sorts. ----- Fu accidentally names Marinette as the new guardian, and not Ladybug. She's forced to fake her own death and go into hiding in order to get away from Hawk Moth. She finds a hiding spot in the Louvre, but there she's forced to face the effects of her going away by a very unexpected source: her friend Alix.

Definitely mind the tags on this one! But if it ain't triggering to you, then I highly recommend reading it. You can really feel Marinette's struggles here, with basically making herself homeless, unable to reach out to her friends and family, needing to steal just to feed herself and the kwamis, and then dealing with everyone in her life grieving... and then moving on. Except for a few people who don't...

It's just... it's really good, really heart-wrenching.

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The Only Love We Keep by @nemaliwrites

Zoé is used to wanting things she can’t have — loving people who do not love her back. She’s made peace with that. But as soon as she meets Scarabella, she’s a goner. Or, five times Zoé’s love wasn’t reciprocated, and one time it was.

I love this analysis of Zoe and her circumstances, her mindset, her philosophy based on how she's grown up. How she yearns for her mom to actually love her, but she just... doesn't. And how she finds friends who actually care for her, and someone who actually wants her.

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The Black Cat of the Family by Anonymous

To Felix, Chat Noir is freedom. Pure freedom, unhindered by anything (well, except perhaps a little too much dedication to Ladybug). He goes where he pleases when he pleases. He acts so ridiculous, like no one was ever watching, even when everyone was watching. He chafes at orders and authority, even when the orders are coming from Ladybug herself. He's free to be whoever he wants, in a way Felix only wishes he could be. So of course he starts flirting with the catboy. It also doesn't hurt that the superhero is easy on the eyes. Chat Noir, meanwhile, is simply trying to figure out how to reject his cousin without revealing his own secret identity. But when has anything in his love life ever worked out for him? Or, in other words: Somehow the Fathom-Graham de Vanily-Agreste family becomes even more dysfunctional in brand new ways.

This was fun, I liked the natural way Chat caught Felix's attention with his kindness, wit, and hidden depths. It makes sense why Felix would slowly develop a crush on him, while Chat just thinks that he's having fun with his cousin.

Also Chat's reaction when he realizes that Felix is, in fact, confessing his crush on him, is just priceless XD.

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

LOVE ME HARDER!

you swear your favorite color has nothing to do with kaiser. but unluckily for you, the boy’s fallen madly in love with you and has somehow convinced himself that he can connect the dots to make you fall madly in love with him. when you meet his flirting with a tough front though, kaiser has a secret weapon up his sleeve (or under his uniform collar).

gender neutral reader

content warning(s): reader’s favorite color is blue, kaiser’s tattoo isn’t super visible with his uniform in this fic

You loved blue.

You still do. And for the foreseeable future, you weren’t going to ever stop loving the color. It was a color so dear and special to you, and as much as you loved all the other colors, there was something indescribable about the blue hue.

It was everywhere. The color of the sky. The ocean. The small Google Docs icon while you scribbled down notes on your computer. A stray car in the distance while you crossed the road. It was the color of loyalty and knowledge, the cool tones even embodying the mystifying feeling of melancholy. And, if you allowed yourself to get a little pretentious and philosophical, probably the color of the universe. 

What a dignified color. You would never stop loving blue. Not ever. Certainly not now. And you would never extinguish your love of the color because of a man.

But boy, was someone making it difficult.

You always heard him before you saw him: the rumble of footsteps, Ness gushing incoherent praise, the shrill trill of German words hanging in the air. Like an overture before a grand opera, except those thirty seconds were the only prep time you’d get to turn on your heel and book it out of there if you didn’t want to say hello to your biggest headache.

“Oh, daaaarling! There you are! Hey- Don’t run away!”

An outstretched pair of arms materialized on either side of your body, and you let out a loud yelp before you were pulled backwards into a tight hug. You screeched like a feral cat, clawing helplessly at the air while a loud haughty laugh rang out against your eardrums.

It was only when you turned around that the sense of hearing gave out to the sense of sight. Beautiful strands of blond-blue hair swept across your eyes, the twinkle of his golden locks not too unlike the catlike gleam in his pupils. Speaking of his eyes, you hated the stupid bastard for how much blue he had on him and more importantly, how good it looked. Even the smug azure of his crinkled eyes made you stop breathing for just a split second, and your lips parted unconsciously as your hatred momentarily dissipated into wonder at the delicate hue.

“Staring at me? Awwwww, do you think I’m handsome? Of course you do. You wouldn't be so starstruck otherwise,” he chuckled. You instantly snapped out of your stupor, and you twisted your face into a disgusted frown.

“Take your hands off of me, you idiot,” you snarled. “I’m not in the mood to talk to you.”

“Oh? Perfect. I think that’s perfect timing to talk to you.” Kaiser kept one arm slung firmly over your shoulders, expertly placing himself at your side. You dug your heels into the ground and kept your place whenever he tried to edge you closer to his torso, egging you to relax into his touch. “Busy being a little color nerd again? I think it’s adorable that you’d pick your favorite color after me-”

“-I did not pick my favorite color after you,” you huffed. You crossed your arms, and you glared directly up at him (this time, you took extra care not to get lost in his eyes). “Do you really think I don’t have a personality or something? To pick a favorite color after a man?”

He shrugged. “Hey, I’m a pretty charming guy, if I do say so myself. Just now, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of me. I’d say I wear the color well. Say, if I swapped my red eyeliner out for a blue one, would that make you stare at me even more?”

You wanted to push him off, but you knew better than to engage a professional athlete in a half-wrestle-half-run-for-your-life-thing. “In your dreams. You’re an atrocious mix of colors.”

“Sure.” He easily brushed your words off. He broke out into his usual smug grin, chuckling at you as if he were a cat toying with a mouse. If he could, you swore that he’d gobble you up in one bite and leave no crumbs. “But I’d say blue is totally my color.”

Red hot annoyance flooded your body. This was so unlike you, to be moved to such anger that you’d be thinking of any color other than your favorite cyan hue, but something about this man made you want to beat him to a bloody pulp until he truly was nothing more than a mix of crimson and black and white broken bones. 

“Blue is MY color!” You grumbled. “I liked it even before I met you! Hell, I probably understand it better than you do! Dipping your hair in Kool-Aid and being born with blue eyes doesn’t automatically make blue your color! It’s my favorite color, and me liking it has nothing to do with you! Not everything revolves around you, Kaiser!”

You fumed at him, having blurted out all of the tension mounting inside of your chest. You stood there, wanting to claw off the weight of his arm across your shoulders. You wondered if Kaiser would yell back at you, if those beautiful sapphire eyes of his would narrow into small slits before he’d wind up for the pounce, if he truly would swallow you up into a void of blue nothingness just to prove you wrong.

But instead he threw his head back, and he laughed heartily.

“You’re too funny for your own good.” He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye with his other hand, and he barely held himself together long enough to look at you. “The world? Revolve around me? Maybe to all those other stupid commoners. Those brainless fools need a stunning star to guide them. To give them any purpose in life.”

You grimaced, skin crawling with disdain as he yanked you closer. His free hand caressed the outline of your cheeks and jaw, and you let out a small “eep!” as he hooked his fingers under your chin to gingerly lift your face to meet his. You held your breath as the German prodigy leaned in, until the silhouette of his peach-pink lips were much too close to your mouth for your liking.

“But, darling… Oh, my sweet, stupid darling…” His voice was far too smooth for your own liking. Like the lining of a regal blue mink-fur lined cape, the kind you’d see in a 1700s painting of a king, the edge you get from swallowing down a mouthful of ice water. He looked too pleased with himself, having you ensnared perfectly in his arms like this. The thick tension that hung between the two of you felt like poisoned honey, and he shook his head at you mockingly. “If anyone were to pay attention closely, they’d know that the script is much more different for you than it is for those everyday fools.”

“Don’t lump me in your weird fantasy.” You blinked at him defiantly. He pursed his lips slightly, but Kaiser didn’t waver even once. 

“All I want to say is that there’s nothing wrong in admiring beautiful things. If you like blue that much, nothing wrong with admiring the blue on me, is there? It’s unhealthy to deny yourself the things that you love so much.” He let you go finally, and you practically leapt out away from him. “If you don’t want to throw yourself at my feet and beg to play the role of my dedicated love interest, that’s fine too! Although, I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to. Anyone would be honored to have my attention the way you do.”

“You’re a self-centered prick. I don’t want to give you any more attention than what I’m already wasting on you.”

“That’s what I’m saying! If you let down your high walls and properly let yourself admire me for the beautiful, charming, handsome guy I am, then it wouldn’t be a waste of your time.” He expertly flicked his hair over his shoulder, winking at you as some of the strands tumbled down his collarbones and back. As atrocious of a haircut as it was, you did have to admit that the color of his weird gradient was very pleasing to your eyes.

But you’d rather eat knives than admit it out loud. 

“You’ll have to try harder than that. Anyone can dye hair,” you muttered, thoroughly unconvinced. “And before you ask, I’m not interested in staring at your eyes either. Blue eyes mean nothing to me. And I can always go buy color contacts off the internet and stare at those instead if I really want to.”

“Boo! That’s so boring! Wouldn’t you want a real living person? Someone with personality?” He pouted.

You rolled your own eyes. “Yeah. Someone that doesn’t have a stick stuck up their ass.”

Kaiser pressed his lips into a line, suddenly lost in heavy thought. He knew your patience was already running thin with him, and while it was frustrating that the typical antics he’d lavish onto his fans wasn’t netting him the reaction he wanted from you, it still thrilled him the same. You were so tough to crack! He knew deep down that you had some heart for him and that you loved admiring beautiful things! And was he not the most beautiful thing of them all? He was skilled, talented, the kind of guy anyone should be flattered to have. All he needed was to convince you with something unique, something that no other groupie or fan of his couldn’t have, and maybe that would be the key to luring you over.

To turn that burning red hatred of yours into a calm, placated blue interest.

“Well, what if I give you something truly special then? If I could show you something that you have to admit is beautiful, would you admire me then?” He offered tentatively. You sniffed, keeping your head held high, but he took your silence to mean that it wasn’t a complete refusal.

He broke out into the biggest grin you had ever seen. Your confidence wavered slightly at his smug smirk, and nervousness prickled over your skin. You held your breath as Kaiser slowly raised his hand to his neck. Two fingers hooked onto the golden collar of his Bastard Munchen uniform, which covered a generous portion of his neck.

He yanked down. 

A flash of deep, royal blue stunned your vision, and your eyes instinctively widened. Kaiser tilted his neck to the opposite side, making sure you could catch a proper glimpse at the part of his throat that was normally concealed by his uniform. You felt like something inside of your brain had violently hit the brakes the moment the color hit your eyes. 

Roses.

Beautiful, beautiful blue roses. 

You’re automatically entranced by them. They’re tattoos, each expertly painted on his skin with a careful hand. The black outline makes the rich hues pop even more against his body, and while you tiptoe forward to catch a better view, you can only make out the better part of one of the bigger roses. The rest are covered by his uniform, and you can see the hint of inked thorns traveling away from the flowers and towards his arm. 

Kaiser instantly caught the shift in energy from you. He wisely kept his mouth shut, but some prideful part of him was celebrating inwardly. He let you step closer to admire the handiwork on his body, your curiosity delighting him to no ends.

You wanted to touch them. To touch him. Oh, you could imagine the feeling of soft rose petals under your fingertips while you were utterly mesmerized by his tattoo, almost forgetting that it was just an inked drawing rather than real flowers.

“Well? Isn’t it lovely?” 

You flinched, snapping back to life. Dumbfounded, you were at a loss for words. It was completely unlike you to not have some kind of mean comeback to snark at him with, but the secret weapon Kaiser had on hand was too much. His tattoo had overwhelmed you in a heartbeat, the artistic touch only making you want to see it again.

But unfortunately for you, he adjusted his uniform back into its regular position with a cruel smile. “See? I knew you’d like it. Do you want to look at it again? Oh, I know you do. C’mon, tell me. Tell me you want to see it again. It’s not like I’m going to refuse.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, and very hesitantly, you swallowed back your pride. “Can… Can I see your tattoo again?”

“With pleasure, darling.” He cooed. He paused for a moment, and he pulled you closer towards him. You gulped nervously when he peered down at you, clearly savoring the victory he had earned by pulling wool (or in this case, a lovely tattoo) over your eyes. 

“But why don’t I take you to my room instead? I’ll take off my shirt for you. That way you can see the entire thing. And then you can fawn over me properly. You just said you wanted to see my tattoo again. Those pretty roses,” he leaned in, tempting you over and over with the fleeting memory, “Those pretty, pretty roses that are in your absolute favorite color.”

You were torn, and Kaiser reveled in that tormented expression of yours.

He held his hand out. “No need to be shy. Let me show you all sorts of beautiful blue things, my darling.”

x

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Hello! This is a fic rec of my all-time favorite fics. These fics have really stuck with me over the years, and I've read many of them multiple times. This is an ongoing fic rec, that I will continue to update. These fics are organized by word count from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

Of Mates and Men by bananaheathen / @bananaheathen (630k)

In which, Louis and Harry meet as best men for their best friends' wedding... well... sort of.

Or, the one where Harry's just moved back from New York and Louis doesn't believe in romance.

Or, I guess... the one where Zayn and Liam are getting married.

Hiding Place by orphan_account (365k)

Louis never wanted a soulmate, didn’t really care for the whole Bonding thing at all, really. Enter Harry Styles, who’s wanted to be Bonded for as long as he could remember. With one fateful meeting in an X Factor bathroom, Louis gets a dagger on his arm and the realization that just because Harry is his soulmate doesn’t mean it’s mutual.

From the X Factor house to Madison Square Garden, from the Fountain Studios stage to stadiums across the world, Louis has to learn to love without losing himself completely, because someday his best friend will Bond to someone and replace Louis as the center of his universe. Meanwhile, Harry begins to think that maybe fate doesn’t actually know what it’s doing after all, because his other half has clearly been right in front of him the whole time. All he has to do now is convince Louis to give them a chance.

Or, the canon compliant Harry and Louis love story from the very beginning, where the only difference is that the love between them is literally written on their skin, and there’s only so much they can hide.

You Can Hear It In The Silence by imogenelee / @imogenleefic (234k)

When Harry Styles was accepted into a post-grad degree, he knew he could no longer afford his flat, leaving him with three options: 1) Move back into student halls. 2) Become homeless. 3) Move in with his best (and only) friend, Niall, and three of Niall's other mates. He went with the third option. But it was a close race. Shame one of his roommates reminded him why he only has one friend. If there is one thing Louis Tomlinson can't stand, it's pretentious tossers, having grown up around enough of them. If there is one thing he can't live without, it would be his friends. So he was proper thrilled to move in with his best mates and a couple of other lads. That was until he discovered one of them was the archetype for a pretentious tosser.

In the interest of seeing out the twelve-month lease without killing each other, they both try (debatable) to get along despite believing they are opposite in almost every conceivable way, each having the communication skills of a cucumber, and secrets that have no business be kept secret.

One More Time Again by orphan_account (232k)

Harry looks down to where Louis is cradling his hand between his own. Louis' hands are slender, the bones delicate, the nails bitten short. The 2-8 on the backs of his fingers is gone, but the faded scar from a skateboarding mishap in Year 7 is still there.

Harry's hand is awkward, knobby-boned and naked, no rings, no tattoos. It's too big for his wrist and his wrist too big for his arm. Yet it still somehow fits in Louis' in the painfully perfect way it always did.

He blinks back the sting in his eyes.

On the morning of his second sold-out performance at Madison Square Garden, Harry wakes up to find that he's sixteen years old, on The X Factor, and that he has a chance to make things right.

A canon-compliant fix-it fic (sort of).

Stranger Stars by shaylea (212k)

Five years ago, Africa offered a grieving Louis Tomlinson an escape from an England he couldn't tolerate. Now it's become home as he leads overland tours across the continent with his best friend and driver Zayn Malik. What's meant to be just another ordinary six-week trip from Cape Town to Nairobi turns into anything but, when future lawyer/current photographer and songwriter Harry Styles and his friends join Louis' latest set of passengers.

Given A Chance by fabby / @fabby1d (173k)

Five years after One Direction took their last tour, the last thing Louis Tomlinson ever expected to happen while on a tea run at the local Piggly Wiggly was to run into his ex-boyfriend and ex-bandmate Harry Styles.

The odds of them ever running into each other again had to be super slim, right?

Wrong.

What happens when you mix ex-boyfriends with a large serving of Small Town America? Will Louis and Harry be able to set aside their differences, or will Louis be able to stay breezy as fuck in the wake of Harry’s arrival?

(or, the one where Louis and Harry run into each other five years after One Direction ends and learn how to love each other again. Featuring: Reggie as the overweight labrador, Niall as Louis’ last grip on reality, and Nowheresville, North Carolina as the setting for Louis’ worst nightmare to come true.)

The Wonderlands by stylinsoncity /  @aliensingucci (150k)

"Somewhere between chaos and control — these are the wonderlands."

Harry's daughter, Andy, is signed to Louis' girl band. Her path to success is marked by competition, chaos, and for Harry, a love affair.

As You Are by Zarah5 (139k)

AU. Five years after The X Factor launched his career as a radio host and songwriter, Louis Tomlinson returns as a judge. Falling for a contestant is the last thing he needs. It's also against his contract.

The only reason Harry auditions for The X Factor is because his best mate signed the two of them up as some kind of joke. Harry doesn't get the big deal—not until he's faced with this season's judges and realises that one of them used to be his desperate, impossible teenage crush.

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry / @isthatyoularry (136k)

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

Empty Skies  by green_feelings / @greenfeelings (134k)

For three years, Harry has been running from his past. Now, he is moving to London and pledges to fulfil his only dream – making it big in the music industry. Not everyone has a place, though, and the competition is tough. As is his past catching up on him.Louis is part of the biggest boy band of the world, and getting there had meant a lot of hard work, as well as sacrificing parts of his heart and soul. He’s still happy. Maybe not as happy as he could be, but who is he to complain?

Let's Fall in Love in a Place You Want to Stay by embro (134k)

A George of the Jungle / Tarzan AU where Louis is a model who meets Wild Man Harry in the Congo. He was raised by apes and barely speaks a word of English and turns Louis' life upside down.

Love Is A Rebellious Bird by 100percentsassy, Gloria_Andrews / @gloriaandrews (134k)

AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

Don't hum Bolero.

Oxford AU Series by stylinsoncity / @aliensingucci (130k)

Come As You Are  (77k) “I think it could be like this all the time,” Harry says. “I know it doesn’t make sense but I think you should consider it. I could make you happy if you let me.” louis is a professor of literature at oxford and harry is his newest and most eager protege. both are caught in a story about forbidden love, loss and second chances, in which one is on the brink of heartbreak and the other comes along when he's needed most. Overwhelmingly You (47k) more reflections post-oxford. Notes on Oxford (5k) glimpses at life before, during and beyond oxford, in no particular order

Wild Love bypurpledaisy / @harrydaisy (130k)

“Good,” Julia says, clearly pleased to have them both uncomfortable and unable to look at each other. “Now, I only have one more question before you can go. What are you planning to do when this experiment ruins your friendship?”

“We said we’d stay friends no matter what,” Harry says smoothly, his chin lifting in defense.

“That was our one thing going into it,” Louis agrees. “Stay friends no matter what.”

Julia raises a perfectly manicured brow, “That’s all fine and good. But I hope you realize your emotions aren’t going to realize this is an experiment in the end. If one of you falls for the other and finds out those feelings are not reciprocated, you’re not going to be able to laugh it off as a social experiment. I’m not saying you shouldn’t do this, I’m just hoping you’ve considered all of the possible outcomes.”

- AU: Two best friends try to date each other for forty days. It’s supposed to be fun until emotions make it complicated.

After All These Years byLifeInAColorWheel (127k)

It’s been seven years since One Direction went on hiatus and it’s been eight years since Louis and Harry broke up. They’ve been strangers to one another since then.

But, over the course of a weeklong boys’ trip, history between Harry and Louis resurfaces.

Or,

The one when Louis and Harry don’t talk, connect again years later, and reflect on why their love collapsed.

Wild and Unruly by 100percentsassy, Gloria_Andrews / @gloriaandrews (123k)

Harry is a cowboy sitting on the biggest oil reservoir in Wyoming, and Louis is the paralegal assigned to pressure him into selling his land.

I'll Fly Away by juliusschmidt / @juliusschmidt (122k)

Harry and Louis grew up together in Lake County, Harry with his mom and stepdad in a tiny cottage on Edward’s Lake and Louis in his family’s farmhouse a few minutes down the road. But after high school, Louis stuck around and Harry did not; Harry went to Chicago where he found a boyfriend and couple of college degrees. Six years later, Harry ends up back in Edwardsville for the summer and he and Louis fall into old patterns and discover new ones.

ft. One Direction, the local boyband; Horan’s Bar and Grill; families, most especially children and babies; Officer Liam Payne; many local festivals and fireworks displays; and Anne Cox, PFLAG President.

Bitter Tangerine by purpledaisy / @daisyharry (119k)

Maybe it’s Niall, he reasons to calm his storming heart. Maybe he’s not actually gone for the holidays yet, maybe Harry got the dates confused. Slowly, he holds his breath and pushes the kitchen door open. The first thing he sees make him jump, a wooden spoon held out like a sword. Once his brain processes the sight in front of him, it’s less the sword that gets him than who is attached to the wooden spoon.

“Harry,” the swordsmen speaks before Harry can, his voice low and steady though confusion laces each word.

Harry’s breath catches. Every string around his heart, all the protection he spent nine months building, rips out and tears open all at once as he says, “Hi Louis.”

-

AU: Nine months after they break up, a twist of fate brings Harry and Louis back together at Christmas.

Never Be by cherrystreet / @cherrystreet (117k)

Monica: You've got to see her again.Ross: And why do you care so much?Monica: Because! You could get to live out my fantasy!Ross: You had fantasies about Emily?Monica: No! Y’know, the fantasy! Meet someone from a strange land, fall madly in love, and spend the rest of your lives together.  

The one where Harry Styles moves to Connecticut from England for nine months as a part of a study abroad program, and he just so happens to move in with Louis Tomlinson and family.

Burn to Ash by bethaboo (116k)

Harry is sitting there, so fucking casual, and Louis realizes in a split second he was not ready. When Harry walked out in Detroit and never looked back, he was a boy verging on a man, still only twenty years old, but there's a man in his place now. Hard and resolute, yes, but still, for the first time in a long time, Louis can kind of see the old Harry in him. The soft, directness of his gaze, the hesitant smile he gives to Lou, the way he wrings his ridiculously large hands in his lap.

He's a little bit the eager sixteen year old puppy dog again, his innocence and sweetness resurrected miraculously, and Louis freezes in place. He was prepared to face the asshole Harry. He was prepared to meet a whole new Harry.

Louis is not prepared to meet one of the old incarnations of Harry, and it absolutely tears him up.

Or the fic where Harry spirals out of control, the band breaks up, and then he shows back up, five years later.

Mine Would Be You by crinkle-eyed-boo / @crinkle-eyed-boo (114k)

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn’t intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

Tired Tired Sea by mediawhore / @mediawhorefics (113k)

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

Babydoll Blues by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain (111k)

Louis is a high profile, filthy rich label executive who has the world at his feet - a music god.. Harry is the sugar baby trying to make a name for himself singing in shady bars and hanging off the arm of Louis' biggest rival. What Louis wants, Louis gets. But what if the game gets too hot and hits a little too close to the heart?

To Haunt a Heart by etherealbliss / @givesuethemoon (110k)

A high-profile double homicide in the quiet, small town of Ashford, WA sends shockwaves through the public. Louis, the lead detective assigned to the case, is headstrong, earnest, and desperate to prove himself. Harry, the widow of one of the victims, is insufferably rich, wears far too many vintage dressing gowns, and is desperate to prove he’s not guilty.

Their desperation unexpectedly blossoms into something beautiful behind closed doors, amidst the ticking time bomb of a slowly unravelling mystery that the two soon find themselves deeply entwined in.

The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by kingsofeverything / @kingsofeverything (103k)

Louis’ life is steady and calm, moored by his marriage, and tied to his hometown, but after a chance encounter with another man, it’ll never be the same.

Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose by certainsadness (103k)

“There’s something so great about watching you interact with art,” Harry said quietly. “Like, when you were giving the tour, you were just so you, and so happy and excited and funny and engrossing. But then when you’re looking at the art, when it’s, like, just for you, you get so quiet and observant.” He pressed a kiss to Louis’s shoulder. “But you still seem so you, and so happy. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you as happy as you’ve been tonight.” He kissed his shoulder again. “As you are right now.” A shiver went up Louis’s back. “I’m happy when I’m with you,” he said.

Or, Louis loved art and Harry was a masterpiece.

Emperor's New Clothes by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships (92K)

The fact that Louis’s most precious belonging was a cat with a face like thunder and an uncanny ability to cover every single inch of Louis’s clothing with cat hair was something that Louis chose not to think about too much.

or: Harry’s a pop star and Louis isn’t, and there’s a non-disclosure agreement where there used to be a relationship.

Behavioural Ecology by turtlekz / @turtlekz (81k)

Louis Tomlinson is a primatologist working with the Jane Goodall Institute for primate conservation; and Harry Styles is the photojournalist sent from National Geographic to write a piece promoting awareness about the endangered species. They meet, and love is never, ever simple, as we know.

Featuring Eli the chimpanzee, bickering humans, storytelling, and five men who come to gain an understanding of what it means to be human; all stationed in the Republic of the Congo.

Do Not Go Gentle by afirethatcannotdie / @afirethatcannotdie (70k)

“This is all a game to you, isn’t it? Well, it’s not for me. This is a real life or death situation,” Louis says, spitting the words at him. “And I just don’t think you’re cut out for it.”

For a moment, they stare at each other in complete silence. Harry can feel his blood thrumming between his ears, can see Louis glaring at him, feels red-hot anger. And then all he feels, oppressively and desperately, is lust.

Suddenly Louis is surging up to him to press his lips against Harry’s. Harry walks the two of them backwards, pressing Louis back against the door. Louis oomphs in surprise and brings his hands under Harry’s scrub top, scratching at his lower back.

“Lock — oh — lock the… fucking door,” Louis mutters.

When Harry Styles starts his first day as a surgical intern, he expects a lot of things: to treat patients, to observe a surgery, to feel a bit overwhelmed. What he definitely doesn't expect, however, is that the handsome guy he kicked out of his bed this morning is also an intern.

A Grey’s Anatomy AU where tensions are high, Harry and Louis are hooking up in secret, and no one has time for love. Or do they?

To the Ends of the Earth by stylinsoncity / @aliensingucci (68k)

During a yearlong hiatus, Louis visits Harry at his cabin in Idaho, where long-buried feelings ignite like the fire keeping them warm.

A Yuzu Grows in Brooklyn by stylinsoncity / @aliensingucci (66k)

Harry is a recent implant in new york and a young chef opening a restaurant called yuzu. louis, a music teacher and broadway lover, has been around the block for a while. in a city that's so fast-paced, they're slow to catch on to each other.

The Dark and the Dentist by sunshiner / @theprizeofcoolness (66k)

“I know this song,” Louis whispers, and Harry has to lean his ear toward him to pick up what he’s saying. “It was written for people to dance to it. We should be dancing.” We can’t, Harry almost spits, but it’d be stupid of him. Louis knows they can’t. Even if he looks like any regular Parisian in their twenties, and Harry looks like any hipster Parisian in their twenties, they can’t anyway. To be fair, they probably wouldn’t do it even if they were out. But if they were two uni students, both in Paris for an exchange, meeting over fallen books at the library, or because of mutual friends, or watching Monet’s Water Lilies? “How would we dance?” Harry murmurs, mouth almost pressed to Louis’ cheek, so close he can feel his warmth. What a picture they must make, two millionaires freezing in a park and dreaming of a different life.

An account of the events of November 2014. Canon-compliant.

Time Passed by coffinofachimera (66k)

Louis struggles with their relationship as Harry grows into his identity.

Outwit, Outplay, Outlast by dancesongsoul, lookatyourchoices (60k)

“Tommo and Harry are gonna do it. I don’t know when, but they’re gonna do it. They’ve got the mattress, the pillows, everything’s in place, and they’re gonna do it. I really wish those two the best of luck.” –Taylor Swift, "Chapera"

Or a Survivor All-Stars AU in which Harry and Louis are just in this game to win the million dollars, but they end up with something better.

Featuring Harry's yellow swim shorts, Louis in snapbacks, and OT5 shenanigans.

No One Does It Better by nodibs (49k)

Harry’s an alcoholic and Louis is a bartender. The first time they meet isn’t the first time they’ve met.

Sail Away With Me by star_henderson / @star-henderson (47k)

“It’s inhumane putting four blokes in one cabin.” Louis stripped off and climbed up into his top bunk. “And why did we get the smelliest twat on the whole ship and bore of the century?”

Harry shrugged. “We clearly pissed someone off along the way.”

Louis snorted softly. “Who do I have to bend over for to get us an upgrade?”

Harry barked out a laugh. “If only it were that simple.” He rolled his eyes wistfully at Louis.

“The only way I’m going to get a two berth is to throw Payno overboard and be next in line for the deputy cruise director's job.” Louis leaned up on one elbow to look over at Harry. “Would you help me weigh his body down so I don’t go to jail?”

“Only If I can share your cabin.” Harry shuffled about, tucking the duvet between his legs, sweeping his hair up into a bun and securing it in a band. “I’m not being an accessory to murder and then still having to share with them two, no fucking way.”

Or

Louis and Harry are part of the entertainment team on board a luxury cruise liner. They hate sharing their four berth cabin with two other guys and would do anything to get a cabin of their own. One drunken night the solution was simple. They'd just get married...

Be My Little Good Luck Charm by 100percentsassy (34k)

In which Harry is a promising amateur golfer making his debut at the PGA Championship, and Louis is a Sky Sports anchor who would really rather be commentating on footie.

The other boys are around too: caddy!Niall provides victory pints, Liam is Louis's Very Serious co-anchor, and poor Zayn just gets his face drawn on.

Have You Coming Back Again by whoknows (31k)

It’s five o’clock in the morning. Louis has a lecture at half eight. He could be using this time to study or to do his readings or to go to the gym, but - well. He doesn’t have any exams coming up, he’s not going to his seminar today anyway and he hates the gym.

Instead he’s using this time to fuck with Harry Styles’ poor little brain.

Louis jogs across the street and jabs the key into the car door. It opens easily, not that he was expecting anything else. He copied the key for a reason, after all.

He’s got Harry’s schedule memorized, more because the guy keeps following him around than anything, so he doesn’t bother looking around before climbing behind the wheel and setting his bag on the passenger seat. It’s a Monday, which means that Harry doesn’t even get out of bed before noon unless he’s planning on harassing Louis.

Loved By Your Mother by superglass / @gaymoustache (31k)

Harry stretches out like Venus with her lover, growing sleepy in the late afternoon light with a baby growing inside her. Perhaps not literally, not physically. Not exactly.

or

Harry struggles to come to terms with wanting to have children, and what that means for their relationship. Canon compliant, set a few years into the future

[fics-and-quotes-andthelike]

Hello, I miss the show and everyonez writtings help keep the essence of it going. What if: x and Sam lose Dean as in the show and they fight their feelings as to not betray Dean but atlas the give in and little Dean is born. Just a thought. Thank u.

Or Dean meeting his gf parents for the 1st time, that be cute.

Always You

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Word Count: ~2,058

In which Dean meets the reader’s parents for the first time.

A/N: This has been in my inbox for wayyyy too long and I’d like to give a formal apology for that. It's a short fic, but I hope you enjoy it!!

Relationships between hunters didn’t last forever. It was something that all hunters knew, which is why relationships were something that most hunters avoided. It was an unspoken rule. 

Dean Winchester had never been a fan of rules.

At the moment though, he couldn’t help but wish that he had followed the rules. If he had, maybe he wouldn’t be in this situation, on one of his most important missions yet.

Meeting his girlfriend’s parents.

He looked in the mirror, frowning at his reflection. He was wearing his usual flannel button up and pants, his hair a bit mussed.

You had insisted that the gathering was completely casual, and that your parents would like it a lot better if he showed up as himself instead of playing a part to try and impress them. But as he continued looking himself over, he couldn’t help but start to second guess your judgment, even if he knew by now that you were always right.

He heard the door to his room open, his eyes finding yours in the mirror. You were dressed in casual clothes as well, a simple shirt and pants, looking more at ease and comfortable than he’d seen you in a while.

Not to say that you were never at ease. But most days, the two of you were in your hunter gear, or at least carrying concealed weapons on you. Even when you had a day without hunting, when you posed as regular civilians, you had a look of caution in your eyes and a hand near your knife. You were never really at rest, even when you were asleep, with one hand on the gun under your pillow. But today, he silently thanked your parents for inviting the two of you over if it meant he could see you in a calm state for a few hours.

You smiled lightly as you looked him up and down. “You ready?”

He shook his head, still looking at you in the mirror. “You sure I shouldn’t show up in a suit?”

You laughed as you walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, your chin resting lightly on his shoulder. “No way, they’d think you were totally pretentious. And kind of a jerk.”

“We’re hunters, being pretentious is part of the job.”

“Maybe with regular civilians, yeah. But not with each other.”

Dean’s eyes softened and he turned, gathering you up in his arms. Being a hunter had taken everything from him. His friends, his family, and even his brother more than a few times. It had taken you too, once.

He gripped you tighter. Those few months without you had been absolute torture. He’d gotten more reckless, more aggressive. He’d tried to push Sam away, and isolate himself from the rest of the world. But Sam hadn’t let Dean give up on you. The two of them had worked tirelessly to find a way to get you back.

Multiple failed attempts had worn Dean out quickly. But Sam never tired, and never quit. He knew he would have given anything to get Jess back, and he wouldn’t let the same thing happen to his brother.

And then one day, their efforts paid off.

Dean snapped out of his thoughts as you pulled back. You tilted your head, looking up at him with concern. “You okay?”

Dean smiled, leaning down to press his lips to yours. “Yeah, I’m alright. You ready?”

You nodded, a grin spreading across your face. “I’m ready.” You walked towards the door before turning back to look at Dean, a smile on your face. “You coming, Winchester?”

He grinned. “Lead the way.”

~~~

The two of you stood side by side, Dean tense and rigid. You looked over at him and nudged him gently. “You’re going to do great. You brought me back to life, remember? Literally. They already love you for that.”

Dean nodded stiffly as the door in front of them opened. He immediately relaxed his stance and watched as a big smile broke out over your mom’s face.

She stepped forward and held you in her arms tightly, tears streaming down her face. She pulled back and brushed your hair away from your face. “My baby, my baby,” she mumbled as she pulled you in again to pepper kisses across your face.

You laughed and pulled back against her grip. “Nice to see you too, mom.” You turned towards your boyfriend and motioned towards him. “This is Dean.”

Your mom smiled gently. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean plastered on a charming grin, reaching out a hand politely. “Nice to meet-”

He cut off as your mom stepped forward and embraced him, her arms wrapped tightly around him. 

Dean froze. 

It had been so long since someone other than you or Sam had given him any time of physical affection. It was…..nice. He could feel a warmth in his heart. A warmth that felt almost familiar. One that he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

He slowly wrapped his arms around your mom, allowing the tension to slowly ease out of him.

Your mom held him tighter. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For bringing her back.” She pulled back and set a light hand on his cheek before nodding and turning away.

She grabbed onto your hand and started to pull you inside the house. “Hurry up, you two, before the food gets cold.”

~~~

Dean steadied himself against the bathroom sink, his fingers clutching on to the edge so tightly that they were turning white.

He had expected many things when he had come to your house, and had even prepared for many worst case scenarios. Maybe the group of you would be ambushed by demons, or jumped by angels. Maybe your parents would hate him and he’d never be able to show his face in front of them again. 

What he hadn’t expected, though, was for your parents to be so kind.

After your mom had dragged the two of you into the house, you had been engulfed in another hug by your dad, his eyes wet and his grip tight even as you laughed and reassured him that you were here, and you were okay, and you were alive. 

When he had finally let go, your father had turned his eyes on Dean, straightening up and walking forward purposefully. Dean reached out a hand once again. “Nice to meet you, Mr. -”

For the second time in only a few minutes, Dean was cut off and pulled into a warm embrace. Your father was silent, but his hug was warm and strong, one of his hands on the back of Dean’s neck, almost as though he were cradling him gently. 

The warm feeling was filling Dean’s heart again, but this time, he could remember where he recognized it from. It was the same feeling that he’d gotten every time Bobby would pull him into a hug after a bad hunt. It was the feeling he’d gotten when Bobby had taken him out to be a regular boy for a few hours when his dad was off on a hunt. It was a feeling of safety and security. 

It was a feeling that he’d thought he’d never have again.

As soon as he’d been released, Dean had excused himself and asked for directions to the bathroom, pretending that he didn’t see your worried expression as he hurried away.

Now, as he braced himself against the bathroom sink, he couldn’t help but curse under his breath. What was he doing? He was Dean freaking Winchester. He’d killed vampires and ghosts, fought angels and demons, and crawled back from Hell itself. So why was it so hard for him to face your parents?

He took a deep breath, releasing his death grip on the sink and stepping back, looking up at himself in the mirror. It was only for a few hours. He could handle this for a few hours.

A light knock sounded at the door, causing Dean’s head to swivel quickly. He ignored his pounding heart as he walked towards the door and opened it, coming face to face with you, a worried smile on your face. 

“Hey,” you said, your eyes scanning his face for any indication of what was bothering him. “You okay?”

Dean forced a smile on his face, nodding once and giving you a wink. “You couldn’t stay away from me for more than a minute, huh?”

You tilted your head, still staring. You’d been worried that something like this would happen. You had voiced your concerns to Sam just yesterday, asking if maybe introducing him to your loving and huggy parents was a bad idea, since Dean was the first to admit that he wasn’t big on ‘mushy crap’.

Sam had understood what you were really asking almost immediately. “It’s definitely been a while since he’s had to do something like this,” Sam admitted. “But I think it’ll be good for him to finally feel like a part of something like this again.”

You had smiled softly. “He already has that with us.”

Sam had smiled back at you, choosing to wrap you up in a tight embrace instead of responding.

Now, though, you couldn’t help but with that you’d listened to your anxious mind and kept Dean far away from your parents. 

His eyes were darting behind you, as though afraid that your parents would walk in and see him in this state. You pretended not to notice his nervous glances as you reached a hand up and gently cupped his cheek. “We can leave if you’re ready. I’ll say that Gar called with a new hunt.”

Dean pulled back, a mask falling over his face as he gave you another infamous Winchester smile. “You kidding? I can smell the pie from here. Come on, let’s go,” he said as he grabbed one of your hands and gently pulled you forward.

You dug your heels into the ground. “Dean.”

You waited until he turned to face you, a grimace taking the place of his false smile.

“The fact that you even tried,” you said as you took a step forward. “Means the world to me. You mean the world to me. If you want to head out, that’s okay. Honest.” You tilted your head again, a smile slowly forming on your lips. “And if you want to stay, I promise to let you eat all the pie you want. My mom is a gracious server.”

Dean let out a slow exhale at your words. You could practically see his mind working, trying to come up with a solution that would be beneficial for the both of you. Not that you wouldn’t support whatever decision he made. Spending time with your boyfriend without an angry Spirit chasing after you was already a perfect day in your book.

After a moment, Dean looked back down at you, the corner of his lips twitching. “All the pie I want, huh?”

Your smile grew. “And I won’t even tell Sam.”

Dean stared into your eyes, his heart slowing and the fear in his chest dissipating. And he was hit once again with a fact that he always seemed to forget in the face of his hardest battles. He could face anything, as long as he was with you.

The hunter exhaled slowly as you looked up at him with love in your eyes. “Well, how can I turn down an offer like that?” Dean asked with a grin. He reached out and grasped your hand gently, pulling you after him as he made his way back into the dining room.

Maybe this wouldn’t be as easy as he had hoped. Maybe it would be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. But as Dean looked back at you, joy and hope in your eyes, he knew that he would go through it over and over again if it made you happy.

You met his eyes, a spark of amusement dancing over your features. “I knew I could win you over with pie,” you said, a laugh bubbling out of your throat.

It wasn’t the pie, Dean wanted to say as the two of you entered the dining room. Your parents greeted the two of you with broad smiles and plates full of food. It was you.

Always you.

[strawberrycheeks-and-glasses]

Listen to Me

Tsukishima x f!reader | rated E | 5k

Summary: Failing one of your classes, you remember a flyer you saw on campus offering ‘on call’ tutoring sessions. So, in your desperation, you call and develop a crush on the guy’s voice on the other end. Pretty soon, things start to heat up.

A/n: this is very self indulgent porn tbh, pls don’t judge me but I had a craving for a voice kink and the thought of Kei whispering in my ear gave me goosebumps. So~

“Hey there,” the smooth sounding voice on the other end of the phone says, sending a shiver down your spine.

You had seen a flyer on campus for a call in tutoring session a while back and as a joke, you snapped a picture of it for future reference. Well, good thing you did because guess who’s failing chem?

“H-hi,” you hesitate, being completely thrown off by the sound of this guys voice.

“Hello,” he greets again. “Did you need help in a subject, or are you one of those girls who call because they heard I have nice voice?”

“People actually do that? I mean you sound, like a normal guy,” you shrug, fiddling with your pencil.

“I’ve been told my voice is soothing to the ear,” he replies. “Not too deep, but not too high, and with a tone that is both unbothered, yet still attentive.”

“I just meant that you sound familiar, is all,” you scoff a laugh, rolling your eyes at how pretentious he’s sounding.

“I get that a lot,” he chuckles. The sound vibrating through the speaker tickles your ear. “Was there something I could help you with?”

“Oh, right,” you almost forgot why you called in the first place.

Talking you through your chemistry homework like he’s in the same class, he teaches you how to find the compounds and use your graphic calculator with ease. And, yeah, okay, his voice is kind of soothing, but he doesn’t need to know you think that.

“Holy shit, I think I understand now,” you laugh, amazed at how simple it actually is once it was explained in a way you could grasp. “You’re pretty smart aren’t you?” You tease him.

“Well, yeah,” he says, and you can hear him rolling his eyes at your stupid question.

“Okay, nerd,” you playfully insult him.

“This nerd just saved your ass from failing chemistry,” he rebuttals. “And the next time you have to call me for help, I’m charging you. Only the first one’s free.”

“Ugh, fine,” you say, pointedly, ending the call.

Please read the rest on ao3

Also, I’m not sure who to credit for this pic that my friend had saved from Pinterest, the artist is no longer active on Twitter and there is no watermark or signature on the art (I even reversed Google image searched and nothing came up), but if you know who made it pls lmk so I can tag them or link their art!!

Anyway, this is the Kei I think of when I wrote this fic, just to get an idea of why I needed to write this fic 💁🏻‍♀️ (also, my friend said Kei biting on the pen is slut behavior, and I agree I agree I agree)

[thedrarrylibrarian]

Hi! Do you know of any fics where Draco is a rich/powerful businessman? Maybe muggle au’s?

Hello! Your holds have arrived!

I think I've got the exact kind of vibes you're looking for! I hope you enjoy these fics! And as a bonus, be sure to check out this excellent art by @ano-ka-ba.

Rich/powerful businessman Draco

The Potters' Pool Party by @darcyshire (7,453 words, rated T)

When 12-year-old Scorpius is invited to a pool party, worried father Draco insists on tagging along for the sake of safety. By the time Draco realizes whose family is hosting, it's too late for him to back out.

i stay by @hogwartsfirebolt (9,104 words, rated M)

The darkening sky is dangerous for the shape of Harry’s desire, it makes it seem reasonable, as though it were a natural conclusion of having Draco once again within reach, rather than the mirage it actually is.

Seeking: pet carer for Bartholomew (four-year old rescue greyhound, no special needs) by @gallifrey1sburning (14,694 words, rated E)

When Draco’s boyfriend ends their relationship rather abruptly (and, frankly, extremely rudely), he leaves Draco with full-time responsibility for their rescue greyhound, Bartholomew. Draco loves his dog with all his heart, but the long hours he works at his law firm mean that he can’t possibly be home as much as Bartholomew needs. Enter Sirius Pet Care, an app designed to solve this very problem! When Draco books Harry, he’s relieved at how quickly the man and his dog bond. He’s less relieved by how unexpectedly, distractingly attractive Harry turns out to be… and how Draco’s afternoon meetings keep being “mysteriously” cancelled, meaning that he JUST HAPPENS to be home when Harry comes by. After all, it’s not appropriate to ogle one’s employees… right?

to be where I'm going (in the sunshine of your love) by theweightofmywords (19,080 words, rated E)

"He imagined Draco’s smile, all gums and slightly crooked teeth, his hair slicked back with Pacific water, and he knew: He’d travel as long as he’d need to if it meant he’d see that face. If it meant that Draco would hear the message he’d been carrying for so long. Maybe he didn’t have to travel the road alone anymore."

Draco and Harry go on a road trip together. It's about the journey, not the destination.

Uptown Downtown by Sbpagel (29,134 words, rated E)

Draco Malfoy is the spoiled, entitled, pretentious heir to Malfoy Constructions. James Black is a mystery, wrapped in an enigma and tied together with a puzzle.

it was a bad idea ('cause now I'm even more lost) by @all-drarry-to-me (36,446 words, rated T)

When Draco is told his green card is denied and he must return to England, he does the only thing he can think of and starts a fake relationship with the one available person in the room: Harry. The plan is simple — until feelings get involved.

When Trust and Truth Collide by silvergalaxy (47,374 words, rated E)

Harry meets Draco for the first time in the employee break room on a boring Wednesday morning and they immediately hit it off. Chance encounters turn into dates, and dates turn into feelings.

Oh, yeah. Draco's also Harry's boss. Harry has no idea.

Burn the Witch by @lettersbyelise (95,800 words, rated E)

When Harry Potter is sent in to investigate Draco Malfoy’s successful potions company, posing as Draco’s bodyguard, he doesn’t know the case will launch a series of events that will change his life — and Draco’s.

A story about choices, scars, Chopin piano pieces, and finding all kinds of love in the most unexpected places.

Pages of You by @wolfpants (101,717 words, rated E)

Summer, 1980. Harry is floating between university and becoming a Real Certified Adult. He's not ready. He really isn't.

In a desperate attempt to have the Best Last Summer ever, he takes a casual job at his godfather's bookshop in London, starts an illicit pen pal affair with a wordy posh boy that he's catching feelings for, all while dealing with the son of Sirius's business rival, one Draco Malfoy, insufferable know-it-all extraordinaire.

A story about trying to figure out who you are, where you're going in life, and who you want to take along with you.

❤️ As always, if you find a fic you enjoy, please remember to leave the author a kudos or a comment! ❤️

Lots of Love and Happy Reading!

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Day 30

Alright this is a fuckin big one, for a variety of reasons. One of which being that this is the 30th Day, meaning we've hit another Milestone Piece!

First off, last time I’ll link this here, but if you like this comic and want to see it realized in a slightly more fullfilling way, go check out this fanfic which i posted across October.

Secondly, I’m about to Yap. A lot. So i’m gonna put this all underneath to read because it is a lot, which is to be expected since this is a pretty big piece for the project. And alongside that I wanna talk about the Vampire AU fic.

Okay so “where the fuck did this come from,” you might be wondering. Up till now every pic I had made was sketches with the most color being just the eyes. All of those colored pieces were given that color work long after this one, so what the hell possessed me to make a two page comic.

Well you see. I’m a bit of a fuckin weirdo who completely lacks a concept of self control. And I was starting to really, REALLY get into the idea of Vampire Junkan (No fucking surprise there.) And while I had drawn a few pics involving blood sucking up to that point, I hadn’t drawn their first time doing this, and I am very much into the intimacy that comes with Bloodsucking in the context of vampire yuri. And I can’t imagine their would be anything more intimate than the first time a vampire sucks your blood.

So it spiraled out of control from there, and boom, we have a fuckin two page comic.

Before I start talking about the actual Vampire Fic I should detail that this piece was the pivotal shift in the timeline for this project. Because it was with this one (if I remember right) that this BECAME a project. I had joked about drawing 100 Junkan pics a few times with Val, since by this point I was still drawing these at a crazy speed. As I said in a previous post, from Day 3 to Day 30 I did this all in under 2 fucking weeks, even if they weren’t colored that’s wild pace. 

I’ve never asked her but I wonder what that was like from Val’s perspective, just some random chick on tumblr comes up to you and is like-

“Hello there I like your fanfic, do you want to have Junkan art thrown at you nearly every day for the next 2 weeks???” 

That sounds like a fucking fever dream. And that’s not even considering everything else I would just, send to them for the remainder of the projects production. Some would say I’m built differently, I would say I was built concerningly.

Anyway, so by this point I made the official decision that when I hit 100 Pics, I would start posting them to the public. This eventually would be named The 100 Days of Junkan. So thankyou Vampire Junkan you are somehow vital to this whole thing.

Another thing this comic caused is that it was the trigger for me to just say “Fuck it” and just fully lock in on these pieces. I started doing full color on some of these pieces asI was making them initially rather than going back to color them retroactively, I started putting more effort into the pieces even when they were still just sketches, and as a spoiler, once we hit Day 45 i just drop the pretense that I’m not putting effort into this and every fucking pic is full color. There are literally only two of them I did not color and there was actual artistic intent behind it probably i can’t fucking remember.

Also once we hit Day 45 do we hit the point where I just no longer have pics where I feel like they were a dud. Cause I will admit, while I’m glad ya’ll have been enjoying these I can’t lie and say I don’t see some of the pics posted so far and feel like I’ve wasted some of ya’lls time. This is admittedly influenced by the fact that I know what’s coming up and as a result I know the massive jump in quality we’re gonna hit soon enough (in my opinion at least, i feel like I’m being a pretentious bitch about this).

Anyway so how’re you doin. I hope you were snacking on something while you read this because now I’m going to ramble for an unknown stretch of time about the Vampire Junkan Fic and this comic. I’m so fuckin sorry.

So anyway I’ve said briefly before I think but prior to actually writing the Fic I only had this fucking comic. I had vague ideas around it, but never a setup, an overall plot, nothing. I made this fic solely because I thought this scene would be significantly better written rather than drawn by my hands. 

I would not consider myself much of a writer. I have plenty of experience writing action from years and years ago, however in terms of telling an actual story through just writing, i’m an amateur and only had one small fic to my name, however i’m going to retread ground and go over that in much more detail, much later. I am a funny drawing woman first and my biggest desire in life is to make a webcomic called Happy Trigger. That said, ever since getting into Junkan I have had multiple urges to write stories with them since i cannot justify doing full comics as often as would be required. And one such story is that of a vampire nurse who’s never sucked blood before falling in love with someone who desires to have their blood sucked. 

I did start writing this fic a few months prior to the completion of the project. How many? Who fucking knows, it’s been a long time though.

The original first chapter actually went through a pretty big rewrite, mostly because the way I was interpreting vampires in this fic might have been racist?? Maybe???? I did have friends look it over and they said it could be interpreted as such (though they also said I would probably be fine), and I’m going to be real with you this was back when I was deeply paranoid about everything so hearing that there was even a small chance i might have fucked up like that, while also dealing with a ship which at the time I assumed would get me hated by the community, I just went ahead and rewrote. I couldn’t tell you what the original was like because it’s been a long time and i don’t even know if I have the original file. And I honestly don't think the original details would have really or added or changed much.

I had a relatively thin outline for this in my brain once I started. And said outline got pretty much entirely thrown out the window.

Fun fact, the original plan was for Mikan to just run away because people knew she was a vampire, and part of getting her to open up was Sayaka and Ibuki going public about being Vampires as well. Which would then lead into Junko coming in and then all the rest happening.

Scrapped most of that obviously.

So I just ended up taking the approach of “just write it and hope” which would eventually lead to the outline in my brain that became the whole of this fic. Chapter 3 is when things really solidified for me. It’s also where I decided to include a few more characters, Seiko and Ruruka.

I have wanted to draw art involving Ruruseiko and Junkan for so fucking long. Mikan and Seiko are already a dynamic with a lot of potential despite their lack of interactions in canon, meanwhile Junko and Ruruka I imagine would just fucking hate eachother. Tolerating each other only out of bitch girl solidarity and the fact that their girlfriends are besties. 

Originally they were not going to take such an important role, once again I scrapped planned scenes involving Sayaka and Ibuki alongside Mukuro, this would eventually get redone a LOT and reused for the epilogue as the twist that the two are vampires. (Hi, slightly in the future Jem here, I scrapped the epilogue lol. Couldn't get it to feel right, maybe someday!)

However  just couldn’t think of a way to make it work. And then, I considered the idea of Junko getting her wakeup call from a total bitch who she hates rather than her actual friends. And I fucked with it, and I had fun. 

This was my first time writing Junko in a non-despair context, which was a pretty interesting (and difficult) experience. Equally so this is my first time properly trying to write Mikan, even if it was via the lens of her being a vampire which does switch things up a little. I think if I really thought about it Mikan was the harder one to write for though, I was constantly worried that I might be going a bit too overboard for the tragic aspects of her character whenever they came up.

Another thing cut from the story is that Chihiro was supposed to be genderfluid (which is genuinely just how I headcanon Chihiro) in the fic with Junko making specific note of it during her inner monologue. However as I was looking over the chapters again I got extremely paranoid that I did a horrible job depicting that and opted to keep things ambiguous. Was this the right move? Probably not, but this is just how bad my brain can get when I’m doing things other than drawing.

If you were at all curious "Hey Jem, what was the most stressful chapter to work on?" it was the fuckin Aquarium chapter. Not only was it the one I procrastinated on the most but my confidence in it was at at it's lowest for some reason. Fun fact about that one, Junko really was going to ask Mikan about sucking her blood at the end of the chapter, but I decided to keep things simple with a confession and kissing scene. It didn't really change much beyond a bit of inner monologue stuff.

The entire experience was a constant flip flop of me in two different headspaces. I was either-

“Oh hey this is pretty fun, it’s going well”

Or

“Fuck, shit, fuck am I doing this right? Fuck this is gonna suck, shit dammit, I never wanna write again.”

This is what happens when I don’t say in the lane I’m most comfortable with (drawing), self confidence is liable to just completely plummet at some point. Quite frankly if I did not force myself onto a deadline of getting this fic done before day 30 it would not have been finished, at least not for a drainingly long time. I originally wanted to have the whole fic finished before the event started, but time got away from me and the fic itself ended up being way longer than intended. I think this was supposed to just be 6 chapters at first? And it kinda spiraled out of control from there.

I’m just glad I fucking finally got the idea of this comic onto text, it’s been haunting me for the past 9 months. 

I’ve come to the conclusion that I have a very love-hate relationship with Writing, similar to how I feel with painting. I love having a way to get my ideas out there that isn’t super strenuous for me (imagine if I took this whole story and made it a comic, i’d explode), but where it lacks in physical strain, it makes up for in extreme mental strain due to my self confidence and paranoia issues.

That said I likely will write again, the results generally end up outweighing the hellish process, and people seem to like it despite my worries. And I just have far too many ideas and not all of them can be done justice with art alone.

I’ve got a few potential One-shots left that are set in the Vampire AU, one of which i’ll probably write soon. I’ve also got the Cybertron AU that’s been my head for a good bit now which will probably be my next big writing project. I’ve got a few storylines and ideas based on future pieces of this project, and even an idea kicking around from a recent pic I did which I likely won’t execute because I don’t think in a million years I could do the idea justice.

And I also wanna do fics for other ships, like Ruruseiko or Mikuzono (Mukuro x Ibuki x Sayaka). And even outside of Danganronpa I wanna do Flarelu, since I’m a huge Fairy Tail fan and that’s my favorite ship from the series. Imagine if Mikan’s hair was even more skrunkly, and instead  of having an extremely high body count, Junko was just a very friendly girlfailure. There’s like, nothing for that ship, so I’d like to do something like what I’ve been doing for Junkan . . . Y’know just maybe a bit less excessive.

And I've posted them before, but if you'd like to read the fics that inspired the entire Vampire AU . . .

Chapter 10 of Soft (But Only for Her) by Kayleen756894

She Hits Like Ecstasy by VanadisValentine

Check out the rest of their stuff too!~

Anyway, sorry for killing your time with my incessant rambling! But I had thoughts from my brain which I wanted to get out since this is another milestone.

Your kind words are appreciated!~

[voxofthevoid]

Hello, tis time for Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #8 👁

I've spent most of this week wrangling work and being #tired, hence why some 10 asks are still sitting untouched in my inbox. Writing has also been sparse. Not irregular, just happening in small increments. Still, I've crossed 62k, and the fic has gained a chapter. I'm also almost done with the first half. Still no Gojou! But soon.

Click through for a demon version of OG form Sukuna and Malevolent Shrine—and his monster dick. And also dubcon-noncon, you know the drill.

Yuuji doesn’t see it. He doesn’t even really feel it.

The pain hits when he’s already in the air, and then his back’s slamming into something solid and serrated, which shreds his clothes as he slams through it, and it’s only when he’s lying crumpled on an unwelcoming mess of blood and flesh and bone that he realizes he got punched through Sukuna’s shrine.

It’s in pieces around him, under him. When the creeping black clears from the corners of his eyes, he can even see chunks of it melt into the blood. He was wrong earlier. The skull didn’t dissolve into the blood. It just became more blood.

For a moment, Yuuji just lies there, trying to remember how to breathe. Everything tastes like blood—normal blood, his own. It’s there in his throat and his mouth, wetting his chin. He swallows, and the sour bite of it is almost a relief after the cloying rot he’s become used to.

He tries to sit up. His whole body protests, and his stomach is the worst of it because Sukuna kept hitting him there like he wanted to turn Yuuji’s guts into noodles, but he shoves the pain down and forces his muscles to work and—

—and stays right there, trapped in place by blood that turned solid sometime between one breath and the next.

“What the hell,” Yuuji gasps; it comes out wet, more blood spilling down his chin.

He tugs on his arms. Molten heat winds tighter around them, movement writhing in his periphery, and when he turns his head to the side, he finds that it’s not the blood that’s looping around his arms but sinewy strands dripping gore, white and red and scorching.

He stares down the length of his body, watching more of them slither all over him, and they’re not just holding him down, they’re stripping him, sliding under the fabric that survived being grated through the shrine and snapping it right off. Yuuji hisses when they target his waistband, not wanting these weird wet things anywhere neat his dick.

Not that they give a shit what he wants, turning his pants into scraps in an explosive burst of motion.

They don’t touch his dick, thank fuck, but they curl around his thighs and calves and ankles, spreading them wide and pulling them down deeper into the blood, and it’s hot, both the blood lapping at his skin and the sinews digging into his flesh, but that’s not the distracting part. It’s the way they move, writhing and flexing and pulsing on his like—

“Dude,” Yuuji says incredulously, “this is like bad hentai.”

“Keep your perversions to yourself.” Sukuna comes into view feet-first, his billowing pants shifting just enough to expose the dark lines circling his ankle. The blood is solid and steady under him again. “But you can’t, can you? This is your nature—to writhe in the wastes like a worm.”

Yuuji bares his teeth in a snarl that hurts his whole face. “I thought corruption was my fucking nature, you pretentious asshole.”

“Mind your mouth,” Sukuna says, dangerously mild. “I can hardly give you credit for that, fool. Even now, you squander my work and stain my bloodline.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

Sukuna’s only response is to step closer, right between Yuuji’s spread legs. He’s barefooted too, and his toenails are black. Fingernails too. Yuuji would like to amuse himself with the thought of Sukuna sitting around painting his nails, frowning and almost pouting the way Kugisaki does, but he’s pretty fucking sure that the color is all natural, just like the black marks crawling all over his body aren’t tattoos at all.

When those toes press to the inside of his thigh, they scrape the skin like little knives.

Yuuji’s leg tenses up in instinctive, useless defense. Something else clenches too, further up.

“Oh, hell no,” Yuuji hisses at his cock. “Come on.”

It doesn’t listen, continuing to swell with blood.

Sukuna’s clawed foot creeps closer and closer to it, and Yuuji’s balls draw up tight. He can’t even fool himself that it’s an attempt at escape, not when his dick’s fucking saluting Sukuna already.

At least his bindings are staying away from it. Or maybe that’d help. Yuuji can’t imagine staying hard while wrapped up in bloodstained sinew.

But he really doesn’t want to test it.

“Oi, pervert,” he grits out, “stop creeping and let me go.”

“That eager to die?”

“Huh?!”

“I’ve slaughtered whole villages for a fraction of the disrespect you’ve shown me,” Sukuna says casually, all four of his eyes fixed on Yuuji’s cock; they look…hungry. “It’s only your luck that I have a better use for you.”

“Get away from me!” Yuuji snaps, and it’s useless, he knows it’s useless—

“Would you rather I take Fushiguro Megumi instead?”

Yuuji freezes, the blood under him rippling viciously. “Don’t you—”

Sukuna steps on his cock, flattening it to his stomach, and Yuuji’s words die in a graceless blend of shock and anger. “Did you think hiding would save you? Save him?”

“I’ll save him,” Yuuji promises, ignoring his throbbing cock and the foot now massaging it to focus on Sukuna’s ink-stained face.

“Fool,” comes the verdict. “You can’t even save yourself. Do not mistake my indulgence for weakness. I could’ve taken him any moment I chose. I can do it right now. Perhaps I will, if you continue to disappoint me.”

It’s funny, how cold he can feel even with such blistering all around and inside him.

Sukuna smiles, creeping and triumphant, like he’s won.

And he has, hasn’t he?

Yuuji’s been losing from the start.

There’s no movement, not even a sign. One moment, Sukuna’s wearing dark, loose pants, and the next, he’s naked. Yuuji stares dumbly at an obscenely thick thigh, easily bigger than his head and banded with dark stripes thicker than the ones on his biceps. And to the side, dangling between his legs—

“What is that?”

“This?” Sukuna asks mockingly, one of his hands curling loosely around the base of what can only be his cock. “Have you forgotten already, brat? I recall you being quite greedy once you got a taste.”

Yuuji shakes his head, wincing when hot blood laps at his ears, and yeah, he does remember blowing Sukuna on the altar, suckling on his cock even after it softened because there was a need in him he’d never felt before—

No. No, that’s not right. He had felt it before, in the dream that was not a dream. The cock that was forced into his mouth, hard in places it shouldn’t be and molten everywhere else. It branded his tongue and his throat, and he got—

Yuuji swallows thickly, his mouth and his face ripe with heat.

He got so hungry.

But he’s never seen it before. Not even on that Sunday, when Sukuna was wearing this form. Yuuji just…never looked there. It wasn’t part of this man he wanted. It still isn’t, but he can’t look away. It’s not a human organ—there’s barely any flesh visible, just black chitinous plates with glowing embers in between. And it’s not as thick as Yuuji’s own dick, but it’s almost twice as long—longer than any dick should be, proportional not even on this man. It looks like someone carved a malformed cock out of a volcano and stuck it between Sukuna’s legs, except it looks so natural dangling there, the black of the plates merging seamlessly with the thick bush above it. The hairs at the top are pink, just like Yuuji’s, but they’re black as night at the base of the cock and along the crease of each thigh, just like Yuuji’s.

Sukuna strokes his cock, slow and leisurely. The embers glow.

“This is bad hentai,” Yuuji says, dazed and despairing and something else too.

“Careful,” Sukuna says, his voice gone low and reverberant. “I might think you’re insulting me.”

“I am.”

“Insolent.” It’s far too casual, no bark or bite, and that should be warning enough, but Yuuji’s still not prepared for the crushing weight on his cock or its abrupt absence, and by the time he stops blinking away tears and wheezing, Sukuna is— “No matter. I was going to punish you anyway.”

Yuuji wheezes again—a thin, high noise. Sukuna settles more firmly on his thighs, the tip of that inhuman cock poking Yuuji’s balls.

It’s hot, like a kiss from an overheated lightbulb.

Yuuji flinches, a violent full-bodied thing that gets him nowhere except deeper into the blood, forcing him to strain his neck so that it won’t trickle into his ears.

Despite everything, his cock is still hard, and when Sukuna leans forward, his monster dick slots against Yuuji’s own length, hard plates and hot flesh branding it from head to base.

“Get that thing away from me,” Yuuji says through gritted teeth.

“Don’t be like that,” Sukuna practically croons, vile from his voice to his eyes. The belly mouth is leering, all teeth, and that’d be unsettling all on its own, but the sheer proximity to his cock makes something inside Yuuji shudder and shrivel. “I could always feed it to you instead.”

“I’ll fucking bite it off!”

“You’ll take it like a whore,” Sukuna says, infuriatingly confident. “That’s the problem, brat—you’d enjoy it too much. And that wouldn’t be punishment, would it?”

[i-am-beckyu]

One Small Gift

HELLO! I TOLD YOU I'D POST ONE MORE FIC THIS YEAR! And I am very proud of myself for making it a Christmas centered fic! I can't believe it's actually been a year since I last posted a Christmas fic. Like where did the time go and how did this thing spawn?

I'm gonna ramble a bit more at the bottom of this fic about me and the community but lets not hold you up any longer so I give you: The Christmas Fic- One Small Gift :3

cw: fear, death mention (but no actual death), lying, panic and anxiety, fluff- Like, ALOT of Fluff, hidden identity and of course happy endings. You know, the usual angst/fluffy Beckyu fic :3 word count: 8351

Disclaimer! This story is based on the characters of the Dream SMP and not the real life content creators. Anything that occurs in this story is purely fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you.

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡*∞*⍋⋆*❅｡.

Cold

Why did the walls always have to be so damn cold? 

Tommy’s mind couldn’t help but linger on the thought, as the Borrower shivered making his way through the maze that was the inside the house walls.

Human Beans invented heaters AGES ago for the insides of their houses to keep warm, so how was it that the inside of the walls were still always so flippen freezing? 

Would it kill them to think of the little guy freezing their butt off just once?

Well no, maybe not. But it certainly would Tommy. 

As much as the young blonde would love to cuss at the home owner for not giving him a proper source of heat, the Borrowers code quite literally FORBID them from ever telling a Human of their existence. Not to forget the fact that it would mean doom for a borrower if they ever did. All the horror stories of Borrowers being squished or experimented on from the elders to go off being proof enough.

Death by Human Beans?

HA! Absolutely NOT!

That’s exactly the reason why he is trying to get supplies for the Winter to warm himself up, before it gets even colder! 

Tommy grumbled to himself as he ducked and weaved past forgotten cobwebs about how it was such a pain to be in this position in the first place. He’d had a perfectly fine home in a tree nook in the forest that had always remained nice and cosy warm during the colder months. 

Even if that meant he’d been living on his own, Tommy had been happy living as an Outie borrower for as long as he could remember. Well at least he had, before some tall, pretentious brunette freak decided his home would be the perfect tree to cut down and drag all the way back to his stupid freezing cold house. 

But it gets better, because even though the main part of his home was actually still intact under the now stump, the Bean still took the top half of the tree- 

With Tommy still inside it! 

They flippen took HIS house and wrapped it in a net; effectively trapping the poor borrower and then strapped it to the top of their car and drove hours and hours to a Human Town with him hanging on for dear life.

And that’s not even the worst part because not only did the flippen Bean steal part of his house, but then they had the audacity to cover the tree's dying corpse in fancy decorations and shining lights. 

Like seriously WTF?!

A Bean kidnaps him from the only place he’s ever really known and covers his once thriving residence all merrily in ornaments, while he’s forced to flee his only real known place of safety with nothing but the clothes on his back, and the few supplies he did have stored in the upper levels of his now dying home. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but it was the only choice he really had. 

Stay in the tree and get caught, or try and survive in the Beans' walls until Winter passes.

He chose the latter of course- (It’s not like staying would have helped him anyways) 

Getting down from the top of the tree had been, well- less than a fun time for the Borrower. The big purple bruises across his back were a throbbing reminder from his impact on the floor at times, but he managed. 

Instead, Tommy had started to navigate his temporary ‘soon to be home’ in the walls getting an idea of the layout and where the best places were to borrow from. He just had to make it through the Winter and then he could go home. Trying to get back to his nook now would be impossible with all the snow cover on the ground, but he’d get back to the forest even if it killed him.

Which might be the case soon if he doesn’t get some new clothes and heat source quick.

That was the main issue with being kidnapped after all. You only have what’s on your back and well, Tommy hadn’t exactly been expecting to get yoinked away in his scrappy T-Shirt and shorts. He had proudly made them himself with the few scraps of fabric he’d managed to find from some Beans that had been passing through years ago on a camping trip, but the fabric was light, and not made to be worn in such cold conditions. 

He’d only meant to go up and check what the heck the loud thumping outside his tree was like any normal person. He was expecting a deer or maybe a bear using it as a scratching post, not a Bean cutting their house down and taking him along with it. You don’t exactly have time to think about putting on proper clothing when your everything is at stake.

So that was step one: Find some material and make some clothes- a jacket the top priority.

Tommy is very thankful that he had his borrowing bag on him, that he still has his self made needle and some old thread so he at least didn’t have to start from nothing. Finding the material hadn’t been too difficult to locate either. When he first scouted the place, he discovered pretty quickly that the Bean had a habit of leaving stuff all over the place, so borrowing supplies hadn’t been difficult to do without being noticed. It’s how he found the most perfect fluffy woollen red sock to make a coat and blanket from. He would already have it now though if the Bean hadn’t come back before he could swipe it.

The Borrower had tried to come back for it later, but the Bean had decided it was time to clean their room up because he had some guests coming for this thing called ‘Chris-mass’- whatever that was- and the sock was gone.

So instead he grabbed what he could and made his way back to the walls with just enough fabric to make a new pair of pants and some crackers for dinner.

But it still didn’t fix the whole freezing situation.

What Tommy really needed was a candle. 

To a Human Bean it may seem to be an insignificant source of light, but to a Borrower it could literally be the difference between a warm nights sleep and becoming a Borrower popsicle! But that was easier said then done because all the usual spots Beans would normally keep candles, were replaced with flippen electric ones!!!! 

What’s wrong with fire on candles!? Why would you want a fake candle that just flickers and produces less light than a real one?

That or something for a bed. At least that way he’d have a comfortable place to sleep and trap his own body heat.

He really wishes he could have taken those socks…

As if this Bean wasn’t bad enough, not only did they lack the materials Tommy so desperately needed, but they wouldn’t shut up talking into the black box (a fone he thinks it’s called from memory) to other Beans with how excited they were about them coming to stay for the Hole-lid-days and spend time huddled together by the fire or something dumb. 

“Come on Dad! Let me host. If you let me host, I’ve got the coolest surprise planned for you and Techno I swear!! Plus don’t you want to come and see me?” 

Lucky prick. Got a Dad and a brother…

Now don’t get him wrong, Tommy is a big man, if not the biggest man to ever exist and he doesn’t need anyone. But he also couldn’t help but long for someone to share the cold season with like the Beans did. It had been so long since he’d seen another Borrower like himself and though he’d never admit it, living alone did get a little bit lonely sometimes. It would be nice if just once he could share a night cuddled up close to a loved one, and just bask in each other’s company. 

But Tommy didn’t have time to be sentimental about things he’d likely never have.

He needed to find a way to stay warm and get warm now.

But the universe decidedly hated Tommy because, tonight was apparently December 24th-

Chrisymiss Eve.

Tommy had been here about a week or so and in his short stay still wasn’t 100% sure what this whole Khrislermas was, but it appeared to be a BIG deal to the Beans. 

Apparently, all the Beans get together whether it’s family or friends to spend time together and exchange gifts. It’s about being thankful for what you have or whatever and something about showing how much you love someone by giving and receiving presents. 

Tommy thought it was actually quite a nice thing the Beans did and wished that Borrowers had something similar themselves in their culture. However, there was one thing he still didn’t quite understand about this whole holiday thing.

Who the heck is Santa Claus?

He’d been taking some more crackers the Bean had left out from the kitchen while this ‘tv show’ played on the Bean's big Black box that was talking about this Santa guy. Apparently, he was some elusive, big fat man, dressed all in red with a big white bushy beard, who climbed down the Beans chimneys, and left gifts for all the little boys and girls of the world. He had this list too that knew if you’d been naughty or nice and would leave the good children gifts and the bad children coal in their stockings. 

Children could write letters to Santa or he’d visit and children could sit on his knee and ask him for a gift they would like and he would deliver the toys to children all over the world on Christmas eve when everyone was sleeping, only to have disappeared by daybreak.

Tommy hadn’t thought much of this Santa at first- not when it was just another Bean to avoid. That was until he learned two very important details.

1- Santa delivered presents to ALL children of the world. 

And 2- Santa wasn’t meant to be seen by Humans either.

So not only did this Santa guy literally just give out free gifts, but Tommy literally had a way to get exactly what he needed for the winter!

All he needed to do was talk to Santa and he’d be saved! 

Now you might be thinking: But Tommy, you said it yourself. Santa isn’t meant to be seen by anyone so what makes you the exception? 

Simple.

Borrowers aren’t meant to be seen by Beans and neither is Santa.

Which means just like Borrowers, Santa must not want to be caught (which if he thinks too hard about it makes sense since he literally breaks into houses but anyways) and unlike with Beans, there is no rule that says Borrowers can’t see Santa!

All he has to do is wait for Santa to visit Crystamas eve, and then he can ask for his gift! Santa probably even knows what he wants, being made of magic and all! He just never knew Santa existed so he’s never asked for his gift before! 

If he were a more greedy Borrower, he could ask for so much more to make up for all the years he never got a gift, but that would probably put him on Santa’s naughty list. And while coal would be good, Tommy doesn’t exactly want to burn the house down with him inside it. So this was his best shot to get exactly what he needed. 

The hard bit though, was waiting for Santa to arrive. That meant not only having to be out in the living room where the fireplace was, but also meant he had to wait for the Bean to fall asleep. Which really meant that it would be AGES before Santa would come because the Bean of the house was terrible at sleeping at night. 

The man literally had no sleep schedule and would stay up till terrible times in the morning before drifting off. Normally that wasn’t much of an issue for the Borrower having observed this early on, but right now it was very much a hindrance because it could be hours before they went to bed. 

It also seemed that they wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, because the amount of energy and excitement the Bean had displayed the whole day about his family coming home was overwhelming. He’d come home at one stage with this big bag of stuff talking on the black box about how his super cool surprise was coming along and how it would be awesome since they let him host Chrimpmas- whatever that meant. 

Tommy had hoped with the excitement of the holiday they’d have been ready to pass out by now, but he couldn’t be more wrong with the amount of commotion he could hear from down the hall- and that’s through the walls. 

At least he could observe everything going on from his place on the bookshelf. It was right next to a small crack in the wall he could just squeeze through, but it gave him a good view of the living room but also enough cover from prying eyes unless he made his presence known. However, being out of the walls had one difference the blonde hadn’t accounted for.

Heat.

The fire had been lit and was keeping the whole room nice and toasty warm compared to the harsh bite the walls somehow managed to keep. The whole atmosphere made him almost want to curl up and fall asleep. It had been so long since he’d been able to just enjoy the warmth in the air and not be shivering to keep alive.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if he had a nap before Santa arrived.

Just a quick one….

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡*∞*⍋⋆*❅｡.

Tommy was awoken to a rather loud THUNK as the Borrower shot up from where he had fallen asleep atop the shelf. 

It took the blonde a moment to realise where he was and not panic about being out in the open before his eyes settled upon a figure. 

Sprawled out across the floor in a heap of red and white was the jolly big man himself.

Santa Claus.

The one and only.

“Santa!” Tommy yelled excitedly as he hurriedly manoeuvred to stand. “Santa you came!”

Santa’s head snapped up from the floor alarmed, as they pushed themselves to stand and take a defensive stance.

“Who said that?!” they shouted, looking around wildly panicked. “Show yourself!”

Tommy giggled to himself. Santa was so silly. 

“Up here Santa! I’ve been waiting for you.” The blonde waved as the man's head turned and their eyes fell onto his small form. 

Tommy grinned at the magical man taking him all in. 

Just like the figure on the big black box, Santa wore a big red coat with white fluff lining the ends of his sleeves. A big black belt was strapped around their waist, fastened with a fancy golden buckle and sturdy black boots on their feet to keep out the snow. Their head was adorned with an oversized big red hat, with a giant white fluffy pom pom on the end, and they had a long white beard that travelled down their chest. And last but not least was a pair of gold rimmed glasses perched on the tip of their rosy red nose which accentuated their big brown eyes that were staring at him in wonder. 

Huh. 

He could have sworn that Santa's eyes were blue.

“I can’t believe you came! I wasn’t sure if you would since I never sent a letter but you must have known anyway cause here you are!” The little borrower stated excitedly as Santa removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes in disbelief. 

“I’m so glad you’re here! I really need my Crimpmess present.” 

“I’m sorry you’re what?” the man’s eyes furrowed in confusion as they processed what the younger had said.

“My present!.” Tommy rolled his eyes. “You know, the whole reason why you’re here.”

Santa didn’t exactly seem like he knew what was going on. Right now all he was doing was staring and Tommy was getting a bit annoyed. 

Was that not why Santa was here? To deliver his present like the show had said?

Tommy huffed annoyed he had to explain all this. Wasn’t this like his job? He should know!

“I’m sorry,” Santa began slowly as if trying to process. “I didn’t actually know you were here.”

“Why else would you have come then?” Tommy crossed his arms unimpressed. “I’m the only kid here, but don’t tell anyone else I said that. I’m a big man! The biggest ever!”

This finally seemed to warrant a different reaction from the older, as they looked the boy up and down unimpressed by this so-called ‘fact’.

“A big man huh? You look more like a child. What are you- 12?”

Tommy feigned a gasp, grasping his chest offendedly. “I’ll have you know I’m 14 and the biggest man alive! I’m only a child for the purpose of getting my gift tonight and tonight only!”

Santa couldn’t stifle a laugh as he watched as the small child stomped his foot in a mini tantrum at being called 12. It was endearing in a way but he still wasn’t sure how to proceed with a tiny child standing on their bookshelf.

“Well whatever you say I guess, but I still I didn’t know you were here.”

The blonde shrugged before moving closer to the shelfs edge. “Ah well it doesn’t matter. You’re here now so I’d like my gift please! You have it right?” 

“If I didn’t know you were here, then how would I have your present with me?” Santa asked.

Well he did make a good point. It’s not like he sent Santa a letter and he hadn't met him to tell him like other human bean children had until now. 

“Oh right. Guess I better come sit on your knee and tell you what I’d like than.” Tommy stated matter of factly, as the small Borrower moved to the edge of the shelf and stabbed his hook into the wood, quickly jumping off to descend on his rope to the ground.

“Wait, DON’T DO THAT!” 

The blonde yelped in surprise, moving instinctually to protect his ears at the sheer volume the man shouted, in turn losing his grip on his rope, quickly plummeting down to the ground below. Santa lunged forward with an outstretched hand as the boy slipped down the rope at a rapid speed, catching him before any real harm could be done. He semi slammed into the wall, clutching his hand to his chest as they did so before quickly unfurling their hand.

“Oh my prime! Kid- kid are you alright?” Santa said frantically checking over the boy he now held in his palm. 

Tommy shook his head, dizzy from the sudden force that had rammed into him only moments ago. He tried to steady himself grabbing, onto the nearest thing his hand could find as he begun to regain his bearings.

Oh he was going to ache tomorrow…

“As soon as the world stops spinning, yeah.”

Santa sighed in relief as Tommy allowed himself to regain focus. It was then that he really took note of where he was. 

Normally, if a Borrower was sitting in the hand of someone almost 100x his size, he would be kicking and screeching to get away. But this was Santa Claus’s hand and Tommy felt only wonder. 

It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. The thing he had grabbed onto was apparently Santa’s thumb and it was almost as big as his head! Even if it was a bit weird sitting on the leathery texture of their skin, the warmth radiating beneath him was heavenly, and the way the man’s fingers curled slightly over him protectively felt nothing but comforting. 

Santa hadn’t moved since he caught Tommy mid air, and was staring at Tommy as if they would disappear. They seemed stuck on what to do next, but also amazed he was sitting there at all.

“You alright there big man?” Tommy raised a brow confused at why the man would act this way. Santa was literally made of magic and had flying reindeer for goodness sake! A borrower existing surely was no cause for such amazement? There were surely way more interesting magical things to see than a lowly Borrower like him. 

(But then again, he was a pretty poggers Borrower if he did so say that himself, so staring could be justified for that reason)

This finally snapped the old man out of their wondrous stupor, as they squinted their eyes open and shut with a quick shake of their head. 

“Uh yep. All good um. Let's- go sit down. Yeah- yeah, let's do that.” Santa said, confirming more to themself than Tommy.

Santa brought the boy protectively to their chest to brace them before they moved away from the book shelf, smoothly walking over to the couch where the old man sat down ever so slowly to not jostle their small passenger. The second they were bending down to sit though, Tommy was launching himself off Santa’s palm for his knee as the bearded man frantically tried to stop them in their escapade.

“Kid, would you stop doing that? You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Pfft please. This is nothing compared to how I got down from that tree over there.” The boy grinned as they pointed to the far corner of the living room.

The man's head followed to where the boy was pointing, the Christmas tree displayed proudly in a large pot tied with a red bow, small lights flickering on and off in changing patterns.

“Tree? You mean the Christmas tree?”

“Yep!” Tommy stood proudly popping the p. “I had to get down somehow and my hook would have gotten stuck in amongst the branches if I had tried to abseil down. So I did what any logical Borrower would do and jumped.”

“You jumped?!” Santa’s eyes widened, as he looked back and forth between the boy and the top of the brightly decorated tree. He grimaced, imagining the boy throwing themselves from the upper branches like they had done only moments before onto his knee. 

What was with this kid and being so reckless?!

“You jumped from the top of the Christmas tree!? Why were you even there in the first place?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, crossing their arms in front of their chest. 

“It’s all that stupid Beans fault.”He huffed annoyed. “He just came waltzing into MY forest, decided to be very rude and put their grubby hands all over MY house wrapping it up in some ugly net, only to cut it down with me still in it!”

Tommy didn’t notice the way Santa’s brows furrowed and their expression changed to one of horror as he continued to ramble on.

“They literally kidnapped me, Santa! They’re so lucky that the main part of my house is under the tree’s trunk and not the higher branches because I swear I would have murdered that Bean in their sleep by now if they had!”

Tommy was very pleased to have finally gotten to vent some of his frustrations to someone other than his internal self, but now he was finished he had a good chance to register the other’s reaction.

Santa looked horrified.

His eyes seemed glossed over as if he was holding back tears, and one hand slapped over their mouth, the other gripping their wrist tightly in an attempt to ground themselves. 

Uh shit. He hadn’t meant for that to happen…

“Uh but don’t worry Santa!” Tommy was quick to add. “ I wouldn’t actually do that. That would be a bad thing to do and put me on the Naughty list! I promise I won’t actually murder anyone!” 

Phew, that was a close one. He couldn’t jeopardise his only hope with a silly joke!

Santas’ face had yet to change and Tommy subconsciously started to fidget feeling nervous to how the older was reacting. Maybe he had blown it and now he was on the naughty list. Another glance at the old man's face seemed to confirm those fears.

He’d blown it.

His one shot at survival and he practically threw it all away with a vent. No wonder he ended up all alone.

“Please don’t put me on the Naughty list Santa. I need my gift.” Tommy spoke timidly. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I- no. No you’re not on the Naughty list.” Santa dragged his hands over his eyes a few times strained. “I'm just trying to process. It’s more of the whole kidnapping thing. ” 

If Tommy had been paying better attention, he may have noticed the few stray brown curls poking out from under the man's hat, but he was more thrown by their following question as the magical man continued on.

“If you were in the tree, why didn’t you say anything?”

Tommy drew a deep breath, before sighing as the boy shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Because Santa, Beans aren’t supposed to know that Borrowers like me even exist.”

“Beans?”

“Human Beans Santa. You know, big people like you, but not magical and stuff.” The Borrower explained. “There’s no way I could tell the dumb Bean he was cutting my house down! Do you know what Beans do to Borrowers like me?” 

“Um no?” Santa fiddled with his hands as he looked away, eyes downcast to avoid the youngers gaze as they continued.

“They get rid of us. To them we’re just pests or things to be used.”

Tommy hugged himself tightly, anxiety pooling in his chest for the first time that night. He wished it wasn’t true, but Beans just held far too much power for their own good. Their greed often outweighing their need to do good without reward. 

“I’d rather risk jumping out of a tree than ever fall into the clutches of a Bean.” 

“But how do you know that?” Santa suddenly said, muscles tensing as they clenched their hand into fists. 

Tommy flinched at the sight of hands so close. Closed so tightly that he couldn’t help let slip the thought of himself in the mercy of their grasp, begging to be freed like all the stories had said of the Borrowers trapped in agonising pain. The man noticed his discomfort, and immediately loosened their fists, moving their hands away and under their thighs so as to not startle the boy any further than they already had.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Santa said with a sense of guilt.  “But I just- How do you know that though? Who says that they would have hurt you if you had just made your presence known? You wouldn’t have had to jump or gotten hurt.”

Santa turned away sheepishly, whispering sadly. “They could have helped you.” 

Tommy swallowed hard, his shoulders sagging as he observed the sad look Santa had as they stared at the Christmas tree. It was obvious they were blaming themself for what had happened. He was far too kind for that.

“Santa, it’s not your fault.” the boy sighed, “Every borrower is taught this from birth. It’s a known fact that Beans are all cruel, power hungry beings. They always want more and just take, take, take.”  

“But what if this ‘Bean’ didn’t know.” Santa shot back, causing the Borrower to falter. “What if you had said something? They would have stopped and left you and your house alone? How do you know they wouldn’t have helped you?”

“Because Santa,” Tommy turned and faced the man head on. “That’s just how Beans are. To them, we're just another thing to take and control.” 

Tommy wanted to believe Santa, he really did, but it was hard to just ignore years of being brought up to beware Human Beans and their cruelty. He’d seen it even from when Beans had once come into the forest with their fire sticks, and took down a friendly deer. It was unnecessarily cruel and was all the convincing Tommy needed to deem all Humans bad.

Santa nodded sadly in some kind of understanding, but Tommy couldn’t understand why Santa looked so hurt. It wasn’t his fault the Bean took him and his home, but he seemed so convinced that hiding and not asking for help had been the wrong thing to do. 

He thought they were the same, that if Beans caught him on Christmas Eve, then something bad would happen to him like it would for Borrowers. That’s why they had to stay a secret. Why no one could know they were here. 

But Santa wasn’t a Borrower who lived in hiding unknown. The Beans knew about the jolly, present giving man that only appeared in December. 

He could live among the Beans and it would be fine if he asked for help. Everyone liked Santa. He didn’t take things just to survive. He gave toys and gifts so he would have no worries about the repercussions of taking a paperclip just to get around. He wouldn’t have to worry about Beans hurting him if something went wrong. He would just use his magic and be fine.

It was Santa’s choice to stay hidden as an extra precaution to protect that same magic. 

“But you’re different from the Beans Santa.” The boy perked up instantly remembering why he was doing this in the first place. “You only come out of hiding at Christmas and everyone knows who you are! You only hide to keep your magic safe from Beans so they can’t have that too!” 

The man gave a small smile as the boy continued to ramble, pacing back and forth on his thigh as he did so.

“But I don’t understand why you give children presents when they already have so much!” Tommy stopped, his lips pursed together as his voice dropped to a whisper.

“Unlike me.” He confessed quietly, lifting his head to meet Santa’s sympathetic gaze. 

Santa was staring at the young boy again, leaned forward in concern listening as the blonde  continued to share his story.

“It's why I need my gift Santa.” Tommy wringed his hands together with a nervous glance to see Santa’s reaction who nodded in approval, gesturing for him to continue. 

Tommy steadied himself.

Now or never.

“I was brought here with basically nothing. Forced to move into the Beans walls or risk being seen. I’ve barely been able to get anything for basic survival and the walls are freezing!” 

Tommy shivered remembering the way the air had nipped at his nose as he struggled to keep warm. Clutching himself tightly in a poor attempt to retain any kind of body heat. The one time he went up stairs without his coat and of course he gets kidnapped.

He needed this. 

More than anything.

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡*∞*⍋⋆*❅｡.

Wilbur had just wanted to have the perfect Christmas.

It was his first time hosting and had decided he HAD to go all out.

More decorations than his little house needed both inside and out, homemade hot chocolate from scratch and had promised his Father and brother a very special Christmas surprise if they let him host.

Their first ever living Christmas tree and a surprise visit from the Big man himself- Santa Claus.

He’d done a bunch or research into the best spots to go where he could get a tree and quickly had been recommended from several sites about the fir trees in Logstedshire, and quickly made the trip out to find a tree.

What the websites failed to mention, was that said fir trees might be inhabited and the home of tiny people that are terrified of Human Beings. 

So if you asked: No, Wilbur was not having a good night realising he had kidnapped a child that was deathly afraid of him and only okay right now because he thought he was the real Santa Claus. 

In a way, it was a good thing the kid hadn’t realised yet, because if Wilbur had never dressed up in this silly costume, he probably would have never known about the child freezing to death in his walls.

The child was so cold despite their lively spirit when he’d caught them after they launched themself off the top of the shelf. The fact it wasn’t the first time they’d thrown themself from such a height made Wilbur sick knowing had they not been lucky, could very well not have made the long fall. But the fact the kid had been struggling, terrified and afraid in his walls when he could have helped had the guilt eating him away as the boy rambled on.

They were so sure of themselves with the cruelty of humanity too that they had him so on edge. If the blonde knew he was really the guy that had cut his tree down, he very much doubted they would be this enthusiastic. He was talking about how much he needed his gift- the gift he still had no clue what it was, but just hearing the little blondes tale, and seeing how thin his clothes were had Wilbur making a very long list of things he needed to get to help the kid out. 

A kid which he still doesn’t know the name of.

The boy's eyes had brightened, as he bounded up and down on the balls of his feet eagerly, talking about what this gift would mean for him. He was actually quite endearing despite their seemingly dire situation.

“If I tell you my gift, then you can give it to me now and I’ll actually have a chance to survive the Winter!” He explained excitedly, grining.

Wilbur pushed down his anxiousness for the boys well-being. They had already suffered enough from his mistakes. He didn’t want them to suffer any longer than they had by them accidentally discovering the truth.

“What’s your name kid?” Wilbur mentally slapped himself  that he hadn’t asked sooner.

The tiny boy chuckled to himself as they crossed their arms. “Oh come on Santa, you know my name don’t you? You have a list with every child's name on it.”

Ah- right. Santa did have that Naughty and Nice list didn’t he? Curse Santa for having to live up to magical standards.

“Uh- I came here in such a rush, I um- ah must have left my list back at the North Pole.”

“So?” The boy argued, raising a brow. “You’re magic. Don’t you just know?”

Did he say endearing earlier? How about difficult for making him use his brain at 9pm at night. (Shut up. Don’t judge him for it)

“Well you know there’s like 2 Billion kids in this world and I see them all in one night. You don’t expect me to remember every name without my list do you?”

The kid hadn’t seemed to account for this, and thought it over before shrugging in agreement. 

Oh thank goodness for kids being young and naive. 

“I guess that’s fair. But you’ve got a s*** memory in that case Big Man. Getting old.” 

Actually, make that an annoying gremlin.

“I think if someone wants their present, they should be more careful about insulting their elders.” Wilbur teased with a chuckle. The boy rolled his eyes with a groan. 

Okay, an endearing gremlin then.

“Fiiiiiiiiine.” they drawled letting their arms drop to their sides before extending their hand up in greeting. “The name’s Tommy.”

Wilbur carefully lifted his arm up and slowly extended his pinky finger out for the boy to take in an oversized handshake. 

“Nice to meet you Tommy.” His finger dwarfed the boy entirely, his pinky finger only slightly shorter than the boy's total height, but nevertheless, Tommy took the tip and shook it lightly.

“Now, why don’t you sit down and tell me what it is you’d like for Christmas?”

Wilbur couldn’t help but smile at the little boy excitedly sharing in exact detail what he wanted. What the Borrower wanted wasn’t even that difficult to get, and he knew exactly where to find it. Tommy continued to ramble on for a bit longer about what he had been doing since coming here and Wilbur made mental notes of the few places where Tommy talked about entrances in out of the walls for future reference.

He was going to have to look out for Tommy from now on and if he wanted a shred of hope in getting him to trust him as Wilbur, he was going to need a plan.

“So could I have my gift now? I would really love it now and you still have a lot of other houses to visit tonight right?” Tommy asked innocently.

Wilbur really didn’t want to stop talking to Tommy. Tommy trusted the magical Santa Claus; not regular Human Being Wilbur Soot. He knew that if he let Tommy go now, it was unlikely he would see the kid again, but if he didn’t leave as Santa now, they would most likely get suspicious, realising he was a fake and panic. 

Wilbur sighed as he brushed a stray hair of fake beard from under his cheek.

“I- yeah I guess so. Best get you to bed then too.” 

“Awwww but I’m not sleepy yet!” The blonde pouted. “This is normally when I’m awake so it would be a crime to make me sleep now.”

“Well good little girls and boys go to bed when they’re told if they want to stay on the nice list.”

“You’re not the boss of me!” Tommy stuck his tongue out in defiance and Wilbur had to bite his to stop himself from bursting out loud laughing. 

This kid was going to be the death of him he swears.

Wilbur extended his hand to the Borrower, keeping it steady as he waited for Tommy to climb on. He’s still a little huffy at first realising there was no room for argument, but climbs on anyway, sitting down in the middle of Wilbur’s palm bracing themself before he moves.

The brunette curls his fingers over the boy slightly, bringing his hand to his chest protectively. He tries not to linger too long at how it felt to hold an entire person in one hand for the second time tonight before moving to stand. 

Steadily, Wilbur makes his way over to the book shelf and cautiously raises his hand up for Tommy to climb off of. He sets his hand down on the wooden surface and Tommy takes no time in hoping off to stand, waiting expectantly for his promised present.  

“Okay I need you to close your eyes just for a second.” Wilbur asks the boy who quickly covers his eyes with his hands, only to peak out from behind his fingers seconds later.

“I mean it Tommy. Keep them closed.”

“Ugggghhhhh Fineee!” the boy said huffing, but relented nevertheless. 

Wilbur quickly whirled around and crouched down beneath the Christmas tree, snagging a gift from the floor and hastily tearing the gift tag labelled- Technoblade; from the gift before setting it next to the small borrower child. 

“Okay, you can open your eyes now.” 

Tommy removed his hands and squealed in delight, quickly reaching down to hug the gift. 

“Oh thank you Santa! You really are the most poggers man ever!!!” Tommy spoke rapidly, smiling so much his cheeks hurt. “Well after me of course, but only by a little bit!” 

Wilbur chuckled as he gazed affectionately at the blonde hunched over the brightly wrapped gift. “You’re welcome Tommy. I’m glad you like it.”

The boy quickly stood, and started hauling the gift to the crack in the wall, as they tried to shove the gift through. Unfortunately while the crack had been enough for Tommy to squeeze through, it wasn’t quite wide enough to let the present go in without getting a tad scrunched up and paper torn. 

“Um, Tommy? Is there perhaps a bigger entrance I could take this too?” Wilbur suggested, cringing slightly as the boy gave another hard shove on the gift, intent on getting it through no matter what.

“It’ll fit. Just gotta keep pushing it in.” 

After a few more attempts, the boy did in fact give up and relented their efforts allowing Wilbur to pull the now crumpled present back out from the crack, instructing him to take it to the kitchen and place it behind the toaster, assuring him he would get it before the Bean woke up explaining how the electrical socket actually came off as a secret entrance.

He offered to take Tommy over to it too, but the stubborn boy refused, insisting that he had done enough and needed to hurry up and deliver presents to the other children before the night was over.

Taking one more long look at the boy, Wilbur watched as Tommy disappeared through the crack into the walls, the sound of tiny footsteps pitter pattering away before Wilbur himself quietly crept back to his room before he removed the Santa costume and flopped down onto his bed. 

He’d just met a tiny child.

A tiny child trying to survive in his walls.

That was deathly afraid of him.

Quickly Wilbur shot up from his bed snatching his phone from the night stand; a plan forming in his mind. The screen read 9:31 pm before he hastily unlocked it and dove into his contacts, quickly stopping on a profile of a girl with light pink hair, dialling their number shortly after.

The phone rang twice before a woman answered on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Niki? Hey! How’s the holidays going?” Wilbur asked as he grabbed his coat and gloves from the wardrobe.

“So I need a favour…”

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡*∞*⍋⋆*❅｡.

Tommy awoke warm for the first time that week.

He opened his eyes blearily, almost willing himself to fall back into dream land before his eyes snapped fully open. Tommy rubbed his eyes a few times, eyes going wide trying to comprehend that this was real and not just a dream as the thoughts of the previous night played through his head.

He was in his Christmas present: A brand new pair of bright red, fluffy woollen socks- the most perfect bed ever and exactly what Tommy had asked for. He had basically run to get his gift as fast as possible, before hauling it back through the walls to a space close by the bookshelf; the space seemingly much more homely after last night's introductions. 

He hugged the woollen fabric tightly, smiling as he remembered the soft smile Santa had as he watched him go and how kind and gentle he had been with him the entire time.

The Borrower was so pleased and grateful that he had been able to meet the Santa Claus, and would cherish the magical night forever.

He stayed snuggled in his new bed for a little while longer before his stomach grumbled in protest that he should go and have something to eat. Albeit a little grumbly, his hunger eventually won out and Tommy made his way through the walls back to the kitchen so he could gather some food before the Bean woke up.

Stealthily, he removed the electrical socket, expecting to make it a quick supply run; stepping out into the open before freezing in surprise.

Laid out in a neat pile behind the toaster was a small stack of brightly wrapped gifts all wrapped in different coloured and patterned paper, and right in the middle, an envelope with his name written in gold cursive. Tommy smiled brightly, as he eagerly ran forward to the awaiting stack of gifts, quickly grabbing a gift reading the label. 

To: Tommy From: Santa

Tommy denies that he cried that day. 

That he took each gift home and opened each one oh so delicately, afraid if he didn’t they might just disappear, happy tears trailing down his cheek as he opened a gift revealing a beautiful, blue knitted sweater- and in just his size. 

His tears didn’t cease as he opened the other gifts revealing several new pairs of warm winter clothes, new rope and hooks for climbing, some tea candles with a tiny piece of flint and steel to light them, and the tiniest iced cookies he had ever seen. He could actually hold this in one hand like humans did and he had a whole bag of them!!! His prayers had been answered and he couldn’t be more thankful.

Soon, the only thing that remained was the envelope.

He dried his face as best he could, doing his best to not smear any tears or snot onto the pristine surface as he opened the envelope, revealing a card with a picture of glitter candy canes decorating the front. 

Settled back into his new bed, Tommy opened the card and read the message inside.

Dear Tommy, It was lovely meeting you and getting to know your story. I figured you might  like some extra gifts as well to help you be more comfortable in Wilbur’s walls. I think you should try talking to him.  You might be surprised. Sincerely, Santa Claus

P.S- He’s not as scary as you think.

Tommy’s smile became puzzled as he reread the last few lines.

Who the heck was Wilbur?

Was that the name of the Bean that lived here?

Oh come on, that's not fair! How come Santa knew Wilbur’s name but not his!

He grumbled a little bit at the thought, but his mind kept drawing back to the last line of the card.

‘He’s not as scary as you think.’

“Hmpf, you keep saying that.” Tommy grumbled. 

What was with Santa’s insistence on this?

As much as he wanted to be annoyed at Santa for putting forward such a ridiculous idea, Tommy decided to drag himself out of bed and to the book shelf crack. The Bean had gotten up not long after Tommy had made it back to his new home, but he’d been a tad too distracted to really care about how slow and heavy they had been trudging about this morning unlike their usually poised self.

Currently, said Bean was sitting on the couch, the exact same spot he and Santa had been last night, absentmindedly staring at his hand.

How could Santa think this guy was any good? They had kidnapped him unknowingly, almost let him die from hypothermia unknowingly, destroyed the top of his home unknowingly and Santa still thinks they won’t hurt him?

Okay so maybe it wasn’t their fault all those things happened just because they didn’t know he was there, but that doesn’t mean they’re not still very capable of hurting him for having to do all those things. But then again, Santa knew who was naughty or nice. And he wouldn’t ask him to do something that would endanger his safety if this ‘Wilbur’ guy wasn’t a good person right?

Tommy observed the Bean a little longer, as they ran their thumb over their palm. Their normally neat curly hair was all over the place and he could have sworn there were black bags under their eyes from lack of sleep. They suddenly turned their head and were staring straight at his crack by the book shelf. The Borrower was certain they couldn’t see him from the couch, but ducked back just slightly in case.

The Bean simply sighed as a small smile graced their features. Tommy was right about the black bags. Bean did not look like they had slept at all. 

He thought back to what Santa had said. 

I think you should try talking to him.

They certainly didn’t seem dangerous. Maybe they really weren’t bad like the Jolly man said?

But was it really worth taking the risk and talking to this guy?

Before he could dwell on it for much longer, the door bell sounded and Wilbur snapped his head to the sound before standing and stretching; their limbs popping and cracking slightly from their limited use. Before he left the living room, the man stopped and stared at his crack once more. Tommy didn’t dare breathe as they simply smiled and shook their head, before exiting and headed towards the front door.

Tommy allowed himself to exhale as the sound of footsteps got further away.

“Weirdo.” Tommy muttered to himself as he pushed himself back from the crack and began to head back to his bed for a well deserved rest.

He’d think about what Santa said, and just maybe he’d talk to this- Wilbur. If not, he hoped he'd meet Santa again so he could thank them in person.

Once he was back in his bed, Tommy quickly slipped in snuggling down, allowing himself to drift off to the chatter of beings much larger than himself from beyond the walls.

“Wil! So good to see you! It’s been ages!”

“Hi Dad, thanks for letting me host. I’m so glad you and Techno could make it!

“So are we, but you look like shit mate. Up late again? Wouldn't be related to that surprise you were telling us about?”

“You could say that…” 

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡*∞*⍋⋆*❅｡.

Tommy never did meet Santa Claus again.

The card proudly on display in his new home, a secret hope he would one day and a constant reminder of what Santa had asked him to try.

And maybe one day, Tommy would finally take up the old man's advice and go and speak to Wilbur, and discover perhaps they may have been right.

Maybe then he’d finally have a friend to keep him warm during the holiday seasons and to rely on like he had wished. 

One that seemed to always know just what he needed despite never telling them, and was very insistent about never wearing Santa costumes.

No matter how many times a little boy begged….

 ˗ ˏ ˋ ★ˎˊ ˗   ༺𝓜𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂༻༺𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼༻  ˗ ˏ ˋ ★ˎˊ ˗  

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

That was a lot of words....

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING TO THE END! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it and it means a lot you read all the way through <3

Tag List: @local-squishmallow @brick-a-doodle-do @justarandomsloth @veryfunkycheesecake @munchkin1156 @kayla-crazy-stuffs @da3dm @eiscreme135 @orchid-harmony @the-tiny-lurker @colossal-red @nobodywritingao3 @nata2343 @bad-author777 @crazyfoxgirl10

And cue rant: Honestly you guys have no idea just how much you all mean to me an in this community and the impact you've had on me in the last year alone. I could not be more thankful for being apart of this and getting to know you guys. Getting so back into writing has been really good for me and rekindled something I love so I can't thank you enough.

And even though I know I've been a little quieter online, I'm still here lurking about and working on projects. A lot has happened in the last few months alone and I'm quite happy that I'm limiting myself to be a bit more healthier with my online habits.

Anyways thanks so much if you read this far!

Thanks to my Beta readers @a-xyz-s squishy and munchkin for reading this for me, and I wish you all a very safe and wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year!

-Beckyu ❤️

[autisticlancemcclain]

fic rec friday 28

welcome to the twenty-eighth fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.  

1. sunflower [re] by xintong

On the morning of their first summer back on Earth, Lance receives a gift of sunflowers. A confession, a rejection, and the passage of time, all leading to the one person who's always been there for him.

this is one of those fics that just kind of remakes a part of you a little. im gonna go with the bookmark i did when i first read it:

screaming and losing my mind bc there were so many fucking moments man. so many. i get jealous too. all the time. anyone that looks at you. still the other half of his wings. i would wait all my lifetimes for you even if you never looked my way. you’re everything. the beginning and end of time. you have wings love. just like an angel. i want to make this good for you. for us. i want it to be good for you too. why. because i dream of you. every night. you’re the devil. who you adore. yes. yes. will you go somewhere with me. anywhere. i never wrote before i met you. you gave me something to write about. they don’t need to say it. i love you i love you i love you. it’s in everything they do.

anyways read this fic.

2. where you go by @taylortot

post s8. keith visits lance when he can, but his work with the blade keeps him out in space for months at a time, and he is tired of leaving lance behind.

okay i know this is yet another rec from me thats rambly and pretentious but soft fics Make me feel that way so here u go. everything about this is the most important thing in the world. as per usual with taylortot. my breath is unsteady and my hands are shaky because they just fucking love each other!!! so much!!!! it’s about the DEVOTION. i’m tired of leaving you. i don’t want to do it anymore. it’s about wanting to be with you. that’s it? that’s it. of course i’ll go with you. i thought you’d never ask. i should have asked before. that was never a choice. (YOU were never a choice). i knew you would come back to me. it’s about the DEVOTION is about the LOVE it’s about the i know you i love you i trust you there’s no one i want but you and you are everything to me. it’s about everything i do for my future i do for our future. it’s about i love you even though words are hard to come by and nothing i could say could ever properly tell you how much you mean to me. GOD

3. a reverence reserved for lovers by @softsatoru [EXPLICIT]

“Hello, my love.” They were far past the point of timidity, and Keith had long since gotten used to the pet names and sappy moments. Hell, Keith had been all about pet names and sappy moments as they were reciting their vows. It was so easy now, just like everything was with them. It had been for years and years, but especially now. This moment, this night, was so easy. It was so right.

Lance grinned and dropped his head back against the pillows with a deep, content sigh. He kept one hand threaded through Keith’s hair and slapped the other over his eyes. The gold band around his ring finger glinted in the low, warm light of their bedroom.

“Ew,” Lance mumbled, trying to contain his smile. “We’re married.” Keith chuckled and pulled himself off his husband. Lance’s hand fell from his hair and dropped down to his bare back. Long, slender fingers pressed into his skin, as if to hold him in place. Keith settled himself above Lance and placed soft kisses on his knuckles and the back of his hand. He gripped Lance’s wrist and tugged it away from his face. Lance’s eyes were clenched shut, and he scrunched up his nose in playful defiance. Keith’s lips fell atop each eyelid, the tip of his nose, and both cheeks.

“Yeah,” Keith agreed. He nosed at Lance’s jaw, dipping down to kiss down his neck. “So gross.” He smirked to himself before licking a wide stripe up the side of Lance’s face.

“Hey!” Lance yelped at him, playfully slapping his back, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “Gross! You’re proving my point.”

i fucking love this fic it 100% lives up to its name. it IS a reverence reserved to lovers and they are. they are so sweet and in love and devoted, man, its just everything. you just want to read it and weep

4. the dark, wide open by @taylortot

Lance flushes clear up to his hairline, the heat of it frying his brain. “Are there any other incorrect observations you wanna make? Or can we go to bed?”

Keith misses nothing, tracking the warmth blooming all over Lance’s face with keen eyes. “None that you’d admit to,” he says in a murmur.

**

Lance and Keith share a bed.

i think ive mentioned the devotion scrapbook before, but i dont know if ive mentioned that like a quarter of all the screenshots i have are taylortot. they kill it with the dialogue every single time, the devotion bleeds through, the words unsaid speak louder than the words. kills me. 

5. this is your holy by littleghost

"He read a book of poems back in high school, and one line always hit him like a sucker punch to the throat. For you, love is like a religion. It’s terrifying. Keith looks at Lance in the pilot’s seat, Lance in the dining room, Lance on the bridge and thinks his love is too big for his body." // Keith falls in love with a boy.

okay i know i recced this before in a random post but i am doing it again. religious imagery always gets to me, and the idea of finding divinity in the mundane and not even finding it but realising that it IS the divine, the bum’s as holy as the seraphim the madman is holy as you my soul are holy! that’s from ginsberg’s footnote to howl btw, which is my favourite poem in the world and exactly what i hear chanted in my as i read it

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!  

[bilbosmom-belladonna]

Oh I'm very curious about Teach My Hands to War 👀

Thanks so much for asking! 🤗💜💜

This is actually my TCW rarepair fic, a WIP that I've had open since at least April (oh god), so it's come up before in this same game! At that time I talked a little about its origins and themes, so this time I'll just provide a longer snippet.

Because I am continuing to be weird pretentious about this rarepair so I'm going to block out the name of the clone in question. I've leaned too hard into the bullshit and now I have to follow through 🤣🤣

Enjoy!

Around the time CLONE was contemplating which of the bar’s subpar whiskeys he didn’t hate enough to try a second time, something began to shift. Out of the corner of his eye CLONE watched as one by one the patrons around him got up and left, only to be replaced by someone new. And each someone new was watching him and trying to hide it.  The low hum of conversation, punctuated by the occasional drunken laugh or shout, petered off. The beleaguered old music player continued to warble out old jatz standards, and the bartender had begun determinedly cleaning some glasses as far away from CLONE as he could get, but other than that the bar had become silent.  CLONE took a sip of his nearly-empty glass. “If you wanted to talk,” he said out loud to no one in particular, “all you had to do was come and say hello.” He heard heavy footsteps approaching behind him but he didn’t turn around.  “I don’t think you’re here to talk,” someone replied. CLONE tilted his head to the side in acknowledgement. “I’m sure it doesn’t look like it. But if you give me the chance, I’d prefer talking.” “I don’t think you’re in a position to be making the decisions, bounty hunter,” the person behind him said dismissively. That made him chuckle and shake his head a little. “If I didn’t want to talk,” CLONE said as he took a final sip, “you never would have seen me coming.” He set down the glass on the bar with a heavy plunk, keeping his hands in view. “Luckily for you, I’m feeling chatty.”

Thanks for the ask! 💜💜

[erosiism]

Hello Eros! Could you possibly give some advice to those who are trying to start writing a story and to those who are worried about their stories not getting looked at or read?

Thank you ♥♥

don’t worry haha we’ve all been there!

for me, I’ll say I definitely got really lucky—my first fic was objectively pretty bad but I hopped on quotev when bl wasn’t the most popular and got lucky i guess

buttt in terms of wattpad I definitely has to work my way up haha. my first fic there got like 100 reads in two months. I hope this answer is going to make sense because I’m not paying too much attention to the structure or whatever, but I’m gonna start with the popularity part first. btw I’m assuming you’re talking about people finding your works on wattpad, not quotev

intriguing plot matters… a lot. something that can catch the eyes of someone or maybe a pairing (yandere __ x __ ) that’s rare or creative. so overall the description of your story has to be good! I would say stick to concise and eloquent ones. just focus in including the pairing and the book description inside. I won’t lie and I’ll admit that aesthetics help a great deal, but don’t go too overboard with fonts or anything haha (if you need a website to copy and paste fonts, there’s lingojam or QWERTY.dev) don’t forget title matters a lot too!!

tag well! there’s no such thing as too little tags haha. after all, tags help readers to discover the story!

make sure you pre write a bunch of chapters b4 you update. updating at a consistent pace can really help you climb the rankings. don’t be discouraged when your fic doesn’t get too many views at the start—it all starts building up and the minute you climb the ranks, you should see a massive surge of popularity. so don’t give up.

now on to tips for writing! take note that I’m still considered a amateur so none of this is professional writing advice. it’s all very surface level

writing matters a lot, which is the obvious. personally as a reader I tap out the minute I see lowercase or no paragraph breaks. obviously good grammar and punctuation is needed. it gets really hard to read when everything is choppy and broken.

don’t try to be too fancy! of course, prose matters. it’s pretty and it shows a mastery of the English language. But I’ve seen fics where everything seems way too overdone— kind of like if they kept searching “synonyms for __”— a good vocab is always welcome, but too much can seem too pretentious. there are times where it’s obvious the word isn’t even used correctly lol

remember to plan your everything out first! I know some authors plan chapter by chapter but personally I don’t do that, I feel like it greatly limits me. I usually do character profiles, major plot points, scenes I want to include, character dynamics

lastly just don’t stress yourself out. writing should be fun and not stressful

[these-written-reveries]

Hello! i’m wondering if you could possibly write an Arthur Fleck fic where it’s y/n’s first time meeting Arthur. Possibly at one of his comedy shows, or in the apartments, which ever. In the fic, i just want them to possibly feel a connection between each other. Hopefully you see this!

Hi there!! Got a little carried away with this one, but I had a lot of fun writing it! I read comedy show or apartments and I was like “why not both!”😂 I hope I did your idea justice! Thank you for your request!

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

The Spark ✧.*

‣ Pairing: Arthur Fleck x GN!Reader

‣ Summary: After years of searching and failing to find ‘the spark’ that lovers always talked about, you began to think it wasn’t a real possibility for you. That was, until you stumbled into a man by the name of Arthur Fleck.

‣ Genre: Fluff

‣ Warnings: None!

‣ Word Count: 5,158

‣ Have an idea for a fic you’d like me to write? Send a request here. But first, make sure to read my Request Info!

Arthur Fleck/P!Joker Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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You absent-mindedly swirled the straw inside of your drink, one elbow positioned on the dimly lit table beside it as you supported your chin with the palm of your hand. Glancing around the room for what had to have been the hundredth time that night, you let out a disappointed sigh.

"Stood up again, huh?" You muttered to yourself. "Just my luck…"

The crowd around you laughed, and if you didn’t know better, you would’ve assumed they were laughing at you. Rather, they were all focused on the pretentious man standing under the spotlight on the small platform stage. It was a Thursday night at Pogo’s, which meant the mic was open to any comedian daring enough to take on the task of trying to make the dreary people of Gotham laugh. This particular comedian seemed to have knocked it out of the park. Everyone was practically rolling out of their seats with laughter.

Everyone, but you.

You wouldn’t say you were a hard person to please when it came to humor. There were many things you found funny —even a lot of the darker stuff. Your humor just didn’t align with the misogynistic and overall bigoted jokes that seemed to be ever-flowing from this guy’s mouth. Having arrived at Pogo’s nearly an hour and a half ago, you could confidently say that the jokes from everyone else that had taken the stage that night had been no different. Quite frankly, you were bored.

It wasn’t even your idea to come to Pogo’s that night. Your date recommended it, raving about the comedian who went by the same name as the one currently on stage before you. According to him, this guy was the "comedian of the century".

You could feel your eyes threatening to roll into the back of your skull just thinking about it.

Dating in Gotham had left you jaded, and this was one of the many reasons why. You just couldn’t seem to find someone you truly felt a connection to. After being on so many first dates with multifarious characters —all of which never led to a second, you began to lose hope in finding that special someone to share your life with. At first, that reality stung like a hundred paper cuts on your lonely heart. But after some time, the loneliness faded, and you realized you didn’t really mind being alone. You enjoyed your own company better than most others’. And you never disagreed with yourself on things like whether pineapple belonged on pizza, if cereal was a soup, which superpower is the best, which jokes were funny and which were plain bad —you know, the important stuff. Whether or not you found a partner in the future was no longer a top priority on your list, as not only had you given up on the terrible dating pool of Gotham, but you had also finally found contentment within yourself and the prospects of being alone.

That was until last week, when you met the no-show date of yours in person for the first time. Your friend had mentioned him in conversation before, so you weren’t too surprised to find he had joined your scheduled get-together with a few of your other friends that evening. He introduced himself, and the two of you seemed to hit it off quite well. You didn't talk about very much, but you swore you felt something.

The spark, perhaps?

You had always been told about a special spark that you’d feel when you met "the one." However, nobody could seem to tell you what exactly it felt like. All you were told was, "You’ll know it when you feel it."

Unfortunately, you’d never get to find out whether you were right about that spark. You even stayed far longer than you normally would have for a no-show date like this. As much as you had yourself convinced that you were totally fine with being eternally single, you couldn’t deny the fact that you were still a hopeless romantic at heart, always seeking out that special connection, that special spark.

That’s why you stayed as long as you did, suffering through ninety minutes of ridiculously bad jokes —though you seemed to be the only one in the room with that opinion. Looking back, you were glad your date didn’t show. You deserved better than someone who thought the jokes you’d heard all night were the pinnacle of humor.

Cheers from the crowd around you pulled you out of your thoughts and back to the center of the room as the previous comedian could be seen waltzing off the stage. The announcer took his place at the mic, reading off the information for the next comedian in line. A disgruntled huff left your lips. The last thing you wanted was to stick around for another insufferable act filled with the same jokes. Besides, it was getting late, and you’d already waited long enough for a date that was never going to happen.

Getting ready to leave, you took one last sip of your drink and collected your things. You pulled out your wallet, fishing for a tip to leave the waiter, just as the announcer finished reading their script.

"For his whole life, was told that his purpose in life is to bring happiness and joy into this cold, dark world…Uh…Right. Everyone, please help me welcome Arthur Fleck!"

Your ears perked up at those words. That introduction was much more interesting than any of the others you’d heard. Still, you continued to search for the five-dollar bill you knew you had somewhere in your wallet, not paying any mind to the clapping around you or what was happening on stage.

That was, until he spoke.

"Hello, it’s good to be here." His velvety voice was laced with nervousness. He chortled, but it didn’t sound natural at all.

Forgetting about the tip, you glanced up at the man in the spotlight. Your heart unexpectedly fluttered in your chest as you observed the man —Arthur, was it?— closely.

He wore a merlot-colored vest over a white button-up shirt, paired with matching red slacks and brown loafers. His hair was slightly brushed back, little brown curls framing his face that stopped just a couple inches above his shoulders. Dark eyebrows highlighted a pair of eyes so strikingly green that you could distinctly see them from the back of the room where you were seated.

Arthur… He was certainly handsome. What concerned and intrigued you was the veil of pain over his smile and eyes and the underlying strain in his voice. There was something about him that drew you in —made you want to know more. Your wallet laid disregarded on the table as your eyes remained focused on him.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡̷̷̷ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Arthur swallowed back the growing lump in his throat. "Not now. Remember your practice." He repeated these words over and over in his head, begging the laughter not to take over again. He had performed this act once before a couple of months ago, but his condition had stolen the show from him, which left everyone laughing at him and not his jokes. He was embarrassed, but he couldn’t help but think, "What’s new?". Yet, after that failed performance, he somehow felt more determined to try again. He practiced and practiced any time he had the chance, often in the mirror or in his living room in front of an imagined audience.

He really felt like he had it down pat this time. All he had to do was get ahold of his laughter long enough to get through it.

Clearing his throat, he glanced down at the journal gripped tight by his trembling hands before looking back up at the audience.

"I h-hated school as a kid." One line down, and he only slightly chuckled. He made sure to smile like he rehearsed.

"My mother would say, 'You should enjoy it; one day you’ll have to work for a living.'"

Arthur could feel his throat closing up again. Sweat began to bead on his forehead from the stress and the hot stage lights above. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself before moving on to the punch line.

"N-No, I won't, ma’, I’m gonna be a comedian!" He held his arms out with a smile.

Scanning the silent audience, he began to feel his confidence crumble. As it did, the laughter became harder to suppress. He awaited his own doom…

A giggle could be heard somewhere in the distance. Arthur felt a bolt of excitement run through him, reviving his dwindling composure as he quickly began searching for the owner of the laugh amongst the dark sea of judging eyes around him.

Finally, they landed on you.

Arthur was immediately captivated by your beauty. You were all dressed up, your hair was done up nicely, and your radiant smile was pointed directly at him. You even laughed at his joke! Or were you just laughing at him like everyone else typically did? He wasn’t the best at reading people, but your smile seemed warm and your eyes friendly. And honestly, with your eyes locked on him in that very moment, he didn’t really care much whether he was misreading that or not. There was something about you that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that drew him to you —made him want to keep making you smile like that.

Arthur took his newfound confidence and continued with his act, trying his hardest to illicit more of that wonderful sound you made earlier.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡̷̷̷ ⋆⁺₊⋆

For the first time all night, you laughed. Not even a pity laugh, like the few you’d heard sprinkled amongst the quiet. Arthur evidently had some sort of condition he struggled with, but despite that, he was genuinely funny. The more he continued with his act, the more you found yourself laughing. You didn’t even care if you were the only person in the room who found his jokes hilarious. They clearly had terrible taste, and dammit, you were actually enjoying yourself!

It seemed like after he and you made eye contact, his laughter subsided a bit, enough for him to get through things a little more smoothly. Even so, you still felt deep concern each time he seemed to choke on the laughter that forced its way past his lips. You had never heard of such a condition, but it was clear to you that his laughter was not voluntary. You found yourself admiring his bravery and persistence, even when he was continuously cut off by his painful laughter, and eventually, the announcer, telling him his time was up.

You felt your blood boil at the announcer for interrupting his act so rudely. The other comedians had been allowed to finish their full acts, even if they went over their allotted time. They just wanted Arthur off the stage.

A pang of worry hit you as Arthur’s laughter finally got the better of him and came out in full force. You felt the urge to leap out of your chair and help him as he buckled over with his back turned against the audience, covering his mouth as if trying to stuff the laughter back inside himself. You didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was, so instead, you clapped. Not once did you clap at the end of the other comedian’s acts that night. But Arthur, he made you truly laugh. If any one of them deserved praise and support, it was him.

You clapped loudly enough to fill the deafening silence in the room, standing up in your chair with a smile. Arthur turned his head to look at you, his lips tugging into a genuine smile that reached his eyes before he was abruptly taken over by another fit of laughter. Your eyes followed him as he quickly scurried off the stage, heading into the backstage area. Your heart tugged against your chest at the sudden absence of him, a sensation that confused you.

It couldn’t possibly be the spark you’d been searching for…right? You barely knew the man.

You didn’t give yourself any more time to think before you tossed a random bill onto the table and rushed towards the backstage area you had seen him vanish into. Your feet moved quickly down the stairs, your eyes scanning around for him. Stopping in an unfamiliar room, you found it to be filled with nothing but framed photos of popular comedians who had performed at Pogo’s and a TV hung in the top left corner by the stairs from which you came. It was quiet and empty, but there was a hallway ahead that you hoped might lead you to the person you were seeking.

This time, you hesitated before moving your feet. Was this weird? Creepy, even? All you wanted was to speak to him face-to-face. Tell him his act was great. But would a normal person come bursting through backstage all for that?

"Hey!" You jumped at the booming voice behind you. "Didn’t you read the sign? Performers only!"

You spun around on your heels, not even looking the person in the eye as you mumbled an apology before quickly racing back up the stairs and heading straight for the exit of the building.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡̷̷̷ ⋆⁺₊⋆

For days after, you couldn’t stop thinking about how ridiculous an idea that was. You were certain that if you did happen to meet Arthur then, he would’ve thought you were crazy. You didn’t know him at all. He definitely didn’t know you. All you knew of him was what you observed in less than 7 minutes of his act. You made eye contact a few times, he smiled at you, whatever. Nothing special.

So why was it that you couldn’t get him out of your head?

Weeks passed, and the thoughts of Arthur Fleck persisted. You went over the memory of him from that night about a million times. Not just that, you’d been catching yourself imagining what he was doing at any given hour, as well as what kind of person he was. The thoughts kept coming and coming, frequently hindering your focus and only growing louder in the darkest hours of the night. You were beginning to question your own sanity a little. Obsessively thinking about a stranger you barely knew surely wasn’t normal. You knew this, yet you couldn’t seem to separate him from your mind, no matter how hard you tried.

There was just something about him. The way he shined so brightly against the depressing gloom of the city, despite the odds stacked against him —that which you knew you’d only seen the smallest glimpse of. He was a rare gem in Gotham, and you felt lucky to have witnessed him in person. Your only regret was that you never got to officially meet him.

With Gotham being so largely populated, you knew the chances of seeing him again were slim to none. If only you hadn't missed your chance. You’d debated going to Pogo's again in hopes that you’d catch another one of his performances, but you lacked the time, money, and, quite frankly, the willpower to sit through any more of those other dreadful acts. You may have been bordering on crazy when it came to your interest in this complete stranger, but you weren’t THAT desperate.

So, you let him go. Tried to, at least. He still popped into your head frequently throughout your days, but you managed to accept the grief of never getting to know who Arthur Fleck truly was, telling yourself that he was probably not as special as you made him out to be in your head. Arthur Fleck was just a stranger you projected your deepest desires onto, making him out to be the kind of partner you’d always wanted to share your life with but could never seem to find out in the real world. There was no such thing as the ‘spark', the magical connection people always talked about in the movies and that your friends and family raved about. Maybe it was real for them, but not for you. Foolish, were you, to think otherwise…

⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡̷̷̷ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Arthur had been distracted lately, more so than usual. He frequently spent a lot of time in his head; contemplating life, crafting jokes, having conversations with himself, daydreaming scenarios that helped him cope with the harshness of his reality. But as of late, most of his mind had been consumed by one particular subject.

You.

He didn’t know you. Didn’t even know your name. But something about you left a lasting imprint on his mind for days, weeks after his last gig at Pogo’s.

Your beauty, your smile, the way your eyes perked up when they met his. Even at the far end of the dark room, you stood out so clearly to him. And the things he felt when he heard your laughter...he couldn’t possibly describe in words. Never had he been filled with such warmth from a stranger —and all you did was laugh at his jokes! Nobody ever laughed at his jokes.

Nobody, but you.

And you didn’t laugh at him once. He paid close attention to see if you would, all while hoping with everything he had that you wouldn’t. Instead, he was met with an expression filled with joy and kindness, and at certain moments, deep compassion for him.

If it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have been able to get through his act. Your laughter was what kept him going and inspired him not to give up. That’s why he wanted to be a comedian in the first place. To make people laugh. To give people a sense of happiness that he himself had been cruelly stripped of his entire life. As Arthur had regrettably learned time and time again, most people found that sense of happiness in laughing at him, seeing him hurt, beating him down —but not in his jokes. Even his own mother didn’t think he was funny.

But you did. And that mean the entire world to him.

Since then, there was seldom a moment in which thoughts of you weren’t floating around his head. He pondered over everything he could remember about you. He imagined what you were like, what your name was, what made you smile, if you had a partner. He selfishly pretended you didn’t for the sake of the daydreams he created of you and him together, despite knowing that if you were to meet him, you’d probably want nothing to do with him. Hell, he wasn’t even convinced you were actually real. How could someone as perfect as you exist? Nobody in Gotham had a smile that bright. Nobody in Gotham would ever openly show him such kindness and warmth. It was impossible…right?

Arthur carried on with his life, knowing that you were likely just a part of his imagination, and he once again confused fantasy with reality. He had been watching too many romantic films lately, and it got to his head, that’s all.

But that certainly didn’t stop the persistent thoughts of you and the deep desire that you did really exist. That, for the first time, he had been truly seen by someone real.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡̷̷̷ ⋆⁺₊⋆

"Shit. Dammit. Come on," you cursed under your breath as you struggled to lock your friend’s car with one hand, all while performing a balancing act with an overflowing box of items in your arms and two bags slung over your shoulders.

You felt lucky to have such great friends —the kind that would let you borrow their car when you suddenly got evicted from your apartment. You weren’t feeling too lucky about that, but at least you had people you could rely on to help you through it.

It didn’t help that it was such short notice, leaving you scrambling to find somewhere else to live. Your friends had offered to let you stay on their couches while you searched, but as it turned out, there was only one place within reasonable distance of your job that you could afford, so your search didn’t last long. It wasn’t a great place, by any means. It looked to be practically falling apart, and it was in a terribly dangerous area of Gotham, but you would take that over being on the streets any day. Besides, it was cheap enough that you would conveniently save a few bucks a month. Not much, but it was better than not being able to afford the rent at all.

After successfully locking the car, you walked carefully towards the entrance of the apartment building. With how exhausted you were from frantically packing everything at the last minute, the last thing you wanted to do was take multiple trips to and from your friend’s car for some basic necessities. That said, you made a mental note to move your friend’s car to a safer location before the end of the day. Apparently, the area was known for a lot of car break-ins and robberies.

You walked through the entrance of the building, not having much time to look for where to go before you abruptly collided with someone in front of you, causing most of the items in your arms to fall onto the dirty checkered floor below your feet.

"God, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t really looking—I mean, I couldn’t really see where I was going, and I...I’m sorry," you said as you rushed to pick up all your belongings off the floor. Wanting to avoid witnessing the stranger judge your frazzled state, you kept your eyes glued to the ground and focused on putting things back together in a way that would allow you to carry it all again.

"It’s alright. I wasn’t looking where I was going either," the stranger responded. They seemed surprisingly understanding, something you were not used to receiving in the merciless city you resided in.

"Sorry. H-Here, let me help," he added, just as you noticed the familiar brown loafers on the stranger’s feet. Suddenly, the rest began falling into place.

Wait a minute…That voice. You knew that voice.

You shot your head up just as the stranger crouched down to help you pick up your things. Your eyes met in that moment, leaving you both frozen in place for an unknown amount of time as you each took in the familiar face of the person before you.

It was Arthur. The man you had been thinking about for an embarrassing amount of time. It had been almost a month since you’d seen his act at Pogo's, and thoughts of him still remained active in your mind all this time later, despite your many attempts to lock them away and forget about him.

The chances of you two seeing each other again were so very slim, and yet, there you were, crouched at eye level on the floor, staring at one another in shock. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you realized you had been blatantly staring at him for what would definitely be considered too long and scrambled to find something to say.

"You’re Arthur Fleck from—"

"You were the one who—"

You and Arthur laughed sheepishly, heat rising to your cheeks as you looked into each other's eyes.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡̷̷̷ ⋆⁺₊⋆

There was that laugh he’d been craving to hear all month. It filled his ears and soothed his soul. Even better, your speaking voice was the most heavenly sound he’d ever heard. The way you said his name was enough to have him on the verge of melting into a complete puddle on the floor, and it took all of his conscious energy not to do just that. He was surprised you even remembered him at all. ‘Memorable’ was not a word Arthur would even think to associate himself with. Arthur was invisible to much of the world around him. But strangely, miraculously, not to you.

Not only that…you seemed to be real. The fact that he was so shocked to find out you were the person he ran into pointed more to the possibility of you not just being a figment of his imagination. Never in a million years had he expected to find you in this dump, of all places.

"Y-Yes, that’s me. I’m Arthur." He nodded timidly. "Why are you here?"

"What a stupid question. You didn’t even ask for their name!" he thought. He tried to think of the right things to say in this kind of situation. He had imagined many scenarios of meeting you, but never like this. It became harder to breathe as he realized he had already said the wrong thing. Now you probably thought he was rude and a loser. Why did he always have to mess everything up?

Surprisingly, though, you laughed.

"I swear, I’m not stalking you!" You joked, putting your hands up in playful defense. "I’m actually moving in today." Arthur felt relief fill his being, but the threat of a laughing fit still loomed over his head. You were just so pretty, and perfect, and so much better than he had imagined. He would never forgive himself if he messed this up.

"I’m Y/N, by the way. It’s nice to officially meet you…I’m assuming you live here?" You smiled at him, radiating the same warmth he had received from you at Pogo’s all those nights ago. If he could bask in it forever, he would.

Y/N… Your name definitely suited you better than any of the ones he came up with in his mind. He avoided the temptation to repeat it aloud in front of you. He wanted to know what it felt like rolling off his tongue.

"Yeah, eighth floor," he said. "What floor are you on?" 

Your eyes grew wide, and you blinked a few times in what appeared to be shock.

"E-Eighth floor…"

Now it was Arthur’s turn to feel shocked. What a strange twist of events that seemingly led you both here. Arthur thought he’d given up on fate, seeing as his life had only been filled with one traumatic event after another, no matter how hard he tried to change things for the better. Either fate had a nasty grudge against him or everything was all random chance, and he just so happened to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time. For Arthur, it was easier to believe the latter. At least that way, he still had some sense of control over his life. He’d take his chances in a battle against bad luck over some divine force that he surely stood no chance against.

As he gazed upon you now, he couldn’t help but feel conflicted once more. Maybe he was wrong about fate. Sure, it was his performance at Pogo’s that caught your attention, but Arthur certainly wasn’t the one that led you to being at the club that night, nor the reason that you were moving here —on the same floor of the apartment building he lived in, no less. Maybe it was luck, maybe it was a crazy coincidence, or maybe it was something more…

A glimmer of hope filled his heart as he smiled at you. Maybe you were real, and maybe fate was too. If all the terrible things he went through were the exact things required for him to end up here in this very moment with you, then it was all worth it to him.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡̷̷̷ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Arthur was surprisingly not much different than what you imagined him to be like. He was very sweet, and you found his timidity around you charming. Your heart fluttered every time he smiled at you. The smiles he presented you now were not veiled with pain like the ones you had seen from him on stage. They were soft and sincere, and they accentuated the wrinkles around his pretty green eyes.

You accepted his offer to help you carry your things up to your apartment. He claimed he was headed that way anyway, though you swore he had been exiting the building when you ran into him. The possibility of him dropping his plans to help you instead released a whole swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

Arthur pressed the elevator button for the eighth floor, shifting the weight of the box in his arms as he did so. He had insisted on carrying both the heavy box and one of your bags for you, leaving you to carry a few smaller items and the other bag slung around your shoulder.

"I, um…I never got to tell you how much I loved your act! I wanted to speak to you afterwards, but…I guess I missed you," you said.

"Uh, yeah, sorry about that…" He shot you an apologetic look.

"Don’t worry about it." You smiled. "I’m just glad I get to tell you now. You’re really funny, Arthur. Funnier than all those other comedians, if you ask me."

Arthur’s cheeks turned a rosy pink as he looked down at the box in his arms, a big smile taking over his face. "Thank you. That means a lot."

The elevator door screeched open, and the two of you walked down the hallway of your shared floor, your conversation continuing on the way to your door. You both found yourselves walking slower to avoid the inevitable end of the moment you were so immersed in.

Something about the way Arthur spoke to you made you feel special. His tone was gentle, and his eyes held a deep curiosity for every word that you spoke in return. The more the two of you talked, the more comfortable you began to feel around him, and you could sense Arthur felt the same way; his previous nerves now diminished as he casually walked alongside you.

Eventually, you arrived at your destination, but that did nothing to cease your talking. Arthur amusingly pointed out the fact that your apartment was directly across from his and joked about bringing a shitty casserole to your place to welcome you to the neighborhood. You noticed Arthur’s face brighten even more as you laughed at this.

He even offered to help you gather the rest of your things and bring them into your apartment, which you happily agreed to —not only for the help but for the extra time you’d get to spend with him. You were ever so curious to know more about the mysterious Arthur Fleck, who had nearly consumed your every thought for so many days. He intrigued you more than anyone else you’d ever met, the bright light of his soul drawing you nearer like a moth to a flame.

It was at that moment that you finally understood. The spark you’d been seeking your whole life was neither a thing nor a feeling. It was a person.

Finally, you had found your spark.

And his name was Arthur Fleck.

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