#kim possible soundtrack

[riverbay11]

I’m actually looking into the Kim possible soundtrack now (I’ve heard the obvious ones Call Me beep me, Could it be, naked mole rap, Rappin Drakken etc) but like oh my god this soundtrack has some fucking BANGERS like yalls ever hear this one? It’s fun

[flowery-laser-blasts]

All I've ever wanted... (a dark fanfic)

"I did it, I actually did it!"

Dr. Drakken felt his heart pound inside of his chest as he stepped onto the stage. He couldn't help but grin as he watched the faces of the world leaders; fright, disbelief, and shock were smeared all over their ugly mugs. And most importantly, all their eyes were locked on the mad scientist. Flashing cameras from news reporters, each in attendance from places all across the world, were transfixed on him. Drakken was about to make a speech, addressing his next course of action now that the world belonged to him and him only.

Drakken cleared his throat and leaned towards one of the dozen microphones in front of him. As he was about to speak, he suddenly felt something was off about this whole scenario. Something, no rather, someone was missing as he glanced towards his right side.

"Shego?" he mouthed. He turned back to face the crowd and startled when met with silence. The once buzzing and stuffed conference room was now vacant and deserted, as if something had whisked everyone away. 

The man quickly climbed off the stage and headed towards the exit door. When he opened it up, gone was the conference room hallway and in its place he was met with a dark, endless void.

Drakken called out to no one in particular, hoping to hear a response, but once again he heard nothing. As he turned around, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye; a dim green light was flickering in the distance as if it fought to stay connected to the dark silhouette sprawled out on the floor. 

"She— Shego!" Drakken felt panic rush in as there came no response from the figure. He forced himself to move closer, but with each step he took, his legs became twice as heavy. "Shego, is that you? Answer me!" he cried out. 

After what felt like ages, he managed to get near enough to confirm his worst fear. Drakken fell to his knees in defeat, letting out a guttural scream as he tried with all of his strength to reach out to the woman he loved. Millions of questions raced through his head all at once: How could this happen? When did this happen? Who was responsible for this atrocity!?

"No— No, no, NO!" He choked back tears as he watched the remnants of green light die at his lover's fingertips.

"What's wrong?" 

Drakken froze as he heard his own voice coming from behind him. 

"Why do you care so much about a mere sidekick? She's as replaceable as your henchmen," the voice taunted him. "Just take a strand of her hair and clone her; maybe even replace that snarky personality of hers with a more obedient one." 

The voice was getting closer. 

Flee, now!

Drakken's instincts kicked in. A sharp pain shot through his body as he got back on his feet. He ran through the dark as hard as he could, feeling the gaze of the doppelganger burn into his skull. If he could keep enough distance, then maybe he could find a way out of this place. Drakken clenched his teeth as a deafening ringing filled his ears until... 'Beep, beep, bee-beep.'

"Possible!" The scientist searched haphazardly in the dim light for the source of the sound until his eyes fell upon his arch-nemesis. "KI-KIM! KIM POSSIBLE, OVER HERE! HELP ME!" 

Drakken waved his arms frantically as he began running in her direction. A newfound hope dulled out all the pain in his aching body. 

This teen can do anything! She's forgiving, strong, resilient! Surely she'll help me get out of this mess. 

Drakken's thoughts were disrupted as he felt his feet slip from underneath him and he hit the ground with a thud. The man stayed down a moment as he held his head in pain and checked his stinging hands for signs of blood; thankfully there were none. He looked at the spot where he slipped. 

"Ice?" he questioned out loud. A small patch of ice was on the floor and it formed a trail underneath him. Curiously he followed it with his eyes, to find that it led to the teen superhero not three meters in front of him. Kim looked up at the blackened sky above them, her hands above her head as if she were carrying a big invisible tray or surrendering herself. Drakken noted other things: her skin, hair, and clothes were drenched with water, her focused eyes were dark and sunken in, her lips were rough, burst and bleeding but most frightening of all…her entire face was blue.

"Oh yeah, that's right... We locked her up in a basin with water and then topped it off with a thick layer of solid ice... The brat froze to death or drowned. Either way, it doesn't matter. That poor thing thought she could belt herself to freedom. We both know that the human voice can't crack a dent in layers upon layers of solid ice!" The voice started cackling loudly. "We finally defeated that little meddling pest. You should be happy!" The voice sounded closer than before.

I'm done for.

"No there's gotta be— There's gotta be a way out of here!" Drakken cursed under his breath. 

He focused on getting up. But the second his foot touched the ground, instead of a hard surface he was met with a goopy, black ooze. The earth underneath him started to shift into a sticky, pitch-black pool that clung to his clothes. With every movement he made, he felt himself sink further into it.  

Drakken tried clawing at the parts that seemed still intact, only for it to flow through his fingers until he felt a shoe. His gaze shot upwards to see Kim Possible's sidekick staring back at him. His face was somber with no hint of empathy or remorse for the man as he slowly became more and more engulfed in tar.  

Drakken tried getting a hold of the boy's leg, opened his mouth to plead with him for help. But when he tried to speak, nothing came from his lips.

"Oh, that's right. We never bothered to remember him, uhm�� What’s his name again? Perhaps ‘buffoon’ works..."  

But I know his name, it's Stoppable! Ron Stoppable! Drakken protested back in his mind. But the more he tried to force the name out, the more gulps of sticky, suffocating tar gushed into his throat.

“Look at you. You’ve got all the power in the world, and still you are weak.” 

Drakken could see his mirror image hovering, staring right at him now mere centimeters above his own face. Finally he dared to look at the figure’s features.  

His face was sharp and slightly sunken in, his ears seemed pointier than his own, and bloodshot eyes were fixed on his, observing him like a predator watching its prey die. 

“I gave you this power! This is all you’ve ever wanted and yet you are not satisfied?” 

“I never wanted—” 

“LIAR!” 

The roaring of the doppelganger’s voice sounded like thunder shaking the earth. The tar pit morphed into a maelstrom, trying to drag Drakken down with violent waves. 

“The way to the top is paved with blood. You and I both knew that from the very start.” 

“That’s… That’s not what I—” 

“You pushed Shego to put her life at risk countless times, just to steal something you could’ve easily made yourself.” 

“But I—” 

“You were enjoying commanding her. She’s nothing but a powerful tool to you. Why else would you put a neuro-compliance chip on her? What else were you thinking of making her do?” 

“NO, I’D NEVER—!”  

“Never what, Drew?” his voice spat out his name like venom. “Must I remind you that you let a child drown? You just walked away as she was panicking, gasping for air in that freezing water. You don’t have any regard for others in the slightest, so what makes you think that you’re ‘holier than thou’?” 

Drakken felt his body becoming numb as the tar further condensed into a heavy emulsion, the power of the waves and the thickness of the ooze forcing his body to give up.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he sobbed with the last of his strength.

“You’re not sorry,” Ron finally spoke up. “You’re saying this because you hope that someone will somehow save you. But no one will, Drakken. You’ve got no one but yourself to blame.”    Drakken watched in horror as his doppelganger joined him in the pit, burying his finger-like claws against his face, forcing Drakken’s jaws open as he began pulling him deep underneath the surface of the suffocating darkness. His final sight was the apathetic face of the boy as he felt his last desperate breaths escape from his lungs...

Drakken's eyes shot open as he jolted upright, sucking in air against the choking sensation that still had him in its dark grasp. His eyes darted around as he took a moment to process his surroundings, noting familiarity.

The small moat was dimly glowing, illuminating the room just enough to remind him that he was in his bedroom. He felt the mattress shifting slightly as Shego turned and cuddled up to his arm, still fast asleep but thankfully…very much alive. 

A wave of relief washed over Drakken as he slowly lie back down. He lifted his still trembling hand and brought it to Shego’s head, brushing his fingers through her dark locks as he watched her sleep. He felt his breaths calm as reality began to supplant the horrors. A content sigh coming from the woman next to him gave him reassurance that the nightmare was finally over. For now.

•─────────────•°•❀•°•─────────────• I hope you liked my little angsty Dr Drakken fanfiction! Massive thanks to @bcbdrums for test reading and helping me with grammar, and spelling checking, and additional suggestions to flesh it out more! ♡(◕ᗜ◕✿) This started out as an idea for a small comic to process and sort out my own nightmares (write it out of mind out so it's of sight am I right?). But then I noticed that it became a bit too big for a small comic as I added more and more things into it, oopsies. I also thought of adding parts from the show into it to keep it in universe. I honestly find the death trap in 'Hidden Talent' to be one of the most diabolical things in the show. Also a small fun note, I based Drakken's nightmare version on one of the unused concept designs for Drakken but I uh, slapped some hair on it :') I unfortunately don't have time to actually make this into a comic at this moment, so that's why I decided to just write it out and perhaps in the future I might adapt it!

[npcemi]

A little bit on this Kim Possible symphonic story thing that I decided to do, This is the opening track along with a bit of written commentary on it. honestly, this whole project is turning out to be really fun and cool to work on.

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part three

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

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

part three word count: 22.3k

part three warnings: swearing, blood and other vampire-y things — you know the drill, plenty of tension (of both the general and sexual sort), still nothing explicit but we’re getting a little ~sexier~, a kiss 😈

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

note: my favorite chapter yet. I hope you love it too. happy reading ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

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.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

PART THREE

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Biting your lip, you stare at the screen of your phone. The email you’re currently trying to draft has been completely blank for the last eight minutes. Other than the addressee line, that is. 

Despite the elapsing time, Professor Kim’s email address is the only field you’ve been able to fill out. 

Not without good reason, of course. It’s a delicate balance you’re trying to strike. After all, the last time you saw him, he was covered in blood. Fully deranged. Convinced of whatever motive spurred his actions enough to throw a dart at you. Inject vampire poison directly into your veins. 

Fleeing from the scene of his supposed crime with a strange look in his bloodshot eyes. 

Beyond that, there are other obstacles to consider. The only contact information you have for your professor is his official university email address. You doubt it’s monitored regularly, but you’d rather not have a paper trail of damning accusations in your wake stored forever on a public server. 

Sighing, you let your phone fall to your lap for a moment. You’ve been awake for nearly an hour now, and you haven’t quite worked up the courage to leave the confines of Heeseung’s bedroom. 

It could be beneficial, you suppose, to ask him for help. He’s more than proven his discerning eye for matters like this. But that would involve leaving the safety of your current location, even if it is illusory at best. And it’s not like Heeseung has shown any support for your plan to contact your professor. 

Besides, if you can’t handle something as simple as a well-crafted email, how are you ever going to manage profiling an unusually cognizant vampire without raising suspicion? No, this is something you need to do on your own. Even if only to reassure yourself that you can.

Bringing your phone back to eye level, you type:

Dear Professor Kim, 

 It’s cordial. A standard greeting from a student to their professor. Nothing that would raise a red flag, warrant further investigation. 

I apologize for not being able to attend our scheduled draft meeting on Wednesday afternoon. There have been quite a few unexpected events in the last few days…

You frown, backspacing through that last sentence. 

Something unavoidable came up, and I was not able to provide prior notice. 

You don’t love it, but it will have to work. 

If possible, I would love to reschedule our meeting. I am still thrilled about the opportunity to discuss my draft with you in person. I took the liberty of previewing several of New Haven’s recently published works, and I believe that my work will make a fitting contribution to the existing canon. For your convenience, I have attached a copy of my current draft for your review.

Regarding the internship, I am still highly interested in pursuing that opportunity as well. I believe that my personal interests are well-suited to New Haven’s core beliefs and values. I would love to find another time to formally tour the New Haven Publishing facilities. I believe that you have a great capacity for mentorship and would be honored to work alongside you in the coming months. 

You read over your message once. Twice. Deciding that it will only sound worse the more it lingers in your mind, you add your signature to the end. Then you close your eyes, take a deep, steadying inhale, and press send before you can change your mind. 

The small whoosh sound as the message leaves your inbox and slides into his feel almost anticlimactic. You’re dealing with vampires and careful allusions in subtext. Things that seem more suited to a quill and parchment than an email typed on a smartphone. 

With the message sent, your mind is suddenly free to wander to other things. Despite the strange, frantic jumble of events that have occurred in the past handful of days, you’re still tethered to your mortality. Now, that manifests as a grumble in your stomach. 

Although you’re sure the bag next to the nightstand truly is the result of Jake’s best efforts, the rather lacking grocery run he did hasn’t been doing you many favors nutritionally. 

For a fleeting moment, the idea of only needing to feed once a year is almost something that inspires envy. It would certainly make things simpler. 

While you’re contemplating the merits of peeling yet another clementine, a knock rings out against the door. Three firm raps that have you nearly jumping out of your skin. 

It’s another unfortunate side effect of humanity, your infallible skittishness. Distantly, you wonder when that will start to fade. If it will. Fear these days has a way of feeling etched to your bones, painted against the backs of your eyelids. A shadow that never strays far from your footsteps, no matter how quiet they are. 

It’s not unexpected, given the things your mind has been subjected to as of late, but it is starting to wear on you. 

Most of all, you miss feeling safe. Not so constantly, painfully aware of your own mortality, your capacity for injury. For death. 

For now, you force yourself to breathe. One deep inhale followed by a long exhale. It’s just one of the boys, you’re sure. 

But you can’t even linger on that too long. If you do, they stop being boys in your mind and start becoming five-hundred-year-old immortal, blood drinking beings with supernatural powers. It’s a lot to handle, especially at nine in the morning. 

Shoving your fear to the side the best that you can, you force your voice into something steady. “Come in.”

It’s Heeseung that enters. Tentatively, on slow footsteps, as if this space doesn't belong to him. It’s strange, you think, how out of place a person can look in their own room. And it’s not that he doesn’t fit in with his surroundings as much as it is that he appears to be brimming with unease. A tension that sits just below his skin and won’t let him relax. 

Eyes that can’t decide where to land, that flit around the room as if he’s seeing it for the first time. Hands that war between resting at his sides versus making themselves busy. Pushing at his hair, tugging at his shirt. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was nervous. 

Finally, after a moment of stilted silence, his gaze lands on you. 

And it’s all too much like time you spent in an empty classroom at adjacent desks, reading each other’s words. The moments you stole under moonlight after he insisted on walking you home. It’s not that the discomfort fades. But when he looks at you like that, it has a way of becoming irrelevant. An afterthought. 

Eyes meeting across the room, the only thing that exists between the two of you is the gentle fragility of the moment. A blip in time that extends until it’s stretched too thin. Until it snaps, forcing you back to reality. 

“I came to check on you,” he finally says. “To see how you’re feeling.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, averting your eyes. It’s a cop out, yes, but it’s also the truth. You are fine. Even if it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself of it as much as you are him. 

Heeseung worries at his bottom lip with his teeth. Smooth, flat, even teeth. You wonder if he has control of it, when his fangs come out. If there are moments when he doesn’t, when control passes from his careful grip to the whims of his fading inhibitions. 

But for now, at least, he’s as guarded as ever. 

It doesn’t detract from his consideration. “I thought you might want to go to your apartment,” he offers. “Get some of your own clothes. Spend a little time in a familiar place.”

Sensing an opportune moment, your stomach grumbles audibly. 

Heeseung suppresses a grin. As if he’s charmed by it, you and your undeniable humanity. “Get some real food in you.”

It’s hard, at first, not to feel like he’s trying to kick you out. And it’s stupid, probably, to be in a vampire’s house feeling insecure about the space you take up, the effects of your presence. The fragile hope that something in him wants you there. 

But you’ve gotten better at reading his intentions, even when he does his best to keep them under lock and key. You’ve traded too many secrets to feel shunned. It’s concern that he wraps his offer in, not contempt. 

And you really are hungry. “I could go for some food.”

It’s sweet, the way he asks if you have a favorite restaurant. A spot for take-out that you frequent on busy nights when you’re too tired to cook anything. 

And it gives you a good excuse to drag him along to your favorite coffee shop. You’re the one that’s stunned into silence, though, when he tells the barista that you’ll take the food to go. And when he hands her a small wad of cash before you can get a protest in edgewise. 

You don’t press him on it, but the look you give him is question enough. 

“There’s something I want to show you,” he explains as you wait for your food. “We, well, you can eat there.”

It hits you then, in the middle of a cafe you frequent, that you don’t even have to think about it. You’re nodding before his words have time to fully process. For some reason, placing  small bits of trust in him feels like second nature. 

But now, a handful of minutes later, staring up at a very tall ladder with your takeout bag in hand, you’re having second thoughts. 

It’s not that you’re afraid of heights particularly, but…

“I don’t know…” you trail off, gaze still fixated on the top of the ladder. The longer you look, the further away it seems. When Heeseung said he wanted to show you something, you didn’t think the local water tower would be involved in any capacity. “Is this even allowed?”

Next to you, Heeseung just shrugs. “I’ve never gotten in trouble.”

“You know,” you glance at him sideways, “that’s really not all that reassuring.”

“C’mon,” he urges, and he has that glint in his eye. The one that would probably have you following him off a cliff if he asked nicely enough. “The view is worth it. I promise.”

Eyes squinting against the glint of winter sunlight and the prospect of scaling a water tower, you swallow audibly. “It better be,” you grumble. 

Heeseung, like you, has gotten better at picking up on the little details. He doesn’t need to hear you say it to know that he’s won. 

“You go first.” He nods towards the ladder. 

That you are about to argue against when he adds, “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

So with one final exhale and hands that tremble slightly, you walk until you reach the first rung of the ladder. 

“Wait,” Heeseung calls from behind. You turn to find him walking towards you, hand outstretched. “I’ll carry the bag.”

Wordlessly, you slide the takeout bag off of your wrist, handing it to him. At this point, you don’t care if it's chivalry or concern for your ability to scale a ladder that motivates his offer. You’re reeling either way. Despite his promise to catch you, you can’t shake the feeling that the odds of you plummeting straight to the ground from some awful height are greater than zero. You’ll minimize all the risks that you can. 

So, with a steady breath and a racing heartbeat you’re sure he can hear, you start your shaky ascent. 

Only once, during the entire climb, do you glance down. 

It’s not like you ever suspected Heeseung of breaking a promise prematurely, but the sight of him a few rungs beneath you is reassuring all the same. Even if the distance between you and the ground as your gaze shifts over his shoulder is decidedly not. 

And a few, hard earned minutes later, you have to give it to him. You hate to admit that he was right, but the view is absolutely breathtaking. 

The golden glow of late morning winter sunlight cascades over the city that raised you, now just a tangle of lights and roads and tiny buildings in the vast expanse far beneath you. It’s an entirely new perspective on the place where all of your first dreams were realized, where the plans for your future have started coming to fruition. 

In the distance, traces of snow dust the tops of the mountains. You’re nearly eye level with them now, those peaks that have always seemed so unreachable. It’s a vantage point that has you tilting your head, wishing you could capture it forever. 

Beneath you, the city teems with life. The hustle and bustle you’re usually caught up in suddenly feels far away, removed from you. Signs of life feel like something you observe, admire with curiosity but don’t belong to yourself. 

Fleetingly, you wonder if all of Heeseung’s years have passed in a similar fashion. If the sight of a million headlights in the distance makes him feel closer to his humanity or further from it than ever. 

You exhale, breath visible in the frigid air. 

Next to you, Heeseung remains silent. Lets you take it all in without so much as a word. But his presence is something your attention never strays far from. The sound of his breath, the space he takes up in your periphery and in your mind. 

Once you start looking, it’s hard to tear your gaze away. But after another moment, you turn to face him. The winter wind plays with your hair, skims across your cheekbones. The distance between you and him feels almost as much like a ravine as it does nonexistent. 

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him. But your eyes are dancing in dangerous territory. The curve of his jaw. The bridge of his nose. The deep hues of his eyes. The sudden memory of what it was like to be inside his mind, to occupy a space so intrinsically him it felt like an invasion of privacy. 

For a moment, you don’t think he’ll respond at all. But your predictions have never been solid where he’s concerned. 

“I thought you might like it.” Reaching out, he offers you your food again. “Here. I also thought it might be nice to eat with a view. Some fresh air.”

You move to take a seat where you stand, but Heeseung isn’t satisfied yet. He’s braver than you. It may be an unfair assessment, given the nature of his established perpetuity. 

Still, your heart seizes a bit in your chest as you watch him inch closer to the edge of the water tower, slide down into a seated position with his legs dangling off of the side. 

Deciding that you’ve had enough reminders of your mortality this morning, you slide down where you are. Setting the takeout bag down beside you, you pull your bagel out. Grateful that it’s held onto its warmth, you unwrap it, taking a bite. 

It’s almost good enough to have you groaning out loud. Thankfully, you’re able to tamp that urge down before it comes to fruition. 

After another handful of equally delicious bites, your eyes land on Heeseung’s back. Frowning, you remember the first essay from that strange book you found in the library nearly two weeks ago. 

Sacred Monsters, it was called. The Taste of Blood. 

A sudden question pulls at your lips. You’re not sure what the proper etiquette is, of asking vampires about their personal cuisine preferences. Swallowing, you decide far more invasive truths have already passed between the two of you. 

He’s still looking out over the city, still a few feet in front of you. But you keep your voice quiet, as if he were seated at your side. You know he’ll hear it all the same. 

“Can you eat?” you ask the silhouette of his back. “Human food, I mean.”

Turning to look at you over his shoulder, Heeseung pauses for a moment. He must decide that standing is preferable to responding, because with the grace of a trained dancer, he rises to his full height. Takes a few even steps before he’s right next to you.

Then, he slides back down into a seated position at your side, this time separated from you by only scant inches. 

“I don’t know,” he finally answers. “I’ve never tried. But everything about it,” he glances at your bagel, “the smell, the texture, the look, is very… unappetizing.”

You wonder if that’s why he chose to sit away from you, if it’s causing him any grief to be so close now. But he doesn’t seem all that perturbed. 

“That’s too bad.” A tone of light teasing playing at the edges of your voice, you nod toward what’s left of your bagel. “I was going to offer you a bite.”

You don’t miss it, the way his eyes fall to the side of your neck, just under your jaw. The place where your wound is still healing. The bite mark he left there. It’s covered by a bangade now. The thought of walking in public with such an obvious injury felt reckless, like an invitation for unwanted attention. But you’re still painfully aware of its presence. As is he, it would seem. 

“Hm,” he muses, gaze sliding back to your eyes lazily. “Tempting.”

You know he can hear it, the way your heart skips a beat at the implication. The undeniable hint of something that clouds his words. You’re not sure how to identify it, the emotion that has heat flaring beneath your cheekbones. Thrill, maybe. The kind you get in your stomach just before the roller coaster drops. 

But there’s a sensation that pools deeper, tugs at you from just below your naval. Something lost in translation as your struggle to sort the feelings memories of that night inspire. 

Whatever it is, your body betrays you all the same. There’s a flush in your heat and a thrum in your chest and something else entirely gathering at the base of your spine. You decide that taking another bite is the best method of defusal. It takes a concentrated effort not to choke on it.

“Did you have one before?” You’re suddenly desperate to shift the direction of the conversation. “A favorite food, I mean.”

For a moment, Heeseung is quiet. You’re suddenly worried that you’ve overstepped, landed on a sore subject. 

But then he reaches out his hand, letting it hover right above your wrist. “Can I?”

He’s asking for permission, you realize, to paint more images for you with his mind. 

Tamping down on the flicker of surprise that rises, you nod. And then his fingers, gentle as the fleeting kiss of a butterfly’s wings, are once again encircling the curve of your wrist. 

You’re more prepared for it this time, the way the city, nestled in the valley of snow-topped mountains, begins to disappear. As it does, a decidedly warmer image takes its place.

You’re in a kitchen, one lost to the centuries. A woman in a long, plain dress and an apron tied around her waist leans over the fire fueled oven, pulls out a tray of delicious looking pastries. 

Her careful actions are infused with love as she sprinkles a fresh coat of sugar on top of the baking tray, as she meticulously places a handful of fresh raspberries in the center of each perfect pastry. 

In the vision, a boy appears. You feel your heart melt a bit at the sight of him, at this version of Heeseung that can’t be older than twelve. He’s brimming with boyish energy, laughing as he’s admonished for taking a bite before the pastries have properly cooled. Fanning his burnt tongue with a frantic hand. 

Grinning ear to ear when he sneaks another as soon as the woman’s back is turned.  His emotions are as plain as day, in the way children’s always are. The honesty of his joy is painfully apparent in the way his eyes crinkle in amusement, the way they hold no traces of melancholy, no weight from the world. 

And then, just as surely as it came to you, the scene begins to dissolve. As it fades, you turn to Heeseung. His eyes are the same, as that boy from his vision’s, but there’s more depth to them now. The end result of a gaze that bears the brunt force of five hundred years of weight.

“Fresh raspberry cakes,” he tells you, some kind of distant sorrow for a long lost memory outlining his words. “Those were my favorite.”

Hoping to ease some of the heaviness, you offer him a small smile. “You have a good memory. I can barely remember what I ate for breakfast last week.”

But your words don’t have their intended effect. His focus is on the mountains in the distance when he tells you, “We remember everything. In excruciating detail. It’s different from humans, I suppose. Our minds don’t shift to make room for new memories. They just… expand. Hold more.” He sighs, and it’s lost somewhere in the wind. “Things from the past, no matter how distant, never blur. They never fade.”

He can paint hallucinations with his mind. He drinks blood. And still, as you gaze at his profile, you think this might be the most horrifying thing he’s told you yet. 

You can’t imagine it, having all of your past stored so fully in your mind. All the ebbs and flows, the pain, joy, sorrow from your life. 

And he has five hundred years of it. 

It strikes you then, at the top of a water tower, at the precipice of a debilitating revelation, just how insignificant this will all be for him. Your lifetime that will be nothing but a blip on a radar. A moment, never forgotten perhaps, but lost to time all the same. 

You’ll grow, age, change. You’ll graduate university and find a way to support yourself into early adulthood. You might move to a new city, learn a new language, pick up a new hobby. All of the ways people find to fill the limited time that they have, to make the most of the finite days they’re blessed with. 

You might even fall in love. Start a family. Sit on a porch one day, surrounded by grandchildren. Smiling as they laugh at your inability to understand the ways the world is changing, grinning at their disbelief as you explain how different things were in your childhood. 

And then, inevitably, it will end. The community you’ve found, the family you’ve built, will mourn you. Your life, like so many that came before yours, will fade into the background of the cosmos, surviving only in the memory of those that knew you. 

And for him, nothing will change. He’ll look the same, sound the same, be the same. Constant. Unwavering. Immune to the whims of time and the insignificance of something as fragile as humanity. 

You wonder, for a fleeting moment, how you’ll be committed to his everlasting memory. What shape the imprint of you will take. 

When he looks back, five hundred years from now, and can still recall this moment in excruciating detail, what will he think? What will he feel?

Heeseung must sense your sudden melancholy. The temperature hasn’t dropped. In fact, it’s only gotten warmer as the sun continues its steady trek across the late morning sky. 

Still, he turns to look at you. “It’s getting cold up here.” Jerking his head back in the direction of the ladder, he adds, “Why don’t we head to your apartment?”

For now, it’s enough to bring you out of your swirling thoughts. Right back to the current moment. Oh right. You may have gotten up here without much of a hitch, but you still have to get yourself down. 

Luckily, Heeseung offers to go first. And he only laughs once, a bright, airy sound you wish you heard more of, when you threaten to kill him if he lets you fall. 

…..

The lock on your apartment door has always been finicky. It takes a few frustrating tries for you to find the right angle. Finally, you hear the telltale click of the lock giving in. Sighing in relief, you push the door open. 

As you step inside and flick on the light, everything looks just as you left it. Mostly organized, save for the throw blanket you forgot to fold and the coffee mug you left next to the sink. But now, overly aware of the presence just over your shoulder, you’re suddenly looking at your space through discerning eyes. 

It’s not that you feel some immense need to impress him. It’s just that you’re suddenly very aware of everything, all the little pieces of yourself scattered across your apartment. 

You don’t know why, but you realize that it matters to you, what Heeseung thinks of your space.

As you turn to gauge his reaction, you find him still standing just outside your doorway, hands shoved in his coat pockets. A polite gesture maybe, but it feels out of place among the moments that have passed between you. The intimacy garnered over the last few days. 

“What are you doing?” You eye him warily. “Are you going to come in?”

“I’d love to,” he says evenly. His feet don’t budge an inch. “But I… I can’t.”

What? Your brow creases in confusion. What does he mean he can’t—

Oh. 

Oh. 

You figured there was no awkwardness left between the two of you in this regard. After all,  you’ve slept in his bedroom, in his bed, for the last handful of nights. You’ve been inside of his mind. But you suppose this is different. 

Besides, he’s from another time. Another century Despite the fact that he seems to be quite well adjusted to modern life, maybe he still holds some age-old reservations about entering a woman’s home. About being alone with you behind closed doors without six other people with supernatural hearing lingering nearby. 

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you suddenly find it a bit difficult to match his eye. 

Where has his mind spun to, exactly, as he grapples with the thought of entering your apartment? After all, immortal or not, he is still a guy. And university aged one, at that. Well, kind of. 

“It really is okay,” you tell him once you find your voice again. “I mean, if you think about it, I was in your house for the last few days. I know it’s different, since you have roommates, but it really is fine. And my couch is actually pretty comfortable, so—”

“___.” He interrupts you with the sound of your name, intonation flat. “I’m not worried about how comfortable your couch is.” You do glance at him then, and a patient sort of exasperation is written across his features. “Jay was right. You really do need to brush up on your facts.”

Your eyes pull down in confusion. 

Heeseung sighs. 

“I — We — can’t enter into places we haven’t been formally invited into.”

“Oh.” The realization settles, and this time brings with it a white hot flash of embarrassment. You find yourself more grateful than ever that he projects thoughts instead of reading them. What a nightmare that would be. “Well, I officially invite you into my apartment.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly, crossing over your doorstep. “I thought you were gonna make me wait out there forever.”

For a moment, it’s all you can do to watch, still basking in mortification, as he enters into your apartment. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give any indication as to whether he likes it or hates it or doesn’t think much of it at all. 

And then he takes a few more steps, settling down on the couch you’d mentioned earlier with an appreciative nod. You weren’t lying about it being comfortable. 

You track his movement with evasive eyes. As he gets comfortable, a realization occurs. “Wait.” You freeze, suddenly feeling self-conscious again. “You have to be invited in. So the vampires that have been attacking people…”

Heeseung shakes his head. “They wouldn’t be able to get in here either.”

“Oh.” The single syllable is all you can manage. All you can think about is the fact that you insisted on sleeping an extra night at their house, in Heeseung’s room. Practically speaking, you would have been just as untouchable here. 

You sneak another glance at Heeseung. 

For some reason, though, you don’t think you would have felt quite as safe. 

“There are still risks, though.” Heeseung’s looking at you like he understands where your mind has gone, like he wants to put it at ease. “The second you leave, you’re entirely unprotected.”

Until recently, vampires haven’t made an appearance in your city for nearly two hundred years. Only the overtly superstitious bother with any sort of precautions. Now, they seem like the logical ones, everyone else foolish.  “Garlic charms and things like that,” you wonder. “Do those actually work?”

“No.” Heeseung shakes his head. “The only real substance I know of that’s detrimental to vampires is moonflower. The dose has to be quite high, though. And there are certain forms of distilling it that make it more potent. Otherwise, it mostly just has a strong sedative effect.” 

You frown, his explanation spurring another question. “Why do you think Professor Kim shot me, then? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to inject you directly?”

Heeseung explains, “Moonflower is most effective on vampires when it’s consumed. Only the really strong stuff, specially distilled like I mentioned earlier, would be effective by injection. I don’t know how Professor Kim prepared the thing he shot you with, but it’s unlikely he knows how to properly distill moonflower to make it potent enough to hurt me directly.” 

“So he injected me…” you trail off. 

Heeseung fills in the blanks. “It’s likely that he was hoping it would be a strong enough deterrent for me not to bite you altogether,” he meets your eye, “or that it would kill me if I couldn’t find it in myself to resist.”

You’re finding it difficult to look away from him now. “How did you know? That it wouldn’t kill you?”

His silence is answer enough. 

Part of you wants to curse him for being so careless, so reckless with his own life. Another part of you is afraid that your pile of growing gratitude towards him will soon be too tall, too heavy to bear. 

Another part, small but insistent, wants you to thank him. To get on your knees and beg for forgiveness, for absolution of crimes you never meant to commit. 

“It was a calculated risk,” he tells you, as if he can see the gears whirring in your mind. As if he’s just as afraid of them as you are. “Which reminds me, I have something for you.”

You arch an eyebrow, not sure you can take any more of what he offers. 

But he stands from the couch anyway, walks towards you on steady feet. “I thought about giving it to you on the water tower, but I didn't want to take any chances.” His eyes sparkle with something that looks almost mischievous. “Just in case you got to the top and decided the view wasn’t worth it.”

That piques your curiosity enough to abate any lingering guilt at the thought of him giving you anything more than he already has. “Don’t tell me it’s distilled moonflower.”

It’s meant to land as a joke, but the look he gives you is entirely serious. 

“Close enough.” Reaching into his bag, he pulls out a small, rectangular box. It’s wooden, you think. And it’s beautiful. Ornate in a subtle way, the dark wood is inlaid with hints of a pattern, soft edges that turn and wind and curl in on themselves. 

Like many things he’s shown you, it feels like a relic of the past, a gift from another century. Something that belongs in a museum, not the worn but undoubtedly modern expanse of your apartment. 

“What is it?” you breathe, the air suddenly fraught with something delicate. 

Heeseung reaches for your wrist, opens your palm and places the box in your outstretched hand. “Open it.”

You’re not sure what to expect. The last few days have been anything but predictable, and the box between your fingers is no exception. Despite its solid weight, it suddenly seems fragile in your grip. As breakable as the moment between you. 

It’s with a silver of hesitation that you remove the lid, revealing—

“A knife?” The look you give him is incredulous. 

Because that’s what it is. At first glance, you can tell that it’s not a weapon built for brute force. It’s small, delicate, even. It feels strange to describe a blade as such, but it’s also undoubtedly beautiful. 

You look down at it, each time discovering another detail. A striking silver blade meets a handle even more ornate than the box that houses it. A series of intricate vines wrap around each other, come to full bloom just where the blade kisses the hilt. 

“A dagger, actually,” he corrects. Heeseung just watches as you examine his gift. He must decide that an explanation is necessary. And not just for the weapon between your fingers. 

“I know I wasn’t exactly… enthusiastic about you wanting to continue working with Professor Kim,” he starts. There’s a hint of strain in his voice. It’s not an apology, but you hear the tinge of regret all the same. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or that I don’t think you’re competent. It’s just that—I mean, he’s a…” Across from you, he can’t quite bring himself to say it. 

“A vampire,” you finish the sentiment for him. His expression is unreadable when you match his gaze. But you think there’s something there, something in his eyes that begs for forgiveness you’re in no position to give. Acquittal from crimes you never bore witness to. Difficult decisions lost to the passage of time, their lingering effects reverberating around the two of you now, holding you in their unyielding grip. 

“I understand,” you tell him, because you do. Because you know that his reluctance was never commentary on his faith in you. Because even when he told you, on a night that feels lost to some distant past, that your writing was awful, it was only because he knew you were capable of better. Of more. “And I’m not angry with you. So much has happened these past few days.”

Nestled in your grip, the wooden box and the dagger within feel more like an apology than something with any practical use for you. You’re not woefully unathletic, but the only knives you’ve ever held have been in the kitchen. 

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him. “Although I do have to say, I’m not sure how much good a dagger will do me. Especially since Professor Kim is, y’know, a vampire.”

“You’d be surprised,” he counters. “A potent dose of moonflower is one way of killing a vampire, but this is far simpler.” He matches your gaze. “You just need to aim for the heart.”

Nodding towards the weapon in your hands, he encourages, “Try it out.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You want me to stab you?”

“Not particularly.” That same glint is back in his eye. The one that spells trouble, but not for any of the reasons you would have predicted when dealing with an immortal creature of the night. “But it’s a calculated risk. And we’ve become rather used to those, have we not?”

He’s taunting you, you realize. Still, your uncertain gaze flickers between him and the object in your hands a few more times. Relenting, you set the box down on the counter behind you, pulling the dagger out with no confidence left to your name. 

It’s terrible, but the thing you’re most concerned about now is just how embarrassing this is about to be for you. 

Against your fingertips, the cool kiss of metal feels foreign, invasive. Warily, you test its weight within your grip. And then you turn around to face him again. 

Heeseung wastes no time, pulls back no punches. “You’re holding it wrong.”

“Sorry,” you retort drily. “I must have slept through the day in class where we learned about proper dagger grips.”

He sighs, but there’s a trace of amusement in his eyes. “Here,” he beckons you closer. 

Reluctantly, you close the distance between you. As soon as you stand directly in front of him, you stretch out your arm, offering him the dagger. You expect him to take it from you, to demonstrate a proper grip. 

There’s a comment brewing on your lips, one about how if you had five hundred years of life under your belt, you’d probably be an expert in hand-to-hand combat too, when he catches you off guard. 

Because he doesn’t take the dagger from your outstretched hand. No, instead you feel the warmth of his fingers as they wrap around your own. Gently maneuvering your grip, arranging it into one he finds acceptable. 

Hand still covering yours, he squeezes. It’s light in pressure, but insistent in nature. 

“You have to keep a strong grip,” he whispers. You feel his breath dance across your cheekbone. “Or your hand could slip. You’d only injure yourself.”

Close. When did he get so close? 

Before you can make sense of it, his hand is sliding from your fingers to the skin of your wrist. It’s instinct, at this point to brace for another vision. Maybe he’ll show you, you think. A memory of him learning, an image of proper technique. 

But the mirage never comes. Your apartment stays firmly in view as he catches you by surprise for the thousandth time within the span of days. 

With the practiced agility of a supernatural being, he spins you. Flips your wrist in his grip so that the rest of your body is forced to follow. 

Suddenly, you’re no longer facing him. Instead, you see the counter where you left the old, wooden box. Your front door just beyond it. 

And somehow, at this new angle, the space between you has only grown smaller. Your back, each and every notch of your vertebrae, lies scant inches from the expanse of his chest. You can practically feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. 

It makes yours seem all the more frantic in comparison. 

Your legs feel like jello beneath you, wobbly to the point you’re afraid they might buckle. You try to regain your sense, to get a solid grip on something, anything that will tether you to reality. 

But you’re too aware, so painfully aware of him behind you, wrapped around your wrist, tangled in your thoughts. It’s all too much. 

He doesn’t relent. “Your stance is crucial.” His whisper floats like a caress down the shell of your ear, has you suppressing a shiver in his grip. One that starts at the base of your spine and ends somewhere beyond your body, outside this plane of existence. 

Your body feels molten, less than solid. Something devoid of bones and marrow and muscled. Composed of nerves and flutters and a submission to sensation in their wake. 

The hand that comes to your hip does little to steady you. Again, his pressure is light. But there’s no question that it’s a demand just the same. “Avoid letting your weight sink here.”

Is it? You don’t know. You can’t tell. You can’t think. 

All you can do is feel as his open palm traces a steady line from the curve of your hip to the expanse of your stomach, settling in the space just above your navel. “Brace here,” he breathes against your ear. 

It dawns on you, after a handful of shallow breaths, that this is an instruction. That he won’t let up until you follow it. 

Your stomach tightens in response, just below his hand. 

“Good,” he praises, but his touch doesn’t subside. “Better.”

His other hand, the one still wrapped around your wrist, begins to adjust your grip again. Angles it so that the dagger points away from you, towards an unseen target. “And this,” he moves the dagger slightly, “think of it as an extension of your arm.” Drawing a small circle with the tip, your entire body shifts in response. The palm splayed across your stomach moves with you. “Your body is one moving piece. It’s all connected.”

You suddenly find breathing something you need to focus on. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. 

“When you shift to the left,” he adds lowly. The hand against your stomach guides your movement to mirror his words. “What happens to the dagger?”

You hope his question is rhetorical. Even if you had an answer for him, you doubt your voice would be willing to cooperate. 

“It follows,” he answers a moment later, and you’ve never been more grateful. “Just like the rest of your body.”

The hand on your stomach begins to slide towards your hip again. It follows an agonizingly slow path, pauses for a moment, before he removes it completely. The hand around your wrist falls to his side again. 

“A good weapon,” he says from behind, heat lingering, burning against your skin in all the places he touched you, “is one you can control. It doesn’t need to be flashy. It doesn’t have to look impressive. It just needs to be yours. Completely under your command.”

This time, it’s him that moves. You’re grateful. You still feel frozen in place. 

He walks, circling your immobile figure, until he’s in front of you again. “If worst comes to worst and you do need to defend yourself, don’t lead with the dagger. Lead with your back foot. Let that be what generates momentum through your hip. Brace through your core again, and let your power, your control, come from there. It’s all connected,” he reiterates. “It all moves together.”

He’s not touching you, not anymore, but the sight of him, the memory of it, makes you feel unsteady all over again. 

“Root through your feet,” he instructs. You’re not sure how well you obey the instruction. It feels like all of your energy is dedicated to not collapsing to the ground in a puddle, a horribly undignified heap. 

“Okay,” he continues, “Adjust your grip again, but this time—”

The sound of an incoming notification rings out from your phone, discarded on the counter along with the box the dagger came in. 

You could almost cry with relief at the opportunity to diffuse some of the mounting tension, to have his gaze anywhere but on you, even if just for a moment. 

Relaxing your stance, you do your best to hide the tremble in your legs as you walk to retrieve it. Reading the notification once, you turn back to where Heeseung is still rooted to the spot. 

You suddenly feel unsteady again, but for a completely different reason this time. 

“Professor Kim read my draft.” You hold your phone up, facing the screen towards him even though he’s too far to read the reply you’ve just received. Voice slightly wobbly, you add, “He wants to meet with me.”

…..

The coffee shop you arrive at twenty minutes later is nondescript. Full of office workers on a late lunch, families on a winter outing, and couples enjoying a quiet moment together. It strikes you as odd, almost, how normal it all seems. Despite the way your world has shifted on its axis completely, despite the city’s recent uptick in death toll, people are just… living. Going about their day as usual. 

You find your professor waiting for you at a table in the far corner. He hasn’t ordered anything for himself, and for a moment, you wonder how long it’s been for him. How many years he, like Heeseung, has found human food rather repulsive. 

Regardless of what you now know, Professor Kim looks every bit the well-organized, put together version of himself you saw during morning lectures this past semester. Gone is the crazed, ravaging, consumed by bloodlust being whose path you crossed three nights ago. 

“I appreciate you meeting me here,” you tell him as you slide down into the seat across from him, voice guarded, expression carefully neutral. 

“I’m glad you were able to find it,” Professor Kim agrees. You don’t know why you expected him to sound different. More monstrous, somehow. He doesn’t. It’s the same even, slightly gravely tone he’s always had. “You’ll have to forgive me for not inviting you back to the publishing house. I thought a more public location might serve both of our interests better.”

Witnesses, he means. Whether they’re for your comfort or his, you’re not entirely sure. 

You didn’t come here to beat around the bush. And Heeseung, four blocks away where you forced him to wait for you, is surely anxious to hear the end result of this conversation. “Did you have the chance to read my draft?”

Professor Kim’s expression betrays nothing. “I did.” 

“What did you think?”

He waits for a moment, weighing his words. “I agree with your email. It seems that your interests are… aligned with New Haven’s mission. As you may already know, it’s a rather small publishing house with quite a niche audience. Our tastes are more specific than most.” There’s a hint of distrust when he adds, “It’s rare to find a young person these days who has the experience necessary to publish something that will entice our readers.”

And this is where you have to tread lightly. Make your story believable. Subtle, but foolproof. “I’ll admit,” you start, “my interest in your subject matter has been a fairly recent development.” Slowly, intentionally, you brush hair from the side of your neck. The bandage still covers the worst of the damage, but the fading bruises are still visible. As are the implications of your wound. “But believe me when I say that I am fully committed.”

Professor Kim appraises the side of your neck, eyes widening for a fraction of a second. 

“The woman in my story,” you continue, “the one whose dreams are stolen. I believe I’ve thought of a better idea for the ending.”

He pauses, leans forward in his chair. “Which is?”

“Originally, I thought it would be most fitting for her to die. After all, she was powerless against her enemy.” You meet his eye. “Had no way of defeating him as he grew stronger the weaker she got.”

Professor Kim nods. “A reasonable expectation. But you said your ending has changed.”

Nodding, you continue, “I think I’d like to incorporate a new plot element. A special plant, maybe. Something that makes her dreams toxic to her husband. Something that makes him ill every time he tries to steal them from her.”

Your professor’s gaze is still tight, but his eyes are beginning to relax. Glossing over with the realization of your implication. 

“In my story, the person who introduces her to this plant is a mentor of hers, and ultimately, someone she decides to work with. Someone whose mission she strives to fulfill. To protect her dreams and everyone else’s.”

“An interesting thought.” Your professor leans back in his chair. You can tell that he’s still not fully convinced. “But what if this mentor of hers turns out to be a dream stealer himself. Wouldn’t it be only natural for your heroine to be wary of him, to fear him?”

“She does,” you admit. “But fear won’t save her from her husband. And between the two of them, her mentor is not the one that has ever attempted to harm her. To steal her dreams. Between the two of them, she has no confusion about where to place her trust. Even if it is hesitant.”

Your professor considers for a moment. Then, after a second that seems to stretch infinitely, he nods. “I’d like to hear more about this story of yours. At the publishing house, if you’re able to meet me there.”

Your heart gives a traitorous lurch, but your voice is steady when you affirm, “I am.”

“Can you be there in an hour?” He’s already standing, as if this was a business meeting, a simple transaction, and he’s back to the office now. 

You confirm that you can, and he offers you one last nod.

Then, with little in the way of fanfare, he buttons his long coat closed, retreating through the front door of the coffee shop without so much as a backward glance. 

…..

The metal is cold against the skin of your leg. Biting, it demands all of your attention, even as Heeseung pleads for it where he kneels in front of you. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, not for the first time. “Because you don’t have to—”

“Heeseung,” you interrupt, and he looks up, his hands pausing in their ministrations. Beneath you, he’s adjusting the second part of his gift. Because not only did he give you a dagger in a wooden box pulled from a lost century, but also a holster. One that wraps around your thigh. One that he’s currently securing into place as he tries to convince you not to meet your murderous professor at New Haven.

But that’s the least of your worries at the moment. Right now, you thank whatever cosmic forces must be on your side that you wore loose fitting pants today. First because they will help to conceal the shape of your hidden weapon. And second because they’re roomy enough to pull up over your knee, so that you’re still clothed while Heeseung helps you adjust the dagger and holster into place. 

The mere thought of the alternative is too mortifying to consider, has another spark of heat gathering on your cheeks. 

Then again, it’s not like this is much better. Just as you were in your apartment, you’re painfully aware of each brush of his fingers against the skin of your thigh. You have to suppress the urge to sigh, and not in exasperation, every time he opens his mouth to tell you how bad of an idea this is. Mostly because it sends soft whispers of breath over your flesh, goosebumps following in their stead. 

“Heeseung,” you try again. The sound of his name makes him look up at you through long lashes. In front of you, on his knees, his attention has never belonged to you more. 

“We’ve been over this.” He’s had his chance to share his woes, voice his worries. You’ll never make any progress if he pitches this much of a fight every time a new opportunity comes about. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a meeting.”

Heesung frowns. “I don’t like that he wants you to meet him all alone. Why couldn’t you have your meeting at the coffee shop?”

“Right, because I’m sure you’d want to tell me all about your vampire history while a group of twelve-year-olds down caramel frappes a few seats over.”

Heeseung’s lips flatten. “Don’t compare me to him.”

“I’m not.” It’s the truth. Similarities between the two of them have yet to cross your mind. Despite the obvious similarity, your professor and Heeseung exist in entirely different planes as far as you’re concerned. On opposite sides of a vast spectrum. “I’m just saying, it makes sense that he would want to meet somewhere with a little more privacy.”

Heeseung slides the last strap into place, giving it an experimental tug. The holster and the dagger within it hold strong. Wordlessly, he rises back to full height. You release your pant leg, skin and weapon disappearing in one fell swoop. 

“At least let me come with you,” he pleads. “I’ll stay out of sight.”

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the request. “You and I both know that’s a terrible idea. If he could detect you before, he can do it again. Let’s just consider ourselves lucky that he can’t tell we’ve been together.”

Because what a disastrous nightmare that would be. 

“I can barely do that,” Heeseung counters. “We don’t have to worry about that.” The concern in his gaze doesn’t ease, though. 

You get it, you really do. And you empathize with it. It’s only natural, you suppose, that he would feel some sort of responsibility for you. Even though it was your own volition, your own actions that led you here, he was a part of the catalyst. 

But you don’t want him to feel any guilt where you’re concerned. 

“I’ll be fine,” you reiterate, trying to placate him. “He’s convinced that I’m convinced that he saved me that night.” Looking for Heeseung, begging for a bit of his permission, you add, “This is the first step in getting the answers we need. Besides,” you lift your leg slightly. “he won’t be able to hurt me even if he wants to. I’ve got a secret weapon.”

Heeseung’s lips only thin further. “And no idea how to use it,” he retorts under his breath.

“Hey!” you protest. “I have some idea how to use it.” You’re lying through your teeth. You don’t think you retained a single thing from Heeseung’s rather unorthodox lesson in your apartment.  But in your mind, any fight that comes down to physical strength was always doomed to be a losing battle. “And you said it yourself, I don’t have to be perfect. I just have to wait until he’s distracted. Catch him off guard.” You point right at Heeseung’s chest, finger hovering a few inches away from his skin. “And aim right for the heart.” 

But now you’re thinking of your apartment again. Of hands on your hips, covering the expanse of your stomach. Warm, steady, grounding. And so goddamn distracting. 

“I can tell that you’re nervous,” Heeseung says, voice tangled with worry. “Your heartbeat just jumped.”

You’re too mortified to correct him. 

“Of course I’m nervous. But I’ll be careful.” You meet his eye, hoping your false confidence will reassure him. For the third time, you promise, “And I’ll be fine.”

Heeseung just looks at you for a moment. Inhales. Exhales. 

And then he says, “Keep your phone on you the whole time. Leave it open to my contact so that you can message or call me faster if you need to. And if something, anything feels off, get out of there.” He glances toward your thigh, where your concealed weapon rests. “That dagger is a last resort, but don’t be afraid to use it.”

You nod. After opening your phone to his contact, you check the clock. See that it’s time. 

It feels wrong to leave without any parting words, but you’re not sure what you would say. If there’s anything left to be said. 

You turn on your heel, surprised when Heeseung falls into step beside you. Again, the two of you agreed he would wait a considerable distance away to avoid detection. “What are you doing?”

“I can walk with you a little further,” he insists, stubborn.

“No, you can’t,” you argue. “We’re only a few blocks away, and you don’t know for sure how far his senses extend.” 

“I wouldn’t even be able to—”

“Heeseung.” You stop in your tracks, turning to face him. “Remember how you told me that you trust me, just a few hours ago?”

You need him to dig deep, find some of that faith again. Or else this is just going to be miserable for the both of you.

“You’re not the untrustworthy variable in this situation.”

You sigh. “Then just…” you trail off, not sure how to put him at ease. “Just trust me to be okay. Wait here, and I’ll be back,” you plead. “Soon. I promise.”

Heeseung is nothing but serious when he tells you, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m not planning on it.”

A moment passes. Another. Then—

“Fine.” But his shoulders don’t release their tension. 

Again, you turn to walk away. To leave him behind. You feel his eyes on your back, and you’ve barely made it a few feet before he says your name again.

“What—”

“Be careful,” he whispers, so low it’s almost lost to the breeze. “Please.”

Something in you softens at the tenderness in his voice, the worry in his eyes. But you don’t have time to linger on it now. You nod, only once, before turning away from him again. 

The distance between you and New Haven feels short fades quickly. As anticipation begins to settle uncomfortably in your stomach, you replay your fabricated story in your mind, the one you’re about to feed Professor Kim. The one you hope is convincing enough to earn a bit of his trust. Tight enough that he won’t be able to poke any holes in it. 

You’re at the door of the publishing house before you know it, before you have the chance to fully collect yourself. Pausing on the porch, you look around for a moment. It’s just as deserted as it was last week, just as eerily quiet. But this time, at least, you think you see a light in the window. 

Knocking with a hand that’s steadier than you feel, you will your heartbeat to maintain an even rhythm. 

It takes Professor Kim less than ten seconds to open the door. He glances over your shoulder, surveying the area with no small amount of suspicion, before he ushers you inside. 

The layout is just as strange as you remember it, but the hallway doesn’t feel so ominous now that the lights are on, the faint hum of electricity buzzing in the background. Then again, standing face to face with a vampire has a way of being unnerving all on its own. 

Beckoning you forward, you follow your professor past the same closed, unmarked doors before arriving in the open space at the end of the hall. Again, like the rest of New Haven, it looks different in the light. Warmer, more welcoming. Even if it still doesn’t look like much of a publishing house. Even if it still carries with it a distinct sense of unease.

This time, at least, Professor Kim has pulled out two chairs and a small side table,so the room isn’t completely barren. Sitting in the first chair, he gestures for you to join him. You do, eyes only darting towards the door marked with his name once. 

The blood is gone, you realize. 

“Thank you for meeting me here.” Professor Kim is all cordiality where he sits across from you. Again, you struggle to reconcile this version of him with the vampire who shot you full of poison just a few nights ago. “I trust you understand that this conversation is too delicate to have in a more public space.”

“Of course,” you nod. 

“Since we’re here,” he continues, “let’s not speak in riddles any longer. I’m sure you have questions about the last night you were here.” He pauses, passing you a meaningful look. “As do I.”

You inhale, reminding yourself that as far as he’s concerned, you don’t know anything about vampires other than the usual, superstitious lore. “The last time I was here, there was blood on your clothes. Your mouth.” The shiver that traces your spine is not forced. Even now, you think it’s one of the most chilling scenes you’ve ever witnessed. Finally, in a small voice, you breath, “You’re a vampire.”

Professor Kim doesn’t try to hide it. “I am.”

You force confusion into your eyes. “But you didn’t try to drink my blood. You’re not trying to now.”

He nods at your observation. “I have ways of managing my hunger,” he explains, frustratingly vague. “You do not need to fear me.” You hadn’t expected him to spill all of his secrets within the first minute of your conversation, but that only leaves you with more questions than answers. And it certainly won’t give Heeseung or the rest of the boys much to work with. 

“But you… you threw something at me.” Again, you don’t have to try hard to put fear in your gaze. “Something that stuck in my neck.”

“Yes,” he nods again. “That was an injection of moonflower. It’s a substance known to be poisonous to vampires. I believed that injecting it into your blood would prevent you from being preyed upon.” It takes a concentrated effort for you not to show any smugness. Your hypothesis had been right. He was trying to protect you. “I’m pleased to see that it seems to have worked, although I do apologize for the bruising.” 

You realize then that the bandage on your neck covers the bite mark, the place Heeseung left a scar of his own making just next to Professor Kim’s. 

Your professor, you realize, doesn’t know that you were bitten. Doesn’t know that the moonflower was beginning to have an adverse effect. That Heeseung took it right back out of you. 

Internally, you debate. You don’t want to reveal any more cards than you need to, but you don’t know how long the scars will last. Don’t know how much longer you can wear the bandage without raising suspicion. And if he discovers later that you lied to him, it could be disastrous. 

Slowly, you reach for the bandaid on your neck. Removing it, you explain, “What you did that night saved me. I was—”

Professor Kim cuts you off. Leaning forward in his seat, his attention is honed on the twin puncture wounds on your neck. “You were bitten.” Something flashes through his eyes. Confusion. Suspicion. He looks you over again. “But you haven't changed.”

Too late, you realize your mistake. Heeseung’s words come back to you. 

“No, that’s another difference. The seven of us can’t create new vampires.”

Shit. Shit. 

Scrambling, you try to come up with some sort of explanation. 

“Barely,” you correct, doing your best to maintain an even tone. “I was barely bitten. I don’t think he consumed any of my blood.” Trying to create a sense of false wonderment, you ask with wide eyes, “Do you think that’s what prevented me from transforming?”

“Perhaps,” your professor muses, but doubt lingers in his gaze. He appears more guarded when he conjectures, “Or perhaps moonflower has more qualities that even I didn’t know about.”

You’re curious about it, the way he makes it seem as if he’s quite familiar with the substance. Based on what you’ve learned from Heeseung, it’s rare. Difficult to come by. 

But with that suspicion still in his eyes at the potential hole in your story, you’re desperate to change the course of the conversation. Pushing forward, you poke at another one of the boys’ questions. “Did you know that… that he was a vampire?” Your struggle to say Heeseung’s name out loud is not entirely fabricated. It’s to your advantage that it makes sense now. What university student wouldn’t be horrified at the prospect of a classmate being a monster? 

“I had my suspicions,” your professor confirms. “But I wasn’t certain. Not until that night. I apologize for leaving you there with him.” There is sorrow in his eyes. He seems genuinely regretful. “But I was afraid that he would follow me after he realized I’d poisoned your blood. That he would seek his revenge on me.” Looking at you with a newfound curiosity, eyes honed in on the mark on your neck, he levels your with a question of his own. “If I might ask, what happened?”

The best lies are always wrapped in truth, and this is one you were prepared for. You start, “He bit me. But he stopped immediately, before drinking anything. I think he was confused for a moment. He couldn't tell what was wrong with me, with my blood. To be honest, I was quite disoriented as well. I remember him leaving, although I couldn’t say for sure how long he stayed.”

You also have no way of knowing if Professor Kim returned to New Haven. You can’t tell him that you spent the night there, not if he came back at any point and found you gone. 

Instead, you tell him, “I was weak, confused. But I think I remember getting into a taxi, going back to my apartment. I slept for over a day. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember anything. My entire body was exhausted, sore. But after a while, my memories started to come back. That’s when I reached out to you.”

He frowns. “So you don’t know then, if Lee Heeseung is alive or dead?”

You meet his eye. Shake your head. Do your best not to think of the boy waiting for you a few blocks away, sick with anxiety. “I don’t.”

Professor Kim considers for a moment, lets your words settle into the air. Eventually, slowly, he nods, accepting your warped version of events. “If he really didn’t consume any of your tainted blood, it’s likely that he’s still alive. But it’s no matter now.” He shakes his head. “I’m glad that you reached out to me when you did. And I’m glad you survived, that the moonflower had its intended effect. I do apologize for the memory loss you experienced,” he adds. “That is an effect moonflower has on humans.”

You display your palms in a sign of gratitude. “There’s no need to apologize.” You try to mean it, at least a little bit, when you say, “You saved my life. I’d rather lose my memories a thousand times over than succumb to a vampire.”

Professor Kim nods. “You said earlier that you were interested in working here, in aligning with New Haven’s cause.”

This is it, you think. This is your way in. This is how you play your part in preventing any morme unnecessary bloodshed. “I am.”

Professor Kim doesn’t smile, but he seems pleased with your answer. “I know that this was originally meant to be an opportunity to look at how a publishing house functions, but in light of recent events, I have another task in mind.”

It shouldn’t catch you off guard as much as it does. You try not to let any traces of dread imbue your tone when you ask, “What kind of task?”

“We would still publish your original fiction, of course,” he assures you, “but with the recent attacks occurring, this city needs someone willing to report on them.” He speaks with the fervor of a madman when he continues, “To share the truth that other news outlets are afraid to publish. To remind the public how evil vampires truly are. To encourage their support and convince them to join in the fight against these monsters and all of the suffering they bring.” 

You’re silent for a moment, his vitriol settling with a chill into your bones. “You want me to work here as a journalist?”

“If you’re willing to,” he nods. “I know that your background is not in journalism, but your words hold power. The ability to convince people, to hold the truth in front of their eyes and force them to see it, to understand it. I won’t pretend that there are no risks involved. Although blood is their ultimate priority, vampires do have a sense of self-preservation. Those that are sentient enough may be angered by what you write. If you accept, I will offer you as much protection as I can. Including, of course, a steady supply of moonflower.”

Moonflower. You can’t help the shudder this time. Memories come back to you unbidden. You, suspended in a terrible place between consciousness and unconscious. You, waking up in an unfamiliar room, afraid and without any recollection of how you got there. 

You could go your entire life without seeing that damn plant ever again. 

“It would be difficult to write,” you point out, trying to tamp down on the panic, “without my memories, even if they’re only lost temporarily.”

Professor Kim nods. “I believe that was due to the potency of the moonflower you were given, along with the fact that it was injected directly into your bloodstream. But there are other ways of consuming it. The petals of the flower itself can be made into a tea. I have other ideas, too. I’ve been wanting to create a salve out of it. Something applied topically to the skin.”

That you do find interesting. Again, Heeseung made it sound as if moonflower is quite rare. Hard to come by, difficult to obtain information about. He did also mention that it is sometimes consumed as a tea. You make a mental note to tell him about the professor’s seemingly extensive knowledge of it later. 

You might be pushing your luck, but you have one more question. If you leave here without at least trying to get an answer, you know you’ll regret it. “Forgive me, Professor, if this is untoward, but why did you help me that night? Clearly you’re different from other vampires, but…”

“But why do I hate them so much?” he finishes for you. 

You nod. “I’m sorry if it’s not something you’d like to share. But I’ve been having a hard time wrapping my head around it since my memories started to return.”

At your explanation, he says nothing. For a moment, you don’t think he’ll give you any sort of answer at all. 

But then, he begins, “It’s not a very happy story. I was turned just over twenty years ago. It was around this time of year, actually. I was visiting my family for the holidays. My parents had an old cabin, way out in the countryside. Far from the city.”

A flash of sorrow crosses his eyes, as if it causes him pain to remember it. 

“By then, vampire attacks were as rare as they are today, but we both know by now that doesn’t mean much. It must have been a group of nomadic monsters that came across our cabin that night.” 

He looks at his hands, gaze full of agony. “They massacred my family, every last one of them. My parents, siblings, cousins. My wife and daughter.” 

The small gasp of horror you let out is genuine. 

“It was an accident, I’m sure, that my blood wasn’t completely drained. That I was left alive, even if just barely. Alone, in a cabin that was meant to be a place for celebration, I spent long, agonizing days turning into a monster.”

“And then,” he concludes, looking at you, “I vowed to spend the rest of my immortality hunting down every last one of those wretched creatures that took everything from me. That stole my life and everything I love and made me into a demon.” Determination is etched into his features when he tells you, “Lee Heeseung isn’t the first vampire I’ve come across, and my only regret from that night is that he left it alive. I plan to remedy that failure. Especially now that he’s leaving bodies in his wake.”

“You think that it’s him, then?” you breathe. “The one that killed the humans at the river? All the other deaths?”

“Of course it is.” There’s no question, no room for argument in your professor’s assertion. “There hasn’t been any vampire activity in this city for two hundred years. And then, suddenly, I find him trying to drink your blood the very same day the first attacks occur. It’s not a coincidence.”

“But you’re able to see past your desire for blood. What if—”

“I am the exception to the rule.” He strikes your argument down before you can finish it. “Not once, in the last twenty years, have I ever seen a vampire that’s capable of empathy. As I warned you before, the only emotions they have are driven by instinct. Self-preservation on occasion, but above all, vampires are consumed by hunger. The constant need for blood.”

It’s similar to what Heeseung told you. Variations on the same theme, the same devastating truth. But you still don’t feel any closer to discovering what it is that makes Professor Kim different from the other descendants of the eighth lord’s son. And you can hardly reveal to him the truth of Heeseung’s nature. 

Instead, you ask him, “How many people have died? Since the first attack.” You want to know how current his information is, if it differs from what the boys told you. 

“Eleven,” your professor confirms. “Eleven too many. Which is why I need you. The city needs you. Your words could save lives, prevent tragedies before they occur.”

You’re silent for a moment, pretending to be lost in thought, to be considering his offer. Weighing the pros of his words over the cons of your potential endangerment. After a quiet minute, you inhale, as if steeling your resolve, finding your courage. Against the skin of your thigh, you feel the cool kiss of the metal dagger Heeseung gave you. “I’ll do it.”

His face remains stoic, the gravity of the situation far too heavy for him to be truly excited at the prospect. But you can tell that he’s pleased. “Good.” He nods to himself. “Good. This could change things. You could change things.” 

He looks around the space, as if realizing for the first time just how strangely empty it is. “I know that there’s not much here. I prefer to do my work in other places, but if you’d like for me to set up an office for you here—”

“That’s okay.” You shake your head. “Thank you, but I have places I like to write, too.” The thought of working here, of spending more time in this odd, dilapidated building, in the immediate vicinity of Professor Kim is reason enough to decline. Never mind the protest Heeseung would surely wage.

“Very well,” he nods. “I’m sure you understand the gravity of the situation. Typically, I wouldn't put a student on such a difficult schedule, but the truth is not something that can be delayed. I’d like you to have your first article prepared by tomorrow afternoon.” 

It’s a tight turnaround, but you’ve done more with less. For his class, even. Your ability to write in a short amount of time, at least, is something you’re truly confident in. “I can do that.”

“Good,” he says again. “Send me your piece by three p.m., and I will have my edits back to you within the hour. I want it published as soon as possible. The following morning would be ideal.”

“Are there limitations?” you ask. “Things I shouldn’t share or write about?”

Your professor considers for a moment, then he shakes his head. “The only thing I care about is that people understand why they need to be afraid of these attacks. Why they need to join the fight against them. Obviously your reporting needs to be factual, but do what it takes to get that message across, loud and clear.”

“I will,” you assure him, trying to be as much the frightened, determined girl he thinks you are. 

“I’m going to start reaching out to some of my connections,” he tells you. “Finding ways to promote this as much as we can, to get as many people reading as possible. But for now, I’ll get you some moonflower to take with you.”

Standing, he motions for you to follow him towards the door marked with his name. His office. The same place you heard strange noises emanating from the last time you were here. 

It’s confirmed as you approach. The bloodstains are gone. 

He opens the door, ushering you inside, and still, none of your questions are answered. It’s a normal office, nothing out of the ordinary. Similar to his office back at the university, in fact. Clean, orderly, meticulously organized. 

The sounds you heard that night… you swear they had seemed distant, far away. But this office is as cramped and impersonal as any other. 

In fact, the only touch of personality you can find is the large painting that hangs on the far wall, opposite from the door you entered through. Glancing at the scenery it encapsulates, you pause. There’s something strangely familiar about it. Like it’s something you’ve seen before.

It does strike you as almost comical, too, that the balance of it is off. It hangs slightly too far to the left, one side dipping lower than the other. 

You spent a semester reading Professor Kim’s lecture presentations that all had the same uniform Times New Roman 12-point font. You watched as he publicly criticized students for turning in work with nonstandard margins. And yet, it appears that he couldn’t be bothered to make sure the one painting in his entire office is level. 

It’s odd. Entirely out of character.

But you don’t have long to dwell on it before he reaches for a small bag on his desk. 

“Here.” He hands it to you. “These are moonflower petals, crushed into small pieces. You can brew a pinch at a time with boiling water. Don’t let them seep longer than five minutes, and there should be no negative effects on your memory.”

“Thank you.” You take the bag from him, doing your best to appear grateful even if your hand shakes slightly as you receive it. “I’ll use it well.”

“I’ll look forward to reading your article, then,” he tells you. “Three p.m. tomorrow.” The two of you leave his office, walking back into the large, empty, open room. You sneak one last glance at the painting before he closes the door. Frowning, you shake your head. In the grand scheme of the day’s revelations, it’s certainly not something worth fixating on. “Do you need any help getting home?”

“No.” You shake your head, already turning towards the hallway. “I’ll be fine.”

So with your bag of moonflower in hand and unused weapon still cold against your thigh, you bid your professor farewell. 

Heeseung is pacing when you find him. Wearing down a path in the grass next to the abandoned building you left him at just over an hour ago. 

He hears you before he sees you. Detects the sound of your heartbeat or your footsteps or maybe even the smell of your shampoo. Whatever it is, it has him stopping in his tracks, turning towards you with something desperate in his eyes. 

He makes quick work of scanning you head to toe, and you watch as tension drains from him visibly. 

“You’re okay,” he breathes as soon as you’re close enough for conversation. “You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine,” you confirm, suppressing the urge to run a hand through his hair. Just to soothe him a little. But you don’t know if it would calm him down or make things so, so much worse. You offer him a small smile instead. “Just like I promised I would be.”

Heeseung spots the small bag you’re carrying, the gift from your professor. “What’s that?”

“Moonflower.” You hold it up to the light. “He gave me some. I was right. He shot me with it that night to try to protect me. He…” You trail off, remembering his story. The blame he is now mistakenly laying on Heeseung’s shoulders. “He has a reason for hating vampires.” 

As you recount the details of your conversation, it’s hard not to feel a distinct stab of sympathy for your professor. He’s honing in on the wrong target, yes, but his life has been informed by a deep, profound tragedy. He lost his family. A wife. A daughter. 

When you finish, Heeseung frowns. “He wants you to write articles about the attacks?”

You nod. “He thinks it will be a way to rally people together, to generate enough momentum to stop the attacks and drive out the vampires. Similar to what happened two hundred years ago.”

Heeseung is already resigned to your commitment to seeing this through. No matter how resistant he is to the fact that you’ll be spending more time with your professor, there’s no fight in his voice when he asserts, “And you’re going to do it.”

Again, you nod. “It’s a way for me to keep getting close to him. Maybe I’ll learn how he’s able to keep his bloodlust under control. And I know it’s more complicated than good and evil, but these attacks are horrific. If this helps to stop them, or at least to make people more aware of them, that could help save lives.”

That, at least, Heeseung understands. “The others are out right now,” he tells you. “Spread throughout the city near the places where the attacks occurred. We’re trying to stop what we can, too. And maybe get an idea of what’s going on. Where this vampire came from. Stop them before more are made.”

You think of Heeseung’s story, the painstaking steps they’ve all taken to allow themselves to get involved in matters like this. The sacrifices they’ve made. The dreams of a normal life they’ve all had to grieve, to give up entirely. “Have they found anything?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “Not yet. But we’ll keep looking. Vampires aren’t known for being careful. They can’t be, not with their head so full of bloodlust. They’ll make a mistake eventually, and then we’ll find them. I’m surprised they haven’t already.”

For the sake of your city, you can’t help but agree. Your only wish is that no one else will have to get hurt to finish this for good. “I hope so.”

Heeseung turns to you again. The bag of moonflower is still in his hands. It strikes you, just how close he can be to poison without feeling any of the fear that seems to find you so easily these days. “Are you sure there wasn’t anything that seemed… I don’t know… strange about him? About New Haven?”

You shake your head. “I mean, the building itself is still really odd, but it seemed less sinister with the lights on and the blood cleaned up.” Remembering that Heeseung sat through his lectures too, that he’ll understand just how odd it is for Professor Kim to have a painting hanging askew, you add, “Honestly, the only weird thing was this painting in his office. You know how meticulous he is, but it was super tilted to the—”

Your words die on your lips. It hadn’t clicked, then, what was so familiar about that painting. But here, now, in the aftermath, you put two and two together. 

Heeseung’s eyes flick to yours, finding them wide. “What?” he questions, suddenly urgent as he takes note of the odd expression on your face. 

“The painting.” Your mind is racing, willing things to make sense. “There was a painting in his office. I thought it looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why.”

Heeseung’s brow draws together. “What was it?”

“The field.” You match his gaze, eyes brimming with a million unanswered questions. There’s nothing believable about it. It sounds ridiculous, an absurd lie, even to your own ears. “The painting in his office was of the field from the vision you showed me.”

…..

Jungwon isn’t answering his phone. 

“C’mon…” Instead of sitting on the navy couch in his living room like Jake was when you found him here, Heeseung paces in front of it. A few feet away, you stand, still reeling at your realization. 

Finally, on the fifth ring, Jungwon picks up. 

“Jungwon,” Heeseung breathes. “How close are you to the professor’s house? Could you get eyes on him?”

You hear the muffled sound of Jungwon’s indecipherable response from the other side of the line. 

After a moment, Heeseung says, “Okay, that’s fine. Just have him text me.” 

Ending the call, he turns to look at you, phone falling limply to his side. 

“Niki’s closer,” he explains. “Jungwon will check with him and have him message me when Professor Kim is confirmed to be back at his house.”

Because now that you’ve connected the dots, Heeseung insists that he needs to see this painting for himself. Which means the two of you need to wait until you’re certain Professor Kim is nowhere near New Haven. 

“I mean,” you try, grasping at straws to find a way for all of this to make sense, “is it possible that he’s been to that field too? Or knows someone that has?”

“You don’t understand.” Heeseung shakes his head. “That field is—was—in Celedis. It hasn’t existed for four hundred years.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean, it hasn’t existed? I know you said that people forgot about Celedis, but—”

“They didn’t just forget.” Heeseung sighs. After a moment, he stops his pacing to take a seat on the couch. He looks at you from where he sits. “The blood moon I told you about, the one that comes every hundred years.”

You nod, remembering that piece of his story, of his visions. 

“It has certain powers,” Heeseung explains. “It’s a night when old magic is the strongest. And four hundred years ago, one hundred years after the seven of us stopped aging, the eighth son went back to Celedis. It was mostly empty by then. Had been so ravaged by vampires that everyone was either dead or had fled to other kingdoms.”

He doesn’t accompany this story with narration, but you see it all the same. The devastation. The vast emptiness. The tragedy of a kingdom lost to destruction of its own making.

“But he went back, and he found the oak tree where the seven lords, the seer, and his father had all cast their wishes. He didn’t understand old magic, but he was so consumed by his own bloodlust, his thirst for more, that it didn’t matter.”

Heeseung looks at his hands, turns his fingers over in the light as if the lines in his palms contain unknown answers. Explanations for sins past.

“Fueled by his selfishness, he wished for ultimate control over everything, to be the most powerful being in the world. Old magic took his wish and interpreted it as old magic does. It is said that moments after his wish was cast, the kingdom of Celedis collapsed in on itself, destroying hundreds of years of architecture, history, culture. All gone in a single second. And it took the eighth son with it. Returned his body to the land. After all, what could be more powerful than the earth itself? The very source of the kingdom’s magic.”

Heeseung looks at you with something fierce in his eyes. “No one alive today should know what that field looks like.” 

His assuredness sends a chill into your bones. How could it be true? You know what you saw, or at least you think you do, but how on earth would Professor Kim have any connection to a kingdom lost centuries before his birth?

Heeseung pauses for a moment, something suddenly occurring to him, the same idea crossing his mind. “You’re sure that Professor Kim said he was turned only twenty years ago?”

“Yes,” you nod. “And I think that makes sense, actually. New Haven was founded shortly after.” The publishing house he created to spark a literary revolution against the monsters that consumed his world, ruined his life. It follows logic that he would establish it in the wake of his tragic changing. 

Heeseung accepts this, prodding at the other variable instead. “And you’re sure it’s the same field that you saw?”

The more he tells you, the more you doubt your own eyes, your own fallible memory. But— “I mean, my memory isn’t perfect, but I recognized it instantly. I just couldn’t remember where I had seen it until I was outside again, with you.”

Heeseung is quiet for a moment, contemplating. An incoming message from Niki sounds out with a quiet ping, breaking the silence.

Glancing down at his phone, Heeseung’s lips tighten. He looks back to you. “The professor is home.”

A handful of minutes later, you’re back at the publishing house, this time with Heeseung at your side. 

The two of you stand on the front porch, trying to shroud yourselves in the shadows as much as possible. The whole area still seems uncannily deserted, but erring on the side of caution has never hurt. Heeseung reaches for the door handle with a firm grip, but despite his efforts, it doesn't turn.

“It’s locked,” he whispers to you. “Do you have a bobby pin or anything similar?”

“No.” You shake your head. Did the two of you seriously get this far to be thwarted by something as simple as a locked door? After a moment of contemplation, you realize that you do still have something narrow and sharp holstered to your thigh. For a handful of seconds, it seems almost too ridiculous to consider. But your pride is not the most pressing issue at the moment. Slowly, you ask, “Do you think the dagger might work?”

Heeseung pauses, turns to look at you over his shoulder. “Maybe, actually.”

Again, you pull up the fabric from your left pant leg, retrieving the weapon in question. Sliding it out of the holster, you hand it to him wordlessly. 

You watch as Heeseung struggles with the lock, letting out quiet curses every time the knife slips. And then, after a few frustrating attempts, a quiet click signals his success. 

Who would have thought? The dagger did actually come in handy at New Haven. 

Despite Niki’s confirmation that the professor is far away in his home, the two of you enter quietly, carefully. The hallway remains dark as you forgo turning on any of the lights. Instead, you let the dim light of the dying day outside guard your path. You’re not even sure you would need that. At this point, this place is starting to become familiar.  

Plunged in darkness, the publishing house is nearly as eerie as it was the first time you visited, but with Heeseung at your side, at least some of your nerves are abated. 

In the open room at the end of the hall, your two chairs from earlier still sit, now empty. 

Moving past them, the two of you approach your professor’s office. As you get closer to the door, you wonder if Heeseung will have to pick the lock again. But when he reaches forward this time, the knob twists without a hint of resistance. 

Heeseung waits until you’re in the office next to him, shutting the door behind the both of you before flicking on the light. It’s another precaution. Just in case a passerby were to look in through the window from the open room, they wouldn’t notice any usual movement or light. 

But the world outside now feels like a distant concern. 

Because the painting, illuminated by artificial light, hangs in front of you just as surely as it had an hour ago.

For a moment, Heeseung says nothing, just frowning at the scenery. 

“Well?” you prompt, desperate to hear his appraisal, “what do you think?”

“It’s similar,” Heeseung admits, eyes narrowing. He exhales, and you can’t tell if it’s in disbelief or acute relief. “Really similar, but it’s not exactly right. Those flowers there,” he points to a small cluster of bright red tulips at the edge of the painting, “there were never any like that.” 

The most prominent of your emotions is relief. At least you won’t have to add this to the growing list of mysteries surrounding your professor. 

But then, another thought creeps in. Again, you wonder what life must be like with a perfect recollection. Glancing sidelong at Heeseung, you suppose it certainly comes in handy at moments like this. Although you’re not sure the price he pays for eternal memory is worth it.

“It must just be a place that looks similar,” Heeseung concludes, as eager as you to leave New Haven far behind. “Let’s—”

“Wait.” Frowning, you take a step forward, closer to the painting. “Earlier today, the reason I thought it seemed so out of place, it was hanging off center.” But the painting in front of you is perfectly level. “He fixed it.”

Heeseung follows your gaze. “Do you think it got knocked around that night we found him here? Maybe he didn’t have a chance to fix it until today.”

“Maybe,” you agree, “but the rest of his office was perfect.” Nothing else was out of place. 

Taking a few more steps forward, you stand directly in front of the painting. It’s beautiful, but the closer you look, the odder it gets. Looking at the brush strokes, it seems almost… amateur. The scene is strikingly realistic in the way only a practiced artist could manage, but the individual lines are messier the closer you get. As if unrefined hands put it together. 

An idea comes to you, along with a sinking suspicion that settles heavily in the pit of your stomach. Looking at the painting again, your eyes are assessing now.

It’s large. Heavy, probably. You’ll need his help. 

Turning to face Heeseung, you request, “Help me move it.”

Heeseung frowns at you. “Why?”

You shrug, but the last thing you feel is nonchalance. You’re thinking of voices behind this door. Too far away to possibly be coming from an office this small. “Just a hunch. If I’m wrong, we’ll put it right back.”

Heeseung still wears an odd look on his face, but he does as you ask. On the count of three, the two of you lift the painting off of its mount. Set it down. 

And reveal a small, circular opening in the wall, just large enough for a person of Professor Kim’s size to squeeze through. 

A glance passes between the two of you, composed equally of shock and dread. 

Still, you force yourself to get closer. Despite the light from the office, it’s dark when you peer in. The only thing you can tell for sure is that it goes down. Which is confirmed by the ladder that’s attached to the side of the wall. 

God, you’ve had enough of goddamn ladders today to last you a lifetime. 

Heeseung sends another message to Niki, once again confirming that Professor Kim is still far, far away. And then he hoists himself up through the opening. 

Or at least, he tries to. 

Feet back on the ground, very much still on your side of the wall, he shakes his head. “I can’t go in.”

You balk. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark.”

The look he gives you is withering. “No, I physically cannot go in. Vampires can’t enter into places they haven’t been invited to, remember?”

“What?” It’s not new information, and with moonflower out of your system, you have all the ability to retain it. But suddenly you’re confused. That particular restriction seems like something that should have been causing him a lot more strife. “How did you get through the front door then? Or into this office?” Another realization dawns. “How did you get into class?”

“The rules are a little blurry,” Heeseung explains. “Public spaces like businesses and universities that don’t really belong to someone are usually fine. Even offices, since they still lack that true sense of personal belonging.”

You arch an eyebrow. “That is ridiculously convoluted.”

“I told you, old magic is finicky.” Looking back at the opening in the wall, he adds, “Either our dear professor feels a particularly strong attachment to the secret chamber attached to his office, or that hunch of yours must have been right. This is more than just a publishing house.”

The admittance does make you a little smug, even if you’d never tell him that. Turning towards the opening, you move past him. With a large inhale, you start to hoist yourself up. A hand around your wrist keeps you firmly planted on the ground. 

You turn to look at Heeseung over your shoulder, brow pulling in confusion. 

“This was a good plan,” he tells you, “and a good idea. We’ll just have to figure out another way to come back and—”

“Wait, what?” You frown. “Why would we go back? We’re right here.”

Heeseung looks at you like you’re missing something blatant. “Yeah, with one small problem.” After a moment of extended silence, he gestures to himself and says, “I can’t go in.”

You return his gaze, equally incredulous. He’s the one that’s missing the obvious here. “But I can.”

“No.” His lips flatten, reminiscent of when you told him you’d be seeing your professor again. “Absolutely not.”

But you don’t have the time to waste on his misplaced sense of guilt-ridden protection over you right now. “This might be the only chance we get!” you insist. “You’re willing to waste that?”

Heeseung doubles down, equally stubborn. “I’m willing to wait for another option that doesn’t include you disappearing down a ladder into a dark room alone. We have no idea where it leads. Or what could possibly be waiting down there.”

“Fine,” you concede, shoulders slumping. “I guess you’re right. Maybe Jungwon will have an idea how we can—”

Cutting off mid-sentence, you turn again, trying to squeeze yourself through the opening before he has the chance to realize what’s happening and put a stop to it. 

This time, your wrist is untouched. Instead, it’s an arm around your waist, just under your ribs, that pulls you back. 

Heeseung’s chest pressed along the curve of your spine, he whispers against the shell of your ear, “Did you really think that was going to work?” His voice is low, dangerous as his irritation makes itself apparent. “I can tell when you’re lying, you know.” With the hand not currently wrapped around you, he taps the base of your neck, right on your pulse point. “Right here.” He presses down, pressure light but insistent. “Your heartbeat. It races like crazy when you lie.”

You feel it in your throat now. 

“Heeseung,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to remain steady if you speak any louder. 

“Mm?” His breath ghosts along the sensitive skin of your ear. You suppress a shudder. The ghost of it traces your spine anyway.

“Let me go. I’ll be careful—”

“I’m starting to think you don’t know the meaning of that word.” But his grip relaxes anyway. Loosens until his arm is back at his side. 

Slowly, you turn to face him. He’s still close to you. 

So close. Too close. Not nearly close enough. 

Angling forward, he places the palm of his hand on the wall behind you next to your head, just below the opening. Effectively caging you in. 

“What could go wrong?” You’re breathless and you hate it. “I have a dagger.”

“Actually,” he corrects you, “I have the dagger.”

“Well,” you argue, “if you give it back, we won’t have a problem.”

He still doesn’t look convinced. “Do you even have a light?”

Shit. You don’t. Well, except for—

“I have the flashlight on my phone.”

Disapproval makes itself the most prominent expression on his features. 

Slowly, he lets his arm fall back to his side. Then, before you have a chance to make sense of his action, he sinks to his knees before you. With steady hands, he starts to lift the bottom of your left pant leg. 

Your first instinct is to relax into his touch. Your second, not trailing far behind, is to kick him in the jaw. You doubt either of those would serve you well.

Instead, you remain motionless, prone to whatever whim spurs him on as he continues his steady path upward.

The skin of your calf is revealed, inch by agonizing inch, until he reaches the juncture of your knee. Until he stops just above it. 

You understand, now, what he’s doing. Every inch of you hones in on the sensation of gentle fingers sliding the dagger back into place. The holster on your thigh gets a little heavier. You feel his exhale against your skin. 

Slowly, he guides the fabric back of your pant leg into place, weapon now secured. From beneath you, his gaze finds yours. He maintains eye contact while he rises to his full height. 

“Don’t do anything stupid.” It sounds like a prayer, and you have no idea what to do with that.

“When have I ever—”

“Please.”

It’s so damn vulnerable, the sound of him begging. Pleading with you to treat your life with care. As if it’s something precious to him, something he can’t stand the thought of losing. 

You breathe, your chest rising and falling, separated from him by only a handful of inches. Resistance feels futile. So, you muster all of your sincerity, and you mean it when you assure him, “I won’t.”

This time, he helps hoist you up. Makes sure you have solid footing on the ladder on the other side of the wall before letting you go with a reluctant grip that lingers a little too long.

“Be safe,” he whispers. One last request between the two of you. “I’ll be here.”

You nod once, committing the strange look on his features to memory, and then you’re descending. You do your best not to think about how tall the ladder might be, how far you might have to drop should you lose your footing. You couldn't see the bottom from the office, and you’re not about to risk taking a hand off of the ladder to activate your phone’s flashlight. 

Ultimately, it’s not as great a distance as you feared. You can’t have been going down for more than a minute when your feet hit solid ground. 

Still shaky from residual adrenaline and the lingering remnants of whatever just passed between you and Heeseung, you reach for your phone, turning the flashlight on. 

It’s not a very powerful light, and it only illuminates small sections of the darkened room at a time. Turning side to side, you get the impression that it’s a fairly large space. Crouching down, you place a palm against the floor beneath you. Stone, you think. The limited light of your flashlight helps to confirm this.

There’s a distinct sort of permeating cold down here, so far from the sun, so deep beneath the earth. You can sense large amounts of moisture in the air, too. It clings to your skin, making you feel more clammy than you already were.

It’s quiet. Eerily so. The only sounds you hear are the rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the distance and the furious thrumming of your own heart in your ears. 

Immediately, you think of the night you heard strange noises that sounded like they were coming from Professor Kim’s office. He must have been down here, you realize. Maybe with someone else. 

Or something else. 

That thought sends your skin crawling with a deep sense of unease. You don’t know the extent of Heeseung’s heightened senses, but you’re sure he’d be able to tell if there was another living thing down here. Or, at least, you try to convince yourself that’s the case in order to ease some of your rising nerves. 

Turning to your right, you can barely make out the shadowy shape of some kind of structure a few feet away. Again, Heeseung was right. A stronger flashlight really would have been better. But you’re here now, and you’ll have to make use of what you have. 

Slowly, you begin to walk towards it. But after a few steady steps, you’re nearly sent sprawling over the stone floor as your foot makes contact with a hard, heavy object in your path. Letting out a hushed curse, you shine your light down at the ground once again. This time, stone floor isn’t the only thing you see. 

Frowning, you bend to take a closer look. Shackles. You’ve stumbled across an old, rusted pair of iron shackles. 

The discovery sends a fresh chill down your spine. What on earth is this place?

You don’t have long to linger on it. Niki is keeping an eye on Professor Kim, but even that will only give you so much warning if he should decide to come to New Haven for any reason. And you have your promise to Heeseung to consider. Nothing stupid. 

Taking care to step around the shackles, you shine your light towards the ground this time as you continue pressing forward. 

As you get closer, the structure you could barely make out comes into clearer view. But with every inch that’s revealed, your horror only grows. It isn’t much of a structure at all, you realize, stomach dropping. It’s a cell. Thick, heavy metal bars that appear to be carved into the earth itself. 

You can’t quite bring yourself to step inside, but you do get as close as you can. It’s empty, but evidence of terror remains. There are more shackles. These ones are attached to the stone that forms the back wall of the enclosure. 

And that’s not all you see. There are other strange objects in the cell. Long, long metal instruments that you don’t want to imagine uses for. Old, faded blood stains that cover the stone floor. 

Forcing your breathing to even out, you angle your phone towards the enclosure, ensuring that your camera’s flash is on before taking a photo. If Heeseung can’t come down here, you’ll bring as much of it as you can to him. 

Turning away from the cell, you start moving in the adjacent direction, the one that will take you further and further from the ladder with every slow step. In the silence, the sound of your feet against wet stone rings out like gunshots. 

You suddenly feel vulnerable. A sitting duck, an easy target. Shaking the thought away, you force yourself forward. 

Continuing to walk, more horror lines your periphery. There must be a dozen of them, at least. These strange, terrible cells that line either side of the long room. After the first one, you don’t stop for long to examine the others. 

Instead, you continue until you reach the end of the room. Similar to the publishing house above you, it’s essentially a long hall that opens into a wider room. Your eyes have adjusted slightly to the dark, but you still squint to make out anything other than the solid expanse of stone. 

Shining your flashlight to the left, you can just make out the shape of two large objects. As you walk closer, they become more clear. 

The first is a desk. A simple wooden surface to sit and do some writing, perhaps. Nothing particularly strange or out of the ordinary, other than its location. 

It’s the object next to it that gives you pause, has you leaning closer with furrowed eyebrows. 

As you shine your light at it directly, it appears to be a large chest. The kind you would find at an antique store or see in a museum. Something people from past times would use to store clothes or books or other household essentials. 

There’s a lock on the front of this one, however, Complete with a large, heavy chain that makes you think its contents are less than ordinary. 

Crouching slightly, you reach down. Your fingers shake slightly as you tug at the lid. It doesn’t budge, the lock holding firm. You suspected as much, but the result is still frustrating. 

Setting your phone down for a moment, you reach for the dagger strapped to your thigh. You aren’t as well versed in the art of lock-picking as Heeseung seems to be, but you know you’d regret not at least giving it a try. 

It’s no use, you realize after only a few seconds. This lock is different from the one on the front door. It’s large, looks as if it can only be opened by an equally ancient key. One forged by a blacksmith in a lost century. The dagger slips in through the opening, but the shape is too different to gain any purchase. Your dagger can’t find anything to maneuver. 

So you settle with the next best option. As you did with the first cell, you angle your camera towards the chest, taking a photo of ir and its impenetrable lock. 

Frowning at the dead end, you stand back to your full height. You replace the dagger in its holster, reaching for your phone. It might be wise to message Heeseung for a quick status update, to ensure that you have time to keep looking around. In fact, you’re surprised he hasn’t been blowing you up since the second your feet hit solid ground. 

But as soon as your phone screen lights up, you check the top corner and find the reason for his radio silence. 

No signal. Your heart gives a sudden lurch. It makes sense, in hindsight. You have to be at least several feet underground, and cell service providers probably didn’t have secret underground prisons with strange locked chests in mind when they planned their coverage maps. 

But it also means that Heeseung has no way of communicating with you. That you have no way of receiving any messages he may have been trying to send. 

You’re sure you would hear him, if he yelled loudly enough from the opening in the office. 

But if there were any reason he couldn’t speak loudly, any reason he didn’t want to draw attention to himself…

Scenarios suddenly spinning through your mind, you turn back, retracing your steps. The hallway seems even longer now that you’re trying to move through it quickly. The cells seem even more ominous, shadowy silhouettes in your periphery. 

You give a slight start when you almost collide with the ladder, so consumed with hurrying that you almost missed the wall in front of you entirely. 

Grateful that you didn’t just break your nose from a collision with a stone wall, you shut off your phone flashlight. You slide it back into your pocket, and then you begin to ascend back up the ladder you came down. It’s a precarious balance, trying to be both swift and sure footed. 

After what feels like hours but is surely less than two minutes, you’re back at the opening. 

Heeseung, just like he promised he would be, is already there, waiting. 

“Oh, thank the skies,” he breathes as soon as you come into view. If the situation were any different, you might laugh at the turn of phrase. Another relic of his unnaturally long past, you suppose. “I’ve been trying to message you this whole time, but—”

“No signal,” you explain. Your words are slightly stilted as you ease yourself down from the opening, less gracefully than you hoped. “I didn’t realize it until I turned back.” You nod at his phone. “Does Niki still have eyes on him?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung nods. “The professor is still in his house.”

Tension drains from your shoulders. But as you begin to tell Heeseung what you saw, show him the photos you took as evidence, it slowly starts to creep back in. 

“Jail cells?” He frowns, echos of your own questions repeated back to you. “For what? For who?”

“I have no idea.” You shake your head. “But there was also a box, a chest of sorts.” You show him the photo. “It was locked. I tried to get in with the dagger, but it was no use. The key hole was too big for it to move anything around.”

“Can I?” Heeseung asks, gesturing towards your phone. You hand over the device in question. 

Eyes narrowing in concentration, he zooms in on the photo. 

“I can’t remember the last time I saw a lock like that.” It’s hard not to feel defeated, to feel like everytime you’re on the brink of a discovery, some new obstacle blocks your path. After a moment, you add, “I don’t even know if I ever have seen a lock like that. Other than in movies or museums.” 

Heeseung could get into it, maybe. Either by picking it or with brunt force alone. But he can’t get to the chest. And it’s far too big for you to carry back to him. Besides, you’re hesitant to move anything, even if Professor Kim is back at him home for the evening. You doubt you could get the chest back to its exact location without shifting something around. And if anyone were to notice something out of place, it would be him. 

Even if it was just a chest in a dark, cave-like room, shifted a few inches in the wrong direction. 

“I think…” Heeseung looks up, directly at you, interrupting your train of thought. “I think I may have seen this key before.”

“What?” you ask. “Where?”

Heeseung still sounds unsure, but the more he reveals, the more you start to wonder if he’s right. “I can’t be certain, but towards the beginning of the semester, I remember seeing Professor Kim carrying an old fashioned key in his briefcase. I’d been following him all morning, and I saw him take it out once he got to the university. He put it in his office. I think he might have left it there.”

You frown. “That makes no sense. Why would he leave a key to a locked chest in his secret evil cave prison at his very public university office?””

“I don’t know.” Heeseung looks equally as confused. “And like I said, I’m not completely certain.  He might not have left it there, but… it could be worth a shot.”

You want to say that it feels impossible, but the events of the past week have made that word hold very little weight in your mind. 

“That seems…” you trail off, searching for a semantic replacement, “improbable.”

“I know,” Heeseung agrees, “but it’s all we’ve got.”

“It’s still winter break,” you point out, moving past probabilities to logistics. Glancing at the time on your phone, you add, “And it’s almost sunset. How would we even get into the university?”

Heeseung just smiles. There’s no humor in it, but there is an air of self-assuredness. “Leave that to me.”

Half an hour later, you find yourself standing at the top of a third unnaturally tall height of the day. 

“You know,” you cross your arms, “when you said you had a way of getting into the university, I didn’t think it would involve breaking in through a window on the fourth floor. You may be invincible but a fall from this height could actually take me out, you know? And aren’t there cameras?” 

Heeseung wiggles the window frame for another handful of seconds, a self-satisfied smile crossing his features when he hears a telltale pop. “This is the liberal arts building at a public university. The only security cameras that have been updated since 2005 are by the stadium and the school of business.” He pauses his ministrations, suddenly serious when he turns to look at you. “And I wouldn’t let you fall.”

You’re not reassured. “Still,” you hiss, “we’re breaking in through a window. What if someone sees—”

“Like you said,” Heeseung interrupts, sliding the window open, giving the two of you just enough space to slide through, “it’s winter break and after dark. No one is around.” He nods his head toward the open window. “After you.”

Tossing him one more glare, you maneuver your body through the open window. Heesueng follows you, sliding into the fourth floor hallway of the liberal arts building with more poise than you could ever hope to embody. 

He pulls the window shut behind you, slides it back into place with a firm tug. Brushing his hands on his pants, he turns to face you, expression light as if the two of you have just walked through the front door of a bowling alley, not committed a federal crime by breaking and entering through a fourth floor window. 

It’s all you can do to stare at him blankly. What has your life turned into?

“His office is on the third floor,” is all Heeseung says, “at the end of the hallway.”

“I know where his office is.” You sound petulant even to your own ears. But the location of your professor’s office is not the problem. The fact that you’re breaking and entering into a public university to try and locate a key to unlock an ancient looking chest in the prison-esque secret basement of your vampire professor’s publishing house, however, is. 

Still, you match Heeseung’s pace as he begins to walk, following a steady path to the third floor offices. After descending the staircase, the two of you round a corner, turning down the long, narrow hallway that leads to your desired destination. 

“How likely do you think it is that he even keeps the key here?” You’re whispering. The two of you are alone, so it’s probably not necessary. But speaking at full volume in a situation like this would just feel… wrong.     

Heeseung shrugs as your footsteps erase the last of the distance between you and Professor Kim’s office. “Only one way to find out.”

“Wait.” You stop, now directly in front of the door as another thought occurs to you. A particularly annoying limitation of those afflicted with vampirism. “Are you even going to be able to get in?”

“His office at New Haven wasn’t the problem,” Heeseung points out. “Besides, I actually have been invited into this one.”

You arch an eyebrow. 

“What?” Heeseung shrugs. “I went to office hours once.” 

Office hours. You’d been a regular at those too. It suddenly feels like a lifetime ago. 

Reaching forward, you try the door handle. It’s locked. 

“I think we might need the dagger again.” You reach to retrieve it, a memory flashing through your mind. The last time you were here, you were armed with a first draft of a homework assignment and enough anxiety to make you nauseous. Now, with a dagger in your hand and a vampire at your side, the contrast is stark. 

Handing the knife to Heeseung, you watch as he methodically jiggles it for less than thirty seconds before you hear a soft click. 

“Thanks.” He hands the dagger back to you, waiting for you to secure it back into place. Then, he opens the door, and the two of you enter. 

It feels illicit. It is illicit, but the first thing that strikes you is just how similar this office is to the one at New Haven. Meticulously organized. Not a file out of place. The only thing missing is a painting that looks eerily similar to visions of Heeseung’s childhood. Oh, and the secret basement hiding behind it, of course.    

Here, however, there would be nothing to hide it behind. And no matter where your eyes wander, you can’t seem to find anywhere worth hiding a secret key, either. No glaringly obvious evil drawer of a file cabinet or particularly sinister potted plant. 

But Heeseung must see something you don’t. He approaches your professor’s desk slowly, a frown tugging at his lips. His gaze is fixated on the far corner of it, where the only indications of personality in the entire room are arranged in a neat row. 

Three small figurines. At first glance, they appear wooden, hand-carved. The first is a tree. The second is a rose. And the third is a startlingly lifelike human heart. 

They’re all relatively small, about the size of your closed fist. The closer you look, the more intricate they become. Details are carved with phenomenal precision. From leaves to petals to veins, the craftsmanship is remarkable. 

Heeseung is staring at them with a distinct intensity. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“I’m not sure,” he admits, still fixated on the carvings. “I just feel strangely… drawn to them. The heart in particular.” But he still doesn’t do anything about it. 

Spurred by his inaction, you reach for the figurine, lifting it to eye level. It’s smooth to the touch, nothing particularly noteworthy about it other than the intricacy of the carving. 

But then you give it a slight shake. The two of you lock eyes when something rattles inside. 

“Do you think…” you breathe, sentence trailing into oblivion. 

Heeseung’s eyes flicker from you to the heart. “Does it open?”

From your current vantage point, there’s nothing obvious. But then you turn the heart upside down. Whatever’s contained inside follows the flow of gravity, settling heavily inside the upturned figurine with a small thump. 

And on the bottom of the heart, there’s a latch. Tiny, but unmistakable. Your hands are shaking, almost too hard for you to get a proper grip. But once you do, the latch clicks open without a hint of resistance. 

Turning the heart upright again, all you can do is gasp as a large, ornate, metal key falls into your open palm. 

Your gaze locks on Heeseung’s, jaw open in disbelief. “How did you know?”

He shakes his head, just as dumbfounded as you. “I have no idea.”

But now you have another dilemma. Do you take it with you? Go back to New Haven now? If Professor Kim were to make a stop by his office or the publishing house for any reason, the two of you could be in deep, deep trouble. For something far worse than breaking and entering. 

But you can’t just leave it here. Not when you’re nearly one-hundred percent certain you know exactly what it opens. Not when you’re dying to know what’s worth guarding with that much effort.  

You’re about to voice your concern to Heeseung when he beats you to it. Eyes flicking to yours, imbued with a sudden intensity, he whispers, “Someone’s coming.”

“What?” you whisper back. “Who?”

“I don’t know.” He listens for a second longer. “It’s not Professor Kim. I can tell by the footsteps. But whoever it is, they’re headed in this direction.”

“Do we stay in here?” It’s unlikely that whoever it is will check your professor’s office, but if discovery is inevitable, it would be better for the two of you not to be found not inside a university employee’s locked office.

Again, you glance around the room, this time frantically searching for somewhere, anywhere to serve as a hiding space for the two of you. You come up empty handed. 

Then, to your relief, Heeseung says, “They turned down a different hall,” It’s short lived when he adds, “Let’s go. I think we can make it back to the fourth floor.”

Making a run for it feels like the worst possible option. “Are you serious?”

“Do you want to be found in here?”

You don’t, but the sound of footsteps in an otherwise empty building will surely alert whoever it is to your presence. Staying put feels like a far better choice. “Can’t we just wait for them to leave?”

“We don’t know when they will,” Heeseung argues. “Or if they’ll come this way before they do.”

He’s right, you realize, something sinking in your stomach. You know he’s right, but staying in place feels safer to you somehow. Making a mad dash back to the fourth floor feels like a suicide mission. 

“Okay,” you agree, breath suddenly rapid as you slide the key into your pocket. “Okay.”

“Give me the dagger.” Heeseung holds out his hand. 

“You’re not going to stab—”

“Of course not! We need to relock the door.”

Mollified, you retrieve the dagger before handing it to him. 

As quickly and quietly as possible, the two of you tiptoe out of your professor’s office, key heavy in your pocket. Heeseung slides the door shut behind you, slides the dagger into the lock and maneuvers it back into place. 

As soon as it clicks, his hand freezes. 

When he turns to you, it’s with panic in his eyes. “The footsteps,” he whispers. “They changed again. They’re headed in this direction.”

Shit. 

Shit. 

Maybe making a break for the fourth floor is still an option. 

“Do we still have time to—”

Heeseung shakes his head. You know he’s telling the truth. Because now you, even with your mediocre human senses, can hear the footsteps too. The way that they’re getting louder. Getting closer. 

You’re frantic now. “Don’t you have super speed or something?”

“The only exit is down the hall,” Heeseung returns. “We’d just be running at above average speed towards the person.”

“Well, can you make yourself invisible?”

“I’m not a wizard!”

“Oh, well forgive me for assuming the immortal supernatural being who can project visions from their mind through physical touch might be able to do something useful in this situation.”

Arguing will do little to save you now. The footsteps are only getting louder. Even if you wanted to, there’s no way you’d have time to get back into Professor Kim’s office before you’re discovered. 

Heeseung confirms this. “We have approximately three seconds.”

You look up at him, his features soft in the low light of a nearly abandoned building. Panic etched across his face, eyes locked on yours. 

Panic still outlining your words, you whisper, “Do you trust me?”

He recoils an inch, obvious distrust written in his expression. “Why?”

You roll your eyes. You should have expected as much. “Never mind.”

But you reach for him anyway, before he has time to register what’s happening. His supernatural senses will do him little good here. They warn him when your heart starts racing, yes, but they don’t make your actions predictable. Especially not the ones you don’t feel entirely in control of yourself. 

And of all the improbable, impossible things to happen today, this just might be the most unexpected. 

He’s surprisingly easy to maneuver, you realize, when he’s caught entirely off guard. There’s no resistance when your hand wraps around the nape of his neck. Nothing but acceptance in the way his muscles give as you pull him down to your height. 

There’s a second, a fragmented splinter of time, in which his lips hover just above yours. A millimeter of distance. A chance to retract regret borrowed from the future. 

But like every moment you’ve stolen with him, it slips from your fingers just as surely. 

And then, with the steadiness of a sure thing, his lips are on yours. 

You won’t pretend to be privy to the extent of his knowledge, the experience the past five hundred years have afforded him, but all you can think is that it feels a little bit like a kiss you would steal behind the bleachers in eighth grade. 

Hesitation renders him all but immobile. It’s written into the way his eyes are still open in shock, mouth screwed shut, hands anywhere but on you. 

Despite his obvious reluctance, despite everything in you screaming that this was a bad idea, your mouth parts against his, a breath escaping between your lips. 

He swallows it, and for a moment, everything is still. Until it’s not. 

Hands on your waist are the first thing you feel. The first initiation in this dance between you that’s of his doing. The second is pressure returned against your lips, firm, insistent. 

A line is being crossed; a barrier is being broken. Desire that he keeps tethered on a firm leash is slipping through his fingers as they land on the base of your spine. 

This was always going to be something forged between the two of you. In response, you bring your second hand to join your first at the base of his neck, tangling in the hair you find there. 

He pushes forward, and you’re left with nowhere to go but the expanse of the wall behind you. Back flush against it, you can’t help the small noise of surprise that escapes. Somewhere between a sigh and a hum. 

Whatever it is, it has Heeseung doubling down. As if he wants to swallow every sound you make. As if he wants to earn them first. 

His mouth opens against yours, and suddenly, his hands are everywhere. Your spine, your hips, the hem of your shirt. He pushes further, crowding you against the wall. Until it feels like your desire, the feverish heat brewing beneath your skin, doesn’t belong to you anymore. 

Sensation is suddenly a shared thing, and you’re both chasing fleeting glimpses at a future neither of you thought you would ever have. 

Fingers tangling further in his hair, you can’t help the small, pitiful noises that escape now. Crawl up your throat and drip from your tongue with every give and take, every push and pull. 

Heesung is anything but immobile now. And he’ll give as good as he gets. 

It’s on an unsteady exhale that you feel it, a quick, sharp pain on your bottom lip. Hissing in pain, it’s nothing but a knee jerk reaction when you pull away slightly. 

Heeseung doesn’t let you get far. Mouth chasing yours, he hovers just a fragment of an inch above you. Whatever remains of his inhibition keeps him there, a hair's breadth away from you. 

Slowly, you raise a finger to your bottom lip. To the source of your gasp, the site of the small flicker of pain. When you pull it back to eye level, your fingertip comes away red. 

You’ve never seen his fangs before, as your eyes drop to his mouth, you realize that they’ve made an appearance. Sharp, predatory, destructive. All the things you’ve been told to fear, raised to run from.

His eyes, however, hold nothing but apologies. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He’s still just as close, but you can feel the way he’s pulling away, retracting into himself even as he remains tangled in your embrace. “I didn’t realize I had—”

You don’t hear the end of it. It doesn’t take much to erase the space between you again. 

And where you expect to find that same resistance from before, where you expect to have to fight his hesitation, convince him to give into the sensations building between you, you find only a feverish desire. 

If you thought you were falling into him before, you’re surely drowning in him now. Consumed in your entirety. 

There’s no space for you to breathe, to think, against the sudden insistence of his mouth, the fervent exploration of his hands. Pretenses between you have been vitiated, and the only thing you crave now is the feeling of reciprocation, some kind of indication that he’s fallen victim to it, too. 

You don’t miss it, either. The particular attention he pays to your bottom lip. The way he bites at it, pulls at it. Careful of your injury and meticulous about using only the teeth of his that don’t double as weapons, yes, but it’s desperate all the same. 

“Fuck, ___,” he whispers, the taste of you on his tongue, sliding down his throat. You feel his words reverberate down the length of your spine, settle heavily in that space just behind your navel. It’s sharper this time, more poignant. You want to follow it, trace all the lines between you until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. “Fuck.”

It’s slipping from him, that facade of aloofness, that pretense of detachment. It belongs to you now, all of it. His attention. His desire. His feverish lust for everything his inhibitions have always kept him away from. 

His tongue presses against the sensitive skin of your broken bottom lip just as his hand slides under the barrier of your shirt, traces a steady path up your spine until it finds a place to settle, just beneath your rib cage.

“I’m sorry,” he’s still whispering, because he hates himself for wanting this, loathes the way it feels like he’s stealing something from you. Your blood is on his tongue and your trust in his hands. He’s never felt more like a monster, never had such selfish prayers. 

But this was never transactional in your mind, and you feel the furthest from fear that you have since you woke up with his wound etched in the skin of your neck. 

You pull away, only slightly, breath forgotten as you look at him. Your chest heaves with it now. His eyes are cast downwards, as if he can avoid the reality of what’s passed between you by averting his gaze, by looking away. As if his hands aren’t still sitting on your skin. As if he can pretend nothing has happened between you.

It’s not a particular peace you’re willing to give him. And an apology was never what you wanted.

Sliding your hand to his jaw, you turn his chin upward, forcing him to look at you. Your touch, like his, is gentle but firm. Insistent. Again, despite the obvious mismatch in your strength, he lets you adjust him to your will. Allows himself to be manipulated. 

You don’t want his apologies. You don’t want his regret. You hate every unearned sorry he lays at your feet. “Don’t be.” 

Slowly, you bring your other hand, the one not tangled in his hair, up until it’s at eye level. Without breaking eye contact, you press the pad of your fingertip, still stained with a drop of your blood, against his mouth. He opens it under your insistence, maintains eye contact as his lips part, wrap around the tip of your finger. 

When you retract it, the night air feels cold against the wetted skin of your finger. 

It’s only then, when his lips descend on yours again, imbued with a sense of desperate urgency, that you realize you were never disturbed. That the footsteps have faded, lost somewhere that your mind has no use for now. 

The only thing you hear now is the mingling of sighs and the fervent thrumming of your own heartbeat. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

TO BE CONTINUED...

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: THANK YOUU for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed, and I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. all the best <3

[innocuousibis]

31: Roommates

Sakura wearing Kim Possible pants and smooching her girl.

The soundtrack to this scene is Shut Up, Kiss Me by Angel Olsen, in case you didn't know.

[ratedstar]

ʬʬ . ⠀⠀★☆ ⠀ WHATISAPOSER.COM ?! ⠀ ৶ ⠀ ❝ a person who acts in an affected manner in order to impress others ❞ ⠀ ⏤ ⠀ in 2003, a legacy was born; POSER RECORDS is a fictional record label created by korean-american producer && CEO KIM JOONHO, professionally known as JOON. with credentials named alongside 90's icons such as MADONNA, JANET JACKSON, and GEORGE MICHAEL, articles and on-site reports from the local news flooded the media as the turnout for their first local audition exceeded everyone's expectations.

"he's one of the best, and everyone wants to work with the best!" number 238 in line cheerfully told reporters on the first day of the week-long scouting period.

after a long, tedious, and rather eventful week ( at least five fights broke out, someone passed out during their audition, two people had to be dragged out of the audition room ), poser records began working on creating the foundation of their brand. months passed with little to no information regarding their first idol getting out. side from a leak speculating it was going to be a young woman in her early 20's, nothing else hit the media. what did cause a frenzy in early 2003 was the possible brewing partnership between joon and former teen popstar YAHYA UYEN, famously known as YAYA, after she denounced her father's record label for financially cheating her throughout her entire career.

2005 was the year everyone was waiting for. poser records debuted their first female soloist and icon-to-be known as KANDI. her debut album, "candygirl," was deemed a timeless classic with songs like sweet fantasy and honey peaking at #1 across various charts. for the next four years, her music dominated the industry; songs like 10 minutes, 1&ONLY, and your girl ( only girl ) becoming unforgettable gems for generations to come. kandi will be one of the few korean idols to breakout internationally in america thanks to collaborations with brands like von dutch, baby phat, cover girl, and juicy couture. her time in the studio weren't limited, either as her voice can be heard on the soundtracks for films such as the devil wears prada, john tucker must die, bring it on: all or nothing, and the house bunny.

For the full biography, see KANDI ( korean-american pop singer )

with kandi's career seemingly unmatched by competitors, poser decided to strike while the iron was hot and in 2008, debuted their male soloist named JAEHWAN. similar to his senior, jaehwan became a success overnight with his studio album "a quarter past midnight" as it topped the r&b charts thanks to the hit thinkin' bout you ( on my mind ). while his future releases ( chance of us, dangerous woman ) did exceptional, it was the pop hit c.a.n.d.y that drove him into stardom as it soft launched the soon-to-be relationship between him and kandi in 2010. jaehwan has since become a famed vocalist and actor with his breakout role being the heirs in 2013 and notable characters later on in train to busan, crash landing on you, and squid game.

For the full biography, see PARK JAEHWAN ( korean pop singer )

as poser records achieved bigger and greater heights, it was only a matter of time until the ugly side of fame began showing its head. 2009 will begin a pattern of failed female soloists starting with the attempted debut of NA ISOM, or ISA. from the very start of her career, isa was bashed relentlessly by media outlets and on online forums for simply existing; no one understood where the hate came from but poser still continued with pushing her out. things took a more serious turn when it was rumored that she had a stalker who made threats on her life. the company took every safety precaution they could but it was useless after isa was involved in a three-car pileup after trying to escape her assailant in her own vehicle one night. though isa survived the wreck, a young couple did not, resulting in her receiving more backlash than before. four months later, poser had announced that isa was terminating her contract due to her own mental health as well as funding the families of the victims before disappearing from the spotlight in 2013.

just in 2010, the company had introduced REINA as an upcoming artist but she never got to see her debut as just a week before her schedule was to be revealed, allegations of reina abusing her sick, elderly mother had started to spread. she was quickly removed from the label with no statement and proper announcement, but her name on the website was taken down as well as her photos. following her was HAN DOYEON, a former SM TRAINEE many people anticipated to see debut. luckily for her, she managed to release two mini albums before her career was cut short. in january of 2015, doyeon was exposed for blackmailing a famous athlete with a video of them having an affair in exchange for money to pay off her debts. as you have probably guessed already, she was kicked from the company but still tried to make a name for herself elsewhere.

For the full list, see POSER RECORD CONTROVERSIES

outside of the dumpster fire that was 2009-2015, poser records had to deal with the more minor scandals happening between kandi and jaehwan. the first came after the couple broke up in 2013 when a recorded conversation between jaehwan and a friend leaked. in the audio, he described his relationship with kandi to be a "fucking mistake." he went on to call her entitled and sometimes referred to her as a "the devil" the longer she was the topic. news channels, journalists, and kandi's fans condemned him for his words, but they all somehow failed to bring up the part when jaehwan briefly mentioned her being tied to the incidents with the former women of poser.

unfortunately ( or fortunately ) for him, he was only placed on hiatus after giving a public apology to kandi. despite him going radio silent, kandi wasted no time slandering his name even further into the ground. she revealed that their relationship to him was a publicity stunt to increase his sales as they were performing poorly compared to estimated amount he should've been making. though there was an article that was published but removed clarifying that she was the one who came up with the idea of them dating after her small scandal of cursing out a retail employee until she cried, people believed her every word, his public support only dropping further and further from there.

For the full biography, see ▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋

despite the hiccups here and there, poser records still maintains major success thanks to the future debuts of their idol groups. their groups, while proving to more rambunctious than their seniors in every way possible, prove that their forces to be reckoned with no matter what the world throws at them. is this a good thing, or a bad thing? that's sorta up to them to decide.

ʬʬ . ⠀⠀★☆ ⠀ PUBLIC DOSSIER ?! ⠀ ৶ ⠀⠀⠀STATS !

INDUSTRY⠀⠀›⠀⠀MUSIC, ENTERTAINMENT, PRODUCTION.

OPERATES AS⠀⠀›⠀⠀RECORD LABEL, TALENT AGENCY, MUSIC PRODUCTION COMPANY, EVENT MANAGEMENT AND CONCERT PRODUCTION COMPANY,⠀⠀&.⠀⠀MUSIC PUBLISHING HOUSE.

FOUNDED⠀⠀›⠀⠀JUNE 10TH, 2003; 21 YEARS ONGOING.

FOUNDER⠀⠀›⠀⠀KIM JOONHO.

HEADQUARTERS⠀⠀›⠀⠀APGUJEONG-DONG, GANGNAM-DONG, SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA⠀⠀&.⠀⠀SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA, UNITED STATES.

CEOS⠀⠀›⠀⠀KIM JOONHO⠀( 2003 - )

[kimdokjas]

why you should read Mystic Prince if you enjoyed ORV

Mystic Prince / Prince of Myolyeong (묘령의 황자) is a fantasy and action-adventure manhwa with art & story by Aheuredal (아흐레달) and in my humble opinion, an absolute hidden gem. it's literally one the best manhwas i've ever read (among the top 2) and i've finally gathered my thoughts enough to try to articulate why i love it so much, and hopefully convince you to give it a chance!

here's the official summary on webtoon:

An immortal emperor rules the Kingdom of Yeol, a divine country blessed by gods with awesome powers. After a thousand years of peaceful rule, the time has come for a new emperor to be chosen. This is determined by a series of trials, in which twenty princes with special powers who have trained since birth must compete. As all princes of varying personalities and agendas gather to partake in the trials, intrigue and possibly even bloodshed seem all but certain. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the other princes, the Fourth Prince Jeok-yeon Ryu hides a secret he must guard with his life.

anyway i literally made a carrd for this, that's how much i care about this manhwa and i worked very hard on it!! you can find the carrd here*

(* also if you hate daily pass like me pls note that there's a fan translation as well! just keep in mind that some episodes have ost but you can find the links to youtube on the carrd as well. but if you enjoy it please do try to leave likes, comments, and a good rating on webtoon to support the creator!)

Mystic Prince is incredibly unique in terms of story and execution that i can't really compare it to anything else but here's why i think you'll enjoy it, especially if you also liked orv:

strong-willed MC who's not naturally skilled but works extremely hard

said MC is willing to suffer and hurt themselves to achieve their goals (aka kim dokja-esque tendencies)

seemingly cold and aloof ML with yoo joonghyuk vibes at first, naturally gifted and seems to look down on everyone

...but is actually head over heels for MC and just doesn't know how to express his feelings

ensemble cast of incredibly complex and well-developed characters with different personalities and motivations

MC seems a little dense at times but they have a tragic backstory that explains why they're Like That

incredibly bisexual vibes !! like literally off the charts

slowburn romance that is cooking up such a great meal

MC and ML have actually known each other for centuries

characters go through trials that involve risking death

extremely unique lore and world-building

i said ML before but there are actually multiple potential MLs with how much complexity all the character dynamics have

beautiful character designs (literally over 10+ within the main cast and they're all so unique)

evocative writing and heartfelt monologues that seem taken out of a book of pure poetry

narratively significant motifs of fire and water (à la orv's black/white and reader/protagonist)

profound and realistic depiction of the inner feelings and troubles that the characters go through

incredibly heart-wrenching original soundtrack! (actually made me cry)

some of the most gorgeous art i've seen in any manhwa (seriously pls just open the 1st episode and look at the first few panels)

[spoilers below for chapter ~10]

delicious gender fuckery

MC is actually cross-dressing afab (i personally hc them as genderqueer; korean doesn't have gendered pronouns but the official tl uses she/her pronouns)

bonus: they're built like a fucking tank (as seen here) like hello??? which is so refreshing to see for an afab MC

plus they're also canonically lacking in empathy but still deeply compassionate which again is really refreshing

i'm sure there's even more stuff i'm forgetting but these are just some reasons off the top of my head why i think this manhwa is so amazing

please do give Mystic Prince a chance, it's an absolute delight!! there are multiple beautiful covers but here's a couple of them, BE ART BAITED <3

and finally some of my personal reactions to Mystic Prince and also a note regarding the content warnings under the cut!

feel free to skip this part lol but personally when i look for recs, i love when people tell me their emotional reactions and how passionate they are about it! so if this tells you anything,

this is the ONLY manhwa to have made me cry so far (yes that includes the orv webtoon, but not the novel ofc) like actually ugly sobbing with snot and tears and everything lmao

(it's not all sad though! this manhwa will have you clutching your heart one moment and then cackling out loud the next)

and it's also the ONLY manhwa i've ever spent actual money on before the fan tl picked it up just so i could read the advanced chapters (i'm notoriously cheap so this says a lot imo)

and i'm not alone in this, every other comment on webtoon is people saying the exact same thing. the general consensus is that this is 100% a hidden gem (webtoon DP my behated why'd you have to shoot yourself in the foot like that)

also regarding the content warnings on the carrd: this was my first time making a list of cws (i don't think anyone else has made one yet?) and i was a little hesitant to add them, so i sincerely apologize if i missed anything!! if anyone else has anything else to add (cws or otherwise) then please feel free to send me a message and i'll be happy to edit it!!

(btw this was inspired by this post which is also a great summary for why u should read a cnovel called mist unlimited)

[suzieloveships]

Marauders era's girls x girl childhood

Lily - Strawberry Shortcake girl first, human second, collected greeting cards and watched the cartoon religiously. Loves Barbie, had few dolls and watched every movie with Petunia, her favorite ones are Magic of Pegasus and Princess Charm School. Watched Winx, her favorite was Bloom. Favorite Disney Princesses are Belle and Cinderella, Twilight is her favorite out of Mane6 from MLP. One of 10 people on the planet that read Star Darlings.

Marlene - Polly Pocket girl, had a dozen of those tiny boxes. Adores Monster High, got atleast 2 dolls for every birthday, seen every movie. Watched og He-man and She-ra with her brothers and was super hype once the reboot came out. Made James and Peter watch Barbie movies and W.I.T.C.H., they made her watch TMNT and Transformers. Her favorite Barbie movies are Mermaid Tale and Diamond Castle, favorite pony is Rainbow Dash and favorite Disney Princesses are Mulan and Merida

Mary - dances ballet since she was 10, watched Angelina Ballerina almost every day and read as many Angelina books as she could. Collected LPS since she was 6, has two shelfs in her room just for the figurines. Favorite Barbie movie is Nutcracker and Swan Lake, mostly because of the real ballet dances in those movies. Her favorite Disney Princesses are Tiana and Rapunzel and Rarity is her favorite pony. Elle Woods and Cher Horowitz are her heroes

Dorcas - she is Tiana and Tiana is she, she owns colour green, as a kid definitly tried to kiss a frog atleast once and she and Pandora dressed up as Tiana and Lottie for Halloween 2 years in a row. Adored My scene, had many dolls, watched all movies and cartoon episodes and played all of the flash games. Also watched Winx and listened to Winx's albums so often I started to drive her family insine. Was also obsessed with PowerPuff Girls. Watches Sofia the First and Elena of Avalor with her younger sister. Mariposa duology are her favorite Barbie movies, Applejack is her favorite pony

Pandora - W.I.T.C.H. girl, collected comics as they were coming out, still has a box with accessories that came with each issue, rewatched the whole show every year, probably forced Regulus watch with her. Watched all of Disney Fairies movies and read all of the books, forever mad that Rani was not in the movies. Fairytopia trilogy stan, had a Bibble plushie. Pinkie Pie is her favorite pony and Aurora and Ariel are her favorite Disney Princesses. Watches Enchanted atleast 3 time per year

Sybill - One of 5 people that remembers Bratzillaz, but never really got into a Bratz. She just really likes a cartoon where a main character is a seer. She also likes Barbie, Rapunzel is her favorite. Religiously watched Addams family cartoon and Laika's movie. Had all 3 MLP G3 movies on DVD and later got obsessed with Friendship is Magic, her favorite is Fluttershy. Her favorite Disney Princesses are Snow White and Aurora. Practical magic is her comfort movie

Emma - Bratz girl, bought many dolls, watched all of the movies, even the live action one and listen to every album. Was also obsessed with Totally spies and Kim Possible, wanted to be a spy until she was 10. Despite being Bratz girl she did seen few Barbie movies, 3 musketeers is probably her favorite. Will unironically say that Kuzco is her favorite Disney Princess, it's actually Jasmine. Also a big fan of Jem and the holograms. Can quote Mean Girls so well it's actually scary

Amelia - one of those Barbie scholars. Not only has she see all of the movies she also knows deep lore of the toy. Don't ask her which movie is her favorite, she cannot choose. Adores Legally Blonde, movie and the musical. Hello Kitty aesthetic. Favorite Disney Princess is Rapunzel. Read Princess Diaries serie and hates to movie for completly ruining the story

Emmeline - MLP stan, can sing every song on Rainbow Rocks soundtrack, her favorite is Twilight, og LyraBon shipper. Also loves Care Bears, definetly annoys everyone by yelling Care Bear Stare while throwing thing at people. Had a massive crush on David Bowie and watch Labyrinth over and over again. Favorite Disney Princess are Ariel and Mulan and favorite Barbie movie is Princess and the Pauper

Lucinda - Evar After High girl, watch the whole show, bought many dolls and had a diary with a key. Thought Somebody to Love was written for Ella Enchanted. Favorite Barbie movie is Thumbelina. Got really into Buffy as she grew older. Grew up with DreamWorks rather than Disney, but Jasmin is probably her favorite princess

Hestia - lived near sea and had a mermaid phase. Watched H2O and Aquamarine almost every day. Marmaid Tale duology stan. Favorite Disney Princess is obviously Ariel and favorite pony is Pinkie Pie. Had a small Sylvanian Families collection. Was also a big Sailor Moon fan. Adores studio ghiblie movies, especially Ponyo. Actually owned the 13th year on DVD, that's how big her obsession with mermaid was

[syrena-del-mar]

BL Meta Masterlist

Hello! If you've landed on my page, it's likely that you came across one of my various BL metas that I've posted. I watch way too many for my own good and I try to write as much as I can when a show captivates me (though half of them become half-finished drafts rotting away). The actual number of meta that I have written in the last year, since La Pluie aired, has increased so much that I've have started to lose track of what I've written. So I'm compiling them all onto this list, which will be regularly updated with the new posts that I write.

Be My Favorite

Embracing the Waters of Uncertainty

Exploring Enclosures and Privacy in 'Be My Favorite'

Folklore of Flowers: Wisterias in 'Be My Favorite' Episode 6

Kawi's Journey with Self-Worth and Pisaeng's Reassurance

Dead Friend Forever

An Ode to Older Siblings: New in Dead Friend Forever, Episode 9

Celestial Pleasures: Miscellaneous Thoughts on PheeJin's NC Scenes

Dead Friend Forever is More Than Just A 90s Slasher Film Imitation

Echoes of Guilt: Exploring the Thin Line Between Tee's Redemption and Salvation in Dead Friend Forever, Episode 11

Examining the Use of Movie Posters in Dead Friend Forever, Episode 8

On Non's Medications: Lorazepam

On Non's Medications, Part 2: Quetiapine Fumarate

Selfish Desires and the Class War: Dead Friend Forever, Episode 10

The Nine Circles of Hell: Dead Friend Forever, Episode 7

KinnPorsche

Interlocking Narratives: Exploring the Chains of Kim and Chay

La Pluie

A Jungian Perspective on La Pluie

Balancing Self-Absorption and Love in La Pluie

La Pluie: A Tale of Tender Hearts

La Pluie meets Nora Roberts

The Depths of Inner Turmoil: Exploring Isolation, Connection, and Vulnerability in La Pluie Ep. 10

Third-Child Syndrome: Birth Order Theory in La Pluie

Last Twilight

Blind Spots of Motherhood: Last Twilight, Episode 10

Moonlight Chicken

Alan, the Textbook 'Nice Guy'

In Support of Uncle Jim

My Stand In

Navigating the Conflict in My Stand In: Surrender and Softening in Love *NEW*

Only Friends

Boston, the Machiavellian Prince?

Notes of Desire: Sand's Possible Soundtrack

Threads of Boston's Intimacy: Crochet, Cotton and Connections

Very Rarely Do Men Know How to Be Altogether Wicked or Altogether Good

Step by Step

Carnation Flowers: Motherhood, Weddings and Juxtaposition of Sexualities

"Foliage, Flowers, and Feelings, Oh My!" in Step By Step Ep. 8.

The Birth Order Theory: The Only Child in Step By Step

Shorter Dive on Birth Order in Step by Step

Twins

Volleying Hearts: Navigating Love and Insecurities in Twins the Series, Ep. 10

Miscellaneous Metas

Revisiting Houses of Thai BL: Dead Friend Forever and Deep Night

[lacefuneral]

we know kim hates pinball but he does like sci-fi novels, board games, hardcore music, and fantasy TTRPGs so what kind of arcade or radio games do we think this man would play?

would he hate cabinet games as an entire genre?

disco elysium's computers aren't really based in visuals so much as the storing and transmitting of data via radio waves (instead of internet) and being able to print out this data, but that isn't to say that you could not program a rudimentary screen. lights that turn on and off. maybe a pong-type deal. not to mention the existence of "video" (cassette? reel?), photographs, and audio reels implies the possibility of a Full Motion Video game. so that's two possible directions.

kim kitsuragi is like. i fucking love the hotline miami soundtrack. would be awesome to drive to. hate the visuals they are ass. hate moving around my guy made out of dots to shoot dots at other dots. wish they had the budget for video. i also hate that i have to go to the fucking arcade to play it.

[thesinglesjukebox]

AESPA - "SUPERNOVA"

Not exactly dying stars...

[6.83]

Anna Katrina Lockwood: Aespa aren't rookies anymore, and that comes across. "Supernova" sounds like it could be a SHINee single from 2008–2013, were it on the Matrix soundtrack; it's exactly what I've been hoping for from Aespa since their debut, and it's the first time I've felt like I really get what they've been going for. The synths are scribbly and cosmic simultaneously, and the often lackadaisical vibes of previous releases has been replaced by a maniacal aplomb. There are some shouty bits, as is the current trend, but they're tempered by that uniquely SM tunefulness. and backed up by the controlled and well-tuned performances. Two of our most familiar and beloved SM-associated songwriters are involved -- Kenzie and Dem Jointz -- along with Paris Alexa, who as far as I can tell has her first K-pop production credit here. I would strongly encourage the powers that be at SM to keep working with her!  [9]

Jonathan Bradley: It should be exactly the wrong point in the nostalgia cycle for anyone to be resurrecting the EDM maximalism of LMFAO’s “Sexy and I Know It,” but aespa’s “Supernova” is satisfyingly gigantic. It launches with a bass thud suitable for a blockbuster movie title card and follows it with bristling bass swells that only avoid sounding out of control because it doesn’t seem possible that they might have been controlled in the first place. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: In the SM catalog, you can trace a song like “Supernova” back to f(x)’s “Red Light.” The problem for me is that despite all the fun elements, there’s no sense of release, no actual ecstasy, no goddamn hook. I’m dragged along for the ride, and it’s just the same self-serious melodies and whirring synths we’ve come to expect. The epicness is tiresome. [3]

Iain Mew: The bass noises revving up like an incomprehensible machine and the group strutting forward with purpose keep everything through to the first post-chorus escalating perfectly. From there they add a lot of stuff that ought to work as thrilling expansions, not least the gorgeous digital rain of synths, but the switch is a bit too hard, too fast. The song loses something without the single-mindedness. [6]

Taylor Alatorre: The smile that crept across my face when the bass-heavy rap breakdown got flipped into a "Planet Rock" sample -- sometimes life's simple pleasures really are all you need. Aside from that moment of dimension-hopping, "Supernova" is fully content to play around in the expansive yet finite limits that it sets for itself, guided only by its mission to recreate the scintillating highs of K-pop's second generation while avoiding the chintzier pratfalls. There's no attempt at transcendence here, and if any shedding of old identities has occurred, it's evident only in the external branding. But why let that stop you from enjoying the way Ningning punches her way through "bring the light of a dying star" as she crests the wave of that brain-tickling synth line? [8]

Ian Mathers: Finally, a song using supernova imagery that actually understands that a supernova is a dying star (to the point of explicitly calling it out in the lyrics). Would love if this were even more crunchy and compressed throughout (you know, really lean into it, like the way the vocal processing sometimes goes a bit wild on "nova"), but this is solid. [7]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: The conceit is frustratingly, exhaustingly executed—intense and bold and shiny but devoid of fun. It’s not a good thing when I have to check whether will.i.am is involved in the production.  [5]

Alfred Soto: Combining Femme Fatale-era Britney Spears elastic electro-boogie and the best of Destiny's Child, "Supernova" fucks with time and space with its bass line alone: the girls could tesseract with it. The illustrative lyrics matter just enough.  [8]

Mark Sinker: Songs about space and robots are always better than songs about love or sex -- wait it's about sex isn't   [9]

Katherine St. Asaph: Adds some playfulness and sonic variation to the long-lost, much-mourned-by-me 2010-11 pop formula -- "Blow," "Till the World Ends," "Bad Romance" -- without sacrificing any of the electrogoth maximalism, nor any tension or explosion. I miss when pop music sounded like this. [9]

Nortey Dowuona: I’m just here so Dem Joints won’t get fined. (Marshawn Lynch voice.) Also Lance Taylor need to stay his freaky ass inside. [3]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Went from a standard piece of aespan shock-and-awe pop to something altogether sillier and more glorious the second that "Planet Rock"/"Trans-Europe Express" break comes in — as TSJ's longest-tenured aespa defender I feel so vindicated that they've finally figured how to make ten perfectly ridiculous seconds of pop music that they've always deserved. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[kaaaaaaarf]

Chapter 10 of everywhere, everything by @lynxindisguise is up, so it's time for me to get funky with it.

I had a lot of fun finding songs for this one. I hope you like it!

Universe 1,289: Antichrist songs and explanations under the cut (possible spoilers!)

+ Good Omens Opening Title by David Arnold

Instrumental. I feel like the dark whimsy of this track really lends itself to this chapter!! It was just as funny as it was heartwrenchingly sweet at points.

+ The Plagues by Samuel Kim

Listen. LISTEN okay. Is The Prince of Egypt a comparrison to this fic? No, not at all. Does our Plague Boy give off such menacing vibes? No, not at all. Is it possible to read this chapter without immediately thinking of this song? NO, NOT AT ALL.

I send a pestilence and plague Into your house, into your bed Into your streams, into your streets Into your drink, into your bread Upon your cattle, on your sheep Upon your oxen in your field Into your dreams, into your sleep Until you break, until you yield

+ I Am the Antichrist to You by Kishi Bashi

Lyrically, of course I wanted this song—but it's also very plucky and light and I think a good representation of the warm relationship between Remus & Sirius in this chapter.

Who are you? Who am I to you? I am the antichrist to you Fallen from the sky with grace Into your arms race One for my heart and two for show Three tears for all the souls below One day we made them into figurines Burned them all with all my favorite things

+ Choreomania by Florence + The Machine

Our little Plague Boy's favourite plague was The Dancing Plague, so I couldn't not include an appropriate track from the album Dance Fever.

I don't know how it started Don't know how to stop it Suddenly, I'm dancing To imaginary music Something's coming, so out of breath I just kept spinning and I danced myself to death Something's coming, so out of breath I just kept spinning and I danced myself to death

+ Plague Dogs by The Rural Alberta Advantage

So firstly, the title of this song is perfect, but also the lyrics echo very much what is happening between Universe 0 Sirius & Remus.

Everybody's running out of time Everybody's coming after you and I Everybody's running out of time Even me and you [...] And of course we can't run, we're running out of time And the weight on my head and my heart, it's a human mind Whenever it's alone [...] I've had the strangest thoughts To keep the cold war hot I'm getting you down now Guess the world forgot I'm letting you down Getting you down now, too

+ My Evil by Palehound

I chose this song because I think it fits thematically with this universe, but also the lyrics are very reflective of what Sirius' inner monologue must be. Sirius is sort of trapped with what he perceives he's done to Remus and their relationship.

I've become the person I'd wanna punch in the face if they Ever treated you this way [...] I waste time with it Pour wine with it Bake bread with it Give head with it Make lunch with it Make love with it and Share a skull with it It's my evil It's my evil

+ All's Well That Ends by David Arnold

Another instrumental song from the Good Omens soundtrack that I felt was appropriate to end it off.

[muppetminge]

i don't as such care much for the concept of pride month, but since i happen to not have much going in june i will take this as an excuse to watch a bunch a lesbian films. in theory, this could be 30 - in practice, it almost definitely won't be. i will 100 % get bored and stop at some point. anyway i want to find like actually good lesbian movies - which might be an oxymoron, but anyway - this means i'll only be watching woman-directed movies, preferably lesbian-directed but i'm aware i probably won't get to be that picky </3.

movies watched:

1. The Watermelon Woman (1996), dir. Cheryl Dunye. "all you do since you don't have a girlfriend is watch those boring old films" well, screw you too, tam. so happy to start off the month with something that's actually good. thank you cheryl <3 speaking of, this woman is so fucking hot it's bullshit. also i do need her earrings like asap but that's another topic. forever saddened by the death of video stores... where am i supposed to go to meet hot lesbians now? netflix? it's bullshit, man.

I don't think there's any part of this I don't find incredibly compelling. It's really funny, and just generally so charming and, well, human. the narrative of building your own history really resonates, and honestly cheryl gets it across incredibly.

2. Pariah (2011), dir. Dee Ress. i didn't vibe with this one as much, but i guess that's my own fault considering i knew very well going into this that i don't particularly like coming-of-age movies. the soundtrack hit most of the time, even if the soundscape in general was a bit flat for my taste. it's a very dark movie. like, physically. i couldn't see shit half the time. also not really a fan of the camerawork throughout most of it. it's a nice-looking film if it's your kind of taste - unfortunately i am too kitsch to really appreciate it :/ i thought scene near the end with lee and her dad on the roof was really nice. also found kim wayans' character really compelling

3. La Belle Saison (2015), dir. Catherine Corsini. not projecting but also delphine i feel you so hard. is this representation because if so i don't mind it... (except the part where you're actually getting some but whatever). desperately making me feel like i should wear more tank tops. anyway delphine was really in a headlock with every single one of her principles toward the end huh. i get the dilemma though her riding tractors is basically public service (to Me because it's incredibly hot). i'm not even gonna be an ass about it like i genuinely just really liked this.

4. But I'm a Cheerleader (1999), dir. Jaime Babbit. "1-2-3-4, inverts we won't be no more!" obviously i've watched this a million times before. did take this as an excuse to watch the extended edition and like just saying ms babbit if you want to extend even more you're more than welcome to it <3 gonna be careful about mentioning natasha here because i love her and chances are i won't be able to shut up again but gd people really do underestimate how fucking funny she is… i've personal beef with clea for having basically the same haircut i had for a long while and making it look so much better. only realized on this watch that melanie lynskey's playing hilary. incredible. anyway i genuinely don't know what more anyone could possibly want in a movie. it's so hot. like all movies should look like this - let those colors pop for a change! one of the best soundtracks of the last thirty years and i'm so serious about that.

i think this was probably the first genuinely good lesbian movie i saw as a teenager desperately searching for something to relate to. it still grips me from the very first scene even now. i do think the stars aligned to make this work. it's so funny and it's such a great satire.

5. リズと青い鳥 / Liz and the Blue Bird (2018), dir. Naoko Yamada. shit, dude. first of all this is so so pretty. it makes me insane how much care and effort they'll put into like a background shot of a shelf or something... and all the watercolor... gorgeous. like just the opening shot with all flowers and the colors that are just popping right out at you... in general just really effective visual communication, especially on rewatches i'd imagine (after having seen the final hug scene). i remember when i went to high school one of my classmates was so incredibly musically talented it was genuinely a bit infuriating and i was so shocked she didn't go on to study music 'cause i would have if i'd been able to get in lmao. anyway this was really sweet. the last third is so incredible. when they finally play it, damn... genuinely like goosebumps. and then it somehow kept going? i feel like it's still settling while i'm writing this but i feel like i'm probably going to watch again at some point.

6. I Can't Think Straight (2008), dir. Shamim Sarif. cut to waters novel. cut to k.d. lang cd. one wonders. this having a lower average than imagine me & you if anything really shows that reviews are bullshit. loved the music. loved lisa ray's character being half a second from jumping leyla at all times. loved zina; wish she'd had more scenes. loved leyla's dad being an insurance salesman; life insurance even. sells itself. when the ladies finally did jump each other it was with zero hesitation and i fuck with that so hard. this movie is so funny i don't care. bonus the ladies are very very hot. you can't fault a movie from 2008 for being incredibly 2008. here's to leyla for one day achieving the honor of being tala's fifth fiance(e). truly gettin' it all.

7. Portrait de la jeune fille en feu (2019), dir. Céline Sciamma. writing this on the eighth with an officially broken streak :( it Will happen again. this is indeed the first time i've watched this because i am to my core a contrarian bitch and seeing everyone freak out about this did Not make me want to watch it. now i have, and like... it's alright, yeah. didn't love love it. it's probably too long for what it's got going on. i loved héloïse; she was great. there's some really powerful scenes in here, the bonfire scene especially. i really liked how blue the ocean was; i hate this tendency of (especially) period pieces washing out everything to a ridiculous degree. i know some people are like insane about this movie and i'm happy for them but i can't relate unfortunately.

i did think briefly at the start that it was gonna be about croquis, and i really wish it had been, ngl.

8. Carmen y Lola (2018), dir. Arantxa Echevarría. 'ya te he olvidado' yeah babe sure looks it. had a certain interest in this going into it for very elaborate personal reasons. it's a lot better than the synopsis makes it sound. lola searching 'lesbianas madrid' like i feel you girl, been there!!! speaking of i was def convinced lola was a lesbian which feels like so rare in such a 'mainstream' movie lmao so well done. very believable. and like my girl was so so persistent you gotta give her that like she really went for it. can't blame her i'd be so into carmen too so like. her voice made me wanna die. so hot. (sí también es que el acento madrileño me pone un poquito pero,,,,). it really went insane at the end like damn. i was not expecting the ending tho like i really thought carmen was gonna be annoying about it. do i even have to save that i really liked this? because surprisingly i really really did. i can't help but feel it's getting rewatched a ton some time lmaooo.

9. 漂浪青春 / Drifting Flowers (2008), dir. Zero Chou. can't believe someone in the reviews of this stole my joke three years ago. speaking of reviews don't look at them because of course people have to be so so annoying about this. as usual. anyway. i was so drawn in by this you wouldn't belive!! i don't even know what to say... this is for all us if these walls could talk babes btw. loved the scene where one of the characters blatantly walked by posters and posters of one of chou's other movies. show off.

diego!!! <3<3<3 every single character is lovely but diego made me wanna *** ngl. it did hit very close to home, thanks for asking. realised in her part that i probably chose the wrong day to watch this but that's on me lmao. this would have broken me if i had watched it as a teenager lowkey. does it come across in this that i really like interconnecting vignettes? because i do, and this is really well-executed. hope you'll watch it and also that you'll find less spotty subtitles than i did if you do lmao.

it's a very genuine movie; i don't mean that in a condescending way, because it's also very much a well-made movie, but it's a movie that so clearly has a lot to say, and i appreciated all of it. perhaps this is also why i was so surprised at the reviews, because it really resonated with me. i know i've already pointed out diego a lot, but all three parts were incredible and they really held each other up. i don't think any of them would feel as complete without the other parts. in an odd way it stands like a shining light in the darkness.

10. Addicted to Fresno (2015), dir. Jaime Babbit. "(lesbians are poor. ..)" confirmed babbit apologist sorry :/ anyway i'm not gonna compare this to cheerleader i wouldn't want to try to follow that either. it's a fun movie! i laughed a ton. my lyonne obsession is well-documented so i'm not even gonna touch on that lmao. that being said martha is exactly the kind of lesbian i want to see more of (no projection here. obviously). i'm bound to be all over anything with these themes; lo and behold indeed i was. i stand by this being really well-executed, y'all just didn't get what she was trying to do <3 you could argue some tonal difficulties, but honestly i'm not going to. it worked. it's a bit quiet, but i can see that adding to the whole point of being stuck. some surprise appearances to delight

11. Saving Face (2004), dir. Alice Wu. first of all gd will's mom has got it going on. anyway i wanted a fun romcom and i got a fun romcom so i'm not complaining! i will say that i think this is the genre at its best. like romcoms often risk coming across as a bit clinical i feel, a bit empty, but this is just so warm. i adored hwei-lan (not just because she's hot but let me reiterate that she's so unbelievably hot; i get that boy so much, i really do), she's so funny. i love circular storytelling, and i think the end was done really well. the scene after that during the credits is exactly how i want my movies to end actually, i want my face to hurt smiling. don't you? wil is an absolutely idiot. i cannot blame her for a single thing. also i get you babe, i can't stand for dancers either. i feel like this is close to being one of most just plain fun movies i've watched so far.

12. Kyss mig (2011), dir. Alexandra-Therese Keining. gd i so want all my lesbian movies to start with a straight sex scene, don't you? coming to you with the exact opposite mood of that from yesterday. everyone in this is horrible. mia and frida's relationship is not believable at all to me sorry. i barely believe that these two even like each other if i'm being honest. it's not the first movie here where the romance comes a bit from nowhere (namely portrait, which made up for it with some level of charm, and belle saison, which i just liked enough otherwise to excuse it) but here i'm definitely gonna blame it for it because it's got nothing else going on, either. to be entirely fair, it was very optimistic going into this with my dislike of 'scandi dramas', especially of the swedish variety, but fuuuuck, i was so bored i'm sorry. it's soooo slow. i actually quite liked elin but she was there for like five seconds - and good for her, because damn you deserve better babe... both of the main women kind of suck lmao but at least frida sucks in a fun way most of the time, so she's excused. i don't know if i'm supposed to feel bad for tim (probably! knowing the genre, knowing swedes, knowing movies), but he's such an asshole. i genuinely think mia should have killed him. i can't blame mia for sucking; her dad's a major asshole, i'm sure she's had it rough. i'm sure if you like this sort of movies it's alright. it's not badly made by any account, i just really didn't like it. it has its audience. definitely a new low so far. the one good thing about this was that it really made me appreciate being a lesbian; those scenes with mia and tim genuinely looked like my personal hell. if i was mia i'd jump the first girl who looked at me too, ngl. the ending did make up for a few things, all things considered. i watched a not insignificant part of this without subtitles (because they would not workkkk) and i'm so brave for that tbh

13. Kokon (2020), dir. Leonie Krippendorff. proof that i should probably do more research before watching stuff (never going to happen though; no fun) because i did not realise this would be this much of a coming-of-age story. like literally hitting all the points. anyway it didn't do much for me. i really don't want to be mean here because it's obviously a very well-made film, and i get the intention, but... i was so fucking bored you would not believe. like i was less actively annoyed by this than kyss mig, but way more bored. it's not a very long movie, but it sure feels like it! anyway, if you're watching for the rep, you can skip this one; it's not really the main part of the movie, which is fine - comparatively, pariah had much more of a lesbian focus. this one really is just coming-of-age. something something you know you're in berlin when the whitest girl you've ever seen is swearing on the qur'an. i'm so glad i'm not a teenager - and what a joy to be getting further and further away every day <33

14. Desert Hearts (1985), dir. Donna Deitch. first of all the soundtracks is lovely (and it's a well-documented fact that mona will forgive everything for a good soundtrack). second of all i want to watch this again. like, immediately, right now. i'm gonna watch this so much i fear it's not even funny. ignore the 80s hair; we're in the 50s. one of the better romances yet. the lesbian-english teacher hypothesis proving true time and time again... incredible. cay is so funny. like the way the camera pans over to her in the bed in the hotel room scene... cinema! i was fucking done lmao. it's all just very lovely.

15. Go Fish (1994), dir. Rose Troche. well, we had to go here at some point. it's a very jazzy movie; take that however you wish. i have my criticisms, but also you can't blame a 90s movie for being too 90s (which in truth is what a lot of it boils down to). max' narrations were without a doubt my favorite part, the start especially so. there's more lesbians in one 80 minute movie than i've even crossed paths with, ever. cutting your fingernails before a date counts as foreplay in my book.

16. Joven y alocada (2012), dir. Marialy Rivas. i just know the progressive profesoras are going wild over this. huge respect to chileans for seeing a word and deciding fuck that shit and dropping half of it. top five accent ngl. also polola... also credit for starting a movie in the most uncomfortable way possible. anyway i am so not the target audience for this it's not even funny. it's well-composed, the style is great, entirely well-done, did not care for it. i only finished because i couldn't get the last-moment replacement to work and i didn't have time to watch anything else lmao. i have a lot of respect for rivas (hence me watching this) but... yeah. also really getting confirmed that i am very fine with lesbian sex scenes but straight sex scenes are horrrrrible.. nice reminder of the lesbianism i guess! i will be singing yo no te pido la luuuuna the rest of the night though. non voglio mica la luna...

17. Les Rendez-vous d'Anna (1978), dir. Chantal Akerman. an excuse to cross some akerman off my watchlist? you could call it that. i have a ton of respect for her. she's a very interesting person, i think. an interesting movie, too, all things considered. i'm very much drawn to the fastpaced and erratic truth be told, which this is like the polar opposite of, but it's got its point. i really liked the part with her mother. that was probably the high point of this. i didn't really care for either of the guys, like, at all, but it is what it is. still gathering my thoughts, i feel. not sure i'm entirely in the right space to really appreciate this.

18. Codependent Lesbian Space Alien Seeks Same (2011), dir. Madeleine Olnek. "...I did wonder about the gills". oh, this is how you make a movie. (was smiling and/or laughing from beginning to end). question: can this be replicated in real life. like can i just go find the nearest hot stationery clerk or how does this work.

19. Mädchen in Uniform (1931), dir. Leontine Sagan. all impact aside, this is a lot more fun than i'd thought. obviously i've been putting this off for a while now considering i hadn't seen it til now, but i really did enjoy it. i feel like it's rare seeing girls just having fun like this. as a young girl i was very into this old book series (incidentally from my mother's childhood) about some girls at a boarding school; entirely irrelevant to every and anything here, but watching this gave me the same vibe throughout much of it.

20. سكر بنات / Caramel (2007), dir. Nadine Labaki. absolutely adore this one description i found that says rima is struggling with her attraction to women - lmao where?? the most she struggles in this movie is the coerced leg wax lmao. otherwise it's basically all very sensual hair washing, gd bless. she's also very hot btw i do need to mention that. i see you all going crazy over labaki and you're not wrong but gd man... anyway, sensual hairwashing aside, the straight girls are alright too. seriously, this is actually very good. even though rima's the lesbian the most homoerotic part of this is layale very aggresively waxing of her lover's wife.

21. Een vrouw als Eva (1979), dir. Nouchka van Brakel. after a hundred minutes still not convinced this is a real language. anyway, i don't even know what to say. fuck, dude. gd. you could argue dated, but fuck it's rare to see a movie like this treat its lesbian protagonist with this much sympathy, even today. there's a lot to say, but in my mind this is what i keep coming back to. it's in the little things. at no point does this feel perfomative to me, either. a few asides: the beginning of this movie was very extremely effective at showing how utterly miserable eve was lmao. ad is a giant asshole; eve not slapping him is a testament to this poor woman's patience.

22. 蝴蝶 / Butterfly (2004), dir. Mak Yan-Yan. between the marianne faithful, patti smith and janis joplin i can't be entirely sure jin's place isn't actually mine also fuck josie ho is gorgeous. i almost didn't watch this (length) but gdddd i'm so glad i did. it took a bit for me to get into, but by the time it ended i had to just sit for a moment. it's breathtaking, honestly. i don't know what it is - maybe it's the timelessness? the way everything weaves in and out of each other constantly, like it's all happening at the same time. i don't know. it's so gorgeous, though.

23. Viola di mare (2009), dir. Donatella Maiorca. ah, sicilia, amore mio <3 anyway what the fuck. i think that's my main impression for the moment. gd. supposedly based of a real story, i really do think it's told well for the most part. i mean, gd, it would have been so easy to focus on all the surrounding, but the love really is palpable i gotta be honest. making me sigh and swoon over here... if more people were like angela, like first of all that would rule, but also lesbian movies would be sooo short. she's damn persistent lmao love her <3 definitely worth watching, but like do not read up on a single thing beforehand.

24. The Incredibly True Adventure of Two Girls in Love (1995), dir. Maria Maggenti. "Is this another one?" sometimes you really just do wanna watch two girls having fun. american high schools in media always throws me a bit because i genuinely can't tell how much is artistic exaggeration and how much is just you guys living like that. seems sick. if i still went to the hairdresser i'd show her a picture of randy in this. not getting over vicky's husband getting physical with a literal seventeen year old lmaoo go home dude! it's all very cute, genuinely. by my count this brings the jopling counter up to three. bonus for the bratmobile.

25. I've Heard the Mermaids Singing (1987), dir. Patricia Rozema. i'm really glad this is the one i'm the ending this on. gddddddddd i loved this so much. to quote polly herself: it's so... nice! oh, polly... <3 seeing a quirky weird girl represented so well is like seeing a shooting star.

all in all: this has been... really fun, actually. i don't know that i was counting on that. i did not in fact get bored and stop. i'm willing to concede that the amount of actually, genuinely good lesbian movies might in fact be a positive integer after all. definitely a much more fun way to spend pride month than engaging in nonsensical discourse. happy july! <3

[love-me-a-lotta-whump]

The Guinea Pig Delivery Driver - Black Knight Fanfiction

Whumpees: (GIF above) 5-8 played by (Kim Woo Bin) and (Yoon Sa Wol) played by (Kang Yoo Seok)

Synopsis: After the fall of Cheonmyeong Group and the slow rebuild of Korea’s entire social and physical structures, it wasn’t surprising that there were days and sometimes weeks where the delivery drivers were taskless and bored.

This was one of those weeks. Or at least- it started off that way.

Maturity Rating: Both the drama and this fic are rated 15+

Words: 2,875

Chapter: 1/?

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Kidnapping, Torture, Drugged, Self Sacrifice

MDL link for more information on the drama, itself

AO3 >>> [LINK] -=+=- FanFiction.net >>> [LINK]

NOTE: I will no longer be uploading on FanFiction.net but will continue using AO3. Ty!

After the fall of Cheonmyeong Group and the slow rebuild of Korea’s entire social and physical structures, it wasn’t surprising that there were days and sometimes weeks where the delivery drivers were taskless and bored.

This was one of those weeks. Or at least- it started off that way.

---

Sa Wol and 5-8 had been sparring daily. Multiple times a day. With the delivery truck robberies worsening, it was beneficial to keep up their fighting skills. Due to the country’s restructuring, law enforcement had been stretched paper thin. Because of that, the authorities weren’t doing much about delivery truck robberies. The drivers didn’t mind much at first given that they were already trained to handle these things but the robbers became bolder with every passing day. With no threat of legal action, they would take advantage of drivers. They were beaten within an inch of their lives if they couldn’t fight. They were often kidnapped and never seen again if they couldn’t stay in or get back in their trucks. 5-8 couldn’t let that happen to Sa Wol or… 5-7.

“Hyung, how many do you think I’ve fought before?” Sa Wol dodged a punch, throwing one of his own. It was a damn near daily occurrence for him to ask stupid questions.

“At once or in total?” 5-8 dodged Sa Wol’s fist, backing up towards the ropes in their wrestling ring.

“You know what? Both.”

“Why would I know that?”

“You could guess.” Sa Wol pouted as he was pinned to the ground. It was the third time that day.

“I won’t.”

The two decided to call it for the day, grabbing waters before heading out.

“Wanna hang at my place? We can order in.”

“How about tomorrow night after deliveries?” As much as 5-8 hated to admit it, he enjoyed the happiness on Sa Wol’s face after saying it. It was annoying that he actually liked him. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, though, given how annoying he could be. Damn kid was making his heart all mushy and soft.

------+------

Sa Wol couldn’t help but speed through his deliveries for the day. While there weren’t many, he’d still gotten finished with his workload faster than he thought he would. It was good, though. He needed to clean his place up a little bit before 5-8 came over.

He hopped back into his truck, quickly typing into his screen to start his final delivery of his shift.

“Now to 42, Hangang-daero. Final delivery.” The calm and warm voice of the woman in the GPS rang through the truck’s speakers.

Half way through his drive, he noticed some truck robbers on the side of the road. He quickly pressed on the gas to pass them before they could do anything. He sped past the group, eyeing them in his rear view mirrors to be sure he was in the clear.

He was not.

“What the hell?” He pressed harder on the gas, the screaming engine, the soundtrack to the chase scene playing behind him. He watched as the robbers slowly caught up to his truck, jumping onto it one by one. “There’s no way. They shouldn’t be able to catch up at the speeds I’m doing.”

He tried the maneuver techniques 5-8 showed him the week prior. Luckily a few were falling off but some wouldn’t. That wasn’t the worst part. Some of the ones who fell off quickly got back up and were right back to his truck in no time.

“There’s no way! What the fuck?!” He tried his maneuvers again but with no luck. How were these people falling from a truck going at insane speeds just to get right back up and get on the truck? Why were their arms not broken? Not even a leg? Shit did they at least have a scraped knee? What was going on?

The closer they got to the cab, the more the panic started to set in. These weren’t just your everyday robbers. These guys were on something. He sorta remembered the other delivery drivers talking about a new drug on the market but sometimes they’d exclude him from conversations like that if 5-8 wasn’t there to make them involve him so he wasn’t really sure if that’s what this was.

He switched his gaze frequently between the desert and the robbers on his truck. They made it to the cab. Shit. He watched as they blew three of his tires out. The truck’s alarms went off, the ABS light was the last thing he saw before the truck flipped. Luckily he was strapped in so all he had to do was unbuckle himself and allow himself to fall to the ground or better yet… the driver’s side door. His heart rate spiked and adrenaline flowed like a broken dam while the robbers surrounded the truck. He backed as far away from the windshield as he could. He fumbled through his pockets, finally grabbing his phone.

It works!

He quickly pulled up 5-8’s contact, calling him immediately.

“Hyung! Hyung they’ve surrounded my truck. I’ve never fought this many people before and they’re huge! I think they’re on-” A couple of the robbers broke through the windshield, reaching in towards him. “Fuck! These drugged up robbers just broke through my window I-” One managed to get a hand on his vest. He dropped the phone as he struggled to fight them off. “Get the fuck off! Hyung!” 

Before he could get back to his phone, he was dragged out of the truck over the broken glass and beaten. Between kicks and blows, he watched the robbers turned his phone off. Great. How’s 5-8 supposed to find him?

------+------

“Hyung! Hyung they’ve surrounded my truck. I’ve never fought this many people before and they’re huge! I think they’re on-” A crashing sound was heard. Unmistakably broken glass. “Fuck! These drugged up robbers just broke through my window I-” He heard rustling before a loud thud come through the speakers. “Get the fuck off! Hyung!”

The sound of scraping broken glass pierced through the phone into 5-8’s ear. His eyes darkened as he heard the first blow to Sa Wol’s body. Listening to his painful groans only fueled the growing fire inside of his chest. These people had to be something else for Sa Wol to not be able to defend himself on his own.

He broke into a dead sprint out of the door for his truck. “I’m coming! Stay in the truck if you can!”

The lack of response sent a chill down his spine.

“5-7! Sa Wol!”

The call dropped.

5-8’s heart sank. He felt sick to his stomach as adrenaline surged through his body like wildfire. He had to get to Sa Wol as fast as possible. He was fortunate that the two had deliveries so close to each other all day but if he was headed to his last delivery, he’d be a good few minutes away.

He was there in practically no time but it was already too late. 5-8 took in a half-dead Sa Wol laying next to his truck. He was right. These guys are on some kind of drug because there’s no reason Sa Wol couldn’t have had at least a couple of these guys on the ground. They were all perfectly fine, ransacking the truck.

He approached the truck stealthily, peeking inside. He spared a quick glance to Sa Wol. He’s breathing. Good. He opened fire, hitting as many of the robbers as he could. Some dropped to the ground but some took the bullets like it was nothing. He backed up, heels touching Sa Wol’s torso. If he could do anything about it, they wouldn’t touch him again.

The robbers flew out of the truck like a pack of coyotes out of a cave, laughing and smiling, baring brown and broken teeth. They surrounded the two, causing 5-8 to start circling Sa Wol with his back still to him. All he wanted was to get the kid out of there but if these people were taking bullets the way they were, this was gonna be a fight. And a long one at that.

He began firing again, luckily sending a few to the ground. He dropped the gun once his ammo was out, using his fists and legs as needed. He kept an eye on any that dropped, knowing they might get back up yet hoping they didn’t. He took blows and handed them out.

The problem was, the bastards kept getting up.

He’d called for backup on the way to find Sa Wol but nobody was close. It would be a while before they got there. They were on their own.

After fighting for what felt like an eternity, he was exhausted and these assholes were still rearing and ready to go. Whatever they were on, it was too much. He finally decided he needed to just get enough distance from them to grab Sa Wol and bolt for his truck. Problem was, the kid was still unconscious and even if he was awake, he’d most likely be too weak to run as fast as they needed to. And there’s always the possibility that he has injuries that 5-8 hadn’t known about yet since he had no time or ability to look him over.

Either way, it was looking like that was his best option. He switched from punches to solely kicks, getting the distance he needed. Once they were all on the ground, he took his chance and grabbed Sa Wol. He held him in his arms, running for his truck as fast as he could, the freezing cold air biting into his skin.

As they got closer, he could feel the heat of his still-running truck’s engine. He got the door open, throwing Sa Wol inside. He hated how rough he was but it was either that or get captured.

Captured it was!

He didn’t feel whatever it was that hit him across the head. It just happened. His vision blurred as he fell to the ground. Before he could get up, another blow was sent, sealing the deal and sending him into a deep sleep if that’s what you wanna call it.

------+------

Sa Wol’s whole body ached. He writhed where he sat, slowly opening his eyes, hoping what he had just experienced was a dream. Reality hit him hard as he took in everything around him. The chair he sat in wobbled with every slight movement. It was only then that he’d realized he was chained to the chair. Great. He knew how to get out of different types of restraints and this one was always the worst. The only thing worse than that was seeing 5-8 restrained to a pillar in front of him.

“Hyung. Where are we?” Sa Wol’s voice was deep and raspy with a tinge of pain. Speaking hurt. Hell, breathing hurt.

“It looks like an old office building. It’s not like I could really look. I was too busy trying to make sure you were alive.” 

“Okay first of all, watch the attitude. It wasn’t like I decided to be in this situation. And I could have fought them off if they weren’t on every drug ever manufactured ever.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I? Hyung, look around. We’ve literally been kidnapped and you want to say I’m being dramatic? I feel like you’re underreacting to the situation at hand. But that’s just my opinion.”

“You two are so much fun to listen to.” A disembodied voice echoed through the lobby of the abandoned office building. “Unfortunately we can’t keep cracking jokes. It’s time to get down to business, huh?”

The source of the voice appeared. It was an absolutely jacked specimen of a man stepping out of the dark behind where 5-8 was tied up.

“I’m assuming you’re on whatever those other guys were?” 5-8 didn’t bother to spare their captor a glance.

“Thank you for noticing. Yes! And soon you will be, too! Except it’s my experimental recipe. See, I’m Kwon Seung Woo, the original creator of MT-5 and I’m looking to upgrade but I need new experimental subjects. The others died, unfortunately.”

Sa Wol scoffed, irritating his most-likely bruised lungs but he proceeded to speak despite it. “I actually already have a nice paying job so I’m good. Full time. Benefits. PTO. I appreciate the offer, though.”

5-8 rolled his eyes at the remark. Sa Wol knew it was for sure irritating his hyung but at the same time, the more he spoke, the more attention was on him. If he could make their captor mad, he would go after him instead of 5-8. He couldn’t let them hurt him. He only truly had 2 people left for him in this life and he couldn’t bear to watch that number get cut in half.

“You don’t have a ch-”

“You know what? I’ve actually thought about it. I could be persuaded but for the right cost. How much are you willing to pay me and what are the benefits like? Are there stock options? I may want to invest.”

“You’re a chatty one, huh?” The captor motioned towards Sa Wol, sending fear running through his nerves. Two of his beefed up henchmen approached him, both sending a fist to his ribs. He cried out in pain, doubling over as much as his restraints would allow him. As much as it hurt, his plan was working.

“Hey! Leave the kid alone. I know he’s got a mouth on him but you could easily fix that with a sock. Don’t be lazy.” Shit did 5-8 figure out what his idea was? He needed to step things up.

“If you stick a sock in my mouth, I’ll eat it just to spite you and still have something to say.”

“Kids these days have no manners, huh?” Their captor glanced over to a very visibly angry 5-8. “How about I teach him some?”

That phrase put so much pressure in Sa Wol’s chest, it was like an elephant just sat on him. Or was that from being beaten? Either way, shit was about to hit the fan and he knew it.

All he could do was sit there and take the beating he was given as 5-8 watched, yelling at them to stop. For a brief moment they did, slowly looking over to see him pulling on his chains.

“Whatever you want to do to him, do to me instead. He’s just a kid. He’s too stupid to know when he’s gone too far.”

Sa Wol couldn’t speak anymore, he was in so much pain. He desperately wanted to do anything to redirect their eyes from 5-8, but all he could do was sit in the crumpled up wreckage of what used to be a chair, feeling the wetness of pooling blood underneath him. It was only then that he realized in all the blows he took, one wasn’t a fist, but a knife.

---

5-8 could only watched as they wailed on Sa Wol. He struggled in his restraints, nearly breaking his wrists as he saw the knife come out of someone’s pocket. He watched as it was sent into Sa Wol’s stomach.

Fuck. His escape plan just went out the window, entirely. They needed to get out now. He watched as the blood pooled underneath the kid, snaking through every crack and crevice in the tile beneath them, winding around the chains and crumpled chair. He needed to think of something.

“You got what you wanted from him, now leave him alone.”

“He’s the perfect experiment. With the current state he’s in, I’ll be able to see how well MT-6 can do.”

“Kwon Seung Woo!” 5-8 was even a little shocked at how loud he was. As far as he knew, he’d never yelled like that before.

He struggled in his restraints, feeling blood flow from his wrists while Seung Woo stuck the large needle into Sa Wol’s chest, directly into his heart. All he could do was wait at that point. The kid’s whimpers burned his eardrums. It was one of the worst sounds he’d ever heard. It wasn’t long before the effects were visible.

Sa Wol stood, stumbling a little bit before catching himself. Seung Woo had one of his men cut the chains and before they knew it, both of them were practically sent flying across the room. 5-8 could see how shot Sa Wol’s eyes were. They were out of focus, it looked like.

Kwon Seung Woo and his men surrounded Sa Wol. “Just rough him up a little. I want to see what happens.”

The goons tried attacking him but were met with nasty right hooks and kicks that could kill a normal man. They did what they could but none of them could compete with him. Seung Woo put both of his hands up, having seen what was done to his people.

“Okay. You win. We’ll leave the two of you alone. We’ll go.” He motioned to his men before heading for the door.

5-8 watched on as Sa Wol’s eyes darkened. He looked like a lion locking onto his prey. He’d never seen that look from the kid. Ever.

“No. You won’t.”

------+------

MORE WHUMP LISTS >>> {X}

[sillimancer]

I beat Disco Elysium (finally). I stand by pretty much every opinion I've had about it during my liveblogging:

Hands-down some of the best/cleverest/funniest writing I've experiencing in a game maybe ever, on par with the Portal series.

The lack of (good) fast-travel and confusing leveling up mechanics genuinely made me want to give up on an occasion or two. Getting stuck behind a skill check with no immediately obvious way to gain more skill points was EXTREMELY frustrating. I had to look things up more than once. I still don't really understand the point of the Thoughts mechanics.

The soundtrack lowkey sucked; I had the music muted for most of the game but I did turn it back on periodically to hear what new places sounded like. I was never really impressed. The ambient noise was good though and the voice acting was incredible. Really enjoyed it.

The art is BEAUTIFUL. I loved the oil painting vibes and the portraits of all the skills are gorgeous.

I think maybe Disco Elysium suffered a bit from not explaining things enough and/or not showing enough. Even now as I'm watching the credits I'm not entirely sure how many possible endings there are, or even if there is more than one (aside from like, prematurely dying). I didn't feel particularly challenged except when I was working against the game mechanics, like that goddamn skill check with Titus I got stuck at and almost quit over. I thought I'd soft-locked myself until a walkthrough pointed me toward a side-quest I could still do.

I guess it's just not entirely clear what I could have done differently, if anything. Disco Elysium feels like a game that's designed to be played more than once but as it stands right now I don't know what the value add would be of me playing it again. There weren't really that many stones I left un-turned and it was never clear where my decisions actually affected the trajectory of the plot. I spent most of the game feeling at least a little lost; I would've genuinely liked to have been spoon-fed a little more, at least in the second act.

It almost reminds me of like a 90s game that just drops you in the environment and wishes you luck, the key difference being that those older games usually came with paper manuals with tips and guides to help. Disco Elysium does have an in-game tutorial but I rarely found it actually useful. It never told me something I didn't figure out on my own through context, except maybe that you can sit on benches to pass time when Kim isn't around (but I never needed to do that and Kim was always around anyway, so like? what's the point?)

I wouldn't recommend Disco Elysium to people who don't like point-and-click mystery RPGs. I think this game has a really niche appeal. But I WILL say that there absolutely is an audience for this game that will love it for eternity, and I gladly place myself among them.

I'm not eager to play it again but I AM eager to read what the rest of the world has to say about it and fill in all the gaps I've been left with.

[verfound]

FIC: Coffee Shop Soundtrack: 2/10 (MLB; Luka)

Notes: Y’all have no idea how much I agonized over the lyrics used in the epigraphs for these.  In some cases, the lyrics are what I wanted but it’s not necessarily the original track I was thinking of?  Matt Nathanson’s cover of “Hum Hallelujah” was what I had in mind here, and I think FoB would agree.  There’s one in a later chapter where the feel of the acoustic version suits the fic more than the album cut.  I think there’s even one where I link to both because I couldn’t make up my mind.  (The epigraphs will link to the version I had in mind, if you wanna give it a listen.)

Ch 1

Coffee Shop Soundtrack

Chapter Two: That Sunday He Met his New Little Sister

When Luka woke up Sunday morning, Saturday felt like a distant, unpleasant dream.

He woke up feeling safe, warm, and happy.  The blanket he was snuggled in was softer than his own, and there was a familiar, calming scent on the pillow his nose was pressed against – one that brought to mind dancing blue eyes, toasted marshmallow macarons, and hugs that felt like home.  His lips curled into a smile as he took a deep, steadying breath.  He gave himself a moment to orient himself, to remember where he was without remembering why he was there, and then he opened his eyes.

His smile stretched just a bit wider at the sight that greeted him.  He was in Marinette’s bed – he didn’t actually remember falling asleep there, but it was possible Tom had placed him there after he’d passed out – with his face inches from her bulletin board.  The first time he had seen it, a few years ago now, it had been covered with pictures of Adrien.  It wasn’t long after they met that the infamous Adrien Photos had been removed, and it wasn’t long after that that his own pictures had started replacing them.  Up in the corner was the picture from the movie theater – not his favorite, the one Alya had posted on Instagram with drool running down Marinette’s face as he grinned at her like an idiot, but the one taken before the movie with his sister and her friends outside the theater.  There was a class photo near the center, as well as quite a few shots from Kitty Section’s gigs and various snapshots of her girl gang.  There was even one off to the side of the guys: Max hoisted on Kim’s shoulders as Ivan, Nino, Nathaniel, and Marc cheered in the background.  Max was holding a trophy high above his head.  If Luka remembered correctly, it was from a video game tournament last spring.  Max had not only won a Best New Game prize, but he had annihilated the competition in the tournament play.  Marinette had been his practice partner and had cheered him on the entire way, including taking the victory photo.