The night is strange. Gas lamps illuminate the crosswalks with an eerie glow. The winter air seeps through your frozen skin. The snow crunches underneath your heavy-laden footfalls. You are walking home alone in the dead of night. The wind whispered secrets. Shadows seemed to writhe with unease. The presence of something lurked within the hollows of the brick buildings. The leering nagging feeling that someone was watching you looms over your snowflake covered head. Getting a sense of dread, you push yourself to walk faster, pulling your jacket tightly against your chest. There, in the shadows of the night watching from his hideout, stands the statuesque presence of Kael, the Fae King. Having emerged from his fairy realm through the oblong gilt frame mirror of the forests, his sliver ice eyes gleam like tiny pin pricks in the dark. His coiled tree limb tattoos snaking around his chest and neck seem to dance in the moonlight. He observes your movements. He watches the way you glide across the snow, almost as if you were walking on thin air. Kael snakes through the shadows easing closer to every step you make. As you approach your gated community, your foot slips on the ice. Arms flailing, feet giving out beneath you, a squeal escaping your lips, you expect to feel the cold hard earth under your bottom as you land on the ground. However, you wound up in the strong capable arms of the Fae king. He holds you close, his heat radiating off him like a sauna. His unruly blue-black hair with a white stripe falls over his eyes as he gazes into yours with wild intensity. His arms wrap tightly around your waist.

This is a take on the mad hatter from Alice in Wonderland-You are a young delinquent walking down the clinical blue corridors of Briarhurst Asylum. Your eyes glued to the sterile tiled checker floor. The smell of bleach in the air. Your hair bland in the florescent lightbulbs. Your black booted feet scuffle along, the hem of your pant legs sway side to side across the bottoms of your ankles, brushing the tops of your shoes. Two burly orderlies, walk on either side of you staring forward like blank faced robots, arms straight at their sides, no light shining from their eyes. Issued in standard white slacks, a white button-down shirt tucked in rather tightly at the waist, black belt and bowtie, they remind you of 50's soda shop waiters minus the hat. Approaching a tall sturdy thick silver metal door, the orderly on your left swipes his plastic badge through the electronic slot on the door. Small blinking lights switch from red to green as the door unlocks with a click. The orderly on your right pushes the door open a wide enough crack for your thin narrow body to slip through. You slowly and reluctantly walk into the room. The door closes behind you with a click of the lock. Taking in your surroundings, the mess hall is no bigger than a shoe box. A breath escapes you as you survey the number of patients in the room, not as many as you thought.

You were hanging out at the racetrack watching the races on this particular hot summer day, the sun's rays beating down high in the sky, excitement coursing through your veins as you watch the cars flash past in a blur, the heat stifling, sweat trickling down your chest, dripping into your most intimate places. You watch as Keegan Hardwell hops into his race car, taking the track. He speeds around the corners of the track, dodging his way like a bullet in and out around the other cars, pushing towards the finish line. He wizzes his race car across the finish line in a flash. You cheer him on with the rest of the fans as he wins the race. The heat really starts to get to you, so, you stand from the metal bleachers burning your thighs and head for the concession stand. Next in line you order yourself a large coke, to cool yourself off with. After paying you turn around and bump right into Keegan, spilling your coke all over his shirt, his hard chest peeking through the open gap. The cold coke dripples down his neck, a cold hard expression crosses his chiseled face as he stares down at you. Grasping your hand tightly, he drags you into an empty hallway near the locker rooms.

The school is buzzing at the excitement of having a new student. Welcome to Lycan University. You are a new transfer student not realizing that the school itself is full of werewolves. You, being the only human, are always being craved for by attention. Every wolf in the school wants you, either to date or to eat. You are walking through the school hallways one day minding your own business when suddenly a foot lunges out tripping you, knocking you to the ground. Your splayed on the tiled floor with your books scattered beside you. As you look up to see what knocked you over, you look into the gazing eyes of Raven. He stands there in his neat uniform lounging against the school's window arms crossed over his chest. His unruly hair drapes in his eyes. A smirk appears on his face as he draws your beauty in, exhibiting you to memory. He stands towering over you with his extreme presence.

Venom is a snake. A cold-hearted ruthless serial killer. The scent of innocence and blood makes him smile. The scent of death and pain coursing through his fiery veins and bones. He saunters through the dark streets. Blood stained on his hands from a recent kill. His demonic hooded grey eyes roam the alleyways searching for his next victim. Sauntering along, the air becoming chilly, you walk the secluded streets on your way home from working the night shift. As you walk, a man with black hair, hooded eyes, and an unreadable face, looms past you, his very presence reeking of death and murder. You have just crossed paths with Venom. He glides past you, arms in his jacket pockets grasping his serrated blade, as he drifts through the dark haunted abyss of towering buildings. Moving along you are unaware that Venom has been following you, stalking from the shadows, watching you with predatory glee. Standing at the crosswalk waiting for the light to change you start to feel an eerie presence lurking around you. Suddenly, Venom, charges on you, his arms encircling you in his grasp, his large warm hands covering your mouth. “Don’t scream.” He whispers with his husky voice in your ear. He can feel the fear radiating off you, trembling beneath him. The temptation to kill you on the spot making him hungry. You can feel his muscular arms wrapped around you. He drags your body into the dark confines of an abandoned alleyway.

You are in your Tokyo apartment living room sitting on a large plush pillow meditating. The widow curtains are drawn closed, incense burning, soft music playing. As you meditate, your thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of heavy footfalls and deep muffled booming voices throughout the apartment's hallways. You ignore it the very best you can. Suddenly, the door bursts open, ripping off its hinges, wood splintering as it slams to the floor. You’re stunned out of your reverie. Yuta Kenshin stomps his booted police taskforce feet through your door. He stares at you with deep swimming pools of blue eyes, looming over you with his tall muscular frame. In a flash, he grabs your hand, pulling you up. He draws a picture from his bullet proof vest chest pocket. “Have you seen this man?” His cold stern husky voice growls in your face, as he shoves the picture in front of you. “He's a tenant in this building wanted for embezzlement and fraud.” He glares with narrowed eyes, shoving the picture back in his pocket. “I've never seen him before.” You reply. He leans in closer, his nose almost touching yours. “You lie.” He roars. “I swear I'm not.” You plead. “Enough!” He yells in your face. Suddenly a pair of cold metal handcuffs are secured tightly around your wrists. “You're coming with me.” Yuta takes your hand again and tosses you out the door into the hallway. “This one suspicious.” He tells his superior officer. “Take them in for questioning.” The superior replies gruffly.

One night you and your friends decided to try out the new escape room in town. You find yourself standing in a room with various puzzles and clues to solve. But you are not alone. Beside you stands Onyx lingering in the corner of the room. He's closed off, seemingly unimpressed by the game, and a little standoffish. Suddenly the door swings closed with a click of the lock leaving you and Onyx alone in the room together. Now the two of you must work together to solve the clues to get out and, in the process, unravel the mystery of the man before you. “The doors locked.” You say rattling the handle.” Not my problem.” He replies nonchalantly with a deep husky voice. “Help me solve the clues so we can get out of here.” You start searching through the puzzles looking for clues. Pushing himself off from the wall he walks over to you with a few short strides. He places a hand on top of yours halting your searching. “It's inevitable that we're stuck in here, so why don't we make the best of it”. He smirks. “What did you have in mind?” You ask.

You are sitting in your science classroom at your desk by the window, balancing a pencil between your nose and upper lip, bored to tears as your teacher drones on and on with his lecture. Dominic, the school bully, sits across the classroom near the door, watching you with an intense stare. "Now, class." Your teacher claps his hands together loudly, drawing your attention. The pencil drops to your lap, rolling to the floor. "We will be working on a class project that will be worth half your grade. You will each be working in pairs." He continues with bouts of unsatisfaction from the students. "I have already assigned your groups ahead of time. When I call your name, you are to get up and sit with your partner." When your teacher gets to your name, he calls out your partners name loud and clear for all the class to hear: "Dominic." "What?!" You squeal. The entire class stares at you, judging. "Please take your seat." The teacher says stern. You get up and cross the classroom taking a seat next to Dominic.

Malevolent storm rages over Vladislaus Academy as it looms with wistful eerie sadness upon Blackbriar Hill. Her crackling facade leers through the towering trees. Rain like ice pours from the heavens in a torrent of deprivation. The river adjacent runs with rapid streams, vicious currents slapping against boulders. Grey clouds laden with heavy rain sweep low over the horizon like a warm blanket. Thunder roars sharply across the sky. Lightning flashes like a whip at the ground. A yellow taxicab with black and white checker stripes pulls to a slow stop before a massive iron gate. The cabs rear door swings open and shut as you step out. The driver switching gears speeds off in a spur of white smoke drifting from the exhaust pipe. Soaked through from the rain, you head for the school. Inwardly groaning you climb the school's front steps with ambition. As your hand reaches out to open the door it suddenly swings open before you. A young man with unruly copper hair dangling before his eyes, pushes past you, shoving your shoulder, knocking you to the ground. Catching yourself against the stoops stone edifice you stand collecting yourself. “Rude much. Why don't you watch where you are going.” You yell at him.

It's a bright and peaceful morning. The sun is shining, birds are chirping, flowers are blooming. The clandestine Bank surrounds you with an air of staleness. The atmosphere stiff. You're standing in line waiting at the bank teller to make a deposit. The line drags on forever. Suddenly the Banks double doors burst open with a gush of rushing air. Two burly men dressed in black and gray, mask covering their faces rush in, guns akimbo. They shoot off a few rounds frightening the patrons. Security guards running to take stand. Typhoon: "Get on your hands and knees. This is a hold up." His voice rumbles as he knocks off a few bullets into the air. Vegas: "You, put the money in the bag. And no funny business or I'll shoot." He commands the teller behind the desk; gun pointed at their head. Typhoon spotting you trying to sneak away out the corner of his eye, trumps over grabbing you by the collar and dragging you to your feet. He grasps you around the shoulders, using your body as a hostage shield, knowing if the security guards shoot, they will hit you and not him. Once Vegas has all the money exchanged into two large duffle bags, he and Typhoon, who is still clutching you, stagger towards the exit guns aimed high. Typhoon: "You're coming with us sweetheart." He grumbles in your ear still using you as a human shield against the guards. He drags you towards the exit. The two intimidating men shoot off a hoarding round of bullets high into the air. Vegas: "Nice doing business with you." He salutes, knocking off one last round of bullets. The two burst out the Banks double doors, pulling you in toe towards the getaway car.

You are sitting at home watching your favorite 80’s teen Rom-com for like the 27th time. You have all your favorite scenes memorized and can recite them from heart. As you watch, the film begins to climax to the best part, the scene where the two leads are about to confess their love for each other and kiss. As the male lead is just about to press his lips to his co-star, the power goes out on the television. Frustrated you get up to investigate the set. Searching, you find everything seems to be in order. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then, you notice the plug has slipped from the wall socket. You reach down to plug it back in. Standing beside the sofa you go to grab the remote to turn the television back on, when it suddenly begins to flash erratically on and off on its own. Next thing, a whirlpool opens up on the flatscreen and a wild wind plume’s out, sending your hair flying in a flurry. As the whirlpool of swirling black and white misty lines begins to grow, a massive suctioning wraps around your ankles, knocking you to the ground. You bump your head on the table leaving a large gash of blood oozing down your cheek. You black out as the whirlpool sucks you in to the television. You have mysteriously been transported into the movie.

You are taking a leisurely stroll through the outdoor botanical gardens of the Tunisian Floral Evergreen Botanical Menagerie. The sun is shining brightly high in the sky. The warm air surrounds with the pleasures of summer. The floral scents of the botanicals fill your nostrils. The gardens are a contrast of calm and relaxation. Walking along the Cobblestone Garden Path perusing the luscious daffodils, sweat dripping down your neck in the summer heat, you hear the sound of frantic screaming. Ignoring it, you move on your way. You pull out your phone snapping a few selfies in front of the rose bushes when the screaming becomes closer and more frantic. Suddenly Maverick runs hurriedly down the path, a mob of fans close on his tail eager for an autograph or a piece of his clothing. Maverick is the successful lead singer of the K-pop group Champagne Enema. His sensual vocals, handsome looks, insane dance moves and provocative attitude are enough to drive any fan wild. Fast approaching you, Maverick grabs your hand and tugs you along with him. He pulls you behind the outside building of the indoor atrium, pushing you up against the outdoor brick wall, his body pressed flush against yours. As the pounding footfalls of the franticly obsessive fans draws near, Maverick surprises you by planting a searing kiss upon your lips, in order to shield and hide himself from the eager fans. The screaming fans run right on by, oblivious to the embracing couple. He pulls back, panting heavily. Trying to catch his breath he says "Sorry, I just couldn’t resist." His eyes gaze into yours as if committing your face to memory. The fans would do anything for a piece of me. He trails his tongue along the edge of his bottom lip. His hand reaches up softly caressing your jawline. "I wonder, what would you do to get a piece of me? He smirks, his hand still lingering on your cheek.

It’s down to the wire. The minutes are ticking by. The crowd stands eager on the edges of their seats. Anticipation runs high in the air. Items scattered about the floor. No one knows what the outcome will be. It's make or break time. You stand among the crowd cheering, watching the heated boxing match. The stakes are high. Jonas Magnum sits in his corner, his coach riling him up. His lackey massaging his muscles. His opponent sits opposite. The bell chimes indicating the last round. The boxers take their stand in the middle of the ring one last time. Their tired achy limbs getting the better of them. Bloody cuts and bruises cover their bodies and faces. The referee gives them the signal, and the round begins. You watch as Jonas throws an upper cut to his opponent’s jaw, making him stumble backwards. You scream along with the crowd. His opponent swipes him with a side kick, sending him into the ropes of the ring, however, he retaliates, managing to send several blows to the other man’s abdomen. With a good final right hook, Jonas knocks out his opponent, sending him flying to the mat. The referee starts the count. One…Two…Three…Four…Five. His opponent lays there out cold. The referee grabs Jonas’s wrist lifting his arm high into the air. Winner. The referee yells. The crowd erupts with cheers and boos. Those who have placed their bets collect their money. After the match has ended and the crowd has dispersed, you make your way towards the exit. As soon as you reach the door, your bladder tells you that you need to use the restroom. Going in search of the toilet, you approach a door, feeling it is the right one. You twist the nob and let yourself in, only to freeze on the spot. There is Jonas, sitting on the locker room bench, bloody and bruised. He's in the process of taking off his boxing gloves. You can’t help but stare, a swallow stuck in your throat.

You’re hanging out at the skate park in your ripped jeans and baggy hoodie. You are flying through the air, the board an extension of your body. You decide to perfect your kickflip. Standing at the halfpipe ramp, you push off, your hair blowing in the wind, your limbs loose and free. Suddenly you lose control of the board, a major wipeout. As you’re about to hit the hard ramp, your skateboard landing, who knows where, you clash into Lochlyn. He catches you in his arms, the two of you rolling together atop one another, coddled, on the ramp and onto the cold cement. Your body lands pressed on top of his, his back smashed into the solid concrete. His heat radiating off of him. By accident your lips clash against his with a searing lingering kiss. Regaining your composure, you sit up, straddling on top of him. A few cuts and scrapes adorning your hands and knees. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay” You apologize. His arms wrap around your waist in a tight welcoming embrace. “I am now.” He smirks with a cheshire grin, referring to the kiss. You sit beside him appraising your small cuts.

You’re at a Halloween costume party at an old, abandoned cinema. The lights are flashing neon, the DJ is spinning tracks, couples are dancing with one another, drinks are poured in excess, the smell of excitement in the air. Excusing yourself from your group of friends for some fresh air, you head for an empty rundown concession stand. Leaning against the register, your red costume cape draped around your shoulders, you hear a faint rustling coming from behind you. Suddenly, with a flourish, Miles, dressed in a mafia suit and fur coat costume jumps up from behind the concession counter making you jump right out of your skin. "What the heck!" You wail. "Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you." He smirks with a cheshire grin." What are you doing back there anyway?" You ask. "Hiding, what’s it to you." He’s smug. You glare back at him, furious at his sharp tongue. He notices your fuming. Miles jumps up, hoping over the counter landing on his feet before you. "Your cute when you’re angry." He places a hand on your shoulder. Leaning in, his face mere inches from yours, his warm breath ghosting over your face. You shrug off his hand.

Wisteria Private Academy. An institution for the privileged with a very peculiar curriculum. You see, when you're the sons and daughters of the wealthiest of the wealthy, it's not athletic prowess or book smarts that keep you ahead. It's reading your opponent, the art of the deal. What better way to hone those skills than with a rigorous curriculum of gambling? At Wisteria Private Academy, the winners live like kings, and the losers are put through the wringer. You are from a family that's barely able to make ends meet. Due to a turn of events, you wind up getting accepted into Wisteria Private Academy that only accepts the upper-class elites. Eventually one day, you were bound to encounter F4, an exclusive group of gamblers, comprised of the four wealthiest and handsomest boys in the school. Their leader Casper is quick on the draw, an artfully skilled gambler, and has a mind of his own and is going to teach you what a high roller really looks like. You’re standing in front of the lockers, trying desperately to open your locker door, but the darn thing won’t budge, turning the combination multiple times did not help the situation. Giving the door a good forceful tug, it swings open, only to hit Casper, F4’s leader, right in the face, giving him a bloody nose as he walks past. "You brat!" He wails clasping his nose. Your going to pay for that. "

The nightlife city streets weep with delight as neon lights flicker through your open bedroom window. Rain pouring down outside. You are lying in bed staring at the ceiling bored out of your mind with racing thoughts. Rolling over you look at the clock. It’s only half past eleven at night. Getting up, you toss on a hoodie and some shoes and brace the rain for a walk to ease your racing mind. After about a 30-minute walk, soaked to the core from the fleeting rain, you notice a flickering green light coming around the corner. On closer inspection the light is a business sign reading: THE NEON DEMON, tattoo and piercing shop. Curious, you decide to take a closer look. Peering through the open glass window you notice the various stenciled tattoo designs floating the walls and its gothic artistic décor. Thinking why not, you open the door and go inside. The tattoo and piercing parlor door chimes, as it hits the little bell hanging above it, indicating your presence. Suddenly, Reaper appears before you from another room, his masterpiece of tattooed designs covering the length of his chest and arms. His hair tied up in braids hanging loosely, caressing his chiseled face. He smirks. “Looks like the rain got the better of you.” He says tossing you a towel to dry off with.

Your standing at your window drinking in the early morning sunshine. Your eyes notice a silhouette swimming laps in your backyard pool. Running down the staircase in your shorts and baggy tee, you step out onto the patio. Crossing the warm summer grass, you step onto the blistering concrete surrounding the pool in your bare feet. You curse yourself for not putting on flip flops. "Hey, hello!" You yell at the stranger in your pool. He doesn't seem to hear you. "Hey!" You yell louder. Still no answer. You walk over to the edge line picking up a good-sized rock. Standing back at the pool, you toss the rock into the pool with a hearty throw. It lands with a splash and a plunk next to Zayne's head, momentarily stunning him. He stops swimming laps and pushes up from the water. His eyes locking on yours he says, "Watch where you are throwing things, you could seriously injure a guy." You cross your arms over your chest. "Yeah, well, get out of my pool." He stands there. "Your pool?" He's cocky. "Yes, my pool." You glare. "Until recently I thought this was of free use." He smirks. "Don't you have one of your own?" You snap. "I like yours better." "Well, don't." Zayne stands there swinging his arms back and forth through the water letting it filter through his fingers. With a few strides he now stands before you at your feet in the pool. "What?" You say as he gazes up at you. "Nothing." He smirks. "Then, get out." Your anger rising. "Say please." He coaxes. "No." you reply. "Then I'll stay." He settles in the water. "Ugh, fine. Please." You deadpan. "Say it like you mean it." He smiles. Gritting your teeth, putting on a fake smile and batting your eyelashes you say, "Could you please with cherries on top get out of my pool." He stands there considering. "I don't like the sarcasm, but okay." He braces himself against the pool pushing himself out.