#but this is the ultimate form of niceness. to me. being a shield for people who need it.

[raitonsfw]

tags: true form sukuna, two dicks, dubcon, masturbation, breeding kink, dacryphilia, rough blowjob/intercourse, curse fucking, mention of itadori’s body, and some manipulation. (tags bc it's true form sukuna and contains more than my usual thirsts)

thinking about sukuna ryōmen...

and the sheer annoyance of itadori’s body plaguing him as he fails to get himself off yet again. god, he missed his true form– two cocks lying heavily against his tummy, nearly touching his licked mouth open there and he begged to be able to someday be inside his own skin again.

he craved the desperation he used to instill in people when he’d whip them out, two of his hands folded against his hips whilst the other two held out his prized possessions. it was a real power trip for him, seeing the way their mouths bob open in an attempt to try to take both at once; only for them to ultimately fit one in their mouth. 

as he pumped himself languidly, lying dreadfully still in itadori’s dorm bed, he thought of you and what you would do if you were ever graced with his true form. would you cower in fear or would you drop to your knees before him, begs and pleads spilling pathetically from your wretched mouth? 

he imagined the latter– you’d submit to him, in more ways than one. your tiny hands wouldn’t even be able to wrap around one of his cocks, forget about the other one; could you even fit it in your mouth? he’d have to shove it in, make you take it with no remorse. one of his four palms would cup the crown of your head, keeping you pliant for him as he greedily fed you his huge cock. 

and of course you’d gag around him whilst your hand would grab at his other cock that rested against your stuffed cheek, dripping precum all over your shoulder. he imagined you’d think it was lonely, needing some relief too as the one in your mouth started to slide against your tongue. he wouldn't be nice about it either, the back of your throat would definitely be bruised by the end of the night.

if there was ever an end, because the next thing you knew– his cocks would be stretching out your tight little cunt. all of his hands would be holding you flush against him, two around your neck and the other two gripping your waist as he pounded mercilessly into you from behind, not a single ounce of regret flooding his mind. 

his hands on your waist would curve up to your breasts, fondling them as the mouths he bore on his palms opened up. they’d suckle your nipples between their teeth, reddening them as they pulled harshly and you would nearly collapse from the pleasured pain you felt– from his hands, his cocks, his entire presence that shielded you down into the pit of the mattress.

you’d whine out tiny complaints that mixed with moans, begging him to slow down as his two cocks would ram straight against your cervix, desperate to nearly break through and flood your womb and all he’d say to you was, ‘what? you humans can’t take two dicks at once? nah, you can fucking take it… c’mon, that’s it–! fucking cry for me.’

his release pressed him soon after as he watched you weep into the pillows– he needed to cum inside you and breed you, could a curse like him even impregnate you? who knew, but he’d be determined to find out as you clenched around both of his cocks with a wanton cry. as the king of curses, how wonderful it would be if he were to have an offspring to rule beside him– especially a child of your being, something so disastrously human yet so wonderfully cursed.

as sukuna imagined how you’d take his seed so fucking willingly, itadori’s uniform would be completely soiled– and itadori wouldn’t even know why as he came to.

© raitonsfw thirsts '24 • 18+ mdni • divider credit; @hitobaby

a/n: decided this needed warning tags cuz it's true form sukuna. i had a damn dream about him last night and he hasn't left my mind the entire day so this came about.

[m3-kk]

TCF NOVEL SPOILERS- My TCF notes

Hmmm it’s been a minute since I posted any of my TCF notes about the chapters.. so here ya go! THIS US PART 2 SHAWTYS!!

Ch. 1- YESSS CHAPTER 1!! Not the Kings Palace going kaboom 😶 Cale needs to rest!!! Slacker chan!!!

Ch. 5- AHHHHHHHHHH LEE SOO HYUKKKKKKKK LETSS GOOOOO! BLACK HAWKK OOO

Ch. 6- His name is now Sui Khan 😮

Ch. 7- 🍪 Cookiess! So we have to travel different dimensions now? Cale needs a break 😭😭

Ch. 8- World with the white mages = Xiaolen Planet

Ch.9- YAY DIVINE ITEM MIRROR LAPTOP THINGY! We are definitely going to like the other worlds people evil smirk 😏

Ch. 10- HAH CALE HUNG UP ON DUKE FREDO LOL! Sooo Cale is a god. 😀

Ch. 12- Dead mana is purer AND Cale’s power is more efficient here? Interesting..

Ch. 13- Hey we have a spare world tree!

Ch. 15- Mary is registering as a candidate to be a necromancer empress GO MARY!

Ch. 16- AW HER FAKE NAME IS “Heni Wishrop” HENI STANDS FOR HENITUSE!

Everyone thinks our Mary is powerful hehe!

Ch. 21- Working with Zero & the 4th Prince for the Harmony test :D

Ch. 22- OOooo Black Rain 🌧️

Ch. 24- Now we actually need to kill those hunters. How dare they lay a finger on our family. Let’s flip them over immediately.

Ch. 25- Yay! Hong & On <3 Let’s go to the infected area! 2nd Princess?

Ch. 26- the 2nd imperial princess has been converted to Caleism hah m! Tree-bush monster ye fire, destruction, protection!

Ch. 27- Are you human? HAHAH CALEE

Ch. 28- That Marquis guy is smart. Cale really is acting like a purifier so funny!

Ch. 31- Blood Message! How scary!

Ch. 34- Attacking the bad guys >:]

Ch. 36- BURNNNNNNN 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Ch. 37- 50% power to get 2,500% as a result! SO EFFICIENTTTT WEEEEEE

Ch. 38- THE HUNTER WHO HUNTS HUNTERS! GO CALE SO POWERFUL HA!

Ch. 39- Cale.. not everyone is a super powerful ultimate other worldly being like you! I feel bad for Goldie Gramps 😭

Ch. 40- In Prison with the fam 😜

Ch. 41- We are going to loot!! Goldie Gramps is angry and that dragon is timid but crazy. I love our family! CHAOS LOVE

Ch. 42- DESTROY THE ESTATE MWAHAH

Ch. 43- So sad that we couldn’t loot 😭🥲

Ch. 44- Ooo Opening the safe 💰

Ch. 54- ooo revealing us to the empire?

Ch. 58- Choking? Reminds me of Adin

Ch. 63- HAH I KNEW IT THE FAKE WT IS STAYING YOOO

Ch. 64- INFOOO! Not the Patriarch blowing up that’s crazy! We could’ve gotten so much more info! But oh well! Five Colors ooo!

Ch. 65- HAHAH THE GOD OF DEATH IN THE GROUP CHAT HAHAH I LOVE HIMM HEHHEHE (I love this chapter)

Ch. 66- AWWW Chatting with fire of Purification in puppy form!

Ch. 67- This is so cute I’m glad we get a lil’ rest just chatting with the nice puppy ❤️ I love!!!

Ch. 69- Almost the end of this arc!

Ch. 71- HOME WITH THE MONEYYYYY

Ch. 73- Ron, Beacrox! I missed uuuu!

Ch. 75- Aw the Henituse Fam! Billos!

Ch. 76- You get a mine, you get a mine. EVERYONE GETSA MINE!!

Ch. 78- YOU HAVE BEEN PROMOTED YOU ARE NOW ONE OF MY ELITE EMPLOYEES!

Ch. 79- @CP we have a mommy on our side? Mummy’s boy emperor as well???

Ch. 81- CENTRAL PLAINS?! The sworn brother goodbye was cute.

Ch. 83- We meet CP’s clone?? Cutie??

Ch. 85- The disrespect! They can’t pronounce our Cale Henituse’s name!

Ch. 86- NEW NAMES LETSGOOO

Ch. 90- YOO we got a golden plaque!

Ch. 91- Cale ignores Toonka but not Roan!

Ch. 93- We found the living jiangshi!

Ch. 94- enlightenment is crazy****

Ch. 97- Talking with the Sword Sainttt

Ch. 100- Purification! Chapter 100!

Ch. 101- One word, blood. SHITTTTT NOO

Ch. 102- AWKWARD! Yay Choi Jung SOO

Ch. 106- LET HIM EATTTT

Ch. 108- So many ally’s yay !!!!

Ch. 112- We. Are. Going. To. EATT! (a elixir)

Ch. 113- 70% shield 53% water

Ch. 116- The Alliance leader is being bitchy SHOW EM’ WHOSE BOSS! (Roan misses Alberu)

Ch. 118- Don’t hurt our Cale! Please!

Ch. 119- Aw I love when Choi Han & Beacrox talk together about family

Ch. 121- Ah the god ole trash bastard days

Ch. 123- Green Forest Bastards try and mess with us?! Angry Cale! >:(

Ch. 124- OO Cale is the BOSS MAN

Ch. 127- 68% then 72% of fire!!

Ch. 128- Pfft Caleism has a poem now lol.

Ch. 129- HUHH Big complicated lore??

Ch. 131- WOAHH The Heavenly Demon is a smart cookie fr fr wow intelligent!

Ch. 135- The Left Guard is so cute awe

Ch. 136- Oh no the Heavenly Demon ain’t doing so good :[

Ch. 137- Helping out the HD again. Spy?

Ch. 139- Aw Choi Family spars. I love it

Ch. 141- HD is being healed yay

Ch. 142- I was so concerned about Cale the whole time! Bloody Battle

Ch. 146- (I hope everyone at home is ok)

Ch. 151- TALKING WITH ALBERU YAYAYAY

Ch. 152- Pinnacle Demon is poison crazy

Ch. 153- We going to destroy things now?

Ch. 154- YAY DESTRUCTION DESTROY

Ch. 155- FINALLY FLIP THINGS OVER KYA

Ch. 157- OO WATER AP FOUND SOMETHIN

Ch. 158- OMG DRAGON LORE?? YAHOO

Ch. 159- “Raon’s lackey” I got the chills!

Ch. 160- OOOooo I’m hooked! Dragons<3

Ch. 162- Oh DAMN! We got a mf jackpot! Water is 300 percent stronger than the OG. No blood shed! Dragons are great!

Ch. 163- HAHA LOOTING ANCIENT STUFF

Ch. 165- Scale+Crown+Crown=Red Crown

Ch. 169- Shit is going down! TSUNAMI!

Ch. 171- How dare she think to threaten us, she shall die by Choi Hans sword.

Ch. 176- Old man Baek describes Cale’s world and “reads” him

Ch. 183- I love that we can run wild!! 😜

Ch. 185- THE PRIESTESS the youngest daughter of Orsena!

Ch. 186- The Dominantung Aura

Ch. 187- Our little Han got stronger (I’m so fucking proud of him 🥲)

Ch. 188- We killed her.. Last words?

Ch. 189- The Formation Collapsed!

Ch. 190- Raon’s MC moment. (Cute bond)

Ch. 191- Using water AP to Max! Or not?

Ch. 192- the Punto Banhui and Tears💧

Ch. 195- You got games on your phone?

Ch. 196- Everyone wants Cale to be a god

Ch. 199- WE LEFT!!! NOW WE ARE HOMEE

Ch. 200- Awww so cute at Alberu’s casa

Ch. 201- That actually so funny 🤣

Ch. 202- Zoom Call with Ahn Roh Man talking about gamess. Similarities?

Ch. 206- Aw it been a bit since we chilled

Ch. 209- Speech ruined! (So every time Cale has to do a speech it’s interrupted)

[gracexthoughts]

of violent delights chap 7

happy birthday, mia

30 January 1996

Euphemia's POV

The Christmas break seemed to float by. Harry and I stayed at Hogwarts as always, the Weasleys and Hermione staying as well. My first two years at Hogwarts, I went back to the Dursleys' for Christmas, just to see Harry and make sure he was okay. Since Harry started though, we've had no reason to go back. Christmas with each other and our friends has always been far preferable. I'll never forget how excited Harry got his first Christmas morning at Hogwarts. 

I love the castle during the holidays. It's decorated to the nines and is quiet and serene for two weeks. I spend most of my time running around the empty halls with the twins, a snowball fight with the Twins and I on one team and Harry, Ron and Hermione on another, and two weeks of no prefect rounds. 

Since that night in the broom closet, Mattheo and I haven't spoken of what happened. I've never seen him be so gentle, especially not to me. The way he helped calm me down from panicking, and the way our hostile banter turned playful in the time we spent locked in the closet has plagued my mind in the two months since. I fully expected to arrive in class the next morning with the whole school knowing Euphemia Potter had a panic attack from being stuck in a broom closet with Mattheo Riddle (most girls' dream situation) but no one knew unless I told them. Mattheo hadn't told anyone what happened, or if he did he swore them to secrecy. I tried to thank him for it but I only received a grunt in return, reverting back to the same cold, angry and insufferably superior jerk I've always known him to be. Even so, I can't help but wonder what he was doing over break, why he was so nice to me that night, and why he hasn't tried to use my weakness against me. 

Harry has been despondent since Christmas when his new Firebolt was confiscated to be checked for tampering. I hadn't even woken up yet when Harry had come rushing in, yelling thank you over and over again. He'd thought I had bought him the new broom but I hadn't. Well, I'd been planning on it but my plan was to let Harry pick out the broom he wanted rather than choose it myself. But some mystery benefactor had beaten me to it and McGonagall promptly confiscated it, worried about it being cursed or hexed and Hermione has taken the brunt of Harry's anger. Secretly, I'm grateful someone else thought it was strange besides me but i’m sorry Hermione is being shut out for it.

Since term has resumed, and prefect rounds and Quidditch practices along with it, Harry and I have been adding weekly anti- dementor lessons to our schedules. Four lessons in and Harry and I can both produce the shield version of the Patronus Charm. The corporeal form, however, has been a bigger challenge. 

"Happy Birthday, Mia!" The door to my dorm is flung open as the Weasley Twins, Angelina, Alicia, Lee, and Harry all flood into my room. The best benefit of being a prefect? I have my own dorm room. Although, my friends have started to use it as their own personal common room so it's ultimately not that private anymore. I sit up, making a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh as my friends and brother surround my bed. I squint at the clock on my nightstand and balk. 

"I love you all so much but it's literally 8AM, I don't get to sleep in on my birthday? It's a Sunday!" I pretend to whine, falling back on my pillows. With Quidditch practice Mondays-Thursdays 4:30-6:30PM, prefect rounds Tuesdays and Thursdays 9-11PM, and extra lessons with Lupin on Wednesdays at 8PM I have barely any time to do my schoolwork, let alone anything else. 

"No, because it's not fair for you to shorten the time we get to celebrate you by sleeping," Angelina says, crossing her arms and sitting on the bed next to me. 

"You can't sing at breakfast," I say, sitting up with my eyes wide and looking at the Twins. Fred and George love parties, celebrations and taking the mickey out of people they love. When they found out I'd never celebrated a birthday before coming to Hogwarts, they made it their personal mission to make every birthday since absolutely insane. 

"We won't," Fred says, a mischievous gleam in his eyes behind his smile.  

"I couldn't believe you less," I laugh. 

"Oh we're singing! No opting out, Potter!" Lee says, wiggling his eyebrows like a madman. 

"C'mon, Mia don't be a spoil sport!" George says, leaning against one of the posts of my bed frame. 

"Oi! I am many things but a party pooper is not one," I laugh, "I need you all the leave if you expect me to get dressed though." 

"Boo," Fred laughs, heading towards the door with George and Lee. Harry holds back for a moment and leans over the edge of my bed to give me a hug. 

"Happy birthday, Mia," he says with a small smile. 

"Thanks, Haz," I return his smile, reaching up to ruffle his already unruly hair. He chuckles and shoves my hand away and turns to leave with the rest of the boys, leaving me with Angelina and Alicia. 

"Sooo, what do you think Freddie got you for your birthday?" Angelina asks, lay back on my bed. 

"The twins better not have gotten me anything. I don't want any presents," I say, pushing off the blankets and tossing them over Angie. 

"Not the twins! Fred," Alicia says, sitting on the back of the love seat in front of the fireplace. I furrow my eyebrows as I cross the room to my dresser and begin pulling clothes out for the day. 

"Why just Fred?" 

"C'mon, Mia. You are not dense," Angie says, rolling onto her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows. 

"About what, Ang?" I turn, raising my eyebrows, playing dumb because I know exactly where they are going with this. 

"Freddie liiiikes you!" She responds in a sing-song voice, causing me to roll my eyes and throw a sweatshirt at her from across the room. 

"Please!" I groan. 

"Why are you upset? Fred's cute," Alicia says. Angelina and I raise our eyebrows at our friend, who is very openly lesbian. "That's not a personal opinion! It's just a fact. Fred and George could have any girl in this school they wanted and yet, dear Freddie has been single for more than a year. He likes you, Mia. It's plain as day." 

"I look like I could be his sister. Remember first year when half the school thought we were triplets?" I say, pulling a sweater over my head. The Weasley family all have bright and fiery red hair while my hair is a darker red, a weird mix of the dark brown of my father's hair and the bright red my mother had. Never stopped people from asking if we were related though. "I don't like Fred like that." 

"You're dumb for that, Phe. Sorry," Angie laughs. 

"You date him then if you think he's so great!" I laugh. 

"No thanks. I've got dibs on George though," she responds, winking at me. Alicia and I exchange a shocked look before we burst out into laughter. 

"You know, Ang, I think that will work out very well for you," I tease. Angelina bolts up to her knees, still on my bed. 

"What do you know?" 

"A secret!" I wink and duck as Ang throws a pillow at me.

"The three of you and your secrets, I swear!" 

"Okay so who do you like? There's gotta be somebody," Alicia pries, and I sigh. 

"There's no one. When would I find the time?" 

Angelina gasps, jumping up from the bed and rushing over to me, grabbing me by the shoulder. "Don't tell me it's Riddle!" 

"ANG!" I groan, pulling out of her grip, moving into the ensuite bathroom but leaving the door open. 

"Oh my god, imagine?" Alicia starts cackling on the couch, falling off the back and landing on the cushions on the other side, her feet dangling over the back of the love seat.

"It's like Romeo and Juliette! By that muggle writer you like so much!" 

"Romeo and Juliet both die in the end," I call from the bathroom. "I don't really think they are meant to role models." 

"Still, he's so hot. And experienced. From what I hear he's amazing in be-" 

"Ah! No! Please stop, it's already hard enough to do rounds with him without thinking about his bedroom habits!" I interrupt Angelina, waving my hands begging her to stop. "Let's go get breakfast and you can continue your tirade of embarrassment once I have coffee in my system, deal?" 

My day is spent being dragged around by my friends. They take me to Hogsmeade, singing happy birthday again when Rosemerta brings me a cupcake with a small candle stuck in the top and telling every shopkeeper it's my birthday. I think I spend most of the day blushing and trying to hide.  When we finally make it back to the castle, I head into my room to put away some stuff I bought in Hogsmeade. 

Just as I'm about to leave to rejoin my friends, something catches my eye on my mantle. It's a yellowing piece of parchment paper folded into a square  with my name on it written in handwriting I don't recognize. I reach for it and turn it over revealing a dark red wax seal. I study the crest pressed into the dark red wax, feeling like I recognize it but not being able to-- My knees fold below me and I sink to the floor at the realization. I did research on our family history my first year at Hogwarts and this crest was everywhere I looked. The Potter Family crest. 

My hands shake as I tear open the letter.

22 October 1981

My darling Mia,

Happy 18th birthday, my beautiful, wonderful daughter. If you're reading this letter, then I am very glad I decided to write this. While I hope your mother and I come out of this war relatively unscathed, I feel it would be irresponsible if I did not put some things in writing for a worst case scenario. So, I have enchanted this letter to appear to you on your birthday on the off chance I am not there to give you a present in person.

As I'm sure you know, my father inherited a fortune, which through his career he grew significantly, and a manor house. A house in which he and my mother raised me, and I spent my life in. My parents, never failing in their generosity, made our home a haven for others, and a place of warmth and joy, not only for our family by blood, but our family through choice as well.  It has a proper name I never could be bothered to remember but everyone just called it the Potter Manor anyway. If you are reading this it means I am gone and the house is now yours. You'll find directions to it in this letter as it was hidden by enchantments before we left to go into hiding. What you do with the house and the money, I leave entirely to you and your brother's choosing. I know first hand how quickly the world changes and I believe the age of manor houses and ballrooms, and lavish parties of my parents' life is not in keeping with the world you shall be a young woman.

I also want you to know how loved you are. We may not have expected you but we have never regretted your existence. You and your brother have been the shining star that has guided your mother and me through the dark years that have followed us since leaving Hogwarts. I know you will do incredible things in your life, my darling. Watching you grow these last few years has been the most wonderful experience of my life and being your father is the greatest privilege. Your mother and I love you and Harry more than anything in this world. 

I know if you are reading these words, then the worst has happened and I am very sorry I never got to watch you grow into the beautiful young woman I know you will be. Luckily, you have been surrounded by loving friends and family since your birth and I know you and your brother will be well taken care of by your godfathers. Remus and Sirius are my brothers, as well as Peter, and they are some of the only people your mother and I would entrust our children to. Do me a favor? Tell them I love them for me. 

Now, I hear your mother calling me for dinner and I must go have a wonderful meal cooked by the woman of my dreams, joined by the two most beautiful and wonderful children to ever exist. What a lucky man I am. 

With all my love, 

Dad

I can't help as tears fall down my face as I read my fathers words, words he hoped would never reach me, words he might have shown me himself, to which we would laugh at our good fortune and celebrate the 18 years we spent together as a family. I blink back tears and read through the letter again, soaking up the only piece of my father I have. 

As I reread his mention of godfathers, a tightness grows in my chest. Sirius, I know, is Harry's godfather but Remus? I sit there, my knees pulled to my chest, for a moment before the realization hits me. 

The letter in my hand, I run out of my room and into the halls, furiously walking to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, red clouding my vision as the truth of my life comes more clearly into focus. As I enter the darkened classroom, I see light spilling out from the office door at the back. I throw the door open to see Remus Lupin standing at a record player in the back, music playing softly from the speakers. 

"Mia! Are you alright?" He asks, his eyes scanning my face with concern. 

"Are you my godfather?" I blurt out, unable to control the anger coursing through my veins. Lupin pails and he nearly drops the record in his hands. 

"W-Where did you hear that?" He asks, setting the record down and walking around his desk to face me. I hold out the letter, slightly crumpled from my rush through the halls. Lupin's hands shake as he takes the paper, his face growing somber as he reads the words my father wrote days before his death. The office is silent for a long moment, the only sound is the record player in the corner spinning still even after the music has come to an end. After a long moment, I break the silence again. 

"So? Is it true?" Lupin looks up at me, tears shining unshed in his eyes, and nods slowly. 

"Yes..." I close my eyes, willing myself not to cry as he hands me back the letter. I wait for him to continue but he doesn't. So I do. 

"What, no excuses? No explanation as the where the fuck you've been the last fifteen years? Sirius Black being Harry's godfather is bad enough but you? You seem quite capable. I mean you're alive, seemingly sane and decent and yet I had no idea you existed until 5 months ago. Clearly my father was under the impression you'd have been a good guardian to his children and yet, what? You said no? Disappeared until I was old enough not to be a burden on you? Ran away and left the children of a man who called you brother to the care of their muggle aunt and uncle who made their lives a living hell? I assume you knew the state of my mother's relationship with her sister since you were good enough friends to be her child's godfather!" I rant, barely recognizing my own voice as it's clouded through grief and tears and barely contained anger. 

"Mia-" He takes a step towards me, his hand outstretched and shaking but I step back, shaking my head as tears flow freely down my cheeks now. 

"How could you have left us there? Without even as much as a letter? A visit? Not even a single sign that we were not entirely alone in the world? Do you have any idea what they were like? Any idea what we lived with for 15 years? How they lied to us about who we were ,who our parents were and how they died, how they locked us in the cupboard under the stairs when we used magic before we even knew magic was real!" I'm yelling now, rage over taking any sense of decency or respect for the man standing in front of me, looking guiltier than a man on trial for murder. All the rage I've stuffed down over the years about the circumstances of my life bubbles up as I realize what Harry and I could have been spared. I rage and I rage and I don't care if it wounds this man. "You know, all this time I've been wrong about you. All year, I've thought that you were good and kind, that you were giving Harry and I lessons out of empathy when really all along it's just been guilt! You claim to have cared about our parents and yet you abandoned the children they sacrificed their lives for... You... You're just as much of a coward as Sirius Black." I say before turning on my heel to leave. 

"Mia! I-I tried. I promise you, I tried to take you but... I was told I wasn't fit," Lupin says, his voice breaks on the last word. I close my eyes, for a moment, frozen in my tracks as I stand under the doorframe. 

"Then you didn't try hard enough," I say quietly before slamming the door behind me and running out of the classroom. 

A/N: I’m sorry Remus, I love you I promise. Also i’m sorry it’s another all Mia chapter but Mattheo’s is next, i promise.

[mecha-omega]

Had to think about this one for a while, 2 1/2 weeks max.

Many games go under the radar from many fans and companies. Many just become forgotten. But thanks to a friend, I’ve experienced a game that I’ve never thought I would enjoy fully. That game is Panzer Dragoon Saga, a game released on the Sega Saturn in 1998. It had a rough development cycle, being made while the Sega Saturn and Sega themselves were spiraling down due to the commercial failure of the Saturn. But thanks to people on the internet, the Sega Saturns Emulation is fully stable as the games rom can be found online.

Panzer Dragoon Saga starts at a dig site in the mountains, while mercenaries are guarding the area. In it they find a Girl surrounded by stone, but not long after they get attacked by their employers while they all get picked off one by one. All but one are alive, a young adult named Edge, after being shot off a cliff, Edge is awoken in ruins surrounded by gray ancient plates. He gets attacked by creatures of a by-gone age but a strange dragon saved you as you escape the ruins, venturing out to get your revenge and save the girl they took.

Right of the bat, you go straight into the gameplay, clean and simple. The only things you have to focus on is your dragon’s HP, SP, and any Status effects it has. There is no equipment like armor and the like, just whatever attachments Edge’s gun you’d like to put on it. To attack you have to use an action gauge (3 bars) to attack with your gun or the dragons’ many attacks. At one point in the game you will have access to many moves that does different kinds of effect to buffing, debuffing, Healing, AOE attacks, Shields, ect. At a certain point in the game the Dragon will be able to transform into 4 other forms, Attack, Agility, Spiritual, and Defense, each form can be chosen by via a slider so you can go either a balance Dragon or go one sided with your dragon.

There are items & intractable objects in the world of PDS so it’s best to explore as much as you can. Honestly it’s recommended due to this games length, it’s only 12 hours long minimum, I’ve personally hit 13 hours due to me just wondering around areas & looking for certain items that can help me with later fights. I recommend looking for items called “D Units”, there are 12 of them in total. I won’t say what they do but it’s a neat bonus for finding them all.

The story and look of Panzer Dragoon Saga are amazing especially its world. The Sega Saturns from what I heard wasn’t the best with 3D compared to N64 & PSX1, but ultimately these environments were amazing to look at. Nothing honestly compared to other games around the time, the detail in certain landscapes were impressive, Granted there are some pop in but it might just has to due to the emulation since it isn’t running on OG hardware. Final Fantasy never did 3D fully mainline till FFX, and Xenogears only did 3D for the environments rather than the character models. PDS does both and it’s insane how a console that can’t do 3D very well processes all of what’s going on screen. Yah, other games like MGS1 & Mario 64 are full 3D but idk for this game it feels different.

The Story isn’t the most ground breaking I’ve witnessed but it’s has some twists that I’ve would’ve not predicted. I won’t say what they were but there were moments where my jaw dropped and I just sat there like “DAWG WHAT!?” Till I went back to processing what I’ve seen. With the story being so short, it’s plot is way more focused than other games after it’s released, which is super refreshing in certain cases. For Edge and Azel being the main characters, they are pretty endearing, they aren’t to crazy as characters but their interactions all the way up to the end of the game fits the game’s end with a nice bow.

Overall, Panzer Dragoon Saga became one of my favorite games of all time. I’ve never had an experience quite like it, but sadly I don’t believe we’ll have something quite like it again. After it’s release, Sega was already setting its sights on the Dreamcast as their financial situation gets worse. While PDS isn’t the sole reason for it, it was non the less not very favorable sales wise. While it’s JP version only produced 100K copies, its US versions only produced 25k and worse its EU version? Only 1,000 copies making it extremely rare in said region. It can sit around for 1,000$ to 2,000$ minimum compleat as parts of it go for 200$ to 300$ and that’s only for the US. Due to the restructuring Sega was doing they disbanded Team Andromeda and folded them into Smilebit. Thankfully the game did get a sequel in the form of Panzer Dragoon Orta, taking place after PDS.

If you want to play the game in full I highly recommend getting an emulator for it (Mainly Retro Arc) since Saturn emulation has been smoother the past few years, there is a guild on the Wiki iirc. And if you are one of the few that are waiting for it to come to current Gen home consoles, tough shit. We don’t know the full story but due to the restructuring for the Dreamcast release and after the company restructured again after the Dreamcast died and moved onto game making. The source code is most likely lost or destroyed since there has been no attempts to rerelease it in some shape or form.

With all said and done, with it being one of my favorite games I’ve played this year, I give it unironically a 9.5/10 to a 10/10. I don’t think I’ll have the same experience that I had with this game with any other game moving forwards, but I’m glad to say that this game found a home in my head and heart. And I’ll fight for it whenever Sega tries to remake it or remaster it if they ever find the source code or have another studio help them create it from the ground up.

Ty Team Amdromeda and Sega for creating such an amazing experience…

[true-blue-sonic]

I was honestly so excited to see the new flufftober update when I refreshed AO3 today but wHEN I SAW IT HAD SUPER SILVER TOO that was another burst of excitement cause I love him so much

I kinda wonder; what do you think would be Espio's reaction to seeing Super Silver for the first time, and what circumstances would that "first time" happen in? Cause on one hand I'd imagine Espio would find the super form to be very alluring but on the other hand if they're in the middle of a battle he's not just gonna pause mid-fight just to marvel at his pretty boyfriend

I'm happy to hear you liked it!💕 I'm quite fond of Super Silver too; there's something about his design, the fact that his two largest quills and tuft of fur on his back raise up and his PK and said tuft become golden, that I find very appealing. Especially the fact his neck floof changes colour and rises up on his back really nicely separates him from the other two Super forms, in my opinion! And I really like the Shield of Light; not only the name, but also that it is something protective and used for defense. To me, in a way, it links towards Silver's ultimate goal being protecting others.

As for Espio and Silver's first time turning Super, I think it would be interesting if Silver actually does not know he can turn Super until that moment. Sonic might have elaborated about turning Super before in a recollection of his grand adventures, and then likely also mentioned Shadow can do the same, but I doubt Silver would immediately be incentivised to try it out himself. After all, the might of the Chaos Emerald is no plaything... but Espio can easily see he does wonder what it would be like if he could, haha! Just very innocently daydreaming about turning gold and having his powers be infinitely more strong, like a kid imagining themselves to be a superhero. It's cute to look at, but both Silver and Espio know to not go search for answers until the time is there.

And then one day things go completely to hell, like they tend to do in Sonic's world with a bit of help from Eggman. Everyone gathers the Chaos Emeralds to have a fighting chance, and Sonic turns Super to fight Eggman off; and I like to think that Silver does the same by sheer accident. I headcanon the Emeralds have a level of sentience and can reach out to people, and thus as Silver is studying them, he cannot shake the feeling he needs to get closer. Espio asks what he is doing, easily noticing that Silver is acting very off and almost like he is possessed. But by that point Silver has already reached out to the Emeralds, and Espio can only stare in shock as light engulfs him and Super Silver is revealed from there. All in all I think Espio might not be too startled once the initial surprise wears off; he can reason what happened to Silver because he knows Super Sonic is a thing, and I figure he always had a feeling it would not be odd if Silver with his PK is similarly attuned to the Emeralds to allow for such a transformation. And I like to think that turning Super comes with a sense of knowing what to do and a feeling everything will turn out okay, because they embody such positive emotions. So for Silver everything kind of 'falls into place' when turning Super, and he easily helps turn the tide of the battle after assuring Espio he is alright. If the situation allows for it Espio might catch himself marvelling a little bit, though he's got enough personal restraint to keep his head in the game and not get distracted. It would be a shame if he suffered injury while Super Silver is being all awesome and heroic, after all.

....And then the battle is won and Super Silver can depower, and because it was his first time, he basically collapses from dual exhaustion (the fight itself and the excitement around turning Super) into Espio's arms <3 <3 Espio will carry him to bed, where Silver sleeps for like a good twenty hours straight before waking up somewhat disoriented! But he's got Espio at his side to give him some water and food and fill him in on everything that has happened. Silver can dive further into what it felt like, but I think he quickly concedes turning Super is best kept only for emergencies, considering the strain it does put on him. But luckily Espio's got plenty of memories to marvel at mentally until the next time his beloved needs to turn Super! <3

[cevans-seb]

Sour candy,makes me red

A/n: This is a supposed Drabble entry for week one of @the-slumberparty event. This was sitting all week because I couldn’t stop writing, but I ultimately decided to conclude it pretty ambiguous because I felt it was becoming a full fix instead of a Drabble. I used all of the items that were listed ( bouquet of flowers, leather chains, and diamond necklace) and I believe my theme was urban legend and another planet, so yeah…ENJOY!

Pairing: Bucky x Alien Reader

Word Count: About 1.3?

Warnings: none, but alludes to smut

You sit at your desk, piles of books and files scatter into an unorganized mesh. You and your sister were assigned to receive a peculiar blue vile from Earth. “I still can’t believe we have to travel to that primitive planet.” You thought. Your eyes skim over a certain target, James Buchanan Barnes. He was very different than the men on your planet while his skin was pale and his eyes were stone colored ,yet within his iris held the same graveness as one of their well decorated officials.

“Be weary of these soldiers,Y/n. They are dangerous and we want to make sure you are your sister are safe from harm.” Your father grunted, he was opposed you going on this mission but only agreed if your eldest sister traveled as well.

“I’ll be fine father, this isn’t my first mission.” You reminded.

“You’re right, it’ll be your first mission without me.”

“Winter Soldier, White Wolf, Bucky…this creature goes by many alias. I highly doubt any of this is real.”

Your emerald diamond vibrates against your chest. “Yes sister ?” you eyes never leaving his file, allured towards him. Why was the elders so unwavering about this serum? Your soldiers were well equipped and need no serum to fight adversaries. “ It’s almost time for us to depart. Did you drink it yet? Our elders is fueling the ship now.” She referred to the lukewarm liquid that was tucked away in your pocket. A mixture of honey, water, and some peony’s blended together to make a potion that allow you to blend in with any species, with this case being human.

“in a minute, I’m finishing up some research on our target. He is supposedly an assassin that has killed more people than I care to count and he and his friend both are injected with the serum. It all sounds ridiculous because this is Earth we are talking about, a plant eons behind us.” You concluded with a slam of your book. “ but I’m sure it’ll be a nice vacation.” You tell her as you down your concoction.

While you adjust your suit, you were able to glance at your new skin, and you were indifferent. Your hair was still the same which you appreciate but your skin matched those of the soldiers and it made you feel weird.

“I need more time.” You panic then rush over to the kitchenette, gathering a bouquet of flowers and chop them up. “ has to be another form I can take.” Your hand diced away on a sunflower while you sister softly chuckles. “ Well, can you hurry up? I’m giving you 5 minutes before I leave without you.” She abruptly ends the call. You silence your stone. After a few more attempts, you were able to mimic a skin that closer to yours and it made your heart soar.

“Only a few more hours left.” She announce, her fuchsia diamond gleams under the ship warm light. “ Remember we have to blend in, so I brought of these to make it seem like we’re from here.” She toss you some flimsy clothing that did little to hide your assets- you were blessed with some chest.

Finally off of the ship, you scout the city for Bucky. Your sister wasn’t too far behind, tracking Steve but somehow you both came back short handed. “ it shouldn’t be this hard to find super soldiers.” She exasperated, folding her arms over her sweater covered chest. Suddenly a masked figured bump into you on the sidewalk, causing you to smack in a brick wall and you hiss in pain.

“Sissy, are you okay ?”

Running off adrenaline, you follow the figure with intent on setting him ablaze when a star-studded shield catch the man, throwing him into the dumpster. He groans in agony which makes you smile a little but then you follow the shield and spots your assignments, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.They were bigger in person. Bucky bulging arms were the size of your head and his hair is shorter than the pictures researched, but his eyes. His eyes held the same fervor as those pictures-somehow they were more intense now.

“Miss, are you alright.” Steve held his hand out, you grasp and yelp from his unbridled strength. You smooth down your romper before finally speaking.

“I’m okay. Really wasn’t expecting to get trampled on our first day here.”

“you’re from outta town?” Bucky inquired, more like out of this universe you thought. But you nod.

“Yes, we are from….Washington.” Your brows furrowed at you sister. What’s Washington?

“Well you’re not too far from home. How about we make it up to you both with some lunch?” Steve suggest his arm strangely rest around your sisters waist. “I know a great restaurant up the street.” Bucky stares at you with an unreadable glint in his eyes. Your sister and Steve were already heading towards the building while you felt like you plummeted in quick sand. “Darling, do you wanna come?” Bucky cups your face when he noticed your blank stare, frowning when you didn’t answer him.

“Sorry, I’m ready.”

You grimace while your sister and Steve chatted away like they were best friends reconciling after being distant for years; it was how his hands rest on top of hers while she starred lovingly at him. What was going on?

The waiter came by to set your drinks down, along with a bowl of lemons. You gleam as it resembles your favorite sweet at home and you greedily inhale it.

“Y/n no,” you sister tried to stop you but the bitterness and tangy taste, riddled you speechless. You knew your skin began changing into a burgundy shade when Bucky used his leather jacket as a shield. Blinded by your teary eyes, you fail to see you sister and Steve evacuate the restaurant, leaving you alone with Bucky.

He slowly discard his jacket, smirking at your hue. You shrink back with fresh tears as you knew you failed this mission. He was never suppose to see you and you miss how his face drops.

“Hey, what’s wrong dove?” He wipes your tears away. You prick at your bracelet, unable to meet his somber eyes. “You were never suppose to see me like this. It was a simple mission and I failed.” You sniffle.

“So that what your sister told you? This was a mission.” He snickers. “Follow me darling,” Bucky slid out the booth.

You follow him until you hear a faint sound coming from the storage closet, but Bucky trudged on inching you to open the door. You gasped at your sister being railed by Steve, her arms tied together with leather cuffs. you immediately shut the door while Bucky boastfully laugh against the wall.

“What the fuck was that!”

“So my sister lied to me about this mission? She only did this because her and Steve have been secretly dating this whole time.” You paraphrase everything Bucky told you.

“Pretty much ,yeah.” He munched on his taco. “ she wanted to tell you but you were so busy that she had to make up this case.”

You and Bucky decided to leave the love birds alone and eat tacos instead, and it seems they were finished because your diamond has been vibrating for 3 minutes. “I think you should answer her.” He suggest.

“Why I wanna talk to that liar?” You sip on your tea. “She could’ve told me.”

“What if she was scared? Didn’t know how you would’ve reacted.” He reason. “Let her explain her side and then decide accordingly.”

“Fine, but after we finish our …tacos? You say.” He wrapped his metal arm around, causing you to shiver. He laughs. “ I think blue is your color.” He mocks. “Ugh, stop making me change colors. You’re lucky we are in a dimly lit room.” You huff while you revert back.

“Okay, so enlighten me. How you do all this? I always thought aliens weren’t real but then I saw your sister a few years ago and have always been curious.” He inquire , his head rests on your shoulder.

“Well, let’s start with this.” You retrieve a small bouquet from your bag.

“Flowers?”

A/n II: So many unanswered questions that’ll probably won’t get answered…..

[zablionsea]

I went on the tangent in the shower of trying to decide what Puzzle & Dragons Z teams NOISZ characters would have. So… yeah?

(NOISZ Ignition and re:||VERSE spoilers ahead)

(Puzzle & Dragons Z main story and post-game spoilers ahead)

Remora

(Leader) Stormy Sea Dragon, Levia (Water) - Levia is a recommended lead for defensive mono-Water teams. Why a defensive (basically) mono-Water team, though? Besides the fact that it fit Guivre Chimera well? After what happened with Stornel, Remora has to be cautious. Considering the devastating consequences for upsetting Gaius or Arietta too much, she can't afford to act ethically until the end of re:||VERSE. She has to prioritize her survival over doing what she feels is right. So, I think a defensive team fits well for that reason.

Dark Blue Skydragon, Nirai Kanai (Water) - A Skydragon given life by cursed technology and filled with hatred? Hmmm, that kinda reminds me of Void Beasts.

Guivre Chimera (Water) - I hope it's obvious why I'm giving Remora, the character who transforms into a chimera when you fight her, the chimera monster.

Death Scissors (Water) - Death Scissors was used by Team Paradox members, and Antiphon gives me a Team Paradox vibe. Plus, we've already got a few water monsters going on here, so why not complete the mono-Water defensive team?

Guardian Dragon, Avalon Drake (Wood) - Avalon Drake, formerly protecting the Skydragons, was defeated and manipulated by the Dragon King Avalon. In this evolved form, it was forced to absorb energy from Orbs extracted from the earth. The process of obtaining these Orbs destroyed the lands greatly. The Orbs granted Avalon Drake twice its former power, but it broke its spirit. Being manipulated around by a defeat and forced to hurt people? That sounds familiar…

Its lack of synergy with the other monsters on the team? Of course, that just happened to be that way, but it could represent the conflict between wanting to help her friends and being under blackmail.

Beyond

Beyond seems like the kind of person to try to have a well-balanced team (like, 5-color) and then pick what monsters based on personal preference.

(Leader) Mui-Mui (Flame) - Beyond is the character associated with Dancer Style, which is an assistive style meant to help those who struggle with timing the shot/shield inputs or pressing buttons repetitively for long periods of time. Mui-Mui's skill shows you how to make combos, providing somewhat equivalent assistance.

Tree Dragon, Kukunochi (Wood) - Morigon, one of its preevolutions, is described as having a big appetite (note Beyond's seemingly infinite metabolism and love for sweets). It's a bit of a daydreamer but very reliable, like how Beyond, according to the re:||VERSE art/lyrics book, is a bit naturally silly but shows a colder, tougher side of her personality in tricky situations. Kukunochi is a kind monster, seeking to uphold peace in the woods and bring new life wherever it goes. Beyond wants to bring peace to her and Arietta's chaotic lives.

Deep-Sea Dragon, Abyss (Water) - Another True Dragon whose preevolution is described as kind-hearted in some way. Abyss is rather reclusive, living far out of reach of any human being. This reminds me of the RE:||PARATION ending of re:||VERSE, in which Beyond becomes extremely isolated, shutting people out for days at a time, and even for someone she cares dearly like Remora, shuts her out occasionally too. (As well, Abyss pairs nicely with Remora's Levia, I think. The two are, like, halfway to being considered a couple. They deserve matching monsters at that point.)

Viciousdragon Helheim (Dark) - This monster is very frequently used by Dogma, the leader of Team Paradox, the villainous organization of Puzzle & Dragons Z. It turns out that Dogma was ultimately being manipulated by Enigma, who uses what Dogma set up to seize power and return to his role as the Dragon King Avalon. Although, he was separated from his body long ago and inhabits a different form.

I feel like that has some parallels to Beyond's getting manipulated by Alpha in the form of Arietta's body and being so insistent upon her goals that she didn't realize something was wrong until far too late.

Dark Shining Divinegon (Light/Dark) - Representing Beyond's tragic, misguided heroism in Ignition and re:||VERSE. Someone whose light that pierces through the endless darkness has been steered into darkness itself. Beyond, so desperate to help her sister achieve her dreams, put their lives in danger. And desperate again to right that tragedy, followed a heartless, callous being without even realizing the sister she loved so much was no longer in control.

(or, instead of Divinegon) Life Skydragon, Zerclea (Light/Light) - I think it fits well with re:||BIRTH. Plus, it pairs nicely with Arkvelza. I can't have Zerclea in the same team as Divinegon because that's not allowed in PaDZ.

Arietta

Although her color scheme works great with mono-Fire, I'm actually going to have to go with mono-Dark for a few reasons.

(Leader) Dark Night Skydragon, Elysium (Dark) - Elysium's skill grants a turn of invincibility, which reminds me a lot of Arietta's Crash Style. Plus, she fits well with a few other dark monsters. Dark Elysium's lead skill multiplies attack for Dark monsters, being attack-oriented like Arietta's Mega Style. Dark Elysium was created with terrible technology, like the Void Beasts. Arietta was the one who insisted on using the NOISZ Beast technology on Noise Beasts, after all.

Immortal Dragon, Cursed Wyrm (Dark) - Cursed Wyrm's skill does more damage at higher HP, which fits well with Crash charged shots doing more damage at higher combo.

Anubisis (Dark) - Enigma uses this monster. Enigma has some parallels with Arietta in terms of their roles in the narrative. Also, its skill deals 4,444 damage. Haha, funny STARLIVHT number. And Arietta's the person that recruited them in NOISZ SL. Anubisis is the Producer theory confirmed/j.

Drawn Joker (Dark) - It has a mischievous look to it that fits Arietta's playful and impulsive personality well. (I would also like to add “Arietta is Joker character” theory as a justification for this)

Lightning Dark Tiamat (Dark/Light) - Representing Arietta's redemption arc in re:||VERSE. She's someone who's done terrible, horrific things who's now trying to correct those mistakes. A light finally breaking through a sea of seemingly never-ending darkness. Plus, a Dark orb changer is an essential member of a mono-Dark team. It's no good not to have enough Orbs to clear. You need those for damage and skill points.

(or, instead of Tiamat) Death Skydragon, Arkvelza (Dark/Dark) - Pairs nicely with Zerclea, which I think Beyond has. Arkvelza's skill lowers foes HP by a set percentage. But I mainly picked Arkvelza for theming. I can't have Arkvelza in the same team as Tiamat because that's not allowed in PaDZ.

Leader Monsters Only

Unfortunately, I didn't have enough ideas to make full teams for these folks. My apologies.

Stornel

Dimensional Guardian, Hellgate (Wood) - Stornel's soul guards one of the NOISZ's most powerful secrets: imprinting souls. He acts as both the gateway and guardian of imprinting, similar to how Hellgate is both a portal and monster.

or

Immortal Dragon, Cursed Wyrm (Dark) - It's a deceased dragon who was reanimated by dark magic and trapped in the shell of its body. “Now I'm trapped inside this shell, the world has turned to black around me” as Stornel might say in Quicksilver, I suppose.

Sora

Phoenix Knight, Homura (Flame) - It goes on with its blue flames? Yeah, sounds like Sora in his beast form.

Or

Garuda (Flame) - A very powerful phoenix that requires the rarest evolution material in the game (Ifrit Chip).

[reversemoon255]

Fifth Review - Let’s Talk About DigiXroses

Been in a Digimon mood for a while, and I’ve spent part of that mood designing a few of my own Digimon. As I was planning and sketching things, I ended up coming back to Xros Wars (as I oft seem to do >_>). When it comes to fan created Digimon, I’d say 90% are based on Adventure (Child-to-Ultimate), with another 9% from 02 (Armors or Jogress) or Tamers (Bio-Merges). Very few OrigiDigi use the Spirit, Burst, or Xros mechanics, and the few times I have seen DigiXroses have been XrosUps (the blended forms seen in Boy Hunters).

However, the iconic DigiXroses are not XrosUps, but Xroses that utilize every element of the fusing Digimon in a very toyetic way, like a Megazord (maybe why I like them so much). I can count the number of times I’ve seen an OrigiDigi of this type attempted on one hand, and never more than a X2, which is where the above designs come into play.

I like Digimon, I like toys, and I like creature design, so I challenged myself to try designing a complete Xros of 3 or higher. As Shoutmon is loosely based on Omegamon, I used Dukemon as a rough base, then tried creating a new combination scheme. It was quite a long process, taking a few months of mental planning, and a few days of sketching.

I was so happy with this first attempt, that I ended up commissioning artist @/EL_POYOMON to render them in the traditional Digimon style (who you should go check out; they’re really cool and very nice).

Going through everyone in order, I wanted a small, Child-level-esque Digimon, similar to Shoutmon, which is where Partymon comes in. I mostly tried replicating Shoutmon’s general physique, with the head and dreads specifically being designed so they would form 1) a head piece similar to Dukemon’s, part of the reason he has non-standard eyes, and 2) the fingers for the right arm he would eventually form.

Since Shoutmon X5, MetalGreymon, and DarkKnightmon are all comprised of male Digimon, I specifically wanted a Digimon that was obviously female, hence Ladysmon. Her transformation scheme was probably the hardest, where I knew I wanted her to split down the middle, but it took me a while to figure out what to do with her arms. I also didn’t come up with the ladybug motif until I started planning names. I think my original plan for her was an angel? But I didn’t know what to do with her wings. Once I settled on ladybug, incorporating her wings into a Dukemon-esque shield became easy, and everything flowed after that.

The last of our trio is Comicmon. I settled on the dragon motif pretty early, as, like Ladysmon, Dragons are a pretty common Digimon staple that weren’t utilized in any of the canon Xroses. This design was probably the easiest to get to transform, and I’m pretty sure he has a drill because I needed something that looked like a lance, and drills are cool (and make great tails). Once I settled on a name, the POW using the eye as an O, and the comic-sound-effect-esque mane on the head and tail came quickly after.

There isn’t much to say about PartyKnightmon, since he’s a combination of all the above elements, so let’s talk about names. I don’t remember when I settled on “Partymon” as a name, but it existed long before any of the others had one. I was originally going to call their combined form “Partymon X3,” since Shoutmon is the only Digimon that uses that name scheme, and I wanted a second one, but as I was trying to come up with names for everyone else, the name PartyKnightmon popped into my head, and the names Ladysmon and Comicmon came soon after as they all had a common theme:

Party Night, Lady’s Night, Comic Night; PartyKnightmon, LadysKnightmon, ComicKnightmon. A unique name scheme that worked for possible X2s.

Maybe this is a little big headed of me, but one of my hopes in commissioning these guys was to inspire other people to try the idea. Compared to a usual Digimon line, DigiXroses are quite complicated when it comes to the toyetic design aspects, but it’s really a fun challenge. I’d love to see more artists with different design philosophies give it a shot.

And just because I cranked one out doesn’t mean I’m done with DigiXroses just yet. While these were being worked on, I started ironing out several more projects, including some evolutions related to these designs, a new X4 with intermediary Xroses, and a new evolution for the existing Greymon design. I don’t know if I’ll commission them all (because, remember, that costs money), but I will eventually post them "elsewhere” if you’re curious (@/EPY_RM).

Overall, this was a fun little self-challenge, which sent me down quite the design rabbit hole. I’d like it if at least one other person got a little inspiration from seeing these designs, as I really do want to see other people’s takes, so if you draw anything Xros Wars related, let me know! :)

And, again, check out Poyo. I couldn’t have done this without them.

[zaph1337]

Monster Hunter Rating 58: Daimyo Hermitaur, the Shelled Sovereign

I keep hearing that everything is evolving into crabs, but I honestly have no idea what that’s all about. If it’s true, though, then here’s something we may see in the future: the Daimyo Hermitaur!

(How it appears in the Second Generation)

(How it appears in Monster Hunter Rise: Sunbreak)

Appearance: While Daimyo may be little more than giant Hermitaur, that design works well with the increased size to make something truly imposing, especially the mouth. You might have noticed one other, tiny, honestly insignificant detail: that’s not a shell, that’s a Monoblos’ skull. I’ll discuss that more in the next section, but appearance-wise, a crab using another creature’s skull as a shell is a powerful image, and it makes the Daimyo Hermitaur several times cooler than it would be if it just had a normal shell. This monster certainly leaves an impression.

Behavior/Lore: When a Hermitaur reaches adulthood, it becomes a Daimyo Hermitaur. They keep their habits of burrowing underground, wandering for food, and occasionally eating people, but they’re actually not very aggressive; sure, they’ll lash out when they feel threatened, but animals choose between that or running away anyways. You can stand right in front of a Daimyo and--provided it’s not hungry--it’ll leave you be so long as you do the same for it. This relaxed behavior is probably due to the carapaceons’ armor, which protects everything but their backsides--which are where most of their major organs are located. I can’t tell whether this is a failure on evolution’s part or its idea of a sick joke. But like the hermit crabs they’re modeled after, Daimyo have a solution for this...one you’ve already seen, but let me pretend there’s suspense.

To cover their Achilles’ rump, Daimyo Hermitaur will take the skulls of large wyverns (mostly Monoblos) and wear them like a shell. This comes with the addition advantage of being totally metal, but it’s not a perfect system; when you rely on something else’s body parts for protection, you’re gonna run into the fact that those parts weren’t made with you in mind. As a result, it’s not uncommon to see Daimyo running around with skulls too big or small for them. Kinda makes you wonder why they don’t go for something else’s skull in that situation, but my guess is that Monoblos heads are particularly durable, making them the preferred choice.

While I get that Daimyo are just the mature form of Hermitaur and therefore won’t be very different, I do wish there was more to talk about than their temperament and skull shells. That last one’s a pretty big point in their favor, though, so I can’t say I’m terribly disappointed.

Abilities: You wouldn’t expect a crab to have particularly strong legs, yet Daimyo Hermitaur are capable of jumping high into the air in attempts to squash their enemies, and use their legs and forelimbs to dig underground to launch attacks from below. You would expect a crab to make use of its claws, and Daimyo do that, too, though not in a traditional way; while yes, the pincers can grab things, they’re also so thick and armored that they serve as effective shields against most weapons. Finally, reaching adulthood grants Daimyo Hermitaur a brand-new power: pressurizing water into jets that allow the colossal crustacean to attack from a distance. Hermitaur didn’t do a lot before, so it’s nice that growing up bestows them with new tactics and abilities.

Equipment: Have you ever thought that using scythes as weapons was too practical an idea? Do you want to fight using only the most inefficient and unwieldy objects possible? Then look no further than this “Long Sword”: the Crab Cutter!

With ordinary scythes, you only had to deal with the measly difficulty of actually cutting someone with the blade. Now, with this revolutionary new weapon, you can push the challenge further by forcing yourself to line up your attacks with the serrated gap! It’s the ultimate in combat inefficiency!

What do you mean you can just use it as a blunt beating object

Okay, jokes aside, this is a pretty interesting take on a scythe...and a morbid one, too, considering the description claims “[t]he giant claw's gap devours meat.” I don’t think I want to know if that’s a metaphor or not. Maybe the next weapon will be less disturbing? Let’s find out--this Insect Glaive is called the Shell Intoner:

This is “[a] rod used by a river people to channel their god and receive oracles.” Why is it a weapon, then? Who knows? But it looks cool, it’s got a cool description, and as an Insect Glaive, it gets bias points from me. I would definitely use this--provided the stats are decent.

Onto the armor, the Blademaster set is...interesting:

It was the first thing I thought of, okay?

Seriously, I get the idea: crabs are armored creatures and football players have to wear heavy padding and helmets to make up for playing one of the most violent sports in the world, but it’s still weird to see, especially in a fantasy setting like Monster Hunter. Granted, that’s only the men’s set; the women’s set is way less bulky to the point where it’s almost comical. It still looks defensive, but it serves as a surprisingly modest example of the priorities game devs give to female armor. Overall, I don’t hate these designs, but they’re hard to take seriously.

Next up is the Gunner set, which is similar to the Blademaster’s, but a bit more...intense:

I’ll admit, “Mad Max the Quarterback” is an...original look. Don’t know what the mask has to do with crabs, but then again, football doesn’t have anything to do with crabs, either. Can’t say much about the women’s set, though; it’s very similar to the Blademaster armor, save for the helmet, spiked greaves, and the pattern on the breastplate. I wish I could say more about these, but other than their oddities, I’m struggling to find anything to talk about. Both armor sets have aspects that interest me, but overall, I feel very lukewarm about them.

While I like the crustacean aesthetic and how it’s applied to the Daimyo Hermitaur equipment, I can’t really say too much about it. I can’t tell if that’s due to the equipment itself, or if I’m just running out of steam writing these reviews again; maybe it’s both. All I can really say is that the equipment is okay, with a few interesting touches added that keep them from being bare-bones.

Final Thoughts: Daimyo Hermitaur vastly improve upon their adolescent forms; they’re cooler thanks to their skull shells, they’re more imposing thanks to their size, and they’re more interesting to fight since they can do more than snip at you. Their equipment is decent, too, so overall, I think they’re neat.

[itsmoonpeaches]

TW: mentions of racism

Why POC leave fandoms, an essay that for some f**king reason needs to be written

There is one thing that a person thinks of when entering a fandom: "What can I do in order to consume more content related to this piece of media that I enjoy?"

A fandom, at its core, is a community of people from all walks of life that happen to adore the same thing. First and foremost, there is pure, unadulterated excitement. What comes next depends on who you are and what you consume, and unfortunately, depends on what kind of people are in a particular fandom.

When I say "what kind of people", I don't mean demographics. I mean the kind of people that are either decent or not.

You might be surprised that I'm implying that there are indecent people in fandom. You might be thinking, "Media now is so much more diverse than it was years ago!" And thus you might additionally be thinking, "Since it's so diverse now that means fandoms attract diverse people! We're so inclusive now and so accepting. Everyone is decent."

Well, if you are one of those people, I envy you.

It's correct that media is more diverse and that more diverse people are active in fandoms, or at least are more open about being a minority in the general population. What might be hiding underneath all that? Racism.

Repeat after me: Just because a piece of media is diverse doesn't mean that its fandom is inclusive.

POC are being more represented now than they were in recent years, but there is a constant exodus of POC from the very fandoms they helped to cultivate.

Their cultures and practices are being white-washed, twisted to fit the benefit of fanfic authors or fan artists, and terribly misunderstood. POC characters are written or drawn in such a way that their identity as POC is eclipsed by the fact that they are suddenly someone they never were. And while it's OK to not know everything about ethnic groups and other minority groups, it isn't OK to ignore what they say when they point out that you are wrong in their portrayal.

Not everyone will be right about everything. Not everyone has the resources or the patience to research things, but there is something so wrong about pushing POC to the side and telling them that their views on their own cultures shouldn't be taken into consideration because it might not be part of the content creator's original plan. This is even more messed up when the original piece of media that the content was created for was either heavily researched or created by POC for POC.

That's not even the last of it. How POC react in fandom to media versus the rest of fandom is different and often criticized.

Take the storylines in media for example. (Spoilers I guess.) For this I'll highlight two:

Avatar: The Last Airbender - The Fire Nation takes control of parts of other nations, perpetuating a war for 100 years. They try to wipe out other kinds of benders that aren't firebenders, and try to colonize. - POC often see the Fire Nation for what it is. That being a colonizer nation. They recognize the effects of cultural genocide, i.e. near-total genocide of the Air Nomads and the near-genocide of the waterbending culture of the Southern Water Tribe. Meanwhile, POC have been criticized and bashed for pointing out the Fire Nation's flaws, and for not loving the enemy nation the best.

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier - Sam refuses to become Captain America at first and takes a whole journey to finally end up in a place where he realizes he can be. - POC, especially BIPOC, point out the significance of Sam's journey. He realizes the trust and enormity of Captain America's shield. He refuses it not necessarily because he doesn't think he's worthy, but because he doesn't feel right. He believes America isn't ready for a black Captain America, and that maybe, they don't deserve it yet. POC are criticized because they see this story and empathize with Sam. Meanwhile, the rest of the fandom hops on Bucky's side and claims that Sam had no right to do what he did because it wouldn't be what Steve wanted and Bucky understood this etc. while refusing to understand that Sam's reasons were because of the backlash and racism he thought he could face. (By the way, it was explained explicitly in the show that Bucky understood later on why Sam couldn't do it at first.)

This all ultimately leads to things like gaslighting, blatant name calling, and you know, actual f**king racism.

"You don't know what colonialism is," a fan might say to a POC fan in the same fandom. "You just don't get that XYZ character has a lot of mental health issues," another fan might say to a POC.

This leads to tone policing.

A POC might say something in a conversation like, "You're being racist and disrespectful. Stop it." But others in the same conversation might say things like, "I think we all just need to be nice. Can everyone calm down?"

All these things are a part of a complicated problem, a problem that is being ignored, just like POC are.

POC leave fandoms because of all of the above. They leave because no one listens to them, and even when they are listened to, they are threatened in a DM. They are tired and angry and hurt.

POC are afraid to speak out because when they do, they are sent triggering pictures in their inbox, asked to leave, told to hurt themselves, told to direct their frustrations with a racist individual elsewhere and not where everyone can see.

Just like everyone else, POC enter a fandom because they want an escape from real life. Yet, they are being confronted with issues that they already face on a daily basis in their real lives, and in many cases in a worse form.

POC stop wanting to speak out. Allies sometimes want to stop too. Why? Because it becomes dangerous.

It becomes a vicious circle. People say that there are no POC in fandoms. POC try to join fandoms, get harassed out, and then people repeat that there are no POC in fandoms. They want content from POC, input from POC...and then this happens again and again.

What exactly does a fandom want? Diversity? Because it sure doesn't feel like it.

[kinsey3furry300]

So how the heck do the Avengers pay for stuff, and how rich are they?

So, in the wake of “Falcon and the Winter Soldier” There’s a lot of debate about why Sam didn’t seem to get paid well for his work in the Avengers (at least in the MCU continuity), and this has got me thinking: we’ve got no evidence that the Avengers are, financially, anything but a hot mess. So lets break it down, Avenger by Avenger, using real-world pay scales for the ones who have jobs.

Tony: a billionaire, so clearly he’s a financial genius, right? Well….. his actions say otherwise. He’s shown to be wildly irresponsible with his money. He inherited a lot of wealth form his parents which was managed by the first Jarvis, Obadiah, and Pepper for him, he buys and then gives away not just woks of art, but entire collections by major 20th century artists on a whim, destroyed his own cars and home without concern, he tanks the value of his own company in the first Iron Man with a bad press interview, gets kicked of his own bord of directors, and ultimately, in Iron Man 2, gives control of his company to Pepper. He’s insanely rich, and insanely smart, but man, he’s not smart with his money. So all the cool stuff, his suits, the Avengers tower, the facility up-state: that’s all paid for by him, but Pepper is holding the purse-stings.  So, does he pay the others? We have no evidence for most of them… but we do with Spidey. Peter Parker is in the Stark Internship Program a euphemism to hide the fact he’s training and mentoring him as a super-hero, but I find the wording interesting: he refers to Spidey, his surrogate son and chosen heir, as an intern. I.E., Unpaid.  I’m guessing this is Howard’s influence over him, some sort of ‘make you own way in the world, son’ attitude, but  if he’s not paying Spidey, is he paying anyone else? He certainly pays for stuff super heroes suits and things, equipment, fuel, the base, but does he pay anyone a wage? No one ever mentions it. You think it would come up.

So, if he’s not paying them a wage, where do Avengers  (and thier allies) get their day-to-day money from, and are they rich? Using google and https://www.federalpay.org, lets find out.

Cap: Well, before Civil war, he’s a shield operative, and he presumably still holds his military rank: he’s a US Army captain, with (well) over 40 years service, so USD$88,142.40 per year, with $237.71  drill pay (pay per drill you have to do on weekends, on leave or outside of normal service) and $175.00 per month hazard pay (which I bet is interesting) on top of that. As a WW2 veteran, he’d be eligible for a war pension if he:

Was not discharged for dishonorable reasons; and,

Served 90 days of active military duty; and,

Served at least one day during wartime ("wartime" as determined by the VA); and,

Had  countable family income below a certain yearly limit; and,

Is  age 65 years or older; or

Regardless of age is permanently disabled, not due to wilful misconduct.

As he’s still receiving 90k per year, he’s ineligible for a pension as his countable yearly income is above the limit.  So if shield pays him in accordance with his rank and years of service, about $90, 600 per year incuding hazard pay.

After civil war, he’s a fugitive on the run, so presumably flat broke. I’d asume he gets his pension returened to him after the snap.

He’s also just gone from the 40’s to the present day, so 70 years of inflation probably makes buying things very confusing for him: everything would seem insanely expensive at first. He’d also not know what the correct prices are for anything invented after 45. You might get used to how much more expensive food and coffee is, but how much is a smart-phone worth? $200? $2000 $20000? Who knows? I bet the others have to facepalm a lot when he either refuses to pay for what he sees as clear price-gouging, and at the same time regularly pays insane amounts of money for goods and services because he doesn’t know better. He also has no known assets other than his pay: he rents an apartment making him one of the few American males in his age-group who isn’t a home-owner

Thor: Does Asgard even have currency? It’s depicted like a “Crystal spires and toga” type utopia with no poverty: even working class Asgardian’s like Scourge seem to be pretty well-off and want for nothing, so he’s from a post-scarcity society where actual magic is a thing. His “Another” coffee cup smashing and the fact he doesn’t have a computer of phone in Ragnarök might indicate that, no, he just doesn’t have, need or understand money. Splitting a bar tab with him must be a nightmare. His breakdown post snap indicates he’s got some cash, but not a huge amount, and is probably skiving of Valkyrie and the other Asgardians.

Banner: Okay, so a PhD could make you a lot of money from patents… in pharmacology or engineering. Theoretical physics? Not so good. And if Banner did have any patents, they’ve probably been seized under eminent domain by the US military.  At the start of The Hulk film, he’s working a entry-level factory job at a botteling plant in Brazil. The minimum wage in Brazil is 1069.62 Real per month, that’s 12,835.44 Real per year, or around $2437.79 US per year, before everything goes wrong for him! He then runs off to India, works for Tony for a bit and then gets shot into space. Spidey may actually make more in allowance than Banner does, and Banner is a gown ass man with bills to pay: I’d imagine he loses a lot in ripped clothing.

Natasha and Barton: Pre Civil-war, both are government spooks, so how well does that pay? The salaries of CIA Intelligence Analysts based in the US range from $25,838 to $685,701 , with a median salary of $125,340, so let’s assume that Shield pays in a similar range: $685,701 per year for Director Fury, around 125,000 for Natasha and Cliff, which explains Cliff’s nice, middle-class mid-western home. Post civil war, presumably not great: we know that Natasha spends a lot of her savings running and hiding all across the world, and Cliff takes a deal and presumably lives of his savings, pension and his wife’s income.

Rhodes: Full USAF colonel with over 10 years service? $105,562.80 per year, plus $293.23 drill pay per drill and $175 per month hazard pay, and because he’s team Stark and not Team Cap in Civil War, he’d not lose any of that. He presumably also gets an injury pay-out after his accident. After T’challa and Stark, he might be the best paid avenger.

Dr Strange: spends all his money he made as a surgeon on trying to cure his hands: spends literally his last dollars heading to Nepal to train. Wong even jokes with him about their lack of worldly money when asking for a tuna-melt. But, can use illusion to make people think he has money, and his home and clothes etc. come with the job, so in the same boat as Thor in that he has no money, but needs none AKA, he’s a bastard to try and split a restaurant bill with.

Wanda and Vision: No know source of income, just sort of live in Tony’s hose and eat his food, and on top of that Wanda goes on the run after civil war… yet they can stay in fancy hotels in Edinburgh, a relatively expensive city, and Vison apparently bought them a house to retire in, so one of them has some source of money. Maybe Tony gave Vision years of back-pay form when he was still Jarvis, or maybe the vison has a day job, which is, frankly, hilarious. Could you imagine him as a barista? I can, and it makes me very happy.

Scott Lang: I’d assumed he’d be super, super broke, but apparently the average pay for a private security consultant in the Bay area is $85,430 per year. Not bad. Pity he gets sucked into the quantum realm just as his business is taking off, so presumably, flat broke again.

Bucky: no known income, and I doubt Hydra paid him for being the Winter Soldier so he probably has no savings, but he should, technically, qualify for a military pension. As a single veteran, he’d be  eligible for federal tax-free pension of up to $1732 per month, or $20,784 tax free per year. Not much for someone who lives in NYC. He may also be eligible for medical benefits over the loss of his arm. Whether or not he got to see any of that money given how confused his life has been over the past 10 years is unclear, but on paper he’s eligible.

T’challa: He is, quite possibly, richer than Stark, and as an absolute monarch pays no tax and has access to his Nation’s vast wealth in vibanium. It’s good to be the king!

Captain Marvel: USAF captain, and a test pilot; the test pilot school only accepts applicants with a service length of less than 9 years 6 months (10 years six moths of helicopters) as they don’t want older applicants. With 8 years service, $79,538.40, plus drill pay and hazard.  However, no know (human) pay since 1990. Flat broke.

Guardians of the Galaxy: no data, but I’m assuming “Cowboy Bebop” levels of perpetual never-ending poverty given the way they choose to live. I’d also assume Rocket has taken all their cash into some sort of Ponzi scheme of his own creation, because just look at him, of course he has.

Spidey: he’s got about $10 of his aunts’ money at any given time, so he can buy lunch… which may in fact be more than Banner or Lang, and we know it’s more that Strange or Thor.

 So, here the big one: how rich or how broke is Sam?

Sam Wilson: annoyingly, we’re not directly told what rank Sam held in any MCU film. USAF pararescue “Maroon berets” are generally NCO’s (but there’ are officer-ranked pararescue) , and he’s seen working on his wings at one point, where as officers don’t generally work on or maintain airframes. He’s shown wearing a Nation Air guard grey while jogging at one point to confuse the matter further. The general consensus on redit is he’s a former USAF tech sergeant (E-6). But how long was he in the air force? With six years service (the minimum sensible time he could have served to work in pararescue based on his age), that would be $41,464.80 per year, plus drill pay and hazard. As Anthony Mackie, the actor that plays him, was 36 as of Civil War, and assuming the character is the same age, and assuming he retired from the air force that year, and he joined the USAF at 17, the youngest you can join, he’d have served 19 years, giving him a pay of $51,566.40, the maximum pay you can get at this rank before promotion to Master Sergent,  but meaning he left just before he’d qualify for the 50% final salary pension you’d qualify for after 20 years. Which seems weird. So let’s assume the character is one year older than the actor that plays him and served 20 years (ages 17-37), that means Sam has a military pension of $25,783.20 per year (20,784 of it tax-free), plus any injury benefits. He councils other veterans, but doesn’t get paid for that. He also chooses Team Cap in Civil War, so would become a wanted criminal, and so lose his income between 2016 and 2018, and then gets snapped and has no income for 5 years, which would destroy his credit rating. Like the rest of Team Cap, he presumably gets his post snap pardon, and goes to work for the US government at his former pay and rank. However, given how Captain John Walker treats him as an equal, it’s possible he’s been promoted to a captain when the  hired back, giving him a pay of between $54,176.40 to $88,142.40 (with 20 years experience, depending on if they take into account his prior service or not, and how much prior service he has), but either way, he’s just starting this as a new job after being legally dead for 5 years: no savings, and no credit.

Commercial fishing vessels cost about 10% of their total value per year in maintenance alone. I can’t identify what sort of boat the Wilson’s have, but some quick googling indicates that the cheapest  15m long wooden in-shore shrimp trawler costs around $140,000, so that’s $14,000 per year in maintenance costs alone, minimum. And that’s a lower estimate, assuming the rest of the business is sound, which we know it isn’t.

So, in concussion, yes, Sam is in some serious financial trouble until he can re-build his savings and credit, but the scary bit is he’s not alone in that: he’s probably better off than Lang, Banner, Danvers, Strange, Thor, Bucky, Wanda and Parker. Only Clint (if he gets a full pardon and gets his full pension), Rhodes, Stark and T’challa aren’t in some sort of potential financial problems. That asshole bank teller was right: despite the fact it seems to pay well on paper, with a few exceptions, the Avengers financials are probibaly a mess. EDIT: Rocket is running the Ponzi scheme, if that’s not clear from context. The others know they have money somewhere, but not where it’s gone. And It’s been pointed out to me that as he’s technically a POW while he’s the Winter Soldier, Bucky is owed over 70 years back-pay, equal to over 3 million dollars, details in the notes.

[retrievablememories]

picture me | johnny (m)

title: picture me pairing: vampire!johnny x black!reader genre: fantasy, romance, smut, fluff, angst summary: you meet a vampire-slash-photographer whose self-identity is increasingly lost to him, and you try to help him find some purpose again. word count: 18.3k warnings: age gap (cuz you know, vampires...but everyone is legal), mentions of discrimination/prejudice based on species, self-identity issues/self-deprecation, general angst, sheltered!reader, mentions of blood and drinking blood, oral sex (female and male receiving), fingering, thigh riding, loss of virginity, corruption kink, use of lube, unprotected sex (do not try at home), creampie, johnny is packing in this fic ok! a/n: today (the 28th) is my birthday, so i’m posting this 100% self-indulgent fic that i’ve been working on between requests since september. it was very hard to get johnny’s characterization right for this fic and idk if i actually succeeded but i’m not revising this for the 1000th time lol. i love this fic with my whole heart tho.

i haven’t seen many vampire fics that really explore the whole “doesn’t show up in mirrors/photos” concept (shout em out if you know em) and...there’s probably a reason for that, this shit is hard af to write and there are some logic issues but whatever 🤪

(the beginning quote is from “criminal,” stan taemin!!)

The moment I fall for you is the end of my innocence

—

He sits in the same coffee shop everyday, like it’s a habit he just can’t break. But who are you to judge? You’re there, too. Watching him like a creep. Or maybe like an interested coffee shop patron, trying to be discreet and failing at it.

He wasn’t hard to notice. You’d never been to this coffee shop before, but your friend recommended it to you mostly for their in-house-made pastries; she claimed the coffee was good, too, but she wasn’t much of a caffeine person. You decided to give it a try when you had time between classes and a moment to breathe, not needing to talk to this advisor or that professor.

You saw him immediately when you walked past the shop window. He was sitting at a table near the front, staring down at his phone with a small cup of coffee sitting in front of him. Its miniscule size was almost comical in contrast to his...everything. He was tall—that much was obvious even with him sitting down—and imposing, wearing all black. His hair was equally pitch-black, his bangs hanging to one side and the rest shaved in an undercut. If you didn’t know much better, you’d think you’d stepped back into 2007 and landed dead in the middle of the emo craze.

He was interesting to look at. Not in a bad way, but in a way you don’t see very often. Deciding to walk in before you made yourself look totally weird staring at him through the window, you’d stepped into the coffee shop, the small bell dinging above your head. A barista greeted you at your entrance. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the man, to your left, still looking at his phone.

You’d given your order and waited for it to be ready before taking it to a table on the other side of the shop. From that vantage point, you had a good view of the man. You tried to keep your eyes on your food and your phone, not wanting to spend the whole time looking at him, but it was a little hard not to.

When you took a bite of your pastry, you quickly discovered it was just as delicious as your friend promised—probably even more so. You made a noise of approval before you could catch yourself, and you glanced around the shop in embarrassment to see if anyone nearby noticed. Didn’t seem like it, at first. But then you glanced over to the man again only to find him looking at you below his eyelashes with a small, amused smile on his lips. He only kept his gaze on you for a second before returning to his phone.

What? You hadn’t thought you were that loud. How did he hear you from over there, and above the noise of the café? Even now, you remember how embarrassed you’d felt, ducking your head and looking away.

The man finished his coffee not long after that; he slipped his phone into his pocket and stood up. You glanced up only momentarily when he stood, but your eyes soon slid back to his form when you noticed something odd. On the wall behind him, there was a big oval mirror sitting pretty in its elaborate silver frame. He stood just a few feet in front of it, yet there was no reflection of him. The only thing you could see was the other side of the café reflected back, with another man sitting alone at a booth enjoying his own coffee. The tall man’s reflection was nowhere to be found.

That was when you figured he must be a vampire.

You’d never met one before. At least, you didn’t think you had until then.

Unbeknownst to you, vampires are notoriously able to blend in more easily than most other supernatural beings—until faced with situations like that one in the coffee shop. Ultimately, there’s no faking a reflection no matter how hard you try to remain inconspicuous.

The man had caught your eye again. Thinking back on it, you aren’t sure of what expression you had on your face or what it must’ve looked like to him. It must’ve been something akin to surprise, though; you weren’t quick enough to disguise your reaction at his lack of a reflection.

He gave you another smile, though it felt sadder than the previous one, and walked out of the store, the small bell on the door ringing at his departure. He disappeared down the street in a swirl of black fabric, almost like something out of a movie, and you watched him retreat until you could see him no more.

You scraped your index fingernail over the wood table your food was resting on, your mind whirring with all kinds of thoughts. Your interest was piqued. And yet there was no way for you to know if you’d see him again.

—

At least, that’s what you believed then. Luckily for you, your subsequent visits to the coffee shop have proven fruitful; the strange, tall vampire is there more often than not, always in the same spot in front of that same mirror. Sometimes he reads a book, other times he looks at his phone, and other times still, he stares out the window at the passersby.

He acknowledges you whenever he sees you, either with a nod or a smile. You’ve never spoken to each other, though you know what his voice sounds like from hearing him talk to the baristas. It’s a nice voice, rich and handsome like him, and you find yourself gradually wanting to hear it spoken in your direction. But you aren’t sure how to talk to him, or what you should say.

There’s a lot you want to know about him and his vampirism, but you don’t think it’s fair to bombard him with questions right after meeting him—if you could somehow work up the nerve for that first step.

When you were young, your parents made sure to keep you safely sheltered away from anyone who could potentially be a vampire or any other nonhuman being. This game kept up until you went to college, where they could no longer “shield” you. Because of their lifelong fear and disgust, your knowledge of nonhuman beings is scarce and mostly inaccurate.

The man’s skin isn’t deathly pale like you’ve heard others say vampires always are. It’s nicely tanned, in fact. Nor are his eyes red, or his canine teeth abnormally sharp. And obviously, he has no aversion to sunlight, otherwise he wouldn’t be out here during the day. The only visible marker of his inhuman nature is his lack of a reflection. Maybe he’s not a vampire at all? Maybe he’s another type of being entirely. That only makes you more curious.

It’s not rare to come across supernatural beings, but they only make themselves known if they want to, or if it’s imperative to their survival. Most of them would rather quietly assimilate amongst humans or stay safe and hidden within their own communities. Humans are still too judgmental towards those who are different from themselves for nonhumans to feel truly safe or welcomed—at least not on a global scale. Small pockets of communities forged with human allies are helpful and sometimes vital for survival, but not always enough.

These small tidbits of information cycle through your mind as September gradually bleeds into October. You continue watching the thoughtful man in the coffee shop and making up your own secret theories about his life. You haven’t told anyone from school about this, because you already know the reaction would be nothing short of awful. Your parents would only let you go to school at the one university in the city that explicitly didn’t allow supernatural beings; it goes without saying that your classmates don’t view them in a positive light.

Part of you feels like you might be breaking the unspoken rules just by being at this coffee shop all the time and allowing this man to take up space in your mind. But who will know what’s inside your thoughts except you?

One day, your friend decides to accompany you on your lunch break, finally stopping by the café she recommended to you. The man is already there, as usual, and he smiles slightly when you and your friend enter. She doesn’t catch this, too busy wondering what she’s going to get off the menu today.

“I haven’t been here in forever, I wonder if Sam still remembers me?” You know Sam to be one of the baristas there, having read it on their name tag before.

“I doubt there are very many people who’d forget you,” you answer.

When you both have your food, you take a booth farther away from where the man sits, though you can still see him easily from this distance. Your friend settles into the seat in front of you.

You try to keep things inconspicuous throughout your conversation, but you must glance over at him one too many times, because your friend eventually raises her eyebrows questioningly. She turns around in her seat, making it obvious that she’s looking, and you groan as you keep your eyes in the opposite direction towards the window.

“Who’s that guy you keep staring at?”

You cough. “No one.”

“He’s obviously someone. Someone interesting enough to hold your attention.”

“I don’t know the man,” you say curtly. You shuffle your napkin and spoon aimlessly, your nervousness rising. What if he has some kind of enhanced hearing and can hear what you’re saying right now? He definitely heard you make that noise that first day.

Your friend looks at the ceiling and blows air out of her mouth. “Whatever. I’ll find out who he is sooner or later.”

You take a sip of your drink and lower your voice to just above a whisper. Although you want to leave the subject alone, you’re curious about one thing. “You mean you’ve never seen him before? This café was your hangout spot before it was mine.”

She shrugs. “No, I think I would’ve remembered someone as...visually striking as him. Why are we whispering, anyway? It’s not like he can hear us above all this noise.”

You think to yourself, I’m not so sure about that, but you merely shake your head.

You spend a few more minutes talking before movement catches the corner of your eye. At this point, it’s practically a reflex for you to look in that direction. You try not to, but your friend has already caught you and turns her head to spy, too. The man has gotten up for whatever reason to say something to one of the baristas at the counter. Your gaze darts back to your cup after you’ve gotten your eyeful, but you’re nearly startled into dropping the cup at your friend’s gasp.

Oh. The mirror.

She grips the edge of the table. “He’s a vampire…?”

You don’t know what to say to that, and you feel oddly guilty for some reason you can’t pinpoint. Like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “U-um, I don’t know…?” You can hardly finish your thought before your friend is scrambling to grab her purse. She hurriedly stands out of the seat, tugging your arm as she does.

“Come on. We shouldn’t stay here.”

“Are you serious—?” You feel embarrassed heat rip through your body at her display; some other café-goers are already looking at her curiously, probably wondering what the hell she’s doing. She tugs more incessantly, and you already know she’ll get louder if you don’t get up now and defuse the situation. Leaving your half-full cup behind, you grab your things and follow her out of the store, keeping your eyes firmly on her back as you pass by the man. You don’t know if he looked up, or if he could sense the reason for your sudden departure—you’ve never left the shop before him until now—and you don’t want to know.

Neither of you talk until you’re well down the street and around the corner. “That wasn’t necessary,” you huff, your hands still sweating from the spiked adrenaline at suddenly being rushed out.

“Yes it was! We all know bloodsuckers and all these other weirdos are dangerous...even if they think they’re being well-intentioned by living among humans. I hope you don’t go back there.”

“Whatever...you’re the one who told me to visit the café,” you mumble, unable to muster up the energy to say anything more. You both know very well she can’t tell you where to go, but you hope she doesn’t mention this to your other acquaintances on campus and make it into a bigger deal than it is.

When you part ways with your friend and get back to your dorm, you realize you’re missing your planner. The planner with all your upcoming assignment dates in it. You sigh heavily and roll your eyes, knowing it must’ve happened in the chaos of her pulling you out of the shop. Maybe if you’re really lucky, it’ll still be there, picked up by an employee or simply left untouched. Knowing how many people go through that café in a day, you’re not optimistic.

For the first time since visiting the quaint little shop, you’re not anticipating returning and seeing the man again, afraid he’ll ignore you or look at you with distaste—like you’re just another unsympathetic human. And would he be wrong to think that? You’re only strangers to each other.

You try not to dwell on it too hard when you go to bed that night.

When lunch rolls around the next day, you hesitate a couple times on your way to the café, not wanting to show up. However, the desire to see what became of your planner pushes you forward. You don’t even have to stay; if it’s there, you’ll take it and leave. If it’s not—oh well. You can still leave. It’s not hard to buy another.

He’s there when you arrive, of course.

He nods at you when you step inside, though he doesn’t smile as he’s become accustomed to doing. You nod back, but you can’t ignore the renewed rush of embarrassment you feel. You linger at the entrance for a second longer, wondering if maybe you should say something. Apologize, even? But what if he really didn’t know what was going on yesterday? Then how odd would you look for bringing it up?

You decide to move on and go back to the booth to search for your belongings, but his voice stops you. This takes you by surprise.

“Did you come back for this?”

You turn to him to see him holding your planner in his hand. You stare, momentarily dumbfounded, and almost shake your head before realizing it is yours. Definitely the same sticker-covered, scribbled-all-over planner.

“Oh—y-yeah. Thank you.” He passes it to you, though you notice he’s very careful not to let your hands touch. You’re a little perplexed about why, but then the rumors about vampires having cold skin pop up in your mind. Maybe that’s actually true, too. “I usually don’t lose things so easily, but…” Your voice falters, and you don’t know how to finish that sentence without bringing up the other day’s events.

He doesn’t seem to mind as he replies, “It happens to all of us sometimes...I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my camera.”

“You take pictures?” you ask, a tinge of curiosity in your voice.

He nods. “I take photos of anything that interests me. Which often ends up being everything I see. I work at an art museum, so I guess having an eye for photography comes in handy.” He hesitates for a second, then says, “I could show you some?” He waves his phone, indicating that the photos are there.

“Oh, sure.” The man gestures for you to sit down in the empty chair in front of him, and you do so. He swipes through his phone a few times until he settles on what he’s searching for, then puts the device on the table and slides it to you. You lean forward to look at it and see that it displays an album full of pictures, simply titled with the emoji “🌌.”

“It’s okay, you can pick it up.” He chuckles. You pick up the phone and swipe through the numerous pictures. Many of them are nighttime shots of the moon, trees, half-empty streets, darkened storefronts. Others depict nature scenes at sunset or the beginning of sunrise, with the sky colored in darker hues. No matter what the subject matter is, they all look to be professionally taken, even for an iPhone.

“Wow, these are nice. You said you work at a museum…are you a professional photographer, too?”

The man shrugs, and as you look at his slight grin, you realize you still don’t know his name. “Something like that, I guess.”

“You should be if you aren’t already,” you say, looking through more photos. “I’m sure you’d make a lot of money.” When you reach the end of the album, you go to hand the phone back to him but realize he’ll probably want to avoid contact again, so you slide it across the table. He takes it and slips it into his pocket.

“I don’t really care about the money,” he responds. “I just like it because…” He trails off, unsure how to convey his thoughts, wondering if he should even get that personal with a stranger. “It...helps me pass the time.” He’s not quite satisfied by that answer—it doesn’t feel like enough—but it’s all he can think of on the spot.

“Well, that’s nice too. It’s always good to have a hobby just for the sake of it...not for anyone’s benefit but your own.”

“Do you have one?” He takes a sip of his coffee. You don’t expect to be asked about your own interests, and your mind goes blank as you try to think. Why does this always happen when I’m asked these kinds of questions?

“Um, just different things here and there.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says, amused.

“It’s not that, I just don’t have a ton of hobbies or anything. I’m kinda boring, so…” And wasn’t allowed to do much of anything until I left home.

“Being boring isn’t always a bad thing.”

You lean back in your seat, shrugging slightly. “Maybe if you see it that way. My friends don’t.”

“Would one of those happen to be the same one who dragged you out of here yesterday?” He speaks casually, putting his cheek in his hand. You slump further down in your seat, feeling exposed. Of course there was no escaping this topic. He notices your mood shift and shakes his head. “You don’t have to feel so bad about it. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.”

“I’m sorry for all that mess,” you murmur, unable to meet his eyes. “Really, I am.” You stand up from the seat, gripping your planner. “Thanks again for this. I don’t want to take up any more of your time today.” You’re about to turn to leave when he speaks again.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know…you could talk with me whenever you feel like it.” That’s the last thing you expect him to say. His voice takes on a quality that’s...not what you’d call begging, but it’s clear he’d enjoy some company. Maybe he’s doing this for your benefit as well as his own, because it’s obvious how your eyes always stray to his little corner.

You nod, giving him an apprehensive smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, then.”

The rest of your day after that is uneventful, full of classes and unexciting lectures, but you keep thinking of one thing. Though he appears to enjoy his time in the coffee shop, how lonely must he really be? There’s never anyone else around him. His eyes when he’d spoken to you held a certain sadness.

And you still didn’t get his name.

You don’t see him for the next few days, mostly because you aren’t at the café. You’ve gotten busy with a new project and haven’t had as much time to return to the coffee shop, mostly spending your time in the library instead.

When you finally get a chance to buy lunch outside campus, he’s not there. This disappoints you more than you thought it would, and you wonder what his absence means. Did he just decide not to come today, or has he found another place to frequent? You kind of hope the second option isn’t the case, though you also don’t know why you’re even caring this much about where someone else goes on their own time.

You get a drink to-go this time, deciding you’ll just take it back to the library and continue your studies there. The entryway bell rings behind you as you wait for your order to be made, though you don’t pay it much attention; half of your mind is still occupied with what you need to do next for your project.

When you turn around to leave the shop with your drink, you’re surprised to see the man standing there, waiting to get his own coffee. “You’re late,” you blurt out. You immediately feel silly for saying it, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

He gives you a slight smile. “Yes, I am.” Then he spots your to-go cup. “Are you leaving?”

“Uh, well,” you glance at your drink, “are you staying?”

He nods as he steps up to the counter. “Yeah, I’m staying. My offer’s still open, by the way.”

Right. The offer to talk to him sometimes. You’re tempted to stay awhile and talk to him now, though you don’t even know what about. Your project? That’s boring. Him being a vampire? Too invasive. Your school? Also boring, and probably not the best idea considering which one you attend.

“I...think I’ll stay, then.”

You both sit at his usual table, with you grinning nervously.

“How are you? I noticed you hadn’t showed up in a while,” he asks, settling back in his chair.

“Yeah, I’m doing fine, I’m just busy with school stuff. These teachers don’t give us a break.” You laugh a little, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He grins. “I never did go to college, but I’ve always heard others talk about how tiring it is. And expensive.”

“They’re right.” You roll your eyes at the thought of it. “But I guess it’ll all be worth it in the end. Maybe. If the economy isn’t in the toilet.” The sound of his laughter is nice, and you’re glad you could make him laugh. “Also, I’m sorry—I don’t know how this flew under the radar, but I don’t know your name.”

He shrugs. “Nothing to apologize for, really. It’s Johnny.”

You tell him your name, too. “Since I haven’t seen you lately...how are you doing?” You circle your hands around your to-go cup, feeling its warmth transfer to your palms as you await his answer.

“I think I can say I’m the same as always—which is fine. Life slows down a little when you have a lot of time on your hands.” Johnny’s lips quirk up at that, and you think he might be referring to his vampirism. Your eyes widen a little.

“What’s that like? Having so much free time. I wouldn’t know much about that right now, but…”

“Maybe not as pleasant as you think it’d be. But there’s good in it. Like coming and going when you want to. And you can take up whatever interests you want without worrying as much about busy schedules.” You already know he’s alluding to his photography. “I do like having a job, though…it gives me structure.”

“You’re probably right…I wouldn’t know the first thing to do if I had a ton of free time…like, which hobbies to pick up first.” You consider how you initially thought about him being lonely and wonder if that’s one of the unpleasant parts he hinted to. “Speaking of hobbies...did you take any new pictures lately?”

Johnny nods. “Most of them were on my camera this time, but some are on my phone. You want to see?”

“Yes!”

Johnny lets you have his phone again to look through the newest pictures he’s taken. There are varying shots of car-lined streets and storefronts, some of the latter decorated with glowing jack-o-lanterns for the onset of October. A pigeon sits on a streetlamp during the daytime, holding its head up like royalty upon a throne. In another image, a stray cat and her kittens huddle in an alley, the babies grooming each other while the mother looks quizzically at the camera.

You recognize a few photos from the nearby park; he also had some pictures of it the last time you looked. “Do you go to this park often?”

“Yeah, it offers some great shots. It’s especially pretty if you go just before the sun sets...the light filters through the tree leaves and it looks kinda like a kaleidoscope.”

“Ah, I’ve never seen that before…” you say a little sadly. Your parents didn’t much like taking you to that park when you were younger because of how far it is from their house. And since living away from them, you’ve only been able to visit it during the early hours of the day—like now.

Johnny looks closely at you. “Would you ever want to?”

“If it’s as pretty as you say, I should.” You slide the phone back across the table to him, not catching what he’s trying to hint at as you keep talking. “Do you go anywhere else besides here and the park?” As soon as you say it, you realize this might sound a little rude and try to make a quick save. “I mean, do you have any other favorite places? I’m not trying to say you don’t have a life or anything!”

Johnny laughs at your slight panic at thinking you’ve offended him. “Nothing too out-there, I guess. The bookstore, the photography store, the theater. Pretty much all the same places others visit.”

“The movies are fun.” You trace your finger across the table’s surface, thinking of your own favorite spots. “Me and my friends like to go downtown. There are a lot of cute little shops down there…”

You and Johnny talk for a while longer, and you almost forget you have to get back to campus until you glance at the wall clock. “Oh no, I’m gonna be late.” Flustered, you jump out of your seat and crumple your empty cup. “Sorry to cut it short, Johnny, but I gotta go back now.”

He smiles good-naturedly and nods, his dark bangs sweeping his face. “I understand.” As he watches you gather your things and get ready to go, he speaks up again. “Actually, if you want to see the park at sunset sometime...I could show you? It’s up to you.”

You pause, suddenly curious at the thought of seeing him outside the café. In the back of your mind, you feel a little paranoid and afraid of your friend or maybe even your parents seeing you there with him, though the latter is extremely unlikely. It’s hard to shake that familiar fear of judgment and ostracism when it’s been ingrained in you since childhood. “That sounds good. If it’s not any trouble for you…?”

“Never too much trouble. I usually get off around 4 on Fridays, just before the sun sets at 5. Unless the weekend is better for you?”

You nod, holding your books tighter to your chest. “Friday will work for me! I’ll meet up with you then.”

Johnny smiles. “Great; I’ll see you then, kind stranger.”

Maybe he says it to be joking or quirky, to sound like one of those characters in a movie or drama, but it makes you smile. Nodding to him again, you step out of the café and rush towards the direction of your school. Johnny watches as you retreat, your roles reversed.

You meet up with Johnny at the park that Friday, just as you both agreed. You spot him sitting on a bench near the park entrance, waiting on your arrival.

Johnny’s wardrobe is still mostly dark, but it’s a little lighter than usual today. He’s changed things up with a white polo shirt underneath his black sweater. Seeing him dressed like this, you wonder what he’d be like as a student, or maybe even a university professor.

He stands up when you get closer, hearing the sound of your footsteps approaching and turning towards you. His camera sits safely around his neck, the lens catching in the light of the sun.

When you stop in front of him, he smiles at you warmly. You try to relax into the genuineness of that smile and ignore the still-lingering traces of anxiety about being out with him. “Hi, Johnny!”

“Hi, Y/N.”

You and Johnny walk around the park as he looks for something interesting to shoot. He snaps a few shots of the trees, fallen leaves, bushes, and other natural elements along the way, though it seems like he hasn’t quite captured what he wants yet.

“Are you looking for something specific?” you ask, peering at his camera as he holds it in his hands.

“There’s an aster bush around here,” he responds. “It hadn’t fully bloomed yet the last time I was here, but it should be open by now.”

It turns out he’s right as you two finally come up on the bush. Its blooms make bright purple smudges against the rest of the landscape, which is a monochrome red-and-orange palette from the leaves changing their hues. You watch as he comes up to the bush carefully and quietly, like it’s a small animal he’s afraid to scare away. Johnny is very attentive while taking pictures of it, always conscious of getting the correct lighting and securing the exact angles he wants to capture. “Compassionate” is not a word you’d usually associate with the act of taking photos, but that’s the only word you can currently think of to describe this display. He treats the flowers with a peculiar sense of respect, as if they’re a human subject.

After he’s gotten the images he wants, Johnny offers you his camera to take a few of your own. You’re anxious about holding his prized possession and are afraid you’ll find a way to mess something up, but he promises you it’s fine. You take a few shots of the sky, still with a few wisps of clouds left, and a nearby tree that’s almost stripped bare of leaves. You know the shots will probably end up blurry from your unsteady hands, but Johnny tells you you’ve done a good job anyway.

Something about getting his approval makes a pleasant warmth settle in your chest.

As you both walk down a long trail, you finally ask him, “Sorry if this is invasive, but I was wondering how old are you? Like...as a vampire.” Your voice becomes hesitant on the word vampire, even though you’re the only two in this part of the park.

He chuckles a bit. “I’m 85.” You try not to look surprised. “I’ve been turned for 60 years. Old, but probably a little younger than most vampires you’d think of.”

“Kinda,” you say quietly. “They’re always like 2,000 years old in movies.”

“The ancient vampires are purebloods. They keep to themselves and avoid mingling with turned vampires, let alone humans. Some people are even skeptical if they exist. Supposedly, they use humans as servants or blood banks.” He gives you an apologetic look after saying this, though you don’t really know why. You don’t get the feeling he’d do that to another being, but he is still mostly a stranger... “At least, that’s what my mentor told me.”

Your curiosity is roused at all this new knowledge. “You had a mentor?”

“An older woman. She was also a turned vampire.”

“Turned, huh…”

Johnny nods, toeing at a small pile of leaves on the ground. “She went away eventually, said people are meant to pass in and out of each other’s lives. I don’t think she ever had intentions to stay. But I enjoyed her company while she was there.” Johnny stops at a short bridge above a small manmade lake, and you both look down into the water.

You place your arms on the bridge railing so you can lean over more. You notice he doesn’t have a reflection in the water, and this startles you more than you expected. Before meeting this strange man, you’d never thought much before about why vampires don’t have mirror reflections, but it seems even more unnatural to see this phenomenon happen again in the lake.

You find yourself looking at the side of Johnny’s face, trying to read his expression as he peers into the water’s depths. He turns to you, and you flinch at being caught staring, but he only smiles slightly. You force yourself to form words and break the silence. “What—what did you do after she left?”

“Lived on my own. She taught me a lot of things to help me live independently as a vampire, so it wasn’t too difficult to get along without her...but emotionally? A different story.”

“You sound like you had a very close relationship with her.”

“Yes. Quite close…” Johnny’s tone suggests something deeper, more intimate than a regular friendship. You feel a bit astounded at the idea of him having an older, more worldly lover while being only a newly changed vampire. Your reaction makes you feel foolish, inexperienced. Still, you can’t help imagining a scenario of them living in a big, dark mansion somewhere in the mountains, rolling around in a bed with bloody red sheets—and maybe drinking from the occasional naïve, misled human hiker.

Strangely, too, you feel jealous at his freedom, his ability to go wherever and do whatever with whoever he wants without overbearing relatives always just a step away.

You continue staring at the ripples as they circle in and out of the water’s surface, the motions triggered by a small orange leaf falling into the lake. You’re unsure of what could be the right thing to say to his admission, so you blurt out whatever comes to mind next. “You said she taught you to live independently as a vampire. What does that mean? How do you get...you know. Blood?”

“There are ways,” Johnny says cryptically, which makes your own blood rush faster. He turns to you with a grin, like he finds your naivety endearing. “It’s nothing drastic, though. At least, not for me. I never drink directly.” It does make sense that there are other ways to drink human blood without taking it straight from their necks, though you can only speculate on which methods he prefers. “Drinking directly is lethal, and often not worth it.”

“So, it’s true that vampire bites can kill?” You watch as Johnny pushes himself off the railing, and you follow him as he continues down the trail.

“It’s not false. But it’s never really that simple.” Johnny’s answer is mysterious, and he doesn’t elaborate further. He turns to you. “Where did you hear that, anyway? Your university? The one that bans all nonhuman beings?”

“You know where I go to school?” You feel embarrassed, thinking he must assume you’re like the rest of the student body who hates nonhumans but still nurtures an odd obsession with them.

“I saw it on your notebook one day, the school insignia. I’m not a stalker, by the way.” You laugh only slightly, and Johnny seems crestfallen when he notices your apprehension. “I don’t care if you attend school there. Just because you do doesn’t mean you think the way they do.”

“You must think I’m some weird opportunist, then,” you mutter, heat finding its way to your face. “Asking you all these questions...I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think anything except that you’re a pleasant person to be around.”

You’re quiet for a moment, letting the compliment sink in. You think you should probably give him one of his own, but before you can, he says, “Look. The sun’s already setting.” Just like he told you before, the dying rays filter through the tree leaves and create impossibly intricate patterns on your surroundings. You hold your hand out and watch the latticework that the leaves create dance over your open palm.

You let Johnny take a picture of your hand with the tree shadows flitting over it, but you shy away from the camera’s lens when he points it higher to your face, a questioning look in his eyes. “Maybe some other day.”

You walk around for a while longer until the sky bleeds into a dark purple. “I guess I should be going soon. It’s getting late,” you say, though you’re also a bit sad over your evening with Johnny meeting its end.

“Do you want me to take you back to campus? You shouldn’t walk back alone. My car is just in the parking lot there.” He points to it where it sits in the distance.

You look at Johnny with a confused gaze. “But you can’t come on campus. They have...things to ward off vampires.” Like gates made of pure silver, displaying intimidating, elaborately designed crosses. You don’t know if any of it actually works, but it’s probably better not to find out.

Johnny doesn’t seem bothered by this information. “Yeah…I know. I can just drop you at the street across from the main gate.”

You hesitate a moment longer but eventually agree. He is right; you’d rather not walk alone at night, and getting a ride with him is better—and cheaper—than calling for a rideshare.

The ride to the college is fairly quiet, with the radio filling the silence. It’s not an awkward type of stillness, at least, which you’re grateful for.

As he said he would, Johnny parks on the side of the street that sits in front of the main gate, just outside the immediate vicinity of the campus. The metal crosses stare back at the both of you, glinting in the light of nearby streetlamps. You turn your face away from them, biting the inside of your cheek.

You unbuckle your seatbelt. “Thanks again for the ride. I guess I’ll see you back at the shop next week, yeah?” Again, you get the urge to say something, anything, to remedy or cover up the foreboding source of discomfort sitting just in front of you, but there’s no one sentence you could say to wipe away decades of hatred.

Johnny nods and smiles, and still he shows no signs of being disturbed. He doesn’t cast another glance at the gates. “It’s no problem. See you then.”

You get out of his car and cross the street to get inside the gate; it’s early enough in the evening for it to still be open. Any later, and it’d be locked shut to even humans. You risk another wave at him before turning back around and heading for your dorm, which sits a few yards from the entrance. Johnny lets the car idle on the side of the street until you’ve walked into the dorm, and only then does he drive away.

It doesn’t take very long for you to warm up to Johnny inviting you to other places. The next time you and him go somewhere other than the coffee shop, you accompany him as he buys some film for his camera on one of his free days. You don’t know a ton about photography, so you’re more than happy to let him tell you all about how film works and why he buys certain kinds over others.

The place he frequents is a specialty photography shop that still carries older varieties of film—ones that fell out of favor once digital cameras became a thing. The store looks noticeably old, but not in an unkempt or decrepit way. You can tell it’s been around for a while, holding all kinds of history in its structure.

“There are so many different types.” You look over a shelf of film rolls in awe. “How can you tell them all apart?”

Johnny laughs. “It gets easier if you’ve been doing it for a while…or a few decades.” He picks one up from a row of them and holds it in front of you. “35mm is the most common type, which is what you’ll find the most of when you look through any film shop. That’s what I use.”

He sets that one down and walks past another display of film rolls, gesturing toward them. “There’s also 120 and 220 film formats here…those work for even older cameras, sorta like ones you’d see in 1930s movies. You can even turn a film camera into a digital camera.”

You nod to his words, looking over what seems like millions of film canisters—and occasionally glancing at the lines of his broad back as he walks ahead of you. “You should teach a photography class. I’d be more willing to listen to you than some old professor.”

Johnny snickers. “Huh, I don’t know. Not a professor, but I am old.”

You both continue walking through the store, with Johnny giving you the rundown on every item that catches your interest.

Like the coffee shop, there’s another mirror in this store. Many more, actually—there are whole rows of them on a series of shelves, all in varying sizes and shapes. They create a fragmented view of your form as you stand in front of them, though you don’t initially realize you’ve crossed into their glassy line of sight. You’re busier with looking at a roll of film Johnny’s handed you. When you notice your reflection shifting in your peripheral view, you look up.

Johnny’s only a few feet behind you, and you know this because you can hear him and feel his presence. Yet, it’s strange to see yourself as the only person in the aisle.

Eventually, he notices what’s got you preoccupied and comes to stand next to you. Though you see him clearly in front of your eyes, there’s no trace of him in the glass reflections.

Suddenly, you’re hit with the aching loneliness of it—how it must feel to never see yourself. You can see him with your own eyes, and so can everyone else who encounters him, but what must it be like to be virtually invisible outside of other peoples’ perceptions of you? You almost feel utterly alone even though you know he’s beside you.

Noticing your sudden melancholy, Johnny takes the film roll from your hand and tosses it up in the air, making it look like it’s moving on its own in the mirrors. He means to lighten the mood, if only to see the cloudiness disappear from your expression. It works to a degree, though you still feel downcast deep below.

“It’s not good to dwell on it.” Johnny presses the film roll back into your hand, still carefully avoiding skin contact. He has no problem meeting your eyes, though, and you shyly look away from his dark gaze after a few prolonged moments.

“You’re right,” you say softly, turning back to the aisle and away from the rows of mirrors.

—

You and Johnny head to the coffee shop after your trip to the photography store. Once you get your drinks and sit down in your usual spot, he speaks suddenly. “Something’s wrong.”

Your eyes dart around the shop, thinking he’s referring to one of the patrons around you. “What? What’s wrong?” Your voice comes out a bit panicked. He doesn’t want to laugh, but he does.

“No, I mean...something’s wrong with you. You seem far away.”

“Oh…” You wonder if you should even bring it up and potentially ruin the mood. But you have been curious for weeks now, and you don’t think you’ll get a trustworthy answer by asking anyone other than him. “I just...I was wondering why you don’t have a reflection. I know it’s a vampire thing, but I’ve never really known why...you don’t need to answer, though. Like you said, it’s not good to dwell on it.”

Johnny makes a motion like a half-nod once your question is revealed, his eyes darting to the window and back to the table. His fingers trace across the rim of his coffee cup, a thoughtful but stormy expression on his face, and you’re afraid you shouldn’t have reawakened this topic. “You know...being undead means being in two places at once.”

“Two places?”

“We are caught between the living world and the world of the dead. Something that’s not really supposed to exist, yet…” He’s quiet for a moment. “You can only imagine the kind of issues and side effects that can cause. One of them being no reflection.”

“I never thought of it like that,” you say. “Two planes of existence...what does it mean to be a part of the world of the dead?”

“Our blood runs slower. Ours is more like sludge compared to yours. The heart beats only a few times per minute. Don’t need to eat or sleep, either, though many vampires still do.” Johnny pauses. “How much do you really know about vampires?”

“I don’t know much about any of this...stuff.” You gesture vaguely, meaning all supernatural beings and not just vampires. “No one ever told me these things growing up, and it’s hard to tell truth from fiction at school. People will say anything, horrible things, and you just take it at face value, I guess. I never really thought to try to find the reality.” You sigh. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world who doesn’t know anything.”

“Learning is good. You can always learn. I don’t think it’s too late for that.” Johnny’s voice is a little lighter. “Anyway, everyone’s knowledge is different. Sometimes it slips my mind that everyone doesn’t know what it’s like to live as a vampire, though the world never lets me forget for long.”

“Then…do you hang out with other vampires who do understand? Or…maybe humans who can sympathize?”

Johnny gives a humorless laugh. “Most humans are hesitant to interact with us, if not full-out terrified or disgusted. At the museum...it’s less pronounced because all the employees already know. They…tolerate it. But every time someone else realizes what I am and doesn’t take well to it?” He shakes his head, acts like he’ll say something else, and then abandons that line of thought. “And do you really think I’d want to spend my free time around other bloodsuckers?” He tries to play it off as a joke, but you’re more inclined to think he actually feels that way. You can only nod, feeling bad for him but also a little disturbed by his view of his own kind.

“I think you’re a kind person, and you being a vampire doesn’t affect that,” you say hesitantly. “I like talking to you. And even if you feel that way about other vampires, I…wish you wouldn’t feel that about yourself.”

Johnny remains quiet, but he nods. You wonder about the struggle occurring in his mind. The only outward hint of his uneasy state shows in the furrow of his eyebrows and the tense set of his mouth. With his right hand resting on the table, he rubs his fingers together absentmindedly, like he’s analyzing your words. You have a sudden and startling desire to hold his hand, to twine your fingers together and feel his skin on yours for the first time, but you don’t dare cross that boundary.

He finally replies with, “You’re much kinder to me, an old and bitter vampire, than you probably should be. But maybe that’s a good thing about you.”

“I think it’s a good thing,” you agree, your voice low. “Every living being needs companionship. Good companionship, anyway.”

The corners of Johnny’s lips shift in something reminiscent of a smile. He turns a rueful gaze once again to the window, lifting his coffee cup to his lips. “Aren’t I lucky to have yours, then.”

On a day when you don’t have as many responsibilities to juggle, you visit Johnny at the art museum after his working hours are up. He’d already invited you to come to the museum any day you felt like so he could show you around. 

When you get there, he’s waiting in the visitor’s lobby for you, framed by receding sunlight as the day starts fading into night. He looks the same as he always does when you see him in the café on his lunch breaks, but within the context of the museum, he suddenly seems more…alive? Vibrant? He could’ve served as a muse for one of the many statuesque, perfectly proportional sculptures in the museum, and you’d never know anything different.

Your heartbeat increases at the sight of him, just enough to be outside the normal range.

“Hi, Johnny. I hope your day went well?”

“It was fine, nothing too crazy. But it’s better now.” And he smiles at you, sincere enough to make your heart ache.

“Oh—that’s great.” That’s it? You scold yourself internally, but you aren’t quick enough to think up a witty reply to his comment before the topic shifts.

“Is there anything in particular you wanna see first?” Johnny asks, leading you further into the museum.

“I guess I hadn’t thought too deeply about that…do you have a favorite exhibit? I want to see what you like.”

Johnny smiles faintly. “Let’s see, then.”

The dark-haired man takes you to a section of the museum filled with oil paintings, all by one singular artist. At first, all you see is varying shades of black and gray and red, with some white splashed in between. When you begin looking at the paintings more closely, it’s easier to see that each one depicts a different scene of chaos. Maybe a sort of organized chaos, but disarray all the same.

There is one picture that holds a clearer subject than the rest. One of the oil paintings is of a vampire—obvious by the fangs—with bloodied lips and anguished eyes. You pause when you catch sight of it, your steps stilled by the sheer frenzy in the other being’s painted eyes. Their hands reach out for the viewer as if begging for an escape that can only be provided by whoever’s observing.

“This one was painted by a fellow vampire, you know. The same one who did all the rest of the paintings in this gallery,” Johnny explains. He points at the placard next to the painting that displays the artist’s name and a short description of the piece. The word fellow comes off his tongue wrapped in cynicism. “And it was one of the ones I personally chose for this exhibit.”

You glance at him, a tinge of surprise blooming in your chest. “Really?”

He nods. “Who better to depict the ills of vampirism than a vampire themselves? I thought it was a…fascinating change of pace from all the humans who try and fail to do so, ironic as that is.”

If you look at the painting for long enough, you think you can recognize sadness in the corners of the vampire’s eyes—pure, unadulterated sadness. Different from anguish or panic. A similar mask of sadness you’ve seen on the man next to you.

You say nothing for a while. You simply feel the painful throb of your heart in your chest and listen to the small sounds around you. Even now, there are still other people exploring the museum and walking through this very exhibit, but you can’t hear or see any of them. Johnny notices the disconcerted look on your face, and his forehead creases. “But I’m sure you want to see something less…morbid than this, right? Come on.”

“Uh, I-I don’t mind,” you insist, even though you feel like you’ve just awoken from a painful trance by the sound of his voice. But he’s already gesturing for you to follow him elsewhere.

The next set of paintings you end up in front of are a series of sunflower studies. One frame depicts the long green stems; another provides an up-close view of their lined petals. One zooms in close on the flower’s brown center, only small glimpses of yellow left at the edges of the frame.

“This is definitely very different.” You look at him, a small smile pulling at your lips. “But it fits you. I see why you like it.” You remember him back in the park, taking careful pictures of the aster bush and of your hands…and then offering to take one of you. You don’t know why that last one makes your stomach jump.

“I thought you might like it.” Johnny’s eyes linger on your face as he observes your reaction to the paintings. He’s seen these flowers probably a hundred times by now in this permanent exhibit, but the wonder in your expression is new to him.

—

You both walk through a few more exhibitions after that, all with different subjects and mediums—some consist of sculptures, others are clay vases and figures. There’s still a lot to see in the museum, but you’re starting to get hungry, and you know Johnny has already heard your stomach growling.

After the 2nd time it happens and you think you might melt from embarrassment, he grins at you and makes a suggestion. “Let’s go to my office. I’ll get my things and we can eat. The restaurant here is pretty good—or at least that’s what everyone else says…”

When you get to his office, you feel almost like you’ve stepped into a room from years past. Your gaze drifts across his desk immediately; it’s not sleek and modern like you’d expect, considering the rest of the museum’s aesthetic, but wooden and heavy and vintage-looking. It’s olden quality resembles everything else in his personal space. Even his desk chair, a big and plush thing, feels vintage with its soft leather and rustic design.

This feeling is far from a bad thing, though. You enjoy the aged look of the bookcases, the picture frames, the chairs, the small decorations here and there—everything about this room.

Johnny notices how you look around, studying everything in sight, and smiles. “It’s not the most modern, but I like it.”

“It’s perfect. Like a world of its own.”

“A woman of taste, I see.” Johnny puts a hand over his heart, giving an expression like he’s truly touched, and you can only grin sheepishly. When he has his belongings, he leads you out and locks the door behind him.

“Let’s see what they have on the menu today, then.”

—

You get dinner at the museum’s restaurant, just as Johnny recommended, and he even decides to eat too. Maybe he does it so you won’t look odd being the only one eating, or because he really just wants to; he doesn’t let on. Either way, sitting across from him like this in a fancy restaurant with both of you having a nice meal feels almost like a date. You let that thought amble around for a few minutes longer before tucking it back into one of your mind’s many small niches.

“I’ll probably be digesting this for the next few weeks,” he says jokingly, pulling a mock-disappointed face at his plate.

“That sounds like the worst constipation in history.” He snorts at your comment, his eyes creasing as he laughs. You notice he has a dimple when he smiles, and your grin mirrors his. You don’t think you’ve seen him laugh quite so genuinely before, but now that you’ve experienced it, you want to hear it again and again.

Anything is preferable to the perpetual gloom, always slinking around the corner.

—

When Johnny gets back home after dropping you off at the university, he undresses himself and showers and pulls on his bedclothes, which are nothing more than his underwear and a pair of sweatpants. His upper canines ache in his gums the entire time he goes through these motions, like two pulses of red-hot heat positioned on either side of his mouth.

He takes a blood bag from the fridge and drinks it in bed, leaning his arms against his knees. A sudden remembrance manifests itself in his mind; he hears the hazy echo of his mother’s decades-past voice in his head, reprimanding him for eating in bed. A sharp pain grips his chest, and he tries to send it back to the depths where it belongs.

When the blood hits his stomach, the pain is eclipsed by the bloodlust, which is no better. His fangs drop immediately, spiking into his lower lip. Johnny closes his eyes and, very gingerly, allows himself to draw a picture of you in his mind, of your blood in his mouth and your heartbeat roaring in his ears. The way your blood would flow out so delicately, crashing into his tastebuds like the high tide. He is usually better than this at curtailing his bloodlust, not even letting it reach the point of his canines hurting—he can’t remember the last time that’s happened—but being around you sets him on edge. Awakens him in some strange, raw way.

That only makes him more wary. And more guilty about imagining himself drinking your blood. He shouldn’t even be around you if he’s losing his grip on his hard-won control. But although it makes him feel ashamed, it also causes his heart to rush.

He drains the blood bag to the last possible drop. To his relief, it calms him significantly, though the thoughts of you don’t leave. More innocent ones now, of your outing earlier in the evening. Deep beneath, they are tinged with his ever-present guilt at his vampiric nature.

Johnny doesn’t need the sleep, but he drifts off anyway, if only to quiet the conflict sending daggers into his mind.

You’ve known Johnny for a few weeks now, not counting the time you spent silently staring at him in the café, but you find yourself intertwining yourself further into his life. You end up visiting his apartment sooner than you anticipated. You didn’t think of anything as ridiculous as him living in a coffin or sleeping in the rafters like a bat, but you also had a hard time imagining what his place might look like.

You come over on a weekend when you have more time to simply hang out and not worry so much about anything else.

Like usual, he waits in that spot on the side of the street for you to come out. In the daytime, you’re more apprehensive about him being here and someone potentially seeing him and trying to cause trouble for him, but there’s a part of you that likes the rebellious aspect of it. And if he truly doesn’t mind coming near the campus to pick you up, you don’t have much issue with him doing it.

Johnny’s apartment is clean—and a little sparser than you’d expected. Maybe he’s a fan of minimalism. One side of the wall is taken up by a wide bookcase, which features a bunch of different knickknacks, books, and a collection of larger hardcovers that look like photo albums. On the other walls are a few framed pictures of different scenes, and you assume they’re ones he must’ve taken.

“This is a nice place,” you say as he takes your jacket for you and puts it up. “It must cost quite a bit, too…” You sit down on the couch, stroking the soft material of it.

Johnny shrugs. “Thanks. It’s nothing I can’t handle...being nearly a century old gives you plenty of time to save money.” He appears charmingly self-satisfied when he’s able to make you laugh. “Do you want anything?”

“Water is fine…thank you.” Johnny nods and goes off to the kitchen.

Despite trying to keep your eyes on the wall photos, your gaze follows him as he leaves. You discreetly watch him move around his kitchen. With his dark clothes, he’s like a splash of black paint against the pale tile and stainless steel.

There are blood packs in Johnny’s fridge. Lots of them. You know because you saw them from your vantage point on the couch when he opened the fridge door. They look like the blood bags you’d see in a hospital, which makes you wonder how he even gets access to those. Another mystery you struggle to wrap your head around.

He comes back to the living room with your water, and you take it gratefully, though you also feel a little awkward. You think maybe the blood bags are something you shouldn’t have seen, although you know he probably would’ve made more effort to hide them or put them away if that were the case.

“You have a good supply of blood, a nice apartment, and a great job. Does every vampire get these kinds of perks?” Admittedly, it sounded better in your head. Your attempt to stave off the awkward feeling—which was really only coming from your end—only makes it more intense. Johnny laughs dryly in response. You can’t tell if he actually finds it amusing or is just trying to humor you, which makes you feel incredibly silly.

“All of it’s government-issued if you promise never to bite any humans.” Johnny gives a wry smile. “But it’s a mistake to think vampires live glamorous lives, filling up on blood and having no cares in the world.”

“N-no, I get it,” you stutter. “Bad joke.”

“I’m not trying to embarrass you or be mean. It’s just the way things are.” Your roles are suddenly reversed, and now he seems to feel some sort of sympathy for you, like you’re just an ignorant little human who doesn’t know any better. The last part of that is more your insecurities speaking out than anything else, but you try to ignore that and take him for his word.

Johnny gets up from the couch to go over to the bookcase as you sip your water. After looking through the photo albums intently, he takes one off the shelf and hands it to you. You set your water down and hold the album carefully as you open the front cover. The cover itself has a neat little label that reads Telluride 1976 - 1980, so you can already expect what you’ll find in it. There are numerous photos of trees, bushes, snowy mountain ranges, lakes, brilliantly vibrant flowers, and woodland creatures. You stop at a picture of a deer looking straight ahead, its black eyes wide and curious as it examines the lens.

“I lived in the mountains back then, a little after my mentor had left. I spent some time trying to reconnect with nature...and all that other hippie shit people used to do back in that era.”

You chuckle. “Did you wear the same kinds of clothes, too? Bell bottoms and tie-dye T-shirts and all?”

Johnny laughs and shrugs. “Maybe…but that’s only for me to know.”

You grin and look at the photos again. “Well…did your plan work, at least?”

Johnny gives a wistful smile. “In some ways, I think it did.”

You continue looking through the rest of the album, which you could probably do for hours if you had the time—just sit and trace every possible line, curve, and ray of light. Johnny sits beside you as you do, occasionally explaining some pictures and their backstories.

“Lately, I’ve been wanting something else to take pictures of...someone else, maybe.”

“What, like a subject?” you ask.

“Yeah, it’d be nice...I haven’t taken pictures of another person in a while.”

You nod quietly as you flip through the pages—another possible hint flying right over your head. Then a thought comes to you—one that makes your skin warm. “Have you ever taken pictures of anyone you were...involved with?” You don’t say it directly, but you hope he can get the gist of what you’re asking.

Johnny nods as if he doesn’t want to admit to it, a nervous smile gracing his lips. “A few different people…but I always gave them the pictures after we, you know, stopped seeing each other...so there’s none left here.”

“I see…” For a few moments, your thoughts circle around that concept. What was it like to bare yourself in front of someone else like that, immortalized on film? What might it be like to allow Johnny to see you like that, to take pictures of you in your most vulnerable form? The idea doesn’t make you as downright anxious as you expected it to, though you can’t completely shake the lingering embarrassment about it.

After you finish looking through the entirety of his Telluride adventures, Johnny shows you some recent pictures he’s developed, and you’re giddy to see your own blurry creations among them. Now that you’re holding them physically in your hands, you can agree that they look nice, each with its own little personality.

“I thought about putting them in a new photo album,” he says, “but you can keep them, if you prefer.”

You hold them to your chest. “Yes, I’d like to keep them. Thank you.” You smile. “I’m sure I’ll leave you with plenty other photos to put in your album, anyway.”

—

The sun is close to setting again. You aren’t ready to leave yet, though, and Johnny is content to let you stay longer. He pulls out another album for you to look at, this one dated with 1960 - 1964. Unlike the others, there’s no title to describe what’s in it except for that year range.

“This is a picture of me someone took before I was turned,” Johnny murmurs, sitting back down beside you. He turns the album to you, and in the middle of the first page is a sepia-toned photo of him sitting on a bed—or maybe a couch?—wearing a suit. White, handwritten lettering on the bottom right of the photograph reads August 4, 1960.

“Oh wow...” You touch the photo gently over its protective lining. “You look exactly the same. Of course.”

“It’s the only photo I have left of myself,” he sighs, leaning back on the sofa. “If it weren’t for that...I’d feel almost like I didn’t exist at all.”

“Do you remember this day?” you ask.

“…Vaguely.” His answer doesn’t feel like the whole truth, and the way his eyes dart anxiously as he says it confirms your suspicions. Then he sighs again, heavier this time, and he seems to be exhaling all 60 years of his burden along with it. “I was...going to be married. It was for our wedding shoot.”

You’re surprised for a reason you’re unsure of, never even imagining that Johnny could’ve been married at one point in time. Could’ve had an entire life and a family, if it hadn’t been for...

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You know you never would’ve met him if things hadn’t happened this way, and that knowledge tugs at your heart in a way that makes you feel intensely selfish.

Johnny shakes his head and avoids your eyes. “It was long ago.” He wets his lips and his jaw clenches like maybe he wants to say something else, but he remains silent for a while.

You continue exploring the photo album in silence. With its thin size, there aren’t as many pictures in it as the others—much less, in fact, but each one is still enough to keep your interest. Your mind keeps drifting back to the one of Johnny.

You hand the album back to him when you’re done. He takes it from you, but in a gesture you don’t foresee, he allows your hands to touch for the first time. You make a tiny flinch at the unexpected coolness—not ice-cold, but enough to be noticeable—but you don’t draw away from him. You let his fingers slide across yours as the photo album leaves your hands, and it sends electricity racing up and down your spine.

“S-sorry.” You’re not sure if you’re apologizing for flinching or for making contact at all, though there is no reason to because he initiated it.

“Doesn’t it ever disturb you at all that I’m not human?” Johnny asks softly, still holding the album.

“What?”

“You’ve taken all this so easily...much more easily than many others. You aren’t even disgusted at my cold hands.” A ghost of a grin comes over his face.

“If I were disgusted, I wouldn’t even be here,” you say, trying to lighten the tension. It’s not the kind of tension that arises from anger, offense, or upset, but something else that you are lost on comprehending in this moment. “Some of it’s unfamiliar, obviously, but I’m not disgusted.”

He glances down at the album in his hands, as if contemplating something. Maybe thinking about the only living photo of himself beneath the cover. Or maybe he’s thinking back to how he was turned in the first place and subsequently lost the life he was about to have. He still hasn’t told you anything about how he became a vampire, and though you’d like to know, it’s obviously a sore spot for him.

Eventually, he nods, willing himself to smile at you. “I’m glad.”

—

Night has fallen by the time you’re done exploring the decades of his life, though there is still much you haven’t seen and don’t yet know. You let him drive you back to the school as you stare out at the passing cars, wondering how many more of these people sitting in their vehicles are nonhuman and you’d never know it.

You hesitate after he pulls up across from the main gate.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Uh, nothing really, it’s just—I still don’t have your number or anything.” And I want to talk to you more often. I want to hear your voice more often. You don’t want to say anything overly dramatic or cheesy, so you just keep those last thoughts to yourself.

Thinking it had been something serious, he smirks at your concern. “Oh, I see. I’ll give it to you now, then.”

Once your numbers are safely in each other’s phones, you finally bid each other goodnight. 

Though you try to steer your thoughts towards other things, you keep veering back to Johnny. His apartment. His fridge full of blood bags. His photo albums full of years of history. Even when you get into bed that night, you can’t keep him off your mind.

You wake up gasping and sweating when you dream of him with his fangs in your neck, your own blood running down your neck and chest. You glance over at your roommate to make sure you haven’t woken her and rest your head on your knees, trying to catch your breath and settle your racing heart. Your skin still prickles with how you could practically feel his heated breaths on your neck, ice-cold hands gripping your shoulders.

The worst part of it is that you can’t quite say you completely disliked it.

“It doesn’t make much sense to have a Halloween party and dress up as the very beings that you hate, but whatever…” you mumble, looking through a rack of costumes with a certain impassivity. You’re not very enthusiastic about going to this Halloween party, but your friend refuses to go alone. You haven’t been spending as much time with her anymore—partly because of Johnny and partly because you feel even more out of place around her than normal—and with all her begging and pleading, she refuses to let you opt out of this one.

“It’s about having fun, no one really cares Y/N. They’re freaks, aren’t they? That’s why people dress up as them, they’re practically meant for this.”

You become even more apprehensive about the party after hearing that, if that’s even possible. You smooth your hand over the fabric of a witch’s robe and sigh again, shaking your head. It doesn’t feel quite right to keep spending time in her presence—or anyone else who goes to your school—but you feel trapped on all sides, left without much of a choice. You would never hear the end of it if you tried to switch universities…or even drop out.

Your mind strays back to Johnny as always, with his melancholy aura and weird jokes and pretty pictures and monochrome clothes. The smell of his cologne, the lingering scent of roasted coffee beans, and his toothy smile, when he does show it to you. Something in you makes you want to drop everything you’re doing right now and go to him. It might even be nice to settle in his arms, feel them strong and solid around you—though he’d probably need just as much comforting as you.

“Dress up as this!” Your friend breaks the reverie as she prances over to you with a pair of fake fangs, the tips of them painted in acrylic blood. She holds them up to your mouth, and you struggle to manage a smile, if only to sate her enthusiasm. “It actually reminds me of…that vampire at the café. Say, have you seen him since then?”

You shake your head, moving away to sift through another rack of outfits as you try to maintain a detached expression. “Nope, not a glimpse. Haven’t even thought about him.”

When your friend doesn’t suspect anything, you let your expression drop just a tad, breathing out quietly.

The night of the party, the full moon is heavy and bold against the black blanket of the sky, which feels horribly cliché. You wonder if there are any werewolves out tonight, and what they might be doing right now.

“We’re going to have a good time tonight,” your friend insists as you both walk up the front steps of the host’s house. It’s someone you only vaguely know, a friend of a friend of a friend, but clearly a person who has an abundance of money judging by this expansive home. You don’t know why she feels the need to convince you, but maybe it’s because you haven’t seemed very enthusiastic so far. You only give a thumbs up to her words, which feels like an unconvincing gesture. Luckily for you, it works.

After a few hours, the party is still going strong but your head is starting to hurt from the music, and you’re growing weary of all the men crowding in too close, looking at you in your angel costume like you’re something to be devoured. You’ve rolled your eyes at way too many of them and their haphazardly put-together costumes, dressed up as vampires with terrible fake fangs or werewolves with manes of matted up fur.

Your friend keeps flitting around the party, talking to whoever she recognizes from classes or campus organizations, and you’ve given up on trying to follow her around any longer. Every time you turn around, she’s somewhere else. Noticing that you’re currently solo, a guy from one of your history classes comes up to you and begins what he thinks is an interesting conversation on how angels actually look more like Eldritch abominations than the cherubic humans depicted in paintings—so your costume is “technically inaccurate” —and your eyes glaze over as you pretend to listen to him.

You eventually manage to get away from him and get to an undisturbed corner, wedged next to two girls drinking cider and critically rating all the guys’ costumes. You pull your phone out and think about calling for a ride back to campus, but your thumb hovers over the message icon. You press it without thinking too much about it, and Johnny’s name appears as one of your most recent conversations. Though you feel somewhat nervous, you will yourself to open the box and begin typing.

To: Hi Johnny. I hope I’m not bothering you, but can I come over? 🙏🏿🙏🏿🙏🏿 I’m over this party

You put your phone back in your purse, trying not to get your hopes up for a quick response. You know there’s a good chance he’d still be awake at this time of night since he doesn’t need to sleep, but he has his own life and is probably off doing...vampire-y things. Whatever those things could be.

However, your hopes are met when your phone pings only a couple minutes later.

From: Of course. You’re not scared about spending your Halloween with a vampire? 😏

You smile at that.

To: I think I’ll be fine…as long as you don’t bite me.

From: 🦷🩸

—

You get to Johnny’s studio apartment not too long after, and you hang around outside his door for a few moments before knocking, suddenly feeling bashful about your costume. Maybe you should’ve changed before coming over here; what if he thinks it’s childish? Or maybe too revealing? Does he even care about that kind of stuff? Doesn’t matter now, though. You’re here, and there’s no way you’re turning back around.

He answers a few seconds after you knock, wearing a sweater and black pants. You notice his sweater is a cream color and not the usual black. He looks a little surprised to see your costume, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Wow, you look pretty. Nice of you to visit me after falling straight from Heaven.” You cringe at his cheesy line, though you also cannot deny that you secretly enjoy every bit of it.

“Thanks, Johnny...” you say timidly, stepping into his home as he lets you in. “Nice work with changing up the color scheme.”

He’s confused for a moment before realizing you’re talking about his clothes. “Oh yeah, that...um, haha. Thanks.”

Unbeknownst to you, the back of his mind is buzzing with a form of excitement he hasn’t felt in a while. Not the clawing, frantic spikes of bloodlust, but a more physical kind of desire. It’s pleasurable, but he also feels guilty about pining over how sweet and innocent you look in your all-white outfit, stockings hugging your legs perfectly and your dress just short enough to tempt the imagination. Really, you’ve painted a picture of perfect purity, and the only thing he can think about is ruining you. Putting his hands on you and peeling your dress off to reveal the soft skin underneath.

He casts those thoughts aside as you sit prettily on his couch, legs crossed at the ankles—though it’s hard to do so. “Do you want something to drink? Or eat? There isn’t a whole lot of food here, but I can order something…”

“Do you ever make your own coffee?” The question seems a bit random at first, and you try to explain. “You know, since you always get it from the café.”

Johnny smiles. “Do you want coffee? I can make it.”

You nod. “That would be nice…whatever you have.”

“I pretty much have your usual order memorized by now, so I should be good on making it.” Johnny walks to the kitchen. “You can look through the albums while you’re in there. The ones you haven’t seen yet.”

“Oh, thanks.” You feel a little nervous to be looking through the shelf of his treasured photo albums by yourself, but you’re also glad he trusts you enough to let you do it. It makes you feel important. Maybe even important to him, as silly as that might sound.

It isn’t long before the scent of coffee wafts out into the living room. Johnny returns soon with two cups of it, and just as he promised, yours is made just the way you like it.

“Thank you.” You set the album back on the shelf and take the cup from Johnny. For a while, both of you talk of nothing important—just filling the space with the details of your days.

“So how was the party?” Johnny finally asks, and he raises his eyebrows as he scans your outfit again. You grin halfheartedly.

“It was…alright. Kinda weird. I think it’d be more fun if I went to a regular university, but you know…”

Johnny shakes his head. “I can’t blame you for bailing out.”

“Yeah…I’ve been to college parties before, but the Halloween theme was a bit…”

“Strange for an institution that bans all supernatural beings?” Johnny finishes your sentence. He doesn’t look offended or irritated by it—only slightly amused.

You shrug, biting your lip. “Yeah, that.”

“Well, look on the bright side. I wouldn’t have gotten to see you in your natural form otherwise.”

This one almost goes over your head, too, but you catch it just in time. Johnny’s compliments make you feel warm all over, like you’re sitting under the sun. You grin and look down into your cup of coffee, unused to receiving such bold praise and unsure how to respond to it. Something pops into your mind, though, and you think it might be a good idea to run with it.

“You could...take a picture of me, you know. If you want to...since I’m all dressed up now anyway.” You meet his eyes only for a second and then look away, twisting the mug in your hands.

Johnny sits up a little straighter at your words, trying to catch your eyes, though you don’t hold his gaze for long. “You’re sure?” he asks.

“I’m sure. Go ahead! Before I change my mind.” You laugh nervously and carefully set your half-empty mug on the table.

Johnny’s camera is never too far away from him, so he grabs it and plays with the settings for a bit before looking back to you, a small smile on his face. “I’m gonna start, okay?” His voice is surprisingly soft. This, yet again, reminds you of him and the aster bush. He acts as if you might run away at the first shutter click, which makes you feel babied, but you don’t totally hate it.

The first few photos are a little awkward—at least to you. You aren’t sure how to pose, or if you should try to look more casual, though Johnny assures you you’re doing well. He gives you directives throughout, telling you to look in his direction or angle your face a certain way, and you follow his instructions to the best of your ability.

At one point, one of your dress straps slips down. When you go to fix it, Johnny says, “Wait. Could you keep it like that?”

You look at him, your body heating from the suggestion.

“Is that okay with you?”

“…Yes.” Your throat is dry, and your body reacts in a way you don’t expect—little nervous thrills in your hands and feet, though you try to internally explain it away as the coffee’s effects. Johnny takes a few more photos like this, and then he steps closer to gently touch your chin, guiding your face to the angle he’s looking for.

“So good for me.” It slips past his lips in a reverential murmur before he can really consider what he’s saying, and you both freeze. Your heart rate increases, and you wonder if he can hear how hard the red organ is beating in your chest. Probably.

You want to hear him say it again.

Johnny laughs awkwardly, his hand coming back to his side almost a little too quickly to be natural. “Um, I’m really sorry. That was a bit...”

“It…it’s fine.” You avoid his eyes. Johnny takes a few more photos, but the set of his mouth is a little tight, as if he’s stressed about something. Or regretting what he let slip, maybe. You want to tell him you really don’t feel bad about it, but you aren’t sure how to do that without making things more awkward…or revealing your true desires.

When Johnny has taken enough pictures of you to be satisfied with, he sits next to you on the couch, setting his camera on the coffee table and looking suddenly timid.

“I can’t wait to see them,” you say, attempting to break the tension that never really cleared the room after his earlier comment. He blinks for a moment like he doesn’t know what you mean, and then realizes—obviously, he’ll be developing the photos.

“They’ll come out nice, I’m sure. I think you’ll photograph well.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, and now it’s your turn to be unsure of how to resurrect the conversation.

“You’re beautiful.” It’s an abrupt comment. It makes your stomach twist in a pleasant, fluttery way, and you become hyperaware of his form sitting next to yours.

“Haven’t heard that one much, but thanks.”

Johnny turns to you. “Anyone who’d think otherwise is a fool.”

There’s a pause after this where you both simply study each other, watching for hidden reactions that can’t be read on the surface. The way he says it is…decisive, assured. But it also manages to be tender, as if he needs you to know what he thinks of you. Needs you to see yourself the way he does—the same way you do for him. You don’t know where the confidence comes from, but maybe his tone and his words and his endlessly dark eyes have pulled it out of you. “I want to kiss you.”

Johnny’s lips part. “Are you certain?”

“I’m certain.”

He doesn’t hesitate anymore. Johnny moves closer to you and cups the back of your neck. Something awakens in his eyes in the seconds before he presses his mouth to yours. Though he wants to drink eagerly from your lips, his kiss is languid to avoid overwhelming you, and there is an audible smack of your lips whenever he pulls away and presses back in.

His mouth tastes like the coffee you just drank, but underneath that you swear you can taste a hint of the deep iron of blood, and you don’t know how to feel about that. You think about what his fangs would feel like scraping against your bottom lip, if he’d ever show them to you, and you moan quietly.

“Do you want this? With me?” Johnny confirms once more, pulling his gaze away from your lips and up to your eyes. His own eyes are yearning, but there is also an element of something like fear roiling in them. As if you’d turn him away, even though you’ve already shown your desire for him.

“Yes. Just you. No one else.”

Johnny’s body gravitates towards yours, and you think he’s going to push you down onto the sofa, but he scoops your legs up and carries you to his bedroom instead. Even his hands on your waist and legs makes you burn inside.

This is the first time you've seen his bedroom. The sheets are cloud-soft when he sets you down on them, and his window lets moonlight shine through the open blinds and scatter in thick beams across the floor. The only other light source is the bedside lamp, which emits a comfortable yellowish glow.

Johnny joins you on the bed and lets you climb into his lap—encourages you to do so. His cool hands pulling at your thighs as you settle them on either side of his waist makes tingles go through your body. You don’t hesitate to bring your lips back together, kissing each other deeply as one of his hands cradles the back of your head and the other settles on the small of your back.

You are certain vampires don’t have any powers of enchantment—that’s for magic wielders. And yet, you feel like you’ve been put in a trance by his kisses alone, and you wonder how you could’ve lived this long without knowing how his lips feel—how they fit perfectly against your own. As if everything up to now has purposely led you together.

You shift in Johnny’s embrace, and the movement causes his thigh to slide between your legs. Your heat is pressed against his thigh directly now, your silken panties catching against the denim of his pants. You murmur against his lips, not really saying anything of substance but wanting to vocalize your desire to him. Johnny’s hand tightens slightly on your back, and he experimentally lifts his leg higher and slides his thigh across you. That draws a gasp from you.

Noticing your positive response, Johnny continues rocking his thigh up against your pussy and kissing you until you’re breathless and your nipples are straining against the fabric of your dress. You pull away from him for a moment to try to ground yourself, feeling like your nerves are already being singed with fiery pleasure. Johnny’s face is noticeably more flushed than before, but he also looks much more composed than you feel at the moment.

“It takes longer to get hard,” he explains, as if reading the lingering question in your own expression. “Since...you know. Slow blood.” You rock your hips over his thigh more enthusiastically, motivated to get him hard underneath you, and you listen to his choppy breaths as you move. Your movements aren’t the smoothest, but he helps you guide your hips in a way that feels good for you both. You’ve never been with anyone before, so it doesn’t much matter to you how long or quick it takes for him to get there as long as he does.

Feeling the bulge grow underneath you excites you. Johnny groans against your lips as you kiss him and rub yourself over his member. The sound comes from somewhere deep inside him, as if it’s something he’s been containing for a long time. Your hand goes to his waist and tugs at his belt loops, then drifts closer to his belt buckle, pulling the leather and metal apart. Johnny pauses when you get off his lap and slide further down, grips your arms like he doesn’t want you to go. “Are…you sure? You don’t have to…if it’s too much—”

“I want to, Johnny.”

With your affirmative, he lets you kneel between his legs, pull his zipper apart, and trace your curious fingers over the bulge beneath the fabric of his underwear. Johnny loses his breath when you drag his underwear down, sliding it over the heated skin of his dick. His length is thick and long—even with him not being fully hard yet—and the tip glistens wet with precum. You weren’t sure what to expect, but this is much bigger than you think you might be able to handle. It makes your face warm and your stomach do another series of flips. Still, you want it and you want him, so you aren’t going to stop now.

You lean closer to press your lips against his shaft, leaving a few soft kisses behind. Johnny’s mouth parts when your mouth touches him.

Johnny gently holds the back of your head as you leave small licks over his shaft, tasting the salty skin on your tongue. He lets out a shaky breath as he watches you, his other hand brushing the side of your face.

“Just like that…” he murmurs, his voice heavy with lust as you circle your tongue around the thick, darkened tip, catching drops of his precum. He never takes his eyes off you, and this makes you feel a little exposed, but you continue with your actions. When you suck Johnny’s tip past your lips, his thighs tense under you, the thick muscle reacting beautifully to your actions on his body.

More precum drips from him, and you find the taste strangely pleasing. It makes you want more of him, of whatever he has to offer you. You wrap your hand around his shaft, though it doesn’t fit entirely around, and begin stroking him in a way you hope feels good.

Johnny’s hand slips over yours to guide your movements and show you how much pressure to apply, what pace to stroke him at. “Like this, baby…yes, that’s so good…” He showers you with praise as you get the hang of it, and he eventually lets your hand go so you can do it on your own, his own hand drifting back to the bed to grip the comforter.

It’s hard to quantify just how much seeing you like this turns him on, you kneeling between his legs with his cock between your lips while wearing your pretty, angelic outfit. His previous guilt about “corrupting” you descends to the very back of his mind as he savors every moment of your hands on his cock and your tongue circling his slit.

“I’m close,” he whispers. You quicken your movements on him, hollowing your cheeks tighter around his dick, and the moan he gives shoots straight between your legs.

Johnny carefully pulls your head back so you won’t choke before he comes, streams of his seed shooting into your mouth and running down his cock. Your hand still squeezes around him as he comes, and he slowly thrusts into the tight circle of your fist as you milk every drop from him. By the time he’s spent, your mouth and hand and part of the sheets are completely sticky with his release. You imagine it must have been a long time since he’s last had an orgasm.

The vampire watches intently as you swallow his cum, which causes his softening dick to throb in your hand. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, uncaring of the taste of himself in your mouth. His hair tickles your face as he kisses you feverishly, his nose bumping yours and his tongue prodding past your lips.

“Come here, angel.” Johnny pulls your body up onto the bed before you can get yourself up there first. The pet name makes warmth flood through your body, like drinking a hot chocolate at the café, except a thousand times more satisfying. Johnny’s hands are once again caressing your thighs, though this time they slide up underneath your dress and squeeze your hips. “Can I take these pretty panties off you?”

“Please.”

He hooks his fingers into the sides of them and pulls them down your legs and past your ankles. One of his hands goes underneath your dress to feel you soft and wet against his fingers, and you both moan at the same time. He slides his digits through your lips and over your clit, and him leaning forward to bring his mouth to your throat is enough to have you nearly overwhelmed. His fingers tease your entrance but don’t push inside until you nearly have to beg him.

“Please, Johnny…” You push your hips up to get his attention.

“Do you want my fingers?” he asks softly.

“Y-yes…” At your words, he eases the middle one into you, slowly enough to avoid discomfort. It feels strange to have someone else’s fingers inside you. His finger reaches further than yours can, touching you more deeply than you’ve felt before; it makes you gasp a bit too sharply.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, freezing and thinking he might’ve done something wrong.

“N-no, I’m fine. Keep going.”

Johnny’s mouth edges closer to the cleavage of your dress as he starts thrusting his finger into you, warming you up enough to take a second digit. Shakily, you bring your hands up to slide the straps down and make it easier for him, and his breath hitches when you pull the top of your dress down.

His mouth envelopes one of your nipples as he slides the second finger into you. His fingers encounter a part of you that makes you moan unexpectedly and grab onto him, a little surprised at the sudden spike of pleasure.

“You’re so pretty,” he purrs, his lips moving against the curve of your breast as he speaks. “And so responsive.”

As Johnny’s mouth and fingers work you closer to an orgasm, you marvel at how handsome he looks and how good he feels. He opens his eyes to see you staring at him, your pupils wide and mouth desperate, and he separates himself from your chest to kiss you deeply once again.

When you come around his fingers, Johnny whispers more compliments to you about how good you are and how he wants to watch you come undone because of him all the time. When he thinks you might be on the brink of overstimulation, he takes his fingers out of you, slipping them into his mouth to taste you.

“I’ll take this off now. Is that okay?” He whispers this into your ear with his hands on either side of your hips, caressing the fabric of your dress.

“I-it’s okay.”

Johnny slips your dress off, leaving you in nothing but your white sheer stockings. The sight of you sitting there on his bed, breathing heavily from your climax in your pretty thigh-highs, has his cock throbbing and rising to life once again.

“Lay back on the bed.” You do, and he settles himself between your legs like you did for him earlier. When you glance at him, his eyes are heavy and piercing. In this moment, you are acutely reminded of the fact that he is not a human, with how he looks like a beast of prey about to devour a meal. You are too nervous to look back at him for long, so you stare at the ceiling with your legs shaking from anticipation.

Johnny’s mouth on you is almost jarring in how wet it is, and you arch up into him in surprise and a rush of pleasure. He gently presses your legs back onto the bed and continues licking into you, parting your lower lips with his tongue and making your thighs tremble under his grasp.

If you had to describe it in words, you probably wouldn’t be able to. He kisses your pussy the same way he kisses you on the mouth, passionately and with more than enough tongue to satisfy. Johnny slips his fingers into you again as he curls his lips around your clit, and you moan unabashedly.

You’re quickly spiraling towards another orgasm, maybe quicker than you expected; but it makes sense with you still being so raw from the climax you just had. You gain enough courage to give another glance down at Johnny, and you see the way his other arm moves back and forth from beneath the bed, stroking himself while he eats you out. Something about that pushes you over the edge, and you cry out as you come on his tongue.

As Johnny gives you time to calm down again, he stands and finally pulls his clothes off, baring his body to you. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen a man so beautiful.

He goes to get a condom, and your words stumble from your lips before you can psych yourself out of saying them. “I-I’m on birth control.” Johnny looks back at you, his gaze filled with something you can’t quite read. He comes closer to you, holding himself above you on the bed so his face is hovering just above yours.

“You want to feel me raw?” he whispers.

You nod under his burning stare, feeling like you’re on a high you won’t be able to get off of. “I need you, Johnny.”

Johnny climbs fully onto the bed then and positions himself between your legs. His cock is thick and heavy between his thighs as it bumps against your inner thigh and leaves a smear of precum behind. After putting some lube in his hand, he slicks himself with the sticky substance, preparing himself to fuck you open. Something deep in your abdomen shudders, and your walls clench around nothing as you watch him stroke his shaft, the squelching, wet sound of his hand on his dick loud in the quiet room.

When he’s done, he grabs your thighs and pulls you a little closer to him. “If it hurts, tell me, okay?”

“O-okay.”

The slick tip prodding at your hole makes you want more, though you are a bit afraid of how this is going to feel. When it finally pushes inside of you, you gasp. Johnny watches your face for signs of pain as he slides forward further.

With two previous orgasms and the lube to help, his cock stretches you open with some discomfort, but not the kind of sharp pain you expected. Your nails leave little half-moon shapes on Johnny’s biceps as you squeeze his arms and try to keep your lower half relaxed, wanting to take all of him in—or as much as you can manage, anyway. You try to keep your breathing even as he pushes into you slowly.

Your eyebrows crease and your mouth tightens when he slides deeper still, and he pauses. “Johnny…” You worry your lip with your teeth, feeling like you’ve been stuffed to the brim—and he’s not even all the way in yet.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you beg, maintaining your grip on his arms. “Just…try moving.”

Johnny pulls out and slowly thrusts back in again, angling his dick to find that sensitive spot within you. Your mouth falls open silently when he does; this feels much, much different from his fingers. This is better.

Johnny repeats the movement, being mindful not to push himself too deep—only enough for you to handle. Beneath him, your body begins unwinding at the pleasure he’s delivering to you, and your eyes flutter closed as the ecstasy takes over your mind. One of his hands goes to tease your clit as he settles into a good rhythm, and you cry out at the extra dose of pleasure.

“You’re taking me so well,” Johnny mumbles as he sits back and watches himself slide into you, both of your lower halves slick from lube and your own wetness. “So warm and wet, angel…” You can tell he’s using a lot of his energy to keep his pace controlled and gentle enough for you to actually enjoy. The idea of being fucked harder makes you ache deep inside, but you figure it’s best to save that for when you’re more used to this. You already know it’ll be difficult to walk in the morning after this.

Johnny leans forward to kiss your lips, changing the angle again and circling his pelvis into you, and a choked gasp escapes your mouth at the slow wind of his hips.

Johnny lavishes your neck and throat with kisses, and though he is a vampire, you aren’t worried about him biting you. His fangs have not made an appearance since all this started, and you doubt if he would ever bring them out in front of you. You don’t know if you should ask about it, either, wondering if it’s too soon after only a month and a half of knowing each other—but maybe you could say the same about him being inside of you right now.

“Johnny…” you whisper into the air, your fingers scrabbling against his sweaty skin. The mounting tension in your abdomen is close to snapping, and you are almost frightened by how intense it already feels. He moves his face from your neck to be face-to-face with you again and plants a heavy, dizzying kiss on your lips.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your kiss-swollen lips. “I’ve got you, Y/N.”

Falling apart in Johnny’s arms feels like a form of Heaven that’s meant to be kept hidden, because you might become addicted to it otherwise. Your inner muscles squeeze around his dick as you come. His name flows from your lips in a high song. You can’t imagine any physical sensation that could be better than this, his hips rocking into you as you tighten and cream around him, and you know innately that Johnny has ruined all chances of you ever feeling this fulfilled with anyone but him.

The constant pulse of your walls against his dick is too much to withstand for long, and Johnny’s muscles pull taut with pleasure when he comes, groaning into your neck and spilling overflowing streams of thick cum into you. His hips falter in their former rhythm, and he resists the urge to push himself as deep as he can into you.

When he pulls out, you whine from the discomfort of it, but also because you wish he could stay in you forever. You know you’ll be sore when you wake up—and you can already feel the very beginnings of exhaustion and ache settling in your body—but you’d do it a hundred times over without changing a thing.

—

Johnny curls himself around you after he’s cleaned the both of you up, as if he means to shield you from the world. You’re quiet for a while as you listen to his slow-beating heart and feel his cool skin against yours.

You look up at his face, which is hard to see distinctly in the dark of the room. With the lamp turned out, the only source of light comes from the moon now, but you can decipher enough to make out the shape of his lips and his glittering eyes. You know he can see much better than you in this light, and he takes his time tracing his fingers across your face and cheek, studying your features.

“Would you ever…make me a vampire?”

His body tenses at your question. “Don’t say anything ridiculous. You still have a whole life ahead of you to live. What I have here...this is no existence.” He’s not mad, at least not at you, but his voice hardens at the very idea of it.

“But what if I wanted to live it with you?”

Johnny takes a breath, but he doesn’t say anything to that. He just continues stroking your face and looks at you for a long time, like he’s searching for something. You don’t know if you truly expected an answer from him, or how you would feel if he did give one.

Eventually, your eyes begin to fall low, and sleep overcomes you. The last thing you register is Johnny’s chilly hand touching your cheek. When he notices you’ve drifted off, he pulls the covers tighter around you both. Then he presses you to his chest as he tunes out the sound of cars rumbling on the streets below in exchange for the beating of your heart—still alive, so red with blood.

[septembersghost]

I LOVED Bates Motel and you're making me want to revisit it too! you're probably the only person I've followed who talks about it and understood it lol the fandom was a mess and filled with the dumbest ship wars. it's nice to see someone not boiling them down, there was such a split back then it was like you could only choose sides between Romero and Norman. it drove me crazy but the show was so good.

oh, i know, i've seen some of it when i've gone digging for old posts (the vitriol some people aimed at each other was unreal), ship wars are never ever my thing and a real detriment sometimes when it causes that level of distraction and lashing out at one another? and ultimately, it's missing the entire point.

it's like people arguing over "norma is an innocent victim destroyed by her controlling, abusive son" vs. "norman is an innocent victim destroyed by his controlling, abusive mother" when neither thing is remotely true and the narrative works to dismantle those ideas.

norma and norman being bound together and part of one another's souls, with all their love for one another and their completely irreparable dysfunction, is an inherent element to the story. it literally can't be told without it. she has to keep him too close out of protection and fear. he has to struggle with possessiveness and clinging to her. it's who they are, having lived with the traumatic difficulties they lived with, turning only to each other, only trusting each other against the world. it has to be cataclysmic. that's the story.

at the same time, alex serves an entirely new and different purpose. norma is consistently harmed and mistreated by men, coveted and scorned by men. he has this unusual place in her life where, for a long time, he's both partial foil and reluctant protector. the fact that blossoms into something real for both of them is a testament to their individual strengths and hearts, and the connection they form. a really interesting aspect of this to me is that alex is as flawed as they are. he kills multiple people in cold blood, more than once partially driven out of a desire to shield norma. he does this with complete clarity and with the misused authority of a badge. the men he murders are all unquestionably reprehensible, but does that condone his actions? this stands in direct contrast to norman, who commits several murders completely unaware that he's doing this, in a dissociative state and without full capacity (until the shower scene), and he kills innocent people. the narrative lets the friction between those two things stand with one another. it allows that to not have judgment, to remain ambiguous though no less horrifying, to show it to us and let us ask what exactly defines their darknesses, how those sins are weighed, how ultimately moralizing about it doesn't accomplish anything. i just find it fascinating that they are like mirrors to one another. both of them love norma tremendously. both of them also try to dictate her choices, and she doesn't capitulate to either (norman's final act notwithstanding, as it is entirely out of her hands).

the narrative itself calls out this limited thinking, in the dinner scene in 4x08. norma says: "norman, there's room in the human heart for more than one person. it doesn't diminish the love that's already there."

and she's right! it's a powerful statement. this is, in fact, one of my most steadfast philosophies. love is not a finite resource. one kind of love can never diminish or take away another vital love that's already there! she's found unexpected love with this man (and i adore a very broken, warped white knight complex, which he definitely has), after a lifetime of hurt and suffering, of course that's something she's going to gravitate towards, of course it's heady and astonishing to her. she loves him enough to feel obligated to tell him the truth! they're both such damaged people and they let one another in. it provides true growth and value and tender romance and comfort for her - and there is not a second of her love for romero that changes the steadfastness and fathomless depth of her love for norman.

the other piece of this discussion comes from norman: "you are such a hypocrite, mother. my whole life, you have kept me so close to you that i couldn't breathe without you. you never wanted me to have a girlfriend or even a good time. i-i gave up everything. everything for you, mother. and i did it gladly, because i understand the bond between us. the cord. i understand that it is huge and sacred and unique." the rest of what he says isn't reasonable, though it's perfectly foreshadowing ("this is our world. our world, mother! and that's what love is. real love. not this pale corpse you're trying to put in its place, and you never will be able to."), but he's not wrong to call her a hypocrite. she is. what she says to him about there being room in the human heart is right, and it's healthy, but he's also right in saying she kept him cut off from outside interactions and judged his relationships and taught him to prioritize their bond before everything. she didn't mean it to cause the amount of damage that it does, she had her reasons (most all of them understandable) for responding that way in their lives, but it wasn't fair to him. they're both correct in that argument, and also both woefully wrong.

the dynamic she has with norman and the dynamic she has with alex are totally different, and it kind of ruins the story to pit them against one another. the love she finds with alex is unexpected and precious, gives her a measure of happiness she never had, but it's meant to be ephemeral, by design. it is always doomed. we don't know how their marriage might have gone if circumstances were different, it can't ever be known. they have the glistening window of time they have, and it's beautiful and important, but it's a delicate thing. (it makes me think of that passage from wuthering heights: my love for linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, i'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. my love for heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.) they are those lights of winter, the wonder of hope in the darkness before the cold sets in. her love for her son is immutable, from the beginning. she would always choose him if she was forced to decide. it will always kill her. norma has so many elements of a Romantic gothic heroine, tumultuous and beloved, wrathful and warm, vibrantly alive yet dead before her time, and caught between two disparate loves that unveil multifaceted aspects of her, and that will forever crash upon the rocks in catastrophe. neither of them can ever fully possess her (and she actively rebels against them trying, which is what makes that scene at the christmas tree lot so great, after she finds out they've been arguing over her, "i mean, what am i? like a doll? and the menfolk are gonna hash out who gets the woman and the homestead?"), she is too much herself to belong to anyone, and yet the story has to take her anyway. she is their hearts, and they're destined to lose her.

it's also what makes norman's action devastating but not vindictive, because he's so lost and he believes they're only ever destined to be in pain, to be abandoned, that the world isn't built for them to survive in it. he's not lashing out at her in bloody violence or rage or even jealousy (though he experiences that), what he's trying to do, from his terribly fractured perspective, is end their suffering. is allow them to be together forever without hurting anymore. he's seen her abused and her heart broken again and again, and feels that's sadly inevitable no matter what else they do, where else they go. he's afraid he can't get better. let's remove ourselves from the equation. it's not a villainous act, it's done out of an overwhelming depth of love, just fatally misplaced. and alex's vengeful reaction to this is also understandable, because he has no idea what's gone on with norman and his illness, he cannot fathom taking her away being a tragic version of something akin to mercy, to him it's only cruel. they both react in ways norma, as a whole person with her own agency, would not want them to, but which is unpreventable. they're both left in agonizing grief. the sun is blotted out and neither of them exist long in its absence, in the void she leaves them.

to revile one or fight over such strikingly different kinds of love...is to entirely diminish the purpose of all three characters and the story being told. love is never only one thing, one definition. love can be surprising and healing, love can be abiding and consuming. love has no middle term, either it destroys or it saves. you truly cannot fully understand or even illuminate one love without another. in norma bates' story, it is all of these things, and it accomplishes both ends.

[genshinboys]

Imagine being at the beach with the boys…

Them seeing you in that cute bikini you’ve been hiding and check you out when you’re not looking.

Them offering to put on sunscreen on the places where you can’t reach. Their hands lingering a little too long on some places but ultimately pulling away because you just got to the beach/pool.

They make sure you’re comfy as lay back down to catch a tan and they eventually takes their shirt off—

Offghh—You stare at them from behind your shades and you can’t help but admire that sturdy, delicious physique. You avert your eyes but it’s too late they’ve already seen you staring; The tint in your sunglasses is too light and your eyes aren’t fast enough.

They stare down anyone who tries to look in your direction a few seconds too long. This happens when you’re on your stomach and that lovely swimming bottom only accentuates that lovely behind of yours. They totally fight the urge to throw the towel over your form.

If your top accidentally unlaced while you were stretching it makes his heart drop—In anticipation or dread? he really doesn’t know. They throw a towel over you or shield you with their body—You’re barely clothed and he’s standing dangerously close with only your arms separating your naked chests from touching. Good Luck trying not to combust!!!

You want to take a dip in the cool waters? He’ll come with you. He may feel playful enough to engage in some splashing. They may snap the strings holding your bikini top together. Seriously, he’s staring a little longer than usual when droplets of water travel between the valley of your breasts, past your navel and—Ahem.

Drapes an extra towel over you when you decide to change. He’s secretly ecstatic to find you’ve forgotten a top so he makes you wear his shirt. It’s a little me bit but the oversized fit is cute.

You walk back to your hotel/cabin hand-in-hand. He carries your bag on one shoulder as you tread the sandy beach. It’s only when you tug down the neckline of his shirt far enough that he stops in his tracks. Give him a cheeky wink and grin. Great, now he knows you aren’t sporting any underwear beneath.

Thank God. I didn’t get a heatstroke while thinking about this while at the beach. Now the time! Let’s get some D—I mean, Vitamin D.

MEANWHILE I AM POLAND AND IM STILL WEARING A FUCKING WINTER JACKET

😭😭😭😭

I can't explain what you did to me with this snippet. You just combined everything I need now? Warm weather, holiday, relaxation and... A dick 👀👀👀

Ahh I want Zhongli and Childe to take me to the beach and spoil me rotten 🏖️😭🌴

Thank you for this!

All the people please go and follow my lovely reader!!! She is so cool and she deserves all the love for giving us such nice brainrots 💖💖

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E2; Chapter Two, The Mall Rats - [Pt. 4 - FINAL]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

Baffled with Mike's sudden behavior, El seeks out Y/n and Max for advice while Will struggles to get through to Mike and Lucas. Billy takes his co-worker on a field trip, and Steve and Dustin enlist a helpful ally in their top-secret mission.

⚠️: s3 mike wheeler, y/n and mike angst. more google translate. the reader eating ice cream [if you're lactose intolerant, it's dairy-free xp], mama steve loving and worrying about his children, his little henderson ducklings especially 🥰 *heavy sigh* oh yeah, kidnapping and more possible allegory to r*pe :( as usual, a marker will be placed but it plays till the end of the chapter so you only need one

🔑: y/f/o = your favorite [ice cream] order

📝: idk if the tip seems small or not but either way keep in mind this was the eighties so inflation hadn't gotten quite as bad yet. As far as the Mike stuff, I know he wasn't being possessive, he was just worried she would get caught and taken away or worse but also he handled it badly, and then everything else in this chapter just kinda rode that angsty bad decision train outta here lmao.

|| 𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

"если действовать осторожно... неделя длинная. серебряный--"

Robin pauses her pacing momentarily to point at the tape Dustin has in his hands.

"Wait, that last part, just one more time,"

The sounds of the wires hissing as they rewind fill Robin's thoughtful silence.

"если действовать осторожно... неделя--"

"Okay, that word!" She says, and Dustin quickly presses pause. "Um... it's pronounced... 'dly-nna-ya.'"

"'Dly-nna-ya'" Dustin repeats, nodding excitedly.

"Which is spelled—"

"-D... D, D, D..." Dustin mutters, springing up from his seat, scurrying towards the whiteboard as Robin grabs the book. "The— The chair! The chair-looking thingy!" He says, pointing to the Russian 'д'.

"Yeah, okay," Robin mutters excitedly, hurriedly scribbling into their notes.

The glass partition swings open with a loud clang alerting Steve at the counter.

"We've got our first sentence,"

"Oh, seriously?" He asks, turning around with two orders in his hands.

"Yeah," Robin nods. She drops her voice into a lower pitch and imitates a Russian accent. "The veek is longh,"

Steve's face falls. "Well, that's thrilling,"

"I know, but," she shrugs. "Progress."

With that, she retreats into the window and slides the door close leaving Steve to return to his ice cream slinging duties.

"Okay, here you go. You got uh, a vanilla with sprinkles and extra whipped cream and one y/f/o,"

Steve hands off the rest of the orders to El and Y/n who gladly take them. Max stood next to them, digging into the order she had already been handed. She only comes up to say 'thanks' in near sync with her friends.

"Wait a second," he says, a thoughtful look falling over his face as he frowns at El. "Are even allowed to be here?"

The girls freeze, once again pausing to share a knowing look with growing ice cream-mustached smiles and giggle. In a hurry, the three of them scurry for the door. Y/n nearly makes it before coming to a skidding halt that leaves her bouncing on one foot as she catches her balance. She runs back to the counter with a mischievous smile and a dollar in hand.

Steve watches confused as she tucks the dollar away in the tip jar, and sends him what he finds to be a childish wink.

"Keep this quiet?" She asks, and he almost laughs. But he could tell she was all too serious. "Also this is your tip! Thanks, Steve,"

Steve watches utterly baffled as she turns on her heel and makes a break for the girls waiting just outside and around the corner.

"Okay?" He says, beginning to trail off. "Wasn't gonna tell anyone anyway?"

She's nearly out the door when he realizes what her being here means. He hopes it's not too late to call after her.

"Hey, wait a sec!"

Thankfully, she hears him and turns back around. He motions her forward and while confused, she ultimately complies.

"Hey, uh, does Dustin know you're here?"

Y/n tilts her head as she thinks about it then shrugs.

"I'm not sure, why?" She asks, taking a lick of her ice cream.

Steve hooks a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the window but he pauses when he realizes it's better she doesn't know what he's doing here. He quickly plays it off and plants both hands on the counter to lean against it.

"I don't, uh— It's just that he came by earlier and he seemed pretty down about last night,"

Y/n's shoulders slumped immediately, her eyes widening a little.

"He did?" She winced, nibbling nervously on her lip as she looked guiltily at her ice cream. And in doing so, any budding feeling of anger and protectiveness vanishes in Steve. "It's just, he wasn't there when I left and I assumed he went with the guys to Mike's."

With the same, guilty look in her eyes, Y/n glanced over her shoulder at her waiting friends and Steve instantly regretted bringing it up. He sighs, shaking his head.

"Look, it's—"

"If he comes back, will you tell him I'm sorry?" She laughed a little, very sheepishly. "That we can guilt Mom off the TV again so we can a have a monster movie night like we used to, or something?"

In that moment Steve decides not to be honest with her and tell her he's probably still too upset for that, he just doesn't have to heart to. Nor does Steve have the guts to say it wouldn't matter anyway, that he's right in the back room decoding a top-secret Russian communication. So instead, he forces his lips into a firm line that was supposed to be a smile and nods.

"Sure thing, kid,"

She perks a little. "Thanks, Steve. I'll see ya later,"

"Alright, take care," he straightens from the counter, watching as she retreats back out of the shop. He sighs again, almost hating how soft and protective he's become, and calls after her, nodding discretely in El's direction. It all comes out in the form of annoyance, though, naturally. "And don't be stupid, alright?"

Y/n smiles in response and returns to her friends. Together, the three of them disappear into the crowd.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

One of many sets of double doors swing open as Y/n, El, and Max step back out into the sunlight.

Despite their every desires to keep their special day at the mall going, the three girls knew the bus back into town was leaving shortly. Y/n takes another quick and frantic lick of her fastly melting ice cream as Max turns to El and gestures to her strawberry ice cream cone.

"Wanna trade?"

El responds with a giggle and eagerly trades off her vanilla cone for strawberry.

"No... fair," Y/n grumbles, nearly attacking her ice cream as it turns to a puddle before her eyes. She spares only a single second glare enviously at their still freshly frozen cones while she has spent between licks.

"You're not," lick. "making your," lick. "ice cr━ shit!" two licks. "melt."

The girls giggle again, wholeheartedly amused by the sight before them.

"Shut up," another lick.

"That's ridiculous," came a nearby, all too familiar whine. "Why can't I just—"

Max's face falls into a glower, pulling Y/n and El into a stop next to her. "Oh, you gotta be shitting me."

Just across the concrete entrance, fumbling to separate their bikes from the bike stands were Mike, Lucas, and Will.

Forgetting her melting ice cream momentarily, Y/n takes a moment to sigh at the ground when she realizes whatever is about to pass, will be far from good.

"—haven't got that much," Lucas says.

"Okay, what if we split it?"

"Split it with what? Does that even make sense?"

Two of the three boys continue to bicker, completely unaware of the three angry figures making their way towards them. More specifically, two angry figures and one slightly disgusted one who tosses out her nearly finished ice cream cone and the napkin she used to wipe her hands off with in the trash cans they all pass.

"Isn't this a nice surprise?" Max asks, plastering on a smirk as the three boys and their bikes come to a halt before them.

Mike's face pales when he realizes Max had caught him, and even more so when he realizes El is with her. His bike crashes to the ground, forgotten as he gapes at her.

"What are you doing here?"

"Shopping." She answers matter-of-factly, her icy stare never once wavering.

"This is her new style," Max says, eyeing him carefully. "What do you think?"

"What's wrong with you?" He spits, gesturing to El. "You know she's not allowed to be here."

"What is she, your little pet?" Max fires back.

"Yeah. Am I your pet?" El asks.

"What? No!"

"Mike, she needed this," Y/n says. "Besides, you lied to her! What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here either."

Mike finally turns his wild gaze to Y/n, utterly baffled at the stance she was taking.

"Are you kidding me?" He gawks, ignoring her eye roll. "You of all people should know about keeping her a secret,"

Y/n hotly takes a threatening step forward. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning you would know, you're good at hiding her,"

Everyone inched closer, apart from El who was seething at Mike. Y/n, on the other hand, scoffs loudly, throwing her arms up in frustration.

"You said you were over that!"

"Yeah, well, guess I'm not,"

She looked around quickly, her voice falling into a whispered hiss. "What, so I should be locked up all day, too?"

"Maybe!" Mike said, instantly feeling guilty.

"Mike!" Will snaps, stepping forward another few inches. And so did El, her shoulder subconsciously shielding Y/n. Shielding her from, Mike, or Mike from her, she wasn't sure.

But she knew she was livid. And hurt.

Mike sighs, putting his face into his hands and running them tiredly over his face.

"I'm sorry, that was over the line," he sighs, sounding embarrassed.

"-You're damn right it was," Y/n snapped.

"But that doesn't change the fact that she really can't be here," he corrects himself, looking El in the eye carefully. "You can't be here. It's not safe,"

"I can take care of myself," El says.

"I mean," Mike sighs again, frustrated as he trips over his own words. "you and a lot of other people could be in danger if anybody starts asking questions. I just care about you, alright? And I don't want anything to happen to you, not again,"

El shakes her head, all visible anger melting away leaving only sadness in its wake.

"Then why do you treat me like garbage?"

"What?"

"You said Nana was sick,"

The panic returns to his eyes, and he and Lucas desperately try to cover their tracks.

From over their shoulder, Y/n meets eyes with an exasperated Will, and the couple shares a look and tired shake of the head.

"She is. She is sick!"

"Yeah, sick— she's sick," Lucas nods. "She's super sick. And that's why we're here, actually."

Y/n silently meets Will's eye again and makes out the subtle firm line he presses his lips into and the small shake of his head 'no'.

Oblivious to Will, the two continue.

"Yeah, w-we're shopping! Not for us, but for her, for Nana,"

"For Nana."

"Also," Mike sighs, giving El an earnest look. "we're here to get a gift for you. It's just, we couldn't find anything that suited you and I only have, like, $3.50, so it's hard."

"-super hard." Lucas sighs, giving an honest, apologetic look to all three of them. "It's— It's expensive,"

"Speaking of," came Will's, softened voice. "Here ya go. Sorry it's not real,"

He takes a step forward and sheepishly offers the small goodie bag to Y/n. Everyone watches confused and almost a little intrigued as Y/n takes it curiously. Quickly, she dives her gaze and hand into the baggie and smiles as she pulls out the small y/f/f candy ring.

"Oh, a ring pop?" She flashes Will a beaming smile as she rips open the package and slips it on her finger. "Thanks, Will,"

He nods happily, completely relieved she was this happy to get one.

Y/n's smile drops instantly when she remembers what they're interrupting and she quiets, clearing her throat a little.

"Sorry," she mumbled, sending an especially sorry look to El as her hand graces her shoulders in a gentle apology.

El sends her a weak smile, eyes falling back down. Sadly, she looks to her ice cream and then deeply into Mike's eyes as the day's events all come crashing down on her. And it's with great disappointment she realizes what has hurt her, and what hasn't.

She shakes her head softly, the disappointment evident on her face now more than ever.

"You lie," she says finally, all the more saddened to see Mike squirm under her gaze, only confirming her words. El shakes her head again. "Why do you lie?"

She waits and waits and when Mike can't give an answer, the screech of the bus's tires in the distance tells her a decision must be made. And it's with a seething glare, El makes up her mind.

Everyone watches carefully in silence as she takes three tantalizing steps until she's staring up at Mike. He's frozen, as is everyone else as he fears her next words. And he has every reason to.

"I dump your ass."

Y/n's eyes find Will's once again, this time, regret clouding them when she realizes. Tonight was meant to be spent at his house, dinner with him, Jonathan, and Joyce at least but it seems the day had different plans in mind. She stood rooted to the spot, her lips parted in shock as she processed what had just happened.

She detected sadness in Will's eyes, as she was used she had in her own but reality came crashing down, breaking her from her spell.

"I'm sorry," she sputters, more so to Will than Mike and Lucas. "I didn't think she would," she breathes.

"What?" Mike's widened eyes land on her, flickering between her and El's retreating figure. "Did you tell her to do this?"

"Of course not!" She said, eyes darting between him and Lucas sympathetically. "But it's still their decision. I'm sorry. I am,"

"Y/n! You coming?"

Y/n looked over her shoulder to find El and Max moving up the line, nearly ready to board. From there, El looked between Y/n and Mike, as if she were worried Mike would take it out on Y/n more. Y/n gave her friend a weak, reassuring smile and turned back to the guys.

Will specifically.

"I'm sorry," she said to Will, beginning to back away even though she didn't really want to leave him. "But I think I need to be with them right now. Is it okay if we take a rain check?"

Will smiled, nodding and she felt a fresh wave of guilt. She could have sworn she saw a hint of sadness but if it was ever there, he had buried it for her sake.

In a spur of the moment, she ran forward and planted a kiss on his lips before pulling back. She shot Lucas and Mike a lingering look, not really knowing what to feel for them in the moment.

And then she took off.

The three friends stood baffled, reeling from how much everything had changed so quickly. Their legs kicked into gear and followed the crowds to the bus but the doors had just swung closed. From where they stood at the curb, they could make out three familiar lingering silhouettes from behind the tinted windows, all piling in together.

Max had nabbed the window seat, El seating herself next to her. It was only a matter of moments before Y/n had joined them, plopping herself in the seat directly behind them. She peeked out over the low backs of their seats, wedged right in between them with a breathless look.

For just that moment, the three best friends sat there in stunned silence before breaking into a breathless laugh.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The sun had set behind even the lowest of valleys, bathing the town in a pale glow and unforgiving chill that couldn't be quenched even on the hottest days of summer. Starcourt mall was alive in every way but one; the hum of the neon lights reached every corner, but the mall had long since closed leaving it a beautiful, vibrant wasteland.

The only remaining occupants were tucked away in the backroom of Scoops Ahoy, standing before a whiteboard facing the daring truth they had worked so hard to uncover. In perfect sync, they read the words aloud with confusion muddling their brains and exhaustion filling their systems.

"The week is long, the silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west."

Steve, Robin, and Dustin stand before the translation willing something to make sense. But all they were left with when they turned in for the night, closing the grated metal gate that went with closing up shop was utter bafflement.

"I mean, it just..." Steve sighs into the ground, the keys in his hand turning in the lock. "It just can't be right."

"It's right," Robin assures. When Steve returns to his feet the three of them begin their lazy journey to the exit.

"Honestly, I think this is great news," Dustin shrugs.

"How is this great news?" Steve chuckles bitterly. I mean, so much for being American heroes. It's total nonsense."

"It's not nonsense. It's too specific. It has to be a code."

Steve's face screws up into a puzzled pout. "What do you mean, a code?"

"Like a super-secret spy code,"

"That's a total stretch,"

"I don't know, is it?" Robin scoffs.

"You're buying into this?"

"Listen, just for kicks, let's entertain the possibility that it is a secret Russian transmission. What'd you think they were gonna say, 'Fire the warhead at noon'?"

"Exactly," Dustin gestures, his gaze returning up to Steve to see the gears spinning in his head.

"And my translation is correct," Robin assures. "I know that for sure, so... 'The silver cat feeds'. Why would anyone talk like that unless they're trying to mask the true meaning of their message?"

"Exactly!"

"And why would anyone mask the true meaning of their message unless the true meaning of their message was somehow sensitive?"

By now, Dustin was rubbing his triumphant smirk in Steve's face. "Exactly."

"So I guess that confirms your suspicion," Robin says, looking to Dustin who remains triumphant.

"Evil Russians,"

Robin wears a tired smile as she looks back at Steve with a dry chuckle. "I can't believe I'm about to agree with this strange child, but, yeah, totally evil Russians."

"So how do we crack it?" Dustin asks, flashing his charming toothless grin her way.

"Well, I guess we translate the rest and hopefully a pattern emerges."

"A pattern. Right, like maybe 'silver cat' is a meeting place?"

"Or a person."

"Or a weapon,"

"It's probably gonna take a super genius to track it, but..." Robin trails off when she notices she is one dingus short. "Where's Steve?"

The new duo spin on their heels where they spot their missing friend a few yards down. He had a frown screwed onto his face as he stood in front of one of the many kiddie rides, his hands diving into his pockets no doubt searching for coins. Sure enough, the clinking of coins rattling together as he purs them out in his palm confirms their suspicions.

"Hey, Steve," Robin calls, her empty hand swinging limply out in a puzzled gesture. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, it's," Steve doesn't bother answering her question and the only time he picks his eyes up off his hands is to check the mechanical horse for its cost. "a quarter. I need--" he mumbles to himself, looking hopefully to his friends. "Do you have a quarter?"

Despite her confusion, Robin lets out a chuckle, and she and Dustin quickly shuffle over to Steve's side. "Sure you're tall enough for that ride?"

"Quarter!" He yells, jumping forward to catch the coin Robin flipped out for him.

He catches it with a clumsy spin and drops his knees to insert it into the ride. They watch was Steve remains huddled on the ground, a funny look on his face as the ride begins. Robin can't resist poking fun, and does with little strain on her voice to be heard over the music.

"You need help getting up, little Stevie?"

"Shh-shh! Shh!" Steve snaps, gesturing to the galloping horse. More specifically the music it plays. "Would you two just shut up and listen?"

Robin and Dustin are almost shocked at his seriousness, but the smile remains on Dustin's face from Robin's comment. That is until it eventually slips off his face when he realizes why the familiar tune being played before them was so familiar.

"Holy shit," he breathes, locking eyes with a grave-looking Steve. Dustin looks to Robin, helping her to connect the dots as he begins shedding his backpack from his shoulders. "The music,"

He had heard it all day. They all had while translating the tape. The very tune Steve had been complaining so much about.

"The music!" Dustin cries again, dropping to his knees as he desperately fishes his bag for the tape.

How had he not recognized it? Y/n and him used to ride the Indiana Flyer at the fair as soon as they were old enough. And then the caricell, over and over every year until they were old enough to ride the bigger rides. And even then, the tune carried out across the Fun Fair where it could be heard from as far as the top of the Ferris wheel. The two of them would drag their mother every year. It was the sound of his childhood.

Dustin presses play on the tape, and as he gazes up at Robin, silently pleading for the dots to connect the sound of the song on the tape is louder than Russian for the first time all day.

But Robin only shrugs between them.

"I don't understand,"

"It's the exact same song on the recording,"

"Maybe they have horses like this in Russia?"

"The 'Indiana Flyer'? I don't..." Steve shakes his head. The look on his face made clear he wished he was wrong. He looked... unsettled. "I don't think so. This code, it... it didn’t come from Russia."

And they that unease. They could feel it settling into their chests, making their hearts beat a little faster and their stomach twisting up into knots at what he said next.

"It came from here."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The roads are empty, even still. Crickets sing into the night and the steady breeze taking itself through Hawkins back roads are momentarily swept up with the leaves when a lone Chevrolet Camaro pulls into Brimborne. The lot remained abandoned, seemingly, other than the figure stepping out of the car, with sweat on his brow.

The summer sun had set hours ago, taking the searing heat with it. But the humidity that clung to the air felt to be Billy like he was sitting far too close to an open fire. But still, he lumbers to the trunk where the reason for his being here lies.

The latch opens with a loud clunk, and the trunk lid opens slowly. His eyes find the contents immediately, as does the murky light from the trunk bulb onto his face.

She was still unconscious.

A foreign voice in his brain — the one who had brought them both here, the one to have put here — spoke up again without permission. And yet, it didn't exactly speak in words, but feelings. And all that shot to the surface was one thing — one word.

Good.

It was Billy who couldn't stop thinking about it. What he had done. The small part of him that fought.

[■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■]

- 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

Among the pain, Billy feels tears building up inside him when he realizes what that tug in his gut is ordering him to do. He can also feel it happening again. He can feel himself slipping away, just as he had when he fled for the showers. But this time he fought it.

God, he fought it so hard.

But it wasn't enough.

His nails dug into the flesh of his knees that he had been clutching so tightly to his chest. That and the tears racing down his cheeks now blending with the water were the last things to happen that were truly Billy's doing.

"Billy, are you okay—?"

The last thing Billy sees before he loses control is his hand lunging for Heather's throat. His iron grip locks her in a chokehold and her hands fly to his. Desperately she claws at his hands, her nails raking into his skin but he never flinches. She feels her feet leave the ground, her toes grazing the tile floor as he picks her up and pins her to the stall doors.

Her widened, fearful eyes look deep into his but all she finds as he rips the curtain closed is the lack of human emotion within him. His eyes were hollow, the whites of his eyes running black and they are the last thing she sees before unconsciousness overtakes her.

- 𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

She's limp in his arms as he carries her throughout the darkness of Brimborne whose only source of light is moonlight spilling through the dirtied glass window panes hanging high above. He walks with all the time in the world, his eyes dead set on the last place Billy ever wanted to see again. The only sound to be heard within miles was the scuffle of his rubber soles scraping against the dirt and leaves sprinkled across the concrete.

The scratchy thumps of his boots turn to metal echoes as he disappears down the darkened stairwell. From there, inky blackness like the sludge coursing through his veins is all that can be seen. Little moonlight has survived the journey through the grated floor, but there was enough to illuminate Heather's body that he places onto the cement floor.

Soft, discomforted groans break through the duct tape over her mouth as she comes to. She rolls onto her back, confused as to why she feels pain in her head and cement digging into her spine.

But everything she needs to know becomes all too clear almost instantly when she sees Billy's hollowed eyes staring down at her from where he's perched above her. Panic sets in, and as she realizes all too late why she is unable to move her hands or feet. That doesn't stop Heather from trying as she fights against the restraints, eager to use her dried-out voice.

Her breath is knocked loose when Billy throws her back into the ground after she managed to sit up even an inch.

He keeps a small majority of his weight on her shoulders as he leans in close, his breath on her ear.

"Don't be afraid. It'll be over soon."

Tears tickle her temple when they escape her eyes. She prays for many things, but she'll even settle for the small possibility the sweat collecting on her skin is enough to weaken the tape on her mouth. Then maybe, just maybe she can scream for help.

"Just stay very still."

This specific hope fizzles away, drowning in her own confusion when, without moving his head, he looks to her and slowly peels the tape off of her lips.

She's too shocked to do anything. Too afraid. But she wasn't prepared to let that stop her. Heather was going to do something, she had to. She would.

But that all died when Billy suddenly stood up, looking almost disinterested in her as an eery, unnatural sound reverberates throughout the darkness before her. Slowly, her head turns to face the dark abyss when she catches movement out of the corner of her eye.

His face is as hard as stone though his eyes hold a flicker of struggle and pain when it all unfolds. Heather may be the only one in binding, but she is not the only one who is trapped. There is nothing at all Billy can do but watch as the large and bloodied mass of flesh stomps forward from the shadows, ready to feast.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

68 Ways To Donate in Support Of Asian Communities - [link]

FSFAPV Justice: "community family coalition that offers help and justice to families in the Twin Cities and nationwide that have lost loved ones to police violence" - [link]

30 Organizations That Are Boosting African American Educational Achievement - [link]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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[hanii-rose]

Ello Ello~! Can I get a garou with a s/o that was kidnapped in the past and has trama now, but acts so chill that you wouldn’t even notice? It’s ok if you don’t want to lol ( fluff please tho- )

Truth

Garou × |Fem|Reader

You sat on the grassy ground of your backyard, knees bent to one side, looking over your garden. The large sun hat you wore casted a calming shadow onto your eyes, allowing you to pick at your tomatoes with ease without the harsh sunlight glaring into your retinas.

You hummed a faint tune, relaxed and uncaring about the world around you. Not that it had anything interesting going on anyway. Your ruffled, beige skirt gracefully fell onto the the ground over your calves, sprawling onto the grass around you.

You eagerly plucked a ripe, juicy tomato from one of the stems it hung from, placing it into the woven straw basket where many of your other freshly picked vegetables remained.

A gentle breeze brushed past, sweeping your hair off of your shoulders. You gently held onto your summer hat and continued picking the ripest vegetables your garden had to offer, unknowing of a certain someone watching your silent movements.

Out of the blue, a sudden shade had been cast on top of your seated form and for a minute, you believed it was a big raincloud blocking the sun due to the large size of it. When you tilted your head up to inspect the sky, you were met with the face of a boy, a scowl on his features, likely due to the summer heat.

He stood above you, shielding the sun's rays, silently observing your expression from calm to surprised to calm once again.

"The hell are ya' doin'?"

"I'm just gardening. What about you, stranger?"

The unfamiliar male picked at the tight collar of his sweater, trying to enable air to pass into it. He raised a brow, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple to his cheek. Blinking at him in confusion, you shrugged, replacing your blank look with a gentle, happy expression.

It was his turn to shrug, rubbing the back of his neck whilst peering over your newly finished picket fence.

"Just out for a walk, huh?"

He gave a single nod, eyes darting from yours to look to the side.

"Say, isn't it a bit too warm to be wearing such a heavy sweater?"

The scowl from his face dropped, and he turned back to you with a look of annoyance on his face.

"What's it to ya'?"

You turned back to your plush tomatoes, chuckling at his childish words.

"At least I ain't half naked like you!"

Half naked, huh? You wouldn't necessarily call wearing an off shoulder top being 'half-naked' but to a boy, things like that are probably way different...

"That's what a child would say..."

You muttered under your breath but it must've been loud enough for him to hear it. He stopped scratching his neck, eyebrows knitted in utter irritation.

"Haaahhh?"

Plucking a shiny, ripe tomato from it's stem, you tossed it at the man, to which he caught expertly with one hand.

You giggled, your expression sly.

"Here, you can have this. My tomatoes taste really good, try one..."

You looked up at him from below, allowing him to get a better look at your face that had been partially hidden due to your large straw hat.

Your pretty, glossed lips took the shape of an attractive grin, sun kissed cheeks gleaming as the sunshine reflected off of them. Beautiful hair swaying as another faint breeze blew over, somewhat lifting the ends of your loose skirt and ruffling your cotton top.

The scene appeared vivid and bright and the boy in front of you seemed to be taken aback by your appearance, his expression no longer that of annoyed or irked.

"Tomatoes ain't that good..."

He stated, stoic and calculative.

You stretched out your palm to him, offering to take the tomato back.

"You can give it back if you don't want it."

You peeked over at him with one eye closed, a smirk itching to take over your lips.

"I never said I ain't gonna eat it!"

Mhmmm, that's what you thought.

"Well stranger, now that I've given you a peace offering, how about you give me a name?"

He looked up at the sun, contemplating your request, ultimately deciding to tell you. It was the decent thing to do anyways...

"Name's Garou."

You nodded, beginning to fill your basket once again.

"I see, I see..."

He waited, leaning on your tall wooden fence, arms crossed, tapping his foot.

You said nothing.

"Well, aren't ya' gonna tell me yers'?!"

Snorting, you grabbed the tin watering can that sat beside you, not bothering to give him a glance.

"Whatever, I'm leavin'!"

He started to walk, straightening himself out and biting into the red, delectable tomato.

"Y/N."

He halted mid-step, craning his head and looking over his shoulder.

"My name is Y/N."

Without a word, he walked off, disappearing over the horizon. What a strange fellow...

🍅🍅🍅 >>

"Yo..."

You craned your neck, tearing your eyes off of the worded pages of the neighborhood newspaper. Your knee length, white dress slowly swayed as you came to a halt on your large, metal garden swing.

"Oh stranger, you again! Back for another tomato?"

Garou folded his arms, leaning on the thick steady metal legs of the swing set.

"Are ya' gonna give me another tomato?"

You shrugged, closing the newspaper and placing it down next to you.

"Sure, if you want. They're really good, right?"

"I've tasted better..."

Garou picked at his nails with a bored look, uninterested in small talk.

"Ok, either way, I'll get you one. How about you sit down here while you wait?"

You patted the empty spot next to you on the large swing but he passed, walking away.

"Now, hold on mister!"

"Oh, c'mon! Sit down while I bring you some vegetables and then we'll talk!"

Before he could walk too far, you latched onto his arm, taut biceps tightening at the feeling of your smaller, smooth limbs around his. Hugging it, you pressed it close to your chest, somewhat leaning into him, squishing up against him. Garou's eyes had widened in surprise at your actions and he tried wiggling out of your grasp but you were unrelenting.

What? Wait...what? Did you just invite him for some vegetable tea-time? Him? The Hero Hunter? Wait, did you just invite him to something? How long had it been since a pretty girl wiggled around his arm for a chance to talk to him?

"Fine."

Oh, right never... Well, since your being so persistent, why the fuck not?

You happily dragged him back to your swing, pushing his shoulders down until he sat comfortably on the seat, legs spread and arms resting on headrest.

"I'll be right back!"

Scurrying off, you carefully began plucking the ripest and juiciest tomatoes your garden could offer and bringing them back to Garou.

"Here, these are perfect for eating."

With that, you handed him a straw basket containing three tomatoes and sat down next to him, placing your fingers on your lap.

"So, how are you today?"

You began, trying to elicit small talk from him.

"...Uh, good?"

"Why are you so confused about it?"

You giggled, asking him about his answer.

"W-whatever! Why do ya' have so many tomatoes?"

You tilted your head to the side, thinking about his question.

"Hm? Oh, well I think they taste good..."

Garou gave you a look, as if saying 'that's it?'

"I also sell them to the local stores. I'm a dropout so I have to earn a living somehow, ya' know?"

"But I don't think he could defeat Goku "

Ah, that makes much more sense. Garou gave subtle nods as you rambled on about your interests, favourite books and the nice grocery man down the street who pays extra for your vegetables. But seriously, what's with you? You grab a random guy off of the street and just start talking to him? Who are you?

"Oh, Y/N! I was looking all over for you in your house dearie, I hope you don't mind, I took a look around..."

Huh, who's this?

A middle aged woman, stood in front of the two of you holding a little ceramic pot in her chubby hands, a mouthwatering aroma erupting from inside of it. Her eyes glanced at Garou but took a sharp turn to look back at you, curly brown bob bouncing as she ecstatically spoke.

"I brought you some cabbage stew. I know how much you like my cooking!"

"Oh, Ms. Keiko, you really didn't have to..."

Garou watched as she handed you the pot, chatting away without a care in the world.

"Oh it's no problem, sweetie!"

"No, no, I can't have you cooking for me everyday. I can do it myself, really..."

You exasperated, somewhat irked because of her interruption.

"What do you mean? Oh, you young people think you can do everything yourselves! Honestly, the government should really do something about people your age, especially people like you."

You rubbed your arm awkwardly, brows knitted and lips pulled into an uncomfortable smile.

"Well, I'd best be heading back now! You know how it is, busy busy!"

"I'll just go put this inside, don't go anywhere ok?"

You ushered her off, nodding at whatever she said until she waddled into her own house across the fence. You breathed out a sigh of relief, turning back to Garou to see him munching on a tomato, uninterested.

The sun had set halfway and Garou had heard enough of your meaningless chatter, heaving a big sigh, he stood up abruptly, popping some bones.

You quickly rushed into your home, setting the pot of stew onto your counter to let it cool off. Rushing back outside, you sat down beside Garou once again, and the two of you began to swing, continuing your pointless conversation.

"Hm? Leaving?"

He nodded, holding his last tomato in his dominant hand, and tilting his head towards your fence door, uttering a bored 'see ya' and leaving. You watched him exit, turning to the sidewalk, giving you one last glance and taking off.

---

The sun moved quickly and the once bright sky had turned dim, little drops of milk decorated the rare clear sky. The streetlights shined brightly, yellow glow illuminating everything within its vicinity. A gentle breeze had blown past and you slumped back in your seat, the squeaking of the swing coming to a halt. Reluctantly, you stretched and pushed yourself off, standing up and giving one last look at your backyard, walking inside your quaint home and shutting the door.

You tossed and turned on your bed, sweating profusely. Twisting your beautiful face into a pained expression, eyes shut tight in terror of your own thoughts. The nightmares of your past haunting you while you slumbered, unable to run, confined within your mind.

The rope burns.

The bruises.

The blood.

The tubes.

The thunder.

You weren't going to get much sleep tonight...

It was all so vivid and dark, and the feeling of suffocation creeped down along your throat, setting itself within your chest, as you heaved and shook. You awoke suddenly, nausea and fright overtaking your form as you trembled, beads of sweat rolling down your sides as you hugged yourself, trembling and disoriented.

🍅🍅🍅>>

Since the last visit from Garou, vegetable tea-time had become a common occurrence.

Garou trudged through the woods behind your house, nearing it slowly, hands pocketed, back arched.

The days only got hotter and Garou found himself sweltering under the sun's powerful rays, anticipating a fresh, juicy tomato from your garden. He would never admit it, but this month had been a somewhat therapeutic time for him. Every time he sent a hero to the hospital, he gave you a visit, sometimes prompt, sometimes prolonged.

All of the blood and injuries had been washed away and packed before that, he wanted to avoid any questions regarding his whereabouts. He feared if you saw his true colours, you'd stop being so sincere with him. A week ago you had proudly declared that you were friends now in your usual rambles and Garou wasn't willing to take any chances ruining it.

Free tomatoes with a cute girl? Yeah, no way in hell he's lettin' you find out who he is.

As he stepped closer and closer to your home, nearing the fence, he spotted you in your usual spot near your rich tomato plants, an unfamiliar girl standing in front of you, carrying two or three compact cardboard boxes.

Hiding behind the blooming cherry blossom trees behind your home, he gave an ear to your conversation.

"My dad only buys tomatoes from you because he takes pity on you."

"Of course, please tell your father I'm grateful."

"I'm not finished! Nobody from class misses you. We all think you're a freak!"

"I'm sorry you all feel that way..."

"The neighbors only talk to you because you're alone all the time."

"Yes, they're so kind..."

"I think it would've been better if you had just stayed missing!"

"Y-you should bring these boxes to your dad now. Tell him I added some extra in there, just to be safe."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Oh, you came today, good! How are you?"

With that, she turned around, her foot purposely on one of the adorable tomato sprouts, mashing it down with the heel of her white sneaker. After the baby-plant murderer left, Garou circled in, greeting you in a casual manner. You visibly brightened up and grasped his arm.

"S'all good... Say, who was that?"

Garou rubbed the back of his neck, brow quirked up, waiting for an answer.

"Remember the store owner I told you about the other day? That's his daughter. Cute, isn't she?"

Garou shrugged, perplexed. You seemed to like her and from the conversation, he could tell you knew her well.

"Hello, anyone in there?"

Then why was she speaking to you like that? And more importantly, what did she mean when she said you should've stayed missing? Was he missing something? Was there something he didn't know which everyone else did? Nah, you told him everything, it couldn't be that.

You waved your hand in front of his face, breaking him from his thoughts.

"W-wha..."

"I've been talking to you this entire time, what are you thinking so hard about?"

Poking his cheek repeatedly, you playfully provoked him and he swatted your hand away.

"Hurry up an' give me a tomato, lady..."

---

Sifting through the soil on the ground, you had found the perfect spot for re-planting that cute, crippled little tomato sprout that the store owner's daughter had squished. But holding it in place while simultaneously patting the soil down to fix it in was proving to be quite a challenge.

You needed some help.

"Oh, Garou~"

"Be a dear and help me with this? I promise I'll make it up to you!"

You sang, batting your lashes and twisting around to face him. He sat relaxing on the garden swing, chewing up a tomato you had given him. He looked at you, contemplating whether he should respond to your strange tone.

He glanced at you, then glanced at the half bitten vegetable in his hand. With one bite, it was gone. Rubbing his hands clean on his pants, he walked over to you, sqatting down to your level and holding the tiny plant in place as you stuffed it's space with rich soil and fertilizer.

"Thank you! You're such a big help."

Aren't you exaggerating just a bit, now? All he did was hold a plant while you did all the work. Nevertheless, your comment added to his ego and he swaggered back over to the swings, chomping down on another tomato, this time with a trail of juice running down his chin.

"Ah, it's dripping onto your beautiful sweater! Hold on..."

You stood up from your squatting position on the floor and took out a pink little handkerchief from your dress pocket. Adjusting your bucket hat, you patted Garou's chin, absorbing and wiping away any juice stains that may have clung to his skin.

"There, that's much better isn't it?"

"...Just like a child."

He nodded, cheek puffing out as he popped the rest of the tomato into his mouth, dirtying himself once again. You giggled to yourself, your fingers helping to muffle the noise.

He ignored you, poking his chin out for you to wipe again. You complied, of course.

Your day happily went by, without any interruptions.

All too soon, it was time for him to leave. The sun had fully set in the distance and the sky had once again been filled with glitter, sparkling in your eyes as you watched it together.

"I'm leavin'..."

You nodded, standing up and walking him to your fence door. Before he could fully step out, you pulled on his sweater with your index and thumb. He turned around slowly, facing you, confused at your foreign expression.

"Hm...?"

Your eyes fixed themselves down on your cobble walkway, trying to shelter your face from his observant eyes. Your free hand grasped and pulled on your skirt, nervously fidgeting in place. He could hear your heart pounding, hammering in your chest...or was it his?

The night had gone silent as you pulled him down lower, stepping up on your tippy toes and connecting a chaste kiss to his cheek.

He was left dumbfounded at your actions and you hesitantly released the fabric of his sweater, bringing it to your chest.

"I told I'd make it up to you, didn't I?"

The look on your face astounded him, leaving him stranded at your gate, as you dusted yourself off, looking up at him with a soft smile.

Garou blinked a couple of times, quickly shuffling to turn around, away from your stare.

"I d-didn't think ya' meant that..."

You looked away, embarrassed.

"W-well, I'll see you tomorrow."

He agreed, and you ran inside your home, standing near your doorway, looking at him walking away.

"Goodnight!"

You called from behind him and he waved with his back turned to you, getting farther and farther from you.

---

The cold air of the A/C hit your skin, calming you as you hugged your pillow close to your chest. Your eyes remained comfortably closed, happy thoughts streamed through your slumbering mind.

Tonight, you had slept soundly.

🍅🍅🍅>>

The booming crashes of thunder bellowed through the unusually quiet city as Garou sauntered past the glossy windows of the street, mindlessly observing the contents on the other side.

𝔹ℝ𝔼𝔸𝕂𝕀ℕ𝔾 ℕ𝔼𝕎𝕊: 𝕃𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕦𝕚𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 ℂ𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕄 𝕜𝕚𝕕𝕟𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕒𝕟 𝕖𝕟𝕕

Clothing, accessories, toys and electronics all looked the same to him as he carelessly made his way to you. The heavy rain drops made it harder for him to move, his sweater becoming drenched and heavy with water, his usual hairdo slumped forward, impairing his vision slightly. He came to an abrupt halt in front of the big TV store, eyeing the news displayed in bold letters on the screen.

He's reading slowly, focused on the faces of the two bastards on the screen.

...𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕧𝕚𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖

The images of innocent children flash by and somewhere in his cold, tattered heart he feels thankful for their safety. And then he sees it.

It was you. You, but...but, smaller. You...

Your picture. Dead expression, skin battered with bruises and scratches, large dirty cloth dangling off of your tiny shoulders. Innocent eyes, tearful.

Garou raced through the slippery streets of City M, the downpour only getting worse with every step he took. He could barely see in front of him, the streets had gotten so dark and hazy, the only thing ringing in his ears were the crashes of thunder that blew out through the atmosphere.

Finally!

Unimaginable winds collided with his form, pushing him back, street lights bursting, paper, signs and peices of wood dangerously flew around, nearly missing his body. He was almost there.

His harsh, observant eyes latched onto you, sitting on the floor, eyes tightly shut, your hands locked onto your ears, drowning out the frighteningly loud rolls of thunder. The lights seemed to be switched on, but no light was being emitted from them, leaving the room in a dark state. The power must have gone out.

He knocked on your door, holding onto one of the pillars of your home as to not get blown away. You hadn't responded. He knocked again. No response. Suddenly, a crash came from the inside, just as another boom of thunder shook the ground. He heard you shriek and without a second thought, followed the noise to your backyard, two large french windows open and banging against the walls outside. Climbing in, he grasped the handles, bringing them together and locking it securely, effectively closing it. The sounds outside had been muffled by the warm walls of your home and he turned around, studying the interior.

"Y/N."

He walked over, kneeling down to you, grasping your shoulder as gently as he could. Eyes softening at your face, tear stained and hurt.

"G-Garou, I "

"I-im sorry..."

Another flash of lightning flashed through your windows and you jumped onto Garou, latching onto his torso, face buried within his broad chest, cold and wet from the rain.

---

The storm had frizzled away rather slowly and all the while Garou had held you in his arms, silently, face hidden in your hair. You had cried and sniffled, ruining his already wet sweater with snot. As the rain came to a stable pace of hushed pitter patters, you finally released him from your hold.

You cleared your throat, standing up and rubbing your sides up and down.

"I don't know what came over me..."

Garou steadily rose from the ground, towering over you, face blank, staring at you intently.

"Y-you're here for some tomatoes, right?"

...

"No."

You shook slightly, he noticed. Wobbling backwards, you tripped, teetering downwards until Garou had stopped you mid-fall by your wrist. He pulled back, flinging you into his chest, wrapping an arm around your shuddering body.

"I'm here for the truth."

You but your lip, afraid of coming clean. You had his it for so long, you knew he'd feel bad if you told him now...

"I...um, are you sure?"

He nodded.

"Let me get you a towel first. You're cold..."

---

And so you had begun to explain your childhood. The happy days in the sun, at the park, holding your mom's hand and playing with your little friends.

Subsequently, this lead to many individuals wanting it for themselves or for research. The earliest memory of your childhood was the worst. The day you had been snatched from the warm protective embrace of your mother, into the confines of a cold metal room, fit with a heavy metal door. Tubes and needles poked your sides, dug into you skin, filling you with unknown substances, heightening your senses to the point where it hurt to exist.

You always had a fascination with plants, able to care for them and somehow make them grow quicker and healthier. At first, everyone thought it was your natural green thumb and caring nature but soon you had found out about a power no one else possessed. Growth manipulation. It wasn't just plants. Little animals and insects could be effected as well. Some thought you were a freak, others deemed you a lucky child, blessed with special powers gifted from the heavens.

You were often experimented on, put aside and brought back. It seemed to be a never-ending cycle of loneliness and isolation that kept you silenced. If you didn't comply with your tormentors, they'd tie you up, burning your soft baby flesh in the process, when it rained the lights would go out and thunder would cackle throughout the empty metal corridors, resonating through your small metal room, entering your tiny being. It was horrific, the bruises you received, the blood you shed and the years of your life which you lost.

Seven years. It took them seven years to find you and the rest of the children. You were rescued at last by elite forces storming the illegal research facility, the House of Evolution, more like the house of horrors.

You had been given hope but alas, your mother no longer lived in the same city, no longer cried for you to come back, no longer wanted anything to do with a girl such as yourself. At the tender age of fifteen, you re-entered society, ready to go to school, make friends, study, live. But when the time came, you found it difficult to fit in. Everyone was so mature, so stable and unhurt. It pained you to know no one understood your situation.

Whatever the other teens talked about, you would have a hard time understanding, you had no idea about any of the new trends, never held a smartphone in your life, never went shopping for clothes, never had a boyfriend and you certainly never anticipated anything other than pain. Emotions were hard to deal with in your early years but as time passed and you grew older, dropping out of school and going for therapy, you slowly figured your way around the world, while still staying in your own little universe.

Sometimes, things which occurred in more recent days triggered your painful memories, which triggered your anxiety, which triggered emotions that were unwanted. One of them being fright, like now. Garou listened intently, nodding and opening and closing his fists on his lap, understanding bits and pieces of how you felt. Clueless and naive, almost unwanted.

He sympathises, but still experienced some pain at the fact of your secrecy from him. Weren't you friends? Why didn't you tell him? He never would've guessed you had been through something like this. You acted so...so indifferent. You explained it normally. When people knew of your life, they could react in two ways. Sympathetic to the point where it becomes disgusting or being disgusted by you themselves. Garou was your friend, you didn't want either from him. You wanted genuine emotions from him. He understood again, much to your relief.

"Still, ya' could'a told me..."

"W-well, isn't there something you're not telling me, Garou?"

He gulped, his throat went dry. He scratched the back of his head, acting aloof. He shook his head no and crossed his arms, roughly leaning back onto your couch, looking anywhere but you.

"You're the Hero Hunter, right? I'm not as airheaded as you, I actually watch the news."

"Yeah, so? If ya' knew all this time, why didn't ya' say somethin'about it, huh?"

"Because you hadn't said anything. And I guess, I didn't want anything to change. I liked that you came around for tomatoes. It kind of sounds like I used you since everytime you were here, I felt normal."

"It was like going through therapy all over again. But better, with you... I didn't care what you did, what mattered was that you came back to listen to me and my nonsense...I liked it that way. That's why yesterday, I...."

You leaned into his side, your head falling gently onto his shoulder, your fingers intertwined on your lap. Garou uncrossed his arms, stretching and coyly placing one around you.

"Ya' wouldn't mind if I asked for a tomato, would ya'?"

"Of course not! Let me get you one..."

"No, ya' ain't gettin' it. I want one today..."

He sat up straight, gazing deep into your sparkling eyes, hand grasping yours to keep you from moving any farther.

"Tomorrow and...forever. Now do ya' get it? I wanna listen to you jabber on about how some stupid anime character can't beat another one, or how the ugly store guy gave ya' extra money for yer' plants. I liked it that way too..."

He rose from his seat on your couch, slithering an arm around your waist and inching closer to your face, noses brushing tenderly against one another.

"I'll give you all of the tomatoes I have...forever."

With that, the two of you sealed your lips in an act of pure passion. The kiss was innocent and sweet, and it left a warm feeling burning in your chest.

"You should see the look on yer' face."

Garou whispered and you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck, fondly eyeing his features.

"Do you want a tomato or not?"

Raw sunlight streamed through your large, pristine windows, illuminating the two of you where you stood. If anyone had witnessed the scene, they would surely deem it ethereal. You felt that way and so did he.

"You're blushing, Garou~"

"Sh-shut up and gimme a tomato, woman!"

In a strange little way, you matched each other, supported one another and existed together, through your highs and lows, through his ups and downs. Suddenly, everything was brighter and easier. You went back to school, working hard, having the courage to do anything you wanted.

Garou found a resolve as well, he left for sometime, but returned to you in one piece, took up a job and continued living. This was not how you had imagined your future to be, but it was this situation that gave you a reason to finally live life the right way. You finally felt happy to be free. And that was more than enough for you. Garou was here, and you were right there with him.

_________________________________________

The fluff at the end BLEHHH too sweet for me. Also, I feel like the ending is so rushed??? Sorry this took months to finish. I was stuck in a prison known as math and had no way of escaping. Hope you enjoyed!