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retrievablememories · 3 years

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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.

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thefanficmonster · 4 years

Text

Lucky Me (Sequel To Unlucky)

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You aren’t always born with luck. Sometimes, you meet people who bring it to you. In short, they are your lucky charm.

Requested: Yes, but not in a typical way. A big thank you to all the wonderful people who read, liked, reblogged and commented on part one - Unlucky.

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @itsminniekat @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 and many more ❤❤❤

They are the reason this story is being written. What was originally supposed to be an elaborate one-shot turned into the most liked piece I’ve ever written. I can’t thank you enough, guys. You are amazing and I hope you like this one just as much or even more than the previous. Love you ❤❤❤

Y/N’s POV

I’m grinning at my reflection in the mirror as I put on a pair of earrings. My face is already touched-up with a little make-up and my hair is looking on point. I can almost see my own reflection in the shine of excitement in my eyes. I take in my upper body via a quick once-over in the full body mirror opposite me, and I finally relax my muscles that I didn’t ever realize I was tensing.

“OK, now I’m ready.“ I say as a form of encouragement as I reach behind me for my phone that’s sitting on my bed.

You might be wondering where I’m going? Who I’m going with? What’s the occasion behind this many preparations and pampering?

The answer: Nowhere. No one. Nothing. I’m literally not even going to leave my house.

It might seem ridiculous to someone else, but to me, to my hypnotized mind, it’s perfectly reasonable to be getting so amped up over a FaceTime call. Yeah, you heard me correctly - a FaceTime call.

Well, you see, this isn’t the first time we FaceTime, but it will be the first time we’ll see each other’s faces. I wanted to level the field so I didn’t let him on to what I look like, where exactly I live, etc. Basically, he only knows my name, which I am still prepared to call unfair, considering I don’t know his real name.

A brief backstory to my first ever real interaction with Corpse: I was introduced to him by my friends. They are the ones I always turned to with all the scary shit happening in my life. Often times they didn’t know weather to comfort me or laugh at my curse. My friends suggested I start sharing it to a youtuber named Corpse Husband. You see, I love YouTube narrators and I’ve always been a fan of Mr. Nightmare and I, to be perfectly honest, always kept the idea of sending him my stories in the back of my mind. Nevertheless, I bit the bullet and checked out on of this Corpse Husband guy’s videos. And then another. And another. And before I knew it I was having a marathon after which I was too paranoid to get online, walk home alone at night, leave my curtains open etc. It wasn’t all thanks to the stories themselves. A lot of the fear factor these stories strike with should be credited to the way they are read. Let me tell you, this guy had it all figured out with the reading. Not sending him my stories would just be wrong. So I did, I sent him my first ever creepy encounter which was with a stalker from my high school and it took me only two days to forget about it. It only crossed my mind when my friends blew my phone up, demanding I watched Corpse’s new video. I kid you not, I got more scared by the story when he read it than when I lived it. That’s what settled it for me - I decided to send him each and every story.

And then one day, out of the blue, my life changed for the better in more ways than one. It got turned completely upside down, like a rollercoaster, and I just had to hold on and enjoy the ride, embrace the adrenaline rush and excitement, knowing full well that I chose to get on and there’s no way I can get off halfway through.

I’m being too metaphorical. He sent me an email. He freaking reached out to me. And I was posed with a rough choice. Took me a minute, but I chose to reply to him, I chose to trust him, and I couldn’t just leave him on read one day simply cause I chickened out. Yes, I’m unlucky and these things don’t happen to unlucky people. I mean, they do, but they are nightmares disguised as a dream come true. I’ve lived all my life cautiously: if something sounds too good to be true it’s either not as good as marketed or not true at all. If it’s dark and late and there are no people around, FaceTime someone. If your Uber driver’s sketchy, cancel the ride. I take all the precautions and I still find myself in the worst situations. Or at least...

My thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of my phone. A simple ringtone I hear every time he calls me. A simple sound that causes me butterflies when I hear it and ultimate devastation if the caller ID doesn’t read the name I want. It always gets me excited, probably more than it should. This time is different, however. It’s scary almost. I’m nervous, anxious, scared, hesitant - all things I never feel when I’m about to answer his call.

With shaky hands I pick up the call and find myself looking at the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. Now I know why I would have never initiated this meeting, because I know what color my face is right now. I know my voice has let me down before I even attempt to speak. I know I look like a mess. I know my obvious crush is showing.

Corpse initiated this meeting. He said he was getting too curious and he wanted one of his best friends to see him and for him to finally see her. It’s been about seven months since we first started texting and I haven’t let out a single peep about it to a single soul. It’s just between him and I. We are each other’s safe space away from the rest of the world.

“Thought you weren’t gonna pick up for a second there.“ His voice is not as confident as other times when we’ve talked. His trying to hide his own nervousness and all I wanna do is hug him and tell him he doesn’t have to. I kept telling him over and over again that we don’t have to do this if he’s not sure that he actually wants it. I even offered to show him what I look like, not expecting to see him in return but he declined, saying it was now his turn to even the field.

“I was in another room.“ I manage to say, my voice only shaking a little.

We spend a few moments just looking at each other. Admiring one another. For someone who prefers digital interaction, I am surprised to realize I wish he was actually standing in front of. I wish I could hug him. A long hug of comfort, mutual understanding and hidden feelings.

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head which causes a few strands of hair to fall over his eyepatch, “I’m sorry...It’s just-...Fuck I’m stumbling.” He chuckles nervously, “I just...can’t believe you are real. You are a real person. And the most beautiful person I’ve seen. That’s corny, isn’t it.” He looks away from the screen, his face now a shade of red. “But I mean it. I’m embracing my corniness. You are beautiful, Y/N. Not that I’m flexing or anything, but I’m lucky to have met you.”

I laugh, feeling my eyes stinging from the tears that have suddenly formed. I don’t want to let them fall, but I don’t have much say in that. “Well, mister Corpse, I can’t begin to compare. I mean...that hair! I still cannot believe it’s you. You are not just a deep voice in my mind. You are....you are...”

“Everything you imagined and more?“ he jokes, making my whole body heat up. “I told you you could trust. I mean, if the hair doesn’t confirm I’m who I say I am, I don’t know what will.”

“Actually, I never tried to imagine what you looked like. I knew those visions...I knew they didn’t matter. Faces don’t matter to us, Corpse. I think you realize that.“

And just like that, all I’ve been keeping hidden is pouring out. I don’t try to stop it - you can’t stop a hurricane with bare hands.

“I never needed a face to imagine us. I always saw as talking on the phone, playing Among Us. Reading scary stories to each other on Discord. I never needed a face to imagine your company. To imagine what we could be...“ I trail off, letting the first tear slip down my cheek.

The most sincere look appears in his eyes, “Fuck, I wish I could hold your hand right now. Never mind, I wish I could hug you, Y/N. Hug you and not let go for a long time.”

I laugh halfheartedly, my chest burning from the intensity of this moment’s intimacy, “I can always tell you where I live.” I’m only half-joking. I really want to see him in real life, not just through a screen, but even this call is out of his comfort zone, let alone a physical meet up.

He surprises me yet again, “Saturday. I’ll bring the take out, you pick the movie.” he says with a smile that is literally saying ‘you didn’t see that coming, did you?’

“How are you sure I don’t live in a different state, or a different continent all together?“ I tease, making an attempt to put my composure back together.

He smirks, “I pay way more attention to your stories than you’d think.” I laugh, shaking my head as a pointless method of fighting the pesky tears that he has 100% noticed by this point. “By the way, just because we’re....” he thinks for a second, “in a weird zone between friendship and...something more, doesn’t mean you have to stop sending me stories. I absolutely love reading them for my audience. They love em too.”

I just realized I am yet to tell him the crazy miracle that has happened. “Well, the thing is...I don’t have any.” His eyebrows shoot up in shock which makes me laugh, “Yeah, I know, it’s crazy. Since the day we started talking I have not experienced a single scary thing. Deadass. I swear on my life.”

If I wasn’t so head over heels for this man already, the baffled expression on his face would definitely send me falling for him. He’s just that adorable. “Wow.”

“I know right.“ I nod, “Seems to me you have enough luck to share with me.“

His eyes light up at that comment, showing just how meaning full it is to him.

“You’re my lucky charm, Corpse.“

“I will never be more proud of any other title, Y/N. That I can promise you with no hesitation.“

“Deadass?“

“Deadass.“

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johnsamericano · 3 years

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𝓓𝓪𝔂 18:

иα נαємιи

23 days of NCT masterlist.

taglist: @notbeforelong @whathamelon @curieouscapt @silent-potato @gjheaaa @ajhdr @mrcarbonatedmilk @unknown5tar

warnings: Jaemin not knowing what an erection is 😭, fluff, fluff, fluff and angst, not proofread forgive me 😞

“There she is.” Doyoung pointed out, looking directly at you, gracefully walking down the hall. “Her name is y/n, she’s 12.”

“How long will I have to stay with her?” Jaemin stared at you with curiosity.

“If everything goes right, until her soul is ready to abandon her body.”

“What do you mean if everything goes right?”

“There have been some angels who have given into this world’s temptations.” He shut his eyelids, his frown growing deeper as he spoke. “You shall never give into them, Jaemin. I heard loosing your wings causes a great pain, physical and mental.”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

“Never reveal your true identity to her.” His hand gripped Jaemin’s shoulder. “You’ll be able to observe her in your real form, but she’ll never be able to see you, unless you allow her to.” Jaemin nodded, mentally taking notes of all the rules he had to follow. “If you wish to communicate something directly to her, you can disguise yourself as one of her relatives.”

“I have one more question.” Doyoung patiently waited for him to keep talking. “Aren’t guardian angels assigned to humans when they’re born?”

Doyoung remained silent, deciding wether to tell him or not the truth.

“Her former guardian angel fell in love with her.” Jaemin’s eyes went wide, how could an angel fall for a human? “He tried to show himself before her, but we stopped him on time.” Doyoung sighed, a glint of sadness in his voice as he resumed the story. “Unfortunately, he was vanished from heaven. The pain of losing his wings was greater than his love for y/n, greater than his will to live apparently.”

“Well that’s sad.” He pursed his lips. “I promise to do a good job protecting her.”

“I’m sure you will, Jaemin. You’re a good angel.”

“Jaemin, watch out!” His string of thoughts was cut off by your hand around his wrist, tugging on it aggressively to stop him from running into a bike. “Pay attention while walking, you could’ve gotten hurt.”

“Worried about me?” He smiled at your concerned features.

“Shut up before I kick your ass.” Despite your sometimes aggressive behavior, Jaemin knew you were a softie. How could he not know when he literally spent every moment with you, even if you were not aware of his presence sometimes. “Will you come help me unpack after classes?” Your fingers suddenly laced with his, a habit he’d discovered a few months into your friendship and never failed to make his heart race.

“Sure.”

You didn’t expect him to appear at your front door with a bunch of house supplies.

“What’s all this?” You helped him get everything inside your messy apartment. “This is really too much, but thank you.” You pulled him into a hug, your palms stroking his back tenderly.

Jaemin wanted to push you away, he wanted to stop his heartbeat from increasing, but you were intoxicating. It was useless to deny he felt something for you, but as long as nor you or another angel knew, everything would be fine.

“Are you wearing something under your shirt?” You frowned, feeling something shift below your palms.

Jaemin pulled away, internally scolding his wings for trying to show themselves.

“Let’s unpack.” You didn’t mention the topic again, but he knew you weren’t gonna forget about it.

He helped you move some furniture, hang up a few posters and fold your clothes to fit them inside your new closet.

“Wait!” You tried snatching the box of your underwear out of his hands, but it was already too late. He held your red, lacy thong right in front of his face, examining it before realizing what it was.

“Sorry.” His face was flushed as he put the piece of clothing back into the box, a bulge growing inside his jeans. He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. Truth to be told, he’d never experienced pleasure, therefore, he wasn’t aware of the reaction your thong had provoked in his weak human body.

You didn’t make a comment on it, deciding not to humiliate him. After an hour of folding clothes, you decided to take a break, ordering some takeout food and letting Jaemin pick a movie to watch.

“It’s getting late, you should stay over.” You picked up the remains of your food and saved them in the fridge for later. “You can take the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“Why don’t we sleep together?” The words slipped past his lips before his brain could register. “I-I mean-”

“It’s okay, as long as you don’t kick me I think we’ll be fine.” You smiled so naturally at him, as if your heart wasn’t rapidly drumming against your rib cage. “I have a few of my brother’s shirts, you can grab one of those.”

He tried calming himself down inside the bathroom. It was the first time he’d sleep with you in flesh and bone, not like he usually did, in his true form with his wings around your body, keeping you warm.

He was expecting for you to crawl into his arms like you usually did in your sleep, but you didn’t even bother to spare him a glance, too concentrated on your phone. A burning feeling started growing inside his chest, definitely not something an angel should feel. He snatched your phone away.

“Hey!” You tried getting it back, accidentally hugging him on the process. “Give it back.” Your nose was almost touching his.

His deep, brown orbs stared into yours, his pupils growing slightly bigger at the sight of your.

“Jaemin...” You whispered, his erratic breath fanning against your cheeks.

None of you moved, afraid to do something you’d later regret. But his lips looked so tempting, so kissable, you couldn’t resist leaning in, your lips almost brushing before you spoke.

“Is this okay?” You were so painfully close. He knew the right thing was to push you away, but how could he when you were looking at him with pleading eyes? Those eyes that made him want to lay the entire word at your feet.

“Yes.” He was the one to pull your face closer to his, bringing his hand to the back of your head to hold you in place, just like the main characters of the corny movies you loved did.

He wanted to cry right there, the thing he’d been fantasizing about all those years was finally happening. For a moment, he stopped thinking about his wings, stopped worrying about the fact that he’d probably be punished for his sinful actions.

“Your lips are so soft.” He whispered, cupping your cheeks with delicacy pulling away only to leave random pecks on your lips, enjoying the warmth of them. “Like small, pink clouds.”

You giggled at the comparison.

“I like you, Jaemin.”

“I like you too, y/n. So much.” He wanted to say ‘I love you’ but he figured out it might be a bit to early for you.

He continued savoring your lips, pecking them as if he was trying to memorize every little texture of your plump skin. Your hands went to his sensitive back, unknowingly caressing the spot were his wings were hidden.

It all happened too fast, his large wings ripping through the borrowed shirts and showing themselves to you. The look on your face was of pure shock, your arms falling limp to your sides as Jaemin’s stomach stirred with fear.

“Y/n...” He called you at least five times, your eyes fixated on the silky, white feathers.

It was all too much to process. Was he pranking you? No, fake wings wouldn’t move the way his did.

“Say something, please.” You noticed how his wings fell slightly, as if mimicking his emotions.

Drops of salty tears falling into your cheeks awakened you from your trance, your best friend crying on top of you as his hands held your face dearly.

“How?” Was the only thing you could pronounce, your mind still trying to work through the situation.

“I know this looks bad, but I swear, I never meant to deceive you. I wanted to protect you from afar, but I couldn’t resist meeting you. You’re the brightest human I’ve ever seen, and I don’t deserve to be with you. I am a liar, a cheater who used his powers to get into your life.” He began rambling, your mind slowly connecting the dots until you finally had an idea of what he was.

“An angel?” You asked, voicing your inner doubts.

“I don’t deserve to be your guardian...” He ignored your previous question, tucking his face in your neck.

His wings timidly pressed against his back, moving the slightest as your fingers danced over them, mesmerized at the soft texture.

“I feel like I’m dreaming.” Your voice didn’t sound angry, in fact, he could almost see your smile as you spoke. “Aren’t you going to get in trouble for this?” Your hands forced his face up, making him face You. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, Nana.”

“They might’ve found by now, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I am willing to lose my wings as a punishment for those amazing moments I’ve spent by your side.”

He was about to incorporate, about to leave you and never come back, but the sudden crash of your lips against his had him frozen at the spot.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble...” You whispered against his lips. “But neither do I want you to leave me. I'm a selfish human that wants her angel to give up everything for her, I'm sorry.”

He smiled, euphoric at the words he'd only heard in his wildest dreams.

“Then I guess I'll have to oblige.”

Jaemin spent the night curled up with his loved human, wings protecting her from any danger while Doyoung watched everything with confusion. He knew it was the right thing to punish the young angel for his sinful actions, but there was nothing sinful at the unfolding scene. If anything, it was the purest thing he'd seen from his vast years on earth.

“Good luck, Jaemin.” The black-haired left unnoticed, letting his friend fulfill his duties as your guardian angel until the last breath of life left your body.

#nct smut #nct fluff #nct angst #nct au #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct x reader #nct #nct 127 #nct scenarios

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guacam011y · 3 years

Text

***SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 5 OF WANDAVISION***

HOLY SHITE MY MIND IS BLOWN

TOMMY AND BILLY CRYING

“Do you want me to take that again?” “Take it from the top?”

Agnes knows ! Tiger - Ralph

“Dark liquor” Vision being concerned

Billy and Tommy aged up?!

I DO NOT TRUST HAYWARD

SCARLET WITCH - TALKING ABOUT HOW WANDA DOESN’T HAVE A CODENAME

SIS STRAIGHT UP TOOK VISIONS CORPSE

HEX — HER POWERS GET REFERRED TO AS HEX POWERS SOMETIMES IN THE COMICS

CAPTAIN MARVEL REFERENCE

NORM SAYING NONE OF IT IS REAL

SPARKY THE DOG - VISION HAD A STAND ALONE AND STOLE A DOG

HER ACCENT

LAGOS

SHE DOESNT KNOW HOW ANY OF THIS STARTED IN THE FIRST PLACE

EVAN PETERS AS QUICKSILVER

DARCY GOING “SHE RECAST PIETRO?” MOOOD

X-MEN, START TO THE MULTIVERSE?!

WANDA CAN’T BE THE ONLY ONE CONTROLLING IT

IS MONICA MAD AT CAROL???

MONICA X DARCY?! WHAT A POWER COUPLE THAT WOULD BE

SIS REALLY ENDGAME - ENDGAME ENDED WITH TONY’S FUNERAL AND WANDA PROBS WENT STRAIGHT FROM THERE AND STOLE HER DEAD BF’S CORPSE (can’t really blame her, it looked like they were trying to experiment on Vis and could it be Hayward behind it?)

WHO WAS THAT ENGINEER THAT MONICA WAS GOING TO CONTACT?

BABY VISION

AND AGNES DEFINITELY KNOWS SOMETHING

DARCY FINALLY GOT HER COFFEE

SO VIS SAID THAT WANDA COULD’VE MADE EVERYTHING SUBCONSCIOUSLY AND THAT OVER TIME SHE BECAME AWARE OF IT, AND SIS DEFO HAS SOME CONTROL BUT IT’S NOT ALL HER. I THINK AGNES IS AGATHA HARKNESS AND EITHER MEPHISTO IS BEHIND IT OR IT’S NIGHTMARE AND THEY’VE MAYBE POWERED UP NIGHTMARE

***FURTHER UPDATES AND EASTER EGGS***

Auntie Agnes and Agnes saying she has a few tricks up her sleeve - we should definitely take note of that seeing as Agnes definitely has something to do with the whole situation

Wanda and Vision’s house changed again, being inspired by Family Ties, possibly Full House and Growing Pains

“Do you want me to take it from the top?” It seems as though when someone, this time Vision, steers away from the script, things either reset themselves or people become aware to some capacity, although Agnes probably already knows

Speaking of Growing Pains - It had a spin off called “Just the 10 of Us” in which the director for Wandavision, Matt Shakman, was apart of the cast - and seemingly also inspired the theme song for this week

We should definitely keep an eye on Monica and her potential for powers. With Maria last episode revealed to have gone by the name ‘Photon’ (which is a name that Monica uses as one of her aliases in the comics) and could inspire Monica’s name as she develops her powers - those scans didn’t look 100% normal. Monica has also used the Captain Marvel monicker in the comics

Wanda’s energy field and such being referred to as “Hex” short for Hexagon, could be a little nod to the comics where Wanda’s powers are sometimes called Hex powers

She’s never been referred to as the Scarlet Witch on the big screen - and it seems as though she soon may earn that code name

So we now know that Wanda stole Vision’s corpse from S.W.O.R.D, but did she actually re animate him fully? He’s still got the gem in the centre of his forehead, but the last time he had it was in Infinity War where it promptly got ripped out by Thanos - so has Wanda found her own way of reanimating him and he’s alive or is he dead and just a trick of the mind - though from other trailers/previews, Vis is seen trying to and looks successful at leaving Wanda’s barrier

They had a little call back to Captain America: Civil War with the Sokovia Accords, which were targeting the Avengers in general but were created when Wanda lost control of her powers and killed civilians

A little joke towards Vis as playing “Father Knows Best” in their little suburbia - Which was a sitcom that ran for 200 episodes in the 50’s

Sparky ! A little nod to the little green dog from the Walta and King comics run for Vision and unfortunately soon meets the same fate 💔

A little nod to Endgame when we hear from Monica that Wanda definitely could’ve taken down Thanos by herself had Thanos not rained fire - and Jimmy arguing that Captain Marvel could’ve just as easily done it - which leaves Monica with an angry look on her face

Good ol’ dial up internet

Can Vis “save” the residents of Westview? He can still seemingly interact with people’s minds, with or without the mind stone - Norm soon comes out of his trance as Vis snaps him out of it and asks to call his sister and that he has to save them all from “her” - now this “her” could be Wanda...but it could also be Agnes and then Vis shuts him down soon enough again and Norm goes back to his sit com self

Billy and Tommy are fully aware, or at least suspect Wanda’s abilities - after asking her to bring back Sparky from the dead and speaking of Billy and Tommy - could they be semi permanent fixtures in the MCU, it would help to introduce the Young Avengers eventually. They'll do Young Avengers at some point since Kang is supposed to be a thing in the third Ant-Man.

Teddy, unfortunately, I don't think will be here for a bit (I really hope he is though!). I think the guy they hired that everyone is rumoring to be Teddy might just be an episode about Billy coming to terms with his sexuality and Wanda and Vis learning to accept it in the way that era of tv they're in would go about with that kind of episode and the dude is just a dude - but again, I really hope it’s Teddy 😭

Wanda leaves the hex after a mini missile/plane tries to shoot at her - and she’s in her Scarlet Witch costume and is seemingly mostly back to her “normal self”, which includes her accent !

Lagos brand paper towels - “For when you make a mess you didn’t mean to” - a nod to Civil War again in which Wanda accidentally blew up a building in Lagos and caused the Sokovian accords to come to fruition

The mail man again - I also think he was in the commercial but anywho - “Your mom won’t let him go far” similar to “Much like she won’t let anyone leave” a potential nod to Wanda or Agnes not letting anyone leave?

“We can’t reverse death” and yet she brought Vision back - keeping in mind that he’s an android but still a little foreshadow to what happened at the end of the ep? Better yet, could Pietro coming back be a distraction for Wanda? Agnes or whoever introducing someone that Wanda lives in hopes that she won’t go full on breakdown superpowers or just to give her an attachment to Westview even more and make her not want to leave at all

“She recasted Pietro” EVAN ! I’m so pumped for this - it seems this could turn into the X-Men making their debut earlier than expected possibly? In any case, it’s a nice little Easter Egg to the previous Fox franchise of X-Men movies where Evan played Peter Maximoff “Quicksilver” alongside James McAvoy as Prof X, Hugh Jackman as Wolverine and so many others - and with Deadpool being confirmed as Disney’s first R rated film, it seems Mutants are definitely on their way to the MCU

Agnes is definitely Agatha or a gender bent Nightmare

The way Billy shed himself and Tommy up was scary - definitely a little nod to his powers coming in

Multiple different perspectives of Wanda saying that Monica left

Red Hex dialled up to around light sources (computer, window, etc.)

Vision mentions reading Charles Darwin’s The Descent of Man - which could refer to Mutants entering the MCU, Mutants being superior to humans

Agnes calls herself Auntie Agnes - in episode 2 during the title sequence in the grocery store there’s a product called ‘Auntie A’s Kitty Litter’

Agnes refers to herself as a Tiger and in the episode, there’s a Tiger on the dining table in the kitchen - could that be a listening device, her eyes and ears?

There are no other children in Westview - Billy and Tommy are immune because they have no prior trauma

Elizabeth Olsen’s photos are real and slightly altered with Sokovian flags in the background

In the birthday shot of Billy and Tommy, they have ‘1,2,3,4,5’ candles all on one cake

In the holiday photos, Vision goes from Turkey to Easter Bunny, to Santa and progressively gets more unhappy - realising he no longer wants to play along in Wanda’s Hex

During Monica’s callbacks to seeing Wanda’s pain inside her head, we see a new shot of Wanda crying - it looks like it’s around the time she stole Vision’s corpse, as the outfit she’s wearing is very similar, if not the same - could this be an after shot of when she’s trying to bring Vision back?

During the scene where we see the footage of Wanda stealing Vision’s corpse, the S.W.O.R.D logo that appears on the table has 8 stars around the rim of the logo but then has a 9th one in the middle - could this be a little Easter Egg to the nine realms of the Cosmos? And there’s also a map showing Cape Canaveral, could that be where S.W.O.R.D’s headquarters are?

Wanda and Pietro were born in 1989 to Irina and Oleg Maximoff - who were killed in an air raid when the twins were 10. In the comics, Wanda and Pietro were raised by Django and Maria Maximoff, before their true parentage was revealed as being the children of Magneto, however, in the comics this has been retconned so that Wanda and Pietro are no longer Mutants and the High Evolutionary had just disguised them as Mutants (something I think they should undo tbh - MARVEL, PLEASE MAKE WANDA AND PIETRO MUTANTS AGAIN!!!)

Speaking of the air raid, that was also referenced in Age of Ultron by Pietro and Wanda - “We were 10 years old, having dinner the four of us. And the first shell hits 2 floors below, makes a hole in the floor” - was the beeping Stark toaster be what that was referring to?

WHIH reappears for a brief cameo as the news service in the MCU - and Hayward cuts off Jimmy as he was trying to defend Wanda’s reputation, in which Jimmy then turns to Darcy and says “I try not to speak ill of people” Darcy then follows up with “Then allow me, Hayward’s a-“ and then she’s cut off by a shot back to Hayward saying the word “Terrorist” which would make sense as it seems with Vision’s corpse, he may have been trying to make sentient weapons and by subverting Vision’s will and blaming Wanda of doing the same. In the footage shown of Wanda stealing Vision’s remains, we see Vision broken up into parts and S.W.O.R.D seems to be experimenting on him and this seems to be the robotics/nanotech project that Hayward was referring to. Monica asks Hayward about the footage saying “When was this?” to which Hayward replies saying “9 days ago. Maximoff stormed our facility, stole Vision’s body and resurrected him” - this would mean that Wanda took Vision 2 weeks after the events of Endgame, about a week before Monica returned to S.W.O.R.D and Hayward didn’t tell her any of this and when he sent her in there, he knew exactly what he was doing - with her reputation after Civil War, this makes it easier for Hayward to paint her as the villain.

Back in Westview, Tommy wears red and Billy wears green - which are the colours that Wiccan and Speed wear in the comics, respectively. And it’s also the colours that Wanda and Vision are known for and appears quite a lot in their wardrobes

More in regards to Sparky, he was the synthezoid dog in Tom King’s run of Vision - the story being that he was originally a dog named Zeke who unfortunately passed away after digging up the Grim Reaper’s corpse and getting zapped. The Grim Reaper’s helmet appears during the title sequence of Episode 2 in the floorboards. Could Sparky have been trying to dig up a similar thing when he was caught by Agnes and consequently killed?

Monica mentions that she knows this aerospace engineer, they’re never shown but she is seen texting them. Could it be Reed Richards a.k.a Mr Fantastic? Hayward did mention that some astronauts used to work for S.W.O.R.D before a mission went haywire - though it seems a bit lacklustre to introduce such highly anticipated characters this way. Could it instead be the Skrull daughter of Talos that Monica befriended at the end of Captain Marvel? She mentioned that they had extraterrestrial allies in episode 4 working with her and Fury as apart of S.W.O.R.D - in the Spanish subtitles they use the feminine articles for this engineer - so I think it’s more likely to be Talos’s daughter

The board that we saw in Episode 4 now includes the mailman, drivers license and all - could he be Jimmy’s missing witness?

The tension in the room after Jimmy references Carol is similarly seen when in Spider-Man: Far From Home, where Peter asks Skrull Fury/Talos “How about Captain Marvel?” To which Talos replies “Don’t involve her name”. Fury, Monica and Talos were all on the side of the Skrulls by then end of Captain Marvel and the space station that Fury was on maybe apart of S.W.O.R.D. So did Carol betray them?

A slight reference to Captain America: The First Avenger is made when Monica pulls a Peggy Carter and shoots at something to see if it’s bulletproof, in Peggy’s case it was the iconic Captain America shield and in the case of Monica, it was her clothes that she was wearing after Wanda threw her out of the Hex

Abilash (Norm) never states that Wanda is the one that Vision has to save them from, it’s just “her” - could this instead be Agnes?

When Billy is training Sparky to sit, he puts the treat by his ear up to his temple - a future reference that Billy will one day share the same powers as his mum?

During the scene in which Wanda leaves the Hex briefly, she turns the guns onto Hayward but none are trained on Monica - she may still trust Monica slightly, whereas with Hayward, she slightly more pissed off because of what he was doing to Vision’s remains. And turning a bunch of guns on the people you don’t trust? Like father, like daughter as Magneto pulls a similar move in one of the X-Men films - Hopefully, the big cameo they keep teasing will be Ian McKellan as Magneto or the Magnus of this House of M adaptation

During when Agnes “found” Sparky, she says he died from eating too many leaves from her plants - in the Tom King Vision run, one of Vision’s kids ends up killing Sparky and sees inside his stomach that there’s a plant that Agatha Harkness grows in her garden

All the names that appear during the credits that Wanda tries to run to end the show and to stop Vision from talking are names of people who work on the actual Wandavision show itself

When Evan Peter’s version of Quicksilver shows up, he says “Does a long lost bro get to squeeze his sister to death or what?” I DO NOT TRUST THIS PIETRO - Similar to Wandavision, the Fox X-Men movies moved up decade by decade - First Class was in the 1960s, Days of Future Past was in the 1970s, Apocalypse was in the 1980s and Dark Phoenix was in the 1990’s - which would make even more sense as MCU! Pietro wasn’t born until 1989, whereas Peter was active during the 1980s. I reckon that this Pietro is Jimmy’s missing witness, Agnes’s husband Ralph and is disguising itself as a comforting presence to Wanda as Vision no longer brings comfort and is trying to bring Wanda back to reality - and when he shows up, the mirror in the background behind Wanda is slightly distorted but his hand looks red and in the shot as well, there seems to be a grey arm reaching towards Pietro - in the shot itself behind and in front of Wanda, there’s nothing there but in the mirror, there is! Either way, I do not trust this Pietro and it’s just an entity trying to give Wanda the last thing that could make her happy - but it won’t last, as everything is already breaking down around her.

I seriously seriously love this show so much 💙

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

Text

Ashes Chapter 8: Hollywood

Pairing: Liu Kang x Reader

Finally, some air to breathe that isn't from Liu Kang. Maybe a little peace before some angst? But only maybe.

A/N: Had some fun writing Cole Young. Angst everywhere though. Sorry I don't have much to say today. Bad day. Hope you are all doing great though. Sending good vibes all around. Smooches.

First Chapter << Previous Chapter Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

When you’d got tired of the beach you’d gone to the hotel where Liu had told you that the others had been staying while they dealt with Johnny Cage, a B-Movie action star with an ego the size of a washed-up A-list star from twenty years ago.

You’d said goodnight and the next morning you showered and readied yourself for the day. This place was nicer than the motel you’d shared and you had some privacy.

Johnny Cage wasn’t easy to get a hold of, which had been a huge part of the problem. Apparently, they’d had to dance around agents and security and had gotten themselves thrown off of a movie set. Somehow, they had managed to convince him to meet with you the next morning and have an actual conversation about why you were there. You guessed that wasn’t going to go well after all you’d learned.

It also meant that you had some free time, a thing you had grown to hate over the years. Without Kung Lao you were left to your own devices and it almost never went well. Now you had a thousand more horrible things to think about.

You’d stopped Liu that morning after you’d decided you would play tourist. You and Kung Lao had always joked about going to Hollywood and you remembered a few of the places he’d said he’d wanted to see. With your sudden passion for taking photographs, you thought it would appropriate. But Liu was in a mood again and you weren’t about to ask him why.

You’d woken up feeling relatively okay that morning and weren’t about to change that.

If Liu needed to be alone to get out of his mood, then you would let him. Every time he’d been in a mood like that, you had wound up yelling at each other and you were not emotionally prepared to handle his frustration. You were both too volatile.

So, you went sight-seeing. The Hollywood sign had been far less remarkable than you’d expected but you took pictures anyway. The La Brea Tarpits had been nice but you wished you hadn’t been alone. You’d tried to think of how Kung Lao would have reacted but it only served to make you sad. You supposed that alone was your new state of being and you’d have to get used to it. There had been a time where alone was all you’d known, and you had been more than comfortable with it.

It would take a long time to get back to that if you ever managed to. You took to imagining that maybe you would show these pictures to Kung Lao someday. You knew that wasn’t possible, but he would have wanted to see them and hear all about your adventures. That was heartbreaking in and of itself, but it did give you a new purpose as you traveled throughout Hollywood. It wasn’t often that you got to play tourist in new places. you had always talked about going there together just to see the Chinese Theater and the Walk of Fame. He’d wanted to take a picture with Bruce Lee’s star.

Then you sat and people watched on Hollywood Boulevard, wondering what their lives must be like. Some were obvious tourists. You liked to think that their visiting the Walk of Fame was a fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Others were on their way to work or just living their lives, not bothering with the star-studded walkway as though it were nothing more than a gateway from where they were to where they were going. None of them were wrong but it was nice to focus on the lives of others rather than the mess that was yours.

You browsed through the photos that you’d taken that morning. You’d asked a stranger to take a picture of you next to Bruce Lee’s star and smiled at the photograph. Kung Lao would have loved that.

You’d both been fans of old martial arts films and no one was more iconic than Bruce Lee.

After dating for a few months, you and Kung Lao had taken to sneaking out to the closest towns and renting rooms in motels and inns just so you could watch those movies together. You’d continued that tradition throughout the entirety of your relationship up until the last six months. Things had gotten sticky and confusing then. You’d both been busy and had fought more than usual. You’d been thinking about suggesting a weekend away after you’d gotten back from your trip so that you could touch base and figure things out.

So much for that.

You should have suggested it earlier.

The past was the past, you reminded yourself.

You couldn’t let it get to you no matter how it felt like a dagger twisting in your chest each time you thought about what you should have done. Rubbing your sore and tired eyes, you put the phone into your bag and closed your eyes, listening to the monotony of humanity passing by.

In one of those hotels was where you and Kung Lao had your first time. You’d been watching Enter the Dragon, discussing the importance of the role, and your experiences first seeing the movie in your childhood. You still remembered how his lips felt- soft and sticky, sweet and fermented with the flavor of the plum wine you’d been sharing.

You’d ignored the movie and made out instead, like giddy teenagers. You’d been the one to push him further. Kung Lao had asked you if you were certain which had been sweet. It had broken the floodgates.

He had certainly tried before then- many times. He’d never been subtle about it and he’d never pushed you beyond your limit though he did try to push his luck. When you told him no, he always listened and had never once made you feel guilty about it. You had been grateful for his patience then. Holding your head in your hands you sighed.

Even your fondest memories of him were tainted with sadness. You wondered if there would ever only be fondness and no sorrow attached to thoughts of him. Realistically you knew that there would be but for now it felt improbable. The photos you’d taken that day brought you a little peace. It had been kind of cathartic to do something in Kung Lao’s honor rather than fixating on the only piece of him you had left while drenched in guilt for a thousand different reasons.

Sleeping with his best friend was at the very top of that list.

At least you hadn’t done it while you’d been dating. What a tiny, tiny sad silver lining that was on your sad, shitty story.

“Y/N? Is that you?” An unfamiliar voice called your name so you sat alert. That was upsetting. To be called out by a voice you had never heard in the middle of your contemplation. A tall, well-built, handsome man approached you. He had a kind smile and what you could only describe as 90s protagonist hair. “This must be weird. Sorry. I’m Cole Young.” He held his hand out to introduce himself and you shook it but were cautious. As if sensing that you didn’t trust him, he pulled down the collar of his shirt to show you the dragon marking on his chest. That was proof enough.

“Sorry, you startled me. I was lost in my own little world.” You offered for him to take the seat across from you at the table you’d been occupying at a little bistro. You’d bought food but had given it away. Your appetite hadn’t been the best the past few days. Thinking about Kung Lao or Liu Kang for extended periods did away with any hunger you had. “It’s nice to meet you finally. I will be honest and say I haven’t heard much about you. I don’t think many personal stories were swapped with the company I keep. I did hear, however, that you are a nice enough man.”

“That’s the best I can hope for. I didn’t hear much about you either. Raiden showed me what you looked like and I knew you and Liu were supposed to arrive soon.” He took the seat you offered and for a time you swapped pleasantries. He was nice, as advertised, but you hadn’t been expecting socialization so you felt awkward. “What brings you to this part of town, Y/N?” He asked when things fell silent. You’d expected him to say that it had been nice to meet you and go on his way. Instead, he insisted upon more small talk. He seemed bored.

“Doing some sightseeing. Taking some pictures for a friend.” You weren’t sure why you felt the need to justify your motives but you’d been instantly defensive. Liu Kang had made you defensive about everything. Kung Lao would have called you out on it and you smiled at the memory. “What about you?”

“Sightseeing with the family. Allison and Emily are doing some window shopping. I spotted you and was tired of shopping so I figured I’d say hi.” He laughed. Presumably, Allison and Emily were his wife and child. He hadn’t clarified but you’d been told he had family. “Thanks for the escape.” That explained why he’d seemed bored.

“Anytime.” Silence again. You were terrible at conversation right now. You felt outside of yourself. You weren’t ready to talk casually about nothing. “It’s nice to finally meet you. You’re as lovely as everyone said you were. Well, Raiden didn’t use those words exactly but I’ve been around him long enough to understand what he meant.”

“He has a way about him, Raiden.” Cole chuckled, leaning back in his chair. The breeze felt nice and the silence less awkward. “Is the friend you’re taking pictures for Kung Lao?”

You stiffened up and were sure that your expression was suddenly unpleasant. It was too late to hide your gut reaction- tongue over your bottom teeth, lips turned in a frown, eyes closed in frustration. Not an attractive look and definitely not one that would disguise how off guard you’d been taken by the question and how inappropriately personal it was.

He’d known Kung Lao too. The scar on his arm was from his hat. You’d been told in detail much of Kung Lao’s last few days thanks to Raiden.

“Too personal??” Cole winced apologetically.

“It’s okay.”

“He seemed like the kind of guy who would enjoy this.”

“He was. And yes, I was taking pictures for him. He would have wanted to see it.” He would have wanted to be there with you was what you meant, but you were sure Cole got that. He seemed like a smart enough guy. He nodded and silence fell again.

“I’m sorry.” He was avoiding your eyes this time.

“For what?”

“I feel responsible. He was protecting me. He was safe. Gone. He came back to protect me.” Cole had proven to you quickly that he was, in fact, a good man.

“No, Cole.” You scooted to the end of your seat. “Kung Lao made a choice to protect you. He wouldn’t want you to take the blame for what happened.”

“Liu Kang said the same thing.”

“I’m not surprised.” Exhaustion washed over you like a cold wave, tingling down your spine. Grief weighed heavily on your shoulders.

“How are you holding up? With all of this?” Cole gestured to nothing in particular. “It’s not easy to get back to normal after this. Even for me.”

“You seem like a nice guy, Cole, but I don’t know you and this is a very intimate conversation you’ve started.” You began to let him down gently. You weren’t comfortable talking about this with people you’d known for years so you definitely weren’t comfortable talking to a complete stranger about it.

“I get it. I just… wanted to check in.”

“I’m okay.” You assured him and when he didn’t seem to believe you, you smiled and continued. “I’ll be honest and vague. I’ll tell you what I tell everyone who asks me about it. It doesn’t get easier. I carry it better some days than others. People keep telling me that time brings distance but I’m not there yet. Despite that, I’m okay. Really.”

“I’m sorry.” He really did seem like a nice guy. “It’s hard to lose someone you care about.”

“It is.” You weren’t going to talk about it with him. You didn’t want to talk about it with anyone. You were tired of thinking about it. You thought about it constantly. “Can you fill me in on what’s going on with this actor?” A change of subject had to help.

“Oh, yeah.” Cole rolled his eyes and you laughed in surprise. “The only reason he’s even agreed to meet with us is because Sonya pinned one of his bodyguards when he tried to have us removed. He had a very brief conversation with us that was mostly inappropriate comments at Sonya’s expense. When I tried to explain to him what the dragon mark meant he said something about being a weird pitch for a movie. Still, he’s agreed to meet with us again so that’s something.” Cole sighed as though this had been a long and frustrating process. “I’m hoping that Liu can be more convincing. His arcana is impressive and might get him listening.”

“He’s good at that.” You considered that he hadn’t been over the last week. “I can help if need be. I can make a pretty dramatic first impression if I need to.”

“No one told me about your arcana.” Cole rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. This was a much more comfortable and relaxed conversation. Far less awkward, thankfully. “I asked Liu this morning when I ran into him but he was touchy when I brought it up.”

“Not surprised by that.”

“Yeah?” Cole’s curiosity was funny. You were reminded of a few of your monk friends back at Raiden’s Temple. When you’d first arrived there had been nothing but gossip. He was just making polite conversation, but it was still a little funny.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“What’s your arcana, then?”

“It’s easier to show you. Everyone gets the wrong impression when I tell them. And to show you? I need privacy.” You gestured down the block. “Is that okay?”

“Sure. Allison’s going to call me when they’re done.” Cole stood. You left a tip with the server and then walked with Cole down the street and into an alleyway between shops. You were still at risk of being seen but you would be careful. No one would believe what they saw anyway. “So?”

“Now I just need you to promise not to panic.” You laughed and backed a little bit away from him so you were facing toward the street and could keep an eye out for passersby.

“Why would I panic?”

You decided it was better to just show him than explain. It rarely made sense without showing it off anyway. You stepped back and studied Cole which elicited an eyebrow raise from him. Then you gestured with your index finger from the ground up. You created an ink copy of Cole. He stepped back from it in surprise so you made the clone mimic his movements.

These clones were easy enough to create but, in the beginning, it had been mostly on accident of either Kung Lao or Liu Kang since that was who you had spent the most time with. One of your first fights with Kung Lao had been about how your arcana always became Liu Kang when you panicked. There hadn’t ever been any resolution to it. The mimicked ‘drawings’ as you referred to them behaved in ways that you were familiar with but not knowing Cole, you studied him and copied his current motions.

The drawings drained you faster than creating inanimate objects would which was why you didn’t do it very often. But this trick was easy enough to give Cole an idea of what you could do. He looked to you for affirmation and you nodded. He then readied his stance for a fight so you mimicked him. Then he laughed and jumped from foot to foot and pointed at the ink version of him doing the same. “You can just do that? With anyone?”

“Among other things. This is the trick that freaks people out the most though.”

“So, your arcana is what? Cloning?

“Ink.” You corrected and with a snap of your fingers the drawing was gone and instead you used your forefinger to write his name in Chinese in the air. “It was Liu’s ideas to use it for mimicry. Kung Lao suggested weapons. Both have been pretty useful but keeping up the… for lack of a better word, puppets, is much more work. Liu would make things out of flame and I would mimic it with my ink until one day I accidentally mimicked him.”

“Accidentally?”

“Yeah. I’d gotten so familiar with him during training that instead of the fire, the ink became Liu Kang. After that we focused on drawing more specific things.” You drew a jian with a simple slap of your palms together. The weapons and shadows had once dripped with ink. You’d been using them for years now and so they didn’t look like ink anymore. They looked more like black crystal. “I’m pretty good at it these days.”

“I’d say.” Cole laughed and then pulled his phone from his pocket as if he’d gotten a message. “Well, if Liu can’t convince this guy to take us seriously then you can have him kick his own ass.”

“Guess I’m going to have to watch one of his movies so I can be familiar with him.” Maybe you’d do that tonight at the hotel.

“Hey, Ally and Emily want to grab a bite to eat. Do you want to join us? You’re welcome to.” Cole gestured back out to the street and you followed him. Your instinct was to say no. To go back to your hotel room and isolate yourself but that was your sadness talking. This was an opportunity. A choice. You could go back to your room and wallow in your misery or you could join Cole and his family and get to know them a bit better.

Distance yourself a little from the misery.

“I’d like that.” You decided and Cole smiled brightly.

“Good!” You followed Cole down the street to meet up with his wife and daughter. Every bit of your brain was objecting to the fact that you’d agreed but you knew it was the right thing to do. Kung Lao would have never let you wallow the way that you were. He would have dragged you out of bed and either tried to fix what was bothering you or distract you. There was nothing Kung Lao or anyone could do to fix this but if you at least tried to get out of your head then you might just help yourself.

Next Chapter >>

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duhragonball · 3 years

Photo

So, Terminator 3. T2 was such a huge hit that everyone just assumed a third movie was a given, but it took twelve years for it to finally happen. The Wikipedia article has a section about the delay, but it’s really long and complicated, and I’m not that interested anymore. The main takeaway is that James Cameron, who directed the first two movies, wasn’t involved in the making of T3. Apparently, he really wanted to do it in 1995, but by the time the rights and everything got squared away, he got busy doing Titanic and Avatar or whatever else, and he decided that he’d already told the story he wanted to tell in the first two movies. But he did tell Arnold Schwarzenegger to go for it if he got an offer.

I guess the reason I’m explaining all of this was because I always thought Cameron did make T3, and the reason Linda Hamilton wasn’t in it was because of hard feelings over their divorce in 1999. Which sounds kind of dumb now that I type it out. A fan would think that, because they see actors appearing or not appearing in movies as the ultimate sanction, but for them it’s strictly business. Arnold was in T3 because they paid him $30 million, not because he desperately wanted to play the character again. According to the Wikipedia article, Hamilton wasn’t in the movie because there just wasn’t much they could do with Sarah Connor in the story. Her role was to prepare John Connor for his own role. This movie features him as an adult, so there’s nothing more for her to do. Hamilton recognized this, and declined to participate.

I think T3 had a lot going against it, because it had so much to live up to, and fans of T2 had been waiting so long. I think everyone wanted the T3 movie James Cameron might have made in 1995, but what they got in 2003 was this movie, which didn’t quite live up to the hype. I’m not sure anything else could have lived up to the hype, though. T2 had some mighty big shoes to fill.

The big problem is that it’s basically the same plot structure as T2. Two more Terminators come from the future and they fight over the life of John Connor. After escaping the bad Terminator, John tries to stop Skynet from taking over and nuking humanity, and they end up having a final showdown with the bad Terminator along the way. It really is the same movie in a lot of ways, so it just begs to be compared to T2, which only magnifies its flaws.

The main difference is that John thought he already stopped Skynet years ago, so he’s horrified to learn that he only postponed the inevitable. He goes to a lot of trouble to try again, but the audience probably already anticipates that this won’t work. T2 was ambiguous about this, but T3 actually shows the nuclear missiles launching and destroying their targets. So it’s kind of a downer to watch. We even learn that Future John will die in 2032, because the good Terminator in this movie was the one who kills him, before he got reprogrammed to protect Present John.

The other difference is the addition of Kate Brewster, who’s fated to become John’s second-in-command and wife. The bad Terminator was actually sent to kill her and other would-be Resistance leaders, until it discovers John and changes priorities. Future Kate is also the one who sends the good Terminator back in time. I never fully understood Kate’s purpose in the movie, since she’s basically a spare John, but I think they needed a viewpoint character. In T1, Sarah was the viewpoint character, then it was John in T2. But in T3, Sarah’s dead and John already knows all about this stuff, so there needed to be a new character with a special destiny. The trouble is that I don’t think Kate gets a chance to digest this very well, probably because we’ve already covered this twice before already.

I think this is the movie where the time travel stuff really went off the rails. T1 was very consistent about establishing a predestination paradox. T2 hinted that the future could be changed, but never made it clear whether it actually changed or not. The value was in the attempt, not the result. But the T-850 tells John that “Judgement Day is inevitable”, and that he only postponed it from its original date in 1997. So they managed to change the future, just not enough. Fair, but how does the T-850 know this? Shouldn’t he be from the same altered future, where Judgement Day happened in 2003?

Also, this movie introduces more Terminator varieties. In the first movie, the T-800 is stated to be new in the future. Then in the second movie, the T-800 admits that the T-1000 is much more sophisticated, because it’s an “advanced prototype.” In this movie, the T-850 claims to be obsolete, and says the T-X is much more advanced. So it sounds like Skynet was busily inventing better Terminators for these missions, except it shouldn’t have had time for that. It lost the war and had to use the time machine as a last-ditch effort. It’s weird enough that it used the time machine three times, but it shouldn’t have had years to do this. The Human Resistance captured the time machine shortly after winning the war, right? I really hope T4 explains some of this.

Roger Ebert called this movie “Essentially one long chase and fight, punctuated by comic, campy or simplistic dialogue." The first 24 minutes are fairly dull, but once it gets rolling, it’s pretty fun to watch. But he’s right. When I watched all the DBZ movies in 2019, I realized that Movie 7 is just one big fight scene, with some slice of life stuff at the beginning to set things up. T3′s basically the same, with very little else to occupy its time. T1 had the relationship between Sarah and Kyle, and T2 had Sarah’s hangups and John’s bonding with “Uncle Bob”. T3 really only has Kate and John hanging on for dear life as their protector drags them through the story. It’s a fun chase, with lots of guns and explosions and breaking stuff, but there’s not much more to it.

So what’s good about this movie? What makes it really stand out? Well, for openers, the T-X is pretty cool. The T-1000 was going to be difficult to top, and I don’t think the T-X ever succeeded, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. She has liquid metal on top of an endoskeleton, so she can disguise herself, but she can’t seep under doors and stuff like that. Also, she has weapons built into her body, so she’s the only time traveler who could actually bring future weapons with her into the past. Also, she can control machines, like when she hijacks a bunch of police cars and fire trucks to help her chase down John. She’s ridiculously overpowered, and she does not give a fuck who knows it. The previous Terminators at least attempted to keep a low profile, revealing themselves only when ready to attack, but the T-X just wreaks havoc all over the place. She’s not worried about the authorities or a lack of firepower, or anything at all, so she’s free to execute her mission with reckless abandon.

Second, I take some solace in John Connors personal crisis in this movie. He was kind of chill about the whole thing in T2, because he got his mom back and he had a cool robot pal, and they seemed to have the whole Skynet problem figured out. In this movie, Sarah’s dead, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He can’t quite believe that Judgement Day won’t come, so he lives off the grid and tries to avoid everyone. He doesn’t want the Future War to happen, but at the same time, his life has no purpose without it. Later, he becomes despondent and says that he must not be the chosen one after all, because he’s no leader and he never was.

Except, he is, and he has to be, and he becomes one at the end of the movie, when he finally accepts his fate. There’s something very powerful about the shot of Kate holding his hand as he prepares to give orders to the other survivors on the radio. They’re stuck in this dark future now, and they have to see it through together.

I think, whenever I watched these movies before, that I never really “got” John Connor as a character. In T2 he was a kid, so I just wrote him off. He wasn’t John Connor yet, so it didn’t matter much. In T3, he seemed extremely pathetic, and I took his lack of confidence at face value. I thought he really wasn’t ready to lead, and he only ended up in that role by default. But this time around, I see how in T2 he was the moral center of the good guy team. Sarah was lashing out at everyone and the Terminator only cared about mission objectives, but John kept reminding everyone of the value of human life, and what they were all fighting for. Even as a kid, he got “it” in a way that others didn’t. In T3, he’s demoralized, but he still knows how to do this stuff, and how to lead. He just doesn’t feel motivated until the final act of the movie.

That didn’t stick with me when I first saw this movie in ‘03, but I’m older now, and less sure of myself than I used to be, and all the validation I get feels hollow and unconvincing. Like John, I may be aware that I have the capacity to do things, but it doesn’t always feel like it’s enough. That’s what T3 has that T2 doesn’t. It’s that crisis of confidence that separates the two films, although it’s subtle enough that it’s easy to overlook.

#mike watches the terminator

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anxiouslymalicious · 4 years

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Losers Club Plus One Part 11

A Richie Tozier x daughter!reader series

Read the previous part here or go here for the full series masterlist!

A/N: Hiya there! It’s getting serious, we have reached the last hour of the movie! I am actually growing a little sad knowing that this long ass journey is going to end soon, but I also am kind of proud? Anyway, let’s enjoy this. My hometown is being put under lockdown, by the way, so I might feel quite bored quite often and throw out more content!

This part is about 3.2k words, just fyi. I hope you enjoy and, as always, feedback, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! I hope you enjoy!

“Yeah, no, you’re staying out here.” Richie said as he noticed that his daughter was trying to follow the group. He was fumbling with something in his pockets, trying to find the car keys.

“What? No. There’s no way I’m letting you guys do this on your own.” Y/n replied, crossing her arms before her chest. Her cheeks grew warm with anger.

“There’s no way I’m letting you come with us.” Richie countered; stance equally determined.

“Richie…” Eddie started, only to be interrupted by Richie himself.

“No, don’t ‘Richie’ me. She’s not coming with us. Y/N is staying in the car where it’s safe.”

“Statistically speaking, it would be safer for her to come with us than to stay by herself in the car.” Eddie looked at Y/N, then over to the cars parked beside the street.

“I’ve told you before, it is not safe for us to split up. Y/N doesn’t even know how to drive in case she needs to get away, there is nothing for her to defend herself with once that fucking clown comes out. Staying in the car would literally be a death trap for her.” Eddie tried to argue with Richie who now looked twisted. The rest of the Losers looked on as they watched the heated discussion, not wanting to interfere. Each of them wanted the best and the best only for the littlest Loser, but what really was the best for her in that moment? Their minds travelled back to Stanley, how they saw him on the ground, his version of IT biting at his face, perhaps only mere moments from killing Stan. Did they really want that for Y/N? Did they want to risk that much? However, that first time, no one died. No matter how close. They got out of there once before, who said they couldn’t do that a second time?

“Eat a dick, Eddie.” Richie mumbled before averting his gaze to look at his daughter. The determination in her eyes was uncanny. Richie knew there was no stopping her.

“You won’t ever leave my side. You’ll stay with one of the Losers at all times. If I tell you to run and leave, you will. And don’t try to be a hero down there. And if you feel like anything’s too much for you, tell us and we’re gonna figure something out.”

Y/N nodded along to her father’s rules. She had to bite her lip to keep her tears at bay. Tears of uncertainty. No one knew what was truly ahead of them and there were no guessing games either. The Losers just hoped that at least one of them would see the daylight again.

Mike went back to the car to fetch the few flashlights he had thrown into the car before hurrying to catch up with Bill. He then proceeded to give them out to the Losers Plus One. One after another got their lights. Everyone except for Stanley. But in some way, Stan was still there. Maybe it was just a silly way of grief and remembering for Mike as he, with a heavy heart and deep sigh, gave the last flashlight to Y/N, but it seemed like the girl was Stan’s filler. Like there was a reason she managed to convince Richie to take her with him from LA back to Derry, into the mess they were met with.

Y/N shivered when she really stepped into the building. It was like every last drop of happiness had been washed away, like she had been drained of her emotions, drained of what made her human. A cold sweat broke out on her skin and she felt her heart hammering painfully against her ribcage. IT could attack them at any given moment. IT could come for them whenever. IT could be right around the corner.

Out in Derry, Y/N had felt like she was running around with a target on her head. She was in a town she didn’t know, surrounded by people she didn’t know. Everyone could have been Pennywise in disguise, as far as she knew. But now, they had entered IT’s home. The place IT knew better than anyone else. The place IT resided and killed children in. The odds of beating IT, whatever IT even was, were slim and Y/N had figured out just that. Basically, all of them were a delicious meal, presenting itself on a plate for IT.

Y/N followed the adult Losers she had grown to trust around the house, staying especially close to Richie. But she couldn’t help but feel like Eddie was keeping an extra close eye on her. Just in case.

Wood creaked below their feet, a low hum echoed through the room with the wind whistling through the cracks and broken windows. Suddenly, a new sound caught her attention. A sound that didn’t fit the picture. A sound that sounded so foreign, it was terrifying.

“What the fuck?” Y/N breathed out as she took a step back, never having seen anything like that before. But none of the Losers seemed to be weirded out by some black lava randomly seeping out of the wood, followed by a hissing sound of burning wood. Each one of the Losers seemed tense, but a strange sense of calmness accompanied their characters. Y/N felt lost. Because she felt distanced from the Losers. Not so much physically, but more mentally.

“Well, I love what he’s doing with the place.” Richie said as he watched the mass spread.

“Peep-peep, Richie.” Beverly said, voice unimpressed with the humour Richie still tried to bring up, despite the seriousness of the situation. Y/N felt a shiver running down her spine, shaking through her body, as she unconsciously tried to get closer to the Losers. Nothing she saw was right. It wasn’t natural, or so it seemed, and it made her head swim. She felt like she was thrown straight into a horror movie and was made to live there, fight her way through. It was terrifying as she didn’t know what would happen next, where she had to go, but the worst was the unknowingness of the moment, the uncertainty if any of them would ever see the sunlight again. If any of their lungs would ever be filled with the fresh, unused and clean air they were met with outside. If any of them would even be able to breathe still after this night or if they would all lose their lives.

“I’ve got to keep that one in mind. Maybe that’ll shut him up on the flight back home.” Y/N replied, hoping to ease some of her own tension the way her father always does. Successfully so, with the chuckle that escaped Ben’s lips, she did feel a little lighter on her feet. She felt some of the hopelessness melting away. She felt a little warmth in her chest.

Bill walked before the rest of the group. Slowly at first, but he seemed to be impatient, every step he took was quicker than the last. Y/N watched him go, not knowing if what he did was something conscious, something he himself wanted to do, if he knew where to go or if it was IT somehow forcing him. How, she didn’t know, but Y/N was sure IT had more tricks up his clown-costume sleeve than any of them would like to know.

Floorboards creaked beneath their feet. Dust swirled in the air, straining Y/N’s airways. The air was thick with what Y/N felt might be the smell of decay, old blood, maybe even faeces. She had no idea what she had yet to encounter, but the smell that tested her gag reflexes already didn’t give her much hope of a fair game.

For a second, she let her mind wander. She wondered how many people had been taken by IT. How many children had been led to their death with promises meant to be broken and false hopes of things they would never receive? Y/N let her mind wander, far enough to not notice that they had split into two groups, one of them distancing themselves from the other quite rapidly.

Ben suddenly groaned. Throaty, filled with pain. Heads whipped around. Before Y/N was even able to comprehend what was happening, Bev had already called out to him, a worried yell of his name. Something about the way her voice carried itself made her sound like she was already expecting the worst. And she wasn’t wrong with that.

Y/N looked around, head frantically whipping from side to side, only being able to locate Bev, Ben and Mike. Yelling echoed through the abandoned house, she heard Bill yelling for them, she heard Eddie and her father. Fists banging against a door. And she saw Ben sinking to his knees. His hands pressed to his stomach, trying to find a source of pain. Y/N rushed towards Ben, holding onto his right arm alongside Beverly, who felt panic take over as she watched how Ben’s white shirt gained blood red stains.

Somewhere down the hall, Bill was yelling for Ben. Y/N heard their voices clear and loudly and she felt how her feelings were twisted. She felt the need to run to the other Losers, stick with her father and the person who might as well become her stepfather, but she didn’t want to let Ben down. She couldn’t bring herself to leave him to his suffering.

Mike joined the two women as Ben lowered himself to the ground, screams of agony leaving his lips, shaking the Losers to their core, breaking their hearts and making their stomachs churn. Ben pulled up his shirt, revealing streaks of blood, open wounds as something none of them could see dragged along his stomach, leaving deep cuts.

Bev yelled as Ben watched his stomach being torn apart with wild eyes, too many bad memories, too much fear bubbling up in him. He was reminded of the pure hatred, the insanity in Bowers’ eyes as he cut into Ben’s stomach that one fateful summer, the cuts that pained him so much physically, but even more mentally. The wound that would taunt him until he left the town and far beyond that. A scar that never really let him go.

Y/N cringed as she watched, before she jumped up, looking for the clown in a panicked daze. She didn’t notice how she was running around, looking for something that might give away his location. It happened naturally, her instincts took over. But if there was one thing Y/N knew about the clown by now, it was that it had a preference when it came to attacks. It would use their fears against them. Now she was left to figure out what could scare Ben.

She turned to look at Ben, the carvings on his stomach now read ‘HOME AT LA’, new lines appearing on Ben’s stomach with every second. Y/N’s eyes finally landed on the mirror. She saw their huddled up figures. In her state, she almost didn’t notice the white face added to the group.

“The mirror!” Y/N yelled out as she watched IT happily torture Ben, the words on his stomach being completed as IT was ready to move for the kill. The kill IT had been dreaming of, the thing IT had waited 27 years for. The first out of eight kills that would finally give it the satisfaction and peace IT had craved for years. Ever since those kids came across IT for the first time.

Neither Y/N nor Bev really thought as they acted. Both acted on instinct, taking the first hard object they could find and smashing it against the mirror. It shattered into what looked and felt like a million pieces as the girls tried to shield their faces from the sharp shards flying around the room, whipping around to look at Ben.

The pent up adrenaline left their bodies quickly, a heavy weight being lifted off their chests as they spotted Ben’s now free-of-cuts abdomen and neck. Y/N’s relief, however, was quick to dissipate though, as the screams of the three men that walked ahead reached her ears.

She ran faster than she thought her legs could carry her towards what her ears told her was the source of the screams until she was met with closed doors.

“Dad! DAD!” Y/N yelled as she hammered against the door with her fists. Tears blurred her vision, a sharp pain shooting from her balled fists through her whole arm as she tried to get into the room, trying to get to her father who was screaming for help.

“Richie!” Mike yelled, followed by Ben and Bev as the trio ran after the girl who now threw herself against the door in hopes of getting it to open up. The wood finally gave in. Eddie was standing in a corner. Shaking his head. Face contorted with fear. Bill was screaming. For a knife. Richie was begging for help. A knife. Where? She saw it. Glistening in the low light.

Suddenly, the spider-head trying to kill Richie stopped its movement. Bill looked up in shock. Y/N held the knife tightly in her hands, the blade pushed into the head. Her knuckles were white, fingers laced tightly around the blade like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

In a fit of rage, she pulled the knife out of the head only to ram it back in. Over and over and over again. Five, six, seven times. She wasn’t met with any resistance, nothing to stop her from letting out the anger and frustration and hatred she felt towards the thing that would forever have an impact on her life.

It wasn’t until Ben grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back that she stopped. If it was up to Y/N, she would have continued to stab the thing until it wasn’t more than a pile of mush on the ground. Despite the nausea and the guilt that filled her, ate away at her. Despite the dirty feeling on her skin as she tried to end a life. Despite the burning in her brain and in her heart, both of them yelling at her to stop. But she couldn’t bring herself to do just that. She couldn’t stop. She couldn’t rest. Not until revenge had been served. Not until justice found its way to make things right again. Even though she knew that things wouldn’t be right again. What she saw wasn’t something to forget. What they had said and done wasn’t something to shrug off.

“Y/N, it’s enough. Richie’s alright.” Ben whispered to the girl in his arms as he pulled her away and tried to push her head in his chest, hoping to shield her sight. From what exactly, Ben wasn’t sure. Maybe he didn’t want to have her see IT get away with what it had done. Maybe he wanted her to just focus on him to calm down. Or maybe he was scared that some of the anger she was able to let out would rebound onto Richie and Ben hoped to prevent that. All he knew was that it felt right to hug his Loser-niece tightly as the rest of the group tried to catch their breath.

“Is everybody okay?” Bev asked as she dropped to her knees beside Richie who was coughing and sputtering with Bill still leaning over him. She pulled off her jacket to wipe whatever the slime was that IT had left on Richie’s face away.

Bill was now the one to feel the rage. Storming towards Eddie, he only had one thing in his mind. Anger burned hot inside his mind and his chest as he pushed Eddie back to the wall.

“He could have f-f-f-fucking died, man. You k-know that, right?” Bill screeched at Eddie, voice coarse with disbelief. Eddie’s gaze travelled from Bill, Big Bill, who now seemed more intimidating than ever, over Richie who was being cared for by Bev, to Y/N, still in Ben’s arms, as he and Mike tried to provide comfort and maybe just the smallest sense of calmness. She was shaking, shivering, as she watched her father, seemingly zoned out with a few stray tears on her cheeks.

“Georgie’s dead. The k-kid’s dead. Stan-Stanley’s dead. Y-you want Richie too?” Bill couldn’t help himself as he screamed, the fear settling in him, he felt intimidated and overwhelmed by the situation he found himself in. None of them wanted to be back there, none of them wanted to face IT again, but Bill was the one who had the hardest time. He was the cause of their misery. He was the cause of Georgie’s death. And Stan’s. And the kid’s. He couldn’t bear the guilt of another Loser, one of the people closest to him, to lose their life for his cause. And especially not the only Loser who had a child of their own to take care of.

As Bill kept screaming the words ‘You want Richie too?’, all Eddie could do was shake his head, eyes not meeting Bill’s as he whispered his reply. “I don’t. I don’t want Richie too. I don’t, I don’t.”

When Bill’s shouting ceased, the room filled with heavy breaths and quiet, the occasional sound of a floorboard creaking as Y/N crawled towards her father, embracing him tightly. Finally, Eddie managed to look at Bill, properly look at him.

“Please don’t be mad, Bill.” Eddie was close to begging as he felt hot tears fill his eyes to the brim, threatening to spill over at any given moment. “I was just scared.”

And at that moment, they all noticed. Eddie’s eyes were still the same. It was Eddie Spaghetti Bill was yelling at. Not Edward Kaspbrak, the successful Risk Analyser. It was Big Bill yelling, not Bill Denbrough, the bestselling author.

“That- that’s what he w-w-wants, right?” Bill asked, realisation dawning in him, the Losers and their Plus One. Y/N watched Eddie and Bill with cold eyes, a broken heart. She almost felt betrayed by Eddie. The man who had told her that he loved her father, had feelings for him in the least, who couldn’t step up and save him when no one else was available. She almost lost the only person who had stayed with her through everything, the man who felt like home. And she couldn’t forget. Hurt was deeply implanted in her chest and in her head as Richie held onto her for dear life.

“Don’t- don’t give it to him.” Bill finished, taking his hands off Eddie who now sobbed, almost not more than a quiet gasp, as he realised that his lack of actions could have led to the death of his love. And it pained him, even more, to know that it had taken him more than 27 years and he still didn’t have the balls to even think of Richie as more than a crush. Deep down, Eddie longed to be in Richie’s warm embrace, he cherished every joke Richie cracked, no matter how insulting, maybe even especially when insulting. Richie made his heart flutter, his palms sweaty. And even the thought of losing Richie to death scared Eddie so much that his body went frigid, ice cold. He froze. He was petrified. But he couldn’t tell. Not Richie, not Y/N. Not now. Not when they both looked at him, disbelief clear in their faces, eyes cold with hatred.

Only, they weren’t. But Eddie didn’t know.

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solara-bean · 3 years

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I was gonna use this to rant about the live action transformers movies but my 10 year old self who loved Winx Club won’t let me.

So here we go.

I’ve seen a few people say that the writers could’ve improved the Fate show ( calling it the live action Winx club feels like an insult ) by doing this or that. This is valid but I think the problem lies within the writers themselves. Let me explain by using one of my favorite reboots: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

It may not be the best comparison but just stick with me here. Although I and many others were weary of the cartoon, after a few episodes something about it really stuck with me. I became invested in it like I did the other TMNT shows, if not more so, and was devastated when Nickelodeon canceled it. I then took a moment to think on why I liked it so much.

Then it hit me.

The creators love TMNT!

I truly believe that all of them grew up with it or at least enjoyed watching it at any age. It really shows, especially in the changes they made. A few include:

We don’t see that much of New York City - Almost every episode has a different setting in NY

Raph and Leo’s excessive rivalry - Raph is the very protective big bro and Leo is a dumbs sometimes

The turtles are worried about being seen by humans - people are either too dumb to notice them in disguise or don’t care

Splinter is too hard on them - Splinter tries his best to be a good single dad and acknowledges when he’s wrong

Mikey is treated poorly and annoyingly dumb - Mikey is the optimistic baby brother who has a dark side

They're teens but they face a lot of heavy, dark themes - they get to enjoy their youth and act like teenagers

The turtles look a bit too similar - They’re all a different species of turtle and it’s not made into an issue since found family is the top trope!!

April really just serves as the girl of the group - April is an absolute BOSS, has a sweet platonic relationship with the main cast AND she’s Black!!!

THE ANIMATION

The creators practically took notes on everything people had problems with previous adaptations and went above and beyond. Sure it’s not perfect but the effort and passion shows! Rise is practically a love letter to the franchise.

Fate on the other hand...

I’m pretty sure the creators skimmed through episode one, went to wikipedia, then said “ Yeah write down the names on a sticky note.” It’s obvious that the whole show is nothing more than a cash grab. They knew that Winx was already popular, so if they plopped on a few titles people would be sure to watch it out of curiosity ( or in this case spite ). The only liberty they took that was kinda reasonable was putting everyone in the same school. Although, they probably did that to save money on different settings😒.

From what I remember, Winx Club was an amazing show with great characters. Making a show “ edgy and mature” because the original target audience is older now is done to death! Gen Z is messed up enough already, let us have pretty magical transformations dammit😫! If I’d change anything, it would be giving the cast more diverse body types ( Fate attempted this with Flora but at the cost of whitewashing her, they know that mid and plus size Latina women exist right??? ). Oh what could have been😔.

#fate winx club #fate the winx saga #winx club #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #imma go watch a Winx transformation compilation to cope #and no I didn't watch the show #the trailer and everything I've seen online is enough to make my blood boil #please god let it flop

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joealwyndaily · 4 years

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Joe Alwyn — Red Magazine (Jan 2020) interview

You’d think that a back-to-back Hollywood movie career and a megastar girlfriend might have changed Joe Alwyn, but he’s quick to assure Nathalie Whittle that his feet remain firmly on the ground.

“So you didn’t see the part where the aliens attack?” asks Joe Alwyn, a playful smirk on his face. He’s referring to his latest film, Harriet, which I had a sneak preview of the previous day, although the fire evacuation (false alarm) meant I missed the ending. The biographical drama tells the story of Harriet Tubman (played by Cynthia Erivo), the historic abolitionist who escaped slavery and led hundreds of others to freedom. Alwyn plays her insufferably cruel and capricious slave master Gideon Brodess. He is, of course, joking about the aliens. At least, I hope he is. Today, we’re tucked away in the corner of a dimly lit bar at London’s Covent Garden Hotel. It’s the sort of drizzly afternoon that might dampen the moods of most, but not Alwyn. He appears cheery and at ease, sporting country casuals: a grey mohair jumper, blue jeans, and brown boots along with an unkempt beard; perhaps an attempt to disguise the boyish good looks he’s become known for. He stops to interrupt me only once with a look of alarm: he’s forgotten to offer me something to eat or drink. I can have anything I want, he assures me.

At 28, Alwyn has had the sort of career trajectory that most aspiring actors wistfully dream about for years, even decades. His education included a degree in English literature and drama at the University of Bristol, followed by a BA in acting at London’s Royal Central School of Speech and Drama. But within two weeks of his graduate showcase, Alwyn received a life-changing phone call. He refers to it as the thing “I owe everything to.”

“I’d just signed with an agent and I was kind of pinching myself, you know, how surreal is that?” he says. “She sent me a portion of the script for a film, Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk, that Ang Lee was directing. I’d grown up watching his films — Brokeback Mountain and Life of Pi — so I couldn’t believe I was even going to do a tape for someone like that. I got my dad to film me in a scene in my bedroom and some mates to film me during a lunch break. The next thing I know, Ang wants to meet me in New York.” Cue a series of auditions and screen tests that led to Alwyn bagging the title role in his first big-budget Hollywood film. He was just 24. “It was so much so fast that I didn’t really compute what was going on,” he concedes. “Before that I was just a poor student who barely understood how people got auditions, let alone landed jobs.” Did he have any jobs before that? I ask. “I did have this one job in London,” he says wryly. “Do you know that frozen yogurt place, Snog?” I’m struggling to picture Alwyn serving up frozen delights. He’s laughing now. Was it a good gig? “Exceptional!” More laughter follows. “I mean, I was paid some money! Then I worked in a menswear shop. I did what I could to make some extra cash.”

A far cry from a frozen-yogurt counter, doors started opening to bigger and better opportunities as soon as Billy Lynn hit cinemas. The next script Alwyn read was Yorgos Lanthimos’s The Favourite (released in 2019), in which he secured a small but riotous role as young baron Samuel Masham alongside acting greats Olivia Colman and Emma Stone. “Putting on giant wigs and running around in make-up and chasing Emma Stone through the forest — what more could you want?” he laughs. The film earned widespread critical acclaim, receiving seven BAFTAs and a record 10 British Independent Film awards.

Having further honed his craft in subsequent films Mary Queen of Scots and gay-conversion therapy drama Boy Erased, Alwyn is about to enter into unknown territory. This Christmas, he’ll play Bob Cratchit in his first-ever TV drama, BBC One’s A Christmas Carol; a “darker, twisted, less glossy” version of the Charles Dickens classic. He’s “feeling good about it,” but I’m curious as to how he’s approached this change of scenery. Was he not nervous? “Oh, very. I tried to watch other people. It’s the second time I’ve worked with Guy Pearce [who plays Scrooge] and I asked him a lot of stuff, which probably annoyed him. I watched the way he works and the questions he asked on set when he was approaching a scene.”

Two people who will definitely be watching Alwyn’s TV debut are his mother, a psychotherapist, and his father, a documentary-maker. “They’d better be watching!” he laughs. Born in London’s Tufnell Park, Alwyn recalls being given stacks of videos every birthday and “watching them to death, until the tapes burned up.” One of his favourites was The Mask of Zorro. In fact, he was so obsessed with it that he and his best friend took up fencing lessons at a local community centre in Crouch End, where, by chance, he was spotted by a local casting agent for the hit British romcom Love Actually. She asked him to audition for the role of Sam; he breaks into a wide smile when I ask what he remembers of it. “I didn’t know much about what the film was; I was most excited about the fact I got the day off school! But I remember being in a room with Richard Curtis and Hugh Grant reading scenes, many of which didn’t make it into the film. And I left the audition thinking, ‘I really recognize that guy from somewhere’.”

Alwyn didn’t get the part. Instead, he forgot about acting for a while, with the exception of summer holidays, where his parents would send him and his older brother off to “some drama camp as a way of preoccupying us.” He explains that when he later realized he wanted to act on a serious level, he kept it a secret. Was it because he was worried how his parents would react to a somewhat precarious career choice? “Well, it meant putting myself out there in a performative way, and that wasn’t necessarily something I did or was used to doing. It felt like it should be quite a ‘look at me’ job, and that wasn’t really how I felt growing up. I wasn’t a painfully introverted kid, but I wasn’t a particularly extroverted one, either. So maybe I was self-conscious about the idea of saying to people, ‘Look, I can do this’.”

He credits drama school with giving him “permission” to go for it. “Plus my parents were great about it. They’re both freelance themselves, so while they recognize the perils, they also couldn’t say to me, ‘We can follow what we want, but you can’t’. There wasn’t a boundary, which helped a lot.”

I wonder if it’s been difficult acclimatizing to the level of fame that’s come as result of his roles. “There have definitely been changes that have taken some getting used to, whether it’s sitting down and doing an interview or someone recognizing you,” he says. “There are things that have changed in my life, but I still very much feel like the same person. It probably helps that I’ve been hanging out with the same friends literally every day since I was 12 years old. Maybe it’s when those things change that people change, I don’t know.”

It’s fair to say that the level of interest in Alwyn has, in part, been heightened by the fact that, in his spare time he plays the role of Mr. Taylor Swift. The pair reportedly met in late 2016 and became in item shortly afterwards. I’ve been warned ahead of our meeting that Alwyn “doesn’t talk about that”, and he’s keen to justify his stance in person. “I feel like my private life is private and everyone is entitled to that.” he says. “I’ve read stories recently about people like Ben Stokes and Gareth Thomas, which are a gross invasion of their privacy and of their lives. It’s disgusting. That’s not journalism, that’s just invasive.”

It must be tough, I suggest, being in a relationship that is surrounded by so much scrutiny. “I just don’t read the headlines,” he says. “I really don’t, because I can guarantee 99% of them are made up. So I ignore it.” Recent rumours suggest the pair are engaged, and are owed in part to one of Swift’s latest songs, Lover (’My hearts been borrowed and yours has been blue. All’s well that ends well to end up with you’), as well as a piece of string tied around Swift’s finger in a Vogue cover shoot. According to die-hard fans, this means something. But to Alwyn, it’s clear it means nothing at all. Is he never tempted to respond to the mistruths, to shut them down? “No, because it’s just pointless,” he sighs. “It won’t change anything. I just don’t pay any attention. I have my life and it’s kind of separate to all that stuff.”

I’m curious as to how much time he gets to simply enjoy the success he’s experiencing. “There’s lots of time not working, I wish there was less in a way!” he laughs. “I go to the pub, play football, go to gigs, watch TV (he’s just finished season three of True Detective), pretty normal things. There’s no ‘secret life’. But ultimately, I worry about finding the next job; that’s the truth. In the midst of everything, there’s always that feeling of ‘I’m never going to work again’. It’s a cliche, but you can’t just sit there waiting for the phone to ring. You have to try and take control. You’re at the mercy of the things you seek out — the directors and the connections — so I try to be on top of that as I can and read what I’m sent and be discerning. I try to pick wisely and follow up on people and leads that I’m interested in.”

Is there an end point he wants to get to, where he’ll feel like he’s made it? “Things have certainly shifted in my twenties,” he says. “Success to me now is doing things that make me happy and that make me feel fulfilled, doing what I want to do and being on the right track. Not in terms of being on a results-based track, but just doing something I love.” He pauses and smiles. “That sounds a bit sentimental, doesn’t it?”

#joe alwyn #interview #red magazine #there's one paragraph i could do without but otherwise this is great

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obscuniverse · 4 years

Text

Obscu listens to: The Magnus Archives - Episode 1 ‘Angler Fish’

@derinthescarletpescatarian has been ranting at me about this series for what feels like a million years so here I am. Also apparently I’m the world’s biggest stereotype. Let’s roll, shall we?

Oooh, I do like spooky violin. Can’t have a horror anything without spooky violin.

Okay can we pause and talk about the symbolism of having ‘Angler Fish’ be your first episode title? Fun Fact! As you may recall, the angler fish is what happens when you ask any child to draw any animal that they imagine has teeth, and the teeth come out all different sizes and directions but they’re definitely spikes, and then they get so caught up with the teeth that they rush the rest of the body so it looks like a particularly carnivorous poop? That’s the one. The part that’s particularly relevant is the the bit where they’re a bunch of glowing knobheads; that is, they have a fleshy forehead appendage where the end is colonised by bioluminescent bacteria, which they use as a lure for smaller, less coprotype prey. So we’ve got some strong lure imagery, and it’s the first episode, so on one hand this is literally the lure that the series is using to draw us, the readers, into consuming (or, if you know @derinthescarletpescatarian, being consumed by) the series. Of course, it’s almost certainly referring to the content of the episode as well so I anticipate a protagonist (and possibly diverse other victims) to be _lured _into something bad for them.

Secondary Fun Fact! Anglerfish mating involve the male biting into the belly of the (several times larger in size) female and hanging on until their skin and blood vessels literally fuse together, with the anglerfish male being fed directly by nutrients from the blood of the female through their shared circulatory system. Will our protagonist bite off more than they can chew and become hopelessly, permanently enmeshed in something larger and more dangerous than they, so interwoven with it that they are unable to extricate themselves from it but also being given by it the means to survive? Will we the listeners? I guess we’ll just have to hit play because I’m only 36 seconds in. I do like the narrator’s voice though.

More spooky violin, can’t go wrong with that. Ooooh a crescendo. Hot fucking damn. Oh snap there was some sad tunelessness there!

Ohshit it’s a recorded diary! Every horror game I’ve ever played has prepared me for this moment.

Nothing spooky happens at a research institute named for strength or might in both Latin and Norse. Certainly not one that deals in esoterica. Okay, let’s see what Johnathan Sims (Simms?) gets up to at Swole Hogwarts.

What’s that? The previous Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher Archivist is dead and you’ve been hired by Spooky French Dumbledore who is almost certainly a monster because of course he is to replace them? This will end only well and definitely not with a spiral into a mental breakdown culminating in some Here’s Johnny! shenanigans.

“There are very few genuine cases” and now that you’ve jinxed yourself every single genuine case in the world is going to be crawling out of the walls to say hello. You’d think after 4 years you would’ve learned not to say such things. It’s like watching D-Class personnel at the SCP foundation.

“When an investigation has gone as far as it can it goes to the archives” (emphasis mine). So you’re gonna be digging into a 200 years’ of spoopy cold cases that are gonna get real hot real quick. I’m down.

Ahahahaha. Oh academia. Even in Swole Hogwarts you can’t get away from theorists vs practicalists.

86-91-G/H is definitely going to come up again. I can vividly picture the wild strewn-about room of someone driven mad by the haunting nature of their job. Or of my own office because of who I am as a person. I wonder which file ate Gertrude. I also wonder if the lack of use of modern electronics is a safety measure that Old Mate Johnny has unknowingly violated.

“I have secured the services of two redshirts, and you can tell because they’re unnamed researchers” “I don’t expect Martin to secretly be the highly skilled wizard/creature manipulating events form their apparent background doddering disguised as a silly fool in keeping with long fairy-tale tradition contribute anything except delays” Martin is definitely Snape. OOOooooOOOooooOOH, attempting to digitise T̵̨̛͚͉̫̩̰͍̓̽̽̍̓͑̓̾͌͗̂̈́̉ḫ̸͈̪̉̆̓̀͌̓͒̈̋̐͝ĕ̵͉̻̻ ̷̜͙̤͎͈̝̮̘̄̅̓̆̿̕͝R̴̪͑̍̒̍̾̅̐́͘͠͠ę̸̞̪͕̠͍͉̝̀̈́́͌̽ͅc̴̟̱͈̦̎̅̋̏͆̌̇͘͠͠o̶͚̞͕̲͒̋r̷̲̟̭͚̠̾͑́͋̓̈́̎͒̾̚d̴̩͓́͑̀͊̂̿͛i̴̗͈̣̟̻̯̼̘̞͕̋͜ͅņ̶̡͍͚͙̩͇̟̝̩̬͍͖̳̓g̷̯̬̙̱͚̏͂̔͐̉̇̾̋̓̎̈́͘s̷̢̫̗͙̱̻̳̞̩̐͛͂̍̑̐̊̚ have been met with significant spooky magical fuckery distortion. Fancy that.

The redshirts are named Tim and Sasha, and they will be doing some supplementary investigation suicidal monster hunting to fill in Blanks That No Man Was Meant To Fill. Maybe they’ll survive now that they have names, but they really should’ve saved the name for when one of them is mortally injured and the audience has to care enough about them for them to survive so you can reveal that they are in fact a person.

“I apologise to my eventual replacement after I am horribly eaten by/transformed into whatever is in 86-91-G/H any future researcher.”

Johnathan Sims is Niles Crane from Frasier and I will accept no word to the contrary.

Ah yes, the most esoteric and terrifying of eldritch phenomena; someone trying to bum a ciggy off you when you’re 80% scotch and 60% regret.

Ah, so “can I have a cigarette” with a human form ‘asking’ is the glowy knob on this ghost’s forehead. Completely without intonation because it’s just playing back a noise that attracts hammered people at night rather than understanding words that attract hammered people at night. Pretty sure I’ve seen this in an anime.

Apparently totally sloshed British students make better horror/urban fantasy protagonists than most movies would credit.

I take it back.

At least the spooky poopfish got some dinner.

I wonder if the missing student’s name also been John is a bit of tongue in cheek.

Oooh he’s created a “this is all bullshit” category into which he clearly intends to consign most of these. STOP PLAYING CHICKEN WITH THE UNFATHOMABLE HORRORS OF THE VOID BETWEEN THE STARS. Or, y’know, keep at it. This will not be hilarious and/or traumatic at all.

“Check out this photo of a spooky ghost if you run it through a sixth sense filter” That’s right Johnny, get beckoned.

I’m actually not 100% on this format but I’ll give it a few more tries.

#tma #the magnus archives #Swole Hogwarts #Spooky poopfish #86-91-G/H

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oveliagirlhaditright · 5 years

Text

Breaking Glass Ceilings

Birthday gift for @bluerosesburnblue, that pairs Ephemer with her version of Player “Sanya”:

Summary: When Ephemer and Sanya have their first meeting and mission together in ages, things seem great... But this begins to unravel, when Sanya remembers everything, Brain contemplates many a thing, and more of the Master of Master’s plan is undone.

Breaking Glass Ceilings

Sanya looked at Ephemer, finding it hard to keep her crush on him in check.

It was stupid, she knew—since she barely knew the guy—but what could she say? He had been one of her first friends, and that stuck.

Plus, the boy was beautiful. So, there was that.

But Sanya tried to put all of this on the backburner—as she always did—and instead tried to figure out the mystery that was Daybreak Town right now.

There was some sort of hologram of it appearing above the Foretellers’ Tower? Well, that didn’t bode well to Sanya.

It reminded her of a movie that had, ironically, been playing when the Master of Masters had still been around: That had dealt with people thinking that the world they were in was the actual dream.

And while the light within Sanya didn’t want to believe that that was the case, she had to wonder. Wouldn’t it explain a lot of the things that were happening lately?

But until Sanya knew more—because in her eyes, she wasn’t wise—she was reserving judgement.

But when Brain began explaining things, in a sort of techno-babble that Sanya couldn’t keep up with at all… from the few things she’d been able to understand, she thought her suspicion might have been correct.

And when Sanya and Ephemer entered the very data-esque world of Sugar Rush, she began praying that Fix-It-Felix-Junior would somehow fix her world back to the way it had been before:

Sanya ended up telling Ephemer as much… and about her suspicions with other things.

At night—while the two of them were in some sort of candy forest, and using candy canes as sticks for fire—Sanya asked the question that had been playing on her mind for so long. “I’m having… dreams about the Keyblade War. And that can’t be, because that didn’t happen. Right? So whyam I dreaming these things so vividly? It actually happened. Didn’t it, Ephemer? And if so… can we believe in our own world at all?”

There it was: Everything Sanya had been regretfully mulling over for a long while now.

She had been afraid to give voice to any of it, in thinking it would make it real, and she hated herself for doing so now.

But at the same time… it was sort of liberating to finally have it all out in the open. And Sanya was taken aback to find just how much she wanted to move onto the next issue. Was it her heart’s way of trying to endure the pain?

Ephemer’s silence and face was the clear answer to all of this for Sanya: His mouth was now agape—as if he meant to say something—and his hands were reached out to, perhaps, hug her.

And if that was his intent—Sanya didn’t know for sure—she knew she would have turned him down here: Even with her crush on him and love for this friend, she would have done that.

“Sanya… I’m sosorry. I wouldn’t have done it if Master Ava hadn’t insisted. Or moreover, if I didn’t know how you’d been after the War.” And it was here, that Sanya reallywanted to yell at him: That they were her memories, and no one had had any right to take them or to make judgement calls for her. And that, weren’t those who didn’t know history doomed to repeat it? But Sanya just resisted doing so:

For one thing, Ephemer had just been a cog in the machine here. Her outrage should have been at Lady Ava again.

But most of all… their main thing should be surviving the Cy-Bugs right now, that Calhoun was certain would get to this world any moment. And if both Cy-Bugs and Heartless both came to exist here, Sanya didn’t know how they’d survive it. But she and her Chirithy would sure try to fight!

Deciding to look at the positive for just a moment—because the negatives would certainly come back to haunt her in her dreams—Sanya recalled a certain memory of Ephemer’s hand in her own, and had to ask: “So… do I actually know you more than I think do?”

Ephemer laughed at this—something that was music to Sanya’s ears, because there still needed to be some happiness in the world. And she didn’twant everything to be ruined between them forever—before saying with his hands up in the air again, “Not really. No? …’cept for the time Skuld and I came and rescued you in the Keyblade Graveyard. But you’ve actually spent more time with Skuld than me—maybe you remember that?—but you guys did spend a while looking for me, so maybe you were thinking of me then.... I’m sorry about that.”

Ephemer was scratching his head nervously now.

It was, despite everything, a lovely sight. And did not hint how in a few hours’ time, of how the cookie would crumble

Right now… Sanya just yawned—said she’d had enough of the heavy, and that they’d continue their search for Ralph in the morning—and stretched out and went to sleep.

As she dreamed, she saw that the only way to leave this world… might be to kill themselves in it.

…

When Sanya woke up, she felt some of the fury she’d stamped down the previous night rising up.

And while Chirithy was a pleasant presence by her side—trying to convince her to let it go—she couldn’t get over just how she’d been betrayed.

And if she really had been closer to Skuld and knew her better… It hurt even more, to know that she had also done this: Not that Ephemer had said that, but it wasn’t hard to guess.

There was even a dark part of her (and a scared one), that thought maybe they all deserved to be stuck in this data structure, then, or whatever it was.

Ava had meant for them to get out into the New World and to begin again… But if even they, the hope, behaved like this, why even curse the world with such humans again?

“Don’t dwell on it, Sanya,” Chirithy said sadly, as he crawled up onto her lap and put her face between his fuzzy paws. “Dwelling on the bad is what led to the Dark Chirithy last time,”

Sanya frowned. She definitely didn’t want a situation like that to rear its ugly head again—she still remembered what Dark Chirithy said: “See you in another dream”—and still had nightmares about it.

But while it had been her dwelling on the knowledge that some of her friends wouldn’t survive the Keyblade War, that led to the Nightmare…

Sanya also thought keeping it all bottled up inside her wasn’t good, either. Hadn’t that been why she’d blown up at Master Ava, when she’d been disguised as Master Ira and saying she’d killed Ephemer? Hadn’t that led to darkness in her own heart?

She’d even nearly wanted to her friendship with Ephemer just now, since he’d taken her memories of the war; and Sanya didn’t think that was right: Despite their best efforts, bits and pieces of the horrors were coming back to her. And since she already recalled them, she wished she at least had the context to make sense of it all.

…The “Riku” medals also used darkness, and they were fine… As was everyone when they used Special Attack Bonus over Guilting now, so was it possible… that darkness maybe wasn’t as bad as they’d all come to believe?

That seemed hard to believe, as the two of them rested warily in the candy forest and only half-slept in fear of Heartless and Cy-Bugs… but it was what it was.

Sanya was even tempted to wake Ephemer, and to get his opinion on all of this… But she didn’t.

Suddenly possessed by the urge to go to the Foretellers’ Tower for the third time now—and to do it secretly, for she didn’t know what she’d do—Sanya decided to leave this mission unfinished for the moment (things seemed okay right now. And should the worst happen, Ephemer was there and she’d be right back), and to get back to the data version of Daybreak Town or whatever it was.

She ran back through Grand Central Station, through the circuit—battling a few more Darklings here and there as she did so: her heart breaking for them—and was in the sewers heading up before she could blink.

Not really, of course. But Sanya was so used to going into them now, that the moment she reached the place she could almost believe no time had passed at all in getting to the Tower.

And then she was finding her way back into the room Brain had been in—she thought that was his name—with all the gears.

And as she eyed them… Sanya felt all sorts of suspicions setting in, that she couldn’t help.

Having a room like this—and choosing to spend all your time in it—just seemed devious to Sanya: She didn’t care if it was needed to power this Daybreak Town or not…

His being in here all the time—when it could surely sometimes run on auto-pilot—made it seem like he saw the people he worked with as the very cogs here.

And Sanya felt that watching a pendulum swing, or a clock tower, wouldn’t be much different.

And Sanya knew of a time—when she’d been new to this role—that the Master of Masters had been doing exactly those things, as she caught a vision of him.

So, did that mean he’d been playing a game from the get-go, too? And if so… what had they done in following him?!

Breathing heavily, Sanya summoned Treasure Trove to her hand—to which Chirithy sadly objected—and she prepared to do battle with Brain, if it came to it.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem to think that her action was hostile, though—and truthfully, Sanya wasn’t yet sure if it was—and as he watched her from beneath the brim of his hat, he asked: “Sanya, what are you doing here? The task you were supposed to be doing with Ephemer isn’t complete yet.”

Sanya was tempted to quip that she only took orders from Master Ava, who he wasn’t, but she didn’t.

There was no need to be passive-aggressive, and for it to turn into something truly aggressive yet.

So, she just questioned softly, “If we really have been in the Virtual Twilight Town—and have been since Master Ava created the Dandelions, without our knowing—will we ever even know if we can get out of it? And if we can… What awaits us out there? Wewere supposed to repopulate the world after the Keyblade War, weren’t we? And if we didn’t… is there even anything out there? And if there somehow is… Who knows how long we’ve been in here? Will we get out with everything being completely different? …Is any of this even worth it?”

Brain smiled at Sanya—that she couldn’t help feeling was a good thing—but why did it also make her uneasy?

And he tipped his hat to her once, while admitting: “That’s very good. You know about the Book of Prophecies, and how we used to use it to project future versions of the worlds to go to. So as long as we could do that, surely it meant a future with those worlds still existed.

“However… you were here for my lecture towards Ephemer and Ventus, and know that we’re now going to data versions of the formerly prophesized worlds… Those can exist indefinitely, even if the worlds themselves didn’t come to exist, if something went awry. So, no: There’s no way to tell just by our going to the worlds anymore that the worlds exist. The fact that the Master has us going to data worlds now may even be a clue that he didn’t think there would be worlds… But don’t you still think it’s best to try?”

Try… Sanya didn’t know what it was—beneath Brain’s simple outfit and laidback personality, that seemed designed to say the opposite—but she thought he’d try until his dying breath… Which seemed like the right thing to do. But could there be too much of a good thing?

It was at that point that Ephemer joined them. And at first, Sanya first looked at him ashamed: because with Ephemer gone… had Ralph’s world lost the best chance it had? …But at the same time, these things needed hammering out.

“I thought you two might be here,” Ephemer said pleasantly enough, though his smile seemed to disappear just when he took in their serious expressions. “…What’s going on?”

Forgetting the idea she’d had earlier, about all of them dying to do this—had that been the darkness getting to her?—Sanya spoke an idea that appeared in her head when she was speaking it… and somehow instantly knew it was right:

“I think- I think we need to reenter the outside world again, and to do so- We should unplug Daybreak Town from Game Central Station and let it completely off the grid.”

Sanya hoped they got what she meant by letting Daybreak Town go “off the grid”: She meant to have it lose all its power, and for everyone to stop doing missions for the time being: That way, whoever was observing them in the real world would notice the change, come check on them, and maybe they could follow them out that way.

“But that completely goes against the Master’s plans,” Ephemer answered with a depressed undertone to his voice. Almost looking at Sanya as if he was seeing her for the first time, which stung.

And right away, she had wanted to retort that she didn’t exactly trust the Master of Masters—and if Sanya was gauging Brain’s silence correctly, he didn’t either—but she was also far from knowing all the answers: And from who she’d been when she’d undergone darkness training with Hades, just so she could save Hercules: While there was a side of Sanya beginning to think that light and darkness needed to be kept in balance—didn’t most of the future medals have darkness to them?—she also still hated herself for the Nightmare Chirithy situation, and because so many friends of hers had died in the Keyblade War. Because the Foretellers-

And Sanya didn’t trust herself to not do something atrocious with this darkness eating away at her. So, for many a reason, she was thinking she should just give the benefit of the doubt that the Master was right…

But on the off-chance she wasn’t, she also wanted to lay groundwork for someone else to begin what she started.

“Ephemer… you’re perhaps my dearest friend. And a leader—if I’m understanding things correctly—so whatever you choose I’ll follow no matter what… But if we are in a lie, don’t you think it’s best if we leave it? And I know you weren’t there for the Nightmare Chirithy stuff—Skuld was by my side—but he said he’d see me in another dream, and I believe him… And that sounds like something to avoid. So far, I haven’t seen him. And if I get out now, we maybe never will.”

To Sanya’s surprise, Brain came over to her and put a hand on her shoulder now—as he maybe, just maybe, let her see under his hat a bit more as he smiled at her.

“Your friend has some good points, Leader. You should listen to her… I was really interested in Sugar Rush, but now I think we should drop it, too… What I know about ‘video games’ is very slim—since they only exist in the future, so I’m skimming the medals and things from the Book of Prophecies here—but I think Ralph’s world is somehow exactly that. And us now being connected to whatever runs a video game… Makes me worry that someone may be playing our own lives. Or trying to find a way to do so. I think we should sever our connection to that world to be safe… And, just to say it: none of that world was written in the Book of Prophecies.”

Ephemer was angry now, Sanya could see. He frowned, and clenched his fists at his sides. And Sanya got why…

For so long, they’d helped any world they could to gather Lux. Why should this one be any different, when it desperately needed them?

“I don’t think I can agree to that, guys. At least not yet… Let the other Union Leaders wake up and then we’ll vote on it, okay?”

…And so they did.

But only between three of the Foretellers. Ventus and Skuld were gone…

And no search through Daybreak Town, or any of the rest of the worlds, showed any sign of them: Not even Lauriam’s smart friend Elrena—who had also apparently been asked about Strelitzia—proved to be of any help.

And Sanya’s heart ached for Skuld. And so Chirithy gave Sanya many cuddles for that fact…

Until Sanya decided what she had to do.

Ventus and Skuld had gone missing the moment she’d talked about leaving—as if the outside world had listened in, and punished her for the thought—and to get back at them for doing that… and to find her friends, Sanya was now working with Brain and a just-shown-up-Gula to dismantle Daybreak Town and get outside.

Sanya didn’t care what the results of this would be: That Ephemer would disapprove, and break her heart in doing so… That information for two who didn’t exist—a Dyme, and a Drulo—would show up in Daybreak Town when they were trying to destroy it, or that Sugar Rush would somehow be replaced with a “Verum Rex”.

All Sanya cared about was getting outside.

And, despite everything, making Master Ava’s dream come true.

There, she wouldn’t be subjected to this world’s laws… and should be able to get back all of her memories of her friends, as well as her missing ones now.

Sanya reached out to the sky as glass flooded around her—and Gula came floating up beside her—and closed her eyes.

Author’s Note: So, I actually meant for this to be a cute shipping piece between Ephemer and Sanya--since I know you ship Ephemer and Player, Liz, especially your Player with him--but somehow it turned tragic, and my idea of what might happen next I guess. Oops.

#long post #fanfiction #ephemerplayer #ephemer #player #brain #kh #kingdom hearts #khx #kingdom hearts x #key #kingdom hearts key #kingdom hearts unchained key #kingdom hearts unchained x #kingdom hearts union x #kingdom hearts union cross #bluerosesburnblue #sanya

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rogsclogs · 5 years

Text

The Great Pretender (Ben Hardy x Reader); Chapter 1.

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Summary: Y/N used to be a very successful actress back in the day, but lately the industry has been treating her worse than ever and she needs a role to bring her career back on track, which is why she gets so excited about getting a role in the upcoming movie Bohemian Rhapsody. However, when she finally starts filming, a certain coworker gives her a cold shoulder and almost makes her question her choice to work on the movie.

Warning(s): none yet

Words: about 1000 I think

Y/N woke up earlier than she had previously intended to and definitely earlier than she needed to, excitement running through her veins and making her heart thump against her chest faster than usual. It was her first day on set after receiving that call 4 months prior.

“Y/N speaking?”

“Hi, this is Mr. Howe, the casting director for Bohemian Rhapsody”

No matter how many times she’d done it in the past, Y/N still got chills when it came to castings and receiving news about roles she’d auditioned for, and she had definitely been waiting for a lucky strike considering her last three castings had not gone as planned and she had ended up not getting the roles. She needed something huge to bring her career back on track like it had been years prior.

She had started working in the industry at only 15 and, while she was grateful for her early success, that also meant that now at 30 she was considered “old” by the same people who casted her back in the day. Hence why the phone call she’d been waiting for made her so nervous.

“Yes, yes, I’ve been waiting for your call Mr. Howe”

“That’s good to hear, I’m sure you’ll be delighted to know we have decided to assign you the role you auditioned for!”

She could barely hear the words he was speaking, being over the moon and all, and she’d let out a breath of relief letting herself relax after a long time.

“We will start filming at the beginning of May, I’ll keep you updated on everything in the next week so for now have a great night!”

“You too, Mr. Howe, and thank you so much for the news”.

As she’d hung up a huge smile had spread across her face and lightened up her eyes. This was the chance she was waiting for, no matter how small or irrelevant her role would be in the movie, this was the time to show the world she still knew a thing or two about acting.

She had played Queen records all through the night and had begun researching on the woman she was going to become for the movie: Dominique, Roger Taylor’s wife.

She wanted to make her short appearances on screen memorable and finally gain back the confidence she’d been lacking ever since her name had slowly started to disappear from the headlines. After all she was still Y/N and nothing could stop her.

May came faster than she had expected, bringing along sunshine and new faces she soon grew to call friends. Most of the people who were working alongside Y/N knew who she was or knew about her previous movies and were quick to introduce themselves and be friendly to her, not that she’d ever use that to her advantage, of course. She knew she was better than that, and the industry was already filled with actors full of themselves who were unbearable to work with.

She was fond of everyone on set, especially Joe who was the funniest of the lot and always made her giggle in between his takes, and Lucy who’d quickly become her closest friend.

She felt her long lost love for her job come back and stronger than ever before, all thanks to these people.

The only time her outer shell cracked a little was when Ben tagged along.

She knew who he was. She was a fan of the X-Man saga and had seen the movie he was in at least five times, so she thought it was only fair to compliment him on his role when they met, but apparently he didn't think so.

“Hi, I’m Y/N and I just wanted to introduce myself, I’m a huge fan of your role in X-Man, I’ve loved the whole saga and I do have to say I’m quite excited about working with someone I admire like you”

Ben had glanced over at her, barely listening to what she was saying and not even trying to disguise his disinterest.

“Well, thank you, I’m just sorry I can’t really say the same about you though, it seems to me these past few years have been kinda rough for you. Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t your last big role like 10 years ago or something? It must be tough to be declining this way, so I’m happy you got this role, even if it’s barely of any importance”.

She could tell he was trying to insult her in the nicest way he could think of, and it was definitely working as she’d felt her cheeks redden and become warm with embarrassment.

“W-well yeah, you could say that my career’s come to a halt these past few years, but I think I’m still decent, you know?” she’d tried to laugh it off as if his comment hadn’t made her feel tiny and insignificant, but it was probably written all over her face and the other cast member could sense the tension.

“I’d say that it’s your time to shine, then” Ben had replied sarcastically before turning around and heading to get his hair and makeup done.

“Don’t mind him Y/N, he’s a cool dude and he’s probably just had a rough night, I heard he’s going through a very harsh breakup with his girlfriend” Joe had come to her rescue in an attempt at making the frown on her face disappear. He made a mental note to himself to make her smile more often, as she was quite beautiful with a smile painted across her face.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that” she had nodded understandingly, “We should probably try to cheer him up, right? That's what I’d want my friends to do if I were in that situation”

“Probably not the best idea, Y/N. Let’s call it a night, alright love? Don’t take what he said to heart, I’m sure he didn’t mean to come across so rude”.

And so she had tried to forget and excuse his words as misinterpreted compliments, but when the sun had set and she had found herself alone in her apartment, she’d began questioning her ability to work alongside someone who was ready to be mean to her without even really getting to know her.

After all, Hollywood’s filled with assholes, this one definitely would’t be a deal breaker for her.

#ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy fanfic #angst #writer #fluff #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #queen fandom #queen imagines #brian may #john deacon #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #borhap boys #the great pretender

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chaniters · 5 years

Text

Sick

A follow up to the last one Marmalade. It would be nice to know exactly where I’m going with this series but unlike all the previous ones, honestly, I’ve got no clue. So this looks like heavily loaded Chargestep fluff, at least that’s what I get upon re-reading it. Basically Sidestep is sick. And I’m reusing a gif that i Reblogged that has me obsessed (link at the bottom).

There, I said it all. Read at your own risk.

"You look like shit," he says as he takes the thermometer from your hand.

"Thank you, for the constant reminder," you say. You can't help but let out an undignified sneeze immediately afterward.

"Well it's true," he says looking at the number "Yep, you've come up with a fever." He lets the thermometer on the low table then looks at you with concern. "Do you even have vaccines on you? You've avoided hospitals for years."

"They gave me more vaccines than you'll ever have in your lifetime" you shoot back "I'm fine in that department".

"That's ok if you say so I guess... how do you feel?"

"Cold!" you complain "It's freezing here!"

"See? That's called effective communication" he says walking up to the closet "You tell me what's the problem..." he takes a few blankets from a pile "...and we can work on it." he ends the sentence, covering you with them.

You immediately wrap yourself in a blanket cocoon, shivering. You're resting on the left side of the convertible sofa on his living room. He sits over the right side and passes you some pills. You just swallow them without water.

"Do you want to watch something... or?" he asks holding the remote control and lying down at your right.

"No, I'm fine. You watch something if you want" you answer snatching a few tissues from the low table nearby, then discarding them on the trash bin that’s beginning to look like a tissue burial ground. The extra blankets are warming you up already, but you're not in the mood.

He browses a few movies, before settling for a low-key old rom-com. He knows you liked that one because you told him, and you watched it together back then. Ricardo always thought it odd you'd choose this movie as one of your favorites, but you only knew a handful of movies they let you watch back at the farm when you first escaped. Even then you still wonder why you like rewatching this one in particular so much...

It's about a crown prince from a distant country in Africa that grows weary of his pampered life, so he flees to America to escape an arranged marriage and find a new bride that loves him for who he is, pretending to be a poor foreign student. Of course, he soon enough meets a woman, his lies are discovered and hilarity ensues.

You end up watching it all over again with him, despite yourself. It's easy to focus since you already know the plot by heart and don't need to follow it.

He gets closer to you during the movie, and soon enough you're sharing banter as you used to back then.

You don't even realize it happened until the movie ends, but at some point, he placed an arm over your shoulder and is rubbing your arm lightly over the blankets.

You don't really mind the physical contact right now. Perhaps it's the fever. Or maybe it's because you're buried under so much fabric. Or you could just admit he is a master at these things and you keep falling for it.

"Hey how are you feeling now?" he asks as the credits roll

"Better." you have to admit it. "Thanks?" You've never had anyone keep you company like this while you were sick. You couldn't allow such close contact. It was dangerous. And back at the farm, you hated the hospital ward.

Having him take care of you like this is... nice? You feel yourself blushing. You hope the fever disguises it well.

"No problem. uh... hey, do you want to sleep... or...?

"Or?" you ask.

"Maybe we go back to that talk we were having? If you're feeling up to it" he asks as he switches to a music channel and lowers the volume, keeping just the ambiance.

"Sure"

"I've been meaning to ask... that implant you mentioned...Do you still have it?" he asks. "Like if you went through a metal detector, it would be there?"

"It's not electronic. It's organic," you explain. "And yes I have it."

"Can it be removed?"

You shake your head "It's part of who I am."

"Can.. they ... control you through it?" his arm holds you a bit tighter as he asks that question.

It takes a second for you to answer. It's a painful reality.

"Yes... no. I mean... They can try... And I can resist it maybe? It's... the center of our personality when they jumpstart our brain... but it loses some importance as we grow old...I don't know if that makes sense to you?"

"So... you're saying someone could push a button and try to send you back to the directive?" He's clearly worried about it, you can see it in his eyes.

"Oh no. The implant doesn't pick radio signals. It's... activated through verbal commands. Or telepathy, either work."

He looks at you trying to make sense of it.

"It's tricky. I mean it's part of me. If they order me to do something through the implant. I will want to do it. Or at least part of me will"

"Ohh. Oh, fuck."

"Yes. Fuck indeed. Unless It's something I truly don't want to do. If I'm completely against it, then my organic brain takes precedence. For thing's I'm not too sure about, then the implant can outweigh the rest of my mind."

"Oh... That's... " he seems to lack words to describe it.

"It's...just how we are made" you finish lowering your gaze. Just speaking about these things makes your skin crawl. But you told him you would speak about it.

"So if they told you to dance..."

"If they tell me to dance, I'd have to dance until I managed to refocus my mind... If they tell me to eat, I would eat... and If they tell me to kill someone... Unless I really know this person and not wish to harm them... I'd have to kill them"

"Have you...?" he asks looking into your eyes, his expression a mask of concern.

You simply nod. "I ...I couldn't help it. I wanted to do it. The implant is part of my mind. And... that's not the worse thing they made me do... " You feel your nails digging into the couch.

The memories come to you, making you clench your fists and...

"Doll! Come here right now!" the new workers called you, laughing to themselves on their first day alone with the younger regenes.

And so you walked to them happily, thinking it was another exercise or game to perfect your motor skills... and then...

"Hey, you there?” Ricardo says snapping his fingers. “It's ok. You’re here" he says holding you tighter, bringing you back from your thoughts. It’s scary how well he can read your expression lately. You turn and rest your head over his shoulder. His arm rubs your back over the blankets... it's soothing. You're only a bit shorter than him, but right now you feel incredibly small.

And then you realize.

You've been in a sort of bubble since that night. But you're not there anymore. That feeling of despair is gone, at least for now. There is no stress in his apartment... and you realize he's been doing everything in his power to make you feel comfortable.

Your feelings are coming back, and you can see things quite clearly. This isn't your enemy and he never abandoned you. It was all the Directive's doing. Not his fault. Only yours for not trusting him. He is your old friend.

Your best friend.

And he'd never betray you. You let your anger take control and he almost pays the price.

"Ricardo..."

"Yes?" he says while looking at his brick-phone, absently.

"I'm sorry," you say

"For what?" he asks putting the phone down

"How can you even ask that... I mean... I'm sorry for... all of it? I'm sorry I didn't tell you what I was back then... I'm sorry I blamed you for what happened to me. It wasn't your fault. It was them, not you. I'm an idiot. Everything that's happened is my fault and I tried to take it on you. I..." Oh yes, you're having another breakdown right now. You can feel the tears exploding. Good thing the tissues are here...

You feel his chest tremble a bit. You look ... Is he... crying too?

He embraces you with both arms and draws you closer.

"I'm so sorry Ricardo," you say, not knowing what else to do.

"It's ok," he says, smiling while tears fall down his cheeks. "It's just I've been waiting so damn long for you to say something like that. And you were dead for most of that time. Well, I mean not really but... you get what I mean, right?" He cleans his eyes, not used to crying in front of people. You just nod.

"You know I had so many nightmares of your ghost accusing me of letting you die... But I've got to handle to you, none of that was worse than the shit you pulled at me at that cemetery. That was fucking terrifying."

"I'm sorry" you repeat. The worst part is that you actually meant it to be just like that. Better not tell him.

"If you had died there..." he tightens his hold as if he was afraid you could disappear. Hardly, you are positively a blanket burrito right now. "If you had shot yourself, I don't know what the hell would I've be doing right now. Promise me you won't try to do that again!"

"I will... I will try Ricardo. It's just... After Heartbreak..."

"Yes, I know what he made you do I was there. But he's gone now. You make your own choices ok?"

"I'll try to do my best Ricardo. I promise" THat's the best you can do. You wish you could erase your scars just like that.

"It's... it's ok" he says in the end. "We both lived through it all, didn't we?"

"Anathema... didn't," you say after a long while.

"Yes... we can't change that. But you say they are the ones who unleashed Heartbreak. Together... we will make them pay"

"We will"

He kisses your forehead, and you lay your head down over his shoulder again.

The two of you stay there, in silence. There is a feeling of peace that you've never felt before.

But that can't last, can it?.

Just like your emotions, that came back and let you see things for what they were, the fever is going down with the medication, and your internal thermostat going back to normal, making you realize how incredibly hot it is to exist inside all these blankets with Ricardo holding you so close.

But you don't tell him that. You can't move out of here, not now. He looks so stupidly happy as he strokes your back.

So you just stay there, trying not to move. You just hope not to end up like a baked potato in the end.

___________________________

If you’re wondering what the gif that has me obsessed is, it’s here: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/182077311054/yukinayee-jfc-the-movement-looks-so-rough

__________________________

My Fanfiction: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero spoilers #Chargestep #Fanfiction #Fluff

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fanfictionized · 5 years

Text

Help Me Help You - My Heart Breaks With You (22/?)

Character: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader / OFC

Chapter summary: Annabelle decides to go out on her own, ignoring Tony's advice. Turns out that perhaps he had been right all along...

Warnings: Graphic description of violence, attempted sexual assault, heavy angst

Words: 3.8k

Previous Chapter // Help Me Help You - Masterlist

She had lain there for hours, the images haunting her. Her stomach was grumbling from hunger and her face was still sticky with tears, her eyes burning, and her head hurting yet she wouldn’t move.

Because she knew. Deep inside she had known before she had even peeked inside the folder, but she had told herself otherwise.

She had thought that if she knew she was not alone, the memories would stop taunting her, but she got it all wrong. She had needed to know because she hadn’t wanted it to be true

at all.

The truth hurt. A fucking lot.

And she hated herself even more for doing this to herself and to Bucky.

What fucking right did she have to read through that stuff.

Personal stuff.

Those were the actions of despair coming from a goddamn lowlife.But the worst thing came when she couldn’t get the two words out of her head.

Winter Soldier.

Meanwhile she had ignored all calls of her name, telling them she didn’t feel so good and that she wanted to be left alone. It worked, more or less.

She could still play the pity card and for now that was fine by her.No, but the worst thing was when she looked up those two words. Seemingly harmless individually, but once put together…

The world wide web had some very ugly information on hand for her.The first picture taken of the winter soldier was from 1968.

On the roof of a building, the photograph taken from underneath him. A spy. An assassin.

‘The Winter Soldier Pounced again.’

And all of this on Hydra’s command.She remembered the chair they had put her into during her last few days of being there.

They had used that head-shocker thing on her once, shoving a bite guard into her mouth before turning it on and it had been making her scream beyond belief.She had lost her memory for a couple of hours before it had come back to her again. Where she was and… who she was.They had the technology. And she was sure as hell that they had used it on him to turn him into their mindless fighter.

She got so fucking angry just thinking about it. That they had used him for decades for their little experiments. It made her physically sick.There was so much fucking anger and despair swirling inside of her, making her lightheaded and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to stop it while being cornered in her room.

She needed to get out or otherwise she was sure it would find its way out.She washed her face, put on some decent clothes and stepped outside of her room.

Originally, she had the rooftop in mind, but she realized at the lack of sound that the Avengers had gone out. Either that, or they were just all busy doing whatever they did somewhere else.She could go out of there and no one would even notice.

No one would enter her room. No one would question it.It was still bright outside, yet the sun was already hanging low above the horizon, the golden hour illuminating the space.She had her hair colored, yet Tony’s words still rang inside her head.

‘Only with an Avenger.’

But there was another, very prominent fact that drowned out the warning.

She had been behind those walls for way too long and if she wouldn’t find a way out, that thing inside of her surely would.So she took a deep breath, walked downstairs, and went for the elevator.

Pressing the button at the very bottom, her heart hammered as she looked outside through the glass separating them. Her hands went into the pockets of her jeans to find a piece of crumpled-up paper there and when she pulled it out, her palm revealed a fifty-dollar-bill.

A smile turned up the corners of her mouth. Wanda’s jeans. She had given it to her as promised, obviously having forgotten to check the insides of her pockets.

She put it inside the pocket of her jacket, just to be sure.She’d give it back to her. But for now it was good to know she had something for emergencies.

She looked up and spotted the camera, making her lower her gaze and move her hair in front of her face.

She shrugged off the leather jacket and folded it over her arm, buttoned up her blouse and tucked it into her pants

She hoped that whoever was working downstairs, didn’t know or pay too much attention to her. She hoped the bit of disguise she had was enough to get her out of there.

Bing.

The elevator doors slid open and to the left of her was a desk with one middle-aged man sitting behind it while two more men where guarding the elevator itself. She straightened her back, trying to look as official as possible and giving an extra effort to make the heels of her shoes click on the vinyl floor.

“Evening.” She said while giving the man behind the reception a nod. He looked back at her, one brow raised, yet he didn’t complain, merely nodding back at her.Her heart stuck in her throat as she pushed against the glass door and it wouldn’t open. She breathed in shakily, fixing her smile, before turning around again.

“Sir? The door…”

“Oh, yes.” He mumbled, pressing the button in front of him to let her out and she stumbled outside, breathing in the… meh. Not so fresh city smell.

But it didn’t matter!! She was free at last!

Until she’d return in a couple of hours, but free at last!

She looked left and right before deciding to turn left. She thought she had seen the park from above while gardening on the rooftop once. She remembered it had to be located to the left somewhere and so she started walking, following the rough google-maps-y image inside her head.She walked and walked, past basement-level businesses whose LED-signs lit up the cracked sidewalks. The scent of street-food and gasoline filled her nose and loud music boomed from every window.

And she fucking loved it.

She loved seeing the life of the streets, the fashion some of the people had put themselves in. Maybe the catcalling wasn’t the very best, but it let her know that she was there.

She was alive and well and happy that she still found joy in the simple stuff.She found a park bench, yet no park, but she couldn’t complain as she dozed off a little, enjoying the rest of sunlight on her skin. The warmth that came with it, the chirping of birds and the hum of waiting cars on the streets many meters away from her.Strangely, that did it for her as a lullaby, because she crashed out almost immediately.

To her surprise, really, because the next time she looked up and opened her eyes she saw the streets having become almost empty, barely a flicker of light from the lanterns illuminating her and the dusky sidewalk. A rush of adrenaline pierced her, her back shooting up straight in her seat, taking in a sharp intake of breath as she tried to blink herself awake.

Oh, she was going to be in so much trouble

She stood up, her neck and back cracking from the sudden movement and she felt dizzy for a second, having to steady herself with a grip on the bench and she realized that she had still not eaten a thing that day.

She groaned as she noticed her jacket being gone as well.“Shit.” She hissed and looked up and through the branches of the trees she spotted a couple of stars already staining the dark sky.

What fucking time was it? How long had she slept? And more importantly,

where the fuck was she?

So, both her jacket and her money was gone, she was fucking freezing as the wind blew air right into her stupid face, and no idea of where she was at all.This is great. Freaking peachy She thought.

She held her arms around herself and looked over her shoulder. Behind her was nothing but darkness, an empty space with a few tall trees that couldn’t really be considered a park, but still made her feel real small and helpless at night.

No, thanks. Her heart was pounding as she crossed the street, which was awfully empty and stepped back onto the sidewalk.

There really was no light, no sound, nothing at all.

Where the fuck had she landed? Why was there no one around?But maybe that was good, not seeing anyone walking behind her or towards her…

She shuddered and slung her arms around herself.Aside from the occasional screech of tires very far away and the hiss of the neighbor’s cat there was nothing to be heard and it fucking terrified her. It was so empty, almost like an abandoned movie set. Some sort of horror movie for sure.

She wished to hear at least some people talking, some music playing… Some sign of life.

But her wish was not being granted and the panic only grew as her paranoia got the best of her, making her turn around every five seconds. She sucked in the air like it had suddenly become thick, almost impossible to draw in anymore and Annabelle stopped as the quiet had become like icy drips onto her already cold skin. Her ears strained to hear through the pounding of her blood.

She turned around slowly, eyes taking in every detail, when a huge figure burst out of the shadow of the alley behind her, grabbing her before she had time to scream and whirling her around to press her body against the icy brick wall of a building.Her body was stiff from the shock. She knew this was it, this was the promised ambush and the realization made her come back to life, her lungs screaming for air as he pressed his sweaty hand against her mouth. She strained her vocals but nothing came out. Fright consumed every cell in her body, swelling them with terror. With every second she struggled against his front she was being pushed back further, his hand holding her in place, pressing the bone of her shoulder into the stone until it hurt.

Tears welled up in her eyes as the fear blurred her vision, dulling her senses. She felt the rise of her blood pressure, but knew that this was the least of her worries.The face inched closer and it was when his reeking breath fanned over her face that she first took a look at the man.

Stubble covered his face, the grey in it shining from the light of the lantern that made his cheekbones stick out prominently.

“Don’t you fucking scream.” He growled against her ear, his bristly hair prickling her skin.

“Or I’ll cut you the fuck open.” He added and she saw the gleam of the knife being wielded in front of her face. She gulped as he moved his hand away, reaching back to punch her cheek and she whimpered as she felt the numbing pain in her face, flooding her senses.

He only grinned sardonically, the yellow of his teeth enough to make her want to curl up in disgust.“We’re gonna have some fun, slut.”

***

“Hey” Tony said as he walked downstairs, seeing Bucky, Sam and Steve sitting at the table while Natasha sat on the floor in front of Wanda, letting her braid her hair while she read a book.

“Has anyone seen Anna?”

“Nope.” Said Sam “She was in her room last time I asked her. She isn’t feeling too good, said she wanted to be alone for today.”

“I tried calling her too, but she wouldn’t let anyone in.” Steve added, continuing his sketches.

Bucky gulped and bit his lip.

He hadn’t wanted her to feel so bad about herself.

He had stood against his closed door, listening to her apologies after he had seen her looking at his files.Had he been mad? Yes. But not as much as ashamed, because that was what he had been trying to hide from her when he ran away without response.

He hadn’t wanted her to see the heat on his cheeks, her all in tears after she had seen what he had done. What they had done to him.She had to judge him for that, right? She just had to.

And he hadn’t responded to her as she had poured out her heart and soul just inches behind him, the closed door having separated them.

He just hadn’t because he still didn’t know how to respond to such a thing.

“Yeah, well, it’s urgent.” Tony muttered and stepped back up until he had reached Abbie’s door.

“Anna. It’s Tony, I need to talk to you.” Bucky saw Sam rolling his eyes as he leaned back in his chair.

“Anna?” Tony asked again without a response.

“She doesn’t wanna talk to you, man.” Sam yelled and Nat chuckled.

“Friday, can you wake up Annabelle for me?” He asked and they all awaited her response.

Her response which made everyone’s heart drop.

“She is not in her room, Mr. Stark.”

Everyone looked up and at each other with confused looks, meanwhile Bucky’s heart rate sped up as he sat up straight, looking at where Tony stood.

“What- Where is she, then?” He asked, equally confused. A few long seconds passed before she spoke up again.

“She seems to have left the building, sir.”

“What?” Steve said, putting aside his pencil and standing up. Bucky was going to have a heart attack, the first signs of his panic arriving. A discomfort in his chest, a feeling in his brain like excess caffeine until it settled deeper into his bones.Tony still hadn’t said a thing, which was only pushing him further.

Tony wasn’t capable of silence unless his brain was in complete overload.

This wasn’t a good sign.

“Friday, call Happy.” He said suddenly, sprinting downstairs to call up another screen that hovered above the table.

Wanda had let go of Nat’s hair to leave their spot with her, both of them lingering behind the rest to watch the display and its call to Happy Hogan.“Come on…” Tony muttered, until they heard his voice on the other end of the line.“Tony- “

“Happy, don’t talk right now. Has she come downstairs?” Tony said hastily, fidgeting on the spot.

Pause.

“What?”Tony sighed “The girl, Happy. Has she come downstairs? Did she walk outside?”

Another pause.“Come on, Happy.”

“Yeah, there-there was one girl that came down, but she didn’t look like…” “Like the old picture I sent you…” Tony whispered to himself and covered his eyes with his hand.

“No, she had, uh, white hair, short hair…”

Tony groaned as he ended the call abruptly and called up the security footage from this day’s late afternoon.

And skipping ahead only a few moments, they all saw her. In the elevator, staring into the camera before looking down to cover her face with her hair.Wanda gasped and Bucky stood up with such force, he threw over his chair.

His eyes were wide, heart racing, brain on fire and all the while he could only think of one thing;

Her voice, her sobs, muffled behind the closed door. Her conscience-stricken words that hit him right in the chest.And him not fucking going after her.He felt sick. He felt it, building like an unstoppable snowball in the pit of his stomach.

“Seven Forty-Nine.” He had stopped the image, zooming in on the time stamp.

“Are you seriously telling me that she just walked out of here without anyone noticing?”Steve ran a hand through his hair, Sam muttering incoherences while Nat began to walk upstairs.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Tony asked.

“I’m gonna get my gun and then I’ll find her.” She replied, but Tony stopped her mid-walk.

“She has been gone for more than three hours, Natasha. She could be anywhere.”

He huffed as he tipped something into onto the screen of his digital watch.

“I’ll go get her. My suit has a facial scan.”

“I’ll go, too.” Bucky spoke up as the panic has already engulfed him too much than to make him concentrate on anything else.“No way, Barnes. You’re not capable- “

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do.” He suddenly growled back at him, his eyes glaring as his mouth formed a snarl.

“Buck.” Steve placed a hand on his arm, which made him look back at his friend.

“I’ll go with Natasha, we’ll check the backyards and alleys and tunnels… everything Tony won’t be able to spot from above.”

“I’ll go, too. Can’t scan entire New York City by yourself, can you?” Sam chimed in and Steve nodded back at him.

“Right. But you have to stay here. It’s better that she comes back to you being here.”

Bucky grunted, but saw his point.“Where’s Doctor Banner?” He asked and Natasha answered.

“Upstairs in the lab with Helen and Maria.”

“Good, good. You guys let him know what’s going on. We’ll need him there.”

“If something happens, you mean?” Wanda asked, her eyes wide with worry and fear as well, her arms slung around herself. Bucky’s heart started to beat harder and faster, adrenaline level rising and it was so hard to block out the negative thoughts that his brain had started to fire out like a machine gun.

“Nothing will happen; you hear me?” Steve said, but Bucky couldn’t look him in the eye. He knew just as well she had the highest risks out there.

“Alright. Let’s get going.”

And with that, they were gone. And him and Wanda were left to wait.Ten minutes in and sweat had completely covered his body. It felt like his skin had another hot skin on the outside, like a trash bag being draped over him.

Constricting him.

Suffocating him.

The negative thoughts kept coming like waves on rocks and nothing could stop it, the arguments in his head getting so fast and disturbing that he’d rather have his body shut down completely than to continue this vivid imagery in his head.He had started to pace around the living room irrationally.

“That’s it, I’m going.” He said, until he saw Wanda raising her hand and he stopped, following her gaze that was trained on the screen.The TV was on mute, yet the news showed a woman talking, the headline prominently floating above her head.His heart dropped. He gaped at the screen.“Unmute!” He yelled and promptly, the sound was back on.

“-shook the entire neighborhood, when just one hour ago the local kiosk owner spotted the body of the previously convicted murderer and sex offender Vance Bellick who had just been released on probation after the committed homicide on his former girlfriend back in 2010.”

The two watched in shock and horror as the woman talked, the heavily censored picture of the crime scene leaving not much to the imagination.

Bucky’s mouth went dry at the sight of the blurred pictures of blood and… more.A video of the kiosk owner was being blended in next to the news anchor.“There was blood everywhere, it looked like he exploded-” He spoke quickly, with a heavy, foreign accent.

“Like a beast had ripped him apart, there was nothing left- “

Bing.

Wanda and Bucky turned around at the sound of the elevator door sliding open and out of it stepped the girl they'd been missing.

At the sight of her, Bucky’s jaw clenched, anger and panic making his insides twist.She was completely blood-splattered and it didn’t take him long to know whom it belonged to.

Her shirt had been ripped apart, the shred of her sleeve barely hanging onto the rest of her blouse. Her cheek was shining from being swollen, a big blue dot coloring the skin beneath and he saw the bruises of violent handprints across her throat and wrist.Burning rage hissed through his body like deathly poison.

He felt like he was going to explode, like a volcano erupting; fury sweeping off him like ferocious waves. His knuckles turned white from clenching so hard and as he heard Wanda’s gasp behind him, only then was he shaken out of his trance of silent, potent rage.

Only then did he see the entirety of her broken form, the sadness and shock pooling behind her eyes and the tears that had already washed off part of the blood on her face.She sobbed loudly, her head dropping between her shoulders and with that his heart had broken fully.

It took him only a few strides until he had reached her form, his arms wrapping around her shoulders and pulling her close, squeezing her body tightly to his own.She was shaking and trembling like a leaf despite the hold he had on her and her cries grew louder, her breathing coming jerkily between whimpers and hiccoughing sobs.

“I’m so sorry.” She cried into his shirt, digging her nails into his skin like she was trying to hold onto him for dear life. He felt his own tears rising up to roll down his face, the ache in his chest leaving him with only the pain of knowing he could’ve stopped it somehow. If only he hadn’t let her leave to continue crying in her own room. If only he would’ve just gone to her and fucking been kind to her…

Her legs started to wobble and she sunk deeper into his chest, but he caught her before she could drop to the ground, once again carrying her in his arms while she clung to him, burying her face in his neck where her tears soaked the skin there.

“Call Doctor Banner.” He told Wanda and she jumped up, rushing upstairs.Bucky continued to hold her close, shivers still rattling her body while underneath all that crusty blood he felt her soft skin and gently squeezed her closer to let her know he was there.

“I’m sorry.” She hiccupped, her face still buried in the crook of his neck, a tear rolling down his chin to mix with her own.

“Me too, doll.” He whispered and held her closer. He would never let her go again.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@humanexile @alt-er-love-er-alt @sam-jae @kimmiestrawberrykiwi

#Eventual romance #eventual smut #eventual fluff #slow burn #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky is not a villain #Bucky's metal arm #fanfiction #fanfic

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