#how do i discover who did this without another slash

[balkanradfem]

so a bit of a fun news, I'm getting uhhh maybe hate crimed in the park?

Last week I left my bike tied to a tree, and when I came back to it an hour later, my tyre was slashed in two places, with a metal object. Big holes, could not have happened while I was riding because air would come out immediately.

I repaired the tyre and decided to keep a closer eye on the bike next time and kept it very close to me; but I was looking at the laptop and not paying absolute attention to it. And yesterday it happened again. Clean cut. Probably done by a razor blade.

I reported it anonymously to police and they told me there was no similar reports so I am a little worried that it's not random but maybe targeted? First time it happened I was having a video call with radfem book club and I did say feminist stuff out loud, counting on the premise that people here do not understand english well. Maybe someone did and decided I should not feel safe in the park.

And I do feel less safe and worried that the razor blade person will turn on me personally if I appear without a bike. However, it will not stop me from posting on tumblr dot com, I will risk it to stay here.

[circyexistforcontent]

SAGAU: WHEN YOUR FRIEND JOINS YOUR WORLD

❀ synopsis: the characters are forced to watch as you and your friend frolic around Teyvat unaware of the storm brewing inside of them.

❀ notes: So recently I raised my adventure rank to 16 (I'm at 17 now) and people can now join my world. After my friend discovered this she keeps pestering me to log in to my genshin account so we can fight enemies together. I main Aether while she mains Venti so most of the time we're in Monstadt we would chill together at good hunter which looked like a dinner date. The brain rot immediately hit my head on how the sagau characters would be like with this so here I am writing about it.

❀ pronouns: none specified.

VENTI/BARBATOS:

Envy. That was all he felt as he watches the impostor skipping beside you as you possess Aether. The worst part is he couldn't do anything, no matter what he did the arrows would never be able to hit the other Venti. It was like the winds were obeying the other Venti's orders, making sure it never hit the impostor which infuriated him even more. And he can't just run toward the other and strangle them either because his body would suddenly freeze up and force him to stand in a singular place when the both of you are close. When you and the other Venti are not in his peripheral vision he would be able to move again.

His knuckles turn white as he clenches his bow with strength that is enough to snap it into two. You and the impostor are currently in good hunter sitting across each other on a table, the impostor's voice sounded different from his (which was expected since it wasn't the original anyway) but you didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't care about its voice. He hid behind one of the houses as he stalked on the both of you, his pupils dilating as he watches the other Venti feed you radish stew.

'It should've been me' his breathing became more shallow 'it should've been me' his bow snapped into two before disintegrating into dust and manifesting on his back in pristine condition. His nails dig into the flesh of his palm causing it to bleed, his blood starts to form a puddle next to his foot as he continues to watch the two of you laughing and smiling together. While it shows it was Aether smiling and laughing he knows that Aether is under the influence of your emotions. Meaning if Aether is happy, so are you.

He wishes he could just run up to the impostor and rip off its vocal cords so it may never be able to laugh alongside you. He wanted to pummel its face until it was unrecognizable to anyone seeing its corpse. Its face was never it's own anyway, from what he remembers he was the one who made the promise to take the form of his friend. Not that thing.

DILUC RAGNVINDR

When he saw you and "Venti" walking together while talking he was in shock. How was Venti able to talk to you so normally without him being stuck in one place? Did he find a way to break the code? How? He was going to rush towards the both of you before he found himself slowly freezing and shifting to his idle stance. "Damn it" he thought, Venti better tell him how he broke through the code or he's gonna riot-

What he discovered next shocked him before he felt an inkling of fear inside of him. He saw another Venti, but this one seem to be in a trance of anger and jealousy. The blood on his palms stained his fingers and created a puddle below the ground, but he didn't seem to mind as all of his attention was on the Venti spending time with your host Aether. If Venti was over there then....who is the one talking to you?

When the two of you passed by Diluc he stalked from afar to observe you and "Venti" fighting slimes and exterminating hilichurl camps. While observing he imagines the one fighting beside you was him, slashing any enemy going too close to you and saving you when your health bar goes low. Sadly, dreams are just dreams, and somehow this thing was the one doing what he wants. He freezes when "Venti" suddenly shifted to Kaeya when a pyro slime was approaching the both of you.

The sight of his brother fighting alongside you...he feels his scowl deepen. Was it mocking him? It must have known he was stalking the both of you, why else would it shift to Kaeya conveniently after Diluc was done daydreaming of fighting with you? He couldn't stand the sight of Kaeya being with you and quietly left back to Monstadt. He seems to be more focused on serving the visitors of Angels Share because he was ignoring anything and everything that wasn't related to his work. he didn't even bat an eye at Venti who was sobbing about an impostor stealing you away, chugging a bottle of wine while slurring out words of heartbreak and woe.

[antiendovents]

[ Vent Below ]

TWS: Cultural Appropriation, very very brief gun mention

I'm confessing my sins to you, and I pray this never gets traced back to my actual account. I just have never, EVER been able to share this with anyone. Ever. I don't think you will necessarily be a "safe place" either, but this is a vent/rant space with an anon option. I feel very slightly safe. No one in the system community would accept me if they knew what I did, so I'm like "anon vent mode".

When I was thirteen, I ''''''created'''''' [heavy quotes because it isn't an actual thing] an alter who we will call A, since he'll be a reoccurring part of this all. I did not call him an alter at the time. To be honest with you, mod of this account and I guess anyone who reads this, [my first sin] back when I ''''''created''''' him, I called him a tulpa.

We found out later that the professional who diagnosed us with DID [because, yes, we are a medically recognized system] had done so without bringing it up being a possibility up a second time. I mention second time because the first time she had brought it up, she commented that the specialists she talked to said that they would be hesitant to diagnose me [rightfully so]. She, in hindsight, probably didn't mention any of our trauma to them because of HIPPA. i [alter front] personally believe she diagnosed us around this time.

The second time it was brought up, it was actually an entirely separate alter than the one she told about the hesitance to diagnose. The alter at that time was like "I think we may have to consider DID.. It sounds like what I experience...." and she was like "I already diagnosed you months ago, I talked to 3 other alters".

Talk about a surprise pikachu moment for that alter.

When I first joined the system space, I was a semi-newly discovered system. I had already known about several alters-- A and his creation was what made us be able to communicate with as a system, but all communication was slashed when we had a new host front for three years , which was the host who got us diagnosed. So when we were joining tumblr, we were just establishing good contact again, and when I made my blog I was diagnosed for, like, idk a year before [social media scares us, community spaces scare us, and this is our first time using tumblr again since 2013].

We forgot about the whole term of ''tulpas'' because of amnesia, straight up had a different alter eat those memories to keep the system functioning [in hindsight, its beneficial to know about, but also not]. I had ENTIRELY forgotten the actual term for "tulpas" [in quotes bc its not the actual Buddhist practice]. I just remembered it as "oh i made this dude, he was a ball of light and then suddenly he was having full conversations and chose his own appearance and personality, and why did he choose to be a dickhead [a joke at him /lh]".

Up until making my blog, I didn't engage in plural communities. Not even the tulpa community when I engaged with the content. I was a traumatized kid terrified of everyone, i simply learned how to 'create' a 'tulpa', did it and it worked better than I thought it would, and then fucked off. It was the most traumatic period of our life [when I made A], all I wanted to do was have someone to be with me so I wasn't alone with it all. He very much took on a protector role from the beginning, fronting once for 3 days in a blackout amnesia episode because another alter felt silly [he was an anger holder and was very angry, to sum it up].

Then I joined Tumblr. Because of joining system spaces, I have since re-found the term Tulpa, and ffs?? The absolute guilt and shame we feel is so immense. Not only because I appropriated a cultural practice I have no fucking right to be in, but also because I'm also someone made a mockery of the very disorder I have. It feels like I don't even deserve to be diagnosed.

That's why I don't fit completely into anti-endo spaces, but I don't fit endo spaces either.

We were posting to a small audience of 0 notes in system spaces, which felt safer for us. So we were going ham on our blog, enjoying our time, but we got our first ask.

"You guys seem so nice,,, why are you anti-endo?"

I'm like??? anti-endo?? wtf is that??? what's an endo?? oh foolish, sweet summer child,,, I had not put it in anywhere that I was anti-endo, which makes it so much worse to me. I guess this was probably someone testing the waters or something. So we go look it up, look up endos and we get reintroduced to the culturally appropriated term. And it's like fuck. It was a moment where I realized I had gone against my own morals in a way I was extremely disgusted with. I ended up dipping for a whole month because of it, which caused a system uproar and a shit ton a bad stuff happening while we were also going through new tons of new trauma at that time [thanks to our ex-bestfriend, a silent fuck you to nem. already so stressed, tell that to her, and then it flies over nirs fucking head so she beats a dead horse but ANYWAYS].

While I'm gone, an alter takes my place. I'll call him P. and P? Well,,,, P takes my spot as host [im now one of 4 cohosts, P is not one of them]. P sees tulpa, P sees other spiritual stuff in the endo spaces, and P goes, well, gee,,,, spirits and talking to them exists [a belief we do hold, but i would have to explain eons of shit to explain why we do], I can almost see how it would work. P responds with 'we're not anti-endo' [my second sin].

And then I'm back. It's been a month, things have carried on without me and we are an 'endo neutral' blog with more than two followers, and posts that hit more than 10 notes [which,,, I hate public attention. The thought of more than a few people engaging with the stuff I post is terrifying to the point I might puke if I think too hard about it /gen. 3-10 notes is the ideal. Maybe like 5 followers? i didn't think about that, dont want to].

I relearn about endos, I go 'fuck no??? are you fucking kidding me???' but then I remember A. That? Well, That ruined EVERYTHING for me. Suddenly I'm having to figure out how to manage having people perceiving me in a scale that terrifies me, but I also have a fucking turkeyball mix of followers. Endos, Anti endos, Endo Neutral, Endo Apathetic. All while truly standing as an anti-endo behind those good ol' closed doors. Then I have to look down the barrel of the gun and accept i did something that goes wildly against my own fucking morals. I didn't remember A, I didn't remember Tulpas, and now I wished I had never joined any system space. I wish I had never tried to find community. I don't even know how to right what has been wrong, I don't have anyone to tell me how to fix this.

I don't feel like I belong anywhere. There is no space for me with anti-endos because of what I have done, and there is no space for me with endos because of my anti-endo beliefs.

When I made my blog I wanted a space to be me, to be us, but now I don't even want to be me. A's presence was needed to keep me alive, I love him, but I can't even be cocon with him or I end up having a breakdown. Whether it be from the guilt of the shitty thing I did that I can't make up for because he's literally forever going to be there, or the fact that because I can't be around him, and considering I'm a host, he's secluded to his own section in the innerworld. Alone. Literally like how we were when we made him. It's wicked fucked up to me, but i guess it probably shouldn't be, considering his 'origins'. What once saved my life has become something I can't even face.

I feel like shit. I feel like this is a lose-lose situation. The one time I tried to step out of my comfort zone and do something that I think will be beneficial for us, it ends up being the worst thing to do. All I wanted was friends like me, only to find out, no... I'm not like them and I probably don't even deserve the diagnosis I have. On top of that, I engaged in harmful behavior, cultural appropriation. Furthermore, the people I could've engaged with would've been people I entirely disagreed with.

I feel like i should self undiagnose, if that makes sense. Like I do not care whatever professionals said I am, I'm just,, IDK a shitty person?? A cultural appropriator?? I've been diagnosed more than once, but I feel like I still shouldn't even claim being a system. I feel disgusted with myself. I feel ashamed. Cultural appropriation has a permanent scratch in my brain, a permanent mark. I feel like this is something I can never fix.

I'm confused on what to do. How do I fix the wrong of being a cultural appropriator in such a vile way? Even if I actually am a system, which I don't even know anymore, what the fuck would I call A? What do I even do about getting over the guilt? My therapist isn't equipped to deal with this, I have no friends, and the only people I talk to are my abusers. I'm to scared to talk to people online, and considering my circumstances, who would I even talk to about any of this? Am I even an anti-endo if I practiced what the endos preach? I'm just,,, ugh, It's been a lot, but thank fuck for the anon ask on a blog amirite?

Sorry to dump all this on you, and feel free to ignore it/not upload. I've just needed to talk about this for a while, and this felt like a safe space for a lil bit.

this is complicated but i'm going to try give the best advice i can here. cultural appropriation is bad yes, but you were a child. you didn't know what else to call A at the time, it seems. you admit you have done wrong and you seem guilty over it and really i think thats all you need to improve. you are a system, you are diagnosed as one, yes you made a mistake but so have many others. ex-pro endos are welcome in this community and always will be. as long as you have learned from your mistake i do not think you are a bad person. as i said, people make mistakes all the time, it doesn't mean they're bad, they just need to learn better, and by the sounds of things you have. i really hope you find your place in this community or even a different community. if you need help leaving pro-endo and pro-tupla communities i would recommend slowly distancing yourself, unfollowing or blocking some accounts that may interact with you and maybe even announcing you're anti endo if you feel safe (this isn't required, but it does help avoiding them). if necessary i would also suggest maybe making a new blog / account if you feel like you can't fix the current one (even a side-blog might work). good luck anon and i while i don't speak for the whole anti endo community i am sure you will at the least be accepted by most of us.

[aajjks]

😞💔

mommy issues!JK

you were right, eunwoo did know and he kept pushing for you to be with him—to be with a murderer. how can you trust anyone anymore? how will you trust them again? well, that’s none of your concern anymore because you’re going to move on.

you take your packed bag and exit the bedroom without another word to jungkook. since seol is asleep on the couch, leaving the apartment was pretty easy but leaving your friends and the life you managed to build from the ground up was the hardest. maybe you can do it again. will you find love elsewhere or should you face what you’ve been running from your whole life?

you’re unsure but for now, your next stop is ilsan.

“hello?”

“hey, the deal is off”

“what? why?

“she’s leaving. packed her bags and everything. he must’ve told her i was here”

“are you serious? it was that easy?”

“yep. he’s all yours”

“wow. if i had known it would be this easy i would’ve called you sooner. nice doing business with you ji-cheol”

“you too nara”

you’re quickly throwing your belongings in the backseat of your car that you don’t notice that all the tires are slashed. you get inside and start the car but when it doesn’t move, you get out to discover the damage dealt to your car.

“hi butterfly. been so long since we’ve seen each other”

fuck….no no no.

you quickly grab your bags and make a beeline to the streets of the complex but ji-cheol easily catches up to you. he wraps his arms around you before pressing a cloth to your mouth.

“shhh” he says. “don’t fight it”

you put up a good fight but you end up giving in to the chloroform and the last thing you hear is “your mother will be so happy to see you”

meanwhile…

*knock* *knock*

“oh koo bear~ guess who’s back. answer the door baby! we have so much to catch up on”

“Y-Yn!!! YN Please don’t go please please don’t go. I cannot live without you. I love you so much. I really cannot. I’m sorry, but please don’t leave me! YN PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” Jungkook calls out your name, but you don’t respond and you walk out of his life just like that.

Jungkook watches hopelessly as you leave him behind, hot tears well up in his eyes, but you don’t care-

You don’t even look back as you opened the door to leave, you don’t spare a glare at jeon Seol. Jungkook watches you leave with quivering lips.

You leave, you leave him here forever.

He cannot help but breakdown on the living room floor, crying quietly as he watches his son is still sleeping. Jungkook has never felt this alone in his life.

It was so easy for you to leave- he will never love anybody again.

Jungkook doesn’t know what to do so he just sits there on the floor, crying his eyes out-praying to God that maybe you just might come back and hug him and tell him that what he did was wrong, but you forgive him and you need him, but you don’t no matter how much he keeps staring at the door.

He needs You so bad.

He wants to follow you to the ground floor, and he gets up, wiping his tears away. He has to make sure that you stay with him because your crazy ex is in town and you’re in danger and frankly he cannot live without you.

Jungkook grabs his coat and starts to approach his door so he can follow you but then the door bell rings and his heart skips a beat

“Y-YN!!!?!! Jungkook is so busy deluding himself into thinking that you’re back that he doesn’t even hear the voice that’s calling out from the other side of the door that is until he opens it frantically

“Y-YN!” he calls your name, as he his wipes his bloodshot eyes preparing to look at your face once again as he opens the door, but that whole delusion just shatters brutally when he sees Nara standing right in front of him.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE? OH MY GOD, WHY ARE YOU IN MY LIFE? SHUT UP. GO AWAY BEFORE I MAKE YOU.”

oh oh.

He tries to walk past her so he can follow you, but she blocks his view. And before jungkook can push her away, she starts to push him back into his house.

“WHAT THE FUCK!!?”

[snow-lavender]

*cracks knuckles* okay i am once again asking for you to vote for my beloved minecraft blorbos. although honestly i've seen people looking for a tie sweep so that at each round the challengers just keep amassing more members and that's really funny, but for that seaside needs to gain back about 15% of the vote. so, once again:

let me gush about my fable blorbos so that i can convince you to vote for them

i went over themes and motifs in my last propoganda, but just as a refresher: ocie is the anthropomorphization of the ocean, and chaos is a dead person who, and i am quoting directly here, "jumped out the afterlife's window" and stumbled back in to life. neither of them should exist, and they foil each other in how they cope with that. ocie wants to go back to being an unfeeling mass of water, and chaos does everything in their power to prevent dying again.

this time i'm going to give some of their iconic moments to show you what these characters are like in terms of humour

they first meet when chaos falls out of the sky for unknown reasons, and lands in the water in front of ocie. they introduce themselves. ocie is understandably freaked out.

in that first conversation, ocie asks what chaos is, like as a profession. chaos replies "a vibe".

later, when looking for food:

O: "there's no animals...i mean there's, i guess people count as animals?"

C: "i mean, I would like something that i could eat without questioning my morality."

O: "fair. i mean, there's a lot of people...like one or two going missing isn't gonna cause much-"

C: "yeah, but then i'll feel bad. and i don't like feeling bad."

O: "okay, L????"

another member of the town seeks out chaos after hearing she's a mercenary. they hire her to kill him if he starts hurting people. chaos then becomes this guy's best friend, but is still 100% down to murk him the whole time.

chaos build an entire town. (it's a gorgeous build) ocie learns about power structures and decides the town should have a king. she thinks it should be her because she's like that. chaos decides it should be them because they actually put in all the work. they decide to have an election about it because it's a minecraft smp.

they tie and decide to become co-kings, and then decide they should get married.

C: (After reading poetry) "is that not who we are?"

O: "aww"

C: "aww"

O: "that's going on our platonic wedding vows."

(laughter)

C: "we should- we should honestly have, like, a proper coronation ceremony. slash and/or wedding. once i finish building the castle."

O: "are you proposing to me?"

C: "do you wanna get married?"

O: "sure."

C: "Yeah, okay! then i'm proposing."

(more laughter)

later, when ocie's son steals a crossbow and shoots her boyfriend with it, chaos does nothing to intervene, instead laughing the whole time.

both of these characters are 100% the "I'm using humour to avoid thinking about my problems because if I don't I'll have a breakdown" types. later in their story, ceci discovers they are actually dead and spirals about it, leading to this exchange

O: "so you were just dead and now you're not???"

C: "and then i- so here. step two, of staying alive. if you do die, simply don't. and i? simply didn't"

O: ch-chaos. that's- no- you can't just not die!...you can't just...not die?"

C: "i got better?"

O: "you definitely- you can't just get better!" (laughter)

C: "i got better."

O: "no, okay. give me your hand. lemme- i've never felt for a pulse before but-"

C: "i don't have one. not today at least. i did the other day! it seems to come and go."

O: "that's not healthy! that is not supposed to happen!"

C: (strained) "i know! i know!"

i might go into the serious stuff more at a later time, but these characters have such a profound effect on each other, not teaching each other to be human, but reflecting the ways in which they are not. they have very deep moments together, working through strain in there relationship effectively. they are both SO mentally unwell, but in ways that complement each other perfectly (story-wise, at least) I love them so much, please vote seaside. tie sweep.

Aero and Lennie (Challenger SMP) and Michael and Mantis (Real Life) vs Ocie and Ceci Chaos (Fable SMP)

Aero and Lennie propaganda: I’m one of them and I think they’re cute. They live together. One of them has experience rebuilding her home after losing it (Lennie) and the other has not yet realized they’ve lost their home (Aero). The end (Aeros home) scares Lennie but she’s devoted herself to following aero anyways. I animated them dancing last year and they kept stepping on each others feet. https://youtu.be/qpEVqVXjUzc They’re sapphic. They deserve the world. Michael and Mantis propaganda

Ocie and Ceci propaganda: Canon QPR! They got in an argument about who should be in charge of their town, had an election about it, tied, and then decided to be co-kings and QPR about it. Neither of them are supposed to exist, and they are quirky and weird together to cope. They are so chill with murder too, the vibes were impeccable :) (i miss them so dearly)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Idea by @theoddballinyourcloset (ngl this was kinda eh but I hope this is what you wanted.)

It was dusk when you set out of your small cottage home and into the imposing forest for some food to prep for your dinner later and perhaps, if you had time to spare that is, pluck some wild fruits and nuts that were safe enough to eat for a snack later on. The forest itself was nothing short of a home away from home for witches like you, all in due to the tall tales humans of the village would spout about the forest that would be later remembered as the Obsidian Forest. The contents in which is included in these tales were of no real importance and in thanks to the tales humans rarely venture as far as the entrance before tucking tail and running away. Yet there were those foolish enough to think they could brave the venture alone; needless to say they were never saw exiting the forest the same as they did when they entered.

This foreboding forest is also where you came across the half covered and heavily injured form of Jack Russell; Slash marks covered the broadside of his back whilst the rest of him was littered with the unmistakable burns of that of a cattle prod and hand shaped bruising. The poor man looked worse for wear but something within you spoke of an uncomfortable truth that he may have been subjected to much worse. Without much hesitation on your part, you rushed to his side and began to make him comfortable for when he did awaken by using his overtly large coat as a makeshift pillow. Your brows furrowed in concentration as you put all your effort into channeling your magic within the palm of your hands where they glowed within the dim forest; almost as though fireflies were just beneath your skin in a soft shade of f/c. You then proceeded to hover a hand over his wounds, murmuring the required spell until you were satisfied that the once torn skin were nothing but faded scarring before repeating the action for another awhile longer.

By the time you had finished patching every possible wound on Jack’s body and searching for even the most missable ones, you had severely tried yourself out to the point where you couldn’t lift so much as a finger nor a thumb without your muscles groaning for rest. ‘You too kind hearted for this life y/n.’ Was a common sentence you’ve heard growing up. Your parents said it the most, whether it was as a compliment or a demand that you should change your ways to better suit the times you were living in; you soon grew to become prideful with the fact that you held more humanity within your pinky finger then most, whilst making sure to never let your kindness mistake others into thinking they could take advantage of you. Once you discovered that not only could you heal but also inflict harm on others by means of transferring the pain.

Their screams of horror when they saw their own limbs dropping off in rotting clumps of flesh until there was nothing remaining of them would forever etched within your mind. You swore from then on that you would only cause harm when the situation asked for you to do so not because you wanted or desired to. It would only be giving into the false pretences that humans stigmatised you with, therefore giving them more justifiable reasonings as to hunt you and other monsters into extinction. You glanced over at Jack and vowed that while he healed you would protect him by any means should your hand be forced. Which was unlikely because as aforementioned, the forest was barely inhabited by anything of flesh and bone, supernatural or otherwise. So for the time being you were safe to rest your weary eyes that struggled to remain open for longer then a fraction of a second.

Jack opened his eyes not long after you closed yours. He sat up and to his surprise his body was rid of all wounds from the night before, he couldn’t remember how he managed to get as far as he did but what amount he did remember before passing out was a blurred silhouette. A witch who smelt of vanilla or was it camomile, Rosemary, poppy milk, spiced apple and Passion flowers; Smells that were sweet and soothing that it lulled him into a dreamless slumber free of any pain. Sure he could heal relatively quickly, however his wounds would’ve taken a lot longer to repair the damage dealt his body; Even then he would still have some scars as remnants of their existence but as he searched his body. Yet it seemed as though he was never hurt in the first place, the only evidence he had from last nights events being real and not some dream was the throbbing ache in his muscles from all the running he did to put distance between him and the hunters that were after him.

They were persistent he has to give them that but as soon as he entered the very forest he found himself staring up the canopies, they stumbled over one another in their efforts to halt their momentum, cursing aloud the obsidian forest for protecting another freak of nature before begrudgingly retreating back the way they came. Jack had heard about this very forest but has passed through it several times without harm, the tales that spoke of the forest being a sentient safe haven for monsters and outcasts alike were false. The forest was just that, a regular old forest with a bad reputation stretched to it. Though he had to agree that it was incredibly dense and desolate of any and all light for a forest. So much so that it was hard to be for certain that what you were stepping on was a root and not the decaying body of someone who had gotten lost trying to get back home.

“What the?” “I see you’re finally awake. Thank goodness the severity of your wounds were well…quite severe.” You said, rubbing your eyes free of crusted sleep to look at the male who only stared back at you in confusion, his head tilted like a puppy dog. “Who-who are you?” Jack asked as his sense of smell picked up on the same scents he smelt before passing out. The smells of Poppy milk, rosemary, spice apple, Passion flower and a combination of camomile and vanilla. You smiled, waving a hand in the air to produce a deep purple passionflower before handing it to over to Jack who held it like he was bound to break it. “I’m y/n, I’m the witch who found you pass out just beneath this here tree and healed you of your ailments.” Jack toyed with the passionflower between his fingers out of nervousness of being healed by a witch as beautifully stunning as yourself and a little self conscious of the scars you must’ve seen litter his body. “Ah I see, thank you for that by the way,” he uttered sheepishly before remembering his manners, “I’m Jack.”

You watched in amusement when Jack quickly realised the hand that he had offered to you was still holding onto the passionflower you had gifted him. In which to an outside perspective it looked like he was gifting you the flower back out of curtsy in an cute yet awkward kind of way. “I’m sorry.” He started as he placed the flower down by his coat, making sure it wasn’t anywhere it could potentially get crushed. “I wasn’t-“ you cut his words short by placing your hand over his in reassurance. “it’s fine Jack. There’s no need to apologise to me but,” you paused briefly as Jack perked up at your hesitance, “may I ask how it is you got hurt that badly?” Jack subconsciously squeezed your hand whilst shrugging his shoulders as he replied nonchalantly. “Hunters found out I’m not exactly human in the way that a human is a human.” The male scratched the back of his ear absentmindedly, a possible byproduct of his canine instincts.

Jack looked at you, “how bad did they look?” You took a deep breath as you recounted the seemingly endless array of wounds he has accumulated. “Cattle prod burns along your arms, slash marks the width of my forearm across your upper and lower back that were on the verge of becoming infected, mass bruising and puncture wounds from arrows, and if not arrows, crossbows. So yeah you took quite the bit of energy out of me.” You finished, looking at Jack, who’s eyes held no visible change upon first glance but were in fact filled with disbelief in how he was somehow managed to survive for as long as he did with those wounds. It was truly a miracle indeed but when you offhandedly mentioned about being absolutely drained after healing him, he felt as though he was partially to blame for not being more considerate with himself.

Why didn’t you just pass him by? You could’ve save yourself the energy by doing so. What if the hunters decided to gather reinforcements and charge into the forest just as you were halfway through healing him, leaving yourself defenceless to their violence. These were just a small percentage of the thoughts that ran through Jack’s head, even though he had just met you he already felt quite deeply about you that the thought of you being hurt in a cowardly move made him feel even worse. You were too kind for your one good that was for certain. Jack moved so he was informed of you, clasping both hands over your own as he gently rested his forehead against your own, making sure you were looking into each other’s eyes. “Please don’t put yourself in a vulnerable position ever again; Not for my sake or anyone else’s. I can heal quite fast, you needn’t worry about me or overexert your powers on me.” He pleads with you. “I know we just met but…I don’t want you getting hurt because I wasn’t being more cautious.”

You held his hands close to your chest, “I’ll take your words into account as long as you also take your own words into account. You were just as much at risk of dying that night as I was,” you said, worry lacing your words, “if anything it seems as though we need each other to survive. I’m not that physically but you on the other hand are and while you can heal fast, I can heal you faster.” You explained, interlocking your fingers with his so that you palms were pressed firmly against his calloused ones before lifting them up for Jack see. “Look, we fit perfectly together.” He smiled down at your hands before looking back up into your eyes. “That was never in doubt.” He replied.

[goodboylupin]

My third fic for (my) @goodboylupin Candy Hearts Challenge. My prompt was CARRY ME. Reminder to all participants, works are due on the 1st of March! Fun fact: I thought of three different fic ideas for this prompt and all of them were meet cutes that heavily featured Teddy. I completed the one that had the most on-the-nose usage of the prompt. Thanks to @kattlupin for the beta. Also available on ao3.

Remus Lupin was a man who had watched a lot of Dad Reflex videos in his years on the internet. He remembered wondering once, as he held his (beautiful, precious, wonderful, awe-inspiring, perfect) fragile newborn son, whether there was some switch inside him that was supposed to turn on by itself and leave him capable of instantaneously making the right move to save his child in a life-or-death circumstance, whether it had done so already without him noticing, or if it was something he would build up in himself through years of training and close calls. He remembered thinking he didn’t want any close calls though, didn’t want to do or allow anything that would bring the barest risk of harming a single hair on Teddy’s little head, even if that meant he never developed those mythical Dad Reflexes himself. With the arrangement he and Tonks had going, it was possible Teddy would never truly see him as a dad anyway, just a cool-uncle-slash-sperm-donor.

Then, of course, his best friend had died and Remus was suddenly a single father with a little boy and a giant dog living in a brand new town on the other side of the country so he could be closer to his best friend’s mom who had never approved of their arrangement and maybe hated him for not handing over custody of the only living memory of her daughter but was still Teddy’s grandma and would hopefully be a steadfast presence in his baby’s life who would allow him to feel closer to his deceased mother (and maybe help out vis-a-vis babysitting.)

But that was a digression from the Dad Reflexes. As it turned out, Remus did have them. Not terribly surprising, really, since befriending a woman as clumsy as Tonks and having a child who inherited her coltishness had honed his everyday reflexes, but good to know. He wished he could have discovered them in a cooler way, like pulling Teddy away from a pack of wolves or something, but still, good to know.

They’d been taking a leisurely stroll along one of the trails of a local park after Teddy had tired himself out at the playground — Remus had hoped Teddy could strike up a friendship with another kid, he was gregarious enough to swing that, and then Remus would have an in with another parent before the school year started, but alas it had not happened, but it was fine because the day was instead a demonstration of how good Teddy was at independent play — when a great big blur of green and metal and greasy black hair that Remus would a split second later recognize as being some douchebag on a bike came flying at them like it was the Tour De France or something. Remus didn’t think about it for a second. He just picked his son up and curled around him as he ducked and rolled out of the way.

He wished his Dad Reflexes had been refined enough to stop him from getting tangled with his dog’s leash on the way down. He also kind of wished that he had ducked and rolled in the other direction, because though he may not have been able to completely clear out of the douchebag’s way if he had, he also would not have ended up rolling down a rather steep ditch while tangled with his dog’s leash.

“Teddy,” Remus gasped, releasing his son from the cocoon of his arms when they reached the bottom and finally stopped rolling. “Are you okay, baby?”

“I’m okay!” Teddy chirped, jumping and spreading his arms to display how okay he was. “That man wasn’t wearing a helmet, Daddy. His daddy shouldn’t have taken off his training wheels until he taught him.”

“Very true, Teddy,” Remus breathed. “His parents didn’t teach him to act right.”

“Are you okay, Daddy?” Teddy asked, because Teddy’s parents (parent, now, fuck, don’t think about it) were raising him to act right.

It was only then that Remus noticed his ankle was throbbing like a mother.

And his dog was lying despondent, making some worrying sounds.

“Snuffles!” Teddy cried. He made to run to Snuffles’ side when Remus caught him round the waist and halted him.

“Hold on, baby.” Remus unwound the leash still wrapped around his foot. He thought about trying to stand but decided instead to crawl over to Snuffles. Just the up and down of his knee lifting up and hitting the ground again sent pulsing pain up his leg. He was grateful when he’d finally made the three feet over and landed heavily back on his bottom, bad leg stretched out in front of him. “Sometimes when a dog is hurting, they’ll snap at people in a way they never would otherwise, even people they love. Humans are the same.”

Slowly, cautiously, he extended a closed fist to the dog. Snuffles let out a pitiful whine and pushed his head into Remus’s hand.

“Aww, buddy, what’s wrong?” Remus ran a soothing hand over the dog’s side, combing his fingers through the thick brown fur while looking him over. Oh, his leg was not supposed to bend that way. “You and I both, huh?”

He looked up at the hill they had just fallen down. There was no way he was crawling back up that thing, never mind getting Snuffles back up. Remus reached into his pocket for his phone and cursed internally at its absence. “Teddy, baby, you see my phone anywhere?”

“Uhhhmmmm…” Teddy placed his hands on his hips and scanned his surroundings. He made a happy ah sound at spotting it and ran to retrieve it, little arms swinging. “Here you go, Daddy!”

“Thank you, love.” Remus bit his lip when he saw the state of his phone, the screen cracked and muddy beyond belief. He tried to turn it on and sighed in resignation when nothing happened.

“Daddy,” Teddy tugged on his sleeve. “Are you okay?”

“Teddy, honey, I need you to do something for me.” Remus placed his hands on Teddy’s shoulders and looked at him very seriously. “I need you to climb to the top of the hill and call for help. Just to the top of it, okay? Don’t go over.”

“Can you come with me?” he asked in a small voice.

“Well, baby,” Remus took a deep breath. “Snuffles and I are a little hurt.”

Teddy whimpered, eyes already pooling with tears.

“Only a little!” Remus rushed to comfort him. He gathered Teddy tight in his arms and gave him a squeeze, rubbing a palm over his back. “Only a little booboo, and if you get help, we’ll get better. Can you be brave for me, Teddy?”

Teddy wiped the tears from his eyes and gave a solemn nod. “I’ll twy,” Teddy promised.

“There’s my boy. Be careful, love. Don’t go over the hill. If you can’t see me, then I can’t see you.”

Teddy nodded again and climbed slowly up the hill, taking frequent stops to look back at Remus for reassurance. When he reached the top of the hill, he balled his hands into fists and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “HEEEEEEEEEEEELP! Somebody heeeeeeeeelp!”

Somebody came running to Teddy, though from this angle Remus could only tell they had dark, messy hair. They said something that had Teddy pointing down the hill and, still screaming, answer, “MY DADDY FELL DOWN!”

“You all right, mister?” A cracking voice on the edge of dropping called, and a boy popped his head over the side of the hill to peer down.

Remus bit back a groan. He had hoped that a small child calling for help would attract the attention of a concerned mother, not a fellow small child.

Okay, no, he was exaggerating. The kid looked probably fourteen-ish, and if Remus remembered anything about that age, it was that teenagers hated being considered children.

“My dog and I have both injured our ankles. We’re going to need some help getting out from this ditch.”

“Big dog,” a second boy joined the first to note. This one had red hair and freckles.

“He’s a Newfie,” Remus said. “So about that help — “

“Don’t worry, mister, my uncle’s a doctor!” With that, the first boy ran away.

“How does that help me?” Remus called, though the boy was fast and already gone.

“And I have a wagon!” The redhead added, before also running away.

Remus glanced down at Snuffles and conceded that yes, a wagon would help him.

“Daddy!” Teddy cheered as he scaled down the hill again. “I was so bwave!”

“You were!” Remus agreed, scooping Teddy up to sit in his lap. “I’m so proud of you.”

“And you’ll be okay?”

“I will be,” Remus reassured.

“Mommy said she’d be okay and then she wasn’t. She pwomised.”

Remus heaved a sigh. “I know she did. But the way I got hurt is very different from what happened to Mommy. I know the very worst thing that could happen to me, baby: my ankle’s broken and I have to wear a cast for a few weeks. We’d be okay, wouldn’t we?”

“Uh huh,” Teddy agreed, smushing his face to Remus’s chest.

“You would help me while I had to use crutches, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, I’d always put all my toys away and I’d make ants on a log whenever we were hungry.”

“See, what else could I need? We’ll be just fine, baby.”

“Hello, down there!”

Remus looked up the hill to be greeted by the most handsome man who had ever walked the planet. He knew the man was some distance away and the sun was lighting him up from behind, he knew he hadn’t seen a whole lot of the world and the people in it, but Remus was still totally confident that he was the handsomest man who had ever walked the planet.

“Hello!” he greeted, wincing at how high his voice came out.

“Hi!” Teddy chirped.

The man was soon joined by one of the boys from earlier. “This is my uncle!” Messy Hair informed them.

Oh, yes, the doctor uncle actually being at the park with the nephew was helpful.

“I’m Sirius!” Dr. Handsome Uncle called down, cupping his (large) hands around his (kissable) mouth to make the sound carry.

“About what?” Remus yelled back.

“No, that’s my—” The man cut himself off mid-sentence, choosing instead to climb down the hill, giving Remus a lovely view of his broad, muscular back and firm ass in the process. “Sirius Black. That’s my name,” he clarified at a normal volume when he reached the bottom of the ditch, crouching down beside Remus.

“Remus Lupin,” Remus held out a hand to shake. “Oh, wait, I’m covered in dirt, you don’t have to—”

Sirius shook with one hand and held Remus’s wrist softly with the other. His hands were even handsomer up close, warm and soft and pleasantly callused. His face was even handsomer up close, all square jaw and high cheekbones without looking like handsome Squidward.

“And I’m Teddy Lupin!” Teddy chimed in, holding out his own (much cleaner, how crazy that his six-year-old had cleaner hands than him, it was probably the first time that had ever happened in his life) hand. He pointed at the dog, “That’s Snuffles.”

Sirius grinned (oh, what a smile. This could not be a real man. Remus must have been knocked out during the fall and this was a hallucination brought on by concussion. He needed to wake up so he could check on Teddy) and shook Teddy’s hand. “It’s so nice to meet you both, Teddy.”

“Thank you, it’s so nice to meet you too,” Teddy replied

“Now, Mr. Lupin—“

“Remus, call me Remus.”

Sirius smiled winsomely at him. “Remus, I’d like to give your ankle a look over to determine if we need to take you to get an x-ray.”

Feeling ludicrously grateful that he’d chosen a nice pair of socks that morning, Remus nodded his assent. He folded over himself to take his shoe off when Sirius stopped him, again with that soft hand around the wrist.

“I got it,” he murmured, unlacing the boot and sliding it off gently, then taking off his sock and stuffing it in the boot. “Oh, this is a nice shade of nail polish.”

“I picked it,” Teddy said proudly, tucking himself into Remus’s side. “Golden is Daddy’s second-favouritest colour.”

“You have very good taste, Teddy. Remus, was there any noise when you got the injury? A pop or a crack?”

“No, just the fall and the pain.”

“Has the pain subsided or gotten worse?”

“It’s a little worse now, I think, but that might just be that I’m paying it more attention.”

“Any numbness or tingling?”

“It’s more of a throb.”

Sirius hummed. “I’m going to poke and prod and wiggle you around now, tell me if anything hurts.”

After finishing his ‘poking and prodding and wiggling,’ Sirius sat back on his haunches and put Remus’s sock and shoe back on. “Just a sprain, Remus, a few days’ RICE and some ibuprofen and you should be just fine.”

“We can make stir fry!” Teddy cheered.

Remus dropped a kiss to Teddy’s hair so he wouldn’t laugh out loud. “Not that kind of rice, Teddy, but we can make stir fry anyway.”

“Okay,” Teddy agreed. “Can you help Snuffles now, Mr. Doctor Sirius?”

“Alas,” Sirius threw an arm up to his forehead, the picture of drama. “They taught us only how to treat humans at doctor school.”

Snuffles let out a pitiful whine.

“Aww, buddy.” Sirius pet the top of his head. “But! The slope of the hill is much smoother a few yards down, so Ron’s waiting with his wagon there and I figured I could carry him back to the path there.”

Remus bit his lip as he looked Sirius over (again). The man had thickly muscled arms and a barrel chest, but, “Snuffles is a big boy.”

“Don’t worry, I am too.” With that, Sirius placed both of Snuffles’ forelegs over his shoulders and lifted him up like a baby. He bent his knees a bit and shifted around but didn’t look terribly burdened by the weight.

“That dog weighs more than I do,” Remus whispered to himself, awestruck.

“I’ll be carrying you next” Sirius offered with a wink.

“You know,” Sirius’s nephew called as he too came down the hill, stopping to sit cross-legged with them in the mud. “My uncle likes stir fry too.”

“Does he?” Remus asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Mmhmm,” he nodded. “And he’s been very helpful to you, treating your ankle and offering to drive your dog to the vet.”

“He hasn’t offered to drive my dog to the vet…”

“Oh, he’s gonna. And I bet he’s also gonna be super hungry after carrying you and your dog around instead of just bringing the wagon down to the ditch.”

“Oh,” Teddy gasped. “We should invite him to dinner!”

“Yes,” the nephew gasped. “You should!”

“Harry,” Sirius intoned upon his return. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing!” The nephew — Harry — held his hands up in surrender. “I was, um, I was just telling Remus about this new enterprise Ron and I are starting with Hermione!”

“And what is it?”

“Basically, you call one number and you’re put in touch with multiple responsible young adults who are ready to offer our childcare services.”

“That’s not a new enterprise, Harry. It’s a very popular book series from thirty years ago that’s been made into movies and tv shows multiple times.”

“But I am new in town and I wouldn’t mind hiring you or your friend as a babysitter,” Remus offered. “You seem like great kids.”

“Awesome! Teddy and I will go ahead now and you two can take your time.” He stood and held out a hand for Teddy to take.

Teddy looked to make sure Remus nodded in agreement before taking Harry’s hand, immediately swinging it back and forth as they walked away.

Sirius sighed, barked out a laugh. He knelt at Remus’s side and slid an arm under Remus’s knees, another around his back. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Remus looped his arms around Sirius’s neck. “Do you like stir fry?”

[gffa]

Last time I went about five months between doing a set of STAR WARS fic recs, this time it’s only been three months! Hurrah! It helps that, as always, this fandom puts out an incredible amount of excellent fic, so I feel like I’m never hurting for fics I want to yell about and shove at people, which is something I continue to appreciate as it often feels like so much of the world is such a huge tire fire. It helps to be able to find fics to retreat into, to have fun with, to express joy and creativity with, and so many of the authors in this fandom are just so good at this! To the point that these sets sometimes take awhile because there are always more fics I want to add, until the post starts threatening to be overly long instead of a decent length–in my defense, no seriously, you guys are just too good! Also, I forced myself to stop at 69 fic recs, because yes I do think it’s funny. (Nice.) STAR WARS FIC RECS: PREQUELS RECS: ✦ a comedy in four acts by jesuisdeux, obi-wan & dooku & yoda & qui-gon & cast, time travel, 4k    This was what time-travel is: staring at the dark sockets of skulls everywhere your gaze lands on. Being haunted by ghosts long gone. The apprehension of the slow yet sure approach of the inevitable which is sending chills down your spine. ✦ No Rest for the Weary by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin & jedi & ocs, 61k    Needing a break from life at the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi and his apprentice, Anakin Skywalker, visit a Jedi AgriCorps settlement on the Midrim planet of Helia. There they encounter new friends, new enemies and have new adventures, all while attempting to navigate their sometimes turbulent relationship as Master and Padawan. ✦ Stars of Tatooine by Be_Right_Back, ahsoka & kanan & mace & rex & obi-wan & cast, 10.5k    After the end of the world, Ahsoka more or less kidnaps a child, has to air some old grievances, and tries to find whatever peace the universe can still offer. All paths in the Force lead home, eventually. ✦ Festival of Light by dendral, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & rex & cast, 8.7k    During his first year at the Jedi Temple, Anakin learns that even the Jedi celebrate holidays. ✦ the master, the padawan, the Force by skatzaa, depa & caleb, 1.4k    Caleb expects things to be different after Master Depa takes him as her padawan, but really, it feels like nothing really changes. ✦ desecrate my lungs by loosingletters, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & padme & cast, 16k wip    Time-travel fix-it in which Mustafar haunts Anakin decades after it happened and years before it would. ✦ Grace by dismantlingsummer, obi-wan & anakin, 2.3k    Shortly after Mustafar, Anakin realizes what he has done. He finds Obi-Wan to beg for death. ✦ Fifth Migration by wrennette, yoda & mace & obi-wan & ki-adi & yarael & coleman & plo & palpatine & cast, 2k    How about an AU where the Sith’s Grand Plan accounted for everything -everything that is, except the fact that the Jedi temple is actually an very ancient spacecraft and the second word got to the Jedi about there being clones on Kamino, all Jedi are called back inside and they take off immediately? Just imagine the dear chancellor’s face… ✦ fill pages with scribbled ink by magneticwave, obi-wan/padme & sabe & mace & quinlan & cast, 9.8k    A year after the Invasion of Naboo, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi is invited by Queen Amidala to return to Naboo and participate in a rite known as the Night of Fireflies. Things kind of snowball from there. ✦ Mind Your Words by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin, spanking, 7k    Obi-Wan reminds Anakin that there are consequences for careless behavior for young Jedi on missions. ✦ (you taught me) the courage of stars by grumpyhedgehogs, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cast, 5.1k wip    Ahsoka Tano flees after a warrant for her arrest is issued, but not before receiving aid from an unexpected ally. (Ahsoka proceeds to go on a road trip filled with a bunch of strangers who all say the same thing: Obi-Wan Kenobi is much more than he has ever appeared to be.) ✦ they faked it (guess everything’s complicated) by katierosefun, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 4.5k    Ahsoka temporarily loses memories of the events of Obi-Wan’s fake death. To help with the healing process, Anakin and Obi-Wan have to pretend that they’re okay. ✦ programed to dream by ghostwriterofthemachine, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, body horror, 1.3k    The spaceship Comet-rider is the fastest, most efficient vessel in the galaxy, and is crewed by Separatist-funded pirates. Anakin Skywalker is missing. Unfortunately, these two things are connected. ✦ Unpleasant Truths by hellowkatey, obi-wan & anakin, 2.1k    Obi-Wan and Anakin are stuck in a room with one another while waiting for truth serum to wear off. ✦ moment’s silence by skatzaa, obi-wan & owen & beru & luke & leia (pre-obi-wan/beru-owen), 2k    Owen had long since resigned himself to trouble, whenever Beru got that particularly stubborn set to her jaw. ✦ hold gently and let go by shatou, obi-wan & anakin (pre-slash?), 1.7k    A troubled Anakin comes to Obi-Wan to discuss attachments. ✦ sun child by Ro29, obi-wan & anakin, 2.1k    (or; sometimes being so tied to the Force causes problems, Obi-Wan helps his Padawan as best he can) ✦ A Dinner Out by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin & cast, 1.6k    Obi-Wan can’t get his young Padawan to eat much, so he tries something new. But trying something different has unintended consequences. ✦ Shades in the Desert by loosingletters, obi-wan & anakin & luke & owen/beru, 10.8k    Not even from a certain point of view did Darth Vader kill Anakin Skywalker. He wished he did, but the specter of the Jedi’s light escaped before he could finalize his fall to the dark. Meanwhile, Anakin is raising his son on Tatooine. ✦ somewhere along in the bitterness by CallToMuster, obi-wan & anakin, major character death, 3.8k    It was probably the twelfth day floating alone in space that Obi-Wan and Anakin realized no one was coming for them. ✦ Songs for Little Jedi by soft_but_gremlin, mace & younglings, ~1k    The initiates are having nightmares, so Mace sings a lullaby to comfort them. ✦ atmosphere level by softredscrunchie, obi-wan/satine & qui-gon, 1k    As a joke, Satine tells Obi-Wan she thinks Mandalore is flat. He doesn’t take it well. ✦ on sith holocrons and misunderstandings by billowypants, obi-wan & anakin & mace & yoda & cast, de-aged!obi-wan, 7.2k    or, de-aged!Obi-Wan has the same Force bonds as adult Obi-Wan, and he does not react well. ✦ Perseverance & Resilience by loosingletters, obi-wan & anakin, 1.1k    In the aftermath of Naboo, Obi-Wan realizes he needs strength to protect his new Padawan. Growing up, Anakin needs peace. ✦ A Delicate Balance by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin & yoda & jedi, spanking, 9.6k    As Anakin’s skills grow, so too does his penchant for getting into trouble. After a training mishap, Obi-Wan struggles with his role as Anakin’s master. ✦ mirror, mirror by CallToMuster, obi-wan & anakin, 5.4k    Obi-Wan has been rescued by Anakin after being rather embarrassingly kidnapped on the remote planet of Ilnuria during his investigation of rumored kyber crystals deep beneath the planet’s surface. …But is all as it seems? ✦ Mace Windu Appreciation Week by Redminibike1, mace & obi-wan & anakin & ponds & cody & jedi & cast, 12.5k    Set of unconnected ficlets for Mace Windu Appreciation Week, because he deserves it :) ✦ begin again as a quiet thought by skatzaa, obi-wan/quinlan, d/s, ~1k    Cool, smooth leather touched his jaw—gloves. Because of course Obi-Wan had thought of that as well. ✦ Drunken Lullabies by Siri_Kenobi12, obi-wan & anakin & siri & quinlan & aayla & garen & bant & ferus, 6.5k    “Do I really have to go to this thing?” Fourteen year old Anakin Skywalker dramatically sighed. “It’s sooo boring!” ✦ heaven knows how I love you by the_13th_battalion, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 1.2k    Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka are stranded on an unfamiliar planet overnight. They spend their time exploring the community- and maybe they get a little closer to each other along the way. ✦ A Reckless Padawan by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, spanking, 3.9k    When Ahsoka upsets Anakin with an act of reckless disobedience, it falls to her grandmaster to help her see the error of her ways. OBI-WAN/ANAKIN RECS: ✦ Too Hot by secretsolarsystem, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 4.8k    Too Hot: A game where two players kiss without stopping and without touching each other. If one player touches the other, that player loses. The winner gets to do whatever they want to the loser. ✦ Nostos by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin & padme, NSFW, 17k    Or, how Obi-Wan and Anakin discover that there are many ways to come home. ✦ to touch the light, darkest by treescape, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 1.9k    Obi-Wan begins to fuck Vader back to the light ✦ encode by loosingletters, obi-wan/anakin & padme & handmaidens & cast, 26.3k wip    Instead of being accepted into the Jedi Order at the age of 9, Anakin Skywalker became a ward of Naboo. ✦ Hunting the Homeward Light by GreenQueenofClubs, obi-wan/anakin & mace & ahsoka & shmi & padme & cast, 31.9k wip    When Anakin Skywalker was nine, he left his whole life and mother behind to follow Qui-Gon Jinn to Coruscant and the Jedi Temple. When Anakin Skywalker was twelve, he left his whole life and Master behind to follow Mace Windu to the Outer Rim and away from the Jedi Order. When Anakin Skywalker was twenty… ✦ use my body to break your fall by tennessoui, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, sith!obi-wan, 44.7k wip    Obi-Wan Kenobi is too good at being a Sith Lord general of the Separatist army. The Jedi Council approaches Anakin with an offer he can’t refuse. These things are, actually, related. ✦ Over and Over by obiwanobi, obi-wan/anakin, 1.4k    “I love you,” he blurts out, loud and impossible to miss. Obi-Wan blinks once, twice. And freezes. The first time Anakin tells him is a mortifying experience. ✦ Exceptions by rinverse, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & mace & quinlan & cast, NSFW, modern au, 23.4k    Young and brilliant, Anakin is the mind behind JEDI Tech’s latest innovation. Obi-Wan is the company’s perfectly composed Director of PR & Marketing. And last night, they were just two strangers at a bar, looking for something quick and easy. But life had other plans when it crossed their paths again the very next day. ✦ Here There Be Dragons by Ghost_Owl, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka, 10.1k    Anakin knows why he can’t shift into his animal form like every other Jedi. It’s because he doesn’t want to, it’s because he’s had a vision of what he would become, and he doesn’t want it. ✦ Waiting in a Sea of Stars by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan/anakin, ~1k    Stranded in deep space, Obi-Wan and Anakin wait for rescue. ✦ Tristitia by JSwander, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, sith!obi-wan, 5k    An alternate timeline where Palpatine focuses his attentions on Obi-Wan Kenobi instead of Anakin Skywalker after the attack on Naboo. ✦ Prompted - Chapter 11: Communication, What Communication? by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, mobster au, 7k    a 7k obikin PWP that is somehow a prompt mashup of a mobster au, an accidental sugar daddy au, with a soupçon of an anakin never left tatooine au, and a pinch of qui-gon was anakin’s dad au ✦ who a person truly is cannot be seen with the eye by RexIsMyCopilot, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, d/s, spanking, 3.6k    Anakin purposely avoids doing what Obi-Wan tells him to do. ✦ Prompted - Chapter 12: Potidaea, 432BC, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, historical au, 4.3k    Here is a short smutty scene inspired by all those classics asks, Alcibiades praising Socrates in Plato’s Symposium, and this vase c.490-480 B.C. depicting standing, face-to-face intercrural intercourse between a bearded man and a youth, which as far as we can tell was the most common and accepted position for it in Ancient Greece. ✦ Prompted - Chapter 13: Minikin and Tiny-Wan by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 5.4k    Happy May the Fourth! In honor of this happy day, I have written the fluffiest, crackiest, vanilla-flavored smut imaginable. Based on long discussions on discord with tomicaleto about her adorable Tiny AU. ✦ to hold until brightness by treescape, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 1.4k    Obi-Wan feared that it drew out the darkest in him, to bring Vader to these flashes of light, but it was a trade he would make again and again without hesitation. ✦ May Be Found, If Sought by ghostwriterofthemachine, obi-wan/anakin & mace & quinlan, magical academy au, 2.3k    In which Quinlan, Mace, and Obi-Wan teach Non-Traditional Magical Philosophy in an institution rampant with academic snobbery and discrimination, something dark is stirring in the nearby forest, and no one is ever prepared for Anakin Skywalker. A small story about first meetings in magical academia. ✦ infinitely varied by loosingletters, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka, modern au, 2.2k    Also known as Obi-Wan and Anakin teach a tiny program called A.H.S.O.K.A. how to be something more than lines of code via the power of linguistics. ✦ recipe for disaster by tennessoui, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka, modern au, 9.8k    When Ahsoka tells Anakin she doesn’t want to learn piano anymore, Anakin is heartbroken. He doesn’t care about the instrument, obviously, but he’s practically in love with her teacher. Obi-Wan offers up a solution to their impending separation, and it’s not dating like any normal person would suggest. Instead, he’s gonna teach Anakin how to cook. Except Anakin’s a pretty well-known chef, and Obi-Wan is absolutely awful in the kitchen. ✦ Pretty Kitty by GayCheerios, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 2.2k    “Master, you always take such good care of me,” Anakin says, a little chirp coming after his sentence, as his thumb rests on Anakin’s plump bottom lip. ✦ As One, Into Eternity by Pseudonymoose, obi-wan/anakin, force ghosts, 3.1k    Death comes, but the man who was, and is, and will be Anakin Skywalker is not gone. And in the Force, he will never be alone again. ✦ does he make you laugh? by y0u_idjits, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & cast, fusion fic, 3.6k    “Tell me it’s not about screwing the guy who’s screwing your husband.” ✦ Rotten Work by secretsolarsystem, obi-wan/anakin, 2.8k    Obi-Wan: I’ll take care of you. Anakin, with bloodshot eyes and a broken back from hours of terrible posture: It’s rotten work. Obi-Wan, who needs to bathe this man for his own sanity and health: Not to me. Not if it’s you. ✦ afterimages by shatou, obi-wan/anakin, 1.3k    Mustafar is nothing but a bad dream. ✦ understanding is honoring the truth beneath the surface by RexIsMyCopilot, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, d/s, 7.3k    Anakin asks Obi-Wan to take control. ✦ The strongest stars… by Tomicaleto, obi-wan/anakin & beru & cast, NSFW, 7.4k    The war’s end seems to be close, with everyone looking forward to it. And when Anakin is doubting himself the most, an unexpected visit arrives at the Temple. ✦ home has a heartbeat by izazov, obi-wan/anakin, 5.6k    Or: Anakin and Obi-Wan are together, but there are still some things left unsaid between them. ✦ turn back now (i’m haunted) by tennessoui, obi-wan/anakin & padme & quinlan & ahsoka & cast, modern au, ghosts au, 25k wip    Anakin Skywalker’s house is haunted. Luckily for him, Padmé knows a ghost hunter. Unluckily for him, it’s the hottest, most english-professor ghost hunter he’s ever seen. And extremely unluckily for him, he’s starting to get the feeling he understands maybe ten percent of what’s actually going on here, not to mention what’s at stake. ✦ game plan by treescape, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 11.2k    Or, Vader keeps capturing Obi-Wan during the Wars. Obi-Wan keeps escaping. It’s kind of a thing. ✦ Provocation by ToolMusicLover, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 4.9k    Or: Obi-Wan and Anakin attempt to navigate their complicated relationship with barbed words and wilful ignorance. It wasn’t going well. ✦ Languages by Crowgirl, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 6.5k    So Anakin pulls out a map and makes a list. REBELS RECS: ✦ The Scent of You by ambiguously, kanan/hera & cast, a smidge of nsfw, 2.9k    Everything changes after Malachor, and Kanan has trouble finding his balance. ✦ Heard It in a Love Song (Can’t Be Wrong) by ambiguously, zeb/kallus, 2.7k    Kallus can’t quite figure out what makes Zeb tick, but he keeps trying. ORIGINAL TRILOGY/MANDALORIAN RECS: ✦ A Discussion of Choices by Peppermint_Shamrock, luke & mace, 2k    Mace Windu has traveled the galaxy since the fall of the Republic, keeping out of the Empire’s sight and teaching where he can. Upon the request of a ghost of an old friend, Mace finds himself instructing Luke Skywalker, who is still reeling from the truth of Vader’s identity. ✦ staring down the barrel of the hot sun by magneticwave, luke/din & obi-wan & grogu & mace & cast, 25.7k    “Gone to a Child of the Watch, the Darksaber has,” Grand Master Yoda announces in his creaky little voice. “Peace, there is not, and yet peace, there must be.” ✦ Released by Peppermint_Shamrock, cody & rex & luke & cast, 6k    Nearly two and a half decades late, Cody’s chip is finally removed. Adjusting to having his mind returned to him after so long takes time, and Cody struggles with questions of his purpose of the past, present, and future. Fortunately, he does not have to struggle alone. ✦ A Tatooine Rainstorm by skatzaa, leia & luke & shmi, 1.7k    Leia meets a ghost. ✦ Dealing with the Darksaber by Peppermint_Shamrock, din & bo-katan & cara, 1.3k    After her recovery, Bo-Katan contacts Din to challenge him for the darksaber. Din is still very much not interested in the whole affair. FULL DETAILS + RECS HERE

[five-rivers]

Beltane

Written for Ectober 2021 Day 1: Trick vs Treat. This is part of the Exhumed series.

.

Danny Fenton walked into the precinct. As often happened when he did this, all attention slowly turned to him. “Hi, Detective Patterson. Have you ever heard of Beltane?”

Patterson took a long swig of coffee through the plastic stir straw, because she felt the need to be at least a little drugged before dealing with whatever this was, and then said, “Is this the kind of thing the whole precinct needs to know about, or is it more specific to me?”

“Mm, not specific to you, but I’m not sure if everyone needs to know about it, yet.”

Despite only select members of the Amity Park police force knowing Danny Fenton had another identity, he’d become a sort of ‘ghost liaison’ for the precinct. Better him than the adult Fentons, who tended to break things even (especially) when they were being careful.

“Actually,” continued Danny, “you might have already noticed some things about it. I mean, it’s seasonal, and Mom and Dad were detecting ectoenergy and ghost activity spikes for events like this before they got the portal up and running. Although, the portal was supposed to stabilize and reduce those spikes… I guess reducing one isn’t bad?”

“Okay,” said Patterson. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about. Do you want me to go find Collins?”

“Oh, that might be a good idea.”

“Great,” said Patterson. She turned her head to shout across the room. “McGee. Go find Collins.”

“Still the new guy?” asked Danny, sympathetically.

“It isn’t like we’re a popular posting,” said Patterson, “and, thanks to the ghosts, we don’t really need new people.”

Danny nodded placidly. “I know. But it must be hard for him, don’t you think?”

.

McGee had done his job. He’d discovered the corruption in the Amity Park Police Department and plumbed its depths. The problem was that he could never, ever, report it. Even if they didn’t have a perfectly good cause for it all, what they were ‘hiding’ (and they were only barely doing that) was so ridiculous that McGee had thought he’d gone crazy at first.

Ghosts.

The whole of Amity Park was haunted. Just like it said in those touristy brochures at the front of the local diners.

He stuck his head into the break room. “Collins, Patterson and Fenton want you,” he said.

“In the normal room?” Collins asked, shoving a sugary monstrosity of a donut into his mouth.

“I have no idea. She didn’t say.”

“Normal room then. Great job, McGee.”

McGee rolled his eyes. Great job, he said. As if he’d done anything.

God. What would Halloween be like?

.

“So, it’s like, reverse Halloween?” asked Patterson.

“Well, not exactly,” said Danny. He patted Daisy, the department mascot slash corpse sniffing dog who had followed them into the small interview room, gently on the head. “Actually, there are more similarities than differences. Basically, like Halloween, we’re going to get a spike in ectoenergy. Maybe even some ectoplasmic storms. More portals. That kind of thing.” He shrugged. “Most holidays and seasonal divisions have them, you know.”

“So… we’re getting Halloween round two?” asked Collins.

“What do you bet that this is what gets McGee to snap?”

“He’s been here since December,” said Collins. “I think he’s too stubborn to leave.”

“Is he still spying?” asked Danny.

“No,” said Patterson, waving a hand. “He gave up on that, after a while. But there’s a new office bet about whether or not he’ll stay stay, or if he’ll decide to quit. We’re not allowed to join in because we know him too well.”

“Mm,” said Danny.

“I don’t actually know if I feel like I know him that well,” said Collins.

“Well,” said Danny, “it shouldn’t be as extreme as Halloween. Since, I mean, there aren’t as many religious holidays directly associated with death and stuff happening on or around May first. So. Yeah. But the thing is, there are some traditional, er, activities. Spirited activities.”

Collins suppressed a groan, and was glad that Captain Jones wasn’t available today. He and Danny could sling puns at each other for obscenely long periods of time.

“I’ve never noticed ghosts doing anything on May Day,” said Patterson.

“This is only the third year anyone’s even acknowledged that ghosts exist,” said Danny, “so I’m not really all that surprised. But the reason that I came to talk to you guys is that some of the ghosts want to do Beltane stuff. Like the fire blessings. Also, I’ve been told that some of the trees in town are secretly ghost trees, and if we don’t want to deal with another tree army, we need to do some stuff to appease them.”

“Secret ghost trees.”

“My source is very reliable,” said Danny. “Also, while I say ‘we don’t want to deal with it,’ I think we all know who’d be dealing with most of it.”

“You would,” said Patterson.

“Got it in one. Like, I can convince most of the ghosts to either do their Beltane stuff in the Ghost Zone, or somewhere out of the way. They’ll be disappointed, but I can do it. The ghost tree thing, though…”

“Can’t we just, I don’t know,” said Collins, “get rid of the ghost trees?”

“Well, they aren’t really evil ghost trees. Or even really ghost trees. They’re more… ghosts that live in trees?”

“What, like dryads?” asked Collins, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s what I said, but they’re different species, apparently.”

“Okay,” said Patterson, “so. Appeasing the trees. How many trees are we talking about here, and how are we going to appease them?”

.

“Okay, so, this is definitely a whole precinct kind of thing,” said Patterson.

“And possibly an ‘all civil servants’ type of thing,” added Collins. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where are we going to get the funding for this?”

“Oh, don’t worry about money,” said Danny. “I’ll just blackmail Vlad, and if that doesn’t work, I can get Mom and Dad to pay for it.”

“What,” said Collins.

“I think this might be a bit beyond your parents’ budget,” said Patterson, “but knock yourself out as far as Masters goes.”

“Well, I guess if it is,” he allowed, dubiously, “I could get the cults to pitch in?”

.

“This is nice,” said Danny. The sky was a bit overcast, which was a shame, but the hundreds of bright flowers and cheerful music more than made up for that.

The May Day celebration was, in Danny’s opinion, a success. At least, this half of it was turning out to be. He’d have to wait and see how the Spirit Bonfires went tonight before he could really make a judgement.

He’d only had to blackmail Vlad a little, too. It turned out that the ‘ruthless businessman’ in Vlad was ludicrously easy to manipulate, and once Danny brought up how a celebration like this one could revitalize local businesses and bring in tourism, he’d caved.

Although, that might have been the threat of an angry tree army. Vlad had definitely come off worse for wear in the last one, on all fronts.

Then, publically putting the Phantom Stamp of Approval (and Necessity Given The Potential Angry Tree Army) on the event had gotten buy-in from his fans and (sigh) the cults. The cults were, in fact, very enthusiastic about their new Holy Day. Danny had made a map of all the places they’d set up booths, and was studiously avoiding them.

Sam and Tucker were doing a walkthrough of that area, now, to check for problems and unadorned thorn trees. They’d arranged to meet up soon.

So, Amity Park was decked out in ribbons and flowers. All of the schools had gotten Maypoles and the day off of classes. Several bands, both human and ghostly, were playing in different parts of town.

It was chaotic, but great.

Danny briefly cut into the street to dodge a pair of college-age men play-fighting with tree branches (a genuinely important tradition symbolizing the battle between winter and summer), then walked through a wall to avoid two ghosts doing the same thing.

Finally, he reached Madame Babazita’s table.

“Hi,” he said, “three readings, please.”

“Three?” she asked. “Just for you?”

“My friends should get here before mine’s done,” said Danny. Was he channeling some predictive powers? Maybe. Holidays did make his powers weird.

.

“I have no idea what your reading is saying,” said Madame Babazita, after fifteen full minutes. “The cards simply aren’t speaking to me today. Also,” she held up an Uno card, “I’m not sure how this even got here.”

“That’s okay,” said Danny, “I just wanted to make sure it was the same as last time.”

.

“Hey! Phantom!” called Ember across the crowd of ghosts that had gathered in the cemetery. Most of them were fire or nature themed. “You’re in for a treat!”

Danny, who had been examining the flowers left on his grave, looked up. “I am?”

Ember draped her arm around Danny’s shoulder. She’d been a lot more friendly with him since the corpse incident. “Sure are.” She stepped up onto the surface of his memorial, pulling him up behind her. Danny shook off a brief chill and looked around.

Ghosts were streaming into the cemetery from various directions, bringing armfuls of flowers with them. Danny could see two, huge bonfire piles of flowers growing near the cemetery gates.

“Are there going to be cows?” asked Danny, who was still fuzzy on the details of the ghostly side of the celebrations.

“I don’t know,” said Ember. “When I’ve seen this done in the GZ there are. Here? Who knows. Maybe we’ll just walk through.”

Danny nodded, unworried. Beltane sure was an interesting holiday.

The last armful of flowers was placed, and every flower in the cemetery caught on fire at once. Including the ones on Danny’s grave. Danny yelped, jumping into flight. As an ice core ghost, he vastly preferred cold to heat.

This went without saying, but fire was very hot.

Ember grabbed his foot, and he almost kicked her. “You knew that was going to happen,” he accused.

“Sure did, babypop,” said Ember, grinning. “Come on, don’t you want to pass through the bonfires?”

Danny eyed the very large bonfires on either side of the cemetery gates. They were lit up with sparks like fireworks, shifting like flowers blooming and withering and blooming again. They were beautiful and impressive, and Danny felt like melting just by looking at them.

“I don’t know…” He wanted to, but… melting…

“Well, if you want to go out the other way and be horribly unlucky for the next year…”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “Is that another trick?” he asked.

Ember’s grin grew wider, and she took off towards the gates. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Danny sighed and followed her.

.

“Unbelievable,” said McGee. “Absolutely unbelievable.” He gave the elderly cultist a boost into the wagon.

“I know, right?” said Patterson. “All this property damage and a low-key kidnapping,” she gestured to the hapless late night partier who had called the police when the cult got too insistent about their message, “and they didn’t even have the good drugs?” She shook her head. “Not that we ever arrest anyone just for drugs in this town.”

“I did not just hear you say that,” muttered McGee.

“We’ll make an Amity Parker out of you yet,” said Collins, heartily, slamming the back door of the wagon. He thumbed the button on his radio. “Any other disturbances?” he asked.

“No, you’re good to come back,” said the dispatcher.

“What I don’t get,” said McGee, leaning against a nearby wall in a moment of weakness, “is why we aren’t breaking up whatever cult thing is happening in the cemetery.” They’d seen it quite clearly on their way here.

“Because those are ghosts,” said Patterson.

McGee took a deep breath. “The ghosts are having some kind of ritual in the cemetery, and you aren’t worried.”

“Not really, no.”

“I hate it here,” said McGee.

“Do you, though?” asked Collins, sounding genuinely interested in the answer.

McGee opened his mouth to snap back that, yes, he did. But…

Hm. Huh.

Collins patted him on the back.

[tales-from-nocturnaliss]

A post about... autism

With the rise of the pornbot wave, I considered closing down my Tumblr. After all, I don't use it, except to stalk artists who create amazing BotW fanarts, and I can't seem to connect to any other writers, somehow.

I wondered just now if I could possibly have a use for it after all. I like for all of my socials to have a reason to exist; for example, my fb page is about writing and I post writing-related memes; pillowfort, I write about a whole slew of topics and it's become my homebase. Tumblr... is Tumblr. From my end of its world, I feel like it's a sterile place without community.

And then, I dunno, it feels like a lightbulb went off in my head:

Hey, what if I use my Tumblr to actually talk about something discovered recently about myself that, maybe, could help other people while helping me to connect to people like me?

What if I use this Tumblr to talk about autism?

I was diagnosed a couple of weeks ago, after a couple of years of grueling search due to a severe decline in health. In short: no one found anything wrong with me. Until I talked to a close friend about autism, with her thinking she had it. The ball rolled real fast in my head. From these first inner whispers round August to testing in November, January brought a conclusion: yep, I am in fact autistic.

I'm apparently the unusual sort (according to my results, at least!) who has real high executive and cognitive functions and a deep understanding of emotions - because, hey, I made it my obsession. That and writing tragedy and death. I live for the feels.

Slowly, I'm absorbing this fact as part of my identity, without making it the whole of it (I hate when people do that, with anything). Coming to terms with the fact it explains the little things that my brain can't cope with - putting my hands on dirty dishes, dealing with sharp, sudden noises, complex gender identities (to name but these!) - while also telling myself: sure, autism explains, but you're not your autism. I'm still an adorable trilingual Belgian writer of 42 who breathes Dark fantasy and writes feelz. That, is me.

But I do notice, more and more, how the people I best connect with... are fellow creative autists/neurodivergents. There's just a mutual understanding that exists by default and doesn't demand nor require explanation. It feels... relaxing.

And so, here's one more voice on the spectrum! I have no idea how much I'll use Tumblr from here on out, but hey. I'm not worrying about that right now. Not when a friend of mine passed away to cancer last week and, this week, another one tried to slash open his arm.

Did I mention I write openly and honestly about basically every type of topic? I guess I don't need to tell fellow autists. You know how it feels like to just... (over)share.

Now, I need to go back to my actual writings. But this felt good to write. Bottle to the sea!

[headcanontheshitoutofsoulsborne]

Dark Souls Chain 3

Hey guys, remember the chain game? We actually still do this and while it took a while, we finally finished the third chain for Dark Souls the first.

Original Prompt: Story about Oscar's journey through Lordran which ends back in the Asylum.

@dbzespio

Oscar rolled to his feet just as the giant crow dropped him. And it didn’t take long for him to take stock of his new surroundings: naught but a bonfire and a knight sat before him. For now, the knight was reposed; his stance and demeanor suggested he wasn’t yet a threat. 

It wasn’t until Oscar drew closer that the knight finally raised his head; he was fair skinned and without a wrinkle on him. Not hollowed, then.  

The knight of Astora relaxed, heading up to bid the man greetings. But the man’s face slowly lowered yet again, and he did not look up as Oscar approached. “Ah. Another one…”

“Having a rest?” Oscar asked good naturedly. 

The crestfallen knight finally looked him in the eye then, and there was no cheer there. “There is no rest, not for undead such as ourselves…”

“True enough.” Oscar hefted his shield to his back, scanning the area once more, but again, the two were quite alone. “Tell me, fellow chosen, how goes your pilgrimage?”

The other man gazed blankly at him for a few moments before promptly breaking out into a soft, cruel laughter. 

Oscar was left at a loss for words, and the other merely continued to laugh at him. 

“So you have forsaken your calling?” Oscar asked, finally having found the words to speak.

“There is no salvation here,” the knight replied. “You would have done better to rot in the Asylum.” 

This man was speaking madness; and yet, he was no hollow. Surely he wasn’t--!

Oscar shivered, an unknown feeling quickly gripping him. But he covered the motion with a wave of his arm, as if to signal that he was finished talking. 

“Forgive me, fellow,” he nodded to the other knight, “but I must return to my duty.”

His fellow knight merely laughed again, causing Oscar to shudder slightly as he left for the nearby bonfire. 

After a brief rest, Oscar left the area, finding himself within an empty plaza overgrown with various grasses and weeds. Here, again, the place was empty without a soul amongst the ruin.

He trekked onwards, reaching an open graveyard. The area was similarly overgrown and abandoned, with naught but bones to keep him company. He couldn’t help but feel puzzled. Surely there were more hollows about?

A sudden sound had him widening his stance. He whirled about, only to discover that the bones had formed into a proper skeleton, and it was wielding a sword and shield! It was charging for him too, and he hurriedly raised his shield in defense. 

However, a sword plunged into his back, tearing through his insides and bursting through his chest, and with horror, he saw it, recognized it as identical to the one the skeleton before him held in hand. So they were working together then. 

A bony foot kicked him off the blade, and Oscar crumpled to the ground, unable to catch himself before he hit the ground. He realized he was bleeding profusely as he struggled to his feet. But before he could even stand, the skeleton before him slashed away, and the other, the one who had shoved his sword into his back, soon lent its comrade aid. 

Oscar died then; his soul returned to the bonfire.

This time, he was prepared. 

Oscar of Astora slowly advanced through the graveyard, allowing no pile of bones to coalesce without his knowledge. He made certain never to turn his back on any of them, so that he might not suffer the same fate as before. 

He was beginning to feel a small sense of pride well up within him, as he had dispatched several skeletal foes by now. But his sense of confidence slowly faded, as he took note of some particularly unusual bones before him. 

And to his dread, a much larger foe soon towered above him, wielding a blade nearly as long as Oscar himself. When the abomination lashed out, Oscar quickly rolled away, careful to avoid the uncannily sharp blade.

And when the enemy struck yet again, Oscar was forced to dash away, unwittingly awakening more foes, who were soon ready to attack along with their fearsome companion. It wasn’t long before Oscar was overwhelmed, and he was forced to return to the bonfire. 

Thou who art undead, art chosen…

He certainly didn’t feel like a chosen one right now; rather he felt a fool. But his journey was only beginning; like last time, he would learn and do better. 

The knight of Astora did notice the unconcealed smirk of the nearby crestfallen knight, but he chose to pay him no mind. Even when he could hear his haunting laughter echoing along behind him.

This time, Oscar was not so careful. His blade was rushed, and his shield work, sloppy. He needed to down an Estus or two before he reached the unusual pile of bones yet again. And now, when he avoided the creature’s attacks, he made certain to dodge backwards, towards the areas where he had already conquered the skeleton menace. 

When the abomination was finally defeated, Oscar quickly emptied a bottle of Estus, in the hopes that the bleeding plaguing his shoulder might stop. He was now low on Estus, much less than he would have liked, but he only saw typical-looking bones on the path ahead. His shoulder was still bleeding, but the pain was tolerable. He felt certain he could handle the rest ahead. Hopefully he would happen upon another bonfire soon.   

And so he continued onwards, taking the skeleton foes down, one at a time. But it didn’t take long for another blade to burst through his gut, and when it did, Oscar fell again to the ground, unable to pick himself up in time to properly defend himself from the ensuing onslaught. 

Oscar returned to the bonfire with fury in his heart. How in the hell had they managed to surprise him like that again? He had been a little reckless, sure, but not enough so to warrant that kind of oversight. It was as if the offending skeleton had been brought back to life!

Well, of course it did. They were undead too, he supposed. But surely they couldn’t rise again that quickly…

“Something give you a scare out there?” the crestfallen jeered. “No problem. Have a seat and get comfortable. We’ll both be hollow before you know it.”

Oscar swiftly rose and walked away; he didn’t want to hear this man’s endless taunting again. But sure enough, he could hear his laughter drifting along the wind. 

Oscar opted to explore further, hoping for another way forward, when he found just that: a ledge leading upwards towards an old bridge. Now that should get him somewhere of interest...

Several hollow soldiers arose at his approach. It was difficult, handling several of them at once; the two swordsmen before him were slow to start, but once they began to attack, they struck with a wild furiosity. And not to mention, the damn firebombs!

Oscar did his best to conserve his stamina, but what with the near-constant barrage of fire and blades, it wasn’t long before he was sent back to the bonfire.  

Damn. 

But he could do this! After all, he was undead, and therefore a chosen one, wasn’t he?

But now, he could certainly see the appeal… of…

Of what?

Oscar shook his head wildly as if to free himself from these confusing thoughts. He just needed to keep learning. He knew it.

He carried onwards, testing his strengths (and his limits) as he journeyed forwards.

Eventually, Oscar happened upon a corridor, just beyond a set of stairs which had led him down. At the end of the hall, he could see another knight, though this man was rather tall, far taller than… well, a man taller than any he had ever met. Regardless, this one stood quite still; his armor was black as night, and the man within was entirely silent. Was he even breathing?

Uncertain what to make of him, Oscar quietly approached. A gentle scrape of his boot was apparently all it took for the knight ahead to notice him, for he whirled about at once. 

Oscar was about to raise his hand in greeting, but something about the determination with which the other knight began to pursue him had him quickly turn about and run away. If they really were to fight, then he would need more space than this. His much-taller-than-he-was foe would undoubtedly overpower him here within this narrow passage.

So Oscar raced up the stairs and didn’t stop running until he reached the nearest relatively open plaza. He turned about, ready to face this challenger. And the knight did not disappoint.  

He fought with stunning poise, and his blows were nearly enough to knock Oscar off his feet. Thankfully, the other knight moved with relative predictability, otherwise Oscar would have…

No, Oscar died, caught by the other’s blade just as he tried to down a flask of Estus.

Surely there was no shame in losing to a foe as strong as that…

But no, a churning sense of doubt and envy began to boil over within Oscar’s gut. Surely that knight was undead too, given that he was here in Lordran and not… well, anywhere else. And if he were undead… Was he not chosen, as well?

Oscar stared into the fire, alone with his embittered thoughts. Surely this knight would be better suited than he to…

No.

Thou who art undead, art chosen…

Any and all undead were tasked with this pilgrimage. And if this knight chose to stand about and do nothing, then he would stand instead.

Filled with a blazing determination, Oscar arose to confront the black knight again. 

But this time, his blade was rushed, and his dodges, sloppy. 

He returned to the fire.

Again!

And again! And again…

Well, that knight did seem to enjoy standing there in the hallway… Perhaps he should be left to it.

The next time around, Oscar ignored the knight’s corridor and carried onwards, soon finding himself within a tower, the stairs within spiraling, and each of the floors empty. 

He began to feel nervous. Surely he had not killed every hollow within Lordran? Where were they?

He rolled to destroy the apparently empty barrels. No foes hidden here. 

Eventually he came upon a long bridge leading out to another tower. Empty again. 

An ominous feeling welled up within his gut as he slowly walked down along the bridge. And his feelings were affirmed when a giant beast alighted before him. Its body thick and stocky, the monster apparently used comparatively tiny wings to fly about; its bulk when it fell was enough to rock the very bridge itself. And, not to mention, it wielded a mighty axe, its size alone more than enough to dwarf Oscar by plenty and then some.

He was to fight this?! It was nearly forty times the size of that black knight!

Without thinking, Oscar rushed back for the safety of the tower behind him. 

But the beast followed, flying up into the air so that it may crash down upon him. 

And crash down upon him, it did, for the beast literally crushed Oscar beneath its giant ass.

Thou who art undead, art chosen...

A chosen one would have been able to defeat that thing.

Oscar watched the flames, wondering if he truly had it within him to slay that fearsome creature. 

He was undead, no doubt of that. A regular knight would have long since died by now. 

But was he chosen?

Oscar hurriedly shook his head as if to clear it. He had to be. He was undead! 

And so the knight of Astora fought onwards, again and again, until he finally recognized the monster’s abilities and how to avoid them. His own attacks were paltry, compared to that beast’s. But every hit hurt, did it not? 

Eventually, he would slay it. Eventually, he would. 

He would repeat it to himself, like a mantra, until it became reality. 

The beast was no more. 

Oscar sank to his knees, astounded. He had done it.

He had done it.

Thou who art undead, art chosen…

Of course he had done it. He was a chosen one.

~~

Oscar found himself alone soon after. The winding stairs and halls of stone… all of them empty.

He was just starting to feel nervous again when he finally happened upon another: a knight standing alone within the rays of the sun. His armor vaguely reminded him of a fellow Astoran, though if he were, he certainly wasn’t a celebrated one; it looked rather plain. A single, red feather topped his helm, the tiny thing slightly swaying in the soft breeze.

Oscar kept his distance and found another way forward. After his dealings with the black knight, he did not wish to disturb a man who was equal to, or perhaps better than, himself. And to be so bold as to stand with his back turned, faced away from all entrances… 

Oscar’s duty was to the Bell of Awakening. Not to challenge every foe in sight.

He happened upon another bridge, this time, with reposed hollows along it. 

Oscar felt a measure of relief, to be among familiar foes once more. With a steadying breath, he made to challenge the company.

But to his horror, the bridge promptly became engulfed in flames, immediately killing him and all the other warriors fool enough to remain in place… 

Just as Oscar’s body began to fade away, he heard it; the deafening wail of a dragon. 

He awoke with a near-overwhelming sense of despair. 

There was no path forward; he could never hope to defeat a dragon. Only the heroes of old (along with their bands of followers) could even hope to achieve such a feat. Oscar didn’t even have a simple longbow.

Thou who art undead, art chosen…

Oscar squeezed his eyes shut. Not that thought again… He didn’t need to think about--!

But just before his mind began to slip into further despair, another thought occurred to him. What if he didn’t need to slay the dragon? What if he merely avoided it? Like he had with the black knight? And the nameless Astoran?

Oscar clutched his sword and shield with renewed purpose. This was the way forward.

Once he returned to the bridge, he didn’t need to look twice; the dragon was waiting for him, on the roof of the ramparts at the other end. He tentatively watched it; but it didn’t move. He scanned the path ahead; there was a small nook near the middle of the bridge. Perhaps he could hide there if the dragon decided to attack again. 

With a steadying breath, he began to run for it, determined to ignore any hollows that awoke to challenge him. This was the correct decision, as the dragon soon alighted, ready to douse the area in its breath yet again. Oscar made it to cover just in time, and to his delight, he found a flight of stairs leading down below the bridge. Once he reached the bottom, he heard of the anguished screams of the hollows above as they were roasted by the flames.

Oscar shuddered; a fate he had narrowly avoided. 

Soon, he happened upon a new plaza; a place cluttered with ruin and flames. And just ahead; an overgrown boar awaited him. Worse of all, it was wearing armor. What fool had decided to smith such a thing; and who had managed to force the animal to be adorned with it?

No matter; he gave the beast a wide berth as he steadily took down the hollowed soldiers creeping around within the area.

Before long, he took note of a nearby cathedral, and with it, the bell of Awakening: his proper destination, at long last.  

And once he finally reached the top, he would have released a long sigh of relief, if not for the fact that one of the stone gargoyles came to life. 

And, oddly enough, it was outfitted with its own helm, axe, and shield. Oscar would call the smith a fool, if it weren’t for the fact that the articles were hewn from stone. As far as he knew, no blacksmith worked with such material. 

This beast wasn’t as enormous as the giant monster he had vanquished before, so it was easier to avoid its attacks. However, this also meant it was faster, so Oscar had a more difficult time both reacting and retaliating to its strikes. 

Its skin was tough, thanks to the stone it was encased in, so any damage Oscar could make on it was minimal. He would have to slowly whittle away at its defenses, just as he had before.  

And then, to his horror, another joined the fray. And it was now breathing fire.

However, while it was doing so, it remained stock still, which allowed Oscar time to attack its counterpart, so long as he kept his distance from the flames. Before long, the beast was vanquished, and only its companion remained.

So he kept at it, attacking whenever he wasn’t winded from dodging all the gargoyle’s strikes. 

And before long, he emerged victorious. At long last.

Ecstatic, he hurried along to the top of the spire, only to take note of a shadowy figure near the end of the stairs. He quickly raised his shield and watched, but the man (apparently) did not move. Rather, he stood still, both arms extended and aloft. As Oscar slowly drew closer, he turned his head, a helm partially obscuring his face.

“Greetings,” the man declared, nodding to him. “I am Oswald of Carim, the pardoner. Thou art a friend.”

“No, no.” Oscar shook his head, strangely finding his voice husky from disuse. “I’m… not…”

Had it really been this long since he had last spoken to anyone? 

“I have no interest in your pardons,” he continued. “For I have nothing to confess.”

Even if he did, he cared not for the teachings of Carim. He had a calling, and his duty was to fulfill it, nothing more, nothing less.

“Thou art welcome, anytime.” Oscar could see the man’s teeth as he smiled wide. “It is only human to commit a sin…”

His laugh sent a shudder straight down through Oscar’s spine, rattling him to his core. 

Oscar shook his head to free himself of the resulting dread building within his gut, but it didn’t provide him with much ease. “Right then. I’ll be on my way…”

He rang the bell of Awakening with a somber sense of solemnity. He had thought he’d be more joyous, but he supposed the moment called for this.

And with that task complete, Oscar made the long journey back to the Firelink Shrine.

There, he would await Kingseeker Frampt, the primordial serpent of old. He was to be the one to guide Oscar throughout the rest of his pilgrimage, his calling as a chosen undead.

But when Oscar arrived, he did not see the sage. In fact, he waited for what felt like days (he had no sense of the passage of time anymore, as Lordran was forever stagnant, at least for the time being), but it did not matter. No matter how long he waited, nor how far he wandered within the shrine, the Kingseeker was nowhere to be found. 

Oscar grew increasingly listless and restless at the same time. He had been jumping about, testing his limits, when one random endeavor had found himself atop the roof of a particularly large section of one of the taller structures. He felt like it was a success, of sorts, reaching this place, though he doubted his sage would be hiding all the way up here. 

Oscar explored the area further until he stumbled upon a giant nest. There were a few eggs there, but the nest was so large that there was room for a few more too. Curious, he moved in closer to the eggs to take a better look. They were quite... enormous, really. Maybe even his size, if he curled up into a little ball.  

He laughed. The sound startled him. His own voice sounded foreign to him, almost as if he were… 

No!

He grabbed his head, shaking furiously. He was not hollow! Not at all!

But the fear gripped his heart, scratched at his soul, made him question… everything.

Before he had even realized, he found himself lying in the nest beside the eggs, curled into a fetal position, as if reverting to his beginnings would soothe him, somehow. 

Oh. He really was the same size as the eggs.

He laughed again, and the sound frightened him.

He curled up again, more tightly than ever now. He wasn’t hollow; he wasn’t hollow!

And then, he was taken. By the giant crow, back to the Undead Asylum. 

When the crow dropped him, he fell to the ground and didn’t get back up. 

When he finally drew up the strength and fortitude to try, he found he couldn’t; his legs were shaking too much. 

He was pathetic. No wonder Kingseeker Frampt hadn’t revealed himself… to a hollow such as himself. 

He grabbed his head. He wasn’t hollow; he wasn’t hollow!

He breathed heavily, trying his best to quell his heart, which felt like it was raging, rather than merely beating in place. He ripped off his gauntlet, staring at his shriveled fingers. But they had always been that way; ever since he first learned he was undead. 

Surely a hollow wasn’t reduced to a quivering mess upon the ground. No, he had to be human, to still feel this way. 

Or rather… undead. 

Thou who art undead, art chosen…

He was not chosen. The Kingseeker would not see him. 

So it was fated then: he was to turn hollow… It was only a matter of time.

As if on cue, a manic cross between a hiccup and a giggle escaped him. He grabbed his helm, choking a little as he bit back the nerves that threatened to consume him. It was only a matter of time... 

He wanted to cry. His pilgrimage, all the effort, all his perseverance, none of it, none of it mattered in the end. 

Thou who art undead, art chosen…

He wanted to vomit as the words seeped back into the center of his thoughts, like a mantra to propel him onwards. That may have worked before, but now… 

The words meant nothing now: he would not remain undead for long; therefore, he was not chosen. 

He closed his eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace within his suffering. But the damned words echoed within his brain, again and again, until…

He slowly rose, his gaze directly upon the Asylum waiting for him ahead. He was not to remain undead for long, no… but…

But there were others, trapped there, no doubt waiting for someone to release them. 

If Oscar were to release as many undead as possible… 

Surely one of them might make the entirety of the pilgrimage their reality. 

He rose to his feet and readied his sword; he would go hollow soon, he felt it, knew it in the deepest core of his being, but first, he had a duty to complete.  @thefatladysang

@fateoftheundead

Hear! And reckon well the sagas.

When the bards and oracles chanted

The things that great souls did of old.

Sit and hoist horns for cold revenants,

Pour amber mead from oaken kegs

And pour sacred drops to the dry ground.

Clear the hallowed hall of cowards.

Clear the hallowed hall of the weakest.

Set brave women down and send the men

To serve them well of ale and sweet-meats.

We speak not now of Vulgen Cowslip,

Not Thornless Hram and the candle-feat,

Or canny Kwachie and his shield.

This song was old when Olaphis fell.

A tale dusty with blood and years,

Before even writing was conceived.

My father taught me, and his before.

Hear! Reckon deeds of mighty men,

Orisons to arms keen and bolts true.

Now, paradise we see, and yet…

Forests burned, grassland splits, valleys flood.

From pristine mountains did they come,

Two mighty men- princes, brothers, lords.

Their home a land of towers white

And hammers clanging out thunder’s crack.

To wife they brought the gift of arms

And glory fit for a woman’s might.

To man a gift of seed and hoe,

Salt, herbs and greatest yet, barley malt.

One brother, Carim so named he,

Eldest by moment only, lone grains of sand.

Tall, strong, his brother’s match, but vain.

Youngest brother, Arstor so named he

Was chief in war but honor-bound.

Hear! The times of beginning pass.

Arstor’s knights hoist gleaming spears, pennants

Bright with sunshine and beams ablaze.

Carim, with sickle reaping harvests,

Sheaves become grain, grain becomes flour,

Flour becomes loaves and children grow.

With beginnings done, the brothers rest.

Their forebears yearn now for mighty heirs.

No peasant wives will now suffice,

Now calls ring out to neighboring lands.

Princesses come, and woman-thanes.

At tourneys proved they their might with arms,

Feats of speed and war upon horse,

Games of wit, sweet words of oration.

Beauty had they as well, and yet…

Hear! A tale of brothers mighty,

Brothers, both restless bachelors they.

‘midst proving grounds and perfumed tents

Thronged by maidens of surpassing worth,

Yet alone, these twinly lords were.

None of these perfect mates could stand to

The ancient lineage and its pull.

As courtesan or myrmidon might

Brothers choose or both enjoy,

But nothing more. These lordly two sighed.

Pouted and yawned upon their couch.

At last with no hope of mates or heirs

Arstor and Carim heard hoofbeats.

Deep silence among those pledged in suit

Until the rider turned a bend.

Hear! A sigh from mighty maidens,

As they saw the rider’s ebon train.

Cloaked in feathers black, neck to knee,

A woman- no, a goddess was she,

Black braids beneath a raven hat.

The others parted to let her gray

Steed pass unto the spacious tents

Where chastened brothers, mighty men

Sat wordless, awed and enchanted they.

One eye took them in, the other gone,

Cloven by a scar, beauty rent.

The brothers’ tongues held rigid in their

Mouths, and none spoke but in the air

Hung clear, a goddess’s name: Velka.

She pulled her steed abreast the tent.

Hear! The goddess fixed her good eye

Upon the brothers, mighty men, and

Spoke she, a husky voice and strong

With words that lay claim to all she saw.

“You waste these worthy women’s time.”

Silence, ringing out like none before,

Until among the suitresses

A solitary laugh and then more.

The brothers, mighty men, chastened,

Bent their knees in supplication

To that goddess here in the flesh.

Velka held a finger to her lips

For to silence their entreaties.

She turned then to the maids assembled,

Saying “Return home, sweet sisters.

I shall wed one of these princes fair

And show them a man’s proper place.”

Hear! A goddess speaks when she will

And not before. To the brothers now

She turns and her eyes ensnare them.

“No groom I take who is not worthy.

What works have you to offer me?

Your sword’s keenness, your harvest’s bounty?

A goddess deserves more than what

Mere mortals laud as the greatest gifts.

Answer me now, you mightiest,

Lest your hesitation bury you.”

The brothers froze, yet their thoughts burned.

Their gifts, and the other’s, tallied they.

Then it was that Arstor spoke out.

By his honor and his warm spirit

Would have let his brother speak first,

But was by Velka’s beauty transfixed.

She turned to listen to his boast.

Hear! How was sword to spade supreme?

“What good farm and field if men are slaves,

Or green things if watered by blood?

At point of sword and spear, create peace.

Safe farm and smith beget they trade,

Then gold, just rule, and peaceful living,

And fair in the eyes of ancient lords.”

He looked to Velka, faint nod and grin

Received he, then looked to Carim.

Eldest brother, chosen words undone,

Looked to the sickle at his belt,

And to his brother’s spearpoint so bright.

For all his wise and clever thoughts,

Arstor, worthy, would overcome him.

Velka’s slim smile upon him

Would never shine, nor soil and toil.

He grabbed the spear and smote his twin.

Hear! No sound escapes Arstor’s lips,

Nor Velka, but in the distance: crows.

Her smile grew, the sign of wrath,

And from her solid steed alighted.

She spared no glance for Arstor, lost

But closed then upon the brother cruel.

His grip in fear released the spear

In his brother’s body still impaled.

Words came to Carim, but then gone

And as his lips parted for to try,

The goddess closed them tight with

Fingers cold and hard as naked steel.

Carim could think of nothing but

The pain and fear her dark eye brought him.

Anger showed they, yes, but silent

As ash from fire fades, sun to clouds.

Then goddess spoke, and storm with her.

Hear! The mighty man, indicted,

Scolded, harangued, silenced, cursed, and worse.

“Carim,” spat she, “unworthy man,

Unfit to lead, unfit even to serve,

Unfit to lay with maid, or beast!

A goddess to woo? To look upon?

Feh. Gutter filth stands above you.”

His face released she, what could he say?

“I offered troth, a gift to man.

Not his right. I would have given it

To fair Arstor, closest came he.

You took his life, worm; I give you sight.”

In Velka’s eye dark now he fell,

Midst fluttering quills, which parted wide.

Then a vision- mountain crags high,

A rocky outcrop dusted with snow.

Kneeling there among a nest of

Twigs, roc’s eggs’ fragments scattered all ‘round,

A knight in Arstor’s brown and blue.

Hear! “The future,” now Velka spoke.

Carim saw this sword and armor bright,

Wondered how dead men’s lines persist.

“Arstor. The memory of his name

I shall repeat, in ages hence.

A great nation, from his honor formed

While you to exile wander hence.”

From the earth, Arstor’s spear she took up

And thrust it into Carim’s hands.

“Take this token of your treachery.

May your brother’s blood congeal and

Foul the air and water you partake.

Bear it with you, coward, proudly

Unto wastelands distant and in dust

Found you a nation undeserved.

Let it live on in your name, Carim.

A land renowned for vice and sin

As much as memory lauds your kin.

But halt! Lest you think this the end.”

Hear! So Carim shivers and then

As visions clear, sees the goddess now.

Her wrath terrible, her visage

Beautiful, her raven train flapping

As mounted she her grim, gray steed.

“Find another goddess’s favor,

Worm, garb yourself in armor gilt,

I care naught but for your suffering.

And to this end,” said Velka stern,

“What punishment think you deserve? Speak!”

Carim, mighty man, tried and failed.

“Eternal life in shame is fitting.

Prophecy now, so know your doom.”

To knees in fertile soil he collapsed.

Then Velka vanished, save her words

And faint fluttering as of a crow,

So sole to hear, undone, vile Carim.

Your sin carries on forever.

Your name, past death- I choose you for this.

Though you find bondage, or freedom

your feet will carry you to the land

of your forebears, and when you hear

the pealing of the bells, then you shall

awaken to that shame, vile thing,

and know my prophecy to be true.

Recall this fate… and be undead!

@pan-de-torao

@irnbruforthetrue Still, She Watches

Velka Watched.

That was her want.

While others would take the stage for their own; making the proclamations and adjurations that would be marked in stone for their descendants to look back upon and wonder.

Velka would watch.

And she would judge.

She had stood there upon that first day, all those years ago, her back to the rising sun and her eyes upon a firestorm.

In the first moments of dawn, the first dawn, the gathered legion of gods and men had left their boltholes and stood, for the first time, in ranks against their enemy. As they formed into rank and file the sky remained unmolested. Grey, mottled, cloud still stretched all around, only broken by the intrusion of the arch trees. The shining gold and silver of the knights now arrayed seemed dull under the oppressive blandness of the sky.

Then the king arrived.

The sky itself seemed to be rent asunder by a shining blade to the cry of a thousand irate drakes.

Velka dared not look to the newly risen sun, the warmth on her back growing with each moment. If only to deny her husband the satisfaction of the grin that no doubt would split her face. He had promised her that his greatest miracle would impress even her when it finally came to realisation. The gasps that escaped the coterie gathered around her did not help matters. As he passed, flanked by his greatest warriors, his eyes seized hers and she felt that same heat on her back burning into her soul.

She had watched as the first dragon, probing the peculiarity it had found on this plain, had been struck down by a hail of lightning and miracles. The triumphant cheer that peeled across the land was quickly eclipsed by the vengeful roar of a sky filled with stone winged beasts.

Velka had watched the skirmish devolve into a dogfight. When the silver legion and their human allies had failed; their incandescent lord had sought help from those who also dwelt where the dragons could not reach. Fire Witches, walking corpses, dark worshipping pygmies… Velka swallowed her pride for the sake of her people and the future they were building.

Her husband never broke stride; ranks of silver knights and dragon slayers became mingled with knights of the dark soul and hordes of plague-ridden dead. The air itself, once shining with his new sun, became choked with ash and smoke as the arch trees burned. The dragons fell in droves… yet that was not what Velka dwelt on.

She had seen as the pale drake emerged from the great pillars of smoke. He had slunk out from behind piles of corpses and the fallen trunks of burned trees like a great worm. Velka had not heard his words, whispered in a rasping voice to her husband, but she watched their consequence.

It had not taken much longer than that to not just drive the dragons back but to the brink of their annihilation.

That was something she could not watch.

Velka had approached her king in the small hours of the morning before battle would be joined. Her urges and pleas of clemency had met deafened ears. His words were not his own, she knew this; behind his voice whispered others. A curious pyromancer? An indifferent spirit? Covetous weaklings? No. They were the chorus she could hear but the aria was performed with venomous jealousy.

She could not watch.

She would not watch.

Velka waited, her child held to her, for a king, a husband, a father to return from his crusade.

From his sin.

After all, was that not the duty he had bestowed her with? To stand by his side in all things and be the voice in his ear that he could trust most. If ever there was a doubt he had she would be the one to soothe him. Yet here she stood, alone, while he carved his glory out of extinction.

She watched his return with a gentle sadness; more a funeral procession than anything like the cheering parade he received. While his sun glared from above upon the land he had claimed from the dragons. Far in the distance rolled darkened clouds.

Velka had played her part; a radiant smile, golden dress, and raven hair hanging in ringlets. She met her beloved lord and husband atop the stair of his newly built cathedral. As he stopped, only a few steps below her, their eyes met. The feelings that passed were querulous, undefinable really, yet contained an age of conversation and tiring argument.

“My Queen,” his voice rumbled, like thunder that could shake the mountains to rubble.

“Welcome home, my lord,” Velka stepped aside, bowing slightly, “We have long awaited your triumphant return.”

** ** **

Velka watched for hundreds of years.

At first it felt like the memories of dragons and arch trees would fade with their absence. Indeed, the long summer days took the edge off of her husband’s destructive actions. The city of the gods prospered and grew; their power undisputed. Mirroring their people, the royal family grew to reflect their power.

Velka watched as her son and daughters prospered under their father’s radiant sun. Gwyndion and Gwynevere took to their roles as the son and daughter of sunlight like there had been no question to their destiny. Little Filianore, on the other hand, drew from her mother’s aspect far more strongly. She was quiet, reserved, and insightful of all around her. While her elder sister could inspire the love and worship of her people. The youngest of the trio could draw the truth from even the most inscrutable of queries.

Her son grew to be everything her father wanted; a warrior of Anor Londo that could face every foe that would come in his father’s stead. Utterly implacable in his duty; Gwyndion sought to honour his father in all he did. Yet Velka found him to be a truly gentle god; caring for his people almost as tenderly as how he doted on his sisters.

The sweetness of those memories clung to Velka.

Yet the bitterness that followed dulled them into hollow pain.

She watched her son march off to war from the same steps she had welcomed her father home. A thousand silver knights and dragon slayers shouting his praises to the setting sun as the glow of chaos called from the horizon.

She watched as barely a hundred of them returned. Gwyndion’s soft eyes were little more than hollow pits in his ash marred face. The bright blue dulled to grey from the hundreds of ghosts swimming in their depths.

“Was it like this?” His first words spoken since his return, whispered into a silent bedroom with a crescent moon shining through the window, “in the last war?”

“Yes,” The queen of sunlight replied, “the dragons were a foe of tremendous ferocity that tested even the might of all 4 lords.”

“And that is why father slaughtered them all…” his eyes held her like a vice, “for their existence alone portended the end of ours?”

Velka bit her tongue before her response.

“Your father, our king, did what he thought right.”

“And was it?”

She did not respond.

“The… demons, did nothing to us. They are a brutal, primitive people yet we struck first against those who used to be our allies,” he rose from his seat by the window, “Izalith blasphemed against the fire yet her people should not pay for her crimes.”

“Yes,” Velka replied, a whisper that echoed in her ears.

“You are the goddess of sin,” he slowly paced towards her, towering over her, “you are the lone arbiter of what my father, and thus the fire, considers to be profligacy and heresy,” he stopped and knelt to meet her eye.

“Is my father a sinner?”

Velka could see much in her son’s eyes. Fear, confusion, hesitancy, anger, betrayal and a maelstrom of feelings aside. Her world swirled around her in a cloud of memory and old pain. Her son had seen the same hell her husband had eagerly marched back into. Even then, in this crucible, the son seemed to learn the lesson that the father had neglected.

“Yes.”

“And the dragons deserved their oblivion?”

“No,” he took in a breath, ragged and filled with pain.

He paced around, for many hours after she left, he continued.

Velka watched her son depart the next day. His glorious armour of silver and gold replaced by travel leathers and wrapped in cloth. He did not announce his absence yet she watched him go all the same. Slipping away while the sun was low in the sky.

She watched for his return yet it never came.

She bit her tongue and watched as tales of his exploits came in his stead. Stories of a god atop a feathered drake descending on robber barons and bandits, slaughtering all, then disappearing. It was not long before her lord husband sought out this supposed storm king and left with a company of his finest dragon slayers.

She watched as he came back with blood on his blade.

Her son became nameless, struck from the world like an errant mistake. Word of his exploits fading to whispers and rumour.

** ** **

Velka watched the people that gathered outside the walls of the city.

A city built around a city.

Oolacile, it had been called, a city of beautiful white marble and verdant greenery that had been built as tribute to the gods above.

Gone.

The Abyss had risen like a cancer from below and the white and greens of the city below became black, purple, and grey. The people were few now. Holding out in whatever stronghold they could secure against the gibbering remains of their former neighbours and family.

Whatever had come of sir Artorias was unknown save for he had succeeded in stopping the spread of the darkness below. All the same, Velka’s lord husband had ordered the city purged and razed; another void in the illustrious history of the gods. Even now she could hear the drumbeat of thousands of silver knights on the way to fulfil their oaths.

Still, she watched. Her husband by her side.

He stood shorter than he once had. Despite his claims to godliness, he felt the waning of the years.

They all did.

Whatever force that prolonged the fire was failing and along with it so did the gods.

Filianore was gone. Sent to the pygmies as a gift. Like cattle.

Gwynd-… her son was gone. Little more than a feared whisper amongst the humans.

Gwynevere remained. Her once radiant daughter mirrored her father’s temperament. Once rarely seen out of the company of her handmaidens or others of the court; she locked herself away in prayer and contemplation. Her burning mane of hair dimmed to a pale blonde as worry and fear consumed her.

“This threat must be met,” what had once been a roll of thunder was now little more than a stirring of the air.

“You are laying a city to its foundations my love,” the words came with no warmth, stale facts to hang in the air, “the threat has been met and answered.”

“You would do well to increase your vision Velka,” she did not turn yet ire bubbled up in her throat.

“What threat have I yet to see?” her eyes swept up to the horizon, “beyond the obvious.”

“The fire fades and I shall not concede my throne,” one hand fingered the rings on the other, “I have consulted the duke and he sees only one solution.”

“He sees much for one with no sight,” a sneer threatened the corners of her lips, “are you sure his gaze is not still on our daughter.”

“How could it, she is at the end of the world… safe,” his voice faltered and, for a moment, Velka’s heart faltered.

“If you can call a nest of vipers safe,” once his voice would have come down on such a biting statement like an avalanche but now it was little more than a resigned sigh.

She did not watch him leave, only listened to the rustle of his robes and the metal clank of his retinue as they retreated. Velka hung her head to the small rise of her belly; the last remnant of a love long thought run dry. She had let hope build for a return to a time before the slow death existence seemed to be subjecting her kind to.

Yet she knew that his plans would rend those hopes into pieces.

There would only be more pain for her to watch.

Enough.

** ** **

Velka watched from afar as the fire began anew.

She was…

She was Velka.

Once a queen, stripped down to nothing.

Her followers were myriad, their belief righteous, yet brought down by the weakest link. The fighters went down after a valiant struggle. Those that did not resist… were cast out. Consigned to the cold and dark for eternity.

At last, they came for her.

The three knights, intent on clapping her in irons, did not expect her to be armed.

Or so competent.

The first fell with his weapon still sheathed. The point of her rapier finding a home in the pit of his eye.

The second, likewise unarmed, drowned in his own blood with the simple flick of her wrist.

The final knight, to his credit, managed to match her blow for blow… for a time. A simple mistake in his technique and her blade was buried in his armpit. His divine blood wiped off on a nearby drape.

They all seemed to forget that she may not be a goddess of war but her reign had been forged in the arch dragon war.

She had left the city before their bodies were even discovered.

Alone.

Her new born child, so much like her, left with his father and sister.

There was no place beside her that would be safe for him.

Now… she sat to the side in a far away court. Just another courtier of no consequence. Any who gave her more than a moment’s consideration would see a simple woman with eyes as dark as her hair.

The king knew, she was certain of that, yet he made no attempt to question her presence. Happy to let her exist around his palace.

In truth she barely left the room she had taken for her own.

The window her view of the new world her dear husband had brought to life… if only for a time.

Today she sat at court like she used to; not beside the king but out of sight.

On the floor before everyone were two men; fighting for the righteous absolvence only offered by the gods.

To the death.

The Count, armed with a spear, claimed justice on the knight in opposition; accused him of siring a child with his wife whilst he was away. The knight, armed with a warhammer, rightly, claimed the divine rite of combat to prove his innocence.

They sparred.

She did not care for the spectacle of battle.

Her interests were far more singular than the flash of steel and titanite.

And, at last, the final blow was struck. A spear-tip buried between ribs, bursting through organs, severing a life from the world. With one desperate gasp the knight collapsed before going still. His blood pooling around him on the polished alabaster and slate floor.

Velka could not help but reach out a hand gently towards the dying man.

It wafted off of him like a stink, even more so from his vanquisher.

Innocence.

Her eyes on the victorious count soon drew his. Her unerring gaze buried her message deep within him.

You.

Have.

Sinned.

His smile wavered.

His posture too.

Velka let a smile creep on to her face. A short, bitter, smirk that cut him deeper than any blade.

He may have won but the gods had sat in judgement this day and found him wanting.

Gathering himself he turned his back on the former queen of Anor Londo and continued his feigned victory.

All the same.

Still, Velka watched.

@yharnam-everchase

@ghoulsteak

Velka’s black-eyed servants whispered to her of his coming. They saw him leave Anor Londo for the last time, heard the clamour of the great fortress gate as it shut its teeth behind him. They came winging before him as he travelled the roads of the air. Now he stands in her lightless sanctum, on the very steps of her throne, and she has never seen him look so lost.

Make no mistake, there is power in him still; those he leaves behind have not stripped him of that, though perhaps they will come to wish they had. He still has his father’s bright eyes, still carries himself with the insouciant ease of a man who has never met an equal. When he calls, the lightning comes running to heel. If a crown is warranted through strength, then he will ever be a king. 

All this has won him nothing. 

His might has been a hammer, again and again, splitting the skulls of his father’s enemies, shaping the world to his great decrees. Now the hammer, refusing to strike, has been thrown aside. Without the hand to wield it, without the work to be done, naught remains but inert alloy. Thrown down from his place, stripped of his name, he has arrived upon the steps of her throne like a grand figurehead cast upon a distant shore.

He asks her, his voice resonant and clear, if his father is a sinner. A different question lies in his heart; he does not speak it aloud, but he does not have to for Velka to understand. She, of all things that draw breath upon the earth, knows a plea for absolution when she hears it. 

Sinner. One who has violated the rightful order of things. A breaker of oaths, a heretic, a blasphemer, a traitor. Gwyn, who wrought disparity, who carved the boundaries of the world, cannot sin and never has, for he is the absolute against which sin is defined. This is the fundament of her doctrine, passed down through her black-clad pardoners and instilled in the subjects of the gods as inviolable truth. 

Such was her role. A stage villainess who, for all her loathsome posturing, her witch’s mystery and her shroud of taboo, nonetheless played her part in bearing the great tale towards its predetermined end.

Yet it has been long since she faded from that stage. In this far land, untouched by the light of the Sunlight Court, she is a witch in truth; no longer the play-villain, but a power great and terrible. Black-Haired Velka, they call her, Velka the Fell, Witchmother, Queen of the Air, titles as grand and fearful as any the Lord of Sunlight might array himself in. In the dark and secret places far from the sun, miracles are worked in her name, and the old doctrines are taught no longer. It is no longer her way to speak of sin, except to claim it as her own.

All this and more is true, but as she looks upon this nameless fool, Velka cannot find it in herself to refuse him. His simple heart is broken enough.

In time, perhaps he will come to understand how little her absolution means. But here, today, it is all he has. She gives her verdict as one would give a last drink of water to a dying man.  @theschneckenhouse

Thanks so much to all the writers and artists who made this chain a possibility. I am a bit baffled how the original prompt turned into something completely different. Poor Oscar must be super cursed that his prompts always change the main character ^^

[honestlyfrance]

SAMBUCKY BOOKMARKS

it’s fic yeah friday over at @fuckyeahsambucky​​​ so i wanna do a lil something something for the fandom :) check out my #fic rec tag for more! 

enjoy the more than 50 fics listed here :) be careful of the tags!

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart by Lunar_Pull

Today is the day that Steve received an invitation to the love of his life’s wedding.

Philopatry by Areiton

"I want to be safe," he says. "But I'm not." "Then why come here? Why put me at risk?" Something flickers in his eyes, little boy lost and utterly cold, and it makes Sam want to give the dude a hug and also pull his sidearm. "I have no reason to hurt you," Winter says. "I don't want to hurt you," Bucky adds, earnestly.

farmhouse by Tazmaster

"You know, I think I'd want a farmhouse."

"A what?" Sam turns to look at him, slightly annoyed. This was the first thing Bucky has said in the past hour and a half they've been cramped in this god forsaken car. He had a knack for impulsively voicing his dumb thoughts at the worst times, but whenever you wanted to know what was actually going on in that head of his, he'd never say.

They were staking out the front gate of a large mansion, very much not a farmhouse. It was mind numbingly boring, being stuck in a beetle with absolutely nothing else to do than stare at the gaudy gates of some rich asshole.

"A farmhouse," Bucky repeats nonchalantly, "If we ever get out of this business, or you know, live long enough to retire maybe--- I want a farmhouse. With a lot of animals."

---

Bucky keeps talking about a farmhouse and it drives Sam crazy, that is until he finally asks why.

Employee Discount by bopeep for queenmab_scherzo

Sam Wilson doesn't love working in a store that makes him wear vanity-sized polos and breathe in clouds of men's cologne like the worst kind of GQ aromatherapy, but the view from his cash register across the mall to the Hot Topic and the sullen Dark Prince of Wallet Chains he loves to hate may just beat the minimum wage blues.

In warm water, swimming down by targaryen_melodrama

“Why are you hiding?””Tired.”Bucky raises an eyebrow. “So you decided to swim.”“So I decided to be alone.”Bucky’s quiet for a moment. “I can go, if you want.”It’s the last thing Sam wants.

I figured out what the slashes mean by Teaismycoffee

Sam, Steve and Bucky are all living together in a safe house. Bucky and Sam discover fan fiction written about them. Steve doesn't approve. Sam and Bucky are really into secretly reading fan fiction together, or maybe it isn't the fan fiction part they are really into.

Chicken Soup for the Soul by bioloyg

“S’not my bed time,” Sam says as he buries his face in Bucky’s upper arm. Bucky laughs. “Tough. You’re sick.” Sam lets out a loan groan and says, “But my bed is cold. I was so warm, why’d you move me?” “Because your neck would’ve hated you if I didn’t.” He tries not to be so amused by how fussy Sam is when he’s both sick and half-asleep. It’s cute. ~ A fic wherein Bucky takes care of a sick Sam.

two nights in L.A. by CapnWinghead

Bucky kindly volunteered Sam to be a groomsman for Scott’s upcoming wedding. Of course, that meant Sam and Bucky had to go to the bachelor party.

at the end of the war (what's mine is yours) by notcaycepollard

They don't talk about it: that's how it works.

I'd Like That by honestlydarkprincess

Sam has been up for over 24 hours and has been dreaming about his Coffee Caramel Fudge non-dairy ice cream since about the 18-hour mark. When he gets to the store, there's only one carton of it left and, unfortunately for the guy innocently holding said carton, Sam's not leaving without it.

Or, the one where Sam is sleep deprived, yells at a cute guy, and gets both ice cream and a phone number out of it.

Ready, Set, Date! by bioloyg

Bucky wants to sleep, Natasha wants to find him a date for Steve's wedding (so he'll leave her alone), and Sam is the best thing about this whole speed dating disaster. But, Sam's not in the speed date rotations - he's at a different table weathering through dates just like Bucky is. ~ "Three dates in, Bucky decides he has made one of the worst decisions in all of his life by coming here. His first date had been an attractive enough man by the name of Greg. He introduces himself as “The Big G,” to which Sam laughs at in the middle of introducing himself to his own date. Greg likes to talk about cars a lot, which is fine. Bucky also likes cars. The only problem is that Greg’s love for cars borders on… erotic."

We'll rise up free and easy by Sarsaparilla, woofgender

Steve and Natasha are away on a mission when Sam receives intel about the Winter Soldier’s location. When he follows the lead, Sam finds something unexpected—but despite his initial impression, it’s certainly not all bad. (Post-CATWS, not AOU- or CACW-compliant.)

__________ "'Jesus Christ,' Sam said, 'Are you planning on fighting an entire army?'

Barnes looked up from examining the sights of a sniper rifle. '...no,' he said, a little guiltily, and adjusted one of the--five? Six? guns he’d already strapped to himself."

love is in the air (i smell coffee) by Flora_K, hermionesmydawg

Sam Wilson - graduate student, part-time barista, part-time salesman, and full-time father - doesn't have time to sleep, much less date. At least, that's what he tells himself.

Up at Night by bioloyg for lunaaltare

With Halloween nearing, Sam is feeling more in the mood for a scary movie than usual. He'd never watch one on his own though, so he invites his roommate to pick one out and join in on movie night. or Prompt fill for Samtember ~ "It’s quiet for a while after that. Like always, the two of them start on opposite sides of the queen sized bed with at least a foot of space between them. And, like always, they drift closer to one another as time passes, though whether it’s habitual or instinctual Sam would never dare delve into."

flowers in darkness, the moon above the sea by 27dis

Sam enjoyed his job, really.

But, not when a certain person came in.

A quick detour and a sudden arrival by iwillnotbecaged for heuradys

He found Wilson shivering in the snow, left for dead. Sloppy.

You couldn’t trust the elements to do your job for you. They were rarely so obliging.

A mission gone awry, unexpected help, and close quarters makes for an interesting couple of days.

Don't lock the door on me by TuskFM

Sam’s desperately trying to sleep when he gets a visit from the Winter Soldier at three a.m., bleeding and asking for help. Sam’s not the kind of guy who let someone bleed out on his front door, even if the said someone threw him off an helicarrier and stole his wheel.

and i run, further than before by hermionesmydawg

"What do they call you?" Bucky carefully pulls out an equal amount of caramel and cheese kernels of popcorn and pops them into his mouth. "Birdman?"

"No."

"Captain Canary?"

"Hell no."

"The Winged Avenger?"

"Falcon, dammit, and I am not an Avenger," Sam snaps, and now he's kinda pissed because yes, it's a bird name. He didn't sign up for this kind of ridicule from an amnesiac assassin.

***

Basically, the 5 times Sam actually found Bucky and the 1 time he tried to hide from him. Don't tell Steve.

Exquisite Flavor by enchantedlightningwrites for honestlyfrance

W&M's Grand Corner's growing to be one of the popular restaurants in New York, where Sam Wilson works as a chef for his sister. A wedding's in a few weeks and he has no idea on what to do about it. Notorious for his picky taste and blunt reviews, Bucky 'Winter Wolf' Barnes pays a visit. Little did he know, food could really win one's heart and lands on his stomach.

He's a Beta, You Hear That? by 27dis

Reasons why Sam didn’t realize Bucky was courting him this entire time: 1. He is a beta 2. He is oblivious 3. He thought Bucky is way out of his league 4. He is a beta for fuck’s sake

See? It’s hardly his fault for not noticing it. Why was Bucky flirting with him anyw—

Oh. Oh.

Or; Bucky swore flirting with someone was never this hard before.

stay where we belong by glittercake

He doesn't know what the hell he's doing when he turns around and shouts, "Yo! You know what—" and Barnes turns on his heel in a flash, "It's getting late, man. Looks like rain."

Sam motions to the grey sky above, and Barnes follows his eyes beyond the hanging Willow branches. "Yeah? What are you saying?"

He's got that terribly smug look on his face, the one Sam can't stand but kind of misses when it's not irritating him. But mostly, he can't stand it, "Nothing! Forget about it!"

Arms Spread Out Wide, Turn Falling Into Flight by irisesandlilies

It was easy, nothing has ever been easy for Bucky. Except this, and that terrifies him.

Years in the making by glittercake

Bucky and Sam meet as two young soldiers, but the time is never quite right to make it anything more. Until it eventually is.

or

Sam refuses to let himself fall in love while he's deployed. Bucky pines endlessly for years about the prettiest bird he’s ever seen. Sam’s no better.

If At First You Don't Succeed by SonnyD

Bucky finally gains the courage to tell Sam about his feelings. He comes up with a list of methods to woo him that were bound to succeed. He didn't account for each and every one of them failing in unexpected ways. The five times that Bucky attempts to woo Sam and the one time that Sam returns the favour.

if i could take us back, if i could just do that... by safelikespringtime

Bucky laughed, cheeks flushing red, “I’m glad you didn't. Don't know what I’d do without my wingman.” Sam groaned, poking Bucky’s side, “That was awful.” Bucky laughed. “You couldn’t survive without me. We both know it.”

How right he was.

***

Sam dies. Bucky mourns.

Strawberries and Cigarettes always taste like you by winterscaptsam

There’s a sweet agonizing simplicity in leaving behind your safe haven, like the thrill of adrenaline, reaching the top of Everest, allowed to admire its beautiful icy view but with the everlasting fear of not making it back down. Maybe that's why it was a natural instinct for Bucky to reach out for the closest thing that felt like home, slowly then all at once falling for the sweet warmth of mahogany eyes, what soon became his safe haven.

Baked With Love by Siancore

Bucky Barnes’ family owns a bakery in a small town. High school has long been over, and Bucky is dying to move to the city to pursue a musical career with his band. And his future looks promising, if he can just persuade his father to let him leave his job behind at their struggling family bakery.

It is no secret that Bucky used to love baking with his father, but things change. He just can’t fathom wasting his life away watching rising dough and hot ovens. With his mind made up to leave, Bucky convinces his father to advertise for a replacement. While interviewing candidates to fill the position he has vacated, Bucky meets Sam Wilson: An easy-going guy who is as eager about baking as Bucky is about leaving. They bond over baking and become close. Love looks like it is ready to bloom between them if Bucky, in his haste to escape, does not ruin it.

Beneath this Crown by winterscaptsam

Sam traces his fingers from James’ hairline, down to his jaw, resting the pad of his thumb on James lips. He will let himself relish in this feeling. Not even the sculptors, painters or poets could carve their words and materials to accurately describe this.

“Do you think the history books will remember us?” Sam had once asked. And James’ words were made of the purest of golds, “my love, we will be legends for the children yet to come.”

Or

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes' love story, one a prince and the other a knight.

make my body come alive (i've got a right to hurt inside) by notcaycepollard

The body is weak. The body is hungry and soft and human. He looks at himself in the mirror, the bones of his shoulders, his cheeks hollowed out from hunger, and he thinks, gentle, you didn’t deserve this.

safe like spring time by quidhitch

“I already told you it looks good. What more is there?”

“I don’t know, man, you’re gonna live here. I just wish I knew a little bit more about how that’s sitting with you.”

Sam knows Bucky feels fine. What Sam’s probably actually after is how he feels about the fact neither of them have anywhere else to go, not with Natasha dead and Steve wrinkly. Therapists. Even the good ones, always so circular.

“I like the terrace,” Bucky offers, mostly to appease him.

Airy Laundry by AmarieMelody

Sam watches what happens when Bucky buys a clothesline.

lucky by CapnWinghead

In retrospect, it took Bucky an embarrassingly long time to realize that everyone and Scott's mom thought he and Sam were dating.

not an end, but (the start of all things) by notcaycepollard

They keep driving, for lack of anything better to do. A mission, Sam had said, and maybe that's true; maybe wherever they're headed is the way out, the way up.

So You Run On Gasoline by 343EnderSpark, ABitNotGoodieBag, OriginalCeenote

Bucky may have bitten off more than he could chew with this job, he thinks, as he ambles along the sidewalk to the cafe after leaving campus. He is running off the fumes of exhaustion and hasn’t had more than 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep in the past week. Between his students and his thesis, he knows that it’s foolish to try so hard to hang on to his barista gig, but DC isn’t a cheap place to live and Bucky can’t live with other people.

Bucky is just trying his best, despite being a human disaster.

we could jump the state lines (we only get the one life) by notcaycepollard

It starts in Paris.

“You can’t steal things just because you like them,” Sam tells Bucky, feeling innately that this is a losing battle, and Bucky cocks his head to the side, considers Sam very thoughtfully.

“Really,” he says. “I’m stealing you, aren’t I?”

we were a fire with no smoke by notcaycepollard

Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. Take the boys out of New York but they’re still Brooklyn Catholics, that’s clear enough. Bucky catches the gesture, smirks hard enough Sam can see his eye teeth. It should be dangerous but he’s beautiful, pale and charming and recklessly easy.

“You wanna come in?” Sam asks, ignoring the noise Steve makes, and Bucky’s smile gets wider.

“Yeah,” he says. Steps up close to Sam. “I do.”

Peace Begins with a Smile by Siancore

Bucky just likes the way Sam smiles.

They're Good Drones, Brent by chase_acow

When Redwing becomes infected with an alien A.I., Sam has to balance the needs of the team with his own curiosity about his new partner. Redwing isn’t the only one acting strange, he also needs to get to the bottom of Bucky’s weirdness. It takes a training exercise gone wrong that Redwing and Sam might not survive for their secrets to be exposed.

Wet Asphalt (This Is What Love Is) by ObviouslyOtter

Soft words in the dark tell us all we need to know about love. Better when they come from the person you need to hear it from most. It's crueler when you don't realize it till afterward.

Or

Sam and Bucky go out shopping for candles.

i'm gone by bi_marvel

After infiltrating a Hydra base, Sam and Bucky are sent to a safe house, and there's only one bed. Oh, golly, I wonder what will happen!

Covert Coffee & Flirtation Special by glittercake

The reporter says "—for Captain America to—"

And Bucky rolls his eyes. "Oh, here we go."

Sam looks at him then tips his head sideways, got a weird grin on his face. "Not a fan?"

"Not that. Just… the guy seems too good to be true, right? Wings and a shield? Come on."

"Uh, is that why your eyes are like glued to the screen whenever he's on?" Kate says. "Is that why you call him Captain Tight Ass?"

"He's a goddamn show-off, and you know it. Tight ass or not."

Just then Sam snorts, real loud, grabs his coffee and suffers a horribly controlled laugh on his way out the door.

The Starting Line by birdlight

A Series

Lone and Level Sands by quantum_consciousness

The almost-smile disappears off Sam’s face and he takes a step deeper into the water, and he starts unbuttoning his shirt as he wades further. One look over his shoulder and he chucks the shirt to shore, and Sam dives into the water. The ache in Bucky’s chest deepens as Sam swims. He supposes, Sam has lost a lot more, he supposes, sometimes Sam feels as lonely as he used to.

in which love doesn’t ruin us by joesnick

“Idiot,” Bucky said, so natural and deliberate that she couldn’t hear well but it was there. Relief and happiness under a small light. “Don’t do that to me again.”

“Hey, I’m here,” Sam said, before getting closer and pressing his forehead against Bucky’s. “I’m here.” They ran out of words. They didn’t need them, not at that moment. Their steadying breaths and their tenderness, saved only for each other and fed by each other, was all they needed.

Ride of Shared Melodies by enchantedlightningwrites for honestlyfrance

Two strangers, Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson meet in an unexpected encounter in the airplane. Over the course of the ride, they discover their mutual love for music and connect.

Let's Fly Away by Unclesteeb

"If I could fly, I could go anywhere. I could do anything.”

Sam’s mom gives his shoulder a gentle pat. “You can in your own way.”

“How?”

“Sammy, all you have to do to be as free as a bird is to just do the right thing.”

Sam furrows his brow. “What does that mean?”

“Well,” Sam's mom starts. “The right thing is doing nice things for people. It's treating everyone how you would want to be treated. It's going out of your way to help people and love them, even if they're not nice to you at first or at all. People deserve love, and I know you have plenty to give.” She leans down to give his cheek a kiss. “All you have to do to find your wings and fly free is to just do what you feel is right. You have a beautiful heart, Sam. I know you'll use it the right way. Then you'll fly.”

Been one of those days (can I lean on you?) by hazel_eyed_bi

Sam and Bucky wrap up an exhausting, weeks-long mission, only to go back to their mutual pining while forced to share a bed at a crappy motel. Also, Nat knows what's up.

Find your love and fight for it by winterscaptsam

Sam learns to love again, quiet and composed. Love letters stay in between walls and stolen kisses don’t leave his apartment. It's not that it's a secret, loving Bucky the way he does, lord knows he’d scream it from the rooftops, travel all the way to space to let any living life form know it as well. But that’s the problem, he just doesn’t know how and it aches him to his core to keep Bucky like a secret, like this love is something to be ashamed of.

Or

Sam decides it's about time to come out.

Kings of Everything by glittercake

Twenty-five years after the events at a popular New York Bistro, Timothy DumDum Dugan tells the true story of infamous mobster Jimmy Buchanan and the man he gave it all up for.

arson we commit by winterscaptsam

Bucky seeks adventure, reaches out for an adrenaline rush whenever he can get it and he reckons this fellow will be the one to give it to him. All sweet smiled and dolled up figure showing off his attributes. Like he’s daring anyone to take the rush.

So, Bucky goes and gets what he wants.

“What’s your damage, doll?”

Or

Bucky is the hitman and Sam is the target.

The Boys of Summer by Siancore for avintagekiss24

Sam Wilson returns home to the small town he grew up in to complete his med school residency. He hasn’t been back for an extended amount of time since he left for college. While he only consistently kept in touch with childhood friend, Steve Rogers, he was keen to see the people he had grown up with. With the exception of Bucky Barnes. They had a falling out the summer before Sam left for college. What happened between them? Can they move past it now that they’re adults?

Sam's Plan by OhHelloFandoms123

“I have a plan,” Sam said smugly, hands on his hips. “I have a three-step plan for you to marry me.” At first, he thought he was joking. Then, he saw Sam’s genuine smile.

Bucky groaned, “there is no way in HELL that I’m marrying YOU, Wilson.”

Wreck In the West by OhHelloFandoms123 for honestlyfrance

There’s just something about leaning on his chest as the sun goes down and the smell of tea whilst into the air feels so amazing. And he was a wreck because of it, it tore him apart and put himself back together because it was so blissful, he almost couldn’t breathe at first.

OR

Gay cowboy proposal.

Belonging Season by OhHelloFandoms123

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes have lived their most happy, married life for 70 years. Death won’t stop them today for living an eternity.

neverending; by glittercake

Sam passes away after a long and happy life with Bucky, but Bucky never ages and life keeps introducing him to Sam's reincarnates for the next 156 years.

Lighthouse by glittercake

This guy’s trouble. Bucky knows that in his bones. It’s not bad trouble, is the problem, it’s good. Sam is so goddamn inherently good and if Bucky even touches that with a ten foot pole—fuck if he even looks at it—it’ll turn to shit.

He can’t afford another move to yet another city because his colleagues started recognizing Brock’s fist prints on his face.

But Sam is a ridiculously bright glowing light, a beacon, and Bucky goes toward it like that idiotic moth to the flame.

masterlist | ko-fi | patreon

[moonbaby26]

Title: Escape

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader

Notes: Actual pairing interaction starts in the second section after the Reader character gets out of the elevator, feel free to skip down to that if you like. Reader thinks about Peter in the first section, but it is more setting up how they got so separated from the others, plus a Wolvie cameo. I wanted Peter x Reader to be able to have more interaction away from the group.

Summary: Continuation of previous chapter. Set during X-Men: Age of Apocalypse. You and the others have been taken to Stryker’s base and must survive to find your way out together.

Warnings: Wolverine cameo advisory with a 100% chance of stabby stab. Mild language.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @drikawinchester , @n0obmaster69 , @alexloveskili , @what-a-silver-lining , @bluesprings18 , @weakmoony-stuff , @slytherinsi-mp

Peter Maximoff x Reader Masterlist

——————————

“The day of reckoning is here.”

Your eyes opened at once, that unmistakeable voice now reverberating through your mind as fluorescent lights passed one after another above you.

“Professor?” You breathed aloud, immediately trying to sit up on the moving gurney.

But the restraints were drawn too tightly as your head only rebounded backward just as quickly when your torso didn’t rise in tandem.

“Shit!” the guard to your left cursed, his hand drawing back from the gurney rail at your sudden movement.

You turned your head towards him, confused, even as the professor’s words continued in your mind.

Yet Xavier’s voice sounded strange, forced. And you didn’t understand the context. Was it a warning? A threat to someone?

It didn’t really seem to fit the current circumstances to say it was directed at you or your captors. But he only kept speaking.

“The dawn of a new era will emerge. For there is nothing you can do...to stop what is coming.”

The two guards were looking around too then, reacting in sync with the telepathic message leaving you no doubt that they could hear it as well.

But why would Xavier be in their heads too? Did he already know where you were?

One guard chided the other, as if the two of them didn’t both have the same frightened expression. “Damn stun pulse is wearing off it is all, just hurry up and finish this transport. Colonel Stryker wants it taken to the lower testing bay,”

“Don’t tell me you aren’t hearing that voice?” The other guard retorted, “What the hell is that?”

Did they just call you an ‘it’? What was this place? Not a hospital surely. But you could barely dwell on the implications of the guard’s words ‘lower testing bay’, and the impending threat that represented as your last memories finally began to bubble up.

The X-Mansion in rubble, the helicopters swooping in over the trees, the students and staff unconscious in the grass, that soldier cracking your ribs, and-

Peter.

He was a stranger to you still, but he’d been right there against you. Surely you had drawn more attention to him just because your powers had let you resist a few moments longer than the others. Because you’d been so stubborn, not going down until you’d been forced to.

If these men had hurt any of your friends, you would be furious. But if Peter, who had also saved so many of your friends was now in more severe danger because of your actions, you wouldn’t forgive yourself.

“Where did you take the others!?” You arched against the restraints abruptly, your palms opening to face upward, trying to summon any bit of your energy at all. A wisp, an orb, anything that could have helped you right now. You had to find your friends.

But nothing came. Not even a glow or flicker of what you truly were as you now had both guards’ full attention.

“Freak! Just shut up!” One of them shoved the gurney in retaliation to your outburst, the caster wheels rattling across the concrete floor before the bed rail hit against one of the walls, jarring you painfully.

“Those with the greatest power. Protect those without. That's my message to the world.”

Xavier concluded his words then. And somehow, that sounded more like himself than any of the rest of it. The real meaning still eluded you, but hearing him in that tone at least meant he was okay. He was somewhere urging the rest of you on. At least this part you knew was true as you took a calming breath, realizing panic and anger would serve you nothing right now.

Something was blocking your powers. That much was obvious. It would be unrealistic to think that the effects of any stun weapon would be this long lasting though.

On the other hand, you knew chemicals existed that could also temporarily block mutations. Hank used one almost medicinally whenever he didn’t wish to be in his true “Beast” form. But it had to be injected direct into the veins to have any real effect.

You could feel that they hadn’t removed any of your clothing, nor had they rolled up the long sleeves you were wearing. You doubted they would risk a chemical like that wearing off at an inopportune time and likely would have started an IV if they possessed anything of that nature.

There were no tubes or lines attached to you that you could tell, only the restraints now holding you to this bed. Leather straps across your body, metal cuffs on your ankles and wrists-

But wait, you were able to move your head as you’d already discovered. You shifted it again, trying to get a better feel of what was around your neck. Metal as well, but loose as you could still lift your head up enough to see it just a bit. It and its dull, red status light.

Inhibitor collar, you realized with an all new dread sinking in. You had heard of these of course, but it was the kind of thing that students sheltered at Xavier’s school would never have to dream of really. Something you never thought you’d have to experience personally.

How naive.

But you still couldn’t give up. Your mind was racing as you tried to come up with any strategies now. Your options were so limited, but they couldn’t keep you tied down forever. Surely they’d have to move you to a more permanent containment at some point, untie you if even for a moment.

Yet, there were guns as well. You hadn’t missed that detail, but you considered it more fully now as you glanced to the long barrells swaying behind each guard’s back as they pushed you along.

They were slowing now though. You raised your head enough again to see elevator doors nearing. The lower testing bay, you remembered them saying.

But just as one guard had started to reach for the keypad beside the doors, an alarm blared, all three of you startling at the sound.

Orange lights lit up along the walls, spinning in time with the sirens.

“Weapon X is loose. I repeat, Weapon X is loose!” A man’s unnerved voice sounded over speakers you couldn’t see, echoing down the corridors.

You could only watch as both guards spun around on their heels at that, guns immediately drawn. The one thing you could be absolutely sure of then, was that you were now the very least of their concerns.

Before you could consider how to use this surprise in your favor though, screams and the echo of gunfire erupted seemingly on top of you all.

The guards were terrified. This could be your only chance.

“Take this collar off of me, please! I can help you!” You weren’t begging as much as you were truly trying to reason with them. “Look, this is serious right!?”

More men were screaming just around the corner. Only feet away now. Clearly their time to consider had run out.

You saw one of the guards glance down at you, weighing your offer if just for that moment. The other was still staring straight ahead, gun braced, body rigid.

“FIRE!” The one not looking at you screamed, and that was it. It was too late.

You flinched as the gunfire rang deafening in your ears, the muzzle flashes just above you while empty bullet shells rained onto the floor.

You didn’t know how many bullets their gun magazines could hold, but the barrage seemed to just go on and on until an inhuman snarl rose even above the pounding gunshots.

Like a blur he was upon them. One guard was immediately thrown against a nearby wall, as if he were made of paper. His gun didn’t even faze the attacker.

You were frozen as you had to watch him die in front of you. Metal blades impaled the guard, blood splatter running down the wall as his body fell. You wished the other guard would have just turned and ran, but that probably would have been fruitless now too if you were being honest.

The attacker had turned immediately back around, one slash knocking the gun away from the remaining guard, and the second taking out his throat.

You were too in shock to do anything but close your eyes in the moment you felt some of the blood hit you. It was warm was all you could really process, before you opened your eyes again to now see the killer standing over you.

His breath was fast, eyes black, no emotion evident but rage. He had no clothing on him above the waist, just muscular and bloodied with metal cords coming out of his body and attaching to some sort of helmet.

You heard the random sound of more bits of metal hitting the ground, and thought you saw a few bullets working out in reverse from his flesh.

He was one of you then, a mutant.

But you were afraid to speak. Anything could set him off again.

He was looking down at you, through you really. You thought you saw his eyes go to your throat. The collar? Or maybe you just imagined it. Everything was happening in just seconds.

His arm swung suddenly, those blades were part of him you realized, attached to his fists as they came for you. At least it would be a quick death.

You felt a burning, heard ripping and even the metal of the bed breaking as he struck more than once.

“He’s here!” Someone else screamed from back down the hallway and the gunfire started all over again.

You moved at the sound, why you didn’t know, it should have been all over regardless. But in your amazement, you realized you could move. His claws had broken through the restraints, broken the bolts that held you to the bed. You were bleeding, but only from cuts as he’d grazed you.

He’d freed you.

The gurney tumbled over with a clatter as you jumped from it. But bullets were hitting all around you as the guards continued to fire at him. You still had the inhibitor collar on, so you couldn’t defend from that. You weren’t bulletproof like him.

And he was already charging them again, but there were so many this time. A bullet grazed your arm, and you knew you had to get out of there now.

You turned, hitting the elevator keypad. You had no choice as you wouldn’t make it out of this hallway otherwise. You ducked inside as soon as the doors opened, trying to stay against the sides even as bullets were now hitting the back of the elevator. The only way was down, and you took it.

As the doors closed, and the elevator finally sank below the firing line, you allowed yourself some real breaths.

To think, just hours ago your main concern had only been whether or not you were ready for Hank’s organic chemistry final. You’d laugh if you weren’t still trembling a little, clothes torn and blood all over, most of it not even your own.

Now it was time to find the others and a way out.

—————————

“(Y/N)?” You heard in your mind, pausing in the abandoned hallway you were now wandering down. You’d left the elevator behind some time ago, but hadn’t yet found any other way back off this level.

“Jean?” You answered aloud, both surprised and relieved. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. We are now. I saw them take you too, but where are you?”

Talking to a telepath was always a bit strange. You could feel her own stress and anxiety as she began to fill your mind. She wanted to see what you were seeing.

You looked around you to oblige her, but from what you could tell every corridor only looked like more of the same in this labyrinth.

“I got into an elevator when all the shooting started, when that man-“

“Logan. We met him too. He’s escaped now, he-” She paused, your recent memories now visible to her. “He helped you.”

“He did.” You felt she both was and wasn’t surprised at this.

“Anyway,” She continued as if something was distracting her, like she was physically talking to someone else, while mentally talking to you. “The Professor needs us. We’re sending Peter to find you. He’ll bring you to us and then we’re leaving together.”

“Okay,” Was all you could answer, as you felt Jean leave your mind abruptly at that. You remembered Xavier’s odd speech earlier, something you really hadn’t had time to deconstruct any further with everything else that had happened immediately after. You supposed they would fill you in when you were all reunited.

But you did feel a significant weight leave your shoulders at the mention of Peter’s name, even though it sounded like this horrific day was still far from over. He was okay too then at least. You hadn’t screwed up enough to get him hurt in a way you couldn’t take back.

Yet how long would it take for him to find you? Should you just stay in place, or go back to the elevator now? You hadn’t found any stairwells or other-

“(Y/N)?”

You’d be lying to say you didn’t almost fall over in surprise as a tiny gust of air was the only other thing that announced him as Peter was suddenly standing beside you.

“You’re as bad as Kurt!” You gasped, before you could stop yourself. You clenched one fist at your side, at least having the self control not to punch him right in the arm as you might have done with some of the boys at school if they had given you that kind of scare.

“That’s the blue kid with the tail right? Not to be confused with the big blue hairy guy, he’s the one that told me your name by the way, or the blue famous chick from TV?” He shook his head, but his eyes were amused. “You guys have some kind of quota on the color blue or what?”

You stared at him. He did like to talk didn’t he?

When you didn’t respond right away, you saw his eyes wander down, then back up. “Red said you’d be a bit of a mess, but you sure you’re okay?”

Your shirt was torn from well, now you knew him as Logan...that man’s claws. Those cuts were still bleeding a bit, but the guard’s blood was on you as well. The metal shackles were also still on your wrists and ankles, though their chains had been broken, and the inhibitor collar was around your neck. Yes, you must look quite a sight.

“You mean Jean,” you corrected. She must have given him some warning at least before sending him. “Yeah, I’m fine. So you found another way out of here, we should-”

But he didn’t seem to be listening, either that or you weren’t very convincing on the being okay sentiment.

He looked quite serious all of the sudden. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you when Colonel douchebag was trying to work you over.”

You blinked. What was he talking about?

“Stryker I guess they said his name was, the guy that kicked you back at the house.” He just continued. “That piece of shit bailed already.”

“How did you know about that?” You asked honestly. Peter had been unconscious as far as you’d known.

“I mean I was in and out,” He answered, seemingly understanding your confusion now. “But uh...” He hesitated, kind of an awkward smirk building then. “I definitely remember you laying on me. The impact wasn’t that great, but afterward was pretty nice.”

Your felt a heat rising to your face immediately. The absurdity of being physically embarrassed at his implication and tone, as you stood here literally bleeding in the belly of some mutant torturing black ops lab was not lost on you.

“Look, I...” You didn’t even know what to say, but you knew if you didn’t start talking now you were never going to recover control here. “I’m really glad they didn’t hurt you, and I’m sorry too if I got you involved deeper in all of this. And I want to thank you for pulling everyone out of the mansion this morning. We owe you so much. I just-” Oh man, where were you even going with this? You looked to him still feeling like you were just digging yourself deeper, “You can stop me anytime now you know?”

He was now outright grinning. “You’re welcome, babe.”

Not helping. AT ALL.

You were staring at him again. “They’re going to be waiting on us, you know,” You felt you were going to be pleading with him in a moment.

“I know, places to be, worlds to save...” He just moved closer and you tensed a little bit. He noticed, but stood his ground. “I have to brace you or you’re just going to be hurt even more when I run you back to them.”

“So is that how you do it, then? You’re just that fast?” You asked honestly. His actual mutation wasn’t something there’d been any chance to discuss. You could infer only so many ways he would have been able to evacuate those in the mansion almost instantaneously. But you knew teleporters too, even people who could move through reality on other planes. There was always more than one way to do something.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” He chuckled, smirking enough for you to know he was still just picking with you as one of his hands went behind your head and the other to your ribs to brace you. He really did know where you’d been hit then.

His hands were warm, and you could smell that damn cologne again now as you tried to ready yourself for whatever was about to happen.

You didn’t know what you had expected. You knew how it felt to take off in a jet, or slam the gas pedal down in one of the Professor’s expensive cars, or ride on a really intense roller coaster. But this wasn’t that. There wasn’t even any time for your brain to register the acceleration. It felt like just a single heartbeat before you were standing back in front of those elevator doors with him.

It was the deceleration that hit you. By the time your body knew it was moving, it had already stopped again, your organs lurching and your equilibrium completely thrown off as vertigo took over. You leaned forward immediately, trying not to dry heave as puking seemed almost imminent.

He took one of your hands, his other hand moving down from your ribs to your waist as he helped support you still.

“It’ll pass. It happens to everyone the first time,” He spoke, probably the softest tone you’d heard from him to this point.

“You’re telling me there are people who have been-” You swallowed, fighting that nausea back down. “have been with you multiple times?” You meant to say multiple times like that. People who needed to be rescued this way multiple times. You stood up, still queasy as you tried to face him and correct this blunder immediately. Why did this guy have you so flustered!?

“I’m not normally like this,” you stammered, waiting for some great retort from him as you’d just left yourself wide open with that slip.

It was only then that you realized he still had one hand on your waist, and you were now facing him, just inches apart. And the silence was worse. It was much worse while he was just looking back at you.

“No,” He finally said, “I uh...I don’t have anyone that’s stayed around long enough for that.”

He wasn’t joking at all now and you knew it.

“I didn’t mean...” You started, but stopped again when you didn’t know how to finish.

But the vulnerability was gone just as soon as it’d come. His smirk returned as he let go of you, moving forward to hit the keypad for the elevator. “I did look for stairwells by the way, if you were wondering. It only took me as long as it did to find you down here because this damn elevator is slow as hell.”

You actually were a little relieved to finally be focusing back to the task at hand. But you still felt an unspoken conversation lingering that would need to be continued later. You wanted him to know who you really were.

And honestly...you now wanted to know who he really was.

The harsh buzz from the keypad brought you back to attention as Peter hit it again.

A tiny screen blinked “CODE ERROR” in red as he groaned. “It didn’t need a damn code to come down, that makes no sense!”

You responded in a few moments, realizing the likely truth fairly quickly. “But it would make sense if you were more concerned about things getting out of the lab than you were of things getting in.” The same would be true for the lack of entry and exit points. They surely weren’t concerned with fire safety or anything else but keeping their specimens captive when they built this place.

“Ugh, that’s dark,” He answered, glancing at you and then back to the keypad. “You’re almost making me not feel so bad for all the guys that looked like swiss cheese on the way down here. But lucky for you, you’ve got me, and these five hombres.” He waved his fingers at you before immediately beginning to punch in multiple codes in faster succession than of course would have been possible for anyone else.

“Peter, I don’t think-” You started, already having a good suspicion of how this might play out, before the keypad abruptly quit accepting inputs, the tiny screen then blinking LOCKOUT. The only thing that did surprise you was a new even thicker door suddenly closing over the original elevator doors.

And you couldn’t help it then. You laughed. A real laugh. It was just the dumbest icing on the cake. “Okay, Han Solo. I think that will do.” You didn’t care if he would understand the reference or not. You needed that laugh right now.

But he didn’t let you down. Not even for a moment. “Okay then Leia, then you show me how we’re getting past here to save the ugly little ewoks.”

You were still snickering a little, but you shook your head. “I can’t,” You motioned to the inhibitor collar still around your neck. “Not with this on. It’s blocking my powers.” You had hoped once you were all back topside that Hank would be able to disarm the thing. It was probably radio controlled or something like that. “We’ll have to wait on Jean and the others to realize we’re taking too long, they’ll come for us.”

“I don’t wait,” Peter retorted. “Besides, like I said, I showed you mine. Time to show me yours.” He tilted his head, eyeing you. “Really, I’ve been dying to know.”

“Sure you have,” You were skeptical, but it was actually hard to read him right now. Was he actually that curious about you? “And I’ve already tried to take it off, it doesn’t budge.”

“Again, babe. You didn’t have me before.” The smug tone was back, as he evidently had some plan you didn’t know if you were going to like or not.

“You realize, this thing is nearly against my jugular veins, right? What are you going to do?” You had every right to be hesitant you thought. Especially after the keypad failure.

“Just be still. I’m going to vibrate it apart.” He answered confidently.

Okay, now you really didn’t like this. “Again, head, throat, things I need to stay in one piece. What if it has some self destruct thing and explodes?”

“I can pull you away from that before it even burns you. How do you think your friends lived when your house blew up this morning?”

You could have mentioned Alex’s fate then, but that would have been needlessly cruel. Alex must have already been gone before Peter even entered the building. He did save everyone else you thought.

“Trust me,” Peter looked you in the eyes and you could feel yourself relenting.

You really did believe him it seemed. Hopefully that faith was not misplaced. “Please be careful,” You closed your eyes, going stock still.

“For you? Of course.”

You heard his jacket move, which told you he was raising his arms. Internally you tensed-

And then all you heard were pieces of metal and circuitry skittering across the floor in every direction. You were still standing exactly as you had been as you opened your eyes to a too pleased with himself Peter.

“Some shrapnel did try to go into your face, but I moved the pieces. No kaboom though.” His expression changed then to happily expectant, “So come on, I’ve helped three times now, the stage is now yours,” He made an exagerrated motion to the big metal door now blocking the elevator. “What’s your poison?”

Poison? An interesting way to put it, but you knew what he meant. All mutant abilities were both a gift and a curse. Yet even after all these years of meeting people of your own kind, it was still very personal to show someone your real self for the very first time.

Especially when you evidently cared what he thought of you as you realized your nerves were suddenly about much more than just being able to get open a door or not. How would he react?

You took a breath, still extremely aware of his eyes on you as you turned your palms upward. It was always easiest to start with your hands. But you’d need to bring the energy all the way through you to get the kind of power it was going to take to pull this door out.

There was a slight relief in you as your hands began to glow white after a moment. At least you knew you were no longer defenseless, that these people hadn’t taken your abilities permanently.

In your peripheral vision you could see Peter shift, but you didn’t look to him, trying to concentrate as the energy spread up your arms and you closed your eyes. It always felt so warm, like being in the sun on a clear day. It spread to your chest, legs, up your shoulders and over your face. Even through your hair as you willed the energy to lift you up, now completely enveloped until you were a silhouette of a person. Glowing in soft white light and levitating about a foot off the floor.

You opened your eyes again, feeling you had things in control enough now to speak to him. The tone of your voice changed slightly in this form though. There was a hum to it, the energy moving across your vocal chords like every other part of you.

“I’m going to try and pull the door out of the way and into the hall. Please be ready to move as I won’t have a lot of control over it once it gives. My effort is going to all be on breaking it.”

You looked to him after a moment though when he didn’t respond. You knew he was fast enough to keep himself safe obviously, but you had to be sure he was ready. Was he really just staring at you? “Peter?”

He blinked. “Yeah, uh. That’s...” He stepped back from the door, but never took his eyes off you, this weird expression on his face. “That’s cool.”

“Please mind the door,” You reiterated gently, not quite sure what to make of his reaction to your powers.

“Sure, sure thing.” He sounded more like himself then. “Do your deal.”

Your deal as he put it, involved willing this same energy now in a field around the door as you rose your hand up to control it. Once you were sure you had it solidly, you began pulling your hand back, trying to pull the door out of its railing.

It gradually started to creak, but like you’d thought, this was going to take some real doing. You pulled harder and harder, the metal just groaning louder. “Come on,” You spoke, not really sure if you were talking more to yourself or the door.

Your arm was starting to really ache with the effort. But just when you thought you might have to try something else after all, you finally felt the door give. And when it gave, it did so spectacularly. This massive chunk of metal collapsed, exploding out of its rail as it rocketed down the hallway. You just moved to the side to avoid it, the smaller pieces hitting you harmlessly in this form.

To your eyes it only looked like Peter disappeared and then reappeared as he also easily missed all the debris.

Once that obstacle was out of the way, you glided down, back to the normal elevator doors. They were slightly damaged from the removal of the larger door. But now it only took minimum effort to force them open.

You entered the elevator, the inner keypad was also blinking that same “LOCKOUT” error from earlier. So the elevator itself was going nowhere. But this was now no longer an issue for you.

“I can carry us up,” You looked to Peter, though unsure how comfortable he would be with this new idea.

He was standing at the entrance of the elevator already, watching you still. You could see the wheels in his head turning. And then he finally asked. “So, you’re glowing...and flying. Is this like radioactive glow, or I just need some sunscreen kind of glow?”

“It’s just light energy in the visible spectrum.” You answered reflexively. “But not even UV, the wavelength itself doesn’t cause any damage. It’s only when I make it solid or make it unstable that I can do anything harmful with it.”

You could see he may have skipped the lessons on long and short wave energy and radiation in science class as he just kept staring.

“You’re fine, it’s safe” You smiled. Certainly not the first time you had heard such questions. “The Professor and Hank had me tested from the very beginning, I never would have been allowed so close to other students without more precautions if I was that dangerous.”

“So you’re...close to some other students?” He asked almost tauntingly, one eyebrow raised, and it took you a moment before you realized he may be getting back at you for your comments from before.

It was probably just the fact that you were in your energy form now, but you felt confident enough to respond just as quickly, “It’s more like the Brady Bunch than what you’re thinking. Like having a whole house of little brothers and sisters.”

You had already opened up the ceiling of the elevator while the two of you talked, looking up now to the empty shaft and elevator cables. It’d be much easier to move the two of you rather than to try and lift the whole elevator. You reached a hand out to Peter. “I can lift us up the shaft to the floor that the others are on and open the doors, then you can take us to them. Deal?”

You had trusted him to bring you here, as well as to remove that collar from you. Would he now trust you to bring him up several floors without dropping him?

He was looking at your hand. “I probably could just run up the walls you know.”

You paused, realizing you hadn’t considered that. You didn’t really know what all he was capable of truly. But just as you started to lower your hand, he surprised you by grabbing and holding it.

“Yet how many guys can say they flew with you, huh?”

“Practically none,” You admitted. “I don’t make a habit of picking up my friends.”

“You aren’t quite building confidence here.”

“I’m sure that door weighed more than you.”

“And look how it ended up. Again, not comforting.”

This guy was truly something else. “Come here, we take much longer and they really are going to be sending a search party for us.”

You extended the energy from your hand across his body gently. He was obviously much lighter than the door, and the closer you kept him, the easier it would be to move the both of you.

You tried not to make eye contact with him again as you levitated the two of you through the top of the elevator and up through the shaft. Even though you knew you were fully capable of doing this, you still didn’t want to lose focus.

But his voice didn’t sound frightened at all as he spoke up to let you know how high to go. “They’re on the top floor, we’re stealing a jet to get out of here.”

“Wow, but okay. Got it,” You sped up a little at that, no longer worried about passing your landing point as you went straight to the top.

When you reached the highest doors, you were able to force them open with a turn of your free hand, bringing you and Peter safely through and back onto solid ground.

You powered down immediately as your feet met the floor, the light fading back into your body until you were just standing there in your torn, bloody clothes once more. “Okay, I’m ready to get nauseous again, let’s go.”

He actually squeezed your hand before he let go of it in order to brace your head and ribs again. “For the record that felt pretty good. You’re really warm. Zero g’s was cool too. Thanks.”

“Um...you’re welcome?” You answered, a little flustered all over again to your own dismay, and really not knowing what else to say before he whisked you away in an instant.

It really was going to be the longest day ever.

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

[writing-in-april]

Erotica Explained

Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Spencer’s POV)

Summary: Spencer discovers his girlfriend’s writing.

A/N: Hey Heyyy- this is my twenty-sixth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April! It’s based on this request- and I did end up using a small snippet from one of my other fics! Sorry this ones out late too lol had a very difficult day. Feel free to leave me an ask here (I promise I don’t bite) Thanks for reading and hope y’all enjoy!

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Sub!Spencer, Unprotected sex, A little bit of grinding, A little bit of overstimulation, Creampie

Main Masterlist Word Count:1.7k

I don’t use technology often, if I can help it I don’t use it at all. But, I had to use it right now, there was something I needed to look up on the computer. It wasn’t for a case or anything, I was just too curious and too impatient to wait to go to the library.

Because I don’t use technology often at all, I didn’t own a personal laptop. The only one I regularly used was the one I was given at work, and that was done begrudgingly. Though I couldn’t use that one right now as I was at my apartment I shared with my girlfriend. My girlfriend however, happened to have a laptop that she wouldn’t mind me using.

When I opened up her laptop, it was already unlocked with a tab already opened. My eyes unintentionally quickly glazed over the page, my eyes widening as I flitted across the page. It was some sort of story, one that contained things that made me blush. At the end of what was visible without scrolling down it read,

His fingers twitched at his side when you blew cool air onto his length, you sneered again, “If you touch me I’ll stop.”

My own trousers started to grow a little tight after reading that, then confusion made its way into my face, wondering what in the world I was reading. I clicked around, not really knowing what I was doing and I fell into a wormhole of reading. It wasn’t until I glanced up to see who owned the documents it all clicked together. They were my girlfriend’s stories.

They were her stories about a slew of characters that already existed in other media, the first one I had read even happened to be about a Star Wars character- Poe to be specific. Once it all clicked together I slammed the computer shut, feeling like I had invaded her privacy. Then I swiftly got into a cold shower, ready to freeze my arousal and wash off my shame.

—-

My foot was tapping even crazier than normal as I sat next to my girlfriend. We had decided on a night in, choosing to order take out and watch a few movies on a rare night off for me. It was her turn to choose, and unsurprisingly she chose Star Wars.

“What’s wrong?” She asked me when I started to basically vibrate when Poe came onto the screen. I couldn’t keep it in any longer, the guilt was eating me alive sitting here while I watched a constant reminder of what I read.

“I’m sorry-“ She was about to open her mouth to probably ask me why I was apologizing, but I steamrolled over it by ranting, “I looked at your writing- the erotica you write. I- I think it’s about already existing characters? Which I hadn’t heard about before-“

She finally did get a chance to cut me off by calling out my name, getting me to stop my nervous rant, “Are you mad- that I umm am writing about someone who’s not you?”

“No! It’s natural to be attracted to different people even while you’re with someone…” I was already falling down into another rant, this time however I caught myself and found the point I had been looking for, “I actually think it’s kind of hot.”

“Oh yeah?” Her eyebrows had shot up almost high enough that they were up into her hairline. I flushed a little at that, feeling vulnerable under her gaze even though I knew she always kept me safe.

“I- um actually was wondering if you could do to me-“ The words died on my tongue when my eyes met hers again, and just by her eyes I could see that she knew what I wanted. She just wanted me to say it out loud.

“What do you want me to do to you?”

“Wh-hat I read- can you umm-?”

She didn’t let me stumble any longer, cutting off my stuttering, “You want me to do the things you read about to you?”

I nodded vigorously, but that wasn’t enough for her. She leaned forward, grabbing my cheeks between two of her fingers, then prompting me, “Use your words.”

I whimpered at that, remembering seeing it in one of her writings. I learned from the character, who had mouthed off in the fanfic, instead breathily answering, “Yes, I want you to use me like you wrote.”

Soon enough my clothes had been taken off by me as I had to follow her command to ���strip’. She did so as well, then straddling me, starting immediately to grind on my cock. I moved my hands to her hips to try to get her to do something more, but they were quickly pushed off. She then pinned them above my head, leaning forward to whisper into my lips, “No you don’t get to touch unless I tell you too.”

“Yes, Miss!” I gasped out instantly, wanting to be perfect for her.

“Mmmm good boy.”

That made me keen even more, loving the praise she gave me a dash of, I craved her showering it onto me. She kept her course of action, grinding onto my cock until her own arousal completely soaked it. All it would take was for the head of my cock to notch at my entrance, she was so wet I could slip in easily. But, all I could do was wait until she let me have her. I’m sure if I begged she’d only smirk at me, so I kept my mouth shut and took what I was given.

She finally sunk down onto my cock, though it was excruciatingly slow. I tried to fight my instincts, keeping my hips flush with the couch so I wouldn’t get scolded for moving without permission.

When the backs of her thighs finally hit the tips of mine, I groaned unintentionally. She seemed to love it, starting to buck her hips enthusiastically at my response. My hands balled up into fists, knuckles turning white from how hard I was gripping them. It was taking so much to not cum already, her hands pinning me and how beautiful she looked above me making it overwhelming.

“Awww are you already so close? You love getting used like this don’t you?” She goaded once she realized how much I was fighting my release with my squinted eyes.

It took me a minute to find the words, as all my mind could focus on at the moment was how she felt around me. My IQ was completely slashed to 60, but I did eventually get out, “Yes miss”

She sped up her pace at my words, alternating from grinding down into me hard and bouncing vigorously on top of me. When she lent forward to give me a bruising kiss, she swallowed all the noises I was making, until she dipped her head down to mark up my collarbone. It was all too much; I didn’t know how much longer I could hold on.

“You’re such a good boy for me Spencer.” She gasped above me, writhing on my cock while she continued to bounce. It was getting so hard to bear, especially with more praise, but I wanted to wait until she came. She looked like a goddess, especially just as she was about to cum, which she soon signaled by saying, “Oh god baby, you’re gonna make me cum!”

All I could do was watch as she removed one hand from where they were wrapped around my own to rub circles into her clit. She tipped her head back, mouth dropped open in a moan, and thighs shaking as her orgasm washed over her. She shook above me for a minute, hips stuttering as she tried to continue the pace she built while her orgasm was ripping through her. Once she had come down from her release she then focused on mine, building the pace back up to be even faster than her original one.

“Go ahead and cum baby boy.” With one more swivel of her hips, I fell off the edge at her command, filling her all the way up with my release. She held my hands up above my head still and still moved her hips while I rode out my high. When she stopped her movements once I whimpered loudly out of overstimulation, she finally let go of my hands.

I let myself relax as she slumped over onto me, resting her head onto my still somewhat heaving chest. With my hands once again free I wrapped my arms around her middle, entrapping her this time.

Looking up I then noticed the movie was still going, completely unobstructed by our actions. It was towards the end of the movie already, telling me how long we had been going at it. Though I didn’t care that I missed it, I got to act out a partial storyline from it, even if it was a made up one. The movie could only hold my attention for so long, there was someone far more interesting with me.

“So are you gonna write some with me?” She giggled out while tracing her fingers up and down my chest, lingering over my sternum. Her proposition was an intriguing one for sure, especially now that she explained some of it to me. Though, I think my writing style is more suited for more of an academic setting.

I snorted a little, giggling a little myself, then brushing my hair out of my eyes so I could see them more clearly. When I tipped her chin up with my fingers and their eyes met mine, they were full of mischief. She was definitely trying to get me riled up again, but I had a quip back of my own, “I don’t think I’d be good at it- but maybe you’ll let me read from now on? I wouldn’t mind editing some as well, it sounds fun.”

Ask Me Anything

——

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Sub Spencer: @thatsonezesty13 @pastathighs @virtualpeanutartisanjudge @calm-and-doctor @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat

[narrators-journal]

Hello, I hope you are well, can I ask Yandere Akutagawa who probably hates you for how you make us feel? I may degrade you but get mad if someone else does

I hope this is good and is what you wanted! I'm a little rusty with Yandere content, so it might be a bit subtle here. I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

As a new low ranking mafia goon you had expected some harsh bullying from your coworkers, but that didn't mean you couldn't despise them for it, or have the occassional breakdown in the headquarters bathroom or something. That was actually how you'd met your first friend-like person in the organization, Higuchi had found you fighting to not cry in the bathroom one day, and instead of belittling you for the moment of weakness, she gave you a paper towel to dab the tears from your (s/c) cheeks and assured you that she understood your predicament.

In all honesty, the harassment wouldn't be that bad if it weren't for one specific man. Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.

Akutagawa was a violent, hostile, rabid dog of a man who took any possible chance to insult you without mercy. It didn't even have to be anything that would get you into trouble or annoy him, he would belittle anything he could about you as a person, not just your work for the mafia. It had quickly lost all of the leeway you had for newbie-hazing. At least now you had a reason to blame for the prickly mafioso hating your guts. Turns out he isn't a fan of his fashion being labelled 'hot topic tween goth.' After that, you just avoided him as best you could, which seemed near impossible with how much he continued to pop up in your life, even after you'd insulted him.

Of course, Mori would pair you with the goth pretty frequently despite your reluctance, Akutagawa had a pretty variable set of jobs he could be assigned to and thus would be a good on-the-job teacher for a newbie such as yourself, but after you'd insulted the goth he didn't leave you alone like you might've thought he would. Instead, he seemed to pop up a lot more frequently, even outside of the jobs you were paired with him on. Of course, you would see the pale vampire at the headquarters when you weren't working with him, but now you had gone from seeing him maybe once a week for a task or to retrieve or deliver ill-gotten cash, to seeing him a distance behind you in the hallway of the headquarters almost every other day, or in one of the spare sitting rooms the goons had overtaken and claimed as a sort of 'break room' on nights when you'd stay super late into the night and should've been alone.

However, you couldn't really accuse the hostile man of stalking you just to glare at you or spit insults. After all, Higuchi had always had a very valid point as to why you were running into him when you brought the occurrences up, and you'd be labelled a loon for thinking he'd been trailing you just because you had spotted him in the grocery store. So, you opted to keep your mouth shut and just ignored him whenever you could get away with it.

Though, every once in a while a snide remark or two slipped out, like one had on the day he limped into the headquarters after another spat with his rival, Atsushi Nakajima.           "You look like a cat's half digested dinner," you snorted, watching the wheezing vampire flop into one of the fancy velvet chairs in the empty break room. He was still glowing a pretty vibrant red, with his coat ribbon lashing like the tail of an angry cat, but he ignored your comment and instead focused on wrapping his slashed up arm and leg in bandages. Then, just as you were beginning to leave the room to find your own place to do some paperwork, you felt fabric slither around your neck to tighten into a razor-wire choke-collar and yank you none-too-gently over to the chair Akutagawa sat in.

You weren't likely to cut an impressive figure with your (e/c) eyes wide with shock at the sudden attack, and fear at the feeling of Rashoumon's sharp edges biting into your (s/c) skin to draw blood under your bully's cold, humiliation-filled glare,          "I think you're beginning to forget your place here, newbie." He spat, his raspy growl dripping with venom, "Not only do I outrank you, but I am much stronger than you. You are nowhere near Jinko's strength, fucking Higuchi is more of a threat to me than you are, so the next time you want to feel more significant than you are and insult me, I suggest you have a fucking grave dug beforehand." He got right in your face as he spoke, barring his teeth at you with sin-worthy wrath in his grey eyes, but, just for a moment before the lethal ribbon threw you away as easily as he would a gum wrapper, he hesitated. It was brief, only a few seconds, but Akutagawa's anger lessened, and instead he leaned forward just a hair. Just as quickly as it appeared though, the moment was gone. His fury returned with a vengeance and the ribbon that held you captive launched you across the room, sending you sliding across the floor and into the wall hard enough to crack it just a bit.

You took the hint and scrambled to your feet as soon as you got some air into your lungs, coughing and wheezing as you fled the room before Rashoumon could be sent through your spine next.

Admittedly, being snippy with the vampire after he'd already been embarrassed like that hadn't been a shining example of your best timing, but you tried to move past it, and that weird moment of hesitation, and label it a learning experience. Your fellow goons however, caught wind of your confrontation and did not give you such kindness. They instead turned it into more ammunition for snide remarks about how intelligent you were.

          "Hey! Look who just walked in!" A goon you had yet to learn the name of almost crowed one day when you were eating lunch in the breakroom, just trying to watch some tv before your next job when Akutagawa had come in. "Hey, (y/n), wanna try and see if he'll knock your braincells back into place?" You just glared at the man while he continued to call you stupid and just try to instigate whatever fight he could it seemed. You didn't fall for his trap though, keeping your mouth firmly shut and not responding to his insults or assumptions of how masochistic you were. No, you instead simply returned your attention to the tv and blocked out Akutagawa's existence until you finished your lunch and left for your job.

Thankfully, it was a solo mission, a new extension of trust from Mori, and a prime chance to not only prove yourself, but to get away from the assholes you worked with. So, by the time you returned to the mafia headquarters, you were feeling pretty good and had almost completely forgotten your earlier run-in with that asshole of a goon around your lunch time.

Of course, the sky was dark by the time you returned from the job, so on top of your improved mood, you were also spared further heckling since everyone else had finished their work and gone home for the night. So, you were gratefully able to fly through the report you had to write about the mission, and cataloging of the goods you'd distributed without issue. It wasn't until you stopped by the bathroom to change out of your clothing and into some more comfortable, not-dirty clothes before your walk home that you smelled the stench of blood.

It hit you like a brick as soon as you had opened the bathroom door. The whole bathroom reeked of the dizzying smell of iron and death so badly that it poured out into the empty hallway. All it took was a few steps inside to investigate for you to spot the source of such a strong stench. A corpse huddled into the far corner across from the stalls.

Through your stinging tears, you could see that it was likely one of the other mafia goons, and judging by the one bloody tuft of hair you could see amongst the chunks of flayed flesh...it was the same goon that was messing with you earlier. Since your only identifier was the shredded and blood soaked suit that the heap of shredded flesh and spilled entrails somewhat wore and a bit of hair, you couldn't say for certain, but something in your gut told you it was the same man.

      "You know, you should really grow a spine." You whirled around to face the doorway as soon as the raspy voice spoke, (e/c) eyes wide and your hand instantly falling to the small pistol you had at your hip. But, instead of some demented intruder out to murder any mafia goons they found, you were instead met with Akutagawa. Your worst bully.

For a moment, all you could do was stare in shock, your brain frantically scrambling to recollect its composure under the pressure of an almost primal terror, just letting you stammer out a shakey,         "What?" before your legs began to turn to jello, the thick blanket of coppery blood in the air making your stomach want to escape out of your mouth. However, you put your hand on the cool glass of the sink and bit back the urge to vomit. The last thing you wanted was to give the sadistic mafioso more ammo against you in his harassment, and if he was the goon-slaughtering-psycho, you didn't want to go out because you were too busy retching to defend yourself. However, he didn't attack you. He just stood in the doorway and glared at the mutilated pile of flesh as if it had insulted his family for a moment before speaking again,         "You're supposed to be a mafia member, (y/n), you can't just let people use you as a doormat, it reflects poorly on the organization." he chided with a derisive sniff, "Grow a damned spine and begin to stand up for yourself. No one's going to 'defend your honor' like this..." He trailed off, fixing you with a cold, irritated look for a long moment before he turned on his heel with a huff, "Clean that bastard up, before he stains the linoleum anymore than he already has."

With that, Akutagawa stomped off back to wherever he'd come from. Leaving you to deal with the bloody carnage you'd discovered, and to ask yourself why he had even been here. It was the middle of the night, most everyone should be home by now, but the goth had appeared only a moment after you'd entered the bathroom, how had he shown up so quickly? He didn't bring Mori or anyone else, so it wasn't like he'd discovered the body first...

You got a sick feeling that he'd been the one to leave such a nightmarish scene. And that he'd been waiting for you to find it or something.

[retrievablememories]

picture me | johnny (m)

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was when you figured he must be a vampire.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s that guy you keep staring at?”

You cough. “No one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. The mirror.

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

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

“Come on. We shouldn’t stay here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s there when you arrive, of course.

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

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

“Did you come back for this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, just different things here and there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you still didn’t get his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I...think I’ll stay, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Turned, huh…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“Two places?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, like a subject?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“Do you remember this day?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile at that.

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

From: 🦷🩸

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that okay with you?”

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

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

You want to hear him say it again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m certain.”

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

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

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

“Yes. Just you. No one else.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to, Johnny.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

“N-no, I’m fine. Keep going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-it’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O-okay.”

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

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

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

“Do you want me to stop?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“Would you ever…make me a vampire?”

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

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

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

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