Hank stepped up to the convention center doors, the morning sun already bouncing off the glass like a spotlight welcoming him to something bigger than life. The lanyard around his neck felt heavier than it had the night before… thick, laminated, and marked with a crisp white ALL ACCESS badge in bold lettering. It didn't just get him inside. It opened every door. Every floor. Every moment.
The security team didn't even hesitate. One glance at his badge and they nodded him through with a "Welcome, sir."
As he stepped into the building, the world changed.
Instantly, a kaleidoscope of color, sound, and energy hit him full force… like walking into another universe. The air buzzed with electricity, the unmistakable hum of fandom alive and pulsing through every corridor. Music drifted from nearby stages. The scent of warm popcorn mixed with hot pretzels, freshly printed vinyl, and the faint artificial sweetness of fog machines pumping out atmosphere for a nearby fantasy exhibit.
And then there were the people.
They moved like living art… cosplayers in every direction, each one more elaborate than the last. He saw warriors with massive foam axes, glimmering elves in flowing robes, stormtroopers flanking a queen in black armor, a zombie Sailor Moon, a pastel-drenched demon girl, a towering robot that had to be on stilts. It was a dreamland for a photographer. A fever dream.
But he kept his focus… because this wasn't just play. This was business. And he knew the rules.
Already, two… no, three, girls approached him near the entrance, catching sight of the badge, the camera, the lanyard.
"Hey, hey… can I come in with you? I lost my pass," one purred, a succubus in tight latex.
Another leaned closer, her cleavage pushed upward by her corset. "I could be your assistant for the day… carry your gear."
The third didn't even speak… just walked beside him with a hopeful smile, like she might blend into his gravity and get past the gate unnoticed.
But Hank wasn't new to temptation. And he wasn't stupid.
He smiled kindly and shook his head each time. "Sorry. Can't risk the pass. Maybe I'll see you inside."
This pass was gold. He wasn't about to lose it because someone batted their lashes.
He moved deeper into the con, jaw slack as his eyes drank it all in. It was sensory overload. Props, lighting setups, backdrops, massive LED screens looping movie trailers and indie game teasers. Sculpted dragons loomed over fantasy booths. A full-scale replica of the Millennium Falcon's cockpit stood to one side, a shimmering Asgardian throne on the other. He could shoot here for ten hours straight and not scratch the surface.
Then, suddenly, a voice.
"Hank?"
He turned… and saw her.
She moved like she knew exactly where she was going, a young woman in her mid-twenties with sharp, intelligent eyes and a calm confidence that stood out even amid the chaos of the con. A staff badge hung from a purple lanyard around her neck, bouncing lightly against her chest with every purposeful step. She wore fitted black jeans and a tucked-in staff T-shirt, but somehow still looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine… effortlessly attractive, with sun-kissed olive skin, loose waves of dark brown hair spilling over her shoulders, and a playful smirk curving one corner of her mouth.
"You must be @HankShootsReal," she said, tilting her head slightly as her eyes flicked down to his badge, then back up to meet his.
He blinked, a little caught off guard. "Uh… yeah, that's me."
She smiled wider, the smirk sharpening with a spark of flirtation. "Good. I was worried I'd have to wrestle you away from a crowd of cosplayers."
Before he could reply, she extended a card from the clipboard she carried, her nails painted a sleek metallic purple that matched her lanyard. He took it automatically, then handed her one of his business cards in return. Their fingers brushed for just a second… her touch was warm, deliberate.
"I'm Lena Alvarez," she said, eyes lingering on him with a glint of curiosity. "I handle VIP guest management and influencer coordination for the event. We've been hoping to catch you before the rush starts."
"Really?" Hank asked, brows raising slightly.
"Oh yeah," she said, tapping her clipboard lightly against her hip. "You've become kind of a hot commodity overnight, Hank. You're trending in more hashtags than some of our guests… and trust me, that's not easy to do in a room full of lightsabers and latex." Her gaze swept over him, amused. "And now that I've seen you in person… I can see why."
He chuckled, his cheeks warming slightly despite himself. "Thanks… I think?"
She winked. "Definitely a compliment."
"We've been hoping to catch you before the rush." Lena said.
"Catch me?"
"We saw some of the shots you took outside the hotel yesterday," Lena said smoothly, stepping a little closer… closer than she needed to. Her perfume was subtle but intoxicating, like jasmine and ink. "And let's just say… you've stirred up quite a buzz."
Hank raised an eyebrow. "Buzz?"
"Mmm," she purred, tapping her clipboard with one perfectly manicured finger. "Hundreds of requests from cosplayers. They're all asking the same thing… 'Where's Hank?' Some of them are very eager to be in front of your lens, by the way."
He blinked, still waking up to the surreal nature of it all. "Wait… seriously?"
Lena grinned, her dark eyes twinkling. "Oh yeah. You've become con-famous overnight. We don't want the con floor turning into a manhunt for the mysterious photographer with perfect lighting instincts. So… here's what we're offering."
She turned, motioning for him to follow. The sway of her hips wasn't exaggerated, but Hank noticed it anyway. She knew how to command a room… and how to make it look effortless.
"We want to give you a dedicated photography space," she continued as they weaved through the crowd. "In the main hall. Center of everything. Easy to find, prime visibility. No more running around juggling timeslots or getting mobbed in the middle of a shoot."
Hank followed, trying to stay composed, though he couldn't help the slight smile tugging at his lips. "That's… a lot."
"Oh, I'm not done." She glanced over her shoulder at him, her voice dipping just enough to feel like velvet. "We've got you placed between Star Wars and Marvel."
He nearly stopped in his tracks. "You're kidding."
Lena stopped and turned to face him, stepping a little closer again. "Do I look like I'm kidding?" she teased, arching a brow.
Hank chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "No, you really don't."
"You've done your homework, haven't you?" she asked. "You know what kind of traffic those booths get. Wall-to-wall all day. And now you're the photographer right in the middle of it. The beating heart of the con floor."
"Why me?" he asked, still trying to wrap his head around it.
Lena smiled wider, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Because you're the name people are asking for. Out of hundreds of photographers, you're the one that caught the moment. The one who's trending. You're the one they're tagging. And between you and me…" she leaned in just slightly, her voice softening like a secret, "...some of the biggest names here have already put in requests for you by name."
They reached the booth… and Hank stopped, floored.
It was stunning.
A wide, open setup with collapsible walls draped in a seamless green backdrop… perfect chroma key, even lighting, no creases. Professional lighting rigs already in place. A table for his gear. A full-length mirror and a makeup corner. It wasn't just a booth… it was a fully functional mini-studio.
"We made it green," Lena said casually, "so you can customize backgrounds. Fire. Space. Rain-soaked cityscapes. Magic forests. Whatever fits the cosplayer. Make each shot feel like it belongs in its own world."
Hank stepped inside slowly, scanning every inch of the space. It was cleaner, better designed, and better lit than anything he could've dreamed up on his own. He turned back to Lena, a little stunned.
"This is… incredible," he said.
Lena smiled, handing him a folded con map. His name… Hank Avery, was printed in bold under Guest Photographer, right between the Star Wars and Marvel logos.
"Welcome to the show, Hank," she said, giving him a wink that lingered. "You're official now. And if you need anything… I mean anything, just call me. I'll be around."
He nodded, trying to keep the grin off his face. "Thanks, Lena. Really."
She smirked as she turned to leave, giving him one last playful glance over her shoulder. "Try not to break too many hearts today."
Hank watched her disappear into the crowd, his thoughts swirling. She was sharp, confident, maybe even a little dangerous. And definitely gorgeous.
He let out a slow breath, stepping further into his booth. Alone now, he looked around at what was suddenly his space… surrounded by the biggest fandoms in the world. A line was already starting to form.
And the con hadn't even officially opened yet.
He shook his head slowly, smiling to himself.
This was going to be one hell of a day.
---
Maerisa moved like a shadow wrapped in velvet.
The crowd surged around her… colorful, noisy, pulsing with laughter and fandom energy, but she moved through it like she belonged to another time. And in truth, she did. To them, she was just another cosplayer: striking, elegant, a flawless goth elf wandering the chaos of Comic-Con. Another stunning girl in costume.
But it was all real.
She wasn't dressed as an elf.
She was one.
Maerisa had walked the earth for over three hundred years, though she looked no older than twenty-five. A blessing… or curse, of her kind. Her kind, which had long since faded into stories and myths, tucked away in dusty pages of forgotten books and tabletop RPG lore. She had watched decades shift and collapse into one another, watched cities rise and fall, watched humanity lose itself to screens and neon. She had remained hidden, mostly.
But every year, she emerged.
Ever since 1974, when she first stumbled into the world of fandom at a strange little gathering called a "Masquerade Ball," she had felt something she hadn't felt in decades… freedom. For one brief moment a year, she could walk among mortals as she truly was. No glamour spells. No disguises. Just pointed ears, corsets, stockings, and her own ethereal presence. And people loved it. They embraced it. Celebrated it. They took pictures, complimented her costume, asked for her social media… none of them realizing they were speaking to something ancient.
But this year was different.
Something had shifted.
It was him.
The photographer. The one they called @HankShootsReal.
He'd seen her last night. Not just seen, but noticed. Truly recognized her through the lens… like he had peeled back the veil between what was make-believe and what was real. She could feel his gaze as he photographed her. Not the leering curiosity of a man obsessed with beauty, but the focused attention of someone who saw what others missed.
She liked that.
It had stirred something in her… something that had slept quietly for decades.
As she glided through the convention floor, her long hair… white like moonlight with streaks of dark blood-red, flowed behind her in soft, perfect waves. Her boots made no sound on the floor. The crowd seemed to part for her without realizing it. She was dressed in her full aesthetic: black lace corset with silver threading, floor-length split skirt revealing high stockings with dark vinework, silver rings on her fingers, and the velvet choker with the obsidian pendant she had worn since the 1800s.
Her eyes… deep violet, lined with shadowed kohl… scanned the booths with mild interest. She passed rows of comic prints, resin figurines, prop weapons, plushies. Some displays earned a lingering glance; others, barely a flicker of her gaze.
Then… something stopped her.
A figurine. Tall. Stylized. Slightly exaggerated, but unmistakably her.
She reached for it slowly, lifting it from its glass stand with a kind of reverent curiosity. The sculpted figure wore gold and black… her colors from two years ago, when she'd chosen an empress-style design, regal and haunting. The detail was impeccable. Even the facial expression was right. The slight, knowing smirk. The raised eyebrow. The arc of her hair in motion.
She turned to the vendor behind the table, who was adjusting boxes and chatting with someone behind him.
"How much?" she asked, her voice like midnight silk.
The man turned to answer, catching her face… and froze.
The figurine in his hand slipped, barely caught before it hit the table. His mouth parted slightly. "Holy hell... it's you."
Maerisa smiled softly, knowingly. "It was two years ago."
He stared, almost afraid to speak. "I… I didn't think you'd actually see this. I mean… you said I could make them, but I wasn't sure…"
"I remember." She traced the edge of the figurine with her thumb. "And now, I'd like to buy one."
He blinked, then rapidly shook his head. "Take it. Please. No charge. But if… if I could ask… would you sign one? Just one? For display?"
Maerisa gave him a look that made his breath catch… part amusement, part timeless grace. "That won't be a problem."
He scrambled behind the booth, knocking over a display box in his rush, and returned with another copy… mint-condition, boxed, untouched. Reverently, he handed her a permanent marker.
She took it slowly, her long, pale fingers brushing his.
Then, with calm elegance, she bent slightly and signed her name across the figurine's chest plate in silver script… Maerisa… a name both ancient and lyrical. Her handwriting was fluid, almost calligraphic.
"May I take a photo?" he asked, breathless.
She nodded once.
He raised his phone and took the picture as she posed beside the signed figure, a soft smile curving her lips.
"Thank you," he whispered, genuinely moved.
"No problem," she said gently. Then, lowering her voice so only he could hear, she added, "Have a good day."
As she turned to leave, she whispered a soft incantation under her breath… words in a tongue older than English, woven with ancient power. Just a little charm of luck, like a sprinkle of stardust on the edge of fate. A thank-you.
She had barely taken four steps before a crowd formed around the booth.
Word traveled fast.
Cosplayers, collectors, fans… people began to gather, drawn to the buzz. Within moments, the vendor's quiet little stand had become a flurry of excitement.
Maerisa smiled faintly as she disappeared into the throng, her silhouette dissolving into shadows and color.
She hadn't seen Hank yet.
But he would find her.
She had made sure of that.
---
Hank was in his element… no, scratch that. He was in photographic heaven.
Surrounded by color, character, movement, and desire. This wasn't just a convention; it was an endless runway of living art. His shutter clicked like a heartbeat, steady and rhythmic, capturing the magic of every angle, every moment. Cosplayers lined up at his booth in an ever-growing line, eagerly handing over contact info, phone numbers scribbled on cards, handles scrawled in marker on wrists or tucked into waistbands. The flirtation was constant… sultry smiles, playful winks, suggestive one-liners whispered as they posed and played for his lens.
But Hank kept his cool. Professional, charming, and… when needed, a little aloof. He knew the line he had to walk. Still, he couldn't help enjoying the attention. The girls were stunning, the guys too… some of them equally eager to be captured in their best light. His contract binder was filling fast with signatures, each one giving him permission to sell the photos for publication or licensing… with the fair promise of a 50% cut to the model. A smart, respectful agreement.
This wasn't just fun anymore. This was business. This was the start of something real.
He'd just finished capturing a series of playful, dynamic poses from a fiery little redhead dressed in a hybrid cat-girl costume… ears, tail, oversized black hoodie with paw sleeves, fishnets, and the kind of smile that made it very clear she knew how cute she looked. She bounced off her heels and beamed at him as he lowered his camera.
"Can you make my setting a forest?" she asked, her voice like a purr.
Hank chuckled. "Sure thing. Enchanted forest or something a little darker?"
She tilted her head, then licked her bottom lip in thought. "Mmm… dreamy. Misty. Like I'm lost but totally okay with it."
He grinned, writing the shot ID in his notebook. "Noted. And how do you want to be tagged?"
She giggled, swaying a little in place. "@Catarhina_play," she said, spelling it out while tracing a heart in the air.
He jotted it down, his handwriting clean and fast. "Got it. I'll send you the edits in a day or two max."
"Thanks, Hank," she said sweetly, then leaned in close… her hand resting lightly on his as she added in a whisper, "And… if you ever feel like talking after hours, I'm staying across the street. No pressure…"
Before he could respond, she flashed a wink and practically skipped off into the crowd, her tail swaying behind her.
Hank exhaled through a laugh. That was the seventh girl today who had hinted… some more boldly than others, that she wanted more than just a digital gallery. Damn. He was starting to lose count. Some were younger than he was comfortable with… definitely seventeen, maybe eighteen. Cute, sure, but he wasn't going to risk crossing that line.
Still… the attention felt good. He wasn't used to being the one people lined up for.
"Next," he called out, adjusting his camera settings as the line moved.
Then he glanced up… and nearly lost the breath in his lungs.
Yuna Mei.
She was six people down in the queue, speaking quietly to a girl next to her. But Hank's world tunneled, the noise of the con dulling around him. There she was… in his line. Waiting for him.
Her new cosplay was a different flavor of perfection. This time she was dressed in a celestial battle priestess theme… white and pale gold silk with glowing runes embroidered down her sleeves, sheer panels over her legs, a faint shimmer of iridescence catching the lights of the con like stardust. Her hair was pulled into an elaborate braid intertwined with crystal threads, and her eyes… deep violet lenses again, searched the room casually, unaware of just how hard Hank's heart was pounding.
He nearly missed the first pose of the current model in front of him, snapping the shot with instinct more than focus.
Get it together, he told himself, blinking.
She was waiting in his line. Waiting for him.
He turned back to finish with the next redhead, offering a smile that felt slightly distracted now, and filed away the shot numbers.
But Yuna… her presence was electric.
He could feel it… like the moment before lightning strikes, when the hair on your arms lifts and the air tastes like ozone. She was gorgeous online, legendary, even. But in person, standing just a few feet away in the flesh, she was something else entirely.
Unreal.
Hank swallowed hard and reached for his water bottle to cool the heat rising in his chest.
There were five more people to shoot before she stepped in front of his lens.
Five.
He could wait.
But God, he didn't want to.