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retrievablememories · 3 years

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picture me | johnny (m)

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was when you figured he must be a vampire.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s that guy you keep staring at?”

You cough. “No one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. The mirror.

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

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

“Come on. We shouldn’t stay here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s there when you arrive, of course.

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

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

“Did you come back for this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, just different things here and there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you still didn’t get his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I...think I’ll stay, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Turned, huh…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“Two places?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, like a subject?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“Do you remember this day?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile at that.

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

From: 🦷🩸

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that okay with you?”

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

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

You want to hear him say it again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m certain.”

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

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

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

“Yes. Just you. No one else.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to, Johnny.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

“N-no, I’m fine. Keep going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-it’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O-okay.”

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

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

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

“Do you want me to stop?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“Would you ever…make me a vampire?”

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

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

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

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

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fa-by · 3 years

Note

warning this is big. just to clarify. i’m not a hater nor a shipper. i just happen to be a part of this fandom for a very long time, and i luckily witnessed many stuff back in the 5H days. i came across one of your posts about the laucy storyline and how it’s supposed to be a fake relationship and i can’t help but thinking, why do you skip so many parts of the story? like i get that y’all have certain opinions about this thing being a coverage for camila and lauren’s relationship but why do you skip so many important details which could validate lauren’s feelings towards lucy? just to be a little more specific back in 2015 when lucy reunited with lauren after the incident, before the rumors of their relationship even started, i remember lauren reblogging many shit on tumblr about long distance relationships and how distance means nothing if you truly love someone. of course at that time when laucy as a ship wasn’t even a thing, camren shippers obviously connected these posts to camila but now that we know the story as told by lauren it makes sense that most of these reblogs were about lucy since they were rarely together due to lauren moving around all the time. thus i don’t know if you remember but again in 2015 there was this girl who went to the same school as lucy and admitted that lauren and lucy used to date in middle school, also i think around that time someone posted that photo of lauren and lucy in sociology class if i’m not mistaken . and mind you that all these were before all these laucy rumors gained attention. it was mostly curiosity that led all these lauren girls and camren shippers to find out more about lucy and what part she played in lauren’s life. now with all this added information to your timeline, my question to you is what could possibly stop lauren and lucy from having a fling from 7th grade to lucy’s moving in 2012? i mean lauren might’ve said that she fell in love with her best friend at 15 but she also said that she had an on and off relationship with her for years and many hookups until she finally came to terms with her feelings. so what doesn’t fit here? lauren and lucy could’ve started messing around at 12 until 15 years old and only when lucy left for puerto rico lauren realised she had feelings for her. oh and also i don’t know why you guys keep pushing that narrative but lauren and camila were not best friends in 2012, maybe they did later on but certainly not in 2012. sure they became really close due to x factor but it is impossible for them to become best friends over a few months of knowing each other, like do you guys meet someone and immediately call them your best friend after only a few months of knowing each other? how can you put so much trust in someone over four or five months of knowing them in order to call them your best friend? even lauren herself referred to camila as a very good friend of hers, not best friend. my point is, lauren and lucy had an actual background whilst camila and lauren didn’t, which is why i do believe that lauren had an actual relationship with lucy. and one more thing, maybe i don’t believe that camila was romantically involved with lauren but that doesn’t mean i think she’s straight. hell no. lastly i didn’t come here with the intention to change your opinion about camila and lauren’s relationship, but i did want to remind shippers some things they tend to ignore just to validate a ship which in my opinion is non existent.

I had already answered this ask up here with this post https://fa-by.tumblr.com/post/655883320751702016/for-the-anon-lucy-shipper-who-sent-me-that-long, but whoever sent it to me wasn't satisfied with the answer and sent me another one (which you'll find later in this post). Now I'm speaking directly to you, Anon.

So, let's start with the first one. Let's go in order piece by piece since in the second ask you said that I didn't answer any of your arguments:

- “I'm not a hater nor a shipper” You're not a hater nor a shipper, yet you're here in my blog, a CS blog, to talk and to not so low-key support Laucy. That's why I mentioned you in that way in my last post.

- “why do you skip so many parts of the story?” As I mentioned in the last post, I didn't skip anything important.

- “y'all have certain opinions”. We CS? Why do you first speak in the plural and then only speak to me if you're only talking to me in the first place? I hope that now that I've pointed this out to you, you've realized how that y’all sounds, not a hater nor a shipper Anon.

- “i remember lauren reblogging many shit on tumblr about long distance relationships and how distance means nothing if you truly love someone. of course at that time when laucy as a ship wasn’t even a thing, camren shippers obviously connected these posts to camila but now that we know the story as told by lauren it makes sense that most of these reblogs were about lucy since they were rarely together due to lauren moving around all the time” /// “Now that we know the story as told by Lauren”. Exactly. As told by Lauren, aka the fake story they've been trying to get her to sell for years. Story for a cover. Story full of flaws that don't add up and will never add up in the stories they're gonna declare. Story that precisely for this reason, is and will be modified more and more in order to adapt perfectly to the Camren one to explain and give a sense also of the songs. Story proven over and over again to be PR with real proofs. If you want to believe those reblogs were for Lucy, it's your choice, Anon. I'm certainly not gonna tell you that you can't believe in what you want. Everyone is free to believe in what they want and have their own opinion.

- “thus i don’t know if you remember but again in 2015 there was this girl who went to the same school as lucy and admitted that lauren and lucy used to date in middle school”. So let me get this straight, you just happen to be a part of this fandom for a very long time, and you luckily witnessed many stuff back in the 5H days but you don't know how many people have invented things to get attention and how many others got involved for distribute bullshit for the narrative? You say you were there, and you don't know that this was part of the rumors (not only on L, but also on C and the other girls) that were proven wrong so much so that this information was also removed from the internet? And you say you were there? But more importantly, you prefer to believe something you read (which was even debunked) without a shred of proof just because it validates what you believe? You prefer believing a person who said she knew them just for the attention and who didn't even live in Miami? Ahh. Okay then. It's your choice. But what about what someone who really was in Lauren's circle said? Someone who really knew them and went to school with them (and who, to me, didn't act like a friend in that case)?

You didn't believe her, did you? Of course not. Because it didn't validate what you believe in.

- “also i think around that time someone posted that photo of lauren and lucy in sociology class if i’m not mistaken . and mind you that all these were before all these laucy rumors gained attention”. Regarding the picture, I already proven to you in the last post that it was exactly to get attention and that it was during the PR.

- “Now with all this added information”. I'm sorry, what information? You mean the things I've proven to you to be false or you mean your opinions which are just opinions that actually prove nothing?

- “my question to you is what could possibly stop lauren and lucy from having a fling from 7th grade to lucy’s moving in 2012?”. Oh, let's see. Maybe the fact that she was still young and only in middle school started to realize that she liked girls, but she understood it 100% only later during high school? [If you read my post like you say you did, then you know how I think it really went between them. And this connects to that] Maybe the fact that having gone to those kinds of Catholic schools and having a believing family, she had: “I had homophobia deeply ingrained into my system”? Maybe the fact that “The girls in my social realm, if they even thought you were gay, you were ridiculed beyond belief”? Maybe the fact of how she was mocked at school because she was too confident, too sincere, and too honest, and people didn't like that and therefore that was one of the reasons why she thought there was something wrong with her and that she had to suppress this part of herself because she really wanted to integrate so much? Maybe the fact that one of her irrational fears still today is what other people think of her? Maybe the fact that she's always been a people pleaser and wanted people to like her because she couldn't accept that people despised her? Maybe the fact that wanting to adapt and consequently having to suppress herself, obviously also included her being queer? Maybe the fact that she didn't want to be a disappointment to her family, friends, acquaintances at school, and even God since she'd been inculcated with these ideas of not being a sinner and an abomination since she was a child? Not to mention that “from 7th grade” is impossible because Lauren hadn't even given her first kiss yet.

I hope you know that these are not my opinions or theories but words that came out of her mouth on more than one occasion. Although I don’t know if that’s validated enough for you. I mean, I'm still a little bit confused, you know? I’m still trying to figure out because, apparently, your opinions count as proofs and are validated for you, but the actual proofs aren't, right?

- “i mean lauren might’ve said that she fell in love with her best friend at 15 but she also said that she had an on and off relationship with her for years and many hookups until she finally came to terms with her feelings. so what doesn’t fit here?”. Oh, let's see. Everything she said about her that doesn't match her at all but that does match Camila? Even just the fact that she said how much she loved the part of Lucy that was so confident about who she really was when Lucy herself even lately said the exact opposite by automatically debunking everything Lauren said. Or the simple fact that Laur said she'd been in love with her all those years but broke up with her only a little over a month after they were official to get together with Ty. I mean, what?? Who does something like that if they were truly in love?

I've already explained this, but I will repeat it. How can you have been in love with someone for so many years, broke up with them because they were a toxic person, and immediately get together with an even more toxic person without having the proper time to heal? Without taking the time for yourself to lick your wounds, grow up, be ready again to throw yourself out there, and eventually find a better person to be in a relationship with? How? Simple. Because they were both fake relationships. The timing they wanted to tell is not credible. None of what they've said is believable, and luckily, there's also enough evidence to prove it so these are not opinions and theories.

Not to mention that Lucy had two relationships during and after her PR with Laur (2016 Sarah Scott Narcise, before dating Nicole Marie Rendón in March 2017).

So, yes, Anon. You asked a super right question. “so what doesn't fit here?”. Lucy. Lucy is the one that doesn't fit here. Lucy is the answer. Laur is still obliged to make people believe that Lucy is the ONLY girl she's ever been in love with. Period. Without ifs and buts. It's up to you and anyone else to try to see the truth behind the lies they're forced to sell.

- “lauren and lucy could’ve started messing around at 12 until 15 years old”. Again. Impossible since she was 12, and for me, so just my opinion, not after meeting Camila. And certainly not from 2015 onwards because it was just for PR and there are actual proofs. Whether you want to believe it or not.

- “oh and also i don’t know why you guys keep pushing that narrative but lauren and camila were not best friends in 2012, maybe they did later on but certainly not in 2012. sure they became really close due to x factor but it is impossible for them to become best friends over a few months of knowing each other, like do you guys meet someone and immediately call them your best friend after only a few months of knowing each other? how can you put so much trust in someone over four or five months of knowing them in order to call them your best friend?” Again with the plural, Anon? They were always attached to each other hip, and not only during the X-Factor interviews and the episodes of the program itself, they were also outside of it. They were very but very often at each other's home. Their parents hanged out, with or without them. The two of them, DNA, and anyone who knew them, always said how quickly they became friends from the boot camp also thanks to the fact that they lived in the same city. There are billions of proofs around out there. And then, I'm sorry. I don't know your age and I don't know you, Anon, but I think you remember what it was like at that age. It's so much easier to become friends with someone and become attached to them precisely because you are that young.

And you forget one fundamental thing. You forget how different it was for them. You forget how they were five teenage girls basically alone against the world (despite their parents trying to be as present as possible) and how this made them even closer together. Not to mention that the two of them were the ones who had the most things in common and that this brought them even closer; not just Miami.

Your topic doesn't apply in this case, both because of their age and because of their particular circumstances. I would've been super in agreement with you if we were talking about two people who have just met in a more adult age and not in the middle of adolescence, and under more normal circumstances especially.

- “even lauren herself referred to camila as a very good friend of hers, not best friend”. Please tell me you didn’t actually mention something that came out of Laur’s lips about Mila and Lucy during that podcast? Please tell me you understood that she had to play a part? …at this point, I don't really know whether to laugh or be worried… You believe in Laucy and not in Camren because it makes more sense to you, okay. It's your choice. But please, tell me you can tell the difference between maneuvered Laur and genuine Laur? ……… You have to learn to recognize when she's following a script, Anon. I'm saying it for you. You're gonna need it, especially in the future.

- “maybe i don’t believe that camila was romantically involved with lauren but that doesn’t mean i think she’s straight. hell no”. We agree on something at least.

- “lastly i didn’t come here with the intention to change your opinion about camila and lauren’s relationship, but i did want to remind shippers some things they tend to ignore just to validate a ship which in my opinion is non existent” /// “i didn’t come here with the intention to change your opinion about camila and lauren’s relationship”. That's exactly what it looks like actually. Especially for someone who pointed out “I'm not a hater nor a shipper” as the first thing. How generous and thoughtful of you, not Laucy shipper, to come to a CS blog for wanting to try to remind us things already explained and proven just to validate a ship which in your opinion was more existent than Camren.

- “i did want to remind shippers some things they tend to ignore”. And you seem to want to ignore all the proofs there are there just because, and I quote what my girlfriend told me when I made her read your first ask: “as with the showmila shitshow, it's easier to believe it because everything is prepared to point people in that direction”. *Love u and your brain, mi amor 😍🥰😘*

Let's move on to the second ask now, shall we? Step by step again.

- “hey i was waiting for your reply. 1st of all as i said when i sent you that ask, i’m not a shipper lol. i couldn’t care less about ships”. You keep saying that you're not a shipper, but you do act like one and you're here again. You couldn’t care less about ships, but you're here! In a Camren Shipper blog! By reading posts about something you couldn't care less about. By sending asks about something you couldn't care less about, and even waiting for a reply. You don't see anything ironic or, I don't know, contradictory here?

- “i only want my fav to be happy with whoever the fuck she wants. idgaf if that person is camila or lucy or whoever”. You only want your fav to be happy with whoever the fuck she wants and you don’t give a fuck if that person is Camila or Lucy or.. Kris? No, wait. Ty? Is Ty okay? And what about Brad? Or maybe you’d prefer more fetuses? Luis? Keaton? Before all the PRs the fame? So, Paul (14/and just turned 15 years old)? Dominic (her first kiss at 13 in 8th grade)? Her first boyfriend for whom she was cyberbullied at the age of 11 in 6th grade by fake friends who created an entire Facebook page about her with pictures and calling her a slut just because she agreed to be his girlfriend? Or the kid she had a crush on in 4th grade in front of which she peed on herself and who, despite being obviously very embarrassing for her, became her little boyfriend the next day? I mean, I don't know the names of the last two, but they're okay, right? The important thing is that they're not Camila *Simon, is that you?* because you don't believe it, right? Oh no, wait. You said you couldn’t care less about ships. Shit, sorry. My bad.

- “but it really triggers me when you guys don’t value lauren’s words and boundaries”. Oh, wait, wait, wait, wait. So you're here because we- No, wait. Because I- No, wait. This plural when you're actually talking to me confuses me because it gives me the feeling that you're not only attacking me, but all the rest of the CS as well when in reality you should know that we're all different. Plus, you're on my blog. But anyway. Let me try again. So you're here because I don't value Laur's words and boundaries? You mean the narrative's words and boundaries? And besides that, loving and respecting her both as an artist and above all as a person, and following her on social media without ever bothering her, never, not even with a single comment, makes me someone who doesn't value Laur's words and boundaries? ME? Me, who has ‘scolded’ all those who do it? Me, who always says to be respectful and to be kind and spread kindness at the end of almost all my posts? Me, who chose Tumblr on purpose because it's not like the other social networks at all? Me, who doesn't even want my posts to come out of here? 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 Ahh, okay.

Did you know that before some mutuals helped me with the situation, I was about to leave Tumblr precisely because that first post of mine ended up on Twitter? Did you know that I was pissed off because not only did they post it without permission, but because there was the link that led here (even though it was a mutual's blog) and my initial as a signature? Yeah, you read it right. It was only the initial of my name, yet, I didn't want and still don't want to be involved in any way publicly. You don't even know me, yet you dare to judge without knowing? Oh and, please. Don't come after by saying that you weren't referring to me and that you were just generalizing because even if it were true, I repeat, this is my blog and you're talking to me.

- “secondly i really don’t know why you didn’t post my ask like you did with everyone else and just chose to refer to me as a lucy shipper and proceeded to talk about what i said without context. and lastly i really don’t get what point you’re trying to prove with your post about my ask because you legit didn’t reply to any of my arguments” /// “i really don’t know why you didn’t post my ask like you did with everyone else”. Wanna know why? I did it because my very first post already answers the whole Laucy situation by itself. And above all, believe it or not, I did it for you. I did it to avoid all this. But you insisted, and now here we are.

Oh and, I explained why I called you Laucy shipper at the beginning of this post.

- “you simply corrected me on a random date of a photo i mentioned”. A random date, yeah, right. So random, that you wanted to use it as proof. A proof that, now that you know it's useless, you're diminishing it because you no longer need it to prove your point which, forgive me, what exactly is it? You know, with all the contradictions you said from the beginning, I got a little lost.

Why are you even here, Anon? Why are you so pressed for something you said you don't give a fuck about? Why send me two asks and insist so much on a ship you ‘don't give a fuck about’, but at the same time say that you’re not a shipper when you clearly are? Don't you see all the contradictions?

- “about your tunnel post i read it like a hundred times, it still doesn’t invalidate any of the points i made on my previous ask, it just contains a variety of dates which basically prove nothing about your ship being real”. You read it like a hundred times and despite this, you're telling me that proves nothing about my ship being real when the post wasn't even about Camren? Are you for real? Well, after all, you've read it like a hundred times and despite the proofs, you still believe that Laucy was real, so, what could I expect? But anyway. I already told you in the last post, but you evidently didn't understand, so I'll tell you again in a different way so maybe it's clearer. There is a light at the end of the tunnel is a post about Laucy's PR. It's not about or proves Camren like you said. It's a reminder I wrote after that podcast that's about and proves the bullshit they've said and will continue to say to make people believe their narrative.

You don't think Laur and Mila have ever been together? Okay. Amazing. But that's your opinion. You want to continue believing in Laucy? Great. Perfect even. But it's your choice. It doesn't concern me. Especially when there's real proofs around and not opinions. I thought it already was, but I hope it’s clearer now that I don’t care who you ship and who you don’t. “The world is beautiful because it's varied”, says a proverb of my country. You can come back here a hundred more times, but you won't change my mind, especially if you keep coming back here with just opinions and empty proofs. Oh and, of course, it's mutual. Nobody's pointing a gun to your head. As I've always said, everyone’s free to think what they want.

So, my rhetorical question now is, what purpose are you really here for, Anon? You justified yourself in the first ask by saying that you're not here to change our minds when it was exactly for that, and even though I answered you with that first post, you've come back once again. Why? What's the point? You saw that you failed in your intent and continued because you want some drama? Because you're bored? Because you wanted to start a discussion? Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not the kind of person who promotes this kind of things. I'm not a fan of attack and hate in all its forms. If I had been, I would've joined Twitter a lot of years ago. I, for real, don't give a fuck about all that shit.

Rhetorical question n°2: Have I or haven't I answered all your arguments now?

Have a good day wherever you are, not a hater nor a shipper Anon. For real, I'm not a petty person.

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neonponders · 3 years

Text

I have to be an adult today (whatever the hell that means) so this is short but I couldn’t help myself. Based on This Steve with This Billy post for the lovely @lovebillyhargrove 🌹 and @withoneheadlight 🌹

photographer!Steve and model!Billy - boyfriend shenanigans.

💋 💋 💋 💋 💋

Potentially Billy’s favorite thing about Steve - out of many characteristics - was how easily gob smacked he could be.

Billy knew what he looked like.

But still. Seeing Steve just kind of stare in wonder at him for a while never gets old.

He does it today, while Billy’s trying to pay attention to whatever his manager is saying. He can’t help but slide a smirk in Steve’s direction, though: the poor guy standing listlessly with one camera hanging around his neck, and another on a tall tripod next to him.

The manger notices and wraps up what he’s saying concisely. Billy understood his frustration. Billy and Steve working together had proven a 50/50 chance at making million dollar ad campaigns

Just clumsy dates, really.

Billy had been Steve’s entrance into this business - a fact not lost on either of them since various managers and executives threatened reminded them of it whenever photoshoots fell through - but Billy’s second favorite thing about Steve was how he didn’t let that cause a rift between them. If anything, Steve asked for more jobs with Billy, even at the risk of being demoted to a photographer’s assistant or Billy’s personal assistant.

But it kept them together. It allowed Billy a reassurance on international flights that he’d have Steve available to climb into his first class seat whenever Billy’s fear of flying kicked in.

As much as the agencies loathed to admit it, Steve was like a walking insurance policy for one hot-headed Billy Hargrove. If a photographer said something wrong, treated the models rudely, or if he was merely having a bad day, Steve could step in, and Billy eye fucked his boyfriend for hours.

Other models requested Steve. Billy knew that was a big deal for his boyfriend and was proud of him. He could always find Steve on set, either by his brightly colored beanies, or the fluffy hair going without. That had helped Billy feel more at home in this business; he may have opened the door for Steve, but Steve furnished it with friends and loyal connections.

Today Steve yanked the head covering off, already hot under the lights. It was just Billy here, even though he raked a hand through his mane. Billy liked seeing the gleam on his hair. He also enjoyed Steve’s little self-esteem thing about needing his hair styled in the presence of models.

“Ready, pretty boy?”

Steve refocused and stepped behind the tripod. “Yeah. Whenever you are.”

Steve must’ve taken hundreds of photos just in the first half hour. He set it on a steady timer, and moved around the room, changing the lights to warm tones, and then less explosive on the brightness. Billy did his work, tilting himself appropriately to catch the fan’s breeze when Steve pointed it to blow his suit jacket open, or billow through his half-open, black dress shirt.

“Ten minute break,” Steve announced. He was good about breaks. Billy’s manager brought a chilled bottle of water and Steve went through the portfolio paperwork for the shoot. It wasn’t much of a break for him, as he moved the lights and furniture around, but Billy was ready for him.

He sat on the luxurious ottoman, already in his first stance when he peeked at the lack of camera noise. “Steve?”

His boyfriend stood with his shoulders a little contorted so he could examine something going on with the camera hanging from his neck. “Sorry. I...I need another minute.”

Billy relaxed as much as he could so the suit did not wrinkle or collapse in shape. Eventually, though, he noticed Steve crouching over one of his bags for his tools.

Oh boy.

Billy sauntered over, standing over him as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Can you hold this?” Steve answered instead. He blindly held the camera up, and Billy accepted, along with the explanation, “The lens is uneven and one of the pieces is askew.”

Billy silently thanked him for not wielding fancy terms at him, but upon a closer look at the device, it certainly wasn’t correct. A thin, middle section between the lens and the camera tilted wonkily. He breathed with a small amount of awe, “How did that happen?”

“I don’t know. I think it got bumped during the drive,” Steve sighed, holding a tiny screw driver as he stood up.

“Come here,” Billy nodded toward the set, and Steve came to sit on the floor while using the ottoman as a table. He removed his jacket and wiped his forehead, glancing at the lights before Billy pestered, “What’s the matter?”

“I have to expose the sensor. With the shudder, it’s fine, but with too much light, we might be stuck with the tripod.”

“Can’t we turn off some lights?”

“I need to be able to see. Maybe you could, um, just hold your hands over it? Or hold that umbrella for me?”

Billy detached the umbrella from one of the unused lights and sat on the ottoman, with the umbrella situated on his thighs. As the camera became more exposed, he added his hands for extra shade. Eventually Steve surprised him with, “Are you okay?”

“Hm? I’m fine. We do this all the time.”

“Wasting a lot of time, though,” he exhaled nervously.

“We’re going to Sydney on Friday. That’s locked in, so don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t think blowing one shoot is justified by the promise of another,” Steve managed to giggle. Then he tilted his face up and just...gazed at him. “You look really good.”

Billy smirked softly. “I know.”

Steve’s eyes rolled. “Forgot who I was working with here.”

Billy laughed and saw in his periphery people moving around, other cameras working. This job always had multiple cameras. Hair and makeup stylists capturing their work from afar. His and Steve’s managers locking in behind the scenes shots for Instagram. Another perk of their success: the fanfare material behind the cameras built as much revenue as the actual scheduled photoshoots.

As Steve unscrewed something, Billy saw and heard the clatter of it falling back into place. “That’s good, right?”

Steve sighed a relieved smile up at him. Billy felt ticklish warmth in his chest. “Yeah, that’s good. The screws are probably bent, but I can get new ones before Friday. It’ll work for now.”

Steve put the damn thing back together while Billy returned the umbrella, and resumed his posture on the ottoman. A couple of people manifested around him to touch up his raiment and make sure his shirt was open to cleavage perfection.

“Steve, come here.”

The stylists retreated as his photographer trotted up -

Billy yanked him down for a kiss. And just as quickly pushed him back up to standing. “Go to work, my time is precious.”

“Don’t be a dipshit,” Steve remarked, and pointed the camera right at Billy’s face to make the lights flash in revenge.

Come Friday, Billy showed him something on his phone: the Instagram account his manager operated. Much to both of their amusement and chagrin - because a long day taking pictures was more grueling than most people realized - was a picture behind the magazine editor’s shoulder while he worked at his computer.

The caption read: Impromptu cover. Sometimes candid is better.

The image was Steve on the floor and Billy on the ottoman, the two of them gazing at each other mid-conversation in the set’s warm lighting.

Steve chewed his fruit and yogurt slowly, processing in the airport vip lounge. His hair was in glorious disarray, and Billy’s not much better underneath his ball cap.

“That’s the cover?”

“Seems so.”

“Your manager’s going to steal my job with a phone camera - why am I on the cover?”

“The theme was Warm Encounters,” Billy reminded. “It’s not a secret that we’re together.”

“I’m not styled or anything - ”

“Your hair looks good.”

“I’m wearing the t-shirt I got in Hong Kong. It says BURBUSSY.”

Billy laughed and closed the app. He pushed his leg to rest alongside Steve’s. “Good thing you were turned around. We don’t know if Burberry has a sense of humor.”

#harringrove #ficlet #this steve with this billy #neonponders #pondermoniums #lovebillyhargrove #withoneheadlight #photographer!steve #model!billy #domestic!harringrove

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scavengedluxury · 3 years

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The police have been desperate to build a narrative of valiant officers defending Bristol from dangerous thugs, but the truth is very different, and they have started to trip over their own lies.

In our report of Bristol's first #KillTheBill protest we spoke about how the police lie in order to build a false narrative. We described how the corporate media facilitates this by printing their lies as undisputed fact, and how the police's cheerleaders both professional and amateur will take these lies and run with them. The past week has proven us right. Here is a run down of just a some of the lies police and their supporters have been caught out on.

7. Protesters Attacked The Cars Of Bystanders & Other Emergency Workers This was an early quote put out to portray the protesters as hell bent on mindless destruction. Reports were that vehicles that had nothing to do with the police, and were just unfortunate enough to be in a neighbouring multi-storey car park had their windscreens smashed. In later media coverage the police admitted these were unmarked police cars, the video footage shows that this was made clear by the ‘reserved for police use’ parking bays.

6. My Poor Bones! Following a police statement this story was repeated everywhere. The police said, as if a confirmed fact, that one officer had a broken arm, and another a punctured lung. Other people would elaborate further, the punctured lung was due to a police officer being knocked to the ground and repeatedly stamped on was a common story. Can you imagine who could possibly attack someone already on the ground like that? Suspicious at the number of alleged ‘injuries’ the police had suffered, activists submitted a Freedom of Information request for details on them. Shortly after this Avon & Somerset Police quietly retracted the claim, and confirming no bones were broken or lungs punctured. It was only after a lot of noise on social media, and articles in the radical press, that some mainstream outlets reported this change in story. Many original articles quoting it as fact remain online and unchanged.

5. Protesters Are Responsible For Hurting Horses And Dogs If someone told me there was a riot, and I said ‘ok, I’ll bring my dog’, and then I took my dog to a riot; I would be rightly accused of animal abuse. Yet for some reason the police expect a free pass. Let’s get one thing straight, the police don’t bring animals to protests because they love and value them. They bring them because they view them as weapons and want to use them to hurt people. At all three protests this week, police repeatedly deployed dogs and horses for hours, without caring about the risks. Luckily they also reported none were hurt. The most violence we saw towards the dogs was officers dragging them by the collar to keep them away from dropped food. Yes animals are spooked by fireworks, but better spooked and taken away than kept on the front lines as a risk to themselves and others.

4. The Protesters Struck First! An important part of any narrative, as any Star Wars fan will tell you, is who struck first. This is because few people would randomly hit someone in the street, but many of us would hit back in self defence. Early police statements in the press on Sunday night said that officers had ‘stood back’ until a police van was set on fire. These were clearly fabrications right from the start. There was footage of the police using batons to strike protesters whilst it was still day light, where as the burning van was pictured after dusk. In even clearer evidence there was footage of police hitting protesters next to the van that would later be burned, while it was very much not on fire.

3. They Made Us Do It In an echo of the language of abusers the world over, the cops insisted that they were ‘forced’ to violently attack the protest. According to them nothing else would work, as the crowd was so volatile, dangerous and aggressive. Even if the police had ‘started it’ (which they would never admit) they insisted it only escalated due to protesters. Were that true then, the expectation would be that a crowd that remained passive and peaceful would have been treated with a far lighter touch. Tuesday proved this to be yet another lie. Hours of people being hit by batons , horse charges, dog attacks, and people dragged by their hair. All whilst the most violent resistance put up was the laying of daffodils.

2. If You Don’t Do Anything Wrong, You Have Nothing To Fear A statement older than policing itself. The people who are attacked are, if not ‘yobs’ or ‘thugs’ at the very least ‘trouble makers’ and ‘criminals’. No Law abiding citizen need fear police violence. Well unless they decide something currently legal, such as protest, is a crime. So, then the police used violence on law abiding citizens. In chilling scenes on Tuesday they assaulted two journalists from The Cable, despite them showing press passes. They then detained the editor of Bristol 24/7, only releasing him thanks to the support of a near by photo journalist. On Friday they attacked a reporter from The Mirror, and ‘confronted’ a photographer. A short time after they arrested a ‘citizen journalist’ who had been streaming the protest on YouTube, first coaxing him over for a chat before grabbing him. They didn’t stop at journalists either, they attacked medics and the people they were treating, forcing them to relocate repeatedly.

1. I’m A Postman Yes, you read that right. We’ll let the victim of this particular incident speak for themselves by quoting from their social media post, which we have independent confirmation of. “This morning… I got out under arrest and handcuffed by 5 undercover police who barged into the house no masks initially claiming to my flatmate I needed to sign for a parcel (dressed as a postman) but followed her up yo my room. They told me I had been disorderly / violent which I knew I hadn’t. I was partially undressed and they were all big men and they wouldn’t let me call anyone and told my housemate to go to her room whole I was having actual panic attack and shrieking. They told me I was going to be out in a cell at keynsham police station but they needed to get a female officer over to help me dress first. I was clearly so distressed and confused BC I wasn’t even where they had placed me. Eventually they brought up a photo of a girl who clearly wasn’t me and then eventually dropped the arrest and left me but its so incompetent they could mistake me for this girl and actually get a warrant for my arrest when they can’t even catch real criminals My mental health has been pretty shit lately, especially anxiety so now this has happened and the police are responsible through treating me like a criminal and giving me no respect when I wasn’t even the person in their photo.So no I don’t have faith in the police or British justice system“

These are just the most easily provable lies that the police have told. There are many more, nearly everything they say has been an attempt to deceive. We hope both readers and writers, of the news will continue to remember that the police are not trustworthy sources.

As one commentator on twitter put it, Police statements are a lot less mystifying when you read them as what they are – propaganda by violent agents of the state.

#bristol #kill the bill #police brutality #uk politics

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yumeka36 · 3 years

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The ending of Frozen 2...a year later

I try to stay away from touchy subjects like this, at least here on Tumblr. But since @greatqueenanna @the-blue-fairie and @vuelie-frost have recently written inspiring posts on this topic (which you can read here, here, and here), I wanted to give my two cents (well, more like a thousand cents because what I thought would just be a few paragraphs ended up becoming a mini-book!)

Just to be clear, my intention here is not to argue with anyone or invalidate their feelings about the end of Frozen 2. It's quite the opposite, actually. In my view, when we're presented with a beloved hobby that has disappointed us, we have a couple of options: one is to simply stop partaking in that hobby and move onto one that brings us more pleasure (no doubt some ex-Frozen fans have done that), or keep sticking around the fandom despite constant negative feelings about it which, I can't imagine, is that enjoyable. But there's another option too: when presented with something we don't like but won't divorce ourselves from and yet have no power to change – in this case, how Frozen 2 ended – what we can change is how we view it. The fact that people who disliked Frozen 2 are still part of the fandom even a year later shows just how strong the Frozen characters and their world are…that despite dissatisfaction, fans are still not willing to give up on the franchise and leave it in favor of another fandom. And if they're not willing to give up, but still can't help feeling let down about it, I'm hoping the reasoning I present in this post can possibly offer a fresh and, hopefully, more appealing perspective. My intention here is to help alleviate hard feelings, not entice arguments.

I also want to mention that I'm only discussing the ending of the movie, specifically the fact that Anna is queen of Arendelle and Elsa is living in the forest. I've addressed most other topics of theorizing and criticism in my Frozen 2 analysis book “Seek the Truth,” which you can read here. While I did discuss the ending in detail in the last chapter, I didn't expand on it nearly as much as I will in this post.

To make things easier, I'm going to address the most common griefs about the ending one at a time and offer my input:

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Anna and Elsa were separated for 13 years so they shouldn't be separated again.

I definitely agree that it would be tragic if they were forced apart again, unable to have a relationship like they did for most of their childhood. But the more times I watch Frozen 2, the more I just don't see that in the ending. To me, a separation is when both sides are split up against their will, unable to get together again. That's not the case for Anna and Elsa. I admit the epilogue of the movie was rushed, but out of the many loose ends it could have touched on, the filmmakers made sure to include Anna's letter to Elsa about charades night, which to me shows that they want us to know that the sisters still get together regularly (that's the feeling I get from the movie; I'm not including the questionable canon of the storybooks/comics in this, which I’ll discuss a little later). We could still infer they get together even if they didn't show the letter, because we know the forest is free again and Elsa can ride Nokk to Arendelle whenever she wants. But the filmmakers chose to show the letter to make it clear that there's nothing keeping them apart.

So then the point becomes "spending only 3 years together isn't enough." What number is enough, then? 5 years? 10 years? Any number is arbitrary for a case like this. But the length of time doesn’t matter because, to me, Frozen 1 showed how strong of a bond Anna and Elsa have despite hardly ever being in physical contact…a bond of love strong enough to thaw a frozen heart. So to think that now they could never be happy unless they're physically together 24/7 does an injustice to that bond that transcends physical boundaries. They suffered because of their separation in Frozen 1 – that was a true separation, because they wanted to have a relationship but were forced apart against their wills – and at the end of the movie, they could finally have the relationship they were yearning for. And at the end of Frozen 2, not only was their love cemented further from the epic adventure they shared, but they can continue to see each other as a family as well as live out the new roles bestowed upon them. Unlike a movie with an actual separation ending, like Toy Story 4 for example, where Woody and Buzz would never be able to see each other again except by some crazy coincidence, there is literally nothing stopping Anna and Elsa from continuing to have adventures together in future stories, while also satisfying their new duties and enjoying their lives both individually and as a family. That sounds like a very fulfilling life to me.

But the "Anna sans Elsa" book proves that they barely see each other and Anna misses Elsa a lot.

This sentiment comes down to whether you want to consider the relatively few post-movie storybooks as true canon or not. I consider them loose canon at best because no one involved with the creation of the canon Frozen movies/shorts had any involvement in their development and probably even knows they exist. There's also the fact that they're having such a minimal release – just one or two European countries have been getting them, and they're not even being released in English, which is arguably Disney's largest market. There're also conflicting implications between the stories, for example, the "Anna sans Elsa" book implies that Elsa hasn't visited for a long time, but the German comic where Elsa visits for charades implies that she does visit regularly (from @bigfrozenfan‘s translation here, she says "I wouldn't have missed an evening of charades with you for anything in the world!"). Then there's the "Explore the North Book" which shows Queen Anna visiting Elsa in the forest. Just because this book isn't a story is no reason to disregard it, especially when you consider the fact that it was the first book released to show the sisters interacting post-movie, plus it was actually released in larger markets, like the US and Japan. Even Anna's letter within the movie canon itself, telling Elsa not to be late for charades, is not written in a way that implies she hasn't seen Elsa for a long time. If anything, it implies the opposite to me…that these visits occur regularly. So what we can conclude from this is that Disney's publishing branch is releasing a few post-movie stories to limited markets to make some extra earnings, but obviously the book/comic authors are restricted with the kinds of stories they can depict; as in, they can't have stories that would affect the lore and canon, like showing Elsa's role in the forest or how Northuldra/Arendelle relationships are progressing. So they're going with safe side-stories like Anna doing familiar things in Arendelle and Elsa visiting for charades – things that can be inferred from the movie's ending but don't continue the narrative past that. This could also be why these books are having such a small release. Perhaps because the English-speaking market is so large, anything brought to that market could be seen as having relevance and clout, and Disney doesn't want that for these stories (because there's really no reason to not bring the books to other markets when children's book sales are soaring thanks to the pandemic). The "Anna sans Elsa" book is even getting a re-release with new pictures, again, only in French, which to me further illustrates the limitations on post-movie stories currently going on. So ultimately, I would not take details from these books/comics that are available to only 0000.1% of Disney's worldwide market as the "word of god," especially when they're inconsistent with each other and canon implies otherwise.

Anna isn't fit to be queen.

I'm not really sure what (canon) examples there are of Anna showing traits that would hinder her ability to be a good queen, or at least not as good a queen as Elsa. Is the reason for this because of her naivete about Hans? There's no evidence that shows she hasn't learned her lesson from that…it's not like she rushed into marrying Kristoff right away. If it's something about her personality being too reckless or something, Elsa has exhibited recklessness too, doing things without forethought like running away to live alone in an ice palace and risking her life to dive into Ahtohallan. But despite having these very human flaws, Elsa still turned out to be a good queen, so why would Anna be the opposite? Anna has proven herself to be brave, noble, and outgoing with people…all of which are great qualities for a ruler. Plus she's lived among royalty her whole life, and no doubt helped Elsa during her reign as queen, so she's not going into the position as a total novice. We barely see Elsa doing queenly activities in the Frozen canon, so how can we assume she's so much more fit to be queen than Anna? Again, I think this is another sentiment that stems from an aversion to something unfamiliar: fans want Elsa to remain queen because we've been familiar with that for years, but that doesn't mean Anna can't be a good queen, too. Canon-wise we haven't yet seen Anna do anything in the way of ruling, so why not give her the benefit of the doubt and a chance to prove herself?

The first Frozen established that Elsa shouldn't live in isolation and yet she's doing it again in Frozen 2.

In the first Frozen, Elsa isolated herself out of fear and refused to even get near anyone. What evidence is there that this is happening at the end of Frozen 2? I've heard assumptions that she's living in Ahtohallan now, but we don't know that for sure. The last scene of the movie shows her heading in that direction, but she could be visiting too. But regardless of where her actual place of dwelling is now, there's no reason to believe she's shutting herself off like she did in the first movie. The epilogue shows that she's happily interacting with the spirits, the Northuldra, and makes visits to Arendelle. Home is more than just a physical place where one dwells and sleeps; even if the forest is where Elsa does this now, Arendelle is still her home in all other regards.

An offshoot notion of Elsa living on her own in the forest is that it's somehow akin to the idea that "people who are different should live outside normal society." I don't understand this because to me it implies the person in question is being shunned; that they want to live in normal society but normal society doesn't want them. That is definitely not what's going on at the end of Frozen 2. As I'll explain in the following paragraphs, Elsa stays in the forest because she feels a newfound sense of freedom and is thrilled to explore this new world she found, but she can freely go back to Arendelle whenever she wants, and there's no indication that anyone there loves her any less (they should love her more actually because they all witnessed her save the kingdom from the tidal wave!) At the end if the movie, no one's being ostracized for being "different." Everyone's doing what makes them happy and can freely come and go as they please.

Why does Elsa need to stay in the forest? Why can't she stay in Arendelle and visit the forest?

A large majority of the hard feelings about Frozen 2's ending comes from the fact that it didn't clearly show what Elsa's role in the forest is. I definitely admit that the ending would have benefited from expanding on this, even just another line or two. But to me, it still leaves enough information for us to make reasonable inferences about what she's doing. We don't see the Northuldra or Arendellians interacting in the epilogue, which makes sense since they hated each other for decades and it'll take time to mend the relationship between them. When Elsa says to Anna "we'll continue to do this together" conveys to me that she knows they still have work to do as far as making amends between the kingdoms…she and Anna can serve as dual queen ambassadors between the two sides, a bridge, so to speak. Then there's also the fact that the spirits were angry for decades and it'll take time for them to return to the peaceful coexistent they had with the Northuldra, something Elsa can certainly help with (again, we don't see the spirits interacting with the Northuldra in the epilogue, only with Elsa).

On top of that, there's the fact that Elsa spent her whole life believing she was the only magical being in the world, and now she's discovered this whole new land of magic just waiting to be explored. As I explained in my analysis book, if we consider Elsa believing for years that her powers were a curse and no one but her possessed magic, and suddenly she's brought to a place where other magical beings exist, as well as a group of people who live in harmony with them, plus the fact that she's somehow a bridge between both magic and humans, it makes sense she'd be ecstatic and want to spend time indulging in this new land. The reason she doesn't just visit the forest while living in Arendelle is because being queen is a full time job that requires her to be present as much as possible. Trying to stay on top of all her queenly responsibilities while going back and forth to the forest all the time wouldn't amount to the kind of quality she wants for Arendelle royalty. But having someone like Anna who's already familiar with royal activities and loves Arendelle with all her heart, would be perfect for the role. Elsa never indicated it was her dream to be queen of Arendelle. She was born into the role and accepted it, and if the events of Frozen 2 never occurred, would have probably lived out her life happily in that position. But happiness isn't necessarily a final destination and sometimes things come along that alter the status quo, but also enhance what we thought was already a good life. What we can infer from Frozen 1 is that she doesn't want to live in fear and have to constantly suppress her powers and that she wants to have a relationship with her sister again. None of this is taken away from her at the end of Frozen 2: she's not living in fear but in freedom, she can use her powers without restraint and in brand new ways with the spirits and Ahtohallan, and she can not only continue to see her sister often and foster their relationship, but she can grow her relationship with herself and this new realization about the origin of her powers. And still another reason, perhaps the true purpose of the fifth spirit is more than a single task and Elsa is trying to discover what it is: what more can she do with her amazing powers now that the forest is free, both for the benefit of the Northuldra, the spirits, Arendelle…maybe even the world? There's a wealth of possibilities for future stories, and I believe this ties back to the fact that the post-movie books/comics can't touch on what her role in the forest is because it's too closely tied to continuing the canon story, and until the heads at Disney decide what direction to take it, all spin-off content will be limited.

And yes, it's true that these are just my theories, but they're theories based on many hours of rewatching, analyzing, and thinking critically about the movie, which I think is better than just dismissing the idea that Elsa has a role to play in the forest simply because it wasn't explicitly shown. Just because Elsa's new lot in life isn't spoon-fed to us doesn't mean it doesn't exist, and I think it's much more logical, and imaginative, to assume she's doing the kinds of things I just mentioned as opposed to doing nothing of significance in her life now. I prefer to be logical and imaginative, so I’m going with these reasons unless canon shows otherwise.

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After reading all this, you might think I'm in love with the ending of Frozen 2 and think it's perfect, but that's not the case. While I love Frozen 2 overall, I admit that the ending was rushed and it wasn't my first choice of an ending for the sequel I was anticipating for years. But at the same time, I'm open-minded, especially in regards to the fact that the story and characters I'm invested in are not my personal creations. They’re the products of someone else’s experiences, values, and beliefs, and I have to recognize that this is what makes them interesting even though I may not agree with everything. But who am I to say that my vision and headcanons for Frozen are somehow better than those of the filmmakers? I don't think so highly of myself as being more of an authority on Frozen than the creators themselves or even my fellow hardcore fans. But I have spent many hours of my life these past 7 years examining and analyzing the franchise and its characters, so I'd like to believe my words have at least some weight to them. That's the wonder of fiction…that someone's ideas can be interpreted and appreciated in a variety of ways by a variety of people. But that's also the tragedy of fictional stories that continue on with long gaps in between, like the gap between the two Frozen movies. During that long time, we can't help but build and prop up our headcanons and develop the feeling that we know these characters inside and out, what is and isn't good for them, how they would and wouldn't react in all situations, etc,. But two and a half hours (which is about the length of time of Frozen 1 plus the two shorts) is not enough time to show so much of a characters’ personality that we could really know them as much as we’d like (especially Elsa, who got relatively little screentime in the first movie). So when we're presented with the continuation of the story and find that the creators had a different view, a view that didn't return to the status quo we were familiar with, it can be very jarring. But that's the risk of falling in love with someone else's creations. And thankfully, the beauty of headcanons is that they're all our own and can be adjusted. Even though the outcome of Frozen 2 was not what I was expecting, it was a minimal effort to adjust my headcanons because I don't feel the ending was so outrageous and far removed from everything I loved previously about the franchise, for reasons I hope I explained clearly in this post.

If you still can't feel any better about the end of Frozen 2 despite all I've discussed here, I'm sorry…I really tried my best. All I can say now is that I hope future content will rekindle your appreciation for the franchise. I know it's been over a year since Frozen 2, which seems like a long time to go without any announcements of new material, but we have to remember that that's not a long time at all by Disney standards. The recent Disney investor's meeting proves how long it takes to churn out new content, especially on the animation side of things, as it took years for Princess and the Frog, Zootopia, and Moana to finally get new content. Disney immortalizes all their popular franchises and could go back to them months, years, or even decades later (The Lion Guard series came out over 20 years after The Lion King for example). Unlike other Disney franchises like Marvel and Star Wars that have their own production teams and studios, Frozen has to share resources with all of WDAS's other projects. So a year is still too early for the studio to go back to Frozen again, especially if you consider that it's technically only been a few months since we got new Frozen content in the form of Once Upon a Snowman. Patience is the key now and we don't know what the future holds. But I'm someone whose opinions will change with new information, so maybe tomorrow we could get an announcement about a new Frozen YA novel or Disney+ series that shows Anna and Elsa rarely see each other and Anna misses Elsa and Elsa's doing nothing noteworthy in the forest and everything I've said here can be tossed out the window. I don't think that will be the case though, so as long as we don't know anything for sure, I want to go with a positive outlook because, at the end of the day, your fandoms should lift you up instead of bring you down. Frozen is a juggernaut for Disney so I'd rather they take their time with the next installment for the franchise. It's not so much a question of "if" as much as "when" and "in what form"? So until we have those answers, I wish you all well…don't let the hope die out.

#frozen #frozen 2 #frozen2 #disney frozen

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askaceattorney · 3 years

Photo

Dear Asexual-Deesasters,

Mod Edgeworth:

If you want to know the answer to that question, go to this link.

Dear Skibot99,

Co-Mod: I’m fairly certain it was The Mod, but I don’t know for sure. He actually had another one before it, made from an old Ace Attorney musical animation. I haven’t been able to locate that video, unfortunately, but here’s the old banner:

Ah... Those were good days. Good days.

Dear Dawsongfg,

Co-Mod: It’s fine. Besides, it won’t be too long before those letters are accepted, so maybe we’ll hold onto them until that time.

Dear skibot99 again,

Mod Edgeworth: The Lost Turnabout hands down. All logic is thrown out the window the moment Phoenix had amnesia. It’s clear the Judge knew something was wrong with Phoenix, so why didn’t he call for a recess or check on Phoenix? Not to mention Wellington was annoying. He’s probably the only character I would be hesitant to play as when answering letters, if only because he was so unbearable.

As for Turnabout Ablaze, I do agree that it is a drag to get through in the end, though the entire game of AAI was boring, aside from the game mechanics. As a case by itself, I wouldn’t put it as my least favorite, if only because I did get some funny parts out of it. It also contributed to the overall story, whereas The Lost Turnabout could just be taken out and it wouldn’t effect the overarching plot.

Co-Mod: I’d probably have to go with Turnabout Big Top. I honestly couldn’t figure out the part where you have to present Max’s poster without consulting a walkthrough. Why couldn’t we just present Max himself? Besides that, the ending was largely underwhelming -- the murder weapon was hidden under Acro’s blanket the entire time, but instead of seeing a screenshot of it there, we just have to imagine it. Maybe it was a filler case, but that was no excuse for it to end so poorly. Not to mention one of the witnesses was a literal puppet.

It’s hard truth, Trilo. Live with it.

Dear skibot99 and Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: I… think I heard from her when the localization of DGS was announced? I know Mod Kristoph and Mod Maya introduced themselves when I came into the group. There’s a third person, but I only heard from her once. As for what’s going on with her… I don’t know.

As for the flooding the inbox, it’s fine. I won’t promise a letter or two won’t be deleted, but we may make an exception and I’d hardly consider 4-5 different letters flooding the inbox. However, I do highly suggest lowering your letter sending to no more than three a day to prevent deletion of your letters. The only time I’d say your letters are flooding the inbox is when you’re sending 10-20 of them, especially of the same letter, and we have to scroll down for a while to get to the next letter. We will only choose three out of that pile and delete the rest.

And yes, we do have a few that send us 10-20 of the same letter to multiple characters in the span of five minutes. Geez.

Co-Mod: Mod Paups has had to remain absent for personal reasons, and sadly, has recently communicated to me that she wishes to leave the blog entirely. Thanks for all you’ve contributed to this blog, Mod Paups, and best of luck in whatever you do next!

(Referenced Letter)

Dear mungeondaster,

Mod Edgeworth: Since I answered this one, I shall answer your letter.

(^ Why do I always use this sprite? ^) Actually, the localization never specified if Manfred Von Karma was born in Germany or not. In fact, we never knew the German part until Justice For All when Franziska Von Karma was stated to have flown all the way from Germany. It never specifies any reason for this and fans were quick to jump to the conclusion that it means the Von Karma family were German, which… isn’t entirely true? Manfred Von Karma never said he lived in Germany and, for all we know, Franziska could’ve lived in Germany to study law or something.

Now, the OG does give us more specific detail on this, being why I answered this the way I did. In the OG, both Von Karma’s were born Japanese, but lived in America or at least have an estate there. It specified that they were originally born in Japan, which would be translated to LA, California in the localization. While using the OG canon isn’t normal here, I will use it, if the localization doesn’t specify things. In this case, it never specified if the Von Karma’s were born in Germany or if Manfred Von Karma lived in America. Since he had to wait out the Statue of Limitations for DL-6, we can assume he lived in LA for 15 years or more. That means he’s American.

I am still getting the hang of writing letters, but I try to stick to canon as much as possible. If you believe we’ve made an error in our letters, feel free to let us know, but also show proof, if we go against canon. We’ll be sure the letter is sent to the right mod or else fix it.

Dear Bluedragoncody,

Mod Edgeworth: I... don’t know how to feel about that.

Also, I accidentally deleted your previous letter before this one when trying to post it on here. I’m so sorry about that. If you could remember it, would you send it again?

Co-Mod: I’ll just respond to this with an old classic:

Dear Aceattorneyismyjam,

Mod Edgeworth: I-I’m not a pro! I accidentally deleted an important mod question from bluedragoncody, because of my inexperience. Oof! Again, so sorry!

Granted, I am good with digital art and writing essays, but I’m still trying to get the hang of being a mod here. Believe me, I do get corrected on several mistakes I do here. I can’t really call myself a pro just yet. I’ve only just started becoming a mod here last month lol

Dear Dahlia,

Mod Edgeworth: I thank you for your support of this blog and my essay. Manfred Von Karma is also my favorite villain and someone I do feel is underestimated as a one dimensional villain. I think people hate him so much, because of how he ruined Miles Edgeworth’s life without looking at the bigger picture. They focus on the bad things with their black colored glasses without dissecting Manfred Von Karma’s character as a whole.

One thing I love about this blog, even before becoming a mod, is that no one here ever portrayed Manfred Von Karma as the one dimensional villain. He can be snappy at times, but as proven in many of our previous letters, he’s also portrayed as being calm when threatened, polite at times and absolutely loves his wife and children. Yes, he’s a terrible person, but that’s what makes him so interesting. He’s a bad, evil person that does good things from time to time. It doesn’t justify any of his horrible deeds, murder included, but it does make him human.

Co-Mod: I’m...going to assume you’re a different Dahlia. (I’m grabbing a Magatama of Parting just in case, though. I’m sure you can understand.)

Anyway, thanks for being such a loyal follower! This blog’s been through a lot of changes since it began, and since I joined it back in 2017, so I’m glad it’s still a good source of enjoyment for you. I’ve seen all sorts of cringe by now, by the way (some of which I wrote myself), so don’t worry about it.

I’m also glad that the characters still sound like themselves and not like us. The hilarious personalities and quirks given to them by Capcom’s writers, as well as the humanity in so many of them, make them easy to relate to, and thus fairly easy to mimic. I may have said something like this before, but I see myself in a lot of them -- in Athena’s fear of inadequacy, in Apollo’s desire for justice in a world where it’s hard to find, in Sebastian’s confusion about where to go next after his world falls apart, and possibly even in the von Karmas’ desire for perfection. I of course identify with their positive feelings as well -- Phoenix’s smugness when he gets things right, Athena’s joy after pulling off a victory in court, Adrian’s pride after her self-confidence is restored, etc. -- but there’s something about the struggles they face that make them easier to relate to, on top of being that much more awesome in the end.

Unfortunately, I can’t promise anything about this blog continuing on in perpetuity. For one thing, I don’t plan on being around forever (I’m fairly certain the other Mods don’t, either), and for that matter, there’s also no telling how long Tumblr will be around. All I can promise is that I’ll give my best while I’m here, and that the love from you and everyone else who shares it here is sure to be what keeps us going. Thank you for your contribution!

Dear TurqouiseJavelin,

Mod Edgeworth: Hm... not bad ideas. Though, we mods choose our own mod names under the condition that it doesn’t match anyone else’s mod name.

Co-Mod: What Mod Edgeworth said. Choosing the name “Mod Athena” may or may not increase your chances of being hired, though. *wink, wink*

Dear Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: Actually, Gregory was stated in the Autopsy to have died by a gunshot. However, you do bring up something interesting. If Gregory Edgeworth realized he was dead and last remembered Robert Hammond strangling him, he wouldn’t think “I died by the shot of a gun.” Since the Detectives weren’t aware that victim had died unconscious, they’d assume the victim would recall being shot and killed. This makes me wonder if Gregory Edgeworth was channeled, but never brought to court to be cross-examined.

There are still holes, but I do like your aspect on DL-6.

Co-Mod: Dang... No matter how many times you come back to this game, there’s always something new to think about. I honestly hadn’t considered those details about Yanni Yogi’s trial. Your explanation makes the most sense to me, but there’s one other possibility regarding Gregory’s testimony -- he may have chosen to lie about who murdered him in order to protect his son from a murder charge. That’s all open to interpretation, of course, so your guess is as good as ours.

It’s a good thing we’re not actual defense attorneys, huh?

-The Mods

#asexual deesasters #skibot99 #dawsongfg #mungeondaster #bluedragoncody #aceattorneyismyjam #young and vain #Anonymous #Mod Post #Mod Edgeworth #Co Mod

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werevulvi · 3 years

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I hope these show up in the right order. This kinda stuff is exactly what makes me feel lost about my transness. Like I was just trying to be nice and agreed with this person's post. I had no interest in being an asshole or arguing what bio sex, or even what butch, is. I was just declaring myself as a bio female because it felt relevant to the topic and how I relate to it. It amazes me how even the pro self-ID types are against self-ID when someone identifies in a way that doesn't suit their narrative, even when it's a trans person whose identity they deny.

They blocked me and I don't want anyone going after them, I just wanna rant. And not even about this specific post or person, but more so about trying to exist as a gender critical trans person in general. I've been thinking about that for days, weeks, perhaps months or even years already, so it's really not about this specific person. I guess it was just what triggered me to finally start writing.

I guess I feel like both most other trans people and most other gender critical people, view transness as incompatible with gender critical opinions, and like that makes me feel pulled in two opposing directions. But anyone of any ideology can be dysphoric and transition because it helps them cope. I don't think that my opinions, or my choice to hang out with radfems, means that I'm self-hating, or even that I'm going against the needs of my own trans demographic. My own trans demographic is just all too good at confusing wants with needs... generally speaking. I see sex and gender the way I do because it makes sense to me personally, and I don't even argue that it's necessarily the objective truth. I don't think there is such a thing. It's just my truth, my perception of the world.

That I can't make myself see myself as a man for real, despite my dysphoria and transition, doesn't mean that I think it's wrong to transition, or that my body is damaged by it, or that transitioning is useless. Because it's not. I love my transition and everything it has given me. I'm comfortable with my transitioned body. It deserves love, especially my love. And although I still struggle with some insecurities, I feel like I love my body. It's been... incredibly good to me. It's stayed very healthy, and even keeping up a strong immune system despite my smoking, self harm, careless sexual escapades, etc. I may still have a fraught relationship with being female, but as long as I transition, I seem to be managing it fairly well. Except then I have a more fraught relationship with society instead. Can't win, but that's life, innit?

I don't think either my transness or my political opinions are my real problem or ever was. I think it's society's constant fighting about trans people's genders, lives and choices, that makes me constantly cave in on myself. Can't handle the pressure.

It feels like it's only ever getting worse. Ten years ago my biggest concern was people not ever finding me attractive because I was turning myself into some kind of a freak, which luckily I was proven to be wrong about. Five years ago my biggest concern was nonbinary people trying to normalize asking people their pronouns, which made me fear that people would never leave me alone about my gender, unless I forced myself to be hyper-masculine, which I still worry about. Three years ago my biggest concern was having been stripped of my sex-based rights and dehumanized for how I had chosen to treat my dysphoria, which I still worry about as well, and now...

...my biggest concerns are being treated as a third gender, fetishistic predator who should be shoved away into gender neutral spaces, and I fear that one day medical transition will be taken away as an option to treat dysphoria if transness is continued to be rejected as a medical condition. My heart rate is ever increasing. Can I even realistically "just go on with my life" anymore? I feel compelled to do something, but I also feel like there isn't anything I can do. No matter how many people I try to "educate" about dysphoria and why transition is incredibly important, all the while being as humble as I can, I am seriously lacking behind the much faster spread of harmful misinformation.

Thing is, I do not blame gender critical people for spreading some of that misinformation. For example of trans women as fetishistic predators, which people apply to trans men when they still fail to understand that MtF is not the only kinda trans there is, or when we dare to be just a little bit feminine while passing as male. If anything, I blame the true sources of such harmful claims, which slowly increase my anxious heart rate, over years, turning into decades, of living as openly trans. I blame opportunistic men who pretend to be trans women for gaining access to women's spaces, be it prisons, spas, shelters, sports, what have you, when they cannot possibly be dysphoric judging by how happily they swing their dicks around women as if it's no big deal and make no attempt at transitioning, but also who cares if they are dysphoric, no one should behave that way either way. I blame the trans rights activists who say lesbians have to suck dick if it's attached to a trans woman, and those who say that gay men have to be into pussy and date trans men. I blame those who say that trans women are bio female by virtue of identifying as female, and claiming that they can get periods, by virtue of... bowel cramps?! I'd also blame those who try to change female specific language on behalf of shielding trans men from our own dysphoria, in the rare cases we'd end up getting pregnant or manage to drag our asses to the gyno office for a pap smear, which... most of us really don't, regardless of if you call us women or uterus-havers, sincerely, please stop. It makes people think trans women are trying to take over the term "woman" entirely for themselves, which of course they don't.

I could go on, but I won't, as this post is not about these things. It's more so about how estranged I feel from the people who spout these things, knowing that they think they're speaking for me and my supposed needs as a tranny. But I see no point in trying to educate them, as they won't listen any more to me than they would to a radfem, and again, I think this post in my screenshots shows just how unwilling they are to listen to me.

I guess living with my transition on constant display is what's hard, and I guess I just need to vent about that, as it's always judged one way or the other; as either me having made myself into a man, or that I'm a delusional woman who mutilated herself; and it's kinda hard to find a kind and sane middle ground, that perhaps I'm just a victim of circumstances, and trying to make the most of my own life, regardless of what the fuck I am. That social shit, on top of dealing with dysphoria, makes it really difficult to not hate myself, I guess. But I have tried to live stealth and that made it if possible even worse, as it felt like I was lying, keeping a huge secret that grew in me like a spreading virus.

What I want is to just live my life, and for neither my bio sex, nor my transition, to stop me from doing that. I want to work through the worst of my autism, enough to be able to pursue a career in some low-paying labor, blue-collar job; get a car and driver's licence, find a suitable husband to have a child and cats with; I want my own garden, an art studio; I want to build muscle to become strong and even more independent (and perhaps strong enough to carry that husband, but at least to carry myself), and so on. When I picture myself in that potential future, it is with this male-like appearance I transitioned my body into, but it is also as a mother and wife.

And thinking about all of that makes me happy, it makes me smile and feel joy, meaningfulness, hope... While thinking about arguing online with some miserable fuck, who's deadset on arguing semantics and calling me a terf, when all I wanted was to show a little bit of kindness, that "hey, I agree with you, you make a good point here, and I'm not here to fight" only to be spat right back into my face... just makes me feel sad. Whatever happened to diversity of opinion? It's gone, it became labeled as bad, and left people like me with no place to be.

There is no point in arguing with such people, or even trying not to argue. There's no winning in that, there's no reward, no accomplishment. It's better to walk away.

I know I just have to get over this, this inner conflict of going against my transness with my gender critical opinions, and that I'm going against my womanhood with my transition - and be stronger than the political climate that's pulling me into pieces. But if it's peace that I want... I can just forget about it. There's no road there. But I have trouble letting go of that simple dream. The internet is constantly manipulating me into thinking I have an exciting social life, when in fact it's non-existent, and the lie is destructive. With internet vs real life, I'm living a double life. One of those lives has a future, the other one does not.

I'm glad I made this rant. It actually made me feel better, and reminded me that it's still worth it. Being trans, moving forward, focusing on what is good and what can become good in life. And it reminded me that the internet is merely an imitation of life, a substitute for human connection, and can... as with much else, be both good and bad.

#discourse #venting #tired of being pulled in opposing directions #because im not the right kinda trans #or the right kinda feminist #i have to live with myself and i dont know how #focusing back on what actually matters in life #just thoughts #gender politics #ok to rb

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scottpetersen · 3 years

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Hi there everyone. This is my first tumblr post so I hope I leave a good first impression. Anyway, I’m a big fan of Geoff Johns’ Green Lantern comic book run and also a big fan of Elena of Avalor. Before I continue, fore those of you who don’t know, lantern corps that use lantern rings that are powered by different emotions. I’ve seen quite a few fan made pictures and essays throughout Google, Deviantart, and Tumblr about what lantern corps would be best suited for certain Disney characters like some of the Disney Princesses, Disney Princes, Jack Skellington, Stitch and the like but I’ve never seen one picture or essay of the lantern corps dedicated to characters from Elena of Avalor so I figured why not make one of my own for both myself and everyone else to enjoy. For now, I’ve decided to mainly focus on the characters of Princess Elena and her immediate family and friends because there’s just too many characters to go around. Also, for personal reasons, I’ve decided to look at their characters as they are before Coronation Day. This was also inspired by @lanternringsonallthethings Lantern Corps Phineas and Ferb post. Be sure to check out his tumble posts. With that out of the way, let’s move on to my lantern corps choices.

Princess Elena would belong to: The Red Lantern Corps of Rage. Elena has immense amounts of rage in her. She’s been driven by revenge ever since Shuriki killed her parents and inadvertently sealed her inside a mystical amulet. In Secret of Avalor, after she was freed, she tried killing Shuriki with her own wand and the spell she used to kill her parents. In the song of ‘The Right To Do’, she said she’ll never forgive Shuriki for what she’s taken from her clearly referring to her parents. Also, in The Magic Within, when she found out about her cousin Esteban’s previous betrayal she proposed and voted to have him spend the rest of his life in isolation on Soledad Island (Soledad literally translates to loneliness by the way) and any other sights of him filled her with immense rage. Side Note: I’m curious as to how the ring will affect her emotion magic.

Princess Isabel would be best suited for: The Blue Lantern Corps of Hope. Despite being traumatized by her parents’ deaths like her sister Elena, Isabel still finds hope in exploring and puts a lot of faith in science.

Naomi Turner would be best suited for: The Green Lantern Corp of Willpower. Naomi has never been afraid to voice her own opinion in the Grand Council despite her lack of experience and is willing to follow through on her intuition even when everyone else is skeptical. This shows she has the ability to overcome great fear. That’s the exact trait a green lantern ring finds in a worthy user.

Mateo’s love and passion for his friends and loved ones had allowed him to overcome his fear of failure and become a true royal wizard.

As captain of the guard, Gabe has proven he has the will to bravely lead his men and march into for the sake of both Elena and Avalor.

Sorry to leave so abruptly but I’ve apparently reached the 10 image limit. You’ll see the rest in my second post. Since it’s my second ever you won’t miss it.

#elena of avalor #lantern corps #princess elena #esteban flores #naomi turner #mateo de alva #gabriel nunez #isabel castillo flores #francisco flores #luisa flores

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jasminsssiii · 3 years

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The One Who Cared The Most

This is gonna be my long ass thoughts of Rang’s character so if you’re also invested to our pyscho baby fox buckle your seatbelt, be furious and cry with me.

From the beginning I already knew that Rang would be a goner because that’s what always happen to my favorite characters ha. But man they gave him such a beautiful character growth I was still caught off guard in the end even though the death flags were everywhere. I tried my best to ignore it hoping the writer is on her right mind but no. His character was written so well it will never be easy to let him go.

Rang was left by his mother to die and abandoned by his brother for romance. He spent hundreds of years alone, missing his brother, and being a puppet. It would’ve been better if yeon just killed him on their encounter I bet that is what he also wished for deep inside. In the beginning yeon can’t figure out how he changed so much from being a kid who cannot ignore an injured puppy to someone who is okay in killing anyone. Yeon cannot figure it out because he was dismissive of his feelings all those years but I as a viewer saw that he didn’t changed at all. It’s just that his brother didn’t pay attention. It was proven by the following episodes where we saw him rescued the puppy and go all soft to soo oh (black puppy huhu). Even in the spin off episodes we were given a glimpse of how lonely he was but still cared deep inside. He didn’t get much enough love and care, but he was able to share and give it to others especially to Yuri and Soo Oh. Just like yeon said “love is passed on in an uncanny way”. He was still a kid trapped in an adult’s body who was traumatized but tried to cover it up by troubling his brother who in reality he yearns to be with the most.

It became more painful when we started to see him finally become genuinely happy. He was freed from the contract and fixed his relationship with his brother. He was able to become and act like his true self. A person who is all smiles and only looks up at his brother. But as always, it didn’t last long. He was stabbed by the person he trusts the most and his brother was fixated on saving his lover. In episode 11 when they switched we even learned that he was convinced that the reason yeon chose jiah was because she didn’t cling to her family tragedy unlike him. How I wished yeon told him that his pain was justified because he did abandon him. It felt like he only started to care for rang when he had something to do with jiah urghh I’m so mad.

Now let’s jump to the last 2 episodes. It was such a painful watch. A very painful one. He finally got his brother back, has a kid to take care of, but got caught up in a mess again due to his brother’s romance. It was so sad to see yeon asked him to be the one to kill him, what yeon did was just add more trauma to rang. He knows himself he cannot do it but due to his love for his brother he was able to. His scream and sobs were so painful to see, the way he wiped his brother’s blood in his hand was too much for me to handle. Now to the last episode, I WAS COMPLETELY DEVASTATED AND I KNOW WE ALL ARE. He suffered alone for 600 years but got only to be happy for 6 months. He finally got his newfound family who takes care of him, who makes him laugh, who he eats meals with, who he watches tv with, who he walks on night outside with, who sends him off when he goes out and welcomes him back when he goes home. He already got it all and I bet even though they tried to make us believe that he still wanted to bring yeon back but we all know that he would’ve eventually moved on with the help of his new family.

Rang’s sacrifice was so unnecessary and I will be always frustrated with the way they made him go. The writer just showed that jiah and yeon’s romance was more important than rang’s happiness with his family. He wasn’t even able to say a proper goodbye to them. A final hug would’ve been more painful but I still wanted it. All he was able to do was leave them with a smile. Just like what yeon said he must have been scared being alone T.T but I know the sight of his family coming to him comforted him at least. Kim Bum’s acting was so brilliant there he got no lines but I knew what Rang wanted to say. That he is happy that there were people who truly cared for him and will cry for him. He is relieved that he will be at ease leaving them because he knew yuri and soo oh are in good hands with shinju. That although their time was short it was one of the best he had. “In my next life I hope I’ll meet you again as my family”. He even had their picture as his wallpaper oh god made the scene 1000x sadder.

Here comes the video message scene. It took me 3 days to gather my thoughts about it but it still hurts until now. The background music that was playing just made it worse. First I just want to talk about how his phone is full of photos of yuri, soo oh, and shinju he really wanted to cherish their moments together. His message to yeon oh god I still cry about it every time I think of it and when I see posts on it. The word “Hyeong” automatically echoes inside my mind. The way he tried to play it off and be cool about it but ended up a sobbing mess. I like how he said he will not apologize for troubling his brother because he was the bigger jerk since it was true. What made it 10000x tragic was that Rang wasn’t ready to let go. He wanted to stay so much and experience the life he had always been dreaming off. He wanted to call yeon “hyeong” many times. He wanted to live so much. He didn’t want to give up at that moment (I will hate the writer forever with this). Seriously, I can’t even talk about it without crying because Rang deserves so much better. The smile he gave one last time was full of regret, sadness, fear, relief, and hope that they will meet again in his next life (someone give kim bum his oscar please). His character was used as a scapegoat to bring the leads their happy ending. I totally feel cheated by the writer on this one they almost made me believe in the first 30 mins of the last episode that they will spare him but nah.

To conclude, Lee Rang was such a beautifully written character and well executed by Kim Bum that it will stay with me for a long time. Regardless of the things he did wrong even though he was sometimes a jerk (which was justifiable) we all know that he was just yearning for his brother’s love. Rang, if only given the chance will love and care for others without reservation even if the ones, he loves the most will not return the same feeling in the same degree. His passing, though a cause of my gut wrenching sobs, was beautiful. I so wanted him to learn to embrace love again and I’m glad at least he died knowing that he did something meaningful. I’ll just take comfort to the idea that he died knowing that he was loved and that he, too, loved well.

#tale of the nine tailed #It will take a long time for me to move on from this #they did rang so dirty I'm gonna fight anyone who slanders him #lee rang #kim bum

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dragon-shifter-life · 3 years

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Slight color changes are not indicative of a shift. There are many reasons as to why you might see a ‘different’ color. Most often this is due to lighting. For example If it’s sunny, natural light may make colors more warm toned. Even with basic white artificial light, it may be hard to tell the true color of something. The angle at which you look at things is also a factor. People from the ‘p-shifting community’ are always claiming they’ve shifted in one way or another. If you’re telling the truth you should show proof. Like the other anon said, how can people ever be expected to believe you when there is zero evidence backing your claims? Have you considered how harmful this can be to children learning about otherkin? Many have been taken in by cults, making them think if they just practice they too can transform. There are still people out there who think that the earth is flat despite they’re being pictures of the earth. The only “evidence” flat earth era have is that they cannot see the curvature of the earth. So clearly it must be impossible to prove the earth is round. But as we know, it’s impossible to see the curve of the earth due to our small size compared to the earth and how close we are to it. With an unobstructed view even it’s possible to see a fraction of the curve. I know you aren’t going to listen to what I have to say but you should consider the facts. Think of shifting as a science experiment, a hypothesis, rather than a fact of which it isn’t. Or until it can be proven. And if I’m being honest, you watch too much TV. No one is going to experiment you or hunt you. You are a human being. I do not doubt that you are otherkin but your physical body is human. If people were allowed to do so and kill freely then there would be anarchy. But there’s not. Of course there are criminals here and there, crime is present virtually everywhere. But you’re not going to have the government coming to your house because you *think* you grew a scale or your skin changed it’s tone slightly. And even if you were able to completely transform, biologically you are a human. Let’s say I take a ball of clay and I sculpt it into a coin. Maybe I paint it silver as well. I can’t just go to a store and pay for something with it. Does it look like a coin? Does it maybe feel like one? Certainly. But it’s not a coin. It’s clay and paint and it will always be that no matter what form it takes. Do you think trans people get experimented on just because they identify as the opposite gender? No of course not. And neither do otherkin of any kind. There has not been ONE otherkin that has ever been captured or hunted because of what they identified as. Any people that claim someone is a hunter is clearly a child who’s been manipulated into believing in them or an adult who’s trying to pass on those false claims. You’d really have to be extremely paranoid to believe in such a thing. You may as well believe in the boogey man or bigfoot. Honestly unicorns are more likely to exist than otherkin hunters.

I think there is a misunderstanding here. I definitely do think that shifting should be seen as a science to be studied, and I'm majoring in biology to study just that. On the biological level, our cells undergo a lot of changes- shifts, if you will- just being a part of our bodies. Stem cells, for example, transform and become whatever cell is needed in the body when they're needed. Stem cells are our microscopic shape shifters in everybody. Production of things like hair are regulated by hormones in your body, which is why men tend to have more body hair; it's regulated by testosterone. This works by telling a cell to activate and read a certain portion of the DNA in your cells that cause hair growth.

Now let's talk about scales for a second: scales are made of keratin. The skin on your body is keratinized skin, meaning it produces keratin. This is what makes your skin waterproof. Among the dragon shifters I've met, we all have a skin condition called keratosis pilaris, which is an excess of keratin in our skin that collects around hair follicles. I have a hypothesis that I intend to study and test empirically, but don't yet have the equipment to do so, that there is a connection between shifters that produce scales and keratosis pilaris.

As you can see, there is preliminary evidence to support this hypothesis, even though it's not yet been thoroughly studied. And this is how all science starts out. There's something that exists that suggests something, and it gets studied, repeatable experiments are performed, and the hypothesis becomes accepted as fact. I'm not approaching this like a conspiracy theorist, I've long wanted to study shifting empirically and develop factual evidence to provide to the public. As a personal rule, I would not ask anyone to do or endure anything that I wouldn't do or endure myself, and all studies would be done safely and humanely.

As for my skin color change, this is what's called anecdotal evidence. I wouldn't have claimed this as fact if I didn't see such changes in artificial lighting that I have seen my skin in many times before, and only sometimes have I seen it a different color. At these times, I've felt particularly like I was going to shift or like a shift was starting. While anecdotal evidence is considered impermissible in most situations, it can provide the basis for further studying and experimentation to figure out why it happens.

Also, I don't think otherkin are shifters. In my eyes, otherkin and shifters are different. You can be a shifter and be otherkin for a creature other than that which you transform into, but not every otherkin can shift. It is dangerous to spread information that suggests that, and I agree with those statements.

Let me rephrase the privacy topic and lack of evidence. There is a correct way to reveal the existence of shifters to the public. If done correctly, things will likely go the best way that they can, with the least amount of abuse of the information as possible. However, you have to recognize that even with mundane issues, such as racism and homophobia, people who are people and nothing more are being killed, arrested, abused, and otherwise mistreated in 2021. Shifters can logically expect the same, if not worse, because it would be much easier for people to call us less than human. These are real threats to the community, whether you think so or not. You cannot deny the violations of human rights in our modern world. Again, I won't deny the improvements within the past hundred years, but we're still far from perfect. So yes, we fear for our lives and safety of our identities are revealed and things are revealed to be true.

Posting anonymously online helps us find others like us and build a community, and yes we're aware of hackers and how easy it is to find your identity, but most people are going to see us as liars as you and the other 10 anons in my inbox have.

I have always and will always respect skepticism. I understand that it's difficult to believe something as truth with no evidence. But understanding that most shifters dont have the means to collect evidence, don't have the knowledge to explain it in a factual manner, or don't have the resources to study themselves and provide sufficient evidence can help you understand that it's not so easy to give you the evidence you require to quell your skepticism.

To the other anons, your asks may have been answered here as well. I appreciate the anons who are at least somewhat respectful in their requests for more information and seem receptive to the idea of a response that may sufficiently rebuttal some of their claims.

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marshmallowprotection · 3 years

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Kait Reacts To The AE 5/?

Hi! These reactions are written out every time a Chatroom opens and it’s done over the course of the day. So, you’re watching me react in real time as it is for me. So, Spoilers AHOY. Expect Another post like this later today, there is just too many chats to put it all in one post. So, hey, if you click this, you’re opening yourself to spoilers, you make the choice.

[11:37]

Rika is with Saeyoung. They sent him over and there’s no denying that fact. She sends a picture not even a second after we can enter the chatroom and lets us know that he’s with him. I didn’t know that it would happen this fast and my real fear right now was something I thought about when they took Saeyoung in the first place and he was willing to go down for Saeran and the player. My brain said, when they send him to Rika, this is going to be like what happened in the Hunger Games with Peeta and the tracker jackers. I know that he’s going to tell lies and be willing to go along with it, but this is Rika.

Rika will manipulate and hurt others to get what she wants. I don’t care if she says she’s changed. She’s showing us who she really is and how she has not changed in the slightest, and now it’s even worse because we have to go up against her once again and V. V, I’m not even going to get started. You’ve dug a hole in the sand and shoved your head in, no matter what happens, you would never be able to remove Saeran or Saeyoung from the agency, the Prime Minister or Rika.

Rika makes her point really clear. She says that the boys will never be able to change their fate or escape. The Prime Minister wants to use them and it does not matter what happens, they’re going to come after Saeran. They’re going to keep them “healthy” enough to go out in public and lie to the media and the world about what’s really happening. Saejoong promised the agency a lot of money and things are going to burn down if we cannot change anything. We have a good picture.

The boys are going to be kept captive until they die, or serve their purpose. I’m just so fucking angry right now at Rika and everyone that uses these poor boys because they don’t fucking deserve this. Stop making me right with my guesses, Cheritz. I guess I know Rika better than I want. What stands out the most is the fact that Rika does this after you say that you don’t trust her with the boys:

Rika: I know why you think that.

Rika: But Now...

Rika: I have no intention of repeating my past failures.

And then, she does this and that tells me all I need to know:

It wasn’t enough that Saeyoung was willing to burn to ashes in the light of your sun, Rika. You’re going to do to him what you did to Saeran. You haven’t at all changed and you’ve proven to me what kind of person you are. This isn’t okay and it will never okay. This isn’t what they want and if you really cared for both Saeyoung and Saeran, you wouldn’t be doing this. You wouldn’t be trying to do this at all.

You would be helping us.

Not making deals.

Anyways... after I nearly snapped my phone in half because Rika was getting on my nerves again. I opened the Visual Novel. We’re meeting with Vanderwood now to talk about what happened... yeah, the trust is very thin here but it’s all we have and got to do what we can. Vanderwood makes it clear that he’s with Rika and that yes, they’ll be after Saeran once they get Elizabeth.

So, Elly is in danger now. But, we can’t worry about that right now. We have to worry about Saeyoung. Vanderwood reveals that Saeyoung is being kept at V’s place in the mountains, there’s agents in and out constantly. My trust in V is so low right now because he can’t change what’s happening, he’s just letting it go on and... I’m upset with him, I’m disappointed, and it’s complicated. Trust me, leaving a bad relationship isn’t easy but his eyes are dark and sullen.

He’s resigned himself and I don’t know if he can come back from this anymore.

Either way, Vanderwood is willing to sneak us into the place. It’s going to be easy for Saeran, but... sorry players that don’t identify as female, but it says that female agents aren’t common and we’re going to have to split up. As in, we can’t be with Saeran by his side. We’ll have to be with Vanderwood and use them as a cover to sneak in.

What’s worse is Saeran... knows that with the drugs, they’re going to try and really warp Saeyoung like they did to him. I fear for him

I really don’t want to separate from him. But, it’s all we have to do. Saeran asks if we want to go back to C&R again, but I just. I can’t leave him. I don’t know if it is the right thing to do here, but if we’re going down, we’re going down together and I can’t leave him alone. We’ve always been in this together and we need to see it through to the end.

I just... there’s agents switching out every two days. It’s like a prison. I don’t even know what to think. We have to part. Saeran doesn’t want to do it. I want to hold his hand, like I said, I’ve told him that we’re in this together and that gives me a heart so that’s a good thing. All I know is that we’re clinging together with this hope that we can be together and Saeyoung will be safe too...

And then we cut back to the boardroom of C&R. They’re planning on getting rid of Chairman Han and Jumin. They know that there’s not really any way to come back from what’s happening right now. Everyone thinks that they shouldn’t have even done this because the Prime Minister is involved with a lot of shady groups and they’re not wrong. It’s looking bad for Jumin. I don’t know how this is going to turn out to be honest with you.

I’m worried about everyone.

[13:15]

Oh, boy. This was a heavy chatroom and visual novel. I cannot even express to you what was going on inside of my head because I’m still reeling from what’s to happening and what’s to come and what may not come. I don’t know, I actually thought I hit bad ending when I got to the visual novel but I didn’t, so it must be the natural order of what’s happening. Anyway, Jumin’s awake now and he is... I don’t know how he keeps himself together, I envy that. He says he will not show his feelings in this messenger where the enemies can see it.

But, he’s been stabbed in the back by the people he trusted most, and he’s losing everything that he ever had, and he still wishes that he could do more to help Saeran and Saeyoung. We can’t tell them completely what happened, not really, you can say what you know about the deal with the Prime Minister but not much else. You need to make sure that you’re watching what you share. The video that Saeyoung did... they saw it, and it’s just... wrecking everything so fast and hard.

Zen actually tries to reach out to Jumin but... he says in a text later than he’s never seen him so broken up before. I hate to see it. I really do. I don’t want that for them but we’re crashing right now and I’m struggling to see how we’re going to get our way out. Jumin wants answers from his father so he has to leave and see him about the deal with Seven, etc. We wish him the best but... God, I feel bad.

This Visual Novel makes you hate and scream and cry all at the same time. There is just too much happening all at once for me to deal with it, to be utterly honest with you. Jumin goes to the board and he resigns before they can get him off the job. He takes everything. He takes all of the blame. He says that it is his fault. He was leading the RFA. He was doing this, he was doing that. He takes it and lets it be. It kind of hurts, he’s keeping it all balled up inside at this point and... I don’t know.

I hate to see it. He’s doing this... and he needs to see his father, now. I have a hard time trying to think about how Jumin is going to come out of this. I don’t know how he’s going to react because... with V’s Route and Secret Endings, it was a lot different and it was more fixated on Rika. It wasn’t like this. It wasn’t him being stabbed by Rika, V, the Prime Minister, and the Agency. He risked all he has and all he knows for us.

He always will.

Don’t ever doubt that faith he has in the RFA.

I just... hate to see him hurting when he wants to continue to help us no matter the cost.

We go with Vanderwood and Saeran has gone his own way for the time being so we can get things done... or so we want to think. I was really kind of rooting for you, Vanderwood, but I’m not upset that you wound up tricking me here for your life. They make it clear they’ll do things but they’re not gonna die for anyone or anything. I’m upset but I’m not mad at them like I’m mad at Rika or V right now cause I know what they’re up against.

To be fair, I’m not totally... well, I think Vanderwood let Saeran get away here, but we also know that we can be used as leverage against Saeran. It’s kind of hard to say where it’s heading from here. I’m straining, but I know that Rika is going to try to manipulate us to get Saeran too. I refuse. At least Vanderwood felt a bit of remorse for this.

But, Rika? No. Not with what I see. She planned this out. They all knew what they could do if they got Saeran and us. However, they only got us. But, I know this woman is going to use that to get what she wants. I don’t know what to expect but maybe we can find Saeyoung and... talk to him, I don’t know how he will be or how might play out because... the drugs.

I’m still trying to discern what poisons she’s using but I’ve yet to discern what type of plants are involved in my research thus far when I’m not writing out these as I’m playing.

I can’t leave out the phone call because. V calls. V calls and he’s... I don’t know what the heck is up with him. I don’t know how... I don’t know what’s going on in his head and that really bothers me. This chat has two notes in it that really are bothering me. They are on opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of what he is doing. I’m having a hard time trying to read V and this is a first for me because I’m used to knowing what he is going to do but I’ve hit a wall.

There is a part of him that knows this is wrong. But, he is denying his reality as he lets Rika into his heart thinking this is the only way to save her and to ensure nothing worse happens. I don’t know how much he’s lying to himself here about this. I think he’s just... lost, broken and. It’s hard to say, if this was all he said to me then I wouldn’t be so livid. If you know it’s wrong, stop this, stop doing all of this and stop Rika, V.

You know it’s not right. Stop letting this happen.

How am I supposed to feel about this V? You act like you’re caring but then you tell me something you would have told Rika years ago...? You like to watch me? What the fuck does that even mean? I’m not interested in what you’re selling to me here and I don’t want this. I won’t give up Saeran nor will I let Rika have him, I don’t know what’s wrong with you and why you’ve become who you have, I do not know nor did I ever think this was the extreme length of what you would do for Rika.

I never thought you’d be an active player in this. But, you are. So, I’m torn here quite a bit and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust you again, V. You said you want Saeran to come. You know what happens if he does. I will not let that ever happen. Nobody will get him.

God, what’s worse is:

Of course. Saeyoung isn’t going to be the same if Rika gets her way, and we both know it. He’s not going to “stay that way” because she’s going to get him everything she did to Saeran and more. I’m not going to let that happen, either, I’m not going to let these boys hurt. I’m not changing my mind. Nobody is going to trick me with mind games. Been there, done that, Rika is about two decades too late.

Yikes, you know? What the hell, man.

[15:33] Vanderwood is in trouble. They were meant to give us both over but he made sure that Saeran was gone and safe. We were the easier option hand over since we don’t really hold a lot of power or use in a way, they just need us to be able to get to Saeran and that makes sense, frankly.

They’re... forlorn in a way, and I was right, they are willing to go out on a limb but they’re not going to die. They have been living this long and did whatever it took to survive.

From a personal safety means, I understand why they’re doing it. I know that they do feel remorse. So, that sucks. I want to be able to help them too because they rightly deserve to be out of this. Oh, and we learn that they’ve been at this for twelve years, so in my mental game of trying to gauge their age, I’m roughly gonna say late-late twenties and early thirties.

So, that’s something fun that we’re learning here! I don’t think I’m that far off, they said “Since they were young,” so that implies that they went through what Saeyoung went through. Saeyoung went in when he was really young as well so I have to gauge their age using that scale, you know?

Well, I have to at least say that I better understand them than I did before and I learned a lot from this conversation.

Oh, great. It’s my favorite time of day. Not. We’re sitting down with Rika and she’s made a point of warning us not to bother with Saeyoung. He’s getting to sleep while they’re pumping him with... I don’t know if we can call it the elixir but it’s something of the same caliber because Saeran is nearly immune to it after it was laced in the elixir. He took it so long that his tolerance of such is slim to none and that’s why their plan didn’t work from the start. Rika knows that Saeran isn’t going to leave us or Saeyoung.

I won’t feed into her, and I’ve noticed that I’ve gotten hearts when I’m utterly blunt with Rika. I appreciate that. This is a much better tone than what I had to deal with in V’s AE. I don’t want to forgive her and I never will, because she is proving to do this over and over again until she’s forced to stop, literally, by being taken away.

I have a better idea of what’s going on with Rika now, though, thanks to her being her usual self. She tells outright what she’s thinking right now and makes her phone clear that she thinks she’s fulfilling Saeyoung’s dream, but we see the truth in her lies. This isn’t about Saeyoung. You can tell her that bluntly. This is not the boy’s dream. This is what you want. This was never about them. This is about what you want.

You’re doing this for you and not the boys. If you tell her that, she sighs, and makes a point about how the world is harsh. She says if you want to be knocked down then you should bend, and if you want to be strong, then that means that you need to join the strongest, no matter how much that means the monsters are... the worst people alive.

She says she and V decided to do this. I’m still trying to figure out V here but I’m not going to trust him anymore. I know I can’t trust Rika. I’ve known that from the very start. Rika just says that this is a waiting game after this, she says it’s only a matter of time until Saeran comes... tonight... tomorrow. It matters not, he is going to come and she will have him as she wants him. It ends with her telling us to wait, shall we?

Oh, and Jumin’s new of resigning is on television, we know now. We know things are doomed.

I’m relieved after this wave of nausea, because Saeran calls. He escaped because of Vanderwood and he’s back to C&R. Nobody knows where he is and it needs to stay that way. He talked to Jumin. He’s made sure that nobody can try to trace him. Saeran thinks that Jumin is going to continue to try to help us just without C&R funds... and I expect that, I think. But at the same time, I’m really worried given what Zen said earlier.

Saeran’s decided that the way to save Saeyoung is defeating Saejoong and the agency, and I agree. Our future has no hope unless they burn. He does his best to reassure us. He knows that they won’t hurt us... he wants to think they won’t hurt us because they want him, and until they have him, they can’t do anything to us.

I think what I fear the most here is that... they’re not going to let me go. I know he wants to be hopeful but. They’re not going to let me go if they catch him. It’s obvious they’ll kill me and get me out of the way the second they get the chance, or worse, they’ll use the player as leverage to get Saeran to obey onward until the drugs are back in his system like they’re trying to do to Saeyoung or—

God, what if they try to drug us, too?

What if we’re pawns as well?

It isn’t up to V and Rika, after all. This is the Prime Minister.

#KaitReactsToTheAE #Kait Reacts To The AE #saeran after ending #SaeranAfterEnding #spoilers #spoiler #mm #mysme #mystic messenger #mysticmessenger #saeran #saeran choi #choi saeran #mystic messenger saeran #mysme saeran #saeran mysme #saeran mm #mm saeran #saeran mystic messenger

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airquietworks · 4 years

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Farewell to a Rose (Steven Universe Oneshot)

Summary: Post-“I Am My Monster.” As Steven prepares to leave home and journey the country, he carefully plans his farewells. He knows it will be difficult, but he feels ready. But there is one goodbye that he especially fears. A goodbye that holds a special, dread-filled place in his heart. “Hi, Mom. We should talk.”

________________________________________________________________

The door emblazoned with the Crystal Gems' signature star had never looked so terrifying.

The temple's door was menacing, towering above him, its ancient symbols foreboding. With the gems away, he knew what lay beyond would be lifeless. The only thing he would find would be painful reminders.

Once upon a time, Steven Universe would have done anything to go through those doors and uncover the temple's secrets. It held a powerful, siren-like mystique, reflective of his perspective on the Crystal Gems themselves. He wanted to enter their rooms, enter their world and be part of it.

It was strange, looking back, when he now felt a desperate urge to run far, far away. Soon, he would. But he had to take care of his affairs first.

A familiar, calloused hand squeezed his.

"You sure you're ready for this?"

He glanced sidelong towards his companion, his friend, his better half, his soulmate - words that had been tried but always seemed so inadequate for the depth of their bond. Connie's eyes bore intently into him, gauging him with concern. It was not an uncommon glance from her these past few months. He had made a reluctant peace with the need for it.

"I talked it over with my therapist. She thinks it should be okay."

"You keep saying that. But do you think it's okay, right now? You don't have to go through with this."

A part of him, growing more and more distressed by the moment, wanted to heed those words. To walk away with Connie and go do something fun. To just run, retreat and forget about this absurd idea.

To be content with what peace he had once found in the knowledge that he was not her. Of course, fleeing is exactly the kind of thing she would do.

"I have to do this." He stared forward, resolute, concentrating hard on making the door seem less frightening. "For me."

Connie squeezed his hand again, before letting go. She managed a small smile, but it did not quite reach her eyes. "Alright. Just keep in mind you can leave there at any time. And I'll be right here waiting when it's over."

He beamed back at her, feeling a powerful surge of affection rise through him, eternally grateful about the strange twists of fate that had brought her into his universe - and her insistence on staying there through it all. He reached out and grabbed her hand, leaning over to plant a quick peck on her cheek.

"Thanks, Connie," he said, voice steady, using his lightened heart to let go and plunge forward into Rose's room.

"...Don't mention it," he heard Connie reply lowly before the door to the outside world slammed shut behind him.

The bright, white and pink cloudscape of his mother's magical space never failed to take his breath away. At first glance, there was always something strangely calming about the endless expanse. It was not a forced sort of emotion, as he felt when Blue Diamond hit him with happy-filled clouds. It was a more natural reaction, like the sensation of coming home, into a space that belonged to you.

But as with all the things his mother left behind, there was more going on beneath the surface.

Steven took a deep breath. In. Out. He clasped his hands in front of him, finding some semblance of his centre to brace himself for the storm that would come.

He closed his eyes. Without a word, he summoned her.

The sound of the wooshing movement of the clouds was far too fast. A poof rang loudly in his ears, heralding the birth of the being from his mind's eye. The beginning of a difficult farewell.

Steven opened his eyes again to see the face he had been dreading. There she was, still tall and mighty as ever, but with a serene grace that could put people at ease. Her long, pink curls, her flowy, white dress, and her wide, calming smile combined to create what he still found to be an unparalleled picture of beauty.

He gulped, squinting his eyes. She was still hard to look at, but he had come too far to turn away now.

"Hi, Mom. We should talk."

Her gentle, happy expression did not shift in the slightest. "Of course, Steven. I would love to talk."

With a sigh, Steven stepped toward the image of his mother, who mirrored his footsteps. He stopped until they were a couple of feet apart, the wondrous warmth of her eyes more easily felt. He blushed under her gaze, before sitting down cross-legged, the softness of the clouds living up to metaphor.

Rose mimicked him again, shifting her form to sit across from him. She clasped her wide, gentle-looking hands before her, motioning her head slightly, asking him to speak.

Steven took in a deep breath. It was Rose who spoke first.

"Steven, I just wanted to say, I'm sorry." The smile ran away from her face and her gaze faltered away from him. A deep frown, unlike any he had ever seen on her, blossomed upon her visage. Her hands shifted, fingers tapping along the folds of her dress. "I put you through so much because of what I did. I never meant for any of that, but I'm sorry."

"I knew you would be," Steven replied simply. He dug his fingers into his jeans but did his utmost to keep his face neutral. He did not know how long he would be able to keep this going. He feared what might happen if he released all of the emotions that were desperate to burst out of him at once.

Rose darted her eyes upwards, glancing at him for a moment, before turning away to stare out in the clouds. "You did so much better than anyone could expect. You've done so much more than I ever could have dreamed of. You...you took care of them, Steven. Better than I did."

She looked towards him again, the glowing smile returning to her face once more.

"I'm so proud of you."

Steven took a shuddery breath at those words, gulping back the difficult mixture of joy and sorrow they evoked.

"You know, once, I would have done anything to hear you say that." He watched as his mother leaned back slightly, neutral again, taking in every word he said intently. "I wanted so badly to live up to everything you were. To be strong like you, kind like you, to love like you. I was always chasing your legacy."

He reached over to lift his black undershirt, displaying the pink gem she bestowed to him. He noticed her eyebrows quirk up, her head tilting slightly as she copied him, shifting her own hands to rest closer to her uncovered gem.

"You gave me everything you were. It was a lot to live up to."

"I never wanted that. I just wanted you, to be you, Steven. I knew you'd be extraordinary and special no matter what you decided. I loved everything and anything you could be."

An unfortunate, prickly mist started to form in his eyes. He took another couple of breaths, trying to rein in the haywire emotions of his inner-child, that part of him that just wanted to leap into her arms and let her endlessly whisper such sweet compliments to him. He could see her smiling gently under his watery gaze, as sure a pillar as there ever was.

But he knew she would crumble.

"It didn't matter what you wanted," Steven murmured after a while. He rubbed a sleeve across his eyes, composing himself. He unchained another part of his feelings toward her. Dangerous as those feelings could be - had proven to be - he knew it was necessary.

He affixed with her a contemptuous glare, pouring his anger into his look, mind flashing to all the times he had been attacked for being part of her legacy. He watched as her eyes widened, her hands falling to her sides. She leaned back as if pushed by an invisible force.

"Everyone saw you in me, whether you wanted it or not. I couldn't choose to be your son. I had to live with your mistakes - and fix them because you chose not too."

"Steven, I-"

"But I thought I had gotten past that. That I finally understood that I wasn't you." He rose to his feet, the buried feelings forcing him to stand. The bright lights of the rooms faded, reading his mood, as dark clouds began to roll in. "After everything I saw, I didn't want to be like you anymore."

She stood up with him as the sky above started to drizzle. Her face lost any trace of its usual calm, her eyes lighting up in alarm, her mouth forming into a grimace that seemed wholly alien on her. Her hair started to shift upward, charged by some unseen energy, her curls losing their perfection.

"I never wanted you to be like me!" Rose shouted at him, her voice rising with the storm, her eyes darting to and fro with uncertainty at the shifting clouds around them. "I wanted you to be you. I wanted you to be something different."

Steven balled his hands into fists, His fingers punctured into the skin of his palms, stinging slightly, keeping him grounded in the moment. A bolt of lightning punctured through the room, bathing everything in a flash. The roaring boom of thunder that followed startled Rose, causing her to jump slightly.

The space had unravelled faster than he anticipated. He had less time for the nostalgic image of his mother than he realized.

He took one last glance at her face. He noticed tears starting to leak at her eyes, matching his own again, mixing with the rain splashing down on both of them. It was cold. She tried to give him a shaky smile, reaching a hand out halfheartedly, as if waiting for a command to rush over and comfort him.

Steven turned his back to her, unable to face the broken image any longer.

"But I wasn't over it. And then I started making so many mistakes, just like you did."

The ground shook beneath him. He looked down to see cracks forming beneath the surface, destabilizing the foundation of the room. Steven planted his feet more firmly into the floor, intent on not losing his footing. The rain poured harder, soaking him from head to toe, embedding a chill onto his skin.

"I did what I had to to be free."

He turned around to regard her once more. There she was, tall, thinly, wearing a regal pink gown with a strange, perfectly quaffed ball of hair atop her head. Pink Diamond.

Gone was any fleeting sense of warmth he could find from the image of Rose Quartz. All he could feel was an icy disdain when he looked at the person his mother - that he - once was. The rain splashed across her cheeks but did not sully her perfectly symmetrical face. She answered his glare, staring down at him from on high.

Before he knew what was happening, Steven could feel his rage at the figure erupt within him, unmitigated by any semblance of a child's love.

"You ran away from all your problems." He took a step forward, pointing a finger at her, the ground rumbling beneath his feet once more. Pink's face suddenly lost its composure, her eyes widening with fear as she stepped away from him. She cried out as she lost her footing, stumbling backwards, but managing to stop herself by kneeling.

"You turned yourself into someone else to get away from everything, and then did it again by having me!"

"No, Steven, that's not true!" Pink tried to retort, but stopped, her voice suddenly vanishing from her lips. Her image flickered for a moment, her head momentarily becoming that of Rose Quartz again, appearing unsettlingly pudgy atop Pink's body, an image out of a funhouse mirror.

"I told myself I wasn't like you. That I was something different. I wouldn't abandon anyone like you did." His hand flew to his face, squeezing as his tears flowed freely. He maintained his glare at her between the spaces of his fingers. A half-sob shuddered through him, the lightning booming in tune with his anguish. "But I ran away from my problems, just like you did. I hurt everyone around me - my family - by not facing my problems."

Her head shifted again, becoming Pink Diamond's once more.

"I didn't...I'm not…" she did not look directly at him as her mouth mumbled along haplessly. The rain started to sully her hair, causing it to sink under the weight of all the water, slowly stretching downward toward her shoulders. "I just wanted to protect Earth. To set gems free. To protect it from my family. They were going to destroy it. You understand that, don't you?"

"Oh, I understand the problems with your family. Our family. Which I had to deal with because you didn't!" He stomped on the ground, a crack forming beneath his foot. He glanced down to see some kind of endless, dark void beneath the opened gap in the floor, but he refused to let that stop him.

"Steven-" Pink started to say, pointing at the increasingly dangerous state of the room, eyes imploring him to halt.

He persisted.

"But what right do I have to get mad at you?! I kept secrets! I told lies! I shattered someone, which was what made me doubt you in the first place! I tried to kill the same person you fought a war against! I BECAME A MONSTER!"

He could feel his gem pulse painfully, an echo of the rampaging emotions that had led him down a dark path. But he did not turn pink, did not grow any bigger. Even as the thunder, lightning and rain raged all around them, the storm clouds slowly shrinking the infinite space, he felt more in control than he was back then. He would not lose himself.

"Steven…" it was Pink's face, but Rose's motherly voice emanated from it, filled with kindness. "None of that was-"

"No! I know what it was!" He balled his fists beside him, staring down at the cracked floor, the once pink surface drained of all its colour, replaced with the storm clouds ensnaring them.

"I BECAME EVERYTHING I HATE ABOUT YOU!"

His empowered shout rippled through the air, twisting the storm clouds around them. The ground gave way beneath them, splitting apart, forcing Steven to immediately jump to a more stable spot to avoid falling into the emptiness below. He suddenly felt a rush of wind around his ears and looked up, eyes widening as he saw the air rapidly twist around them, the clouds coalescing to create a vortex, bringing him and Pink closer together.

For a split second, Steven saw her. They were barely two feet apart now. He could see her quivering, her eyes leaking as many tears as his were, her head moving about rapidly to process everything happening. She wrapped her arms around herself, fingers clenched tightly.

She was as lost as he was.

The two were thrown upwards into the air, the winds too strong. They screamed in unison, twisting and turning, unable to find any sense of direction. He lost sight of her, tossed about, moving at speeds which made everything blur together. Steven tried to orient himself, the wind making it hard to open his eyes or get a sense of anything. He concentrated hard, his body clenching as he conjured a bubble to surround himself. It did not stop the disorienting spinning, but it allowed him to breathe a little easier and clear his head.

"Losing control, losing control...find yourself Steven…" he muttered, taking racing breaths, tears still streaming down his drenched face. "Easy...find your centre...it will pass...let it out...let it go…"

His mind momentarily clear, he focused all of himself to give a command to the room, shouting it out at the top of his lungs:

"STOP! RESET!"

As quickly as it came, the vortex disappeared. The storm was gone, replaced by the familiar array of pink and white clouds. The light shining from the sky had returned, giving the space its warm glow again.

Steven found himself falling rapidly - he had somehow ended up about 40 feet above the ground. He dissipated his bubble to activate his float powers and reached the surface with control, gently stepping onto it with his left foot forward. He was back where he had started again.

He let himself collapse to the floor completely, burying his face into his palms as another sob wracked through him. He let himself feel everything - the guilt, the anger, the sorrow, twisting around his insides.

No. He could not break down, not completely. He had to hold it in a little longer. He was not finished yet.

Steven clasped his hands together, finding his breath again. For a moment, he imagined all those negative emotions flying away from him. Just for a little while.

"Steven…" he heard her voice from behind him, tentative, unsure. Not the voice of the unshakeable leader who had led a rebellion. The voice of a lost soul. "You're not like me. You're you. You saved the universe. You did more than I ever could."

Steven stood up again, wiping his face with his sleeve. He adjusted his now haphazard pink jacket, making a half-hearted attempt to smooth himself out.

He turned to gaze upon his mother. She was Rose again, though unlike any Rose he had ever seen. Her hair was a complete rat's nest, the curls haphazard, ends sticking out everywhere. Her dress had various tears, as if sliced apart by unseen blades. Her face was stricken with raw grief, scrunched, tears falling down her plump cheeks. Her hands shook, unable to calm the swell of despair overtaking her.

"You put me on a pedestal. Just like everyone else. You're wrong," Steven replied. He settled himself across from her, watching her as she cried, her beautiful voice lost to ugly weeping. "But I get it now. I understand getting trapped by other people's expectations. You became everything to them. Nobody ever really got to see this side of you, did they?"

Rose did not look up to him, but she shook her head, her hair thrashing wildly about behind her.

"I...I couldn't. The Diamonds, they never understood. They would never listen to me. And the gems...I didn't mean for it to happen but they couldn't really understand, either. Everything just spiralled out of my control and I...I didn't know what to do. But I didn't want to hurt anyone more than I already had."

She stopped herself with a fresh round of tears. It hurt Steven a lot seeing her like that. Watching her acknowledge everything brought him no joy, as he had sometimes dreamed it would. He was left with a mixture of sympathy, pity, and love, but there was no pleasure to be extracted from this.

"I'm a fraud. A failure. I'm so, so sorry Steven."

"I think you would really say that. Eventually," he whispered to himself, low enough that she could not hear, though the room might hear it anyway.

He moved forward, taking slow steps towards her. He watched her, a broken figure, collapsed into herself, shattered apart.

Steven gently put his hand atop hers, squeezing. He was amazed by how soft and real it felt, so warm, and found himself yearning for his mother's touch again. She paused in her sobs, uncovering her eyes to look at him, squinting between the tears.

"Nobody was ever a Rose to you, were they?" He let the question hang in the air, watching intently as her eyes flew wide, her mouth hanging open loosely. "I was a lot luckier than you were. I guess I have you to thank for that. You left me in good hands."

"Steven...I-"

He interrupted her with a hug, grabbing onto her tightly, breathing her in the way he always longed to when he was young. He squeezed hard, trying to convey that desperate, childhood love he still had for her, at the end of it all. The love he still could not help but have for her even as the young man he had become.

"It's going to be okay," he said, softly stroking the tangles out of her long hair. "You did so, so much good, Mom. You saved this planet. Saved gems. I know how hard it was for you. It's okay."

He lost sight of her face, staring out into the pink of her frazzled curls. He felt her strong arms wrap around him. Her face found a nook in his shoulder, sending it awash in her misery. The force of her weeping ripped through her core, and into his smaller frame.

"This is...Steven I…" she whimpered, struggling to find the words. "This is supposed to be about you."

"Old habits die hard, I guess," he murmured in reply, rubbing comforting circles into her back. like his dad often would for him.

They held each other just like that for a while, their tears soaking into one another, their sorrowful hearts fusing, beating in unison. Through all his attempts, all his efforts to get closer to his mother, Steven realized this had been the most successful.

When he realized he was not his mother, but his mother was like him.

"I'm going to be leaving soon. I don't know when I'll be back," he murmured into her hair after a while, as the worst of her sobs subsided.

"I know," she replied, holding him more tightly. "You need to chart your own path into this wonderful world. I'm so happy you're doing this. I love the idea."

"I'm not sure if I'll even enter this place again, to be honest with you." He closed his eyes, breathing in her strong floral scent, far too reminiscent of her namesake. "It's hard."

"That's okay. I understand." She disentangled herself from him, Steven quickly missing the tranquil warmth of her embrace. She held his shoulders at arms' length, regarding him properly. Her hair was still dishevelled, and her face still drenched. But her serene smile had returned, offering a surprising amount of comfort. "You have your own life to live. You should be free, without being burdened by me."

His heart panged painfully at that, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through that feeling. "There's one more thing I wanted to do before I leave. One more gift I wanted to give you. A memory I want you to keep."

"Of course. Whatever you want."

Steven sighed, releasing himself from her hold entirely. He took a seat next to her, sitting cross-legged again. She smiled over at him, scooching over to push her side against his.

He gulped, focusing for a moment. With a poof, clouds formed into a small television and VCR, a replica of the ones in his room. The familiar sight of the waves appeared on the screen, the film choppy with a homemade charm.

He did not need the physical tape to play the video. He knew it by heart.

The temple. Cut. The beach again. Cut. His dad, dancing goofily across the screen. A peal of laughter from a woman off-camera.

"What are you doing?" the disembodied voice asked.

"I remember…" Rose whispered next to him, mirth in her tone. "It was so much fun to make this."

"It looked like it," Steven replied. Despite everything that happened, the video still brought him peace - and longing. "You two sounded like you were really in love."

"We were." Rose laughed as Greg strummed on his guitar with a pair of corny shades on, pointing outwards with determination. "I'm glad you could find love too, Steven."

Connie's face appeared in his mind, and he idly wondered how she was doing, waiting for him when this was over. It was nice to know there would be a light to guide him out of this. "Yeah."

"Isn't it remarkable Steven? This world is full of so many possibilities."

It was not just the screen speaking now. The woman next to him was, too, creating a strange harmony.

"Each living thing has an entire, unique experience. The sights they see, the sounds they hear. The lives they live are so complicated. And so simple."

The video paused for a moment. Steven sighed, leaning into his mother's shoulder, enjoying the remnants of her presence. "It meant the world to hear you talk to me for the first time. I thought I would have moved on now. But I can't. I still can't help but love you when I watch this."

The tape continued. The room joined it.

"Steven, we can't both exist."

"I know. You're gone now."

"I'm going to become half of you."

He rubbed at his gem. He sniffled. "Yeah."

"And I need you to know. That every moment, you love being yourself, that's me. Loving you and loving being you."

Steven whimpered, shutting his eyes under the strain. "It's hard, but I'll try to do it."

"Because you're going to be something extraordinary. You're going to be a human being."

"Yeah. I know." He spoke lowly now, far more quietly than any human ear could hear. "I can't ignore that part of me anymore."

"Take care of them, Steven."

He let out a shuddering breath, reaching out suddenly to grab his mother's soft hands. Rose turned to him, smiling, any trace of sadness now gone from her.

"I will."

As the video continued behind him, Rose and Greg leaning down to share a lover's kiss, Steven lifted himself in time with them. He pressed his lips upon his mother's cheek, her smile fading.

Steven leaned over to whisper into her ear, wrapping his arms around her at the same time.

"I forgive you."

He had wondered whether it was pointless to forgive a dead person. It would do no good for her. But as difficult as it was - as much as a huge part of him wanted to hang onto those bitter feelings for as long as he lived - he knew it would do him no good. It would take time. It would take longer than this. But he had to let those feelings go.

He did not know how to forgive himself for walking in some of her worst footsteps. But he hoped this would help.

Steven buried himself into her shoulder again. He felt the lifeless clouds morph and shift within his arms. He oscillated between holding nothing and everything, a painful reminder of the limitations of her room.

Finally, another pair of arms wrapped around him. They were pleasant, strong, warm as a day at the beach. Familiar, yet not overly so. Not too big, not too little, just right. Squeezing him as hard as he squeezed back.

Steven let out a wail when he realized. He rushed to disentangle himself, leaning back to regard the image the room had conjured.

There he was. Himself. Pink, glowing, beaming at the other half. His gem half had grown like he had, wearing the same clothes, growing the same height. There was none of the deformity from the mental breakdown. His other half was a proper echo, a perfect, pink reflection.

"Why…" Steven whispered, utterly befuddled, unable to look away. He could feel the stinging around his eyes, tired as they were from all the crying already. "Why did the room show me you? Did I...want that?"

His other half smiled at him. The voice that came out was bizarre, a mixture of his own, his mother's, and someone else he could not recognize. It was beautiful. It rang through the entirety of the space, stretching on into the infinite.

"Thank you."

The figure stepped forward, fading in tufts of cloud, just as it would have crashed into him.

Steven was alone again, the room as pure as when he first entered it. He stood up, stretching, his limbs suddenly feeling heavy with weariness. His mind struggled to process everything that unfolded.

He placed a hand to the star on his shirt, and the gem hidden beneath the cloth. He squeezed lightly, feeling the hard texture within the fat of his belly. His halves seamlessly attached.

With a smile, he summoned the exit to the room, the door to the temple appearing before him.

"Well...goodbye, then." He turned one last time to the place that was hers. Theirs. "Thanks for everything."

Steven blinked as he re-entered his home, his eyes struggling to adjust to the difference in light. He glanced out the window and realized nightfall had come; he must have been inside the room for a few hours. The space was practically empty. But sure as she said, Connie was there, sitting on the couch, eyes staring off into nothingness, lips pressed into clasped hands.

Her eyes rolled over toward him and she was pouncing before he could react.

"Steven!"

Connie's hands were on his arms quickly. She wrapped them carefully around him, pulling him back into reality. The now. The future.

"Are you okay? How did it go? What happened?" Connie bombarded him with the questions that had built up over the hours. Steven blinked, dumbfounded, suddenly unable to find words. "Sorry, I'm probably asking too much. Take your time, we can go sit-"

"Thanks, Connie," he finally managed, giving her a grin. "It went...it went well. I got to see her and talk to her and-"

His grief overcame him once more. In a rush, a sob stole away his words and his legs gave way under the weight of it all. As the world turned dark, his eyes no longer willing to see it, he could feel Connie pull him in tightly, anchoring him in place as they fell to the floor.

"You were really brave," she whispered gently as her fingers stroked his hair. "I'm here for you."

Steven let out all of his misery, knowing now how little good it would do to hide it. He wept for the loss of a mother he never knew, those old scars aching again. He wept for the mistakes they made and how he wished they were avoided. He wept in sweet relief, for the experience was over. He wept because he knew, when this was all over, he would be able to move on.

The future was bright.

________________________________________________________________

AN: I adored the SU finale. I cried a lot. But there was one missing farewell that I couldn't help but write.

I can understand why the Crewniverse didn't want to drudge up Rose too much after spending five seasons on her. But I couldn't help but want something a bit redemptive after the events of S5. She did a lot of terrible things, but she became a better person, too. Seeing Steven stumble so much in SU Future made me think of how those experiences might reconnect them.

Well, I hope you all enjoyed! Please leave a like and a reblog if you did! ^_^

#Steven universe #Steven #Rose Quartz #Pink Diamond #fanfiction #one-shot #SU finale #Steven Universe Future #connie mahaswaren #connverse #angst #hurt and comfort #I am still a wreck after the ending #su spoilers

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