#'it's a tragedy! it's supposed to be sad!' 'but WHAT IS THE POINT??? it's just tragedy for the sake of tragedy!'

[dreadark]

maybe the real tragedy of alien stage round 6 isn’t that they’re in an idol death game or even the string of unrequited love here but rather that someone could believe the feelings he held for years and gave him the strength to go on were too shallow to ever express properly

so he dies thinking he wasn't cared for at all

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

Anyway prohibitedwish dark medieval mystery drama au. The story is interjected every so often by prismo and scarab arguing over what should happen next

[nadvs]

home before dark (part eight) (end)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, smut, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

You can hear gentle taps on the window behind you. At some point since you got back from the marina, it must’ve started raining. You’ve been too absorbed in your time with Rafe to notice until now.

Even though you’re trying to process what he just said, your instinct is to hope for his sake that it doesn’t storm. Because your instinct has always been to worry about him. His was always to avoid you. And now, if you actually heard him right, you know the real reason why.

You’re suspended in time as you stand in front of him in your kitchen, trying to silently compel him to look at you again. But his eyes are focused on the floor.

You were just upstairs, touching in the most intimate way, giving each other the best kind of pleasure. Now, in a matter of a minute, a chasm has opened up between you again. Rafe’s chest is rising and falling faster with every second that passes.

“What’d you just say?” you ask.

“I was…” Rafe shuffles in place, his temples beginning to throb. “Fuck. I was never going to tell you.”

“What do you mean because of me?” you echo his words, your legs weakening.

Hearing your voice sound so faint, a harsh contrast from the soothing, careful way you always speak to him, makes his chest tighten.

“Goddamn it,” Rafe mutters. “Why’d you have to push me to talk when I - I said I didn’t want to talk?”

His feet carry him to the other end of the counter just to create some distance. He figures it should be easy because for so long, it’s been second nature for him stay away from you. But he hates that he can’t touch you right now. This moment is too tense, the words he said too ugly.

Rafe finally meets your gaze. Every other time he thought you looked sad or scared or broken is nothing compared to the way your face is knitted in misery right now.

His darkest secret is out. He told himself he’d take it to the grave. But he just changed everything. He shoved a dagger into the heart of the only person who truly cares about him. And there’s no undoing it.

“What do you mean because of me?” you repeat.

Rafe swallows the lump in his throat. He knew you were wrong; he’s not good like you said he is. This proves it. He’s sick. There’s something wrong with him because a good person wouldn’t blurt what he just said out, no matter how much pressure they were under.

He nervously grips the edge of the counter.

“Rafe,” you urge. His head hangs low.

“It was right before your birthday,” he mutters. “Do you remember?”

“Of course I-” You inhale a sharp breath. “Of course I remember.”

After what happened, you cancelled your eleventh birthday party. You didn’t want to celebrate anything for years afterwards.

“Did that have… something to do with it?” you ask.

Rafe’s body goes cold. It had everything to do with it.

He begged his mother to go. She told him there were warnings on tv about a storm and that they could go the next day, that there was time, but he had to be such a brat about it that she finally agreed. She always gave into him.

“You never stopped talking about how excited you were for it,” he says, “and I wanted to get you something great and I made her take me. And you…”

His gaze hardens. This was supposed to stay locked inside him forever. At some point, behind his back, you got the key.

Your heart is in a vice. You’re waiting for him to say this is a cruel joke.

“You know what?” he huffs. “I don’t even remember what I was so determined to get you. I just remember…”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, a short, boyish whine escaping his mouth as he hears the sound of the tires skidding in his mind, over and over again. They didn’t even make it to the store.

You want to rush to him. To hold him. To let him dampen your shirt with his tears again. But you can’t. You’re frozen.

This is why Rafe never wanted you in his life. You’re not just a reminder. It was never that simple. You’re the reason for his suffering. And you can touch him and laugh with him and kiss him as many times as you want, but you’re sure he’ll never see past it.

He doesn’t have to tell you why he kept this from you. It’s clear. He didn’t want to hurt you. You thought he was being cruel all these years, but he was protecting both of you from this very moment.

You imagine the boy you knew, in the car, watching his world end because he wanted to be a good best friend to you. He was always sweet. Always doing what he could to show the people he loved that he loved them. And he paid for it in the worst way.

You’re crashing into a painful realization, as if the lights were just turned on, burning your eyes after you’d been sitting in the dark for years.

“I…” you begin. But you’re weak. Speechless. You hold the back of a chair at the kitchen table for stability.

For once, you’re not touching Rafe to comfort him as he cries. On top of the shame and frustration and guilt he’s feeling, a sense of loneliness sinks into him. He doesn’t know if he’d push you away if you came to him. But you’re not even going to try?

The sharp, comfortable feeling of anger overshadows it all. Like always. Being mad is the most familiar state for him to be in. Especially when it’s himself he’s angry at.

“And I just kept asking until she agreed to take me,” he mutters.

You can hear it in his voice that he blames himself, too. And if there’s anything you can do for him, it’s take away his pain. It’s what you’ve wanted to do for him for so long.

Guilt rips you into you. A hot tear rolls over your cheek. If Rafe has to blame you, if it’s defence mechanism, his way to cope, you can live with being the bad guy in his story. Because you love him. You’re afraid you always will.

Your phone rings in your pocket, blaring in your kitchen. You’ve had it on loud so you couldn’t miss a call from your parents just in case.

You clumsily rush to grab it and turn the sound off. You hang up before even looking at who’s calling.

“Who is it?” he asks.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say.

“Who is it?” he says more sternly.

You look at the notification. Your lawyer. You called her after the cops found the tracker on your car to update her. You’re sure you discussed everything you needed to. What’s she doing calling at almost nine at night?

“My lawyer,” you say.

“Call her back,” he orders.

“I can do it later.”

Rafe only says your name, his mouth a firm line. You hate that he’s talking to you like this again, as if he’s mad at you for existing around him.

But he’s right. She might have some important news. Your hands are shaking as you tap on your screen to call your lawyer back on speakerphone. She answers after the first ring.

“Sorry I called so late, but I wanted to let you know,” she says, “I hounded the police and I finally just got confirmation that they took Ty into custody.”

“He was arrested?” you say. You meet Rafe’s eyes. In the midst of all this, for a second, he forgot you’ve been living in your own horror.

“Yes,” she replies. “He’s been charged with the unlawful installation of a tracking device. They traced it back to him. They don’t always arrest for a misdemeanor, but I think the fact that you already had an order out against him helped.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “Thank you.”

“Again, I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” she says. “You did the right thing fighting back. I wanted to keep you updated. Call me if you have any questions. Have a good night.”

“Thank you,” you say. “You, too.”

You hang up the phone and realize you don’t even feel a morsel of relief that Ty has been arrested. Because Rafe just dropped something so earth-shattering on you that you’re not sure you’ll ever be the same again.

You don’t even discuss the call you both just heard. You stick to your private vow. You have to. He can blame you. He can hate you. He can feel whatever he wants if it’ll ease his suffering.

“You’re right,” you say quietly. You sit down, unable to hold yourself up any longer. “You’re right. You just wanted to be a good friend. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”

It doesn’t feel entirely dishonest taking the blame. They were on the freeway because of you. If you and Rafe never became friends, if you never fell into his life, he’d still have a mother.

His words from earlier when this all started ring in your head. We can’t do this. This conversation? Or everything?

“It’s always going to be hard for you to be around me, isn’t it?” you ask, desperate for the clarity. Because if it’s true, it’s better you know now.

Just this morning, he said you were friends again. Then in your room, you did something people who are much more than just friends do. And now, you might be doomed to going back to being nothing. Unless he denies it. Again, hope finds its way in your heart like it always does when it comes to him.

Rafe’s stare is distant. He grips the countertop even tighter.

“I don’t know,” he says. Truthfully, he exists in two places at once when he’s with you. He feels both peace and disarray. Both bitter and sweet.

You nod slowly, standing on wobbly knees to find a paper towel to wipe your tears away with. You stand by the sink with your back to him, rubbing it beneath your eyes.

I don’t know. It’s the worst answer he could give you. At least if he gave a definitive yes or no, you’d know what the future will look like. But I don’t know is what keeps hope alive, and you know by now the pain that hope can bring.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeat, muffled. “If you never met me…”

You think back to sitting next to him in the police station waiting room. He wrote in your birthday on that form without hesitation. He didn’t even need to think about it. And you know now it’s because he’s doomed to remember that date forever.

“You don’t have to stay here,” you finally say. “You can go home. I get it. I get why you never wanted to talk to me.”

You let out a shaky sigh, regretting the years you spent trying to reconnect with him. You were unknowingly hurting him every time.

The guilt sitting on your heart is so heavy that you’re sure it’ll never leave you. While you thought he kept you at a distance because of grief, because of the role you played in reminding him, you realize that was only scratching the surface.

Rafe’s eyes are trained on you on the other side of the room, watching your body tremble.

“I’m staying,” he says resolutely. You turn to look at him from across the kitchen. His eyes gleam with tears.

“He was arrested,” you reply. “He can’t hurt me.”

Rafe studies you. You look how you did the night this all started, when you rushed to him, asking him to pretend to be your boyfriend.

“But you’re still scared,” he says.

“I think I’ll be scared for a while,” you admit. Ty is still out there. Even behind bars, he’s someone plotting to own you. You try to push past the fear for Rafe’s sake. “But he can’t hurt me.”

“I told you that I’m staying with you until your parents get back,” Rafe says.

You feel like you’re spiralling. You know he kept this from you for a noble reason, but the realization that he always blamed you feels like it’s chipping away at you by the second.

“It’s okay,” you say. “Your job is done. You don’t have to do this anymore.”

“Yes, I do,” Rafe counters. You grimace. He’s being so stubborn. The rack of guilt, shock, and confusion has your mind racing.

“Why did we do… what we did upstairs?” you ask. “Why did you say you felt something for me?”

Rafe exhales slowly. Kissing and touching you like that was euphoric. He wants that feeling, again and again, without the ugliness of your shared history following both of you.

“Because I do,” he answers honestly. You twist your lips in sadness.

“You do,” you say, “but you don’t want me in your life?”

Rafe’s quiet, his expression unreadable. Suddenly, you feel selfish and ashamed to be confronting him about this after he revealed something so painful.

“Forget it. I’m sorry,” you say. You toss the damp paper towel in the trash. “If you want to stay, you can. But if you want to go, I get it. I’ll be in my room.”

You start to tread out of the kitchen, a sniffling mess at this point. You feel worse than ever for pestering him with your questions after he opened up to you.

You’re sure you’ve both spent more time crying than smiling since you tumbled into each other’s lives again. Maybe it’s best for both of you to be nothing. It’s not what your heart wants, but being together seems to bring you both more pain than happiness.

You turn, figuring this may be your only chance to tell him how sorry you are. If tonight’s your last night together and you go back to being strangers after this, you need him to know.

“I know nothing I say or do can make it better, but I’m so sorry for everything you went through. And I’m so sorry I was the reason for it,” you say, meeting his gaze from across the room. “I never stopped missing you. But I get it. We don’t have to be friends or… be anything. We’ll go back to how it was. This time, I won’t keep bothering you.”

Rafe watches you leave. The weight in the pit of his stomach gets a million times heavier. He would do anything to take back telling you the truth.

You’re curled up in a ball under your blanket, your throat growing sore from crying. You tried to break this arrangement with Rafe off the day he told you that you were always going to remind him of what happened. You told him all you do is hurt each other.

But he pushed. He said he wanted to take care of you. You’re almost angry at him for not letting you end it then. But as painful as the truth he dropped on you tonight is, you’re glad you know.

You’d rather take the blame for him. You’d rather never have to wonder what he meant when he said you did do something wrong, but not on purpose.

But you are angry at him for kissing you. For touching you. It gave him another piece of your heart that you can never get back.

Rafe is still hunched over in the kitchen. He fucked up. You’re upstairs, devastated, because of him. Since this started, you’ve been so worried about bothering him. You said he tolerates you. And he put so much effort into making sure you didn’t feel like a burden, but he just undid it all.

The way you apologized was like you were saying sorry for existing. Whatever he had left of a heart had been wrung out. He needs a distraction. But you can’t give it to him, because it’s you he needs the distraction from.

You eventually get to a point where you can’t cry anymore. You’re numb. You spend every passing minute hoping Rafe will come into your room to try to convince you that you can make each other happy.

But he doesn’t. You fall asleep alone.

A loud bang wakes you up. Your instinct tells you it’s Ty. A few seconds later, consciousness gets a hold of you and you remember your phone call. He’s in police custody. He can’t be here.

You sit up in the dark. Another bang outside. It’s still raining but the noises aren’t rolls of thunder like a few nights ago.

Rafe didn’t leave. If he did, he would’ve needed you to disarm the security system. You check the time. It’s nearing three in the morning.

Another thud. At this point, you’re scared. You need to find him.

You’re already panting when you reach the guest room. You knock on the ajar door.

“Rafe?” you mumble.

To your relief, you hear his tired hmm? from the other side of the door.

“I keep hearing noises from outside,” you say. “I think someone might be out there.”

The bed squeaks with his weight shifting and a moment later, you hear the unmistakable sound of him pulling out and pushing in the magazine of his gun. It adds yet another layer of fear onto you.

“Where?” Rafe asks as he steps out of the room.

You guide him in the dark to the window by your bed. You watch him lean to look out the glass, the gun in his hand.

“It can’t be him, right?” you finally say with a thin voice.

Rafe’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t want to say what’s been turning in his head since you got the call from the lawyer. He didn’t want to scare you. But it’s exactly why he stayed.

“Rafe?” you say.

“Someone could’ve bailed him out,” he finally replies.

Your heart is in your throat. The stress of tonight made you completely forget about that possibility. If Ty got bail, of course his wealthy family would pay it. You feel stupid for urging Rafe to leave. And grateful that he didn’t.

“Well, if he - if he did, wouldn’t the police make sure he doesn’t try to get to me?” you ask.

“The police are idiots,” Rafe says flatly, still angry over how passively they treated you when you filed the restraining order, how thoughtless they were to not check your belongings.

“If he’s trying to get in,” you say shakily, “the alarm will go off. It automatically alerts the cops if it isn’t turned off within a minute. Please, if you… have to shoot, do it just to stop him. Don’t kill him.”

The thought of putting Rafe through watching someone else lose their life is too much for you.

He turns to look at you, barely making out your features in the moonlight shining into your room. How could possibly want to spare the life of someone so evil?

“He’s not worth it,” you say. “I don’t want it weighing on you for the rest of your life.”

Rafe looks at you in awe. Again, you put him first. In this moment, where you’re surely terrified, you’re worrying about him carrying the weight of taking someone’s life. Because he already carries that weight for his mother. And tonight, he put that weight on you, too.

“Okay,” he says. “But if he tries to hurt you, I don’t know how I’ll control myself.”

A deafening, chilling smash of glass echoes from downstairs. The shrill security alarm starts blaring. Your hand finds the crook of Rafe’s elbow as your entire body stiffens.

“Stay here,” Rafe says. “Don’t come out.”

“Be careful,” you stammer. “I’m calling 911 just to be sure.” You watch him leave as you grab your phone to report a break-in, giving the operator your address.

A few seconds later, the security system stops ringing. It’s been shut off. And you know it wasn’t Rafe who did it.

Rafe reaches the bottom of the stairs, gun pointed ahead in the dark. His eyes land on Ty, standing by the door, his hand on the security panel.

“Get the fuck out or I swear to God, I’ll shoot you,” Rafe threatens.

“I just want to talk to her,” he replies tersely.

“Get out,” Rafe repeats.

You can make out muffled conversation. You stand by your door, opening it an inch to hear what’s happening downstairs.

“Do you have any idea what I’ve been through for her? Where is she?”

It’s Ty. He actually did it. He actually found a way to get to you again. Rafe is the only thing keeping him from you right now. You feel like you could throw up from how scared you are.

“You have five seconds to leave,” Rafe says. Your ex sputters a laugh.

“Or what?” Ty reaches below the hem of his shirt. “You think you’re the only one with a gun?”

Your blood runs cold. Rafe is facing a maniac you’re sure wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. This could end in someone getting shot. Someone could die here tonight. And if it’s Rafe, you won’t be able to live with yourself.

It’s a crazy, desperate idea, but you’re confident you can manipulate Ty. You know him well. You know what he wants to hear. He’d do anything to think he can have you again. And you need to buy time before the police get here.

“Put it down,” Rafe warns.

“Is this gonna be a game of chicken?” Ty laughs again, his gun gleaming in his hand.

Your entire body is tense as you step out of your room.

“Ty?” you call out, slowly coming down the stairs. Rafe stiffens.

“I told you to not to come out,” Rafe says sternly, his eyes still on your ex.

“These are the lengths I have to go to for you, huh?” Ty calls up to you. “Just to get you to talk to me?”

It’s still dark in your home, both men just murky figures.

“I’m turning on the light,” you say, knowing that surprising Ty won’t do any good.

You reach the bottom of the staircase, standing behind Rafe, and flip the switch, washing the entrance of your home in bright lighting.

You have to stifle your gasp when you see Ty. His face is swollen from Rafe beating him up last night. His clothes are muddy from creeping around your home in the rain, finding a way in. He must have jumped the gate.

The realization that he knows the security code crashes into you. He’s surely seen you punch it in from his visits back when he was your boyfriend. You never thought he’d be committing it to memory.

This whole time, he knew it. Something you thought was protecting you wasn’t. You wish you’d thought to change the code after the break-up.

“Go back upstairs,” Rafe says, his teeth gritted.

You place a hand on Rafe’s back, out of Ty’s sight.

“Let’s talk,” you say to Ty. “Put the gun down and let’s talk.”

“You know the cops came to my house and arrested me in front of my parents?” Ty says, looking utterly unhinged. “Why the fuck did you do that to me?“

His gun is still aimed in your direction, but it’s a little lower in his shaky hand. You’re getting somewhere.

“I’m so sorry. I was scared,” you tell him.

“And you let this asshole,” Ty says, eyes darting to Rafe, “hurt me. You just fucking watched him punch me and punch me over and over and then you left. You left with him.”

“I’d do it again,” Rafe mutters. He sees pure red.

“Hey,” you whisper to him. You force your anxiety away, knowing you need to calm Ty down, not provoke him.

You drop your hand and walk past Rafe, who harshly says your name. His fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back. You look at him.

“Stop,” Rafe mutters to you, still holding out his gun at Ty. “Go upstairs. I’m handling this.”

“I won’t let you hurt him,” you say, loud for Ty to hear. “I don’t want you anymore.”

Rafe knows you’re trying to trick Ty to avoid anything horrible happening here tonight, but your words make everything in him twist in pain.

You pull away and approach Ty, your heart drumming against your chest. You meet his wide, frantic eyes.

“Hey,” you say softly, walking towards him. “You were right. He was just a rebound. You know me better than anybody.”

“You’re lying,” Ty mutters. But he’s lowering his gun. “You’re just a liar.”

“Ty,” you say, mustering up forced affection. You reach him, standing mere inches away. His gun is at his side now. The thought of him raising his hand again is petrifying.

“I was scared,” you continue, “but now I can see how much you care about me. It’s why I came downstairs. I heard your voice and I realized how much I miss you.”

“I just wanted to talk to you,” he says. “This whole time. And what’d you do? You got a new boyfriend. You called the cops. I - I love you. I gave you everything.”

His eyes are sharp. Poisonous. He genuinely thinks he’s done nothing wrong. To him, tracking you and taking photos of you and forcing contact with you was okay. He wants you as an object to possess. Not as a person.

“I know. Nobody can love me like you do,” you whisper, echoing the words he screamed at you when you broke up with him. “I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. I’ve always been stupid, right?”

It’s taking everything in Rafe not to charge at Ty. If he makes one wrong move, he doesn’t think he can restrain himself from putting a bullet through his chest.

Rafe watches your hand drag down Ty’s arm and he grimaces, sure you’re rattled with fear.

“Can you put this down?” you ask, your hand stopping at his, cupping the gun. “I want you to hold me like you used to.”

“You do?” Ty says, his anger slowly disappearing from his face. Relief pools through you.

“Of course,” you reply. Your hand is shaking as you find the barrel of his gun, slowly pulling at it. “I need you. I make bad decisions when I’m not with you.”

“Yeah, you do,” Ty says, a desperate grin spreading on his face. “You finally fucking get it.”

You force a smile at him, breathing out slowly as you take the gun out of his grip.

Rafe watches with relief when he sees you holding Ty’s gun at your back.

It’s terrifying facing him, but at least there’s no gun pointed at Rafe right now. It dawns on you just how much you love him. You came down here simply to try to keep him safe. To keep him from having someone’s blood on his hands. You approached someone you’ve been running from. You put your own life in danger. Willingly.

You pull back, forcing another smile as you gaze up at Ty.

“We’re getting out of here,” Ty orders.

You look up at him, hoping he doesn’t see the fear in your eyes. There’s no way you’re going anywhere with him. You know you have a second, maybe two, to get away from him. And you can only hope it’s enough.

“Let me get my shoes,” you say, trying to laugh as if you’re excited, as if you’re endeared by him.

You move as fast as you can, kneeling to pick the gun up off the floor and rushing back towards Rafe.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ty spits behind you.

Rafe has never been more relieved in his life than when you reach him, cowering behind him, Ty’s gun in your hands.

Maybe you should use it, but you can’t fathom trusting your aim when you’re shaking like this.

“You lying bitch!” Ty shouts, striding forward.

“One more step!” Rafe warns louder.

Ty doesn’t listen.

“Look away,” Rafe mutters to you. You curl up behind him, making yourself small, shutting your eyes.

The gunshot pierces the air, echoing through the foyer, making you quiver. You want to wake up. Because this has to be a nightmare. This can’t be real.

You hear Ty moaning in pain. Your eyes are still shut when sirens blare in the distance.

It’s a blur. People rush in. The door is left open, rain drumming on the pavement. You hear another hard thud and you realize you dropped the gun that was in your hands.

You feel Rafe turn and he’s saying something to you, but you can’t understand it. A shiny, yellow badge gleams in the light.

“…happened tonight?” a stranger asks.

“Can’t you do this another time?” Rafe mutters, irritated.

“We need a statement.” You realize the police officer is talking to you, a notepad in his hand. You meet his eyes.

“What?” you breathe.

Rafe looks down at you with furrowed brows, worried about you and pissed off that you’re being questioned.

“Can you tell me what happened tonight?” the cop says.

“Her ex broke in,” Rafe says. “He had a gun. You guys arrested him, then let him go. There’s your statement.”

The police officer sighs, keeping his eye on you.

“Have you been physically harmed?” the cops says.

You find the strength to shake your head no.

“Do you have somewhere else to sleep tonight?” he asks.

“Yes,” Rafe answers for you. “It’s better she’s not here in case you morons let him out again, right?”

The cop shakes his head in frustration, but seems to decide that not engaging with Rafe’s angry sarcasm is the better choice.

“We’ll be in touch, miss,” he says. He turns all his attention to Rafe. “Can you answer some questions?”

“Fine,” he mutters, then looks to you. “You wanna go pack?”

All you can hear is your own quick breathing as you pack an overnight bag. You’re trembling, dropping things, moving as if you’re going to be late for something.

Your house is a crime scene now. You still don’t know what happened with Ty. You couldn’t look.

It’s a few minutes past four a.m. when you reach Tannyhill. You and Rafe haven’t said anything to each other since the cops left.

The enormous house is dark and quiet as you trail him up the stairs. You know it’s irrational, but still, you fear Ty will pop out from behind a corner and try to finish the job.

Even after your harsh conversation earlier tonight, you hope Rafe will let you sleep in his bedroom. You stop in the upstairs hallway, unsure of what to do next, but his hand finds yours, leading you, making the decision for you.

Rafe’s bedsheets smells just like him, warm and strong and comforting. You’re turned on your side, your back to him, as he settles behind you.

Now that you’re lying down, you realize just how hard you’re shaking. Your body is still trying to catch up with your mind.

Rafe notices.

“It’s over,” he says, voice low. “You’re alright.”

You nod, exhaling once you feel his hand rest on your back. His fingers gently run back and forth between your shoulder blades. You find your words, finally.

“I know you had it under control,” you whisper, “but I couldn’t just sit in my room and do nothing. I was scared of him but I was more scared he’d hurt you and I knew I could trick him and I know you’re mad at me-”

“I’m not…” Rafe interrupts with a sigh. “I’m not mad at you.”

He’s mad at how unfair everything is. And at himself. He should have never told you they were in the car because of you. The conversation with you in your kitchen is another memory he knows will haunt him.

You nuzzle into Rafe’s pillow. He’s still slowly stroking your back, granting you a sense of safety.

“Listen, I won’t lie. I wish you never came downstairs,” he admits. It killed him seeing you face someone who’s been torturing you. “I didn’t know what he was gonna do. But you… you knew how to deal with him. I… Thank you. You didn’t have to do it for me.”

Your heart is still pounding. Of course you had to do it for him. You’d do anything for him.

“You’ve been looking out for me,” you say quietly. “I wanted to finally return the favor.”

Rafe chews on his lip. He’s pretty sure you take care of him more than he does you.

“What happened?” you ask. “Did you…”

“Got him in the leg,” Rafe says. “They arrested him. Again.” He would’ve killed him if you gave him your blessing to. He knows that for sure.

You nod. Your eyelids start to flutter shut. He keeps rubbing your back until he’s sure you’re asleep.

For once, you start your day next to Rafe. He didn’t leave you to wake up alone this time. He’s pressed up behind you, his arm draped over you, his hand over yours. You feel his chest rising and falling against your back.

The room is washed in orange sunlight. The clock on his nightstand tells you it’s almost noon.

You don’t know what to do from here. You promised Rafe that after this ended, you’d stop bothering him. And he didn’t tell you not to.

You look down at his hand on top of yours. Your eyes trail over his fingers, once again thinking about everything he’s done for you. He’s kept you safe, taken on responsibilities for you, given you pleasure.

Minutes later, Rafe shuffles behind you, slowly waking up. Once he realizes he’s holding you, he pulls away, clearing his throat.

You sit up and collect your bag before you go to his ensuite bathroom, not making eye contact. After texting a friend to ask if you can come over, you mentally rehearse what you’ll say to Rafe as you brush your teeth.

He’s sitting up in bed when you come out. He can see how tired you are, but you still manage to be so breathtakingly beautiful.

“Hi,” you say. You take a breath, standing over him, your bag at your chest. “There’s no way I can thank you enough. You saved my life. If I was home alone, he would’ve taken me somewhere and…”

You look down, knowing you shouldn’t spiral into the what if’s.

“After what I did to you, you still helped me,” you say, quieter now. “I know you think low of yourself, but you shouldn’t. Because of you, I’m alive right now.”

Rafe stares up at you, his hair tousled over his forehead. Only you can give him this feeling of pride in himself. This feeling that maybe he has a reason to exist other than getting wasted and taking out his anger in every way he can.

“It wasn’t all me,” he replies. “You’re tougher than you know.” You offer him a small, thankful smile.

“I’ll get Sarah to drive me to a friend’s,” you say. “And I’ll stay there until my parents get back tonight.”

You start to walk towards the door, but his words stop you.

“I never stopped missing you, either,” he says tensely, remembering your words from last night. “Just so you know.”

You look at him with doleful eyes. Rafe’s heart pounds faster when you drop your bag and approach him. You duck, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, hugging him.

He wraps his arms around you and closes his eyes until you pull back and take your warmth with you. You can both feel that this is goodbye.

You’re grateful not only because he kept you safe from Ty, but because he allowed this arrangement between you to end cordially. He opened up one last time, giving you the comfort of knowing that he still cared about you even after the accident he blames you for.

He missed you, too. It gives you a reprieve from the pain, even just for a second.

You have a long phone conversation with your lawyer when you arrive at your friend’s house. Ty’s back in custody. There’s no option for bail now. He’ll be incarcerated until the trial. Your original court date has been nullified, as a judge has granted you the permanent protective order given the circumstances.

You give your official police statement, emphasizing as many times as you can that Rafe acted in self-defence and protected you. When your lawyer confirms he isn’t being charged with anything, you’re more relieved than ever.

You’re in a haze when you finally see your parents again. Telling them everything feels like you’re recounting a horror movie.

Your home is still deemed a crime scene, so your parents book a hotel room. You’re lying in the firm, cold hotel bed when your phone buzzes with a text.

It’s from Rafe. It’s almost midnight and you saw him this morning, but it feels like it’s been weeks. You doing ok?

You reply: yes. my parents got back and we’re at a hotel. are you ok?

He doesn’t text back. You take that as a response in itself. Whatever you had is officially over.

The next afternoon, you can finally go home. The window Ty broke is repaired. You have an irrational fear of seeing his blood on the foyer floor when you walk back into your house, even after your parents confirmed with the cops that the scene has been cleaned up.

Rafe is trying to get used to the way life is now. It feels wrong not being around you. You’re all he thinks about. When he wakes up. As he goes to sleep.

He should have replied to your text. But how can he put into words just how not okay he is? He kept it under wraps for years, then opened up to you just to ruin things between you all over again.

It’s been almost a week since he’s seen you. Other Kooks are gossiping about what happened, spreading theories and lies. They know to quiet down when they realize Rafe is in earshot.

He’s not sure if people think you’re still together or not, but they seem to know better than to blabber about it when he’s around.

It’s Saturday night and people are scattered across the massive wraparound balcony facing the beach behind Tannyhill. Rafe’s preparing a line of coke, falling into his old escapist habits.

He misses you. He’s afraid things really are back to how they were. He wants to see you. He just needs to figure out how to make it happen.

It’s loud and crowded. You haven’t left your bedroom in days, but finally, you’ve stepped outside after your friends encouraged you to come to a party. It made it easier to accept the invite when you heard it was at Rafe’s house. You want to check on him, even if it’s from a distance.

You can feel people’s eyes on you when you enter the party. It’s uncomfortable, knowing your trauma is being gossiped about and picked apart.

Ty’s in jail, but sometimes that isn’t enough. You can’t get it out of your head, the way he looked when he broke in, frantic as he waved his gun around.

You’re gazing out at the setting sun as you stand on the balcony, slipping into your thoughts as your friends chatter around you.

You’re worried you’ll be afraid of your ex forever. The safest you’ve ever felt was with Rafe and that was temporary.

You instinctually look around for him. You don’t see him, but then there’s a break in the crowd, and you spot him sitting at a table, hunched over, ready to do a line.

It’s like nothing has changed. You see Rafe the way you’ve seen him throughout your adolescence, chasing a high and acting like you don’t exist. Even after everything that happened between you.

Rafe’s about to breathe in his first line of the night. Until his eyes meet yours. And then everything goes quiet.

His fear that things are how they were before is shattered. They can’t be. Because instead of looking away, he doesn’t want to tear his eyes off of you.

You think you’re giving something to him by giving him space, but you’re not. You’re taking happiness and peace and love away from him.

Your breath catches when you feel a rush of tears thickening in your throat. Your heart is broken from so many things, but it’s mostly from the role you played in breaking his.

You excuse yourself and rush into the house, hopeful nobody will see you cry. You’re not even sure where you’re going. You just know you want to be alone.

You end up in Rafe’s room, simply because it’s the only room in the house that gives you the level of comfort you’re craving. You gaze out of one of the windows as you try to calm yourself down.

You remember entering this house for the first time. His father and yours fell into conversation like old friends do and Rafe was at his mother’s side, just barely leaning on her, enough for comfort but not so much that he looked like he needed the crutch.

You kept glancing at each other while the adults talked and when he finally offered you a shy smile, you smiled back, and you don’t know if he felt it, too, but at that moment, you knew you were going to be friends.

You sit on his bed, hands on your knees as you breathe through the hurt.

The doorknob turns. Rafe flips on the light when he comes in, his eyes boring into you. You quickly wipe away your tears. He was the last person you expected to follow you.

“Hey,” he says, shutting the door. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry,” you say. “I can go.”

“No,” Rafe says. “What is it?”

You can’t put him through the honest answer.

“Sucks how everyone’s talking about it,” you say. Truthfully, you couldn’t care less about the gossip.

Rafe squints for a moment, slowly making his way to you, settling on the bed an inch away from you, his cologne drifting in the air.

“Is that really it?” he asks. You nervously clasp your hands, looking down. He knows that’s not really it. You can see from the corner of his eye that he’s still watching you.

You don’t answer.

“I hate myself for telling you,” Rafe mumbles. You wince at his words.

“You shouldn’t. It’s better that I know.”

“It’s not.” Rafe anxiously rubs his forehead. “It sounded so fucking wrong when you said it’s your fault. When I heard you say it out loud, it…”

It turned everything inside out. All he’s been thinking about these past few days is how and when to tell you this.

“You know when you said maybe it was your fault he wouldn’t leave you alone?” he asks.

You think back to that night when you confessed how terrible your relationship with Ty had been. You had told Rafe it’s easier for you to take responsibility because then you’re not just a victim.

“I can’t let you blame yourself like that again,” Rafe says. “You were a kid.”

“You really don’t blame me?” you ask.

“I don’t.” His words take a weight off of your shoulders.

“You were a kid, too, Rafe. You can’t blame yourself, either,” you say softly. “And if anyone else does, they’re wrong.”

You can tell by the way he grimaces that he’s been made to feel guilty for it by someone else. His father. You have no doubt about it.

“It’s different,” Rafe mutters.

“It’s not,” you reply. “You’re just as innocent as I am.”

Rafe knew his mother well. He knows she spent her last moments worrying about him, regretting that she made the decision to leave the house with him. She was an amazing mother. He’s sure she died thinking she wasn’t.

“I didn’t tell her I loved her,” he says, voice starting to falter. “The last chance I had.”

Your chest tightens.

“You know how you always picked flowers for her on our way up to the house?” you say. “And how she was so happy every time you gave them to her?”

The memory makes the corners of Rafe’s lips turn up in a smile. He didn’t know you remembered that.

“You spent time getting her flowers just to make her day, over and over,” you say. “You don’t have to tell someone you love them for them to know. You showed her in a million ways. She knew. I promise.”

Rafe’s been living in an unforgiving cycle of hating the world, looking for blame, all to keep from accepting the truth that there was no sense to what happened. No reason. It just happened. And it left him in pieces.

Your words give him a quiet feeling of freedom that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The cycle is addictive and comfortable, but it keeps him moving in circles. Getting him nowhere.

Talking about his mother doesn’t hurt as bad this time. Because you brought up a good memory, and he doesn’t picture her in the car like he always does, but he sees her downstairs, pinching his cheek, smiling, putting wildflowers in a small vase.

Rafe’s eyes find yours again. All he can feel is a warm, stirring gratitude sinking into him. His lips part for a second before he can reach for the words.

“Thank you,” he says. “How’ve you been?”

“It’s hard,” you admit. “I keep thinking I’m going to run into him. We’re just waiting on the trial to start and I wish I knew what’s going to happen.”

Rafe takes a deep breath. He’s terrified of letting you hear how dark his thoughts get, but right now, he’s as sure as he can be that you’re the one person in the world who wouldn’t look at him with judgement.

“I wanted to kill him,” Rafe mutters. “I would right now if I had the chance.”

He looks at you, scared as he awaits your response. You tilt your head and gaze at him with sorrowful eyes.

“I think if someone was doing something like that to you,” you say, “I’d feel the same way.”

Rafe knew you cared about him, but to know you feel just as intensely for him as he does for you is a relief. He’s still not sure he deserves it.

“How have you been after everything?” you ask.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his words rushed. “I keep wanting to text or call but I don’t know how to say it.”

“How to say what?”

“How much I regret it all,” he says. Rafe combs a hand through his hair, heeling forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Every single time you tried to talk to me, I was such a dick to you. I’m sorry.”

You’ve imagined him saying this, but you thought it’d always stay a daydream. As you think about everything he’s told you, about how uncontrollable his thoughts can be and how badly he needs distractions and how utterly lonely he’s been, you feel nothing but forgiveness for him.

“You know that photo I took down?” you say. He nods, picturing the image of the four of you on the beach. “What happened, happened to that little kid. I think he handled things the only way he knew how.”

Rafe sits straight, tears threatening to form. You never run out of compassion for him. You’ve always been here, reminding him he’s human and that it’s okay to hurt and to need help.

His eyes are on yours again, and this time, he’s looking at you like he did the night before he kissed you. It’s like life is returning to his features, a pink hue blooming across his cheeks.

He recalls your words from your last night together. But you don’t want me in your life?

“I want you in my life, alright?” he says. He ducks his head just a bit, looking at you with a mix of infatuation and nerves. “If you still want to be in it.”

Your lips quiver with an endeared frown as you gaze at the multifaceted, complex, passionate man sitting in front of you.

“I do,” you say. Because the past few weeks have been so stressful, all you want right now is clarity. “You mean as a friend?”

“No,” Rafe scoffs, a smile quirking on his face again. “No. If you want that, we’ll do that. But I want more. Please tell me I didn’t fuck this up.”

You gaze at him through your lashes, feeling like you might just melt at the soft way he’s looking at you and speaking to you.

“Believe me,” Rafe says, “that I’ll be different. For real, this time. I don’t…” He sighs. “I never want you feeling like you’re bothering me. It’s the opposite. Every minute I’m not with you is just… it’s hell.”

He licks his lips from nervousness. He doesn’t like that you haven’t said anything yet.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

You smile at him, bringing your hand to his, feeling that his knuckles have completely healed now. This right here is the moment you think you might be able to let go of the fear and instability and pain that’s existed between you for so long.

“I want more, too,” you tell him. He looks at you with furrowed brows almost like he’s in pain, like waiting for this has actually been hurting him.

Rafe hopes his impatience to kiss you isn’t too much for you when he leans forward, laying his lips to yours, but you meet him with the same hunger.

He holds you, cupping your cheek, stroking your skin with his thumb as your lips weave together. His tongue runs against yours and you raise your hands, one resting on the crook of his neck while the other runs over his hair.

With a quiet moan of pure desire, Rafe kisses harder, moving even closer to you so that your eyelashes overlap.

He separates to close his lips on your neck, trailing hot, desperate kisses over your throat. Then, Rafe’s fingers rest on your hips, fingertips dipping under your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” he asks huskily.

“Yes,” you breathe.

The slowly burning flame between you has sparked into a wildfire now. You feel the fabric of your top slowly dragging up your body, making you dizzy.

Rafe watches in awe as he pulls your shirt off you, all of his senses going hot when he watches the way your chest is rising and falling, the way your bra looks pushed against your body. He dips to kiss your neck again as he holds you at your waist.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he whispers, “or if I need to stop.”

“Don’t stop,” you whisper back. Your hand drags over his hard jaw to pull him up to your lips again. Rafe is intoxicated by this feeling, by the promise of pleasure, by the pure joy of being wanted.

Your lips quietly smack together as his fingers skim up the side of your body, over your shoulder, down the line of your bra strap, finally wandering over your chest.

He massages you gently, earning breathy moans from you. With eyes still shut, you find the top button of his shirt, pulling it out of its loop slowly.

Your kisses grow even more impatient as you unbutton his shirt, moving down his chest, finally reaching the bottom. Your fingers slip under his collar, pushing his shirt down his shoulders.

Once Rafe’s shirt is on the floor, he leans against you, gently guiding you onto your back on his soft bed, still kissing you. You run your hands down the firm curve of his back, making him shudder into your mouth.

His fingers dip under your bra strap, feeling desperate to see you. His forehead presses against yours as he pulls back.

“Is this okay?” he rasps.

You nod and your breath hitches when he pulls the strap down over your shoulder and dips to kiss where it sat. His groin already feels so tight that it hurts.

Slowly, he lowers to kiss the valley between your breasts, making your heart pound even harder. When he finally pulls down the cup of your bra, seeing you bare draws a stunned, sharp intake of breath from him.

You rake your hand through his hair when you feel his hot mouth on you. You moan softly and the sound of you revelling in the pleasure he’s giving you puts him in an even deeper daze.

Rafe cups your waist and drags his hands to your back. You arch to give him just enough space to unhook your bra, and once he has full access to your chest, you shut your eyes as his tongue and hands roam over you.

He leaves wet kisses all over your chest and comes back up to capture your lips again. His movements are languid as he rests his hand between your legs and suddenly, your clothes feel suffocating. You’ve never needed someone more.

Rafe drags his fingers over you, pressing in gentle circles. You spread your legs wide as he hovers over you, holding himself up on his elbow.

His eyes are on you, full of lust and want, imagining how you’ll taste if you let him go that far. He sinks to dip his fingers beneath the band at your hips, pulling the clothing down your legs, taking his time.

He settles over you again, putting his hand back where it was, and even though there’s still one more layer of fabric to strip, he can feel you so much better.

You whimper as he drags his fingers over you, and then he lowers again, his head between your legs.

You meet Rafe’s gaze when he kisses you right over your panties, and the intimacy, the pure vulnerability thickens the air even more.

“Can I?” he mumbles, his breath warm. You nod in desperation.

He slides the last piece of clothing you have on off of you, and when his eyes drink you in, his heart pounds loud in his ears.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, dipping to kiss your inner thighs before finally tasting you. You breathe out shakily as his tongue curls against you, as his hands hook around the tops of your thighs, resting on your hips.

Your whole body is hot and trembling as he kisses and sucks and licks, worshipping every bit of you.

Rafe can’t get enough of you. He just started and he already dreads the thought of stopping.

Your hands sit on his and he squeezes your fingers as he buries his face against you, holding both your hands, gazing up to see the bliss written in your pretty features.

He shifts to bring one of his hands where his mouth is, gliding over you, working both on you to bring you to a mind-blowing climax that leaves you moaning.

Rafe holds himself up over you again, kissing you, letting you taste yourself, as you eagerly unbutton his jeans. He helps you pull his pants down and when you grip him over his boxers, he nearly whimpers in need.

You stroke slowly, your hand wrapped around him, the other pushing against his bare chest to gently lead him to lie on his back.

You drag his boxers down, looking at him with pure arousal. His face is twisted in pleasure when you put your mouth on him, tasting him, taking him in completely.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you if he tried. You slowly pick up your pace and he knows if you go any longer, he won’t last.

“Can we…” he rasps. You’re trembling in anticipation, already knowing what he’s asking.

You shift higher, resting on your knees, your bare bodies pressed together as you kiss him.

You lower your hand, holding him, dipping against him to just barely meet each other. It’d take just one buck of your hips to feel him inside you.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yes. Are you?”

“Yes,” he groans. “Go as slow as you need to.”

You nod, shuddering as you position yourself and slowly sink onto him. You moan in unison at the sensation of your bodies meeting this way.

When you finally take all of him in, you pause to revel in the feeling, breathing heavily, your cheeks brushing.

“I love you,” Rafe says, his deep voice weaved with awe.

You pull back to look at him, not sure if you heard him right. You take in the color of his eyes and the beauty of his edges and your heart has never felt like it was glowing until this very moment.

“I love you, too,” you half-whisper. He almost can’t come to grips with the fact that you said it back with such certainty. Like you have no doubt that he has a place in your heart.

You roll your hips, taking your time to adjust to him. His hands are at your waist as he enjoys the slow ecstasy of your warmth.

You hug him tightly as you slowly move up and down. Eventually, you can feel him tensing beneath you, and you want to give him the control to reach the pace he needs.

You lift off of him, kissing him before you shift onto your back. He doesn’t waste any time to settle over you, slowly pushing into you again.

You’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve for Rafe, while he’s kept his caged. He thought he didn’t even have one anymore. But you remind him that he does have this side of him, that it still exists, that he wants to give all of it you.

“I love you,” he rasps again. “I love you. I love you.”

Bliss overwhelms you as you tenderly kiss his forehead. He gently rocks forward and back, filling you perfectly as his thrusts slowly quicken.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispers into your ear. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you say, wrapping your legs around him. His breaths quicken as he moves faster, writhing over you into a climax that makes him groan.

Your bodies are glistening with sweat, your breaths heavy. Rafe’s weight doesn’t leave you as he collapses in pleasure.

“Is it okay if I stay like this?” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe. His face is nuzzled into your neck, panting as he breathes you in, still inside you, living in this perfect moment with you.

Rafe has felt homesick since he can remember. Even within the walls of his own bedroom. But you and the feeling you give him are home. Safety with no exceptions, love with no conditions.

“What’d I do to deserve you?” he mumbles against your skin.

“Exist,” you say with a gentle laugh.

Rafe plants lazy kisses against your neck as you hold him, slowly coming back to reality. There’s a whole party happening in his house, but in his world, it’s only you and him.

When he gets up, he isn’t prepared for how empty he feels when he loses the feeling of you wrapped around him. You lie next to him, facing each other with tired smiles.

“How was it?” he asks. The question sends you into a fit of laughter.

“You heard me, right?” you say, almost embarrassed from the sounds you made.

Rafe smirks and moves even closer to you, kissing you as you both lie on his pillow. You rest your palm on his face, gently tapping at the deep dimple in his cheek with your finger.

“You should show these more often,” you say.

“What?”

“Your dimples.”

He laughs, thinking to himself that he’ll do anything you want him to if you’ll keep loving him. He’s drunk on the feeling of the simplicity of being with you. It’s easy and pure.

Rafe asks if you want to shower together, and soon, you’re in his ensuite, standing under hot water ebbing over your skin.

Every movement between you is a slow expression of love, your bodies curved together as you share kisses and hold each other.

At one point, he’s clinging onto you, his lips pressed on your shoulder, and you’re holding him like you did the night in your house when he finally opened up completely.

Rafe is overcome by every emotion he’s feeling and it’s the first time in years that he cries without urging himself to stop. Because you’re here and you know everything and you still don’t want to leave.

You hold each other in bed wearing nothing but towels. He asks you if you want to go back out to the party and is relieved when you tell him you don’t.

“I’m falling asleep,” you eventually say, your legs tangled with his as he holds you. “I should go home.”

“No,” he says. “Why? Stay. Sleep here.”

You text your parents that you’re sleeping over. You know they’ll assume you’re staying in Sarah’s room, since you’ve done it so many times.

After you put your phone on Rafe’s nightstand, you snuggle into him, your head resting on his shoulder. You yawn, getting goosebumps from the way his fingers trail up and down your arm.

“Need a distraction?” you ask.

“No,” Rafe replies tiredly. For once, his mind isn’t racing. The mix of chaos and calm he thought he felt with you is no longer a mix at all. It’s just calm. It’s just peace.

You wake up in Rafe’s arms, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek and his breaths on the top of your head. It feels unreal recounting last night, remembering the amount of times he told you he loves you.

You shift slowly to get out of bed, putting on your bra and underwear and slipping into his bathroom. He’s sitting up in bed when you come back out. His eyes immediately trail down your body, a smile growing on his face.

“What?” you ask.

“You’re just…” Rafe exhales, resting his arm out on the bed in a way to beckon you to come back. “Perfect.”

“You mean as a friend?” you joke. You settle back into bed on your knees as he chuckles.

“Fuck no,” he answers, making you laugh. “Do you have to leave?”

“I don’t,” you say. Your body warms when you see the relief on his face. Now that you’ve sealed the rift that lived between you for so long, you can see just how badly Rafe wants you around.

But it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore. This feels right. Like you were meant to be with him all along.

“Would you wanna go down to the water?” you ask.

He nods. It’s like your kids again; he’d go anywhere you want just to see you smile.

It’s a windy morning by the sea. The sun is covered by clouds as you sit on the private beach next to Rafe. He drapes an arm around you, rubbing your arm to keep you warm. He feels like now that he’s been given permission to touch you, he can’t stop.

“The hours we spent out here,” you mumble. Rafe gazes at your profile as you look out at the horizon.

The dark blue sea makes you think of all the possibilities, of everything to come. You turn to catch him staring.

“I didn’t…” Rafe gently shakes his head. He didn’t know this was possible. “You know how people say they can feel someone around them after they… after they die?”

You nod. He feels guilty as hell with what he’s about to say.

“I never did,” he admits. Your face drops in shock and sadness. You can’t imagine how lonely he’s felt. “But right now, it’s like… it’s like she’s about to call us up to eat. I can feel her here.”

You feel like your heart is whole and broken at the same time. You lean to kiss his cheek over and over, the waves crashing in the distance.

“I need to stop trying to forget her,” Rafe says sadly.

He glances down at the sand, and you can tell anxiety is starting to grip him. You take a deep breath before you speak.

“I think she’d understand why you did,” you say. “What do you think about getting her flowers?”

Blue eyes find yours. He hasn’t visited her grave in years. If he does today, he’ll need you with him.

“Yeah,” he says simply, dusting the sand off his jeans as he heads to the patch of grass by the boardwalk.

The cemetery is quiet and tranquil. You drove over on his motorcycle, holding onto him tighter than you needed to. Your shoes pad over the paved walkway, feeling more and more nervous as you approach where she rests.

The headstone isn’t as big as Rafe remembers, but he figures it’s because he was much smaller when he visited last. He starts to cry as soon as he sees the photo of her in the center of the plaque. He forgot that was there.

Tears burn your eyes when you watch him slowly drop to his knees, his hands splayed on the lush grass.

You read the epitaph over and over again. When love is eternal, life cannot die.

Rafe forgot that he was holding the flowers he picked and he realizes he broke some stems, but when he looks at her photo again, he puts the flowers right at the corner of the headstone, knowing she was always happy with any bouquet he gave her, no matter the condition.

You sink beside him, resting a hand on his back.

“Should I talk?” he stammers. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You do whatever feels right,” you reply.

“Can you talk?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say. You’ve been yearning to talk like this with him for years. “You know you have her smile?”

“Really?”

“Yes,” you say. “It’s one of the reasons I love seeing you happy.”

Rafe nods, a tear dripping off his chin. He needs you to keep talking.

“And I remember she was always winking at me,” you say. “I don’t know if you saw.”

“She did that because she knew I had a crush on you,” Rafe mumbles. You smile sadly, rubbing his back.

“I’m pretty sure she knew I had one on you, too,” you say. “She was so smart and so sweet. Everyone could see how much she loved being your mom.”

Rafe offers you a grateful smile.

“I miss her,” he says, his voice brittle.

“Me, too,” you reply. “I’m sorry. I can go back to the parking lot if you want?”

You’re offering to give him time alone here. And to his surprise, he nods. He can do this. You kiss his temple and give him the moment he needs.

Rafe is sitting in silence for a minute before he finds the words. He stares at her photo.

“I’m sorry I made you drive that night,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry I always got mad at you when you called me your baby. I just wanted to grow up and you told me to enjoy being young and you were right.”

He clears his throat.

“I’m sorry I dug myself into a hole and tried to forget you. But I think she’s right. You’d understand.”

He cracks a small smile, remembering when he first told his mom he liked you, how nervous and giddy he felt.

“Still want to marry her,” he says. He can hear the way she laughed when her ten-year-old son told her he hoped you’d be his wife one day, but he’d still want to live at home so he’d beg for you to move in. “She never left my side, mom. I gave her every reason to but I think she saw how much I was hurting.”

Rafe promises her he won’t let so much time pass before he visits again. And when he finds you standing by his bike, he holds you so tightly that he feels your heart beating against his.

Everything is different for him now. He hasn’t had the comfort of permanence in his life for a long time. He can’t believe you want him, even after you’ve seen the worst of him.

Rafe never takes his hands off of you. At every party, on every date, he always has to be touching you in some way to remind himself that he has you for real.

It takes a few tries, but he manages to quit coke. And eventually, he quits waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for you to decide he isn’t worth the effort.

He’s with you every step of the trial. The lawyer says Ty getting five years in prison is a win, but he thinks the only win would be a life sentence.

Eventually, the trauma loses its power over you. You feel safe. Not because your ex is locked up, but because Rafe is with you.

You stand by him for everything. Every breakdown he has, every time he sinks into his grief, every storm that reminds him of the worst night of his life. You never leave.

You love him for long enough that he finally believes if someone as amazing as you can see something in him, it must be there.

Epilogue

You didn’t ask for much for the wedding. One thing that you were sure about was that you wanted an event artist, someone to paint the day on a canvas to capture it in a unique way.

Rafe is happy to to along with it, but then again, he’s like that with everything when it comes to you. You could never ask too much from him. He’ll forever feel like he owes you for never giving up on him.

The banquet hall is massive and beautifully decorated, and you can hardly hear your own thoughts over the crowd’s chatter and elegant music. The day has been a whirlwind.

When the artist waves you over, you take Rafe’s hand.

“Want to see the painting?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says, beaming at you simply because of how excited you are.

You had secretly asked the artist to include Anne in the painting. When your eyes land on the canvas, seeing her drawn in with everyone else who stood at the altar warms your heart.

You look up at Rafe, whose mouth is just slightly agape. He stares at his mother’s image, smiling behind him, then looks down, scratching the back of his neck and finding your hand before he leads you away.

“Just a second,” you say to the artist before you let Rafe take you to a dressing room past the hallway.

He shuts the door behind you, facing you with glossy eyes.

“Did I mess up?” you say worryingly. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to surprise you. I thought you’d like it.”

“Hey,” Rafe says softly, hands on your cheeks. “I love it. I just didn’t want to cry in front of everyone. I’ve been barely keeping it together today.”

You laugh in relief, tipping your chin so he’ll kiss you. His lips meet yours. You’re pretty sure your guests could tell he got teary-eyed when he watched you walk down the aisle, but you’ll spare him that detail.

Rafe finds relief from your touch, like always. His mom was here today. He felt it. He feels her all the time now. And you’re still a reminder, but in the best possible way, because you show him that he can remember the good parts. That he can feel love even after someone’s left. That he doesn’t need to carry guilt. That he can look forward to the future.

Apart from the second he became your husband, this is the best moment you’ve had today, because it’s just you two, just like it was when you were kids on the beach, enjoying each other’s company, never wanting to part.

(the end) (continuation blurbs)

author’s note thank you to everyone who stuck with this series 💘 ps did you know tumblr has a text block limit? learned that the hard way lmao. so i’m sorry that some paragraphs got long! hated to sacrifice my structure but had to do it to keep all 10k+ words in 😋

[maxlarens]

53) holding the other’s jaw + logan

this is to make up for what i wrote last night viv hope u like ittt 😋🫢😌 @coff33andb00ks

You meet Logan “oh, I drive race cars” Sargeant in a dive bar in Austin, Texas and you don’t know if you have the heart to tell him that you’re in Austin specifically for the Grand Prix.

It’s cute that he assumes you don’t recognise him, it’s even cuter that he tells you he drives race cars and then assumes you still don’t know he’s an F1 driver. It’s a little sad maybe— especially when Oscar Piastri and Jack Doohan are sitting in a booth across the room, trying and failing to take surreptitious glances at the two of you. But you’re trying not to think about that, probably as much as Logan also is right now.

You’re leaning with your back up against the bar drinking a vodka whatever, he’s standing in front of you. Ostensibly in line to get a drink, but he hasn’t stopped talking to you since you almost bowled him over trying to get back to your friends. There’s no drink in his hand that’s for sure, just an empty beer glass that he’s bringing back. You think that’s unbearably sweet— well, no, actually you think that’s hot.

You’re not the kind of person who’s into Formula One for the drivers. You’re into it because instead of watching football games like every other all-American family did, your dad used to sit in front of the TV every weekend to watch twenty men drive around a track. You’d grown up on the sport; the roar of the cars before they hybridised them, old-school turn names, fiery crashes ending in tragedy, the blood sweat and tears of teammate rivalry. Your dad complains that the sport has changed too much— but still he puts the races on every weekend.

You try to watch the sport for the cars, for the racing, but at the end of the day, you’re not immune to a cute guy. You follow most of them on Instagram (except the drivers you hate), find yourself smiling at promo videos and liking pictures that have nothing to do with the sport. Your dad is annoying about it, but you don’t care.

You especially don’t care when Logan Sargeant is smiling something crooked at you as he tells you he’s here with his friends. You nod, looking where he’s pointing, where you’ve already seen Oscar Piastri and Jack Doohan, you laugh a little, giggle really, and you lean toward him.

Deliberately.

“Yeah,” you take a sip through your straw, maintaining eye contact, “I know who you are, Logan.”

He goes red immediately. Pale cheeks turning a very pleasant colour. You lick your lips, lean back against the bar. He blinks his sparkling wet eyes at you, mouth gaping like a fish out of water for a moment before he snaps it shut and scrubs a hand across his stubbly beard.

“Oh— I—”

You wave his shock off, barrelling on to avoid anything awkward for him, “Sorry, should’ve told you.”

“No,” he shakes his head, apparently desperate to make it fine, to make it okay, “You’re good. I just— I didn’t expect someone so—”

He trails off, trying to start the sentence again. But you’re intrigued, very intrigued.

You cut him off, not rude, just insistent, leaning forward into his space, “What was that? Finish your sentence.”

His eyebrows go up in a flash. The blush on his cheeks grows a little more prominent. He’s biting down a little on a smile, on something.

“I—”, he flounders for words for a minute, you give him that minute in silence but you’re staring at him, a little fiery, a little intense, “I didn’t expect someone so,” he stops, whines something a little desperate, quiet enough that you’re not supposed to hear it, “cute, I guess. To know who I was.”

“You guess?”

He nods, slowly. Getting braver as he leans past you, deliberately getting in your space to put his empty glass on the bar behind you. You’re trying not to smile, you’re biting down on the inside of your lip so the biggest grin you’ve probably ever grinned can’t split across your face.

“Yeah, I guess.”

This is how you end up in a dark corner booth with Logan “oh, I drive race cars” Sargeant. This is how you end up making out with Formula One driver Logan Sargeant. You’re halfway in his lap, your legs a weird tangle as you try to fit yourselves into the space. But you’re hardly thinking about his knee digging into you or how you’re slipping off the seat every five seconds because Logan’s got a hand buried deep in your hair and another on your waist. His hand splayed against your back, a few fingers touching the bare skin at your hip.

He tastes like beer and ketchup and he kisses you like he’s starving. It’s slow, it’s deliberate but the slip of tongue and the way your mouths slide against each other is intoxicating. Makes your head feel fuzzy.

You’ve got a hand on the side of his jaw, the crook of your thumb hooked on his ear, fingertips pressing into his neck, the base of his skull. He tries to pull away from you— ostensibly to breathe, to say something. But you’re a little desperate, chasing his mouth and bringing your other hand up to his jaw to drag him back.

You feel him laugh a little into your mouth.

“What?”, you mutter, eyes closed, still kissing him, "Finish your sentence."

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, you feel his mouth move against yours as he speaks, hot breath fanning across your jaw, “Just. Do you maybe wanna get out of here?”

And this is how you end up in Formula One driver Logan Sargeant’s hotel room.

this is probably the most bordering on nsfw content that i will venture to in my writing just a heads up for people:)

[edenfenixblogs]

2 am rant cuz I can’t sleep:

I’ve stated repeatedly that I’m pro-Palestine and pro-peace, so I obviously want a two sided, negotiated ceasefire and permanent peace for all. I’ve repeatedly stated that I do not condone the degree of heavy bombing taking place in Gaza.

But it’s currently 2:15 in the morning and I am haunted. I’m haunted by the fact that the world saw the brutal attack on Jews and celebrated. I’m haunted by the number of high l-profile celebrities who felt moved to speak out for Palestine — wearing flags and pins and signing demands for Israel to stop bombing, but who said nothing about the dead and tortured and kidnapped Jews.

Yes, what is happening in Palestine is and continues to be a tragedy.

But apparently what happened and is happening to Jews worldwide and Israelis of all religions simply isn’t. At least not enough of one. Not enough of one to move these high-profile folks to speak out for us. Not enough of a tragedy to say the names of the hostages, including one forced to give birth while kidnapped by terrorists. Not enough of a tragedy to condemn the violence happening against Jews. Not enough to speak out on behalf of a 20-year-old singer made to fear for her life because she dared to be from Israel and sing about her own trauma instead of, idk, bursting into flame or shutting up or whatever the mob wanted her to do.

No. What happens to us isn’t a tragedy. It’s a nuisance. It’s a nuisance to have to care about Jews. It gets in the way of everyone else feeling good about their “radical activism” and self-aggrandizing bravery. People of all levels and types of fame. All of whom say they only want peace and an end to pain. Yet when they mention pain, it’s always and only the Palestinian flag. When they want a ceasefire, it’s always an only in reference to Palestine. But they wouldn’t be caught dead asking for an end to Hamas or Hezbollah bombs or even acknowledging that they exist. All calls for peace involve asking Israel to lay down arms but no call for anyone attack Israel, Israelis, or Jews worldwide to do the same.

From large creators to small creators to people in day to day life, non-Jews around the world have made clear that it would be more convenient for them if we Jews just died. If we stopped ever defending ourselves or speaking up or being sad in public.

The vast majority of people speaking out would or will view this post as a justification of violence. But it’s not. It’s a condemnation of complicity from people who claim to care about peace. It is a condemnation of those who claim to be against antisemitism yet refuse to listen when Jews point out how they are contributing to and spreading more antisemitism. People and institutions worldwide have failed Jews everywhere.

Cats Blanchett

Mark Ruffalo

Billie Eilish

Viola Davis

Lena Heady

Susan Sarandon

Ava DuVernay

Hozier

Sara Ramirez

Annie Lennox

Cynthia Nixon

Angelina Jolie

Multiple UN groups and resolutions

College students and professors across the world

Friends I’ve had for 8 years who don’t even respond to messages that I have moved out of state or even spoken to me in at least five months

So many people who are so eager to read every bit of pro-Palestine news that exists and condemn every action from Israel.

And yet…

Before the bombings. Before the reprisals. Before all the violence from Israel: where were they? All these people who so desperately beg for peace (as defined by the end of Israeli aggression only): where were they when it was just dead Jews? Where were the Instagram posts and educational content and in depth analyses of Israeli trauma and history? Where were the condemnations of Hamas? Where were those who are moved to speak for anyone and everyone but Jews?

Are we really supposed to believe any of you actually want peace? When you chant for the globalization of terror tactics that traumatized a generation of Israeli Jews? When you fail to acknowledge Jewish history in any way except to minimize it?

Before the bombing campaign, where were the red carpet statement pins and gowns featuring Jewish stars?

How are we Jews anywhere in the world literally ever supposed to believe that you’re not actively cheering for our deaths? Maybe not in front of our faces, but certainly behind our backs. We know. We know you’re afraid to be less than tactful in front of us, but that you describe our rapes and murders and social exclusion and kidnappings as “unfortunate but necessary.”

I’m reminded of when Israel was first created. At a time where every Jew on earth was traumatized directly because the Holocaust firsthand, Britain left the territory of mandatory Palestine and the UN allowed for the creation of a Jewish state. And then proceeded to heckle the traumatized survivors for handling its creation poorly. The Nakba is a tragedy and an outrage and I’ll never deny that.

But…y’all are no different from the people who stood on the sidelines as Israel was first created. Why was it up to an actively traumatized people who had very recently (and after a continuous 2,000 year period of expulsions and pogroms and murders) been slaughtered on an industrial scale to somehow create a perfect and stable government in a land where people despised them?

The world needs to own up to the fact that everything that ever went wrong in Israel’s creation is a direct result of the continuous and still ongoing contempt for Jews by all the other countries that could have stepped in to help and provide Jews with a guarantee of safety at any time in the last 2,000 years in general but also since 1934 specifically. And you didn’t. Your great grandparents and grandparents and parents all didn’t do jack shit. And you are following in their footsteps. You are all doing just as they did: standing on the sidelines and heckling the Jews you don’t like for fighting back too aggressively.

But what exactly have you or anyone else done to help Jews in your communities or in Israel to not feel like caged animals forced to fight for survival? Like wild beasts you let loose for slaughter in a coliseum for your own enjoyment? At what point have you worked to provide Jews with other options? How have you made the Jews in your life feel safe or seen during this time? How have you started to deconstruct the harmful anti-Jewish bias you inherited from the people you love?

Is it ok that Netanyahu and the Likud government is bombing Palestine to the extent it is currently doing? Of course not. And I’ll never say otherwise.

But aside from yelling “hey stop it!” at Israel or “you’re complicit!” at Jews who fail to join your chanting, what exactly have you done at any point since this started to make the world safer for any of us?

Because from what I can see, the vast majority of you have done nothing. And every Jew I’ve spoken to in the last half a year has seen the exact same nothing.

Too many of you are too concerned with being on the right side of history. Most of you aren’t famous actors or musicians or whatever. Most of you are just people. History won’t remember you individually. Who knows what history will say about the movements of which you were a part? My guess is that you’ll be called passionate and outraged and sympathetic, but ultimately disorganized and misguided.

But you know who will remember you? Every Jew you’ve encountered since 10/7. We will remember each individual we saw who celebrated our death or ghosted us or made us feel unwelcome in our own lives.

We will remember you forever. And not fondly.

[koimethehorizon]

Amazing Digital Circus Theory: Gangle is an NPC

Sooo, I wasn’t expecting to talk about this show. I was perfectly content to just enjoy Digital Circus as is.

It’s a show that invites theories as to what exactly’s going on with the setting and characters, but I didn’t have much room to think too hard about it. Who’s Abel? Is Pomni really a human? Why is this VR game emulating an N64 game at the start? I like the show plenty, but it just wasn’t as interesting to go hard on any of those questions at the time.

But with this recent episode… a single, perhaps throwaway line got the brain nagging. And it’s kind of a bizarre one to waste hours analyzing.

Okay, so yeah, it’s a joke on submissive and breedable. (Don’t give them ideas) But try taking it at face value.

What does he mean by this? Sure, Jax is an asshole, and being a bullied kid is Gangle’s whole archetype… but what if it means a little more than that?

Gangle’s trapped for all eternity this asshole and she’s just letting him boss her around. Zooble can choose not to participate, so no one has to. Why does Gangle listen to Jax at all?

Let's entertain a thought: Is Gangle an NPC?

With Episode 2 bringing so much attention to the autonomy of NPCs, it seemed natural to start pointing fingers at characters being this or that. But this isn't just a random crackshot, I feel that there is a story to tell here.

Look back at Pomni’s “orientation” with the other humans. Ragatha, Zooble, and Jax ease her by saying that they’ve been trapped in this world for years and then bring attention to Kinger being the oldest.

But Gangle… she’s isolated from the peanut gallery, busy moping about the broken comedy mask instead.

Every character has been given some hints as to how they’ve been coping with the situation. Jax no longer empathizes with anything, Ragatha once had trouble adjusting but now tries to stay happy, Zooble picks and chooses her involvement, Kinger is the eldest and just exists for the hell of it, and Pomni is new to everything.

With Gangle, it’s a blank. No opinion, no hints of her human side, how long she’s been here, no thoughts on the games, nothing. She’s just Jax’s punching bag.

Even Kinger gets a potshot on Gangle in a rock-paper-scissors game…. and he likely forgot that she doesn’t have hands!

And that brings me to another detail. Doesn't Gangle look different from the others?

Unlike everyone else, Gangle's just a mask and a ribbon. No hands or legs, or just any limbs in general. She stands out as looking a bit simpler than the others.

Gangle's most interesting design trait is that she's based on comedy and tragedy masks. The ones used old Greek theater to dictate the emotions of their characters.

The first episode seems to imply that with a broken comedy mask, Gangle literally can’t stay happy. Hence why we see her sad most of the time. That's a strange limitation if Gangle's human mind is supposed to be completely intact, especially with how expressive the other characters can be.

It's not delved into too much but does Gangle actually rely on these masks to "feel" emotions?

The obvious hole is that Caine would’ve just killed her a while ago if she was an NPC, but he's not exactly omniscient.

He even admits that he has to kill them off because it’s possible for him to lose track.

Now normally I could just stop here, but I’m all about the grand statements. You know, the retroactive readings of an episode once you get a theory going. Why does Gangle being an NPC matter at all? How does Ep 2 change?

While deep diving, I realized that the thematic core of Episode 2 is Pomni and Jax’s approaches to surviving the Digital Circus.

In Pomni’s A plot, we see her connecting with Gummigoo, the NPC that Caine pitted their group against. After discovering him lamenting his new reality, she finds a strange comfort in being existentially lost together. Because in the end the NPCs and the humans are just as displaced and frightened in this meaningless world.

In Jax’s B plot, he forces Gangle to follow some insane orders. Sabotage the game to let the big chocolate turd monster destroy the Candy Kingdom. To Jax, he is the main character. Helping or displeasing this giant population of fake people doesn’t have any consequence for him, so why humor anyone but yourself?

A bit of a stretch, but what if Jax already knows Gangle is an NPC and is keeping it quiet as long as Gangle follows orders, hence the “submissive” comment? He’d be a way more unpleasant character with this reading, but it doesn’t seem off the cards with how he treats everyone anyway.

This dichotomy already plays out well within the episode, but when reframing it as Pomni and Gummigoo vs Jax and Gangle, the parallel is a lot more interesting.

Make an NPC an equal, they die. But keep an NPC under wraps as long as they continue to obey you… they live.

The episode ends with a grim conundrum that NPCs can’t be together with the humans, not because of their differences but because they're just... not allowed to be. But what if one already in the group, proving that they’re just as capable as the humans to play the games and grieve loved ones together?

PS. Despite knowing everyone else's name, I actually forgot Gangle's until I started finding evidence for this intrusive thought. Sorry Gangle.

PSS. I couldn't fit this anywhere, but Gangle's door frame doesn't work as evidence against the NPC theory, because even the mannequins have their own rooms in that hallway.

[mx-myth]

Idea for a hamlet production:

The opening night, the program says The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark and it's performed accurately, word for word. The play, however, closes exactly after Horatio tells Fortinbras that he will tell what has happened. The lights hone in on him, cradling a dead Hamlet and wearing bloody clothes, before the play ends there.

The second night, the program says The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, as Told By Horatio. The play begins with a small spotlight over Horatio in the same bloody clothes, cradling a dead Hamlet. He says, "Let me tell you how this all began." Everything much everything is the same as opening night except for a few wording changes.

But after that, it goes off the rails.

The subsequent programs say The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, as Remembered by Horatio (One/Two/Three/etcetera). Each night more changes are made. Early on Polonius shows up with an absolutely ridiculous mustache. Claudius' hair colour changes at some point midway through. Towards the end Ophelia just starts naming random flowers. Laertes, when he's angry/sad/feeling a lot, just straight up starts lapsing into French.

Each night the spotlight on Horatio in the opening grows a little bigger until the audience starts seeing background nobles, then soldiers, and then a figure wearing a crown sitting on a throne who isn't facing the audience. Each night the Ghost looks less like King Hamlet and starts looking more like Horatio's Hamlet. Each night, whenever Horatio is on-scene, Hamlet stops speaking in Shakespearean and starts speaking plainly, because Horatio always understood what he meant.

On the closing night, The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, as Remembered by Horatio (Finale), it's all gone wrong. People are speaking lines they're suppose to say later or earlier in the play, or they're speaking someone else's lines. The opening scene is fully lit, and the audience can finally see that Horatio is talking to Fortinbras. The Ghost is now fully Hamlet. Horatio spends the entire play wearing the bloody clothes he's worn when Hamlet's died. Every time Hamlet isn't looking at him Horatio is looking at him, heartbroken, grieving, sad. Hamlet is the only one who's still saying accurate lines, except for when Horatio is on-scene and he's speaking modern English.

At the end, the play continues after Hamlet has died. Fortinbras commands that Hamlet be given a grand funeral, and Hamlet's body is taken away, with everyone following it out like a funeral procession. Horatio is left as the last one on the stage, staring at his bloody hands.

It is very, very obvious, the closing night, that Horatio has gone mad.

[ironladders]

"I circled half the globe searching for him, but he was gone."

Starscream ;_;

RIGHT?? IT'S SO SAD .

and i have sooo many thoughts about this whole situation with skyfire/starscream that's been presented to me, if you dont mind anon im gonna use your ask to ramble a little

(disclaimer im sure nothing i have to say here is particularly new & has been said by those who've been deep into TF longer than myself but i need to get this out my system anyways. and also im still watching through g1 so if im horribly mistaken about anything #oops)

unless i missed something, i don't think it's specified in "fire in the sky" how long starscream looked for skyfire?? but just thinking about that line.... he obviously didn't immediately go back to cybertron, he didn't just give up on skyfire. starscream cared about skyfire enough to look for him, only leaving after (i assume) he realized he didn't have the resources to conduct a proper search for his companion. and i mean can you imagine being starscream in that situation???? your partner just disappears into a storm, and no matter how far and long you look you're unable to find them????????

i get starscream, man. i'd also become awful if that happened to me.

and here's the thing: i stumbled upon this post which posits that the decepticons happening to stumble across skyfire in the ice was no incident, but starscream's own doing, and i LOVE this theory/headcanon so much. when i first watched the episode yesterday i was thinking that it was funny they just happen to be mining right where skyfire was frozen so it's nice to see my suspicions affirmed LMAO

i honestly love that episode so much because as i learn more about starscream and transformers as a whole i think little tidbits like that offer a deeper look into who he is (or was, idk) beyond just megatron's second-in-command. he was a scientist, an explorer, a friend. "was" isn't even the proper word here, because he still is all of those things, he just...... applies them differently, i suppose. which is the real tragedy in who he is as a character.

beyond starscream and his search for skyfire, you wanna know what i've REALLY been thinking about a lot with these two? when skyfire becomes a decepticon (for like a day lol but still), starscream immediately declares that when he overthrows megatron, skyfire will become his second-in-command. not any of the other seekers, not either of the waves, not literally anyone else who's been a decepticon for more than an hour, but skyfire. his long-lost science partner. on starscream's end, virtually nothing about his relationship with skyfire has changed. he still trusts him as much as he did millions of years ago, to the point he'd be willing to have him at his side as leader of the decepticons.

but on skyfire's end... the starscream in front of him is different from the one he knew. war and being a decepticon changed starscream for the worst, something that unveils itself very quickly to skyfire. one of the first things he asks starscream after becoming a decepticon is if starscream is genuinely happy about being a decepticon warrior over the scientist he used to be. skyfire can't believe that the person standing in front of him could be the starscream he once knew before being frozen. still, it's starscream, so skyfire ends up going along with things up until he can't ignore his morals and deny that he's on the wrong side anymore.

that is where the second tragedy happens for starscream: betrayl, by the man he'd waited to get back for so long. he finally got skyfire back, only to lose him all over again.

if skyfire had never crashed that day -- if they'd never gone closer to explore the earth in the first place -- would starscream had gone down such a dark path? would he have taken countless lives, and become the ruthless decepticon he is now? does it eat at skyfire, knowing that in his absence starscream lost who he once was? or perhaps he'd still be the same starscream, but skyfire would be at his side serving the decepticon cause. maybe they both would've been so drastically changed by the years of cybertron's war together.

skyfire is a living, formerly frozen relic of the past before everything went wrong. starscream has aged far beyond that, to the point of no return. as much as they surely both want it, and regardless of what happens to them, their bond can never go back to what it once was.

god i just. i need more!!! i need to watch more transformers and read more of the comics and see more of these two!! i watched tfp + some of the live action movies as a kid but this is my first time learning about skyfire and this thing he's got going on with starscream and it's fascinating to me i can't believe i didn't know about this before!!!!! but it's also so fucked up oh my god!!!!!

ok yeah ive gotten the brainworms out my system. idk how to end this here's screenshots i took that i found funny

[automaticheartcrusade]

As a number 1 Fiddleford Mcgucket lover, I honestly love the fact that journal 3 revealed that he had secretly created the Society of the Blind eye behind Ford’s back and was USING the gun on him multiple times, because it added a new complexity to the character. What he was doing wasn’t morally correct, but he probably felt like he was doing what was best for Stanford since he cared about him so much. Is it a little fucked up? Very much so and that’s what makes Fiddleford’s character even more interesting. You feel SO bad for him, he didn’t deserve anything that happened to him, but more people need to acknowledge his flaws too, specifically his family.

When it was revealed that he had gotten into an argument with his wife because she was upset he forgot to get her a Christmas gift in the Book of Bill, I felt bad for her. We don’t know much about Emma May Mcgucket but I don’t think she’s supposed to be painted in a negative light. Some people hate the mere idea that Fiddleford may have been neglectful to her and his son Tate some point down the line, but I genuinely think that’s what happened, and people shouldn’t villainize his wife or Tate honestly. It was unintentional of course, we know that Fiddleford cared about his family deeply and had a portrait of them when he was working with Ford, but him choosing to pack up and go with Ford for long periods of time probably caused a rift in the family. And yes, there is a tragedy to it, because him forgetting to get his wife a present was probably due to the brain damage the gun had on him. However, both concepts that Fiddleford loved his family but went crazy due to what he witnessed, AND him partly being to blame for his own self destruction with creating the memory gun and getting addicted to it, are statements that can and should coexist. Him getting traumatized wasn’t his fault, but using the memory gun repeatedly and putting the society/work before his family was. Ford definitely had influence, but the point still stands.

And for me that’s part of the appeal for Mcgucket, he didn’t deserve anything that happened to him, he would have been a completely different person had he not taken Ford’s call, he’s pathetic and tragic, made his own mistakes but also got screwed over at life in the process. But he deserved the happy ending he got and I just love this sad old man.

[bucca2]

okay not to wax poetic about a minor side character in Skyrim that annoys the fuck out of most people, but it really does sadden me that most people are like “he’s annoying, kill him!” and then do no self reflection on the fact that they only killed him because of a petty personal gripe and because they were sent to do so by a power tripping traitor who LATER ALSO TRIES TO KILL THE LISTENER THEMSELVES.

For a long time I’ve had Thoughts™ on the phenomenon of Gamers (derogatory) who treat any NPC who is even slightly an inconvenience with disproportionate and often violent vitriol, but this post is already getting long. General musings on the tragedy of Cicero’s character and how it’s objectively the wrong choice to kill him below.

Thanks to my partner @wrenanigans I’ve had reason to re-examine Cicero’s character, and his past just makes me so deeply sad. Of course, his journals only cover DB-related events, so maybe he had a personal life he just didn’t write about, but it kind of struck both of us that he feels the loss of his fellow DB members so keenly and yet never really mentions any personal relationships outside of obligation to his fellow assassins. (i.e no family or lovers pre-insanity when he was a normal, extremely capable man) Like of course he went insane. The organization that was his entire life’s purpose not only promoted him to a position where he could no longer do what he joined them to do, but then he watched the organization dissolve around him and all his friends be slaughtered.

Then he was alone with the Night Mother waiting for her to talk to someone and give him direction for eight fucking years!!! Of course he went completely off the deep end! If I was isolated, paranoid (but is it paranoia if they’re actually out to get you?) and constantly on survival mode for that long, I’d be relieved if being a little quirky and doing little dances was the extent of my deviant behavior! (The murder comes with being in the Dark Brotherhood, so I don’t wanna hear any whining about him being stabby. Murder isn’t OK if the Dragonborn does it, but suddenly immoral if people you don’t like do it. In video games.)

I think for most people who don’t put much thought into Cicero and his actions, they just vaguely think “oh, Cicero betrayed the family and tried to kill Astrid, so killing him is justified irrespective of her later betraying us”, which is simply not true. There’s a very interesting post I saw floating around lately about how you can’t treat religion in fantasy worlds like TES the same way you would with religious groups IRL, because in TES there is tangible proof that gods exist, and they can and will fuck with the mortal world for their own whims. The point of the DB quest line is that the Tenets matter, and straying from them and the Night Mother almost snuffed the DB out for good. The narrative of the game explicitly justifies Cicero’s actions and QUITE LITERALLY tells you that killing Cicero is not the right call.

TES has a lot of creative interactivity with picking your own outcomes and going with your own solutions, but quests don’t usually end with “go kill this guy. but you can also spare him… ;)” They usually don’t give you an old wise dude whose spirit you can summon who tells you not to kill that clown. And then if you spare Cicero, he comes back and is a potential companion. Like…I don’t know how much more obvious it can get that you’re not supposed to kill Cicero. I get for most people it’s not that deep, but this is TES. We talk about lore here.

[aihoshiino]

chapter 165 thoughts

Aqua Hoshigan Status: It's Officially Hoshinover

Chapters Until The Story Ends Without The 143 Kiss Being Addressed Or Acknowledged: 1

damn i guess they really did just kill his ass

I'm gonna be so real with you gamers, I kind of don't have a lot to say about this one either lol. Which I acknowledge sounds completely wild given the Everything that happens in it, but most of my meat and potatoes analysis in these reviews comes from breaking down characterization and we're flying through everything at such breakneck pace that we're barely getting any characterization.

It continues to drive me bugfuck insane that Ai is completely absent from this finale despite the importance of 15 Year Lie. Its imagery is plastered all over but whenever we return to it, we just see Aqua. Not only that, but Gotanda is the one who insists on pushing the movie through for Aqua. 15YL as a story about Ai's true self and her tragedy is now officially taking a backseat to being about Aqua's tragic death and legacy. It was already bad enough that we spent so much time in the Movie Arc not actually focusing on Ai to the extent that, as everyone pointed out, based on what we saw on-page it was basically a Sad Kamiki Movie, but this really is just pissing right in the wound at this point lmao.

The funeral scene also serves as the final nail in the coffin for any Secretly Alive Aqua copes, which is kind of a relief. I still don't like how Aqua's death played out, but I think dragging it out for four chapters then going "sorry you thought i was /srs when i was just /jk" would have been infinitely more insulting. I don't like this ending, but I can respect that Akasaka seems to be sticking to his guns on it, even if we still do have like a whole chapter left for him to whip around and go "I WAS /JK ALL ALONG!!!!" but I don't see it happening.

Anyway, yeah! The funeral! Uh. Is it gonna sound weird if I say I felt kind of like… grossed out reading this the first time? Like, I really don't know how else to explain the visceral "why the fuck is the author making me read this" reaction I had to it. I think it's just because Kana is so fucking distraught here and the drama is just so hammy and so over the top that it feels kind of… ech. I dunno. I just really didn't vibe.

It doesn't help that this is part of a much broader pattern in the back half of OnK of Aka getting us right up close into the gory details of a character's complete mental breakdown and suffering and then spend zero time or focus on their recovery. This happened with Ruby all over the Movie Arc and this many times and with this little runway to the end of the series, it just starts to feel exploitative, like a way to cheaply pull at our heartstrings without doing the work to build everyone back up after tearing them down.

also pre-emptively dreading all the fuel this is going to add to the fires of People Who Are Weird And Misogynistic About Kana but she could die saving innocent children from a burning building and people would find reasons to be shitty about her lmao

we really are not seeing ruby's reaction to finding out her brother was dead huh lol

I will say the one thing I didn't Actively Dislike about this chapter was Ruby, though. I was honestly starting to get pretty skeeved out with how many people were gleefully predicting or actively wishing for her immediate suicide purely for ship motivated reasons and I was also worrying that the story was going to pretend that Ruby doesn't like. Have a life and support system outside of Aqua. Yes, she should absolutely be affected by his death but this period of her shutting down only to drag herself back onto her feet that we seem to be getting feels way more in line with pre-Movie Arc flanderization Ruby and I'll take that W where I can get it.

god. I haven't even talked about Kamiki's supposed serial killer cult. I just don't have the strength. Like… that's self-evidently stupid, right? I don't need to explain to you why that's ridiculous and unbelievable? You don't need me to tell you why it's fucking crazy that we're getting this information about the alleged overarching antagonist of the series not only in the second-to-last chapter of the entire series but after he was already dead, right? We can just move on? Ok good. jesus christ.

FINAL CHAPTER NEXT WEEK…

[galedekarios]

more gale & tara epilogue stuff

tara's epilogue conversation is so extremely devastating if gale sacrificed himself. since i can't bring myself to play it, i thought i'd look at it in the files and share what i find here.

tara can be found at camp and this is how the conversation with the player begins:

Tara the Tressym: Oh, hello, darling. I was hoping to see you. Withers informed me about this little get-together and I thought I'd show my whiskers.devnote Tara the Tressym: I can almost feel Gale here. Among his friends - in you. Some part of him remains, doesn't it? devnote: Gale has died so she's very sad and nostalgic.

this devnote is repeated for almost every line for tara in this convo.

from here, the player has various options to reply. i'll be going through them in order.

the first is one where the player points out the magically conjured image of himself that gale left behind in case of his permanent death:

Player: Well, his magical ghost is still here, if that's what you mean. Tara the Tressym: That thing's no more than a shadow of the real man. A nonsense. Though it captures some of his more insufferable qualities...

the second option is the player saying that they are feeling something similar, a presence that reminds them of gale:

Player: It does, Tara. I can feel his presence too. Tara the Tressym: A crackling in the air, isn't it? That flair of magic and mischief.

despite the tragedy of it all, i do love tara describing gale's presence as 'that flair of magic and mischief'. it's so very sweet and sad, especially remembering just long she's known him.

perhaps here she remembers the boy who accidentally set the rose bush on fire and cried, just as elminster does. or perhaps the boy who summoned a magma mephit, causing chaos, but also making a lifelong friend.

the third option is to tell tara that you miss gale, too, and this honestly made me tear up:

Player: I miss him too, Tara. Tara the Tressym: That's good. We should miss him. He was such a lovely fellow. Proud as a peacock, but... my little love. Tara the Tressym: Oh, what I wouldn't give to snuggle up on his lap one more time. Just once would do. Player: Would a fuss from me make you feel better?

"He was such a lovely fellow. Proud as a peacock, but... my little love."

PROUD AS A PEACOCK BUT... MY LITTLE LOVE

M Y L I T T L E L O V E

this is obviously completely fine so i'll continue with the fourth option:

Player: You can snuggle up in my lap later, if you like. Tara the Tressym: Oh, I couldn't possibly... unless... well, perhaps it's not a terrible idea. Gale would be quite pleased to know we've made friends, wouldn't he?

it's clear that tara needs some comfort. despite her stiff upper lip approach to most news devastating to her and the thin veneer of control she puts on here.

the fifth option is expressing that you know how she feels:

Player: I know how you feel. Tara the Tressym: Ah, to lose the one you love the most. What a terrible thing.

the sixth option is rather callous and tara's response to it once again heartbreaking:

Player: Alas, you can't. Tara the Tressym: No. Not in this life, at least.

the last option again shows tara's true grief at what happened:

Player: He's gone. We have to accept that. Tara the Tressym: I suppose we do. But I certainly wish we didn't.

most of these different options lead to the end of the conversation with tara, where she invites the player to visit her and morena in waterdeep:

Tara the Tressym: Perhaps you'd be willing to come meet Gale's mother, some time? She misses him so - and I know it would do her heart a world of good to discuss her son with someone who knew him as he was.

again, the player has various choices to either accept or refuse her invitation. i won't go through them all and you can read for yourself in the screenshot i provided. but i do want to look at these two options here:

Tara the Tressym: Perhaps you'd be willing to come meet Gale's mother, some time? She misses him so - and I know it would do her heart a world of good to discuss her son with someone who knew him as he was. Player: I'd love to, but I'm leaving Faerûn after tonight. Tara the Tressym: Well if you ever come back do look us up in Waterdeep. Surname 'Dekarios'. I'd enjoy the chance to reminisce about the good man we knew.

i'm once more reminded of that one line in elminster's letter and i feel so sad for morena:

Does he live within his mother’s ageing heart, weeping for those roses? 

2.

Player: I'll consider it. Tara the Tressym: See that you do. We'd love to have you. Things have been rather quiet without himself cluttering up the place.

which made me think about gale's line that his tower has never been so free of clutter ever since he had to deal with his condition.

anyhow, i hope this was interesting to some of you!

[maxdibert]

The sad thing is that we don’t even get to see any uncomplicatedly happy memories of his innocent childhood friendship with Lily. There’s this pervasive sense from the start of that chapter that JKR thinks that even 9 year old Lily was too good for him (the horrid judgemental use of the word ‘greedy’ and that quote she once gave where she said Snape’s tragedy was that he was drawn to but couldn’t emulate Lily’s innate goodness makes me hurl - what was so innately different about them aged 9 other than her good looks and middle class parents?) and so every single scene is her chastising him for something or other. Like she couldn’t allow saintly Lily to be seen as genuinely choosing and enjoying the company of someone as prickly and offputting as Snape, so she time skips 5 years and just tells us instead of showing us that they’re best friends. Unfortunately by failing to show any gentle, unspoiled moments the whole thing comes off like Lily sees him as a charity case she condescends to hang out with on occasion, while Severus fails to get the picture that clinging hard to someone who doesn’t want that is always going to end in a toxic place for both parties. Sorry for the super long post! It’s just rare to find someone who doesn’t buy into JKR’s intended reading of the Potter parents.

This is quite an interesting topic because even years ago, when I re-read the series at 19 or 20 and was quite involved in political groups and unions at university, I got the impression that Rowling creates a world where classism is constantly justified unless you are on the side of the bad guys. That is to say, Draco being a classist is wrong because he’s Draco, and he’s bad, and he’s Slytherin. But then you have quite a few characters who have clear classist attitudes and nothing happens because they are part of the heroes of the story, and so we’re going to completely overlook it. For example, Sirius is a classist; he always has been and even has nothing against slavery and treats his house-elf like rubbish. He doesn’t even consider him a conscious and independent living being; he’s just a bug to him. The Weasleys have a clear class resentment; they are humble and are sold to us as open-minded and tolerant people, but the reality is that if someone doesn’t fit into their narrow standards of “goodness,” they shut down and are just as petty and prejudiced as any blood supremacist. The best example of this is how the Weasley women treat Fleur simply because, instead of being a humble pick-me girl, she’s posh. But the fact is that Fleur has done absolutely nothing wrong for Ginny and Molly to treat her that way; her only sin is being beautiful and feminine, end of story. It’s supposed to be a story to learn that prejudices are wrong, but Hermione spends her life labelling other girls like the Patils or Lavender (before Lavender gets involved with Ron) as frivolous because they like doing things that are traditionally classified as feminine, which reveals that Rowling has quite a few prejudices against certain groups of women and their attitudes, stemming from a clear internalised misogyny that is present throughout the novel. You only have to look at how she glorifies motherhood as the pinnacle of female fulfilment and the real way to become a moral and brave example within the saga (Lily and Molly, Narcissa being redeemed ONLY because she loves her son) compared to the female characters who either haven’t seen motherhood as a dream come true (Merope Gaunt) or who have no children (Bellatrix), who are portrayed as little less than the worst of the worst in the story.

What I mean by this is that Rowling has quite a significant cognitive dissonance when it comes to establishing the moral values of the story. Because this is not A Song of Ice and Fire; it’s not a multi-voiced story with various perspectives from which you can develop your own complex criteria. It’s a story told from a single point of view where the dichotomy between good and evil is a central point of conflict, but is often blurred by quite a few contradictions that have no explanation, not even theoretically. I mean, the social themes in this story are terribly mismanaged and portrayed in a very superficial way. In the end, the conclusion you draw is that Gryffindor’s mission, the Order, or Harry’s is basically to defeat Voldemort to continue preserving the same status quo in which the magical world has always been immersed, with no intention of going to the root of the problems and taking action for real change. But well, we’re talking about a story written by a woman who turns her protagonist into the magical equivalent of a cop. I mean, LOL. I mean, ACAB, what can I say.

I say all this because when we talk about James and Lily, all of this applies in the same way. James and Lily make no sense. James and Lily are an example of what should NOT be done when writing a script, for instance. In screenwriting, the premise is always show, don't tell. But Lily and James are purely the tell. Lily and James are known for what other characters tell us about them, totally subjective characters, especially those who were friends with the couple. They are presented as great heroes when the reality in canon is that they did nothing. They joined the Order, were in it for a year, and then spent a year and a half holed up at home with their child, then they died, and that’s it. They can be treated as something tragic, but heroic? I wouldn’t say so.

They are also shown as paradigms of "the good ones," of the "correct morality," especially Lily, who is basically the Virgin Mary of this story and seems to have no flaws at all. But the reality is that if we go to canon, everything Lily does is a constant failure. Lily is condescending to Severus from the very beginning, probably because he is poorer than she is. Then she treats him as a charity case, which is already annoying her because he’s too geeky, odd, and marginal, causing her problems in her social circles. Then she half-smiles at his abuser while he is mistreating and humiliating him in front of the entire school. And then she marries that abuser. You can tell me whatever you want about Lily Potter, but what you’re showing me is rubbish, and if you show me rubbish but tell me wonderful things, there’s something that doesn’t add up, and for me, that’s the greatest failure of all.

If I have to be honest, I go back to what I mentioned before: for me, Lily had a huge inferiority complex. She felt inferior in the Muggle world because perhaps she wasn’t poor, but her family didn’t live in a good area either; they were probably lower middle class, without status or a promising future. At Hogwarts, she felt inferior for being the daughter of Muggles, so throughout her life, she secretly wanted to be part of the elite, to stand out, to be popular, to be seen as something important. That a boy like James Potter—handsome, wealthy, popular, with pure-blood status—would take an interest in her never displeased her. Deep down, she liked it; it was what she wanted. In the end, she gave in and married him, and she was probably very happy with her decision because that way, she ended up at the pinnacle of the social ladder. Of course, she liked James deep down for a long time; as Rowling once said. She liked what James represented, what he could mean for her. She would no longer just be the good student, pretty, nice, and popular; she would also have one of the most popular boys in school as a partner, who was also rich and of pure blood. I think that deep down, she and Petunia are quite similar in that regard, both seeking social ascent, each in their own way. After all, they were sisters.

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Twenty Two

available on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag for other chapters | warnings: mentions of smoking and cigarettes

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Twenty Two:

The waters of Zaun’s river lapped at the river bank as you both lounged on the ground, the sun illuminating the pages of your book wonderfully. Lying flat on your belly, you kicked your feet back and forth as Silco skipped the stones over the water’s surface.

“We were supposed to be out together,” he grumbled. “But you have your nose buried in that stupid book.”

You flicked a page, shushing him. “Be quiet. Julia’s just about to kill the evil witch.”

He chuckled, amused as his eyes settled on your unaware face. They traced the curve of your nose, the way your lashes fluttered as you blinked, the way your lips parted in wonder at the narrative unfolding behind your eyes.

“Does the evil witch ever get a name?” He probed. You looked up.

“The Evil Blanca,” you said proudly. He laughed.

“That’s a stupid name.”

You rolled your eyes, returning to the book. He leaned over to you, breath tickling your ear. “Be honest, [name], and admit that book’s shit.”

You gave a small laugh, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you angled your head away. “Stop that. It tickles.”

“What does?” He put a palm flat on the ground next to you, caging you in as he leaned back into your nape. You squirmed against him.

“That!” You laughed breathlessly. 

His hands flew to your sides, attacking you with tickles until you were gasping for air, tears in your eyes as you could barely breathe. “Admit the book’s awful.”

“I admit it!” You cried out, cackling hard as you tried to wiggle away from him. He grabbed your hips and dragged you back in. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever read!”

“Not possible. It’s the only thing you’ve ever read.” His fingers stopped moving, but his hands didn’t move away from your hips. You kicked one of your legs over his, grinning. 

“I’ve read your ledgers,” you pointed out.

“They’re numbers, [name].”

“They’re better cause I know you’re the one who wrote them.”

“So what? You’re in love with my handwriting?”

You swooned dramatically. “You’ve caught me.”

“I didn’t know my handwriting had an admirer.”

You smirked, leaning away a little. He leaned forward in return. “Not just your handwriting?”

“Is that so?” He murmured, eyes transfixed on your face. 

You were quickly beginning to flush at the turn the conversation was taking, and pulled away from him, drawing your knees up to your chest. “R-right, well- you’re right, the book is really cheesy. But it’s sweet. And it’s fun.”

He picked up the hardback and flicked to the page you’d marked, a small grin still on his face. “Flowery language,” he remarked. “The bane of my existence.”

“Just say you’re a Negative Nancy,” you complained, and snatched the book off of him. He sighed and rolled his eyes. You stowed it away in your satchel, standing up.

He followed suit, slinging his arm around your shoulders. You grunted as he dragged your closer, making you stumble. “Last Drop?”

“Is that the only place you spend your time?” You muttered. He grinned and looked at you.

“There and with you.”

“That’s really sad.”

He jostled you, and you yelped, clutching the strap of your satchel. “Don’t act as if it’s the same with you,” he said, jabbing at your ribs. You twisted away from him.

“Not true,” you retorted. “I have Hilda’s shop. And Alice.”

“Speaking of which, is waiting for you at the Last Drop. So let’s pick up the pace, shall we?”

The door creaked as you both entered. Alice and a younger Violet were sitting on the floor, a spread of colourful papers beneath them. Felicia emerged from behind the counter. You looked at her pregnant belly, dropping the satchel to the floor. 

“Looks uncomfortable,” you remarked, walking over to where Alice was. Your daughter looked up at you, giving you a gap toothed grin. You leaned down.

Felicia sighed. “It looks how it feels,” she said tiredly, walking across the room to slide into a chair. You picked up one of Alice’s drawings. The aid filled with heavy silence and the scratching of Vi’s crayon on paper.

“I drew a flower!” Alice said proudly. You held the paper to your chest.

“It’s wonderful. When we go home, I’ll frame it and hang it up. In fact, let’s dedicate an entire wall to your drawings.” You began picking up the strewn drawings all over the floor. “It’ll be our own little art gallery.”

“Really?” Her big green eyes were shining. You laughed and nodded. You could hear Silco’s footsteps behind you as he went to sit at Felicia’s table.

“Ever thought of having kids, [name]?” Felicia asked. There was another drink in her hand. She swirled the straw around in the sweet liquid. You turned to look at her. 

Silco was sitting opposite her, face pointedly looking at a book. You realized it was the ‘Julia and the Wickerlight’ he hated so much. He was frowning, flicking through the pages, eyes skimming the words. Felicia was facing you, looking at you expectantly. 

“Oh, I’m not sure.” You turned back to Alice, smoothing the girl’s hair over. She wasn’t listening, too busy creating another crude, wobbly masterpiece. “Dunno who I’d even have them with anyways. Plus, I have Alice.” You quickly glanced back to her, eyes flicking to Silco and then back to her, and flashed her a grin. 

She shifted in her seat, and Silco looked up. “What about you, Sil? You're gonna have kids?”

His brow furrowed and he turned back to the book. “Unless I find someone, most likely not.”

“Go find someone then.”

He waved a hand at her dismissively, ignoring her. She rolled her eyes and looked at you. “How come you’re not sure? I mean, sure, you have Alice, but wouldn’t you want one that’s really your own?”

“Alice is really my own,” you said coldly. She flushed. 

“Not like that,” she started quickly. “I-“

“I should hope not.” You stood up, and dusted yourself off. “And anyways, I’m not impartial to the company of children.”

“Really?” She crossed her arms, elbows pressed against the table as you flopped into a seat, digging around in the previously-discarded-on-the-floor satchel Silco had dragged along with him. “You look like you love them.”

“I’m nice to them, and care about them,” you retorted. You pulled out a pack of cards. “Anyone wanna play Un?”

“No thanks,” Silco muttered. He was focused on the book. You nudged him teasingly.

“See? It’s not so bad, is it?”

“…It’s well written,” he said stiffly. You squealed with delight, grabbing the book from his hands. He looked at you, miffed.

“Sorry.” You cleared your throat. “I’m just glad you like it.”

“Give it back,” he snapped. You blinked at him. 

“…Why?”

“I was just about to read the bit where Blanca steals Nico’s candle. The book, please.”

You bit your lip, grinning as you practically thrust the book at him. “You love it.”

“It’s readable.”

You ignored him, still grinning wildly as you began shuffling the cards. Felicia watched you both carefully, before picking up the small hand you’d tossed to her. You swept the remainder of the cards into a neat deck by your side.

You played your first card, eyes flicking to the bar. Vander had emerged from the back, and was wiping down the bar top. Alice and Violet had migrated to a small, quiet booth in the corner.

Felicia noticed you staring. “It won’t be a rowdy night,” she reassured you. “It’s Monday evening. People tend to keep it quiet on nights like these.”

You gave her a brisk smile and nodded as she set down a yellow card, and dismissively flicked your own yellow on top. “You’ve got Vi. I’ll trust your judgement.”

Felicia laughed, running a hand through her hair as she set down a yellow plus-two. You paused, staring at her. “It’s been three cards since the game started,” you said, affronted. She laughed, raising a shoulder.

“Pick up two, then.”

Your hand hovered over your plus-four, when you felt Silco’s breath on your neck.

“Don’t play it.”

You turned to him. His breath was on your cheek now. “What?” You whispered softly. He scooted closer to you, eyes still fixated on your hand.

“Save the plus-four for later.” He took two cards from the deck on the side and pushed them into your lap. His fingers grazed your thigh and you shivered. Felicia was focused on the two girls in the corner as she waited for your next move. “If she’s only on one card or hits you with plus-four instead. Save your good cards for later in the game.”

The sudden proximity was making you blush, even though you’d been this close before. Was it the fact that he was whispering in your ear? Patiently explaining to you, attention fixed on you, hands on your-

Felicia tossed down another card. He straightened up and turned back to the book. You looked at her, frazzled.

“Uh, right.” You played a red six. She smirked at your red face.

“What’s wrong? You look like a tomato.”

“Too much to drink, maybe,” you said briskly, rearranging the cards in your quivering hands.

“You haven’t drunk,” she pointed out flatly. You shrugged. 

“Whatever. Then it’s the heat.”

“It’s the middle of Nove-“

You slammed your hand onto the table. She flinched and Silco raised his head. You drew your palm away to reveal the black card.

Plus four.

Felicia sulkily picked up four cards, pressing her lips together. You rolled your eyes, huffing lightly. “Colour change to red.”

Silco looked at you inquisitively. You looked at him. “What?”

“You didn’t take my advice.”

Felicia put down a card. You put down another. Plus two. “Un,” you said excitedly. She groaned, looking down at the six cards still left in her hands. Silco touched your shoulder. You looked at him.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, and put down your final card before Felicia could even make her move. She tossed her hand onto the table- every colour but red lay before her. “I won though.”

He shrugged. “That you did.”

You grinned. “How’s the book going?”

“Very suspenseful.” He handed the thin copy to you. “I’ll finish it later.”

“Have you marked it?”

“I find dog-earring pages a horrific practice, but since your book’s pages are practically dog faced I took the liberty to make a little fold where I left off.” You turned the book to the side to see a small break in the pages, then back up at him again.

“It’s fine.” 

He let out a short breath. “I know it’s fine.”

“Let’s read together.”

He looked at you as you shoved him further down the booth, so his back was pressed to the wall, and clambered over his legs to get to his other side. You pressed the book against his chest. “I’m way ahead of you, so it’ll be like a recap for me.

He tensed beneath you as you pressed yourself against his arm, shifting so your head was resting comfortably in the crook of his neck. Then relaxed, melted. You could hear his quickening heartbeat. He gingerly opened the pages.

“Fine,” he muttered. You hummed, basking in the warmth radiating off of him in waves.

‘And so, Ciara and Elysia set off upon the high hills to search for their sister, not knowing about the castle she had bound herself to. Their dedication and love illuminated a trail through the forest…’

Silco smacked a hand against the page exasperatedly. “See? This is awful. How does their dedication and love lead them to a magical hidden castle?”

You rolled your eyes, tilting your head. Your lips just barely brushed his collarbone. “Because it’s a story, idiot.”

“Right.” He scoffed. You nudged him.

“See, something must have led me to you, right?” You cheekily joked. After a moment of silence, you looked up at him. He was blushing, avoiding your gaze.

“What, dedication and love?”

“Precisely.”

He scoffed, still not looking at you. “Liar. It was your nicotine addiction.”

“I just wanted a cigarette!” You protested. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap. You stiffened. He tilted your chin so you were facing the book again, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“And I’m glad you did.”

-

You were in bed.

Awake.

You didn’t know where you were at first. By the patterns in the ceiling, you assumed you were in the Haven.

You didn’t know who’s clothes you were wearing. Judging by the soft texture, you assumed they were Donna’s.

You didn’t know who scrubbed you clean. Your face felt fresh. The air was cool. Your palms weren’t soaked in blood, other than a small dark line of red beneath your fingernails. You assumed it was Donna.

You hadn’t moved an inch, bar your chest moving up and down with every shallow breath. 

You feared if you moved, then you’d have to face everything that had happened last night. That it would become truly real. You refused to believe in it otherwise.

Shutting your raw, tear-dry, sleep-crusted eyes, you tried to fall back asleep.

[artandmartini]

Mild Venom: The Last Dance spoilers

One thing I think would’ve made TLD better even if it had the same plot and ended the same way is more reciprocal affection.

I think the biggest problem of the movie symbrock-wise is that all affectionate/romantic scenes are mostly from Venom. Eddie seems to just be tolerating Venom most of the time. They’re suppose to be ride or die at this point. They’re suppose to be best friends he said it himself! I think if more scenes showed Eddie’s love or at least fondness for Venom, then more fans would be happier with the movie.

To be clear tho, I didn’t hate the movie but I do think it’s a step down from how their relationship was previously. Obviously I wasn’t expecting it to be so explicit with loving pet names and sloppy make outs but more implied in the way the previous movies did it.

Some examples I came up with for Eddie loving venom moments (actual spoilers):

Eddie complaining to the bartender that his fun vacation time with his “friend” was interrupted when they got punted into Marvel universe instead of talking about thanos and meta humans and how annoying aliens are. I want to believe they had fun in Mexico!!

Eddie smiling (and being grateful!!!) when Venom made him a cocktail. Also he shouldn’t have a headache venom can heal him.

When Venom says “You always take me to the best places” Eddie replies with “anything for you, bud” (but make it sound like babe)

More bonding over stuff they’d do in New York. Eddie can talk about food and Venom asks if there are bad guys there and Eddie says They can be the lethal protector there

More scenes in the Casino!!! It was so short :((

They should’ve tried to cheat at cards at least to show they also have a mind bond. It could’ve been cool or funny!!

A woman trying to hit on Eddie but he gets awkward and rejects her cause “I’m here with someone”

Mrs Chen could mention Ann and Dan are married and Eddie is happy for them but implied he’s sad cause he can’t marry venom

While separated in the Area 51 lab, Eddie is significantly distressed about it and talks about feeling hollow inside or like with a missing limb

Eddie should’ve been given the option to sacrifice Venom save himself and the world. But he CHOOSES NOT TO he says “but I need him” like the trailer suggested!!!

Have Eddie explain to the scientist women what being with venom is like and how he makes him feel (like the end of the first movie). Not only is this sweet but will allow the scientists to be more sympathetic towards symbrock and explains their willingness to help them and also to bond with the other symbiotes later in the movie

Have Venom apologize for hardships he put Eddie through and have Eddie assure him he’d do it all again if given the choice

Have Eddie shed a tear (at least 1!!!) when he wakes up without venom for the last time

The rest of these are more significant changes to the movie but still in keeping with the general plot:

Venom should’ve kept the codex a secret for a while and just told Eddie the xenophage was just revenge for the symbiotes imprisoning knull or something

Eddie can tell venom is acting strange and suspects he is hiding something (like in the comics re: their pregnancy)

The codex truth is revealed after the dance with Mrs Chen when they get attacked by a xenophage but before they get separated and taken to Area 51 leading to the sacrifice venom convo

When they reunite, venom admits he kept it a secret cause he was afraid Eddie would leave him but Eddie reassures him it’s them til the end

The rest of the movie plays out the same. But I think these choices would’ve really solidified their bond. It would’ve been more painful at the end but more satisfying!!! If you wanna make angsty tragedy then go all the way don’t half ass it

They’ll also have more scenes for their RomCom/Valentine’s Edit

[hereiamforsomereason]

Listen, do I love a good sad ending? Yes, a tragedy, a bittersweet ending, a well written horror, villains winning, heroes losing, you know, all that edgy stuff. I don't believe everything needs to have a happy ending and I think for some stories, a tragic ending just makes more sense. I also love when writers go against the viewer's expectations because it's interesting and can really be impactful if done well. However, I still need Stranger Things to have the happiest, cheesiest, sweetest ending of all time.

No one is allowed to die besides Vecna and some demogorgons. They kill Vecna with the power of love and friendship. The world is saved. Everyone gets their happy ending whatever that may be and no matter what, they all stay friends because they are basically family at this point. Bonus points, if the last scene is everyone hanging out and everyone just being happy. I won't even cringe if the last line is one of them saying "well, we've definitely seen stranger things."

Like make it goofy and funny and sweet, the rest of the season can still be dark and serious without there being any more tragedy. I don't think the ending being happy will take away from that.

I know this has probably already been said but it's so important to me that the show isn't a tragedy. You know why? Because it's a mainstream show about outcasts in the 80s. A show about gay kids, black kids, disabled kids, kids that are considered different just for existing. If you take away the supernatural and the sci-fi elements, at its core, that's what the show is about.

So if the show that from day one has been about being different and being who you are, turns around and kills off half the cast and has either a bittersweet ending or just a plain awful ending just for shock value or because it makes the story more "realistic" (and yes, that includes having Will be rejected by the person he loves and being killed off. El sacrificing herself because she's a superhero and that's what she feels she's supposed to do or Max and Lucas having a tragic love story.) It'd be throwing away everything the show stands for and personally, I think it would be god awful writing.

That kind of ending can be done well but I don't think that's the kind of ending ST needs.

There's been enough tragic stories about minorities in both the past and present. This show has evil crispy undead wizards and giant lanky mind controlling spiders, I don't think poc/queer/disabled/female/etc characters being happy and alive is gonna make the show unrealistic.