#I’m just personally tired of people saying this sorry

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (06)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 5.3k

Aliyah's Notes: after the calamity of ch5 i present u ch6.... enjoy it. or not. AND IM SORRY FOR THE ENDING 🔥😩😅😨

It's been days. Or weeks? You didn’t even know anymore. The calendar on my phone kept reminding me, but you stopped counting. Maybe if you ignored the world long enough, it’ll forget you existed. Maybe if you stayed in this apartment, you could disappear into these four walls like you were never here in the first place.

Numbers. You used to count them, obsess over them, keep track of every passing hour. But now, time feels... irrelevant. What’s the point of knowing how long you’ve been sinking when no one’s coming to pull you out?

The silence feels... safe. No one to judge you. No one to see the mess you’ve become. It’s funny, though—people always see what they want to see. The headlines called you a goddess, an untouchable force of beauty and success. But what would they say if they knew the truth? That the girl in their glossy magazines could barely stand to look at herself anymore.

You hated this. The lying, the pretending. Nina thought you were just going through a rough patch, but she didn’t know how deep the cracks went. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to be this anymore—broken, fragile, teetering on the edge again. You swore you’d never come back to this place. But it’s funny how easy it is to fall back into old habits, how fast the darkness creeps in when no one’s watching.

No one’s watching.

Maybe that’s for the best. Let them keep seeing the version of you they wanted to see—the confident supermodel, the girl who had it all. Let them believe the lie, because the truth? The truth was ugly. The truth was you’ve been staring at your phone for days, hoping—no, needing—for a message, for something from him.

But nothing.

He was in Missouri. Working, you guessed. You didn’t even know when he was coming back. He didn’t say. 

You hated him for that. But you hated yourself more for caring. For letting him in, even when you knew better. For thinking, for just one second, that maybe—just maybe—there was something real between you, beneath all the lies you told the world.

But none of it was real. Not the dating, not the smiles, not the person they thought you were. You were a fraud. A perfect, golden fraud wrapped up in designer clothes and empty promises. And the worst part was, you were too tired to fight it anymore. Maybe this was who you were now. A girl who hid in her apartment, waiting for the world to forget she existed.

Or maybe it already happened.

The sound of the door creaking open started you, pulling you out of the spiral you’ve been sinking into. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. No one else had the key to your apartment beside her.

“Are you kidding me, Y/N?” Nina’s voice cut through the heavy silence like a knife. “This is the third time this week. How long do you think you can keep doing this?”

You didn’t respond.

Nina stromed in, slamming the door behind her, and you heard her heels clacking on the floor as she made her way to the living room. “You’re not answering your phone. You’re not responding to emails. You missed three shoots! People are asking questions, Y/N. What do you think I’m supposed to tell them?”

You stayed silent, curling deeper into the couch. Maybe if you didn’t look at her, she’ll go away. Maybe she’ll finally get the hint that you didn’t want to be saved.

But Nina wasn’t the type to back off. “No,” she snapped. “You don’t get to ignore me, not today. You need to get up. You need to fix this, Y/N. You think you can just hide away forever? Is that the plan? Because let me tell you, honey, the world won’t wait for you to get your shit together.”

She stood in front of you now, hands on her hips, glaring down at you like a disappointed mother. Her usually immaculate hair was slightly disheveled, and you could tell by the tension in her jaw that she’s been worrying. 

“Talk to me, honey,” she said, her voice lower now. “This isn’t you. You don’t just disappear like this. What happened? Is it Rafe? Is it work? Are you back to…” her voice trailed off, but the question hanged in the air, heavy and unspoken. 

You couldn’t look at her. The shame curled in your chest, making in hard to breathe. She didn’t know. She didn’t know how badly you’ve relapsed, how badly everything felt like it was slipping out of control again. And you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Not to her. Not to anyone.

“When’s the last time you even showered? Eaten something decent? Your career’s on the line. Everything we’ve worked for is on the line. You can’t just… give up like this.”

Her words hit like slaps, each one stinging, but you still didn’t move. You couldn’t.

Nina huffed, pacing now, her frustration spilling over. “I don’t know what happened between you and Rafe, and honestly, I don’t care. But whatever it is, you don’t get to throw your life away because of it. You’re stronger than this, Y/N. I know you are. So why the hell are you letting this break you?”

You flinched at the word “break.” Because that’s what it feels like. Like you’re already broken, shattered into a million pieces, and you didn’t even know how to start putting yourself back together.

Nina crouched down in front of you, her voice softening, her eyes searching yours. “Talk to me, honey. Please. Tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

For a moment, you almost did. You almost told her everything—the text, the relapse, the endless void you’ve been sinking into. But the words caught in your throat, choking you. What’s the point in talking when nothing will change?

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m fine.”

Nina’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re not fine. You’re far from it. You think I haven’t seen you like this before? You’re not fooling anyone, Y/N.”

She stood, her frustration bubbling back to the surface. “You need to snap out of it. Because in five days, you’re getting engaged to Rafe Cameron, whether you like it or not. And a week after that, you’re walking down the aisle. You can’t afford to fall apart now.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a lead blanket. The engagement. The wedding. The lies. It all felt so suffocating, so inevitable.

Nina crossed her arms, her voice firm. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get up, you’re going to shower, and you’re going to pull yourself together. Because tomorrow, you’ve got a charity event with Rafe, and you’re going to smile for the cameras and make everyone believe that you’re still that perfect, golden girl they love.”

You wanted to scream at her, tell her you couldn't do it, that you didn't even know how to pretend anymore. But instead, you nodded numbly, sinking deeper into the fog that had settled over your mind.

Nina sighed, her voice softening again as she headed toward the door. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. And I swear, Y/N, if you're still in this state when I get here, I will personally drag you to that charity event."

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving you alone with the weight of everything she'd just said.

You hadn’t slept. Not really. Just laid there, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how you were supposed to pretend like everything was fine when every part of you was falling apart. You could still hear Nina’s voice in your head, telling you to pull yourself together, to be the golden girl everyone expected you to be. 

You dragged yourself out of bed, your body heavy. Your legs felt weak, and your mind feltl worse. Everything was numb, but somehow you still felt the pain. You stumbled into the bathroom, turning the water on without thinking. The cold spray hit your skin like tiny needes, and you stood there for a while, trying to let the string wake you up. But it didn’t work—you were still in that fog.

When you finally stepped out of the shower, you didn’t even bother looking in the mirror. It didn’t matter. You grabbed the first thing you saw—a plain black sweater, loose and oversized, and a pair of jeans that didn’t quite fit right anymore. You didn’t even try with your hair, just pulled it back into a bun. No makeup. What was the point? It wasn’t like anyone cared what you looked like today.

When you got to the office, the tension hit you the moment you walked through the door. Your stomach twisted as you made your way down the hallway, each step heavier than the last. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your chest tightening with every breath. You shouldn’t have cared. You shouldn’t. But as you pushed open the door to the conference room and saw him sitting there—Rafe, looking like he hadn’t been bothered by a single thing—you felt the anger bubbling up, hot and sharp.

It started as a familiar ache that had been building ever since the night he walked out of your apartment without a word. Two weeks. Fourteen days of silence. Fourteen nights spent waiting for a text that never came, hoping for even the smallest explanation, something to make sense of the hollow space he’d left behind.

Day 1. Monday, 2:42 AM

You: “Hey. Are you home? LMK, just to be safe.”

Day 2. Tuesday, 8:18 AM

You: “I’m still so confused about what happened last night, but let’s talk when you have a minute.”

Day 3. Wednesday, 5.32 PM

You: “Look, if you’re mad at me, just say it! I thought we were good, what the hell?”

Day 4. Friday, 11:04 PM

You: “It’s been days and I still don’t understand why you left like this.”

Day 5. Sunday, 3:27 PM

You: “Fuck you. I don't know why I keep texting. I know you’re seeing my texts, even though I’m on delivered. Just tell me if you’re done with this.”

Day 5. Sunday, 10:41 PM

You: “Why am I acting like I’m the one who fucked up? I didn’t do anything wrong. You left me like I was nothing, and your only explanation was a shitty rom-com excuse. I thought we were friends, Rafe.”

Day 5: Sunday, 11:36 PM

You: “I hope you rot in your shit ass apartment, but trust that I will show up to one of your stupid games with a sign that says “Small Dick Ghoster” in big, glittery letters. And I hope Chiara will hug you so hard that she’ll end up strangling you to death. Fuck you, again!”

And there he was, sitting there like none of it had happened, like you were still just strangers playing a game. His posture relaxed, that effortless confidence radiating from him, his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him, completely indifferent.

It infuriated you—the ease with which he moved on, the way he could look so composed, so completely unbothered, as if he hadn’t abandoned you in that moment when you were raw and vulnerable. Like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing.

Every part of you screamed to confront him, to demand an explanation for the silence, the absence, the complete disregard. You could feel the hurt clawing up from your chest, tangling with the anger that burned hotter with each passing second. He was so close, but somehow, he felt miles away.

So instead, you steeled yourself, locking down the hurt, burying it beneath the anger that simmered just beneath the surface. You wouldn’t let him see the effect he had on you, wouldn’t give him the power to know just how much his absence had shattered you. No—he would get nothing from you. Not a word, not a glance, not a single sign of the turmoil raging inside you.

You walked past him without a word, each step heavy with the weight of the anger you swallowed down. Let him sit there, pretending like nothing was wrong. Let him think he could ignore you, dismiss you, erase you from his life without consequence. Because you would make sure he felt every bit of the coldness he had left you with, every ounce of the hurt he’d carved into you.

Ignoring him was the only power you had left, the only way to keep the anger from spilling over, from breaking you down entirely. And if he thought he could continue on as if the past two weeks hadn’t happened, then he was going to learn just how wrong he was.

Nicolas cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. “Hi, you two—we’ve got a lot to go over, and the timeline is tight. The engagement is in five days, and the wedding is scheduled for a week after that. So we need to finalize the details today—food, decorations, dresses, the guest list…”

You couldn’t focus. The words blurred together a dull hum in the background as you stared down at the table. Rafe said something, his voice casual, but you tuned it out. You didn’t want to hear him.

Sabrina spoke next, her tone brighter, more enthusiastic. “The audience is really enjoying you together, by the way. Ever since your date, and especially after the pictures from Kelce’s party where you two were cuddled up? People are in love with the idea of you and Rafe together. So, good job, guys.”

Your stomach churned at her words. Cuddled up. Like you were some happy couple.

“And tomorrow,” she continued. “You’ll need to make another public appearance together. It’s a charity event for cancer awareness. A perfect opportunity for more good press. The public is expecting you two to show up as the perfect couple—affectionate, in love, all of that.”

In love.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood. This was the part where you were supposed to smile and nod, agree to hold his hand and play the role of the devoted future fiancée. But all you felt was the tension building, the weight of the lie pressing down on you until it was suffocating.

Rafe shifted in his seat, and you could feel his eyes on you, but you still didn’t look at him. Rafe felt an uneasy twist in his stomach. You looked… different. Disheveled, almost. Your sweater hung losely over your shoulders, practically swallowing your frame, and he could see dark shadows under your eyes that hadn’t been there before. You seemed smaller somehow, your usual energy muted, replaced by something tense and fragile.

Rafe’s gaze dropped to your hands, noticing how your fingers fidgeted restlessly, twisting and tugging at your sleeves. Your leg was bouncing under the table, tapping out an anxious rhythm that only he seemed to notice. Every small movement, every nervous habit—you looked like you were holding yourself back, like there was something simmering beneath the surface, ready to break free.

You still hadn’t looked at him, hadn’t given him a single glance, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. You’d been messaging him, and he’d been… well, avoiding it, convincing himself it was for the best. But seeing you now, seeing the wear and tear he’d left behind, he couldn’t shake the guilt.

Rafe’s chest tightened. He’d expected you to be angry, maybe annoyed. But this? You looked worn down, frayed at the edges, like you've been carrying a weight no one else could see.

You didn’t remember most of the details they were talking about. Your mind drifted in and out of focus as they went on about the guest list, the food, the decorations. All you heard were words—dresses, flowers, venues. None of it felt real. It was as if you were watching someone else’s life unfold in front of you, just sitting there, an outsider in your own story.

“The wedding will be televised, of course,” Sabrina says, flipping through her notes, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of it all. “And with a full press presence. We want every detail to reflect both of your public personas. Elegant, grand, but also with an intimate, personal feel—something that tells a story about who you both are.”

Who we were. I almost laughed at the irony. I didn't even know who I was right now, much less who we were.

“We were thinking of something grand but elegant. A modern luxury wedding. White roses, lots of gold accents. Maybe something at the estate in the Hamptons?”

You glanced at the board, at all the glossy, pristine images of weddings that could belong to anyone. None of them felt like you.

“Do you have any preferences?” Sabrina asked, smiling like this is the most exciting conversation in the world. “Colors, themes, anything that’s important to you?”

"Actually," you finally broke your silence, your voice coming out quietly, but the words landing heavily in the room. "I’d like the ceremony to reflect... my background." You could feel Rafe's eyes on you again, but for once, you didn’t care. This wasn’t about him.

Sabrina blinked, taken aback, but she quickly nodded, jotting down notes as if she were open to whatever you had in mind. "Of course, that could be beautiful. Were you thinking about specific details?"

You hesitated for a moment, uncertain if they’d take you seriously, but you pressed on. "Yes. The colors… the decorations. I want there to be vibrant colors—not just whites and pastels, but deep greens, maroons, and gold. The way we’d have them back home. And for the flowers… jasmine and roses. That’s what we use for weddings where I’m from. I want it to feel like... like part of my heritage."

Nicolas raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t expected you to care about any of this. But he just nodded, his pen moving across his notepad. "We can definitely arrange that. A traditional, multicultural theme would add a unique touch to the event, I think. It’ll definitely resonate with the press and the viewers."

You didn’t care if it resonated. It wasn’t for them—it was for you, a sliver of authenticity in this whole farce.

Then Sabrina’s voice broke into your thoughts. "And of course, the dress. Have you given any thought to what you want? Or would you like us to arrange for a stylist to go over options with you?"

Your heart twisted at the mention of the dress. The one thing you’d always imagined as a girl—the dress you’d wear at your own wedding. Only, you’d never thought it would be for this.

"I’d like to include some of my culture there too," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe... a fusion. Something elegant and modern but with hints of traditional South Asian bridal elements. Like embroidery or... beadwork. Maybe even henna if it wouldn’t look out of place."

Sabrina seemed to light up at the idea. "That would be stunning. We can definitely work with that! I know several designers who specialize in fusing traditional and contemporary styles."

She was still talking, but the air around you felt thicker, as though the room was closing in. You could sense Rafe’s gaze without even looking at him, the weight of his silence pressing into you.

You zoned out again, your mind wandering back to the last wedding you attended. The colors, the music, the way the bride’s lehenga shimmered under the sun as she walked down the aisle. You’d always thought your wedding would be like that—full of life and celebration, surrounded by people who loved you.

Instead, you were planning a wedding for the cameras, for people who didn’t know you.

The sudden, sharp knock on the door cut through the stillness like a jolt of cold water. Your head shot up from the pillow, heart hammering in your chest. For a moment, the world felt like it was still. The quiet of your apartment, the thick fog still clouding your thoughts. You didn’t want to get up. You didn’t want to face the world outside of this bed, this cocoon of emptiness you’d wrapped yourself in for days.

Another knock, this one louder, more demanding.

“Y/N!” Nina’s voice came through the door, sharp and impatient. “You better not still be in bed, because I swear—”

The door swung open before you could even make a sound, Nina storming in, wearing the same determined, unbothered expression she always had when she was on a mission. You tried to bury your face back into the pillow, but she wasn’t having it. Her hand reached down, grabbing the covers and yanking them off with force. You shivered as the cold air hit your skin, the warmth of the blankets yanked away along with any shred of comfort you’d been clinging to.

“Get up.” Nina wasn’t asking. She was commanding. “You’ve got a charity event today, and Rafe is already at the venue. We don’t have time for your pity party.”

You squinted at her, still half-wrapped in your sheets like a burrito, and mumbled from underneath the pillow, “Can’t you just… I don’t know… handle it for me? Go in my place. You’d look great in a gown.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I’d look amazing, but you and I both know I don’t have that kind of charisma.”

“True,” you admitted, peeking out from under the pillow. 

Nina raised her hands in mock surrender. “Exactly. Now, up. I’m not playing with you today.”

Before you could even protest, she yanked the covers off you with a dramatic flourish, leaving you to shiver in nothing but your oversized T-shirt. It was a miracle you didn’t roll off the bed in the process.

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.” Nina didn’t wait for you to even get a grip on reality before heading straight for your closet, rummaging through your clothes like she was on a mission. “You’re going to look so good today that Rafe might just start thinking you actually like him.”

You shot her a glare that could’ve frozen water, but she just smirked, tossing a black dress onto the bed like she was some fashion fairy sent to save you from yourself.

“I’m not going,” you said flatly.

“Oh, yes, you are.” Nina threw a matching pair of heels onto the bed with the same casual flick of the wrist she used to dismiss your protests. “Because you will look stunning, and you will show up.”

You sat up slowly, rubbing your face. “What is it with you people? Why does everyone keep trying to drag me out of bed? It’s like I’m the world’s most reluctant celebrity.”

“Because you are.” Nina grinned, holding up your dress like she was presenting the Holy Grail. “But, hey, guess what? You’re really good at it. So stop sulking and get your glam on. You’re the star of the show today.”

You let out a theatrical sigh. “Oh, joy.”

Nina didn’t even flinch. “I’m not asking for a performance. Just put on the damn dress and show up. You can pretend to be miserable, and I’ll pretend I’m not a miracle worker for getting you out of here.”

You hesitated for just a moment, then dragged yourself out of bed with a grunt. “Fine.”

“Oh, by the way, Aisha’s going to be there. She practically begged me to make sure you show.”

Your eyes snapped open. Aisha Patel. Your best friend and, quite honestly, the only person in your life who could drag you out of bed with a single text. She’s been your best friend since you’d arrived in the States. She’d been away for five months—longer than ever before—working on some high-profile project in Switzerland. You hadn’t seen her in ages.

“You’re kidding,” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “Aisha’s coming?”

Nina smiled smugly. “Yep. She’s flown back for the event. Can you imagine the drama if you don’t show up? She’ll never let you live it down.”

You sighed, a smile tugging at your lips. “God, I missed her.”

“Me too,” Nina said, her voice softening for just a second. “But you still have to get up. Like now.”

You looked at the dress Nina had already picked out, a sleek white gown that somehow made you feel both glamorous and like you were about to attend a royal gala. “Fine. I’m up. I’m dressed.”

Nina, who was already rummaging through your closet like a pro, grinned. “You look absolutely beautiful, honey,” she noticed your weight loss but decided to not speak on it, in fear it’ll make you relapse… if only she knew. “Chiara’s also going to be there...”

You froze, the mention of Chiara Romano sending a cold shiver down your spine. You’d told Nina everything about the Chiara encounter—her subtle digs, the way she made you feel like you were just another passing phase in Rafe’s life. She’d made things uncomfortable enough at Kelce’s party, and now you had to face her again?

“What? Fucking why?”

“Her father’s the one running the whole damn event,” she explained. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of her or her family because they’re pretty famous, especially in the entertainment and events world. So, get ready for a day full of small talk, fake smiles, and people who will pry into your private life.”

You sighed. “How perfect is that?”

You stood in front of the mirror, trying to shake off the heavy weight of everything swirling in your head. You glanced at the clock. You were running out of time.

You reached for your hair tie, pulling it through your tangled locks. Your hair had grown longer than you remembered, and you decided to tie it up in a messy, yet elegant bun—one that would allow a few soft, curly strands to escape and frame your face. It was casual but chic—classic you. You let a few strands fall loosely, giving the bun a less formal, more effortless vibe. After a moment of satisfaction, you moved on to the makeup.

A soft, dewy glow covered your skin, nothing too dramatic. You didn’t want to feel caked in layers today, just enough to enhance your features. You applied a touch of blush to your cheeks, just a hint, to keep the look fresh. A thin line of mascara lengthened your lashes, and your signature lip combo was the finishing touch. Simple. Comfortable.

As you turned to check yourself one last time, you heard Nina's voice from the other room.

“Y/N! We need to go now. Rafe's texting me and he’s getting antsy. He’s apparently already at the event!”

You sighed, feeling the familiar rush of anxiety settle into your stomach. The mirror reflected a version of you that was ready for the world, but the world, especially tonight, wasn’t ready for this version of you. But as the pressure of the event built up, you couldn’t deny the uncertainty gnawing at you.

When you made your way into the living room, Nina was pacing, her phone glued to her ear. She shot you a quick, approving glance. “Looking good. Let’s go.”

As you grabbed your clutch, ready to face whatever tonight had in store, the doorbell rang. Your heart skipped a beat. Was it Aisha? Maybe she’d arrived early, wanting to meet up before the event?

But when you opened the door, your breath caught.

Standing in the doorway wasn’t Aisha.

It was Rafe.

He was in a suit—sharp, looking like he belonged in a magazine ad for high-end fashion—but his eyes, dark and intense, held something more than just a desire to impress. He had the look of a man who knew he had messed up.

His words hit you before you could even process them. “You look stunning. I wanted to make sure you’re okay... before all this.” The sincerity in his voice made your heart thump a little faster, and you hated yourself for it.

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stood there, blinking at him. You hadn’t expected him to show up—especially not with that kind of intensity in his eyes.

You exhaled slowly, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest, your posture defensive. The audacity of this guy.

“Really?” You scoffed, trying to mask the vulnerability creeping up your spine with sharp sarcasm. “Now you care?”

Rafe seemed to falter at that, but he quickly recovered, taking a small step closer, but not enough to make you feel cornered. “I’ve always cared, Y/N. You know that.” His voice was quieter this time, and the sincerity in his eyes almost made your resolve crack.

“Do I?” you shot back, stepping out of the doorway and giving him a once-over, your gaze icy. “Because you sure had a funny way of showing it.”

Rafe winced, a flash of guilt flickering in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “I messed up, okay? I should’ve reached out. I didn’t know what to say, but I should’ve just... shown up.”

You rolled your eyes, the anger simmering beneath your skin rising again. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, not from the sight of him, but from the frustration that had been building over the past two weeks. “You didn’t know what to say? You think showing up fixes two weeks of silence? Just like that?”

He took a step forward, his face tightening, as though he was bracing himself for a confrontation. "I wasn’t sure what to do," he said, his voice lowering. "I thought... maybe you needed space. I thought if I gave you time, it would be better." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his expression. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

You stared at him for a long moment, the audacity of his words settling like a lump in your throat. “Space?” you asked, your voice low, incredulous. “You thought ghosting me for two weeks would give me space?” 

Rafe’s face twisted in guilt, but it didn’t matter. You weren’t going to let him off the hook.

“Did you at least see my texts?” you demanded, anger rising in your throat.

"Y/N, you’re needed at the car right now!" Nina called, stopping Rafe in his tracks of answering. Before you could walk away, Rafe reached out, his hand closing around your wrist, pulling you back gently.

"Wait," he murmured, his thumb brushing your skin.

You stared up at Rafe, your breath caught in your throat, uncertainty swirling in your chest. The air between you two felt charged, a thousand unspoken questions hanging in the balance. Your pulse was racing, but before you could voice any of them, Nina practically shoved you both into the elevator. Her hand pressed the button for the ground floor as she threw your heels at you, the sharp click of the stilettos punctuating the tension.

You caught them on instinct. The elevator descended, and your mind was still spiraling, trying to piece together what the hell was happening. What the fuck—this distance between you and Rafe? 

But just as the elevator doors opened, the sound of a familiar car door slamming outside caught your attention. A quiet thud, followed by the sound of heels clicking against pavement. Your instincts were on alert, an uneasy feeling crawling under your skin.

And when you turned to look, you saw someone stepping out of the car.

Someone who shouldn’t be here.

“I was wondering when we’d get the chance to catch up.”

chapter seven

[vendettapandav]

“Curly deserved better” “curly deserved so much more” “curly didn’t deserve what happened to him”

No no no no that’s the POINT. Curly is just as bad as Jimmy. He let so many of the giant red flags that tumbled out of Jimmy’s mouth slide. He was told multiple times about the abuse Jimmy was inflicting on Anya. He ignored Anya even when she pushed so far as to hide the gun on the ship bc she genuinely feared what Jimmy would do to her. Curly heard it all- saw it all- and he chose to do nothing. He had every opportunity to intervene before the crash but he didn’t. He chose not to. He blathered on and on about responsibility, about his willingness to do anything for his crew, but when they needed him most he did nothing. He just stood there and watched and let it happen.

And now he can’t do anything. He has lost the ability to make that choice. He physically can’t intervene now. His chance to change things and take responsibility has passed him by. Now, he has to just sit there and watch how the mask formed from all those red flags he so willfully ignored peels away and reveals the monster that was always there beside him. Now, he has to just sit there and watch as one by one, Jimmy manipulates and drives each and every one of the people that he swore up and down he would protect to the very edge, and kills them. Now, he just has to sit there and watch as Jimmy justifies each of his actions by blaming everyone else for the situation he put them in- the situation that Curly allowed him to put them in. He has to sit there and watch as Jimmy does everything in his power to create a palatable, sanitized narrative of what happened all so he can cover up what he was doing.

And Curly chose to stand there passively and allowed all of it until he physically didn’t have a choice anymore.

And in the end, Curly is the only one left to tell the story. The story of how it was all his responsibility, how he was supposed to do anything for his crew. And now, it’s all his fault because he couldn’t do just one thing. He has to live with that fact for the rest of his life. He has to live with the fact that his willful ignorance, his choice not to act, cost four people their lives. He will live with those physical and mental scars forever. But even worse, he has to live knowing that that’s the truth. And that in some cruel, twisted way, Jimmy was right.

The truth doesn’t really get rid of that awful taste in your mouth though, does it?

[agoldengalaxy]

Heroes in the Night

read on Ao3

words: 1737

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments until words tumbled out of his mouth before he could properly think them. “Did you mean what you said? Back in the woods?” If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he could see Ford’s eyes shine a little as he turned away at the question, as if trying to think of how best to answer it. For a moment, Stan thought he wouldn’t answer, and was gearing up to say something else when four words were murmured so sincerely it made his knees shake.

--

The living room was dark and musty, filled with the sound of quiet snores. It was strangely comforting, Stan thought, as he tried relentlessly to cling onto fleeting memories. These people hadn’t left his side for hours, and now he was the only one left awake.

From where he sat on the armchair, his tired gaze wandered toward the girl curled up next to him, scrapbook still in hand. In the moonlight that filtered through the broken window, he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks glisten as if to taunt him. Her slack face still held some tension, and without really thinking about it, he swept some of the hair from her eyes. Under her breath, she mumbled something about pancakes and snuggled up closer to him, her cheek squishing against his arm.

Mabel, he thought. His head might be all messed up, but the only thing that mattered was that when he looked at her, he knew he would do anything for that child. I’m so sorry I made you cry, pumpkin.

On the other side of him, curled up on the arm of the armchair, was the boy, using his vest as a blanket, a pained look on his face. He reminded him so much of someone else. He didn’t have the tear tracks like his sister did, but he didn’t look very peaceful either. Slowly, Stan lifted a hand, running it up and down Dipper’s back soothingly. He watched as the kid’s face slowly relaxed. A quiet sigh passed through Stan’s lips as he gradually stopped rubbing his back. To his relief, Dipper stayed relaxed. This kid was sometimes too smart for his own good, sometimes drove him completely crazy, but he would do anything for him, too.

Dipper and Mabel. How could he have ever forgotten them, even with some fancy scientific machine?

On the floor by his feet was the young man who stayed by his side for years when no one else did. From what he could remember, Soos had spent countless nights on this floor and Stan had never had the heart to wake him and tell him to go home. Now, he lay on his stomach, his face turned toward the chair, quiet snores sounding like they were almost trembling. Gently, careful not to jostle Mabel beside him, Stan reached behind him to grab the blanket folded on the back of the chair. He leaned down, covering Soos with it, who smiled in his sleep for just a moment, contagious enough that it made Stan smile a little, too.

He didn’t understand what he’d done to earn Soos’ loyalty. He had a feeling he still had no clue even when he did have all his memories. Maybe he never would. Maybe that was okay.

Finally, his gaze lifted. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall beneath the window, was his brother. His arms were folded loosely over his chest, his glasses askew, his head leaning against the wall behind him while he snored quietly. Stan’s heart felt somewhat heavy gazing upon the face that looked so much like his own, knowing that reuniting with his brother had been the only thing on his mind for thirty years.

We had to erase his mind to defeat Bill. It’s all gone. He saved the world. He saved me. You’re our hero, Stanley.

The first clear memory he had, a man approaching him, kneeling down to his level, his voice cracking with emotion as he threw his arms around his neck. In the moment, Stan hadn’t been able to do anything. He hadn’t known who this person was. He hadn’t known his own name. He sure didn’t feel like anyone’s hero.

But he never had. That much, he remembered.

Suddenly, Ford began mumbling incoherently. Stan had been too lost in his thoughts and jumbled memory that he hadn’t noticed his brother’s creased forehead, or the sheen of sweat along his brow. His body seemed tense, his head jerking back and forth as if he were fighting something off. Stan bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood, and quickly snatched up Waddles from the floor beneath him, leaning Mabel against the pig so he could stand up. She didn’t stir.

“Poindexter. Hey.” Stan knelt down, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Easy, buddy. I gotcha. You’re safe.”

The incoherent mumbling continued while he spoke, rapidly increasing, more and more distress appearing on Ford’s face. “Stan…ley,” he murmured, the first word he was able to make out. Stan tightened his grip on the other’s shoulder.

“It’s a dream. Wake up!”

A deep gasp rattled through Ford’s body as his eyes shot open, his chest heaving as if each breath were a chore. His somewhat bloodshot eyes darted nervously around the room until finally landing on Stan, who was making a face he was sure he’d rather be caught dead making. “S-Stanley,” Ford’s voice trembled uncertainly as he fixed his glasses. “You…what…”

“It was a dream,” he cut him off, tightening his grip once again. “You had me worried there, Sixer, sayin’ all this nonsense under your breath like you were finally goin’ insane after all these years.”

Ford released a breath he probably didn’t realize he was holding, his gaze drifting toward the hand on his shoulder, which Stan promptly removed. “I…I apologize for waking you.”

Rolling his eyes, Stan stood up slowly, his knees cracking as he did so. “Can it, Stanford. I’m gonna get you some water. Just sit tight.”

Carefully stepping over Soos, he moved toward the kitchen, shuffling around in the dark to find a clean (enough) glass, placing it under the kitchen faucet. Rubbing a hand over his face, he couldn’t help but feel useless. He couldn’t remember . Everyone here had these expectations of him, of who he was or who he should be, just like his stupid parents -

“The water is overflowing.” Suddenly, Ford was standing beside him, flicking the faucet off. Stan blinked, turning to see that the glass was, in fact, filled to the brim, water trickling down the sides. “Are you…alright?”

Of course he wasn’t alright. His brain didn’t make sense, everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells around him, and his brother was asking him if he was alright after just having…whatever dream he was having.

Instead, he scoffed. “I should be asking you that.”

Normally, Ford would probably get defensive. Maybe it was the middle of the night talking, or because it was a few hours after all the weirdness, but he just sighed, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “I suppose it’s hard for both of us to answer that question right now.”

Stan watched him for a moment, seeing bruises still lining his jaw, peeking out from his collarbone under his sweater. He didn’t have to ask what the dream was about to know, and he knew his brother enough to know that he definitely wasn’t the sharing type. He sighed, picking up the glass to hand to him. “Things still aren’t all there, up here,” he admitted, knocking his head softly with a fist as Ford took a sip. “Heh, but I guess that ain’t so different from before.”

“Stanley,” Ford said, with his usual seriousness as he placed the glass back down to face him. Awkwardly, he looked at the floor, then back up at him. “I-I know you’re a little confused right now, but you are important. To the kids, to…to me. You don’t have to talk about yourself like that.”

If it weren’t for the kids sleeping in the other room, he might have laughed in Ford’s face. Of course he had to talk about himself like that. It was all he’d ever been told, all his life, but then…the expression on his brother’s face was not unlike that of a kicked puppy. Stan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, okay, I…I get it.” They stood in awkward silence for a few moments until words tumbled out of his mouth before he could properly think them. “Did you mean what you said? Back in the woods?”

If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he could see Ford’s eyes shine a little as he turned away at the question, as if trying to think of how best to answer it. For a moment, Stan thought he wouldn’t answer, and was gearing up to say something else when four words were murmured so sincerely it made his knees shake.

“I meant every word.” Once it was said, Ford turned to face him again. “I used to think of myself as the hero, but Bill tricked me countless times. In the face of danger, you were the one with the cool head. You were the one who tricked the trickster, at the cost of your own mind. Not many people have the will to do that. I…don’t know if I could have.” He released a shaky sigh. “You never gave up on me. All these years later, I’m left thinking exactly what I thought when we were kids. You are my hero, Stanley.”

Stan drew in breath, realizing he hadn’t breathed the entire time Ford had been talking. His head buzzed and his eyes burned, which he attributed to the broken pieces of memory swirling in there and not at the fact that his vision was growing blurry with hot tears. Without a word, he grabbed Ford by the shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug, which was promptly returned.

“Yeah, well…you’re not so bad yourself, Poindexter.”

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there in that dark kitchen, but all he knew was that this was quite overdue. When his eyes had dried, he pulled away, wondering if he was imagining the shine in Ford’s eyes, too, and smiled tiredly. Ford returned it.

“We ought to go back to the living room, in case the children wake up…”

“Wouldn’t want to worry ‘em.”

The kids were exactly where they had last left them, and Ford and Stan Pines sat on the ground together, shoulder to shoulder to watch them in silence. Things weren’t okay, but that was okay, Stan thought, as Ford’s head fell onto his shoulder, snoring softly. 

“For what it’s worth, Stanford…” he mumbled through a yawn, closing his eyes. “You’re my hero, too.”

For once, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

[insectsuspect]

Tbh even tho I’m not rlly tcc this is how I feel. I think we try so hard to make everything black and white a dehumanize people bc it’s easier when it’s wrong. Ask most people and they’ll agree humans aren’t just black and white and can just be human purely evil, but then are in denial of that once it starts to mess with their heads. I’m wording it very well but it’s something I’ve been thinking about.

This isn’t rlly the same at all even, but I’ve been thinking abt it often after having a convo with my black history teacher (he became one because he wanted to find out more about his enslaved great grandmother) and he talked about how the issue we have in society is dehumanizing people. That’s what the white slaveowners did to black people. They acted as if black people were inherently stupid, evil, lesser, etc as an excuse to treat them less than human. We then all agreed everyone is human ofc. He then said that’s why you cannot dehumanize the white slave owners either. He said you need to call out what they did and the issues, but you can’t just wrap it up as “oh they’re just evil”.

Not only is that harmful to them but mainly it’s harmful to black people actually. Same with the holocaust. If we just say “oh that was really bad” and then leave it at that, never dive further into the reasonings and why’s and how’s, it’s going to happen again. It has happened again because we’re so in denial and trying to protect our own minds because writing it off is so much easier. It’s disgraceful to do that in such a serious long situation. It disrespects what happened to those people.

Back to what the professor was saying, basically there’s a fine line you can cross when you starts to go from saying the facts and holding someone accountable to dehumanizing them and then dumbing down a complex, serious situation and affecting the victims even more.

What we need to work on as a society is prevention. Most people agree with this again, but then in the case of people we just wanna claim as evil throw that out the window because it’s easier for ourselves. I don’t want to excuse anything done but I think Kip Kinkel is a good example of the harms of black and white thinking as well as how our focus should be prevention, not just ALLOWING it to happen. We allow it to happen causing unneeded and innocent deaths and then the preventable harm and punishment of a person, who we then just attack and dehumanize. If parents and politicians spent more time working on these issues and mental health and understanding we wouldn’t have this in the first place, instead politicians and people immediately going to dehumanizing and blasting them in the media and public to create a notion about them as pure evil.

Because it’s easier and takes the blame off them.

If we just dumb down cases like that and other horrible events we do more harm for everyone. If you care about victims and about humans taking the time to understand the situation is one of the best thing you can do and what you should do, not dehumanization.

Anyways I have a lot a lot of thoughts on this so I’m sorry for the ranting and rambles it was kinda all over the place. I didn’t delve super into the whole slave convo but if it matters to someone yes I am black and these are the opinions of two black people and is no one undermining slavery, if anything it’s the opposite. Also I just woke up and I’m too tired to like spell check this so my bad maybe I will later I can handle the typo embarrassment for now.

"Tcc is corny please take a shower" is somehow a clear example of an anti having less human understanding and empathy than a tccer and view themselves as too morally superior to view them as humans we all are

[nostalgic-bee]

Anyway I personally disagree with the opinion that Amity was reduced to just being Luz’s love interest in S2, in s2 she’s still unlearning so much and growing to be her own person

S2E2- she breaks the necklace that her mother gives her and has clearly used to control her for most of her life. She stands up to her mother chooses to stand up for her friends.

EP5- kind of similar to Ep 2. Her hair has been another part of her mother’s control over her, so she dyes her hair differently so that she can pull away from that control.

Ep 9- Amity is unlearning the idea that people will only ever love her if she can prove herself. She’s learning that she is loved unconditionally. ‘All my life I’ve had to justify existing’ shes learning that she doesn’t need to do that anymore.

Ep 11- I’d say her choosing not to look through Luz’s phone for answers was a great way to show character growth. All her life she’s had her own boundaries disrespected and she doesn’t want to do that to Luz

Ep 14- her being patient with Luz even when she’s hiding something. Her trying to connect with her father and admitting she no longer wants to be in the emperor’s coven, her saying she’s making her own choices.

Ep 18- Having to learn what Willow wants from her in their rekindled friendship. Realizing that Willow doesn’t want amity to protect her, having recognize and fix her mistake when she assumes that Willow wants her protection.

Ep 20- she stands up to her mother again and basically decides to cut contact with her.

I guess you could make an argument for season 3 but considering that s3 got cut short and they had a lot to tie up I can forgive that, besides in s3 we see the real Amity, the one who’s caring and a nerd and loves her friends. I do really wish Amity got her own character development moment in S3 but as I said the shortening meant they probably didn’t have time. Despite that I’d say S3 Amity is my favorite but so is S2 Amity.

Basically Amity was never reduced to a love interest even when Lumity became a thing.

[ct-multifandom]

I don’t usually make posts like this, but I’ve been seeing a lot of anti-intellectual junk lately, and I really think we need to put the word “pretentious” up on a shelf until people learn what it actually means.

It doesn’t describe someone who likes artsy-fartsy deep meaning media. People who are pretentious are fake. They’re posers trying to be sophisticated and unique, not like other girls. They pretend to only like stuff they think will make them sound cool when they talk about it. They want to act like they know something you don’t, and they want attention for it.

By definition, if you genuinely enjoy something, you can’t be pretentious. If it resonates with you, and you analyze it, and you don’t care what people think, that’s the polar opposite, actually. If you love obscure experimental prog music, if you watch underground high concept indie films through English teacher eyes, if you spend hours in a modern art museum reading each piece as a vessel for storytelling, if your backpack’s full of poetry books that inspire you, if you play underrated games that were someone’s passion project, if you have an interest in studying the classics or the masters, you are not pretentious.

Of course, some people just don’t like some stuff, and that’s fine, but that’s not what this is about. Don’t let anti-intellectuals shame you for enjoying things just because your interests are inaccessible to them, because they refuse to be brave and put effort into critical thinking. You’re not stuck up for refusing to overlook the craft of artists.

[pink-lemonadefairy]

super long big huge tired sigh

[maybeicanbesaved]

got into yet another fight with my mom, again about voting/the election, she said that she’s only voted once in her life and never cares to again because she ‘doesn’t care about politics’, saying that shit almost proudly?? and it set me off for obvious reasons, then she got mad at me for saying it’s because she’s privileged and ‘most’ shit doesn’t affect her directly so she can afford ‘not to care’

[bilestat]

insane how quickly something small can tank my mood

[flashhwing]

I’m here to say that you may absolutely express negativity about veilguard to me as long as it’s not stupid. hate on it for real reasons, of which there are plenty, most of which I’m ignoring because of the hype but would be glad to discuss in a civilized manner. no forced positivity in this zone this is a safe space. unless your criticism is dumb as fuck then I will point and laugh

[squuote]

I think people should be allowed to share their distaste for certain headcanons n such without people making posts about how they’re ‘gatekeeping’. for as much as I’m a ‘do what you want’ kinda dude, I do think that includes allowing people to express why they don’t enjoy something. like most people are pretty civil bout it until you antagonize them by pointing and saying they’re ‘policing’ spaces.

[lopez-richter-fangirl]

I can’t believe that as they’re recording the cast album we’re still getting people trying to claim VHSCCs isn’t one of their full length musicals

[calamitydaze]

long tag ramble below u have been warned

[libidinous-weeb]

no, i think i get it now

through no fault of his own, gojo was so busy becoming “the strongest” that he didn’t realize he wasn’t there for geto when geto needed it the most.

when geto said “are you gojo satoru because you’re the strongest? or are you the strongest because you’re gojo satoru?” he was intentially trying to hurt gojo. the context and the subtext is important.

gojo was BORN to be the strongest, whether he wanted to be or not. some people are born with blue eyes, some with brown. and some people are born the strongest. that’s what gojo’s strength is like to himself. it’s a part of him, but it’s not who he is. when he was friends with geto, they were close despite that fact. it’s one of the first times someone stood side by side with gojo and didn’t really care if he was the strongest or not.

throughout his life, everyone else hates gojo for something he didn’t ask for. something that he can’t change or give up but something that he was born as. they all stare at him like some kind of circus freak, either in disgust, or in awe.

and geto just says “it’s because you’re too strong.” but they BOTH know that’s a lie. what geto is actually saying is “i’ve decided that you aren’t gojo satoru, the person i’ve loved and lost and fought with side by side anymore. i’ve decided i don’t want you in my life anymore. i’m saying the words that hurt you the most, because i hate you.”

and gojo is angry because his best friend, someone he loves, has just decided to have nothing to do with gojo anymore. it was like a sudden break up because he didn’t give a reason. he gave his reason for leaving jujutsu society but not why he didn’t tell gojo any of it.

tldr: gojo is asking “why didn’t you rely on me? aren’t we friends? why did you choose to go through this all on your own? why didn’t you tell me anything? i thought we were friends!”

and geto is saying “i hate you, just like everyone else. you’re the strongest. you’re not my friend. you’re barely even human. you wouldn’t understand.”

and geto’s saying that because gojo was practicing and training and getting stronger and wasn’t there when geto needed him to be there. and it wasn’t gojo’s fault, he was doing what he was supposed to be doing. gojo wanted to be there but geto chose to shut him out

[lilgynt]

on the leftist commune of my creation you WILL need to have a job and mandatory alone time it cannot be 3 faggots with full time jobs paying for acquaintances random stuff and then being made to listen to said acquaintance vent after the fact

[deityofhearts]

as time goes on I feel more and more detached from relationships and like I could float away at any moment