#The Day After Tomorrow 2004 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

therealbeachfox · 11 months ago

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Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

#gay marriage #gay rights #gay history #gay

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nimuetheseawitch · 4 months ago

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The Day After Tomorrow (2004)

The wave hits the library

#the day after tomorrow #filmedit #disaster movies #tdatedit #happy 20th anniversary to this movie #my gifs #favorite movies #glenn plummer #flashing gif #flash warning #emmy rossum #jake gyllenhaal #apparently i accidentally queued this instead of scheduling it for may with the other ones #new york public library

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jackhues · 1 year ago

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3 + 1 - sidney crosby

notes: i hope you guys like this, first fic for 'it's the most wonderful time of the year', had lots of fun making this!!

likes are good, reblogs are better <3

part of naqia's end of the year celly!

gif not mine

i. (1994)

you'd known sidney your entire life. one of the first memories you had with him was fighting him for the last hockey stick in the store.

well, it wasn't the last hockey stick. but it was the last one of all the types you used to play. it just so happened to be the only one sidney used.

after a game of rock, paper, scissors (you won), sidney got mad and demanded a best of three. maybe it was the defiant look in his eyes at only seven years old, but you decided he could have the stick.

"are you sure?" he asked, now looking hesitant about taking the stick.

you nodded, "i'm sure. they'll get one of the sticks i use in a few days. you can have this one. i'll just steal my brother's stick until then."

sidney grinned, "thanks, y/n."

you smiled back at him, feeling the start of a friendship. you'd lived near him your entire life, but you'd only begun talking to him because of hockey.

"just don't forget to send me a card when you go to one of your tourneys," you told him.

you and sidney laughed over that, before heading back home with your parents. it was after this day that you began to say hi to each other in the halls of school, that you decided to pair up for projects, that you became friends.

over the two months it took until christmas morning, you forgot about what you'd told him. but sidney didn't forget his promise.

and it was on december twenty fifth, that you received a post card in the mail from some place in quebec. a seven year old sidney had tried his best to make the letters look pretty, writing on the side, 'merry christmas, and thanks for the hockey stick, y/n. it helped me win!'

you peered in the envelope, finding a picture of sidney hoisting his giant hockey trophy. you smiled at that.

even though he was so far away, it felt like you were celebrating christmas together.

ii. (2004)

'sidney patrick crosby, you have got to be kidding me! you have a huge hotel, you're in finland, and you've got some of the best people with you. and yet, you're saying you wished you were here playing pond with the rest of us? you're crazy. anyways, make sure you score a goal or something, and have lots of fun! honestly, not scoring is fine if you have fun. good luck at the world juniors! i'll be cheering you on from back home :))'

you signed off the letter, sealing it and placing it to the side to deliver later.

at seventeen years old, sidney had become the only under-18 player at this year's world junior tournament for team canada. it was a thing to celebrate, but sidney was upset he would be missing the town's annual christmas pond hockey game.

you and him had played together on the same team for the last nine years, winning every time. this was the first time he wouldn't be here to help your team defend the title.

but that was okay, you thought as you packed up your christmas gear and made your way to the pond.

because sidney was going to play on your t.v. tomorrow, at the national level. it was his first time playing for canada, and you knew he was excited for that.

he just wasn't a fan of missing the small things.

it was why he'd began sending you letters and post cards as he moved around for tournaments and hockey games. they were cute souvenirs, and you didn't mind sending him a letter back.

you just wished he could've been here to celebrate christmas with the rest of you.

iii. (2009 - pretend ft was invented a year earlier)

"merry christmas, love."

you smiled, "merry christmas sid."

sidney adjusted his phone, fixing the facetime so you could see him better. you laughed as he struggled for a minute, finally getting a proper angle.

"don't move!" you said. "there, perfect. now your entire face is on my screen."

he laughed as he shook his head to himself.

the two of you had been friends for thirteen years before he worked up the courage to ask you out. and for the last two years of your relationship had been amazing. there were ups, like seeing him win the stanley cup, and there were downs, like seeing him take some uncalled for hits.

but you were happy. and so was sid.

the two of you had planned to celebrate christmas together in pittsburgh, until a family emergency had you coming back to nova scotia last minute.

everything turned out fine, but it was just too late to get a ticket back to pittsburgh.

even so, you and sid had found a way to work around that.

the two of you spent most of the day on the phone with each other, talking and laughing together. it wasn't what either of you had planned, but you made it enjoyable.

it was a great christmas.

iv. (2012)

"sidney, will you get down here already?"

"i'm coming, i'm coming," he called from upstairs.

you sighed, waiting for your husband to get up and get downstairs. christmas morning was the one morning you were happy to get out of bed, but it was also the one morning sid wanted to sleep in.

sam, sidney's dog, came down the stairs, curling around by the christmas tree as he waited for sid with you.

a few minutes passed before sidney made his way downstairs, eyes half closed but a sleepy smile plastered on his face to greet you.

"good morning, love," he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "merry christmas."

"merry christmas," you smiled, pressed a kiss to his jaw. "we eating breakfast first or presents first?"

"mmm, breakfast," sid decided.

"i knew you were going to say that," you laughed, pulling him along to the kitchen.

you'd already prepared breakfast before he came down. some eggs, sausage and bread. it was a good way to pass the time as you waited for sid to get downstairs.

the two of you took your seats, laughing as you ate breakfast and discussed how far you'd gone in life together.

"you almost tripped on the ice," he reminded you.

"no one told me i had to go out on the ice after you guys won," you argued. "i was so excited over you guys winning the stanley cup, i didn't even notice i was being ushered to the ice until i took my first step."

sid laughed as the two of you slowly made your way to the living room.

"here, open my present first," he said, rummaging under the tree to pull out a long, rectangular box.

the two of you had started the tradition of opening all of your sentimental gifts before the other cute ones. and even though you wanted to go first this year, you supposed it was alright if sid got this one.

you unwrapped the box, pulling out a familiar hockey stick. one that you'd given sidney eighteen years ago.

"oh my god," you muttered, tears building up in your eyes.

"i found it in my parent's garage last summer," he shrugged a little. "i remembered how badly you wanted it. and even though it's too small now, i thought you'd like the memory."

"i love it," you grinned, wiping the corners of your eyes. "it's absolutely perfect. i'm putting this up next to that picture of you holding up the trophy."

sid laughed at your response, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"you can do whatever you like with it."

you put the stick to the side, your hands slightly shaky as you grabbed another, much smaller, box. "here. now open my present."

sid took the box from your hands, unwrapping it and opening it. he stared at the contents of the box, unable to form a sentence as he looked between the box and you.

"you -- this -- seriously?" his eyes shined as he stared at you.

you nodded, feeling the tears build up yourself. "we're having a baby."

sid laughed, pulling you in for a hug. "oh my god, this is amazing. a baby, you and me."

the two of you held each other that day, celebrating christmas together.

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cjlouwho · 1 month ago

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This was going to be day 4 of my 12 Days of Tommy fics (which starts tomorrow btw) but it didn't feel like it meshed with the other stories, so I scrapped it and wrote something different. Now you get a bonus fic! Tommy is a POW here, so abuse and torture methods are discussed but nothing is explicit.

2004- 20 Years Old

It's not lost on him that, back home, he's not old enough to legally drink. Barely old enough to smoke, and got to vote for the first time last month. He wouldn't be able to rent a car yet.

He's young. Too young for this. All his training went out the window within a few hours of being in this... this cage.

Everyone around him spoke a language he didn't understand. He hadn't seen his team since they were blindfolded and tossed into the back of a truck.

Then he was shoved into what was, essentially, a large dog crate.

He'd get yelled at, spit at, hit, shoved, kicked. Music would be blasted in his ears, bright lights shoved in his face. Then it would be dark. Pitch black for what felt like days, with not a sound around him.

If he was good, he'd get tossed some bread. It was hard as a rock.

They'd bring him a tiny cup of water every once in a while. Sometimes, the men who brought it would kick it over before he could reach for it, laughing as it all spilled onto the ground.

When they weren't looking, he'd try his best to cup up what he could with his hand, usually drinking down dirt, and God only knows what else, with it.

It was impossible to tell how much time has passed. It could have been months at this point.

He wasn't sure if rescue was ever coming.

Wasn't sure if the people he'd been with were still alive.

Maybe it would be better if they weren't.

Because sometimes he wished he wasn't.

It would be so much easier if they'd just end it. The beatings would stop, the pain would stop, he wouldn't smell these smells anymore, wouldn't be hungry, wouldn't be thirsty, wouldn't be confused.

It would just be over.

And that didn't sound like a bad thing right now.

He wanted to sleep.

He wanted to be in a bed, with covers and a pillow.

He wanted a shower.

Wanted to eat, to drink.

Wanted to be warm.

He'd been in complete darkness for... he didn't know how long now. Could have been minutes, hours, or days. It had been so silent too, he wondered if they had just left him there. Left him to die. He hoped it would be that easy. No more touching, no more pain. Just leave him alone.

Then all of a sudden there was noise. A lot of noise. Yelling from outside the room, gunshots, fighting, explosions.

And light.

It was so bright, he had to press the palms of his hands to his eyes.

Then someone was unlocking the cage, and they were touching him.

He jerked away from the touch, knocked into the back of the cage and heard it rattling near his ears.

He tried to fight, fight, fight against whoever was trying to pull him out.

“Hey, hey, hey, it's okay. You're safe.”

English. They were speaking English.

Not even that, he recognized the voice this time.

He blinked his eyes open.

Relief flooded his body.

This couldn't be real. It was too good to be true.

“It's us, Kid. You're safe,” Captain Jones repeated, helping Tommy out of the cage.

His legs couldn't seem to work right. They'd been stuck in essentially the same exact position for, God, he wasn't sure how long at this point.

“Smith?” he asked, his voice sounding foreign to him. But he needed to know. “Harris and Killerman?”

“They're okay too. We got 'em all out already.” Jones turned back toward the door. “Can someone help me carry him out, please?!” he yelled.

“What- What day is it?” Tommy asked.

“December 25th,” Jones replied.

Christmas. He'd been here since the day after Thanksgiving. He thought it had been longer.

Jones gave Tommy a pat on the knee. “You're going home, Kid.”

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #911 #911 abc #I didn't really edit this or proofread it so... it is what it is

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spockvarietyhour · 8 months ago

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The Day After Tomorrow (2004) directed by Roland Emmerich

#The Day After Tomorrow #Roland Emmerich #Jake Gyllenhaal #Glenn Plummer #00sedit #movieedit #filmeedit #filmgifs #moviegifs #userstream #junkfooddaily #scifiedit #GIF #my gifs #thedayaftertomorrowedit #The Day After Tomorrow Rewatch #Hide and Queue

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snapghoul · 5 months ago

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Why Twisters is an amazing movie

Brought to you by snapghoul and their film degree

I really love analyzing films and I need to talk about this movie so badly. Get cozy, grab a nice drink because this is a long one.

Spoilers below

[ Part 2 ]

1) Disaster film - Human vs Nature

Disasters films are one of the most difficult movies to write and shoot because it’s human vs nature and people can only do so much. They are to remind us that we are very fragile, nature very dangerous, and a visual metaphor for the illusion of control. Making a film like this also requires a lot of CGI or a balanced mix of practical effects which in most films today is not as common due to budget.

When looking at films like San Andres (2015) or Day After Tomorrow (2004), both films are more action based. San Andres is written worse to worse before it gets better which is externally common in films like these, the earth quakes that lead to a tsunami and so on. The film also ends with the hopeful “we won” with the American flag and everyone recovering.

What makes Twisters stand out is the presence of the disasters are there but they aren’t what drive the characters solely, the tornadoes themselves are actually a subplot. It’s not tragedy after tragedy, like there’s an ungodly amount of tornadoes at once and people are dying left and right. And when people died it wasn’t graphic, I appreciated that very much that it was only people being swept away and not bloody. The tornadoes themselves only take up about 30 minutes of the 2 hour movie, which is very little compared to other storm films.

The main story is Kate working to overcome her trauma and relearning how to love chasing and being in the field again. They are an obstacle that do end being the “antagonist” towards the end of the film where Kate drives into the EF5 to stop it. Twisters is more written in a way to respect nature, to see the beauty and the power of the earth. Twisters also ends more ambiguous, there is the moment of triumph but it’s very short lived before the resolution of Javi, Kate and Tyler at the airport.

2) Kate’s Character & Relationships

Kate is one of the best written female protagonists I’ve seen in a very long time. Through the film she is struggling to over come a lot of trauma while also trying to juggle her crumbled friendship with Javi and her disconnection with her mother. Her struggles are very real, they weren’t played down or exaggerated, she had realistic response to being in a tornado again after the death of her friends. They also show her reliving that event many times, in the beginning we see a “ghost” of Jeb telling she’s okay, the moment she sees a tornado with Javi up close, she stumbles back and the voices of Jeb as they’re riding out the storm in the pool and how she grabs Tyler’s hand for a second to see if he was still there.

I personally loved that she refused to acknowledge her fear when around others because that is a very human thing, many people do it which makes her very dimensional and relatable. How she didn’t give Ben her last name, how she told Riggs she wasn’t scared. It’s such a real things that it makes me froth at the mouth because it such good writing.

As many people are upset that Kate and Tyler didn’t kiss, I actually agree on why they cut it out, it’s not about their budding romance. In movies there are many different subplots, in Twisters, Kate and Tyler are I would say around subplot C. Which I LOVED, i loved that they didn’t have all her problems fixed by a love interest or how his character downplayed her intelligence. In fact he elevated her character, Tyler is there to remind her the passion and fun of their field, he is also a blank slate with Kate, he has no preconceptions about her or history which allows her to open up and reignite her passion she had before.

And her hair symbolism! How we see it slowly gets more brown and less bright beach blonde that we see in New York.

Kate and Javi’s relationship I would also place at subplot B, Javi trying to get Kate back in the field but doing it in a not so right way. They have some unresolved issues between them regarding the trauma they share and it rears its head multiple times. The line “three of my best friends died while you were trying to land a big fat grant.” Was a real nail in the coffin for them but also it opened Javi’s character development up for the end of the film. Not only that but they and audience known that he agreed to getting the money at the beginning. So them splitting up was good because neither of them could get what they wanted or process anything when they were together. And in the end the come back together when they grow and change.

Also have to mention Kate and her mom, because it’s more growth for Kate, her mom comes in as the mentor character type, she refused to let Kate throw anything away and pushed her and Tyler together because she saw what he was doing.

3) Tyler Owens & The Wranglers

Of course I have to talk about our favorite tornado cowboy. His character is so interesting, he adds so much to each character, like a said above he only lifted Kate up.

But what I loved most about him was the infectious enthusiasm and passion he just oozed about weather. Even with the cocky YouTube personality he was having fun which was a contrast to Javi and Kate who were there on business. He is also very bright, instead of having a self taught chaser he had a degree, he knows what he’s doing and how to be safe while doing stupid stuff. The scenes where we see him showing her science side were some of my favorites, seeing him geek out over the storms and setting up models just showed he’s as much as a nerd and Kate.

His character is also very compassionate as well as the wranglers. We learn they sell merch so they can provide free food and water to survivors, that Tyler and Boone spent a while looking for a dog and that Lilly offered Kate food before she left. We see Tyler put himself in danger for the safety of others many times but not in a hero archetype way, he’s not a hero in any way, he’s a man who deeply cares, understands tragedy and knows how important friends and family are.

4) Music & Sound

Oh my god, the music in the film is phenomenal. Sound makes up a good majority of a movie, without good sound a film can flop. What I loved most about it was a lot of the music was diegetic: taking place in the world and can be heard by the characters. Seen(or heard) Ain’t No Love In Oklahoma playing through the speakers as the wranglers roll up, accompanied by a shot of the loud speakers on the motor home and the audio editing to make it sound like it’s coming from said speakers. (Ghost) Riders in the Sky blasting while they go to shoot fireworks, seeing Tyler whipping the truck through the field very recklessly also sets up that these characters are wild and obnoxious. Boone singing along to Dead End Road while loading flares, it adds another element of fun for them to interact with the music instead of it there so let for aesthetics.

If there was music for the action scenes, it wasn’t overpowering, in fact i barely noticed it until my third watch through.

The soundtrack is also really good, I’m not a huge country fan but my god did I by that OST vinyl so fast.

5) The Trucks

This is an honorable mention, but the red sped up dually ram was a character in its self. Once again showing the rugged and fun loving wranglers when put next to StormPAR’s pristine white trucks which is also a metaphor for Javi that we see it gets dirtier and dirtier as the film progresses and his character changes. But also how the red ram represents Tyler, he’s very safety oriented and the truck is a part of him and protects Kate during the final storm. She puts her trust in it and lets nature run it course instead of fighting it, something Tyler was trying to teach her. Not to run from it but to ride it.

But also Tyler ripping that rig through fields going 75mph is also just so funny to me.

I love symbolism.

I’m gonna stop it here before I write a whole essay about this which I might. But if you haven’t seen this movie I highly recommend it, it’s PG-13 so I suggest being careful watching this with little ones if you have them, the CGI storms can get a little freaky.

(Please let me know if you want more, I will gladly talk more)

#twisters #daisy edgar jones #anthony ramos #twisters movie #glen powell #glen powell tyler owens #tyler owens #daisy edgar jones kate carter #kate carter #boone twisters #the wranglers twisters #javi twisters

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whumpypepsigal · 5 months ago

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@whumpgifathon | Day 3: “Hypothermia”

Sam Hall in The Day After Tomorrow (2004)

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months ago

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The true post-cyberpunk hero is a noir forensic accountant

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TOMORROW (Apr 17) in CHICAGO, then Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

I was reared on cyberpunk fiction, I ended up spending 25 years at my EFF day-job working at the weird edge of tech and human rights, even as I wrote sf that tried to fuse my love of cyberpunk with my urgent, lifelong struggle over who computers do things for and who they do them to.

That makes me an official "post-cyberpunk" writer (TM). Don't take my word for it: I'm in the canon:

https://tachyonpublications.com/product/rewired-the-post-cyberpunk-anthology-2/

One of the editors of that "post-cyberpunk" anthology was John Kessel, who is, not coincidentally, the first writer to expose me to the power of literary criticism to change the way I felt about a novel, both as a writer and a reader:

https://locusmag.com/2012/05/cory-doctorow-a-prose-by-any-other-name/

It was Kessel's 2004 Foundation essay, "Creating the Innocent Killer: Ender's Game, Intention, and Morality," that helped me understand litcrit. Kessel expertly surfaces the subtext of Card's Ender's Game and connects it to Card's politics. In so doing, he completely reframed how I felt about a book I'd read several times and had considered a favorite:

https://johnjosephkessel.wixsite.com/kessel-website/creating-the-innocent-killer

This is a head-spinning experience for a reader, but it's even wilder to experience it as a writer. Thankfully, the majority of literary criticism about my work has been positive, but even then, discovering something that's clearly present in one of my novels, but which I didn't consciously include, is a (very pleasant!) mind-fuck.

A recent example: Blair Fix's review of my 2023 novel Red Team Blues which he calls "an anti-finance finance thriller":

https://economicsfromthetopdown.com/2023/05/13/red-team-blues-cory-doctorows-anti-finance-thriller/

Fix – a radical economist – perfectly captures the correspondence between my hero, the forensic accountant Martin Hench, and the heroes of noir detective novels. Namely, that a noir detective is a kind of unlicensed policeman, going to the places the cops can't go, asking the questions the cops can't ask, and thus solving the crimes the cops can't solve. What makes this noir is what happens next: the private dick realizes that these were places the cops didn't want to go, questions the cops didn't want to ask and crimes the cops didn't want to solve ("It's Chinatown, Jake").

Marty Hench – a forensic accountant who finds the money that has been disappeared through the cells in cleverly constructed spreadsheets – is an unlicensed tax inspector. He's finding the money the IRS can't find – only to be reminded, time and again, that this is money the IRS chooses not to find.

This is how the tax authorities work, after all. Anyone who followed the coverage of the big finance leaks knows that the most shocking revelation they contain is how stupid the ruses of the ultra-wealthy are. The IRS could prevent that tax-fraud, they just choose not to. Not for nothing, I call the Martin Hench books "Panama Papers fanfic."

I've read plenty of noir fiction and I'm a long-term finance-leaks obsessive, but until I read Fix's article, it never occurred to me that a forensic accountant was actually squarely within the noir tradition. Hench's perfect noir fit is either a happy accident or the result of a subconscious intuition that I didn't know I had until Fix put his finger on it.

The second Hench novel is The Bezzle. It's been out since February, and I'm still touring with it (Chicago tonight! Then Turin, Marin County, Winnipeg, Calgary, Vancouver, etc). It's paying off – the book's a national bestseller.

Writing in his newsletter, Henry Farrell connects Fix's observation to one of his own, about the nature of "hackers" and their role in cyberpunk (and post-cyberpunk) fiction:

https://www.programmablemutter.com/p/the-accountant-as-cyberpunk-hero

Farrell cites Bruce Schneier's 2023 book, A Hacker’s Mind: How the Powerful Bend Society’s Rules and How to Bend Them Back:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/06/trickster-makes-the-world/

Schneier, a security expert, broadens the category of "hacker" to include anyone who studies systems with an eye to finding and exploiting their defects. Under this definition, the more fearsome hackers are "working for a hedge fund, finding a loophole in financial regulations that lets her siphon extra profits out of the system." Hackers work in corporate offices, or as government lobbyists.

As Henry says, hacking isn't intrinsically countercultural ("Most of the hacking you might care about is done by boring seeming people in boring seeming clothes"). Hacking reinforces – rather than undermining power asymmetries ("The rich have far more resources to figure out how to gimmick the rules"). We are mostly not the hackers – we are the hacked.

For Henry, Marty Hench is a hacker (the rare hacker that works for the good guys), even though "he doesn’t wear mirrorshades or get wasted chatting to bartenders with Soviet military-surplus mechanical arms." He's a gun for hire, that most traditional of cyberpunk heroes, and while he doesn't stand against the system, he's not for it, either.

Henry's pinning down something I've been circling around for nearly 30 years: the idea that though "the street finds its own use for things," Wall Street and Madison Avenue are among the streets that might find those uses:

https://craphound.com/nonfic/street.html

Henry also connects Martin Hench to Marcus Yallow, the hero of my YA Little Brother series. I have tried to make this connection myself, opining that while Marcus is a character who is fighting to save an internet that he loves, Marty is living in the ashes of the internet he lost:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/07/dont-curb-your-enthusiasm/

But Henry's Marty-as-hacker notion surfaces a far more interesting connection between the two characters. Marcus is a vehicle for conveying the excitement and power of hacking to young readers, while Marty is a vessel for older readers who know the stark terror of being hacked, by the sadistic wolves who're coming for all of us:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I44L1pzi4gk

Both Marcus and Marty are explainers, as am I. Some people say that exposition makes for bad narrative. Those people are wrong:

https://maryrobinettekowal.com/journal/my-favorite-bit/my-favorite-bit-cory-doctorow-talks-about-the-bezzle/

"Explaining" makes for great fiction. As Maria Farrell writes in her Crooked Timber review of The Bezzle, the secret sauce of some of the best novels is "information about how things work. Things like locks, rifles, security systems":

https://crookedtimber.org/2024/03/06/the-bezzle/

Where these things are integrated into the story's "reason and urgency," they become "specialist knowledge [that] cuts new paths to move through the world." Hacking, in other words.

This is a theme Paul Di Filippo picked up on in his review of The Bezzle for Locus:

https://locusmag.com/2024/04/paul-di-filippo-reviews-the-bezzle-by-cory-doctorow/

Heinlein was always known—and always came across in his writings—as The Man Who Knew How the World Worked. Doctorow delivers the same sense of putting yourself in the hands of a fellow who has peered behind Oz’s curtain. When he fills you in lucidly about some arcane bit of economics or computer tech or social media scam, you feel, first, that you understand it completely and, second, that you can trust Doctorow’s analysis and insights.

Knowledge is power, and so expository fiction that delivers news you can use is novel that makes you more powerful – powerful enough to resist the hackers who want to hack you.

Henry and I were both friends of Aaron Swartz, and the Little Brother books are closely connected to Aaron, who helped me with Homeland, the second volume, and wrote a great afterword for it (Schneier wrote an afterword for the first book). That book – and Aaron's afterword – has radicalized a gratifying number of principled technologists. I know, because I meet them when I tour, and because they send me emails. I like to think that these hackers are part of Aaron's legacy.

Henry argues that the Hench books are "purpose-designed to inspire a thousand Max Schrems – people who are probably past their teenage years, have some grounding in the relevant professions, and really want to see things change."

(Schrems is the Austrian privacy activist who, as a law student, set in motion the events that led to the passage of the EU's General Data Privacy Regulation:)

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/15/out-here-everything-hurts/#noyb

Henry points out that William Gibson's Neuromancer doesn't mention the word "internet" – rather, Gibson coined the term cyberspace, which, as Henry says, is "more ‘capitalism’ than ‘computerized information'… If you really want to penetrate the system, you need to really grasp what money is and what it does."

Maria also wrote one of my all-time favorite reviews of Red Team Blues, also for Crooked Timber:

https://crookedtimber.org/2023/05/11/when-crypto-meant-cryptography/

In it, she compares Hench to Dickens' Bleak House, but for the modern tech world:

You put the book down feeling it’s not just a fascinating, enjoyable novel, but a document of how Silicon Valley’s very own 1% live and a teeming, energy-emitting snapshot of a critical moment on Earth.

All my life, I've written to find out what's going on in my own head. It's a remarkably effective technique. But it's only recently that I've come to appreciate that reading what other people write about my writing can reveal things that I can't see.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/17/panama-papers-fanfic/#the-1337est-h4x0rs

Image: Frédéric Poirot (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/fredarmitage/1057613629 CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

#pluralistic #science fiction #cyberpunk #literary criticism #maria farrell #henry farrell #noir #martin hench #marty hench #red team blues #the bezzle #forensic accountants #hackers #bruce schneier #post-cyberpunk #blair fix

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miazetomer · 3 months ago

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Heartless | Rafe Cameron x pogue(ish)!fem!reader (Part VIII)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, angst, fluff, smut, alcohol use, drug use, takes place during season four, the usual

Summary: You were back on Kildare after two years. You were able to finish your business degree at UNC Chapel Hill in just two years after earning enough college credits in high school. But, you came back as a force to be reckoned with. You had your own very successful development company which just so happened to be Cameron Development’s newest competition. Two years later and you’re still finding ways to get under Rafe’s skin.

prev next

♡♡♡

You walked onto the boat that Hollis had told you to meet her on. She had told you that there were others, but she didn’t tell you that they were Rafe Cameron.

“Oh, Ms. Thornton, so glad you could join Mr. Cameron and I.” Hollis smiled, ushering you over to the two of them. “When I asked Mr. Cameron what your choice of drink was and he said a 2004 Chambertin Grand Cru, I knew you were a woman after my own heart.”

You smiled at Hollis, gladly accepting the glass of your favorite wine.

“How did you get this on such short notice?” You asked, taking a sip of the wine.

“Well I couldn’t, unfortunately, but Rafe saved the day when he said he had a bottle in his cellar.”

“Of course he did.” You muttered before taking another sip.

“Well, you’re here for business, let’s get into it.” Hollis said, sitting down, gesturing for you two to join her. You each sat across from her, keeping your distance from one another on the couch.

You listened to her pitch, taking in every word she was saying, ignoring the man that was just a foot away from you who kept looking at you.

“Why us?” Rafe asked, leaning forward as he looked down at the map of Goat Island.

“You’re young, energetic, local.” She responded, looking up at Rafe.

“How much?” You finally asked, leaning back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other as you crossed your arms.

“Two hundred thousand, from each of you. That’s it.” She answered, finally looking at you for the first time since she started her pitch.

“I’ll talk to my partner, see what I can do.” You said, standing from your spot.

“No, no partners, no investors, just you, me, and Mr. Cameron.”

“You want two hundred thousand, of my own money?” You cocked an eyebrow as you ran your eyes over Hollis before glancing towards Rafe who was already looking at you.

“Makes it much easier.” She smirked. “Less paperwork.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” You repeated, before leaving.

You were halfway down the dock when Rafe caught up to you.

“Y/n, wait.” He said, calling out for you. You stopped and turned around. “What do you think?”

“You’re asking me for business advice now?” You scoffed and attempted to walk away, but Rafe grabbed your elbow, preventing you from leaving.

“What do you think?” He repeated, looking down at you.

“I don’t think this a good idea.” You sighed, turning back towards Rafe.

“You don’t trust her.” Rafe said, letting go of your elbow, sure you wouldn’t take off this time before putting his hands in his pockets.

“No, I don’t.” You responded, honestly. “I mean, two hundred thousand dollars, Rafe? I would give her maybe a hundred dollars before I trusted her. And who are these other investors she’s talking about?”

“Goat Island is a good piece of property.”

“I get that, I do. But, my gut is telling me not to trust this. We know nothing about her other than she used to work for your dad and that she was married to Mr. Robinson.”

“And she’s the island cougar.” Rafe joked, a smirk forming on his face.

“Yeah, you’re probably her next victim.” You returned, crossing your arms at an attempt to remain warm as the cold air of the night wrapped itself around you. “But you wouldn’t do that to your girlfriend, or your not girlfriend. I don’t know, you have me very confused about that.”

“Enough.” Rafe said, telling you to knock off the bullshit.

“Look, come to my office tomorrow, we’ll talk about it. All I’m saying is, don’t say yes, don’t sign anything. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

♡♡♡

You sat in your new office, looking over a contract your partner, Mark, had sent you when your assistant knocked on the door and let herself in.

“Ms. Thornton, Mr. Cameron is here.” She said, standing in the doorway.

“Send him in, I guess.” You sighed, closing the contract, before you sent a text to him saying you would read over it later.

“An assistant, very high end of you.” Rafe said when he came in and Lily, your assistant, closed the door behind him.

“She’s more like a friend who handles the things I don’t want to deal with, she’s older than I am.” You responded, standing up and moving to sit next to Rafe at the chairs in front of your desk.

“And an office? Was the office necessary?”

“Are we gonna talk about this or not?” You asked Rafe, starting to get annoyed.

“Alright, alright.”

“Look, I’ve been taking a look into Goat Island, they aren’t asking for a lot.”

“What’s not a lot?”

“One point four.”

“That’s a lot for a haunted island, y/n.” Rafe sighed, sitting back in his chair.

“You’ve spent more before. Besides that much for an entire island? Come on, you can’t tell me this isn’t a good deal.”

“What about Hollis and her investors that she supposedly has?”

“We go in and make an offer for five, no way Hollis can beat that.”

“And if she can?”

“She won’t. I mean, come on Rafe, the woman lives on a boat. Look, we can do this, just you and me.”

“The last time you said that to me, you left me in the dust after six months.” Rafe muttered, looking down at his hands.

You looked away from Rafe, guilt slightly starting to creep in on you. Of course you had thought about the what if of it all. What if you never left him, would he still have done half the shit he did? Could you have talked him out of it? Could you have gotten him the help he needed?

“You know we can’t talk about that Rafe, not now.” You said quietly, looking down at your own hands now.

“Why not?”

“Because, we’re here to talk about business.”

“Is that all you’re about now? Business?”

“Yes, Rafe, because I’m not seventeen years old pining after you like you’re all I need in life, not anymore. I mean I’ve moved on, you’ve clearly moved on. What is there to talk about?”

“You don’t get to decide if I’ve moved on or not.”

“I’m sorry.” You chuckled. “But, last I checked, you have a girlfriend who lives with you. Seems to me like you’ve moved on.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t have a girlfriend?”

“Rafe, stop lying to yourself. Sofia is with you every where you go, she lives in your house, and I know that means you’re sleeping in the same bed.” You could start to feel the anger and jealously settle in your throat, every word that you’ve held back threatening to come out. “Whatever, whatever that’s not what we’re here to talk about. Do you want to do this or not?”

“I’ll think about it.” Rafe said, before getting up and leaving.

♡♡♡

“Not having fun?” Topper asked, coming up to you at the party. You stood around with a drink in your hand, staring at your phone.

“I have like no friends here, Top.” You sighed, shoving your phone in your pocket. You promised yourself you would put work aside and come have a little fun, but all you could think about was work and that contract, which led to you thinking about your conversation with Rafe from earlier.

“That’s not true. You have me, Kelce, and Rafe.” You sent him a knowing glance, taking a sip of your beer.

“Kelce has been trying to hook up with me for the last five years, you’re busy with that bitch of a girlfriend, and you know why I’m not talking to Rafe.”

“Come on, you’re gonna let a pogue take your man?” You could smell the alcohol radiating off of Topper, wanting to get as far away from him as possible. “And besides that’s not what I heard. Rafe told me you two had a meeting today at your office.”

“Ew, why’d you say meeting like that?”

“I didn’t say it any way.”

“Yes you did, Topper. Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird.”

“Yes, you are. What did Rafe say to you?”

“Just that you two had a meeting to deal with business, that’s all.”

“I’ll see you later, Top.” You muttered when your eyes locked onto Rafe who was standing next to Sofia, talking to her with a smile plastered on his face. You walked over to the two of them with your head held high, putting your beer down on some random table.

“Hi Sofia.” You said with a polite smile. “I need to talk to you, now.” You turned to Rafe and your smile dropped.

“Sorry, baby, business.” He apologized to Sofia and the nickname made your jaw clench, because that’s what he used to call you. You used to be his baby, so the fact that he was calling the help baby just fueled whatever rage was burning inside you. You weren’t even sure if it was rage anymore or just flat out jealousy.

You grabbed Rafe’s arm and pulled him away from everyone, dropping it once you were out of ear range from the closest person.

“What did you tell Topper about our meeting?” You asked, glaring up at Rafe as you crossed your arms.

“Just that we had a meeting and it was all business.” He answered, with a smirk.

“Really? That’s all you said?”

“Yes, y/n, fuck.”

“Because he’s acting like there’s a chance you and I are getting back together.”

“Is there?”

“Not a single fucking chance.” You chuckled.

“Right.” Rafe nodded, with that stupid smirk still on his face that you just wanted to slap off.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m fucking lying!” You said, raising your voice a little. You looked around to make sure nobody was watching and lowered your voice again. “How many times do I have to tell you we are never happening again?”

“Until you tell me the truth about how you really feel.”

“I am not having this conversation when your girlfriend is fifty feet away. And especially not at a party, Rafe.”

“Then when would you like to have this conversation? Because if our conversation doesn’t have anything to do with business, then you avoid me like the damn plague.”

“That-that is not true.”

“Really? You think I don’t see when you hide from me at the club? Or when we’re at a party and you stay on the opposite side of the party to avoid me all night?”

“God, Rafe, why do you care? Aren’t our lives so much easier when we aren’t interacting?”

“No, y/n. You know before we started dating I enjoyed your presence, I thrived off your presence. You were like sunshine breaking through on a cloudy day.”

“We’ve literally fought every day since we’ve known each other.”

“Please y/n, you know that was all bullshit. That was how we communicated.”

“Whatever, Rafe, you can believe what you want to believe, but I know the truth.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. You think you know the truth but you’re too fucking scared to let yourself see the real truth.”

“And what’s that, Rafe?”

“That you might actually still have feelings for me and I might still have feelings for you.”

“I-I can’t have this conversation with you right now.” You said before walking away.

You knew coming home was a bad idea. You knew all of this bullshit would get stirred up again. But, something pulled you back here. You didn’t know if it was Rafe, or the million business opportunities, or your brother, hell even John B, not that you would go there now, because John B had Sarah and Sarah had John B. You tried to convince yourself you were back home for one reason, and one reason only, business. But, it was starting to become harder and harder to believe that as the days went on.

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