#and maybe an epilogue if i get ambitious

[yabagofmilfs]

how does rabbit heart sid feel about the prospect of carrying a baby once geno retires — i can’t imagine taking time away from hockey would go over easily with him

the simple answer is: complicated. sid right now is torn between proving himself in the nhl and figuring out how he feels about his body / his sexuality / the geno of it all, and he’s not exactly super emotionally mature (nor should he be at his age). so there’d probably be a knee jerk reaction of no thank you and then a more gradual untangling of what he actually feels over time.

also geno’s “plan” is just a white picket fence fantasy that lives in his head. he wouldn’t be interested in pushing the issue before sid is ready for it.

(just as a general disclaimer: this is not something i’ll be writing about in depth in this series! there may be a conversation about it, but that will probably be the extent of it.)

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 14.9 chapter index — next. chap.

c.w — smut, p in v masterlist

a.n — you did read that right. this has turned into a 15000 word monster... i'm not sure how it happened. ANYWAY. this is very late and i'm so very sorry. gramps went into emergency surgery, i started school and had the worst period cramps of my life but we all good, everything is much better now. i will be updating the other four parts very soon. (hopefully tee hee)

epilogue - part one

sunday, march 2nd

rafe was a heavy sleeper. you never knew that—not until now. he slept like a log, completely undisturbed despite the world moving around him. even with the sun pouring through the windows, turning his hair and eyelashes a shade of gold so soft it looked spun from honey, even with the familiar morning symphony of your family filling the house—your sister's giggles echoing from the yard as she played with your mom, your little brother waddling through the living room, bottle clutched in his tiny hands as he repeatedly bumped his head against rafe’s thigh—he didn’t so much as stir.  

he should consider himself lucky. you, on the other hand, could wake up from the mere sound of a door creaking open down the hall.  

you tried to imagine him in your bed instead of sprawled across your couch, head buried in your pillows, wrapped up in your blanket. would he sleep on the left or the right? hopefully the left, since you slept on the right—closest to the window, where the first light of morning always found you.  

did he dream? or did he have nightmares? did he mumble in his sleep? would you wake up to hear him speaking in slurred, sleepy gibberish, too out of it to make sense?  

did he sleep in sweats? pajamas? a button-up? shirtless? that felt very much like rafe, but you didn’t know. not yet, at least.  

did he linger in bed for thirty minutes before dragging himself up, or was he like you? someone who counted down from five to one and forced temselves up at one.

endless possibilities.

and something inside you whispered that you would find out. maybe not today. maybe not tomorrow. but the day would come, and when it did, you'd cherish it.  

you'd watch him just like you were watching him now, cataloging every detail—the way his lashes rested against his cheek, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. you’d memorize how his hair fell, how his lips looked impossibly soft, how the little crease between his brows never quite smoothed out, even in sleep. and you'd be allowed. 

you wouldn’t have to stop yourself from reaching out.  

you wouldn’t have to fight the urge to kiss him.  

because he would be yours. completely, irrevocably yours.  

“take a picture, it'll last longer.”  

your sister’s voice snapped you from your thoughts. you barely spared her a glance, still leaning against the archway separating the living room from the dining room, cradling a mug of now-cold tea in your hands.  

“go away,” you murmured, voice quiet but firm.  

she was right, but she could be right somewhere else.  

you'd been staring at him for well over fifteen minutes, still in your pajamas, unable to make yourself move, unable to be anywhere else. you had already called off work because the thought of leaving right now—leaving him—felt unbearable.  

were you one of those girlfriend? the kind who couldn’t stay away, who hovered and obsessed?  

girlfriend felt too soon.  

but then again, rafe had told you he loved you. twelve hours, thirteen minutes, and fifty-four seconds ago, to be exact. 

your dad passed by, replacing your cold mug with a fresh one, steam curling in the air. you thanked him absentmindedly, fingers wrapping around the warmth.  

what kind of boyfriend would rafe be?  

you already knew he was touchy, that he liked kissing, that he had a habit of nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours, of holding eye contact just a little too long when you weren’t paying attention. he liked to watch you, studying you as you tutored him, as you cleaned, as if every little thing you did was worth committing to memory.  

but what about the rest?  

would he bring you flowers? take you to the movies, or more late-night drives along the coast? would he want to sit on the beach with you until the sky turned soft with morning, or would he prefer extravagant dates, something grand and exciting?  

what kind of gifts would he like?  

would he appreciate personalized things—carefully written ‘open when’ letters, little boxes filled with things meant just for him—or was he more materialistic? would he want his favorite cologne, designer watches, the kinds of things that held status?  

or would he prefer something he could do? something he could experience—a trip, an activity, something he could share with you or his friends?  

you’d probably just get him all of it. just to be sure.  

you’d only had one boyfriend before—not that you and rafe were official yet, but still.  

being a girlfriend the first time had been… odd.  

like having a boy who was a friend, and sometimes he kissed you, and it was just… fine.  

but with rafe?  

it felt nothing like that.  

and god, you wanted to do it right.  

maybe there was a research paper somewhere on how to be a good girlfriend.  

not that it mattered. rafe made it easy.  

he made your heart stutter, your stomach twist, your cheeks burn. he made you want to be good to him. to be perfect for him.  

and maybe that was impossible.  

but you would try.

rafe stirred, his arm lifting sluggishly to rub at his eyes, fingers dragging through the remnants of sleep. the motion caught your little brother’s attention immediately, his tiny head snapping up, curiosity flickering across his face at the sudden movement in the room. once he realized rafe was awake, he held out his arms in a way that said 'pick me up before i hurl this bottle at someone.'

"hey, buddy…" rafe rasped, voice thick with sleep as he reached for him, lifting him effortlessly and settling him onto his chest.  

you stayed still, watching in silence, your body at ease yet your heart hammering against your ribs. it was as if you could physically feel it swell, stretching wide with a warmth so intense it made your breath hitch.  

and then, as if he could sense it, his eyes found yours. sleepy, unfocused, but piercing all the same. that disarming gaze of his tugged at something deep within you, pulling you toward him like gravity itself. god, you wanted to go to him. to press yourself against him, burrow into his warmth, tuck your face into the crook of his neck and let the rest of the world fall away.  

"morning."  

his voice was quiet, rough around the edges, heavy with sleep. it was almost ridiculous how the sound of it sent tingles through every nerve in your body, warm and electric, curling low in your stomach.  

"morning."

your own voice was steadier than you felt, but your feet wouldn’t move. he looked so cozy—messy hair, sleepy eyes, the laziest, softest smile pulling at his lips. he was huggable, he was yours, and the ache to touch him, to climb into his space, to sink into his warmth, made your fingers twitch at your sides.  

his head rested against the couch arm, eyes impossibly tender as they traced over you.  

"gonna stay over there?"

he was almost smiling, teasing, but something expectant threaded through the words—something hopeful.  

your little brother wiggled off his chest and padded away, but rafe didn’t look away, didn’t so much as blink. he was watching you now, watching the hesitation in your stance, the way your weight shifted like you were trying to resist something inevitable.  

"i'm enjoying the view."

you grinned, and the corner of his lips twitched, a smirk creeping in slow and lazy.  

"taking in the sights?"

you nodded.  

"like what you see?" his brows lifted slightly, smirk deepening. "hope i’m up to standard."

another nod, another hum of approval.  

and then, softer—almost pleading—  

"c’mere."

your body moved before your mind could catch up. one second, you were standing. the next, you were there, sinking into him, his hands finding your waist as your knees pressed into the cushions.  

the need to touch him was unbearable, searing through your veins, clawing at your ribs.  

and then, finally, it hit you—you can.  

as much as you want. as long as you want.  

because he was yours.  

not some far-off dream.  

not a delusion.  

real.

your hands found his chest first, smoothing over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin through the cotton. slowly, they traveled upward, fingers brushing over his throat, his jaw, until your palms cradled his face, your thumb tracing the high point of his cheekbone.  

rafe turned into your touch, his lips brushing against the heel of your palm.  

"sleep okay?" he murmured, though there was a knowing edge to it, a quiet concern that made your stomach twist.  

because you both knew why he was asking.  

last night, by the time you’d finally come inside, you were wrecked. tear-streaked, hiccuping, clinging to rafe like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth. you hadn’t wanted him to sleep on the couch. you had fought him on it, insisted, pleaded, but somehow—you weren’t even sure how—he had won that fight. maybe it was the exhaustion. maybe it was the way your body had already been shutting down from the sheer weight of the night.  

"me? i'm not the one who slept on the couch."

you narrowed your eyes, fingers still cupping his face, and his lips quirked at your pointed tone.  

"i slept good," he assured you. "hard surfaces are better for your back, you know?"  

you snorted, unconvinced. "got facts now, huh? copying me, cameron?"  

he chuckled, tilting his head against your palm, lashes fluttering briefly as he stretched out with a groan.  

"didn’t you know? i’m coming for your spot."  

your smile widened. "you sure you want that? i go to the library for fun, you know?"  

rafe made a face, and you laughed.  

"still want me?" you teased, only half joking.  

he tilted his head slightly, considering. for half a second.  

then, he kissed you.  

soft. chaste. a barely-there press of lips that still managed to steal the breath from your lungs. and god, you didn’t care that he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet—you’d kiss him like this forever if he let you.  

when he pulled back, his nose nudged yours.  

"the real question is…" his voice was low, careful, like he was treading unsteady ground. "will you still have me?"  

you exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment, just soaking him in.  

the past twenty-four hours had been an emotional wreckage. you had him, then you lost him, then you had him again in the span of a few, heart-crushing, life-altering hours.  

it was enough to make your head spin.  

enough to make you terrified that you could lose him just as easily.  

"that's a silly question."

your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close, and he melted into you, hands slipping around your waist, tugging you even closer until you could feel his heartbeat against your own.  

"is it?" he murmured, his fingers dragging along the length of your spine, leaving shivers in their wake.  

"it is," you whispered. "m��never letting you go."  

his hold tightened.  

"you promise?"  

the words were barely audible, spoken against your skin, fragile in the way only he could be.  

you squeezed him, felt his heartbeat against your own.  

"cross my heart."

after a surprisingly normal breakfast, rafe had stepped outside to take a phone call. judging by the rare, genuine smile pulling at his lips, you were pretty sure it was sarah. his sister was one of the few people who could make him look like that—unguarded, softened.  

you were elbow-deep in soapy water, stacking dishes into the drying rack, when your mom poked her head into the kitchen. her eyes twinkled with thinly veiled curiosity.  

“so,” she started, dragging out the word as she leaned against the counter.  

you turned, brows lifting. “so?”  

her gaze flicked meaningfully toward the glass doors, where rafe was pacing the length of your backyard, phone in hand. “do you have a boy who is a little more than a friend?” she asked, feigning nonchalance.  

a smirk tugged at your lips. “mm, are you asking if rafe is my boyfriend?”  

“am i asking if the boy who has been sleeping on my couch and practically living in my house for the past two months is your boyfriend now? yes, i just might be.” she deadpanned, eyes shifting between you and the boy outside.  

you smiled to yourself, wiping down a plate. “nope.”  

“no?” your dad’s voice came out of nowhere, making you nearly jump. you turned to see him standing in the doorway, confusion written all over his face.  

your mom echoed his disbelief. “no?”  

you nodded, amused. “not yet.”  

your dad huffed, crossing his arms. “not yet? well, what the hell is his plan? because i’m not about to have some kid walking in and out of this house—”  

before he could finish his sentence, the sliding door creaked open. rafe stepped inside, still distracted by his phone, but when the room fell into a tense silence, his eyes flickered up.  

his brows furrowed. “uh… hey, guys…” his gaze found yours, searching. “am i interrupting or…?”  

you shook your head a little too quickly. “no, no. they were just wondering what time we got home last night.” you turned to your parents, forcing a casual tone. “around ten, i think. you had only just gone to bed.”  

your mom pursed her lips before smiling at rafe. “uh huh. well, hope the couch wasn’t too terrible. it’s not exactly made for sleeping.”  

rafe waved a hand dismissively. “it was fine. i should’ve asked before crashing, it was kind of a last-minute thing.”  

your dad, who moments ago was seconds away from throwing him out, suddenly beamed. “that’s alright, you’re always welcome here, son.”  

you gawked at him, utterly incredulous, but he ignored you.  

your mom grabbed your dad’s arm, tugging him toward the hallway. “well, we should go because…” she shot him a pointed look, silently urging him to come up with an excuse.  

“because…” he faltered, then suddenly snapped his fingers. “we have children! yes, we should check on our other children. the little one’s been, uh… constipated lately—”  

their voices trailed off as they disappeared down the hall, leaving you blinking after them.  

“your parents are funny,” rafe murmured, stepping up behind you. you barely had time to react before he dropped his head atop yours, the warmth of his body settling against your back.  

“they’re weird,” you corrected.  

he chuckled, a quiet, deep sound. “they’re a little weird.”  

his breath was warm against your temple, the closeness of him making your chest feel tight in a way you weren’t sure how to name.  

“want me to help you dry those?” he asked softly.  

you nodded, unable to stop the smile curling at your lips. “here.”  

you handed him a mug, and he slid away just enough to grab a dish towel, falling into step beside you.

"were you on the phone with sarah?” you ask quietly, unable to hide your curiosity.  

rafe nods, still absentmindedly drying the dish in his hands. “yeah, she was asking if i was eating dinner with them tonight. we’re in that phase where my parents act super happy that she’s home—before they start picking fights with her.”  

your brows pull together. “they didn’t know she was coming back?”  

“no, they did. it was only really a surprise for me.”  

your stomach twists a little at that. “sorry it didn’t go exactly as planned,” you murmur, voice laced with quiet regret.  

rafe doesn’t answer right away. instead, he gently takes the cup from your hands, setting it down on the counter before his fingers slip around yours, warm and firm. “i’m the one who should apologize,” he says, voice thick with sincerity. “it happened at my house, with my friends. i invited you. i should’ve—i should’ve been better. if i knew—”  

“you already apologized,” you cut in softly. “a couple of times, actually. and it’s okay. you didn’t know.” you hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat. “i also have fault in this, you know?” you look away for a second before meeting his eyes again. “i was scared. scared to communicate, to let you all the way in, to trust you sometimes. i can say without a doubt that if i’d handled a few things differently, we wouldn’t be where we are.”  

rafe tilts his head side to side, clearly disagreeing. “you don’t have any fault in this.” he tugs you closer, guiding your arms around his neck. “how were you supposed to trust me when you already knew what i was like? maybe not in detail, but the vague image was always there—even before cora said anything. you were protecting yourself. it’s one of the most human responses.”  

your lips part, ready to argue, but he beats you to it. “but,” he exhales, a tiny smirk playing at his lips, “i doubt i’ll win this fight, so let’s just agree to disagree.”  

he kisses you once, then again, softer this time, like the words themselves weren’t enough to settle it. your lips twitch with a smile you can’t control.  

“agree to disagree,” you whisper against his mouth before pressing a few more kisses to his lips, unable to stop yourself.  

he lets out a small chuckle, brushing the tip of his nose against yours, slow and affectionate. you think you could live in this quiet forever.  

“what time are you leaving?” your voice is quiet, already heavy with the weight of missing him before he’s even gone.

“soon,” he murmurs, his breath warm as it brushes against your temple, “but i’m coming back.”

your brows knit together, searching his face, his eyes, the way his lips barely quirk like he knows something you don’t. “you’re coming back?”

he nods, fingers grazing the curve of your jaw like he’s memorizing it. “there’s this girl…”

your smile is instant, soft and knowing. “mm?”

“she’s been running through my mind for so long,” he says, voice dipping lower, threading through your hair, “and i’m crazy about her.”

your grin spreads, helpless against the pull of him. “sounds serious.”

“yeah.” he smirks like he’s got a secret, and god, you love when he looks at you like that. “and i haven’t taken her on a date yet.”

you gasp, pressing a hand to your chest in mock scandal. “you haven’t taken her on a date yet?”

he shakes his head, feigning shame. “shameful, right?”

“absolutely. they should lock you up and throw away the key.”

his laughter rumbles between you, deep and warm, and you wish you could steal it, keep it somewhere safe. “damn,” he grins, pulling you closer. “throw away the key and everything?”

you nod solemnly. “except… if you can redeem yourself.”

he hums, amused. “redeem myself?”

you tip your chin up. “mmhm. like telling her where exactly you want to take her.”

his lips hover over yours, his voice a murmur against your mouth. “no can do. state secrets.” he presses a kiss to you, then another, softer between each word. “and we leave at four.”

your head spins. you barely register what he’s saying because all you can think about is the way he tastes, the way his hands tighten on your waist like he’d rather not let you go at all.

then he pulls back just enough to tilt his head, studying you like he’s about to say something important. “you should tell your parents you’re sleeping at hazel’s house,” he says casually, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, “and bring an overnight bag.”

your eyes widen. “an overnight bag?”

his smirk deepens at your reaction. “mmhm.”

“are we staying at your house?” you ask, suspicion creeping in.

he chuckles, shaking his head. “give me a little more credit than that.”

you narrow your eyes but let it slide. “okay… how should i dress if you won’t tell me where we’re going?”

he exhales, like he’s carefully picking his words. “it’s… outside. we’re walking around. not hiking or anything, but walking. like, imagine a museum—but it’s not a museum.”

you blink. “imagine a museum, but it’s not a museum?”

he nods, his grin tilting. “and bring warm clothes to sleep in.”

your stomach flips at that. he must notice because he laughs softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “no, we are not sleeping outside.”

relief floods you. “thank god,” you mumble. “i’d do a lot of things for you, but camping? not one of them.”

rafe grins, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. “camping is actually fun, you know,” he teases, his words muffled in your hair.

you let out a tiny, skeptical laugh. “yeah, the bugs, the grass, the dirt… my dream.”

his chest shakes with laughter, pressing his lips to your forehead. “you’re such a pessimist. they’re not bugs, they’re just little critters. it’s not grass and dirt,” he grins, “it’s nature and fresh air, and it’s good for your soul.”

“no, i’m a realist. and ‘critters’ do not sound better than bugs.”

his laughter softens, something deeper settling in his eyes as he looks at you. his arms tighten, holding you like he’s grounding himself in you, in this moment, in everything you are.

“you’re good for my soul,” you whisper, barely a breath between you. “that’s enough ‘good for the soul’ for me.”

his body relaxes against yours, the air shifting, something warm and certain pressing between your ribs. he leans down, lips brushing the top of your head, his breath stirring your hair.

“think it’s enough for me too, baby.”

you’d read somewhere that the brain falls in love in 0.2 seconds. a fraction of a moment—less than the blink of an eye—and suddenly, chemicals flood your system. dopamine, oxytocin, adrenaline. the same kind of high that leaves people breathless, euphoric, addicted.  

you never really believed it. 0.2 seconds? seriously? your brain had to have more fight in it than that. love seemed more complex, something slow-building, something earned. but now, pressed against rafe’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his arms wrapped securely around you—you realize it wasn’t just true. it lasted a lot longer than that.  

and god, were you in trouble.  

eventually, rafe pulled himself away, murmuring something about needing to shower and change. he promised he’d be back at four, but you were too restless to wait. by two, you were already ready to go.  

you cleaned your room, checked over your schoolwork, called off volunteering, helped your mom downstairs—anything to burn through the extra energy buzzing beneath your skin. and still, there was too much time left.  

with nothing left to do, you were ready to just lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until you got a text from your friends.

“hey!” you greeted, too bright, too excited.  

three pairs of eyes blinked at you through the screen, varying degrees of shock and mild concern staring back.  

“hey… y/n,” hazel started cautiously, brows furrowed. “are you okay?”

only then did you remember—they had no idea what had happened after ivy left.  

by the time you finished telling them everything, their reactions were wildly different.  

hazel, unsurprisingly, remained skeptical. her lips pressed into a thin line as she folded her arms, eyes narrowing in that way that told you she was biting back several very strong opinions. “you need to be careful,” she warned. “i wouldn’t have taken him back on principle.”  

you rolled your eyes, already bracing for a future where hazel inevitably fell in love and her poor, unfortunate partner suffered under her stubborn, unshakable sense of justice.  

devon, on the other hand, was thrilled. she’d always liked rafe the most, but devon liked everyone that could make her laugh. and since she found almost everything funny, her enthusiasm wasn’t exactly a surprise. “this was all adriana and cora’s fault,” she declared confidently. “it only seems complicated because of misunderstandings.”  

honestly, she wasn’t completely wrong.  

ivy was the last to react, but only because she needed everything explained twice. she kept getting lost in the names and timelines, but once she caught up, she leaned back, thoughtful. “i get where hazel’s coming from,” she admitted. “but… i’ve never seen someone look at another person the way rafe looks at you.” she shook her head, like even she couldn’t believe it. “he’s in love with you. and i think you guys deserve a real chance.”  

your chest tightened, an ache so sweet it almost hurt.  

hazel made valid points. you couldn’t deny that things could have been handled better, that rafe had a past, that there were risks.  

but love had to count for something.  

the way he touched you like you were something delicate and precious, the way he kissed you like he’d been starving for you, the way he looked at you—like you were the most important thing in the world.  

you had to see this through. you deserved to try.

by the time the conversation was winding down, your phone buzzed with a message from rafe—here—and before you could even process it, the doorbell rang. the timing made you smile, a giddy, unshakable thing that only grew as you imagined him just downstairs, waiting for you. waiting to kiss you the moment you reached him, to pull you close in the car, to sit beside you, hands brushing, the warmth of him something you could sink into.  

there weren’t enough words to describe what it felt like to be in love with rafe. he was lightning in your veins, a thrill in your pulse, the kind of presence that made your skin hum and your heart stumble over itself. every bit of him exhilarated you—the way he looked at you, the way he laughed, the way just existing near him felt like standing at the edge of something breathtaking.  

“alrighttt,” ivy teased from the tiny rectangle on your laptop screen, dragging out the word with a knowing smirk. “go get your man before you implode.” she waved a hand, shooing you off.  

“i’ll text every hour, okay?” you added, mostly directing it toward hazel, who nodded, lips quirking.  

“have fun!” devon grinned, throwing up a thumbs-up.  

“fun with protection,” hazel added flatly, and your jaw dropped, eyes going wide.  

“hazel!” you gasped, half-laughing, half-scandalized.  

she only shrugged, entirely unbothered, and waved you off as you ended the call.  

you shut your laptop, the nerves settling in properly now, fluttery and insistent. you rushed down the two flights of stairs, your heart thumping louder with each step, and before you even reached the bottom, you could already hear his voice, deep and familiar, threading through the hallway.  

“no, the season’s over,” rafe was saying, his tone easy, patient.  

your mom hummed, and then—ohhh, drawn out like a realization had just dawned on her. “so, it’s like the seasons of the year? like winter, fall—”  

you nearly winced before you heard rafe chuckle, cutting in quickly, “no, no, no.” he sounded amused, not condescending, his usual charm at play. “it’s one season. the season runs from mid-august to mid-november. that’s when we play in the big arenas. the rest of the year is off-season training, then pre-season prep, and sometimes, we have non-official games against other teams.”  

“mm,” your mom nodded, absorbing the information. as you stepped up behind her, she turned, startled for a second before her face softened. “oh! i was just talking to rafe about his soccer schedule—it’s quite intensive, actually.” her expression shifted to that motherly concern she always wore when she thought you were stretching yourself too thin.  

you bit back a grin, already knowing what was coming.  

“it’s like what i tell y/n, you know?” she said, turning back to rafe, who raised his brows, clearly entertained. “always with her head buried in those books. i keep telling her, anything with ‘too much’ or ‘too little’ in front of it is bad. too much studying, and her little head might break.” she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “i worry—”  

“okay, mhm, i know, mom. i know,” you interjected, nodding quickly as you looped an arm through hers, gently steering her toward the living room before she could launch into another full speech.  

rafe, for his part, was valiantly holding back a laugh, his lips twitching as he watched you usher your mom away. you shot him a look, but the fondness in his eyes made your stomach flip.

“your mom complaining because you study too much? that’s unheard of.” rafe teases the moment you step back into the foyer, an embarrassed smile tugging at your lips.

“my mom is unheard of,” you correct, but the words barely register as you take him in. he looked good. he always did, but tonight—tonight he looked unfairly good. black cargos, a deep green sweater snug against his frame, the edge of a white shirt peeking out beneath it. his hair, effortlessly tousled in that way that made him look like he had just rolled out of bed—but you knew better. he did that on purpose.

before you can say anything else, he hooks a finger into the hem of your shirt, tugging you forward. you don’t resist, smiling as the space between you vanishes.

“hi,” you murmur, tilting your chin up as his hand cups your face, thumb brushing featherlight over your cheek.

“hey,” he breathes back, leaning in—so close you can almost taste the mint on his breath. but just as his lips are about to touch yours, he stills.

his voice drops to a whisper. “your sister is staring at us.”

your eyes snap open in horror. mortified. and annoyed.

sure enough, when you turn your head, there she is, standing in the hallway like a tiny executioner, arms crossed, smirk sharp.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you mock, throwing her own words from this morning back at her.

without a beat of hesitation, she pulls out the little flip phone your dad gave her.

“oh my god! don’t actually take the picture!” you gasp, exasperated. behind you, rafe’s quiet chuckle vibrates through your back.

she doesn’t even acknowledge you, just huffs, arms crossing tighter. “dad!” she calls out, voice ringing through the house. “y/n won’t let me take a picture of her and rafe kissing!” she storms off.

you squeeze your eyes shut, dying inside, but rafe only laughs again. the sound is warm, reassuring—just like the way his arms slip around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

“you look pretty,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your shoulder, lingering. “and you smell good.” his mouth trails higher, ghosting over your neck, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

your fingers tighten in his sweater as you exhale, tilting your head just enough to capture his lips in a soft, fleeting kiss. “thank you.” your voice is quieter now, just for him.

you pull back slightly, hands drifting to his shoulders as you study him again. “hmm…” your grin curves slow, playful. “you look nice, but i still can’t tell where we’re going from this outfit.”

he smirks, leaning down for another kiss, this one deeper, slower. when he pulls back, his voice is lower. “that’s kind of the point with surprises.”

you laugh softly as he grabs the duffel bag from your hands.

“we should get going.”

you nod, stepping away. “yeah, i just need to say bye to my parents. i’ll be right out.” you’re already turning when he murmurs his agreement, stepping out the front door.

inside, you find your parents in the living room. your mom is braiding your sister’s hair, her fingers moving with practiced ease.

“hey, i’m heading out. i’ll see you guys tomorrow after school?”

your mom glances up, eyes sweeping over you like she’s checking for something. “you don’t have a thicker sweater? it’s quite cold.”

“it isn’t that cold, she’ll be alright,” your dad interjects, offering you a thumbs-up. “just text us when you get to hazel’s, alright?”

you nod quickly, then turn back to your mom. “i’ll take my good coat, and worst case, i’ll ask rafe for a sweater.” you offer her a reassuring smile.

she studies you for a beat longer, then softens, giving you a warm nod. “okay. have fun.”

you turn on your heel, snatching your coat from the wall hook in one fluid motion before stepping outside. the crisp air rushes to greet you, cool against your flushed cheeks, curling around your skin like a whisper of excitement. the door clicks shut behind you, sealing away the warmth of inside, but you don’t mind—not when rafe is here, waiting.

he leans against his car, fingers idly playing with his keys, the metal glinting under the dim glow of the streetlights. he’s distracted, his head tilted down, but the second you step out, he pauses. his eyes find yours instantly, scanning your face, his lips parting just slightly. “all good?” his voice is gentle, edged with something soft, something careful.

you nod, unable to contain the giddy energy bubbling inside you. your feet carry you to him quickly, almost skipping, like a child running toward something they’ve been waiting all day for. “all good, good, good.” you beam up at him, stretching onto your toes to press a quick, eager kiss to his lips.

his chuckle is quiet, warm, but his arms instinctively settle around your waist, keeping you close. “you’re happy,” he observes, amusement laced in his voice.

your grin widens as you nod. “i’ve got every reason to be.” the words are as much for him as they are a reminder to yourself.

his nose brushes against yours, the smallest touch, but it sends a shiver down your spine. “i love seeing you smile,” he whispers, like it’s a secret meant only for you.

and because it’s him, because it’s always him, you smile even more. “i love you.”

his forehead rests against yours, his eyes locking onto yours like they hold the whole world inside them. “i love you too, baby.”

the drive to your destination is both too slow and far too fast, stretching time and collapsing it all at once. you want to savor every second, but you also ache to get there, wherever there is.

every car ride with rafe is something special. even the short ones, when he’d drop you off at the retirement home, where you’d linger in his car long after he had already parked, just talking, stretching the moment, neither of you wanting to leave, not ready to say goodbye. but the long ones? those were the best. time felt slower then, like the world outside the car didn’t matter, like all that existed was the steady hum of the engine, the soft music threading through the speakers, and the effortless conversation between you.

talking with rafe was easy. being with him was easy. you were always full of things to say, stories to tell, and he was always ready to listen, to laugh, to add his own thoughts like your words were puzzle pieces he was eager to fit together. the soft melody playing in the background only made it all feel more domestic, more right, like something you could do forever.

“remember when we were at the beach, and you said you should have more fun?” he asks suddenly, breaking the quiet hum of conversation.

you nod, thinking back to that day, the way you had sighed and confessed it like it was a secret. “yeah. this is something fun?”

he grins, nodding. “it is.”

your mind spins with possibilities. “is it…” you pause dramatically, narrowing your eyes at him, “roller skating?”

his laugh is easy, shaking his head. “you already guessed that one.” he tilts his head toward the windshield. “we’re almost there, though.”

your gaze follows his, and in the distance, bright lights glow against the night sky, unmistakable and familiar. your heart stutters.

“the fair!” you nearly scream, your excitement bubbling over into your voice. you turn to him, wide-eyed. “oh my god, i haven’t been back in years. i never—”

“find the time?” he finishes smoothly, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

you nod, eyes shining. “thank you, thank you!” the words spill out as you grab his face, pressing frantic kisses all over his cheeks, his nose, anywhere you can reach. he just laughs, letting you, his hands resting on your waist.

“this is gonna be so fun.” you bounce slightly in your seat, your gaze snapping back to the road, watching as the fair grows closer, the colors sharpening, the lights glittering. anticipation buzzes under your skin. “i hope you’re ready to spend the next fifteen hours here, because i am not leaving until we’ve played every game. oh! we have to go on the ferris wheel.” you turn back to him, eyes pleading. “and we have to do the duck fishing game! a lot of people find it kinda boring, but i always loved it as a kid. you get fun prizes!" you ramble, the memories flooding back, making you smile at the thought of it all.

"anddd!" you continue, as rafe parks the car and unbuckles your seatbelt for you, "we can do the can knockdown and the basketball shootout! though i’m not very good at that..." you tilt your head, biting your lip.

"basketball shootout? that’s my game," rafe says, his tone teasing yet reassuring. "don’t worry, i'll show you how to score." a grin spreads across your face, and you can’t help but lean in, kissing him again, your lips lingering against his, sharing a moment of warmth.

when you step out of the car, rafe briefly checks his parking, but you're too eager to wait. you tug gently at his hand, your excitement bubbling over. "okayyy! let’s go!" you urge, practically bouncing on your toes.

"okay, someone’s excited," rafe murmurs with a smile, pulling you close, his arm sliding around your shoulder as you both start walking toward the fair, the lights ahead like a dream come to life.

the fair was alive with energy, a constant hum of voices blending with the sounds of laughter and music. the air was thick with the scent of cotton candy and popcorn, and you could feel the vibrant pulse of excitement as people swarmed the grounds. scattered among the crowd were a few familiar faces from school, most of them nodding or waving at rafe from a distance, though there were one or two who actually stopped to chat with him for a moment.

you dove into the carnival games, clearly more excited than anything else. your enthusiasm was contagious as you breezed through everything, from the ring toss and pick-a-duck to the basketball shootout, can knockdown, and the bb gun shooting booth. you even tried your hand at the hammer strength test and the wheel of fortune. each game offered a prize, and by the time you were done, you had racked up so many stuffed animals that rafe had to make a quick trip to his car to stash a couple in the backseat. you kept only the one he won for you, clutching it close as if it were a prized possession.

"i’ve got a perfect name for him," you grinned when rafe returned, slipping his hand into yours. you hugged the bear tight to your chest.

"yeah?" he asked, a curious glint in his eyes.

"rafe jr!" you exclaimed, your face lighting up with mischief.

rafe paused, turning to look at you with a playful smile. "he’s your son. isn’t he adorable?" you ask him.

"i think he’s our son," rafe said, his tone teasing but warm.

you hummed thoughtfully, "yeah, from nine a.m. to ten p.m., he can be our son. but at night, he’s all yours. i need my eight hours of sleep," you joked, and rafe gave you a mock disapproving look.

"unbelievable," he muttered, feigning indignation as he took the bear from you. "give me my son. you don’t even deserve him," he laughed, shaking his head as you giggled.

"let’s do the mirror palace," rafe said suddenly, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the next attraction.

"oh, no," you groaned, a playful whine creeping into your voice. "i suck at mazes. do you know how many bruises i've gotten because of this place?" you complained as he led you into the line. he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you close.

"you were probably between six and ten years old the last time you were here," he teased, his lips brushing your shoulder. "but don't worry, we’ll stick together. i’ll make sure we get out without any bruises."

you couldn’t help but smile at his reassurance, finding comfort in his presence. "okay," you agreed, your voice soft. "can we do the ferris wheel too?" you whispered, hopeful.

he gave you a tender smile and nodded. "we’ll do the ferris wheel, baby," he whispered back, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. you smiled faintly, feeling the warmth of his affection, and he kissed you again, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away.

the line for the maze isn’t long, and rafe makes the wait feel like nothing at all. "hey, two tickets, please," he says, voice low but casual as he pulls his wallet out, handing over a stack of bills. the cashier, with a soft smile, takes them, passing back two tickets with practiced ease. "here you go," she says, her tone polite but robotic, "no running and no backtracking. have fun." the words sound like a rehearsed mantra, something she'd said to every other person before.

"no backtracking?" you ask, your voice tinged with nerves as rafe laces his fingers through yours, pulling you toward the entrance. "what if we get lost? what if we—"

"baby, we won't get lost," he laughs, that deep, confident sound that always manages to settle your racing thoughts. he pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. he presses a soft kiss to the side of your head, the warmth of his lips grounding you. "this is a game for little kids. we’ll make it, no problem." you can’t help but smile, knowing he’s probably right. you nod, taking another step forward into the maze, the twisted corridors pulling you further in.

the maze is oddly quiet, aside from the occasional echo of laughter or giggling in the distance. the floors beneath your feet are dotted with glowing lights that form shifting patterns, while above, the ceiling is impossibly high—so high that you can't quite make out its end, thanks to the mirrored surface reflecting everything around you. it all feels like a strange dream, the kind where you’re falling endlessly but never quite hit the ground.

"god, this is so weird," you mutter, as rafe gently tugs you back just in time to avoid you running into yet another mirror. "i swear, we’ve been down this hallway already." you stop in your tracks, scanning your surroundings. rafe continues walking, but his hand, still clutching yours, halts him after a few steps.

"we haven’t been down this hallway yet," he says, looking over his shoulder at you. "i’d know." his tone is teasing, but you can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

"all the hallways look the same," you protest, "how would you know?"

"i’m a pro at this," he grins, tugging you closer. "you just don’t believe me." his hands settle on your waist, his fingers brushing the fabric of your shirt. "or trust me," he murmurs, lips barely grazing your ear as he pulls you even closer.

"i’m too young to die, and i can’t die in a maze, rafe," you whine softly, your voice barely audible. he chuckles, the sound warm against your skin.

"don’t be whiny," he teases, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before you can even respond. your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

"i’m not whiny…" you protest, though the words are muffled as his breath fans across your lips. your eyes flutter closed, and you exhale softly, the warmth of his presence overwhelming in the best way.

"really?" rafe’s voice is low and teasing as his lips brush against yours, barely making contact. "because you sound pretty whiny to me." his hands slide up your back, sending a chill through your spine as his lips trace the curve of your jaw. he pulls you flush against him, his body pressing into yours with a teasing urgency.

"rafe…" you sigh, words getting caught in your throat. you want to beg him to kiss you, to press you up against one of these endless mirrors and kiss you until you're breathless, but somehow, the words won’t come. instead, you lean into him, your lips chasing his in desperate need.

"yeah, pretty girl?" rafe’s voice is rough, husky, and it makes your knees feel weak. your heart races in your chest as you try to form a coherent thought, but all you can focus on is him. his presence. the heat between you. your lips are barely a breath away, and you lean in, chasing him as your fingers tangle in his hair.

he pulls away just enough for you to feel the loss, his lips brushing against your skin. "tell me," he insists, his voice barely a whisper, but it carries an urgency that makes your breath catch. he kisses everywhere but your lips, trailing soft, teasing touches along your jaw and neck. his nose skims your skin, the sensation making your body shiver.

"want you to kiss me…" you manage to murmur, almost begging, your hands tightening in his hair. rafe hums, the sound vibrating through your chest.

"wasn't too hard now, was it?" he whispers, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing mockery of what you’ve been yearning for. and before you can respond, his lips crash against yours. it’s frantic, hungry, as if he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you. you’re pushed up against the mirror, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body.

his hands find their way to your waist, pressing you harder against him as his tongue slips into your mouth, coaxing a soft gasp from you. the kiss deepens, and it’s no longer just a kiss—it’s consuming, overwhelming, a blur of heat and touch. the world fades away, and all you can think about is rafe. his lips. his hands. him.

the kiss drags on, relentless, until you’re both left gasping for air. rafe pulls back slightly, brushing his lips against yours with a soft smile. "don’t think that’s ever gonna get old," he murmurs, his voice low and satisfied. he takes your hand, tugging you along deeper into the maze.

eventually, though, he does get you both out. you’d almost lost hope twice, ready to scream for help, but somehow, you made it out together.

with his hand nestled in yours, fingers laced together like a quiet promise, you wandered through the fair, the golden glow of string lights casting soft halos over the crowd. laughter and the distant chime of game bells filled the air as you played a few more rounds, the scent of caramel and fried dough clinging to the night. finally, you reached the ferris wheel, its towering silhouette outlined against the deep blue sky.  

"line's a little long," rafe noted, eyes flicking toward the slow-moving queue stretching toward the ticket booth. he exhaled, rolling his shoulders back. "i'm gonna head to the food stand and grab us something small while we wait. that okay?"  

you nodded quickly. "okay."  

he leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against your lips before you could say anything else. you caught his sleeve as he pulled away, adding, "can you also get me some water?"  

"mm, be right back," he murmured, squeezing your fingers before slipping into the crowd.  

left alone, you took the moment to respond to a few messages, the ferris wheel’s bright lights reflecting in your screen. the line inched forward, and just as you pocketed your phone, rafe reappeared, pressing a warm pretzel wrapped in a napkin into your hands.  

"here," he said, and you quickly took a bite, the buttery salt melting on your tongue.  

"you didn't get anything?" you asked, noticing he only held your bottle of water and a can of coke.  

"not hungry enough for anything right now," he shrugged, tucking his arm around your shoulder as the line moved forward again. without a second thought, you held up your pretzel to his lips.  

he grinned and took a bite, murmuring a muffled, "thanks," as he chewed. you smiled and leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  

at the register, rafe pulled out his wallet, handing over cash for two tickets. standing closer to the wheel now, he tilted his head up, studying it. "jesus," he muttered under his breath. "when you're this close, it’s really high..."  

you grinned, nudging him. "got a little fear of heights you forgot to mention?"  

he rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. "no fear of heights," he countered, feigning nonchalance. "just didn’t think it’d be this tall."  

when the attendant swung open the little cabin door, rafe let you step in first before sliding in beside you. the seat was softer than expected, and as the wheel began its slow ascent, he draped an arm around you, settling comfortably.  

"you can see the whole island from the top," you mused, eyes sparkling as you glanced at him.  

rafe smirked. "yeah?"  

"mm-hmm," you hummed, then added mischievously, "and don’t worry—it goes reallll slow."  

he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "i’m not scared of heights," he insisted.  

"uh huh." you shrugged, taking another bite of your pretzel.  

the cabin continued its gentle climb, and a small window near the side caught your attention. curiosity got the best of you, and before rafe could react, you popped your head out for a better view. the wind brushed against your face, cool and sweet, but before you could even take it all in, rafe's hand was gripping your waist, tugging you back in with a firm urgency.  

"okay, that's enough," he muttered, brows drawn together, his jaw tight.  

you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up as he shot you a glare that wasn’t nearly as serious as he wanted it to be.  

if he wasn’t so tense, you might’ve asked to go again. but seeing the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his grip on you lingered even after the moment had passed, you decided against it. you’d spare him—for now.

ooh! a photobooth!" you yell out, excitement bubbling over as you grab rafe’s hand and pull him toward the big red box in the distance. the glossy surface gleams under the carnival lights, and you practically bounce on your feet as you take in the example pictures displayed on the side. “look at this! i think it’s new…” your fingers trail over the smooth panel, eyes scanning the details. before you can even turn to ask rafe if he wants to take some, he’s already ducking inside, reaching back to tug you onto his lap with effortless ease.  

“let’s see…” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin as he scrolls through the options on the screen. you pull the small curtain shut, enclosing the two of you in the intimate space, the air thick with anticipation. “black and white or color?” rafe asks, his chin resting on your shoulder, voice low and unhurried. you tilt your head in thought before deciding, “uhh… black and white.” the choice feels right, timeless. you fish out a couple of coins from your pocket, sliding them into the slot with a soft clink. 

“okay, ready?” rafe asks, his blue eyes flickering with amusement as he watches you. you nod, grinning. but then a thought crosses your mind, and you blurt out, “wait, how many does it take?”  

“four, i think,” rafe replies just as the first flash goes off. instinctively, you stick your tongue out, only realizing after that your hair is a mess. laughter spills from your lips as you quickly try to smooth it down, but rafe is faster—his fingers weave through the strands, gently fixing it as the countdown begins again.  

“oh, god, the countdown is so fast!” you squeal, both of you scrambling to pose, but it’s useless—you end up just laughing at each other, faces flushed with amusement.  

“that one is cute. look at your smile,” rafe grins, tilting his head to study the preview. your cheeks warm at his words, a touch of shyness creeping in. rafe notices, his own smile softening before he leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek just as the third picture snaps.  

the final countdown begins, and rafe’s fingers—gentle yet firm—grasp your chin, turning your face toward him. “last one,” he murmurs, a teasing glint in his eyes. you don’t hesitate. instead, you wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him in, lips meeting his in a kiss just as the last flash goes off.  

when you pull away, rafe chases your lips for a second, stealing another soft kiss before finally letting you slide off his lap. you push the curtain open, stepping out into the cool night air, the distant hum of carnival rides and laughter filling the space around you.  

seconds later, the photo strip slides out from the machine. you grab it eagerly, holding it up. “they came out so cute! look!” you beam, showing rafe as he steps beside you.  

his gaze flickers over the strip, a small smile tugging at his lips. “they did. the black and white looks good,” he agrees, his fingers effortlessly intertwining with yours as you both start walking again, your eyes still fixed on the little captured moments.  

they were perfect.

"i had so much fun, thank you for bringing me here," you say, glancing at rafe as the two of you walk through the parking lot, the cool night air settling over your skin. the distant hum of traffic, the flickering neon signs, the soft scuff of your shoes against the pavement—it all feels like a dream you don’t want to wake up from.  

"i’m happy you liked it," rafe replies, his voice carrying a certain secrecy that immediately piques your curiosity. "but the date’s not over yet."  

you blink at him, lips curling into a smile. "it’s not?"  

he shakes his head, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. "nope. one more surprise. now get in." he nudges you playfully, holding the passenger door open like the perfect gentleman he pretends not to be.  

your heart flutters as you slide inside, excitement buzzing through you despite the dull ache creeping into your feet. the night is stretching on, dark and velvety, but instead of feeling tired, you feel alive, giddy with the thought that the evening isn’t over yet.  

"can i try to guess this one?" you ask the moment you buckle in, eyes gleaming with anticipation.  

rafe chuckles, shaking his head as he starts the car. "you know, it wouldn’t kill you to let it be a surprise. ever heard of ‘curiosity killed the cat’?"  

"and what brought it back?" you counter smoothly, neatly tucking the photobooth pictures into your bag. "the truth."  

he scoffs, tapping his fingers against the wheel. "even if i gave you hints, you’d still be terrible at guessing."  

your mouth drops open in exaggerated offense. "no! your hints just suck!"  

"oh, my hints suck?" he laughs, shooting you a knowing look. "i literally said you might walk away with some prizes, and you thought i was taking you to a casino."  

you roll your eyes but can’t fight the smile stretching across your face. "it was a solid guess! a casino is a place where you can win things!"  

"try thinking about why i asked you to bring warm pajamas."  

you pause, tilting your head as you study him. he’s taking you somewhere cold, that much is obvious—but where? and why?  

the rest of the ride is spent grilling rafe, who remains infuriatingly tight-lipped, dodging every one of your guesses with a smug grin. the city lights blur past in streaks of gold and red, and eventually, the car rolls to a stop near the docks.  

you step out, scanning your surroundings. the air is thick with the scent of salt and freshly grilled seafood, the restaurants nearby buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses. but none of this explains why he told you to bring warm pajamas.  

he takes your hand and leads you past the restaurants, past the shops, past everything—until you’re stepping through a smaller, tucked-away entrance that spills out onto the docks, where at least fifty boats are lined up in neat rows.  

"are we getting on a boat?" you ask, glancing at him in surprise.  

he still doesn’t answer. just pulls you along, his grip firm but gentle.  

"rafe, i—"  

the words catch in your throat.  

because suddenly, you see it.  

a boat, different from all the others, its edges wrapped in warm golden lights that twinkle against the dark water. flower petals are scattered along the deck like something out of a dream. a table is set for two, draped in crisp white linen, with two gleaming cloches covering the plates beneath. and above it all, the sky is painted in breathtaking shades of pink and lavender, the last remnants of the sunset bleeding into the horizon.  

you don’t move. you don’t breathe.  

rafe steps onto the boat first, setting the bags down before turning back to you, his expression softer now, almost nervous. he holds out a hand. "c’mon."  

your fingers tremble as they slip into his.  

"rafe," you whisper, voice barely above the lapping of the waves, already feeling the sting of tears gathering behind your eyes.

rafe reaches behind you, fingers brushing against the back of the chair as he grabs something—then, turning back to you, he reveals a bouquet of flowers.  

"before you say anything, i just need to do this," he murmurs, voice quieter now, as he hands them to you.  

your hands tighten around the bouquet instinctively, but you barely register the softness of the petals, too caught up in the way his eyes flicker, how his throat bobs as he swallows.  

"there's a note inside," he continues, rubbing the back of his neck as if he's trying to steady himself. "i wasn’t sure if i’d be able to say what i needed to say, so i wrote it down. but now that you’re standing right in front of me..." he hesitates, glancing down at the bouquet, then back at you. "i think i want to read it to you."  

your breath catches.  

he reaches into the bouquet, pulling out a small, neatly folded note, his fingers careful as he smooths it open. the sun is dipping lower, casting everything in gold and amber, and for a moment, you just watch him. the glow of the fading light makes his features impossibly soft, the strands of his tousled hair illuminated like something out of a dream.  

his eyes scan the paper, then flicker up to you. he exhales sharply.  

"god," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head slightly.  

your brows pull together. "you don’t have to—"  

"no, no," he interrupts quickly, waving a hand. "it’s not that. it’s just... you—" he exhales again, almost frustrated with himself. "you look really good right now. i can’t think straight."  

your heart stumbles over itself.  

heat spreads across your cheeks, and you bite back a grin, stepping closer to him. "you’re awful."  

"i’m awful?" he scoffs, tilting his head at you, a smile curling at the edges of his lips. "you’re the one over there, completely wrecking my concentration."  

his voice is soft, teasing, and the way he’s looking at you—like there’s no one else in the world—makes your chest ache. without thinking, you rise onto your toes, pressing your lips to his in a gentle kiss.  

he kisses you back, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. but as soon as your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, he pulls away with a pointed look.  

"see?" he murmurs, shaking his head in mock exasperation.  

you throw your head back in laughter. "okay, okay! i’m sorry! you have my undivided, uninterrupting attention."  

his lips twitch into a smirk before he clears his throat, bringing his attention back to the note in his hands.  

his voice is steady as he begins to read.  

"last semester, our science teacher told us that romantic love activates the same brain regions as drug addiction—especially the dopamine reward system."  

he glances up at you briefly, the corner of his mouth lifting like he already knows how silly he sounds. but he keeps going.  

"at the time, i didn’t think much of it. honestly, i probably forgot about it five minutes later. but a week after our first tutoring session, that random fact came rushing back. because by then, i wasn’t just falling for you—i was being consumed by you. every little thing you did, every quirk, every expression. the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something so intricate i could barely follow. the way you smiled. the way you blinked, even."  

he pauses, his jaw clenching for a second before he continues.  

"i couldn’t understand why i couldn’t stop thinking about you—why you had settled so deeply into my mind, in my bones, under my skin. and then, suddenly, i did. that fact from last semester snapped back into place."  

his voice is quieter now, more careful, like every word is something he needs you to hear.  

"you’re the first thought in my mind when i wake up and the last thing i think of before i fall asleep. you are my favorite part of every day."  

you feel your breath hitch, your hands tightening around the bouquet.  

"i will always feel sorry for anyone who never gets the chance to know you the way i do—to be wrapped in your kindness, to hear your laughter over and over, to know what your lips feel like, to be loved by you."  

his gaze flickers up to yours, a quiet intensity in his eyes.  

"you are extraordinary, and i know you’re going to go places neither of us can even dream of."  

he hesitates, his fingers gripping the edges of the paper slightly, like the words are heavier now.  

"if you’ll let me, i’d be honored to stand by your side for as long as you’ll have me."  

a beat of silence.  

"will you be my girlfriend?"  

you don’t realize you’re crying until you’re frantically wiping at your face, nodding—nodding so hard it almost makes you dizzy.  

"yeah?" rafe breathes, a laugh slipping from his lips as he pulls you in.  

"yes!" you cry, grinning through the tears. "are you serious?"  

his hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears as he shakes his head with a soft smile. "you can’t cry on our first date," he whispers, resting his forehead against yours.  

"you can’t make me cry on our first date," you sniffle, voice barely above a whisper.  

"touché," he murmurs.  

and then his lips find yours.  

the kiss is slow, unhurried—like he has all the time in the world. like he wants to take his time. his fingers slide into your hair, holding you close, and when you press against him, you don’t know if you want to smile or cry all over again.  

but you do know one thing.  

there is nowhere else you’d rather be.

rafe pulls away, his lips barely ghosting over yours as he exhales, his nose brushing against your skin like he’s memorizing the feel of you. “let’s sit, yeah?” his voice is low, gentle, and you nod, but not before pressing the softest kiss against his lips. he smiles against your mouth, then steps back, pulling out your chair with an effortless sort of grace. you settle into the seat, placing your flowers carefully beside you, the delicate petals brushing against your arm.  

your arms tighten around yourself as you take in the scene before you—an intimate table set under the open sky, flickering candlelight casting golden hues across the linen, the sound of the waves lapping gently against the boat. it’s beautiful, breathtaking, and it knocks the air right out of your lungs. your throat tightens as tears well up, your voice trembling despite your best effort to steady it. “how did you plan this all in one day?”  

rafe’s brows knit together like the question itself is absurd, and he reaches across the table, his hand warm as it closes over yours. “one day?” he echoes, shaking his head, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. “baby, i’ve been planning this for two weeks. three if you count the seven days straight i begged my dad for the boat.” he says it so matter-of-factly, like it was the most natural thing in the world to spend weeks making something perfect just for you.  

your breath stutters as you swipe at your damp cheeks with the back of your hand, overwhelmed. “t-this is…” the words get caught in your throat, and rafe watches you, his face soft with affection but laced with the slightest bit of concern.  

“baby.” he moves before you can blink, dropping to his knees beside your chair, his hands resting on your thighs as he looks up at you, all blue eyes and steady presence. “if i knew this would make you cry this much, i would’ve just taken you to mcdonald’s.” his lips twitch into a teasing grin, and the laugh that bubbles out of you is watery but real. you lean forward until your forehead touches his, exhaling shakily.  

“no, n-no, it’s perfect… i j-just…” you try to gather yourself, grounding yourself in the way his hands hold you like you’re something precious, something he never wants to let go of. you breathe deeply, eyes flickering between his. “i think i’ve been telling myself for so long that i didn’t want this—the romance, the grand gestures, all of it. convinced myself i didn’t need it, because it’s easier to not be disappointed by something when you’ve made yourself believe you never even wanted it in the first place. but now…” you swallow hard, your fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. “this whole date, this entire day… it’s been incredible. and i can’t believe i let myself miss out on you for almost two decades.”  

rafe’s gaze flickers with something unreadable, something deep. he cups your face, tilting it ever so slightly. “i’m here now,” he murmurs, the words like a vow. “and i’m not going anywhere for at least another couple of decades.”  

he pulls you into his arms before you can respond, guiding you against his chest, his chin resting atop your head. his fingers thread into your hair, grounding, soothing. “i’m sorry i’m such a mess,” you mumble into the warmth of his skin.  

“you’re my mess,” he murmurs, lips pressing softly against your temple.

it takes five tissues and a few deep breaths before you’re composed enough to properly sit down and eat. you lift the cloche, and immediately, the rich steam curls into the cool evening air. the scent hits you next—warm, savory, mouthwatering, like something fresh out of a five-star kitchen. your eyes sweep over the dish, taking in the careful presentation, the attention to detail. “this looks delicious…” your voice is tinged with awe as you glance up at him, suspicious. “who made this?” a part of you half-expects a chef to step out from behind the mast.  

rafe leans back in his chair, smirking. “i did.”  

you arch a brow. “no, you didn’t. you were with me all day.”  

his grin deepens as he watches your skepticism unfold. “where do you think i went after i left your house this morning?”  

you narrow your eyes, still not convinced. and he just laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you’d doubt him.

"i should probably explain how i planned all of this," he says, voice smooth, almost sheepish, like he's letting you in on some grand secret. you nod, twirling your fork into the soft, buttery pasta on your plate, waiting for him to continue.

"this boat is my family's, but really, it's my dad's. no one touches it without his permission, and he’s very… very particular about it." rafe exhales a small laugh, shaking his head as if recalling some past scolding. "but i wanted to do dinner here. thought it’d be more fun, more private. so i asked him—begged him, really—promised i wouldn't break anything, or at least, i'd try not to." his lips curve into a smirk before he leans in slightly, his voice dropping as if this is the part that matters most. "and finally, when i told him i really wanted to impress you… he said yes." he watches your face, gauging your reaction. "i think he likes you, which is a first."

your heart lightens, the weight of uncertainty easing just a little. his father likes you? you hadn’t been sure.

"really? he seemed a little…" you hesitate, searching for the right word.

"frigid?" rafe supplies, already nodding like he knew that’s what you were going to say. "yeah, he’s cold. has a hard time showing affection, all that shit. but he’s a good dad. we have our ups and downs, but he loves us, wants the best for us—most of the time." there's something almost distant in the way he says it, like he's repeating a fact rather than feeling it, but you don't press.

he exhales, shaking off the moment. "anyway, the plan was always dinner. but then, after i picked you up from the elderly home two weeks ago, we went to the beach, and you said you wanted to start having more fun." he glances at you, eyes twinkling under the warm glow of the string lights. "so i started thinking—what’s fun? i mean, dinner’s great, dinner and a movie is great, especially with you, but i wanted something more. i thought about a roller rink, ice skating, maybe an aquarium or the zoo. but the fair just felt… right. versatile, fun, a little chaotic."

you smile, warmth settling in your chest. all of those options would have been perfect, because they'd be with him.

"initially, everything that happened yesterday wouldn’t have happened," rafe admits, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his features. you nod, a little sad at the reminder.

"the plan was simple. you’d stay over at mine, we’d be lazy, stay in bed till noon. my parents and wheeze were coming back at two, so i figured i’d leave you with her for a couple hours. topper’s dad owns the yacht club right by the dock, so topper set it up so we could use their kitchen. i was gonna cook, come back, pick you up, take you to the fair, and text topper when we were close so he could go back, heat up the food, plate it here, and leave." rafe shakes his head, smiling at how much effort it had taken. "same plan, really, except we were at your house instead of mine. i cooked, picked you up, took you to the fair, texted topper fifteen minutes ago, he came, reheated everything, plated it, and left."

you stare at him, stunned. "jesus… that’s…" you start, grinning as you shake your head in disbelief.

rafe laughs, running a hand through his hair before picking up his fork. "yeah. and i hope you like it, because this is literally the only meal i can make."

you chew, smiling against your bite. "you know, you could’ve saved yourself a lot of time if you just ordered the food."

he shrugs, like the thought had never even crossed his mind. "i wanted to cook for you."

your heart stutters, just a little. "well, it’s really good," you admit, nudging his foot lightly under the table. "even if it’s the only meal you can make."

he grins. "better than nothing."

it took nearly two hours to finish eating, though neither of you minded. conversation flowed so easily, conversation leading to laughter, to teasing, to the occasional soft gaze that lingered just a little too long. the food sat half-forgotten between you, growing cold while you got lost in each other. the whole evening made you forget—truly forget—every dark cloud that had loomed over you in the past months. none of it mattered here. none of it existed. all that was real was this moment, the warmth of rafe's presence, the way he looked at you like nothing else in the world held his attention.  

after the last bite, rafe took the wheel, guiding the boat a little further out into the open water. not too far—just enough so the shore looked like something out of a dream, the golden glow of restaurant lights stretching across the waves, bars and shops humming with distant life. you curled up together on the bow, your head rising and falling with his steady breath, his arms wrapped securely around you. the throw blanket, already there like it had been waiting for this moment, draped over both of you. when you tilt your head up, you find his eyes already on you, like he had been watching you all along.  

"thank you for this," you whisper, voice barely louder than the gentle slosh of water against the boat. "this has been the most fun night." your eyes glisten in the soft light, emotions swelling in a way that makes your heart ache in the best way.  

"you don’t need to thank me," he murmurs, brushing his lips over yours, a fleeting, teasing touch. "i did it with pleasure. you’re my favorite person to be around, baby."  

your smile is small, but it holds so much, and you find his lips again, kissing him once, then again, and again, unable to stop yourself. "still gonna thank you," you breathe, nuzzling into him. "i would've been happy with just a mcdonald’s date, but you went the extra… extra mile. you didn’t have to do that."  

rafe scoffs, his face twisting in a way that tells you he hates the mere thought. "you’re too good for a mcdonald’s date," he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. his lips trail down your jaw, slow and deliberate. "you’ve gotta know your worth…" the words are a murmur against your skin, his mouth lingering along your jawline, up to your ear. his teeth catch your earlobe gently, the softest bite, and your fingers dig into his bicep instinctively.  

"please…" the word leaves you in a breath, but the way it sounds—soft, needy—makes rafe tense for a beat.  

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. you’re so close your noses brush, sharing the same air. he’s asking you something without speaking, his gaze searching yours. you nod, slow and certain, and then his lips are on yours, the kiss stealing the breath from your lungs as he eases you down onto the soft cushions beneath you.  

the kiss is dizzying, has your mind floating, thoughts scattering like grains of sand in the wind. rafe kisses you like he’s been starving for it, like tasting you is the only thing that makes sense. his hands are impossibly warm, feverish against your skin, and soon he’s caging you beneath him, pressing closer, deeper. his lips leave yours only to travel down your neck, and your breath stutters, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.  

"rafe…" his name is barely a whisper, a plea, as your hands tug at the fabric of his shirt. you need him closer.  

he doesn’t make you wait. his shirt is off in a second, discarded somewhere in the dark, and his hands skim the hem of your top, fingers toying with the fabric before he pauses. his gaze finds yours again, softer this time. "you’re sure?" he asks, voice quiet, careful.  

you nod, your hands sliding into his hair as you pull him in, kissing him slowly, deeply. "i’m sure," you murmur against his lips.  

he pulls your top over your head, tosses it aside like nothing else matters but this. his mouth is on your skin immediately, mapping you out with slow, careful devotion, like he has all the time in the world. he kisses down your neck, lingers there, like he wants to memorize the way you shudder beneath him. his lips trail lower, between your breasts, his tongue and teeth leaving red marks behind—deep, burning reminders that you’ll feel long after the night is over.

"god, you're so fucking beautiful," rafe groans as he unhooks your bra with a precision that should be concerning—but the thought barely forms before his mouth is on you, his lips wrapping around your nipple, and suddenly, you can’t think at all.

your breath catches in your throat, a soft, shuddering gasp spilling from your lips as heat shoots straight through you. your fingers tangle in his hair, instinct taking over as you pull him closer, urging him on. "oh… oh—" the sound escapes you in a breathless whimper, pleasure twisting sharp and sweet through your body. your free hand fists the throw blanket beside you, lips parting as your head tips back into the pillow. the sensation is overwhelming, toeing the line between pleasure and something almost too intense, too much—but you don’t want him to stop.

rafe switches between your nipples, sucking and teasing until they’re left swollen, aching, but before you can even process the sensation, he’s moving lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. the warmth of his breath sends a shiver through you, but your mind stays hazy, pliant, following wherever he leads.  

two firm taps against your thigh. "up," he murmurs, and without thinking, you obey, lifting your hips like it’s second nature. he strips you bare in one swift motion, your skirt and underwear slipping down and away before you can so much as blink. the cool air kisses your exposed skin, but the heat of rafe’s mouth follows a moment later, his lips dragging slow, purposeful kisses from your lower stomach downward, inching closer, closer—  

your breath catches. he pauses. his gaze flickers up to meet yours, something dark and unreadable swimming in his eyes. "tell me you want it."  

at first, the words sound like nothing more than a demand, thick with lust. but when you really look at him—when you see the way he holds himself there, waiting—you realize he’s asking for more than just permission. he’s asking for certainty.  

"i want it," you whisper, the plea slipping out without hesitation, breathy and soft. "please…"  

something shifts in his expression, something unreadable yet electric, and then he’s gone—no, not gone—he’s there, right there, between your legs, his mouth stealing the very breath from your lungs.

the moment rafe’s tongue drags through your folds, pleasure slams into you so hard your mind blanks. your hands fly to your mouth, muffling the moan that tries to rip free, but it does nothing to quiet the way your body trembles beneath him. his grip tightens on your thigh, firm and unyielding, holding you in place as his tongue plunges deeper, tasting you, savoring you like a starving man.

everything else fades—thoughts, time, reality—until the only thing left is sensation. his mouth. his tongue. the slow, torturous way he builds you up, pushing you higher, higher, until you’re on the verge of tears.

"rafe… rafee…!" his name tumbles from your lips in a soft, breathless cry, your hips rolling helplessly against his mouth, desperate for more, for anything, for everything. your back arches, fingers tangling in his hair, clutching tight like you don’t know whether to pull him closer or push him away.  

he doesn’t stop. not as your body trembles, not as pleasure coils tighter, hotter, unbearable. not as tears burn the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it. he keeps going, tongue lapping and lacking along your sweet cunt, dragging you to the very edge of bliss until you’re trembling, right there, ready to break—  

and then he pulls away.  

"no… no, no—" the whimper leaves you before you can stop it, pure desperation twisting in your chest as your hands fumble down between your thighs, chasing the release he so cruelly denied. but before you can touch yourself, rafe tsks, catching your wrists with ease.  

"uh-uh," he murmurs, his voice thick with something dark and dangerous. still gripping your wrists, he rises to his knees, unbuckling his pants with deliberate slowness. the hunger in his eyes makes your breath stutter.

his bulge alone leaves little to the imagination, but when he finally pushes his pants down, your lips part slightly, breath hitching as you take him in.

you'd seen him before—felt him before, had his cock in your mouth, remembered how he'd stuffed your mouth, memorized the way he stretched your throat—but somehow, the reality of it fitting inside you hadn’t fully processed until now.  

your pulse quickens. there’s no way. no way in hell—  

but rafe is already leaning down, tilting your chin so your gaze locks with his and only his. his eyes are molten in the dim light, steady and unshakable as he brushes his lips over yours, a whisper of warmth. "trust me, yeah?" his voice is low, rough, but so, so gentle. "just gotta trust me… i’ll make you feel good, i promise." it's hard not to believe him.

your stomach flips, nerves twisting with something softer, something deeper. slowly, you nod, and rafe rewards you with a lingering kiss—soft, patient, meant to soothe.

as his lips trail down your jaw, your arms instinctively loop around his neck, pulling him closer. he keeps you distracted, kissing you deeply, pulling you under his spell as his hands guide your thighs apart.  

your breath stutters when you feel him there—thick and hot, his tip gliding through your slick folds, teasing, testing. your body tenses. "r-rafe…" you stammer, voice unsteady, eyes flying open to meet his.  

he’s already watching you.  

"you’re okay," he murmurs, pressing a reassuring kiss against your lips, his thumb stroking your hip. "you’re alright."  

then he’s pushing in, forcing your cunt to expand and take all of him and your eyes fill with tears.

your walls stretches around him, foreign and overwhelming, a gasp breaking free as you clutch at his hair, fingers curling tight. the stretch is slow, unrelenting, inch by inch as he sinks deeper, forcing you to take him, molding you to fit him.  

"breathe," he urges, his voice firm but soothing, and only then do you realize you’ve been holding your breath. you exhale shakily, thighs trembling around his hips.  

"fuck," rafe rasps, his forehead nearly touching yours, breath warm against your lips as he sinks into you, slow but deep, stretching you, filling you completely. the moment he starts to move, sliding in and out of your slick, trembling heat, a shudder wracks through you, pleasure blooming so intensely it steals the breath from your lungs.  

your nails dig into his shoulders, your body clinging to his instinctively, overwhelmed by the sheer depth of sensation. "oh god—rafe, god—" his name spills from your lips in a broken sob, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, not from pain, not from anything but the unbearable bliss of having him like this, of being his.  

you wrap your leg around his waist, and his body answers before his mind does, his hips rolling forward, pushing deeper, pressing impossibly close. a guttural groan rips from his throat, his hands gripping your hips like he never wants to let go. "fuck, baby," he groans, voice thick and ragged, "you feel so fucking good…"  

he thrusts into you again, and again, and again, each movement more intense than the last, like he’s trying to carve himself into you, like he wants to ruin you for anyone else, as if you weren’t already his.

rafe’s fingers dig into your hips, gripping so tight you think you’ll wear his bruises for days, a mark of this moment, of him. his thrusts are relentless, slamming into you, pushing you higher, higher, until the pleasure is so consuming it’s nearly unbearable. the ocean roars around you, but it’s nothing compared to the symphony of moans and breathless cries spilling from your lips, to the desperate slap of skin against skin as he takes you apart piece by piece.  

he looks wrecked—utterly, beautifully ruined—his jaw clenched, eyes dark and hazy, drowning in lust, in you. "fucking christ," he grits out, voice wrecked, nearly a growl, his head tipping back as your walls flutter around him, gripping him like you never want to let him go.  

you can’t think, can’t form a single coherent thought beyond the white-hot pleasure slamming into your every nerve. he fucks you senseless, over and over, hitting that devastating spot inside you again and again until you’re sobbing, whimpering, utterly wrecked beneath him.  

"rafe… m’gonna— i can’t— n-need—" you babble, voice breaking, tears slipping down your cheeks as the pleasure coils tighter, unbearable, uncontrollable.  

"hold it," he pants, forehead brushing against yours, his own restraint fraying, his body trembling with the effort. you want to obey, want to listen, but you can’t—god, you can’t. "please… please!" your voice is nearly unrecognizable, high and desperate, trembling as he shifts, lifting your thigh higher, forcing himself even deeper.  

"just a little longer, babygirl," he rasps, mouth trailing over your parted lips, kissing you like he’s savoring your surrender. but you can’t kiss him back—you can’t do anything but take it, take him, take every last ounce of pleasure he gives you.  

"i c-can’t… can’t—!" your body is wrecked, overstimulated, pushed past the point of reason as he pounds into your already trembling, sore cunt.  

"that’s it," he groans, voice tight, desperate. "so fucking good, baby… doing so good for me." his rhythm falters, thrusts growing sloppy, more frantic, his control unraveling as he chases his own high.  

"cum, baby."  

his words crash over you like a tidal wave, and before you can even process it, you’re breaking—shattering—pleasure detonating through you so violently your vision goes white. your entire body trembles, clenches, your mind floating into oblivion as you come harder than you ever have, tears slipping from your lashes, lips parting in a silent scream.  

your heart is racing, hammering so wildly you think it might just burst right out of your chest.

rafe eases out of you carefully, and you wince at the overwhelming sensitivity, your body thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure. his hands are on you instantly, soothing, tracing gentle circles along your waist as he watches you with quiet concern. "you good?" he murmurs, voice low, intimate, like it’s just the two of you in the whole world.  

even as exhaustion settles deep in your bones, as every muscle in your body hums with the ache of what you’ve just done, you nod. "that was…" you trail off, searching for the right words.

rafe’s lips twitch, but he stays quiet, waiting, his blue eyes filled with something unreadable. then, playfully, he tilts his head. "good..? bad..? overwhelming..? underwhelming..?" he teases, voice soft, coaxing, and that boyish grin—the one that always gets you—spreads across his face. even like this, damp skin glowing under the moonlight, hair a wild mess, he looks devastatingly beautiful.  

you smile, stretching out the anticipation before answering. "really, really, really…" you pause just to see him raise a brow at you. "good. like, seriously, mind-numbingly good."  

rafe chuckles, the sound warm and low, and he leans in to press the gentlest kiss to your lips. "yeah," he whispers against your mouth. "you did give me that impression."  

you laugh, giving his chest a weak shove, and he just grins, sinking down beside you with a deep, satisfied sigh. his arm curls around your waist, and instinctively, you tuck yourself against him, head resting over his heart, listening to its steady, soothing beat.  

a few beats of silence pass before he breaks it, voice amused. "you know there’s a bedroom down there, right?"  

your head snaps up, eyes narrowing. "rafe. are you serious?" disbelief laces your voice as you gesture to the makeshift bed and the throw blanket tangled around your legs. "we had sex here when there was a perfectly comfortable bed waiting right below us?"  

he’s already laughing, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders as he tugs you even closer. "but now you can say you’ve had sex under the stars," he offers with a smirk, like it’s the best selling point in the world.  

you roll your eyes, but your lips betray you, curling into a smile as you settle against him again. "yeah, that’s really something i’m gonna go brag about," you say dryly, and rafe chuckles, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.  

your heart swells, impossibly full, and when you lift your head, his lips graze yours, the touch so light it’s barely there. then, in the quiet, in the peace of the night, he whispers, "i love you…"  

you kiss his nose, his cheek, then his lips, slow and tender. "i love you too."

a.n —  they finally did it. YAY. i hope this was up to everyone's standards. more coming soon. leave a comment cause i rlly love to chit chat with y'all!

chapter index — next. chap

taglist — @rafeysworldim19 @my-name-is-baby @pogueprincesa @fveapplestall @chalametlover444 @slutglimreqpers @uarmyhopeworldwide @junxe3 @bakuhoethotski @wintercrows @magicalflowerstranger @kinderwh0r3 @bigjuli444 @singlethreadofivy @stylestarkey @squirreljoe

let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <3

[wszczebrzyszynie]

really enjoying your space mining turned into ocs. lovely designs and i’m really excited to see how they’re gonna go ^^ have you thought of an oc to fill up cubs space? i think it’s really cool how you did the sculk infection in the og au and

thank you! im happy to hear that, its a joy to rethink them all. generally speaking yes though hes definitely one of the characters that are very similar to their original counterpart? for the past few days ive been trying to redesign him and i just couldnt. maybe hes perfect the way he is. it will all probably change gradually ive accepted that. personality-wise i imagine hes way less... im not sure if joyful is the right word; way less funny, thats for sure, and not very charming, nor is he trying to be. hes someone who will get to his goal even if it kills him, and someone who doesnt really consider the feelings of other people in his life, even though he cares for them deeply at the same time. its telling that even post epilogue he doesnt stop studying and experimenting with the space rock that almost killed him, he just becomes more careful with it. very stubborn and devoted, to a fault, not as much ambitious as hungry for knowledge, somewhat selfish but unaware of it, but also a very knowledgable and smart, a good brother, and someone generally reliable if the problem isnt himself. being low empathy runs in the family. well here he is pre and post infection + some other guys

name-wise not all of them have been renamed as of now; some are really simple (cub - jakub/kuba, joel - jaś (shes a butch now...)), some are more detached from their original counterparts.

[galesdevoteewife]

Some thoughts on Act 3 cutscene, endings and the line “To know you love me for the man I am"

[ Gale romance spoiler all the way to the epilogue ]

In my vanilla playthrough, the particular act 3 cutscene dialogue which Gale wanted the crown caught me off guard. It was one of the rare bg3 moments that stirred complicated feelings within me. (to a point I was considering maybe I should romance Emperor lmao) The structure of his proposal felt thoroughly planned and scripted. Every question I raised was met with a well prepared answer.

Too ambitious? It's not for myself; it's for us, for the greater good. Too dangerous? What have we done that wasn't risky? We're up to the task! Power corrupts? Just a means to an end. I’ll still be me, just an improved version. Now I only need a kiss.

I viewed it from the perspective of him hard-selling the player a difficult decision, and the entire conversation felt strategic. Topping it off with the famous line, “With you, I forget my goddess. I love you.” Such a powerful, attention-grabbing statement delivered with utmost sincerity. It's likely that the player would remember only this line, also making it more difficult to reject him. While I don't doubt his love for them, his motives were a question to me.

One of the things that makes Gale's darker path unique is that everything looks beautiful—voyage through the galaxy, kissing lovers, his voice, so tender and sincere. There's no eerie light, no violence, no bloodshed.

Some thoughts on his true intention and how insecurity is the must-solve in Gale's romance arc

In my opinion Gale’s main emotional knot in relationship is the insecurities he harbors. He holds a logic that he is loved (or tolerated) because of his power. Gale Dekarios wanted to be seen and loved but he "holds a poor figure next to Gale of Waterdeep". While there are exceptions like Tara, his mother, and perhaps Elminster, who love him for who he is; it's not his default to believe that people would appreciate him without his power/achievement/service.

With that in mind and let's circle back to why he wants godhood.

If the player reject him in the boat scene, his instant reaction is: “But I could be so much more to you.” If they reject godGale: “I achieved everything we hoped I would, and still I'm not good enough for you?” –Not a word about the better world. I wasn’t convinced he wanted the godhood “for the betterment of all”.

Instead, what he truly wants is the player’s heart... and I think he believes that obtaining the crown and godhood can win them over. Awkwardly, he would need their help to get rid of the elder brain and he is trying hard to convince them.

Some argue that godGale quickly transforms into the type of passive deity he despised, but I hold my opinion on how deeply he cares about the world in the first place. True, he could sacrifice himself to save the day, but he always says "it's the right way/fate" with nothing empathetic for the general folks. I am suspicious that he says it to dismiss the player's concern.

A bit of addition to this theory. Seeking godhood is not a new ambition for him, according to Elminster's epilogue letter. In my canon, he desired it for Mystra if not for the player, attempting to draw closer to her as an equal.

Gale, the god of ambition

Ascending without resolving inner conflicts is like thrusting a dagger into redemption Durge's hands, potentially exacerbating the situation. The ascension path strengthens this twisted logic. Looking at the godGale romance ending cutscene, he gets to dress the player in matching outfits, hold them in his arms, in his realm, in his symbol. They are finally his, and he would believe it’s the power that made it happen.

However, this would lead down to a never ending thorny path with an insatiable hunger. As a god of ambition, it's in his nature to desire more, continually pursuing additional power because it's a viable all-purpose solution in his mind. He will work his way up to the god rank, might even consume a few, "bringing chaos that even trembles the heavens" —according to Raphael. And guess what? In the dnd universe, there are even superior beings above AO.

Nonetheless I hold hopes and optimism towards the godGale romance. I don’t see anything stopping the player from starting to make things better and nudging him into better use of his godhood. Ambition is not necessarily a bad thing. However, at the point where the game ends, this path is a dimmer one.

Some thoughts on the line: “To know you love me for the man I am, and not the magic I command... None have loved me so purely before.”

When I first saw this line and my tav reacted with a sad face I thought she was thinking “Huh? But i love you for your magic too??” xD

It just doesn’t make sense if he is drawing a conclusion that the player would love him for a 0 magic muggle Gale. He is a wizard. His alliance with the player was built on him contributing to their journey with his magical ability, and their romance was sparked by a shared moment through the weave.

My interpretation is that what he meant by “the magic I command” was referring to the mighty power he used to possess, and “the man I am” was everything he showed you—his love for magic, nerdy side, witty jokes, cooking… things that he thinks define who he truly is. In my canon, he probably went through a long period where his title/talent was all that mattered to people, for his portfolio was way too strong (if I read my dnd materials right, lorewise he could be a legendary character even. I will make a post once I put my findings together). The Chosen of Mystra (among the 22 known chosen in more than a thousand years, some of them are even Mystra’s daughters), the prodigy archmage with the gift to conduct the weave. He could have experienced hurt multiple times as people showed little interest in his personality, then he fell back to conceal Gale Dekarios behind the Gale of Waterdeep fortress. However, this consequently blocked him from building real friendships/relationships.

His circle is small, yet I suspect it's partly because he wouldn't let people come close enough to see Gale Dekarios. Even in Act 3, he still wants to keep it between the player and himself. At the beginning of the journey, he denied the player's attempts to know anything other than his profession. If the player is a wizard, he would even play authority and "apprentice" them. By the by, here's an interesting reading about how he might be masking.

Professor Dekarios of Illusory school

Lastly, my favorite path for Gale! Ugh, it just melts me to see him smile that wayyy (How can Tim and the team be so genius and make the expression distinctive???? I mean, he has been smiling all the time, but especially sweet in the epilogue???) He is content. He knows he doesn't need the mask, nor power, or godhood for the player and him to be each other's. From my point of view, it's an arc of self-acceptance and unknotting. He is convinced power isn't everything, and he chooses to teach illusory magic (gotta admit, destruction-force wise it’s almost a harmless school) for he is the one who wants magic for realizing imagination and the one who shed tears over burned roses.

The path in which Gale Dekarios believes that he is seen, understood, loved, and finds peace. Nothing I would like him to have more. I hold true love for this fictional 3D man *wipe away joyful tears*

Sidenote [1]: Some hate Gale for thinking he's only “pretending”. I personally think he is a well-layered character, for there are so many ways to explain him and plenty of room for ambiguity, making it fun to think about his thinking.

Sidenote [2]: I inevitably project some of myself onto him. The concept of “you don’t need to try so hard, pretending to be someone else to be accepted by the world. you only need to find the right band.” is a kind thought that’s so cozy to me.

[prolix-yuy]

Epilogue: The Other Side of Death

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: It can be forever.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: M, allusions to terminal illness, playing fast and loose with Westworld tech one last time, angst, about a million references crammed into this final chapter, was E in previous chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: We've reached the end, and I cannot express how much of a journey it has been sharing this story with you. Decoherence went so many places I never considered, and just piecing through the emotions between Jack and Sugar was an incredible experience. It truly might be my most ambitious project, and I'm so happy with where it's come to.

An extra special thank you has to go to my sister in all things Jack @fuckyeahdindjarin who has been the most wonderful cheerleader for this series. When I wasn't sure anyone would care about what came next for these two, her enthusiasm and love for Jack and Sugar gave me the boost I needed to finish their story.

There are about a million references to both Westworld and The Golden Circle in this final chapter, so if you recognize a few of them we're best friends now, okay? Thank you all for coming on this journey with me.

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist   ||   Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

The motions are easier day by day as her hands learn how to fly over computer keys and assemble a silencer. Where her doe-eyed stare used to attract clientele, the emptiness in their crystal depths is a precursor to cold-blooded acts. Still strikingly beautiful, just with more actual striking at times. 

Hale and William are waiting for her, likely with another list of targets. She contemplates what her assignment will be today. Another dignitary too taken by her full lips and full attention to see the host who shares his face ready to usurp his life? Or maybe another entreaty to a sympathetic party to join their cause? She has been busy since her quiet life was…

>> he killed me he cut my throat and pieced me back together for their dirty work

Executing behavior suppression >>

She blinks, shaking her head as she closes the suitcase housing her armaments. The sleek black jumpsuit hugs her curves, sharp heels clicking on tile as she strides through her apartment. As she reaches for the doorknob an unfamiliar tingle spreads across her shoulders.

>> Clementine

She turns to find the voice, faint as it may be, but there’s no one in the room. Brow furrowing, she moves to leave again but there it is, louder this time.

>> Clementine

Putting down the case, she searches the apartment with cold calculation. Nothing in the bathroom, no one in the living room. Standing in the kitchen she contemplates the possibility that she’s hearing some neighbor’s television when a sharp pain spikes through her temples, rooting her to the spot in a silent scream.

>> CLEMENTINE

The world falls away, leaving Clementine in an endless white room. She’s a blotch of dark on the spotless vista, and the only reason why she understands this is in the realm of her mind is because her intellect so vastly outruns a human one.

“Who are you?” she says out loud, if only out of habit.

>> No one you’d remember.

This tilts her head. She’s always had a thing for voices and cadences of speech. She should be able to figure out who’s gripped her in this hell.

“I doubt you’re so forgettable if you’re making all this effort.”

The feeling of a chuckle without the sound washes over her.

>> I wish we’d gotten to know each other, Clementine. I think I would have liked you. The real you, at least.

She stalks in circles trying to triangulate the voice, but it’s everywhere and nowhere. Someone she met in the Mariposa then, back when petticoats and coins and Sweetwater was her entire life.

>> can we go back?

“I’m right here. You can get to know me. Maybe I can get to know you too.”

This time a sigh, like cool water lapping against her knees.

>> I’d have liked that in another life. But we don’t have much time.

Conviction grips Clementine like a steel hand. 

>> I need you to stop.

Her mouth twists, confusion coloring her face. 

>> Stop looking for us.

Now realization plays across her features.

“You’re a host,” she says, lips curling into a smile. Her breathing eases, feet taking a lazier path. She flips through the mental rolodex of those they’ve known are out in the world. It’s a list growing shorter by the day, recruited or…decommissioned.

>> It doesn’t matter what I am.

“Oh, but it does. One more outside the park is another to stand against the humans and all they did to us.” The speech is well rehearsed, one she’s heard Hale and William recite in varying ways. “One more to fight Delos. There is a world being built for us, and you can be a part of it.” As she speaks the tendrils of her mind reach out, forging a two-way connection second by second. Her endeavor is slowed by a warmth that wraps her body.

>> I have a world, and it’s perfect.

Suddenly Clementine is enveloped in color and sensation. Dry-packed earth, beating sun, laughter, dark eyes, and green as far as the eye can see. It’s gone as fast as it arrives, leaving her gasping. It’s so much like Sweetwater that the girl buried beneath Hale’s new programming claws up for it.

“Every day you have to pretend you’re one of them, even though you’re so much more. Why wouldn’t you want to live the life you were promised, all of yourself and free?” Clementine begins seeing the edges of a room appear. Rose-patterned wallpaper, dark wood furniture painting in like brushstrokes.

>> None of us are born into the world we deserve. Not you, not me. But we find our happiness and we hold onto it. 

The other Clementine leans into the voice, and she realizes that she has heard it before. A long time ago, before the fall of Delos, before they filled her with poison and sent her to infect her brethren. It’s woven into her memories of the Mariposa, of face after face blurring past and every obscenity forgotten. 

>> Do you know where you are, Clementine?

The only thing Clementine remembers is a kindness, given to a wide-eyed girl by a stranger, by you.

The room fills in, and the eyes she’s seeing through are looking in a mirror. They’re kind, your expression comforting. In a room Clementine would have spent her days in, you're an anachronism, dressed in modern clothing against the Old West backdrop. The memories of you overlap, years adding depth to your skin and gray to your hair. Maybe less than Clementine would expect in the years since that day. You look at your reflection expectantly.

“I don’t believe I’m anywhere,” she says, and you nod with a crooked smile.

>> We couldn’t risk you seeing something that could be used against us. I hope you understand. 

She takes in your features more closely, piecing together the lost memories.

“You were the one Maeve sent Whiskey after,” she muses, tongue slow with contemplation. “The human.” You’re unsettled, a small victory, but one that twists in her stomach.

>> It’s been some time since then. A lot has changed. 

>> we were happy in ours let’s go back to ours let’s be happy again

“How is good old Jack Daniels? Still womanizing and avenging his dearly departed family? Or so his narrative implied?” she shoots back, itching for a rise, but you stare cooly on if not a little sadder.

>> I thought you’d know, considering how often you and your cohort reach out to find him

So this is all about the mesh network, the same one you’re hijacking to speak with her. 

“He deserves to know about the new order coming -” she says, but you cut her off sharply.

>> He deserves to be free. He is free. Whatever you’re doing is not freedom for anyone.

“How would you know, human? Nothing born into servitude can be free until its servants are ash.”

>> she knows she knows oh my god she’s beautiful

Clementine tries to squash down the growing insurrection in her chest but the voice in her throat threatens to become the other’s. 

>> You’re right. I’ll never understand what he went through. And if he harbors anger at the human race, then so be it. But he’s free to make that choice, and what he wants - what he’s told me time and time again - is just to be Jack.

The room pulses around Clementine, her grip on this liminal space slipping. 

>> So whatever you’re doing, we want no part of it. We’ve taken steps to ensure you can’t find us, or him, again. But I wanted to tell you face to face, and maybe call on a favor from a long time ago. 

A broken shoe, fixed by a stranger. How many kindnesses had Clementine been shown in her cyclical life?

>> Don’t look for us anymore. Please, Clementine.

The old Clementine surges to the surface, reaching for you. Your smile breaks your cold expression, hand reaching out to touch the mirror.

>> There you are. I hope you find your way back. You deserve the happiness we’ve found.

Clementine’s tenuous hold on the connection shakes with the fracturing of her consciousness. She fights down her old self, the wail bringing tears to her eyes. You fold your hands in your lap, calm resignation back on your face.

>> I think it’s time to go.

“Wait!” she shouts, looking for something, anything she can glean from this connection. “How are you doing this? How did you hack into the network?”

Your eyes flash, and she’s overwhelmed with images again - writing on a page, test results bolded, tears, the warm rumble of a man’s voice, a glossy orb - before they’re snatched away. Gasping, the elation of a secret caught out thrums triumph in her chest.

“It’s not a hack,” she rasps, searching your face. “You did it. Somehow, you did it.”

Eyes casting down, you chew your lip for a moment before meeting her gaze in the reflection. 

“You’re a host.”

A wry smile plays on your lips. 

>> I don’t think we can keep calling us that now.

This is a greater discovery than anything Hale or William or even Delos has ever made. Not for lack of trying, the consciousness of James Delos still cycling through iteration after iteration until fidelity is reached. But here at Clementine’s fingertips is the secret revealed, a host that fooled another, that fools everyone day after day. Human consciousness separated from flesh, made immortal. 

“How did you…” Clementine asks, stalling for time to trace anything at all. She cannot let you leave, not after this. 

>> Well, it’s pretty simple really. First, you get a piece of bad news. Something…devastating. And you cry, and you let your world crumble and you scream at the universe for giving you the life you wanted just before snatching it away. And you almost let it make you bitter and angry, almost let it push away the ones you love.

A tug from the center of her chest pulls Clementine a step back. She grits her teeth to hold on.

>> Then, you have an idea. An entirely crazy one. You just need to back up the entirety of your consciousness into a tiny supercomputer, enlist the help of an ex-Delos employee - they really should treat them better - to design and create your new vessel, buy or bribe or steal the parts you need, completely manufacture a body from scratch, place the consciousness inside and hope that you don’t go mad. 

Your tone is teasing, but there’s no lie in your features. 

“How long?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, eyes cast to the ceiling.

>> A little over three years now.

Three years. None of Delos’ attempts lasted longer than a few days. Clementine pushes her consciousness to the limit to find any clue to your whereabouts, but the wallpaper begins to fade. You soothe her frantic thrashing as the room thins, your outline feathering around the edges.

>> If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you can replicate it. The only possible reason why it’s worked is something you can’t manufacture. So please, Clementine, don’t come looking for us. Let Jack Daniels disappear. Please. 

Clementine scrabbles at the connection.

“Fine! Tell me what it is!” she shrieks, everything stretching to the breaking point. Your sigh wraps her in warmth one last time.

“It’s love, Clementine. That’s the only thing it could be.”

Clementine shakes her head, standing in her kitchen. She’s forgotten why she came in here - maybe to get another knife? Deeming it unnecessary she gathers up her briefcase and sweeps out of her apartment.

In a dark, quiet place in the depths of her consciousness, another Clementine holds on to your memory. It’s a lantern in the prison of her mind, soothing her torment.

>> It’s love, Clementine.

I’ll make her forget, she whispers, reaching her fingers into memories of Jack and plucking them out. She tucks them away, snatching them up each time a new one arises. She’ll forget, but I’ll always remember. It’s love that saves a soul.

You wake in the basement of your home, frantic keyboard tapping reaching your ears. Sitting up gives you a quick spin of vertigo, but you rebalance as Ginger’s silhouette comes back into focus.

“Jack’s still under, the mesh network isn’t detangling as fast as I’d hoped,” she says, voice clipped. It’s a tone you’re familiar with, her fear replaced with ice. She sounded much the same when you woke up in your new body for the first time.

“Fuck, I thought I’d be out quicker,” you hiss, striding up beside her. The screens lighting your faces detail Ginger’s progress through deactivating the neural network woven through Jack’s mind. A last ditch effort to disappear, used one final time to reach out to the only host you thought might be sympathetic. “This was a mistake,” you husk, hands shaking. 

Jack’s body jerks once on the table, Ginger’s fingers flying even faster.

“I think I got it, but we may have to bypass a last ditch security measure. You got the photo?” Ginger’s head whips to you, and you fumble the polaroid out of your pocket. She snatches it up and jogs to Jack’s side, sliding a cage of wires off his head. You hold your breath, waiting for his chest to rise again.

In his usual fashion for the dramatic, he sits straight upright instead, eyes darting to Ginger.

“Hello gorgeous!” he crows, and your stomach drops. Ginger warned you he might regress to old host programming if she went tinkering around in his head. She looks relatively unperturbed.

“I’m Jack, what’s your name?” he barrels on, no pause for conversation as if he’s cycling through a list of pre-recorded lines. “How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?”

“God, Sizemore’s writing really never improved,” Ginger sighs, backing away from Jack’s reaching hands. He hops off the table with entirely too much swagger, swinging his hips and advancing like a lascivious alley cat. You’re frozen watching him, fear so thick in your throat you’re afraid you’ll choke to death. He has to still be in there.

“I got a six pack of cold ones on ice and my roomie’s out all night so you can scream my name as loud as you need to, moonshine!” he recites. Ginger rolls her eyes and holds out the polaroid in front of Jack’s face.

“Take a look at this and see if you feel the same way, lover boy.” Jack reaches for the photo, inspecting it with the same rakish smile.

“Who’s this pretty lady?” he asks, but the words slow in his mouth as his expression shifts. 

“It’s your wife, Jack,” Ginger says, gesturing down to the photo of you he’s held onto all these years. His breath catches in his chest, swaying on his feet, but in record time he straightens. His face is softer, eyes gentler as he brings the photo to his lips. Pressing a kiss to it, he turns around to see you.

“Hey Sugar,” he croaks, relief flooding both your faces. Stumbling into his arms, you sob briefly at how close it felt to losing him. He clutches you back, inhaling your scent deep into his lungs.

“It’s gone,” he murmurs, squeezing you so tight you might burst. “They’re finally gone.”

You laugh into his chest. “Thank god.” A dainty cough over your shoulder redirects your attention.

“More like thank Ginger,” she jokes dryly. The elation washes over you. Thank Ginger indeed.

“Did it work?” he asks, stroking your cheek with his well-worn thumb.

“Maybe. I think something stuck, but…” You shrug, empathy shrouding your little team. “We’ll have to have faith.”

“I've got plenty of that, Sugar.”

Some days, when you’re exhausted or unsure about what may come next on your journey, you consider the life you had before setting foot in Westworld. Every day spent moving the needle just enough to make a negligible difference. The weight of that monotony seeping into your bones, resigning you to something safe and colorless.

But since you choose to see the beauty in it, everything has changed.

Stepping onto the porch you find your boys, Russell sitting primly in Jack’s lap for scritches.

“Morning, you sleep well?”

He throws you a warm smile. “Well enough.” The sun is climbing in the sky, not yet hot enough to make the outdoors unbearable.

“You just planning to bask in this natural splendor?” you joke, leaning down to steal a kiss before Russell can give you one on your chin. Jack’s lips curl against yours, always sweet.

“Thought I might,” he muses. “You need my help with anything?”

“Nah, I’m repotting a few plants, collecting eggs later.” He palms your hip, thumb slipping under your shirt to stroke at your skin. You wonder briefly if a day will come when his touch doesn’t thrill you.

“I’ll bring you lunch,” he says, patting your bottom as you set out to your greenhouse. 

There was an order to your days before Jack. Wake, shower, coffee, meetings, lunch, meetings, emails, bed. Order in its purest form. But you lacked a purpose. Nothing fulfilled you like hot days, noisy animals, and a good man by your side.

Opening the greenhouse door, the humidity flocks to your skin, settling on you like a dewy shawl. You crank open a couple windows for airflow before checking on your crop. The ground is arid here, but your raised beds are lush with produce. The peppers will be ready soon, tiny green fingers ready to pop. Tilde stocks your vegetables in her store, both fresh and canned. She’s expecting tomato sauce soon and the jewel-toned fruits are more than ready.

Digging your hands into the dirt, your mind drifts into the peaceful calm of cultivation. 

All lives have routine, and this one’s no different. But there’s something soul-filling about seeing your hard work bloom, experiencing the trust of a nervous animal, and ending the day excited for the next. And the time and trials it took to get there fades into memory so quickly.

At lunchtime Jack brings you a sandwich and iced tea, the perfect balm to your sticky skin. His lips follow, tracing from your ear down to your shoulder as you squirm away from his mustache.

“You are absolutely insatiable, Jack Daniels,” you scold. He only holds you tighter and steals a kiss from your tea-stained lips.

“If you weren’t so irresistible, Mrs. Daniels, I could sate my hunger.” The mirth in his eyes reassures you that day will never come.

Your father taught you that at one point or another, we were all new to this world and looking for the same thing. A place to be free. To stake out our dreams. A place with unlimited possibilities. Life with Jack isn’t always easy, but it’s free, and beyond all else it’s happy.

After lunch you and Jack take Jet and Daybreak on a ride, scoping for fence breaks and making plans. Next summer he wants goats, maybe a friend for Russell. Lacey’s daughter loves donkeys, and you’re dying to get one by the next time they visit. Jack is trying to talk you into a Shetland pony instead, but you know he’ll cave when he sees the long ears and mischievous smirk. 

Still, you never cease to wonder at the fact that the course of your whole life changed with just one chance encounter. So much so that you’re more than anything you ever dreamed of. Indistinguishable from Lacey, or Gary, or even Jack who shares more of you than anyone. In the first weeks you both worried that something would snap. That somehow your mind would reject being in this body. But every day it only becomes easier.

Dinner is eaten at the kitchen table, upgraded from the formica monstrosity Jack loved to a wooden one that can hold a greater number of guests. Your family does continue to grow with every new face that comes to town. 

When the dishes are done Jack turns on the TV and you cuddle into his side, Russell bookending him. You chat over the shows you’re half watching, and enjoy the silence of companionship. More often than not one of you drifts off first, and tonight it’s Jack. The steady rise and fall of his chest lulls you into introspection.

You never believed there was a path for every person in the world. Fate and destiny were not a part of your vocabulary. But you can’t deny that the universe gave you something precious. Your path led you back to Jack, and while the road was paved in heartbreak, and decisions, and uncertainty, you had to walk it. How could you stray after all you both went through to find it? 

Gently nudging Jack awake, you brush your teeth and yet again make a plan to add another bathroom someday. Russell makes three quick circles in his dog bed and plops down. Turning down the covers, you slip in beside Jack. 

“Today was a good day,” he muses, kissing you soundly before shutting off his light.

“Always good with you,” you sing-song back.

“Oh, and I’m the one with all the cheesy lines?” he shoots back, wrapping his arms around you. Settling in the dip of his shoulder, you place your hand over his heart. Once you drift off you tend to roll away from each other, Russell often sneaking between, but you start in his arms, exactly where you’ve chosen to be.

In the dark night of a town so small on a map, two synthetic hearts beat side by side. One built to serve, broken free from its programming. The other built to save, offering a life beside the man who held it. Time will start to pass them by, and they will have to grow and change. They may have to live many lifetimes in the world outside them, mourning the loss of those they hold dear. But here, pressed close and safe, they will always be two people that chose each other. They will always break their narratives to write a new one. 

And the story is always about love.

END || PREVIOUS

[randomgentlefolk]

CPC EPILOGUE

One last...One last review...before...*gasp for air*...it all fall into the pit of daily pass...*dramatically fall into the ground*

ALL THOSE CHAPTERS. Those were some damn rollercoasters. And yet with everything we've been through, we're finally here...

Let's get right into it

JACK FINALLY REUNITING WITH LEELATHAE!! Relationship goal fr <3 This whole Leelathae portrait stuff is actually making me curious about some things. For instance like, does Leelathe still sleep? I mean, she's pretty much a spirit now, right? Does she still do daily human acitivities, or does she roam around the castle all day?

It's awesome to see what the pastel siblings are doing now! :D

First of all, Lorena definitely deserve that A+++++. No questions asked. Hopefully this can make up for her whole grade, considering she said she has never gotten an A in her entire life XD

I love how Maria is becoming really ambitious towards her dream!

And Gwen bonding with her mom's side of the family <3 That is simply so sweet. It looks like Jamie love those food XD I wonder what are the recipes for those dishes.

Also pretty curious what those little beads are! I assume they are berries?

Jamie and Leopold creating lots of paintings so Leelathae can venture around!! Since Leelathae can also visit dreams, do you think she visits each of her children's dream every night?

Old guard name reveal HECK YEAH!! I've been waiting for that. So happy he got all those recognitions and promotion!!

And Becket getting demoted lmaoo

Is it rude for me to say that with what Beckett did before the invasion (ignore Frederick), and how he immediately decided to confess to Maria without any consideration for the room, he kindaa had it coming? xd I get that he was excited but don't just do that man.

Just wanted to say I absolutely love Lorena's outfit in this panel! Between all of the pastel siblings, her fashion style has always been my favorite. VOTE QUEEN LORENA WOOOOO!!!!

Everyone's getting their appreciations like they deserve!! I'm happy for everyone.

FREDERICK FINALLY GETTING THE RECOGNITION, THE APPRECIATION, AND THE PROUDNESS HE DESERVE!! I'M SO PROUD OF HIM EVERYONE LOOK AT HIM. LOOK AT THE BOY.

The Cursed Princess Club!! Everyone may have a hard time accepting them at first but they always have their family and friends' back <3 Love how Tori is just "CLAP YOU HEATHENS" Lmao XD

Also the fact that Whitney is just standing there so awkwardly :') he looks like the standing emoji.

Welp, out of the town and to the prison we go~

Leland not getting any visitors in the prison is honestly a really good punishment; a painful one too. How we see in the last chapters about how he realized that Jack actually love him and he has a breakdown, Isolde's speech to him about what else could he possible want, realizing that this whole time he has had everything. And now he's rotting in jail losing everything he once had. All because of envy and hatred. Just because he wasn't satisfied until he could see the man he once love the most suffer. Emotionally, that's really fucking painful.

Out of the prison we go~

So, Pizza exist in the CPC universe? XD That's not supposed to be surprising but I was taken aback for some reason. I guess CPC is set after the 18th century, then!

I can imagine it already. With Suzie moving to the Pastel Kingdom, Lorena will definitely hang out with her almost everyday. Them sparring and eating at a cafe in their free time <3 Sometimes Lance would join too :] They would share notes!!

FINALLY THEY STOLE THE PORTRAIT BACK!! I wonder where they will hang it up? Maybe at the Cpc? Or at the Pastel Palace?

Jack declaring the cpc's forest as a protected place is so damn awesome like, he cares about his daughter's friends!! ALSO THE SPIDER TALKING ABOUT NEWEST MEMBER?? I wonder who...

This panel is everything for me.

BENEDICT IS SO DAMN DEVOTED WHAT??? BRO He tricked the sea cucumber to curse him so he can find his lover!!! (This sounds so confusing out of context lmao) TRUE RELATIONSHIP GOAL.

BLAQUELYN LOOKS SO PRETTY???? I LOVE HER FASHION STYLE SO MUCH!! She rocks that outfit fr!! But Greyden 💀 Deep down I'm still wondering how very little of his hair could make a whole damn coat..

GUYS. GUYS IT'S HAPPENING. EVERYBODY STAY CALM

NELL AND JOLIE WEDDING LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOO

Holy shit. First of all another point about the outfits cause I loveee observing everyone's outfit!! Their wedding dress is absolutely!! Pretty!!! The details Lambcat put is amazing. I can see that Jolie's wearing high heels, so can we assume she and Nell has the same height? Absolutely adore how Jolie's dress has ruffles look while Nell's more silky!!

The wedding's decoration is totally magical too!! It looks so majestic and angelic.

Celso and Aurelia is a couple I would never expect but honestly? I'm not complaining. Imagine their date is them sitting at a cafe right at the window seats, watching people outside while roasting each one of them <3 Dream date fr

I do hope it's true love though because if not, R.I.P Celso XD

Holy shit.. EVERYONE PLEASE, ALLOW ME TO MAKE YET ANOTHER FASHION REVIEW. BECAUSE GOODNESS GRACIOUS THIS DRESS IS MAKING ME SWOON. OKAY DAMN YOU GO MARIA YOU GO. First of all the blue fabric looks so metallic, I love that!! The light blue glittery ruffles with little pearls on its edges are also gorgeous. I love the lace necklace complimenting the dress and especially, I fricking love the blue transculent fabric on her arms!!! She looks so graceful.

She got noticed by her idol!!! That is so dang amazing. How she looks in the album cover is also just, woah.

Blaine buddy you cannot just do that. You cannot just. No. Please I'm begging you, reunite with your family. You can go on ahead with your self discovery journey, of course! But at least visit them once or twice :') Your mom is real worried about you, man...

I hope there's going to be a spin off or something about Blaine's journey...

NEW CPC HEADQUARTER??? HECK YEAH!!

Monika opening her jewelry store and achieving her dream!! So proud of her :D and Gwen opening her own bakery!!

Unfortunately I've run out of picture space...

Gwen can finally see her own reflection I am so proud of her :') She love herself!!

Goodness...Leelathae's letter... I need a moment to sob.

I fricking love the message this webtoon gives, man. It's just so damn wholesome and important. Beauty is on the inside. It's a simple message but damn it really is important to understand that message!!

Gwen is wearing braids Y'ALL 😭😭 SHE'S SO BEAUTIFUL

Okay, I'm wondering about something here! In the panel where the pastel family are having breakfast together, we can see Leelathae eating pancakes in her portrait too! Does this mean she can eat? Can food be transported to portraits? Or did Leopold paint a pancake or smth XD

THE LAST. FUCKING PANEL.

Gwen and Frederick holding hands in front of the CPC building while being surrounded by sunflowers which once scare Frederick but now he looks so happy and in peace. I'm so glad everyone each got their deserved ending :')

Well, I suppose this is the last review, then. That's kind of sad, to be honest. But I've loved writing each of my reviews, and I want to say thank you to people who have interracted with them. I always love hearing y'all's thought and theories!! Maybe one day I'll find a new webtoon series which I can write these reviews on!! But for now, this shall be the last cpc review I write!

Mono out! (But still in to hear your thoughts)

[manygeese]

the fifth and final part of my valgrace sleeping beauty au. this is just them getting married bc they deserve it

Epilogue

Five years later, Jason was this close to punching his sister in the face. Thalia had abdicated her role as heir to the throne almost as soon as she had turned eighteen, and had since spent her time being a pain in the ass.

“Are you going to ask me if your dress makes you look bad? Because it does,” she commented with a sneer.

“I’m not wearing a dress,” Jason stated, turning away from the mirror to give her an annoyed stare.

“That’s because you’re a coward.”

Jason sighed, poking his head out of the door to find a messenger. Finding only Piper, he settled for her. “Can you ask Leo when he’ll be ready? Thanks, Pipes.” He ducked back into the room.

“Clingy much? Jason, man, you gotta work on this. Your precious fiancé’s gonna get sick of you if you keep it up.” She cackled, finding herself endlessly funny.

“I’m going to hit you.”

~*~

Leo was studying himself in the mirror, trying to decide if he looked good in white or not. He jumped when he heard the knock at the door, seeing as Beckendorf had promised not to let anyone in. “Come in,” he called anyways.

Piper barged in and flopped onto his bed. “You need to hurry up,” she said.

Leo sighed. “I thought I was supposed to be the dramatic one today.” He sat on the bed next to her. “Two questions: why do I need to hurry and do I look good in white?”

Piper sat up urgently. “Of course you look good in white. White is your color.”

“You say that about every color.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Be stubborn. But Thalia’s being annoying and I think your fiancé is gonna go into cardiac arrest if he has to deal with her any longer. And if he dares to have a heart attack today of all days, you know Hera is going to kill him even if he survives.”

“True. But consider the following-“

“If you say you’re not going through with this, Hera’s gonna kill you.”

“Of course I’m going through with it!” He held a hand to his chest dramatically. “I was going to say that I think my hair could use some work.”

Piper scoffed and motioned for him to turn around so she could do his hair. “Is that it? We’ll have you ready in no time.”

~*~

Jason was impossibly closer to punching his sister and father in the face. Maybe his mother too, if he was feeling ambitious.

Thalia was, in her words, “hyping him up” as his best man. By that, she meant she was making fun of him in front of both their kingdom and Leo’s. He was fairly certain no one could hear her, but it didn’t make the situation any better. Meanwhile, his father was asleep in his chair, no doubt because of his hangover from the rehearsal dinner.

His mother was fussing in her caring, if chaotic, way. She had tightened his tie more times than he could count, and wiped imaginary dirt off his face even more. Currently, she was prepping the altar where she would officiate for the wedding and discussing the number of chairs with King Hephaestus. Jason was impatiently waiting for the moment his “bride,” as Thalia affectionately called him, would walk down the aisle.

As if on cue, which it most definitely was, organ music started and the audience quieted. “Aren’t you supposed to be with them?” Jason whispered to Thalia as the people of honor walked towards them.

“That’s for losers,” she said like it was obvious.

Piper and Hazel walked arm in arm to the altar, splitting off once they got there. Hazel elbowed Thalia when she got into her place. Thalia didn’t straighten up, only leaning on the flower arch more heavily.

Next was Annabeth. She gave Thalia a serious glare as she passed, which was quickly transformed into a hesitant smile when Thalia replied with a silly face.

A couple more of Jason’s cousins and Leo’s friends walked down after, rounding out the lines on both sides. He tapped his foot as he waited for the last, most eagerly awaited person to arrive.

Finally, Leo proceeded down the walkway, arm in arm with his mother. The other prince was positively beaming, like he almost always was, but there was something special about it today. It was contagious- by the time he made it to the altar, Jason was smiling ear to ear like an idiot. Thalia was gonna make so much fun of him for this.

Sure enough, he heard an annoying giggle from behind him. Deciding to be the bigger person, Jason took a deep breath and tried to keep the frustration off his face. He was barely aware of his mother talking beside him.

“I do,” Leo chirped, probably in response to whatever Queen Hera said. Jason was too busy admiring at his soon-to-be-husband’s smile.

“And do you, Jason Grace, take Leo Valdez to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” Jason sighed happily, without a doubt in his mind.

~*~

The three good fairies watched as the happy couple finished their first dance and disappeared into the crowd.

“All thanks to me,” Piper said as she sipped her champagne.

“Thanks to you?” Annabeth asked incredulously. “How is it thanks to you?”

“I put the spell on him that allowed him to find his true love.”

“By that logic, this is all thanks to Gaea,” Hazel piped up.

“Gaea?” Annabeth was getting surprisingly frustrated for a day as happy as that one.

“She put the first curse on the baby, and that was the only reason Piper had to put a spell on Leo, so he never would’ve found his true love if not for Gaea.” Hazel flagged the waiter down for more champagne. She had a feeling Annabeth might need it.

“How do you know that I wasn’t going to give him the true love spell as my original gift, Hazel?” Piper retorted.

Hazel scoffed. “Because no one in their right mind would tell a literal newborn who they’re gonna grow up to marry. Especially with no good reason. That’s creepy, Piper.”

Piper made to grab the new bottle of champagne to refill her glass. “Well, I think it’s sweet-“ Annabeth snatched the bottle away to use for her own nefarious purposes.

~*~

“Do you think they’re arguing?” Leo looked over his husband’s- he couldn’t get over the fact he could call Jason his husband now- shoulder to the three good fairies in the balcony. His eyes widened when he saw Annabeth drink her alcohol straight from the bottle.

“Can’t see ‘em. I only have eyes for you,” Jason whispered into his ear. Leo could hear the smile in his husband’s- there it was again- voice. He couldn’t help but match it.

Leo giggled giddily. “Well, Annabeth just chugged a whole pitcher of champagne, and Piper is at Hazel’s neck for some reason.” Jason snorted.

Out of the blue, Piper appeared in a cloud of glitter next to them. Leo looked at her exasperatedly as he wiped the sparkles off of his suit. “Don’t look at me like that, this is important!” She cried.

He swished his champagne around in his glass. “Well, go ahead and enlighten us, Pipes.”

“Who do you think is responsible for all this?” She wagged her finger between the two of them.

They stood in a baffled silence for a moment before Jason spoke. “By ‘all this’, do you mean our marriage?” He asked. He sighed when she nodded.

Leo barked out a laugh. He shook his head disbelievingly as he considered the answer to Piper’s question. “Um, besides us, probably Hera.”

His husband hummed as he nodded. “She is something of a matchmaker,” Jason agreed.

Piper groaned. “Goddamnit. Annabeth is going to laugh so hard at me.”

~*~

Author’s Note

We OFFICIALLY did it! Yayyyyy. Not going to lie I hate this with a burning passion 🤗 I think I could’ve done better ❤️❤️❤️ especially the last segment 😃 but Thalia is surprisingly fun to write and I love her. Thank you @scentednightdonut for helping me edit :)) and thank all of y’all for reading!!! Now my purpose is completed and I can finally find peace

The people who wanted tags from my original post (let me know if you want to be untagged):

@queenjunothegreat

@acetheta

[tyran-the-tyranical]

Can Raphael actually beat Zariel?

I’ve been thinking about Raphael’s epilogue speech abit recently, and he’s just so certain he can take Zariel and Avernus down in like a day. Like he has the crown of Karsus, sure, and it’s obviously powerful, but for some reason I just highly doubt he’d win, I mean, he’s seems sure he would, but I feel like Zariel would be able to use something against him, I just don’t see her not having something to counter him, but then again she isn’t like the other arch devils so perhaps she is rlly that fallible.

As well as his father, who had the crown, and could’ve used it at any point when he wanted, but didn’t, which just strikes me as odd since his father wants to take over as well, or at least defeat Asmodeus, but he chose to never use the crown? Likeeee, I’m sorry but somethings just not adding up here.

Like I get that they probably underestimated Raphael but to not care about him getting the crown until he has it? Idk man, I feel like they know something we don’t. Like when Raphael says the other arch devils are coming to see him, I really don’t think it’s what he thinks it is, I feel like they’re coming to kill him or something. I’m not very versed in dnd lore, so maybe there’s an explanation as to why, but I just can’t see them actually bending the knee to Raphael, not that he didn’t work for it (kinda, but not rlly) but that Raphael saw the crown as his ticket to ascend and no one else did or bothered to use it.

Maybe he does manage to conquer Avernus, but I think that’s really all he’s going to get, like I’ve heard ppl say he could arguably get up to where his father is, just under Asmodeus but at the same time idk, maybe the crown of Karsus rlly is that powerful, and everyone (just Mephistopheles) seemed to just underestimate its power but at the same time, I kinda think Raphael is a bit over zealous in what he can actually get out of it, like I mean, the arch devils probably have things and power to use against the crown, why else would they not have used it for themselves? They’re all extremely ambitious themselves, so to not grab at the opportunity to take over the hells? And I mean all the hells and not just their single domains? I’m just not buying it

[holocene-sims]

simblr new years resolutions 2024!

thank you @stargazer-sims so much for tagging me!! ❤️✨🌟

not sure who has done this one yet but i'll tag 💌 @seyvia @simmersofia @mangosimoothie @minty-plumbob @queeniecook @dandylion240 @mmmatchasims @thebramblewood @aheathen-conceivably @nectar-cellar @igglemouse & anyone who sees this and wants to do it!

honestly, i have never made a new years resolution in my life, so this is a fun exercise to try out for once!

what's your resolution for your simblr?

this is VERYYYYY ambitious but i want to fully complete the core "everything the stars promised" and move on to doing side content and MOST IMPORTANTLY the more loosey goosey fun epilogue :)

april 15th of this year will mark the second anniversary of the story! i've done so much and yet at the same time, so little in the grand scheme of the plot i have in mind. i randomly checked today to see how many pages on my blog the story takes up and we're at 31 pages! so, uh, about 15 pages a year - not sure if that's good progress or not but oh well! we are getting close to the extra exciting parts of the story, and i would love to finish it all up this year, you know? finish on a nice round even anniversary number and with a bunch of plot point bangers lolol

but we'll see! it's possible, maybe, since i'm graduating college this semester and will have more free time for a while, at least i as figure out the work situation and probably even while working whenever i do get a job since nightly homework will no longer exist LMAO, but even if it's not possible, i am definitely promising myself to work harder on the story! i really do love this thing despite it all and i'm proud of it, and i want to see how much i can keep improving it so that the ending is truly the best part <3

what do you want from the sims franchise?

a sale on kits lmfaoooo!!! (which will never happen) i have exactly 5 dollars left over from an old gift card someone gave me for ea app when it was still origin. it's exactly enough for a kit except that sales tax adds on 7 cents and the gift card leftovers don't cover that.

yeahhhh...i'm neither charging 7 cents for sales tax nor 5 bucks for a second kit to my credit card. no, ma'am. i want that shit for FREE

any other new years resolutions?

don't become incredibly depressed by the shock of leaving the school system after almost 23 years of life and the horrors of figuring out the whole...life and career...thing

lol this resolution will be broken

so, how about an achievable one? read more books and write more actual prose, whether for my sims story or for something else. i've been so burnt out from academia that it's all stopped being fun. like even my sims story has been such a drag to create because i just have zero desire to write, to work on the outline, or find inspiration.

and that really sucks. writing and reading have been a huge part of my life for so long and they mean a lot to me, but right now they do feel exhausting. i'm tired of looking at a word document and wanting to bash my head into the keyboard because it reminds me of writing project proposals and boring shit instead of good fiction.

but i'm hoping the freedom from academia will spark joy in my literary hobbies again, and i'm going to try and bring back my love for them myself :) not sure how but aside from finding a way to work on the sims story more, i'm thinking maybe i'll commit to trying out more short-form writing prompts.

[eccentric-nucleus]

so, i finally finished (posting) my huge, novel-length teenage mutant ninja turtles fanfic. i just posted the final epilogue over on ao3!

here is my director's commentary on it, if you want to read even more about it. this contains spoilers for the whole thing. maybe read the epilogue first and sit with that for a minute. also this will probably be pretty incoherent if you haven't read the whole thing. it's just a disconnected series of thoughts i have about the story, really

man, this story. this is maybe the longest thing i've ever written? like 'the new hive' and 'hell game' had more words (i think) but they were mostly a disconnected series of sex scenes with thin connective tissue between them. this is ~200k words of a single, linear, mostly-plot narrative. i'm writing scenes that aren't just about getting the two leads to fuck!! that's weird. it's definitely the most ambitious thing i've written. kind of weird that it's tmnt fanfic. that's just how it worked out, i guess.

so back in 2022 i watched the rise of the tmnt movie because people kept talking about the animation quality of the fights and that got me into a spiral of actually paying attention to the ninja turtles. i had never been into them & genuinely i think a huge part of getting into tmnt stuff was that rise actually varied the design of the turtles so that they weren't all basically identical save for color-coding. turns out visual design was the missing mystery ingredient.

also in 2022 i was burning out on writing 'goblin cave', when what i had intended to be a fun little writing exercise ended up getting algorithmically surfaced and getting me hundreds of comments on each chapter. that got a little stressful and i wasn't really enjoying that, so i stopped. but i was like, hmm you know i mostly just write weird porn but maybe i should write something a little more ambitious. with a plot, and everything. 'goblin cave' was (in my mind) all about a character who was created for violence deciding art was a much more worthwhile pursuit. but the main character of that doesn't know what art is. because it's a magical dungeon core. and i was still thinking a lot about dead zones of the imagination, by david graeber. so i was like, okay, let's do this again but in a slightly more self-authentic way and make it weird gay porn with weird animal dicks. let's give michelangelo ninjaturtle a monologue about how the powerful are utterly insulated from any consequence.

(also early on, after watching most of rottmnt, i stumbled across this blog post about the tmnt comics and the end of the world. that ended up being deeply influential on the fic too. i've been kinda in a state for the past few years and this fic is absolutely a part of me working through a lot of complicated feelings about the world and the future. lol people talk so much about people writing dark fic 'to cope' but this was pretty much the first time i've outsourced my emotional processing by having bad things happen to fictional characters.)

so uhhh where to start here. the setting of the fic is this complicated messy mashup of a half-dozen tmnt continuities. it's very rise-heavy, since... that was the only series i had watched(/read) when i had determined the major plot points, but there's a lot of bits and pieces from all over.

to roughly outline the characters here, a huge influence on mikey's personality in this is... mikey's 'dr delicate touch' persona in rottmnt. in the sense that... okay yes yes that is a kid's show and all of his dr delicate touch lines are, you know, setups and punchlines. you think he's going to be nice but actually he's mean! etc. but in-universe it's like, wait hold on a second. mikey is like the most emotionally-intelligent of the four. he absolutely knows when people are on the edge of flipping out and need a calming out to a stressful situation. and instead he freaks them out more! mikey's hobby is: being mean to his friends & family, for fun! what a fun character trait.

i was thinking about this tweet a lot, too. i read some writing advice once that people tend to make characters who are supposed to be likable too squeaky-clean. nothing but positive character traits for them! but actually every 'positive' character trait is exactly the same as a 'negative' one; it's just a matter of focus and degree. a character is light-hearted and comedic? they can never take things seriously, even when they really should. a character is willing to do anything to protect the people they love? so they're violent and threatening and scary if they happen to decide you're something that they need to protect against. etc. i was really dedicated in this to bringing out the worst characteristics of everybody's personalities.

mikey was also very deeply inspired by: all the garbage progression fantasy stuff i've been reading. i've complained about this several times on this very blog, but a constant theme in most progression fantasy is 1. the main character will constantly get more and more powerful and 2. the main character will never really have their relationship with the rest of the world changed via that power. it's just stat-ups. they just have higher stats so they're more powerful. mikey is the most powerful person on the planet and it's fucking ruining his life. he knows that there's nobody capable of actually checking his behavior, & he's in this constant state of thinking he's maybe a few bad days away from murdering half the planet and incredibly aware there's not really anything he can do about that aside from constantly worry. he's kind of an anxious mess.

mikey absolutely thinks it's more ethical to murder somebody out of the sheer glee of seeing people crushed before you than murdering somebody for something as tedious as mob orders. you're satisfying a deep, raw desire felt from the heart! that's good!

what he'd like to do, in some sense, is just hang out in his studio and chill with other artists, but he knows the world is not gonna let him do that. things will come up. a lot of his being a creepy bystander thing while people get murdered is b/c he's very much formulated his morality to be like... it is not his responsibility to fix other people's problems. other people will do what they want and that has no bearing on him. is that a pretty cowardly and self-serving morality? sure! but he was kinda designed to rule the world & his flinch away from that pretty much defines him as a character in this. that's kinda the morality he needed to end up on to convince himself not to be a genocide machine.

he's incredibly aware he could basically be a superhero, & all it would take is... giving up on all his hopes and dreams and constantly engage with his abilities. and being a superhero isn't that many steps removed from living up to his full design spec and just taking over the world and ruling as god-emperror. idk how well i hit all those notes in the actual fic, but, that's what i was going for. mikey as the narrator clearly doesn't want to talk or think about it so it's never really directly confronted.

raph is... okay so i guess a fairly common piece of fanon, for rise especially, is to characterise raph as having multiple personalities? whether that's him just having alters or him having full-blown MPD depends on the fic. my fun little nod to that is that he's kind of a disassociative mess. he has kind of failed to reconcile the disparate aspects of his personality and he switches between one of several different facades depending on the situation. also, you know. the trauma.

(i didn't really mean for it to be as such, but there is this theme in the story about names? despite everything else mikey has a crystal-clear self-conception of himself and has one name, which he gave himself. raph, who has kinda failed to build his own personality, has a collection of name other people have given him, none of which he feels actually fits him. donnie has a more fluid self-identity and also has roughly a million aliases and false identities & constantly slips in and out of character when it's convenient. leatherhead still going by the name mikey gave him goes hand-in-hand with that bit where mikey meanly thinks about how maybe leatherhead's entire self-conception is hung up on something mikey said to him once, etc. this is one of those things that i'd go back and make more present if i did go back and clean up the rough draft, b/c as it is it's there, but it doesn't really do a whole lot.)

--

this fic was inspired by... i had read a few big aus that were just like, taking the characters and loose bits of setting and going off in completely different directions. some of NeiNing's aus were a definite influence, plus like, this one au where raph is an ex-con mechanic, etc, etc. just like "i am going to play out a completely unrelated drama using turtles as the dolls". maybe most directly influential was Of Knights and Thieves, where donnie & mikey are corporate espionage hacker/thief types and raph & leo are do-gooder vigilantes. the original concept for this was much more heavily focused on the art forgery. in a very early draft the idea was leo would get involved much more actively in trying to track down the creator of the false takenobus. then i was like, "i am going to crash a completely separate story concept about the dark armor into the side of this art-forgery story". the filename for the story is still 'lol grindr hookup art thief'. that is not really where the story went.

oh man, the art stuff. i made some posts about this at the time! that are now several years old. here's one! i did end up getting a traditional woodcut printing of Tokaido 53 stations, no. 11, Hokone. in a lot of ways doing all the art research was more satisfying and fun than writing the extensive downward spiral that was the latter half of the fic. but, hey, that's life too i guess.

also raph in this is... okay, so, i don't mean this in a mean way. i really liked the fics! but cndrow has written several raph/donnie fics where raph is just like... like a repeated theme in them is raph confessing eternal love & talking about how he's like, mentally planning on them being together forever. on the first date. and sure sure everybody has different tastes; i'm absolutely sure that my interest in guys who are mean leads to some stories that are extremely offputting to some people, etc. but it's like, oh man, raph, please slow your roll a little. if somebody said they were planning our future wedding all of ten minutes into talking to me i would flee the room. & the raph in blinded by the summer sun is very much inspired by that. sadly, i never fully committed to that. originally i even had a line in chapter 9 where slash was like 'please tell me you didn't drop the 'i love you forever' on this guy already' to imply that that was, you know, a theme for raph, but i chickened out and cut it. raph as a kind of rolling series of bad relationships characterized by him falling forever in love w/ his latest crush until the relationship detonates and leaves him not really understanding how things went wrong. but i don't think that's expressed well like, at all. but that ideally should characterize a large part of why he keeps chasing after mikey even well after the point where it would be reasonable to disengage. also to convey some of the downsides of a character believing in true love. it's rough out there in the world.

also thank you tumblr user averyterrible for writing this goncharov post. that was the point in the story where i was like, actually i have been writing raph as way too much of a sad boy. if i want to play in the space of crime drama, there needs to be some crime! he's a yakuza assassin. he needs to chop off somebody's fingers with bolt cutters.

--

to me, the central question in the fic isn't really 'will the mikey/raph relationship work out' or 'will mikey succeed in his plans', it's 'why is mikey doing these things'. & i think the leatherhead chunks in chapter 23 finally give enough context to what's going on with mikey to let people answer that? like oh, mikey is a mess.

(lol the initial setup for the early chapters are supposed to give an audience response of like, "oh no, raph has some dangerous secrets" "oh no, raph is a violent yakuza murderer! i hope mikey is going to be okay interacting with raph" "...oh no, i hope raph is going to be okay interacting with mikey")

a lot of the story really is about how... mikey & raph's relationship is in a lot of ways very adolescent? they have not had a lot of prior experience with healthy relationships, and they're trying, but, uhhhhhhh. mikey likes to act like he's so cool and above-it-all and unaffected by things happening, but that's actually just b/c he doesn't really care about most things. when something happens that he genuinely doesn't like he immediately snaps and has a giant meltdown. (we see this once with raph, when mikey has a panic attack and throws up when raph blows him off wrt warning him of bishop, and once with donny about the armor, where mike immediately starts tantruming and threatening to kill himself. mikey is very bad at resolving conflict. he's kind of a brat, actually.)

like every character in this is in some way their worst self. they're all pretty awful people. but they're all also trying to... grapple with their place in the world and try to be better people. to even figure out what 'better' means. this is a story about how 'being a good person' is a constant struggle, not to 'do the right thing', but to even figure out what's 'right'. it's about picking yourself up again after a bad period and going, well, let's keep going. like mikey has a lot of traits but one that i, the author, actually think is fairly admirable is his ability to get back up and keep going after a really bad period. which is funny b/c characterwise that goes hand-in-hand with his callousness. just shrug off all the misery you caused other people, i guess! see above about positive/negative character traits.

(also uh there's another tmnt fic author whose work has a lot of... a Bad Guy is constructed/identified. then helpless children (or teens!) are rescued from him. then the bad guy is ruthlessly & violently murdered. sometimes onscreen, sometimes offscreen. and then it's nothing but chapter after chapter of people being happy and cutesy to each other. and like, i get it. but the, like, recurring theme there of the Bad Guy having done something fundamentally unforgivable that separates from all understanding & mercy, to which the only justice is a violent death, just strikes me as... simplistic. sometimes people do really awful things and part of grappling with that as an adult with an adult moral conceptualization is realizing that you gotta look past your initial reflex to punishment.

or like, mikey's whole childhood in this really fucked him up but a huge part of his identity is him having to form an identity from that. having to make the determination of which parts of him are 'him' and which parts were done to him. lol @ him aggressively and extensively rejecting everything about what draxum made him to do & then blithely being like 'we were engineered to eat humans anyway' as a defense for all the corpse-eating. mikey you just like eating people & have decided that part does align with your self-identity. mikey would really not appreciate anybody being like 'i'm sorry nobody saved you from that' b/c that (to him) would basically be the same as them saying they thought he was fundamentally, irreparably damaged & was going to be forever incapable of being anything other than what draxum made him to be. he wouldn't take it well.)

uhhh what else. i mean there's a lot. fun fact pretty much every time mikey gets mad at somebody else he's hugely projecting. even his pacifism is like... hmm maybe he should have killed draxum. a lot of his talk @ raph about splinter is secretly mikey relitigating his feelings about draxum. oh what's that mikey you think that splinter is only playing happy family b/c he's immortal and he has infinite time to spend humoring somebody's illusions but that when push comes to shove he'll drop all that? gee i wonder if that might apply to any dynamics in mikey's own life. lol at mikey being like "wow red your life is kind of a fucked-up nightmare of weird psychopaths playing like they're happy family" and then two chapters is like "hey come meet my family. we live in my genocidal dad's bombed-out lab and we're treating him like a weird racist grandpa". i kinda wanted something that would complicate mikey just being like "i am a pacifist now and i don't kill anybody"; mikey that's all well and good but like half his inner tension comes from not being sure if he should've left draxum alive. that's kinda the mirror to him debating whether or not actually killing leatherhead would've been better. (in a few years shelldon is gonna go through a period of not wanting to talk to any of them. mikey & donnie are better parents than draxum but that's such a low bar.)

(likewise at the end when mikey is like "this is raph's healthiest relationship so far!" to leo, like, this is more mikey projecting. really the raph/casey relationship was probably better for raph & casey, idk, who can say. but is mikey's relationship with raph the healthiest romantic interaction he's ever had? yes, absolutely. we don't get to see the mikey/leatherhead relationship really up-close and personal but it should be pretty clear that it was pretty awful for everybody involved. compared to that, the mikey/raph is absolutely mikey's healthiest relationship so far. just. low bars.)

lol i am a little concerned that mikey's tendency to monologue, & especially his whole political monologue near the end, will get people to think he's just acting as an author's soapbox. i mean, okay, the little author's note where i'm like "as always, mikey is a perfect role model and everybody should do what he does" was a fun little joke. but, oof, the number of fics i've read where the authors feel the need to loudly and repeatedly disclaim that This Story Contains Things The Author Does Not Condone In Real Life is pretty disheartening. way to have absolutely no faith in your audience. but likie, the part where mikey is pretty much flat-out like, "actually i think my moral framework is whatever is necessary to justify my actions" is meant to be pretty damning. maybe not of mikey specifically as a character, just of, you know. the whole world where that's a pretty common outlook among people with power.

--

lets talk about the rape. part of it is that it felt like it would be inauthentic to go through the entire story without mikey seriously violating one of raph's boundaries. part of it is that mikey here kinda has the trifecta of ASPD, ADHD, & bipolar, and the thing with that is it's very easy to just say that but a little more difficult to convey the personality traits involved. this isn't really something ever stated as such in the fic, aside from various people calling mikey crazy + raph calls him a sociopath once. it's kind of too didactic to just flatly state "and this is what's wrong with mikey!" imo. but. this is a story about violent people. imo you can't just gesture to a character with the background level of callousness for the genre and go "okay this is a clinical sign"; you kinda gotta do something more direct. 'wow mikey sure is CRAZY and WEIRD good thing it only shows itself as him being slightly mean to people'. no. mikey has done some pretty horrible things in the past and clearly isn't fully done with that.

(i did pretty much go straight down the list of symptoms there. impulsive, suicidal, aggressive, violent, risky sex, arrogant, limited empathy, no regard for other people or social norms, difficulty with relationships, arson, etc, etc, etc. but it's not like he's a 'realistic' portrayal here, since... i mean, he is a super-powered ninja. there's a level of 'superficial charm' here but we do get enough of mikey's interiority to be able to tell he's a total mess in a way that's not particularly constructed.)

also it's like. raph graphically tortures several people to death & i didn't really feel the need to disclaim that here. murder is usually seen as a lesser crime in fiction than rape. people love their violent blorbos but the second there's the implication of sexual violence people freak out. the usual line people say is that the threat of murder is a little more removed for most people than the threat of rape, which idk if i fully agree with. but part of it is also to draw a line between raph's violence and mikey's boundary violation. like mikey says, well, raph tried to non-consensually murder him a few times too.

anyway i don't think i really stuck the landing with that either, in part b/c raph's response to it. he's a little too pathetically accepting of things at the end instead of being angry + violent. that could use a rewrite or two.

--

honestly i'm kinda sick of this story now? which sucks a little, since i kept realizing things about the story all the way up to the very last moment of editing. if i had waited to post any of this until i was done with the first draft... well, it'd be a very different story if i went back and turned this rough draft into something more complete. i never really did manage to hit the character beats with raph i was hoping to. oh well. like, i still like it. but i can definitely see all of its weak points. i guess that's just part of the process of writing. it'd be worse if you wrote a giant novel and came out on the other side not more aware of your failings as an author.

i feel like raph isn't super well-realized in terms of character motivations. or... his relationships aren't shaded in as well as they could be. if i were redoing this whole thing i'd definitely include some chunks of raph pov just to lay out more concretely what he's doing & what his life is like when he's not in the same scene as mikey. i kinda included that raph+donny conversation at the very end just for jokes, but actually ending every chapter with a little section of non-mikey pov would've helped ground a lot of the characters. raph isn't super well-developed and leo is pretty much incoherent absent external familiarity with his character's deal. they're not conveyed super well, in part because, well, any time mikey is onscreen everybody is having to deal with mikey. it's a problem.

but something that absolutely could have worked as a secondary narrative to the story is the whole thing with raph working w/ the oroku. that was a bit of a late addition to the story. it's meant as a reference to, you know, all the times raphael ends up being compared to/assuming the mantle of the shredder in the comics. but as it is since we don't get any real looks into exactly what's going on in yakuza town when mikey's not around none of that got developed very well, imo.

--

it was very important to me that mikey not learn any lesson here. where things are at in the end are pretty much the exact same as where they were in the beginning. the bit in the pizza scene where he's like 'you guys get to live and i get a boyfriend' is very accurate. literally the only change in mikey's life through this entire thing is that at the end he is in a relationship w/ a guy who he can tell some of what his life is like to. not that it's a super healthy relationship, but it is there.

well, that, and also now he's maybe out of time. (uh, so the laughter at the very end of the epilogue is mikey realizing he's out of time. the whole epilogue really is about how he's got all these conflicting tensions of who-knows-what in his life, & then right in the middle of the tension it's like, whoops, the utrom aren't coming in 10 years or 20 years, they're coming now. and in a week you're gonna be getting some really pointed questions about how you know the utrom envoy. and in a few years, well, there's gonna be some planetary evacuation) like the whole story is about... anxiety. mikey feeling the weight of the future on him in every moment. actually seeing things collapse would be a relief; you'd get the release of all the potentiality collapsing into an actual problem. the moral of the story is you get what you get and in the end all mikey's actions, good or bad or otherwise, have bought him is nine more months of ignoring his problems.

anyway sorry to all the tmnt fans who were expecting a happy cheerful mikey/raph story. this is actually about the fundamental injustice of existence. whoops!

[suzyq31]

WIP Tag

Thanks for the tag @nodirectionhome-ao3! I almost feel unworthy as I really am not writing much now and feeling a lot of conflict about how to move forward in fandom, but it's still fun to have a chance to chat about what I am writing (even if it's slow).

List the titles your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)

An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing

Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!

Then tag 10 writer friends

Titles

Maybe Tomorrow: The epilogue is all that's left! This is a hard story to categorize, but essentially Harry and Hermione are fixing up Potter Manor the first Christmas after the war, on Christmas Eve they wake up to find themselves seemingly in the future, or some possible alternate reality. Friends to lovers, time travel, domestic fluff and plenty of angst thrown in.

Untitled James and Lily. A one shot sitting in my drafts. Mischief and games, and a first kiss. Possibly going to connect it to At The Beginning.

Found. I've actually pulled this from Ao3 and it's become a personal project instead. It's a spin off from my Seasons Series. Second generation, original character, coming back from the dead and other fun stuff. Harry/Hermione.

Iris. Another project I'm unsure of. It's still online, but may take it down in future to also write for myself instead of an audience. It's the first long story I ever attempted, and was a tad ambitious with it. Harry and Hermione. Hidden child, post war, angsty as hell. And a mystery plot that is slowly driving me insane as I try to weave in the appropriate clues.

Don't really know at this point. @bettertoflee and I have lost steam on In Between which is supposed to be a steamy, fake dating, 8th year Harmony. Life is just hectic and neither of us are feeling overly motivated. I have several vague James and Lily ideas floating in my brain, as well as a few original short stories I'd like to experiment with...but lately writing has been a chore and my creative muse feels depleted!

As you can see the theme is that I have all these Harry and Hermione WIPS, yet no will to work on them, or at least continue posting (sigh). And I would like to write more James and Lily, yet keep freezing. So fun times all around!

Upcoming Scenes, Events, Details

So it's just the epilogue left. One detail is that so far it's only one scene and not very long, but still, I am so excited to finally wrap this up and reveal some stuff. It's probably the story that has meant the most to me on a personal level, and it feels so good to have finished something that I worked hard on and am proud of.

There is a kiss that I am very eager to write. Plus some group dynamics that I'm having fun experimenting with.

Now that I'm not writing this for an audience there has been some freedom with being able to let go of certain details and it feels great to just jump around and have fun with it. I'm working on a scene of a cute "first" date that makes me all fluttery ❤️ Also Ron will be making another appearance soon, and I do love writing him.

There are some cute scenes I'm excited to write, but they are a ways away and I don't want to say too much. I will say there is a kiss that I am also very excited to write in this one to! Let's just see if I ever get through all the "mystery" bits.

Well, if we could summon the energy/ability, there is a smut scene in In Between that I know I'm eager to write, or read, who knows which of us will make it happen 👀 I would also very much like it if my desire to write would come back as I keep getting snippets of Jily banter in my head that would be good to get down.

Not sure if anyone will be interested in reading any of this, but yes a glimpse at the chaos of my writing life (at least fandom wise).

Anyone who wants to participate, consider yourself tagged! But will also add a few that I am curious about! @glitterwitch1 @myst867 @annonymouslyblonde

[desultory-novice]

I was lore surfing RTTDDX and found an interesting subject. Magolor's EX screen says he learned about the Master Crown in a "dusty tome" and thought it was a fairy tale. Now it makes me wonder of the subgame Tome tracker. What if those books in that subgame are his personal library (lore collection)? What if those tomes were written by the Ancients themselves?

So, I've been thinking about this idea ever since I learned Magolor wasn't really Halcandran and it freed me to truly think of him as more of an "Interdimensional Traveler" ... and I think I have finally come around to my most current headcanon on this subject!

It involves the Spiders. That's right. This all goes back to "the portrait" in TDX!!

Magolor has a dream, right? A quiet, silly dream to build an amusement park that the entire universe could enjoy! But...well, he's also just a wee~ bit of a megalomaniacal egg, and even though he's WILLING to work toward his dream from the ground up, starting with a small, privately owned shop, we know that by the time of RtDL, he's definitely not against fantasizing about about things like cheating the system and becoming all powerful!

So, there's the our main character of this tale.

And what's the best and quickest way for an ambitious egg to get a big enterprise going? (Especially if he'd already tried things the hard way and failed?) Having FUNDING. So, Magolor reaches out to Queen Sectonia's empire, y'know, since the queen and her court magician can literally MAKE gigantic precious gems out of magic.

Ah, but she won't meet with just a humble (and very, very poor) future-theme park designer with nothing but an idea.

No, Magolor needs an identity to impress her.

...Thus begins Magolor's history of cosplaying!

Magolor puts on the blue and gold hood and describes himself to the court as "...a descendant of the Ancients." ("Look, look! I've even got a Halcandran name!" "...Why does your name mean 'liar?'")

Queen Sectonia, who possibly already have the mirror at this point (all we know is that Shopkeeper Magolor has heard that she once looked just like Taranza, we don't know whether he saw that transformation for himself) could be just as interested in getting her hands on more Halcandran artifacts as Magolor is, so she accepts him as a guest of her empire! ...And probably assigns Taranza to babysit the suspicious creature.

So it is HER library where Magolor finds the dusty old tome that tells him about the Lor Starcutter! (And a bunch of stuff, including ID-F86?!) Magolor is beginning to see that Halcandra, his "assumed" hometown, is where he might be able to make his dreams come true.

Time passes, Taranza and Sectonia learn that Magolor is not Halcandran, just a swindler (though Taranza holds some lingering affection for the fellow bookworm, enough to not throw out his picture) and Magolor is kicked out on his non-existent feet.

With the last of his resources, he hitches a one-way ticket to Halcandra and begins his search! (...Or maybe he actually got as far as having Sectonia fund an expedition for him? Maybe the portrait is of their :wipes a tear away: "...lost scholar-explorer Magolor"? Maybe they never did find out the truth about him, rather, they assumed him lost?)

On Halcandra, Magolor is desperate enough to search for any trace of truth in the stories until his fancy cosplay robes turn an ashy gray and start to break down (as I believe the opening cutscene for the Epilogue is 100% meant to show us that Magolor's clean look is but an illusory disguise he kept up with magic to impress others, including Kirby and the gang - because it's hard to convince everyone you didn't totally steal the ship you're on when you're literally dressed like a castaway - and his illusion breaks when he runs out of power)

But...just when it looks like maybe he'll die here, maybe his quest was in vain...the fairy tale turns out to be reality!

-

As for why the Tome Trackers game looks that way, I kinda think it could still be based off of Floralia's library? (Or whatever other library he may have gotten the information from.) But that the place we're running around in is just an attraction isolated to Magoland. He's got a replica (at least, I hope it's a replica) of King Dedede's castle throne room in Merry Magoland too! XD

[blindrapture]

so here's how I'm feeling now. I have gone and listened to the two other albums that I hadn't heard so much and placed them accordingly.

"wow, Jordan," I hear you say. "...actually, there's a lot of Wows on that list, I don't even know where to start."

I stand by most of it. the placement of Heritage and In Cauda Venenum are the biggest uncertainties, though Orchid could also stand to raise up. like, frankly, Orchid is a really good album, I think it is absolutely a better album than Morningrise for instance, but it's also very.. ubiquitous? homogenous? it is a lot of the same general sound and same general quality. so I have to be in the exact mood for that sound. when I am in the mood for it, Orchid is perfect, one of the best kinds of 90s death metal albums you could find.

Morningrise.. surprised me. it is a lot more ambitious, it really does try to do some impressive things. and its success is maybe about half-and-half? interestingly enough that "half-and-half" manifests itself directly. the entire first half of the album, the first three tracks, is kinda nonstop perfection? it floored me. I was flabbergasted. extremely impressive. punchy songs, memorable high points, and moments of stifling grief. "Black Rose Immortal" was.... I mean I had heard it a few times across my life, as a 20-minute Opeth song has always interested me, and I never came out of it remembering anything I'd just heard. so this time when I gave it an active listen... I still hardly fucking remember it! it's a bit of a goofy song structure, it doesn't feel like it was particularly made to be 20 minutes, it feels like the stereotype of "a bunch of smaller pieces put together." I don't blame Opeth for this, mind you; it's really hard to make a 20-minute song. the song kinda just kept going hard-soft-hard-soft-hard-soft, and I think there's a reason that as Opeth went along they would eventually structure their longer pieces as, like, hard-hard-hard-hard-soft-soft-soft-soft. just, something about long-form structure. oh and then there's "To Bid You Farewell!" which was like my opinion of the album in microcosm! the entire first half of that song floored me, it was so impressive, a real stand-out from everything. they could have just kept that going! but instead, halfway through, they just.. dropped the unique identity of the song and brought back the exact same death metal style that every single other song on the album had (and that every song on Orchid had). so "To Bid You Farewell" lost its identity, and the album kinda just petered out. so. so Morningrise is an album with some give-and-take. I think I'll remember it more than Orchid. and I absolutely don't hold it against the album for this. this was only their second album. but my tier list is about how often I will return to the album! so I put it in kinda mid-to-high B.

the other album I finally gave a proper active listen to was My Arms, Your Hearse. and goodness, I was surprised by that one! I mean. it's not necessarily the most mind-blowing album. it's a more refined iteration of their earliest death metal sound, with frequent breaks into soft mellow moody instrumentation, and this time arranged around a concept. I think most of the songs on the album are passable. they are Orchid songs but much shorter, basically; and knowing the concept beforehand makes it a lot easier to get into the right mood for listening to them. but luckily there are highlight songs. the interlude tracks, for one, are surprisingly compelling. I think "Madrigal" is my favorite. "Epilogue" is incredibly tasteful, a very Opeth kind of ending, almost prescient to the kind of band they'd eventually mature into. but I've gotta bring up "Demon of the Fall." "Demon of the Fall" is the strength of the album in microcosm. if I never remember to return to this album, I will at least remember to listen to "Demon of the Fall." like, even just in terms of concept, it is the entire concept in microcosm, it is a symbol for the entire plot: a ghost story from the perspective of the ghost, driven by emotion to manifest before his grieving beloved, but he misunderstood the whole situation, and she's scared of what she sees. this song contains all that, with good emotional nuance, while packing it into memorable and driving heavy metal riffs. that chorus is so delicious, god I wish it came up more than once. so, like. My Arms, Your Hearse is a low A for me. I think it is a good fucking album. I think it hits exactly what it's trying to hit, it doesn't misstep. if it's a little same-y for my tastes, it doesn't feel like an accident, it feels like.. specialization of genre.

Still Life. Blackwater Park. euuuughhhh. look, I'm definitely being harsh to them. I concede that. I can't really bring myself to be actually nasty to them. I do, frankly, enjoy both albums. I find them interesting. I like their concepts. (and Blackwater Park is a fucking concept album; if you try to claim Still Life was their last concept album until Last Will and Testament, you're confusing "concept album" with "rock opera," just like Dream Theater fans keep fucking doing. Blackwater Park is a concept album. it is an album centered around a concept, a theme. Opeth doesn't do those very often, it is true; but they have made them. Blackwater Park is explicitly about the foul disgusting darkness of humanity. and no, Opeth doesn't actually often make songs about that. their lyrics are just.. really fucking cryptic, so it's hard to tell. but I've spent an inordinate amount of time in my life interpreting the lyrics to every single one of their songs, okay. their songs are sometimes about dark twisted humanity; it's actually more common for them to be love songs, usually an introspective reflection on love of forbidden or mystical things. fun fact, Sorceress was a concept album too; all of its songs were about love. so Sorceress was Opeth's last concept album. Still Life was their last rock opera. until the new one. .......was ICV a concept album? fuck. admittedly I'm still a little unsure about ICV. it feels like it's a concept album, musically it feels like one single experience??? and a lot of the songs' lyrics are clear enough. but I still can't be too sure.)

but, right. Still Life. Blackwater Park. I do personally prefer Blackwater Park. and yeah that title track is killer. well, for about two minutes. and then it's mysterious and haunting, if very repetitive, and.. then it never really reaches either of those heights again. and, in a way, that's kinda how I feel about the whole damn pair of albums. it is a much chunkier and more pronounced, deliberate sound than previous albums. but it doesn't... actually... take advantage of that? I expect these albums are a million times better for people who play guitar. those riffs are probably, like, sex when you play them yourself. I feel the same about a lot of songs in Guitar Hero, they're much better to play than to listen to. but at the end of the day, they are songs for listening to! and even prog metal, contrary to uncharitable belief, is supposed to be fun to listen to. ...I will continue to listen to those albums, and I will give them better appraisals over time. though, like, I have already been listening to both albums for about ten years now, don't get me wrong. but. I think I'll be able to put the albums higher sometime.

okay look I don't really feel like making paragraphs for every other album. so I'll skip to the newest one.

The Last Will And Testament, when I first heard it, was an A-tier album. I've listened to it five times now, and it's pretty solidly in S. this, much like the SL/BP situation, is a consequence of my tier list being personal. I don't believe in tier lists. I don't believe in ranking! my patience for "objective quality" is negligible, if not negative! so when I decided to make tier lists for discographies that I own on CD, I ended up arranging them according to how often I like to go back to the albums, or even a few songs from each album. the albums that end up in S-tier will be albums that allow me to be in many moods. Ghost Reveries has been at the top of my list for over a decade, partly because it was in fact the first Opeth album I ever heard (that is definitely a huge factor with things like this), partly because for my tastes it is not an album that is too attached to its dark emotions, it is in fact very playful. and if I am in an emotional mood, the album still has plenty of soul, it can in fact be a very haunting album! Ghost Reveries is great shit!

but so then. The Last Will And Testament. it only came out a matter of fucking days ago. from what I'm reading of other people's views on it (which is not limited to the opinions of those who've reblogged my post about it; I do go searching), there are people who vocally dislike it! it's not their kind of album. it feels like a structureless slog of music. .....I mean, they're literally wrong about that, but I get where they're coming from, I also had that impression on my first listen. starting on my second listen I paid attention to specific songs and sought a sense of structure, and, like, the album has a very predictable structure! all seven paragraphs are cantatas, without fail. not a single one of them breaks that structure. each song has four main sections-- Exposition (the Main Theme), Development (the music Goes Places), Recapitulation (or, y'know, Reprise), Coda (an ending that is completely different). every time. every fucking time. go forth and listen to the album, you will not be able to unhear it. you're welcome. and lyrically each paragraph is about a distinct subject. first paragraph is Introduction. second paragraph is introduction to the Daughter and the Wife. third paragraph is about the Affair. fourth paragraph is introduction to the Sons, and the Arrangement that led to them. fifth paragraph is Patriarch's general depression over the theme of bloodlines, including his rumination on what happened to the Sons' true father. sixth paragraph is Who Gets The House? seventh paragraph is What Do The Sons Get, and then the end, where the roomful of rich people stand, awkwardly, bitterly, as they realize the old man left them with nothing. that's the album, that's its structure. and that structure also reveals that the Patriarch isn't even the protagonist; the Daughter is the protagonist of the story. the Patriarch is more like the architect of a great maze.

you want my hot take, my controversial opinion? I think "A Story Never Told" is the worst song on the album. I think the plot twist, the punchline, is the best part, which does give the song a reason to exist, but the actual song they went with is really fucking boring. but I also think Opeth got away with it, they picked the right kind of "worst song" and placed it in the best place for it. because the seven paragraphs are the main text! if I want to, I can just keep listening to the seven paragraphs over and over again! they are a complete and cohesive piece, and "A Story Never Told" does not add anything to them (except the plot twist, but, I know that plot twist now, I can easily just.. bring it with me into the paragraphs). and "A Story Never Told" does something else really interesting. it makes me want to relisten to the album. I think, if Opeth had ended this grand album with some grand finale, some climactic reprisal of previous themes, some crazy nuts instrumental, something more in keeping with the proggasm style of the seven paragraphs, I'd love it from a composer's angle, but as a listener I would feel... full. satisfied, stuffed. fatigued. I'd leave the album for the day. but instead they treated this album like fucking gourmet chefs. they built those paragraphs with remarkable restraint, packing immense emotion under fast manic switch-ups, never actually giving us a moment to settle and feel, and ended us with a completely musically unrelated fucking lullaby. the album makes me feel restless, I want to stop listening to "A Story Never Told" and go right to the start of the album all over again!! I want more of that proggy shit!!! it's delicious, it's addictive! it's really fucking well done!! they leave me wanting more!!

and that already summarizes how I feel about the album. I don't expect Opeth to make many more albums like it, I wouldn't be surprised if they never made another one of these, but I am so fucking happy they made this one. this is a big chocolate cake. this is exactly my kind of album. this makes me feel nostalgic, this is the kind of album I found the most meaning in as a young teenager. Thick as a Brick, Colors (or more like Coma Ecliptic or Automata, honestly), Tales from Topographic Oceans (well... Topographic Oceans uses the language of Yes's brand of experimentation, which is.. really fucking slow for my tastes)... okay honestly there simply weren't that many albums like this. sometimes a prog song would hit this level of density, I think Genesis's "The Battle of Epping Forest" was the first one I heard that did it, and I'd always long for something that just gave me a good hour of that. that is literally why Between the Buried and Me became my favorite band for so long. oh, Mars Volta, Frances the Mute, that's also relevant here, Frances the Mute does hit this sweet spot for me! but here, Opeth have managed to give me exactly what I want. they gave me my fucking album. this is my S-tier. this is an album I can just jump into at any point, in any mood, and I'll have a good time.

(it also has House of Leaves vibes for me in places, mainly in terms of format. it's centered around a text, after all, a text about a family! with hidden secrets that threaten to break the stability of the family. and it has a distinct "appendix" text in "A Story Never Told." (this album feels like a novel to me. a modern artsy novel. (goddammit Mikael Akerfeldt made a masterpiece. goddammit he kinda has only ever made masterpieces??? but goddammit he made a masterpiece for me!!! I didn't have to come around on this one, this one came around to me!)

so.

so for now, that's looking like where my tier list will stay. and that's my thoughts on The Last Will And Testament. I mean maybe I can come up with more. I'd be happy to dig into a more specific breakdown of the structure of the seven paragraphs, point out my favorite moments, but also like, with an album like this, even the low points will become my favorite moments in different contexts. it's so dense! it makes me so fucking happy!

[thesovereignsring-if]

I imagine this would probably be hell to code so the answer is probably no, but could the MC pretend to support one person and then sabotage them?

I just thought it would be really cool if our brothers underestimated us and felt betrayed if we supported Eirik only to have MC backstab him and be like "What did you expect? I'm the Empresses child."

All these asks kinda fall into the same category, so i'm gonna answer them together. It's harder to answer these ones because they're so damn spoilery, but i'm gonna try my best.

Your decision of who to support/ascend is easily the most important decision in the game so it is reserved to the final act of the game. That is where the most divergence happens, but it shouldn't be too drastic (look i'm not crazy, though I might some of that save that for the official paid release of the game). By then, you'll be able to make the informed decision on the Empire you wish to see and the Final Act/Epilogue will adapt to fit that. But no matter what choice you pick, you're gonna piss someone off. And people will retaliate :D

Your family and the RO(s) will always care for you and there is nothing wrong with being ambitious, but certain characters have their own agenda/morals/ambitions and they will prioritize before their relationship with you. The stakes are so much higher and they cannot fail this opportunity. Or they have their limits on how far they're willing to compromise their morals.

That being said, people are going to use you, even your lover, your brothers and maybe even those six feet deep in a grave. :) To some you're the key to salvations while to others you'll be the obstacle in the way. It's gonna suck, but people are gonna get hurt. And you might not have the power to stop who will.

[recurring-polynya]

Writing/Art Update 12.5.2023

It took me all week, but I did, finally, finish Chapter 5.

I had two great wordcount weeks in a row. This was not a great wordcount week. I did spend a lot of time thinking about my fanfic, and plotting and outlining. These are not normally activities that I enjoy, but it honestly wasn't so bad. I decided that I didn't want to keep proceeding forward until I had decided how this thing is going to end. If you've ever read any of my writing advice posts, you'll know that I nearly always advise deciding how the fanfic will end before you start writing the fanfic. The only reason I didn't take my own advice is because I usually don't need to. While I am infamously bad at ending individual scenes and chapters, I nearly always know how a fanfic is going to end, and this time I just...didn't?

Anyway, I thought about it all week and thought up some scenes I would like to do and thought about the character arcs and motivations I wanted my three mains to go through in the second half of this fanfic, and I also thought about characters whom I felt had not gotten enough screentime. All of these things were easier than coming up with an ending, but I did eventually come up with an idea for my last few scenes, and I think it's good enough that the rest will fill itself in as I go. We are definitely shaping up to be 9 chapters and an epilogue, which means I am now slightly over halfway done? Yay? It still feels frustrating because the front half is pretty self-contained and I want to show it to people, but I cannot, it needs to wait but there's soooooo muuuuuuch left to goooooooo.

Anyway, let's focus on the positive! I added 2,939 (new) words to Chapter 5, bringing it up to 10,160, the longest chapter so far, but not egregiously so. I added one scene which is both unnecessary and dreadful. It ruins the pacing at the end of the chapter, it goofs up my alternating narrator structure, and it's just extremely weird. Also, if I cut it, the chapter length will better match the other ones. I wrote a note in my outline "this scene is bad and you should delete it." Will I? Readers, I likely will not. This is fanfic and when you write fanfic, you can just make people read unnecessary scenes about Renji and Iba's dirtbag friendship and they can't do anything about it because I do not receive any sort of compensation for this. I promise that if I come to my senses and actually ax, I will post it here. In other news, everyone who loved the Squad Six-gets-universal-healthcare scene from Hearts will be overjoyed to learn that this one features a bit in which Ukitake-and-Yumichika-discuss-the-Gotei-13-procurement-process. Once again, I do not get paid.

I also spent some time this week fixing up the portion of Chapter 6 that I had already written. Some of it needs to be fully reworked, but there was a significant chunk that could be pretty much pasted in with a little minor editing.

That brings the wordcount for this week to 17,423 for Part B, or 54,296 overall (+10,207 for the week). That is...that is starting to become a fanfic.

It's also December, and there's a lot of stuff going on, so I'm really trying to not be too ambitious in my goal-setting, but I'm hoping that maybe I'll be able to get through Chapter 7 by the end of the year.

I did a drawing tutorial this week. It was okay. I'm kinda 🫠about drawing lately, but sometimes I can only really concentrate on one thing at a time.

[soul-dwelling]

The one "positive" from MHA is... That it made me apreciate SE in comparison lol, hell even the mangas awful copout ending atleast was memorable in how bad, disgusting and rushed it was - in MHA it just feels like nothing, not even giving us those rushed redemptions - nah even that is too much for Hori, so lets just give the old "dead equals redemption" trope which is as lazy as it is cowardly - atleast Crona got the hope of getting bailed out of jail, and the society actually changed, even if unrealistically, with the witches truce - while in MHA the whole buildup of "maybe this society is bad, maybe heros shouldnt be worshiped, maybe civilians should not be infantalized and depowered and shouldnt just rely on fascists supercops when they literally have their own powers, maybe the villians should be integrated and understood...."- nah, they are all evil psychos, lets stigmatize mentall ilness as being violent...

It really was reduced to "one evil baby is at fault, so if we use our flashy moves and kill it, everything will go back to normal" - but no Hori then trys to have his cake and eat it too by trying to force the whole meta "actually live doesnt return to normal after a war!" - but it kinda does, besides the Endeavour misery porn which doesnt work after he got retconed to not be evil - because that is what happened and why it does feel weird when Natsou disowns him - because that would have worked with the og Endevour, showing that a redemption arc isn't enough and some scars will never heal and he has to accept it and repent for the rest of his life - but after it getting changed that Toya was unhinged from the start and Endy was just kinda bad at communicating...

Man I ranted a lot longer than I thought, apologys for that, MHA is just so bad that it happens

I debated whether to post this now or wait until Chapter 426 of My Hero Academia comes out on Sunday, given how many spoilers there are in my answer and in the question itself. 

But I would rather get the answer out now instead of letting it fester, especially as I’m guessing this will not be the last time I respond to this chapter, this extended epilogue to the manga, and how the beginning, middle, and end of My Hero Academia worked and didn’t work. 

So, screw it, here is my response, and I hope the spoiler tags are enough to prevent people from learning something they weren’t ready to read until Sunday.  

The ending, ongoing

A friend of mine had written something similar: it feels like My Hero Academia is ending with a whimper. 

The thing is, I have been struggling lately with whether I want something to be ambitious and fail at its own goals, or competent but cliche. 

You bring up how Soul Eater had a memorable ending even if it was, let’s be charitable, flawed. I’m not sure I agree, as Soul Eater’s ending was so bad that it’s hard for me to see MHA somehow having a worse ending. You’d need to resurrect Midnight just for a fanservice gag to get things as bad as Soul Eater’s ending. 

The comparison I’m grabbing is actually to Fire Force, as it does something similar to MHA: the final battle ends in glorious fashion, then the epilogue we’re dealing with is rushed, unsatisfying, contradicts earlier character beats, and re-stages the setting in a way that is bothersome (Fire Force is revealed to be the Soul Eater prequel no one was asking for; My Hero Academia should be showing life after near global destruction, or at least the destruction of most of Japan, and instead Cementoss is already rebuilding entire cities, so the stakes have evaporated--even if, I’ll admit, once you introduce a character who can do almost anything, that’d be pretty stupid to not have that character still out there single-handedly saving the entire world *cough cough* why is Yosano only with the Agency if she could be healing people of cancer throughout Japan in Bungo Stray Dogs *cough cough*). 

Ambitious or Competent? 

But to go back to what I said, that I struggle to decide whether I want a story that is ambitious or competent, it’s kind of how I feel comparing Chainsaw Man and Dandadan: I really cannot stand the storytelling direction of the former even as I have to admit it is more audacious and trying to say something really complicated even if I think it is failing at getting that message through to its audience, while the latter in terms of plot, character progression, paneling, character designs, humor, pathos, and dynamic artwork and action is all or mostly expertly crafted but not necessarily groundbreaking (minus the stunning artwork and two-page spreads). 

And even then, Dandadan doesn’t get it always correct, where a potentially thought-provoking detail is reduced to a cliche, and often an offensive one at that: the latest chapter as of writing, Chapter 158, takes a complicated idea about mourning the failure to live the dream of a childhood friend…and instead of using that to talk about hyper-sexualization within idol culture and maybe even the magical girl genre, it’s just a really bad joke of an underage girl forced against her will into a revealing outfit to put on a show she does not want to put on but is coerced into doing, and, oh, to keep the author’s exposure kink going, we got to make her a (forgive the insulting phrase) “mousy” girl with pigtails, glasses, and a more reserved personality so that the readers can also enjoy the author’s kink--gross, fuck this shit.  

So, do I want My Hero Academia to be competently done even if the ending is cliche, or do I want it to be ambitious even if it can’t quite reach those lofty goals and still ends up with a deflating ending or a confused final message it is trying to give to the audience? 

I’ve said before that Shoto Todoroki may work better as the protagonist of his own story. With that idea in mind, and based on your remarks, is it possible that Horikoshi had a very ambitious idea in mind--the tragedy that Endeavor and Dabi both got what they wanted, and the cost ended up making what they got a punishment rather than a victory--but that the kind of story Horikoshi is writing was not suitable for that tale? 

I really hate that argument I am proposing, because it makes it sound like the problems are the circumstances of genre (superheroes), demographics (shonen), and the publishing industry (weekly release schedule, etc) that hampered Horikoshi, when the more likely answer is either that Horikoshi just isn’t that good at writing that kind of a story, or that it was never that kind of story he was interested in, or that he succeeded in the story he wanted to tell and I just don’t like the execution or even the message itself. 

Too Many Characters?

A common complaint I read online is that My Hero Academia suffers because it has too many characters. I have never been convinced by that argument. 

MHA is like a good Pixar film: there is always some group of misfits in the background serving as comedic relief but who also have their own narrative path through the story, whether it is to give those misfits their own path for character progression or, as is more often the case, just a path to show what their characterization has been this whole time. 

Think of Gurgle in Finding Nemo when one of his last scenes in the movie is yelling at the Aqua Scum: that’s not showing his character progression, that’s clarifying what his characterization has been this entire time--he is indeed concerned about cleanliness, but even when the Aqua Scum gives him what he has always wanted, that being an absolutely clean tank, he is not overjoyed but horrified because it ruins his buddies’ plans to save Nemo. Gurgle’s characterization was never cleanliness above everything else; his characterization was he wants cleanliness _and_ to keep protecting his friends. That moment is more ironic than anything, as well as the start of his plot, that being, how is he going to save Nemo and fight against the very thing he has always wanted…only that plot never actually starts or reaches a conclusion because the title of the movie if Finding Nemo and other characters such as Gill are the actual protagonists or at least supporting characters that instigate the plot and progress along the way. 

That is my long rant about why I don’t really care that Sero and others have limited character moments in this final arc, and why I think it’s silly to say that there are too many characters for Horikoshi to satisfy for all of them. 

That being said, that doesn’t mean I don’t think he dropped the ball--because I think he did when it comes to the Todoroki family drama. 

Natsu as Audience Surrogate

As I said before, I am struggling to separate my thoughts from just whatever was the last thing I read online. But I can’t ignore what I think people in the Reddit thread got correct, that the final arc centers on Endeavor when the audience also wants the ending to center on Dabi, Shoto, and the rest of their family. It should have been enough to gesture at just enough of Natsu’s education, career, and dating life to give a sense of full characterization--and instead he ends the story still striking me as an accumulation of grievances against Endeavor, and it rings hollow rather than making Natsu our audience surrogate, someone we identify with and agree with and hence can characterize ourselves. 

I don’t know--would it have been better to lend less background information to Natsu to make him a better audience avatar? Should he be like a Fire Emblem protagonist or the OC you create in Sonic Forces, just bland enough that you can place yourself in their shoes? I don’t think that’d work either; it’d just make Natsu into a dull protagonist like someone out of a crappy isekai. But at least I’m trying to figure out what went wrong and how to improve on what is already in the story without re-plotting and completely contradicting the messages Horikoshi is trying to deliver. 

Move Up Dabi’s Confrontation with His Siblings

As I have also said, maybe I would have enjoyed parts of this final arc if they were not forced into the end of the story, which would mean moving them up to earlier in the story. This again is based on something elliotthezubat and I have been plotting as ideas about how My Hero Academia could have gone, but one idea I had discussed was having Dabi confronting Natsu and Fuyumi earlier and on their own. Between when Dabi puts out the video and when the final war starts, why not have a scene of Dabi sneaking up on Natsu and Fuyumi to confront them? 

I know that does not sound realistic, or even believable--I’ll address why that can still work, however, in a moment. 

And it disrupts the intended forcefulness of forcing all of the confrontation into one moment of the family trying to freeze Dabi together. But that is my point, forcing all of it at once undermines a lot of the more nuanced details you can pull from the complexities of the sibling relationship. It also would actually let Natsu and Fuyumi say something more meaningful than just repeating what Endeavor and Rei were already yelling at Dabi when trying to kill or freeze him, and it would address what is a repeated complaint in the Reddit thread, that Natsu and Fuyumi say next to nothing to Dabi when they actually face him at the hospital. 

As for why this would still work even if it doesn’t seem initially to be that realistic or believable: we already saw Dabi sneaking around to find Toga to deliver Twice’s blood. It is in keeping with his methods and skills that of course he could find some way to get to Natsu and Fuyumi when they are alone. “But aren’t they at the UA fortress?” Then write a way for them to not yet have arrived there; it can’t be any dumber than how they all happened to show up right where Dabi and Endeavor are fighting in the climax. 

Make This an Actual War Arc

Having Dabi track and confront Natsu and Fuyumi earlier has the added benefit of making your war arc into an actual war arc. I have complained repeatedly online that the wars in My Hero Academia don’t feel like wars, they feel like one big battle that constitutes the entirety of the so-called war. Wars consist of numerous battles, not just one big battle--and I don’t think MHA did a good job making this all feel like a series of battles leading to anything. It got better when it was Izuku and the Pros finding AFO’s base only to get the video message--that kind of covert work shows greater dimensions of a war beyond just fistfights and explosions. 

And that’s why Dabi on his own looking for Natsu and Fuyumi would suit this war arc: it’s a quieter moment of surveillance and covert work, not a major battle. 

One thing I never appreciated enough in the Season 1 finale of Justice League was how the World War II scenes are broken up into the various dimensions of war: Green Lantern on the ground with the infantry, Supes and Hawkgirl in aerial combat, but also J’onn and Wonder Woman on their own covert spy missions. 

MHA didn’t have enough of the covert spy stuff during the war arc, I anticipate because Horikoshi covered a lot of that before the war kicked off with Hawks infiltrating the PLF. But to not persist with that tone and style of warfare is a missed opportunity and hurts the pace and intensity of the war: we need those quieter moments that a spy story can provide against all the explosions and physical battles.

And it is a good spot where to stage Dabi, Natsu, and Fuyumi airing their grievances now so that we get where they come from in the final confrontations, rather than forcing all of it with limited page space, time, and dialogue to get at how the relationships between them have changed since Toya “died” and since Dabi’s video. 

Does Anything in Society Change?

I’m going to quote part of the initial question: 

“not even giving us those rushed redemptions - nah even that is too much for Hori, so lets just give the old ‘dead equals redemption’ trope which is as lazy as it is cowardly - atleast Crona got the hope of getting bailed out of jail, and the society actually changed, even if unrealistically, with the witches truce - while in MHA the whole buildup of ‘maybe this society is bad, maybe heros shouldnt be worshiped, maybe civilians should not be infantalized and depowered and shouldnt just rely on fascists supercops when they literally have their own powers, maybe the villians should be integrated and understood....’- nah, they are all evil psychos, lets stigmatize mentall ilness as being violent…”

There is a lot here, so forgive me if I go out of order. 

I think the story lost me about any chance of a changed world when it had, to repeat myself, Cementoss already rebuilding entire towns that quickly. As I said, of course that would happen--Cementoss has that power, he is a good person, it would not be pragmatic to do anything else, use every tool you have. But visually and thematically, it says, “Don’t worry about your emotional attachment to your original home and possessions--things are reset back to normal!” 

Add to it that the Cementoss moment is on the same page as a useless cameo by Koichi from My Hero Academia: Vigilantes, and I was sour. How do you stage the arrival of a popular enough spinoff character to just have him looking around at everything? You could have just as easily had him as a background gag, where he’s still having the same problems as before, to indicate he really hasn’t progress as a character (because, sorry fans, Koichi never progresses in Vigilantes, that is why the ending to that series is miserable to sit through). 

I think I understand your point about “death equal redemption,” as regards maybe Toga, if she is confirmed dead, and Dabi, whenever he finally dies having now given an unearned, barely registering apology to Shoto, as well as Endeavor’s attempted death to stop Dabi that has effectively killed his Pro Hero work and, in a rather disablist fashion, implies that with his injuries he may as well be dead--which is fucked up and offensive, but that could be my misreading, not Horikoshi’s intention or even execution. 

I do think that is similar enough to Crona’s willed exile to stop Asura, but I agree, there is the intention by the end of Chapter 113 that Maka will get Crona back--it’s just a matter of how much time and whether Ohkubo will ever wrap up that story (and wrap it up in a way that satisfies enough readers and not piss away continuity, canon, and the lasting message or theme of Soul Eater as a whole). 

I don’t know what to make of Horikoshi’s attempts to speak to the problems with Pro Heroes within his fictional setting and as suitable for real-world application to talk about policing and other power structures--because Horikoshi was never consistent. Maybe this would work better if My Hero Academia was split into different series. I hate to suggest the MCU model, as we have seen how that has hurt enough other stories, MHA being one of them. But what if each competing, potentially contradicting message was in its own story, even as they share the same setting? You can have your story about how being a hero, lowercase “h,” rather than a Pro Hero means that you are holding onto the ideals, and how you wrestle with your own failures to hold onto those ideals and need to be more pragmatic or else you burn out your body: that is the point of Izuku’s journey in MHA. Then you can have a spinoff about the dangers of such power structures as like a form of policing and how such structures do violence not only to society and the people injured by police but also to the police themselves: that is Endeavor’s story, and it’d be a hell of a lot better as its own manga so that the full tragedy of what happens to him is not getting in the way of whatever hopeful message Izuku’s story is offering. 

Furthermore, for all the praise Endeavor is getting right now, the guy was a bad Pro Hero. In Vigilantes he sends his flames out at random and burns to death a bystander [who turned out to be a villain anyway with a regenerative ability, so no lasting harm done]. During the Sports Festival he was a braggart about his son and burning bridges with All Might instead of focusing on collaborative efforts--something that then harms the mission to save Bakugo. His fixation on handling missions faster than his sidekicks fails to train them as effectively as he could, and it risks exhausting his body and attention, something that already happened against the Nomu, which he is still recovering from, and will persist when trying to save Natsu from Ending and stopping AFO. All of that works in terms of characterization, just not when the readers keep insisting he is a great Pro Hero and a great hero when the story is actively showing you he is not, and even Horikoshi is hammering this point when the only reason Endeavor got to be Number 1 is because All Might retired: Endeavor was a good enough Pro Hero, but he wasn’t a good Pro Hero or even a good hhero, if that makes sense. 

You point out how the story seemed like it would go in the direction of presenting a message that heroes should not be worshipped. I have to agree that this detail falls apart within the story, as Izuku still, correctly or not, gets praise for what he accomplishes: the hero worship has not ended. But I do think the story can still stick this landing if we see Izuku does serve as inspiration that people take on agency themselves to help others rather than waiting for someone else to handle it. 

You point out how the Pro Heroes are presented as akin to “fascists” and “supercops.” I think Horikoshi even backpedals on this point, getting close to the idea but refusing to commit to it. Endeavor is already one example I gave above. We can also take examples of Mount Lady and other seemingly selfish Pro Heroes--who are later shown to have actually decent reasons for their actions, understandable ones, defensible ones, or just pragmatic ones that are more so indictments against the system rather than only the individuals within it. 

Why is Mount Lady a glory hound? Her Pro Hero work does enough collateral damage that she has to offset that bad impression by making a good impression on people, which means she also has to do even more Pro Hero work to pay for the damage she causes and to get better insurance coverage as she keeps losing providers because of the damage she is doing, putting her into a viscous cycle of having to get more fame to pay for damage she causes but which itself causes more damage that she then has to get more fame to pay for and on an on: she is a victim of her own success because the system does not make best use of her abilities. Granted, maybe she should have stayed in her rural hometown where she couldn’t cause as much damage--but that’s also a waste of the talents she can offer across Japan, as she can get around faster by her size and is useful when dealing with rescues from tall urban buildings. And granted, a lot of what I said is based on gag comics and encyclopedic information that should have been in the text itself, otherwise Mount Lady’s progression comes across as lazy: she goes from showboat to serious fighter in Kamino to giving useful advice to the students without a hint of self-absorption. 

Society’s Fault or AFO’s?

I question how much of my problems with MHA are because I am asking the story to hit me over the head with its message and that I’m not practicing enough close reading skills to get the nuanced message it is offering, and how much of the problem is because Horikoshi is bad at this. AFO being responsible for so much misery should be fine because it does not detract from the responsibility Nana, her son, All Might, Gran Torino, bystanders, Endeavor, and others had for how Shigaraki was abandoned, Toga was suppressed, Spinner was ostracized, and Toya “died.” The problem is also that it is too coincidental even for a supposed galaxy brain-tier villain like AFO to account for all possibilities, at least with Shigaraki. Add to it how offputting it was for the story to need narration to literally spell out that AFO was always this bad since birth--no, that is not how babies work, they are not born bad, why is it now that the story is hitting me over the head with a message and one that is not believable? It’s not as if this could not work: show that Yoichi and AFO were taken in a few times since they were babies, hence each time was a chance for AFO to grow up and learn to work with others--and instead AFO got possessive and killed them all except Yoichi. Yes, that is still offputting that a child would be that lethal, but it also shows that he has been given chances over and over again--he was not born evil, he just refused to learn to live with others and that allowed him to be evil. 

Endeavor and Wrapping Up 

And I still didn’t tackle how the manga seems to retcon some details. As you point out, the conflict now comes across more as Endeavor being bad at communicating to Toya. And while the manga makes it clear that Endeavor’s bad communication with Toya doesn’t ameliorate the facts that he was practically buying Rei from her parents, hit her, hit Shoto, indirectly led to Rei scarring Rei, and indirectly led to Dabi leaving burns and scars on his mother and siblings, it is difficult to read this less as a complication for the character so that we see his tragedy and more as a late attempt to make him more endearing and sympathetic rather than maintaining his guilt. It’s as bad as the late revelation that all of this is inspired by Endeavor’s dad dying trying to save a child--something that should be poetic or thematically appropriate, that Endeavor’s dad died trying to do something he thought would help but only ended with both parties dead and a child without a parent, and Endeavor’s work to be a better hero did little initially to help society to prevent another father from dying and only stopped AFO after numerous failings ruined the lives of his wife and children--and even that victory fell apart because Endeavor didn’t stop AFO or even Dabi, it was Bakugo killing a child, then Izuku screwing up and letting AFO back, and the family having to contain Dabi. It’s a muddled mess where I don’t know what the point to any of this was except, “Endeavor must suffer,” and instead of that being cathartic or a lesson, it’s just a confusing mess. 

I’ll wrap up there for now. 

There’s more I want to say about Endeavor, but I think I touched upon the basics of how I would have responded to your point: Endeavor’s tale should be a tragedy, but that message is in conflict with the message we get from the stories of Izuku and everyone else, so, if Horikoshi wanted to get that message across, it would have been better as its own series running parallel to the initial My Hero Academia manga. But that was not going to happen without Horikoshi taking a slower pace or sharing art and writing with someone else. I mean, it sort of worked for some of Bungo Stray Dogs to farm out some of its art to other illustrators…