#and this is the right story to end on
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It is with very mixed emotions that I present to you
Grave
The final story in the Matthew the Emotional Support Raven series.
Matthew visits his own grave and finds himself in need of some emotional support.
Thanks to @quillsorceress for giving this a read and @aquilathefighter and @kulapti for being my go-to bird experts and answering a totally necessary and vital question about raven anatomy.
Inspiration from this picture. If you follow me you've seen a bunch of @raven-photos 's raven photos under my corvid posting tag, but you should follow them too because they post tons of lovely stuff.
You can read the whole story below the cut or over on AO3. The AO3 version includes a mushy authors note about this being the end of the series, which I won't duplicate here, but I may put some additional thoughts in a reblog later.
~~~
Matthew felt the air pressure in the cemetery change. He hung his head with a sigh.
“Did you need something, Boss?”
“I need only to know that my Raven is well,” Lord Morpheus said from behind him.
“Yeah, you know me,” Matthew said. “Ball of corvid sunshine.”
“Matthew.”
“I haven’t even been gone that long,” Matthew groused.
No response to that. Matthew sighed again and looked around at the gray headstones and dewy grass, sparkling in the morning light.
“How did you find me? You’re not in my head.” He thought for a moment. “Lucienne ratted me out, didn’t she?”
“Lucienne informed me that you had asked for your book. She was concerned for your mental state.”
Matthew huffed. “Do dreams have ‘mental states’?”
“Yes,” Lord Morpheus said simply.
Matthew hung his head again and took a deep breath, then reflected that he wasn’t alive and probably didn’t need to breathe. Which was what had brought him to this cemetery in the first place. He gestured to the headstone in front of him with his wing. “Well, there it is. In all its glory. My grave.”
There was, in fact, no glory. It was a completely unremarkable gray headstone with a curved top. His name and the dates of his birth and death were carved on it, nothing else.
“Why have you come here, Matthew?” Lord Morpheus asked quietly.
“You don’t know? You can’t just read my mind?”
“Not while we are in the Waking.”
“Inconvenient,” Matthew muttered. He ground his beak. Matthew knew that none of this was the boss’s fault. He had made perfectly clear when Matthew first met him that he hadn’t been the one to turn Matthew into a Raven. Matthew shook his head. “I died a year ago.” He turned to face Lord Morpheus. The boss was standing ramrod straight, hands shoved into the pockets of a black pea coat.
“This is not the anniversary of your death, Matthew.”
Matthew flapped his wings. “I know that. I just… started thinking about it. And then I realized that for all the times I’ve come to the Waking, I never saw what my grave looked like.”
“Now you see it.”
“Yeah, and I’m dead in there!” He turned to stare at the ground in front of the headstone. “Like my body - my body that I had my whole life - is just down there. Dead and rotting.” He shivered. “It’s not like I ever took particularly good care of it, but it’s still weird! And that’s before you even get to the fact that I’m a fucking bird.”
“I thought you enjoyed being a Raven.”
“I do!” Matthew said quickly. “This isn’t about that. It’s just… look, one minute I’m an alive human and the next minute I’m a fucking bird and Lucienne is telling me to go follow you and then I’m trying to get you to not throw me out on my ear and then we’re dealing with Constantine and then we’re going to Hell and then you’re fighting the asshole who had your ruby and then I’m spying on Rose and then I’m running errands and delivering messages and meeting all sorts of weird people and- and beings and then…” Matthew breathed out in a rush. “I don’t know. I guess I never really stopped to think about the fact that I’m dead. Like really properly dead. With my body rotting in the ground.”
“Do you feel ‘really properly dead’?”
“No! I don’t feel properly anything! That’s the problem!”
Lord Morpheus kind of folded himself up so that he was sitting cross-legged on the ground, facing Matthew. “You were not expecting to die? When you were human.”
Matthew closed his eyes and shook his head. “I wasn’t that old. And I didn’t exactly have the greatest lifestyle… certainly not what would be considered ‘clean living’ by any stretch. I guess that’s why I had a heart attack… but no. I wasn’t sick or anything. I wasn’t expecting to die.”
Lord Morpheus nodded solemnly. “Most of my past Ravens had been ill or injured or old when they died. Their deaths were much less surprising than yours. And they joined me during… much less chaotic times, when I… shaped the process of them becoming dreams myself.”
Matthew snorted. “Yeah, I know. I’m the unwanted Raven. You don’t have to remind me.”
“You mistake me, Matthew.” Lord Morpheus frowned. “Deliberately, I think.”
“No, I just… you know what I mean.” Matthew looked away from him.
“As I stated,” Lord Morpheus said a bit huffily, “in the Waking I cannot see your thoughts.” They were both quiet for a moment before Lord Morpheus continued. “My intent in bringing up other Ravens was to comfort you with the notion that the… discomfort you are experiencing is understandable, since your transformation to Raven occurred under less than ideal circumstances.”
Matthew tipped his head to the side, looking up at him. “How did I become a Raven if you didn’t make me one?”
A tiny smile on Lord Morpheus’s lips. “Another indication of the frenetic pace of your first year is that we have never talked of this.” He shifted into what Matthew considered to be his ‘storyteller voice’. It was a little deeper, more hypnotic. “I confess that I do not know for sure, though I have my suspicions.”
Matthew would have liked to stay silent but felt an inexorable pressure to ask, “What suspicions?” Must have been the force of the narrative or something.
He was rewarded with another tiny smile.
“It is my suspicion that my sister, Death, selected you… for me.”
Matthew would have frowned if he had lips. “How were your other Ravens selected?”
“The souls of those who die in their sleep linger in the Dreaming until my sister collects them and passes them to whatever afterlife awaits them. When the time comes for me to select a new Raven, I select a soul that… feels right, and begin the transformation process.”
“What if the person doesn’t want to be a Raven?”
It was Lord Morpheus’s turn to frown. “Do you not wish to be a Raven, Matthew?”
Matthew clicked his tongue. “Now who’s mistaking who?”
Lord Morpheus inclined his head. “If the person does not wish to be a Raven, then it will not last. They will move on to whatever is next for them and I will select a new Raven.”
Matthew considered that, but quickly decided that he didn’t want to think too much about whatever was next. “So Death picked me.”
“Yes, I believe so. It is possible that once I had returned to the Dreaming it… automatically selected a random soul and performed the process without my guidance…”
Matthew knew there was more to that sentence. “But?”
Lord Morpheus looked at the headstone. “But. You are too well-chosen to have been a chance selection… and.”
“And?”
“Even if the pain of Jessamy’s murder had not convinced me that I did not want another Raven, I think it unlikely that I would have chosen you.”
Matthew glared at him. “I know that the next thing out of your mouth is going to make that a less shitty thing to hear.”
Lord Morpheus rolled his eyes. “You are well aware how this story ends, Matthew. I would not have chosen you but sometimes my sister knows me better than I know myself. She collected you when I was preoccupied with the Hecate and saw what I would not have seen: that you… were exactly who I needed as my Raven. And then I suspect that she gave the Dreaming a very strong suggestion to perform your transformation.”
Matthew had Death to thank for his current gig. Just add that to the pile of things he didn’t know how to feel about. But. There was the rest of what the boss had said.
Matthew dragged a talon through the grass. “So… you don’t wish you had a different Raven? Someone… I dunno. Dignified or clever or something.”
Lord Morpheus drew himself up and his eyes blackened from their normal Waking world blue to the night sky. “I am Dream of the Endless. I am older than this universe. I suspect I possess enough dignity for us both.”
Matthew was not entirely sure that age and dignity were that closely related but kept quiet as Lord Morpheus continued.
“As far as cleverness… you are perhaps not familiar with great works of poetry or philosophy, but I have never had a Raven who was more skilled at putting others at their ease, or soothing wounded feelings. Anything you lack in courtly manners is more than made up for in kindness and sincerity.” Lord Morpheus sighed and shook his head. “I would not have chosen you, Matthew, but I would have been a fool. You are exactly who I need as my Raven, especially after my imprisonment. My sister saw that, and I am immensely grateful to her.” He held out his hand. Matthew stepped on and was brought into his embrace. “I am sorry that your death was unexpected and jarring for you, Matthew. And I am sorry that the beginning of your tenure as my Raven has been so chaotic. But I cannot bring myself to be sorry that you died when you did, because that timing brought you to me.”
“Oh, Boss,” Matthew sighed.
“So yes, your human body is moldering in that grave. And yes, you are a ‘fucking bird’. But I very much hope that you will remain a ‘fucking bird’ for a very long time to come.”
Ravens, Matthew learned, were not capable of crying. He pressed his head against Lord Morpheus’s chest as Lord Morpheus began stroking his feathers. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
#We all understand that Dream is vastly overestimating his dignity right?#I have so many feelings about ending this series y'all#but it's time#and this is the right story to end on#I really really hope you like it#matthew the emotional support raven#the sandman#the sandman netflix#matthew the raven#dream of the endless#mirokai writes#miro does sandman
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Love Undying
#my art#my oc#dragon age#dragon age the veilguard#emmrich volkarin#tea aldwir#emmrich x rook#honestly yall veilguard is the most wholesome part of their story#I head canon Emmrich gets obsessed w the thought of tea dying earlier than him because she’s a warden#he goes downhill trying to figure out how to cure the blight and she gets more taken by her calling#I do think he eventually figures it out though!#the man helped make a knife comparable to solas’s#so methinks he could absolutely put his mind to modifying if not curing the blight#and eventually I think his obsession with mortality does end up in him figuring out demi lichdom#which probably causes problems with the other mourn watchers and lich lords that he and rook have to face together#with their baby! because tea gets pregnant right after veilguard hehehehe
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The manga industry, especially JUMP, needs to hurry up and do away with weekly scheduling for mangaka. There needs to better regulations put into place for their health and safety because this is pitiful. Two weeks - monthly updates should’ve already been the standard for the manga industry at this point. These money grabbers will only continue to put the lives of these artists at stake for the sake of capitalism unless some serious changes are implemented.
#it’s just???#at the end of the day all these people want to do is draw and write their stories and share them with the world#why is death from stress the end game for so many of them#this should not be part of the package when finally deciding that this is what you want to do with your life#rambling#I still never got over miura’s passing man#and Togashi is still here but he’s been suffering from the consequences of overwork#it’s just… all so bleak#fans just need to learn to be patient if these changes are ever made and to be respectful#your fav series is not gonna die just because you can’t get it right now#I’m glad that gege does this now like he takes a break every 2-3 chapters and that’s good#this should be normalized
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take responsibility.
#i am always thinking abt anya and how she is simultaneously central to the story and kept out of focus by jimmy's pov#eventually culminating in this scene where everything is about her and yet she herself does not -- cannot -- appear#the way the scene immediately ends with polle's question there -- the revelation that jimmy won't accept.#he is confronted with the truth and turns right back to the story he wants to tell himself where he's the hero#mouthwashing#jimmy mouthwashing#anya mouthwashing#curly mouthwashing#swansea mouthwashing#daisuke mouthwashing#my art#uh. feel like this probably could use some content warnings (besides you know. the game itself being its own warning) but idk what#so. ask to tag i guess
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tsum events really are just the best, huh
#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#tsumsted wonderland#to be fair this is from mal's card story so it's more...event-adjacent#i-it still counts right#poor malleus tsum is having such a time#first it blows up the kitchen and then it almost gets spin-cycle'd to tsum-death#the poor little guy just wanted to help with the party! it was trying its BEST 😭#and instead it accidentally recreated every other tuesday from my college days#i am so genuinely delighted to read two entire chapters of malleus bragging about knowing how to use household appliances#(he knows what he's doing! he READ the MANUAL)#(you know that manual has copious notes covering the margins in perfect copperplate)#and the callback to his dorm ssr story. perfect.#we all knew this was going to end in malleus punching a washing machine into smithereens#i'm disappointed that the next part is probably just going to be a fun party or whatever#and not malleus showing off how close he is to finally mastering the toaster#twst please where is my spinoff game where we have to help a dragon fae prince learn how to do household tasks#i have an indescribable need to see malleus attempt to use a vacuum#he is very enthusiastic and also very stupid and we love him for it
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i love you royal trio (minus akechi)
#i was listening to the world we knew by frank sinatra while drawing this to inflict maximum emotional damage 😔#royal actually shot me fifty times in the chest and slaughtered my entire family#i’m actually inconsolable over the ending what the fuck do you mean akechi chooses to die of his own volition rather than be manipulated#god it’s just. his character actually makes me violent and insane. they’re going to drag me kicking and screaming to the psych ward#he never had an ounce of control over his life. not even once. he was CONSTANTLY being yanked around like a marionette#until he was disposed of as another pawn in shido’s plan#and then out of some cruel irony he was resurrected even though he did not want to be alive#for once in death he would have found peace—only for that to be taken from him too.#and bc he thinks he’s worthless and his life is so easily gambled away he doesn’t view it as a major dealbreaker when maruki brings it up#“do you really think something as trivial as my life should stand in the way of your decision?” yes you fucking asshole#what do you mean he’s literally fated to die in every timeline? definition of doomed by the narrative#there’s not a single version of his story that doesn’t end with him being slaughtered#GODDDDD he makes me violently ill i hate goro akechi so much he’s so fucking selfish HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT THIS DEAL IS TEARING ME APART#i was so tempted to get the bad ending just so that he was alive ☹️#he looked so happy. he was surrounded by people who loved and treasured him.no shido. control over his life. the ability to choose his futu#TEARS IN MY EYES MARUKI WAS THE ONLY VILLAIN WHO WAS LOWKEY MAKING SENSE 😭😭😭😭😭#my toxic trait is that i think maruki was right all along 😔#ALSO SUMIRE AAUUGGHHHH 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#the survivors guilt literally eating her alive until the point where she gaslighted herself into thinking she was her sister. insane.#royal was so good bro i’m so glad i endured 200 hours of hell just to play it#terrible terrible ending with everyone going their separate ways and ren ending up in juvie for months#akechi actually being dead in the good ending is so fucked up 😭😭 i thought there was some way maruki could bring him back regardless#not ren hallucinating him in the last cutscene too 😭😭😭😭 “i still see your shadows in my room” ahh ending#persona 5 royal#persona 5#ren amamiya#akira kurusu#sumire yoshizawa#goro akechi#lotus draws
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None of our hands are clean
[First] Prev <–-> Next
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#jin guangshan#mianmian#The secret meaning behind one of the jin members scuttling off is:#I couldn't make three people work out in the remaining panels and per my rule of '3 attempts and take a different approach' he had to go.#Sometimes there are meaningful reasons why something happens in the background. And sometimes it is like this.#Let's just say he saw what was about to happen and got out of there before mianmian started throwing hands.#Okay no more delay. The sheer boldness to call WWX a killer in a room full of people who wear their war body count as a badge...#It's about hypocrisy yes - but it is also about how the narrative shifts on the same action depending on the frame.#Because at the end of the day...the blood on our hands is still blood on our hands.#Both the deaths on the battlefield and the deaths of the Jin's abusing the Wen remnants are still deaths caused by another.#They are also deaths that - depending who holds the frame - are noble acts to protect others.#But it isn't supposed to be about who was right and who was wrong.#It is about the need to be seen as the victim to avoid culpability.#Because if you aren't responsible you don't have to be held accountable. You don't have to grow or change.#If someone takes all the blame then there is no need to reflect on your own faults.#We have to protect our fragile ego from the mirror lest it shatter and we have to remake it anew.#Horrifically enough...even if WWX spared the Jin guards or even never ran into Wen Qing#He wouldn't have been able to escape being the scapegoat. He downfall was set into motion a long time ago.#My goodness...What a deliciously tragic story Wei Wuxian's first life was.
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"Now, the vow will be honoured, and my Lord brother's soul will return."
Radahn stans keep winning, but I personally am in Miyazaki's walls rn
#my art#shadow of the erdtree spoilers#sote spoilers#shadow of the erdtree#elden ring#godwyn prince of death#godwyn the golden#miquella the kind#miquella the unalloyed#promised consort radahn#fromsoft#i do not think critiques of radahn are as shallow as “pay $40 to fight a boss we already fought”#the dlc is good right up until the final boss#most of the new bosses are good#i loved midra and metyr and messmer and the dancing lion#radahn as consort just comes completely out of left field and just seems like a huge disconnect between the dlc and base game#radahn's story was done with the festival#and it's a good end! i like the festival and the base game radhan fight#but here he shows up again out of nowhere when godwyn is the obvious choice and a godwyn boss fight would be new and interesting#you can even still have your villain miquella story#puppeting his brother's living-but-soulless corpse unable to accept#that just because godwyn is breathing and follows his command like a deprecated computer program#even godhood can't bring his brother's soul back#his body must be slain and he must die a true death#we could have at least gotten a line of dialogue from radahn but nope#ok rant over#this pic is sloppy but idc#no cleanup we die like men#yes i know miquella's model technically has only three arms but i gave him four bc three looks silly
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doctor who really put millie gibson in tortoise shell glasses and then told us this 19 year old is now 40
#doctor who#ruby sunday#dw spoilers#73 yards#millie gibson#very cool episode i really wanted to see one where ruby had to navigate a story without the doctor#very confused by the ending but i think that's just a universal mood right now
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My metaphor doodles that I should post here too
#metaphor refantazio#ugh I don't feel like tagging all the characters right now#fanart#my art#I had a lot of fun playing (I'm almost finished with the game but now I'm scared of ending it haha)#love all the characters and story and everything wow this game is is peak
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home before dark (part four)
pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader
rating mature 18+
summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.
content warnings stalker ex, violence, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent
» masterlist
· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·
Rafe is being selfish again. When he offered to sleep in your room, it was so you’d feel safe. But that wasn’t entirely why he did it.
He’d be a liar if he said it wasn’t for him, too. Something about being around you gives him a sense of quiet when he’s so used to noise.
It’s disorienting feeling a pull to someone he used to avoid, but life stopped making sense to him a long time ago, so why try to find the logic?
Rafe collects the blanket and pillow from the guest bed he slept on last night, figuring he’ll just sleep on your floor.
The way he touched you earlier tonight is playing like a song in his head. When did he get so soft? He’s hardly ever sober for this long. It must be messing with him. It was just a kiss on your cheek, but his heart pounds when he thinks about it.
Then you noticed his gun and looked at him with such disgust that he knows you’d be horrified to learn what his mind sounds like these days. To learn how much anger he has burning through his veins. You’d run in the opposite direction.
You told him you’ve never said anything bad about him. He’d like to keep it that way. So he’ll take all this fake stuff and enjoy it from a distance, far enough removed from you to avoid taking any risks.
You’ve been tucked into bed for a few minutes when Rafe comes through your open door, darkness filling every corner of the room.
After you accepted his offer downstairs, you parted tensely, as if either of you had said one wrong word, the agreement to sleep in your room together would lose all legitimacy.
Rafe’s tall figure quietly makes a bed on the floor a few feet away. He lets out a low grunt when he lies down, turned away from you.
You stare at his back, thinking about how he said whatever you did wrong wasn’t on purpose. You should probably let it go. He’ll never talk about it. But the curiosity is relentless.
After a few minutes of watching Rafe turn from his back to his side over and over, you break the silence.
“Is your brain doing it again?” you ask. Your voice makes the knot in his chest loosen.
“What?” he rasps.
“Is it not turning off?”
He doesn’t respond. You talked about this hours ago at the party, but it stayed with you. He’s not used to this much attention on him. He usually has to fight for it.
“If it isn’t, maybe I could bore you to sleep,” you offer.
“I bet you could.” A second later, Rafe feels a pillow you threw from your bed hit his chest and roll beside him. He smirks in the dark.
You clarify, “I meant I could distract you.”
“For real this time? I don’t need another interrogation.” You love that you can hear a smile in his voice and hate that you can’t see it. Little by little, he’s acting like your friend again.
“Since when is asking one question an interrogation?” Last night, all you did was ask why he was helping you.
“See?”
“Oh, my God,” you sigh with a laugh. “Okay, let me think… I can tell you about the errands I ran today?”
“I’ll be out cold in a minute.” You laugh again and Rafe smiles up at the ceiling. Making you feel safe feels good. Making you laugh like that feels even better.
“Rude,” you say. “Pass me that pillow so I can throw it at you again.”
In the dark, you watch him reach for the pillow on the floor and tuck it under his arm. You breathe out a chuckle.
You pull your duvet up to your chin, unable to believe that the same Rafe who ignored your every attempt to talk, who wouldn’t even hold eye contact with you, is on the floor of your room, joking around with you.
You start to ramble about the shopping you did after he left your house this morning, getting into every menial detail, down to the long line at the gas station.
At first, Rafe can’t imagine falling asleep to this. Your voice humming through the dark is soothing and even though you’re trying to make your story boring, he’s interested.
But eventually, his eyelids get heavier. You’re dozing off, too, but it’s not until you hear his breaths grow deeper that you allow yourself to succumb to the fatigue.
Your senses are blurred and bleeding into each other like paint on a messy canvas, and while you’re confused, you know one thing for sure: you’re terrified.
Ty’s behind the wheel and the car is barreling down the busy freeway at a vicious speed. It’s storming and he’s laughing and you can’t scream. You can’t even speak.
Anne’s car is coming right for yours and Ty won’t slow down no matter how hard you try to gain control of the wheel and you brace for impact, but suddenly you’re in your fifth grade class and you’re crying and everyone is staring at you.
You wake up to big hands holding your shoulders, gently shaking you. A low and soft voice whispers your name, coaxing you to wake up.
Your eyes open to see Rafe standing over you in the dark and you realize your cheeks are wet with tears. Consciousness slowly wraps around you. It was a nightmare.
Your adrenaline pushes you to sit up, your chest heaving. His hands drop off of you, but he’s still standing and leaning over your bed, inches away.
“Bad dream?” he asks over the sound of your shallow breaths. Your whimpers are what woke him up. Hearing you crying in your sleep like that was painful.
You rub both eyes with your knuckles and try to catch up with reality.
“I was in the car with Ty and he was driving too fast and then I saw your mom-” You immediately shut up. In your fog, you forgot what you’re allowed to say and what you’re not, and by the way Rafe stands straight, you know you messed up.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching for his hand. His fingers are still and don’t curl around yours. The fact that you pull him towards you shows just how disoriented you are. “Can you sleep up here?”
“What?”
“Can you sleep up here?” you mumble dazedly. Rafe’s already sinking onto the mattress before you finish asking your repeated question.
You turn to face him when he lies down. You curl into a ball, your hand still gripping his as you try to breathe slower. You remember your other pillow is on the floor and you lift your head to shift your pillow to the middle so that he can rest his head on it, too.
Rafe stares ahead, listening to your fast breathing and his loud heartbeat. He’s struck that even when you’re in a half-asleep trance, your instinct is to make sure he’s comfortable.
And to ask him to lie next to you. To be close when there’s nobody around to prove your pretend relationship to. You actually find comfort in him. He thought he was starting to find it in you, too, but then you mentioned her.
You shudder when Rafe’s hand twists out from yours, losing the anchor reminding you that none of it was real. But then you realize he did it to put his palm on your cheek.
“You’re good,” he reassures you. He frowns when he feels a tear on your skin. “It’s alright.”
You nod under his touch, your eyes shut, swallowing hard and cupping his wrist. He’s still trembling from withdrawal.
The dream took you to when you were ten and Rafe’s desk was empty and your teacher told the class he lost his mom a couple of nights ago, so you’d spend the period making sympathy cards for him.
It’s important we show him he’s not alone, she said and you were so upset that you didn’t know how to do that when you were supposed to be best friends. You stared at a blank piece of paper for long enough that your teacher told you that you could work on something else.
You did eventually make him a card. And you visited. And you called. And you tried talking to him over and over.
But nothing you did or said was ever good enough. He shut everybody out and you were no exception. Maybe someone else would be mad at him for it, but you couldn’t ever find it in your heart to be. You still can’t.
“I’m sorry,” you say into the dark, wishing he knew just how heavy the pain you carry for him is. You feel frantic now, the emotions washing over you with no mercy, as if you just learned she died all over again. “I’m sorry for everything. You were just a kid-”
“Don’t,” Rafe interrupts. “Just sleep.”
You sniffle and he swears he can feel his heart crack but he can’t indulge you. He can’t open the wound he pretends isn’t still bleeding. He can’t talk about how his life crumbled into ruins and he’s still sitting in the rubble.
He lost his mother, his security, and eventually his mind, and there’s no point in talking about what he can never get back.
Rafe’s hand slips off of your cheek but your fingers remain wrapped around his wrist. He lets you keep holding onto him as you fall back asleep.
The sunlight is coming through slitted blinds when Rafe’s eyes open. He couldn’t see your room last night, but now that he can study the space that is so you, his mind starts racing.
You’re asleep next to him, head tilted towards him on the pillow you’re sharing. He gazes over your pretty features, the slope of your nose, the shape of your lips.
How could someone so sweet hurt him so fucking bad? Last night was brutal. You mentioning his mom without any warning was like a sharp jolt of electricity. He was an idiot to think he could find comfort in you.
You’ll always remind him of it. Of the helplessness and the horror and the agony. He can’t handle it. Even if you never talk about it again, your presence alone is a reminder.
You shuffle awake and reach out for him, but his side of the bed is cold. He’s not on the floor, either. You look out the window to see his motorcycle is still where he parked it last night.
When you come down to the front room, Rafe is in the same chair he sat in the night of the storm, grudgingly playing with his ring, staring ahead with a hard frown.
He sees you and immediately stands up, eyes darting away from you like the last few days didn’t happen at all. All his coldness is back.
“Finally,” he grunts. You watch him stalk past you with screwed up lips. “Lock the door behind me.”
You realize he was waiting for you to wake up. And now he’s acting like you’re contagious with something he’d rather die than catch, rushing out of your home, triggering the alarm when he opens the front door.
You follow him to punch the code into the security system and then quickly open the door he closed, watching him stride down the steps towards his bike.
You’re in a haze. Last night, he held you so gently and you fell asleep inches away from each other. This morning, he can’t get away fast enough.
It’s what you said. You mentioned his mom. You knew it was out of bounds, but you were so frightened and disoriented and spoke without thinking.
“Wait,” you say to his back. But Rafe continues on his way, making you feel just like you did in your nightmare. You’re speaking but it’s like nothing is coming out.
“Please don’t go back to ignoring me,” you call louder, a shake in your voice. This makes him pause. You swing the door shut behind you and close the distance, stepping out into the brisk morning air.
You face him and he looks absolutely wrecked. Guilt digs its sharp claws into your heart.
“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I was out of it.”
Rafe stares down at the paved ground, his jaw tightening.
“You’re always gonna remind me,” he mutters.
His sentence is simple, but it carries the weight of your broken friendship. It hits you that you could never mention the past again, not a single memory or anything about his loss, and it still wouldn’t be enough. You’re a constant reminder.
“That’s why you never wanted anything to do with me?” you say. Rafe looks at you again. Your eyes have lost all their light.
It’s just a part of the reason the bridge between you can’t ever be rebuilt, but talking about it with you is torture, so he’ll let you believe that that’s all there is to it.
“You can go,” you say quietly, stepping back. If being with you just brings back painful memories to him, you won’t subject him to it any longer.
Every muscle in Rafe’s body aches as he drives home. His head is hammering with pain and his bones weigh a million pounds and he’d kill for a hit of anything right now. He needs the escape.
Just when he thought he found a place to slow down, you reminded him of why he’s always running. As soon as he’s sure your ex is done bothering you, he’s out.
As you watch Rafe drive away, the gate opens when the sensor detects a vehicle leaving the property, and you notice the mailbox is open.
You pick up the mail to see an envelope with your name handwritten on it. Panicked, you rush back inside, locking the door. You know it’s Ty, finding yet another way to contact you.
You would’ve noticed the mailbox was open when you got home with Rafe last night. He did this overnight or early this morning.
When you finally find the courage to read his letter, dread forces its way into your body so roughly that you’re not sure you’ll ever feel happy again.
You feel some relief when Sarah texts in the group chat a couple of hours later asking if anyone wants to go shopping. It’s the distraction you need.
It’s late afternoon when you meet her and your mutual friend Lia at the mall, trying to get your mind off of Rafe’s coldness and Ty’s persistence and your own pain.
Afterwards, Sarah invites you both to her house and soon, the three of you are sitting in her room, chatting and listening to music.
The door is open and when a figure passes by, you look up to see Rafe. He glances at you for a second, then goes right back to ignoring you, continuing on his way without another second of hesitation.
When he got home, he took a couple of shots before he fell asleep in his bed. He woke up still partly buzzed and he can’t handle seeing or talking to you right now.
Sarah shakes her head in the corner of your eye. She noticed him, too.
“Jesus, Rafe, that’s how you treat your girlfriend?” she half-shouts. Two pairs of eyes land on you as your friends await your reaction.
“We’re in a fight,” you say, anxious that the topic has come up and that you’ll have to lie your way through it.
“Already? Didn’t you just start dating?” Lia says.
“Yeah, it’s sad,” you say with a downcast laugh.
Rafe chews on his thumbnail as he kneels against the hallway wall. He should’ve kept walking, but he’s secretly hanging onto your every word.
“I still can’t believe you guys are together,” she says. “I didn’t even know you liked him.”
“I did,” Sarah laughs. You look at her with wide eyes. “Come on, you never let anyone say anything bad about him.”
“Why do you?” Your eyes jump to Lia.
“Why do I what?” you say, trying to play it off.
“Like him,” Lia replies.
You figure while all of this is a sham, you can at least answer this question with full honesty.
“He takes care of me,” you say. You think about how you laughed together in your bedroom last night. “And I have fun with him.”
Regret gnaws at Rafe. Even though you’re upset with him, you still speak of him kindly. His growing feelings for you would be so much easier to get rid of if you were like everybody else, writing him off, calling him psycho.
“Yeah, you look like you’re having a lot of fun,” Lia replies with a playful nudge, trying to bring some humor to the room. “Seriously, are you okay? You seem off.”
You believe it. Your mind doesn’t feel any clearer since last night’s nightmare.
“I’m really freaked out because of Ty,” you admit.
“It’s crazy that he’s still bothering you,” Sarah says.
“It is. He won’t stop. I saw footprints outside my front door last night and I think they were his. That would mean he found a way around the gate,” you tell them. “And then there was a letter from him in my mailbox this morning. It was so creepy.”
Rafe’s body stiffens.
“God, that’s like stalker level,” Lia says. “What’d it say?”
The sound of Rafe saying your name interrupts you. You look up to see him standing in the doorway, staring at you. He cocks his head, silently beckoning you to come out.
When you face him in the corner of the hallway, far from Sarah’s room, you cross your arms and let him start the conversation.
“That asshole left you a letter?” Rafe mutters quietly. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Embarrassment turns in your stomach. He was eavesdropping.
“You wouldn’t have answered,” you reply.
“Yeah, I would’ve,” he says sternly. “What’d he write?”
You bite your bottom lip in anguish, choking back your tears.
You’re clearly shaken up. Rafe’s protective instinct overpowers him. He grasps your arm, squeezing gently, giving into his every impulse around you like he always does. You breathe slowly, eyes darting away.
“What did he write?” he repeats. His hand is so warm, a hard contrast from how cold you know he can be.
Your mind turns over the scribbled words on the crumpled page Ty left for you. It was mainly nonsensical, but some phrases stuck with you like a dagger to your heart.
“That he and I are meant to be,” you recall. “And that I know deep down we’re supposed to be together and he’ll keep waiting until I realize it.”
“What a fucking creep,” Rafe snarls, dropping his hand off of you. He’s not going to miss the next opportunity to beat the hell out of the guy and get him away for you for good.
The intensity of your nightmare and the shock from your argument still hurts, and as you look at Rafe, his hair falling over his forehead, his skin pale and his lips pursed in anger, you don’t have it in you to ask him to continue doing this for you.
“You don’t have to do this anymore,” you say. “I’ll stay with friends until my parents get back.”
“What?” Rafe’s pulse quickens. This thing with you isn’t real, he knows that, but it feels like you’re breaking up with him.
“We’re just hurting each other,” you tell him.
“No,” he says. “No. I’m keeping you safe. I’m taking care of you.”
He can’t possibly be hurting you. He can’t be fucking up yet another thing in his life.
“Rafe,” you exhale, defeated. “This whole thing was a bad idea. I’m just a reminder to you. And you’re…”
“I’m what?” he asks.
“You’re always going to keep me at a distance,” you say.
You hang on to what feels like your last shred of hope. You wait, hoping he’ll deny it, hoping he’ll finally meet you in the middle. You thought you had infinite faith that he’d let you in again. But after this morning, you’ve reached the end.
“Listen, I’m…” Rafe begins. Being with you hurts sometimes, but he can’t allow you to be in any danger. “I’m not letting you deal with him on your own.”
“I won’t be on my own,” you respond. He scoffs. Your friends couldn’t scare him off like he can.
“I can’t risk anything happening to you,” he says quickly. “Just… we’ll keep doing this until he finally gets it, alright?”
You’ve been barely grasping onto hope and his words are enough to keep you from letting go. That’s when you accept the fact that you’re doomed. You’ll never give up on him.
“Alright,” you say. Until he finally gets it. Your time with Rafe is limited. But nonetheless, it’s time.
He breathes out in relief. The possibility of disappointing you is more painful than he imagined. He can’t mess this up.
You leave him standing in the hallway, knowing you’ll have to walk away for good when all of this is over. You wonder if you’ll be able to do it without it breaking your heart.
Later in the evening, Sarah invites a few more friends over, who then invite their friends, and soon, the backyard of the Cameron estate is buzzing with conversation and laughter, the beach a glittering backdrop to the spontaneous party. You’re not surprised the space filled up so fast. This is all Kooks do these long summer days.
You find relief in the fact that Ty probably wouldn’t come. Not to Rafe’s house. You stand by your group of friends under the setting sun, the crowd growing around you.
When you spot one of Ty’s friends, your stomach sinks. If he’s here, maybe your ex is, too. It’s best to be cautious.
You search the crowd for Rafe. You noticed him a little while back, drinking with his friends, but he’s nowhere to be found now.
When you break from your group to ask Rafe’s friends where he went, they only offer you shrugs.
You slip into the quiet house, your heart starting to pound at the possibility of Ty finding you and Rafe not being around.
You find Rafe’s name in your phone and dash up the grand stairs, your phone to your ear as you decide to hide in Sarah’s room until you’re sure you’re safe.
It rings once before he answers.
“You okay?” he says.
“Where are you?”
“I’m - uh…” Rafe starts to clean away the lines of coke he made on his nightstand. He never hid it before, but with you around, he’s ashamed of his drug use now. That he needs it. That he couldn’t stay away. He finished his first line before you called. “I’m in my room.”
“I’ll be right there,” you say.
He panics, spilling the powder in his rush, wondering how many seconds he has left before you catch him mid-relapse.
The door opens and he catches your eyes darting to the hardwood floor, covered with coke he didn’t clean up on time.
Rafe’s at the edge of his bed, glaring up at you.
The last time you were in this room, he was just an innocent kid, and now he’s hunched over and drugged up and living through grief you’re not sure he’ll ever be able to bear.
He tries to shove past the shame, focusing on what he’s supposed to be focusing on.
“Is he here?” Rafe asks, standing up, filled with a rush of energy from the drugs.
He approaches you, his pupils blown, rubbing his nose. You stare up at him with concern. He’s so obviously trying to hide the fact that he just used.
“I don’t know,” you say. “I saw his friend and I thought I should find you in case he came.”
“Shit,” he mumbles, erratically shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have left you alone out there.”
“It’s okay-”
“It’s not,” Rafe says, his agitation growing. He was fighting the urge to use as long as he could. Then he told himself he’d just do a couple of lines and go back downstairs, but something could have happened to you in those few minutes. “It’s not okay. I fucked up. All I do is fuck up.”
You watch him pace back towards his bed, raking his hand through his hair. He’s nearly hysterical.
“That’s not true,” you say. Is that really what he thinks of himself?
“You don’t…” Rafe lets out a defeated huff as he sits on his bed, his head in his hands. “You don’t know me.”
It’s a painful reminder. But he’s right.
He stands up again, his breaths heavy. He needs to get this anxiety and anger and fear out the best way he knows how. With a fight.
“He better not be here,” he mutters.
Rafe stalks past you quickly and you follow him as he rushes down the stairs.
He darts towards the crowd scattered across the backyard. You trail him as he pushes through groups, his fists clenched tight.
He realizes your ex isn’t here and turns to look down at you in the middle of the crowd.
“Who’s his friend?” he asks, panting. You can tell that at this point, he just wants to hit someone. He doesn’t care who. And you’re not going to lead him to a guy who hasn’t done anything wrong.
“He has nothing to do with this,” you say over the chattering surrounding you. “Ty isn’t here, okay? That’s what matters. I’m safe. You didn’t fuck anything up.”
The worry in your eyes is almost too much for Rafe. He doesn’t get you. Whatever you see in him doesn’t exist. He feels like he needs to prove to you how wrong you are.
“I couldn’t last two nights,” he says. “I wanted to get clean and I couldn’t last two nights.”
Your face falls. The ground you’re both on feels shaky. You didn’t know he thought so low of himself.
“It’s not all or nothing,” you say. “You don’t have to get it on the first try. It’s…” You almost say an addiction, but you don’t want to insult him.
“It’s a habit and it takes time to break,” you conclude.
Rafe exhales shakily, his body jittery. He looks so upset that you couldn’t leave his side if you tried.
“I need to get away from all this noise,” you say. “Can we go down to the water?”
Rafe curtly nods. He needs to get away, too. The commotion around him is only fuelling his rage.
You stride towards the boardwalk leading to the private beach. The party wasn’t too loud for you at all, but he looked overwhelmed, so you fibbed just to get him out of the chaos.
You quietly walk towards the beach under the dark orange sky. Even with the baggage between you, it feels good to be by his side like this. You just wish it didn’t hurt him to be around you.
You ran up and down this boardwalk so many times as kids. One morning, you fell and scraped your knee and even though you were fine, Rafe put his arm around you to lean on him the whole way back up to the house so his mother could bandage you up.
Now it’s your turn to help him. However you can.
You make it to the sand. The crowd’s sound is just a dull roar behind you now that you’ve reached the beach.
You look over at Rafe to see his chest still rapidly rising and falling as he gazes out at the sea. You wonder why he was hiding it. He never shied away from snorting lines in the middle of a party before.
But by the look on his face, you can tell. He’s ashamed. His words ring in your head. All I do is fuck up.
“You can do it,” you tell him. “You can quit.”
Rafe looks at you and expels a dismissive scoff.
“Doubt it,” he murmurs.
You settle onto the sand, legs stretched out towards the water.
“Why?” you ask.
He stares out at the sea again, the shallow waves curling and tumbling into the shore beneath the setting sun. When he thinks about the hours you two spent out here, it’s like the memories aren’t even his.
He leans to sit next to you, arms resting on his propped up knees. You want so badly to talk about all the silly games and conversations you had out here years ago, but you know better now.
“Why do you care so much?” Rafe finally says, his voice low. You gaze at his profile and notice his lower lip just barely tremble. There’s a fragility in his face that you’ve never seen before.
You take a breath. How can you possibly answer without bringing up the past?
“I just do. Whether you want me to or not.” You say it with a soft chuckle in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
His shoulders slump. Before all this started, he was sure nobody cared about him. Not really. Not when it mattered. But you do.
You bite your lip, desperate to make him feel better.
“I’m not scared of him when you’re around,” you say. “I didn’t think that was possible. And maybe you weren’t downstairs when I was looking for you, but you answered my call right away. So, no, you don’t fuck everything up. You’re helping me when you don’t even have to.”
“I do have to,” he replies.
“Why do you think that?” You know he has a sense of loyalty towards you, a sense of owing you something, but maybe, just maybe, he’ll give you a warmer answer this time.
Rafe’s heart is racing. He’s failed so much. He failed making his own dad like him. He failed staying away from the coke. He’s not going to fail you.
“You’re the only person left who gives a shit,” he admits, unable to say about me out loud.
His words send a shiver through you. Just like in your bed last night, even though there’s nobody around to prove anything to, you touch him. You cup your hand around the inside of his elbow and squeeze.
Feeling your skin on his is a rush for him every time. The only contact he’s had with other people for years has been violent. But you’re so gentle with him and it unravels his anger.
Rafe swallows the lump in his throat. Or he tries to. But he can’t. The coke is making him manic. He took too much. He’s overwhelmed by your affection and he can’t stop what his body’s doing in response.
When you watch a tear run over the curve of his cheek, your shock and concern and sadness give you an ache so painful, your breath hitches.
Before he can try to leave, you lean on him, your temple pressed against his shoulder.
He’s humiliated. He’s actually fucking crying in front of you. So much for being the strong person keeping you safe. Behind everything he pretends to be, he’s weak.
It’s odd to cry in front of someone and not have them tell him to man up. You simply nuzzle against him and tighten your grip.
“Rafe!” someone calls in the distance. “Dude, what the hell? Why’d you leave?”
You both look back to see a group of his buddies stumbling down the boardwalk, laughing drunkenly.
“Shit,” Rafe grunts, wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands. His friends are probably looking for some blow. They can’t see him like this. He’s pissed you’re seeing him like this.
You can see how his guard is suddenly up again, how frantic he is to cover his tears.
“Should I…” you stammer, “try to get them to go?”
Rafe shrugs, at a loss, pulling the collar of his shirt up to wipe the evidence off of his face.
You watch his friends get closer and your mind rushes through how you can possibly get them to leave him alone.
It’s ridiculous, but it may be the only thing that’ll work.
“Maybe…” You take a breath to gain a bit of courage. “Maybe we just do what we did at the party last night?”
Glossy blue eyes land on you. He thinks back to the way you held each other, the way he kissed your cheek.
“I don’t know,” you say, words rushed. “Maybe if they think you’re in the middle of a hook-up, they won’t interrupt? It’s stupid, but I don’t know what else we could do.”
The invitation ignites a fire in him. Suddenly, Rafe’s hand cradles your jaw and he pulls you in. You were expecting a hug or something tame. But he kisses you.
Everything that felt heavy in you lightens. His lips are even softer than you imagined. Your mouths melt together and it feels so natural that you almost forget this is all a tactic.
Everything in and around Rafe blurs when he kisses you. He doesn’t feel weak or fucked up or like a failure. He just feels you. Kissing him back. Tasting him like he’s tasting you.
You hear Rafe’s friends’ voices grow louder and you pull back, glaring at them.
“He’s busy!” you shout. Some of them laugh, others holler, but the guy at the front of the group throws his arms up and turns around.
“Say no more,” he slurs, laughing. “But hurry it up, will you?”
You watch them stumble back towards the house and you realize you can hear your heartbeat. You wish it was from the rush of getting away with a lie. But it’s not. It’s from the lie feeling this good.
“It worked,” you say. When you focus on Rafe again, his eyes are on your lips. Then, he quickly looks away, his hand lifting off of you.
The air between you is thick and awkward and you nervously clasp your hands together.
He looks out at the water again. So do you. You’re not touching anymore. And even though he’s right next to you, he suddenly feels miles away.
(part five)
if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘
#yall ive never had a series with parts THIS LONG i dont think#but i just cant put a pause to the story until it feels right lol 😭#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron and you#rafe cameron and reader#rafe cameron and y/n#yet it always ends in
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sometimes I think of all the on-the-surface warm, well-meaning but deeply ineffectual advice and attention john gives harrow through harrow the ninth (make some soup and get some sleep! get a hobby! don't be so hard on yourself! self care harrow! as long as I need take no actual responsibility in this relationship whatsoever I would have loved to be your dad!) set up against the stark truth that with his other hand he has been staging her attempted horrific murder again and again and again like a living nightmare on the logic that it will 'put her down or fix her'. and then I find that I wish there is a hell. a special hell where twitch streamers turned necromantic death emperors go
#the locked tomb#harrowhark nonagesimus#john gaius#harrow the ninth#this is why I don't buy john as misunderstood and initially well-meaning AT ALL#this is a pattern you see with him again and again and again -- right down to his interpersonal relationships#(and indeed it's in the more grounded interpersonal relationships you can most clearly see him as he is I think#the fantasy death empire of a thousand years doesn't register quite as viscerally because it's like. heightened; not quite real#but the emotional violence and manipulation that surrounds him? oh boy that is EXTREMELY real and scarily well-observed)#there's a premeditation to so much of what he does (contracts with planets that only end 'in the event of the emperor's death' anyone?#yeah john we get it you're hilarious and I wish you weren't)#the greatest trick john ever pulled was making anyone think he's just a lil guy. what does he know he's only god#when you first read the book the complete callousness of the other adults is so horrible that john seems like an oasis of care#(though you start to get this uneasy feeling when that care never seems to translate to like... relief or soothing or resolution)#and it makes it feel almost obscene when you find out what's actually going on#it's the mercy & augustine enabler hour but at least they're completely honest in their cruelty there#while john is -- well he sure is being john huh#this is just me being angry with him btw philosophically I don't think this is how the story will or should end#(with john slam dunked right into hell that is)#it's just... harrow is so vulnerable. and what he does to her is so insidious and fucked up#john is very deeply human. unfortunately the capacity to quite simply suck so much is deeply human too
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I think depictions of Anya being cruel to Curly or drawing out his suffering are artful and chilling but completely miss the point of the story and her character.
I'm not saying she doesn't deserve to have that "I told you so" moment with him but not in something callous or cold. Even if that is how it happened, she'd immediately feel guilty cause at that point she's not tormenting her tormenter or even the person truly at fault. She's doing something cathartic, similar to how Jimmy likely hits Curly to release rage he can't against the rest of the crew. She'd see herself as no different when she'd come back from the moment and see Curly cowering at her. She wants someone to take responsibility but how does being cruel to the defenseless help? Why would she want the power Jimmy has over her over Curly?
The idea of her extending someone else's pain is just so against the struggles she already faces and how she can't even bring herself to cause someone pain even to help them. Her very desire is to release herself from her own suffering and I doubt she'd even fine some sort of guilty release in being cruel to another.
#anya is not a character i see taking agency or indulging in cathartic behaviors#not knowingly like i see her as a character trapped in her head and maybe in the scenario she's cruel to Curly she is envisioning Jimmy#in his place but its not a story about justice or those deserving of punishment and those not like its the opposite of people projecting#their issues on the wrong people and saying things to the wrong people and doing things they shouldn't but anya uniquely falls out of it as#she is subjected to a lot of it but it is also not something she wants to subject another person to like you are doing what Jimmy does and#placing ur rage into another persons and viewing their actions through your eyes like she'd more likely yell at him than do harm or#cause him more pain like at least make it in character#but also she clearly doesn't want to see jimmy or curly in the same light and doesnt because she still repeatedly goes to Curly for comfort#and protection and god there's like concepts that need to be applied to characters individually and then the story as a whole#we can not view the game through only one themed lens less we forget to inspect the compounding factor of Anya is so much more than girl#that needs to be allowed to go off but a woman that simply wants right to be done by her and no more harm like she doesn't want to be aroun#the suffering like idk but some of yall would just benefit from like understanding that people are inherently grey with the capabilities of#black n white thinking or actions#mouthwashing#mouthwashing game#anya mouthwashing#i like her the most but then again i am defensive of all women in media and hate when people change the way the character would take agency#for themselves like yes I want her to tweak out but she just wouldn't and I like seeing realistic depictions of a woman suffering the way#she is like shes not the type at the end of the movie to have a one liner but feel a shallow freedom cause she needs to realistically heal#idk but its just like there is an obbsession forming with making her character her pain and not how she handles and navigates the issue
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I feel like too often people frame Nie Mingjue's issues as ignorance borne from safety. Like, they think that because of his privilege as a sect leader he doesn't know what it's like to be in danger and forced to make hard choices to survive. And I disagree. Strongly.
First of all, Nie Mingjue is very familiar with death not only from war but from. You know. Actively dying since the age of fourteen. Let us not forget Nie Mingjue is dead! Super dead! And maybe he didn't die the exact way he expected to but he did, absolutely, know he was going to die. To act like Nie Mingjue is unfamiliar with the scenario of "do something you find morally reprehensible or die" is to ignore that he has been living that exact scenario and chose death.
Nie Mingjue knows death is a risk for someone like Jin guangyao, in fact he explicitly acknowledges it even in his worst moments like the stairs in chapter 49. Had his issue been ignorance, then he would've responded to Jin Guangyao saying that he's in danger and has to sacrifice others for his own safety with "No you aren't you'll be fine." But he doesn't. He accepts the fact that jgy is in danger with no qualms and says: then you should die.
That's not him betraying his values, those are his values. He is, essentially, pro-suicide. Jgy is like hey I have a moral dilemma what should I do and nmj straight up goes "Kill yourself" and earlier that same chapter when he was faced with a moral dilemma he went "I'm gonna kill myself." He believes the solution to moral dilemmas is suicide! He is extremely consistent about this! When it's pointed out to him that it would have been dangerous for Wen Qing to oppose Wen Ruohan it doesn't phase him because he thinks putting yourself at risk to do the right thing is the only moral choice. The idea that he can only hold this belief because he is himself somehow not in danger, again, requires you to ignore that he is dying the whole time. And it doesn't deter him. He is the idea of self-sacrifice as a moral good taken to its absolute logical extreme. Someone who is ready to die and demands the same from everyone else.
It makes him a very fun case study for fandom, because a lot of fandom spaces also tend to revere self-sacrifice as the ultimate good, and yet we get very uncomfortable when someone starts demanding it of characters we love. Like woah, hold on, that's a bit too far isn't it? Only we the audience get to do that!
#mdzs#mdzs meta#nie mingjue#i got a bit spicy at the end there#one wonders of there is perhaps a theme around sacrifice the story is working with here#what with several of the most relevant and major character relationships centering around sacrifice.#anyway I wonder what nmj thought of Wen Qing (and Wen Ning though the jin kept him alive) sacrificing herself at nightless#I have to imagine he approved. despite disagreeing with her he also approved of mianmian giving up her clan position for wwx+ the wens#so he'd think this was her 'finally doing the right thing'#his approval would've been kinda worthless. As a person who is NOT pro-suicide I think that's fucked up! the sacrifice didn't even work!#but it's diabolical to think of the Wen siblings turning themselves in and nmj being there and *praising* them for it.#unhinged behavior. I need this missing scene stat.#this is just kind of a rephrasing of my 'stop calling nmj a hypocrite' post but with a bit more focus on what exactly his values are#and how his problems stem not from him being inconsistent with those values but the fact that they are pretty fucked up!#and that those fucked up values are not a result of a lack danger but the opposite. the *inevitability* of death#he's going to die so he *has* to believe that's the right thing to do.
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bring your son to work day
#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#tsumsted wonderland#sorry this might be it guys#just kind of burnt out right now#i am enjoying the event though! i love these silly beanbags and their charming little adventures#can't wait for silver-tsum to wake up just long enough to take a bullet for malleus-tsum#and i extra extra love malleus and his beanbag both being SO passive-aggressive about missing the pile-up#the solution: DANCE PARTY#APPARENTLY#between this and glorious masquerade i'm starting to think this is malleus' solution to everything#(is this how episode 7 will end) (we DO traditionally get an end-of-episode rhythmic...)#also a+ some truly excellent spritework going on in this on#(sebek crunches down slightly 'RIDE ME WAKATSUMSAMA') (long beat) (malleus and tsum just sliiiiiide away screen left)#genuinely so much funnier than a literal depiction could ever be#anyway i did some careful calculations re:the probability of upcoming cards that i absolutely need and long story short#i am key-poor but tsum!malleus-rich >:)#(immediately goes through and switches all his lesson sprites to having a tsum wobbling on his head) worth it#now watch next month they're going to give us a white rabbit rerun with malleus and/or lilia as the frilliest froufrou bunnies#and i will be thoroughly effed
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of five people, three must pay a price
#honkai star rail#hsr#dan heng#jing liu#jing yuan#bailu#blade hsr#high cloud quintet#hoyoverse#artists on tumblr#digital#“this update already passed though” time isn't real to me!!#perpetually slow artist syndrome strikes again!!!#anyway! jing liu's story quest genuinely had me shaking by the end of it i cannot believe the theories were right#also love that it released at the same time belobog's update did#march and stelle off doing sillies while dan heng over here having the worst afternoon imaginable
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