#but in a way that doesn't disrupt the suspension of disbelief

[shoesallinaline]

The more I think about it, the more excited I am to see Eric Bogosian absolutely tear it up as vampire-Daniel.

[zyafics]

PLAY FAKE | 13

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs.

"Are you busy?"

The phone call came at the stroke of midnight. Rafe had just gotten away from a lengthy discussion with his father regarding the open properties around Kildare and wanted nothing more than to crash out. But he answered without hesitation when your name flashed across the screen.

"No," he pauses. "Do you need me?"

You do, but you're reluctant to confirm that piece of information. Flattening your lips on the other line, you rub the back of your hand over your tired eyes as a prolonged silence engulfs the call.

But Rafe understands. With a firm I'm coming over, he disconnects the call to pick up his keys.

You've been home for a couple days now, having stayed at Tannyhill for a little over a week. However, with Sarah's return, you felt you'd overstayed your welcome and needed to part ways. Despite Rafe's protests, you insisted, needing to find your own space in the aftermath of everything.

He had hated the way you phrased it. That you needed a place without him.

When he reaches your driveway, Rafe discerns two silhouettes on your porch. Adrenaline spikes, assuming it was Aaron—and that was the reason for your distress call—but upon closer inspection, with the headlights of his car glaring in that direction, the clarity hits.

Maybank and Heyward.

His stomach twists at the realization that he wasn't your first recipient. That you went back to your roots before coming to him. Now, more than ever, Rafe has a bleeding need for some security, to be your first choice.

He doesn't like to be set in the backseat to a pair of Pogues.

Turning off the ignition, Rafe exits the vehicle just as Heyward and Maybank launch from your porch steps with rigid defense. Their eyes narrow at him in suspicion as he stalks up the long pebbled pavement.

"What are you doing here, Rafe?" Pope interrogates in lieu of a greeting.

Rafe scoffs, stuffing his hands into his pocket. "How is that any of your business, Pogue?"

JJ jumps in. "If you're here for Aaron—"

"I'm not," Rafe snaps, not liking any association with the loan shark, before admitting, "She called me."

A moment of suspense punctures the air before JJ disrupts it, shaking his head with disbelief. "Bullshit. Why the fuck would she contact a Kook?"

It's an insult, the way Maybank's lips curled with the title and Rafe huffs. He doesn't owe him any explanation and certainly won't give one. Stepping forward, Rafe attempts to enter your house, only for the two boys to block his path.

"Move," Rafe commands lowly.

Pope tries to meditate. "Look, I don't know what you're doing here, but she's been through some things and we don't want any more problems—"

Rafe doesn't bother listening to whatever else he has to say. He knows. He knows what you've been through and he's here because of it, not to add to it. But the accusation is thick on Pope's tongue, fueling his irritation. He attempts to shove past both of them, only for JJ to push back.

Shouting stirs you awake. That's a lie. You've been staring at the ceiling for the past hour, hoping it'll lull you to sleep, only for the act to be unproductive. When you start to hear sounds coming from outside, you know Rafe arrived.

Pushing past the screen door, you step out onto the porch to witness JJ and Rafe in the middle of a standoff.

Charged words thrown back and forth, you recognize the dark look behind Rafe's gaze as JJ keeps pushing Rafe's chest—one full of deep agitation, seconds away from snapping.

Your stomach flips with nausea.

"Back off, JJ," you announce sharply to the open yard, causing the trio to direct their attention to you. You briefly connect your gaze with Rafe before turning to the younger blond. "I called him."

JJ's hands drop from Rafe's chest, taking a step back, but there's a look of unsteadiness behind his gaze. Confusion spreads across his hard features while his mouth twists into an ugly scowl. "For what?"

"Does it matter?" You refute, avoiding his question. JJ cocks his head, only for you to add, "You can go home now."

JJ frowns, turning to Pope as they exchange a silent debate. When all Pope could give is a casual shrug, knowing it's your decision at the end of the day, JJ turns back to you.

"You could've let us stay," JJ reasons, throwing a harsh glance over his shoulder at Rafe. "What could a Kook do for you?"

"It's fine. He's my…" You trail off, unable to find the right words to label Rafe. Your initial ideas are too compromising. And Rafe doesn't want your relationship to be seen as complicated to the Kook public, since your interactions could circulate back to Ward. But here, in the sanction of The Cut, you know there's no intersection. No need for security. You shake your head with a tired yet reassuring smile. "It's okay. I appreciate you guys' help."

Rafe hates how you didn't say it.

With a heavy sigh, JJ nods. "Alright," he says, clapping his hands and signaling Pope to descend off the porch. They pair off as they head home and, sparing one last glance at Rafe—who's ascending up the short steps to approach you—JJ bids a final farewell. "Call us if you need anything."

Rafe's arm wraps protectively around your waist. "She won't."

You roll your eyes, shoulders relaxing from their rigid stance, as you watch their departing figures. Once they're no longer in view, you take his arm and tug him into your house.

The short stroll to your bedroom is mostly silent and Rafe takes inventory of your home for any disturbance. Since he ordered that cleaning service, your house is significantly cleaner. You had initially refused his charity but he refused to take no for an answer and you ended up with a grade-A cleaning company that polished your home from all the broken debris and dangerous hazards.

But that wasn't the problem.

When Rafe steps into your bedroom, it's an absolute mess. Pillows are skewed across the floor, your sheets wrinkled and tangled upon each other, and piles of your clothes are thrown together into a pile next to your closet. It greatly contrasts the environment outside your door.

"Shit," you mumble, embarrassment flooding through your body. You move from his touch to do some quick cleaning—throwing your pillows back on the bed, picking up dirty clothes, and tossing them into the hamper.

Abashment increases with each of your frantic steps, to the point that Rafe has to grab your elbow to stop you in place. "Hey," he says softly, lifting your gaze to his, "I don't mind."

You don't say anything. Fatigue pours into the very crevices of your bones. But despite the urge to be presentable, Rafe is a comfort. A clutch. And it's getting dangerous seeing how much you lean on him.

It's on the tip of your tongue to push him away. To tell him to go back home. But he beats you to it, glancing at the door.

"Where's your sister?" Rafe asks. "Are they okay?"

"They're fine," you answer, "They're sleeping."

You assumed Amara and Leilani would deal with the same troubles as you, but when you checked up on them, they were out like a light.

Rafe examines you carefully: the way you shift your weight from one leg to the next, the way your hands slightly tremble, and the clear indication of sleep deprivation from the darkened shades ringed around your eyes.

He understands now.

"And you're not?"

Your jaw locks before unwinding. "I'm sorry."

He wants to eradicate that phrase from your vocabulary.

"Why are you apologizing?"

"It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," he argues. "You have a problem and you called me. I'm here to help."

Rafe's words are adamant and warms your chest but guilt presses like glass against your heart. "Were you busy?"

"Doesn't matter."

You frown. But the look in his eyes is genuine and honest. You take a step back to separate from him, needing your own air. As of late, everything you own is his. "I…" You exhale a large breath, voice shaky. "I don't know. I don't know what's wrong."

"Is it because of Aaron?"

You hesitate before nodding once.

"Have you seen him?"

"No, and I think that's the problem." You expel another breath. "I'm on edge all the time. My chest feels heavy and tight and my head hurts." You pause, before choking out. "I'm just so exhausted."

Rafe closes the distance and wraps his strong arms around you as you sink into his chest. You inhale, taking in the faded smell of his cologne.

"I hate this," you mumble, balling the fabric of his shirt into fists. "I hate that I can't sleep. I hate that I'm always stressed. I hate that—" You cut yourself off, not wanting to reveal too much. Swallowing hard, you attempt to salvage your words. "I just hate that I'm like this."

Frustration oozes out of you and Rafe hates to see you in this state. However, he'll admit, having you vulnerable and open is a welcoming change. You're allowing him a chance to see a side of you no one else has the privilege to and he deeply treasures your trust.

He'll do anything to preserve it.

Rafe massages delicate circles into the small of your back, soothing the aches in your bones as you melt into his arms. "It's okay," he reassures with a sweet mumble, "I'm here. What do you need from me?"

"I just want to sleep."

"Then we'll sleep."

"No sex." You withdraw enough for him to meet your solemn gaze, "No touching. I don't want to do anything other than sleep."

"Okay." He agrees slowly, his voice is unsteady because of your accusatory tone.

"I'm serious, Rafe," you proclaim. "I know we like to mess around, but I'm too tired. I don't want to fuck tonight."

Rafe's expression is unreadable, stonewalling his emotions the moment those words slipped from your lips. Did you think he only sees you as a fuck buddy?

"I said okay," he snaps, a little sharper than intended, but you pretend not to acknowledge it. You misunderstand it as him being upset over the celibacy rule imposed tonight, but that wasn't the case.

You swallow hard, not wanting his aggression to roll over into bed. "Rafe," you begin, feeling guilty, "if you don't want to, it's fine—"

"I never said that," he cuts you off, not wanting the implication to be read that he doesn't want you here. He does. It hurts him that you think he sees you as nothing—when that's far from the truth. He just can't seem to say it. "I just..." His jaw tightens. "Let's just go to bed."

Your lips pull together into a thin line, wanting to address the issue, but deciding you cannot handle an argument tonight. Nodding, you separate from him and move to one side of the bed. Rafe does the same.

You thought Rafe would take some precaution to add distance between you but he doesn't. You can feel the overwhelming radiation of his body heat, the indication of his proximity in close range, and it causes your breath to be still.

You can't handle it. You need distance. You need space. It's too intimate otherwise, and you can't afford that.

Pulling yourself to the ledge, with your back facing Rafe, you inhale a deep set of breaths to soothe the tension in your body. To pretend you don't feel the heat of his gaze. "Goodnight."

He doesn't answer at first, before he reciprocates with a night and you close your eyes to sleep.

Rafe watches you. The first few minutes are normal, but as time passes, you can't seem to relax in your position. Twisting and turning, your eyes remain closed throughout. The only sound is the soft breaths escaping you to indicate your sleepy state—or, at least, the closest attempt at it.

His mind still lingers on your earlier words. Do you think he doesn't care about you? Beyond intimacy? Is that why you called Maybank and Heyward first?

Rafe never thought you had an issue with it. That you were perfectly content with the arrangement. But the accusation on your tongue gave a different interpretation. Do you want more? Or, is he driving himself insane with the idea of you being his and only his?

Lost in the spiral of his own thoughts, Rafe didn't even realize that you moved closer. Your back now facing the wall as one of your arms extends outward, draped across his chest.

He freezes. Rafe assumes it's an accident, something you'll retract in a matter of seconds. But when your arm reaches out again, seeking the curve of his neck, he realizes it isn't.

You want him.

Taking it as a sign, Rafe lowers himself to grab the underside of your thigh, pulling your weight onto him. The moment you're in his embrace, chest resting against his, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. And, in return, Rafe nuzzles into the open crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

"No touching, huh?" He mumbles into the softness of your skin as a gentle taunt. But when there's nothing but the sound of shallow breaths and the emptiness of replies, Rafe realizes you truly fell asleep.

You reached for him unconsciously.

His heart races at the implication, before calming to a normal rate, matching the steady guided pace of your own breaths. His grip around your body tightens, squeezing the soft flesh because, at that moment, he doesn't ever want to let you go.

"You need me," Rafe murmurs the confirmation in the column of your throat, hoping the words would sink through. "And I need you too."

—

By morning, you're gone.

It shouldn't come as a surprise. Every time he spends the night, there's a brief hope that the outcome for the morning will be different. That you'll remain in his arms, sleeping soundly. It never happens. And despite the subtle ache in his bones from the weight of your body on top of his all night, it beats the ache in his heart.

Sighing, after washing up, Rafe exits your bedroom to discover you sitting on one of the stools. A leg propped on the flat seat, your chin rests on your kneecap while you're flipping through some old documents.

"Morning," Rafe says, falling into the space next to yours.

"Shit," you swear, nearly jumping out of your own skin, a hand covering your accelerated heart. You hadn't heard him coming. "You scared me."

"Sorry," he apologizes sincerely, his eyes scanning over your refreshed face. "You sleep okay?"

You nod, recalling the memory of this morning. Curled up on his arms, head buried in the curve of his neck, your body pressed against his. At first, you assumed Rafe had pulled you in, but that wasn't possible. He wouldn't go against your directive. It was all you.

The corner of his mouth rises at the recognition dawning on your face. Before he gets the chance to make some comment about your neediness, you cut him off. "Don't," you warn, feeling a rush of heat rising to your cheeks.

"I haven't said anything,"

"I see it on your face,"

He scoffs, but the smile remains. "You're right," he relents, leaning closer, shortening the distance between you until he's right before you. "I was thinking of it."

Your eyes catch him and the teasing glint behind his gaze, causing your breath to shorten. You expel a breath, trying to release some tension in your shoulders, before you clarify, "All we did was sleep."

"Yeah, but you slept on me," his voice drops a full octave, "Admit it, sweetheart, you want me. Why else would you want me here?"

You search his face, trying to figure out what he wants. What he's trying to get out of you. But you find nothing tangible. Refusing to put yourself in another position of vulnerability when Rafe has done nothing to balance the scale, you scale back, adding space. "I just—I needed someone I trust."

You don't acknowledge that his assertion is correct. That the one time you fell asleep peacefully was in his arms. Or, perhaps, it wasn't necessarily about trust but about him. Instead, you pretend it's something else, something vague and general, hoping one day it will.

"Someone," Rafe repeats. "Or me?"

You avoid the question.

And Rafe assumes the former.

Dropping your gaze to the files, the air stiffens into a palpable silence. Your fingers thread through the records, pretending to search for something, when all you can feel is the thumping of your heartbeat in your veins.

Rafe releases a sigh. The elation of his state quickly deflates after your rejection. Again. He doesn't know how much longer he can take before it truly destroys him. Deciding to shift the conversation elsewhere, he asks, "Do you want me to stay again?"

"No, it's fine," you shake your head, dismissing the proposition out of habit. Even though it would bring you peace, the rational side of your brain determines the distance necessary to protect yourself. Becoming too reliant on Rafe would add nothing but pain. "You can go home," you pause, considering how to lighten the mood, "I bet the mattress here sucks in comparison to your one-million thread counts, huh?"

There's a strain to your voice; a telltale sign. Rafe ignores your words and focuses on what he does best: reading your body language. With squared shoulders and an avoidant gaze, he knows your words are far from the truth. You just don't know how to ask for what you want.

So, he proposes a different question.

"But can you sleep?"

You don't answer.

"I'll stay then," he decides, as if he's reading an item off a menu. Before you get a chance to object, Rafe shifts closer, tugging the corner of a document. "What's this?"

Your mouth closes, shoulders slouching from how quickly he changes the topic. It almost makes you smile. Deciding it would be better than fighting it, you explain that you're reviewing your Sailor bank accounts to see what money you can spare without harming the business. However, the issue is that you can't seem to find any gaps.

Rafe's brows furrow together as he listens, asking permission to take a look at your statements himself. His eyes scan through the billing, before asking. "Why don't you sell the business and work elsewhere?"

"You're not funny," you declare, attempting to pull the document away, but his grip remains firm. His eyes are set on yours.

"I'm not joking," he declares. "It could help a lot. I mean, you'll earn more than what you're earning here."

He isn't wrong. At this point in time, you would profit more by working as a bartender than a business owner. But that's not the point.

"Sailor is my family's legacy," you explain, believing his question was not an attack on your qualification but rather from a strictly logical standpoint. "It and my sisters are the most important things in my life."

Rafe hums, and he doesn't add anything else. You don't know if he gets it. "Let me ask you something: why do you want Cameron Development so badly?"

He goes rigid. He's never been asked that question before. Never had to articulate his reasoning. It makes him uncomfortable to be interviewed—especially if it's to you of all people. "I don't know," he declares noncommittally, glancing at his lap, "I always assumed I would get it. I'm the oldest."

You shake your head. Not out of mistrust, but because you know him. Rafe isn't as simple-minded as the rest of Kildare likes to believe. There has to be more. "I don't believe that," you say gently, "Try again."

His expression morphs into a charming smile. A facade to hide. "Do I get something if I talk?"

You roll your eyes. "It's always sex with you, isn't it?"

His smile drops, but you don't pick it up. He shouldn't have said that, but it's too late. Your expression is easygoing and loose, a detachment to your words as if you truly believe and accept that perception of how he views you.

Instead of addressing his feelings, he tries to articulate what he meant before.

"I don't know," Rafe starts again, in a low mumble, his voice more vulnerable than it was moments prior. "Business was the one thing I got. I... I didn't excel in academics and I didn't like sports that much. But with Cameron Development, it was the one thing me and my dad could sit down and talk about and I didn't feel like a big disappointment to him."

He never said those words out loud before, and the confession sounds pathetic, but the way your eyes soften and your head nods along as you listen with no judgment, it gives him the confidence to continue forward.

"I... I get it, you know? The numbers don't scare me and the logic makes sense. It's the one thing I have going for me and to know that my dad is considering giving it to Sarah... It hurts. Like, she has everything and I can't even have the one thing I'm good at."

His voice cracks at the end, and his gaze has since dropped to the floor, hands messing and rubbing the calloused skin of the other.

You reach forward to cup the side of his face, and lift his head, meeting his sensitive gaze. "It isn't fair," you run the pad of your thumb over his cheekbone, trying to soothe the ache of his admission. "It truly isn't. I wish I could make it better for you."

Too gentle. Too loving. In the comfort of your touch, Rafe speaks before he can stop himself. "Sometimes I think if I have you, I'll be fine with the world."

Your breathing stills. Rafe did too. You don't know if you misheard him, or if he's implying something else, but before you can seek clarification, the doorbell rings.

"I'll get it." Rafe swiftly pulls away, moving to the exit. His hands clench by his side, teeth grinding, regret coursing through his veins at the mistake of letting his emotions overtake him back there.

He shouldn't have said that.

When he opens the door, without checking the peephole, JJ stands behind it.

"Oh, you're still here," JJ declares with a hint of bewilderment. "Didn't think she kept dogs past noon."

Rafe's already on edge from the previous conversation that he has little patience for the Pogue. Seconds away from slamming the door on Maybank's smug face, you appear by Rafe's side, stopping him and inviting JJ in. He steps into your living room, holding something in his hands.

"What's that?" You point to the crumpled note, before recognizing his nervous stance. JJ's bouncing on the heel of his feet, avoiding your gaze, and when you repeat your question, more firmly this time, he reluctantly holds the note out.

"Someone left this at your bar," JJ explains as you take it. Your eyes quickly scan the message, your heart sinking with every word you read. "It's a warning. If you don't... If you don't pay him back in full tomorrow, he'll do something to your bar."

Rafe's watching your reaction with a hardened look. His eyes keep sliding over to JJ, the Pogue being the messenger of the news—the one you sought help from before—and the blond feels the heat of his stare on him. Consequently, it forces JJ to grab your elbow and pull you off to the side, away from Rafe.

JJ begins. "Look, I know you don't wanna do it, but my dad knows a guy—"

"No."

"He's been through with Aaron before," he whispers back sharply, "It might be the only option you have."

"And get stuck in the same shit I had with Aaron? No," you declare firmly, reading the note again. It does nothing to soothe the heightened nerves in your body. The way panic is ricocheting inside your stomach like a ping-pong ball.

JJ says nothing, the absolute behind your tone quiets him. While you're preoccupied with another read-through, JJ glances back to where Rafe stands.

"I gotta ask," JJ starts again, lowering his voice so only you can hear. You lift your head from the note, meeting his curious gaze, with a raise of your brow. "Rafe? Seriously?"

While you're trying to figure out how to maintain your livelihood, JJ is concerned about your love life.

"Is this really the time and place?"

"I'm serious, what do you see in him?"

"Drop it, JJ."

"I just don't understand," he continues in a whisper, but his volume raises slightly, "I swear, you're a pretty girl. You can do 10x better than him—"

"JJ," you command sternly, all amusement vanishes. "Drop it."

"Fine," he stays, stepping back with both hands partially raised to his collar. He doesn't turn to catch another glimpse at Rafe, but instead, offers the same advice as he did before. "If you need my help, you know where to find me."

Rafe watches as the Pogue leaves, stepping out to your porch and closing the door behind him. But his breath remains ragged. He caught the last bit of JJ's hushed words, and as much as he wanted to be sensible, he didn't like it.

You're different than Rafe, he understands that. You have a support system, a list of other people, and sometimes—as much as he hates to admit—they are better than him. Less volatile. Less emotional.

But it feels like you're pushing him away. Placing him as a last line of defense for all your troubles. The insecure parts of him are roaring—louder than his rational thoughts can ever be—telling him that he's the last choice. The last option.

He can't help but wonder. If Leilani hadn't called him, would you have? Or would it be JJ or Pope?

Rafe rounds the couch to approach you, his hand circles your wrist holding the note. Your head lifts to meet his harsh gaze.

"You don't need his help," he declares gruffly, "I could've done it."

You blink. "What?"

"The note at the bar," he gestures to the crumpled paper in your hands, before dropping his to his side, clenching down to a fist. "I could've taken care of it."

"I... I didn't ask him. He did it himself."

Rafe isn't convinced. "And last night with Maybank and Heyward, that was all them too?"

His tone is sharp and accusatory, leaving you lightheaded as you stare at him. You're still wrapped up around the threatening note, but Rafe is somewhere else. A different topic. Another issue. You can't seem to gauge what type of response you need to have. And in turn, you give him silence.

His anger rises. "Am I just your second choice? Your fucking backup plan because those Pogues don't cut it?"

Your head is spinning, and you attempt to pull away from his grip but he tightens it. "Rafe," you start slowly, your breathing quickens, "What are you talking about?"

Are you being ignorant on purpose? Are you trying to drive him mad? His fury erupts, flooding all his senses.

"Them!" Rafe points to the door, where JJ left moments ago. "Last night. Everything. Did you ask them before you asked me?"

It's starting to catch up. "Are you serious?"

"I told you that we'll figure it out together."

"I—" Your throat burns. You can't believe he's letting his jealousy about your friends come at a perilous stage in your life. Exhaling a sharp breath, you meet his stare head-on. "They appointed themselves to that role. I never asked that of them."

After Pope discovered the break-in, JJ and him formed a pact to take it upon themselves to watch over you while you're home. They traded off shifts, entertaining themselves on the porch where they set up a makeshift couch and hammock to crash. You had tried to convince them you were fine, but they were stubborn. They wouldn't listen. And at the time, you appreciated the extra protection.

But it didn't work. You couldn't sleep. You still needed him.

Does he not get that?

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head with contempt, "You never ask for anything."

"Are you really trying to start a fight right now?"

"Are you making it a fight?"

"They're my friends, Rafe," you emphasize, "I told you that."

"I'm not talking about that."

"Then what is it?"

His jaw is set, resistance churning through his system to shut the fuck up, but he can't hold it in. He finds himself asking, half in plead, half in confession, "What am I?"

You weren't expecting that. Your lips part, but no words follow through. His hard gaze is on you, waiting for an explanation, but you don't answer fast enough. It's killing him. His next words are a shimmering calm, in a deadly whisper, "Do you think I only want you for sex?"

Your heart squeezes in your chest, taking all your air alongside it. You think you lost your ability to speak, but when you do, it comes out small. "Don't you?"

You're turning the question back onto him, and he hates it. He's trying to get the words out of you, to see where he stands, but neither of you is willing to take that step. It reduces him to silence.

You can't believe it. He can ask, but he can't answer. Frustration fills you, searing hot and explosive. You don't stop yourself from saying, "Because last I remember, whenever you had a problem, you came over to fuck." You snap, your emotions rising to a crescendo, "And when I asked you what we are..." You trail off, losing your voice. The sting of his label still hasn't passed.

But he knows what you're referring to.

"That's different."

"How?"

Rafe doesn't speak. All he knows is it's different. He has feelings for you. Before he refused to acknowledge it, now, it's bleeding into everything he touches. Everything he does. He just can't seem to say it.

"That was before."

Your brows pull together, your anger pulsating through your veins. "Before what? Before Aaron broke into my house?"

"No," he declares, his response is a knee-jerk reaction, but it wasn't the right one. Attempting to rectify, Rafe stammers, "Well, yes, but it's just... It's..."

Why can't he fucking tell you?

He's afraid of being first.

"It's pity?" You supply, not bothering to conceal the hurt in your tone. "Everything is just pity?"

"No!" He exclaims, but it isn't right. It still isn't good enough.

"Then what is it?" You demand, trying to get a hold of your emotions. But you're seconds away from screaming, or crying, or both. You rip your hand from Rafe's grip, taking a step back to conserve yourself.

His gaze falls to his empty hands, his emotions choking him. Every attempt at saying the right words causes him to shrink, feeling small, feeling like a child reaching for their parent's love, only to be pushed aside and dismissed. His walls are for protection, but it destroys as much as it save him.

Rafe decides to settle on something easy. "I'm your boyfriend."

"Fake," you correct.

"Does this feel fucking fake to you?"

You reel back. All your anger dissipates. All your resentment, hurt, and frustration disappear once those words leave his lips. And you're left with a burning clarity. Your chest constricts, your heart hammering. But you can't seem to answer him. You want him to say it first. "You tell me."

Rafe can't. It took all of him to admit such a thing.

You watch him with bated breath, but only to be disappointed again. His dark blue eyes are piercing, rich with emotions, but none of them are vocalized. None are honest. You can’t do this. You can’t go through another second of this uncertainty. You’re tunneling towards heartbreaking misery. So, you turn to leave.

But Rafe catches your wrist and pulls you back. His lips slam into yours, knocking the wind from your lungs.

He pours everything into this kiss; all his desperation, vulnerability, and truth. His action demonstrates everything his words can’t. And while you reciprocate with the same passion, reality grounds you, and you draw back, shaking your head. “Rafe—“

He kisses you again. Hoping it’s enough. Begging it to be. He can’t say it. He doesn’t know why he can’t fucking say it. He wants this to be enough.

You push back again, and this time, his arm wraps around your waist, trapping you in his embrace. You’re breathing hard as Rafe stares down at you while you’re looking at his chest.

He says your name. You refuse to look up.

He says it again. More firmly. You don’t acknowledge.

“Sweetheart,” he finally says, softening his words, and you find yourself crying. Tears crowd your waterline as you shake your head, refusing to be persuaded by the sweet sound of your endearment.

“No,” you choke out, slamming a weak fist against his chest. “Let me go. I can’t—I don’t—I’m not doing this.”

You finally tilt your head up to look at him. The way he stares at you with such tenderness. You can’t seem to discern it from pity. “I can’t.” You sob, “If this is how you’re playing me, I can’t keep doing this anymore. You’re breaking my heart.“

Then it finally hits him.

All your resistance. It was never rejection. It was the complete opposite. Coupled with the same fears he had; the same emotions he didn’t know how to express. He’s been so blind to it.

He should’ve known. He should’ve read it the same way he’s been reading everything else.

It finally gave him the confidence nothing else has.

“I fucking love you.”

You are completely still. You think you're hearing him wrong, that this is just a way of your brain deluding you and calming your irrational state of mind, but it's real. Your lips part, breathing shallow, all while you're staring back into Rafe's eyes.

He's afraid. Rafe doesn't trust his own instincts. Everything about you makes him question himself. And while he gained a fleeting moment of courage, he doesn't know if it will follow through. On the off-chance that, despite all this, all the signs he read, he was wrong and it will be rejection.

"Say it back," Rafe whispers in a plea. It's pathetic, but he no longer cares. "Say it back or I'm going to lose my fucking mind."

"You love me?" You breathe in a whisper, unable to move on from this moment. Rafe squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing thickly, before nodding once.

“I think I loved you since I first met you,” he confesses. “I just didn’t know it yet.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

Rafe bristles, “You think I go around telling people I love them?” He declares, studying your expression, trying to gauge your reaction, but it’s hard when he’s blinded by the crippling fear that you don’t feel the same. “You think I do this for anyone?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, “I just don’t want you to say something you don’t mean.”

“I do mean it,” he declares, his voice suddenly dry, as he finds your gaze. “I… I’m sorry for before when I said things I didn’t mean. I don’t want you just for sex, I don’t see you as just a fuck buddy. I’m… I’m in love with you, and it’s fucking difficult to tell you that.”

Your lips purse together, but you still don’t answer him. Don’t confess your own side. Instead, you ask in a meek voice, “Since the beginning?”

He huffs. He can’t believe he’s admitting so much today. Revealing things he swore he’d keep hidden behind a locked box. But when he finds the light returning in your eyes, trying to gauge more of his reaction, read his true meaning, finding comfort in his words, he’ll rip out his own soul to keep it there. “Since the beginning. When you called me out, when you patched me up, when you slapped me—“ That bit makes you let out a small laugh, “I don’t think I was going to meet anyone who challenges and accepts me the way you do.”

You don’t say anything for the next few moments. And they were the longest seconds of his life. Rafe had to speak, “And if it’s just me, if I’m the only person who feels this way, I’ll find a way to be okay with that—“

You cut him off with a kiss.

“I love you,” you breathe into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I love you,” you jump, curving your legs around his hips as Rafe catches you, steadying you with two hands tantalizing skimming the curve of your ass. “Fuck, Rafe, I love you so much.”

His heart fills with your words. Your desperation clinging to each puncture. He grins into the kiss, before he deepens it, tasting you, stealing your air. Everything feels right. Feels good. When Rafe separates to break the kiss, he catches the residue smile on your face and the little daze behind your eyes. He snaps a memory of it and saves it forever.

But, just as it came, it slowly faded away. Reality quickly dawns on you, and your arms tightens around Rafe’s neck, reminders and deadlines creeping up your skin. Your confession comes out small. “I… I’m scared. With Aaron and everything.”

“Sweetheart…”

“I don’t have the money, Rafe,” your eyes connect with his. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Rafe pulls you in, flushed against his chest as your head lays on his shoulders and his hand strokes your hair. It takes a moment for him to process, to remember the world outside of you. But, when he does, he whispers, “I’m going to take care of it,” his voice so low, it almost comes out as a threat. “I’ll take care of you.”

And he will.

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Navigation — Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Hey Cap!! 

Miscellaneous meta PN lore question!

I have some questions about Time Travel! In Panthera, Bunnyx is yet to show up, I presume because her first canon appearance is in season 3, however I’m curious about what thoughts you have regarding the Rabbit Miraculous and time travel in the series in general :3

Time travel always has a lot of different interpretations and it’s one of those things that can be an absolute pain in the ass to plan for. Especially cause as soon as you open up the ‘time travel is possible’ can of worms it either a) has to be addressed why the big bad evil guy wasn’t just… stopped before they could begin or b) have some sort of rules about time travel that generally change depending on what is convenient for the plot (or secret third option c) use suspension of disbelief because the story wouldn’t have happened if someone had went and fixed everything).

Sorry, I think about time travel a lot. A version of time travel is a main component of my original fantasy story so this is actually a hugely pared down prelude to what I wanted to write. 

Anyway! I’m wondering if you have any thoughts on how you're going to handle the fact that it, well, exists. It feels like the sort of thing you wouldn’t shy away from, especially because of all the lovely existential dread that could come from having access to that power, though it would come in different flavours depending on how you choose how time travel works. (Eg. You can’t change the past but you can partake in it, it's just that this was always what happened but the time traveller is the last one to experience that moment. Or you can change the past but would it be ethical or right? etc.).

Obviously, Time Breaker could (and did!) time travel, but the mechanics of that were just totally different so it's a different ball game. Though I did like how you wrote Time Breaker and the ramifications of that, I'll get into that for my story observations :3

But… it’s also a total bitch to plan around writing wise, you need, like, a special kind of foreshadowing for it to pay off properly and it's all complicated for no reason so I totally get if it’s a canon aspect you want to mostly ignore. 

oOHOHOHOH HAVE I THOUGHT ABOUT IT <3

Ive thought about it a LOT on why Bunnyx hasn't 'fixed' any of the in universe problems.

I love Alix, so I have great plans to explore how she goes from being Alix- a very emotional character with strong emotional ties and, as Timebreaker showed, the drive to recklessly fix something if she's given the chance to- to Bunnyx, someone who- well... is an enforcer of the future.

I'll keep my cards close, but I will leak some details on how time itself works in this universe though! See;

If this universe is a gated off garden, the many different timelines that co-exist are the singular different plants and flowers growing. Different seeds grow into specific plants.

A tomato seed turns into a tomato, a Chat Noir timeline produces a Chat Noir timeline, and so on. Bunnyx's job is to tend to this garden, keep timelines and their roots from interfering with each other. This means alternate timelines exist.

Becoming Bunnyx means she's not allowed to pick and choose what timelines she wants but is responsible to make sure they end in the ways they're meant to, and if they're not, she will know because they often interfere with other timelines like Weeds.

In minor situations, a timeline will feature a hiccup where a scenario doesn't go exactly how it's meant to or occurred without meaning to, and Bunnyx will either readjust this event to make it work smoothly into the 'canon', ignore it because its harmless, or cut the hiccup entirely so it never happens.

In MAJOR situations, a disrupted and unintended timeline will not only occur and change the direction of a single timeline, it will slowly weed its way into causing the other timelines around it to ONLY END the way the original Anomaly does. That is when the event that caused the anomaly must be cut from the root- before it's infection affects her too.

[miasiegert]

I have a question about Cats costumes! I've been wondering, what's up with the tails? They usually looks to be tied around the waist that really disrupts the fur patterns and doesn't look that good to me compared to if they were attached to the back. Is there a reason for that? I also know Misto changes his tail for his number to be able to dance. Is there other such costumes? It's all so interesting to me!

Excellent questions re:tails!

It's a mixture of aesthetic and safety with the tails (aesthetic is the way they match the warmers so there's cohesion and suspension of disbelief), and some for practicality as another safety in case the lycra tears so there's no fallen tail since there's a lot of weight to them, way more than one would think. Tails also throw the actors off-balance so they have to rehearse in tails right from the beginning for their safety! If attached directly to the back, the actors wouldn't be able to adjust them if there was a problem or center of gravity changes, which could be incredibly dangerous.

We have a tail loop on ours keeping it in place to not slide around and hold it up. The knot on the tail belt is a second safety to keep it up. If either break, the alternate keeps it there. Actors choose where to tie it, front, side, etc, usually female characters wear the belt higher, male characters lower.

For the change of tails, it's basically whether the costume changes. So Misto has a new tail, Hench Cats, Macavity, Jenny's Gumbie suit (some do NOT have tails for this but our design does), Bustopher (different design though). Mungo and Rumple use the same tails but have to move them around their song pieces (again for safety but same principle).

I will try to take pics later if I remember--tech is always chaotic so I forget a lot of things and I've got SO many shoes to paint since right after I finished, many other cast members decided they'd love their shoes to be painted as well (very respectfully asking if I was able to!)

Safety always is our number one priority when it comes to CATS, or anything. Accidents do happen, which are scary, so we take our job very seriously, and fortunately since David was a dancer and we're friends with so many dancers, we know what to look out for to maximize safety. We also consult with every single actor at their fittings and throughout the time we're with a production (if in person) or via email with their costume department (if we ship it out).

Most recently, I had to do a lot of study and work with an actor who has rhinestones on his shoes as he doesn't just dance but he tumbles too. I needed to film him with the blocking to see where the sparkles were/which rhinestones were visible, take a lot of photos, feel his feet/ankles while he wore them, then film basically on the stage/hands and knees, just his feet as he danced so I could review the footage and see if I missed anything. Although I wanted to do fully encrusted sparkly shoes for this performer and I think they dreamed of that, I determined it was not safe enough to that extent so I designed something with fewer crystals in what I believed was a more aesthetically pleasing, although sparser, pattern.

Hope this was helpful!!!

[chinesegal]

"Sometimes people are just assholes"-a common justification for Stella's lackluster writing.

When I debated someone over the way Stella was written, and I said that she is not a compelling villain, one reason being her complete lack of personality traits outside of tormenting Stolas and thus coming across more as a villain from a kid's cartoon than one from a supposedly adult show, they told me that "part of being an adult is accepting that sometimes people are jerks".

Personally, I find this excuse really lackluster, because it's extremely rare for people to do things for no reason. And even so, fiction has to make sense, meaning that even if something could happen it would still disrupt suspension of disbelief to the audience if not adequately explained enough.

And a major villain we are supposed to take seriously needs to be compelling. An one-note villain could work, but they are usually played for comedy.

In Stella's case, she is turned into a mustache-twirlingly evil villain to make Stolas more unambiguously sympathetic which just feels lazy and doesn't feel deserved. It retcons earlier characterization where you got the feeling that even if they never loved another they at least got along occasionally, like when they went to Loo Loo Land with Octavia.

[sixty-silver-wishes]

things I would love to see in a staged/sound film "caligari" adaptation-

francis, alan, and jane just being friends before alan is killed. the film only shows these three interacting once, but they're heavily implied to be really close, and I think one scene is all that's needed to show the chemistry they could have- while introducing a plot-relevant character dynamic and having a lighter moment in between the suspense and horror in the scenes before and after it. I'd love to see more of how much they mean to each other; we see francis and jane are devastated after alan's death in the original, and it would be interesting to see how much alan's death disrupts the previously-established dynamic between the three.

retaining the liminal, dreamlike quality through not explaining major plot events. develop the characters, elaborate on the script, maybe even make some plot changes, but I don't think everything should be explained- especially why alan asks when he's going to die, why cesare doesn't kill jane, and why caligari targets his specific victims. any adaptation that tries to explain these particular elements sort of falls flat; the plot holds up because it operates on "dream logic." stuff just happens and it doesn't make any sense, but we as the audience are expected to just go with it and draw our own conclusions.

exploring the symbolism. it can be hard to do this without being too on the nose (which I didn't like about the bbc radio version, despite the fact I thought it made some otherwise really neat choices, such as having cesare played by a countertenor singer and not giving caligari any dialogue), but there's a lot of symbolism to be interpreted. no matter what interpretation an adaptation takes, I'd be really interested to see how different adaptations read the story differently.

don't give caligari a backstory or motivation. it's okay to have campy villains who are pure evil for the sake of being pure evil; he's interesting in the original because he's more of a symbol than a character. and for the love of god, make him Creepy. I want to hear this guy talk in a voice that makes the flesh crawl off my back; every sound adaptation I've seen has just made him sound like a normal guy. for an idea of what I'd be looking for, my dream voice casting for him would be tim curry.

on the subject of sound, if you're going to adapt a silent film into a medium with sound, use it to your advantage. I want to hear the creak of floorboards as cesare walks towards jane's bed, the overwhelming noise of the fair that he wakes up to, and oh god, think of the porridge scene. no dialogue, no music, just stirring and chewing and breathing. eugh.

animation and/or shadow puppetry! I think with the addition of sound, animation would be the best way to preserve the vibes of the original due to the strong element of suspension of disbelief. this will probably never happen, but I would love to see a stop motion animated adaptation, due to the association with the uncanny valley. get del toro on that shit. and as for a stage version, utilizing shadow puppetry would be really neat for some sequences, like alan's death. I believe they actually do this in the ballet version, and it looks amazing.

keep cesare's death the same. please. don't shoot him, don't stab him, don't beat him to death with a club. just have him collapse and give out. it may seem less climactic, but it's so much more effective.

[jaggedwolf]

I got dragged along to rewatch spider-verse, have a bunch of opinions

Gwen's parts of the film are still my favorite. I love the way the drums kick in and frantically keep going, the bleeding colors, subway doors opening right into rooms and of course, that her uncle ben death doesn't result from inaction but directly from her own hand - awful and great.

Miles's family stuff still felt repetitive to what was going on in the first film, even if the nuances are different

I love Jefferson though, he's trying his best and does not want to make more lemon bars to fix all the shit Spot and Spider-man broke

I'm also glad that spider-verse him gets his wife's last name because honestly what on earth was that original combo

I am very boring and have no suspension of disbelief about giant catastrophic set-pieces where somehow no one dies, which makes the banter-driven inability to catch Spot before half of Mumbattan Alchemax collapses much less endearing to me. Same for a giant quantum hole in Mumbattan not yet hurting anyone.

Still very fond of Pavitr. He's had it so easy so far! What do you mean being Spider-man is hard! Also the eternally appealing superhero desperation of "I can do both" when first faced with a hard choice

IDK how convincing the second movie's resolution to the "breaking canon events disrupts the universe" problem is going to be. It'll be annoying if they try to say Miguel was merely lying and/or it isn't an actual problem, given that we see Peter B. witness Miguel's world fall apart and that no one disagrees with Miguel saying "we haven't always been lucky" about disrupted canon events -> quantum holes or whatever -> dimension collapsing

The pacing really falls off in the second half of the film. Before then there are a couple of scenes that go on for too long, but man, literally three of the people I watched the film with fell asleep during that chase sequence - it relies on the chaos of a billion spider-men for too long before giving it some structure

The dual reveal of Gwen and Miles in the same bedroom in different universes is sick, whether or not you've already guessed that was the issue. Miles' mom 's reactions to mentions of his dad are well done.

.....Gwen talking to Miles' parents was absolutely unnecessary lmao. Adds nothing to the film, other than trying to beat you over the head with the already implied theme, and also would the parents not be losing their shit?? Wished it had ended with her just eavesdropping on them silently

oh also i liked the stuff they did with gwen and her window reflections - always seeing the other version of herself, huh

Likely a side-effect of the pacing problems but that ending does not at all feel like a solid ending, even accounting for it being the first half of a two-parter.

[romilly-jay]

Yay, Nostalgia

Not actually a snippy title. That's because my heart is full from the announcement that naughty penguin Feathers McGraw is returning to screens in the latest Wallace and Gromit, in, I guess, December 24.

[Yes, I'm writing this in June, when I first saw it announced - but I've got the blog pointed towards my lil series on 'cosy catastrophe' and frankly, I hate to disrupt the pattern and since this writing is more about capturing my thoughts somewhere I can find them again, I figure that the Real Time ness doesn't actually matter very much.]

I love the trope of the possessions being returned to the prisoner as they leave incarceration... I get a proper grin at the sight of the ridiculous rubber glove "disguise"... (It amuses me so much: the idea that the disguise was effective... the existence of a four-finger glove... It makes literally no sense other than to match the rooster comb the penguin is faking... but then again, if I want to enforce a five-finger glove standard in an animation about a criminal penguin, perhaps I'm losing track of my pre-existing willing suspension of disbelief?)

Speaking of losing track of rationality - it's not even like I'm a particularly dedicated watcher of Wallace & Gromit but they have an apparently unshakeable hold on my heart just the same. [Only apparently because - too bold to assume that my love of ANYthing will survive forever [clearly it won't] but also just on the slim off-chance that Aardman Animation will turn out to be villainous in ways I'm not able to separate from their art or prepared to overlook.]

Equally, despite never having read them - but I did eventually watch and enjoy the movies - I was <3 to learn that Haymitch is getting a turn in the spotlight in a surprise 5th Hunger Games book and movie. And again - irrationally attached to the *idea* of more 'screen'/page time for a pre-Games/mid-Games H. Irrationally because - I should maybe, possibly, perhaps read the books? Is it okay that I feel invested in this character simply because of Woody Harrelson?

This makes more sense to me than a prequel focused on Snow, though since I originally wrote this, I've now seen (not read) the Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and... really didn't hate it. Landed for me as a deepening and not simply as a desperate dance to make a story within the constraints of knowing that the future has to land in a certain, specific place. Should say that Peter Bradshaw writing for The Guardian takes precisely the opposite view. One Star. Savage.

Finally - and not really about nostalgia at all, on the basis that it's too soon for me to be nostalgic about my MFA which at time of writing isn't actually even quite finished - I'm additionally affectionate towards The Hunger Games because it was cited by Adam Roberts (2016) in his discussion of the concept of cosy catastrophe.

This is what Roberts had to say about it:

p.481 the success of the Hunger Games crystalised a sense that the dominant mode of contemporary SF is dystopian.

p. 481 [The] grisly conceit seems to have been lifted from Japanese writer Takami Koshun’s cult novel Batoru Rowaiaru (Battle Royal 1999), also filmed, in which teens are deposited on an island, armed and informed they must kill one another. The difference is one of tone: Takami’s novel is inventively savage in a wholly unsentimental way; Collins parses her violence through a dewey-eyed love story narrative that tends to take precedence over the political satire and utopian dreaming.

Not at all similar in tone to the “harrowing anti-cathartic power’ of Cormac McCarthy’s post-apocalyptic nihiltopia The Road (2006)

p.481-2 one of the most devastatingly affecting / novels of the decade, like Samuel Beckett with a high velocity rifle.

By contrast, The Hunger Games could be described (using a term from Brian Aldiss – again) as “cosy catastrophe”.

p. 482 the emphasis of a cosy catastrophe is more on the first term than the second term; the disaster that frames the narrative exists for our hero or heroine to have greater freedoms of adventure and to show them overcoming their adversities.

[Should add that after I first spoke about this, one of my Gen Z classmates who for sure knew more about The Hunger Games than I do came up to tell me that this was an unfair read of THG and I can see how that argument can be made - that it's more straight disaster/dystopia than dystopia-as-excuse-for-high-jinx.]

References

§Merlin Crossingham on X (2024) [X/Twitter]. Available at: https://x.com/ernyberny/status/1798823839129907682 (Accessed on: 07 June 2024).

§Olapido, G. (and agencies). (2024). 'Author Suzanne Collins announces fifth Hunger Games book - Sunrise on the Reaping to be published on 18 March 2025, set 24 years before original Hunger Games novel', The Guardian. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/books/article/2024/jun/06/new-hunger-games-suzanne-collins (Accessed on: 07 June 2024).

§Roberts, A. (2016) The history of science fiction. 2nd edn. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

[greatwyrmgold]

The Age of Magneto

Here's a question for X-Men fans: How long until Magneto's expiration date? And what happens then?

You probably know what I mean, but this post is as much an excuse for me to spell out my thoughts on the matter as it is asking for other people's input. (I would still like to hear other opinions, mind you.)

Most metahumans' origin stories are free-floating in history. Batman's parents could have been shot in any decade, Krypton could explode in any decade, Dr. Doom's lab accident could happen in any decade. We just quietly accept a character barely aging between the 70's and the new 10's, if not longer, because that's how comics work. But if a historical event is central to your character's backstory, you could have problems.

The Holocaust was stopped roughly 77 years ago. Any mutant with strong enough memories of Nazi Germany for them to be a significant part of his motivation would need to be in his mid-80's, at minimum. That's longer than most people who don't regularly engage in superpower fights live; it's not old enough that still being an active villain breaks your suspension of disbelief, but my dad was talking about this when Magneto could plausibly be sixty-something.

Each passing decade makes it exponentially less plausible for Magneto to be an active supervillain, but he's a critical part of the X-Men. He's their most iconic villain, his dynamic with Professor Xavier is the centerpiece of everything X-Men says about civil rights, and while I don't follow the comics that closely, I know that Magneto is the father of several significant mutants. He can't just fade into the background when he stops being plausible, like Captain America: Commie-Smasher did.

So at some point, whether in the COVID 20's or the Cyber 30's or the Giant Alien Spider 40's, Magneto will have to change in some way. I only see three ways to do this, and none remotely preserve the X-Men's status quo.

The Natural Solution

The simplest way to make Magneto not unrealistically old to survive both Colossus and leukemia would be to have him just not survive. Possibly a big sacrifice or dramatic battle, possibly just old age or mundane disease, possibly dramatic disease or a mundane battle. Regardless, it seems likely that they'd want to kill Professor X around the same time, if only to put a clean coda on their iconic rivalry.

Now, they would still be important figures in the comics, but more the way that Uncle Ben or the Waynes are, or that MLK and the Black Panthers are to modern African-Americans. The older mutants fight to continue the legacy of their fallen leaders, the younger ones idolize them, but they are gone.

Despite being the only option that doesn't require a reboot or retcon, it's the most disruptive to the status quo, so I doubt they'd pick this one.

Same Genocide, Different Decade

Unfortunately, the Holocaust was not the last event of its kind. Sure, no genocide has been of the same industrial scale as the Holocaust (except the Holomodor, depending on what estimates you use and where you draw the line between "part of the Holocaust" and "just another Nazi war crime," let's leave it at that). But is the Rwandan genocide less tragic, criminal, or traumatic than the Holocaust just because "only" several hundred thousand people died?

Magneto's character wouldn't need to change an inch if he was a Cambodian in the 70's, a Hutu in the 90's, or even a Darfur (or is it Fur?) in the 2010's. But that doesn't mean there wouldn't be issues from this change, and I don't mean continuity ones.

First off, in all likelihood, executive mandate would cut away at this reboot of Magneto until it was, like, Magneto's parents died in a Latverian mutant genocide. Something comfortingly fictionalized. But let's pretend they'd keep a real genocide in there.

Losing a Jewish Magneto would suck. Even if we got different representation out of it, it would suck. And there's no way around it; antisemitism still exists, some organized antisemitism in the past 60 years probably qualifies as genocide, but none approaches the level of generational trauma caused by the Holocaust.

And then there's the race issue. You know how a certain type of reactionary flips out when a codename traditionally belonging to a straight white dude gets assumed by a "political" character? It would be so much worse if we couldn't point out "That's Kal's son" or "That's Tony's student" or "That's the Falcon with a shield". And any Magneto from a major post-WW2 genocide would either need to be a POC (and hence attract those chuds) or a Holomodor survivor (which would just change what chuds you pissed off).

This idea has a lot of good to it. It preserves the time-proven structure of X-Men storytelling, it's probably net positive for representation, and above all, it would remind the audience that the horrors which scarred Magneto did not end with the Nazis. But it also has a lot of bad to balance that out.

Iceman (not that one)

If Magneto is going to continue to be from the Silent Generation, and continue to be an active presence in the story, there will eventually need to be some reason for him not to be a centenarian. You could just make it a side effect of his magnetism somehow, but that feels like it's drawing attention to the problem more than it solves it. Luckily, the Marvel universe has an established mechanism for WW2-era characters to get from D-Day to the modern day.

(Come to think of it...Cap and Magneto were both around during the same pivotal historic period. Heck, Wolverine was, too. Are there any storylines that do something with that quirk of the timeline?)

Or you could use some functionally similar plot device, like being imprisoned in a stasis chamber for some reason. Also, Magneto doesn't need to be frozen for 60-70 years solid for this to work; if he gets put on ice during the 60's or so and defrosted a decade or two before the nebulous modern day, he could be kept at a comfortable middle age until the X-Men franchise stops making money.

But while this option makes it more plausible that his arthritis wouldn't cripple his powers and that one punch from Logan wouldn't break half the bones in his torso, it complicates his relationship to modern mutants.

The biggest problem is his rivalry with Xavier. It could be interesting if Xavier had several decades to get over the reasons he fought with Magneto and Magneto didn't, but that dynamic can only last so long before Xavier has the exact same problem as Magneto: If Xavier was Magneto's rival before he was frozen, X needs to have been an adult in the 60's, which makes him at youngest an early baby boomer.

And it would be supremely awkward to freeze Xavier alongside Magneto. Magneto doesn't not have bonds with his fellow mutants that would be distorted by the Captain America treatment, but Xavier is almost literally a goddamned institution of the mutant community. The school that bears his name would be radically different if Xavier wasn't there.

Which basically leaves us with Magneto being frozen in the 60's after minimal to no interaction with Xavier, then developing a rivalry with him in the relatively short period between Magneto's defrosting and the nebulous presence. It doesn't not work, but it's just not the same as a rivalry developed as the two of them grew up.

I've run out of stuff to say

So, yeah. Magneto needs to change some decade or another, but the least disruptive solution I see is to slap an anti-aging power on him (and probably Xavier) and hope nobody cares.

Maybe there's a solution someone else sees. Or maybe someone else has an interesting thought about or twist on one of the broad possibilities I've described. If you've read this far, I assume you have some kind of Magneto opinion. Would you like to share it?

[bitimdrake]

Hi. Sorry if this is me being obtuse. I agree with everything you said in your last meta about why DC felt it necessary to retroactively make Jason's death Jason's fault, but I'm not sure I understood the point you were trying to make? Maybe I missed something because I don't like Jason and generally have his name blacklisted (I opened that post because I like your meta), but I interpreted your tone as very annoyed and I'm not sure I get your argument on what DC should have done? 1/?

I mean, one part of why I dislike Jason is because I think if he's treated as anything other than an outright villain he inevitably breaks the metanarrative of the DC Universe, so maybe that's where my problem is? I know you're very much on the Bruce is an abusive dad train here (and I don't disagree), but I don't think calling out DC acknowledging Bruce as abusive would have been enough to fix that problem. Too many major superheroes have kid sidekicks. 2/?

Are you arguing that DC should have given up child heroes all together after Jason? I wouldn't agree, but I'm trying not to be argumentative (sorry if I'm failing, it's my natural state), I'm just trying to understand what you were driving. Or are you just looking for something more nuanced than DC provided? Where child heroes are part of the suspension of disbelief but we can still embrace the tragedy of Jason's loss? Or were you not annoyed at all and I totally misread your tone? Sorry! 3/3

No worries! Sounds like it's mostly a tone miscommunication. I didn't make that post out of annoyance; I just think it's interesting to explore who we ended up here.

And I honestly don't have an argument for what dc should have done. Mostly I think they did just back themselves into a corner tonally with Jason's death, and had to try to pick the option that would disrupt the universe the least.

I definitely don't think they should give up on kid heroes. Beside being personally super attached to the younger characters, I absolutely believe that kid sidekicks are fundamental to dc's dna. Like you say, even if they did decide to declare Bruce responsible for Jason's death (which he isn't imo), that doesn't change the dozen other kid sidekicks outside of Gotham. (And while, yeah, I think Bruce sucks as a parent, I don't think having kid sidekicks in general is one of his failings--I'm totally willing to suspend my disbelief for that part of dc and say it's ethically a-okay.)

There are definitely points where I could go for more nuance from dc. I hate the idea that Jason was "doomed to be bad" or whatever, and Morrison can meet me in the pit for that among many other things. Plus, at this point, so many kids in the dcu have died that it's clear that's just part of the universe now, and they really don't need to keep justifying Jason's death in particular anymore.

But for the state of dc at the time--late 80s and early early 90s--I totally get how and why they made the decisions they did.

I guess if there was anything I was mildly annoyed by/arguing against in that post, it's the occasional claim I see thrown around here that dc retroactively making Jason bad was, like, some kind of personal vendetta they had against the character. (A weird number of people talk like Jason is a real human being who dc unfairly hates instead of, yknow, a fictional character they created.) Jason got some rough treatment after his death--and certain writers took it to unnecessary extremes--but there were understandable reasons for it. Which I guess was the point of the post! It's a tricky situation, and they didn't have a good way to get out of it. The light-hearted inclusion of kid sidekicks is thematically at odds with the tragic death of jason, but you also need to have both. And there's only so much that can be done to reconcile them ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[rjalker]

Why do I always get hit by the urge to write as soon as I go to beddddddddd WHYYYYYYY

(Ranting and caps lock below cut because now I can do it on mobile!!!! No more spoilery than usual because I keep everything super vague)

Is it because I kept imagining all the ways to fix this bullshit the writers have failed in every conceivable way? These writers suck. They have NO clue what they're doing. They don't have a goal, they can't write emotions for shit, they aren't creative at all, they keep LYING in place of HAVING A PLOT, and their OC is so ridiculously over powered it's shattering MY suspension of disbelief!!! MY suspension of disbelief!!!! Mine!!! DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO DISRUPT MY SUSPENSION OF DISBELIEF?!

I don't know who wrote these but they are just terrible beyond measure. Are there any redeeming qualities? No, not really. Charley is the only reason I'm listening to them and with the way these writers suck and just KEEP LYING and just fucking. They have no idea what they're doing. They just keep lying and piling on more traumatic shit like trauma is a replacement for FORWARD MOMENTUM OR DIRECTION.

And they don't even do anything with it!!!!!! It doesn't even matter!!!!!!!!!! They don't even say the MOTHER FRAKKING WORD until they're talking about something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. WHICH IS LITERALLY ACCOMPLISHING NOTHIJG BUT DOWNPLAYING WHAT THE WORD SHPULD HAVE APPLIED TO IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!!!!!!!

Who wrote for Charley and Eight??? Please for the love of Hircine bring them back. Salvage this flaming dumpster fire, PLEASE. IT IS KILLING ME. I HATE THIS BUT I LOVE HER PLEASE JUST FIX IT!!!!

IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE HAPPY!!!

IT JUST HAS TO BE WELL WRITTEN!!!!!!