#spanish sahara by foals

[6utterfly3ffect]

the bay ending sticks in my head like a stupid little fly buzzing around in there because its so tragic and full of emotion and idc if its the morally correct option Spanish Sahara by Foals makes me so sad. The bay ending is good but I can never choose it because it's SO SAD the lyrics of Spanish Sahara make me violent (great song though!)

(also I think Max would never choose Arcadia Bay over Chloe but that's a different topic because I typed this specifically while listening to Spanish Sahara by Foals)

[unscharf-an-den-raendern]

Schloss Einstein and the season they made (almost) all of them go through hell

(and those are just two episodes)

[fanaticforlife]

Dramione - Manacled

"The fanfare is in the light but the execution is in the dark, the purpose being always to mislead."

Manacled: an astounding & dark story (fanfic) by the dearest @senlinyu; and this marvelous trailer is simply heartwrenching. The end of this story ruined me. Full of hope and life and the after effects of all that they went through.

“She was a non active member of the order and did not fight.”

[kragehund-est]

I'm the fury in your head

I'm the fury in your bed

I'm the ghost in the back of your head

'Cause I am

[lovethatlaiduslow]

THE SPANISH SAHARA THE PLACE THAT YOU’D WANNA LEAVE THE HORROR LEAVE THE HORROR HERE FORGET THE HORROR HERE LEAVE IT ALL DOWN HERE IT’S FUTURE RUST AND THEN IT’S FUTURE DUST CHOIR OF FURIES IN YOUR HEAD CHOIR OF FURIES IN YOUR BED I’M THE GHOST IN THE BACK OF YOUR HEAD

[scarlettcryptid]

bnha x life is strange crossover uhhh something something league of villains fix it fic

[darth-ban]

Leave it all down here. It's future rust and it's future dust. // Spanish Sahara by Foals

[6utterfly3ffect]

IM THE FURY IN YOUR HEAD IM THE FURY IN YOUR BED IM THE GHOST IN THE BACK YOUUURRR HEAD

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Forget the horror here.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Words count: 1445

Rating: Mature (but there’s only allusions to smut this time)

Warnings/Tags: Javi’s POV for Poison and Wine, Internal conflict, sad thoughts, mention of Javi’s work, sweet Javi, bad at feeling Javi, love bites my friends, sad ending.

A/N: Poison and Wine can be found here, I promised a second part from Javi’s pov and here we are. I hope you’ll like this.

Titles comes from one of the most beautiful gut wrenching song I’ve ever listen, Spanish Sahara by Foals.

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

You are the easiest thing I deal with during the day. A relief, a safe haven to return to.

When I approached you for the first time I did it almost without thinking.

It had been a terrible day, I had lost half of my men in an ambush and that piece of shit had managed to escape again. The drug lord, may the devil take him.

I had entered the bar with an unbearable weight on my shoulders. I should be used to it but I'm afraid I never will. How could I get used to seeing death and destruction all around all day.  

You were at the counter, you were wearing a dress that slid down your hips in an absolutely crazy way, you were breathtaking.

You were laughing, talking to the bartender.

I had nothing to lose, I ordered a tequila and spoke to you.

We chatted for a while, you seemed so spontaneous, confident, funny.

And you were beautiful, you have eyes that could stop time.

I felt almost clumsy in front of you.

Like a young boy.

A really weird feeling for someone like me, I usually just take what I want.

I've paid for sex several times, I'm certainly not a saint.

I'm not even a total asshole, so I tried to treat you with respect.

I'm sure you knew exactly what I was looking for so I didn't look for excuses, it would have seemed to me to offend your intelligence.

You are a smart, proud, free and independent woman. Fierce and incredibly charming. You smell like sugar and taste like heaven.

I figured it all out that night and it hit me hard.  

That's how it started.

I was convinced that it could be a loophole, a distraction.

 I ask you to see me to shake off the images of devastation that I have to face every day.

It's easy not to think of anything else being with you.

A glance is enough for you to understand what I need.

I would never tell you about my job, I can't and in any case it wouldn't be fair.

That's not what I want to do with you.

I don't want to talk.

I don't want to analyze anything.

I just want to let go and forget the rest.

There’s too much pressure on me and I feel liberated with you.

I always try to be cautious and watch my back for my own safety but most of all because I would never want to put you in danger. You have always lived here so you know well what the situation is like in your country. You are certainly not clueless and you have your own problems to take care of, you don't need mine.

I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.

I leave you in the dark about this but I hope you have understood it.

You did, right?

 Sometimes I think you're too much for me, I don't deserve you.

 You are disarming.

 The way you melt under my hands drives me nuts.

The way we have sex is amazing, every time.

 When I’m with you, I feel like I finally find peace.

Your skin is soft and warm, your neck so delicate, your lips turgid and delicious, your breasts beautifully designed to fill my hands, your legs toned and sensual, your sex wet and sweet under my tongue. 

And your eyes.

 Your eyes are so intense, deep, every time I stare at them I feel a fire burning inside.

I noticed how they try to discover me, to understand something more about me, some secret that I try to hide from myself too.

Every damn time I sink into you I feel like I've been pardoned by God or whoever for him.

 I don't know how else to describe it.

 We are in a shabby motel and you radiate beauty around even in a place like this.

 I fucked you right away, without a word, it was one of the usual horrible days and I wanted to leave it completely behind.

I know I'm not an easy man.

My bad temper gives some problems even at work sometimes.

 I wish I could be more serene, have a more stable life, be able to offer something more than sex.

 I wish I could take you to dinner in a nice restaurant, give you flowers, make you feel like I care.

I would like to take your hands and tell you that you are the best thing that has happened to me in years. 

I would like to tell you how much you are helping me. 

I don't even know how I can think of certain things when the situation makes them impossible.

I became a sentimental fool.

 Sometimes I feel like you want to ask for more and every time I hope you don’t.

I can't, you know I can't.

Should I put up with seeing the same look on Connie's face as she watches Steve leave without knowing if he'll return?

Yes, I am a coward when it comes to this, my courage is all absorbed in work, even though I often feel like it's all for nothing.

I run from one side of the city to the other in an attempt to achieve something, to at least partially solve the chaos, the fear, the guerrillas. 

Every small victory pales into insignificance in the face of another death.

This place has a lot of hidden secrets, I can't imagine them all.

If I succeed in eliminating a small part of its evil, I know that there is still so much that it wouldn't take two lives to defeat it completely.

I feel like I will never be able to hold anything in my hands, like I will never get close to the end.

 I only feel some kind of comfort when I'm inside you.

I've been with a lot of women but none has ever made me feel like you do.

I can't tell you that.

I can't risk it all.

I can't let you walk into my life any more than I already have.

What if I let myself be totally vulnerable? What if you lost me? What if I lost you?

I closed my eyes to make you think I was sleeping.

You were watching me, I could feel your eyes on me.

 You looked away so I wouldn’t notice, but I know.

Damn it.

Please don't do that.

It crushes me.

I'm quickly getting attached to you and I feel it's the same for you.

I have to back off.

 I have to be able to leave you out of all the crap that grips me.

From the horror that haunts me.

Your eyes are fixed on a point on the wall, seemingly careless. 

I still feel your warmth, the taste of your skin, the sweetness of your body, your moans of pleasure.

You have a power over me that makes me restless, hungry, eager.

I reach out to stroke your arm and you give me a smile that hurts my soul.

God, you are so beautiful.

 I would like to start all over again.

I would like to grab your waist with my arm and draw you back to me.

I can't get enough. 

Every time I touch you, every time I kiss you, every time I hear your tongue dancing with mine, every time I bite your neck and feel your smile on my skin, every time I smell your fresh and flowery scent, every time I sense you tremble with pleasure, every time I hear you scream my name I hope it never ends.

I get up without saying anything.

It's time for me to leave.

I take my clothes from the chair, while I hate myself.

My fucking stubbornness, my fear of getting close to anyone for fear of hurting them, my obstinacy in living a lonely life.

I hate all this.

I have to live with it but it hurts like fucking hell.

I get dressed feeling like a bastard.

I just wish everything was different, easier, I wish I could have you every day.

I’m the fury in your bed.

One day I'll just be a ghost in the back of your head.

Tagging @aurorawritestoescape and @thundermartini that were both so kind and encouraging and enjoyed the first part of it ♥️

Thank you so much 🥰

[eleanordol]

to be loved is to be changed.

💛— warnings. MURDER, sexual slavery mention, slut is said a bunch, bad injuries mention, hospital mention, blood, angst. a whole lot of shit in here really. No actual sex tho.

💛— synopsis. When Eleanor returns seriously injured after Bailey rented her out, Whitney has to deal with his complicated emotions. Bailey has plans to exploit those emotions, changing everything forever.

💛— wordcount. 2497

🎵 Foals - Spanish Sahara

this is part of the Eleanor Lore Series

one. (you are here!)

two.

random thoughts post

He sat cross-legged on the floor, his head resting against her bed, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest as she slept. He hadn’t been around when she was awake. He had to continue on with his life as normal—going to school so he wouldn’t get kicked out, running errands for Bailey, and keeping up some kind of appearance in his social circles.

All the while, his mind wandered to her, lying here in silence.

Most of her body was wrapped in gauze bandages, red spots of blood soaking through in places that shifted when she moved in her sleep. The bandages needed to be changed regularly to keep the wounds clean.

It felt like a hole had opened beneath him, swallowing him whole and spitting him out into a reality he didn’t want to be in—but one he couldn’t leave.

Eleanor had been missing for six days. Robin had run to find him when she noticed. He had been overly confident that he could find her. He knew all the places she frequented, knew the places she could have been sold to. He tried to reach out to her employers for help, only to come up with nothing. By the third day, he felt defeated, succumbing to the unease that had been growing in the back of his mind.

The culprit avoided him, avoiding her duties at the orphanage for those few days. Then, on the fourth day, she returned like nothing had happened, letting Robin know that Eleanor was due back in three days as per her rental contract. Robin relayed this message to him with her head down, avoiding eye contact.

On the seventh day, Eleanor was returned.

In a hurry, she was unceremoniously thrown out of a car onto the front yard—discarded like garbage. Left for dead.

Hell, she was almost dead, if Robin could be believed.

Her limbs were contorted in unnatural positions, her eyes dull and unfocused.

Despite that, Bailey didn’t let her stay in the hospital, only allowing professionals to clean her up and tend to her injuries before bringing her home. Drugging her every eight hours on the clock—to stop her from feeling pain, to keep her asleep and quiet.

He wasn’t there when she was brought back. Robin had only found out after she came home from selling lemonade.

Eleanor didn’t speak to anyone during the rare moments she was awake. And those moments were few and far between. Only awake to eat, drink, and be cleaned up before being drugged again.

He wanted to catch her when she was awake—to see her eyes open.

The sharp click of high heels caught his attention, pulling him from the despair swirling in his head.

Bailey was approaching.

She stood in the doorway, imposing as ever.

“My office. Now,” she barked harshly before turning on her heel and walking away.

—

Whitney stood in front of her desk, weight shifting between his feet, waiting as Bailey sifted through her filing cabinets. She pulled out papers, tossing them into a manila folder.

“I have a job for you,” she said, breaking the silence as she sat at her desk.

“Yeah? Same as usual?” he replied.

“This one is different.” She gently pushed the folder closer. “As you know, contracts are very important to me. And recently, a client broke their agreement.”

Whitney opened the folder to see a picture of a perfectly average-looking man—probably in his late forties or early fifties. The kind of guy you’d pass on the street and forget the moment you looked away.

He turned the page. A dossier detailed the man’s personal information—name, address, date of birth. Fifty-one years old, owned a few businesses in the shopping centre, had a wife and two kids.  Photos of his family were paper-clipped together; they looked happy.

“That gentleman rented my girl and—”

“My girl,” Whitney abruptly cut her off.

Bailey rolled her eyes. “Whatever, little boy. He rented her and left her in a terrible state. That was specifically against the agreement.”

Whitney’s jaw tensed, hot anger starting to burn in his chest. “What do you want, then?”

“Send a message.” She grinned. “You’re going to do whatever you feel is appropriate.”

“You want me to get thrown in jail?” He crossed his arms, meeting her gaze with equal intensity.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” She laughed, waving away his concerns. “They could catch you red-handed, and I’d make it go away. No, what I want to see is how far you’re willing to go for love.”

“What the fuck?” His anger swiftly gave way to confusion, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“Kill him, and Eleanor gets two months to recover—without charge,” she said plainly, as if her request was the simplest thing in the world. “Rough him up or scare him, and I can’t guarantee anything. Maybe the last picture in the folder will give you some heroic motivation bullshit.”

Cautiously, he flipped the page, not breaking eye contact with Bailey for a few seconds before lowering his gaze.

The photo was of Eleanor.

Hogtied.

A rope around her neck.

More bruise than human being.

Bile crawled up his throat. He covered his mouth to steady himself, breathing heavily to fight the urge to vomit.  The photos were reminiscent of crime scene photos.  Unrelenting sorrow clawed at his skull, eyes wide he looked back at Bailey.  Her smile as sickly poisonous as ever.

“It's midnight right now and my former client usually leaves the strip club at two in the morning,” she laced her fingers together, resting her chin on her hands, “I’ll see you in a few hours then?  Oh, and before I forget, Eleanor wakes up at three so do make it quick.”

-

This was most certainly a trap.

Whitney closed his eyes as he took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly as he leaned against a dumpster in the alley beside the strip club. He waited patiently for his prey, his mind running through the chain of events that had led him here.

Bailey wanted more leverage against him. Owning his girlfriend wasn’t enough—she needed to remind him of his place. He had to admit, in a sick way, he admired her. She got shit done and had half the city under her thumb. But this time, she was pushing him too far.

His fatal flaw? He loved Eleanor. Had this been earlier in their relationship, he would have cut and run. No slut was worth this much bullshit. Running drugs and collecting money? Sure, that was typical shit in this godforsaken town. But murder? He shuddered as the gruesome photos flashed in his memory. Why the fuck not?

From the shadows, he watched patrons trickle out of the club—mostly old men, a few women, and one man in his fifties who looked strung the fuck out. That must be him. Whitney's jaw clenched. The idea of that fucking pig renting Eleanor made his skin crawl.

His knife felt heavy in his pocket, its weight pressing against his palm. A few more minutes. Just a few more to steel his resolve.

The man stumbled onto the sidewalk, laughing with his equally drunk friends outside the club. A weekday night, and they were already wasted beyond reason. Whitney pulled his hood over his head, eyes narrowing as his target broke away from the group, heading down the street alone.

He followed, keeping his distance, sticking to alleys when he could, avoiding the streetlights. When the man took a detour through the park, Whitney’s pulse quickened. Perfect.

Through the trees, under the cover of darkness, he stalked him. Waiting. Watching. Biding his time for the right moment.

Behind the bathroom building, he struck.

A firm hand yanked the man back, shoving him against the concrete wall. The cold steel of a knife pressed against his neck.

“Please… please don’t hurt me! You can take my wallet!” The man’s voice trembled as he winced, his arm pinned painfully behind his back.

“You wish this was a robbery, mate.” Whitney’s voice was low, steady. “Bailey sends her regards.”

The man’s eyes widened. “What the fuck? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Whitney pressed the knife harder against his throat. “Bailey’s holding onto something that belongs to me, and you didn’t follow the rules. You know that bitch loves her contracts.”

“Oh, fuck off.” The man twisted suddenly, surprising Whitney with a burst of strength. He slammed a fist into Whitney’s face, the impact more forceful than expected for someone his age.

Pain exploded across Whitney’s cheek as he stumbled back. The man didn’t hesitate, lunging forward, his second punch landing square against Whitney’s jaw.

“I’m not dying over that fucking slut!” he spat, voice rough with age and cigarettes.

Rage boiled inside Whitney. He lunged, tackling the older man to the ground. They hit the dirt in a heap, fists flying, limbs tangling in a desperate struggle for dominance.

The man grunted, gripping Whitney’s wrist as they wrestled for control. “Are you the loser—” he panted, shifting his weight to pin Whitney down. “Are you the fucking loser she cried for the whole time?”

Whitney’s heart pounded in his ears. His muscles burned as he fought to free himself.

“She bawled like a bitch for you to save her.”

That was all it took.

With a surge of strength, Whitney shoved the man off him, rolling free just as his hand found the knife again. He barely registered the pain when his opponent threw a rock at his head. Adrenaline numbed it. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except ending this fucker.

His grip tightened around the handle, and with a roar, he plunged the knife into the man’s chest.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The man gasped, eyes wide with shock. Whitney didn’t stop.

Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Over and over and over.

By the time he finally stopped, his breath was ragged, his hands slick with blood, and the night around him eerily silent.

There was no going back now.

-

The trek back to the orphanage was a blur. His face burned, and he spat blood the whole way there.

Everyone with any sense was sleeping. Only the soft glow from the lamp in Bailey’s office lit the quiet hallway.

But there was no one there. Only a letter, a trash bag, and some clothing.

Good work, kid.

Put your clothing in the trash bag. I can clean it for you. Go take a shower, and don’t forget to bring Eleanor something to eat at three. Give her only one pill from the bottle at her bedside, or you’ll kill her, and after all the trouble you went to, that would be a tragedy. You can eat something too, I suppose. You earned it.

—Bailey.

Her letters were just as unsettling as her presence. Still, he did as she requested, taking the trash bag and clothing with him to the bathroom.

The hot water soothed his sore muscles. As his adrenaline faded, his body allowed him to truly feel the pain. What the fuck had he just done? Holy shit. It all hit him at once, like a freight train.

He had killed a man for a fucking girl.

Bloody water ran down the drain as he scrubbed all evidence of the night off his body.

He towel-dried his hair, putting on the shirt and sweatpants he was pretty sure were his to begin with. He must have left them here, and Bailey found them. Weird.

His bloody clothes secure in the black bag, he tossed them into the office on his way to the kitchen.

He helped himself to some deli ham and bread to make a sandwich for himself and Eleanor to share. He didn’t think she’d be very hungry in her condition.

This was so fucking stupid. How could he have done this? How could he be doing this?

He took a deep breath before entering her room. Where did these nerves come from?

She wasn’t sitting up—she probably wasn’t able to—but she did move when she heard the door open and close. Her eyes lit up when he sat on the floor beside her bed, placing a glass of water on her bedside table.

He didn’t look at her, instead focusing on the floor. “Hey, slut, I brought you a sandwich,” he said with a half-smile.

Her hands reached for him, touching his deeply bruised cheek.

“I got into a scrap. It’s nothing.” Finally, he turned his head to look at her.

She was smiling, tears welling in the corner of her uncovered eye.

It softened his face a little.

Fuck, this was a mess.

-

Half a pill was probably enough.

Whitney pressed along the dividing line of the pill with the bottle's cap, snapping it in half about as cleanly as he could manage right now. Pills weren't normally his scene, but the ache in his jaw compelled him. His eyes glanced down at Eleanor sleeping; one pill had knocked her completely on her ass. She was short and fairly thin, though, so it made some sense.

He winced thinking about the pain she must be in. When the drugs wore off, she would shift uncomfortably, looking for a position where everything would stop hurting.  She had refused his help when she got up to go to the bathroom. Her every step had been slow and unsteady.

There was a tightness in his chest. Bailey's manipulation had been flawless, controlling emotional responses he didn't know he had.

Taking a swig of her water, he swallowed the half-pill. Carefully climbing over her onto the side of the bed he was used to, he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling where she had stuck glow-in-the-dark stars with blue tack. She didn't stir from her rest despite him having all the grace of a drunkard.

A fuzzy warmth radiated from the middle of his body, creeping along his bloodstream. His sore muscles lost their soreness. He could totally see why this was so popular among people who were more wasteful of their lives than he was.

Well, now his life was probably fucked forever. He had fucked it up for her, like a fucking idiot. He was stupid. It wasn't even just for pussy. She was just so uniquely her. The way she matched his freak, pulling him into pranks he intended to humiliate her and turning them into something fun and stupid. Her unwavering kindness when he absolutely did not deserve it. If she had died, his life would be worse forever.

His hand found hers, gently rubbing his thumb across her palm. One of her fingers was done up in a splint. Broken. Her nails were cracked and splintered. Knuckles bruised. It was like she had been in a fucking plane crash.

The pain in his jaw was gone. Modern medicine was amazing. His teeth were probably fucked on that side. At least one felt like it had broken.

[fabdante]

@zutaraweek day 6, forge: it's 1994. you are at a party. and then you see a girl. and your soul remembers something: listen here (17 songs, 1 hour 9 minutes)

i've been thinking a lot about older internet. namely, old 8tracks playlists. and i thought it'd be fun to harvest a little of that nostalgia to make an old school fandom playlist meant to be listened to in order with a storyline and annotations!

song list with links and annotations under the cut (and if you liked this one, you can check out my longer zk playlist here)

~House of Metal by Chelsea Wolfe (You put your love inside the metal/You build the metal for your house): Tui and La. Moon and Ocean. Yin and yang. An eternal dance.

~Here She Comes by Slowdive (It's so lonely in this place): It’s 1994. He’s at a party. He doesn’t want to be. He looks up. And there she is.

~Home Soon by Vagabon (I’ll be home soon): Something remembers.

~Cinnamon by Jome (It’s a slow cinnamon summer/Your spell is pulling me under): It’s the last year of the 100 year war. The summer air is thick. Her smile’s the same. And something is happening that's far too sweet as they tumble towards the end of the world.

~First Light by Hozier (Could this be how every day begins?): A realization. A secret. A wish.

~Flaws by Daughter: She holds him after the lighting tore through him, after she saved him, as they watch the sky turn blue. What do you say after that? Besides what you want to, of course.

~Neptune by Sleeping at Last (I'm only honest when it rains/If I time it right, the thunder breaks/When I open my mouth/I wanna love you but I don’t know how): A realization. A horror. A little dream.

~Country Rain by Slowdive (I know I shouldn’t care/But I wish you were mine): They part. Not for the first time. Not for the last time.

~Spanish Sahara by Foals (I’m the ghost in the back of your head): Even after years, that summer won’t let go. Even after the years, she's as familiar as breathing.

~Lullabies by Yuna (Though you weren’t mine/You were my first love): A confession. A soft one.

~Fire in the Water by Feist (Nobody should see this/The freeness of the light): Knowledge that is learned cannot be unlearned. But things are seldom simple for them. It's never been simple for them.

~Cherry Tree by The National (Can we show/A little discipline?): What do we do with it? What have we ever done with it? The tangle of their lives, ever so complicated, and ever so woven. Maybe it's dangerous.

~Earth by Sleeping at Last (But I put it out of my mind/Long enough to call it courage): Wrong place, wrong time. That’s what it is.

~Good Day Sunshine by Slowdive: It’s 1994-It’s the dawn of time-It’s the 100 years war-It’s a cave between two cities-It’s-It’s-It’s-

~Samson by Regina Spektor (I loved you first/I loved you first): At least they’ll know. In the knot of his scar. In the tips of her fingers. In the glances, the letters, the comfortable silences side by side. At least they’ll know.

~Welcome Home (Reprise) by Radical Face: Maybe…maybe. Maybe now.

~When the Sun Hits by Slowdive (As the sun hits, she’ll be waiting/With her cool things and her heaven/Hey hey, lover, you still burn me/You’re a sun): It’s 1994. She’s at a party. She doesn’t want to be. She looks up. And there he is.

[mstepenwolf]

thanks for tagging me @godzilla-en-mexico! it was extremely hard to pick one per artist because i can talk for hours about some of these musicians' discographies! some of my favorite music artists + my favorite songs by them (relatively tested by time):

foals - spanish sahara

daughter - fossa

frightened rabbit - head rolls off

mitski - pearl diver

the microphones - the glow, pt. 2

florence & the machine - what the water gave me

the national - cherry tree

the strokes - what ever happened?

radiohead - jigsaw falling into place

fka twigs - sad day

boygenius - salt in the wound

сплин - пой мне еще

noize mc - на марсе классно

сюзанна - vesla

дайте танк (!) - три четверти

i definitely forgot a bunch! tagging @peachiyyy @obsessioncollector @dasha1l1 and whoever gets inspired to participate

[armoralor]

Mara Jade - Imperial Years // Spanish Sahara by Foals / Daniil Lobachev / Christian Holzinger / Ari Spada // reminder that T*RFs can fuck off, only interact if you love trans and nonbinary folks ♡

[chloe-caulfield94]

The theme of moving on in Life is Strange S1

In discussions surrounding the ending choice of Season 1, the theme of accepting loss and moving on is often brought up. An argument is made that this theme would be realized if Chloe was murdered. Max, by letting Chloe die, would show the ability to accept loss and move on. I think it’s a very narrow view of how the theme of accepting loss and moving on is portrayed in the game. If the only thing you expect from the ending is for Max to experience loss and to move on from that loss, then both endings achieve that. In the sacrifice Arcadia Bay ending Max also experiences loss – of Joyce, who was much more than just a friend’s mother to her, of her schoolmates, of her childhood hometown. And she moves on from that loss, leaving town with Chloe, beginning the next chapter of her life.

I’d argue that in the sacrifice Arcadia Bay ending Max exhibits the ability to accept loss and move on much more than in the other ending. The final choice is made not on Monday, but on Friday. That fact is relevant as we’re discussing the themes of accepting loss and moving on.

Even though in the nomenclature used by the game the choice is between “sacrificing Chloe” and “sacrificing Arcadia Bay”, which would imply both options require some kind of action from Max, that is not the case. On Friday, Chloe is safe. Max has already saved her life. She has broken Chloe’s cruel fate. So the option to sacrifice Arcadia Bay is in reality an option not to sacrifice Chloe. An option to abstain from saving the town, because the only way to save it is to kill Chloe. If Max does nothing, then Chloe will continue to be alive, because the mortal danger threatening her has already been averted. But the town will be destroyed, with no sacrificial lamb to stay the anger of the weather gods. It’s the option to save the town that requires Max to go back in time to Monday and to erase every single thing she did throughout the game, including her Monday rescue of Chloe, thus killing her.

Do you see the difference between those two options? By sacrificing the town, Max accepts that there’s nothing that can be done to save it, apart from killing her best friend, which she refuses to do. She accepts the inevitability of the Storm. And then she moves on, leaving the town, beginning the next chapter of her life.

But by sacrificing Chloe, Max proves she is unable to accept the loss of the town, of her classmates and of her teachers. She is so unable to accept that loss, that she is willing to go back in time once more, even though at this point she has deduced it was time travel which caused the Storm in the first place. She is so unable to accept that loss, that she is willing to erase all her choices and struggles, even to sacrifice her own best friend just to prevent it.

This point needs to be stressed. When the final choice is being made, the loss that Max is faced with, the loss that she can accept and move on or which she can prevent at a terrible cost, is the loss of the townspeople of Arcadia Bay. Not the loss of Chloe, who is neither lost nor in danger of dying at that point.

Also, have a look at the songs accompanying the endings.

“Obstacles” by Syd Matters is a song about growing up, learning the reality of the world, moving on, looking towards the future. It perfectly fits the theme of learning to move forward in time despite having experienced loss, of learning to accept the inevitability of some losses.

“Spanish Sahara” by Foals is a song about experiencing grief, but not about learning to accept loss or processing it in a healthy manner. On the contrary, it’s a song about trying to push grief down, trying to forget one’s loss, which is the most unhealthy way of dealing with it. Trying to forget is not acceptance. It’s denial, the first stage of grief, not the last.

So even the ending songs indicate that while in both Max experiences loss, she only learns to accept it and move on in the “sacrifice Arcadia Bay” ending.

I think that saying the only way for Max to exhibit capability to move on after loss is for her to watch helplessly as her best friend is being murdered is an incredibly narrow way of interpreting that theme. The theme of moving on should be interpreted with all other elements of the story taken into account. In October of 2013 Max was entering a very important period of her life. She was a high school senior. She was on the cusp of becoming a young adult. For every person, this is a period of change and of choice. You pick your path. You leave your family home, sometimes even your hometown, to pursue education or career. It’s also the moment people start entering into their first serious relationships.

In the “sacrifice Chloe” ending Max shows little capability to grow up or move on. She clings to her hometown and her school. She clings to the place her childhood memories are associated with. She is incapable of taking her first steps as a young adult.

In the “sacrifice Arcadia Bay” ending Max leaves her hometown, her school and her childhood memories behind. She leaves the town to begin a new life somewhere else. She leaves with the person who might become her first serious romantic partner.

Now, which of those endings realizes the themes of moving on and growing up more? I think it’s self-evident.

[gatorbytes]

from Spanish Sahara on Foals' Total Life Forever (2010)

[callsignws]

Life is Strange is in my heart, over. ( *´・ω)/(；д； )

Cried after Life is Strange 2. Help.