happy pride, yall. happy pride to everyone who's getting or has been misgendered. happy pride to everyone who's had to defend their choice of partner (or lack thereof). happy pride to everyone who can't come out, and to everyone who didn't get to choose who knows. happy pride to everyone who has to choose between being themselves and being safe. i see you. i love you. there is so much joy to be had in being who and what you are. we're in this together and we're going to be better than okay.
I love Charles Rowland. He deserves people who love him unconditionally and who make him feel loved where he does not need to pretend to be fine and can cry and rage without fear of repercussion.
I would also love to see him all alone, feeling abandoned, and going on something of a rampage about it. Fully leaning into the violence that he has despised in himself and I truly think he should be doing more of that
These wishes and thoughts are not only not opposites but they are well connected
god there really is just something about the cliff scene that sits in my bones; an authority figure forces you to relive life and death in its worst aspects, you lash out because you are a traumatised teenager; your friends, vulnerable and traumatised in turn, stare. they stare. at you. and this is even worse than the pain she forced down your throat because isn't this what you always feared the most?
suddenly they are no longer edwin, crystal, and niko. instead they are a young boy tormented by other boys (loud, vicious, violent) to the point of his cruel death and hellish punishment, a young girl abused and stalked by someone who will wear your face in her dreams, and another young girl who likely has experienced harassment at the hands of people just. like. you. young, stupid boys lashing out out of hurt.
you wear the shape of everyone's monsters, your own included. it eats at you like acid, like some parasite eager to expose what you are at your core: never good enough, forever a source of hurt.
Charles snaps out of his thoughts when he realizes that he isn't just staring at his own shoes anymore. Edwin's are there now, too. He finally registers the worried call of his name, likely not for the first time, and lifts his head to look at Edwin.
"Everything alright, mate?"
"Evidently not. I called your name four times. Where did you go just now?" And he asks it with such achingly gentle concern, what is Charles supposed to do with that?
He's fine. He should be, anyway.
He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, as he says, "I'm right here, aren't I? Don't worry about it, mate, guess I was just a little lost in thought."
Edwin closes the small gap between them even more as he says, "Charles, I have been paying attention to you for the past 34 years that we have been together, and while I may have missed some things—"
There's a brief look of sadness—guilt?—in Edwin's eyes as they meet his again that makes Charles want to apologize or reassure him. It really wasn't Edwin's fault, but he doesn't say anything.
"—there are things that I do know about you for certain. And one of those things is that unless something thoroughly has your attention, you cannot be still for long. And staring at our floorboards is hardly entertaining."
Charles just looks at him for a moment, his eyes wide. What is he supposed to say when he knows Edwin is right?
All he manages to come up with is, "Maybe I missed these floorboards."
And it's so stupid that he even surprises himself with it. Edwin raises an eyebrow. And Charles can't hold back the fit of laughter that erupts out of him.
Edwin keeps staring, more or less as if he fears that Charles has gone mad. He finally smiles a little bit before clearing his throat.
"Charles, do be serious. You have not been yourself for days now. Would you please talk to me?"