#and I like to do that after diving further into a movie and reading about it which I can’t do for every movie I watch

[foxmulderautism]

i could never be a long review on letterboxd guy even though i love to analyse films i did my dissertation analysing films but i like to log on letterboxd immediately after watching and my immediate thought after watching a movie is 99% of the time yayyyyy i just watched a movie ^_^ that was fun!

[moondirti]

anal on the beach w/ gaz. a spiritual continuation of that one cbf! dry humping blurb i wrote but can be read separately

kinda dubcon. anal (obviously). manipulation. semi-public sex (no one catches you). gn! reader

he texts you that he’s got an extra ticket to fiji. the message is brief, spontaneous like he tends to be. pack your bags. eta 1420. you planned on rotting home all weekend, already in your pyjamas and hair care, looking every bit a wreck as you feel. it isn’t exactly the opportune time for him to come by; though you know mentioning it won’t do anything to change the fact that he will.

frankly, the whole thing reeks of that kyle-specific class of manoeuvring you’ve come to know in recent. catching you off guard with something you can’t say no to, and using it to push you past what you’re comfortable with. you’re tempted to refuse. it’s too short a notice. pick someone else. but a week long beach trip sounds nice, actually. work has been killing you. your personal life’s a mess. every date you’ve managed to snag in the past month has ghosted you. and to top it all off, you miss your best friend – his odd quirks and all.

so your body’s way of protesting is to slip off the couch, refocusing on the effort it takes to haul your luggage out of storage rather than your several woes. by the time kyle comes by, you’re in a sweatsuit and sneakers, bag stuffed with all the swimsuits you’ve owned since high school; you doubt you’ll have time to wash one between swims.

and it’s nice. you sit next to one another on the plane, syncing your movies by counting down to three. yours is always a few seconds behind, but he waits for your reactions before delving into a spiel about how realistic it is to drive a knife into someone’s throat with just your teeth, à la dev patel. you listen, swinging off every word he says into your own conversations, and it goes that way until the old lady two rows back shushes you. you, specifically, seeing as kyle charmed her into deference when he helped her lift her bags in the overhead compartments. always so considerate.

still, you’re concerned about falling asleep next to him, lest you wake to find a hand kneading your inner thigh.

nothing weird happens, though. you touch down in fiji and check into a lagoon resort (we managed to find you that king room, mr. garrick – the receptionist adds with a smile, eclipsing the weary way you regard sharing one bed. but you’ve had your fair share of cramped family vacations, and are well-versed in the subtle art of pillow walls to keep his side and yours separate.) that first night, he gives you an hour to dress up for dinner reservations while he fetches snacks for the room. make it pretty, yeah? we’re meeting a few distant cousins f’mine. i told them we’re dating to keep the work questions off my back.

nothing weird happens. until—

you take a boat out to Fulaga after citing it as one of the least populous islands. with wisps of white sand, like baker’s flour beneath your feet, and limestone islets across electric blue waters, it’s hard to see why.

no matter to either of you. you lay your towel on flat patch of sand, smothering yourself in sunscreen to play a game of chicken and waves. a vain endeavour, of course. he’s always willing swim out further than you, diving under quivering waters to arch amongst sea turtles and ulavi.

eventually, you grow bored of watching him from the shore, ambling back to your set-up to make use of the oils you bought for an exorbitant price. they lacquer over your skin, the places you can reach, to reflect the light overhead. you recall a quote you read in uni as you slather – something about people broiling themselves as though they were nothing but cuts of meat – and falter for just a moment. it had seemed crude at the time, particularly in the context in which it read, but as you prep yourself for the sun, you can’t help but feel exposed. vulnerable. like predatory eyes are tuned in all around you, peeking from the foliage, the waves, and honed on your slippery flesh.

you tell yourself you’re being silly, and spread yourself back on your towel. the heat licks away at your worries, making good work of laving the salty stress off your neck. you measure time in how long it takes for the sand to flake off your feet, drying as the rest of you does.

when the soft stretch of your stomach starts to burn, you turn yourself over and bury your cheek into the fibres cradling you. sun-drunk, chafed, bruised a little from the choppy waters, you welcome sleep when it inches on your conscious.

“and what are you doing exactly?” kyle huffs, encroaching on your sanctuary. you can’t see him, though you can almost hear the water vaporising off his dark skin. sizzling. the heat sinks into your side once he flops down onto his own towel.

“sunbathing.” you mumble, reluctant to give more than a words response lest it shakes you out of languor.

“the water’s great. you’re missing out.”

“mm. later.”

“and what am i supposed to do?” he all but whines, tugging at the complicated strings that tie your bottoms up on your hips. it doesn’t feel as suggestive as it might be. all you can manage, in the wake of your scoured unease, is annoyance.

“read. dig. sleep.”

he doesn’t take to your advice, shuffling until his knee presses into your arm. “you missed a spot on your back.”

“get it, then.”

“where’s the lube?”

your head snaps up, eyes narrowed both to adjust to the brightness and in admonishment. “oil.”

“same difference.” his grin is wicked, white and impossible to upbraid. rolling your eyes, you settle back down, face turned the other way around to keep an eye on him.

“in my bag.”

he shuffles through your stuff until he comes up with the hot pink bottle, making no stop for confirmation before he squirts the contents over his hands. they feel every bit as big as they look when they press into your back, right below your nape. rough, barnacled with callouses, but softened a bit by the ointment so it doesn’t hurt when his thumbs run circles around your shoulder blades. you sound an appreciative moan.

“say, if you’re short on something to do, y’can always massage me.”

“yeah, yeah. doubt you’ll return the favour.”

“i would... later.”

he laughs. “whatever. isn’t what i want, anyway.”

“and what do you want?” you ask. not because you’re curious – but so long as entertaining him keeps his efforts on your sore muscles, you’ll keep at it.

“oh, y’know.” kyle hums. ambiguous. you don’t know, not really. not until one caress strays lower than it should, conforming to the rounded shape of your ass. your cheeks clench with the sudden touch. he takes it as confirmation that you must want the same thing, too. “these bottoms aren’t leaving much to the imagination, mate.”

“th-they’re old.”

“this pert thing is practically eating them. can’t see fabric anymore.” he squeezes the fat there, shaking it in a vice grip that doesn’t so much as allow you to sit up, to knock his assault off. “want me to look for it?”

“kyle–”

“kyle.” he mocks, snickering. your hesitation does nothing to dissuade him. instead, he rocks up to straddle your legs, hands moving away from your back to settle below the curve of your ass. you don’t know what’s hotter – the damp, sun-bleached sand cushioning you, or the way he spreads either cheek apart, groaning when your swim-suit slips to expose the tight rim under it. “fuck. you been hiding this from me?”

“i- i don’t… please don’t be w-weird about this.”

“dunno what you mean by that.” he says, then promptly proceeds to be weird about it as his knuckle grazes your hole. you’re stiff, printing an indelible mark on beach. “never had it touched before?”

“no. i’m not a freak.”

“ouch, darl.” but he’s already spurting a hefty amount of oil onto you, working it in with a thick thumb. effectively makes good on his stupid name for it; lubes you up, nice and slick, so the only pain that arises at his intrusion is the virgin stretch. “promise it feels good.”

and you hate to admit it, but it does. once you get over the foreign sensation of his finger pistoning where you’ve never been fucked before, it stirs a tumultuous heat in your belly. part of it, you think, isn’t so much the physical sensation as it is the taboo of it all. despite the beach being virtually empty, void of any life but hermit crabs and the two debauched humans at its centre, there’s a delicious thrill that curls with the risk of being caught. not only being conventionally raunchy, but having your ass gaped by your best friend. what a sight you must make, pinned to the ground, having your sense pared off you in slow, painstaking layers.

one finger becomes two, and two soon turns to three.

the sound is so lewd, borderline disgusting when set against the natural ambience. you squelch and suck around him, lube smacking between your nates. and you lament it in slow, drawn-out breaths. embarrassed, wailing, soughing with the briny wind. kyle’s determined to get you ready for something much bigger, it seems, because four digits cram into your hole and scissor apart.

“is that re- really necessary?” you pick your sand- dusted face off the towel to huff into the thick air.

you feel him jostle atop your legs. shrugging, likely, in that deferent way he does when he realises acquiescence will better serve his purpose.

“whatever you want, mate.” there’s the sound of wet fabric scratching against itself, his trunks shucked down to rest mid-thigh. “i was getting impatient, anyway.”

if the excitement in his tone isn’t enough of a forewarning, he soon makes you regret saying anything at all when he notches his cock against you. it’s fat even at the end, the head too hefty to fit between your spread cheeks. it slips as it searches for purchase, rubbing against the excess lube he pours for aid, before pushing in. not in one fell swoop, but with five short, strong thrusts to finally anchor into your asshole.

you squeal, grasping behind you, onto his wrists for stability. you feel capsized, heeled over, thrown off kilter. shells and sparkling horizons dot the backs of your eyelids, liquid pleasure coursing through your veins. nothing about it is romantic, momentous like firsts should be. rather, you liken it to soap scum. spume. salt crusted hair. natural conclusions to things you overlook.

“s’fuckin’ tight, soft. can’t breath when you squee-eeze me like th-that. loosen up… up, mate.”

“k-kyle. fuck. ah! i c-can’t, you’re so… yersobig.”

“tried, didn’t i? b’you wanted to complain. next time i’ll make you t-take it dry… teach you how to count your, your blessings.”

and that turn of phrase – next time – is what sticks as he thrusts into you. not the implication that it’ll be painful, or that he intends to punish you for whatever it is you did wrong – but that this isn’t the last incident of its kind.

you had excused his homecoming – that first time he rushed you with a hug and came in his pants – as incidental, weeks of pent up energy. you try to excuse this – this, taking your ass on a vacation he probably booked precisely for the two of you – even while it unfolds, searching for justification in the distance between here and home.

but you’re not stupid. what becomes increasingly clear, as kyle fixes your waist in place and cants your hips higher, balls slapping your greased thighs, tightening with his looming orgasm, is that this was never meant to be a one time thing.

(won’t be, if he has any say in it.)

you resolve to think about it later. later; the coil in your stomach ripping a blinding release.

[anominous-user]

Double Indemnity, Veritas Ratio and Aventurine

This was originally a part of my compilation post as a short analysis on the Double Indemnity references, linking to this great thread by Manya on Twitter. However, I've recently watched the movie and found that the parallels run much deeper than just the mission name and the light cone itself, plus as the short synopsis I've read online. Since there isn't really an in-depth attempt at an analysis on the film in relation to the way Aventurine and Ratio present themselves throughout Penacony, I thought I'd take a stab at doing just that. I will also be bringing up things from Manya's thread as well as another thread that has some extra points.

Disclaimer that I... don't do analyses very often. Or write, in general — I'm someone who likes to illustrate their thoughts (in the artistic sense) more than write. There's just something about these two that makes me want to rip into them so badly, so here we are. If there's anything you'd like to add or correct me on, feel free to let me know in the replies or reblogs, or asks. This ended up being a rather extensive deep dive into the movie and its influences on the pairing, so please keep that in mind when pressing Read More.

There are two distinct layers on display in Ratio and Aventurine's relationship throughout Penacony, which are references to the two most important relationships in the movie — where they act like they hate/don’t know each other, and where they trust each other.

SPOILER WARNING for the entire movie, by the way. You can watch the film for free here on archive.org, as well as follow along with the screenplay here. I will also be taking dialogue and such from the screenplay, and cite quotes from the original novel in its own dedicated section. SPOILER WARNING for the Cat Among Pigeons Trailblaze mission, as well.

CONTENT WARNING FOR MENTIONS OF SUICIDE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

To start, Double Indemnity (1944) is a film noir by Billy Wilder (and co-written by Raymond Chandler) based on the novel of the same name by James M. Cain (1927). There are stark differences between the movie adaptation and the original novel which I will get into later on in this post, albeit in a smaller section, as this analysis is mainly focused on the movie adaptation. I will talk about the basics (summaries for the movie and the game, specifically the Penacony mission in tandem with Ratio and Aventurine) before diving into the character and scene parallels, among other things.

—

[THE NAME]

The term "double indemnity" is a clause in which if there’s a case of accidental death of a statistically rare variety, the insurance company has to pay out multiple of the original amount. This excludes deaths by murder, suicide, gross negligence, and natural causes.

The part of the mission in Cat Among Pigeons where Ratio and Aventurine meet with Sunday is named after the movie. And before we get further into things, let's get this part out of the way: The Chinese name used in the mission is the CN title of the movie, so there's no liberties taken with the localization — this makes it clear that it’s a nod to the movie and not localization doing its own thing like with the mission name for Heaven Is A Place On Earth (EN) / This Side of Paradise (人间天堂) (CN).

—

[SUMMARY OF THE 1944 MOVIE]

Here I summarised the important parts that will eventually be relevant in the analysis related to the game.

Insurance salesman Walter Neff, wounded from a gunshot, enters his office and confesses his crime on a dictaphone to his boss Barton Keyes, the claims manager. Much earlier, he had met Phyllis Dietrichson, the wife of Mr. Dietrichson and former nurse. Neff had initially wanted to meet Mr. Dietrichson because of car insurance. Phyllis claims her husband is mean to her and that his life insurance goes to his daughter Lola. With Neff seduced by Phyllis, they eventually brew up a scheme to murder Mr. Dietrichson in such a way that they activate the "double indemnity" clause, and the plan goes off almost perfectly. Initially, the death is labeled a suicide by the president of the company, Norton. 

Keyes finds the whole situation suspicious, and starts to suspect Phyllis may have had an accomplice. The label on the death goes from accidental, to suicide, to then murder. When it’s ruled that the husband had no idea of the accidental policy, the company refuses to pay. Neff befriends Phyllis’ stepdaughter Lola, and after finding out Phyllis may have played a part in the death of her father’s previous wife, Neff begins to fear for Lola and himself, as the life insurance would go all towards her, not Phyllis.

After the plan begins to unravel as a witness is found, it comes out that Lola’s boyfriend Nino Zachette has been visiting Phyllis every night after the murder. Neff goes to confront Phyllis, intending to kill her. Phyllis has her own plans, and ends up shooting him, but is unable to fire any more shots once she realises she did love him. Neff kills her in two shots. Soon after telling Zachette not to go inside the house, Neff drives to his office to record the confession. When Keyes arrives, Neff tells him he will go to Mexico, but he collapses before he could get out of the building.

—

[THE PENACONY MISSION TIMELINE]

I won’t be summarising the entirety of Aventurine and Ratio’s endeavours from the beginning of their relationship to their final conversation in Heaven Is A Place On Earth the same way as I summarised the plot of the movie, so I will instead present a timeline. Bolded parts means they are important and have clear parallels, and texts that are in [brackets] and italics stand for the names of either the light cone, or the mission names.

[Final Victor] Their first meeting. Ratio’s ideals are turned on its head as he finally meets his match.

Several missions happen in-between their first encounter and the Penacony project. They come to grow so close and trusting with each other that they can guess, understand each other’s thoughts, way of thinking and minds even in high stakes missions. Enough to pull off the Prisoner’s Dilemma (Aventurine’s E1) and Stag Hunt Game (Aventurine’s E6) and come out on top.

Aventurine turns towards Ratio for assisting him in the Penacony project. Ratio's involvement in the project is implied to be done without the knowledge of Jade, Topaz, and the IPC in general, as he was only sent to Penacony to represent the Intelligentsia Guild, and the two other Stonehearts never mention Ratio.

Aventurine and Ratio cook up the plan to deceive Sunday before ever setting foot on Penacony. Aventurine does not tell Ratio the entirety of his plan.

Aventurine convinces Topaz and Jade to trust him with their Cornerstones. Aventurine also breaks his own Cornerstone and hides it along with the jade within a bag of gift money.

[The Youth Who Chase Dreams] They enter Penacony in the Reverie Hotel. Aventurine is taken to the side by Sunday and has all his valuables taken, which includes the gift money that contains the broken aventurine stone, the jade, and the case containing the topaz.

Aventurine and Ratio speak in a “private” room about how Aventurine messed up the plan. After faking an argument to the all-seeing eyes of Sunday, Ratio leaves in a huff.

Ratio, wearing his alabaster head, is seen around Golden Hour in the (Dusk) Auction House by March 7th.

[Double Indemnity] Ratio meets up with Sunday and “exposes” Aventurine to him. Sunday buys his “betrayal”, and is now in possession of the topaz and jade. Note that this is in truth Ratio betraying Sunday all along.

Ratio meets up with Aventurine again at the bar. Ratio tells Aventurine Sunday wants to see him again.

They go to Dewlight Pavilion and solve a bunch of puzzles to prove their worth to Sunday.

They meet up with Sunday. Sunday forces Aventurine to tell the truth using his Harmony powers. Ratio cannot watch on. It ends with Aventurine taking the gift money with his Cornerstone.

[Heaven Is A Place On Earth] They are in Golden Hour. Ratio tries to pry Aventurine about his plan, but Aventurine reins him in to stop breaking character. Ratio gives him the Mundanite’s Insight before leaving. This is their final conversation before Aventurine’s grandest death.

Now how exactly does the word “double indemnity” relate to their mission in-game? What is their payout? For the IPC, this would be Penacony itself — Aventurine, as the IPC ambassador, handing in the Jade Cornerstone as well as orchestrating a huge show for everybody to witness his death, means the IPC have a reason to reclaim the former prison frontier. As for Ratio, his payout would be information on Penacony’s Stellaron, although whether or not this was actually something he sought out is debatable. And Aventurine? It’s highly implied that he seeks an audience with Diamond, and breaking the Aventurine Cornerstone is a one way trip to getting into hot water with Diamond. With Aventurine’s self-destructive behaviour, however, it would also make sense to say that death would be his potential payout, had he taken that path in the realm of IX.

Compared to the movie, the timeline happens in reverse and opposite in some aspects. I will get into it later. As for the intended parallels, these are pretty clear and cut:

Veritas Ratio - Walter Neff

Aventurine - Phyllis Dietrichson

Sunday - Mr. Dietrichson

There is one other character who I feel also is represented in Ratio, but I won’t bring them up until later down the line.

For the sake of this analysis, I won’t be exploring Sunday’s parallel to Mr. Dietrichson, as there isn’t much on Dietrichson’s character in the first place in both the movie and the novel. He just kind of exists to be a bastard that is killed off at the halfway point. Plus, the analysis is specifically hyper focused on the other two.

—

[SO, WHAT’S THE PLAN?]

To make things less confusing in the long run whenever I mention the words “scheme” and “plan”, I will be going through the details of Phyllis and Neff’s scheme, and Aventurine and Ratio’s plan respectively. Anything that happens after either pair separate from another isn’t going to be included. Written in a way for the plans to have gone perfectly with no outside problems.

Phyllis and Neff —> Mr. Dietrichson

Goal: Activate the double indemnity clause by killing Mr. Dietrichson and making it look like a freak train accident

Payout: Twice or more of the face value of the life insurance ($100,000)

Main Actor: Walter Neff    |    Accomplice: Phyllis Dietrichson

During the entire time until the payout, Phyllis and Neff have to make sure to any outsiders that they look like complete strangers instead of lovers in an affair.

Step-by-step:

Neff convinces Mr. Dietrichson to sign the policy with the clause without him suspecting foul play, preferably with a third party to act as an alibi. This is done discreetly, making Mr. Dietrichson not read the policy closely and being told to just sign.

Neff and Phyllis talk to each other about small details through the phone (specified to be never at Phyllis’ own house and never when Neff was in his office) and in the marketplace only, to make their meetings look accidental. They shouldn’t be seen nor tracked together, after all.

Phyllis asks Mr. Dietrichson to take the train. She will be the one driving him to the train station.

On the night of the murder, after making sure his alibi is airtight, Neff sneaks into their residence and hides in their car in the second row seating, behind the front row passenger seat. He wears the same colour of clothes as Mr. Dietrichson.

Phyllis and Mr. Dietrichson get inside the car — Phyllis in the driver’s seat and Mr. Dietrichson in the passenger seat. Phyllis drives. On the way to the train station, she makes a detour into an alley. She honks the horn three times.

After the third honk, Neff breaks Mr. Dietrichson’s neck. The body is then hidden in the second row seating under a rug.

They drive to the train station. Phyllis helps Neff, now posing as Mr. Dietrichson, onto the train. The train leaves the station.

Neff makes it to the observation platform of the parlour car and drops onto the train tracks when nobody else is there.

Phyllis is at the dump beside the tracks. She makes the car blink twice as a signal.

The two drag Mr. Dietrichson’s corpse onto the tracks.

They leave.

When Phyllis eventually gets questioned by the insurance company, she pretends she has no idea what they are talking about and eventually storms off.

Phyllis and Neff continue to lay low until the insurance company pays out.

Profit!

Actual Result: The actual murder plan goes almost smoothly, with a bonus of Mr. Dietrichson having broken a leg. But with him not filing a claim for the broken leg, a witness at the observation platform, and Zachette visiting Phyllis every night after the murder, Keyes works out the murder scheme on his own, but pins the blame on Phyllis and Zachette, not Neff.

Now for Aventurine and Ratio. You can skip this section if you understand how deep their act goes, but to those who need a refresher, here’s a thorough explanation:

Aventurine and Ratio —> Sunday

Goal: Collect the aventurine stone without Sunday knowing, ruin the dream (and create the grandest death)

Payout: Penacony for the IPC, information on the Stellaron for Ratio, a meeting with Diamond / death for Aventurine

Main Actor: Aventurine    |    Accomplice: Veritas Ratio

From the moment they step onto Penacony, they are under Sunday’s ever present and watchful eyes. “Privacy” is a foreign word to The Family. They have to act like they don’t like each other’s company the entire time and feed Sunday information through indirect means so that the eventual “betrayal” by Ratio seems truthful to Sunday. Despite what it looks like, they are closer than one would ever think, and Ratio would never sell out a person purely for information.

Step-by-step:

After Sunday takes away the bag of gift money and box, Aventurine and Ratio talk in a room in the Reverie Hotel.

Aventurine establishes the Cornerstones’ importance, and how he lost the gift money and the case containing the Cornerstones to Sunday. Ratio turns to leave, saying “some idiot ruined everything”, meaning the Cornerstones were vital to their plan. (Note that Ratio is not wearing his alabaster head while saying it to said “idiot”.)

Aventurine then proceeds to downplay the importance of the Cornerstones, stating they are “nothing more than a few rocks” and “who cares if they are gone”. This lets Sunday know that something suspicious may be going on for him to act like it’s nothing, and the mention of multiple stones, and leaves him to look up what a Cornerstone is to the Ten Stonehearts of the IPC.

Ratio points out his absurd choice of outfit, mentioning the Attini Peacock and their song.

Ratio implies that without the aventurine stone, he is useless to the IPC. He also establishes that Aventurine is from Sigonia(-IV), and points out the mark on his neck. To Sunday, this means that Aventurine is shackled to the IPC, and how Aventurine may possibly go through extreme lengths to get the stone back, because a death sentence always looms above him.

Aventurine claims Ratio had done his homework on his background, which can be taken that this is their very first time working together. (It isn’t, and it only takes one look to know that Aventurine is an Avgin because of his unique eyes, so this comment does not make sense even in a “sincere” way, a running theme for the interaction.)

Ratio mentions how the true goal is to reclaim Penacony for the IPC, establishing their ulterior motive for attending the banquet.

Ratio asks if Aventurine went to pre-school in Sigonia after saying trust was reliant on cooperation. Aventurine mentions how he didn’t go to school and how he doesn’t have any parents. He even brings up how friends are weapons of the Avgins. This tells Sunday that the Avgins supposedly are good at manipulation and potentially sees Ratio possibly betraying Aventurine due to his carelessness with his “friends”. Sunday would also then research about the Avgins in general (and research about Sigonia-IV comes straight from the Intelligentsia Guild.)

Ratio goes to Dewlight Pavilion in Sunday’s Mansion and exposes a part of Aventurine’s “plan”. When being handed the suitcase, Ratio opens it up due to his apparent high status in the IPC. He tells Sunday that the Cornerstone in the suitcase is a topaz, not an aventurine, and that the real aventurine stone is in the bag of gift money. This is a double betrayal — on Aventurine (who knows) and Sunday (who doesn’t). Note that while Ratio is not officially an IPC member in name — the Intelligentsia Guild (which is run by the IPC head of the Technology Department Yabuli) frequently collaborates with the IPC. Either Aventurine had given him access to the box, or Ratio’s status in general is ambiguous enough for Sunday not to question him further. He then explains parts of Aventurine’s gamble to Sunday in order to sell the betrayal. Note that Ratio does not ever mention Aventurine’s race to Sunday.

Ratio brings Aventurine to Sunday. Aventurine offers help in the investigation of Robin's death, requesting the gift money and the box in return.

Sunday objects to the trade offer. Aventurine then asks for just the bag. A classic car insurance sales tactic. Sunday then interrogates Aventurine, and uses everything Ratio and Aventurine brought up in the Reverie Hotel conversation and their interactions in the Mansion, as well as aspects that Ratio had brought up to Sunday himself.

Aventurine feigns defeat and ignorance enough so that Sunday willingly lets him go with the gift bag. After all is said and done, Aventurine leaves with the gift money, where the Aventurine Cornerstone is stored all along.

Ratio and Aventurine continue to pretend they dislike each other until they go their separate ways for their respective goals and plans. Aventurine would go on to orchestrate his own demise at the hands of Acheron, and Ratio… lurks in the shadows like the owl he is.

Profit!

Actual Result: The plan goes perfectly, even with minor hiccups like Ratio coming close to breaking character several times and Aventurine being sentenced to execution by Sunday.

This is how Sunday uses the information he gathered against Aventurine:

• Sunday going on a tirade about the way Aventurine dresses and how he’s not one to take risks — Ratio’s comment about Aventurine’s outfit being peacock-esque and how he’s “short of a feather or two”. • “Do you own a Cornerstone?” — Ratio talked about the aventurine stone. • “Did you hand over the Cornerstone to The Family when you entered Penacony?” — Aventurine mentioned the box containing the Cornerstones. • “Does the Cornerstone you handed over to The Family belong to you?” — Aventurine specifically pluralized the word Cornerstone and “a bunch of rocks” when talking to Ratio. • “Is your Cornerstone in this room right now?” — The box in the room supposedly contained Aventurine’s own cornerstone, when Aventurine mentioned multiple stones. • “Are you an Avgin from Sigonia?” —Aventurine mentioned that he’s an Avgin, and Ratio brought up Sigonia. • “Do the Avgins have any ability to read, control, and manipulate one’s own or another’s minds?” — Aventurine’s comment on how friends are weapons, as well as Sunday’s own research on the Avgins, leading him to find out about the negative stereotypes associated with them. • “Do you love your family more than yourself?” — His lost parents. “All the Avgins were killed in a massacre. Am I right?” — Based on Sunday’s research into his background. • “Are you your clan’s sole survivor?” — Same as the last point. “Do you hate and wish to destroy this world with your own hands?” — Ratio mentioned the IPC’s goal to regain Penacony, and Aventurine’s whole shtick is “all or nothing”. • “Can you swear that at this very moment, the aventurine stone is safe and sound in this box?” — Repeat.

As seen here, both duos have convoluted plans that involve the deception of one or more parties while also pretending that the relationship between each other isn’t as close as in reality. Unless you knew both of them personally and their histories, there was no way you could tell that they have something else going on. 

On to the next point: Comparing Aventurine and Ratio with Phyllis and Neff.

—

[NEFF & PHYLLIS — RATIO & AVENTURINE]

With the short summaries of the movie and the mission out of the way, let’s look at Phyllis and Neff as characters and how Aventurine and Ratio are similar or opposite to them.

Starting off with Aventurine and Phyllis. Here is where they are the most similar:

Phyllis is blonde and described as a provocative woman. Aventurine is also a blond and eyes Ratio provocatively in the Final Victor light cone.

Phyllis was put under surveillance after Keyes starts figuring out that the so-called accidental death/suicide may have been a murder after all. Similarly, Aventurine was watched by Sunday the entire time in Penacony.

Phyllis never tells Neff how she's seeing another man on the side to possibly kill him too (as well as how she was responsible for the death of her husband‘s previous wife). Aventurine also didn't tell Ratio the entirety of his plan of his own death.

Phyllis puts on a somewhat helpless act at first but is incredibly capable of making things go her way, having everything seemingly wrapped around her finger. Aventurine — even when putting on a facade that masks his true motives — always comes out at the top.

Now the differences between Aventurine and Phyllis:

Phyllis does not care about her family and has no issue with killing her husband, his previous wife, and possibly her daughter Lola. Opposite of that, Aventurine is a family man… with no family left, as well as feeling an insane level of survivor’s guilt.

Really, Phyllis just… does not care at all about anyone but herself and the money. Aventurine, while he uses every trick in the book to get out on top, does care about the way Jade and Topaz had entrusted him with their Cornerstones, in spite of the stones being worth their lives. 

Phyllis also uses other people to her advantage to get what she wants, often behind other people's backs, with the way she treats Neff and Zachette. Aventurine does as well (what with him making deals with the Trailblazer while also making a deal with Black Swan that involves the Trailblazer). The difference here is Phyllis uses her allure deliberately to seduce men while Aventurine simply uses others as pawns while also allowing others to do the same to himself.

Phyllis makes no attempt at compromising the policy when questioned by Norton. Aventurine ends up compromising by only taking the gift money (which is exactly what he needs).

The wig that Barbara Stanwyck (the actress of Phyllis) wore was chosen to make her look as “sleazy” as possible, make her look insincere and a fraud, a manipulator. A sort of cheapness. Aventurine’s flashy peacock-esque outfit can be sort of seen as something similar, except the outfit isn’t cheap.

Moving on to Ratio’s similarities to Neff… There isn’t much to extrapolate here as Ratio is more of a side character in the grand scheme of Penacony, however this is what I’ve figured out.

Neff has dark hair. Ratio has dark purple hair.

Neff almost never refers to Phyllis by her name when speaking with her, only as “baby”. The few times he refers to her as Phyllis or Mrs. Dietrichson is during their first conversations and when he has to act like he doesn’t know her. Ratio never calls Aventurine by his name when he’s around him — only as “gambler”, sometimes “damned” or “dear” (EN-only) gambler. Only in the Aventurine's Keeping Up With Star Rail episode does Ratio repeatedly say his name, and yet he still calls him by monikers like “gambler” or, bafflingly, a “system of chaos devoid of logic”.

Both Neff and Ratio committed two betrayals: Neff on Mr. Dietrichson and Keyes, and Ratio on Sunday and Aventurine. With the former cases it was to reach the end of the trolley line, and with the latter it was on a man who had put his trust in him.

As for the differences…

Neff is described as someone who’s not smart by his peers. Ratio is someone who is repeatedly idolised and put on a pedestal by other people.

Neff is excellent at pretending to not know nor care for Phyllis whenever he speaks about her with Keyes or when he and she are in a place that could land them in hot water (the office, the mansion when there are witnesses). His acting is on the same level as Phyllis. With Ratio it’s… complicated. While he does pull off the hater act well, he straight up isn’t great at pretending not to care about Aventurine’s wellbeing.

Instead of getting his gunshot wound treated in the hospital like a normal person, Neff makes the absolutely brilliant decision of driving to his office and talking to a dictaphone for hours. Needless to say, this is something a medical doctor like Ratio would never do.

Now here's the thing. Though it's very easy to just look at Phyllis and Neff in the movie and go "okay, Aventurine is Phyllis and Ratio is Neff — end of story" and leave it at that, I find that they both take from the two leads in different ways. Let me explain. Beginning with Aventurine and Neff…

Neff is the one who hatches the plan and encourages Phyllis to go through and claim the double indemnity clause in the first place. He is also the key player of his own risky plan, having to fake being the husband to enter the train as well as fake the death. Aventurine puts himself at great risk just by being in Sunday’s presence, and hoping that Sunday wouldn’t figure out that the green stone he had uncovered wasn’t the aventurine stone.

Adding onto the last point, Neff had fantasised about pulling off the perfect murder for a long time — the catalyst was simply him meeting Phyllis. Aventurine presumably sought out Ratio alone for his plan against Sunday.

Neff makes a roulette wheel analogy and talks about a pile of blue and yellow poker chips (the latter in the script only). I don‘t even have to explain why this is relevant here. (Aventurine’s Ultimate features a roulette wheel and the motif is on his belt, thigh strap, and back, too. And of course, Aventurine is all about his chips.)

Neff has certain ways to hide when he’s nervous, which include hiding his hands in his pockets when they were shaking, putting on glasses so people couldn���t see his eyes. Aventurine hides his left hand behind his back when he’s nervous: Future Aventurine says that "they don't know the other hand is below the table, clutching [his] chips for dear life", and in multiple occasions such as the Final Victor LC, his character trailer, and even in his boss form in the overworld you can see that Aventurine hides his left hand behind his back. And he is also seen with his glasses on sometimes.

Neff says a bunch of stuff to make sure that Phyllis acts her part and does not act out of character (i.e. during their interactions at the market), like how Aventurine repeatedly tries to get Ratio back on track from his subpar acting.

Neff is always one step ahead of the game, and the only reason the plan blows up in his face is due to outside forces that he could not have foreseen (a witness, Keyes figuring out the plan, the broken leg). Aventurine meanwhile plays 5D chess and even with the odds against him, he uses everything he can to come out on the top (i. e. getting Acheron to kill him in the dream).

Even after coming home on the night of the murder, Neff still felt that everything could have gone wrong. Aventurine, with his blessed luck, occasionally wavers and fears everything could go wrong whenever he takes a gamble.

Neff was not put under surveillance by Keyes due to him being extensive with his alibi. After witnessing Robin’s death with eyewitnesses at the scene, the Family had accepted Aventurine’s alibi, though he would be under watch from the Bloodhounds according to Ratio.

Neff talks about the entire murder scheme to the dictaphone. Aventurine during Cat Among Pigeons also retells his plan, albeit in a more convoluted manner, what with his future self and all.

Continuing with Ratio and Phyllis, even with their personalities and motivations being quite different, they do have a few commonalities.

Phyllis was a nurse. Ratio is a medical doctor.

Her name is Greek of origin. Veritas Ratio, though his name is Latin, has Greco-Roman influences throughout his entire character.

The very first scene Phyllis appears in has her wearing a bath towel around her torso. Ratio loves to take baths to clear his mind.

Phyllis was instructed by Neff to be at the market every morning at eleven buying things. Ratio is seen in an auction house with his alabaster head on so no one could recognize him.

Phyllis mostly acts as an accomplice to the scheme, being the one to convince her husband to take the train instead. She is also generally seen only when Neff is involved. Ratio plays the same role as well, only really appearing in the story in relation to Aventurine as well as being the accomplice in Aventurine’s own death. Even him standing in the auction house randomly can be explained by the theory that he and Aventurine had attempted to destabilise Penacony’s economy through a pump and dump scheme.

With these pointers out of the way, let’s take a closer look at select scenes from the film and their relation to the mission and the pair. 

—

[THE PHONE CALL — THE REVERIE HOTEL]

Before the murder, there is a scene with a phone call between Phyllis and Neff discussing the plan while Keyes is in the same room as Neff. Neff has to make sure that Keyes doesn’t think of anything of the phone call, so he acts like he’s calling a “Margie”, and says a bunch of stuff that sounds innocent out of context (“Can’t I call you back, ‘Margie’?” “What color did you pick out?” “Navy blue. I like that fine”), but are actually hinting at the real plan all along (the suit that Mr. Dietrichson wears.)

In a roundabout way, the conversation between Ratio and Aventurine in the Reverie Hotel can be seen as the opposite of that scene — with the two talking about their supposed plan out loud on Penacony ground, a place where the Family (and in turn, Sunday) has eyes everywhere. Despite being in a “private” room, they still act like they hate each other while airing out details that really do not make sense to air out if they really did meet the first time in Penacony (which they didn’t — they’ve been on several missions beforehand). It’s almost like they want a secret third person to know what they were doing, instead of trying to be hushed up about it. The TVs in the room that Sunday can look through based on Inherently Unjust Destiny — A Moment Among The Stars, the Bloodhound statue that disappears upon being inspected, the owl clock on the left which side eyes Ratio and Aventurine, all point to that Sunday is watching their every move, listening to every word.

Rewinding back to before the phone call, in one of the encounters at the marketplace where they “accidentally” run into each other, Phyllis talks about how the trip was off. How her husband wouldn’t get on the train, which was vital for their plan, because of a broken leg. All this, while pretending to be strangers by the passersby. You could say that the part where Ratio almost leaves because Aventurine had “ruined the plan” is the opposite of this, as the husband breaking his leg was something they couldn’t account for, while Aventurine “being short of a few feathers” was entirely part of the plan.

—

[QUESTIONING PHYLLIS — THE INTERROGATION]

This section is going to be a little longer as I will cover two scenes in the movie in a more detailed manner — Mr. Dietrichson signing the policy, and Phyllis being questioned — and how they are represented in the Sunday-Aventurine interrogation and the prior conversation between Ratio and Sunday in multitudes of ways.

Going about their plan, Neff has to make sure that Mr. Dietrichson signs the policy with the double indemnity clause without him knowing the details, all the while having Phyllis (and Lola) in the same room. He and Phyllis have to pretend that they don’t know each other, and that this is just the standard accidental insurance process, instead of signing what would be his downfall. To sell it, he gets Mr. Dietrichson to sign two “copies” of the form, except with Mr. Dietrichson’s second signature, he’s duped into signing the accident insurance policy with the respective clause.

You can tie this to how Ratio goes to Sunday in order to “expose” the lie that the suitcase didn’t actually contain the Aventurine Cornerstone, as well as there being more than one Cornerstone involved in the scheme. Ratio must make sure that Sunday truly believes that he dislikes Aventurine’s company, while also making sure that Sunday doesn’t figure out the actual aventurine stone is broken and hidden in the gift bag. The scheme turns out to be successful, as Sunday retrieves the two Cornerstones, but not the aventurine stone, and truly does think that the green stone he has in his possession is the aventurine.

This whole scene with Sunday is also reminiscent of the interrogation scene in the middle of the movie, where Phyllis was questioned by the boss (Norton) who was deducing that Mr. Dietrichson's death was a suicide, not accidental death. Neff, Phyllis, Keyes and Norton were all in the same room, and Neff and Phyllis had to act like they never knew the other. Phyllis acts like she knows nothing about what Norton insinuates about her husband and eventually, Phyllis explodes in anger and storms out the room, even slamming the door. Her act is very believable to any outsider.

Now back to the Ratio and Sunday conversation. One glaring difference between the movie and here is that his acting isn’t great compared to either Phyllis nor Neff. It never was throughout the Penacony mission. He even comes very close to breaking character several times, and is even defending Aventurine in a somewhat aggressive manner during his one-on-one conversation with Sunday, as in he literally tells Sunday to see a shrink. It’s very different from the way he was acting in Herta Space Station — like Ratio cares about Aventurine too much to keep his hands off.

It's also worth pointing out that Neff doesn't speak a word when Phyllis was being interrogated. Similarly, Ratio is silent throughout the entire scene with Sunday and Aventurine, with his only “line” being a “hm”. When Aventurine calls him a wretch to his face, all he does is look to the side. In fact, he can only look at Aventurine when the other isn’t staring back. Almost like him uttering a single word would give them away. Or his acting is terrible when it has to do with Aventurine, as he has no issue doing the same thing in Crown of the Mundane and Divine (Mundane Troubles).

So, Sunday finds out about the Cornerstones and reveals them to Aventurine, and reasons that he cannot give them back to him because Aventurine had lied. Note that in that same scene, Aventurine attempted to use the two murders that had occurred beforehand against Sunday to retrieve his own cornerstone. Similarly, when it was revealed that Mr. Dietrichson did not know about the accident policy and that the so-called “accidental death” was not, in fact, accidental, the insurance company refused to pay out the money.

Unlike the movie, this was all planned, however. The double-crossing by Ratio, the gift money being the only thing required for Aventurine’s real plan. All of it was an act of betrayal against Sunday, in the same manner as the meticulous planning as Mr. Dietrichson’s murder — To sign the policy, get him to take the train, kill him on the way, and to have Neff pose as the husband on the train until the time is right to get off and lay the body on the tracks. A key difference is that they could not have expected their scheme to be busted wide open due to forces outside of their control, while Ratio and Aventurine went straight down the line for the both of them no matter what.

From here on out, we can conclude that the way Ratio and Aventurine present themselves in Penacony to onlookers is in line with Neff and Phyllis.

—

[“GOODBYE, BABY” — FINAL VICTOR]

And now for the (in)famous light cone, Final Victor. The thing that truly kickstarted the Ratio and Aventurine ship in the fanbase, and the partnership between the two in general. It’s a direct reference to the final confrontation between Neff and Phyllis in the movie.

I’ll fire through all the similarities between the two scenes.

During the respective scenes, Aventurine and Phyllis both outsmart their partner one way or the other: Aventurine with his one-sided game of Russian Roulette, and Phyllis hiding her gun underneath the cushions until Neff turned away.

The guns are owned by Phyllis and Aventurine, not Neff and Ratio.

Phyllis couldn’t bring herself to fire any more shots after she realised she truly did love Neff. Ratio could do nothing but watch as Aventurine did what he did — he couldn’t even pull away if the LC animation is anything to go by him struggling as Aventurine firmly keeps the gun to his chest.

Neff says he doesn’t buy (believe) that Phyllis loved him. She then goes “I’m not asking you to buy […]”. The LC description has Aventurine ask Ratio “You don’t believe me?”, while in the LC animation Ratio straight up says “You expect me to believe you?” and Aventurine answering “Why not, doctor/professor?”

The visual composition of the LC and the scene are nearly identical, from the lighting to the posing to the way Aventurine looks at Ratio — Aventurine and Ratio are even wearing different outfits to fit the scene better. The background in the LC is also like the blinders in the movie, just horizontal.

In the shot where Phyllis’ face is more visible, the way she looks at Neff is strikingly like the way provocatively looks at Ratio. Even their eyes have a visible shine — Phyllis’ eyes brightly shining the moment she realised she really fell in love with Neff, and Aventurine having just a little light return to his eyes in that specific moment.

And now the differences!

Neff holds the gun in his right hand. Aventurine makes Ratio hold his gun in his left.

Neff is the one who takes the gun from Phyllis‘ hand. Aventurine is the one who places the gun in Ratio’s hand and fires it.

Three gunshots are fired. In the movie, Phyllis shoots the first shot and Neff the second and third. Aventurine unloads the gun and leaves only one bullet for this game of Russian Roulette. He pulls the trigger three times, but they all turn out to be blanks.

Phyllis does not break her façade of not smiling until the very last moment where she gets shot. Aventurine is smiling the entire time according to the light cone description, whilst in the animation, it’s only when he guides the gun to his chest that he puts it on.

So, you know how Neff meets Phyllis and it all goes off the rails from there. The way Neff goes from a decent guy to willingly involve himself in a murder scheme, having his morals corrupted by Phyllis. His world having been turned upside down the moment he lays eyes on Phyllis in that first meeting. Doesn’t that sound like something that happened with the Final Victor LC? Ratio, a man all about logic and rationality — a scholar with eight PhDs to his name — all of that is flipped on its head the moment Aventurine pulls out his gun in their first meeting and forces Ratio to play a game of Russian roulette with him. Aventurine casually gambles using his own life like it’s nothing and seemingly without fear (barring his hidden left hand). All or nothing — and yet Aventurine comes out alive after three blanks. Poetic, considering there’s a consumable in the game called “All or Nothing” which features a broken chess piece and a poker chip bound together by a tie. The poker chip obviously represents the gambler, but the chess piece specifically stands for Ratio because he plays chess in his character trailer, his Keeping Up With Star Rail episode and his introduction is centred around him playing chess with himself. Plus, the design of the chess piece has golden accents, similar to his own chess set. In the end, Aventurine will always be the final victor.

Furthermore, Neff had deduced that Phyllis wanted to kill her husband and initially wanted no part in it, but in a subsequent visit it was his own idea that they trigger the double indemnity clause for more money. As the movie progresses though, he starts to have his doubts (thanks in part to him befriending Lola) and makes the move to kill Phyllis when everything starts to come to light. It’s strikingly similar to how Ratio initially wanted no part in whatever Aventurine had in mind when they first met, but in the subsequent missions where they were paired up, he willingly goes along with Aventurine's risky plans, and they come to trust each other. Enough so that Aventurine and Ratio can go to Penacony all on their own and put on an act, knowing that nobody in the IPC other than them can enter the Dreamscape. The mutual respect grew over time, instead of burning passionately before quickly fizzling out like in the movie.

Basically, in one scene, three shots (blanks) start a relationship, and in the other, it ends a relationship. In the anan magazine interview with Aventurine, he says himself that “form[ing] an alliance with just one bullet” with Ratio was one of his personal achievements. The moment itself was so impactful for both parties that it was immortalised and turned into a light cone.

—

[THE ENDING — GOLDEN HOUR]

The ending of Double Indemnity that made it into the final cut has Neff continue his confession on the dictaphone until he realised that he wasn’t alone in the room. Keyes had come inside at some point, but none had said a thing, only listening to a dead man speak of his crime. When Neff sees Keyes, they talk for a moment, Neff says he plans on fleeing to Mexico. Keyes does not think he will make it. He tries to leave, only to collapse at the front of the elevator, Keyes following just behind him. Neff attempts to light a cigar but is too weak to do so, so Keyes does it for him.

Parts of the ending can still be attributed to the interrogation scene between Sunday and Aventurine, so I’ll make this quick before moving on to the conversation in Heaven Is A Place On Earth, Ratio and Aventurine’s final conversation together. Once Sunday mentions how quickly Aventurine gave up the suitcase, he inflicts the Harmony’s consecration on him, which forces Aventurine to confess everything that Sunday asks of. In a way, it’s the opposite of what happens in the movie — where Neff willingly tells the truth about the murder to his coworker. Aventurine does not like Sunday, and Neff is close to Keyes. Ratio also does not speak, similarly to how Keyes didn’t speak and stood silently off to the side.

Post-interrogation in Golden Hour, Ratio worriedly prods at Aventurine and asks him about his plan. He then gives him the Mundanite’s Insight with the Doctor’s Advice inside when Aventurine tells him to leave. Throughout Heaven Is A Place On Earth, Aventurine gets weaker and his head starts to buzz, until he falls to the ground before he can hand in the final gems. Similarly, Neff progressively grows weaker as he records his confession. Keyes says he’s going to call a doctor and Neff says he’s planning to go to Mexico. And when Neff collapses near the elevator, they talk one final time and Keyes lights Neff’s cigar as the other was too weak to do so himself.

—

[OPPOSITE TIMELINES AND DEVELOPMENTS]

Remember how I said the way certain events happen in the movie and the game are mostly opposite and reverse of one another? 

The Final Victor LC is the first meeting of Ratio and Aventurine, and Neff killing Phyllis is their final meeting.

Between that first and last meeting between Phyllis and Neff’s whirlwind romance, their relationship becomes strained which ultimately leads to Neff not trusting whatever Phyllis has to say at the end point of the movie. As for Ratio and Aventurine, the exact opposite had happened, to the point where Ratio trusts Aventurine enough to go along with his plans even if they went against his own ideals. The basis of the mission involved Veritas Ratio, whose full name includes the Latin word for “truth”, lying the entire time on Penacony.

Aventurine is sentenced to the gallows by Sunday after his unwilling interrogation. The movie starts and ends with Neff willingly confessing everything to Keyes.

It bears repeating, but I have to make it so clear that the trust between Ratio and Aventurine runs incredibly deep. Being able to predict what your partner says and thinks and plans in a mission as critical as the Penacony project is not something first-time co-workers can pull off flawlessly. All the while having to put on masks that prevent you from speaking sincerely towards one another lest you rat yourselves out. You have no way of contacting outside reinforcements from within Penacony, as the rest of the IPC are barred from entering. To be able to play everybody for fools while said fools believe you yourselves have handed your case on a silver platter requires a lot — trust, knowledge of the other, past experience, and so on. With Phyllis and Neff, the trust they had had been snuffed out when Neff grew closer to Lola and found out what kind of person Phyllis truly was on the inside. Phyllis did not trust nor love Neff enough and was going behind his back to meet with Zachette to possibly take Neff and Lola out. And the whole reason Neff wanted to perpetrate the murder was due to him being initially taken by Phyllis' appearance, which single handedly got the ball rolling on the crime.

Now then, how come trust is one of the defining aspects of Aventurine and Ratio’s relationship, when Phyllis and Neff’s trust eventually lead to both their deaths at the hands of the other? Sure, this can be explained away with the opposite theory, but there’s one other relationship involving Neff which I haven’t brought up in excruciating detail yet. The other side of Ratio and Aventurine’s relationship.

—

[NEFF & KEYES — AVENTURINE & RATIO]

Here is where it gets more interesting — while Phyllis and Neff are at the centre point of the movie, there is another character to whom Neff has a close relationship with — Keyes. It’s also the only relationship with no pretences, at least, until the whole murder thing happened and Neff had to hide his involvement from Keyes. Watching the movie, I couldn't help but feel there was something more to the two than meets the eye. I knew that queer readings of the film existed, but I didn't think too much of them until now. And though Aventurine and Ratio parallel Phyllis and Neff respectively, the fact that they also have traits of their opposite means that it wouldn’t be completely out of the question if parts of their relationship were also influenced by Keyes and Neff on a deeper and personal level. Let me explain.

Keyes and Neff were intimate friends for eleven years and have shown mutual respect and trust towards one another. They understood each other on a level not seen with Phyllis and Neff. Even after hearing Neff confess his crimes through the dictaphone (and eventually standing in the same room while Neff confessed), he still cared for the other man, and stayed with him when Neff collapsed at the front door. The only reason Keyes hadn’t deduced that it was Neff who was behind the murder was because he had his absolute trust in him. Keyes is also Neff’s boss, and they are always seen exchanging playful banter when they are on screen together. Neff even says the words “I love you, too” twice in the movie — first at the beginning and second at the end, as the final line. There’s also the persistent theme of Neff lighting Keyes’ cigarettes (which happens in every scene where they are face-to-face), except in the end where it’s Keyes who lights Neff’s.

Doesn’t that sound familiar? Mutual respect, caring too much about the other person, the immense amount of trust… Ratio says he’s even the manager of the Penacony project (which may or may not be a lie), and despite their banter being laced with them acting as “enemies”, you can tell that in Dewlight Pavilion pre-Sunday confrontation that Aventurine genuinely likes Ratio’s company and believes him to be a reliable person. From the way he acts carefree in his words to the thoughts in his head, as seen in the mission descriptions for Double Indemnity. Their interactions in that specific mission are possibly the closest thing to their normal way of speaking that we get to see on Penacony.

Not to mention, this is the way Neff describes Keyes. He even says (not in the script) “you never fooled me with your song and dance, not for a second.” Apart from the line about the cigar ashes, doesn’t this ring a bell to a certain doctor? “Jerk” with a heart of gold?

After solving the puzzle with the statues, Ratio jokingly offers Aventurine to join the Genius Society. Aventurine then goes "Really? I thought you’ve given up on that already", and then Ratio says it was, in fact, a joke. Solving the puzzle through brute force has Ratio telling Aventurine that the Council of Mundanites (which Ratio himself is a part of) should consider him a member. In the movie, where the scene with the phone call with Neff and Phyllis reiterating details of their plan happens, Keyes actually offered Neff a better job (specifically a desk job, as Keyes’ assistant). The two pairs saw the other as smart, equals, and were invested in each other’s careers one way or another.

Because of all this, the character parallels for this side of the relationship are as follows:

Aventurine - Walter Neff

Veritas Ratio - Barton Keyes

With the way I’ve talked about how Aventurine and Ratio take from both leads in terms, it does fit to say that Aventurine is Neff, and Ratio is Keyes in this layer of their relationship. Since we’re on the topic of Keyes, let me also go through some similarities with him and Ratio specifically.

Keyes says the words “dimwitted amateurs” in his first on-screen conversation with Neff. You can’t have Dr. Ratio without him talking about idiocy in some way.

Keyes almost only appears in the movie in relation to Neff, and barring a single interaction in Neff’s house, is also only seen in the office. Same with Phyllis, Ratio also only ever appears regarding Aventurine.

Keyes genuinely wanted the best for Neff, even offering to celebrate with him when he thought the case truly had been busted wide open by forces when Zachette entered the picture. You could say the same for Ratio, as he hoped that Aventurine wouldn’t dwell on the past according to his response on Aventurine’s Interview, as well as telling him to “stay alive/live on (CN)” and wishing him the best of luck in his Doctor’s Advice note.

Whether or not you believe that there was more going on with Neff and Keyes is up to you, but what matters is that the two were very close. Just like Ratio and Aventurine.

—

[THE ORIGINAL FILM ENDING]

Something that I hadn’t seen brought up is the original ending of Double Indemnity, where Neff is executed in a gas chamber while Keyes watches on, shocked, and afterwards leaves somberly. The ending was taken out because they were worried about the Hays Code, but I felt it was important to bring it up, because in a way, you can kind of see the Sunday interrogation scene as Sunday sending Aventurine to his death in seventeen system hours. And Ratio doesn’t speak at all in that scene, and Keyes doesn’t either according to the script.

Another thing that’s noteworthy is that Wilder himself said “the story was about the two guys” in Conversations with Wilder. The two guys in question are Keyes and Neff.

—

[THE NOVEL]

With the original film ending covered, now it is time to bring up the novel by James M. Cain. I bought the book just to read about the differences between the adaptation and the original source material, and to list a few more similarities and opposites I could gather. For this section alone, due to the changes in the (last) names of certain characters, I will be referring to Walter Huff (Neff in the movie) as Walter, and Mr. Dietrichson as Nirdlinger. The plot is pretty much the same as the movie’s apart from a couple of changes so there isn’t a need to recount everything.

From my two read-throughs of the novel, these are the following passages that stood out to me the most. Starting with Aventurine:

Walter, as a top businessman of the company, knows how to sway a deal and to get what he truly wants with what the other gives him. Aventurine is the same, reliant on his intuition, experience and whatever information he has on the table to claim the win. Him luring out Sparkle in Heaven Is A Place On Earth and his conversation with Acheron in the Nihility is indicative of that.

• "But you sell as many people as I do, you don't go by what they say. You feel it, how the deal is going. And after a while I knew this woman didn't care anything about the Automobile Club. Maybe the husband did, but she didn't. There was something else, and this was nothing but a stall. I figured it would be some kind of a proposition to split the commission, maybe so she could get a ten-spot out of it without the husband knowing. There's plenty of that going on. And I was just wondering what I would say to her." 

Phyllis, like in the movie, had been hiding her true intentions of talking to Walter in their first conversations, always saying things that she didn’t actually mean. In a similar vein, Aventurine consistently says stuff but almost never truly means any of it, which is all part of his façade.

• "And I could feel it again, that she wasn't saying what she meant. It was the same as it was the first afternoon I met her, that there was something else, besides what she was telling me. And I couldn't shake it off, that I had to call it on her."

When discussing the murder plan with Phyllis, Walter makes this comment, kind of like how Aventurine seems to operate in a way where he has a plan, but is ready to improvise and think fast when needed.

• "And then it's one of those things where you've got to watch for your chance, and you can't plan it in advance, and know where you're going to come out to the last decimal point."

Remember the roulette wheel line from the movie? In the novel, the gambling metaphor that Walter makes about the insurance business goes on for two paragraphs, mentioning a gambling wheel, stack of chips, a place with a big casino and the little ivory ball, even about a bet on the table. Walter also talks about how he thinks of tricks at night after being in the business for so long, and how he could game the system. Needless to say, insanely reminiscent of Aventurine.

• "You think I’m nuts? All right, maybe I am. But you spend fifteen years in the business I’m in, and maybe a little better than that, it’s the friend of the widow, the orphan, and the needy in time of trouble? It’s not. It’s the biggest gambling wheel in the world. It don’t look like it, but it is, from the way they figure the percentage on the oo to the look on their face when they cash your chips. You bet that your house will burn down, they bet it won’t, that’s all. What fools you is that you didn’t want your house to burn down when you made the bet, and so you forget it’s a bet. To them, a bet is a bet, and a hedge bet don’t look any different than any other bet. But there comes a time, maybe, when you do want your house to burn down, when the money is worth more than the house. And right there is where the trouble starts." • "Alright, I’m an agent. I’m a croupier in that game. I know all their tricks, I lie awake thinking up tricks, so I’ll be ready for them when they come at me. And then one night I think up a trick, and get to thinking I could crook the wheel myself if I could only put a plant out there to put down my bet." • "I had seen so many houses burned down, so many cars wrecked, so many corpses with blue holes in their temples, so many awful things that people had pulled to crook the wheel, that that stuff didn’t seem real to me anymore. If you don’t understand that, go to Monte Carlo or some other place where there’s a big casino, sit at a table, and watch the face of the man that spins the little ivory ball. After you’ve watched it a while, ask yourself how much he would care if you went out and plugged yourself in the head. His eyes might drop when he heard the shot, but it wouldn’t be from the worry whether you lived or died. It would be to make sure you didn’t leave a bet on the table, that he would have to cash for your estate. No, he wouldn’t care."

Returning home from the murder, Walter attempted to pray, but was unable to do it. Some time passed and after speaking to Phyllis, he prayed. Aventurine presumably hadn’t done the prayer ever since the day of the massacre, and the first time he does it again, he does it with his child self.

• "I went to the dining room and took a drink. I took another drink. I started mumbling to myself, trying to get so I could talk. I had to have something to mumble. I thought of the Lord's Prayer. I mumbled that, a couple of times. I tried to mumble it another time, and couldn't remember how it went." • "That night I did something I hadn’t done in years. I prayed."

Phyllis in the book is much more inclined towards death than her movie version, even thinking of herself as a personification of death. She’s killed ten other people (including infants) prior to the events of the novel. Something to keep in mind as Aventurine had mentioned several times that he attempted to kill himself in the dream, plus his leadup to his “grandest death”. Just like Phyllis, he’s even killed at least a few people before, though the circumstances of that were less on his own volition and more so for the sake of his survival (i.e. the death game in the maze involving the 34 other slaves where he was the winner and another time where he murdered his own master). Instead of Phyllis playing the active role of Death towards everybody else, Aventurine himself dances with Death with every gamble, every time his luck comes into play. Danse Macabre.

• "But there’s something in me, I don’t know what. Maybe I’m crazy. But there’s something in me that loves Death. I think of myself as Death, sometimes." • "Walter, The time has come. For me to meet my bridegroom [Death]. The only one I ever loved."

Moving on to Ratio:

Walter says several times that it’s hard to get along with Keyes, and how he says nice things after getting you all worked up. A hard-headed man to get along with, but damn good at his job. Sound like someone familiar?

• "That would be like Keyes, that even when he wanted to say something nice to you, he had to make you sore first."  • "It makes your head ache to be around him, but he’s the best claim man on the Coast, and he was the one I was afraid of."

Keyes sees Walter as smarter than half the fools in the company. Ratio can only stand the company of Aventurine in regards to the IPC.

• "Walter, I'm not beefing with you. I know you said he ought to be investigated. I've got your memo right here on my desk. That's what I wanted to tell you. If other departments of this company would show half the sense that you show—" • "Oh, he confessed. He's taking a plea tomorrow morning, and that ends it. But my point is, that if you, just by looking at that man, could have your suspicions, why couldn't they—! Oh well, what's the use? I just wanted you to know it."

After going on a rant about the H.S. Nirdlinger case (Phyllis’ husband) and how Norton is doing a horrible job, he ends it by saying that it’s sheer stupidity. “Supreme idiocy”, anybody?

• "You can’t take many body blows like this and last. Holy smoke. Fifty thousand bucks, and all from dumbness. Just sheer, willful, stupidity!"

Phyllis’ former occupation as a nurse is more elaborated on, including her specialization — pulmonary diseases. One of Ratio’s crowning achievements is curing lithogenesis, the “King of Diseases”.

• "She’s one of the best nurses in the city of Los Angeles. […] She’s a nurse, and she specialized in pulmonary diseases. She would know the time of crisis, almost to a minute, as well as any doctor would."

As for the murder scheme, they talk about it a lot more explicitly in the novel. Specifically, Walter mentions how a single person cannot get away with it and that it requires more people to be involved. How everything is known to the party committing the crime, but not the victim. And most importantly: Audacity.

"Say, this is a beauty, if I do say it myself. I didn't spend all this time in the business for nothing, did I? Listen, he knows all about this policy, and yet he don't know a thing about it. He applies for it, in writing, and yet he don't apply for it. He pays me for it with his own check, and yet he don't pay me. He has an accident happen to him and yet he don't have an accident happen to him. He gets on the train, and yet he don't get on it."

"The first is, help. One person can't get away with it, that is unless they're going to admit it and plead the unwritten law or something. It takes more than one. The second is, the time, the place, the way, all known in advance—to us, but not him. The third is, audacity. That's the one that all amateur murderers forget. They know the first two, sometimes, but that third, only a professional knows. There comes a time in any murder when the only thing that can see you through is audacity, and I can't tell you why."

"And if we want to get away with it, we've got to do it the way they do it, […]" "Be bold?" "Be bold. It's the only way."

"I still don't know—what we're going to do." "You'll know. You'll know in plenty of time."

"We were right up with it, the moment of audacity that has to be be part of any successful murder."

It fits the situation that Aventurine and Ratio find themselves in extremely well: For the first point— Aventurine would not be able to get away with simply airing out details by himself, as that would immediately cast suspicion on him. Having another person accompany him who not only isn’t really a part of the IPC in name (as the IPC and The Family have a strenuous relationship) but would probably be able to get closer to Sunday because of that means they can simply bounce off each other without risking as much suspicion with a one-man army. Which is exactly what Ratio and Aventurine do in the conversations they have on Penacony. Secondly — they knew how Sunday operates: as a control freak, he leaves no stone unturned, which is how he became Head of the Oak Family, so their acting required them to give off the impression that a. they hated each other, b. Ratio would go against Aventurine’s wishes and expose him in return for knowledge, c. there were only the two Cornerstones that were hidden. This would give Sunday the illusion of control, and lead to Sunday to lower his guard long enough for Aventurine to take the gift money in the end. The pair knew this in advance, but not Sunday. And thirdly — the plan hinged on a high-level of risk. From breaking the Aventurine Cornerstone, to hoping that Sunday wouldn’t find it in the gift bag, to not telling Ratio what the true plan is (meaning Ratio had to figure it out on his own later on), to Sunday even buying Ratio’s story, it was practically the only way they could go about it. “Charming audacity”, indeed.

An interesting aspect about the novel is that the ending of the novel is divergent from the movie’s final cut and the original ending: Phyllis and Walter commit suicide during a ferry ride to Mexico. The main reason this was changed for the movie was because of the Hays Code, and they wouldn’t allow a double suicide to be screened without reprecussions for criminals. There’s also a bunch of other aspects that differentiate the novel from the movie (no narration-confession as the confession happens in a hospital, less characterization for Keyes and instead a bigger focus on Lola and her boyfriend, the focus on the murderous aspect of Walter and Phyllis’ relationship instead of actual romance, Walter falling in love with Lola (with an unfortunately large age gap attached), etc.)

As for the ending, this wouldn’t even be the first romance media reference related to Aventurine and Ratio where both the leads die, with the other being The Happy Prince and San Junipero (in relation to the EN-only Heaven Is A Place On Earth reference), which I normally would chalk up as a coincidence, though with the opposite line-of-thought I have going on here (and the fact that it’s three out of four media references where the couple die at the end…), I think it’s reasonable to say that Ratio and Aventurine will get that happy ending. Subverting expectations, hopefully.

—

[THE HAYS CODE — LGBT CENSORSHIP IN CHINA]

I’ve brought up the Hays code twice now in the previous two sections, but I haven’t actually explained what exactly it entails.

The Hays Code (also known as the Motion Picture Production Code) is a set of rules and guidelines imposed on all American films from around 1934 to 1968, intended to make films less scandalous, morally acceptable and more “safe” for the general audiences. Some of the “Don’ts” and “Be Carefuls” include but are not limited to…

(Don’t) Pointed profanity

(Don’t) Inference of sex perversion (which includes homosexuality)

(Don’t) Nudity

(Be Careful) Sympathy for criminals

(Be Careful) Use of firearms

(Be Careful) Man and woman in bed together

What does this have to do with a Chinese gacha game released in 2023? If you know a little bit about miHoYo’s past, you would know that pre-censorship laws being upheld to a much stronger and stricter degree, they had no problem showcasing their gay couples in Guns Girl Z (Honkai Gakuen 2/GGZ) and Honkai Impact 3rd, with the main three being Bronya/Seele, Kiana/Mei (admittedly the latter one is a more recent example, from 2023), and Sakura/Kallen. Ever since the Bronya and Seele kiss, censorship in regards to LGBT content ramped up, causing the kiss to be removed on the CN side, and they had to lay low with the way they present two same-sex characters who are meant to be together. They can’t explicitly say that two female or male characters are romantically involved, but they can lace their dynamics with references for those “in the know” — Subtext. Just enough to imply something more but not too much that they get censored to hell and back.

So what I’m getting at is this: The trouble that Double Indemnity had to go through in order to be made while also keeping the dialogue of Phyllis and Neff as flirtatious as they could under the Hays Code among other things is quite similar to the way Ratio and Aventurine are presented as of now. We never see them interact outside of Penacony (at least up until 2.2, when this post was drafted), so we can only infer those interactions specifically until they actually talk without the fear of being found out by Sunday. But, there’s still some small moments scattered here and there, such as when Aventurine goes near Ratio in the Dewlight Pavilion Sandpit, he exclaims that “the view here is breathtaking” (he can only see Ratio’s chest from that distance) and that Ratio could “easily squash [him] with just a pinch”. Ratio then goes “If that is your wish, I will do so without a moment’s hesitation.” Not to mention the (in)famous “Doctor, you’re huge!” quote.

It’s not a coincidence that Ratio and Aventurine have three explicit references to romance media (Double Indemnity, Spellbound, Oscar Wilde’s The Happy Prince), possibly even four if you take the EN-only Heaven Is A Place On Earth as a reference to Black Mirror’s San Junipero. It’s not a coincidence that the storylines or characters of said references parallel the pairing, from surface-level to deep cuts. It’s not a coincidence that the CN voice actors were asked to “tone it down” by the voice director when it came to their chemistry. It’s not a coincidence that Aventurine has only flirted with (three) men throughout Penacony, even referring to a Bloodhound NPC as a “hunk of a man” inside his thoughts, all the while ignoring Himeko and Robin when it came to their looks — women who are known across the cosmos with a myriad of adoring fans. There are so many other so-called “coincidences” related to the two that you could make an iceberg just based on versions 2.0-2.2 as well as content miHoYo themselves have put out on social media. They absolutely knew what they were doing, and were trying to get their point across through subtle means — the extent they went to with the Double Indemnity reference while also keeping it under wraps from a “surface” level point of view is proof of this — the implications are there if you take the time to look for them, and are simply hard to ignore or deny once you do find them.

—

[CONCLUSION]

This was supposed to be short considering the other analyses I’ve seen were also pretty short in comparison, but I couldn’t get the movie out of my head and ended up getting carried away in the brainrot. I hope you could follow along with my line of thinking, even with the absurd length of this post, and the thirty-image limit. I tried to supplement context with some links to videos and wiki pages among other sources wherever I can to get around it.

I will end it with this though — the love in the movie turned out to be fake and a farce, going off track from what was a passionate romance in the beginning because of the murder scheme. Meanwhile, the whole reason why Ratio and Aventurine can pull off whatever they want is because of their immense trust in one another. What was initially shown to be distrust in the Final Victor LC grew into something more, for Ratio, someone who would have never put faith into mere chance and probability before this, put his trust in Aventurine, of all people.

TL;DR — (I get it, it’s over ten thousand words.)

Not only is the relationship between Neff and Phyllis represented in the deception and acting side of Ratio and Aventurine, but the real and trusting side is shown in Neff and Keyes. They have a fascinating, multi-layered dynamic that is extremely fun to pick apart once you realise what’s going on underneath the bickering and “hatred” they display.

Many thanks to Manya again for making the original thread on the movie. I wouldn’t be here comparing the game and movie myself if it weren’t for that.

By the way, I really do believe that Shaoji totally watched this movie at least once and really wanted that Double Indemnity AU for his OCs. I know exactly how it feels.

—

Other points I'd like to mention that didn't fit anywhere else in the main analysis and/or don’t hold much significance, have nothing to do with the Penacony mission, or may even be considered reaching (...if some of the other points weren’t). Just some potentially interesting side bits.

Phyllis honks three times to signal Neff to go for the kill. That, and the three gunshots in the confrontation. Aventurine is all about the number three.

The height difference Aventurine and Ratio have going on is close to Phyllis and Neff’s.

Phyllis had killed her husband’s previous wife and went on to marry Mr. Dietrichson, pretty much taking the wife’s place. Aventurine killed his previous master, and had taken certain attributes from him like his wristwatch and the rings on his hand and the “all or nothing” mantra.

When calling Ratio a wretch (bastard), Aventurine smiles for a moment. This is exclusive to the EN, KR and JP voiceovers, as in CN, he does not smile at all. (Most definitely a quirk from the AI they use for lip syncing, but the smile is something that’s been pointed out quite a few times so I thought I’d mention it here.)

Sunday specifically says in the CN version that he knew of Aventurine's plans the moment Aventurine left the mansion, meaning that he realized he had been played the fool the moment Ratio and Aventurine talked in Golden Hour

In the description for the "All or Nothing" consumable, teenage Aventurine says this specific line: "Temptation is a virtue for mortals, whereas hesitation proves to be a fatal flaw for gamblers." According to Ratio, this is Aventurine's motto - he says as such in Aventurine's Keeping Up With Star Rail episode. Note that in the anan interview he explicitly says he does not have a motto, and yet Ratio in the video says otherwise. They definitely have to know each other for a while for Ratio to even know this.

A big reason why Neff even pulled off the murder scheme in the first place was because he wanted to see if his good friend Keyes could figure it out, the Mundane Troubles Trailblaze Continuance showcases Ratio attempting to teach the Herta Space Station researches a lesson to not trust the Genius society as much as they did.

In Keyes’ first scene he’s exposing a worker for writing a policy on his truck that he claimed had burnt down on its own, when he was the one who burnt it down. Ratio gets into an Ace Attorney-style argument with the Trailblazer in Mundane Troubles.

Neff talks repeatedly about how it won’t be sloppy. Nothing weak. And how it’ll be perfect to Phyllis, and how she’s going to do it and he’s going to help her. Doing it right — “straight down the line”. Beautifully ironic, considering what happens in the movie, and even more ironic as Ratio and Aventurine’s scheme went exactly the way they wanted to in the end. Straight down the line.

[httpvomitello]

Can we get some bayverse tmnt comfort please?

Maybe all of them at the same time, not just single head cannons. they are about to knock on the window to readers apartment but they see reader stressing and studying for finals so, they leave before they notice and come back with snacks and a movie.

Absolutely no pressure to do this ask, I love your writing!

Hello, hello! Hope you like it.

(btw, I kind of read the request wrong the first time, and ended up doing it a little differently, sorry! 🫠)

Finals, Friends, and Midnight Snacks *⁠.⁠✧

The turtles rarely ventured to your apartment without some heads-up, but tonight was different. They’d been on patrol, half-bored, half-wired from adrenaline, when Mikey suggested they swing by to surprise you. You'd mentioned something about finals coming up, so it seemed like the perfect excuse to check in and maybe goof off a bit.

When they arrived, slipping through the shadows toward your window, they each prepared to knock, maybe make you jump a bit. But as Leo went to tap the glass, they all paused, taking in the sight on the other side.

You were hunched over a stack of textbooks, looking like you hadn’t moved in hours. Your hair was messier than usual, your face buried in your hands as you studied, brows drawn in frustration. There was a cold cup of coffee beside you, clearly long forgotten. The sigh that escaped your lips looked weary enough to weigh you down even further.

Mikey was the first to react, his expression dropping from excitement to concern as he turned to the others. "Uh, guys...I don’t think now’s the best time."

Leo agreed, nodding and stepping back from the window with a serious look. “She’s really stressing over these finals.”

Raph huffed softly, crossing his arms but keeping his eyes on you. He could be blunt, but even he hated seeing you like this. “She’s practically in zombie mode. I don’t get it... why go that hard for some stupid test?”

Donnie sighed, unable to hide his sympathy. “Because she cares about doing well, Raph. Finals aren’t a joke.”

The four exchanged glances, each thinking about how much they’d wanted to see you, maybe make you smile, only to find you buried in a mountain of notes and responsibilities. There was no way they’d let you stay like this.

“Alright, new plan,” Leo declared quietly. “We come back with supplies, something to help her get through the night.”

Raph raised an eyebrow, trying to hide his own worry behind a scoff. “So… what, we just turn into delivery boys now?”

Leo shrugged with a grin. “If it means she gets a break, then yeah.”

Raph rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, instead muttering a half-hearted, “Fine, but let’s make it fast.”

With that, they melted into the shadows, Leo leading them through the city toward their destination: the perfect supply run.

At the lair, Leo was all business. “ Mikey, you grab any snacks she might like. Donnie, brain food, whatever you can find. Raph, grab some comfort items, maybe a blanket or something.”

Mikey saluted, diving for the snack aisle. He grabbed armfuls of treats, throwing them into a basket. Chips, candy, anything that looked like it could bring a smile to your face. After a moment, he slowed down, his mind returning to the way you’d looked, so exhausted and serious. This wasn’t just about goofing off, he realized; this was about letting you know they were there for you, no matter what.

Meanwhile, Donnie scanned the shelves for anything resembling “brain food.” He knew you well enough to know you’d appreciate the thought, so he made sure to choose carefully, grabbing a few bags of almonds, dark chocolate, and even a couple of healthy energy bars. As he glanced at a box of herbal tea, he picked that up too, maybe it would help you wind down once you finally took a break.

Raph was skeptical at first but softened when he remembered the rougher days he’d had in training and how a little comfort had made all the difference. He ended up grabbing a cozy fleece blanket and some hot cocoa packets, grumbling to himself as he realized how badly he wanted you to be comfortable, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

In no time, they were on their way back, their arms full of items. When they arrived at your window again, they moved carefully, setting everything down.

Mikey took charge of the snacks, arranging them in a small pile on your windowsill, topped with a quick doodle he’d made of himself, Leo, Donnie, and Raph giving you enthusiastic thumbs-ups. He even threw in a cartoon bubble reading, “Good luck, dudette! We got your back!”

Donnie placed his carefully chosen snacks and the herbal tea beside Mikey’s arrangement, tucking in a small note with some quick, helpful study tips he’d jotted down from memory. “Remember to pace yourself! You’ve got this,” it read in his neat handwriting.

Raph, with an eye-roll but a soft smile he tried to hide, placed the blanket and hot cocoa packets near the snacks. He didn’t write a note, but he knew you’d get the message: Take it easy, even if he’d never say it out loud.

And finally, Leo tucked everything into a neat little arrangement, glancing over at you, hoping you’d look up and see the care package before they had to go.

The four of them lingered a moment longer, watching you as you continued to study, unaware of their presence. They couldn’t help but smile as they each thought about what they’d done and how much you meant to them. After a few quiet seconds, Leo signaled for them to leave, and they slipped back into the night, feeling a sense of satisfaction at knowing you’d have something to lift your spirits.

An hour or so later, you looked up from your notes, rubbing your eyes and stretching, feeling every ache from hours of study. Deciding you needed a break, you turned to get some water, only to freeze when you spotted the arrangement on your windowsill.

Your heart skipped a beat as you took it all in: the snacks, the blanket, the tea, and each little personal touch that told you exactly who had left it there.

Mikey’s doodle made you laugh, and Donnie’s note was filled with genuinely helpful advice. You smiled at the cozy blanket, feeling a warmth in your chest that chased away some of the stress you’d been carrying.

You gathered everything and made yourself some hot cocoa, smiling softly as you glanced out the window, wishing you could thank them. But as you wrapped yourself in the blanket and sipped your cocoa, you felt their support, even if they weren’t there in person.

A while later, you sent a selfie to the group that Mikey created, showing you lying in the little nest they prepared for you.

“Thank you, you guys are amazing!”

[tmntkiseki]

(Massive spoiler warning!) Let's talk about the TMNT 2003 oneshot from the 40th Anniversary Anthology

Ohhhhh boy, my friends, it is finally here. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 40th Anniversary Comics Celebration was released a few days ago and with it, the first comic-based piece of TMNT 2003 media in over 16 years. Whether this oneshot will pave the way for future comics set in the 2003 universe is yet to be seen, but for now, Lloyd Goldfine, Khary Randolph, and Emilio Lopez have cooked up an incredibly delicious treat for fans of the 2003 series, so without further ado, let's dive in because it's ninja time!

(Note: This post contains full spoilers for the "Splinter Forever" oneshot. If you haven't read the comic yet and want to go in as blindly as possible, please do not read beyond the "Keep Reading" and avoid this post like the plague.)

"And how could I have imagined that most incredible transformation of all?! Here, I speak not of mutation... but of my sons. Could I ever have dreamed I would become a father?"

So, before we talk about the actual story of "Splinter Forever," let's talk about a pretty important detail of the comic itself; the fact that it is only eight pages long. While it is certainly not impossible to tell a good story with such a limited number of pages (the Archie oneshot from earlier in the anthology certainly did it, and it had only four pages to work with), it certainly makes telling a deeper, more complex story that much harder since you don't have as much time to tell it. Knowing this, Lloyd Goldfine opted to play it safe and keep things fairly simple in terms of narrative—whether he played it too safe is certainly up for debate, but I personally think that "Splinter Forever" more benefits from this approach than not. What it lacks in interesting plot, it more than makes up for in its characterization and presentation (and believe me, we will be talking about the artwork A LOT in this post.)

"Splinter Forever," at a glance, is pretty straightforward in terms of story; taking place at some point after Turtles Forever, it is about Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo rescuing Splinter, who has been captured by the Shredder; he is assisted by Hun, who is still trapped in his mutated turtle form due to the events of the movie. "Splinter Forever," however, is so much more than just the turtles kicking butt and looking cool—it is a story about Splinter expressing his undying love for his four children and how he values his family above all else.

After a brief flashback to Splinter's days as an ordinary rat in the care of Hamato Yoshi, the turtles make their big entrance by crashing through one of the windows of the Foot facility that Splinter is being held in. Each of the next four pages focuses on one of the turtles, showcasing their combat prowess as they fight Shredder, Hun, and the Foot, all while Splinter... pretty much gushes over them. He highlights Michelangelo's nature as a comedian who, none the less, is the most naturally talented of his brothers at martial arts, the fact that Raphael is actually much softer than his tough, aggressive personality would suggest, Leonardo's big heart and unyielding dedication to protecting his brothers, and Donatello's great intellect and unique worldview. Splinter is just so, so, so proud of the people that his sons have grown into and while none of them are perfect, he wouldn't have them any other way.

Now, the one full page from the oneshot that I am able to include in this post is the one focusing on Michelangelo, as it was made available via IDW's social media several days prior to the release of the anthology in order to promote it. There are two things I want to draw everyone's attention to: Khary Randolph's panel composition and Emilio Lopez's use of color.

So, for starters, the composition; The panels on these four pages are rendered in such a way that they resemble broken glass. Makes sense from a narrative standpoint given how the turtles just appeared to crash Shredder's "Let's kill/experiment on Splinter" party, but I genuinely feel like there are some lines to be drawn between Leo's iconic window scene from season 1 and how this is basically the inverse of that situation; instead of one turtle being tossed by the Foot through a window after being beaten near to death, all four turtles are jumping through a window in order to lay a sound beating on the Foot for trying to harm their father. (Or maybe Khary Randolph just thought it looked cool, I don't know.)

Second; Emilio Lopez's use of color. Oh my gosh, Emilio Lopez's colors. It's amazing because the colors used for the turtles are fairly in line with how they appeared during the first five seasons, but rather than looking dark and muted like in the show, they are rendered in such a way that they appear bright, vibrant, and above all, eye catching. Combined with Khary Randolph's dynamic poses and perspective, the turtles are practically popping off the pages. It's literal eye candy no matter where you look!

Besides that though, comparing Raphael and Leonardo's pages to Michelangelo and Donatello's pages is really, really interesting, especially when done so while examining both Splinter's narration as well as the action happening on-panel. On Michelangelo's page, Emilio only really used gold/orange colors for the backgrounds; on Donatello's page, outside a single panel where Splinter catches his cane, only violets are used for the backgrounds. In contrast, the backgrounds on Raphael's page use both reds and violets, while Leonardo's page includes blues, reds, and oranges.

In terms of the action on Mikey and Don's pages, they are absolutely destroying the Foot that they're up against, and Splinter's narration is nothing short of praise for both of them. When we get to Raph's page, though, he's struggling a bit with Hun. In one panel, Hun manages to grab hold of his arms and in another, he punches Raphael away; the backgrounds of these panels are rendered in violet. But in panels where Raphael is on the offensive, the backgrounds are rendered in red. And then there's Splinter's narration from this page.

"Raphael. Always so angry...most reliably, at himself. But, in truth, he is only half as fearsome as he makes himself out to be... Which of course, is more than fearsome enough."

I don't know if this was intentional on Emilio Lopez's part, but it seems to me that the backgrounds are being used to help characterize the turtles more. In the panels where Hun has the advantage and Raphael is presented as weaker/more vulnerable, the backgrounds are rendered in violet. But in panels where Raphael has the advantage and is confident/on the offensive, the backgrounds feature his iconic red color. Raphael's nature as an "rough on the outside, soft on the inside" type of character is being represented via color! I love that!

Something similar is done on Leo's page. Panels where Leo has the upper hand on the Shredder have the backgrounds rendered in his associated blue, but panels featuring the Foot and the Shredder getting the upper hand on him are rendered in either orange or red. As we know, Leonardo's nature as a perfectionist is his big fatal flaw as a character; on one hand, he trains the hardest and is the most skilled of his brothers in terms of his overall combat abilities, but whenever he perceives himself as having failed his family, he takes it hard, and this is reflected in Splinter's narration.

"Leonardo. He trains so hard. Cares so much. All this... to ensure he never, ever fails his brothers."

Also, I think it's worth pointing out the colors used for the panels where Shredder either only barely avoids hitting Leo or manages to land a strike on him. Orange and red. Michelangelo and Raphael. Leonardo is thinking of his brothers in those moments and how he can't let them down. God damn it, Emilio.

Anyways, after Donatello frees Splinter on his page, we are treated to a gorgeous two page spread that parodies the one from the first Mirage issue; however, now Splinter is a part of the composition and... god, I really love this image. The colors are fantastic, Khary Randolph improved on the posing from the original, and it's a perfect tribute to the original comic that started it all. The box with Splinter's narration where he speaks of how proud he is of his children is even in the same spot where Leo's narration from the original image is!

The final page of the oneshot has Splinter easily kick the Shredder's ass. He breaks his Utrom exosuit and proceeds to send little Ch'rell... flying through a window. God, to do the same thing to the Shredder that he did to Leo in Season 1 is poetic justice at its finest. The four turtles embrace Splinter, and the oneshot ends with the family, now reunited, returning home. The end.

Honestly, my only real nitpick with the oneshot is the fact that there is no explanation for how Ch'rell came back after literally being vaporized during Turtles Forever, but again, Lloyd Goldfine only had eight pages to work with, so I can pretty much let it slide on that basis alone because otherwise? This oneshot is so, so good. It is not only a perfect tribute to Splinter's deep bond with Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo and the love he holds for them as their father, but to the entire 2003 series as a whole. It was certainly worth the wait and I'm definitely hoping that this won't be the last we see of the 2003 turtles in the comic books.

"Yes, mine is a life I could never have imagined for myself...and, even if given forever... I could not have dreamed of one better."

[letmereadinpeace4]

Love Sea episode 1 Commentary

So yesterday the first episode of Love Sea was released. After watching it, I decided to put down my thoughts and impressions. Hopefully I can keep it up until the end of the drama.

First, a few things:

I have bought and read the Love Sea novel. I will try my best not to spoil anything, but this knowledge informs my perception and my commentary. I have also read Love Sand, which chronologically happens before Love Sea, and I will spoil minor plot points if I think they can help understand elements in the drama.

There will be no Mame hate in this post, or in any other posts.

With that out of the way, let’s start:

The drama opens by separately introducing the main characters. Masahamut is diving, checking and noting damages, while Tongrak is on his way to the island, wearing the most impractical travel outfit he could have possibly worn. We learn that his stay on the island was booked by Connor Warrington, a close friend of his.

The character introduction is pretty well done. Masahamut is set up as a character who deeply cares about the well-being of the island he lives on. He is shown interacting with his friend Palm (they are not biologically related, they are senior/junior) and we get an impression of someone who communicates well with others and has a joking, playful side to him. Meanwhile, Tongrak is shown alone, even as he talks with Connor, we do not hear his replies, so we get the sense of someone cut off from other people. His outfit is also very fancy, showing his financial comfort, but also wildly impractical, showing that he is not very down to earth.

To explain who the characters are in the Mame universe, Masahamut is the best friend of Khom, who is Type’s childhood friend (from Tharntype). Khom is dating Connor, who is close friend with Tongrak. Tongrak is also a novelist, and his novels have been adapted by the movie director Aphros, who is Prapai’s uncle and the director who inspired Sky after his breakdown (not going to lie, with all those connections, I am low-key surprised that the closest we ever got to incest was Tum and Tar’s relationship).

At the docks, Tongrak is not exactly impressed with the place he will be staying at. We have it confirmed that Connor booked his stay because Tongrak’s next novel will be about the ocean (Connor my beloved I love you so much you asshole). Masahamut meets Tongrak at the docks and decide to piss him off by speaking in a Southern accent and not driving an appropriate vehicle to transport his suitcases. After Tongrak blows a fuse, Masahamut cuts him off and borrows a cargo tricycle.

This develops the characters a bit further. Tongrak shows a rather childish side and a lack of control over his emotions, while Masahamut’s confidence and capacity to adapt is set up. We also see more of his playful, “troll” side. I also like how his popularity on the island is subtly shown by having him borrow a bike from someone with no issue whatsoever. People trust him!

Tongrak immediately calls Connor to complain and demands to go home, further showing his childish, needy side. We get to hear Connor, who is mostly amused. Meanwhile, Masahamut unloads Tongrak’s suitcases with an amused expression and grabs the phone to chat up with Connor.

For more explanation about Connor and Masahamut’s relationship, they met when Connor stayed at the island for the holiday. He met Khom, who was working as Masahamut’s assistant and as Connor’s guide, and Masahamut helped Connor in his pursuit of Khom (in exchange for monetary compensation. Truly a win/win situation for everyone involved).

I love how entertained Masahamut is with Tongrak’s prissiness. He doesn’t care or take it personally, just rolls with it and takes advantage of it to troll him.

Masahamut escorts Tongrak to his room, who immediately pushes him out and ignore his offer to be at his disposal if he needs anything.

Sidenote, but I love Tongrak raging against the suitcase and later at the blankets. It is so cute, childish and relatable at the same time. I have definitely “scolded” a zipper because it wouldn’t open or the printer because it had issues.

We cut to Mook, Tongrak’s assistant/secretary, who is looking very busy and overworked. She is so far the most relatable character in the drama for me, down with the messy hair. She is called by Vi, Tongrak’s best friend, who promises to keep her busy. I love her, she is such a troll! Also a cameo appearance by Ja, which is definitely great to see! Hope he’s been well!

We cut back to Tongrak as he goes to a bar, wearing a really awesome sheer shirt and enjoying the attention he gets. Palm is his waiter, and immediately start hyping up Masahamut. We get confirmation that Masahamut is really popular both with the residents and with the tourists. We also learn that he is bi, which is great! We always love to see bi representation.

Tongrak seems pissed both at the fact that Masahamut is popular and by the fact that people would assume he is attracted to him, which he is definitely not! One hundred percent not! Not a trace of attraction here! Who cares if Masahamut is handsome anyway? Not him that’s who! And his sulking has nothing to do with it.

Next morning, we get to see how much Masahamut is involved in his community. While it may seem a bit heavy-handed, I do like that this aspect of Masahamut is so strongly enforced. It gives him a lot more depth and shows his maturity.

This mature impression is immediately countered when we see that he has a double of Tongrak’s keys and didn’t tell him. He immediately takes on the caretaker role and as he cleans up the room, we learn that Connor paid Masahamut to serve as Tongrak’s caretaker/nanny/guide/sitter during his time on the island. Is it like some kind of gift reciprocity? Masahamut helped Connor date his best friend so Connor helps Masahamut get with his own friend? I also really like the comparison of Tongrak to a cat. It suits him so well. We also have it mentioned again that Tongrak is very lonely (initially, Connor filled that loneliness void, but once he started dating Khom, he could no longer give as much attention to Rak as he used to, hence why he is trying to find a solution.)

Connor wakes Tongrak up. Not going to lie I would punch him! Do not bother me before I had my tea and breakfast! As he tries to punch him Tongrak falls on the ground, giving Masahamut a perfect view of his body.

The “seduction” scene is really well-done. You can see the switch as Tongrak finds himself in a more familiar territory and tries to seduce Masahamut by removing his robe/shirt. He really seems to enjoy having power over Masahamut, especially since the latter has annoyed him so much. However while Masahamut is admirative, he does not lose his head and starts commenting on Tongrak’s lack of body hair. You can really see the switch back as Tongrak loses his confidence. Peat acted really well in that scene!

I love how offended Tongrak is by Masahamut’s lack of sexual interest. Poor kitty got his pride hurt! Speaking of which I also love how Masahamut speaks of Tongrak like a kitty he is taking care of.

Tongrak tries to provoke Masahamut by constantly asking for a different breakfast and being picky, to no success. I always enjoy seeing Tongrak’s bratty side, especially when his brattiness doesn’t work.

Masahamut is such a troll! I love him already!

Meanwhile, Tongrak has found out a way to get Masahamut to do what he wants (to some extent). He pays him to get him to speak in a Central dialect. It really sets well the economic difference between them. Tongrak has money to burn and Masahamut will do anything for money. I love how much he doesn’t care about being bought and getting money from his clients. Masahamut is there singing “Material Girl” and doesn’t care about what anyone thinks!

I love it any time Tongrak’s more vain side is shown. The way he jumps when Masahamut mentions wrinkles. Also he is supposed to be in his late twenties/early thirties.

Masahamut offers his sexual services and can obviously see that Tongrak is more interested than he lets on. “Even if you were the last man on Earth, I still wouldn’t want you”. Oh hey! I heard a cool girl named Elizabeth Bennet say the exact same thing. I wonder what happened to her….

We cut back to Mook rehearsing her speech to Vi to not have to work as her assistant. By the way I love her shirt! As she dares Vi to call her, she answers her prayers and does so! We get to see that Mook has an itemized list of how to deal with Vi! That is some thoroughness! Anyway Vi claims a light bulb in her room is busted and that Mook needs to come and change it. I see Vi subscribes to the “pulling her hair” strategy in courtship. Meanwhile Mook is getting more and more erratic and her faces are amazing! She looks offended, outraged and confused at the same time. Also I love how messy her hair is.

“I’m a frail lead actress who can’t do anything on her own” as she sits on the ladder she used to bust her own light bub to get her crush to come to her place! I love Vi she’s such a troll! Also does she have Mook’s picture? I can’t really see well.

In his room, Tongrak is having trouble writing the sex scene and we learn he needs to have sex or to hug someone to properly write sex scenes. It really is interesting that Tongrak needs an intense physical situation to describe a romantic sex scene, because it suggests that he cannot conceptualize the intensity of the emotions involved unless he experiences a “similar”, physical sensation. It really goes with him being lonely but also suggests he never truly offered his heart to anyone.

The next day, Tongrak is working on his novel, looking extremely cute with his round glasses, while Masahamut is waiting. He soon gets bored and starts reading what Tongrak is writing. I wonder if the sex scene he reads out is a random scene that was written especially for this or if it was taken from another of Mame’s novels. I cannot place it.

Anyway Masahamut is bored of it and takes Tongrak on a boat to show him around. I love how Masahamut gently scolds Tongrak and tells him to sit properly so that he doesn’t fall, causing Tongrak to sulk. It sets up their future dynamic. Also Masahamut don’t scold the kitty! He’s a city kitty and has never been on the sea before.

Tongrak is called by Mook and doesn’t hear her well. Yeah in the middle of the sea it is a lost cause. Masahamut decides to take a dive while Tongrak is on the phone, causing him to panic. I actually agree with Tongrak here! For safety reasons Masahamut should have warned him.

Tongrak freaks out and starts crying. Masahamut tries to reassure him by poiting out that he’s fine but is unsuccessful. I love how he takes the freak out seriously and only reaches to touch him after Tongrak has been unresponsive. Tongrak scolds him and Masahamut reaches out to hug him and apologize. I love the light little kiss on the forehead and how Tongrak slowly accepts Masahamut’s hug.

Afterwards, Tongrak is embarrassed about his crying episode (don’t worry baby it happens to the best of us) and plays the shy Victorian maiden when Masahamut moves to remove his shirt as if he didn’t wear a sheer shirt in public two days before. Masahamut offers to show him the good stuff, and just like Tongrak I was not thinking of clams when he said that! Again, I love how confident Masahamut is! He is aware of his charm and sees well the effect he has on Tongrak. The episode ends with them still on the roof of the boat.

Overall I really enjoyed this episode. It was a good set up for the characters and I love the atmosphere they created. I look forward to seeing more of it.

[uncouth-the-fifth]

one of these nights - Dean Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3. masterlist.

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Reader (vaguely post-s3) with some Sam Winchester & Reader.

Tags/Warnings: friends-to-lovers, Fluff then Angst then Smut, Sex on/in the Impala, implied/technical cheating, drinking, Reader is a Hunter.

Words: 20k.

Notes: a lovely little commission for the lovely lacilou on tumblr. this was my first shot at writing a dean-insert (as a hardcore samgirl), which was an absolute blast!! hope u enjoy!!

Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

All your life, you’d never been keen on cliques. But there’s a certain magic in rolling up to a small-town Massachusett dive with yours.

It’s a little funny, calling Sam and Dean your clique. You know that, yet it’s true. You breeze inside the bar like the most popular kids in school, slow-mo strutting down the hall in the movies. Even with them behind you, you can picture it in your head on film: Dean’s jacket swinging with his saunter, Sam’s hair falling in his face, your jewelry swishing at your neckline. Tonight is already a movie. The thud of your boots together makes this pleasant rhythm, parting the Friday night crowd around the three of you, and you lead the boys to the counter with a sense that today has been perfect. The hunt you’d just spent three weeks on had been tied up with the prettiest, cleanest bow. No casualties. No scrapes that couldn’t be fixed with some whiskey and a bandage. Dean is snickering at his joke, and you and Sam are pretending it’s not as funny as it actually is. Things are perfect-perfect.

Even with your two gigantoids as buffers, the bar you’d picked to commemorate a hunt well done is packed to the brim. You gather around the only empty stool at the bar to get the bartender’s attention, and as you wait, you manage to worm your wallet free from your pockets with only a little elbowing. After so long the boys have zero mind for personal space. It’s kind of cute.

“I’ll cover the tab tonight, boys. Call it an early Halloween present,” you beam, and over your shoulder Dean whistles.

“Damn,” he says, “you really are in a good mood.”

You turn your grin on Dean, wiggling your wallet at him so the coins inside rattle like a tambourine. “We’re celebrating! And you wanna know how I know?”

Another group of people squeezes through the crowd behind you, bumping Dean even further into your personal bubble. He tries to be subtle about it, gliding in like an air-hockey puck, but you can tell that he lets the momentum carry him a little further than it needs to. If you brought it up he’d just explain it away as a product of how damn loud it is in here, _____, you can’t fault a guy for having shit hearing! But you know it’s on purpose. Tonight is good for so many reasons, but the first is Dean being relaxed enough to do that. To walk that line with you.

“How do you know?” He asks below the roaring bar chatter. Dean does have shit hearing, since he’s spent so many years behind a pistol, so he tips his face toward your cheek to make out your voice. A wave of gasoline and aftershave floods your senses.

You share a conspiratory look with him, side-eyeing Sam and hiding your smirk behind your hand. “‘Kid told me he plans to have two beers instead of one.”

Dean lights up, because while teasing Sam is fun, it’s ten times funnier when you both gang up on him. “Two? Break out the balloons,” he snickers, and drops a hand on your back to lean past you. There, he drawls at his brother, “You sure you can handle partying with the big kids, Sam? Me and _____ are kind of professional post-hunt drinkers…”

You pump your fist in solidarity because, hell yeah, what a healthy coping mechanism. Over a decade of training has made you a master of the Winchester sense of humor, so just this kills Sam a little—he’s in a ridiculously good mood too, and you can tell because he’s being even more of a tight-ass than usual.

“Cut that ‘kid’ shit out and maybe I’ll throw in some jäger,” Sam grumbles. Or, he tries to, but he’s still smiling to himself.

Again, you share a look with Dean that goes over Sam’s head (metaphorically, of course). Two beers and some jäger in him could end in only one way: you and Dean dragging over two hundred pounds of giggly man-boy the three blocks to your motel. Dean makes a face like that’s the last way he wants to end tonight, but you know from experience that being carried home piss-drunk is way more fun than it sounds. For you, at least.

Last time, you’d been laughing too hard for either brother to keep you on your feet. It was great. Whenever you complained about something, one of your best friends in the whole world appeared to magic the problem away. You were laughing too hard to walk? Dean scooped you up and carried you all the way to the Impala. Your heels were murdering your ankles? Sam wiggled them off you, trailing behind you and Dean with them slung over his shoulder. You fell asleep to the soft jostle of Dean’s walk and the low timbre of his voice humming Folsom Prison Blues. Sometimes you still caught yourself singing it when you got ready for bed.

“Hold on—that table’s opening up. I’m gonna steal it for us,” Sam notices. He slaps Dean on the shoulder as he goes, “Order for me.” Realizing the troublemaker he’d just handed that responsibility to, Sam wheels back, and asks you instead. “Actually, _____, can you—?”

You raise a hand before he can finish. “The cheapest pale ale they have, I know. Now, go, before we’re forced to sit on the pavement outside all night.”

Sam gives you this trusting nod that’s just golden, because the second he’s gone you twist to Dean, your partner in crime, and squint in thought. “...So. You think he’ll hate the peach daiquiris or the malibu cocktails more?”

The smile that hasn’t left Dean’s face once since you walked in only grows. You feel the hand on your back loop around to your waist, squeezing you against his warm side in appraisal. “God,” he sighs, wistful, “you’re my brand of evil genius, you know that?”

You sputter out a laugh instead of something clever, because, well. When Sam is in a good mood, he digs his heels in and sasses back to everything you say. When Dean is in a good mood, he squeezes the bare skin where your jeans meet your shirt, carries you home, and gazes at you with big glittery eyes and rumbles, I hear the train a-comin', it's rolling 'round the bend…

Apparently, you do about the same thing on your good days too. Gliding into him with that same air-hockey puck subtlety, you squeeze him around the back, asking in your sweetest voice, “Can you go see how many songs are in the jukebox’s play queue for me? I wanna dance to—”

“I know what song you want to dance to,” Dean smugly finishes your thought, so certain of your preferences that your heart does a little jig. “You know what d—?”

“—yeah, I know what drink you want,” you finish for him, just like he had for you.

Dean’s face glitters with open fondness for just an instant, then disappears into the constant flux of people, leaving you to suck down the gasoline-aftershave-leather fog that follows him. You can still feel the friendly pinch he’d given your waist by the time your drinks arrive, the ache of it fading into your skin. The leftover adrenaline from your accomplished hunt was still pounding through your system, so the haze of Dean's affection layered on top has you skipping back to your table.

You can taste it mingling with the cigar smoke in the air—something’s different with Dean tonight. Him and you. Sam had noticed, too, because after he accepts his peach daiquiri with an unphased huff, he waits to speak until he’s safely hidden behind his laptop’s screen.

“That was a lot of touching up there,” he says, as if he’s talking about the weather.

You take the same tone, shrugging like he’s pointed out it’s gonna rain later. “S’ been a good week, Sammy.”

Any attempt to come across as tame is useless. You’re an open book. A part of you wishes you were less obvious, but Dean’s pinch still tingles in your side and the left side of your body is alive with phantom leather jacket sensations. Shit.

“Your hands are shaking.” His brows bounce once at you over the article he’s reading.

You have nothing smart to say at this, and instead choose to scoop up your own daiquiri and clink it against his. Distraction tactic. Sam cheerses with you, but doesn’t drink from his glass, clunking it down next to him and simmering with you in your crush-pumped silence. He gets this particular look on his face when it comes to you and Dean. It’s squinty, knowing, and not an inch different from when he was a little kid. You remember the cool girlfriend that your own older brother had had in high school, and what your relationship with her had looked like. She was awesome, and every day you prayed she never left. Sam has always had that same quiet hope in his eyes—please stick around forever and take care of my dumbass brother. I’ll pay you.

Many, many times, too many times to count, the swirling threads of your feelings and Dean’s had crossed, but not once had they ever knotted together permanently. He would swing into your life and then swing out. You would live in his for a little while, threads looping and weaving, but nothing ever came of it. Putting it into terms more complicated than that usually made your chest ache like a rail spike had been driven through it. Tonight is one of those nights where the ache feels good, where loving Dean is a special secret you can whisper behind your hand to anyone you want.

Words swim in your head. There is no easy way to explain to Dean’s kid brother that Dean is the best man in this room and this world, that he bleeds goodness like other men bleed mud, that he’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Sam would probably roll his eyes. You are rolling your eyes at yourself. But on the up-and-down rollercoaster of your relationship, these last few months have been the strongest climb to the top yet. Maybe that means you’re going to hit a big drop. You’re a hopeful person, though, so you can’t help but read Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror differently. This is it. He’s not looking at the lonely girls by the bar or the pretty ones on the dancefloor. His eyes are on you.

Blinking yourself out of your head, you putter out the lamest version of your buzzing thoughts.

“I get the feeling tonight’s different,” you say, talking into your glass and avoiding Sam’s laser-focused gaze. On instinct, you stare at the vague clump in the crowd where Dean should be. “All these months of…” you gesture broadly, “I think… something could happen.”

Sam pulls a face. “Ew.”

You kick him under the table. “Shut up,” you laugh, “I’m being serious, dude. Dean—”

…appears right beside you. In your mind’s eye, he emerges from the crowd bleeding with easy cheer, glistening gold at the edges in the bar light. “You rang?” he says. “Got your song going for you. Should be the next one.”

Dean slinks out of his jacket like a tomcat, all casual slyness, and hip-checks you when he slides into your half of the booth. It’s practical—he would have to squeeze, sitting by Sam. With you, Dean has all the room in the world to manspread his thigh against yours and toss his arm over the back of the seat behind you. The flesh of his arm never actually makes contact with the back of your neck, but it could. He survived off those little almosts.

Just as the three of you get settled into conversation, the last song dies out, swaying into the first bluesy chords of One of These Nights by the Eagles. The second that first brassy note plucks off the lead guitar, a match sparks in your chest. Dean spins to catch your eye, gleaming with excitement. The old urge to get up and conquer the dancefloor becomes irresistible. You can still feel your last case in your weary bones a bit, but there’s a certain grime to hunting that can only be scrubbed off by a good time. Dean knows this, too, so you’re led by the wrist out of the booth before the lyrics even start. He steals a sip of peach daiquiri and then you’re off for the open space between the tables. You’re laughing so hard your cheeks ache.

You’re chased by Sam’s playful shout. “Don’t have too much fun out there!”

The race to the lyrics is literal. You know there’s only a few seconds of interlude before they start, and Dean, after decades of being your one and only dance partner, knows precisely when they kick in. One of you decides that you must be in the middle of the sparse crowd the second Don Henley starts singing, and the other accepts this without question. You end up laughing, scrambling, and shoving a couple of people to get there, but god—the supporting piano lands and the bass struts and the lead guitar just stings. Like always. You break through into a clearing at the heart of the bar’s dancefloor, and for a second all you can see is Dean. He skids to a stop in his boots and laughs his ass off the whole time, stumbling inwards and making a mad dash to get your hands in his. His grin shines and his eyes crinkle with glee. The fire and anguish from your earlier hunt is gone. Now it’s just him, as you’ve always remembered him.

“One of these nights…” you laugh to each other. With your hands scooped in his, Dean starts funnily salsaing you back and forth with him to the beat, which instantly splits your sides. You’re laughing too hard to sing with him, “One of these crazy old nights…”

Through giggles, you dryly comment, “Excellent starting move.”

“Why thank you,” Dean replies.

You shift his salsa dancing around in a circle, then follow the spin all the way out, wing-span wide and only one hand tethered to Dean’s. With the ease of practice, he whirls you back in. Each move is unrehearsed and mostly random, but you and Dean have listened to this song in particular at least a hundred times, and danced to it just as much. Some beats of it you can’t help repeating from other nights spent dancing in bars. For example:

You’re wrapped in one of his arms, hand still held, while Dean’s other seamlessly lands on your waist on time with the next line. “We’re gonna find out, pretty mama,” he drawls with purpose, leaning in close enough to make your neck tickle, “what turns onnn your lights…”

He does this every time. Every time, it makes your chest tight with this shivery warmth you just can’t shake.

Dean used to be pretty shit at dancing, but after a hundred bars with a hundred names you’ve forgotten, it’s the one piece of him that you’ve pried loose from John’s influence. Sam isn’t looking and nobody knows who the two of you are. For once, Dean lets loose. He slides his hands down your arms and hooks your fingers in his, calloused and thick, rocking you back and forth with the rhythm. You think to yourself that Dean would make a great musician. He keeps time with ease, falling into a relaxed four-step (you’re pretty sure that’s what it’s called) and losing himself in the words. The swinging openness of it makes him look just gorgeous. Dean’s cheeks are rosy with exertion, the hollow of his throat shines with sweat, and he never looks away from you even once.

Every other day of hunting season, Dean… compartmentalizes. He takes the fever the two of you feel now and packs it down where nobody can find it. You see those feelings shake loose from their reigns every once in a while, but there’s only one time he ever relinquishes his control over them out in the open: here, cupping your lower back and crooning lyrics.

“...been searchin’ for the daughter of the devil himself,” he murmurs, throwing you a playful eye-roll at the symbolism you’re both tired of living. “I’ve been searchin’ for an angel in white…”

You drop a wrist over Dean’s shoulder and he rocks in close, tilting back and forth on his feet. Together, you mumble along with Don Henley and sway in a cozy circle. You take the rare opportunity to relish how he feels pressed against you. Saying anything will spoil the magic, so you just let it wash over you, purposefully coasting away from the few rational thoughts your brain is producing.

It’s unfair that he feels the way he does—and you know Dean does, he’s told you and you’ve told him and it’s all been laid out before—and still strings you along like this. You know. You should be pissed at him every time you think about it. But it’s Dean, and having a piece of him you don’t see is better than having none of him at all.

“...One of these nightssss…”

The Eagles eventually seep into another band’s song, which you assume is your signal to quit. Your vision loses its luster and the glittering lights of the world dim back to normal. Dean will have his one lucky dance with you, then, since you’re a bunch of old people, you’ll retire to your table and shoot the breeze until someone calls it a night. That’s how this always goes.

You pull your cheek from where you’d laid it against his shirt. It takes you a bit to put your thoughts into words, so you’re slow to assume, “Wanna get back to our drinks?”

When you meet eyes, Dean’s are soft, and he smiles with this quiet pleasure roving all over his face. Dimly, you register that Burnin’ For You by Blue Oyster Cult is chiming through the bar now, but. He runs his hands down your arms—sort of planting you in place, like he wants to keep you here with him. Your whole body zings with millions of little electric pulses that pump into your head like a fog too thick to see through. More than anything, you want to stay too.

Around you, the dancefloor is alive with people. But Dean has a habit of making you feel cinematic, so you can almost see how the extras fizz into the background as the camera settles on you and him alone. The bar lights hang overhead, hazy and warm. Your soundtrack is lively and familiar. The moment hangs… neither of you wants to give it up.

“Yeah. Why don’t we, uh,” he clears his throat, “grab a few sips and then head back here, huh?”

Suspended in place by the pound of your own heart, you slide your palms off his chest and put on your slyest grin. “Dancing is way more fun when you’re tipsy.”

Dean slips on a smile of his own, then turns to lead the way out of the crowd. For just an instant you feel like you can’t get your feet off the floor, and you watch him go, head spinning. Deep down, you worried that you might’ve been pushing your enthusiasm to its limit thinking tonight was the night. For the last decade of your life, you’d been waiting on Dean. But something really is different now, because, true to his word, Dean snags a few sips of his drink with you and then you’re back out on the dance floor.

The next few songs fly by. Everything is Dean. The heavy thump of boots on the worn-smooth floor, the growing buzz of alcohol in your system. You’re at the center of his stage, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. If anybody but you came up and waved a hand in his face, you doubted Dean would even notice. You talk about your favorite albums and he laughs at every joke you make, giving you that big-eyed, pirate-smile Dean Winchester look that melts your insides. His eyes are on you.

You swim your way through Double Vision by Foreigner, you on lead air-guitar and Dean supporting with some seriously impressive air-drums. Neither of you consider yourselves professional singers or anything, but there’s a moment in the chorus underneath all the noise where you swear you and Dean harmonize. All the rowdy guitar and drum-playing smooths into The Police’s Roxanne. Your face is immediately sizzling hot the second you hear the starting chords, since every time, without fail, Dean pulls out all the stops to dramatically croon the song to you. The last time it’d come on the radio, he’d chased you all over Bobby’s house, serenading you with a beer bottle microphone. He does it this time too. When you laugh and squirm away, he finds your wrists and guides you back into him, palms everywhere, making kissy faces and everything.

You suppress the urge to seek revenge and huff, “You don’t even know what this song is about, do you?”

Dean snorts, but his eye contact with you is purposeful. “Course’ I do. S’ about a guy who’s so into his girl that he doesn’t want to share her with anybody else.”

Instead of having an apt response for that, you internally shrivel up into a ball and lose any fire left in you. Dean, satisfied he’s shut you up, noses your ear and sings, “...Wouldn’t talk down to ya… I have t’ tell ya just how I feel, I won’t share you with another boy…”

The mushy impression he’s doing of Sting fails pretty quickly, so Dean softens into his own voice. For the millionth time tonight, you’ve found yourself with your arms around his neck and his face hovering around yours. If you mention it, Dean will drop everything and run. You know that. So you don’t sing that particular song with him. Allowing him to sing it to you is much sweeter, anyway, and the slower the music gets the closer you’re allowed to be.

And boy, every guy in the room must be aiming to get a slow dance with his girl, because soon the steady flow of rock n’ roll on the jukebox drizzles into Elvis and The Temptations. You joke about this to Dean, giving him a small out. Just in case.

“You hate mushy music,” you tell him, even if you both know that’s not exactly true.

Dean’s warm palms coast over your waist and you draw your nails across the flannel on his back, soaking each other up. A memory pierces your train of thought in a hot flash. You’d seen Dean dance with other girls like this, hands all over, seeking. But tonight they rest on your hips or hook through your belt loops without intention. Dean’s just here, and he wants you here too. For now, you’re his first choice for who he’s spending his time with tonight.

He doesn’t take the out you gave him.

“S’ not all bad,” Dean shrugs under your hands. “...I like this song.”

It’s Elvis’s Love Me, which effectively scrubs the dancefloor of any non-couples. Besides you and Dean, that is. This fact hangs in the air, supercharged, but neither of you mentions it. Dean draws you into him and you slide eagerly into his hold, your head under his chin. A few other pairs skip out onto the floor and take up space beside you. Soon, the molecule of space left between you and Dean disappears. You’re pretty sure if a few atoms went missing from the universe something crazy would happen, like a nuclear explosion, and that’s exactly what occurs in your belly. Dean sways with you like he’s in love with you, like it’s a secret everyone can see. If anyone in the bar glanced over at the two of you now, you know exactly what they’d think.

The best part of this was that Dean doesn’t end it after two dances, three dances, or four. You go all night like that, shittily waltzing to love songs and grooving along to faster ones. He had an opportunity to escape every time you took a trip to throw back your drinks. But if it crosses Dean’s mind at all, he never, ever takes it. One of you starts talking then neither of you can stop. Almost three hours later, you’re halfway through Just What I Needed and a street racing story that never fails to blow Dean’s mind, when your hundredth round of drinks runs dry. Since you’re both past tipsy now, it’s unanimously decided that there’s more work to be done.

“S’ a good night,” Dean tells you, beaming, “we can do another round, right?”

“Hell yeah,” you shrug, and raise your empty glass, “Here’s to alcohol poisoning, baby.”

“Yeah,” Dean echoes, almost slurring. “Baby.”

You take his empty glass, too, and Dean tips back toward your table to bother his brother. Both times you glance back Dean is following you with his eyes. It’s like hearing scratching in your attic and walking through cold spots for months, then suddenly seeing a full apparition right in your living room. Bobby claimed Dean had perfected the art of admiring you from afar, but you’d always figured he was exaggerating. Instead of chasing the ghost of one of his big-eyed stares, you actually see it first-hand—the big-eyed stare. Dean blinks prettily at you over his shoulder, then sways back toward Sam, unembarrassed and flushed a happy drinker’s red. In the flesh. Wow.

You’re so distracted you almost skip into two patrons, so you start watching where you’re going and add a few more drinks to your tab. While you’re waiting on them, you rock on your heels, brimming with buzzing energy. Years and years of buildup and something might finally happen. The prospect is so sweet that you giddily dance in place, bobbing to your own content music. The bartender gives you a funny, amused look and so do the people you squeeze past to reach him, but you ignore them all, scooping up your drinks and floating back to the table. Your grin is so bright that it makes your cheeks ache.

“Alright, gentlemen, I crossed two deserts to get these drinks, so you better—”

It’s just Sam at your table, looking sheepish.

You squint at him. Sheepish. Why is he sheepish? You set down your glass and Sam’s, then awkwardly release Dean’s beer from where it’d been trapped between your elbow and your ribs. The corner where Sam has shoved all your empty drinks has since expanded—there are at least five more new drinks there, completely outside the realm of anything you know Sam or Dean would order.

You stand. “Damn. Who ordered these?”

Sam stiffly brushed the hair from his face. “Um… a table in the corner sent em’ over. As a gift.”

“Free drinks? Really? That rocks,” you brighten.

Sam was avoiding the eyes of someone at said table, so you turn to intercept the stares and instantly feel the cloud nine you’re floating on drop out from under you.

“...Dean’s over there thanking them,” he clarified.

It’s a big group of women. Your reasonable-self could follow the logic: Dean and Sam were pretty, the women had noticed they were pretty, and then bought them drinks for being pretty. Your reasonable self would pull up a chair and toast to those women. The Winchester spell made everyone want to give them stuff for just being gorgeous and alive, and though you weren’t a Winchester, you reaped the rewards just as often. Sam’s puppy look paid the rent, and more than once Dean’s dazzling smile had won your way into concerts and r-rated movies. You should’ve been stoked.

If you were completely sober you’d probably put together that it was a bachelorette party, but all you see is your Dean, center stage among them and putting on a show. Even drunk he does a convincing performance of a “modeling agent” passing out his card. Cards. To all of them. The booth of girls giggle and lean closer, all swaying in the direction of Dean’s sly grin like snakes to a snake-charmer. A swath of mothy bitterness starts to eat holes into your stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Sam mourns. He says it with so much genuine remorse that you realize how crushed you must look—and wow, isn’t that an embarrassing cherry to top this sundae off. They’re just girls. It’s just talking. Still, Sam tells you, “I tried to stop him.”

“So have I,” you answer, bitterly.

The hours of dancing suddenly burn in your legs. You steady a hand on the table to slide into your seat, but there are so many glasses that it feels too full to occupy, and Sam noisily scuffling them out of your way doesn’t help your raw ears. Resigned, you shove into your side of the booth and tell yourself that you’re overreacting. Thanking people (a group of women) for sending over free drinks (because Dean’s too pretty for his own good) is perfectly normal (to non-jealous people, at least). Because you’re not at all a resentful person, you slide over the closest glass and choke it down.

Sam raises both brows. “Maybe you should slow down a bit. Unless you want one of us to carry you home—?”

You pull your glare away from the other side of the bar and focus it on the table, answering Sam’s question for him.

“Right,” he realizes, “I can go and—”

You’re already shaking your head. “Don’t. Let’s see how long it takes ‘im.”

As it turns out, drunk Dean is an incredibly social butterfly. For the first ten minutes he’s engrossed in his conversation, you aimlessly stir your drink and dodge Sam’s glances. Fifteen and you’re glued to your seat. Twenty and Dean still isn’t back, a handful of songs you know he’d kill to dance to coming and going. Past that you’re spaced out too far to care, and have failed to not let your mood be killed. The neon electricity that’d been pumping through your system all night is cold and lifeless. On top of that, you’re furious with yourself for staking all your hopes and feelings on a premise so stupid, for trusting Dean. Again. You know you’re drunker than you want to admit, but this nasty swirling bitterness burning in your stomach isn’t alcohol. You sigh into your half-finished drink. This was exactly what happened last time.

Since you’re already feeling sorry for yourself, you punish your naivety by stealing glances at Dean’s table. In the half an hour he’s been gone, he’s taken a seat at their booth, cozied up to the woman closest to him, and captivated each of them with a story. You can tell which one from across the bar. With five sets of happy eyes feasting on him, he puts on his best smolder and gestures suavely with his hands—recounting the time he heroically pulled some civilians from a burning building last year. You know he doesn’t tell them it was for a hunt. You wonder if he mentions you being there at all, or leaves out the part about you hauling him from the fire in the end.

Against your better judgment, you lift your eyes from the hole you’d bored into the table and stare at Dean’s profile until your vision blurs. Please, please just look at me again, you pray with all the faith you have left.

…It looks like you’ve misplaced it. Dean stays at their table for another insufferable ten minutes. After all, pushing you away has always come easier to him than dancing.

Ready for Love by Bad Company plays next. Your mind apparently has a bone to pick with you too, because just hearing the song drops you back into the motel room you and Dean had shared in Tulsa years ago. Jim—your father—had passed that summer, speared by the same thing you’d been hunting. Sam was at school. It’d just been Dean and whatever feeble parts of you that’d survived losing your dad. For weeks, you tortured yourself chasing his killer and tortured Dean as stress relief. You were truly rotten to him then. He should’ve left you in Tulsa, but he’d kept you standing and fed til’ the hunt was long over. He endured every fight you picked and every apathetic apology. Nothing could kill his instinct to nurture, not even your grief, and you came out of the ordeal with Dean’s warm hand brushing your hair from your face. You loved Sam, but you missed the days when he was at school sometimes. Only then could Dean open his stitches and let his inner sweetness bleed out. The night you killed the thing that’d taken your dad from you, Dean had carried you home, washed the blood from your hair, and sang that song until you were safe and half-asleep in his arms.

You’re strong, he’d told you. Stronger than me. Stronger than your dad. You’ll get through this, easy.

Paul Rodgers starts to sing. The woman closest to Dean snuggles in to ask him a question, brushing her nails down the back of his neck. He tilts his head toward hers to listen, and whatever she says makes him turn the blatant flirtiness in his grin to 100%. Her shiny dark hair rolls down her back in perfect spirals, and the swish of it around her neck as she stands from her chair, blushing giddily, brands behind your eyes. Dean stands too.

Your stomach drops. She wiggles her fingers for him to take, and Dean, the lottery winner, follows her onto the dancefloor.

That’s about when you should force yourself to stop watching. But you’ve never had the keenest sense of self-preservation, so you keep stealing glances until your stomach is in knots—until this very lucky girl wraps her arms around Dean’s neck and summons enough liquid courage to kiss him.

Dean kisses back.

You sit there until your throat burns with stifled tears. It doesn’t take long for you to notice Sam looking at you, and when you do your whole body instantly flares with dark embarrassment that writhes up your legs like snakes. You barely have to guess what he’ll do next. He stews on the pitiful sight of you alone on the other side of the bench for another beat, then shoves himself to his feet and slams his laptop shut—and it’s nice, having somebody go through all these motions of defending you, but you don’t need it from Sam. You don’t need it from anybody.

“Don’t,” you warn him. “Don’t. ‘Only make it worse.”

“I know what he’s doing,” Sam starts, lip curled in disbelief. He’s disappointed in his brother. “Dean’s—testing you. Seeing if you’ll stick around. But you’ve more than proved you will, even when he pulls this shit, so I don’t see why you’ve gotta—”

“He’s drunk and stupid,” you cut him off. “We both are. I’m gonna let it go, n’ so are you.”

Sam stills, one unsatisfied hand on the tabletop. “...If I just talk to him—”

“Fucking don’t,” you tell him, and wow, you’re a mean drunk all of a sudden, huh? Pressing your fingertips against your eyelids does nothing to make the world stop tilting. Wilting, you pull your hands from your face and try not to burst into tears. “Sorry. Sorry. M’ not upset with you. M’ not upset with anybody.” Pathetically, you beg, “C’n we just go home?”

Sam gives you an uneasy nod. “Sure thing. I’ll grab Dean and pay our tab.”

Well, shit. Miserable as you are, you did promise to pay for drinks. A night of fun celebratory drinks, to be exact, which had gone completely sideways instead. Great. Sam hastily packs up his bag like he can escape before you remember, but you send him off with a wad of your own bills so he doesn’t go broke feeling bad for you.

Since waiting for him and Dean out on the curb sounds stupid, you choke out, “Bathroom,” and go hide there to dust off your pride.

God, does a thin, shitty motel mattress sound gorgeous right now. On shaking fawn legs, you bruise your way out of the booth and through the crowd, silently hoping that a loose elbow from a rowdy passerby knocks you out cold. Unfortunately, you barrel into the women’s restroom still conscious. It’s mostly empty too, so you’re free to meet your reflection without courage.

When Dean had given his yes for your second dance, you’d imagined this moment. After dancing the night away, you’d complain about your aching heels and Dean would scoop you up, all gentleman-like. He’d joke and hum all the way home—and what a funny word that was, since the only thing in your life permanent enough to call home was him. You’d kiss him goodnight and Dean’s gaze would follow you all the way to the bathroom. And there, once the door was shut and you were alone, the magic of the night would glow in your reflection. You’d sink into your happy, exhausted feet. The heat of his fingertips would be all over your waist and neck and chin. Best of all, when you’d slink into bed and pull the covers up to your face, Dean’s stomach would slot against your back and he’d spill it all to you in a whisper. I couldn’t take my eyes off you tonight, he’d say. I never could, sweetheart. Didn’t want to.

But the truth was that Dean could take his eyes off you so damn easily. These days it felt like you lost his attention the second you got it. Again and again you gave him these chances, and every time he wasted them. Tonight you had sworn something was going to be different, felt it ringing in your soul like a promise, and the second your back is turned he’s found a better dance partner. Was this a sign? Now, you glared at the mirror you’d chosen, feeling the familiar needles of self-loathing start to creep between your ribs. When was it going to happen? When were things going to change? Every time you’d hit this point in the past, Dean had cut those threads before they could tie. I’m not good for you, he’d say. He’d remind you of what had happened to Jess, which had always scared you straight—but that fear came with a finish line. Hunting wasn’t the end of the road for you. With you and Dean, there’d always been a vague idea of something “after,” something over the horizon too far away to see.

You’d held fast to that “after” for so long. Even on the third, fourth, or fiftieth round of Dean’s eyes landing on someone else, you took in a breath and reassured yourself of that “after.” After everything was over and there were no worlds left to save, Dean would look at you and never stop looking.

But this was the hundredth time you’d saved the world. The road to that horizon was endless, and you’d waited so, so fucking long.

Staring at your puffy eyes and spinning reflection in the low flickering light, a dull realization started to connect inside you. You couldn’t care anymore. You were so tired of waiting. One of these days, Dean was going to glance away and never look back. Maybe…

Maybe it would be better for you to pull away first.

The bathroom door banged inwards, startling you into a moment of sobriety. You were whirling around and palming the pistol handle in your waistband before you could think, only to relax. It was just Dean. In the women’s restroom. Fucking hell.

“Dean! What the hell are you—?”

“M’ savin’ our party,” Dean clarifies, and woah, he cannot hold his liquor like he used to. Without a hint of shyness, he saunters into your bubble and dares—fucking dares—to power on his doe-eyes. “Why’d’ya wanna go?” He pouts. Sam must’ve told him. “S’ not even midnight yet.”

“Jesus, you’re lucky s’ just me in here. Could’ve scared the pants off some poor girl,” you curse.

Everything after that is a tightrope act to keep hold of your restraint. Taking his elbow, you pluck the beer out of his hand and toss it into the nearest bin. Dean, of course, squawks in protest, but doesn’t fight when you push him into the narrow hall outside.

“Why on earth did you just stroll in? Just wait for me next time!”

“Maybe you were the girl whose pants I scared off,” Dean chuckles, sounding dizzy. He’s not steady enough to stand in place for too long.

Any other night you’d happily let him lean on you, but just seeing him makes your chest feel split open. The second he’s propped against one wall of the little hall, you’re on the other side, twisting around him and making a beeline for the exit. But Dean is still the guy you were on the dancefloor with an hour ago, so you’re not a step away before two big arms catch you around the middle. Giggling, Dean lassos you back in, and all at once he’s draped across your back with his cheek smushed into yours from behind. The happy little snickers seeping out of him rumble warmly through your back. You’re cozily squeezed around the middle with all the love in the world, and the worst part is that you revel in it. Dean sways a bit with you in his arms, big warm hands folding across your belly, and every stupid cell in your body melts into the contact. He’s only ever like this when he’s drunk.

“If you even get scared,” he hums into your ear, amused. “You’re s’ tough I dunno if you even can. And y’know what? I think…” he turns his lips into your cheek, his stubble rubbing the skin there just right, “I think you’re tough enough to get back out there with me n’ show em’ how it’s done.”

You should resist. You honestly should. But you’re drunk and hollowed out and lonely, so you compromise with yourself and stand dead still. You don’t touch him or lean into it. Yet you don’t squirm away, either.

At your silence, Dean wuffs out a breath down your neck and pouts into your shoulder. “C’monnn,” he urges, “dance with me more. Party! We’re celebratin’. N’ you’re such a great dancer, I wanna take you out there n’ brag ‘bout you. Everybody was lookin’ at us before. You and me. Didja notice that?”

“I did,” you swallow. “But I think m’ all partied out. I just wanna go home, kay? Sam’s out there waiting for us…”

Dean hears this and shifts his face into your neck, pretending to search for a comfortable place to rest his cheek when really he’s just nuzzling. “Boring. What? Pretty princess too tuckered out?” Dean teases. “I’ll tell the kid t’ walk back without us, he’ll be fine. C’mon. I’ll even say please.”

You remain silent. Anxious, Dean fills it. “Just a lil’ while longer, _____. Y’know I can only flirt with you when m’ like this.”

The ache in your chest hits a searing point, and the breath you’re holding breaks. He always, always has to hide.

You squirm out of Dean’s bubble. He makes a gentle attempt at fishing you back in, whining in the back of his throat, but you rip your hand free and peel around the corner before he can react. The mental picture of Dean left hurt and confused in your wake is satisfying, but you know it’s not a faithful image. Instead, he and his words chase you all the way to the curb outside. C’mon! Don’t be lame, ______! The yelling is embarrassing, but what really stings is how he does this in front of everyone. Sam. The bachelorette party, who make your skin crawl with mixed stares of jealousy and sympathy. The woman he kissed. And worst of all, everyone else in the bar, who only recognize you from the hours of slow-dancing you’d done with Dean.

You burst out into the chilly amber night, scrambling for any sense of backbone. A hot flash of unwelcome tears locks your throat shut. Like the unshakable hunter you’re supposed to be, you grit your teeth despite them and ignore Dean’s shouts.

“Sweetheart, c’mon,” he calls. The hurt in his voice surprises you. Dean’s voice is thready with genuine, mounting panic, flooding your brainpan with oily pleasure. Good. “Didn’t want this t’ go this way. We wer’ havin’ fun, weren’t we? M’ sorry. Come back inside. Whatever I did—”

You feel your resolve snap next, splitting apart like a guitar string under scissors.

Then you’re whirling toward him at collision speed, a mangled mess of snarling teeth and tear-caked cheeks. Yelling feels fucking great. You bare your fists, flying at him in a rage.

“Come on come on come on—you know what you did! You know! You have to know!”

Dean skids to a stop. By the street lamp light, he’s still golden as ever, looking soft and beaten. His expression crumples. His visible pain feels good for one glorious breath, then it all shatters as you realize what taboo you’ve brushed up against—and why. Over a few girls. Over a little talking. Some dancing. A silly tipsy kiss. You know everything gets heavier when you’re drunk, but god, this burden weighs more than the fucking sky sometimes. You’re so tired of carrying it. You want an out.

He drags a calloused hand down his face. “...I was just messing around, talking to them… dancing with her. Needlin’ you.”

“Well,” your breath rattles unprettily between words. “I’m needled. Are you fucking happy? Are you? Does it—does it—” you have to talk through harsh, sudden sobs, “—do you like playing with my feelings? Hanging that bone over my head, over and over and over again, just to rip it away?”

You don’t get to see how your desperation lands on Dean, since it’s then that Sam comes between you. “It’s okay,” he soothes, “you’re okay—just—” and lays your jacket over your back.

Then, Sam gets his hands on your arms to steer you the opposite way. You thrash away from him and his brother, furious. But you’re coherent enough to know that this is a bad time to wield the contempt you’ve kept stored. Roiling with fresh horror, you stifle your sobs into your sleeve and dart fast out of the parking lot, toward your motel.

“That didn’t involve you, Sam,” Dean barks over your shoulder, but it comes out more feeble than he intends. Your words were so much so suddenly that it sounds like he’s been shocked sober. Hoarsely, Dean pleads, “_____, wait. Hold on a second. Think about this—!”

…And you’re thrown back in. Supercharged with all the ferocity of a whirlwind, you twist around again. Sam’s already intercepting you, hands up and calm, but after years and years of second chances, you’re sick of waiting for something that’s never going to happen. You love Dean. It aches in your chest and bleeds out your ears, chewing away at your survival instincts.

You’d been right. Something was going to change tonight.

“You have no fucking idea how much I’ve thought about it,” you snarl. “Every day I think about it! Every night! So, no, I’m done thinking and—an’ watching and—”

The tank of crazed energy you’re running on immediately saps. Your voice cuts off with it, so you’re forced to gasp for breath and broil in your bone-deep exhaustion. Though this isn’t the first time the boys have seen you this hurt, they stand frozen on coltish legs, wide-eyed. Your effect on them lands hard: Sam’s mouth is drawn into a firm guilty line, and Dean, who usually fills whole continents with his authority, shrinks miserably into his jacket until his hands are lost in the sleeves. Finally, he takes me seriously.

You give Sam a look. Shell-shocked and unsure, Sam shuffles aside to face his back to you both.

With no one between you, it’s clear in Dean’s eyes that there’s another element to this for him. He’d known this was coming. Having his brother as a barrier was just one more way Dean had softened the blow. Between the awful, sinking guilt seeping out of him at the seams, there was resignation too. On one of those slow nights in your motel in Tulsa, he’d told you himself.

Everyone leaves, Dean had shrugged. Sam. My dad. Some day, you’ll leave too. And I won’t even blame you.

Back then, you’d laid your cheek against Dean’s sweat-tacky arm, the two of you trying to stay cool on a boiling Oklahoma night. You’d wondered to yourself how anyone could do that to the man you loved. Dean’s instinct was to give, to point both fans in that boiling room at you instead of him. How could anyone look at all the things he’d sacrificed and not give the same in return?

Well, you’d smiled at him, I’m not moving an inch, cowboy. You’re stuck with me.

Now, after years and years of sacrificing to no end, you knew that Dean’s prediction had come true. He had been waiting for the other boot to drop for so long that he’d already decided what it would sound like. A part of you wanted to cling to him and the promise you’d made him until your nails bled. But that dead limb was the one that’d been killing you, and tonight was the final proof you needed to amputate it.

You had to leave.

“I love you so much, Dean,” you hiccuped. “But I can’t wait for you anymore.”

You knew you were breaking a promise, no matter how good your intentions were. For that, you weren’t going to allow yourself an easy exit. Instead of whipping around and running for it like you wanted to, you let the slow, ugly acceptance in Dean’s silhouette brand your memory.

Statue-still, all Dean could manage was a tight nod.

He just stared and stared at you, gutted and appalled. You waited for him to say something, to fight this even a little, to make any of this easier on you both. Hating him wouldn’t be so impossible if he screamed you off the street or started throwing your stuff in the gutter. Instead Dean just hung there, frozen in that heart-stopping moment where the blade sinks in to the hilt.

Wielding that knife, you turned on your heel and left.

_

By the time you’ve frozen your ass off getting to your motel room, you’ve lost much of your steam. All the anger has washed out of you in one surging flush of misery. You get to the door almost gagging on your own tears, and pathetically slump down on the curb when you realize Sam has your room key.

Sam, who’s two blocks back helping Dean get home.

The cement stings your legs through your jeans. Betrayal throbs through your whole body, and unable to go anywhere, its barbs turn inward. You try to scrape up any backbone leftover from your tantrum, which is about as easy as splitting atoms. Since that didn’t work, you try to fold in on yourself for some warmth instead, and shiver stupidly on the sidewalk. A pair of late-night road-trippers give you sad stares as they pass. The soft heat of their room as they shuffle inside gushes out onto the stoop, calling your name.

Suddenly, the seething need to be as far from here as possible disappears. You want Sam to get back with Dean. You wish this night could’ve gone any other way, so the three of you could fumble into your room and straight into warm, cozy beds, too lazy to change into pajamas or to kiss goodnight like usual. Sam would check the salt lines and Dean would shuck off his jacket. With the last of your strength, you’d stretch a hand out from under your comforter and Sam would do the same to squeeze yours over the beds’ gap. Goodnight, Sam. G’night. Dean, close enough to kiss in your bed, would tilt you toward him by a gentle hand on your shoulder. He’d smush a kiss into your temple. Night, he’d hum. Together you’d snuggle down into your blankets and crash, content. If this was any other night. Maybe it still could be. Maybe you’d been overthinking this.

You’d had so much to drink. It was you who’d created these imaginary stakes for Dean to follow, and you who wigged out, blew up on him, snarling in his face and breaking a promise in the same breath. No matter how much you wanted it, you had no claim on him. If Dean wanted to dance with more than one person on a night meant to be fun for him… If he… wanted to kiss someone else…

Two tall shadows appear at the end of the parking lot. It’s too late to stand up and look put together, so you pull your knees to your chest and make an attempt at silencing your sobs. You press your lips together, watching Sam help a sniffling Dean across the lot and toward your room. Dean doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t tell you he’s sorry, he doesn’t pick you up off the pavement, and he doesn’t tell you that he loves you even though you both know it. It makes all of your lashing anger bubble up to the surface again, and you sit with it until long after the boys are inside.

These feelings feel petulant at first, then simmer into righteous ones. The hunt had robbed you of so much—your parents, your normalcy, your childhood, and more than once, the love of your life. There was no reason it had to take Dean from you this way, too. Those sticky-sweet nights in boiling Tulsa could be every night for you and him.

You could still taste him, and the syrup of old blues songs on his lip. You’d told him back then, you’re stuck with me, cowboy, and Dean had believed you, really believed you, because he’d rolled sideways in your bed and touched his fingers to your chin. Just the rough tips of them, burning hot. There’d been this irresistible magic in his eyes, like he was learning it was possible to break his own rules as long as he kept them later. His breath was sweet with ice cream when he kissed you. Just one kiss had him shakily sighing through his nose, and with his same trembling hand, he’d cupped your face—in the weird sort of way Dean did affection, the slope of his palm around your jaw and his thumb turning up your chin. It’d felt so special, like a promise to hold out. You’d savored each one with your nails tickling the nape of his neck, your dose of love potion refilled. The two of you had passed out curled nose to nose, Dean’s grin hidden in your pillow.

You could be living every night like you’d lived that one. But there was one barrier in the middle of that road: Dean. I’m not good for you, he’d say, even if you’d never had enough of him to tell.

After years and years of holding out and dosing on your love potion, it occurred to you, pathetically curled up outside a random motel room, that Dean would never be with you. Even if the monsters had been hunted and the world had been saved, he just didn’t have it in him to believe in something so good. Deep down, you’d known this. You were a naive optimist hoping for a different future, but the truth was that Dean hated himself too much to see that future too.

Slowly, you unfurled your hands on your knees, staring at them without taking anything in. All you could feel was the uncomfortable, surging ache in your chest, which choked your throat shut and burned stinging tears around the curves of your nose. The last few hours felt weirdly layered in your memory, like film cells from different strips laid over each other. This had been going on for so long that it’d officially crossed into deja vu. Years and years of moments just like these pressed upon you in the ringing silence of the parking lot. But you could only hold up the sky for so long, and tonight your grip had finally slipped. You were sure of it: if these circular, pathetic dives for an answer were the only thing in your future, it’d kill you. It had been killing you.

What else could you do but leave?

The question itself felt rash, but you were struggling to breathe past your tears and you wanted out—away from the constant want, away from Dean. He could bang whatever girls he stumbled upon, so why couldn’t you do whatever the hell you wanted, too? What the fuck was stopping you? Freedom—from years and years and years of that ugly stirring weight you’d once loved—was only a bus ride and one boosted car away. It’d be easy.

The door creaked open behind you. You held your breath at the sound of footsteps, praying it wasn’t who you wanted to see.

“Come on inside. Don’t like you being out here by yourself,” Sam called.

The breath you let go of didn’t make you any more relieved. It hadn’t felt good to yell at him, either. You opened your mouth to respond, but a thought slammed on top of you with all the malice of a blow to the head. The next words out of your mouth could be some of the last you ever speak to him for a long time. Instead, you scuffed your running tears on your sleeve one last time, then hauled yourself onto your feet.

The plan was to dart past him fast enough to avoid the look you were sure Sam was giving you, but it fell on the whole lot bright as stadium lights. You made the stupid mistake of catching eyes with him, and the intensity there was enough to root you to the spot. You froze. Sam’s face was solemn, but when he finally got a good look at you it shifted into calm, haunted understanding, since you weren’t the only one who’d cried on a curb like this. He knew exactly what leaving looked like.

After a pregnant pause, Sam stole a glance into the safe darkness of your motel room. Whatever he saw inside bolstered his nerve, and before you could argue he’d swiped his coat and stepped out into the cold with you. Here we go, you braced yourself.

“...I need to punch something,” you confessed, just to have something to say.

Sam stopped awkwardly hovering around the sidewalk to spread his arms wide, and how he had the energy to smile, you had no clue. “I’m open,” he offered, only half-joking.

You sputtered out a laugh. It trailed off where you couldn’t follow it, and unfortunately, neither could he, leaving you both shivering side-by-side in silence. You started to stutter out something intelligent, but the open sympathy in his eyes took all the nuance out of you. Renewed tears squeezed down your face. Instantly, he was there, a big warm hand coming down to rub your shivering back.

“I know you already know this, but it’s worth saying,” Sam murmured. “Everybody leaves him. It’s all he’s used to.” (...I know, you breathed between sobs). “Dean doesn’t… hang these other girls in front of you because he’s, y’know. Trying to play with your feelings. He’s scared. It’s wrong, but it’s his messed-up way of testing if you’ll stick around.”

You want to listen. Sam’s tone makes this all sound reasonable and easy, but that bitter crawling thing eating away at your conscience reminds you, Of course it’s his brother out here trying to fix this. Of course he can’t pick up his own mess.

“It sucks. Trust me, I’ve taken a good chunk of it myself,” Sam chuckled, but his heart wasn’t really in it. “I dunno what it is that makes em’ think he deserves it, but… he’s so used to everyone leaving that he rushes to push em’ away first.”

Swallowing around the bitter taste in your mouth, you tell him, “Well. I think it worked.”

That weighs on Sam for longer than you expect, strangling the lot with a heavy silence. Compelled to fill it, you wrap your arms around yourself and spit out your confession.

“I-I think I,” you managed. “I think I gotta go, Sammy.”

As soon as you say it, the reality of your decision hits you. This isn’t a light move to make. Leaving wouldn’t just shred things between you and Dean, but your friendship with Sam, too—it would mean turning all of your memories with them into kindling. In all your time on the Winchester family road trip, you’d seen all sorts of people take up the space in the back of the Impala. Psychics. Some angels and some demons. Good, good friends. Alive or dead, they all got off at their own stop eventually. You’d been riding in the backseat for so long, not once had you thought there’d be a stop for you, too. But here it was; Dean had hit the breaks himself, and Sam was readying himself to open the door for you.

You thought of the girl you’d been when you’d first met them. She’d still had room in her for friendship bracelets and brown sugar, for mystery novels that never ended, always chasing the next adventure. At the end of all this, that’s what Dean was: your next grand adventure.

Being hunter-born had put you in the strange middle-ground between sheltered and grotesquely exposed; you’d seen how purple and putrid a corpse could get before you were fifteen, but were more than acquaintances with a sum total of five people at the same age. Dean was your worldly opposite. He’d find the towns you landed in like you were his homing beacon, fresh out of the thick of it with a fantastical story to match. He’d hang half-out of your bedroom window, fierce-eyed, and singing, and you’d roll right out of the monotony of your life and into the magic of his. You’d mention him to friends in high school like a made-up boyfriend—Dean lives out of town, but he swears he’s gonna visit next month—because even you weren’t sure he was real. He was this untethered cowboy you’d somehow lassoed in, swinging into your life with all the colors and life of the wild west. Not so much a knight in shining armor, but. Dean, your Dean.

You would miss that. You would always miss him.

Sam tamped down his panic. “Are—are you sure?” He turned you by your shoulder to look at him, and Jesus, those kicked-puppy eyes should be considered a weapon of war. “You don’t wanna talk to Dean about this…?”

You were already shaking your head. “For the hundredth time?”

Sam pressed his lips together. You knew he thought this was a cowardly, drunken decision, but in the middle of it all, you felt like you’d earned the right to be cowardly and stupid. The last decade of your life had been wasted being reasonable. When Dean kicked you out of your motel room to share it with a stranger, you found another place to crash without complaint. When he’d told you he loved you, you gave him the space he asked for, neither of you sure how to handle something so big so young. You waited. When you sat him down and spilled your guts about the future you wanted him in, you’d respected his answer. I’m not good for you had translated to I’m not ready yet. You waited. When Dean was ready for other girls, though, Julie, Ava, Cassie—you started to press back. Since then, your feelings had become the ugly “it” that lingered in every room you shared with Dean. Every argument you’d ever had orbited around it somehow, along with every relationship. Spats turned into arguments, and arguments became second chances and third chances. It really had been the hundredth time Dean had played with you like this.

And even if he’d had nothing to do with it, it was killing you anyway. Being around him, good or bad, had sapped your adventurer’s spirit.

Sam goes still, conflicted. “This is your life. You know that I of all people understand that. But… but just… please. Please just give it one more shot. A month. Or a few weeks, if you need it. Please.”

“You think I’m overreacting,” you assumed, swallowing against the drying film of alcohol on your teeth.

“No, no, I think you’re drunk,” Sam answered, instead, and as blunt as it was it still came out soft. “And tired. But you’re not overreacting, ______. Dean’s done this and worse a dozen times before,” he sighed. Realizing that wasn’t exactly convincing, Sam scrambled for a foothold. “...He really does love you. Just needs to see reason.”

Reason, he says, like that had anything to do with this. Sam starts to clam up, desperate to glue the situation back together.

You feel the need to explain, “...Me leavin’ would have nothing to do with you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Sam said, thickly. “But I’m pretty sure it’d break my heart if you did, so I can’t imagine what it’d do to him.”

At that, you couldn’t resist the magnetic pull of the door to your motel room. It waited over your shoulder with all the gravity of a neutron star, dragging you to face it and wonder at the man on the other side. Knowing Dean, he might’ve managed to kick off his shoes before crashing into bed. Knowing the love of your life, he’d probably roll onto his back and sink like a rock, the hard lines of his face softened by sleep. His was probably puffy from crying. After long nights out, there’d be times when he’d accidentally wake you up by slipping under the covers. Dean would curse and hush apologies, clumsily pawing in next to you, but the intrusion was always welcome. You remembered him always having to pat around for your face in the dark, just so he knew where to place his goodnight kiss. Sometimes he’d miss on purpose and playfully pinch your cheek or lay a gross, sloppy kiss on your eye, which never failed to make you squirm away giggling. Good night, pretty girl. What would it do to him, to watch you go?

Your chest flared with ugly guilt. You weren’t sure. But you knew what would happen if you stayed, and Dean, in the long run, would be proud of you for looking out for yourself for once. He’d always said you put yourself last too often.

You imagined him asleep on the other side of that door, muffling his tears into his pillow, and the last of your hope and optimism just shatters. Swallowing your own cowardice, you steel yourself. “I’m sorry,” you tell Sam.

Sam laid a hand on your back. “Look at me a minute.”

Somehow, you did. Seeing Sam’s devastation hurts even more than you thought it would, but nothing compares to knowing that you’ll be leaving him behind. “C’mon,” he steps off the curb and toward the street, trying and failing to smile. “Let’s walk to the gas station or somethin’.”

You shook your head, heaving for breath, and confessed: “I really gotta go, Sammy. At least for a little while.”

Sam set his jaw. He teetered back toward you, thinking fast, and padded down his pockets for his wallet. “Okay. Okay. I know. But, but make a deal with me—let’s take a walk, get you sober. Then when you have some food in your system, you’ll tell me if—i-if this is still what you want. Kay?”

“Sam,” you grimaced.

“Please,” he begged, full-voiced, then snapped his mouth shut. When Sam was sure he could keep his feelings in check, he held up his wallet. “My treat. C’mon.”

Without hesitating, Sam started walking backward to the nearest corner store. Just the thought of eating made you nauseous, but not only did Sam have the keys to your room, but he’d also taken his stubbornness with him on this walk too. Thawing yourself off the stoop, you took one last look at your door and started after Sam. You knew that he was going to use this time to rally, to convince you, and that it would definitely work—so you steeled yourself. Sam couldn’t win. You had to leave.

It was just one dance. One kiss. You knew that. But you were stupid, drunk, in love, and weighed down by years of Dean’s reminder: I’m not good for you.

You hate that he’d been right.

_

Dean woke up sometime after dawn, but his body was so thoroughly glued to the mattress that he didn’t physically move for at least another hour. Even his routine where am I panic set in later than usual, and Dean was sluggish to answer it:

He was in a motel. That rarely changed. This time it was in… Springfield? Right? Yeah—they’d had fun little town postcards at the front desk, Dean remembered. _____ had studied them while Sam had got them the room, making that funny little hum sound she did when she thought something was quaint. It’d taken Sam only a minute to get their key, and Dean managed to fill that whole minute with nothing but spiraling. She loves kitschy crap like that. Maybe I should swipe one for her. Start a collection or something, make all this back-and-forth driving fun for her. She’s been so patient with us lately, deserves somethin’ to perk her up. Would she like it? Or was that too weird?

Dean groaned at himself—not only was he dealing with a hangover for the record books, but a heavy dose of embarrassment too. God. That woman. Nobody twisted him up like she could.

He kicked at the blankets, wiggling backward onto her side of the bed where the sheets were nice and cold. Usually the two of them cooked under the covers together, but she must’ve been hanging off the other end of the bed to leave so much cool space between them. He reached around with a foot. Nothing.

Huh. He hoped the gut rush of shittiness seeing her side empty was from whatever he’d been drinking last night, not something serious he was forgetting. Since getting up was so, so much uglier than being smushed comfortably in bed, Dean closed his eyes and thought. Counted back. The three of you had just wrapped up for a hunt… gone out for drinks to celebrate… and past that things start to fuzz. There might’a been a screaming match. Dean really wants to lean toward no, but he distinctly remembers being inside while Sam comforted you outside and sort of hating that. It was definitely Dean’s fault. But still, he remembered bitterly stuffing his face in his pillow hearing the soft lilt of your voice through the door—he should’ve been the one to fix things.

He would. Today. Dean laid in bed for a little while longer, but the guilt clawing around in his gut was making it impossible to do anything but overthink. How’d he fuck things over this time, huh? As sucky as it was, his best shot was to get the story from Sam, then figure out where to go from there. With how patient you’d been with him when he’d snapped his collarbone in Illinois, Dean was willing to grovel for forgiveness. This wasn’t the first time he’d hurt your feelings being coarse, but… c’mon. This was you. The only person who knew Dean better was Sam, and his forgiveness was the price of family. Yours was untethered, free, and lovingly given, so Dean tried to cool his mounting panic. You’d talk it out. You’d forgive him, because Dean was stupid lucky to have such a fucking saint in his life.

You loved him, Dean reminded himself, and forced himself to sit up.

The second he’s up and looking at everything, he’s pinched by this sense of wrongness. His duffle’s where he left it at the foot of the bed, the salt lines are clean and uninterrupted, but it’s like everything’s been moved an inch to the left. The pinch turns into a pang. Dean trudges out of bed, suspended in the limbo between his bedside and the open bathroom door. Something is wrong.

Some of your things have been moved, Dean rationalizes. You must be out grabbing breakfast. On stiff legs, Dean moves into the bathroom because, obviously, that’s where your shit would be if he’s not seeing it. Ignoring the bile that rises in him the second he’s moving, Dean purposefully avoids the mirror and hangs in the doorway. All three of you occupied the motels you lived in like you were ready to bolt any second, so there isn’t exactly any toiletries to take note of or clothes to notice… Until Dean circles back to his duffle at the foot of the bed. There’s a set of clothes thrown on top that he hasn’t seen since high school—some ratty sweats, holey winter socks, and two or three tees and shirts lost to time. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to realize that they used to belong to him, and just as long to connect them back to you.

These, Dean realized, were your most prized war trophies. Over the years you’d borrowed so many clothes from them that you’d probably modeled the entire Winchester closet. At first just the sleep shirts, but that graduated into tees for casual days and layers to add in wintertime.

By junior year, the half you’d pilfered from Sam was all too big to wear practically. That left Dean’s half, which you essentially lived in. A few of his shirts in particular had become main stays, so Dean had neglected to ask for them back and you’d comfortably forgotten to return them. You had a thing about wearing them around his flings, too, which Dean figured was your cute girl-way of reminding them who’d still be there when they were gone. True to form, they’d always left and you’d always stayed. Dean liked things that way, too.

A real pang of panic rang in his chest. Were you so pissed at him that you’d returned everything you’d borrowed? Or was this something worse?

His panic finds its legs. Not only had your pilfered clothes been returned, but Dean couldn’t find your travel bag. If his duffle is thrown at the end of the bed, and Sam’s is zipped up on the table, then yours had to be in the Impala. It had to be. He picks through the backseat and then graduates to tearing apart the trunk, both of which are void of your things. Your phone isn’t plugged into the wall. Your shoes aren’t by the door. Even the pistol you’d duck-taped under the coffee table was gone, along with the knife behind the headboard. Dean still can’t find your bag. Maybe it’s out in the open and I missed it, he tells himself, but the bathroom and the dressers and under the beds and the front lobby carry no sign of your stuff. Of you ever being there.

His last resort is that you have to be with Sam, who usually goes for a run this early—Sam, who walks in alone, twenty minutes into Dean’s full-body meltdown.

He should assume that you left. Logically, that is what missing keys, phones, toothbrushes and wallets mean, but this is Dean Winchester.

Instead, he assumes: “______’s been taken.”

Right away, Sam deflates. Which is impressive, since he walked in looking pretty wilted already. There are dark smears of purple under his eyes, which are puffy from crying. But that’s not exactly the reaction you want from your brother when you share this kind of thing with him, so the lack of response just spurs Dean into tearing their room apart even more, stone-faced.

“...Dean,” Sam manages.

Dean starts ripping the drawers out of the dresser, like finding one of your socks will be proof that you’re still here.

“She was fucking taken, Sam,” his throat feels tight. “I woke up and all of her shit was packed up and gone—somebody good had to do this, s’mbody who knows what the hell they’re doing, cause’ they knew to make it look like she’d left on her own. May—maybe she went out by herself after we went to sleep? N’ that’s how they took er’?”

His hands are shaking, fighting to get the next drawer off its track. Looking at Sam will just make him fucking implode, so he ignores him, shredding through the room inch by inch. The wheel on the dresser’s track snaps so hard that Sam flinches where Dean can’t see. Somehow, the urge to find expands into something an inch more logical, and he rolls seamlessly into escape mode, tossing his duffle on his bed and shoving the returned clothes inside. In a never-slowing storm, Dean flies around the room and hunts down what isn’t already ready to go in their bags. The adrenaline was starting to cut into his nausea, and the two mixed uncomfortably inside him, each knowing in their own way that something was terribly wrong.

After a long silence, Sam collapses onto the end of his bed and confesses in a small voice, “She left a couple’a hours ago, Dean. On her own.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Dean snorted.

Something patted Dean’s shoulder, and it was a miracle that anything in his bubble didn’t immediately dissolve into molten lava; reining himself in, he turned. Sam was holding a letter.

He shrugged, swallowing thickly. “She said she, uh, needed some time. Not forever, just… time. Wrote you this.”

Dean hung in place. Too quickly, he recovered, and managed the gentleness to take the letter from Sam instead of yanking it away. There was no envelope. Just your tri-fold notebook paper and the bubbly curve of your handwriting on both sides. In the clean white space at the top of the page, you’d written Dean’s name. If he flipped it over and opened it, there would be more bubbly letters strung together in words. Words Dean didn’t have the strength for, right now.

It was easier, much easier, to succumb to the sudden slosh of sickness in him and follow his hangover into the bathroom.

After he empties his stomach and Sam gets some water into him, the crazed packing continues. Your letter goes straight into Dean’s duffle, unread, because Sam asks him what he’s doing, and Dean curtly interrupts him, “What else? We’re gonna go find her.”

Sam avoids his eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

Reasonably, Dean knew that Sam had helped you. He’d felt it, seeing him walk in late, seeing him pass off the letter. But it only starts to press on him now, with the alcohol sickness becoming a different kind of sickness within him, the full weight of what exactly Sam has done.

“You fucking didn’t,” Dean snarls. “Tell me you didn’t.”

There’s a flicker of rebellion on Sam’s face, but he subdues it for Dean’s sake. He shrugs, “...She wanted to leave.”

The nearest lamp on the bedside table shatters against the wall with a fierce pop. Dean’s close to tears, he’s so upset, sucking down anguished breaths. This is his worst nightmare. It roars off him all at once, and Sam, the nearest target, takes the brunt of it.

“How could you do this to me? How could you do that to her? She—she can’t survive on her own—!” he lies to himself, “—she needs us—and-and I need her! Why would you just let her walk away? What the fuck, Sam?”

“What was I supposed to do? Handcuff her to the radiator?!” Sam snaps, spreading his arms wide, “It’s her life!”

“With us!” Dean roars. His throat grates with acid and tears.

“With whoever the hell she wants! You should’ve—” Sam argues. He realizes how fruitless all the yelling is, especially with tears smeared in the creases of Dean’s face. “...I can’t speak for her. Read the damn letter.”

“No,” Dean grates. He gets his duffle over his shoulder, his whole body coiling with betrayal. “Get your shit and get in the fucking car. We’re finding her. Where’d you drop her off?”

Of course, Sam refuses to answer. He gives Dean this quiet, desperate look neither of them is good at processing. Dean’s not exactly in the mood to process much of anything, nevermind this, nevermind the mountain of shit he’s messed up between last night and today.

He snarls. “Where, Sam?”

Sam still doesn’t answer. His stubbornness forces an old ugliness out of Dean that he’ll regret later, but, what’s one more thing for the pile, right?

“What?” Dean whips on his brother. “You give that little of a shit about her? You pick up brunch and a smoothie after you left her to fuckin’ rot?” Baring his teeth, he spits, “She’s not running off to Stanford, kid. This is different and you know it.”

The blow lands so hard that Sam bristles, but if you left a couple of hours ago, then he’s had plenty of time to brace himself for the grave Dean had planned to dig himself. After a long, treacherous silence, Sam finds an answer:

“Train station,” Sam’s lip curls. “But she made sure I drove off before I could see if she even walked in. She’s just like you n’ me, so she’s probably two states over by now—”

Dean slams the front door before he can finish.

-

It takes Dean four miserable hours to chase the specific bus you’d taken over the border to Connecticut, two days to pinpoint the lousy 83’ Mercury Capri you’d bought, in cash, from a dentist in New Hartford, and another to find it trunk-first in the Connecticut river, stripped entirely of your things. Sam fights him all the way to Brooklyn, which turns out to be a last-ditch distraction tactic. Dean had figured you’d head somewhere busy to shake them, but instead, you’d turned West, to Tulsa.

At the end of the week he finds you waitressing in a little dive just outside town. It’s a long chase, by their standards. As anguished as Dean felt, he couldn’t help nursing a warped sense of pride: his girl was good. Lesser hunters would’ve never caught up with you.

The Impala coasted along the buckling sidewalk framing the lot and stilled, idling on anxious wheels. Dean left sometime after Sam fell asleep. A whole week of non-stop pursuit had almost burned the spirit out of him. Sam’s moral needling never stopped, not until the silence burning up between them was as light as a slab of concrete. Twice now Dean was tempted to cut and leave without him, but the dark swimming part of Dean’s mind knew he deserved the constant backlash. She doesn’t want to see you, Sam had spit once, she needs time.

But the thing was that you’d never needed time before. The only time you’d needed in the past was the minutes it took for you to say, you’ve hurt my feelings, Dean, and the time it took for him to drop into your lap and bemoan his apologies until you were in stitches. He’d clutch your pantleg in his fists and fake-sob, Oh, baby, I’ll never forgive myself fer hurtin’ you! There was a familiar dance to it. At first, you’d stifle your smile and shove at him, all tough n’ girly-like. Dean would hunt down your nearest ticklish spot until your anger was a funny thing you’d both forgotten about, then sink into an apology he really meant. It worked every time and you knew it worked every time, but. Dean would drop his head into your lap and the first thing he’d feel was your hand on his back, keeping him there.

You’d never needed time before. You’d never needed space, because Dean was your space, with no room for anyone else to squirm in between.

It’s been days, man, Sam had said, endlessly. Just read her letter. Just read it.

He’d tried. More than once, he’d steeled himself enough to find it at the bottom of his bag and open it up, but beyond those steps was a whole new hell. He gets three words in and is immediately split open like a deer carcass in the sun. I’m sorry, Dean. Just that is enough to make him carefully re-fold the letter back on its seams.

There, in the parking lot of your bar in Tulsa, Dean finally finds the endurance to shovel past that first line. Originally, his plan isn’t really a plan at all—he’ll swing inside, convince you to come home, get some dinner in you and give “making things right” his best shot. But those are just ideas with no ground to stand on beyond what Sam has told him. And what Sam has told him sounds like, l-like horseshit, something Dean would hunt one of your shitty ex-boyfriends down for. To him, it sounds like something irreparable. That feeling is starting to find its roots.

By the flaxen street light, he spreads the thin notebook paper out on his thigh, careful not to smudge the hurried pen with his fingers. He reads it once and only once, unable to stomach any more.

The Impala pulls out of the lot and slinks back to their motel.

-

The next day, Dean loads his brother into the Impala, picks a direction, and drives.

His instincts settle back onto their monotonous track, and within a week he and Sam are cutting down vamps in Montana. Only once does Sam ask about what happened, and Dean only shuts him down once for the two of them to return to the Winchester default: not talking about it. Sam clearly wants to, squirming with unspoken questions when they find your spare boots kicked under Baby’s front seat or dodge hunters who’d ask around for you. Dean feels like ripping out his own entrails every time Sam itches to bring you up, but draws blood from his lip instead. When Sam’s out of resolve and Dean’s alone, he presses his face into the shirts you’d borrowed, soaked all the way through with your perfume, choking down tears that don’t do nothin’ for nobody. Especially Dean, who hasn’t cried in front of anyone but you since he was nine.

It’s like he’s lost a limb, left only with the phantom grasping feel of it. Dean definitely copes like a man who’s lost a leg. Sam leaves the issue alone, for the most part, trying to trick himself into being content with you being where you want to be. Meanwhile, Dean’s flask graduates from his duffle to his jacket. Hunting stops being a distraction and gradually opens up into a dangerous sinkhole.

The following weeks reek with deja vu. Silences stretched, gaps in their routine yawned wider, every inch of their never-ending road trip scrubbed raw with impressions of you. Dean must’ve checked the rear-view a thousand times, running on that same old instinct to steal looks at you in the backseat. The whole universe had been kicked off its axis by the aftermath, causing a run of bad luck worthy of a horror movie. Dean’s gun started jamming inexplicably; they’re caught by cops in Indiana and have to circle back two weeks later for the car, which is stripped of everything they’ve got; he almost loses Sam getting their arsenal back from an evidence lockup in Fort Wayne. Scrubbing his brother’s caked blood out of the steering wheel one afternoon, Dean knows that it’s more than luck he’s lost.

When you were stressed or feeling stuck, you’d lay out all their weapons on the bedspread—reminding Dean not to plop his ass down without looking first—and clean them each meticulously. The way you did it sort of reminded him of sewing. You’d count under your breath, so versed in the steps you’d created that you didn’t even have to watch your hands. Sometimes this ritual collided with the nights you polished up your poker skills together, and if Dean listened between hands, there was your counting. Four. Take off the slide. Five. Scrub the frame. If Dean’s pistol landed in the pile, you’d forget you were winning altogether and sink into deeper focus, pretty brows furrowed and your lips in a soft line. Dean’s gun never jammed if you’d been the one to clean it.

You were stealthier, more unassuming, with the kind of easy smile that policemen looking for fugitives glossed over. The cops in Indiana would’ve glossed over you, too. You were the third support beam that kept them sturdy—with you at Dean’s six, he and Sam would’ve smuggled back the arsenal with no problem. And even if there’d been trouble… well. This was you. Lose-a-car-in-the-river-on-purpose you, who Dean could always rely on to back his play.

When Sam has to drive him home from the bar one night, Dean slurs, Everythin’. Everythin’ goes to shit without ‘er.

Those thoughts crept up on him again and again, preying on him in low moments. He buried them under everything close enough to grab, keep the salt lines clean, call Jody, fix the car, but everything thrown on top of his memories of you swayed and shuddered, demanding to be dug up. Dean knew that he’d betrayed you. Already that was unforgivable, but by hurting you he’d broken a blood oath as old as your friendship. At fifteen Dean had sworn to protect you, only to turn around now and wound you so viciously that you couldn’t even bring yourself to say goodbye to him. Not in person. Not in the letter.

It was the one detail his heart couldn’t stop fixating on, no matter how deep Dean buried you. He knew you better than anyone, and you never said goodbye unless things were truly over.

He’d heard you sob it into Sam’s shoulder before he left for school. When the hellhounds came for him in New Harmony, you’d resisted, clutching Dean’s jacket in both hands and weeping instead, “I’ll see you.”

You’d never said goodbye to him.

This turns into a notion, then a stupid idea, then a plan that Dean rolls around in the bottom of his glass, considering. He could get that goodbye from you. He could knock on your window like he’d done when you were kids, say his piece, and then let the grass eat his boots as he waits for you to truly finish this.

He could get that goodbye from you. It’d kill him, but Dean wasn’t sure he could go on without it.

-

Five minutes into his drive to DeLancey’s Pub and Bar, the slimy dive you waitressed in around the dicier ends of Tulsa, Dean realizes that he’s not even sure if you’re working tonight.

The drive was long—long enough to swerve Dean’s confidence in every single direction possible, until the revving toughness he’d gathered had swan-dived into gut-clenching fear. Two hours ago he’d been combing through articles for a case. Something had compelled him into the car, something bone-deep and inescapable, and if Dean was being truthful with himself it had everything to do with the strange adrenaline he got just being in the same state as you. Twice, he swore he’d seen your face among the officers at the station and blending into the diner crowd at breakfast. He knew that you were a whole town away and intent on not seeing him, but. Dean could sense the divide between you like the childhood home he’d never known. It was a distance he could close and map in his sleep, and after another night jolting out of a nightmare and into a bed empty of you, Dean was exhausted. He missed you so much he was sick, choking back mouthfuls of guilt just thinking of you. He missed you so much that the drive to you could’ve been measured in inches, and the walk to the Impala was even smaller, calling to him.

Waking up, he’d sensed it. Tonight was gonna be different.

Things had started off strong. The second Dean had turned the key and pointed the Impala toward Tulsa, his hands on the wheel were sure as all hell. I’m gonna tell her all my cruddy fuckin’ feelings and get all this cruddy fuckin’ honesty out of the way, then either we make up or she gives me the boot. Simple as that. Nothin’ to it. That was as far as his planning went, since that’s as far as Dean could handle thinking into your future. By the time Dean was off the highway his plan had started eating itself, circling constantly back to your letter to him. But he was already halfway there, then over halfway, and giving up became an increasingly spineless option.

Along the way, I’m gonna give it to her straight, slowly, bloodily evolved into, I’m bringing her the fuck home.

Dean’s propelled himself forward so hard just to get here, so the Impala’s still rolling into park when he clambers out and onto the gravel. His heart is pounding like thunder in his ears but it’s nothing compares to the screaming silence that stands between where the Impala’s sitting and where you must be. DeLancey’s is the only kind of place Dean could picture you working; somewhere low and unglamorous, like any other bar you and Dean had skulked around in your twenties. You lived for skeevy places like this, the shabbier the better, and privately Dean had always thought you were too pretty to exist in places like those. But he’d seen you under neon beer lights so often that you’d sort of claimed it for yourself, this strange brand of cigar-smoke beauty that made Dean’s ears warm.

He thinks of that image and can’t help but need himself to be there, to be with you like he always has, and that’s what gets him across the gravel and through the door.

Either this is a hunter’s bar or the place is packed full of demons, because the second Dean bangs inside, making a few heads jerk up with the noise of it, those heads immediately swivel to whisper to each other. What’s that Winchester boy doing here? Anyone who knows you knows there’s only one answer. The bartender looks up from the drink he was making. The host awkwardly shrinks behind her podium, freezing like everyone else in the room. For just an instant he has the whole saloon itching toward their pistols, and Dean lives off the warped satisfaction he gets from that until the kitchen door swings open for a huge tray of drinks.

Hefting it over one shoulder, you slip easily out from behind the bar and pass the drinks over to a table of hunters. There’s a resonating shock that sizzles through Dean’s system, seeing you. It’s the strange pleasure of confirmation, of knowing that you’re real, that you’re someone he can lay eyes on instead of a slow-fading memory. In your element, you’re… Dean swallows. You’re still you. One of the hunters says something to you, and you snap back in a way that has them all roaring with laughter. All doubt left Dean’s body, and standing there, he’s winded by the single-minded purpose that got him there in the first place. He’s getting you home.

At full tilt, Dean bee-lines for you.

The harsh sound of boot steps makes you glance up, and with it the chatter of the hunters dies away. Your expression doesn’t shift from your usual calm, arrow-eyed look, empty of anger or loneliness or happiness. Just calm, like you knew he’d find you, you’re just surprised it took him this long. You take a cool step away from the table to stand at your full height, and an old shivery warmth flutters down his spine. Yeah. There was his girl, tough as a fuckin’ tank.

“Dean,” you murmured, a greeting.

He wants to murmur your name with the same sweetness. He wants to scoop his arm around your waist like he used to and shove his face in your neck like he used to, spilling his guts in ways he’d only spilled to you. He wants to do this the easy way, but that’s not exactly his default.

Dean swings in, snapping, “Get outside. I’m telling you something whether you like it or not, n’ don’t think I won’t drag you if I have to.”

Your brows fly up your forehead. “Wow.”

Right along with you, the hunters with the front-row seats to the scene Dean’s making bristle in tandem. Some of the guys at the bar twist around on their stools to throw Dean barbed looks, and really, he shouldn’t have underestimated your ability to assemble so many minions like this, since he and Sam had been your minions from day one. The guy closest to Dean makes a big show of scraping his chair back and growling, which Dean pities him for. Get in line, pal.

“That’s my friend you’re talkin’ to, chisel chest. If you know what’s good for you, I’d get the fuck outta’ here,” says Asshole #1 of 4, and the threat hasn’t even landed before you’re neatly cutting through him, “—mind your damn business, Tommy, he has just as much a right to be here as anyone else.”

At your request the other hunters simmer down, and, ignoring Dean, you scoop up your empty tray and deliver it to the bar. All the energy he’d rationed in the car starts to seep out of him, since. Well. Still, after all this time, you didn’t hesitate to bare your teeth for him. With the wind successfully taken out of Dean’s sails, he tries not to twitch in place as you round’ the bar, brush past him and gesture for him to follow you out a side exit.

Your silence terrifies the hell out of him, so adding the hanging quiet of the parking lot to the equation makes Dean’s nerves crawl. He hadn’t realized how loud it’d been in there until you were isolated outside, the rowdy Friday night chatter softened behind the door. Swaying next to you on legs he’s forgotten how to use, a dart of something mean and cold hits Dean in the chest. On the other side of the door, where the lights are dim but warm and the air sings with the tang of alcohol, Don Henley floats into the first lyrics of One of These Nights.

Even now, your magic sways over him. Across from him on the gravel, you stuff your hands under your arms and huff a strand of hair out of your face, glowing gold by the creamy moonlight. If this was any other night of the year that the two of you had fallen out of a bar together, Dean would ask you to dance with him right here by the dumpsters. You’d say yes. He knew you would’ve said yes, then.

“You worried me sick,” is the first thing Dean manages to say. “Wakin’ up, finding you gone—I thought someone had fuckin’ took you, y’know that?”

This is apparently the wrong thing to say, because the coolness in your expression coasts straight into bitterness. Regardless, Dean rolls right past it and right into nervous, emotional ranting.

“I know what I did. I know I don’t deserve shit for it,” he chokes out, “but you could’ve at least said goodbye t’ me! I deserved to know you’d be safe! If you couldn’t… If I was hurtin’ you too much, and if I wasn’t listenin’, you had every right to get the fuck out of there and make your own life somewhere else. But after—after bein’ with me for so, so damn long, so long I don’t even remember how we met, you couldn’t even say goodbye? Nothing? I just have to live with the fact that I don’t even ‘member the last time we fuckin’ talked to each other? Don’t even get to see my best fuckin’ friend one last time?”

“No,” you scowled. “No, you fuckin’ don’t. Because we’ve never been just friends, Dean, and even if you knew that you still played with my feelings. Why the hell would I even want to look at you again? Why do you deserve that?”

Dean flinched. He sputtered on his answer, of course, because he’d never been able to keep his head straight around you. Not now, not ever. “...I guess I don’t. But, um… I know this doesn’t mean much anymore, but…” He closed his hand into a fist, like it was possible to draw in raw courage from the air. “You’re right. We’ve never really been… just plain friends, and—”

“We’ve said I love you,” you scoffed, “We’ve kissed! We’ve spent four whole years on the road together, with nobody but each other, and even years after that you still can’t even admit it to my face! Can’t even say it!”

Dean’s hands are shaking, and in a rush he says, “Yeah? And you wanna know why? Cause’ the second I do, the second it’s out of my mouth, you’re dead. You hear me? A target drops on your back so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

Honest to God, you start laughing, the scary hunter’s laugh that only bled out of you in the thick of a chase. “I’m already dead!” You budge him with your fists, almost pushing him back a foot, “We’re both already dead! None of that bullshit matters! Wouldn’t you rather we use the fucking time we’ve got instead of sitting around with our thumbs up our asses? Dean, come on!”

“Of course I do!” He roars. You’re close enough to grab, so he does, ripping you toward him by the wrists, “That’s all I’ve wanted!” He sucks down the cool night air and the little breaths puffing out of you, panting, “You’re all I’ve fucking wanted. Since the last time we were here. Since way before then. But the minute—the second they know that, Hell or—o-or whoever’s after us now, they’re gonna take advantage of that.”

The look on your face is frozen still with mute shock. Choking down another dose of guilt, Dean drops your wrists and suppresses the urge to pull you back in, to squeeze you against him, to kiss you stupid like he’d done years ago.

“Don’t think for one second that I don’t want you,” Dean rasped. “But I’d rather have you livin’ than be with you dead, you get me?”

You closed your eyes. Tears squeezed down your face, rolling around the curve of your cheeks. You grit, “I’m sick of having this argument, Dean.”

Then, the pull to reach out for you grew too great, and Dean couldn’t help but cup one side of your neck. He swallowed, thickly. “I know, baby girl.”

Starved for contact, you dug your nails into the material of his sleeve and did your best to speak. “If I go back with you,” you rattled out. “If I go back w’ you, sittin’ with this is gonna kill me. Can’t wait anymore. Can’t sit in the damn car while you run off with other people. I have t’ go. I love you, but I gotta go.”

Dean was sick of having this argument too. After years and years of it weighing on the two of you like a black hole, of this same old story returning every so often to throw a fresh gap between you both, Dean had hit his limit. There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to keep you living and happy. But this pressure on his heart was heavier than the damn sky, and now more than ever he wanted to let it go. Find another way. Choose you.

He overspills.

“I love you too,” Dean gushed, and from there, poured the rest of his heart out onto the wet asphalt. “Love you so much it makes me damn sick. Makes me all stupid and mushy on the inside, which is probably half the reason I’ve made it this far. Having you gone has just made it worse—the road’s too quiet and the backseat’s always cold, like everything else’s sick too. S’ made me realize that I—I-I can’t do this without you. Everythin’. Livin’ like this. I tried for your sake, I honestly did, but god, baby, I need you home. I need you to come home.”

“Dean—”

“Let me finish!” Dean barked, and the sloping misery on your face paused. “I know why you left. Shit, I’d leave too if the one person I… if that one person kept treating me the way I was treatin’ you. Fuck, _____, if this was some other guy? Doing this to you? I’d kill him. Acid bath, hit him with my car, something. I’d kill him. And I’d—”

Dean stops himself, realizing the spiral he’s throwing himself down. “You’re everything t’ me,” he gasped. “So get in the damn car and just come home.”

In the thousand-foot-drop-silence that follows, the only sound capable of puncturing the space between the two of you is, as always, One of These Nights. Inside DeLancey’s, there are a few couples swinging along to the beat, but all of the real fever is out here, thundering in Dean’s chest. There’s only one time he ever relinquishes his control over his feelings out in the open: here, as the Eagles sing your signature song. Dean’s eyes are only on you.

“C’mon, _____,” he pleads, one last time. Again, he’s compelled by something beyond himself, and with nothing left to lose he starts to sing, smiling without feeling. “Oooh,” Dean croons, “loneliness will blind you, in between th’ wrong and th’ right…”

Here it is. You drag in a breath with all the weight of the world on it, and Dean knows what will follow. The goodbye.

Despite yourself, an amused little smile presses through the seams of your composure. You sober yourself. “... Things are gonna have to change, Dean.”

He’s not sure what that means. But it sounds good, and there’s still an optimist swirling around in him somewhere. “Yeah. Of-of course, anything. We can talk about it more, but… I’m willing to put you before anything. I should’ve put you before anything, before.”

You nod. “...Okay. Lemme go tell the other girls on shift.”

That’s good. That’s good, Dean realizes, and without meaning to he beams, blinking hard. You’re coming back with him. That’s what that means, right? Relief rushes through him so fast that he almost faints. Not so prepared to trust it, Dean’s eyes roam across your face for hesitation or displeasure or anger—and some of it’s there. There are still things to fix, still changes to be made, but. On top of all that is beautiful, sweet-tasting relief that Dean feels like collapsing under. You’re coming home.

“Just like that?” Dean asks, and he really shouldn’t be grinning, not until he’s sure and you’ve said it, but he can’t help it.

The tears still beading in your eyes slip into the pressed line of your lips, where a guarded smile is growing. You start nodding and then you don’t stop nodding, sobbing in earnest, and since it hasn’t screwed him over yet Dean follows his instinct to scoop you into a deep hug. You’re a little chilly and you smell a bit like pub food, making Dean’s heart squeeze with nostalgia. God, he fucking missed his girl. You grope around his back for something to cling to and fist both hands in his jacket til’ your fingers ache, and Dean explodes with gratefulness so pure he sways in place with you, squeezing you tight around the shoulders. You’re here and you’re alive and you don’t fucking hate him. Dean would take that and this stilted happiness over anything.

“This is all I wanted, D,” you hiccup. “You never say it, n’ I-I just need to hear it, okay? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I did this to us.”

“You ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for,” Dean soothes, but you interrupt him.

“I was too much of an idiot to say goodbye,” you shook your head, smooshing your face into his jacket. “Too scared,” you confessed, and your voice was even scratchy from crying. “I didn’t want it to be over for real. Didn’t wanna close that door forever.”

Dean sloped his palm down your hair, your back, your arm, soaking you in every way he could. “M’ glad you didn’t. I’m sorry I pushed you to any of this, darlin’. I’m sorry too.”

You peel yourself off him just far enough to flash him a wolfish, tear-streaked grin. “Oh, I know you are. Are you ready to be makin’ it up to me for the rest of your life, Winchester?”

Dean makes the mistake of indulging your taunts with a chuckle, which puts this light in your eyes that he never wants to let go of. You swish in real close to his face, threatening with a big, 1000-watt smile, “Pucker up, cowboy, because you’ve got a lot of ass-kissing to do.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, wetting his lips. His belly warmed at the nickname. “So come here, ass.”

It’s not often that Dean has the pleasure of making you so flustered your face steams. He never gets to see it this close, either, so he leans further in to put it all to memory, which just makes your cheeks hotter. Your eyes dart across his face, wild and nervous. Dean’s smile sinks into a nasty smirk because, there you are, tough as nails and melting into your shoes at the thought of kissing him. It’s a lucky thing you’re so distracted. Maybe if you weren’t you’d notice how Dean’s hands are trembling, how his mouth’s watering. His whole nervous system flips when you reign him in by a fist in his collar, and he’s pretty sure his soul levitates out of his body when you kiss him.

One kiss turns into two, then three. Your lips are smooth with vanilla chapstick, and it only takes a minute for it to be all over Dean’s face—his mouth most of all, but the corners of his lips and his chin, too. You’ve always been the sweet one, but something about finally being subject to it melts the iron ball of anxiety in his gut. He kisses back like it’s his damn job, pouring his confession, his apologies into you, cupping your face, dimpling your cheeks with his thumbs. You’re softer than he remembers, and the fact that he could be forgetting anything at all about the last night you spent in Tulsa together makes him starved to remember this.

By some twist of fate, Bad Company’s Ready For Love plays next on the cue inside. With you cozy in his arms, his body works on muscle memory, and soon you’re swaying back and forth as you kiss, dipping in close for sweet pecks of each other.

“I love you,” he thinks he hears you say.

Playfully, Dean budges your nose with his and sing-songs, “Can’t hear you!”

“I said,” you took in a big breath, “I LOVE YOU TOO, asshole.”

Dean dissolves into chuckles, which are happily interrupted by more insistent kisses. You’re almost ten whole feet from where you started, and scooping up your hand, Dean starts the trek backward to where the Impala is parked. It’s your home as much as it’s his, so you barely need him to take the lead to find it among the other cars.

“Hm,” you say, “Maybe the girls will just figure out for themselves why I’m gone, yeah?”

“They’ll survive without you,” Dean shrugs. “You got other people who need you.”

“Need me,” you say, just rolling the unfamiliar words around in your mouth. Dean feels another pang of guilt; he could’ve sworn he’d told you that more, could’ve sworn he showed his love to you every day. Another thing to change.

“Yeah, need you,” Dean mutters, and he doesn’t mean to expose the desire rolling around in his belly, but there it is. He wants to take it back as soon as it leaves his mouth, but the second you get a taste of it, you’re hooked. A beat later he’s being pushed up against the driver’s door of the car and kissed stupid, warm and wet and so much of what he remembers. Fantasizes about.

In the next kiss a gentle hand grabs at the clasp to his belt buckle. Instantly, Dean pulls back to speak.

“Sweet pea,” he manages, trying so hard to be reasonable and good and everything that you deserve. You laugh at the nickname, which eases his mind a bit. “...You sure you don’t wanna wait? I think I got other things to prove t’ you, first.”

You draw him into a deep, lingering siren’s kiss that leaves his knees threatening to lock and his common sense threatening to bend.

“Can’t wait any longer,” your eyes burn like cigarettes, all heat. Quietly, you ask him, “Prove to me I’m your favorite. That m’ the only girl you’re looking at.”

There’s the underlying desperation to your voice that goes beyond just wanting to have sex with him. This is confirmation of something to you, something you need to hear, to feel. So Dean guides you into the backseat and proves it to you.

This is not at all where he expected this night to go, and he’s grateful that he’d lost the opportunity to overthink himself into his grave. There’s no room for Dean to worry if he was really good enough for you, if he deserved this, because these things are proven to him too. You slot so perfectly into his lap that he knows the moment you’re out of it he’ll be battered with homesickness. For long breaths there’s no kissing at all, just Dean nuzzling his face into your neck and committing each second to memory. When you do kiss him it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, this grand, surging happiness that ripples through him head-to-toe. Each kiss has a new kind of gentleness, and before either one of you starts to strip Dean knows that you want more than what he’s about to give you—you want him, and that feeling is an old comfort.

Knowing your famous attitude, Dean would’ve bet money on you taking control, but for whatever reason you step back and let him make the first move. Again, it tells him that this is his chance to tell you something, to make it clear that he wants you and he’s going to show it. So he does. Your fingers in his hair are all the invitation he needs.

Dean scrapes his palms up your back as you kiss, soaking up every naked inch of skin he’s allowed. You’re making all these soft little noises that make the pressure in his jeans unbearable, so with the next drag of his hands he’s intent on seeing what you’ll feel like naked in his lap. When your uniform is nothing but a memory and your throat’s slick with hickeys, you try out a new way of teasing him, murmuring in that caramel voice how long you’ve wanted to feel him inside you. After that he doesn’t even care about being fully naked—but you clearly do. He puts your roaming hands on his belt. I want you to do this part, I want it to be you who opens me up. You kiss him so intensely that Dean doesn’t even remember when or how his belt comes off. Or his shirt, or his jeans, or his boots, gulping down your love potion by the gallon.

All he knows is pretty girl, his pretty girl, and swaths of hot sweat-tacky skin on top of him. You hesitate to close that final gap between you once the condom’s on, so Dean whispers whiskey-warm assurances in your ear as he cups the curve of your ass and slides you onto him. The moan that presses out of you pours right into your next kiss, then the next, and the next. It takes everything in him to start slow; Dean gives you two deep, fulfilling grinds across his lap. The rippling squeeze of you around him is too good to be real. You press your lips into his, then his nosebridge, his forehead, urging him on, and that’s all Dean needs to let go. He cups the dip of your back, shoves his face in your neck and just loses it.

Dean rocks you across his lap at a vicious, pounding tempo, giving you his all. The whole time his head bumps against the height of the seat, craning to watch the perfect little shifts in your expression. You’ve got your eyes squeezed shut and your lips parted. His lap is slick with you, making the grind, the chase, the rush to the finish come faster and faster. He could’ve gotten off on the sounds you were making alone. They turn into full-on squeals when Dean slides his fingers between your legs, and a flush of I love you I love you I love you bursts out of him when the hot silk wrapped around him clamps even tighter. You cum almost sobbing his name, and Dean coos you through it, his thighs cramping with effort. But it’s all worth it—you’ve always been worth it.

He finishes with your hands combing through his sweat-damp hair, echoing back to him the three words he’d been chanting the entire time.

-

It’s a few hours before dawn when you land in Sam and Dean’s motel a town over. Dean had wanted to get back earlier, intent on having you back as soon as possible, but it’d taken a bit to pack your stuff into the Impala and drive home. You’d commented on being hungry on the way back too, which ended with Dean pouring an entire gas station’s worth of snacks into your lap at three in the morning.

By then it’d gotten too cold out to be comfortable, so it was tempting to succumb to sleep in front of the Impala’s heaters. But robbing yourself of any time with Dean wasn’t an option, so you pushed through, feet aching after an eight-hour shift and body glowing with Dean’s affection. You nibbled on twinkies in the passenger’s seat, happy that he was happy. He kept the radio off to hear you, but hummed when the conversation peacefully faded. I can hear the train a’ comin’, it’s rollin’ round the bend…

Sam was waiting for you on the stoop outside the room when you pulled up, and did an impressively poor job at containing himself. He’d gotten his arms around you before your door was fully shut, and when you were back on your feet his brother took up your other side. Together, you herded each other into the cozy darkness of the motel. Someone said something about unpacking your things; but all three of you were tired, so that thought was saved for tomorrow.

Dean tossed his jacket on the back of a chair. Sam rearranged the salt lines on the window sills with a careful hand. You fumbled into the first pajamas you could find (aka, the hoodies in Dean’s duffle that rightfully belonged to you), and crash straight into bed, too lazy to kiss goodnight like usual. When the lights were off and the boys were down too, you stretched a hand out from under your comforter and reached across the bed’s gap.

“Goodnight, Sam,” you told him, wiggling your fingers.

His whole hand engulfed yours in a warm, I missed you squeeze, and then he was rolling onto his stomach and sinking like a rock into sleep.

When you twisted onto your other side, Dean was already there, propped up on an elbow. His broad hand on your shoulder smoothed across your belly to pull you into him. Once you were close enough to kiss, he disregarded your cheek and your forehead entirely, dipping in for a real kiss that tingled all the way down to your toes.

“G’night,” Dean whispered.

Welling with too much emotion to put into words, you willed it all into a simple and loving, “Goodnight, cowboy.”

Together, you snuggled down into your blankets and crashed, content.

-

tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss

[findmeinthefallair]

Hunter's Character Arc: A Hopeful Narrative

Wrote this for the 2-year anniversary of Separate Tides, especially since we now have the boi's full story arc too. This meta could come to life after I re-read the one I wrote about enmeshment (link).

You also get my geeking out about cinematography and visuals this round, instead of the mental health angle that I usually come in from. What I found is this: while some fans feel that the writing put him through too much, the frame composition of every Hunter scene - no matter how dark and horrifying the scene is - wants to paint him as an empowered survivor, and root for him, getting us viewers to be on his side in a way that is never really overt.

The way he is framed within the 'camera', evolves as his story arc evolves throughout the show: from being so high-ranking that only Belos appeared to be superior to him, to actively participating in society as an equal, to not only learn from others and be loved by others but also impart knowledge and love to the world.

Bringing his scenes to life wasn't just about Zeno Robinson's voice acting, along with how animators draw his expressions and poses; the camera also has to be placed in certain ways to add to the emotional weight of his scenes (even if in a subtle manner). These all add up in less obvious ways, to get specific emotional responses from us in the audience.

What I remember from the cinematography classes when I studied animation (honestly the only areas I didn't suck in were the preproduction and film analysis modules, everything else was bleh) are some general rules:

1. Shots with characters that are further away with a wider angle, are often to establish the setting (location and mood). Shots that are closer to the characters are more personal, of course.

2. Both low angle shots and high angle shots provide us with info about power/hierarchy, control and vulnerability in characters. Low angle shots may empower a hero, making them look more heroic if they're roughly facing the camera, but could make them appear vulnerable if their back is to the camera. High angle shots usually depower a character, making them feel small and feeble.

3. Shots with a height that is at eye level with the character(s), allow us to connect more directly with a character.

4. These rules can be creatively bent at times, in shows and movies. And you'd also have to factor in where and which characters are placed within the shots, e.g. their back is facing the camera, vs. us seeing them in full front-view. - An extra, not-so-important note: There's the rule of thirds, a rough guide for the screen's composition during important moments, to be more aesthetically pleasing to the human eye (which isn't an area of focus in this particular analysis).

There are so many screenshots I could've fit into this post! But there's the 30 pics limit and I've chosen the best ones I could think of.

Diving in...

It's stating the obvious, but the camera gets closer to Hunter as we get to know him more. When we start out, his presence feels distant, ominous and impersonal, like he's a smaller cog in a massive machine, just someone that Belos has sent out to do his bidding:

But the sense of his personhood, its importance, and his desire to fight for it, is felt more and more by us as time passes.

A really strong contrast would be this comparison:

Not quite knowing who this kid is (camera is far away and impersonal), vs. being terrified out of our wits as he appears helpless while possessed, because we're personally so invested in his wellbeing by that point. He has become a literal puppet, 100% physically coerced to do what Belos wants, in a more violent way than Belos previously coercing him to perform his Golden Guard duties using emotional manipulation.

After he was unmasked in Hunting Palismen, we connect with him and his vulnerabilities, since we can see through the armor (both literally and metaphorically) that he has to put up to survive as long as he did in the Emperor's Coven, prior to his decision to run away. We journey alongside him through the good and the bad.

Things become a bit less obvious when we get to low angles vs. high angle shots, plus the eye level shots.

Low Angle Shots:

Before being unmasked, he appears to be an intimidating antagonist who is not to be trifled with (though Luz manages to hold her own against him) and we feel that Luz is vulnerable to being possibly hurt by him:

but once he has met Luz and his mask comes off...

He is framed less and less as an antagonist, and lives out what he truly wants to live out, heroically braving many challenges and triggers to genuinely help others.

This even happens when things are really going south for him, when it appears that he has no way out:

To me, it feels like we are with him, at his level, as the storytelling aims to respect everything that he goes through. All thanks to the camera height, that can go as far as lowering itself all the way to the floor with him.

High Angle Shots:

An incredible difference would be between him watching Luz from the shadows below, even having power over Salty, telling the audience that he has control:

and fast forwarding to Luz offering him her hand during one of the pivotal moments in Hollow Mind:

I suppose this one shot is the one of very few that depower Hunter, and here, his old faith in Belos's reign is being dismantled. But whenever this is the case, it's from the vantage point of a kind-hearted character who will offer him help and never hurt him.

What stands out is, any high angle shots of Hunter do not ever show him being all alone with Belos. The closest to that would perhaps be these:

But I'd point out that in the Hollow Mind screenshot, Hunter and Luz in the present are watching from a distance: this moment is a step towards his empowerment because he reaches that awareness and clarity that Belos has been lying to him. In the For the Future shot, it's the impact of Belos's abuse - the trauma sustained - staring Hunter in the face, not Belos himself. And while Hunter is all alone in the shot, he isn't completely consumed by anguish, having a support network that's obviously offscreen but nonetheless there with him.

The only shots where he is dangerously alone with Belos would be from moments like this:

But he hadn't been unmasked yet, and we weren't even so sure back then about details such as his age, true motives and true intentions. And...any high angle that involves Belos never seems to be used to depower him.

The crew took consideration to respect the portrayal of this kid's experiences of trauma, and his development.

When Luz and Willow look down at him, he may be temporarily rendered powerless, but we can already trust that they won't treat him poorly:

Eye Level Shots:

These seem to be used for moments of uncertainty, keeping us on edge. We may wonder for a moment, where Hunter's loyalties lie, or wonder if he will survive a horrible situation:

But the eye level shot is also for us to connect as directly as we can with him.

This important frame from Hunting Palismen seems like a pretty unique Hunter shot in his entire arc. I haven't come across any other shot composition like this which involves him, though I could be wrong. He's standing between a taller scout (and the scout is actually lower in rank than him, yet Hunter can't produce the proof that he's their high-up superior) and Luz who is shorter than him. We may start to sense that he may be less powerful than we initially thought, and there are further confirmations of this in the subsequent scenes. This shot is not quite eye level, yet not a stark low angle shot.

With regards to the unhealthy vs. healthy mentorship he receives in the show, somehow we're told through the frame composition that wanting to be guided towards the right cause is very important for him, something he is emotionally invested in.

My ultimate takeaway from this is: the writers never want to convey that he is beyond hope and saving. There seem to be far more low angle and eye level shots of him when he is both masked and unmasked, yet different meanings are communicated: control while masked (furthering Belos's cause to wield power in the Isles) vs. empowerment when unmasked (Hunter's own personal agency).

There are a few lovely subversions of what we normally expect from low angle and high angle shots:

An empowering moment where Hunter is part of something that is healthy for him, instead of high angle shots that are normally depowering for whichever character is in focus.

This low angle shot achieves two things, I think: not only to highlight how terrifying Belos is, but also that Hunter isn't alone and has Flapjack and Gus to help him (especially since Gus could disarm him with powerful Illusion magic just before Belos charged at Hunter). No matter how you slice it, Hunter isn't dangerously isolated and isn't rendered helpless here, despite being very terrified. This nicely presents an equal chance on both sides of winning this fight (before The Collector is freed from their prison), and keeps us on edge.

And only today did I notice a pattern from significant frames in all the S3 specials:

Being on his knees. Look at dat body language!! But the camera never stares him down in a condescending, insensitive and detached fashion: it's once again a low-ish angle that meets him at eye level. Which goes to show how much connection matters to this kid, even in the form of us viewers connecting with him.

To wrap this up... When it comes to him feeling like he's part of something larger, we feel so different looking at these last two shots:

Belonging only to Belos, being owned, dangerously isolated but not completely silenced, reduced to someone whom Belos refers to as "this one", being a breakable "thing"...but later on: finding personal autonomy, his own voice, the things and people that he as an individual loves and wants to nurture and protect, not being above or below anyone in society.

To think that this gentle, empathetic kid's story started and ended at drastically different points.

[dishywishy]

BEHOLD, MY HTTYD OPINIONS. if you scroll even further you get to also read my random thoughts about The Hidden World movie.

My fun little thoughts about the Hidden World movie:

Generally speaking, courtship behaviors are largely instinctual in most animals. So maybe part of the reason Toothless was so confused about how to court the Lightfury because she wasn’t another Nightfury.

The first time I watched HTTYD 3 I was very much under the impression that the Lightfury had been in captive for a pretty decent amount of time. When the Lightfury is brought to Grimmel the general dudes even say “We brought your favorite bait” which implies that Grimmel has used Lightfuries to lure Nightfuries before. Which then led me to the assumption that Grimmel had been using this specific Lightfury for a least a few years.

This also explained to me why the Lightfury kept coming back to find Toothless instead of going back to the Hidden World. She’s been with Grimmel so long she didn’t know what else to do, or alternatively she didn’t want to lead Grimmel to the Hidden World. It also explained why she was almost luring Toothless into Grimmel’s initial trap.

The one thing I never really got was how they ever got a Lightfury. I’ve been under the assumption they’re entirely endemic to the Hidden World, and there wouldn’t be any real reason for them to leave.

Would Toothless be miserable in the Hidden World? He’s built for lots of flying and his main form of attack and presumably hunting is diving from up high. You really can’t do that in a cave, even if the Hidden World is big.

WHAT ABOUT THE FUCKING TIMBERJACKS MAN? WHAT ABOUT FLIGHTLESS DRAGONS LIKE SPEEDSTINGERS??? THE CANNIBAL DRAGONS?!?

Also I know Toothless has the Berk dragons go to the Hidden World but what about literally all the other dragons?

I NEED ANSWERS

After this I’m gonna redesign the Nightlights with my head canon stuff in mind. And maybe Thunder. I haven’t watched the Nine Realms but I’ve seen pictures of Thunder and HOLY SHIT HE’S UGLY IM SORRY THUNDER BUT YOU GOT DONE DIRTY

Also I definitely want feedback and opinions on this if you feel like sharing :)

[believesthings]

Not Just A Girl - Chapter 5 // Jason Sudeikis x Reader

A/N: This is a little bit of a shorter chapter but I'm excited about what's coming up in these next few chapters.

You wait while Todd finishes up a phone call for another one of his clients. When he hangs up, he smiles at you. "Okay, the apology basket has been sent over. Do you mind telling me why you felt it was such a dire need?"

You shake your head in response, "Mainly guilt. I was a bit of a wreck after eavesdropping. I ended up accidentally ending the message I was leaving for Jason right after an abrupt strong of curse words."

"Ah, say no more." Todd says holding his hands up. He knows you well enough at this point to understand. "I suppose I can forgive you for forgetting to tell me you'd gotten there alright then." Todd motions towards the stack of pages stacked up in the chair across from his desk. "Those are for you. I have a bag around here somewhere if you can't fit them in yours."

"Fan mail?" You ask, making your way towards the stack.

He nods. "Yeah." You're able to fit the pages neatly beside the script pages for the James & Mia script, which is what you've taken to calling the movie until it's given an official title.

You point to the stack that sits off in the corner that Todd has almost hidden. You can see that the one on top is addressed to you. "What about those? Might has well take as many off your hands as I can while I'm here."

Todd shares sharply at you. "No - those stay with me for now." He doesn't offer any further explanation. You're standing closer to the stack of papers than he is and he frowns when you wake your way towards it, reaching for the top letter and starting to read. He holds out his hand, urging you to give the letter back.

You feel your cheeks burning as you quickly read words addressed to you. Apparently, it's bullshit that you've been linked to multiple actors in the past few weeks, especially Jason and these people wanted to make sure you knew how they felt about it. "Oh -"

"Look, some people just..." Todd is speaking lowly now, still holding his hand out for the letter.

"That is quite a lot of hate there." He takes the paper gently from your hands and replaces it on the top of the stack that you eye with concern. "Are all of those letters like that?"

Todd turns back to you and grasps you by the shoulders. "Forget those. You can't please everybody all the time. Let's focus on the the fact that you landed the role of Mia and-" He moves you away from the letters trying to steer your attention in another direction. "Can you please promise me an alert for the next time you plan to worry Jason like that?"

You shrug, doing your best to try to forget the words you just read. "You could have told him I was getting the part. Did you know already? Wasn't that what you wanted to talk to me about?" Remembering the strangely worded text that Todd had sent you.

"No actually that notification arrived after you'd texted me." Once Todd is comfortably assured that you don't plan on diving towards the stack (although you still can't seem to shake that you've racked up an entire stack) of hate mail, he leans against the edge of the desk while he talks to you. "To redouble the happy news for the day, I've gotten confirmation from the studio that they want to do a sequel for All Your Monsters and, in so many words, they refuse to even mention your character's name unless you're willing to participate."

You squeal and jump towards him and he braces himself the incoming hug. "Oh my God Todd!" You step back again and start to pace. "What about Will is he also going to be in it? What does that mean for -"

He holds up a hand to stop you from falling to far into the rabbit hole of questions. "They've just confirmed that they want to pursue a sequel. There's a lot of details that need to be worked out before we need to start worrying about anything other than you playing the role of Mia. And for other good news, I've been looking into those rentals that you sent me. I think I have them sorted out to two good options for you - just let me know when you want to go back and double check that they would be a good fit and then we can get all the paperwork signed. "

You place your hand over your heart and give him a tender look. "Where would I be without you Todd?"

He waves his hand to dismiss you before you can get too sentimental. "You would still be here, just with a different person helping you along the way."

Todd's phone begins to ring and he glances at it before looking back up at you. You smile and pick up your bag. "I'm heading back to the hotel. Thank you for being the best agent. I really don't know how you juggle everything so well." He nods gratefully before scooping up the phone.

You're almost back to the hotel when a text arrives from Jason.

Gift basket arrived to the surprise and delight of the cast and crew. I half thought you were joking about that. They send their thanks.

You smile, happy your gesture was well received.

Another text from Jason comes in:

End of day time still looks right. How does dinner at my place sound? Will you have already eaten by then?"

Nice. Quiet. Just what you needed after the odd day you've had. You text back:

Sounds Divine. I can wait to eat. What should I bring?

Your pleased by the fact that there aren't too many photographers waiting for your arrival back to the hotel. Once you make it into the lobby, you notice that Jason has responded to your text.

Your company is all I need. See you soon.

Rather than tempt yourself to shop for things you don't really need you opt to stay in the hotel and answer fan mail. After reading how vehemently a complete stranger opposes your connection with Jason it helps to read the uplifting pages.

You estimate the travel time between your hotel and the location where Jason has been filming today and order a taxi. As you arrive, the driver notice your expression upon seeing the number of people standing on the sidewalk. "Are you alright there?"

You nod, now realizing you didn't really think this through. The taxi would need to be going to his next stop... and you weren't filming at this studio, or even with the respective company that owned it. Security would probably just think you were another respective fan trying to get a glimpse of Jason. You sigh and set your mouth in a determined line. You'd just have to wait off to the side and hope the crowd would be too occupied trying to see Jason exit the building. "Good. Thanks. How much do I owe you?"

The driver turns now to smile at you rather than look at you through the rearview mirror. "My girls love you. I guess you're here to see Jason?"

He hadn't made conversation the entire ride over so it hadn't dawned on you that he knew who you were. You adjust your hat a little. "I - yes. What are their names?" You pull a pen out of your bag and wait as he scrambles in his front seat to hand you something to sign.

"If you want," he looks away from you to the security gate, "I can see if they'll let me drop your inside?"

You shake your head. “I didn’t, we didn’t, really plan this out. I don’t know…But thanks for the offer.” You hand him back the paper along with the fare, which you now realize has been showing on the screen in front of your knees. He looks hesitant to let you out of the cab but doesn’t protest as you slide out of the seat onto the sidewalk. You wave to him in thanks and watch the taxi roll away from the curb.

Ok, now what. You again play with the notion of walking over to introduce yourself to security. You tap out a quick message to Jason.

Just arrived. A bit early. Oops.

You are adjusting your cap and about to walk up the sidewalk towards the studio when you hear a whoop. Someone shouts your name excitedly and you, without really thinking, look for the source. Now more faces are turning to see what the excitement is, and you note security is following the gaze of the few that were shouting your name. Well, this is one way to start the night. A guard reaches you after you’ve signed a few photos that had been thrust into your hands. Though patient to allow you to greet the first few individuals that had met you, the guard doesn’t let you linger long.

Someone from the crew is waiting to take you to Jason's dressing room. “He’s just cleaning up. Thanks for the goodies, by the way.” She knocks lightly on the door marked Sudeikis and you hear a muffled response. She motions for you to go on in with a wave of her hand before walking back down the hallway.

You can smell the soap he’s just used to wash, and note he is quickly pulling a shirt over his head to be presentable for whomever is coming to talk to him. Dear Lord the man has more muscle definition than you thought. His hair is now mussed from pulling on his shirt. You grin and stand in the doorway, waiting for him to see that it is you.

All he has to do is smile to propel you across the small space and into his arms. “How was the rest of your day?” With your ear to his chest his words reverberate around in your head.

You reply without moving, “Fine. Better. Good. Brett is going to be in  the James & Mia movie with me!”

Jason uses one hand to flip your hat off your head that you ah, had forgotten that you were wearing. He kisses the top of your head before speaking again. “He sent me a text just after I had hung up with you. They evidently wrote the part with him in mind but then found him unavailable, until recently.” He grins as you step away from him with the intent of letting him finish getting ready to leave the building. He doesn’t let you get far, keeping one arm around your waist and pulling you back against him. “And here I thought I’d been the clever one, finding my way around those walls you’d constructed.” You stand on tiptoe to kiss him. Your fingers find that his hair has nearly dried. “I’m glad you came inside. This is a much better hello.”

You laugh and murmur a hello into his lips. This does remind you of the crowd waiting outside though. You press your hands lightly to his chest and lean back in his arms to look at him while you speak. “The taxi dropped me off and well, I got to say hello to some of your fans before a guard came to get me.”

“I asked the guards to be on the lookout. You could have gotten the driver to go up to the gate, though I’m sure the fans enjoyed seeing you. Hopefully they are our fans and not just my fans… ”

Knocking at the door frame precedes the rapid-fire stream of words altering you to company. The man that walks through the open door pauses a few paces and several sentences in. “Jason! You, my friend, never cease to amaze. We of course have – oh. Sorry the door was open and I figured I’d steal a moment.”

Jason releases your waist allowing you to settle back into a standing position next to him, much to the relief of your arches. Clearly you are going to have to practice standing on the balls of your feet. Jason introduces you to Theo, another actor on the project, and Theo gives Jason a wink before shaking your hand, then pulling it to his lips to peck it as Jason had done the night of the awards show.

“So – this is the lovely woman that we’ve heard so much about.” Theo switches commenting from Jason to you. “I’ve never seen him so transfixed."

You’re starting to blush.

“I’ll leave the pair of you to it…” He accompanies the comment with a wriggle of his eyebrows which makes you blush more. He calls out behind him as he clears the doorway, “Practicing sparring tomorrow buddy!” 

“Whew. After that - I feel like I’m moving in slow motion. He rivals you for boundless energy!” You say, motioning after the human whirlwind that just departed.

“Do I make you feel like you’re in slow motion?” Jason asks waving your hat at you that he still holds in one hand.

You nod and move to reclaim said item. “Sometimes…” He grins and puts your hat on his head which, unless he starts cooperating, effectively removes it from your reach. You study him a moment with your hands on your hips before shrugging. “Well, the studio will surely love the endorsement.” 

Jason takes a brief survey of the dressing room before nodding, which you take to be a signal that he is ready to leave. In the hallway you take a few steps towards the direction of the studio exit and pause to wait until Jason is at your side. His hand finds yours as you walk, "I meant what I said before Theo arrived, you know."

Nodding, you squeeze his hand lightly, "I know, but if I had gotten the taxi to go through the gates I wouldn’t have been able to…” Jason pulls you up short, laughingly wrapping his arms around your waist and shaking his head. You smile, though the cutting words of the letter you found in Todd's office still blaze in your head. “Jason, we can’t expect everyone to be happy that we’re dating." 

"I can and I will.” Playfully defiant, Jason mutters the words into your ear before landing a light kiss just below it. He straightens and takes you by the hand again to resume your progress towards the fans, the waiting car, and home. “For my money, the world can think what they want, but the only woman whose feelings on the subject truly matter to me will be dining with me tonight." 

You’re tempted to once again provide a smart retort - remind him of his family or yours - but opt, instead, to swoon.

Tag List: @my-soupy-brain @tegan8314 @tortilla-maria1 @nerdgirljen

[shmreduplication]

the crazy thing about watching the same handful of rwrb clips too many times is that eventually you realize that the movie part of the movie is actually also very good

basically: the location of the two men gives insight into what Henry is thinking about at any given moment. When Alex is on his right, Henry is thinking about his public (heterosexual) persona. Alex on the left, Henry is thinking about his private (homosexual) persona. With some caveats, like sometimes they are facing each other and Alex is still on the left from the camera's perspective.

OK let's get to some pics:

This is right after the first comment about Alex needing to be on the right because of protocol (camera's left, which is the direction i'm going to use for the rest of this post for the sake of consistency and ease)

This is the first time they are on screen together in the movie

In the lead-up to the incident, they are being rude to each other to hide (to themselves and each other) how attracted they are to each other. So in this moment Henry's thoughts are more about him being gay than about his public image, and lo, Alex is on the right

there's a little bit of a tussle that results in them on the floor and this slow-mo shot of their reaction to a giant cake falling on top of them. Alex is on the left again as Henry takes this split second to think about what his life is going to be like after the cake falls on them

literally shoved into a closet together, god I love when stuff that has gay text and gay supertext also has gay subtext. Henry is thinking about "why does this beautiful man I have a crush on hate me so bad :'(" and Alex is on the right

ok they're on the phone in this scene and not actually in bed next to each other but the topic of conversation is how much Alex has learned of Henry's private persona so Henry is thinking about how much of it to reveal because they're almost real friends at this point (Henry's real friends know he's gay). There is also continuity that every time one of them is on a bed, they're on the same side shown here, which could cause inconsistency with my whole premise of this post BUT i'm going to say it actually further justifies everything I'm saying because Henry really is nearly always thinking about his public persona

Henry is trying to come out to Alex. It is not going as planned. This is one of two shots that inspired this whole post

Henry went into this room thinking Alex was going to yell at him for being gay so he's just having every possible thought at once now, and also they're facing each other so even tho they just kissed and Alex is on the left, my point still stands

Henry takes a second to figure out that rn is the time to think gay thoughts, not sad thoughts about acting hetero in public and they IMMEDIATELY SWITCH SIDES OF THE SCREEN

A secret service agent walks in and Henry fucking dives back to the right side of the screen

The euphoria of finding out his crush likes him back is all he can think about in the next scene, even tho they are extremely in public and have just talked to the US prez/Alex's mom and the UK PM

ok it's 1am and it would be insane to do every scene and I fee like i've made my point but I do want to post two more pics:

NOO ALEX DON'T LAY DOWN THERE!!!! that's his right side even tho from the camera's perspective you are kinda on the right! that's so risky!!!!!!!!!! Also the straight lines are pointing downward to the right which is often a visual metaphor for things about to go downhill (in cultures that read left-to-right)

Alex starts talking about collapsing their private and public lives together and wow look at that, the camera also did its best to collapse Alex being on the right and being on the left together in the second shot that inspired this post

[delurkr]

Anne and James and sibling OCs in 1948

1948 being the year Anne and James married. Penelope is Anne's sister, and everybody else is James's family.

Cropped sections are further down. There's some connections from @108garys 's Super Massive Family Tree that play into everything (here's their portrait of older Penelope), and I'll leave it to them if they want to refresh everybody on the details. (Edit: 108garys gave lore in the notes). Some of the OCs have more lore than others, but I'm not getting into it here or doing deep dives about personalities and all that, so I just stuck together very non-deep little likes/dislikes/favorite activities lists for everyone. But first some notes on the art:

I went for a balance between dressy and casual, so most of these wouldn't be everyday outfits but none of them are formal either.

Nobody has naturally curly hair. Shirley has a perm, and Anne and Penelope use only curlers. (Unlike the other two, Penelope doesn't curl it every day).

If Anne's dress looks piecemeal that's because it is. Around 1948 was when women's fashion was transitioning from shorter wartime styles (minimum fabric) to longer hemlines, but ofc most women didn't just toss out all their old clothes, so the new things they bought were in the new style, while they also continued wearing what they had and sometimes altered their shorter things in various ways. The white border on Anne's dress is a recent addition, and so is the embroidered pocket because big pockets were also fashionable and it was intended to make the border look more like it belongs.

Shirley uses a brace, a built up shoe, and sometimes a cane due to effects from having polio when she was very young.

Bob has been in the U.S. Army for four or so years and he's currently a corporal. If part of his uniform is inaccurate then oh well because there were some details I just wasn't finding clear answers on (do point it out if you know something that's wrong tho). Also that's his hat he's holding in case it's hard to tell.

Ok now for the other stuff:

Anne, age 17 -

Likes: Dancing; recycling; Frank Sinatra music (don't spread it around); telephone party lines; the scratchy sound of crossing things off her to-do list.

Dislikes: Noisy children; poetry; men's cologne; bleached blonde hair; house pets; wrinkled clothes; rain on her hairdo; complainers; people with bad posture; anonymous love letters; being late; people who are late; unraked leaves; these peasants (most of the boys at school); being told she's too opinionated.

Favorite activities: Growing plants, mostly flowers; taking the mick out of James ❤

Penelope, age 8 -

Likes: Bicycling; puppies; reading, mostly fairytales; sticky sweets; movie stars.

Dislikes: Mud; talking to strangers; not having had her first kiss yet; never getting the lowdown after Anne's dates.

Favorite activity: Eavesdropping on the phone party line with Anne.

Shirley, age 24 -

Likes: Card games; chickens; picnics; reading; red on just about anything.

Dislikes: Snow; frogs; Bob; the sound of her own voice.

Favorite activity: Canoe rides to read on the open water. Her preferred victims to accompany her are James (she'll use her oldest-sibling authority for as long as she can) and whoever she happens to be dating (is that a weird date? idk but she calls it a no-go with a guy if he can't handle the quiet time).

Bob (Robert), age 22 -

Likes: Arm candy; being outside; cheating at card games; beer; animals, especially wildlife; pulling practical jokes on April 2.

Dislikes: Peas; serious conversations.

Favorite activities: Hunting; chasing women. (These things are not connected).

James, age 19 -

Likes: Holidays; history; picking dumb arguments; playing hockey when the pond freezes over; reading; PDA with Anne ❤

Dislikes: Waiting; hand-me-down clothes; being called Jimbo; having glasses.

Favorite activity: Finding money on the ground.

Clarence, age 11 -

Likes: Pocket knives; pirates; model train sets and dollhouses type stuff.

Dislikes: Surprises; hugs; getting up early; "old" people; getting his picture taken (that one's partly a joke, because I accidentally drew him looking a little moody for no reason).

Favorite activity: Fixing appliances and things around the house (under supervision because "fixing" is a bit of an overstatement. He can take things apart but has yet to learn how to properly put them back together).

Kathy (Katherine), age 7 -

Likes: Parties; collecting things; Brothers Grimm-style fairytales; terrible creature horror B movies.

Dislikes: Bugs, especially bees; nightmares from the terrible creature horror B movies.

Favorite activity: Poking dead animals. Trips to the butcher and dead mice found in the attic are her lifeline for now until she starts doing dissections in school. She definitely doesn't store said mice under her bed in jars she stole from the kitchen.

~~

Cool so now that everyone is sufficiently grossed out I'll leave it here for now 😊 Stay tuned I guess because sooner or later I'm going to follow this up with the three youngest when they're older, around 1959 because that was a happening point in time for them. And lastly, 108garys is free to hate anything I wrote because we share the OCs but I consulted them on very little of this lol.

[rebeccalouisaferguson]

This summer, you starred in the very successful MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE – DEAD RECKONING PART ONE. How has it been returning to the franchise after all these years?

It��s always wonderful and exciting. I’ve been a part of this journey now for 10 years, for three films and there are different aspects of filming it. You’re pre-filming as you are prepping, you’re getting ready, you’re training, you’re living MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE. Then it’s the filming, which is wonderful, tiring, exhausting and exhilarating. And then there’s a long pause before you get to relive all of those feelings when you start promoting it. I’m excited for the fans to see it, being a huge MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE fan, but it’s also such a lovely feeling to be reminded of the journey that you’ve had because in my mind, I’m filming other things, I’m busy doing other things, so I get to sort of defibrillate those emotions again, which is just wonderful.

What do you love most about this franchise and action movies in general?

I really love building the world prior to shooting, understanding the character, getting into it. I love the training. I am fortunate to be surrounded by the best of the best when it comes to either learning to hold my breath, deep diving, jumping off a roof, martial arts, gun fighting. It is such a weird world to be thrown into, cause it’s not my world, it’s not what I do on a weekend. And the travel is a treat. 

International audiences got to know you for your role as the iconic Queen Elizabeth in THE WHITE QUEEN. How do you look back on this role?

When I was offered the role, it was such an overwhelming moment because it happened so fast. It took years to process what had happened. The process of casting took months. I remember going in and then them not calling me back and thinking that I didn’t get it. Then they called me back again three times, put me in a hotel room and then all of a sudden I got a phone call at nine in the morning and they were like ‘You’ve got the role. We’re going to color your hair. We’re going to have a table read with all the actors and you’re moving to Bruges in two days’.

I kind of work well with such pressure, but it takes time to sit down and take in what just happened. When I was receiving award nominations and I was in the room with all of the people who I look up to, I just thought ‘I don’t belong here. Am I where I should be? ‘It’s a slow domino effect of realizing how lucky I am. And today I sometimes think it was insane when that happened.

Would you describe the role of Queen Elizabeth as the role that set the tone for the future of your career?

Yes, definitely. I remember in the beginning thinking MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE was what set the tone. It’s always sort of back tracing, always wanting to give praise to all the opportunities that I’ve been a part of. But it is obviously what would help my career get to the level it is today. And also it’s the fact that you’ve been given that possibility. I am going to give myself a pat on the back today. I grabbed it and I ran with it. I did what I could with the opportunity at hand. It’s not just sitting back and being grateful, it is working with what you have been handed as well.

Since THE WHITE QUEEN, you’ve starred in many big productions and have become one of the leading ladies in the industry. How do you personally feel about this ‘title’? 

It is so funny, I was having a conversation with my husband this morning at breakfast, where we were talking about our lives and what we’re missing and what we long for. You said to me that I’m one of the leading ladies in the industry. And I think I do not identify as that. I feel very lucky with the roles that I’m offered, but I always seek further and am thinking ‘Why am I not getting the indie movies? Why am I not being offered this? I should create this myself. I need to open this world for myself. I’m missing things here.’ It doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for where I am, but I very rarely stand still. I am constantly moving and aspiring to do new things. Iprobably need to learn to sit back and think about how well I’m doing, grab the family and have time off as well.

This November we’ll be seeing you reprise your role in DUNE: PART TWO. What can you share with us about this sequel? 

I’m so ridiculously excited for it to come out. Everything that I have seen, the little clips when I’ve done additional dialogue recording, is phenomenal, it’s extraordinary. When we have to do some additional dialogue recordings we go into studio, so we get to see some footage. Greig Fraser has taken this film to other levels when it comes to cinematography. I don’t like lifting one role over the other, but I have to say the new characters that have come in, Christopher Walken, Léa Seydoux, Florence Pugh, Austin Butler, they are mind-blowing. It’s gritty and gory and Jacqueline West’s costumes and Donald Mowat’s makeup, they win every prize in my book.

How is it working in such an all star ensamble, with such big names from the industry?

I don’t value a film that I do because it is ejected with so much fame more than I do a film that has less. What I do like is meeting people who are inspiring and kind and fun. And being on a set with a lot of actors gives you the possibility to merge and to share anecdotes and stories with them if they’re open for it. You might not click with everyone, but I’m lucky enough that I did with everyone on DUNE. My point is, it doesn’t matter how famous people are or how big things are.

Before you got into acting, you had been dancing since an early age. How did your acting career actually come about?

I wasn’t a dancer, but I loved moving. My mother raised me to try things out. I did ballet, tap, dance, street, funk, jazz. I did a bridge course with four 70-year old ladies when I was 14 or 13 because I was very good at counting cards. I did basketball, gymnastics. There’s nothing I haven’t tried. And I think that open-mindedness always helped me in the world of acting. I’m never scared of trying things. I was never worried of making a foolout of myself. I’m not too worried as a person. I have always been a person of leisure in a sense that I ride the wave, I ride what is interesting for me at the moment.

I’ve never been eager to prove myself at something specific. I am a person who is not pushing myself down, but I think I was always just good enough and I never pushed that extra mile. Like, I was an Argentinian tango teacher. I was good, I wasn’t great. I didn’t go the extra mile. Acting I think is the only thing where I’ve just thrown myself in full-heartedly. 

What challenges you the most about acting?

When I was little, my morning routine and my mom’s was putting classical music on, usually Mozart. Cause she thinks that’s a good morning start for the brain. We would have a cup of tea and then we would do three card games. One was poker. We would play poker with matches and every time I was given a new hand, I was excited to see what the cards were going to be. Even to this day when I play cards, turning out my first turn of five hands or five cards is exciting. 

That’s what I feel about acting. The first time I get to walk into costume and see how they’re thinking, the first time I walk onto set to see how the set designers have done their job, meeting the actors, every moment with acting is a new hand dealt. That’s what I love a lot. Life between people is a constant dance, give and take.

You are also a mom. How hard is it being on set and balancing your career with your family life?

The privacy of life is so wonderful and I think what I have managed to do is to maintain it. This means there’s scheduling, there’s structure. Me and my family, we’ve found a really good formula to how it works. Life is life for everyone. It’s constant scheduling, whether you have a nine to five job or you work traveling the world.

Rebecca, which moment would you describe as the most defining moment of your life so far?

I think it’s the moment when I was offered the role in THE WHITE QUEEN. It took me out of my security blanket of Sweden. And it’s not that I was seeking to leave Sweden, but it opened up an entirely new world for me. Being given the lead in this BBC drama, a world that I could not even imagine what it would be like, and living abroad for so long created a new vision for me and why I kept on going. Before that, I wasn’t sure I was going to act. I’d done a Swedish film called A ONE-WAY TRIP TO ANTIBES, which I loved, but that was the only film I’d really done. So the role of Queen Elizabeth was a defining moment that my career was probably going to go in this direction.

[jeonstudios]

Boy am I about to rant in this ask lol

The amount of people who want them (jk, OC) in DC to be end game makes me question whether they would survive a serial killer in a horror movie.

Basically, all I hear is "yeah he was mean to her, called her names, told her she doesn't deserve to be treated nice from men..BUT he's hot and said sorry!" Like...you really missed the point. I'm not saying they can't end up together but my girl OC has been through hell and back with the opposite gender. She needs to heal first lol

Also I'm glad DC is taking it's time because girl you ALMOST had me not read the rest of the chapter when I read she asked for handcuffs.

I was thinking "has everyone suddenly got amnesia and forgot he was mean to her? But oh well he's being nice to her so let's jump forward to a relationship... 👏 grab the handcuffs!!!"

Honestly I really don't think as of now they should be end game but let's see what he does to atone for his previous treatment of her. Does that mean that once he apologizes with words or actions he can get together with OC? Probably not, but it's up to OC. She hasn't been treated nice or as an equal from men. JK is too good to be true to just forget how she's been treated.

(and now for my literature interpretation of this series so far lol)

I really hope the next chapter with jks pov can clarify some of my doubts because the complete 180 he did is so....I can't wrap my head around it. He insulted her appearance, her chest, that she doesn't deserve flowers...but now that he found out she's a SA victim NOW she deserves to be treated like a human. NOW she's a woman deserving of flowers 🙄

I'm gonna give him a crumb of doubt because at the time, his friends, who are the perpetrators of OCs trauma, were nice to JK.

It's hard to imagine that a friend who treats you so nice can have this horrible side to them and assault OC. Not only that but they implanted a false narrative of what went down and because they are so nice to him, he took their story for what it was.

It's easy to say from an outsider perspective "well why didn't he come to his own conclusion and investigate before automatically assuming it was true?" But we're not omniscient. We can't predict the future and this perspective comes from what is known now vs what little information you had then. And this can fall both ways like yeah he didn't know much back then but also he could've dug a little deeper but that's such a rabbit hole I will not dive into cuz it's a neverending cycle.

ANYWAYS, Now that he's got the other side of the story, WITH PROOF, he wants to get justice for OC and maybe even start a relationship with her (TBD), but how can you do that when you were also indirectly hurting her with your words that further pushes her to not trust men? That further deepens her wound/trauma/wtv you wanna call it.

I mean think about it, if you were OC, you were close to dying at the hands of a man who wanted sexual gratification one way or another, and then it kinda swept under the rug...she's never gotten true justice. And because the guy hasn't been put in jail, it gives him an ego boost to think he got away with it and rubs it in OCs face by making up a false narrative that everyone believes and turns against her, further isolating her from who she can count on.

First, by getting away with the assault, he's won, and now by having people turn against her and hate her, he's won again.

DC jk and all the things he's said and done to her, indirectly adds more salt to a wound that hasn't healed. Yet again another victory to the perpetrator.

So at this moment, a "sorry" and "I'm not like the other guys, I'm a nice person, I took a knife for you, you can trust me" isn't enough for OC to heal. OC even said how she wants to trust JK but after everything she's been told, after everything she's been through, it's hard to put that guard down and just trust him. Because that's also how she was assaulted by her previous partner.

So...with that said, let's see what the next chapter reveals because right now the plot is in the middle and it can go in any direction. I think it was a good choice for OC to leave bc that whiplash from jk being rude to the greenest flag ever might be a bit too much for someone like OC who's only ever had bad experiences with men.

As for the romance between JK and OC, let's put it in the back burner! Lets put these cowards in jail first and then we can talk about it.

My girl OC needs therapy...

Oof! Sorry for the rant but I'm ready to look like a clown if the next chapter completely destroys what I just typed lol 🤡🤡🤡

to be fair and maybe play devil's advocate, i feel like, to many people, jk has already redeemed himself. because we already knew he was horrible to her before, but he did apologize pretty sincerely for how he acted because he didn't know. and then he died for her (but survived lol) only to go on to rat all the rotten men at the station out and take them out, one by one. then he tried to respect her decision to lay low for a while (literal months) but had to check on her because he was worried for her safery. and then he convinced her to stay with him because of that worry. so he's been "taking care" of her while also working almost day in and day out on catching the ones who raped and tried to murder her (and him!) while also trying to "uncorrupt" the station. not to forget that he went to her friend and talked about reopening her case against one of their colleagues that drugged her, and he didn't do that to earn brownie points with reader.

so i think it's a little of "he thought she was the evil perpetrator but now he knows that she's the victim"? more like they not only assaulted her but trashed her character?

but yeah, they did feed him a false narrative, which he shouldn't have believed!!! so his first and maybe biggest mistake is trusting these men over the woman blindly when he's very much aware of the fact that men do stuff like this? so he definitely should've talked to her instead of just believing them and then going to such lengths to "avenge" his friend.

because yeah, even if he's shown himself to be a good guy now, reader can't know exactly why he's acting like he likes her. if that's because he actually does like her or if there's another reason. because as she's come to know him, she realizes that he probably would've told her if he thought she was pretty and was attracted to her. and knowing everything that he said, it's understandable for her to doubt if he has feelings for her or not.

so i definitely understand both sides, both the people feeling like yeah, it hurts to know what he actually said and how he treated her, but he's shown (actions over words) that he's actually a good guy and if he can explain himself and thoroughly apologize, there's still a chance. and the people who feel like he went too far and the wounds are too deep no matter how good of a guy he is now.

anyway, thank you for your analysis!! i really enjoyed reading it!! ♥️♥️

[trulybetty]

Sunday | Week in Review VII

Not too much to report on this week - Mr. Truly and I both had the week off and then the little Truly's were thrown off their routine and it's been a week. But it was capped off with a new addition to the household!

So without further ado, let's get on with this week's late-night Sunday in Review!

Truly Betty Updates This Week…

Cake (Marcus Pike)

Autumnal Offerings

Distracting (Joel Miller)

Smut, just Frankie smut

Fics I Enjoyed This Week…

Shared Breaths (Frankie Morales) by @frenchiereading This whole series is such a delight to read and let me tell you, chapter nine is worth reading multiple times over, let me tell you that 😏. But this is a perfect story - you've got yearning for the first half and the second half is the play out of a developing relationship that is so fun to watch play out. If you love Frankie, you won't be disappointed in this.

Turbulence (Frankie Morales) by @rhoorl Jess' first run at a one-shot on our main man this week Frankie does not disappoint! I don't mind flying, but I can guarantee any flight sitting next to our aviation expert Mr. Morales is going to be a lot smoother. This is such a fun read and I really hope we see him again in a possible continuation of this.

Saying I love you through an accidental kiss (Joel Miller) Pre-Outbreak by @songsformonkeys This one reappeared on my dash this week and it's always worth a re-read and always one I'll recommend. It's Joel at his most hectic, which is very much how I picture pre-outbreak Joel and just the build-up here and the kiss is such a toe-curling delight to read, that I squeal each time even though I know it's coming.

Strawberries (Joel Miller) by @softlyspector This is set after Clouds, but doesn't have to be read first before this one. This explores Ellie and Joel's relationship after the events of TLOU and delves into TLOU2 territory (no spoilers in either one-shot). As much as I love the idea of Ellie and Joel living happily ever after in Jackson - I do enjoy an angsty dive into their relationship as it is in the TLOU2 games. This and Clouds are excellent takes on this!

Hungry Hearts | Epilogue + Bonus I Wanna Mary You (Joel Miller) by @atinylittlepain How my heart wasn't ready for this to end - but Gin gave Jerry the send-off they deserved and not only that, we were treated to a bonus second part to the epilogue that I'm still raving about! Honestly, who wasn't reading this? But if you weren't, I suggest you do - you can binge all the posted chapters! Jerry4Eva! 💘

Candy (Dieter Bravo) by @secretelephanttattoo I imagine any date with Dieter to be chaotic and El does such a great job of describing such an event here. I feel like a broken record with how many times I referred to it as such, but it really is a deliciously raunchy romp and I'd gladly go for Ray-Ban candy floss with Dieter any time if this is the end result.

Working Title (Dieter Bravo) by @rhoorl Finally got to reading this and devoured it all. It reads like a fabulous romance novel you’d read at the beach and then want to re-read again because it’s just that enjoyable! Plus the last chapter? My loins have not recovered lol, cannot wait for the next update!

Conversations with a Movie Star | Chapter 3 (Dieter Bravo) by @gnpwdrnwhiskey Aside from my own OC x Dieter, this pairing is hot on their heels for the title of favourite OC x Dieter. Ava keeps Dieter on his toes and has made herself at home at the Bravo Inn. The descriptions of landmarks in Myrtle Beach are fantastic, the chemistry is *chefs kiss*, and the way @gnpwdrnwhiskey writes Dieter 'Anthony' Bravo is fantastic. Please do take some time out to read this series - the premise alone is superb, you won't be disappointed - trust me!

Posts I Enjoyed This Week… Okay, so there's a reason this week's week in review is christened 'Sunday Thots' - the thots were out in force this week!

@goodwithcheese’s thread on the origin of Frankie’s oral skills

@beskarandblasters’s curation of creators with a smaller following

@legendary-pink-dot's Catfish Pond PHD program's latest curriculum, Pedro & Oscar

with Catfish PhD Logo, that I will figure out how to make into a shirt at some point 

@grogusmum doing the hard work for us and sending us all to horny jail

Jess’ deep dive on Grey Sweatpants Season with the Triple Frontier boys - thinking she should visit the Last of Us next 😏

Things I’ve Enjoyed This Week… No competition this week the most enjoyable thing was the addition of Francesca 'Frankie' Cat to the Truly household...

This Week’s Song… Not much has been played this week, but if you saw my mood board for Salt Water last week- this is where the title takes itself from...

Happy Sunday all! Here's to a great week ahead! 💕 xx

[kaydeefalls]

65 for Carthaginians, 66 for fic of your choice, 67, and 69 (always be fishing for recs)

Here we go!

65. If you wrote a sequel to [Carthaginians], what would happen in it?

LYKON MY BELOVED. Not the obvious answer, which I guess would be the followup of Yusuf and Nicolò searching for the lost Carthaginian children, but I honestly don't know how much of a story I have to tell there. However, the later ramifications of this particular canon divergence are fascinating to me, and having essentially swapped origin eras for Joe&Nicky vs. Lykon, I would love to dive into his alternate origin story. I spent way too long trying to pinpoint where in the early medieval period Lykon could have become immortal instead (for a single throwaway line in the one flashforward to present day scene), and it would be fun to explore that further. Or how the events of the movie play out differently with Lykon still part of the team - would he be the one to lose his immortality instead of Andy, since canonically he IS the first to die (and at only around 1000 years old, which is right around movie era in this AU)?

66. What’s a fun fact about [insert fic]?

I guess I'll go with what dreams may come (TOG fusion!AU with Inception), since that's the most recent fic I've posted. IDK how we define "fun fact" here, so here's something that pleased me when it finally came together. The fic alternates between past and present day scenes, and every single one of Nicky's dreams we see in a flashback shows up again in the nightmare Quynh traps him in. I did not plan that going in. I did not have the faintest idea how the final showdown was going to play out until just before I wrote it, and then had the absolute delight of patchworking all the prior dreams together into some kind of Frankenstein's monster of a dream. I'd struggled with writing most of that fic, but that section came together SO easily in the end. Love it when I subconsciously lay my own breadcrumbs trail.

67. If a fic was titled [insert made up title], what would this story be about/how would you write it?

...I'm not sure how to answer this one without the made up title of choice! But titles rarely come first for me. When I'm very, very lucky, they come relatively early on in the writing process, and not in a desperate scramble at the last possible minute. Though I do sometimes have titles sitting in the back of my head for years, waiting for the right fandom/fic to show up for them. Always satisfying when one of those finds a home. (I do currently have one of those on the backburner - a line from my wife's favorite poem - but the WIP in question hasn't coalesced properly yet.)

69. What are your favorite fics at the moment?

Okay, so I'm currently doing a deep dive into Heartstopper fandom, which uh I'm not sure anyone else here would care about, and I'm kinda casting the net pretty wide at the moment in that sort of new(ish) fandom haze, where I'm not as picky as I normally would be, but also everything I've read is kind of starting to blur together? I wish I thought to bookmark fics more - I use author subscriptions instead of bookmarks for my own personal reference, but that's uh less helpful in a new fandom where I don't actually remember any author's username out of context. The most recent fics I've bookmarked (in ANY fandom) are:

like in the dramas by shoutowo (Heartstopper) - canon divergence where Charlie and Tao start fake dating after Charlie gets outed, and the ensuing complications once he meets Nick; it's just super charming and a fun subversion of the fake dating trope, and Charlie's repeated attempts to fake-break-up with Tao amuse me greatly.

That Was the River, This Is the Sea by @what-alchemy (TOG) - modern AU for Joe/Nicky, I fucking love the way this fic depicts them both, and how REAL they feel. I can't speak from a cis gay male experience, being a queer woman, but the depiction of Joe and Nicky's desire for each other in this fic is the closest I've ever read to the way my many queer male friends talk about sex and relationships, it just rings so unbelievably true to me. And also it's just lovely.

...apparently I've only bookmarked two new fics in 2024? Ugh. I really need to use bookmarks more often. But genuinely I'm just in a weird Heartstopper reading haze at the moment and I don't know what to rec because I'd have to track them back down again first, and my brain is not capable of that at 1am, whoops. 🤦‍♀️