#look how sane and linear we are being

[voxofthevoid]

no. 40 sukuna/gojo role swap........ your MIND ohmy god. they're both power tripping menaces just different flavors, idk why i never thought of their places exchanged oughghhu DELICIOUS!!!!! And goyuu, what's closer than close? The vessel and the curse nestled in your ribs huh... the sweet rot growing into your heart and lungs and oh wowowow!!! I'm never not going to be thinking about Fallen God Gojo sealed into eyeballs. King of Curses Sukuna manifesting evil red eyes on yuuji boringgg— King of Blasphemy GOJO turning Yuuji in a overbright disco ball with too many all-seeing eyes like freckles, like stars, eheheeeee I love it i love it♡ and Yuuji popping eyeballs like grapes. I can't unsee it help😭 I found one(1, SINGULAR) fic w this premise already i need to hunt down moreee😬😬😬 thank you SO BMUCH for sharing your fics idea with us, your brain is a marvel♡♡♡ + and a terror, if my wip folder was closer to 100 than 50 for one fandom i'd crack like an egg are you kidding me🫠

Haha thank you 💙

The funny thing is that this idea was actually sparked by an anon ask from several months ago (when my plot bunny count was nearly half what it is now—nvm, I checked again and it was 61 then) that asked if I had any ideas for KoC!Gojou. At that time, I didn't! There was only KoC!Yuuji with Sukuna as the vessel.

But the issue with asking me if I have any ideas is that, if I find it interesting enough, my mind will end up latching onto it and spawning something, which is how #40 came into being.

Also, it's delightfully eerie how closely you've nailed my outline for Gojou's and Yuuji's appearances in that AU:

Blind eyes all over Gojou's body, filling with blue every time Yuuji eats one shriveled little ball. Number of active eyes depends on the number of eyes consumed. Closed slits all over Yuuji's body that stay open but blind after Gojou exits him. He'd have a time looking in a mirror and thinking of the time he called Gojou beautiful.

This is mostly a dark, angsty romance because I think there's no kind ending for Yuuji falling in love with the monster in his soul, even (especially) if that monster loves him back. The fic is meant to start with the aftermath of Gojou getting out and taking over...not the world, but Yuuji's corner of it and then work backward. Either reverse chronological order or non-linear, I haven't decided yet, but I want to cover all the important bits from their first meeting to the botched execution.

Also, I believe @laughing-sock was working on a KoC!Gojou fic when that linked ask came in, so that might help scratch your itch for such fics. Happy hunting!

(Bonus note about Sukuna in this AU: Special-grade curse user Sukuna. Yuuji's brother. He can be Yuuji's best inspiration to not let Gojou out.)

And well, are we very sure I haven't cracked like an egg? The more the WIP/idea number grows, the less sane I feel 😂

[patrickerville]

how do you feel when (or i guess if, because i don’t know how much fan content you see) people describe feeling vaguely religious towards s11? i think it’s in a similar way to how you’ve described dr. eleven’s story as being godlike, in the way that religion is just a guide on how to live better. i think it’s so cool how, in the show, kirsten and tyler interpret the graphic novel as a kind of religious text, and viewers feel the same way about the show itself. in a normal and not-insane way. (although i definitely did feel insane for a while there until i read what you’ve written about the show, which proves to me that obsession about threads and parallels and metaphors is just a byproduct of how good the story is.) anyway. this is kind of an abstract question but i’m curious!

Any way I answer this is gonna make me sound crazy, so I’ll just try to answer 🤣.

My experience of making this show did not feel like “authoring”; it consistently felt like discovering something that was already there.

My own personal level of obsession went to a place that I think seemed and felt like a kind of madness— and this was true even for the people deeply buried on the creative alongside me, who themselves were all a bit mad, too.

Because of the absolutely bananas way we ended up crossboarded and shooting out of order, as well as shooting in two different cities, as well as shooting DURING a real pandemic (but starting before one)… well, I think there was a period of time where my own brain disconnected from linear time, and I was existing in a fractured and totally alien state. Kind of me, but not me. I would talk for a long time and then realize everyone I was talking to had no idea what I was saying— I was leaping around between multiple episodes and switching from theme to character. It was… a lot.

I didn’t go crazy, but I went half-crazy, maybe, and the help and understanding of many beloved collaborators kept me tethered to the ground, too. So did the actors, who by nature just can’t exist in an abstract or nonlinear space while working on a specific scene. Thank god for the actors.

Finally, without getting too into the details, I also suffered what I would call a sudden collection of traumas— a number of bad things, but all of them largely centered around my sister being diagnosed with cancer— right before we started shooting. I started Day 1 of shooting having slept only a couple hours in the week leading up to that day, and I didn’t see my sister again, or know she was going to survive, for a full year after that day.

Amidst all this— every day I’d go watch something astounding happen, on camera. Every day felt like the world just kept showing me it’s most beautiful things. I think THAT kept me sane and okay, actually.

All in all, it was a holy and formative time for me, personally, and so the experience fans are talking about, when they talk about that feeling, is (I think) one I know, too. Not because I created it, but because the show made me feel it, too. I was looking for a reason to love life, whenever I was at work. First it was because my sister was going to die, and then… well, during the pandemic, it felt like everyone was going to die.

I loved it.

[pesterloglog]

Karkat Vantas, John Egbert

Act 4, page 1907

CG: OK IT'S A FEW MINUTES LATER.

CG: LOOK HOW SANE AND LINEAR WE ARE BEING.

EB: yeah!

CG: OK AWESOME, NOW FUCK YOU AND GOODBYE.

EB: wait!

CG: WHAT.

EB: i was just looking at all these rascals, and i was wondering...

EB: how they go back in time and become us and stuff.

EB: does it have something to do with the reckoning?

CG: HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT.

EB: you told me.

EB: we had this great dare going.

EB: to see who could be the least helpful and informative.

EB: and you totally lost, dude!

EB: you were hella helpful.

CG: I WAS OBVIOUSLY JUST SPITING YOUR STUPID POINTLESS HUMAN DARE.

CG: WHAT IS A DARE ANYWAY, IT'S NOTHING.

CG: SOMEONE SAYS DO SOMETHING AND THEN, OH LAUGH LAUGH, YOU LOSE IF YOU DON'T DO IT.

CG: THAT ISN'T ANYTHING THAT DESERVES A WORD.

CG: WE DON'T EVEN HAVE A WORD FOR DARE IN OUR LANGUAGE.

CG: THE CLOSEST APPROXIMATION WOULD BE "WORTHLESS FUCKING BULLSHIT WASTE OF TIME FOR SILLY LITTLE CHILDREN"

EB: oh, wow.

EB: is that the title of a movie too?

CG: YES, IT'S THE TITLE OF EVERY DUMB MOVIE YOU EVER LIKED.

EB: ha ha, that isn't even true and doesn't make sense!

CG: ANYWAY, HOW COULD WE HAVE MADE A DARE IF I'M MOVING BACKWARDS ON YOUR TIMELINE.

CG: YOU WOULD DARE ME TO DO SOMETHING, THEN I WOULD DO IT NEXT TIME, BUT THEN YOU WOULDN'T EVEN REMEMBER THE DARE.

CG: BECAUSE WE DIDN'T MAKE IT YET.

CG: THAT'S WHAT ISN'T TRUE AND DOESN'T MAKE SENSE YOU DAMP BAG OF PUKE.

EB: well yeah, the dare never happened, i was joking around and made that up to give you hard time.

CG: YOU HAVE SOUNDING STUPID DOWN TO SUCH A SCIENCE.

CG: WHERE IS YOUR LAB COAT AND TEST TUBES DOCTOR BRAIN PROFESSOR?

EB: i am wearing a lab coat!

EB: sort of...

CG: YOU LOOK LIKE AN ELF.

EB: that's bullshit!

CG: YOU LOOK LIKE YOU SHOULD BE BLOWING INTO A FUNNY LITTLE SHELL, AND LIMBERING UP FOR A SILLY COOKIE DANCE.

EB: do you even have elves?

CG: YES, LET'S COMPARE WHICH FANTASY CREATURES THAT DON'T EXIST WE BOTH DO OR DON'T NOT HAVE.

CG: WHAT A GREAT FUCKING IDEA, JOHN!

EB: uh, what?

CG: YOU ASKED ABOUT THE RECKONING, SO WHY DON'T WE TALK ABOUT THAT INSTEAD OF ALL THESE PRETTY MUCH TERRIBLE THINGS.

EB: ok.

CG: YEAH, SO WHEN THE RECKONING STARTS HAPPENING, ALL THESE PARADOX CLONES GET SHIPPED OFF TO METEORS, FLUNG THROUGH SKAIAN DEFENSE PORTALS, AND SENT BACK TO EARTH.

CG: END OF STORY I GUESS.

CG: BYE.

EB: wait!!!

EB: so that means...

EB: we are all sort of like superman?

CG: UH YEAH, I GUESS.

EB: cool!

CG: YOU ALL TRACE THE MYTHOLOGICAL FOOTSTEPS OF YOUR BELOVED HUMAN SUPERMAN WHO'S REALLY JUST A MUSCULAR CAUCASIAN ALIEN.

CG: IT'S HILARIOUS HOW HUMANS WORSHIP HIM AS A PINNACLE OF HUMAN HEROISM AND VIRTUE BUT HE ISN'T EVEN HUMAN.

CG: ACTUALLY IT'S INCREDIBLY PATHETIC.

CG: BUT ALSO IN A WAY KIND OF ADMIRABLE.

CG: BECAUSE IT MEANS DEEP DOWN YOU ALL MUST REALIZE WHO YOUR DADDY IS.

CG: WE ARE, BITCHES.

EB: yeah, superman is pretty cool, i guess.

EB: did you know nicolas cage was almost going to play superman one time?

CG: OH MY THROBBING PHLEGM LOBE, WHO GIVES A BARFING FUCK ABOUT THAT.

CG: JOHN EGBERT, YOU HAVE ASSASSINATED MY PATIENCE.

CG: ADIOS LOSER.

EB: wait!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

EB: get back to me in a couple minutes, ok?

CG: SD;LKFJSD;LKFJSDLFKJ;

CG: FINE.

[omamervt]

I've been going back and forth in my mind about whether Somnium Files: Nirvana Initiative was brilliant or lazy writing and while I'm not saying it's a bad game or story, the endgame plot twist was absolutely lazy writing.

Ok, not necessarily the twist itself, because that was a pretty clever way to contextualize all the clues we'd received up to that point. But how they hid it from us in the first place was lazy writing.

Past this point there are Nirvana Initiative Spoilers, you've been warned.

For context, what I'm talking about is the Ryuki side of the story. The twist required a lot of things to be plausible. For instance, if even ONE person had said the wrong thing to the wrong Mizuki during the past sections, the characters in the game would have figured out that something was up, and it was like, a LOT of people who knew that there had to be two Mizukis. But suspend disbelief for a minute and assume that by some miracle, that stays secret for 6 years. Given the context clues, the player could have still probably figured out before they made it obvious that our sense of time was being manipulated. Except for one fucking lie the narrative told us when we were playing as Ryuki, and that lie was that Ryuki was narrating the story.

Don't get me wrong, I think that you can lie to your audience in a lot of ways and still tell a good story. Now You See Me is a perfect example, because they warn you not to get too close to the action, or you'll miss something. They warn you CONSTANTLY. And yet it's so easy to get caught up in the movie's pacing, and if you fall for that, you fall for the assistant's deception - and likely miss WHO the assistant/mastermind is entirely. But you have every chance to figure it out if you can take a step back and take a good, hard look at the audience perspective character.

As much as you can misdirect, lie, throw up red herrings, you name it; you can't call your story clever if you don't offer your audience a chance to figure it out. And your audience can't hope to realize they're not seeing a linear story if they're lead to believe that one entire perspective of that story is someone recalling events from an interrogation room.

Because we're told that Ryuki is telling the story, we can accept that a lot of what we see and hear from him may not be true - the fact that he's not sane is literally the first thing we learn about him. But even when you are forced to question the order of events while doing Mizukis' story, it's simply not possible for Ryuki to have narrated events from the future. The player may be a character in the game who exists outside linear time, but we're given no indication that Ryuki or Mizuki share that power unless we bestow it upon them, which we didn't do in this instance because we had no idea what was going on yet.

It's one thing to lie to your audience about the nature of the information they're seeing. It's another to lie about how they receive it. That's one thing you have to be able to trust to participate as the audience to a story, and we couldn't trust that. It's almost worse than when this studio made the big bad villain of Zero Time Dilemma a character who was always just out of frame when everyone was together and whose absence nobody questioned when Zero was in a scene.

Sometimes Team Zero Escape can make a brilliant mystery while giving you clues out of context and wowing you when they finally fit the pieces together. Other times they can't seem to figure out how to make a plot twist without withholding crucial information from the player.

[crazy-pages]

Okay look, as somebody who loves math and tutored both calculus and remedial math for years, I think you are vastly underestimating what "one bad experience" in math does to students.

The thing about math is that it's deep, not broad. It is basically a straight line down with very little in the way of branching until after you have completed vector calculus, linear algebra, and high level differential equations (i.e. way further than most people get). And if you miss a step, there is no way to continue effectively learning math without going back to that step and fixing it.

If you miss a concept in literary arts or misunderstand a historical event or memorize a verb wrong in a language class, that will impact your learning of the subject, but it will not prevent you from advancing to the next level unless it is a particularly key concept. Most concepts in most fields broaden your understanding, with only a small minority that gets special attention being utterly necessary to continue to the next level.

If you miss a concept in math and it doesn't immediately make it impossible for you to learn the next concept, it's because it's a secret special land mine that's going to explode underneath you later. The only way a mislearned concept in math doesn't utterly fuck you is if you simply stop learning math before you get to the stuff building off that concept. And math also isn't intuitive, at least not until you've already had a number of successes in the subject. So if you make a mistake or a concept doesn't click, it's very difficult to fix that on your own.

Now this obviously means the sane way to teach mathematics, the way I tutored individuals, involves a lot of double checking that your student really understands each concept you've taught. It means that if a student is struggling you don't just check their understanding of the current topic, you also have to go back and check their understanding of the half dozen or more concepts it's rooted in. And then if something's missing you have to bring the current subject to a halt so you can go back and fix the root issue. You can't expect them to keep learning the current subject in parallel to their old problem, not and expect success. It's like asking somebody to marathon train with a broken leg.

But the way math sometimes gets taught, the way that's standard in the United States where I live at least, couldn't be less like that. It's extremely linear with relatively little review and absolutely no room for individual students to get focused remedial help, let alone for them to pause their current lesson to prioritize that.

In that environment one bad teacher or one particularly bad struggle with a concept isn't just demoralizing. It's crippling. It wrecks your ability to progress and then the next few years become an exercise in utter misery as you're essentially forced to run with a broken leg and shamed when you're not fast enough. And if the broken leg gets noticed you're not allowed to take a break, you're expected to set and splint your own bone while keeping pace with the other runners and to make up any lost time as soon as that's done. And the one option we actually have for relearning old topics is repeating a class, which is basically the most shameful punishment that can be inflicted on a child, that often doesn't even help because the foundational issue is a class or three back and not what is being learned during the year in which past educational failures finally compounded enough to truly tank a student's grade.

I love math. But that's why I'm so angry with how we teach it. The way we structure math education makes it a genuine exercise in misery and shame for a lot of students, and then we act surprised or disappointed when a little encouragement and talk about the wonders of math doesn't kindle people's interest.

I LOATHE “we didn’t need to learn Algebra” people. Believe it or not it’s good for you to know things and engage with different subjects. And it’s highly likely you got an education for free on top of it? Idk I’m getting to a point where now that I’ve been out of school for a sizeable amount of time it’s like. Holy shit I got to be taught and instructed in so many things for FREE? FREE?!?!? And I didn’t have to work?!?!? I still would never relive high school but like. Damn my boomer take is you should be damn grateful you’re getting or have gotten an education.

[astermacguffin]

What if the Mark of Cain manifests differently when it's imprisoning God and not the Darkness? If the Darkness makes the Mark bearer go insane with unbridled want for destruction, then what does sealing God make you do?

An obsessive desire for creation? Creation to the point of corruption? (Think of the Shimmer from the film Annihilation. Continuous reproduction to the point of begetting alien, cancer-like entities. A refracted, distorted notion of creation.)

Okay, so canon divergence from The Trap. They successfully seal away Chuck, then Castiel bears the Mark. (Jack won't be back until later episodes, so he's not here yet.)

At first, they think he's fine. Cas says he's not feeling any bloodlust just yet. (He does feel a certain itch under his skin. Not a desire to murder, but a desire to do...something. He doesn't tell this to anyone.)

His grace is getting stronger, almost archangel-like (if not more). It's incredibly helpful for hunts, and Cas is happy to feel his wings healthy again after a long time. Sam is happy for him, but Dean is suspicious of things (especially since he's a previous Mark bearer).

After a while, Cas starts feeling...burdened, almost bloated by grace. (After all, he does have access to an infinite supply of it.) He needs to have an outlet for it.

Cas tells them so and Sam suggests healing people. Dean gives the green light on the condition that he remains invisible and he doesn't go Godstiel on them again.

It's a great outlet, and for the first few weeks they start feeling normal again. But unfortunately, healing stops being enough to relieve Cas of his excess grace anymore. The mass healings start to pile up all across the globe and it catches everyone's attention. Some think it's a blessed miracle, some think it's a sign of the end times. They make him slow down on the healings after that.

Without an outlet, however, Cas starts feeling antsy and pained. They brainstorm on possible alternatives. Cas suggests going to Heaven and saving it from collapse by healing his brethren's wings and creating more angels out of consenting souls in Heaven.

He explains Heaven's endangered and dwindling numbers. Sam agrees that it would hit two birds in one stone: relieve Cas from excess grace and prevent the extinction of angels. Dean doesn't like the idea of more winged dicks so he shoots down the idea. Eileen says that since Cas is the one in pain, he should be the one to decide.

Ultimately, Cas defers to Dean's judgment (as always). Sam protests, arguing that he can't just shoulder that pain. Cas replies: "I've suffered worse, Sam."

Cas doesn't complain about the pain for about a week, so for a while, everyone believes him when he said he can shoulder the pain. One day, Dean finds him outside the bunker, groaning in pain as he bleeds himself out, his grace pouring into the ground and sprouting plants. Dean sees this and is finally convinced to allow Cas to make more angels.

What follows then is a series of escalating events:

While Sam and Eileen are practicing their witchcraft for spell they need in a hunt, Cas suggests to enhance Sam's physical and magical abilities using his grace. "It will make the process faster and safer," he reasons. He agrees, but Dean eyes this suspiciously.

During one of their hunts, they encounter a young and freshly-turned vampire. The boy begs them not to kill him, and Cas gives him a proposal. "Promise not to feed on humans ever again and I shall cure you of your hungers and your pains. Pledge your allegiance to me and you shall never be afraid of yourself ever again." The boy agrees, and before Dean could even protest, Cas slices his palm and feeds the vampire his grace.

They argue about the grace-feeding in the Impala. Dean notices Sam's pointed lack of complaints and figures it out. "You're in on this, aren't you? How long has Cas been doing this? He's going Michael behind our backs and you're letting him?"

Sam argues that it's different because Cas isn't making super monsters; he's making them less "monstrous" (whatever that means). Sam's obsession with his own "purity" is key to understanding him here.

One time, Dean catches Cas in his "garden" ("forest" seems more apt with how lush the greens already are) creating butterflies and bees out of thin air using his grace alone.

Reports of the miraculously healed people suddenly gaining new abilities like increased strength, heightened senses, and prophecy start popping up. Some are experiencing phantom limbs, talking about their sprouting "wings."

Sam is becoming addicted to Cas' grace to the point that he willingly lets himself be hurt in hunts just so Cas can cure him. Dean confronts him about this, but Sam just argues that he's "never felt this pure before." Eileenn shares the same concern as Dean.

Hunts are becoming less frequent the more monsters are being "cleansed" by Cas. The world is becoming disconcertingly quiet.

Cas' "garden" is starting to emit this strange aura. The plants and creatures growing inside it are starting to look more...alien.

One of the original angels goes to Dean and tells him of Heaven's affairs. The Host is stable again, but the angels he created are...not exactly angels. They're graced up and they sustain Heaven, but their true forms are "horrifying and incomprehensible, even to an angel." The angel adds that more than 60% of Earth's creatures have already been touched by Cas' grace.

The final nail in the coffin is when Dean catches Cas in the garden fiddling with his angel blade. It's emitting a strange glow, vibrating a subtle hum and looking as if it's liquid, flowing and distorting here and there.

Dean asks him what he's holding. "Oh, this?" Cas responds. "This is the Last Blade. Last, not in terms of time but in concept, for no other blade shall ever compare to it. The spark of creation. Fiat lux."

Dean's heart sinks. Of course. The First and the Last, Alpha and Omega. "Cas...the Mark, I think i-it's scrambling your brain, man."

"I know," he replies, eyes wet and apologetic. It's a small moment of lucidity amidst weeks and months of...whatever that was.

"Okay, okay, so you're still you, that's... that's good. Okay." Dean doesn't know how to approach this. Give him a fight and he'll know what to do, but this? Watching his best friend, the love of his life, be distorted into something incomprehensible? Yeah, this is totally beyond him.

"You know, I used to hate Chuck," Cas says. "How could the Father of All Creation be this angry, petulant child? But," he continues, "knowing what I know now, it's either regressing into a petty child or being reduced to insanity."

"Cas...what are you talking about, man?"

"No mind should bear this burden, Dean. No matter how infinite they are," he says, voice trembling in exhaustion.

(more below the cut)

He continues. "The awareness of everything is the awareness of nothing at all. Imagine perceiving every possible piece of information about the world all at once. Seeing light in all its forms all at once: ultraviolet, infrared, etc. Sensing all the neutrinos zip by, sensing gravitational waves, sensing the slighest bit of seismic activity."

Dean doesn't know how to respond, so he lets him go on.

"Knowledge can only ever be a slice of the Totality of Truth. Truth is absolute chaos, and Knowledge is the partial ordering of this chaos. One can sanely approach Truth only through organized paritions of Totality. Why do you think Chuck is so obsessed with stories? Stories are linear and finite; they're sensible snippets of the endless sea of possible worlds."

"So, what? Are you trying to—"

"I'm not trying to justify Chuck's actions, Dean," he interrupts. "I just want to contextualize them. Chuck's simplistic and repetitive narratives are what they are: manifestations of a chaotic Totality, gone insane trying to understand itself. Looking for simple things to hold on to."

Cas takes a deep breath. He speaks with a shaky voice. "I'm barely holding myself together, Dean. I can feel the universe beneath my skin."

He doesn't know what possesses him to ask, but he does it anyway. "What are you holding on to?"

Cas smiles at that. "You."

They stare at each other for a while, frozen where they stand. Cas, with unrestrained affection in his face. Dean, struck by shock and indecision. It's Cas who first breaks the silence.

"I think we both know what needs to be done, while I'm still lucid enough." Cas slices his palm and lets his blood drip down the soil. He then thrusts the Last Blade into the ground, lifting it when the soil glows.

Dean stared in awe as the ground erupts and a familiar shape rises from the hollow. "Is that.."

"The Ma'Lak box, yes. I also enhanced it with the Blade to be able to house things as powerful as me."

"Cas, wait, maybe we can think of another way to—"

"Dean," he says, calmly. "You know there's no other way. I wouldn't ask this of you if there was."

In any other scenario, Dean would've kept arguing, but even he knows that they're running out of time. Sam's grace addiction is getting worse and all the creatures touched by Cas' grace are slowly mutating into eldritch horrors. Dean offers a shaky nod. "Okay."

Tension visibly releases from Cas' body. "Thank you, Dean." He opens the box and enters it with ease. "When you lock this, bury me with the garden's graced soil. Once I'm under, my influence over the world should dampen."

Dean gives a wordless nod. For a while, they just stared at each other, Cas lying down and Dean trying to memorize every inch of his face while he can.

Cas presses his hand into Dean's left shoulder where his mark used to dwell. "My untainted grace," he whisper gently. "Some of it is still inside you. That's probably why you're not as affected by me."

Dean wants to say, I'll always be affected by you, but he holds himself back.

He takes his hand back, a bloody handprint now on Dean's jacket. "I love you, Dean," he says, breathless.

"Cas..."

"I probably would've built up to that if we had more time but," he makes a surprised laugh, "I am, as you would say, already 'losing my marbles', so."

The air quotes would've been funny and endearing in any other scenario, but it just makes Dean's vision blur up with tears.

"Thank you for everything, Dean. I know we've done nothing but repeatedly hurt each other these past few years, but I don't want to spend a deathless eternity with that as my memory of you. I forgive you, even for the things you haven't forgiven yourself for yet. And I'm sorry for everything, especially for ending things like this."

He should probably wipe away his tears to clear his vision, but Dean can do nothing but stare at Cas in awe, in fear, in grief, in reverence. They're both fully crying now.

"Goodbye, Dean."

"Wait, Cas."

Cas looks at him, waiting.

"Can you...can you say it again?"

He doesn't need to clarify what 'it' means. They both know.

With one last mournful smile, Cas says: "I love you, Dean."

And with that, Dean finally gathers all the strength he needs to shut the lid and lock the box. He stares at it for a while, unblinking. He forgot to ask, Can you hear my prayers down there? But it's too late now to ask.

The box automatically lowers itself into the hole it arose from. Now all that's left to do is to cover it again with soil.

Dean doesn't bother with a shovel. He gently buries the box with his hands deep in the soil, some of it getting trapped under his nails. He continues the mindless task, whispering a tireless series of I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I hope you're okay I'm sorry, over and over between his quiet sobs. Cas is quiet inside the box. No screaming or crying. Dean doesn't know if that's better or worse.

When the final clump of soil is pressed into the mound, he suddenly feels it: a visceral shift that echoes throughout the world. The alien glimmer of the garden dims, and the world corrects its axis. Dean screams his agony into the air.

That's how Sam finds him: sprawled over a mound of soil, crying his heart out. Dean doesn't need to say anything: he knows what happened. He pulls his brother off the ground and brings him inside the bunker.

For the first two weeks, Dean cycles through drinking and passing out in various places in the bunker. If he's not wearing the jacket, he's holding it with close to him. Sam gives him a considerable space to grieve while he monitors the world grace problem with Eileen. The grace mutations have significantly dropped since then and everyone's going back to normal.

Unfortunately, that means monsters are getting hungry again. Sam doesn't want to leave his brother alone after going nonverbal with grief and dysfunctional due to alcohol. Eileen assures him that she can handle hunts on their own and that the hunter network that they're building will lessen the workload.

Sam's attempts to sober Dean up finally work, mostly due to the latter having very little strength to protest. Dean remains sober an entire day for the first time in weeks, and all he can think about is: I haven't prayed to Cas in a while. The longing might have reached him, but never a coherent prayer.

The first time he goes out of the bunker in a while, he heads straight to Cas' garden. Sam's glad that he's finally going out because "the sun is good for you" or something, but he's really only here for Cas. He kneels in front of the burial mound (where a patch of an unknown species of flowers is already growing).

The first prayer he says to him in a while is: I love you, Cas. I should've said it while you were still here. Not saying it out loud and just strongly thinking about the words somehow bolsters him to get the words through.

He's crying again, and he knows he's losing coherency. In his mind, he's explaining about his hangups and his regrets and his continuous denial of his own joy, but one constant remains: he's beaming all his love and affection into this prayer.

He's halfway through explaining all the traits that he finds endearing in Cas when suddenly, he feels it like a snap. If the glimmer dimmed when he buried Cas, now it's as if it was never there in the first place. With an unsettling amount of certainty, Dean just knows that Cas is gone. For real, this time.

"C-cas...?" It's the first thing he's said in a while and it sounds rough in his long unused voice.

"CAS! CAS!!! " He's now screaming, ripping away the flowerbed with his bare hands and scratching the soil away. Tears are obstructing his vision, but he has no time to wipe them away. He needs to make sure that is really gone. His hands are bleeding and he doesn't give a damn.

Eventually, Sam comes running towards him. "Dean! Dean, stop!"

He tries to hold his brother back, but Dean just keeps on clawing away soil. "Sammy, Sammy he's gone, he's not there anymore, Sammy I have to see, please, let me see Cas again, I need—" he breaks into sobs again, and like a puppet with its strings cut off, he slumps into Sam.

"Dean, it's okay, it's okay..." he says softly to his shaking brother.

Eventually, when Dean calms down, he looks at the carnage he's done and starts sobbing again. The flowers, his last evidence of Cas being here, are all destroyed. Now Cas truly is gone.

. . .

When Cas first heard Dean's confession prayer, he was overcome with joy. When he realized what that means, however, his stomach suddenly sinks.

He hears before he sees the Empty arrive, slithering like black goo.

"Wow, were you excited enough for eternal slumber that you wanted a preview?" The Shadow teases in Meg's voice.

At first, he was dreading the Empty, but now that he thinks of it, it's actually the perfect prison for him: a vast, endless nothingness for him to fill with his creations.

And if Jack wasn't in Heaven, that only means that he's in the Empty, and he can't wait to see his son again. Even when blinded by the madness of the universe, he can never forget the joy of being a father.

"Yes," he replies, "I'm actually glad you're here now."

. . .

Somewhere around the globe, Billie drops Jack back.

"Don't worry, kid. You'l reunite with your father very soon."

(to be continued)

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 23 - So Far From Who I Was

Masterlist; Chapter 22

Summary: As plans for operation in Stalsk-12 are underway, you and Neil can’t seem to find a common ground. His selfish plans overturn everything...

Warnings: Even more angst (sorry!!! swear it will be over very soon); swearing; some slightly dubious thoughts appearing in the reader’s minds but it’s nothing too serious.

Author’s Notes: Okay, I’m really sorry for the 10.8k, but it once again shows that I’m incapable of writing short things. This one is a wild ride and it was fun to write even if painful at times... I hope you’ll ‘enjoy’! Let me know how you liked it... and I promise... fun is near :)))

From that morning, when the precious intel magically appeared for you all to use, the metaphorical dice were cast. The last stage of the plan was officially on, and there was not much time to waste. After two days of chaotic talks, interrupted by training and trying to make sense of living aboard the icebreaker, you were told to meet with everyone else on the bridge for the official confab. Your war council consisted of TP, Neil, Ives, Wheeler, and yourself. And you were the first to admit that you had no clue what your job was supposed to be there. However, ignoring the deepening sleep deprivation, pounding headache, and weariness that has made home in your heart, you made it to the destination with time to spare. That morning the sky over the Barents Sea was overcast with heavy, grey clouds, increasing your internal melancholia and tiredness. Basically, life was hard. And you still contemplated joining the seals. Probably more often than any sane person should. But then you never really considered yourself rational. Sighing, for the umpteenth time this morning, you sat down on the sofa and relished in the solitude. In moments like this, without the oxygen mask making you feel close to suffocation, or the looming danger of losing your control around certain individuals, you were almost at peace. They never lasted long.

“Morning sunshine,” Ives marched into the room with a grin on his face.

He was one of the people you could tolerate. Still.

“Hi,” you cracked a smile of your own in his direction.

He took off the mask and opened up the laptop, preparing for the meeting. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Ives groaned, stretching his limbs exaggeratedly.

“The bloody bunkbeds are a pain in the arse,” you snickered at the comment.

“My condolences,” offering him a mournful expression, you stood up.

Wandering over to the panoramic windows, you took a moment to stare at a seagull diving on the horizon. Well, technically it was springing up from the sea, but you preferred to imagine the traditional way of things. Just to maintain a functioning brain.

“Not everyone is lucky enough to have a Prince Charming looking out for their comfort you know” the casual remark made you look up at Ives.

Sure as hell, he was grinning smugly, satisfied by how he has managed to catch you off guard. But that was not the most outraging bit…

“Prince Charming?” you repeated with a deepening frown, “Spare me please, I’d rather forget he exists” conversation was ruined.

Prince Charming, my ass. Unless those tended to be lying bastards that never knew what they wanted. Or terrifyingly beautiful idiots that should never be trusted. Well… fuck.

“Good luck with that” Ives patted you on the shoulder.

You knew that despite the nonchalance, he was someone you could count on. For a second, you contemplated asking him to punch Neil next time he shows up. However, all train of thought disappeared when the man himself walked into the room the very next minute. That same neutral smile on his face, blocking off any attempts to read his mood. His gaze slipped over you. A shadow of a frown as though your presence was not a pleasant discovery. Just brilliant.

“Good morning” Neil nodded in your direction.

You could see Ives hesitate as though wondering how much could have been overheard. You found that you did not care. Ever since your blunder in the kitchen, you came to a decision that you need not hold back. Neil never did, after all.

“Morning mate” Ives squeezed his shoulder in a greeting.

Before either of you were forced to initiate small talk, TP marched in, with Wheeler following at his heels. With the whole team on board, you could skip the awkwardness and begin. You took your seat on the side of the table and placed the dossier with plans right in front. That way, you could have an easy escape should it be needed. These days you could never know for sure. The first surprise of the meeting took place when you heard a scrape of the chair on your side, followed by someone sitting down. One look was needed to ascertain that it was the blonde bastard. Fab. You refused to give him any satisfaction of being caught staring and so you focused on the documents, reading the same set of instructions for the hundredth time.

“Do you want coffee?” his question took you by surprise.

Looking up into his blue eyes always felt too startling. Especially considering your history. But that did not seem to matter whenever your gazes met. That same jolt of electricity heightening your senses. Until you would look away again, Neil was everything you could focus on. On the periphery of your attention, you could see Wheeler prepare cups of the beverage in the small kitchenette. Right…

“Yes, please,” perplexed by his helpfulness, you gave him the tiniest of smiles.

In response, Neil only nodded and got up, joining Wheeler at the counter. That was surprising. Somehow you assumed that he would do everything not to interact with you like that. And yet he was willing to get you coffee, knowing full well how dependent on it you were. When Neil sat down again five minutes later and handed you the mug, you muttered:

“Thanks” your hands brushed for a millisecond, causing a minor heart palpitation.

Nothing new. He met your gaze again, smiling lightly. It was in the moments like this that you felt completely at a loss for words. The tenderness and attention felt like the old days, as though nothing happened. But it did. And it made no sense.

“Hope I got it right” breaking the silence, Neil gestured towards the coffee steaming underneath your nose.

He used to know your coffee order well. Unable to deny yourself the curiosity, you took a sip of the beverage under his watchful gaze. Of course, it was perfect, a spark igniting your body with energy. Ignoring the idiocy of the situation, you grinned at Neil over the brim of the mug. Conveying gratitude more than any words could. Judging by the glimmer in his eyes, he understood.

“Attention, please,” Ives’s annoyed voice brought you back to reality “You’ll flirt later,” you blushed furiously at the comment.

Shooting daggers at the squad leader, you focused all of the attention on the dossier again. Yeah…no.

The next hour was spent trying to make sense of the plans you all had been weaving since the intel came. The obvious parts were the facts: a deserted city in the middle of the Siberian steppe, the dead-drop in the cavern underneath the ridge, three ways in, and a lock, that was the crux of it all. The instructions from TP were ominous enough: no guaranteed way out for whoever would open the door. And that fact was the needed spark that day…

“So, temporal pincer” Ives summarized the last few minutes of the discussion, writing the words on the whiteboard “One team normal, the other inverted and they deal with the mercs. A splinter unit goes into the dead-drop and extracts the algorithm before the timer goes off” he added.

That was the obvious bit. You finished the coffee in one swig, feeling Neil’s knee bump into yours under the table. It was like this for the past hour. Sudden touches, making you wonder whether it was all intentional. Another form of elaborate torture. Or whether it was just Neil unable to control his long limbs as per usual.

“Kat is the backstop?” you asked the question, distracting yourself from the mess in your head.

“Yep,” jotting down the note, listening in to the squad leader, “That’s the simple stuff. What we need to figure out is how do we deal with that lock, and what about the splinter unit”

Fun. You skipped through the information again, hoping to find any source of inspiration in the materials.

“What do you mean?” TP asked, and you glanced up at him.

With the arms folded on the table and face frozen in a permanent frown, you could feel the tension radiating from him.

“They shouldn’t leave the field” Ives shrugged upon an inquisitive glare from the boss “It’s safer that way” the cold steel look in his eyes was foreign.

It was a terrifying realization that he was right. If you were to succeed, you had to make sure that it could not happen again. At least not in the linear sense. Looking around the people sat at the table, your heart sank. It could as well be that you were not coming out of this alive. Not all of you. TP had to survive if the story was to follow as it should. But for the rest of you, nothing was guaranteed. Enough to make the anxiety worse.

“Right,” TP’s sombre nod made you focus back on the moment “I don’t think we need to decide on who that will be this early,” he added, his gaze slipping over all of your faces.

Looking at the companions, you could see that everyone else was deep in thought. Mortality was never something you paid much attention to, preferring to stay sane by taking every day as it is and then moving onto the next. When you finished the university and started getting used to the idea that your future will be spent behind the desk of one of the governmental buildings in Whitehall, you stopped giving it much thought. Death would come when it had to, and that was it. But apparently not. Perks of choosing an unusual occupation. Feeling the stress levels elevate, you got hold of the passing thought. The damned lock that has been at the forefront of your mind since the news first came. Maybe now was time to voice the vague plans…

“When it comes to the lock… I’ve been thinking-”

“It’s rather obvious, isn’t it?” Neil’s interruption made you look up at him sharply.

What? You did not like the enigmatic smile gracing his features. As though you have missed something glaringly self-evident, and he was waiting for you to catch up. Impatiently, at that.

“Neil… elaborate please,” TP’s plea was dripping with tiredness.

Relatable.

“I’m the best locksmith out there” he shrugged smugly, ignoring your stare.

You did not like where this was going. Before you could find any words of response, Ives’s dry chuckle pierced the silence.

“Smooth, mate,” he added when Neil turned to stare at him.

“It should be me,” the blonde man pressed, annoyance seeping into his words, “Ives, you know that. Stop looking at me like that” he waved his hand at the squad leader.

The pieces clicked in your head. Fuck. He sounded too sure. As though he has already made up his mind. But…

“The person who opens the lock doesn’t have a guaranteed way out” Wheeler looked weary, as though she was scared about the direction of the conversation.

Exactly. The heart was hammering in your chest, slowly absorbing the reality. Figuring out the implications. No. You could not allow that. Even the mere idea was enough to make you nauseous. It was one thing to wish you did not have to deal with Neil, the other to consider that he would volunteer for something like that.

“So?” the nonchalance in his voice was terrifying.

He was still refusing to meet your gaze, but you persistently kept your eyes fixed on him. Urging him to give in. To be able to check this was actually happening. Because once Neil would lock his eyes with yours, you had a chance of getting to him. Until he said it to your face, you did not want to believe it.

“That could be a one-way trip,” TP voiced your thoughts, eyeing Neil warily.

You could see that he was surprised and concerned. Ever since they were stuck in the container for a week, a comradery has formed. Finally resembling what you were used to from them. But now Neil was willing to destroy it all. One-way trip. The ultimate sacrifice. No.

“Evidently,” another shrug.

That was the needed signal for your brain to kick back into action. To fight. Point out the insanity of the situation.

“Surely there’s a different way of dealing with this. We could send the locksmith before the splinter unit and-” your rant got interrupted with a sudden creak of chair to your right. Impatience.

“Why complicate something simple? I go in and open the door. That’s it” Neil flayed his hands around as though compensating for the tension permeating the room.

Wishing to dissolve it by fake excitement. Not on your watch. Urging your body to stop trembling, you garnered the strength to voice the obvious question. The one everyone seemed to skirt around for the past ten minutes.

“You don’t want to come back?” your voice wavered, betraying the nerves.

That was exactly what Neil needed to finally look you in the eye. With reluctance, he turned to you. When your gazes met, he flinched. Barely perceptible and yet there. Great.

“This isn’t about what I want or don’t want” you could tell Neil was just about keeping himself cool.

This could go either way. You found yourself on the tipping point, tiptoeing the edge. The fall never seemed so inviting. Almost as good as letting yourself drown in his eyes. Anything to ignore the reality.

“As if you knew what you want,” you muttered, aware he will catch on to the implications.

Neil clenched his jaw as his hand gripping the mug tightened. You have hit the mark. Top job. It took him a moment to respond. You could feel the gazes of everyone else fixed on you two. Their breaths were held as though afraid anything could set off the explosion. They were probably right.

“…Maybe you haven’t gotten the memo yet, but this isn’t about us anymore. If the task requires sacrifice, then be it” Neil finished the sentence with a hard look in his eyes.

Us? The emphasis he placed on the word made you blink in shock. On its own accord, your mind drifted back to the conversation in Tallinn. We’re just us. Me and you, was what he said back then. Only now, it was not that simple. Ignoring the ache in your heart, you swallowed hard, trying to find any traces of reason.

“But-” it was not meant to be.

Before you could add another word, Neil took hold of your hand, making you shut up. Shocked, you met his eyes, only to be paralyzed by the harshness of his expression. Your protests were not welcome. He has made up his mind.

“Darling, I appreciate the concern. However-” his tone was dripping with condescension.

The nickname felt like a slap. You tugged at the hand he still had in his grasp, cutting in sharply:

“How very patronizing of you” giving him the fakest of smiles, you added, “I had the illusion that you’re better than this… but well, as with most things I was wrong” a shrug to complete the insult “I still think there must be a way around it. There’s a reason why we got this warning” ending the torture of prolonged eye contact, you glanced around the table.

A silent cry for help. TP met your gaze, rapidly catching on to the desperation pouring out of your eyes. If anyone should get it, it’s him.

“Okay, hold on. Let’s suppose we do it as you say-” the boss interjected, putting all of the charisma into the sentence.

For nothing.

“Maybe the reason was that you need time to get used to the idea. Clearly, you’re the only one who opposes it this strongly” Neil was still looking at you only.

Cold blue eyes and lips twisted into a cruel smirk. That was the same man that fought with you on the highway in Tallinn. Terrible beauty. And yet, you could not look away, drawn by the gravitational pull that kept you tied to his side.

“What are you trying to say?” your voice sounded small.

The confidence was gone. The gloves were off. That was it. The explosion everyone feared. Judging by the way Neil leaned in closer, it was all part of the plan. Calculated and measured for the greatest impact. His knee bumped into your thigh. You froze as his nose brushed over your ear. Too close.

“That you lied to me a few days back. That you still l-” blood froze in your veins as you took in the meaning.

Before he could say the word, you hissed and lurched back.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the curse ripped apart the tense silence.

The pain was unimaginable. You felt close to screaming. Helpless. Alone. Desperate. In love. All for nothing.

“As I said, sometimes feelings need to be put aside. Whatever they might be,” you heard his voice as though from afar.

Enough. Releasing a long exhale, you closed the folder and stood up. That was enough. He did not deserve the sight of your tears.

“Now, let’s assume I go, open the door for the splinter unit, and… What are you doing?” Neil noticed your movement a second too late.

The confusion on his face was almost laughable. Pity.

“What does it look like?” you scoffed, pushing the chair back onto its place “I’ve had enough of this sacrificial bullshit and personal insults” addressing the room at large, you added, “If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the range”

You noticed Wheeler’s sympathetic nod breaking in through the concern on her face. Ives looked pissed off, and you could not blame him for it. You have made quite the show. Again. TP just glanced at you, utterly perplexed. There was no logical explanation for any of this.

“You can’t just-” attempting protest, Neil took hold of your hand again.

You knew the purpose behind that. If everything else failed, he was well aware that touch was your weakest point. That previously it always worked. Not anymore. You met his eyes, encountering nothing but annoyance and frustration.

“Neil” Wheeler’s warning was a welcomed addition “Let her go,”

That was all he needed. Letting go of your hand, he gave you a final look. Something shifted for a split second. But you found that you did not care. Without a second thought, you bolted out of the room. The very last thing you heard felt like the final blow:

“She’s being ridiculous,” Neil muttered dejectedly.

She. Just that. With shaking hands, you closed the zip lock.

“And you’re stupid. Sit the fuck down,” Ives’s command rung out in the air behind your back.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you ran down the corridor. Fuck.

*** That day you have successfully managed to hide from everyone. Wheeler came to check up on you in the evening to, as she put it, make sure you have not taken the shooting practice a little too seriously. You could only offer her your tear-streaked cheeks and reddened eyes as you assured her that this would be the worst state she was likely to see you in. Was that a lie? Maybe. To put it bluntly, after the morning nightmare of a confab, death sounded like an interesting option. Certainly better than another week of Neil offering to get himself killed just because. You chose 2 am that night to finally emerge from the cabin in the search of food. Without bothering to touch up your bedraggled appearance, you tiptoed down the corridor, taking one extra look at the door of Neil’s room. Why? Fuck knows. The silence was encouraging. However, that confidence was to be your ultimate downfall.

The moment you dealt with the airlock leading to the galley, you knew that you were not alone. Neil was there, chatting to one of the squad members you vaguely remembered from the days spent in inversion. Dominic, or something. Briefly, you considered turning back around and leaving as though you were never even there. But when the men turned, and your eyes met, it was too late. Luck was never on your side.

“Hi,” you gave them both a nod and opened the fridge before either could take a longer look at you.

“Evening” Neil cleared his throat awkwardly.

After a pause, the men picked up their conversation in hushed tones while finishing sandwiches. Mindlessly you stared at the contains of the fridge, hoping to appear occupied. To be forgotten. But to no avail. You could feel someone’s gaze burning into the side of your head. Somehow you knew that if you dared look up, the blue eyes would be there. Ready to analyze you. To find weaknesses and strike when appropriate. You could only hope he would not do it with Dominic present.

Fridge held no answers. You closed it quietly and took hold of the granola bar from the cupboard. Only tea left now… easy. They were still talking. From what you could hear, it had something to do with the inverted weaponry and the training you were all forced to recap before Stalsk. You thanked the gods for the presence of the buffer, as you not so patiently waited for the water to boil. The false sense of security shattered seconds later:

“Thanks, mate. See you in the morning, yeah?” Dominic rinsed the plate quickly and started to put on the mask.

What is worse, Neil was not doing the same. Instead, he was still sitting at the table, smiling at the colleague.

“Yep. Can’t wait,” the fake enthusiasm radiating from him in waves.

But it seemed like only you could see it. Another observation for nothing. Your pulse quickened as you realised that it was only a matter of seconds till you were alone again. And the fucking water was still boiling.

“Goodnight, Y/N” Dominic smiled at you before moving to open the airlock.

“Night night,” your response came out too breathlessly.

Crap. Just like that, he was gone. It was you and Neil, staring at each other like two animals locked up in a cage. He quickly assessed your appearance, taking in the puffed-up eyes, tangled hair, and shaking hands. You wanted to ask him whether he was satisfied with his work. But that would mean admitting how much it hurt. And your pride was in the way. The kettle switched off. Neil’s taxing gaze stopped as his eyes widened.

“Is that-” that is when you realised.

Fuck. When leaving the cabin, you have not changed. That meant you were still wearing the only article of clothing that brought some comfort. Neil’s burgundy sweater. And he most certainly recognized it.

“Neil I-” his name was the only answer as you struggled for words.

Neil stood up and pounced, closing the distance. The malicious look in his eyes was terrifying. And inspiring.

“Why do you have my sweater?” to emphasize the point, he took hold of the material, drawing you near in progress, “I didn’t take you for a thief,” delivered with a cruel smirk.

With Neil that close and acting ridiculously, you realised that above all, you were tired. And had enough of this. Of him.

“I used the opportunity and went into your apartment,” a tight-lipped smile thrown in before he could interject, “Yes, I know, don’t worry, I haven’t stolen anything else,” you added, enjoying the surprise flashing in his eyes.

He forgot about the keys. Or did not think you would use them after everything. And now, when he realised how much you knew, it was hard to accept. That was encouraging. You waited for Neil to bite back, letting yourself stare at him without shame. His eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes lit up. There we go…

“You know that you’re not making any sense?” he blurted out the question and tugged at the sweater “You just- You’re telling me that it’s all over and yet here you are, wearing my clothes” another tug, bringing you just as close as the last time “I mean that’s one way of confusing me further” he finished on a whisper.

It took you a moment to recover. To realise that once again, you were too close. When that clicked, you took a step back and met Neil’s gaze. Too satisfied. His pupils were darker than usual, and that was worryingly enticing. Focus. Anger was the answer.

“Confusing you?” a sudden idea struck, “Fucking hell, you know what?” another step back, “Just take it, and let’s end this discussion” you started taking the garment over your head.

“What- Why are you...” much to Neil’s shock.

Good. The cold air hit your body as you took off the sweater and threw it in his face. You were eternally grateful to your morning self for putting on that tank top. Not much, but still preventing you from the walk back in only the bra. As Neil scrambled to pick up the garment that fell onto the floor, you added:

“I’ll give you back the keys tomorrow” you met his wide-eyed stare with pleasure, “There’s no need to stare. You’ve seen it before,”

Yet, the way his gaze roamed over your body was fascinating. There was nothing to see there, but still, he seemed transfixed. You took that as your chance to strike.

“Hell, you’ve even had your hand down my pants. Twice” Neil flinched, and you smirked, “Talking about wrong life choices and all that” it was nice to see him hurt.

For once. Even if it was another lie. He looked lost, unable to find a response to something like that.

“I-” a pathetic attempt at god knows what.

You took a final glance at him there. Clutching the cashmere sweater in his hand. Hair falling into his eyes. Shoulder sagged. Defeated. Confused. Finally.

“Goodbye,” you grabbed the mug and left before Neil had a chance of recovery.

The walk back to the room was cold. But probably worth the pain.

*** Sighing with happiness for the first time that day, you closed the door to the cabin and collapsed onto the bed. For the past three hours, you have been occupied with training that Ives made mandatory for all the mission participants, and you were exhausted. The only encouragement was the fact that the squad leader made sure your shift was different from that of Neil. What was even better, he did that without you needing to ask first. Just like that. And you were very grateful. Moments like those last two encounters in the kitchen were best avoided at all costs. Any contact was ideally off the books. Even when it hurt.  

With the sweater gone, you had no more things to hold on to. Well, apart from all those memories and the ability to read him like an open book. Utterly useless skills like algebra or functions at this point. You have changed into the comfiest set of sweatpants and a hoodie, hoping to spend the next few hours marinating in your misery. But long before you could even think of the first reason to cry, a knock made you jump up. Who the hell…. Grudgingly, you got up and opened the door.

“Hey…” you did not expect him.

Despite everything, your heart was naive enough to stumble upon the sight of Neil. And his stupid hair. And the repentant look in his eyes. What even.

“What do you want?” you decided to cut the bullshit, meeting his gaze coldly.

The visit was certainly unexpected. As was the fact that he seemed apologetic. Meek, even. Neil shifted nervously before answering:

“Here’s the sweater. You can keep it” he handed you the garment with a tiny smile, “It smells more like you than me now, but…” trailing off, he shrugged.

The implications of that statement were too much to handle. As was the fact that he gave you back the sweater. You gaped at him, speechless. It made no sense. But the silence stretched too long, and Neil looked even more uncomfortable.

“Okay…” you accepted the gift, making sure your hands have not brushed.

“I’m sorry about how I reacted yesterday it wasn’t reasonable,” he added, with that contrite tone you were not used to.

Unreasonable? That was one way of describing what happened the previous night. You did not know whether it was the glaring lack of confidence radiating from him or as something as simple as the fact that you missed him. But you could feel the resolve crumble.

“I’d say nothing you do is reasonable… thanks though” mustering a weak smile, you stepped away from the door, “You can come in if you want,”

Risky. And something Neil did not expect either, judging by the way he hesitated before entering the cabin and closing the door. You sat down on the edge of the bed and observed his awkward movement. A look around the small space. His eyes slipping over the few personal items you had. The sparring gear you have carelessly thrown onto the floor. And the bin full of used tissues. How humiliating. Then he perched on the chair and met your gaze wearily. Without you even needing to ask the question, he answered:

“I guess it surprised me to see that you’re using something of mine after everything” the honesty was strangely comforting.

For the first time since the disastrous mission in Tallinn, you could tell that he was genuine. Open for you to read and interpret however you fancy. That was intriguing. Enjoying the way his eyes roamed over your features, you leaned back on the bed. Relaxed. Sincere. You could try that.

“It surprises me too,” shrugging, you pursed your lips, staring thoughtfully at the window.

You did not have to look at him to imagine the expression on his face. A little concerned, extremely curious.

“How do you mean?” the soft tone made you glance back.

Sure enough, the furrowed eyebrows and sparkling eyes were there. Neil crossed his legs, studying you intently. You could tell that he wanted to know. That this was probably the closest you would ever come to a normal conversation with him. Might as well use it.

“Well, the heart knows best,” offering him a sad smile, you laced your hands in your lap.

Here’s to hoping he won’t turn it on you. But when you dared look up at Neil again, you were surprised to see him stunned by what you revealed. After a beat, he found the words:

“I thought you don’t-”

Of course. Unable to stop the irritation gnawing at your heart, you scoffed, preventing him from saying something so wrong.

“I never said that,” you explained upon his wide-eyed stare, “But that’s beyond the point, isn’t it?” you sighed, hoping to make him drop the topic before it would drift somewhere dangerous “Why are you here?”

You took a longer look at him then. Taking in the denial painted on his face. He wanted to press on, to get you to explain things. Not today. Then, returning your taxing gaze, Neil offered you his wistful smile.  

“I suppose I’ve missed you” the sincerity of the statement was terrifying.

You felt a painful pang in your chest, as though the heart itself was awaiting the tragic end to this conversation. Courage. For a second, you wanted to cross that meter of space. To… Yeah, what exactly? One memory of what he said in the kitchen a few nights back was enough to sober up. You had to be careful.

“...right” the next words were a result of annoyance, pure and simple “Are you sure there isn’t anyone better? Because I bet there are at least five people aboard this ship who would give you everything. Without questions asked. Maybe you should talk to them” once you were done with the rant, you faced Neil again.

He was gaping, speechless. It seemed like his sharp wit was missing. That was only good news for you. A myriad of feelings passed in his eyes. You could discern shock, offense, heartbreak, and most surprisingly, something darker. Contradicting the very next thing he said:

“If I was looking for that, I’d never come to you. Because I value you more. But I don’t expect you to believe me” the defeat in Neil’s eyes was confusing.

But not any less than you were at that moment. More than what? A cheap fuck? One could hope so. But at the same time, considering the multitude of instances when he seemed desperate to get too close, it felt like a lie.

“I don’t, so you got something right,” you admitted, hoping to keep the emotions in check.

His blue eyes were fixed on you with intensity, trying to read all that you were not saying. After a minute of excessive staring, you were the first one to give up. The last thing you saw was a smirk forming on Neil’s lips. As though he knew that you were close to breaking. Close to potentially doing something stupid. Jumping up, you paced to the window. Nothing but sea and sky. And the damned birds. But even that was better than being faced with what you have lost. After a few days on board the icebreaker, you got used to the casual outfits he sported. What was worse is that they did nothing to make this any easier. It only proved the theory that Neil looked good in anything. Well, fuck him. Only not literally.

With the silence stretching well past the point of awkwardness, you grasped onto the first passing thought, turning to Neil again:

“You’ve talked about… me with TP, haven’t you?” it was a strange change of topic, but also something that has been on your mind for a while “Because suddenly he seems to trust me and I’m not sure what the fuck happened” throwing in the expletive, you sat down on the floor with your back against the wall.

Neil eyed you curiously. He was strangely quiet, and you wondered why that could be. Whether it meant that for once, he did not know what to say. Or maybe because he already regretted coming to see you. Yeah, probably that second option.

“Yes, I’ve explained a few things on the way to Oslo” the diplomatic tone was mildly annoying.

He leaned back in the chair, making sure to face you in the new dynamic. Only the nervous foot-tapping was a sign that he did not like the direction of the conversation. Interesting.

“Such as?” pressing on, you took a moment to observe him.

These days he gave up on styling the hair as the wind outside would always blow it in his eyes. That was rather adorable. He unzipped the pullover, shifting in the seat. Tension spilling out in weaves as Neil waved his hand dismissively.

“It doesn’t really matter,” another remorseful smile.

So, he must have said much more than just the basics. Could he have admitted to things even you were not allowed to know?

“Well, you must’ve said some crucial bits if he’s now so eager to take my side” arching your eyebrow, you met his gaze purposefully.

Hoping he will catch on. Just like the matter of whatever it was between you, the battle plans were a clear no-go in this conversation. But that did not mean you could not hint at it. He had to understand that you were not going to give in so easily. That his suicidal mission was not getting a green light from you. The bait worked. Kind of.

“I said things that you and I should probably explain to each other one day” Neil’s grin did not reach his eyes.

Oh. He must have read the shock from your face, for his eyes glimmered dangerously as he relaxed on the chair. Your brain froze. Things? As in what? You both did and did not want to ask. Instead, you chose to attack.

“We won’t have time if you sacrifice yourself” simply put with a merciless stare.

Neil frowned, not expecting that kind of a dig. Before you could taste the satisfaction, his weary expression caught you off guard. Could that really hurt him? The cold of the wall was digging into your back.

“Let’s leave that for the meeting tomorrow,” a silent plea in the blue eyes “I don’t want to argue,”

He meant it. The tiredness etched onto his face told you as much. You were used to seeing the same kind of exhaustion every morning in the mirror. You could let him off.

“Okay…” a solemn nod before you got up and picked up the pacing again.

It was a strange feeling to be with him alone and yet not close. You realised that this was likely the first time since the early days when you were together somewhere private and were not even touching. It felt wrong.

“How did you like my place?” Neil’s question was like a much-needed grounding.

Swallowing down the discomfort, you turned back to him. The innocence was just a façade that he has put on for your sake. He expected an answer, and you did not know where to start. And then… the way his hair caught rays of sunlight was an inspiration.

“It was… enlightening,” you relished in the curiosity reflected at you, “For starters, I never realised that this is all fake” crossing the space in one leap, you ran your fingers through his hair.

Just like the old times. Only then, Neil would not shudder upon the initial contact. It took him a longer moment to recover. You smirked seeing his stunned face and resumed the movement, separating the strands slowly. You had no clue why this was the fact you latched onto. Blonde or not, he was a sight. But the idea that he dyed his hair would not leave your mind like the worst of brain worms.

“Ah, you’ve seen the photos” when he finally found the words again, his voice was hoarse.

As though whatever you were doing had some sort of an effect. A spark of confidence. You tugged at a strand sharply, the gasp making you bite your lip hard. A dangerous game. The words you have been biting back begun to spill from your mouth:

“It fascinates me because you act oh so confident all the time, and yet you’re pretending you’re someone you’re not” glancing down, you noticed the closed eyes and pursed lips.

It was definitely working. Whatever you even wanted to achieve. It was nice to hold power for once. To call him out on the bullshit you had to deal with every day.

“That’s just hair,” Neil protested weakly, grabbing onto your free hand and encircling the wrist.

Unable to stop the emotions bubbling under the surface, you scoffed:

“It really isn’t. I mean, why? It’s not like you have to scrape for attention” his eyes met yours with defiance, “Unless you’re compensating for something. In which case, that’s just ridiculous” the hit came with a visible flinch from Neil “And ever so manly” you perfected the punchline with a final tug on his golden strands.

That turned out to be a step too far. Before you could sense a change in the mood, Neil used the hold over your hand to bring you down. More accurately, to make you sit in his lap. Your brain caught up too late. Suddenly he was too close, with hands settling on your hips, securing you in place. Fuck. You opened your eyes, cursing the moment of weakness. Neil was staring right back, his eyes unreadable and dark. You messed up.

“What are you doing?” too breathless.

He caught onto that, rubbing circles onto your thigh, focused on you. It would be easy to get up and throw him out, ending this madness. But you found that you did not want to.

“I’m not sure. Say a word, and I’ll leave. But...” he trailed off, searching your eyes for something.

A protest, most likely. A clear-cut rejection. When he found nothing, he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. So close. Slowly your willpower was waning. You placed your palm over his heart to feel the warmth.

“Neil, why...” unable to find the words, you stared at him with questions multiplying in your head.

What was this? Was it why he came? And why, despite the hurt he inflicted, you could not tell him to stop?

“Because you’re here. It’s all I need to start feeling like...” another open-ended response.

Adding on to the confusion. His heart was beating fast, breaths coming out shallow. With fingers still tangled in his hair, you urged him to keep eye contact. That was the only chance of telling whether he was honest.

“Like what? Like you could want me?” the words were hard to say out loud.

For a moment, you felt like this was Tallinn all over again. Like you were losing sanity just for the sake of getting something from him. The ever-present yearning getting the best of you. The only difference was that this time Neil was the desperate one. His hands roamed over your hips and thighs, causing worrying jolts of electricity. It shouldn’t be that easy.

“You know that I do,” a whisper, eyes overfilled with determination.

Did you? Now – maybe. Any other day – hell knows.

“Maybe once I did. But recently... I don’t think you know what you want. You’re just...” you offered him the honesty, absentmindedly running your fingertips over his temple.

Exploring all that was familiar yet missed so much. The creases on his forehead deepened.

“What?” Neil leaned in once again, nuzzling the skin on your neck.

The shaky exhale felt like a defeat. It was increasingly hard to think, let alone give him coherent answers.

“You’re not making any sense” that had to do.

Only it was whispered breathlessly. Not convincing.

“Maybe this will make sense...”

Before you could contemplate the meaning of his words, Neil kissed your neck, drawing out a shudder. One of his hands wandered underneath the hoodie. His fingers ghosted the skin. You have not realised how much you’ve missed it until you got it. As he got braver in his ministrations, teeth grazing over your pulse point, hands stroking your bare back, you felt intoxicated. Unable to do anything but pull him closer and let your hands venture underneath his black t-shirt. It made no sense. But as soon as a reasonable thought would come up, Neil would do something to make you forget. It could be a kiss right under your ear or fingers getting too close to your sports bra. Christ. No logic, just Neil being the sole reason for insanity. The heat travelling up your veins was getting too evident to be ignored. As he gave you a particularly forceful mark by sucking on the skin in the crook of your neck, you could not hold back a moan. It pierced the silence accompanied only by your shallow breaths. Neil froze as though he was not expecting a reaction that strong. His breath causing goosebumps all along your neck. For a second, you wanted to pull him even closer, to give permission to take everything he desires. Even without a promise that it would mean something to him. He raised his head, meeting your wild gaze with the darkened pupils of his own. The proximity was suffocating. Unable to make sense of your thoughts, you leaned in, hoping to get lost in a kiss. To buy some time before you would have to make up your mind. That is when Neil did something unexpected – he pulled back, with a strangely remorseful look in his eyes. Fuck. Alarm bells started ringing out in your head, harshly reminding you about the reality of the situation. As though nothing happened, Neil’s hands went back to the meticulous caress of your upper body. But you could not ignore the nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach. What if this wouldn’t mean a thing? Suddenly it seemed like the worst mistake you could make. The previous frenzy was quickly replaced with dread. Not meant to be. You retracted your hands from underneath Neil’s shirt and pushed him back. It took all the strength available to deliver the next sentence with necessary firmness:

“I think you should leave,” you hoped to hide the pain behind the schooled features.

If he was surprised, he was very good at pretending. His eyes searched yours for a beat, and then he let go of you. His touch was already missed.

“If that’s what you want,” Neil’s voice revealed remains of passion as he nonchalantly smoothed the hair you have tangled.

That was the cue to get up. With cheeks burning, you turned away from him, doing your best to cool off and keep the scraps of dignity you had still left. Before you could risk a dangerous spiral, Neil’s voice brought you back to the moment:

“Too close, wasn’t it?” you frowned at the casual tone.

He was zipping up the pullover, staring at you with startling composure. As though the past minutes have not happened. As though he has not marked you as his for the umpteenth time. It was terrifying.

“What?” you gaped, trying to collect the thoughts and keep calm.

“We got too close. And you’re worried because for a moment you wanted more than you should” Neil shrugged upon your quiet gasp.

He could read you too well.

“Don’t do that,” a pathetic attempt at a plea.

But it must have worked for his expression softened. A small smile split his face as Neil pressed the door handle:

“Just thought you should know that I don’t mind. I don’t have much left to lose,” a parting remark, and then he was gone.

You covered your face with your hands, falling onto the knees when the remains of strength gave out. What a fucking mess.

*** What you did not expect to be the hardest feat of all before the meeting the next morning was making sure that all the bruises were covered up. You did not need to add questions and human curiosity to the list of your problems. After all, it would have been obvious to anyone with a brain. You fucked up, and Neil was the reason why and how that happened. As usual. That was best avoided since everyone on your war council knew enough already when it came to your relationship. Or whatever the fuck it was.

As you walked in, everyone else was already on the bridge, spreading the materials and preparing the whiteboard. Wheeler gave you a welcoming smile which at that moment was worth more than it should. Any expression of kindness was at a premium. You sat down, and before you could process much of what was going on, a mug of coffee appeared before your eyes. Just so. A second later, Neil took the seat next to you without acknowledging your existence. Cool. Perplexed, you looked around the room, locking eyes with TP. He shrugged as though exactly aware of your issues yet unable to help. That much was enough to make you feel a tiny bit better. After a beat, the boss spoke up:

“Before we begin… Y/N?” his question interrupted the first experimental sip of the coffee.

Perfect. Again.

“Yes?” you ignored the annoying spike of anxiety upon being the centre of attention.

“Is Mahir going back to meet Kat in Vietnam on the 14th?”

Ah, that. The little side quest that you have been given ages ago with close to no information towards its purpose. Thankfully, Mahir cooperated. No questions were asked as you arranged for him to invert in London and travel to Vietnam to be Kat’s aide. That kind of smooth operation was a welcomed change.

“Yep, as ordered,” you offered the dark-eyed man a small smile, “Turns out I am capable of not fucking up some things…” that addition was a product of spite.

It was rewarding to see Ives and Wheeler crack a grin at your comment. It made you feel less alienated, as though it was only the man on your right that had issues. And he might as well be ignored. Neil was being helpful in his silence too, moodily staring at the papers in front, refusing to lay his eyes on you. It was painful, especially considering the previous day, but it also meant you felt more at ease.

“It would be great if we could agree upon a few things finally,” TP interrupted the silence, looking at you all expectantly.

“Can’t promise you that, chief” you shrugged, aware of the way Neil shifted in his seat.

His knee bumped into your leg, starting the irritating dance you thought you had moved past. But, supposedly, laying his hands all over your body yesterday was not enough for him.

“I know. But let’s try” you focused all the attention back on the boss “Splinter unit,” the phrase fell between you all like a death sentence “Who and how?”

“The tunnel” you picked up the map and showed it to him, “That’s what the intel said” taking the sip of coffee, you added, “As towards who…”

One of the sleepless nights has been spent wondering whether you should not volunteer for that. The logic was that there was a reason why TP chose you as his link with everyone else. It meant his future version trusted you enough. But it also meant you were important. In those hopeless moments, it felt like maybe that was the purpose. And if it would mean no coming back? So be it. Death for the means of saving the world did not sound half that bad. Before you could express the thoughts, TP spoke up again:

“It should be me” his voice was emotionless.

“Why-” Neil’s voice rang out in the room.

You glanced at him, noticing the tension and worry radiating from him. It was a strange situation; everyone could see that. You all knew that TP had to survive. After all, how could you be at this point if he did not? He had to set up Tenet, hire Neil, Ives and everyone else, prepare the ground for the operation to unfold just like this. But then, considering everything you have been told about temporal paradoxes… could it be that simple? Or was Neil wrong, and what’s happened could also unhappen, so to speak? Too much. Your head began to pound.

“I’m the protagonist of this whole operation. The reason why you’re all here” that was convincing.

And in any other situation, you would have laughed at the prophetic overtone of the statement. But now other emotions were more prominent…

“Mmmm, I’m here because of him,” you retorted, pointedly staring at Neil, 

“Only, he doesn’t care” that is when the man turned to look at you for the first time that morning.

Irritated. Fed up with your bullshit. Lips pressed into a thin line. Eyes glimmering dangerously. Nothing new.

“What are you-” the sharp edge to his voice was satisfying.

Any kind of reaction meant you succeeded at pissing him off. Somehow back then, it was the best thing that could happen.

“Just being salty. Don’t mind me” you shrugged, making sure to pat his shoulder quickly.

Another tiny stab. Neil’s eyes flicked to your hand in a flash and then back to meet your eyes. You could only give him a deliberate smirk.

“Anyways… The splinter unit will be two people” Ives brought back the topic with palpable annoyance, “I’ve got an obvious choice on my mind, but I’ll discuss that later with some of you” the definitive tone would have made anyone shut up.

Not you though. Not when there was nothing to lose, and you decided that you might as well have fun with this mess.

“Why so mysterious, huh?” another quip, all to make Ives look up at you with surprise.

He rolled his eyes, showing you exactly what he thought of your new approach to things.

“We’ve got a more pressing topic to deal with” nothing to play with there.

What a shame. Mouthing an apology at the squad leader, you could feel the tension surge. The more trivial topics have been already mentioned and moved past. Now it was the time for big guns. For another clash of the titans. 

“Precisely,” Neil jumped at the chance and spoke “The elephant in the room is rather obvious” his eyes scanned the space with a predatory gleam, settling on you, “I mean, look at her… she’s barely staying quiet,” a mocking smirk to compliment the statement.

Presumptuous fuck. Despite the anger reaching a boiling point in your veins, you refused to give him the satisfaction. To show how much it hurt.

“Her?” arching your eyebrow, you met his gaze defiantly “Neil, that’s a low blow. Even for you” a passing flinch on his face giving the power to keep going “But yes, I’d love to know whether you’ve changed your mind regarding some important matters” you addressed the room at large, searching for support.

That concerned look Wheeler shot you was helpful. As was the way TP hunched in the chair, burdened with terrifying possibilities of Neil’s stubbornness. Maybe you won’t have to be alone in this.

“I’m going in,” the blonde man shrugged nonchalantly, staring you down, “The only thing you can do is help us plan how to make it work,”

The strategy was to alienate you. Make it sound like you were the only one protesting against his idiotic plan. Well, not on your watch. Now was the time to put all those sleepless nights to use.

“How to make what work? Your suicide?” you scoffed, taking pleasure in how he frowned at the word, “If you let me speak for once, I’ve got an idea” finishing the lukewarm coffee, you gathered needed strength.

“Go ahead, sunshine,” a sarcastic half-smile, begging to be wiped off his face with a slap.

Maybe another time.

“What if two people went first to take care of the lock?” your voice cut through the tension permeating the room, “You rarely send anyone out without a cover. Because it’s unreasonable. So why this time it should be different?” that was logical.

The most sensible of plans you could come up with. Two on the splinter unit; two to deal with the lock. More likely to find an exit or, simply, survive whatever was waiting by the dead-drop. You also had ideas when it came to who should accompany Neil. But those were best kept a secret.

“Because losing two is worse than one. Even you can do the maths” the unnecessary dig made you roll your eyes.

He was ridiculous. In moments like this, you wished you had never fallen for him. But there was no point in crying over the spilt milk.

“Two have greater chances of survival,” you counterattacked, stating the obvious.

The truth he was so gladly ignoring for his purposes.

“You’ve got a point,” Wheeler chimed in, making you both turn to her.

“Thanks,” you offered the brightest grin you could muster and searched for more backing on the faces of the fellow companions.

Before you could analyse the grave expressions on TP and Ives’s faces, Neil spoke up again:

“You’re also rather emotional…” another insult.

Fuck. It was getting increasingly hard to stay calm. But that was the only thing to do. Another scene before the whole team was certainly not desired. You took a deep breath, fighting to maintain composure.

“Neil, stop” Ives was your saviour of the hour, interrupting with the non-bullshit attitude, “I think this idea is worth going over. It’s not like we’ve got anything better,”

You vowed to send Ives a bouquet of roses if you were still alive after all this. Or better, take him out to a pub. Nothing was settled upon during that meeting. The chaos of you all trying to convince Neil to listen to your arguments was only interrupted with him throwing more offences at you. Apart from emotional, you learned you were also delusional. And a potential loose cannon that was best kept away from making crucial decisions. You debated putting all of those on your CV and asking him to provide the references. After all, Neil was the expert when it came to your skillset. After half hour of barely held-together discussion, Ives told you all to calm down and fuck off for the time being. At least until you could decide on something without jumping to your throats. You doubted that was even possible. You were resolved to drive your plan forward. And so was Neil.

When the meeting was over, you were the first one to leave, hoping to slip out before anyone could stop you. You made it as far as the corridor leading to the bridge when you felt someone grab your arm, making you turn around. Of course. Neil’s steel-blue eyes were staring at you coldly. He was getting ready to attack, and you did not want to let him. Before either of you could break the silence, someone stopped in the corridor, and the familiar voice spoke:

“You two should fuck each other already,” you scowled at Ives’s choice of words, “Or break-up. I don’t care, only don’t do this again” he gave you a long taxing look, with annoyance brewing underneath.

You could not blame him. Only that kind of comment was too much right now. With cheeks burning, you desperately searched for words. Neil found them for you:

“We’re not together” dead simple with a tinge of anger to it.

You took a look at Neil, noticing the frown set on his face. And the fact that he was still holding on to you. Fingers wrapped around your bicep, just enough force to make it seem questionable.

“Could’ve fooled me” the squad leader shrugged and walked off before either of you could react.

Great start. Yanking your arm free, you asked:

“What do you want?” you made sure to make him hear the irritation.

That was against the plan, and you doubted your ability to survive yet another confrontation. From the look in his eyes, you could also guess where this was going.

“I know what you’re doing. All I’ve got to say is don’t,” Neil stared you down, keen on intimidation, “I won’t let it happen” no room for discussion there.

Well, maybe with any other idiot. You knew it would come to it. The moment when you would have to admit that your plan involved going with Neil. And there would be no debate about it. It had to be you. Reasons? Inexplicable.

“Tough luck because I’m not letting you get killed,” you counterattacked, meeting his intense gaze without reluctance, “Or go in there alone,” a pointed emphasis, to show him you meant it.

You felt like you could win this one. Maybe even walk away without the tears in your eyes. Just this once. But then Neil did what he does best – changed the topic.

“If this is about what happened-” he reached out to you again, fingers curling around your wrist.

There we go. You were surprised it took him that long to mention the previous afternoon. His touch and the bruises were hard to forget, but so was the lack of affection in his eyes. As though you were just another hook-up. Someone to seduce, get pleasure from, and then leave without a word of explanation. Nothing more. You deserved better than this. With heart hammering in your chest, you responded:

“Not everything is about you trying to fuck me, Neil,” it was his turn to scowl, as though the words have hurt him.

It was only fair.

“Who said-” his grip on your wrist tightened, drawing you closer.

But that alone was not enough to distract you from the denial he tried to pass as the truth.

“Please,” you gave him a pointed look, “That was a mistake, and it’s best treated like one” swallowing down the discomfort, you let the statement fall between you.

You wanted nothing but to forget about it. Brush it under the carpet. The marks were enough of a punishment for a moment of weakness. Neil seemed to consider something quickly, weighting the options, before he nodded:

“Of course,” the formality had the potential to drive you mad, “I’m glad we seem to agree on something,”

For a second, you contemplated leaving the scene. You knew he would not follow, too caught up in the grudges and apprehensions to stop you from escaping. But you wanted to have the last word. To put to use the ability to see right through his act. Neil was staring at you with eyes narrowed, trying to anticipate the very next move. You were sure to surprise him.

“Think I have figured it out though,” he arched his eyebrow in a silent question “Why you’re so keen on doing something that stupid” his face fell, you took a step forward “It’s that hero complex, hidden under honourable acts and philosophical bullshit” pulling your hand out of his hold, you advanced to intimidate, “You think you’re past redemption. That you don’t deserve it. But you can’t give up until you save everybody else. That’s just who you are” the sheer panic in his eyes was fascinating “Only there’s me. An obstruction” Neil swallowed hard as you laid your hand on his shoulder; nearly there, “And you might not love me, but it still doesn’t mean I can let you do it” you gave him a final sad smile, brushing away a stray hair from his pullover.

Yours, judging by the length and colour. A quirk of fate. You were too busy contemplating the fact to notice a shift in his eyes. Denial. Disbelief. Darkness.

“My god… you’re so stupid” the sharp edge to his voice was dripping with venom, “How can you not see it?” Neil was looking at you as though you were an idiot.

Wow. Fighting the urge to breakdown, you took a deep breath. You should have known he had not had enough of hurting you. Always naïve.

“… thanks,” you chuckled dryly, holding on to the remains of anger in your system, “First ‘emotional and delusional’. Now this… you’re expanding your vocabulary” his silence was deafening, “I wonder what will be next… expletives?” the next statement came from the depths of your heart “It would be much easier to just admit that you hate me, and we could be done with this”

That childlike belief in the existence of love wanted him to say no. To deny that he could ever despise you in any way. But the innocence had to be buried if you were to survive.

“I’ll consider that” the cold calculation in Neil’s eyes was terrifying. It was truly over. Even if your heart felt like it was being ripped out. The edges of your vision were blurring, eyes burning with tears begging to be released. Not yet.

“Fab,” you brushed away the strand that was falling into his eyes, “As a final note… I admit that the worst mistake I have ever made was allowing myself to believe you’re worth it”

It was not exactly the truth. But the tiniest moment of passing shock in his eyes was a good enough response. For a second, Neil was speechless, stunned by your harsh words and the way you caressed his face. One last guilty pleasure.

“I’m glad you’re acknowledging it” his face split in an attempt at a smile.

It was broken. Dishonest. There was something fascinating in him at that very moment. The set jaw, eyes cold as ice; yours, but not at all. The beautiful and damned. Gently, you ran your fingers over his stubble, hoping to memorise his face in every way possible. The intensity of his gaze was beginning to drive you insane, offering eternal suffering if you were to make the smallest mistake. Never again.

“The cruelty looks good on you” you zipped up his pullover in one smooth motion and turned away.

The searing pain in your chest was the needed punchline.

[hyperfixatinglove]

2, 4, 6, 10, & 17 from the bad boy asks for Murphy? 💕

2) What was the hardest part of forming the relationship?

Convince Murphy to give it a try. He was unwilling to commit due to his past and his traumas. All of the shit he went through was also pretty recent when we met and I wanted to commit to him, which didn¨t help his case at all.

He couldn't see how he could move on, the means, concrete means to do so. After Silent Hill, he had hope, his view more optimistic of his own life and outlook on life, despite not all the rain being gone. He still misses Charlie terribly, of course, the wound is not going to heal completely, but he can learn to live again and live with it, cherish the memories.

At least losing Carol doesn't hurt anymore, she hurt him severely when she got up and left after what happened to Charlie. I might've said some harsh words about her when I found out about a letter she had send to Murphy in prison. She was blaming him for their loss. Which to me is utterly baffling, but I guess she was looking someone to blame. Wrong target so I dislike her. The letter might've been the last piece that pushed Murphy to take such drastic measures he did.

To say he has baggage is understatement. It certainly makes relationship with him a challenge, but I mean it in affectionate way.

4) How easy was it for them to admit that they love you?

To say it wasn't easy would be right but too light in expression. Murphy is by nature, closed off and distant. To have him admit fondness is uphill battle, one that he was steadily losing despite his best efforts.

He struggled with it a long time, wanting not to be chained to anyone or anything anymore, but eventually he realized how screwed this line of thinking was of him. He was telling himself lies in order for him to be easier to slip away someday.

He couldn't go through with it, once he tried to pull it off. He was almost through the door of his apartment, never to return, but couldn't. His feelings ran too deep. Instead he came over and once I asked him about the duffel bag he was carrying that had his belongings, he lied and asked to live with me. It wasn't until a while later he admitted the lie.

For Murphy to say out loud he loved me, took him long time. I didn't expect it of him, despite our living arrangement and his fond looks when he thought I wouldn't notice.

He admitted it one night, quiet and scared, having thought about it from every angle for a long while.

6) If they’re usually stoic, are they soft around you?

Murphy tries to be stoic and from certain view, he is. He isn't shocked by things I would be, having lived through such disturbing events through his life.

He does react to things that do shock him openly and cusses freely.

Around everyone else, he's closed off, distant. You don't know that well what goes in his head.

But around me, that changes. He becomes soft and loving, tender.

10) Have they changed for the better since they met you? Have you changed for the worst since you met them?

He has. I've helped him, or so he claims, with his grief, giving him something to look forward to in the morning. His sleeping habits are all over the place still, but I'd argue he's better. Healing isn't linear and happens to wobble all over the place after all.

He would've stayed on the run forever, if not for me. The only reason he could go back to Ryall and sit the remained time he had before wounding up in the silent town is me. We wrote every day, he expressed many times I keep him sane.

Murphy has the misfortune of having the most fucked up combo of traumas; being orphan and raised in monastery, losing loved ones, prison trauma, killed a man, got blackmailed, survived town full of monsters and reminder of all his trauma and got trauma from that too!

He was nearly done with his time when Sewell's (his blackmailer) murder was uncovered and with it his role in Coleridge's attempted one. In the end he was deemed to have been blackmailed and forced to be accomplice, not carried this deed. Having Anne-Marie backing him up helped.

After the trial, he could come back no strings attached. He gets to live free and happy life with me, which is miles better than he had in store before he met me. Murphy goes to meet other Silent Hill survivors to unofficial group meetings when he feels like it and has taken quite liking to Harry and Alex and he finds Heather funny.

His life has changed for the better, but I'm not here to fix him, his attitude has changed but not much else.

He told me about the incident he did in prison, the murder that is. The motives, the way he did it, because I asked and he was in mood to tell me. I understand his reasons too much to judge him. Love him, too much to judge him.

17) Was your f/o afraid of commitment?

The last time he committed, life decided to fuck him over. It would be miracle if he wasn't.

But even if he hadn't gone through, everything I've listed, he would still be afraid of commitment, I'm confident to say he was afraid before he married his ex-wife!

So I'm safe to say he was afraid to commit to me, especially with everything.

@the-green-knight I answered your questions here but thank you for the ask! ♥

[sideblogformindtrash]

CW: SELF HARM; feelings of shame and self hatred; past trauma; blood/cuts; whump of a minor; drug mention; whipping; institutional abuse; religious themes; deshumanization, my complete inability to write linear stories;

He hates himself for this, but up to this day, even if he feels he has escaped the claws of that place, even if he rejected the dogma, even when he engages in heretic behavior and rejects the very concept of sin… He misses the stupor of repentance, the sheer emptiness that followed it, and the sharp, terrible pain that resulted.

Orfeu tells himself that it was poison. And he knows it was. Those moments were poisonous, and he was manipulated into it for far too long.  It made him hate himself, as a broken little sinner, even if at that time his only crime was being born with sharp teeth, being born wrong despite being made by a God who was the source of all perfection.

And he reminds of that day were he sneaked in the ceiling of City Theater, were they were performing old tragedies the entire week and, that day, Orpheus and Eurydice. How he decided that would be a more fitting name than the one he had before.

Orpheus, who lost Eurydice, who should never, ever had looked back. Orpheus who lived eternally in the courts of the underworld playing his harp for Persephone ruler of spring and of death.

But he did look back, just like the fallen hero had, and now he had to live with a shadow of doubt and regret. He missed the stupor his mind went into the rituals, missed feeling clean and pure right after it. The days were candlelight casted the shadows of angels in carved walls of the temple, the cave-like ambiance in penumbra, hundreds of voices singing in perfect harmony to elevate their spirits over to reach the merciful God Above, all done under the sorrow-filled eyes that stared down from the cross.

And like the one crucified: All merciful, all kind, and terribly wronged both by His Father above and by those below, they should offer themselves as human sacrifice so their sins would be forgiven.

A line of man and woman in penitence – and he the one teenager among them –, kneeling in the cold stone floor, singing praises, while the whip singed in the hands of the elder. The candles consumed the oxygen, the air was pestered by strong incense, the half-darkness was hypnotic, the gregarious voices all around them penetrating his very soul.

The whipped marked his back and he felt nothing but a distant stinging. His sins were cast crimson like blood, but they would be purified. Even if they were crimson, they shall be white like snow. It was only for a mere second, when leather contacted skin, that he felt pain, and soon, it faded again into the harmonious stupor, as his soul was distant wandering somewhere above, trying to reach the heavens.

It’s only later laid in the cave-like bedroom, in the old mattress, that he will feel the marks on his back. Every single lash hurting like the fire of hell, making sleep impossible and grounding him in reality with sharp burning agony. Only when the chanting is over, when the pure bliss that follows is gone, then all that is left is pain, and exhaustion, and traces of a feeling he only could describe as a hangover.

And there on the dark, after his candle burns out, he would cry and tell himself that this couldn’t happen again. But it always did. Sometimes he thought he needed it, sometimes he wanted it, sometimes it was pressure, or fear or even force.

And just like that, drops of blood fall into the shower floor and he feels nothing, as he moves the blade in curves, unconsciously humming tunes he barely remembered, in a pale imitation of the stupor he used to put himself into.

…It’s superficial but it tints the shower floor in red. Red like his sins, red like searing pain, red like knocking on a wooden door and dragging his mind back into reality harder than any pain every could. Blue and white and gray like the person waiting outside.

He breaths. How long has he been there, carving skin, staring into the emptiness? Another shy knock this time more desperate. And he needs all his strength to sound convincing, so the voice doesn’t crack.

“…Darling. Just a second”

He looks down. And now that feeling is gone and it hurts. But he deserves that pain. As he turns on the faucet, blood swirls down the shower drain, the sins he cast in red turn white like the shower floor.

He dresses himself quickly, not wanting to look at the mirror. It felt okay to do this before. More okay than now. He was alone. It never mattered. But now someone is waiting, someone who needs him to be there, despite how much of a failure he is at… anything. At caring for others, at caring for himself. At keeping himself sane.

Haru needs him. Little Haru who needs all the courage he can gather to even knock on the door. Little Haru named after light and spring, and with a heart far too big for his body, in constant overflow. Little Haru who needs him to do better, be better and truly take care of him.

Needed him to crawl out of the underworld and escape Hades without looking back.

He opens the door and smiles, scared blue eyes staring at him, clutching the tiny notebook close to his chest, he falls on his knees immediately, a shaky hand holding a piece of paper.

‘It is sorry for disturbing Master. So, so sorry. It was wondering if Master needs help. Pet wants to stay close and help Master with anything please. Sorry if not. It is sorry for being a bother”

He stares at the paper for a second. Then he noticed the dark clouds forming and distant lightning as the storm approaches, the strong wind curving the trees outside.

“No, you didn’t disturb me at all. I actually was going to call you in a moment.”

Haru sighed in relief, and nodded with expectant eyes waiting to see what his Master wanted next. Of course Orfeu knew it didn’t really matter what it was, he just didn’t want to be alone. It was going to rain, and rain terrified him.

“I was, hm, thinking we could watch a movie? Would you like to?”

He nods eagerly. Thunder cracks outside and Haru flinches and grabs his sleeves for a moment, eyes shut tight, but then quickly let’s go, even more anxious now, eyes widening as he starts to scribble an apology, writing fast as if terrified the notebook would be pulled away at any moment.

He waits. He doesn’t really need to see what he is writing to know. But he waits. And surely, he gets shown an apology, lots of unreadable worlds, a mess of pronouns and fear and tear-stained paper.

“Hey, hey.  Its fine” he says, offering his arm again “You can hold me. It improves the experience of movie-watching by a lot.”

He stares for a second, fear-filed eyes, and slowly holds his arm again. He closes his eyes and leans his head on Orfeu’s shoulder, as if relieved.

They sit together to watch whatever. Haru fights to stay calm and watch the movie, even if each thunder causes him to tremble and hold tighter. If his nails were long enough, they might be sinking on his arm now. That would be okay too. An anchor to reality.

Taggging: @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpzone @twistedcaretaker @cupcakes-and-pain @oofthatsgottahurt

[saborgreat]

You also might like reading along with the podcast Look How Sane and Linear We Are Being, anon!

I'm starting Homestuck soon because a lot of people talk about it like this cursed knowledge thing of ages past and I'm all about rushing headfirst into that kind of stuff,but also I'm genuinely curious about it.

I believe you mentioned a podcast at some point, something like Homestuck made the world? I was wondering if you'd recommend listening to it alongside reading Homestuck or after doing so.

Have a nice day

definitely recommend listening to it as you read! it's a really good supplementary material

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

The Goonies: The Characters

No matter how good a story is, how great the cinematography, or how subversive the genre-usage, a movie cannot stand without use of characters.

Characters are perhaps the most vital element of any story ever told.  An interesting plot helps a movie greatly, but without a use of compelling characters, it falls flat on an audience who doesn’t care about the well-being of the people pushing the story forward.  Viewers need flawed, interesting people, moving the story and trying to overcome conflict, in order for a movie to feel satisfying.

Or, they can have a bunch of bickering children stumbling and screaming their way through caves, led by Head Goonie: Michael “Mikey” Walsh.

Only Sane Man Mikey is the glue of the group, bringing the Goonies together in an adventure, instead of just a bunch of kids hanging out in someone’s living room.  He’s got the initiative, he’s the Determinator, and the Leader, and also, surprisingly, the Heart, in a rare combination.  He’s the one jumping at the call, the Kid Hero armed with the Rousing Speeches in his desperate attempt to save the Goondocks.  It would have been easy to make Mikey the most boring of the bunch, but he’s not, if anything, he’s the most interesting.  He’s certainly the most inspiring.

Mikey is the driving force of the entire story.  Despite the fact that he was reluctant to let his friends in the attic in the first place, once he’s there, he’s instantly pushing for his end goal.  As much as Data is the inventor of the group, when you get right down to it, Mikey is probably the smartest of the bunch.  It’s Mikey who figures out where they need to go, Mikey who leads the Goonies through the tunnels, Mikey who convinces them to persevere, to not ride up Troy’s bucket, to leave Willy’s private stash alone.

He’s dedicated to the point of almost insanity at times, judging from how Brand has to pull him back from going back after the treasure when the cave collapses.  He’s also very interested in One-Eyed Willy himself, and acts like he knows him, or understands him, anyway.

“One-Eyed Willy. Hello. I’m Mike Walsh, you’ve been expecting me. Haven’t you? Well, I made it. I beat you. I got here in once piece. So far. So, that’s why they call you One-Eyed Willy. One-Eyed Willy. We had a lot in common, huh, Willy? You know something Willy? You were the first Goonie.”

Apparently, Mikey sees a little bit of himself in this pirate, perhaps as a fellow leader or adventurer, or even a fellow outsider.

Like I said, Mikey could have been the blandest character in the bunch: just filling in as ‘the leader’ of the group, but instead, he’s as quirky as they come.

Despite the fact that this is an ensemble film, with every character sharing about the same amount of screentime, Mikey is clearly the protagonist, no questions asked.  He is the character with the goal here, and as much as it benefits everyone else, it’s clearly his mission, his quest.  The others are just along for the ride.  Mikey is the character the audience is meant to identify with the most: he gets the most insightful dialogue and we as viewers identify more strongly with him as a character.  

Although he’s one of the last characters introduced to the audience, it’s very clear right away who the story is about based simply on the Protagonist Problem: basically, do they have one?  And while it’s clear that the other Goonies aren’t happy about moving away, none of them are taking it as hard as Mikey is.  He is, immediately, the character with a Problem, and he’s also the only one to jump at a solution.

He’s the idealist.  He’s cool under pressure (for the most part).  He easily takes charge, despite his tamer personality in comparison with the others, even over the older kids, and he’s nice to boot.  His goals are easily defined, he’s active, going after his goals and overcoming obstacles, he seems to be the perfect protagonist, if it wasn’t for one thing…

Mikey never really changes.

Sure, he throws away his inhaler by the end, which could be interpreted as symbolic of development, but honestly, Mikey is very much the same kid at the end of the film that he was at the beginning.  Same personality, same worldview…even the same goals, which is another big protagonist no-no.

Most great protagonists have goals that change from beginning to end of the film, as a sign of their own developing character, but Mikey never does.  Instead, he ends the film getting exactly what he initially set out to get: enough money to save the Goondocks.  Sure, he has the relatively minor goal along the way of ‘staying alive’, but in the grand scheme of narrative stakes, to Mikey, clearly the treasure is all that matters.

The question is…is this a bad thing?

Well…no.

The thing is, Mikey is only one in a group of seven main characters, and while some of them have more screen time than others, when you come down to it, that’s a lot of characters to balance, meaning a lot of dialogue split up, and a lot of audience focus divided.  In other words: Mikey doesn’t get development because he doesn’t have time.  There’s just too much going on for the audience to stack character growth on top of it.

While there’s not nearly enough time from a script perspective, there’s also just no time from a linear perspective, either.

The story of The Goonies takes place around, give or take, a day, and while there are a few stories where development is done over that time, (Such as 12 Angry Men, actually) the fact is, twenty four hours is a really short period of time to change who you are as a person, or even change your goals.  It’s very difficult to cram in the story, the characters, and everything else in such a short time span, and heap a deep, meaningful character arc on top of it.  There’s just no time.

So, does that damage the film?

Not really.  Like I said in the genre article, The Goonies is a roller-coaster adventure of a film, without much in breaks.  There’s a lot going on all at the same time, and honestly, in order to keep the pace up, it’s for the betterment of the film that they didn’t try to cram Mikey’s character development within.

To be fair, it’s not as though he doesn’t change at all.  But he changes about as much as the rest of the cast do, in very similar ways: kind of like his brother.

Brandon “Brand” Walsh fills out the other side of the sibling dynamic between himself and Mikey, the older brother who gets annoyed with him, but is also supposed to be taking care of him.  As much as he starts out the film looking like he’s at least trying to be an Aloof Big Brother, when the chips are down, his Big Brother Instinct comes out, protecting Mikey from actual danger.  Beginning the film as somewhat of a Butt-Monkey, ending up Hoisted by his Own Petard in the form of his exercise equipment, at first, Brand looks like he’s not really going to be terribly involved in Mikey’s Goonie adventure.

In the end, though, Brand turns out to be One of the Kids.  But for careful viewers, that’s not really a surprise.

Even Brand’s first scene, where he interacts with Mikey, it’s pretty clear that although there’s a bickering dynamic between them, there’s also sympathy and affection.  Brand knows that Mikey doesn’t want to leave, he understands and he tells him so.  He hugs him and brings him inside when Mr. Perkins comes by with the papers to sign over the house.  And sure, Brand bullies him a little and shoves him around and Mikey repays the favor by tying him to a chair with his own exercise equipment and running off, but that’s typical sibling stuff, as anyone with siblings can tell you.

Although Brand does initially try to ‘take charge’ and occasionally gives the marching orders, in the end, he leaves most of the leading to Mikey, which is a little strange.  Once or twice he takes over, and is the most protective of the group, but while he may do most of the ‘planning’ here, he lets Mikey’s goals and priorities take center stage for a while.

Brand’s other chief ‘item of note’ concerning characterization is, of course, his relationship with Andy.

It’s mentioned fairly early on into the film that Brand is supposed to go out with her, and we see her once or twice, but it isn’t until she and Stef show up to check on Brand that we get to see any of that relationship.  It’s sweet enough, aside from them constantly choosing the wrong time and place to attempt a first kiss, with Brand taking a side-role of protector for Andy specifically, again, showcasing that defensive side that comes in handy for the rest of the group from time to time.

But there’s more to the Goonies than the Walsh kids.

Probably the most recognizable of the characters from The Goonies is Lawrence “Chunk” Cohen.

Chunk has most of the most memorable lines and scenes in the film, elevating himself in pop culture beyond simply the ‘Fat Comic Relief’ and klutzy, cowardly character that the movie seems to be pigeonholing him into at first.  See, even though Mikey’s the one with the goal and character arc concerning the treasure, Chunk’s character arc revolves around the Fratellis.

Of all the Goonies, Chunk is the first one to get involved in the story.  He is the first character we see indirectly interact with the villains of the story, when he spots the car chase, and by the end of the film, he is the character that has interacted with them the most, being drug around, interrogated, and locked up by them as a result of being left behind by the rest.  Fittingly, his arc has very little to do with One Eyed Willy, and everything to do with the criminal family that he happens to fall into, to the point where they’re almost his arch-nemeses instead of the rest of the Goonies.

While an initial viewing could give viewers a very basic impression of Chunk as just the ‘token fat kid’ of the group, the fact is, he is one of the only characters who gets any real growth.

Chunk is established almost right away as the Boy Who Cried Wolf, a teller of tall-tales that have rendered him completely unbelievable to his friends and the local police force.  By the time he has an actual story to tell, nobody around him is ready to buy it, and honestly, it’s hard to blame them.  Some of his stories do sound ridiculous, and even the one that he’s telling now about the Fratellis would be hard to believe, if the audience didn’t know for certain that he was telling the truth.  Of course, although he is able to feel vindicated when the Goonies discover he’s telling the truth, his tendencies to exaggerate backfire on him spectacularly when the police don’t believe he’s in trouble, and he’s left on his own.

Well, not quite on his own, but more on that in a minute.

Chunk primarily holds up the B-plot of the film on the villain’s side, arriving at the end to play hero and bail the rest of the Goonies out, proving to them, and then the rest of the authorities at the end, that this time, he was right, and proving his bravery after an entire film of attempting to chicken out.  But as impressive as his last-minute heroism is, Chunk isn’t in this alone.

Despite being separated from the group fairly early on, sparing them from his complaints, hunger, and clumsiness, Chunk finds another ally in Sloth, the Fratellis’ brother, and befriends him, forming the ‘Brains’ to Sloth’s brawn, coming in to save the day and even adopting him at the end of the film.

Chunk is the most memorable Goonie, not just for the Hawaiian shirt and plaid-pants combo that he’s rocking, but because he has a lot of very memorable and iconic scenes, possessing a pretty unforgettable (and loud!) personality and an arc: from zero to hero, when nobody, not even his fellow Goonies, expected it, complaining through the entire early adventure, and overall displaying an overwhelming desire to Not Be Here, making it all the more impressive when he goes after them with Sloth to rescue them.

But there’s more to the Goonies than just the leader and the breakout role.

Clark “Mouth” Devereaux is not the easiest kid to get along with.  A Deadpan Snarker Jerk with a Heart of Gold, Mouth is the member of the cast with potentially the most Meaningful Name: he never shuts up.  A classic case of ‘With Friends Like These…’, Mouth comes across like the most antagonistic character in the film other than the actual villains at times, abrasive and loud, bullying the rest of the group and picking fights with Stef.

Unfortunately, Mouth’s…mouth, can get him into trouble.  Quite often, in fact, like when he can’t let well enough alone and ends up getting threatened with having his tongue cut out.

With that said, though, Mouth does have his uses, and they’re not all to do with smuggling treasure in his most distinctive trait.

Fittingly, language is where he comes in handy: he’s the only one who can read (and speak) Spanish, leaving him as the obvious choice to translate the map, and also to translate the Walsh’s housekeeper’s exclamations that the treasure is not entirely lost.  Without him, the treasure hunt is impossible.

Mouth may want the treasure as badly as the rest of them do, but he is far less idealistic than Mikey is about it.  He’s the last of the kids to believe Mikey in the beginning, and while it can be chalked up to his overall personality, there is a dash or two of Hidden Depths implied about him, notably in the wishing-well sequence:

“Yeah, but you know what? This one, this one right here. This was my dream, my wish. And it didn’t come true. So I’m taking it back. I’m taking them all back.”

Armed with a comb and occasionally appearing as though he’s deliberately striking a pose in order to look cool, Mouth is actually one of the first to start falling apart when their lives are in danger, crying and panicking with the best of them.  (Again, he’s only thirteen.)

Despite having the loudest personality, Mouth is content to let Mikey lead the group, hanging back and picking on all of them, but by no means not one of them.

There is, of course, one more thing of note about Mouth as a character, and that is his dynamic with Stef.  The pair carry a belligerent tension, bickering and snapping at each other throughout most of the film before demonstrating genuine affection towards each other (with a deleted scene referenced involving Stef promising to keep Mouth alive when they get pushed off the plank).  It’s a hint at something going on between them for sure, but it’s also a fairly good example of Mouth’s relationships with everybody: he’s a lot more bark than bite, irritating and loud for sure, but a loyal friend who’s more than ready to help you look for treasure, even if he doesn’t 100% believe in it at first.

Like the rest, he doesn’t change a whole lot from beginning to end, with the adventure perhaps simply knocking some of his cockiness away and even leaving him a little nicer, but again, just like Mikey, it’s hard to say: this is all over the course of one, very exciting day.  More on that later, though.

After all, Mouth’s hardly the last Goonie of the bunch.

Richard “Data” Wang is the inventor of all things Awesome but Impractical, falling somewhere between Bungled Inventor and Gadgeteer Genius.  The Smart Guy, Data is good with his Homemade Inventions for sure, but there’s a bit more to him than that.

While the other Goonies (especially Chunk and Mouth) can best be remembered for being annoying or clumsy, or dropping things, or talking too much or too loudly, or setting off booby traps, Data is actually pretty even-keel.  He’s excitable, and he really doesn’t want to move to Detroit, but overall, he’s fairly content to be the least talkative Goonie, letting his Dynamic Entries speak for themselves.

He’s a smart kid, and he actually is the only one who one-ups the Fratellis at any time, using his inventions to trip them up and hurt them, after the same inventions saved his life earlier.  Data certainly does have a flair for the dramatic (best seen when telling Mikey that he won’t be taken alive) and is an energetic kid, proving himself as reckless as the rest, but he has a good head on his shoulders.  He’s the one who discovers the counterfeit machine, and it’s fairly safe to say that without him and his Slick Shoes, the Goonies probably wouldn’t have made it out alive.

Like the others, Data doesn’t change much – in fact, he probably changes the least.  This could be due to the fact that again, this is all over the course of roughly 24 hours, but it’s also possibly just a side-effect of being the most even-keeled of the bunch: he’s quieter, and therefore, we hear less from him, meaning we see less of his flaws.  Still though, Data’s a solid character, hugely entertaining, likeable, and memorable.

Now for the other outliers:

Andrea “Andy” Carmichael begins the story as first The Cheerleader and Dude Magnet, and then The Load.  Clearly not used to this style of Goonie Adventure, Andy kind of becomes a Hysterical Woman throughout a good portion of the journey, needing to be comforted a few times in order to keep her head.  It’s hard to blame her: between the skeletons, the guns, and getting locked in a tunnel is pretty frightening, but Andy doesn’t do a whole lot (especially early on, during her Heroic BSoD) and manages to not retain much of a personality throughout most of the film, chiefly appearing at first to serve as a token female character and to be in love with Brand.

But there is more to her than that.  

Even early on, Andy demonstrates a little more backbone when she elbows Troy in the lip and ditches him to go find Brand, and although she initially just follows the Goonies to hang out with Brand (and then to escape the Fratellis), she ends up becoming one of them when she makes the choice to stay instead of riding up the wishing well, sending up his letterman jacket instead.  It’s a big step for her, a demonstration of her true alliances (a deleted scene was to include her being sworn in as an official Goonie at this point, actually), and sets her up for the rest of the film as being more ready and willing to actively participate in the adventure.

Near the end, Andy has to come through to save everyone, as she’s the only one who can play the piano even a little bit, and it falls on her to play the bone organ in order to get them away from the Fratellis and towards the treasure.

Andy actually has some more growth than a few of the others: she steadies out and truly does change, becoming a true Goonie by the end of the film, proving herself more capable than when she began.  Although she doesn’t seem to have a stake in the treasure, she’s just as determined by the end to get it, and celebrates with the rest of them by the end.

In a way, she shares that with the other Goonie outlier: Stef.

Stephanie “Stef” Steinbrenner doesn’t really seem to serve a whole lot of purpose within the story besides being another girl Goonie so there isn’t just one.  She’s a friend of Andy’s, the Tomboy to her Girly Girl, who splits off to join her to find Brand and then ends up swept along with the rest of the adventure, and there doesn’t seem to be much more to her than that.  She’s a Sarcastic Devotee, who feels Surrounded by Idiots: she trades snark with the best of them and tends to feel (rightfully so) that the people she’s around aren’t exactly geniuses.  She’s loyal though, and sticks by Andy and the other Goonies until the end, proving just as determined to get to the treasure and get out alive as the others.

Stef serves as a reality check, another cynic who’s just as frightened as the rest of them, like Andy, without a stake in the final treasure, and while she’s never officially branded a Goonie, the implication by the end is clear.  She sort of takes on a belligerent ‘big sister’ role throughout most of the film, and although she doesn’t have much of an arc, she is entertaining to watch, which honestly sums up the entire cast pretty well.

The characters of The Goonies do not exactly ‘grow’.  There are small things: Andy’s growing courage, Chunk being finally right, Mikey’s growth as a leader, Data’s inventions being useful, Mouth taking some of his snarky edge off, and Brand being a better big brother, but honestly, these are very minor things in the grand scheme of the story.

The characters in The Goonies are not deep, whether it’s the actual Goonies themselves or the villainous Fratellis, who are mostly characterized by striking a balance between being comedic and being a genuine threat.  There are no huge life-lessons being learned by these people, and they aren’t really doing a lot of growing so much as they are running for their lives.

In a film that is essentially a ‘roller coaster’, The Goonies is not designed to have seven major characters with fulfilling character arcs: like I said before, there’s simply no time.  It’d bog the story down for each character to have a moment of growth, to change significantly from beginning to end.  In this case, the best thing about the characters is actually their consistency from beginning to end: there’s little change, and as a result, the audience never has to recalibrate to something else going on within the story.

In other films, this would be a huge problem.

A feature-length film where there is no discernible character change is typically not a good call, but in this case, it works for multiple reasons.  The story is too fast paced and focused on too much to allow for consistent breaks in plot that allow for character moments, and with the extremely short timespan, a big change would actually come across as forced and unrealistic.  The characters are children forced into a tight spot, where their chief concern is their own lives.  There simply isn’t the option open for development.

However, where the film lacks on ‘growth’ of characters, it makes up for in everything else.

The chief purpose of a character is to be there for the audience to like, to be invested in.  There are actually plenty of films where characters don’t change a lot, classic movies that are well-liked because the characters, although unchanging, are hugely entertaining and interesting.  Films like Back to the Future or Ferris Bueller’s Day Off don’t suffer from characters who don’t do any changing due to the fact that the main characters are fun to watch and have the audience’s attention and interest.

Which is just what The Goonies does.

Everyone can find a Goonie to relate to: the leaders, the loudmouths, the geniuses, the attention-seekers, everyone has a place here, and even adults who have hopefully grown out of some of the more immature kid-like behavior, there’s still the glimmer of familiarity in these kids.  Like I mentioned before, we relate to these kids, and we want to see them win.

The Goonies as a story is designed to have simple, relatable characters for the audience to remember, and if that’s the goal, then it works perfectly.  There are no deep characters with complex motivations here, and that’s a good thing: it fits the tone of the film consistently and coherently.  Every character here is likeable in some way, memorable, for sure, and sticks with an audience enough that the audience wants to stick with them too, and wants them to succeed.

In the end, the characters of The Goonies make you care about them, make you root for them.  They carry the story and do it all in a way that’s plenty of fun to watch, and when it comes down to it: that’s exactly what characters should do.

Whether you like or hate them, a character is there to make you care, and The Goonies certainly do their job.  They leave a strong impact, and as a result, we remember these characters and their quirks long after the movie is over for a reason.

Join me next time where we’ll be looking at the 80s cultural impact on the creation of The Goonies.  Thank you so much for reading, and I hope to see you in the next article.

[aros001]

Going in blind: Watching season 4 for the first time. Random thoughts.

I never said anything about it before but I love Shadow Weaver's DCAU Batman eyes. They're so expressive.

Episode 1: Okay...I wasn't expecting Catra to do that. I mean, it makes sense. If she has leverage over Hordak then she's basically in charge of the Horde and that's what she's wanted (or at least believes she wants) since episode 1. It's an aspect that made her a good antagonist, that she's not blind to the evil of the Horde, she just doesn't care as long as she herself is secure. Which naturally begs the question, when the rebellion and the princesses are crushed, when the Horde is on top, when Adora is dead, when Catra finally has everything she's ever wanted...will she actually finally be happy? Somehow, I have my doubts.

I definitely feel for Glimmer in this. When you go through as big a loss as she did you need to be able to feel and vent if you're ever going to get through it. It doesn't have to be right away but everyone doing everything in their power to avoid the topic entirely can make you feel like you're going crazy. It'a especially bad for her since it unintentionally makes it feel like everyone is acting like it doesn't matter that Angela is gone when it clearly means everything to Glimmer.

Episode 2: I actually had a potted cactus plant once. Accidentally forgot about it and left it outside for an entire winter. Once the snow was gone the cactus looked like it had melted.

I kind of want to see what an interaction between Double Trouble and Clayface from the Harley Quinn animated series would look like. I'm guess Catra was just testing how good Double Trouble was as a doppelganger because it doesn't seem like she did anything while Adora was being distracted, though I suppose that could be a reveal in a later episode.

Not much to say except that I love how buff Huntara is while still clearly being a woman. Like, women can have a variety of different body types, as this series and Steven Universe show, and Huntara's build isn't just, like, Bow's body with lipstick and ponytail and the animators calling it a day. No, she looks like a freakin' jacked adult woman.

Episode 3: I didn't figure out the Flutterina = Double Trouble twist until a minute before it was revealed, so good job there. Before that I was wondering if Flutterina was some fan's original character where they won some contest where their OC got to be in the show for an episode. She was giving off some weird self-insert vibes. That twist made it all work though. It's honestly not a bad plan. Shapeshifters haven't really been a thing in the series before now so there's no reason to suspect it. Even if they did they'd probably be expecting it by way of magic or technology, while Double Trouble's seems to be a natural ability.

I like that even though Bow is definitely the goofier one of the trio he is still consistently shown as competent. That's never in question. He was very heroic and reassuring to the villagers this episode. I get why those kids idolize him so much.

Catra's having guilt over what she did with the portal and to Entrapta and her response is basically to just double-down. She doesn't know any other way to be. Not going to lie, I am kind of hoping we get another moment in the show where Adora just completely overwhelms Catra with the sheer power of She-Ra. I'm not saying like brutalize her or anything but just something where Catra is made to realize just how powerful Adora is and that she could just destroy Catra if she had a mind to do so.

Episode 4: Well, I was saying I wanted Adora to do it but I guess I don't mind Glimmer being the one to get some good shots in on Catra. Like I predicted, Shadow Weaver's moving in to become her teacher like she was with her father. Honestly I like that that was more Adora's problem than Glimmer using her as bait, which she seemed to get over pretty quick. Yeah, it was kind of a heartless thing to do but it was an understandable tactic and she clearly outright told Adora that she did it and why afterwards, which at least means she's still being honest.

It occurs to me that Glimmer and Catra may be the ones running parallel right now. Both are basically leading their respective sides of the war. They both have lost someone very important to them. And both are trusting someone they probably shouldn't. Both even have outfits that've been updated in the intro. The difference is Glimmer's just trying to deal with a bad situation while Catra's is entirely self-inflicted.

Minor thing but I like Glimmer's new outfit this season. I'm sure this is the intention but it makes her look older and more mature. A little more muscular in some shots too.

Episode 5: Heart of Etheria project. No idea what that is but assumedly whoever's a part of it doesn't like Light Hope and Mara being friends. Sounds like it's very much interested in She-Ra being just a warrior, and perhaps a tool, for the greater good. It does make me wonder though how much Light Hope remember from when she was rebooting. Even if she deleted the Mara memory she could potentially still have the memory of her and Adora watching the Mara memory, as well as Adora asking to be her friend.

Episode 6: Yep. Scorpia; definitely favorite supporting character. There is something kind of funny about her whole "Scorpions are loyal" line when you remember the story about the Frog and the Scorpion, where it stings the frog despite it meaning death for itself as well simply because that is its nature. But finally we're having someone go save Entrapta, and I can only assume at some point Scorpia's going to access the power of the Black Garnet.

The parallels between Catra and Hordak are definitely at their max here with that speech of hers to him. She's basically trying to convince herself that she doesn't need anyone, the timing of which is appropriate since she just drove away Scorpia and now truly doesn't have anyone. Not that I blame Scorpia, obviously. Like Adora before her, however good you believe someone can be and that you can help them, at some point you just have to cut the toxic people out of your life. You have the right to be happy too.

And man, Bow is just the best. He saw something was wrong between Adora and Glimmer and defused the situation like (snap) that, pushing them to talk like any sane person would.

Episode 7: I'm sure it is just because I've seen way too many TV shows and movies (both animated and live action) that don't do it but it is just such a relief to have a show where the characters just TALK and LISTEN to each other. It doesn't solve all their issues but they're at least not being stupid and freakin' petty. It helps the drama feel a lot less forced and contrived.

Episode 8: A little bit of amusement in Bow thinking at first that Glimmer and Adora didn't even notice he was gone despite them coming to his rescue very shortly afterwards, given Catra is only now realizing Scorpia has left and assumedly she did so a while ago. Bow and Sea Hawk hadn't been gone for that long so it's not unreasonable Glimmer and Adora wouldn't be worried about their absence (Bow was literally talking about "me time" when they last saw him), while Catra is only noticing Scorpia's absence now and it was because she wanted something. Like Scorpia said, she's a bad friend.

Kind of ironic given that a lot of Catra's issues are the direct result of Shadow Weaver giving her very little love growing up but it does seem this tough love is probably what'll get through to Catra the best. She might finally stop making bad decisions and lashing out if she's forced to live with the consequences of them, like Adora told her last season.

Glimmer gets a bit of slack from me since she suffered through a huge loss, that being her mother, and then was immediately thrown into being queen right after. It'd be hard for anyone to be 100% on their game and well-adjusted in a situation like that, and I buy that she was on some level resentful of Adora for coming back instead of her mother, even if unintentionally so. What definitely helps is that Glimmer very clearly and immediately regretted what she said to Adora. Like Catra she's lashing out but unlike Catra Glimmer recognizes some of the damage she's doing and knows, at least in this case, that she went too far.

Episode 9: Now that I can see the design in color I definitely prefer Mara's She-Ra with pants to Adora's She-Ra with shorts. Honestly, while the differences are pretty minor, I do think Mara's She-Ra design is overall a lot better than Adora's. Sharper shoulder guards. Bigger cape (especially the cape, I love capes). I don't know, there's just a lot that clicks with it and I wouldn't mind Adora getting a similar outfit later.

Madam Razz definitely had a Yoda feel this episode. I was very much expecting her to start wacking Mara with a stick over the sugar like Yoda did with R2. Though while that was Yoda acting crazy, for Razz it's because she experiences time out of order, and I don't think I've ever seen that concept taken to this extent, or at least done this way before. There are characters like River Song from Doctor Who, Professor Paradox from Ben 10, or even the Reverse-Flash who interact with other characters in time out of order but those characters are still on a linear path from their own perspective, even when travelling through time. Razz is just bouncing around her own timeline, seemingly not even any real reason or cause to it like Subaru from Re:Zero. Clearly she's not just remembering things oddly because her talk about things of the present are heard by people in the past and have an effect. I wonder if maybe the reason why is because Razz was at ground zero of Mara's actions and this is a side-effect of pulling Etheria away from the rest of the universe.

Bringing more Star Wars into this, it basically sounds like the Heart of Etheria project has turned Etheria into a magic Starkiller Base; storing power that'll be unleashed to destroy whole planets. And jeez, I think this was the first time I really felt creeped out by Light Hope when she was talking to Mara.

I'm looking forward to seeing what it means that the First Ones only made the sword and that Etheria made She-Ra. If that's the case, why is only the sword able to bring out the She-Ra form? Is it like MCU Thor's hammer and the weapon was just meant to help him control the power he already had? Or is what we think is She-Ra not actually She-Ra and that form that Adora and Mara take is just a stand-in for the real thing?

Episode 10: It didn't even occur to me until now but Double Trouble's capture is another blow to Catra's circle of "friends" too. They were at least able to make her laugh. One less person for her to talk to and just...really just distract her from her thoughts.

It's a good dilemma this episode presents about what to do with the Heart of Etheria. The safest and probably best option is to just dismantle it, like Adora and Bow want, since it could easily lead to the destruction of the entire planet if it goes off. Not the mention there's so little they know about it and what it was intended for and the one person who can potentially tell them, Light Hope, they were warned not to trust. But it's not hard to understand where Glimmer is coming from in wanting to use that power to fight the Horde. They're already losing the war and now she knows Hordak Prime and his FAR more powerful forces are on the way. Tapping into the Heart is a huge risk but she's not seeing any other paths for the rebels to win. It's a really good dilemma, with good arguments presented from both sides, and I buy this widening the schism between Adora and Glimmer.

Episode 11: I have mixed feelings on King Micah still being alive. On the one hand there's a lot of good potential interactions we can now have with him, primarily between Glimmer and Shadow Weaver, and he is a fun character. But on the other I can't help but wonder if this kind of lessens the impact of what Angela gave up to overcome the false reality. Part of what made it so emotional was that she had to accept the person she loved was dead and not coming back...except now we see that he wasn't dead and now he is coming back. Yeah, their family lost out on years together and that does still carry some emotional weight but I was already also half-expecting Angela to come back later in the series because she's stuck between dimensions, meaning there's a chance she could still be alive. If both Glimmer's parents come back then that really feels like it takes a lot of weight out of her story. But I guess we'll see what happens.

Also, why did the Horde exile him to Beast Island? Why not just kill him?!

Episode 12: So the Horde exiles Micah to Beast Island instead of killing him. The First Ones protect their secrets by sending their bad tech to Beast Island. Does no one know how to just destroy things in this world?

Ohhh, I am so looking forward to next episode. While it's debatable whether Glimmer should be going through with her plan she is at least being smart with how she's going about it. Double Trouble was being paid by Catra to work for the Horde, not out of any sense of loyalty. Glimmer has the resources of Bright Moon at her disposal so it's reasonable she could pay them more to switch sides. Double Trouble was very good at sabotaging even a group as tight-nit as the heroes, so Hordak and Catra are probably easy pickings with all their issues.

Episode 13: ....WELL THAT AIN'T GOOD!

I'll admit, I had a little bit of an unintended laugh. After all we've heard about Horde Prime, like this shadowy all-powerful monster, I wasn't expecting the fabulous flowing dreadlocks and smoothness. Credit where it's due, man has charisma and charm, which goes a long way in helping your big evil world conqueror not be a very flat character, because it's doubtful he's going to have the same kind of sympathetic motivation as Hordak or complexity as Catra to keep him elevated.

LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Double Trouble kicking at Catra while she's down. Adora and Scorpia were honest but they never wanted to hurt Catra. Not so much with Double Trouble and they just shove reality into her face. Everyone leaves Catra because of Catra. She's the common factor. It's her fault and no one else's. Again, I don't know for certain if Adora and Catra get together at the end (Catra would have a LOT to make amends for regardless) but Double Trouble was definitely implying Catra had feelings for her with the way they put Catra's hand on "Adora's" cheek while talking about how she left her.

I like that we see Glimmer's plan actually working at first. The princesses get a massive power boost and decimate the Horde forces. But the minute it starts going wrong she immediately admits Adora was right and she tries to stop the energy flow. I imagine having her there with Catra was intentional by the writers. Despite some parallels, Glimmer can actually accept her failures and work to try and fix things. Unlike Catra, she didn't blame Adora for things going wrong.

So the sword allows the First Ones to control She-Ra and the energy she'd be absorbing from the planet. Assumedly that means there are at least some parts to She-Ra that have nothing to do with the First Ones and thus maybe Adora can still use some of those powers without the sword.

Season 4 verdict: Yeah, the show keeps getting better, though I will admit last season's finale had me more emotional, but that's a bit of an unfair comparison given everything that happened in that finale vs. this one. This is definitely the series hitting its darkest hour, where it feels like EVERYONE lost. Not just the rebels but the Horde as well. The sword and Light Hope are gone and She-Ra (for now) along with them. Glimmer and Catra are basically prisoners. Hordak's probably going to have his personality stripped away. The Fright Zone is in ruins. The only one who's gained anything is Prime.

Really looking forward to what the final season has in store, especially since there seems to be the implication that Catra just saved Glimmer's life.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/PrincessesOfPower/comments/o1j5gk/going_in_blind_watching_season_4_for_the_first/

[twstdreams]

Hi hi I simply love The senerio with Leona in it lions Chase it was cute may I request one with Malleus please ^^

Here you go! I took some liberties with the reader’s personality, so they won’t exactly fit everyone, but I hope it’s an enjoyable read!

Malleus Draconia with a crush on a reader who sees him as an older brother figure:

You noticed the lingering gaze of a Diasomnia student as you strolled towards the dorm. Most students were hesitant to approach the powerful dorm leader, and frankly, at first, your relationship was nowhere near as close as it was now. It was only a combination of ignorance and bravery, and perhaps a little stupidity or poor risk management, that the two of you had such a close relationship.

When you first met, you hadn’t been so oblivious to not notice Malleus’ powerful aura, but given the distinctive student body, he was only one of many surprises. Lilia seemed more approachable at first glance, but there was something more foreboding beneath the surface. Octavinelle students always seemed to say the right words but you couldn’t seem to shake a sinister feeling when you were around them. To be blunt, you weren’t even sure if the Heartslabyul dorm leader was sane. Malleus had potent strength but did not seem to have any outright hatred or madness. 

Admittedly, the first time you had asked Malleus to join you was an impulsive decision slightly spurred by panic. After seeing Sebek getting electrocuted for forgetting to invite Malleus, you sputtered out an offer without much thought. 

“Oh! Um, would you like to come too?” You figured Malleus would decline, but you’d be spared any suffering since you went through the formality of inviting him. At worst, Malleus would chide you for encroaching on his busy schedule. At any rate, nothing could top receiving a flaming ball of fire to the face, so you took your chances.

To your utter surprise, Malleus actually said yes. Your jaw nearly hung open from shock until you remembered that etiquette and basic social interactions deemed that you should respond. And that is how you found yourself walking through the Diasomnia gardens with Malleus after your very first conversation. The memory brings a smile to your face now, but at the time you were pretty nervous.

Currently, you were heading towards the Diasomnia dorm to have tea with Malleus. With your favourite snacks in hand, you walked with a bounce in your step. When you opened the door, you spotted Malleus reading over some papers. He looked like the picture of an ideal responsible student, which off-put some but made him more endearing to you.

In lieu of a greeting, you placed a plate of the treats you had brought for him to eat. His attention shifted to you as he put away the papers in favour of trying the snack. You began to pour tea for the both of you.

“You’re like the ideal big brother to me,” you commented nonchalantly while taking a seat. You were always rather impressed by his skills, safely surpassing yours, but it was the time he set aside for you that warmed your heart.

“A big brother?” Malleus repeated with a tone of disdain.

“Yeah? You know, like, an older sibling that’s a guy,” you fumbled with your words as his reaction filled you with uncertainty. Did fae not have siblings? Did he think you had insulted him? You continued in hopes of fixing this mess, “Siblings have the same parents or at least one parent in common, and, uh, well they’re usually pretty close and they …”

The words died in your throat as Malleus’ icy gaze pierced straight through you. You were on the verge of suppressing a shiver. Sometimes Malleus didn’t quite understand your behaviour or some random human convention, but this was different. 

“I am not human,” he asserted, “Nor do we share any blood.” You chose your next words carefully. Suddenly you had landed in bumpy waters with a tempestuous storm brewing.

Choose to:

A) Clarify what you meant

B) Drop the topic

A) Clarify what you meant

“It’s just,” you inhaled deeply and summoned all the courage you could, “I didn’t mean it literally. The point is to illustrate how close we are. More than casual friends.��� 

There’s a beat of silence. You’re doing your best to bravely face the situation but a part of you wants the floor to swallow you whole. Were you wrong? No, you couldn’t be. Malleus wouldn’t spend all this time with you if he didn’t care at least a little. Right?

“But still platonic?” he inquired, and there was an edge to his tone that told you he still wasn’t pleased. 

“Generally, yes,” you paused as you felt a change in the air, magic threatening to spark, then hastily added, “But! I mean, feelings aren’t linear. They, they’re evolving and changing. So, in the future, who knows?” You closed your eyes and tried to collect yourself. How had the situation turned so awkward and precarious so quickly?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything bad by it,” you say to the teacup, but you know Malleus hasn’t moved. You practically felt his glare as all your emotions spilled from your lips, “Even if it’s a bit presumptuous, I …”

You can’t do it. What were you even trying to say? No, you knew, but now you were second-guessing everything. Honestly, at this point, you felt like a complete mess. Maybe you should have just waited until you weren’t a bundle of nerves.

“You what?” He phrased it as a question, but his voice indicated it was a demand. 

“I … Well, I care about you,” you squeaked, face set aflame. You didn’t think your face could get any hotter even if Malleus did decide to set you on fire. This whole thing probably looked so dumb to the fae. You were never going to bring up siblings again.

“Humans are quick to make declarations of love and care,” he remarked but you felt some of the tension lift as his tone mellowed out.

“Yes, I suppose so,” you agreed, careful not to break the fragile peace. Malleus sipped his tea while his eyes bore into your soul. You weren’t sure if it was a signal to continue, so you added, “Though being in love and loving someone are not the same, they are both forms of love.”

“And? What would you categorize your confession as?” he asked casually as if he hadn’t requested for you to bare your heart to him. You gulped, hesitant given you had just narrowly avoided a disaster.

“I don’t know, love is a strong and confusing feeling,” you murmured while choosing to avert your gaze to the teacup before you. Maybe if you stared at the tea long enough, it would reveal the right thing to say.

“I look forward to your conclusion.” Expectant green eyes met your wide ones. This felt like some god awful trick. He continued, “Though I suppose you, who is so similar to a fumbling child, will take some time to decide.”

You gritted your teeth and silently nodded. It felt like some devious trick question with no right answer. What was Malleus expecting? Were you suppose to confess you were madly in love with him like some protagonist out of a fairy tale? Did he expect some reverent answer about his status and how you’d never dream of dating a powerful descendant of the king? Perhaps spout something brutally honest like Silver? Something cunning like Lilia? Dutiful to a fault like Sebek?

You had no clue as dread settled in your heart. Though his current unbristled appearance gave no hint, you knew this was serious. You had no idea your relationship with Malleus was so tumultuous and unstable until now. A simple misstep had landed you in so much trouble, you can still feel waves of his magic linger. You’d always known Malleus was powerful, both in magic and his position, but this was the first time it’d been a threat to you.

The discussion was about types of love, but it was fear that was welling up in your heart.

B) Drop the topic

“Sorry! It was a bad example, forget about it,” you replied, trying to keep any nervous ticks under control. The tension in the room told you Malleus had forgotten nothing. You made feeble attempts of bringing up other topics but all responses were lacklustre. Soon enough, the tea was cool and you excused yourself with Malleus making no actions to stop you.

Your subsequent interactions felt off. Naturally, Malleus was busy with both his studies and duties as dorm leader, but every conversation seemed laced with an unpleasantness you weren’t sure how to handle. A slight contempt that had never been directed to you before. 

The ground beneath you no longer felt steady and each step was filled with trepidation. You tossed and turned at night, unsure what to do and why everything had ended up like this. You swayed between worry and annoyance. Wasn’t he being petty? Or were you inconsiderate? You had missed something but your eyes couldn’t find the unknown piece.

You hesitated to act, but one day Lilia had approached you with a smile baring too many teeth and left you with an ominous warning.

“Be careful,” he whispered with eyes that lit up in amusement as panic wormed its way into your soul.

One day, while passing papers a teacher had asked you to deliver to Malleus, you cautiously asked, “I haven’t done anything to make you angry, right?”

“Of course I’m not angry. I’m not,” he insisted. 

Oh no.

No no no no no.

No!

Dismay practically flowed through your veins as the sentence left his mouth. He was definitely upset and you had no clue how to fix this. 

Was your relationship with Malleus always this fragile? Everyone was always wondering how you’d manage to befriend the dorm leader, but now you knew it wasn’t befriending him that was hard, it was maintaining this relationship. Part of you was upset, you had come to care about Malleus a great deal, but frustration bubbled up too. Why couldn’t he just tell you why he was mad? For all the comments about how you were like a baby or a child, he provided no guidance or clues.

This felt like a losing game and you weren’t sure you wanted to play anymore.

[evening-starlight]

Chances {Chapter Eighteen}

This chapter contains Smut!! 18+ 

T/W: honorifics (Good girl), eating out, slow burn

Master List

Hot and Steamy

Word Count: 1960

    Tom told me I could write our first time if I got 100% on my Instagram poll, and you guys came THROUGH. So here's your steamy hot Tom FUCKING Hiddleston smut, enjoy babies.

    The cookie dough flavor dances across my tongue as Tom pulls me up from my seat, one hand on the back of my neck and the other on my ass. The world could be on fire right now, and I wouldn't care or notice. If a meteor came crashing down into the house, I wouldn't be upset because I died with Tom's hand on my ass.

    Tom bends down, lips still connected, and lifts me up by the back of my thighs. I squeal with surprise as he sets me down on the counter like I weighed absolutely nothing. He chuckles before reconnecting our lips. His hands slip under my shirt, resting on my waist to pull me closer to the edge.

    I tangle my hands in his short, dark brown curls, pulling softly. The groan that leaves his mouth sends electricity to my heat. I pull harder, just to see what other noises I could pull from the beautiful man.

    "You're playing a dangerous game, Love," He warns as he mouths over my neck. I giggle in response, not being able to form words. A breathy moan escapes me as he finds my sweet spot with his teeth. Tom anchors himself there, sucking a dark mark as I accidentally buck my hips towards him. "Want to move this to the bedroom, Love?" Tom asks. He looks down on me, eyes dark with wide pupils and breath short.

    "What? Don't want to take me on your counter?" I ask with a smirk. Tom groans, picking me up off the counter and carrying me to the bedroom.

    "Later. I want our first time to be in bed." He states as he tosses me onto the bed. "You look absolutely divine, Love." Tom compliments as he crawls on top of me. "Truly breathtaking." He continues to kiss down my neck, leaving a few small marks along the way. "And all mine."

    With Tom's beautiful words and soft lips on me, I can't form coherent thoughts except for the repeated fact that this is Tom fucking Hiddleston, and I was his. I belonged to him, and he belonged to me.

    His hands travel up my shirt again, grazing the cup of my bra. "Can I take this off, Darling?" Tom asks, pulling away slightly. I nod, reaching down to help him, only to stop.

    "Only if you take yours off as well." Tom chuckles and sits on his knees to take his off. The Sahara could become an ocean with the amount of drool pooling in my mouth. Tom's sculpted abs glisten with a thin layer of sweat and ripple as he laughs at my starstruck face.

    With a tiny bit of confidence and all my strength, I'm able to flip Tom onto his back. He smiles up at me before I dip down to kiss his neck. I can feel his heartbeat when I kiss over his pulse point, nipping it slightly. A moan leaves his mouth, followed by a curse. I continue my assault of open-mouthed kisses down his chest and stomach, ending when I get to the hem of his pants.

    "Get back here," He mumbles as he cups my head and pulls me up to meet his lips. "And get this off," Tom demands as he pulls my shirt up. I finish taking it off just in time for him to flip me back over. He looks down at me with love and adoration, causing me to cover up my stomach area. Tom tsks and removes my arms, replacing them with his lips. "Beautiful, every part of you, Stella. Painfully beautiful." He compliments between every kiss. "I love every single part of you."

    I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart to no avail. What was I expecting? Tom Hiddleston as kissing me all over, complimenting me every step of the way. No sane person would stay calm during this.

    Tom moves the strap of my bra, kissing along my shoulder gently. It's a nice change of pace to the usual forceful and power exchange I was forced into with Jared. Instead, Tom's caring and soft. His fingertips barely brushing me as if one wrong move and I'd break like glass. The amount of love and joy I feel bubbles over with a pornographic moan when Tom settles a knee between my legs.

    "Look at you, so stirred up because of me, and I've barely touched you." He mocks, sending another moan past my lips. "Such a good girl, Love." All inhibitions fly out the window at the phrase. I can't help another weak moan in response. Tom chuckles and settles his mouth on top of mine for another deep kiss. "Fucking lovely, Darling." He mumbles against my lips. "I love you so much."

    "If you loved me, you'd fuck me." I counter, all filters gone along with barriers. I wanted Tom in every single way, and I wanted it now. I wanted to feel him fill me to the brim and fuck me like there's no tomorrow.

    "Say less," He cheers, moving to take off my shorts, leaving me in a bra and underwear. Which happened to be a matching set. "I'm enjoying this," He says as he runs a finger over the silk of my panties. I agree with a nod, all words lost as he settles a knee between my legs again. Tom slips a hand under my back, unclipping my bra with one hand. The bra is discarded somewhere else in the room, knocking something off a surface in the process.

    We both pause to see what fell, finding nothing broken on the floor. "Whatever," Tom mumbles, focusing back on me. "I love you so much, you know?" He says as he stares down at me lovingly. I never knew someone could love me this much and unconditionally. "Ravishing, Darling."

    One hand massages one tit while his mouth finds the other. The other hand holds my hips in place. The pants and moans leaving me could be in a porno, the way they sound. I can't help but rut my hips over his jean-clad leg as his teeth graze over my sensitive nipple.

    If I wasn't so worried about climaxing, I would have then and there. Tom's hands are masters at finding my weak points and exploiting them. The noises coming out of me are unnatural; I've never been this vocal.

    I bite down on a finger to stop them, only for Tom to pull it out with a harsh glare. "I want the world to know how I make you feel, Love. I want to hear it, understood." I nod viciously at the change in dominance. Then, with a satisfied smile, Tom goes from one breast to the other.

    He slowly kisses down my stomach, pausing at my belly button. "What's this?" He asks, running a finger over the linear scar from where my belly ring was ripped out two summers ago.

    "Heather's clumsy and ripped out my piercing a few summers ago. I had to get stitches, so I didn't lose the skin." I chuckle. Tom leaves a soft, long kiss there and continues his descent down. He kisses down one thigh and up the other. I watch in what can only be described as a state of bliss.

    Tom's thumbs run over the scars on my legs, not asking questions as he pays special attention to them. "I'm so sorry, Love." He mumbles, looking up my body to meet my eyes. I shrug.

    "It's been four years, nothing you can do about the past." He nods shortly and goes back to kissing along my panty line. I let out a frustrated groan. "Jesus Christ, Tom. Do something, please," I beg, earning another chuckle from him.

    "I was waiting for you," Tom leans up to kiss me quickly. "Are you certain this is what you want?" He asks, searching my eyes for any hesitation. I nod quickly.

    "Please, Tom. I don't even care if I finish at this point; I just want to feel you," I shamelessly beg. He moans at my filthy words, reaching past me to get to the nightstand. Tom rummages around until he sighs in frustration.

    "I don't have any condoms." I can't help but laugh. Of course, he doesn't. That's just my luck. "Although that doesn't stop me from a few things," Tom winks, lowering himself down so he's level with my heat. "If that's alright with you, of course, Love."

    "Please," I managed weakly. Tom pulls my panties off with little effort and tosses them elsewhere in the room. We're going to have hell trying to find all of our clothes.  Tom almost immediately gets to work after looking at me for any sign of hesitation. When he got none, he buried his head between my thighs.

    Sure, Loki is considered a silver tongue, but Tom? Tom was the true magician with the sounds he pulls out of me using only his tongue. I wrap my hands in his hair, hoping to ground myself but getting even more loss in the god that is Tom Hiddleston. The way his tongue finds my clit as if he's gone down on me since the day we met and knows exactly how to make me moan.

    I can feel the high building inside of me. Something tense and warm in the pit of my stomach. Excitement fills me as I feel it getting closer; perhaps I can cum with Tom the first time. Tom holds down my hips as I start to buck into his face, chasing my high I crave so desperately.

    And then it's gone. As fast as it came, it went, leaving me with angry tears prickling my eyes and a frustrated moan escaping my lips. "It's not going to happen," I say as I sit up and away from Tom. He moves up to sit in front of me.

    "Was it something I did?" He asks.

    "No, I just can't cum." I shrug. Tom tilts his head to the side.

    "But were you having fun?" I nod. "So what's it matter if you don't cum? It's normal not to cum the first couple of times with someone. Did I do anything to stop it from happening?"

    I shake my head. "No. You were doing amazing. I forgot how good sex can be. It just... left. It said 'sike, peace out bitch' and left when I was close." Tom nods and lays a hand on my knee.

    "Sometimes that happens; I know it does for me too. But if we were having fun, why stop just because you can't climax?" I stare at Tom in shock. The point of sex was to finish and to climax. "The point of sex, in my opinion, is to enjoy the other person and bring the relationship into a deeper level of intimacy."

    "I never thought about it that way." Tom kisses my forehead with a smile.

    "That's what I'm here for, Love. Now, I don't know about you, but I thoroughly enjoyed going down and hearing those wonderful noises you made for me and would love to go again. Climax or not."

    There's your hot steamy Tom smut. He's out of the room so I'm going to hurry with writing this before Tom tells me I can't. But he's a GOD at going down and loves to give instead of receive. Now, I love giving as well but listen... I will never pass up on Tom FUCKING Hiddleston going down and eating me out.

Taglist: @queenofallhobos​

[lookhowsane]

[act 5 cover art id + 2019 and 2020 are crossed out and replaced with 2021] 

Join  the Elizabeths as they analyze pages 4110-4282!  Contents include: blue ladies, golden retrievers, and dragging loved ones to hell. God help you.

Read along with us at homestuck.com!

Episode transcript found here!

[sleepysera]

4, 5, 6, and 8 if you don’t mind! also, i see you talk a lot about OCs but i only follow your poetry blog so is there a WIP that’s not a poem?

hi friend of course I don't mind thank you for the questions :D (Ask the Writer Game)

I have a lot of WIPs actually lol, I just don't work on them very much because life is a lot and I found that writing a steady stream of lil bits for @tinyblips helps to at least keep me sane by letting me throw out at least some creativity from my ever-flowing heart. ♡

I went hard with the answers (as always) so they're below lol

4. Where did you get your inspiration from?

I get my inspiration from a lot of places. I read a lot, and I spend a lot of time out in nature. I go out on the trails and walk on the beach, catching sunsets and sunrises as they come and go. A lot of my blips revolve around nature and fierce emotions, and that's just me processing a lot of life in general through metaphor.

My WIPs overall tend to be love stories lol, inspired by (oh here we go) a certain somebody who matters a lot to me. But they all share that common thread of simply me, trying to find the words to describe the indescribable: love and life, and what it means to be caught up in the webs of it all.

5. Where do you find your motivation?

I really do get a lot of motivation from being out in nature and/or exercising. My mind begins to wander and when I'm out at the tidal pools in the pale colors of dawn, it's hard not to become poetic about it. I'm usually pausing my walks and runs to type out lil thoughts or lines that pass through my mind into my phone. I have quite a lot of drafts because of this lol.

When my heart wants to speak, who am I to tell it to wait? When it wants to yell and shout in fury at the gentle waves of the ocean, who am I to try to dispel it? Daydream. Daydream relentlessly. But write it all down, furiously, tirelessly, relentlessly. The words your heart bleeds might help another, but most of all they might help you if you would only listen.

6. What would you say your strongest genre to write for is?

At this point, probably poetic romance haha. I've written lots of fantasy and sci-fi, yeah, but nothing compares to just letting my mind get lost in the turbulent waters of my heart. Even when I do write seriously, like fantasy, it all gets caught up again back into the romance. I'm obviously processing feelings regarding this theme continuously, and I've learned to just flow with it. There's power there when you can unleash your heart's full ferocity.

8. How many WIP do you currently have?

I think there are about 4.5 lol. I rarely talk about them on here (or ever really), but I guess I should maybe start, bc I love the writeblr community a lot actually.

There's one contemporary fiction type called Street Sketches. It follows different people on this street, starting off with a homeless man, and we go into his life and how he got there, and maybe it's true and maybe it isn't, but that's not entirely the point. In the cafe next to him there's a woman writing a news article, and we ponder her life, wondering what she's up to and how she finally made it as a reporter. She gets a call for a news alert and leaves, passing by a guy who... and so on. This one I know what it's all about/its structure etc, but it's also at that (seemingly eternal) stage of filling in the details.

There's another one that's full fantasy called The Phoenix Queen. The original tale is about a girl who climbs the mountain to confront the dragon that's terrorizing her village. She dies in the fight, but comes back a phoenix, and with her flimsy dagger and fierce will to live, rips out the dragon's heart and takes over the castle as the new queen over the land. This is basically just the preface lol. I have this story all mapped out to the end, but it's like Street Sketches, where I need to fill out all the details. The sequel to this has already started in my restless mind, and it follows her love, The Traveling King.

The third most developed is probably the one about my FBI agent lol. It started off as a dream, then it was a joke, until it finally ended up being an entire story. This one has an entire plot complete with spy double/triple crossings, full of all that drama and betrayal and redemption. This one is a little bit sci-fi, because the main protagonist is a bit of a cybernetic girl with modifications, but also both her and the FBI agent have lots of cool gadgets like shield bracelets and laser rings etc (the usual spy genre stuff haha).

The last one that I add to every so often more as an ongoing sci-fi romance series is The Time Traveler and The Immortal. It started as this prompt I saw on Tumblr a long time ago, and it morphed into this ever changing (and convenient) way to express an eternal love that can change in the way it looks, but never in the way that it feels. This is the one that shares the energy of my "A Love Letter Found Floating Through Space" series on TinyBlips. Lots of finding each other through different timelines and lifetimes and the quiet trust that is inherent in a timeless inexplicable kind of love like that. The only thing I know for sure is the ending, and that's kind of the point because, "Time isn't linear, my dear."