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polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup · 9 months

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What is your opinion on Toji? Both as a character and as a (deadbeat) dad?

As a character he's masterfully written, and him being a deadbeat dad is an absolutely vital part of that.

Toji and Gojo exist fundamentally as mirrors of one another. Equal and opposite images. Infinite cursed energy and absolute zero. Both were born as the most powerful members of their clan alive, but Gojo was lauded for his gifts, whereas Toji was rejected.

Even the way the universe itself treats them (and the way they treat it in turn) are inverses of one another. According to Gege, Gojo is naturally good at everything he tries, and so he doesn't try most things. In converse, Toji is a natural failure who can't stop trying. He's a gambler who loses all of his money but is still parked at the tracks, placing bets that never win. As foils they work so so well.

Taken alone, Toji himself is fascinating because of how much he's aching with failure and lost potential. It reeks of a true tragedy--and, like most tragedies, a good deal of it was of his own making even if circumstance can't be denied. He's Hamlet: introduced to his own downfall by events outside of himself but fuck if he didn't help it on plenty on his own.

Toji is a character who was cast as cursed from birth. He was born extraordinarily powerful in a clan that refused to see it and actively vilified him for his abilities. And as the audience, we can see the sheer affront of that, because we can see him for how he truly is. He's very, very plainly one of the most powerful characters in the franchise. Gojo himself initially loses to him, and if Toji had listened to his instincts that day and left the second he saw Gojo returned? He'd probably have remained undefeated against him. He'd have survived to cause problems in canon even farther down the line.

And it's especially interesting in the fact that Toji is a character who can do something that no other character in the series can do: he can destroy fate.

Toji himself is a functional loophole in canon. From a meta perspective, Gojo functions as this archetype of the Unbeatable, but Toji is the exception. When it comes to the Star Plasma Vessel, fate should have ensured that the merger happened anyway, but Toji, again, catalyzed the exception. Gojo and Toji colliding is the unstoppable force meeting the unmovable object, and the sheer waste that the Zenin out of hand rejected someone that could rival Gojo Satoru stings at the audience with a particular sort of irony. They really did throw away with both hands the person that could have made them rival Gojo, and they did it because of their own prejudices and egos. Toji's story really is one of a tragedy, but the execution of him really does function uniquely in the genre.

And to speak briefly on tragedy--if we're talking about the classical conception of tragedy, it's defined by a reversal of fortune. It's good fortune to bad. Peripeteia. That's legitimately what makes a narrative a tragedy--the audience watches as the character's fortune reverses over the span of the narrative.

In the term of the broader narrative, Toji himself acts as peripeteia personified. He is what reverses Gojo's fortune. Gojo was his downfall, but at the same time, he was still Gojo's.

Gojo starts his interaction with Toji in a state of good fortune. He is already One of The Strongest. And, more importantly, he isn't the strongest alone--which is something he spends the rest of the narrative trying to reclaim. Every single time he teaches, he's trying to encourage the students to become his equal, with Yuuji, Megumi, and Yuuta being the most notable exceptions of this. Yes, he's doing it for their own wellbeing, but that doesn't change the fact that he's still trying to cultivate a status quo that he had and lost with Geto Suguru for other people. And he says this explicitly: he does not want them to be alone. It's the loss of Geto that truly defines Gojo's tragic arc, and it was Toji himself that caused Geto's loss.

He made Gojo The Strongest when he pushed him to the point of unlocking reversed curse energy. But, more importantly, he sent Geto on his descent into madness. Even calling himself a monkey was what fed into Geto's ideals--if it weren't for Toji, it wouldn't have happened.

The other thing that defines a tragedy is that tragic heroes are meant to be sent on their downfall because of some kind of fatal flaw. Hamartia. Outside circumstances set the ball in motion, but it's the character's own flaw that truly dooms them. A very famous example of this is Hamlet, who was set on his path to destruction by his father's ghost and his uncle's deceit, but what's widely considered to be the source of his change in fortune is his decision to not kill his uncle as he prays. Hamlet is a famously clever character, and this works against him as he decides to play god and try to not only revenge his father, but ensure his uncle's eternal damnation. It's only then that he begins to make the mistakes that ultimately doom him. If he had killed him in the moment and left his uncle's soul to God's own deliberations, then he would have likely survived the play just fine. He damns himself just as much as circumstances did.

If we accept the premise that Gojo's story is one of tragedy, then we have to ask what his fatal flaw is. And I'd argue that it's his own isolation.

Gojo is strongest on his own, but every thing he's ever lost can be linked back to the isolation that comes with that. Most notably, again, being Geto Suguru, and the fact that Kenjaku was able to use Geto's body as the way of sealing him. Gojo's own untouchability is what leads him on the path to his own destruction, and it's something that Toji specifically takes advantage of in the course of their fight, and it's something that he exacerbates when he inadvertently leads to Gojo's permanent loss of Geto. Toji really is the one to best expose Gojo's fatal flaw and take advantage of it.

But the interesting thing about Toji is that he really begs the question as to whether his own journey is that of a tragedy or a comedy.

Okay, so not to open this huge can of worms with classical infighting, but all of the definitions that we get regarding what makes a tragedy comes from Aristotle's Poetics, and the second book of it where he defines comedy is lost to history. We've been fighting about what exactly he meant to say ever since. The book's gone. People say we have ideas about what's in it but the book's fucking gone. It's gone.

Anyway Aristotle's fucking dead and it's my turn to wear the philosopher hat, and I'm saying that it's also a reversal of fortunes from bad to good. If there's any classics scholars reading this please keep walking i can't go back to this war.

There's a really good argument that Toji is a tragedy. Fuck, he has a fatal flaw flying so blatantly that he says it out loud in his death scene--his own pride. His inability to admit to his own failure or potential for it. He wants to win, even when he knows he can't. It's what leads him to fight Gojo a second time. It's what leads him to place bet after bet when he never, ever wins.

But there's one glaring issue: if tragedy is a reversal of fortunes from good to bad, did toji ever have good fortune to begin with?

If it just starts as bad and stays as bad, it's not a tragedy by definition. It feels tragic to the audience, but it's not a tragedy in narrative form. So what is Toji's good fortune in this narrative?

I'd argue it's actually Megumi. And we are left to decide whether or not he lost or gained his good fortune in his last moments of his life.

I've talked about Megumi's function in the narrative with the concept of fortune in other posts, but fuck if I know where they are. Megumi himself, as a character, is not fortunate. He's actually sort of fucked. He's doomed by the narrative from the start, but he does seem to be a sort of fortune for other people.

It's literally in his name. Blessing, but not blessed. A blessing is something that's bestowed on other people; blessed speaks to your own state of fortune. All of Megumi's seeming fortune only exists for the sake of other people, with the most notable example being his Ten Shadows Technique.

Megumi as Gojo's foil is another conversation entirely that I won't go into, but it's interesting how Gojo's relationship with his technique is indisputably one of being blessed, and Megumi is stuck as a blessing. Again, it’s almost explicitly said—Gojo states “I alone am the honored one” when describing his own relationship with his technique. But the Ten Shadows Technique is what consistently dooms Megumi in his own narrative, and it’s usually because of other people.

He was trapped into life as a jujutsu sorcerer because of it, and his relationship with it is interesting because he does not understand its true value but everyone else does. The higher ups. The Zenin. Sukuna. Megumi has no space within the narrative to breathe and grow naturally because other people have taken his existence as a boon to them and use that to his direct detriment. He’s a blessing. He isn’t blessed. He is good fortune for others and it robs him of his own.

And he was Toji’s Blessing first.

In order to really, properly analyze whether Toji’s narrative is a tragedy or comedy or neither, we have to analyze his relationship with his own fatherhood. It’s time for a massive departure into that.

The thing is that toji sort of fucking sucked at being a dad. He was a deadbeat. I’ve seen a lot in fandom that tries to construe his actions as a father in a more favorable light, but I think doing so robs him of his narrative depth.

Specifically, I’m talking about his decision to sell Megumi to the Zenin.

And like. I’ve personally seen a lot of posts that sort of justify it as Toji doing what was best for Megumi, that his family would take care of him better than they did Toji because he had cursed energy, but that's sort of patently untrue? Like, parents who are worried about their kid's wellbeing and are trying to get them guardians with better means don't put off the actual transfer of guardianship because they're still negotiating the purchase price. They don't sell them to a family they know is abusive to begin with. He already knew Megumi had cursed energy. They were just waiting on his technique to appear, specially so that they could settle on the final price, and in that time, Megumi was left with Tsumiki to fend for themselves. If he really thought that the Zenin were going to take care of him, he should have tried to get them to take custody sooner.

Moreover, there's just a lot of steps you can take before selling your kid to your abusive family when it comes to their wellbeing. Namely, actually stepping up to the plate and raising them yourself.

"They'll treat him better because he has curse energy" was Toji's justification for selling Megumi, and it's one he plainly didn't believe himself in the long run, because in the end he risked it all on this sixteen year old gayboy who just killed him rather than actually trust his family to take care of his son. Up to the point of his death, Toji just wasn't a good dad.

He was never around. He left a four year old in charge of a three year old and left them both unattended. He gambled away their money at the tracks instead of, you know, feeding them. The money that he did leave them for food was canonically a part of the down payment for selling Megumi. He was so absentee that he straight up forgot what Megumi's name was.

But, undeniably, it's Megumi who he thought of as he died. It's Megumi he tried to take care of.

Remember that tragedy is classically defined as good fortune to bad, but Toji didn't have any good fortune to start with. Like, he wasn't even living a particularly good life. He was an eternally broke absentee dad with a gambling addiction and an insecurity complex so big he needed to kill those teenage homosexuals over it. I'm pretty sure he only owned one pair of pants.

But if we accept Megumi, the son he once loved so much that he named him blessing, as his one good fortune, then he didn't have him either at the start of action. He had abandoned his only good fortune and left him, ultimately, at the mercy of his family.

And that's what changes on his death bed. Toji finally becomes the type of dad that takes care of his son.

If Toji hadn't died, there wouldn't have been the catalysis for change. He probably would have gone through with the sale. I'd like to think that he'd live to regret it, that he'd go back and save Megumi, but it's really up in the air as to whether or not he ever would. But undeniably, when he tells Gojo about Megumi as a last ditch effort to save him from his family, that's the first moment we really see in canon where Toji doesn't have any ulterior motive when it comes to Megumi. He doesn't get any benefit out of it anymore. His kid is going to be sold off to the Zenin in a few years time. Do with that what Gojo will.

This is even more interesting when it comes to the only moment in canon where Megumi and Toji interact: in Shibuya, where Toji is resurrected and fights Megumi.

To my understanding, Toji was compelled to fight whatever was most powerful in his immediate proximity, which made him go after Megumi. The second he realizes that it's his son he's fighting, he stops the fight, asks for his name, and kills himself to stop the resurrection spell, with his last words being that he's glad Megumi's Fushiguro instead of Zenin. He didn't even hesitate. He didn't take care of his son in life, but he died for him without even needing to think about it.

Saving Megumi from his family (albeit, partially because he was the one who endangered him to begin with) was the only really good thing Toji did with his life that we know of, and he dies glad. He dies knowing that Megumi was raised as Fushiguro instead of Zenin.

So. Was Toji's journey one of bad fortune to good? Or good fortune to bad? Or just... bad fortune to still bad fortune? It can be argued for any of them, but it's really undeniable that Toji's failures and successes as a father are integral to his character's complexity.

He was a shit dad. But he died for his son. And I think you lose a huge amount of his character if you deny either of those.

#Fushiguro Toji #jjk #toji fushiguro #papaguro

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completeoveranalysis · 1 year

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[1]

Chapitre 183 - The World of Sand

In which ARE YOU KIDDING ME? THIS IS INCREDIBLE.

BLACK AND WHITE INVERSE COLOUR SAKURA AND SYAORANS? OHHHHH CLAMP ARE GENEROUS. CLAMP ARE GIVING.

Even just how each couple is wearing the colour opposite to their background, but also the opposite of the opposing pair.

And how the feathers are in the SAME but OPPOSITE part of the page for each side, showing that they are visual inversions of each other’s reality, but the feathers don’t look the same, and are shown at unique angles. Potentially they’re falling on one side but rising on the other. Potentially it’s the same for each, but its showing that neither story is complete without the perspective of the other.

And how the small circles on the right are small and clearly defined against the background - perhaps falling water droplets, like the falling feathers around them? - while the ones on the left are fuzzy shiny orbs, like motes of air or magic rising through the sky. I think the implication of movement is a bit open to interpretation, you could go either way. IS one side falling and the other rising? Is the fate of that Sakura/Syaoran pair falling downward while the other rises? Is one falling to ALLOW the other to rise? Is one pair doomed by fate BECAUSE they are clones? Or are they drifting down and out of the narrative and into freedom, while the other pair takes up the fight in their stead? Is one background Black because their future is dark, or because they CAME from that darkness, as created tools of Evil Wolverine? Or is it their clothes that matter? Are they the light in the dark, the fragments of people who fought to change the future despite their origins? White clothing because they were initially empty and devoid of anything? Is the other background similarly white because it hasn’t been written yet - a future so undefined that no-one can tell what it will be when this is all over?

Are the circles actually heading in the same direction on both sides of the page, and the difference is how they are perceived? How one stands out against the darkness while the other needs help to be seen at all? The clones WERE the most visible throughout most of the story, and only through their existence did the other pair get the chance to enter the narrative again.

I - oH fuck I forgot that this would be in colour and that I HAVE IT. PLEASE HOLD. WHERE IS IT.

HERE IT IS! LOOK LOOK LOOK

EVEN THE SPLASH TEXT IS INVERTED

MIRROR IMAGES

And OH all that gorgeous golden ornamentation, the gem colours actually staying the same on both sides of the page. The clasp on Syaoran’s upper arm is the same symbol as on the previous cover, on Fai and Kurogane's clothing, which is a very fun connection that shows it wasn’t just an alternate world we didn’t see, but an intended shared thread of imagery for them all.

The long pieces of jewellery that the Sakuras wear are gorgeous and delicate and intricate. It could be echoing the design of vines and natural growth - perhaps because she can communicate with spirits, and is in touch with the natural world, or perhaps because she is a desert flower herself, growing out of a literal world of sand but also blooming despite the extreme adversity, and blossoming out of pure determination. It also has visual echoes of imprisonment - it circles her neck not at a low level like a necklace, but high like a collar. It spreads across her like roots, holding her in place - or is it the opposite of that now? Is she, aware of her fate as she is, wearing Evil Wolverine’s designs like they're just a gown to be worn? Something she can’t take off but has learned to make work for her?

The Syaorans have a circular loop in the design of their coat around their necks as well - because they’ve been just as trapped in Evil Wolverine’s schemes. For the Syaoran on the right especially the loop around his neck has two circular gems visible that could echo the same shape as the goggles he used to wear, bringing in an element of the past that shaped who he is but at the same time was a design placed on him from birth, one that was all by someone else’s plan.

AND THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THEM. The colour version lets you see the heterochromia in Syaoran's eyes on the right, showing which pair is which, and the DIFFERENCES in how they stand. (If they ARE in the pairs you would expect) Clone Sakura looks down, as if unfocussed, because she IS currently narratively dead. Or is she instead gazing at her hand, being held by Syaoran? She has wanted this so desperately and for so long. Does she look sad because she is currently dead, meaning they might never be actually together? Is she unfocussed because she has not yet had the chance to truly see that her sacrifice worked, and that Syaoran really has been restored? Either way, Syaoran holds her hand up in support, gently from below.

The Syaoran on the left holds the other Sakura’s hand up close to his chest, hand clenched tight. This Sakura and Syaoran both look ahead - at where they are going? At what lies ahead for them both? Neither looks especially happy, but neither looks especially unhappy either. Lava Lamp has always been particularly unreadable, but the way he grasps her hand betrays how hard he’s been fighting for her. Sakura in turn looks just as unfocussed as her counterpart - and if Evil Wolverine is to be believed, it’s because she’s also dead. I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS THOUGH. She could potentially be in dreams, asleep for the entire plotline, held as a backup until they free her. She is not particularly aware that her hand is being held, and isn’t participating in the motion like the other Sakura seems to be, but she looks ahead all the same. Whatever they're looking at, they're clearly moving in a different direction entirely to their clone counterparts.

Meanwhile Clone Syaoran looks directly at the camera.

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foibles-fables · 2 years

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fic meme??? "Control" drabble of your choice 👀

I didn't manage a drabble but hey, here's this unedited weirdness !! I rolled prompt 3: "I hate seeing you like this." Listen, I don't even know. Have some bizarro mirror image fight-sex/hate-sex.

EDIT: Now archived properly to AO3!

Face to face, they align. What should be a slab of glass is instead a narrow empty space, bristling with mingled heavy breath—coupled, synchronic, too-familiar. Spread supine, wrists pinned to the floor over her head, Jesse grunts in frustration and tries to twist free.

The sum of the struggle is zero. Because the altered one twists as well, keeping her held down with a force exactly equal, exactly opposite.

esseJ hovers over her, close, thigh jammed tight between hers, hips bearing down for leverage. Her eyes smolder crystal-sharp blue against the dim, seeming a source of light rather than its echo. As they bore into Jesse’s, her upper lip curls with the beginnings of a snarl. Jesse matches her expression without realizing it. Glares up, chest heaving and nostrils flaring, sweltered all over.

“siht ekil uoy gniees etah I,” esseJ says. The rough scorn in her voice twines with the vivid serration of her gaze.

Their hips lock and grind as Jesse writhes again. No gain except for stuttering friction, heat released, entropy increasing. Jesse won’t give her reflection the satisfaction of a groan, but her head still swims. On a ragged, shivering exhale, she sets her jaw and growls, “tahw ekiL?”

“nwod denniP.” esseJ’s grip and Jesse’s tendons tense as one. Fingernails carve hollows in wrist-skin. “kaeW.”

Before Jesse can gather enough breath to spit back—you’re just as weak as me, that’s how this works—esseJ breaks the distance, striking with a riled and raw hunger, claiming Jesse’s mouth with her own.

The kiss is bruising, wild, seethed-over. Equilibrium builds in fits and starts, in throbbing, wrenching, even-made motion. A catalyst for a catalyst. Nature breaks—inverse waves coalesce and amplitude increases. Their shaped-alike bodies thresh and strain for release, one kind or another.

The spaces between Jesse’s vertebrae crackle as she arches, canting for purchase, any advantage she can obtain. All she finds is solid pressure and a well-placed crotch seam and an urgent frisson of need. She jerks, shudders, gasping into esseJ’s mouth.

It earns her a sudden, brutal bite to the edge of her lower lip. Skin splits without a sound. Jesse makes none either.

When her eyes come open (when had she closed them?), esseJ is staring down at her, gaze clouded and dissonant and seeking. With a visible swallow and harsh, disheveled, noise, esseJ releases one of Jesse’s hands. Leans back. Jesse reels, tongues at the sore spot, tastes her own blood.

Then she wonders if esseJ’s would taste the same. Brackish, metallic, cloying. She forgets about her hand—now free, but wanting for contact, aching for—

esseJ rolls her hips against Jesse’s thigh just fucking once before her voice husks with a simple demand:

“kcab thgiF.”

The baL yticinorhcnyS lies in disarray from their efforts thus far. The sterile air goes charged, taut. Jesse’s spine rattles against the cold-leeching floor.

esseJ waits.

Equal and opposite. That’s how this works.

Teeth bared, Jesse surges up to seize esseJ’s jaw and give her a new mark to match.

#anyway there's that #control #control remedy #control 2019 #jesse faden #essej nadef #jesse x essej #def not what i intended for my first control writing attempt #but here we are!#foibles_fables #Jesse faden x esseJ nadef

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argentnoelle · 11 months

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Oubliette

The moment Light writes in the death note he becomes a killer, but he could not become Kira without L. (L/Light, slow burn — Yotsuba Arc with all the mind-games intact)

chapter 3 (read on ao3)

June 15, 2004. Day fifteen of confinement. The principle of a camera is simple. In fact, without need for a lens and a mechanism for capture, the simplest camera is a mere pinprick, an opening between one thing and another.

Called the "camera obscura," it is a dark room with only a small opening through which images from the outside world may be viewed. Aristotélēs (Ἀριστοτέλης) wrote of it. In the third century, in Dream Pool Essays, the philosopher Mo Di (墨翟) described the effect, saying "when a bird flies in the air, its shadow moves along the ground in the same direction. But if its image is collected through a small hole in a window, then the shadow moves in the direction opposite of that of the bird." Just as in a burning-mirror, a concave glass, which "reflects a finger to give an upright image if the object is very near, but if the finger moves farther and farther away it reaches a point where the image disappears and after that the image appears inverted. …So also the oar is fixed at the rowlock somewhere at its middle part, constituting, when it is moved, a sort of 'waist' and the handle of the oar is always in the position inverse to the end." In the early 1000's, Abū ʿAlī al-Ḥasan ibn al-Ḥasan ibn al-Haytham (أبو علي، الحسن بن الحسن بن الهيثم), who expanded on the optics of Ptolemaios (Πτολεμαῖος), observed a partial solar eclipse from inside the device. In 1558, in Natural Magic, the "professor of secrets" Giambattista della Porta, wrote "you must shut all the Chamber windows, and it will do well to shut up all holes besides, lest any light breaking in should spoil all. Only make one hole...as great as your little finger" through which the sun will shine through—then, on the far wall, the image will appear "and what is right will be the left, and all things changed."

You are in a camera obscura, a "dark chamber" now. Following that principle, you must be the reverse of whatever you were before you entered. When you lie on a sold stone floor, featureless, bare, and rough—not because you don't appreciate the thin pallet provided but because at some point in these days of tedium the textural and temperature novelty of finding new and more uncomfortable ways to rest is all that is keeping you from breaking in the silence and spitting out an unfounded confession—you wonder what Ryuga Hideki, Ryuzaki, L, would think about something that goes along the lines of: 'I am Yagami Light and I am innocent, in this jail cell, in which you can see a perfect image of myself. But because I am only an image conveyed through a pinhole lens, I must therefore have been Kira, the killer, outside of it.' You think he would be as happy to take that as he was to take the possibility of you committing crimes in a fugue state, in your sleep, or through a dual personality, which is far-fetched enough that he himself has admitted he doesn't think it likely.

All either of you are really going on here is the circumstantial evidence, which is as damning now as it had been when you confined yourself; and yet now, just as then, nothing can definitively be proven. Were you really framed by Kira? Has Kira been L the whole time?

If he is, there is no way you would know. L is not the type to gloat openly, or, you surmise, at all. He takes everything with a strange equanimity. Unless it involves discussion of things beyond this world; shinigami and the like. Wouldn't it be a funny twist if the second Kira (Misa, no doubt about it) had been speaking literally this entire time? About shinigami and eyes? If the kiras are in fact gods, or possessed by ones, how is this task force meant to find and defeat them?

Perhaps that was behind the source of Ryuga's terror. After all, like you, he hates to lose.

You sigh into the floor. Your eyes are gritty with lack of sleep, your hair is a greasy mess plastered over your forehead, and you didn't turn in your latest paper for Statistics. This turn of events isn't even unexpected—as far back as the first time you and Ryuga met, you brought up the idea of clearing your name to him through something like this. Of course, at the time, you'd been picturing something more akin to house arrest than being cuffed hand and foot in a cell like a common criminal; and you'd been sure that a month would be more than enough time to prove your innocence, since Kira would continue to kill while you would be in isolation. Unfortunately… Kira hasn't obliged. Three weeks, and no deaths? It isn't like him. (You've either been framed, or L is lying to you about the deaths stopping to force a confession. Or both.)

While you're waiting here, the real Kira is gloating, and you burn with rage at the thought. A possible attempt on your father's life, the fact that that his worshipper Misa saw you in Aoyama and found a way to stalk you all the way back home and become your girlfriend, the self-importance with which he toys with his enemies, with L and with you—well, you'll show him. If you have to, you'll kill him yourself.

And yet it is because Kira that you are part of the investigation of the century. It is because of Kira that you met L. You can't bring yourself to regret that, to regret any of it.

Not that you had thought so when the two of you first met…

"I've never been so humiliated in my entire life," hadn't you thought? That L or someone sent by L had so brazenly accused you, surrounded you as though you were nothing but a stone in the game of Go played out at scale between him and Kira. You had raged, actually slammed your fists onto the desk and seethed. But because you also hate to lose (it is true that this is a trait shared between you and L and the first Kira) you soon decided how to play it, and even spoke as though L could hear your vow: "I'll make you trust me. And when I've finally proved my innocence to you, I'll go one further. I'll catch Kira myself."

(read on ao3)

#death note

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jonathankatwhatever · 2 years

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Just found out about prime circles, which permute ways of counting around a circle so every 2 numbers added together, in either direction from any number, make a prime. Any prime in any order, including repeating, which makes a Pathway. Almost forgot: only for even counts around a circle, so for 2, 4, 6, there is only 1 way, then 2 for 8, then 48 for 10. Then there are next order Pathways, those that combine Pathways, meaning the Pathway becomes a factor in the combined Pathway. Life is easier once I realized math is full of multiple usages of names because that brings out the differences to see what notation might fit better.

Can I say this work takes place in and through a series of discussions with you, as you, though at various ages. Just had a conversation about sandwich bread which connected to these prime circles, which don’t have to be circles but can be thought of as Ends in a Regularized dimensional form, meaning we can count an inversion relationship connecting the permutations of that circle.

This fits exactly to the DR structure. 1-4-3-2-5-6 is the only one for a Hexagon. If I’m looking at this oriented xK, with the 1 labeled at bottom, then 4 is opposite, 3 and 2 go down one side, either side of xK, then step along xK or make a diagonal up to 5 then 6 on the other side of the 1-4. This is true whenever you label over an axis. If you label alongside an axis, then 4 crosses it, 3 and 2 then complete that side, and then a diagonal to do the same on the original 1 side of the axis.

This seems to be connecting to the extraordinary work done in bed this morning. It’s 9 Mar 2023, and I’m hanging on best I can.

That is, this morning dove into a cheerleader pose which went from arms and legs as vertical as possible to as horizontal as possible from a base position of an x. This was part of a visualization of I//I converting D6 into D4. We’ve done that before, but this time it acted as in a mirror. So I saw a process in which say I’m on this side of a mirror, looking at it from my perspective, and that means one of those cheerleader poses is necessary, point up, point sideways, so we can construct an image of motion which connects both. These now conform to different prime circle maps. So one for each Irreducible of this other form, where you either start counting from next to an axis or from where the Irreducible would be, meaning the middle. Literally I//I. Another proof? Yeah.

But what does it mean that this makes Irreducible prime forms, so any 2 counts around a Hexagon in this order as it applies to both cases and thus all around? Well, both tie together the space by crossing over to the other side, then coming back and filling out this side, before filling out the other side. It’s a question of whether crossing over the axis by 1 or 2 triangles. As I’m seeing it, this means count from S over BE to S, then back to BE, before going over to the final BE. This means a regular count meets this one.

Need a break.

————-

I’m so overwhelmed with you in my head as a presence that I keep forgetting to say that if you view the cheerleader, then what happens is I extrapolate that image as an fD into a gs, so the mirror process runs. That process reduces to an Observer looking along a line or axis, and that Observer has peripheral vision, which we’ll say is flat too, so what Observer sees or perceives is the reflection of that peripheral extent along both the diagonals pushing out from and coming into the O. This makes a diagonal relationship across the mirror of a grid square along that axis. So now the Bip is the moment.

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mgilady · 2 years

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What is time?

If time is a wave many mysteries of quantum mechanics are solved instantly

We notice many strange unexplained mysteries in quantum mechanics such as :

The electron jumps as if it didn’t cross the distance, disappears, and appears.

Pair entanglement mystery

Matter and antimatter

measurement mystery

2 split experiment

Photon as a wave or a quanta

Electron spin right or left

We tend to think about time as if it flows in a straight line from past to future smoothly

What if time is actually a wave that moves in frequency (i suggest testing the frequency as Plank time )time “ticks” and flows as a wave that compared to a straight line is up and down or left \right but proceeds in 1 direction). during these “ticks” as I call it 1 Plank time tick in one universe and the following “tick” in the mirror universe,(you may think of it as parallel universes)as if in every universe there is 1 Plank time delay, so if we observe only one inverse there are jumps intervals of the time of one Plank time long and it looks as if the time “ticks like a clock, meaning every atom in our body, for example, exists in 2 parallel time frames(universes) move from 1 universe in time X frame and a tick later exist in 2nd universe as time itself is in Y frame, this 2 frames of time co-exist as a wave of the same time direction from past to future but in opposite frames of time. this exchange of time frames happens so fast so we are never aware it actually happens. a movie frames move 36 frames a second and we see it smoothly /imagine you live in a time frame of nearly infinite small intervals per second. surely you’ll never notice it since the change in movement is so small in Plank time. as crazy as it sounds if it is true it can explain most quantum mechanics puzzles

1/Electron jumps are actually electrons moving from 1-time frame to another so their motion is as if it jumps/appears and disappears when we stop to observe since we observe in 1 Plank time.

2/pair entanglement mystery-one moves in X time frame while the other in another time frame. seem as if they are opposite movements to each other no matter how far you separate those pairs. never meet it same time frame.

3/Matter and anti-matter-actually the same matter exists in different time frames as parallel universes never meet since they tick in different time frames

4/ 2 split experiment-as Plank time phase cut the waves into quanta, the particles behave as waves but of limited size(not continuous waves)

5/Photon as a wave and particle-Photon behave as a wave and quanta since time ticks cut its wave motion into quanta of certain wave size

6/Electron spin right or left-left spin for each time frame

7/ Plank time itself depends on velocity, at the speed of light each Plank time or wave frequency of time is longer. so fewer Ticks per second seem as time slows.

we exist in 2-time frames moving in direction of time from past to future and since the exchange of time frames happens at the Plank time speed of ticks we are not able to notice it

This idea is against our common sense but I challenge Physicians to look at it with an open mind.

The plank constant is the frequency I believe that time ticks (i call it ticks but actually I mean time moves in waves that up and down (or any other opposite )from the middle line of time moving from past to future.

time\space as one means time and space both exist in 2 parallel time frames oscillating trillion times\second same mass exist in both universes as a mirror image of each other /when we look in observation we see 1 phase. when we not observing both exist

Meir Gilady

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crackdkettle · 2 years

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Thinking about how Mary performed femininity to please John and Dean performed masculinity to please John, about how Mary tried to ignore the itch to hunt and Dean had to smother the urge to nest, about how Mary was everything John wanted Dean to be and Dean was everything John believed Mary was, about how this man who was so important to both of them never really knew either of them at all.

#dean winchester #mary winchester #supernatural #they are the same they are opposites they are mirror images they are the inverse of each other #ETA: THIS POST IS NOT FOR TERFS IT'S NOT FOR YOU IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU LEAVE ME AND MY POST ALONE

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takerfoxx · 4 years

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So I was thinking about Wonder Egg Priority the other day while delivering pizzas when I had something of an epiphany.

WEP is, in many way, sort of the anti-Madoka Magica.

Now, by that I don’t mean it’s intended as an answer, attack, response, or counter to PMMM. It’s obviously a show doing its own thing, and being compared to PMMM probably wasn’t on the creator’s mind. Also, I don’t mean it’s a reconstruction intended to rebuild the genre that PMMM broke apart, much like Gurren Laagan did to the Giant Mecha genre after Evangelion happened. Rather, it feels like, whether intentional or not, to be Madoka Magica in reverse.

Let me explain.

I’ve already gone into detail how PMMM became the hand grenade to the Magical Girl Warrior genre that it was, how carefully it was crafted to utterly deconstruct the genre and did it so well that it was completely changed. Just look at all those dark magical girl shows, comics, and whatnot that sprung up in its wake, all trying to recapture that same magic, and practically all failing. And while it wasn’t the death of cute and optimistic magical girl shows, the genre as a whole was definitely altered by PMMM, taking themes and ideas originally brought up by Utena and Bokurano and building upon them to create a surgical knife that dissected the whole genre and changed it forever.

And one of the methods it used was to show that each and every one of the main character was left in a much worse state than she was in thanks to the contracts.

Think about it. Each of the five girls was basically ruined by becoming a magical girl. Sayaka fell into despair and was destroyed. Madoka straight up died in the original timeline and ended up erasing herself. Mami spiraled into loneliness and depression until she was killed. Kyoko lost her whole family because of her contract, became a heartless nihilist, and when she tried to redeem herself, she realized the futility of it and decided to go down in a blaze of glory. Homura was cursed to relive the same trauma over and over again and eventually lost the person she was fighting for. Even the ones already in a bad place ended up worse off because of it. Hell, Mami only managed to delay her own death by a couple years, and in the end, her end was even more gruesome.

And that was the point. The wish/contract system is intended to chew these girls up as fodder and just move onto the next one. Just by making a wish you’ve doomed yourself, and there is no escaping your fate. At best you can delay it, and so few can. The best Madoka could do with her universe altering wish was make the girls’ ends a little less cruel. And the movie broke them down even more.

But WEP seems to take the opposite route. Here, when each of our mains are introduced, they’re already at their worse, all four of them traumatized by losing someone close to them while dealing with a multitude of other issues. Ai was bullied heavily due to her appearance, found one friend that could understand, let that friend down, and was deeply wounded when that friend killed herself, leading to Ai becoming a hikikomori. Rika grew up with an absent father and a neglectful mother, got pushed into the toxic idol world way too young, drove off the one person that cared about her and eventually caused her death, leading to her to develop her weirdly cheerful/abrasive personality and self harm as a means of coping with the guilt. Momoe was devastated when her rejection of her friend’s advances led to her friend’s suicide (as far as she knows, anyway), leading to her having a major complex about her appearance and gender identity as a result. And Neiru...well, her situation is really weird and kinda sci-fi, but being a genius test tube baby who was nearly murdered by her sister and left with horrific scars can’t be fun.

Point is, each of these girls is already broken inside when they’re introduced, and the whole wonder egg thing means they spend their nights fighting violent battles against horrific monsters and suffering a lot of pain and even more trauma, and unlike PMMM, this isn’t shown as being fun or cool at all. There is no false sense of security. You’re shown what a brutal affair it is up front, and the show seems to go out of its way to throw a whole bunch of serious and uncomfortable topics right into the spotlight, from bullying to suicide to sexual abuse to self harm to eating disorders to parental neglect, and the list goes on. It’s a very hard show to watch sometimes because of it.

And yet, unlike the PMMM girls, who only grew worse the longer they were in the system, the WEP girls only seem to be getting more emotionally and mentally healthy from the battles they fight. Protecting the Wonder Eggs, as violent as it might get, seems to be acting as a form of therapy for them, a way for them to confront their pent-up emotions and let them out. And the friendship they’ve built together, while sometimes messy and contentious, is shown to be incredibly healthy for them. They’re basically each other’s support group, and their get-togethers often become group therapy sessions as they confide their true feelings about their lives with each other and discuss their issues out in the open. And as a result, we see the bond that they’ve formed help them heal. Ai becomes more confident, more outgoing, and more brave, to the point that she’s not afraid to go to school anymore. Rika comes to terms with her own guilt and feelings of neglect and realizes that she doesn’t have to risk her life if she doesn’t want to, and even starts to forgive her mother. Momoe starts to come to terms with her feelings of discomfort around her femininity. Even Neiru has started to learn to open up to others and act like a kid for once. All four of them are better off for having met the others, and for fighting to restore their lost ones.

Now granted, the show’s not over yet, and I’m sure there’s a twist on the way, especially with what we’re learning about the Accas and Neiru’s secretary. But even so, the inverse mirror images the two shows seem to make of each other was very interesting to me.

#wonder egg priority #puella magi madoka magica #ai ohto #rika kawai #momoe sawaki #neiru aonuma

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bastardpacs · 3 years

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A Theory on Malakai Black II Red, Sacrifice, and Enlightenment

tommyend: when does the red happen? What’s tied to it?

The red is legit going to be the end of me djdj OTL

I wanted to try and explore the red as something disconnected from Cody or anyone as an individual, tied to it but not exactly a source, because the red has been there even outside of Cody himself, like its continuous appearance throughout Malakai’s promos.

Throughout all of this, along with the red, there has been heavy imagery of sacrifice and martyrdom. Images of Christ featured throughout his promos, who in a way, is considered one of the greatest sacrifices of all.

The red itself has continuously appeared throughout Malakai’s entire story along with it, extending, or mirroring, to even those such as Cody. With this, there’s also been the connection of rage and corruption to each moment of red. When Cody wore a red pin after Malakai attacked Arn in his debut, as well as his suit after Malakai beat Dustin. But the one thing I couldn’t shake was the appearance of red with bloodshed.

The Brock match has always been one of the most interesting to me, because directly after that was when we saw the red first start appearing at the edges of Malakai’s promos. And again, there was bloodshed during that match. But the biggest connection with bloodshed was with Malakai’s red entrance and red eye - where we also first saw him use the Black Mist. During the match before this, Malakai had driven Dustin face first into an exposed turnbuckle, drawing blood

And with this, one of the things that always jumped out to me was, during Malakai and Cody’s third match, there was this strange inversion of Cody’s entrance being red as well. Almost a mirror, as if Malakai’s corruption - which had infected and pulled out this darkness from within Cody in their second match - had finally come full circle. This is interesting considering that, in Malakai’s promo against Dante, he said that he would bring down a curse on Dante like what he had laid down on Cody. (“I’m putting a curse on your soul that will last you your entire career. Don’t believe me? Well just ask Cody.”)

When gods bring down curses, it’s cataclysmic. The concept of tatari, the destroying angels of God… And maybe this corruption was a curse Malakai had brought down upon Cody in its own way.

And then finally, we had Malakai driving his finger into PAC’s eye (😩) That night, he showed the tarot card of the Hanged Man.

The Hanged Man is an incredibly interesting and complex card. It shows a man being hanged by his ankle, his face passive and accepting. It’s a card of not only sacrifice, but enlightenment.

Sacrifice for enlightenment.

Enlightenment and power have always been tied to bloodshed, sacrifice, and suffering in some way. We see that exemplified through sacrifices to gods. Even Odin, to gain wisdom, pierced himself with his own spear and hanged from the World Tree; from the Havamal: ... know that I hung on a windy tree, nine long nights, wounded with a spear, dedicated to Odin, myself to myself. One could even argue parallels between Odin with Christ’s hanging from the cross, and vice versa. Showcases of great sacrifice. But where Christ was offering himself to and for others, Odin was to gain power for himself.

The parallels between Odin, Malakai, and sacrifice don’t stop there, but continue in how Odin, again, to achieve knowledge and enlightenment, plucked out his own eye as a sacrifice and offering. This is really neat considering Malakai, not only with his own damaged eye, chose to target and gouge into one of PAC’s own.

The greatest price and sacrifice that can be paid is life itself. Whether our own or another. And life, through countless cultures, has been seen through the bloodshed.

PAC’s sacrifice in exchange for Malakai’s enlightenment and power.

Gotta go off on a fangirl meta moment here djdj (I’m just so excited for whenever this feud happens OTL) but the entire attack against PAC had such neat parallels to Malakai himself. The same attack, yet on the opposite eye. Whereas the attack and suffering and loss of his eye - like Odin - gave Malakai some form of black ‘enlightenment’. Eyes themselves have always had incredibly deep ties to wisdom, and through that, enlightenment. We see these parallels between not only the sacrifice of Odin’s eye for knowledge, but the god Horus, who also offered up his own eye to his father. And maybe, in a twisted, mocking, and violent sense, Malakai was 'offering’ PAC the gift of enlightenment in his own way, the same way Malakai was given. The same 'enlightenment’ that festers in his eye.

And now, after attacking PAC and drawing blood, Malakai’s appearance has changed again.

The blackness from his eye has not only wildly grown again, but is much more clear now, as opposed to something rotting through the skin.

And now, again - with bloodshed, with power, with the Black Mist - we have the metaphor of a 'curse’ being placed. This time on a King.

Around the same day he attacked Julia Hart the next week, Malakai posted a painting depicting the Roman god Saturn, who, through overlap with his Greek counterpart Cronus, was notorious for consuming his children, who he feared would usurp him. (the painting was specifically Goya’s interpretation: Saturn Devouring His Son - which in itself has a super neat history)

Both Saturn and Cronus are incredibly interesting gods, in that they represent, in their stories, a period before the more well-known gods and their cults that usurped them. We see this idea loosely through the concept of 'chaoskampf’ where - through the image of a god destroying a primordial monster - we’re shown the idea of a newer generation of gods’ (order) triumph over chaos and the laws of disorder and nature. And through this, through Saturn and Cronus, antithetically, we may see the idea that they are indicative to the idea of decay - death - like a poison or an inevitable, consuming void. Even consuming gods.

I bring this up because of Malakai’s ties to both the god Cernunnos and the angels - mal'akim- of God. Because, again, like the god Cernunnos, like the angels of God, the Hanged Man can represent a sort of balance and tie between a Godhead and humanity, a connection between earth and divinity. An intermediary. It’s a card of limbo in the sense that it finds us between sacrifice and enlightenment. Between life and death. Form and void. In a sense, a balance.

But on Saturn himself, another thing that is interesting about him is his festival, where the Romans paid respect and sacrifices to him. This festival fell around and on the Winter Solstice, a date which, again, has heavy ties to the ancient deity, the Horned God, Cernunnos. The winter solstice - the longest night of the year - is on December 21. Another interesting tie with the seasons is Saturn, the planet itself, rules over Capricorn, essentially the coming month of January. And like the image of a consuming god, in a more rooted sense, we see a turning over of the year and change.

tommyend: The Empress draws out the Fool.

What’s interesting in this idea of the 'Fool’ is the concept that the Hanged Man is the Fool throughout the course of the Tarot deck. He’s what he becomes. The Fool himself becomes the sacrifice. (Now that I’ve been thinking about it, I wonder now if maybe the Carnival mask and the 'two faces of Janus’ was an allusion to the Fool and the 'two faces’ of the Varsity Blondes)

Gods throughout so many cultures were offered sacrifices, to either appease them, to gain power from or give power to their gods. Life is divine, so that divinity, through bloodshed, was seen as precious, powerful, and unparalleled. And maybe in a way, we’ve seen Malakai drawing from that power, from that sacrifice and bloodshed, as well.

tommyend: March in the red of change, January be thy name.

The thing that has always been so interesting to me about the red in Malakai’s promos is how it looks; like the light leaking through at the coming end of a film reel. Before you look to change in the next.

#malakai black #tommy end #wrestling thoughts #I super apologize in advance for this being all over the place!#I'm probably going to come back to the red about fifty times because I know I'm way off with this djkdjd #but had a really good time learning some neat things I never knew since roman beliefs is a weak arm of mine!

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neutron-stars-collision · 4 years

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The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 21 - Losing My Religion

Masterlist; Chapter 20

Summary: After Tallinn, you use the opportunity and visit Neil’s apartment. What you find there, only increases the confusion, just as the pieces are set for the endgame.

Warnings: Swearing; angst.

Author’s Notes: This was a challenge, and it’s a little different too, a breather before the real fun begins... or something. After this we move onto the icebreaker... (and things). I’ll shut up now, hope you’ll enjoy and all kind of feedback are greatly welcomed!

The clean up after TP’s little accident on the highway was difficult. And tiring. By the time you have dealt with the mess and could call it a day, you wanted nothing but to sleep. And also disappear from the face of the Earth. That second thing was rather tricky to achieve. Unfortunately. You had to settle for the slightly awkward space given by the rest of the team and the fact that you were bound to return to London the next day. That was something. Even if it meant having to debate whether those damned keys were to be used.

The journey back was uneventful. Only Wheeler seemed capable of talking to you without looking as though she has been trapped in some metaphorical web of ineptitude that the others got caught in. That was alright. At least she knew how that conversation in the container went. Her company was good enough to keep you from going insane for the time being.

The moment the car arrived at the London quarters, you practically bolted out through the door. Eager to finally have your own space to reflect, cry, and try to move on after the unimaginable. But it was not exactly meant to be given…

“Y/N, wait!” Ives’ voice rung out through the reception hall as you skidded down the corridor.

Crap.

“Yeah?” cautiously, you stopped in your tracks, facing the squad leader.

Making the mistake of glancing at the reception desk, you met Anna’s watchful gaze. Of course. Even though you knew she had no clue about anything that transpired between you and Neil, it still felt like a painful reminder.

“I…uh...” the hesitation in Ives’ voice made you frown, “I just got this, and I’m not sure…” he passed you his phone with a strange expression on his face.

A text from TP. Just like the ones you received before. Right… This one had a familiarly succinct form: “Invert for eight days with the army from tomorrow. Then get to Trondheim, awaiting further instructions”

“Is this from him?” you looked up to see the blue eyes boring into yours with confusion.

“Yeah, it must be” you nodded and handed him back the phone.

At that exact moment, you got a text as well. Hurriedly you took out the device and read the message:

“Invert along with Ives and the rest”.

Short and simple. Yet not at all. Without a word, you showed your companion the text message and stifled a heavy sigh. Inversion. Eight days. Trondheim. That most likely confirmed your worst fears. The end of it all was near, and you were needed there. You, Neil, and everyone else still had their parts to play in the most important of showdowns.

“So, I guess we’re going back” you could feel Ives’ inquisitive stare on you “Just like they are” he added, awaiting a response.

Meeting Neil after those eight upcoming days sounded like a nightmare. Because a week was never enough to fall out of love. Or to even attempt it. You were a lost cause.

“…yep” nodding halfheartedly, you could feel another weight settle on your shoulders.

“Excited?” the intensity of Ives’ look convinced you towards his intentions.

Evidently, he tried to get a clue towards your state, probably assessing whether you could endanger the mission in any way. Despite everything, you were a professional. A Tenet agent. That had to come before any personal issues you might have had. Forcing a smile, you met his gaze with sincerity.

“Not really” a shrug completed the response.

But it was enough as he grinned back and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“It’s alright. Have today off and be ready tomorrow morning,” he ordered with a feigned sternness.

“Aye aye, sir” you saluted, enjoying the laugh it prompted.

Maybe not everything was utterly shit.

“Your edge is still intact, I see,” he commented once the laughter died down.

“At least something is then” you grimaced slightly and walked off with a wave.

A day off. What could one possibly do with something like that after everything? The set of keys in your pocket felt heavy for something that small. And insignificant (in theory).

*** It took you one hour of staring at the wall, a thirty-minute-long shower, and two coffees to decide to make use of the keys. After all, what was the harm? It was a way of spending the idle hours. And maybe to understand him a little better. Even if it was too late to save anything. You wanted to know him. To know his mind and heart. You dug out the note with the address Ives gave you and typed it into the maps app. Your hands were shaking the whole journey. Even though it was not far, it turned out to be challenging. Often you were catching yourself glancing at the phone, expecting him to call or text as he always did. But then you remembered, making the nerves come to the surface again. You wondered whether it was because of the absolute wreckage your relationship became or because you were unable to contact him in any way. Walking the streets leading to Neil’s apartment, you realised that it was probably both. You missed him. Simple as that. And equally complicated at the same time.

Google maps led you to an old docking space transformed into posh loft spaces in two store buildings of dark red brick. The residential area was completed with a large parking lot (full of rather good cars), making the first question of the day pop into your head: Did Neil have a private car? Something that unimportant yet entirely mundane only made you realise how little you knew of his life. But this was exactly why you came here. The second thought was something you always knew yet never took time to ponder on: the fact that he undeniably had money. It did not matter, of course. Just another fact that could as a trigger for the intrusive ideas to appear.

Ignoring the spiraling thoughts, you made your way to the indicated building, keying in the code at the door and following the stairs to the second floor. The apartment door no 4 looked like any other you have passed on the way. Turning the key in the lock, you took a deep breath, gathering courage for god knows what. Perhaps just being alone with everything that had to do with Neil… The door opened soundlessly. Faint daylight from the corridor fell onto the furniture and objects gathered in the hall, helping your eyes adjust to the darkness. You closed the door and locked it. The least you could have wanted was for someone to break in on your watch. Now that would have made him hate you. If he didn’t already, that is. Taking off the shoes, you scanned the hall. Hooks with various jackets and coats on the wall. Including a slightly weathered leather one that perked your interest. With fingers ghosting the material, you were unable to block the images of Neil wearing it. That was enough to make you blush and curse out loud. That won’t help with getting over him. As though that was even possible.

Next, your eyes landed on the shoes rack in the corner showing off Neil’s questionable taste in footwear. You grimaced when spotting another pair of brogues (that would have to go… if there was any future for you) and then smiled involuntarily at something as casual as old converse on the top shelf of the rack. So, he could dress more… normally. Interesting.

The rest of the space was filled with a large mirror and a cupboard full of random objects such as spare lightbulbs, shoe care products, and cleaning supplies. On top of that cupboard, there was a succulent (practical, you had to admit), a desk calendar, and a small notepad filled with Neil’s writing. The contents ranged from shopping lists to quantum physics, making you grin fondly when looking through the pages. The latest entry was written down in haste and barely eligible. What you deciphered made your heart stumble for the first time that day. It seemed like Neil was planning to invite you over after Tallinn, prepare dinner, and apparently do all that ‘he wanted to for a while’. Brilliant. The notepad fell from your hands as the implications dawned on you. He wanted to set everything straight, to talk and potentially tell you important things… But now, it did not matter. There was no post-Estonia. Just you alone in his cold, darkened apartment, full of doubts, regrets, and worries.

Shivering from both the chill and the anxiety, you ventured into the living room. It was an open space with a large leather sofa, TV, record player with shelves full of albums and vinyls. There were also bookcases filled to the brim and a dining table for four. Once your gaze fell onto the black piano in the corner, you did a double-take. Obviously, Neil was musically talented. All those times when he has been desperate to annoy you by singing various corny love songs in public were an indisputable example. A moment like that from Tallinn flashed before your eyes…

You and Neil sat in a restaurant on one of the ‘dates’ you had managed to fit into the schedule before TP arrived in Estonia. Cozied up in the corner on a comfortable sofa, you felt perfectly at peace. Instead of taking the seat opposite, Neil got as close as it was possible without raising eyebrows of the fine clientele. You were chatting about everything and nothing, occasionally taking sips of the coffees and letting your hands rest on each other’s knees. Other times they would be interlocked on the table between the plates, showing to the world that this was no platonic meetup. Using the natural break in the conversation, you finished the remains of your latte and watched as Neil focused on the radio somewhere in the background. By this point, you should have known better, but still, the second he started singing took you by surprise.

‘Pretty woman I don't believe you, you're not the truth No one could look as good as you, mercy’

His gaze settled on you without that mercy, awaiting a response. His lips curled into a deadly smirk, making the matters worse. For a moment, you wanted to ignore him, to deny him the satisfaction. But the way he stared, enunciating the song lyrics with precision and aiming them at you, triggered the familiar desire to stake your claim. To make him (and everyone else) understand that he was yours. Especially with a voice that beautiful and eyes that looked at you with boundless affection.

‘Pretty woman that you look lovely as can be Are you lonely just like me’

It was the cheesy growl at the end of that stanza that did it. Combined with the huskiness of Neil’s voice and his hand appearing on your thigh underneath the table, it was enough to convince you to shut him up the best way you knew. You leaned in, placing your palm on the inside of his thigh, just close enough to remind him. Capturing his lips in a kiss, you did not have to wait long for Neil to invite you closer. You began the intimate dance, getting lost in the moment entirely. With him being in public did not matter. Especially not when he was giving you everything he could on a silver plate. Those days every kiss threatened to evolve into a full make-out session as you tried to get ever closer to him. That is why when you heard an awkward cough followed by “Miss, Sir, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you to leave” you could only start laughing. That was two days before your walk, which ended in the alley. The rest was history.

Shaking your head slightly, you let go of the memory. Has it gotten even colder? Shivering, you spotted a sweater draped on the side of the sofa. Crossing the space, you glanced at the instrument that caught your attention. A simple black Kawai piano with a Chopin music score opened on the fallboard and the stool underneath. If there even was a future, you wanted to hear him play something. You could almost picture it. Those long, elegant fingers on the black and white keys, hitting every note with perfection and the flourish he applied to every single task. His gaze focused. Golden hair falling into his eyes carelessly. Lips parted, tongue poking out in concentration. He was bound to be a sight as usual.

Ignoring the waking up flutters that always accompanied every thought about Neil, you picked up the sweater. It was the colour of dark red wine, simple and yet sophisticated in its simplicity. Cashmere. He really is posh. Giving in to the sudden whimsy, you breathed in the smell. That was a mistake. The moment Neil’s essence overwhelmed your senses, you felt a surge of feelings. The musky scent, the hints of bergamot and lavender that always brought comfort. Before you could second guess everything, you put the sweater on, letting the smell envelope you like his hugs always did. It was another thing that you missed. The ability to rest within his strong embrace, safe and wanted. The feeling of his arms cradling you with care. Without the solidity beneath your hands, it was hard to remember how it felt. The sweater had to do. You rolled up the sleeves and approached the large window, drawing back the curtains to see the view and let in light. The sight certainly was not disappointing with the lookout on the Thames and the docking ships. The area looked peaceful, like the place you could want to go out on walks and spend the rest of your life… No, stop. That was a dangerous line of thinking. After all, you only came here to satisfy the curiosity. And because you could, with nothing left to lose. Well, maybe apart from your sanity.

With the day shedding some light onto the furniture and objects in the room, you could more closely assess the type of person Neil was. The décor was rather posh (nothing surprising there) with leather, dark wood, and refined fabrics gracing the space. But upon a closer look, you could see the hints of Neil’s personality shining through the bounds of the stereotypes. It was visible in the chaos of the little details. Billy Idol album discarded on the CD player making you smile. The dying plants on the windowsill. The opened book on the coffee table right next to a bar of chocolate and some bullets. What even…

Looking around the space, you could easily picture him there. It was like entering a museum of Neil’s life and heart, and you were just a mere visitor. A trespasser even though you had the keys. Lost in the thoughts, you approached the bookshelves, looking over the titles. Young and Freedman’s University Physics with Modern Physics with a worn-out spine and a library stamp on the title page (a theft?). Griffith’s Introduction to Quantum Mechanics with scribbles on the margins, making your head hurt. More Quantum Mechanics but only getting increasingly complex. Spacetime and Geometry. In between the textbooks, there were classics of English and American literature, proving your theory that Neil knew the canon well. All those quotations had to come from somewhere… You looked over the further titles relating to the nuclear area of Physics and relativity of time, only to be thrown out of the moment when your eyes landed on a photograph in a wooden frame. A grinning young man with warm brown eyes and curly dark hair sat on the bench in the park. Alex. Picking up the photo, you took a closer look, feeling inexplicable heaviness in your chest. He looked just like Neil described him – an essence of goodness and understanding. The lump in our throat was strange. He still loved Alex that was a fact and something you took for granted. For a second, you wondered whether you could ever be half that important to him. But that was selfish. And wrong.

Swallowing hard, you put down the frame, focusing on another one nearby. In that photo, you recognized everyone. Ives with slightly longer hair grinning widely, next to him Wheeler with her practical bun and amused eyes, TP relaxed like always when in the company of friends. And then… You would recognize those eyes and sharp jaw anywhere, but… He’s not naturally blonde? You stared at the man who was undoubtedly Neil but with light brown hair, just as messy as usual. Interesting. You did suspect he dyed the hair but still having confirmation was unexpected. Staring a little longer at the photo, you already knew that it did not matter. He was a work of art, full stop. The rest of the photos depicted the Tenet crew, apart from the one you assumed was a family snapshot from years ago. Two happy boys with mundane looking parents and a Labrador retriever (Charlie!). Upon a closer look, you could tell that Neil got his blue eyes after his mother and the smile after his father. It was an interesting discovery. Other objects littering the shelves included postcards, trinkets from travels, and a strange collection of obscure coins. Also, more notebooks with Neil’s equations and theories and music scores. There was no order, just fate, and fancy. Just like him.

Wandering into the kitchen, running your fingertips over various instruments and surfaces, you wanted to soak in the atmosphere of the apartment. So far, the new information was almost overwhelming. But also fascinating in the fact that you already felt like you knew him better. Glancing at the fridge in passing, you froze. Among the cheap promotional magnets and old shopping notes attached to it, there was a rather familiar writing visible. A note you made Anna pass to him many weeks ago. “I’ll be at the shooting range. Meet you for dinner after 5” signed with your initials for practicality. Why has he kept it? It did not make sense. You forgot about the existence of something that inconsequential, yet here it was. Kept in place with a blaring orange magnet from Sainsbury’s. Suddenly feeling a little faint with the implications of the moment, you poured tap water into the glass and sat down on the stool by the kitchen island. You could still remember Anna’s offended stare when you gave her the note with the instruction to pass it to Neil later. That memory triggered another one, much more recent…

In the days leading up to Tallinn, you went out with Neil for a lunch and walk under the guise of planning the logistics of your journey. Sure, there was some planning being done over the tea and sandwiches. But there was also a lot of hand-holding, kissing, and gazing shamelessly. It was during those days, and then the idle hours in the safe house, that you have allowed yourself to love him. The feelings were there for months (most likely), but only after Oslo and the candid conversations in your room, you felt more at ease with them. So far, that PDA was not all that terrifying. And so, when you came back to the London quarters that afternoon, your fingers intertwined, you only realised how it looked like from the outside when Neil tugged you in the direction of Anna’s desk.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, hoping the woman was too busy to see you.

“I told you, need to get that ID sorted,” he explained, matching your conspiratorial tone, completely oblivious to your struggles.

“Yeah, but…” you raised your joined hands as if to show him the issue.

Neil grinned, waving his free hand dismissively.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s not like that’s against the rules” ending the sentence, he took the final step separating you from the desk.

Great. Plastering on the most pleasant of smiles, you met Anna’s accusatory glare. You could not blame her.

“Anna, hi” Neil’s bright grin got met with a cold face of stone.

You vividly remembered that first day at Tenet, when you were filling in the paperwork, observing him flirt with the woman behind the desk. Back then, you were baffled by her reaction, the fluttering of eyelashes and lovesick smiles. Now you wondered how you got to that point and why you were seemingly luckier than she could ever be.

“Yes?”

“My ID is expiring soon. Was wondering if you could give me the form for the new one?” Neil’s chirpy tone made you hide a smile by looking at the floor “I want to get this sorted for after we’re back” he added, with that hopeful gaze barely anyone could ever say no to.

Anna was not any different.

“Naturally,” she spared you a final spiteful look before turning around to use the computer.

Glancing around the empty lobby, you hoped to survive the rest of the encounter without any additional awkwardness. But Neil had other plans. He stepped in closer, nose brushing over your ear, tearing down any illusions about the nature of your relationship. You stifled a sigh when his lips placed a small kiss over your temple.

“Shall we go to yours after this?” the whisper complemented with a ghost of his fingers on the side of your neck made you shiver.

“Maybe…” you cast a wary glance at Anna, but her back was turned.

Thankfully.

“I thought we could resume the planning…” upon the suggestive tone, you turned to meet his gaze.

Surely enough, the playful sparks were there. And the smirk too. Of course. Planning, in this case, most likely meant more cuddling… and potentially kissing. His hands getting accustomed to your body, leaving countless promises for the future. The thoughts alone made you blush. Before Neil could get any closer, Anna’s voice interrupted the moment:

“Here’s your form,” nothing but ice and fury.

So, she must have noticed…

“Thanks” the polite nod made you snicker.

During the next few terribly long minutes, you did your best to avoid looking at the other woman. Or at Neil. Your gaze roamed over the ceiling, the walls, and the floor. Reading the same fire evacuation instructions for the fifth time, you felt a gentle touch on your arm:

“Can I put down your details as my emergency contact?” you looked up straight into those inquisitive blue eyes “I’ve had Ives the last two years, but I think you’re a more accurate option these days,” he explained as though it was obvious.

Emergency contact? You always assumed those were for best friends and spouses. You were not sure which fitted the criteria.

“How so?” blurting out the only viable question, you met his perplexed gaze.

“… because I’m with you and not with him” the bluntness of the reply made your heart stumble.

“Right”

Of course, you agreed. As a ‘thank you’ that afternoon, Neil kissed you until there was barely any breath left for either of you. Now you missed the feeling of being that desired.

And yet, that stupid note was right there, in your eyes a bright red spot that you could not ignore. Because surely, he must have cared at some point? You finished the remains of water and washed the glass. Then, just for the sake of a distraction, you went through the kitchen cupboards. Nothing surprising. Appliances that looked barely used. Canned food every Brit would be expected to have. The amounts of frozen meals in the lower fridge compartments confirmed another thesis - Neil did not like cooking. That was fair not everyone could be Jamie Oliver. Not that you would prefer him. Certainly not. Shaking your head at the ridiculousness of the thoughts, you opened another cabinet. Wine and glasses, triggering the memory from your date night in Oslo. The way Neil tried to emulate his swank further by pretending to be a sommelier, making you laugh with his fake French accent and sparse knowledge. Upon the efforts to name something else than tannins (that Sauvignon Blanc had little of), you stepped in, shutting him up with a fingertip tracing the outline of his lips, collecting a stray droplet of wine. And then licking your finger clean, much to his shock. The strange snapshot from one of the most eventful nights in your life was a good cue to leave the kitchen and trod down the corridor.

You stepped into the bathroom, curiously glancing at the contents of the cupboards and around the sink. Nothing remarkable. Giving in to the temptation, you sprayed the cologne he used on your wrist and inhaled deeply. Closing the bathroom door, your eyes landed on the room at the end of the corridor. Neil’s bedroom. Involuntarily, you felt a shiver run down your spine. Bedrooms were always a sacred space. The most private of places in the house. The stage set for life’s crucial events. Love, life, and tragedy all began to play out (and end) in there. If there was a room closest to the heart of the owner, it would be the bedroom and its contents. With a shaky hand, you pressed down the handle and opened the door. The interior was almost too mundane. The bed with dark grey covers and decorative pillows. Some artworks on the walls and drawn curtains, forcing you to turn on the ceiling lamp. A small bedside table with a night light and books. A walk-in closet with the sliding doors partly opened. That was what drew you in first, crossing the space you peered inside. Only to be overwhelmed with that Neil smell that made sure to make your heart rate pick up. Gently, you ran your fingers over the suit jackets and sweaters hanged on the rails. He had a multitude of those, in different colours. Eyeing a suit in dark blue, you could imagine how it would bring out his eyes. There were a few sweaters in different shades of green, confirming the suspicions that he liked the colour. Further along, you found a drawer with ties of various patterns, making you grin at one olive green with Labradors on it. Now that was a classic Neil accessory.

Just when you were about to end the ‘snooping’ your gaze landed on a more casual part of the wardrobe. Jeans folded on the shelves, t-shirts, and polos. Even a jean jacket somewhere in the back. In the drawer, you found socks with questionable patterns, only increasing the fondness you felt for the owner of such an eclectic wardrobe. And then you made the mistake of letting your curiosity get ahead of you. Another drawer. Underwear. Your face got warm as you slammed it shut. Enough. Thinking about that could lead to the dangerous territory you would rather not venture out to. At least not when alone in his apartment, overwhelmed with memories and feelings. There would be time for this too later… Hopefully.

Sliding the doors shut, you took in the room again. The pile of books on the bedside table caught your attention. Gingerly, you sat down on the bed, doing your best not to think about the specifics of that moment. You, alone in his bedroom. This was certainly not how you expected to end up in there for the first time. But that too was beyond the point. Sighing, you picked up the stack of books only to drop them onto the covers with hands shaking. You would recognize the cover everywhere. Your favourite book. The exact copy you had last seen in Oslo when you gave it to Neil. That memory was rather unforgettable…

Hanging out in the hotel room, waiting for Mahir and TP to come back from a small errand, you did your best to ignore Neil’s piercing gaze from across space. That was the day after your careless dancing and that evening’s developments when he asked you out. Just before the mission. And Neil was staring, shamelessly so. It was getting on your nerves.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” putting down the itinerary, you broke the silence and faced him.

The satisfied smile was enough to make you groan. He knew exactly what he was doing, as though waiting for the moment to strike when you were alone.

“Actually not, no” the grin widened as he shrugged nonchalantly “Plus you’re quite the sight. As usual” propping his chin on his hand, he kept on gazing.

The bastard was impossible.

“Jesus…” sighing, you rummaged in the bag at your feet “Do you want a book or something?” you took out a worn-out paperback “Because all that staring makes me want to…” trailing off, you met his inquisitive glare.

Want to kiss him. For starters. But he need not know that.

“What? Tell me” Neil spread his legs casually, leaning back in the armchair. An object of pure poise. And the challenge, aimed at you only. That was Neil at the top of his game, sure of what he wanted and how to get it. But you were not going to give it to him easily.

“Better not” the slight shock in his eyes gave you confidence “If yesterday taught me anything, it’s that your ego is big enough” offering him a sly smirk, you took a sip of the water.

When you looked up again, Neil was staring at you with an exaggerated pained expression on his face.

“I’m wounded” he put the hand over his heart like the drama queen that he was.

Scoffing, you laughed at the spectacle. Two could play the game.

“Good,” the offended whine only increased the satisfaction “So do you want that book?” you picked up the paperback, showing it to him “I’ve got my favourite one with me. Could kill some time”

“Yes, please” he got up and crossed the room, taking the book from you “I’ll have a chance to see what’s in that head of yours” Neil leaned down to your level and kissed you on the forehead “Apart from the desire for me, of course” he added, once he moved out of your reach once again.

Fucking hell.

“Neil”

At least there were some fun memories to come back to, you thought, looking through the copy you borrowed Neil. Then you noticed another thing. Under your book, there was another one of the same title. Brand new. Pages filled with Neil’s scribbles on the margins and underlined passages, highlighting the exact same quotations that made this book become your favourite. My god. The realization hit you with a gasp and a shiver. He read it. And not only that, but he also tried to understand you through something you held so dear. Reading the notes he made, you knew he was listening to every word you said. No matter the moment, the stage of your ‘relationship’, evidently, he cared enough to be interested in your thoughts and feelings. You were holding the proof in your hands. In some margin notes, Neil even referred to you using your initials, pointing out why it could resonate with you so much. The more you read, the more it felt like you have encountered his diary, in some form. That would be it when it comes to getting over. Putting down the books, your head was spinning. Too much.

You needed food. And sleep. It was at that moment that you decided to stay. It got late enough to make the journey back inconvenient. And everything was right here. Feeling like Goldilocks personified, you made use of Neil’s frozen food assortment and put on the music. Once you got over the initial shock of the afternoon, it was almost too easy to pretend that Tallinn never happened. That you were still alright. That he still potentially loved you. With the somewhat soothing sounds of Billy Idol and The Darkness, you went over Neil’s notebooks with equations. You understood nothing but the possibility to read his notes and theories was as comforting as it could get. Then, feeling your eyelids get heavy, you cleaned up and moved to the bedroom. Lying down in Neil’s bed felt like sacrilege. But the moment your head rested on the pillow and you inhaled the scent, it was all excused. At least in your eyes. Giving in to the foolish daydreams, you could almost imagine him next to you. The warmth and comfort the cuddles always provided. But you were alone, still wearing that sweater that smelled too good to be given up. It had to be enough. You fell asleep thinking about those damned blue eyes and the man that took the ownership of your heart for good.

*** Upon waking up in the cold apartment the next morning, you wanted nothing but to leave as soon as possible. In the daylight, with dreams of happiness haunting every corner of your mind, the feeling of loneliness was more persistent. You made sure to get rid of any signs of your intrusion, cleaned the kitchen, and made the bed. The only keepsake you could not deny yourself was the cashmere sweater that you stuffed into the bag. Even if he would not want anything to do with you, you could give it back along with the keys. Surely he would understand… right? After everything that you found in his flat, nothing seemed certain anymore.

You made it back to the HQs with just enough time to shower and pack for the next week of sitting in the inversion chambers in the sealed off part of the complex. That did not sound good as it meant more time with too many people in the cramped quarters. You had enough of that at this point. But then that was the prize of getting the most incredible of jobs. That and getting your heart broken. Again.

You joined the rest of the army by the larger turnstile, used purely for long-term inversion, instead of training. Accepting friendly nods from both Ives and Wheeler, you took your place in the queue. No one knew exactly what the purpose of this was. Just that you were supposed to go back eight days and then travel to the Norwegian coastline, awaiting instructions. The intuition that was rarely wrong told you that you were in the endgame from this point onwards.

And so, the next week was restricted to trying not to lose your sanity locked within the four walls. The only escape from the small room was the kitchen (always full of people that wanted to know too much), bathroom (that always had lines of people waiting by the door), and the small courtyard, where you could not step out without the oxygen tank and a mask. Overall, it was not the most pleasant of experiences. Especially when most days you wanted to curl up in bed and contemplate the mess that your life became. And to marinate in pain that became a constant companion. The sweater could only help so much. Accompanied with nerves and worry, you felt objectively shit and did everything to preserve the solitude. That is how you found yourself in the small kitchen at 2 am, eating toasties and drinking tea. Earlier the compound was too busy, and you preferred starving than facing the others. Only with everyone asleep, you could catch up on the meals missed. Well, almost everyone…

“How are you doing?” a voice interrupted your brooding.

You turned in the seat only to see Wheeler enter the room with a small smile on her face. Her you could tolerate, as an exemption.

“Bad” the candid answer seemed only appropriate “But I don’t mind the company, so please… stay” you added upon her hesitation.

She just nodded and proceeded to make a cup of tea. The silence stretched, but for once, it was rather pleasant. Finally, she finished the task and took the seat opposite you, giving you a quick once-over. You knew what she saw. Tangled hair, reddened eyes from lack of sleep, and hours of tears. The sweater that became the only comfort in those early morning moments when nothing seemed real and yet everything was too much.

“Is the sweater his?” she asked plainly, and you could only nod.

At this stage, surely, nothing was bound to surprise her.

“Yeah… Maybe it’s silly, but I took it from his place just to have something… tangible” you explained, consciously running your fingers over the material. Instead of judgement, you got a smile in return.

“No, I understand” Wheeler took a sip from the mug before asking, “Did the apartment give you any answers?”

You have not shared the story with anyone, unable to process it all even in the quiet of your mind. But maybe this was a chance to let it out…

“Mostly whiplash,” you let out a bitter laugh “It’s like… he cares… or cared,” you stumbled over the tense “But then in Tallinn after the shoot-out, he just closed off completely, and I don’t know why” raising your hands in defeat, you planted on your face on the table.

Anything goes. After a moment of utter frustration, you met Wheeler’s inquisitive eyes again. She did not seem bothered by your antics. Just a little concerned by the picture you were painting.

“Maybe it’s trauma” the seriousness of her expression made you think.

You did consider that option. But even knowing what happened with Alex, his reaction seemed too violent. You were alive, and yet he was trying to push you away. Plus, that way of thinking implied something else. Something you did not dare consider.

“That would mean he… loved me” getting the words out was a challenge “And I don’t think he does” you stared at the table, giving in to the thoughts once again “Whatever is going to happen now, I think I need space. Some distance. Trying to get over this won’t work otherwise”

Formulating the feelings that were overwhelming your heart and mind felt somehow relieving. Even if the prospects were anything but good.

“Is that what you want? To let him go?” the straightforward attitude of your companion was helpful.

“I don’t know,” sighing, you met her gaze, “I want… him, but if he doesn’t feel the same then…” with reddened cheeks, you let the sentence trail off.

She would understand, you were sure of that. And, if the slightly suspicious look in Wheeler’s eyes was anything to go by, she had her ideas about the topic.

“You should probably try talking to him again” she spoke after a few minutes of silence.

“Last time that ended terribly,” you replied, arching your eyebrows, begging her to remember how bad that container conversation went.

“I know,” Wheeler patted your shoulder reassuringly, “But I also know that sometimes Neil needs a proper kick in the ass before he sees what’s right in front of him” she got up and went to the sink, picking up both of your dishes.

With the soothing soundtrack of the washing, you could feel almost sleepy. If it was not for that never-ending chatter of your thoughts.

“If you say so…” you murmured when she turned the tap off.

“Go to sleep. It’s just two days more of this torture” giving you a final smile, Wheeler left the kitchen.

You could survive two days. After that? Who knows. But it had to be alright.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

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sterlingarcher23 · 2 years

Text

-Foils: El & Henry-

Certain aspects have become more clear in the last couple of months, so some elements in these posts are a bit outdated or better would need additional information/clarification. The overall/basic ideas are the same, it just turned out to have a bit more "texture".

Season 4 established Henry/One and El/Eleven as opposite characters, so called foils.

The visuals for this are in their number-tattoos 00I and 0II which are written in circles and lines on their inner wrists.

Additionally there are clear visual elements like in the fight in the rainbow room in which El is standing in the right side up rainbow area. This is already foreshadowing El’s whereabouts in Season 5 and it symbolizes her meaning in contrast to Henry who is in the upside down side of the rainbow, both sides connected with each other on one side of the wall.

Both characters are made in a Yin-Yang style, that has small dots of the opposing colors, with both having a vestigial element of each other inside: One a single line and Eleven a single circle.

The most obvious inspirations are Raava and Vaatu from Legend of Korra (reference is a tweet by the Stranger Things writers from 2019 "my favorite ship is korrasami").

These spirits, Raava of light and peace, Vaatu of darkness and chaos, are inverses themselves. The duality is apparent through the fact that one can inverse their color schemes into negative images, meaning they are the exact opposite of one another and their names are made similar to One and Eleven:

Raava , coming from Sanskrit “ravah” meaning sound and Vaatu from “vatu”, silence. - On Vecna's clock over the main dial, there's even an inscription saying "silent".

Similar to Raava and Vaatu, El and Henry cannot really destroy each other. Darkness cannot exist without light and vice-versa. It has also been made clear during the D&D game at the start of S4: Eleven is a miss!

(El in the grey area of the field - Max's brain? - with a blue withered flower representing Max as in every couple in the shot one wears blue)

According to this and Brenner’s explanation that One/00I consumes. Including memories and abilities, taking everything that a person was and ever will be (the reason why Max is blind and cannot feel anything is he stole two sensory abilities ; probably also some memories), his foil Eleven/0II must therefore be able to do the opposite.

Henry absorbs people, making what they were part of him, fuses them to him - El fuses with people, both stay separate entities therefore.

It's a similar yet slightly different concept with Vaatu and Raava: Vaatu and Unalaq merge into a single entity ; Raava fuses with Korra but both are separate entities.

Part of this, that El does the opposite of Henry, was already in Season 4 when she revived Max and as it was implied (although it looks like she is only thinking of it) likely transfusing memories while doing that.

Anyway, what El did there was already a mirror image of what One/Henry does: while he killed Max by connecting to her mind and doing it in the mind lair, El revived Max in the void.

The mind lair and void are the visual representations of both Henry and El's mind.

One/Henry kills & takes. El/Eleven revives & gives.

Another hint was Dr. Owens who stated in his discussion with El, that “I believe you're the cure”

For what Henry does, El as Henry's foil is established in Season 4.

Plus:

It is therefore just logical that El is meant to reverse what Henry did to Max. However in her own way:

Where Henry absorbs other people and integrates them as part of himself, destroying them in the process, El would fuse with a person of her choosing, bestowing or sharing her memories and abilities, however she wouldn't be "consumed" in sense of being disaggregated (as consumption actually works) to fuel someone but stays a separate entity in the process while being linked to the other person.

Henry also developed a self healing ability but he can only heal himself ; El on the other hand could be able to do the reverse or something of a kind but unable to heal herself, only capable of healing others.

In Season 2 El touches her mother's hand to which she then reacted, an indication that El connected to Terry for a moment and while being connected repaired or circumvented the neural damage of her mother's brain. If Max losing her abilities of vision and touch is due to neural damage or that this damage is a concomitant effect of the psychic absorption, then it has been established through this moment that El can indeed do the opposite. - Something similar happened when El touched Billy's face.

It's likely that this happened because both, Terry and Billy, do have powers (it is true for Terry as far as we know?)

In both cases it was love and compassion that triggered something (powers and emotions as triggers are connected) during that connection and had an effect on the person been touched. And direct psychic link already showed that El is able to revive a person via mind over thousands of miles away - a constant connection from within a person would therefore permanently link/fuse El to/with another person, sharing memories, abilities, thoughts, experiences. Both benefit from this symbiosis. It is likely that El will mirror/parallel Sara's fate, bringing Hopper full circle. El's death has been hinted at for example through his monologue in Season 4, so the survival of her own consciousness is possibly connected to this fusion:

One body, two minds. It would then also come with some caveats or better make Elumax very "special". However bestowing or sharing sensory abilities gives Max substitute abilities to the ones she lost, seeing with El's eyes for example.

There are examples for this in e.g. Star Trek or Mass Effect Andromeda.

This fusion has also been visualized through several elements, from the blue and yellow shield, the diner/van window and even a complete moment in the shopping scene foreshadowed this.

Sharing her memories and abilities etc. would be an integral element of what El would do while bringing back Max ; only thing missing is that El needs to know of the whereabouts of Max's mind - El has to locate Max inside of the dimension she sent her to as the released script implies.

That dimension is in Max's brain... a mind-dimension. More in this post:

It's the only way, sadly it means El's death and a love that was never meant to be in reality - something that Vol2 also established, while Lucas fought for Max in reality, El fought for Max in the mind. Both are anchors of their respective realm of love for Max.

El's and Max's love is for the mind, the dreams... That's why it was shown to us that Max can cross into others minds/dimensions when she entered Henry's mind lair on her own. (Also hinting that Max is one of two kids of the forgotten test subjects of MKUltra)

Whatever the exact explanation would be, if ever talked about in detail in the show and not just visualized and explained via storytelling, the basic concept is technically simple and been laid out by establishing its Upside-down version/Henry psychically absorbing people and hinted at in parts through the possession of Will in Season 2 (there were elements they wanted to do in Season 2,they now want to use) - Stranger Things is full of parallels but more important are the mirrors: concepts and characters mirror each other.

So do Henry and El.

Sidenote: This explanation seems convoluted but the concept actually isn't - keep in mind that Stranger Things explains very little through characters giving a lecture but more making use of visual clues, actions of the characters and storytelling - how Henry kills and what's necessary to do his psychic absorption for example is explained via visuals and story and just a few lines from Dr Brenner whose dialog explained to us before it happened why Max can't feel or see.

It still confused people into thinking that Max's "soul" was after her death absorbed or traveled to Henry while the process is directly shown: he needs to concentrate and use the UD network to absorb a person. Both was not the case ; the death occurring at the spot opens the portal (see the fandom Wiki). Or that Max's loss of sight is a result of direct injury to her eyes when it was actually put in dialog what happened. - Still the basics of this were misunderstood by many. But those are established rules that only need to be mirrored now, similar to the UD and the mind dimension to which El sent Max's consciousness to.

Problem with Stranger Things is that it tends to distracts at times, uses subtext and communicates subconsciously. People were stunned and even angry that El revived Max, they saw it as a cheap Deus ex machina when in fact it wasn't due to the fact that El was established as Henry's opposite. - That alone is very telling in its own way of consuming media (yes, including me) but it also puts Stranger Things on a different level of entertainment. A professor of the New York University said that analyzing Stranger Things in this way is valid. He did an analysis of the use of cinematography in the TV-show "John Adams".

#elmax #elmax nation #elmax supremacy #max mayfield #stranger things #elmax my beloved #el hopper

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