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#the dissection scene in spiral. to me

jvzebel-x · 1 year

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(a love story in five parts:)

"You could do anything to me, and I'd let you. ... Tell me you love me, at least. Please. I need to know somebody does."

"I always think of a passage from the Symposium, this allegory about people who started off as two halves of a whole, but then something cut them apart and they spend their whole lives looking for the other half so they can fit themselves back together. And that's how it feels. It hurts. It's like I lost you before I was born."

"I know why you fuck me like you wish you could kill me. I know everything that gets you off, you can't help but show me. There's no part of you that I can't see."

"Because it wasn't as if they'd never hurt each other before-- between them, it was a kind of tenderness, writing themselves onto each other's bodies with every mark they left. It was a promise: I'm here, I've always been here. Pain was a necessary consequence, but that was all it was."

"All they were-- all they had ever been-- was a pair of sunflowers who each believed the other was the sun."

x. "These Violent Delights", Micah Nemerever

#These Violent Delights #Micah Nemerever #📚#i have been waiting for this book for AGES. i got the rec forever agoooo&it was so worth the wait im clawing out of my skin LMAO.#the way that song of achilles invoked feelings uncomfortably close to my love at what would arguably be its best #there were scenes in this book that made me need to put it down&decompress bc they were uncomfortably close #to actual experiences i had in my actual marriage lmao.#it was actually... fascinating. seeing this story from the pov of someone whos thought processes reminded me so much of #one of the most profoundly abusive ppl i have ever had the misfortune of being involved w LMAO.#it was incredibly written. so much so that when the narrative would devolve into stints that were obviously&heavily unreliable--#i had to. stop. for a sec. lmao.#paul would spiral out of control while dissecting julian&the tone. the way-- even in his own head-- there was nothing julian could #do or say to make him believe that he loved him or cared about him or wasnt manipulating him. it was. intense. lmao.#so obviously i am fucking OBSESSED 💘💘💘#this came at such a good time-- 'if itll keep my heart soft break my heart every day'. :')♡

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orchidbreezefc · 7 days

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ok. years have passed and we've had some distance, so i'm finally gonna take the leap of faith that tma fandom is finally ready to hear me on this. let's talk about tannins.

161 was the first tma episode i heard on early release, and i felt the bit where martin declines wine and cites tannins was pretty obvious in its implications. cool, got it, say no more.

imagine my surprise when i was one of maybe three people i saw read between the lines there, in a fandom famous for red stringing--a fandom that immediately caught the much less obvious thread of ignition sources in the same episode. i'll spell it out: alcohol is an issue for martin.

maybe it just felt obvious because addiction is a pet issue for me--as it is for jonny, who has said everything he writes is filtered through a lens of addiction. i don't know if that's due to his own experience or a loved one's, and i won't speculate; i also don't know if martin personally struggled with drinking or just avoids it for fear he would, but alcohol would fit what we know of his family. his dad walking out and his mum spiralling into bitter wallowing and verbal abuse? i'd bet one or both of them drank, yeah.

on a basic level martin tries to decline alcohol, and that alone should have raised eyebrows given what we know of martin and, again, a fandom that dissects everything. we already knew martin "K" blackwood lied about his personal life and his family in particular, especially pre-canon, which is when this flashback took place. i was shocked that everyone took his flimsy excuse at face value with no further questions.

and the excuse is flimsy. martin turns down wine by--nervously--exclaiming tannins are "a proven headache trigger!" which sounds like trivia from a magazine cover and not the words of someone who actually has headaches--and it hasn't come up before or since. jon, confused, points out that tea, a drink martin consumes to a degree that is memetic both in- and out-of-universe, also contains tannins, and martin squawks a panicked, "what?!"

if tannins are enough of a concern for martin that he knew they're in wine and so avoids it, why didn't he know they're in his drink of choice? why does he still drink tea at the time of canon, and why doesn't he struggle with constant headaches from consuming 'a proven headache trigger' day in and day out? why, indeed, would someone avoid wine and not tea?

when sasha insists martin drink he caves and agrees to 'just a drop'. i imagine him pouring it in a plant, which admittedly he could have done if tannins really were the issue. i will say that i, for one, would be less likely to falsely agree to something that makes me physically ill than to a private issue that i'd rather not be pressed on any further. this scene also establishes martin's birthday was an ice cream party instead of the more traditional visit to a pub.

also, this scene was in the first episode of the final season, as one of three flashbacks that could have been to any pre-canon event in the archives. prime narrative real estate. not really time one would waste on establishing the important character context that martin has... headaches. which never comes up before or after, even regarding the week he spent in spiral town. but you know what is pretty crucial character background...?

it felt like a no-brainer, and yet all i saw was h/c fluff about jon attending to martin's headaches. and i hate feeling bitter about disability representation. i want folks with chronic headaches to feel seen and have fluffy escapist fantasies. i don't want to be mad about people portraying a character with a disability. but, guys? you got the wrong disability. jonny sent a clear message, and it went over fandom's head.

#martin blackwood #tma #the magnus archives #tma meta #the magnus archives meta #tma 161 #mag161 #sage speaks #sage original post #meta #im sure others caught it that i didnt see but listen. i was DEEP in the fandom. people getting it made up maybe 1% of the response i saw #and i had people fighting me for saying it #alcohol cw #alcoholism cw #addiction cw #greatest hits #wonderful news: tma fandom WAS ready to hear me say this!

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prof-ramses · 2 months

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Hollow Sorrows Trailer Breakdown LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOO

Obviously, if you don't want spoilers, scroll away. If you've already seen the trailer, LET'S GO!!!

So when we first see possessed Patty, she looks mostly normal, you can't even see her demon teeth through the mask yet. John and Jack probably only came in since they heard a scream and/or struggle coming from the morgue.

So we get a shot of the boys being too chaotic, something Gregor points out and what will likely cause the "bad character development" Pelo ahs mentioned.

Also, since it's 100% what Pelo would do, Costume Bob is the guy in the HF suit. Mark my words.

The scene with the hatz is really interesting to me, since Skid and Pump just annoys Roy for a moment and leave. I think this might be all we get of the hatzgang this time, similar to how Frank only had a brief Appearance in Tender Treats. If my theory that episode 7 will focus on Roy is true, this little scene will be very interesting to dissect when the full episode drops.

We actually get out first proper glimpse at a new character and I think this old man is the very last character in the line up teaser

And there's also a pretty good chance he Roy's grandfather and given the way he reacts to the boys antics here, I can definitely see him being a another reasons Roy's the way he is.

If he actually is Roy's grandpa, then @crossover-enthusiast and I's Roy discussions are going to get really fun pretty soon.

Here, Skid is clearly holding a framed photo, meaning this will almost certainly be the first time his father is brought up directly.

Also, yeah, with Pump's line about "hangover spooky month", it seems my theory about Lila in this episode was at least half right.

Yet more proof that the boys' absent parents will be more of a focus. The trailer as a whole gives me some ideas regarding the Wonder parents, but I feel they're best saved for another time.

The boys get into trouble with the cops and I have 2 theories regarding when, either Gregor tries to get them sent home before going to the hospital, but they talk their way out of it, or they actually do get sent home at the end of the episode.

John's expression here immediately makes we think that something Skid or Pump said reminded him of his daughter. Another plot thread that has yet to be directly acknowledged.

Ignacio watches Gregor lead the boys away, maybe he lives down the street from Skid and Lila to keep an eye on them for the cult?

Either way, I'm surprised his appearance won't take place in the hospital as I previously predicted.

"I will be your guide. And I know your parents would be proud of you."

There's something undeniably sinister about this line, but how sinister hinges on whether Gregor is a cultist or ex-cultist. Whatever the case may be, he definitely knows more about or sees more in the boys than he lets on.

A great title card, and thought the blood everywhere is definitely concerning, I don't think there's anything to really say here, just wanted to get a screenshot of it.

And it would appear the character I've referred to as the cat lady will have the unenviable role of a hapless victim to the episode's villain. But honestly, I'm more surprised by her being at the hospital in the first place and why that never occurred to me before.

The actual progression of Patty's possession confirms to she's possessed by something other than Moloch. And what seals it for me is, fittingly, the eyes. The white of her eyes becomes a more vivid yellow, yet her pupil snot only don't form Moloch's typical spirals, but they're a more vivid shade of baby blue, a color that has never had any significance in the series before. Moloch will mostly be trapped in Dexter before eventually possessing Gregor, I will die on this hill.

AND THE FUGGIN' RELEASE DATE!!!

Alright, that's all, only a month now. We're so back!

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zivazivc · 2 months

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I'm gonna take some time to digest and think about that comic before I come to a decision. The decision being whether to continue to support you or just leave you be.

If I decide to leave you be, just know that there are no hard feelings, okay?

You are on anon so I don't know if this is someone who I've talked to before, but either way, yes, no hard feelings. I completely understand. It's the internet, anyone can unfollow anyone for any reason, but also I know this is an uncomfortable topic and even triggering to some, and some people are just not here for that. I was contemplating posting it for a while for this reason.

I do kinda want to point out that the purpose was/is not to fetishize a relationship with a minor and I will never fetishize or glorify that ever. It's wrong and unhealthy even if there's no malicious intent present. (am pointing it out because I got a bunch of asks about it and I'm 🧍) But this is fiction, and I portrayed the scenes the way that I did mainly because I made the comic from Floyd's perspective and I wanted to get in his head and show what exactly he was feeling in that moment. If the end result makes you feel uncomfortable or "flustered" (I don't think I'm using the right English word) in a certain icky way, that was kind of the point and I believe should be a normal reaction from an adult.

I spent my high school years (normally 15-19yo, but it was more like 14-22+) living in a dorm in the country's capitol and I attended a vocational school for visual arts that is pretty notorious for having a drug problem (I'm talking about mostly weed) and being full of weirdos (students free and comfortable expressing themselves and experimenting with expressing themselves but weirdos is the used term lol). The dorm is also located very near the city's subcultural center (look up Ljubljana Metelkova if you want, it's kind of what I imagine the underground scenes the bandmates visit looking like) which is like a hangout place for subcultures like punks and metalheads and the lgbtq. Anyway coming from living my whole life in a rural village where I still played with toys to somewhere like that was an insane shock to me. I sometimes felt like a toddler around young adults in a big city. And it was whiplash for many other teens too, some of whom quickly fell into bad crowds and spiraled, often those who came from bad home situations or controlling parents (heck some even came from elementary schools already doing problematic things). The amount of rumors of things happening in that dorm and school (drugs, sex, messing around with older teens/adults, whatever)... (I'm not saying it was like a concerning percentage of students but it was happening) Some of these people who made some bad choices were and some still are my friends, some of whom still struggle with some things today and it's heartbreaking.

Anyway where I was going with this is that in high school I was always kind of the anti all of that (to the point it had the opposite effect on me where I didn't even try out the normal teenage things) and just thinking "what the fuck is wrong with these people?" And recently, when my headcanons for Floyd started going in the direction that they have, I started wondering the same thing. Just not in a judgemental way this time. More like I want to dissect this situation carefully and understand it from everyone's perspective and see what lead up to it. I've always been very fascinated by morally gray and dark fiction for this reason and this is right up that alley.

So yeah, this isn't for everyone, and I can't hold a grudge if anyone unfollows me for it. But what I'm doing here is inspired a lot by real life situations and my weird deep dives into articles about trauma and its effects (also pretty sure I'm also processing some of my own personal emotions through these blorbos but I am not going into that), and I feel like I'm taking a pretty realistic approach to it (if you ignore the fact that this is fucking Trolls). I'm just slowly exploring how a relationship between a teen who comes from a sheltered almost cultish upbringing (pop trolls live in a concentration camp and are dealing with the horrors by singing and enjoying every minute of their every day like life is a ticking time bomb) and a young adult who never got a chance to grow up because he never experienced a childhood and is suddenly being liked by someone for the first time in his life (I'll talk more about Les some other time), would develop into hopefully something okay for both of them. Because I do want them to both be okay in the end. And I'm sharing some of my brainworms online for anyone who's interested. I just can't share ALL of my brain worms and sometimes I forget that people don't have a view of what's going on in my head. Yeah... This answer became long for no other reason except that I can't sleep because I posted that comic, damn. That's what I get for dropping that bombshell on top of what was mostly fun "comedic" posts about the AU so far.

#answered #I never actually intended for them to get together when I designed Les #it just kind of happened and by that point I didn't want to change Les's age #because that would completely rewrite his character #and I like his character #but yeah I ship them. although when they're older #at this point I just find floyd's crush adorable and his actions concerning #les didn't sign up for any of it but he also doesn't have the heart to throw floyd out of the band #because he's worried someone with bad intentions could find him instead #yeah #it's messy #but that's the whole point #also I think it just looks so much worse in the comic because les is giant #if he were a rock troll they'd be nearly the same height #this is also something I didn't account for #ex bandmates

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reds-writings · 1 month

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Hey!!! I wanted to start this out by saying that your writings for Rust has been nothing short of amazing ! There aren't enough fics out there for Rust, and yours have honestly been getting me through it.

Now, idk if this is the type of ask you were looking for, but with Old Man Rust, especially when he was in Alaska all that time- I've always wondered the details about his time out there (besides the obvious/what we already know). I mean- it's Rust we're talking about, and that poor tortured man...it couldn't have been great.

I know he spent most of his childhood up there alone with his father and such, but this time around? After everything happened? I've always assumed his self-isolation was probably at the highest it'd ever been, especially with how he talked about it.

Idk- I've always wanted to know his thoughts/feelings about so many different scenes/things within the show, but this is definitely one of the biggest ones. Even if you relate it to the jj universe- I think adding a partner adds layers to my curiosity on his experience/thoughts/feelings. I know when you answered that fluff prompt ask, them being away from each other for all that time was talked about; he still loves her very much, and is incredibly troubled about all of it.

Anyways! I feel like I've gotten a bit carried away, so I'll stop before I keep going 💀. You definitely don't need to feel obligated to respond or spend time on this, but know that your contribution to the true detective community on here is greatly appreciated 🥺.

Howdy! I love this ask!! The more detailed the more fun! And thank you so much for the love ahhh!!

(this will include some spoilers ahead for the JJ universe pls don't kill me lol)

I love the dissection of Rust's reasoning for returning to Alaska, of all places, after the big fight of 02. My fave idea being that he did it as a form of self-punishment for taking part in hurting his only companions in Louisiana. Applying these events to the JJ universe: the incident with Maggie will still be taking place sadly. But hear me out!!!!

In 02 with the resurgence of the Yellow King/Carcosa Rust easily found himself obsessively spiraling back into the Dora Lange case. With all the frustration and lack of support from the department (and Marty), he resorts back to nastier habits and ways of regarding those around him with JJ!Reader unfortunately being in the crossfire more often than not. It places a heavy strain on the relationship to the point where she reaches a breaking point bc tbh he is not being a very good partner at all (stress and frustration can only be an excuse for so long). They break up with her telling him to practically get it together if he wants them to ever continue but of course, shit just spirals more out of control with his hurt and anger so of course it reaches its crescendo with him having to quit then Maggie using their incredible emotional vulnerability to an advantage which he ends up regretting immediately of course because even if he's not currently with JJ!Reader it's no less of a pathetic form of betrayal.

When the fight goes down and he loses Marty it's one thing. Seeing the reader and the tie between them being severed completely with no one else but himself to blame is just about as close to dying as he'll get in that moment. He shit on her trust once and for all and took a friend from her in the process. He knows that there can be no forgiveness even if he were to beg with whatever last bit of reverence he had or sell his sorry soul.

Alaska is a bitterly lonely time for him and from tidbits he mentions in the show he didn't do much to change that loneliness while he was away. Circling back to before I think it was his way of extreme penance and if it weren't for another resurgence in the case he would've probably let himself die there alone with all the drinking/carelessness and wouldn't have had it in him to feel sorry about it if it happened.

Coming back to Louisiana things have changed plenty with Marty, Maggie, and the reader. I think the way he prioritizes his crumbled relationship with Marty (for both the case's sake and his) versus how he passively regards Maggie in the bar will forever be interesting to me. I feel like he'd be scared as hell to even come near the reader knowing she still harbors hatred and pain but Marty the Meddler drags her back in because he knows the two will never be able to truly stay away from each other. It takes a lot and the relationship may never be exactly what it once was but he'd selfishly rather have her near in some capacity than never at all once he's gotten a taste of her presence after so many years. I can't wait to write all that angst and yearning bc we love tension 🤭

Now that was a ramble omg! Hopefully, I didn't stray too off course!

#reds-writings #red speaks #rust cohle #true detective #rust cohle x reader #jj universe #anon ask #true detective season 1 #writer blog

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neutron-stars-collision · 25 days

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Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 6 - Canada Water Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 5 Summary: Neil shows you just how well he can take care of you. As the night at your place takes a turn, you both need to adjust to the slight change in the dynamic. Warnings: Explicit content, and I mean it; swearing; slight angst. Author's Notes: Okay, so I'm a day earlier than I thought but since barely anyone reads this anyway... *shrugs* might as well. This is 10+k of smut and then another 3k of mental spiralling (thanks to Duran Duran), to make things more entertaining :)) It's been a while since I wrote scenes like this and it proved to be a challenge but I do hope I delivered. One thing is certain - these two definitely were into whatever I envisioned in my daydreams ✨ Without further ado, I'm leaving you with another 14k of words. The motivation for this story fluctuates like crazy but for now, more is coming. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

Although it was far from the very first time you had a gorgeous man kneel before you with a promising smile on his face and a determination to cure your ails through the sheer force of a good orgasm, it might have been the most memorable one.

If only just because of Neil’s eyes, staring into the depths of your soul as he carefully took off your underwear, simultaneously laying kisses on the expanse of your calves, knees, and thighs. In some shades of the light, you would swear his eyes were twinkling.

At first, you wanted to look away, hoping it would help your case. Make it seem less meaningful in this unspecified way that you could not and would not dissect for months. Soon, you found that you simply could not look away. Instead, you looked on, letting his tender caress arrest your senses and instantly put you back within that fuzzy space of mind. Once he took off your panties, Neil glanced up to meet your gaze, that dangerous smile still hiding in the corners of his mouth. His hands continued the journey, pulling up the dress for easier access, all the while driving you another step closer to madness with perfectly laid kisses, burning the tender skin of your inner thighs. Before you could even think of anything to say, he broke the heavy silence:

“You’re beautiful,” the certainty in his voice, as if stating a fact not unlike the existence of the forces of gravity, made you feel lightheaded.

Sure, it was something you had heard before. Maybe even often. But that didn’t mean you believed it. The notion scratched at the edges of your insecurities, never quite managing to scrape them away. Usually, it fell way off.

“See, I don’t know if I should take that seriously” stumbling through the sentence with a breathless voice, you subtly shifted your hips on the sofa and pointedly glanced down at Neil with what you hoped was ferocity, “Considering what you’re about to do to me,”

From his vantage point, with his hands pinning your thighs to the couch, legs wide open with everything on display, the point was more than evident. You could tell Neil caught it with how that light pink spread over his cheeks again, painting a fascinating contrast.

“You should,” drawing mindless circles on your kneecap as if to buy his time, Neil added, “I’ve thought it since I first saw you. It just didn’t seem the right thing to say back then” he shrugged, daring to put forward another mind-blowing concept.

Another fact undeniable only to him. As if desperate to make talking even harder for you, Neil took the pause as his chance to drop his gaze from that respectable position, wandering over your face to stare at the apex of your thighs with nothing but hunger in his eyes. You swallowed hard, feeling the arousal spread through your veins like wildfire.

“And now?” the question was all you could manage, driven by the remains of sanity that considered this answer essential.

As if it would change anything at all.

“Now I’m hopefully going to make you feel really good, so… There aren’t many lines left to cross” Neil glanced up at you again, that same confident smile acting as both a warning and an enticement, luring you in.

As if aware of your increasingly muddled state, he let go of your knee to squeeze your hand and grinned. There was nothing more you felt capable of saying. Or doing, except to drop your head back on the sofa headrest and let Neil do whatever the fuck he wanted.

Which was to trace an invisible line up the expanse of your right leg to that place between your thighs, that was already drenched because of him. Even that ghostly touch burned your skin as Neil carefully parted your folds with the tip of his index finger and dragged it through the slick. Muffling a groan by forcefully biting your lower lip, you closed your eyes. You were already on fire.

“Is this all for me?” the wonder in his voice, combined with just enough smugness to make you consider punching Neil in the face, was another reason to drown in the embarrassment.

Although, drowning in need was a close second with how Neil slowly mapped out his terrain, spreading the wetness over your slit and around the entrance. Preparing you for what he had in mind.

Before you knew what you were doing, your hand had found its way to the nape of his neck, lightly playing with the hair ends and pressing against the warm skin. The contact acted like an anchor, assuring you of the realness of the situation.

“Yeah, but don’t get too cocky about it,” the end of what you hoped to be a warning never quite landed as it was immediately followed by a gasp.

A consequence of the fact that Neil decided to use that exact moment to delve in. His warm breath fanned across your bare skin as he settled between your thighs with a simple comment:

“I’ll do my best” the tail end of the quip was followed by the first experimental lick through your folds, the tongue lightly dragging through the sensitive skin.

You choked on a curse, fingers of the occupied hand already tangling in his blonde locks. Your other hand gripped the sofa edge hard enough that you worried it would leave indents in the material.

Neil took that sound as a cue, repeating the move till you could barely stay still. Keeping your hips pinned to the couch with one arm slung across your thighs, he swirled his tongue over your heat, collecting the arousal as if he was dying of thirst. Just when you thought he would offer respite, he dragged the tip of his tongue up towards your clit and focused the attention on the spot that had you crying out loud.

It was easy to let go then. To keep your eyes closed when Neil’s thoughtful manoeuvres and skilled tongue attacked your senses with an intensity that soon made it impossible to think or speak. Resorted to incoherent mumblings and moans, you tugged at Neil’s hair with force, making him groan. The sound went straight to your core, shooting like a live wire through your body and making you tense up. He was good at this. Not that you ever doubted he would be. He listened and used the cues available to go where you needed him, interchanging between lapping at your heat and sucking your clit. Like a scholar dedicated to his study. Like a devoted believer praying at the altar of his God.

Or goddess, apparently.

You could feel the knot in your lower stomach tighten, that wave of pleasure getting close to unbearable with every second. An attempt at speech only got you as far as a breathless admission, interrupting the silence filled with nothing but your shameless screams:

“I’m so close” it was merely a fact, something he could discern from the force of your grip over his hair or the way you quivered, barely able to keep yourself together, “Neil, please just-”

You did not even know what you were asking for. Something. Anything.

He knew anyway. You felt a comforting touch, a careful hand tracing invisible circles on the skin of your outer thigh as Neil took a break to glance up. Your eyes snapped open at the interruption, meeting his gaze as if following a sense you had no label for.

Much later, you would wonder whether that, the connection so alike the first time your eyes met over the carriage floor, could be something different than a trick of light. Something substantial. Something terrifying.

But, back then, you could only stare back. Vulnerable and at his mercy, yet not scared of the prospect. As if able to read your mind or the incoherent ramblings resembling scatterings of thoughts, Neil shot you a grin. His lips and chin were glistening, coated with your slick. The sight was enough to make you clench around nothing and shudder. Your body wound tight still.

Whatever Neil saw in that moment of silence must have been what he was searching for. Your eyelids fell close when you felt him dive in again, the talented lips enveloping your heat without a second wasted.

Before you could as much as let yourself immerse in the steady rise of pleasure, in the exact feel of his mouth at the most sacred of places you could offer, he took it that one step further. Delivering the deathly stroke with the tip of his tongue, prodding at your entrance, and penetrating it without mercy. It was too late to try muffling the cry torn out of your throat without warning. Christ. You could only attempt not to rip the hair from his head as you tugged at the blonde locks and tried to get him closer. Tried to do what you always did and take what you wanted.

But Neil would not let you, his grip unyielding over your hips, keeping you pinned to the sofa. Keeping you spread out and helpless as he dragged you over the precipice with the tenderness of his touch and the determination of a man desperate to do well. Desperate to serve.

“Oh, fuck,” the curse carried on a moan in that last flash of coherence before the edges of your vision darkened, and your spine rose in an arch, unable to hold still anymore, “I’m-” the thought, whatever it was meant to be, was never finished.

Instead, it got replaced with a litany of his name, whispered with the tint of ecstasy, colouring the vowels and consonants. As if you had nothing else to say. No one else to praise. Just Neil. The wave of pleasure crashed into you without subtlety, its force rendering you numb as you quivered beneath his tongue and under his firm hands. Neil held you as you shook, licking you clean as if he did not want to lose the taste of you from his tongue for hours to come.

When the orgasm started fading, and you felt your body relax again, falling limp against the cushions, you opened your eyes. The hazy vision blurred the edges of your living room, making it seem soft and pliant. Unreal. With a quiet sigh, you glanced down just in time to see Neil raise his head and meet your gaze.

He painted a picture, as always. The blonde strands fell into his eyes, and the sharp cheekbones bathed in pink blush as his lips curled into a smirk. That sudden spike of desire to grab his tie and pull him into a kiss, to learn what your taste feels like on his tongue, was hard to fight against. It made you curl your hand into a fist, focusing on the shade of blue in his eyes. Until you could take another breath. Until your heart rate slowed down. Until everything felt real.

Until you knew what was happening next.

As if aware of the internal crisis, Neil stayed quiet. He observed you with almost unnerving stillness before seemingly finding what he was looking for and letting your legs close with a final kiss on the kneecap. He propped his chin on your thigh, almost resembling a perverse image of a lapdog that you had no idea you were into before now. Curious.

“Everything alright?” the huskiness of his voice swept over your senses like a chilling breeze, waking you up from a trance.

What a silly question. As a preamble to an answer, you shot Neil a wide grin, aware of the madness still clearly visible in your eyes. It hardly mattered.

“Even better” dragging your fingers through his golden mane, you relished in the slight tremble of his hands as Neil settled them atop your thighs. Now it was time to give praise where it was due, “I always knew you’d be good at this, but… fuck’s sake,” that was as far as intelligence went, replaced with a groan that doubled as a dreamy sigh.

It still barely covered what you wanted it to. But Neil knew. It was visible in the pleased smile and the knowing glance thrown your way from his spot at your feet. Almost lazily, his tongue darted out to lick his lips clean of your arousal. Without breaking the eye contact. Of course.

You could hardly ignore the fact that you were wet again. Still, that is.

“I aim to serve, m’lady” squeezing your thigh, Neil got up from his knees to sit by you on the sofa.

He stayed close, and that proximity, complete with the undiminished hunger in his eyes, told you all you needed to know. A push in the right direction.

“Yeah, you do” offering Neil a sly smirk, you shifted so that you were facing him and reached out to grab his tie and pull him close. Just like God intended. Probably, “Come here, I need to-” that sentence had no end prepared, so you sealed it with a kiss.

Your lips covered Neil’s with a self-explanatory intent as your tongue teased and prodded until he opened his mouth and let you in. That first taste of yourself coating his tongue was a revelation. It made you groan, motivating you to rise on your knees and climb into his lap without breaking the kiss. That second of hesitation following the bold move was eradicated when Neil pulled you closer with his hands on your waist. He kissed you as if his life depended upon it, swirling his tongue around yours and mapping out the inside of your mouth. A rush of blood to your head was the reason why you decided to switch it up, lightly scraping your teeth over his bottom lip and pulling until you got a response. The answering growl, reverberating through his chest, ignited the sparks burning out in your blood. Now you knew what you needed to happen. The realisation made you pull back with a final peck upon his parted lips and open your eyes.

Neil’s wrecked gaze felt like a boost to the system, increasing your confidence. It was a reason why you comfortably settled in his lap and regarded him with quiet contemplation. Returning the earlier look.

You tried not to dwell on how different it felt, unhurried and deliberate like none of your previous hook-ups. How uncomplicated it all seemed, with Neil’s steady gaze and firm hands holding you still. How unavoidable you had deemed it to be a long time before. You tried and failed, burying the thoughts behind a wall of sensations and feelings. You hoped they would never resurface again. Somehow.

“Good?” Neil’s question made you start, instantly pulling you back from the abyss in your head.

The surprise must have shown on your face, for Neil followed the question by brushing his nose against yours, tenderness permeating every glance and gesture.

It was almost too much.

“Great” aware of the shakiness of your smile, you splayed your hand over the expanse of his chest, feeling the heartbeat.

It was both a distraction and searching for confirmation. A confirmation that you were not about to make an idiot out of yourself.

The rapid beat beneath your hand erased the doubts, helping you make that decisive move. Meeting Neil’s questioning gaze, you smiled. The edge of your grin turned sharp at the mere thought. Before he could catch the meaning, you got up from the sofa and reached out a hand towards Neil. Extending an invitation.

You could see the quick calculations behind his stare, the blue eyes switching between your extended hand and the enigmatic expression. Although the silence felt eternal, it only lasted a beat. Without another word, Neil took your hand, enlaced your fingers in a loose hold, and stood up from the couch. The certainty in his gaze made it easy to start leading him towards the room down the corridor. The room he has already seen, albeit not in this context.

At the doorway, you let go of him to turn on the lamp in the corner, bathing the room in a warm glow. Neil crossed the threshold, following you like a ghost. You did not need to tell him to shut the door till only a small gap remained. Or to meet you halfway across the room and pull you back into his embrace like you belonged there.

And tonight, it felt like you did.

One giddy kiss quickly turned into the next and then another after that. Until you were both gasping for breath, needy hands tugging and sliding across the pieces of clothing that were in the way. It was then, midway through an inhale you desperately needed, that you realised there was one crucial thing left to settle. One question that you owed Neil:

“Before I make a fool of myself… Do you want this?” settling your hands on his shoulders, you met Neil’s gaze with what you hoped was a coherent enough look.

You could tell the question surprised him from the way his eyes widened, hands wrinkling your dress over the hips with a tight grip. But the pause only lasted a second.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t” the confidence was striking, almost fatal in how well it fit his beautiful face. The angles softened by the warm light, and the smugness still felt lethal, threatening to cut you open if you kept on being reckless. You pushed the warning to the back of your head, focusing on the look in Neil’s eyes, “I want you. So much it drives me crazy” the admission completed the desire in his gaze.

Its simplicity drove a shiver up your spine and bloomed heat on your cheeks. While it was nothing you have not anticipated, hearing it said so plainly drove the point home. It offered no space to bargain for insecurities and doubts. As much as you still did not know the expiration date on this precious, lovely thing between you, now you knew where it was going. You knew the drill. The logic of it. Need, want, desire. Yearning to have another person, claim them as your own, just for one night. Just until you felt whole again. One night should be enough.

Right?

Instead of addressing that thought, you smoothed out the creases in Neil’s tie and met his gaze with indifference. (At least outwardly).

“Fab. I’m glad we got that sorted” giving the Windsor knot a final pat, you shot Neil a smile.

Slowly, with his grounding touch running over the sides and down to your hips, you could feel the temperature rise again. The increase was steady, not yet overwhelming like before on the sofa, but it was very much there. It made your gaze wander, trailing down the column of his neck, begging to be kissed and bitten, to the expanse of his chest, still hidden by the frustrating layers of cotton and linen. You desperately wanted to get your hands on him. Properly.

“Do you?” the question caught you by surprise, making you look up to see Neil’s searching gaze.

Your brain muddled with want, needed another second to understand what he meant. Only then disbelief took the stage, with the bewilderment in your eyes. What kind of stupid question was that?

“Obviously. I’ve only been eye-fucking you for months” that was an understatement.

But it hit the mark, with a hitch in his chest and a subtle move of hands on your hips pulling you a fraction closer. Enough so there was barely space left between your bodies, and you could just about feel the effects of your words and actions on Neil. At least the physical side of them. A glance down, below his belt, confirmed the suspicions and made you grin like a wolf that has just spotted its prey for the night.

“Have you now?” the hints of amusement in his voice, still somehow mixed with uncertainty, were enough to put the need aside for one second and meet Neil’s gaze with confidence.

The apprehension, when it came to how you saw him, had no place here. Not when each time you laid your eyes on him, you only found more reasons to be captivated. Not when Neil tended to be the only one you could see when you were together. When he haunted your dreams with beauty and pleasure. No, that wouldn’t do.

Covering his hands with yours, you stood on the tiptoes to kiss him on the forehead. Leaning in, you whispered a simple admission:

“Yes, Neil” you hoped he could tell there was more behind those two words. That he could see the depths of admiration you had never possessed for another person, save for him. That he knew how much you meant every tender compliment and careful touch. It was the most you could offer. The furthest line you would cross. It was high time to return to the crux of the conversation. You did so with a bat of the eyelashes and a smirk on your face, “And now I want you to fuck me. Is that clear?”

Admittedly, the whiplash you served Neil was quite something. He took it with a few seconds of hesitation, a lack of comprehension flashing through his eyes in something resembling the 500 error screen. You fought the urge to burst out in ridiculous giggles. Then, as if his brain finally caught up with your words, Neil blinked. Once, then twice. Blue eyes flashing with inklings of understanding. It was fascinating to watch. To notice the different shades of his iris and then the exact second when yearning replaced the previous confusion and took up reigns.

“Yes, m’am” grinning wide, Neil mimicked a lazy salute and took a decisive step forward, pushing you towards the bed with newly minted drive.

You sure did not mind the initiative, letting him steer you in the right direction until you felt the edge of the mattress hit the backs of your legs. A sudden strike of inspiration made you use the years of ballet and turn on your toes, pivoting you both to reverse the positions. His quiet gasp was an indication that you succeeded. Without another word, you pushed him down to sit on the bed, meeting the bewildered gaze with a grin. It was high time he got used to it.

When you had him where you wanted – seated below you with a gaze full of awe and parted lips, you whispered the only praise that came to mind:

“Good boy,” the effect was instant.

A swallowed groan, complete with an eye roll that was still somehow fond. Before you could react, tease him further, Neil reached out to grab onto your hips and pulled you down, throwing you off balance. There was no point in resisting gravity as you tumbled down onto the mattress with a whoosh and found yourself in his arms. Again. His hands wandered over your body in broad strokes, igniting the fire as you closed the distance and captured his mouth in a kiss.

One kiss stretched into another and one more still, spanning minutes and seconds until you were both gasping for oxygen. Until all you could taste was Neil, and all you could feel was his touch. Between one sharp inhale and the next, you placed a kiss on the edge of his mouth and started trailing pecks down the column of his neck, making Neil shiver and moan. Each kiss was sealed with the tiniest bite, barely reddening the tender skin and a reconciliatory lick so you could satiate the desire with his taste. Just a little bit.

His exploring hands crept beneath the hem of your dress again, pulling up the fabric and creating goosebumps on your thighs. There was no guessing what it meant. Ending your intensive study with a lingering bite over his pulse point, marking him for everyone to see, you leaned back far enough to meet Neil’s gaze. You offered him a subtle nod and sat up, twisting so he could see the zipper running down your spine. The message was clear. He caught it with a knowing smirk, lightly brushing away the hair falling over the nape of your neck. The tremble in the wake of his touch had to be disguised with a sigh.

Even now, Neil was gentle. One of his hands settled on the back of your neck, stroking the delicate skin with unnecessary care, while the other tugged at the zipper, slowly undressing you. That first hit of colder air in the apartment was a shock to the system, making you inhale sharply. The sound alerted Neil. His hand skirted down your spine to warm up your skin revealed beneath the dress. Now, you could not do anything about the shivers rocking through your body in an embarrassing display. Before you could even attempt to fill the silence with another dose of bullshit, Neil pulled the zipper all the way down to the base of your spine and slipped his hand inside the dress. The warmth of his palm against your bare stomach felt like a burning flare, putting your soul alight. Sucking in the air sharply, you pressed your back to his chest, seeking out more.

The intimacy of the moment could not escape your attention. The slow pace and conscious decisions to get to know each other first were something new. Something unheard of as far as your hook-ups went. There was no rush in tearing off the clothes and getting off as far as possible to avoid the thoughts catching up. Instead, there was Neil’s hand against your midriff and his mouth against the back of your neck, gently biting the sensitive skin and making it impossible for you to detach from the present moment. Not that you wanted to.

When he deemed it right, Neil leaned back and slipped the dress off your shoulders. A sudden uncertainty took root in your heart, like a bad seed eager to corrupt the rest of the crops. What was about to happen seemed substantial somehow. Despite the improbable nature of the idea that Neil could take one look at you naked and decide that you were not worth his time, the concept was still there. It replaced the previous bravado, making you exhale shakily before standing up and turning towards him, holding up the article of clothing to keep it from falling.

You knew there was no point in fooling yourself that Neil did not catch on to your hesitation. Not with the way he always saw right through whatever posturing you tried to attempt. You met his gaze, aware of the extent of damage to the reputation it would do. All you found looking back at you was his silent reassurance, trying to keep you anchored. Inhale. Exhale.

Before your brain could become a little bitch again, you relaxed the hold over the fabric, letting it fall to the floor. You had nothing to hide behind, having left the bra back in the dressing room and your underwear on the floor of the living room. The chill in the air made you tremble, barely resisting the urge to cover up.

Neil’s gaze remained steady as he took you in. His eyes roamed over your body, noting the curves and edges, imperfections, and flaws. That fear was still there, making you tighten your hands into fists. Neil closed the gap, taking both your palms into his and relaxing the muscles. Taking a deeper breath, you risked meeting his eyes. The blue depths lured you in, showing nothing but affection and infatuation. For reasons unknown, the look felt dangerous in way you could not describe. So, you stared back, ignoring the desire to fill the stifling silence with words that could not be taken back.

As always, Neil proved to be the braver one.

“Are you alright?” his soothing tone complemented the gentle touch of his hands running up your bare arms to rest over your shoulders.

Even now, Neil proved to be shockingly respectful. His eyes never strayed from yours and although he had all rights to touch you as he pleased - he did not. Something in his gaze told you this was a given for Neil. A rule he would never even consider crossing. The realisation helped you find your voice again.

“Always,” the wavering tone did nothing to create an illusion of nonchalance.

But then, it was too little too late, anyway.

Upon Neil’s searching gaze, you nodded. It must have been what he was looking for because the next thing you knew, he was placing a lingering kiss on your lips and letting his hands wander. At first, tentatively down the centre of your chest and over the heart, beating so fast you would swear even Neil could hear it pounding in the silence. Then, he got braver, palms cupping your breasts and tracing the pink areolas, making you gasp and tense. If his hand delved between your thighs, you knew he would find you dripping wet.

But he didn’t. Instead, Neil mapped out the constellations of freckles and beauty marks over your chest and stomach while massaging your breasts and stoking the fire burning underneath your skin. When he first tweaked your nipple, the resulting moan made you clamp your mouth shut with your hand and stare at him in silent horror. There was no room for aloofness and detachment here. No space to pretend you were not bothered. And that was terrifying.

Yet, the most terrifying moment came a little later when Neil had you spread out beneath him on the bed. He was still wearing clothes, and it was a fact that would have caused much more annoyance had he not just finished leaving marks over your chest, kissing, and biting all the sensitive spots. Your panting mouth was still parted on a gasp when Neil released your nipple with a wet pop and moved back up to meet your gaze. Like this, with his cheeks permanently coloured pink and lips red from the kisses you did not seem able to stop trading, he was exceptionally breath-taking. Your chest heaved as you attempted to formulate any words, but before you could succeed, Neil broke the silence:

“You’re beautiful” it was an echo from maybe an hour before, uttered with even more reverence.

The effect was strengthened by the look in his eyes, roaming over your face with something akin to worship.

Worship you were not worthy of. Never. And especially not by Neil, who, without a shadow of a doubt, deserved better. The thought was not anything new, yet it acted like a bucket of ice-cold water, wiping off the dreamy haze you had settled into. Oh, so stupidly.

Suddenly, the rightness of it all seemed wrong. Skewed in a direction you did not dare ponder. Because yes, Neil was the right one, the one you desperately needed to have. Even if just once. But not like this. Not with all those feelings and monumental thoughts that strayed too far from the comfort zone. No, you had to act. Had to remind both Neil and yourself what was going on here. Who you were supposed to be.

Swallowing past the inexplicable lump in your throat, you sat up and pushed Neil up with your hands around his neck. It was much easier to breathe like this, no longer entirely at his mercy. With his blue eyes peering at you with curiosity, you settled your hands on the buttons of his vest and smirked:

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” now that sounded more like you.

It was a perfect opener, instantly eliciting a reaction in the form of widened eyes and parted lips. Neil stared at you for something close to thirty seconds, which proved that it was the last thing he expected you to say. But then, just as you dared undo the first button of his vest, he grinned. That wolfish smile which haunted your sleepless nights flashed at you with an edge of something dangerous hidden beneath. Something you wanted to discover.

“Then do something about it, Cupid” Neil shot you a wink and leaned back on his elbows to strengthen the point.

The point that you were allowed to do whatever you wanted to him. There was no need to say it twice. You undid the rest of the buttons on his vest, pushing the garment down his shoulders and letting Neil shrug it off till the garment landed on the floor. It had served its purpose. Definitely.

Loosening up the tie was the easy part, and as you took it off over his head, you paused with the burgundy accessory in hand. The second of hesitation did not go unnoticed.

“What’s up?” Neil’s cautious tone made you grin as you looked up to see him peer at you with curiosity and alarm in equal proportions.

Wrapping the tie around your fist to keep the accessory as a needed prop dressing in the scene, you shrugged:

“Nothing. I’m just thinking about the different ways I could use this on you” the twinkle in your gaze was unmistakable for what it suggested.

There sure were ideas. Tones of them, and one better than the other. Images like wrists bound together with the tie or the burgundy fabric used as a blindfold were only a start of what you could concoct at the spur of the moment. The ideas alone made you shiver with anticipation.

Even more so when you saw Neil’s blank gaze, staring at the very topic of the conversation with something that could only be described as revelation. It dawned slowly as his pupils dilated, and the darkness consumed the blue irises. Licking his lips thoroughly as if already feeling the effects of what was about to happen, Neil raised his head and met your gaze.

“Now?” he sounded breathless, tongue stumbling even over a one-word question.

You buried the wave of affection under a dry chuckle, focusing on unbuttoning his shirt with single-minded focus. The tortoiseshell buttons necessitated a certain degree of patience, which you were not sure you possessed. And least of all right now. But, considering that the alternative was doing something stupid like ripping it off him, you did your best. The expletives still came, even if only in the quiet of your mind.

“Next time” once you were halfway done, you looked up and winked.

Was it too much? Probably. It assumed a course of events that you had no right to dump on Neil. Let alone like this. As if it was a given. But hopes were there, traitorously scheming in the unconscious layers of your psyche. Faint wishes that maybe you could have more than a one-night special.

Before you could dwell on the probability of thoughts like these, you broke eye contact again and glanced at your work in progress. With just a couple of buttons left, you could see the perfect canvas - pale and almost unblemished. You rushed through the remaining steps and pushed the shirt down his arms until he took over the task with a smirk and shrugged it off. You did not wait to look where the shirt had fallen as your eyes took in the picture.

He was beautiful in that perfectly imperfect way that tended to catch you unaware. His broad chest narrowed at the waist, presenting just the right amount of musculature. Strong arms drew you like a magnet, and you did not hesitate before letting your hand dart out to skim over his biceps and down the planes of his chest to touch the firm muscles. Neil was watching you intently. His gaze followed your every move as you slowly took him in. Noticing the scattering of beauty marks along the inside of his right arm and the dark, coarse hair covering his torso. Pressing your hand against the centre of his chest, you felt the beat of his heart and the heat of his skin. A strange sense of completion settled in your chest, making the heat bloom on your cheeks. That never happened before, either.

Before you could spiral over that singular, alarming thought, Neil covered your hand with his and asked:

“Better than the picture?” although the smug smile graced his features, you could sense hesitancy underlining the question.

A fear that you were about to laugh at him or ridicule his looks. As if he wasn’t the most incredible person you’ve seen. As if you were not rendered speechless.

There was no other way to approach it than by acting. Fast.

You glared at him with what you hoped promised no bullshit to be accepted and pushed at his chest till Neil was sprawled on your bed with his head propped on the headboard. He painted a beautiful picture. The only flaw was the infuriating presence of pants, but that had to wait. Just a little longer.

When you had him where needed, you straddled his lap and met his slightly bewildered gaze with a confident smile.

“Definitely,” you nodded, strengthening the statement with a careful touch as your fingers stroked his torso, wandering down till you could lay your palm flat against his abdomen. The trail of darker hair disappearing under the belt acted like a magnet, and you did not even try resisting the pull, “You’re fucking stunning,” sealing the compliment with a kiss was just a formality.

Yet the way Neil leaned into it, kissing you back with the ferocity of that first time on the platform, made your head spin. Somewhere, at the edge of consciousness not presently occupied with the taste of his tongue and the exact way his mouth pressed against yours, you could not ignore the obvious. The fact that it was never like this. No one-night-stand ever felt this deliberate and measured in a way that still incited a fire in your stomach and hunger in your blood. There was something different in how you kissed and let things slowly build up to sex rather than just rushing through every step along the way.

It all led to another thought, a faint realisation that you might have already subconsciously decided that one time with him would not be enough. Even before getting to know what it was like. That thought was not as terrifying as you expect it to be. Still, you ignored it, placing it among the towering piles of things not spoken or thought of until the end of time itself.

The piles were beginning to topple. One by one.

Neil broke the kiss with a telling gasp, shifting beneath you and bumping his hips into yours, drawing your attention back where it belonged. Namely to the darkness of his eyes and the visible bulge below the belt. Your hands almost automatically wandered to the belt buckle, but before you could put them to work, his breathless attempt at speech made you stop:

“I’m not-” you did not need to hear the sentence to understand it.

It was there in the uncertainty of his gaze and the bashful blush on his cheeks. How he still chose to stare at the bedcover instead of you, even when you were in his lap, free to be ogled for all he liked.

It was increasingly clear that Neil was not like that. That he was not like anyone you had ever known.

Ignoring that primal desire to undo his belt right this very instant, you abandoned the task and cupped his face between both hands, forcing Neil to meet your gaze.

“You are. Trust me,” there was no need to make those words sound convincing, for you believed it more than you knew how to express.

You stared as Neil seemingly tried to take it in. His eyes roamed over your features with scrutiny for a beat. He must not have found anything amiss because the next thing you knew, Neil was breaking into a smile and pulling you back into his arms.

Things went a little easier after that when you could fall upon familiar sensations and actions to push you in the right direction. Sure, there still were a couple of hung-ups, like that embarrassingly long pause you stumbled into once you had successfully taken off Neil’s trousers and underwear and could compare imagination to reality. Your imagination fell short. Somehow. Because, as you probably should have expected, Neil had no reason to compensate for anything. In the slightest.

At first, your undivided attention made Neil fall quiet, with the bashfulness threatening to replace the tentative confidence you were beginning to enjoy about him. But that changed when you shook off the hitch and let your hands explore. Your fingers traced the veins on his length as your palm started stroking him with confident twists in the wrist. Then Neil was not able to stay quiet any longer. He groaned, the sound reverberating through his chest as he laid next to you on the bed. Something in his gaze made it impossible to look away as you stroked and touched him, listening to the cues so earnestly provided. Soon enough, you knew what he liked, what moves elicited the moans that shot right to your core, making you squeeze the thighs hard in pointless hopes that it would do something to ease the throbbing want. It didn’t do shit.

As if reading your mind (or simply seeing the need written all over your face), Neil batted your courageous hands away with a pained glare that told you all you needed to understand and allowed his palms to wander. The hand that was previously placed on your hip slid down your naked skin. The places he touched felt like they were on fire, and the sensation grew when you felt his elegant hand delve between your legs again with confidence. Unbeknownst to Neil, that – his beautiful and mouth-wateringly long fingers moving between your thighs and between your folds – was a frequently-featured hit in your nightly fantasies. The reality lived up and surpassed the imagination in this case, too.

A wolfish grin you noticed too late did not warn you of what was coming. Neil wasted no time. His right hand instantly darted to your clit to circle the bud with precision and speed that matched the level of your fever. With him, you found no need to fill the silence with pointless words, instead letting yourself gasp and moan as he met your gaze with a smirk on his face and dipped a finger inside. There was no need to question the wetness he must have found, yet you noted a surprise pass through his face as if that was somehow unexpected. But you had no time to dwell on the thought. That delicious stretch as Neil added the second finger to your entrance wiped all coherence from your head. A loud moan tore at your throat as you shivered, finally feeling something take care of the emptiness at your core. But it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be till you had him.

His fingers quickly build up a rhythm, with the thumb pressing at your clit just right. Your hands, which had previously idly rested on his chest, ventured up to grasp at his shoulders, looking for support as the pressure rose with overwhelming pace. You were aware of the red lines you were scratching on his back and the pathetic moans and half-swallowed curses that permeated the silence. But you were unable to do anything about them. Not with how Neil knew exactly what to do to make you come. Again.

That lethal strike came when you felt a third digit delve inside. It joined the other two, keeping up the pace and making you scream with pleasure. The perfect fulness could only be replaced with one thing. One sensation that would go beyond it. It was a thought that pushed you over the edge, making you rake your fingers through his skin and squeeze your eyes shut against the force of the orgasm. Only once you felt like you could breathe again, lying lifelessly on the bedding, you opened your eyes again. The smug smile on Neil’s face confirmed one thing – he knew what he was doing. You were but a mere puppet in his hands.

A very willing puppet, one might add.

When you recovered the senses and coherence enough to speak, you met Neil’s gaze and stated:

“I’d like you to fuck me” there was no need to hide behind metaphors and euphemisms when saying it out loud was merely a formality.

Everything before led to it, after all. Every touch, glance, and flirtatious exchange that with Neil was almost too easy. It was what you always wanted, right from that first conversation and the dawning understanding that Neil was too incredible to forget. It was not an accident that ever since meeting him, you had close to no desire to have sex with anyone else, no pull to score another hookup in the bathroom of a club or the apartment of yet another random guy.

No, what you wanted (who you wanted) was Neil.

What you saw in his eyes, looking back at you through the narrow space between your heads, told you that he got the message. The yearning you often thought you saw in his gaze was present now. Along with want that dripped from his hands as they touched your body, tenderly yet with purpose. Neil stared at you as if he never wanted to look away and could not be convinced to. Like you were the only thing he desired. Or at least, you hoped it was like that for him. Too.

“Are you sure?” the pre-emptive question would have been silly was it not so damn endearing coming from him.

It coexisted with his hands skating over every inch of your skin within his reach and his hardening length pressing against your thigh. You had no choice but to offer him a smirk and cup his face to soften the tone. Just a notch.

“Very,” sealing the response with a kiss, you moved closer across the minimal space so that no gap between you remained.

It was easy to hitch your thigh over his hip and take him in your hand to guide him inside. It was easier still to break the kiss with a gasp once you felt him enter you. The sound mixed with his choked breath, sharp and sudden as if even though it was expected, Neil was not quite ready. His hand tangled in the hair at the back of your head, gently holding you close. The other was splayed over your waist, helping to find that perfect angle. He slowly inched inside, taking his time to bottom out, for which you were more than grateful. The pace helped you get accustomed to the feeling of fullness, almost painful yet not at all. The slight discomfort was the wake-up call you needed, a sensation so familiar that you could rely upon it to find your footing. To ignore the feelings and inconvenient thoughts for the sake of this, right here.

It helped you adjust the position, placing your hands on his shoulders for leverage and meet his gaze. A moan upon the feeling of him inside you, filling you perfectly, was muffled with a kiss he incited. It deepened as you opened your mouth for Neil and shifted so that your pelvises were touching. The move made him break the kiss with a telling groan, expressing exactly how it felt. He occupied all your senses, making it impossible to think or do anything but stare back at his beautiful face, now transformed by pleasure.

That first moment, the first sensation of connection when you slept with someone new, often hit like a drug. A dopamine hit, going straight to your brain. A rare sense of completion, especially sweet after months or weeks of pining for someone. It was like that now, too. The sensation of his naked skin touching yours, the heat of his body burning at your cells, and the strange knowledge that at least for the moment, you were one. Bodies and souls joined for one common purpose. Chasing that spectacular high that you knew was in reach now. Only then did you not feel like you were missing something crucial that you would never attain.

“All good?” your silence must have been alarming, for Neil’s question had a tint of concern underlining it.

Only that made you realise he was still as if frozen by uncertainty and afraid to mess it all up somehow. As if that was possible.

That had to be amended instantly.

“Yes,” offering him a slightly manic grin perfected by insanity in your gaze and tender touch ghosting over his beating heart, you added, “You can move now,”

Neil did not need to be told twice. He took your hand in his and started the slow tempo, thrusting with something you could easily mistake for gentleness. Softness you were not used to crashed against the walls built around your guarded heart. For now, they were too weak to cause damage. Thank God.

Tightening the hold over his palm, you raised your joined hands over your heads, looking for something to hold on to. Your other hand found purchase on his shoulder, digging in your fingernails as the pressure rose. The unhurried rhythm made the pleasure fill your veins in slow, consistent waves. You could feel it build up again as your inner muscles contracted, eliciting moans and curses from Neil. Once you knew how to meet him in the middle, you bucked your hips in response, earning a groan that shot straight to your molten core. The sound and the gratification it carried brought a grin to your face. It spurred you on with the promise that you could return the immense satisfaction Neil brought you. That you could make yourself memorable.

That notion inspired you to use the core strength and athletic training and topple Neil without letting you separate. His sharp gasp told you it was the last thing he expected. Good. From your new position astride him, you watched his heaving chest as Neil processed your impish trick. Warm light painted his skin and made his hair look like a golden halo belonging to a fallen angel. An angel worth the fall from the heavens.

Before he could recover fully, you rolled your hips and rose on your knees to fall again in the slightest of moves. It only strengthened the titillation on his face, but it did the trick. His blue eyes blinked awake as his hands found their purchase again, skating over your thighs to rest on your hips. With your subtle nod, he guided you to match the desired tempo.

Like this, with full opportunity to control the pace, you could allow yourself to stare. To take note of the subtle changes on his face. Like the crease between his eyebrows begging to be smoothed out. Or the panting mouth, pink parted lips still red from the kisses. Or the pearls of sweat on his temples and chest, proving that you were doing something right. Proving that perhaps Neil would remember you.

The coil in your lower stomach was tight now, feeling close to bursting and bringing you another orgasm. You could tell Neil was close, too. It was visible in the bliss written all over his face, and the abdomen muscles pulled tight. Your fingers grazed over his chest, drawing mindless patterns and bringing out goosebumps as a reward. As if able to read your mind or feeling the way you constricted around his length, Neil met your haze and raised his hand to place it between your thighs. Thumb on the clit, circling the bud with a rhythm that by now he knew would work. Just like that. Without you ever having to ask.

The realisation alone was why you could not stay quiet any longer.

“Neil-” a pathetic sob interrupted the sentence with no aim in sight, so the rest came out in a rush, barely aware of what you were saying, “You’re perfect,”

It didn’t make the words any less true. Any less real.

But still, it was not something he anticipated. Neil glanced at you, and before he could school his features into a less vulnerable expression, you noticed hints of uncertainty. Something else was there, too, occupying the dark depths of his pupils and shining through the greyish blue of his irises. It was gone before you could identify it, but you considered tattooing the exact shade of his eyes on your skin the morning after. You felt like it might match the shade of your heart tomorrow.

“You stole my line” there was no genuine grievance in the look he gave you, instantly bucking his hips into yours to make you swear and shiver. You were so close now. The edges of your vision were growing fuzzy again as you felt your inner muscles contract and squeeze around him, eliciting another groan and a sigh that matched the words echoing in your head, “Jesus Christ…” it took him another second of composure to find the words that only confirmed your suspicions “Cupid, I’m not gonna-” using his seconds of distraction, you leaned forward to deepen the contact and covered his mouth with yours, interrupting the sentence.

With the kiss, as hungry and devouring as always, you hoped to convey everything you could not tell him. That he mattered. That you were beginning to worry he had ruined you for anybody else. Ever. That although you would try, nothing would ever be the same again. Neil took the kiss with an eagerness that was still somehow startling. He nipped and licked at your lips, ensuring they stayed red and swollen. Only when another moan escaped the confines of his mouth and made it impossible to continue the kiss, you broke the contact and met his delirious gaze with a smile. You could feel his rhythm stutter and wane as he visibly approached orgasm. There was just one thing left to about it.

“Come for me” although piecing together a sentence was a struggle, the reward in the form of Neil’s muffled curse and full-body shudder was worth it. You watched as his abdomen muscles tensed, and he began thrusting with no rhythm or pace, helping you chase the feeling that was just around the corner. Leaning forward again, you placed your hand over his head and whispered into his ear, “Now,”

The word acted like a trigger. Neil stiffened in your embrace, his hands seeking out your waist and holding tight. Without thinking, you rested your forehead against his and felt him fill you to the brim. Warmth spread through your core, making you clench around him one last time before your body gave in. White sparks filled your vision as you closed your eyes and entangled your fingers in his hair. You could finally let go. A pleasured scream rang through the silence of the room as you collapsed, limbs falling lifelessly against his sturdy form. For a split second of stupid indulgence, you let yourself believe that Neil would always be there to catch you.

But that wasn’t a happy ending people like you wanted. Or deserved.

You were half aware of what came after. Of how your body trembled in Neil’s embrace and how he whispered your favourite nickname repeatedly, filling the word with enough affection to bruise your heart purple. You knew you should cut this short to prevent the inevitable awkwardness that almost always followed as fast as possible. But you couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, you snuggled into the crook of his neck and inhaled, feeling the ache in your body. It would hurt like a bitch tomorrow, you were sure. But for now, you focused on the steady rise and fall of his chest and the comfort of his hands resting on your naked waist and back. By some miracle, it seemed like Neil was one of the few men who did not mind your desire to snuggle and breathe instead of quickly dismissing whatever transpired between you as an unimportant rendezvous on the timelines of your lives.

Yet, soon enough, you had to break the silence. The best way you knew how.

“You’re such a good boy” as soon as the words left your mouth, carried on a teasing tone, and accompanied by the smirk hidden in his neck, Neil’s comforting touch stilted.

Judging by the hitch in his chest and an ill-disguised cough, he choked on the breath intake. Even in the confused depths of your mind, you had to admit it was rather adorable. And it most definitely did the trick by diffusing the tension caused by the deafening silence and your synched-up heartbeats, which had no right to exist. Not here. Not ever.

“You’re incorrigible” laughter rang through the letters in his response as Neil chuckled dryly and resumed the caress, letting his fingers skim up and down the ridges of your spine.

You never wanted to move again.

That’s why it was high time to do so.

“You love it, though,” the rebuttal was easy to conjure as you lifted on your forearms and slid off his body with an apologetic smile. The gasp at the loss of contact and emptiness that followed was inevitable but also necessary. Laying down on your side so that you could see his face, you spoke, “Damn, that was…” before any accurate adjective could be found, Neil turned onto his side, mirroring your position and met your gaze, striking you mute in the process.

There was something indescribable there. A vastness of emotions you could not decipher without delving into that scary territory of your understanding that was never meant to be breached. Especially not like this. Not right now.

So, instead, you let your eyes take in his beauty, and the fading blush, complete with lips kissed raw and tangled hair. A look so thoroughly labelled as ‘freshly well-fucked’ that no other words were necessary or even advised. Even better so that you were the sole cause and reason. A point of pride, in fact.

“Good?” the joy in his gaze was enough reason to banish the strange thoughts and focus on the fact that his question demanded an answer.

As much as you were almost positive Neil knew just how damn good the sex had been, it still seemed like he wanted to hear it from you. You were happy to comply.

“Very good” a smug grin was complimented by the satisfaction Neil was bound to see in your radiant gaze.

Strengthening the point, you shifted closer to him to place your hand over his heart and winked. It did the job. Neil flashed you a bashful smile and leaned over to press a peck onto the crown of your head. That was an unprecedented act. Something that had never happened before. Terrifying in its novelty.

The realisation was enough to make you sit up and gather the covers to gain at least an illusion of modesty. A glance at the alarm clock told you how late it was, with the digits flashing a remorseful 02:27 AM. It was high time to make a move.

Without waiting for Neil to catch up with the drastic changes in your demeanour, you reached towards the chair next to the bed, where your dressing gown had landed that morning due to marvellous luck and got up to put it on in one, practised move. Only then could you look back at Neil to say:

“I’ll be right back,” sending him a smile that was hopefully neutral enough so that he would not understand the depths of your inner turmoil, you turned on your heel and waltzed out of the bedroom straight down the corridor to the bathroom.

Once the door had been closed, you let out a relieved sigh and met your crazed gaze in the mirror. Your hair was a tangled mess, and your lips were kissed red, telling a simple tale. As were the faint pink marks left on your neck, which would require concealer tomorrow. It was all worth it. You knew as much without having to search your heart. At least now you understood what it was that you craved so badly. How it felt and how it tasted. Now you knew what about Neil made you feel so insane.

And now, knowing all of it, you also understood that just once would not be enough. It couldn’t be.

Armed with that knowledge and the particular pain of realisation that often accompanied those hard-hitting truths concerning interpersonal relationships, you also knew what you needed to happen. You had to do everything in your might to keep Neil close. To ensure you would not lose a dear friend so quickly after gaining him.

As you stared at the bathroom floor tiles, you reminded yourself of the crucial detail that it was all in Neil’s hands. He would be the one dealing the cards. The one deciding what awaited you next. The best you could do was be yourself and not scare him off prematurely. Easy, right?

A quiet scoff answered the rhetorical question as you dried your hands with a towel and turned towards the door again. Now onto the harder part…

If there was one rule you had, one that you never, ever crossed no matter the circumstances, it was that you never stayed for the night or invited whoever you had sex with to stay over at your place. Simple. Except for that first time you had to bring it up with someone new. Like now.

Before you could even consider deciding how to go about it or how to signal what you needed to happen without making the situation painfully awkward, you walked out into the corridor to see Neil standing in the doorway of your bedroom. He was finishing buttoning up the shirt and met your gaze with an understanding smile:

“I’ll get going” no matter how hard you looked, you could not see hurt or grudge in his eyes or in the shrug he sent as he put on the tie and tightened the knot.

That was certainly a relief. A cop-out, but you were not the one to argue with fate when it offered easy wins. But-

“Are you sure?” you had to ask.

Not that you were willing to break the rule, but you had to know that he was okay with it. Because, for some unknown reasons, what Neil felt and thought seemed important in ways you did not begin to understand. It was just a fact.

“Yeah. It’s late anyway” the assured look in his eyes told you there was no point in prodding further. Instead, you watched as he put on the vest and fastened the buttons. Before you could get lost in thoughts, Neil spoke again, “Thanks, though, it was… a very memorable night” the hint of a smile in his voice was clarified by the bright grin he offered.

It was a wild, sharp thing that always felt so right on his face that you wondered how come he was not smiling all the time. Although that could cheapen the effect, you noticed upon a second thought.

The grin almost made you ignore the affection in his gaze. Almost.

“That it was” the blush on your cheeks was no longer as rare an occurrence as you wanted it to be, so you tried to hide it by glancing at the floor instead of holding his all-seeing gaze. The sentiment stayed true, “Message me when you get home?” it was another question that had to be asked although you could not understand why, “So that I know you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere?” because that concern was also something new.

You never cared quite so much. Never before. It was worrying in ways that made you want to hide your head in the sand and never poke out again for fear of the consequences crashing on top of it. But life rarely offered such mercies.

“Of course, Cupid” feeling Neil approach, you looked up in time to see him close the awkward gap between you.

He passed you in the corridor, the cuff of his shirt brushing against your arm as he raised his hand, visibly hesitating. Tilting your head in a silent question, you waited for him to decide. The resolution came in the form of his hand cupping your cheek for the briefest of seconds. The touch was gone before you could react, but the ghost of it stayed behind as you whispered:

“Thank you” it was another sentiment that needed no prompt or inspiration; it was just a fact.

Something that sprung from your heart like an overeager daffodil seedling breaking through the frozen February soil. Too early and bound to freeze before it could ever bloom into life.

“For?” Neil stopped in the doorway to the living room and stared back at you.

The expression on his face was impossible to puzzle out. It almost made everything easier. Easier to risk the freezing for the chance of elaborating on what you wanted him to know.

“Everything, really,” shrugging, you offered Neil a smile.

Not the sharp, dangerous grin he knew too well. No, it was a gentle thing; so ill-fitting of what you thought you understood about yourself.

But perhaps you understood nothing.

Not too long later, you heard him open the door to your apartment and let himself out quietly. You padded to the living room and picked up the used dirty wine glasses and the empty bottle. For a second, you contemplated smashing the bottle against your head to stop thinking. Then you realised the blood loss was probably not worth the passing relief. Probably.

***

Staring at the depths of the coffee in his mug, Neil sighed heavily for the umpteenth time within the past three hours that passed since waking up. Waking up in the new world, he unhelpfully added upon opening his eyes. As if his brain conspired to fuck him over, Neil could not stop thinking about it. About her. And everything that happened. All to the point that he barely slept within the odd four hours he snatched between stumbling into his apartment past 3 AM and waking up with a curse on his lips sometime after 7 AM. There was no sleep to be found after, so he gave up.

Visit to the gym did not cause any miracles either, but at least now he was free to sit on the sofa and stare into space. As if that would help. It is not even that anything was wrong. Or that he regretted the previous evening because he certainly did not. He did not. Everything that happened was something he wanted. Starting from the not-so-smooth seduction and ending with making her come. Three times. Not to be smug or anything. He wanted her. Full stop.

And now, having gotten the taste, Neil also knew that the desire would not stop there. She would not be just a box on a checklist, ticked and forgotten. Cupid was not someone he could forget. Even with the current prognosis, which was not optimistic. Because she laid out the modus operandi from day one. There would be no fantastic love story culminating with a kiss in the rain in the middle of Piccadilly Circus. Not even because of the high risk of being run over by a car.

Yet, still, being an idiot, Neil could not help but think. About her. About their evening. About how it felt. About what he wanted to happen next. All the while knowing that not much could happen beyond it. And nothing without Cupid’s will and desire for it. That knowledge did not help the thoughts or dilemmas playing out in his head.

With another heavy sigh, Neil got up from the sofa and walked over to the radio to put on music. If he was to suffer, he might as well do so with the accompaniment of bops. In the truest meaning of the word. Yet, the algorithm must have held a grudge against him, too, for he barely managed to down the remains of his coffee before trouble started. It all came crashing down with the voice of Simon Le Bon and a song Neil knew too well. Usually, he enjoyed it. Usually, there was nothing particularly stinging about this song. Usually, the opening synths and the bass rhythm did not elicit a groan and make him hide his face in his hands. Usually.

‘And you wanted to dance, so I asked you to dance

But fear is in your soul

Some people call it a one-night stand

But we can call it paradise

Don't say a prayer for me now

Save it 'til the morning after’

When the bridge came, along with the final chorus of the damned song, Neil was seething. Be it with rage or utter frustration. The accuracy of what was so beautifully sung by Duran Duran did not escape his attention. Or the fact that this was the first one-night stand he could not just let go. The first time, Neil was wallowing in self-pity and confusion at the state of his feelings and thoughts because of a hook-up.

Or what was supposed to be just a hook-up.

The problem was Neil was beginning to worry it was not just that. That it couldn’t be. And it was a terrible realisation to have. It made him want to be hit by a car on Piccadilly Circus. Or on the Oxford Street. He was not picky.

Quietly cursing every star on the firmament and the sparks in Cupid’s eyes, he reached for the phone and automatically opened the text conversation with the woman in question. Their last texts offered no respite from the suffering with how she bid him a good night after Neil informed her that he had found his way back home unscathed. It took him another two minutes to get his shit together and dial the number with a press of the correct icon on the screen.

Feeling the heartbeat in his throat as he awaited her to pick up the call, Neil stood up from the sofa and began pacing the living room. The seconds stretched into infinity, almost making him talk himself into ending the attempt and blaming the call on a mistake. Before he could act on the cowardice coursing in his veins, the click on the line followed by her voice acted like a heavy curtain, shutting off every doubt and uncertainty until all that remained was Cupid:

“Hi,” the breathlessness in her voice made it seem like she was not anticipating the call.

As if it caught her by surprise. Neil winced against the observation, forcing himself to reply.

“Hello. How are you?” even to his ears, the innocent question sounded strained.

It betrayed the motifs before he was ready to disclose them. His pacing has brought him to the window, so he stayed there, leaning against the sill.

An intake of breath from Cupid broke the silence before she replied:

“Good, great even. Achy as fuck, but then I got up to stuff last night, as you’d know” the slight nervousness in her quiet giggle sounded off, out of place among the implications.

The infuriating blush Neil did not seem able to get rid of even when closer to the age of thirty, made an appearance again. It bloomed across his cheekbones like weeds, making him hang his head with shame despite being the only one present in the room. Ever so helpful, his bitch of a brain chose this moment to show him a reel of last night’s events. Cupid underneath the stage lights, dancing with grace in every step. Her laughter upon the streets of Soho. The feel of her naked skin underneath his hands. The taste of her upon his tongue- Yeah, message received.

“Yeah, I was there” the ridiculous feeling of pride entered the crowded stage of his heart.

Before Neil could attempt to shrug it off, Cupid spoke again:

“You were. I remember you” her tone lowered almost imperceptibly, yet enough so Neil would notice. The low timbre spread across his chest with warmth as she added, “Vividly” the emphasis made everything worse as it awakened the exact shade of yearning he wanted to banish for eternity “Neil, I know you didn’t just call me to ask how my morning is going” the matter-of-fact turn in her voice was the wake-up call he needed.

It reminded Neil about the true purpose of the call and what he needed to say. Now, ideally. He took another deep breath, aware of the prolonged silence on the line and the rapid beat of his heart. It took him another second to convince convincing himself to speak the words into existence. All with the grace of an elephant stumbling over the vowels and tripping on the consonants:

“No... But it’s- I’ve never done this before. I had one-night stands, but not with someone like you” the ending came out in a rush as Neil tried to get it out as fast as possible without further embarrassment.

Although he knew that it was too late for those kinds of worries anyway. He was already a personification of shame in all meanings of the word.

The laugh he expected from Cupid upon such a pathetic display did not come. Instead, he got a quiet huff, which was hard to interpret with his lacklustre detective skills and a question carried on a soft tone:

“Not with a friend?” to Neil’s surprise, she did not sound judgemental or sarcastic, as if making a joke on his expanse.

Admittedly, it was what he anticipated, knowing how the sentence sounded and what it conveyed. Knowing what a loser he was, confessing the facts instead of pretending to be someone he was not. Instead of doing what he usually did.

For whatever reason, Neil increasingly often found that he did not want to pretend with Cupid. He particularly enjoyed those moments when it felt like she saw him and enjoyed the picture revealed. It was at once terrifying and exhilarating. It was what made him turn on the heel to press his back against the wall by the window and slide down to sit on the floor, risking yet another admission:

“Yeah, exactly. And like- It was amazing. It really was, but now I’m… I’m so… confused” the word hardly covered the state of his mind since waking up, but it had to do for now.

Somehow, Neil knew she would understand. She would find meaning within the stammers and pauses, interrupting the incoherent reasoning. She was smart like that.

Because the clue of the matter was that there were no regrets. No particle of his soul that wished last night did not happen. It’s just that he didn’t know what was coming next. If anything at all.

“I get it. It’s uncharted territory for you” once Cupid spoke again, Neil tried to determine her feelings on the topic from her voice. There was nothing to interpret apart from thoughtfulness and the desire to understand. To understand him, of all people. A feat few attempted and even fewer succeeded at, “From my point of view, nothing has to change between us. But I don’t think last night has to be a one-off. It could happen again” the meaning of her words took a while to sink, and even longer to be processed by his brain, slowed by incompetence and whatever charm she had him under. When it did, Neil sat up straighter, a rare sense of excitement tugging at his gut and making him open his eyes wider “If you wanted it to” the addition was almost a footnote.

Because, of course, he wanted to. He would be a fool not to. Right?

The enthusiastic reply was almost at the tip of his tongue, but the remains of dignity stepped in at the right time. Instead, Neil let the silence speak, taking a moment to ask the second most terrifying question. If not the first.

“And what about you?” the fate of his self-respect was placed upon the pedestal made of four words.

Ready to be crumbled with just one sleigh of her hand. While Neil knew Cupid enjoyed what he did to her (and with her), there was no guarantee. No way of knowing without asking her first. Now, all he could do was wait.

Wait and listen to her breathing through the phone, trying and miserably failing at not hanging upon each exhalation as if it were a sentence determining the rest of his life. Luckily, Cupid was not the one to make him wait in misery for too long.

“I’d definitely want a repeat” the certainty in her voice felt like a rush of blood to his head.

It was tinted with that shade of playfulness he considered her trademark. It was barely there, but still, it made everything easier. Brighter.

Now Neil did not even try to fight off the grin from his face as he asked:

“Yeah?” it was just another lousy trick to make her confirm what should have been obvious but was not.

At least not to his stupid brain, burdened with the eternal fear of not being enough. Ever. For anyone. Not even as a friend that you occasionally shag.

“Yes,” Cupid did not hesitate, humouring him joyfully.

Or at least that is how Neil interpreted the light chuckle that followed the reply. It eased the burden a little, but soon he found another pressing question that needed answering. Should they continue… whatever it was that was happening. Phrases like the infamous ‘friends with benefits’ started floating around his head, but for the time being, Neil brushed them away.

“So, if we did… do it again, what are the ground rules?” the clumsy wording was something he could do without, but alas, there was no choice.

He could only hope that Cupid would ignore the failure. It was the very next thing he needed to settle. The rules of play, per se. It was a completely new territory for him, something he had never done or entertained because there was no reason to. No person was worth the confusion. But now- Yeah, now there was. And Neil had no fucking clue how it all made him feel. Or whether he was not making the mistake of his life by even considering the concept. Still, he ignored the idea as Cupid broke the silence with a factual voice:

“No staying over afterwards for the night, and you must tell me if you find someone to be with for real. I don’t want to be the mythical other woman” the business-like tone suggested what Neil already knew – this was not the first time for her.

Far from it. He added a strange pinprick of jealousy to the ongoing list of feelings and thoughts to be ignored and rested his forehead against his folded knees.

The simplicity of the do’s and don’ts was undeniable. Still, it was impossible to tell how bad of a decision it would be on the endless spectrum of ‘ways to fuck up’ that Neil knew too well. From experience.

“Okay,” he nodded, although she would not see it and risked another question. To calm the running thoughts before they escaped his control entirely, “Is it fine if I think about it for a while?”

The pros were easy to think of. If he agreed, this one night would not have to be the only time Neil would have her. He could keep acting on what came to him so effortlessly when near Cupid. He could touch and kiss her as he pleased, whenever he wanted, without first worrying whether it would destroy their friendship.

But the cons were not hard to come by either. Adding sex into the equation often destroyed the friendship on its own. Neil was not sure whether he could trust himself to be as detached emotionally as the situation required him to be. He would never actually have her. Not that he wanted to. Because he didn’t. He didn’t.

“Sure thing, sunshine. We don’t have to change anything right now” her steady reassurance stopped the increasingly frantic thought processes and filled his chest with warmth.

Neil never knew he was a fan of nicknames. Of being called sunshine. But apparently, he was.

The sudden wave of peace settling over his head was the only sign that the conversation was successful. He has reached at least some sort of clarity. Even if he still had no clue what the hell he was supposed to do.

“I’ll see you Wednesday. Like always?” the pathetic edge to that question did not escape him.

But it was impossible to end the call without asking. Without checking whether Neil had something to look forward to. Without ensuring that they were okay.

At this point, Neil did not even try to pretend that Wednesdays did not become his favourite day of the week. For absolutely no reason.

“Yeah, you will” the internal debate about whether he actually could hear her wink got quickly interrupted by Cupid’s question, “And Neil?” a noncommittal hum had to do instead of a reply, what with his brain becoming a lost cause. Still, it was impossible not to wait on her addition with bated breath and heartbeat thundering in his ears. You know, like a normal person would “You know I can’t offer you a relationship, but what we have still means a lot to me. It’s not every day that I have sex this good with my best friend” this time, Neil could definitely hear the sly smile in her voice.

That strange smugness and pride returned to fill his chest with warmth and painted a grin on his face. It was the highest of praises. Both because Cupid admitted that whatever they had was worth her time and attention and because she confirmed that the previous night was… satisfying. It was a challenge not to let that get into his head, successfully distracting Neil from any other thought he could have had.

He was a simple man, alright? One spoonful of praise placed at his feet, and he was done for. In all meaning of the word.

“No?” the joy was audible in his voice as he risked a tease, “I’m such a lucky bastard, then” it was barely an overstatement.

Even if it all was to backfire spectacularly and bite him in the ass soon, Neil felt lucky. Lucky that Cupid wanted to waste her time on him. Even for a wink of her time.

And yes, he knew he sounded like a pathetic simp. He was aware of it, thank you very much.

“You are” her laughter still rang in his ear as she whispered a necessary goodbye, “I’ll talk to you soon,” for once, Neil felt no need to question her promise.

No reason to doubt.

“Bye, Cupid,” his farewell was met with another chuckle before the woman in question ended the phone call.

Slowly, Neil put down the phone and raised his head to stare at the ceiling. The white paint was occasionally spruced up with cobwebs, reminding him just how long had passed since he had last deep cleaned the apartment. A sigh had to do before Neil got up from the floor and turned up the music.

Duran Duran had nothing on him now. Surely.

#neil tenet #tenet movie #tenet #tenet 2020 #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet fanfic #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x you #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson imagine #deadlines & commitments

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noctiselusio · 5 months

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Park Junmo and his unstable self–image:

In The Worst Of Evil, we’re not told much about Junmo’s past (not really shown much of any character’s history really) as the story mainly focuses on the noir and crime aspect of the show. But we’re shown enough to be able to connect some clues and understand some of the reasonings and psychology behind our main character’s actions.

Junmo’s father was a drug addict, and his mom left when he was young. Obviously, this would have a detrimental impact on his mental health—which we see slowly spiraling out of control throughout the show. (Never mind the fact that the series mostly focuses on the ethics of it, Junmo is a cop who goes on an undercover mission and he has to fight hard to not lose his morals to all that he sees, all that he experiences, all that he does. And as compelling as that was, for this short rambling of mine I want to focus more on something else.)

And yes Junmo’s faltering morality is also a symptom of this disconnect he has with his own person. Junmo is confused and has no idea as to who he really is. His mother left early on and his father evidently was not a good one, we can imagine he had no interest in properly raising his son alone. I suppose the resulting trauma posed a significant hindrance to Junmo’s upbringing and development. Without an adult’s guidance, he was unable to properly develop a personality of his own. You need (healthy) interactions with others to shape your sense of self.

While I don’t mean to diagnose, or misuse psychology, or project on his character (forgive me if I’m doing any of those but also can you blame me, this deeply flawed character is so beautiful to dissect and read and attempt to read between the lines, behind the footage) there were some parts that made the light above my head switch on.

We learn that Junmo became a cop mainly thanks to his mentor: Seo Do Hyung.

He’s the reason Junmo didn’t stray off the path and became a cop. He gave him a purpose, a reason to keep going, an identity to chase after, and a sense of belonging. Do Hyung presents all of this to him, and Junmo holds on to it for deal life.

He gets married to a cop —born into a family of cops— and that’s kind of where it starts going bad again (including the wedding scene). Junmo starts feeling like… an impostor. Unlike his wife, his family is broken, he‘s unable to get a promotion, this all is an open wound that Euijung’s family keeps gnawing and scratching at until it scabs over and falls off. It’s sad, it’s tragic, but I don’t think that marriage had any hope of lasting.

Comes Jung Gichul—Junmo finds a new… place to belong, a brotherhood, maybe…maybe…maybe… a home?

It’s not that way at first, but the bridge effect is very real and Junmo has more than one close–death experience with Gichul next to him. And the more time he spends with him, the more humanity and vulnerability he sees from his boss, the more he hesitates.

And now, Park Junmo has a new name, a new identity. Which I don’t know if it was intentional or not: giving Junmo a new name and an impostor role—to convey his unstable sense of self.

Once again, Junmo is stuck, and he can’t —no matter how much he tries— figure out what he actually wants to do, where his heart lies. Who is he? What does Park Junmo want? How does Park Junmo feel? Who should Park Junmo betray? Should he act as Kwon Seungho or as Park Junmo?

But this doubt, this doubt hurts too. Because why should he be faltering? He’d spent so much time and effort to get here, sacrificed so much, and his wife is part of this too, he didn’t go through so much suffering just to fail his mission in the end. (He went through all that for Gichul.)

Do Hyung’s sacrifice settles it, Junmo is forced to make the final choice and bring the gang to justice.

But Gichul… Kwon Seungho couldn’t do that to him. Not until Gichul had really forced Park Junmo’s hand.

(Forgive me if there’s any mistakes or if this seems incoherent, this is my own interpretation and it’s been on my mind for a while and of course I had the urge to finally write it before a deadline. So these are my jumbled thoughts that I had to let go into the world)

#the worst of evil #park junmo #kwon seungho #kdrama

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bluesadansey · 2 months

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adam from trc? (for the characters ask game!)

Why I like them: Difficult to sum up since he’s one of my favorite characters of all time, I mentioned he’s probably my second favorite specifically male character in media and I stand by that <3. He has a lot of traits that appeal to me between the control issues and emotional repression and being curious and wanting to know what is up at all times and being a resourceful smart bb who can probably (the traits that most make me vibe with male chars tbh), his ambition and drive and desire for autonomy is really admirable to me but I enjoy that his arc in original trc is about learning he’s worthy of loving and being loved and about the value of that, that vulnerability isn’t automatically going to lead to being ruined in a sense. And his whole journey/arc in original trc is really beautifully done, one of my favorite character arcs ever to this day. On the flip side he’s a freak and a menace and I adore that as well, his internal monologue and pov is truly unhinged in the most fascinating and fun way. I definitely wouldn’t be nearly as attached to him without that. And I love stories about identity and masking and characters who feel alien and other having malleable relationships to identity to conform… so that might have started a bit with my love for Adam I’m realizing.

Why I don’t: I’m satisfied enough with how the arc played out in canon to not hold this against him when it comes to my feelings about his char especially since the breakdown of Blue and Adam’s relationship is pretty compelling to me in general, but anytime I see fandom takes that act like he Never treated Blue badly during their relationship at all and blame her for everything … Bombastic side eye doesn’t begin to cover it. But that’s only related to fandom bs, in terms of moments I actually dislike him which are not reckoned with by the narrative at all obviously it’s the racism re: Henry in TRK, ugh.

Favorite episode (scene if movie): tbh so much of my favorite Adam content comes in his internal monologues and PoV rather than what he’s Doing in a scene… but DC Party scene is incredible <33. If you made me pick another scene would go with him blackmailing Greenmantle nefarious king <3. Oh but also being unbothered by Kavinsky’s death iconic… wait I actually changed my mind pretend I never said those things it’s definitely the sacrifice scene in TRB yes that is my final answer.

Favorite season/movie: I love his entire arc and journey in trc so much so it really could be any book each for different reasons but I’ll say TDT, I love a Downward Spiral that’s interesting and messy <33. But also his BLLB arc rules… but it is the more obvious answer since it’s more positive/uplifting so yeah will stick to TDT answer and unpopular opinion but he’s the best part of that book for me.

Favorite line: lonesome internal monologue is iconic for a reason it’s incredible… also his whole internal monologue about being jealous of all combinations of his (hot) friend hanging out without him is soo real and iconic. Oh also ik I slander TRK but his monologue about loving magic and not knowing he was capable of love before and then Cabeswater showing him the images of his friends in moments linked to heightened emotions surrounding them… went off. If we’re going with just dialogue World’s Ending Folks! tirade is iconic + the internal monologues surrounding it… so much fun to dissect together.

Favorite outfit: the white shirt and cargo pants from BLLB ig my man has no drip… actually changed my mind it’s the secondhand tweed suit Gansey’s dad gave him he wears at Harvard for symbolism reasons.

OTP: Adam/Gansey. I love him with Ronan too and find stuff to be compelled by re: him and Blue but Adansey just hits on a different level emotionally and narratively they are everything…

Brotp: Persephone I love their psychic mentorship in BLLB.

Head Canon: would not have said this was my take before this reread but I do actually think of Adam as having some more internalized homophobia than most of the fandom, not as intense and exacerbated by religious shame as Ronan’s but there in a subtler way. I think Adam at the beginning of the series has some level of awareness about his attraction to men without fully registering it/accepting it, when he thinks about a model for success in TRB&TDT it’s this very heterosexual WASP ideal him watching Declan and Ashley as a model is very this to me for instance and I reblogged some older meta posts about this I agree with (stopping myself here because I kind of want to make a separate post about my thoughts here at some point).

Unpopular opinion: He’s quite an emotional mess for most of the series so fanon portrayals of him as totally cool and collected and put together rub me the wrong way especially after rereading where it Really stood out to me how much fanon and canon tend to diverge... He’s a logical, pragmatic person and a brilliant problem solver but that boy is emotional as fuck (Not soft at all which is totally different from emotional imo) and his efforts to deal with that logically make it worse (I can relate but that’s beside the point), he’s also really not smooth it’s just that Ronan and Gansey’s disasternous is more telegraphed and it makes Adam’s easier to downplay, also a trademark of Adam narration is that He prefers to see himself as a totally logical in control of emotions person and will downplay his emotional investment/emotions as a factor even when his feelings come out in other thoughts and especially especially when you look at his actions….

A wish: makes me deeply sad that even though he clearly values knowledge, loves when other people love knowledge for it’s own sake and get’s a taste of that passion himself when it comes to how much he loves being a powerful psychic/doing magic, he never gets to have that in his academic pursuits because they’re all tailored to get him out of Henrietta / help him win at the capitalist American dream… I so want for him to find a major he’s actually passionate about.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: well from the Greywaren spoilers I heard (I read CDTH and MI when they came out and now that I’m done rereading the original series am rereading them and will then read Greywaren so will.. try to reserve judgement but what I’ve heard to me is 😬) but aside from that I did always hate the idea of him losing his psychic powers and I’m glad that specifically didn’t happen.

5 words to best describe them: ambitious, observant, obsessive, practical, neurotic

My nickname for them: don’t have one, but I did call him a Freak (affectionate) a lot while rereading so I guess you could count that

thank you so much! (send me a character for ask game)

#anons #trc #adam parrish #the raven cycle #s speaks #my meta #kind of #meta

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error-dream-was-found · 8 months

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ooooh okay, for the fic writer thing! 1, 4, 14, 16, 33, 40 and uhhh 56? bonus of 39 (if you want)

Thank you for asking <3

1. "Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?"

I prefer multichaptered fics ... my last attempt to write one-shot turned into 160 000 words long fic (still updating btw)

4. "Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?"

Everywhere ... seriously, it´s a mix of shower thoughts, 3 Am ideas and random things I thought of while reading another fics. For example the 'enderchest torture' idea hit me while I was reading some fic where to get Dream out of Pandora they hide him in an enderchest and my brain just went "wait for how long was he there? What was it like for him? Would it even be possible?" And I moved from there. That one is one of my less developed ideas but it´s a good example of my thought process ig. Or fics like 'monsters don´t deserve hugs but you aren´t a monster' came from that single sentence. I thought about it while reading some fic where Dream went "I´m a monster I don´t deserve nice things and it spiraled from there.

14. "how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?"

It depends on my mood ig? If that makes sense. Sometimes I really get into it and even make myself cry. But sometimes I'll ruin these characters lives with zero care. I certainly draw from personal experience as much as I can. Although I don't really have much personal experience with the stuff I'm writing about so *shrugs*

16. "How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?"

*counts on fingers* ehm ... well if I count in the half-baked ideas and all that ... I think I could have roughly 15-20? (I wanna talk about them T-T)

You already know about the superhero one (although I have new trauma for blob!), so I'll say a bit about a different idea one of my dremon fics perhaps? I don't have a name yet but the mail story line pretty much goes like this: Dream is a demon - cruel creature feeding off humans emotions, mostly happiness. Demons in common are manipulative, heartless and selfish beings that prey on humans.

The rest of the characters are mostly demon hunters (not sure on all members yet but Sapnap, George, Sam and Quackity are certainly there).

The plot basically begins when the hunters catch Dream. He's not very strong and thus not considered a serious threat. Instead of killing him immediately they decide to experiment on him (to learn more about demons), the problem is - Dream is the sweetest person ever. He's nothing like the other demons they've met and well it's kinda hard to dissect someone alive while they rant about the adorable cat that lives in the backstreet behind the convenience store ... (sry for ranting)

33. "Do you want to be published some day?"

Yes but unfortunately I'm not too good with creating original stories and my writing style isn't really good so .... maybe one day ... (until then the closest I'll get is printing my own stories ... that is also a way to practice book binding lol)

40. "If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?"

Honestly? I have no idea. There're just so many scenes I love and I'd absolutely love to see drawn. But if anyone ever were to make a fanart of my fic I'd be over the roof about it, I wouldn't care what scene it is I'd just be so damn happy that they liked the story enough to go through the trouble of creating the art. And any scene they'd pick would be perfect because then I'd know which scene they liked the most.

56. "What's something about your writing that you pride yourself on?"

... I'll be honest I don't think my writing is anything special, there are a few scenes I'm happy with but overall .... *shrugs*

But if there's something I'm really proud of it's probably the fact that I was able to write a story that many people enjoyed. When I started writing 2 years ago I never thought I'll have this many people not only reading my story but also liking it. Sure, it's not that much but it's a lot more than I ever expected! It blows my mind because I know that there are much better fic out there, yet people still decided to read something I wrote. It´s really crazy

39. "Share a snippet from a WIP"

daamn this is getting too long ... Imma sharing a snipped anyway! But what snipped .... I'm feeling like doing an villain arc today so I´m gonna post something from a story I haven't published yet and probably won´t be able to publish for at least few months:

Note: this story is still sitting in my drafts so the grammar check wasn't done yet, therefore there are extra grammar errors which I apologize for

He tripped over something. The tiny sharp rocks covering the forest floor dug painfully into his palms as he tried to slow down his fall and the pain shooting from his scraped knees pushed a new tears into his eyes. He just wanted to stay there on the floor and cry but hte monsters were getting closer. He can´t let them get him, he can´t! Desperately trying to wipe the tears out of his eyes, Dream stood up, only taking a second to glance back at the thing he tripped over. It looked like a fence … looking forward again, the blonde saw a tall dilapidated building.

It was looming over him in the dead of night like something right out of a scary story his mom would tell him on these good nights when instead of yelling at him she'd put him to bed and if he was lucky she´d tell him a story. He wanted to ran away from the half collapsed building but as scary as it was the monsters were scarier. That building would provide him at least some cover and he needed that desperately. He won´t be able to run all night and the air was already heavily filled with the smell of rain. It was just a question of time till the storm begins. Encouraged by the hisses and groans from behind Dream ran inside.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to darkness that was even more prominent now. Once he did he realized he was in what seems to be an abandoned Prime church. He looked around nervously. The place gave him chills. It was clear that no one worshiped Prime here for years, maybe even decades and the place now had a sinister atmosphere to it. As everything holy did when it was forgotten for too long. The cracked, faded paintings of Prime´s angels looked down on him, it felt as if they were watching him, following his every mood. The wooden floors cracked under his weight and from the altar a soft clinging of chains could be heard as the incense swung in the light breeze.

But the worst of all was the terrible feeling that he's not alone. That there´s something watching him. Someone. No, no he was just being dumb, this place is clearly abandoned. Maybe it's just an animal that settled here. Or these dumb angles. Yeah it must be the angles. It's dark and he's tired, he's just imagining their eyes moving to follow him.

The first drops of rain hit the ground and a wind whistles through the abandoned church. Goosebumps raised to the surface and Dream shivered. It's just cold, it's just cold, it's just cold. The rain got heavier in just a few minutes. A lightning flashed through the sky and a thunder shook the whole building, just as a voice from somewhere in the shadows spoke up.

“Won't you look at that … a human. What a treat”

The question of who's there froze on Dream’s tongue as another lighting illuminated the inside of the church and the body less shadow floating in front of him. It had a distinct shape of human but none of its features could be seen other than two glowing eyes. It dived for him.

Dream screamed.

- story name: Sweet Little Nightmares (I'm more than willing to talk about this story :)

Sakra nechala som sa uniesť. Dúfám, že som ťa neunudila k smrti a gratulujem ak si sa dostala až sem ;)

#dreblr #ask game #ask answered #@llitchilitchi #please give me more ask XD

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thelordofgifs · 1 year

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hi! while I hate to enable procrastination, I am... kinda doing the same thing and would love to read a dissection of the stabbing scene 👀

also for @that-angry-noldo, @aurorafaann and an anon!! Ty all for indulging me hehe <3 (and sending procrastination solidarity!)

Ok SO. Preface that I figured out the stabbing would occur only after writing part 12 - hence why part 13 foreshadows it very heavily and parts 11-12 more lightly. This is also why I feverishly wrote and published parts 13 and 14 very close together; I was gripped. consumed. I had a VISION. For this reason, the stabbing scene is not actually my best work ever. But! I did put a good amount of thought into it and, a week+ later, I think it holds up.

(This is also a good point to say that I genuinely did not intend to write a really mean cliffhanger and then not update the fic for ages. And I am sorry about that. Frankly, the stabbing felt like an excellent twist and I was worried about how to move the fic on from there without somehow destroying the emotional arc of the last few parts, but I've managed to work it out in the past couple of days which is cause for celebration!)

Anyway, we start out the stabbing scene with Maglor, who has not been having a very fun time lately, just glad to see his big brother again - uncomplicated gladness, for an instant at the end of part 13, but now he slips into his normal mode of feeling Guilty and Inadequate and starts to apologise to Maedhros for losing the Silmaril. But Maedhros is deep in the whole delusional episode situation and reacts oddly to Maglor's apology - which Maglor notices pretty much immediately:

Maglor has made Maedhros his chief study for many years.

He looks at him, now, and understands.

Subtext: Curufin is an Idiot who does not notice thingss but Maglor is a very good brother and we love him <3

Then there is the quiet refrain of Maglor's Rules For Dealing With Maedhros In A State: he is very careful with him, trying not to startle him or contradict him, making sure not to touch him. He is doing everything right! It's just that Maedhros has been spiralling so badly that that isn't enough.

Sidenote, but: I love writing Maedhros and Maglor interactions. I am in the silm fandom to write Maedhros and Maglor interactions. They are my bread and butter. This is the first time the two of them have met since Part 3, the first time they've had a proper conversation since Part 1 (!!), and so in addition to having obvious plot significance I really wanted this scene to depict some of the essential elements of their dynamic as I see it. So: Maglor's guilt, a dollop of mutual caretaking, all that endless complicated love, and! a thing I like to do! Mirrored dialogue!!

OKAY now I get to talk about the dialogue in this scene, which is my favourite part of it.

The boys' last conversation in the silm is one of my favourite pieces of dialogue, like, ever. It has so much tragic weight behind it; and the way their lines build off each other, reflect each other, is just perfection. Maedhros: "Who shall release us?" Maglor: "If none can release us..." To me this sets them up as foils for each other SO perfectly. When I write them I try to incorporate a little of this dynamic - they are both good with words, they like to debate with each other, and they often good-naturedly turn the other's words back on them.

I couldn't do this overtly in the stabbing scene because, frankly, I was in a possessed haze and wasn't thinking that deeply about it. But it did come through a little: "No doubt it amuses you," Maedhros says, and Maglor responds with, "Nothing that hurt you could ever amuse me." (Also, more subtly: "If none of it was real at all--" -> "It was real, Nelyo, I promise.")

More intentionally, Maedhros and Maglor are using very different registers of speech in this scene. Generally in tfs I don't make too much effort to make dialogue sound Tolkien-esque, as I do in my other fic; part of the tfs style is rooted in informality, so that Fingon can make a veiled sex joke to Curufin, and Mablung can casually say "Sure is" in response to a question. Maglor is adhering to this "standard style", so to speak: he uses contractions liberally, splices his commas, and so on. Maedhros, on the other hand, is speaking very formally: no contractions, a slightly more archaic way of constructing sentences: "If he lives" vs the more modern "if he's alive". This is deliberate! They're speaking Quenya in this scene, the language of their childhood, but while Maglor is using casual, familiar tones, Maedhros has reverted to very formal, classical Quenya - the sort that's one step removed from being a language solely of lore. This is what Maedhros spoke in Angband (Sauron is a language enthusiast, after all!) - a conscious effort to demarcate himself the High King of the Noldor, and the son of the world's best linguist. But because he's in such a bad place he is also swinging between registers, dropping in contractions on occasion, stumbling over and repeating his words as he grows more overcome.

I do humbly think Maedhros went OFF with dialogue here actually. "You have overstretched your hand, Sauron. He cannot be both dead and alive. You will have to pick one." and “Well, then, which is it? If he is dead then you are only a wraith wearing his shape. If he lives – and – and none of it was real at all—” and "I do not, I do not want this anymore. It was – it was not so terrible, when I could still pretend – but now – you are only taunting me now, doing this. Let it end." HE'S SO UPSET

Another thing that's impossible to get through in English is the use of formal vs informal second person: unfortunately in modern English, "thou/thee" sounds hopelessly archaic, so I couldn't have Maglor use it without breaking the casual and familiar vibe I was going for with his dialogue. But, in my head, he is thou-ing and thee-ing the whole time, whereas Maedhros is using the crushingly formal "you" instead. A little of this came across, hopefully, through Maglor's repeated use of Maedhros' childhood nickname: he calls him Nelyo in pretty much every sentence he speaks, whereas Maedhros, importantly, does not address Maglor by name even once.

Okay I just spent five paragraphs talking solely about dialogue WHY are you people indulging me like this. Moving on. In terms of actual plot... well, I think how well the scene works depends on how overt you found the foreshadowing in earlier parts. Did anyone predict that Maedhros would attack Maglor? If so, I imagine a lot of the mounting tension in the scene is kind of pointless. If not... the fact that Something Is Wrong is hopefully obvious from the start; the reader knows, unlike Maglor, that Maedhros has been having a terrible time of it. By the time Maglor has failed a couple of times to make any headway in convincing Maedhros, I was intending you to grow steadily more stressed. And

(It's worth noting that, with the exception of the twins, Maglor and Curufin are the two sons of Fëanor who most resemble each other: they have the same colouring, and they're both slighter than their brothers, with the same long skilful fingers.)

(It is not implausible that a shape-shifter, tired of impersonating Curufin, might switch to Maglor's form without too much difficulty.)

This small break from the close, limited Maglor POV that most of the scene is in, to give a quick glimpse of what's going on in Maedhros' head, was intended to Freak The Reader Out. Maedhros has literally just planned to kill the thing impersonating Curufin in Part 13 - if he is now starting to suspect that it's here with him, that killing it is the key to breaking the illusion, shit is getting serious.

Maglor gets out of bed. MAGLOR WHY ARE YOU GETTING OUT OF BED. He is almost afraid of Maedhros. MAGLOR BE MORE AFRAID OF MAEDHROS.

Maedhros says, "It was – it was not so terrible, when I could still pretend – but now – you are only taunting me now, doing this. Let it end." He has spent some time debating whether or not he prefers the illusion to the reality of his captivity - and he wasn't sure - but now that Sauron is mocking him with the image of his dead brother, he has decided enough is enough.

Maglor's bad leg gives out. Before he can fall Maedhros catches him, putting his right arm around Maglor's waist.

This is partially cute. Maedhros still has his big brother instincts, even like this! He isn't going to let Maglor fall!

But alarm bells were intended to be Extremely Ringing here. Maedhros puts his right arm around Maglor. His left hand is still free. His left hand is still free–

And Maglor, who is still just absolutely not realising how much danger he is in, responds to this extremely worrying statement by saying, "Thank you, Nelyo," - was he not LISTENING?? Maglor!!!!

Then, of course, Maedhros stabs Maglor, Maglor's instinctive response is to comfort him (do I need to get back on the "Maglor is an excellent brother" soapbox or can we take that as given), he sings him a lullaby - callbacks to Part 1 and the Carcharoth encounter, Maglor has sacrificed himself for Maedhros more than once in this fic - before just sitting down to die. That was a clear image in my head for a while: Maglor sitting in a pool of blood, singing quietly, Maedhros' head in his lap and the Silmaril in his hand, and then the orc-horns sounding outside for extra cliffhangeriness. In fact this is probably my single favourite image of the fic. I just love them ok.

This is SO LONG and so procrastinatey but also an extremely fun exercise actually!! I am now fired up to go and work on part 15.

#asks #leucisticpuffin #the fairest stars #maedhros #maglor #this was so much fun tysm!!

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emmamayhews · 2 years

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Heyya did you watch s3? How we feeling?

I did watch it. I kinda skimmed through it very fast at first but then I took my time rewatching. I have mixed feelings all around. That's why I took a break from tumblr. I needed to digest it. Obviously, one of my biggest nays is they didn't give daxton enough time before the break up. Right now, I'd rather talk about what they did right re:daxton because we have months to dissect the bad.

1 - I liked that they didn't assassinate Paxton's character but instead, he continued to develop as a character. That was one of my biggest fears going into season 3. I'm always amazed at his emotional maturity but they pushed this trait a step forward this year. He knows when he's wrong and when to take ownership of his mistakes and apologize, compared to other characters I will not name. I liked that he thanked Devi for making him apologize because it felt good, because he genuinely has a kind heart. He's not swayed by his friends' judgement anymore and stands his ground. Right into the season, we see Trent give him a nasty look when he walks in with Devi but he shrugs it off and confronts Trent later. And while the bar for male characters may be on the floor, I like that they used him to send a message about sexual consent. I also liked that he voiced how he wants and needs a meaningful relationship, instead of the casual flings he collected in his pre Devi Vishwakumar era. This is an argument in favor of paxton as much as it is in favor of daxton. It's a testament to his growth and maybe a tease for daxton. The point is Paxton genuinely did no wrong in my eyes this year. I'm a proud mama. I may be biased but I have yet to find a valid argument against him in season 3. That's not to say they made him a one dimensional pushover because they didn't. He's just a kind, considerate and supportive guy who also knows his worth and we need more male characters like that. Especially the ones who fit "the hot guy" archetype because it's usually those characters who get a pass for being jerks.

2. I liked the reason why daxton broke up. The scene made me tear up and made me cheer at the same time. From an outsider's POV, I looked emotionally unstable. Yes, I'm pissed it happened in episode 3 but I loved that it had nothing to do with Ben or Des or any kind of cheating, physical or emotional. This was also one of my biggest fears. Paxton said he trusts Devi and she proved him right. The only third person who was standing between them were Devi's insecurities and I loved that because it validated everything we've been saying, and the show has been saying, about daxton's relationship since the beginning. She never believed she was good enough for him and it made her self sabotage every step of the way. I have to stress that he never did anything to make her believe this. Especially not while they were in a relationship. It was the opposite. This was the only way daxton could come back from this plot. The writers took great care of having Paxton be a complete simp for Devi. He was showering her with praise at every corner. Even when they broke up, he didn't aggravate her insecurities by dating Haley and proving Devi right, because she was wrong. The line where Devi told Des no one ever spoke about her that way was heartbreaking as a daxton but again, so so validating. It was evident that she was spiraling during the valentine date. So much so that she didn't even register Paxton's compliments. The line with Des was on purpose and it was a direct callback to the 3x03 scene. So I did like how Paxton's words kickstarted her own individual storyline about self love. Do I wish it would've happened while they were together? Yes but it also would've sent the wrong message. Romantic partners can't fix the way you view yourself if your self esteem is already on the floor. I'm not sure she believed Des but the thing with him is he didn't know the Sherman Oaks version of Devi, and that's the version of herself that Devi was ashamed of. The one who was called crazy, unfuckable, a psycho, the paralyzed girl, the nerd etc.. so if Des didn't see all that, she believed he liked the better, cooler version of her. That's not to say she didn't grow from the experience with Des but jumping in another relationship couldn't fix the original problem. Instead, Devi's growth was directly linked with Nalini and their relationship, and I loved that.

3. I liked how the show made a point of shattering Devi's idolization of Paxton without destroying his character or their relationship. I really think they're better than they've ever been after season 3. There's genuine care and love for each other and they pushed each other to be better. In any other show, I would 100% be convinced they're heading towards the endgame because as Lang Fisher said, they're on equal footing now and there's an entire season left. They can have a real shot at a relationship if (when) their paths cross again. But there's the Mindy Kaling factor... For me, their romantic future is a toss up. We know Paxton is allegedly in s4 as much as he was in s3. We know, allegedly, the love triangle isn't over and we know Devi doesn't end up alone. Now I hope for my Paxton loving heart, they're not about to have one last go at the triangle only to have it end up the way s3 ended. Even if he ends up happy, this would only piss me off more as a daxton fan. I know what it's like when showrunners bait to keep the audience engaged, especially when love triangles are involved, so I'm not getting my hopes up until I see it with my own eyes. We have yet to find out how much they'll interact since Paxton will be in college and isolated from the rest of the characters. Besides the holidays and summer vacation. Daxton scenes are guaranteed but a real storyline, time will tell. Maybe he takes the semester off for whatever reason to do online learning or something.

These are my 3 (unpopular?) yays about Daxton. This season and their break up didn't taint my love for them and I take it as a win. I think their relationship has become even deeper. I have so many thoughts and highlights and complaints about the other characters but I'll probably make an individual post about it in a few weeks :)

What did you think?

#seeyoumondaydevi #ask #daxton #paxton hall yoshida #devi vishwakumar #nhie season 3 #i haven't had the chance to read other ppl's thoughts yet but i'm scared to check the tags lmaoo

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grantwilsonenjoyer · 1 month

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Ooh for the character ask game, as per your url: maybe Grant Wilson? And for questions uhhhh either 1, 2, 5, 7, 12, 21, or 22? I can’t pick. So whichever one(s) you want lol :P

PS: Hope your day is going well!

you said or but i am going to do them all bc i love him oh so dearly and am bored to death today (also ty!! i hope ur also having a good day!!)

1.Why do you like/dislike this character

See. I hate him because he makes me worse. Actively. BUT. i think i first latched onto him because i just really liked the stuff w/ yeet and killa :) i thought it was fun and cute! i also just really like dissecting his contradicting thought processes he’s very fun to analyze

2.Favorite canon thing about them

s1 thing i thinkk. i really like how even though he Wants to talk to someone he really struggles voicing his emotions. (+bonus is the scene of him laying on the ground yelling 'dad im twelve!')

5.The first song that comes to mind when you think of them

idk the first so there r a few. i'm your man & a pearl (that comic ruined my Life) by mitski are good. i also rlly like no complaints by noah kahan . <3

7.Something the fandom does regarding this character that you LIKE

i adore the ocd grant hc.. also just in general i think the fandom tends to be very considerate / respectful when it comes to exploring his trauma/mental health issues (not even grant-specific i think most ppl are quite good abt this) which is nice

12.A headcanon you have for this character

i think he has had a crush on All of the other kiddads at Some Point (some were just for like a few weeks. but.)

21.What is your favorite thing to do when writing this character/what do you not like.

i really like writing rambling/run-on prose that reads like anxiety spirals he is perfect for that. umm. i Dislike writing his dialogue actually. i love him but he evades me in that regard

22.Something you like/don't like when reading fics

i said ocd grant but i will say it again. OCD GRANT.. umm. i also like when people make him a gay loser like in canon (i adore him and i sympathize. being 12 and gay is hell). and i love when ppl make him have a sweet relationship w/ henry and mercedes (also kind of love when the twins drive him crazy by contrast). i don't know anything i actively dislike other than just like. mischaracterization By My Standards which is vague and arbitrary

#character asks #dndads #grant wilson #i'm so normal about him guys i swear <3

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tuiyla · 1 year

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One thing I noticed and found somewhat intriguing is that in both episodes where Pezberry are at the height of their mutual hatred in season 2 (2x09/2x12), Rachel calls Santana dumb twice ('like you even know what that means'/'the only job you're going to have...') and both comments trigger a big reaction in Santana. I haven't thought about it until my most recent rewatch and now it's all I can think of, so I'm interested to know your thoughts.

Alright let's finally dive into this.

Season 2 Pezberry hostility is so fascinating to me. It's not just that Santana was cruel to Rachel, it's that Rachel actively dissed her, too. I talked about the pole line in 2x12 a few weeks back, should be in the pezberry asks tag maybe? I think it's interesting how you jump to the conclusion that Rachel is calling Santana dumb here. And that's not a judgment against you at all Anon, I just find it interesting that that's the implication for you. I think that's understandable because there's for sure a degree of degradation. Rachel goes for the jugular even though she was personally unprovoked here; she just jumps on the train of ND snapping back at Santana. And there's so much to unpack that I didn't cover last time, and I certainly won't now. I guess I will say, in terms of Rachel's comment being demeaning towards Santana, that crucially it is to elevate Rachel above her.

There's a theme of a simultaneous martyr but also a superiority complex with Glee's underdog narrative. To see what I mean look no further than Loser Like Me, an anthem all about this wish fulfillment of the bullied actually being smarter and more successful than the bullies. "You'll work for me, you'll wash my car," etc etc. There's a recurring theme of the complexes I mention manifesting through professions and the underdogs making it as big successful stars and the mean bullies being stuck as Lima losers who peaked in high school. That's the driving force behind a lot of the rhetoric, at least. And so I see Rachel's comment as an extension of this, of her wanting to feel superior to Santana because no matter in what role, Rachel will be on Broadway. Whereas with Santana, she's invoking this problematic and sexist idea of the devaluing of sex work, weaponizing it against a character mostly known for her sexuality and how she uses it. It's a commentary on appearances and flipping the narrative for Rachel, I think. So Santana's this hot (ex-)cheerleader notorious for getting around whereas Rachel is insecure about her appearance and Santana has explicitly targeted those insecurities many times in the past. And that's a common "not like other girls" tactic of weaponizing misogyny and devaluing more conventionally attractive girls by tying their worth entirely to their sexuality. There's also something very American about this ~meritocracy~ idea of Rachel relying on her talent for work and dissing Santana by implying she'll only ever be worth as much as her looks. And of course the very American capitalist idea of your job being the end all be all.

Wow that paragraph was quite the word salad, huh. I'm happy to continue dissecting that particular scene and line and I'll elaborate on any and all ideas if you want me to, but for now I'll just summarize and say that I think it's much more complex than Rachel simply implying Santana is dumb. But I think it's telling of our society (again nothing against you personally Anon) that the immediate connection between negatively calling someone a future sex worker and calling them dumb is made. Proves how effective Rachel was in degrading Santana with this one comment.

And then! Or, rather, beforehand in 2x09. So this is another scene worthy of a bigger deep dive because, once again, Rachel is quite unprovoked. If you rewatch it, it all just sort of spirals from Finchel being little shits to the Glee Club rightly calling them out. All Santana does is chime in to what Tina was saying in calling Finn out in particular. And I would say this is a more accurate example of what you were saying, Rachel calling Santana dumb. Such an unnecessarily loaded comeback, really, which is why I'll maintain that Santana was at least somewhat justified in this scene. Damn, I don't wanna digress too much but send word if you think we should break this down bit by bit haha.

So anyway. Rachel basically attacks Santana and attacks her intelligence, and of course Santana bites back. And bites back through the goddawful hookup revelation, no less, once again a sexuality thing. Put into this context, it's even less wonder Rachel chose those words later in 2x12.

What it all means? Well, I posit that both instances are Rachel trying to find a point of attack against Santana. The first in 2x09 I would say is about demeaning her intelligence, yes, because it's again a common stereotype and "not like other girls" tactic to go, well, she might be hot and popular but she's an airhead. Which Santana isn't, and I think Rachel has always known that, but she's desperate to fight back. Backfires spectacularly, of course. But then she has another chance and she uses it more precisely, hitting Santana much deeper. Rachel's first comment was more just annoying and Santana took offence but she had a joker up her sleeve that devastated Rachel far more than her comment did Santana. The second time around, Rachel touches on an actual insecurity that combines many sensitive points for Santana. I think the main reasoning behind why she chose these particular insults is just building on misogynistic tropes because what's a girl to do but fight fire with fire. Oh man, if that ain't Pezberry.

I also think Rachel takes a long while to really value Santana as a person, with somewhat good reason may I add - you know, all the vicious bullying. But something that has long fascinated me is that Rachel affords Quinn the benefit of the doubt almost always and it's the polar opposite of how she approaches Santana, almost as if in her head Rachel chose one bully to forgive and she projected all the remaining resentment onto another. But I guess that's yet another topic.

Those are a lot of thoughts and not very well organized, plus I'm sorry they're quite late, but hopefully worth the wait?

#look i clearly have TOO many thoughts if anything #if anyone wants to help narrow this down and urge a convo about specifics by all means #s2 pezberry angst yummy #glee asks #anon #pezberry asks #s2 pezberry

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septemberrie · 2 years

Text

someone asked me to do a Rivusa breakdown from the S2 teaser! I’m not on Twitter so I’m not up on the latest spiraling but I do have some thoughts, first of all WE ARE WINNING (still have to pinch myself this happened)

Okay first shot is the production shot. Just admiring the new armor this season because it seems way more appropriate than the cozy cableknit sweaters + leather chest strap of Season 1. I’m not an armor expert but it seems to have a good combination of strength + flexibility to allow movement. Plus, it looks sexy.

((what I’m saying is... Andreas & Rosalind had 16 years to think about fashion and it shows 😌))

Okay now there’s Fighting Scene #1 (sorry for the shitty quality gifs)

Alright so after studying this, I’ve come to the conclusion:

Riven is not fighting Musa. Musa is not fighting Riven. They are each fighting other people. You can see the girl Riven is fighting has longer hair and is not wearing orange; the boy Musa is fighting has closer-cropped hair than Riven.

Why are they all fighting each other? There’s some suspicion that all the clips in the teaser are from episodes 1 or 2 (so they don’t spoil major plot points) but... a student-on-student battle this early on? Also I doubt Musa’s gotten this good within 1-2 episodes, so maybe this is from a much later episode.

Then we get to the scene. The Scene. The. Scene.

I think this has been dissected enough but just some points:

It took me like 5 watches to realize he steals the staff from her 😅 my bad I was literally having palpitations while this was happening and someone in the room was screaming (dunno who though)

Obviously she’s still using a staff because he had such a big impact on her in their 40 seconds of interaction last year 😌

I don’t love that second swipe she takes at him, it looks angry and awkward. I’m sure part of that is the BTS angle and it’ll look way better in the actual show

Is this a trainee outfit? WHAT is with that purple bra thing and why can’t she wear the same sexy black as Riven. Is this like martial arts where you get red to start, progress to orange when you’re better, and then get awarded the black belt? Can we see Riven in this skin-tight jumpsuit too?

Only upside: she’s definitely a walking red flag now isn’t she Riven.

HIS SMIRK when he does the little love tap 😌 the boy is in. love. your honor and you know he’s thinking about when he can do it again... elsewhere

At first I thought they were the only ones on the pitch, but in the beginning of the clip you can see 3-4 other Specialists jogging by (and none of them are wearing red with a purple bra...) and a few behind Musa using the training equipment. Still, it’s odd how deserted the pitch is, no Andreas or Rosalind in sight. Perhaps this is extra training time that Musa has requested 👀 just like we predicted in so many amazing fics.

IN CONCLUSION, I’M FUCKING EXCITED

Personally I would prefer Rivusa get closer in s2 and then get together in s3; I feel like 7-8 episodes won’t be enough, with this ensemble cast, to givet hem the right room to develop. BUT that’s also assuming we get a s3 which I know nothing is a given.

Anyway!!! Thanks for reading! Did I miss anything? Hit me up!!

#fate the winx saga #long post #rivusa #ftws rivusa #ftws #ftws s2

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okthatsgreat · 10 months

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new chapter release and ask game.... you have made this so much easier for me. yet so much harder. there's so much to talk about....... ill start w the ask game bc no matter how desperately id love to talk about the recent chapter i want to collect my thoughts about it bc as of reading it i have been in such a state. 7 (if ur open to it !! if not then keep your dark secrets hidden), 41, 47, 69 (haha)

ehehehhehehe im sorry about the STATE!!! <3

7. post a snippet from a wip

omg....... okay i cant lie to you i have not started this next chapter so teeechhhnically i don't have any wips lmaoooo However. i am a woman of drama and mystery. so here is a snippet of rough dialogue from a scene that is going to happen further on down the line :) for those who dont want to be spoiled ill leave it under read more!!

41. who’s your favorite character you’ve written?

ohhhhh GODDD that's hard genuinely ive loved all of them and if not loved then liked at the least. i loved writing in mius pov just because shes so entertaining to dissect especially in lgowab, where she was in an environment that arguably (not even arguably just straight up LMFAO) brought out the worst in her. im also a big fan of makotos povs because im obsessed with how much he lies. and not even maliciously. so much of what he thinks contradicts what he says but hes still the good guy

its been a while but tenkos pov was so much fun to write from as well....... so entertaining. she has a huge personality and huge heart it was really fun to write

47. is there a trope that you’ve written before but are now sick of?

LMFAOOO ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. hm hm hm. alright i am ABSOLUTELY not saying i got sick of it i loved writing her but there was one long period of time where i was just straight up dreading writing from himikos pov when i was writing lgowab and it was literally all my fault LOL. mius povs were so high action and dramatic and tense so it was super fun to write from her side, and at this point in the story she was just getting into the enforcement team and was starting her downward spiral. and then i had himiko, who was progressing but at a pace that was a lot slower. which was fully intentional!!! like i WANTED that to happen. but i just had no idea what to write for her, because in comparison to miu's pov himiko was just so Fine if that makes sense. like obviously himiko was not doing okay mental health wise but she had a gf and friends and a pretty solid understanding of where she stood in regards to safety. miu had none of that, was spiralling out of her mind, and was actively pushing everybody away. eventually himikos story picked up and i found myself getting into her pov more but yeah ghdfjksghdjkfgh hit a bit of a wall!

don't even know what trope that classifies as WHOOPS!

69 (haha). what are your favorite fics at the moment?

favorites of mine ouughhh no clue! i like rereading run from your demons :] same with lgowab honestly. sometimes i just get reminded of a scene and i want to go back and read it again to get a better mental visual lol. but that applies to literally all of my fics so IDK!!!

in regards to other peoples fics i really do not read fanfiction that often HFDSKGHFSJDHHGKHJ ummmm i think the last one i read was the hope's peak gay straight alliance by vanadisvalentine and that one was a nice feel-good one :)

THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!! <3333333333

fanfiction writing game!

#ask lee #ask game #kozuelovemail

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fremedon · 2 years

Text

Brickclub 5.15.4, “Five Less, One More”

Oh god this chapter.

Okay. Taking things in no good order:

I love Enjolras so much here, even though he doesn’t do a lot in this chapter. His original order to leave is given “with an almost angry tremor,” which is I think the most displeasure we ever see him express verbally.

And it’s not obeyed. When he advised sleep, we were told his advice was an order and yet was not obeyed; here, we get

Enjolras, the man of principle, had over his coreligionists the sort of omnipotence that emanates from the absolute. Still, notwithstanding this omnipotence, there was a murmur.

Leader to the tips of his fingers, Enjolras, seeing that they murmured, insisted.

To no avail. Enjolras is the leader of the barricade, but he is arguing from reason and not authority; it takes his logos, Marius’s ethos--the appeal to authority as the barricade’s savior--and Combeferre’s considerable pathos to make the insurgents willing to accept the plea to save who can be saved. But at that point, when the only question left is deciding who will go--

“Citizens,” continued Enjolras, “this is the Republic, and universal suffrage reigns. You yourselves choose who ought to go.”

They obeyed. In a few minutes five were unanimously designated and left the ranks.

The one order of Enjolras’s that’s ever obeyed, and of course it’s the one to adopt universal suffrage.

There is a short moment, while Enjolras and Combeferre are fetching the uniforms, where he might have told Combeferre about the old woman in the Rue de Cygne. Combeferre says Enjolras told him “just now.” If he actually did--if he’d noticed and thought to bring it up--it certainly does underscore an evolution towards valuing human connection, which after all is his personal arc and this scene is where we see that.

And yet.

It’s such a weird a random detail, and I can only make sense of it in three ways:

1.) Enjolras is more shaken than he can let on in public, hasn’t had time to process any of the feelings we just saw him stuff back inside last chapter, and alone with his second-in-command has babbled randomly in the way we saw Combeferre doing while he was gone. I would like to this explored in a fic, but it doesn’t feel hugely likely.

2.) The old woman was the mother of one of them--possibly/probably Combeferre himself--and he knew that and brought it up for that reason. I have seen this explored in fic, but it also doesn’t feel all that likely.

3.) Combeferre is just lying. Which seems likeliest.

Combeferre’s last speech was all over the place, and the rest of his dialog at the barricade will be equally scattershot--rhetorically and morally. But here, embodying some of the the book’s hardest questions, he finds its moral center and his, and the result is one of the best-crafted pieces of rhetoric in the entire book. It’s believable as an off-the-cuff speech--emotional, circular, picking a topic and spiraling. He describes the plight of their bereaved elders in affecting but not graphic terms; zooms back to general principles and spirals in deeper on the fates of young women, describing prostitution in specific but not graphic details; zooms back out and spirals back in on the plight of children with the story of the young orphan that just. keeps. going, through want, through sickness, through death, and ends on the dissection table. It’s a tour de force. (Do people do this as an audition piece? Someone should do this as an audition piece.)

In the middle of it, there’s that jarring line, “My friends, there is a tomorrow--you won’t be here for that tomorrow, but your families will.” Hearing Combeferre’s certain faith in the future turned into a warning, or a threat, always gives me shivers. There will be a tomorrow; what we do today has consequences.

This is the moment at which Combeferre has his greatest moral clarity, both at the barricade and in the book--as @everyonewasabird has pointed out, he’s looking through to the book’s beginning and seeing Fantine here. But it’s also his moment of greatest hypocrisy--he’s been a hypocrite since he picked up a weapon, but the text specifically reminds us, at the end of his speech, that his own mother is living, and he is choosing to abandon her. Like Enjolras, like all of them, his mother is the republic--but he’s not about to let anyone forget their mortal mothers, either, or the consequences for them.

Or for their children. Prouvaire’s last words were “long live the future,” and Combeferre reminds us of what that means, in practical terms, and how useless it is to die for the abstract future while damning the embodied one. He equates a chosen death at the barricade, for those insurgents with children and the ability to leave for their sakes, with abandonment:

"Suicides like the one that is about to take place here are sublime, but suicide has a narrow compass that is not to be broadened. And as soon as it affects your family, suicide is murder.”

We’ve been arguing over whether Marius would have taken Cosette with him in his search for death. It seems like the barricade has already burnt that capacity out of him:

Despair, too, has its ecstasy. Marius had reached that stage. It was as if he were watching everything from the outside. As we said, things happening right in front of him seemed to him far away. He could get a sense of the overall picture but he could not see any details. He saw people coming and going through a blazing brightness. He heard voices speaking as if from the bottom of a pit.

However, he was moved by this. This scene had a point to it that pierced even him and roused him. He had only one thought now, to die, and he did not want to be distracted from it. But in his morbid somnambulism he thought that in going to his doom there was no ban on saving someone else.

Good for Marius. I mean that unironically, good for him--that is literally not something that might have occurred to him earlier, and now it has. (And also, hoo boy Hugo is sure writing from experience there about the somatic experience of traumatic dissociation.)

Because, in the race to the bottom between him and Valjean of who can be the most utterly oblivious--Valjean has listened to at least the end of this speech, possibly the entire thing. And he appears, and gives his uniform to save the fifth man--averting that fatal number four--without having so much as left Cosette a note.

Valjean’s self-destruction has swerved enough that he’s here to save Marius, even if he doesn’t know it yet. And by a miracle, he will--but he could so, so easily have left Cosette entirely alone, with no idea how to retrieve her fortune and knowing no one else in the world except one servant and maybe the portress.

#brickclub #lm 5.15.4

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