#it feels like there’s some Freudian association happening that I’m missing

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, Part 25  (Peter Parker x Reader)

Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Total word count: 47,470

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 26, 

Summary: After an intense argument and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else. 

Slow burn fic in which all characters are included and their dynamics explored; multiple character POVs. 

Betas: @girl-tips-from-satan and @fanboyswhereare-you

Without further ado,

Then Again Part 25:

(Words: 3,948)

“It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

The thought of Peter making more of an effort, of him consciously choosing to pay me closer attention with the active intention of improving our friendship-- it isn’t the worst idea. If anything, it’s a rather attractive solution to a nonexistent problem. The suggestion alone is already prompting imaginary scenarios I refuse to acknowledge right now; though, inevitably, they’ll become daydream fuel within a couple days. Still, the whole plan is unnecessary, and I know it. I’m not angry with him anymore. I may have a few questions (some I plan on asking, some I’ll keep to myself), but if I do have any hidden resentment for his behavior stowed away in my subconscious, it’s as small and inconsequential as a handful of sand in the sea. Allowing him to carry this plan out would be using him. The pretenses would be false. 

Even apart from that, though, his texts gave off an odd, metallic aftertaste. The proposal reads mechanically-- it’s a scientific study with a simple hypothesis (and a reluctant dependent variable). It’s the idea of being a lab mouse, I think, that earns it the title the dumbest thing in my mind. It’s condescending. Even if tempting. 

Then again, I know Peter. I understand he doesn’t actually view me as a test subject to analyze and discard after the results come in. We’re friends. He feels bad and tossed out a poorly worded solution because he thinks I’m secretly pissed at him. It’s only an idea he offered, one I have full power to reject. 

Maybe I’m trying to dismiss it quickly because, if I’m being honest, I’m selfish. Selfishly, I want to say yes despite knowing the sort of negative message it would send to Peter. A small part of me is willing to let him feel worse so I can pretend his own guilty feelings are more significant than they really are. The possibility, the mirage just within reach, of balancing that tightrope between reality and fantasy with him is... alluring, to say the least.

And impossible. It would be wrong. Wouldn’t it? Of course it would be.

Like blades slicing fruit in a blender, my brain whips through these thoughts within seconds. Across on her bed, Michelle’s expression can only be described as disapproving or faintly disgusted as she too digests Peter’s idea. It’s the male stupidity is endless look we share when near particularly annoying men in public. It’s not often one we have to exchange in reference to the boys; their moronic moments tend to be entertaining rather than obnoxious, ignorant, or misogynistic.

She meets my eyes, and I wonder if my face gives anything away. 

“That feels weird to me.” 

The sentence is a verbal tiptoe forward, an almost-question probe.

“It did sound weird saying it out loud,” I agree. 

“You know,” she says, her tone mildly serious as she sits up straighter. “You’re not obligated to say yes to everything because you don’t want to disappoint someone. Especially a boy. And especially if he’s trying to fix his dumb mistakes by pressuring you into something you’re not comfortable with.” She pauses, glancing at the ceiling and raising an eyebrow. “If you want, I can make him come to his senses.”

Michelle tightens her fists and mimes three exaggerated punches. I imagine it, amused: Before the bite, Peter wouldn’t have stood a chance against her if she really meant it; now, he’d probably put his arms up to block her blows, minimally annoyed, and wait for her to tire herself out. I roll my eyes and can’t help mirroring her smile. 

Nevertheless, her wording is…. 

The same question pops up for the millionth time. 

Do I want her to know?

“It’s Peter, it’s not, like, ‘a boy,’” I say first, air quoting the last words. Maybe later, depending. But for now, I’ll avoid it. “And I’ll pass, but I appreciate the offer. I’m not uncomfortable and he isn’t being pushy or anything. I only meant that the…” nearly impersonal approach to our personal relationship? “the hyperconscious wording is weird. I wouldn’t turn down free snacks if the offer wasn’t described as a….” situation in which he views us as mere associates or abstract friends--

Again, I remind myself he probably doesn’t see it that way. 

“Monitored social experiment with unequal power dynamics?” she offers.

That fits.

“Precisely.” 

She snorts. Shaking her head, Michelle pauses for a few more seconds. Mentally chewing it all over again, her expression bounces from annoyance to curiosity to neutrality to annoyance again to what looks surprisingly close to compromise or understanding. In the meantime, I focus on watching her facial journey and not thinking. 

In the tune of surrender, she sighs before she speaks.

“I’m sure he’s trying his best,” she says reluctantly, her hands opening outward like a shrug, “his best is just bad. If it were anyone else, I’d tell you to refuse and block them. But, as much as it pains me to admit, I think we both know him too well to think his motives are as stupid as his phrasing. If anything, he’s probably excited about his ‘new genius friendship plan.’”

Nodding, relief hums under my skin: I know she’s right. I mean, how many people would fight crime to protect countless strangers in their city, then turn around and have cold, detached views of their chosen, personal friends? 

“That’s true,” I say. “I should probably text him back, then.”

She holds up a finger as I reach for my phone.

“Still,” she adds with a tone of subtle authority, “it’s up to you. I’m not saying you should say yes -- no obligations, remember? -- I just don’t think you need to worry that he isn’t trying or isn’t being genuine. That’s all.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Michelle’s stare lasts a moment longer, her sincerity as visible and certain as the brown of her eyes. After a second or two, she sits back onto her pillows and relaxes, turning to face the t.v. once again, leaving me to work out my final decision on my own. As I allow myself to reiterate my own arguments in my head, the Cullen family discusses the mythology of half human, half vampire fetuses with Jacob. 

It doesn’t take me long to reach a conclusion. Maybe it’s because I’m pretty tired, but the answer seems obvious, straightforward and simple in logic. I unlock my phone with the feeling Michelle knows exactly what I’m about to type. I begin to write the message I had settled on before: “I’ll think about it.” Simple and honest. And temporary.

But then something else pops into my brain, and, foolishly, I write that instead.

“What about you? Do you need new reasons to be around me?”

I send the text without a moment’s reflection. Rereading it, it sounds a little… coded, to say the least. Like a Freudian slip. Don’t overthink it. God, I hate Freud. But it does sound desperate. And awkward. Damn. It definitely does. It reminds me of the embarrassing things I used to post on social media in middle school, which I really shouldn’t think about either. 

I only wondered if the idea should go both ways. Instead, the message sounds insecure... which I am, I suppose, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Bubbles appear on his side. I resist the urge to send a series of backpedaling messages. They disappear. Again. My self control dissipates and I quickly send the original one: I’ll think about it.

Unthinking, I pull the small keychain out of my pocket as I wait for his reply and massage the edge. Sticking the pointed corner into my thumbpad, I accidentally dig it in harder than intended. And I realize something. 

The keychain was the first. The gifts or incentives or things. 

A flat click of a nearby door closing snaps my attention. The boys’ room? Glancing up, I see flash of Edward pleading with Jacob on the t.v. screen, and to my left, a shadow stepping up to the door. A gap in the golden line of outside light.

For half a minute, nothing happens. Aside from Rosalie shouldering past Jacob as he walks in to speak to Bella. After that, when it does come, the sound is soft.

Knock. Knock knock knock knock, knock knock.

It’s Peter. Ned’s knocking pattern is shorter.

The sound jolts my heart rate a smidge, like a phantom defibrillator.

Michelle’s head rolls to one side to stare at the hallway, her shoulders slumped in an I’m giving up posture. 

“That’s very obviously for you,” she says, pushing herself up and tossing the Twizzler bag on the nightstand, “so I’ll let you go deal with it. I think I’ll brush my teeth and get ready for bed.” She hops off the mattress, raises her arms, and stretches them from side to side. “You okay if we call it a night?”

“More than okay,” I say, standing up as well, the carpet cool under my toes. Once I speak to Peter, I’ll need to knock out. Otherwise my brain will spiral. And maybe, if all goes well, my dreams tonight will be better than staying up to snicker at this hilariously shitty movie. “But what if it is for you?” 

She rolls her eyes.

“Tell them I’m gone. Missing, dead, whatever.” Michelle clamps her eyes shut and sticks her tongue out to mimic cartoonish death. Then she pops back to life with a fake warning glare. “So long as no one bothers me.”

She hits the off button on the remote, Jacob and Bella dissolving into nothing, and as she trudges to the bathroom, I slip the keychain and a keycard back into my pocket before copying her arm stretch to calm my buzzing nerves. Michelle salutes me before turning and closing the bathroom door. I walk to the hallway’s. The handle is cold to the touch.

I swing it open. As expected: Peter. The empty space surrounding him is relatively quiet, only muffled laughter and television sounds coming from rooms at the opposite end. The air smells like linens, cleaning supplies, and artificial lavender. This too is as expected: the typical, sanitary comfort of staying in a nice hotel at night. I tell myself it’s a calming environment. 

Peter’s in his usual pajamas, an old beat up t-shirt and sweatpants, standing slightly to the left, hands clasped in front of him. His height drops a tiny bit at the sound of the door, like he was rocking from heel to toe a second ago, and as his eyes lift from the floor to meet mine, he smiles. A warm swooping sensation envelops my stomach. 

“Hey! You answered.” 

He almost sounds surprised. I make a face in response. 

“You thought I wouldn’t?”

I mean this as a joke, a reference to the couple late nights he’s shown up at my door (window, really) to clean or patch himself up before going home. As he knows, I’m not in the habit of shutting him out. 

Still, his head tilts and his eyebrows go up into an expression of, Well, you weren’t exactly answering me before. It isn’t a challenging or upset look. If anything, it’s almost flustered.

“Fair enough,” I concede, lukewarm guilt sticking in my throat. “I was thinking about it though, I promise, I just hadn’t decided for sure yet.”

He nods, fidgeting with his fingernails and momentarily glancing at the floor.

“Yeah, I get that,” he says, looking back up. His ears redden. “I, uh, phrased it pretty moronically. Or at least that’s what Ned said.” 

He takes a step or two back, closer to his door. It seems like an invitation to make the conversation more private, so I close mine and Michelle’s and step forward.

“All I meant,” he continues, his hands rolling over one another in gesture, “was that I thought it might be helpful if I did a few nice things for you when we get back. Not like I’m actually trying to condition you, like a, like a--”

“Dog?”

His hands halt and his face pinches into an expression that practically reads I am painfully aware of every mistake I have ever made and how the number continues to grow in marker across his forehead. His eyes retain a lightness though, the sort that suggests he’s able to laugh about it. He runs his right hand through his hair. Mine twinges.

“Exactly. I feel like that makes it seem kind of, um--”

“Bad?”

“Very bad,” he confirms, nodding. He takes a deeper breath, half smiling in an embarrassed, self pitying way. “I honestly forgot about that Pavlock stuff, I was just trying to use psych terms to make it sound more persuasive and, um, I don’t know, impressive?”

He shrugs and offers an I know I’m an idiot, but thank you for being patient smile. I bite my tongue against correcting Pavlov, which he seems incapable of pronouncing properly. Even when we studied for that exam, he only said it properly a handful of times, despite Michelle flicking bits of paper at him each time he said Pavlock.

I smile too, noting the irony. And I think of what she said: he’s trying his best, his best is just bad. It doesn’t seem so bad when he’s standing in front of me, though. If anything, it’s easy. 

“You mean,” I begin to ask, more to tease than to clarify, “as opposed to the highly offensive and disagreeable, ‘Hey, I want to make up for being a jerk, so I’m going to stash some snacks for you in my locker’?”

He bites his lip as if it’ll keep his grin pinned down, though it doesn’t really. A blush spreads across his cheekbones and for a split second, he looks away to the other end of the hall. When he looks back, his smile falters, just a little. The vulnerability reminds me of his apology last night, when he thought I was sleeping. 

“I was thinking maybe it’d be more than snacks?” he offers. “Like, I don’t know, I don’t really have it figured out yet, but hanging out a bit more? Movie nights or that sort of thing? Or if you have a lot of homework, we could study together and help each other stay focused?”

That last suggestion seems like an oxymoron. Study together to keep ourselves on track? It’s a laughable concept. Well, only if it’s--

“Just us?”

Peter freezes, his shoulders straightening slightly, his height rising a few millimeters. 

That is the central question, though. Whether it’s a positive or negative point toward my decision, I can’t tell. All the same, it’s been ages since we last tried studying together, just the two of us. It works best with Michelle and Ned there as well, seeing as we tend to get distracted. 

His eyes move quickly between mine as if he’s trying to read my thoughts before answering. He squints.

“Is that okay?” he asks, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “I understand if not, if it’s uncomfortable or--”

I shake my head, putting my hand on his arm to stop him, only realizing it when his eyes flicker to that hand.

“Of course not,” I say, removing it. “I mean, of course it’s okay. We’ve hung out without Ned and MJ tons of times before. It’s been a while but it’s no big deal. That’d be fine.”

“Okay, good!” he says, the tension in his body evaporating. “That’s great!” 

His eyes have lit up. I imagine he’s relieved those two won’t be around the whole time to make fun of his movie choices or whatever he has planned. I try to hold a smile to reassure him and clear his doubts while internally pinching myself to remember to not think too much on this. There’s no need to dust off those old, useless daydreams of movie nights and falling asleep on his shoulder with his head atop mine and May lightly laying a blanket across us and all the rest. Absolutely no need. Shut it down.

He runs a hand through his hair, nodding in a way that’s usually accompanied by him saying cool, cool, cool, cool.

“Would Fridays be good for movie nights?”

I barely register the question before I answer it.

“Probably, sure. That should be alright.”

His smile widens and he shakes his head once and continues nodding. 

“Perfect! We can have it at my place.”

I nod back, chest tightening as I process. At the same time, I beg my brain not to process. Just for a minute. But then, since I refuse to let them move forward, the gears in my head turn backward, thoughts reeling like a bicycle chain. Judging by the look on Peter’s face, we’re realizing the same thing:

“Wait,” he says carefully. “So you’re saying yes? Like, you’re cool with it? You want to try?”

God help me.

“I suppose so,” I say. At hearing my own answer, a different type of swooping feeling runs from my feet up. The looking over a high balcony type.

“And we’ll figure the rest out later?” he asks.

“Peter, really, if you’re still planning on the locker snacks, that’s more than enough.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, that’s what you think because you’re being lame. And limiting. And--”

“Leaving?”

It’s time, definitely. I’d forgotten how blinding Peter’s excitement and positivity can be without interference. Today has been full enough, I should end this now. 

“That’s fair,” he says. “I think Ned rubbed off on me. All that obnoxious energy.”

He shakes his whole body as if ridding himself of said energy and I restrain myself from making a joke about his word choice. Instead, I nod and with an exasperated “Night, Peter,” and step back toward my room. He does the same, heading toward his. Just before he makes to use his keycard, he pivots back. 

“Wait! I almost forgot.”

I turn around and he’s closer than before. Peter suddenly looks particularly nervous, his head angled to the side like a question, his hands fumbling over themselves. His cheeks are reddening again too, spreading from his cheeks to his hairline.

“Yeah?”

He steps forward to place himself directly in front of me. His eyes flit a quick path which his hands follow-- they reach out to touch my elbows before jumping up to my shoulders, settling there almost steadily before shooting a little higher to suddenly but gently hold my head. And then he leans over and firmly kisses my forehead. As he pulls away, one hand disappears and the other musses up my hair.

What is he--? 

We both take a tiny step back. My pulse pounds as my thoughts blur into nothing but impressions of nonsensical, ridiculous questions my brain won’t dignify with clarity. Peter’s expression is halfway between an apology and.. a dare? His eyes are as wide as I know mine must be, but there’s something playing at his lips. For a second, it feels as though we’re balanced on a challenge neither of us is willing to answer. 

The bubble of the moment pops as he shakes his head and gestures vaguely to his and Ned’s room, his floundering arm movements returning him to the strong appearance of embarrassment.

“May,” he blurts, “Aunt May threatened to, uh, um, well, that part’s not really important, if I didn’t pass that along with ‘all her love.’” The red in his face deepens. “Apparently she’s not too happy I didn’t do that last night too.”

Of course. It makes immediate sense. The memory rushes back. She told him to do that to all of us when she dropped us off at the bus that morning. I might laugh at my own stupid shock and poor memory but I can’t seem to manage it. 

“Do you want me to get MJ too?” I ask, realizing May likely demanded that he make the rounds. Maybe this is what started that play fight between him and Ned tonight. Either Ned dodged it or made a joke about wishing May were there to do it herself. 

It clicks together.

“What?” He looks lost, his head tilted to the side, brow knotted up. “What do you mean?”

“Unless, do you want me to pass it along from May?”

The realization hits across his face. He shakes his head rapidly.

“No, no, no, she’d probably kill me if I tried to do that to her. But, I mean, if you want to pass it along-- or just tell her to lie if May asks. She probably won’t, honestly, but, you know, just in case.”

His shrug and half smile are practically helpless. May ought to have more mercy on him. And me. 

“Alright.” A grin breaks over my face in a way I don’t quite understand and can’t stop. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“Right. Goodnight, then. See you in the morning.”

“Night, Peter.”

Rather than stepping back, as intended though, I rush forward. Involuntarily, or at least I’ll pretend, since it’s just as surprising to me as it is to him, I lean forward and kiss his cheek. Or try to. It happens too quickly to register fully, but I’m almost positive I knick the corner of his mouth? That would definitely be unintentional.

“ThatwasforMay,” I explain, stumbling backward. Seeming to sense it, Peter grabs my arm to steady me before I trip outright. He releases his grip and stares, stunned. 

If I thought his eyes were wide earlier, it turns out they can open much wider. His pupils are comically blown open. 

“What?” he asks, seeming concerned. “What was that? I, uh, I didn’t catch what you said.”

“That was, um, that was for May. You know, in exchange.”

That’s perfect. For the first time in a while, my brain saves me.

His face, though still flushed red, relaxes.

“You’ll see her tomorrow,” he points out. “Like, we’ll all see her at the same time. It’d be kind of pointless to pass that on, wouldn’t it?”

Shit. My brain is useless.

“Then, uh… keep it?”

His facial muscles twitch as if he’s glitching between a smile and bewilderment. Then a flint of mischief.

“Unless,” he says slowly, “you want me to pass it along to Ned?”

“And it’s official,” I say, resisting the urge to smack him. “Goodnight!”

He grins as near as he ever gets to a smirk (a term I associate too closely to ass-hattery to assign to him) and I turn to my room as he repeats it back.

We both step to our doors and open them. I glance back just in time to see him practically jump into his room with a speed that reminds me he’s a superhero, even if he’s an idiot. Filled with tangled emotions, I pause, listening or waiting or catching my breath. I only need a moment.

Behind his and Ned’s door, there’s a sudden crash, a sound like leaping bedsprings and something smashing, immediately followed by Peter groaning and Ned’s mocking laughter. Right before I go to my own room, I hear Peter’s exasperated voice: Shit! Dude, can you help me fix it? 

The room is dark when I slip back inside but the alarm clock shines enough red to see vague outlines of the walls and dressers and beds. Legs slightly numb, I stumble my way to the small bathroom to get ready for bed. It only takes a couple minutes, distracted as I am. 

I slip into the blankets of my bed. The warm body heat next to me can only mean one thing: Michelle.

It’s just one of those unspoken things. 

Next update: God only knows.

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[paulisweeabootrash]

Followup on Evangelion

This post was supposed to happen quite a while ago, but stuff happened and I forgot to do stuff so here we are.  Like I did with my Re:ZERO followup, I just wanted to come back to look more broadly at the rest of the series here instead of getting into individual episodes.  I previously talked about eps. 1--8, so this encompasses everything 9--26.

Before we get to the actual review, though, I need to tell you something bout my background, and consequently one of my biggest pet peeves.  I’m an engineering psychologist by training, and so although I’m not remotely qualified for the clinical side of things that people always associate with psychologists, I do know a fair amount about normal thought processes.  And you know what I am absolutely certain of?  Freud was wrong.  I don’t understand why we give him so much attention in intro-level psych classes, and I suspect that people often come out of those classes knowing less about psychology than they would if they hadn’t taken the class at all because they’re required to learn about Freud.  Freud was influential, sure, but that’s mainly a bug, not a feature.  He tried to develop an all-encompassing model of normal development and cognition based entirely on psychiatric patients (maybe not the greatest approach?) and ended up with a body of work so ad hoc handwavy that philosopher Karl Popper used it as an example of something “unfalsifiable” -- that is, one could not even in theory run an experiment which would prove Freud wrong, because there are no specific observable results that Freud’s theories couldn’t produce an explanation/excuse for like some kind of game of research Calvinball.  He maybe deserves to be mentioned as one of many “founders” of psychology, but really, unless you’re in a class on the philosophy of science or the early precursors to actually scientific mental healthcare, I cannot understand why we think he’s worth discussing in any detail.  Do we start chemistry classes with a week on the ancient Greek elements of earth, water, air, fire, and ether, and test students on the final on the theory of how those elements interact?  No?  Then why do we start psychology classes with a week on Freud’s theories and test students on the final on defining the id, ego, and superego or the psychosexual stages of development?

Why is this relevant?  Because the second half of the series gets frequently and intensely Freudian.  Some people draw parallels between Asuka, Rei, and Shinji and the Id, Superego, and Ego, and yeah, okay, I guess so, but I’m willing to accept that as a character dynamic that works well.  Then, in the backstory episode about the establishment of NERV, we get exposition about the three-part Magi computer system being different aspects of its creator’s personality, which is pretty hard to not see as another id-superego-ego set.  My real issue is with the psychosexual angle.  Misato, for example, can’t stay way from her ex Ryoji, but also repeatedly compares him to her father, including immediately after an off-screen (but voice acted) sex scene.  There’s an entire out-of-body experience episode where Shinji, temporarily merged with his Eva, directly experiences his own subconscious desires for sex and praise that all boil down to “he misses his mother” (who is filled in for, in a way, by Misato here, as she is the person who brings him back out of the Eva into the world and the first person he encounters when “born”, if you will... and of course in true Freudian fashion, she appears as one of his possible sexual partners in the out-of-body experience).  And I just... hate that aspect of the show and need you to know it.

That is not at all to say I haven’t enjoyed and appreciated the rest of Evangelion, though.  The angels, varied and bizarre, are one of the best uses of the monster of the week format I’ve seen in any show.  Their capabilities are poorly-understood even to those shown to be experts in-universe, and they are a genuine threat to the characters.  Serious injuries to pilots and Evas alike are common, and the number of implied or explicit civilian deaths and the amount of damage to Tokyo-3 and NERV HQ escalate dramatically.  They are, ludicrous technobabble explanations aside, a truly and horrifyingly alien opponent, whose motive is not even revealed until about halfway through the series, and whose potential impact (ha!) remains hidden to the main characters.  Those revelations come up organically in dialogue that establishes how secretive and how deep into mad science NERV truly is.  Blah blah spoiler spoiler, suffice it to say that Misato is not well-filled-in on what exactly NERV is doing, and learns some things from Ritsuko and Ryoji that have pretty disturbing implications about the capabilities and direction of their technology.  All the while, the “Human Instrumentality Project” looms in the background, mentioned but not explained until the very end when it is put into action.

Our main trio of pilots experience some character development that, again, I find very believable for teenagers thrown into a level of both danger and responsibility that they can’t handle.  Asuka’s arrogance and competitiveness turn from quirks into tragic flaws as she recklessly tries to prove herself to be the best Eva pilot, and are also revealed to be part of a more complex and general need to prove herself to be serious and mature.  (Not to mention, she is infuriating precisely because, again, she’s realistically written... her mixture of resentment and longing for Shinji and her wildly age inappropriate crush on Ryoji both remind me of people I used to know.)  Rei, who has never known anything but NERV’s single-minded dedication to making her a pilot (and who, like Shinji, is a victim of Gendo’s abusive parenting), starts to have the first vaguely normal human relationships of her life.  And Shinji tries to run away again, but I promise, it’s different this time.

No, that last one’s not in there as a joke -- I think this is an important turning point.  In ep. 18, Gendo remotely takes control of Shinji’s Eva to force it to do something Shinji refuses to do.  Shinji is understandably horrified by this, not just because of the violation of his autonomy or something but because of the terrible thing he has now experienced doing (remember, pilots are neurologically connected to their Evas and share their sensations), and in the next episode, in a burst of sheer hatred for not just his father but all of NERV, he quits again.  Most of the other characters still treat him as running away due to weakness or indecision, like they did earlier in the series, but he has a reason now.  They are falling victim to a “boy who cried wolf”-like problem, reacting to what they have come to expect from Shinji rather than to his actual motive.  He is persuaded to return in order to protect his fellow pilots who have become his friends, and then the next episode is that infuriating out-of-body thing, but the fact remains that this shows Shinji has grown across the series, from acting out of fear of and/or familial obligation to Gendo to acting out of a desire for praise (see ep. 12) to feeling like he has an actual role and mission to play.

Meanwhile, it becomes clear that Gendo really is the sinister mastermind he appeared to be.  While his colleagues in the shadowy council -- called Seele -- attempt to rein him in, and he theoretically is responsible to a chairman of that organization, the real power is with Gendo and the sheer amount of mad science he can muster under secretive or outright false pretenses.  And... wow, there’s not much I can say about that, because there’s not much I can say about episode 19 and beyond without revealing backstory the show wants to keep secret until this late.

What I can say, though, is I think the show fumbles hard on its late episodes, even before the notorious original ending.  Up to this point, I thought the show had been improving in general in its ability to tell an interesting story, but it dives back here into the same problem I had early on where it’s difficult to tell how much time has passed within or between episodes, and that creates more of a problem this time around for the basic ability of the audience to empathize with the main characters.  Perhaps this explains why there were alternate Director’s Cut versions of these specific episodes?  (I don’t know because I haven’t seen them, and they’re apparently only available to English-speakers on the 2004 “Platinum Collection” DVD release, and I am not paying the $120+ that eBay sellers want for them.)  I suppose it’s possible that the unsatisfying endings of our main cast’s arcs are intentional, and reflect how pessimistic Anno himself, and his initial description of the show, were, and there’s certainly nothing wrong with a downer ending per se, but episodes 21-24 don’t manage to land them for me.  Asuka fails at the only thing that makes her feel valuable, Rei has her tenuous human connections and her means of maintaining them if anything happens to her taken away, Misato realizes maybe NERV has been the bad guys all along, Shinji finally shows agency and makes an important decision for himself but immediately regrets it... all of these clearly should be tragic, but they just didn’t make me feel as sad for those characters as I know I should’ve.

Asuka’s brief and mostly-offscreen abandonment of NERV in the face of her plummeting confidence, the introduction of the Fifth Child, Kaworu, and Ryoji’s sneaking of secret information to Misato all are great plot points that could have had dramatic conclusions, but they all fell flat for me.  The episode focusing on Rei at least makes sense in tying together many things implied by previous episodes, and fills in or confirms some things we’ve already seen.  For example, it confirms the existence of literal souls in this narrative universe, so now we know to take certain aspects of Shinji’s out-of-body experience -- the loss of sense of self, and the feeling of having recontacted his mother’s soul -- as literal rather than just a storytelling device to display the Freudian subconscious, and the angels’ ability to make direct mental contact with people by this point certainly seems to be literal magic, not some sort of exotic biology.

But episodes 21-24 in particular feel like a rapid-fire dump of partial ideas with the dramatic pauses in all the wrong places -- exemplified by the minute-long still shot as Shinji decides whether to stop the final angel from [spoiler] that changes the scene from tense to absurd.  It is, in other words, paced poorly, and this isn’t just bad news for individual episodes, but for the ability of events to matter to the audience.  I also expected to have something to say about the gay content in ep. 24 that the professional internet commentators are obsessed with talking about (specifically, talking about how much Netflix screwed it up with a very small translation change), but that aspect of that episode in particular was overshadowed for me because the show just failed to show enough of a relationship building between Shinji and Kaworu for it to mean anything.  Even with the “love” to “like” change, I end up coming away with the impression that Shinji has a crush on Kaworu (whether Kaworu feels the same or just doesn’t get how normal people interact), but that doesn’t mean much when their entire series of interactions seems to be over less than a day(?).

And so we come to the two-part finale.  With no more angels to interfere, the Human Instrumentality Project begins.  We first see our pilots suffering separately in their own despairs and doubts, Shinji and Asuka both suffering from needing to be needed, Rei wanting to die permanently this time but afraid now that it’s finally an option.  The Project apparently forces direct contact between everyone’s souls, though, and we see how the exposure of feelings we do not wish to express or even think about can be even worse than isolation.  Misato and Asuka both totally break down upon directly encountering Shinji’s soul and involuntarily sharing their most upsetting and embarrassing memories with him.

Or, well, that seems to be what Shinji’s getting from them, anyway.  We don’t actually know what they’re experiencing, I guess, since we quickly learn this is only Shinji’s personal experience of Instrumentality.  He, and implicitly everyone else, is stuck in his own personal incorporeal world having an internal argument and trying to navigate an entirely new way of existing not constrained by the physical world.  The visuals themselves meanwhile regress to sparsely-detailed still images, then to storyboards, then sketches, before suddenly popping back to full animation as Shinji experiences another “possible world”, a frankly hilarious couple of scenes reimagining the show as a school life comedy.  Shinji begins to untangle what he thinks of himself from what others think of him, and is instructed by visions of his friends and colleagues that, among other things, conventional associations between concepts are just that -- conventional associations -- and they don’t need to mean to him what he thinks they’re supposed to mean.  Then this fascinating mindfuck of an ending, which up to this point I have been genuinely enjoying enough to forgive its Freudian jargon, crashes to a halt with the resolution that he just suddenly accepts himself, abruptly.  And then everyone clapped.  The end.

I feel let down, because it just sort of feels like Anno wanted very badly to resolve Shinji’s misery, but just whiffed on how to pull it off.  “Just stop hating yourself”, even given some sort of amazing supernatural opportunity to do so, is a bit too “have you tried not being a monster?” of a resolution for me.  I’m not asking for realistic therapy in my anime, but maybe there was some better way to show him changing his entire outlook?  And then I feel let down again because I finally remember that we cut to this abruptly and are totally ignoring what Instrumentality is doing or will do to everyone else, something that is such a wild shift that it is certainly the end of the world as we know it, to zoom in on just one person’s inner conflict in a very surreal way for two entire episodes.  So... yeah.  That was Evangelion.  Yup.  It was a solid sci-fi (or... sci-fantasy, I guess) premise that went in interesting directions, although not always executed well.  I appreciated it, and I would be interested to see how it has been repeatedly remade by its own creator.  Just, uh, not right now.

Come back soon for a third post about Evangelion, which will be a headcanon and/or questionable interpretation that probably nobody wants or needs but which I feel compelled to share.