#I admit to not being even close to an expert about how to speak out about this specific issue

[cloyingblccd]

With startling speed, Soren sat up from his lounging position, staring at Maeve a bit dumbfounded. Mouth agape, brows furrowed - almost like he was frustrated, but it was clear that he was anything but. He’d been called a multitude of things, from compliments to insults he wasn’t even able to repeat. Soren had never heard someone speak the way Maeve did - describe him as such, even if she were merely taking his own bit and running away with it, adding onto it like they’d been friends for ages and he’d understand her references. But he didn’t know her well, and it all read to him as entertaining, distractingly so. There wasn’t much he expected from this interaction - until now. Throwing his head back and bursting into laughter so high-pitched and loud that it echoed off the hedges around them.

“What the fuck’re you saying? Do you talk to everyone like this?” Soren asked, wiping at the tip of his nose, already rosey and threatening to spill with his laughter. Nosebleeds settling as he aged, tacking it down to nothing but his body adjusting to his own evolutionary process and plugging up his nostrils at every threat. But now he could feel the real sting of one wanting to come on - always agitated by his own excitement, the way belly-laughing always shifted all his features until sometimes, he had no choice but to let it happen. It’d be a tick for the rest of their time together, Soren swiping gently at the almost bulbous and rounded end of his nose, attempting to stave off any sudden spouts. “M’not laughing at you - like, just to clarify. I’m not a total cunt. You just… I don’t even know. Don't know what to make of that.” A pause, before he took a deep inhale from his cigarette, nodding like she’d just said something rather profound. “I think you’d be the only one to watch that one. But it’d get, like, twenty movies - you’re the sole fan to keep the series going.” It might’ve been a statement that could’ve been read into deeper, but Soren had become an expert at masking anything and everything that had meaning until it sounded like nothing more than discussing the weather.

“Ah, s’fine. Kinda appreciate a mystery. Though I figure Meryl Streep’s gotta be - I dunno, the most attractive a person’s ever been in it. Maybe I’d watch just for that.” Raising a brow, Soren appreciated that Maeve seemed to just - delve into his teasing accusations, admitting to the truth of his observations with an ease he’d never have. It was respectable, albeit a bit intimidating. Hoped the half-truths and jokes Soren could conjure up would appease her, even if it wasn’t even close to what she offered up to him in return. “Perverted? Thought you were gonna call yourself controlling and leave it at that. Good to know you’re a total freak in the sheets too, though I hope you know I don’t roll like that. I’m saving myself for marriage.” They shared a glance then - all Soren could do was pinch his lips, attempt to hide back an almost animalistic grin. He loved being in on a joke with someone, and while they were only just meeting, he knew Maeve already knew him enough to know he had never been serious a day in his life, let alone in this moment. “Yeah? Me too.” 

It slipped out of his mouth so easily, letting her know he was an eldest sibling as well, that Soren didn’t even process it. Like he’d just admitted to waking up that morning - something that happened every day, talking about it with a comfortability as such. But he hadn’t talked about Reese in so long that since arriving to Palladian, he’d masqueraded as an only child - only one other person here knowing that he’d had a sibling at all. Soren wasn’t sure if he was obvious in his reaction, attempting to backtrack so pathetically he was sure he flinched while simultaneously paling, jerking forward like he could physically eat his own words. “Or -,” he started, squinting slightly - thinking way too hard about how he was going to pretend he was joking without making it obvious he wasn’t. But as soon as he’d become worried, he became distracted. Glancing down at their suddenly conjoined hands and intertwining their fingers together like they’d done it a hundred times. Soren was like this with most people, treating intimacies like they were currency and he was too impulsive to even save up for a pack of smokes. His gaze stuck to their hands though he shared in her indifference, both of them apparently trying to prove this was fine, this was normal - smoking and ashing their cigarettes at the same time. It made Soren burst into laughter all over again, never one to feign modesty, unsure why he ever even tried. Instead, he tightened his grip on their hands, tugging Maeve closer - innocent with it, really, still a good distance between them, but where someone would give an inch, Soren would always take a mile.

“My hands are always cold. It’s a part of my charm.” Maeve. Her name was about as fitting as possible - she wasn’t hard to understand so much as hard to tack down. Frankly, Soren couldn’t tell if she hated him or was genuinely reassuring him, tone indifferent but touch encouraging. If she’d remained a nameless enigma, it would’ve suited him just fine, but Maeve was nice as well. “Pretty.” He commented casually. Against his will, Soren snorted again - wiping at the tip of his nose - at her guesses. “Cassian? Like the Narnia guy?” Acting like he didn’t know, despite being an avid reader in his youth. “And what’s so bad about Griffin? That sounds like… I don’t know. Someone from Game of Thrones, or something. Fuckin’ hell, Maeve, bit judgemental. What if one of those were actually my name? Totally shaming me and you don’t even know the real one yet.” Hesitating, Soren debated the pros and cons of drawing out the grand reveal of his name. Which wasn’t really grand at all - but it’d mean that she’d know who he was. Incapable of hiding after that, really. But she’d been so honest with him thus far - it only felt fair. And yet, she had a noticeable habit of diverting his attention at every pitstop. Ready to introduce himself, even shuffling to hold out his other hand and make a grand show of it, but she beat him to the punch. Touching through his hair, wandering amongst unbrushed curls like they’d been here before. It felt familiar - Soren already leaning into her touch and allowing the affection with a gentle grin, languid flutter of his lashes.

He felt shy, only momentarily, when her thumb grazed at his temple, threatening to brush right against where a deep scar ran. Only revealing the raised skin to someone for the first time days prior. He wouldn’t say anything about it, though he knew she must’ve felt it a few times. “This is bullying. I’ve never even dyed my hair before. Can’t help what’s natural, y’know.” It was the truth - hair untouched and as legitimate as the day he’d been born. “I don’t actually mind the biting - but fuck, I’d be so god damn ugly bald. Spare the hair for the general public’s sake.” He chuckled with it, making a joke, though he moved with intent. Dropping and subsequently stubbing out his cigarette to his side so that he had a free hand to loop around her waist, tug her forward. Testing the waters - encouraging her to move into his lap, but ready to retract if she didn’t appreciate the gesture. Soren still couldn’t tell where he stood, going a bit crazy with her monotonous mocking then surprising him with constant delicate contact. It made him cloudy, wanting more but unsure of how to ask for it. “Soren.” It felt like a confession, finally offering up his name like it was an olive branch. “Does that tickle your fancy or are you gonna tell me I’m, like. A washed up porn star from the 70’s with a trashy background?”

the hedges were tall enough to drown the world, that eerie kind of green that made everything feel a little too alive. the garden was quiet except for the breeze and the occasional rustle of leaves — like the maze had ears and a wicked sense of humor. maeve sat back into the grass, legs crossed at the ankle, spine loose but gaze unyielding, like she was only half-invested in this game of theirs but couldn’t stop playing. her fingers toyed idly with a blade of grass, twisting it until it snapped. she was perched like a cat in the grass, ankles crossed, one elbow hooked around her knee while the other hand held a half-burned cigarette. she took a drag, lazy and practiced, letting the smoke roll from her lips without care. her gaze drifted toward soren with that unreadable, upper-east-side polish — like she might mock you or kiss you, maybe both.

“you do have the bone structure of someone who thinks ‘main character’ is a medical condition,” she said at last, smoke curling from her mouth like punctuation. “very ‘exiled prince of saturn,’ very ‘destined to fall in love with a mortal and ruin everything in the final act.’” her tone was dry, but her grin betrayed her. “i’d watch the movie. you wear the tragic alien identity disturbingly well. must be exhausting, being this charming.” when he went off about sophie’s choice, she tilted her head and gave him a look — half amused, half horrified. “i have seen the movie,” she said, exhaling smoke to the side. “not really a fun conversation starter, but i respect the chaos. and no, i won’t tell you who she picks. spoilers, obviously.”

he accused her of making decisions too fast and her mouth quirked, observations throw at each other like a fun game of ping pong — it was exhilarating to have the energy thrown back in her face, especially after the night she'd had. “yeah, i like making decisions for people sometimes,” she said, a little too easily. she shifted her weight, brushing lightly against his thigh before she crossed it again, the movement casual but un-ignorable if paying attention. “some perverted dominant emotional lifestyle i guess. stuck since childhood. probably something to do with being the oldest and watching my siblings eat glue.” she took another slow drag from her cigarette, eyes half-lidded now. “oldest sibling syndrome. i was handing out stickers and ultimatums before i could spell ‘manipulative.’” and then — like it meant nothing at all — she reached out and took his hand.

no hesitation. no warning. he didn’t need one, she figured. just warm fingers slipping between his colder ones, like it was the most obvious choice in the world. they were mismatched in every visible way: his sun-bleached chaos against her sculpted composure. irreverent jokes tossed like stones into the calm of her stillness. but when she reached for is hand, it was less surrender and more experiment — like she was pressing a button just to see what would happen. her cigarette rested between two fingers in her other hand, flicked idly, the ash drifting off like falling snow. “you brought it up,” she murmured, voice a little lower. “thought you were being cute. figured i could make it weird. plus your hands are ridiculously cold, jesus,” she noted, as if ordered by the doctor himself to aid. her thumb ran a slow circle along the back of his hand, subtle but unmistakably intimate. she tapped the ash from her cigarette with her free hand and didn’t let go. “i’m maeve,” she said, finally. “so you don’t have to keep calling me ma’am. unless that’s your thing. no kink-shaming, of course,” bit between mauve lips, her eyes trailed over him like she was trying to decide something, sharp but not judging.

“you, though?” she tilted her head, lips curved around another drag. “you look like a tristan. or a cassian. something ridiculous that sounds like it belongs in a sad victorian novel or a really bad fantasy series.” she flicked ash again, then looked down at their hands. “don’t tell me it’s something boring like… griffin. or maybe you’re just steve and i’ve overestimated everything about you. go on then, what is it? if it’s griffin, i’m leaving the maze and never speaking to you again.” and then — very gently — she reached up with the hand that held the cigarette, now stubbed out and still faintly warm between her fingers. she tucked it behind her, then let that same hand wander up, brushing into his hair. her fingers threaded through the soft curls like she had every right to them, her thumb grazing his temple. it was the nicotine buzz in her head, a drunken hum that hung between the two despite sober, and the ease of settling into a stranger that left her matching his energy without care.

“god,” she muttered, amused in observation. “it’s like you dunked your whole head in the amc popcorn butter machine.” she tugged lightly at a curl, tilting her head as if inspecting it under some invisible light. “edible. did you know that?” her voice dropped conspiratorially, like this was a shared scandal. “i mean — criminally yellow. like if you stood still too long i’d accidentally snack on you.” her fingers stayed where they were, buried just slightly in his hair, and she looked at him like she was debating whether or not to keep teasing or let the silence say it for her. in the end, her mouth curved. “don’t worry, blondie,” she said, deliberately nicknaming again. “i only bite when provoked though.”

[makingqueerhistory]

I have a somewhat odd question. In June, I was part of creating an online Pride Shabbat for queer Jews unable or unwilling to go to Pride in their home area due to the rise in antisemitism, and as part of it, I wrote a memorial/Kaddish meditation about queer people across time and space. It’s fair to say I couldn’t have done it without MQH, which featured heavily in my research of historical queer figures.

I want to share the piece on Tumblr because I think some folks with progressive synagogues might like it, or may simply find it personally meaningful. Here comes the question: in any other time, I’d find it absolutely abhorrent to share it without crediting you for the time, love, effort, and care you’ve put into MQH that made my job so much simpler. But times being what they are, I don’t feel it’s right to do so indiscriminately, because I’m all too aware you may face splash damage for being associated with a filthy Bad Jew who doesn’t disavow all of Judaism etc. etc.

As a result, I feel obligated to ask if you’d prefer I omit your name from the post, especially since you’re trying to make MQH financially solvent. Please let me know, so I can decide how to structure my post.

Okay this is a complicated question. I will admit I was initially quite confused by the second paragraph of this, until I checked your blog. I realized quickly that you are refering to the fact that you're a Zionist.

I feel like I have been very public about the fact that I oppose Zionism, but in case I haven't been obvious enough, I want to say it clearly:

I learned about anti-Zionism and the movement to free Palestine from almost exclusively Jewish voices. People who have been referred to as "self-hating" when I post about them. They are voices I didn't seek out for their opinions on Palestine, but who shared their opinions with a level of love and passion that I admire deeply. They have gifted me with time and education, and they are the only reason I believe what I do today. Without these Jewish voices, I do believe I could have lost myself in the deliberate obfuscation that happens around this issue.

All of this being said, yes, please do share that I was able to help share queer stories that informed what you have created. But know, that everything I have made comes from a deep love and passion for justice that includes the Palestinian people.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

There Are Limits

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!Reader

Summary: Maverick's new female friend brings out your spiteful nature. And seeing you with a new man is harder on Maverick than he'd like to admit.

CW: age gap, student/instructor dynamic, swearing, drinking, and did someone say bring on the angst?? Because you know I can deliver..

WC: 4000+

This is Part 5 in the There Are Rules universe.

“Captain?”

Maverick looks up when you step into his office. He’s sitting on the edge of his desk and there’s a woman standing between his legs, so close, she might as well be in his lap. When you enter, she steps away half-heartedly, looking slightly annoyed that her conversation with Maverick has been cut short.

Maverick’s cheeky grin falters when he sees you, and he clears his throat as he hops off his desk.

“Lieutenant,” he says. “How can I help you?”

You stare at him in shock, not sure how to react. The last several weeks haven’t been easy; in fact, you and Maverick have barely spoken since your mutual decision to terminate your romantic relationship. But seeing him with another woman is a whole new level of difficult.

“Lieutenant?” he says, lifting his eyebrows worriedly. He doesn’t bother to introduce his companion, with whom he is obviously very familiar.

You swallow around the lump in your throat and exhale slowly. Maverick isn’t the only expert in self-regulation. It’s a skill that’s proven quite useful, if not invaluable, during your tenure in the navy. And, although it’s always come naturally to you, recent events have seen that you receive plenty of practice. “Sir,” you say promptly, saluting Maverick in an entirely professional manner, as if you’ve never even had his tongue down your throat. “It’s about next week’s squadron dinner,” you say.

It's true that you meant to speak about the dinner – about how you were planning on skipping it to avoid an ever vigilant Cyclone who's been watching both you and Maverick like a hawk. Moreover, the less you see of Maverick these days, the better.

But the scene before you has severely shifted the trajectory of your plans. And the next thing that comes out of your mouth is hideously unrehearsed. “I was wondering if we were allowed a plus one,” you blurt out, your eyes darting pointedly between Maverick and his female friend.

Maverick stares at you mutely, as though it’s taking him a minute to process your request. “You want to bring a date?” he then asks, his eyes widening and subsequently narrowing in a matter of milliseconds.

You feel like you might sweat right through your uniform with the way he’s staring you down, but you stand your ground defiantly. “If I may,” you respond unemotionally; the way you’d address any other superior.

Maverick nods slowly, glancing at the woman who’s currently rifling through some papers on his desk. You ignore how comfortable she seems in his office, like she’s been here plenty of times before. “I don’t see that being a problem,” he says. “Who’s the lucky…?” His voice trails off and he lets out a nervous laugh. “Should be fun,” he finishes, giving you a wide, artificial-looking grin.

You smile back at him. “I agree.”

…

“Boyfriend,” Maverick says, his eyebrows shooting upward for a moment before he checks himself and pulls at the collar of his jacket as if it’s suddenly an uncomfortable fit.

You try not to acknowledge his reaction and instead introduce your date to some of your squadron mates. You’re not sure why Sam has decided to put a label on your relationship at this exact moment, but you’re not going to argue semantics in front of the one person you wouldn’t mind buying into this spectacle.

“It’s new,” you hear Sam blurt out, presumably cowering under the scrutiny of Maverick’s gaze.

You make a point not to look Maverick in the eye because you’re still upset about walking in on him last week when he was clearly otherwise engaged. But when Sam walks ahead, busy conversing with the other aviators, you feel a finger brush gently over the back of your hand. You pull both hands behind your back and square your shoulders to face your instructor.

Maverick is watching you solemnly. “This is good,” he whispers, although the tilt of his eyebrows says otherwise.

You can’t express how much it hurts to hear him referring to this situation as good, and yet, you nod, grinning rigidly. “It is,” you say, pausing to give him an opportunity to come clean about his own blossoming relationship.

But Maverick does nothing of the sort. Maverick is as unreadable as ever.

You’re about to walk away when the woman you’d seen in Maverick’s office appears from behind him. She nudges him on the shoulder to get his attention and shoots him a brilliant smile.

Maverick gives her a polite nod before turning back to you. “Lieutenant,” he says. “I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine.”

The woman beams at you and holds out her hand. “I’m Charlie,” she says.

You shake her hand and return her smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie,” you say. “Are you an instructor at Top Gun as well?”

She chuckles, throwing Maverick a flirty glance. “Not for a while,” she responds, looking back at you. “Not since this one made me rethink that particular career choice.”

Maverick drops his head with a laugh. “Sorry about that, by the way,” he says.

Charlie shakes her head. “Don’t be,” she replies. “It all worked out.”

Maverick nods, looking at her affectionately. “Charlie went on to bigger and better things. And by bigger, I mean she went on to design rockets.”

“Wow,” you say, both impressed and jealous of the woman who seems to hold a special place in Maverick’s heart.

“And look at how far you’ve come,” Charlie says to Maverick.

Maverick grimaces. “I’m right back where I started,” he remarks. “Full circle.”

“You’re right back where you’re meant to be,” she says earnestly. “And I’m proud of you.”

Maverick shifts his weight uncomfortably, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. “We better grab a seat before Cyclone has an aneurysm,” he says.

You turn to see Cyclone watching the three of you with an irked expression from the table reserved for your group at the restaurant. He shakes his head ominously as you make your way toward the others. When the three of you arrive at the table, he mutters, “How gracious of you to join us.”

Maverick glances at him with a slight smirk but doesn’t say a word while Charlie lets out a small chuckle, taking her place beside Maverick at the table.

You lower yourself into the seat next to Sam, right across from Maverick and Charlie. Cyclone is sitting to Maverick’s right, aggressively perusing the menu.

“I hear the fish tacos are good here,” Maverick notes when Cyclone lays his menu down on the table in frustration.

Cyclone gives him a sour look. “Not a fish person,” he responds tartly.

You stifle a laugh, exchanging glances with Charlie, who is also snickering.

“There are non-fish tacos as well,” Maverick points out.

Cyclone nods grumpily. “Yes, I saw the entire section devoted to the various tacos they serve. I can read.”

Maverick bites the side of his lip to contain a grin. “Enchiladas,” he continues quietly, as if to himself. “Quesadillas, chiles rellenos…”

“I want a burger,” Cyclone declares, flipping through the menu anew.

Maverick shoots you an amused glance. “Let’s start with drinks,” he suggests, sliding a draft beer menu in front of his superior.

“Good idea.” Cyclone sighs theatrically, rolling his shoulders to loosen some tension.

“Hey, d’you want to share a couple of dishes?” Sam offers, tapping you on the arm to get your attention.

You glance over at him quickly, having almost forgotten he was there. “Sure.” You nod enthusiastically, even though it’s the last thing you would ever think to do.

Once all the drinks and food arrive, and you and Sam awkwardly try to allocate your respective shares of the dinner, Charlie pipes in. “How long have you two been together?” she asks, gesturing at you and Sam.

“It’s new,” Sam, the self-proclaimed boyfriend who has yet to work up the nerve to even kiss you, reiterates quickly while you chew on a quesadilla.

You wipe your mouth with a napkin before confirming, “Not long.”

Maverick’s eyes rest on you for a split second before he returns his attention to the ceviche in his bowl.

Meanwhile, Cyclone regards you with a dubious expression. “Where did you meet?” he asks gruffly.

“Through some friends,” Sam responds excitedly, as though it’s the most fascinating fact of the evening.

You take another bite of quesadilla and avoid looking directly at any of the three people sitting before you.

But Maverick cuts the silence short. “Is it serious?” he asks, and both you and Cyclone shoot him threatening glances. Charlie looks up from her plate, trying to interpret yours and Cyclone’s abrupt reactions.

Sam, meanwhile, is smiling blissfully to himself as he pokes at the contents of his fajita before rolling it up. “I’d say it has some potential of getting there,” he says.

You nearly choke on a pepper upon seeing Maverick’s expression transform from mild amusement to unequivocal displeasure. His jaw muscles contract as he forcefully stabs at his dinner with a fork.

Sam clears his throat nervously and speaks in a noticeably higher pitch, “Of course, I can’t predict the future.”

You roll your eyes and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It’s none of his business, anyway,” you say.

To Maverick’s left, you see Charlie’s jaw drop slightly in her shock at your informal – bordering on impolite – addition to the conversation with your superior officer.

Cyclone chuckles quietly, finally appeased by your interaction with Maverick. “At last, something we can all agree on.”

Maverick smiles politely. “I was just making small talk,” he says, laying his fork down without finishing his meal.

Cyclone gives him a flat look and leans forward to address his friend. “Charlie, how long are you in town?”

While Charlie and Cyclone engage in conversation, Maverick catches your gaze inquisitively, as if he’s trying to figure you out. His eyes are so penetrating, you feel like he can see right through you. He must know that your relationship with Sam isn’t even close to being serious. He must know that you’re probably going to break it off that very evening. He must know you only brought him because you were hurt and you wanted to hurt him back. Because Maverick has reconnected with someone of significance and is involved in something meaningful.

You tear your gaze away from him irritably. You’re about done letting Maverick stir up your emotions without so much as saying a word. You’re about done caring for a man who’s done nothing but cause you pain.

You rise from your seat and excuse yourself, heading for the bathroom near the back of the restaurant. No sooner do you break through the door, than you collapse onto the nearest sink and break down. You don’t even care that your mascara is leaving streaks down your cheeks, or that the tears are clouding your vision. You don’t even care that your hands are gripping the basin so tightly that your fingers are cramping.

You glance up at your reflection in the mirror; pathetic. How did you let yourself fall this far? This hard? This fast? You run the tap and dab some cool water on your skin, patting at the trails of makeup that your crying spell has left behind.

You take a deep breath, staring at your glistening face with a scowl, preparing yourself for the remainder of the evening. But just as you make your way for the door, it opens, and Maverick enters.

You jerk back in surprise, despite his history of showing up in places he isn’t supposed to be.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You panic. He knows. He knows that you ran away to cry. And this makes you furious. “I’m fine,” you respond curtly. “You shouldn’t be in here,” you add, gesturing to the door behind him.

He pulls his eyebrows together like he isn’t quite convinced. “You’re not okay,” he says.

You grit your teeth in anger. He can’t just ignore you for weeks and then try to comfort you like he gives a shit about your feelings. “Why are you here, Maverick?”

Maverick presses his lips into a thin line and breathes out steadily. “I was worried about you.”

You scoff resentfully. “Don’t be.”

Maverick sighs and lowers his head. “I can’t help it.”

You attempt to keep your voice even despite all the shaking your body is doing. “You better go, Captain,” you say spitefully. “Before Cyclone finds us. Or Charlie.”

He watches you soberly. “You asked me to stay,” he reminds you.

You stare wistfully into his eyes. He’s right, of course. You’re the reason he’s still here. Your relationship with him has been strained but civil since the incident on the carrier. There has been a mutual effort to avoid unnecessary encounters, and an unspoken understanding that, while romance is out of the question, it will take some time for both of you to move on completely. Obviously, you did not expect him to move on by moving in on someone new. Or old, in the case of Charlie, because the two of them go way back, apparently.

You struggle to remember why you’d wanted this – wanted him to stay despite knowing that nothing would ever come of it. In the moment, you were desperate not to lose him. But watching him carry on as though nothing ever happened between the two of you is absolute torture. You’d rather not witness just how little you actually meant to him.

You shrug. “Error in judgement, I guess,” you respond coldly, echoing his words from the night Cyclone had caught the two of you in the parking lot of the Hard Deck.

Maverick nods. “Been there,” he says pensively before turning to walk out. Just before he does, however, he glances back at you and adds, “I’ll wait out here until you’re ready.”

“Don’t,” you say.

Maverick meets your gaze with a weary look. “I’m not leaving.”

“What’s Cyclone going to think when the two of us come back together from the bathroom?”

Maverick shrugs. “I have no control over what Cyclone thinks.”

“What’s Charlie going to think?”

Maverick pauses in the doorway. “What’s Sam going to think?”

You roll your eyes. “He won’t even notice.”

Maverick watches you quietly for a moment, then says. “I doubt that very much.”

You lick your lips as a fresh round of tears threatens to obscure your eyesight. The fact that Sam isn’t here to check on you but Maverick is has not escaped you. “Go, please,” you whisper.

Maverick wavers slightly on the spot and, after a brief interval, holds his hand out to you. You glance down at it hesitantly as your stomach flips violently at the though of touching him again. Clearly, you’re angry with him, but the part of you that loves him always wins.

Slowly, you step forward and place your hand in his. He pulls you in the moment you make contact, wrapping his arms around you as he releases the door to the bathroom. He lets his face drop, pressing his mouth to the top of your head.

After a prolonged – mostly silent – embrace, you detach yourself from his arms and give him a nod. “I’m ready,” you say.

Maverick nods back without a word and then opens the door for you.

…

It’s past midnight when you hear the knocking, followed by some irregular footsteps and a string of quiet – but still audible – curse words. After a moment of hesitation, you unlock the door.

“Captain?”

Maverick is standing in the corridor before you, although calling it ‘standing’ might be a bit of a stretch. He’s not exactly stable on his feet.

You glance up and down the hallway to make sure that no one has seen him. “What are you doing here?”

Maverick is watching you with a squared jaw, as though he means to keep the purpose of his visit to himself. He breathes his frustration out through his nose before veering right into the doorframe.

“Sir!” you exclaim, grabbing a hold of his arm like you might have any chance of keeping him upright were he to topple over.

“Sir?” he murmurs, and you could smell the liquor on his breath. He catches your gaze now that you’re closer and, in another moment, his eyes begin to slip down your face before they finally close. “I told you,” he says, his mouth twitching as he grimaces. He pushes past you into the room.

You quickly close the door behind him, hoping nobody heard the commotion. Praying he’ll have the sense to keep his voice down.

But Maverick, it seems, isn’t nearly as concerned as you are about disturbing your neighbors. He rounds on you with a resentful expression and shakes his head. “I knew this would happen.”

You blink at him in confusion. “What?” you say. “What happened?”

“You happened,” Maverick says defeatedly. He takes a step toward you, his eyes flitting between yours as if he’s checking to see if you can relate.

But it’s a weekday and you had just drifted off to sleep when he’d started drumming on your door, so you’re not exactly following. You furrow your eyebrows. “I happened to what?” you ask.

Maverick watches you miserably, taking a step back now, as though he can’t decide which is worse: being closer or farther away from the source of all his troubles. “You two make a fine pair,” he manages to say, but not without a break in his voice.

You purse your lips, looking away from him. You’re not going to comfort a man who’s standing in his own way. After all, it was his decision not to be with you. Besides, Maverick brought his own date to the dinner, so you aren’t feeling overly sympathetic.

Maverick tears his gaze away from you and smacks a hand over his face. “What am I doing here, Lieutenant?”

It’s a fair question, to be sure; one you wouldn’t mind knowing the answer to, yourself. But you’re more immediately concerned about the consequences of Maverick’s unsanctioned visit to your quarters than the reasons behind it. “Maverick, it’s the middle of the night,” you say, shocked at how firm you sound despite the tremor travelling through you.

Maverick’s eyebrows converge and he shifts his jaw as his eyes well up with tears. “Yeah,” he whispers, nodding slowly.

“And you’re drunk,” you add when he takes a step toward you again.

“I am,” he admits, still in a whisper.

You ignore the stutter of your heart as he nears. “You can’t be here,” you warn.

He watches you wretchedly, giving his head a subtle shake. “I can’t,” he agrees.

You can hardly breathe when he finally stops before you, his soft eyes trailing down your face. His hand is coasting up the side of your neck before you even know what’s happening, and by the time his fingertips are hovering at the nape of your neck, you’re so lost in his gaze, it’s a miracle you’re still standing. Unsurprisingly, you aren’t in the state of mind to respond.

“I lied,” he says with a slight rasp despite the effort he’s exerting to steady his voice. “I think he’s terrible for you.”

You blink at him, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Sam,” he says. “He’s not the one.”

You pride yourself on your patience and understanding, even in trying circumstances; you’re not an unreasonable person by any means. But even you have limits. And, tonight, Maverick is testing every last one. “Are you the one?”

Maverick stares at you, his eyes swimming. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”

You breathe out forcefully, astonished at his audacity. There is only so much you can let this man get away with. “Then, respectfully, shut the fuck up,” you hiss, pushing past him aggressively. You whip around sharply and point at the door. “Get out.”

…

The following afternoon in the briefing room, Maverick reviews the morning's flight footage with barely a look in your direction. He doesn’t even comment on the impulsive maneuver you pulled that left your partner confused and resulted in an uncoordinated hustle to regain momentum, costing your team valuable seconds that could have ended in tragedy were it a real dogfight.

Once the briefing is finished and the room begins to clear out, Maverick approaches your desk. “Can I have a minute, Lieutenant?” he asks in a subdued sort of tone.

You glance up at him grudgingly but don’t respond until the last of the pilots have left the room. “Is it about the Cobra Climb?” you ask monotonously.

“What?” He quirks his head in confusion before briefly closing his eyes and shaking his head. “No,” he says, and then adds, more emphatically, “No.” He lets out a heavy sigh and lifts a leg over the chair in front of your desk, sitting on it backwards to face you. “I want to apologize to you.”

You groan. “Not again.”

Maverick steals a glance at the door, ensuring that the two of you are still alone, and then he lays a hand over yours on the desk. “I’m sorry about last night. Showing up at your place – less than sober.” Maverick lowers his gaze with a disappointed frown. “I – I had no right. I have no right,” he says, looking back up at you. His eyes flit between yours imploringly, burdened with all the guilt he carries.

“Stop,” you say assertively, pulling your hand out from under his grasp. You can’t listen to another word. This entire relationship has been a series of failures in self-control, each one a ‘mistake’ in Maverick’s eyes for which he subsequently has taken full responsibility. You rise from your seat and gather your things mutely.

“Y/N,” he says hoarsely, standing up after you.

You shake your head. “I don’t need another apology, sir,” you say bitterly. “I just need some space.”

Maverick nods. “Of course,” he says. “And I’ve been denying you that – and I apologize –”

“I said, stop!” you exclaim, shooting him a threatening look.

Maverick trails you as you make your way to the door – the exact opposite of your request. You rush out of the briefing room, and he follows, not far behind. Thankfully, there’s no one in the hallway because he’s behaving irrationally, to say the least. He reaches for your arm and pulls you around to face him.

You gulp, staggering the moment you meet his gaze, the aching in his eyes undermining your determination.

“Let me finish,” he pleads in a whisper.

You exhale sharply. “Finish, then.”

Maverick slowly lets his hand fall away from your arm now that you’re no longer a flight risk and, this alone, hurts, because you want him to hold you forever. Even when you’re fuming, even when you’re yelling, even when you hate him.

“Seeing you,” he says slowly, evenly, as though he’s trying to compose himself as he’s talking. He takes a breath and tries again. “With another man –”

“Come on.” You scoff, even though your heart is already buzzing at the thrill of making Maverick jealous. “You can’t expect me to not date –”

“I don’t expect that,” he says. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

You think about the way you felt seeing him with Charlie and you’re instantly sorry for causing him that much pain, regardless of whether it was intentional or not.

“I was angry,” he says quietly. “At myself, mostly…” he trails off, moving his head to the side and lowering his gaze. “But also at you. And I blamed you for the way you make me feel.” He pulls his bottom lip under his teeth and grimaces. “But that’s not your fault,” he whispers shakily. “That’s on me.”

You bite into your lip to keep it steady. You wish you could look away because the devastation on his face is undoing you, but you aren’t strong enough. You take a step back and take a shuddering breath. “Please don’t look at me like that,” you say, your voice unsteady. You can barely get a grasp on his words because you’re too absorbed in his eyes.

Maverick’s eyebrows lift inward, as if your request has him concerned – or confused. “Like what?”

You roll your eyes – as if he doesn’t know like what. “Like that!” you respond as he takes a step toward you in alarm. “Just stop!” You sigh in frustration, unable to articulate your thoughts because his eyes are still commanding all of your attention.

“Where am I supposed to look?” he asks, agitated.

“It’s the way you’re looking at me,” you explain angrily.

“Are you listening to what I’m saying?” he asks urgently. “I need you to hear me.”

You shut your eyes and shake your head. “Enough, Maverick!” you exclaim.

Maverick stills immediately, watching you uneasily.

“You’ve been tiptoeing around me, treating me like I’m injured or in need of assistance –”

“I’m not –”

“You are and I’m tired of it. Why didn’t you call me out on the Cobra Climb?”

Maverick stares at you like you’re unhinged. “You want me to reprimand you?”

You let out a heavy sigh. “If you’re going to be my instructor – just my instructor – then instruct me. It was an idiot move and I shouldn’t have done it.”

“You were distracted –”

“You’re making excuses for me! Why?”

“Don’t question my teaching methods,” Maverick says in a low voice.

You scoff, shaking your head. “You’re afraid of confrontation so you’ve been avoiding me. You didn’t even think to give me a heads up about Charlie!”

Maverick narrows his eyes. “What about Charlie?”

“Whatever,” you grumble. “Just don’t stand here and proclaim that my bringing a date to the squadron dinner somehow threw you for a loop.”

Maverick studies you silently so you boldly meet his gaze. His jaw is set but there’s a tenderness in his eyes that nearly draws you in.

“Stop coddling me,” you say firmly.

You watch his Adam’s apple rise then fall as he gulps down whatever retort he decides to keep to himself. His jaw muscles contract once more as his eyes settle over your face.

You tear your gaze away. “And quit looking at me like you…” You sigh, unsure how to describe the inimitable combination of exasperation and affection you see in his eyes.

“Like what?” he asks, his voice rising in volume. You can tell that he’s becoming increasingly defensive as your blows continue.

You’re annoyed that he’s annoyed and you blurt the words out before you can stop yourself. “Like you’re in love with me or –”

“I CAN’T LOOK AT YOU ANY OTHER WAY!” he roars.

You freeze. Stunned by the volume of his voice. Stunned by the emphatic delivery. Stunned at his words.

He turns away in a huff, placing one hand on his hip while the other is balled up into a fist at his mouth.

“This was your idea,” you say quietly as he slowly turns back to look at you. You aren’t the one who refuses to even try, and he needs to acknowledge that.

“I know,” he whispers, his eyes brimming with tears.

You clench your teeth to keep your mouth from trembling. “Then stop,” you implore.

He shakes his head, pulling his lips into a rigid line. “I don’t know how.”

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[francesderwent]

speaking as someone who hated Steve in season one, shipped Jonathan and Nancy in season one and two, and now full-heartedly ships Steve and Nancy, I always hated how Nancy and Jonathan get together in season two. I (obviously) hate the Murray of it all, because no story which viewers have been led to care about deserves to have its decisive climactic moment hijacked by a balding conspiracy theorist who (wrongly) considers himself an expert in human behavior. but even setting aside Murray (as much as it's possible to do so when he's inextricable to how everything plays out), I thought the scene did such a disservice to the Jonathan/Nancy relationship as it was set up. even once I didn't ship them anymore, that scene just seemed like bad, out-of-character writing. but I think I found a way to fit the scene into the larger story.

Jonathan Byers & Restraint

this isn't groundbreaking (I'm probably subconsciously stealing from a thousand Maria metas), but what made Jonathan and Nancy stand out in season one is romantic restraint. while Steve is climbing in Nancy's bedroom window and trying to unbutton her shirt and sleeping with her all by the end of the second episode, Jonathan and Nancy talk to one another, awkwardly, stiltedly. if I remember right, they don't touch, at all. Nancy is trying to connect with him, and Jonathan isn't opposed, but they're both very cautious, and the connection is difficult and uncomfortable. Jonathan's bizarre choice to take her photo while she's half naked and he's hiding in the woods is symptomatic of how he feels about her at this point: he sees her only at a distance, and sees that she's beautiful at the same time as he sees that she's not for him. in the photograph, he tries to capture what little of her he can have for himself. this stupid, grasping choice ends up hurting both of them.

so as we start episode three and really start to move into the center of the story, both Steve and Jonathan have crossed a boundary. Nancy and Steve aren't able to admit (yet) that what they did poses a problem. they're still close, but their closeness is actually an obstacle to their communication. Steve can't see what's going on with Nancy because he's caught up in his starry-eyed triumph that he doesn't have to pretend not to care anymore because he finally won her and she's finally his! and Nancy can't connect with Steve because in order to be honest with him she would have to admit that he hurt her, and she doesn't want him to know that. their closeness is a lie which prevents any other truth from being told, and as season one moves forward, the lie becomes more and more obviously a lie. Nancy lashes out at Steve for worrying about his father when Barb is missing. she kisses him when he comes to check on her, but lies about the baseball bat and what her plan is. Steve's supposed love for her can't survive seeing her with Jonathan, and he stands by while his friends ruin her reputation. he doesn't trust her enough to believe her when she tells him nothing happened. I'm just hammering the same point here, but they are literally too close to see clearly.

against this backdrop, Nancy's relationship with Jonathan appears starkly different. the revelation of Jonathan's transgression pushes him and Nancy further apart, forces them to take a hard look at themselves and a clearer look at each other. they see all the differences between them. they see the way the other person doesn't perfectly understand them. and they see all that because they can see clearly that Jonathan's crossing of that boundary was wrong. but because they share similar goals and want to work together, they have to stay conscious of all those boundaries, they have to be even more careful and respectful of them moving forward. if the defining moment of Steve and Nancy's relationship is falling into bed together without ever discussing what it means (and I think, for better or worse, it is), the defining moment of Jonathan and Nancy's relationship is him lying on the other side of the bed from her without crossing the line. and he is able to be a comfort to her because he doesn't cross that line! after the photograph almost ruins everything, the restraint is present in every interaction between them: the way Nancy holds ice on his face at the police station, the way she bandages his hand, the way he accepts her Christmas gift. I was really struck, this rewatch, by the image of them setting the bear trap together: they're moving in sync with each other, backing away slowly, carefully, because they know to move quickly or carelessly could be disastrous. that's their relationship in a nutshell. and that's what made their relationship so compelling.

now, both of these dynamics are still visible in the beginning of season two: Steve and Nancy are officially a couple, but they’re understanding one another less than ever: he doesn't understand why she feels they have to continue having dinner with Barb's parents, she doesn't understand how he could want to go to a Halloween party; she tells him everything about their carefully reconstructed lives is bullshit, he is absolutely shell-shocked because he thought it was real. Jonathan and Nancy are walking a thin tightrope: Jonathan takes her home from the party, puts her to bed and takes off her shoes, he tries to assure her that Steve still cares about her, they both quickly request separate beds at the hotel. but once Murray interferes, they fall off the tightrope and they fall off hard.

when the restraint breaks, all their careful intentional distance overwhelmed by exploding desire and tension, it's not just a kiss. it's a kiss that immediately becomes sex. they haven't said a word to each other about what this means or what they feel for each other. they've both been drinking. Nancy hasn't broken up with Steve. it's a betrayal of everything their relationship has been up until this point, and it's a letdown, because it doesn't feel like the Jonathan and Nancy we've been watching and rooting for for two seasons. it feels like the end to a different story, not this one.

and unlike the photograph which crossed a boundary and then had to be dealt with, for the rest of season two at least, there are no consequences. Nancy and Jonathan are just...together, after this. Steve gracefully bows out; he doesn't accuse Nancy, he doesn't even make her tell him what she did, he takes all the blame on himself. this makes Steve look really good, really mature and unselfish, but it's dishonest in a way that season one wasn't dishonest. season one was brutally honest about the fallout of Steve and Nancy having sex, and it was beautifully honest about what Jonathan and Nancy had to do to build a relationship on a different foundation. now Jonathan and Nancy kick off their romantic relationship on that exact same foundation as she and Steve did in season one episode two - we've had some sexual tension, we had sex, now we're a couple - and this time, for no reason, everything's fine.

if you assume that Jonathan and Nancy are endgame, it's a ridiculous squandering of one of the best-drawn relationships in the story. all their narrative potential is lost, wasted. in season three, Jonathan and Nancy bicker annoyingly and to little purpose; the majority of their arc is already behind them and the writers appear to be at loose ends, creating thin conflict for no reason.

where it starts to get really interesting is when you stop assuming that Jonathan and Nancy are endgame.

Nancy Wheeler & Illusions

so far I've been prioritizing Jonathan’s perspective: his making amends for the photograph and learning how to care about Nancy respectfully. it's through this lens that the sex scene in season two is out of place. but if you focus in on Nancy, the defining factor in the love triangle for the first two seasons isn't restraint. it's reality.

I've written about this before, but Nancy's arc in season one is about the shattering of all her illusions. she already had her doubts about her parents' marriage, but she was still playing the game, still trying to get good grades, still trying to seem like a good girl in front of her parents, still trying to seem cool in front of Steve and his popular friends. and one of the illusions that shatters most painfully for Nancy is her romantic illusions around sex. she bought into the lie that if she would just sleep with the cute guy she has a crush on, she would feel close to him and he'd love her. after episode two, she learns intimately that this isn't true. Steve tells her she’s beautiful, he doesn’t tell her he loves her. he falls asleep and she has to get dressed and walk home on her own, with no words of reassurance. she stands on the stair in Steve's sweatshirt and tells her mother coldly that Steve isn't her boyfriend and nothing happened, because at that point Steve isn't her boyfriend and she has to go to school the next day and act like nothing happened. he walks up to her locker and kisses her, but tells her only, “I had a good time.” we can see this tearing her apart before she ever starts to suspect anything has happened to Barb.

and so she starts to see through the falseness and thinness of what she used to think was important - because of Barb's death, because she discovers the upside down, and because of Jonathan. she tells him the story of her parents and their loveless decision to buy a house and start their nuclear family, and Jonathan answers, “screw that.” Jonathan is the one who gives her permission to reject everything she put her faith in. at last, someone is admitting out loud that trying to fit herself into these boxes is hurting her! at last, someone isn’t afraid to exist outside of the norms that are destroying her. it’s a relief, not having to pretend anymore.  

fast-forward to season two: Murray (ugh) says that Nancy doesn’t love Steve, that she’s afraid of who she really is, that she has chemistry, history, and shared trauma with Jonathan, and that therefore they should cut the bullshit and share the bed. notice: he doesn’t say Nancy loves Jonathan and should be with him. they’re just young and attractive and they have chemistry, so they should sleep together. there’s no pretty façade over it. and this is what Nancy has in common with Jonathan, that they don’t buy into the bullshit. and so here’s my hypothesis: Nancy walks out of her bedroom to find Jonathan because she can sleep with him without any illusions. maybe this time sex can mean whatever she wants it to. maybe this time she won’t have to twist herself into knots pretending like it brought the closeness she thought it would.

the reason this scene doesn’t feel like a satisfactory end to a romance arc is it isn’t the end to a romance arc. it’s the natural continuation of Nancy’s arc in season one, admitting, once and for all, that the pretty illusion doesn’t satisfy, that she doesn’t fit into that picture and she’s never going to. what she mutters to herself alone in her room, right before she goes to find Jonathan, is “I’m not afraid.” she doesn’t choose Jonathan because they love each other and they’re going to be together forever—because they don’t say they love each other, and they don’t talk about their future. she chooses Jonathan because he’s on the outside, just like she is, and she’s not afraid anymore to admit that she’s just like him.

through this lens, their fighting in season three isn’t the contrived conflict of a couple who got together too early and have to find something to do in the sequel. their fighting is exactly the same as Nancy and Steve’s fighting in season two. they’re too close to see each other clearly, and they can’t admit it. she wakes up in his bed, how can he not understand her? he lets her see him for who he is, how can she not recognize his pain? their lack of restraint does hurt them, just like it hurt Nancy and Steve, and knowing that the romantic magic of sex is an illusion doesn’t exempt them from that hurt. it doesn’t bring them into perfect closeness and unity, but it does bring them close enough to feel all their inequalities and disagreements without the objectivity of distance. their priorities are different; their plans don’t align. how could it be any other way, when they never talk about those things? at the end of the season, Jonathan moves to California, and when Nancy tells him she wants him to stay, he says only that everything will be okay because they have shared trauma—he doesn’t say that he’ll come back, he doesn’t say that she should join him, he doesn’t even make plans for Thanksgiving like Mike and El do. they have a bond that makes him moving away painful—but they can’t figure out what to do about it.

so Nancy and Jonathan sleeping together isn’t the end of their romantic storyline. it’s just a stepping stone in Nancy’s journey with disillusionment. Nancy tried using sex to get her happy ending with Steve, and it didn’t work. then she stopped believing in happy endings and clung to Jonathan who also didn’t believe in them, and that didn’t preserve her from disappointment either. what is all of this leading us toward?

Steve Harrington & the Love Confession

ahem.

Steve starts out as the epitome of everything that Jonathan and Nancy are growing beyond: popular, shallow, charming Steve Harrington who takes sweet Nancy Wheeler to bed. but in every season Steve proves himself again and again to be someone to rely upon—he comes back to fight the demogorgon after Nancy tells him to leave, he protects the kids from demodogs and evil brothers, he swoops in for the big rescue when Nancy’s about to die. and again and again, he receives no reward at all. he doesn’t get the girl (Nancy). he doesn’t get a different girl (Robin). he doesn’t even get an apology Christmas gift or to be Nancy’s friend, like Jonathan did. the only thing he walks away with, every time, is growth. he is a bigger person than when he set out, he’s more of a man.

in season two, he lets Nancy go with his insanely generous “it’s okay, Nance,” and submits to loving her without possessing her, watching her from his car outside the dance and then driving away. in other words, he learns restraint. in season three, he stops caring so much about his image: “Tommy H. would’ve made fun of me, or I wouldn’t be prom king. that’s stupid, Dustin’s right, it’s all bullshit.” he sees through the illusion and rejects what isn’t important. (and we know he’s learned restraint, how to love without grasping, because of the way he handles Robin’s rejection.) he’s a little slow—learning the lessons that Jonathan and Nancy do a season late and usually when no one is watching. but when he and Nancy are finally thrown together again, he’s different. he’s grown, and his love for her has grown, too. we know that, because when he jumps into the upside down and Nancy follows, and Eddie steps into Murray’s shoes and helpfully points out that something is afoot, Steve doesn’t react like Nancy and Jonathan did.

remember what Murray told Nancy and Jonathan: you have chemistry, history, and shared trauma, you should stop pretending and share the bed. what does Eddie tell Steve? that Nancy reacted to him being in danger by immediately, without a second thought, placing herself in danger next to him, to save him, and that it was “as unambiguous a sign of true love” as his cynical eyes had ever seen. already, there’s a huge difference. Eddie isn’t commenting on their sexual tension (of which there is plenty, Eddie had to stand and watch as Nancy ripped up her clothes to make bandages to tie around Steve’s midriff while they make eye contact). Eddie says he doesn’t know anything about their history. what he does know is what he just saw Nancy do. it’s not a connection, chemical or emotional. it’s love, love understood as an action, a choice. and he tells Steve: “if I were you, I would get her back.”

and Steve doesn’t wait until the first opportune moment to pull Nancy into his arms and give into his desires that he’s been so carefully holding in check for years. no, Steve does something very different. Steve tells Nancy exactly what he pictures his future as, and tells her that he wants her to be in it, that actually she is the most important part of his life. Steve makes a confession of love. and it stands out because when you think about it, there are actually very few love confessions in the show! no other couple says so clearly: “this is what you mean to me, this is what I feel for you, and this is what I want our life together to be.” Steve and Nancy and Jonathan and Nancy both sleep together and then slide into a relationship via the path of least resistance. Joyce and Hopper talk about a date, but don’t say “love” or talk about what this would mean for their families. Mike blurts to Max that he loves Eleven and Eleven happens to overhear it. Steve gives a wonderful confession to Robin about what he likes about her, but really doesn’t know her well enough to propose any kind of future. actually, the only character who comes close to Steve’s season four speech is Bob Newby, who tells Joyce that he loves her, loves her whole family that comes with her, and that he wants them to move to Maine together and be a normal family. but even Bob’s love confession is qualified by his not really knowing what’s going on with Joyce and her family, being kept slightly in the dark.

Steve is not in the dark when he confesses his love to Nancy—or rather, he’s in the midst of the darkest dark, standing in the depths of everything that terrifies Nancy and everything that made her stop believing in love, and he tells her anyway, because he knows all of that and he loves her anyway. they’re not too close to see each other clearly; he’s offering his love and his hopes to her so that she can look at them objectively and make her choice. and what he offers breaks open all the illusions that hurt her so badly. unlike the first time they got together, he’s all-in, telling her how he feels without asking anything of her physical first. unlike with her and Jonathan, he knows what he wants his future to be and is telling it to her clearly. unlike her parents, he’s offering her not security and normalcy, but a relationship motivated first and foremost by love.

the story isn’t just circling back to Steve because the will-they won’t-they with Jonathan has been played out. the story is circling back to Steve because he’s the only one who has all the pieces of the puzzle. he has the romantic restraint that Jonathan abandoned when Murray repackaged it as trust issues. he has the clear sight to see through the false images Nancy rejected. and when you put those things together—and put them together in a man who has been in love with the same woman for years—you get a love which wants to prioritize the good of the other, and is in touch with reality enough to protect the other effectively. and that’s where you get the love confession: it’s a way of stripping away all of the assumptions and illusions so all that’s left is the truth, but without using the truth to impose. Steve can offer Nancy absolutely everything, without crossing a line, without making it impossible for her to see what she wants. he can offer her everything—and if she says yes, he can give it to her.

[sapphiel]

Can we get some facts about Pike, Sovnya, and Corseque. Also speaking of Pike I've always wondered this when i noticed that some of their teeth are exposed is that from a wound or something?

Pike is the leader of the Spades resistance group, the Menavlions. The name of the group and all their codenames are all his ideas.

Pike is transgender, and goes by he/him pronouns.

He harbors an extremely strong hatred for the Spades' royal family and everything they stand for, so much so that he scrubs, scratches, and cuts out any symbolism of them on anything, even the tattoo on his right upper arm.

He had lost his eye and gained the scars on his mouth during a scuffle against a handful of Spades soldiers trying to escape from the Kingdom.

Despite his irritable attitude and very low temper, he does have a considerably affectionate side that he tends to show to his saved refugees, his fellow Menavlions, and his sister, Fauchard. His voice becomes significantly softer, his actions more gentle and reassuring, a sight that tends to be quite disarming to any newcomer.

He is deathly protective of everyone he cares for, and seems to be more than willing to die for his friends and family. Pairing this, he has a severe fear of abandonment that he refuses to show and admit.

Sovnya, a former soldier of the Kingdom of Spades, was once a loyal pawn to the Queen, believing her actions all had reason despite their cruelty or extremity, but after encountering Pike and seeing the people he was defending, she felt like everything she knew was all a lie. He quickly defected and joined Pike's cause, but this wasn't as clean as anyone had hoped for.

She lost her right arm trying to defend others from the Ace of Spades, and is one of the lucky few who have survived a direct attack from him.

She rarely ever speaks, and is sometimes even mistaken as mute by some of the refugees under the Menavlion's care. When she does talk, though, she speaks with a very deep voice and a thick Russian accent.

While she never speaks it out loud, she deeply regrets ever being a soldier under the Queen's name, and wishes to repent for everything she's ever done in her name. She remembers every innocent life she's taken and/or ruined, every home she's razed, and while she is grateful for Pike's mercy, she sometimes thinks that perhaps she's better off dead after everything she had done.

Sovnya has a crush on Corseque, but no one, and I mean absolutely no one knows about this... except for Fauchard after piecing things together. Sovnya had threatened her should she dare spill this secret, but Fauchard swears she dares not break the trust of a close companion.

Corseque, real name Delilah (she sometimes forgets to use her codename), is the Menavlion's trusted medical expert. But here's the kicker: Despite her extensive training and knowledge in the medical field, she is EXTREMELY squeamish to blood and gore, and tends to feel incredibly ill immediately after seeing such sights. But, she perseveres at her job, as she feels like no one else can do what she does, and it is her duty, if not her obligation, to do while she's a member of the Menavlions.

Despite her appearance, her sorrow and nervousness does not come from a dark depressing past. If anything, her family is safe and sound under the Menavlions' care, and while she misses her home, it's not their displacement that worries her. It's the fact that she witnesses so much death and destruction all around her that made her have a severe break in will and spirit.

She is prone to hyperventilating, vomiting, and fainting, the last one being something the other Menavlions have noted, so whenever she has to operate on a wounded person that she cannot bear, they sit right next to her, ready to wake her back up. Usually this is a job assigned to Voulge, as they know exactly how to immediately spring her back to life, much to Corseque's dismay.

Speaking of which, while she adores (or at least respects) most of her crewmates, she has a strong disdain for Voulge, and wants to avoid them as much as possible. She finds their personality disturbing and unsettling, and does not like their constant teasing about morbid facts and dark humor. Roncone she may appear to dislike, but it's more she finds his appearance disarming and fears he may not be trustworthy, but Pike assures her many times that her fears are unwarranted.

She and Trident get along very well, and is one of the few people in the Menavlions that Trident will actually slightly open up to. The two are sometimes seen having a peaceful moment together with freshly brewed tea courtesy of Corseque.

[nightshademyn]

Ok but can we please talk about Athena's Character Development in Epic: The Musical? (EPIC!Athena Appreciation Post)

I've been thinking a lot about Athena's characterization in Epic because Athena is my favorite goddesses in all of Greek Mythology ever since I was a kid, and her songs in Epic are my absolute favorites, and her character arc means so much to me as someone who adores and resonates with her.

I adore her entire arc so much, because it's a lesson I find myself struggling with. My Goodbye is one of my favorite songs, but it's also a song where I don't think Athena is entirely right. I think as much as Odysseus is wrong in completely disregarding Athena's advice, he's right about Athena being prideful and vain in this moment. Because she is! I might be extrapolating a bit from other myths where Athena's pride is fully on display (see Arachne), but in Epic, Athena is too prideful to consider that she might not be entirely right & she's overlooking the very human emotions that Odysseus is going through at the loss of his friends. Because of that pride, she shuts Odysseus out and doubles down in abandoning him. When she begins to consider that maybe, just maybe, she was wrong in the years following, she doesn't seek out Odysseus immediately to acknowledge that she was wrong. Instead, she protects her pride and tries to fix her mistakes by taking on a new mentee (Telemachus). And I think that she does this because admitting you've messed up is difficult! And it's easier to try to fix things in a roundabout way, especially when you mess up at something you're supposed to be an expert in. And in We'll Be Fine, she's still protecting her pride by considering she messed up when talking to Telemachus, which is still easier than directly admitting her mistakes. However, Telemachus is able to help process the fact that she has made a mistake.

"Maybe to fall is to learn one way" is a hard lesson to learn when you’re proud of yourself and the work you do. When you fail at something you’ve whole identity to the way Athena's identity is tied to her expertise in war, it can be soul shattering to come to terms with. It’s hard not to take it as a personal failure or indicative of poor character. It's difficult, but it's important to learn that failing isn’t a personal fault to fail so long as we learn from it and grow, and that’s a lesson I think Athena needed to learn. It's why I resonate with her so much. I was that student who struggled with criticism because I was so proud of my academic successes that any mistakes I made in my schoolwork felt like a personal failure. I see my own pride and flawed sense of identity in her struggles.

Back to the point, it’s why God Games really is a show of how much she’s grown. Post-Cyclops saga Athena wouldn’t have gone through a gauntlet to save Odysseus. She was stubborn and had already doubled down on her insistence that Odysseus failed and therefore they were through. But Wisdom saga Athena, one who’s become wiser by seeing her failure as a learning experience and has set aside her pride to help her friend, did whatever it took to convince Zeus to allow Odysseus to escape Calypso's island, even if it meant facing his wrath.

And finally in her last appearance in ICHBW brings her character arc to a close. She's able to admit in her last conversation with Odysseus that she made a mistake ("I can't help but feel like I led you astray") where in the Wisdom saga, even when speaking to Telemachus, she couldn't directly admit that she had done something wrong, framing her thoughts as a "maybe' instead of a direct acknowledgment ("Maybe if I'd made a different call/Maybe if I hadn't missed it all/ Maybe he'd be fine"). She's able to finally, fully admit to Odysseus's face that she messed up as his mentor in spite of her pride.

TL;DR: I love Athena's character arc and I identify with it so much as someone who also struggles to admit she's messed up in an area she's incredibly proud of and Athena remains my favorite character in the entire show

[romaevelizz]

Crush Culture˖ ࣪⊹

IV. Just open your mind

sum: Dose he finally admit it? That maybe a a crush isn’t so bad that being interested in someone is okay? He doesn’t know though what if he’s just about to waste his time.

warnings: cursing, flirting, not proofread, jealousy, Nekomas being protective over their manager, tsukii having wondering eyes.

(V.)

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

A few says in Yamaguchi could tell something was up, that his best friend was dealing with something but didn’t open up about it. Kei seemed more… spacious. Like he wasn’t fully there. How his gaze would linger a bit longer in the distance how, that he seemed to be more focused yet so distracted at the time. Maybe he was just having a moment, he was still himself.

Then he would notice it, how the tips of Kei’s ears turned red when he would talk to the second year manager. How he played with his finger as he spoke to her that his eyes didn’t wander if as she talked to him helping with whatever she asked. That when Noya would ask about it he was quickly dismissive about her. Tadashi wanted to ask, he wanted to bring it up but didn’t want to make his best friend upset. He knew Kei didn’t like the idea of being interested in somebody, that is was stupid, crush culture was to normalize and a waste of time.

“Tsukii?” He asked, the two of them walking out of the gym.

Tsukishima hummed listening to his friend, “Can I ask you something with out you getting upset.” Yamaguchi asked.

He noticed Tsukishimas eyebrow raise “What is it?”

“Do you like Nekomas Manager…?”

Tsukishima stoped dead in his track, yamaguchi stoped a little after him looking back at his best friend. His brows frowned slightly but his face all around looked blank, yet grossed out at the same time. Kei opened his mouth but closed it before anything came out, his gaze shifting to the ground. The silence around them heavy the sound of crickets and frogs could be heard within the summer night. The faint sounds of shoes squeaking against gym floors as teams still practice voices of other players heard. But the two of them stayed silent, Tsukishima almost debating in his head to answer.

“I don’t know..” he spoke, his voice barely audible.

Yamaguchi watche as Tsukishima looked at the plan of his hands for a moment before speaking. “Sh-she makes me nervous, like actually nervous Tadashi..” his eyes met Yamaguchis, “She has this attitude that doesn’t irritate me like other do, her snarky or teasing remarks make me blush like a fucking school girl. Her bratty attitude and cockiness is so annoying yet it doesn’t make me angry or upset. She didn’t take my shit either always saying something back with this amused look…”

Tsukishima laughed at himself “ I find myself always looking for her, in the practice matches to see if she’s maybe looking at me. I look for her in other gyms, even at the dining hall. Even if she’s not looking at me I continue to look at her, is it stupid to say I like the way she looks. Her face.. it UGH. It’s so fucking stupid, i barely know her I- I don’t even know how to start an actual conversation with her and every time I have it’s something quick just a comment and I walk away like a loser. It’s so lame.” He groaned, confessing to his friend.

“So you do like her, it’s okay-“

“I know it’s okay but.. what if I end up wasting my time. I put in effort just to get hurt in the end? That she didn’t feel the same about me? That what if I do something, would she stay? Stay with me not shut me out after an argument or because I said something that just broke her heart. I no good with words and I’m.. I’m not nice when I’m upset. God and most of the time I don’t notice that I’m like that nor do I feel bad after the fact..” he sighed rubbing his eyes his glasses lifting off his face.

Tadashi stood in front of his friend, a soft smile on his face. “Kei.. I’m no love expert but you seem smitten. And as much as I wish I could give you the reassurance that nothing bad will happen that’s not how it works with relationships, love even. Time will tell, she’ll either from how highly you speak of her now she’ll either be your worst heartbreak or someone you die old with.”

Tsukishima laughed, Tadashi only smiled small laughs leaving his mouth “Don’t tell anyone about this. I swear to god.” Tsukishima spoke still laughing.

“I wont I promise!” Tadashi smiled his hand falling on Kei’s shoulders.

“You’re my best friend Tadashi.. but I will hunt you down.”

Tadashi chuckled “I wont.” Putting his pinky finger up, tsukishima linking his with Yamaguchis.

The pair soon entered the dining hall for dinner. Everyone sitting at tables as they are the teams mixed up making it harder to find a spot to sit, everyone talking amongst themselves. Tsukishimas stiffened the feeling of a hand touching his arm startling him.

“Sorry didn’t mean to make you jump stalker, do you and your friend wann come sit with me and a few of my guys?” Y/n asked smiling.

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi looked at one another “Yeah that would be nice thank you!” Yamaguchi answered her.

She nodded her head having them follow her, he noticed how her braids were put into this low buns two red ribbons helping hold them together, extra curls falling loose from them. Tsukishimas eyes slightly wondering the black shirt she wore was cropped slightly and tight, not a lot the red joggers she wore more baggy than the uniform he usually saw her in the sides saying ‘Nekoma Volleyball Club’ down the sides. They sat low on her hips he could see two rhinestones on her lower back, piercings?

Yamaguchi elbowing him lightly, pretty much telling him to stop staring at her ass. Tsukishima glaring lightly. “I wasn’t.”

“Mmhm”

The stoped at a table her putting her tray down next to a guy with longer hair blonde but grown out his roots black. “I invited some friends, this is Tuskishima, and his friend Yamaguchi.” She spoke as the two sat next to her Kei in the middle of her and Tadashi.

The both said hi, “this is a little bit of my team and others they’ll introduce themselves unless y’all know each other already.” She said smiling.

They knew Kuroo and Bokuto, as well as Akaashi. Yamamoto, Fukunaga, kenma and lev had introduced themselves. They all talked amongst themselves, her talking with them aswell, she was close with her team members and got along with them. Her body was close to his, a small shiver of her body because of kenma pushing her against him. “Be careful!” She pushed Kenma back him dramatically falling into Yaku.

“You see this? This abuse she puts me through.” Kenma spoke out to the table.

She snorted turning back to her food, she could hear Tsukishima next to her laugh lightly aswell her eyes glancing at him a smile on her face “whatever,”

She didn’t move back after her push, her thigh pushed up against his there arms touching. Yamaguchi watched as his friends face became pink, the blonde pushing up his glasses before continuing to eat. She acted as if nothing was happening that her thigh was pushed up against him, that her foot tapped his. But he didn’t move away from her touch, he didn’t want to. His eyes meeting hers as he turned his head.

“How long have you been playing Volleyball?” She asked. Turning her body towards him.

“Since I was a kid just something I picked up.” He spoke.

“Do you not like.. enjoy it?”

He shrugged “I don’t hate it keeps me busy ya know, did you play any sports?” He asked.

“I did, when I lived in the states, I played soccer, did gymnastics also.” She explained

“Weren’t you gonna go for an American team? That’s what it’s called right?” Kuroo said.

“Yeah but moved.. and I could’ve continued here but was mad at my dad for moving us across the world.” She said, looking over at him.

“That’s why you quit? Out of spite?” Tsukishima asked. It came out more snarky than wanted.

“I didn’t quit, but I did try for a team her in Tokyo one of the best but didn’t have a great experience, the girls were mean, I didn’t appreciate getting body shamed.” She hummed, her face dropping a bit.

“That’s fucked,”

“They were jealous.” She smiled.

Tuskishima nodded, kuroo kept the conversation going. Getting y/n and Tuskishima to talk a bet more, the two learning a lot about each other. Even after eating they continued to talk. Kuroo knew what he was doing, he liked the blonde he was a player that needed more of a push and he knew that she would do that. But he could feel the flirty tension between them, it was light but noticeable to him. She was always nice and out going with people but she seemed a bit different something only him and Kenma noticed but kept to themselves.

“You should come practice with us after dinner.” Kuroo spoke interrupting their conversation.

“I’m al-”

“You should you’re a hell of a blocker, but need a bit more.. hmm sturdiness? Kuroo is one of the best I know good to have someone to help out.” She said to him cutting the blonde of.

Tsukishimas eyes moving from hers to kuroos a smirk on his lips making kei glare, “I’m alright thanks though..” he answered.

He went. He went to that stupid gym, just because she went after cleaning up. Kuroo giving him a sassy remark when he walked in with her. Tuskishima glancing at her before joining them.

Her eyes never left him, analyzing and down right admiring him. He seemed more locked in them earlier when she was watching him, he seemed so unserious about Vollyball but he isn’t so nonchalant about it, he only seems that way because something happened. He started playing this sport out of spite, and now he’s actually starting to enjoy it. She watch how he listened to kuroo as he explained to him how to fix something little bit over all helped. She could tell his hands and fingers were starting to hurt how he constantly rubbed them.

“Hun do you want me to wrap your fingers I can..” she spoke reaching into her bag. Tuskishimas eyes looking over towards her watching as she waved him over.

He offered his hand out to her no hesitation, her hands were cold against his. Her hands calloused yet so soft, while his where rough and warm, her hands were gentle as she taped his fingers. His eyes watched her his head tilting slightly.

‘Just open your mind to new things Kei’ the sound of his moms voice ringing through his ears. He had to open his mind, allow himself to let her in. To know the real him. It be hard, hard he didn’t want to have his heart broke but how could she when she treated him with such care. How she looked as him so.. intimately. He’d never admit to himself, to her, to his mother, to Tadashi. He was scared. Scared of these feelings he was feeling.

Her eyes looked up noticing his brows frowned “Tsukishi-”

“Call me Kei, please.”

[whateverthedragonswant]

I'm finishing up my rewatch of season 3 of The Boys before I begin my SPN rewatch (got 2 more episodes left) and watching Jensen's performance as Soldier Boy just absolutely floors me.

It floors me because I've seen antis time and time again claim that Soldier Boy/Ben was essentially Dean in a superhero suit, that Jensen has one note acting, that he watered down the character by refusing to do scenes that made him uncomfortable (especially by one anti blog in particular who claims to be an acting expert, you know the one), and that his acting is very bland.

But in studying his performance because I'm studying the character (for writing purposes), these people couldn't be more wrong. I will admit that the only time I got a semi-Dean vibe from him was during the scene where Soldier Boy tells Butcher about his father. Which doesn't surprise me because Jensen himself said he leaned into the Dean/John dynamic for that scene.

But otherwise, I don't see anywhere where their claims hold any water. I mean, have you actually watched his scenes?

This scene is so important. Annie is getting ready to face off with this guy and even though she knows he's dangerous (after seeing he results of one of his explosions up close and personal), but she has no idea how dangerous, not really. This isn't Dean. This isn't Beau. This is the dangerous side of Solider Boy and had Hughie not intervened, there's a good possibility shit would have gone even more sideways. Especially, with Ben coming off of the confrontation with Countess, her hitting him where it hurts the most (meaning she tapped into one of his biggest insecurities. That explosion wasn't an accident (like NYC or even at Herogasm with the Twins). Ben didn't black out here. That's shown to us by there being no Russian trigger, despite him learning that Countess and his team handed him over back in 1984 and didn't even get paid for it.

I mean, look at this expression right here. His body is moving but his eyes don't. He's getting into position, ready to take out the next threat. Only when Hughie steps in and Annie's eyes dim does he step away, assessing her as not a threat. This is the weapon that is deadly enough to take on Homelander and no matter where you stand on Jensen as an actor, he pulls it off here.

The physicality he utilized in this role speaks volumes. And it's not about Soldier Boy being a Supe or being in a suit or having to look pissed off all the time (minus the few times he's amused). It has to do with how he embodies that character, carries him, and if he pulls it off. Spoiler alert: he did.

This scene exemplifies exactly what I'm talking about. I have watched it countless times and this part of it always sticks out to me every single time. Look at that expression, look at the eyes. Ben is not going all out to sell this belief let's call it to Hughie. He's giving him a look that says "this is the truth and you better believe it or else". He's not smiling for news cameras or doing propaganda or greeting fans of his movies decades prior. He's not selling the Soldier Boy is America's Greatest Hero image here. He's subtly threatening Hughie, and this is where he begins to have an issue with him. Because Ben wants to see himself as the good guy, something Kripke, Jensen, and the cast have talked about in promoting the season. In his own mind, he is the good guy; he's a legend in his own mind so to speak. He's bought the hype about himself. And anyone who doesn't see him that way is an enemy aka a threat.

It doesn't mean he doesn't know he's doing things that aren't right (as we saw in those outtakes of the 'Don't-do-drugs' commercial). He's very self-aware but he justifies it to himself because he's Soldier Boy and almost like Homelander always says, he can do what he wants. Not necessarily that he has a god-mentality that rivals Homelander's but everything is justifiable in his mind because he's a Supe, or more precisely the Supe, and he's protecting his country. And it also keeps that insecurity of being a disappointment at bay that he has from his childhood. It's all layered into his make-up so to speak. So not only is Hughie a threat (not physically obviously but to Ben's image of himself) but is also bordering dangerously close to reminding him of the very thing he hates: a mirror that reminds him that maybe his dad was right about him (not saying he was, I'm saying this is potentially what is running through his mind). So not only does it share a brilliant parallel between Hughie and Annie when it comes to Soldier Boy that eventually plays out beautifully in the Tower Scene in the finale, but it also is sewn into the issue between Hughie and Annie this season in their own relationship.

But the way Jensen plays that scene is phenomenal because if you watch it, you realize if Hughie says one wrong thing, he may be in trouble.

Which is then continued in this scene:

In this scene, Hughie is mentioning there's a lot of people inside Herogasm and here we get Ben's reaction to Hughie saying that. Then he tells Hughie as long as the people stay out of his way they should be fine. But again, watch how he says it, his expression, focus on his tone, his body movement. He clearly is not happy that Hughie says this (it literally is a continuation from the hotel room scene) and again has that subtle threat vibe, even with Butcher standing there (because let's face it, to him, even with temp V, Butcher is no threat). And of course, we all know the slap scene and the punch scene that happens later. Not only does Hughie get switched out for Ryan later on who Butcher ends up protecting from Soldier Boy, but it all plays out beautifully as all of the connections, overt and subtle, unfold throughout the season.

But back to Jensen's performance. There is so much to appreciate in how he fully embodied this character. And that's not saying it through an AA haze of "omg he's so hawt!" or "omg did you see his ass?" That's appreciating the amount of work that he put into this role when the cameras started rolling. He literally became Soldier Boy and he embodied him even outside of the suit.

As an actor, Jensen is very nuanced. He consistently adds in these little things that help make the character even more multi-dimensional than what is written on the page or what is called for int he scene and how it's blocked. This is why there is a certain small group of people on here that repeatedly talk about Jacting Joices, it's not just related to Supernatural or Destiel or Dean. It's about Jensen as an actor, as a performer, and how much he actually pours into these characters he plays. Whether it be the way he moves (or walks), or the expressions he uses, his eyes (yep, he does that too, see above), with his hands, even down to the way he delivers a line. All actors do this in their own way obviously, lean into physicality as well as their performance, but he definitely has his own unique style that I just don't see anyone else replicating. I think there's a reason so many people say no one else could have played Dean the way he could have for example. And if you watch his characters, really watch them, you'll see what he does each and every time. Even smaller characters like Jason from Smallville or Tom from My Bloody Valentine or Alec from Dark Angel. It's all right there on the screen.

So I guess my whole long point is I don't get why antis rip him apart when it comes to this role of Soldier Boy (other than being antis I guess) or say he can't act or that has no idea how to properly analyze his character because he actually did put a ton of work into this specific character (as well as all the others he's done) and you can clearly see it as you watch his scenes in the show. While I wish we could have seen Homelander and Soldier Boy go at it a bit more, and see Soldier Boy truly unleash that Alpha-ness of being the original Supe like had been talked about in promotions and interviews, it doesn't diminish that this character was fascinating and he brought it to life from the script in a way that complemented his own unique style as a performer.

tl;dr Jensen crushed Soldier Boy and Ben (yes, two different characters to embody actually) and I cannot wait to see more of him in any future Boys-related visual story telling, on the show or others.

[spencerfuckngreid]

· T H E A R T O F G E T T I N G T O K N O W | S P E N C E R R E I D · PT 4

· Pairing: Spencer Reid/OC · Category: Fluff, Angst · Warning: None · Words: 1902 · Parts: Pt 1 · Pt 2 · Pt3 · Summary : Eli, a psychology expert and old friend of Luke's, joins the UAC as a consultant and quickly bonds with Spencer Reid. As they delve into a complex case, Eli and Spencer find themselves drawn to each other on a deeper level. · Note about Eli: Her neurodivergence (She is autistic) is implied but it's never really said.

· Spanish on Wattpad. English isn’t my first language, be kind!

· Masterlist

· P O V E L I ·

I was exhausted. My hands were shaking as I went over the reports again and again, looking for mistakes that weren’t there. Everything in my life seemed like chaos. The new job demanded more from me than I could give, my colleagues were still strangers, and dealing with two jobs at once… it was too much.

On top of that, there was Spencer. His presence affected me more than I was willing to admit, and the tension between us only seemed to grow. Every word he said, every look he gave me, left me reeling, as if the ground beneath my feet was slowly disappearing. He had sent me a message a couple of nights ago, and it made me feel good, but… Nothing seemed to have changed between us.

Today, however, everything exploded. I was alone in the office. Everyone had gone home, and I stayed because I didn’t want to return to the silence of my house. Deep down, I was afraid to face my own thoughts, what I was feeling, the stress, the exhaustion. “I can’t do this anymore… I can’t… no, no, don’t think like that, of course, you can…” I was so drained and overwhelmed, so mentally agitated that I couldn’t sleep. I flipped through the pages, reviewed the notes, and saw nothing, nothing in those damned reports that would help me, not even a pat on the back. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t help it. The tears started falling uncontrollably, and within minutes, I was sobbing. The damn Niagara on my face, I had to be heard throughout the office. Not even watching “Hachiko” made me cry like this. “What’s happening to me?”

I tried to cover my face with my hands, as if that could hide my vulnerability, the feeling of being completely useless, but it was no use. I felt broken, exposed.

Then, I heard footsteps.

—Eli… —It was Spencer. His voice pulled me out of my thoughts, but I didn’t have the strength to lift my head.

I stayed silent, trying to hold back the sobs, but only managed to cry harder. God, how ashamed I was for him to see me like this.

Spencer didn’t say anything else. Instead, he approached slowly, and soon I felt his hand on my shoulder. It was a gentle touch, almost hesitant, but at the same time comforting. Without a word, he sat next to me. I could feel his presence, the closeness of his body, and far from calming me, it made the tears flow even more intensely.

—You don’t have to pretend —he whispered warmly, making me feel safe by his side, his head close to mine in a comforting gesture.

—I'm not… —I tried to say something, anything, but my voice cracked.

Spencer didn’t push. He just stayed there, in silence, letting me release everything I had been holding in. And without realizing how it happened, I leaned into him. It was an instinctive move, seeking refuge in his closeness. He didn’t say anything when I rested my head on his shoulder; he just wrapped his arm around me, pulling me closer.

For a moment, everything else disappeared. There were no reports, no jobs, no tension… just him, holding me, and me letting myself be vulnerable. And in that instant, I realized that the tension that tormented us had a name.

I stayed there for a while, curling up until the sobs stopped, and he held me without speaking, without moving for as long as I needed. From the way we were sitting, each in a chair, I knew he couldn’t be comfortable, but he didn’t complain. I could feel his breath over my head, and occasionally he took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. I could smell him. “God, how he smells…” and **how his fingers drummed lightly on my shoulder, which relaxed me.

When I pulled away, he looked at me, bringing his hands to my face, holding it gently with a warm smile. With his thumbs, he wiped away the traces of dried tears and kissed my forehead. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t react; I was drained.

—I'm taking you home. —That was all I heard.

· P O V S P E N C E R ·

After what happened with Eli, it was hard for me to focus on anything other than her. The image of her tears, her body trembling in my arms, kept replaying in my mind. But I knew I couldn’t lose focus. Work was still a priority, even when my mind played tricks on me every time I saw her.

Eli and I were going over reports that seemed endless in the common room. The silence was comfortable, though there was an underlying tension that we both pretended to ignore, although at least we didn’t seem as awkward as before.

—Thanks for last night… —she said suddenly, breaking the silence as she placed a file on the table. She wasn’t looking directly at me.

I glanced at her sideways, trying to figure out what else she might be thinking, but her expression was hard to read.

—You don’t have to thank me. We all have our moments. —I tried to downplay it, though the weight of what had happened between us made my words feel clumsy.

Eli let out a sigh but didn’t add anything else. Instead, she dove back into work. As the night wore on, the conversation between us became lighter, almost intimate, as if that small moment we had shared earlier had allowed us to open a door that had been closed. We even laughed, and that laugh… “How can it be so beautiful…?” We returned to old habits, like going for snacks and coffee, and I took the chance to leave one on her desk with a note when she went to the bathroom, like we used to do before. I couldn’t help myself; I wrote: “Are we good?”

Eli came back from the bathroom and saw the coffee. I saw her smile, and she immediately looked at me, but when she read the note, her expression turned sad, and I could see her lower her gaze.

—Eli…?

She immediately lifted her head, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t read her face; it only happened with her. Her look was like a puzzle I never managed to solve. With no one else did I feel so lost.

—Why have you been so tense lately? —I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral, though deep down I was dying to know if the tension between us was just in my head, if something was going on with her, or… “I think I’m being an idiot with her.”

Eli remained silent for a moment. I could see her biting her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the question.

—I think… I've been a bit overwhelmed. —she let out with a cynical laugh, almost a sigh, something she had to release, something that seemed to suffocate her. —It’s not just work. It’s… everything. The work, the new colleagues… you. —she finally admitted, speaking more to herself than to me.

I froze at hearing that last part. I tried to stay impassive, but something inside me stirred. “Me? What have I done to add more weight to her burden? I knew I did something. I’m a complete idiot…”

—Me..? No.. Eli, I-I… I’m sorry, really, whatever it is, forgive me. I never meant to make you feel bad. Tell me what it is, please, it won’t happen again. —I suddenly started rambling apologies without even knowing what I had done to make her feel so bad, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to see her smile again.

—It's complicated. You haven’t done anything wrong, really, it’s not your fault, it’s mine. And honestly, it’s stupid. —she said, and her tone sounded almost like an apology. I felt very confused because she was laughing awkwardly, and I didn’t know what was happening. —I… I’m sorry. —That’s all she said.

—Come on, tell me what it’s about. You can’t tell me something is bothering you about me and not tell me what it is.

After a sigh, she spoke. —It’s just… it’s… I mean… When you talked about that friend of yours from college that you saw last week…

There it was. She didn’t say it outright, but there was something in that confession. “Was she jealous?” I felt a strange satisfaction hearing her say it, though I also felt guilty for being glad about something like that.

—That friend… means nothing to me, Eli. —My voice softened, and something in my tone seemed to make her look at me more closely. —In fact… she’s not the one on my mind.

We looked at each other in silence. I knew I was walking on dangerous ground at that moment, though she looked at me with some disbelief.

—Ah… I see… —I didn’t understand why, but suddenly she seemed sad. “I basically told her I like her, and she reacts like this. Well done, Reid…” —So you’re with someone right now, aren’t you?

I was stunned. “That’s what she got from that?” I realized that I would have to be very direct if I wanted her to know what I truly felt and avoid any confusion…

N-no no, no… Eli, no. I didn’t mean that. I’m not seeing anyone, nor am I interested in… I mean… What I’m trying to say is that friend doesn’t mean anything to me. Really, she doesn’t, nor do other people I might not have told you about or whatever… I’m… I’m not with anyone. —I must have started to sound pretty desperate, though she didn’t seem to pick up on that. I wasn’t capable of being completely open with Eli, but I didn’t know how to express myself without causing confusion, without telling her everything running through my mind.

She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. —Are you… Are you okay…?

—Y-yeah, of course, I’m fine. Uh… So… You…? I mean… Well, never mind, I’ll head to the bathroom and take these papers to García… and, uh, this other stuff too.

—Uh… Sure… yeah… See you later? “Pff… You’re doing great… God…”

—Yeah, later.

Everything stayed the same but even more confusing. I could have told her directly that I think about her constantly, ever since she joined the unit, but I couldn’t do it, and I don’t know if she really doesn’t notice or if she’s just not interested in me at all.

“This hurts more every time, I just want to be with her, and it feels like I’m suffocating. I know it’s not literal, it’s a sensation, a physiological response due to my hormones and neurotransmitters. I won’t actually run out of air, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to bear…”

· Requests via DM ·

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

So.... how are we feeling about heresy so far? :'))))

It is exquisite.  It is beautiful.  It is so well done.  It hurts.  

Narratively, the writers who I know have worked on this, are ones I trust.  I know they will not betray that trust and that the discomfort they have created within their audience is temporary and will become something even more beautiful when they are done.

I can feel their love of the characters and the story.  It is apparent in all the details, in all the resonance, in all the beauty they are manifesting now.

And I admit that I am also quite envious.  We are witnessing the work of a team of people who are masters at their craft.  I shall turn my envy to analysis and appreciation.  The writing within Destiny has not just been inspirational to me.  It has been instrutive.  I have learned.  My own words, my non-fanficton words, are changing because of my exposure to this, just as they have whenever I have experienced something profoundly beautiful and well crafted in ways I am trained to deeply understand.  

I have been carrying on dozens of conversations simultaneously all day yesterday, in short brief bursts in the night (for I struggle with insomnia) and now into today.  So many cherished people, some familiar for quite some time now, some who have only just started speaking to me, some who have not spoken to me in a while, have been reaching out to me.  

Because I have been so loud and prolific with my love and appreciation for these two characters, for their story, for their connection to each other, I have become a nexus of touchpoints. Humans stretching out their fingertips through the ethereal space that is is digital communication.  And I have been reaching back with my own, talking, soothing, appreciating...

And I love this.  I cherish it.  But deep within me there is such a painful aspect of this entire experience that isn’t the good kind of pain.  

The grief depicted in the Destiny narrative now is a fictional one, and is being handled with expert care, shepherded sweetly with loving hands by everyone who has worked to create the beautiful living work of art that is this silly shooter videogame.  But there is another narrative external to that.  

I am able to enjoy the narrative within the game, because I trust the ones who wrote it. I have seen their skill.  I have seen their love of their creations.  I believe in their ability to tell me a story that is beautiful and will not cause lasting harm. 

But the external narrative, that once upon a time there was a game with people who worked on it who loved it, who cared about their players and tried their best to give us something beautiful and meaningful, to delight and enthrall us and their love and artistry was rewarded by job that paid their bills and enabled them to continue to make glorious art with guns and cowboy space wizard magic...  That narrative is not one I can trust.  

The sense of deep injustice and unfairness that the writers who were instrumental in bringing the story we are currently experiencing were discarded after making something so beautiful... discarded, in fact *during* making this thing we are all so emotionally connected to each other through right now... is sharp and painful.

They will not be able to write stories like this any more. 

There are writers who remain.  They have big shoes to fill and some people are only just now realizing how big and how talented the previous wearers of those shoes are.  I trust that the remaining writers, too, love these characters.  But they are not the ones who gave us the story we have in the game right now.  They are different humans.  Their stories will be different from what would have been.

For those abandoned writers, this is their last gift to us within the Destiny universe. I will cherish it and hold it close. And I struggle in doing so, to turn to my own words, my silly fanfictions, my gifts of love, reflecting the love already within the narrative back and out into the universe, because my words cannot bring back those people’s jobs.  

Because if I could somehow do so, I would. Because they deserved better.  Drifter and Eris deserved better than to have people who treated them with so much love and commitment and skill ripped away from them and discarded as though they meant nothing, as though the writing is not one of the most valuable and important aspects of what makes Destiny what it is.

Those writers were betrayed.  They did everything right and still lost.  And that knowledge is not the good kind of pain. No amount of love can fix it. 

But even though it cannot be fixed, that does not remove the need for the love.

In many ways, it makes the need for love even greater.

Art is not made in a vacuum. When I write my silly stories, I have been reflecting love, their love, the Drifter & Eris’ love, the love of every single person who has ever worked on Destiny with their whole heart, trying their best to make something beautiful.  And I will continue to do so. 

Because there is not enough love in the world. 

Because we must make more.  

We must.  

This is what it is to survive.

[lesuccube]

➚ 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 : ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇɴ ɢʀᴀɴᴛ — ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪᴘꜱ

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — just a little lip scrub magic .

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 — fluff infection

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 — not beta'd , constructive criticism is welcomed . reblogs and comments are appreciated .

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 — 1.2k

it's another friday night for you and steven and as per usual, the brit finds himself within the comforts of your home dressed in his comfiest pajamas he's long since left in your place, smelling much like your fabric softener, cherries and vanilla.

he's got his wild and untamed curls pushed back by a fluffy headband, a blue one to match your pink headband, and sporting a facemask that's about to hit the 15 minute mark. you were still in the bathroom, washing your face and applying oils to your skin, only halfway into your routine.

the door's been left slightly ajar, with him occasionally peeking in to keep you company or to ask how far along you were, too excited to help you put on the remaining bits of your skincare to wait for you patiently. you don't mind it, though more than half the time you'd end up splashing him with some water out of surprise. he's got pretty silent footsteps for someone as clumsy as him.

he sits on your living room couch, surfing through channels for something to watch (which definitely becomes white noise after a while since none of you pay attention to whatever's showing anyways) and settles for a 90's slasher film. he doesn't know the title but it's either that or a rom-com, something he's surprisingly not in the mood for.

he's got a nervous energy about him that he can't place, thrumming in his veins as if he's been injected an additional dose of antsiness. he fidgets in his seat and plays with the hem of his loose sweater, trying to watch but his mind pulls his focus somewhere else. you.

it's almost as if he's suddenly hyper aware of your presence, as if he hasn't been doing this with you for months now. how close you two can get and how touchy he gets anytime you're within arms length from him.

only when he feels the couch dip with another person's weight does he snap out of his daze, cheeks flushed under the sheet mask that you gingerly peel away with expert ease. steven's staring at you now, there's an emotion in his eyes you can't exactly name, or maybe you're just a little too scared to admit to yourself he's looking at you a little love-drunk.

you crumple up the used mask and place it on your coffee table next to a few items you had brought with you. unlike steven, you weren't putting on a facemask today, you had another thing in mind to cover up: your lips.

it's been cracking and drying up recently even with a thick layer of lip gloss or lip oil and you weren't about to have any of that (not when you've started catching steven stare at your lips for a while now). you rip open a new sheet, placing the too big lip mask over your own, rubbing the essence to ensure all of it gets absorbed. all the while steven's just been staring at you, watching you with rapt attention.

you struggled to laugh as you poked his nose, breaking him out of his trance as he blubbers out a string of apologies you shushed by placing a finger on his lips, being unable to speak and all, but your eyes squint with a hint of a smile. the next fifteen minutes were spent in silence, you scrolling through your phone while waiting for the time and steven finishing up the last of his own skincare routine.

once your timer goes off, you peel off the lip mask and smack your lips for extra measure. piling it on top of steven's crumpled up face sheet, you grab a tiny pink jar next for the last steo of your routine for the night: your lip scrub.

twisting the cap off, a faint scent of strawberry filling your nose. but before you can dip a finger in, steven covers the jar with a palm and a shy smile. "d'you mind if i do that for you, love?"

surprised and a little flustered, you wordlessly hand it over to steven, watching him scoot closer to you on the tiny loveseat. with a shaky gentleness, he dips his middle finger into the sugar scrub and takes a good amount, swiping the slightly rough formula over your moisturized lips.

the scrub was sticky and the scent of fruits and vanilla filled your nose, the close proximity of steven to you causes your heart to stutter and your cheeks to heat up. he looked even prettier up close.

untamed curls swept back by the headband, his usually relaxed brows knit together in absolute focus. steven's bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he concentrates on the way his finger swipes over the plushness of your own lips and his eyes, gods, his eyes.

clouded with a slight haze, a mix of emotions you can't all quite place swirling between earthy hues and in the harsh light of the tv, looks like warm chocolate

the way he looked at your lips sent a heat to your belly intensified by the way he massages the scrub over your lips with such gentleness. steven won't show the same attitude when he does his own lip scrub. the contrast has butterflies fluttering in your stomach because he's being gentle for you.

after a long, painstaking three and a half minutes (you were counting in your head to distract yourself from thinking thoughts that don't belong to your friendship), he rubs your lips clean off the sugar with a hand towel. you released a breath you didn't know you were holding, unconsciously licking your lips and tasting the sweet taste of sugar and strawberries lingering on your lips.

"thanks." you whispered, almost breathlessly, lashes fluttering as you look at steven. steven who hasn't taken his eyes off your lips not once since he asked to do your scrub. he's been staring at them with such intensity it almost knocks the breath out of your lungs.

and when he finally does look up, he looks at you with a darkened gaze, heavy with a want and desire you've never seen before. your breath hitches yet steven doesn't falter, his own breathing heavy with restraint. like he's trying not jump on your bones.

voice strained, like the act of asking his question hurt, "may i?" and aside from the clear arousal brewing within those beautiful warm eyes, lies a hint of desperation. deep down, you had a hunch saying no would crush him. he's inching closer and closer, your breaths mingling with each other, noses brushing. he looks hopeful as he is desperate.

you nod twice and steven does not hesitate to press his lips on your lips, palm on your cheek as he tilts your head like he's about devour you whole.

steven kisses like a man starved and you were the first meal he's had in a really long time. he tasted like mint toothpaste and lychee and something inherently steven, it makes you moan softly against his lips.

you pull away first to catch your breath, willing air back to your lungs but steven, sweet steven, chases after you. he can't get enough of it, the feel of your lips on his, the aftertaste of your lip scrub hanging on to your lips and he's addicted. within the first touch, he's completely and utterly addicted to you and steven thinks to himself that he may never recover from you.

"taste so sweet…" he mumbles against you, "so good, love. wanna taste more, can i? please, can i kiss you again?"

[greenbubblefactory]

Matchup for @glooomyshroom

Congratulations you have a match with..

Trey Clover !

★From the very beginning, Trey notices you in the way he tends to notice everything quietly, thoughtfully, without making a big deal out of it. He’s the kind of person who watches from the sidelines, letting his eyes linger on details others might overlook. Maybe it’s the way you always take your time browsing the aisles of the library, fingers trailing over book spines before making a careful selection. Maybe it’s how you tilt your head while listening to music, lost in thought as if the notes are painting a story only you can hear. Or maybe it’s how you meticulously work on your latest sewing project, needle and thread moving with a precision that speaks of both patience and passion.

★At first, he doesn’t approach you directly. Trey isn’t one to force interactions, especially with someone who seems to prefer the quiet corners of the world. But he does make a habit of being nearby,sitting at a table across from you in the library, walking past your usual spot in the courtyard, casually passing by when you’re working on something creative. It’s not intentional, not exactly, but he finds himself drawn to your quiet presence, intrigued by the small moments that make up your world.

★The first real conversation happens organically. Perhaps you’re sketching or sewing outside when a light breeze causes something to slip from your lap a fabric scrap, a pencil, maybe even a small charm from your jewelry-making supplies. Trey, ever observant, is quick to bend down and retrieve it, his movements calm and unhurried as he hands it back to you. “You dropped this,” he says, voice steady and warm. His green eyes hold no pressure, no expectation just a quiet curiosity.

★From then on, he finds little ways to start conversations. He notices your love for art and craftsmanship, and while he may not be an expert, he’s always willing to listen. “That looks complicated,” he’d comment while watching you sew, a touch of admiration in his tone. If you shyly explain your work, he listens intently, nodding along, occasionally asking questions that make it clear he’s genuinely interested.

★Over time, he starts to pick up on more of your little habits,the way you unconsciously hum to yourself when deep in thought, the way your expression softens when you come across an old piece of architecture, the way your fingers twitch ever so slightly when you see something particularly beautiful, as if itching to capture it in a drawing or a written description. Trey appreciates details, and with you, he learns to appreciate them even more.

★He’s patient with your introverted tendencies, never pushing you to step into the spotlight. Instead, he creates spaces where you feel comfortable,small, intimate moments where you don’t have to worry about overwhelming social energy. When you do start opening up more, he treasures it, treating your words with the same care you put into your creations. If you ever get excited talking about a book, a sewing project, or a fascinating myth you read about, he doesn’t interrupt. Instead he watches with that signature Trey Clover smile,soft, attentive, the kind that makes you feel heard. “I like seeing you like this,” he’d admit one day, leaning slightly closer. “You should talk about the things you love more often.”

★Though he’s naturally composed, Trey has a teasing streak, and he enjoys seeing your reactions. His teasing isn’t loud or obnoxious, it’s subtle, laced with gentle amusement. He’ll casually lean in just a little closer when helping you with something, pretending not to notice the way you stiffen slightly. “What? Too close?” he’d murmur, feigning innocence, though the glint in his eyes betrays his amusement.

★When it comes to affection, Trey is the type to show it in quiet, steady ways rather than grand gestures. He doesn’t just say he cares,he proves it in the little things. If you mention an old doll or model ship you love, he keeps it in mind, surprising you with a related trinket later on. If you’re busy working on a project and forget to eat, he sets aside a plate of food for you, making sure it’s something you enjoy. If he notices you looking tired or stressed, he won’t ask intrusive questions,he’ll simply place a warm cup of tea beside you and sit nearby, offering silent companionship.

★Since your love language is gift-giving, he quickly picks up on how much thought you put into even the smallest presents. At first, he’s a little surprised when you start leaving small handmade items for him,an embroidered handkerchief, a tiny charm, maybe even a hand-sewn bookmark but he quickly comes to treasure them. He keeps everything, storing them carefully in his dorm or tucking them into his pockets. If you ever catch him absentmindedly fidgeting with a charm you made, he won’t deny it. Instead he’ll offer a small smile and say, “It’s my lucky charm now.”

★Dates with Trey are simple but meaningful. He enjoys peaceful activities walking through town and admiring old architecture, visiting antique stores, or simply sitting together in a quiet café. He takes you to bakeries and lets you try pastries fresh from the oven, watching in quiet amusement as your eyes light up at the taste. Sometimes, he invites you to the Heartslabyul kitchen while he bakes, letting you sit nearby while he works. “You don’t have to help,” he says, noticing the way you hesitate at first. “Just keep me company.” It quickly becomes a routine, the two of you existing in easy companionship, your hobbies intertwining in a way that feels natural.

★Despite his usual level-headedness, Trey is fiercely protective in his own way. He rarely gets angry, but if someone disrespects you,cuts you off, dismisses your passions, or makes an unkind remark,he won’t hesitate to step in. He doesn’t raise his voice, but there’s a firm, quiet authority in the way he speaks that makes it clear he won’t tolerate rudeness. If you ever feel hurt or discouraged, he doesn’t offer empty platitudes,he simply reminds you, in his own way, of how much you’re worth. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone,” he tells you one evening, his voice gentle but unwavering. “You’re already incredible as you are.”

★When it comes to physical affection, Trey is steady and reassuring. He’s not overly forward, but he notices your comfort levels and adapts to them. If he realizes you enjoy physical closeness with people you trust, he subtly incorporates it into your interactions,brushing his hand against yours when passing you something, resting a hand on your back in a crowded room, pulling you into a slow, steady hug when you need comfort. He’s particularly fond of placing his hand on the small of your back,a quiet, grounding presence that never feels intrusive.

★Over time, you become his safe place just as much as he becomes yours. He appreciates how thoughtful you are, how you notice things that others overlook. You don’t just see the surface of things,you find beauty in small moments, in the way snow falls under the streetlights, in the intricate details of old-fashioned clothes, in the quiet stillness of the world at night. He admires that about you, even if he doesn’t always say it out loud.

★Trey’s love isn’t flashy or grand, but it’s the kind that lasts. It’s in the way he remembers your preferences without you having to remind him. It’s in the quiet way he stands beside you, never pressuring you to be anything other than yourself. It’s in the patience with which he listens to your thoughts, the steadiness of his presence when you need someone to lean on.

★When he tells you he loves you for the first time, it’s not dramatic or rehearsed. It happens in a quiet moment, perhaps while walking home from an evening spent together. The words slip out naturally, without hesitation. “I love you,” he says, voice steady, certain. And when he sees the way you pause, momentarily taken aback, he just chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “What? You really didn’t see that coming?”

★With Trey, love is not just words,it’s in every moment, every quiet gesture, every steady presence that reminds you that you are, without a doubt, cherished.

English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there are any spelling mistakes!

[pascaloverx]

Sweet Love

Summary: You're an up-and-coming writer, congratulations. To protect your beloved job, you're willing to do anything. Even strike a deal with the devil, better known as your sister's neighbor. You and Dean Winchester don't really see eye to eye, but in a moment of desperation, you agree to collaborate with him for a greater good.

Author's Notes: Many characters do not belong to me but to the Supernatural Universe (2005-2020). I hope you enjoy the fanfic's story. The fanfic will contain strong language and adult content. Dear readers, I'm here to let you know that if you enjoy this fic, please engage with it. Comments and likes are welcome. I appreciate everyone who follows this fanfic, but I must admit that it might be coming to an end. Anyway, enjoy this chapter.

chapter five chapter seven

CHAPTER SIX

The first few days avoiding Dean seemed the most complicated. Whether you like it or not, being next-door neighbors and getting used to doing certain things at the same time to meet in secret from Sam made everything more complicated. But by the second week of avoiding the Winchesters, you were already an expert at not running into either of them. That doesn't mean it was easy, though. Today, you finally sent the first draft of your new book to the publisher. So you decided to go out and do some grocery shopping. The store isn't crowded; it's a quiet time to get lost between the dairy and frozen food sections. You don't want to admit it, but even grocery shopping now reminds you of Dean. And you can't stand that.

"Are you sure your brother asked for this type of shampoo? He doesn't seem like the guy who needs to control oily hair." You hear a woman saying this, and it reminds you that you're running low on shampoo too. You head towards the hair care products, and your eyes meet the person you most want to avoid.

"You'd be surprised how much maintenance his hair needs. I need to grab something over there." Dean says loudly enough for you to hear. You try to avoid him by heading into the baby aisle. Now you're surrounded by powders, diaper packs, wet wipes, and formula.

"Can you stop running away from me?" Dean says in an exaggerated manner, definitely grabbing your attention—and the attention of almost everyone in the store.

" I wouldn't have to run if you'd stop coming after me, Winchester." You reply, turning to face him. Now it's just you and him, face to face, with only a shopping cart separating you.

"I doubt you have any idea how much I've wanted to find you these past few weeks. Even though I have no clue what I'd do if I did. It feels strange to say this while you're my neighbor and not long ago we were…" Dean begins to speak, and you look at him as if you don't know what to do. In reality, you have no idea what to do. Fight with him? Reconnect with him? But what exactly would you be reconnecting?"

"We were nothing. Now, can you do us both a favor and move on with your life?" You say, trying to avoid Winchester's gaze.

"For you, does moving forward mean pretending that the other person doesn't exist? Because if so, I don't intend to forget you. Or move on." Dean looks serious about what he's talking about. And you wish you could trust that he's serious about not forgetting you.

"Why would you say that, if you know that we shouldn't mean anything to each other? If you know that you're not over Castiel? If you're here with someone else, you shouldn't be talking to me like that." Your words carry a sentimentality inappropriate for the nature of your relationship with Dean. You both clearly should never have gotten close, since neither of you knows how to be casual about your feelings.

"I talked to him. After what you said. I realized I was being a fool for undervaluing someone who meant so much to me. And I'm here with a friend, not a substitute for you," Dean says, taking another step towards you, keeping his eyes fixed on you.

"And what do you want now? Why do you want to be near me? To apologize for being a jerk? Or to regret ever stepping into my life?" you say, leaving your cart still between you and Dean but moving toward him. Part of you wants to confront him without anything between you, and the other part just wants to forget this argument and jump into his bed.

"I would never regret you. Actually, I regret not being worthy of your attention. But the truth is, I don't know how to function without you anymore. Without waiting for my idiot brother to fall asleep so I can sneak into your place, going to the store to buy anything just to spend time with you, cooking for you after sex because we both get ravenous." Everything he is saying lowers your guard, everything so personal. The truth is, you miss the comfort of having him around. Not thinking about labels or anything else, just being together. Realizing that you are more than his writer neighbor and he is more than your womanizing neighbor.

"What does all this mean, Winchester? You declaring yourself like a lovestruck boy, what exactly does it mean?" Your question seems to surprise him. The truth is it feels like you've been going in circles when it comes to this relationship, if you can even call it a relationship, what you had or have.

"If you want me, it can mean an official relationship with all the trimmings—expectations, sentimentality, companionship, silly romantic dates, and awkward family moments. The full package. In good times and bad, in sickness and in health; until my brother and your sister kill me for breaking the rule of not getting too close to you." Dean says, smiling slightly. You move a bit closer to him, looking him seriously in the eyes. Until you open your arms and move toward him. Missing him outweighs your anger. Dean holds you firmly in his arms, and when you lift your head to look at him, he kisses you gently. A very soft kiss.

"You know you basically just proposed to me, right?" you say as your lips part from Dean's, who laughs.

"Sorry, babygirl, but I think you're the one who wants to marry me. But first, we need to take it slow. I still need to win your sister's approval, and one of us has to tell Sam what's going on," Dean says, and you chuckle at the thought of it. Just then, you hear someone clear their throat behind you. It's Dean's friend, standing there with a basket full of groceries.

"Not that either of you cares, but you can see all this sappy crap from a mile away. I'm Charlie, by the way, and I should let you know that Sam already knows. He actually made me bring Dean to the market to see if he could get over the weird breakup between you two." Charlie extends her hand towards you, and you shake it, feeling a bit awkward about how this is your first meeting.

"I think it's best if we all head home. It's a pleasure to meet you, Charlie. I'll finish my shopping and meet you at the exit." You say, separating from Dean and grabbing your cart again. Before heading back to your shopping, you and Dean share a quick kiss, and as you walk to another section of the market, you can hear Charlie cursing Dean for abandoning her with the groceries.

[winterfromtevinter]

I want to start this out by saying that I love this game a lot. Veilguard has brought me back to Dragon Age, invested in its lore and characters again, in a way I haven't been in years. I think there is plenty that can be critiqued, but that a lot of hate the game is getting is disheartening and I just...don't want to see it. I enjoyed the game! I had fun! Sue me. And yes, I am an OG Origins player and love this universe's lore, but I'll admit to being a Veilguard enjoyer and defender too. So I've been hesitant to voice my own criticisms and have it appear as if I'm inviting all the really negative, unhelpful bashing too. I'm not.

All this being said, I had a lot of thoughts particularly with how the elves are handled here.

Game spoilers under the cut. VERY long and rambly, elf centric talk mostly.

Absolutely bonkers batshit wild to me that when we tell the Veil Jumpers their gods have come back and are very evil about it that their immediate reaction is fear and they just accept that. Now, and I don't know if I missed this being mentioned maybe, but did the Veil Jumpers uncover the truth or were somehow made aware before all of this? Did they discover things this close to Arlathan that contradicted the beliefs they were raised with?

But even so; the reality of the 'gods' and their treatment of the ancient elves is not widespread knowledge. It was this big "oh fuck" twist in DA:I that the gods were actually tyrants, their markings to denote their slaves. It was a slap in the face to any Dalish who had proudly reclaimed that, worse it as a symbol of heritage and pride after coming of age. The elvehn pantheon is still venerated by most Dalish clans to this day. How interesting would it have been to see a divide in the Dalish? I think it was sooooo silly to just have a single line about how the modern day elves wouldn't willingly follow the Evanarius. How would the vast majority of modern elves even know they're evil? And many elves are heavily discriminated against, living on the fringes of society or in alienages, or outright enslaved. They are not a monolith, and they are heavily oppressed in most of Thedas. Nuance and factions here, please!

Just some ideas but: A) these beings are not really their gods, their gods could not be these monsters. So having to prove to Dalish allies that these are the gods in the first place. B) the gods have come to liberate them and will free them from obscurity and this slow death of their way of life and history. Why wouldn't they side with them?

I also think there are quite a few characters who should have come back instead of some of the ones we were given...

You're telling me we have the whole eluvian network thing and no mention or sight of Merrill? Okay. Like Merrill and Bellara tinkering on the eluvians together and interacting wouldn't have been the most interesting thing in the world. I'm tired of Morrigan being treated like the ancient elven expert I'm sorrrryyyy.

Really, really wish we had gotten Fenris involvement with the Shadow Dragons. Speaking of elves, how interesting would it have been had the gods turned to all the elven slaves in Tevinter and used them as part of their army? City elves who know nothing about these beings who claim to be their ancestral gods except maybe very convoluted stories. Elgar'nan whispering in their ear of freedom, of broken bonds, of power and lives reclaimed? You're telling me some of them wouldn't find that appealing?

Fenris and Shadow Dragons racing to free city elves from Elgar'nan's influence, those who want to can then join the Shadow Dragon's ranks...

There's so much more too. But I've said enough I fear LOL.

[pianokantzart]

🍽️ and 🎶 with morty x luigi

🍽️ Dinner date 🎶 Dancing

Luigi never before envisioned himself as the one to make the first move in any romantic scenario, but after starring in so many films, scripts, and photoshoots, he felt as though he and Morty had already been dating for some time now. Then again, there was a large difference between being someone's boyfriend and being someone's muse. Being a muse meant being put on a pedestal for the sake of the arts, playing on the outskirts of reality to feed into whatever new creation was being forged. Dating? That meant a return to earth, being mundane and flawed. Being a human. Luigi felt somewhat awkward as a muse... like he was lying, somehow, despite the slew of creations he inspired... but he also couldn't deny the warm feeling he got when seen as something so rare and beautiful in the eyes of someone so passionate.

Morty agreed to a date. The agreement was casual, lacking that shining thrill of true inspiration, but his excitement grew when Luigi suggested something properly cinematic: dinner and dancing.

Luigi still wasn't sure how it was ghosts ate or danced without corporeal bodies, but a long list of experiences had proven that such things didn't matter. So long as the right sort of energy was abundant in the air, ghosts ate, drank and danced the same way they had in life, and enjoyed it with almost more gusto than those weighed down by flesh. Morty was no different. Luigi asked the ghost to pick an outfit for him. Morty obliged without a second thought, and Luigi was overjoyed to find himself handed a forest-green evening gown that looked straight out of the wardrobe of Rita Hayworth. Morty always appreciated a chance to alter aesthetics to his liking. He was a director after all, and Luigi liked receiving direction– so long, of course, as it came from someone he trusted. They understood each other's tastes... had a shared interest in making each other happy... and making each other happy was so ridiculously easy. Over dinner they talked about everything they loved, barely understanding one another when they broached niche topics, but looking on in adoration as the other unraveled the different corners of the world they never even knew to be so beautiful– cinematography, photography, architecture, gardening, interior design, cooking... Then came the dancing. Four ghosts struck up a string quartet, and as Luigi moved to the ballroom where phantoms spun about in each other's arms, he was surprised to find Morty trying to stay at the dinner table. "I love the aesthetics of it, but I must admit I never learned!" he explained with a tiniest hint of regret in his voice. "Here... you dance, and I'll watch you!" Morty shut one eye and framed up a shot with his hands, like he was already envisioning a film based on the scene. Luigi would have none of it. With a smile and a shake of his head he took the director by the hand and gently guided him to the dance floor. Though Luigi didn't consider himself any sort of expert, knew enough to help a novice along in a simple waltz.

"It doesn't have to be perfect. Doesn't even have to look good at all!" He placed one of the ghost's chilly blue hands on his shoulder while taking the other hand in his own. "Just... move with me. We'll figure it out."

Morty looked uncomfortable only for a second, but his expression quickly blossomed into a playful smile. "Oh-ho! Looks someone's taking charge!" "Well, I do like to be number one, sometimes," Luigi retorted with equal playfulness, punctuating the comment by dipping Morty so low to the ground, they both couldn't help but laugh. "Forget the angle and the lighting for a moment, okey dokey?" Luigi continued, speaking much softer now as– in a moment of boldness– he tugged Morty back up into a close embrace, swaying with him to the music as a calvary of colorful ghosts whirled above and around them. "Just dance."

[lukes-curls]

by the way, i read r. f. kuang’s ‘babel’ the other day and holy secret history, i was obsessed. a literal dream bleeding ink and bound with glue and paper. i have never ever read anything like it— the ingenuity of using a mortar and pestle (figuratively speaking) to grind truth and fiction until the two blend into some frankenstein’d being not unlike the english language. the thesis of its fiction is a function of its very structure.

there is a point to this paragraph. i was brought up aware of many religions (i received communion in my hometown catholic church every sunday with my great grandma, and afterward sipped grape juice and played cricket at an anglican sunday school with my best friend and her nan, read ‘buddhism for kids!’ at the local library when i was eight and now i study theology and english at uni) which is to say i was introduced to the tower of babel parable in genesis veryyy young. i remember thinking it was so curious probably because i was young and everything was exciting and it was one of those moments where so many things align and it just feeds your interest. i think the same year i learned about the story i also started learning french. (i can speak at a toddler’s capacity thanks to self doubt but writing and reading, i am fluent).

coming into my adult years, dragging all of that with me, i wrote my thesis loosely based on this slippery idea of absolution (because really that’s what this is all about— trying to get to the absolute ideas of things) and how we are practically locked outside of the absolute truth of things by our language, first, and by each other, second. babel emphasises this in ways i can’t even fathom or put into words. i guess what i am trying to say is that as someone who was brought up in an in between of sorts, who was blessed and so exposed to a multitude of perspectives of one thing, i believe that absolutes are moot. thinking and writing in absolutes are kapoot. we are fluid beings. we change our mind, nothing is as permanent as a kiss to a backspace key and i just think that we must account for this before we bring ourselves to ruin.

kuang’s mind is genuinely so immense and i would love to walk around her mind for a day. it was so interesting to me this idea of flying too close to the sun, of grasping at rocks and binding to get at god through literature and being punished cardinally for it. lord, deliver me from evil! and forgive my trespasses! and though i’m not necessarily an expert in any of this, just a philosophy/english student who loves to read and build my web of interests, and nor am i necessarily loyal to a sole strain of faith (this was clear when i learned about how the spanish bury god in their architecture), it really awoke something that has laid dormant in me for too long of a time. also RAMY!!! RAMY AND BIRDIE!!!! i cried. like actually cried. i don’t think i can even talk about them. i will admit my sole critique is that some of the characters fell flat to me but this is definitely a sacrifice to make the novel read as an academic transcript, something that exists after (the immortality of fiction is frightening but i love it) (WHY ARE WE STILL BANNING BOOKS IT MAKES ME WANNA TEAR MY HAIR OUT D:).

also i adore how it reads as an academic transcript, complete with footnotes and citations that i implore you to look at as you read if not to learn actual factoids about translation theory then to further your immersion in the fiction. the insanity of writing additional notes in the margins ties into that idea further— in a paragraph, one can TRY their hardest to communicate an idea but there will always be more to explain to successfully convey an idea or action from one person to another. language is an ouroboros— and translation is a product of fallacy we delude ourselves into thinking is real. but still we try! and still it is a necessary endeavour!

the narrative itself pulls from many inspirations, one of which is so glaringly obvious; orwell’s 1984. i mean, double speak— professor LOVE-ll, HELLO! the cantonese robin recites warning father and death. i think gulliver’s travels is blatant, too, among others i admittedly dont recall because this was like a week ago.

anyway i guess what i’m trying to say is kuang’s ability to smelt the idea of translation between languages into the translation between people who are displaced from one country to another and distill it into this potent idea of loss. THERE IS ALWAYS LOSS IN TRANSLATION (which babel proves extends beyond going between one language to another) because of context, bias, and the fallacy of truth. it was immaculate. five stars. i can’t stop thinking about it and i read it a week ago.