#the feels just keep on coming

[panharmonium]

dreamersscape said: 

Firstly, my deepest condolences for what you had to watch last night. I get so eager to know what you might think about some things, I lose track of “Ah crap, but they’ll have to see That Part, too.

Yeah, I didn’t want it to sound like I was knocking Guy for his ‘clumsy’ moments, but just acknowledging that his framework in interacting with the world and people can sometimes cloud his understanding of other people’s circumstances/motives/behavior. I’m glad that came across as I meant it. But exactly! It didn’t ultimately hinder him in supporting his friend through all those rough years and we love to see it!

I love the Guy & Kakashi race episode too! I have so many emotions about Kakashi and the burdens of leadership and how he lost Obito on the first mission he was appointed a captain and how he was always uncomfortable with Yugao and even Tenzo calling him ‘sir’ or 'captain’ sometimes and how right before we saw Kakashi being nominated Naruto says to Sasuke something like “How can I ever become hokage if I can’t even save one friend?” and how much more that would weigh on Kakashi if he applied it to himself…. so obviously looking back on that episode is A Lot, even moreso now… But goofing off with Guy and Guy making it clear that he’ll ALWAYS be there by Kakashi’s side no matter what, that Kakashi’s not alone, Guy’s there if he needs help carrying the burden, is truly exactly Kakashi needed! *insert weeping heart-eyes emoji here*

ASUMAAAA. :( :( :( I’ve been re-watching that part of shippuden, when Kakashi is helping Naruto develop the rasenshuriken, and now I’m thinking of the scene at the hospital where Asuma is trying to gather the courage to ask Kakashi for advice about the Kurenai-and-I-are-having-a-baby situation that Kakashi is completely oblivious to (at least, I think that’s what was being implied) and how the characters’ grief they focus on at Asuma’s funeral are not just team 10 and Kurenai, but also Kakashi… NO IT’S TOO MUCH! 

(BTW, don’t ever feel like you have to respond to everything I ramble about. I love our gush fests, but I don’t want to take up too much of your Naruto-fun space or not be helpful in preserving your experience with the show!) (x)

@dreamersscape Oh gosh, don’t worry at all, you’re not taking up space in any way; our conversations about this show are making my viewing experience MORE fun, not less!  Talking to you is a joy; I’m so happy to have connected with you - it’s amazing to find someone who I really vibe with thoughts-wise; I can’t tell you how happy I am to have someone to share all these Feelings with!  I know that avoiding the wider fandom during my watch has been the right call in so many ways, but it does cut me off from making friends to gush with, so this has been wonderful!

Ahaha, thank you for your condolences XD  I might type up something later just to get all my thoughts down on paper…all of my feelings are subject to change based on what happens later, obviously, but still, that was…a Lot for one twenty-minute block.  Yikes.

“Guy making it clear that he’ll ALWAYS be by Kakashi’s side no matter what, that Kakashi’s not alone” - Yes!  And the fact that this scene is deliberately juxtaposed with the elders at the beginning of this episode telling Kakashi “don’t take on everything by yourself/you would do well to find a confidant to stand beside you,” except the reason they’re saying it is for the purpose of defending Danzo’s past actions, and they’re advising Kakashi to find somebody like Danzo to work in the shadows and do the things Kakashi himself doesn’t have the stomach for - but instead, Kakashi flat-out rejects everything they say and chooses GUY, the purest heart in the village, the person least likely to ever consent to do the village’s dirty work (listen, guy, i truly find it reassuring having you there, and i hope you always will be.  i can’t bring this whole village together by myself).  Now that I’ve seen the ANBU arc, the fact that Kakashi deliberately turns to the very person who Danzo once said was utterly devoid of “darkness” is SO significant, especially given that Kakashi in this episode has just been made aware of Danzo and the Leaf administration’s past crimes.  Kakashi can’t say anything about it yet, because he doesn’t have proof that it’s true, but the fact that he rejects the elders’ advice for him to get his own “Danzo” and instead picks the very person Danzo thought was least suitable for anything - THAT MEANS SO MUCH.

Oh my gosh, you mentioned how much Kakashi hates being called “sir” and captain”!  Literally just yesterday I was thinking about that in relation to the last two episodes of the ANBU arc, because those episodes are also the first time we hear Kakashi being called “sensei,” and I was having so many feelings about how Kakashi has never felt comfortable with any of the other titles he’s been forced to use, and how he always tells people to stop calling him those things, but then, in this arc, as he’s finally finding out where he’s supposed to be, he also finally acquires the title we’re used to, and never once in the entire show has he chafed at being called “sensei.”  That’s the title that suits him.  That’s the title he becomes comfortable with.  That’s the one that feels natural.  It’s like how Yamato rebels at being called Kinoe and chooses a name that feels Right for him - “sensei” encapsulates who Kakashi is and what he wants to be far better than all the other honorifics he’s been saddled with.  It has none of the baggage of “captain” and none of the potential military connotations of “sir.”  It means he’s a teacher, and a teacher is exactly what he wants to be.

And that’s not to say that Kakashi doesn’t have insecurities about his suitability as a teacher, either - he definitely does, particularly given Sasuke’s situation - but hearing people call him “sensei” still doesn’t make his skin crawl the way other things do.  He’s a teacher still, regardless of whether he feels like he’s failed at it or not.  (We know he’s not a failure, obviously…he needs a little convincing still, I think.)

Semi-related, but on that last note, how much was I losing it last night to hear Naruto yelling at Obito that Kakashi “isn’t trash!  He’s just like me!”  Same damn vibes as Sakura protesting “But you’re not” in response to Kakashi saying “I’m sorry you have such a careless sensei” during that confrontation with Sasuke.  That is just…hgnghhhhhh.  I’m LIVING for Kakashi’s kids telling him how Good he is and how much he’s done for them - LIVING for them defending him not just from others, but from himself...  *pointed cough in Sasuke’s direction* get ready, kid; you’re up next!

[leigh-kelly]

Of People and Things That Went Before

Part eleven of my deaf!Brittany verse. Previous parts can be found here.

Settled. So settled. You didn't think it was possible. But. Your life, it's just fallen into a rhythm again. You didn't think it was possible. But. Santana. She's just come to fit so naturally into your places, and you've fit so easily into hers, that it doesn't feel so off balance. Not anymore. Your heart, it still flutters though. That hasn't gone away once your started feeling comfortable. It flutters you catch her eye across the kitchen. When she comes back after work and you realize she'd worn one of your sweaters. When you're getting out of the shower and notice the broken blood vessels on your neck- always under your ear, always- that she'd left the night before. When you're sitting with your coffee, reading her show, and she says hi to Otis, because she knows he loves hearing her voice over the radio. When she smiles. When she- anything. Really. It doesn't take much. But. The fluttering. It's not unsettling anymore. It doesn't feel like everything is out of your control. Not anymore. Not after she took you home, to her home. To her family. Not after she helped you understand her better. Not after you realized. You and her. You're different. But not all that much.

It's getting colder. You used to hate that. But. It's different now. You go to Brandywine and they let you help stomp the grapes. Santana takes pictures of you on her phone. Leggings rolled to your knees, standing in a bucket, crushing them beneath your feet. You buy two bottles of wine there- not the wine you made though, it's not ready yet- and you get drunk on it and fall asleep on the floor of her apartment, your head finding her stomach as a pillow. Otis thinks your crazy, maybe. But. It's a good crazy. You go pumpkin picking. You forget that you hate Halloween. You forget it was the worst day of your life. You almost forget about Wonder Woman and swimming pools. You forget things. Because it's easy with her. It's easy when she carves a terrible Jack-o-Lantern and puts him outside. It's easy when Mr. Shapiro turns up his nose at it, and she challenges him to make a better one. It's easy when you stay in that night and watch Frosty the Snowman. She doesn't like Halloween movies, she tells you. You're not sure if that's always been true. But. You think it is now. You think it's true when she spends the night running her fingers through your hair. When you see her crinkly smile when he says happy birthday. When she tells you it really should be an all year movie, not just for Christmas.

You set back the clocks. She loves that, she tells you. She's probably the only person in all the world who does. But it's lighter in the mornings. She likes that. Watching the Philadelphia sunrise while she drinks the coffee you pack for her in the studio. It's cozier at night. She likes that too. Bringing the comforter from your bed out to the living room and tucking underneath it. Settled. It all feels so wonderfully settled. This routine. Waking up with her nearly every morning. Making coffee. You knew you'd wanted to make her coffee not long after you'd met her. But. The actual practice of it. It's so much better than you expected. Santana. She's good at caring for herself. But she likes to be taken care of, a lot. A lot, a lot. She likes forehead kisses. She likes love notes in her purse. She likes when you surprise her and make her favorite dinner. And you like it too. A lot, a lot. You like it because of crinkly eyed smiles. You like it because her kisses. You like it. You like it most of all, because she believes you're capable of it. That's not something you're used to. Not at all.

She's been working a lot. More than usual. She tells you about her charity. Every year, her station does a big online auction. She'd started it. She wants to give back, it's important to her. And the holidays, she knows it's when people are more generous. She knows people open their wallets, because they think it's what they're supposed to do. And she takes advantage of that. She raises enough money for happy holidays. She raises enough money for happy years. She raises enough money, and she has a big early Christmas dinner for as many impoverished families as she can. A dinner, with gifts and laugher and promises. It's her very favorite night of the whole year, she tells you. You swoon over that. You swoon, because your girl? She's something special. Something wonderful. And. You just. You don't even have words. You think of kids like her. You think of her smile lighting up a room. You think of how much good she does, because she knows what it's like. And. You're proud of her. You're unbelievably proud of her. And you tell Otis as much, about a dozen times a day.

So while she works extra hours getting things together, you paint. You paint a lot. You bring her lunch at the station. She kisses you in the conference room where she sits in the phone with donors. She tells you she loves you, over and over, when she tells her if you wants, she'd really like one of paintings for her auction. You forget sometimes that you're published in books. You forget that kids see your pictures in the library. You forget that maybe people might actually buy your original stuff. But she doesn't forget. Santana, she gushes, and she thanks you, she thanks you so many times when you say yes. Of course you say yes, because you want to help kids like her too. You want to do all you can, you tell her. Anything she needs. And her crinkly smile? It makes helping feel even better.

Even with all that's going on around you though, no matter what, Sundays are for the two of you. You stay in bed late, covers trapping the warmth around you. You tickle her back while she nuzzles into you. She kisses your collarbone. Your eyelids. Your chin. You press her on her back, and you make love to her, slow, soft, aching. Because Sunday morning love making is one of your favorite things. It fills you up. Physically, emotionally. It's somehow more intimate than the rest of the week. It's perfect. The two of you, in morning light. The two of you, showing each other a special kind of love. You love making her tremble. You love feeling the effect you have on her. You love the way she tightens around your fingers and tangles her hands in your hair. You used to need to touch her throat to feel her moan and whimper. And you still do sometimes, just because. But now, you done need it to know. Now you know her body, and you feel her noises in her burning skin. You see her noises in her closed eyes and parted lips. You watch them in her fire eyes as she looks up at you from between your legs. You taste them on her tongue when you pull her back up your body and you kiss her, cupping her cheek. Just. Savoring those lazy love drunk kisses. They're under your skin. In your bones. They fill you up. They've become a part of you.

You always shower together on Sundays. You love the way she kisses you in the spray. The way she washes your hair, fingers sliding through slippery strands. You love her gentleness and her care. You love watching her dress afterwards, rubbing lotion on her body, watching you, watching you as she steals your sweaters and socks. Your clothes. There's something about seeing her in your clothes. She loves to wear them, she says, because they smell like you, and she feels like she's wrapped in your arms. You love her in them, because. Because it feels like more belonging. It feels like she's yours. And. In too big sweaters and your silly socks, she manages to look both sexy and adorable. All at once. She's yours. You're hers. And you love Sundays. You love Sundays so much.

Every week, she picks a new place for brunch. Except maybe it's more like linner. Because after slow sweet morning sex and long showers. After drinking coffee and sharing the newspaper. It's usually long after noon. But. What you call it doesn't matter. It's you and her. And Otis, beneath your feet. It's sharing eggs and pancakes and berries. It's mimosas and bellinis and Bloody Marys. It's Santana. Holding your hand through all of it, sometimes. Or, other times. Where she doesn't hold your hand at all. Where she sees how long she can go without speaking a word. Where she speaks in only Sign. Sign that she's becoming increasingly fluent in. Sign. The Sign she's learned for you. Because she loves you. On those Sundays, you kiss her more than normal. You lean over the table and press your lips to hers. Tasting syrup, or hollandaise, or blackberry jam. Today's one of those Sundays. And you've gone seventeen minutes without a single spoken word. You've gone seventeen minutes, when Otis shuffles beneath the table and Santana's eyes widen at exactly the same time.

Your mom. Santana tells you, her first spoken words in seventeen minutes. Words she knows in sign. But. You think she probably forgot them. Because you would to. Your mom. She makes you forget your own name sometimes- and not in the good way. Not in the way Santana makes you forget it. And your sister.

Santana. She's never met Jessica. She's seen her in pictures. But. You haven't even seen her since you started dating Santana. You haven't even seen your mom, since that day in your apartment. That's not rare. You rarely see them. You know Sundays are their day too. You know your mom comes into the city and takes Jessica shopping, and out to eat. You know they don't invite you. But. Really, you don't want to be invited. They talk too fast. They don't look at you. You get confused. And they hate repeating themselves. You're glad Sunday is your day with Santana. Because maybe you used to want to be invited. Maybe you used to want them to include you. Just so you could feel like you were a part of something. But now. Now you're glad that you're a part of Santana. Who looks at you. Whose lips you read with ease. Who signed to you for seventeen minutes without saying a word. Santana who tries. Santana who is perfect, because she does.

Brittany. Your mom steps around the table, because you don't turn your head. And, Samantha, was it?

Santana. She corrects her, but never stops looking at you. It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Pierce.

Jessie. I guess I'll introduce you, since Brittany hasn't. This is Santana. Brittany's friend.

"Girlfriend, actually." You finally speak. You're sure your mumbling. Your mom hates that. You're surprised she doesn't tell you to speak up.

-don’t have to call me Mrs. Pierce.

-ana on the radio? Jessica asks her, talking at the same time as your mom. She flips her hair and seems entirely uninterested in you. That's not a surprise.

That is my actual name. Santana on the radio. The joke falls flat with your mother. But Jessie. She laughs and laughs. You know it's fake. She closes her eyes and throws back her head. You love Santana, but the joke wasn't that funny. She probably didn’t even mean for it to be. Nice to meet you, Jessica.

You can totally call me Jessie. She's not flirting, really, you don’t think. She's just. Weird. You think she's doing it to get a rise out of you. But it doesn't. Faith and trust. And Santana. She reaches across the table to take your hand. While your other one. It grips Otis' collar. Not because you think he would hurt anyone. But. Because you like to feel like close to him sometimes, especially around them.

"Did you have the boysenberry pancakes?" You ask them. There aren't even boysenberry pancakes on the menu, you don't think. It's the first thing that pops into your head though. They make you so nervous. And you blush. You blush a lot when they both give you that look they like to give. Santana though. She rubs her thumb on the inside of your wrist. She's drawing love hearts with it. Those love hearts. They're your favorite.

They were probably already out, sweetheart. She smiles at you. Her fire eyes, they always show how much she loves you. Her fire eyes, they glare at your mom and Jessie. But they don't notice. Because she keeps her smile painted on. Not her crinkly smile. Her fake one. For people she can’t really be bothered with. She’s trying to be nice, but- she loves you too much, you think. Too bad though, you should try them next time. They were excellent.

Right. Jessie laughs again. You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Santana. She's taught you that you don't have to take other people's bullshit. That you're better than that. So you're like, dating Brittany?

Almost five months now. She answers when you don't. She draws more love hearts. You squeeze her hand tighter.

Why?

Why am I dating her? That's a weird question, Jessica.

I-um. You watch her. She stammers. No one ever makes Jessie do that. You're the stammerer. The stutterer. The mumbler. You're impressed, really, by Santana. But when aren’t you? I meant like, how-how'd you meet?

I was lucky. The best thing that ever happened to me quite literally fell into my lap.

"Accurate." You laugh. You wonder if it sounds fake. Probably. But. They probably don't notice anyway. You're okay with it. This doesn't feel- it doesn't feel like it usually does. Because Santana. She's here, and she's looking at you, and just, putting Jessie in her place.

Well, that does sound like something-

-to Thanksgiving? You flick your eyes over to your mom, who's apparently begun speaking.

"Sorry, mom, what?"

Thanksgiving. You're coming to Thanksgiving, right? She rolls her eyes. She hates repeating herself. She really does. More than anything. You don't think you'll ever understand why it's such a big deal to her. But it is. It's her thing. You guess. You don't know.

"I-You, you didn't invite me mom."

Now Britty, don't be ridiculous and melodramatic. I shouldn't have to invite you. You're always welcome, we're your family. Your mom. She looks to a Santana when she says it. It's. It's not genuine. Disingenuous? You try to remember the actual word. But, it doesn't really matter. You know she couldn't care less if you came or not. But. She's putting on some kind of show, maybe? Most of the things she does have always been for appearances. It's why, maybe, you stopped fitting in as part of her world. You're not the picture perfect daughter. You're not Jessie. But. You think, you think. You don't want to be Jessie. You don't want to be your mother. For the first time, really, you like being you. Because you, you’re the girl Santana fell in love with. You, you’re the girl she looks at like she’s everything.

"I. Well. Santana's mom is coming down. And, I was going to have dinner with them this year."

Well then. I just wish you would have told me beforehand. I just expected you, as always.

"I know." You lower your head a little, but keep your eyes up. She doesn't want you. You know she doesn’t. But. It doesn't mean she won't make you feel guilty for not coming anyway. "I'm sorry, I didn't. I just, I-"

Speak up, Brittany, you're mumbling again.

"I'm sorry, mom. I made other plans." Loud and clear, your words. Loud and clear, your message. More than anything, loud and clear, your own feelings.

They don't stick around long. Not after that. Your mother feels slighted. You don’t- You'll never. Not in a million years, understand that. It just. Doesn't serve a purpose. Wasted words. For you, you choose the things you say carefully. And saying things you don't mean, it seems so unnecessary. But. That's her. She's been that way for twenty-two years. Maybe longer. You don't know. You don't remember, really, before that. You remember, a little, that she treated you more like she treats Jessie. It's been so long though, you don't remember what it feels like. And it's okay. It's okay, it's okay. You'd stopped seeking her approval a long time ago. And now that you have Santana, now that you feel real, genuine love again. It's even easier.

You're ready to leave after that. You're ready to just, take a walk on the brisk November afternoon. You're ready for just you and Santana again. The restaurant has gotten crowded, and, it feels sort of stifling. You like the fresh air. You like being outside. And now, this year, you like the contrast of Santana's warm fingers slipping through yours. So you go. And you walk, you walk a long time. She knows when you want that. She knows that walking, it clears your head. Walking. It's hard for you to have a conversation. So, it let's you have your space, without her having to leave your side to give you. It's perfect, really. A happy medium. A compromise. Those big important things that you're learning more and more about as your relationship progresses.

When you reach Festival Pier, you've had enough of your space. Otis, he sits down beside you. He looks out across the water, and you turn so yours standing in front of Santana. She looks so earnest. She always does. Those fire eyes, they're so expressive, they tell you all you ever need to know. You love those eyes. You love her. You feel it most, you think, where you used to feel emptiness. She fills you. She fills those cracks and crevices. She just, seeps in and makes you whole. And your heart pounds, feeling it, feeling it, letting her love, her care, her everything, seep deeper, deeper in. You pull her to you then. You grab hold of her scarf and you pull her close to you. Kissing her, kissing her. Her arms wind around your neck, and she rises up on her tiptoes. She wants to feel you too. You think, you think, just like you need to feel her to remind yourself that you're just fine, she needs that too. And she always kisses you deeper then, when she thinks you might feel uncertain. She always loves you harder, when she's afraid you might forget how much she does.

Britt, if you want to go over there on Thanksgiving, it's okay. Once you pull back a little, she looks deep into you. You can tell she doesn't really want you to. She's been so excited about spending your first holidays together. You've both been. But. She wants to make sure. Because she's her. And she's just, something. My mom and I can cook, and then you can come over for dessert, or, late night dinner again. Or, Friday extra Thanksgiving dinner, or-

"Hey." You cut her off with your mouth. You slip your hands up under her jacket. You make her yelp, just a little, when you playfully trail your cold hands on her skin. "I don't. Want to, I mean. I'm not. I- I just. I want to be with you. And your mom. I don't want to go there, where my mom, she invites everyone and it's chaotic and I end up eating with Otis in the kitchen, because trying to follow all the talking makes me dizzy. And she doesn't let him in the dining room because she thinks it's gross. Every year I wish I stayed home. But, you're supposed to spend Thanksgiving with your family."

Yeah. Her face. It falls a little. She widens her eyes. Big. So big. She does that, when she's trying to look happy, but she's really not. You know her faces so well. You study them, when she's awake. When she's asleep. It helps you learn the meaning of her every word. And her big eyes, they're heartbreak eyes, the fire, smoldering. They don't fool you. Yeah, you are.

"Santana. This year, you're my family too. It's still new, but, family, it's people who accept you, who love you no matter what, right?” You watch her eyes. You watch as stops trying to make them so big. You watch as they start to sparkle. You watch as they turn to really, truly happy, instead of pretend. Because she understands what you’re saying. "You, you accepted me. And you love me. You, and your mom too. My family, my mom, my dad, my sister, all those aunts and uncles and cousins, they're my family, and they're always a part of me. But, this year, I want to spend my Thanksgiving with you. We talked about it, and we decided it. My mom, she doesn't change that. Not at all."

Are you sure, because-

"Are you trying to un-invite me to the dinner I'm supposed to be cooking?" You tease her a little. You take your hand out of her coat, and you poke her cheek. You want those dimples to appear. Because you mean this. All of this. "Because last I checked, you don't even have a roasting pan in your kitchen. And I'm supposed to teach you how to make pie."

That's true, you are. This could be pretty disastrous without you, actually. But, if you want to go to your mom’s, I could seriously buy a pie, and borrow your roasting pan. Mama knows how to make a turkey.

"You'd invite your mother and make her cook for you? Santana Lopez, you'll do no such thing." She laughs. She laughs genuinely when you pretend to scold her. And the dimples, they appear again. Her eyes, they crinkle. "This is where I want to be. Trust me. I don't need to find my place there, because you've made a place for me in your family too."

Well, I'm really glad about that, about you not changing your mind. About our first Thanksgiving. I was kind of really sad thinking about not spending it with you.

"Honey, you're not very good at hiding it. At all."

You know me too well for my own good.

"No, I think I know you just well enough."