#wes mitchell imagine

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

I've only watched the first 5 episodes and I'm obsessed! I am convinced that there is no part Jesse Lee Soffer can play that I won't love. I went to binge on some content for him and couldn't find anything (Big sad). So, I had to make sure he had at least one story. I'm still learning his character so this is probably not perfect.

Wes Mitchell Key 

You didn’t know what the hell you were thinking. The relationship wasn’t new but had been long since the beginning. Now you were standing in front of his apartment door, one travel-on bag thrown over your shoulder. You had jet lag from the flight all you wanted was a hot shower and any flat surface to sleep on.  

But now standing here anxiety twisted in your stomach clawing its way up your throat. You reached in your pocket pulling out a key. It felt heavy as lead in your palm and caught the light in the shine of the new metal. You had never used it before and half wondered if it would even really work in the lock. 

You and Wes had been officially together for eight months after steadily talking for three. It didn’t take a genius to know that Wes had trust issues. He didn’t talk about his childhood much, but the random snit bits that he had shared you knew it had been on the rougher side. He was slow to trust and despite his apparent mastery at reading suspects needed blunt direct talks to know where he stood in his personal relationships. 

You two hadn’t seen each other in person more than a handful of times. It had forced a strong foundation built on communication and genuinely enjoying the other company as opposed to falling into bed together because it was easy and lonely. Wes had openly admitted that he tended to do that in a lot of his previous relationships because he “wasn’t good alone”.  

It had been a major red flag and forcing you to keep the pace slow. He was charming, funny, and incredibly good looking and you didn’t want to get your heartbroken.

It didn’t stop you from falling in love with him.

Neither of you had uttered those words yet. Wes didn’t seem like the type to make that proclamation without meaning it and you didn’t want to back him into a corner. 

The feeling of him keeping parts of his life separate from you had caused more than one fight. It always happened in the same pattern. You would bring it up, he would acknowledge that he did it and promise to try harder to be more open. For a while, he would and it would get better but he always seemed to hide behind that last layer of protection. His reflex to protect himself at any cost. You loved him and tried to be patient with what he was working through but the pattern was incredibly frustrating.  

The last one had stuck pretty well. When he came for a week's visit, he had given you his key. He hadn’t said it but you knew it was his way of showing how much he trusted you. You couldn’t help but wonder if it had been an empty attempt to appease you. After all who would go across the country to actually use the key?  

You had only been to his apartment in Budapest once and he came to see you three times. When you met him, you didn’t even have a passport. While seeing each other hadn’t been frequent, the sex was always absolutely mind-blowing. 

Now you felt like quite the hypocrite as you had been hiding your own struggles from him. Things had gotten so bad, so overwhelming at home that you had packed a bag and paid for a flight on a whim. You couldn’t even remember if you packed underwear. Your brain had been like watching static on a TV and it was only halfway through the flight that you remembered that Wes wasn’t even home. He was currently in the Netherlands.  

You felt a gaze fall heavy on you. You look over your shoulder to see a man watching you stand in front of the door holding a key and making no attempt to open it for way longer than necessary. You scrabbled to put the key in the lock and let out a grateful yet slightly surprised breath of relief as the key twisted in the lock butter smooth. 

A glance back showed the man's suspicions seemed settled as he headed down the hall. Then you remembered the alarm and rushed in to type in the password letting your bag carelessly fall to the ground with a heavy thunk. You watch in anticipation after typing the code in. Wes would be the type to constantly change his code but the light turned blissfully green.  

You turned around to see the almost obsessively neat living room. It had a modern feel but it felt only half lived in like Wes hadn’t completely moved in even though he had been living there for over a year now. It looked exactly the same as when you had been there last. The only difference is the lack of pillows and blankets thrown on and over the couches. It was clear that he had done that for your comfort when you had been staying there.  

You stared blankly into the space. Should you call Wes to let him know you have invaded his home? A yawn forced itself from you and your exhaustion came over you in another harsh demanding wave. It had been over a 12-hour flight and you hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Thoughts of calling Wes were easily forgotten with the promise of sleep.  

You walk into his room and are washed in the scent of his cologne and aftershave still barely clinging to the enclosed space. It brought a soft comfort to you. A tease of his embrace. You paused thinking about how awful you must smell and all the germs you had no doubt gotten from the shared space of the airport and then the plane. Your fickle mind had you turning on your heel to the shower turning the water hot.  

As you rinsed off you noticed the only product that Wes had was a 3-in-1 body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. You didn’t even have it in you to care as you scrubbed yourself down with it only unconsciously noticing how awful it made your hair feel. You dried off sparing only the bare minimum amount of time towel-drying your mess of tresses before climbing into his bed. You sank into it with a sigh cocooning yourself in his blankets and before you could think twice you were out like a light. 

Wes entered his apartment quietly. Resetting his alarm before heading to the bedroom. He set his bag down gently as he headed to the bed. He sitting beside you brushing the still damp and tangled tresses off your face. You barely moved still deep in sleep. His eyes analyze you worriedly before leaning down and dropping a soft kiss on your forehead. 

Wes had been gathering his things when his phone had chimed alerting him that someone was at his door. He glanced briefly at his phone thinking it might be a person walking too close to his door or a package arriving he had forgotten he ordered. He had done a double-take when he realized it was you. You hadn’t mentioned anything about stopping by.  

He thought maybe it was a surprise visit. It had been a while since you had seen each other in person. The long flight explained why he couldn’t reach you the last few times he had called. He quickly dismissed that notion. You knew he was still in the Netherlands doing a job and he had given you no idea of when he would be back because he hadn’t known himself. If that wasn’t enough there was your slumped posture, hair thrown haphazardly up in a messy bun with thick chunks of hair escaping, only one carry-on bag thrown over your shoulder. He could feel your exhaustion through the screen, not the excitement you usually had when finally getting to see him again. 

He had watched with growing concern as you just stood at his front door with the key in your hand. You stood that way for so long that he thought his video might have frozen. It stung when he realized it was indecision. He had silently willed you to open the door but still you stood unmoving.  

His stomach clenched with guilt. It was his fault that you were hesitating. You had told him you felt like he had a life he didn’t want you to know. That he always had his walls up. He knew the truth and accepted the burden of trying to fix it. He thought he had been doing a good job and that it wasn’t a big deal.  

Watching you fight with yourself if you were truly welcome in his home or if you would be invading it spoke louder than your words ever could. They cut deeper too. Far past the walls that he had spent his life building. He was just about to call you and tell you to go inside when your head whipped backward clearly startled by something. Then you turned back with purpose and put the key in the lock. It didn’t give him the relief he was hoping for. You hadn’t chosen to go in, you had been pushed too. How long would you have stood there without that nudge? 

The flight home was short but it felt long. His mind was in fix-it mode and whirling with what was the right thing to do when he got home. He wanted to talk to you about your relationship. There was nothing more he wanted than you being around. How deeply he cared for you. He wanted to know what that hesitation meant to you about your relationship because he knew what it meant to him. 

Even though Wes desperately wanted that to be the first thing he did. He knew it wasn’t the right one. He needed to find the underlying cause of what would cause you to spontaneously fly across the country. What had happened? And how did it build up that fast? Hadn’t he just talked to you a few days ago? You had been a little quiet but it had been late your time so he hadn’t thought much of it. Had he missed something so major? How long had whatever it was really been going on? 

Wes tried to suppress his worry not wanting to alert the team that you were there until he knew what was going on. He knew an attempt to run when he saw it, he had done it enough himself. When the group had asked if he wanted to get some drink before they had all returned home, he had feigned tiredness. He had beelined for his home. 

Wes smoothed the blankets over you gently, considering his options. He sighed deeply standing up. You looked vulnerable and small twisted in the blankets and curled up into a ball. You were in a deep sleep. You had barely moved since he had walked in. It wasn’t worth waking you up.   

[endless-ineffabilities]

chem ov pocketshot #1 🌙

Darling coming home late to their flat after filming, to find Ewan already asleep on his side of their bed. She'd quietly sneak in, giving him a wide berth so as not to wake him up.

But in the morning, she'd find that he pulled her to him sometime in the night, and his body cocoons her own—with his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, his leg draped over hers, and his nose pressed to the back of her neck.

E: I'm kinda offended you didn't cuddle me.

D: Didn't want to wake you up, babe.

E: Excuses, excuses...

D: Well we're cuddling now so—

E: Not enough. You'll have to make it up to me.

D: ... How?

E: Hmm... well... it seems like he's awake...

D: oh for the love of—

[woodsywarbler]

Celebrating the Holidays in Different Hemispheres

[terrorofthetrident]

being a ewan mitchell stan is subconsciously preparing yourself to lose his characters to death, them just being abruptly taken away, or them having some unfortunate outcome.

[officialaemondtargaryen]

A Fine Line [part 3]

Summary: You've been with Aegon for a little over four years and the relationship just isn't the same. His brother isn't helping the situation, either. This is a Modern Day AU!

Pairing: Aegon x Reader / Aemond x Reader

Word Count: 4.0k

Author’s Note: Sorry it was late! I don't know if my M,W,F schedule is going to work. I just want to say thank you all! I really hope you like this one and please, I would love to hear your thoughts & predictions! I basically screech like a pterodactyl whenever you guys leave comments! Tag list is open!

Warnings for the entire series: severe angst, cheating, unprotected sex, jealousy, lying, possessiveness, stalking, manipulation, and language, alcohol use, recreational drug use.

Masterlist & Playlist

The light from the early, Saturday morning sun filtered into your bedroom through half-opened blinds, illuminating tiny specks of dust in the air. It was warm with Aegon pressed against your back; his soft breaths fanning over your shoulder. You stirred softly, turning so that you were facing him, doing your absolute best to not disturb him so that he could continue to sleep in.

It broke your heart to look at him now, knowing that your relationship was hanging by a thread. Wondering how you got here, how you arrived at the platform of whatever these feelings were that you felt for him. Caught between the memories of what you had once before, and feeling as if you were in this bed alone, despite the fact that he was laying right next to you.

You moved, swinging your feet over the side of the bed as you stood up with a sigh. Aegon groaned, his arms reaching for you before turning back over on his stomach and going right back to sleep. His wavy, golden hair splayed out on the pillows as he shifted deeper into them. The duvet pulled down, exposing his freckled shoulders. It took everything in you not to reach out and touch him.

Even your fingers balled into a fist, nails digging into your palm to keep yourself from it. Why? You'd wind up disappointed, feeling unwanted, and he'd be annoyed that you woke him.

The thought made you want to cry.

It was around noon when he finally emerged from the bedroom. You had lost track of how long you'd been sitting at the kitchen table; a bagel untouched on the plate in front of you. You jumped slightly at the feeling of his hand on the back of your neck, just briefly touching you as he made his way to the coffee maker. It was a fleeting moment, his fingertips leaving you just as quickly as they came.

He was in a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Despite his disheveled appearance, he looked close to angelic- even with the dark circles under his clouded, blue eyes. You could hear him inhale and exhale heavily with his first sip of coffee; shoulders rising and falling with his breath.

When did it become this way? This silence?

You used to look forward to Saturday mornings; knowing that you had two full days with him to yourself. You'd spend every weekend tangled on the couch or in the bed, not getting up unless you absolutely needed to. Weekends in the summer were always fun, too. He'd always find something for the two of you to do; getting high at the beach, spending your days at Coney eating corndogs and funnel cake until you wanted to throw up or throw yourselves right off the end of the pier. You missed his ice cream cone kisses and the way he would lay his head in your lap as you would read whatever novel you had brought with you that day.

"Colleen Hoover," you whispered to yourself as you absentmindedly stirred your lukewarm coffee; the last book you remember reading on a beach towel under the hot, July sun.

"What was that?" Aegon asked, turning to face you.

You were broken out of your trance and looked up at him. "What?"

"I think you went somewhere," a goofy smile replaced his signature pout. When you didn't say anything, his smile faltered. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Mm," you hummed and took a sip of your coffee before making a face. It was definitely lukewarm- cold, even. "So, awards ceremony tonight, huh?"

Aegon rolled his eyes, "If I could just not, I would not."

You stood up and dumped your cold coffee down the drain and sat your cup in the sink. "But babe," you sighed softly and reached for him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "Look at everything you've accomplished, what you've become! You've worked so hard!"

His eyes were glued to the floor. "You're right," his lips turned up into a smile as he looked up at you through fair lashes. His hands caressed the skin on the back of your arms. "I've worked really hard, and soon it will all pay off and we'll buy a house and get a dog." His forehead pressed against yours as he sighed. His eyes fluttered shut. "A golden retriever, we'll name him Sunny."

"Sunny sounds like he's a really good boy," you whispered and moved to place a kiss on his lips.

"The best," his body became less tense.

You smiled as you stood like that for a moment, just swaying back and forth as he held you so close that you could feel his heartbeat. He was so warm in your arms that you felt like you were holding onto a piece of the sun. You turned your head to place a kiss on the side of his neck, lips brushing the soft skin under his ear, wanting nothing but to tell him that you loved him, that you missed him, that you wanted things to go back to the way they were. But your eyes fluttered open as you heard his phone vibrate on the counter, the moment instantly shattering to bring you back to the reality of your mediocre life. Aegon tensed, his head falling to your shoulder as he groaned in annoyance.

"And so it begins," he mumbled. He let the phone ring, knowing that Otto would call back immediately after it went to voicemail.

Before he could leave the kitchen, you stopped him.

"Hey, would you mind if I invited Aemond to go bowling with us tonight?" You asked, gnawing on the inside of your cheek.

"Not at all," he shrugged. "It'd probably be good for him to get out. Let me see what this fucker wants and then I'll text you his number."

Aegon left shortly after, having been summoned to some "pre-ceremony conference" just to finalize the details of the evening. He had sent over Aemond's contact information before he left, promising that he would see you later tonight. Suddenly you found yourself alone, the silence sitting with you like a friend that you'd run out of things to talk about with.

You stared at your phone for what felt like hours, thumbs hovering over the keyboard; not sure why 'hey, did you really want to go bowling' was such a hard thing to say, but you typed it and deleted it about one hundred times. The final time you typed the words, you quickly pressed the tiny, blue arrow, sending the message into the void before setting your phone face down on the table and standing up.

Before you had even turned to walk out of the kitchen and towards your bedroom, you heard a ding! The butterflies in your stomach, which shouldn't have been there, fluttered mercilessly almost making you nauseous. You inhaled at the sight of the words on the screen, your eyes scanning them over and over again: "Of course, I'll see you there." What was most likely an unambiguous winking emoji at the end of that sentence- because in your experience, men didn't know what emojis even were- was staring back at you with a strange tension that caused a knot to form in your throat.

It was wrong.

It was all so, so wrong.

You placed your phone back down on the kitchen table and shook your head; fighting an internal battle with the guilt and the excitement that you felt. Neither one was winning, but both were slowly tearing you in half.

The thought of cancelling crossed your mind as you showered, but only because you found yourself fantasizing about every possible scenario that would lead to this night ending with you on your back in Aemond's bed. You pictured a navy blue duvet and cold, cotton sheets; a wooden headboard tapping against dark colored walls. Your legs clenched together at the thought of his weight pressing down on you.

As you continued to get ready, the images were becoming ingrained on the back of your eyelids. Every time you closed your eyes small details would change; positions, locations, where his mouth was on your body, the lighting of the room, the scent of his cologne, if his hair was up or down. You had tried to reason with yourself, that this was a completely normal feeling, that you just hadn't been laid in a while.

It didn't make a difference.

You half-hoped that he wouldn't follow through with his plans to meet you at the bowling alley. However, when you turned the corner on to 9th Avenue, you noticed his lithe figure leaning against the outside of the building. You stopped for a few seconds, watching him as he stood there; his warm breath swirling in the frigid, January air as he checked his phone.

Seconds later you felt a vibration in your pocket: "I'm here."

"I have to ask, what is your haircare routine because I've yet to see you have a bad hair day." You texted back.

He looked up and around until his gaze caught you, a small smile tugged at his lips as he pushed himself off of the side of the building. You joined him at his side, your neck craned to see his face.

"It is surprisingly simple, but if I told you then I'd have to kill you," he said so smoothly he could have rehearsed it. "And I like you," he added as he opened the door into the bowling alley and gestured for you to go inside. "So, I'd rather not say."

You smirked at his words, eyes rolling slightly. "If you ever change your mind, here's my business card-" of course you had one with you. "My readers would love to know."

He chuckled at that, "I absolutely will," and tucked the card in his coat pocket. "So who's birthday is it?"

"My coworker, Jace," you replied as you scoured the lanes for Baela and Jace. "He's probably a few years younger than you, writes really thoughtful obituaries." You spotted Baela and waved. "Baela is here, too. You met her last night."

You weren't sure why you felt nervous. Aemond certainly didn't seem to be. He was so calm and collected, and cool, as if it was effortless to him; as if he didn't command every eye to look at him the moment he entered a room. The look on Baela's face couldn't have been further from calm, collected, and cool. Her white curls fell over furrowed brows and her lips were pushed to the side.

Jace just looked happy to be there.

"Hey guys," you greeted as you stepped down to the table they were sitting at. "Happy birthday, Jace!" You moved to give him a quick hug. "Jace this is Aegon's brother, Aemond. Aemond, this is Jace. Aegon couldn't make it, some work thing."

"Lucky me," Aemond smirked as he shook Jace's hand. "It's nice to meet you." He then turned his attention to Baela. "Lovely to see you again, Baela."

Despite her rigid expression earlier, you did see her cheeks turn just a shade darker as he kissed her knuckles. You smiled to yourself.

"You guys should go get shoes," Jace mentioned. "Unless you're afraid to lose."

Aemond's eye squinted as he looked at Jace and laughed, "In a hurry to get shown up on your birthday?"

"Go get the shoes!" You groaned at him, pushing him towards the rental counter. "I'm a size __." Your eyes followed Aemond as he disappeared through the crowd before you turned your attention back to Baela. "What?"

Her arms were crossed over her chest. "I'm just concerned," she says softly. "You've been here all of five minutes and I haven't seen you this happy in two years? I just don't want you to do something that you'll regret."

Your shoulders slump and you rolled your eyes dramatically. "Baela, I'm just-" you stopped when you saw Aemond making his way back over to the table. "Being nice! Two people can be just friends."

She gave you a look but dropped the subject as Aemond dropped your bowling shoes in front of your feet. Someone ordered a round of shots, and then a second round, and a third. It was starting to get warm, the music was loud, and you felt good. Aemond was surprisingly extroverted, despite the enigmatic aura he typically projected. He seemed so nonchalant, like he belonged there, like he was good at it.

The game was obviously competitive, with Jace and Aemond doing their best to one-up each other with every strike. They carried most of the score, while you and Baela joked around, not really caring. You stepped up to the line, getting ready to throw the swirly purple and teal ball down the lane.

"Wait, wait, wait!" You heard behind you. A flurry of pale blonde hair bounced towards your side. "I've watched you throw three straight gutter balls, please, allow me?"

"What?" You gasped. "I know we're behind, but I'm not going to cheat and let you take my shot for me!"

Aemond held a hand to his chest, "The fact that you would even insinuate that I'd allow you to cheat!" He scoffed. "Please, just-"

He turned you back to face the pins, the contact of his hands on your shoulders made you disoriented. You tried to breathe, but it was so warm in there. There was a slight rosy hue to his otherwise pale cheeks as he towered over you. His hands lingered still on your shoulders. You tried not to pay attention to the way his fingers pressed into your skin as your blouse shifted beneath his grip.

"Put your feet here," he instructed and pointed to where you should stand with his toe. One hand dropped to the small of your back, you swallowed thick. "Now," his lips were dangerously close to your ear. "Line your ball up with that pin and when you step up to throw, bring this leg back."

You felt the inside of your body clenching as his hands dropped to your waist. Your cheeks flushed as the hair on the back of your neck stood straight.

Following his instruction, you took a few steps up to the pine and released your ball. Within seconds it curved to the left, falling straight into the gutter once more. You turned to look at him with a disappointed frown. His lips couldn't help but begin to turn upwards at your failure.

“I thought you said you were good at this?” You say to Aemond, giving him a playful shove. "We're going to lose!"

"And you'd blame me?" He asked with a smile.

"You instructed me right into a gutter ball!" You threw your hands up.

"My instruction was flawless, as always," you could hear the double entendre in his voice. "Not my fault you couldn't focus."

"I beg to differ," you quipped under your breath, knowing that he was close enough to hear you.

On his next turn, Jace bowled a strike to win the game. The scores weren't even close, but it didn't matter. You'd had more fun tonight than you'd had in- well, since you could remember. For a moment, you'd wished Aegon had been here, but you shut the door on that thought as you checked your phone to see that he hadn't texted you- not even to check in- since he left the apartment earlier.

Your eyes connected with Aemond as you slipped your phone back into your pocket and you smiled softly. You hardly knew him, but you could tell he knew; Aegon was his brother, after all.

"Another game?" Jace asked.

"I don't think I have another game in me," you chuckled. "My shoulder is killing me after the three games we just played."

"The three games you lost, you mean?" Jace countered.

"Hey, I know it's your birthday, but I will still kick your ass!" You laughed as you slipped out of your bowling shoes.

"We'll have a rematch, soon." Aemond interjected, holding his hand out to Jace. "Good match."

"Girls versus guys next time, maybe?" Jace laughed and shook Aemond's hand.

"That wouldn't be fair," Aemond mentioned with a cocky smirk.

"I wouldn't underestimate us," Baela added as she slung her arm over your shoulder and began walking with you towards the counter to drop off your shoes.

The midnight air was numbing as you stepped out of the comforting warmth of the bowling alley. You were almost instantly sobered, feeling tiny flecks of snow fall to your face. The sidewalks were still buzzing and the traffic on 9th Avenue was still busy as car horns sounded in the distance; a reminder that you lived in a 24 hour city.

"Anyone want to go grab a slice of pizza?" You asked. One, because you needed something to soak up the alcohol in your stomach. And two, because you knew that once Jace and Baela left, you'd be alone with Aemond.

Baela hugged you tightly before holding you at arms length, she mentioned something about going to church with her parents tomorrow morning and promised to see you bright-and-early Monday morning. Jace was already flushed from having a few, too many drinks, and Baela urged that he needed to get home.

You weren't necessarily disappointed, just anxious.

"Thanks for coming," Jace smiled warmly as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder in a side hug. He extended his fist out to Aemond, "it was good to meet you, man."

"Likewise, have a good night." His voice was soft through a tight-lipped smile.

You watched as Baela and Jace turned the corner, before turning your attention to Aemond. The headlights of passing by taxi cars shined in his crystalline eye, making him look as if he were unreal; a marble statue dressed in all back with his hands shoved into his pockets. You weren't sure what to say to him, if you should stay or go.

"Can I walk you to the train?" He asked and you exhaled with a smile.

"I'd like that," you replied.

The closest subway platform was two blocks down on 42nd. You did your best to keep up with his long strides, but it proved to be difficult. He had to stop a few times, turning to you with a smile while he waited for you to catch up. You mostly talked about work to keep the conversation going. The one thing you had noticed about Aemond was that he was a good listener, whether he actually cared about anything you were saying or not, he at least seemed to be interested.

He talked about himself, too, which you enjoyed. He talked about all of the places he had travelled to last year and how happy he was to be back home. He gushed about being able to see his family again, specifically his mother and his sister.

You'd never once heard Aegon speak about his family in such a way.

"Can I ask you something?" You said after the conversation had faded out. Your train was running late, but Aemond had been willing to wait with you so that you weren't alone.

"I can't guarantee I'll have an answer, but go for it."

"Why didn't you tell Aegon that we had met in the grocery store?"

He looked at you, his eye narrowed. "Honestly, it's just easier not to say anything sometimes." He spoke, a pensive expression across his pointed features. "Why didn't you?"

You dropped you gaze to the concrete floor. "Because it's just easier not to say anything, sometimes." You repeated his own words, knowing exactly what he meant.

"Hm," he hummed as he leaned up against a brick column. "You know," he said after a few moments of silence. You looked back up at him. "This can't happen." He motioned to the space between the two of you.

"What? Never!" You replied quickly. "I'm appalled that you're even assuming."

"I'm just making sure we're on the same page," he held his hands up defensively.

"We are," you agreed.

"We are?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes, we're friends," you replied sternly. "That's all it can be."

"Good," he stuck his hand out for you to shake on it.

You shook his hand with a firm grip, but he turned your hand over in his, placing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. It made your heart flutter every time. The announcement that your train was arriving played on the overhead speakers.

"Thank you, Y/N. For tonight." His blue eye was piercing through you. "That was the most fun I've had in a while."

They way he said your name and the feeling of your hand in his made you wish he'd just take you home with him; to that navy blue duvet you were picturing earlier. But that was just a fantasy that lived in your mind only, and would never- could never come to fruition. He was right, Baela was right, this couldn't happen.

"You're welcome, I'm glad that you had a good time." You said softly, doing your best to hide your disappointment that the night was ending. "Thank you for coming with me."

As the train pulled up to the platform, you wished that he would pull you into him. The crisp air was thick with tension, and even though you had just agreed to the terms of this- you weren't even sure if you could call it a relationship- friendship, a look lingered in Aemond's eye that told you he didn't mean any of it.

"Friends," you repeated, reminding yourself and him of the deal that you had just made.

He nodded, "Friends."

"I hope you have a good night, Aemond." You pulled your hand from his slowly until it dropped to your side. The doors to the train opened and you found yourself a spot next to the window, forcing yourself not to look back.

Aegon isn't home when you step into your apartment. It's almost too dark and cold, and quiet, and you feel like you shouldn't even be there. You don't even care to hang up your bag and coat, you simply toss them over the arm of the couch. You've got a slight headache and you're starving, and all that you can think about is something you shouldn't be thinking about.

Your phone vibrated as you headed into the kitchen.

Aemond.

"Thanks again, I hope you made it home safe."

You found your thumbs typing a reply before you could even think if it was a good idea or not, "Anytime! I just walked through the door. We should have definitely gotten pizza, but I guess leftover lasagna will work."

Not even bothering to heat up your leftovers, you make your way back into the living room with a Tupperware of lasagna from last night and a fork. You click on the television, catching up on the news before flipping it over to one of your favorite shows.

"You've beaten me, I've got cereal."

You laughed and typed, "That kind of suits you."

Over the next two hours you had squeezed in three new episodes of your show and discussed everything from food, to movies, to philosophy with Aemond. He'd leave you the occasional voice note when he didn't feel like typing a reply, and you'd try not to think about how good his voice sounded at this ungodly hour. You'd try not to think of him sitting back, half-lidded on the couch, in a very comfortable sweater and a pair of joggers with a smile on his face because he was texting you.

It was almost 3:00 AM when you finally got a text from Aegon.

"Don't feel like you need to wait up for me. I love you."

Tagged: @tssf-imagines @gothicwidowsworld @itsabby15 @possiblyafangirl @namelesslosers@toodlesxcuddles @hiraethrhapsody @heavenly1927 @chainsawsangel @hanula18

[canon-toaster]

Audrey Klein and Leonard college AU because i love them and i wanted to draw different interactions between them

bonus colored Audrey below

[fyeaheddiemunson]

This is the actual battle I need in my life

[compacflt]

the thought of icemav celebrating christmas together makes me a bit crazy. what do they give each other???

usually nothing . That’s kind of a big deal. in the 80s/90s they’d (reluctantly) celebrate Christmas with carole and bradley (who took that shit kinda seriously) so they wouldn’t really do anything by themselves. Maybe go out for a nice clandestine dinner just cause. After Carole dies and Bradley’s papers get pulled from the academy, ice’s low key newfound interest in celebrating christmas is one of his many many ways to try and normalize relations between him & maverick and try to improve their relationship in the conspicuous absence of the rest of their family. but yes he does make an effort—as does mav—to take advantage of holiday time to be with him as often as possible so, though their schedules don’t always line up, after 2006 they spend about 3/4 xmases together

Ice has very few hobbies besides a.) lovingly working on his cars & plane and b.) reading, so he is exceptionally easy to shop for (as most hobbyless men are): nice tie pins, cufflinks, those unnecessarily expensive hardcover books about weird random topics you find in airport bookstores, fountain pens, nautical /aeronautical themed paperweights, nice leather watchbands etc. highbrow rich guy stuff

Maverick has sooooo many stupid little hobbies that each last between 4-6 months so he is ridiculously hard to shop for— “i thought you were into woodworking so i got you some tools :)!” “uh no that was in April. im trying to learn how to make wallets now” :( so mostly if ice ever gets him anything it’s usually just an expensive dinner date in the city or cash in a blank card or a blank signed check for airplane parts for the next year. Buy whatever you want idc <3

any and all gifts are given with extremely little fanfare PLEASE don’t make it a big deal… hidden around the house with a little “merry xmas!” note attached, or shoved into each others suitcases pre-leaving-for-navy-reasons, or unceremoniously dropped into one’s lap while he’s watching tv, “here you go,” “oh, this is nice, thanks!” Et cetera. love language of gifts/acts of service, but, like, very quietly.

[missathlete31]

All these scenes that could have been! I want justice for Jake, he deserved so much more! Especially the scene with Maverick telling him he was fearless and Hangman understanding he wasn’t the right one for the job. He felt bad for leaving Phoenix and he gave Mav a HUGE run that first scene in the air instead of losing two seconds later like in the movie.

Also the scene in the classroom where everyone argued with Roosters tactics, THANK YOU! I never understood how Bradley could ignore all of Mav’s teaching and only Hangman was the jerk for mentioning it. Nepotism at its finest I guess.

Lieutenant Jake Hangman Seresin will always be the best character (and pilot) of the new group- I will die on that hill

[chiaraanatra]

You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin' | Part 2

Summary: Goose meets you at the Miramar Officers’ Club and after a drink and a brief conversation he wished would never end he believes that he’ll never see you again. Little did he know while this may have been your first meeting, it would not be your last.

Warning: Swearing, boys being stupid, me knowing nothing about how radar works, Goose having some suggestive thoughts

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Goose is a leg man I will not be taking any questions on the matter. We are all imagining that Carol is living her best life somewhere far from San Diego. I love her and Goose and refuse to kill her off or have either one of them go through a divorce. Sorry not sorry to Bradley for wiping your existence from this fictional plane. Also I know nothing about planes, aviation, engineering, or the Navy, I'm just a Goose girly at heart.

《 part 1 || part 3 || part 4 || epilogue 》 《 m.list || ao3 》

Maverick and Goose stood stiff as boards against one of the joint naval offices. Goose could feel himself sweating through his khaki uniform as he listened to an irate Air Boss Johnson scream at Commander Mike ‘Viper’ Metcalf. “One of your snot-nosed jockeys did a flyby on my tower at over 400 knots! I want somebody's butt! I want it now! I've had it!”

Johnson burst through the office doors just in time to knock into a Navy boy carrying a tray of coffee. “God damn it! That's twice! I want some butts!” He screamed as he made his way down the hall.

Viper and Jester emerged from the office. Viper let out a sigh, “Well, that'll just about cover the flybys.”

Lieutenant Commander Heatherly looked over at the boys, “Follow me.”

The walk down the hall felt like miles. Nick was used to Pete’s antics, they had been flying together for years, but sometimes it felt like Mav didn’t understand what was really at stake with all this. Goose needed this, not the Top Gun trophy, if Nick was honest, he could give a fuck about the trophy, but if this went south, the two could get kicked out of Top Gun, or worse, lose their wings and be grounded.

The four walked into Commander Metcalf’s office. Metcalf grabbed a manila folder from his desk, before standing to look out his office window. Mav and Goose stood at attention in front of the commander’s desk mentally preparing for the ass-chewing they were about to receive.

“Gentlemen, you had a hell of a first day.” Viper glanced out his office window. “The hard deck for this hop was 10,000 feet. You knew it, you broke it. You followed Commander Heatherly below after he lost sight of you and called ‘no joy.’ Why?” Viper’s voice was steady and calm, too calm for Goose’s liking.

“Sir!” Mav looked straight ahead, “I had Commander Heatherly in my sights. He saw me move in for the kill. He then proceeded below the hard deck. We weren't below 10,000 for more than a few seconds. I had the shot, there was no danger, so I took it.”

God damn it, Mav…

Commander Metcalf turned towards the boys. “You took it... and broke a major rule of engagement!” The rise in his voice made Goose want to curl up and die as he watches the commander walk towards them. “Then you broke another one with that circus stunt flyby.” Viper let out a sigh as he looked back out his office window. “Lieutenant Mitchell... Top Gun rules exist for your safety and that of your team. They are not flexible, nor am l. Either obey them, or you are history. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!” Stated Mav, his eyes remaining focused on the window in front of him.

Metcalf took the seat in front of his desk before dismissing the young aviators.

Goose followed closely behind Maverick, closing the Commander’s office door after him. He let his hand come down a bit harder than he might have intended on the shorter pilot’s shoulder, “I really enjoyed that, Mav. Thanks a lot.” He leaned up against the wall, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Holy shit! Maybe I could learn how to be a truck driver.” He dropped his hands and looked back at Pete. “You have the number of that driving school on TV? Truck Master, I think it is. I might need that…”

Before he could spiral any further, he was brought out of his thoughts by a voice as sweet as honey. “Lieutenant.”

The two men turned to look down the hall. Goose was greeted by a beautiful sight. His eyes widened as he took in your form, making their way from your heels that clicked on the tile floor to your stocking-clad legs that went on for miles. When they made their way to the first of your outfit, Goose couldn’t help but wish your skirt was a little shorter and there was one less button done on your blouse.

Goose shut his eyes and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Get it together, she’s your instructor!

As you came closer to the two-man Maverick turned to his RIO. “Okay, well,” he dusted off the shoulders of Goose’s khaki uniform. “Don’t be nervous. You look great, dear.”

“Thanks, honey.” Goose turned to you as Maverick made his way down the hall.

You couldn’t help but smile at the interaction. But quickly regained your professional composure. “That pilot of yours is quite the troublemaker. I could hear Johnson yelling from my office down the hall.”

“Mav’s not one to think before he acts. It’s bitten me in the ass more times than I would like to admit.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about his hotshot antics. Charlie was annoyed, to say the least, after finding out that the two of you were the famous MIG insulter. Then again, judging by the back and forth with Charlie this morning, you seem to enjoy yourself at times.

“Oh, you heard all that...?” Goose looked down at his boots gently taping his foot.

“Bits and pieces to say the least,” You notice him looking everywhere but you. “Look, Charlie and I are instructors, we see 20 new hotshots every eight weeks.” If you were being honest you weren’t completely sure what you were saying. You are his instructor the last thing you should be thinking about is flirting with one of your students, let alone thinking about how good he looks in that khaki uniform. “That being said…”

Goose couldn’t bring himself to look up from his boots, it may have been disrespectful in some right, but he wasn’t sure where to look at this felt like the safest bet. His thoughts were running a mile a minute. Here it comes. Yeah, we can forget all about last night and I promise to think only wholesome thoughts when looking at you-

“I would love to see that MiG polaroid sometime.” You smiled up as the taller man finally met your gaze. You swear you could fall for those amber eyes even though you both knew that could never happen.

Goose smiled at your comment. “I’ll admit if this top gun thing doesn’t work out, I could always fall on photography as a backup,” he joked.

“Don’t forget your singing career. With that, you’re practically a triple threat, Lieutenant.

“Please, call me Nick. At least in casual conversation.”

“Are you anticipating more casual conversations with me Lieutenant?” Before he could answer you looked down at your watch noticing the time. “Well, Nick I should get going. I’m sure I will be seeing you.”

The way his name fell from your lips was heavenly. Unfortunately, before he could form a cohesive sentence you were already making your way down the hall.

The next day the Pilots and RIOs were split, with pilots going with Charlie to discuss the maneuvering capabilities of the F-18 and RIOs going with you to discuss radar systems and running hypotheticals drills.

You were leaning on the desk in front and center of the small lecture-style room. You could hear the ROIs down the hall before they made their entrance into the room. Marcus ‘Sundown’ Williams, Leonard ‘Wolfman’ Wolfe, Ron "Slider" Kerner, and Nick ‘Goose’ Bradshaw. The boys took their seats as you began.

Goose couldn’t help but stare at you as you began talking about radar systems that he knew like the back of his hand. He listened to you talk about the F14’s APG-65 system and its uses. He couldn’t deny that you knew what you were talking about, he could tell that this introduction was to spell that out to the others. He thought about how often people might not take you as seriously as they might a man in your same position and how the thought of someone disrespecting you ticked him off.

“-but you all knew that.” Your pause brought Nick out of his thoughts to focus back on your lecture. “To an extent, a raid assessment allows radar separation of closely spaced targets. While these are advanced systems, and ones far better than what we were using 3 years ago, they are not perfect. If a second MiG is flying close enough below the first, the APG won’t be able to detect the second aircraft until it has diverged from its partner.” You paused for a moment to glance at Goose. “I’m sure some of you have seen this firsthand.” You tried not to maintain eye contact with Goose for too long, however, his eyes never left your form.

Your lecture came to a close. You stood at the head of the desk gathering some files. You hadn’t noticed that someone had stayed behind until you heard a voice from behind you. “You really know your stuff.” Goose was leaning against the railing in front of the first row of lecture seating.

“I sure hope so, I was told I was hired for that very reason.” You said with a smile before turning to face the tall aviator. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Goose looked down at his boots before looking back up to meet your gaze, “I wanted to ask, why didn’t you tell me who you were the other night.”

“I remember telling you my name. However, I may have left out the Top Gun instructor part.” You leaned against the desk and watched as Nick made his way close to you.

“A small detail. I can see how it could be overlooked.” He joked. He stopped just in of you, watching you look up at him. He couldn’t help as less-than-appropriate thoughts wandered into his mind. He shouldn’t be flirting with you, but you weren’t exactly making any attempts to stop him.

“A small oversight.” You could feel your heartbeat quicken slightly. You bite your cheek in an attempt to subdue the smile that was attempting to make its way across your lips. You couldn’t deny that Nick Bradshaw was a handsome man. His dirty blonde hair, his amber eyes, his voice that you knew could make any woman melt.

“I’ll be honest… I’m very tempted to ask you to dinner.”

Your eyes left his as you scribbled something on a piece of paper, “I usually make it a point to not date my students, Lieutenant.”

For a moment Nick thought he had crashed and burned, but then your words hit him, “usually?”

You folded the quarter sheet of paper twice, “usually.” You smile up at him before standing and gathering your things. Before making your exit, you placed the small note into his breast pocket, taping it lightly.

Nick watched as you exited the room. As clique as it was, he hated to see you go but couldn’t complain about watching you leave. When you were out the door he quickly grabbed the note out of his pocket

Dinner tonight 6:00 102 Laurel Beach Don’t be late!

“Holy shit…” Goose looked at his watch, it was 3:30 now. He grabbed his jacket and ran out into the hallway only to be met with Mav and Ice having a dick-measuring contest just down the hall. “Mav!” he waved his pilot down.

“Might want to run along to mother Goose,” Ice laughs.

“Yeah, I’m sure you have to find Slider and make sure he’s not lost in the hangar again.” Mav flashed the taller pilot a smile before making his way down the hall to his RIO.

“You never gonna believe this,” he hands Mav the note.

Mav looks at the note, “wow, Goose, your handwriting has improved. But you didn’t have to write me a note to get me to go to dinner with you.”

Goose let out a fake laugh placing his hand over his heart, “haha! Oh, Mav, you kill me!” He snatches the note out of the shorter man’s hands. “It’s from Stinger.”

“Bullshit!”

Nick held up three fingers, “scouts honor!”

Mav looked at his watch, “You better get going. You definitely need a shower. Also please don’t wear one of your stupid Hawaiian shirts…”

“What? Ladies love my Hawaiian shirts!”

“Sure, they do.” Mav rolled his eyes watching his friend practically run down the hallway. “And use protection!” He yells.

Goose turns to run backward and flashes a middle finger and a smile to Mav before making his way out of the building.

Part 3

Taglist: @luckyladycreator2 & @saturnsbabe69

As always, feedback, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑? 𝐿𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 💜

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Wes Mitchell

Key

[pegging-satan]

If you’d told me that I’d be shipping a bunch of classic lit authors with each other say like, a year ago, I would’ve laughed in your face

[remus-poopin]

Lily Evans’ groovy playlist for independent witches

Mostly 70s/60s pop rock, soft rock, and folk pop!

Track list:

1. I Feel the Earth Move - Carole King

2. Queen Jane Approximately - Bob Dylan

3. That’s The Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be - Carly Simon

4. Move Over - Janis Joplin

5. With My Face On The Floor - Emitt Rhodes

6. Love Calls You By It’s Name - Leonard Cohen

7. In My Life - The Beatles

8. Keep It Warm - Flo & Eddie

9. All Things Must Pass - George Harrison

10. Lily of the Valley - Queen

Other playlists:

Bill Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, James Potter, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Fred and George Weasley, Sirius Black, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Severus Snape

Cover art link + Tumblr:

@ceooftrash

[noirvette]

there’s something about chase atlantic and their songs that make me want to write

[gotbuckleys]

hey. imagine buck and tommy decide to live together in tommy’s little fixer upper. buck installs one of those ring cameras for security but like…then imagine buck is trying his hand at like…idk insta reels. he sets one up facing the front door from the inside and records like six months worth of home comings because it’ll be cute right? a way to capture his man and their life that he can keep forever like the scrapbook he still has from thomas and mitchell.

so. theres quite a few captures of tommy coming home from work, buck greeting him at the door with a kiss. theres tommy coming in from a run and grinning as soon as he catches sight of buck through the hallway, in the kitchen. at some point theres ones of tommy coming in and dropping to his knees to greet the belgian shepherd they adopted after one of tommy‘s old military buddies hit him up about taking the dog on because he was getting redeployed.

theres a few of tommy easing the door open silently and closing it gently because buck is in sleeping off a 48. theres a few of tommy barreling in shoulder first after his own 48, dead on his feet, hanging his keys up on the hook just out of frame and then resting his forehead against the wall for a few seconds before trudging upstairs.

theres one of tommy and buck slamming the door open with their hands all over each other, and buck throwing a cheeky grin at the camera while tommy mouths at his jaw and manhandles him further inside. theres one of tommy opening the door gently with jee-yun‘s hand in his own and buck behind them smiling softly. theres even some of tommy opening the door and buck materialising so he can scare the shit of him.

and maybe a few months in, theres one where tommy comes home and makes eye contact with the camera for a few seconds (but buck doesn’t clock this until he edits the footage).

and maybe a month or so after tommy clocks the camera we get a home coming. but this time, its buck opening the door. only to be greeted with tommy on one knee, open box in hand. of course, buck’s smile is bright enough to crack the sky in two. and when the ring is affixed and tommy has buck in his arms and they are spinning around and giggling like a scene out of one of the romance films tommy adores, we see tommy stop and settle his hands around bucks waist, tuck his nose into his curls, and wink at the camera.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Sandra Newman’s “Julia”

The first chapter of Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four has a fantastic joke that nearly everyone misses: when Julia, Winston Smith's love interest, is introduced, she has oily hands and a giant wrench, which she uses in her "mechanical job on one of the novel-writing machines":

https://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks01/0100021.txt

That line just kills me every time I re-read the book – Orwell, a novelist, writing a dystopian future in which novels are written by giant, clanking mechanisms. Later on, when Winston and Julia begin their illicit affair, we get more detail:

She could describe the whole process of composing a novel, from the general directive issued by the Planning Committee down to the final touching-up by the Rewrite Squad. But she was not interested in the finished product. She 'didn't much care for reading,' she said. Books were just a commodity that had to be produced, like jam or bootlaces.

I always assumed Orwell was subtweeting his publishers and editors here, and you can only imagine that the editor who asked Orwell to tweak the 1984 manuscript must have felt an uncomfortable parallel between their requests and the notional Planning Committee and Rewrite Squad at the Ministry of Truth.

I first read 1984 in the early winter of, well, 1984, when I was thirteen years old. I was on a family trip that included as visit to my relatives in Leningrad, and the novel made a significant impact on me. I immediately connected it to the canon of dystopian science fiction that I was already avidly consuming, and to the geopolitics of a world that seemed on the brink of nuclear devastation. I also connected it to my own hopes for the nascent field of personal computing, which I'd gotten an early start on, when my father – then a computer science student – started bringing home dumb terminals and acoustic couplers from his university in the mid-1970s. Orwell crystallized my nascent horror at the oppressive uses of technology (such as the automated Mutually Assured Destruction nuclear systems that haunted my nightmares) and my dreams of the better worlds we could have with computers.

It's not an overstatement to say that the rest of my life has been about this tension. It's no coincidence that I wrote a series of "Little Brother" novels whose protagonist calls himself w1n5t0n:

https://craphound.com/littlebrother/Cory_Doctorow_-_Little_Brother.htm

I didn't stop with Orwell, of course. I wrote a whole series of widely read, award-winning stories with the same titles as famous sf tales, starting with "Anda's Game" ("Ender's Game"):

https://www.salon.com/2004/11/15/andas_game/

And "I, Robot":

https://craphound.com/overclocked/Cory_Doctorow_-_Overclocked_-_I_Robot.html

"The Martian Chronicles":

https://escapepod.org/2019/10/03/escape-pod-700-martian-chronicles-part-1/

"True Names":

https://archive.org/details/TrueNames

"The Man Who Sold the Moon":

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/05/22/the-man-who-sold-the-moon/

and "The Brave Little Toaster":

https://archive.org/details/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_212

Writing stories about other stories that you hate or love or just can't get out of your head is a very old and important literary tradition. As EL Doctorow (no relation) writes in his essay "Genesis," the Hebrews stole their Genesis story from the Babylonians, rewriting it to their specifications:

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/41520/creationists-by-e-l-doctorow/

As my "famous title" stories and Little Brother books show, this work needn't be confined to antiquity. Modern copyright may be draconian, but it contains exceptions ("fair use" in the US, "fair dealing" in many other places) that allow for this kind of creative reworking. One of the most important fair use cases concerns The Wind Done Gone, Alice Randall's 2001 retelling of Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind from the perspective of the enslaved characters, which was judged to be fair use after Mitchell's heirs tried to censor the book:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suntrust_Bank_v._Houghton_Mifflin_Co.

In ruling for Randall, the Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals emphasized that she had "fully employed those conscripted elements from Gone With the Wind to make war against it." Randall used several of Mitchell's most famous lines, "but vest[ed] them with a completely new significance":

https://law.justia.com/cases/federal/appellate-courts/F3/268/1257/608446/

The Wind Done Gone is an excellent book, and both its text and its legal controversy kept springing to mind as I read Sandra Newman's wonderful novel Julia, which retells 1984 from the perspective of Julia, she of the oily hands the novel-writing machine:

https://www.harpercollins.com/products/julia-sandra-newman?variant=41467936636962

Julia is the kind of fanfic that I love, in the tradition of both Wind Done gone and Rosenkrantz and Gildenstern Are Dead, in which a follow-on author takes on the original author's throwaway world-building with deadly seriousness, elucidating the weird implications and buried subtexts of all the stuff and people moving around in the wings and background of the original.

For Newman, the starting point here is Julia, an enigmatic lover who comes to Winston with all kinds of rebellious secrets – tradecraft for planning and executing dirty little assignations and acquiring black market goods. Julia embodies a common contradiction in the depiction of young women (she is some twenty years younger than Winston): on the one hand, she is a "native" of the world, while Winston is a late arrival, carrying around all his "oldthink" baggage that leaves him perennially baffled, terrified and angry; on the other hand, she's a naive "girl," who "doesn't much care for reading," and lacks the intellectual curiosity that propels Winston through the text.

This contradiction is the cleavage line that Newman drives her chisel into, fracturing Orwell's world in useful, fascinating, engrossing ways. For Winston, the world of 1984 is totalitarian: the Party knows all, controls all and misses nothing. To merely think a disloyal thought is to be doomed, because the omnipotent, omniscient, and omnicompetent Party will sense the thought and mark you for torture and "vaporization."

Orwell's readers experience all of 1984 through Winston's eyes and are encouraged to trust his assessment of his situation. But Newman brings in a second point of view, that of Julia, who is indeed far more worldly than Winston. But that's not because she's younger than him – it's because she's more provincial. Julia, we learn, grew up outside of the Home Counties, where the revolution was incomplete and where dissidents – like her parents – were sent into exile. Julia has experienced the periphery of the Party's power, the places where it is frayed and incomplete. For Julia, the Party may be ruthless and powerful, but it's hardly omnicompetent. Indeed, it's rather fumbling.

Which makes sense. After all, if we take Winston at his word and assume that every disloyal citizen of Oceania is arrested, tortured and murdered, where would that leave Oceania? Even Kim Jong Un can't murder everyone who hates him, or he'd get awfully lonely, and then awfully hungry.

Through Julia's eyes, we experience Oceania as a paranoid autocracy, corrupt and twitchy. We witness the obvious corollary of a culture of denunciation and arrest: the ruling Party of such an institution must be riddled with internecine struggle and backstabbing, to the point of paralyzed dysfunction. The Orwellian trick of switching from being at war with Eastasia to Eurasia and back again is actually driven by real military setbacks – not just faked battles designed to stir up patriotic fervor. The Party doesn't merely claim to be under assault from internal and external enemies – it actually is.

Julia is also perfectly positioned to uncover the vast blank spots in Winston's supposed intellectual curiosity, all the questions he doesn't ask – about her, about the Party, and about the world. I love this trope and used it myself, in Attack Surface, the third "Little Brother" book, which is told from the point of view of Marcus's frenemy Masha:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250757531/attacksurface

Through Julia, we come to understand the seemingly omniscient, omnipotent Party as fumbling sadists. The Thought Police are like MI5, an Island of Misfit Toys where the paranoid, the stupid, the vicious and the thuggish come together to ruin the lives of thousands, in such a chaotic and pointless manner that their victims find themselves spinning devastatingly clever explanations for their behavior:

https://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/adamcurtis/entries/3662a707-0af9-3149-963f-47bea720b460

And, as with Nineteen Eighty-Four, Julia is a first-rate novel, expertly plotted, with fantastic, nail-biting suspense and many smart turns and clever phrases. Newman is doing Orwell, and, at times, outdoing him. In her hands, Orwell – like Winston – is revealed as a kind of overly credulous romantic who can't believe that anyone as obviously stupid and deranged as the state's representatives could be kicking his ass so very thoroughly.

This was, in many ways, the defining trauma and problem of Orwell's life, from his origin story, in which he is shot through the throat by a fascist: sniper during the Spanish Civil War:

https://www.rjgeib.com/thoughts/soldiers/george-orwell-shot.html

To his final days, when he developed a foolish crush on a British state spy and tried to impress her by turning his erstwhile comrades in to her:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orwell%27s_list

Newman's feminist retelling of Orwell is as much about puncturing the myth of male competence as it is about revealing the inner life, agency, and personhood of swooning love-interests. As someone who loves Orwell – but not unconditionally – I was moved, impressed, and delighted by Julia.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/28/novel-writing-machines/#fanfic