Y'all don't understand I didn't think they'd do it
I didn't see the leak. I'm assuming it was about the kiss but I didn't see it I just knew it existed and did my best to avoid it. I went into season 2 blind, fully expecting Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship to be similar to season one: small romantic moments, a few puppydog eyes from Aziraphale, soft little glances, something undeniably there but never stated or named. I was ready for a season where they loved each other but loved each other in their own way, a way easily read as romantic but a way that many, many people would also easily read as not romantic at all. I was ready for the extent of what we got to be something similar to season one and Neil and the casts' word that they love each other
I didn't think we'd get a kiss. I didn't think we'd get a confession. I was ready to not get those things, I was okay with not getting those things. My main worry was people getting their hopes up about a kiss and then being disappointed, or even angry, when it didn't happen. I was like "it would be nice, but I doubt Neil and the rest of the team will want to take that route, which is fine it's their story after all". I cannot stress enough that I did not think they'd do it
And then they did it
(While ripping my heart out but they did it nonetheless)
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Hiii, i love your stuff and kinda from a distance really look up at you for, in my perception, being able to express yourself without giving a fuck. Thats sick dude, Im so so afraid, of absolutely everything, its nice to think like i might grow into someone less apologetic of my existence. Nice to see people just being yknow
hey, thank you, this is really really nice. the secret that is probably not a secret is that i am also deeply afraid a lot of the time lmao -- but less than i used to be, and in ways that feel less stifling and self-suffocating, if that makes sense.
like, it used to be "i'm scared that if i express myself the way i want to, everyone will find me obnoxious, so let's just sand those edges down to be safe" -- now my fears are more like "now that i'm expressing myself in a way that feels natural and real, i'm afraid that it's all stupid/vapid/not worthwhile or meaningful" (<- specifically abt my art) or "i'm happy that i talk and act the way i want to now, but what if it makes me impossible to befriend," etc etc etc. which still feels bad and puts me in a funk a lot of the time but at least it's a fear that comes After/in reaction to doing stuff, rather than a fear that STOPS me from doing stuff, you know? like, it's evolved into a kind of fear that's less in my way.
anyway. i believe you'll experience something like this, because wanting to grow is the first step of growing. the fact that u hope or wish for something different means you're already on your way. to fewer fucks!! or at least distributing the fucks u give in a way that serves u better
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i promised to forget you (i lied)
the first time he calls, it goes to the machine. obi-wan's voice crisp and clean over the line.
"i gave your name as my emergency call," anakin says, voice breaking, "please pick up."
the officer give him a look that he assumes is pity, "try someone else. they can come get you tonight."
anakin tries the number again, listens to the tone ring and ring. it goes to the machine again.
"obi-wan, please. i know you're probably awake. please."
he could call asohka (but he's probably burned that bridge too) she might come get him, lecture him on the way home and deposit him in bed one last time.
if she knew he was in lock up, she'd have his head. he promised to do better.
“i swear he’ll pick up,” anakin whispers, voice lost in the cacophany of the county jail.
he does not say, he always picks up. he does not say, he has always picked me up. he does not say, i think i burned that bridge, what if he doesn't pick up?
the alchol is still making his head fuzzy, the world blurs aroud the edges of his vision, though that might be the concussion. he thinks his nose is broken. his hand too, maybe. all the pain drowned under the heartbreak.
anakin knew they left things in tatters, their relationship in pieces as they (he) hurled the most hurtful things he could think of back at obi-wan while he tried to be understanding, patient, until even that was impossible.
"son," the officer says. she's defintely looking at him with pity now, it burns. "try someone else."
anakin dials obi-wan's number again. fingers too tight around the black plastic as he punched the number in again.
it rang twice.
"hullo," obi-wan says. his voice is too thin, frayed, like he's hanging on as well as anakin is.
"obi-wan," anakin breathes out and the line cuts off.
anakin slams the reciever down and lets out a frustrated yell. the officer lays a hand on his shoulder. he doesn't have the energy to shake it off.
"he was wrong to hang up," she says, like she's trying to comfort him.
belatedly, he realizes he's shaking. he thinks he's crying. he can't tell.
"let me try again. i'll stay the night, i swear he'll call back."
"why are you doing this to yourself?" the officer asks. she's kinder than most of the officers at the county jail. patient with him when she doesn't need to be. she could send him out into the rain alone to find his way back home.
"he always picks up," is all he can say in response.
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