Let me make this even clearer. Because Jensen and Misha both deserve better.
Given that we know they talk a lot about Destiel among themselves. They have told us, repeatedly. They've shared each other's perspectives with each other. They have an understanding.
Early misunderstandings and conflicts in pov aside (and do people want to keep circle jerking as if it's still 2014? Okay then. Have at it, but time moved on and you didn't): Jensen doesn't speak over Misha. Misha doesn't speak over Jensen.
Some things Misha has said about Dean or Destiel has resulted in Jensen stans attacking him. They always have some excuse--this past weekend it was because Misha acknowledged the idea of Dean and Cas having sex.
In the past, another example, backlash came at Misha for saying Cas saw love and acceptance in Dean's eyes.
(Which...sure does seem like the pearl-clutching about Misha's CR8 comments being too ribald is fake virtue signaling doesn't it, since even a statement from Misha wide open to platonic or romantic reading, that is 100% true about Dean, and how loving he is, how loving we know Dean is, how much we know Dean is going to accept and love Cas either way, got hatred aimed at Misha as if he had said something heinous. Tells me all I need to know about certain stans).
While Jensen's "Cas is an angel therefore his love is cosmic and unknowable impossible for humans to grasp let's not define it" and "open to interpretation" middleground to appease both sides and treading carefully for reasons, on a topic that's napalm in fandom (it shouldn't be, but that's the reality), might be construed as speaking over Misha.
But here's the thing!!! It's not!! From either of them!!
It seems very obvious by now that they decided Misha would be the loud one, with Jensen holding his cape, even if he doesn't join in , and Jensen walking a diplomatic middle line, also with Misha's understanding and support in turn.
When Misha goes off boldly about Destiel? People need to kick out that hate fantasy about Jensen being disrespected and Jensen must be wanting to punch Misha and Jensen must be so mad at Misha how dare Misha out of their heads, or get to the point where they can comprehend the difference between their own feelings vs Jensen's and quit projecting.
They didn't shut each other out. They talked about Destiel. They listened to each other. Highly likely, in fact, that they helped each develop or refine their talking points.
Neither of them has been shooting off their mouth about the other's character without having spoken to each other.
I don't have any hope for fans to stop the endless fighting and concern trolling and attacking either Jensen or Misha over it, needlessly, perpetually, but when it comes to Jensen and Misha...that's a hopeful space.
Misha's bluntness vs Jensen's carefully chosen middleground words complement each other are not in fact oppositional takes--they complement each other, there's room for both. They both know it's a mutually loving relationship.
Neither is trampling on the other's pov, and any views that don't perfectly align, they've already discussed and they respect each other.
These accusations at either of them are not true, they are not fair, and they both deserve better.
And now I'm staring right at a recent thing where Misha full on absolved Jensen of an accusation that various lanes kept throwing at him, and still weaponize, including Jensen stans who claim to be defending Jensen, because they want it to be true.
The response was manufactured drama where people called Misha a liar and doubling down.
They'd rather Jensen take the fall and they'd rather call Misha a liar than believe a soulless corporation that has been caught more than once exercising queer censorship could have committed queer censorship in a TV industry where it's common knowledge that queer censorship by broadcast TV networks happen???????
Wow gee can you feel the love in this Chili's. Great going. Excellent defense strategy. You're really such a big help. With fans like these, Jensen and Misha don't need antis.
A lot of it is agenda driven, and some anxiety driven, every lane's worried about other lanes react, because spn fandom is always a pain in the neck that way. Some people hate Destiel so much they need Jensen to be their antidestiel warrior they'll throw Jensen under a bus and stan for the corporation, or they're so anxious about how Destiel gets treated they blame Jensen and forever hold against him his past foot in mouth about the ship (which was a long time ago. Please stop punishing him endlessly when he's moved on and his perspectives are respectful, yet you're still stuck back there) rather than comprehending the actual systemic factors.
Jensen and Misha are both doing what they can to make it better.
They are trying to fix it!!!
People should show them more respect!!!!
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I don't submit many poems for publication, but I am truly delighted that this old piece found a home in a beautiful volume of Prairie Schooner. I wrote this in April 2016, when I was re-emerging from the most deadening period of my life. As much as this poem, on the surface, is about heartbreak, it is much more about the gift of opening myself once again to communion with others and communion with the mystery of our fragile, interconnected world. The person I wrote this for took me by the hand and--with gentleness and understanding--helped me put aside weariness and remember that the world was a place that could still surprise me with a beauty that surpasses explanation, that cannot be neatly explained and shut away. Though it's been years since we have spoken, I am forever grateful for him.
And, as spring quickens in New York City, I am grateful once more to reflect on all I would have missed if I had not made it through the gauntlet of 2015. I would never have met my cat (and love of my life) Willa who wakes me each morning by wildly purring, head butting me like a baby goat, and nibbling my cheeks and nose because she’s just so happy to see me; hiked on Orcas Island with Michael and found a surprise lake which we named Lake Ineffable (because no name was beautiful enough for it) where we stripped off our clothes and swam and embraced each other, blissfully alone and dazed by superfluous beauty; found out that George Washington National Forest may have more fireflies than anywhere in the world; grown into my vocation as a social worker and been blessed to sit in communion with my clients for eight years; built a beautiful relationship with my parents based on mutual respect, affinity, and humor; seen my friends’ babies discover the world; slept beneath a meteor shower sky on a NYC beach in the arms of a man I was suddenly and entirely falling in love with; discovered Eric Rohmer; discovered Wim Wenders; moved to Laramie, Wyoming where everything looks like the abandoned set of a Western film where the paint has flaked off but he extras are still wandering around despondently; moved to Montana where I remembered that I am part of the whole, not just a body in passing; woke in Missoula to the cold air seeping through my window—still half in a dream of Oregon in October—and stirred, deliciously alert beside the boy I loved, craning toward his sleepy, freckled back, to clutch him closer, the brisk quickening of fall making my body a new thing—wild and tender and alive; swam naked in the ocean; had the chance to work with my best friends and fall even more in love with the people they are based off the kindness they showed our clients; had my best friends, in turn, respect and love me more based of what they saw me showing clients; sat by a lake at night and felt an earthquake swell like a heartbeat beneath my body; drove from Missoula to Washington, Ryan’s van weaving through a forest fire zone until we reached the pure, amnesiac sweep of the Pacific; discovered Simone Weil; been, not only forgiven, but embraced by the person I most wronged after six years of estrangement; made up a silly-serious shared mythology with Steven about a vulture God named Hamm who watches over us with a severe equanimity; backpacked through Olympic National Park with Michael and seen and been seen by the strange shaggy haired deer and rabbits who looked at us without fear; discovered Agnes Martin; read poetry with my sage & strange Mara; discovered Olivier Messiaen; discovered Mary Ruefle; discovered Ana Mendieta; realized that I like the color yellow; moved to New York City; discovered Carol Rama; learned how to enjoy dancing to music other than punk rock; seen a moose in the wild; spent a summer in that yellow shotgun house with the overgrown yard and the porch overlooking the river where we made dinner each night listening to recordings of bird calls; experienced the delights of solitary sunbathing on Brooklyn roofs; encountered places named Hellgate, Bitterroot, and Rattlesnake; recited The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock at 3 AM, wading in the waters of the Long Island Sound; realized I am capable of keeping houseplants alive; heard the thrumming ecstasy of the grouse's wings; learned the name of those clustered, mustard-colored flowers that grow on the Oregon coast; grew grateful for beauty again, remembering the world is not a place I can neatly explain, cannot fold in linen and shut in a drawer; and, most of all, remembered the daily ways we concede—plainly, without theatrics—to live.
Today I am thankful for those who love me and those who allow me to love them.
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etoiles who tries to be patient and tries to be kind and tries to help bad in his state of memory loss and confusion after purgatory, but still can’t help be suspicious of him. who works around how well he knows bad, because he knows bad is a liar, but he doesn’t say as much he just quietly puts in his own tests and precautions to gauge properly what level of fucked bad’s head is. who won’t stop reminding him of purgatory. does he remember the eggs? does he remember his home? does he remember how he slaughtered his friends ruthlessly over and over and over again? does he remember jaiden? charlie? does he remember how defenseless etoiles was when he stabbed him in the back? etoiles who knows how bad feels just by body language, who used to have the upmost respect and trust for his friend, his ally, his brother in arms - now holds him at arms length even at his most vulnerable.
something about etoiles asking what bad is hungry for, offering to fight (wanting to fight, now that the ground is even, now that he’s not defenseless, after bad had killed him when he was), and bad going “fight? why would I fight you, I thought we were friends?” and all etoiles can do is scoff. something about how even the most honorable and most patient have limits. something about how the consequences for bads actions - to himself and to others - are all finally compounding. how etoiles and bad’s relationship is forever changed by what happened in purgatory, and etoiles may still extend his hand to help him, give him strategies to remember things, but he’s doing so with a bitterness and a resentment.
things won’t be the same. things will never be the same. and the way etoiles can’t help bad without being sharp and angry about it proves this. because two weeks ago bad was family - and now, at bads worst, his most afflicted, most vulnerable, sure etoiles still offers help, and is more level headed than most about it, but he is in no means gentle or kind. he doesn’t want to help him. and that says everything.
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Their first kiss happens one evening at Jonathan’s house. They are in his bedroom and Jonathan wanted Argyle to hear this band he was really into. They are sitting on the floor by Jonathan’s speakers. They had just shared a joint. Argyle is doodling on Jonathan’s skateboard.
Jonathan is lost in the music. Argyle isn’t super into the first track on the record but he is enjoying seeing Jonathan get into it.
It isn’t until the fifth track starts that Jonathan speaks and says this one is his favorite. He turns the volume up a little louder. Argyle puts the board aside to give all of his attention to Jonathan. The opening notes are softer than the previous tracks. And Argyle has no idea what the woman singing is saying but he is enjoying it much more than others. He watches Jonathan for a bit. His eyes are closed and there is a content smile on his face. Argyle doesn’t even think the music swells along with his heart and he leans in to kiss Jonathan.
Jonathan eyes open and he has a look of surprise on his face but that passes quickly as a large smile breaks out on Jonathan’s face. He reaches out to Argyle and kisses him back with everything he’s got.
Argyle may not like Cocteau Twins as much as Jonathan and he doesn’t understand a word of what she is singing. But Pearly Dewdrops Drops will forever be one of his favorite songs.
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