#(not even getting into the need for clarification that's a different discussion)

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

The landing | joel miller x f!reader, 13.2k

Summary: You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you. Or The one where your orbits finally collide for the final showdown.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, NO SPOILER (read A/N), ANGST, cheater!joel, discussions of infidelity, mention of food consumption, yelling, crying, the briefest mention of smut thoughts, sprinkle of fluff (blink and you'll miss it), as always let me know if I missed anything 👀

A/N: Ok, *deep breath* I know I can't make everyone happy unless I write alternate endings 😅 and I understand that infidelity can be a very triggering concept. I gave them the ending I felt they both deserved, but if you're looking for a story where they are at each other's throats for 13k words, maybe this is not for you and you are more than welcome to kindly move on. I won't spoil the ending in the Warnings, so proceed with caution, you know what the main theme is all about. All I can tell you is that this part of the story is divided into two main scenes because I didn't want to drag it out with one little scene after another. *she says after spilling 13k words🙄sorry about that👀* As always, I would love to read your thoughts on the last part and please keep in mind that writing is almost always self-indulgent.

P.S. I want to thank each and every one of you for the love I received for this mini-series, I never thought it would engage so many people. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You've all been so kind and sweet to me, so this journey filled my heart with joy! I love you all, take care of yourselves and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! Oh! My asks are always open if you want to know more about their story. I could even write drabbles or one-shots about anything you'd like to know in particular. Ily, bye 😘

P.S. I deliberately left the last two lines without clarification of who says what, I leave that up to you. 🤍

Dividers by @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics @plum98

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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FOUR YEARS AFTER THE FALL

Are you still falling?

You’re not sure anymore. Maybe you’re just used to it. Or maybe you just learned how to fly. It certainly feels like everything has slowed down. Sometimes it feels like floating. As if you’re a feather, so lightweight, swirling around aimlessly. But you can never touch the ground. Gravity can’t quite pull you down. Every time you feel like you’re finally landing, a force of nature pulls you back up.

Maybe it is a soft, warm, summer breeze, a memory of Joel.

Maybe it is a whirlwind, a contact from the lawyers.

Maybe it is a snowstorm, sign the papers, please.

Maybe it is the whispering of a gentle wind, the possibilities of what might have been, or the lack of real closure.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

You never thought you’d enjoy leaving the big city and making a home for yourself on a ranch. But you loved it. You loved the peace and quiet, you loved this new community of people, you loved taking care of the horses, riding them, being around them. And then there was the house. A place you could almost call home. It was beautiful, rustic, warm, inviting, lacking none of the comforts a modern house needs, because you can’t quite get the big city girl out of you. The entire land had a soft, yellow-golden light enveloping every tree and every rock, everywhere your eyes reached, as if the sun shone differently here.

The days are easy. The chores are more than enough to keep you focused, there’s always something to do around here. It feels good to be busy, to keep your mind from dwelling on the past. You welcome the exhaustion of a full day’s work that accompanies your body when night comes.

Evenings are mostly good. You shower the day off, you cook, you chill on the couch with a good book or a film and more often than not, as the time passes and you feel more comfortable sharing the privacy of your home, you have friends over for dinner and drinks.

Nights though, nights are hard. At night, you pray that you are tired to the point of exhaustion so that you can sleep through it peacefully. Sometimes it works, but most of the time, not so much.

Time has intensified and lessened your emotional burden simultaneously.

The sharp pain that feels like thick acid being poured into you mellows in an inexplicable way. It still hurts, the pain oozing out of your every single pore even in a physical way. Only now, it has transformed into a sweet, slow poison conquering every hollow of your body, every vein leading from your heart to the ends of your limbs.

It’s almost a welcoming feeling, this pain, reminding you that you’re still alive, that he was real, that everything that happened was real. Because sometimes, sometimes, when you let yourself relax, when you let your guard down, all of this feels like a dream. Sometimes, you wake up in the middle of the night, confused, reaching with your hand for the other side of the bed and finding it empty. And for a split second you get that feeling. The feeling of how it used to be with him next to you.

Then you remember.

You know why this is happening and who’s responsible for it. This is a mix-up. This is what your treacherous brain does to mess with your resolve. It blends the bad stuff into the good, creating the strangest of concoctions. The clear image of black and white, neatly and perfectly hung in the center of the walls of your mind is now splashed with colorful memories from your life together, like a Pollock painting. You do your best to resist, to bring back scenes from all the vivid recollections of the night your life changed forever but your uncooperative brain pops another memory up, a good fuckin’ memory, like a projector, illuminating those bare imaginary walls with laughter and touches and whispers and scents and warmth. It’s relentless.

This dichotomy creates an uneasiness inside you, you choose to reject and pretend not to notice. Which in turn leads to self-contempt because, as always you can’t lie to yourself. You may lie to others but deep in your core you have to be honest with yourself. That is something you’re owed. To be aware, present in the reality of your life. So, you know, you know, you just sweep things under the carpet as a copy mechanism. You know what you should do.

You should confront him. You should demand answers and then finally say what you need to say to him. Not for him, not for his sake, but for yours. But you can’t. You've lost count of how many times you've picked up the phone and your thumb hovered over his contact to call him but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. And every time you tried to text him, to start a conversation, it felt too awkward. The only acceptable subject of discussion initiated by you was the progress of the divorce papers. You were unable to even remotely insinuate a more meaningful encounter. And he didn’t make any advances either. Not that you gave him any room to try and talk to you, but still, he seemed more settled with that, rather than not.

Maybe that fact itself was your cue to let it all go. He’s probably moved on. You don’t cheat on someone so blatantly and then want them back. Obviously, this whole delaying of the divorce is a power play, like everything else, it seems.

Good, yeah, that’s it. That’s it.

Now, let go. Move on. You solved it. Let go.

But this annoying little voice is scratching the walls of your weary brain, nudging the limits of the carefully made up serenity that’s hanging by a thread.

You should confront him. For your peace of mind, for your equilibrium.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

It’s early in the evening and you’re in the garden in front of the house near the porch, on your knees, plucking a few weeds from the ground. The fatigue of the day’s work has begun to take its toll on you, your shoulder is slightly trembling as you rest your weight on one palm to dig around with the other. Sweat covers your torso, rolling down between the valley of your breasts and the hollow between your spine, leaving your t-shirt clinging to your skin, your hair sticking to your forehead, which is lightly covered in a thin layer of dirt at some places as you keep wiping your forearm over the little beads of salty water that concentrate over your brows.

You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you.

There's an overload of sensations before you shift your body around to confirm what you already know in your bones. You can smell him, taste him, feel him on your suddenly tingling skin, all at the same time.

You turn slowly and your breath hitches on your throat. You just stay in place, frozen, time infinitely stretching as you take him in from where you kneel on the ground. He stops abruptly the second his eyes meet yours and you could swear he’s holding his breath, his face completely unreadable.

He looks.. he looks like your Joel and nothing like him simultaneously. Soft yet imposing. Handsome yet battered. Determined yet lost. His clothing is simpler, dark jeans, green flannel over a black t-shirt and laced boots, as if he just returned from a working site. His curls are longer, framing his handsome face in a ridiculously good way, more white hairs nestle in his beard that is not that trimmed. Neither of you speak quite yet, taking each other in.

Your mind, your bizarre, ridiculous mind is working on figuring out what day it is. Why does it matter? Did you have an appointment? This is unexpected and a long time coming all at once, regardless of the day of the week. What comes next? Do you draw up an astrological map to determine if it's a compatible date for you to meet? Get it together.

Your facial expression must be pretty funny because Joel smiles awkwardly while scratching one side of his bearded cheek; hey, it’s me.

No, shit, you mentally respond, as if you could ever forget him. Furious is the word that best describes you because these are his first words? Hey, it’s me? And that feeling escalates into an explosive retort because you now realize that you had expectations. His first words? Who cares what his first words are? Were you expecting a tearful reunion, masterfully staged and executed like a romantic film? The guy betrayed you in your own house, sorry, his house. Wake the fuck up.

“Did you sign the papers?” you spit as you rise from your spot and he reacts as if you have punched him in the stomach. His face falls; you see a series of micro-expressions pass over his features before he settles on the last one. Has he been hurt? Did you hurt his feelings? Did he also have expectations?

“Uh-”, Joel raises his brows in genuine surprise, things probably not going the way he expected or hoped.

“It’s nice to see you, too.”, he replies with mild mockery.

Your eyes snap shut and you laugh in anger, lowering your chin to your chest and then looking back up at him, your eyes blazing, your brows mimicking his previously surprised expression, “Are you serious right now?” you cross your hands defensively over your chest.

You stare at each other for a good minute, both of you taking a moment to compose yourselves and regain your balance.

You break first, dropping your head back to your chest, looking down at the heel of your shoe scraping the ground beneath you, exhaling audibly.

“Hey,” Joel tries again, after speaking your name tenderly, your name on his lips, his head dipping down and to the side to try and get your attention back to him, his gaze filled with a mixture of warmth, regret and fear, “hi.”

You shake your head from side to side in repentance, what a great start this is, you keep thinking, “Hi.” is all you give him, still not looking at him.

“Hi,” he repeats, “it’s really nice to see you, bab-, shit, sorry.”, he winces, covering his mouth with his palm, embarrassment creeping into his features. You let out a quiet laugh, exhaling through your nose. You don’t comment on the slip of endearment that leaves his mouth, you don’t correct him, accepting privately that you liked it, you missed it, you longed for it.

Joel studies your face, but makes no comment on your silence. “You look...” he pauses for a split second before deciding to continue, “you look really good.” He hesitates, he doesn't want his compliment to come across as a feeble attempt to patronize you, because he really means it. You do look good, all sweaty and muddy and human and real. You are real. If he took a few steps forward, he could actually reach out and touch you, feel your skin under his fingertips, smell your heady scent, perhaps discreetly lick the remnants of your sweat from his thumb after carefully removing the strands of hair sticking on your forehead. But he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t do any of that.

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, any answer crossing your mind seems stupid or cheesy or dismissive. How do you respond to a compliment from the man who made you worship in his altar, only to have your faith ripped out of your heart?

His eyes keep roaming over your face, your figure, memorizing everything he can, like a blind man who has finally found his light, while he fidgets with an envelope in his hand which reminds you-

“Did you sign the papers, Joel?”, is what escapes your lips before you can think twice.

“No.” and now it’s his turn to lower his head, his eyes avoiding your gaze, as he looks down at his feet.

“Joel!”, you exclaim infuriated, rolling your eyes at him, knitting your brows together in a sign of frustration.

“No, no, it’s not like that. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want.”, Joel raises a hand in your direction to stop you from what seems to be a fair assumption, his palm up, facing you in an unspoken surrender. “I thought that- me, not signing, was a way of showing you how deeply sorry I am, how much I wanted to fix our marriage, but I understand now,” his voice wavers slightly, “that I need to respect your wishes. It’s the right thing to do. If this is still what you want, I’m gonna sign it.”

You don’t reply to that last part, only pointing out that “You didn’t have to come all this way to tell me that.”

“No, I didn’t.” Joel agrees.

“Then why are you here?” you insist, reluctant to entertain the idea that he has actually come all this way to apologize.

“Because I owe you an explanation.” is his honest and direct answer, sending little jolts of electricity through your nerves.

“Joel..” you sigh in exasperation. Not in warning or frustration, not really, but in something else. A feeling you can’t really put a name to, the closest you can come to describing it is that of a burden, woven deep into your heart, blossoming rapidly with each beat. There are so many things left unsaid; it makes you feel helpless, like you’re drowning. You want the dam you’ve built around your soul over the years to break so everything you've been holding back can finally pour out of you, but there’s just so much of it, of everything, that you’re terrified. Will the overflowing tank of emotions be completely empty? Will there be anything left unsaid? Untouched? What if the remnants left behind keep licking around your wounds, their waves pushing, shaping what’s left of you into something new, unrecognizable?

And what if, the tank will indeed be completely empty? What you’ll be left with, then? Nothing? Just.. empty? Will you remain empty? What, if anything, will take its place? Will you recognize your new self? Will you like yourself? Will you be able to live in harmony with this shell of a person? This you; you know. You hated and pitied and caressed and comforted and forgave and nurtured you into some version of a new you. But this? Everything will be torn apart, the wounds will be freshly opened, accessible to be examined in detail, plucked and bled and bruised in an all-too-familiar way.

Joel’s voice snaps you out of your trance, “No, I do. I owe you more than that, actually, but that’s the least I can do. And I wanna do that while I’m still your husband. I want to explain myself as your husband. Apologize to my wife, as her husband. Then I’m gonna sign anything you want me to.”

“And if I don’t wanna hear what you have to say?”

“Then I’ll just sign the papers and leave you in peace.” Joel confesses in all his honesty.

You just nod, looking down on the ground. You take a deep breath to ground yourself. You can do this. You want to do this. You need to do this.

You walk towards the house and sit down on the steps of the porch, as he looks at you awkwardly, not knowing where to stand. You gesture with a tilt of your head for him to come sit next to you. You can do this. You realize that you didn’t invite him into the house and you feel a bit rude for that, but it's beyond your empathetic capacity to deal with him being here and to let him into the house as well. “I just like it out here, it’s calm and-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, whatever makes you feel comfortable; I know you don’t want me here any longer than I have to be..” he interrupts you as he sits down next to you, his one side pressing against the end of the stairs, where the railing begins. He places the contract between your bodies, on the wooden floor.

It makes you uncomfortable, his statement, you always want people to feel welcome and relaxed around you. You internally chastise yourself for worrying about his feelings instead of yours, but you can’t help it, it’s embedded in your DNA. “It’s OK, Joel, I don’t mind, we can talk.”

Joel nods, but he remains silent. You don’t break the silence, giving him time to collect his thoughts. He chuckles defeated, shaking his head while rubbing his hand over his face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, you don’t look that mighty to me anymore.” you blurt out before you can stop yourself and you immediately regret it. It didn’t sound so insulting in your head. You only meant to say that he doesn’t intimidate you anymore. Which is sort of a lie and a truth at the same time. You used to find him imposing, even his mere presence had the ability to make your skin crawl, your heart flutter and your words get catch in your dry throat, you were in awe of him. Every time you laid your eyes at him, even when you were straddling his lap or gazing at his profile as he slept beside you, you always felt as if you were looking up. You admired him.

His heart loses several beats to that. He can read between your lines now. He has lost your respect. Your admiration. The time when you looked up to him in awe is long gone.

“You know, my therapist warned me about this.”, he chuckles bitterly.

“Your-” you can’t hide your shocked expression from him as you search his eyes for any sign of him joking around, but you find none. “You’ve been in therapy?”

“Yeah, I-, I spent two years hating myself,” he chuckles deprecatingly, “and then I realized it was time for me to stop being an arrogant prick, so I spent another two doing it all over again with the help of my therapist.”

You laugh wholeheartedly at that and it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen in his entire life. “OK, somebody’s off to a good start. Go on.”

“You mean about the therapy?”

“I mean about you admitting you are an arrogant prick”, you say playfully.

He really laughs now, his eyes crinkle up at the sides. You used to love that. You feel your heart warming up. “You can thank Maria for that.”

“For what?”

“For kicking my ass and pushing me to help myself.” Joel admits. “She’s a good friend.”

“Yeah, she is.” you agree through your laughter, the image of Maria actually kicking Joel’s ass is priceless.

“I missed that sound.” Joel is looking at you softly, as if his gaze could break you.

“Hm.” you simply smile at him, not finding it in you to respond with a snide remark. The time for that feels like it has passed, like it’s irrelevant at this point. All you really want is to have an honest conversation, irony be damned.

You both look at your feet in silent consideration for a minute or two. “I thought you’d be mad at me.” Joel reveals.

You exhale through your nose, the edges of your mouth turning up in a gentle smile. “Four years is a long time to be mad at anyone, Joel. Even you don’t have that kind of power over me.”

“Good. I have enough burden on my shoulders as it is..”, he mumbles and you decide to change the subject.

How do you admit that you are still mad at him but in a different way? How do you describe the deep scar his existence has carved into your soul making it almost unbearable to even exist without him? How do you explain that you’ll always carry him with you, no matter what? How do you instill in him that you still believe in the best version of him, the best version you know he can be, the best version of him you once lived with. Yes, you’re not mad at him for the reasons he thinks you are. You’re mad at him because the way he made you love him is stronger than any hurt he’s ever caused you.

“So, what did your therapist warn you about?”

“She, uh- she tried to prepare me for this.”

“Oh? What did she say?”

“That I should not be prepared.”, he laughs in earnest. “That I should not obsess about what I want to say and just be open and have an honest interaction.”

“I like her, already.” you say with a straight face.

He smiles softly, looking down at his boots, while he rests his elbows on his knees, one palm encircling the other. “Yeah… I had some digging to do; I still do for that matter and will be for a long time it seems.”

“Anything you wanna share?” you reply, raising an eyebrow as if you had no idea why he was here.

“Oh, boy-” he squirms in his seat, already overwhelmed by the turn of the conversation, his chest almost vibrating with anxiety, he can barely swallow, small beads of sweat starting to form around his temples. You reluctantly reach for his forearm, trying to calm him down. “Hey, Joel?”

His whole body stiffens at your touch and he wishes his clothes would evaporate so he could feel your skin against his. He fixes his eyes on your delicate fingers lightly squeezing his tight muscles underneath the fabric. “The worst part has already happened four years ago, so-” you shrug, “just breathe.” Joel keeps his eyes on your hand, his heart rate dropping slightly; you ground him. You retract your arm and keep your hands to yourself in an effort to maintain a respectable distance between you. You shouldn’t have touched him at all.

“I think- I think I understand now.” he begins, still feeling the ghost of your touch on his forearm. “How I made you feel, what your words meant. You always did that, you know. And I found it so fascinating and so exhausting at the same time.”

You look at him, confused. Joel continues, “You always chose your words carefully. You had a reason for every single thing you said. In retrospect, I realized that you were handing me everything on a silver platter, but I was too self-absorbed to see it at the time.”

You nod in agreement, gesturing with your head for him to keep going.

Joel takes a deep breath, holding it inside his lungs for a while. His exhalation is controlled, measured. “Fuck. Okay. It was not just the fact itself. It was not just the cheatin’.”

Your stomach clenches violently at his words. The time has finally come and although you know what happened, you where there, when the words come out of Joel’s mouth it's as if you're pulled back to that threshold all over again. It really happened. You feel your hands sweating. “Go on.”, you pronounce carefully, already anxious your voice is going to betray you. You can do this.

“I don’t want to sound all full of myself-” Joel hesitates.

“You won’t.” you interrupt him with conviction. The truth has never frightened you. You welcome it. It feels like a form of catharsis, it feels like you’re finally being seen. Every nerve in your body is on fire. You’re ready for this, for the truth, if only he gives it to you. Please, set me free.

“I was your everything.” he whispers, almost embarrassed, his eyes not meeting yours. You don’t respond to that, not until he looks at you, although the admission shoots straight through your heart. You stare at the side of his face, almost forcing him to turn to you. He does.

“You were.” Simple. True. Clear as the light of day.

“And I ripped that from you.”

“You did.”

“In the worst possible way.”

“Hmhm.”, you don’t trust the stability of your voice.

“And no matter what I say, I can never take back what I did. I humiliated you, our home, our relationship, everything. I-” his brows furrow in an expression of disgust, “I disrespected myself. I burned everything down. I left nothing for you to hold on to, nothing for me to hope for, nothing.”

His chin trembles and his voice wavers as he continues. “The words to describe how sorry I am have not yet been invented. And even if they had, they still couldn’t take the pain away; what’s done, is done.”

He closes his eyes and rests his head on the railing. “I don’t know what I wish for anymore. That you had never met me, so you could be spared all this pain? But I can’t. I can’t wish that, because I’m so grateful to have met you. I married you, I had you. That is what has comforted me all these years, what has got me through all those sleepless nights.” He looks absolutely devastated, desperate.

It feels genuine, because he’s not directing it at you, he’s not trying to convince you, he’s not trying at all. “I have not thought about my pain or what I want from all this for a long time. All I pray for is-” his glistening eyes are searching frantically on the ground, his brows knitted together in a painful grimace. You rest your head on the palm of your hand, your elbow on your knee. Watching this moment like an outside observer, you realize that he's trying to live up to your standards, reminding you of a child trying to impress his parents, only to fail regardless of the outcome.

“Look, Joel, couples break up, divorce, all over the world, all the time. And I guess, they all thought their partners were their everything until they finally weren’t.”, you rationalize, putting everything that has happened into some kind of perspective. It is not the end of the world. It is the end of your world. He doesn’t have to carry this burden on his shoulders for eternity. All you need from him is to understand, to acknowledge what he's done to you, how broken you’ve been.

But if he acknowledges that, if he truly comprehends the tremendous pain he’s put you through, won’t all that anguish be transferred to him? Isn't it unbearable for a truly repentant man to know that he has deliberately caused so much pain?

“But, you see; I wanted that, I needed to be your everything.”

“It certainly fed your ego..” you grin at him.

“No, no- I craved that- that look on your face when your eyes were on me, like there was nothing else, no one else around you, but me. You drove me to be better, to move forward; I felt I had a purpose. You were my purpose.”

“Well I didn’t do much of a job then, did I?” you smile defeated.

“No, honey, this-” he’s determined to make you understand that it wasn't your fault, even if it is the last thing he is going to do. He licks his lips trying to formulate his thoughts, “-what happened, had nothing to do with you, I- I was just- I got in my head..”

You shake your head dismissively, “It’s a terrible burden to put people on a pedestal and expect them to-”

“But you see, baby, that’s the thing. You didn’t.”Joel dismisses your comment and if a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown over your head you wouldn’t feel so frozen. You search his eyes for meaning, because deep down it stings to hear that you could give more. Is that what he’s saying? You didn’t love him enough? Joel catches on and rushes to explain. “You-” god this is so hard, he’s struggling, can’t he just rip his heart open and let you examine it? “You loved me so much, baby and you never asked for anything in return. You let me be who I was. You accepted me completely. You set me free.” His eyes are blown wide, burning into yours with intensity. You look so lost, how does all this fit in with what he did then?

“Darlin’,” he expands further, “we live in a competitive world. Everyone aims to control each other, from business partners to lovers and spouses; everyone manipulates, everyone tries to tell you where to look, what to do, how to act, how to fuck, how to love. Except for you. You let me be. You put your heart in my hands and you set me free. And I took advantage of that and I am truly sorry. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know. That’s how fucked up I am.” you look at him dumbfounded.

“I can’t connect the dots; I don’t get it, Joel, I’m sorry, I-” you run your fingers through your hair, scratching your scalp in frustration. What does he mean?

Joel winces mid-sentence because he can’t escape what’s coming. This is his last resort. And he knows it is going to sound cruel and he doesn’t even mean the first part the way you're going to perceive it, but for lack of better words, for lack of the better person he could have been, a person who should have never put you in this position in the first place, here goes.

“She made me feel wanted; you made me feel free.”,

he spits out in a hurry, praying to whatever god is listening, that you won’t even catch it, knowing full well that these may be the last words you'll ever let him speak to you.

You are utterly, completely, perfectly shocked.

Then you feel it for the first time in what feels like ages. That old friend consuming you. Rage. It burns your lungs, twists your guts and pierces your heart like a thousand needles. Everything becomes crystal clear. You’re so infuriated, that your mind goes blank. A million words and nothing at all come to your mind simultaneously.

“Let me- let me rephrase that, because actually it was never even about her, I just-” Joel begins, in a vain attempt to stop the tide from crushing you both.

Your palms become clenched fists in front of your mouth, pressing against it, crushing the velvety skin of the inside of your lips against your teeth until you draw blood, in an effort to control yourself. You inhale sharply, keeping your eyes fixed on the land in front of you, blurred by the tears gathering in your waterline.

“She- what?” are the only words you manage to choke out.

“Baby, it doesn’t matter, it was never about her, she was a means to an end and-” your eyes bulge out of your sockets at the statement, “I know- I know how that sounds- just-” his palms come together in a prayerful gesture, begging you to give him a chance to explain.

“A means to an- what the fuck are you talking about, Joel?” the veins on your forehead swell under your skin, creating a map of the river of wrath flowing aggressively through your body.

“It was never an affair sweetheart, but a transaction; one I initiated. She was only a boost to my ego.”

..she made me feel wanted..

..a boost to my ego..

It's all starting to make sense now, and it's the last thing you expect to be confronted with. You've always imagined either a heated affair, a secret love story, him realizing he had found his soul mate in someone else, or him getting bored with you, finding you too much or too emotional or too unlovable. It turns out that you were accused of the one thing you never were.

“Are you-, oh god,” you can hear your heart pounding in your ears now and it takes every ounce of strength not to vomit, “are you saying that you fucked someone else; you fucked your secretary for fuck’s sake, you fuckin’ cliché of a man, because I wasn’t jealous of you?”. Your throat is so swollen, you try to scream your words at him but they only come out in wrenched whispers.

You stand up abruptly, dizziness causing you to close your eyes tightly as you see a million white dots behind the blackness of your eyelids. Your whole body vibrates with rage. You steady yourself on the railing and then begin to pace back and forth, your hands unable to stay motionless, but moving over your face, through your hair, lowering and squeezing the sides of your waist as you lean slightly forward in a subconscious way to soothe yourself.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god,” you laugh hysterically now, as angry tears run down your cheeks, as if you've been let in on an inside joke. “It’s my fault, everything is my fault-”

Joel is frozen in place, he’s not sure if he should get up and try to reason with you or stay where he is.. or run for the hills. He’s witnessing the unleashing of a caged animal. His tongue feels heavy and numb in the cavern of his mouth but he dares to speak again, “That’s the exact opposite of what I said, sweetheart,” he tries to explain in vain, “I’m sorry if that’s what I-” but you’re not listening to a single word he utters.

“People kept telling me, urging me on, all my life;” and you slap your palms on the sides of your thighs, looking at his direction, but not really looking, “I should be more controlling, more pushy, more..” your voice begins to fade, muttering to yourself through your teeth. “They warned me, you know, that the lack of pressure in any kind of relationship would be perceived as a lack of interest.”

Don't trust completely; hold something back; men like the illusion of power; show them you need them; make them jealous; be jealous, like a manual to a pre-installed setting.

Do you agree to the Terms & Conditions?

Press ‘Enter.’

“But I didn’t listen. I never listened. Because in what world do we choose a leash over freedom?” You turn to look at him now, addressing him as if you were talking to a third party, an outsider, asking for advise or affirmation.

Maria’s words come back to Joel’s mind, words that he had long forgotten about, finally fitting like missing pieces of a puzzle to the bigger picture.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”

“I was really stupid, was I not? What on earth made me think that this time would be any different, what made me think that you’d be any different? You’re just- you’re just another man-” you spit your vile angrily as your eyes sweep over him. The look in his eyes is devastated, he feels shuttered, reduced to nothing.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid little girl. When the fuck will I learn? When the fuck am I going to accept that I don't really belong? When?”

Joel is staring at you bewildered, he never felt more helpless in his life. A thousand new thoughts and questions form in your head, things you didn’t even begin to imagine would cross your mind.

“Did you use her?” you ask with renewed vigor, a surge of energy running through your body.

Joel’s cheeks burn with humiliation but he has already admitted it once, what will it do to him to say it one more time? “Yes, I never had any feelings f-”

“No,” you interrupt impatiently, you don't care about his feelings right fuckin' now, “that night, did you use her? On purpose?”

Joel looks lost for a second but the cogs in his head finally turn and “NO! No baby, I wasn’t even aware of you coming home earlier than expected, no. Don’t even entertain this idea; it wasn’t intentional, I swear to god.”

Oh. There’s a new question for Joel. Why did you leave your business trip early? He had never thought about it before, solely focused on everything else that had happened, which now made him wonder, “Did you- did you know?”

“What?” you frown, lost in your own thoughts, not following his line of logic.

“Did you know? Is that why you came back early from your trip?”

You’re still a bit too far gone in your head to think clearly and try to prevent the next question from coming, “Of course I didn’t know, Joel, did it look like I did?” is all you say with a bite, annoyed.

“Then why-” Joel insists, pressuring you for an answer, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“I- fuck- I need a minute.” you declare and start to walk towards the house.

Joel waited on that porch for almost an hour, watching the sun set behind the mountain, afraid to move, barely breathing in case you stormed out and threw him back where he came from as if him standing still would somehow make him part of the landscape; as if he belonged.

And you certainly delivered.

He hears the screen door open, his back still to the house. You are standing behind him, your arms crossed stiffly over your chest, your face tilted down, to avoid his gaze. He could see the red-rimmed and swollen eyes of yours, despite your efforts to hide them.

“I can’t do this-”

“Please,” his whole face contorts in agony, “please, hear me-” you both speak at the same time.

“-tonight.”

“What?” his voice matching the look of confusion on his face.

“Maybe another time, but not tonight.”

“I-” he doesn’t know how to articulate his thoughts without sounding like an idiot. He drove all this way, four hours straight, to finally get things straight. His brain has short-circuited, unable to put a plan into action. Should he check into a hotel or a motel or whatever the fuck is around here in the middle of nowhere? Should he go back to his place? Do you really want to talk again? You sort of said you did. You said maybe. Fuck. What does he do?

But honestly, what did he expect? That this would be over in the course of one evening? Of course he would have to come back. His eyes are fixed on yours like a deer caught in the headlights. “I came all this way-” he mumbles, choking on the last part, already regretting the words that came out of his mouth.

“Well, too bad.” you spit emotionless as you turn and head for the safety of your house, leaving him stunned on the goddamn porch.

Joel returned the next evening, but you weren't there. He made the four hour journey and came back empty-handed. And you weren't there the next evening, or the evening after that. But he kept on driving the miles, hot wheels under the Texas sun. He didn’t check in anywhere near your small town. He went back home and then back to you again.

The last time he found nothing but a closed door, he finally got the message, so the next time he left the house, before he turned on the ignition, he texted you, as a sign of respect for your boundaries.

Is it all right if I come and see you?

Backspacebackspacebackspace

Is it OK if I come and talk?

And the answer was

Not today.

So, every day he texted you. He didn’t mean to be intrusive, he just wanted to remind you that you were never far from his thoughts, that he was always ready and eager to finish what he started.

You denied him for quite some time. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him again. The confessions he made have knocked you off your axis. Just when you finally felt like everything was falling into place, he dropped this bombshell, making you rethink everything you thought you knew and had sorted out in your mind. You just couldn’t wrap your head around what you’d heard coming out of his mouth. How could he think like that? Why couldn’t he just talk to you? You used to talk about everything; what the fuck happened? How did you not see that coming?

You were sure that he would give up, that he would stop bothering to contact you at all. Was it the monster of self-deprecation? Was it a deep disappointment in human beings and their general lack of persistence in trying to nurture and repair a relationship, or at least trying to give it a proper closure? You didn’t give it much thought afraid of the answer you might get. But you kept saying Not today, until one day, for some reason-

Can we talk?

Yes.

Joel’s heart is beating through his chest so rapidly, he has to cough to regain some of his composure. He almost drops his phone, trying to confirm the most convenient time for you before you change your mind.

That was the first Yes after the day you saw him again. You weren’t sure what you wanted to talk about; if you could pick up exactly where you left off. You weren’t even sure you could look him in the eye again, but you had to see this through.

When you hear the sound of his engine and tires on the dirt road, you take a deep breath and walk out of the house to wait for him on the porch.

“Come on in, I’m cooking dinner.” you announce as you open the screen door for him to enter the house.

“Are you sure?”, Joel is taken aback, he thought the inside of your house was strictly off-limits to him. You were also cooking dinner as if he was an old friend visiting you. He couldn’t help but wonder if he should lower his defenses or not but with the way you looked tonight you didn’t give him much of a choice.

You’re wearing a pair of warm cream jeans, paired with a white front tie shirt, the first few buttons left open, giving him a glimpse of your tanned sternum. It almost looks like a man’s shirt, just messily tied up over your soft skin, revealing bits of your stomach. Could it be another man’s shirt?

You are barefoot. The nails of your toes are painted in a fresh glossy black color. Your hair is casually tied up in a messy bun, loose strands falling around your beaming face. Joel has to restrain himself from pushing you against the wall and fucking you on the spot, by clenching and unclenching his fists. His mouth is salivating at the sight of you, excitement building in his groin. It's been so long since he's felt this way, a different kind of hunger is growing in him at a rapid pace, as if something buried deep inside his masculinity has just awakened from hibernation.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you quirk back at him, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, what you’re both doing. “I’m starving. Coming?” you leave him at the entrance and go back into the house.

“You have a beautiful home.”, Joel admits as he takes in his surroundings, thinking that this is going better than he expected. He also can't help but prepare himself for the fact that this might not end the same way.

“Thank you.” you laugh nervously.

“What?”, he catches the note of disbelief in your voice. “I'm serious, the light is just right, it’s open and warm; it actually reminds me of you.” he says matter-of-factly.

“No, no, I know you mean it, it’s just- I guess it’s high praise, coming from you.” you admit. You always admired what he did for a living and how good he was at it and him seeing your place for the first time gave you another reason to feel kind of nervous.

“Oh, come on, none of that now.” he dismisses the compliment, his voice wavering slightly at the praise.

“Well it’s true, you are excellent at what you do, I mean, the house you built is a work of art and that’s a fact.”

“Which one?”, although he knows exactly which one, he presses on.

“The one we used to live in, together.” You can’t call it your house. You cannot. The mere thought of it makes your tongue feel like it’s on fire.

“Oh.”, Joel smiles as he presses his lips together in a thin line, “You mean our house. It was built out of love, that's why. It's the one I'm most proud of.”

“Hm.”, is all you give him. Déjà vu brings back memories out of the closet -pun intended- for both of you.

“Ok, now you really have to tell me. What is it?”, Joel crosses his forearms over his chest. He has to know.

“What do you mean?”, you try to buy some more time, cause you’re not so sure you want to go in there.

“You had the exact same reaction when I mentioned that, four years ago.”

“Ah, that.”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s just- it always felt like it reflected your personality rather than mine. Or at least ours.”

Joel looks at you perplexed.

“I’m not complaining, I mean, how many people can claim that their husband built them a house the size of a small hotel as a wedding present?” you chuckle while you continue as nonchalantly as you can muster, “I would have lived in a cave with you, Joel, you didn’t have to go to these lengths to house two people. If you want my honest opinion, this was an ego project. I let it slide because it made you happy. And I liked you happy.” Joel looks stunned, his eyes darting back and forth between yours.

“Baby, I- I wanted to make you happy, to give you the best I could-”

“Joel, I’m not judging you. I am not. But you didn’t show me a single blueprint while you were designing the damn thing. You didn’t ask me what I wanted or how I imagined it. Sure, you equipped it with all the best stuff money could buy, but you never asked me what I thought about it. Not really.”, you see the hurt in his eyes and it unsettles you, but now the rabbit is out of the hat. “Again, I’m not judging you and I’m not being ungrateful, all I’m saying is that for some reason you needed your shinny new wife to live in a shinny new castle. It was a prestige thing. Just think about it.”

“Jesus..” Joel mutters, pinching the sides of his forehead with one hand, feeling defeated.

“Hey,” you give him a wry look, “I tried to avoid answering that question for four years. You were the one who insisted.” you defend yourself, clearly amused by his reaction.

“What else do I need to know?”, Joel wonders in a desperate manner.

“Well.. for how long can you keep coming back?” you joke absentmindedly.

“For the rest of my life..” Joel answers a little too quickly, not a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Your heart tightens at his eagerness, forcing you to admit a consideration that you have had more than a few times before. “You know,” you look over at him, lost in thought, almost like reminiscing, “sometimes I wish I had met you before your company took off.” You snap out of your daydream and consciously look at him and he looks pained as if some kind of realization has hit him. You change the subject for the sake of both of you. “Anyway, speaking of which, how is work? I heard you closed that deal, after all.” you grin mischievously.

“Yeah, I did.”, his voice takes on a strange timbre, almost like regret. But you’re not so sure about anything these days, so you let it pass. He puts the envelope with the contract on the counter in the kitchen and sits down in the chair next to the table already set for dinner.

“Good, that’s good. Let me guess, you’re all over it? First in, last out? Is it almost done?” you word vomit to cover your nervousness.

“Uh,” Joel rubs the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t know.” is all he gives you, clearly trying to avoid getting involved in the discussion.

“Um, you don’t know?”, you laugh lightly in confusion. “How is that possible?”, you ask stirring the vegetables in the pan.

“I’m not involved in the project and I have no idea about the status of the construction;” Joel answers your question and continues, revealing, “I quit. Sold my shares and got out.”

“Yeah,” you draw the vowels, still not looking in his direction, “right. Big, mighty Joel Miller left his enterprise-” you laugh mockingly, but you are met with silence. “You’re joking, right?” You turn to look at him, not believing what you have just heard. You feel your blood freeze in your veins.

Joel shakes his head in denial, “I’ve actually left the city and the only reason I haven’t sold every asset in my name is in case you want to claim any of them. They’re all yours if you want ‘em.” Your mouth is slightly agape, as you try to process what has just been delivered to you.

You open your mouth to protest but he beats you to it, by raising his hand to stop you. “I know you don’t want anything from me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want them either. Not without you. Just take them. Burn them for all I care, liquidate them and use the money as you see fit.”, Joel insists, trying to find ways to convince you.

“You can do that yourself, Joel.” is all you say; you don’t give a damn about his money. Joel nods and leaves it at that, he knows better than to talk about money right now.

You’re curious where he lives now, but you’re not sure it’s appropriate to ask, so you don’t. You prepare dinner and make small talk about simple things like your lives over the past four years. Joel asks you about the ranch, the horses, the chores; you ask him about Tommy and Maria, their newborn son, whom you haven't had a chance to meet yet. None of you dare to break the bubble of normality in which you have effortlessly found yourselves.

It feels like coming home after a long day, the way you both fall into a comfortable silence. Joel speaks your name softly, drawing your attention and your gaze back to him. “What are we doing here?”

“We’re eating?” Just a little longer, let me have it just a little longer.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “no, I mean, what are we doing?” he gestures with his fingers between him and you.

You look at him and then at your plate, playing around with your food, lost in thought. How do you acknowledge that? How do you confess that you’re trying to stretch time? How do you admit that you’re scared out of your mind of how it's all going to end? How do you even come to terms with the fact that you’re not sure you want any of this to end? How do you accept how natural it feels to have him back in your life? How do you admit that after four years the pain has never stopped, but the force, the roughness of it has changed into something softer, yet persistent; never quite going away, lingering.

How do you admit that all the good memories are emerging, because that’s what the mind does, that’s how it protects you, that’s how it helps you survive another day, that’s how it tricks you into falling back into a comfortable routine with him. Even if what binds you together now is his betrayal. How do you admit that you’re afraid of what will become of you once you've finished confessing your truths?

Will he cease to exist for you? Will you cease to exist for him? Will he ever bother to contact you again? Do you really want him to? Will you matter to him or will he move on, start again and shake off the last vestiges of your life together?

Or maybe- maybe he has moved on with his life and that's why he's doing all this, putting all this effort into it. Maybe he is preparing a new, clear path for himself and whoever is in his life right now. Is it her? Is it still, her?

You’re spiraling, lost in your thoughts, biting your lower lip anxiously, like a snake eating its own tail. “Baby?” his baritone voice snaps you out of it, he must have called you several times before you heard him, suddenly aware of hot, fat tears streaming down your face, his thumbs gently brushing them from your cheeks.

You let out a shuddering breath; it’s the first time he’s touched you, in so, so long. And here he is again. The familiar, old friend. He’s pounding on your door now, relentless as he is, screaming for you to let him in, lead the way, take charge, take care of you. You can almost feel his maniacal banging, vibrating through your chest, let me in, let me in, let me in.

Let me in, better angry than scared.

Better angry than scared.

Your shoulders slump, your head feels unbearably heavy. The world has stopped moving. The world is moving too fast. You savor his features as he leans further in, his intoxicating scent filling your nostrils, his eyes pleading, the brown of his irises inviting you to let him in. Joel’s face is that of a man still in love as he continues to caress your skin and you let him.

You let him, because you are a weak person.

You let him because you have been deprived of his touch, of any touch really, for far too long.

You let him because you want to have something for yourself, selfishly.

You let him, because for once you just want to take. Take, take, take.

You let him because you just want to be held and touched and loved.

And even though your mind knows that you shouldn’t want all that from him, your heart allows you that little moment.

“Joel, I’m tired.” you begin, your voice breaking as fresh tears run down your face and onto his thumbs. “Tired to my bones. All I want is to be honest with each other. Do you think we can do that? Can we talk like two adults with nothing left to lose? Can we just be truthful to each other? I know there’s too much history between us, too much hurt and resentment but we both have to try and put it all behind us. I can’t go on like this.”

There’s a stillness in him, realization and clarity dawning on him. He thinks he understands now and it shocks him somehow, as a fact, that there are still things to uncover, to revel in, to acknowledge. Every time he thinks he’s reached the end of this journey, a new sun rises over the horizon.

You don’t need the specifics of his action, at least not right now, or not anymore. What you need is closure. True, honest closure. And that can only come from him baring himself to you. “Yeah, yeah, we can do that. We can do anything you want, baby.”, he squeezes his eyes shut, knowing where to begin, but resisting the thought. He leans back in his seat, dropping his hands from your face as he lets out the breath he seems to be holding in and begins.

“Remember that night before your business trip when you came to my office?”

“Uh, yeah? I guess.”, what a strange thing to mention, you think confused. “What about it?”

“You came to me for sex.”, Joel says bluntly, no need to beat around the bush. This is it. This is how he loses you. Once again.

You stare at him and then, for some reason, look down in embarrassment. You’ve fucked him in almost every way you can think of and now the very admission of that fact makes you feel like an exposed nerve. It dawns on you, how far away this era has slipped away. You feel vulnerable as if you’re talking to a total stranger about your most intimate moments. At the same time, you still know exactly how to touch him, how to please him and a light warmth begins to shimmer inside you.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it, but- yeah..”, you admit, still nervously picking at your food with your fork.

Joel sees your apprehension but he presses on. This is what you asked for. “And I refused you.” The look on your face betrays your confusion. Where is he going with this? Only now, he sees more. He can finally see more. The hurt. The disappointment. “What happened next?” is his next question and does he really think that you can remember all these years later? Does he honestly believe that you can recall yourself leaving his office defeated and crying yourself to sleep? “I don’t remember.” you lie, shrugging your shoulders as convincingly as you can muster.

“You said you loved me and then you left.”, Joel reminds you.

“You- you remember all that?”, your eyes are wide and the look on your face vulnerable, Joel wants to pause it all and hold you in his arms.

“I can’t seem to forget anything about you,” he reveals, “believe me, I’ve tried.”

“What’s your point?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Uh.. why did I do what?”, you narrow your eyes in confusion.

His eyes are piercing yours, provoking you to figure it out on your own.

“Loved you?” He shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

Your eyes widen again, in surprise this time, as you finally see what he means.

“Walked away?” You’re fucking shocked to the core, your voice choked, you’re not sure you spoke out loud.

“Why didn’t you insist?”

Your mouth is wide open, you’re speechless, you flatter your eyelids in search of the right words. This is your second encounter and once again he says what you least expect him to say.

“You refused” you remind him now, “and I respected that.”, your hand moves to rest on your chest, palm open, to calm your racing heart.

“I didn’t want you to.”

“You know how that sounds, don’t you?”, you mock with a nervous laugh.

“Oh, please,” Joel is quick to respond, his brows knitted in a dismissive frown, “like you could ever force yourself on me.”

You genuinely are at a loss for words, your gaze unable to stay in one place, your mind running a million miles an hour.

Apparently you both are, because Joel is no better at explaining how he feels. “I wanted you to-”, he stops, his eyes still searching yours for the right words, pleading with you to feel him.

Oh my god. Oh. My. God.

It dawns on you. All at once. You see it all playing out. You know exactly how this conversation is going to go. “-claim you? You wanted me to claim you?”, your voice rises, as does your tone. You feel the presence of your abandoned friend again. You don’t want him here. But he creeps in through your veins, nonetheless. He is not giving up. If the pounding doesn’t work then he’ll poison you, slowly and persistently.

“From who? You were supposed to be mine!”, you exclaim exasperated, immediately correcting yourself “-not that I owned you, you know what-”

“That! That’s what I’m talking about!” Joel points his finger at you, “That’s what I needed. To be yours!”

“But you were! Are we really haggling over semantics? Of course you were mine! I just never wanted you to feel suffocated by me. You were not my possession Joel, you were my partner!”

“I swear to you, I would die a happy man, baby.”

“I- I tried so hard to control myself-” you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes back to your head as you shake it in denial, “-all that hunger inside of me, eating me up-”

“What?” is Joel’s turn to look like a lost puppy. What the fuck is going on here?

“You,” you point a finger at him, “you were my first and last thought every passing day, it wasn’t even healthy anymore, Joel. But- I saw that look in your eyes sometimes, a hunger, one I thought mirrored mine and then it was gone in the blink of an eye and I thought that something was holding you back; I- I was holding you back. I thought- maybe I was undeserving..” you divert your eyes from him, embarrassed at your feeling of inadequacy, “So, I accepted what you gave me if it meant I could have any part of you.”

“Oh, baby..” Joel’s hiding his face in his palms and his heart breaks as he realizes where you both stand. How did the two of you get to this point? How could his judgment be so clouded, how could he be so blind to what was happening under his own roof? How could he be so arrogant as to seek validation, one he didn't even need, from someone else? Someone whose validation he didn't even care about. It didn't matter to him. She didn’t matter to him. How could he not sense the insecurity tantalizing your very core to the point of feeling inadequate? If only you had told him sooner.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you mirror his thoughts with your voice.

“What should I say to you? I couldn’t put it into words, even now I'm not sure I can. It was an all-consuming feeling, an absolute necessity, an overwhelming need that was impossible to handle. I wasn’t mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with it. I loved you with such force that it became an obsession. I couldn’t even entertain the idea that you might not want me back in the same way. I felt helpless, vulnerable. How could I come to terms with this? With the realization that I had fucked someone else just to get a rise out of you or to prove to myself that I didn't need you that much after all?”

Joel’s palms are clenched into fists on his thighs, trying to keep himself from pressing his lips against yours. Feelings and desires that had been buried in his subconscious for too long came back as he tried to make you understand.

“A r- so, you did fuck her on our bed on purpose.”

“You asked me that before, darlin’, I promise you I did not.”

“Then how would you provoke me if you didn’t mean for me to find out?” you look at him incredulously.

“I-” Joel winces, “it wasn’t a conscious thought, I just kept fantasizing about you finding out and burning the house down for me and that single image made me so h-” Joel shuts his mouth abruptly, not the best idea to describe to you how fuckin’ hard he got, fantasizing about you while fucking someone else. You, bursting into the bedroom all raging and furious, turning the whole place upside down reclaiming what was rightfully yours.

Him.

What a sick fuck he was. “I swear to you, no. I’m not that fucked up. It was a gigantic lack of judgment, I was fuckin’ drunk, my mind was a mess at that point. That whole week was-” he’s biting his tongue hard to stop himself while rubbing his forehead with his fingers, “I was just being an idiot.”

“The week I was gone?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“Nothing, ‘snothing.” and he doesn’t elaborate. “Just a bad fuckin’ week.”

The atmosphere suddenly feels suffocating, as if all the words that have spilled out of both your mouths are hovering over your heads like a black cloud. You need some air to clear your mind, so you make your way out of the kitchen without looking back and walk slowly to the porch, sitting on the steps at the bottom of the stairs. You know he will follow. Your bare feet touch the soft soil beneath you and you try to ground yourself through the little patch of earth you call your own. It doesn’t quite work. There’s a beautiful golden glow, a last gift from the parting sun, warming your soul. Everything is going to be all right.

“Strange fantasies we both had.” you say as Joel seats down next to you, the contract once again a barrier between you. “You kept fantasizing about me finding out about your affair-”.

“It wasn’t an affair-” Joel corrects you. “Fine, fine. You imagined that, while I kept fantasizing me holding you so tightly while we fucked that our flesh became one; that’s how deep I needed you inside me, that’s how obsessively I wanted to carry you with me all the time, isn’t that totally fucked up?” you laugh dejectedly.

“I guess we are the same kind of fucked up. If only we could admit it to each other..”

“Did you really feel that I didn’t love you enough?” you whisper, almost too scared to be heard and to get an answer.

“I think we loved each other too much. I think we were both too afraid of losing each other. I think,” Joel pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts and calm his voice, “in our efforts to keep each other we did the exact opposite. More me than you, for sure. I have handled things badly and badly is an understatement.”

“You were always so patient with me. You’d always wait for me to come to you, to take my time. I needed the savage in you, or I thought I did at the time. That desperate thing I felt creeping out of you in stolen glances or bitten lips between your teeth, or when we fucked; no one has ever fucked me like you did. I did see all of you then, you know. And I think you saw all of me. If I made you feel confident or safe enough, you would have talked to me. And if I wasn’t so self-absorbed I would have asked.”

You never thought you’d hear these words from Joel, but all this time of self-reflection has changed him in a way that reminds you of the Joel you fell in love with. The one you could see behind all those layers of self-protection, the one you’d always hoped would emerge for you. And then he goes on, and you wish you knew what was coming so you could protect your heart from being torn to shreds.

“Maybe-” he closes his eyes looking pained, “maybe I was a narcissist. Maybe you gave me all you had and I kept wanting more, maybe I needed every part of you for myself. Maybe I needed you on your knees, on a leash, at my mercy, just to have the illusion of the certainty that you would never leave me. Maybe freedom is for those who can bear it, after all. Hell, maybe I was the one who needed the leash in the end. Maybe you gave me too much credit, my love, when you deemed me worthy of freedom.”

His words are earth-shuttering, obliterating, final. There’s nothing left to be said, at least nothing of substance. Final. The fucking word plays over and over in your head. Final. This is final. You could swear that you have felt every possible kind of pain during these four long years but new depths of agony are being discovered right now. The acid in your stomach makes your throat constrict. You feel petrified.

Joel can sense your distress, his words have been of no comfort to you. Your skin looks pale, covered with a thin layer of cold sweat; you look physically ill. Your forearms rest on your knees and he gently cups your elbow to check in on you. Are you OK? You smile weakly at him, the expression not reaching the corners of your eyes.

“You know I would give anything to take it all back, right?”

Your laughter is more lively now, not with malice or sarcasm, but with a sense of humor.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I do.”, you shake your head in twisted amusement, tilting your head up, to let the last rays of the sun warm your face, maybe bring back some of your lost color. It's getting dark now, the day is coming to an end, the curtains of the last sunlight are almost closed. Your eyes are closed too, your head still tilted back as you laugh to yourself, “You did that backwards, too, you know.”

“What?”

“You have burned everything to the ground, only to realize that you want to get it all back in one piece. I mean it’s- it’s-” you struggle to find the right words but Joel offers one of his own.

“Ridiculous..”

“I was gonna say pointless.. But that’s the thing, Joel. Choosing to be with someone is like faith. You believe because you just know. You don't have to find evidence to prove your choice at every turn, otherwise it’s just exhausting. You choose to trust yourself.”

“Trust me as your partner, you mean, not yourself.”

“Joel, it was never about trusting you..”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand..”

“I’m not sure how to explain it- uh..”, you raise your shoulders and your brows in unison as you shake your head slightly, searching for the words. “Trust is a personal journey. ‘Trust’ doesn't mean ‘trust in you’, I’m not trusting you. No one can be sure of anyone. ‘Trust’ means that I have faith in myself, that even if you hurt me, even if you abandon me, I will not fall apart. And..” you shrug your shoulders, hugging yourself with your hands, “look at me, Joel..”, you finish, suggesting that you’re still here, still standing.

“I am, baby; I am..” Joel replies, taking in the sight of you as if it were the last time he’ll ever have the chance to, utterly compelled by your inner glow.

“I’m not mad at you Joel, not anymore. And I believe you, I really do. But I can’t get that scene out of my head. I just can’t. I can still hear the sounds, I can even recall the way you smelled when you were standing next to me.”

His hands are shaking.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, really.”

“I know.”, his voice is barely audible.

“I think you’ve done enough of that yourself. Maybe it’s time to forgive yourself?”

“Do you?” Do you, really? Do you forgive him after all that has been said? Do all these confessions illuminate the facts from a different perspective? Does it change what he did and what you went through? And if so, does that mean you're letting him go? Are you leaving him behind? Is he leaving you behind? Why is it so hard to let go? Why do you choose the safety of the known, even when it hurts you?

You choose not to answer and instead firmly insist, “You have to forgive yourself, Joel, it’s okay.” Be the better person. If not for him, then for yourself. Let him go.

“I can’t do that.”, Joel is adamant, shaking his head while he rejects your request.

“Yes, you can.” you urge him again. “As I can and do.” Let him go.

Joel never thought he would listen to those words coming out of your mouth. He doesn’t deserve them. He hasn’t earned them. “You forgive me?”, he repeats in utter shock and disbelief.

“Yes.” Loud and clear as daylight.

“I- You can’t- I don’t- I don’t deserve that.” Joel feels like he’s drowning in your so graciously offered Holy Grail, desperately trying to keep his head above the waters of your absolution.

“I can’t be the judge of that, Joel, hell, I can’t be the judge of anyone. The way I see it, you chose your actions and I chose mine. You chose to hurt me and I chose to walk away. We both lost something. Have we not suffered enough, Joel?” you ask him honestly.

“I don’t want to presume, but- isn’t it a great burden to carry on your shoulders when you try to move on? All this anger, all that bitterness?” you search his eyes for an answer but he doesn’t give you one.

You continue, hoping to get through to him. “Your feelings are your burden Joel and it doesn’t matter if I forgive you. That’s why it is you who needs to forgive yourself.”

His eyes still refuse to meet yours, stubbornly glued to the ground. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for me. We need to move forward, both of us.” is the last thing you say to him, not knowing if he even listened to half of what you just said.

You both fall into a thoughtful silence, but something you said is bugging him. He can’t quite figure it out, so he turns to look at you, to savor you while he still has the chance. He knows that his time is limited.

You’re just sitting there with him, trying to comfort him, you of all people. You seem lighter now, fidgeting absentmindedly with your fingers as if some of your burden has already been lifted. And as his gaze sweeps over you, he sees it again. He sees the white shirt hugging your body and he knows what’s troubling him.

I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume.

His heart beats rapidly in his chest, panic rising inside him.

“I’ve been with you for the last four years.”

“Excuse me?” your hands freeze as you turn to face him, clearly confused.

“You said you didn’t want to presume anything and I need to set the record straight. There was and is no other woman in my life except you.”

“Joel,” you blush shyly, “this is none of my business, you are free-”

“No. No. I need you to know this, it’s important to me. I meant everything I said. You have done nothing wrong. My feelings for you have never changed-”

“Joel, please..” you beg him to stop, you can’t have this conversation now, it’s too soon. No, you’re wrong. It’s too late; too soon means there’s a future ahead of you. A future where you both fit in the same universe.

“I don’t want you to think that I came all the way out here just to tie up some loose ends and move on. That is not what this is about.”

“If you expect me to tell you about my personal life..” your what now?

“No, I don’t. And I don’t think I could handle it, anyway. You are a free woman and you deserve the world. Unlike me; I don’t deserve anything and I’ll never be free of you.”

Your chin is now trembling and you bite your lower lip to stop the involuntary muscle contraction. You can’t decipher if it’s from anger for the way things came to be or from deep, excruciating sadness for how Joel feels. For how he makes you feel.

“Free woman, huh?”, you whisper bitterly, looking down at your feet, willing yourself not to cry.

“Yes, free, as you should always have been and I’m sorry I couldn’t see it sooner.”

Joel then picks up the divorce papers from the floor next to him as he’s fishing a pen out of his pocket. He stares at you and then at the blank space where his signature should be, next to yours. He splays his palm over the last page as if to straighten it out, but it almost looks like he’s caressing it. He brings the ball of the pen to the white surface and for a moment his hand lingers over it. He doesn’t dare look at you again, his resolve is not that strong. Finally, finally he signs, filling the empty spot and he hands you the contract. It’s a strange moment, the one before the signature and the one after it.

Everything seems to be the same; it is just a signature.

Everything feels completely different; it is not just a signature.

Your fingertips brush his as you reach out to take it, the touch sending shivers down your spine. Your slightly trembling hands hold the papers gently, not sure you wanna hold on to them or scatter them on the ground. Your thumb swipes softly over his signature.

You feel it, now. You feel the ground beneath your bare feet, the warmth of the earth, the weight of your footing. The falling has stopped. The feather finally rests. You have landed.

Joel moves to stand on his feet, as you keep staring at the drying ink, when you feel something fall from above onto your thumb; but you can’t see anything as it is immediately absorbed by the hungry pores of the paper, slightly smudging his signature. You look up to catch him as he dries his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“Free as a bird, baby, ready to fly over the world.”, Joel smiles at you with a look of reverence and devotion in his eyes.

You picture the floating feather in your head and smile back at him with a serenity he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“I think I just want to walk for a while. One step at a time.”

He nods, his eyes still full of emotion and you watch as he begins to walk slowly towards his truck, when suddenly he turns his body to face you but continues to walk backward in the same direction.

“Hey!” he calls to you with a mischievous smile, raising his chin to you.

“Yeah?” you answer, your voice wavering slightly as you try to hide your smile.

“Can I take you to dinner sometime?” he asks as he reaches for his driver’s door and opens it, waiting for your answer, which never comes because you think he’s joking. But he continues to stare at you, with no expectations, quietly, earnestly, sincerely, with a soft, shy smile on his lips. Oh.

Oh.

“Joel..” is all you breathe out, closing your eyes for a moment before you look at him again, because his name is all that is left in your very being right now. Joel.

He seems lighter, too.

“Maybe, one day..?”

“Yeah.. Maybe, one day..”

previous |

Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre @leggtostandon @sarahhxx03

@zliteraturehoe @msmorningstaarr @gossipgirl-03 @vabeachazn @joeldjarin

@sofiparallel

[inkblotsinkblots-alt]

My experience with [band]

My experience with [band] and [band]'s management starts in April 2022. I had emailed the band's business email that used to be in their bio in December 2021, and in April 2022 I got a response. I had been asked if I was available within the next couple of weeks to come down to Brighton and do a photo shoot with the band. Management really liked my work, and wanted to work with me. I was asked to provide my rates and any expenses that would incur. I had asked if I would be at least credited for these images on social media (tagged etc ...), and management said that they could not commit to that at that time. This photo shoot did not happen.

I worked with [band] for the first and only time in January 2023 and photographed / videoed their set.

I was completely blindsided by the fact that this could’ve been a huge opportunity for me, and it could change my career completely. When I got the email inviting me to work with the band, I screamed and actually worried my parents for a few minutes. I agreed to terms that I shouldn’t have (not a full written agreement, but various statements in emails). In hindsight I had no clue what some of them meant (and I think the band’s management knew that).

There was no formal contract, only emails. The band would own my photos 'in perpetuity' and when I asked what that meant, they (management) said that 'the band have the freedom to use them however they please'. Making money off of my photos, and putting them on merch that they would then sell out of, was not mentioned. I was under the impression they would only be using the photos on social media as I did not get any clarification, even though I asked for it. I wanted to press for a more detailed answer, but I was afraid that I'd lose the job.

This was never about the money that I'd potentially make from having my photos on merch, it's that I didn't even know it was happening. I was also 'allowed' to upload '3-4' photos to my social media from the gig, even though they were my photos. I was stupid enough to agree with this. Again, I felt as though if I challenged this I would lose the job.

At the end of the show in January 2023 I was promised at least a couple of shows on the upcoming tour, as '[I was] great to work with. Such a pleasure.' I have no evidence that I was offered shows during that tour as it was said to me in person. I was then let down at the beginning of March (after multiple follow up emails) with 'I don't think there is the additional need for your services also' when I asked about discussing the tour. I was devastated.

I was offered photo passes* to subsequent Manchester gigs and I took them as they had no strings attached, and the band would not own my images (that's why you've seen a lot of them on my socials).

I met a bunch of well-known creators, musicians and photographers while working with [band] and they were all so very sweet. Some of which I am still in contact with today, and some I am good friends with. I am very grateful for this.

I fully support Shelby, she is so incredibly brave for talking about her experiences, and it's because of her bravery that I felt confident enough to share my experience - although very different in nature.

I fully believe that [band]’s management wanted to take advantage of fans who wanted to photograph [band]’s gigs. And pay them as little as possible with no consistency in pay between photographers or how many photos they were allowed to post. (This is my own opinion)

I am not the only one that has had a negative experience with [band] and their management as a photographer / creative, but those are not my stories to tell and if they want to comment then they will. Please don't speculate on who these people are or harass them on social media, they have every right to not want to talk about their experiences. Please respect everyone involved.

Massive love, take care of yourselves.

am

(*Photo passes are offered to press photographers and non-touring photographers. They shoot the first three songs from the photo pit and then leave. Either to go into the crowd for the rest of the gig, or leave the gig entirely.)

please do not edit this post or reblog, do not take screenshots and post this on twitter or any other social media platform, thank you.

[lurkingteapot]

Every now and then I think about how subtitles (or dubs), and thus translation choices, shape our perception of the media we consume. It's so interesting. I'd wager anyone who speaks two (or more) languages knows the feeling of "yeah, that's what it literally translates to, but that's not what it means" or has answered a question like "how do you say _____ in (language)?" with "you don't, it's just … not a thing, we don't say that."

I've had my fair share of "[SHIP] are [married/soulmates/fated/FANCY TERM], it's text!" "[CHARACTER A] calls [CHARACTER B] [ENDEARMENT/NICKNAME], it's text!" and every time. Every time I'm just like. Do they though. Is it though. And a lot of the time, this means seeking out alternative translations, or translation meta from fluent or native speakers, or sometimes from language learners of the language the piece of media is originally in.

Why does it matter? Maybe it doesn't. To lots of people, it doesn't. People have different interests and priorities in fiction and the way they interact with it. It's great. It matters to me because back in the early 2000s, I had dial-up internet. Video or audio media that wasn't available through my local library very much wasn't available, but fanfiction was. So I started to read English language Gundam Wing fanfic before I ever had a chance to watch the show. When I did get around to watching Gundam Wing, it was the original Japanese dub. Some of the characters were almost unrecognisable to me, and first I doubted my Japanese language ability, then, after checking some bits with friends, I wondered why even my favourite writers, writers I knew to be consistent in other things, had made these characters seem so different … until I had the chance to watch the US-English dub a few years later. Going by that adaptation, the characterisation from all those stories suddenly made a lot more sense. And the thing is, that interpretation is also valid! They just took it a direction that was a larger leap for me to make.

Loose adaptations and very free translations have become less frequent since, or maybe my taste just hasn't led me their way, but the issue at the core is still a thing: Supernatural fandom got different nuances of endings for their show depending on the language they watched it in. CQL and MDZS fandom and the never-ending discussions about 知己 vs soulmate vs Other Options. A subset of VLD fans looking at a specific clip in all the different languages to see what was being said/implied in which dub, and how different translators interpreted the same English original line. The list is pretty much endless.

And that's … idk if it's fine, but it's what happens! A lot of the time, concepts -- expressed in language -- don't translate 1:1. The larger the cultural gap, the larger the gaps between the way concepts are expressed or understood also tend to be. Other times, there is a literal translation that works but isn't very idiomatic because there's a register mismatch or worse. And that's even before cultural assumptions come in. It's normal to have those. It's also important to remember that things like "thanks I hate it" as a sentiment of praise/affection, while the words translate literally quite easily, emphatically isn't easy to translate in the sense anglophone internet users the phrase.

Every translation is, at some level, a transformative work. Sometimes expressions or concepts or even single words simply don't have an exact equivalent in the target language and need to be interpreted at the translator's discretion, especially when going from a high-context/listener-responsible source language to a low-context/speaker-responsible target language (where high-context/listener responsible roughly means a large amount of contextual information can be omitted by the speaker because it's the listener's responsibility to infer it and ask for clarification if needed, and low-context/speaker-responsible roughly means a lot of information needs to be codified in speech, i.e. the speaker is responsible for providing sufficiently explicit context and will be blamed if it's lacking).

Is this a mouse or a rat? Guess based on context clues! High-context languages can and frequently do omit entire parts of speech that lower-context/speaker-responsible languages like English regard as essential, such as the grammatical subject of a sentence: the equivalent of "Go?" - "Go." does largely the same amount of heavy lifting as "is he/she/it/are you/they/we going?" - "yes, I am/he/she/it is/we/you/they are" in several listener-responsible languages, but tends to seem clumsy or incomplete in more speaker-responsible ones. This does NOT mean the listener-responsible language is clumsy. It's arguably more efficient! And reversely, saying "Are you going?" - "I am (going)" might seem unnecessarily convoluted and clumsy in a listener-responsible language. All depending on context.

This gets tricky both when the ambiguity of the missing subject of the sentence is clearly important (is speaker A asking "are you going" or "is she going"? wait until next chapter and find out!) AND when it's important that the translator assign an explicit subject in order for the sentence to make sense in the target language. For our example, depending on context, something like "are we all going?" - "yes" or "they going, too?" might work. Context!

As a consequence of this, sometimes, translation adds things – we gain things in translation, so to speak. Sometimes, it's because the target language needs the extra information (like the subject in the examples above), sometimes it's because the target language actually differentiates between mouse and rat even though the source language doesn't. However, because in most cases translators don't have access to the original authors, or even the original authors' agencies to ask for clarification (and in most cases wouldn't get paid for the time to put in this extra work even if they did), this kind of addition is almost always an interpretation. Sometimes made with a lot of certainty, sometimes it's more of a "fuck it, I've got to put something and hope it doesn't get proven wrong next episode/chapter/ten seasons down" (especially fun when you're working on a series that's in progress).

For the vast majority of cases, several translations are valid. Some may be more far-fetched than others, and there'll always be subjectivity to whether something was translated effectively, what "effectively" even means …

ANYWAY. I think my point is … how interesting, how cool is it that engaging with media in multiple languages will always yield multiple, often equally valid but just sliiiiightly different versions of that piece of media? And that I'd love more conversations about how, the second we (as folks who don't speak the material's original language) start picking the subtitle or dub wording apart for meta, we're basically working from a secondary source, and if we're doing due diligence, to which extent do we need to check there's nothing substantial being (literally) lost -- or added! -- in translation?

[shrimpkini]

Who's lex dark and why's that anon so pressed about you hating them? Hate to your heart's content!

CW: discussing CSA, pedophilia, and problematic content

Lex_Dark is a popular nsfw artist on twt. I want to get it out of the way that I at one point followed them for a brief time. This was until I saw some of the art they made. They’ve drawn porn of teen soukoku, endorse ships like Chuuya x Oda, Mori x Dazai, and Ranpo x Fukuzawa. They are a pro shipper who, surprise, surprise, takes things too far by glorifying and sexualizing pedophilia.

One of their pieces has Mori walking in on skk after they had sex. Like Dazai doesn’t have pants on and still has cum dripping down his legs and opens the door to greet Mori. They don’t depict teenagers having a sex life, because I do believe that can be done in a way that is needed for a story or self discovery. But that is not what they are doing. They are drawing a teen Chuuya and Dazai and making them “sexy” for the audience.

They have 60k followers and I’m really disappointed they have a platform. When it comes to sexualizing fictional children in art, it is incredibly harmful. It actively hurts real life children. I should know as a victim of csa myself. Normalizing the sexualization of teenagers is disgusting. I think we should ask ourselves what do they find attractive about the teenage version of those characters? Why are they so keen on shipping children with parental figures or adult characters who met them when they were kids? It is so important to mention that Oda met Dazai when he was 16. Oda is 5 years older than Dazai meaning he was 21. He watched him grow up and viewed him as a child in the light novel. BECAUSE HE WAS. Teenagers are CHILDREN. Same with Fukuzawa and Ranpo. He met Ranpo when he was a kid and essentially adopted him. To put it in real life perspective — could you imagine lusting after a child you adopted and raised? My little sister is around that age. Another example is as a 21 yo, even though it’s legal, I wouldn’t go after an 18 yo who is still in high school. We are at different points in our life and they are still very much a kid despite being “legal”. Morality and what makes a moral relationship doesn’t just lie in age.

That is why I say if you are making content like that you are either a pedo, making content for pedos, or apart of the problem. And that is why I hate the content Lex_Dark makes. Hopefully that made sense. If there’s any confusion or things that you want more clarification on - I’d be happy to oblige.

[santacoppelia]

The HUGE analysis - This season starts and ends with a discussion, doesn't it?

Ok, my loves. This was one of the really long metas I've been working with, and probably the one that has taken me the longest (because it depended a lot on rewatching the season time and again).

I couldn't help to notice that the fist interaction Aziraphale and Crowley have in season 2 is a fight, really. Yeah, we have the beautiful “in the beginning” sequence, with both of them being angels and happy and all the such (oh, how lovely, Neil Gaiman planting the seeds of why it will matter to us that Aziraphale will not be fighting the idea of inviting Crowley to Heaven, because he remembers that happy, careless guy). But after the intro, we see them having a big disagreement… And we end the season in the biggest disagreement they have had, probably, in 6,000 years.

I love over-analyzing and dissecting narratives and characters, and more so if I can use only what we’ve been shown in the screen. Therefore, I believe that the first fight of the season tells us a lot of the things we will need to know to understand the final fight of the season between them. Let’s take a look, shall we?

The first fight is motivated by having an amnesiac Gabriel in the bookshop.

They see the same circumstance: Gabriel in the bookshop means trouble with Heaven. He is also an individual risk, because he has menaced Aziraphale directly (well, Crowley under the visage of Aziraphale).

It affects each of them differently: even when they both panic, Aziraphale feels compelled to be kind to Gabriel (gives him a blanket and hot cocoa) while Crowley has a full-on panic induced reaction and gets defensive.

They propose opposite solutions: Azi wants to do the Good thing, taking the “higher road” (help Gabriel), while Crowley wants to do His Own thing: “Protect the precious, peaceful, fragile existence I have carved for myself”

At that moment, Aziraphale corrects him and marks a “we”, which is very interesting. But immediately after that, Aziraphale gets all "my way or the highway".

Crowley asks for clarification, with a well-leveled tone of voice: “Is this how it is going to go?”

Azi clarifies "no, I want you to help me!" But then he does the passive-aggressive thing: "if you won't, you won't". (oh, Aziraphale, how you triggered me here, my dear chap. I was angry at the character the first 6 times I saw this)

Therefore, Crowley is out. He marks a clear limit: “I won't. You are on your own”, and then storms out. No Eccles cakes would help him: he needs a breather and counting to 10. That doesn't help either.

Crowley only comes back after gaining an extra perspective: the "extreme sanctions" talk with Beelzebub.

When he comes back, Aziraphale will stand his ground: he feels he deserves an apology, which is delivered via a “I was wrong, you were right” literal admission (even when he probably wasn't "right", but that's their way... And they've been doing it since 1650, or so they say). Then they are able to work together again.

Now, let’s see how this dynamic plays out in their last discussion of the season:

They come from different sides of the same experience: Crowley went to Heaven to investigate and learned about the plans to continue with the end of the world, while Aziraphale stayed defending the bookshop. Then Crowley saves the humans, while Aziraphale solved the Beelzebub + Gabriel affair.

They haven’t had time to talk, as they get interrupted by The Metatron. While he takes Aziraphale, Crowley receives a visit from Maggie and Nina.

Each one of them gained an extra different perspective: Azi, the Metatron proposal (and veiled menace); Crowley, the pep talk/scolding from the couple they were trying to get together.

This makes them develop different solutions:

Crowley wants to finally admit what Azi has been saying all the season: they are a "we" (Azi said so when Crowley talked about his “precious, peaceful, fragile existence”; he said it again when talking about “our car” and reinforced it with the bookshop)

Azi wants to take the "higher road": go to Heaven, reinstate Crowley as an angel, so they can still work together.

Crowley sees the “usual dynamic” of their disagreements coming: it will be Azi’s way (or the highway). That has happened before, in front of our eyes, and not only in this season: it happened also in season 1, but we have already attested that it is still happening, and it is even “worse” (Aziraphale being a little “petty” with the “if you do, it is fine, but if you won’t, you are on your own” in the Gabriel discussion).

Crowley gets indignant. He asks, tentatively, if he told him where to stick it… And then he reinforces his belief. We are better than that, YOU are better than that, you don’t need them, I don’t need them; then he makes the first mention of the offer of getting back to Hell (which he hadn’t shared with Aziraphale), and makes a new point: I said no, neither should you!

Aziraphale goes back to the “you are the bad guys!” thing. Heaven being the side of Truth, of Light, of Good… It is not the propaganda Crowley needed for this move.

Crowley then clarifies the fallacy in his logic: when Heaven ends life on Earth, it’ll be just as dead as if Hell ended it.

Aziraphale then sees the "undesirable result" coming: Crowley is not going to accept, not with that argument.

Crowley makes his plead grow in urgency: Tell me you said no.

Aziraphale’s pitch of voice goes high (usually used as a sign of distress): “If I’m in charge, I can make a difference.”

Crowley understands. This is his “my way or the highway” moment. That’s why he comes up with the courage to make his half-proposal-half admission.

Crowley never gets to state out loud the “I want us to be together in a formal way” part. His voice breaks before he does so. He mentions all of the reasons they have to stay together, which Aziraphale already knows: we have been together for a long time, we’ve been a group (“our own side” was the way he always said it before) and we’ve spent our existence pretending that we aren’t (Azi also knows that! He has been working hard into making Crowley notice it!)

You can see, when they shoot Aziraphale’s face, he squints a little during that moment: maybe questioning, a little disbelief? As usual with Michael Sheen, it is a blink it and you’ll miss it moment.

After the grunt, Crowley proposes his alternative solution: going off together, using Beelzebub & Gabriel as an example that they could.

Therefore, what Aziraphale has just listened is what he already knew: yes, they are a “we”. Crowley wants to run away (he had proposed it twice during the Armageddidn’t, another pattern they have already established).

The next step is the usual way for Aziraphale: he reinforces his proposal: come with me, to Heaven. Ill’ run it, you can be my second in command. This idea has rubbed me wrong since the first time I watched this scene. Why remark the hierarchy? (not to say that I’m in Crowley’s side in here, but… It was weird and uncomfortable to think of them in a vertical power structure; they have always been equals).

Then, he goes back to making a difference, only it is “we” this time. Crowley is noticing he won’t back down… But Aziraphale usually doesn’t.

“You can’t leave this bookshop” works as a representation, a figure of speech. “This Bookshop” is “This life we have been building”, and they both understand it as such.

“Oh, Crowley… Nothing lasts forever…” For Aziraphale, it means he can leave this for something greater. For Crowley, it means… Actually, the same. But without him. Because he knows the “my way or the highway” side of Aziraphale, and none of them will budge. Aaaaand… that’s Crowley heart breaking. The rest of the scene happens with Crowley in “breakup mode”.

Aziraphale is used to “the discussion dance”. He Insists, “Crowley! Come back, to Heaven, work with me! We can be together, Angels! Doing good!”. He promises all he can: “come back, work with me, we can be together”, which have always been Crowley’s triggers to change his mind. However, the problem lies within the “angels doing good”. That’s the part that Aziraphale would need to let go before getting back to Crowley.

And then, he breaks down: “I need you!!” That has always worked! Aziraphale knows that Crowley loves being needed, he won’t leave his angel when in need, right?

And then, he gets angry. And he questions if Crowley has understood what he is offering, which transforms in an “I don’t think your exactly and my exactly are the same exactly” all over again.

Crowley is already brokenhearted, so he answers truthfully, as far as he knows. He understands how terrible the offer of going back to heaven is for both of them, and is not aware of the veiled threat in Metatron’s offer. He knows that going back to Heaven is a non-negotiable boundary, and Aziraphale is absolutely determined to cross it.

Aziraphale, then, does his passive-aggressive shit again: “I guess there is nothing more to say”. My guy, my love, you need to become better at negotiating with your loved one.

This is where Crowley decides to show, don’t tell, the hurt: no nightingales. And then… The “You idiot. We could have been… us” (no, you couldn’t, it was always too late!!! First the pandemic, which I’ve decided to treat as canon, then Gabriel. They never stood a chance).

In this context, Crowley’s kiss is a desperate way to say good-bye to the person he cared most for the last 6,000 years; also an angry way to regain some semblance of control and affect Aziraphale; and a final way to get some “closure”. Is there desire? Is there love? Maybe. But they are lost in a cocktail of emotions that have been stated during the rest of the discussion.

The angry “I forgive you”, which is also a usual dynamic for Aziraphale when he is angry with Crowley, gets there too late for Crowley to react to. He has already “checked out”. That’s why the “don’t bother” feels almost like an afterthought and comes after a small sigh.

After watching this 16 times, I’m pretty confident that the first thing Aziraphale mouths is a “no…” and then… he sobs a little. Michael Sheen, you’re a beautiful actor. The rest of it is a masterclass in using microexpressions to convey a whirlwind of emotions in under 2 minutes.

Sooooo... Did I hurt my own emotions while writing this? Yes. Did I absolutely need to do so? Also yes. Even when I like doing intertextual readings (and that's why I like bringing some theology to some of my musings), reading what is in "the text" (in the scenes we have watched, in the dialogues we've been shown) gives me an enormous amount of pleasure, and I find a lot of comfort in believing that most of the things that I'll need to understand and enjoy a great piece of media are being given to me inside it. And I believe Good Omens is a great piece of media!!

I have no Shakespeare to offer you this time. Let me know what you think!!

[brucewaynehater101]

As someone who is partly deaf, I love that deaf Tim stuff. But hear me out for something that could work for either of them. What if on complete accident when both the Bats and Rouges hear about Tim's disability, the Rouges are the ones who do a better job with not looking down on Tim. Yes they add things to help him, like for Deaf Tim Joker would also use ASL as he monologs to make sure that Tim can understand him or with Blind Tim Riddler makes puzzle rooms themed around telling the difference in textures or he reads all the riddles out loud.

Meanwhile the Bats are. They *tried* ok? But they keep over compensating because they worry about Tim. Unlike the Rouges who don't pull their punches, during training the Bats do start pulling punches and going a little easier on Tim. Dick keeps trying to do things for Tim that Tim knows he can do. Bruce keeps taking him off cases that involve in person investigation. Damian keeps saying things about how all tasks should be left to him because clearly he's the superior one (if it's early Damian, later on when they're on better terms he wouldn't be as assholish about it but also keeps trying to take over tasks for Tim)

I'm really really glad that you vibed with the AU.

As far as your additions, I 100% agree. Having "good intentions" for people can still be harmful and frustrating. That's why, in these AUs, Tim tries to hide his disability until he's able to prove his efficiency. It's dealer's choice whether the Bats choose to acknowledge the evidence or are still doubting his capabilities.

I think the fic from the OG post has a scene where Babs, Cass, and Tim meet up to discuss the microaggressions they face from the Bats due to their respective disabilities. The sequel definitely has cute interactions between Damian and Tim. Damian refuses for anyone to treat his "rival" as weak or incapable. Peak siblings energy.

The funny part I find about this would be the Rogues accommodating Tim's disabilities just so they can defeat him. If Joker learned ASL for Tim, he'd probably research the hell out of how to look intimidating and scary while doing it (since, depending on Tim's hearing loss, Joker can't effectively utilize the vocal tone skills he's trained to be terrifying). Riddler would treat it as another puzzle and mental exercise (his Riddles would likely increase in accessibility for multiple disabilities as time progresses. He wants to challenge folks by their thinking abilities, not by their ability to test within the constraints placed on them. Perhaps, after his research and new implementations, he even starts targeting schools that unfairly places confines on their students [from both a socioeconomic standpoint and from improper accommodations]).

Anyways, I would love a fic that highlights some of the Bats' treatment of Tim and how not to interact with folks of different disabilities. Stuff like infantilizing, doing tasks for the person without permission, assuming what someone can handle, and disregarding them. It'd be cool to watch Tim try open communication (asking boundaries and what level of assistance the person desires) with all of them. For some, that's all that's needed. They have a clear guideline of "that shit was not okay" and the lines of communication are open for them to ask clarification in the future. For others, they listen to Tim, agree to change, and still pull that shit. I personally vote for Tim getting petty.

I feel like Babs and Cass would be the ones to understand the most that Tim can do anything he sets his mind to (he's so incredibly stubborn that he'd probably even be able to steal LexCorp from Luthor if he was motivated enough. He most likely even has plans already drawn for it ready to implement at any point). Duke would probably understand how others' perceptions of Tim affect him.

I also kill for Tim utilizing WE resources to bring aid and accommodations based on more specific audiences (such as how kids in the foster system, LGBT youth, and those with disabilities [both mental and physical] disportionately make up the homeless population).

I'm rambling a bit because sociology is a passion of mine. I'd get a higher education on the subject if I had the money.

Anyways, I love considering such perspectives in fanfiction. Let me know if there's other stuff I should add to this AU!

[olderthannetfic]

Okay, I need advice: I'm in a very tiny fandom (like less than two dozen active people and everyone knows each other) and one of the women in it is kind of freaking me out.

We became mutuals because we had some good discussions on some of the characters we liked, but I soon became sort of uncomfortable with a lot of her online behavior whereas simultaneously she's DM-ing me more and more.

She's one of those people who's a hardliner on the issues she cares about (mostly feminism- and SA-related) while talking over people when it comes to issues she doesn't care about (mostly racism and related things). And I see a lot of her trying to intrusively police how other people talk/act, derailing people's posts, arguing with people online over the most stupid shit (where not even her own opinions come off as overly coherent - this week she'll argue something along the lines of "men are evil" and the next she'll argue that people are "demonizing masculinity" - I'll add for clarification that she's not a TERF and supports trans rights but boy... Does she sound like one sometimes) and then digging through people's profiles to find and publicize minor transgressions and bad takes, passive-aggressive vagueposting, and going into mental breakdowns over the most innocuous of online interactions.

TBH she scares me. As someone who suffered through toxic people getting overly attached to me, I genuinely sometimes get a physical reaction when I see her lashing out on the dash.

And she keeps initiating conversations! And sometimes I don't reply or bring the conversation to a natural closure and she keeps at it, or sends me random fics of hers to read that I don't have the heart to tell her don't interest me or whatever. And recently when she disagrees with something I reblogged she direct messages me to rant about it - with a lot of sort of indirect language because she doesn't want to offend me but I can see the intent. The last couple of times I replied politely because I cared about clearing misunderstandings on the topic but next time I'm just gonna tell her I dislike it when she does that.

I really want this person to stop interacting with me, to be honest, and all my polite hints to the effect go unnoticed. But the fandom is so small I feel awkward and uncomfortable about unfollowing or blocking her. I don't think she's too bad of a person, she just comes off as very... Mentally ill, I guess? And since I've tried to be polite so far I feel like it might come out of left field for her?

TBH I feel like something about her behavior also triggers some kind of freeze/fawn reaction inside of me that I don't often get and consequently don't know how to deal with.

So I need impartial advice because I don't see the situation clearly myself

--

To summarize, a person who is a walking red flag wants to be friends, and you can't easily ghost her because the fandom is small.

I think you have to accept that there is no low-conflict way out of this.

That's what's holding you back, right? You don't want more drama and you know it's coming. I think you already know in your heart of hearts that you need to get away from her even if it's a pain in the ass.

Step one is to stop responding to her DMs. That will probably make her reach out more, but you should keep not responding. If she escalates and attacks you over it, block her.

The more you offer reasons or try to gently hint, the more that will encourage her. I don't think that's true of everyone, but I do think it's the case here. This is both because it doesn't sound like she's good at perceiving or respecting boundaries and because she inspires a bad lack of ability to assert boundaries in you.

I agree that it's unfortunate that you can't stand up for yourself or tell her plainly when she's out of line, but since you can't and that probably won't change any time soon, you'll need to protect yourself a different way. Sometimes, we just have to avoid people who are bad for us even when it's an us problem. (And here, whoaaaa red flags, so I don't think it's just a you problem anyway.)

There are many sad, lonely, needy people in the world. Some of them are officially mentally ill in some way with a diagnosis. Some just need things they aren't currently getting. That sucks...

But it's also not your job to fix.

[arkus-rhapsode]

Are We Returning To 2000s Era Shonen Anime/Manga (A Discussion)

So this is going to be way more of a thinkpiece than I usually do for this blog, but recent trends in the space and niche that I devote a lot of time to, Anime/Manga, have been showing themselves that got me thinking. This is not meant to be a serious sociology case study taken as fact, it's going to be more a theory based on observations of the community that I, like many others, devote a lot of time into than a full on claim, but I do want to ask, is the anime and manga community is experiencing a resurgence in 2000s era shonen manga?

Background

Now let me get this out of the way, there is bias in these observations as I am a western anime fan, but also a North American anime fan. Meaning my gateway and gauges of pop culture are mostly determined by the history of my area of the world’s relationship with anime. From the OVAs of 80s hyper violent and hyper sexual sci fi that you had to purchase from the backs of video rental stores, to the Toonami era of 90s and early 00s programming block the centred around action anime and cartoons, the 4kids era of mass market japanese animated kids shows that were really just giant commercials with some of the earliest memetics in western sphere, and the explosion of shonen battle series in the western sphere in the mid to late 2000s marked by the rise of the colloquially named “Big 3” of shonen jump. I understand that continents like South America or Europe may have undergone a different exposure to the Japanese medium, but as I am going in with some bias in this observation, I would like to make it clear on where the formula is coming from. I also would like to lay down a certain clarification before making this, when discussing the topic of nostalgia I think a lot of people have forgotten what it actually means. If we go by the Cambridge dictionary definition, Nostalgia is “a feeling of pleasure and also slight sadness when you think about things that happened in the past.” This is often invoked when talking about pop culture because people from say 20 years ago don’t seem to enjoy or relate to the interests of today. The belief is that nostalgia is generational ergo if you grew up in the 80s you’re likely wishing to recapture the feelings of childhood that you associate with those trends from 20 years ago. In fact, most revaluation in media has often been catalyzed by a difference of those who grew up in an era rebuffing the opinions of those who didn’t. 

There is the well known “20 Year Rule” regarding pop culture nostalgia. That every decade it longs for what was popular 20 years ago. Probably no better example than “That 70s show” being popular in the late 90s, the return of many beloved 80s-90s franchises like “Ghostbusters” returning in the 2010s as well as series like “Stranger Things” that wrapped itself up in 80s aesthetics. DC's New 52 relaunch that seemed to bring back trends from 90s era comics.

Now it goes without saying that the 20 year rule isn’t a “real” rule, rather an observation that certain trends make a return to popularity because the ones who grew up with a certain media will be the ones who add to the discourse when they come of age and will be the ones having a chance to create consumable art for the masses and that may just be revivals of once popular IP. This isn’t necessarily wrong in regards to nostalgia, but I do believe that one doesn’t need to have been born in a certain era to be nostalgic for something when we discuss pop culture. Pop culture is really just trends and preferences that become en vogue and people can acquire a taste at any given time. Sometimes it can be due to those who grew up with something now having the chance to create and drawing upon their own childhoods, sometimes it's just due to not being exposed, other times it can be a certain feeling of disillusionment of the now, and seeking something that peaks your interest, and even sometimes it can be major corporations or networks looking for things with existing audiences to draw upon that actually expand the audience. In fact one of the most prominent Netflix adaptations of the 2020s has been live Action Avatar the Last Airbender and One Piece, both shows that got their start on American televisions in 2004 and 2005. One of the biggest animated shows right now is Invincible, based on a comic book from 2003

So I want to stress this is not necessarily about how if you grew up with the original Mobile Suit Gundam show you are being replaced by the kids who were watching GetBackers. And or if you are a fan of shows that came out in the 2000s you yourself were born in the 2000s.

But what was the landscape of the English speaking anime community like back in the 2000s? Well let me paint a portrait for you.

What was the 2000s like for anime fans?

The term I used, “shonen boom period”, is somewhat mythologized in the western anime sphere. There was a glut of high profile shonen anime running around the same time that most people identified with this time period and was arguably when we saw the most influx of people getting into the hobby. One Piece, Naruto, and Bleach served as big series known for their massively large casts, MCs with a level of attitude, some of the most hype centric power supernatural/extraordinary power systems, and certain brand of “Japanese-y” humor. We can’t deny that it wasn’t just these series however, as series like Fullmetal Alchemist became many people’s introduction to more narratively intricate series interspersed with a somewhat gothic action style. The gothic and somewhat edgy Death Note became many fans' first ever “battle series that’s not a battle series” that also incorporated many biblical and gothic horror elements into its presentation. And things like Code Geass also incorporated this combination of hyper stylized cat and mouse with ornate and gothic aesthetics and fighting robots. 

Series like Ouran Highschool Host Club and and Haruhi Suzumiya were basically gateways to the more hyper extraordinary slice of life series that didn’t shy away from fanservice and loud comedy. With ecchi like Rosario + Vampire taking it to an even greater extreme. For people willing to go even deeper, series like Fairy Tail began to pop up and share a distinct similar flavor to series like One Piece and Naruto which arguably started the popular conception of it coming from the same magazine as the latter. That’s not also discounting the amount of holdovers from the 90s like Dragon Ball z, Trigun, and Yu Yu Hakusho, which also had an edge towards fantastical combat and comedic oriented series.

All of this is to generally illustrate the media diet of what an average anime fan was expected to have some level of access to. As this was far before the eras of Funimation or Hulu having online services. Not a homogenized spread by any means, and im certain plenty of readers could name more underground or smaller series like Mushishi or Elphen Lied, but generally the popular mainstream you could tell that there was a consistent theme of long form media with a very loud, very flashy, and very action oriented type of series. Which I think is fair to say had skewed some people’s perception. And while I cannot claim with utter certainty that Japan was the same in this regard, you can look at magazines like Shonen Jump and notice a somewhat synchronistic trend. With series like Hitman Reborn, Gintama, D. Gray Man, Eyeshield 21, Bobobobo, etc.making a clear marcation of what was commercially successful at the time. Even series not inside the magazine but had smaller nicher, Tokyo-pop-esque series like Rave Master, Flame of Recca, Air Gear, History’s Strongest Disciple Kenichi, Soul Eater, etc all had a similarity to the shonen jump magazine. To the point it was not uncommon to see so many jump characters in a collage and one from shonen sunday or shonen magazine in there as if this was all coming from the same place.

Changing Landscape

Now with the advantages of the modern internet, we have the ability to actually keep up with the jump magazine in real time as opposed to the common practice of relying on scanlation site and fansubs that were often devoted to the most popular works. But with simultaneous publication and services like Crunchyroll, being able to access a wider variety of shows and series that we may or may not have access to. I believe that the 2010s in the english speaking fanbase was the decade we saw a somewhat expansionism of what people perceived as anime. Anime could be One Piece and Naruto, but it could also be Erased, it could be the Promised Neverland, Attack on Titan, K-On, Haikuu, and Durarara. With the representatives of the 90s no longer being holdovers in syndication like dragon ball but rather full on revivals of the likes of Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure and Hunter x Hunter. 

All of these could be "shonen" but also other genres like Seinin, Josei, and Shojo all had their own varying layers of what they could be in their demographic

The mood of what was popular was also changing, not just in the fact that more flavors of anime and manga were becoming mainstream, but new works from shonen jump showed a rise in almost subversive series like My Hero Academia and Demon Slayer that seemed to consciously deviate or place new spins from traditional tropes of the 2000s characters, and we saw works that were derivative of previous serious like Black Clover drawing upon Naruto the same way it was known that Naruto had drawn upon Dragon Ball before them. Series like The Promised Neverland and Doctor Stone offered up more dramatic series that still infused a certain energy of the shonen genre. 

And of course the series like Attack Titan whose much more darker and gorey storytelling seemed to have become one of if not the biggest hit of the generation with a well regarded adaptation, but something that had felt so removed from what were once contemporaries like the then ending Bleach or Naruto. We can also note that the late 2010s saw the rise of series like Chainsaw Man and Jujutsu Kaisen that began a trend of popular urban fantasy stories. Where fantastical concepts were now in contemporary Japan and the stories that focused on concepts like self identity and the harshness of maturing were juxtaposed to the real world inhabited by monsters. 

It seemed many tropes of the previous decade were still alive in the rise of Isekai anime. Which was particularly the only popular outlet for fantasy stories with an action orientation. But these almost felt disconnected from the wider world of manga as things like heavy harem action series had actually decreased in mags like shonen jump. There was also new tropes being established in this subgenre that became unique popularizations of tropes all on their own, such as the overpowered protagonist whose power everyone believes is weak. But many of these were based on light novels, a form of media that only in the last few years western readers are having official access to and not simply scans found on the internet.

We in North America truly have gone from anime being a niche that was primarily accessible through dedicated TV blocks like Toonami, to a full blown cultural relevance shift.

We also need to talk about this era in its perception of the past also shifted. The 90s and the early 00s often blend together as classics of the anime community. Somewhat encased in amber. However, there is no denying that “feels like a 2000s series” had become a bit of a shorthand for very goofy, Very horny, very action heavy series. Series like Fire Force and and Undead Unluck had their show what more problematic elements be equated to the problematic trends of the past that people just accepted as “a part of the medium.” But lets keep in mind, this is not really describing a time, more a trend. Superficial elements that invoke similar feelings of the past. 

Speaking of anime fans…

Fan Culture

So while I wanted to paint a picture of creatively the landscape has changed, there’s no denying that in the age of internet accessibility, the anime fan community has also changed. It is much much easier now to get in contact with people who are anime fans now than it was to rely on word of mouth like it was back in the day. I can still distinctly remember my anime club which wasn’t even really a club devoted to anime but rather other geek stuff like D&D and TCGs. Our hobbies just happened to have similar overlap.

Now though, anime fan culture is much more relevant and thriving. Going from just posting weekly reviews, to long retrospectives, comedy videos, abridged series, clickbait articles, fan theories, and podcasts. However, I think a defining feature of fans of the 2000s era of anime that were at their most prominent was hype culture. 

Due to many of the biggest anime series at the time being released weekly and focusing on action, many many many discussion boards and videos were often about staying in this cycle of wanting to see what happens next and the action made people very excited to see just how characters were going to win fights or even if they’d have fights at all. 

I want to make it clear that this type of activity doesn’t belong to a certain era, but you can see it shaped by the 2000s era. Especially when discussing “what is the next big 3.” As if it were a true position and title, rather than a moment in time where there were just three very distinct shonen series in the fanbase.This doesn’t necessarily have a “negative” effect on the discussion of anime/manga but you can see that certain genres lend themselves to hyping fans up more and more. 

Someone isn’t reading the most recent chapter of a romance like Blue Box with the same level of anticipation of who will face who like it was One Piece. But there have certainly been series that try.

The Present

Now we reach the 2020s and this decade is still young, so it is hard to say what the future will hold for certainty, but we can look at the last four years and notice some significant waves being made recently in Shonen Jump alone. I already spoke of Undead Unluck, a series that almost wears it would now be considered retro inspirations on its sleeve. With an opening chapter that establishes an MC that seems motivated by a sexual joke, A power system follows a verbal naming gimmick, and a loose enough world that allows for characters of varying aesthetics and to be incorporated into groups. With groups of these powerful characters splitting up to face each other and use their ridiculous power to the extreme. Even in the series' own meta arc about creating manga, the in-universe analogy for Undead Unluck’s manga is commented on as feeling retro. There is no doubt the biggest viral hit of the decade so far has gone to Kagurabachi, a manga about sword fighting and magical crime lords that seems almost indulgent in its stylistic slicing and or dicing of baddies. Its memetic success was primarily due to a somewhat sincere and somewhat ironic belief that it would be the “next big thing” as it promised to be a stylized action series. Another surprise viral success has been the manga Nue’s Exorcist which sees another supernatural swordfighter boy harness the powers of his sexy spirit lady while getting into harem shenanigans that echo a particular form of ecchi of anime’s past that had actually been somewhat absent in the past decade in jump. Both of these series have a somewhat noticeable similarities to Bleach, a long running shonen action series that has seen its own revival in the last few years of writing this with the long awaited adaptation of the final arc of the bleach anime. 

While the other members of the “big 3” never truly went away and became almost inter-generational, Bleach truly did feel like a “come back” as it was absent for so long. And unlike Hunter x Hunter and Jojo which were never really popular in the west and even their older anime are more regarded as anime deep lore. Bleach was one of the most popular series in the west at the time to never receive a conclusion animated. 

Speaking of anime of the 2000s Trigun Stampede was a reimagining of the original late 90s show. This errs a bit similar to Hunter x Hunter’s style of revival, but also seems uniquely its own in actually trying to find a balance between the original series but adding in things cut from its original late 90s early 2000s counterpart. 

And now we must examine other shonen magazines. Series like Gachiakuta created by a former assistant of Okubo, the creator of Soul Eater, carries with it much of the similar energies of that series. Its also noticeable as being a truly dark fantasy series. Not an urban fantasy, but rather a completely new world that had a very grunge and dirty world building. And then there is Daemons of the Shadow Realm, a series by Fullmetal Alchemist creator Hiromu Arakawa. This series is also set in modern day japan with supernatural elements, however Arakawa’s style of writing is practically unchanged from her time on FMA. With an emphasis on action, intricate mysteries, and character building comedy with her trademark over exaggerated blocky style. There is of course Hiro Mashima who has started another new series, Dead Rock, and his style has also not changed that much. Then there is just flat out sequels to 2000s series like Gamaran Shura.

This to me shows that we are  seeing a bit of a combination of people who are now entering the workforce inspired by creators of the past, but also that creators of the past still exist 20 years later and are still making content that hasn’t really undergone significant change. 

Of course, we can’t also forget the implementation of the Manga Plus/J plus service which has opened up a very interesting ground for creators to have some of the most creatively out there series than what you may have expected from the shonen jump brand. I genuinely don’t think series like Make the Exorcist Fall in Love or Fire Punch would’ve ever been acceptable in the pages of a weekly shonen series. However one series in particular does feel like it could've and boy its been quite the success. Kaiju no 8.

Kaiju no 8 almost feels as though it is the AoT of a new generation with the amount of anticipation this one series has as well as the similarities between the series superficial elements. However, I'd say the key distinction between the two has been the tone. AoT took a dark and practically dour tone on its titan infested world. With an MC declaring war on all of his enemies. The pain was realistic, with human bodies being brittle and vulnerable. And the belief that just because you were a good person you weren't going to make it out alive. Kaiju no 8 instead opts for a more action oriented tone. Down playing the bleak realism for more "Hell yeah!" moments. With super science weapons that feel more akin to a tokusatsu show and fights and battles between humans an kanji the feel like the Dragon Ball style wrestling matches of old.

And of course, that’s not to say Jump hasn’t continued with series that feel more modern like the realistic and mellow romance of Blue Box or the dramatic coming of age story of Akane-Banashi. 

But the presence of these series has caused somewhat of a friction with the popular conception of the magazine. Its safe to say that while “shonen” tends to think of action male oriented series, it can really just mean works aimed more at adolescents. But I think many tend to associate this familiar feeling of “what is shonen” with their popular introduction of the magazine. With a saturation of action and brash comedy series. This is further complicated by the fact many action series in jump are actually ending over the last decade. With new ones not popping up to replace them as frequently and series like One Piece and MHA and Black Clover basically stretching out across an entire decade or longer. In fact, I don’t think it's unreasonable to believe that the hype for something like Kagurabachi was in part a belief that it signaled a return of a type of familiar series and genre that had been missing. Or at the very least, looked to fill an inevitable gap the magazine was obviously going to be facing. Followed by the other commercial success of Nue’s Exorcist, we are likely to see these series last for a long time. At the time of this writing, Tokyo Revenger’s author Ken Wakui has released Astro Royale, a series that feels very similar to his previous work yet infused with this almost GetBackers flavor.

So that leaves us with the question at the start, are we seeing a rise in 2000s nostalgia in anime and manga?

Conclusion

So I'm sorry if I disappoint, but the best I can say is, I’m not certain. I do believe that from my observation I think it is reasonable to say that we are seeing a rise in creators in the shonen space being ones inspired by series from 20 years ago. However, I think we are also seeing creators who are from that time period also returning to write how they have always written. 

On the consumer side, I think we can see that fans of anime and manga have changed in the sense their tastes can now be shaped by a much larger catalog of series at their disposal. But in the case of shonen, I think we are simply seeing those who likely got their start in anime at around the 2000s resonating with newer series drawing upon those series, but also with younger fans now likely to grow up with the tail end of what was popular in the 2010s now being influenced by the 2020s. I also believe that one of the defining features of the anime community in the last decade is hype culture. And currently we are seeing a rise in series that actually feel more catered to hype, be it a revival of a series they liked or predicting what will be the next success. 

All and all, this piece was trying to tunnel on the shonen demographic in general, which is more likely than not going to have similar traits relative to itself. I do see us as a community endorsing trends of the past and there’s an excitement for these things to “come back” even if they may or may not have left. If you liked this please drop a like or reblog because I may do more of these think pieces in the future.

[hwaightme]

Avaritia

THIS IS 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI FOR CAPTAIN'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

⚫ pairing: ceo/sugar daddy!hongjoong x assistant/afab!reader ⚫ genre: smut... just smut really ⚫ summary: everything has a price, but sugar makes this truth so much sweeter. no matter what he says, hongjoong will buy that new purse for you, will flaunt you in front of his business partners, and will make sure you know you are his. ⚫ wordcount: 8.3k ⚫ warnings/tags: MINORS DNI, tried to edit - lost it - bon appetit, language, teasing, on a flight, a lot of money, wealth, first world, brand name dropping harder than San in the logs, hj is a sweetheart, mc is needy but in denial, full avarice mode lmk if anything else, nsfw tags and playlist rec under the cut ⚫ taglist: @doom-fics @layzfeelit @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo ⚫ network tags: @k-labels @ateezlovenet @kflixnet ⚫ a/n: Sometimes, I am calm. Other times (read 'all the time) I am getting wrecked by everyone in ATEEZ. Here is what Balmain Joong did to me. Any comments, reblogs much loved; we spiraled into madness (hail sucrose pop, glucose father joong lol)

⚫ nsfw tags: daddy/baby girl dynamic, sugar daddy, reader is a 'doll', soft dom!hj (literally cannot stay mad at mc), overstimulation (seriously what is hj doing to mc...), fingering, mile high club, blowjob, deepthroating, dacryphilia, possessiveness, dirty talk, sex on a desk, unprotected sex (wrap that before you tap that) ⚫ playlist recs: Five Star Hotels by RAYE | Sugar Daddy by Qveen Herby | SAD GIRLZ LUV MONEY Remix by Amaarae | Greed by Shreea Kaul | Mile High by Salina Killa | Do I Move You? by Nina Simone | Money Power Glory by Lana Del Rey

Why was it that when real business was being discussed, the location of choice was always the most extravagant, exotic, luxurious oasis? Everything about the resort screamed unaffordable. 'Exclusive' written in blood on the pristine white sands, only to be washed away by azure blue waves to colour sea foam you could swear was whipped up in a divine patisserie. A perverse flavour inaccessible to the majority but driving the decisions that ruled the world. It was challenging to not become partial to the taboo indulgence when it was handed to you on a silver platter together with a tailor-made career. Anyone would need to acclimatise to what most considered a distant fantasy, but a few flights on a private jet later did wonders in curing the delirium of the average and introducing an insatiable materialism.

Thus, you were not particularly bothered when your boss requested you book another retreat to a private resort in the middle of the ocean - considering the business's cash flow and offshore 'pocket money', this was not too different from your routine trip to the cafe down the street to get his 'coffee' - more sugar than caffeine but this was a secret that you were to keep to the grave; it was written in small print on your contract. It was easy to book when you just needed to send out a few messages to staff and drop a name to any external service people at the right time. Their reaction, stuttering and need for clarification never failed to be amusing; even the most outrageous demands gained appeal once the won, euro, dollars, whatever they wanted from the global wallet, began to stack up. Green bills, green trees - in a twisted way, these boys who liked to play the role of the all-seeing and all mighty were farmers too. And fruits of their labour were always the sweetest.

Sure, you worked hard and had your own path that you could have followed. Even had a degree to prove that you had at least an ounce of dedication. But what would it give you, in fact, what did it give you before your renaissance? Crumbs. Sheer crumbs, student debt and a chronic migraine. But as it turned out, a couple hundred k did wonders when it came to personal health and wellbeing. And on top of that, the myriad of other benefits that your current lifestyle had, had the ability to crush any argument and accusation hurled in your direction, of which you had many. You had figured out soon enough that diamonds were your real best friend, while those who you had considered your ride or die evaporated as soon as they saw you wearing designer. And that had been when the best you could ask for was old collections, and widely available products. You were not lonely. You had too many hats to wear, and a very demanding man, by the name of Kim Hongjoong, to entertain. And one who currently had his eyebrows furrowed, a couple of unruly strands of hair perking up out of his otherwise slick business ‘do, glasses barely holding onto the tip of his beautifully sculpted nose, and was leafing through the papers he had asked you to prepare for the duration of the flight.

For the CEO of a global company, and the heir to an even larger network, he sure as hell was incredibly young. You did not envy his turmoil and exposure to stress one bit, almost feeling sorry and in part guilty, since percentages of his spendings were technically lost on you. There had even been instances when you found yourself sat in a dark room, laptop screen aglow and on a blank page, with you wondering how one crafted a resignation paper. But once you and Hongjoong could have even a couple of moments alone, when he would ravish you, make and call you his and reveal to you all the things he had planned that could not be reflected on his calendar, that document would be promptly deleted and recycle bin emptied. Your ‘relationship’ had been this way since the one meeting, in his main office, on a bright and early morning.

He had called you up into his office and simply told you that he had another ‘job opportunity’ for you. At that point you had been desperate, with financial problems endlessly piling up, from debt to your family’s hospital fees to bailing your estranged brother out of prison. And to make things unethical – Hongjoong had known this. He had done his research – more specifically, he had asked some colleagues in his company, ones who you would never suspect, to snoop around and find out more about you. And as it turned out, you were the perfect candidate for ‘being treated right’ by him, while bearing the title and carrying out the formal façade of secretary and personal assistant duties. In his practice, as well as his father’s and partners’, this was probably the most stable relationship they would ever get in life, so might as well be picky.

Initially, you had simply become a receiver of gifts. Pretending like this was Hongjoong’s love language, you were touched and did not think much of it. Maybe through these purchases he was moving money in ways it should not be moved, but you could not care less – not your problem, not your area of expertise, you had the outcome, and the outcome was something like a crocodile leather bag or a dress fresh off the runway. Hongjoong had insisted on picking every single item out for you, letting his controlling executive side win over. He had explained that you had to look like ‘the prettiest doll in the world’ for him, and for that he needed to check for quality. After a couple of months, however, such sugary sweet presents had been reserved for special occasions, and for the rest, money was wired directly to a new, account, a platinum card he had opened for you and given you. To just step into the consultation room with his portfolio manager and private banking consultant had felt like you were cheating existence. You had been a lowly assistant to an assistant before. And now, decked out in Dior, were sat beside one of the most influential men in the modern era of this industry, letting him hand you eye-watering sums as if it was a couple of coins for a pack of gum.

Now, well, now you were conflicted. As months had turned into a year and were now approaching the two-year mark if you could remember correctly, your ‘relationship’ had started to feel more and more like a real one. Hongjoong had caught himself divulging details of experiences that he had never spoken about with anyone before. And nowadays, when you had sex, it felt less like a mindless fuck and more like making love, with the man expressing more than he ever could with every hot touch, press of his lips to yours, even his lustful intensity had gained a new colour. You could feel that he was confused, but would not dare let go of you – you knew that he put your name down on some very important documents, after all. As such, it was a rare but unbelievable pleasure to push Hongjoong’s buttons and get him all riled up for you, just so he could expel that pressure and that tension from a busy work day out on you. You were that caring of a personal assistant. And wanted him to keep on talking. Keep on telling you his deepest darkest secrets. You wanted to be a part of him, the hedonistic side, the one that seized the day and knew how to enjoy the earthly realm without counting and fighting.

For the flight to the resort and extended series of meetings with key business partners, you had chosen to wear an outfit that you knew Hongjoong was unravelled by. It was a black and white Prada poplin mini dress that did wonders to accentuate your curves and edges, and was paired with some classic, black leather, So Kate Louboutin heels and gold accessories to match the dainty little buttons on the dress. Really, this was dress number two since the last one had been quite literally torn off you by none other than your boss, but he did not want to ruin the night and as such, had promised to contact the house of fashion itself to get an exact replica of the limited edition garment. And this man kept his promises. But right now, even though you were sat in the private office in his jet, with the bodyguards safely outside, lounging and doing whatever bodyguards did to occupy themselves, he was not paying attention to you at all. Only winding himself up more with those compiled quarterly reports that you were now regretting having finalised them and bringing them at all. What was the worst that you would have gotten had you not done the task? A spanking? Oh, how scary… you have had it rougher on a casual and uneventful day. Now you needed to get creative to get his attention, and being needy would not do. So very slowly, gazing out of the window at the clouds your were drifting past, you crossed your legs, revealing the legendary red bottoms of the heels you were wearing, and reached for the notebook and pen that were just peeking out of your handbag. Unbeknownst to you, you already had his attention with your abrupt change of pattern. Normally you would be on your phone, or typing away on your laptop, even remaining idle would be more characteristic, so Hongjoong’s interest was piqued by the little planner that contained all your thoughts and actions. He slouched back in his seat, and raised he papers a little higher, so that he could steal glances at you more discreetly.

You were paying no mind to what your boss was up to, preoccupied by the cream pages and the visualisation of the figure in front of you, but in your mind. Sometimes, when work was slow, you had taken to doodling random people around the office, as well as sketching out a variety of landscapes that took your fancy. Though the main subject was always Hongjoong. You had gotten quite good at picturing his facial features and depicting them even in a few lines, catching his micro expressions and shift in body language. There were also a couple of drawings you had done with him as a live model, though he was asleep and in the nude, so no one was ever going to know about that – you had stashed them away in a safe hidden behind the drawers of your desk. It only made sense that he was in most of your drawings: after all, he was the man who had bestowed upon you such unimaginable riches and a quality of life so drastically improved, that you had no choice but to worship him. He had made you who you were now. A shining diamond.

And this shining diamond was a little too bright for him to keep on focusing on the profit and loss analysis. After about ten minutes of frustrating silence, he dropped the papers onto the table in front of him and leaned to put his elbows on its edge. You had still not raised your eyes at him – something that you normally did nearly on instinct since you were so in tune with his gestures, which made Hongjoong inhale aggressively. His previously neutral expression had turned into a scowl as he raised an eyebrow and gave you a onceover. His precious doll was up to something.

“What are you doing?” though the question was simple, his voice was dangerously low. But you could not be threatened by a good time. You kept your eyes trained on the page as your hand moved methodically to hatching the shadows of his, as of not too long ago, brilliant blond locks, ones you adored to run your hands through whenever you had the chance. Which was a rare occurrence outside of the ‘bedroom’, but still.

“Just noting some things down, Mister Kim.” Though he had insisted that you call him Hongjoong when you two were alone, it had been a challenging transition to get used to. But at least it gave you ample opportunity for… discouraging him further. He liked for everything to run like a well-oiled machine, with his eyes reading a business strategy in anything and anyone. You had no doubt that that was how he was scrutinising you now. Equal parts assessing the attitude and doting on you.

He was a sweetheart treating his favourite toy. Talking competitive analysis and takeovers in the morning, and clinking glasses with you at an exclusive Michelin star restaurant in the evening. And to think that you were the only one, aside from his family, who got to see more than one side of him was an intriguing notion. Actually, scratch that. Certain things you were sure to be the only one taking care of. Take his nasty habit of overworking, which you had called out even if it was just you feeling bored: all work and no play made Hongjoong a dull boy, and thus, less likely to compensate for your presently aimless sitting around.

“By colouring the entire page? Not good to lie to me, you know that.” Of course. When it came to matters of business, for example, this man had ears everywhere, had infiltrated every other competitor and had become a spider in the corporate world. He would probably find out someone was cheating on their spouse sooner than the spouse themselves. When it came to you, however, he did not have your intricate neural network mapped out just yet. He could only fluff up his feathers and put on airs.

“It is only ink, Mister Kim. And surely the ink to paper ratio is not more than the balance sheet on page twenty seven.” You purposefully moved away from his interrogation, subliminally reprimanding him from stopping his concentration. The ghost of a smirk was gracing your lips, hidden by hair that had fallen to perfectly frame your delicate facial features. Hongjoong still had not corrected you on using his ‘work title’.

“I should ask you to start drawing the spreadsheets out by hand then.”

“Maybe next time, as a special treat. In the meantime, we have what we have and must settle for it.” A lot more standoffish than usual, you were brushing your boss off as you continued the sketch. He could not exactly reprimand you, however. You were right in the fact that his suggestion was nothing more than white noise.

“Settle for less, Y/N?” the question rang loudly in your ears and translated itself to a reminder to know your place fairly quickly. You could imagine Hongjoong’s raised eyebrow and playful grin. In addition to him hinting at your arrangements, he switched to calling out your first name. Promising.

There was a customary mention of money and class even when it was not the main topic of conversation. Really, it was what had brought you two together, or rather the stark difference between what you and him had, respectively. Hongjoong enjoyed having financial control over you and ended up dangling it above your head in the form of his not so subtle first-world conduct. You preferred to imagine that it was him wrapping you up in the softest, silkiest Chanel ribbon, like the one you had seen in adverts and on the packaging that, alone, could have probably provided you with enough food to last a week in your life before.

It was not that Hongjoong did not try to ‘stay humble’. Based on your observations, out of all his financial peers, company clients and members of the executive board, he was probably the least likely to boast about the figures that his numerous bank accounts contained. It was possible that when the strings of digits began to look more like a phone number, one grew more tranquil. Money spoke louder than words. But you knew how to make Hongjoong get vocal. Or so you thought.

“More is never enough.”

“Having more takes a lot of work and being on your best behaviour, Y/N.” he may not know all of your thoughts and reasoning but knew that you got extra charming when you became needy. Trying so hard to get his attention that you would invest all your efforts into it. It was only fair after how much he had invested in you.

The Tiffany & Co necklace on your neck that he traced with his gaze was nothing more than a collar, a leash tethering you to him. An Elsa Peretti piece, a golden snake which had cost Hongjoong just under thirty million Korean won, was perhaps the best way to symbolise the chokehold you were beginning to have on him. You were there in business, there in pleasure, and he was contemplating preventing you from taking holidays unless they somehow involved him. It would be easy – just block all of your cards and you would come crawling. He was greedy for your reactions. The way your lip would curl when he would put somebody back in their place during a conference or a meeting. How you enjoyed it when he praised you for completing the challenging, soul-draining tasks that never ceased to pile up – he had never failed to continue scrutinising you through the glass walls of his office as you excitedly returned to your desk, a soft smile always on your face. How you were completely at his mercy when he wanted to give you an extra special present. He loved how the jewellery he had gifted you or sponsored for you to buy rocked back and forth as he took his time to take you apart. Piece by piece. His priceless game.

Hongjoong smoothed his lapels and adjusted his cotton jacket that he had bought in the colour warm khaki, tightening the knot of the wrap belt. Smugly, he took note of how your pretty, made up lips parted. What were you imagining he was doing now? He was not going to care, at least not right away. He demonstratively picked up the reports again, flipping through the bounded pages on autopilot as, what he could only decipher to be a disappointed gasp, reached his ears. It was a relief that the paper hid his growing smirk. Mister Kim was work-mode Hongjoong, after all. What did you expect?

Ignored and rejected, so be it. You knew this interaction well enough to be able to count, down to the minute, when Hongjoong would crack, or you would crack and still come sauntering over. He liked to be needed – the main reason why he had agreed to become the heir to the corporation in the first place, more than you liked to be needy. But sometimes, you were a little too impatient for your own liking – probably a side effect of having been transferred to a silver spoon lifestyle after experiencing hardship after hardship. As such, the dynamic between you and Hongjoong was a constant battle. You could almost taste his pride as he inspected the figures you had compiled for him, a lazy hand moving to adjust the collar of his white turtleneck. Through fluttering eyelashes, you feasted on the dangerously handsome man, determining that he really did look astonishingly captivating in Balmain.

It was frustrating, this ongoing game that you two played and would not quit despite the effect that it very obviously had on all parties involved, but much like with the drugs that made the occasional special appearance in the closed VIP-only events, it was too addictive. Even now, you knew that you should not pay attention to Hongjoong, but your eyes were not obeying you in the slightest. Over the time you had come to intimately know this man, if there was one thing you knew for certain, it was that he had an aura. An enigmatic charm, a magnetism that was so subtle to anyone who you now had the ability and first world clarity of deeming 'average' was unlikely to detect. However, before you knew it, upon locking eyes with Hongjoong, listening to his dulcet tone that would turn to orchestrate the music in your mind, you began to fall hard and fast into the abyss that was his power and control, trapped and even if you wanted out, forgetting the words. Once you fell in, the only words that mattered were the ones that he deemed to be so, and they were so heavily contextual and dependent on his mood that, usually, you did not dare oppose it.

It was fascinating to you how time seemed to pass differently when there was a price associated with it. Be it Hongjoong's net worth or what he was wiring into your accounts, it did not matter. What mattered was the bills that bound you together like the lace of your lingerie, one which was growing tighter around your body by the second as you kept on openly devouring Hongjoong with each shameless gaze, the thoughts cropping up because of the ghost of a smirk that he was wearing only fanning the flame. He was illegal. In all senses. No man should have the right to have such an influence over you as he did, and yet here you were. Working the role of his personal toy, so dedicated that you were on the verge of begging for him to play with you. You needed him. As much as you hated to admit it, since you still did want to retain at least a tiny portion of independence, this man had given you more than what you could ever wish for. Riches, connections, diamonds, sex. And you could not get enough, happily driven to madness by the immense pleasure of being a capricious diva with infantile demands for all the world's sweetness. Or, as your brother had put it, perhaps out of a sick gratitude to you for helping him getting at least a part of his life back on track, before you blocked him for good, you were getting off on being a pampered, prissy sugar baby. Though you saw no issue with simply doing what you were good at, and you still completed your regular duties as a personal assistant. It was just that your 'personal' was a little different from the commonly accepted corporate average. And the business that you carried out in the after hours was not just classified – when you had been faced with the decision of whether to agree to enter such a relationship with Hongjoong or not, you had naively placed your life at stake. That was the level at which you had to operate. But the thrill that it gave you, more than justified it.

Your internal clock was ticking away like a time bomb as you grew more and more frustrated, while Hongjoong, in a manner not too far from that of a cat’s, gave a soft yawn and made himself more comfortable in his chair, spreading his legs further apart under his desk and leaning back to continue his reading. Deciding that he had enough of having to repeatedly push his glasses up, he decisively took them off, and slowly folded them together, holding one of the temple tips very lightly with his lips. In a graceful motion, Hongjoong set them down to his right, beside a couple of pens. You recalled speaking with the designer over the phone, ordering for them to be customised and getting shipped over from the US in record time, and while you were not exactly sure as to why they were so important, the key stakeholders in the company had raved about them on multiple occasions, much to your boss’s delight.

You could feel that he was well aware of your present sensations, and purposefully was not acting on them, just to see you squirm. This was only making you more fixated on getting his attention, which you tried to do by letting out another soft sigh, quickly realising that if you were to get anything out of him, you had to be more rash, and act on instinct. In other words, act out of line. Taking the moment he dived back into the report as an opportunity, you rose from the couch, and slipped out of your high heels while keeping your eyes trained on your boss. A barely noticeable twitch of the eyebrow and you were struggling to fight off a smirk, feeling every bit seductive even though it was most probably a vision of your own design. But a little confidence did not hurt.

This time, you did not make a sound as you slowly moved towards Hongjoong’s desk in a straight line, using your strength to keep your adrenaline-ruined breathing as level as physically possible, and your steps measured out as the plane rumbled beneath you. Head and body in the clouds. All because of the heavenly ruin who was paying no mind to how you rested the tips of your fingers on the edge of the desk, before lowering yourself onto your knees and dropping into a languid crawl. As you inched past his lacquered black boots, and soon found yourself right between his legs, you could see Hongjoong stiffen, but resist the urge of responding to your bold movements. This only played to your advantage, as you let your hands rest on his denim-clad thighs before snaking up to tug on his coat’s belt, loosening it until the material gave way and exposed the waistline of his jeans.

Even as you, with practiced, methodical motions, undid his jeans, he did not spare you as much as a pat on the top of your head, like he usually did when you were being his ‘good girl’. The only sign he gave of his awareness of you was the obviously hardening member that your hands purposefully grazed as you attempted to pull the denim a little further down to give you better access. When the jeans, or rather, their wearer, did not budge to allow you to take them off, you growled in annoyance and gave up trying to be gentle, instead wanting nothing more but attention, not from Mister Kim, not from your boss, but from Hongjoong. From Joongie. From your one and only daddy.

Said man was resisting every urge to yank you from under the desk and to punish you for being such a vixen, but it was clear to him that his disregard of your efforts might just be more painful – a realisation that did little to subdue his arousal. It made him acutely aware of your nimble hand finding the cut in his Armani briefs, and pulling out his erection, giving it a few pumps at the base with your fingers. The sudden caress had made him buck his hips forward, encouraging you to continue admiring his length and running your fingers up and down, not a single bit escaping your touch. He gripped the papers in his hands until they began to get crumpled at the edges, and eventually dropped them to lean back and get a view of the scene unfolding at his feet. All just to catch you as you licked your lips, revealing a thick coating of spit, moved towards his dick, and while keeping it steady with one hand, ran your wet tongue from the base to the very tip, parting with a lewd twirl over the head. Hongjoong bit back a hiss as he locked eyes with yours, half-lidded – you knew all his sensitivities, his pressure points and guilty pleasures, and that was infinitely dangerous for a man like him to share, it only made you more attractive. You had memorised him as if he was your assignment. Your most important test and duty. Never leaving your mind and driving you to insanity as you drifted from wave to wave of uncontrollable desire for him, and him alone. You were his. And you looked so pretty, a queen all made up and dressed in gorgeous rare pieces, kneeling before him and taking in his member between your soft lips. Deeper. Deeper, until he could feel your hot inner cheeks, the back of your tongue and how a rumble emanated from you as you hummed in satisfaction, the vibration forcing Hongjoong to tilt his head back and sigh.

You were greedy for Hongjoong, moving yourself at a slow pace to take in as much of him as you could, hands finding themselves clinging onto the legs of his jeans for support, and to allow you to try your best and continue devour him without his guidance. As you moved away for a couple of seconds to catch your breath, a salacious pop announcing the temporary loss of contact, you noticed a string of what you could only guess to be your saliva, mixed with his pre-cum hanging between his member and your progressively more swollen lips. Once again, you took the throbbing member in your hand and were about to resume its worship, when a strong grip of your hair, nails momentarily sinking into your scalp, alerted you and made your gaze shoot upwards. The sight made you cower, though the thrilling trepidation fuelled your yearning for the glowering man.

There was a demonic quality in how he stared down at you, every bit of the expression demeaning you and demanding your ruin. You knew you had overstepped by disobeying him and taking intimate matters into your own hands, but who could blame you when he was so breath-taking when wearing his favourite brand? When you lowered your eyes he tugged on your locks, sneering.

“Baby girl could not even wait until we landed, huh?” his dulcet tone dropped into a rough drawl as he could feel your breaths washing over the tip of his sensitive dick that was begging for you to finish what you had started.

“I couldn’t.” you purred, batting your eyelashes.

“And so, you resort to being naughty? Do you think that is the right thing to do, especially when I say that I am working, hm?” he was hooking the answers out of you, one of his eyebrows twitching in surprise as you did not respond immediately. He tightened his hold and made your head fall further back so that you were completely face to face, his member pressing against your cheek.

“It isn’t, daddy, but I couldn’t help myself. You just looked so pretty that I could not resist.”

“And I think you are being incredibly selfish, Y/N. Spinning these tales just so you can satisfy yourself.”

“No daddy, I want to make you feel good!” you insisted, a whine escaping you as you could feel your core beginning to grow warmer with the progressing conversation. Pressing your thighs tightly together, you relished at the friction, and bit your lower lip.

“Is that so?” he mused out loud, waiting for your to attempt to utter even a single word more.

“Yes Da-mmfph!” taking the chance, he pushed you right in, his member hitting the back of your throat, the impact making tears spring up. As you struggled against him, he held you in place and watched as you tried to adjust to him. Just as unexpectedly, he yanked you back, leaving your lips to kiss his tip, only to drag you down once more and thrust his hips once, twice against you until he could see the wetness in your eyes building until it was about to spill over.

“You said you wanted to make daddy feel good, yes?” he asked, lust clouding his brain as you mumbled utter nonsense, mouth pacified by the hard erection, “then do exactly as I say, baby girl.”

This was exactly what you missed. Hongjoong coaxing every unholy state out of you, sin setting you ablaze as you began to fail in registering the nuances of this demeanour, tears that were on the verge of rolling down your cheeks blurring your vision. This was how you pinched yourself for grounding, to assure that the lifestyle you had, the gifts which you had been bestowed with were all real and all yours. You did not search for forgiveness when the forbidden fruit was so damn sweet. So, you let yourself be used like an expensive escort by him, comforted by the thought that even though he could definitely afford having anyone else, he had selected you. And let you stick by him for almost two years. A true sweetheart who knew how to treat his girl right. You moaned into the pressure as the low grunts you elicited from Hongjoong let to the climbing of heat in your core. With the abuse of your throat becoming a rhythmic orchestration, you grew brave enough to improvise, and hollowed out your cheeks.

"Ah... fuck, baby girl..." the airy proclamation escaped him as your teeth just barely grazed his member, and he could feel his high building at an accelerated pace. He resisted your bobbing to catch a few seconds' break by pressing you to his hips, barely giving you a chance to breathe. But he knew you would take it. You always did.

Hongjoong's ragged breathing was sending you into overdrive, and you shut your eyes to allow yourself to focus on the lewd music. Barely audible over the jet engines, the loss of control was his primary expression of gratitude. The illusion that he was not, in certain senses, under your heel rapidly evaporated when the adrenaline shot him through the heart, and his frontal lobe shut down to give up the reins to carnal pleasure. Once the barriers disappeared, his one desire and need were clear. You. The one thing in his life that he would never be able to truly own, and as you unwounded him, he comprehended with an unprecedented lucidity. That was why, as you sensed his hold on you loosen and his orgasm inching closer than ever, and were about to give him the sweet release, Hongjoong snapped back to consciousness and nearly ripped you away from himself, your head barely missing the drawers under the desk.

With flushed cheeks and an adorable, innocent pout, you looked up at him, dribble accumulated at the corners of your mouth. He fell for this face every time. Your glistening eyes studying him as you appeared disappointed that you could not get daddy to cum, afraid that you made him mad. That you did something wrong. Oh, how far from the truth this was. Even though you had acted selfishly, and approached him on your own accord, nothing about you could be anything less than right. Right just for him. It was as if the heavens themselves had moulded you to fit him like a glove. Body and soul. And he will be a fool if he did not indulge in that every opportunity he had.

Taking both your hands in his, Hongjoong helped you up from under his desk, careful to not damage your dress - not that he cared for the price, but it was not particularly enjoyable contemplating the conversation you might have to have with dry cleaning. Or with the designers. Again. It was troublesome striking deals with strangers to keep their mouths shut. He rolled back on his chair, taking in your trembling form. Holding your legs together you were fighting your ache for stimulation, knowing full well that your panties were already ruined with your slick and were only serving as a fabric made for rubbing your sensitive clit. Every breath, every sigh from Hongjoong as he took off his jacket and carefully hanged it on the back of his chair, then fully undid his jeans and pushed down his underwear, was a reason for you to start begging. Couldn't he see how anxious for touch his little toy was? Evidently not, for Hongjoong took his sweet time with removing your dress, every button like a special prize that he wanted to cherish, while you were growing hazy as he peppered kiss after kiss with every new inch of exposed skin, crouching down to let the sensation build lower, feeding the knot in your stomach. His pecks stopped just about when he reached your navel and with a lazy smile on his face, he stood up to gaze into your soul with an unbelievable intensity. Hands running up your body, Hongjoong slid the magnificent article off you, hastily draping it over one of the chair's arm rests and not once glancing away from his favourite sight, a sultry oasis, within reach, and so beautifully hungry for him. He stopped your arms from resting on his sweater, muttering that you would mar it with your lusty filth, and rushed to take it off and throw it behind him. Then, there was no barrier for him anymore, and in one motion, his pelvis was against yours, member resting against your black lace-clad heat, and hands kneading your ass, moving closer and closer until they began to toy with the g-string the action turning to torture as he purposefully made the material dig into your pussy, enjoying how you threw your head back and bit back a groan.

"Please daddy, I need you..." you whispered as he increased the friction and proceeded to move his dick in and out between your full, closed thighs, teasing your erect nub until you writhed to seek even more proximity. This, however, earned you a sharp smack on your ass, the lack of anticipation making it sting. Hongjoong did not give you time to recover as he let the pins and needles work their magic and elevate your reception of his steady thrusts. You tried to grab onto him, the table, anything, but as soon as your fingers touched Hongjoong's chest, another hit echoed in your ears, eliciting a frustrated moan.

"You want to... make... daddy really happy and cum... right?" He panted, his nails digging into your flesh so violently that you could not help but wonder if Hongjoong was going to draw blood, but that brief musing only elevated your pleasure. “Then, you are going to be my pretty little fuck doll… understood?” there was only one right answer to the question, and you were not about to get on Hongjoong’s bad side by being a brat. You were too fazed to put up a fight, and merely mumbled a soundless:

“Yes… daddy…”

Hongjoong leaned closer to you, until his forehead was almost touching yours, and moved to wipe some of the lipstick and remnants of his precum from your lips with his thumb, while his other hand hooked the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down to reveal your wet core. You wriggled to let them fall and kicked them away with an impatient foot, earning a chuckle.

“So eager, baby girl… I almost want to forgive you for not listening to me. I just said you are to be a doll,” he peered into your eyes, his breath hot on your mouth as he ran his fingers between your folds, covering them in your slick. It was adorable how you tried your best to keep up appearances even now, even when you had signed yourself away to be what effectively was his servant. You trembled as the cool metal of the ring on his index finger hit your clit, and exhaled shallowly as he played with you, “and dolls don’t move, do they? Can you do that?”

As he asked, his fingers curled into your pussy, while a thumb traced rhythmic circles over the nub, the sensation electric, building your high. The lasciviousness flashing in your pupils as your eyes rolled back was a cry to Hongjoong’s darkness. Hands suspended in mid-air, you did not dare act out nor attempt to navigate the intimate act, submitting to your boss, your daddy. Letting him take care of you. As he sped up, watching your face contort as you battled the approaching climax, Hongjoong found you endearing, the corners of his mouth twitching as a soft, radiant smile surfaced. He could never stay cruel with you for too long. He was giving you more than you could ask for, and yet, he still wanted to give you more. Everything would not be enough.

“Oh, my baby girl, are you close?” he inquired, cooing as your breathing quickened in response to his accelerated pumps into your wetness, wild from the addictive sound it produced. “Fine, you can hold onto me, Y/N, daddy will take care of you,” you did not need to be told twice, falling into him as your orgasm was imminent, “doing so well for me, baby girl…” he whispered into your ear, kissing the lobe and pulling you into an embrace as he felt your high wash over you, your sex pulsing around him and muscles contracting uncontrollably. Brushing your hair back, petting it a couple of times before settling on having a hand rest between your shoulder blades, he praised you. But did not stop. Greed went both ways.

Your prior filters completely broken, you moaned and whined as you kept on unravelling, Hongjoong’s fingers abusing your overstimulated cunt. With his toned body, and your ass pressed against the edge of the desk serving as your only support, you draped your arms over his shoulders and wrapped yourself around his neck, rationality leaving with every tremor. As you could feel another scalding fire building in your abdomen, just before the release Hongjoong removed his hand and instead took to gliding his dick against your pussy lips. With the sensation being too much, you yelped and sank into an orgasm, sweet nectar dripping onto, and coating his cock.

“Such a good girl for me, well done… Come on my dick baby girl.”

You were not sure when, due to the fog that enveloped your fucked out mind, but Hongjoong had made you lie on your back on his wooden desk, surrounded by the financial reports he could not be bothered to clear. He wanted you now, and that meant no pauses. Without as much as a warning, the blonde gave you one final teasing flick with his tip before bottoming out, the fullness making you gasp. Your walls were still clenching around him from your climax, which made Hongjoong growl as he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to him, spreading your legs further apart.

“So perfect for me, Y/N… only mine…”

He mercilessly pounded into you, chasing his own high while you were seeing stars. When you were like this, under him, hair cascading onto and off the mahogany, knuckles turning white as your grasped onto the desk as he thrusted, you were the closest thing to heaven that he could believe in. In a world that was drenched in materialistic attraction, sabotage in the name of another stack, and human lives turning into corporate statistics to improve key performance indicators, this was an ethereal madness that unlocked a primal bliss, untainted by present crises. The sweetest distraction, you took him so well that he liked to pretend that you had been made just for this. Just to become his possession. His gorgeous doll.

With you, Hongjoong had begun to see purpose in his riches, being able to play dress up with you, making the office a private cat walk as you strutted in the latest collections and custom made pieces. Gucci, Versace, Prada… it did not matter to him so long as you were wearing it with the intentions of impressing him, seducing him, and only him. He was fully aware that, technically, you could be dating someone else alongside your so-called partnership with Hongjoong. As a sugar baby you could even have another ‘sponsor’ out there somewhere. Another person to make you cum, to provide you with a sensual paradise. But the notion sent him into an inexplicable rage as soon as he entertained it, and as such, he preferred to isolate visions of you from the rest of the world. In turn, this manifested itself into his real life attempts to do the same. Longer hours spent after work, an unspoken rule that the assistant should not leave until the boss does. Michelin star restaurants and exclusive rooftop bars to lure you into being in his company. And of course, sex. Or making love. However, one wished to call it when the lines began to get blurry. But Hongjoong could not care less. You made him comfortable. You were his, you had to be, otherwise what did the two years mean?

Skin against skin, breath joining breath, sight clouding, going dark. Hongjoong rolled his hips, and lowered himself to a stance where he was hovering directly above you, his piercing gaze not once leaving you. Getting drunk off every moan and gasp that he was the cause of, he relished in the feeling of your pussy taking him so well, the orgasm that he had not allowed you to ride out still making your walls clench repeatedly around his dick, pleading for his intimate, salacious demise. His thrusts got deeper as he slowed the pace, progressively losing his senses to the speeding high.

“Mm… baby girl you are… fucking priceless…” he uttered, words broken apart by each time he bottomed out in you, his balls pressing against your wetness as you could only let out a series of mewls in response, thoughts unintelligible as the repeated hits to your g-spot brought you closer and closer to total destruction.

“Daddy… please, I’m-”

“Going to cum?” he finished your sentence as your try at speaking was interrupted by a wave of pleasure, mixing with the tension from before and making the tears spring up once again. You were a wreck, impaled by Hongjoong’s member as he returned to standing up in front of the desk, thrusts rapid, sharp and finally making a droplet roll down from the corner of your eye. You yelped:

“Hongjoong… ah this is…”

“Is it too much baby girl?” he asked, without any intention to stop as he could sense himself faltering at keeping up the act for any longer. His own climax was within reach, and he was not one to deny himself any pleasures.

“No, daddy, feels…. So ah… yes…” you mumbled, at least you thought you did, but could not confirm for certain.

“Pretty girl crying for me…  so cute.” Praises spilled out of him as he groaned into the tightness, and, unsteady, removed himself from your cunt, letting out a low moan as rivulets of cum shoot out from his cock and onto your stomach.

The viscous white fluid decorating you was more than what he could ever hope for. The final marking that you were his to use, you were there to serve him, and he would never get enough. A light shake in his thighs forced him to seek balance in having a hand on either side of you, while his pulsing dick rubbed against your inner thigh.

“So pretty, Y/N. Just for me.” He stated, more to himself, and lowered himself further to give you a soft peck on the lips, which quickly deepened as you responded with an elated sigh. In these moments, you wondered if it was money that you were doing this for.

As he moved away, and with practiced motions began to clean you up with some tissues which you had in your bag, you regained full ability of inhale… count… exhale, and in the clarity, drifted to a post-coital contemplation. Hongjoong knew how to make you do what he wanted you to do. But did he know you? Could he confidently paint the portrait of your desires beyond financial and sexual gain? A man made of sugar, with an alluring physique and a kindness which he showed only to you, but should he be your only one? This thought had been plaguing you ever since last month. An unexpected, shattering appearance of a business card, that was now hidden behind a card you rarely used in your wallet, with gold embossed lettering and an otherwise minimalist design. Tasteful, exclusive, expensive. When you checked the names of those attending the meet on the island, the object had grown considerably heavier, weighing onto your consciousness. Discreetly given to you amidst a kiss of the hand and the reception of a smouldering gaze, it served a similar purpose to a number at an auction. The person whose name the card bore had announced himself as a bidder for your attention and services, a bidder astronomically higher than Kim Hongjoong, at that. It was tempting. Very tempting. And you knew that the conversation would occur at some point during your stay, seeing as even in the business setting, the man would undoubtedly be sat across from you, and would stare you down, right to the avarice festering in your heart wrapped up in designer. But you were caught in a dilemma.

Your eyes travelled back to the graceful form tending to you, forgetting about himself, at least until his baby girl was well cared for. A sweet angel, his face finally rid of tenseness and agitation as his entire focus was on your body, on you. The one who, unknowingly to himself, had shown you unprecedented vulnerability and, endearingly, trusted you much more than he ever should have. A man who walked on people and money, yet wanted a woman who could play with his heart.

It was not that simple anymore, was it? After so many doses, could you give this up? Give up and betray Hongjoong in search for a stronger hit?

What was it that you were truly greedy for?

[faghubby]

Future

"How did it go?" I asked. As Paul came home.

"Fine" he said quickly heading to the bedroom. I got up and followed him. I came up behind him and hugged him.

"We can talk about it" I assured him. I took the paperwork he was still holding from him. He just let me take it as I read down. I saw he scored a two out of ten. As I read the results. He was deemed not only small but because of his aptitude test he was fitted with the smallest cage.

"Paul this isn't that surprising" I told him hugging him again.

"But" he wimpered. "It means we can never"

"Baby, no it just means we can't have kids" I told him. He seemed a little better but not much. I read the self care page.

"It says you should keep yourself shaved to help prevent discomfort" my eyes lit up. "You're shaved?"

He blushed. I started to unbuckle his belt. I needed to see. He was shy but didn't stop me. I pulled down his pants and found pink underwear. I looked up surprised.

"They said they would help support the cage" he told me. They looked like boys briefs except pink and no slit to pee from. I tried not to laugh as I pulled them down to see the smallest chastity cage. I had seen the cage on the news as they had discussed the different levels but it was smaller then I had imagined. I touched it held him softly.

"Ahhh" he moaned.

"Sorry" I realized it was exciting him and stopped. I pulled his pants back up and left him to sulk at least for now.

The Matriarchal laws had passed. A month ago. All men where required to submit to a psychological and physical exam to gauge their role in society. Woman now controlled the government in great numbers. The congress of 100 members only three where male. And there where no male judges. This with a steep decline in pregnancies led to the passing of a series of laws. Allowing woman to find men that where fertile. But also strong and fit. Generically Alpha. It wasn't just size and strength but also intelligent, creative. There where levels of clarification. ALPHA, OMEGA, JACKS AND BETAS.

Paul had rated a 2 making him a low rated Beta. Always locked especially in public. It also allowed me to find men outside my marriage. The laws also relieved Paul of manly duties. He could not hold certain physical jobs. His right to vote was also limited. Along with home ownership, driving alone at night. Being out alone at night for that matter. I went back to the packet I had been reading when Paul came home. I added his evaluation to the paperwork. The paperwork allowed me to take control of all our assets. It even allowed me to change his name if I wished having him take my maiden name if I wished. There was also releases to allow me to be added to dating list for men that wished to help me cuckold my husband. There was a spot for Paul to sign but it wasn't required for him to sign since he scored under a 4.

I gave Paul a few hours then went to check on him. As I walked in he quickly turned off the TV. I walked over and took the remote and turned it back on. He was watching the new Submissive channel.

I sat down next to him on the bed. It was a educational how to show on pleasing your mistress.

"You didn't want me to see this?" I asked. He was embarrassed. I watched for a few minutes. They where talking about excepting his new role. And how to show her he excepted his role and was not a threat to her lovers. They talked about asking her to wear panties, or even to peg his ass.

"How do you feel about this?" I asked

"Trish I understand that" he tried but stopped. "Are you going to take a lover?"

"I haven't decided. How do you feel about it?" I asked him.

"I don't think I, I don't know?" He mumbled.

"You can't call me Trish in public, I think you should call me Ms Trish even at home so you get used to it" I suggested he almost seemed relieved I wasn't going to demand Mistress or something.

"I like you to sign the release before I send them" I told him as I ran my hand thru his hair. I smiled at the commercials on the tv. Even they where directed towards male submissiveness. As I smiled at a salon offering discount on full body hair removal. I suddenly had him lean forward and removed his shirt.

"Take off your pants" I told him. I stood and did as I said

"Leave your boi panties" I giggled, he frowned. I pulled him into bed.

"Lay still" I told him. I teased his nipples.

"Tell me what you rate on an arousal scale q being don't like and 10 being don't stop. I kissed his neck and nibbled on his ear. He moaned and wiggled trying to stay still.

"6 ohh 8" he moaned. I worked my way down teasing his nipples. Again he moaned and bucked his hips in the air. "8" again he moaned.

I moved down getting 4 on his tummy. But when I cupped his balls his dick was leaking precum from his cage. I licked and put his cage in my mouth then each of his balls one at a time.

"Please unlock me" he moaned

"I don't have the key yet" I told him. He just moaned as I continued to tease his inner thighs. He spread his legs further. So I took it as a invite and licked his asshole. I thought he would explode, I didn't like it but quickly replaced it with my fingers. I grabbed some Vaseline from my makeup table and worked my finger into his ass. Without a word he pulled his legs to his chest. Giving me total access to his ass. I soon had two then three fingers in his ass. I was absolutely amazed how much he loved this. We had never done anal play before. But Paul was in heaven his cage leaking as he moaned. After a few minutes I stopped and got up and washed my hands. When I returned Paul laid there his pink underwear pulled down alittle just as I had left them.

"I don't want to heat another moan or complaint. No more sulking. It is obvious that you are exactly what the doctors determined." I walked over to my dresser and pulled out a pair of my panties.

"Wear these you got yours all dirty" I told him. Then get dressed we are going shopping. He didn't grumble. He didn't say a word just did exactly as I instructed. I drove to one of the nicer department stores. He got out of the car and I had to double step to catch him. I held his hand.

"You will wait for me. I may even decide you will wait till I open your door for you. Is that understood" I stressed.

"Yes, Ms Trish." He replied lowering his head. As soon as we walked in we were greater by a saleswoman.

"Good afternoon" she said to me quickly glancing at Paul. "We have a new department set up right over here, for our new Femine men" she offered.

"Really, perfect just what we came in for" the woman just smiled as I led Paul. The whole section of the store was bathed in pink. I was greeted by a man dressed almost completely in pink as well.

"Good afternoon Madem. My name is Jackie if I can help you with anything please ask." He said.

"Yes we are looking for panties for my husband." I said

"Of course, would you like him to wear any particular style" Jackie asked as he led us to a table. "These have extra room in the front" he started.

"We don't need that" I laughed looking at Paul who was over welmed by all this. "These are more humiliation" he pointed out panties that had sayings like girlie boi or fuck my wife for me. On them.

I saw the cutest little yellow thong.

"OH I like these" I giggled showing Paul.

"He looks to be a size 9" Jackie commented but he can try them on right over there. He then handed me a condom.

"So he doesn't leak in them" Jackie informed me. I just smiled. It was encouraged that I went into the changing room with him. Even a comfy chair for me to sit in was provided.

"Trish" Paul begged as I told him to try them on.

"You want me to play with your ass again?" I wispered in his ear. He stripped and slid on the thong. Pulled and poked checking how they fit having him turn.

"What do you think?" I asked Paul.

"I fell like I got a wedgie" he commented.

"Good" I smiled. I let him get dressed. He carried the thong around the store. I added a few more. Then I saw a tee shirt. Registered 2 is all it said.

"Which color?" I asked Paul their was. A pink, baby blue, and a high visibility yellow in his size.

"Blue?" He said softly. I looked him in the eye.

"How about pink?" I suggested he just nodded and took it from me. There where skirts and dresses. Lots of sizes to feminized your man. I pointed things out and gaged Paul's reactions. As we approached the register there was a long glass case full of sex toys. I stopped and asked to see several dildos the saleswoman was knowledgeable and showed me lots of features. I bought a harness and two dildos along with a wand to hold against the cage. Paul was beet red as we checked out. I held his hand as we walked across the parking lit again. As soon as we got home i had Paul sign the paperwork and sent it in to the new office of submissive men. I took Paul back into the bedroom this time I stripped and laid on the bed.

"Use your tounge make me cum" I told him. Paul did as asked. I felt impowered and gave him instructions he was good at eating pussy. But there was always things he did that did nothing for me. Or things I wish he did more. He listened well. And made me cum twice.

My sister keri stopped by after dinner. I think she was curious how Paul had rated.

"He is a 2" I told her.

"Really" she said excited "what are you going to do? Have ypu scene the sissy school?" She rambled on

"Sissy school?" I stopped her.

"Yes they will teach him to be a housewife for you" she laughed.

"And Brian?" I asked about her husband

"6" she was almost disappointed. As a six nothing changed in there marriage at all.

after Keri left I found Paul he was hiding in the bedroom. Again I caught him watching submissive TV again. I noticed a wet spot thru his jeans.

"Paul, you want all of this don't you?" I asked him. He tried to deny it at first.

"I hate the cage but" he stated

"You love the panties and my fingers in your ass" I stated he nodded. I fucked his ass again this time using one of the dildos we had bought.

Then had him shower and dress in my satin pajamas they fit him tightly and looked like he wore capris.

the next day I signed him up for sissy school but also a sissy spa day. They would remove all his body hair. A mani/pedi. And style his hair.

He spent 5 hours a day at school they taught him how to cook and clean. Also tips on pleasing thier wives. Paul was only 1 of 3. Class 2 in school most where 3 and 4. So he was given special instruction in nail care. Hair style, even make up. And walking in heels. I was given daily updates. I paid for Paul to have permanent body hair removal. Paul excepted his role immediately. I also found it so exciting. Fucking his ass every night for the first two weeks.

Paul started receiving what became called the sissy check from the government every month. That plus receiving a promotion at work after my boss was demoted after being classified as a 4. So unable to be more then a personal assistant. I had taken Paul shopping again this time he wanted to try everything. We left with a whole new wardrobe. He would spend most of his time in a dress or skirt. I laughed. And had more sexy panties then I had.

I went to a cuckold mixer, where I met a Darren a tall black alpha male. He didn't ask he took me to a back room and bent me over. He drove his huge thick 10 inch cock deep in my pussy. He took me used me it was such a release. Paul had never even tried to act like Darren did. He pumped his seed into me. There was so much it ran down my leg as he walked me to my car. He picked me uo to kiss me goodbye. But I wanted more. When he put me down I dropped to my knees and right there in the parking lot I pulled his cock back out and slobbered all over it. I could only take maybe a third of his magnificent cock in my mouth. People walked by but I didn't care. Darren finally came feeding me his cum. I swallowed every drop. Before I left giving him my number.

Paul was still up waiting for me dressed in sexy blue lace lingerie.

"I met someone" I told him. He was aware what type of party I had gone to. "I know you have heard about how sissy clean up" I said. He swallowed hard turning a bit pale. "Would you like to try?" I asked. I laid on the bed and lifted my skirt. Paul looked at my cum soaked panties. I led his head down.

"Try it" I said softly first he kissed me thru the panties then got a little braver. Eventually he pulled my panties off and sucked Darren's cum out of me. I started to teach Paul how to suck cock. By making him suck my strapon before I took his ass. Which now was once a week sometimes twice if he was extra good. I met Darren a few more times. Before he moved on.

It had been months since Paul had been locked. And he had only asked that first day to take it off. I had only used the key a handful of times when I had his body hair removed.

I realized we didn't even get many stares anymore since a femine male was not as rare as one would think. Paul's biggest concern was if I was getting enough attention from real men.

I found Pete thru a dating app. He was very interested in a couple. He loved that I had a cuckold. One night I had him spend the night. And in the morning let Paul suck his cock for him. Paul was able to take all 8 inches down his throat and swallowed all his cum. I was so proud.

Later on I allowed Paul to give Pete a massage. Paul's penis leaked the whole time. I then fucked him with my strapon in front Pete. Paul lecked his sissy juice all over himself. Paul even moved out of our room one day giving his spot in the bed up to Pete for good.

When Pete found out he went to Paul's new room. And bent him over the bed. He fucked Paul with force holding his head down. Paul was so turned on he came twice out of cage. As he thanked Pete.

Pete took control of Paul. Now Pauline. The name change was only the start. Pete ran a tight ship. If Pauline didn't do something or did it not the way Pete liked it done though. Pete would pull down his panties and spank him. Or stand in the corner. Even having him suck his friend Larry's cock when he came over to watch the game.

He also liked Pauline to dress very slutty, or even spend the day in just panties and a bra for the day.

Pete also took a firm hand with me at least in the bedroom. sex was wonderful. When I got pregnant. I don't know who was more excited Paul or Pete. Pauline swore to care for the child. He was always there when I got morning sickness, or needed my feet rubbed. Or sucked Pete's cock when I was to far along or just not in the mood.

When our daughter was born I didn't change more then a dozen diapers and Pete not a single one. Pauline got up in the middle of the night. Aunt Pauline was decided he would be called.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I restart an argument with a friend?

🌊⚓ <- so I can search for it.

So, a while ago, a friend was over and we talked. She is from South Germany while I am from North Germany, where we are both living (this'll be important in a sec).

I don't really remember why we were talking about the topic, but we started talking about regional dialects and sayings and then she called Low German* a dialect. Which tldr: big no-no. But I don't think she was being malicious, she just didn't know about the topic at all.

So naturally I explained: "You absolutely cannot call Low German a dialect to peoples faces around here. People will take offense to it. I don't really, because I consider the difference between dialect and language is arbitrary to begin with. But you will provoke incredibly unkind reactions from other people."

Her response was "Yeah but like. Doesn't everyone think their own dialect should be a language."

And... Idk why that one hurt but it did. It just felt incredibly dismissive. And I didn't really know how to respond other than "but this is the one case where it is true" which felt weird so I just. Didn't. We kinda moved on to other topics. But in hindsight, I really wish I hadn't?

Because I wish I had explained it in depth to her so she understands why what she said is considered unacceptable. But also for her own sake, because she will piss people off if she says the same thing to other people. And honestly for my sake so I can make peace with the conversation.

So I'm considering either finding a way to restart the argument/ conversation when we are together or go the cowardly route and send her a couple screenshots explaining the topic. But I also feel like restarting a fight we never really had and really doesn't matter is kind of a dick move.

Additionally I tend to be a person that corrects people when they are wrong and starts discussion way too much. Because in my family academic debates are a love language.** So I tend to reaaaaaally overestimate the amount of debating/ arguing people are comfortable with. They tend to perceive me as being upset with them while I am just having fun hashing out a topic from different angles.

So Tumblr. WIBTA?

Footnotes

* Low German is the regional language of North Germany. The definition of North Germany is actually pretty much "wherever they are speaking Low German". There is some controversy if Low German is a dialect or a language. Which like... People often describe it as closer to Dutch and English than Standard German, it's a recognised language in every state it is spoken in, it is recognized as a regional language in the fucking European Union WHY is it still controversial.

It is also very much an endangered language because in the past decades especially it has been looked down on as being "lower class". No that's not where the name comes from, low german is spoken where the terrain is flat/ low and high/ upper german is spoken where the mountains are. This attitude towards Low German is shifting a lot recently but it is entirely possible it's too late to prevent it from dying out.

** I felt like this part needed some clarification too. I can't count how many dinners in my childhood were spent eating while getting into the meat of whatever topic caught our attention. Politics or science or more spiritual stuff. Ask questions about things we were wondering about. Absolutely tear into each other when we had opposing positions, but concede when we were convinced. Oftentimes I'd get up to grab pen and paper, or demonstrate orbital dynamics with the jam container, a bowl and my plate, or use the butter as an impromptu drawing board.

But that doesn't mean we were fighting in the normal sense even if someone got upset occasionally. It was really just communicating with one another. It was connecting. Exercising our debate skills. Play-fighting but make it academia. It was genuinely fun to us and still is. An alternative outlet for sibling rivalry. There is no need to fight over the TV remote when you can just reason it out together.

So yeah. That's how academic debates can be a love language (and simultaneously absolutely destroy your conception of what is considered arguing).

[not-that-syndrigast]

The F1 feeder series masterpost

In recent events, like Oliver Bearman's F1 debut in Jeddah, him, Jack Doohan and Kimi Antonelli joining the grid as rookies in ‘25, Liam Lawson and Gabriel Bortoleto also being discussed to get a seat and the reveal that Franco Colapinto would replace Logan Sargeant at Williams, feeder series’ have gotten more and more attention. A lot of people have no starting point to get into feeder series’ though, and struggle to understand the influence they take on F1, and that's what this post is for. This post includes everything you need to know about feeder series, and if you’re interested, you’ll find discussions and thoughts about common topics between fans and clarification on common misconceptions and anything else one might need on this blog.

Before we start into the topic; this post is incredibly long and detailed, thus there is not only a table of contents below to navigate it easier, but if you want to, you can also read it via the google doc. More discussions and similar posts can be found on my blog under the #wheeltalk

1: What is a feeder series’

2: How to get into feeder series’

3: The history of feeder series’

4: Drivers academies

5: Feeder series and F1

1. What is a feeder series

Feeder series are, in this case for Formula 1, racing series that are supposed to find new talents and develop them, thus the name; feeding them to F1, metaphorically. But in more detail, there are quite a few different feeder series that have developed over the years. They can be compared to stages;

A young driver will usually start their single seater in a series on F4 level, those are the smallest and slowest cars with only 160bhp. There is no worldwide championship, as the drivers are usually very young here and it’s the smallest and ‘cheapest’ of the open wheel series. There are different regional championships in a lot of places, as an example the British F4 or the Italian F4. Interesting to note is though, that these are rather new and there are big differences in the levels, the italian F4 is very popular and bigger compared to others. F4 and most lower feeder series drive by slightly different race weekend timetables to F1 and drive on vastly different circuits due to the regional aspect.

Although it's officially not counted as a feeder series, I would like to add F1 academy, which is a female only championship that follows the F1 calendar. Female drivers participate in that series to gain more attention from sponsors to be able to afford higher categories. Although their cars drive on F4 level, it's international and thus gains a lot more traction than other racing series of that car level.

If a driver is good enough and has the funds, they will progress to the so-called formula regional. Those are, as the name suggests, also regional. Different from F4 though, they are usually on a whole continent. The cars are faster and bigger and the whole event is more expensive. Most well known is probably the ‘Formula Regional European Championship by Alpine’ or short ‘FRECA’. Once again european bias strikes because even non europeans often come to europe to drive here because doing good in FRECA still seems to be better than to do good in another regional series, this is a problem for another post though.

Once again, if a driver is good enough and has enough funds, they can proceed to the next stage. Unlike in F1, they do not get paid to drive for a team but instead have to pay to get a seat, a rather expensive ordeal that can usually only be funded by good sponsors, rich connections or drivers academies that pay up to 100% of the cost. If a driver manages to afford a seat, they can participate in F3. Different from the previous categories, there are only two F3 series, although one is the FIA F3 world cup which is only one event, so most drivers focus on the FIA F3 championship which is not just international, but also follows the F1 calendar.

“Following the F1 calendar” means that they drive on the same circuits and weekends as F1, this helps them not only gain fans but also experience because an F3 race weekend is a lot more similar to F1 than an F4 race weekend and that is not just for the cars. F3 drives a lot less rounds though and almost exclusively in europe.

Last but certainly not least, when a driver graduates from F3 their next step is F2. The FIA F2 championship is arguably the most well known feeder series, almost every F1 driver that has debuted after 2017 has competed in this series, with many having won the championship. The cars are the closest to the F1 cars but it’s also the feeder series that requires most funds, with a seat for a season being estimated to cost up to $3 million. 

With all of this in mind, it needs to be added that all feeder series are spec series, so all the drivers in one championship have the same cars to ensure that the championship is reliant on racing talent, rather than the car. Still, they can change small things on set-ups and some feeder series teams are better than others, some series like F2 suffer under the so called Mecachrome, an engine that is super unreliable, so like any other racing series, feeder series have their problems.

Another important addition for feeder series is, that while there are junior academies the championships are not between the F1 teams that you are used to. I’ll explain junior academies later, but if you are watching feeder series it's important to be aware that there are other teams and rules slightly vary depending on the series. In F3, as an example, a team has three cars, but all of these are dependent on the series and you can easily find them out yourself.

For the race weekends it also slightly varies depending on the series; F2 and F3 have one free practice on friday, then qualifying, saturdays there are the sprint races with reverse grid and sunday the feature race. In the reverse grid the top half of the grid gets turned around after qualifying, the pole sitter for Sunday starts on ten, the driver who qualified for ten starts on one and so on. FRECA on the other hand has two full races with two full qualifyings. As mentioned, while I'd love to share everything, feeder series are (luckily) so broad that it's rather impossible. I’ll most likely post some pre-season guides for F2, F3, FRECA,... for the 2025 season though.

This is only a rough overview to show off how feeder series work. All of these series have official websites, social media sites and are easier to access than F1 so they are a lot more ‘fan friendly’. I will go more into detail on how and why these series have evolved the way they did later on, but I need to admit for myself, that I am a huge fan of feeder series because they are, as mentioned before, not only cheaper to attend but also really great to watch for fans and I hope I can help some people find interest in feeder series with this post.

2. How to get into feeder series

You may have seen the uproar around F2 drivers that could make their way into F1 next year, have read the previous text or decided for yourself, you’d like to watch even more racing, then this is the point where you find all the resources on how to!

I need to preface this by saying, feeder series grids are a lot less permanent than F1. Usually a driver only spends one or two seasons in a single series because they try to make their way up the ladder to F1 but also because it's a waste of money to pay for a seat when they could be in a higher category. Furthermore, sometimes seats just change in the season, with Franco Colapinto graduating from F2 mid season, he has triggered a domino effect; someone had to replace him in F2, that driver had to be replaced in F3,... For this reason, I cannot post a grid on any of the series here, for that you will have to visit the sites of the feeder series you are interested in.

What is pretty permanent though, are the teams. As mentioned, the teams are different from F1. Big feeder series teams like Prema racing, MP motorsports, ART grand prix, Rodin Motorsport, ect are present in most categories. By following them on social media you can easily find out who their drivers are and get to know them. I would also recommend following feederseriesnet on social media, it's the most trustworthy news site that covers everything related to the feeder series. Sadly, many feeder series are only covered in comparison to F1 by typical F1 news which is why those are more often than not untrustworthy.

If you question now how people have favorite drivers, then I have really good news for you; in feeder series everything is a bit more fun and to gain sponsors and fans, both teams and drivers themselves are a lot more active on social media than you’d be used to by F1 drivers. I've mentioned it before; feeder series are amazing for fans. There are good chances that you can even watch a race in person because feeder series are actually global and also super cheap, so just look at the F4 or regional championship closest to you.

In relation to this, I especially want to point out Prema. It's not only the most successful feeder series team but also by far the most popular one. The reason why Prema is so popular is on one side obviously the fact that they have won almost every single title in the past years and almost half the current F1 grid were in that team in their junior career, but also their social media presence. The Prema drivers are always by far the most well known and popular drivers in any series because Prema has been posting successful youtube videos for years now and I’ve found it the best way to get to know the drivers. As mentioned, many drivers were at Prema at some point, in feeder series drivers switch teams a lot more often so you’ll get to know about many drivers if you just look back a bit, even if certain teams post less on social media, their drivers will most likely appear in other videos.

If you want to watch the feeder series race, it depends a bit. Most regional championships you can watch free on youtube, but i’d recommend searching it up before you want to watch it. Some also live stream via official websites, really, it depends. F3, F2 and F1Academy follow the F1 calendar. Although they are not at every race, when they are, they just run via skysports, F1TV or wherever else you are watching F1.

In the end it's important to acknowledge, though, that feeder series and F1 are quite different. Feeder series are a lot more race based and things switch faster. For me, it's part of the fun to see more different types of drivers race, there is always something happening, drivers are younger and thus more bold, hoping to impress F1 teams. If you think F1 silly season is stressful, F2 is a lot worse since every single driver has to actually fear for their seat. One downside though is the fact that feeder series, beside Prema, lack a bit of fandom, there are significantly less fans for feeder series and there is a lot less content, less memes but the fans in general are in my experience a lot nicer.

3. The history of feeder series

Especially if you are a big fan of F1, trying to look at old feeder series races or are interested in the history of racing in general, acknowledging the history of feeder series is important to understand them. Feeder series have greatly evolved in roughly the past two decades; the “FIA Global Pathway from Karting to Formula One” as it has been established by the FIA only exists in the way it does now since 2014. 

Many of the current feeder series have gone through a whole lot of renamings, rule changings and changes in approach; there used to be F3 and GP3 at the same time, with GP3 being somewhat comparable to F3, but the whole problem was that there were many different open wheel racing series without a linear approach to F1. If you look at current F1 drivers' junior careers, you’ll notice how different they look to each other because unlike the way I introduced previously, there was no one pathway. The FIA has established a proper pathway now though, partially to help drivers but also because it's simply needed. If you look at certain drivers like Fernando Alonso, who started his Formula 1 career roughly 25 years ago, you’ll notice that he barely had any previous open wheel racing experience. The reason for that was not only that Alonso is a great driver with potential, but also the fact that F1 cars were simply a lot easier and it was more approachable for young drivers.

Since F1 cars have become more complex, driving has become faster and the F1 championship has become a lot more serious, the evolution of the feeder series have followed the evolution of F1. Racing has changed a lot, from the eighties where you pretty much sat in a car and just raced if you had the money to now, where teenagers train from early childhood on in karts to hopefully join F1 one day, F1 has become a huge sport. 

The biggest changes in recent years, following the FIA pathway program in 2014, are the following; 

In 2014, the Formula 4 series was invented, to bridge the jump from karts to F3 which has become a lot faster in recent years. In 2018, Formula regional was invented for the same reason as F4; to bridge the gap between existing series. Also in 2018, GP3 and the FIA Formula three European championship pretty much merged to what we now know as F3. the year prior, in 2017, GP2 rebranded to F2 leading to the feeder series being uniformed to all go by the formula title. 

I am quite sure we will still see some slight changes in the following years, especially since feeder series are gaining more and more traction as you can see here. All over the world there are also new regional championships starting out, which leads me to one of the most important parts of this; the globalification of feeder series.

Just like F1, feeder series are very european based. Many drivers had to move to europe in order to move up in the motorsport world, but with regional championships like the Formula regional middle east championship gaining traction, i wouldn't be surprised if feeder series become even more internationally, because while they are already a thing all over the world, you can clearly see the difference in F4; the italian F4 is always in focus and drivers from all over the world participate in them, while other F4s are focused more on their use; developing local talents.

4. Driver academies

Now as mentioned before, the F1 teams are not in feeder series, but there are so called ‘driver academies’ but what exactly are those and how do they work?

Well, driver academies are a sort of support system for junior drivers. F1 teams will take good young drivers into their teams. By that, they try to ensure that good drivers get the fundings to become a good future F1 driver. In return, they have contracts with the drivers and (usually) first privilege when it comes to signing them to drive for them in F1. 

But there are more advantages for the young drivers; besides the monetary advantages, being a member of a driver's academie helps them greatly. Depending on the academy they are in, they get help when it comes to personal trainers, contracts and sponsors and just in general, being a member of a driver academy makes it a lot more likely that a driver will actually join F1. 

But just like in racing itself, the different teams have not only different approaches but also different levels of success. While some junior academies like Ferrari can boast of being known to be incredibly loyal to their junior drivers, helping them get sponsors and become popular and having many of them graduate to F1, there are other junior academies who aren't as successful. Best example for a less successful team is Alpine, while they have many drivers, not many of them graduated to F1, even less with them. Still, in my opinion it's not necessarily a bad thing; a team like Alpine that pays for many young drivers is incredibly important and even better, they have a whole category for female racers.

In the next few days I'll post a ranking detailing a bit closer what exactly the driver academies are doing, so stay tuned!

5. Feeder series and F1

The way that feeder series have influenced F1 in recent years should have become a bit more obvious by now. With the establishment of a proper pathway for feeder series the drivers are a lot more likely to know each other and it's a lot easier to follow. F1 has become this huge sport in which everyone is a proper athlete, with feeder series becoming respected, so do their graduates.

Every rookie since 2019 had to go through at least one of the feeder series and although there will still be changes, especially with driver academies now going as early as F4 to recruit drivers, feeder series become more and more important to F1. 

Even if some people aren't as interested in feeder series, many have learned this year that you can't enjoy F1 without keeping the feeder series in mind.

Still, it's a personal wish, but i hope that in the near future (and hopefully by this) there will be more feeder series fans. Although obviously the end goal is F1, not everything in the feeder series has to be about F1. Furthermore, F1 is very different to the feeder series, which is a good thing. 

In the end, this whole post is a lot less detailed than i would have liked, but as mentioned multiple times, i will post even more specific texts in the future, but feeder series are such a broad topic that it would be an impossible task to explain every single feeder series because there are so many, and quite frankly, it would also be a bit boring.

If there are any questions left, or one of you just wants to talk about feeder series, request more info or discuss any thoughts, my DMs are always open and I absolutely love sharing all of these.

@the-prophesied-mouse @eve-will-perceive

sorry guys, this was supposed to be finished sooner but work ruined my life. I originally wanted to post it pre f3 final but live is hard. Also i'll be in so much pain if this fails, please.

[anim-ttrpgs]

The Review Copy of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

Guess what is coming soon at the time of writing this? The review copy of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy!

This represents the first official pre-release release of a version of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy that doesn’t look like an unformatted mess!

Don’t get me wrong, the version of Eureka you get for just $5 on our patreon is plenty readable, but in its current unformatted state the page count is hugely bloated, there’s a lot of blank space, and the flavor text is all just shoved under the body text with notes denoting it as such. Plus, it’s all just black text on a white background without much in the way of aesthetic besides the occasional snoop to break things up.

Well not anymore! The copy we are going to be sending to reviewers and rpg news outlets is going to be a test-run of our actual intended aesthetic for the finalized rulebook, that of a bunch of conspiracy and investigation notes pinned to a corkboard with red string connecting them!

(The text within the images you’re seeing here is slightly outdated because these are just mock-ups, the text in the actual review copy will be much cleaner thanks to some excellent copy-editing help we have been getting.)

Due to time constraints and being behind on deadlines, plus not having the Kickstarter money to pay for additional art yet, this version will not showcase the full scope of the intended aesthetic, but it will at least give you a pretty good idea of what we’re going for.

The final version is going to have a wider variety in the paper scraps so as to more efficiently use the space available, plus a bunch of different “styles” for the side text, which will help denote whether it is a rules clarification, an example, a bit of flavor text, etc—plus a whole Kickstarter campaign worth of art from theblackwarden, qsy, and chaospyromancy! The Kickstarter campaign is launching April 10th, 2024, and we are going to need about $3,000 to meet our base goal and $33,000 to meet all of our many stretch goals, so if you want a more stylish and artistic rulebook, please give what you can to our Kickstarter campaign in April!

We are gonna be sending this version of the rulebook to tons and tons of TTRPG personalities and news outlets within the next couple of weeks in hopes of an honest review or two that will help get Eureka on people's radar beyond the modest following we have here on Tumblr. If you are one such personality or news outlet, and you want to recieve access to the free review copy to read and write about, please do not hesitate to contact us, even if you only have a very small following! You can find our contact info on out website or just contact us right here on tumblr!

Check out our Kickstarter page for the best accumulation of info on what Eureka: investigative Urban Fantasy even is! The Kickstarter campaign launches April 10th 2024!

Check out our Patreon to get the whole prerelease rulebook + multiple adventure modules and pieces of short fiction for a subscription of only $5!

If you wanna try before you buy, check out our website for more information on Eureka as well as a download link to the free demo version!

Interested in actually playing this game, and many others, with the developers? Check out A.N.I.M.'s TTRPG Book Club, a club of nearly 100 members at the time of writing this where we regularly nominate, vote on, and then play indie TTRPGs! At the time of writing this, we are playing Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, and sign-ups are closed for actually playing it, but you can still join in to pick up a PDF club copy of the rulebook to read and follow along with discussion, and sit in on and observe sessions! There is no schedule obligation for joining this club, as we keep things very flexible by assigning multiple GMs with different timeslots each round, to try and accomodate everyone! This round, we had over thirty people sign up, and were able to fit in all but one! Here is the invite link! See you there!

[mermaidsirennikita]

Watch Lady Chatterley's Lover (2022) and then Read...

I absolutely loved Lady Chatterley's Lover (2022). I think it was a triumph of the female gaze, Emma Corrin being the Period Piece Pinch Hitter we all need in a post-Keira world, and fucking in the woods.

To be clear, the book is not a romance. It does not end unhappily (more like "to be continued", without any intention of a continuation and clarification) but it's not a romance. The movie, I would argue... is pretty close to being a romance, or just a romance outright. Joely Richardson looks at the camera and goes "this is a love story", and by God, who am I to question Joely Richardson (who also was Lady Chatterley once). It hits many of the classic notes of a historical romance novel--hardcore fucking and immediately having an existential crisis after, "my god, how could this constant unprotected sex I'm having result in a PREGNANCY???", a douchey rich guy who wants to publish his stupid novella.

After watching it, I wanted to go through my rolodex of books and throw up some recommendations for what to read after watching this movie and getting a bit. Interested.

I tried to focus on a) interclass dynamics or b) illicit affairs. Ideally both, but it's more about the vibe than the readalike nature.

The Leopard Prince by Elizabeth Hoyt. In many ways, a Lady Chatterley vibe without the annoying husband and *with* a murder mystery. Our heroine is a wealthy heiress who travels to an estate she recently inherited on her own, employing an experience steward to help her with the business side of things. And with the business side of things. Elizabeth Hoyt writes some of the best sex in the game, and there's a lot of great class conflict in this one.

Waking Up with the Duke by Lorraine Heath. A Lady Chatterley setup but with less class conflict and more *secrets*. The Duke of Ainsley, genteel and well-mannered, still feels real bad for that time he got into a carriage accident with his best friend, which resulted in said friend's permanent impotency. Friend asks Ainsley to pay him back by fucking his wife, Jayne, in order to ensure that she has the baby she's always wanted. Jayne is like "say what now", because she does in fact hold the accident against Ainsley, and Ainsley is all "I COULD NEVER--but if you're like... insisting..." because of course, he has always carried a torch for Jayne. A month of hot, angsty, "don't kiss me on the mouth" cottage sex ensues, and the emotional fallout for these idiots is MAGNIFICENT.

The Countess by Sophie Jordan. Not out yet, but put this one on your TBR because there is certainly a married lady discovering her sexuality in the arms of another man (wealthy, but of a different social class) around these parts. Out 3/28/23.

Between the Devil and Desire by Lorraine Heath. For the "this coarse man is lighting my ladylike fires" vibe. Our heroine is a recently widowed duchess with a young son, who comes to find out that--what the fuck--her husband left the guardianship of their child to a man she doesn't even fucking know. The hero grew up on the streets and has risen to become a successful club owner, but is still very much lower class. They move in together, and incredible sexual tension and heightened emotions ensue. TW: discussion of childhood sexual abuse.

Dreaming of You by Lisa Kleypas. This might seem a bit left field at first, but I shall recommend it because a) there is a huge emphasis on class in this novel. Sara is not necessarily a hugely upper class lady, but she is a genteel lady, and Derek Craven's awareness of their social differences and his roughness against her softness is a huge part of their conflict in the first half of the book. B) sexual awakening is very emphasized in Sara's journey. C) Sara does have a boring fucking fiance who's like "Sara, it's okay if we aren't that into each other sexually" while Sara, having just gotten her titties sucked at a party, is like "UHHHHHH NO THAT IS NOT OKAY". D) Much like Oliver Mellors, Derek Craven suffers from "is very smart but sometimes we don't know what he's saying" syndrome.

Duchess by Day, Mistress by Night by Stacy Reid. Our heroine is another widowed duchess with a young son--but this time, she's on the hunt for the governess that ditched in a flash. She hires the coarse, lower class but nonetheless successful fixer in town to help her... And his price ends up being a bit more carnal than monetary. VERY illicit affairs dot mp3.

Notorious Pleasures by Elizabeth Hoyt. No class difference here, but we do have a lot of illicit sneaking around when our heroine begins sleeping with her betrothed's roguish brother--who might just fuck the rigid rule following sensibility right out of her.

Her Night with the Duke by Diana Quincy. A widow has a one night stand with a handsome stranger, only to discover that he's courting her stepdaughter. It's messy, it's angsty, it's hot, and I do believe there are some outdoor activities.

[oneshortdamnfuse]

The complete refusal by many Europeans to listen to and understand how ethnic identity “works” in America will always get to me, because why am I having a long winded argument with someone who refuses to recognize “Irish Catholic” as an identity in America because it doesn’t include “American” tacked on after it. “Why don’t you add American onto it?” - because it’s redundant when you’re obviously in America talking about an ethnic diaspora you belong to.

For context, it’s on a video response where an American Irish Catholic family makes a light hearted joke about Irish Catholic identity in America but some snarky person from Ireland stitched the video with an “Are ye now?” when the family said “We’re Irish Catholic.” The original video contains jokes that an Irish Catholic in America would understand to be about their diaspora community. While it may contain some stereotypes, none of them are particularly harmful (e.g. no references to drinking and fighting).

You cannot tell me that Europeans with their “superior” education systems can’t figure out that an American saying they’re Irish Catholic means something different from a person in Ireland saying the same thing. You cannot confess to me that you need that clarification on a video where people with “American” accents are talking about their ethnic identity. Furthermore, insisting that people identify as Irish American in the context of their original video is absurd given that “Irish Catholic” is it’s own unique cultural identity here.

There are churches and schools that are largely Irish Catholic here. There are neighborhoods that are traditionally Irish Catholic here. There are accents and dialects that are largely based around Irish Catholic immigrant communities here. There are ways of dress. There are foods and festivals. Naming rituals. Family structures. Religious practices. Folklore. There are remnants of our culture here from when our ancestors left their homelands that eventually grew into their own unique ethnic identity - the Irish Catholic identity in America.

I’m just using Irish Catholic as an example because this video sparked the discussion, but this goes for any ethnic identity here. We’ve been shaped by our ancestors, good and bad. We all deal with a certain level of disconnection and alienation because of choices made before we were born. Enforcing the “American” label onto ethnic groups specifically when it’s not necessary to comprehend that they’re distinct from “modern day” cultures in Europe serves no great purpose other than promoting “White American” identity.

I said it before and I’ll say it again - it’s good that White Americans remain connected or even reconnect with their cultural roots, because “White American” as an identity was made possible by white supremacy. There’s nothing wrong with diaspora in American referring to themselves by the name of their ethnic group. You can be critical about how people appropriate or bastardize ethnic identities, but Irish Catholic and ethnic identities like it are unique in America and there’s no reason to refer to ourselves by names imposed on us.

When Americans talk about their ethnic identities, that’s not the time to be snarky with a “well actually you’re not from x, y, z.” Just let Americans talk about their own experiences. Maybe learn why diaspora communities behave similarly and differently from you. Correct practices that you think are perhaps misinformed, stereotypical, or problematic,* but realize that not all cultural practices have to be scrutinized for authenticity outside of their cultural context in America.

*e.g. You can correct someone claiming they have “Viking” ancestry to defend wearing ahistorical dress that appropriates from indigenous communities, but yelling at Americans for modifying their ethnic cuisines to suit where they live because it’s not “authentic” enough to you is rude. There’s a difference between appropriation and adaptation. Being from a country doesn’t give you the right to define diaspora communities and impose your definitions on them.

[six-costume-refs]

Hiii! Currently making Howard's costume, and I'm looking for more info on how the skirt closes AND the skirt pattern. Any help would be SO appreciated!

Hey! I have this post about some of the construction and layers.

As far as the closure goes, it’s basically an extended tab. Here’s Cassie Silva’s both open and closed:

And then the closure method goes on the overlapped section. The closure method has varied between Velcro and snaps, but you could also try magnets. (They also previously had a different closure set up using zippers for a bit, but I would not recommend it)

If you use magnets or Velcro make sure to get a stronger strength, and/or match the strength to the materials and construction you’re using. And snaps will cause stress to the vinyl so if you do use them I’d suggest using the black base as discussed below.

And this isn’t necessary, but for my own cosplay I’m planning to do either Velcro or multiple rows of snaps just to give myself some sizing range which Six has often done as well.

You can see two different placements of snaps used here:

Left is UK make, with a single snap in the middle of the waistband. Right is US make (the early 2022 style) with two black snaps on either side of the trim. This is one way the US has accommodated for potential minor fluctuations in waist measurement, like I mentioned above.

Also, note that while the black trim continues the studs do not - this is so they don’t get in the way of the closure or make things uneven or bumpy.

You also may wonder how Cassie’s skirt is staying up even though it’s not closed - there are snaps on the inside lining of the waistband that correlate and snap into snaps on the back and side of the leotard.

————————

The other things that are worthy of note are exactly where the closure is located and the backing of the closure. Here’s a bunch of examples of how that’s varied:

The exact placement of the closure has differed. Early iterations included the mic holster attached on top of the waistband tab (shown on Vicki Manser’s UKT costume, top far left) and the waistband closing in the front (shown on Didi Romero’s ANAT costume, bottom far left). But the current-and-definitely-best way is to have the mic holster on the main case, with the waistband tab attaching over in a way that nestles it right next to the holster. That keeps seams minimal and everything nice and stable. You can see that current system on the three furthest right photos on each row.

Finally, the base color. Originally the tabs on both sides would be a continuation of the rest of the waistband materials, just the same pink vinyl and trim (but again missing the studs as noted above). More recently they have switched to a pure black base on the space where the tab overlaps, most likely to use a more stable/strong material. It’s easiest to see that difference on the bottom row - compare the continuation of pink on both sides of Didi’s closure (far bottom left) versus the black gap that can be seen on Aline Mayagoitia, Abigail Sparrow’s CAN, and Audrey Fisher (2L-R, bottom row).

————————

For patterning I’ll refer you to @lightleckrereins, who has already been working on a post about that after just recently making her own.

Hopefully that’s helpful! If you need any clarification or have further questions, feel free to drop me another ask.

Credits: cassiemsilva, cassiemsilva; jainabrockpatel, cassiemsilva; vicki_manser, thisistsemaye, beccawickes, inezbudd, didiromero_8, alinemayagoitia, abigailsparrowofficial, aujeee