#literally just removed over 50 other parts to this

[shigayokagayama]

incomplete list of weird/interesting manga-anime discrepancies

-you know the bit where they break into the girls highschool in episode 2? yea thats chapter 56. spliced into the middle of chapter 4. its supposed to go before the bit with the ghost family as a lead up to the mogami arc with mob starting to consider evil spirits as just as much “people” as living humans are. all things considered its kind of weird how well it fits its anime placement

-ritsu in the manga gets introduced in the same chapter as teru. you dont see mobs family at all for the first few chapters. infact i dont think his parents appear until like. chapter 25????? every interaction you see between mob and any of his family is completely made up for the anime

-in the manga during the claw arc instead of reigen sending them away all the lackeys just stood there awkwardly during the fight w the scars fdnjksndkjgnd

-mogami arc got GUTTED my god. the part where the fake psychics tried to murder minori got removed, shinras role in the arc got reduced to basically nothing, they move mogamiland ritsu to a bridge like 50 feet away instead of having him walk right over mob, mob only gets beat up like twice, the cat lives, the boxcutter bit is totally removed, the fight with the spirits is made a lot more abstract and less graphic. like im glad this one took the hit instead of the separation arc bc i cant imagine that arc ever being effective as one episode but wow.

-putting the “mob finding his family dead” thing at the end of the episode instead of in the middle of a chapter where it originally was was an objectively hilarious move

-rip the scene of teru outsmarting all three claw guys and saying “say old man have you ever been tortured before” unfortunately all scenes of teru being competent are not plot relevant and must die. also teru can make shadow clones

-hey remember those weird satellite people in claw keeping the viewer updated on where all the characters were in that infinite arc?

-mob with a gun.

-mob getting briefly knocked out while fighting toichiro and dimple possessing him then getting kicked out was replaced w toichiro just throwing him out the window or somethhing???

-toichiro saying that he only kept the super five around as spare batteries and draining serizawas power getting cut was a personal affront to me

-every single emotion mob cycled through in the anime got a 100% meter. the kid was super emotionally unstable in that fight

-that old man whos house they went to whos wraith made everyone asleep that they exorcised? yea they anime team made that up. they never went to his house in the manga, he just went to spirits and such for a shoulder massage

-manga reigen got 0 money for helping the yokai dude. it wasnt on the table. also most of the stuff he was saying was lifted from a video game serizawa played which he pointed out. also serizawa thought getting arrested was a type of spell

-takenakas general meanness was significantly toned down manga takenaka was a huge bitch

-in general the alien arc was a lot funnier in the manga? like the scene where reigen crashes they had reached a dead end on an extremely narrow path and were driving in reverse while tome and takenaka were screaming at each other in the back and inukawa was 5 seconds from snapping and killing everyone in the car. these might be my favorite pages in the entire manga they as so fucking funny

-originally when tome said she wouldnt keep climbing reigen suggested mob carry her with telekinesis (which horrified her) and mob said he was too motion sick to use his powers (obvious lie) but could carry her instead which got her to get up

-mezato asking mob to sign a t shirt for the psycho helmet cult in exchange for relationship advice got cut

-i cry every day that the sequence of ???% waking up didnt get animated it set a very different tone than the anime did. the anime was like. slow build up of dread. the manga was immediately bone deep horror i was literally sitting in my room yelling “WHAT???” over and over again at my computer as i clicked through it

-shigeo and mob conversation cut down significantly, all the references to the body improvement club being mob making a new self rather than embracing who he really is and being scared that all the friends hes made wouldnt like the real him removed </3

-the scene where reigen takes his shoes off is made a lot less somber and depressing. it feels less like “oh he knows hes going to die” and more like. triumphant? in the anime

-100% shigeo kageyama is an anime addition they added specifically to ruin my “the first time we see mob 100% is to fight dimple and the last time is to stop himself from fighting dimple” observation

-anime teru generally seems like hes in a better place than manga teru? manga teru seems very melancholy and like he doesn’t really know what to do with his life or his place in the world (which seems to put shigeo off) but anime teru is like wanna go shopping ^_^ *sips tea happily*

-manga shigeo deliberately threw the cake directly in reigens face and my fury over them making this ambiguous will last until i am dead

[tieronecrush]

water in your hands

joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ ONLY, MDNI. you will be blocked if you don’t have age/range in your bio)

word count: 9.7k (she's long but hopefully good?)

summary:

You are sick, and you're married, and you might be dyin' But you're holdin' me like water in your hands…

Joel will only end up failing you. You deserve better than him. He needs you to move on, to give him peace of mind. So, he gets married to someone else, to try to force you away. Except he just can’t let you go, and you always come back when he calls. Like a dog with a bird at his door.

warnings: NO USE OF Y/N, cheating (it’s moon song y’all), marriage, age difference (joel is canon age, reader is 20s/30s), use of pet names, discussions of water/drowning, ANGST, hurt/comfort, unprotected sex, fingering, praising, lowkey possessive joel & reader, undefined relationship, alcohol use, mentions of john lennon cause he needs his own warning, joel is messy and selfish

author’s note: this is my first time writing any sort of fiction in literal years, but i couldn’t help but try to write this idea cause i'm a sad girl who wishes joel miller was real! apologies for any typos/errors, i am the actual worst at proofreading (see, my master's diss that i read at least 50 times and still had typos in the submission). any interaction is appreciated <3

PART II HERE

dividers from @saradika

Fresh snow had fallen this morning, wiping away some of the evidence of daily life here in Jackson. The air was biting, you work your sleeves over ungloved hands to keep the chill away, cheeks flushed. Snow crunches under your boots while you rush from your house to work at the Tipsy Bison, Jackson’s bar. Because of course one of the first things restored in the commune, in the middle of the apocalypse, was the one place with all the alcohol. Not that you were complaining, it gave you a job in town that you enjoyed; you got to pass time by being around people and making conversation, something you didn’t get in the small cottage that you occupied by yourself.

Keeping your eyes trained on the ground as you walk, careful to watch out for patches of ice, you only look up when you hear your name called. It’s the familiar voice of your boss; at least, you call him your boss cause he makes your shifts, but he hates to feel any sort of claim over the place since, y’know, the whole communist thing.

Tommy Miller stands near the steps up to the bar, clad in his signature look of denim and chambray, denim’s sister (the man wore a Canadian tuxedo nearly every day, you kept a tally). He’s waving you over, and before you can greet him, your attention is pulled from Tommy to the pair standing next to him. 

A man, looking slightly older than Tommy but eerily similar with light grays sprinkled in his brown hair, donning a suede winter coat that was fitted across broad shoulders. His beard was patchy, not covering much of his strong jaw. Hooked nose, syrup brown eyes, olive skin looking pale from the season. There was a scar on his right temple, and other healed injuries dotting around the exposed skin. He’s handsome.

The young girl next to him just reached the man’s shoulders at her full height, bundled up in layers of sweatshirts and an open coat that didn’t look very warm. Her beanie framed her face along with her brown hair, the look on her face one of obvious teenage annoyance. She looked barely fifteen.

Tommy started introductions, barely getting a word out before the mystery man cut him off.

“I’m Joel, Tommy’s older brother. And this is Ellie.” He gestures to the girl and she gives you a nod. Joel removes a glove and extends his hand. You meet halfway, feeling the need to apologize for your cold skin chilling his own much warmer. Work-worn fingers wrap around to meet the skin on the backside of your hand. Your mind wanders to how those hands would feel in other places like -- 

Tommy’s voice breaks up your thoughts, “They’ve been traveling for a few months now to come here to Jackson.”

A smile crosses your face, grip not yet leaving Joel’s. His mouth ticks up slightly to one side.

“Welcome to Jackson, Mr. Miller, and you too, Ellie. It’s nice to put a face to the brother that Tommy’s been telling me stories about.”

“Please, just Joel. And it’s nice to meet you too, I hope he’s only told the good stuff.” Before you can respond, Ellie quips in.

“For months you have refused to tell people your name and now the first pretty girl in this perfect fucking town and you’ve given it twice.” She rolls her eyes so hard they disappear into her skull. Been there, Ellie. The attitude of a teenager is universal, even in the apocalypse.

Joel’s head snaps to Ellie and he grits out under his breath a little too loudly, “Ellie, quit cursing.”

Blush creeps across his face and you note that he didn’t say anything about Ellie knowing he thought you were pretty. Joel breaks eye contact and lets your hand go.

“Alright, hon, we should be on our way. I won’t subject you to any more of my older brother. He’s not much of a conversationalist,” Tommy teases. Joel gives Ellie a run for her money with the intensity of his eye roll.

Waving to the newcomers, you step back to head up the stairs. Out of the corner of your eye, you swear you see Joel take the smallest step towards you, about to follow like a puppy. 

“See you later, boss. Nice to meet you again, Ellie and Joel, enjoy your tour of our perfect fucking town.”

Joel glances back over his shoulder to watch you walk into the swinging doors. Lord, if you could read his thoughts. He knew he was in trouble the moment he saw that damn smile.

The last few weeks have been torture to Joel. He and Ellie had been back in Jackson for about a month now, getting settled in their new normal. However, it wasn’t the lifestyle change that was anguishing him.

He’d thought of you a few times after he’d met you that winter; remembering your smile when Ellie was quietly resting against his back on the horse, a fever dream of you when he was in the basement of that abandoned house, a rush of nerves when Tommy brought him to the bar for the first time since he’d been back. He was infatuated with you, and now that he’s living in the same town as you, it’s gotten worse. Foolish mind daydreams of you and him together, feeling like a teenager again with the way you make his knees weak. He’s been careful not to spend much time alone with you, reminding himself that he shouldn’t let someone like you get involved with someone like him. All he’d do was fail you, fail to give you a good life. Words were carved into his skull at this point:

You’re too broken, too bruised, too scarred, and full of guilt - you’re going to fail her, too..

The small two-bedroom cottage diagonal to his and Ellie’s house was yours, and the proximity wasn’t helping his situation. And not only were you his neighbor, but you worked at the place where Joel spent a good chunk of his free time - the bar. He’d get drinks with Tommy or other guards after a shift, and that evolved to going by himself in hopes to see you and drown his guilt over those hopes (among a lot of other things).

It’s these nights when he’s become a bit looser with his self-inflicted rules around you. He occupies the stool at the end of the bar, stealing glances as you help other customers. His index finger rims the dry glass in front of him. You approach with that same damn smile aimed at him. It’s a dangerous combination along with the liquor, both fuzz his rationality.

“Another one, Mr. Miller?” you nod to his glass, reaching out to take it from him. Soft fingertips brush over his skin, sending a jolt of energy up his arm. 

He clears his throat and answers, “Now, darlin’, I think I told you to call me Joel. Actually, at this point, I think it would be classified as begging. Mr. Miller makes me feel old.”

Throwing your head back with a laugh, the skin of your neck is exposed. His tongue involuntarily wets his lips when he thinks of leaving a mark there.

“Feel old? You are old, Miller,” he fakes offensive, eyebrows raised, “Aw, c’mon Joel, you know I’m just kiddin’. You’ve still got it. That silver fox thing you got goin’ on really does it for women ‘round here.”

He wants to be bold enough to ask if it’s doing anything for you, but instead, he huffs a laugh and shakes his head in disbelief, taking the two fingers of whiskey you poured.

“And how do you know that, darlin’? Haven’t had many offers for courtship since I got here.”

“I work in the bar. Women get drunk and spill their every thought. Including that the new guy with the daughter is hot,” you lean over the edge of the bar top, face less than a foot in front of him. Your eyes shift down to his lips. “Plus, I might encourage the conversation with my own thoughts.”

That smile again, except now it’s more of a smirk. He sips his drink, capturing the lingering alcohol with a lick of his lips. Your eyes go again, watching his tongue.

“I’m glad I can be such a riveting topic of conversation for you, sweetheart. Hope it’s good thoughts only.”

“Wouldn’t say the thoughts I have about you are good, Joel,” he swallows hard hearing the flirtation in your comment, feeling his jeans tighten.

Snapped out of hazy judgment, he resurfaces from the alcoholic tides; the rules he has about you act as a life preserver for him to cling to before getting caught in your rip current.

Joel throws back the rest of his drink, standing from the stool. He needs to get out of here if he wants to keep his promise to himself. Well, not that he wants to, but it’s what’s right. He can’t get you involved with his broken self. Your face drops slightly at the sight of him leaving, and part of him wants to lean over the bar to grab your face and kiss you hard in reassurance that he has the same kind of thoughts. But he can’t.

So he wishes you goodnight and walks home, angry with himself for nearly crossing the line. But he can’t help but think of your smile, and those flirty comments, as he tries to fall asleep.

You’re wide awake. Every time you close your eyes, your brain starts looping your conversation with Joel. Fingers rub circles in your temples, cursing to yourself as you get the replay of his extremely quick exit after you’d said you have…not so good thoughts about him.

The only indication you’d gotten from him that he felt any type of way toward you is his periodic visits to the bar on his own, spending the night chatting and laughing with you. You’d sometimes find yourself meeting his stare when you’d see each other across the street from your porches or in town.

But he’d never made a move, hell the most he’d touch you was to take a glass of whiskey or beer bottle from you. So why did you think he would suddenly reciprocate when you’d made openly flirty comments?

You needed some air. Just to clear your head of this embarrassing play-by-play. You pull yourself to stand and grab the sweatshirt at the end of your bed before heading out.

Jackson had the sort of late spring, early summer climate that happened to be your favorite. Warm, mildly humid days that brought the colors back after winter, and chillier nights, the right temperature to keep your cotton sleeping shorts on and add an extra layer up top to keep you warm.

Without thinking, you started towards the old barn on the edge of the residential area. The structure had seen better days, mostly used for storage now, but the open field behind it had an incredible view of the sky at night. It was a place you loved to go when that deep, dull ache in your chest wouldn’t quit.

Gravel crunches softly under your feet, small pebbles slip out from under your soles with each step. Not remotely focused on what’s in front of you, it comes as a surprise when hands land on your biceps. Your knee-jerk reaction is to scream, but as you look from the ground to the person grabbing you, the sound dies in your throat when you meet chestnut eyes.

“Jesus, Joel, you scared the shit out of me! Hasn’t anyone told you, you can’t just go grabbing women at night? Well, at any time of the day, really.” Your voice is rasped into a whisper despite the fact that there’s not a soul around.

“Maybe you should be paying a bit more attention to your surroundings when you’re walking by yourself at night, sweetheart” Joel counters, mouth ticking up to the side as his drawl continues, “Don’t know who’s lurking in the shadows in little ol’ Jackson.”

“You’re apparently the only person lurking, and you’re not doing a very good job since you just came right up to me.”

“Couldn’t help myself, I guess. What’re you doin’ out here at this hour?”

Heat burns under the surface of your skin when Joel drops his hands from your arms, the sensation radiating throughout the rest of your body. “Couldn’t sleep. I was gonna go sit out in the field behind the barn for a bit, admire the moon.”

He lights up with the first genuine smile you’ve seen from him. He has the best poker face out of anyone you know, but a part of you hopes that he feels like he doesn’t need it around you.

“Mind if I join ya, darlin’? Might be nice to stargaze a bit.”

You have to hold back from nodding frantically, attempting to play it off as if you’re weighing your options, “I don’t mind at all. You can teach me about the stars.”

The walk over is quiet but comfortable. At the shabby split-rail fence, you lift your foot to the lowest rail and push off the ground to mount the barrier. Joel’s hand meets the small of your back to hold you steady. Heat emanates from the spot, fingertips brushing your sweatshirt. His warmth leaves you as you make it over, watching as he easily clears the fencing with one smooth movement.

“Any spot in particular?”

As an answer, you grab Joel’s hand. Nerves bubble in your stomach, two steps ahead with your arm outstretched behind. His larger strides are quick to close the gap, arms between your bodies with palms pressed together. His hand shifts in yours, fingers lacing with yours and curling around the outside of your smaller hand, his thumb skimming back and forth.

Steps slow at a small clearing in the tall, overgrown grass, settling down on the dewy ground. He lays back with you, not focusing on the stars right away. His eyes are a cooler shade in the moonlight, yet no warmth is lost in the way he looks as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

Suddenly aware of yourself under his stare, you lightly clear your throat and turn toward the sky. “Do you know a lot about astronomy? I never got to learn much, other than my brother teaching me how to find the north star to navigate.”

Joel’s attention moves to the stars, his voice coming out lower and softer than in the daylight, “I used to know a lot more. Did a lot of camping before and learned to find the major constellations. Taught Ellie some of ‘em, and now she’s got a few books on astronomy. She kept saying how she wanted to fly, go to space or the moon like Sally Ride.”

“She’d be a pretty badass astronaut.”

He laughs softly, nodding before his expression settles into one of reminiscence and guilt all muddled together.

“You’re not wrong,” he pauses shortly before continuing, “But, I think I can still remember most of the constellations. What’s that thing called where you’re assigned one when you’re born?”

“Astrology?”

“That’s it. I know where my constellation is. I’m a Libra, whatever that means.”

Joel lifts your joined hands, his index fingers extended as he traces out the shape of scales in the corner of the sky.

Pulling the limited memories you have from the book you’d found sitting on a shelf at home, you follow Joel’s finger, “Libras are supposed to be balanced, that’s the whole scales thing, I guess. And impartial, but sometimes indecisive. Oh, and charming.”

Joel nestles your hands back on the ground. “Balanced, impartial, and indecisive? Sounds a lil’ vague, darlin’. Not sure I’m believin’ the stars can tell you about your personality.”

“Well, they got the charming part right about you. You’re certainly a Southern gentleman, got ladies swooning left and right.”

“Nah, I don’t even notice ‘em. Too busy focused on someone I’m pretty charmed by myself.”

You let go of Joel’s hand, turning onto your side to face him. He mirrors you, and you take the chance to lean in. Lips touch together with a brush, breaths fanning over both of your faces as you wait for his response.

Joel sits up, weight resting on his elbow. Broad shoulders lean over to shift you onto your back, rich eyes never leaving you. His touch is confident, a large hand fully cups the side of your face. Fingers sprawl along your jaw, thumb on your cheekbone. His frame leans further over yours, lips hovering as his voice breaks the moment of silence in a rasp, “This okay?”

Your voice thick with anticipation answers, “Yes.”

His kiss sends ripples of tension over your body. Fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeves, feet press into the dewy earth, chest tightens with quickened beating, lips match his depth. He tastes minty from toothpaste, mixed with notes of the Tennessee whiskey he orders. It’s intoxicating, reminders of him to seep into your daily life.

Joel brings you closer with a hand in your hair. His tongue traces your lips, parting them to let him in. When his fingers leave the crown of your head, his touch floats over your body, caressing your waist, sprawling under your breast, and jumping to your exposed thigh. He’s pressing your skin back against your body as if you were going to flow out from under him.

His frame shifts over you, pulling him away and breaths mix from open-mouth exhales. Legs open and hands find purchase on his expansive shoulders, heat pooling at your center when his knees settle between yours.

“You’re so beautiful, darlin’,” Joel’s earthy tone sighs, his hands moving along your body with a rumble of satisfaction brewing out of his chest.

His touch surrounds your cheeks as if he was bringing water up to drink from his hands, only your lips are the means to quench his thirst. You moan into the deep kiss, finding a frantic rhythm together. Fingertips dance along his torso to reach the hem of his navy t-shirt.

Hot, humid kisses line your neck to the collar of your sweatshirt. Tugging at the fabric and slipping his hand underneath, you comply to get the material off. Your t-shirt follows in its wake, the chill of the ground and Joel’s touch spreading goosebumps on your skin.

You breathe out a moan at his teeth scraping the curve of your shoulder, hands pulling at his shirt. He follows the silent order, getting the soft cotton over his head.

His hips grind down, arousal flooding your core. Another moan slips at the feeling of Joel’s breath meeting a small peak on your chest, sucking the pebbled skin.

Hips jerk up against his bulge, Joel’s throaty groan cutting into the night.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so soft…”

He gives the same treatment to the opposite breast and large fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts, tugging lightly to ask permission.

“Touch me, please. Wanna feel you…”

Joel’s lips separate from the skin with a pop. Your shorts come off, Joel retaking his place between your velvety thighs.

His eyes worship your body, dark with lust but still harboring a warmth. A slight ache burns in your hips that you completely ignore when his knuckles brush up your covered slit.

There isn’t a single thought in his head that doesn’t revolve around you.

His fingers slide against the last piece of fabric covering you, feeling your wetness through it. Your delicate sounds encourage him, thumb finding your clit and rubbing slow circles. He watches for a moment, eyes catching your face as you whine.

“Joel, please…”

His teasing doesn’t cease. Instead, he removes his thumb from your clit, hooking his finger to pull your panties to the side and exposing your wetness to the chill of the night.

“Gonna have to tell me what you want, darlin’. Not a mind reader…” He grins as you huff out your frustration.

“Please, Jesus Christ, want your fingers inside of me…” you look at him impatiently as you wait for an answer.

Biting his lip to hold back a groan, he pulls your panties off to leave you completely naked under him. His mouth waters, taking you all in as his touch runs up your bent knees.

Two fingers gather your wetness, pressing harder circles into your clit. Your whimpers egg him on, slipping down to tease your entrance with one finger.

“Good girl. ‘M gonna make this pretty pussy come around my fingers.”

With a smirk, one finger slides into you. Moans fill the still air, the tightness of you around his middle finger making him stiffen. A second finger easily joins the first to work you open.

His name is repeated like a prayer when he hooks his fingers on the uptick, searching for that rough patch inside your walls.

“Fuck, Joel, feels so fucking good,” you writhe under his touch, the sight and sound of you falling apart making him ache. He uses the hand resting on your stomach as a temporary fix for himself, a deep moan interrupting the orchestra of your whimpers and wetness. He pulls his hand away from his jeans, the need to feel you come overpowering his own.

He moves in circles around clit while fingers work in and out quicker, wanton moans growing louder and higher in pitch to accompany the sounds of your drenched cunt.

“So tight around my fingers. Feels good, yeah? You gonna come for me, sweet girl?”

The sounds you make in response are lewd, pleasure overtaking you as you rasp out, “Joel, I-I’m-”

“I know, baby. Let it happen.”

His words push you over the edge, fingers nearly pushed out from how hard you clench around them. Moans flood his ears, and all he can focus on is making that feeling last for you.

Soft breaths return when you’ve recovered, hand finding him hard and working your palm. Fingers open his button and fly, shoving the fabric as far down as you can manage.

“You sure, darlin’? We don’t have to, watching you was enough for me.”

You make your way inside his jeans, fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking slowly. He’d never really been one to care about underwear in the middle of the apocalypse, and right now he was thanking his past, lazy self for the lack of barrier. A shudder ripples down his spine, your touch so much better than his own fist.

“‘M sure, baby. Need you inside of me,” he twitches in your loose grip at the request, pushing his pants down just far enough to free himself.

Nails scrape against his scarred chest, a moan escaping you as he guides the head of his cock through your slick before positioning himself at your entrance.

His eyes lock onto where your bodies meet as he enters with a gentle thrust, your nails biting into the skin under his collarbone. He looks for a second at your face, your nod permission for him to move once you’ve adjusted to the stretch. 

He nearly comes at the sight of you taking him fully, your tightness and warmth making the edges of his vision blur. “So, so good, baby…Feels so tight and warm and wet. Perfect, you’re perfect.”

Wetness pools around the base of him and onto the grass below, drenching the sound of skin meeting skin. He watches your eyes screw shut, whimpering as you take every thrust, “Fuck, Joel. Feel so full, ‘m close already.”

His hips work you harder, feeling that taut rope in his gut near its breaking point. One hand leaves your leg held against him, licking his thumb to make quick movements on your clit. His name tumbles from your lips in a high-pitched whine and your head presses back against the ground.

“Come for me, baby.”

Your walls grip him tighter and nearly knock the wind out of his lungs, your back arching off of the grass and nails biting into his shoulders. Eyes open when you settle, clouded and full of pleasure. His thrusts grow sloppy as he chases after his own high.

“Fuck, ‘m close. Feel so damn good.”

“Come for me, please Joel, wanna see you come.”

Your begging snaps that taut feeling in his gut; he quickly pulls out and replaces your warmth with his fist. His chin falls to his chest with a guttural moan as he watches his spend cover your lower stomach, glistening in the soft light. Warmth spreads across his body in a tingle, pleasure clearing his head.

They say drowning is one of the more peaceful ways to go. Once the first few breaths of water fill your lungs, your muscles relax and there’s a warmth that washes over you. Then you pass out and everything goes black. It’s not comfortable, but the tranquility makes it better.

Joel feels like he’s drowned in you, muscles relaxed, warm peace in his chest. His vision is black for a moment, breaths deep in recovery. His eyes adjust to see moonlight flooding your face and body in cool blue. His hands start roaming again, softer this time. Pulling out of you slowly, your whimper meets his small hiss.

He lays you on your side to face him, your form molding like fresh clay.

“You okay?”

Your eyes close contently when his fingers brush your hair from your face, humming, “Fantastic. I wanted that to happen ever since I met you.”

His heart beats quicker at your confession, his mind immediately repeating those words - you’re going to fail her, too.

He only holds you closer in response, and by the time you’re both dressed again and walking back to your street, he knows that he can’t let this continue.

Guilt harbored in his chest over forcing himself to avoid you for weeks after you’d given him exactly what he longed for. He didn’t want you to think that he saw you as a one-night stand, it had felt like more than he wanted to admit, but he couldn’t seek you out to apologize. If he saw you alone, he’d end up doing it all over again. He didn’t regret it. He was just trying to do right by you. Give you space, give you the means to move on before you’d drift too far into the deep end with him.

So he decided to move on himself, try to force your hand into someone else’s if you saw him coupled up. It was cruel, but that’s who he was deep down. Cruel, guilty, undeserving.

He asked Tommy to set him up with someone, and his brother told him about a nice widow who’d been in Jackson since the beginning and had mentioned how cute she thought Joel was. That was enough for him. He asked her out that night.

He’d been dating Heather for a couple of months now. She was pretty, with medium blonde hair and blue eyes. Not much younger than him. Everyone knew they were together, and he assumed that meant you did too. He’d seen you around, eyes never meeting while he walked to his house hand-in-hand with her. He heard rumors of you leaving the Tipsy Bison with a guy in tow a few times, and despite the pang of jealousy that he felt, he kept reminding himself that this was right. You’d fall in love with that guy or someone else, forgetting all about him.

A few months of dating led them to a quick engagement. Joel still couldn’t get you out of his head and took extreme measures to ensure nothing more would happen. They got married in his backyard in a small ceremony. The occasion was lowkey, at the request of Joel. Word spread after the first outing Joel had taken to the market, the silver band on his finger telling everyone what they wanted to know. Each conversation came with congratulations to him and his new wife. He returned them with tight, polite smiles, hiding the oozing guilt that was filling his chest.

Joel had found out that you’d skipped work a few times when Tommy mentioned it in passing on patrol, which was extremely unlike you considering you loved your job. He knew it was because of his marriage.

He tried to bury his worry, telling himself that he was doing the right thing. For him and for you.

Heather had lived her young life with her first husband, she wouldn’t grow to resent him for what he failed to give her. You would move on, as he did, and find some nice guy to settle down with, who could give you what you were looking for. What you deserved.

The worry carried over the day, his brain jumping to worst-case scenarios. He had to make sure you were okay. He would knock on your door to see if you were there. It was the neighborly thing to do.

Joel silently left his bed with his wife sleeping next to him, slipping out the front door in the hours before dawn. He needed to check on you, even if he had to look in through your windows to make sure you were alive. Knuckles lightly rapped on your door, and just as he was nearly about to go find your bedroom window, the door cracked apart from the jamb, and your face was lit by the soft night light.

“What are you doing here?” He can taste the bitterness in your tone.

He swallows down at the toes of his boots, raising both shoulders in a small shrug.

“Tommy said you skipped out on work most of this week. Just wanted to make sure you were alright. That you were alive.” He tries to joke, but your expression remains annoyed.

“Well, I’m fine. Alive. You should probably go, your wife’s at home.”

The door starts to shut, but he quickly grips the edge, rasping out, “I need to talk to you.”

You pause for a second before opening the door. Not waiting for him, you move to sit on your couch. Joel strides over, sitting at the other end and cheating his body towards you curled up in the corner.

 “What do you need to talk about?”

“I need to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have ignored you after that night. Hell, that night shouldn’t have even happened. I got caught up-”

“Do you regret it?”

He thinks about saying yes. It would make everything so much easier. You could hate him, call him an asshole for fucking you and breaking your heart. But he can’t lie to you.

“No. I could never regret it.”

“So why shouldn’t it have happened?”

He sighs, wringing his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Honestly? I’ve been trying so hard to do right by you, darlin’. You deserve so much more than me. I’m broken, bruised, scarred. I’ve lived an ugly life, and I don’t want to end up giving any part of it to you. I can barely live with myself for the things I’ve done, even if I’ve done them to save my people. I’ve lost so much, and taken all the same. You’re so bright. I see it in that beautiful smile of yours. You deserve someone who can add beauty to your life, to live a long while with you. I can’t do that for you. All I’m going to do is fail you; it’s all I can seem to do these days. So I chose for us, and I moved on, and I hope you can find the same thing.”

After a breath, he feels like he can face you. That confidence crumbles immediately when he sees the tears streaming down your cheeks, the soft sniffle as you wipe your runny nose with your sleeve.

“That’s not true, Joel. You could never fail me because all I ever wanted you to give me was yourself. I love you, Joel. You are someone that can give me a beautiful life. Or could’ve, I guess, but now…” your eyes flick to the band on his left ring finger, “What you did was so fucking selfish, Joel. You couldn’t even have a conversation with me. And no matter how angry I get with you, I still can’t help but fucking love you.”

All he can do is kiss you. He’s spilling every emotion he can’t speak into this kiss. It would be wrong to tell you what you want to hear from him, even if it hurts to keep it inside him. His hands run over your body, gathering you in his arms and guiding you back to your bedroom.

He shouldn’t keep going. He should stop. But the feeling of your lips on his, your soft skin in his hands, and the fact that you love him keep his feet moving down the short hallway.

He can’t give you up. He was in way too deep and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to pull you in with him.

Despite the anger, sadness, and betrayal, your love for him overpowered it all. You needed to show him, to let him go with a searing memory of how you feel.

All of the actions between you two are sloppier than before. Each touch is rougher, grabbing at whatever you can take in the midst of heady kisses. Every movement is filled with unspoken words.

Joel gently pushes you the last few inches onto your bed, kicking off his boots and working at the buttons of his shirt, “Take it all off, baby, don't wanna waste a second.”

You’re only apart for as long as it takes for clothes to be shed. Back against the pillows of your unmade bed, arms pull Joel in and legs spread wide. His weight is supported with one arm, a soft moan exhaled as he bites his mark into your neck. Fingers move through your wetness, circling your clit.

It’s your turn to be selfish, and all you want is for Joel to feel himself inside of you. To remember what it’s like to have you when he goes home. To think about you when he fucks his wife. It feels wrong to want that, but you can’t help but feel a claim over him. The fingers tangled in his hair pull his head from its spot at the curve of your shoulder. You meet his lust-blown eyes and speak your demand.

“Fuck me, please, I need you now.”

Joel groans, fingers ceasing their movement as he questions you, “You sure, darlin’? You ready for me right now?”

“Yes, ‘m ready, please, baby,” you plead with him.

Joel repositions himself upright on his knees between your wide legs, stroking himself to get fully hard. He drags the head of his cock up your slit, coating it with your wetness before he presses the tip inside of you. You feel a tinge of pain as he splits you open, but you whisper for him to keep going.

When he’s completely inside of you, Joel sighs out your name, hands gripping your thighs and bringing one up to wrap around his waist, allowing him to sink further.

“Please, Joel, want it hard…” you whimper out, feeling the sensation of him in your gut. Joel needs no further instructions, pulling back to fuck into you hard and deep.

He watches where your bodies connect, how the drag of his cock swells your cunt. Lip pulled between his teeth, the sight makes his hips snap roughly against yours.

He’s leaving bruises with how tight he’s holding onto you, keeping you from moving up the mattress with the power of his thrusts. You don’t say anything until Joel breaks, fucking you with a possessive drive, “Mine. You’re all mine.”

“Only yours, baby. ‘M only ever gonna be yours.”

“You’re made for me, sweet girl, made to take me. Feel so fucking good, such a perfect pussy.”

You’re relieved when his eyes leave yours as he watches him hit inside you again, tears pricking your eyes from the pain and pleasure pounding through you and the thought that he won’t ever be completely yours.

That stupid piece of metal around his finger burns against the skin of your thigh. It should be a symbol of you, not someone else.

Hurt, anger, and pleasure meld together. Hands move to Joel’s shoulders, using your strength to flip over. His back hits the crumpled pillows at the headboard, sitting up as you straddle him.

“Look so beautiful on top of me, baby,” his chest rises and falls in quick succession, the next inhale sharper as you sink down completely, watching his eyes screw shut and a deep moan vibrate his chest.

“Oh fuck, take what you need, darlin’. Use my cock. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Your mouth opens to tell him you can’t have what you want most. Because of what he decided for the both of you. Instead, a moan tumbles out, hips starting to roll to work him back to that near-ecstasy feeling. The room is filled with the wet smacks of skin meeting skin mixed with wanton moans. Your movements keep you both near the edge, your head back and eyes closed as you scream Joel’s name. He doesn’t reprimand you for potentially exposing yourselves to the neighbors, only reaching a hand to the back of your neck and pulling you in for a passionate kiss. You can tell he’s close when his feet dig into the mattress, hips under his vice grip. He starts fucking up into you, both of your rhythms meeting to work you higher. One hand leaves his chest to hold the side of his head, forcing him to meet your eyes.

“‘M yours…” you echo his lust-filled words. You need to remind him that at least part of him will always belong to you, that only you can make him feel this good, this loved. That you’re the one who fucks him like this. “Made for you, right? Just for you, baby. No one besides you can make me feel this good, make me come like you can. Ruined me for everyone else.”

“Mhmm, that’s fuckin’ right, darlin’. This pussy’s mine. You belong to me, all to me.” Joel’s thrusts become frantic and you lose your rhythm, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing quick circles.

You come hard, screaming his name again and whining with each thrust after your intense orgasm. Joel’s right behind you, your sounds pushing him over the edge. Warm ropes coat your walls, his husky groan reverberating under your palms pressed to his chest. Your voice can barely reach a whisper when you look at him, fingers moving to tug his hair, “And you belong to me.”

He doesn’t say anything if he even hears you, his skin sticking against yours and his come dripping out of you onto his stomach when you move to lie down. Joel gets up after he steadies his breath to grab a warm cloth from the bathroom to clean you up. He crawls back into bed, slipping under the covers after tossing the dirty washcloth into the hamper. Your head finds his chest, curling up into his side with his arm wrapping you up. He kisses your forehead as you drift off, feelings of guilt, anger, and love rising from your gut to sit square in your chest.

Cold sheets. That’s what you wake up to. Sitting up in bed, you glance around your room with sleepy eyes, searching for any evidence of Joel.

Nothing. He must’ve left after you fell asleep. You can’t blame him. It definitely wouldn’t look the best if his wife woke up in the morning and he was nowhere to be found. And he couldn’t risk someone seeing him sneak out of yours in the morning light.

You’re remembering your confession that was met with his claim over your body. Your own stupid attempt to make him believe that he belonged only to you, spurred on by his possessive words.

Something on the nightstand catches your eye. A note from Joel:

Meet me at our spot tonight, sweet girl

You met him that night, and nearly every night since then, too. Mostly in that overgrown field behind the barn, sometimes at yours when you craved complete comfort of the couch or bed.

Joel started staying later with you, holding you after the possessive claims he made over you like a prayer. He opened up about his time with Ellie before Jackson, stories about Boston, about Tess. What it was like growing up with Tommy, confessing he loved to sing and play guitar, even wanted to be a singer when he was younger and somehow ended up as a contractor. He even told you about his daughter Sarah, how beautiful and bright she was.

You told him your own story too. Leaving the Chicago QZ with your brother and sister when everything went to shit with FEDRA and the Fireflies. How you lost your sister soon after, bit by a straggling clicker in a gas station you were raiding. How your brother was the one to shoot her when she begged you both. Stories about traveling west with him, how he protected you until the day he died. You were chased by raiders looking to kill you both for your supplies, running through the forest just along the river outside of Jackson. You didn’t know the community was there, but it ended up being your saving grace. Your brother pushed you to run over the bridge, the men finally catching up to him. You couldn’t stop, couldn’t look back. All you could do was scream as you heard a gunshot.

Joel held you as you cried, you comforted him when he needed it. He never told you what happened after he and Ellie left Jackson that first time, he didn’t have to if he didn’t ever want to. These vulnerable moments brought you closer together.

But it was never close enough to stop the cycle he developed of pushing you away after a few weeks together, getting so in his head about the situation, feeling guilty, or getting paranoid if he suspects that Tommy or Maria or his wife are catching on. His abandonment would last a few days or even a week at a time.

And you always wait it out, always come back when he wants you.

Like a dog with a bird at his door, you gave all of yourself to him.

It’s a late night at work for you. Joel parked himself on his usual stool, drinking ‘til last call after his buddies left, something he’d done often in the last few weeks.

Tommy finished restocking the fridges under the counter and tossed you the keys to lock up. As he leaves, he gives Joel a knowing look and you a sympathetic one.

Joel slaps his hands against the bar top, standing when you walk from behind the counter. His steps falter a bit as he gets used to the ground underneath him. Steadying him with an arm around his back, he wraps his own around your shoulders to keep you at his side.

“Let me walk you home, baby.” Words slurs together, eyes half-lidded and glazed over. It would be a bit endearing to see him without his usual stoic persona, but the fact that this is the third night this week that he’s gotten this drunk is concerning.

You end up carrying Joel all the way home, and just when you’re about to get him to his front door, his strength overpowers your own and he pulls you away with him, dragging you two in a drunken stupor down the road.

His steps are heavy and sporadic while he whistles some song in your ear, reaching the field. He flops down into the grass, his arms sneaking around your waist when lay down with him. Joel pulls you in close, kissing you deeply and sighing against your mouth. He smells of whiskey, leather, and musk; all combining to be uniquely Joel.

You couldn’t bring yourself to argue with him about getting home so you let him kiss you, let his hand under your shirt. You listened to him recollecting the night with the patrol guys. The only touches exchanged were his fingertips running up and down your side under your loose t-shirt and your cheek pressed against his denim-covered chest.

He brought up a song that was playing on a record at the bar, John Lennon’s Woman. He reminisced about hearing that song as a young teen for the first time, and telling you how a couple of years later he wrote the lyrics down for his tenth-grade girlfriend, telling her he wrote a poem for her.

“She read it, obviously knowing the song. She crumpled it up, said ‘That’s John Lennon, not you, Joel Miller,” and walked away from me. Needless to say, she broke up with me.”

“Wow, a breakup over plagiarism. Must’ve been a real stickler for academic honesty,” you reply, sending both of you into giggles.

His laugh faded slightly, the wrinkles still showing next to his eyes and his smile lines present, jovially commenting, “You probably barely even know who John Lennon is.”

He laughs but his words made you feel small. He teased you before about the age difference, but for some reason, you couldn’t brush this one off.

“Y’know, I still remember what life was like then.”

His hand finds your chin, tilting your head up with a sigh, “That’s not what I meant, darlin’, you know I was just teasin’. You probably didn’t even know it was John Lennon if you heard one of his songs when you were young, baby.” You sit up quickly, separating from him.

“He was a fucking Beatle! Like the biggest band ever. I might be younger than you, but I’m not stupid. They were around even before you were born, so yeah, I do know who John Lennon is. And did you know he cheated on his first wife, like, a bunch of times and left her for one of those women? Sound familiar, Joel? Actually, probably not, ‘cause you’d never actually admit how you feel about me and leave your wife, even though you love me,” your words come out before you even have a chance to think about them, and as you look at Joel, you can tell he’s letting his anger and annoyance come over him, his expression turning to stone, “I feel like you just see me as some naive girl who doesn’t know anything or hasn’t dealt with shit in this world -”

“You haven’t done nearly a fraction of what I’ve had to do in this world, darlin’, so don’t get started. You are a naive girl. You’ve always had someone to protect you, and I’ve always been the protector. You don’t know nothin’ about losing yourself or having to do the worst possible thing just to save yourself or your people,” his voice is low and unwavering with an intensity you hadn’t heard before. He’s trying to hurt you now, bringing up the protection that you’d been given by your brother before he died to save you, the fact that you’ve always had support from him or the people of Jackson.

Your eyes gloss over, blurring his hunched-over figure. His words are venom seeping through the well-worn cracks in your heart. Curling up into a ball and chin on your kneecaps, pressing down into the bone to keep your lips from trembling. How childish you must look like this. Joel doesn’t move to comfort you, staring a thousand yards ahead, emotionless.

“I know you think I don’t know the guilt or pain or heartbreak that you feel 'cause I’ve been protected for a lot of my life in this world. But being in love with you, being some dirty secret to you, has given me enough guilt, pain, and heartbreak to last for the rest of my life.”

A shaky breath slipped out of your parted lips, untangling your limbs from their locked positions to stand. You turn away, legs carrying you home. You don’t look back, wiping your tears away as quickly as they fall. You’re exhausted from him, from this whirlpool of loving and leaving that he’s pulled you into. A part of you breaks just the slightest bit more, a new piece for you to mend whenever he calls you back.

You should hate Joel. He pulled you in and pushed you away, and all you could do was fall, but now it felt like sinking. And your feet won’t ever touch the bottom.

He’s taken your love willingly, and only given you possessive invocations over your body, only made your constant pain burn hotter. Linen soaked up the tears that were left on your cheeks as you laid down in bed, exhaustion taking over.

The image you see feels warm, blurred around the edges. It was his home, no sign of his wife but evidence of Ellie in the comic book and worn-out sneakers near the chair across the room. Soft strums of a guitar float around, and your sights lock on him at the other end of the couch. You have this feeling that you need to say something to him, but can’t remember for the life of you what it is; the moment overwhelming. He’s singing and playing guitar, unabashed, and with a genuine smile only for you. Tender brown eyes glance away as someone walks into the room. Ellie’s holding a lopsided birthday cake with a few candles lit. It’s decorated with a sloppy frosting drawing of the ocean, a boat on the horizon. It was a reminder of the daydream you had vocalized to Joel, spending a life on the shore in a small sailboat together. The song he was playing softly fades into Happy Birthday, his smile matching Ellie’s. All you hear, before the image fades, is his voice as you lean in to blow out your candles, “Happy birthday, darlin’. I love you.”

The clinking of stacking glasses is the only sound echoing through the empty bar as you and Tommy close out. Joel’s been ignoring you, has been for a couple of weeks after your fight, spending his free time picking up shifts or staying at home with his family. The rag you’re holding moves in circles over the shiny bar top, reflecting your face back to you. You can see the pain in your eyes seeping back after spending the night putting on a face for your customers.

“You don’t need to keep on paintin’ that pretty smile on your face, hon. I hate seein’ you looking like you’re gonna crack your jaw from forcing yourself to look happy,” Tommy sighs, looking over at you while he continues to polish the glass in his hand. “What he’s doing to you, it’s wrong. You deserve to be treated with respect.”

“He wasn’t doin’ anything I wasn’t letting him do. It takes two, Tommy. Think you’d know that with a newborn around,” you try to lighten the mood, kicking yourself for still defending Joel.

“I know. But I also know how you look at him. Like you’ve been drownin’ at sea and he’s the one who’s come along to save you.” You finally look up from your reflection on the bar surface; the shame in your face becomes too much for you.

“At this point, it feels more like he’s the one pulling me under.” 

Tommy sets the glass down and tosses the rag at it. Closing the small space between, he pulls you against his chest, arms around your shoulders. You can’t cry in front of him, embarrassed that he even knows about you and Joel in the first place, let alone that he feels sorry for you. You reciprocate the hug, gingerly wrapping your arms around his torso. The sound of the door swinging echoes in the large room. Tommy let’s you out of his comforting embrace and turns to meet the late patron.

Joel.

He’s standing across the room, eyes moving between his brother and you. He came looking for you, not expecting Tommy to still be closing out the bar with the baby at home. A furrowed brow creases lines between those soft, guilt-ridden brown eyes. The same look he’s had every time he’s shown up at your door at 2 AM to apologize, kiss you, show you how much he needs you. You fall every time, wanting to be his comfort, his relief. His lighthouse in the storm of remorse he’s constantly battling. Loyal to a fault.

At this moment, you wish for a wave to pull you under and sweep you into the tide.

Tommy asked him to wait outside.

Asked is generous. More like, grabbed Joel by the collar and dragged him outside like a scolded puppy, pointing his finger and giving him a strong, “Stay.”

He did as he was told, leaning against the post at the top of the stairs. Arms crossed over his chest and anxiously tapping his foot against the wood porch.

Both you and Tommy left at the same time. Joel would be knocked out on the spot if Tommy had his way, judging by the look on his face. The younger Miller wished you goodnight and you gave him a reassuring nod as you stayed back to face Joel.

Tommy’s out of sight and out of earshot before you break the silence.

“So…why’d you come here? Thought you’d be done with the naive girl.”

Joel raises to his full height, taking a hesitant step toward you. You don’t move away, but he keeps his distance in order to get his thoughts out.

“Darlin’, I’m -” he starts, pausng for a moment to gather his words, “I keep doin’ this, don’t I? Being happy with you, then pushing you away and hurting you. I’m sorry, sweet girl. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t want to fight with you. I shouldn’t have said those things to you, I know what you’ve been through. You’re not naive. You’re mindful, attentive in ways I could never be. I hurt you. I haven’t done this the right way. I haven’t protected you like I should’ve 'cause I couldn’t stay away from you. I’m what you needed saving from and I’ve been too selfish to keep us both from drowning.”

You worry your lip between your teeth as tears gloss over your eyes. He steps closer to you, hands reaching up to cup your face. He’s not sure if you’re going to slip between his fingers, but he’s trying his best to keep you there with him. Tears fall, his thumbs working to wipe them away. Not letting a drop of you to slip away from his touch.

He can see the innerworkings of your brain in your eyes. He knows how to read you; he can see the battle in your head about whether or not he’s saved this time. Your voice is coated in emotion when you finally speak up again, “I’ve heard drowning is actually kind of a peaceful way to go, all things considered. And if it’s going to be with anyone, I’d choose you.”

That damn smile finds its way across your face in spite of your tears, and he can’t help but mirror it. It’s a welcome home for him, the light pulling him into your harbor - safe once again. He leans down to press a soft, tender kiss to your lips, deepening it for a moment when you reciprocate.

His hand finds yours when he pulls away, “Let’s go for a walk, sweet girl.”

Joel leads you away from the bar, walking down your street. You slow down when you get in front of your cottage, moving to walk down your path. He stops you, shaking his head and mouth ticking up in a small smile. His eyebrows are raised in a silent question, asking you to come with him. You fold easily, taking your place next to his side, hands intertwined.

He takes you to your spot where he’s set up a blanket and a couple of flickering lanterns for some light, but not enough to disturb the view of the moon.

“Joel…this is wonderful, I’m - I don’t know what to say, thank you.” Your hand squeezes his and he shrugs the praise off.

“Don’t thank me, baby, I should be doin’ this for you all the time. ‘S what you deserve.”

He’d gotten a couple of strange stares when he’d been walking down the road with a blanket under one arm and the lanterns in his hand. It occurred to him that people would think he was doing it for his wife, that they might ask her about it tomorrow and he’d be in for a line of questioning. But damn the consequences, he needed to do this for you. To give you something.

Joined hands pointing out more constellations he remembers and ones that Ellie knew, having asked her specifically to help him find the one for your zodiac. As the two of you lay on your backs, curled into each other, he’s taken back to the conversation Ellie and him had about their combined dream of a sheep ranch on the moon. Now that dream, at least for him, included you, too.

“I think it’d be nice out there. Without this world, feeling weightless.” He wishes for that down here, to lighten the load on his chest and the guilt on his shoulders. A different life.

You hum in agreement and he continues, “I wish I could just bring the moon down here, to take the weight off us, and to give Ellie the chance to get her dream.”

You’re quiet for a beat before your words wrap him in warmth, “If I could give you the moon, I would.” 

You’d do anything for him, he knows that. And he’d do anything for you.

As those words cross his mind, the ring from his finger burns in his pocket. He’d taken it off to rid you both of the reminder of how this night would end, how every night would end. A little metal circle that has decided your fates, at least for now. His voice is slightly gravelly in his throat as he answers, “Maybe in another life, yeah?”

if you got to the end, i'm giving you a big smooch.

taglist: @swiftispunk (supportive bae)

[milk5]

THE MILK5 COFFEE GUIDE VOL. 1

REMOVE #BADBEANS FROM YOUR LIFE FOREVER

If you are a #TrueBlueCoffeeHead and subsisting on supermarket beans and/or frequent visits to big chains like Starbucks, PLEASE help yourself (and your local community, the environment, coffee workers, etc) and buy a pour over filter and freshly roasted, quality beans from a local roaster. Explicitly seek out Fairtrade Organic/Smithsonian Bird Friendly certified beans if possible. The taste of shade-grown coffee is incredibly flavorful AND you can be certain that your beans aren't the product of yucky pesticides, actual slave labor, and the annihilation of millions of acres of rainforest.

To start with what you need, a goose-neck kettle and pour over carafe are good purchases, but a suitably sized mason jar and regular kettle still work on a budget. Learning how to make a great pour over will raise your home coffee game to professional standards without needing to spend literal thousands of dollars on a real grinder/steamer/espresso machine setup -- if you're able to buy all of these items new for less than a thousand dollars, you're going to be down a few hundos in exchange for some pretty shitty machines. Regardless, a pour over setup with good beans will pay for itself VERY rapidly, assuming it replaces frequent Starbucks visits or whatever other chain you were going to. If you frequent a LOCALLY OWNED coffee shop that you like, keep going! You're an important part of the ecosystem.

What about grinding the beans? Should I get pre-ground beans? Would a cheapo blender-like blade grinder work?

NEVER touch a blade grinder again. It doesn't matter as much if you have #BadBeans, but if you have good beans, ALWAYS use a grinder with a burr; blade grinders just chop up your beans randomly into particles of massively varying sizes, leading to simultaneous over-extraction and under-extraction, generally leading to wildly inconsistent flavors and low repeatability. Burrs will always grind the beans into uniform particles and ensure that you're always (more or less, every cup is different to an extent) getting a consistent flavor. Don't buy a burr grinder -- just bring your beans to a local coffee shop, buy a drink, tip well, and ask the barista if they could grind the beans for you when you can clearly tell that they aren't busy. I have NEVER been refused, just go to a place with less sour employees if they won't help you out. Specify the coarseness that you'd like; smaller grounds have a greater surface area, so they're extracted to a greater extent, resulting in a more intense flavor; coarse grounds are the inverse. Lots of people recommend medium-coarse for pour overs (about 80% coarse 20% fine), but I prefer the stronger flavor of medium/drip (dead middle, 50% coarse 50% fine). It's also better to grind your beans periodically, as freshly-ground beans will taste better, but it's fine to have it pre-ground or ground all at once if you aren't able to easily make coffee shop trips every week or two. As far as roasts go, there's an entire gradient for you to explore -- not just the few that I list here; light roasts have a more sour, fruitier flavor, medium roasts are well rounded, and dark roasts are rich and smokey. Medium-dark is my personal favorite.

Experiment!!! It's all about your own taste, after all.

How do I make a good pour over?

Again, it depends on your taste. My go-to is a vigorous fourth-cup of grounds to 300ml of water; this is easily on the stronger end, but it's what works for me. More common ratios are usually weighed out on a kitchen scale, so consider picking one up if you don't already have one. Document your process until you get to your favorite! I always stop the kettle a little before it gets to its terminal temperature, then pour just enough water onto the grounds to let it bloom -- wait for one minute, and then start pouring a small-ish portion of the water onto the grounds every 20 seconds (this is where my own technique varies the most, it usually takes between 3-4 minutes to finish since I'm not pouring standard amounts; some people DO measure their pours for even greater consistency). Use the stopwatch on your phone, it's much better than keeping track in your head. Make sure to distribute the water evenly over the grounds, particularly making sure to wash the grounds off the sides every pour. When I'm finished, I like to immediately take a sip to see if a splash of milk or half-and-half would help or hurt the cup -- I think a very good cup of coffee can easily stand on its own without anything else, but additives can absolutely help depending on your personal preferences. Just be sure to taste the black coffee before you add anything.

What if I like the syrupy sweet drinks? What about iced coffee?

From my experience working at/visiting coffee shops, Monin is the most common syrup brand I see at local places. As far as iced coffee goes, coldbrew would be probably be the superior option -- it's also pretty easy to make at your home. I'm not going to be writing a guide for coldbrew any time soon, so you're out of luck there. I also never steam my milk if I'm doing a pour over, so I can't really point you to an inexpensive way to do that. Just know that the cheap handheld stick-frothers do not do the same thing as an actual steamer.

What was that about certifications?

Fairtrade is a pretty notable certification for food items produced in areas that have a history for being exploited (so pretty much the bulk of the global south), it can get very complex -- read more about it here. The goal is to ensure that the workers and communities involved in the production of the product receive fair, livable wages, that labor conditions are safe and reasonable, and that the decisions around the production of the product are made by those directly involved in the labor. FTO refers to Fairtrade Organic, which just means that it meets the standards of both Fairtrade AND organic production -- I'm not exactly sure if the organic standards are based on where the coffee is sold, produced, or both, but regardless, it's still a bonus; organic coffee will almost ALWAYS be shade-grown, which is the way that coffee grows naturally. Since coffee is an understory tree in nature, shade-grown coffee is produced more slowly and under a canopy and thus does not require the forest to be damaged or destroyed to grow; however, not all organic coffee will necessarily take place in a completely natural, untouched rain forest setting. Industrial non-organic coffee is most often produced under direct sun in gigantic clear-cut monocrop rows and usually with massive usage of potentially harmful inputs like, such as various pesticides and fertilizers. Direct sun coffee grows faster, but it has a distinctly different taste and is easily the most damaging method of coffee production to both the environment and the local communities. Smithsonian Bird-Friendly is the most rigorous certification for coffee in particular; FTO is more or less a pre-requisite to achieve SBF. Coffee likes to grow in tropical, equatorial environments -- these environments are also the areas of the greatest bird diversity in the world (and, really, biodiversity in general) and the destination for most migratory birds during the winter. The coffee industry has destroyed literal millions of acres of rain forest across the world, which has resulted in the death of billions of birds worldwide over the past 50 years. SBF guarantees the FTO criteria PLUS the additional criteria that the coffee must be produced in forests that are more-or-less in their natural state with thriving diversity of endemic species of flora and fauna. It's harder to find SBF-certified coffee than FT(O)-certified coffee, but the Smithsonian website has a handy vendor locator here. I'm not confident that it works beyond U.S. vendors, so I apologize to anyone interested abroad. Note that some of these certifications may be exclusive to particular continents; I need to do more research on the subject, but the tropical forests around the world vary wildly -- this adds a level of complexity to the goals and criteria of a particular certification. I am confident that all of the certifications that I have mentioned apply to South and Central America (and most likely the Caribbean), so keep that in mind. Also, watch out for phony certifications; big corporations frequently buy out existing certification organizations and/or create new green-sounding organizations to fool well-meaning consumers.

Where should my brand new beans come from?

Like wine, the exact qualities of a bean depend on its terroir, or the specific methods and geographic factors involved in its growth. However, some countries have trends in how the coffee is generally grown; some counties will practice shade-growing more than others and some countries will practice direct-sun industrial methods more than others. As a rule of thumb, Arabica beans are mostly grown in shade or partial shade, while Robusta is generally grown in direct sun. Defer to certifications if applicable.

The following areas primarily practice shade-growing:

Mexico

El Salvador

Peru

Panama

Nicaragua

Guatemala

Cuba

Timor

New Guinea

Ethiopia

Burundi

Rwanda

Tanzania

Zambia (*)

Zimbabwe (*)

Papua New Guinea

Sulawesi

Timor + East Timor

India

The following areas primarily practice direct-sun growing:

Colombia

Brazil

Costa Rica

Hawaii

Yemen

Kenya

Angola

Benin

Central African Republic

Congo

Gabon

Ghana

Guinea

Equatorial Guinea

Ivory Coast

Liberia

Nigeria

Sierra Leone

Togo

Cameroon

Madagascar

Malawi (**)

Democratic Republic of the Congo

Sumatra (***)

Java

Vietnam

China

Jamaica

Again, this is just a rule of thumb; there are exceptions to both and I'm sure that I've left out several production areas. Most of this information comes from the blog Coffee and Conservation, written by ornithologist Julie Craves. I've only tried a very small percentage of these origins; so far, my favorites are Sumatran (Arabica, of course) and Peruvian.

*The source that I got this information from mentioned that some avoid Zambian and Zimbabwean coffee due to concerns of it helping fund violent conflict in the area; this particular article, however, is from 2006 and may be wildly out of date. I couldn't find much more info on this topic when I searched elsewhere.

**They primarily produce Arabica with organic methods, despite the sunny conditions.

***Sumatra is likely the most notable coffee-growing island in Asia; while the majority is Robusta grown on plantations that have deforested a horrifyingly large percentage of the island, the Arabica grown in the north is well-known for its far healthier growing conditions (shade + organic, usually) and extremely distinct flavor.

Volume 2?

I may eventually add on to this post, most likely with a Turkish coffee guide coming next. I used to make Turkish coffee quite frequently, but I would need to dig up my old favorite recipe and cezve first. French press and coldbrew stuff will be in the more distant future if at all.

If any of this info looks wrong, let me know and I'll edit the post :-)

Enjoy your cup!!!!

[beezabub]

A small amount of Ninjago rambling about something I realised! Sorry it's so disorganized..

Tl;dr Zane and PIXAL's whereabouts during the season 3-4 timeskip are a mystery, but I think it has something to do with the Mechanic

Bonus theory (which also has notes below the main rambles): The Nindroids are all Pixane children technically

Main theory thing:

The gap between seasons 3 and 4 is a large one.

Jay had a TV show that ran for over 70 episodes and had a Christmas special

We're looking at a minimum of 2 years here for him to A get the show and B film the episodes, realistically bringing this closer to 3 years

We are shown something which we assume to be Zane rebuilding himself in the S3 ending

So why didn't he tell anyone he was alive? And where were him and PIXAL during this three year gap?

How did 2 nindroids with 1 person's fighting experience between them manage to slip completely under the radar for so long? Where did they go?

The Mechanic was arrested at some point before the ninja were and showed a particular interest in (and familiarity with) Zane

This could be explained just by Zane being a Robot and thus naturally interesting to him, but there are a few other factors to consider

The mechanic was already in Cryptarium before we ever meet him so he's kinda a mystery, asides from one little detail

He drives a Chen's noodle truck

He also shows more interest in taking apart Zane than PIXAL, as shown when he doesn't kidnap her while she's incapacitated in Ninjago Confidential...

Perhaps because he has already done so? He already knows how she works so she is of little interest to him

Zane wakes up on Chen's island with no memory, and PIXAL has already been dismantled, but oddly not destroyed entirely... Almost as if she's still being studied

I like the idea that Zane used his own blueprints and so gave himself a memory switch (bad idea) that someone used on him pre-season 4.

For angst reasons this could be PIXAL trying to spare him in the only way she is able - by protecting his memories.

If this is the case? He remembers everything. All 3 years of hiding out together, of being in love, of everything she means to him, being removed entirely from his memory.

And if this was done by PIXAL, then she must feel so sad being the only one to remember, potentially feeling like she can't tell him what he's missing

It's worth noting that their motives are really unclear, as they have money (billionaire Borg) and no need for revenge (it's only season 3 and the Overlord is gone, so there aren't really that many people left) which leaves... Love.

It still doesn't entirely make sense though, because what reasons would Zane and PIXAL have to go completely no contact, not leaving so much as a whisper in the streets of their whereabouts for so long, leaving behind grieving friends and family who assume they are dead.

Mini-theory:

PIXAL scans Zane and later uses his blueprints to create the Nindroids

She swaps out some of the parts (~50%) so the product is half Zane's design and half her creation

She then makes these things. A lot of them.

I doubt she counted them. Just kept going until they literally ran out of materials (remember Mindroid?)

So technically they had hundreds of children together after literally 1 conversation lmao

Bonus points for is Zane and PIXAL realise this suddenly post season 8 (when it is established she has her own body back) that they literally have So Many Children

Anyway Cryptor isn't Zane's evil twin, he's Zane's Kylo Ren (I don't know shit about Star Wars. Assume this means Evil Son)

[3nigm4art]

An informal essay/rant on Samurai Jack S5

I love Samurai Jack, for the most part. But my biggest gripe is how season 5 turned out.

Despite the artistic achievement of season 5, the main issue was how rushed it was. With only 10 episodes and still having to deal with the 50-year time skip, many characters feel underdeveloped.

Take Jack as an example. Jack's change was the most drastic yet resolved the quickest. 50 years of a battle with no end in sight is incomprehensible to a normal person, and winning seems impossible at this point for Jack. Understandably, depression, guilt and anxiety have taken over Jack, especially after he lost his magic sword. The voices in his head and the vision of the phantom samurai are evidence of his mental decay. But as a mental health struggler of many years, it feels like Jack's mental struggle should have been way past that stage. Though it should be said that everyone experiences these mental health struggles differently, it just felt less realistic as Jack's descent was not documented well enough. Depending on when his descent started, it could have very different results. Many things could happen in 50 years that would affect a person's outlook in life. It could be total despair: Jack finds no way of continuing and believes that he has completely failed. It could be dutifully depressed: Jack no longer considers himself righteous but still carries on out of habit. It could be blind optimism: despite losing the magic sword, Jack thinks, "Hey, I have fought for 40+ years. I could still do this!" Are these outcomes sound? No! Because there is no development for Jack to prove that they are sound. It also doesn't help that Jack's characterisation is so consistent in the first 4 seasons that jumping from level 1 to 100 in depression for Jack seems improbable and leaves the audience to imagine what happened. After all, depression and anxiety often do not originate from a singular event and build up gradually. Sure, I can buy that Jack is depressed, but I cannot buy that it can be resolved within 7 episodes, with half of that time occupied by Ashi's arc.

Speaking of Ashi's arc, her arc demanded the most time yet is the most unrefined. Her character has simply bitten off more than it could chew for 10 episodes. Within season 5, she went from being a daughter of Aku to an ally of Jack to Jack's lover. Each of these changes can be at least 10 episodes on its own. Especially when she has to undo 20+ years of conditioning, and completely acknowledging that she is on the wrong side of the war is bound to take a toll on her perception of reality. Yet it was resolved as quickly as 6 episodes, thanks to finding out, "Wow, Jack is actually a good guy and helped so many people!" This part of the arc was resolved because of Jack. So naturally, she becomes Jack's ally and then becomes Jack's lover. There is a terrifying idea that lurks in Ashi as one comes to realise that her entire personality revolves around Jack. In other words, if you remove Jack from Ashi's life, she becomes nothing. It is also deeply worrying that Ashi lacks emotional maturity and development as she "falls in love" with a man she has only met for maybe a week (not to say Jack is not also immature here). Her lack of independent development makes her character flimsy and frankly disturbing. She is literally made to become Jack's love interest. There is some irony in one of her final lines in the show; she says, "Without Aku, I would have never existed" when on a meta-fictional level, she would not have existed without Jack.

Character development is crucial in crafting the themes of a story. The above tackled the lack of character development leading to weak characters, but there is one thing that will determine the legacy of the story, the ending. Though it is often commented how Samurai Jack's ending was unfulfilling, it is not true that unfulfilling endings are bad. (Minor spoilers for True Detective season 1) True Detective season 1 did not end in a fulfilling manner, as it did not resolve all of the mysteries it brought up. That wasn't a huge issue as it complied with the genre of strange fiction and the theme of the world being a strange and inexplicable place that evokes more mysteries than it explains. Samurai Jack's ending and, thus, the conclusion to Jack's arc promotes the idea that overcoming one's weakness, sacrificing for the greater good, and bringing justice will not bring you the happiness you deserve... Which does not make sense relative to Jack's character development and characterisation. Jack is often characterised as a selfless hero and a bringer of hope. And the people benefit greatly from his aid. The only person who often does not benefit from this is Jack himself, who often forsakes his opportunity to return to the past in favour of saving the people in need. The show promises that Jack will find peace and happiness when he fulfils his destiny of defeating Aku. And with the classic hero's journey-type story Samurai Jack has, the show rips it apart at the very last moment, with no warning whatsoever. It wasn't a comment on the genre, as it did not deepen its themes. If one wants to turn Samurai Jack into a "we don't always get what we deserve" (please don't) story, then make fate truly cruel and unkind and provide Jack with no divine help in the story. Again, with the irony of Jack's tea being unbalanced, the show is unbalanced, too, as it rewards a suffering protagonist with more sadness and suffering at the end of his story.

Despite what this blog is about (it's art, by the way), art and aesthetics are not everything. Samurai Jack as a whole is beautiful aesthetically, but the rushed story and an unfulfilling legacy feel like a shame. Characters did not have the time to grow in complexity or realism, which made the audience feel disconnected from the characters. I wished I could see Ashi grow and develop into something more than "Jack's love interest". Or they could even develop into something that is not romantic, such as a mentor and apprentice story, which could be as, if not more, interesting. Having more refined characters creates a more refined theme that, if done right, can stir the right emotions in the audience that impact them for a lifetime.

Samurai Jack season 5 had a lot of potential but just couldn't deliver.

[lovestuckyhatemarvel]

Apologies, but I’m about to over analyze a very old meme in the middle of the night because I can’t sleep. And I’m about to talk about the lord of the rings movies more than the books because even though I’ve read the books, I’ve watched the movies more. Also, the meme is about the movies, so leave my tired ass alone.

So I kind of hate the fellowship at 100% vs 99% strength meme because I’ve seen people talk about it seriously and I think that’s a fundamental misunderstanding of the way the characters function in the story. Like I’m sorry but if you think any single character in the fellowship is more important than the others instead of just a personal favorite, you’re just textually wrong. And this is about to get long so brace yourself. But also if you hate long things, why the fuck are you here?

Aragorn and Sam are spectacular characters that are necessary to the success of the mission but not disproportionately to the whole. Because the whole is the point. The fellowship is the point. Even Boromir, whose direct actions are arguably the least due to dying early, has long reaching effects even after his death. If Boromir was never there, things don’t go the same and may not even go as well long term. Does Aragorn even accept his role as much or as quickly if he doesn’t have Boromir’s dying breath calling him his king? I’d argue no. However I will admit that this character is the one I have the least arguments for other than ‘trust me, bro’ and ‘that’s my baby, and I’m really proud’ while exhausted.

I feel silly even pointing out what Gandalf’s impact is since he’s the reason the journey can even start to begin with. Without him, Frodo gets a weird ring from Bilbo and then dies before he’s 50 because he treats it like a random trinket and is the easiest target the Nazgûl have ever tracked. Gandalf also saves the entire fellowship from the Balrog and is the reason King Théoden becomes available as an ally instead of being God’s crustiest hindrance. In general, the intricate removal of Saruman’s direct impact requires a wizard. Also, if he’s not there, who gets that world’s greatest grandpapa mug I made?

Legolas and Gimli are married so I’m talking about them together. Beyond the fact Gimli almost becomes Galadriel’s favorite side ho, the two don’t have a ton of solo story beats in the movies. However, what they lack in specific moments they make up for by being absolute monsters on the battlefield. Aragorn can’t do most of the shit he does without my gay uncles backing him up. There are literal battles that would have failed and in a war where they’re already outnumbered and outmatched, you actually can’t afford more loss.

Merry and Pippin are eternal besties so they’re also getting talked about together. Initially they’re treated as comic relief and at times even a hindrance in the movies, but they do step up. The Ents go to war because of Merry and Pippin. And the Ents are necessary for dealing with Isengard. Take them out and the war still has an orc factory that can just overwhelm the war with numbers alone. They also have direct impacts on Gondor and Rohan in ways I’m too tired to get into. Also, Pippin sings like an angel even when a gross old man is eating in grossest way possible. Talent. He has the range.

And now we’re down to the main crux of serious arguments I’ve seen. Sam and Frodo. Both of them ring bearers. Is Sam way more important than Frodo? Absolute not.

So Sam is arguably an amazing character, but don’t get it confused. Sam would have never volunteered to take the ring to Mordor, didn’t actually handle the ring’s direct influence well, and also would have gotten rid of Gollum.

Because psych!!! This next part is actually about how Gollum, Frodo, and Sam are three sides to a triangle you can’t remove any part of lest it falls apart completely! Take that, M Night Shyamalan, there’s a new mediocre and fully telegraphed twist in town!!!

Frodo has the initial willingness to take the ring to be destroyed and endures the ring better than literally anyone else. Basically everyone else either gives unhinged talks about what they’d do with the power before they ever touch it or they touch it for 10 seconds and go full Rick Astley. Frodo carries it for days and even wears it a few times before he sees Galadriel and is still capable of trying to give it away. That in itself is extraordinary and cannot be understated. Like that’s the willpower of a god. Put some respect on that.

Frodo, because of his connection to the ring and awareness of its impact, desperately wants to believe Gollum can be saved. After all, that means that he can be saved, and so he does everything in his power to keep Gollum around and get him better. This means they have a guide and when it comes down to it, the reason the ring is destroyed at all. Because Gollum is the one to ultimately, if by accident, destroy the ring. You need Frodo to carry the ring and get Gollum there, you need Sam to get Frodo there, and you need Gollum to destroy it.

And another plot twist that’s not a twist at all at all, but while there’s no part of the fellowship that you can remove and still win, the fellowship itself cannot succeed without 1246885356 other moving parts. Elrond, Arwen, Galadriel, Théoden, Éomer, Éowyn, Faramir, Treebeard, Grima fucking Wormtongue, and dozens of others, some who don’t even get directly named in the trilogy, are all important. They’re all necessary. And there are even more moving parts in the books. Pour one out for my very good friend, Forest God Tom Bombadil. He’s not dead, I just think him and his trees would like a drink.

The point of the whole goddamn thing is that no one can do this mission alone. None of them. Yeah, not even Sam or Aragorn. It’s a fellowship and it’s about that connection and that community. There are themes.

[amysubmits]

Loving your podcast (except the amount of “ums” used in every sentence ;) )! I shared it with my husband as we venture into our dd/ds journey. It’s very refreshing to hear a real couple and their real perspectives from fetish/kink POV’s. I know you’ve talked a lot about your DD and spanking fetish; but how did you actually start/come out to CD about these things? What was his initial reaction?

Sorry for the late reply, I was a bit triggered by your 'joke' about my overuse of "ums". I believe in at least one podcast episode I addressed how I am self-conscious about how I am not a graceful speaker and how it makes editing difficult because I am not a linear speaker or thinker. I lose my train of thought frequently, struggle to find words, etc. So, I do say 'um' excessively, it's way worse IRL than on the podcast as we edited the vast majority of them out. Not all can be removed as it would break the flow of conversation or whatever else. We tried to edit to make things a little more cohesive and easier to listen to. So, yeah, what I basically got from your message was 'this person finds you annoying even when your way of speaking is cleaned up more than 50%' and that's painful even though it's true, I wish you hadn't told me that as I can't really do anything about it, it's just part of how my ADHD or other neurodivergence works. I felt like I should respond to that portion as I'm working on using my voice to defending myself, being less of a people pleaser, accepting myself and having more self-compassion/respect, etc. But I don't want to dwell so, moving on to the far more enjoyable part of your ask!

I think I've shared how I 'came out' to CD at some point in the past but I don't recall what blog post(s) that would have been in. If I come across them later I'll try to reblog for you. It's now been about 10 years since I asked for DD, and I had told CD about my interest in spanking prior to that, though I don't really recall when that was. So, my memory is not super detailed at this point but I'll try to give a general idea.

As wild as this is, he playfully spanked me before we were officially dating. About a week before he'd ask me to be his girlfriend, we went to the grocery store to hang out because that's all that is open in our town after like 7pm so we'd just go walk around the store sometimes when we were friends. And this day I had attended a funeral and I was still wearing a dress but I had switched into some flip-flops so my feet would be more comfortable. And as we're walking around I decided to buy some chips, but the ones I wanted were on a higher shelf and I am short, so I stepped on one of the lower shelves to get myself high enough to reach the chips I wanted, but one of my flip-flops fell off and he grabbed it while I was still up on the shelf and used it to swat my butt. I think basically in response to seeing that he was open to that sort of play (literally meaning play, no sexual connotation) I started leaning into that sort of play fighting, play wrestling kinda rough housing stuff with him and I'd slap his ass to get him to retaliate. He'd always do this harder, so I'd fight back harder, and I think it was after we were officially dating, but it eventually advanced to him using my belt on me over my pants! But it was all very giggly and playful. In hindsight, this sort of play probably should have made it clear to both of us that we were playing with spanking as a kink but it was never overtly sexual so I had compartmentalized it as just, innocent play. Haha.

I'm REALLY guessing here, but I think we had probably been dating at least six months before I actually told him I was into spanking. He's always had an easier time being open and direct with conversations in general, but especially sexual ones, than I have been. So pretty early on he would try to ask me questions to get a better understanding of my sexual interests and what I liked, basically. I had a lot of shame and anxiety around my sexuality and my kinks and had no experience with being open about anything like that, I found myself sort of just getting awkward when he tried to get me to talk about things like that, and so he never pushed too hard. I knew that spanking was a meaningful part of my sexuality but I was so young and naive still that I thought this was like a one in a million type of kink to have. So for a while I thought it was so weird that I would just never be able to tell him or anyone as it was so 'freakish' in my mind. But as our relationship progressed and I felt safer and safer, it just felt less possible to keep it from him. So eventually I did. I don't remember exactly what I said, sorry. I know that when I spilled the beans, I said something like 'I hope you don't think I'm weird' or gross or a freak or something like that, idk exactly. But I know his response to me was essentially "What? no….that's hot!" which was SUCH a relief because I was so in love with him and it would have been devastating if he was judgemental of it. I believe he also said something to make me think that being into it wasn't nearly as weird (I guess what I really mean is rare) as I had believed it to be. At this time, I had not yet come across the idea of DD, so really all I shared was I was into spanking as that's basically all I knew.

After finding that out, he'd smack my butt while we were doing sexual things but I didn't really enjoy that much so that didn't last. A few years later I came across the idea of DD online and shared that with CD. He was curious but also had some concerns and a lot of questions. He didn't feel like I 'needed' rules and worried that giving me a rule would cause me to break that rule to get spanked which was a dynamic he didn't want to create. I didn't really have good answers to his questions, and I also was still deeply ashamed of these desires so it made it hard for me to have conversations about any of this. I'd even try to avoid saying the word 'spanking' out loud which was really confusing. In hindsight, I just clearly was not ready to engage with any of this stuff because I couldn't talk about it clearly enough to keep things safe. And I didn't realize that, but thankfully, he did. So for a while we'd occasionally talk about it but he'd raise the same questions that I didn't have good answers to and so I'd get awkward and embarrassed and end the conversation and it wouldn't be brought up again for a while. But over time we worked through some of the questions and concerns enough to feel comfortable giving it a try, except we couldn't think of any good rules at first. But then one day I lost my debit card again, which was a recurring problem for me, and it occurred to CD that it might make a good rule so he suggested it as our first rule and that's how we started.

And since then it's been a whole lot of communication and learning as we go, adapting regularly to insight we gain into ourselves and each other along the way. :)

[fandom-fantasy-fuel]

Darth Vader head-canon dump below:

I don't know anyone else who has this take on Darth Vader but first of all, to me he has always looked and sounded like James Earl Jones when he's without the armour. The man was such a crucial part of making that character that I can't picture him otherwise.

I hate the take that his real voice is almost non-existent and the one we hear is completely synthesised from a breathy wheeze? I've noticed a lot of people seem determined to remove everything cool and sexy about Vader and looove obsessing over him actually being super weak mentally and physically, held together by duct-tape, constantly suffering from every kind of botched medical experiment and suicidally depressed.

I don't get why you'd do him a disservice like that, yes he went through some hellish physical trauma but I see him as a character who overcome most of that with sheer determination and is extremely resilient and strong, deriving his power from rage and fanaticism, not sadness.

He would not think of himself as a monster in a "I hate myself, I'm an abomination, I want to die" way, he'd think it's sick as hell and enjoy being monstrous in the sense that he is the ultimate embodiment of the darkside and is set apart from other people by being absurdly overpowered and mysterious. He'd love to play up that intimidation factor and leans into being considered inhuman by pretending he doesn't eat or sleep, for instance. He'd take it like a complement when people think "there's no way he could be human he's too unnatural and powerful" but Vader would never think less of himself or think he's more machine than man for having technology integrated with biology, it's just an extension of himself and he's always had an affinity with technology and would feel those parts of himself through the force just the same.

I think it's a bad take when people go 'he was constantly at odds with his prosthetics and mods which were badly made, also he'd be completely fucked if the wrong button was pressed or anything broke because he's that dependent and impotent without them and his 50 prescription drugs.' Nah man, that Absolute Unit can handle anything thrown at him and made a literally miraculous recovery through the force!

I get that he would have some physical challenges but I feel like some Vader fans have a kind of munchaussen-by-proxy thing going on tbh (I don't think that's the right term but I can't think of what to call it), the way they fetishise his disabilities and hyper-focus on details like colostomy bags and how much care he would require. (Don't come at me for being ableist I'm literally writing this from my hospital bed with an IV hooked up)

[fels-fantasy-hoard]

Tales from the Aether TTRPG System: Spells and Magic

Masterpost // Previous // Next

This is a peak at some design elements of my TTRGP Tales from the Aether. This is not dnd. If you think some of these ideas are interesting, check out my Masterpost linked above and feel free to send me feedback :D

Everyone can learn magic and spells in this system very easily as every player can choose to know 1 novice Spell at level 1 regardless of whether or not they are trained in any of the Magic Skills. However, beyond character creation, it takes a bit more work to learn Spells.

The number of spells a character can learn is equal to their Magic Attribute but they may learn more depending on Ancestry or Feats. This may seem restricting but Spells work a little differently in this system. Learning a Spell is only the first step on your magical journey as every Spell has a plethora of Upgrades that you can learn to make a single spell multi purpose and escalate in power with you.

In order to learn a new Spell, it must be of a Rank you can learn. For example, my Abjuration Skill is Journeyman Rank but I want to learn an Expert Abjuration Spell. Well, I can't. I would have to hold onto the spell until I reached the proper skill level.

Now, there are four ways to learn new Spells and to gain upgrades and it may vary for your character on a Spell by Spell basis. These are: Innate Spells, Faith Spells, External Spells, and Learned Spells.

Innate Spells are Spells you just know. No on taught you them as they seem to be a natural part of you for what ever reason. These spells are thus more volatile than others and have a 1 in 20 chance of either doubling the strength and effect or failing entirely (rolling a 20 and a 1, respectively). As you grow in power, new spells and spell upgrades will reveal themselves to you - and your character may have no idea what spells or upgrades they will learn until you give it to them.

Faith Spells are Spells you harness through faith. This could be faith in a religion, faith in the self, faith in an ideal, etc. Your faith is so powerful it can literally move mountains but if it wavers, you may lose your ability to use these spells all together. Faith spells are a bit of a mixture of the three other types. Your character can strive to learn specific spells that are influenced by their faith but do not need to do research persay to learn. The spells come more naturally but can also be lost far more easily as faith can be fickle. If your character is losing faith or struggling to maintain their faith, there is a 50% chance their spells will fail. If your character has lost faith entirely, they cannot use their faith spells. If your character’s faith is strong and unwavering, their spells are as well.

External Spells are Spells given to you from an external force through a pact, parasitic relationship, or residue from an encounter with a creature or location. These spells leave a physical mark on your body when you learn them and will continue to change you the more you use them. This could be a change in hair color, tattoos or markings that appear overnight, a change in eye color or shape, or whatever you want it to be. This change represents the physical toll of channeling power that is not your own and the mark of whatever entity has given you these spells. Additionally, your character may not have a choice in what spells are bestowed upon them and the entity can remove your ability to use these spells whenever it pleases or if the contamination has naturally worn off over time.

Learned Spells are Spells you learn through research and study. These spells are the most consistent out of the three. Once you learn a spell, it is yours. However, in order to improve these spells, you will need to continue studying and experimenting with them which may involve keeping “spell books” or notes of some kind that detail your experimentation. If your notes are destroyed or stolen, you will need to start over with what you remember if you wish to continue improving the spell.

The different schools of magic are technically arbitrary constructions as magic is magic but so is violence. It takes different technique to wield a shield, a dagger, and a war hammer just as it takes a different skill set to protect, destroy, or create.

Abjuration is the school of protection and wards. This includes increasing one's Defense Bonus (will explore when discussing combat) and Resistances or creating wards that prevent creatures from approaching.

Alteration is the school of change. These spells alter the world around you such a levitating objects, transforming one creature into another, and manipulating time.

Conjuration is the school of summoning and transportation. These spells summon spectral weapons and armor as well as creatures to fight for you. It is also the key to traveling across the world or to different planes.

Evocation is the school of curses and the spirit. Oftentimes shunned, this school delves into dark places and is far more volatile than others.

Glamor is the school of the mind. These spells alter the minds of creatures to give them hallucinations that allow you to manipulate them like puppets on a string.

Mysticism is the school of knowledge. These spells allow you to see the truths of the world around you as well as what was, what is, and what has yet come to pass.

Necromancy is the school of healing and undeath. Necromancy is well known for its penchant for keeping allies up and fighting regardless of the shape they may be in.

Primal is the school of elements. These spells allow you to manipulate and invoke the power of nature through fire, plants, and more.

Next week I'll discuss equipment and durability

See ya later gamers :D

[craftylightgiantghost]

So I've playing Disney Dreamlight Valley quite a bit lately and here's a few little tips and tricks I wish to share with people:

You can undig the holes you just dug by digging on top of them again

Do Remys world first. No really DO IT

You can remove all the trees bushes and plants in each land. I literally hate trees

You can move your well across the bridges into the other part if you haven't unlocked it but anything you get like coins from night thorns are tossed over again...

You can ask different characters to hang out and do the job you assigned them to help level up.

Getting rid of things like the stumps, ice, coral, mushrooms and bones is ALWAYS going to be 2 different tasks they make you start out small then do the bigger ones

The sticks and flowers always reappear and it's stupid annoying

Making an orchard and a storage were the best things ever. I put my orchard in the corner of the Meadow between the two entrances to the Beach

Make sure you stockpile things(literally everything you are able to) food comes in 50 so does fish and the shells, seeds and flowers but most other things can group up to 99

If you have alot of something already then sell it all. Go mining and then sell it and you can make buttloads of money

[tales-from-the-aether-ttrpg]

Tales from the Aether Magic pt 2

Magic and how character's learn spells in this system is heavily tied to role play and story telling. You can learn new spells at any time if you can justify it in the role play - and in good faith - however, there is a maximum number of spells a character can learn and this threshold is determined by each character's individual Magic attribute (I discussed attributes in my Skills post here). There are four ways your character can - in story - learn a new spell. They are Innate, Faith, External, and Learned. While developing your character, it is important you keep track of which spells are from each category as you can lose access to them depending on the course of your character's story, as explained below.

If your character learns their first spell during the course of the campaign, they must have the Awakening, as described in this post here, before they cast the spell for the first time. The Awakening will reflect which every method they used to learn this spell and it will leave a lasting impact on the character - in the role play. If The Awakening occurs during a battle, the character may experience a vision that they think takes minutes or even hours but it only lasts a moment and when they return to reality, they may be disoriented and/or distracted - or uncharacteristically focused on the battle at hand. It depends on the character and the nature of their Awakening.

Innate Spells are Spells you just know. No one taught you them as they seem to be a natural part of you for whatever reason. These spells are thus more volatile than others and have a 1 in 20 chance of either doubling the strength and effect or failing entirely (rolling a 20 and a 1, respectively). As you grow in power, new spells and spell upgrades will reveal themselves to you - and your character may have no idea what spells or upgrades they will learn until you give it to them. Your affinity for magic could be caused by bloodlines or an event that occurred to your birth parent during their life, the residual energy of which manifested in you.

Faith Spells are Spells you harness through faith. This could be faith in a religion, faith in the self, faith in an ideal, etc. Your faith is so powerful it can literally move mountains but if it wavers, you may lose your ability to use these spells all together. Faith spells are a bit of a mixture of the three other types. Your character can strive to learn specific spells that are influenced by their faith but do not need to do research persay to learn. The spells come more naturally but can also be lost far more easily as faith can be fickle. If your character is losing faith or struggling to maintain their faith, there is a 50% chance their spells will fail. If your character has lost faith entirely, they cannot use their faith spells. If your character’s faith is strong and unwavering, their spells are as well.

External Spells are Spells given to you from an external force through a pact, parasitic relationship, or residue from an encounter with a creature or location. These spells leave a physical mark on your body when you learn them and will continue to change you the more you use them. This could be a change in hair color, tattoos or markings that appear overnight, a change in eye color or shape, or whatever you want it to be. This change represents the physical toll of channeling power that is not your own and the mark of whatever entity has given you these spells. Additionally, your character may not have a choice in what spells are bestowed upon them and the entity can remove your ability to use these spells whenever it pleases or if the contamination has naturally worn off over time.

Learned Spells are Spells you learn through research and study. These spells are the most consistent out of the three. Once you learn a spell, it is yours. However, in order to improve these spells, you will need to continue studying and experimenting with them which may involve keeping “spell books” or notes of some kind that detail your experimentation. If your notes are destroyed or stolen, you will need to start over with what you remember if you wish to continue improving the spell. To learn a spell, you must find a Spell Tome and study it for a total of 48 hours. Once your time of study is completed, the writing within the book vanishes and you now have access to this spell.

This is a peak at some design elements of my TTRGP Tales from the Aether. This is not dnd. If you think some of these ideas are interesting, check out my Masterpost linked here and follow for more updates :D

[meta-squash]

Ever since I wrote that character study-type fic of Combat, I've been thinking about Owen's fairly consistent self-destructiveness and also about Jack's reaction to Owen's admission at the end of the episode, about how he didn't want to be saved. I don't know if it was intentional on the part of the writers or not, but I think it's interesting that in this little mini-arc (the three people from the '50s and everyone's reaction after) Jack has only like a week ago had a conversation with a suicidal John and then died by his side in Ianto's car.

Jack (reluctantly) respected John's choice. He didn't do that with Owen. Now, part of that is because he probably didn't even know it was a suicidal act on Owen's part when they entered the warehouse and broke up the weevil fight club. (Although Owen trying to fight off Gwen and snarling "Get off me" at her maybe clued them in.) But I think a big part of it is because Owen has a pretty big, volatile self-destructive streak (which have already had small glimpses of by this point in season 1, and then more later). And I think Jack feels responsible for Owen, almost on a parental level, trying to keep him alive and functioning, even if it is with a tough love approach.

But I do fine it interesting that John asks Jack "don't condemn me to live" and "at least let me go with dignity." I imagine that conversation informs Jack's reaction to Owen saying he didn't want saving.

Jack didn't know John, Jack had no power over John's actions, had no reliable way to comfort him or convince him to act differently. John is, on some level, collateral damage of the Rift and something Jack could not control, even if he feels like it was a failure on his part.

But Jack is Owen's boss (and father figure tbh) and he hand-picked Owen and probably by this time has seen him in various stages and categories of self-destructive tendencies, including drinking himself to death and shagging Suzie. Respecting Owen's choice, letting him die when he wanted to die, would have removed Jack's sense of control again, would have made him feel like a failure again, and it would have been worse because Owen is someone he knows fairly well.

I think Jack also really struggles with admitting when his team is hurting even though he loves them and wants to help them. He constantly vacillates between sympathy and distance, familiar, almost parental comfort and a sort of sociopathic coldness. He loves his team and I think he does want to support and help, but they are all (with the exception of Gwen) very traumatized and fucked up people, and I wonder if sometimes he feels a little helpless when it comes to them.

Or like it's a little too close to home. They only have one lifetime, so they can cry and rage and scream and despair and try to die and make terrible mistakes and all that, and part of why they are able to do so is because they know that one day it will all just end. But Jack has an unfathomable amount of lifetimes; if he let himself break down or freak out or despair or fall apart like they do every time (or even every other time) he was confronted with overwhelming grief or whatever kind of pain he's endured, he'd go mad. Plus, every time one of his team falls apart like that, it's like a spectre of the grief of their own deaths for him.

Jack wants everyone to live because of course he does. He has already endured literal lifetimes of grief and loss, and also the more people he saves, the more he has a feeling of control over the chaos of the world. But it also means that he's not as empathetic to the desires of others. "Don't condemn me to live" is such an intense phrase for Jack to have to hear, since he is literally condemned to live.

As a final aside, I do wonder what a similar conversation would have been like in Dead Man Walking, before they go to embalm Owen. Because at that point, as he says to Gwen, he doesn't want to live the way he is. He came back wrong, different, unable to do all the things that made him feel alive, and also literally unable to feel. It would have been interesting to have that conversation be with Jack instead of Gwen, to see Jack acknowledge that sometimes his need for control does more harm than good, and also to see the difference between living and just existing.

[thenopequeen]

okay I am going to go on the rant, although this might not be 100% what I said eairiler IRL because there are some things that are only able to be communicated via hand gesters and stutters.

Also I am aware I sound very Red String on Cork Board. I am open to taking criticism. um but gentle if possible.

So to start, let's look at the actual role given to Racer (I will be using either Race or Racer as it's a bit easier to type out and are the names used to refer to him in the broadway musical which is what I'm most familiar with.). Oh and when coming to anything specific I will be referring to the recorded 2017 version because that's the one I've got a link to so I can watch it while reading fanfics or drawing (/srs. i do do this)

Race is listed as a background/ensemble character in any source I can find (although I could be missing some). however, his actions/overall role in the story are more comparable to Crutchie, who is listed as a supporting character.

This is heavy evidence for placing him as a supporting character, however what makes it interesting is that Racer almost seems to be favored over the other background characters.

About 50% of his dialogue could be given to another character and it literally would not impact the plot much, unlike the other supporting characters, who are unthinkable to replace in anyway shape or form.

If we're continuing comparing Race to Crutchie, which I will because they share the most similarities role-wise, those two are the ones with the most prominent solo lines. Racer has several from multiple songs (King of New York, Carrying the Banner, and Once and For All include at least one solo line that could technically be given to literally anybody else), and Crutchie has a few solo lines and a song to himself. Actually if you remove the tap section, King of New York could be potentially read as the closest thing we get to a 'side' character having a song. Literally all the other songs are group focused when it comes to singing, or are done by main/supporting/antagonistic characters. Racer carries King of New York, setting a wonderful tone with the conversation just before the song starts, as well as his very over the top energy that is present through out the entire song. Okay I also have a soft spot for the song because it was the first song I ever did a tap dance too last year (nowhere near as impressive as the show but it was cool)

Racer also is in at least TWO scenes where he doesn't technically need to be there. First off, the one where it's easier to explain: the scene just before Once and For All, where the gang is at the printing press. Technically, Race doesn't need to be down there in the first place. While yes, it's probably so he knows the way to direct the others into the room, he doesn't need to be there in the moment. This is also never explained in literally anyway. he's just there. Technicality, he could follow the trail of unlocked doors or somebody could bring him in. While this is technically grasping at straws I will stand by this. The second is a really minor thing that you'll only notice if (like me) you've watched this musical enough that you can quote a good part of it.

So in the scene where Jack is teaching Davey and Les to sell papes that ends with them getting chased to the theater, if you look closely you'll see a familiar face

I have rewatched this scene several times to make sure it's Race. it is. Why is he there. Literally the only other people in this scene are the passbyers who buy a paper, Synder, and the trio. Why is Racer here. He just kinda vibes. I still want an explanation because EVERYBODY ELSE leaves the stage quickly. WHY IS HE THERE???

Now to quickly break into the more IRL universe, in the cast call of this production, which my brother watches so so often (he wants to do musical theater), Racer;s actor is NOT listed with the other newsies. Even Spot, who is listed as support/featured in most sources, is just grouped into the rest of the ensemble. Instead, Racer is grouped in with the Delancey brothers. I still don't understand this.

This is your reminder that Race is listed as ensemble by literally all sources I could be bothered to find.

On top of this, in both the movie and the show, he's one of the most named 'background' newsies. While I've only seen the movie a grand total of once (didn't like the music in the slightest), Racer is a character you see A LOT. Sometimes he's not really doing much, but he's there.

In the musical this is in part because there is so much personality packed into him, but still. Elmer and Albert also have a lot of personality and yet I still find that Racer feels like he has more screentime.

On top of this, Racer is present in literally ever scene with all the newsies. And ALWAYS as Racer.

Anyways this is a slightly unhinged rant. Also if you haven't figured it out Racer is my favorite character.

Yeah idk how that happened.

Anyways agree with your sister that Racer is a supporting character. at least in everything but casting.

The cynical part of me says it's so the producers can get away with paying the actor less. The deranged crossover nerd in me says he's a Watcher

[raayllum]

i feel like people were expecting something as impactful as s3 felt, especially after the 3 year wait and just the hype in general for s4 – which, imo, it was more about the Saga returning and new plot points taking shape + ppl had a lot of personal opinions over the hiatus of how the story should go and which character should do what, so i guess this is making some reactions feel... biased, at least from my standpoint

I think what gets me is that structurally and pacing wise, the season isn't that different from basically any other in the show. A lot (not all of course, but some) of the S4 criticism just feels like people not giving S4 the slack and/or patience they gave every other season of the show. Which is a pet peeve of mine that I've talked about before specifically re: people's complaints at S3 Rayllum back in the day, when it was beat-for-beat very much the same amount of plot focus and importance they'd gotten in the previous seasons. If you're gonna complain about something show wise, I expect that complaint to be consistent (probably bc of my autism) not just when it occurs to someone that it is a Thing that is happening that they Suddenly don't like (as though again, it hadn't happened in every other season)

Eps 1-3 are typically set up (we see this in s1 and s2 first hand). The kiddos have a more specific goal than ever before (going to see someone somewhere specific, i.e. Rex Igneous at Umber Tor) and it's more detailed than just "seeing the Dragon Queen just somewhere in Xadia" and with very little reference in universe as to how close to the border the kids are at any given time up until 2x07, lmao.

Now that Claudia and Soren have been fully bumped up from side characters (S2, S3) to main cast members a lot of their previous screen time is allocated to Janai and Amaya's subplot. Viren's subplots were often disconnected entirely from the main plot (i.e. anything after 1x06 for Viren never affects the main characters in any significant way until approximately 3x04, and even then, only with Ezran) but nobody complained about that, because it was compelling and interesting to watch. And if the Sunfire elf stuff wasn't to someone, okay cool - but again, very subjective. Now Viren's plot line has been merged with Claudia's, so again, it's about the same amount of time allocation.

(And part of the reason I know that is because I once did the math to see literally how much screentime Rayla and Callum - and often including Ezran - get in previous seasons, averaging 50+ minutes in S1 and S3 and under half an hour in S2, due to the flashback episodes and no interaction in the first ep and minimal interaction in 2x08. I would expect S4 to be over half an hour simply because a scene like the end of 4x01 would count and once they're together, they're rarely apart / not talking about each other.)

Like 1x05 and 1x06 are some of my favourite eps in the whole show, and they are effectively filler, particularly 1x05. You could remove Viren and Amaya's plot line and remove very little (particularly because Gren's imprisonment didn't amount to anything in the first arc, and likely won't in the future since we already know Runaan is in the coin). 1x06 is plot relevant for Viren and Claudia but arguably only plot relevant for the trio at the very end. As expressed before, significantly more is established and discussed in 4x01 than almost any premiere except 1x01; very little substantially happens in 2x01 and 3x01 besides either 1) worldbuilding or 2) travelling. 2x04 is another one of my absolute favourite episodes, and it is entirely filler. The Amaya-Janai storyline doesn't come back all season and purely exists to set up their S3 storyline and Callum's struggles with magic. Of course all these filler eps do the work of furthering the trio's and particularly Callum and Rayla's bond, but outside of emotional stuff, they are filler in regards to the plot

But suddenly 4x05 and 4x06 are too filler-y? Episodes in which the kids determine their specific goal is to hunt down Claudia, go to Rex Igneous, stop Aaravos, the immediate fallout of the possession, starting to actually mend Callum and Rayla's relationship (they hadn't gotten a significant scene together since the beginning of 4x03, after all), demonstrate Soren's place in the group, etc etc? The purpose of these episodes and the plot beats are exceedingly similar to 1x05-1x07 smushed together (with 1x07 again being mostly filler, there to set up how Claudia does the tracking spell and how the kids find out about the 'miracle healer'). There is a shit ton going on amid setting the stage for emotional beats, giving room for some to happen, and getting the rest of the season's plot under way.

I've also seen some people saying that that indications we've gotten that Rayla has changed isn't enough bc it's only a couple of scenes, but 1) the girl who was once like "I don't have to explain anything to you" / "time for my least favourite course of action: reason" is now leaping up like "I love talking" because she wants to make things work and 2) her "We can't save everyone" scene in 4x05 hits so hard because it's her most basic core character trait that's been utterly decimated in a major way. Not completely, as we see in 4x09, but like, this is her Core Character Trait. Every season show us this. Forget a needle in a hay stack in terms of big flashing lights of This character has changed!! It's like smashing a sledge hammer into a wall. It does what it needs to because they know where to hit the hardest in the time they have

And once again, we see this pattern in earlier seasons. Rayla has one (1) scene expressing doubts regarding being an assassin in 2x06 before the immediate next episode is building on that to set the stage for the entire conflict of 2x07 and the rest of the season by extension. We get one (1) scene of Callum being interested in magic and Ezran sneaking around the castle before it's being utilized by the plot and Callum being a mage is his main drive for the first three seasons. If anything I like that we're give this sledge hammer moment, its immediate consequences, and a meta-narrative reflection that since the one person Rayla routinely opens up to doesn't want to talk to her, we're not privy to what she's going through either, and that it's given time to stew.

And I'd be more willing to take structural criticism of the season seriously if there was one that acknowledged the structural similarities 1) virtually at all and 2) so much of S4 criticism wasn't couched in very subjective opinions. Like for me, S2 is the season with the slowest pacing in some ways for the first half of bc 1) 2x01 isn't my fave although I have grown to appreciate, 2) Viren and Aaravos' plot line isn't that engaging to me personally up until like 2x08, and 3) 2x04-2x06 is virtually all filler that just reaffirms things we knew or gives more context to events prior, but the flashback eps are absolutely crucial theme wise. And again, S4 is doing some major thematic heavy lifting that I want to explore further, so like - for me it just doesn't compute why that has to be so dissimilar in public opinion?

Like yes, the search for Soren leading to the path to Rex Igneous and N'than's existence is convenient. But so is Ellis' existence (we see the path the kids take on the Caldera and a 9 yr old child carrying a heavy wolf pup in her arms somehow took the same path completely by herself?) and the fact that Claudia and Soren somehow reached the 2x07 town a day behind the trio (who travelled by boat and flight) while not being able to even use their horses because they had Corvus with them, thereby having to travel on foot? Or Opeli and Corvus' one line mention of going to Duren (not even Aanya by name) and relying on people listening for her name when Opeli lists off who's attacked and noticing who's not there leading to the event that allows the heroes to win the Final Battle in the first place? That Janai's forces just happened to go to the Storm Spire at all?

None of this makes the previous seasons bad by any means, but the writing is as consistent as it's always been. But no, season four is the breaking point, Apparently, of suspension of disbelief or a willingness to give slack / time for things to play out

Again, I don't want to dismiss anyone's feelings about season four. People are allowed to feel how they wanna feel! I waited like four years for "Blood of Olympus" to come out and it was the last PJO book I ever read and it was ultimately disappointing to me like, I know it can suck. But the book wasn't bad because I'd waited so long and then it didn't progress enough or anything like that. My experience reading the book would've been completely the same in terms of my enjoyment whether I'd waited four years or four weeks.

One of my big worries going into S4 was that during the hiatus, I'd gotten too attached to what I thought had to happen that I wouldn't be able to enjoy whatever did happen. Things like Callum had to go after Rayla because she'd never come back of her own accord. Aaravos was going to get out by the end of the season. Big stuff like that. I found the Rayllum reunion anti-climatic on my first viewing. Now it's one of my favourite scenes of the season and I love how much it parallels their first meeting (Rayla pursuing) while also inverting (lovers rather than enemies, Callum not wanting to talk vs talking to stall/convince her) and giving so many emotional layers at once

All of this being a very long winded way of saying

4x01 is my favourite premiere after 1x01. I think S4 did the best job at incorporating bouts of flashbacks without bringing the plot to a stand still in order to do so. 4x07 is probably my favourite ep7 after 2x07, and I adore 2x07. S4 does some of the most interesting thematic and character work in the whole show, mostly because we have three seasons of context to draw comparisons and correlations from, and it knows how to draw on those things exceedingly well. The most filler eps of the season is before Rayla even shows up, so how could time before her home coming be even effectively re-allocated to after?

Season Four is not what I expected in almost any way. It surprised me, did some of what I expected, plenty I didn't, and then so much more in a lot of ways.

I love(d) it, and I think my opinion and affection for the season is only going to grow as time goes on, tbh

[bookishfeylin]

Amarantha’s blood had vanished from his face, his tunic, as Tamlin slammed to his knees. He scooped up my limp, broken body, cradling me to his chest. He hadn’t removed his mask, but I saw the tears that fell onto my filthy tunic, and I heard the shuddering sobs that broke from him as he rocked me, stroking my hair. (ACOTAR Chapter 45)

So many things about this part hurt. Feyre as a ghost (?) watching Tamlin cradle her dead body. Tamlin being so consumed with Feyre that he ignores and doesn't even bother to take off the mask, the symbol of his curse, the thing he's spent 50 years trying to remove, in favor of mourning over her. Feyre being powerless to do anything while he sobs. This whole part just hurts and it hits hard.

And listen. As much as I despise the whole "patriarchy hurts men too" brand of feminism because it does absolutely nothing, and a decade of that feminism has led to the current rollback of women's rights, and it's not the job of the oppressed group (women) to care about the wellbeing of their oppressors (men) ... I'm going to break my own rule here. Just once. Why does the fandom (mainly Rhysand stans) mock Tamlin for crying and complain about him not doing anything? Aside from him literally not having the power to mind control people and force the other High Lords to give a drop like Rhysand can, he deserves to let his emotions out. Come on now. If you actually care about the patriarchy hUrTiNg MeN aNd NoT aLlOwInG mEn To ExPrEsS tHeIr EmOtIoNs, then you should see no problem in Tamlin's reaction to Feyre's death in this scene.

[misscammiedawn]

50 Days of HypnoKink - Day 29: Safe Spaces

Alignment: 105% Bottom Only --- I'm not comfortable doing this one for others

By now we're kinda out of "this is hot" and I'm just writing about things I think are cool. This one may be one to skip if you're following this for scene ideas and stories of things I've done with trance.

A lot of inductions, especially with older files, have you imagine a safe space. A relaxing and gentle calming place.

Therapists also do this for EMDR work which-- is uncomfortably close to hypnosis in my experience--

The idea is to turn a piece of your soul into a location of softness and tranquility and I've always found a lot of interest in that. Like a lot of folx who I get close to in the hypnosis community that I feel safe asking, I ask them to describe their place.

That is a super private thing and I will not even elude to what people have told me.

But it makes me smile. Like I get to see a piece of them.

It lets me know what they find enchanting and soothing. How they visualize safety and comfort.

Then you can ask little questions.

What do you do there?

Are there any smells to this place?

What time of day do you picture it as?

Are you alone?

Are there ambient sounds?

Though maybe phrase a little less leading? I dunno. I'm not good at guided hypnosis. I just know if you say "is there music in the air?" people will hear music because you put the idea in and if you ask "Focus on your sense of hearing, really take notice of the space. Is there anything you can notice?" then at least you're asking input.

Huh? I guess I do know my stuff. Just not performative.

Anyway!

I'll talk about my place in a bit but I wanted to say it has always smelled of coffee. Goddess and my former partner used to guide me through "refreshing the grounds" when I needed a boost.

The reason it's not a Miss Dawn special or anything is that when you're in someone's most precious imaginings it's difficult to tread lightly.

If you raise attention to how someone internally perceives themselves in that space, it could lead to dysphoric feelings. You could introduce new elements.

Like I don't mean to be all Inception or anything. But my space has been a consistent location for over 2 decades at this point. More than half my life the same space has existed in my mind. That kinda means any changes made in that area are important and stick.

Which is a lot of responsibility.

Fuck... I could only dream of having a place I call home for a single decade. Let alone 2. This space has been more a constant than my literal homes. Though I carry them with me.

I am so so off topic right now x.x

Maybe I should just talk about my experiences outright, then--

My Safe Space is... private and I have complicated feelings about it.

To date only 3 people other than therapists have been allowed to explore it or make changes and only one - my Goddess - has been allowed to be visualized within that space.

Until Goddess made that request, understanding the importance of this next sentence, I had never visualized anyone else in that space.

Sometimes animals from memories or imagination but even then with great discomfort.

99% of the time nothing that exists outside of my head is allowed in that space. It is hallowed ground in my mind.

The person who helped me build it abused me and hurt me. I don't want to talk about that. But I think it's important that I note it. A part of him is in the walls. There's an area that is sealed off with yellow security tape and I haven't been in that area since I was a teenager. Like a scar on my soul that I cannot escape. Goddess once asked to remove it. I like the reminder. I like the feeling of power I have over knowing it. Knowing I sealed it and him out of my life.

So... edited within the realm of privacy--- I just wanna describe some things:

It's built from memories and emotional connections to those memories. It's always night there and the sky is the sky I saw at a precious friend's home in North Wales back in 2005.

There's a camp fire that has taken on attributes from a certain backyard fire pit in recent years.

My safe space itself is a log cabin. I call it The Lodge. The person who knows why isn't with me anymore.

There's a hidden room behind a bookcase that leads to the "Room of Doors" which is a staple from Goddess' hypnotic files.

A recliner I picture myself trancing in when I am asked to imagine myself in trance.

A little kitchenette with a coffee nook that fills the place with the scent of coffee.

There are two doors and--- the blocked off area---

One leads to the bedroom and one leads to the basement.

The basement is full of bedrooms.

The bedroom will select one of those bedrooms and it will be a place of comfort. Every one of these is a place I've called home.

I have never worked out why that is there. But it is.

Minds are weird.

Sometimes cats from my married life are there. Most of the time they're not.

I don't want to describe the main floor, the colors, the way it feels, how I feel there. That's more than I feel comfortable being open about. But I really love how firm and stable it has become. How even after all these years it's still the same room.

Sometimes it's nice to have consistency. I don't have a lot of that.

Anyway...

If you've never done it. Really take a minute to think about yours. Really build a place you can feel is a part of your soul to rest in.

Not gonna lie? It's pretty great!

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Day 28: Adoration

FULL SCHEDULE MASTER POST

Day 30: VR Helmets