#i don't know what it is about the people who move to colorado but most of them are complete shitheads

[killerchickadee]

The thing about it being my Midwestaversary is like.... sometimes I wonder if I really was that unhappy in Colorado?

Yes. The answer is absolutely yes, and I hated it almost from the very first day. Like I look at Facebook memory posts and even within the first few months I was like, "I hate it here, why the fuck did I move here?" And I stayed there EIGHT YEARS. I've lived in 6 different states and even though I have lots of mental health issues so I'm never really happy, and I have mixed feelings about a lot of the places I've lived in, I've never been as miserable as I was in Colorado. And even though I knew it was bad I didn't realize exactly how traumatic it was until I left. I've been back twice and both times ended up crying because I didn't want to be there. That's.... probably not normal lol.

So like, is my life going well? Not at all lol. Would I say I'm happy? Probably not, because my work situation is shit and I'm a little lonely here (and also the aforementioned mental health shit). But I'm a million times happier where I am now than I was there. I fucking love the midwest so much. Special shoutout to @thebrideofcaliban and her husband for getting me the fuck out here.

[honoura]

Shaaloani: The Land of Enchantment Part One

Hello again! It's another lore-adjacent post from me about a niche special interest of mine. This time it's Shaaloani, the American Southwest/Northern Mexico inspired zone in FFXIV's Dawntrail.

I want to disclose a few things right at the start just to temper people's expectations: I will not be definitively ID'ing any of the indigenous-inspired structures or visuals as inspired by any specific tribe. That's not my lane! I'm going to link to things that they remind me of, for sure. But otherwise my hyperfocus is going to be on the physical environment, some animals, and the ceruleum as petroleum industry. It's what I recognize best! And what I know best, truthfully.

"Hon why are you doing this?" A variety of reasons honestly. After DT dropped I saw a lot of folks who did at least one of the following:

Commented on the Old West theme park aspect

Called it "miqo'te Texas"

Generally just called the whole map "Texas"

And if I'm honest... it bugged me! Not because I thought anyone was being malicious about it (it's mostly pop culture saturation I'd suspect), but to me it stung a bit that this zone, which I grew up on the fringe of, was... kind of flattened by a lot of people?

I don't know, the response to me just felt like people assumed they knew everything about it because they'd seen it already in movies or TV or Red Dead Redemption rather than the same open-mindedness about what was presented in places like Urqopacha.

This zone isn't just Texas -- yes there are some bits and pieces here (because it's pulling from the Chihuahuan Desert and the Sonoran Desert), but so much of it reminds me of New Mexico, Mexico, and Arizona. There's some Colorado, Utah, and Nevada there too! And the background story going on there is something that still happens in a lot of those states, by both the government and corporations alike.

That variety deserves to be celebrated! So come learn with me about the inspiration for Shaaloani!

Shaaloani Geography

Shaaloani has three major regions in the zone -- Eshceyaani Wilds, Pyariyoanaan Plain, and Yawtanane Grasslands. To get this out of the way, I'm going to tell you the one that reminds me most of Texas.

Ready?

Lake Taori of the Pyariyoanaan Plain.

It's river-fed, with canyons on both ends of the Niikwerepi. The trees crowding around it are cypress trees, as you can tell by the little nubby off-shoots called knees. To compare, here is a photo of cypress trees along the Frio River:

This is also reminiscent of places along the Rio Grande and Pecos Rivers, two significant water sources in West Texas. I also would not call them bayous! Bayous typically have brackish water, are slow-moving, and are way too far east.

However, it could be partly considered a ciénega -- which according to its wikipedia article:

"Ciénagas are usually associated with seeps or springs, found in canyon headwaters or along margins of streams. Ciénagas often occur because the geomorphology forces water to the surface, over large areas, not merely through a single pool or channel."

As a caveat, ciénegas generally don't have trees around them, but I also know that you can't really drown a cypress and they love sunshine. Regardless -- if you see trees in the desert they are typically growing along a water source. Balmorhea State Park has some cottonwood trees native to the area that are going strong.

Yawtanane Grasslands reads as a mix of the Chihuahuan Desert and the Eastern Plains of Colorado. Both are rather arid and home to a variety of grasses that can thrive in such a climate -- which has historically made both areas home to large cattle industries (whether or not this was ever a good idea is debatable, since cattle are very thirsty animals).

Meanwhile the Eshceyaani Wilds looks similar to the Sonoran Desert -- the red-hued soil and rocks, the abundance of cacti with the scrub brush and some drought-tolerant grasses. Here's a shot of the Sonoran within Saguaro National Park in Arizona:

Saguaros also only grow in Arizona in the States! As well as the organ-pipe cactus, which you see in Tender Valley. And prickly pears grow just about anywhere they can get a chance -- as well as barrel cacti, both of which we see in Tender Valley (along with what could be agave!).

You could probably make a case for it being a piñon-juniper scrubland -- everything's very short compared to those cypress trees, including the juniper trees! Piñon-juniper scrubland's found throughout the Southwest. There are also piñon-juniper savannahs and persistent woodlands intermixed in the same places. The difference lay in what plants you find with the piñon pines and junipers.

Visually, aside from the Sonoran Desert, I can also see a lot of New Mexico, like the Ghost Ranch in Rio Arriba:

It matches up with the mountains you can see, and both Yowekwa Canyon and Tender Valley. And of course, Tender Valley is likely a Grand Canyon reference, going by the sheer height of the cliffs. But you could also make a case for Canyonlands National Park in Utah.

There's a shot from Grand View Point Overlook within the park -- the closeness of the canyon walls and the warm earth tones also evoke Tender Valley!

There's also a lot of these sandstone formations in Utah that better fit Shaaloani -- like here in the Valley of the Gods:

Shaaloani Structures

I also at this point want to call attention to one of the two sites with cliff dwellings & adobe structures. We just saw Tender Valley above, which is confirmed to be old Yok Huy structures. But check out these Tonawawta buildings below.

As I stated before, I don't want to state which tribe these two styles remind me of. But I do want to say this again strikes me as another New Mexico and Arizona callback; both the Gila Cliff Dwellings and the Puye Cliff Dwellings are found in two different areas of New Mexico. And the Gíusewa Pueblo, also in New Mexico! Montezuma Castle is found in Arizona, and is pictured below! Look at that rich reddish earth color.

I also want to call attention to the place of worship for the Tonawawta in Yowekwa Canyon:

When I saw it my kneejerk response was to call it an ofrenda. But that's ultimately an incomplete response -- that was just the vibe I felt after seeing them during my life! What it also reminds me of are pictographs and petroglyphs. You find these all over the Southwest (the climate helps preserve them!), but I'm going to link some really great examples. I won't provide images to all though!

Crow Canyon Petroglyphs:

Piedras Madras Canyon at Petroglyph National Monument (New Mexico) Petroglyph Point Trail at Mesa Verde National Park (Colorado) Petroglyph Panel at Canyon Reef National Park (Utah) Nampaweap at Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument (Arizona) Horseshoe Canyon at Canyonlands National Park (Utah) and the Hueco Tanks State Park (Texas)

In contrast, I don't want to spend a ton of time on the boom town structures in this zone; they are pretty straightforward references to mining towns during the different resource booms (gold, silver, copper, oil).

Similar blocky shapes, built out of wood. One thing I noticed as a neat addition are the decorative patterns painted on it -- again, I don't want to presume if there's a specific tribe tied to this. But I do think it's a neat touch and I want to think that's a design choice to convey the underlying theme that this is a zone at odds with advancing technology and wanting to keep hold of important traditions.

I WILL talk about the ceruleum wells and pumping though. Mostly because I'm impressed that they went with structures that so closely resemble early 20th century oil derricks. Those were also predominately made of wood (including the barrels, yikes!). The pump part of what's called a pumpjack were covered in the old days -- the ones we're most used to seeing now are made of metal and are thus left uncovered.

However, as you can see from this century old rig, even the wheel's made of wood:

I don't think ceruleum gushes the same way oil did -- it seems to behave more like natural gas. However, most natural gas pipelines do burn off excess, which can be seen as a little spout of flame atop.

Oil's occupied an awkward spot in the Southwest, and still does. Aside from the heinous crimes committed in Killers of the Flower Moon (where members of the Osage tribe were murdered for their oil shares in Oklahoma) and the Teapot Dome Scandal, oil is just... well.

Bear with me, I'm about to rag on Koana a moment.

The people who make the most money and have the most power over the average roughneck's life never live in the Southwest. They work in the c-suite and have more money than sense.

I find it very fascinating that DT chose to recreate this dynamic, this uncomfortable push-pull of a region rich in a resource, and it's being harvested at the suggestion and behest of a power that is physically removed from the area. And to some NPCs it's with a certain level of disregard to traditions and practices in place before, with the focus on the nebulous quantifier of 'progress'. Progress how? It depends!

But the folks at the highest seat of power never have to grapple with those questions, because to them it's a fairly cut and dry answer. This is the way to proceed, and if they want to take this nation into the "future", then this is the clear way to do it. It speaks to Koana's fixation on foreign technology to the point he de-values his own (partly due to his childhood trauma, which kind of prepped him to be susceptible to it).

Meanwhile the locals are the ones grappling the most with this change -- how it affects their plants and animals. Sometimes pits open up in the earth and ceruleum burns (which, Santa Rita New Mexico sank multiple times into the earth thanks to copper mining). On the map there's even discolored plants -- and they only occur in the vicinity OF the bulk of the ceruleum pumps.

This is at odds with core beliefs, keeping up with traditional practices. It puts people in the place of 'do I participate in this system, which promises work and the means to take care of my family, even as it pits me against my cultural heritage?'.

Growing up in West Texas, one of the weirdest things to me (to this day) is how many people will claim they love the land. They do! They love the outdoors, they worry over how certain species of animals have become scarcer. But they also work in the single most damaging industry because it pays the most money. It lets them cover bills and give their kids what they never had.

That same push-pull is in Shaaloani narratively; when progress has been thrust upon you, how do you survive it? How do you make sure what's dearest to you comes along with you?

In Conclusion

I want to call it here for Part One -- Part Two after this will cover more observations I had regarding flora and fauna in the Shaaloani zone, and how that also shows the attention to detail given this zone! It's a good time! There will be dinosaurs!

[specialagentartemis]

Hey, would you be willing to elaborate on that "disappearance of the Anasazi is bs" thing? I've heard something like that before but don't know much about it and would be interested to learn more. Or just like point me to a paper or yt video or something if you don't want to explain right now? Thanks!

I’m traveling to an archaeology conference right now, so this sounds like a great way to spend my airport time! @aurpiment you were wondering too—

“Anasazi” is an archaeological name given to the ancestral Puebloan cultural group in the US Southwest. It’s a Diné (Navajo) term and Modern Pueblos don’t like it and find it othering, so current archaeological best practices is to call this cultural group Ancestral Puebloans. (This is politically complicated because the Diné and Apache nations and groups still prefer “Anasazi” because through cultural interaction, mixing, and migration they also have ancestry among those people and they object to their ancestry being linguistically excluded… demonyms! Politically fraught always!)

However. The difficulties of explaining how descendant communities want to call this group kind of immediately shows: there are descendant communities. The “Anasazi” are Ancestral Purbloans. They are the ancestors of the modern Pueblos.

The Ancestral Puebloans as a distinct cultural group defined by similar material culture aspects arose 1200-500 BCE, depending on what you consider core cultural traits, and we generally stop talking about “Ancestral Puebloan” around 1450 CE. These were a group of people who lived in northern Arizona and New Mexico, and southern Colorado and Utah—the “Four Corners” region. There were of course different Ancestral Pueblo groups, political organizations, and cultures over the centuries—Chaco Canyon, Mesa Verde, Kayenta, Tusayan, Ancestral Hopi—but they generally share some traits like religious sodality worship in subterranean circular kivas, residence in square adobe roomblocks around central plazas, maize farming practices, and styles of coil-and-scrape constructed black-on-white and black-on-red pottery.

The most famous Ancestral Pueblo/“Anasazi” sites are the Cliff Palace and associated cliff dwellings of Mesa Verde in southwestern Colorado:

When Europeans/Euro-Americans first found these majestic places, people had not been living in them for centuries. It was a big mystery to them—where did the people who built these cliff cities go? SURELY they were too complex and dramatic to have been built by the Native people who currently lived along the Rio Grande and cited these places as the homes of their ancestors!

So. Like so much else in American history: this mystery is like, 75% racism.

But WHY did the people of Mesa Verde all suddenly leave en masse in the late 1200s, depopulating the whole Mesa Verde region and moving south? That was a mystery. But now—between tree-ring climatological studies, extensive archaeology in this region, and actually listening to Pueblo people’s historical narratives—a lot of it is pretty well-understood. Anything archaeological is inherently, somewhat mysterious, because we have to make our best interpretations of often-scant remaining data, but it’s not some Big Mystery. There was a drought, and people moved south to settle along rivers.

There’s more to it than that—the 21-year drought from 1275-1296 went on unusually long, but it also came at a time when the attempted re-establishment of Chaco cultural organization at the confusingly-and-also-racist-assuption-ly-named Aztec Ruin in northern New Mexico was on the decline anyway, and the political situation of Mesa Verde caused instability and conflict with the extra drought pressures, and archaeologists still strenuously debate whether Athabaskans (ancestors of the Navajo and Apache) moved into the Four Corners region in this time or later, and whether that caused any push-out pressures…

But when I tell people I study Southwest archaeology, I still often hear, “Oh, isn’t it still a big mystery, what happened to the Anasazi? Didn’t they disappear?”

And the answer is. They didn’t disappear. Their descendants simply now live at Hopi, Zuni, Taos, Picuris, Acoma, Cochiti, Isleta, Jemez, Laguna, Nambé, Ohkay Owingeh, Pojoaque, Sandia, San Felipe, Santa Clara, San Ildefonso, Tamaya/Santa Ana, Kewa/Santo Domingo, Tesuque, Zia, and Ysleta del Sur. And/or married into Navajo and Apache groups. The Anasazi/Ancestral Puebloans didn’t disappear any more than you can say the Ancient Romans disappeared because the Coliseum is a ruin that’s not used anymore. And honestly, for the majority of archaeological mysteries about “disappearance,” this is the answer—the socio-political organization changed to something less obvious in the archaeological record, but the people didn’t disappear, they’re still there.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Don't Lie to Me

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: life-threatening situations including a bomb and a Branch Davidians-style cult compound, established relationship, hurt/comfort, explicit language, slight emetophobia warning (nothing graphic) Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: You thought Emily was just going out on a typical case until you heard about the standoff at the religious compound. You knew her job was dangerous, but this is a whole new level of terrifying. And you can do nothing but wait. Takes place during S4.E3.

Emily stabbed at the last bit of scrambled egg on her plate and pointed it at you.

"I'd bet my life those kids are being abused," she said, chewing.

You took her plate to the sink, washing up from the early breakfast you'd made to send Emily off on a new case.

"I mean, isn't that kind of the whole point of cults?" you asked, scrubbing at the plates.

"It certainly seems like it." Emily walked over and placed an arm at the small of your back. "Thank you for breakfast. Do you need any help cleaning up?"

"No, I'm okay." You liked the repetitive nature of dishwashing. "You know," you thought out loud, "I was in a cult once."

Emily froze and stared at you, blazer halfway on. "What!?"

"Not that kind of cult. And I got out pretty quick. But... I did believe a lot of crazy things, and I was asked to do some illegal shit."

"Y/N, what!?" she said, slinging her go-bag over her shoulder, reluctant to leave. "What kind of crazy things?"

"Oh, I don't know," you said, drying your hands. "I carried anointing oil around for a while. And I thought shadows in corners were demons. Turns out that's just how light works."

Emily placed her hands on your shoulders, a slightly stunned expression on her face. "I have to go, but we will pick this up later because, Y/N, what!? A cult!?" She shook her head and kissed you, then once again on the forehead for good measure.

"It was just a little cult!" you joked, as she walked toward the door. "It's way easier to get dragged in than you'd think. I consider myself a pretty smart person, and even I fell for some of that bullshit."

"Mmkay," she said, leaning in the doorway. "Well, I'll do my best not to join a cult this week, but no promises."

You rolled your eyes at her. "I love you, Em. Be safe."

"Love you too, honey," she said. "See you in a few days."

You shook your head as the door shut behind her. You didn't tell many people about your "cult year," as you liked to call it, because it hadn't been nearly as extreme as most cults were and because you'd gotten out quickly. But, god, you'd believed in some stupid things. The confluence of moving to a new place, developing a severe mental illness, and falling wildly in love with the girl who was second in command had been a perfect recipe for cultish devotion. No matter. You'd made it out. And, well, fool me twice...

______________________________________________________________

Part of the beauty of working from home is that you could do whatever you wanted most of the day–no pants, no bra, watching the news or TV during lunch, calling Emily whenever you wanted.

You made yourself a sandwich and sat on the couch, turning on the news so that you could fiddle around with your laptop but still have some background noise.

You were scrolling through an article on the best laundry detergents when the reporter mentioned something about La Plata County. You glanced up and turned up the volume. Wasn't that where Emily and Spencer were?

"What is reportedly being called a routine questions and answers meeting by Colorado Child Services has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a fringe religious group known as the Separatarian Sect. The raid on the compound..."

Your heart started to pound. Maybe you'd gotten the name of the county wrong, and Emily wasn't even close. But she had said she was visiting a religious compound and that she was going with Children's Services...

Breathing rapidly, you pulled out your phone and called Emily. Straight to voicemail. You called her again. No answer. You tried to calm yourself down–no need to panic until you knew for sure. You sent Emily a quick text:

Hey love💕 You haven't been forced into a Waco situation have you? The news is going CRAZY. Please text or call when you get a second so I know you're okay. I love you❤️

You moved your work stuff into the living room, piling it on the coffee table and keeping the volume on the news up. You felt sick to your stomach, but tried to stay calm. There was no reason to think Emily was there. Colorado was a huge state. Probably dozens of religious sects. Why would she be at that one? But the longer you went without a text or call from Emily, the more anxious you grew.

______________________________________________________________

You managed to make it about three hours before losing your goddamned mind with worry. You texted Emily again, called her again, left her an angry voicemail about how people shouldn't worry their girlfriends like this, all with no response. You'd tried Derek, too, but no luck.

Your leg bounced up and down, and you could feel tears forming at the corners of your eyes. You found one of Emily's sweatshirts in the hamper and pulled it over your shirt, balling yourself up on the couch and breathing in the scent of her. She's okay, you told yourself over and over. She's okay, she's okay, she's okay.

A breaking news alert on the TV prompted another update on the La Plata County situation. Your head shot up, and you turned the volume up, not wanting to miss a thing.

"...tactical team into a forced retreat after losing a 30-minute gun battle with sect members. Nobody knows for sure how many people are inside, but it is believed that at least three of the child service members are still trapped in the compound."

You didn't sleep that night. Not even for a moment. You sat on the couch late into the night, waiting for updates on the standoff. With each hour that passed without contact from Emily, you were more and more sure that it was her and Spencer in the compound. You'd tried calling a few more times, but the calls seemed pointless, knowing where she was. You'd waited until a decent hour the next morning to call other team members again–Derek, Penelope, JJ. No one had answered, and you'd only grown more terrified. You were scared to know for sure, but you needed to.

You looked down at your phone and took a deep breath, looking at the one number you'd resisted calling so far: Hotch. You knew Emily'd given you his number for emergencies only, but what was this if not an emergency?

The phone dialed for a few moments before picking up.

"Hotchner."

"Where is she!?" you demanded, all the emotion and fear you'd been putting off for the last day rushing to the forefront.

"Y/N," he sighed, and you could tell just by his voice. "She's–"

"Don't lie to me, Hotch! She's in that compound, isn't she?"

Hotch's words were calm, determined. "We're gonna get her out."

"Don't lie to me." Your voice shook, tears slipping down your face.

"Y/N, I swear to you, I will get her out."

"Okay," you whispered, feeling small and scared.

"I'll call as soon as I can to let you know she's okay, but it's gonna take some time."

"Thank you." You dashed tears from your eyes, sniffling.

"Of course."

The line clicked off and you sat in stunned silence for a few minutes, watching the repeated footage of the compound flash by on the TV. Emily was in there. Emily was in there. And there wasn't a damn thing you could do about it.

You paced back and forth for a while, waiting and waiting for news updates, then decided that all this waiting was futile. If Emily couldn't get home to you, you'd go to her. You booked yourself on the next flight to Durango, packed just the essentials, and ran out the door, filling Sergio's bowl and making a mental note to text a friend to check in on him if you were gone for more than a day or two.

______________________________________________________________

The hours you were in the air–with nothing but shitty airplane WiFi service–were the worst for you. You refreshed the live news page over and over again, terrified that at any moment, you'd hear news of a mass death.

When you finally got to Durango that night, you drove the rental car as close to the compound as you could, but ATF had it locked down for miles. For now, this was a close to Emily as you could get.

You booked a nearby hotel and, still wrapped in Emily's sweatshirt, sat moon-faced and bleary-eyed on the edge of the bed, watching the news, and waiting, waiting, waiting.

You'd nearly drifted off to sleep when the room filled with a blinding white-orange light. Your eyes grew wide as you watched the screen. The compound went up in flames, debris flying far and wide.

"Oh my god," you said, covering your mouth. "Oh my god."

You ran to the bathroom and vomited, then sat on the cool floor, shaking. You coughed as you hyperventilated, unable to get enough air into your lungs. You wrapped your hands around your head, rocking. There was no way. No way someone would have survived an explosion like that.

You felt like your heart was being ripped apart. It was the hope that hurt the most. The maybe she hadn't been in there? But almost certainly she was. Maybe she was okay? But probably she wasn't. Most likely, she didn't even exist anymore, had gone up in smoke with the rest of the compound, the thought of which made you vomit again. You couldn't fathom it, couldn't envision a world without Emily. You needed her. You hunched on the floor of the hotel room, leaning into the bed, and waited. Waited for news of Emily's death. You hoped that Hotch would call you first. It'd be so much easier to hear it from him, but the reporters were like vultures, and they often got the news first.

______________________________________________________________

At the compound, a deeply battered Emily, now running out of adrenaline, leaned heavily on Hotch as he walked her to an ambulance.

"You don't have to come with me," she told him, her voice gravelly. "It's not that bad."

"Prentiss, you can barely walk," Hotch protested, watching in concern as she winced climbing into the ambulance. "I wish you'd get on a stretcher."

"I am on a stretcher." Emily gave him a little wave from where she now lay, an EMT strapping her in and taking her vitals.

"I meant before now." Hotch smiled slightly. His team was beat up, but they'd be okay.

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts. "You need to make a call," he told Emily, putting the phone on speaker as it dialed.

"Oh, god," Emily groaned. "She's gotta be worried sick."

When you picked up, your voice was timid, rough with emotion.

"Hotch?" you whispered, terrified of what he might tell you.

"Hi, honey," Emily said, her voice heavy with love and exhaustion. It hit her, all of a sudden, that there was a good chance she might not have made it out. That she would never have seen you again. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

"Em!" you cried between sobs. "Are you okay!? Are you hurt!?"

"I'm a little banged up, but I'll make it."

"You scared the shit out of me!" you yelled, equal parts furious at her for putting her life in danger and relieved that she was okay. Emotions tumbled through your body like ocean waves.

Emily smiled and wiped a few tears from under her eyes. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Is Spencer there? Is he okay, too?"

Emily exhaled shakily. "Yeah, he's fine. We're all fine."

"Where are you?"

"Uh, in an ambulance."

"Which hospital are they taking you to?" you asked, pulling on your shoes and grabbing your keys off the hotel desk.

"Mercy?" Emily said, repeating what the EMT told her.

"I'll meet you there."

"No, honey, you don't need to come all the way here," Emily protested. "I'm okay. I'll be home in a few days."

"I'm already here, Em. Don't even try to fight me on this."

"You're here!? In Colorado?!"

"At a hotel. As close to the compound as I could get."

"You came?" Emily confirmed, her voice quiet, like she couldn't quite believe someone would love her enough to be there.

"Emily," you breathed. "Of course I did."

A few tears escaped Emily's eyes, and Hotch looked away.

"Now," you said, clearing your throat and trying to pull yourself together. "Please, please, let the doctors take care of you. I'll be there soon, okay?"

"Okay," she sniffled.

"I love you."

"I love you, too," Emily said, before hanging up and handing the phone back to Hotch.

The EMT handed her a paper towel to use as a tissue and she laughed, dabbing at her eyes and nose. "Thanks," she said.

Hotch smiled, watching her.

"What?" she said.

"She really loves you."

"I know."

______________________________________________________________

At the hospital, Emily heard you before she saw you. You were the first thing she heard after waking up from surgery, and she couldn't help but smile. You were giving the nurses a run for their money, which was saying something. You were usually so patient, so accommodating. Not today.

"Look," you railed at the nurse's station. "I've been in the waiting room for hours! I have been awake for three days straight, and my girlfriend has been a cult hostage that whole time! I am not in the mood to be held hostage too! Take me to her now, or I swear to god I will get the fucking FBI director on the line."

Emily's face brightened when you came in the room, but yours fell. She looked awful. Her face was bruised and swollen, bandages covered her body, and her arm was in a cast.

"Oh, Em," you said, your voice breaking, as you grabbed her hand, pressing your palm gently to her cheek.

"I'm okay." But she wasn't, and you could tell.

"It's okay, baby," you reassured her, running your fingers gently through her hair. "You don't have to be okay now, alright? I'm here. I'm here to take care of you."

Her breath hitched, and you could tell she was fighting off tears. It broke your heart. She always felt like she needed to be strong. It was time to let someone else be strong for a change.

You lowered the railing of the hospital bed, and lifted yourself in, gently pulling Emily into you. She grasped desperately at your shirt and fought off sobs.

"Shh," you whispered, cradling her head. "Let it out, love. I'm right here. You're safe now."

You held her while she cried, heartbroken that she'd been so scared and so hurt and, yet, proud that she handled it like no one else in the world could. And for neither the first time nor the last, you felt the immense weight and honor of being someone Emily Prentiss felt safe enough to break down with.

When she quieted, you rocked her and held her and placed small, gentle kisses on her head, trying to convey all your love for her, all your protectiveness toward her through osmosis.

You remembered, quite suddenly, the last conversation you'd had before Emily left, about cults.

"I told you," you whispered, giggling.

"Told me what?"

"That it was easy to get dragged into a cult."

"That is not the same," Emily argued, playfully shoving you. "I was held hostage. You were just dumb."

"Ouch."

"You didn't hoard weapons or anything, did you?"

"No," you scoffed. "Of course not."

"Well, what'd you do?" she pressed.

"What do you mean?"

"You said you did some illegal shit in the cult, so what did you do?"

"Oh," you laughed. "Nothing too serious. We bugged some people's rooms, recorded conversations."

"...Why?"

"We thought they were in cahoots with the devil."

Emily laughed, then grabbed her ribs, wincing. "'Cahoots with the devil!?' God, I'm so glad I found you after your religious days."

"What can I say? You get the very best of me."

Emily beamed up at you, pulling you down by your collar to kiss you. You stayed gentle and soft, mindful of her split lip and bruised face.

You held your forehead to hers, breathing in her scent. That familiar Emily scent that you'd been so sure you'd never get again.

"Don't ever scare me like that again," you whispered.

"I won't," Emily said, burying her face in your chest.

"Don't lie to me."

You felt her smile into your skin. "I'll try."

You sighed and grinned. "I guess that'll do. But only because I love you so much."

[magnoliabutters]

• THOUGHT YOU DIDN'T CARE •

pairing: joel miller x (18+, she/her) reader

summary: joel and ellie are tasked to move a package from jackson to san diego. little did they know you were the "cargo..."

warnings: 18+ content, mdni, adult language, cordycep apocalypse related violence & weapons, canon divergence, tlou part 1 & 2 spoilers; angst, medium to slow burn, pet names, voyuerism, sub!joel and dom!reader, age gap in pairing, masturbation, etc.

word count: ~6.3k

support your writer: reblogs for daddy joel ✨🌿

request: by @yourmomsmilfmistress; katrina babes, i have another idea!!! i was thinking something along the lines of (whatever male character you want/ im not picky) is OBSESSED with reader and one day after a torturous hangout he starts to 🍆💦 ( ya know) after she leaves and for some reason it's not working and it's like he's just edging himself but (of course) reader comes and walks in on it and it's like sub!male and dom!reader smut!!!

note: um… most definitely. the way i thought of joel freaking miller instantly. sub male? common now 😈 we are set in a post-tlou part 2 world where no one died, abby who?, and ellie lives happily on the farm (aka 20+ age). also, loosely following the plot of part 1. for visuals of characters, i am moving forward with what we’ve seen so far of hbo’s part one and game’s part two casting. although as it’s older ellie, i went with video game looks. hopefully that makes sense. enjoy my fellow hoes ⚡️

Don't tell them your name. Just tell them you're there to see Maria.

His words keep running through your head as you gallop atop your trusted steed, Horse. He told you, repeatedly, that they will find you - not the other way around. All you needed to do was get to the vicinity of Jackson County. Well, you are about a mile into said county and you haven't come across a single person. Let alone, a single runner.

The two things cannot co-exist this far from the cities. If there are no runners or clickers, then there must be people. If there are infected, there are no people. But emptiness? That is something unheard of. It puts you on edge. You swear you want to just yell, yell to draw something out. But that would be stupid. You don't know how many are out here ... people or infected.

You hop over a razor wired fence in the middle of the road. Its height hits a the top of your knee. Perfect stop runners. Your first sign that people have been in this neck of the woods. The deeper you get into Jackson County, you wonder why all you need to say is "I'm here to see Maria." Would these people attack you and saying those words would be the only thing to stop them? Or are they dumb enough to bring just about anyone back into their town? You have absolutely no clue what he has signed you up for.

Fear stands your hairs on end. It fuels your adrenaline and heart as Horse guides you into an opened field. On the main road, you read a sign that displays "surface may be icy." You're thankful you were assigned this job in the middle of July. In front of you, you note green ivory glued to the brick walls of an old music store. The roads were shit, as usual. Cracks and bumps from overgrowth and lack of maintenance. You hope they are not too rough on Horse's shoes. She had them switched out in Colorado, back when you saw your people last.

Horse abruptly stops. Harsh enough for your full body to push up against her back. "Fuck," you grumble with a hand to your head. "What the hell?" You slowly open your eyes to note the clicker before you. With widening eyes, you swiftly reach to unhook your knife from the saddle. As quiet as a mouse, you hop off of the pillion and carefully land your feet on the grass below. You side step as you make your way closer. its clicks grow louder as it uses its echolocation in the opposite direction.

Your eyes are constantly moving, wondering if there are any other infected around. There is luckily no movement. Just one single clicker. The fungi sporadically growing throughout its body. The cordyceps on full display on its face - if you can even call it a face. In your last two steps, you rush up to it. You hook your arm over its chest. Your fingers curve over its shoulder as you grip tightly against the rough flesh. With your other hand, you stab your knife into the crook of its neck. It quickly became limp in your arms. You let slide off your body and ultimately onto the road.

"Drop the knife," you hear behind you. The voice is rough and booming. You gradually put your hands up. You drop the knife, careful to have it fall upon its hilt and not its blade. "On your knees," it bellows. You laugh, tilting your head to the side. "No can do," you scoff. "I only get on my knees when I want to." The man behind you laughs as he slowly walks up to you. His boots crunching against the dirt and gravel.

"On your knees," another voice appears. Despite its higher tone, it is just as rough. A smile grows upon your face as you carefully drop to your knees. "Oh for you, of course," you mutter to the woman. She quickly grabs hold of your wrist and places it behind your back. Her grip harsh and tight. You release a laugh as you lean back into your captor. "I'm here for Maria," you mutter.

Abruptly, the movements behind you stop. The grasp remains tight. "Maria?" the exasperated man's voice pushes through the air. His boots' steps become faster as he rushes behind you. "Why?" the woman asks. You feel the cool head of a gun at the back of your neck. "Hey, hey, hey," you furiously mumble. "I-I'm a smuggler. I'm with a group of people who told me Maria owes them one. I just got sent here for her to pay the debt."

The gun is pressed harder against your neck. "What debt?" the man's voice asks. You move your head to the side, attempting to pull yourself away from the gun's focused point. The gun holder makes sure it stays against your skin despite your movements. "I don't even know, man. I was just sent here. They told me to say 'I'm here for Maria' and that she would know what to do," you spit out.

You hear the man pace behind you. He sighs heavily. His voice hushed as he speaks towards the woman. "I don't feel good about this, El," he whispers. "Does she have any people in her past?" the woman asks. "Not that I know of," he says as those steps draw closer once more. You are suddenly pushed to the ground. You cut up your chin as you couldn't catch yourself in time. "Fuck," you mutter into the ground. "Your name," he mumbles. "I don't have time for games." You yell as your palms lay flat against the surface. "Rita," you quickly lie.

"Alright, Rita," the man's voice bustles behind you. "Let's go." Next thing you knew, a bag was pulled over your head. Your head was then banged against the hard rubber bedding of a truck.

They grip against the bag over your head so hard that it pulls on some of your hair as it uncovers your face. Your eyes slowly blink to adjust to the light. "Shit," you grumble as you relax your arms, only to realize that you were tied to a chair. Rope. Fuck, you think. Rope hurts the most.

"Now, Rita, I'm not going to ask again. Why are you here for Maria?" The familiar voice asks. You squint to look in his direction. A latino man with slicked black hair crouches before you. You look behind him to recognize that you were in a stable - a wooden stable. There is hay all over the floor, but no horses. What kind of stable doesn't have horses? As your eyes trail back towards your feet, you note red splotches staining the wooden floor below you. "Damn it," you whisper the elongated swear under your breath. You know exactly what kind of place this is.

"I told you already, man," you whine. "My people didn't tell me shit. Just that I was assigned a job and Maria owed a ride." You look into the brown eyes staring holes into your face. "I'm here to collect on that ride," you whisper. "To where?" the man asks. "I'll tell Maria ... once I get my ride," you answer with a smirk. The man raises his fist as his upper lip tenses. You wince at the sight.

“Tommy!” You recognize the woman’s voice as he holds back his fist. She walks out from the darkness of one of the stables. You smile at the sight. She looks younger than you. Her reddish brown hair gave you goosebumps. Her eyes a greenish blueish grey. Something you would have envied as a child. She some how looks sweet, but also has clearly endured so much in her short time.

“So, we have Tommy,” you share as you nod towards the man. “And El,” you murmur as you look up to her. You smile - a smile that El winces at. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” you sigh as you attempt to shrug against the chair. “I don’t want to give anyone grief. I just need to talk to-” Suddenly, a remarkable woman bursts through the doors. Another man at her side. Her eyes serious and hellbent. Her skin a deep and beautiful brown. She is undeniably gorgeous, and surprisingly pregnant. She definitely had the glow, complete with her large firmed bump. “Tommy, what the hell is this?” she asks sternly.

Maria, you think. They never gave you a picture, but you knew from the second she commanded that room. The second both Tommy and El backed away from you. Their hands either up or open at their sides. She was in charge. And she was headed right for you. “Maria,” you say with a sing songy voice. Her head shoots your way. “I need a ride.”

Maria stares down at your smile. Her upper lip pulls, just like Tommy’s. “Where?” she asks calmly. “San Diego,” you answer. “San Diego?” she scoffs. “I don’t owe them that much.” You tilt your head, smiling to yourself. “Well, someone thinks you do,” you smirk. Tommy grunts as he steps towards you. Maria quickly puts out an arm across his chest.

With a sigh, she returns her gaze to you. Her arm still across his chest. You are curious about those two. “I obviously can’t take you myself,” she mutters. “Obviously,” you affirm as you nod towards her stomach. “I’ll find you someone. You’ll leave in the morning,” she says carelessly. She turns around and speaks to her people. “Untie her,” she says under her breath.

The man who walked in with her quickly follows through with her demand. You rub your wrists and forearms where the rope’s red rings pressed into your skin. You stand with the devil’s smile across your face. El is the first to walk up to you, while Tommy’s eyes are still daggers. “Hey, sorry,” she says as she rubs the back of her neck. “Things didn’t go so well the last time a new person asked about one of our people.” You hum as you nod. “Make sense,” you say under your breath as you return your gaze to Tommy.

“Maria’s his wife,” El adds as she follows your eyes. “He’s been extra sensitive, given the baby and all.” You smile at her words. She pulls your attention. “It’s also Ellie by the way,” she mumbles. She gestures goodbye and walks out. “Rita?” the man asks. You look at him with confusion. “My name’s Jesse. Come on, follow me.” With hesitation, you follow the tall man out into the dark night.

Your eyes quickly fall upon the string lights crossing from building to building. It is so beautiful your mouth gapes open. “We have a small bed and breakfast for travelers,” he shares as he points to a building at the end of the street. “Shit - a bed and breakfast?” you scoff under your breath. As you walk, you note the happy and clean people randomly walking about. They are loud - comfortably loud. It must be nice.

“Where you from?” Jesse asks. His gaze stuck on you. “I don’t do small talk,” you say with a weak smile. “I don’t mean to be rude.” He laughs, raising his hands. “No, I get it. Just trying to make conversation,” he answers. “Oh, well if we’re making conversation, tell me what your favorite color is,” you teasingly laugh. He chuckles, shooting you a sweet smile. “Orange,” he scoffs. “You?” You nod, smiling as you step onto the front deck of this apparent bed and breakfast. “Green.”

With quick goodbyes, you go inside and easily secure your room. The room is on the first floor. Inside the small space, you have a worn down desk, chair, and bed. Your pack is already resting against the foot of the bed frame. You grab the back of the chair and hook it underneath the door’s knob. You turn the lock and deadbolt the door. When you finally lay back to rest, you reflect on your day. It didn’t go as well as you had hoped - as you had been told. But at least you are alive. At least you are on your way to San Diego.

After the best sleep of your life, Jesse led you to a building across the way. Maria, Tommy, Ellie, Jesse, another woman and a man sit alongside a long dinner table. The woman appears sweet. She sits closely to Ellie. The man is something else. His demeanor laid back, like he had no care in the world. His face kind, but also worn thin after years of this shit world. You can immediately see through the facade and know he is good. But damn does he give off such a strong guard dog vibe. He has random patches of grey amongst his black hair and beard. His eyes dark, but youthful. You struggle to keep your eyes off of him. He watches you, though. He sized you up as soon as you walked through the door.

“Rita,” Maria calls out. You are too busy attempting to watch him through your eye lashes. “Rita,” she says louder. You quickly turn your attention to her. Only now remembering that Rita was the name you gave them. “Yes,” you answer with high energy. “These are my best people,” she shares. “I want Joel and Ellie on this.” Ellie sits up straight, shocked as she exchanges looks with the girl beside her. The two begin to discuss in hushed tones. The man abruptly turns towards Maria, disingenuously laughing under his breath. “No, Maria,” he scoffs. “That ain’t happening.” The man stands, his hands firm against the table. He must be Joel. Rarely have you met someone who’s name perfectly fits them. It makes you smile.

Maria sighs as though she saw this coming. “I would go myself-” she starts. “So let me go,” Tommy interjects. Joel and Maria quickly respond “no” in unison. Maria takes a breath as she slowly looks to her partner. “I’m about to pop. You can’t go,” she whispers. “I need you.” Tommy solemnly nods as he looks back towards the rest of the group. Maria turns back to Ellie with patient eyes. “Ellie, Dina - are y’all okay with this?” she asks. Dina nods, looking at Ellie. "J.J. will be fine. You should go," she whispers. Ellie then turns to Maria and nods.

Joel's scoff could be heard from two buildings down. "This is bullshit, Maria and you know it," he yells as he slams his hand against the table. Tommy stands, pointing towards him. "Watch it, Joel," he warns through gritted teeth. Maria takes a breath as she looks between Ellie and Joel. "You two have gone across state lines more times than any of us. This should be easy as pie," she says softly. He rolls his eyes as a deep, unenthused chuckle falls from his lips. "What's the cargo?" he asks with furrowed brows as he looks off in the distance.

Maria turns towards you. She rakes over you with slight confusion and hesitation. Within a second, there was a moment where her face smoothed out. She took a breath and returned to Joel. "She is," she states with finality. Your face remains looking down the table, but your eyes travel to Joel's seat. He gradually turns to look at the group. With a guttural growl, he says, "Absolutely not." Maria throws her hands up. "Joel, they will come to collect. I will not put anyone else's life in danger," she yells.

"If they come to collect, they can take her dead body," Joel booms as he pulls a gun from his holster and points it towards your head. You remain still. Your breathing intensified as the remainder of the group stands to their feet. "Joel," Maria says softly. "We need her - whether you like it or not. We need her in San Diego." Joel exhales through his flared nostrils. His mouth tight as he looks down at you through the sights of his pistol.

"What's so important about her?" he asks as he lowers the gun. Maria sighs in relief. "I don't know," she shakes her head. "All I know is these people helped us in a pinch back when me and dad started up. They said they'd come to collect and all they needed was a team to get something to San Diego." Tommy watches her intently. It must have been the first time she shared this with him. "I've seen what these people have done when groups don't pay up, Joel," she mutters. "We will not win that fight without losing everything."

Joel sucks his tongue against the back of his teeth. He holsters his gun and walks towards the front door. He hooks a backpack over his shoulder and turns back towards the group. "Ellie?" he asks as he slowly opens the door. You turn to watch Ellie kiss Dina. She presses her head against hers and whispers things you cannot make out. They separate with a strong embrace. Ellie walks towards Joel. "You coming, Rita?" she calls out behind her. You stand immediately. Your shocked eyes fall upon Maria and Tommy as you attempt to process everything that has happened in the past few minutes. You grab your pack and walk out to meet the pair in the street.

Ellie watches Joel with trust and a hint of distaste. You wonder about their story. As you walk up, the two stop talking and turn to look at you. "Hello," you greet awkwardly. "While we're out there, you do exactly what I say - when I say. Understand?" Joel says sternly as he points a finger in your face. How could those sweet eyes simultaneously look so threatening? "Understood," you whisper under your breath as you exchange looks with Ellie.

Joel quickly turns and heads straight to what looks like a mechanic's garage. "Does he always have a stick up his ass?" you ask as you skip to catch up with Ellie. She smiles, nervously biting her lip. "At first," she mutters under her breath as her eyes remain on him. "The Chevy," he asks a man standing behind the desk. He promptly hands him keys without question. You nod, noting how nice it must be to live in Jackson.

"Chevy, huh?" you say, attempting to start a conversation with the man. Joel completely ignores you as he slides the keys into the door handle. "Nice try, but he's not going to crack for a while," Ellie whispers in your ear as she walks to the other side of the truck. You laugh as you open the side door and hop into the backseat. "Seatbelt," he says softly as he points Ellie's way. "Oh," she mutters as she slides it over her body and clips it at her side.

The three of you sat in silence for the first hour of the trip. It was unbearably boring. Wyoming's sights were not as incredible outside of Jackson county. You wish you could sleep, but did not trust the two enough to even try. "Joel," Ellie starts but continues to laugh. "Remember when we cleared this hotel. Remember the tomatoes?" She laughs so hard that she holds her stomach. She leans fully against the passenger seat as she kicks her feet up. You swear you watch Joel crack a smile as he watches the girl burst into a laughing fit. You wish you got a better look.

"What happened with the tomatoes?" you curiously ask Ellie. She turns, struggling to speak between laughs. As she starts, Joel quickly interrupts her. "Don't tell her anything. She's cargo, nothing more," he instructs. Ellie sinks into her chair. Her expression perplexed as she seemed excited to share. "Just cargo, huh?" you taunt. His face remains still as he eyes focus on the road. "Wow, you Jackson people are the sweetest I've ever met," you say sarcastically. "Maybe I should just dip out on this trip. I can probably make it on my own."

Joel quickly slams against the breaks. Your shoulder digs into the back of his seat as you let out a stunned groan. "What the hell?!" you yell. "We are taking you to San Diego, or we are taking your body," he turns to say with stern eyes. You place distance between you two. A sudden rush of alertness and danger bursting through your body. "Let me be clear. I don't care if you're dead or alive by the end of this trip. We are paying off Maria's debt," he seethes. "I'd recommend shutting up if you plan to get there alive."

You suck your tongue against your cheek as you laugh under your breath. You lean back harshly against the back of your seat. "Eyes on the road, asshole," you say as you nonchalantly gesture towards the street. He rolls his eyes as he faces forward behind the wheel. He presses on the gas gradually. Ellie sits in awkward silent with a tight lip. She finds comfort in looking out the window.

Less than a week has gone by and you are barely crossing the border into Utah. In each passing day, you learn something new about Ellie. She loves to draw. She met her partner, Dina, on the first day she got to Jackson. Her son is named after Jesse and Joel. She calls him her "potato" - an incredible nickname you find endearing. The days are starting to blend together, but Ellie remains a highlight of each.

Joel, on the other hand, has remained annoyingly silent. He solely speaks to Ellie. If he does choose to talk to you, it is usually some demand where he forgot how to say "please." He is abundantly cold. It is infuriating. Here and there, you catch him staring your way. His glimpses seem familiar, as opposed to his usual and intentional looks of anger.

He never looks at your eyes, but his gaze tends to fall on your lips and hair. Any time you caught his eye line, he would immediately look away. The way his gaze lingered on you always left you in a ball of confusion. You thought you would have been on edge, being stared at for hours on end. Yet, you loved it. It made you feel seen. It made you feel beautiful. If he wasn't so vocal about his disapproval, you would think he had a "thing" for you. For now, you just enjoy his looks - hoping they are filled with adoration and not hatred.

Luckily for the three of you, communication was not needed as much when taking out the infected. The trio even came across a group of clickers a day ago. Without saying a word, the three put on their gas masks and stepped into the spores. They could all hear the clicking echoing through the old and damaged walls. With only nods and looks, the three separated and silently took down each clicker.

You turned to look at them with excitement. “That was awesome!” you said joyously. “Very SWAT-team.” Ellie was kind enough to crack a smile as she cleaned her blade on the side of her jeans. You turned to Joel, waiting for any reaction. He gave you absolutely nothing. He shook off the blood on his machete and gracefully placed it back onto his backpack. He then immediately moved toward the cabinets in front of him to search for supplies. God, did he really not have a sense of humor?

Tonight, you find yourself resting beside Ellie in a closed off room. The day was once again filled with ambiguous look exchanges with Joel. Your body aches from taking out runners. You wonder if you'll be in pain for the entire trip. The room rests at the end of a long hallway with no other entrances or exits. The only doorway to the outside was located at the end of the hallway and was guarded by the one, Joel Miller. You continued to wrestle with sleep as you lay uncomfortably in your sleeping bag. You have now spent hours staring at the plant infested ceiling. Ellie, luckily, rests peacefully at your side. She felt safe enough to put earbuds in to help her sleep. Another thing of hers to be jealous of.

After a few hours, you decide that it will most likely be impossible for you to sleep tonight. You quietly stand and put your pajama shorts over your undies. You open the door into the hallway. It's long corridor was scarier at night. You pull your flashlight from your pocket. Clicking it on, you remind yourself that the only door is at the very front. You would undeniably see if anyone entered the dark hallway with you.

As you reach the end of the hall, you begin to hear quiet moans coming from the other side of the door. Your mind quickly rushes to the thought of a runner making their way inside. But once you hear slight heavy breathing and groans, you immediately recognize that the sounds were coming from Joel. Excitement bursts through your chest as you press your ear against the door. You could not have imagined a better sound escaping his lips. His groans sound so sweet, so supple. You wish you could be the reason they fall from his lips.

You nervously turn back to see that the door at the other end of the lengthy hallway remained close. There was no way anyone would be able to hear at the other end. Not unless they were right where you were standing. With a smile, you hear his breathing louden. You wish you could see him. See his brows pulling together as his mouth hangs open. You wish you could watch him stroking himself. You would bet on your life that his cock was large and girthy. You have been stealing glances of it beneath his tight jeans.

Your mouth starts to water as you hear his moans grow louder. It takes all your strength and will not to burst through the doorway and beg him to let you help. God, would you absolutely beg for that man - without question. You wonder who's on his mind. Who could possibly be the lucky person whom he is wanking off to? Your legs feel weak. You actually contemplate sitting down and playing with yourself alongside his intoxicating moans.

“Oh, Rita,” you hear fall from his mumbling lips. Your entire body lights up with pleasure. He is thinking about you… Your legs buckle beneath you as you struggle to stay standing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you hear escape his lips. He must be close. You swear you can hear the slapping against his skin. All your blood rushes towards your clit. You want him - bad.

Out of no where, Joel stops. You hear a sound of frustration but remain curious. Was he edging himself? Shit. Why is that even hotter? you think to yourself. His moans slowly start again. Your mouth hangs open as you tighten your knees together. The friction feels good but it’s definitely not enough. You wish you could touch him. You wish he would be muttering your name as your hand strokes his dick. You wish his big hands could hold your head down as you take all of him in your mouth.

Almost as though you two were connected, Joel’s moans started to repeat more and more. His breathing heavies as your knees tighten harsher and harsher against themselves. Your clit now pulsating, desperate for stimulation. You cover your mouth, hoping your own gasping breaths were not loud enough to hear in the other room.

His voice strains as he gets closer and closer. He mumbles again, “Yes, Rita.” Shit, why aren’t you already in there? Your entire body is on fire but, oh, so nervous. You hear his skin slapping against each other. His moans growing louder. You hear a bump against the wall. His voice begins to break. God, he’s so fucking close.

“Oh baby just like that,” Joel whines. “Cum for me,” you whisper on repeat. Then silence fills the air. You worry if he might have heard you. You’re sure that him catching you listening in is so much worse than you catching him jacking off. “Damn it,” he yells softly with a grunt. That’s when you realize he isn’t edging on purpose. It seems like he can’t get past that final push. To release all that pent up energy.

You could help him. You know you want to. It’s the right thing to do. He must be in so much pain - all swollen down there, thinking about you. You would be helping him. You are so selfless. With a deep breath for courage, you quickly knock and open the door.

You spot Joel in his jean shirt. His legs are spread wide while he sits, bare, on the couch. His pants wrapped around his ankles as he holds his lengthy cock in one hand. His head rests back onto his other. As he hears the door creak open, he nervously grabs hold of a pillow and covers himself. You have never once seen shock and worry on the man’s face until now.

“Shit,” he yells as he scrambles to cover himself. You play dumb, covering your gaping mouth with your hand. “I’m so sorry Joel,” you whisper. “I-I thought I heard my name so I came out here,” you slyly taunt as you end with a smirk. Joel’s usual annoyed face returns as he realizes you know the truth. “Why didn’t you just come get me?” you ask innocently as you sit on the arm rest of his couch.

Joel watches you in confusion as he recognizes your advances. “I shouldn’t have done this, I’m-” he starts. You swiftly interrupt, “No need for apologies. I’m just confused is all.” You gracefully fall beside him. Your bare thigh touching his. The tips of your fingers dance atop his thigh. His grip onto the pillow covering his unit grows tighter by the second. “I thought you didn’t care about me,” you whisper as you lean closer to his face. You are now still, a few inches from his face.

"We don't have to do this," Joel mutters. His teeth locked as he watches you. He must think he's in danger. No, its quite the opposite. "Do what, Joel?" you ask as you pull away from him. You note a chair across from him. His backpack is sprawled over it. You carefully carry the backpack and place it closer to him. To show him that you are not something to be scared of. You then turn to sit in the chair. Your legs spread open as you bite your lip. Your eyes rake over the vulnerable man in front of you.

Joel watches you. He takes in shaky breaths. It is almost as though he is more nervous, now that he understands your intent. "Don't stop on my accord," you say as you gesture towards him. You slowly cross your leg over the other, batting him off with your eye lashes. You gently laugh as you watch him sit still, uncomfortable. "Oh, I get it," you murmur with a nod. "You need help." You watch your shoulder as you slowly push your spaghetti strap off it. You do the same with the other side. When you look back at him, a smirk is shown across your face.

His eyes are darker than normal. He still holds the pillow firmly against the skin between his legs. "Don't stop, Miller," you whisper as you slowly pull your shirt up. You expose your breasts to the cool air. Your nipples immediately harden. He involuntarily bites his lip as his eyes grow full of wonder. With that, he gradually pulls the cover off and shows his enormous cock. You start salivating. Fuck, you knew it would be big.

Joel's thumb starts to move slowly up and down his shaft. His eyes now fully on you. No pulling away this time. Pleasure fills your chest as you raise your chin and open your mouth. You lick your lips, hell-bent on tasting him. He starts to smile between soft moans. His rubbing becoming quicker as your hands calmly travel up your stomach and to your tits.

His breathing shakes harder as your fingers circle your nipples. Your tongue resting gently against your bottom lip. He loves it. His moans become louder as he watches you. "Oh baby," escapes his lips as he watches your sensual movements. "The name's y/n," you whisper. You smile at the shock spreading across his face. "I want to make sure you're moaning the right girl's name this time."

"Your name's y/n," Joel mutters under his breath. His movements stop as he watches you gradually open your legs. Your shorts clearly expose your inner thighs. It shows enough to give him the slightest sneak peek. "And your name is Joel," you coo. “Does that change anything?” He scoffs. A smile spreads across his face. First time you’ve seen it and shit is it beautiful. “Not a single thing,” he mutters. “Then rub one out for me, daddy,” you whisper as your hand travels down your stomach and atop your shorts.

Joel presses his tongue against his cheek as his smile grows larger. His hand starts to rub against his hardened cock. His fingers wrapped around his girth. You bite your lip. You wish it was your hand, but you are not giving up control. “Yeah, start slow,” you murmur as you adjust in your seat. His eyes track you. His eye line at your lips, waiting for the words to just flow out.

His breathing intensifies as he drops his jaw in excitement. “Ooo, just like that,” you whisper as you try to maintain deep breaths. Your clit begins to pulsate. Begging you to jump atop of him. “What next, y/n?” he asks with a gaping mouth. He fully enunciates your name with a smirk at the end. You laugh as your brows bounce. “Hm,” you think aloud. Your finger tapping against your chin. “Have your other hand play with your balls.”

Joel’s brow raises as he’s slightly taken aback. “Don’t make me say it twice,” you playfully seethe through your teeth. He sighs with a smile as his other hand moves from atop his thigh. He cups his balls slowly. A thumb rubbing between them. You suck in a deep breath as you adjust again in your sit. You can’t get comfortable. Your body screams that the only seat you want is on his lap.

His lower jaw keeps moving as deep breaths fall from his lips. “Shit,” he breathes. His eyes close ever so slightly. “Mmm’such a good boy,” you whisper. “Let me hear you.” He gasps as the muscles in his legs begin to tighten. He lets out a low moan. One so deep your entire body shakes. You let out a hesitant breath as your hand covers your mouth. You are trying so hard to keep in control, to be the dominant one - but shit did you want him to wreck your pussy so badly.

“I know you can moan louder than that,” you murmur with a grin. Joel softly laughs and quickens his movements. His breath is fast. His eyes closed. He sits up straighter. His hand slaps against his skin. You spot precum falling from his tip. “Shit,” you mumble under your breath. His head starts to fall back. It rests against the wall. He moves faster and faster. You squeeze your thighs together, holding your breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he whines. You could just about faint. “God, you’re going to make me cum, y/n.” You dig your nails into your thighs. You want nothing more than to see this gorgeous man cum all over himself. “Cum for me, Joel,” you whisper in excitement. Your entire body feels on fire. Goosebumps travel throughout your skin. “I want your big cock deep inside me, Joel. Please cum for me,” you gripe in an innocent voice.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel moans as his brows pull together. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter than before. You hear his voice raise in pitch. Higher and higher as his body moves faster and faster. You note him thrusting into his own hand. He looks so strong. He would feel so good thrusting inside of you. Finally, his breathing fastens and he starts to moan louder than before.

“I’m cumming. I’m cumming, y/n,” he whisper yells as his body tenses up. You immediately rush in front of him. You sit on your knees as you watch the show, up close and personal. Beads of cum stream down his elongated cock as he strokes firmly. You place much effort in keeping your hands to your sides. You watch as his breaths begin to slow.

“Fuck, Joel,” you say breathless. His eyes start to open. He lets out a gentle laugh through his smiling face. You crawl between his legs. His smile quickly falling as he curiously watches you. There you sit, his softened unit before you. “Your turn to help me, Miller,” you say as you bite your lips. His smile re-emerges as his hand pushes your shoulder back towards the ground. His body slides over you until his face hovers above yours. “Yes, ma’am,” Joel whispers as he plants a kiss on your lips so hard, yet so soft, that you completely fall head over heels for the man.

note: whatcha think? joel screams sub and fuck do i love it. also episode 3?? can someone just cry with me about that real quick? shall there be a part two? 🤫

*edit: there shall be & here it is

taglist: @fan-fiction-floozy, @dirtydianaahah

reblogs are much appreciated! feel free to comment or message if you’d like to join a tag list! 🌿✨🌿

• nav • no-no plagiarism • one shot • requests open •

[ghostaholics]

ᴇɴᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇs

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader Warning(s): age-gap (reader probably in mid 20s or so); angst A/N: Because I'm too lazy to write a full fic so here's literally a short piece of what I'm sure would've been something if I had the motivation

JOEL ALWAYS SAID THIS ABOUT YOU – born young enough to grow up in a world that had nothing to offer; you didn’t watch it decay like he did where it used to be half-decent and you could find your place in life before everything went to shit – had grown into something inhospitable and terrible and bitter to the core. No, to you, it was just rotten from the very beginning: broken dreams and scattered ashes littering the filthy ground, a bunch of "what-ifs" and "maybes" and no room for shades of gray when it came to seeing things in black and white because the darkness won out and snuffed out the rest of all that was light and good as the sickness descended like the goddamn Rapture; it wasn’t just the infected that remained – the only people left navigating the wreckage were those with cruel hearts and nasty intentions.

"Well, it's not all that awful," you say, murmuring into the opening of your thermos as you stare fixedly at the last the last few remnants of stew at the bottom. "You're here. I guess that sorta makes up for it."

His figure is hunched over the fire he recently smothered. Even though his back is facing you, the tension in his body is apparent. Rigid – the same way he stiffens up when danger's nearby. "Don't say that kinda stuff." (And it sounds just as serious as “Stay behind me,” or “Run,” whenever hell’s at your both of your guys' heels.)

But you keep on rambling anyways – Pandora's box cracked wide open like a gaping maw that spills secrets, ones that should have never been let out – won’t fucking shut up about it even if you can help it now. And maybe it's not fair to put this kind of burden on him; maybe it's selfish of you to tell him, no matter how wrong it is, but each day could be your last and getting this off your chest might mean one less stupid problem to worry about. It's not like he doesn't know. Not after what happened back in Colorado, anyways. That had made it clear as day if it wasn't already obvious before. "After everything we've been through, I bet you still think of me as that same kid that got under your skin when we first met," you say absentmindedly. It doesn't come out in an accusatory tone, just an observation.

The stress leaches into his voice, washing over every word. Joel's on guard. Walls up. He shakes his head slowly, like a warning. "You've got no idea what you're talking about."

You lean back, transferring your weight into your wrists. "So I'm not right, then?" you ask it innocently enough.

He's moving around, double-checking that all the gear's in place. Of course, he's avoiding any eye contact. "We've got to head out in ten. Now's not the time for this kind of conversation."

"Almost a thousand miles left. All we really have is time. Look, Joel whatever you've got to say, I can handle it. You don't need to spare my feelings.”

He’s fidgeting with his watch as if the strap’s suddenly too tight – a habit he doesn't indulge in often, but one that you've noticed once in a blue moon. Maybe he developed it because of you. Always so sure of himself, but you're the one person who's managed to upend everything. "Get your —"

" —guns are in my pack," you finish for him. It's routine at this point. He's predictable. You know what to expect. "Is it because—"

He cuts you off too. "It's a bad idea." There's a finality to his voice.

So he's thought about this before.

"We've had worse ones."

“People like you don’t end up with people like me,” he says. "Shouldn't."

And you’re taken aback because out of everything that you expected it most certainly wasn’t that.

The ticking of a secondhand, booming – can’t be his watch because that’s been shattered for years – off-rhythm, way too fast; it’s your heart thrashing violently behind the cage of your chest. You reach for him, fingers curling around his wrist. Your thumb meets his pulse point and you feel the constellation of tiny scars across the expanse of his weathered skin. He’s warm. Alive. “That’s not — Joel, c’mon, you don’t seriously believe that—”

His eyes flickers down to where the two of you are joined before dragging back up to meet your gaze. "I’m not infected like the rest of ‘em, but this disease turns men into monsters, corrupts them until they're the most twisted versions of themselves. I've done things that I'll never be able to come back from, and when we’re done here, you’re better off finding something else.”

As if you could ever. That's next to impossible. "I've seen all of the ugliest and messiest parts of you and it doesn't change a single thing. I still want you just as bad."

[gabessquishytum]

so it is Victorian Rural New England and Morpheus was just struck with what the doctors,believe to be TB. They tell his family that what he needs is fresh air and peace and quit, and to send him to a small hunting town in Colorado. It won't cure him, but it's been known to ease the effects of TB and make it livable.

Morpheus goes, but his mother is convinced that it's not actually TB, but a vampire feeding off of Morpheus, and insists he takes a thing of garlic flowers with him for protection. He does, but gets rid of them on the train. His parents are eastern European immigrants, and while his father just wants the family to blend in with American WASP society, his mother keeps their orthodox and traditional roots.

When Dream gets to Colorado, things don't look better, and his doctor even says Dream needs a blood transfusion.

The treatment it's done at is a Catholic hospital (his mother would have a fit if she knew) and Dream actually starts feeling better. Many of his symptoms are going away and There's even some colour back in his cheeks. After recovering, he is sent to a hunting lodge where many of the residents are also eastern Europeans. So many of them follow the same customs as his mother for protection.

Dream on the other hand feels so good that he starts taking day trips to Denver where he meets high society folks, and Hob.

Hob and Dream are "of the same sort" and Hob begins to spoil Dream. He takes Dream to dinners and shows. Dream, who grew up with nothing but stories of wealth and luxery, is enammered by this man who gives it to him freely. Most people know theyre confirmed batchalors together.

As it turns out, Hob is from a city not too far away from Dream's farm. And then Hob says something that doesn't click with Dream. Hob said he moved there when it was still new. That wasnt possible sense the town was founded befor Hob's parents could have been born. The town had been there before the revolution.

Slowly, Dream starts to notice things that also seem off.

Apparently, Hob can tell Dream's getting too close to the truth because one night when Dream and him are leaving the theater, Hob pulls him down an alleyway. Dream tries,to fight and thinks Hob is going to drain him of his blood and leave him to die.

While Hob does drink from Dream, Dream feels less like it's to feed, and more like it's an act of lust from Hob. Hell, Hob has Dream pressed against the wall and has Dream's legs lifted up and around hob's hips while holding Dreams wrists down. It's a pretty sexy position to have your meal in.

Hob admits that he saw Dream one night while he was hunting and couldn't resist him. Dream never had TB just Hob drinking from him.

Dream is really only half listening because his lover has him like this, when before they could barely give each other a kiss.

Hob notices and explains the long term goal Hob had. He wanted to make Dream a vampire so he could forever have Dream's beautiful body. Dream gasps that he wants to do what ever Hob has for him. That he wants Hob to make him what ever he is. The transformation is orgasmic. When its over, Dream is looking up at his lover with a new thirst for blood.

As a bitch who occasionally looks like a victim of TB… I feel you Morpheus. I feel you.

I love the whole backstory you’ve got here, it feels like a real setup for a historical novel. I also love the inherent sexuality of turning into a vampire. It’s really fucking hot. Hob making sure that it’s a pleasurable experience for Dream, basically fucking him through it? Yes he’s technically taking something from Dream by feeding from him, but he barely even feels the pain or loss of blood. He’s just whining softly and grinding his cock in against Hob’s hip. God he’s so pretty, Hob could easily drink him dry.

But he doesn’t, not quite. He makes sure that instead, Morpheus drinks from him in return. Hob feeds his own blood between Morpheus’s pretty pink lips until he’s squirming and full and about to cum all over the inside of his pristine trousers. Hob is so pleased with his darling, his pretty little slut. Morpheus needs blood and he also needs to be fucked - it’s like Hob has trained that into him during their warped ritual. He’s desperate for it. And Hob is delighted with the monster he’s created. His beautiful Dream will live forever and Hob never intends to let him go.

[girlwholovesturtles]

"We All Ignore the Pit" Why is that such a funny name to me?

Oh shit, this one's set in America? Cool beans. How did the Archive get this story?

Screw this guy's landlord. Three days? That's not legal! Most places have to give you at least a month.

"Blandly handsome." I'm struggling to picture this man and yet also kinda understand exactly what this means.

I've never lived in a small town but I've heard stories about how closed off they can be. Can't imagine moving into a place like that... People paused when they saw him around town, like he didn't belong. I don't love that my first thought is a sundown town or something to that effect.

Just a big hole in the middle of town... Do they not even realize that the pit is there? Okay, so at least one person acknowledges the pit.

Oh... cave tongue... hate that.

Maybe don't follow the people to the pit, my guy... huh, they called it a torch. was the person giving this statement British or American? Cus an American would have called it a flashlight. Just an observation.

Okay, an old woman with a boy that has very blue eyes. My brain immediately jumped to Gertrude but that seems almost too obvious to be right.

"There may be some power concerned with caves and enclosed spaces..." You don't say Jon, you don't say. Was it all the stories you've read so far about caves and enclosed spaces, by chance?

Castle Rock? Like in Michigan? Surely not, that would be crazy far. Hold on, let me google something... okay, there's apparently a Castle Rock in Colorado, so I'm gonna assume it meant there and not Michigan.

Uh, random pop... um... who is this? Oh... oh no... this is ba-

"He got really boring and I'm a monster." It's a good thing I'm not in Jon's situation because this immediately sent me into a giggle fit.

"You don't sound Russian." Jon, please, focus!

Okay, so they really value this gorilla skin but if that's true then why DIDN'T Gertrude just destroy it? What's it's purpose in all of this?

"I want to where when I dance the world new." WTF does that mean and why does it sound so terrifying?

Okay, it's time for Jon to stop living in this house. In fact, it's time for Georgie to stop living in this house. They know where you live, it's time to bug out...

Oh, is that why Elias sent him that story? "You never realize how many possessions you have until you find them weighing you down." Was it a warning to run? Did he know this thing was coming for him?

Elias, wtf?

[bianju]

I'm no longer screaming at people, I think that time is passed. I want to put out more of an imperative message now.

In 2022, I was more depressed about the state of climate change affairs than ever, because of a perceived betrayal of what actions needed to be taken and what was actually happening from our establishments. Now, in 2024, even with the mounting desperation of our crisis, the signs from all over the world of just how bad things could get, I think it's clear that we actually have a chance to make things work out. Not a wholesale fixing of our problems, but a chance to miss the exit for the absolute worst. All of those news articles talking about "it will get worse" when reporting on a horrible weather or climate tragedy, it comes with the caveat of "if things continue like they are now". Every projection for future warming, right down to those apocalyptic 3°C predictions The Guardian released a few months ago, are only true if we resign ourselves to right now. Don't take this as me yelling, just read and understand the words. The past 12 months are exactly as bad as it needs to get.

Yes, we just spent 12 months at the Paris Agreement's lower limit. That doesn't mean we've crossed it. In fact, even the most despondent scientists are agreeing that the spike of 2023/24 is over, and July average data indicates that we may be at 1.32°C... In other words, exactly where we were before 2023, and that's before what's sure to be an incredible La Niña. We just got a glimpse of what a 1.5°C world would look like. All sorts of weather insanity, a less dependable planet, the extremes becoming more extreme... But it doesn't have to get any worse than this. If nothing at all changed about global emissions, we still are not expected to cross the 1.5°C boundary until a decade from now. And every reduction we make in emissions pushes that date further and further back. If things looked as bad as they did in 2005, we may have already crossed that threshold by now. It is an overwhelming thing to care about, and it's because it can often feel like we're moving backwards everywhere it counts. But not only is the action finally swinging where it needs to go (too slowly, but still), we need to ditch this idea that whatever we do, it's still going to be some unimaginable catastrophe. Every scientist I've checked, and the consensus as a whole, agrees that when emissions stop, so does the warming. We don't have anything "baked in" right now, and don't believe anybody who says so. To cap off this long ramble, it can be easy for anybody to get disillusioned with where we're at, and want to just give up on making ANY progress forward because they think it's not enough. I get it. I've even been there. But even the progress we're making today seemed almost impossible even a few years ago, and I think we have even less reason than ever to assume that the current policies are the only ones we'll be able to achieve. When the world's largest oil company legitimately has said they expect that oil demand is soon to peak, if it hasn't already, you know there's some slack to fight for. But the most important part is this. We can see what the other side is doing. They want to go backwards faster than we're going forwards. Most of them don't give a damn about anything south of Tennessee or west of the Colorado River. They will turn a slow burn and make it a blaze. If you truly care, and you want the option of a party that can be reasoned with, campaigned with, and most importantly brought to more decisive action, you're not going to let anything Red near a position of government if you can help it. We've seen the future. Now's our chance to move against it.

[anhed-nia]

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Jeffrey Mandel's 1989 sci-fi horror holiday movie ELVES, about how Nazi occultists plot to perpetuate the master race by having a genetically engineered "elf" mate with virgin mall rats in Colorado, once saved my life.

OK maybe I'm exaggerating for effect, but not a lot. You'll get the idea. I was taking a semester off from college in Portland, ME, a weird dark place where I didn't know anybody besides the people I served coffee to. Despite promises that unhinged losers like myself really blossom in college, I had started failing classes for the first time in my life, I didn't know what to major in, all of my latent mental problems were spinning up fast and no one was taking it seriously at all. So I was by myself on Thanksgiving, trying to figure out how to make the most of the day. I ventured into a whiteout blizzard and got the stuff for a dish my dead mom used to make that seemed simple enough even for a walking disaster area like myself: white rice, green beans, tofu & soy sauce. Naturally I brutalized all of it into an unrecognizable paste. Hungry and feeling nervous about my blackening mood, I decided to visit the appealingly crummy little second-run theater downtown; they still had MEMENTO, so I bought a ticket even though I was 45 minutes early and sat down in the lobby. Pretty soon some big sweaty middle manager guy came over and started hitting on me aggressively. When you're not cute, and especially if you're vulnerable-looking, being hit on is practically never a fun experience; the perp is always someone as desperate as this guy who thinks you have no other choice, so he might start unloading on you about all his favorite movies about knights and wizards and shit, and telling you embarrassingly fake things like "you look just like Rebecca De Mornay in THREE MUSKETEERS!" (we don't even have the same hair color) because he assumes someone like you is starved for attention and maybe you're also stupid enough to buy it. I started to panic and, glancing up at the showtimes, I pretended to be persuaded by his praise for HARRY POTTER AND THE SORCERER'S STONE because it was conveniently starting in five minutes. I bought a ticket, ate the one for MEMENTO, and settled in for two and a half hours of something that had nothing to do with me. When I got out it was still snowing hard, I was still hungry, and sliding into a pretty unstable mindset. There was only one thing left to do, which was to go to Videoport.

Videoport remains the greatest video store I have ever been to in my life. Yes that includes Kim's. During my semester off I got an incredible education there by just renting whatever looked like it was going to freak me out the most, and I was always duly freaked. They had it all, including a big TV with prefab foods liked "canned vegetarian haggis" lined up on top. I'll never forget the can of pork brains whose instructions read DRAIN BRAINS, STIR, something I often say to myself. At the entrance was an iron gate by a local artist that formed famous movie images; here it is with the comic book store owners who moved in after Videoport left. (I also shopped at the comic book store, where the stereotypically jerky clerk had a vanity plate that said VEGETA and once told me that I could pay for my comics with "something besides money")

I started to get the feeling that only Videoport would prevent me from walking into the ocean. Sure enough, their reliable staff picks shelf showed me a movie I could never have imagined. I still watch it and recommend it on the holidays. I love the tag line "THEY'RE NOT WORKING FOR SANTA...ANYMORE!", as if the shocking part of the movie is that the elves used to work for Santa, they just got laid off or quit or something. Grizzly Adams aka Dan Haggerty plays an alcoholic ex-cop who is about to get evicted from his trailer, so in desperation he becomes a department store Santa. Meanwhile, sad teen Kristen performs pagan "Anti-Christmas" rituals with her friends who she draws as goddesses using a suspiciously swastika-like sigil; turns out she's the last pure Aryan specimen in the world, and her Nazi grandfather is plotting to make her the mother of the master race using elves--or really just one "elf" who you only ever see the top or bottom of, and who can't close his mouth. It's up to rude, loud, smelly, smug, self-pitying Dan Haggerty to leap into action and save Colorado from the fourth reich before it's too late...and like, you really want to see how this plays out, I promise. I was totally captivated. I've seen a lot of questionable movies, but there's really nothing like ELVES. It's so funny and weird that I completely forgot how hungry I was, and I definitely stopped feeling alone. It's not an exaggeration to say that it reminded me of why I was alive, which is to seek out increasingly novel and mind-expanding experiences through art until I'm dead. I would simply have to live another day if I ever wanted to find out whether there could possibly be anything stranger than ELVES out there. It's probably still keeping me going on some subliminal level.

So I guess I'm saying that if you don't know what to do with yourself today, watch ELVES! And if you can't find it, watch CHRISTMAS EVIL on Shudder, which is both a great movie and totally mind-blowing. The End.

[thegayhimbo]

Stranger Things "Creature Feature" and "Summer Special" Reviews

If you haven’t yet, be sure to check out my other Stranger Things reviews, and let me know what your thoughts/theories are about the show or the upcoming season! :)

Stranger Things Six

Stranger Things Halloween Special

Stranger Things The Other Side

Stranger Things Zombie Boys

Stranger Things The Bully

Stranger Things Winter Special

Stranger Things Tomb of Ybwen

Stranger Things Into The Fire

Stranger Things Science Camp

Stranger Things "The Game Master" and "Erica's Quest"

Stranger Things and Dungeons and Dragons

Stranger Things Kamchatka

Stranger Things Erica The Great

Synopsis for Creature Feature: While moving to California, Will, Jonathan, and El make a stop in Denver, Colorado to enjoy a night out at a Drive-In Theater. However, El's visit takes a turn for the worst when certain elements begin triggering PTSD flashbacks......

Synopsis for Summer Special: Join Officers Powell and Callahan during the events of season 3 as they patrol the streets of Hawkins and begin to encounter the Flayed.....

Observations:

Because these comics are short, I am covering both of them in this review. Unlike "Erica's Quest" and "The Game Master," which at least shared the theme of Erica and Mike being isolated and using their love of D&D to reconnect with people, these two short stories don't have much in common other than taking place in the same universe. Because of that, I will be talking about each of their stories separately. This will conclude my reviews of the comics and graphic novels for the time being. When the full versions of Tales from Hawkins, the Stranger Things x TMNT Crossover, and The Voyage are released (which likely won't be until January 2024 at the earliest), I will review them. Until then, I will move on to the tie-in books, beginning with Stranger Things Suspicious Minds.

Let's begin.

Creature Feature:

Out of the two of these, this short comic is the one I like the best. It's an interquel between seasons 3 and 4 that came out on Free Comic Book Day, three weeks before season 4 premiered. As noted in the synopsis, it focuses on an evening that Will, Jonathan, and El have in Denver, Colorado at a Drive-In Theater featuring horror movies. At this point, they're still in the process of moving to Lenora, and the story takes place sometime in October 1985 before Halloween.

The premise of the characters at a Drive-In Theater is fun, and it's nice getting a story exploring the sibling dynamic between El, Will, and Jonathan as El integrates into the Byers family. While we did get scenes like this in season 4, they often felt brief and far in-between. It doesn't help that circumstances like Angela's constant bullying, El ending up in trouble with the law for smashing the brat's face in (not that I blame her for doing so), the three way conflict between Mike, El, and Will at the beginning, and everything to do with Vecna constantly overshadowed attempts to go into more details about El's developing relationship with the Byers. We did get a brief montage with El narrating in her letters to Mike about how she and the Byers are doing, but it isn't as in-depth as it could have been. So any story that explores El, Will, Joyce, and Jonathan together as a family is one I'd be happy to see more of.

There's an interesting parallel between Will's love for the horror movies and atmosphere at the Drive-In vs El's fear of it. Will's enthusiasm for horror movies and Halloween is pretty similar to Max's, with Max even admitting in Runaway Max that she's watched scary movies since she was a kid and Michael Myers from the Halloween series is the one that frightens her the most. Just like there's a psychological component for how Max processes horror movies (especially growing up with an abusive step-dad and step-brother who made her life a living hell), the same goes for Will. When Jonathan asks Will how he can still enjoy horror movies after everything that's happened to him, Will explains it as such:

That is relatable in so many ways. Some of the stuff I've experienced in my life has desensitized me to certain horror/slasher movies, like Saw or Friday The 13th or the Halloween series, to the point the over-the-top blood and gore doesn't elicit a reaction for me. I'm more likely to have fun watching these movies than be scared by them. It's movies, TV shows, and other media that deal with triggering subjects like anxiety, depression, gaslighting, mental illness, rape, and so on that tends to get under my skin.

And considering what El has been through for most of her life, it's also understandable why she has the reaction she does at the Drive-In. Everything from the purple flashing lights to the monster-themed costumes to the loud noises and unfamiliar setting cause her to have a PTSD attack.

It doesn't help that some bullies see what's happening to El and decide to harass her for it.

You know the jackasses on Reddit, Twitter/X, Tumblr, or other social media platforms who mock people for being triggered, accuse people struggling with trauma of wanting to be victims, and are awful to others because they can get away with it? That's who these bullies remind me of. They are the predecessors to Angela, her friends, and the loathsome crowd from Rink-O-Mania who humiliated El. Despite only being in the comic briefly, I despise them.

Thankfully, Will and Jonathan come to her aid, and Jonathan gets a nice big brother moment in telling the bullies to fuck off:

I wish we'd get more scenes on the show of Jonathan getting aggressive with bullies or any other threats to his family.

Getting back to El, there's another reason she's upset: She's in a vulnerable position of having lost her powers at this point, and doesn't know how to deal with it. She's also worried about the threat of the Upside Down returning, which it unfortunately does in season 4. How many times can you face the same horrors over again without feeling like you're losing pieces of yourself and that it's all out of your control?

Except El isn't alone in her fight, no matter how bleak it seems. As Jonathan points out, she still has the support of her friends and family, and all of them will be there for her. They love her regardless of whether or not she has powers. That's a truly beautiful thing to have.

As I've noted before in other reviews (especially Dungeons and Dragons), the final fight between Vecna's forces won't just have El dealing with it all by herself. It's always been a team effort from everyone since season 1, and I do not see that dynamic changing in season 5 without the Duffer Brothers betraying the core themes of friendship and family on the show. Whether or not El will be the one delivering the killing blow to Vecna remains to be seen though.

Overall, I'd recommend this for a read.

Summer Special:

Remember back in my review of The Bully when I talked about how the graphic novel followed the events of season 2 through the eyes of Troy and James? That's pretty much the same formula the Summer Special uses. This time, it takes place in season 3, and it follows Officers Callahan and Powell in the week leading up to the 4th of July.

Like most of the fandom, I never cared for Callahan and Powell. I don't hate them to the extent I hate characters like Billy or Angela, but I still find them obnoxious, and have never been impressed with the "lazy bumbling cop" stereotypes they seem to embody. Unfortunately, this short comic doesn't do much to change that.

The best summary of the plot is that it basically runs on one joke: Callahan and Powell are present during key moments in season 3 (i.e. Billy getting possessed by the Mind Flayer, Doris Driscoll and the other Flayed at Brimborn Steelworks, Alexei's death at the carnival, the Battle of Starcourt, etc), and just when it looks like the two of them might actually find out about the Upside Down and figure out everything that's been going on............they don't. They either miss stuff, dismiss it on sight, or get distracted by trivial crap in their pursuit of trying to be "good cops." It's a joke repeated through-out the comic, and it's one that gets old real fast.

I didn't find this joke funny the first time they did it, and every other time after that made it more annoying.

The comic contains some glaring continuity errors. For example, when Powell and Callahan find Billy's car at Brimborn Steelworks the night he's possessed by the Mind Flayer, the date is July 1st in the comic. However, on the show, the actual date was the evening of June 29th, the same night Billy was set to hook up with Karen.

On top of that, the comic illustrates Billy leaving the steelwork factory different from how he did on the show. Here, he's depicted as quietly sneaking out when Powell and Callahan come to investigate:

But on the show, he is literally running for his life in a panic the moment he gets free of the Mind Flayer, desperately to escape it and not caring about how much of a ruckus he made leaving. If we're taking this comic as canon (which I am not because of all its inconsistencies), it's hard to believe Powell and Callahan wouldn't have heard Billy going back to his car.

There's also other contradictory dates: Doris Driscoll (the old lady Nancy and Jonathan visit in S3 who's later possessed by the Mind Flayer) is established on the show as being taken to the hospital on July 1st. However, the comic depicts this happening on July 2nd. This also apparently happened the same night a possessed Driscoll abducted Powell and took him to the Steelworks factory where the Mind Flayer was, which makes it even more confusing. It also creates a big plot-hole for why the other Flayed never came after Powell later despite Powell witnessing a bunch of them at the factory in the process of attacking his car.

The only moment I semi-liked in this comic was this scene reaffirming how much of a sleazy womanizing piece-of-shit Billy is, and how other people in-universe see him like this as well:

Other than that, and some decent artwork per usual, this comic felt rushed and not well put together as it should have been.

As much as I don't care for Callahan and Powell as characters, I wouldn't mind a comic centered on them provided there was an actual point for it. If they're going to focus on side characters, then actually develop them in a way that's meaningful instead of constantly playing them for laughs. There's an entire story they could have been explored when Powell became the new Chief of Police in Hawkins after Hopper's supposed death in season 3, and how he was forced to adjust to the position and take on new responsibilities. That would have been far more interesting than what they did here. This just came off like a waste.

As you can probably tell, I'm not recommending this comic. The good news is it's not particularly pricey (I got it for $1.99 on Kindle), so if you do want to check it out for yourselves and make your own judgments, there's no harm in doing so. But there are better comics you could spend time and money on.

[thedupshadove]

Lois + Clark roleswap AU (interpret this however you will)

Kala Jor-El lands in rural Colorado, only a scenic drive away from the U.S. Army base where General Sam Lane happens to be serving...

After bringing her back to their residence, Sam felt it was his duty to alert Washington to this clear extraterrestrial presence, and hand the baby--and the shuttle that brought her--over to Area 51 for further investigation. His wife Eleanor had to rather strenuously argue him out of it. What neither of them knew while having this discussion was that one of the abilities granted to Kryptonians by a yellow sun is near-perfect infant recall. After this initial reaction gave way to a childhood of overall better treatment, Lois does love her foster-father. She supposes. But she'll never entirely trust him.

It was also Eleanor who pulled a few favors from her own mysterious circle to have the remains of the shuttle moved to somewhere safe until Lois was old enough to claim it.

Having been raised in crowded environments full of brusque, no-nonsense people, Kala's mask didn't develop in the same way that Kal's did. She tends much more toward overt charisma and force of personality, because surely no one so in-your-face could be concealing anything about herself, right?

If anything, it's Superwoman who's the less assertive persona, since a woman known to be able to crack mountains with her bare hands has to carry herself carefully if she wants people to react with anything other than fear.

Given her renowned beauty and staggering list of accomplishments, it's unsurprising that Superwoman has received romantic overtures from some of the most rich, famous, and powerful men on the planet. But she doesn't want any of them. She wants Clark Kent, the sweetheart of a Kansas-born sci-fi nerd whose overall lack of physical prowess never seems to stop him from trying to talk down a mugger, or pull a child out of the remains of a building ruined by Brainiac.

"I'm not brave, Clark. Nobody with my inbuilt armor and arsenal can be called 'brave'. You've got nothing but your fragile human skin, and you still faced down a squad of Lexcorp goons in the name of letting people know what Luthor's 'charitable donations' were really going to. That's brave."

Clark's background is mostly the same, save for being Jonathan and Martha's biological child. Not needing to hide his powers or cultivate an easily-overlooked persona might make him a little less timid and stammery, but he's still a farm-boy in the big city for the first time, still ridiculously kind-hearted, and still an absolute dork. Also the glasses are real in this version.

Rather than chasing after Superwoman and ignoring Lois, I think the conflict here is that Clark is deeply smitten with both Superwoman and Lois, and his moral code won't allow him to be with either of them while he knows his heart would still be drawn to the other.

As a stepping-stone before telling the truth, Lois might suggest that they go the polyamory route. Clark is skeptical, but says he's willing to try it...as long as the three of them can meet to make sure everyone is on the same page. Whichever persona didn't make the suggestion has to feign unwillingness in order to keep the secret from crashing down too soon.

Lucy would take the role of the Imperiled Civilian more often, I think, now that her position relative to the hero has gone from "My girlfriend's sister and my best friend's girlfriend" to "My sister (and my best friend's girlfriend)". Clark, Jimmy, and Lucy probably get Damsoled about equally (Lucy knows the secret; the other two don't).

[atinylittlepain]

A note on line graphs, spit, and take and bake croissants

If you couldn't tell, I don't know what I'm doing. Right now, in this liminal space between graduating and Whatever Is Next, it's never been more clear to me how very much I don't know what I'm doing.

I've been out of college for three weeks now, and I've been so depressed for all of these three weeks that my days have turned into a string of small bargains with myself. I feel like there's a fine line between wanting to censor content to protect folks from what could be triggering, and calling a spade a spade. So, a note to take care of yourself, because I'm about to talk about depression, and I'm going to do so in a truthful, and therefore ugly way.

The truth, I've been depressed for a while. The other truth, the last three weeks have brought on a weight and depth of depression I have quite literally never experienced before. On the bad days, I only feel half-real and end the day saying nonsense words out loud to myself to make sure I still have a voice. I get angry and cancel plans and say awful things to people I love. And on the good days, I feel like a child who just got in trouble, all soft and smarting, all raw skin. I speak and I don't like what I say. I write and I don't like what I say on paper either. I've been crying, a lot, all the time, usually in the evening and in bed. I wake up with my eyes crusted shut and a headache most mornings and yes, I think, it makes sense to look as miserable as I feel.

Another truth, I almost backed out of my graduate school admission because I convinced myself I would fail miserably and completely, almost backed out of moving to Austin, the move that is happening in four days, because I had swallowed so much fear that it was, and kind of still is, all that I breathe. That's how little faith I have in myself right now.

Today was one of the better days, a clarity that I haven't had in a while, and I guess that's why I'm writing this, to try to pin that clarity down. Another truth, I don't think it's depression. I think what this really is is mourning, done very shittily.

Mourning a place, sure. Bye, Colorado. Mourning a couple relationships too, friendships that have run their course always sting. But I think more generally I'm just growing out of something right now. My bones hurt and my skin feels tight and I'm growing out of something - a particular time in my life that looked a particular way that is starting to rot, frankly, with how I've tried to cling to it. I don't want to be here, in whatever this is, anymore, and at the same time, I'm afraid to let go of it - does that make any sense? I don't know if it does, I really don't. Something is passing away, that's all I know, and if I don't let it, I'm going to wither with it.

Last week I walked onto my empty undergrad campus and I stood on the steps of the chapel within which I planned the memorial service for my dead friend only a year ago, and I looked around to make sure no one was watching, and I spit on the holy threshold. It didn't feel as good as I thought it would, marginally amusing at best, and then I left. Something got let go of, at the very least.

Today I bargained with the oven - all I had to do was stay for the twenty minutes it took to bake one of those shitty croissants you get in the freezer aisle, and I could do that, and it was simple for those twenty minutes. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've been struggling with time, and how to keep up with it, and how to stop asking for some of it back. I had a therapist who I wanted to throw a lamp at because she was always telling me that my problem is that I get stuck in the past or the future, which, what a fucking therapist thing to say, right? I'm afraid she was right though.

I still don't know what I'm trying to say here - maybe just that things are changing, and I'm trying to let them, and that is easier said than done.

And listen, I don't like being a bummer on here - but also, lately, I don't like being on here, period. I thought I wanted to write fic again and it turns out that was more of me clinging to the corpse of something that just makes me feel sick and shitty. I liked when this space felt like my own and it doesn't feel like that anymore, and maybe that's what I'm trying to accomplish by writing this, just to assert that there is some kind of space somewhere that I can make my own, that doesn't require any bargaining. Who knows, I'll have probably changed my mind by tomorrow morning, but I'll keep you posted, pfft.

[yorukimura]

Blue Notes (Albert Shaw/The Grabber x Musician Reader) One Shot

Summary: You arrive in Denver to pursue your dream of being a music teacher, however, you meet a mysterious character…

Words: 1369

I think you might like this: Little Fighter (Albert Shaw/ The Grabber X Reader) One Shot є(•⌔•)э

You were always such a nice and musical girl.

When you were 8 years old, your parents decided to take you to the depths of music, its variants, its history, its tones, all of that fascinated you, made you feel so unique and vibrant, so special, to feel the keys of music. grand piano under your thin but still firm piano touch. Although, without a doubt, your second passion was to teach other people the wonders of musical sounds and tones, creating everything they could imagine through a few notes of any instrument created, including new sounds and creativity to new instruments.

At the age of 25 you decide to move to Denver, Colorado. Away from your family to start a new life in a high school as a professional music teacher.

Who would have thought that it would be the beginning of your downfall?

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August 23 1976 10:32.

Drag the last box left to the living room of your new home. A simple and spacious home, simple in any way, even if your own parents wanted to offer you a mansion with all the money they had, you always preferred the simplicity of things.

You looked out the window, watching the blazing sun beat down on Denver. That August 23 was over 89.6 °F (32 °C), you were really exhausted. You lay down on the cold ground, feeling a shiver at the sudden cool touch beneath you. —I never thought that a move could be so difficult and tedious— you sighed exhaustively, you got up from the floor to start organizing the house, carefully observing each mountain of boxes present in the living room.

— It's really going to be a long day—,you said, stretching your arms and neck to get down to business with the move.

August 23 1977 15:46

You looked at the kitchen clock, two hours had passed since lunchtime and your stomach was roaring like a hungry lion. You looked at the only box left in the living room from the kitchen door. Taking a sip from the cup of ice water you had, you looked at the large box that contained his most prized artifact, his piano. You smiled a little, ready to finally assemble the instrument.

—Where have I left the toolbox?— You crossed your arms, frowning, "Maybe I left it in one of the boxes... No, I've emptied them all." You quickly went to the green phone in the kitchen and dialed a number. You waited a few seconds before a man's voice came through him.

—May I ask who is calling?

—Your wife's lover.

—Oh, it's you— he said with much distaste.

—What the hell do you want?

—My fucking toolbox, bring it— you demanded in a serious voice.

— I knew you were going to call about her, well, about that...

— Did you put it up your ass?

— What? Of course not, idiot.

— I gave it to Dylan last week, DON'T KILL ME.

— YOU'RE STUPID? DID YOU ALSO SUCK DYLAN WHEN YOU GAVE IT TO HIM?!

— I told you that box was sacred, where will I get one now?

— Well, in the hardware store.

— And the tools to assemble the piano?

— I don't get into that anymore

— Why don't you ask him to bring him to where you are?

— It's a long time, and classes start in early September.

— Go to the hardware store, try it at least, is there one near your house?

— Yeah, a couple of streets away, I don't know exactly if it's open...

— Well, you know, anything else you need?

— Can I give your wife a cunnilingus?

— Stay away from me and my wife.

— She misses you a lot.

— And you, miss me?

— Of course not, die and go to hell.

— Of course I miss you, (y/n)

— I miss you guys too.

— Come visit us soon.

—I'm going to go to the hardware store, have a good time.

—Don't forget to have fun, fuck from time to time with some hot guy in Denver.

Before you could answer, your friend hung up, you flashed a small smile at the conversation you had with him. —Let's go to the hardware store—you dressed in a comfortable way, you grabbed your backpack and the keys to leave the house.

You walked a couple of minutes down the streets, and then you glimpsed the hardware store, it was open, that lifts your spirits, you were anxious to assemble the piano.

The doorbell rang, indicating that someone had entered the store, there was no one, you were "alone" in the place. You started browsing the shelves, looking for a good toolbox for your home, not forgetting the specific tools for your piano. You didn't notice the large, stocky figure sneaking up behind you, staring at your back and your (long/medium/short) colored hair (c/h).

—Are you looking for something specific, miss?— Surprised at the sudden deep voice, you turned around, meeting a pair of wonderful blue eyes, slightly shocked at the color of the eyes, staring at him. —Miss?— He looked at you again, and coming out of the trance of his eyes looking at the ground, completely blushing, you answered.—Excuse me sir, I'm looking for a toolbox...—you say before a shy whisper.

You were always shy of new surroundings and people, plus the man was extremely attractive and something, you deduced that he was around 40 or 50 years old due to the wrinkles that form on his forehead. You looked up again, specifically at the label on his short-sleeved work shirt “Albert Shaw”, you read in your mind.

—I have a perfect box model for you, I won't be long— The man turned around, you looked carefully at his back and his long hair as he walked away from you a little. You looked at the ground again extremely flushed, feeling a warmth in your cheeks and stomach.

—I've never seen you around here, did you come to Denver recently?— You saw his intention to start the conversation, he looked in your direction and you nodded quickly, he took the box and went to the counter, you quickly followed him. 

—Did your husband send you to buy a toolbox?— You were surprised at the question and looked at him doubtfully, —No, I'm not really married, the box is for me—. You could have sworn you saw a small smile break out on the man's face. —Strange, a beautiful woman like you with no one—. 

You blushed furiously at his flirtation towards you, deciding to fight back, you asked in response. —A man like you isn't married?— No doubt he didn't see it coming, the man continued packing things, —No, I'm not, do you need something else?—.

You quickly spread out the list with the specific tools for your piano, —if it's not too much to ask, do you think you have these tools?—, the man took the list and read it carefully, —of course, what's more, you can come for them tomorrow by the morning if you wish. You smiled kindly, took out your wallet and paid for the box.

—Have a good day sir—, you said goodbye, turning around and leaving the store.

“That woman is going to be mine”, thought Albert, watching as she walked away from the counter, she grabbed the money from the table. He noticed there was a white piece of paper with something written: "Feel free to call me later if you have time :)" next to a phone number on it.

You got home quickly, you left your things in the kitchen while you sat on one of the chairs, you kept thinking about that man and how you were dumb enough to give him the landline of your own house. you covered your face with your hands very embarrassed.

Something in him attracted you and you didn't know what it was, or even if it was allowed to feel something like that, "I feel like I'm going to explode", you thought.

And that same night you started to compose a song towards him, Blue Notes.

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Note:

GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE IT

I have finished this first one shot, thank you very much for reading.

I apologize for the grammatical errors and above all, I hope I have reflected well a wonderful Albert flirty with his (y/n).

See you next time, little grasshoppers :)

[dollarbin]

Shakey Sundays #22:

Covid Edition

Well, I've got the bug again Dollar Binners: a bit more than two years after getting Covid for the first time at my first real public event of that surreal era, a Valerie June concert that I fruitlessly masked up for, I felt off yesterday, then saw the dreaded double bars on a test I hauled from deep in the medicine drawer this morning.

It's Covid 2.0 for yours truly. Woo-wee.

I'm determined to be less sick this time around. My first bout set in while on holybobs with my buddy Greg and our families. I coped with the first day of feeling under the weather, unaware of the positive tests that would follow, by drinking about 10 Miller High Lifes; I figured the Champagne of Beers was just what Dr. Fauci ordered.

Greg matched me drink for drink and we had a blast, as always. Then came the most delirious night of my life: I was midway through an immense Beatles biography at the time and I became feverishly convinced that Ringo was there with me, processing his fraught childhood. I provided Ringo with some really good support; it felt like we were on a magic carpet in high turbulence.

And then I never really got better; yeah, I am one of those long-Covid people, dealing with periodic pain and setbacks that are happily surface level and not nearly as bad as some folks out there. Friends will tell you that I was kinda nuts beforehand so we can't blame Covid for whatever nonsense I've spewed at you these past 9 months (this is our 92nd post together!).

So this time around I'm taking the opposite approach: I'm chugging water and vitamins instead of High Lifes and I'm spending the day in isolation, visiting with all of you instead of Greg or Ringo. Hopefully neither of them show up: I'm a sucker for Greg and Ringo alike.

But let's set all that aside and talk about the first six months of Covid and how Shakey got us through it. Maybe you remember: Neil responded to the shutdown by moving to a mountaintop somewhere in Colorado and by cancelling all fees on his forever BETA level website. I don't know about your house, but at mine it was therefore Neil Young Time all the time.

To begin, we suddenly had access to all of Shakey's movies, most of which were just about mythical for hopeless internet cheapskates like me. I saw everything from the really pretty magnificent Mountaintop, which I'll write about in a future post, to Solo Trans, a scripted Vocoder/Shocking Pinks Neil vehicle directed by Hal Ashby, the guy who made Harold and Maude.

I doubt you have, and kinda hope you don't have, an hour to dedicate to this film so I'll summarize it for you here: imagine an invented from the ground up 80's newscast from Dayton, Ohio, complete with cheapo graphics and synthetic, asinine theme music dedicated entirely to covering a Neil Young show with paid, freaking out, extras filling the front row.

The whole thing starts with Harvest heavy dullness, then gets momentarily lovely for Helpless. Young then does a standard take of Ohio and attempts to make his amazing biography dull through Don't Be Denied before we get into the almost-but-not-quite-weird-enough Trans era stuff, including a preview performance of Landing on Water's I've Got a Problem.

Trans is great. But Solo Trans? Unless Neil is soloing on Mr Soul it's pretty underwhelming...

But The Shocking Pinks show up at the end, at which point the film tastes great, like soapy nuts. Neil sweats buckets and even goes ahead and invents yet another band while he's at it, turning the Shocking Pinks into The Bluenotes for Don't Take Your Love Away from Me.

Graham Nash is in 1 second of the film and Stephen Stills only shows up in archival footage - which is fitting for musicians of their stature - and Neil's even-more-beleaguered-than-my-own wife, Peggy, plays a catfighting groupie.

Ashby must have spent the entire shoot either drunk or cashing his paycheck. Probably both. Meanwhile, Neil had a vision for the film: The Wall meets Loony Tunes. And he nailed it.

Neil offered us more than just his bonkers films during Covid. We also had The Fireside Sessions: periodic footage of Neil in isolation. We got to see him wash his hands, talk earnestly to his dogs and play obscure and obvious tracks alike, all of it recorded in the most amateurish manner possible on his wife's iPad.

It was pure Shakey; shambolic, earnest and awesome.

Okay, that's all I've got. Ringo's calling and he wants my support. Thanks for visiting me in isolation everyone!

[dynamite-derek]

RIP Akira Toriyama

It was the summer of 1996. A younger version of myself waltzed into a rip-off blockbuster, one of those family owned joints that often gets conflated with Hollywood Video, and was struck by the cover artwork of one game in particular. Chrono Trigger. It drew me in like a siren's song. It just looked so cool. I had experience with Earthbound, Super Mario RPG and Final Fantasy III at this point so I wasn't unfamiliar with the Japanese role playing game genre, but that isn't what brought me to the dance. It was the art.

Chrono Trigger would go on to become a major part of my personality as a youth. There was about a week straight where I would go around talking to nobody in particular using old English, like my favorite character Frog did. Thank you Ted Woolsey for that. CT would go on to form the basis for a lot of my video game opinions.

I remember getting Chrono Trigger for Christmas randomly in 1997. It had yet to become the holy grail of eBay, it was just a random gift from my uncle who knew how to use the Internet. I spent so long just glancing at the instruction manual and thinking the characters looked so cool. It's one thing to see a little pixel version of Lucca convince Crono that hopping into a teleporter is a good idea, it's another thing to see a fully illustrated version of the same character.

Don't even get me started on how I felt watching those anime cutscenes that came with the PS1 version for the first time. I consider Earthbound to be my favorite game ever, but Chrono Trigger is really what started my JRPG fix. Would I have gotten as deep into JRPGs as I did without Chrono Trigger? Would I be writing this right now? One of the first things I talked to my wife about was the Final Fantasy franchise, specifically my cat named Quistis. Would I have even grabbed that appreciation for Final Fantasy VIII without having been exposed to Chrono Trigger?

Fast forward to 1999. I had just moved to Colorado Springs, Colorado as a sixth grader. I had no friends. I didn't know anybody. It felt like the world had aged up around me. Everybody was using swears and talking about mature topics and I felt so out of the loop. In our temporary hotel housing I vividly remember turning the channel to Cartoon Network and stopping because the art style interested me. It looked kind of like that game I played back in 1996. Dragon Ball Z.

I can see it now. Vegeta was fighting against Recoome while Gohan and Krillin looked on exhausted. Things were looking bleak but some guy named Goku was on the horizon. I had no idea who any of these characters were but I knew they reminded me of something I loved with all my heart. From that point, Dragon Ball would go on to be something I absolutely cherished. Just like Chrono Trigger, it would help define my taste for years to come.

I remember being in high school wearing ridiculous looking Dragon Ball shirts because I thought the sleeves were really cool, I remember going to Toys R Us and seeing a damn near immobile Vegeta action figure that lacked his Saiyan-saga armor and I was so excited to bring it home. I remember hopping on limewire and downloading fansubs of Dragonball Z movies where the subtitles had characters swearing up a storm just because they could. How would I know any better? I didn't speak Japanese! I even downloaded all of Dragon Ball GT because I wanted to see where this wacky thing would go.

That specific anime would define a wide portion of my Internet life. I would post on the Funimation forums talking about whatever episode of the dub was most recent. It was there that I made a lot of my first Internet friends, including girlfriends. It was that forum that led me to create my own little Internet forum called Lindblum, a place that I still remember fondly to this day. I didn't have a lot of friends. I was an Airforce brat who moved around all the time, so it was hard for me to chat with people who knew each other for their entire lives. Lindblum was where I socialized and grew up as a person. Where I learned how to socialize and talk to people from all walks of life.

Writing on forums is what got me into writing in general. I was a lazy kid in school. I didn't care about anything except for video games. Writing was the exception to that, it was the only thing I considered myself actually decent at. I didn't understand math but I understood how to communicate what I felt to others. I work in journalism to this very day because of that fascination with writing. I have this dinky little blog I maintain because of that. Thanks to Internet forums. Thanks to Dragon Ball Z. Thanks to Chrono Trigger. Thanks to Akira Toriyama.

Toriyama, indirectly, helped shape me as an individual. A guy thousands of miles away from me who I had never met before, who didn't know my name, who didn't know I existed, had a hand in helping to shape the person I am today. The world can be a beautiful place sometimes.

RIP Akira Toriyama. Thanks for everything.