#no i'm literally having the worst time of my life like every season it gets worse

[theghostofashton]

.

[libraford]

It is possible to interact with people whom share opposing views and no this is not about pineapple on pizza. In fact, it is imperative that you learn how to be civil with some people who you may find difficult to agree with.

At work, Youngin would often tell me that the guy that trained him (Ginger) was a misogynist. I had never met Ginger, and I had very little to say on this matter. But I would ask Youngin some questions about him because I like to know the other seasonal workers a little. I ask about Ginger- first words from Youngin's mouth 'he's a misogynist.'

I asked him why he thought that. (There are many misogynists at this location, as someone that is woman-shaped I see it often, I am comparing notes.)

"We were on our way to a location and a driver was going really slowly. When he got around her he said 'fucking women drivers.' Like he was going out of his way to prove that the driver was a woman."

The last month or so, Youngin worked exclusively with me because I knew that it was a matter of time before he said something that pissed off one of the guys. He was not going to get along with people here, it just wasn't happening.

When he left, everyone wanted to know what he was like to work with. And I finally got to have a conversation with Ginger.

"I'd like to ask you something a little strange- he said that on his first day there was an issue with a driver going slowly. Can you tell me about that?"

"Oh yeah! She was going super slow and when I got around her I said 'yup- little old lady driving.' And he was like 'what's that supposed to mean?' And I just kind of dropped it, but I hear he was saying I was a misogynist over it?"

So I give Youngin some grace because he's young, he's got a social bubble that's very liberal, he has not met very many people that weren't part of that kind of scene. But he often talked about how every person here has said something that pissed him off and he seemed really surprised that I (woman-shaped queer liberal) would be okay working with all these sexist homophobes.

And I give grace to Ginger because he had no reason to think that his words would be interpreted like that. What he was saying was normal to him. This is... somewhat the culture of landscaping jobs. And its not even close to the worst thing I've heard out of these dudes mouths. (Literally had one of the dudes comment that he would like to 'motorboat' one of the pedestrians.)

It was weird for Youngin to carry that with him for the whole two months that he worked here, over a very... small comment.

Every single person I've worked with here has said something that has given me pause and I tuck it away to rant about later and then I let it go. If it gets out of hand, I talk to one of the bosses about it. I know how to contact HR. I came into this place knowing that I was going to disagree politically with most of the people that I work with because I'm coming in to a culture that is fundamentally different from my own.

If I am being frank, I find the overt bigotry somewhat better than the corporate bullshit of 'we value your contributions, but won't be granting your accommodations request out of fairness to other workers' or the glass cliff or literally being fired for my sexual orientation but phrased with 'oh you just weren't a good fit for the culture here.' I at least know what I'm getting into when I come to work. I know what not to talk about. Last time I thought I was safe to talk about something queer with my boss she blindsided me with some transphobic garbage.

Its admirable to stick up for the marginalized people in your life, but part of changing minds is knowing the time and the place to comment. I think I've changed more minds at this warehouse by being a visibly out lesbian at work than I have by making carefully crafted speeches.

That is fine. It is fine to disagree. Sometimes you have to work with racists, homophobes, and assholes. That is part of being an adult. You talk about things like... sports or TV or weather or some cool bug you saw. Finding common ground with people who are different from you in many ways is an important part of socialization and it sucks to think you have anything in common with a jackass but look- you're spending 7-ish hours with these people and at some point some of them are going to say stupid shit. You are going to say stupid shit also. I have said my fair share of stupid shit. Deal with the fact that you're all stupid shits.

And for fuck's sake, wear your hardhat.

[maraczeks]

bcs s5 thread pt 4

[taffywabbit]

I finally watched breaking bad (all within the past week or so while I worked, finished it and watched el camino last night) and I'm confident this isn't a new thought I'm expressing or anything but genuinely how DID an entire generation of dudes convince themselves Walter White was cool and admirable and intended to be sympathetic. I know ppl just lack media literacy sometimes but I'm still so confused

I don't think I've EVER watched a piece of media that so blatantly depicts a guy making the worst possible decisions at every turn and having his life ruined for it and not being redeemed or made sympathetic in any significant or lasting way. the kinds of justifications villains USUALLY give that make people consider them "morally grey" or "tragic" or whatever (everything I did was for my loved ones, I did what I had to to survive, once I was in this I couldn't get out, I just needed you to trust me so I could keep you safe, etc etc) is ALWAYS framed as complete self-serving bullshit when Walt says it, and one of the only shreds of personal growth he ever exhibits in the whole series is when he finally fucking admits that. every time he does something even remotely cool or drops a quotable one-liner, something terrible immediately happens that makes everything worse and makes him look like an unreasonable idiot asshole again. by the end of the series the ONLY characters they can still contrast as being morally "worse" than him are literally a bunch of bloodthirsty neonazis who kept a guy in a cage for several months. this show is practically SCREAMING at you the entire time not to admire Walt. why did every dude I knew in highschool have his face on tshirts and Facebook pfps.

I just don't get it. at least with The Dark Knight's Joker it was like, a feature-length movie and that's it. you spend a lot less time with the Joker and it has a lot less time to delve into his motivations, so there's way more room for flanderization and misinterpretation as people extrapolate the few cool/interesting/sad things they saw into a whole nuanced misunderstood guy in their heads and online. Walter White has 5 seasons' worth of 45min episodes to convince you beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is a miserable fucking loser who ruins everything he touches because of greed and selfishness. if you weren't watching it for that, what WERE you getting out of this. what DID you think this show was about. am I just missing some key piece of context from 2012 or whatever that would help me understand this

[emilybeemartin]

A whopping, like, 2.6 people have expressed interest in my recent adventures in watching Bean films, which is all the encouragement I need to present to you:

An Incomplete Guide to Sean Bean Roles (Investigation Ongoing)

Our guy has a vast filmography, and I'm not even close to being halfway through it, but I've watched a lot of his significant ones in the past few weeks thanks to a perfect storm of illness, injury, and lapses in client work. Crucially, I have created superlatives for a variety of them and present them here for your benefit. Disclaimer: many of these films are violent! Or have butts and/or tits! Some have dick! Some have dated bits that didn't age well! So, if you have triggers or are watching with young viewers, do your research first! Also, these are just the opinions of one solitary millennial! Nothing is objective! Nothing is real! I care not!

Okay, CYA done, let's begin. I'll get the two most obvious ones out of the way up front, otherwise they'll dominate half the categories:

ACT I

Greatest Bean: Fellowship of the Ring. I've said it before and I'll say it again, he achieved more pathos with Boromir than a lot of his other roles have allowed for, and every note he hits just sings. No debate.

Best Bean for Your Buck: Sharpe. For the best confluence of quantity, quality, physicality, emotion, humor, and action, you can't beat Richard Sharpe.

Favorite Dramatic Bean: Time; he earned that BAFTA fr

Softest Bean: The first date scene in Stormy Monday, where Brendan shyly gets to know Kate, slow dances with her, lends her a shirt and strokes her back after she asks if they can just go to sleep instead of have sex.

Most Dashing Bean: Vronsky in Anna Karenina, that uniform cuts, damn

Swooniest Bean: I know I'm supposed to say Chatterley, and he is undeniably sexy as Mellors, but there are parts where his character is actually kind of off-putting. I'll lay a good chunk of the blame on the weirdly ominous score, the very of-the-time depiction of dubious consent, and Joely Richardson's tendency to look like she's having the worst time of her life while shagging the hot gamekeeper. No, I'm giving this category to Stormy Monday again. He's just so gentle and genuine in this one, without some of the obligatory "heartthrob" overtones of his nineties stuff. He never raises his voice at Kate or manhandles her. He really does feel like some kid who just wants to be sweet to his girlfriend.

Laddiest Bean: When Saturday Comes, specifically the strip club and bathtub scenes.

Favorite Sad Bean: As a collective, he has some great grief scenes in World on Fire, but! The railroad track scene in When Saturday Comes?! That was RAW.

Favorite Mad Bean: Black Death; there are plenty of movies where he doesn't smile at all, but unlike some others, his grimness and anger felt proportionate to the story, rather than just rage because he's good at rage.

Favorite Bad Bean: There are so many great Bean villains (Goldeneye, obvs), but I think my favorite is Patriot Games. Bonus points for all the different hairstyles he has in this film (long locks-shag-shag ponytail!-buzz-wet spiky buzz). Also HUGH FRASER AAAA

Favorite Dad Bean: Wolfwalkers, where Bill Goodfellowe literally turns his own convictions and beliefs upside-down in order to protect and support his daughter.

INTERMISSION

A note on GoT: I haven't watched it. When season one was first coming out, it was during a time where I really couldn't handle watching any kind of sexual assault onscreen, and while I have a higher tolerance now, I just... don't want to. I like seeing gifs of Ned Stark and appreciate that it's one of his great roles, but I just can't make myself take the plunge.

ilysm you grizzled dead wolf man

ACT II

Favorite Costumed Bean: Odysseus in Troy: curls, leather, thighs.

Favorite Un-Costumed Bean: He strips in quite a lot of his films, so let's give it to Lady Chatterley for sheer screentime, exertion, and the bonus of being naked and wearing a flower crown. Honorable mention to When Saturday Comes for the totally not homoerotic amount of butts and also dick in the locker room bathtub scene.

Hurtin'est Bean: Bravo Two Zero. Oof, don't watch this one if you have an aversion to seeing pain, although---you're a Sean Bean fan, and we all know one of his MOs is being GREAT at pain. This one was directed by Tom Clegg, who directed Sharpe. Also lol at the sickle-shaped wound on his shoulder, which is covering his 100% Blade tattoo (he gets a lot of sickle-shaped wounds on his left shoulder).

Best Inside References: The Frankenstein Chronicles, where he plays a former Peninsular soldier, and every reference to his service is a reference to Sharpe, including shots of his greenjacket, pistol, sword, and flogging scars. Honorable mention to The Martian for the Council of Elrond line.

Most Unsettling Bean: Cleanskin for moral grayness, The Frankenstein Chronicles for body horror

Most Inefficient Use of Bean: Black Beauty. Despite getting high billing he's only onscreen for about two minutes and I'm convinced the long shots are a body double. Criminal.

Biggest Missed Opportunity: We were robbed of a Sean Bean Odyssey. R o b b e d

Funniest Bean: Deploying Bean for comedy is woefully underused, but he made full use of his ~15 seconds in The Vicar of Dibley ("Spring" episode). He's also hilarious in Wasted, though I haven't watched the show, only the clips he's in on YouTube, where he plays a mock version of himself serving as a spirit guide for a stoner. IMO, though, Sharpe gives him the most room for humor.

Favorite Character Quirk: In World on Fire, when Douglas is having WWI flashbacks and really coming apart, he kept putting his hand to his mouth. My modern brain first read this as talking into a phantom radio, but of course that wasn't right, and then I realized--he was reaching for a phantom gas mask. CHILLS. AMAZING. (Honorable mentions to the Mouth Rub and the Tongue Thing [pictured above]).

Most Nostalgic Bean: National Treasure. The concept may be utter silliness, but you have to admit, this is a fun movie to watch.

Best Dismount from a Horse: Henry VIII, he goes pshwing out of the saddle

Best Swordplay: You may think there's no possible answer to this, but there is---two moments, specifically: the preparatory sword-spin he does at Balin's tomb just before the goblin attack in Moria, and the four lunges he does at 1:26:22 of Sharpe's Battle. It's just facts.

Prettiest Bean Film: Wolfwalkers, hands downnnn

Favorite Bean Death: All right, you knew we had to eventually end here. It's Boromir, obviously--- nothing tops that. But if we're looking at other roles, I think Patriot Games is my favorite, followed by Goldeneye.

So! That concludes this installment of Bean films, though I'll be continuing the labor, and I hope you will, too. What are your favorites?

[shanastoryteller]

Shana, your tags on this post ...I need to know more! What exactly was the plan for Supernatural season 3 if it hasn't been for the writer's strike??? And how haven't I heard about this already?? I need the deets!

i'm so glad you asked :)

the original plan for season 3 was for sam to descend into using his demon powers to get dean out of the deal, and for dean to never go to hell. then the writers strike happened, the season got cut from 22 eps to 16, with only 4 after the strike, and that wasn't enough time to establish sam's spiral and powers, so changed the ending. it's on the wiki and there are some articles around about it

this was, in my opinion, the worst fucking decision they could make

it ruined the characters in a lot of ways and really unbalanced everything in a way the show never recovered from

the thing is that this arc is so well set up!

literally at the end of season 2 we get

"You're my big brother, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. And I don't care, I'm going to get you out of this. I'm going to save your ass for a change."

sam has evaded azazel's every attempt to corrupt him. his shitty home life, all the demons he's exposed sam to, killing jessica, taking away his father, putting him in a literal life or death hunger games scenario. each time sam refuses to play ball

(sam's incorruptibility is what makes him qualified to be king of hell, but that's a different post)

he's the moral compass between him and dean. always has been. there is nothing in sam's messed up, twisted life that has pushed him pass mercy

but dean could do it. there's nothing sam wouldn't do for his big brother

john told dean that he had to either save sam or kill him. except he's never needed to save sam, because it's literally always sam making the measured, compassionate, merciful call. he's the one holding dean back, not the other way around

and sam straining towards darkness for the first time, for dean, would kill him. we'll come back to this

mystery spot, as an episode, is actually pointless if the plan was for dean to go to hell. because sam's sneak peek into what his life is like after dean doesn't do anything. i love this ep, but it's narratively pointless now

however

with the og plan, mystery spot is the turning point. it not only tells sam how miserable he'll be after dean is gone, but it also establishes what he's willing to do to get him back - pretty much anything. it's not theoretical pain, it's not theoretical grief. mystery spot is the thing that pushes sam towards being hard, away from the moral sweetness he's embodied for the past two and half seasons.

the next ep, jus in bello, shows this. sam is considering doing the terrible thing. he's now capable of considering the terrible thing in a way he wasn't before mystery spot. this is when his descent starts, when sam decides he's willing to trade his humanity for his brother's life

and then the writer's strike happened

right when it's getting good, right when sam's arc is ramping up, we lose it. and instead of picking it back up, pushing dean's deal to next season and giving it the weight it deserves, they say fuck it, and send dean to hell

but this fucks it all up. we have sam's "descent" with ruby and demon blood. except not really because he's not even hurting anyone. and dean's back, but not because of sam. sam didn't save him

this fucks it all up

because deans anger and fear and desire to save sam should have been tempered with the knowledge that he did that to save dean's life. that once more someone dean loves has made a terrible sacrifice for him, which he can't stand, which he hates. he has the self esteem of a gnat and the best people he knows keep destroying themselves for his benefit

i think the og build up was sam strengthening his powers to kill lilith, doing it, and then releasing lucifer at the end of s3. sam unwittingly starting the apocolypse to save his brother (does he regret it, dean wonders. it would be easier if he did)

and now everything is shit and dean's drowning but here and his brother has turned himself into something that's not unlike the kid dean loves so much it almost killed him, but not exactly the same. and now he understands john, because this is the sam that dean has to either save or kill, except he could never kill him. he loves him (and how can he kill sam for doing this when it's dean's fault, when dean made the deal that doomed his brother when all he wanted was to save him)

this is the flip that the show has been building towards. dean having to be the moral center for his brother for once. dean being the one saved. dean finally having to face his father's words and deciding once and for all if he's john's son or sam's brother

but instead dean goes to hell. and he's no one moral's center. because he broke in hell, he tortured people and he enjoyed it. they ruined dean with this. because instead of fighting and growing from his violence, they push him into it, and then they call him a righteous man. dean was the one harming people, he's the one that descended into darkness, not sam. sam and his demon blood had still only been trying to good, and in the end did do good, far more than anything dean did in hell, or has done since. his moral outrage, his anger, his disgust towards sam isn't only wildly out of character, it's hypocritical as hell. sam remains the moral, compassionate one, even through this. it never slides to dean. neither of them are really forced to grow or change, only to become twisted into each other in ways that hurt them both

this should have been the story of what sam would do to save his brother (anything) and what dean would do to save his brother (anything)

they should have saved each other

[dilfmobius]

Do you know what absolutely kills me?

Mobius doesn't often let himself get rattled. He usually lets things roll right off his back, no matter how chaotic things get. Two out of the three times we see his calm demeanor crack, however, are related to Loki: Once when he feels as if Loki betrayed him for Sylvie, and the other when he figures out that Loki will be sacrificing himself to save everyone. Even during the time that Brad goads him, and causes him to lose his temper, Loki is right there for him, to help him calm down again.

Loki really is the center of Mobius' universe, and the one thing that is able to break his composure, is the thought of losing him. 😢

goddd yes thanks for this because it kills me too!!!

but okayyyy let's talk about it because wtf is this??

he's so hurt!! betrayed!! look at his face!! owen wilson you owe me money!!!

and the jealousy fueled spectacle he puts on right after. "It's breaking my reality right now!" oh, baby, we know.

and this

this look on his face?? literally brings me to tears. he's scared and confused and loki's out there!!!

and my personal favorite

it's the clenched fists that really send me over the edge, because he's trying desperately not to break down, not to lose his cool. he just needs to hold it together until loki gets back. he'll make it back. right?

but godddd that look of pure anguish on his face. it's like his life is flashing before his eyes but it's all just loki.

(why yes i did make gifs specifically for this ask, i promise you i'm very normal about all of this)

another scene where mobius loses his cool (that i just really love) is when they get separated at roxxcart. mobius is energized by the fact that they're so close to finishing this, but also that he and loki were gonna do it together. loki was the one who figured it all out and mobius was so proud and just,,, "you're gonna take my job if i'm not careful." and why did he have to say it like that???

anyway, the last thing mobius wants is loki out of his sight and he has a conniption about it!

"of course he's a threat [...] that's why i want him with me." and yes of course mobius knows better, because no one else knows loki like he does. but i'm also very endeared and amused by it. mobius please take a breath.

i also love loki's soft, "mobius, it's fine." just end me please.

AND YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT MOBIUS BEING AFRAID OF LOSING LOKI WHAT ABOUT THE ENTIRE FIRST EPISODE OF SEASON 2

THE CLUTCHING??? THE MANHANDLING???

i will never be okay again and it's because of THIS EPISODE.

"loki's here? where?" "i need a loki who remains." the look of horror on mobius' face every time loki timeslipped "he'll make it back." "give him more time! he can still make it!"

season 2 really is where mobius just falls apart and the crisis of faith fully sets in. of course his worst nightmare is losing loki; he's the only real thing mobius has left. "everything you've been doing is wrong, and all your gods are dead." and poetically enough, not all of mobius' gods are dead. loki's there. loki made it back to him.

and they're whole conversation in the automat after brad chipped away at whatever was left of mobius' defenses. of course mobius doesn't want to know about his past life. his past life didn't have loki. he likes his life at the tva because loki is there with him.

it's why he leaves once loki is gone

ANYWAY, this kinda got away from me oops i'm done fhdgfjsdg

[raayllum]

like Callum made the right choice in 5x08 for his character and the thematic narrative. Thematically, Rayla cannot permanently die (she's too sacrificial) nor can she have a partner, honestly, who'd be willing to sacrifice her like that. Callum also cannot be willing to sacrifice her like that for the life of a stranger dragon he's never met, or not take the dark magic risk; not only is this how he's always clearly been ever since S1 ("But not everything [has changed]: I would do anything for you") but doing so would make him exactly like the worst of Viren: "If you have to choose between [the world] or your brother, pick the egg." Callum is having a dark path arc, but he's not having an antagonist or villain arc.

That said, there's a reason Callum is Chained Up when he gives the spell and locked in a damp dark brig and has to use the snake-chain spell specifically, because TDP loves its irony: what gets more ironic than freeing yourself from chains in order to free and save your girlfriend, when you know in doing so you're chaining yourself further and further to the main villain and his will in doing so? When you know that you would?

There's a reason 5x08 ends with Callum looking scared and sad and the shot of the snakes, because those aren't fun things (hi Ocean arcanum epiphany) to learn or fully accept about yourself. There's a reason that what characters justify with "I had no choice" or "this is the right thing to do" isn't always the literal case. "I had to, to save my friends" or you could've left it. You could've tried something else than dark magic. But you didn't, because you thought that was the one thing you could do in order to not lose your friend, so you did it; You Made Your Choice.

For example, if we're talking what happened in 5x08 in a "this would keep The World 100% safe" type of deal? Callum fucked up twice. He gave the spell and he didn't know Finnegrin would be dead or unable to use it by episode's end. He did dark magic — with no idea that it wouldn't let Aaravos automatically possess him in that moment — because a world where he didn't even try and save her was worse to him. But it was a risk! Both of those things were massive risks!

Just because they didn't amount to the extreme consequences they could have had, yet, doesn't mean that they won't, since soo much of TDP is just "this thing had unforeseen/unwanted consequences as a result of the choices you made" (the loss of Rayla's team, Harrow's death, Sarai's death, the possession at all, Karim's banishment, Zubeia's corruption, Claudia's 5 season long descent, and I'm sure going to the Starscraper next season, just to name a few quick examples off the top of my head). As Harrow says:

H: But I do know I will pay the price for the choices I've made. I've done terrible things. I thought they were necessary. Now I don't know.

Rayla thought she had to leave; she didn't. Rayla thought she had to find Viren, twice; that wasn't true. She chose to leave both times. She also chose to come back both times. She could've doubled down, but she didn't. Viren, finally, didn't.

Every step forward is a choice.

That's true for Every Single Character in the show.

To deny them that is to deny the agency they do have in the circumstances they find themselves in; Soren could've not stabbed his father, Terry could've chosen to tackle rather than stab Ibis, Viren could've chosen to grieve his son. That doesn't mean they didn't have good reasons to do the things they were doing, that doesn't mean their justifications weren't strong, that doesn't mean they were necessarily wrong to do so. But they made Choices.

So did Callum. And he chose what regrets, sacrifices, and losses he could live with, in order to save the person he decided he couldn't live without.

It's that simple, and that complicated.

[drdemonprince]

to the anon who sent me the message that took them 4 hours to draft.

I think your experience both with organizing and disability has probably provoked you to rethink the entire concept of "success" as our culture has defined it, even if you feel yourself still longing for some of the comfort and ease that capitalistic success can seemingly provide (or that we are conditioned to believe it can provide). im not sure what to say that can match the effort your put into your message, in fact i am galled by the fact that i know that i can't match that effort. i don't know how to make sense of the fact that a person who is finding it incredibly difficult to remain connected and engaged during this time, due to disability, has decided that i was worth that level of effort when they don't have the energy to message people they know. i don't think i am worth that effort. but i also respect that mired in all that you're mired in, it's a meaningful gesture toward engagement and connection to even bother writing such a message. i just think in a lot of ways i am a misplaced target for it, because i am a ridiculously privileged and publicly exposed individual who receives dozens of heartfelt messages that he doesnt find the time to respond to every single day. i think if anything that i've written rubs you the wrong way you'd be right to approach it with cynicism. because what the fuck do i know, banging around on my laptop every day and getting paid for it. how dare i lecture anybody about not unlearning capitalism adequately enough. i am one of capitalisms little milking cows. a massive publishing company makes a weekly profit off of me, off the byproduct of the worst years of my life and my worst traumas, as well as the meaning i've made from the scholarship of others.

i'm so enraged for you that you got a debilitating case of COVID (after several other cases) on an encampment, and that now the community you foster at that encampment is not there for you. i am disgusted at how more seasoned activists and organizations have regarded student protestors as disposable this entire year, selling them out to the cops, cutting bad deals with campus administration, and sending them to yellow and red risk level actions without adequate communication and getting them kettled and beat, or else nullifying their efforts with mealy-mouthed talk about keeping things peaceful. i see so many toothless, neoliberal protests happening here, ones that serve only as fundraisers for massive nonprofit orgs, and i also see literal teenagers being dragged right into paddy wagons by the likes of the PSL or the RCP while the Dems deride them and dance to Brat tracks, not even pretending to care the way they unconvincingly did in say 2020.

It's all making me terribly cynical, wondering where we are headed and whether i can or should encourage people who are younger, stronger, more energetic, more pliable, and more vulnerable to me to give up all that they've got for a cause when it's likely gonna be chewed up and spit out and not met in effort by anyone else. i am mournful of the fact that even i can't match that effort. every time i get a message from a friend or acquaintance who is going through some new awful traumatizing event i want to just curl up and disappear, because i can't even keep up with sending compassionate messages to all of them, let alone actually showing the fuck up and doing anything for them. and so sometimes i slip into the disaffected, blunted feeling that once led me as a younger man into libertarianism, thinking that all i can or should do is look after my own wellbeing, and fuck everybody else. and obviously that is a horrible path that is not by any means moral and certainly didn't help me anyway. it felt like we were on the brink of a great paradigm shift of some kind, a collapse of these evil systems, and now it feels like all of that is as far away as it's ever been, and that there aren't enough people with class consciousness and care for one another to make it happen.

i don't know. i think we all have to abandon our dreams of success, of comfort, of saving the world, the fantasies of everything being fine. i think we need to look to our immediate surroundings and our communities. i think we need to ask for help a whole hell of a lot more than any of us are doing, and to recognize that that is a form of helping. i think we need to get small. and remember we are weak animals. and stop thinking there is anything special or chosen about us. and to remember that nature can often be very cruel and that there is nothing we are owed. disabled people already know this of course, we know life isn't fair. we try to do what we can and yet we wake up feeling even less capable the next day, and it knows no logic and the universe remains indifferent to it. but there are people around us who can care, when we ask them to. and ways that we can just be there alongside one another in the muck of it all. not even necessarily making things better. certainly not being a savior and making the pain go away. maybe just sitting in the muck together.

all of which is to say, i am feeling stuck and overwhelmed and useless myself, anon, and i dont have any more answers than you. but thanks for messaging. im sorry people have taking advantage of you. including in my opinion lots of other activists. looking after yourself and not letting people guilt you doesn't mean turning into a conservative. the kind of anarchy that i am embracing right now is one that goes beyond linear change, beyond making meaning, beyond any idealistic visions of the future, beyond even fighting for some kind of symbolic survival. it's just being. none of it has to mean anything, none of it has to be headed anywhere. it just is. there is plenty for you to be bitter about.

[tieronecrush]

water in your hands

joel miller x f!reader

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

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

summary:

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

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

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

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

PART II HERE

dividers from @saradika

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Any spot in particular?”

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

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

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

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

“She’d be a pretty badass astronaut.”

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

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

“Astrology?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your voice thick with anticipation answers, “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, baby, you’re so soft…”

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

“Touch me, please. Wanna feel you…”

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

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

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

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

“Joel, please…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, baby. Let it happen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come for me, baby.”

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

“Fuck, ‘m close. Feel so damn good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “What do you need to talk about?”

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

“Do you regret it?”

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

“No. I could never regret it.”

“So why shouldn’t it have happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck me, please, I need you now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meet me at our spot tonight, sweet girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel.

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

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

Tommy asked him to wait outside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

taglist: @swiftispunk (supportive bae)

[study-like-you-mean-it]

2024 Goal Setting for People Who Used to be Studyblr Queens and are Now Just Muddling Through Adult Life

I know you, you know me. I've had this account since I was freshly 16 and I'm 23 (and a half) now, and I can guarantee there's loads of you in the same boat right now.

Where did I go? What did I do? I finished my Master's Degree and realised (with some trepidation) at the end of it that I'd achieved everything that was on my list of things to achieve ever, and I didn't really have a plan on what I was going to do, so for what may have been the first time in my life I just...winged it. Started measuring progress according to how I felt about it. And it worked! Lots of good has come out of it so let me suggest some goal setting approaches to help if you're in a similar position (and given the studyblr -> chaos pipeline I might suggest there's at least a few people this might help)

Point 1 - Don't set yourself academic goals

"But Study Like You Mean It, I always set academic goals!" I hear you say. I appreciate the irony of my username in relation to this. Point is, you're not in academia anymore. You need to stop goal setting like you're in academia, and the easiest way to do this is to stop setting academic goals.

"But I like the pursuit of knowledge!" I hear you counter. So do I, but if you've just come out of a hothouse academic setting, you *really* need to consider who you're goal setting for. Do you like the idea of being a polyglot by the end of the year? Sure, fine, whatever, but consider who you're goal setting for. Do you want to be a polyglot because you like the process of learning languages, or because you want to show to others that you know languages? It sounds silly, but you're not working to a grade anymore, and it's absolutely essential that you reflect on why you like doing academic things. This doesn't apply to everyone, but I would kick off the process of self-reflection on this (because you know the Studyblr types are most likely guilty of performative learning) by refusing to set yourself academic goals.

If you don't hit a yardstick, what's the worst that will happen?

(nothing- the answer is nothing and you need to start getting comfortable with that)

Point 2 - Set Process-Based Goals

Building on the last point, if you want to have achieved something by the end of the year, how can you frame it in a way that's definitely not you trying to put down a point to show to others that you've improved, and instead internalise your sense of progress? Maybe the goal you set is "by the end of the year, I want to feel like I understand internalised growth and progress", and you'll know at the end of the year when you self-reflect if you've succeeded in that.

Otherwise, set a process-based goal. If you want to get better at something, but know you're guilty of holding yourself to externalised yardsticks, set yourself a goal that's about the process rather than the result. Scary, I know. For example, say you want to start playing a sport. If you go in without a process-based goal, you could end up saying to yourself "I want to put myself in a position where I qualify for a team two leagues above by the end of the season," which is a SMART* goal, but incredibly determined by outside reflections on your own ability, and very end-result focused. There's a time and a place for goals like this, but if you're coming off a high-intensity academic environment, I would argue that it's not the right place. Instead, what about "I will show up every week and be positive about the fact that I'm not perfect"? It's about the learning process, and I think post-university a lot of people fall out of love with the actual learning process, and become too mired in results.

*specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, time-bound

Point 3 - What happens if you don't hit your goal?

I love asking this question to people who've come out of academic environments.

Literally what's going to happen if you can't meet the goal that you've set for yourself when you set an end-goal focused goal?

Nothing!!!!!

It's so freeing. Embrace it! There are no time bounds on learning, so enjoy the learning! There's no exam to pass, no professors to wow, no applications to get accepted. It's just you learning how to be you, and remembering why you love to get good at things!

Part 4 - Habits =/= Goals

This one maybe is a bit tricky to explain. It's the difference between "I'm going to get into the practice of reading on my commute when I can" and "I must finish 10 books this year by reading on my commute when I can". One of them is about introducing something new into your life because it makes you feel good, and the other one is about setting limits on that because you feel you need to control the way that you enjoy things (this comes from academia putting constraints on learning, etc.).

Be patient with yourself, for goodness' sakes. Get into the habit and enjoy the process, don't automatically find ways to be masochistic about it.

My Goal Setting Approach

Now I've clarified the kinds of goals to set in this new and scary world, I'll run through my approach to implement them. First thing to note is I like setting lots of goals, but then those all get broken into little habits that I can focus on in my day to day, as well as timeline-less tasks to accomplish when I've got the time free.

I start with areas I'd like to improve myself in (again, not as a discipline thing, but towards the vision that I might be a more rounded and enriched person because of it):

Personal - how can I become more introspective/calm/mindful?

Financial - how can I become more fiscally responsible now I'm an adult?

Social - how do I make time for others?

Work - what does progress at work over this year look like?

Sport - this can be replaced by whatever your main hobby is

Intellectual - how can I enrich myself and learn about things that I'm interested in?

I won't run through all of these, but I'll create some examples:

Domain: Financial - how can I become more fiscally responsible now I'm an adult?

General points on this: I can save more money, I can improve my credit score, I can pay off some loans

Habits: for the first, I can maybe aim to save 20% of my takehome, by putting 10% in at the start of the month, and trying to put 10% in at the end if I've got enough, and I can set up the timelineless task of opening a high interest-rate savings account for money that I don't need for emergency access; for the second, I can set the timelineless task of setting up a credit card, and get into the habit of paying for my groceries with it; for the third, I can sit down and look at how much of my takehome I can dedicate to this, and then get into the habit of paying off a sustainable amount

Now, I have the timelineless tasks fo getting a credit card, opening a new savings account, and sitting down and looking at my loans, and then I have the two habits of tucking bits of money away and paying off some loans. Note that there's nothing that's made it too urgent (which I admit is a privilege) and there's nothing that tells me I'm a bad person for not being able to do it. Another example:

Domain: intellectual - how can I enrich myself and learn about things that I'm interested in?

General points on this: I would like to read more broadly, I would like to improve my French, I would like to understand more about world events

Habits: for the first, I can read on my commute when I can get a seat on the train, as I have half an hour each way so I can use that time to read. I can set the timelineless task of exploring the kinds of books that I'd like to read; for the second, I can choose to consume more French media when I feel like I have the mental capacity. I also have to speak French at work, so I want to get into the habit of not cowarding out and switching to English (scary but doable); for the last, I can get into the habit of watching the evening news (so it's contained within a time slot and I'm not being overwhelmed by the 24h news cycle) and I can set the timelineless task of picking up a copy of a magazine like the economist once in a while to get a deeper understanding.

So the habits to get into are reading on my commute, choosing to speak more in French, and watching the news when I can; the tasks are maybe picking up a copy of a magazine and coming up with a reading list.

The whole point of this approach is it breaks your bigger goals into a timeline-free to-do list, and then a list of small habits that you can get into. The good news is that there's no punishment for failure! If I want to listen to the Bongo's Bingo Greatest Hits playlist on the train one morning instead of reading about the modern history of Cambodia, nobody's going to come along and tell me off for not being serious enough, or clever enough, or "academic" enough about my approach to life. The to-do list aspect I find immensely helpful, as often I struggle to write larger-level to-do lists when I'm in the middle of the year, because I don't have the same kind of clarity over the types of progress I want to make when I'm in the middle of things.

Anyway, I hope this is useful, and a good counterpoint to the mindset that everyone who's ever been near Studyblr has. Learning now is only for enjoyment, so enjoy that aspect! Live your life! Understand that the process of betterment is all about enriching your personal sphere and nothing about other people because (drumroll) literally nobody else cares! In a good way! Nobody cares that you've not mastered Polish in 3 weeks or read the entire academic output of Montaigne in a week! And it's cool if you have, but the person you are is more important, and freeing yourself from external yardsticks is so so crucial!

Love to anyone who read this far ♥

[lilliths-httyd-blog]

Summarising every single HTTYD movie, short and episode in roughly one sentence:

HTTYD 1:

ADHD incarnate befriends Death: The Dragon and with the power of friendship they OH GODS OH FUCK OH HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT

Legend of the Boneknapper:

Gobber likes to tell campfire stories

Book of Dragons:

DreamWorks attempts to write a reader POV fanfiction

Gift of the Night Fury:

Critical series lore in a Christmas special?? Yeah seems normal for this franchise

Riders of Berk:

1. Mildew tries to get a bunch of teenagers executed or some shit

2. Solidifying Gobber as a total madlad: The episode

3. Hot take: You can skip this episode, it's arguably the worst one in the franchise, but you WILL miss a penis joke so there's that going for it.

4. Toothless develops an Older Sibling complex over Beyblade: The Dragon™ and HOLY FUCK WHAT IS THAT???

5. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, MILDEW?? I mean I knew you were an ass but I didn't expect THIS??

6. "The films aren't anything like the books!" UM, ACTUALLY- (aka the episode where Hiccup goes full-on Book!Hiccup mode and Alvin is nothing like his book counterpart but the rest of the outcasts are)

7. "Look at this super dangerous dragon I found! I'M GONNA WRESTLE IT!!"

8. Hiccup has body image issues

9. Mildew gets bitten in the ass (SATISFYING)

10. The Mary Sue: Part One

11. The Mary Sue: Part Two

12. Oh yeah Snotlout's dad is an abusive cuck who can go fuck himself I'm not even joking. Love Snotlout tho I gotta say.

13. "IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?! STRIKE ME DOWN, ZEUS!! YOU DON'T HAVE THE BA-"

14. Toothless has a mortal enemy apparently and it is fucked up

15. (Dagur fanboys start screaming in the distance)

16. Snotlout fixes his mistakes (they were very big mistakes)

17. VALKA??? VALKA MENTION??? HICCUP HAS A DRAGON PLUSHIE??? (silently weeping by the end of the episode)

18. Fishlegs and Snotlout piss off some helicopter parents who are also Invisible Acid Dragons™ (ohhhhhh no)

19. Are there... other Night Furies????

20. Lol no BUT I'LL TELL YOU WHAT THERE IS-

Defenders of Berk:

1. Fight Club reference

2. That one time Meatlug became magnetic and almost died

3. Dagur is gay for Hiccup but like in a yandere way

4. Whoever designed the Screaming Death must have been on a particularly fucked up slice of magic mushroom because I've never seen something more in need of holy water than that dragon (my childhood favourite :D )

5. Snotlout's dad is a fucking asshole but I never thought he'd stoop that low

6. Behold: My second favourite dragon who canonically killed Astrid's uncle

7. They tried to train Terrible Terrors in this episode, guess how that went lmaooo

8. (grabs more holy water) IT'S BACK.

9. Hey remember Tiny Beyblade Dragon? Yeah now he's kinda sorta the size of a house. Meanwhile everything is on fire (twin's fault)

10. Behold: My favourite dragon's frozen carcass preserved in ice- I mean my favourite dragon is hibernating in ice- I mean OH SHIT OH FUCK HOLY FUCKING SHIT OH NO-

11. Dagur subjugates my favourite dragon and then karma bites him in the ass

12. Snotlout and Gustav are an anxiety/adhd wombo-combo

13. Ruffnut cuts her hair short to save the life of a really cute dragon and Dreamworks was too pussy to keep it like that for the rest of the season.

14. (darude sandstorm plays)

15. The dragons get high and try to kill each other

16. Toothless is on drugs (I'm not even joking, during the Toothless POV shots you can literally hear stoner music playing)

17. Dagur with helmet hair Dagur with helmet hair Dagur with helmet hair

18. THORNADO NOOOOOOOOO T-T

19. ALVIN, DAGUR, SNOTLOUT AND THE SCREAMING DEATH. HOW IS THIS SUPPOSED TO GET BETTER THAN IT ALREADY IS???

20. IT GOT BETTERRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!

Dawn of the Dragon Racers:

The gang got new fits and invented a sport

Race to the Edge S1:

1. Oh shit, Dagur's out of prison, better go chase him down and OOOH, SHINY TELESCOPE THINGY?? (Hiccup is a magpie apparently)

2. Gothi once again proving herself to be an absolute madlad

3. Hiccup and the gang move out of home because telescopy thingy told them to. What could possibly go wrong? (GONE WRONG)

4. Welcome to our new home on Dragon's Edge! It's been years since we've been able to function effectively as a team, and Tuffnut's been smoking way too many hallucinogens lately OH FUCK HE WASN'T HALLUCINATING OH FUCK ME

5. Snotlout is gay for Fishlegs

6. NOT GUSTAV NOOOOOOOO

7. Basically what happens when you put me in charge of anything

8. "Look at this super dangerous dragon I found! I'M GONNA WRESTLE IT!!"

9. Fishlegs and Snotlout are gay

10. THE MARY SUE IS BACK AND I LOVE HER SO MUCH

11. WELL THAT PLOT TWIST CAME OUTTA NOWHERE

12. (darude sandstorm vocoded to running in the 90s plays)

13. they made girl dragon pink

Race to the Edge S2:

1. Astrid becomes that "SHOW ME YOUR WAR FACE" guy basically

2. SCOTLAND FOREVER!!! 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 (new villain alert and he is AWESOME)

3. MARY SUE IS WORKING FOR THE VILLAINS NOW???

4. Dreamworks introduces Dragon Werewolfism and does NOTHING with this concept after this episode?? What a ripoff!

5. Fuck Snotlout's dad so much

6. Hiccup punches Snotlout in the face and knocks him out which is no surprise considering he is God of Dragons

7. MARY SUE WAS SPYING ON THE VILLAINS ALL ALONG NOW???

8. Two people and a singular dragon try to fight off an entire armada

9. They succeed somehow

10. Oh hey it's a HTTYD 2 dragon (Free Willy parody? You couldn't have done anything more original?)

11. SKRILL!! SKRILL!! SKRILL!! SKRILL!! SKRILL!! SKRILL!!

12. Prepare to thirst in 3... 2... 1: (Viggo appears)

13. If you thought Dagur was homosexual, you aren't prepared for how gay Viggo gets

Race to the Edge S3:

1. Dagur did WHAT NOW???

2. Fuck Cavern Crashers so much but SNOTLOUT SNOUTLOUT OI OI OI!!!

3. Sword in the Stone parody?? Are all the Fishlegs episodes story parodies now??

4. Did... Did they try to portray Snotlout's dad as being in the right in this episode?? Ew fuck that.

5. Viggo almost caused Covid-19

6. Hiccup forgets that not everyone has ADHD and the dragons go completely fucking feral

7. This show loves to force romances, doesn't it?

8. I think these people took HTTYD/Pokemon crossover fics a bit too far

9. A musical episode which has a reason to exist. Sarah Z was right all along?

10. Favourite Fishlegs episode :)

11. DAGUR DID WHAT NOW???

12. My go-to introductory episode for non-fans. It's got everything. Including Viggo.

13. OKAY BUT THAT CLIFFHANGER WAS METAL

Race to the Edge S4:

1. OH THAT FINALE WAS METAL MALA IS JUST SO METAL I LOVE DEFENDERS OF THE WING

2. If you listen closely you can hear TJ Miller in absolute hysterics in the recording booth

3. At this point in time Viggo only values Hiccup as being worth 1000 gold coins

4. I love Snotlout so much... Spitelout can go suck a bag of rocks

5. Oh fuck yes Dagur's back

6. Viggo throws a hissy fit and kisses a man and Toothless is willing to die just so Hiccup doesn't have to die alone (sobbing)

7. Everyone is high in this episode

8. "You didn't think after all we've been through I'd expose myself without some... added protection?"

9. Jumping into a volcano on purpose: The episode

10. Viggo takes a sip of water in this episode (very important)

11. It took Hiccup and Astrid over four years since their first kiss to officially start dating, but they finally did it and it was one of the best episodes in the whole show

12. Ryker has had enough

13. Viggo confesses his love for Hiccup and then fucking dies (or did he?)

Race to the Edge S5:

1. "The volcano on Dragon's Edge is a dormant volcano" THINK THE FUCK AGAIN, FISHLEGS

2. How the fuck did Gen Z: The Dragon get ahold of Viggo's sword?

3. Savage needs therapy

4. Snotlout's casual sexism almost gets him killed: Lesbian Island edition

5. If you've ever watched an elderly person try to escape a nursing home then you've seen this episode before. Just without as many bones and corpses

6. The Gays Are Back In Town ft. Gay Snotlout, Gay Fishlegs and Gay Viggo

7. "my city now" - Krogan

8. You cannot watch this episode and tell me that Viggo isn't in love with Hiccup

9. Krogan insulted Viggo's hobby and Viggo got mega salty about it

10. Astrid punches a dragon with poisonous scales and almost dies because Save Stormfly Make Anditode™, turns out she did this for no reason whatsoever because Stormfly Wasn't Dying

11. Tuffnut fakes his own death in order to make Ruffnut happy

12. Dagur not-so-casually finding his fathers dead body

13. Rage.

Race to the Edge S6:

1. My blood has never boiled so hard as it did watching this episode

2. Stoick gets played like a cheap kazzoo and regresses back to how he acted in HTTYD 1 out of sheer stress

3. THIS SHOW LOVES TO FORCE ROMANCES, DOESN'T IT?

4. Fishlegs can't believe that his ancestors were Dragon Hunters as if he wasn't once enrolled in Dragon Killing School

5. Nothing solves a sibling rivalry like teaming up to kill the annoying cousin

6. THIS EPISODE GOT AGE RESTRICTED ON NETFLIX BECAUSE ASTRID SHOOK HER TITS AT HICCUP AND DAGUR AND MALA HAVE A MUTUAL PAIN KINK

7. The twins are just. So ride or die for each other it's not even funny.

8. Viggo confesses his love for Hiccup and then fucking dies for real this time (Viggo fans start sobbing as The Winner Takes It All by ABBA starts playing in the distance)

9. Snotlout writes a book

10. What if the gang had never left Berk? What if Hiccup never shot down Toothless at the start of HTTYD 1? What if Spitelout actually loved his son?

11. Protecting an island filled with a bunch of dead dragons

12. The satisfied smirk on my face knowing what the characters don't

13. The most satisfying death in the history of mankind.

HTTYD 2:

Way to straight up ruin Hiccup's life, am I right?

HTTYD 3:

Ruining every character and spitting in the face of all that I love

Homecoming:

20 minutes of my life that I'll never get back

Snoggletog Log:

Half an hour of a fireplace and the wrong voice actors. This shit plays like a DVD menu.

[darkshrimpemotions]

Like. I have fifteen years of trust issues when it comes to this stuff so I'm in no way saying anything to defend anything or stating a belief or even truly theorizing here but. Rewatching seasons 1-5 really has me feeling like that. Those comments from That Interview HAVE to be sarcasm/trolling, right? Right????

Because the level of out of touch you'd have to be to think anyone invested in this show actually cares that Nandor is (barely) Guillermo's boss, or to think that they're not in gross, mushy, big, forever, life-changing, unhinged, kill and die for each other love...truly is breathtaking to me. To the point I kind of want to refuse to believe it's possible for someone directly involved in the show to BE that out of touch?

Especially after all the heavy lifting done in seasons 2-4 to eliminate any perceived power imbalance between them? Showing that Guillermo is immune to hypnosis and can best Nandor in a fight. The lengths gone to in order to illustrate how important they are to each other, how well they know each other.

Nandor's arc for two whole seasons of the show LITERALLY being looking for love in all the wrong places while Guillermo stands faithfully by his side, giving him the comfort and companionship he's so desperately seeking the whole time. MARWA AND ALL THE KISSING AND CUDDLING OF GUILLERMO AT THEIR LITERAL WEDDING RECEPTION AFTER NANDOR WISHES FOR HER TO LIKE WHAT HE LIKES. Nandor's immediate and obvious jealousy when Guillermo introduces Freddie. Nandor's grief when he thinks Guillermo is dead. The way Nandor can't handle it when Guillermo leaves in general. Guillermo visiting the worst humiliation a vampire can experience upon Nandor and Nandor just...getting over it? Helping complete his transformation? Helping give him his humanity back when Guillermo realizes this isn't what he wants? Breaking one of the greatest vampire taboos in the process like it's nothing? The frankly stunning revelation that he's always known Guillermo wasn't ready, and that his holding off has always been FOR GUILLERMO?

And Guillermo's sadness whenever Nandor pushes him away. The first time we see him cry is because Nandor told him to take that other offer. Guillermo being willing to die to save Nandor (and Nandor actually almost dying to save Guillermo). Guillermo's obvious jealousy and protectiveness when it came to Nandor's thing with Gail. Guillermo rescuing Nandor from himself with the cult. Nandor being the first one he reveals his secret vampire killer heritage to. Nandor being the last one Guillermo tells about his turning, because he doesn't want to hurt him. Nandor's indifference at the end of season 4 being the thing that actually pushes Guillermo to go to Derek, despite every other setback and loss they've suffered that year. Guillermo literally saying the words with his mouth "I love Nandor the most."

Also just. The two of them LITERALLY being the embodiment of what the other one wants most AND being the one to pull the other back from their most self-destructive attempts to get it? I mean COME ONNNNNNN.

I know TV writers have a long and fucking stupid history of doing this shit. I do. I know it. But like...this show is already so fucking queer? And it's so in-your-face INTENTIONAL about Guillermo and Nandor's relationship? To the point it's almost been the A plot of an entire fucking season? Between my trust issues and my media literacy and my queer little heart's stupid insistence on hoping...I'm struggling, fam.

[dididi11]

I dont plan to get back into HH, but here are some things that have triggered me and that ik sure alot of people can agree on:

1. I feel like Charlie's idea of redemption can be seen through alot of perspectives. HOWEVER- what she specifically wants is to redeem EVERY soul. Now there's a reason to why hell exists, it's made for people who have done terrible things in their life, which is why they get banished to Hell in the first place. We may not know when a soul is actually pure enough to get redeemed- BUT we do know what you would have to be to end up in Hell. Murderers, RÆpists, Cannibals, Paedophiles- just all of those in the horrible category most definitely DON'T deserve a second chance. And even if they somehow did get redeemed, how would the victims in Heaven feel? Heaven is the place where they're supposed to feel safe- So how the hell do you expect to put them in the same place together without any conflicts? If you truly want to get the right people into Heaven, then you should background check every single Sinner throughly.

2. Adam- We all love love him and hate him, but there is one person to blame for when it comes to his Character: Vivziepop. I feel like she used the "Annoying Villain who doesn't care about anything that the protagonist has to say and is just downright badly written" trope way to often. He could've had so much potential to be a good written Character that would actually explain to Charlie why sinners just can't be redeemed. It just felt unnecessary to only let him be a douchebag, sing his song (which was banger don't get me wrong-) and shorten their time by 6 months for the next extermination to cause Charlie another COMPLETELY unnecessary problem. And all that for NO reason, "Yeah, but that's because he's a douch-" And that's exactly my point, why waste your time and effort on a basic ahh character if he's going to be a just an ordinary douche anyway? The first Season would've been so much more interesting if we actually had a logical explanation to why others are against of Charlie's idea. But no, instead all we get is "ahahaha, Sinners are stupid. They deserve Hell." Also why the Hell did Adam shorten the time for the extermination by 6 months?? It felt so unnecessary, They probably felt like the first Season would've been boring without any Action- and I'm pretty sure they could've made a different Scene that was also Epic without it not making sense.

2. ADAM AGAIN- I don't want this to be just about Adam, but since he is dead (BY FUCKING NIFFTY I HATE HER) and maybe wont come back- since we don't know if he'll get respawned..what kind of punishment will Lucifer specifically receive? To clarify things, Lucifer had disobeyed the rules of Heaven and Hell, he helped his daughter and her friends kill off half of the exorcists and even threatened them to retreat. And the worst part of all of this is that he would've killed Adam if Charlie hadn't stopped him. Even though Adam was killed by NIFFTY, I'm pretty sure the blame would be put on Lucifer instead of some Sinner. So what will happen if they try to communicate with Heaven again? They literally killed the first human of mankind created by God himself. Honestly at that point it would be a pretty huge deal and Charlie's redemption idea wouldn't even be looked into.

2. Emily and Charlie- I hate how none of the Characters genuinely understand the ACTUAL purpose of the extermination. It's to prevent Hell from gaining to much power, that's why they need to make sure to kill off half of the population. It was never about the redemption of Sinners, so Charlie shouldn't even think about canceling off the extermination. I also get why Emily is mad at Sera for lying to her, but the fact that she immediately joined Charlie's side without even thinking trough the entire thing is just downright dumb.

3. I feel like there's more to talk about, I just don't know what.

[daytaker]

NightBringer Satan is a Gift.

I understand everyone has their own opinions on how good/not good NB is as a game or a story or whatever, but in my opinion, Satan's characterization is soooo enhanced by it. I know that this isn't an opinion that everyone shares, but to me, Satan felt emotionally artificial sometimes in the original game (more on that below).* He felt kind of awkward and like he wanted to connect with MC but something was blocking the kind of connection they develop with some of the other brothers. (Disclaimer: I've only done season 1 of OG, so I can't speak to how he's characterized later on. I know, I know, shame. But I'm trying my best.) Getting to see what Satan is like when he doesn't have any control over his emotions makes the stiffness and artificiality make more sense to me, and they become admirable because we get to see just how hard it is for him to get everything under control.

I think they did a really good job with the pacing of his development in NB too. Satan in Lesson 1 and Satan in Lesson 19 are different, but there isn't a moment where he suddenly starts controlling his emotions better. I think there's a lot going on behind the scenes with him as far as his emotional growth and self control are concerned.

Also let's not forget some very important things about Satan that make him, IMO, one of the most interesting characters to work with as a writer:

Satan was never an angel; he had no fall from grace.

Satan was created from Lucifer's wrath---he is literally the product of trauma and self-mutilation.

Satan is significantly younger than his brothers.

He spent the first year of his life more or less trapped in a castle with his deeply emotionally wounded brothers.

He has a deep resentment towards Lucifer that sometimes defies reason---he wishes he didn't dedicate so much of his time and energy to him, but it's basically a compulsion.

He hates his deep association with Lucifer, and he hates that he has a lot in common with him.

And these lead me to some headcanons that live rent-free in my brain every day of my life.

Satan sees himself as a reminder of the Great Celestial War and everything his brothers lost in it, including Lilith.

He is divine retribution against Lucifer for his failure, for leading his brothers to failure, for letting his sister die.

He acts as a counterbalance to Lucifer's pride by bearing the weight of the shame that Lucifer can't fully accept now that he is the Avatar of Pride. Even if Lucifer pushes it out of his mind, Satan never forgets that he failed in the worst way possible.

His biggest aspiration is to become a full and complete person outside of any association he has with Lucifer. He feels like some sort of parasitic tumor that exists only in opposition to his brother, and he wants desperately to escape that role that he feels he was born into.

Anyway, Satan is great, hail Satan, all that good stuff. Did you know I have a lot of thoughts and opinions about Satan? I know, shocking. For more of my takes here's my fic about him (on AO3).

*I think Satan almost metaphorically represents certain elements of autism---emotions that don't come out the way you intend, masking and its limitations, hyperfixations that are barely under control. In Fandom Discourse(TM) there's sometimes a level of focus on more 'cutesy' autistic traits that we find endearing in characters, like social obliviousness and gleefully indulged hyperfixations. But emotional control, emotional masking, emotional seepage, emotional artificiality---these are also real and messy and often times they aren't cute and they're uncomfortable to see in yourself or in someone else. I really don't like diagnosing characters so I'm not about to claim Satan "is" autistic, but as someone who has been called essentially 'spectrum adjacent' by doctors, I relate to the awkwardness and the desire to appear normal despite knowing you're not and emotions spilling out in ugly ways---um. That got really long and personal.

[matchabelly]

So I literally just returned to this site last week to follow a person who shall not be named for GO3 updates (worst timing ever ik) and maybe what I'm about to say is a hot take and super long-winded but I need to get it off my chest here since no one in my personal life is as emotionally invested in this as I am. I have been an obsessed fan for almost two decades, but one thing I will not be doing is defending a powerful individual who by their own admission abused said power and is now trying to gaslight the victims. From what I've read these past few days, it seems their inappropriate behavior has been an open secret for some time now. I will no longer support their work. I am thoroughly disgusted and these allegations paint this person's every past word/action in a new, manipulative, and disturbing light for me. That being said, while I will actively be both avoiding any new content from this individual and trying to find ways to "read another book," I cannot overstate the profound effect their work has had on my life and identity. Humans are fallible and complicated. Art is transcendent. Once it is given to the universe it changes into something that is special and unique only to the beholder. It is OKAY to continue enjoying and identifying with art made by a problematic creator, as long as you are able to enjoy it with a critical eye and do not in any way support or promote the individual responsible. And for the love of Someone, do not blame the victims. Here is where things might get spicy but I'm gonna say it anyways. I hope Good Omens 3, The Sandman, and all this individual's other projects get cancelled. Or, at least the person in question is removed from them altogether, since the other artists who have worked tirelessly to bring these works to life should not have to be punished unless they were in some way culpable or privy to these incidents before the news broke. Victims getting justice and a sex offender facing the consequences of their actions is more important to me than getting another season of a TV show, even if it's one I'm obsessed with and adore. Sadly, I don't think the person who did this will be facing justice at all. They are financially and socially powerful enough for this to get swept under the rug. If the mixed responses I have seen across various platforms is anything to go by, their legions of impressionable fans are already prepared to defend them to the death. Wrong hill to die on, folks. All I can hope is that everyone does not let themselves be manipulated by this grown adult who made the wrong choice to violate consent when they clearly know better. Just remember that even though the news didn't come out until this week, this individual didn't try playing the neurodivergence card until after the most recently reported incident occurred. Whatever they are, it does not excuse them of responsibility for what they've done. They are a dangerous, narcissistic, manipulative person and that is their own fault. They do not need you to defend them, they need to recognize they are the problem, face justice, and get help, hopefully while fading into obscurity for the rest of time. I hope that all the hurting people in the fandom out there can find solace in whatever way they see fit, and if that includes continuing to enjoy the art (seriously, though, pirate it instead) that is okay. We are all deeply affected by these events and how you cope is up to you. But lastly, and most importantly, I hope the victims of these awful crimes can move forward from the trauma this has undoubtedly caused, and that the cruel, misogynistic hand of the internet can leave them alone so they can heal. Can't believe I have to say this in 2024, but blaming the victim is NEVER OKAY even if the perpetrator is someone you like.