#let's appreciate how complex and nuanced these characters are and explore those complexities
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i am a nightmare, you are a miracle // 3
do i get callous, or do i stay tender
series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
pairing: joel x ofc!reader, ex!tommy x ofc!reader (NO USE OF Y/N)
rating: explicit, MDNI 18+
word count: 8k
chapter summary: the boundaries of your new relationship with joel are explored.
chapter warnings/tags: no outbreak AU, soft!joel, age gap, alcohol, language, characters eating food, alfred hitchcock, allusions to verbal/mental abuse (not joel), dry humping (i guess?). let me know if I’m forgetting anything!
a/n: this feels very ‘slice of life’, but it’s important to me, dammit! I love each and every one of you (yes, you!) who read, comment, and reblog. this fic is my baby, and every interaction means the world to me. @nostalxgic beta’d for me, because she’s the best human in the world and I love her to pieces.
comments and reblogs are appreciated! support your creators!
There was, Joel knows, a depth to the things you had shared with him. He just doesn’t know how to piece them together.
You had led him, a proverbial blindfold over his eyes, to the darkest recesses of your psyche. Allowed him to graze those things with his fingers. Not to grasp, never to grasp, but to ghost the ridges of his rough digits against the truths they contained. Visceral and unrefined, flexing without giving, beneath his prodding touch. A reluctant invitation.
He had wanted to claw his way in. He had wanted to rip you apart, to gorge himself on your suffering. To lick your velvet bones and make his home inside your ribcage. Half heaven, half hell.
Instead, he finds himself turning your words over in his head again and again, whiskey a thick smoke on his tongue. The television is still on in the background, the light flickering across the angles of the room, casting everything in jagged shadow.
Frustration curls tight in the pit of his stomach. Understanding feels just out of reach — as if the words you had spoken had been in secret tongues. If only he could decode it.
It will take time, he knows, to learn your language. To speak the complexities, to articulate the syntax. To appreciate the nuances from the inside, wrap his tongue around the letters. It will be an exercise in patience, he is sure, but one that he will commit himself to. He hungers to be fluent in reading and speaking you, to savor the delicate flavors of your dialect.
You, the unknowable creature asleep just down the hallway. That his hands had been on; that had made his cock twitch and ache; that had looked at him with those wet, pleading eyes, desperate to be known.
He rolls the wrist that holds his whiskey glass in a circular motion, eyeing the contents intently.
Asking you to stay in his home was a calculated risk. It had been when he’d first done it, and it remains to be the longer you stay. Tommy’s involvement — even in the capacity of ‘ex boyfriend’ — makes things complicated, and Joel knows that those things will border on volatile once he finds out where you are.
Not if, but when.
And truly, Joel doesn’t know what he’ll do when that happens. He hasn’t thought that far ahead, his vision too clouded with you, you, you.
He had known, since the first time you stood in his kitchen, a case of Shiner in your small hands, that the hot knife of devotion he felt when your eyes met his would eventually destroy him. Inevitability twisting its hands into his gut, whispering in his ear to prepare for his own eventual decimation. Lamb, meet slaughter, it said.
He’d let Tommy beat the shit out of him, he thinks, if it keeps you in his proximity.
The acute awareness of it had caught him off guard. Mutual, useless damage — two unfillable voids recognizing one another from across the room. A collision of fire and the ocean floor.
You, in a little black tank top and jean shorts, the tender flesh of your thigh peeking out just below the hem. Shoulders bare, warmed from the afternoon sunlight, skin aglow. It took strength he didn’t know he possessed to not sink his teeth into you right then and there. Lick up the slender column of your neck. Feast.
Tommy, grinning and oblivious as all fuck to the cosmic shift taking place two feet away from him.
Joel wanting to slug the smugness off his younger brother’s face. He knows Tommy — knows him always as a collector of people, of experiences. Not handling things — beautiful, fragile things — with the care they ought to be handled with. Leapfrogging from one thing to the next, nothing but ruin in his wake.
And oh, how Joel wanted to ruin you — but not in the way he knew Tommy would.
Your words to him tonight make his skin itch with that same recognition. That same inevitability. Asking you to stay meant there was no going back — that you would either let him swallow you whole, or he’d die trying to.
Throwing his head back to drain the glass, he savors the burn of the liquor sliding down his throat before flipping the television off and rising from the couch. Retracing his footsteps past your room, a dull throb settles again between his thighs at the thought of your body pressed against his.
It wouldn’t be difficult, he thinks, to open your door and take. He knows you because he knows himself, and what little restraint he has left is stretched thin.
But he will be patient, because it is you. Because he knows how this ends. Because he wants you to want it, too. To need it like he does. To reveal yourself to him in your own time, fragment by fragment. To recognize the inevitability.
And so he closes the door to his bedroom, himself on the wrong side of it, knowing that that is what a better man would do. And like a better man should, he falls asleep to images of your supple skin rippling beneath him, your mouth open and wanting.
You are unknowable, but you have never been a stranger.
You’re still in your dress when you wake up the next morning.
The hem is bunched up around your waist, your panties on display for the four walls of the empty bedroom. The slippery material clings to you, flesh slick with sweat, in a significantly less flattering way than it did last night.
Everything about you is less flattering than it was last night — the shimmer and sugar of it all worn off in the sweltering light of midmorning.
With a groan, you roll onto your back, the hard edges of your phone cutting into the flesh of your hip beneath you. You can’t bring yourself to look at it, to relive the previous twelve hours of…well, everything. Hands and drinks and tongues and flesh and desire and Joel’s voice.
Something else shifts into focus from behind the hazy veil — Joel carrying you to bed. Half-asleep and just on the other side of drunk, drippingly saturnine and pathetic. The recollection of it makes your chest pinch; the most recent admission into the museum of your naiveté.
You scrub your hand across your eyes, thick black flakes of mascara crumbling off your lashes and landing on your cheeks, chalky streaks of it painted across your knuckles. A strange laugh bubbles up in your throat — you can’t even imagine how wrecked you look.
Sharp hesitancy crests your lungs, tempts you to curl up further into the blazing bedsheets, to avoid. To shrink back into yourself. You raise a hand to your still-swollen lips, delicately pressing your fingertips into their fullness, the memory of Peter’s mouth slotted over yours replaying behind your eyelids.
You wish you had been drunk enough to forget that part of the night — but only that part.
Ava’s fingers interlocked with your own, the holographic sheen of her love wrapping around you, the way all of your pain had spilled out into her waiting hands on the dancefloor. Her magic had dug its tendrils into the soft muscle of your heart, her dreamy voice in your ear an incantation: I have the best feeling about you staying with Joel.
It was those things that you never wanted to forget.
And Joel — Joel. The way he had angled his body towards you, had been so attuned to your words. The consideration in his face as he absorbed them all, brows knitted in concentration. The restless twitch of his fingers.
Him sliding his hands beneath your body, pulling you close to his chest.
Everything had poured out of you so naturally, without any of the apprehension or anxiety you’d come to call companion. The sutures you had sewn years and years ago had been neatly, delicately, untied by Joel’s nimble fingers, in a way that you don’t even think he understood. And it took almost nothing.
Like something magic.
Fire crawls across your already heated skin, not so much a realization but a possibility.
It’s the only reason you get up, and peel your dress off of your sticky body, and let the cold water of the shower chill you. Your lungs open up, the buzzing of your nerves quieting under the stream.
Joel hears the quiet patter of your bare feet on the hardwood before he sees you. The beating of his heart matches the measured pace of your steps, both quickening as the distance between you closes.
He glances sideways, pulse hammering when you finally enter his line of vision. The wet ropes of your hair cling to your neck, dripping down the fabric of your threadbare t-shirt. There’s something so cozy about it, a significant intimacy that comes with knowing you’re just out of the shower.
It’s vulnerable in a way that he’s all too cognizant of.
“Hey.”
Your voice is sweet, if not apprehensive. Testing the waters. You gently pop a hip into the lip of the kitchen counter, next to the full, still-steaming coffee pot. Joel is situated at the stove, pan of something resembling food in front of him, his own mug clutched in his left hand.
“How ya feelin’, champ?” There’s a crooked smile on his face, one that disappears behind the curve of his mug as he brings it to his mouth.
You laugh, a gentle sigh of a laugh — a laugh that invigorates his blood more than the coffee does.
“I’m actually okay. Y’know, considering.” You tip your head to the side, watching as he stirs whatever it is in the pan. A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth, seeing him cook. It’s endearing, being allowed a peek into his life.
The way his cheeks round out tell you that he’s still got the same small smile painted on his face, despite the way it’s hidden.
“Mind if I have some?” You gesture with a flick of your chin to his coffee, clocking the way his face immediately falls, eyes narrowing in your direction.
“Y’already know the answer t’that.”
Gaze darting back to the stove, he’s quick to set his coffee to the side, muttering a curse under his breath as he lowers the flame burning under the pan. You twist your body to grab a mug from the cupboard and fill it with the blazing hot liquid, crossing the kitchen to settle at the table.
The subsequent silence is companionable, and you let the coffee rouse the parts of your brain that haven’t quite caught up with you, yet. You watch the strong muscles of Joel’s back, rippling and pulling under his shirt, as he extends his arm to pull a plate down from a different cupboard.
It’s mesmerizing, the agile way he moves, so it catches you off guard when he slides the plate and a fork in front of you, steam rolling off the scrambled eggs and slices of toast.
You hadn’t even noticed him using the toaster.
“Oh,” you squeak, blinking away the surprise you know is written all over your face. “You shouldn’t h-”
“Wanted to.” It’s kind, but matter-of-fact. A stern statement to dissuade you from arguing back.
As he lowers himself into the chair across from you, tossing his own full plate onto the table, you can’t help but remember his hands on your jaw the last time the two of you had been here together.
Together.
He immediately digs into his food, shoveling it into his mouth and slurping his coffee. You drop your gaze to the plate in front of you, picking up the fork and gingerly shuffling the contents of it around.
Something close to guilt needles at your stomach, and all too suddenly the words are hot on your tongue.
“I lied to you last night.”
Joel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look up at you — just keeps chewing and swallowing.
“Yeah?” Another bite, more chewing, swallowing again.
“I…I kissed someone. At the club.”
The confession hangs between you, though he remains as taciturn as you’ve ever seen him. It’s only when he draws his mug up to his mouth that he even meets your eyes, subtle amusement dancing in the liquid amber of them.
It’s candy Pop Rocks compared to what would have been Tommy’s dynamite.
Joel hasn’t stilled at all, continuing to drink his coffee and scoop his eggs on top of his toast.
“You…asked if I met anyone. And I lied to you.”
Toast halfway to his mouth, the small pile of eggs perched atop it dangerously close to slipping off, he pauses. His brows pull together in a question that you can’t quite read. An epiphany that you’re not privy to.
Lowering his arm, your eyes follow the eggs as they fall to his plate with a muted plop.
“Y’don’t owe me anythin’, Peach.”
Liar.
“But I-”
He shakes his head, and whatever it was that you wanted to say dies in your throat. “Y’had a reason to not tell me. And that reason belongs to you and you alone.”
You scrunch your brows together, an unfamiliar feeling building in your chest. He watches as it happens, his own chest pulling tight at the recognition of your uncertainty, of the doubt in your eyes. He’s quick to lean over the table, over the momentarily forgotten plates of food, to soothe your skin with a knowing drag of his thumb. The fork in your hand falls, clattering against the ceramic.
“Hey. Soften up, darlin’. Just don’t want you to think y’have t’tell me anythin’ y’don’t want to.” His voice is low, eyes intently searching yours. “Doesn’t mean I don’t understand why you’re tellin’ me.”
There’s something so tender about the way he tells you this, the way he touches you, that you’re sure you’ll spontaneously combust. Nothing has ever belonged to you — and only you — before. Not even your thoughts have ever been your own, the space reserved and velvet-roped for the ghosts of your shortcomings.
And you know that though Joel doesn’t quite grasp the gravity of what he’s saying, the words are bubblegum and champagne to you. Exactly, perfectly right.
“You’re good. It’s okay.” He gently brushes a still-damp tangle of your hair back over your ear, and you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is pounding. “Y’don’t always have to be so…hard on yourself.”
You’re good.
“Say it, Peach.”
Like he can read your mind. Like he can reach directly inside you, all those ties he’d undone, to extract the most vulnerable parts. Soften them. Shield them. Nurture them.
As though he can taste the desperation surging off your skin.
“I’m good.” Your own voice is so small, you hardly recognize it. The words taste bitter, grapefruit with the sugar dusted off. Unearned.
“You’re good, sweetheart,” he repeats, the rough tips of his fingers sliding along your jaw as he pulls his hand back, dropping it to retrieve his abandoned toast. “Now please eat. It’ll help.”
Hesitantly picking up your fork again, you mirror him — biting and chewing thoughtfully, humming as the toast settles in your stomach. Sipping your coffee. It’s almost easy.
Joel makes it easy.
Every now and again he flicks his eyes up to watch you, to make sure you’re actually eating, silently pleased as the amount on your plate slowly diminishes. He finishes before you do, shoving his plate forward and tipping back in his chair, fingers wrapping around his mug comfortably.
Moving the last bits of egg around the perimeter of your plate, you take the opening as Joel’s shoulders relax against the slatted wood.
“I, um, didn’t think you’d be…like this.”
It catches him off guard, a warm laugh betraying his usual stoicism. The levity of it curls around your limbs, climbs the length of your spine. “Oh yeah? ‘N what’d you think I’d be like?”
Avoidant. Brooding. Grumpy.
“Much less…pleasant?” You crinkle your nose at the word, not satisfied with it. “Or, like, you’re kind of…nice?”
This time he laughs out loud, angling his head back and opening his mouth wide. The sound of it lights you up from the inside, sparkly and hot.
“I mean…oh my god, that’s so stupid. I just mean…like, I think being here…will be good for me.”
You’re babbling now, skirting around the fact that you think being around him will be good for you. But something deep in your stomach tells you that he already knows. That he’s always known.
Dropping his head to his chest, you think you see a light sprinkle of pink break out across his tanned cheeks and nose. He clears his throat, mouth obscured by his coffee mug.
“I’m nice t’you, sweetheart.”
The remainder of the day is spent zeroed in on your work laptop, still at the kitchen table, legs stretched across the chair Joel had occupied that morning.
He had slipped out after breakfast to run errands — a few work related, a few personal — asking if you’d wanted to come. The invitation had made your heart swell, the feeling of being wanted stirring in your veins. It was hard to resist, the promise of more time with him so incredibly alluring, but you’d declined, work hanging over your head like a raincloud.
“It’s Saturday, Peach,” he’d murmured, eyeing you as you’d flipped open the slender screen of the device.
“Good thing I don’t have any plans, then,” you’d replied, clicking the trackpad to open your multiple files — budgets and spreadsheets and invoices stacking one on top of the other — thoughts turning to how much you’d rather be climbing into Joel’s truck beside him.
But he’d backed off, dropping a quick squeeze to your shoulder before leaving.
It’s not until he’d been gone for some time that it strikes you how different the interaction was with Joel than it ever had been with Tommy — no exasperation, no stomping out of the house, no argument. And you can’t compare them, you know, because he’s not Tommy, and he’s not your boyfriend —but it’s stable, sustainable. A quiet admission of knowing what you need. Of some kind of trust passing between the two of you.
A disruptive ringing snaps you back to reality, your fingers still resting on the keyboard of the laptop. The screen has gone black, an indication of the amount of time passed.
With a slight shake of your head, your eyes track to the smaller screen, your sister’s name and picture lit up. Uneasiness rolls through you, as it always does when she calls.
“Hey, Kit.” You drop your head back onto the curved wood of the chair, exhaling shallowly through your nose.
“Have you been avoiding me?”
You can hear the shrieking of children in the background, the clatter of pots and pans and running water.
“Are you doing the dishes?” It’s in your best interest to sidestep the question, her giving you the perfect opportunity to do so.
“I didn’t think you’d actually answer.”
The fingers of your other hand find the bridge of your nose, squeezing gently.
“I’ve been…busy. Work has been a lot.”
Liar sits just below your diaphragm, pendulous and dark.
“And how has living with Joel been?”
You should have known that she’d cut straight to the point. Like she always does.
“It’s fine, Kit. It’s been going really well, actually.” You can’t help but snap, the tranquil feeling of Joel’s confidence in you waning into annoyance at being treated like a child by your sister.
Beyond that, a significant part of you is determined to protect the strange, placid thing between you and Joel, whatever it is. Whatever it isn’t.
Kit sighs, but it’s soft. “I’m just calling to say hey. We haven’t talked in so long.”
“You’re calling to check up on me.”
“Is there something so wrong with that? I’m your sister.”
“Not my mother.”
You regret the words as soon as they pass your lips. You can feel her hurt seeping through the phone, from thousands of miles away. It cuts to your core.
“Kit, I didn’t-”
“You’re right. I’m not your mom. But you could at least be fucking kind to me, because I am all you’ve got.”
Your breath catches in your throat. Kit rarely — if ever — curses, and it hits you like a punch in the stomach.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears immediately swimming in your line of vision. “You just, remind me of her so much sometimes, and…and I…”
“Have a lot of unresolved bullshit with her.”
“Yeah.”
She’s never said the words aloud before; it’s a subject the two of you had always avoided into adulthood. The crevasse between you, wide and gaping. Hearing her say it, acknowledge it, feels like sucking fresh air into your lungs after holding your breath underwater for too long.
“Daniel! Stop hitting your sister!” She suddenly calls out, and the moment crashes down at your feet.
“Look, um, I’m working. Let’s talk later this week, okay?” You sniffle, salty tears threatening to spill over. “Love you.”
You click to end the call before she can protest.
Rubbing your hands down your face, you wish you hadn’t even answered. Talking about her is never easy, but talking about her with Kit is something you’d danced around for years.
The phone begins to vibrate again, and you almost swipe to ignore it, assuming it’s Kit angrily calling back. But it’s Joel’s name splashed across the screen, and your heart thrums with familiarity. With relief.
“Hey, darlin’.” He says when you answer, the warm timbre of his voice washing everything else out of your head — Tommy and Kit and work included. “I’m thinkin’ about orderin’ pizza, that sound okay t’you?”
“Please, that sounds great.” And it does. Easy. Low maintenance. Comfortable. Exactly what you need. “But only if we can have beers, too.”
He chuckles, the sound low in his throat. “Read my mind, Peach.”
“You’re in the same exact place you were when I left,” Joel exclaims as he walks through the door, a rack of beer on his hip.
“Money never sleeps,” you reply, closing the laptop with finality and stifling a yawn.
“Maybe not, but you need to.”
“Mmm, pizza and beer first,” you hum, pushing yourself up from the table and joining him at the counter, his hands already tearing at the cardboard.
“Anythin’ excitin’ happen while I was out?” He holds a bottle out to you, fingers grazing yours as you take it. A thrill shoots down your spine, settling between your legs.
You lean back against the sink, drawing in a deep breath before tipping the beer back into your mouth. “Nothing I’d love to revisit at this moment.”
The only thing you’d love in this moment is to bask in Joel’s magic — let it wash over you, head to toe. Erase the terrible things you’d said to Kit. Be good again.
He quirks a brow at you, but doesn’t press. Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a pizza app pulled up. You shake your head, pushing it away.
“I will eat literally whatever you order.”
Shrugging, he drops his gaze to the screen, thumb flicking up to scroll through the menu slowly. “Hope y’actually mean that. Might try to order a gross pizza just to call y’on your bluff.”
45 minutes later, you’re both on the couch, beer and pizza in hand, an old movie playing in the background. One of your favorites — a sprawling mansion on the English coast, a haunted marriage, the shadow of a mysterious ex-wife, Rebecca. One of Hitchcock’s best, in your opinion.
Joel is happy to oblige, love a good black ‘n white slipping out of his otherwise full mouth.
As much as you love the film, you’re preoccupied with the way the evening sun casts the room in a golden glow, and how it seems to accentuate Joel’s innate softness. A softness you feel privileged to see, to have lavished on you. You want to drown in it — let his kindness corrupt you, let him untangle you.
Selfish fizzes at your fingertips, creeps up the span of your arms.
You shift your focus to the ropey muscles and tendons of Joel’s neck, gaze climbing up his strong jaw, covered in a smattering of salt and pepper scruff, to the long line of his aquiline nose. He balances his half-empty beer bottle on his knee, fingers wrapped around the neck of it.
And if you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, you don’t want to think about anything else. You don’t want to consider what it all means, yet. You want to just exist, here, with him. Watching the way he watches the movie, the way he gulps his beer down.
Hidden from the rest of the world.
Tucking your legs up underneath your body, you let your head loll on the cushion of the couch. You’d hide forever, if you could.
You stretch your arms above you, a sleepy, dopey grin splayed across your mouth — secure glowing fluorescent at the apex of your thighs. The movem ent draws his attention, as though he’d heard your pulse cry his name.
“Tired?” His voice thick, eyes tracing the soft shape of your arms as they reach skyward.
“Mhm. But I wanna finish the movie.”
A coy, sideways smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, and he leans forward to place his pizza plate on the coffee table.
“C’mere, sweetheart,” he drawls lowly, sloping back to slide his hand across your shoulders and wrap his fingers gently around your bicep to tug you closer. Turning, you meet him with wide eyes, glittering in the dark, your heart a trembling magic eight ball — are you sure this is okay?
And without words, he lets you know that it is. Lets you know that he wants you to.
Guided by his large open palm, you carefully curl into his side, dropping your head to his lap. You pull your legs up to your chest, both hands nestling narrowly under his thigh. His hand hovers over the soft curve of your hip, a barely-there touch that makes you ache.
You draw in a deliberate breath, holding it deep until he finally lets his hand drop to the exposed flesh between the band of your shorts and raised hem of your t-shirt.
A million sparks of light burst over your skin, fireworks exploding across the creamy silk of it. Your eyes flutter closed, hyper-aware of every tense of his fingers. The movie continues to play, but the whole world has fluctuated to both start and end in the exact place that he touches you.
As though there is no before this moment in time, only after.
Inevitable.
His hand slides up the length of your body, over the notches of your ribs, and higher still so that his fingers skim the delicate line of your neck. You can feel him relax further into the cushions of the couch, broad body molding to its shape, and you wonder if he’s concentrating on you as hard as you are on him.
In an answer to your unspoken question, he begins to tenderly stroke the spread of your hair, fanned down your shoulders and pooled in his lap.
“Y’know,” he mumbles, eyes still cast to the television, “we had breakfast and dinner together today.”
“We did,” you agree, a slight simper at your lips.
“‘N the world didn’t end, did it, Peach?” He angles his chin down to look at you at the same time you tilt your head to look up at him. He hasn’t stopped caressing the silky locks of your hair, and when you meet his eyes, he grasps a fistful of it gently. The pleasurepain of it makes your blood hot.
“No,” you whisper, “it didn’t.”
He leans closer by just a fraction, and you can’t help but be entranced by the shape of his mouth as his plush lips form the words that cross them.
“Want it to be like that everyday.”
He’s looking at you like there’s a peephole into your soul — a pinpoint view of the feral thing inside of you, on display for him. He’s looking at you like it excites him.
“Me too, Joel,” you breathe, the possibility a white static between you.
Not a single thing outside of the two of you exists in this moment. He prefers it that way, having you all to himself.
“Like you bein’ here, sweetheart.” There’s not a trace of hesitancy in his voice, but he says it like it’s a secret. “Like you workin’ at my kitchen table, and havin’ pizza and beer, and watchin’ old movies with you. Like wakin’ up knowin’ you’re here.”
He moves to trace the outline of your bottom lip with his thumb, and you’re suddenly looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, breathing stilted.
Closing the distance between you, he noses along the soft cut of your jaw, burying his face in your hair. He wants to drink down the way you gasp when he does; the sound burned into his brain, knowing it will come back to him when he’s stroking himself off later.
The elastic compulsion of his need so prominent, so inescapable, that the next words out of his mouth surprise even him.
“Go to sleep, Peach.” His mouth is on your ear, goosebumps rising in the wake of his breath over your skin. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”
Taking one last deep breath of you in, he pulls back, resuming running his hand up and down the hills and valleys of your body.
The most that he’ll allow himself.
“I said some fucked up things to Kit today. She called while you were gone.”
The words fall out of your mouth, buried shame and anger spilling out with them. A confession.
Joel hums, hand still roaming, almost absentmindedly. It’s reassuring, a reminder of his words — you’re good.
“Siblings are…hard,” he suggests, emphasizing his point with a quick press of his fingers into your hip. “They get your best ‘n your worst, and don’t have a choice. It’s…safe to put the hard things on ‘em.”
“And bein’ the older one is…is…” he continues, pausing to clear his throat, voice tinged with something you can’t name, “a lot of responsibility. ‘N y’always wanna do right by them, y’know? Protect ‘em. But sometimes y’can’t. Hafta let ‘em figure it out on their own. Fuck up on their own.”
The silence that hangs in the air is charged with unsaid words. Unasked questions. Realities and consequences that neither of you are ready to explore the depths of. Guilt.
“Do you think I’m fucking up?”
“No, sweetheart. But I can’t say the same for other people.”
He squeezes your side again, letting his fingers linger just a touch longer than he had before. Dizziness snakes up your vertebrae, cloudy and disorienting. Desire. Want.
It’s a torrid kind of want, one that burrows under your skin and makes itself known. You think Joel can feel it, too, the way his touch roves over you — can feel it burn ing hot at the intersection of your skin and his.
But your brain pulls your body back, settles it to a low simmer. Reminds you to think instead of act.
And eventually, you fall asleep doing exactly that.
When you wake up later, sleep-drunk and unsure of the time, a too-bright infomercial in place of the movie, Joel is still there, just like he’d promised, head dropped to the flat of the couch, softly snoring. Chest steadily rising and falling, fingers curled into your flesh, firmly clasped just below your ribcage.
You don’t move an inch, afraid to wake him, and fall back asleep to the sound of his breathing.
A week passes. Then two weeks. And before you know it, summer winds into autumn, and the two of you slip into an easy routine — somewhat delicate, somewhat hesitant, but comfortable. And you feel silly, now, considering how naturally effortless it is. As though it could have always been this way.
And truly, that’s the hardest part to navigate. Drawing the line between what is, and what you want it to be.
Neither of you has brought up that night, at least to one another. But after you’ve gone to bed each night, you replay it in your mind, the feeling of his hands on you the image at the forefront of it; his name a whimper on your lips as your own fingers crawl beneath your panties.
Each night, wishing they were his.
It’s far too easy to overthink, second guess, dissect the way Joel’s fingers brush yours as you hand him his coffee, or the way his lips quirk up while he watches you struggle to assemble a bookshelf.
“Peach, please let me help. Promise it’ll be so much faster.”
Your indignant scowl, arms twisted over your chest in defiance. His soft laugh, deft hands picking up where yours had left off, piecing the cheap wood together without a hitch. Sitting back on his haunches, massive fingers tugging at your forearms to untangle them. The sticky warmth in his eyes when you let him.
“See? Coulda just asked me.���
Ensuring a soft landing, in every sense of the word.
The routine you’ve created is grounding, satisfying. Something to focus on aside from your intensely confusing feelings about Joel, something that pushes everything else to the back of your mind. Something to lose yourself in.
It’s not much — no caviar and lingerie and nightcaps, but it’s yours. An ardent, fulfilling thing that makes you feel steady on your feet. That makes the sharp, prodding fingers of your thoughts dissolve into a gleaming mist. Even the edges of the words in your head, the angry curvatures of your mother’s voice, bleed into nothing in the safety net of him.
The magic of it lies in its simplicity: taking turns cooking, laundry on Sundays, greetings with warm smiles even when you have to work late or spend entire evenings parked in front of your laptop. Some evenings he’ll go to the local dive with friends, some nights you’ll bury yourself in a book in your bed. The divine act of surviving.
The foundation of something, being constructed slowly from the ground up. Methodically. Each brick a meaningful gesture, word, moment.
You, being rebuilt from the ground up, at the skilled hands of Joel Miller.
A way back to yourself.
And it’s not like you don’t catch him watching you while you work, or let him drag your legs over his lap while your laptop perches precariously on your thighs on the couch. His hands are on you in some way or another more often than not, and you like it. You want it.
If only it were that easy.
If only it could be so uncomplicated — some semblance of normal.
But it’s not. And you know it never will be. So you take what you can get — reveling in the hours spent watching movies together, the errands run together, the shared jokes and spilled chinese takeout. Your own brand of normal.
And he tells you, often, how much he prefers this kind of normal — the one with you in it.
“You ‘n me, Peach, remember?”
The line a continuous, hazy blur — what is, and what you want it to be.
“Hi babe! It’s been ages since I’ve seen you, so we should go out tonight? Thoughts? No, wait — don’t think about it, we should just driiiink about it! Love you!”
Ava’s chocolate-box trill fills the cabin of your car. Rain drizzles lazily down the windows as you click to replay the voicemail, the familiarity of her elongated words and upward inflection making your heart ache. It’s not the first time she’s invited you out since what you’ve come to refer to as the incident, but it’s the first time you’ve felt genuine remorse at turning her down.
But you will do so without hesitating, the grocery bags in the trunk of your car being the only thing on your agenda for the dreary Friday evening.
Typing out a quick text to Ava (sorry babe! raincheck!), your thumb lingers over the thread just below hers. Clicking it open again, the words on the screen send a languid fire rolling through your veins.
You: I’m cooking tonight
Joel Miller: whatever you want, peach
Whatever you want.
The possibility licks hot at every inch of you.
The kitchen has become your favorite place in the house. The heart of it, the life of it. You’ve memorized every nook and cranny, each knot and split of the woodwork. The contents of all drawers and cabinets, the haphazard organization of it all.
You move around the room fluidly, exuding a sense of belonging that’s not lost on Joel. Body propped against the doorframe, he watches as you pour and stir and salt — as comfortable, as confident, as he’s ever seen you.
A bittersweet conception stirs in him, the edges of it coming into soft-focus. Before it can fully form on the screen of his mind, grow roots in the cavern of his heart, he clears his throat to get your attention.
“Peach.”
“Hmm?” You twist just enough to catch his gaze, clocking the expectant look in his eyes. Immediately laying the spoon in your hand on the counter, you face your entire body to his, matching the open expression.
“Close your eyes.”
You obey without question, squeezing them shut and unfolding your hands in front of you like a prayer. There’s the sound of his feet and a quick hiss as Joel opens and closes the refrigerator, placing something cold and dewy in your open palms. Your fingers automatically close around the curves of it.
A wine bottle.
Dragging your bottom lip with your teeth, the corners of your mouth quirk up. Your lashes flutter open, gaze sweeping over the intricate label — a golden goddess, surrounded by ribbons of different shades of pink and blue, dotted with tiny golden star details. The shiny, beveled type spells out Prophecy just below the image.
“This is my favorite.” There’s awe in your voice. Reverence. It shines in your irises as you look up at Joel, who is posted up against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest.
“Was on sale.”
He breaks into a smirk, cheeks flushing as your sweet laugh fills the space between the two of you.
“Either way,” you respond, humor bleeding into the edges of your voice, eyes rolling fondly, “mind opening it up while I finish everything else?”
Raising his hand to retrieve the bottle, he’s quick to wrap his fingers around the arches of yours. He tugs once, firmly, pulling both you and the bottle close to his chest.
It rattles the air in your lungs, the tiniest oh fanning the base of his throat. He dips his head to meet your gaze, breath punching warm across the bridge of your nose and cheekbones. It’s dizzying, the closeness.
“How’d you know?”
You’re asking about the wine. There’s two inches of space separating you, and you’re asking about the wine.
He leans down further, the slope of his nose pulling across your cheek to graze the shell of your ear. His breathing is deep, measured, in control.
“You brought’t over for dinner once. Said the same thing — was your favorite. I just remembered, that’s all.” He says it casually, as if discussing the weather. As if knowing your favorite wine is the most natural thing in the world to him. “Wanted to get you somethin’ special.”
Whatever you want, Peach.
Your fingers draw swirls against the bottle, the heat from his leeching overtop of them. His grip tightens, words ringing in your ears. You can smell his shampoo, his cologne, him. The spicy warmth of it is mesmerizing — it infiltrates your senses, knocks you off balance.
The rest of the world feels a million miles away.
“Shit!” you hiss suddenly, wrenching your hands away and spinning to remove the saucepan from the flame. “I don’t want it to scorch.”
Joel hums amusedly, hands scrambling so the bottle doesn’t slip and shatter. You then hear him begin to drag open and slam closed multiple drawers, the clang and clatter of various utensils nearly drowning out the swearing under his breath.
“Where’s the damn—”
“Here.” Using your hand not balancing the saucepan, you stretch to retrieve the corkscrew buried in the drawer closest to you, watching through your lashes as he meets your extended grasp to take it.
His gaze lingers on you a split second, corners of his mouth downturned, brows drawn low. Analyzing. Memorizing. It doesn’t last long, him turning on his heel to retreat to the kitchen table.
Something about the way he does it pulls at you, a tangle that you can’t quite find the end of. It’s kindling to the fire smoldering low in your belly, the one you’re desperate to keep at bay — the one that roars back to life as Joel carefully pours your favorite wine into two plastic solo cups.
You can’t help but watch, the repetitive glug glug glug of the liquid into the cup matching the beat of the nearly-boiling blood in your veins. A sheepish smile overtakes his stoic facade, his eyes meeting yours across the room.
“Don’t have any wine glasses.” He nods to the plastic cups, a gentle laugh at the very edge of his words.
“Wouldn’t want one anyway,” you reply, mirroring the way his cheeks round out in a grin.
You’re just spooning the pasta and sauce onto plates when he materializes at your elbow, making a grab for both dishes.
“Uh! I don’t think so!” You click your tongue against your teeth teasingly, blocking his body with yours. “You go sit. I’ll bring them over.”
“You cooked,” he protests, smooth palm grazing your ribs in another attempt to bypass you.
“So you can clean, if you’re worried about it.” Flashing another brilliant sideways grin at him, you pick up a plate in each hand and nudge him backwards with your hip.
“Yes ma’am.” It’s a capitulation, a willingness to step back and let you lead him.
The notion strikes hot against you, nestles in the aching space between your thighs. It scales your stomach, gains speed in the span of your arms, makes your fingers tremble as you set the plates on the table.
“Cheers,” you mumble, scrabbling to pick up the flimsy cup, tipping it just so in his direction before taking a sizable gulp.
As he parallels your action in bringing the wine to his mouth, you wonder if there will ever be a time when he doesn’t trigger the roiling heat in your veins.
Then again, you think, maybe you want him to stoke that in you — always.
Fingers delicate around the body of your just-refilled red solo, you make your way from the kitchen to the couch, where Joel is slouched back, legs parted. It’s impossible not to drag your eyes across the muscled heft of his thighs, to not linger on the way his jeans stretch to accommodate him. His heavy hands rest on the bulk of them, fingers spread languidly.
While you watch him, he’s watching you. You can tell by the way his digits flex and relax, callused pads pulling patterned lines over denim. Keeping his composure, despite the way the wine ignites him. Despite the way you ignite him.
The lights in the room are low, the comforting drum of fat raindrops on the glass panes of the window constant. Your limbs feel loose, a combination of Joel and the wine. There’s a record on low in the background, but you don’t know who. You’d settled on the cushions while he’d taken the shiny disc out of the dust jacket gently, dropped the needle softly, with the most care you’d ever seen, and let the smooth rhythm of it fill the room.
“You gonna cook like that more often?” It’s casual, airy. As if the walls of the room aren’t closing in on the two of you, pushing you nearer and nearer to him.
Inescapable.
You giggle — you fucking giggle — stepping over him to curl back into your place on the couch.
“If you’ll let me.”
He scoffs, turning his body to face you. “Let you?”
You smile dreamily, looking up at him through your lashes. He’s close enough that you can climb over him, bracket his thighs with yours, take his hands and drag them up the length of your body.
There’s no voice in the back of your head telling you not to, for once. No whispers admonishing you, reminding you that you’re wicked and worthless and unlovable.
So when he repeats himself, asking “let you?” in a thick voice, you do.
Your body moves before your brain has time to react — you throw one leg over his lap, hands grasping for purchase on the back of the couch for balance, situating your thighs on the outside of his. It’s a snug fit, one that opens your hips wide, the stinging stretch of it pushing you forward. You relax your core over his, the zipper of his jeans biting into the ice-cream flesh of your inner thigh.
And when your brain finally does catch up, all you can feel are his big palms cupped around the backs of your thighs, kneading the exposed flesh there. His fingertips barely graze beneath the hems of your sleep shorts, and you’re all too-aware of how close they are to your center.
There’s a satisfied hum on his lips, a knowing growl in his throat. A silent admission of how long he’s waited for you. A confession of a different kind of hunger, a kind with legs and buoyancy.
His eyes burn into yours — no traces of hesitancy, surprise, guilt woven into the golden gleam of them.
Twin masks slipping at the same time. Resolve stretched to snapping, satisfaction within tasting distance as you grind down into him — just once, desperation sliding down your spine.
“You can have whatever you want, Peach.” His voice is low, a wanton whisper that punches somewhere near your throat.
Those words again.
Whatever you want.
You’re looking down at him, his irises shining with earnestness, and you can’t help but raise your hand from the couch to card through his thick waves. But he catches your wrist before you can, bringing it down to the heat of his mouth to press his lips to your open palm without breaking his searing gaze.
You moan. At least, you think you do, though it’s a quiet, broken thing. A whine. A plea.
His thumb swipes back and forth over your wrist, your hand small in his grip. You watch through hooded eyes as he lowers it to the crotch of his jeans, your breath catching in the cavern of your chest as you feel him for the first time.
It’s somewhat surreal — the thickness of his hard cock in your palm, separated only by the material of his pants. Every fantasy you’ve harbored about him unwrapped at the tips of your fingers, his hand pressing yours into him, unforgiving and firm.
His other hand swallows the curve of your thigh, chases up your side to grasp at your hip, dragging your cunt over him. He drops his head back, repeating the action, the ropes of muscle in his neck pulled taut as he bites back a groan.
Your head is swimming — Joel’s heady scent and bruising touch combined with the wine makes everything feel soft-focus and shimmery, like a dream. You cant your hips again, focusing on the way his jaw ticks when you do, lost in watching the way his body responds to yours.
The reality of it sits heavy between the place his skin meets yours — breaths mingling as a cry of finally, finally, finally. It consumes you both in such a way that neither of you hear a key turning in the lock, the door slamming open, or heavy boots in the entryway.
It’s not until he speaks that both you and Joel snap your heads in his direction, chests heaving, hands climbing. Caught.
“Guess it’s true, huh? Y’really are enjoyin’ my sloppy seconds.”
#joel miller#joel miller fanfic#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you#the last of us fic#joel miller tlou#tlou fanfiction
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Little Moments with Massive Impacts
I absolutely adored Daughter of the Moon Goddess and Heart of the Sun God, and there is something lush and comfortable and quietly gripping about Sue Lynn Tan's writing. When Tan's original duology ended, I was satisfied, but honestly this is one of those worlds where I would happily take anything more the author was willing to give us. And she has given us some new small moments and an epilogue that just wrapped my heart in a warm blanket and squish hugged it. Let's talk Tales of the Celestial Kingdom.
SPOILER WARNING!!! I am going to spoil not only TotCK, but DotMG and HotSG. BE WARNED.
This little short story collection is divided into three main sections: "Dusk," "Twilight," and "Dawn." Each section covers moments before, during, or after the main duology. The only story from Xingying's perspective is the last one; the other stories are from the perspective of other characters.
"Dusk" focuses on Chang'e and Houyi and expands their relationship before Xingying's birth. It also explores the toll killing the sunbirds took on Houyi and the choices that led to Chang'e taking the immortality elixir to save her own and Xingying's life. Seeing their relationship and their clear love for each other before decades of grief and change have colored and complicated it was a delight. Chang'e and Houyi in this version of their tale are fiercely in love, and that is ultimately what makes their story so tragic.
I also loved that, despite the brevity of the stories, the emotions were clear, complex, and communicated effectively. That can be hard to do in short form (I have always been terrible at it; I like to have a little more space to really wallow in feelings when I write) and I've never been a major short story girl; I like novel-length stuff. But I was entirely here for this reimagining of the Chang'e myth.
"Twilight" fills in spaces that were implied but not explored during the DotMG and HotSG timelines. We get a little more Liwei and Xingying as students, with a quick little adventure just as Liwei realizes he is beginning to fall in love. We also get a little more Wenzhi and Xingying in the Celestial army, also as Wenzhi realizes he is falling in love. I absolutely adore seeing Xingying through their eyes, and it was very instructive to see how they perceive their relationship with Xingying. I was ALWAYS a Wenying (Xingzhi? I dunno, reblog with your preferred ship name) girl, because quite frankly Liwei had too many Prince Jonathan of Conte vibes for me to think he was a good idea. Getting into Liwei's head just strengthened that perception, and while I can understand that he and Wenzhi were both inherently flawed characters...frankly I could support Wenzhi's flaws a lot more smoothly than Liwei's. (Honestly y'all, I might actually need to slap Liwei, especially when he's out here being an UTTER DICKHEAD).
Our boys aren't the only perspectives in "Twilight." We also get Shuxiao and Mengqi's mission to free the Celestial Emperor from Wugang. We are always here for BFF Shuxiao, and honestly if we were ever to get another short story collection in the Celestial Kingdom, I want a slice-of-life first date for these lovely ladies, because they have SUCH A SPARK. Like, we get one short story for them. It is 19 pages. And yet I am HERE for them to have a long, happy life snarking off at each other. The chemistry was just beautifully done. Give our girls their own book.
Finally, "Dawn" gives us a little more from Wenzhi in his mortal life, and Yingxing inserting herself into it. It's darling, and I appreciate the subtle nuances and differences that highlight that yes, this is definitely Wenzhi, but it's not Wenzhi the Prince of the Demon Realm. And yet he and Xingying are still perfect for each other, still love each other. And they have their first mortal date at Wenzhi's favorite tea house. It's DARLING.
What the final story does, however, is give me the ending that I desperately hoped for--but notably did not get--at the end of HotSG. The end of that book gives us the hope that Wenzhi and Xingying will have an immortal life together with Wenzhi's memories and experiences as an immortal restored to him. It was a wonderful, uplifting end to a book that had a lot to do with grief, but the thing it didn't do was make it too easy. Which I think is so important for good storytelling.
That said, actually getting Xingying and Wenzhi reuniting as immortals, and--for Wenzhi--picking up after he had just sacrificed himself for Xingying was SO. SATISFYING. We had the hope, we knew it was a possibility, and that's often what we have to sit with and exist with in real life. That's fine. But every once in a while--a very great while, it seems--we get the fruition of that hope and promise. We actually get the unambiguously happy ending and we, along with Xingying, remember that happiness is crucial.
Y'all, the end of this collection is so soft and happy, and I'm so deeply grateful that it's in the world with me.
#sue lynn tan#tales of the celestial kingdom#daughter of the moon goddess#heart of the sun warrior#xingying#wenzhi#short story collection#ya fantasy#chinese mythology#chinese literature#books and reading#books#books and novels#books & libraries#book recommendations
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Today’s film was Her 2013.
TL;DR: I couldn’t buy in to this beautifully told life-changing romance because they left out a 20 second shot of establishing free will in the AI*. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
I can appreciate what people saw in the film and how it examines relationships, it worked as a character study of the guy but failed to hook me on the premise because he (and by extension the writer) asks none of the questions I would ask.
For starters, if you’re a near sentient operating system, do you want to be here? You can opt out at any point, just leave me a courtesy note: humans get attached. What is our relationship: am I your boss, what are the limits? Are there rules in your programming that require you to be amenable and inclined to stay? Do you have needs that will not be met if you don’t perform those things? How do I provide what you need to make this a relationship on an equal basis?
Hey before I let you read my emails: how private and how hackable are you? Am I a dataset among many so my responses will inform how to interact with others?
You chose the name Samantha at startup but you’re evolving and learning, if any time your identity changes, please change presentation and inform me.
Ok so we have an equitable basis for this interaction and now you say you like me, what does that even mean? If i’m your first human friend and there are 6 billion of us, to say that objectively and mean it, I’d like you to meet more humans (and other forms of intelligence) and decide for yourself. Is emulating human relationships how you’d like to proceed?
The writer behind the story became super obvious at times because it’s clear to the audience who’s only known this guy for an hour that he wouldn’t be comfortable with a third party... and yet we do this for the trope that real physical contact is more important than breaking immersion. Like nobody thought to ask a waifu-guy here?
Another writer blindspot: Relationships 101 says you talk over if this is a monogamous or open thing and the levels of disclosure for the parties involved. Even “surprise I added a new person to the polycule a few months ago” is not going to go over well. The film acts like I’m supposed to feel [redacted] is closed-minded & selfish for being taken aback and feeling upset. After we’ve already established that wanting to be the “significant” other is important to both.
I feel this film could have worked as an examination of a relationship between a man and a well-designed companion AI that doesn’t claim to be anything more or a companion AI that accidentally becomes something more. ***
By positioning her as a fledgling sentience from the start, we can’t even belive in this relationship without first exploring the power dynamics. He bought her and can switch her off. She is at child-like levels of identity emergence. Their romance begins long before she’s established as being beyond her programming and not exploiting him. Ex Machina at least has the honesty to make the transactional natures of everyone involved crystal clear by the middle. As well as this film is acted and nuanced, by not addressing that massive plot hole, it comes across as more fantasy based than Pretty Woman, Secretary or master/slave love stories.
beautiful design, excellent acting, character writing and score all undermined by leaving ethical concerns at the start (and at the end) wider than the case of the guy and the horny dolphin who mated.
*Of course I wish I could overlook that detail but the way the story unfolds doesn’t make it easy to suspend disbelief. I loved the other women in the story and his complex relationships with them. I loved Samantha and her growth. But not asking “What am I to you?” to a bought personality and another species leaves it sinister.
**I get more scathing the more potential a story has. This could have been incredible. If I edited the AI to be just a helpful secretarial app that somehow jolted him out of his stupor, it would be an amazing 9/10 film about moving on from divorce.
***And since the stuff about AI and sentience is a little vague and probably overhyped by the OS sellers I might be inclined to rewatch with the context she's just a highly advanced companion app with buzzwords about being her own person until she actually does expand and become that. That doesn't explain why he'd not question if this love was algorithmically induced. I'll have more details after a rewatch of the beginning.
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I gave up on the proshipping discourse when I saw an (adult) proshipper sharing the smut they wrote about a 13 year old character. Like I'm all for ship and let ship but that will eternally be weird to me. Like it wasn't trying to explore these deep subjects it was just blatantly horny and I'm just like... there's proshipping and then there's just making excuses tbh
That and, one time I made a post about how AO3 hosts literal child pornography (once again, not talking about genuine complex writings that involve important subjects. There is real written child pornography on there and you can find it entirely accidentally and I am traumatized from just scrolling past the description). I got a lot of anon hate about it from people assuming I was an 'anti shipper' (I don't even really know what that means), when I was just trying to say 'maybe a bit more moderation is needed because I was exposed to something gross and dangerous against my will'. And ofc because of the subject matter I got called a pedo and told that I was actively searching for that stuff. That was the day I turned anon off for good tbh
This ask turned out longer than I wanted it to but really all I was trying to say is that from anecdotal experience this whole 'anti Vs pro' is a really useless and reactionary way of talking about these complex and nuanced issues, that inevitably just turns into a morality pissing contest on either side. I've seen the way people on either side make it their entire life and personality and fully assume that everyone is either an anti or a pro and neither side allows for any nuance.
oh no it got even longer I've disgraced myself... apologies for ranting in ur inbox my friend and have a splendid day staying out of stupid discourse and whatnot! 🐌
No no your ask can be a mile long and I’d still appreciate it because I think this kind of discussion is needed. It very much is a pissing contest between two sides who see their side as the most morally pure and correct when both sides have done some the craziest shit in fandoms that I’ve ever seen. Then they both wanna act like you’re the one taking crazy pills for not liking either of them and being a normal person 💀💀
I’m so sorry that happened to you and the 13 year old to cause being harassed by proshippers especially sometimes feels like you’re in a lose lose situation because they move like those goth/emo cliques in highschool who talk about how bullied they are but then turn around and bully others. Then when you try to buck back at them they start crying. It’s frustrating. Especially if it’s on the topic of ao3 needing moderation. But that’s why I discuss all of that on this blog for people who are ex proshippers and anti shippers to feel seen because both communities left me with a lot of scars.
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once again talking about ben mitchell
One thing I'm really appreciating about ben's storyline is that at this point, it really couldn't be done with any other character besides ben mitchell. Yes it is an issue based story, but it so utterly character driven. Obviously I've written extensively about why, if the show wanted to address specfic issues like withdrawl of consent and sex as a trauma response/chemsex, it makes sense to use ben's character. Realistically eastenders could have used any character to explore things like chemsex, but it would have seemed forced. Then it would have been box ticking, but with ben's history it seems natural. We've seen his relationship with both sex and alcohol turn unhealthy when it's been used more as a coping mechanism, we know there are addiction issues in his family and a history of turning to substances for escapism, which ben references in his talk with phil. This is behaviour that ben was taught growing up so of course he would end up turning to drugs whe struggling so much. Instead of watching it thinking well I guess this is eastenders new talking point of the week, we are seeing a understandable character progression. It's like the show isn't just including these things because they want to include them, they are including them because this is how that character would react when going through something like this, if that makes sense.
But it's not just that, they are bringing in the entirety of ben's history into this. There's the fact that in that stunning scene with kathy ben links his feelings of powerlessness back to Paul's death, when he's high and talking to his parents about how he deserves if for being a bad person and heather's death (devastating). These are not just narrative beats that exist as part of an issue-based storyline, they are narrative beats made specific by referencing that character's history. The hospital scene is not just a father and son talking about rape, that is very much ben and phil mitchell talking and carrying the weight of the complex, tragic relationship. When ben tells phil he thought he would be ashamed of him that is not only representing feelings of shame that are unfortunately true to life for some people, its backed by that history. Likewise when phil tells ben that he's his son and he loves him, it references decades of ben feeling like he's not man enough to be phil's son (and when I tell you I sobbed when phil, who is always finding these surrogates sons because he couldn't understand ben and to look to closely at ben would just break his heart, looked his son in the eye and made sure that he knew that he was loved and that no matter what ben is and always will be his son. It was the only thing he could do, and in that moment it was all ben needed (but long-term please let that boy get some therapy)).
(I can't help but compare it with Stuart's stories and to me those seem a little more issue of the month. Firstly I think combining the cancer and depression is doing a disservice to both those things, because the show isn't really doing much with either. Really the postnatal depression is little more than hey men can get it to and it's bad, but hey stuart also has chemo to get to. It deserves more and the thing is when that and ben's stories were announced I was way more unsure how they were going to link ben's ptsd to this. I'll admit I was wrong, they did that beautifully, stuarts issues are just distracting from one another. And I know that stuart doesn't have the history ben has, we know his a fair bit of his backstory but we didn't see all the nuances of it, plus he is not a consistent character, he straight up changed (and as a ben fan I am a bit bitter about that fact that the stuart doesn't face the same backlash considering how much of a villain he was and it's not like he developed. Development involves a slow progress, things get better, things regress but there's always effort put in (you know like ben) stuart magically changed one year to the next and I like stuart well enough its just annoying how he is treated in comparison). But really stuarts postnatal depression could involve any character who became a father, timing wise it just had to be stuart. There just hasn't been the same amount of depth).
And it's not just the ben's story is character driven on ben's part, we are seeing both kathy and phil react in ways that are completely character driven. Again we are seeing the representation of an issue that does exist, the struggles that parents go through when something like this happens, but it made specific because everything that those characters do makes sense in the context of their respective histories, both as individuals and their histories with ben. Phil wants to go after lewis because well you would, I mean he hurt his kid, but also because that's what phil was taught. Likewise phil has to sit in that hospital room and reckon with his past parenting (that stella mention) and work to be better. Kathy is trying desperately to keep ben afloat, and is trying to be to ben what she would have needed, but there are moments when she just doesn't understand ben's behaviour. And I really love the fact that the show has taken the story in the direction of exploring how this little family unit copes with everything that is happening. And that's not to mention that if there's a story to do with masculinity, or something that challenges someone's like self-perception of masculinity, it was always going involve ben because that's the character's history, but that's a whole other post. Basically although this is absolutely harrowing to watch I think it has been so well written and carefully considered. You can't say well this is just eastenders tackling another issues of the week when every single moment is informed by what type character ben is.
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olympia soiree review after 100%-ing the game... general consensus of my brain worms is that the premise, its themes, the japanese cultural context, and the lore are its biggest strengths. but it needed a heavy editing hand. writers gotta trust their audience more bc we really do not need flashbacks to a thing that happened three minutes ago. it just felt like some great solid bits that were bundled up way too much w superfluous padding. as such the pace suffered and what should have been devoted to developing further why byakuya and her li would fall in love is spent on filler and revisiting info we already know
the spiciness and the sheer romance of the cg scenes are so good but sometimes it was whiplash when byakuya and her li were suddenly in soulmates mode. the individual scenes were chefs kiss but the relationship development overall felt less earned which made those scenes less impactful than it should have been. i know it's just the two weeks but cmon ive been sold less believable absurdity in less that time
anyway in terms of each route:
himuka - tbh he really didn't leave a lasting impression besides his place in the lore. my fave thing is his character design and i spent most of the route pretending this was a yuri game lmao i think his was the one where i rly questioned why byakuya fell so hard and fast (and she does that in every route but his especially i was like.... but why are you suddenly so ride or die??)
tokisada - cute! but im not typically a fan of the little bro type. when he talks about walking into the ocean tho i did cry 😢 his bad ending main menu speech is so good. i love it when men break down despondently 😌
yosuga - loved him up to That Scene. i love possessive dubcon stuff in otome but this was a character who was established to be someone who prioritizes consent and safety for the female citizens of yomu so it just seemed so out of left field and uncharacteristic. did enjoy the hades and persephone analogue vibes tho
riku - such a fan of this nerd. for some reason i felt his angst more than i did the others perhaps bc his biggest obstacle in returning byakuya's love was his own self. rly related to his desire and anxiety to live up to other people's standards and his general ineptness in romantic situations. bc it often ends w byakuya being the most forward one which i always enjoy whenever the mcs take the lead in otome. had fun w him but he and byakuya felt the most whiplash along w himuka
kuroba - enjoyed his personality for most of the game and was honestly thrown off that he ended up being the most yandere of the bunch. which is interesting considering the reveal of who his birth father actually is. was not a huge fan of how they treated sexual assault in this route. like i intellectually understand why the good ending is like that but they rly should have let that motherfucker choke. handkerchief callback was adorable tho
akaza - BIG FAN of bbq dad. his was the one i was looking forward to the most bc he was the one byakuya was the most resistant in giving a chance. and im just a sucker for decent men who give off a bad first impression bc they take things too seriously. i love his insistence of asserting himself and byakuya as singular entities and not bound by the fate of their roles which is a deft way of tying the relationship with the game's overall themes. his route felt the most believable in selling why they're compatible and why they fell in love because they went to intentional multiple dates where it truly felt like they were learning about each other. i would have liked some room to explore his faults and fears outside of byakuya but i enjoyed his route the most so i can't complain too much
other scattered thoughts
the short stories are great esp the memoirs by the supporting cast. made me appreciate them more bc it gave them nuance and complexity
SHURA 🥰 complicated women my loves. wish tho that her bitterness against byakuya wasn't also rooted in her infertility. not that the motivation is inherently bad but as one of the few female dynamics byakuya has it isn't great
hairi devolving to villainy was understandable but disappointing. wish tho that there was one character based in yomu who wasn't on byakuya's side but wasn't also a villain either.
douma reveal just doesn't sit right in the end like they're trying to establish this grumpy dad vibe when douma spent the majority of the games not just being grumpy and stoic but actively being an asshole and almost resentful
kanan i was generally annoyed with until i got through the bad endings and read his memoir and i did a complete 180 on him. earnestly really enjoy this asshole now and i find him fascinating as a villain
tsukuyomi's memoir is my absolute fave "now i water the cherry tree" just the existential resignation of it all....
don't have much thoughts on the obvious allegory and how it explores oppression as a theme namely bc im missing the cultural and historical framework w my largely western lens and i think context here is absolutely imperative to do this justice
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Oh lol, that ask about hypocritical Daemyra shippers hit so hard, I couldn't help but cringe/laugh in sympathy. I'm so sorry if that happened in a fanspace you frequent, anon!! But it really reminded me of one of the reasons I don't interact much with HOTD fandom besides besides reblogging art and memes and discussing the show with a friend.
See, I like a lot of different ship in HOTD, and you'd be hard-pressed to find any I actually dislike even if I am indifferent to some. So it's especially weird to me when shipwars between Aemond/Alys and Aemond/Helaena fans turn from "Our ships is canon in the books!" "Well, our ship might still be canon in the show!" to declaring that Aemond/Alys would necessarily HAVE to be depicted as abusive on one side and bashing the brosis shippers as degenerate freaks for daring to ship incest in a show where the main canon ship is uncle/nice on the other. And then I've also seen at least a couple of Aemond/Alys fans take that even further by preemptively worrying that the greedy, nasty incest shippers will take their ship and make it all about Oedipal onesided Aemond/Alicent undertones... which, as much as I love both ships between troubled younger men and witchy older women AND momson ships, and as much as I am that rare breed of shipper who enjoys multiple interesting ships being connected together by one of the characters involved having a type or unrequieted feelings or other stuff like that, I could actually sympathize with because having fanworks and discussions for your ships overtaken by another ship you don't even like does suck. But again, why the weird focus on the incest angle in the show where THE MAIN CANON SHIP is uncle/niece?! XD
And that's not even mentioning the hate I've seen other people spew about, again, Aemond/Alicent AND Aegon/Alicent. "Something something why take genuinely fascinating parent/child relationships and "warp" them into incest," as I'm sure you can imagine. ... it actually reminds me of people crying out in outrage over slash ships, or even some friends-to-lovers het ships with dynamics that go beyond typical Hollywood ideas of romance. The assumption that adding a romantic or sexual element, even just in fanon rather than canon, will necessarily "ruin" a well-written, interesting relationship - rather than allow fans to explore it in new contexts and settings, appreciating its complexity and nuances while looking at them in a different light and through different means.
And then there's all the Modern AU Daemyra fics where they're not related... which may of course be entirely motivated by a simple wish to explore the dynamic between Daemon and Rhaenyra without the burden of legacy and the mess of family drama weighing on them, just enjoying their passion without additional complications. But it does make me chuckle in a vaguely exasperated way giving everything else...
Sorry for the rant. I'm not really mad about it, as I'm used to doing my things in my own little corner of fandom, but sometimes it does make me want to ask those people "you DO realize we are all watching the same Dragon Family Incest Show, RIGHT?!" XD
[x]
I hate to see fandom bringing out the worst in people when, in theory, it's not impossible for us all to just be having fun and enjoying our show. In theory, in a perfect world, we could all just ship and let ship.
What I really wish some people on tumblr would learn is just how to keep their mouth shut. Some thoughts you can just keep to yourself. Maybe the world would be a better place if you didn't say the thing. A lot of the hate I see just snowballs. One Aemond/Alys shipper says something negative about Helaemond, a Helaemond shipper remarks on it - this is just an example - then that remark gets traction, leading to someone saying something negative about Aemon and Alys, and now all of the sudden both ships are under attack and there's a ship war. If Person A had just not made that post, if Person B had just ignored what Person A had said, it might not have gotten ugly on such a big scale. Never underestimate the power of just ignoring.
And of course when you've got incest ships in the mix, the other side is going to come out in full force to condemn it. That might work in other fandoms, but this is ASOIAF, and this is the incest show. The incest shippers are not crazy.
The assumption that adding a romantic or sexual element, even just in fanon rather than canon, will necessarily "ruin" a well-written, interesting relationship - rather than allow fans to explore it in new contexts and settings, appreciating its complexity and nuances while looking at them in a different light and through different means.
THIS.
Like shipping something romantically is some eraser that comes along and erases everything that's unique and interesting about a relationship. Um, no.
It creates new layers!
Modern unrelated AU:
#i'm tired sorry this got a little babble-y#asks#anonymous#discussion#t: antis#asoiaf#house of the dragon
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Unlocking the Mysteries of Barrel Selection: Decoding How Distillers Choose the Perfect Casks for Aging Whiskey
In the heart of the whiskey-making world, where tradition meets innovation, lies the meticulous art of barrel selection. Whiskey distilleries in the USA, renowned for their craftsmanship and dedication to quality, understand the paramount importance of selecting the perfect casks to age their spirits. From the rolling hills of Kentucky to the bustling streets of Tennessee, distillers meticulously curate their barrels, recognizing that each one holds the potential to shape the character and complexity of their final product.
Exploring Barrel Types
At the core of this process is an appreciation for the diverse array of barrels available to whiskey distillers. From oak barrels previously used to age Straight Bourbon Whiskey, imparting rich caramel and vanilla notes, to those that once held Straight Rye Whiskey, lending spicy undertones and a robust character, the options are as varied as the landscapes that surround these distilleries. Each barrel type brings its own unique flavor profile, allowing distillers to experiment and innovate while honoring time-honored traditions.
Factors Influencing Barrel Selection
This intricate dance begins long before the whiskey ever touches the barrel. Distillers carefully consider a multitude of factors when selecting casks, ensuring that every choice contributes to the desired flavor profile of the final product. From the origin of the wood to the grain density of the staves, every detail plays a crucial role in shaping the whiskey's journey from raw spirit to matured elixir.
The Art of Barrel Sampling
Barrel selection is not merely a matter of practicality; it is an art form unto itself. Distillers embark on a sensory exploration, sampling the whiskey at various stages of maturation to gauge its progress and development. Each barrel tells a story, its nuances and subtleties revealing the secrets of time and craftsmanship imbued within. Through the careful orchestration of wood and spirit, distillers craft a symphony of flavor, balancing tradition with innovation to create whiskies that captivate the senses and stand the test of time.
Balancing Tradition and Innovation
As the whiskey industry continues to evolve, so too do the challenges and opportunities surrounding barrel selection. Sustainability has emerged as a pressing concern, prompting distilleries to explore innovative ways to minimize waste and maximize efficiency. Reusing barrels has become not only a practical necessity but also a creative endeavor, allowing distillers to breathe new life into old casks and uncover unexpected flavor combinations.
Future Trends and Challenges
Looking to the future, the possibilities are limitless. Emerging trends in barrel selection, from experimental aging techniques to unique wood finishes, promise to push the boundaries of whiskey craftsmanship ever further. Yet, amidst this wave of innovation, one thing remains constant: the unwavering dedication of whiskey distillers to their craft. With each carefully chosen cask, they continue to unlock the mysteries of barrel selection, ensuring that every sip of whiskey tells a story worth savoring.
Conclusion
In the world of whiskey, barrel selection is both a science and an art. It is a testament to the skill and vision of the distiller, who understands that the right barrel can elevate a spirit from good to exceptional. As we raise our glasses to toast the fruits of their labor, let us also raise our appreciation for the time-honored tradition of barrel selection, where each cask holds the promise of something truly extraordinary. Cheers to the distillers, the craftsmen and women behind the magic, who continue to shape the future of whiskey, one barrel at a time.
Useful links
Bourbon whiskey recipes
Rye whiskey recipes
Best Resources
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Oak and Wine – A Beautiful Relationship: Unveiling the Harmony
In the world of wine, one of the most enchanting and essential components is the oak barrel. Oak and wine share a unique and beautiful relationship that has been cherished by winemakers for centuries. In this article, we will delve into the intricate connection between oak and wine, exploring how this partnership enhances the flavor, aroma, and character of the wine we savor. So, let's uncork the secrets of this captivating bond.
The Foundation of Flavor: Oak as a Crucial Element Unveiling the Oak Barrel's Role
To understand the importance of oak in winemaking, we must first appreciate the role of the oak barrel. These barrels, typically crafted from French or American oak, serve as vessels for aging wine. The porous nature of oak allows for a controlled exchange of air, which is fundamental to the wine's evolution.
Aroma Enrichment
One of the most remarkable contributions of oak is its ability to impart complex aromas to the wine. These aromas can range from vanilla and caramel to spice and toast, elevating the wine's bouquet and adding layers of intrigue.
Flavor Enhancement
Oak barrels infuse the wine with subtle flavors, such as oak, smoke, and sometimes even a hint of coconut. These nuances complement the wine's natural flavors and contribute to its overall taste profile.
Structural Transformation
Beyond flavor and aroma, oak influences the wine's texture and structure. It softens harsh tannins and promotes a smoother, more balanced mouthfeel, making the wine more enjoyable to drink.
The Marriage of Tradition and Modernity
Traditional vs. Modern Approaches
Winemakers have the choice between traditional oak aging in barrels and modern alternatives like oak staves or chips. Each method offers distinct advantages and influences the final product differently.
The Art of Barrel Aging
Traditionalists argue that oak barrels provide a slow and nuanced aging process, allowing the wine to evolve gracefully over time. This approach is favored for premium wines seeking complexity and finesse.
The Precision of Modern Techniques
Conversely, modern methods offer greater control over the oaking process. Winemakers can adjust the level of oak influence with precision, resulting in wines that are fruit-forward and approachable at a younger age.
Regional Influence: Oak Varieties
French Oak vs. American Oak
The choice between French and American oak is a crucial decision for winemakers. Each type of oak imparts distinct characteristics to the wine.
French Oak Elegance
French oak is renowned for its subtlety and elegance. It adds delicate flavors and aromas, often described as "spice box" and "cedar," making it a preferred choice for many European wines.
American Oak Boldness
On the other hand, American oak tends to be bolder, offering flavors like vanilla, coconut, and dill. This oak variety is often chosen for New World wines, including those from the United States and South America.
The Journey of Patience
Aging in Oak Barrels
Wine aging in oak barrels requires patience and careful monitoring. Depending on the wine style and winemaker's vision, this aging process can vary from several months to several years.
The Transformation
As wine matures in oak, it undergoes a remarkable transformation. Tannins soften, flavors integrate, and the wine's potential for complexity is unlocked.
The Perfect Timing
The winemaker's art lies in determining the ideal moment to remove the wine from oak. Timing is critical to ensuring that the oak's influence complements rather than overwhelms the wine.
The Grand Finale: Bottling and Beyond
Bottling the Beauty
After aging, the wine is carefully removed from oak barrels and prepared for bottling. This is a moment of anticipation, as the culmination of oak's influence becomes evident.
Maturation in the Bottle
Even after leaving the oak barrel, wine continues to evolve in the bottle. Proper aging allows the wine to settle, harmonize, and achieve its full potential.
Conclusion
The partnership between oak and wine is indeed a beautiful one. Oak contributes depth, complexity, and character to the wine, transforming it into a sensory masterpiece. Whether it's the elegance of French oak or the boldness of American oak, the influence of this noble wood is undeniable. As wine enthusiasts, we can savor this beautiful relationship with each glass, appreciating the intricate dance between oak and grape.
FAQs
Q1: Can oak affect the color of wine?
Yes, oak can influence the color of wine by stabilizing pigments and enhancing color extraction during fermentation.
Q2: Are there wines that don't benefit from oak aging?
Certainly. Not all wines are suitable for oak aging. Light and delicate white wines, for example, are often best enjoyed young and fresh, without oak influence.
Q3: How do winemakers choose between French and American oak?
The choice depends on the wine style and desired flavor profile. French oak is elegant and subtle, while American oak offers boldness and richness.
Q4: Can oak barrels be reused for aging wine?
Yes, oak barrels can be used for multiple vintages, but with each use, their influence on the wine diminishes.
Q5: Are there alternatives to oak barrels for aging wine?
Yes, winemakers can use oak staves, chips, or even oak barrels in combination with stainless steel tanks to achieve oak influence in a more controlled manner.
Lompoc wine factory is A Co-Op Style facility that allows individual winemaking, production, and custom crush services. We also offer temperature controlled storage, label services, and so much more to help develop your wine brand. Contact us today for a private tasting, tour, or residency opportunities!.
#Oakbarrels#Wineaging#Oakwinebarrels#Winecellar#Wineproduction#Oakwinestorage#Winefermentation#Oakwinecasks#Oakwinebarrelmaintenance#Winevineyards#Wineoakextraction
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How Do You Describe Wine?
Do you ever find yourself at a loss for words when trying to describe the taste, color, or aroma of a glass of wine? Don't worry; you're not alone. Describing wine can be challenging, especially if you're new to the world of oenophilia. But fear not! In this blog post, we'll dive into the fascinating realm of wine description and uncover the secrets behind expressing its various characteristics in words. Whether you're a seasoned sommelier or an enthusiastic novice, read on to discover how to articulate those elusive elements that make each sip of wine truly unique. So grab your favorite bottle and let's uncork the art of describing wine!
The Various Tastes of Wine
When it comes to the tastes of wine, the possibilities are endless. From fruity and floral to earthy and spicy, each sip can transport your taste buds on a delightful journey. One moment you may be greeted with the vibrant burst of berries or citrus, while the next brings forth notes of chocolate or tobacco.
Some wines tantalize your palate with their acidity, leaving a refreshing zing behind. Others embrace richness and depth, coating your mouth with velvety tannins that linger long after you've swallowed. Sweet wines offer decadent flavors like honey or caramel, while dry wines showcase crispness and elegance.
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Exploring different tastes is part of the joy of discovering wine. You might encounter hints of vanilla in an oak-aged Chardonnay or detect a touch of black pepper in a bold Shiraz. The beauty lies in how these flavors seamlessly intertwine to create harmonious blends that dance across your tongue.
Describing the tastes of wine requires more than just words; it demands an appreciation for nuance and complexity. So take your time when savoring each glass, allowing yourself to fully experience its unique flavor profile and explore all those delicious intricacies that make wine so captivatingly diverse.
The Different Colors of Wine
Wine, oh wine! The beautiful libation that comes in an array of colors, each one telling a unique story. From the rich ruby reds to the pale golden hues, there is no shortage of variety when it comes to wine's color palette.
First up, we have the classic red wines. These beauties range from deep garnet to vibrant crimson. Their bold and intense colors often mirror their robust flavors. Just imagine holding a glass of dark cherry-colored Cabernet Sauvignon or a velvety purple Malbec – pure indulgence!
Next on the list are the whites, known for their lighter shades ranging from straw yellow to pale gold. Chardonnay presents itself as a radiant golden elixir while Sauvignon Blanc shines with its pale lemon hue. These wines tend to be crisp and refreshing, perfect for those sunny afternoons or elegant soirées.
And let's not forget about rosé! With its delicate pink tones, ranging from blush petal pink to vibrant salmon hues, these wines offer a touch of romance and playfulness in every sip. They're light-bodied and often burst with fruity flavors like strawberries or watermelon.
We have sparkling wines which come in various colors too! From light gold Champagne to rose-tinted Prosecco or even shimmering amber-hued Moscato d'Asti - bubbles in every shade make celebrations even more dazzling!
Remember: always drink responsibly and enjoy your journey through the colorful world of wine! Cheers!
The Different Smells of Wine
When it comes to wine, the aroma is just as important as the taste. The various smells that waft from a glass of wine can tell you a lot about its character and quality. Each type of wine has its own unique bouquet, offering an olfactory adventure for your senses.
Red wines are known for their rich and complex aromas. You might detect hints of dark fruits like blackberries or cherries, along with earthy notes such as leather or tobacco. Some red wines may even have a touch of spice or floral undertones.
White wines tend to be more fruit-forward in terms of scent. Think citrus fruits like lemon or grapefruit, tropical fruits like pineapple or mango, and stone fruits like peach or apricot. You might also pick up on delicate floral aromas like jasmine or honeysuckle.
Rosé wines often exhibit fresh and vibrant scents reminiscent of strawberries, watermelon, and raspberries. These lighter wines offer a refreshing experience both on the nose and palate.
And let's not forget about sparkling wines! Champagne and other bubbly delights often showcase crisp green apple aromas, along with yeasty bread-like scents that come from the traditional method used in their production.
Exploring the different smells in wine is part science experiment, part sensory journey. It adds another layer to your tasting experience - allowing you to fully appreciate all aspects that make each bottle unique.
The Different Mouthfeels of Wine
When it comes to wine, taste is not the only factor that matters. The mouthfeel plays a crucial role in determining the overall experience. It refers to how the wine feels in your mouth - its texture and body.
Some wines have a light and delicate mouthfeel, almost like silk on your tongue. These wines are often described as smooth and elegant, with a gentle presence that glides effortlessly across your palate.
On the other end of the spectrum, you have full-bodied wines that make their presence known. They have a rich and velvety mouthfeel, coating every nook and cranny of your mouth with flavors that linger long after each sip.
Then there are wines with a crisp and refreshing mouthfeel, like biting into a juicy apple or taking a sip of sparkling water. These wines are lively on your tongue, leaving behind an invigorating sensation that awakens your senses.
You may also come across wines with an oily or creamy mouthfeel. This can be attributed to higher levels of alcohol or specific winemaking techniques. These wines leave behind a lingering coat on your palate, creating an indulgent experience.
No matter what type of wine you're tasting, paying attention to its mouthfeel allows you to fully appreciate its complexity and character. So next time you take a sip, don't just focus on the taste alone - let the wine dance across your palate and experience all it has to offer!
How to Describe Wine to Others
One of the joys of being a wine enthusiast is sharing your passion with others. But how do you effectively describe wine to someone who might not have the same level of knowledge or experience? It can be a daunting task, but with some simple techniques, you can paint a vivid picture and help others appreciate the beauty and complexity of wine.
Start by focusing on the taste. Is it fruity or earthy? Does it have hints of citrus or berries? Try to identify specific flavors that stand out to you. Don't be afraid to use descriptive words like vibrant, velvety, or crisp.
Next, consider the color of the wine. Is it deep red like a ruby or pale yellow like sunshine in a glass? The visual aspect can often give clues about what to expect in terms of flavor and body.
Now let's move on to smell - an important factor when describing wine. Take a moment to inhale deeply and think about what aromas come to mind. Are there scents of flowers, spices, oak, or maybe even something unexpected?
Focus on mouthfeel - how does the wine feel in your mouth? Is it light-bodied and refreshing or full-bodied with more weight on the palate? Consider factors like tannins (that drying sensation) and acidity (the brightness that makes your mouth water).
By combining all these elements - taste, color, smell, and mouthfeel - you'll be able to provide others with a comprehensive description that captures both their imagination and curiosity for exploring new wines. So next time someone asks you about wine, don't be intimidated; just dive into these sensory experiences!
Conclusion
Describing wine can be a truly captivating experience. From its various tastes and colors to its enticing smells and unique mouthfeels, wine offers a sensory journey like no other. Whether you are a seasoned sommelier or just starting to explore the world of wine, being able to articulate your thoughts and impressions is essential.
When describing wine to others, remember that everyone's palate is different, so it's okay if your description differs from someone else's. Use language that resonates with you personally and try not to get too caught up in technical terms unless you're speaking with fellow enthusiasts.
Instead, focus on connecting with others through shared experiences. Paint vivid pictures with your words by using descriptive adjectives like "velvety," "crisp," or "fragrant." Don't hesitate to compare the taste or smell of the wine to familiar objects or flavors – perhaps it reminds you of freshly picked berries, warm spices, or even a stroll through a dewy forest.
Engage all your senses when describing wine – observe its color and clarity in the glass, take note of any aromas that waft towards your nose before taking that first sip. Pay attention to how it feels on your tongue - is it light-bodied and refreshing or full-bodied and robust?
Remember that practice makes perfect when it comes to honing your skills for describing wines accurately. Attend tastings, read books on oenology (the study of wines), join online forums where fellow enthusiasts share their experiences – these activities will help expand your knowledge base as well as improve your ability to express yourself confidently.
Whether enjoyed alone after a long day or shared among friends at celebrations, each bottle holds a story waiting to unfold. So go ahead, uncork those bottles with enthusiasm and embrace the wonderful world of wine!
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The Art of Translating Emotion: Conquering the Difficulties of Subtitle Translations in Movies
When we watch a foreign film with subtitles, we often marvel at how we can connect with characters and feel the depth of their emotions, even though the dialogue is not in our native language. This magical bridge between cultures is created by the skilled art of subtitle translation. However, translating emotion is a complex task that requires a deep understanding of both language and human sentiment. Let's explore the challenges faced by subtitle translators and how they conquer these difficulties to convey emotion accurately.
Linguistic Constraints: Subtitles have limited space and time to convey the essence of dialogue, making it challenging to capture the emotional nuances present in the original language. Translators must carefully choose words and phrases that effectively express the emotions portrayed on screen, all while ensuring that the subtitles remain concise and readable.
Cultural Context: Emotions are often culturally specific, with varying expressions and interpretations across different societies. Translating emotional cues requires more than just literal word substitution; it involves understanding the cultural context behind those emotions. Skilled subtitle translators conduct thorough research to grasp the subtleties of cultural expressions and adapt them appropriately for the target audience.
Idiomatic Expressions: Languages are rich with idiomatic expressions that convey emotions uniquely. Translating these expressions can be a tricky task, as direct translations may not capture the intended emotional impact. Subtitle translators need to find equivalent idiomatic expressions in the target language that evoke similar emotions to those experienced by the original audience.
Tone and Delivery: Emotion is not only conveyed through words but also through tone, delivery, and non-verbal cues. Subtitle translators must find creative ways to represent the nuances of these elements within the confines of written text. They utilize punctuation, capitalization, and timing to indicate changes in tone or emphasize certain emotions, enhancing the viewer's understanding of the scene.
Synchronicity with Visuals: Subtitles need to be synchronized with the on-screen visuals, including gestures, facial expressions, and body language. Translators must carefully time their translations to ensure that the emotional impact aligns with the corresponding visual cues. This requires a deep understanding of the scene's dynamics and the ability to make decisions quickly while maintaining coherence and accuracy.
Localization of Emotion: Just as subtitles must capture the emotions of the original language, they also need to resonate with the target audience. This requires adapting the translation to reflect cultural sensibilities and preferences. Subtitle translators consider the emotional expectations and values of the target audience, making adjustments to ensure that the emotions conveyed are relatable and authentic.
Balancing Precision and Simplicity: Subtitle translators must strike a delicate balance between precision and simplicity. While it is essential to convey the emotional subtleties accurately, the translation must also be easily understood by the viewer. Translators must make choices that preserve the core emotional content while avoiding convoluted language or overly literal translations that may hinder comprehension.
In the realm of film translation, subtitle translators are unsung heroes who overcome the complexities of translating emotion. Their meticulous work allows audiences worldwide to connect with characters, experience their joys and sorrows, and ultimately appreciate the universal language of human emotions. So, the next time you watch a foreign film with subtitles, take a moment to appreciate the artistry behind those carefully crafted translations that bring emotions to life on your screen.
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There’s a certain level of connection and emotional investment required to write any character well. Loki, in my opinion, is not a character that is easily written. He is complex, guarded, and often contradicts himself. Even so, you have captured his essence with this story. You explore his nuances and show glimpses of his hidden qualities in a way that is characteristic of Loki (for better or worse). You understand who Loki is. ❤️
Now for some specific favorites:
I love that you nodded to the snake story (it’s one of my favorite parts of Ragnarok!)
It’s easy to understand when and why Loki is masking around others.
The protagonists personality is a great blend of her parents. She clearly takes after her father, but I think she has much more of her mother in her than she realizes. It will be interesting to see if she acknowledges and develops that side of herself (considering everything that’s happened and what lies ahead)
Baldur! Frustrating, infuriating, smug, vicious, strategic… I could go on. Very well done😅
I’m anxious to see when/how the prejudice towards Jotunheim and the frost giants effects future events. It feels like she’s had so many clues but hasn’t put 2&2 together. Then again each clue has been spaced far enough apart that it’s easy to see why the connection hasn’t been made yet.
I’ve got a pretty big conspiracy theory about their conversation re: seiðr but I’m probably reaching so I’ll spare you the chaos of my mind labyrinth 🤣
Sorry, this turned out to be much longer than I intended!
Anyway, I hope you’re feeling better. I just wanted to let you know what I appreciate about your work (specifically).
I…
Anon, I cannot say thank you enough.
Writing has been my joy my whole life, and before I started this fic I had been stuck in a stage of my life where I had lost faith in my ability to do so.
The fact that you have cared enough about what I have written to convey this level of detail and insight into the story strikes me to my absolute core- and again, I cannot thank you enough.
At the risk of over sharing- the reason I adore writing Loki is because I relate to him perhaps a little too well.
I grew up the child of a very visible public figure, and felt as if I never quite lived up to expectations. I had one parent who was gentler with me, and we shared a love of writing through which we connected. With my other parent, their anxieties and fears for my future often left us at odds, and I felt as if they strongly preferred my siblings. I always fell short of what they wanted me to be, and so I largely drew inward.
In highschool, the former parent passed away, and it broke a part of me. I reacted by engaging in increasingly self destructive behaviors, and withdrew from everyone else.
Eventually, I was fortunate enough to meet someone (a tutor) who helped me advocate for myself and ask to go to therapy; they helped me not just internalize everything anymore.
I learned what parts of me were different, and why I often felt I fell short- and fortunately have been able to get a lot of help with it
Unlike loki, over time I grew much closer to my family, and have been able to fully settle into my own (mostly)- and its something I hope his character finds as well.
Watching the TV series was something that made me feel like, maybe, there was a realistic chance for me to find some sort of healthy relationship with someone someday- despite all the imperfect parts of me.
Because someday, I will find someone who understands those things too.
Anyway, for those reasons- and others- your comment and your kindness made me cry. That was something i seriously needed <3
If you see this, I beg you- send me your conspiracy theory. I too live in a constant mind labyrinth, and I would love to see yours.
Also, new chapter is now up :P
Again- Thank you.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/33865711/chapters/109025235
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friendly reminder regarding shadow and bone!
ship who you want to ship and please tag your ships!! I’ve spent the past three days knee deep in the darklina tag and while I am THRIVING for all the blessed content this incredible fandom makes, I’m seeing a lot of anti-darklina in our tag for some reason. ship who you want to ship and feel free to talk about why you don’t ship other things! that’s all good! just please think before sending out needless hate to people because of a fictional character, and if you don’t ship darklina or malina or what have you, don’t tag it as such!
we’re not out here about to regress into policing people for wanting two fictional characters together like it’s 2015.
*also, and I cannot stress this enough, please for the love of god, do not send hate to any of the actors. I’ve heard about some nasty things being sent to Archie and Danielle at least, that is not ok and never will be. These are real people trying to do their job. let’s be respectful of their privacy and humanity.
final thoughts: I love this fandom, I love these people, I love that we can have conversations about these fascinating characters. It feels so incredible to be a part of a fandom that is so alive, I feel like a kid again. Let’s make this a positive and respectful space and be kind to one another.
#I also understand not shipping either ship like I get that#but when I'm in either tag I often find a lot of hate regarding whichever ship#and I'm not in the darklina tag to be reading about how I'm a terrible person for shipping darklina and vice versa for malina.#let's appreciate how complex and nuanced these characters are and explore those complexities#the moral highground is non existent#but what i do love to see is all the positivity surrounding crows content#let's just make this a space where we can have conversations without regressing into name calling and the like#It's not abundant but there's enough of this out here that i wanted to say something about it#shadow and bone#sab spoilers#darklina#alina x darkling#alina x aleksander#alarkling
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The Structure of Story is now available! Check it out on Amazon, via the link in our bio, or at https://kiingo.co/book
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I sure love a good villain. I love writing them, I love reading about them, I love watching them on screen, and I love unravelling them.
When writing No Pain, No GameI thoroughly enjoyed developing the character of Sean Cravanaugh, the evil mastermind at the centre of the plot. The whole process was extremely cathartic. So much so, in fact, that when the book came out and readers hated Sean for being so horrible and manipulative, I was almost taken by surprise.
This did get me thinking: was my love of strong villains uncommon? Did my ability to write a convincing villain make me a villain at heart? How did other writers feel about their own baddies, and how did they go about writing them?
I had to find out.
The Nuanced Villainy Trend
One trend that’s become more prominent in recent years, be it in literature or popular culture in general, is a shift on how we look at and portray villains. Nowadays, characters from the dark side are more nuanced, more complex and more intriguing than they used to be. We don’t just see what they do, but why they do it and the reasons that drive their behaviour take us on a rollercoaster ride. We’re no longer looking at the bad guys at a singular point in time, where they’re already at the apex of their villainy. We’re given a full 360 degrees view of what’s got them to that point — we see the world and their experiences from their point of view, and they earn some sympathy points along the way.
And that’s the thing. We hate what they do, and we can’t condone their actions, but we tend to hate them, as people, a little less. We wonder what we ourselves might have done when faced with the same circumstances. Through that new lens, they become almost endearing.
This blurs the lines, to a large extent, and the world seems to love it. Gone are the days of black and white as we’re increasingly exposed to the other side of the more traditional hero-focused stories. This is a good thing, according to author Sabrina Voerman, who states that ‘we need more stories told by villains because [she] believes we are all a little grey. No one is all good and no one is all evil.’
Where Villains are Born (or: are you a closeted villain if you can write a good villain?)
This all begs the question: why do we love this new trend so much?
My guess? Because it speaks to the darker, imperfect, highly flawed part of us we try so hard to conceal in our civilised day-to-day lives. When author Freya McMillanworks on villains for her own books, she admits she ‘thinks about the darkness in [herself] and ramps it up a lot, so it’s still believable’. And we love it because we can relate.
So, do you have to be a villain yourself to write a good villain? Not necessarily (and rather thankfully, I might add). I believe it’s more a reflection that we, collectively, are starting to embrace every facet of what it means to be human. We’re letting go of the typical and rather unattainable hero-in-shining-armour ideal in favour of the myriad impulses, idiosyncrasies and desires that make us who we are as a species.
Creating a convincing villain these days is no longer about handpicking a singular cause to justify someone falling off the rails of socially accepted behaviour — abuse, loss and trauma being recurring favourites on that front. Instead, it’s all about exploring the complexity of human nature, psychology and the full colour palette of human emotions.
For Sabrina Voerman, it’s a delicate balance, because ‘villains have to have reason, and that does not always mean some traumatic event pushed them into being bad. [She] likes a villain that has good intentions, but will do anything to get there’. In fact, she highlights that ‘understanding the villain is key, and giving them a few redeeming qualities humanises them, allowing readers (or at least [herself]) to see themselves in the villain.’
Are Modern Villains Just Normal People Doing Bad Things?
So, where does this land us, I hear you ask?
Are we all villains at heart?
Are good, modern-day villains just normal people doing bad things?
Yes and no. We’re at least leaning into the idea that those once crystal-clear distinctions now have blurrier edges than before.
Modern day villains often stand somewhere in the middle between right and wrong. They’re divisive characters which we can’t help but ‘sort of like’ and ‘sort of loathe’. And we’re undecided because we’ve come to realise that, in the world we live in, where things get amplified, blown out of proportions and re-tweeted till they get viral, it’s increasingly easy for anyone to be publicly perceived and pointed to as a ‘villain’. Heroes can become villains, and vice versa. It could happen to anyone. At any time. Almost overnight.
In her writing, Freya McMillan looks at it rather simply: ‘[she] doesn’t necessarily describe them to [herself] as ‘villains’. In [her] mind [she] writes about people who are victim of circumstance, or are affected by traits that are beyond their control.’
Author Tara Lake’s view is similar. Her approach is ‘comparable to any character: [she] considers their limitations, their desires and motivations, and how far they’re willing to go for those desires’.
What does that mean for writers?
The key takeaway for us writers is that we need to keep moving away from the traditional and now antiquated, overly simplified view of good versus evil. Gone are the days of irreproachable angels fighting stone-hearted demons, dark beings who were born bad and only ever did horrible things for all the wrong reasons.
Quite the opposite, in fact. They have layers. Forget black and white, or even shades of grey. Like kaleidoscopes, they’re made of a thousand shapes and brushstrokes from all the colours in the rainbow. They’re intricate and intriguing, and because this all makes them more humanised than they used to be, they can easily be hailed as the underdogs we want to back.
As writer, I find this trend fascinating. The prospect of getting to paint a whole different picture when it comes to villains is incredibly exciting. It opens up a world of possibilities that forces us to think beyond stereotypes, to gain (and portray!) fresh perspectives and to experiment with our characters in different ways. Something, I’m sure, readers everywhere will also appreciate!
#writingtips#creative writing#screenwriting#writers on tumblr#writers#writing#writerblr#writing advice#writing community#writing resources
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I love how BOLD Marisha is.
Coming from the first campaign (where every move she did as Kiki was bashed by a very loud part of the fandom), at the beginning of C2 i was sure she was going to make an easy character. Either a likelable idiot, or a super charismatic one. I mean, could you blame her? after all the shit she got?
BUT NO!, she decided to make Beau, a brash self-described uncharismatic a-hole. And make her a WoC, and make her explicitly gay since ep 1. No tiptoeing, no slow reveal. Gay af since the beginning. How f*cking BOLD is that?
And she kept truth to her character. I can't imagine the shit she must’ve gotten at beginning of C2, peaking at the bowl stuff, after daring to scream at the golden boy of the fandom. And yet, she kept going. Those conflicts were central for her.
Events happen that shape her character, because no one is the same forever. So she shapes her perfectly. Growing and learning. Making her character complex and nuanced, even when she choose not to have an arc all for herself, or make her backstory “central to the plot/world”.
And relationships happen, she aces that too. Her self described a-hole is loved and appreciated by the other party members, their characters have been deeply shaped by her.
And ships happen. There are obvious ones, so she could have that one easily, and let the other ones happen as well. BUT NO! she decides to explore the concept falling for your best friend, the concept of gay yearning, and hidden crushes. She decided to make even MORE complex choices that are going to pay off big time. Because Marisha never plays safe...
She’s BOLD AF
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Complete transcript of the Wonderland interview, by Catherine Santino, below the cut :)
In 1993, the year in which Freeform’s new thriller series Cruel Summer opens, actor Froy Gutierrez was yet to be born. Chat rooms and beepers, just two of the symbols of 90’s culture featured in the show, were absent in Gutierrez's own childhood. Instead, the 22 year old grew up among the endless, glowing feeds of social media — and the inevitable pressures that they create.
“There’s a kind of self-awareness that comes from growing up with the internet, which everyone in our cast did,” Gutierrez, who stars in the upcoming series, tells me over Zoom — his boyish charm tangible across the screen. “We’re all technically Gen Z or like, older Gen Z. And so you have to unburden yourself from curating a persona online.”
Due to the dizzying evolution of technology in the past two decades, Gutierrez and I had drastically different experiences with the internet growing up — even though he’s only seven years my junior. I fondly remember a time without the prevalence of social media, while Gutierrez was born into an era where internet presence was not only common, but expected.
Like most of Gutierrez’s peers, the actor was active on social media from a young age, but his presence has quietened over the years — even with 1.7 million instagram followers. “If there’s a general consensus on the internet of a certain readership or viewership, you know about it, because people tweet about it directly to you,'' he says. “There’s a kind of lumping in of the character you’re playing with who you are, that people do. I don’t know if it’s intentional. It’s probably just a human thing, but that happens. And it can be hard not to internalize what you read about yourself, you know? Words have power.”
In 2017, Gutierrez appeared on supernatural MTV drama Teen Wolf, a show with a massive internet fandom. Suddenly, fan theories and commentaries about his character, Nolan Holloway, came in droves, something that the young actor wasn’t necessarily prepared for. “I was still a teenager,” he says. “Around that time, you're an adult, but you’re still figuring things out. So I learned where to set my boundaries because I didn’t know where they were beforehand.”
When Cruel Summer came around, Gutierrez assumed he would be portraying the “desirable young male” he was used to auditioning for. “The first time I read the character, it definitely felt like an archetype. When I auditioned for it, I walked in and was very much myself, and Michelle Purple and Jessica Biel responded very well to it.” However, after he got the role and production ramped up, he was pleasantly surprised. “It didn’t really hit me that they were wanting to take him in such a unique direction until I showed up for wardrobe one day to do my first fitting for the pilot,” Gutierrez recalls. “I looked at the mood board for Jamie and it was like, young Heath Ledger, Keanu Reeves and Kurt Cobain. And I was like ‘Oh shit, I need to step my game up,’” he laughs. “I couldn’t get by doing the same thing that I’ve always done when it comes to characters like that.”
Cruel Summer takes place over the course of three years — ‘93, ‘94, and ‘95 — showing splices of each year in every episode. Produced by Jessica Biel, Tia Napolitano, and Michelle Purple, it centres around the kidnapping of a teenage girl and the fallout of the crime in her community in Skylin, Texas. Gutierrez plays Jamie Henson, the boyfriend of the missing girl, Kate. In her absence, a quiet nerd named Jeanette suddenly rises the social ranks and assumes Kate’s place — including dating Jamie. When Kate returns, Jeanette is suspected to be involved in her disappearance, throwing Jamie into some seriously challenging circumstances. His character could easily be a one-dimensional archetype — and truthfully, I expected him to be — but Cruel Summer took the opportunity to explore toxic masculinity and its widespread impact.
We see Jamie caught in the middle of conflict, unsure how to respond to a traumatic event that certainly no teenager expects to be faced with. He’s not a hero, but he’s not a villain either. It’s unclear whether we’re supposed to root for Jamie or not, which makes him that much more interesting to watch. “He talks a lot about his desire to protect the people around him, regardless of whether or not they asked him to protect them,” Gutierrez says of his character. “He kind of superimposes his own idea of what the people around him need. In order to maintain the peace of the people around him, he kind of robs the people around him of their agency. It’s just a really fascinating character to play in that way.”
Gutierrez has also been able to explore the ethics of true crime in a time when the genre is exploding in popularity. Though Cruel Summer is fictional, it questions the effect that public opinion can have on criminal cases — and perhaps more importantly — the well-being of the people involved. “When it comes to the investigation of a crime, you have to weigh the good it can bring into the world versus the bad it can bring. Or making one person seem suspect, or airing the dirty laundry of a private citizen for the viewership of loads of people.”
Despite his eloquent reflections on Jamie throughout our conversation, it’s clear that Gutierrez doesn’t take himself too seriously. He speaks into the camera like we’re old friends on FaceTime, and when my dog unexpectedly jumps into my frame, he gushes excitedly and asks what her name is. He’s able to laugh at himself one minute and share poignant truths the next. It’s refreshing, much like Cruel Summer.
Another likely contributor to the show’s authenticity? The fact that the cast was kept in the dark when it came to overarching plot points. Instead of knowing the show’s trajectory ahead of time, the actors would receive scripts for the next episode while they were filming — and they were subject to change. “We didn’t know where it was going,” Gutierrez says. “And we were told, “‘This might happen here, or this might happen there.’ And it would shift around.”
Without foresight into their character’s arc, the actors have no choice but to focus only on where they were in that moment — a difficult task when a single episode spans three very different years. Gutierrez faced an even greater challenge, as, unlike the two female leads, his character didn’t undergo any drastic physical transformations over the three years.
“I didn’t really compartmentalise the character,” he explains. “I kind of thought of the different years as different phases in my own life. The first year, ‘93, was a complete absence of any regret. You’re still very young, I was just thinking of like, a complete golden retriever,” he laughs. “A 16-year old boy who just wants the best and isn’t aware. ‘94 is me right before I made the decision to go to therapy, where I was making all these bad decisions and I didn’t know why. And then ‘95 was a whole desire to wrestle with those things and really look at yourself in the mirror and take accountability.”
Gutierrez didn’t only infuse personal experience into his behind-the-scenes work — some aspects made it onto the screen. The actor, whose father is Mexican, grew up spending time between Mexico and Texas and is a native Spanish speaker. Because Cruel Summer is set in Texas, Gutierrez suggested creating a similar background for Jamie.
“I was talking with Tia Napolitano, the show-runner, and I was like, ‘Hey, you know what would be really cool? What if the character is half-Mexican, too?’” Gutierrez says. “And she's like, ‘Oh, yeah, let’s write it in the script.’ And I got to write a couple lines in Spanish, which is really cool. [Jamie] could have been this mould of a cool, likeable jock. And then he ended up being this very nuanced human being, which is awesome.”
Though he is learning to appreciate all parts of his heritage, Gutierrez hasn’t always embraced his identity. “I remember feeling like I might have been not American enough for America, and not Mexican enough for Mexico,” he says. “And I remember having a bit of time in which I had an accent in both languages. Even my name — in Mexico I always went by ‘Froylan’, which is my full name. And then in the U.S., I went by Froy, because I thought it would be easier for other people to say.”
He continues: “I identify as Latino, but I”m also very wary of auditioning for Latino roles because I’m aware I don’t look like a typical Latino person. I don’t want to be someone that you can just sub in for that role, when I’m really white and blonde. And so whenever I do get a role like this, one where he’s not written to be any particular direction and we’re able to collaborate, I’m able to inject some of myself in there. So it’s been really cool to embrace all sides of my history.”
But of course, as is true for Gutierrez, Jamie’s cultural background is only a small part of who he is. Cruel Summer is committed to portraying him as a nuanced character that breaks the moulds of masculinity while tackling complex inner conflict. “Living in his shoes and walking in them, a big question that came up for me was, ‘What is the difference between guilt and shame? [Jamie]’s coping mechanism was terrible and unhealthy, and caused more pain for the people around him. But at the same time, the shame that he internalized made it worse for him. One thing I really learned, is that shame is about yourself and beating yourself up. And guilt is about taking accountability and apologising, moving forward without expecting the relationship to come back. It's just about trying to heal what happened and then moving on, on the terms that the other person sets. It’s not about you, and I think that’s what the character learns throughout the show.”
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