#Alamo beer

[robobats]

Image preceding historical and/or legendary events events

[jonesingforcrafts]

Bud light may have Dylan Mulvaney but Arlen has Carolyn and she deserves her own can too

[tracesoftexas]

I just snagged this advertisement for Pearl Beer in the April 13, 1901 edition of the San Antonio Daily Light newspaper. It appears the people loved Pearl Beer! I used to like drinking cheap pitchers of both it and Lone Star at the Armadillo World Headquarters.

[gothicprep]

i need to see kevin costner's horizon this weekend. it isn't because i'm particularly interested in westerns, but because i'm really interested in the format.

horizon is a four part movie that's basically 12 hours long. so what costner is trying to do here is translate prestige television to the theater. the burning question is, does this work?

[majestyeverlasting]

Hello lovely <3

Can I please request a Joel miller x reader oneshot where the reader had a really bad run in with infected on a patrol and then when Joel comes home to find her all panicked he comforts her, gets her cleaned up and into bed .etc. ??

Thank you🥰

𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

contains non-explicit nudity

Pairing Joel Miller x Female Reader

Summary After a brush with death while on patrol, Joel assures you and himself that you're still here as you wind down for the night [outbreak, fluff, 3.3k]

A/N Thank you so much for this amazing request, anon! This is my first fic of 2025, and I appreciate your patience as I took a little break to transition into the new year. I’ve decided to make this fic a part of the From Here on Out universe. I hope you guys enjoy! 

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Chatter and swells of laughter rest at a minimum amid the Tipsy Bison. Only half the usual Friday night patrons have trickled in so far, peppered around the establishment with drinks in hand. The air is thick with the scent of sharp spirits and stale beer. String lights cast everything in a dim, warm glow. 

Beneath the clunk of Joel’s booted footsteps, the floor is sticky. A few nods are directed his way as he saunters towards the bar, which he returns with a tip of his cowboy hat. In the ten months since he arrived in Jackson, he’d built up a reputation for himself. One that was revered and feared all the same. Fading into the background wasn’t an option anymore. 

If folks still didn’t know his name, they undoubtedly recognized him when he walked into the room. That easy, measured stride. Those brows oftentimes furrowed in thought. Those dark, knowing eyes that were humble enough to know he had a lot more to learn. 

The older man wiping down the counter tosses the rag over his shoulder as Joel approaches. Old stains are splotched down the front of his white shirt. But he’s happy to see Joel. A quiet, jazzy piano melody flows from the billiard room. 

“Howdy Clyde,” Joel drawls as he sits. A few barstools down, a pair of friends talk over beer. “You hiding Duke Ellington back there?” 

The man snorts with a shake of his head. “Good ol’ Dennis. Does this a few times a year,” he says. “Comes in, drinks, plays like it’s paying.” 

Joel gazes through the archway to where a couple people shoot pool. Dennis and the piano are just within sight.

“He ain’t too shabby,” Joel says. 

“Not at all,” Clyde agrees. “‘scuse me for a second.” 

Joel listens to the piano as Clyde goes to refill beers. 

He knows you’d appreciate Dennis’ playing. You were drawn to live music like a moth to a flame. Joel realizes then that he misses you. It’s a peculiar feeling that always seems to compound by the end of the day after being apart. You patrolled together when you could, but he’d been on the roster to volunteer at the community stables today. 

It was good, honest work. Peaceful too. There was no need to be on guard, and he didn’t have to talk to anyone unless someone was particularly keen on striking up a conversation. Being with the animals did a lot more for him than he’d ever expressed out loud. 

Back in front of Joel, Clyde braces his thick weathered hands on the counter, “So how’s Alamo? Came bearing good news for me, I hope.” An attentive furrow has formed between his bushy brows. 

Alamo, Cldye’s Stallion, was recovering from what the veterinarians diagnosed as a mild case of the flu. 

“He’s doing much better,” Joel assures. “Got him to eat and drink more than yesterday. He let me lead him around the corral for a couple laps.” 

Clyde’s eyes are grateful. “Thank God. I don’t know how you do it, man.” Joel smiles at the man’s relief.  “What can I get you?” He quirks his thumb to the wall of bottles behind himself. 

There’s a decent selection. Moonshine, applejack, mead—whiskey, which always sounds particularly good these days. 

Joel purses his lips in brief consideration before saying, “I’m okay tonight. Gotta get home to my lady.” 

Clyde hums in understanding. “Smart man,” he says. “I’ll catch you later.”

Outside, it’s cold enough for Joel to see the frost of his breath. People bundled in coats, hats, and scarves mill around because, despite the chill, it’s just another evening in Jackson. Snow still covers the ground from last week’s snowfall, and more is due any day now. The sky is white with promise as the last of the sun’s light lingers near the horizon amid dustings of pink. 

The community center buzzes with life as he passes by. A few people talk outside, and multiple heads can be seen through the windows. Just as he’s about to avert his gaze and continue on his way, his brother bursts through the doors. 

Tommy lifts his hand to signal him to wait even though Joel doesn’t intend to keep walking away. Relief is etched all across his face. 

“There you are,” he claps his gloved hand onto Joel’s shoulder. “You’re a hard man to find when you wanna be.” The slightly frazzled tone of his voice contrasts the casualness of his words. 

Worry stirs within Joel as he meets his brother’s gaze. “Hey. What going on?” 

Tommy wets his lips as he considers how to phrase the news. “Before you freak out, everybody’s alright,” he starts. “Just a bit shaken up.” 

Joel swallows the lump in his throat. He already knows it’s about you. He wishes he were wrong, but wishing never changed what his gut already knew was cemented in time. 

“Your girl and her patrol partner had a run in with some Clickers earlier this evening while they were out,” Tommy continues, and Joel’s jaw tricks. “No bites, thank God. And they managed to take ‘em all down.” 

An avalanche of guilty, frustrated, and relieved thoughts crash onto Joel all at once. Tommy loosely follows after him as he takes a few composing steps away to run a hand down his beard. Heat has risen in his face to the point where it almost doesn’t feel cold anymore. He can hear his heart in his ears.

“Where is she?” Joel finally asks. It almost sounds like there’s a small ball of cotton stuck in his throat. 

“At your place with Ellie. Her uncle Nate dropped by too,” he says. “She was askin’ for you, and I told ‘em you were on the way.”

It’s days like this that make Joel wish you hadn’t rejoined the patrolling rotation. With or without him. 

He’s is about to walk away, when Tommy adds, “She handled herself mighty fine out there. Both of  ‘em did.” 

•••

Death was no stranger to anyone in Jackson, but you’d never stared so directly into the face of a being that embodied such a definite, unyielding sense of finality. Never seen fungal decay so intimately that it made your skin crawl from the inside out. 

There had been four Clickers earlier that evening. Three taken out by your partner, Langdon, and the final one by you after tumbling to the ground. 

In your struggle, chunks of snow had crept into your jacket and dusted across your face. The bitter chill hardly registered from the moment your back hit the ground. Neither did the sound of your pistol firing as the hulking, distorted figure begin to crawl overtop of you. All you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat like a heavy tribal drum in your ears. Endure, survive, endure, survive. 

Only after Langdon drug you from beneath the limp Clicker, and hauled you to your feet, did you realize you were releasing frantic sob-like whines with every exhale. 

The entire scene won’t stop playing in your head. Electricity still hums beneath your skin. 

“Joel should be here soon,” Ellie assures again, in part for herself. 

He was always better in situations like these. Always knew what to say because he’d lived these same horrors himself, not a handful of times like she had, but countless since 2003. When it came to providing comfort, she always felt as though she was blindly grasping for the next right thing to say or do. 

But you were grateful to have her here all the same. If nothing else, she knew how to sit and be present. And after being asked to share an account of what happened by countless members of the patrol board, being with her as you wait for Joel is the peace you need. 

When you notice the worried way she’s chewing on her lower lip, you reach out for the glass of water she’d sat on the coffee table for you. You take one shaky sip and realize you’re a lot thirstier than you though you were. You drain it in a few big gulps. Ellie straightens up with a sense of having something right. 

“I’ll go get some more,” she says, taking the cup from you. 

Creaks arise on the porch soon after she heads to the kitchen. Then comes the faint jingling of keys. Joel pushes through the front door with a concerned furrow between his brows. It smooths when his eyes fall on you sitting in the living room. 

You look as small as you feel.

Aside from the absence of the sparkle that usually shone in your eyes, you seem as alright as you can be. Which is a much better than the image he’d conjured up in his head, despite Tommy insisting you’d made it back in one piece. 

“Hey,” he greets, carefully, like he’s talking to animal seconds away from curling in on itself. Like that’s all the bass he can muster into his voice.

“Hi,” you murmur, eyes tracking him as he shrugs off his leather jacket and hangs it up. His hair is curled at his ears and a little disheveled when he takes his hat off. 

The floor creaks under his footsteps as he walks to occupy Ellie’s former place. Without uttering a single word, he wraps his strong arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

You press your nose into his shirt like there’s no other place it belongs. He smells faintly of sweat, but mostly of the outdoors. Like air and earth. Breath and constance. Life. So warm, you forget all about the chill that has crept into the room. 

Ellie’s relieved to walk back in to the sight of Joel sitting with you. Your eyes have fluttered closed, so you only hear the sound of the refilled glass being set on the table. Joel meets the girl’s gaze with an appreciative nod. Thanks, kid. You did good. 

“I’m supposed to volunteer at craft night, but I can stay,” she offers. 

You peek up from Joel’s chest. “It’s okay.” 

“Are you sure?” She asks, and you nod. 

“Thank you,” you say honestly. 

“I’ll make you something cool,” she promises. 

When the door clicks shut behind her, silence settles between you and Joel as you rest in his arms. You focus on the rise and fall of his chest, the faint, steady beating of his heart. It says he’s here, you’re here. 

Even with your body cradled in his arms, the thought of losing you haunts his consciousness. Makes tension root through his shoulders, until he takes one long inhale and lets it out. As if shedding the remnants of fear, and dispelling it from his being. 

You can feel him letting his anxiety go, only for it to manifest as guilt within your own chest. 

“We were being careful,” you say, then swallow because the next words are harder to get out,  “They—they came out of nowhere.” 

Apology plagues your tone, and he knows he’s the reason why.  

On more than one occasion, perhaps to his own fault, Joel expressed that he’d rather you not patrol. There were countless volunteer opportunities around the commune, but after meeting him, you expressed your desire to start going out again. 

For the first couple months, you were only ever partnered with Joel because he insisted. It became something you did together, getting to protect the people you love and absorb the beauty of Jackson beyond the commune limits. 

Slowly, he came around to the idea of you being partnered with different people as he picked up other volunteer work.  

Now that you’d had your first close call, you can’t help but consider the possibility that Joel had seen a certain weakness within you all along. Maybe you aren't as vigilant as you thought, or a skilled shooter, or truly capable of holding your own. If it had been Joel, the Clickers probably wouldn’t even of made it within a thirty yard radius before they were shot down—

“Sweetheart? Hey, look at me,” he pulls away so he knows he has your attention. Except, he hasn’t exactly pieced together what he wants to say. 

After releasing a breath, he meets your gaze with an apologetic look of his own. 

“I know you were careful.” His tone is warm with sincerity. “You ain’t gotta justify anything to me.” When you don’t say anything, he keeps talking, “I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.” His dark eyes are earnest, hopeful as they flit across your face. 

You nod, and he wants to believe you’ve let his words sink in. 

“There ain’t a single person in this commune who knows what’s gonna happen when they step outside those gates,” he says. “Best thing anyone can be is prepared, and that’s exactly what you were out there today.”

Joel’s not expecting a response, but he can tell he’s finally gotten through. 

He takes your hand in his and presses soft kisses over your knuckles. After letting go, he eases off the couch to kneel at your feet. You admire the slight hunch of his shoulders as he moves to untie your boots, the delicate way he handles the laces as if they’re somehow a fragile extension of you. 

When he’s done, you angle your feet to make it easier for him to pull the boots off. Even then, he doesn’t stand up. He stays on his knees so you’re eye to eye. 

“How’s a shower sound?” He gently squeezes your knee and waits to follow your lead. 

It’s an illusion of control he’s offering for your sake. Really, it’s all him. After everything today, all you want to do is let go. Follow someone you know you can trust. Someone who always knows how to lead the way.

•••

Joel gets the shower started and, before long, both of you have stripped to your undergarments. He watches as you begin to pull your sports bra over your head, and helps you on the tail end because the strong elastic won’t set you free. 

You don’t meet his gaze again until after you’ve stepped out of your panties. Joel’s eyes rove over you with a quiet, fond attentiveness, and you realize he’s looking for bruises or any sign you’re in pain. 

“I’m okay,” you manage a small smile. 

“Okay,” he says, then runs a hand through his hair as if he still hasn’t quite accepted that you are. His bicep flexes as he does. The expanse of his chest is broad, dusted with dark hair. 

“I promise.” 

Finally, he nods like he believes you. “Go ahead and get in. See you shivering.” The bathroom hasn’t quite warmed up yet, and the window is drafty. Joel makes a mental note to get it resealed. 

You waist no time doing just that. A deep hum escapes you as the water meets your skin. 

From behind the curtain, you can make out the outline of Joel’s figure as he pushes his boxers down his legs. Over the sound of the running water, you can just barely hear him gathering your clothes to go put them in the hamper. 

When he joins you, there’s a gentleness to the way he lathers your body with soap. A diligence. The steam lifting around you carries the light, earthy scent of lemon balm. You let him run the bath sponge along your arms as the warm spray of the shower patters onto your back. 

When he’s done, you wrap your arms around him so the front of your bodies are pressed together. Without pause, he graces the sponge across your shoulderblades before gliding it down your back. He continues all the way down the curve of your backside. You pucker your lips against the front of his shoulder in a pert kiss. He kisses your forehead in return. 

It’s a miracle your legs have held you up thus far. If you were to let yourself go limp, a small part of you likes to believe you’d somehow float. That’s how relaxed you feel. But you have half a mind not to test the theory. The thought makes you chuckle, and Joel peeks down at you with a budding smile of his own. 

“What?” he asks lightly, but you shake your head and close your eyes. “Don’t fall asleep on me.” 

“‘M’not,” you murmur. 

Joel hums in feigned disbelief.  “That doesn’t sound very convincing.” He puts a hand on your hip in a silent request for you to turn around. 

When you do, he snakes an arm around your waist. Behind you, he’s a promise. All muscle, warmth, and wet skin. He runs the sponge over your breasts before dipping down to gently run along the undersides.

Your eyes flutter closed again, just as he presses his soft lips to the pulse beating beneath your ear. The shiver that tumbles down your spine makes you lean back into him, and he’s right there holding you up, getting you clean, weaving you so surely into the fabric of the present. 

He lets you do the same for him. Allows himself to relish the gentleness of your touch. 

Touching his forehead to yours, his voice is thick as he whispers, “Glad you’re okay.” 

The two of you stay in the shower long after you’re clean. 

Until the water runs cold. 

•••

The mattress dips as Joel crawls into his side of the bed. Per your request, candles burn on both of your nightstands, bright enough to provide a glow to see each other’s faces. His warmth is behind you before long, chest to your back as he drapes an arm over your waist. It’s a reminder that he’ll never let go. 

The room is quiet aside from your breaths and the occasional creaks of the walls. You rest a hand over Joel’s to run your thumb over his skin and along the bumps of his knuckles. 

“I’m terrible,” you say all of a sudden. Joel shifts behind you, prepared to counter even without the full context, but you continue, “I never asked about your day.”

Joel gives you a squeeze. “Probably would’ve bored you to half to death anyways.” 

A small smile buds on your face. “Half alive is better than nothing,” you say. 

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, vibrating straight into you. You’d wage wars to hear that sound. Cross oceans to reach it again. Joel feels you shake with a small laugh of your own, and it further solidifies that you’re going to be alright. 

“Let’s see,” he decides to humor you after a brief moment of silence. You turn around in his arms and touch your feet to his beneath the sheets.

“Everything went well at the stables,” he says. “Alamo's doing a lot better. Stopped by the Tipsy Bison to tell Clyde on my way home.” You can hear the tiredness in his voice, making it gruffer. 

“Aww, really?” 

Joel hums and places a hand on your hip. He draws smalls circles with his thumb. 

“He’s such a beautiful horse,” you think aloud. His coat is as black as the night. 

“I’m starting to notice a pattern,” you slip your hand beneath the hem of Joel’s shirt to splay over his side.

“What might that be?” he asks. 

“You making everything better. People, animals...” 

Joel huffs an amused breath through his nose, but doesn’t say anything. Maybe not everything, but he sure as hell knows he’ll never stop showing up. 

You scoot closer to him and allow your lips to find his amid the candlelight. Slow and steady like you’ve got forever. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all. 

Check out the From Here on Out Masterlist for more of this reader and Joel.

GENERAL MASTERLIST

[luke7131]

texans will agree this is the best song ever:

Weird Wilbur - Fuck you Texas

it is in every playlist i have and it comes on and makes my day

The worst kind of music is "I'm from this one city, and it's a really cool city, and I'm proud of my city, and it's better than your city."

The best kind of music is "I'm from this one city, and it FUCKING SUCKS. I got mugged, I lost my job, they denied me unemployment benefits, if I spend one more second in this FUCKING city I will GO INSANE."

The other best kind of music is "I'm from this one city, and it fucking sucks BECAUSE OF ME. I make my place ACTIVELY WORSE through a MYRIAD OF CRIMES."

[quazies]

References in the new episode!

"Perfect isn't easy" from Oliver and Company! This is more of a homage than a reference, the lights around the mirror, the gloopy eye makeup. If you ever wondered what Medimedes would sing in a disney movie, go give the song a listen lol

Alamo beer from King of the Hill! Best animated sitcom, been watching and rewatching it since I was like 10.

This box in demo's room is a reference to how the dad in "A Christmas Story" pronounces "Fragile." Ok, this ones a deep cut and only funny to me so I didn't expect anyone to catch it. Now people just think I don't know how to spell fragile 😭

The BLU team have some of Bean's Alcoholic Cider from "Fantastic Mr. Fox." (Taste just like liquid gold.)

Otto and Jerma...❤️

This was a reference to the blood testing scene in "The Thing" but I don't think I made that clear enough and it kind of looks like generic medical crap 😭

Ok I think that's all!

[bekkachaos]

Prompt if you’re interested: “You licked the Liberty Bell when you were a kid? And you’ve been kissing me with that mouth?” 🔔

send me holiday prompts and I might do them x

"Are you kidding? El Paso is like eight hours from San Antonio," Eddie said as Chim looked back at him goading from the couch to their right. "I went to the Alamo one time, everyone always seems to think I just took a visit every other month."

They sat in Chim and Maddie's living room after dinner, the two of them sat side by side on the one couch while Eddie sat on the edge of the other with Buck squeezed up beside him. He always joked that Buck didn't have any sense of personal space, especially when it came to him, but truthfully he enjoyed having his boyfriend pressed up against him or slowly (and absolutely unsubtly) shuffling closer so their thighs would brush or Eddie would be forced to lift an arm up over his shoulder so he could fit under it.

Right now he had it rested on the back of the couch and behind him, his thumb silently and secretly brushing the back of Buck's arm, the other was resting on the edge of the couch and holding a beer.

They tried to have dinner at least once every month, sooner if they could manage, but they never did. Not now that Maddie and Chim had a second kid anyway.

"Bet you never forgot it either," Chim grinned while Maddie rolled her eyes and hid her smile behind her glass of wine and Buck snorted far to close to Eddie's ear.

"I don't know how you live with him Maddie," Buck shook his head but couldn't hide the giant smile that crossed his features.

"He probably thinks we spent our weekends hiking on down to the Washington Monument too," Maddie teased, making Chim eye her with betrayal as she sided with Eddie and her brother, giving him a playful look.

It made Buck laugh even harder and Eddie held tighter to his beer so he wouldn't drop it as Buck's movements jostled him all the same. He locked eyes with Maddie who gave him a sympathetic smile, but had so much adoration in her eyes as she looked back to Buck that it made Eddie's chest feel warm.

"Isn't that what normal families do?" Chim asked. "Go see the historical sights? God knows my father never took us anywhere."

Eddie's turn to snort.

"Are you implying that any of us had a normal family growing up?" he raised an eyebrow.

Chim opened his mouth to protest but instead just nodded, holding his beer out towards Eddie's who let them come together with a little 'clink'.

"Ain't that the truth," Chim agreed before taking a sip.

read on ao3, or;

"Fun fact, our parents once took us to the Liberty Bell because they thought we'd never seen it. They'd actually taken us two years before that and forgotten," Buck leant forward as he spoke, making Eddie sit back into the couch even further to give him the room.

"I remember that," Maddie let out a breathy chuckle. "You spent the whole drive telling them that while they told you that you must have gone on a field trip there."

"Then they were so pissed by the time we got there that they just went for coffee and told us to go read the plaques and come back when we were hungry," he grinned, turning to Eddie who was just watching him with a gentle fondness in his eyes before pointing an accusatory finger towards Maddie. "And you dared me to lick the thing. Got to say, it tasted exactly like you'd think it would."

"Why would you lick the Liberty Bell?" Chim shook his head. "It's got lead in it."

"It's seventy percent copper, I read it on the signs," Buck shrugged. "And I turned out fine."

"Debatable," Chim mumbled into the mouth of his beer bottle.

"Hold on a minute," Eddie raised a brow at him and crinkled his nose. "You've licked the liberty bell and you've been kissing me with that mouth?"

"I mean, I have brushed my teeth once or twice since then," Buck shrugged, looking back to Eddie with a curl on his lips as he took a sip of beer.

"And in my defence, I didn't think you'd do it," Maddie said, giving an almost identical shrug of her shoulders before taking a long sip of her wine.

"Was he different as a child?" Chim asked, eyeing Buck with confusion. "Last week I told him he couldn't fit two cupcakes in his mouth and he nearly choked on four, just to prove a point."

"You're supposed to eat cupcakes," Maddie shook her head at both Chim and Buck. "You're not supposed to lick two hundred year old bells."

"Yeah that's just... gross," Chim shuddered, looking to Eddie. "And you choose to kiss that mouth. Willingly."

"Don't remind me," Eddie teased, not able to hide the smirk on his lips as he and Chim grinned at one another and Buck's eyes snapped to him.

He knew the expression without even needing to look over. But he never quite new what was going to come out of Buck's mouth.

"What? I've licked worse things than the liberty bell," he said.

A cacophony of collective groans rang out in the room as Buck smirked, and Eddie felt his cheeks turning pink as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Please stop," he said quietly, turning his head to see Buck giving him a perfectly innocent look in return.

"I didn't specify what those things were," he leant in and murmured in Eddie's ear.

Eddie nudged him in the hip with his own as he gave him a scolding look, letting the hand at the back of the couch slide up over his arm and cup the other side of his face to pull it in close.

"Yeah, yeah," he said with a rough kiss to his temple.

"I'm going to need another glass after that," Maddie got to her feet and gave them both an expectant look. "You guys want another one?"

"I'm good, I'm driving," Eddie said.

Buck just held out his empty bottle with a smile and Maddie took it from him with her own scolding glance.

"I'll give you a hand," Chim got up with a grunt and the two headed off into the kitchen.

"Seeing as we're talking about licking things," Buck mumbled once the two were out of earshot, sliding his hand over Eddie's ribs and nuzzling his nose against his neck.

Even though Chim and Maddie were too far to hear him, Eddie still felt his skin flush and let his fingers pinch at Buck's ear and pull him back with a whiny 'ahh' sound.

"Down boy," he said quietly. "Your sister is in the next room."

"Okay but when we get home..." he trailed of and gave Eddie a suggestive eyebrow raise.

Eddie sighed, shaking his head and leaning in so that his lips were brushing against Buck's ear as he lowered his voice to be barely audible.

"When we get home, I'll give you something better to lick than the damn liberty bell."

He gave Buck's lips a lingering look before he was meeting his eyes again. Eyes that surged with heat for a moment before he was sitting back with a devilish gleam in them instead.

"That's highly inappropriate Eddie," he said, much louder so that his voice would travel to the kitchen. "You'll let me lick what?"

Eddie felt the flush spread and his ears burned hot as he glared back at Buck.

"I hate you," he said, met with an angelic grin from Buck.

"You don't, you love me really."

Eddie sighed, but who the hell was he to deny it?

"Yeah, I guess I do."

[nicktremblaywayfu]

Quick Danny painting of him keeping an eye for his sweet pea's safety 👀

Also a bit of his random Headcanon below

He's a heavy snorer. Unfortunately.

He doesn't drink much, but once he gets his hand on beer at the perfect party night, boi be prepared a whole giant man is lying on the floor, super drunk.

He was blinded by a Reagent, hence he also had a scar.

My personal headcanon is he has heterochromia eyes (the blinded one was blue)

He was a Makeup artist back then (Based on the dialogue "Avon Calling". which is a reference for make-up brand ads), a job that is mostly frowned upon by society if a man did it back in the time. Despite being one of the few male makeup artists, his job was so fantastic that a lot of well-known woman celebrities and flappers hired him.

He loves dogs more, but for some reason, lots of cats will swarm on him.

He was the first Big Grunt ever created, at first volunteered in Murkoff's free charity limb extension surgeries. Later taken to Los Alamos as he has remarkable recovery and strength from the operation, despite it coming with a heavy downside.

He's a heavy chocolate lover. As well as a sweet tooth

He's a good kisser.

[eowyntheavenger]

By Emily Strasser | August 9, 2023

At the theater where I saw Oppenheimer on opening night, there was a handmade photo booth featuring a pink backdrop, “Barbenheimer” in black letters, and a “bomb” made of an exercise ball wrapped in hoses. I want to tell you that I flinched, but I laughed and snapped a photo. It took a beat before I became horrified—by myself and the prop. Today is the 78th anniversary of the bombing of Nagasaki, which killed up to 70,000 people and came only three days after the bombing of Hiroshima that killed as many as 140,000 people. Yet still we make jokes of these weapons of genocide.

Oppenheimer does not make a joke of nuclear weapons, but by erasing the specific victims of the bombings, it repeats a sanitized treatment of the bomb that enables a lighthearted attitude and limits the power of the film’s message. I know this sanitized version intimately, because my grandfather spent his career building nuclear weapons in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, the site of uranium enrichment for the Hiroshima bomb. My grandfather died before I was born, and though there were photographs of mushroom clouds from nuclear tests hanging on my grandmother’s walls, we never discussed Hiroshima, Nagasaki, or the fact that Oak Ridge, still an active nuclear weapons production site, is also a 35,000-acre Superfund site. At the Catholic church in town, a pious Mary stands atop an orb bearing the overlapping ovals symbolizing the atom, and until it closed a few years ago, a local restaurant displayed a sign with a mushroom cloud bursting out of a mug of beer.

Oppenheimer does not show a single image of Hiroshima or Nagasaki. Instead, it recreates the horror through Oppenheimer’s imagination, when, during a congratulatory speech to the scientists of Los Alamos after the bombing of Hiroshima, the sound of the hysterically cheering crowd goes silent, the room flashes bright, and tatters of skin peel from the face of a white woman in the audience. The scene is powerful and unsettling, and, arguably, avoids sensationalizing the atrocity by not depicting the victims outright. But it also plays into a problematic pattern of whitewashing both the history and threat of nuclear war by appropriating the trauma of the Japanese victims to incite fear about possible future violence upon white bodies. An example of this pattern is a 1948 cover of John Hersey’s Hiroshima, which featured a white couple fleeing a city beneath a glowing orange sky, even though the book itself brought the visceral human suffering to American readers through the eyes of six actual survivors of the bombing.

The Oppenheimer film also neglects the impacts of fallout from nuclear testing, including from the Trinity test depicted in the film; the harm to the health of blue-collar production workers exposed to toxic and radiological materials; and the contamination of Oak Ridge and other production sites. Instead, the impressive pyrotechnics of the Trinity test, images of missile trails descending through clouds toward a doomed planet, and Earth-consuming fireballs interspersed with digital renderings of a quantum universe of swirling stars and atoms, elevate the bomb to the realm of the sublime—terrible, yes, but also awesome.

A compartmentalized project. The origins of this treatment can be traced to the Manhattan Project, when scientists called the bomb by the euphemistic code word “gadget” and the security policy known as compartmentalization limited workers’ knowledge of the project to the minimum necessary to complete their tasks. This policy helped to dilute responsibility and quash moral debates and dissent. Throughout the film, we see Oppenheimer move from resisting compartmentalization to accepting it. When asked by another scientist about his stance on a petition against dropping the bomb on Japan, he responds that the builders of the bomb do not have “any more right or responsibility” than anyone else to determine how it will be used, despite the fact that the scientists were among the few who even knew of its existence.

Due to compartmentalization, the vast majority of the approximately half-million Manhattan Project workers, like my grandfather, could not have signed the petition because they did not know what they were building until Truman announced the bombing of Hiroshima. Afterward, press restrictions limited coverage of the humanitarian impacts, giving the false impression that the bombings had targeted major military and industrial sites—and eliding the vast civilian toll and the novel horrors of radiation. Photographs and films of the aftermath, shot by Japanese journalists and American military, were classified and suppressed in the United States and occupied Japan.

The limit of theory. Not only is it dishonest and harmful to erase the suffering of the real victims of the bomb, but doing so moves the bomb into the realm of the theoretical and abstract. One recurring theme of the film is the limit of theory. Oppenheimer was a brilliant theorist but a haphazard experimentalist. A close friend and fellow scientist questions whether he’ll be able to pull off this massive, high-stakes project of applied theory. Just before the detonation of the Trinity test bomb, General Leslie Groves, the military head of the project, asks Oppenheimer about a joking bet overheard among the scientists regarding the possibility that the explosion would ignite the atmosphere and destroy the world. Oppenheimer assures Groves that they have done the math and the possibility is “near zero.” “Near zero?” Groves asks, alarmed. “What do you want from theory alone?” responds Oppenheimer.

Can the theoretical motivate humanity to action?

One telling scene shows Oppenheimer at a lecture on the impacts of the bomb. We hear the speaker describe how dark stripes on victims’ clothing were burned onto their skin, but the camera remains on Oppenheimer’s face. He looks at the screen, gaunt and glassy-eyed, for a few moments, before turning away. Americans are still looking away. As a country, we’ve succumbed to “psychic numbing,” as Robert Jay Lifton and Greg Mitchell call it in their book Hiroshima in America, which leads to general apathy about nuclear weapons—and pink mushroom clouds and bomb props for selfies.

On this anniversary of Nagasaki, the world stands on a precipice, closer than ever to nuclear midnight. The nine nuclear-armed states collectively possess more than 12,500 warheads; the more than 9,500 nuclear weapons available for use in military stockpiles have the combined power of more than 135,000 Hiroshima-sized bombs.

If Oppenheimer motivates conversation, activism, and policy shifts in support of nuclear abolition, that’s a good thing. But by relegating the bomb to abstracted images removed from actual humanitarian consequences, the film leaves the weapon in the realm of the theoretical. And as Oppenheimer says in the film, “theory will only take you so far.” Today, it’s vital that we understand the devastating impacts that nuclear weapons have had and continue to have on real victims of their production, testing, and wartime use. Our survival may depend on it.

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[barleyo]

do you take requests if so for the love of god do more boomhauer please it was so damn hot <3 love your work btw

Straight Tequila Night.

Jeff Boomhauer X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: Thank you so much for your request, and yes, requests are always open! Sorry for the excruciatingly long wait, sweetheart. I'm pretty worthless when it comes to getting requests done in a timely manner, sorry!! This is heavily based off of John Anderson's Straight Tequila Night, so I suggest listening to it while you read. Whoever can find the most references to the song in the fic wins, haha!

Wordcount: 3.4K

Tags: P*rn with plot, p in v, oral (f receiving), sex with a semi-stranger, smut in the later half of the story

He jetted down the highway, looking for any sign or signal that pointed toward a bar. He never liked traveling outside of Arlen for anything, but when his friends were done drinking for the night and his regular pub was closed, he didn’t mind driving a few miles out of town to get a drink and mingle. 

Though Boomhauer was going farther than he originally thought he would need to, he refused to turn around and give up. Instead, he kept on driving down the sparingly lit road. The road there was bumpy, he noticed. Old and cracked pavement, unlike Arlen’s smooth, blacktop roads. He was only twenty or so minutes out of town and he could tell the differences between the two places by how often his car would jump on a jagged crack or pothole too deep to be safe.

Finally, he pulled into the parking lot of a tiny place that did not register as a bar in his mind until a neon sign that read “happy hour, every hour” came into view. The lot was empty besides a car or two in the employee’s spots and a few beat up sedans that were scattered. Boomhauer parked in a spot nearest the door and got out, grabbed his jacket he left in the passenger seat, and shrugged it on. Hands in his coat pockets, he walked in.

For however few cars were in the lot, it looked like even fewer people were even in the place. He surveyed the empty tables and thought to turn right back around to keep looking when a voice called out to him.

“Welcome in,” a woman said. 

His head snapped over to the source, finding her behind the bar. He had not noticed her while he was making his earlier assessment of the place. He offered a quick smile in an attempt to combat his previous indirect rudeness and sat at her bar top. Boomhauer took note of the woman’s age: a bit too old to just be working at a place like this, she was likely the owner.

“Never seen you before, you new here?” She leaned over the countertop inquisitively, leaving enough room between the two of them for comfort. “Or just passing through town?” 

“Just passing through, ma’am,” he said.

“Ma’am? Gosh, polite, aren’t you? You can call me Mary, none of all that ‘ma’am’ stuff. Your name, if you don’t mind me askin’?” 

“Jeff Boomhauer. Friends call me Boomhauer.”

“Alright then, Boomhauer, what’re you havin’ here on this fantastic night?” What Mary lacked in numbers, she made up for in energy and entertainment for the guests she did have. The emptiness of the bar did not seem to bother her.

“Alamo, if you’ve got it.”

“Alamo? Oh, honey, you’re from Arlen aren’t you?” she asked, biting back a laugh when he nodded. “Y’all really love your Alamo, huh? Nobody here drinks it. Thought about replacing it on tap to save my money, glad you’re here to drink it.” Mary bent down, disappearing under the bar to grab the beer mug. “Sixteen ounces okay?” She pulled the tap and filled the cup.

“Mhm, that’s fine by me,” he grabbed the mug and took a swig from it, and looked to his side. He saw a wine glass sitting next to him on a napkin. Before he could ask about it, someone walked over.

“Someone else here, Mary?” 

“Yup, (Y/N),” Mary was already turned to the girl’s direction, hearing the click of her heels before hearing her voice, “Out-of-towner from Arlen.”

(Y/N) took her seat next to Boomhauer and faced him. “It’s ‘bout time we see someone who isn’t a regular,” she laughed, holding her hand out. “Nice to meet you.” 

Shaking her hand, he replied, “You too, Miss (Y/N).”

“Oh, so polite,” she said. “Didn’t know I was a ‘Miss’ kind of girl!”

“That’s what I was saying too! Jeff Boomhauer, are all Arlen men like this? Because if so, I might need to get me one,” Mary joked while she wiped down the other end of the bar, scrubbing at a stubborn stain. 

Boomhauer said nothing in return and instead sipped at his mug quietly, listening in on Mary and (Y/N)’s chat. He allowed himself to peer at her from the corner of his eyes every so often. She was an exceptionally pretty thing: big smile, cute voice, and even cuter laugh. He was normally a talkative man, but feeling so enthralled and out of place made him want to listen especially closely to the two women.

“So, uh,” he cleared his throat, “you come here often?” He internally cringed at his own cliche, but (Y/N) seemed not to mind. 

“I’m Mary’s favorite regular, if that gives you any clue.” She looked at him, a sweet smile covering her face. 

“Don’t let her fool you, she’s still a pain in my rear,” Mary interrupted absentmindedly. 

“See, that’s real love right there,” (Y/N) grabbed Boomhauer’s arm as she chuckled to herself, and let go once she was done. “Hey, do me a favor, would you?”

“Yeah?”

“Take these,” she dug in her purse and pulled out a small handful of quarters. “Put on, uh, K-13 on that ol’ jukebox in that corner.”

“You got it,” he said. He stood up and stepped over to the jukebox, inserting the coins. He hovered his fingers over the number keys of the jukebox’s keyboard and punched in the numbers that she told him to. “I didn’t even know these things were still used,” he said. “Ain’t seen one since I was a kid.”

“I know, right? Used to be my favorite thing: headin’ to a diner with my daddy, popping on whatever song I could with the nickels and dimes he found for me in his car’s cup holders.” 

Boomhauer sat back down and watched (Y/N)’s face contort into a fond smile as she went over her memories.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” He did not try to stop his own smile from forming at her words.

“Well,” she started, “you in town for long?” 

“Nah, just tonight. Came here when my dang ol’ favorite place was right n’ closed up. Just trying somethin’ new.”

“Ah, well, cheers to that then!” She held her glass up and clinked it against his. She drank from it again, finishing out the rest of her white wine. “You know, we almost never get people just blowing by here,” she traced the rim of the glass, “the place is just too boring for people, I guess. Empty town and all that.”

“I like it.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t mind it here, man. Nice n’ quiet, wouldn’t say it’s better’n Arlen, but I don’t mind it here,” Boomhauer said, watching (Y/N)’s face warm up from the alcohol, assuming the same was happening to his own face. 

“Oh, Boomhauer, don’t say that or else I’ll have to convince you to move here! We could use some more cuties like you here, it’d make it worth hanging around this town.” 

“Maybe someday, Miss (Y/N), maybe someday,” he chuckled at her dramatics, but on the inside he felt a sharp spark. She was joking, of course, but the hint of truth behind it was all Boomhauer could hear. He couldn’t possibly move to a new town for a woman he’d known for only the lesser half of an hour, but God, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel tempting every time he heard her laugh. 

She smirked at him and ushered him to stand up and follow her. She tossed a few bills onto the countertop on both her side and Boomhauer’s, pushing his hand down as he reached into his pocket to pay. “Lightin’ up and headin’ out, Mary,” she called from behind her shoulder. 

“Long as you don’t do it in here, hon,” Mary called back. “See you.” She had taken to looking through a magazine while the ‘couple’ were chatting with each other and was still engrossed with what she was reading.

(Y/N) grabbed Boomhauer’s hand and pulled him out the door, letting go of his hand and sitting on the curb just outside the bar. She patted the spot beside her. He sat down with her and watched her take a box of cigarettes out of her purse. 

“You smoke?” she asked.

“Mhm, yeah.” He did not smoke. He may have lit a cig once or twice in high school, but never as an adult, and why he told her he did, he did not know. 

“Shit,” (Y/N) groaned, pulling her final cigarette out of its lonely box. “One left.” She lit it and took a drag, exhaling a dark cloud and tapping the ash off of the end. “Hm,” she grunted as she held the stick out to Boomhauer. 

He lifted his eyebrows in surprise but took it anyway. He saw the red ring of (Y/N)’s lipstick around the filter of the cigarette and smiled, taking a puff of his own. An unfamiliar heaviness grew in his lungs and he fought back a cough, handing it back to her.

“You know,” she took another drag before continuing, “I’m glad you came on in tonight. It’s always just me n’ a few random regulars. Every damn night, never a newbie or anyone interestin’.” She sighed and leaned her head onto Boomhauer’s shoulder. 

He tensed up a first, but calmed down once he felt her start to hum gently. 

“There’s something about this town I love,” she puffed from the cig and coughed. “The community, the familiar faces. Everyone knows each other, and there’s charm to that.”

Boomhauer nodded, the smoke swirling around him as (Y/N)  exhaled. “Yeah, it’s true. Arlen’s like that too, bit bigger though. Everybody knows everybody. Can’t go any-dang-where without bumpin’ into someone you know.”

“Right,” she replied, a bittersweet smile gracing her lips. “But sometimes, it’s nice to step outta your bubble, really get out there.”

He thought for a moment, contemplating her words. It had been a long time since he ventured outside of his comfort zone, outside of his town. Sitting there with (Y/N) on that quiet curb, he couldn’t help but feel a strange comfort. Maybe there was more to life than the familiar routine he had grown accustomed to.

“You might be onto somethin’ there,” he finally said. “Life’s too short to stay in one place, a man’s gotta be free, man. Maybe it’s time I start takin’ some risks, tryin’ new things.”

(Y/N) grinned, a playful glint in her eyes. “I like the sound of that, Boomhauer. A man with a sense of adventure is very sexy.”

They kept speaking to each other, inching closer throughout the night.The initial awkwardness between them melted away, replaced by a growing connection and a shared sense of curiosity.

Eventually, the cigarette burned out.

“Can’t believe how fast time flew by,” Boomhauer said, a tinge of regret in his voice. “I gotta get goin’.”

“Don’t know if I’m being forward, but am I gonna see you around these parts again, Mr. Boomhauer?” she asked with a laugh, copying his formality from the beginning of the night. 

He caught on. “Well, Miss (Y/N), depends on if you’re good and sure you wanna see me again.” 

“Hm, I think I’d like to. Could get used to sitting by a handsome not-stranger like yourself every Friday night. Mary likes ya’ too.” She angled her head up to make eye contact with him. “I like you more, though.” She leaned in and pressed her red-stained lips against his chapped ones.

He placed his hand on her face and tilted her into the kiss, savoring the feeling. Stroking her cheek with his thumb, he ran his tongue over her bottom lip, slowly pushing into her mouth. She moaned as he explored her mouth, intertwining his tongue with hers briefly before breaking away.

They both panted as they caught their breath, still holding eye contact. 

“I should get going,” (Y/N) sighed, standing up.

“Right, uh, yeah, man, me too.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and watched her turn to walk away. “You need me to walk you to your car?”

“No, hon, I’m okay. Just–” she looked back at him, “just make sure to come here again real soon, yeah? Don’t be a stranger, Boomhauer.” She walked to her car, heels clicking. She got into the car and drove off, rolling down her window to flash a final smile at him. 

Boomhauer had gone back to that small, desolate bar every week on Fridays for a long time. He did not see (Y/N) there for a while. He was upset, thinking that she had forgotten about their little promise so quickly, but he still showed up. Every Friday, sometimes Saturdays. He had soon started to devote less and less of his time to visiting Mary’s pub in search of her.

Today, he decided, would be one of his final trips. He was still hopeful, of course, but he was not completely delusional and knew when enough was enough. 

He walked in, head down. Not looking up, he sat down at his regular seat, right by the middle of the bar top.

“Hey, Mary,” he groaned, finally looking up. 

“Hey, not-stranger.” (Y/N) smiled at him while picking up her glass.

Boomhauer looked up, seeing her face again. He felt relief, anger, and happiness all at the same time. “(Y/N)? (Y/N), where have you been? I– I’ve been comin’ here wantin’ to see you every week.”

“I know, I know, Mary’s grilled me about it plenty, and I’m sorry.” She plopped down next to him in the chair, facing him with a grimace on her face. “I don’t even know what happened. I was getting dressed to come see you on that Friday and I just couldn’t leave, same with all the others.” She grabbed her shot glass. It was filled to the brim with tequila, and it probably was not the first or only one she had that night.

“What do you mean?”

“Damn it, I don’t know, Jeff,” she sighed and shot the drink back, wincing at the burning feeling it left in her throat. “You’re just so nice, you were so sweet, and you listened to me when I was talking the whole time. You let me joke and be silly and made me feel like you felt like I did, even if it was a lil’ soon.”

“I do feel the same, (Y/N), I feel it too, but if you felt this way, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Wasn’t that simple, I felt so scared and I couldn’t take the chance of you not feeling the same. You say you do, but even telling you now makes me so nervous,” she covered her face with her hands, and her voice was a bit muffled as she ranted. Her hands felt clammy with her sweat and tears. 

Boomhauer gently wedged his hand between her face and her palm, tilting her head to angle her eyes at his. “Darlin’, c’mon now, don’t cry. I get it, you don’t have to explain anymore.” He got up and tapped her arm. “You’re too drunk to drive, let me take you home, yeah?”

(Y/N) nodded, thick tears still dripping down her cheeks. 

They both exited the bar, (Y/N) clinging onto Boomhauer’s arm, snuggling into it against the cool night air. They got in Boomhauer’s car and (Y/N) typed her address into his phone’s GPS system.

They drove in near silence, the only sound being a sniffle of huff from (Y/N)’s side of the car. He soon pulled into her driveway. Getting out, he walked to her side and opened her door, lifting her to her weak, tired legs and walked her to the door. 

“I guess I’ll see you whenever I can see you–?”

He was interrupted by (Y/N) pulling him into a kiss. It was not like their first one, this one was rushed and full of need and desire. She pulled him back into the house, still locked in the kiss, and slammed her door shut. She led him to the bedroom and fell back on her bed.

“This okay?” He asked, laying on top of her.

“Mhm, yes. Please, g’head n’ touch me.”

That was all he needed to hear. He pushed her head to the side and placed his lips on her neck. He sucked the soft skin until a tender, dark bruise formed on it. Moving his head up, he littered the hickies closer to her jaw. 

Pulling away with a pop, he examined the marks. They were shiny with his spit.

“They don’t hurt, do they?” He traced over the wet marks with his thumb, pressing onto them gently. 

(Y/N) craned her neck into his touch, pushing into it further. “It does, but I like it. Don’t need’a worry ‘bout me.”

“Hm.”

Boomhauer ducked his head down and created a trail of kisses, each dipping lower than the last until his lips were situated at her chest, just at the divot of her shirt. He quickly slid his finger through the buttons of her shirt, unbuttoning them and helping her shrug the shirt off. 

Goosebumps littered her skin when the cold air hit her body, soon being soothed by the warm kisses he placed over her abdomen. She gasped at the feeling. Boomhauer made his way lower, slipping her skirt and panties down. 

“Here,” he gripped onto her thighs and held them apart, “hold still for me.” 

He placed his head fully between her legs, licking thick stripes over her cunt. From her entrance to her clit, he traced a path, licking up her wetness and replacing it with his spit. 

“God, ‘s too much,” she whined.

“Ain’t even started yet, just wait,” Boomhauer said, voice muffled while he slurped and sucked on her sensitive, swollen bud. 

Licking at her slit, he pushed into her, dipping his tongue in-and-out. He rolled his tongue deeper, nose bumping against her clit. Little shocks of pleasure coursed through (Y/N), back arching with each pass over her clit.

Running her hands through his blond hair, she took purchase over the back of his head, grinding her pussy up into his mouth. 

“Ah– almost, almost there, keep–”

He pulled off, a wide grin plastered over his slick, reddened face. He wiped his face with his forearm.

“Turn over, baby,” Boomhauer grabbed her waist and flipped her over, face pushed into the mattress. “You ready?” He lined himself up at her entrance, slowly edging the tip in.

“Mhmph.”

His thrusts were slow and agonizing, but not teasing. He wanted this just as bad as she did, no: worse. He felt the velvet ribbing of her cunt suck him in with each thrust, drawing him in and constricting around his cock. 

“Tight lil’ thing,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Can’t keep squeezin’ like that, darlin’, makin’ me wanna cum early.”

“Oh, sorry,” she whined slightly, arching her hips further up as if he were trying to guide his cock to her deep spot. “There,” her mouth fell open with a cry, “ooh, right there, right there!”

“Yeah? Yeah, I-I got you..” 

Boomhauer tried to keep his hips directly flushed to her back, holding the position she put herself in under him. He turned his full, fast strokes into a rough and meaningful rutting, like he was trying to bury his dick into her G-spot.

“Fuck, fuck.” She panted deeply, pathetically, knowing she was close. A final stroke threw her over the edge into her ecstasy, from a final, sweet knock onto her cervix’s tip. 

He saw her shimmery nails grip the sheets tightly, watching as her knuckles practically turned white. “Aw, sweet– shit, sweetheart,” he cooed into her ear, fumbling over his words a bit. 

He got lost in his own pleasure, hardly being able to pull out. He managed to in time, however, and fisted his cock. After giving the base a few quick strokes, he groaned seeing his cum spurt out on her bare lower back.

(Y/N) hummed and looked back at him, sleepiness hanging over her eyes. 

“Boom,” she said after she heard his breathing steady, “will y’stay with me tonight? Please?”

“I’ll stay longer’n that, girl.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, looking over to him as he took a spot underneath the covers with her.

“Didn’t you notice the suitcases in the backseat of m’car?

[l0nestarr3d]

Hello! It seems as though you love Texas, so may I request some hc's for him? :D

*not forcing ofc !! <3*

HOLY SHIT I DID NOT EXPECT TO BE ASKED SO SOON AND BY A FINOMINAL PERSON- I'll gladly answer!! :D

sorry if these ain't all that good... :'(

APPEARANCE:

HEIGHT: 6'5"

HAIR TYPE, STYLE, & COLOR: Curly (3a), manbun with the length as to his mid-back, and the color is eclipse (#311C17)!

SKIN COLOR: Limed Oak (#B7865C)

EYE COLOR: Silver Sand (#BFC1C2)

MARKINGS: Scars from wars and his work, a little star-shaped birthmark on his left palm

He has sharp lil' canines too. (my thought process is just *nom*)

INFORMATION - GENERAL:

Man speaks Spanish, Vietnamese, Chinese, Arabic, and German.

Severely dehydrated like the grass here in summer

He can play all guitars (he finds the harp guitar interesting,) the fiddle, and the banjo.

I haven't decided for him to be AAA (Aromantic, Asexual, Agender) or transmasc and gay as fuck. i like both help

HE WEARS HOODIES IN SUMMER Y'ALL, HE'S INSANE

He will start crying if met with bro country and pop country. That shit sucks ass. He'd rather not listen to electronic songs yappin' about women shakin' it, guns, beer, and trucks.

He's Tejano (Texan with traces to Texas before statehood like Mexican Texas) and also Native American (for his name)

Basically call him Snow White since the animals love him.

INFORMATION - ANGSTY (THE BEST PART):

WILL jump at gunshots/sounds at glass breaking.

Insecure about his accomplishments because he's always second in what he does.

Oh yeah, he has the 'tisms and ADHD. Both are undiagnosed. He also hates people despite putting up a extroverted persona.

Nearly blind in an eye due to Mexico (Battle of the Alamo)

Almost always sick in some sort of way due to the disasters. He eventually got used to it but it makes him feel like shit.

He most often than not works himself nearly to death.

HE WILL BREAK DOWN IF HUGGED.

He got his hat as a gift from a human best friend (or something more..?). However, said friend died to tuberculosis. (A happy part: He reads the message in the hat which reads "You Are A Divine Angel Sent From Above, My Dear LONE STAR. <3" whenever he feels down. His friend was like the ethereal spring days to him.)

Also, if given the chance to, he'll assert dominance by sitting on chairs like this. He loves to do it, by the way.

[doylewesleywalls]

Alamo Beer & Wine by Doyle Wesley Walls Via Flickr:

[beardedmrbean]

Would you rather drink Duff beer, Alamo beer, or Pawtucket Patriot ale?

Alamo, for a very specific reason that is a secret.

one maybe 2 people that could guess it correctly I think

[funnyfooddatabase]

Alamo Drafthouse The Batman 2022 Menu

Food AND Drink

Type of Funny Food: Tie-In Product

Introduced: February 2022

Location: Alamo Drafthouse

Available only at screenings of the Robert Pattinson 2022 Batman film, theater chain Alamo Drafthouse offered hungry moviegoers a selection of food and drink themed to the caped crusader.

These included:

the Got Ham Fried Chicken Sandwich, a toasted bun crispy chicken sandwich with swiss cheese, garlic aioli, and ham served with fries and a pickle (and justice, apparently. YMMV),

the Enigma Popcorn, a typical bowl of popcorn covered in butter, cinnamon sugar, and churro bites,

The Dark Knight, a Sailor Jerry Spiced Rum drink with ginger beer, grapefruit, and maple syrup,

and the Utility Belt Red Beer, a mix of Modelo Especial and bloody mary with olives, celery, pickles, lime, and a chile-lime salted rim.